Sorry

I just wanted to apologize for sounding like Andy Rooney in that post earlier today.

Or maybe I sound like Mickey Rooney. Egad. I'm even sorrier for that.

Redundant Again

Little Rock, Arkansas, announced that they have chosen a new nickname for their city. The Rock. Catchy, huh? But how about The Little Rock? Or -- since Alcatraz Island is also known as The Rock, but is smaller than the city of Little Rock -- The Big Rock? Or -- since there's a famous action-movie star named The Rock -- The City of Rock? Or is Motor City hoseying that name? Or is Cleveland? Or how about The Geographical Rock? Or the Arkansas Rock?

How about, why does a city need a nickname?

Get Your Freak On.

Per my post below, there is a campaign underway here at 5500 to convince me that there is some redeeming value to football. As part of that campaign, I was encouraged to read Michael Lewis' article on the discovery/creation of Ole Miss left tackle Michael Oher. This will supposedly make me love football because my baseball fannishness, such as it is, can be blamed on Lewis' Moneyball (read it).

But I ain't coming around on this sport. Sorry. The Ballad of Big Mike is (inadvertantly) juxtaposed with What If It's (Sort Of) a Boy and (Sort Of) a Girl?, an article about whether parents should be allowed to authorize surgery on their intersexed kids. Both articles concern "freaks" of nature - one about children born with sex organs which do not reliably correspond with a specific gender, the other about an impoverished boy-giant who has all the social graces of Nell. The only conclusion I could draw from these articles is that if you have one kind of social incapatibility, you will get a cliterodectomy; with the other, you get adopted by born-again Christians who conveniently get you into their alma mater and set you on the path to an $8 million NFL contract.

The intersex article is particularly troubling: the author goes to great pains to put herself at some distance from the subject of the story, a woman who learned of her gender surgery (at ages 2 and 8) only once she was a grown-up. The woman's mother said she had her daughter's clitoris removed because she never used her own. Brrr. Anyway, the reader is supposed to feel sympathy for these parents who don't like their own children's sex organs. What? The? Fuck?* Dislike them so much, in fact, that they have them removed. And I am supposed to side with these people?

Michael Oher, on the other hand, whatever. A poor black child so freakishly large that white people figure out how to make a lot of money off him. I am so unendeared to this story that I have in fact taken a step backwards, toleration-wise, from the sport of football.

(Another inadvertant juxtaposition in the Sunday Magazine is the inclusion of an insider-y article on Ken Mehlman of the GOP. He is a freak of nature because he thinks that the GOP can be transformed into a party of Blacks and Hispanics and does not understand why no one else in his party is on board with his plan. Ahh, poor Ken. boo hoo.)

*Again, sorry, Mother-in-Law.

Lame Thoughts

Today I was driving home from Broccoli Montessori and I saw a bumper sticker that said, "My two favorite teams are Michigan and whoever's playing against Ohio State" andit occurred to me that, to be an anti-fan, i.e. someone who hates "your" team's rival, you actually have to want the team you hate to do moderately well. Which makes you a fan of the team you hate, if you think about it. A rivalry would die if your rival were never any good. Okay, maybe in the first year of their suckdom, you'd be all schadenfreude, and then the next year you'd be like, "Ron Zuck is such an idiot." But in year three, would you give a shit* anymore? You wouldn't paint your face to watch the other team get trounced, reliably, by 11 hits or 5 touchdowns, would you?

I've been thinking a lot about sports lately because my almost-three-year-old is now infected by the football bug, or as he says in his wierd St. Louis accent, "fitbull". He loves it. The only only good thing about it is that in a few years, I can have every Sunday afternoon to myself for a few months at a time.

Finally, and this is totally unrelated, you NEED to watch The Wire, if you are not already doing so. The first two seasons are on DVD, and the third is coming soon. The fourth season is three eps in, and you can watch the first three episodes back to back on Friday night at 8 on HBO. I might watch them again just because I am addicted to this show. I may remind you to watch it every day this week, or even until all my readers cry UNCLE and say, yes, they've watched it.

And another finally: I have been occasionally updating Bay Area Hiking Mamas, for all of you who are interested, but then stopped bothering checking.

*Apologies to my mother-in-law, who thinks I swear too much on my blog, and probably in my life.

A Little Bit of Clean-up

Apparently some folks were baffled by my swipe at Nick Ashford. Okay, so I am no Fug girl; fine, I can live with that. But people, you have to admit he looks like a total drag queen. Either Simpson is his beard or he's one of those straight men who like to wear women's panties - whatever - I just think that explains their causy-ness over The Sexual Other.

Second, David added "incentivized" to the list, and in that spirit, I realize that probably there are other fake words that have "-ize" on the end, created by b-schoolers. Synergize, for example. . .

