Smoking for Shakespeare

So I heard on NPR today that a bill is currently under consideration in Ohio to raise the tax on cigarettes to help fund the arts. Personally, I think it’s a great idea. My only concern is that perhaps since smokers are helping fund the cultural events, will they demand that they be allowed to smoke at all artistic venues? Will I have to tolerate second-hand smoke when I go see a play, or visit an art gallery, or even go to a museum? Sure, we could argue that the smoke is not good for the artwork, but then, is it really fair to make smokers pay more to support something they can’t enjoy?

For that matter, will passing this bill stop any momentum that may be building on making Ohio smoke-free? I know several restaurants in my town don’t allow smoking. And I would like to get involved to make the whole city smoke free (but darn my apathy and inherent laziness). But will that lead to mixed feelings on my part? Sure, I detest cigarettes, and hold my breath when I have to walk through a doorway where people are on a cigarette break. My elder son has been learning well from me, asking me whenever he sees a smoker to hear my smoking story, usually by asking why this person started smoking. He’s an interesting kid, liking to hear stories that aren’t really stories, including this one where I tell him about how when the smoker was younger, he probably knew someone who he thought was cool because of how he acted, or how he dressed. Well, this cool person smoked and so this person decided to try smoking. (And here my story changes to how the main character decides why not to smoke). But then our hero thinks about how his breath will stink, and his lungs will turn black, and he won’t be able to run far without having trouble breathing, and how he could get cancer or emphysema etc. etc. (Yes, mine is probably the only children’s story that mentions cancer and emphysema). I even go into the financial repercussions of deciding to smoke, and how later, when he decides to quit, he won’t be able to because the cigarettes will control him. And then our hero decides that no, he doesn’t want to smoke.

I once tried rewriting this better, into a more story-like and less pedantic format, but my son didn’t like the rewrite. So this is my smoking story.

So anyhow, I’ve probably offended someone out there, and well, no I guess I’m not sorry. My only fear is that if smokers hadn’t already considered demanding smoking rights in cultural venues, that I just gave them the idea.

Conquering My Inner Demons

I am sixteen and a half weeks pregnant. I say this because inevitably, I will forget exactly how far along I am and this way I don’t have to calculate as far. So anyhow, here I am, pregnant for the third time, in my second trimester, and I have to say, I’m a little freaked.

For one thing, we’re going to be outnumbered. We’re going to have to go from man-to-man to zone defense. Now, I realize that I have been managing two boys on my own quite a bit (putting both kids to bed whenever my husband works an evening shift), but three? C’mon, even LeBron doesn’t get triple-teamed that often. But so far, I have implemented a rule with my boys that seems to hold and seems to work well: only one fussy fellow at a time. This means that if the little one is having a fit, the older one needs to suck it up and not throw a tantrum. Oddly, the reverse also works. When my elder son is upset, his little brother will actually just focus on cheering him up. Yes, I realize this isn’t something I can really enforce, but I guess as long as the statement holds true (and I reinforce it by thanking the well-behaved one for not giving me any trouble), I can hang onto my sanity. But how will it work with three? Most likely, if one is demanding my attention, the other two will be off somewhere else brewing trouble.

But the management logistics are only part of my concern. A friend told me early in my pregnancy that it’s harder being pregnant with the third than having the third. I’ve also been told that the jump from one kid to two is harder than the jump from two to three. And right now, I believe it all. I have to. Personally, I fear that all these reassurances are less for me, and more for themselves. Perhaps parents of three kids have completely lost it and are trying to pull themselves back to some semblance of sanity by reciting these mantras over and over until they actually believe them to be true.

Another friend once claimed that with each child, she lost half her mental capacity. Now, the mother of three is functioning with a quarter of her original brainpower. That sounds about right. I mean, what else would possess me to think that letting a two year old help me cook is a good idea? Or that I am any more than a maid, cook, and chauffer. This article on salary.com determined that a stay-at-home mom should earn a salary of $90,000 based on job responsibilities, and hours worked. There’s also a survey you can fill out to determine your “net worth” as an unpaid caregiver. Interesting stuff, and also a nice way to spend some time when you’re procrastinating.

My other concern with my pregnancy has been my fear of having something go wrong. I pick my two-year old up too much, I over-exert myself, I don’t eat well enough. I know I’ve had all these same concerns before, but this time around, it seems I’m seriously freaking myself out worse than before. I’ve been feeling like this invalid, hating being treated like I have a disability but still not being willing to take any undue risk (and my risk level is now ridiculously low, beyond reasonable). Can I carry the laundry basket up two flights of stairs? Should I stand on this chair to change the light bulb? It seems that all the hyper paranoid comments my mother kept making during my last two pregnancies have ingrained themselves into me so that I’ve internalized it. Was she right? Is that why I delivered so early the first time and was on bed rest the second? Was my mother right? Blast it!

This past weekend, while we were visiting my sister in Virginia, my husband hurt his back. He just twisted it funny and it went totally stiff, rendering him in immense pain for the rest of the weekend. He was uncharacteristically inactive, forced to sit leaning against a heating pad and taking meds to remain functional. But still, on Saturday night, we decided to go out to dinner. We parked the car, walked across the lot to the restaurant, and discovered the wait would be 1½ hours. We decided to go elsewhere, and finally, after weeks of paranoia and self-doubt, I had an epiphany. I, the able-bodied one, would go pull the car around. And I have to say, it felt good.

And on Sunday, I drove most of the way back home (all but the last hour, during which I couldn’t even manage to keep my eyes open). Part of the reason I drove was so my husband could relax his back. But part of me felt like I had to meet the challenge. Back in 1998, I once drove all the way from St. Louis to Cincinnati, an eight-hour drive, despite having four other drivers in the car. Maybe I wanted to prove that I could do it again.

The nice thing about being older is having the maturity to realize and accept that I don’t have to prove anything. I could probably have driven all the way home myself. I could have gotten a can of Sprite, put on some Black Eyed Peas on the iPod, and kept myself awake the whole time (we got home after midnight). But why? Was it worth putting my family at risk in case I was wrong? Would I win some sort of award if I was right? In the end, it doesn’t matter whether I drive all the way or not, so there was no reason to try. And you know what? Even if I couldn’t do it, that’s all right by me. I don’t have to know. I am very happy having someone to share the driving responsibility.

And I look forward to many other road trips with my copilot at my side. Together we shall show our three kids the world, or at least the United States east of the Mississippi. Besides, I’ve been told that the driver’s seat, as a captain’s chair, in the Honda Odyssey, is quite comfortable and quite fun to drive.

The Way I See It

People are a complaining lot. Good things are taken for granted, while little setbacks are magnified and dwelled upon. A run in stockings is a bad omen, while everything else going well is overlooked. I know I’m guilty of this as well. It seems that once I determine that I’m having a bad day, I will notice only the bad things that happen that day.

Well, here’s my attempt at reversing that negativity. Back in 2002, I had Lasik surgery done on both eyes. I had been wearing glasses since fourth grade. I wore contacts for years, and eventually could only wear gas permeable (hard) lenses, which were rather painful if the tiniest speck of dust got into my eye. So when I had the chance, I got Lasik. And I have to say, despite the fact that my vision reverted a little bit and I had to get the procedure done a second time, it was well worth it.

When my second child was a baby, and I would have to get up in the middle of the night, I no longer had to fumble around the nightstand to find my glasses, or feel too tired to put in my contacts the next day and resign myself to a day of scrunching my nose to readjust my glasses again and again. I could see what time it was (to figure out if the baby really needed to be fed again or if we should just let him go back to sleep) without having to squint so much that half the time I’d just keep going and close my eyes, dozing off until he cried again.

These days, I can swim and see at the same time. I can enter a warm building on a cold day without worrying about my glasses fogging up. I can fall asleep watching television without waking up with super dry eyes from leaving in my contacts, or a sore face from the glasses pressing into my skin.

After the surgery, I apparently expected Super Vision. My husband got Lasik done shortly after me, and so for a long time, we’d be driving somewhere and I’d keep asking if he could see this sign or that. I suddenly expected to be able to see the smallest print on the further billboard, or to read street signs from the time I first spotted the sign. It took me a while to settle into normal expectations, but finally, after the dry eyes and soreness went away, and the nighttime halos faded, I got used to my 20/20 eyesight.

But now, nearly four years later, I find I take this gift for granted (I know it’s technically not a gift since you have to pay for the surgery). When I wake up in the morning and see my son’s little head at the foot of the bed, about to climb up and crawl under the covers with his Mommy and Daddy, I don’t think about how nice it is not to have to reach for my glasses. When a gust of steam rushes up as I cook, I don’t smile at the realization that I don’t have to take off my glasses and wipe them on my shirt. Every night, as I finish brushing my teeth, I don’t look in the medicine cabinet and think about how I no longer have saline solution or contact cases in the house.

But every once in a while, as I watch television, a commercial will come on. EyeMasters is having a sale on glasses, or Bausch and Lomb is advertising their colored contacts, or something of the sort. And it all comes back to me. I watch the commercial and smile a cocky smile.

