I have to say, that was...You know, I am WELL aware that I have no right to be unhappy. But man, I really, really was. I just wanted to come home last night, and the night before...
Not that I didn't enjoy the company of the various relatives at my aunt-in-law's house--particularly the ones my age and younger. My various semi-cousins are really fun people, and their kids, who were toddlers or babies in bouncy-seats last time I saw them, are now ACTUAL LITTLE HUMANS, running around being wild (three-year-old boys) or little six-year-old girls showing off their twirly-skirted dress and Christmas toys. Christmas is one of the few times I think Hey, maybe I COULD do this having-kids thing...then I think, what crack am I smoking? Because first of all, see, that requires a partner, or at least someone willing to loan me a turkey baster....
And it's not that I didn't take some pleasure in working with my mom on the potato dish we'd promised to bring along, which necessitated an entire Christmas Eve of cooking and preparing(the end result of which was oh-my-god delicious, if you ask me, much like the rest of the dinner...My aunt-in-law's house is a WONDERFUL place to spend the holidays if you like to eat. I highly recommend it).
But Christmas Eve at Mom's, when it got to be bedtime, and I tucked myself into that same room where I've spent all the failures of my adult life, and thought about JP and what might have been (again, for the four-billionth time)...
Or on Christmas morning, when I feigned enthusiasm for clothes I already know I'm never going to wear, because Christmas is the time my mother tries most subtly to change me, even though I know it's done (mostly) out of love...
Or facing up to the fact that my mom is reaching the state my grandmother reached eventually, where the super-strict standards of housekeeping start to slip because she doesn't see the dust, or it hurts her back too much to bend down to scrub, or any number of other signs that remind me how old, exactly, she's getting...
Or when answering the innocent question "Oh, so you moved?" from people who hadn't heard the story, or listening to Mom practically BRAGGING, now that it's over, that I'd survived living on the West Side..."But she never had a problem the whole time she was there, surprisingly," I heard her tell someone...this from the same woman who begged me for four years to tell her family that I was still living in Rogers Park...
...or listening to the politics out in the main dining room, from the comfort and safety of the "kids' table" where most of the twenty- and thirty-somethings had landed just out of habit...
I know I have nothing to be unhappy about....but really, all I wanted for Christmas was just peace and quiet, mainly; or maybe just "quiet", since "peace" these days seems to be a little bit out of reach.
(A day off work would have been nice too, though I was heartened somewhat by how many of the rest of my age-bracket had to go to work this morning too. Seriously, though--How much does that suck??? WORK, on the day after Christmas??? Aren't we supposed to go out and shore up the economy with further mindless consumption today??? Doesn't the retail sector count for ANYTHING???)
I have a lot to feel thankful for, I know. I'm just having a hard time mustering the energy to feel it.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Remodeling, V 2.0
After a heartfelt plea from a reader, I've abandoned the white-on-black color scheme. Though I've never seen the problem reading light type on a dark background, I know a lot of people do have an issue with it--and believe me, my eyes aren't getting any better either, so I'm going to take the side of empathy here.
In other news...
Non-Chicagoans, bless your hearts, don't know what we're up against here.
I'm sitting here with my windows shut, and even though this is TOTALLY not Chez Gladys and these windows are actually GOOD, I can feel the wind squeezing through every crack. The wind here has, for the past 18 hours, been positively INSANE. We had wind gusts, according to the news, of 63 mph. Oh--and it's less than 20 degrees outside, too. So...(skips off to the Wind Chill Calculator) that's somewhere in the area of -2 degrees wind chill (assuming 20 degree temp, 45 mph wind). And that's saying nothing of the whole trees-blowing-over, power-lines-down issue. There are several major construction sites not far from my new home; I can hear a lot of flapping tarps and wind-howling-through-fence sounds, and one loud crashing noise which fell very clearly into the category of That Really, REALLY Doesn't Sound Good At All. I wonder whether the tree in the backyard of Chez Gladys survived--I always wondered what, exactly, was keeping that thing vertical.
The one major Hallelujiah moment of the day: realizing that I, in a show of forethought totally unlike my normal holiday proceedings, had completed my holiday shopping YESTERDAY. When it was still 50 degrees outside. :::pats self solidly on back::: If I'd had to go out today and take the bus or the train or the anything to go shopping...you know, I love my mom and all, but--just to face the facts here--it wouldn't have gotten done. There are some things I don't handle well, and having to go out in vile and unnecessary weather is one of them.
