Why do the Nationals have to have a cap with the cursive W on it?!
Every time I see one, I momentarily forget it's not about the President and think, "How many freakin' Republicans ARE there in this town??!!! And where are they getting all these hats?!!"
For that reason, among others, the Bambina will continue to wear only her Red Sox "B" cap when out and about. Until, of course, Joe Biden runs for President....
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Barking Dog Update
The barking has ceased. The note must have worked. The neighbors have passed the noise test. But will they pass the psycho dog test?
I bumped into the owner (who just returned from a state dept. stint overseas) yesterday while the bambina was walking me up and down our street by one finger (which she insists on holding onto even though she is clearly walking and balancing of her own volition). I asked her about the dogs, who seemed very well-behaved. She said, "Well, they're a little rambunctious these days. The two large ones are street dogs from Pakistan, so they are having a little trouble adjusting."
You think?!!
"Street dogs." Hmmm... Or should we say "feral"?! No sooner had she said, "Yeah, they don't really like other dogs," than one walked down the street and they went absolutely wild--barking, growling, jumping, straining at the leash--all the usual signs that you should get your 13-month old baby away from the dingoes.
So from the distance that I immediately put between the bambina and Cujo I and II, the owner apologized and said, "Well, hopefully they'll calm down soon so your daughter can pet them." I said, "Sounds great!" but I was thinking, "not a freakin' chance in hell, lady."
I now truly believe the old adage that Good Fences Make Good Neighbors.
Big, high, double-reinforced fences.
I bumped into the owner (who just returned from a state dept. stint overseas) yesterday while the bambina was walking me up and down our street by one finger (which she insists on holding onto even though she is clearly walking and balancing of her own volition). I asked her about the dogs, who seemed very well-behaved. She said, "Well, they're a little rambunctious these days. The two large ones are street dogs from Pakistan, so they are having a little trouble adjusting."
You think?!!
"Street dogs." Hmmm... Or should we say "feral"?! No sooner had she said, "Yeah, they don't really like other dogs," than one walked down the street and they went absolutely wild--barking, growling, jumping, straining at the leash--all the usual signs that you should get your 13-month old baby away from the dingoes.
So from the distance that I immediately put between the bambina and Cujo I and II, the owner apologized and said, "Well, hopefully they'll calm down soon so your daughter can pet them." I said, "Sounds great!" but I was thinking, "not a freakin' chance in hell, lady."
I now truly believe the old adage that Good Fences Make Good Neighbors.
Big, high, double-reinforced fences.
Let Me Tell You About My Grandchildren
That is a license plate I used to see all the time in the 80's. I often wondered what it meant, and precisely what kind of person would take the time to find two bolts and two nuts and attach it to the front of their Dodge Aries or their Mercury Cougar with what little strength they had left in them. I have since realized in the past 4 months that were such a license plate available today, my father would buy three: one for the car, one for his apartment window, and one to wear sandwich-board style around his neck.
To wit: I took my dad for coffee at the Panera near "Del Boca Vista" since I couldn't bear to watch him down one more 5oz. white styrofoam cup of Chock Full O'Nuts coffee from his building's social area "kitchen." It even SMELLED bad; like old cigarettes floating in rusty water...or something like that. So I put him in the vehicle and mandated a trip to an actual place that sells actual coffee. Not great coffee, but better than Chock Full O'Butts at the very least.
So we get there, I show him the miracle that is free wi-fi, and up he gets for a refill ("Can you believe this is a free refill, E? With free computer?! I'm sitting here and drinking coffee till I bust!"). I watch him walk to the coffee area, thinking, "What a cute wee man he is." UNTIL...DANGER!!...OH GOD NO!!..Two very attractive young Asian women are also walking to the coffee area. Oh dear god, please let him not notice. Come on Dad, keep looking down, keep looking down, come on back....OH NO! He's seen them. It's all over. It has happened again. Cue his now well-refined stump speech:
"Ladies! Hello! Tell me, are you Chinese?" If "yes," proceed with further remarks. If "no," hellwidit! Proceed with further remarks regardless: "Would you like to see a photo of my granddaughter? She's Chinese, you know. Isn't she a wee peach?! And that's her mother over there! Come and say hello!" And these bewildered women who were, more often than not, born and raised in Silver Spring, Maryland to Vietnamese or Korean parents, come traipsing over to say hello to a strange woman who is the mother of a Chinese baby.