When I was younger, I used to close my eyes and walk upstairs and complete my bedtime routine with my eyes closed. I reasoned that my worst sense was sight, and that if I ever had to live without it, I should at least be able to make it around my own house without fail. And I have to admit, I was pretty good at it. I didn’t count the steps, but rather felt around and grew very aware of slight differences that told me exactly where I was. I’ve tried it on occasion here, although I would not advise conducting this experiment in a house with toddlers, unless said toddlers either 1) are meticulous about putting away their toys, or 2) don’t own any toys. Basically, when I head upstairs at night, I sometimes don’t bother to turn on any lights and try to make my way up. I happened to break a glass doing that last week (I misjudged where the counter was), so I have to remember to do that only when I am not holding anything breakable. But I still think it’s an important exercise.

All our senses are important, but I really believe we depend too much on sight, at the expense of the other senses. In order to concentrate, we plug ear buds in and play music so we can’t hear anything else. We don’t learn to tune out sounds, or to hear multiple levels of sounds, but rather concentrate on how to restrict our hearing. “Shh. No talking. I’m trying to listen to this story on NPR.” I find myself saying this more often than I’d care to admit. I think with vision, you can take in more because the things around you are basically stationary (at least, much of the scenery is), but with hearing, you’d have to hear and process multiple streams of sounds at once, which is rather difficult. But a mother, I’ve learned, can be completely engrossed in a conversation, and still know when to step into the other room to take a look at what the kids are up to, either because of a sudden burst of noise, or a disturbing amount of silence. I know all my kids’ toys, and what sounds they make, so if I hear a sound, I usually know what my children are doing.

I used to enjoy asking probing questions, those strange questions whose answers may mean something to a psychologist, but just mean interesting conversation to me. You know, like, if you could have a minor super power, what would it be? (My husband’s would be bowel control; threaten to take over the world, and he’ll give you a case of the runs that’ll have you sitting on a toilet for a week). Mine, which I actually possess, is the ability to send an employer to bankruptcy, to make companies I work for cease to exist.

Well, if you had to choose to live without one of your senses, which would it be? See, I don’t think touch can even be considered, because that would be too dangerous. I remember learning in psych class in high school that some people actually are touch sensory deprived and burn themselves or seriously injure themselves because they don’t feel themselves getting hurt. That is too scary a prospect for me. As for smell and taste, well, I can enjoy food. Usually, eating is a bit of a chore for me (because I have to prepare all the food and do all that thinking that comes with meals, as well as often having to clean everything up), and I can’t imagine making the whole experience of mealtime – 3 a day plus snacks – that much more painful by not being able to taste.

I remember once when I was dating my now husband, he was back at school, and I was sitting at a table at Thwing Center when a friend walked up and we started talking. I had the strange sense that my boyfriend was nearby, and I looked around, obviously not seeing him. That was when I realized that this friend of mine had been wearing the same cologne my boyfriend always wore, a scent I had never even noticed on my boyfriend but had nonetheless associated with him.

As for hearing, well, I couldn’t bear to give that up. My elder son’s endless stories, my younger son’s wonderful mispronunciations (Chubob is SpongeBob), the new Coldplay album, my dog’s whimpering bark as he dreams, my husband’s car pulling into the driveway past the kitchen window as I finish up dinner. All these sounds are so integrated into my life, and I’d hate to give them up.

I guess that leaves sight. But how could I give up sight? How could I not see my children grow up, look at my husband, read a book (well, I guess I can always listen to books on tape), or watch television? How could I not drive, put on makeup (oh, wait, scratch that), read the comics, or see my children’s artistic creations? Then again, I’d have an excuse for clashing (since my husband definitely has more fashion sense than I do), I don’t believe I could cook (because I’m just not THAT good), and I do believe that putting away laundry would be a bit beyond my capabilities (though folding it would not). Also, I don’t believe I could safely and effectively change any more diapers. Yeah, I think I’m going to have to stick with sight.

But in the end, I am glad I’m healthy. And I’m glad there are commercials out there that remind me of just how lucky I am.

One Night On Friendster

So I’ve been a member of Friendster for several years now, though I honestly don’t use it very often. But lately, as I’ve been finding more and more excuses not to write, I’ve found it to be a nice venue, because at least I can pretend I’m being social (checking out what my long-lost friends have been up to, sending messages to keep in touch).

But anyhow, today I discovered the following:

Popular Searches in my network:

1 free 3D wallpaper
2 job openings
3 personality test
4 backgrounds
5 polyphonic ringtone
6 sunglasses
7 cheap laptops
8 love songs
9 lyrics
10 free astrology

So now I’m curious. What comprises my network? Is it the 34 first-degree friends plus the 2530 second-degree friends? Or is it larger than that? Now, for the most part, I can understand a lot of these search topics (people look for jobs and new computers, they get bored with the settings on their computers and cell phones). But these other ones, well, I hate to judge, but really? Are there really that many people in my network more concerned with finding love songs and free astrology than perhaps petitions about the enormous deficit or abortion rights? Are people really that shallow? If I were working a regular old desk job eight hours a day, would I surf the web during breaks looking for personality tests and what the heck Chris Martin was actually singing during the concert Monday night? Come to think of it, I probably did.

The optimist in me says that people already have their trusted news sources, and thus don’t have to search the web for that. For example, the absence of any sort of NCAA or basketball search puzzled me at first, until I realized that by now, you’re probably going straight to your favorite sports casting website. And if you want to prevent anti-abortion legislation from passing, you’ll probably follow the link that you got in the email that was sent out informing you that the issue is up for vote in your state.

But are there really that many people that I know, or that someone I know knows, looking for a free astrology reading? All at the same time? I find that a little hard to believe. I haven’t received any of those emails recently that say, “Go to Google and type in the words ‘free astrology’ and check out the result. You’ll be amazed.” (Trust me, you won’t be. I decided to try and there’s nothing unexpected or particularly interesting there).
Of course, my dad recently had me type in “what is life” in the Google toolbar and laughed as he showed me the top Sponsored Link. He was considering the philosophical implications of the results, and I encouraged him to start his own blog where he can share his philosophies with the world. He’d probably get more readers than me.

But maybe that’s what’s bugging me. When my dad gets on the computer and decides to “surf the web,” he is looking for knowledge, enlightenment (or maybe just amusement, I honestly have no idea). When I google (that is a verb now, isn’t it?), it’s usually for something specific. Either I’m looking for the website for a particular store and I need directions to get there, I am researching something for a story, or I’m trying to find out where I should go and what the options are for getting new beds for the boys that can convert to bunk beds when they’re old enough for them but can be side-by-side for now. I don’t get much time on the web, and when I am taking a lot of time, 1) it’s usually at the expense of my writing, or 2) I’m perseverating (like, why is perseveration in the online dictionary but not in Word’s dictionary, so that I have to go online and force myself not to play a word game, though I inevitably do and go to sleep later than I should yet again).

Am I just an incurable nerd? Is it fair for me to expect my network of acquaintances to use the web for mind-enriching, and not inane, reasons? Especially when I myself am guilty of wasting my fair share of time browsing the web. The web allows you to feel smart while doing dumb things. I’m giving my brain a rest, we think, a well-deserved distraction. There’s nothing wrong with that. But then, why would so many of us be searching for free astrology reports? Please, help me understand. Then again, maybe I do know the answer. Maybe it’s somewhere inside me, in my cosmos, and I just need help channeling the information. Anyone know where I could find someone to help me?

Global Warming

So on the first day of Spring, I took my dog for a walk. It was a pleasant stroll through the streets of my neighborhood, and at 7 in the evening, the sun had not yet set. Now, normally this should conjure pictures of flowers in gardens and a warm spring evening. However, on the first day of Spring, it was frickin’ 25 degrees out and I had to wear my snow pants and winter coat to keep from freezing.

Now, normally, you don’t hear anyone complaining about global warming on a day like this. But actually, this is my little tirade against global warming. Using a purely yin/yang, black/white, up/down, preserving the cosmic balance of the universe argument (as well as Newton’s Third Law of Motion, which states that “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction”), I contend that these colder, longer-lasting winters are the effect of global warming.

We all know that global warming is causing temperatures to be higher in the summer time, raising them at an unusually rapid rate (please don’t ask me for facts or numbers to back up any of my arguments; you’re already on the web). This leads to melting of polar ice caps. This, in turn, leads to more precipitation and less protection of the world’s water supply, thus lowering the overall oceanic temperature (or something like that).