Instead I stayed in, slept late, edited Wikipedia for a while, made cookies, and ordered myself a pizza. As I said, I'm really, REALLY not feeling this holiday; I'm going to Mom's tomorrow, for Christmas Eve dinner, then spending the night and driving home first thing in the morning (to feed the kits--this fresh-food-instead-of-kibble plan has certain drawbacks) and then back to Mom's, to go to dinner at my aunt-in-law's.
The outrage of all this? I have to be back at work on Wednesday--in fact, I have to be back to work EARLY on Wednesday, since there's a project I'm working on which needs to be complete by Friday. We don't even know for sure if the project is going to happen--there are certain technical and managerial obstacles in the way--but on the off-chance it does, I'm supposed to be at work at 8:30 AM the day after Christmas. That doesn't seem quite cricket, but...oh well. At least THIS Christmas, I HAVE a job!!
I think I would feel better about Christmas this year if it wasn't so....obligatory. I'm expected to participate even though I don't really care to; I'd feel better if it was optional, if I had the chance to say "Hey, you know what? I'd rather not, this year." It's selfish, really; I have to keep in mind that time is passing, and nobody's getting any younger. At least one of the people who will be at dinner at my aunt-in-law's on Tuesday won't be there next Christmas; a friend of her family was diagnosed this past fall with terminal cancer, and he has maybe three months left. And who knows what the next year will bring to anyone?? I keep thinking of my mom's friend who passed away last January; she'd spent Christmas with her family, too, and then a month later she was gone. Nobody expected that.
I guess I'm thinking a lot about this sort of thing lately. (Who, me, depressed? Surely you jest.) I think about one of my old grade-school friends who, every Christmastime, used to have Nabisco Holiday Jingles cookies in her lunchbox from...it seemed like Halloween through Easter. We drifted apart during high-school, and I hadn't seen her for years; then, a couple of months after JP died, she was killed in a car wreck with her grandmother, right before New Years'. I think about her at this time of year...and of course, JP; and of course, my dad.
Dad was the one who would go all-out to get the weird, off-the-wall Christmas gift, the one that Mom couldn't for the life of her understand why you wanted it. The Laser Tag game, or the Douglas Adams box set, or the giant-size 1983 boom-box radio with dual cassette, or the Commodore Vic-20 computer...those were Dad-gifts, to go with Mom's more-practical, more-normal gifts--the dollhouses, the sweaters, the board-games, the warm winter boots. When my dad died in 1987, I gave up asking for technological gifts; no point confusing Mom, or making her feel obligated to do something she didn't enjoy. (Fortunately, I'm at an age where practical gifts are also much-appreciated; in fact, the KitchenAid mixer from two Christmases ago just mixed my chocolate-chip cookies, so: viva practicality!)
People ask me, "Isn't it strange, just having the holidays with you and your mom?" And in a way, it's not...this is how it's been, really, at least since Grandma and Grandpa died; but in a way...yeah, it kind of is strange--in the sense of "it feels like things are not as they should be." In a way, I take some of the blame for this; wasn't I supposed to have provided a husband and some kids to these proceedings somewhere? When I was in college, I always saw my late-30's self with a husband and a couple of kids--you know, like my cousins have. And then...well, things happened. I hadn't completely given up on the husband-and-kids side of things, even after JP died...honestly, I don't think I formed my final opinion on the whole parenthood issue til after CR left. Put it this way: I would have GLADLY had JP's kids; I would have had CR's kids reluctantly. After that, and maybe after looking back at how I treated my own parents...yeah, no. I can at least spare myself that experience. But it makes the world look a lot smaller, around Christmastime.
I'll be all right; I always perk up once the Christmas-ing actually gets going. Meanwhile, I hope all of you have a great holiday; I appreciate all of you, quite a lot.