Well. That was awkward, wasn't it?
The Panera Incident as it is now called, broke me. I was a bit harsh on my wee Dad, because I don't want him to go on and on about my daughter being Chinese and accosting random Asians to inquire as to their ethnicity while he's at it. I just got so mad at him for bringing up her ethinicity AGAIN and for rudely asking about other people's ethnicity. I went on and on about how it's rude to ask someone about their ethnicity, and how that is precisely what I don't want my daughter to have to deal with throughout her life ("mom, some weird old dude came up to me to show me pictures of his chinese grandbaby..."), and could he please stop with the Chinese stuff over and over again?
Short story long: I'm a jerk. He looked so hurt, and just said, "But I wanted to show her off," to which I replied, "and that would be fine if you stopped random white people to show pictures of your other three grandkids..." and then stopped myself. Because guess what? He does that too. In the end he did hear me on the ethnicity inquiries, although he declared as a proud Scotsman that "Americans are so uptight about that stuff; it's not like it's a secret that you are Asian or Latino, right? So why the agro about being asked?" But he promised to not do that anymore to avoid any international incidents. What he just couldn't understand, however, was why I was infringing on his grandparental rights; why I was not going to Let Him Tell You About His Grandchildren.
And he's right. Absent the engaging of Asians exclusively, I need to get over him showing off his grandkids even if it embarrasses me. I was mad at him for the above reasons, but--if I'm really honest--I was mad at him for making me feel like I was in junior high all over again. You remember those days, right? The days where you truly believed that your parents embarrassing you was out of your control and inevitable. Where you felt certain that your parents' weirdness was reflecting on you and tainting your reputation, and you felt minimized by their overenmeshment in your life.
And then you grew up and realized that embarrassment is a construct of your own mind; you create the feeling based on your own fear of your own shortcomings rather than on someone else's shortcomings reflecting on you. I had to remind myself of that at Panera. I had to remind myself that, just as in junior high school, I was feeling embarrassment about my dad's actions even though the other people involved found him eccentrically charming. I also had to remind myself that my daughter is in fact Chinese. And that maybe I need to worry less about some potential future slight she may face, and instead worry about being a good daughter to a very well-meaning, if truly batty, Proud Grandpa. Family is family; you accept them as they are. THAT'S the lesson I should want my daughter to learn, because with that kind of foundation, she will grow up to be the gracious young woman in a Panera who makes an old man's day because she Lets Him Tell Her About His Grandchildren...even the caucasian ones.
To wit: I took my dad for coffee at the Panera near "Del Boca Vista" since I couldn't bear to watch him down one more 5oz. white styrofoam cup of Chock Full O'Nuts coffee from his building's social area "kitchen." It even SMELLED bad; like old cigarettes floating in rusty water...or something like that. So I put him in the vehicle and mandated a trip to an actual place that sells actual coffee. Not great coffee, but better than Chock Full O'Butts at the very least.
So we get there, I show him the miracle that is free wi-fi, and up he gets for a refill ("Can you believe this is a free refill, E? With free computer?! I'm sitting here and drinking coffee till I bust!"). I watch him walk to the coffee area, thinking, "What a cute wee man he is." UNTIL...DANGER!!...OH GOD NO!!..Two very attractive young Asian women are also walking to the coffee area. Oh dear god, please let him not notice. Come on Dad, keep looking down, keep looking down, come on back....OH NO! He's seen them. It's all over. It has happened again. Cue his now well-refined stump speech:
"Ladies! Hello! Tell me, are you Chinese?" If "yes," proceed with further remarks. If "no," hellwidit! Proceed with further remarks regardless: "Would you like to see a photo of my granddaughter? She's Chinese, you know. Isn't she a wee peach?! And that's her mother over there! Come and say hello!" And these bewildered women who were, more often than not, born and raised in Silver Spring, Maryland to Vietnamese or Korean parents, come traipsing over to say hello to a strange woman who is the mother of a Chinese baby.