Here’s how I understand it. Please correct me or clarify if I am wrong. According to the Ocean and Climate Change Institute, there’s an entity called the Ocean Conveyor of which the Gulf Stream is a part, and it’s the general flow of oceanic water. The heat from the sun at the equator warms the ocean surface and leads to evaporation in the tropics, so that the ocean there is saltier. The Conveyor carries this dense, salty water up the East Coast of the US and east to Europe. This warms the water, and thus the atmosphere, up north, by about 5 degrees Celsius. Occasionally, though, this Conveyor slows or stops for whatever reason, leading to cooler temperatures. Now, cold water is denser than warm water, and salty water is denser than fresh water. When warm, salty water releases heat into the atmosphere, the colder, salty water sinks to the ocean floor. That sinking then draws more warm, salty water from the tropics (think osmosis, where a dense concentration of salt will travel to a sparsely concentrated section of water to equalize and “spread out”), and the conveyor continues. But if the cold, salty waters didn’t sink, the conveyor would stop (as it apparently has in the past, leading to cold winters and widespread droughts).

So what would cause the cold, salty waters in the North Atlantic to stop sinking? Apparently, melting glaciers, providing a top layer of cold, fresh water, would essentially redirect the salty, tropical waters, bypassing the Northern Atlantic altogether, because the waters would stop sinking. There are a couple of animations on the site that actually help illustrate this point.

The slowing down or stopping of the Ocean Conveyor could lead to drastic climate changes in a matter of decades. It could lead to droughts, famine, and mass migration, not to mention an incredible increase in the value of The North Face stock (assuming they’re publicly traded). Basically, life, as we know it, would be over. To those who like cold weather, and for those into snow carving, this could be seen as a good thing. But for those of us who are tired of our sweaters and are ready to wear short sleeves and heck, just a lighter jacket for a change, I’m not too keen on stopping this Ocean Conveyor.

So let’s put down those aerosol cans, let’s start using public transportation, and by golly, let’s stop eating all those bean burritos (eliminate emissions, get it? Sorry. Just checking to see if you were still reading.) Let’s get politically involved. Let’s encourage our leaders to make environmentally responsible decisions (as soon as we figure out what those are). And for that matter, let’s figure out what those are.

So who’s with me? What’s it going to take to get our butts off the couch and turn off the television and get involved? What’s going to turn our apathy into a path to salvation? Where are all those optimistic, go-getting, recent college graduates who still believe they can change the world? We need you now. We’re too, well, apathetic and lazy to do anything to save our world. It’s up to you. We believe in you. While you still have student loans and the belief that you will go far, push yourself the extra mile and create those online petitions that you can email to us and we’ll sign. Before you have kids to feed and change and get to bed, spend your free time stuffing envelopes that we promise we’ll look at before tossing them into the recycle bin.

Yeah, that’s the sad truth. I am moved by this knowledge. And gosh, I wished I were moved enough to actually be physically moved into doing something. Sure, I’ll try to make better decisions to better help the environment and prevent global warming. I’ll look for a car with better gas mileage. I’ll consider carpooling (but doesn’t the fact that we only drive a mile to school and three miles to work count for something?). We don’t have central air conditioning. I recycle. I turn out the lights when I’m not in a room, and we have been switching to compact fluorescent bulbs.

I do the little things, but I’m still quite dependent on energy. Heck, just because of rising costs I’m trying to conserve. And that’s just it. It has to hit the wallets for people to make changes. And despite my youthful optimism and gung-ho attitudes about the way life “ought” to be, the reality of life and my decisions have tempered me. I dare say I’m growing soft, but perhaps I’m just growing apathetic. I vote my conscience, but I don’t get more involved than that. I have not rallied behind a candidate or gotten involved with a particular issue. My moral outrage at the state of the world today has led me to bitch to my friends a little, but that’s it. I need to believe in something, but my singularity of focus seems as far gone as my twenties (not that far, but well, gone nonetheless).

So while Spring may be taking its own sweet time reaching Cleveland, I hope you’re warm where you are. And if it’s not warm yet, don’t crank up the heat; wear that sweater while you can and use a blanket.

An Apple By Any Other Name

I went to see Coldplay last night (which was awesome, by the way, although I must question Chris Martin’s fashion decision of wearing white tennis shoes with black shirt and pants). It was fun, and it seems the baby either loved or hated the music, because there was some definite jumping going on.

Am I degenerating as a parent? When I was pregnant with my first kid, I went to see a couple of plays. With my second and third kids, I’ve gone to concerts. Hmm. Let’s see what the long-term effects are of those decisions (with my firstborn as the test subject, of course).

Anyhow, as the stage was being set up for Coldplay, these three guys climbed up rope ladders to seats from which they controlled cameras for the duration of the concert. We watched them climb up and settle in, and then we waited for the show to start. Half an hour later, Coldplay began performing.

So a few questions came to mind about these three cameramen. First of all, why then? Why did they need to get up to their stations so much before the show began? I mean, they probably could have set up their cameras then waited on the ground until right before the show started. It’s not like someone from the audience would be able to climb up inconspicuously and mess anything up.

Now, the reason I ask the first question is because my next question is, what would they do if they had to go to the bathroom? I mean, sure, I suppose they could have a cup handy in case of an emergency, but I have to say, that concept makes front row seats at a concert much less appealing. But seriously, what would they do? I suppose they’d only be up there for maybe two hours, and that’s not too long for most normal people to go without using the facilities (I, on the other hand, had to go 3 times during the show – but I had foolishly drank 1½ glasses of Sprite with dinner right before the concert). Perhaps they’re restricted to drinking no coffee or colas for at least 2 hours before the show. Maybe bladder capacity questions are included on the job application. Maybe a woman would have to take pregnancy leave if she held that job (and, ironically, be able to return to work once she delivered). And maybe, when they’re not working cameras at concerts, these guys are truckers.

As we listened to the radio while waiting to leave the parking garage after the concert, the DJ asked if anyone had seen Gwyneth Paltrow at the concert. And I have to confess, that almost ruined the memory of the concert for me. I mean, sure, I think Apple is an idiotic name, and I honestly think less of Gwyneth Paltrow for subjecting her child with that name (perhaps that may make her worse than Tom Cruise, whose stupidity really mostly only affects himself). I guess it could have been worse; she could have spelled the name differently on purpose (Hi, this is my daughter Appil). I’m all about creative names, and have nothing against made-up names. But, to quote the Spiderman movies, “with great power comes great responsibility.” It’s one thing to be creative, quite another to subject your child to a lifetime of humiliation and questions that build a wall to protect from the insensitivity of the world.

Seriously, yes, my last name really is Engineer. No, I’m not an Engineer. No my children are not named Mechanical and Chemical. And any joke you make, this is not the first time I’ve heard it. As for my dog, I suppose “Every day is Friday” and “Thank God it’s Friday” when he’s around. Yes, we did happen to get him on a Friday, but had we gotten him on a Monday, that would not have been his name. We will not name our next dog Saturday or any other day of the week. While I’m at it, the “a” at the end of the names of Indian gods is silent. Shiva is pronounced “shiv.”

Sorry, personal pet peeve. But getting back to the name thing, I realized that Chris Martin is not free of guilt in the child-naming category. And I certainly cannot forgive him because he’s just a musician and thus a creative free spirit (because, technically, I would have to give the same allowance to Gwyneth). Naming a child is a big responsibility. It behooves the parents to think of every possible way the name could be made fun of, and to consider what this might do to the child’s psyche. We all wish the best for our children, and the name we give our child, the first parenting decision we make, is one that a child has to live with forever, or at least until old enough to get the name legally changed.

Seriously, if Apple wants to grow up to be a rocket scientist, she will have a hard time being taken seriously. Her celebrity will not help her then. In the entertainment world, she’s fine. But do her parents really want to restrict her future career choices.

But now, I must confess, Apple is not the worst celebrity child name out there. The Washington Post website has an article on the subject, and you can actually vote for your “favorite”. I’m really not sure anymore.

Jermaine Jackson named his kid Jermajesty.
Bob Geldof has a daughter named Fifi Trixabelle.
Shannyn Sossaman (who?) named her kid Audio Science.
Jason Lee’s kid is Pilot Inspektor.

I suppose compared to those, Apple is not so rotten.

I Need A Support Group

From sometime Wednesday until Friday afternoon, our phones were not working. We don’t get inundated with phone calls, so I didn’t notice on Wednesday. Thursday morning, I enjoyed the silence, though I found it odd that my mother hadn’t called (she had, and getting a busy signal, assumed I was on the phone). And generally, the phonelessness hasn’t bothered me very much. Until I realized I couldn’t get online. Then it hit me. I couldn’t handle it.

Who won during day 1 of the tournament? Sure, I could open up the paper sitting right next to me, but my online picks are different from my paper picks, so I didn’t know how I was doing (since I don’t actually ever remember my picks).

I got an ad in the mail Thursday from the local Honda-Toyota dealership. Along with advertising Corollas for only $79.50 a payment (which, the fine print points out, are bi-weekly), it included three scratch-off ovals. I scratched off the ovals and found three matching numbers, which meant that I had won either a $1000 shopping spree on goshoppingmall.com, $1500 cash, or a 42” plasma screen TV. I’d have to go into the dealership to redeem my prize. Well, I figured that in the worst case, I would get on their mailing list. But since I’m planning on getting either a Honda Odyssey or a Toyota Sienna this August, that’s a reasonable risk. However, I would have liked to have checked out goshoppingmall.com to see if I really wanted the shopping spree (which is, as it turns out, what I got). But, without the Internet available, I couldn’t check.

