Thursday, December 31, 2009
ABBA Rules
Y'all can hate if you want, but this song reminds me of New Year's Eves in Scotland, and consequently all my New Year's Eves with my Dad, and it makes me happy. Besides, who can resist a reminder of ill-fitting suits from the '70s? You know you love it.
Xinnian Kuaile!*
Tonight's the night. Another New Year's Eve. Another year on it's way out. Another opportunity to envision the day my grandkids will perhaps be wondering why they keep trotting out the very advanced-in-age Ryan Seacrest on New Year's Eve. But I say God Bless to Ryan, because as I've said before, hosting looks like the easiest job in the world but it ain't. He and Dick Clark have the skills to jump from Taylor Swift to the Foo Fighters to the cast of Two and a Half Men, and make it all seem cohesive. So no dissing the Seacrest for me.
Unlike other years I am not necessarily leaping for joy that the current year is over. 2006? Good riddance. 2007? A good ending from a bad beginning. 2009? A mixed bag.
Yesterday as we drove to Target so Bambina could spend her gift card money, she was saying how if felt good but bad to not be at the store yet, that she just couldn't wait and the waiting was making her body feel funny. I said, "That is called 'anticipation.' It's the excited, restless feeling you get when you really, really want something and are super close to getting it, but you're not yet close enough." This, I think, sums up what we are all feeling individually and as a family about 2009. So much anticipation, not enough fruition.
Baby Sister. She's ours but she's not with us. Every day I wake up and think, "My child is in an orphanage for another day without me." Then I make myself feel better by saying that I have the rest of her life with her, so not to get too wiggy about a few months apart when she's a baby. And then I think, "That's bullshit and you know it, but there's nothing you can do about it, so move on."
Hope for 2010: My baby girl. Home with me. ASAP.
My health. It's fabulous except when it's not. Chronic GVH effing sucks. I hope that I'll one day be off prednisone and my immunosuppressive cocktail, and I won't be 20 pounds heavier than usual, but who knows? Maybe I won't. I hope that the drugs will do what they did for my acute GVH, which is eradicate it. The challenge is that Chronic is a different animal than Acute. Chronic wants to hang around, and it wants to attack weird things like connective tissue rather than, say, your average colon. My skin looks weird now on my back; if I move it looks like cellulite all over because the fibrous tissue under my skin is being shortened by the GVH. So there goes my 2010 bikini modeling contract, folks.
Hope for 2010: A respite from the GVH and from the drugs. Even a little one. Even enough that I get to look in the mirror and semi-recognize my own face.
Our house. 2009 was going to be the year we fixed our deck and our chimney, so we'd be able to have friends over and enjoy our home in summer. It would be cucumber sandwiches and mint juleps and children at play! Only, the first contractor who did the job did it wrong, took our money, has an expired license, and worked without a permit, unbeknownst to us. So we fired him and had to hire a new guy to come and take down everything he did and essentially start over. As we figure out how to hopefully get some restitution, we are now digging ourselves out of the financial hole of having had to pay for two major jobs twice. So, we're psyched we have the deck--just in time for winter!?--but let's just say we're happy Bambina hasn't been accepted to college this year, or sweet thang would be out of luck.
Hope for 2010: No more house projects that hemorrhage money. Being content with our little loveshack just the way it is.
Writing. You'll recall I took the writing class in 2009 that inspired me to write more. Then life got in the way and all my big plans got shelved. This is as it should be, on the one hand, because when your kid needs you you drop everything. On the other hand, if I'm honest, I spent a good deal of 2009 making sure everyone else was good to the detriment of my own goals. This is, of course, nobody's fault but my own, especially since I'm married to perhaps the coolest and most solicitous guy on the planet who routinely tells me to get out of the house, ignore the messy kitchen and go write something. But then my Unemployed White Female alterego kicks in and I feel like if I am not working and contributing financially to the house, I have no business sitting in a coffee shop writing. Like, how is that okay? How is that a good use of time when other people are WORKING at REAL jobs?? And so I go paint a room or mop the floors instead.
Hope for 2010: That I finally get in agreement with myself that stuff I do matters even if it doesn't earn me any money. That perhaps writing is a valid use of my time, as valid as someone else's workout or coffee break or job, even. That I'm entitled to a couple of hours a day not spent in service to another human. We'll see how that goes: “For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.”
You. This one's unqualified: Thanks for reading, thanks for commenting, thanks for keeping this fun. As the Scottish new year song "A Guid New Year to Ane an' A" says:
A guid new year to ane an' a'
An' mony may ye see,
An' during a' the years to come,
O happy may ye be.