(Okay, so I'm sitting here, blogging and watching the news on Channel 7 (the local ABC affilliate). They were about to cut away to a remote story about the wind, and as they cut, the anchor suddenly screams "WHOA!!" and there's a loud bang. They do the remote, and you can hear the remote anchor ask "What happened?" as they roll the audiotape. When they pull back from the remote, the anchor looks SHOOK--and he says "You might have heard, right before we went to our story, a loud noise in the studio...well, here's the reason why..." He cuts away to a picture of a CAR, which has crashed into their studio!! Their studio is at ground level on State St. and Lake, and apparently somebody lost control of their minivan and went through the window!!! It's the damndest thing--you just KNOW this is gonna make one of those "news bloopers" reels somewhere. I hope nobody was hurt, but...see, I LOVE it when stuff happens on live TV. (Now they're saying it might have been deliberate...hoo, man! This is wild.)
In other news...
Non-Chicagoans, bless your hearts, don't know what we're up against here.
I'm sitting here with my windows shut, and even though this is TOTALLY not Chez Gladys and these windows are actually GOOD, I can feel the wind squeezing through every crack. The wind here has, for the past 18 hours, been positively INSANE. We had wind gusts, according to the news, of 63 mph. Oh--and it's less than 20 degrees outside, too. So...(skips off to the Wind Chill Calculator) that's somewhere in the area of -2 degrees wind chill (assuming 20 degree temp, 45 mph wind). And that's saying nothing of the whole trees-blowing-over, power-lines-down issue. There are several major construction sites not far from my new home; I can hear a lot of flapping tarps and wind-howling-through-fence sounds, and one loud crashing noise which fell very clearly into the category of That Really, REALLY Doesn't Sound Good At All. I wonder whether the tree in the backyard of Chez Gladys survived--I always wondered what, exactly, was keeping that thing vertical.
The one major Hallelujiah moment of the day: realizing that I, in a show of forethought totally unlike my normal holiday proceedings, had completed my holiday shopping YESTERDAY. When it was still 50 degrees outside. :::pats self solidly on back::: If I'd had to go out today and take the bus or the train or the anything to go shopping...you know, I love my mom and all, but--just to face the facts here--it wouldn't have gotten done. There are some things I don't handle well, and having to go out in vile and unnecessary weather is one of them.
Instead I stayed in, slept late, edited Wikipedia for a while, made cookies, and ordered myself a pizza. As I said, I'm really, REALLY not feeling this holiday; I'm going to Mom's tomorrow, for Christmas Eve dinner, then spending the night and driving home first thing in the morning (to feed the kits--this fresh-food-instead-of-kibble plan has certain drawbacks) and then back to Mom's, to go to dinner at my aunt-in-law's.
The outrage of all this? I have to be back at work on Wednesday--in fact, I have to be back to work EARLY on Wednesday, since there's a project I'm working on which needs to be complete by Friday. We don't even know for sure if the project is going to happen--there are certain technical and managerial obstacles in the way--but on the off-chance it does, I'm supposed to be at work at 8:30 AM the day after Christmas. That doesn't seem quite cricket, but...oh well. At least THIS Christmas, I HAVE a job!!
I think I would feel better about Christmas this year if it wasn't so....obligatory. I'm expected to participate even though I don't really care to; I'd feel better if it was optional, if I had the chance to say "Hey, you know what? I'd rather not, this year." It's selfish, really; I have to keep in mind that time is passing, and nobody's getting any younger. At least one of the people who will be at dinner at my aunt-in-law's on Tuesday won't be there next Christmas; a friend of her family was diagnosed this past fall with terminal cancer, and he has maybe three months left. And who knows what the next year will bring to anyone?? I keep thinking of my mom's friend who passed away last January; she'd spent Christmas with her family, too, and then a month later she was gone. Nobody expected that.
I guess I'm thinking a lot about this sort of thing lately. (Who, me, depressed? Surely you jest.) I think about one of my old grade-school friends who, every Christmastime, used to have Nabisco Holiday Jingles cookies in her lunchbox from...it seemed like Halloween through Easter. We drifted apart during high-school, and I hadn't seen her for years; then, a couple of months after JP died, she was killed in a car wreck with her grandmother, right before New Years'. I think about her at this time of year...and of course, JP; and of course, my dad.
