I'm not cut out to be a drug user.
I woke up today with pain at the intersection of my neck and shoulder. The pain grew worse throughout the morning, making it hard for me to turn my head, bend over, or really do anything at all other than sit still. This not being a day on which sitting still is an option, I took a naproxen sodium, and then an hour or so later, took another one. It didn't make the slightest difference.
Tylenol, I thought. I can combine Tylenol with the NSAID and that should help. I was out of Tylenol, unfortunately, so I ran to the store to buy some (and since when does CVS sell $50 face creams? I digress, as usual.) Only after I arrived home (CVS is very close by, but there was no way that I was leaving the house again) did I realize that I had purchased Tylenol PM (or rather, a generic, CVS version.) Desperate, I took two anyway, thinking that the sleep ingredient couldn't possibly be potent enough to make me really drowsy.
Wrong! So wrong. I wasn't drowsy at first, just verrrrrry slow. I was watching myself type, and as I completed edits, I checked the clock and saw that I wasn't taking any longer than usual to correct this particular author's work. I just felt as though my movements and thoughts and everything around me had been dropped into a vat of thick, viscous liquid. Molasses, maybe? A-ha! I get that now; slow as molasses.
Finally, the urge to sleep became too overwhelming to ignore, so despite looming deadlines, I was forced to lie down for an hour. I'm awake now, though groggy and dimwitted (more so than usual, I mean.) Supreme irony #3,478: The sleep ingredient in Tylenol PM is actually exceedingly effective. My neck, though, still hurts like hell on fire.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
The perfect hostess
One day of poor concentration and difficulty with problem-solving: Isolated incident or symptom of early-onset Alzheimer's?
One very bad photograph, taken at 7:30 AM after a night of very fitful sleep: Isolated incident or proof that the irreversible descent into hideousness has already occurred?
Yes, the inside of my head is a non-stop party, and you're invited. If you're smart, you'll send your regrets, claiming a prior commitment. Meanwhile, I'll replenish the snacks and send one of these other poor suckers out to make a beer run. Trust me, we'll need it.
One very bad photograph, taken at 7:30 AM after a night of very fitful sleep: Isolated incident or proof that the irreversible descent into hideousness has already occurred?
Yes, the inside of my head is a non-stop party, and you're invited. If you're smart, you'll send your regrets, claiming a prior commitment. Meanwhile, I'll replenish the snacks and send one of these other poor suckers out to make a beer run. Trust me, we'll need it.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Wild Kingdom
(A short post while I wait for an answer to a work-related question, without which I can't proceed.)
I saw two things today; A dead deer, covered with flies; and a snake. The snake was alive. I'm only slightly more fond of deer than I am of snakes, so I didn't really mourn the former, but had the choice been mine, the deer would be frolicking around Rock Creek Park right now, and the snake would be deceased.
Actually, I'm not particularly fond of any animal in the wild. I was raised in the city, and 16 years in the suburbs have not made me accustomed to everyday encounters with wild animals. I don't count squirrels, of course, which are more urban than mass transit, but I still can't get used to the sight of foxes on my front lawn at 6 in the morning, and the deer around here are have become overly comfortable with humans. When I first moved into this house, ten years ago, I'd walk my then-little children around the neighborhood; one walking beside me and the other in his stroller. The deer were still timid then, and they'd turn tail and run as soon as we got within 20 feet or so. Although I have no empirical evidence to this effect, I feel sure that they have become bolder with each passing year. They stand their ground now as I pass, and more than once I've seen an aggressive expression on a deer's face. Within a year, I'll be backing away from them with my head down; in five years, I'll probably be running.
"Running," of course, should be read as "walking pretty darn fast." If you ever see me actually running, you'd better run too. Don't ask questions, don't turn around to see what's going on, just run. Save yourself. There might be another snake coming after me, or the deer might finally have turned predator. It's only a matter of time.
I saw two things today; A dead deer, covered with flies; and a snake. The snake was alive. I'm only slightly more fond of deer than I am of snakes, so I didn't really mourn the former, but had the choice been mine, the deer would be frolicking around Rock Creek Park right now, and the snake would be deceased.
Actually, I'm not particularly fond of any animal in the wild. I was raised in the city, and 16 years in the suburbs have not made me accustomed to everyday encounters with wild animals. I don't count squirrels, of course, which are more urban than mass transit, but I still can't get used to the sight of foxes on my front lawn at 6 in the morning, and the deer around here are have become overly comfortable with humans. When I first moved into this house, ten years ago, I'd walk my then-little children around the neighborhood; one walking beside me and the other in his stroller. The deer were still timid then, and they'd turn tail and run as soon as we got within 20 feet or so. Although I have no empirical evidence to this effect, I feel sure that they have become bolder with each passing year. They stand their ground now as I pass, and more than once I've seen an aggressive expression on a deer's face. Within a year, I'll be backing away from them with my head down; in five years, I'll probably be running.