Well. That was awkward, wasn't it?
The Panera Incident as it is now called, broke me. I was a bit harsh on my wee Dad, because I don't want him to go on and on about my daughter being Chinese and accosting random Asians to inquire as to their ethnicity while he's at it. I just got so mad at him for bringing up her ethinicity AGAIN and for rudely asking about other people's ethnicity. I went on and on about how it's rude to ask someone about their ethnicity, and how that is precisely what I don't want my daughter to have to deal with throughout her life ("mom, some weird old dude came up to me to show me pictures of his chinese grandbaby..."), and could he please stop with the Chinese stuff over and over again?
Short story long: I'm a jerk. He looked so hurt, and just said, "But I wanted to show her off," to which I replied, "and that would be fine if you stopped random white people to show pictures of your other three grandkids..." and then stopped myself. Because guess what? He does that too. In the end he did hear me on the ethnicity inquiries, although he declared as a proud Scotsman that "Americans are so uptight about that stuff; it's not like it's a secret that you are Asian or Latino, right? So why the agro about being asked?" But he promised to not do that anymore to avoid any international incidents. What he just couldn't understand, however, was why I was infringing on his grandparental rights; why I was not going to Let Him Tell You About His Grandchildren.
And he's right. Absent the engaging of Asians exclusively, I need to get over him showing off his grandkids even if it embarrasses me. I was mad at him for the above reasons, but--if I'm really honest--I was mad at him for making me feel like I was in junior high all over again. You remember those days, right? The days where you truly believed that your parents embarrassing you was out of your control and inevitable. Where you felt certain that your parents' weirdness was reflecting on you and tainting your reputation, and you felt minimized by their overenmeshment in your life.
And then you grew up and realized that embarrassment is a construct of your own mind; you create the feeling based on your own fear of your own shortcomings rather than on someone else's shortcomings reflecting on you. I had to remind myself of that at Panera. I had to remind myself that, just as in junior high school, I was feeling embarrassment about my dad's actions even though the other people involved found him eccentrically charming. I also had to remind myself that my daughter is in fact Chinese. And that maybe I need to worry less about some potential future slight she may face, and instead worry about being a good daughter to a very well-meaning, if truly batty, Proud Grandpa. Family is family; you accept them as they are. THAT'S the lesson I should want my daughter to learn, because with that kind of foundation, she will grow up to be the gracious young woman in a Panera who makes an old man's day because she Lets Him Tell Her About His Grandchildren...even the caucasian ones.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Meeting John Ashcroft
So I said hello to John Ashcroft today.
Yep. Out walking the bambina in her stroller when a little toddler boy yells from a garden, "Hiya!!" So I look over and say, "Hiya cutie pie!" to the little guy. Just as the words are leaving my mouth I notice that he is being held in the arms of none other than former attorney general John Ashcroft.
It was a very funny moment for two reasons: a) because I could tell that he thought for a brief second that I was waving at and talking to HIM, by the "oh my god a crazed stalker" look of terror on his face which immediately softened when he noticed the little boy waving like crazy toward me and the bambina; and b) because as this was happening I was imagining an alternate plane of existence where the meeting would go very differently, and it was making me laugh to myself.
The real thing ended with Us Girls waving and moving on, as if nothing had happened. For the sake of the Alternate Ending, it is important to note that I was wearing an army green canvas-y skirt, black flip flops and my treasured vintage black sleeveless Rizzo from Grease T-shirt. It has a screen print of Stockard Channing on it, with the word "FONGOOL!" written in hot pink above it. I love the shirt because---well, it's a whole other post--but suffice to say I love this shirt. I also like it because it, put delicately, fits in such a way as to perhaps suggest just a hint of additional boobage than may in reality be present. "Eeeeeee-xcellent, Simpson!"
