Absorbing the Genius

World's Worst Mother Needs a Time Delay

2012-01-10T19:50:00.000-05:00

The mechanic told us it would cost approximately a bazillion dollars to fix our car, and so we purchased a car that may not need not fixing just yet. It came with a trial of XM/Sirius Satellite Radio.

On the way back from a friend's Chanukah party, Einstein (8) asked if we could put on one of the Dance/Electronica stations. There are three. I chose at random. The song was interesting, but after a while there was singing of sorts, repetitive singing containing a lot of f-words. I hoped the cursing would be "fleeting" (see below for the U.S. Supreme Court connection here).

Whenever I heard the word, I dutifully exclaimed "BLEEP!"

Einstein said, "Mom, I already heard it. You don't have to say "bleep."

He is only a third-grader, you see, and although he is very smart, some things must still be explained. "I must say BLEEP because I am a RESPONSIBLE PARENT!"

Fast-forward a couple of weeks, and we're in a restaurant. Einstein is sitting next to his dad across from me and my 6-year-old, Pumpkin. Dad is talking about something emphatically and with expression and somewhere in there, an f-word is spoken. I hope the kids don't notice.

Pumpkin says something I don't catch, so I lean down and ask him to repeat it.

"It's okay," he said. "I bleeped."

My job is done.

[Totally Relevant Aside: The U.S. Supreme Court today heard oral argument in the FCC v. Fox case, which involves the issue of "fleeting expletives" and "fleeting nudity," both of which used to get a pass from the FCC. The Commission changed its tune somewhere along the line (probably after getting lots of complaints after things like the brief sighting of Janet Jackson's boob during the Super Bowl) and the high court must determine the (brace for seven-syllable word) constitutionality of the current FCC policy. Stay tuned, so to speak.]

But We Are

2011-06-17T17:07:00.001-04:00

Last year I lamented the lack of attention most Jews pay to the holiday of Shavuot. I reported in that post that "my kids didn't really celebrate Shavuot. Also, as I had predicted, there were very few people at services. No one thinks Shavuot is important enough to take their kids out of school ... ." Commenter Shtuey pointed out that "[t]here is no ritual practice associated with the festival. There is no seder, no building of a temporary structure, no lighting of multi-branched cand[elabra], etc. The best it gets is that we eat dairy."

So far, I have not figured out how to get people excited about Shavuot. But I wanted to go a step further this year and take the kids to the service. At the very least it would give them a clue that a holiday happens in late spring/early summer, even if most people, even Jews, haven't heard of it; the fact that people show up in the middle of the week for a service at the synagogue is "proof."

The problem was that Einstein (8) was supposed to have Field Day (which they call "Spring Swing") on the day I was to take him out of school for the holiday. It felt wrong to deprive him of Spring Swing. I was going to take his little brother only. But then the forecast said that the temperature would reach about a million degrees, with crappy air quality, and they cancelled Spring Swing. I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

In the morning, Einstein asked, "why can't I go to the service?" I said, "well, you can if you want to." He said that he wanted to, and while I realized that he might have been at least partially motivated by a desire to get out of going to school, I was sure that telling him he could had to go to school instead would send the wrong message. Even if, every year, he looks at the Jewish calendar and happily exclaims "oh look! I can get out of school on this day!", I would prefer that to "oh, look, another boring Jewish thing this month ::groan::"

We were getting ready to leave for the synagogue and in the entryway I gave the kids a bit of a warning that there probably would not be very many other children; that, in fact, they might be the only ones. Seeing their confused looks, I said, "well, this is an important holiday, but for some reason many people don't treat it that way."

Without missing a beat, Einstein said, "but we are."

Indeed. You've earned your day off, kid.

Wind-up Rocket Ship

2011-01-11T14:23:00.001-05:00

Okay, so I was working on a blog post titled "Wind-up Rocket Ship."

It was going to be called that for two reasons. One: I talked about the significance of a little space shuttle that you wind up and it rolls about on the floor and a little spaceperson pops out. I gave it to my son Einstein as a Chanukah gift. You'll see that story in a bit.

Two: In my post involving Pluto, I inadvertently attracted some astronomy people, with passionate comments. I love passionate comments, even if they have little to do with the point I was making (really, I think the whole Pluto thing is very interesting, and I don't mind tangents at all! Tangents lead to things you didn't know you thought or wanted to say and that's where the magic happens! Wait--what were we talking about?). So yeah, you can leave me passionate comments about almost anything. Nothing nasty about me, though. I'd have to come over there and ... you wouldn't want that.

Anyway, I thought I'd mention the Rocket Ship and more space people would show up here. You are all welcome! (Except Borg. I love the Borg but they are kind of mean, and I don't think they blog OR go to movies, let alone do anything Jewish, and if I got assimilated I couldn't do that stuff either. Borg don't seem to do birthdays, either, 'cause they are a hive mind and no one's an individual with a unique birthday. My birthday is soon, so if I'm going to be assimilated, it has to be after that.)

The post to which I obliquely refer was taking forever! I do try to make my posts read fairly cohesively, and be clear about their purpose, and kind of make the reader feel good at the end. It wasn't working. It might eventually work, but I do want to post things, sometimes. So I thought I should find some other way to make this into a publishable piece.

Originally, I was going to list a whole bunch of things that we earthlings living in society do wrong on a regular basis. For example, we don't stand or sit up straight. I find that I'm much better off if I sit the correct, ergonomic way. It prevents the backs of my shoulders from feeling like they are made of cement. Also, if I'm walking around and remember to stand up straight with my head up and my shoulders back, I feel instantly better. I think it opens up your airways and makes you look taller and smarter! Or at least taller. BUT, most of the time, I forget to sit and stand properly, and this is just one of many things I (we) do WRONG.

Then I was going to talk about things that are right, or at least that feel right. For example, as I may have mentioned, I don't keep a kosher home. But I always feel better buying kosher products. Sort of how you feel when you're a kid and you do something your parents would approve of.

The whole "keeping kosher" thing runs the gamut. Some people keep kosher in their house, but if they are at someone else's house, or at a restaurant, all bets are off and they eat whatever they want. Others have more flexibility outside the house, but would draw the line at consuming pork products or shellfish, or, in some cases, mixing meat and dairy together. To illustrate, for such a person it might be okay to have a hamburger in a restaurant that was not made with kosher meat (rules about what makes meat kosher omitted) (see, I avoided that tangent!), but not to have cheese on said burger.

Following kashrut rules in the home can vary quite a bit too. Growing up, we had two separate sets of dishes, silverware, and pots, one for dairy meals and one for meat meals. However, we used the dishwasher for both (not at the same time). If we were more observant we would not have done that (you either have two dishwashers, or you wash one set by hand).

My husband, who was not brought up keeping kosher, and has no desire to do so, can't get his mind around keeping kosher only in the house. He thinks it is hypocritical. As I said, I don't keep kosher, but if I'm looking at two products in the grocery store, and one has a hechsher and one doesn't, I'm going to choose the one that does. Example: I pick Little Debbie Swiss Rolls over Hostess Ho Hos (I also sort of like the fact that the Little Debbies call a "serving size" TWO cakes. They are in twin packaging. Really, does anyone just eat one?)

I was trying to make the point that even doing little things that feel "right" in themselves--even if they are technically hypocritical, or incomplete in that they don't constitute really following Jewish teachings, and even if they don't comport with what others do, and might even make someone ask "why do you care?"--can help to neutralize all of these things we do wrong all the time. I know, that's kind of lame. I was hoping to have a dream, or for some insight to fall from the sky that would return this concept to the cleverness it sported when I first thought of it. Surprise! That didn't happen either.

Also, I wanted to include a funny kid story because those seem to go over well. But all I can come up with right now is that Pumpkin (5) referred to his nose as a Really Big Booger Place recently, and although that was sort of funny I couldn't flesh it out into a story.

During my despair over my inability to make this into a post with any kind of value at all, I was linked to a really really really really really funny blog. I am not going to link to it right now, because if I do, you will go read that instead. I could never be even a tenth as funny as this blogger. Maybe a fifteenth. If what I'm writing right now is a fifteenth, you may tell me so and make me happy. I realize you can't compare this to the superhilarious blog because I didn't tell you which one it was, but I know you love me, and that you will go comment "ATG is a fifteenth" or "1/15!!" after you read this post. And I'll see the comments and smile and skip around happily. It will be your good deed for the day. Then when you find the Really Funny Blog, you may revise your comparison percentage, but just do it in your mind so that I can obliviously continue to feel all .0666666667.

One of Really Funny Blogger's posts (which, by the way, also include comic art) was one in which she expressed concern that she had already written and posted such great stuff that she'd reached a peak, and that maybe she should write some shlop in order to lower her readers' expectations. So she got drunk and wrote some stuff that didn't make sense and made pictures that were maybe not as great as they usually are, and told her readers as she went along that she was going to post this even though it kind of sucked, and so she did, and her attempt to pretend not to be funny was, of course, funny.

I figured I should absorb this genius, and come over here and use it to polish the mirrors. I figured I would write all about how I can't seem to write anything, and say woe is me a few times, and magic will happen and it will morph itself into a worthwhile post.

And the best thing is this: if it isn't good, and you tell me so in your comments, then I can do what RFB did, and UPDATE the post by responding to your comment in a way that makes YOU look like a jerk for saying negative things about me and my writing. Everybody wins!

Just a few more things to meet my arbitrary standards of sufficiency. Or to make this post entirely too long. Maybe you should take a break now? Go pop some popcorn. I'll wait.

THE ORIGINAL LEAD-IN TO THE ROCKET SHIP STORY: At Kol Nidre (the service for Yom Kippur eve) one year, the rabbi asked everyone to think of their favorite Jewish artifact, and also their most remembered spiritual moment. We were supposed to talk to someone next to us about the two for a few minutes, but I had come to the service alone and was sitting at the end of a row next to a married couple, so I sort of sat there awkwardly silent until the rabbi resumed his sermon. But I enjoyed this exercise.

The artifact was easy. A bat mitzvah celebration is a gift-giving occasion. Like many others I received gifts of cash, checks, bonds, a few books, Shabbat candlesticks from the synagogue (every girl got those; boys got a Kiddush cup), a number of pieces of jewelry and a couple of jewelry boxes to keep them in. Other than the candlesticks, I only remember receiving one piece of Judaica. It was a challah knife, with a blue on white decorated handle, and a long serrated blade with the words (in Hebrew): "L'chvod Shabbat," which means "to honor the Sabbath." My mother said that I could choose whether we should use the knife now, or save it until I got married. I liked the idea of saving it, so I did. Looking at it now reminds me of that time, and that choice.

(this isn't my knife, but you get the idea. Taking a picture of my knife and uploading it myself would have delayed this even further!)

AND NOW HERE IS THE STORY: The kids are old enough to understand that they do not celebrate Christmas, but can still enjoy the season (such as by taking in the Winter Lights show, more on that later). There is still some tweaking to do (Pumpkin asked me the other day if I "hated" Santa Claus) but they get very excited about the Jewish holidays. They are still a bit too into the gifts, but it seems that kids this age like to get things, regardless of what they are. The other day Einstein said "this is my favorite Chanukah gift that I ever got."

He was holding one of those tiny plastic wind-up toys; a space shuttle that sort of scuttles across the floor and opens up so the tiny astronaut can go on his/her little space walk. It cost three or four dollars. It may not be a piece of Judaica, but that link to Chanukah in his memory is enough to charge it up with spiritualism. His mind will file it in the "My Religion" cabinet, in the "Chanukah" drawer, under "Things That Make Me Smile." At least, I hope so.

AND NOW I MUST CELEBRATE MY SUCCESS AT FINALLY PUBLISHING THIS...WITH A HAPPY SONG: Clicking on this will probably make you go "I remember this song!" You can't NOT like this song. Even my mother likes this song, and she does not generally let rock guitar pass her eardrums. It will go through your head for the rest of the day, but the cool thing is, you can change the lyrics and just sing about whatever you happen to be doing. Enjoy!

And remember your significant numbers: a fifteenth, and the sixteenth, which is my birthday. Yes, this weekend we celebrate 12tequilas's birthday weekend [with all due love and respect to MLK --ed.].

Err Like a Human

2010-09-17T11:30:00.001-04:00

In preparation for Yom Kippur, we search our souls and see where we have sinned against G-d and against other people. Then we apologize for these sins, and resolve to do better in the future. You have to own up and then do something about it.

On these last few days before the big ol' Day of Atonement, we try to seek forgiveness from our friends and family that we have wronged. I thought about this a lot this year, but did not actually get a chance to do it. I thought it would be a copout to go online, say, to Facebook, and post a general "please forgive me" shoutout. That would certainly not cover it, and would be too easy. (This ain't supposed to be easy.)

But, as I said, I didn't get to it, at least not yet. Then yesterday morning I got a mailing-list e-mail from writer Naomi Ragen, whom I greatly admire. Ragen wrote:

Friends,

A day before Yom Kippur is a day of deep soul-searching. I have searched my soul, and would like to publicly ask forgiveness for mistakes I have made, and actions I regret:

1) I ask forgiveness from all my readers for not having the time to answer all their many comments to me. If you wrote me, and I didn't answer, please forgive me. In the year to come, I will try harder, although I ask forgiveness in advance if I don't get back to you. But please know I read every, single e-mail sent to me.

