Today was an odd, reflective sort of day - not quite melancholy, not quite "in a funk," just deep in thought - meditative, if one can use that word when one is dealing with month-end reporting at work and two kids with cabin-fever at home.
Anyway, as talking heads discussed the events of last night ad nauseum and friends and family shared their thanks and support of the miliary community, I found myself reflecting back a decade ago (simply typing that makes me feel old), when so much of what was on the news this morning was part of my every day life in some manner.
10 years ago this spring I was in the middle of so many changes I wasn't sure where my life would end up. I was four or five months into a new job, in a new town (living, for the first and last time of my life, 5 minutes from the beach), among a new community of mostly active duty military families, acting in a leadership role of the children's organization at church (yes - someone actually put ME semi-in-charge of small humans at the tender age of not-much-over-twenty - me! Somehow we all survived and I'm pretty sure I'm a better person for it) and writing e-mails to Himself who was cruising around the Mediterranean in an enormous ship, eating his way through Europe.
It was an era of many defining moments - not the least of which was the horrible, terrifying events that would commence that fall. The events spearheaded by the man whose name seemed to roll off someone's tongue every third word this morning.
It has been awhile since I've taken out that portion of my life and examined it much. Today, I did just that, as I reflected on what the events of last evening meant to me - and how I felt about them. I thought about "the beginning" - where I was the evening I got word of the USS Cole bombing - and how sick I felt, as I had just begun my foray into life with active duty military friends, which made the whole thing seem that much more vivid and painful. I thought about the gauzy, laid-back summer of 2001, spent learning the ropes of adulthood and responsibility and real life. I thought about the pain and confusion that commenced with the terrorist attacks on 9/11. I thought about the people I knew deployed to the heated sands of the Middle East to fight a war without geopolitical boundaries - and of the constant reminders at home that the world had changed - the loaded fighter jets, the naked horizon devoid of ships at port, the startling absence of the menfolk in the church congregation ... And I thought about the day I stood on a cold, windy pier with a restless, 5-year-old Grover, peering into the horizon for the first sight of Himself's massive ship - returning home after a 7.5-month absence and a combat engagement in the Persian Gulf. I thought of the thousands of people crowded onto a little strip of land jutting into the mouth of the James River, crying and belting out the words to the Lee Greenwood anthem that makes me cry every time I hear the starting chords.
Mostly, however, the startling, unsettling news of last night made me think of the wonderful people who became permanent parts of the fabric of my life that year, in the days before the world changed forever. The women - mostly military spouses - who taught me about strength and love and loyalty and faith. The women, hailing from far-flung places, ideologies and experiences, who taught me about true friendship, support and patriotism. Women who shared tears and laughter and road trips and stories and e-mails and testimonies of love and faith and commitment.
Strangely, I found myself today not reflecting on the terrors brought about by the man whose life ended yesterday, but the friendships that came about the year he left his indelible mark on the world - the relationships that grew, blossomed and still nourish me today - a husband, two kids, a half dozen moves, several jobs and a few gray hairs later.
I truly believe God had a hand in helping weave together an afghan of warm hearts and open arms to prepare me to face the challenges that lay far beyond my young adulthood.
It was that, I reflected on today - that blanket of warmth, love, acceptance and friendship - the good things and people that helped shaped me into who I am now, and who I hope to raise my girls to be. Sometimes, out of the ashes of something terrible, a true treasure is discovered.
Today, I thought not of innocence and life lost, but of wisdom, friendship and faith found. To those who played a role in that - you know who you are - God Bless You, every one.
Showing posts with label News and Commentary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label News and Commentary. Show all posts
Monday, May 02, 2011
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
The Martyr's Lament
This month's issue of The Atlantic has a "thought-provoking" (stab-yourself-in-the-eye-with-a-pencil-due-to-the-sheer-idiocy-of-the-argument kind of thought-provoking) article on the "outdated institution of marriage." (Side note: why must it always be referred to as an "institution?" - no wonder people are all for its demise. "Institution" sounds like somewhere youd send someone to be strapped to a bed and attended to by men in white lab coats, not something I'd actually wish to participate in.)
It starts by the author confessing to an extramarital affair. It then proceeds to detail her thoughts on how marriage is something best left to the 19th century agrarians where "it was considered to be a kind of trade union for a woman, her protection against the sexually wandering male."
People are entitled to their own opinions, though my brain is still sore from the verbal whiplash I endured as I bounced back and forth between her self-centered diatribe against stability, men in general and that venerable "institution": marriage.