"Running," of course, should be read as "walking pretty darn fast." If you ever see me actually running, you'd better run too. Don't ask questions, don't turn around to see what's going on, just run. Save yourself. There might be another snake coming after me, or the deer might finally have turned predator. It's only a matter of time.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Avoidance
So I figure if I just ignore them, my pile of paperwork will straighten itself out, and my list of phone calls will dial themselves. This approach has always worked very well for me, very well indeed.
I'm reading Eminent Victorians right now. It's almost 100 years old now (not my actual edition, which is electronic), published in 1918. A paper copy of this book had been sitting on my bookshelf for many years, but when I saw a 99-cent electronic copy, I decided to actually read it.
Apparently, a contemporary of Lytton Strachey condemned the book as mean-spirited and cruel. I wish I could remember the context; it wasn't a review (because even I don't sit around reading 97-year-old book reviews); perhaps it was in an article for one of my history or English classes. I don't find it either mean-spirited or cruel, only a little presumptuous. Strachey seems to have invented a form of writing that became very important in the seventies and eighties. His sketches (especially of Florence Nightingale, the only woman covered) contain a slightly smug undertone, suggestive of the author's apparent belief that his superior modern viewpoint gave him an understanding of his subjects' psychology that they themselves lacked. It's as if Gore Vidal or Gail Sheehy had written Vanity Fair profiles of Mother Teresa or Ronald Reagan or some other iconic target of literati scorn.
I suppose that this was the point of Eminent Victorians; to take four of the most important people in Victorian England (truthfully, though, I had only heard of Cardinal Manning and Florence Nightingale when I picked up the book; I assumed, incorrectly, that the Dr. Arnold was Matthew Arnold, and I had no idea who General Gordon was) and cut them down to size. So although Strachey's short biographies don't even approach the level of meanness that Internet-bred 21st-century readers have become accustomed to, I suppose that the whole project and its determination to destroy idols and humble the mighty was rather mean in itself.
General Gordon awaits. I'll decide, after I finish with him, what other reading will keep me away from bills, files, and phone calls.
I'm reading Eminent Victorians right now. It's almost 100 years old now (not my actual edition, which is electronic), published in 1918. A paper copy of this book had been sitting on my bookshelf for many years, but when I saw a 99-cent electronic copy, I decided to actually read it.
Apparently, a contemporary of Lytton Strachey condemned the book as mean-spirited and cruel. I wish I could remember the context; it wasn't a review (because even I don't sit around reading 97-year-old book reviews); perhaps it was in an article for one of my history or English classes. I don't find it either mean-spirited or cruel, only a little presumptuous. Strachey seems to have invented a form of writing that became very important in the seventies and eighties. His sketches (especially of Florence Nightingale, the only woman covered) contain a slightly smug undertone, suggestive of the author's apparent belief that his superior modern viewpoint gave him an understanding of his subjects' psychology that they themselves lacked. It's as if Gore Vidal or Gail Sheehy had written Vanity Fair profiles of Mother Teresa or Ronald Reagan or some other iconic target of literati scorn.
I suppose that this was the point of Eminent Victorians; to take four of the most important people in Victorian England (truthfully, though, I had only heard of Cardinal Manning and Florence Nightingale when I picked up the book; I assumed, incorrectly, that the Dr. Arnold was Matthew Arnold, and I had no idea who General Gordon was) and cut them down to size. So although Strachey's short biographies don't even approach the level of meanness that Internet-bred 21st-century readers have become accustomed to, I suppose that the whole project and its determination to destroy idols and humble the mighty was rather mean in itself.
General Gordon awaits. I'll decide, after I finish with him, what other reading will keep me away from bills, files, and phone calls.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Whirlwind
Once again in a moving car en route from a party, the third in two days. Anyone would think that I live in a nonstop social whirlwind, but anyone would be wrong.
Memorial Day weekend always marks a sea change. I'm naturally introverted and would be a downright recluse if I didn't have children. I do have children, though, and I live in the friendliest and most social of neighborhoods. Contrary to my own nature, I'm one of the friendliest and most social among my neighbors, and summer is high time for parties, cookouts, and get-togethers of every sort. We'll be all but a commune until Labor Day, and as much as I love it, I'm not quite ready. I wish I had another week to steel myself.