Dad was the one who would go all-out to get the weird, off-the-wall Christmas gift, the one that Mom couldn't for the life of her understand why you wanted it. The Laser Tag game, or the Douglas Adams box set, or the giant-size 1983 boom-box radio with dual cassette, or the Commodore Vic-20 computer...those were Dad-gifts, to go with Mom's more-practical, more-normal gifts--the dollhouses, the sweaters, the board-games, the warm winter boots. When my dad died in 1987, I gave up asking for technological gifts; no point confusing Mom, or making her feel obligated to do something she didn't enjoy. (Fortunately, I'm at an age where practical gifts are also much-appreciated; in fact, the KitchenAid mixer from two Christmases ago just mixed my chocolate-chip cookies, so: viva practicality!)
People ask me, "Isn't it strange, just having the holidays with you and your mom?" And in a way, it's not...this is how it's been, really, at least since Grandma and Grandpa died; but in a way...yeah, it kind of is strange--in the sense of "it feels like things are not as they should be." In a way, I take some of the blame for this; wasn't I supposed to have provided a husband and some kids to these proceedings somewhere? When I was in college, I always saw my late-30's self with a husband and a couple of kids--you know, like my cousins have. And then...well, things happened. I hadn't completely given up on the husband-and-kids side of things, even after JP died...honestly, I don't think I formed my final opinion on the whole parenthood issue til after CR left. Put it this way: I would have GLADLY had JP's kids; I would have had CR's kids reluctantly. After that, and maybe after looking back at how I treated my own parents...yeah, no. I can at least spare myself that experience. But it makes the world look a lot smaller, around Christmastime.
I'll be all right; I always perk up once the Christmas-ing actually gets going. Meanwhile, I hope all of you have a great holiday; I appreciate all of you, quite a lot.
(Okay, so I'm sitting here, blogging and watching the news on Channel 7 (the local ABC affilliate). They were about to cut away to a remote story about the wind, and as they cut, the anchor suddenly screams "WHOA!!" and there's a loud bang. They do the remote, and you can hear the remote anchor ask "What happened?" as they roll the audiotape. When they pull back from the remote, the anchor looks SHOOK--and he says "You might have heard, right before we went to our story, a loud noise in the studio...well, here's the reason why..." He cuts away to a picture of a CAR, which has crashed into their studio!! Their studio is at ground level on State St. and Lake, and apparently somebody lost control of their minivan and went through the window!!! It's the damndest thing--you just KNOW this is gonna make one of those "news bloopers" reels somewhere. I hope nobody was hurt, but...see, I LOVE it when stuff happens on live TV. (Now they're saying it might have been deliberate...hoo, man! This is wild.)
Friday, December 21, 2007
Pardon Our Dust
So...yeah, Phase One of the Great Remodeling Experiment has begun. (end blatantly obvious statements) It'll get better, I promise.
I am in raptures because I have discovered that I could, were I so inclined, use some of my SketchFu efforts as background images. I looooove me some SketchFu.
Otherwise, nothing new; just getting ready for Christmas. I'm not feeling it this year--I say that as though it's somehow different from any of the last few years!--and I'm seeing my holiday apathy as proof that I'm still somewhat depressed.
(Wait...I thought I ended the blatantly-obvious statements up there somewhere. Oh well.)
I am in raptures because I have discovered that I could, were I so inclined, use some of my SketchFu efforts as background images. I looooove me some SketchFu.
Otherwise, nothing new; just getting ready for Christmas. I'm not feeling it this year--I say that as though it's somehow different from any of the last few years!--and I'm seeing my holiday apathy as proof that I'm still somewhat depressed.
(Wait...I thought I ended the blatantly-obvious statements up there somewhere. Oh well.)
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Random Bits and Pieces
First off, to those of you who were getting popups, or block notices, or any type of related crap--I found the culprit. (Firefly--sorry, didn't mean to send you into a spyware-related panic--in the joyful land of technical support, one report is a user problem; two reports is an issue.)
There was a list of blogs over on the left-hand side, in the sidebar with everything else, from a site called Link2Blogs. Well, apparently some of the crap blogs with names like "Free Money Making Site!!!!" learned how to bypass what minimal controls Link2Blogs.com had implemented over content, because instead of going to "http//link2blogs /blahblahblah", it was going directly to "expressaffilliates.com", which was causing the popups.
Needless to say, Link2Blogs will be cluttering my sidebar no longer. (Jeez, guys. Show a little quality control, will ya?)