Finally, did any of you know that Lincoln Chafee was a blacksmith before he was a senator? I can't think of anything funny to say about that, really. He learned it at horseshoeing school; mainly, he shoed horses, I guess. In reality, he looks less like a smithy and more like an actor who plays a smithy in a local theater production of Oklahoma!*

* Full disclosure: I played a male member of the chorus in Oklahoma! in the Academy of St. Elizabeth's 1991 spring production.**

** My other high school spring musical roles include "member of chorus" or "Friend of Nanette" in No No Nanette, "nun" in The Sound of Music and "Lady Brockhurst" in The Boyfriend.

New Link

I have added a link to Rangelife over there on the left because it's a funny blog, and it beat me to the punch on writing about the parents who kidnapped their daughter in order to force her to have an abortion (here). Oh, snap. Probably the easiest story to blog about today but still. Anyway, enjoy your new reading material. Sadly, Rangelife replaces Poo Poo Platter. I think the Grand Poobah is too dejected about the fact that Cheney was not indicted by Fitzgerald to go on blogging.

The second easiest story (that I saw) to blog about involves smuggling rare animals into the country in people's underwear, or something. I wish this article had more specifics. *sigh* I do like the fact that, although the movie was a flop, "snakes on a plane" is now a regularly trafficked cultural touchstone. "Federal agents were tipped off to some unusual happenings when large birds of paradise came flying out of his luggage." That's interesting, but not as interesting as "Most notably, as Monday’s indictment recalled, Mr. Cusack had concealed two lesser slow lorises, also known as pygmy monkeys, in his underwear." What kind of underwear was he wearing?

Actually, this article would be pretty easy to blog about too, but this is a family blog so you'll have to come up with your own jokes. No pun intended.

Finally, T&A Lady reports that she was burglarized, which, as I noted in comment 2 to her post, totally sucks. But it got me thinking, how many words have "ize" on the end? Burglarize, plagiarize, Martinize, modernize. I can't think of any others. Oh wait, pulverize. Any others?

Alanis Morrisette Day

Does anyone else think its a bit ironic that the company allegedly responsible for the E.Coli spinach outbreak is called Natural Selection LLC?

But there is nothing ironic about the fact that Ashford and Simpson have added several paeans to the difficulties of homosexual love to their new show. Per the NYT:

If the show concentrates on favorites from the Ashford & Simpson songbook, including “I’m Every Woman,” “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and “Solid,” it also includes three promising new songs from a musical-theater work-in-progress based on E. Lynn Harris’s breakthrough novel, “Invisible Life.” “Born This Way” and “I Don’t Ride That Train” bluntly address the conflicts facing characters struggling to define their sexuality. “God Has Love for Everyone” puts a positive slant on all the conflict.

Come ON, Ashford.

I Wouldn't Leave You Hanging

I know you've been dying to hear about the ghost advice, so here it is:

(1) I didn't see your original post, so I don't know how scary your ghost is. I just wanted to comment that my experience was that some ghosts arenot harmful and will leave if you ask them. I feel odd that I even havethis story since most of us never really believe this stuff unless we experience it. The couple that owned our house before us lived there along time and died around age 90. The wife first, then the husband. They did not die in the house. I kept finding the husband's business card in different places in my house (how polite!). I would find them in places I was sure they had not been earlier. I collected them to make sure they were not the same one. I got about 10 of them. Some doors opened on their own and sometimes I felt his presence. Eventually I found a whole box of his businees cards in a basement cupboard. On the advice of a friend, I spoke out loud to him and told him that we had bought the house and were going to take good care of it, that we would make changes to it and make it our own. I told him he needed to move on and go see his wife and rest in peace. I burned some sage sticks in the house and did a make-shift cleansing ceremony. This did the trick! I haven't felt, heard or seen him since. I would say you should start with something like this, maybe even include your son. If it doesn't work after a few conversations then you can move to bigger measures. ghost-less

(2) Your house is probably not haunted, as mine was probably not, but as long as you think it is, you might as well act accordingly. When we first moved into our 1914 house, some weird things happened, so I decided to make friends with the ghost just in case. I talked to the ghost and asked his/her permission to live there and thanked him/her for helping us out. I once left a note for him/her. Then the mysterious things started being helpful things, like the kitchen faucet (which I'd left on) turning itself off before the sink was about to spill over onto the floor. Then stuff stopped happening. Who knows? Reaching out made me feel better; it was probably all in my head but that's what matters to me. Ghost-friendly

So there you go.

Personal Mortification

It seems my good friend T&A Lady has nominated me for a beauty pageant just 5 weeks after I gave birth. With friends like these. . . .Anyway, check out my nomination in the ERISA female hotties contest, and vote for me so I don't lose to Sarah Downey (the current leader) or Ms. Jazz, errr, Fosse hands. I seriously wish I were competing in the ERISA male hotties contest, where the competition isn't quite as stiff. Or rather, the competition is more stiff, and therefore I would have a chance of winning.

I Want Some Pants!!

That's what L is yelling from his room right now, whilst "napping". I don't even want to know why this is being yelled. Anyway, here's another picture from yesterday that I couldn't get loaded before. Sorry that L looks sort of goofy. As does Q. Oh well. At least I look like a brick sh*t house.