An' may ye ne'er hae cause to mourn,
To sigh or shed a tear;
To ane an'a baith great an' sma'
A hearty guid New year.
*Happy New Year in Mandarin
Unlike other years I am not necessarily leaping for joy that the current year is over. 2006? Good riddance. 2007? A good ending from a bad beginning. 2009? A mixed bag.
Yesterday as we drove to Target so Bambina could spend her gift card money, she was saying how if felt good but bad to not be at the store yet, that she just couldn't wait and the waiting was making her body feel funny. I said, "That is called 'anticipation.' It's the excited, restless feeling you get when you really, really want something and are super close to getting it, but you're not yet close enough." This, I think, sums up what we are all feeling individually and as a family about 2009. So much anticipation, not enough fruition.
Baby Sister. She's ours but she's not with us. Every day I wake up and think, "My child is in an orphanage for another day without me." Then I make myself feel better by saying that I have the rest of her life with her, so not to get too wiggy about a few months apart when she's a baby. And then I think, "That's bullshit and you know it, but there's nothing you can do about it, so move on."
Hope for 2010: My baby girl. Home with me. ASAP.
My health. It's fabulous except when it's not. Chronic GVH effing sucks. I hope that I'll one day be off prednisone and my immunosuppressive cocktail, and I won't be 20 pounds heavier than usual, but who knows? Maybe I won't. I hope that the drugs will do what they did for my acute GVH, which is eradicate it. The challenge is that Chronic is a different animal than Acute. Chronic wants to hang around, and it wants to attack weird things like connective tissue rather than, say, your average colon. My skin looks weird now on my back; if I move it looks like cellulite all over because the fibrous tissue under my skin is being shortened by the GVH. So there goes my 2010 bikini modeling contract, folks.
Hope for 2010: A respite from the GVH and from the drugs. Even a little one. Even enough that I get to look in the mirror and semi-recognize my own face.
Our house. 2009 was going to be the year we fixed our deck and our chimney, so we'd be able to have friends over and enjoy our home in summer. It would be cucumber sandwiches and mint juleps and children at play! Only, the first contractor who did the job did it wrong, took our money, has an expired license, and worked without a permit, unbeknownst to us. So we fired him and had to hire a new guy to come and take down everything he did and essentially start over. As we figure out how to hopefully get some restitution, we are now digging ourselves out of the financial hole of having had to pay for two major jobs twice. So, we're psyched we have the deck--just in time for winter!?--but let's just say we're happy Bambina hasn't been accepted to college this year, or sweet thang would be out of luck.
Hope for 2010: No more house projects that hemorrhage money. Being content with our little loveshack just the way it is.
Writing. You'll recall I took the writing class in 2009 that inspired me to write more. Then life got in the way and all my big plans got shelved. This is as it should be, on the one hand, because when your kid needs you you drop everything. On the other hand, if I'm honest, I spent a good deal of 2009 making sure everyone else was good to the detriment of my own goals. This is, of course, nobody's fault but my own, especially since I'm married to perhaps the coolest and most solicitous guy on the planet who routinely tells me to get out of the house, ignore the messy kitchen and go write something. But then my Unemployed White Female alterego kicks in and I feel like if I am not working and contributing financially to the house, I have no business sitting in a coffee shop writing. Like, how is that okay? How is that a good use of time when other people are WORKING at REAL jobs?? And so I go paint a room or mop the floors instead.
Hope for 2010: That I finally get in agreement with myself that stuff I do matters even if it doesn't earn me any money. That perhaps writing is a valid use of my time, as valid as someone else's workout or coffee break or job, even. That I'm entitled to a couple of hours a day not spent in service to another human. We'll see how that goes: “For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.”
You. This one's unqualified: Thanks for reading, thanks for commenting, thanks for keeping this fun. As the Scottish new year song "A Guid New Year to Ane an' A" says:
A guid new year to ane an' a'
An' mony may ye see,
An' during a' the years to come,
O happy may ye be.
An' may ye ne'er hae cause to mourn,
To sigh or shed a tear;
To ane an'a baith great an' sma'
A hearty guid New year.
*Happy New Year in Mandarin
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
NaBloPoMo
It sounds like a porno, but sadly it ain't.
It's National Blog Posting Month. Which, actually, was November. But it was such a success they've decided to roll it out all year round. January's theme is BEST. A whole month of posts--at least one a day--on "BEST." Which might also include "worst" and "fair to middlin'" and other variants on the theme.