The drama. "Steel myself" for three months of swimming, margaritas, and picnics. It's possible, perhaps, that there are a few people here and there who have bigger problems than this. This too shall pass, and I'll be sorry to see it go, as always. Onward.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
The mother of invention
I was about to give up on writing for today. We're en route from one party to another, and won't be home until after midnight, but I'll be in the car for at least 30 minutes and I have a phone, so here we go. A moving car (which I'm not driving) and the slightest of beer buzzes will not deter me in the least.
These young people. I didn't know that anyone other than Women's Studies grad students and Jezebel writers actually used the word "agency" to refer to anything other than the offices of temporary placement specialists and travel brokers, but apparently, it's quite common in conversational use at birthday parties for two-year-olds. And when they're not upset about lack of agency among cartoon princesses, they're determined not to "gender" their children too early. Needless to say, I exited that conversation as soon as reasonably possible. Feminism and gender theory are one thing, but use of "gender" as a verb was a step too far. Civilization has already deteriorated enough, thank you.
I think that I correctly punctuated a three-paragraph post on a phone, in a moving car, while somewhat less than sober. Let's not push our luck, yes? Until tomorrow.
Friday, May 22, 2015
I never learn
So I said that I'd do this every day, and to my surprise, another day followed upon the previous one, and here I am.
I think that Mother Teresa once said something about leaning to endure the trial of being unpleasing to yourself. I could find out for sure, but I won't, because that's not the point. The point is that I'm enduring this particular trial right now, and I have been enduring it in one form or another for my whole life. It's no fun. Nora Ephron felt bad about her neck and I feel bad about my whole body (my neck, however, is fine for now.)
When you're young, you can just hibernate for a day or so when you get a bad haircut, or your skin erupts, or you face some other appearance-related disaster. You know you'll recover and look just fine again in a day or so. At almost 50, though, I'm realizing that pretty days are no longer a dependable and regular occurrence and that even the OK days are few and far between. (And I just had to spell-check myself on "occurrence", too--will the cruelties of age never relent?)
I'm not going to hibernate, as much as I'd like to (even on good days, my avoid-all-human-contact instinct is rather strong) so I'll have to do as Mother Teresa did and learn how to endure the trial. And really, she looked just fine.
I think that Mother Teresa once said something about leaning to endure the trial of being unpleasing to yourself. I could find out for sure, but I won't, because that's not the point. The point is that I'm enduring this particular trial right now, and I have been enduring it in one form or another for my whole life. It's no fun. Nora Ephron felt bad about her neck and I feel bad about my whole body (my neck, however, is fine for now.)
When you're young, you can just hibernate for a day or so when you get a bad haircut, or your skin erupts, or you face some other appearance-related disaster. You know you'll recover and look just fine again in a day or so. At almost 50, though, I'm realizing that pretty days are no longer a dependable and regular occurrence and that even the OK days are few and far between. (And I just had to spell-check myself on "occurrence", too--will the cruelties of age never relent?)
I'm not going to hibernate, as much as I'd like to (even on good days, my avoid-all-human-contact instinct is rather strong) so I'll have to do as Mother Teresa did and learn how to endure the trial. And really, she looked just fine.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Tous les jours
It's been so long. In yet another supreme irony, I am now paid actual money for my writing skills, and I hardly ever write anything. I've given up my amateur status, I suppose. I'm going to return once again to daily writing, and whatever ends up on this page will be published. Well, not WHATEVER. I'll correct misspellings and incorrect uses of the semicolon.*
On Sunday, I was on my couch watching the last episode of "Mad Men." I'd summarily dismissed the DB Cooper theory, but the Coke theory had seemed plausible, even likely. So I liked the ending, and I scoff at the ridiculous idea that it exposed Don as completely cynical. If advertising is intrinsically cynical, then so is all of commerce and by extension, almost all human endeavor.
And that's all, apparently, that I have to say about that. I miss "Mad Men" already, both the show in particular and the absorption in a story in general. I'm sure there's some other serial drama that I could become attached to available on Netflix, but the contemporaneous shared experience would be lacking, and that's the best part. Binge-watching has very little appeal for me; even if I could overcome my belief that it's wrong to binge on anything, I just wouldn't have the time.
Memorial Day Weekend: Two days until the pool opens, five days before swim team practice begins, and just over a month before I start to panic about the fast-approaching end of a long-awaited summer. Hyphens: even better than semicolons. Discuss among yourselves.