Update on school: When asked what he did at his new school, L said, "I sat in a circle. I played with beads."

Which, as I understand it, sums up Montessori education. I think he's just missing, "I wiped the table."

First Day of School

Li started preschool today. He walked into his Montessori classroom, looked around and said, "Where are the toys? Where are the dinosaurs?" I hope education is not too rude an awakening.

He calls his school Broccoli Montessori.

"Sweet sweetness."

In other news, Little Miss Sunshine is funny. Sorry to be all Jackie Harvey, but we don't get out much.

Update

"What is rude is to tell someone else they are being rude. And no, knitting at a meeting isn't rude."

It was not overwhelming, but the majority of responses were that it is not rude to knit at a PTA meeting. Does that make the majority of people in the Bay Area rude? Or do we need to rely on other evidence for that?

The Lazy Blogger

I am considering changing the name of this blog to "The Lazy Blogger" in acknowledgment of my over-reliance on BPN postings as fodder for the blog. But this shit writes itself, people:

Haunted house
-------------------------------------------
I know this sounds completely crazy but I am wondering if my house may have a ghost. My house was built in 1934 and there was one couple who lived in it until the death of the woman in the 80s. The woman died in the house and it was sold. Since my son could talk he would say things about seeing a lady, a shadow, a ghost, etc at different times while in our house. Sometimes he would be afraid and other times not. These days, he will be perfectly happy in a room, playing alone, when all of a sudden he will run out of the room terrified and say something about seeing a ghost. Sometimes we hear strange noises inthe house or will find things in a different way than we thought we had left them. Does anyone believe in ghosts or have experiences with them? I would like to say I don't believe, but I am a very open-minded person and since we really don't know what happens after death, I am starting to believe my son
- haunted house owner

Knitting at meetings
-------------------------------------------
I'm wondering if others think that it is acceptable to quietly knit during PTA or similar meetings if you are clearly a member of the audience and not leading the
meeting. I have always done this and someone just told me that they think it is
disrespectful and plain rude.
Multitasker

Amigos Amigos Amigos

Do you remember in The Three Amigos (one of my favorite movies) when the villagers all dress like amigos ("Sew like the wind, incredibly old woman") in order to confuse and defeat El Guapo? Yeah, I thought it was brilliant too.

According to this article, Hezbollah are also fans of that Martin/Chase/Short vehicle, and are now employing the Amigos Amigos Amigos tactic to their own advantage. There are, in fact, a plethora of Hassan Nasrallahs.

The Cute People Have Invaded

Oh the joys of motherhood, here they are: not crying, whining, nursing or throwing stuff at me.

Fresh Outrage

For those of you who are not networked in with other Berkeley parents, I know you look to me to generate appropriate anger over the lost sheep of the East Bay. I've tackled milk several times. Today's newletter brings answers to the following two queries (summarized):

1. Should I bring my kids to Burning Man?

2. Should I let my brother-in-law, who is the caregiver - nay, manny - of my young daughter, deal pot out of my house?

Now here's my question:

3. How off-kilter is your moral compass that you need to appeal to your neighbors to answer those questions? And why would you? Aren't these the kinds of things we used to hide from one another?

So how do the Berkeley Parents fare in answering? To their credit, it's pretty unanimously agreed that the manny should not be allowed to deal. But that doesn't take a PhD in philosophy or social welfare to get right. The BM question gets a split vote: one "leave the kids at home", one "take them to the Family Camp", and one "wait til their older". Annoying there is not "Burning Man is stupid and people who attend should not be allowed to breed" response. Hmm, we'll have to work on that.

I Feel a Little Dirty Admitting This

As much as I think the US News and World Report college rankings are bogus bullshit, I did feel a slight glow of satisfaction in learning that the University of Chicago moved from #15 to #9 this year (even if it's because they reported a higher endowment than they previously have reported). I feel bad about feeling good, and want to be excoriated, so that my guilt will be purged.

What the aych-eye-double-hockeysticks?

On Friday, the Brookster, Q and I got a little stir crazy and decided to head into SF to see some art. We ran into our old neighbor Julianne. She's good peeps. For those of you who might have visited us at the green house, she was the one with the stanky cats. Anyway, we asked her how were things, etc, and in particular, how are the new tenants who took our apartment?

She went to great lengths to let us know that Amos and Annie (yeah, that's what they go by) are REALLY REALLY nice people. But, "they, ummm, do howl therapy." They bark and cluck and howl like animals as part of their particular brand of yoga/worship/therapy. But they are really nice folks. He is a "part-time teacher" and she is a "life coach/storyteller". *sigh*

Googling "howl therapy" just yields blogs devoted to poetry and the poets' progress in analysis, so don't bother.

Quinn Finally Arrives

I am pleased and exhausted to report that Quinn joined us on July 31, 2006 at 2:04 p.m. He weighed a whopping 9 pounds 12 ounces, 20.5 inches. He is an expert nurser and sleeper, and is slowly warming to his role as a little brother.