2) I regret harsh answers and columns that were written in a moment of anger and frustration. I will try harder to be more tolerant.

3) I regret mistaken information I forwarded. I will research more diligently before posting.

4) I regret the 2003 article I wrote in which I said very harsh things about Richard Joel, who had just been appointed president of Yeshiva University. It was a time when the Intifada was very strong in Israel and certain branches of Hillel on college campuses were courting the anti-Israel "peace" junkies. YU was reportedly going to hold a dialogue with such a group. I saw red (always a sign I shouldn't be writing a column.) and since Richard Joel had just come on board, mistakenly targeted him. In 2007, YU established the Center for Israel Studies. Richard Joel said the following:
"The Land of Israel and the State of Israel are central to the future vision of the Jewish people and have always been central to the reality of Yeshiva University."
My deepest regrets, President Joel, and a public apology for ever thinking otherwise.

I thought that what Ragen did there was pretty classy, and then I thought, hey! I got me a public forum right here.

My biggest sin, I think, is not anticipating others' needs and trying to help them out. For example, I have a friend whose husband has been in the hospital off and on all year. I sent her notes wishing them both well, and I told her that I would be happy to help in any way that I could. However, I failed to actually do anything. When we say we are willing to help, we always mean it, but the person needing the help should not have to ask. I'm sorry for not getting in there and figuring out how I might be able to make things better.

I'm also sorry for not trying harder to make things better for my mother. She has some physical issues due to horrible arthritis and to a neurological condition that affects her balance. This is my mother, my oldest friend (she knew me before I was born) and someone who has done innumerable things to help me out and to get me through life, and I don't know how to help her.

I apologize for not keeping in touch with my friends the way I should. I think they understand, fortunately. (Call me! We'll get together and do something even if it's just coffee and conversation!)

Now I have to ask for forgiveness for a wrong against my 4-year-old son, Pumpkin. He has already forgiven me for this. I mean, he likes me a whole lot, no matter how many desserts I deprive him of. In fact, he gave me the Biggest Hug in the Whole World recently, which was a multi-part hug that took several days to complete. And I make really yummy chocolate milk, so why should he have a reason to be angry with me? Well, I'll tell you.

I took Pumpkin to a "Holiday Boutique" sponsored by our congregation's Sisterhood, back in November. I'd wanted to stop by there and look at what they were selling. They were also going to have tables where kids could do Chanukah-themed crafts, and Pumpkin's a big craft person so I knew he'd like that.

After a while of doing crafts I got impatient with Pumpkin. We didn't have much more time, because we needed to be at a party later, so I expressed annoyance over not having had a chance to look around. I don't remember my words, but they were needlessly accusatory. I started to feel bad immediately. The lady running the crafts offered to watch him while I checked out the wares. It turned out there was nothing I wanted to get. The gift I was thinking about getting was Not Important. But Pumpkin making crafts was Important, and always will be.

As I was winding up my browsing, Pumpkin came running up to me, saying "look what I made for you!" (see, he had already forgiven me). It was a snowflake stuck with some dreidels, some stars of David, and a couple of other things. I had raised my voice to him, and he still made this, with me in mind. I felt worse, and worse still as the day progressed, even though he wasn't upset with me at all. I keep the snowflake on my bulletin board at work, so I can look at it all the time and remember what really is Important. I'm sorry, Pumpkin, and I will try never to do anything like this again.

G'mar chatima tova (may you be sealed in the book of life), and an easy fast. G-d willing there will be a next year to try to improve our repentance skills. May this be a year of Important Things, like Really Big Hugs. And ice cream with chocolate sauce. Why not?

... And A Bunch of Other Stuff

2010-07-21T13:43:00.001-04:00

You may have wondered why I posted the seemingly random video of The Band. I was actually trying to achieve a bit of musical balance, after having put up the celldweller thing. Unfortunately, having celldweller, The Band, and the link to The Connells video in the comments in such close proximity caused a dangerous digital reaction. If you look closely, the edges of the blog are a bit charred. I promised the people at Blogger that I would be more careful in the future, but I had my fingers crossed. You know I'm prone to risky behavior.

And speaking of music.

Composers of music for children who grew up in the 60s or 70s are struggling with how to deal with the recharacterization of Pluto as a "dwarf planet" instead of the last of nine planets in our solar system. On Barenaked Ladies' extraordinary kids' album Snack Time, there is a song called "7 8 9," with this: "Seven ate nine! Once upon a time in our solar system/We couldn't make do without 9/But Pluto's not a planet now, so eight'll do fine."

The Nields' superlative Rock All Day/Rock All Night contains "Percy on Pluto," in which they explain: “Pluto’s not a planet anymore, you see it came up short/It’s really pretty tiny and its orbit’s way off course/You can’t really call it a planet anymore, but you can call it Planet Dwarf. ... It doesn’t really matter what you call it it’s the same/A rose is still a rose, after all, by any other name/And those of us who are little, we matter equally/In fact that’s why they passed the laws of mass and density.”

My favorite treatment of the Pluto Issue is on Here Comes Science by the incomparable They Might Be Giants. They run through the eight planets but also mention other bodies that often go unmentioned. This way, they can talk about Pluto and not have to go on about how it was once considered a planet but now it's not, yadda yadda, who cares, and just to make sure they've covered everything, they tack on "and a bunch of other stuff." Brilliant.

(I highly recommend all three albums, by the way. Unlike many kids' albums, these are chock full of genius and get better the more they are played.)

Okay, so, remember Passover? Right, you don't want to. Too bad. So I hosted a seder, and my family came, saw, and was suitably impressed. We used a haggadah that my mother found, which was supposed to help you do a shorter but more complete seder. We were test-driving it, and we only had one copy, so I read from it while others tried to follow along in another Haggadah. (I know, one isn't supposed to do it this way, but stay with me.)

As Mom had warned me, the language was a bit advanced for the young ones, so I sort of modified it as I went along. My mother-in-law exclaimed "wow! I've never heard this before!" which meant that, even though she had hosted and attended many a seder, she had never heard the story told quite this way. I believe I made it ... entertaining while simultaneously educational! The only grumble was from my oldest nephew, but he's 15 and that's sort of his job.

(Oh, and the food was good. When I have lots of money I will buy this seder plate. And kiddush cups for the kids. And a havdallah set. And a bunch of other stuff.)

The big people were also impressed with my children's chanting of the Four Questions in Hebrew (and Einstein's reading of them in English), which we had practiced at night before going to bed. Pumpkin is especially eager to learn things like this and then show everyone. When he hits religious school he will be far ahead. Meanwhile, Einstein's religious school report card was outstanding, and received a "Woo hoo!" comment from the director. Apparently, some genius absorption has been detected.

And speaking of holidays.

There was an event for little ones on Shavuot, but I did not take them, because I realized that it was really intended for the preschoolers from our shul's "Early Childhood Center," or ECC, who would not have school that day. I've been to ECC-sponsored things and found them to be cliquish; i.e., I felt loserlike because my child wasn't in the ECC. (It's also hard sometimes for a Mom with a job outside of the home, such as myself, to relate to those without, and since ECC is not a full-day program, many of those mothers are in that category. Wow, that sentence tried really hard to be "correct," didn't it? This is a complicated issue. We won't get into this now.) The bottom line is that my kids didn't really celebrate Shavuot. Also, as I had predicted, there were very few people at services. No one thinks Shavuot is important enough to take their kids out of school (my mother even told me not to, which is interesting, because during our public school years that's exactly what my parents did...).

A lady read my mind, suggesting after the service that we start talking up Shavuot early on, and planning for it so it is in everyone's mind. This is the celebration of G-d giving us the Torah. What could be more important? So next year...

And speaking of synagogue attendance.

I have to give our shul points for deciding to allow people to officially pay their membership dues and religious school tuition on a monthly basis. It used to be that you had to call up and speak to the administrators and discuss the fact that you could not afford to shell out all that cash at once. I've received mailings about just going ahead and paying monthly installments without making any special arrangements. I think more people will join if they don't have to grovel.

I could do an entire post on how expensive it is to raise Jewish children, but I don't much want to. This part depresses me. When I was the age my children are now I was going to camp at the Jewish Community Center, but I can't afford to send my kids there. (It is even more expensive now than it normally would be, because, as I understand it, someone Madoff with much of the JCC's endowment.) There is a Chabad camp that operates nearby, so I may be able to swing a session there next summer. But I'll go cross-eyed if I try to focus on the funds required for a decent bar mitzvah, a high school Israel program, not to mention TWO kids in religious school next year. Then I'll start bumping into walls, which might cause me to break my house, or a fingernail. Can't have that.

In order to continue the attempt to establish, and eventually cement, my family's religious involvement, without getting depressed or anxious or having to iron my hands or whack my head I have to maintain a level of contentment with an unknowable future....

Okay, stop the presses. The end part of this blog post has been conveniently written for me by my son. I was bringing Einstein to camp on the morning of Tisha B'Av (The Ninth of Av, the 11th month in the Jewish calendar). On the car ride over, I reminded him about the Wall in Jerusalem, and explained that on this day far back in history, enemies of the Jews destroyed our Temple, and all that is left is that wall. (I wanted to keep it simple for him, but Tisha B'Av actually commemorates several tragedies that occurred--probably not so coincidentally--on this day.) This launched into a discussion of Jewish beliefs and holidays.

Among other questions, he asked why his cousins "switched to Christian" and whether they could switch back (he seemed to be thinking: why would anyone want to do that?). He asked me when it was going to be Passover so we could read from "the Play-Doh book" (referring to a children's haggadah we use that has claymation-type illustrations). We spoke a bit about the seder and what he liked about it (helping to set the table was one thing). I told him that Rosh Hashanah was coming up next, and he got very excited because he remembered the apples-dipped-in-honey tradition, probably his favorite holiday food thing. He said he liked Shabbat. He asked which holiday is the one where you look for three stars? That's actually havdallah, the end of Shabbat, I explained. (We haven't started doing havdallah, though I really want to. For some reason, we didn't do this growing up, but it's a nice ritual involving a cool-looking candle and b'samim--aromatic spices such as cloves. I think it is time to take Einstein to the Jewish Stuff Store and get us a havdallah set.) He said he likes being Jewish.

I'm supposed to say something here about how this one little boy has provided me a huge boatload of hope that is, by itself, a great force to secure us against future attempts at the destruction of our people. If any of you Very Smart and Talented Writers have the words to express that, have at it in the comments. Instead I'll just say that if I sometimes feel like Pluto, he is my dwarf planet Eris, and even way out here, we've got apples and honey, and a bunch of other stuff.

Seven Years and Counting

2010-05-06T10:17:00.000-04:00

Craig C. DeWolfe, MD, MEd
Children's National Medical Center
Sheikh Zayed Campus for Advanced Children's Medicine
111 Michigan Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20010

May 7, 2010

Dear Dr. DeWolfe,

My name is 12tequilas. We met on May 7, 2003, and ever since then, I've been wanting to express my gratitude for what you did for me and my family. You may not remember us from 7 years ago, so let me give you some background.

My son Einstein was born on February 22, 2003, full term and healthy. Everything was fine until around his seventh week of life, when he got some sort of gastrointestinal malady that has never been definitively diagnosed. My little one was having severe diarrhea, and because of some misleading advice from the late-night nurse hotline, by the time we got him to the emergency room, he was in hypovolemic shock [that's a dangerous level of dehydration]. He was stabilized in the ER by the superb pediatric emergency medical team at Shady Grove Adventist Hospital, who had to administer fluids through intraosseous infusion [an IV line goes into a vein, an IO line infuses fluids directly into a bone. Yep.]

Einstein was not nearly out of the woods. He had some organ damage and his itty bitty guts were a mess. He was admitted, connected to various monitors, and tested; everything from lumbar puncture to brain scans. He needed red blood cells and platelets. He couldn't eat because it all went right through him. After a week it was decided that he should be transferred to Children's National Medical Center in D.C.

At Children's, Einstein was visited by medical staff from various departments. The Infectious Disease folks tested him for rotovirus three times. Genetics experts compared all of our ears. And, of course, there was the Gastroenterology "team," headed up by a mad scientist who shall remain nameless but whose initials are "Ali Bader." I don't want to crack on your colleagues, Dr. DeWolfe, but it is important to this story to note my perception that Bader and his team treated Einstein like a case study and seemed to want him to have some sort of heinous disorder. "Cystic fibrosis" was everyone's favorite pick, and it was sometimes talked about as if he was already diagnosed with it, even though he was too little then to undergo the definitive CF test. This bothered me, not only because people DIE from cystic fibrosis, but also because he had only one symptom--diarrhea. He exhibited NO OTHER indicators for CF whatsoever.

The doctors figured out that Einstein needed to be taken off all food by mouth. He'd had total gut rest at Shady Grove, but it hadn't been for long enough. After he was on TPN [that's Total Parenteral Nutrition, which is complete sustenance, rather than just fluids, through an IV] for a solid period, he was gradually put back on formula, and things improved as far as weight gain. When all this began, he'd gone all the way back to his birth weight.