Secondly: In trying to answer one of those online polls that comes up on the 9 PM local news, I was required to create an account at MyFoxChicago.com. Now, despite my suspicion and antipathy toward anything with the words "Fox" and "News" displayed near each other, I must admit I rather like the local Fox affilliate news team. I mean, don't get me wrong--I'm well aware that it's fluff and filler, not even remotely resembling journalism. It falls under the auspices of the usual "If-it-bleeds-it-leads" school of newsertainment; were it not for Stacy Peterson and Lisa Stebic, they'd have had to dig up some fake "expose'" to keep the ratings up for the past few months. They're basically just the same as every other local news show in Chicago. But their talking heads are less annoying, their weather radar is cool and technical-looking without being incomprehensible; and their human-interest stories are at least interesting once in a while. And they have this nightly poll, "Right or Wrong?", where they invite viewers to call in and agree or disagree with a given premise. They can also comment on the question via the website, and it was here that I found myself this evening.
(The question, incidentally, was "Is it right or wrong to require a three-month moratorium on foreclosures?" They really need to shoot the people who phrase these questions; I can identify at least six or seven major points of ambiguity which would make any attempt at a yes/no, right/wrong, or any other dichotamous answer completely useless.)
Anyway, upon registration, they ask you if you want to set up a blog; I figured "what the heck?" and so: http://community.myfoxchicago.com/blogs/gladys_j_cortez (for some reason, the nice "link" function on Blogger is pissing off Windows and/or one of my toolbars tonight.) Of course, I have no intention whatsoever of allowing the new blog to supplant this one--in fact, quite the opposite, which leads me to item three.
Item Three: It's been quite a while since I've straightened up around here. My Blogroll, as a few clicks will quickly demonstrate, is in a state of near-total disarray and uselessness; the template I'm using is getting on my nerves; in short, the decor is stale. The place needs work.
I'm drawing a couple of parallels here, I suppose. For example, physical residence and blog "residence"--in the "real" world, I've got a new home, and I'm trying to put my own mark on it. That's something that never happened in the former Chez Gladys; I never hung a single picture, never painted a single wall. I loved that house, but I was overwhelmed almost instantly by all the things that needed to be done, and I think that sense of being overwhelmed tipped over almost immediately into a pervasive and unbreakable apathy. Compared to the house, for example, the apartment is a showplace of tidiness and sustained effort; even though it's still got boxes that need to be unpacked, and it's clearly still in a state of not-completely-moved-in-yet-ness, it's clean, and it shows evidence of its owner's personality. That was never true of Chez Gladys, not even after four years. (There's a whole 'nother blog post in there, but as usual, it's way-too-late on a work-night to delve into my psyche.) But the same thing holds for the blog; I have been so overwhelmed for so long that I have allowed myself to sink into apathy in all realms of my life (again, there's enough material in that sentence to fuel at least another healthy-length post, but again: midnight on a work-night) and the blog has been one of the areas that's suffered.
Really, to put things flatly out there, I'm trying to overhaul my life. I have things I need to figure out, of course, but unlike previous efforts, I'm not going to allow those ambiguities to stop me from actually doing something. I have a bad habit of thinking too much and doing too little, and it's a habit I intend to break. Fortunately, I have a better-than-average track-record in regards to the breaking of bad habits, so I'm hoping this attempt succeeds as well.
Thus: Within the next few weeks, I hope to debut a new look for my happy little online home here. I have a few ideas, and I'm looking forward to playing with them.
In fact, I'm just generally looking forward to playing. It's been a while since I've let myself play and be creative, and I think my emotional state and my self-esteem have suffered for it. I'm looking forward to shedding my self-imposed restrictions and just having fun again.
There was a list of blogs over on the left-hand side, in the sidebar with everything else, from a site called Link2Blogs. Well, apparently some of the crap blogs with names like "Free Money Making Site!!!!" learned how to bypass what minimal controls Link2Blogs.com had implemented over content, because instead of going to "http//link2blogs /blahblahblah", it was going directly to "expressaffilliates.com", which was causing the popups.
Needless to say, Link2Blogs will be cluttering my sidebar no longer. (Jeez, guys. Show a little quality control, will ya?)
