More About My Grandmother

It's a popular adage that women turn into their mothers whether they want to or not, and I've come to accept some small quirks (singing everything) while probably not confronting others. But I've always hoped that I would turn into/be more like my grandmother, as you might surmise from my eulogy of her.

However, there were a few habits of my Gram's that I had hoped to avoid. First, she had enormous earlobes, which were the result of her multiple and heavy earrings. That's right. My grandmother wore giant heavy gold earrings, more than one in each ear, and they made her earlobes giant, like some urban legend told to 8 year old girls before they go into Claires to do the deed (i.e. pierce their ears).

Second, she shoved Kleenex into the sleeves of her shirts and sweaters. When she changed clothing, they tumbled out like chunky snowballs. While she could produce a clean tissue like a magician, you never wanted to use it, fearing its history. I do this when I am sick now, but I don't think I've gone the whole way, kimono-style, like Gram.

Finally, she would "grease" her feet every night and put on running socks because of her dry skin.

I now do this. And I am not NOT 91 years old. Or even 79, or 56. But I do it. Just did it 10 minutes ago. Is this the Dorian Gray-like price to pay to acquire some of her grace, wisdom and charm? I guess I wouldn't have it any other way. But I hope someday to develop my own wierd quirks that can't be blamed on my mother and hers.

My New Theory About Guilt

I spend a lot of time pissed off about my job and about certain ideals I once held sacred, but since I want to keep that job and possibly get another one in the future, I have kept quiet about the many theories I have developed about said ideals, and just stew in them. This is w/r/t The Internet, by the way; if you ask me in person, I will spout off at length and possibly to my own career detriment about these issues.

But anyway. I've stumbled upon a theory I can share. Which is a theory of conservation of guilt. Today, I was thinking about this oil spill and feeling simultaneously shitty and nonplussed about it. Shitty, because it is an awful terrible gaping gash in our earth that is spoiling a huge area of our planet. Nonplussed, because there are so many awful gaping badnesses spoiling our earth. Not just environmentally, but also in terms of human life and decency. On top of it all, John Edwards goes out every night and drinks white wine and hits on women. OH MY GOD. STOP. It's all to disgusting to process.

That's a lot of stuff to feel guilty about, right? But what I don't feel guilty about is all that crap that the Catholic Church wanted women to feel guilty about for all those years. Catholics and women and Jews overall seem a lot less guilt-tripped than we were 30 years ago, and I bet a lot of us have been feeling pretty relieved about that. We are not stressed about premarital sex, birth control, having lustful thoughts, eating bacon. I, for one, am pretty pleased about all that, especially that last one.

But while we may feel free of certain kinds of religious guilt, we are now encumbered by far more embarassing social and humanistic guilt. It must even out. While I don't feel even the slightest twinge about missing Mass for the past 20 years, I feel completely awful about all the Sierra Leonan children who are missing limbs and cuddling automatic weapons. And oh, the oil spill gives me a knot in my stomach. Thus, the conservation of guilt. For everything you would have felt guilty about in the past, you will now feel at least equally about something else.

The Car Post

We have two cars. The "other" car is a 1997 Honda Civic, and it is primarily driven by Mr. Scobie on days when he decides to drive to work (rather than BART) or when we both need to drive some place at the same time. This car is usually referred to as "the old car", "the other car", "the Honda" or "(Mr. Scobie's) car". But today, I needed to drive to San Jose, and Mr. Scobie said, "Can you take the crappy car?" and I said, "sure" but when I got in the car, I thought, What a master of re-branding he is. So now I guess the Honda will be known as "the crappy car". The next step from there is a new car, of course.

The other thought I had in the car was, Can you change someone's preset radio stations if the stations are super-corny? Another thought I had was, The popularity of the Segway in San Jose is what is keeping the rest of us from wanting to move here. I didn't tweet either of those thoughts because I was driving and I didn't want to die on 880.

Who? Me?

What am I up to? Oh, just moonin' around in my SF Giants/Fanta slanket. Finished The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest long before the witching hour, mainly because I inhaled like 400 pages of it last night. I'd share a picture, but the one that was taken of me has not been shared with me, and in any case, I probably just look like an orange lump.

Nothing else is going on, and I am trying to keep it that way. I want everything outside of my family and friends to shrink down to nothing. Or rather, some paraphrase of Grover Norquist keeps coming to mind. I often find myself thinking, "I want to shrink this ____ to where I can drown it in the bathtub." Where "this" isn't the government but some more personal bureaucracy. I don't want to be more specific, but man, being a grown-up is complicated. I saw this guy today who had a sweatshirt that said, "Capitalism is a death machine" and I got so annoyed. When did it get more complicated than that? WHY IS EVERYTHING SO NUANCED NOW?

And Tipper and Al are separating? GOD DAMN. I've already lived through my parents' divorce once. Why does this keep happening to me?

Which reminds me of a story. It's a boring one, but bear with me. Mr. Scobie used to call me Tipper Gore. Man, did that ever burn me. It used to make me so mad. Now, I don't care. Of course, he doesn't call me Tipper anymore; he calls me Al. If it's possible to be both, what will happen to me when they divorce? *head exploding*