So I went in, and I got my prize, and I got my 2006 Honda Odyssey brochure, and I left. And later that evening, when my friend was returned to me, when he had recovered from his coma, I asked him about this site and he gave me the answer I was afraid of. I needn’t have bothered. Sure, I didn’t know which prize I would have received, and the 42” TV would have made a nice wedding gift (because we certainly don’t need another TV in our house, already having 2). But the shopping spree, yeah, that’s pretty much a scam.

You see, the prize has a catch. Of course. They all do. The recipient is in charge of shipping and handling. That sounds fair, right? Well, my issue is that the shipping prices are ½ to 2/3 the cost of the item. Seriously. I found a $20 retractable dog leash with a flashlight, with shipping and handling costing $11. So I searched online, and found on another site, a similar product costing $5, plus $3 shipping. So I would pay more just to ship this leash than I could buying it from another site. A $30 rice cooker costs $18 to ship. $18. I can’t even choose to have it take longer to ship, thus decreasing the shipping cost. Because I suppose that’s the “handling” side of things.

The following text is from their Terms and Conditions:

The shipping and processing charge is designed to compensate GSM for the services we provide that enable our members to enjoy the convenience of home shopping and delivery of our products, as well as overhead costs associated with those services.

Okay, I suppose that’s reasonable. GoShoppingMall.com has to make money somehow. But then, why give out gift certificates? How much would I have to spend to use up my $1000 gift certificate? Right now, my cart has 2 items (the leash and the rice cooker). To use up $49.98 of my $1000 gift certificate, I would have to spend $28.98. Or, proportionately, I would have to spend almost $600 in shipping to “get” $1000 of free stuff. The way I decided to look at it was that if there’s stuff I was planning to buy anyhow, then I could buy it cheaper (well, a little bit, anyhow, considering the markups and absurd shipping costs). But that’s not exactly a shopping “spree,” is it? Or, maybe it is. But the sad thing about this is that many people who can’t necessarily afford that $550 - $600 shipping cost will still go out and buy $1000 worth of goods they don’t need.

But the point is, I could have known ahead of time that the shopping spree was a scam, and perhaps skipped that trip out to the auto dealership (I don’t think they realize how poor a gift it is; the salesman commented that I could go out and buy a new car seat on there, obviously not realizing the limited scope of the selection on the site), had my Internet been working.

So, I am addicted to the Internet. There, I’ve said it. Last week, I learned about potatoes. Maybe that should have been a sign. But no, I had to lose it – at a time when the library is under construction so I can’t go there to get my email fix – to finally see it. I went to a friend/neighbor’s house for lunch on Friday – so our kids could play and we could chat. It took so much restraint on my part not to ask her if I could borrow her computer and get online. But I did resist, which tells me that I still have hope. But perhaps I should find an Internet Addicts Support Group just in case things get worse. Perhaps there’s a chatroom. Let me go check…

A Lesson In Open-Mindedness

Have you ever eaten Sun Chips with ketchup? My younger son swears by them. If he sees the bag of Sun Chips out, he gets himself a plate and asks for “chip” and “chepup.” I confess, I finally broke down and tried it. Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend it. But, if my son gets multi-grains AND lycopene, who am I to complain?

My elder son is held to the Green Eggs and Ham rule. He has to try whatever I ask him to try. If he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t have to eat more (unless it’s the only thing I made for the meal). But I will act like Sam-I-Am and bug him until he tries it (the logic is that he may like it – like the narrator from the book learned – but if he won’t try it, he’ll never know).

We went to a Vietnamese restaurant a month ago (Tay Do, at the corner of Stumph and Snow – if you’re ever in the Cleveland area; not too far from the airport if you have a layover. Great food, and cheap). While we were there, he tried a tofu dish that he loved (we even ordered a second plate for him, and he happily ate the leftovers of that at home). So last weekend, at a Thai restaurant, he happily ate the tofu triangles because he had learned that he likes tofu (or, tow-food, as he calls it).

Anyhow, while that’s been a useful rule we have instituted to expose our sons to new foods, we have discovered a definite downside. My elder son was once eating some strange concoction, like apple slices and mustard. I indulged him, letting him eat it – since he was eating. But when he asked me to try it, I had to say no (curling my nose – gee, I wonder where he gets it).

But then he used the line.
“Try it. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat more.”
Live by example, huh? Well, I tasted it. To my surprise, it wasn’t as horrible as I had expected. I actually had a second piece (to be sure my son hadn’t just hit on some great culinary discovery – the first time I ate apple slices with Brie I had been skeptical, but I’m sure glad I tried that). Turns out, it wasn’t THAT good.

But it did teach me that I’m not as open-minded as I’d like to believe. It’s not just up to kids to learn new things. And I’d hate to think of all the experiences I’d miss out on if I didn’t follow the Green Eggs and Ham rule myself.

POEM: Fatherhood and the Existential Man

He thought life was easy; he thought life was good.
Water-skiing,
Hiking,
Dining with friends—
Our carefree existence.

And then he was a dad.

Still we went to restaurants,
Ball games,
Backyard barbecues.
He embraced his new existence.

But now, as his son grows,
The baby he knew and loved is gone.

The delightful infant
Is now replaced by a boy who
Dresses in self-assembled outfits,
Pours cereal and milk with little spillage,
And starts DVDs when he pleases.

And then came another.

The little one
Waddles and falls,
Lifts his arms, Hugs ‘da da’,
Amazes us by bringing us his shoes
When we tell him to --
Unlike his brother,
Who only rushes to the closet when he’s good and ready for that walk.

One rides a bike
The other a stroller

Contentedly he lived his life
In the here and now
Asking only “Am I happy?”
And if not,
“Why not?”
And “What can I do to change it?”

But now he wonders,
“Should I trade in my Jeep for a minivan?
Are the urban schools good enough
Or should I become a suburban dad?”

He watches them with bittersweet pride,
Encourages one to pedal,
one to talk,
wishing both would stay babies.

But this sadness
At the passing of time:
Does the father mourn
The passing childhood,
The impending maturity
Of his sons
Or of himself?

Hot Sandwiches

Does anyone eat hot sandwiches? My husband contends that only Indian people eat hot sandwiches. For that matter, does anyone know what I’m talking about? It’s kind of like a waffle iron but with four triangles in it. To make a sandwich, you spray non-stick spray on each side (or, I suppose, butter the bread), and then put in your sandwich, stuffed with whatever you want. You press the two sides together (like a waffle iron) and wait for it to cook. In a couple of minutes, you have a hot sandwich.

Lately, it’s all I’ve wanted my mom to cook for me. I don’t know if it’s the filling that she makes, or the fact that I just can’t think of what else I want to eat, but they just hit the spot. In fact, I reheated one yesterday and it was great. She just mixes up potatoes (and sometimes peas) with some Indian spices, and uses that. Sometimes I dip it in coriander chutney, sometimes not. But it’s just yummy.

Evidently, the hot sandwich maker is called a jaffle iron in Australia and South Africa. And apparently, you can make hot sandwiches with Hello, Kitty imprinted on the side of the sandwich. And I realize a panini is technically a hot sandwich, but I’m talking about those little triangle sandwiches with the edges closed off.

Well, my mom’s going to India for over a month, and it suddenly occurred to me that more than wanting her to bring me back anything from there, I need to borrow her sandwich maker and find out how she makes her filling. Because, even though I’ve gone ten years without eating a hot sandwich, these days I can’t imagine going five weeks without one. I’m just going to call it a pregnancy craving and leave it at that.

Perhaps I’ll forget to ask. Very well, what else could I eat that might satisfy that craving? Aloo Tikki. Potato patties. Again, potatoes mixed with Indian spices. Batata vada. Spicy potato filled fried dough balls (or whatever phrase I used in the Batata Vada blog entry). French fries. Tater tots. Are you noticing a pattern? I love potatoes.

Yes indeed. Potatoes are, I believe, a greatly underappreciated vegetable. The potato is so diverse, so universally used, and so delicious. Baked, mashed, gratin, fried, stewed: there are so many ways to prepare a potato and really, all it needs is a little bit of salt. Add more spices and wow. How incredibly diverse is this wonderful food. The Wiggles have even got a song named after it (Hot Potato), and I’m sure you’ve never played the game Hot Eggplant, have you? Of course not. It doesn’t exist. But Hot Potato, yes indeed.

According to The Washington State Potato Commission, potatoes are second only to broccoli in anti-oxidants, contain 40% more potassium than a banana, 45% of the daily average of vitamin C, and have only 100 calories and no fat.

There is actually a World Potato Congress happening this August in Boise, Idaho, and it’s the 6th one. I mean, I guess I knew potatoes were important (can’t make a samosa without them. Well, technically you can, but not your traditional potato-pea stuffed one) but to hold a weeklong conference, with attendees from around the world, that’s the big time. It makes sense, but I never really gave it any thought before. Now, I’m immensely curious about it. And if I weren’t going to be eight months pregnant at the time, I’d be interested in going, just to see what it’s all about.