Secondly: In trying to answer one of those online polls that comes up on the 9 PM local news, I was required to create an account at MyFoxChicago.com. Now, despite my suspicion and antipathy toward anything with the words "Fox" and "News" displayed near each other, I must admit I rather like the local Fox affilliate news team. I mean, don't get me wrong--I'm well aware that it's fluff and filler, not even remotely resembling journalism. It falls under the auspices of the usual "If-it-bleeds-it-leads" school of newsertainment; were it not for Stacy Peterson and Lisa Stebic, they'd have had to dig up some fake "expose'" to keep the ratings up for the past few months. They're basically just the same as every other local news show in Chicago. But their talking heads are less annoying, their weather radar is cool and technical-looking without being incomprehensible; and their human-interest stories are at least interesting once in a while. And they have this nightly poll, "Right or Wrong?", where they invite viewers to call in and agree or disagree with a given premise. They can also comment on the question via the website, and it was here that I found myself this evening.
(The question, incidentally, was "Is it right or wrong to require a three-month moratorium on foreclosures?" They really need to shoot the people who phrase these questions; I can identify at least six or seven major points of ambiguity which would make any attempt at a yes/no, right/wrong, or any other dichotamous answer completely useless.)
Anyway, upon registration, they ask you if you want to set up a blog; I figured "what the heck?" and so: http://community.myfoxchicago.com/blogs/gladys_j_cortez (for some reason, the nice "link" function on Blogger is pissing off Windows and/or one of my toolbars tonight.) Of course, I have no intention whatsoever of allowing the new blog to supplant this one--in fact, quite the opposite, which leads me to item three.
Item Three: It's been quite a while since I've straightened up around here. My Blogroll, as a few clicks will quickly demonstrate, is in a state of near-total disarray and uselessness; the template I'm using is getting on my nerves; in short, the decor is stale. The place needs work.
I'm drawing a couple of parallels here, I suppose. For example, physical residence and blog "residence"--in the "real" world, I've got a new home, and I'm trying to put my own mark on it. That's something that never happened in the former Chez Gladys; I never hung a single picture, never painted a single wall. I loved that house, but I was overwhelmed almost instantly by all the things that needed to be done, and I think that sense of being overwhelmed tipped over almost immediately into a pervasive and unbreakable apathy. Compared to the house, for example, the apartment is a showplace of tidiness and sustained effort; even though it's still got boxes that need to be unpacked, and it's clearly still in a state of not-completely-moved-in-yet-ness, it's clean, and it shows evidence of its owner's personality. That was never true of Chez Gladys, not even after four years. (There's a whole 'nother blog post in there, but as usual, it's way-too-late on a work-night to delve into my psyche.) But the same thing holds for the blog; I have been so overwhelmed for so long that I have allowed myself to sink into apathy in all realms of my life (again, there's enough material in that sentence to fuel at least another healthy-length post, but again: midnight on a work-night) and the blog has been one of the areas that's suffered.
Really, to put things flatly out there, I'm trying to overhaul my life. I have things I need to figure out, of course, but unlike previous efforts, I'm not going to allow those ambiguities to stop me from actually doing something. I have a bad habit of thinking too much and doing too little, and it's a habit I intend to break. Fortunately, I have a better-than-average track-record in regards to the breaking of bad habits, so I'm hoping this attempt succeeds as well.
Thus: Within the next few weeks, I hope to debut a new look for my happy little online home here. I have a few ideas, and I'm looking forward to playing with them.
In fact, I'm just generally looking forward to playing. It's been a while since I've let myself play and be creative, and I think my emotional state and my self-esteem have suffered for it. I'm looking forward to shedding my self-imposed restrictions and just having fun again.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Oh No He Di-n't: STFU, Drew, Part 2
(background here for non-Chicagoans, or for Chicagoans who slammed bricks through their TVs, radios, computers and newspapers long ago)
Is there SERIOUSLY no depth this individual will not plumb?
(inarticulate burblings of rage)
See, here I was all ready to feel sorry for myself (we may or may not go there later) and then I found this:
The Infantilization Of America Takes Another Exceedingly Wacky Turn
Because I know you all hate clicking on links: This story details a ban on mail addressed to "Any Wounded Soldier", which in many prior conflicts was used to send holiday wishes to recovering military members. One of the main rationales given for this ban:
Now you all know I'm rabidly anti-American, and...wait, what???
No. Hold on. Lost my train of thought there.