Lots of other stuff happened during our stay and I have many stories, but I will fast forward to the morning of May 7. The GI team visited me early that morning; I believe I requested their presence because I wanted to know what was going to happen next. The woman who acted as the team's spokesperson (I never knew who she was really supposed to be), rattled off a list of tests they wanted to perform, or to repeat. When they left, I called my husband at work and said, tearfully, "we are never going home."

A bit later you walked into our room. It was the first day of your rotation as attending on our floor? wing? area? (Not sure. It didn't matter. You were our doctor.) You entered, introduced yourself, and looked over at your tiny patient, whose face lit up. He broke into an ear-to-ear grin and his eyes sparkled. It was as if he knew that you were his guardian angel. You smiled back, of course, because how could you not. Then you did a quick exam.

I don't remember whether it was you who gave me the news, or if it was an intern or resident that you sent, but after checking out Einstein and his chart, you determined that Einstein should be discharged immediately. He was not sick, you said. He was no longer hooked up to anything. He was being fed by mouth; it was super-special formula (which, judging from its price, must have been made of edible gold), but we could leave with a prescription. We could follow up with Dr. Bader at the outpatient clinic. There was no reason for Einstein to be in the hospital anymore.

Over the weeks that followed, our pediatrician eventually let us go back to nursing, and recommended another pediatric gastroenterologist, the esteemed Dr. Lynn Duffy. Einstein was six months old by the time we could get in to see her, but it was worth the wait. She told us we could start him on baby cereal, waved a magic wand, and Einstein was a normal healthy baby again.

I have been wanting to send you our gratitude formally, and it seemed appropriate to finally do so on this, the seventh anniversary of May seventh.

In short, Dr. DeWolfe, you rock.

With love and respect,

12tequilas, husband, Einstein, and Pumpkin

encl.: photo of happy, healthy, gap-toothed and mohawked 7-year-old Einstein, and maybe some cookies or something, what do you think?

A Drunkard's Dream If I Ever Did See One

2010-04-28T13:40:00.000-04:00

Periods of scattered relevance are expected within the week.

Switchback

2010-04-16T09:58:00.005-04:00

Must...find...time...to...blog....

I have a lot to tell you. I must report on how Passover went (mostly great), I must rant about negative people, and I must celebrate with you the seventh anniversary of a very important event, involving doctors, nurses, and mad scientists.

To tide you over, newly discovered music that sort of defies description (comment below if you'd like to try). We have so many decisions to make, and along the way we've done it wrong. This song addresses this situation in a cathartically angry manner.

(If you hate this song--and some of you will--it's a near guarantee you'll love the one I include in the next post. Let's see if I'm right. Isn't this fun?)

Pesach, Part I

2010-03-05T16:10:00.006-05:00

I have a plan to host my own seder. (Be nice to me and maybe you'll be invited.) I want to have it under my roof, so that it can be done my way. Specifically, I want to go through the whole Haggadah, even if we skip parts, but make sure that all the important elements are there, such as the singing parts (not just "Dayeinu," which is the only one my in-laws know, and they only know the "Dayeinu" part), and some of the after-dinner part that people tend to skip. This calls for creativity, strategic advance planning, and holding fast against complaints. Certain members of my family would love to dispense with all that religious stuff and just skip ahead to the meal.

If you've never attended a seder, I'll tell you it can be very long, but it doesn't have to be boring. I will adjust for length and minimize the "boring" parts. I want it to be meaningful, educational, and fun, especially for the kids.

I think that starting a seder very early so that it doesn't end very late is fine. This will help the kids, and my mother, who turns into a pumpkin at around 8:00 p.m.

I think participation is key. I plan to map out a program and give everyone roles ahead of time.

It's okay to have snacks during the before-the-meal part of the seder if you get hungry. My old college roomie's family always had "egg break," wherein when someone calls out "egg break!" and you stop the seder for a bit and pass out hard-boiled eggs. Eggs are a seder staple anyway; they are a symbol of life and fertility and other good stuff.

I plan to hand out hot towels during "urchatz," (which is where you wash your hands but don't say a blessing, because you do that later), because hot towels are a luxury! that we can have because we are free! and not slaves! What do you think?

I like the idea of having funny symbols for the plagues (such as a stuffed cow for cattle plague, or Band-Aids (R) for boils), not that plagues are funny, but it works like mnemonics and helps the kids remember.

I think I'll drink four glasses of wine. I will have earned them. Maybe I should pick up a bottle that's just mine. What do you think?

Issues like kashering and cooking for Passover will have to wait for a later post. I just wanted to get this out fast. Yes, people, I'm posting without reading it over 12 times. Do you believe me? Okay, yeah, I went back and edited, just a little. And then read it on my phone and fixed the typos I saw. What?

World's Worst Mother Lets Her Sons Pick Up Chicks In A Bar

2010-02-24T19:15:00.001-05:00

Einstein and Pumpkin sat on stools at the corner of the bar at the Hard Times Cafe and Cue (Pumpkin needed a bit of assistance getting up there). They were looking around for one of the cute bartenders to serve them drinks. Just kidding! They were playing the video game they have there on the barcorner, one of those with a touchscreen, where you pick from a selection of games that cost different amounts and play until your credits run out.

I sat at a table just beyond, watching their faces, which glowed in the light of the game.

I looked away for a moment and as I looked back, a young lady was handing the boys something. I walked over to see what was going on. "I hope it's okay," she said. "We were watching them play and they were just so cute!" She had given them an extra dollar. I thanked her, and she and her friend walked off. I looked to see which of the many games the boys had been playing.

It was Beer Pong.

When it is time for my children to leave home, they will already know how to cook their own food, do their own laundry, and play their own drinking games. Ready for the world!

******************

Two Friday nights ago was supposed to be Parents' Night Out at the kids' care center. PNO is the greatest invention ever. You bring the kids as you usually do, but then you just don't pick 'em up...until 9:30 p.m. Ten bucks per child, they feed 'em, they entertain 'em, the kids look forward to it, and it is the cheapest babysitting you are ever going to find.

But yes, I did say Friday night. Erev Shabbat. I admit that when there is an opportunity for a relatively inexpensive date with the hubs I say let's do it.

Last week, though, we were blessed with an insane amount of snow. There was some sledding, some sliding, some snowballs, some snow sculptures, even this impressive column of ice joining the roof edge to the deck rail (which further increased girthwise after this photo was taken), but that snow messed up pretty much everything, and it is still doing so. The roads are clear, but making turns when giant snow mounds obscure the oncoming traffic? Very dangerous. In any event, day care was closed for two days--I don't think they have closed once since we started taking the kids there five years ago--and Parents' Night Out was postponed.

Meanwhile, something neat happened. I have a siddur (prayer book) that was given to me as a bat mitzvah gift. It's one of those siddurs you may have seen, published in Israel, small and portable but with an ornate gilded metal cover. My son Einstein (now 7!) picked that book up that Friday and started asking me questions about it. He seemed fascinated and genuinely interested in the answers. He said, "maybe I can read from this tonight when we do the challah and candles and all that stuff."

Because of Parents' Night Out, I had not thought we would be doing "all that stuff," but after Einstein said what he said, I headed out...to Trader Joe's.

I love Trader Joe's. The produce is beautiful, they sell all sorts of interesting stuff you really want to try, it's healthy, organic, colorful. But the thing I love most about Trader Joe's is they carry many kosher products, some of which are hard to find anywhere else. For example, you can buy grape juice boxes that are kosher. It is harder to make grape juice kosher than other kinds of juice, so there are brands of juice boxes that have a hekhsher (that's the symbol showing it to be kosher; includes the U in a circle, the K in a star, and a host of others) on all varieties except those containing grape juice. Trader Joe's has kosher grape.

Best of all, Trader Joe's actually carries varieties of kosher meat, for which I'd have to travel much farther. I should note here that there are those who would not consider meat Trader Joe's sells as kosher, even if it is packaged by a kosher manufacturer/distributor and clearly labeled. This is because Trader Joe's is open on the Sabbath, and so can't really be trusted (topic for another post? oh yes). I am willing to overlook this, given how much kosher stuff TJ's puts on their shelves, the balloons they give my kids, and ... their challah. Oh, the challah. It is SO GOOD. I bought a challah, and some kosher chicken, and that evening, while chanting the kiddush, my elder boy looked over my shoulder and sang with me.

No, he wasn't really reading the words. He couldn't read that tiny English print, let alone the Hebrew, which he's only barely started learning. But he sort of pretended. He wants to learn this, folks. It's clicking; we are starting to identify with the Jew-related things...this is important to Mommy, this is something special that sets me apart, I want to learn more about this, etc.

I know it's possible to teach kids about their faith and get them to want to participate, without having them tell their friends years later, "yeah, I'm Jewish, but my parents forced it down my throat!" I heard kids say these words about their upbringing (Jewish and not), so this worries me. I think everyone rebels; the key is to make sure the connection is there, somewhere, so that the rebellion ends up as nothing but a temporary exception, an experiment that ultimately fails, and then the child is finally sure where he belongs.

************************

P.S. Here and there I'll be highlighting songs from Playlist 40. This is a song list I created for the occasion of my 40th birthday. Most of the songs have a connection to some event or period of time in my life. Many genres and eras are represented; something for everyone! I'm sure you'll find the stories are absolutely fascinating.

This is Tom Tom Club, founded by Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz of Talking Heads. This song brings back memories of riding the bus to school, since it crossed over into the scope of my bus driver's favorite station, which never would have played Talking Heads in a million years. It also reminds me of the time I went to see Tom Tom Club and Tina W. came out onto the balcony to watch the opener. I react like a starstruck groupie to famous people, especially musician-types, so it was with jelly knees that I approached her to get an autograph.

There's no real story behind this one, but I chose it because sometimes someone puts you in the mood to shout out lyrics like "your conversation never sticks/'cause no truth in you exists/yeah, you bite before you lick/I love ya 'cause you're such a ______" A few of the Playlist 40 songs are the type you sing emphatically at someone, even if the someone isn't there to hear it. "It's moments like these I revel in."

I love The Seekers, in part because that guy playing the double bass wore the exact same glasses as my father. I've never seen this video before today but I LOVE Judith's dress. Oh, and it's a great song.

Practice

2010-01-29T15:35:00.000-05:00

And now for a Xmas leftover:

Christmas is coming
The goose is getting fat
Please put a penny in the old man's hat
If you haven't got a penny
Then a ha'penny will do
And if you haven't got a ha'penny
Then god bless you!

What I'd like to know is: Back then, did they use Cutco or Ginsu scissors to cut all those pennies in ha'?

******************

An interesting issue came up during the "holiday season," when a coworker was Queen of Decorating for her group's seasonal party. She had put together a lovely Xmas tree, but was warned that some party attendees might be offended. The Queen turned to her trusty Jewish advisors, yours truly and mutual friend Hank Azaria, and asked what we thought of this predicament. Hank and I were in agreement that the tree would be fine.

The fact is, these parties are called something besides "Christmas" parties to be inclusive, and that's very nice. But Christmas parties are really what they are. That's fine; as non-Xmas-celebrators we're happy to celebrate with you. It would be virtually impossible to accommodate everyone's religious affiliation when planning such an event, and it's better not to try. Some Jews will hope that you will have some sort of Chanukah decorations as well, and could be offended if you don't, but since this is not a Chanukah party I see no reason to do this, and don't really find it appropriate. Keep it simple. In the same vein, I am not offended if you wish me a Merry Christmas. People get all embarrassed and apologize when they "slip" and wish a Jew a Merry Christmas. Why? We appreciate the good wishes. It's fine. I may not speak for all Jews when I say this, and if you feel differently, please comment below.

********************************

And now, on to the real nitty gritty.

I should be posting here more often, because I've succeeded in attracting a number of beautiful and intelligent readers (you!) who will abandon me if there's never anything new here. Not purposely, of course, it's just how things are out here.

It is mostly lack of time that's keeping me away, but there's something else. I have been wanting to dress up this blog with a new purpose.

I was brought up observant; a Conservative Jew. My father was our congregation's cantor. We kept kosher. When I was attending public school, my parents took me out of school on holidays. We went to synagogue on those holidays, and on many of the Sabbaths. I transferred to Jewish private school along with my sisters. I am fairly fluent in Hebrew. I spent a semester in Israel. I went to Jewish summer camps. I had truly memorable Shabbat (Sabbath) experiences at camp, in Israel, at the Jewish Theological Seminary, and at a Yeshiva University-sponsored program.

I didn't think this would ever change. At High Holidays, we would look around at all the "once-a-year" Jews and feel proud that we weren't like that. Nevertheless, quite a bit of this life slipped away from me slowly as I moved away from home, started making my own decisions, changing my priorities.

Love for my faith was always there. Whenever I was neglecting a mitzvah, or eating something forbidden, I was aware of it. But now, in trying to reenergize this part of my life, trying to make sure that my children love Judaism the way I do, and care about it, I've run into a number of obstacles; time, money, attitudes, and other impediments.