The author, in the end, decides to get divorced, primarily because marriage takes (gasp) work - and while the author spends paragraphs assuring us she knows how to work (and is not afraid of it), alas, "Do you see? Given my staggering working mother’s to-do list, I cannot take on yet another arduous home- and self-improvement project, that of rekindling our romance."
Wait a second. So the thing that should be most important above all in your life is being flung by the wayside like a used tissue because you are too tired after being a working mother to rekindle the romantic spark? Clearly she had some time to kindle some kind of romantic spark, given that she's just confessed (to the world, her therapist and her ex-husband) to having a brief extramarital affair.
She then laments: "My domestic evenings have typically revolved around five o’clock mac and cheese under bright lighting and then a slow melt into dishes and SpongeBob … because yet another of my marital failings was that I was never able to commit to a nanny"
I'm confused. So her life would have been better if she had a nanny? (No offense to nannys or those who hire them - I, after all, do my part to keep a sitter employed) But you can't conjure up a better evening than mac-n-cheese and SpongeBob? She goes on to complain about pondering these things in the middle of the night while dodging the elbows of her grade-school-aged girls.
Wait a minute.
She appears to be trying so hard to paint a picture of herself as a martyr that she is inadvertantly painting herself as rather inept at life in general (or so it seems). Not that there is anything wrong with mac-n-cheese (my own kid loves it) or SpongeBob (at least according to Himself) or snuggling with the kiddos, but I see a self-centered woman who overindulges her children because she's too tired (or something) to parent and tosses away her 20-year-marriage over a fling because it's more work than she can cram into her "woe-is-me" working mother schedule.
Here I feel, in some ways, qualified to comment. I'm a working mother. I work 40ish hours a week, in an office. It's hard. It's tiring. It's something I'd rather not do for the rest of my life. But that does NOT absolve me of my responsibilities as a wife, a parent and a citizen of planet Earth. Nor does the sacrifices that being a working mother/wife require earn me martyr status. I am not a single parent, underemployed, working multiple jobs or on public assistance. Neither was the author (until she chose single parenting over the "work" that rebuilding her marriage would take). And her selfish pursuit of excitement, lust and the easy way (over-indulging the children versus having an adult relationship with their father) certainly does not qualify as either sacrifice or martyr status.
I can only imagine the shock and awe that would result from Himself if I waltzed in the house day after day and said, "Oh I can only manage to cook dinner from a box and stick Woodstock in front of the TV, because I can't possibly be expected to do anything more for anyone - I am, after all, a working woman." Never mind the fact that Himself (and the author's husband) are both employed as well.
Which brings me to the next portion of the essay in which the author joins a friend to rail against her friend's spouse (who holds a job, cooks, chauffers the kiddos and generally dazzles all of their friends), because *gasp* he is too "stable."
In one sentance she lauds his goodness: "More accurately, [she is] reheating dinner; the dish is something wonderfully subtle yet complex, like a saffron-infused porcini risotto, that Ian made over the weekend and froze for us, in Tupperware neatly labeled with a Sharpie, because this is the sort of thoughtful thing he does." Several paragraphs later, she gleefully skewers him for his faults, while at the same time absolving her friend's faults because she "She sees herself as a failed mother, and is depressed and chronically overworked at her $120,000-a-year job (which she must cling to for the benefits because Ian freelances). At night, horny and sleepless, she paces the exquisite kitchen, gobbling mini Dove bars. The main breadwinner, Rachel is really the Traditional Dad, but instead of being handed her pipe and slippers at six, she appears to be marooned in a sexless remodeling project with a passive-aggressive Competitive Wife."
As I see it, women have created (by and large) their own monster. We have begged, pleaded, groveled, yelled and demanded to be treated not as mere equals to men but AS MEN. In the process, we emasculate men, demand that they take on everything we can't possibly handle as "poor working mothers," and then whine because they turn into "passive-aggressive Competitive Wi[ves]" - who are probably leaving their partners without intimacy because they are TOO DARN TIRED TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT after a day of working, whipping up healthy meals and shuttling the kids to and from everything. Sure, they should focus on the relationship too, but if we're too busy crying "martyr!" and shoving everything into their laps, we hardly have room to complain.