The alternate ending involved a dialogue with F.A.G. (Former Attorney General) Ashcroft, as he likes to be called, marching toward me with his finger waving, bellowing, "Young lady, am I to understand that your garment bears the word 'fongool'? What kind of mother are you? Have you no shame? To have the word 'fongool' shouting to passersby, many of whom are children, from the mantle of your heaving bosom, is nothing less than a disgrace!" At this point, he snapped his fingers and about 20 government worker minions ran toward me with draping, and covered up my shirt, the word Fongool, and my heaving bosom with a "modesty panel."
I then served as the backdrop for his next press conference.
Man, I LOVE living on Capitol Hill!
Yep. Out walking the bambina in her stroller when a little toddler boy yells from a garden, "Hiya!!" So I look over and say, "Hiya cutie pie!" to the little guy. Just as the words are leaving my mouth I notice that he is being held in the arms of none other than former attorney general John Ashcroft.
It was a very funny moment for two reasons: a) because I could tell that he thought for a brief second that I was waving at and talking to HIM, by the "oh my god a crazed stalker" look of terror on his face which immediately softened when he noticed the little boy waving like crazy toward me and the bambina; and b) because as this was happening I was imagining an alternate plane of existence where the meeting would go very differently, and it was making me laugh to myself.
The real thing ended with Us Girls waving and moving on, as if nothing had happened. For the sake of the Alternate Ending, it is important to note that I was wearing an army green canvas-y skirt, black flip flops and my treasured vintage black sleeveless Rizzo from Grease T-shirt. It has a screen print of Stockard Channing on it, with the word "FONGOOL!" written in hot pink above it. I love the shirt because---well, it's a whole other post--but suffice to say I love this shirt. I also like it because it, put delicately, fits in such a way as to perhaps suggest just a hint of additional boobage than may in reality be present. "Eeeeeee-xcellent, Simpson!"
The alternate ending involved a dialogue with F.A.G. (Former Attorney General) Ashcroft, as he likes to be called, marching toward me with his finger waving, bellowing, "Young lady, am I to understand that your garment bears the word 'fongool'? What kind of mother are you? Have you no shame? To have the word 'fongool' shouting to passersby, many of whom are children, from the mantle of your heaving bosom, is nothing less than a disgrace!" At this point, he snapped his fingers and about 20 government worker minions ran toward me with draping, and covered up my shirt, the word Fongool, and my heaving bosom with a "modesty panel."
I then served as the backdrop for his next press conference.
Man, I LOVE living on Capitol Hill!
Barking Dog Torture
You've heard of Chinese Water Torture. You've heard of The Rack. You've heard of the electrodes on the privates torture. You've heard of Crying Baby on Airplane torture. Is it just me, or is there also Barking Dog Torture?
We have new neighbors two doors down. Really seemingly nice people. Three dogs. Big dogs. In a 15x15 yard. The dogs are out all day while the owners are away. Would you think I was lying if I told you that all three dogs bark NONSTOP for NINE HOURS until the owners come home? NINE HOURS. NONSTOP. If one dog stops to take a breath, the other two are still at it.
I honestly don't know how much longer I can take it.
And I am someone who LIKES dogs. Especially big ones.
But I just can't take the noise anymore. It is like a freaking hammer to my skull for 540 minutes each day until they come home from work. Last week was beautiful weather: 73 degrees every day with a nice breeze. I opened all the windows and doors to get the fresh air in and was just lovin' life....until...8:30am when the barking started. And then did not stop. 9am. 9:30am. 10:30am. All the way to 12:30pm when it was the bambina's afternoon nap time when I had to close all the windows on her side of the house because she couldn't settle down and get to sleep with all the ruckus going on outside. So on a beautiful day, I had to close all my windows and turn on the AC so that a) my kid could get to, and stay, asleep and b) so I could stop thinking about how someone might lose their mind and throw some rat poison milkbone over that g*****n fence. It's a terrible thing to think, but if you can imagine NINE HOURS--32,400 seconds--of three dogs' constant barking to the extent that you cannot open your windows, cannot sit outside, cannot hear yourself think, then it starts to be an understandable evil fantasy.