I have been looking for a way to share all this here, and to chronicle my efforts. I've seen many times how supportive the people inside the computer (now inside the phone too!) can be. But this issue is so emotionally charged for me, and I'm afraid of being judged. I don't care if you criticize my really hot showers or my questionable parenting. But about this, I care. I'm also worried about inadvertently offending someone else.

On the other hand, if I tell you about this, you'll hold me accountable. On Five Full Plates there are five bloggers each committing to losing 10 pounds in the first 10 weeks of 2010. If one or more of them don't, we'll all know about it. They will be that much more motivated because their readers are keeping watch.

This subject isn't really all that funny at first glance, but then, with inspiration, or good drugs, I might be able to work around that. I'll definitely go off on entertaining tangents.

I've already said too much. I need to go lie down, or eat chocolate, or something. Talk amongst yourselves while I'm gone.

Tin Soldiers

2009-12-30T14:50:00.000-05:00

I have a post in the works on everyone's favorite topic, religion. It's going to have to wait though, because my thoughts have been diverted for a short while.

Did you ever go into a movie theater, have an amazing dream, and wake up covered in popcorn? That's Avatar.

You can criticize it, sure. You can say there are clichés, or that the plot is old, or that some of it is predictable, but guess what? I DON'T CARE. And neither will you. See it. In 3D.

This film got me to thinking, and I'm not going to tell you what about, because I don't want to spoil it. One thing that happened is that this song started playing in my brain. I thought it should play in your brain too.

If anyone can play this on a guitar, a ukelele, an accordion, or whatever, it's perfectly in my range. Let's jam.

World's Worst Mother Teaches Responsibility

2009-12-01T14:46:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving. I woke up and thought about how my house was going to smell really good soon. But first, preliminary chores. For one thing, the bin we keep in the kitchen to collect recycleable cans, bottles, boxes, etc. was overflowing. I needed to bring it into the garage and empty it out.

Suddenly, I realized I did not have to do this task alone. On the couch were two little helper types, beings we are trying to teach stuff to, like: we all have to pitch in to get chores done! And: okay, you don't have to help me, but I don't have to make breakfast for you either! And: when People are coming over, the house needs to be tidier than usual! Which means help me right now or else!

I'm just kidding. The children were more than willing to put shoes on and accompany me to the garage. I showed them how to sort the cardboard and paper into one blue plastic county-provided bin, and the bottles and cans into another. We all cooperated, and it got done quickly and efficiently.

I knew that I had succeeded in instilling into my older son, Einstein, a sense of obligation, and of the importance of taking part in work as a family, when he said this:

"Mommy, I want to do this every Thanksgiving!"

Your traditions may include watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, baking pies, or impromptu football, but every year at the appointed time, without fail, my son will happily and proudly take out the recycling.

Everybody Steps On Me, That Is Why I'm Cracked, You See

2009-11-20T10:40:00.000-05:00

Back here I tried to explain what progressive rock is. I then discovered a much better explanation and I urge you all to check it out, even if you don't really care about the definition, and even if you think progressive rock sucks (actually, especially if you think progressive rock sucks). Amazingly, what you are about to experience is absolutely hilarious, while at the same time completely true (Lolly, get your adverbs here). Watch the videos for the full effect. You won't be sorry.

Cracked.com: Progressive Rock in Five Minutes

And now: World's Worst Mother Attempts Sarcasm

My son Pumpkin (Now 4!) is a picky eater. When it comes to pasta, it usually has to be in mac and cheese form for him to be happy with it. I was making wagon wheel pasta for Einstein, and Pumpkin pouted and refused to have any. I gave him some milk, and refused to make him his own special meal. The difficulties of parenting need to be taken out on the kids, of course, so I gave my son this gracious attitude: "Well, I'm glad you are having milk for dinner. Hope you enjoy your milk dinner!"

Fortunately, the child was not in any way affected. "Mama, after my milk dinner, can I have candy?"

All Mukkah'ed Up

2009-11-11T21:45:00.000-05:00

So you know when you're trying to find something on the Internet, and you end up stumbling onto something unexpected? Well, this happened to me the other day. The surprising thing that I found outraged and infuriated me. It also made me angry. And pissed me off. I've been going back and forth on whether to blog about it, simply because I'm not even sure I can find the words to make you understand why this is bad.

Let's start by reminding you of this. You don't need to read that now. It's long. Here's the summary: a friend asked me why it was that we couldn't celebrate both Chanukah and Christmas, and wouldn't that solve the problem of my son's Christmas envy. (I should say "sons'" Christmas envy because, unfortunately, now it is both of them.) The answer is, no way, no Christmas in my house. The post linked above explains all that.

There are two sites I found, and there may be more, that hold themselves out as "Jewish" and "kosher" and sell gifts you might want to give to Jewish people. But what if you have a Jewish friend who is married to a non-Jew, and their family celebrates both Christmas and Chanukah? These sites have the perfect gift solution for you. Clearly this situation puts you into a holiday gift black hole, I mean, what could you possibly give these people at the Big Important Holiday time of year that would make everyone happy? The answer is: a Chrismukkah gift! I cringe as I type that completely stupid blended word, knowing that a search for it might now bring up this blog. At some point I blogged about my son's invented word "disgrossting." The words "gross" and "disgusting" are meant to be combined. Christmas and Chanukah (while often used in the same sentence) are not.

I'll link you to the sites so you can see what I'm talking about. But please don't be taken in. The sites do features some very nice Judaica but I refuse to give them my money and you should too.

Here's one. Here's another. Look at some of the stuff there. You won't believe it.

A search reveals other sites, and of course, a Wikipedia entry, which notes, "um, 12tequilas, Chrismukkah's been around for several years now...you are only just looking it up? Where have you been? Under a rock somewhere maybe?" I love you Wikipedia, but you can bite me. Yes, I am that angry about this.

People who celebrate more than one religion within their families don't mix the holidays up to create one new mashup tradition. I suppose some people might want to do it that way, but they shouldn't. Chanukah is NOT the Jewish Christmas, people. No matter how much you may want it to be. If you want to have a Christmas tree, have one. Don't put dreidls on it. If you want to hang stockings, hang them. Don't make them blue and white and decide they are "Chrismukkah" stockings. If you want to sing Christmas carols, sing them. Don't play a Klezmer carol CD. It's insulting. I have news for you: Chanukah and Christmas do not even coincide this year. There is just no excuse for this.

Look, I get it. Christmas is fun and all that. If you must celebrate it, do so, but don't feel as if you have to take a perfectly good Jewish holiday that has no relation to Christmas, and turn it into Christmas. If you want a dog, get a dog. Don't pretend that your cat is a dog. You cat will not take kindly to that, and you'll end up looking like an idiot.

Cold

2009-10-12T14:11:00.000-04:00

If you know me well, you know how I feel about cold weather. I'm always cold anyway--I wore a sweater in my office throughout the summer--so I don't particularly look forward to the All Coldness All the Time months. A year or two ago, I found myself making a mental list of the things I actually do like about autumn and winter, so that when I start shivering and my teeth start chattering, I can refer to this list in an attempt to cheer myself up. Happily, it keeps getting longer. I thought I'd share it.

Pumpkins. I like everything about pumpkins. I like their color. I like how there are all different sizes, from the cute little itty bitty ones to giant award-winning insanely heavy ones. I like taking all that gook out from the inside and extracting the seeds and roasting them. I like Jack-o-Lanterns. I like pumpkin-flavored things, from Starbucks's Pumpkin Spice Latte to pumpkin muffins to pumpkin soup. (If desired I will share recipes for Curried Pumpkin Soup and Pumpkin Chocolate Cheesecake Bars.)

Sweaters. Especially the really soft ones.

My trench coat.

My leather gloves. Also, my velvet gloves.

Boots.

Scalding hot showers. Yeah, I know, they are supposed to fry the skin and waste energy. Remember how much I hate winter. This helps me get through it. It's like those magic mood lights, which I should probably use too.

Wood fires.

Hot beverages of all kinds: coffee, tea, chai, etc.

Chili and soup.

My fleece robe. Actually, this comes out all year round to combat winter cold, air conditioning cold, and ice-cream-consuming cold. Yes, I put a robe on over my clothes in order to eat ice cream. Nothing should take away from the joy of ice cream, I say.

Walking in new snow.

Skiing. (Okay, I have not skied in years. But I loved it when I did it. And since I went WAY north to do it, I was able to prove to myself that even I can survive extreme cold if adequately prepared.)

Sledding.

Thanksgiving.

Halloween. My son Pumpkin was born on Halloween. And on Halloween night, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch (if it is sufficiently sincere)....

My birthday.

Chanukah. And Christmas, y'know, for the days off.

New Year's Eve.

Not needing to run groceries inside before they perish. In fact, if it's cold enough, you can run your other errands after that one. One year at Thanksgiving, there wasn't room in my refrigerator for the cider that I use to make my famous secret-recipe hot cider. So I just kept it outside. (That won't work every year though. I think it was something like 65 degrees and sunny last Thanksgiving.)

Curling up next to a warm fuzzy dog under a blanket. Or, if I'm lucky, a snuggly child. Or both.

In early February 1987 there was about a foot of snow on the ground at Kennedy airport in New York. At my eventual destination, hours and hours later, it was 85 degrees, sunny, warm. It was not an island in the Carribean. It was Eilat, on the southern tip of Israel. So to conjure up that same feeling of warmth, I give you Israeli proggers Orphaned Land.

Elucidate

2009-09-30T14:57:00.000-04:00

Can anyone tell me what this song from way back in '89 is about? It seems a woman named Elisabeth is trying to get a supposedly innocent person out of jail. But, is this based on something that actually happened? Yep, I'm one of those irritating people that always wants to know what the song means. If you ever want to know what any of my songs are really about, I promise to tell you, and not be cryptic or tell you to figure it out for yourself. (That is, unless the song isn't really about anything, and then I might do those annoying things.)

By the way, since I know you are wondering, Nik Kershaw no longer wears his hair in that style. I think he is still that skinny, however. Still mastering the melodies. And he just might still have those boots.

Teshuvah, Tefillah, and Rock 'n Roll

2009-09-27T15:21:00.000-04:00

Blogger's Note: This is is less of an essay, and more of a brain dump. I wanted to get into the whole concept of repentance and what is supposed to happen on these High Holidays as we approach Yom Kippur, but there isn't time. Continued discussion is welcome though.

Foreword:

Prepare to be wowed by the depth and profundity of this:

When you get an itch in the middle of your back, G-d makes it so you can reach back and scratch it.
If you can't do that, G-d gives you a back scratcher to help you reach.
If you can't do that, G-d provides you with a trusted friend to scratch your back for you.
If you don't have that, G-d gives you relief with the notion that the itch will eventually subside.
What's that you say? Didn't G-d give you the itch in the first place?
Shut up.

************

I, and about eleven or twelve hundred other people, went to a Porcupine Tree show. (I promise this post is not really about Porcupine Tree.) It was Friday night, Sabbath eve, or Erev Shabbat. And this wasn't just any Shabbat, it was Shabbat Shuva, the Sabbath of Return or Sabbath of Penitence, which always falls between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

For some time, I have lamented letting go of much of my Jewish observance, but it was only recently I started to do anything about it. When it began, it was like a big file drawer was opened in my mind. I was having lots of religious/spiritual memories. Most notably, I could remember Hebrew songs. I remember songs in their entirety that I have not sung in years. I sing them to my kids at night; they love the sound of them even if they don't know what the words mean.

The opening band was King's X, a guitar-rock band that turned out to be a bit of crunchy fun. During their set I was thinking that although I'm not supposed to be here on the Sabbath, G-d is still here, at least in some capacity. So I started saying all the Friday night prayers I could remember. Then I tried to do a bit of teshuvah.

This is the time of year when we are meant to be seeking forgiveness for the wrongs we've done, but there are a number of chances to get it right. In order to improve yourself in the eyes of G-d and possibly transform the severity of whatever G-d has planned for you in the year to come, it is said that you must do teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah; repentance, prayer, and charity or good deeds. So I did what I could there in the midst of screaming guitars and pounding drums. I did feel the presence of G-d.

Recently, I was suffering from an ailment that causes a very uncomfortable symptom. (This is not strictly a female ailment, but I think it is more common in women.) The symptom seemed to continue even after I started the antibiotics, and I worried that maybe I had something more severe. I didn't so much pray, but thought to myself that if this symptom would go away, I could handle any of the usual life crap I typically complain about.

So G-d challenged me. He took the symptom away, but gave me a couple of emotionally challenging situations to deal with instead. The first of these was a bad thing, but one that I had some control and influence over.

Just after Rosh Hashanah, my son Einstein's asthma became exascerbated, and I took him to the emergency room. It turned out he had pneumonia. Of course I would have taken my discomfort over his. But I could comfort him, get him water, tell him how brave he was, advocate for him, make his stuffed animals do goofy things so that he'd laugh, rub his back until he slept. He's better now.

The PT set began. It seemed G-d was still there. I tried to listen and hear everything.

"But after a while
You realize
Time flies
And the best thing that you can do
Is take whatever comes to you...."