Seriously: we can send adult human beings to entirely different countries, on largely-specious grounds, for the purpose of killing those with whom we disagree; can send them there to be killed and maimed by hostile factions, some of whom weren't even hostile until AFTER we got there; but by God, we must protect the eyes of our fighting men and women from the war critics' nanny-nanny-boo-boo?
We can lie to them about the death of their comrades, and have them shoot others full of holes as revenge for things that never happened; we can give them nonfunctional and inadequate protection against the attacks we're causing them to face, and point fingers at political figures from years past as the excuse; but dagnabbit, we're gonna make DARN SURE that no pinko commie lib'rul long-haired anti-Amurrican idjit calls our boys names by mail???
Jeebus Chesterfield on a dancing can of tuna-fish, have we LOST OUR EVER-FRAKKIN' MINDS???
The Infantilization Of America Takes Another Exceedingly Wacky Turn
Because I know you all hate clicking on links: This story details a ban on mail addressed to "Any Wounded Soldier", which in many prior conflicts was used to send holiday wishes to recovering military members. One of the main rationales given for this ban:
USO spokesman John Hanson said that like the military, the nonprofit service organization does not deliver unopened mail to unspecified recipients. He said the USO worries about security as well as hateful messages from war critics. "We just want to make sure it's not, `Die, baby killer,'" he said. "There are people out there who act irrationally, and we don't want anyone to get a message that would be discouraging."
Now you all know I'm rabidly anti-American, and...wait, what???
No. Hold on. Lost my train of thought there.
Seriously: we can send adult human beings to entirely different countries, on largely-specious grounds, for the purpose of killing those with whom we disagree; can send them there to be killed and maimed by hostile factions, some of whom weren't even hostile until AFTER we got there; but by God, we must protect the eyes of our fighting men and women from the war critics' nanny-nanny-boo-boo?
We can lie to them about the death of their comrades, and have them shoot others full of holes as revenge for things that never happened; we can give them nonfunctional and inadequate protection against the attacks we're causing them to face, and point fingers at political figures from years past as the excuse; but dagnabbit, we're gonna make DARN SURE that no pinko commie lib'rul long-haired anti-Amurrican idjit calls our boys names by mail???
Jeebus Chesterfield on a dancing can of tuna-fish, have we LOST OUR EVER-FRAKKIN' MINDS???
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Monday
So Monday, on my day off, I had Tim and Squeaky over for a visit.
Squeaky had invited herself, in the course of a phone call with Tim--he puts all our calls on speaker because, as we know, no reasonable conversation is complete without Squeaky getting all up in the middle of it. And speaker on a cell-phone is bad enough; speaker on a cell-phone where the other end is populated by Squeaky and a drunk Tim...oh, yeah, THAT's a conversation you want to avoid having, believe you me. And you CAN'T get away. Any effort to hang up is systematically thwarted. It's like...I don't KNOW what it's like. It's an experience which defies comparison, truly.
Anyway, during the course of one of these conversations, Squeaky asked me if I was working Monday, and I said "no" and she said "Cool! I'm gonna come visit you!"
I actually FELT my stomach sink. "Um...Yeah, sure...Okay," I said. "Tim, you're coming with, right?"
"Nah," he said. "I've got too much stuff to do, and..."
Typical Tim; he delights in exploiting my gullible nature. I saw through it; he was drunk enough to think his jokes were funny, so I could hear him smiling. And so after about half an hour of trying to get off the phone, it was finally set that they would come over at 1:00 Monday.
They got there at 2, and left at about 6:30; I was ready for them to leave by about 4. I mean, it was good to see Tim, sorta.
But Tim claims that he's trying to teach Squeaky certain skills she needs in the world--like, how to shop wisely, how to budget her money, things like that. While THAT sounds laudable, I have my doubts; from my perspective, it's a lot closer to "control" than "teaching". She's lost a lot of weight, which looks good on her; "...because Tim doesn't feed me," she claims. She brought her own cans of diet soda, instead of drinking her usual Pepsi, because "Tim says I can't drink soda with anything in it." It seems like he's building himself the "perfect" girlfriend--one who does whatever he says, cooks for him, cleans for him, worships the ground he walks on...