I'm going to do my best (har!) to post every single day. After all, who wants to be the only blogger NaBloPo'ing Less?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A Whole Lotta FAIL
Oh where to start?!
The Christmas Day airline almost-bombing. TSA: FAIL. And now, it turns out: CIA: FAIL. Why don't we just skip the intellectual fiction that any of the TSA's nonsense "screening" keeps even one malefactor off an airplane and just accept that if we don't kill them where they live they will fly on our planes and kill us. Or, to be less Republican about it, let us accept that if we don't keep them off our airplanes they will fly on our planes and kill us. Let us all also accept that daily, run-of-the-mill dick-swinging between and amongst agencies over turf and credit and information possession bear no small amount of the blame for this latest FUBAR event. It is a disgrace. And Obama needs to be on notice: Dude, you CANNOT have a terrorist attack during your first term. Yeah, George Bush had one--a rather large one as I recall--but unlike GWB, you won't survive the fallout. If you have to get all Keifer Sutherland on some asses to make it happen, you must avoid a terrorist attack at all costs. I mean, not that you wouldn't anyway of course. But you get my point: attack = GOP in 2012 = disaster. Bust heads accordingly.
Health Care Reform. The Left: FAIL. Lobbying with right wing nutjobs to defeat the health care bill? Are you effing kidding me? Listen, folks. It may be a pile of shit, but it's a better pile of shit than the one we have now. Think about it. I could charitably call this response letting the perfect get in the way of the good, but it's worse than that. It's stupidity, plain and simple. Working to hand our Democratic president a DEFEAT on one of the key, signature issues from the campaign--because it doesn't comport precisely with all we wanted? That's called politics, kids. It's how, unfortunately--and fortunately--things get done in our democracy. Yes, Joe Lieberman should suck it. But to help kill the bill in response to his crap? Hells, naw.
The Vatican. Papal Security: FAIL. The poor 82 year-old Pope gets knocked down by a deranged woman. The same woman who attempted to do the same thing to him in 2008 before being tackled. Any advance work being done over there--or do known freaks just get to approach the Pope regardless? gatewaypundit.firstthings.com
Prednisone. My Ass' Suitability for Viewing: FAIL. Friends, prednisone is the work of the devil. Except for that part where it actually helps me live a normal life. That's the work of the seraphim and cherubim of course. But the part that helps me live a normal life--AS A FAT PERSON? Evil through and through. I am now referring to my weight gain as My Prednisone Baby, because it has taken the form of one giant spare tire around my stomach--precisely where I need to button my pants. It is of a different texture than the rest of my well-earned fat. It's harder and less malleable. And it often results in a great deal of tears and tantrums. I keeed! A little.
And finally: My stamina. Ability to stay awake at the moment: FAIL. Hasta manana!
The Christmas Day airline almost-bombing. TSA: FAIL. And now, it turns out: CIA: FAIL. Why don't we just skip the intellectual fiction that any of the TSA's nonsense "screening" keeps even one malefactor off an airplane and just accept that if we don't kill them where they live they will fly on our planes and kill us. Or, to be less Republican about it, let us accept that if we don't keep them off our airplanes they will fly on our planes and kill us. Let us all also accept that daily, run-of-the-mill dick-swinging between and amongst agencies over turf and credit and information possession bear no small amount of the blame for this latest FUBAR event. It is a disgrace. And Obama needs to be on notice: Dude, you CANNOT have a terrorist attack during your first term. Yeah, George Bush had one--a rather large one as I recall--but unlike GWB, you won't survive the fallout. If you have to get all Keifer Sutherland on some asses to make it happen, you must avoid a terrorist attack at all costs. I mean, not that you wouldn't anyway of course. But you get my point: attack = GOP in 2012 = disaster. Bust heads accordingly.
Health Care Reform. The Left: FAIL. Lobbying with right wing nutjobs to defeat the health care bill? Are you effing kidding me? Listen, folks. It may be a pile of shit, but it's a better pile of shit than the one we have now. Think about it. I could charitably call this response letting the perfect get in the way of the good, but it's worse than that. It's stupidity, plain and simple. Working to hand our Democratic president a DEFEAT on one of the key, signature issues from the campaign--because it doesn't comport precisely with all we wanted? That's called politics, kids. It's how, unfortunately--and fortunately--things get done in our democracy. Yes, Joe Lieberman should suck it. But to help kill the bill in response to his crap? Hells, naw.