The life crap, regular or unusual, can get you down. I am good at pulling myself out of a funk, but lately I feel myself getting pretty low. It has made "proper" teshuvah difficult. But you do what you can. There are methods, and rituals to follow, but it really all comes down to finding a way to have the presence of mind, and the desire.

"Silence is another way/To say the things I want to say." Maybe G-d is hearing me even when I'm not doing it right. Help me do it right, I thought. The next morning I could not get to synagogue, but I said the Sabbath morning prayers, with the Shabbat Shuvah bits added in, in my pajamas.

"Down in my soul you are..."
My left hand held on firmly to my right arm. I may have been in a crowd, but I was keeping myself company. Maybe forgiving myself.

A little teshuvah and a little tefillah in an unlikely place. I have the hand-stamp to prove it.

A Little Waste of Space

2009-09-18T15:30:00.000-04:00

I'd planned on rounding up and riding out the hard news and other randomness from the past few months, in typical noncohesive fashion, and then appending a piece on my thoughts on Rosh Hashanah, which is almost upon us. Unfortunately, I did not have time for the write-read-edit-revise-lather-rinse-repeat process that such a post would require. For now, I send you l'shana tova wishes, and sweetness all around, and please check back for the deeper spiritual stuff. The following starts of kind of serious, but gets lighter and skippier as you go.

June 2: 12tequilas is extremely happy, having had a great appointment (routine) with the gut surgeon yesterday (and those of you with IBD know what I'm talking about). Her good mood was only slightly diminished when opening the paper and finding out that a 14-year-old boy in the neighboring county was killed as a result of unprovoked gang violence perpetrated by kids the same age.

Does this happen to you? When I was getting ready to go out with friends to celebrate turning 21, a friend called to tell me that the U.S. had just dropped some big ol' bombs on Baghdad. Good thing the restaurant in which I was ceremonially carded had big screen TVs, so we could all hear what George Bush Sr. had to say about commencing Operation Desert Storm on my birthday. I just did not want to know about it right then.

More recently, I was happy about accomplishing something and was kind of floating and smiley about it. In fact, a person I greatly respect called me "intrepid," which is a descriptor I'd never before enjoyed. Then I was informed that some asshole was shooting people at the Holocaust Museum. The first thought that popped into my head was "I don't want to know about this right now." I may have said it out loud. And then I burst into tears at my desk, because I felt terrible for having that thought.

June 15: A letter to advice columnist Amy Dickinson complained about the appropriateness of housewarming gifts after telling guests she wasn't expecting gifts. "I don't want to complain," she writes, "but I don't think liquor is an appropriate housewarming gift. I think it's a husband-warming gift, and the wife is left out in the cold!" Um, did I miss some rule that only women drink? If so, I'm in trouble.

This woman and her husband were trying to replace all their old and worn out stuff after they bought a new house. So they thought they'd have a housewarming party and ended up with booze. Although wine might be a slightly better choice, I thought it was funny that she made a general statement to the effect that a gift of liquor is only for the husband. (It also depends on the kind of liquor, have you ever tried Godiva? It's like dessert, really.)

July 8: 12tequilas here with the hard news. I had something quite hard really about how they're going to close a bunch of I-95 rest stops in Virginia, the learning of which made me really have to pee all of a sudden, but then I came upon a debate about ice cream, which taught me that there are some people who place cones above ice cream in importance, and others that don't like ice cream at all (-gasp!-).

A close relative commented thusly: "Here is my $2 (2 cents raised for inflation). My local ice cream shop, (which I will now shamelessly advertise, I should get paid for this) Bruster's makes their own waffle cones and their own ice cream. A single scoop in a waffle cone is huge compared to a single scoop in anything including the waffle bowl. The waffle bowl is, is by the way, very good dipped in chocolate. Make sure that when you get said cone you also get the plastic "cone"-shaped holder. If your cone is flawed, ask for a bowl. If you do not, you will drop ice cream on your lap and then have sticky, yet yummy, mess to clean up. (And your clothing will be stained beyond repair, especially if said ice cream is of the chocolate variety)."

She also asked: "if the government closes rest stops on 95, where are people supposed to pee? Men have it easier than us women. I think the person who wants to close the rest stops is probably a man and doesn't care about where the women pee!"

I explained that apparently the rest stops were built before there were all those McDonald'ses. Supposedly the distance between McDonald'ses is not very long. If you've ever been to a Virginia rest stop, however, you'll know it ain't the same. Close Relative recommended WaWa. Their bathrooms are "OK," she said. "Plus you can make your own milkshake or smoothie there. Not in the bathroom though."

I'd like to share this column from July 13. In it, John Kelly gripes about having to change his password all the time, but shares some interesting tips for repeatedly coming up with passwords you'll remember.

July 22: 12tequilas here with the hard (and crunchy) news. A class action lawsuit has been filed against PepsiCo, parent of Quaker, maker of Cap'n Crunch cereal and its spinoff, Crunch Berries. The suit accuses the defendant of All Sorts of Torts, stemming from the main wrong of deceiving customers into believing that Crunch Berries contains fruit. (Update: the case was dismissed. Try to contain your shock.)

July 30: 12tequilas here with the hard news. President Obama drinks Bud Light. Really, what more do you need to know?

On August 6, 12tequilas broke a rule. The rule is: never buy candy corn when it is not Halloween. Most of her FB friends aren't big fans of candy corn apparently, and Close Relative was actually concerned by this news. However, on August 11, 12tequilas looked at the package again and saw that the fourth ingredient is "honey." She instantly realized that candy corn is healthy. Just like ice cream your child doesn't finish has no calories.

More recently, 12tequilas visited Bed, Bath & Beyond (remembering Peter Griffin's advice to "stay away from that 'Beyond' section"), and noticed that they carried a Candy Corn Party Tray with all different colors and flavors! Even better, they have THIS. Shot glasses, made out of ice. She could probably die happy now.

August 19: 12tequilas likes it when awesome people admit to weakness. From today's WP: "'There are many times where even I, at certain points in the evening, after a few drinks, can't pronounce my own surname.' -- Ukrainian actress Milla Jovovich, 33, to Britain's Daily Express."

Last, my personal favorite--August 26: 12tequilas here with the hard and righteous news. It was reported on an in-depth radio news program this morning that Mel Gibson's estranged wife Robyn got some good stuff in the split, including the property containing Gibson's "breakaway" church (he had to create his own because no church is Catholic enough). Rumor has it that Robyn is thinking of razing the chapel to build some guest homes. But more importantly, the radio people were all wondering how Gibson could claim to be beyond the most Catholic of all Catholics, and then get his mistress pregnant and divorce his wife. They agreed that the Jews must be blamed.

King of the Ladies

2009-08-18T23:00:00.000-04:00

(Or: World's Worst Mother Update)

It's a bit difficult to grocery-shop with kids. Despite that, if I shop by myself, I find that I miss them. So I instituted some rules to try and make the process easier. I ask the boys to recite the rules each time we walk into the store ... where they proceed to break each and every one of them. But I figure one day they'll stick.

"What are the rules of the grocery store?" I ask. "Don't run away from Mommy!" Einstein will say. "Don't grab things off the shelves!" Pumpkin will say. "No one pushes the cart but Mommy!" "No yelling!" Sometimes they make up their own. "Don't talk to strangers unless Mommy says it's okay!" That one's not specific to the store, but it's a good one anyway.

A few weeks back they kids learned a new rule before we even went into the store. That rule is: avoid confrontation.

The parking lot for this supermarket has your usual layout--rows of spaces you can zig-zag up and down. There are also spaces along the back of the lot, facing out toward the street. On this particular day I turned down the car down one parking aisle and decided it was simpler to just head straight to the back. I did that, but as I was putting the car in park I noticed a car moving slowly behind ours, perpendicular. It had come around the perimeter as I was headed down the middle, and in a flash I realized that I may have gone right for the space without looking to the sides as I crossed over the perimeter access, and nearly ran into the crossing car.

In my rear view I could see the car behind ours inching forward. The man driving it was looking in my direction, and although he was wearing dark sunglasses, I could sense the accusatory stare behind them, and I could tell he wanted to impart his unhappiness. I waited. The kids asked why I wasn't getting out of the car. "Okay..." I said, to my windshield. "Just keep going..." The kids were confused, of course. I explained that the driver was mad at me and that I really did not want to talk to him. To them this seemed completely appropriate. Eventually the driver moved on, and parked at the other side of the lot. I whipped the kids out of the car as quickly as I could, just in case he came back to yell at me.

Moral: If you almost cause an accident, play dumb, and use your kids as a buffer whenever possible.

**************************************************************************

Holding hands and skipping is a great workout for the shins. It will also improve your mood, guaranteed.

**************************************************************************

There is nothing like ascending an escalator toward a little boy standing there with his arms stretched out in front of him, waiting patiently for you to reach the top.

**************************************************************************

Pumpkin made a crown at school, and he was planning to sleep with it on his head. "So I can be king while I sleep," he explained. But then he changed his mind, took it off and handed it to me. I put it on my head. Pumpkin looked at me for a moment and then declared, "You're King of the Ladies!"

*************************************************************************

And a WWM bonus:

"Mama!" from somewhere else in the house.

"WHAT?!?!?!" said in an annoyed and exasperated tone, conveying how tired I am of being called for the 900th time while I'm trying to make dinner.

"I love you."

Yesterday Upon the Stair I Met a Man Who Wasn't There

2009-07-23T21:39:00.001-04:00

(He wasn't there again today.
I wish that man would go away.)

I thought this ad was enormously funny and had to share it with you. Not sure what that says about me, but...

Soothing the Savage

2009-07-21T15:04:00.000-04:00

I am going to defocus this blog even more now, by spinning a post off of the comments in the last post, which had very little to do with that post itself, but in any case got me thinking. Probably no one was paying attention, but there was a little debate about music, and eventually, we took it outside, so to speak. But now I feel like I have to backpedal, and get off my high horse, and some other clichés. I had suggested that anyone who listened to Porcupine Tree would be certain to love it, and of course that is just not true.

Porcupine Tree is a progressive rock band--or, as it is more commonly known among fans, a "prog" band. Prog is tough to define, and, as always happens when people are passionate about something, there is much disagreement over the definition. There are also a number of subgenres of prog to further confuse things (progmetal! neoprog! goth prog! classic prog!), but generally prog rock is characterized by experimentation, ununsual time signatures, sometimes unusual instruments or unusual ways of playing standard instruments, departure from pop and rock formulas, and songs of epic length (think old Genesis). Prog is an underground thing--dare I say it, a cult thing. It takes very little time for the 1,000-seat theatre at Lehigh University to sell out for the North East Art Rock festival (NEARfest) which took place last month. Many are willing to spend quite a bit for a Patron ticket to ensure their spot for NEARfest, because these people are serious.

But if you ask the person to the left of you and the person to the right of you, chances are neither one of them has heard of prog. That's because not only is prog sort of an acquired taste, you have to want to acquire it. Every once in a while a new person gets introduced and they realize that they've been missing something all their lives. But this is rare. So I was being unfair to expect that this would miraculously occur for all or even a few of my wonderful readers.

(Lest you think that you've never heard of a single prog band, there are a number of them that have made it to the mainstream that might be familiar to you. Examples are Pink Floyd, Rush, and Yes.)

I'm still a little surprised that anyone wouldn't like "Lazarus," the song that was the subject of the last post, being such an emotive and lovely song and all. But I know, we all like different things. My children think the live-action Scooby-Doo films are just as great as the animated material, which I couldn't disagree with more. A family member once described The Simpsons as "stupid," and a part of me died. I guess I just have to get over it...

Although I am a prog fan, I'm not a nutty exclusively prog listener. That should be obvious if you've been following along. To show you that I'm not just about the esoteric, I'm going to link to something that is almost on the other end of the musical spectrum from Porcupine Tree. Check out the Web site for Grey Eye Glances. This is a folkish pop band. What I love about the site is they have a page with actual entire songs, not just clips, to listen to. Or you can go to the sampler page, which has a few of these songs chosen to be introductory. It so happens that two of the members of Grey Eye Glances also play in the prog band echolyn, but obviously they couldn't live by marble rye alone. Some of the songs are just plain fun, some are a bit haunting, I love the musicianship and harmonies, and I can sort of sound almost as good as their singer if I really try. In other words, GEG is singable. Let me know what you think.

Let's swing back again for a sec. Spock's Beard is a prog band, generally thought of by the oxymoron "mainstream prog." Those who judge books by their covers will certainly have things to say about this band's name. But if they sound good, who cares?

For something different, again, I'm repeating the plug for Chris Cornell's album "Scream." I may have turned some people away from it by posting the "Part of Me" video in an earlier entry. It's not the best song in the bunch, and the video is useless unless you happen to think Chris Cornell is sexy (ahem). But the album is really funkin' groovy. It's cheer-up music at its best: the perfect mix of angry and fun. No further YouTubing here; I'll leave that one up to you.

Back on this post I said I might post some more of the short films from Alphaville's Songlines collection. This one is actually more like a music video, in that it feels as if there's no true ending to the story, but again, no band members, just real live ACTORS. I love turning this song up in the car just for the explosive riff that starts it off--a devastatingly beautiful piece of noise that unfortunately gets cut off in the vid--and my son Pumpkin now makes requests for "the LOUD song." Fortunately, I never get sick of it.