You see, for me, It’s all about learning. What fun is life if you stop learning? I couldn’t handle doing the exact same thing day in day out for the rest of my life. That’s why I couldn’t work from home (exclusively) or start my own business. When I go back to work, I’d like to work with people smarter than me so I can learn from them. Sure, it’ll be satisfying to be smarter than some people, and to help them learn, but I have no problem admitting that I don’t know it all. There’s just too much in this world that I know nothing about to be so arrogant to think I am an expert on any aspect of it. Heck, I'm about to get a promotion in my current job, and I don't think I've proven that I have mastered my current responsibilities.

And maybe that’s what’s so great about the Internet. While I may waste a lot of my time playing word games on the Merriam Webster website (yes, I’m a geek – and FYI, Fowl Words is the best game, but Fowl Words 2 is lame), it’s also a great source of information. For example, I just learned a lot I never knew about potatoes. Such as the fact that August 19th is Potato Day. I will so be celebrating that event! All I know is, my friends who are getting married that day better have potatoes on the menu.

This is supposed to be about hot sandwiches, right? Well, I suppose that while my mom is gone, I could try ham and cheese, or even just plain grilled cheese. I’m sure there’s hundreds of recipes out there for hot sandwiches, and perhaps even a whole chatroom devoted to fans of the hot sandwich. But right now, that bag of Pepperidge Farm Brussels cookies doesn’t look the least bit appetizing when I think about how good one of my mom’s hot sandwiches sounds.

Enough Is Enough

Before I moved to Cleveland, I had a coworker who was going through a hard time. She wanted to advance her career but was being held back, she was having trouble keeping up with her mortgage payments, and she just ended a relationship with another coworker, and that made her work life pretty miserable. I tried to be a friend, and lent her a sympathetic ear.

She wanted to be a programmer, but wasn’t given the training or any opportunity to learn. At the same time, I would be assigned tasks that were to last me a week, but which would only take me two or three days to complete. From the beginning, I had told my employers when I would be moving back to Cleveland (since my husband’s residency was ending at a definite time), so after repeatedly asking for more tasks but being given none, I found ways to make the tasks last longer. I would browse the web, and later was reprimanded for wasting time and not working (despite not being given enough work to do and deciding, after a couple of months of asking, that it was no longer up to me to offer to go the extra mile).

But anyhow, one thing I did to make my tasks take longer was to train this coworker. I could program some small bit of functionality in about two hours, or I could take five hours teaching my coworker and assisting her in the programming. I figured that since I knew I would be leaving, and the group would be down one programmer, that I would save their busy butts (who would stay late every night, while I would leave at 5 and didn’t feel bad leaving since I never got enough work to keep me there even that long) from having to find a new programmer to fill my spot if they already had someone trained and good to go. Well, I got reprimanded for that too. But at least, for a couple of weeks, I could spend the whole week working.

But really, this isn’t about me. This coworker, I soon discovered, seemed to relish the role of the victim. She was miserable, but wouldn’t do anything to improve her life. Fear, I’m sure, had a lot to do with her unwillingness to change, but despite any encouragement I or anyone else might give her, she feared changing and failing more than she hated being miserable. She was poor, yet spent over $2000 on a really romantic Valentine’s Day gift for this coworker boyfriend whom she had been dating for maybe a month (I have yet to spend close to that much on my husband of almost twelve years). When the group we worked for – it was a small division of a larger company that decided to launch a new product (a small division that, a few months later, was down from twelve people to two) – moved to a new space downtown, I decided I had had enough (I was also belittled for having a college education; amongst those in the group who did have college degrees, I had been the only one with a computer science degree) and got transferred to the company’s IT department. My coworker, the one whose ex-boyfriend would be one of eleven people moving to the new space, went with them. She spoke with human resources, but apparently nothing came of it.

We lost touch after the move. We met for lunch once or twice, but since the conversations would always be the same, I stopped trying so hard to schedule the lunches. And, I have to confess I haven’t been in touch with her at all since moving to Cleveland. I wish her well; I hope that she is where she wants to be in life, but honestly, I doubt it.

I’ve discovered that I have very little patience for compulsive complaining. The way I see it – and perhaps it is a bit Marxist – if you’re unhappy with some aspect of your life, do something about it. If it affects someone else (like a spouse), then the two of you should figure out a way to make things better for both of you. Now, if someone doesn’t want to be happy, fine. That’s perfectly acceptable. But part of that is accepting that other people may not feel the same, and may not want their own happiness drained by being around a negative person (at least not me). Change is good. So if, at the very least, you change what you’re complaining about, then maybe I’ll listen with a sympathetic ear.

No, I take that back. If your problems just get bigger and bigger because you refused to do anything to fix them when they were smaller, then no, I probably won’t feel much sympathy. This coworker, after the division moved, would complain via email and instant messenger about how she was an outcast and how lonely she was. Now, she went from being in a building with 300 employees to being around ten people who had worked with her ex-boyfriend longer than with her. She put herself in an awkward, dead-end situation (working for a boss who she already complained was preventing her from advancing her career).

I like to think I’m a good friend, but evidently I have high expectations of my friends. I can tell right from wrong, and will defend my friends’ choices, if need be, and will not judge them. Someone may believe differently than me and that’s fine. It’s not my life to live, it’s not my business to judge. And if my advice is sought, I will give it with no expectation of it being accepted. But if I’m drawn into a situation, and asked advice, then I would expect that the advice be considered. If it’s not acceptable, then I’d like to know why (I too like to grow and learn and keep an open mind). But if my advice (or that of anyone else) is ignored, and life doesn’t change at all (let alone for the better), and six months or a year later, again you come seeking a sympathetic ear for a situation you’ve done nothing to change, then I’m sorry, but I’ll have to start being obnoxious. Sarcasm, ridiculous suggestions, a little ridicule, and changing the subject will most likely be the tools that I use. Perhaps next time I’ll come up with some more. But nice and sympathetic will probably cease to be words that describe me. Which is sad, because that is who I try to be.

But you know what? I’m done. I’ve done my complaining and I’ve moved on. So I don’t think I need to say anymore. Because otherwise, I may have to start tuning myself out.

The Mommy Wars Are Back

I just discovered this story about law professor Linda Hirshman, who claims that stay-at-home moms are hurting themselves and their children by not working. Apparently, 54% of women with graduate or professional degrees are currently not working, choosing instead to stay at home with their kids.

I feel I have to respond to this, being a stay-at-home mom. I listened to Diane Rehm on NPR today talk to Leslie Morgan Steiner, the author of “Mommy Wars: Stay-at-Home and Career Moms Face Off on Their Choices, Their Lives, Their Families,” a collection of 26 essays by mothers. She said that in putting together this book, she decided she would not interview the mothers, because inevitably, her bias would make its way into the writing, and she wanted the raw, total honesty that came from these women writing completely frankly about the choices they made – the good and the bad. This book sounds appealing. It sounds non-judgmental, honest, and supportive. If I were trying to decide what I should do, I would certainly read this (and I may still read it).

But for one woman who made one choice to judge and dismiss any other woman is just plain wrong.

Linda Hirshman cited research that showed that children of working mothers are as happy as children of stay-at-home moms. I would argue that that’s not looking at the whole picture. If I were to propose that once and for all, we need to determine which choice is the “right” choice, then clearly we need to look not just at short-term happiness of a child, but also the long-term effects. When the child grows up, how is he/she in interpersonal relationships, career success, mental wellbeing, and parenting ability. How many serial killers or other criminals had mothers who stayed at home versus worked? How many beds in mental institutions are filled by former latchkey kids? How many future divorces are the result of an absent mother?

But that’s all crap. If life were lived in a bubble or could be broken down so simplistically, then sure, we could make this judgment. But it’s not. Stay-at-home moms can raise crappy kids. Working mothers can have wonderful kids. I have good friends with great kids in both categories. A working mother can have a great support system that is wonderful for the child. A stay-at-home mom can pull her hair out doing the mundane, repetitive, thankless tasks that often accompany her daily life. But is that to say that just because I have a Master’s degree, I am above changing diapers, brushing teeth, and preparing meals? Should I assume that this admittedly sometimes thankless job is less important than sitting behind a desk writing computer programs for eight hours a day?

I decided, when I was pregnant with my first child, that raising my children was more important than furthering my career. But I have a friend who started a program helping inner-city middle school girls succeed, and she is a working mom. And she has two wonderful little girls that are smart and sweet. Financially, she doesn’t have to work, which gives her some feelings of guilt. But her choice is the right choice for her, just as my choice is the right choice for me. I support her decision, and she supports mine. Is her choice right because she has a graduate degree and is using it, or because she is helping other people? Is mine wrong because I am wasting my degree?