The Vatican. Papal Security: FAIL. The poor 82 year-old Pope gets knocked down by a deranged woman. The same woman who attempted to do the same thing to him in 2008 before being tackled. Any advance work being done over there--or do known freaks just get to approach the Pope regardless? gatewaypundit.firstthings.com
Prednisone. My Ass' Suitability for Viewing: FAIL. Friends, prednisone is the work of the devil. Except for that part where it actually helps me live a normal life. That's the work of the seraphim and cherubim of course. But the part that helps me live a normal life--AS A FAT PERSON? Evil through and through. I am now referring to my weight gain as My Prednisone Baby, because it has taken the form of one giant spare tire around my stomach--precisely where I need to button my pants. It is of a different texture than the rest of my well-earned fat. It's harder and less malleable. And it often results in a great deal of tears and tantrums. I keeed! A little.
And finally: My stamina. Ability to stay awake at the moment: FAIL. Hasta manana!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Joyeux Noel
For all my Christian friends and family, a blessed, healthy and happy Christmas. For the less religious and/or equally festive, here comes Santa!
http://www.noradsanta.org/
And for my tribe, on this the quietest night of the year:
http://www.hulu.com/watch/1373/saturday-night-live-christmas-for-the-jews-song
http://www.noradsanta.org/
And for my tribe, on this the quietest night of the year:
http://www.hulu.com/watch/1373/saturday-night-live-christmas-for-the-jews-song
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
On Today's Episode
On today's episode of Selective Socialism, our guest is GOP Rep. Michelle Bachmann. Rep. Bachmann hates socialism and all its proponents in any form. Except when it comes in the form of government subsidies to her father-in-law's farm, in which she has a financial stake: www.politico.com
I love this! I mean, this is straight-up rank hypocrisy. It's socialism if you get government money for health care. It's just good business if I get it for a farm. As Chris Rock said so famously: "I told you that bitch is crazy!"
Next up, on today's episode of Selective Christianity, GOP Senator Coburn prays that someone "in the majority" will be unable to attend the votes on health care. Nice. http://thinkprogress.org/ So groups of teabaggers and various "Christians" got together to pray that Senator Byrd would die before the vote. Joke's on them since Senator Inhofe (R) was the only one who didn't make it. But really, folks. Christians getting together to pray that someone dies so that a government program might not be passed? Really? Praying for the death of political opponents? How the GOP has ANY credibility left is beyond me.
Now, on this week's episode of "Now That's Messing With My Brain, Yo!" comes an article on how smart plants are, how "alive" plants are, and how totally badass plants are. So, vegans: Why are you eating them? www.nytimes.com This takes me back to my childhood, when my Dad saw a bumpersticker on a passing car that said, "Meat is Murder" and he yelled out the window, "Hey! What about cruelty to turnips?!" It would appear that JP was once again in the vanguard of ethical thought. :)
In part two of the show, we'll discuss how owning a dog is, environmentally speaking, akin to owning an SUV. With toxic feces and stuff thrown in for fun. www.vancouversun.com/technology I don't really want to incur the ire of doglovers everywhere, so I'll diplomatically say that I've never seen an SUV get excited to see its owner after a long day at work...
I love this! I mean, this is straight-up rank hypocrisy. It's socialism if you get government money for health care. It's just good business if I get it for a farm. As Chris Rock said so famously: "I told you that bitch is crazy!"
Next up, on today's episode of Selective Christianity, GOP Senator Coburn prays that someone "in the majority" will be unable to attend the votes on health care. Nice. http://thinkprogress.org/ So groups of teabaggers and various "Christians" got together to pray that Senator Byrd would die before the vote. Joke's on them since Senator Inhofe (R) was the only one who didn't make it. But really, folks. Christians getting together to pray that someone dies so that a government program might not be passed? Really? Praying for the death of political opponents? How the GOP has ANY credibility left is beyond me.
Now, on this week's episode of "Now That's Messing With My Brain, Yo!" comes an article on how smart plants are, how "alive" plants are, and how totally badass plants are. So, vegans: Why are you eating them? www.nytimes.com This takes me back to my childhood, when my Dad saw a bumpersticker on a passing car that said, "Meat is Murder" and he yelled out the window, "Hey! What about cruelty to turnips?!" It would appear that JP was once again in the vanguard of ethical thought. :)
In part two of the show, we'll discuss how owning a dog is, environmentally speaking, akin to owning an SUV. With toxic feces and stuff thrown in for fun. www.vancouversun.com/technology I don't really want to incur the ire of doglovers everywhere, so I'll diplomatically say that I've never seen an SUV get excited to see its owner after a long day at work...
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