I could go on and on, flitting about the musical omniverse, making you start looking around for my mute button. I haven't even touched kids'-music-that's-good-for-adults, timeless classic rock, the 80s music you won't admit you liked, etc. I'm currently creating a sort of ultimate playlist that spans my life and includes all the songs that ever had any significance to me. I promise not to post it (unless you ask, of course). But, I have more tales to tell of the world's worst mother, so watch this space.

World's Worst Mother: Happiness is a Sad Song

2009-05-28T09:51:00.000-04:00

This post is dedicated to my friend Marty, who passed away May 21 from a serious illness. He was my age-ish (young!). We shared a deep love and respect for the awe-inspiring talents of Porcupine Tree and its alchemist, Steven Wilson.

(This post is referenced at the Love Thursday feature of chookooloonks.com)

When my three (and a half!)-year-old, Pumpkin, gets picked up from a hard day at preschool, he can be a bit tired. Of course this fatigue tends to manifest itself as whining, or crying over nothing. If he's whining, crying, or otherwise kvetching and there's no pain or threat to him, I've been known to react to such conduct by ... laughing at him.

I picked the kids up yesterday, and as I was buckling them into their car seats, my six-year-old, Einstein, asked for macaroni for dinner. Pumpkin had already begun whining about something so I thought I'd egg him on. "I was thinking of making you a big bowl of mud. With worms! Yummmm!" Pumpkin, who was most certainly not in a joking mood, responded with an emphatic "NOOO!"

"Oooo ... and maybe some beetles!" I said, smacking my lips. "They crunch when you eat them, yum, yum!"

"Nooooooo!" responded Pumpkin.

Behind me in the car, Einstein made this a conspiracy against the scowling tot. "How about some tasty grasshoppers?" he suggested.

"NOOOOOOO!!!" The tears were starting.

At this point, the CD in the stereo started playing Porcupine Tree's "Lazarus,"¹ and if you play the video below you'll get the idea of the atmosphere created thereby. I heard Pumpkin say "Mama, this is a sad song." He's a sensitive kid and minor keys are something else that can make him cry. (It is, in fact, a sad song, but a lovely one, in contrast to PT's heavy full-rock-out material and their spacey stuff.)

Einstein was touched by the song's mood as well. After 30 seconds or so of driving, during which Pumpkin seemed to completely calm down, I heard Einstein say, "Mommy, look, I'm holding [Pumpkin]'s hand."

I looked.

He was.

I'll never forget it.

¹ I realize that Lazarus was a New Testament character, but I'm in denial about this, just like I have always denied that C.S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia are about Jesus. When my mother called them "Christological" I decided that she meant "Crystal-logical." Why not?

Hard News Roundup

2009-05-24T03:45:00.000-04:00

Sorry this has taken so long. There was a delay while arrangements were being made for various things. This blog is in the process of obtaining a private plane, particularly to transport all of its loyal readers to the vacation home. I'll leave it as a surprise where that's going to be.

Fortunately, many of these news items never get old. For example, did you know that Urban Decay (slogan: "beauty with an edge") makes a lovely product called "Pocket Rocket Lip Gloss"? I'll tell you what that is, and when you don't believe me you'll click over there and see for yourself. Remember those pens that featured ladies whose clothes would disappear when you turned the pen upside down? That's the idea behind Pocket Rocket, only, as you probably guessed, it's guys stripping down. But there's more! "Need to lure a real man? Give the tube a rub to release pheromones into the air! Undetectable to the smell, pheromones enhance mood and sexual attraction." I am not making this up. The tube is flat, so it slides easily into a pocket. Oh, and there's lip gloss in it. That tastes like crème brûlée. You're supposed to pick based on what kind of guy you lust over, so if you're looking for a family man, pick "Julio," because Julio is holding a little baby girl, and when you undress him down to his boxers, the child is in a diaper, too. I am really not making this up.

***
So, most of us have been on job interviews, and they vary in how difficult their questions are. The worst interview I ever had to endure was for a judicial clerkship, in which the judge asked me what I did besides what was on my résumé. At that point in my life, pretty much EVERYTHING I'd done that had any value at all was on my résumé. So I got all tongue-tied. (Um, uh, please give me the job ... except not, because you seem scary ....) In any event, we at least know that we won't be asked questions about our sex life! Right? Click here and check out John Kelly's column, in which he describes a recent interview in which the job-seeker was asked whether he might take part in an orgy.

***
On April 27, I posted the Hard News summer fashion preview. July-like warmth, sans humidity, in the D.C. area brought out the shorts that weekend. It appears that short shorts are in this year, which is all right, I guess. But I also observed shorts with ... wait for it ... boots. Yeah. People, I love boots. In the fall and winter. They don't go with shorts. Especially the fur-trimmed and sheepskin-lined ones. Also, I saw one person wearing shorts with knee socks. I looked carefully and fearfully for more of these, and thankfully found none. But since then I have seen both of these combinations again. Gah.

***
George Clooney, who is a fellow expert on intellectual property law, contributed this item: The family of the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. wants the MLK National Memorial Foundation $800,000. The foundation is building, um, well, a memorial to MLK, and will be using, um, well, his likeness, and, um, y'know, some of his words, so the fam wants to be recompensed. It's so dumb, me can't really talk good about it. George, is there a follow-up to this?

***
Back on April 9, alert reader Liev Schreiber sent this gem which I'm just going to quote.

On Tuesday, State Rep. Betty Brown (R) caused a firestorm during House testimony on voter identification legislation when she said that Asian-Americans should change their names because they’re too hard to pronounce:
“Rather than everyone here having to learn Chinese — I understand it’s a rather difficult language — do you think that it would behoove you and your citizens to adopt a name that we could deal with more readily here?” Brown said.

***
On April 23 I wondered what kind of soulless person would create a Baby Shaker iPhone app, and what kind of soulless company (hello, Apple) would allow said app to be sold, and what kind of soulless people would purchase and use said app. In case you're not aware, it's okay to put a crying baby in a safe place and walk away for a while. It is NEVER NEVER NEVER okay to shake a baby. ONE shake can cause brain damage and death.

***
And speaking of babies, on April 13, a hard news flash: people are stupid. Amy Dickinson's advice column in the Post's Style section that day contained this letter: "Dear Amy: Like other readers of your column, I also have a problem attending showers for babies of unwed mothers. I simply send a gift and don't attend the shower. A baby born out of wedlock is not something to celebrate, and I'm not going to be pressured into going. Signed: Having My Say."

Amy's answer was great: "I believe every child born is 'something to celebrate,' but because of your particular point of view, you are wise to stay home." In other words, you're a freakin' idiot and you don't get cake. P.S. Can we please stop using that awful word "wedlock"? What the heck is "wedlock"?

***
And speaking of babies, on May 14, once again, I observed that, except for all of the SMRT people reading this right now, people are stupid. Exhibit A: Amy's column that day featured reader responses to a request for advice on what to say to people when they ask you when you are going to have kids, when, in fact, you don't intend to. My favorite (read: the stupidest) response was from "Disgusted," who said, "'No Babies' should more honestly rationalize her decision by just admitting 'I'm selfish, and I don't want to interrupt my lifestyle,' or 'I dislike children; they are so untidy,' or 'I'm afraid I'd make a child turn out as miserably neurotic as myself.'"

I truly liked this one, though: "A better answer for a childless couple might be to just pick any date far in the future and when busybodies ask, 'When are you planning to start having children?' you could say, 'Nov. 11, 2022.'" But George Clooney said that he would suggest a "smart-ass, scary response -- something like, 'I wish I could. I really do. But remaining childless is a condition of my parole.'" Love it.

***
On April 8, I passed on this quote from David Axelrod: "Why didn't the waters part, the sun shine and all ills of the world disappear because President Obama came to Europe this week?... That wasn't our expectation." It...wasn't? Why not, Dave?

***
On April 7, I noted that sixteen billion jellybeans would be eaten by people around that sugary bunny holiday, while some of us happily ate matzah instead. But more importantly, the U of M wanted to show a porn flick at the Hoff Theater (and to serve jellybeans therewith, perhaps). But Maryland Senator Andrew P. Harris (R-Baltimore County) didn't like that idea much, and threatened to withhold the university's construction funding if it happened. So, like good college students, they devised a workaround. Instead of showing the whole movie in the theater, they showed parts of the movie in a lecture hall, and made it all educational-like by having people speak on issues like free speech. Opposite this article, a columnist criticizes the U's president for having "caved" by cancelling the film as soon as "conservatives in Annapolis saw a dandy weapon to wield against those libertines of academia." Also, a letter to the editor asks "[h]ow many of these holier-than-thou politicians have accepted campaign contributions from telecom and cable companies that derive a significant percentage of their revenue from pay-per-view porn? Will our conservative Republican, family values heroes be returning these contributions?"

***
On April 8, there was more Maryland news. The university's senate was trying to get the powers that be to remove the invocation from commencement ceremonies. I personally love this because I actually succeeded in having direct mentions of Jesus removed from the prayers said during my law school graduation at Catholic U. (I'm sure Jesus returned in subsequent ceremonies.) The Maryland students' reasoning is the same as mine was: "many people ... 'felt excluded or marginalized.'" The U of M prayer has not been removed.

***
The next post might be about Government for Dummies. It also might be about trying to control our children's bad language. As a preview to that, you may want to hear a song from Chris Cornell's lastest record (a departure from his earlier work, but really good, despite what the critics have said). Embedding is not allowed so you have to click to YouTube. You need to ignore the video itself; it's not great, concentrate on Cornell himself (for the ladies), the scantily clad females (for the guys), and the song. You can totally play this for your kids; mine call it "The Fish Song." You might want to tell them it's the Fish Song before you play it very loud for them in front of your friends. Trust me.

Convertibility

2009-04-20T10:06:00.000-04:00

As I'm sure you've noticed, the remedial politics lessons have not yet begun, I owe you a hard news roundup before it becomes old news, and the last post was not related to any of that (except the Star Trek content alone made it worthwhile; I dare you to disagree). I've decided to get back on track by seeking your answers to a hypothetical question. This is not a test; there will be no grades in this class. But first, please feast your eyes on ATG's latest acquisition:

This is the interior of the 2010 Nissan 370Z Roadster convertible. It's not available yet, but we have it here. The Porsche is lovely, of course, but sometimes one needs a little variety, and the weather's becoming convertible-worthy. Besides, we might need to take a few field trips.

Now for your hypothetical. Suppose you wake up tomorrow morning and find that you are no longer you. Instead, you are the president of the United States, Barack Obama. Please tell me: what is the very first thing you would put on your agenda for the day, and why. For purposes of this exercise, assume that you don't have to stick with any position or direction that the real Obama has taken thus far.

Leave your answer in the comments below. If for some reason you are unable to comment (and remember that you can choose Anonymous and either remain anonymous or reveal your name in the comment itself), send me your comment on Facebook or to 12tequilas-usual symbol-something comcastic in a net, and I will post it here for you.

Camp N

2009-04-17T02:05:00.000-04:00

I'm about to send a wave of bummer across this blog. There may be some humor here, but mostly this post is going to tell an unfortunate tale. I'm doing this because I want to thank someone who cannot be identified.

In the summer of 1984 I went to sleepaway camp. I had been to sleepaway camp three summers before this, but I think one or two years had gone by in between. I enjoyed those first three summers, especially the two that I spend at Camp Ramah in New England (Palmer, Massachusetts). I learned to paddle a canoe there, how to hit a ball with a tennis racket, and how to batik, and I got to experience Kabbalat Shabbat (that's the Friday night service for "welcoming" or "receiving" the Sabbath) outside in the mountain air. Most importantly, I made many great friends and even kissed a boy or two.

The camp I attended in '84 was different. It was also a Jewish camp, and it had a Hebrew name, but I'm going to call it Camp Naked, because it was situated on the grounds of Ramblewood in Darlington, Maryland. If you click around that site, you come to figure out that Ramblewood caters to "alternative groups" that might wish to hold events in which guests are in their "natural state." Yes, really. It's in the middle of nowhere, away from main roads. Observe the towel etiquette when sitting, please.

Slipping Down

This camp experience was different for me, not because we ran around naked, but because I didn't have a good time there, to say the least. It turned out that half the girls I bunked with were in my class at school. My school was very small and, as in many high schools, students were categorized as "popular" or not. I was not, but for the most part everyone liked me. Even still, having those girls there was a problem. They were in that popular caste, and thus in another social world. Camp has a different dynamic than school, and it wouldn't be wrong to say that at Ramah, I was fairly popular. But at Camp N in 1984, with our hyperawareness of our places in the hierarchy, the girls from my school didn't suddenly become my friends. So from the very first, as people were getting to know each other, those girls from my school started getting chummy with the other girls, and then there was I. I quickly realized I was not making friends as I always had easily. What could I do? I folded up. This was whacked. This was bad.

This was rock bottom.