* As if either of these would ever happen in the first place. So unlikely. Still, anything is possible.
On Sunday, I was on my couch watching the last episode of "Mad Men." I'd summarily dismissed the DB Cooper theory, but the Coke theory had seemed plausible, even likely. So I liked the ending, and I scoff at the ridiculous idea that it exposed Don as completely cynical. If advertising is intrinsically cynical, then so is all of commerce and by extension, almost all human endeavor.
And that's all, apparently, that I have to say about that. I miss "Mad Men" already, both the show in particular and the absorption in a story in general. I'm sure there's some other serial drama that I could become attached to available on Netflix, but the contemporaneous shared experience would be lacking, and that's the best part. Binge-watching has very little appeal for me; even if I could overcome my belief that it's wrong to binge on anything, I just wouldn't have the time.
Memorial Day Weekend: Two days until the pool opens, five days before swim team practice begins, and just over a month before I start to panic about the fast-approaching end of a long-awaited summer. Hyphens: even better than semicolons. Discuss among yourselves.
* As if either of these would ever happen in the first place. So unlikely. Still, anything is possible.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Things that I didn't feel like doing today, but did anyway
- Got out of bed
- Showered
- Got dressed, in real clothes
- Went to Mass
- Cooked breakfast
- Cleaned up breakfast
- Went for a walk
- Came in from my walk
- Cleaned my dirty kitchen counters
- Cleaned my really dirty kitchen floor
- Remained upright
- Converted oxygen into carbon dioxide
A good day's work, all things considered.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Gray Flannel Infinity Scarf
I'm the opposite of an early adopter. When I jump on a bandwagon, it's already nearly empty, its former occupants having long since moved onto more current things. I sent my first text message in 2009, which was also when I joined Facebook. My sister gave me an infinity scarf for my birthday. I'd ridiculed the silly things for three or four years, and then I tried one on and what do you know? I liked it. I'd be right on trend now, if this was 2011. Open-front cardigans are another current favorite; I bought my first one a few months ago, just in time for them to be over.
So that's why I'm now watching the first season of "Mad Men" (I am current, though, on "Portlandia".) I'm all agog. The period details are fun to look at, and I'm also interested in the social history aspect of the show, although I don't really know how accurate it is. The sexism is so exaggerated that it's almost hard to take seriously. Not having been there, of course, I have to take pop-culture interpretations of everyday life in past eras on faith. Maybe the sexism was just as bad as the show depicts. On the other hand, most of the women at Sterling Cooper, if they had any interest in watching football with their husbands on Sundays, wouldn't have had to watch semi-nude dancing girls on the sidelines. And can you imagine Joan Holloway or Betty Draper participating in "The Bachelor"? The Sexual Revolution: AWESOME for Women.
I digress.
I think that what interests me the most is the character of Don Draper as sort of a human wrecking ball and lightning rod in one. Most of the characters are believable and complex on their own, but almost everything that happens to them is a result of their collision with Don; some of them pursue him and some of them are thrown up against him, but I can't think of a single character who isn't defined to some extent in relationship to Don Draper.
I'm not watching now; I gave up Netflix for Lent (I gave up crunchy snacks, sweets,and buttered bread, too; Netflix was to make sure that my sacrifice is about more than losing a few excess pounds; never mind the fact that I've given up sweets, crunchy snacks, and buttered bread for six weeks every year for the past four years, and I haven't lost an ounce as a result--damn middle age) so I need to catch up from about the mid-point of season 4. My prediction is that Don's past will catch up with him and that he'll be tried as a deserter, but that he'll be saved by post-Vietnam popular disillusionment with American foreign policy--no jury will convict him. Whatever happens, it will be nice to be current on pop culture, just for a change.
I digress.
I think that what interests me the most is the character of Don Draper as sort of a human wrecking ball and lightning rod in one. Most of the characters are believable and complex on their own, but almost everything that happens to them is a result of their collision with Don; some of them pursue him and some of them are thrown up against him, but I can't think of a single character who isn't defined to some extent in relationship to Don Draper.
I'm not watching now; I gave up Netflix for Lent (I gave up crunchy snacks, sweets,and buttered bread, too; Netflix was to make sure that my sacrifice is about more than losing a few excess pounds; never mind the fact that I've given up sweets, crunchy snacks, and buttered bread for six weeks every year for the past four years, and I haven't lost an ounce as a result--damn middle age) so I need to catch up from about the mid-point of season 4. My prediction is that Don's past will catch up with him and that he'll be tried as a deserter, but that he'll be saved by post-Vietnam popular disillusionment with American foreign policy--no jury will convict him. Whatever happens, it will be nice to be current on pop culture, just for a change.