I was thinking it was just me, until I saw three separate neighbors come down the alley and ask which house all the barking was coming from. I felt a little less evil, realizing that the noise really actually was so unbearable that people were leaving their homes and walking down an alley to find the source.
So--what to do, dear readers? My plan is to go knock on their door and tell them that I'm concerned for their dogs because "they are obviously in distress all day while you are gone, since they bark unremittingly for 9 hours." Then wait and see what the reaction is. If it was my dog, I'd feel just awful to hear that a) my dog was barking himself hoarse for a full day, and b) my neighbors were beginning to hate him--and me--because of it. Surely you can train a dog not to bark, right? Can you keep them inside? Can you recognize that you bought a rowhouse in the city that is wholly unconducive to giving three large dogs the space they need?
What would you do? I want to go in assuming that they will be genuinely surprised to hear that the dogs bark and that they will want to do something to fix it. But I need to be prepared for them to take offense on behalf of their dogs and chalk me and my neighbors up as dog haters, even though I myself am nothing of the sort.
Although I will say that 3,740 hours of barking could understandably turn me into one. HELP!
We have new neighbors two doors down. Really seemingly nice people. Three dogs. Big dogs. In a 15x15 yard. The dogs are out all day while the owners are away. Would you think I was lying if I told you that all three dogs bark NONSTOP for NINE HOURS until the owners come home? NINE HOURS. NONSTOP. If one dog stops to take a breath, the other two are still at it.
I honestly don't know how much longer I can take it.
And I am someone who LIKES dogs. Especially big ones.
But I just can't take the noise anymore. It is like a freaking hammer to my skull for 540 minutes each day until they come home from work. Last week was beautiful weather: 73 degrees every day with a nice breeze. I opened all the windows and doors to get the fresh air in and was just lovin' life....until...8:30am when the barking started. And then did not stop. 9am. 9:30am. 10:30am. All the way to 12:30pm when it was the bambina's afternoon nap time when I had to close all the windows on her side of the house because she couldn't settle down and get to sleep with all the ruckus going on outside. So on a beautiful day, I had to close all my windows and turn on the AC so that a) my kid could get to, and stay, asleep and b) so I could stop thinking about how someone might lose their mind and throw some rat poison milkbone over that g*****n fence. It's a terrible thing to think, but if you can imagine NINE HOURS--32,400 seconds--of three dogs' constant barking to the extent that you cannot open your windows, cannot sit outside, cannot hear yourself think, then it starts to be an understandable evil fantasy.
I was thinking it was just me, until I saw three separate neighbors come down the alley and ask which house all the barking was coming from. I felt a little less evil, realizing that the noise really actually was so unbearable that people were leaving their homes and walking down an alley to find the source.
So--what to do, dear readers? My plan is to go knock on their door and tell them that I'm concerned for their dogs because "they are obviously in distress all day while you are gone, since they bark unremittingly for 9 hours." Then wait and see what the reaction is. If it was my dog, I'd feel just awful to hear that a) my dog was barking himself hoarse for a full day, and b) my neighbors were beginning to hate him--and me--because of it. Surely you can train a dog not to bark, right? Can you keep them inside? Can you recognize that you bought a rowhouse in the city that is wholly unconducive to giving three large dogs the space they need?
What would you do? I want to go in assuming that they will be genuinely surprised to hear that the dogs bark and that they will want to do something to fix it. But I need to be prepared for them to take offense on behalf of their dogs and chalk me and my neighbors up as dog haters, even though I myself am nothing of the sort.
Although I will say that 3,740 hours of barking could understandably turn me into one. HELP!
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Fantasy Supreme Court Nominee
It's just like Fantasy Football, where you pick your Dream Team.
Who would you pick for the next Supreme Court Justice? The Wall Street Journal has the real-life shortlist at 5:
Michael McConnell from the Denver 10th Circuit Court of Appeals (major issue: wants to overturn Roe v. Wade)
Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez (major issue: seen as too liberal by conservatives for not being tough enough on Roe v. Wade; would be first Latino appointment to the Court)
John Roberts of the DC Circuit has spent most of his career in private practice and therefore has limited documentation of his views. (Major issue: currently sitting on a three-judge panel considering the government's appeal of a ruling that the Geneva Conventions apply to Gitmo).