My counselors didn't help much: our "senior" counselor had an additional job at the camp, so we didn't see much of her and had two junior counselors instead. They were 16, not much older than we were. They hardly spoke to me the entire summer. (I heard that one of them suffered from a rare disorder that causes your boobs to move around your body, so that sometimes they're on her stomach, sometimes on her back, sometimes even on her head, which makes it hard to get a bra to stay. The other one became addicted to World of Warcraft and Second Life and never leaves her house.)

There were a few other things I had going against me. We were 14, no longer kids, and some things had changed while I was off doing theater day camp:

My mother had followed the recommended clothing list to the letter and this meant I did not have enough clothes. I didn't have the right clothes either; my bunkmates came from wealthy families and their mothers bought them designer clothing.
I was not fat by any means, but I didn't have the eating-disordered starved bodies characteristic of most of my peers either. (A couple of the girls were actually chubby, but they made up for this with their fashion sense and exuberant personalities.)
I had hair that was a bit difficult to control, especially in the humidity, whereas the other girls had the kind of hair you could run a brush through in the morning and it would shine and look beautiful.

The hair on my legs was very light, nearly invisible, and I really had not felt the need to start shaving it yet. But leg shaving was a Big Deal at camp that summer. It was odd that I didn't do it.

I wore glasses, and they weren't like the glasses I have now that I get compliments on those days when I don't wear my contact lenses.

Most notably, I'm very fair and sunburn easily, while most of my bunkmates brought Coppertone SPF 2 tanning oil with them. When you are wearing shorts the color difference really stands out.

I didn't have any friends at camp that summer, unless you count the little ones. Not the skunks and the little birdies. I mean the poor homesick kids who were too young to be away at camp. If I remember correctly, Camp N took kids as young as seven. I was often swimming "buddies" with one of the little girls, and they loved that I was bigger and could throw them around in the water. On a camp trip to Hershey Park, I ended up chaperoning groups of little kids on the log flume. I think I rode it seven times in a row with a different group. I could forget about things during times like these.

Quiet? Or Undead?

It gets even a little worse. People talked about me behind my back. I tried to ignore it but I kept thinking I heard them calling me a certain insulting name. It didn't come out into the open until the day we had auditions for the camp play. I'd done theater before--usually cast in funny roles--and I sing, and I figured I might be able to come out of my shell a bit this way. After the audition, I went to ask the counselors that were running things--both guys--when we might hear their decision. They said it would be soon, and one said "we have to work on the casting now, so why don't you make like a tree and get out of here." (It's "make like a tree and leave," dumbass.)

That sounded mean in itself, but then the other guy said, "yeah, take off, Poltergeist."

I froze. My eyes bugged out of my head. "W-what did you call me?" I asked him.

"Poltergeist," he answered. "Isn't that what they call you?"

When I ran away crying, I think he got his answer. It was the name I had pretended not to hear. He apologized later, of course, but I heard that over the next few years, he lost his swagger as he slowly grew into a giant, gelatinous mass, and took up residence in a swamp. He now eats swamp vegetation and the occasional toad.

But I never knew why they called me that. Best guest: my "ghostly" pallor. Oooo, scary. Run away! Run away! She's heeeeerrrre.

"I am Hugh"

I wasn't the only one who had troubles. There was a guy there, and I'm a little fuzzy on his purpose at camp, but I think he did various jobs there. He had a mental disability of some kind, and he was openly teased by the wonderful Camp N population. I don't remember his name, but I'm going to call him Hugh, because it is a movie star name, and because it was the name the Enterprise crew gave to the Borg drone who became disconnected from the collective. Borg Hugh (a/k/a "third of five") turned out to be NOT evil at all, as Captain Picard was able to determine in this clip, but unfortunately he ended up getting reassimilated. You can see that underneath his scary cybernetic exterior, Hugh is a cutie-pie.

Toward the end of my stay at Camp N, I got well and truly sick. I had a nasty sinus infection and was laying in a bed up on the second floor of the infirmary when the entire camp lost electricity and water. At that point they decided to send all the sickies back to their bunks to rest. I was feverish and dizzy, and I found myself at the top of a flight of stairs, looking down in fear, wondering how I would get down those stairs without falling (ever had a sinus infection like this?). All of a sudden (at least it was sudden in my memory), Hugh appeared. He took my arm and led me slowly and carefully down those treacherous stairs.

I can't explain it, but there was so much kindness in that gesture. Hugh certainly didn't care that I was Poltergeist, just that I needed help. I could have kissed him. I wanted to put him in pocket and take him home, except I wasn't going home just yet. (When we did go home, there weren't enough seats on the bus, so I sat in the aisle perched on a duffel bag. It seemed fitting. All I could see out the window from that angle was the sky.)

The Fame soundtracks (film and TV) were played constantly at camp. This song is for you, Hugh. You're a star. I don't know where you are, but I know you've become one with the sun.

Epilogue: some months after camp I went to a youth group dance. I'd washed off the scum of Camp N, and had a wonderful time socializing and dancing with guys I met. Some camp people were at this dance and I steered way clear of them. At one point, the D.J. announced that a song was being dedicated to me and Hugh. This was meant to be cruel, and I (and Hugh too I assume) ignored it, pretending we didn't hear.

Hugh, I owe you a slow dance. And as for my fellow campers and camp counselors, my mutant friends with advanced cerebral capabilities have seen that some of you, sometimes, cry in your coffee, and you're not sure why.

"Which Do You Choose, A Hard or Soft Option?"

2009-04-03T02:00:00.000-04:00

We're in the midst of decorating here at ATG, and soon it will have the atmosphere of everyone's dreams (or, at least, mine). I linked to the light fixtures deep in the comments of this post, but in case you missed that, here is what one of them looks like against our soothing black walls.

The furniture is being custom-built; just wait until you find out how comfortable....

And now a complaint. I'm 12tequilas, right? The one, the only? My chosen identifier has the disadvantage of cluing the world in to my alcoholic tendencies, but aside from that, after all this time it has acquired life of its own, so to speak. It is I.

Some time ago I realized that if I used 12tequilas, rather than some variant of my given name, as a "user ID" for any and all online accounts, I would stop being told that the ID I had chosen was already in use. Because NO ONE ELSE in the world is 12tequilas. Except that today, when I had to set up a new account for a credit card that was taken over by another bank, I was shown the ol' exclamation point in a triangle and told that 12tequilas was in use. Grumble, grunt, growl. I had to use my emergency backup name, trevi.moon, which is cool, because I've never actually had occasion to use trevi.moon. There's the bright side.

Moving on to the real nitty gritty:

Richard Cohen is a Washington Post columnist, but he is syndicated all over. According to WikiGenius, he's won honorable mention over at Pulitzer four times. I've enjoyed his writing for years. (Now, Mr. Cohen writes opinion, so he makes people angry all the time. If you are one of those people, you might want to say something bad about him here in the comments. I'm not going to tell you not to; I don't want to censor anyone that visits me here. Just be aware that if you're too mean I might decide I don't like you anymore.)

Not long after Barack Obama was elected president, Cohen wrote about how Obama might combat the isolation bubble by reading the newspaper. It's interesting; I'll wait here if you want to go read the whole thing. This paragraph jumped out at me:

A BlackBerry is of limited utility. You cannot have a hearty family breakfast with everyone gathered around the BlackBerry. But with a good newspaper, the president could read the hard-news section, the first lady could adhere to gender orthodoxy and read the softer sections, and the kids could chuckle at the comics. Just as in the old movies, papa could explain things, like what's the purpose of NATO anymore. (I'm dying to know this myself.) Not all newspapers have comic sections, but even those that don't usually have sports pages and business columns.

I know Cohen wasn't trying to get his readers to imagine the Obamas as black, executive Ward and June Cleaver with daughters, but that's just what I was thinking. I'm sure someone somewhere criticized Cohen for assuming that Michelle Obama wouldn't want to read the hard news, just because she's a woman. Personally, I start out reading that front section of the newspaper. On the other hand, I can't dwell on those long articles about our rotting economy. (And I do read the advice columns and the comics. Shut up.)

Some people avoid the news entirely because they don't want to get depressed, and I understand. But some of what shows up in that front section of the paper is fun, or you can make it fun by adding your own spin. If you dig for it, you'll at least find something you can make fun of because it isn't really news, and then suddenly, like magic, you've given it entertainment value.

The following are examples of "hard news" items I posted on Facebook in the past month. Pretend they all begin with: "12tequilas here with the hard news," 'cause it sounds better that way.

March 23: 12tequilas here with the hard news. The Prez did not show up to the annual Gridiron Club dinner on Saturday. What the heck is that? And who cares? Today's Post Style section says Obama "was supposed to be at the head table, smiling and clapping as the club's journalists flounced around in costume, belting political parodies to the tunes of Rodgers and Hammerstein and Gilbert and Sullivan. **** The president, however, had planned to skip the affair to spend time with his family at Camp David. Typical. String 'em along, get elected, go back to the wife. The nerve."

March 19: Lance Mackey has won his third Iditarod in a row. But it's the dogs I congratulate.

March 18: I hope not to offend my Catholic friends here, but the Pope is an idealist. Or maybe a dumbass. "You can't resolve [the HIV problem in Africa] with the distribution of condoms," said Pope BXVI according to the Washington Post. "On the contrary, it increases the problem." Your Popeness, it would be great if telling Africans to abstain would work. But it won't. (My friend George Clooney commented thus: "So, so many snarky comments I could make. But I'm afraid of those heavily armed Catholics out there, so ... mum's the word!")

March 16: Dick Cheney smiled, grinned really, and his face did not crack in half. Or maybe it did, and CNN covered it up. Photo at link. (Anthrax rhythm guitarist Scott Ian Rosenfeld informed me that: "It wasn't him. I heard it was one of those Audio-Animatronics from Disney. The only way the real thing is capable of smiling is when he's shooting someone in the face.")

March 6: Brad Pitt was here on Cap. Hill yesterday. The "hard" bit is that Nancy P. was gushing over him. Looks flushed in the photo. Dana Milbank of the Post's "Washington Sketch" also said this: "For the two hours Pitt was at the Capitol yesterday, Congress could have declared war on Canada and nobody would have noticed. But while it was disruptive, the actor's visit to Washington could not have been better timed. His latest film 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,' is about a man who ages in reverse. As it happens, this is the same way Washington grows: As time passes, the nation's politics become more and more juvenile."

March 5: Michelle Obama has made sleeveless dresses POPULAR. By wearing them HERSELF. Time for some tricep dips. (This led to a bit of discussion; my friends, actors Rachel Weisz and Seth Green, were trying to convince me that Michelle Obama is "hot" but I wasn't convinced.)

And here is something quite recent, and it is so hard that it's okay if it's a few days late (these are my rules, after all):

March 31: 12tequilas here with the hard news. It's Genital Integrity Awareness Week, and so, the cleverly-named "Intactivists" staged a protest yesterday, marching from the White House to the Capitol. What's their beef? They think MALE circumcision is BAD. Not just unnecessary (even though studies show it reduces the spread of HIV by 60 PERCENT), but BAD. Read this for all the details, but apparently you circumcised guys are missing out on "'entire realms of exquisite feeling'"! And you can blame "circ" for deforestation too. (Author Dan Zak doesn't seem to believe any of it.) Check out how I wrote that entire report without saying "penis"!

Hard News will be featured here, probably as a weekly roundup unless I've just got to get it out there. And YOU can feed Hard News by sending e-mail to 12tequilas, followed by the usual symbol, ending with comcast in a net. We're not at the point of giving out T-shirts if we use your submission, but maybe someday, if you keep on spreading the word.

Here's the final item. March 3: 12tequilas here with the hard news. According to Glamour magazine, there are 11 things guys don't understand about women. The only one of the 11 that applies to me is the one about marriage. But I am a mutant.

If the opposite sex has you frustrated, you're in need of a little crunch, or you wish you'd never been circumcised, play the video. Loud.

News: "Have you got it? Do you get it? If so, how often?"

World's Worst Mother On TV

2009-03-24T10:30:00.001-04:00

I let my kids watch TV. I watched lots of TV as a kid. I know there are better things a child can do, but TV has been a godsend for me (and you! admit it!) when I wanted to make sure no one snuck up on me while I was inches from a hot stove burner, or when the groceries I just bought needed to be put away ASAP.

Of course the various cable and broadcast channels carry a great deal of crap. I keep trying to explain to my father-in-law that "animated show" does not automatically translate to "kids' show." (Has anyone seen Making Fiends? Check it out; it's actually very clever, but very disturbing and not for kids, even though that is the intended audience. There are also countless shows that are mind-meltingly stupid, which we try like heck to avoid.)

Fortunately, there is quality TV to make up for this. One of my favorite shows is Arthur, which is not only educational, but, as Wikipedia puts it, is "noted for its self-referential humor" and "features a discernible, complex continuity, which is uncommon in children's cartoons." I also have great respect for Between the Lions, which I have found to be reminiscent of the old, trippy Electric Company, which I fanatically loved as a kid. For older kids who can handle the violence, there are even some good, new superhero cartoons. And the kids have DVDs of the really good classic material, such as Looney Tunes, which is not violent at all. Ahem.