And if he IS "teaching" rather than "molding", he's missing some KEY points. Chief among them: Squeaky needs, above all else, to learn this: if two people who are NOT you are having a conversation, the thing to do is to wait til they're done making a point, or finishing a sentence, before interrupting. It also helps if, when you DO inject yourself into the conversation, you actually speak regarding a topic at least tangentially related to the subject at hand. Even MORE ideal? NOT interrupting every conversation with loud demands that one or both of the conversants direct their immediate attention to YOU.
A perfect example: Tim was trying to get some information from me about wireless computer networks. Before we moved, I gave him a defunct laptop and he had a friend fix it up for him (his friend had spare parts, apparently) and now he wants to get wireless service for it. But throughout the ENTIRE conversation--not an extended conversation, maybe ten minutes--Squeaky was interrupting with totally off-topic remarks designed to direct Tim's attention back to her.
Squeaky had invited herself, in the course of a phone call with Tim--he puts all our calls on speaker because, as we know, no reasonable conversation is complete without Squeaky getting all up in the middle of it. And speaker on a cell-phone is bad enough; speaker on a cell-phone where the other end is populated by Squeaky and a drunk Tim...oh, yeah, THAT's a conversation you want to avoid having, believe you me. And you CAN'T get away. Any effort to hang up is systematically thwarted. It's like...I don't KNOW what it's like. It's an experience which defies comparison, truly.
Anyway, during the course of one of these conversations, Squeaky asked me if I was working Monday, and I said "no" and she said "Cool! I'm gonna come visit you!"
I actually FELT my stomach sink. "Um...Yeah, sure...Okay," I said. "Tim, you're coming with, right?"
"Nah," he said. "I've got too much stuff to do, and..."
Typical Tim; he delights in exploiting my gullible nature. I saw through it; he was drunk enough to think his jokes were funny, so I could hear him smiling. And so after about half an hour of trying to get off the phone, it was finally set that they would come over at 1:00 Monday.
They got there at 2, and left at about 6:30; I was ready for them to leave by about 4. I mean, it was good to see Tim, sorta.
But Tim claims that he's trying to teach Squeaky certain skills she needs in the world--like, how to shop wisely, how to budget her money, things like that. While THAT sounds laudable, I have my doubts; from my perspective, it's a lot closer to "control" than "teaching". She's lost a lot of weight, which looks good on her; "...because Tim doesn't feed me," she claims. She brought her own cans of diet soda, instead of drinking her usual Pepsi, because "Tim says I can't drink soda with anything in it." It seems like he's building himself the "perfect" girlfriend--one who does whatever he says, cooks for him, cleans for him, worships the ground he walks on...
And if he IS "teaching" rather than "molding", he's missing some KEY points. Chief among them: Squeaky needs, above all else, to learn this: if two people who are NOT you are having a conversation, the thing to do is to wait til they're done making a point, or finishing a sentence, before interrupting. It also helps if, when you DO inject yourself into the conversation, you actually speak regarding a topic at least tangentially related to the subject at hand. Even MORE ideal? NOT interrupting every conversation with loud demands that one or both of the conversants direct their immediate attention to YOU.
A perfect example: Tim was trying to get some information from me about wireless computer networks. Before we moved, I gave him a defunct laptop and he had a friend fix it up for him (his friend had spare parts, apparently) and now he wants to get wireless service for it. But throughout the ENTIRE conversation--not an extended conversation, maybe ten minutes--Squeaky was interrupting with totally off-topic remarks designed to direct Tim's attention back to her.
This didn't happen once. It happened like, a dozen times. To the point where I was nearly moved to say "Hush, dear; grown people are talking." (I didn't. But I only BARELY didn't.)
I was very, very glad when they left, and so were the cats; Tim and Squeaky love cats, but they play rougher than my little fluffballs are used to.
(Of course, "things my little fluffballs are used to" is maybe NOT the best gauge of appropriateness; they are rapidly becoming used to late-night meals, generally served on demand, and having the run of the entire apartment. Ill-behaved little princes, they are; but unlike Tim and Squeaky, they're adorable enough to get away with it.)
I am so, so very glad that Tim and Squeaky are no longer a part of my day-to-day experience. Just being around them--their bickering, their schmoopsy-whoopsy-ness, the generally awful details of their little vibe--is exhausting for me. I have no idea how I lived with it for as long as I did; all I know is, I don't have to do it again and for that, I am exceedingly grateful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)