From the story on abcnews.com, Hirshman said,
"A good life for humans includes the classical standard of using one's capacities for speech and reason in a prudent way, the liberal requirement of having enough autonomy to direct one's own life, and the utilitarian test of doing more good than harm in the world. Measured against these time-tested standards, the expensively educated, upper-class moms will be leading lesser lives."

So because I chose, for the time being, to “waste” the money spent on my education by using “my capacity for speech and reason” to raise good kids that I am raising to be good citizens, am I not being prudent? Frankly, I have to be more prudent in using my capacity for speech and reason around my children than I ever had to be in the working world. A harsh word is taken to heart, faulty logic assumed true, and lies are crushing. And how I waste my money is up to me. Has Hirshman never wasted money, never been to Starbucks for a latte when a cup of Taster's Choice would do, never bought a pair of shoes that she didn’t really need, never splurged for a book or a movie? If I chose to waste money learning about computer graphics and artificial intelligence, isn’t that really my business?

I have a husband who supports my decision to stay at home, who takes care of the kids when I attend writer’s groups or writing conferences out of town, and who encourages me to do what makes me happy. Financially, I am dependent on him. But because we have enough money, I have the freedom to reassess my career goals and, for now, to be a writer. Later, when I choose to return to work, I can build upon the new strengths I have gained by my experience on this job to make me a better employee.

But as far as doing more good than harm in the world, I suppose I’d be losing on that front. After all, I did just sign my boys up for Serial Killer Summer Camp, and the elder one is a graduate of Bullying School for Minors. What do you think? If I volunteered at the food bank while they were in class, would that balance out the harm they’re learning to do?

Seriously, though, the math she uses to determine whether my choice is worthwhile is faulty. One could argue that she, as a law professor, bringing more lawyers into the world - who in turn file frivolous lawsuits and increase the cost of health care and insurance, and prevent teachers from feeling they can discipline their students for fear of being sued – is not necessarily doing more good than harm in the world. She’s not saving lives, like my husband the physician who can focus at work knowing that his children are being well taken care of, who doesn’t care if I spend “his” money, and in fact resents when I refer to it as his money.

The problem is not that stay-at-home mothers are not financially independent, it’s that the job of caring for children is not valued in this society. Women who choose to stay at home do not earn social security despite working long hours doing often difficult work, don’t necessarily contribute to personal retirement plans (since they have no money of their own), and have very little political voice. Childcare providers get paid minimum wage, with little opportunity for advancement. Teachers get paid insulting salaries in schools that have to seek taxpayer support to get additional funding. Working mothers get less maternity leave, and fathers less paternity leave, in America than in any other country. The message America seems to be sending is that while the children may be our future, they’re not an important enough investment to commit to now. Communities with large numbers of taxpayers who no longer have children in the public schools vote against levies because they don’t want more of their hard earned money to go to support today’s youth. And so those communities decline, because young families with children in school will stop moving in, choosing instead to move to where the better schools are, which, eventually, will also decline.

As far as whether to work or stay at home, I don’t know which is the better choice. Frankly, I don’t think there is one better choice. If I have a daughter, I want her to know that she can choose whether she works or stays at home after she has children (if she decides to have children). If it weren’t for all those working mothers out there, making the sacrifices they make, it would be hard for me to make that choice, and for other women to make that choice. But that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t have the choice to stay home. Ultimately, the right choice is what is right for the whole family, with the best interests of everyone taken into account. If something is working for everyone in the family, then it’s really nobody else’s business. If society were more supportive of men who decided to stay home, more than just a few pat-in-the-back articles in parenting magazines (which are, admittedly, a good start), then perhaps more women would choose to continue to work.

In the end, what matters is that we live in a country where we have the freedom, the right, to live how we want to live. And I suppose that means we also have the right to be judgmental and rude, but I’m teaching my kids not to be like that. I wonder if Hirshman thought that an important lesson for her children.

A Fond Farewell to Fishy

In the end, a lesson was learned. My elder son's understanding of death was solidified, and I'd like to think he would be better for it. Death is unavoidable, and it comes when it will. Sad though it may be, it happens.

My husband and I went on vacation last week. Before we left, we dropped our fish off at our neighbor’s house, our dog at his parents’ house, and the kids at my parents’ house. Then we left. We returned Friday night and stayed at my parents’ house. The boys came in bright and early (two hours earlier as far as we knew) Saturday morning, excited to see us. After breakfast, my husband drove out and picked up our dog. By mid-afternoon, we returned home. Sunday afternoon, I called our neighbor to arrange when I could come pick up the fish.

Sunday evening, when they returned home, they discovered Fishy floating at the top of the bowl. They offered to get us a new fish, but I reassured them it wasn’t necessary.

I feel bad. They must feel some degree of guilt (hopefully not too much) about the fact that Fishy happened to die while he was with them. Of course we don’t blame them. Why would we? They are wonderful people, wonderful neighbors, and good friends.

I’m not trying to imply that a goldfish’s life is worthless; although my son won Fishy at a Halloween party at his school, I’m the one who named him (unintentionally. I wanted my son to name him and must have referred to him as Fishy once, which my son then assumed was his name – although my son gave him his full name of Fishy SwimAround Fishy Engineer), fed him, and cleaned his bowl. He was, for all intensive purposes, my pet. And the fact that I forgot about picking him up until late Saturday night made me feel horrible (if I won’t remember the fish, who will?).

I wish I had some cool anecdotes about Fishy, some fond memories to share, but he was a fish in a bowl. No grand Nemo adventures, no close calls where he fell down the drain. I suppose you could say he led a sheltered life. Other than the day he came home, the time my next door neighbor fishsat in October (when my husband and I went to Paris) and then a week ago when I walked him to my neighbor two doors down, he stayed in the house, traveling only between his spot on the center of the mantel in the living room and the kitchen counter when I would change his water. That’s it. If you want to see an interesting fish story, I would recommend “Finding Nemo” or “Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo.” But a household pet fish only offers so much excitement. That’s kind of the point, right.

Wow, please remind me not to get a job writing eulogies. Fishy’s name was on our holiday cards last year. He was part of the family, albeit for only four and a half months. He was orange, and he would swim away from net when I tried to take him out to change his water. I had a small plastic jar where he would stay while I cleaned his bowl. He would swim around in rapid circles. I’d say he acted nervous, if a fish is capable of these emotions.

In the end, I don’t know if my reaction to death – Fishy’s or anyone else’s for that matter – is enlightened or just callous. But perhaps that can be better gauged by how my son reacted to the news.

The next morning, we were in the bathroom, my younger son was playing at the toilet (can it really be considered toilet training if he won’t stay put?), sans diaper, and my husband was sleeping. That was when I chose to tell my son that Fishy died.

I watched his face go from stoic to tearful as he sobbed – loudly – genuine tears, saying “Fishy, Fishy.” I implored him to quiet down while trying to diaper the little one, and I tried to comfort him without once dismissing his feelings. I should have, I realized, picked a better time and place.

“It is sad that he’s dead,” I told him, “but we have to remember the good times. You know that pink plastic thing that was in his bowl?”

“You mean the plant?”

“Yes, that’s it. Well, you know how I had to put pebbles in the bottom, but one time I must not have put enough because it floated to the top, and Fishy was so confused?”

He laughed at the memory and finished brushing his teeth.

Downstairs, when my husband woke up and joined us, we discussed Fishy some more. I told him the full story. Our neighbors changed the water Saturday. On Sunday, they fed Fishy then went to one of their parents’ houses. When they returned in the evening, they discovered that Fishy had died. My son commented that they shouldn’t have left him alone all day. We pointed out that we do the same when we go to their grandparents’ houses and that they feel terrible that Fishy’s time came at their house.


Tuesday night, we all gathered in the dining room, and I let my son have a chance to say goodbye to Fishy.
“Goodbye, Fishy” was all he needed to say. He and his brother then headed to the living room, and we overheard the following conversation.
Seeing his younger brother heading to the living room, my elder son said, “Fishy died. You can’t see him anymore.”
My younger son, learning to talk, likes to repeat what his brother says. “Died. Fish.”
To which my elder son responded, “Fishy’s never going to wake up.”

Sidewards

Since sometime in junior high, I have wanted to coin a word. Before you ask, yes I’ve been a geek that long. But anyhow, I learned that if a word is used in literature three times (or something like that) then it gets considered for coinage. And if a word becomes used frequently enough (such as the word “blog”), it will eventually be added to the dictionary. That’s what I want. Inclusion in a dictionary. And not a Scrabble dictionary either.

So anyhow, the best word I’ve come up with so far is soggify. It means to make soggy. For example, milk will soggify cereal (especially Life cereal if you leave it in too long and then it just tastes too mushy to eat).

It’s not particularly exciting, but it’s pretty straightforward in its definition, I think, and seems a word that should already exist. But it doesn’t.

Well, for the longest time, my four-year-old would use the word “sidewards” instead of “sideways.” I thought it was so adorable, but of course, I corrected him. But then I started thinking about it, wondering why he kept saying sidewards instead of sideways. And it’s simple. What are the other directional terms? Forward, Backward, upward, and downward. So why shouldn’t it be sideward?