My kids have portable DVD players that they bring for long trips (they are also the perfect distraction/reward if you have to take a child to get a shot...if he is watching a video he won't even know the needle went in.) We only let them bring the players in the car if the trip is longer than an hour. They call them "our little TVs."

The other day we were all watching Pinocchio, which Disney has finally seen fit to release again. When we reached the part where Geppetto, Figaro, and Cleo are all trapped inside a whale, I tried to prompt a little discussion by saying to the kids that I did not think it would be good at all to be in a whale's belly.

Having quickly realized what was most notably missing from Geppetto's whale, my 6-year-old, Einstein, agreed.

"We'd have to bring our little TVs!" he said.

He's got his priorities down, people. He's all ready for that desert island we might get stranded upon.

Here's an example of the awesomeness that is Between the Lions. You have to watch an entire episode to really understand, but here is one of its recurring features. Thank you, Chicken Jane!

Blame the Danish

2009-03-20T01:00:00.000-04:00

Short on time? For syllabus, click here.

If you saw the last post, you know that Absorbing the Genius now has a new car. It's a Porsche Cayman. ATG Readers are eligible for rides around town (in exchange for comments, of course).

With announcements out of the way...

Did they do this in your high school? In the 10th grade, our history and English classes were connected, because in English we studied literature from the period we were studying in history. It was American History: 1865 and on. That all starts with the Emancipation Proclamation, and later on there's the New Deal, and a couple of World Wars, but somewhere in the middle it gets awful "QR" to me, Big Bird. I was in the Honors level, and at some point we started talking about Politics. My fellow smartypants students got it, or they talked like they did. I wanted to get it, but I didn't. My father, who had a history degree from Harvard University, tried to explain it to me. It refused to absorb.

All I know about politics, I learned from Schoolhouse Rock.

(Admit it, weren't you really happy for the animated rolled-up paper?)

I got a few bad marks in history, there in the 10th grade. Fortunately, I had the same teacher for English as history, and I did very well in English, so the teacher didn't think I was an idiot. As a matter of fact, she called me into her office one day to find out if I'd received assistance in writing my (five-paragraph expository) essay on Sinclair Lewis's Babbitt, because she was impressed with it. That was all me, I told her. I get literature! Just not politics.

(This one time? My teacher and I had a disagreement over a point of grammar. I really wish I could remember what we were arguing about, but the cool thing was that she knew I was good at this. So, she sent me off to another English teacher, saying that if that second teacher agreed with me, she'd give me the points. Teacher 2 sided with Teacher 1, but I still love to tell that story.)

(Then there was the time all the guys wore skirts to history class. Ask me about that; it was funny, but way off the topic.)

I've always been embarrassed by my mental block, and I've dealt with it by avoiding discussion. I would nod, smile, and agree. I got away with it for a long time. Then came the 2008 election.

The Obama Opposition

Some of you will gasp in horror when I declare that: I never really liked Barack Obama. I can't tell you exactly why, it's just a feeling that I had. When he spoke it just seemed like he wasn't saying anything (and by contrast, the more I heard Hillary Clinton talk, the smarter and more capable she seemed to me). During the course of the election Mr. O. started to get more and more and more popular, like scary popular, like messiah-worship popular. The day after the election, it seemed that everyone but me had these silly grins on their faces and were acting like Skittles actually had rained down from heaven (taste the rainbow!). We're talking smart, accomplished people acting this way.

(And I have to add that I didn't think Gov. Palin was all that bad either. Stop buggin' yer eyes at me.)

As I have mentioned, I have two small children, so there isn't a whole lot of time for extra reading and research (and I really really like fiction, so if I have a free moment I'm likely to go for that). However, I did make the attempt to understand what was going on here. I did some reading. The mental block was still there.

Some of what I read online was vehemently anti-Obama, very different from what I was seeing all around me. For example, I learned that delegates to the Democratic National Convention were intimidated and harassed, in an attempt to persuade a change of allegiance, and that, as a result, the roll call in Denver was a sham. I said something to the hubs about this and he said, "wouldn't we have heard about this on the news?" That's what I would normally think, but this came from a reliable source. I discovered that there were numerous bloggers saying the same basic things and making Obama appear to be the worst possible choice to lead our country. Worse than GW Bush even. How could this be?

I felt like there was nowhere for me to fit in. My mother's cheering for the senator from Illinois instantly put me on the defensive, and--since I'm not all that good at defensive--a bit dizzy, but reading stuff about Obama being a total douchebag (and every other nasty name there is) made my stomach hurt. It just didn't feel right, none of it. There did not seem to be a right answer. Isn't a democracy designed to get to the right answer? (Ohhh, 12t, wake up, you are sooo naive....)

I tested a couple of my very smart friends at work, Hank Azaria and George Clooney, by mentioning a point or two made by those trying very hard to publicize the Truth about Barack Obama. They shook their heads and said, oh no, you don't have to listen to this. I felt better immediately! Until the next time I happened to be online....

By now, if you know me, you're all amazed and thinking "she fooled me! I had no idea how ignorant she was!" Or maybe you are thinking that you don't completely understand all this either. Maybe you, like me, could use some stripped-down reasoning, a 10th grade (or 6th grade) lesson in the workings of government and election campaigns in the Present Day. A refresher. Sound boring? I promise it won't be. You waste your time here, let me know and I'll make it up to you somehow. Maybe I'll let you drive the Porsche...

I plan to get the lowdown from a variety of sources (including everyone reading this now), but on a Schoolhouse Rock level. I'll ask everyone to turn off their emotion and think slower so I can carefully absorb all of their genius, gently combine (wearing safety googles and gloves of course) and use my mutant superhero zapping powers to smear it all over YOUR computer screen.

Government and Politics 100 Remedial will appear here on ATG like the Smoking Man from the X-Files continuing storyline. I also hope to provide lots of other fun stuff that gets resolved at the end of the hour, so to speak.

SYLLABUS. This post reveals a deep dark secret to the Internet; namely that I have a total mental block regarding all things political. I figure that I'm not the only one with at least some degree of this blurred vision, and so I'm trying to help others by collecting data from political bloggers and others with great minds, after which I will try to explain the differing viewpoints in this blog, treating my audience as if they are as ~~dumb~~ confused as I am. It's a tall order. Encourage me!

Don't go yet....

In 1989 Alphaville released a video album based on their Breathtaking Blue record, which is more accurately described as a collection of short films. The collection reflected a variety of styles and there are a few famous names involved. One of the shorts even won an Oscar. To my knowledge, it was never available in a viewable format this side of the pond, but thanks to YouTube a few of the vids can now be enjoyed.

The following is Summer Rain, starring one Mikael Bertelsen, a Danish TV anchor. This flavor of Danish is always welcome here at ATG. And, this is film-festival-worthy stuff. The lesson to be learned from this film is that the right pair of glasses can really...well, see for yourself.

Visions and Revisions

2009-03-16T12:30:00.000-04:00

I was a sociology major in college. A required course was SOCY 103, Sociological Theory, and I was fortunate enough to have as my professor George Ritzer, who wrote The McDonaldization of Society, now in its 5th edition.

Ritzer encouraged us to conduct sociological experiments wherever we went. For example, he said that when we make our way around campus, we should fall into step with someone and walk right next to them. As you might hypothesize, this weirds people out (that's the sociological term), because it is unexpected. Similarly, Ritzer said that when we step into elevators we should face the people in them, contravening the typical practice of turning to face the doors. The riders don't quite know what to do with themselves.

This morning, I was riding in the elevator from the 6th level of the Metro parking garage. The elevator doors opened on the second level. Since the elevator never stops on 2 (these people couldn't walk down ONE flight), a couple of riders got confused and stepped off, and others followed without thinking. This had the effect of breaking the silent elevator tension, and we all had a good laugh and slapped our foreheads at how scatterbrained we are.

It often amazes me how tiny behavior bits can sometimes have tectonic shift effects. I had content in a post here that turned out to be objectionable, and when I found out, I completely flipped and removed the post before anyone else was exposed to it. My confidence was severely wounded, and since this blog has only just begun, I felt kind of like I'd just bought a car, driven it off the lot, and promptly hit an innocent mailbox with it, crunching its right front fender and marring the brand-newness immediately.

But then I realized that once the car is dented, you don't have to worry so much about retaining perfection. Just keep changing the oil and rotate the tires every so often. The gorgeous and divine sjfrog left a comment here with the words "extremely funny" in it, and another lovely reader today referred to me as a "bearer of joy." More than enough to restore my confidence, and now, you can only see the dent when the sun shines on the car in a certain way.

This is an ever-evolving experiment, Professor. With trial comes error, and perhaps some happy accidents, too. In the words of Hell's Kitchen contestant Robert, when he was handed a bit of authority: "Yeah, baby, gimme the reins, let me drive this bitch."

The things that happen may affect us, but we are still in control.

2009-03-11T13:44:00.000-04:00

This is the First Post on Absorbing the Genius. I shan't call it the "inaugural" post, for reasons that will become clear later on.

But it is certainly The Beginning of Everything.

I suppose I should get some of the introductory stuff out of the way.

I am one of many who read blogs for quite some time, thinking, "I would like to have a blog of my own, but I am not as entertaining as these folks I read every day." Many of the bloggers I was reading then thought the same thing, before they finally realized they were wrong (was I wrong? comment below!). Much of what I was reading then (blogs and pre-blog "diaries" or whatever) were written by women struggling with infertility of one kind or another. The vast majority found some way of having children but the lengths they went to were incredible, and inspiring. I just had to take some pills, give myself some injections, succumb to multiple ultrasounds and blood draws, suffer a couple of losses, and the eventual result was: I am a mother of two boys. (I don't mean to make light of this; it was heartbreaking and frustrating but I'm not getting into it now.)

I finally started a blog on momsbuzz.com, but there were technical problems with that one. I think of it as the practice blog. I didn't tell any of my friends and family it was there.

I complained to my friend Linda about the problems I was having at momsbuzz, and she kindly offered me a contributor spot on her blog. In the beginning I received comments from the other contributors, so I knew someone was reading me. I posted about life, trying to relate to others, the way the blogs I followed did for me. But no one really knew I was there. (I must take a moment now to thank Linda, without whom I would not be here. Linda has the distinction of writing some posts that have garnered hits from all over, for years on end, such as this one.)

So when this post of mine, which actually tackled a Substantive Issue, went live, I e-mailed a boatload of friends and family about it. I figured if I was taking the time to let them know about something I'd published on the Internet, they'd go read it. I went as far as telling them that I'd send homebaked brownies to the person who left the "best" comment (because we all know that a blogger doesn't know your opinion of what you've just read unless you comment).

Brownies for comments. I know, it's pathetic. It didn't stop there. On Facebook, I linked to the Big Issue post and other posts recounting cute things my kids did, pretending each time that "I" (using my real name) couldn't stand this 12tequilas person, warning people to stay far away from her blog posts, and expressing my disbelief that she would beg shamelessly for comments by offering baked goods and other prizes. (Then I would comment on my own status, conversation style, as if I were two people, to save others the trouble.) I thought that this was an incredibly clever form of reverse psychology and that it would work.

Status Update: I want to make sure that no one goes to auterrific.mu.nu to read 12 Tequilas's loony writings.

Comment (from me): Uh, didn't you already tell us about this? And why shouldn't we go read the new blog post with the provocative title?

Reply (still from me): Yes, I told you already, but I worry. If people read this, and leave complimentary comments, her head will swell so much it will explode. And then her charming and handsome husband will have to scrape brain matter from the wall. We can't have that.

Surreply (from me, again): I see. It's so good of you to warn all of your Facebook friends of this danger.

A friend commented to ask if my brain scan had come out normal, to which I replied, "It's all from reading SCARY blogs, which are a form of MIND CONTROL." When another friend noted that such comments would make everyone want to go to that blog (which, duh, was the whole point), I said, "Look, [friend], if you want to give that crazypants 12 Tequilas the satisfaction, then go check out her stuff. Beware, you might be entertained or you might learn something. And if you comment, I hear you could get brownies. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Wouldn't you at least be CURIOUS?? To be fair, I did get several hits, but as for the rest of the folks who received my mass e-mail or saw my Facebook announcements, I figured out that they did not read (or read the one time but didn't go back) because 1) they are too busy, 2) they don't "get the point" of blogs, or 3) they refuse to leave the safe confines of Facebook by clicking on a link.

Furthermore, another friend of mine advised that my posts were too "long and rambly." The blogs I frequent have long posts all the time (and have readers out the wazoo), but I have to admit I got more people to click over from FB when they were told the post was diminutive.

Which brings me to an important feature of Absorbing the Genius: the Syllabus. I'm going to provide a truncated version of the long posts for those who might want to be kept up to date, but don't have time for the long (and rambling) read. A digest. An abstract. The Cliff's Notes version, if you will.

And in the interest of keeping things concise, I'll save for the next post the stuff about the Purpose of This Blog, Its Possible Future, and the Reason for its Title. (If you would like to know why I'm 12tequilas, that's easy, click here.)

Coming up next: others' blogging habits, news, politics, and mayhem. In the meantime, relax to this, from when computer animation was new and cooool.