Harvie Wilkinson of Fourth Circuit in VA and Michael Luttig, also of the Fourth Circuit. Both conservative---duh---and both supportive of the President having the power to deny legal recourse to US Citizens detained as enemy combatants.
Should be an interesting nomination process...
In the meantime, who would you--in your wildest dreams--like to see on the Court? Mario Cuomo? Bruce Babbitt? Sam Nunn? Lance Ito? Joseph Wapner?
Let's hear your choices!
Who would you pick for the next Supreme Court Justice? The Wall Street Journal has the real-life shortlist at 5:
Michael McConnell from the Denver 10th Circuit Court of Appeals (major issue: wants to overturn Roe v. Wade)
Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez (major issue: seen as too liberal by conservatives for not being tough enough on Roe v. Wade; would be first Latino appointment to the Court)
John Roberts of the DC Circuit has spent most of his career in private practice and therefore has limited documentation of his views. (Major issue: currently sitting on a three-judge panel considering the government's appeal of a ruling that the Geneva Conventions apply to Gitmo).
Harvie Wilkinson of Fourth Circuit in VA and Michael Luttig, also of the Fourth Circuit. Both conservative---duh---and both supportive of the President having the power to deny legal recourse to US Citizens detained as enemy combatants.
Should be an interesting nomination process...
In the meantime, who would you--in your wildest dreams--like to see on the Court? Mario Cuomo? Bruce Babbitt? Sam Nunn? Lance Ito? Joseph Wapner?
Let's hear your choices!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Former First Lesbian
If you believe Ed Klein's new book, you now swear on your mother's life that Hillary Clinton is a lesbian. Niiiiice.
Based on what? Because she likes power? Because she inexplicably stays with a philandering husband? Because she HAS a philandering husband? Because she doesn't wax girly in public? Because she has a desire for her own career and success independent of her family's? Because she says what she thinks?
Oh yeah. Definitely lesbian...If you still think it's 1950.
Think about it. By these standards--liking power, having a desire for career, refusing to emote publicly for the entertainment of others, staying with boyfriends/partners who are unfaithful to the disbelief of all your friends, refusing to toe the line on what our country's ideal of what a woman should be--then The Haggis is a big fat glorious lesbian.
That's right! I must be a big lesbo! Why hasn't anyone written the tell-all expose of how I must absolutely love to have crazy lesbian sex with women based on my last name, my desire to have a career, my refusal to leave a man who cheated--regularly--because I loved him (likely lesbian cover story!), my refusal to publicly emote in a "female-appropriate" way, my habit of telling friends I love them even if they are women...I'm sure Ed Klein can build the case against my purported heterosexuality quite easily.
Even some conservative outlets are not touching this one. Which ought to tell you something, since the right has rarely bothered about truth or decency in reporting...
Based on what? Because she likes power? Because she inexplicably stays with a philandering husband? Because she HAS a philandering husband? Because she doesn't wax girly in public? Because she has a desire for her own career and success independent of her family's? Because she says what she thinks?
Oh yeah. Definitely lesbian...If you still think it's 1950.
Think about it. By these standards--liking power, having a desire for career, refusing to emote publicly for the entertainment of others, staying with boyfriends/partners who are unfaithful to the disbelief of all your friends, refusing to toe the line on what our country's ideal of what a woman should be--then The Haggis is a big fat glorious lesbian.
That's right! I must be a big lesbo! Why hasn't anyone written the tell-all expose of how I must absolutely love to have crazy lesbian sex with women based on my last name, my desire to have a career, my refusal to leave a man who cheated--regularly--because I loved him (likely lesbian cover story!), my refusal to publicly emote in a "female-appropriate" way, my habit of telling friends I love them even if they are women...I'm sure Ed Klein can build the case against my purported heterosexuality quite easily.
Even some conservative outlets are not touching this one. Which ought to tell you something, since the right has rarely bothered about truth or decency in reporting...
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