Monday, February 23, 2015
(Almost) everything is awesome
I wrote about the Oscars one time, on my old blog. Maybe 2008 or so. I've been at this for a long time. It occurs to me now that I should have taken notes last night, or that perhaps I should have live-blogged, but I didn't feel inspired, because the show was mostly uninspiring. I'm so bored with tedious identity politics and delusions of truth-to-power. Believe it or not, it doesn't take that much courage to speak out on race, LGBT rights, or gender equality, especially in a room full of movie stars.
I'm bored with unnatural physical perfection, because I can't separate a preternaturally youthful middle-aged body from what I imagine must go into achieving and maintaining it. I'm bored with the tyranny of the red carpet. But I love movies, and I always hold out the secret hope that someone will do something really crazy and daring, and so I always watch the Oscars.
Highlights:
I'm bored with unnatural physical perfection, because I can't separate a preternaturally youthful middle-aged body from what I imagine must go into achieving and maintaining it. I'm bored with the tyranny of the red carpet. But I love movies, and I always hold out the secret hope that someone will do something really crazy and daring, and so I always watch the Oscars.
Highlights:
- Everything is Awesome! I'm NOT a fan of animated movies, and I have a particular dislike for Disney movies. From Sleeping Beauty to Frozen, I hate almost all of them. I went with my then 9-year-old son, his friend, and his friend's mother to see The Lego Movie last year, and I approached the whole enterprise with near-dread. I expected a hybrid between a Lego commercial and the worst excesses of the Disney/Dreamworks animated movie cartel: dead mothers, wisecracking anthropomorphized animals, and knowing pop-culture references. The Lego Movie is not only not crap; it's actually (wait for it) AWESOME, and the song is perfect. My son and I are still outraged at the Academy's failure to recognize the movie as the best animated movie ever, but at least the song was nominated. The performance by Tegan and Sara and The Lonely Island and who knows who else was delightfully frenetic, silly, and happy.
- J.K. Simmons. I haven't seen the movie, and I probably won't, but I love J.K. Simmons and his speech was charming because it reminded people that caring about distant causes and oppressed strangers is worthless if you neglect the people who are right in front of you.
- LADY GAGA OMG! Not one single thing that I didn't LOVE about this performance: her dress, her hair, her outspread tattooed arms, and that beautiful face and voice without a hint of irony, without a trace of condescension, with nothing but beauty and love for one of my favorite-ever movies and its music. She put her heart and soul into that performance and I'm so happy to have seen it. And then JULIE ANDREWS! Just ten minutes earlier, I'd been so bored with the whole show that I'd nearly chucked it and gone to bed, and thank God I didn't. That was hands-down the best thing I've ever seen on any Oscar telecast, and I don't think I've missed one since 1983 or so.
Not highlights:
- Patricia Arquette. I'm very happy she won; I was rooting for her. I just cannot muster any outrage about underpaid movie actresses. Speak out about the real suffering endured by real women in the world outside of Hollywood: young girls kidnapped by ISIS and Boko Haram, and Chinese women forced to abort their babies, and Honduran women who spend 24 hours a day fearing for the lives of their children. Then I'll cheer like Meryl Streep.
- NPH in his underwear. I didn't understand it.
- John Travolta. I hate to feel embarrassed on someone else's behalf.
I'd have liked to see Michael Keaton win, although Eddie Redmayne was hard not to like. As usual, I haven't seen any of the movies yet, but I hope to remedy that this weekend with either Boyhood or Birdman. It will probably be another year before I write about pop culture again.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Note to self:
"...the bitter doesn't last forever, and the sweet never fills the cup to overflowing. It is enough if you don't freeze in the cold and if thirst and hunger don't claw at your insides. If your back isn't broken, if your feet can walk, if both arms can bend, if both eyes see, and if both ears hear, then whom should you envy? And why?
"Rub your eyes and purify your heart--and prize above all else in the world those who love you and who wish you well. Do not hurt them or scold them, and never part from any of them in anger; after all, you simply do not know: it might be the last act before your arrest, and that will be how you are imprinted in their memory!"
Alexandr Solzhenitsyn
The Gulag Archipelago
"Rub your eyes and purify your heart--and prize above all else in the world those who love you and who wish you well. Do not hurt them or scold them, and never part from any of them in anger; after all, you simply do not know: it might be the last act before your arrest, and that will be how you are imprinted in their memory!"
Alexandr Solzhenitsyn
The Gulag Archipelago
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