Incidentally, the word does exist. It’s in the dictionary, on m-w.com and dictionary.com (I don’t actually use a physical one anymore). But it seems to have gone out of favor once the word sideways came along. But why? What makes “sideways” better than “sidewards”? It’s just not fair. So I think from now on, I’m going to have to start using the word sidewards. It is, after all, a real word. But I do have to admit that after looking at the word for a while, it looks strange. Like when you’re taking a true and false test and after writing “false” a number of times you look at it and have to wonder whether you spelled it right.

So I guess I’ll continue my quest to coin the word soggify.

Religion and Darwinism

As a comment to my last post, JoeAnonymousUser wrote:

So... regarding your statement above, "but simply because it’s the right thing to do", by what definition does "be nice to others", "try your best", and "forgive" equal the right thing to do? Who/what dictates that these attributes are "right" (vs. wrong)? Is it by virtue of our intelligence we are not like the common animal, whereby for the latter survival is the name of the game? Is the foundation of our civility for the human race based on our intelligence?

My response:

In a completely optimistic view of humanity as the highest form of life, yes, our intelligence is what separates us from other animals, and our “civility for the human race” is based on this intelligence. Man has learned, over many generations, that for us to maintain dominion over the animals – many of which are bigger and stronger than us – that we must use our intelligence (create weapons, find better hiding places, manage to escape) and cooperate with other humans to succeed. Stick a hungry lion in a cage with a human, however strong he or she may be, and odds are, the lion will not stay hungry. Give the human a weapon, however (a product of human intelligence), and the human has more of a chance to survive.

Animals generally kill to survive. They have to eat, so they kill and eat what they kill. Animals lower in the food chain tend to be more plentiful in number and guarantee survival by having more that may survive.

Humanity, I like to think, realized that we wouldn’t necessarily fare too well in the standard food chain setup. Of all creatures, humans are dependent the longest (a human baby takes one year to start walking, let alone fending for itself). Other animals care for their young, and for quite a while, but on a Darwinian Survival of the Fittest level, humans are not ideally equipped to survive in the wild without cooperation. Families, tribes, villages: all these groupings of humans (which I acknowledge exists in other species) work to ensure that humans survive.

We are now far removed from the pure survival model, having established ourselves, having built shelters and separated ourselves from the constant threat of being devoured by bigger and stronger carnivorous animals. And it is by our intelligence that we realized that we needed to separate ourselves, build walls (and not just climb trees or hide in caves that are already occupied by other animals that would probably be happy to devour us as well).

But this is not supposed to be about Darwin or the gradual transition of humans from the wild into cities. Every creature’s greatest wish, its underlying driving force, is survival. Humans are no different. We are driven to procreate, to thrive, to overpopulate the planet and drive all other species to extinction. We’ve still got that survival instinct, even after we’ve transitioned out of that stage. I believe we’re currently in the anti-Survival of the Fittest stage, where medicine and modern science are actually working counter to the theory. People with diseases and ailments that would normally kill them now live longer. Don’t misunderstand me: I am completely pro-science and think this to be a positive thing. But if the Survival of the Fittest model were still being followed, then those with disabilities would not survive, their genes would die out before they could be passed on, and the disability would eventually cease to exist. The problem is that if we went with that model, it would be at the expense of intelligence. Where would we be without Franklin D. Roosevelt or Stephen Hawkins?

By using our intelligence to set up societies to support the physically less able (by securing our survival), we are able to make further advances based on our intelligence. And our survival will only be guaranteed with a degree of trust. Say you’ve got two people trapped with a coyote, or some other creature that could take you out but you still stand a fighting chance. Person A is pretty strong, generally equally matched to the coyote, but after a while would probably tire out. Person B is not as strong, but is quite intelligent. In this scenario, one option for survival would be for Person A to let person B get eaten, then hope to defeat the coyote when it’s got a major food coma. Another option would be for Person A to fight off the coyote while Person B figures out a way to get them both out of danger. DISCLAIMER: This is, of course, a highly simplified scenario which assumes no intelligence on Person A’s part, and should not be interpreted as a judgment on the intelligence of strong people. That said, if Person B (smart weakling) does not trust that Person A would keep him from being eaten, then Person B will have a hard time thinking of a way to get them out. He needs to trust Person A. His survival needs need to be met. And for that matter, Person A needs to trust that Person B will come up with a way out for him to be willing to put himself in harm’s way.

I don’t know if that really explains why you need to be nice to each other, try your best, and forgive, but if I were in this scenario (and I’d have to be person B since I’m not particularly strong), trust me, I’d be nice to person A. And given that person A was keeping me from being eaten by a coyote (or at least maimed), I’d be trying my best to get us out. As for forgiveness, suppose that before A and B fell into this pit while out hiking and getting lost, they got into a bit of an argument where A called B a dumb jock and B called A a nerdy wimp. Well, in order to re-establish trust and survive, they’d have to forgive each other (and overcome their stereotypes).

Yes, that’s a highly simplified scenario, but think about it. We don’t live in a vacuum. We live in neighborhoods, go to school with people, work with people, and generally interact with other people day in and day out. We have but one life to live. When we die, that’s it. It’s over. (If you believe in reincarnation, then maybe not. And if you believe in heaven, again, you’d be surrounded by people, right? And then it would be for eternity, so this really holds true). Now, you can certainly go through life not being nice, not trying your best, and not forgiving, but where would that leave you? Alone, unliked, and bitter.

Be Nice: You can certainly go around being mean to everyone you meet, putting them down, and making them feel bad. But will they really want to spend time with you or ever do anything nice for you? If I’m hanging out with friends, I don’t like to feel crappy. If I’m having a bad day, seeing or talking to my friends makes me feel better.

Try Your Best: In my high school math classroom, there was a poster on the wall that read, “If you aim at nothing, you will hit it.” You could go through life not applying yourself and just gliding by. But where’s the sense of accomplishment? Where’s the pride? Try your best, and even if you fail, you won’t have to wonder if you missed your calling because you were too lazy to try. Besides which, pulling the weight, supporting someone who won’t help himself, gets old. If I’m working on a project with someone who only does a half-ass job, and I have to work harder, and we still get paid the same amount of money, I won’t be very happy with that person.

Forgive: Every wrong that someone could do to you, generally, will fade in importance after time. In the end, the fact that your supposed best friend got the pink shirt when you said you really wanted it, or even if she kissed the boy you told her you liked, means nothing. If anything, it speaks of her own insecurities and perhaps jealousy of you. Is a shirt or a boy really worth a friendship. And if it is, then fine, move on. But let go of the resentment. Because if the friendship isn’t as important as a shirt or a boy you said you liked but never did anything about, then it’s not worth the bitterness. It’s a lesson learned. And even that slacker at work, he’s taught you the value of work and how capable you are. Forgive him. And maybe keep track of these occasions to bring up during your own annual review so you can showcase how much you deserve a raise (without criticizing the other guy, because that just makes you look petty). (Look at me, giving employment advice when I haven’t worked in almost five years. Ain’t that grand? But I know you’ll forgive me.)

Getting back to the original question, as far as who dictates what is right vs. wrong, let me share my guiding philosophy in life. I believe everyone has a guiding philosophy, something that motivates him and makes him get up in the morning. Those who don’t, well, maybe it would help them if they did. I don’t know. But anyhow, here’s my guiding philosophy:

To make the world a better place for having had me in it.

That’s it. Now, I don’t consciously think about this philosophy every day. I don’t wake up saying “okay, how can I make this world better today?” I don’t hug trees, I drive a non-hybrid car, I use disposable diapers on my kid, and I’m sure I do plenty of other things that aren’t necessarily making the world better. But in general, that’s how I live. I don’t imagine my funeral very often (that still came across sounding kind of morbid), but I’d like to think that when it happens, the people there will be sad that I’m gone but will be filled with happy memories of me. That’s it. Ideally, nobody will be dancing around, thankful that that evil shrew is finally gone. If there is dancing, cool. As long as there’s no line dancing. All free-form, happy dancing. Maybe I’ll stipulate in my will that there be a DJ, playing all my favorite songs through the years. From the Eighties, there’d be some Duran Duran, definitely Men At Work, that song “Ain’t Nothing Gonna Break My Stride/Ain’t Nothing Gonna Slow Me Down/Oh No, I’ve Got To Keep On Moving,” DeBarge’s “Rhythm of the Night,” and Modern English’s “I Melt With You.” From the Nineties: Crash Test Dummies, Blues Traveler, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, but no Alanis Morissette (certainly not “Irony” in which she doesn’t include one actual example of irony). From these days: maybe some Coldplay, Flaming Lips, Maroon Five, and the Wiggles. Yeah, that sounds pretty good.

Anyhow, in my goal to leave the world a better place for having had me in it, I try to avoid pissing people off. I try my hardest at whatever I do, giving as much time for volunteering at my kid’s school as I can reasonably do without neglecting my kids. I say please and thank you. I try not to walk around with a chip on my shoulder (I forgive wrongs that may be done to me, usually inadvertently). I’m nice to my neighbors, my friends, the lady at the checkout counter who may be a little mean because she’s had a rough day that won’t end soon enough.

And this is what I’m trying to teach my kids. This is what I’ve learned is basically the commonality between all religions, lessons that can be taught without needing some higher being keeping you in line. Religion was formed to keep people from being savages, from dying young by being killed by each other, by neighbor coveting his neighbor’s wife. Apparently people needed rules to keep them from killing one another and undoing the human intelligent advances that kept people from being eaten by lions and tigers and bears (oh my).

At the beginning, I mentioned my optimistic view of humans as the highest form of life because of intelligence. I feel then that it must be coupled with my pessimistic view, which is that while religions were formed to hold people to higher moral standards, it has become a crutch, an excuse, for seeing other people of other religions as having lower moral standards, and justifying acts – which go against the spirit of religion – to get rid of opposing religions, and is the biggest challenge to the survival of our species.

In the end, everyone dies. It’s natural, it’s normal, and it’s the stuff of movies if it doesn’t happen (how sad is the boy in AI? And isn’t the price of being a vampire – at least according to Anne Rice - that you are condemned to leave behind and forever miss the ones you left behind?).

It’s what happens while you’re alive that matters, whether you’re seeking eternal salvation or not. You live amongst other humans, animals, and nature. Respect everyone and everything. They have as much right to be here as you do. And it would probably be nice to have them feel the same about you.

Finding My Religion

I just finished reading Kurt Vonnegut’s “Cat’s Cradle,” which showed me the obvious downside of founding a religion. Now, this may seem like a useless lesson to most, but in my past, I have had aspirations of starting my own religion. Now, I realize that I have not sufficiently studied all the world’s religions to find one that may fit me perfectly, so it may be a bit premature to assume that I could come up with a religion that is better. But in the end, I am not a simple follower. I cannot wholeheartedly buy into what other people say is true (strangers, “holy” people who claim to know the word of God).

One basic assumption with any religion, of course, is the existence of God, a greater being that “watches over everything,” the final judge. I have to be honest. I don’t know that I buy into that. I believe there’s something (or at least I’d like to believe it), but I don’t know what it is nor do I think it is anything so concrete as to concern itself with individuals. First of all, God does not watch football. I suppose He is all-powerful and can multitask better than the best human, but seriously, even if he did watch football, would he really make one team win because it was more religious than the other? Imagine it. “Oh, geez,” says God, “Here I was watching this game, because Joe Athlete prayed to me a lot, and whoops, I overlooked this wave and let a tsunami kill thousands of people.”

The fatalism implied in the statement “Thank God” annoys me; so much for free will, God decided that the Browns aren’t devout enough to make it to the Super Bowl. Sure, that’s one excuse. I suppose if we had a devout Christian, Jew, Hindu, Muslim, Zoroastrian, Christian Scientist, Mormon, and Buddhist starting line, we may stand a chance. Never mind if the other team may be stronger, faster, better trained, and better paid than our team; God – any, all – will surely make us succeed.

“How can God let this happen?” we ask about various atrocities in the world. Guess what. It’s not God that lets cruelty to animals and dictatorships happen; it’s fear. People are too afraid to take their heads out of the sand and mess up what is a comfortable existence to help others. We let it happen. Every time we turn our backs or throw our hands up in despair, thinking “oh, what is the world coming to?” without doing anything to change it, we let bad things happen. We are fatalistic because we don’t do anything. Nothing is God’s will. Everything is human’s will.

I once browsed the “Encyclopedia of World Religions.” In it, one “religion” was Dialectic Materialism. Karl Marx called religion the “opium of the people.” By that, he did not mean that it is an addictive drug that people blindly buy into (though he may have meant that as well); rather, he saw it as a sedative, a way for people to put up with the all the crap that life was throwing their way. “Well, if I put up with the crap with religious fervor, then my afterlife will be better.” Marx’s response to that was that if life sucks, do something about it. Don’t just take it. It’s that unwillingness to simply bear injustices that appeals to me about Marxism, a.k.a. dialectic materialism.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not a communist. Philosophically speaking, on a purely theoretical level, I agree with Marx’s and Engel’s ideology. In reality, however, the final stage, that of reaching equilibrium and equality, doesn’t happen. It would be great if there were no ruling class, and that everyone worked according to their abilities and took according to their needs. However, inherent in this system is the loose interpretations of “abilities” and “need.” There are always those that abuse the system, those that do less and take more than they should. The dialectic part of dialectic materialism states that there are always two opposing parties – the oppressor and the oppressed. Eventually, the oppressed overthrow the oppressor, and themselves, in turn, become the oppressors. Human nature. Communism was the practical application of the Marxist philosophy. Problem is, someone was still in charge, and the system was abused.

Humans think. That sets us apart from other creatures. We think bigger and better. We like progress. We have ambition (because otherwise, what’s the point of thinking? If everything is supposed to stay the same, then why bother?).

“Social reforms are never carried out by the weakness of the strong; but always by the strength of the weak.” This was a quote by Karl Marx that I saw on some website. Pretty cool quote. But now, Marxism has been so maligned, so discredited as anti-American that no matter how beneficial socialism may be for the working class, it will never succeed. The Western bias is so ingrained into children throughout their education (I once took a class in high school called “Non-Western Studies.” Not Eastern Studies, but non-western. Tell me there’s no bias.).

So on a theoretical level, dialectic materialism makes sense. But I’m not particularly oppressed or of the working class. I lead a good life. And as I’ve mentioned before, I’m pretty lazy.

So I’m still looking for a religion. I believe in science. It’s something that requires proof, something that must be able to be reproduced again and again. And any religion that discounts the existence of something is absurd. Christian Scientists don’t believe in medicine. The following is from www.carm.org:
17 Evil and good are not real, S&H, 330:25-27; 470:9-14
18 Matter, sin, and sickness are not real, but only illusions," S&H 335:7-15; 447:27-28.
19 Life is not material or organic, "S&H, 83:21


So how does a Christian scientist respond to an x-ray? Or the Body Worlds exhibit where they showed the actual plastinated lungs of a smoker and a coal-miner, both blackened and much smaller than the size of normal lungs (the coal miner’s lungs were 2/3 the size of a smoker’s lungs, and even denser and blacker; the smokers lungs were 2/3 the size of healthy lungs). I mean, I believe in mind over matter; these days I don’t use any meds except Tylenol, and suffered through a cold (apparently due to sinful living) without meds. But that has to do with pregnancy; I believe they would help to alleviate symptoms. I believe they exist. I believe they have their place in this world. But what I don’t understand about Christian science and scientology is if they are so anti-medicine, so anti-science, why would they incorporate the word into their name?

A Google search for Scientology returns as many links explaining and introducing browsers to the world of Scientology as those that decry the evil religion created by science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard, and spread by brainwashing unsuspecting disciples. Incidentally (or at least according to www.xenu.net), someone named Xenu brought overpopulated people from somewhere in this galaxy to Earth and exterminated them with hydrogen bombs. The souls of the murdered people then infected the bodies of everyone. And advanced Scientologists can “audit” out these “body thetans.” So I’m guessing that illness is just these thetans acting up inside a person’s body, and thus, since these are alien souls, even if medicine does exist and work on human bodies, they wouldn’t work on the ill because earth medicine wouldn’t work on thetans? That’s my best guess, anyhow.

When I first learned that a science fiction author had invented a religion, I decided then and there that one of my life’s goals was to form a religion. It would be a simple religion, one that led people to do good instead of evil without relying on fear of what might happen to them after they died (no vengeful god or alien possessions). I mean, people shouldn’t do good because they’re afraid of what would happen if they don’t (there’s no scorecard), or because what some book said (any book of god necessarily is contaminated by human interpretation), but simply because it’s the right thing to do.

Be nice to others
Try your best
Forgive

These are basic lessons that I’m trying to teach my kids, lessons I think they can learn without the benefit of organized religion. It’s just when people stop thinking for themselves and let their religious leaders do the thinking for them that trouble starts. Usually, it’s fine, and there are good people out there, everywhere, that are not mere drones of religion. But if you’ve never questioned anything about your religion, then how do you know you really believe it?

As it turns out, I think my religion does exist. The book “The Four Agreements” by Don Miguel Ruiz describes four simple rules to follow to simplify your life, based on Toltec-based cosmography (The Toltecs, incidentally, “were spiritual scientists and artists who explored esoteric knowledge and practices.” [New Dimensions website]. Here are the four rules:

1. Be impeccable with your word
2. Don’t take anything personally
3. Don’t make assumptions
4. Always do your best

Simple, to the point, hard to do, but everything I need to live well. I'd say I'm a Toltec, but just because I believe what I skimmed from a book I never completely read doesn't mean I'm willing to subscribe to a new identity. I'll just pick and choose what I like and follow my own little spiritual path.