Now, to be clear, I'm all for equal division of labor ESPECIALLY because I work. I want a partner in parenting, in household tasks and in life - in addition to someone who is also a romantic partner. But I'm not going to get that if I insist on whining about how rough my life is to be the main breadwinner, so therefore I cannot possibly be asked to do anything else. Isn't that the whole 1950s "Man gets home, gets pipe and newspaper ignores family" scenario that we as women have been campaigning against for some 50 years, only with the gender roles reversed?"
I want to know what is wrong with the "stable men" she rails against in her article. What's so wrong with being stable? Stable doesn't have to mean boring, and if it does, maybe she'd best look at herself as she critizes everyone else ... look where it got her ... at least now she can play the "woe is me, SINGLE working mom" card.
The problem is, she seems to confuse Love with Lust - which even a scientist would tell you are two completely different things - from a cellular level right on through your marital vows. That is never more clear than in her last paragraph, in which she states:
It starts by the author confessing to an extramarital affair. It then proceeds to detail her thoughts on how marriage is something best left to the 19th century agrarians where "it was considered to be a kind of trade union for a woman, her protection against the sexually wandering male."
People are entitled to their own opinions, though my brain is still sore from the verbal whiplash I endured as I bounced back and forth between her self-centered diatribe against stability, men in general and that venerable "institution": marriage.
The author, in the end, decides to get divorced, primarily because marriage takes (gasp) work - and while the author spends paragraphs assuring us she knows how to work (and is not afraid of it), alas, "Do you see? Given my staggering working mother’s to-do list, I cannot take on yet another arduous home- and self-improvement project, that of rekindling our romance."
Wait a second. So the thing that should be most important above all in your life is being flung by the wayside like a used tissue because you are too tired after being a working mother to rekindle the romantic spark? Clearly she had some time to kindle some kind of romantic spark, given that she's just confessed (to the world, her therapist and her ex-husband) to having a brief extramarital affair.
She then laments: "My domestic evenings have typically revolved around five o’clock mac and cheese under bright lighting and then a slow melt into dishes and SpongeBob … because yet another of my marital failings was that I was never able to commit to a nanny"
I'm confused. So her life would have been better if she had a nanny? (No offense to nannys or those who hire them - I, after all, do my part to keep a sitter employed) But you can't conjure up a better evening than mac-n-cheese and SpongeBob? She goes on to complain about pondering these things in the middle of the night while dodging the elbows of her grade-school-aged girls.
Wait a minute.
She appears to be trying so hard to paint a picture of herself as a martyr that she is inadvertantly painting herself as rather inept at life in general (or so it seems). Not that there is anything wrong with mac-n-cheese (my own kid loves it) or SpongeBob (at least according to Himself) or snuggling with the kiddos, but I see a self-centered woman who overindulges her children because she's too tired (or something) to parent and tosses away her 20-year-marriage over a fling because it's more work than she can cram into her "woe-is-me" working mother schedule.
Here I feel, in some ways, qualified to comment. I'm a working mother. I work 40ish hours a week, in an office. It's hard. It's tiring. It's something I'd rather not do for the rest of my life. But that does NOT absolve me of my responsibilities as a wife, a parent and a citizen of planet Earth. Nor does the sacrifices that being a working mother/wife require earn me martyr status. I am not a single parent, underemployed, working multiple jobs or on public assistance. Neither was the author (until she chose single parenting over the "work" that rebuilding her marriage would take). And her selfish pursuit of excitement, lust and the easy way (over-indulging the children versus having an adult relationship with their father) certainly does not qualify as either sacrifice or martyr status.
I can only imagine the shock and awe that would result from Himself if I waltzed in the house day after day and said, "Oh I can only manage to cook dinner from a box and stick Woodstock in front of the TV, because I can't possibly be expected to do anything more for anyone - I am, after all, a working woman." Never mind the fact that Himself (and the author's husband) are both employed as well.
Which brings me to the next portion of the essay in which the author joins a friend to rail against her friend's spouse (who holds a job, cooks, chauffers the kiddos and generally dazzles all of their friends), because *gasp* he is too "stable."
In one sentance she lauds his goodness: "More accurately, [she is] reheating dinner; the dish is something wonderfully subtle yet complex, like a saffron-infused porcini risotto, that Ian made over the weekend and froze for us, in Tupperware neatly labeled with a Sharpie, because this is the sort of thoughtful thing he does." Several paragraphs later, she gleefully skewers him for his faults, while at the same time absolving her friend's faults because she "She sees herself as a failed mother, and is depressed and chronically overworked at her $120,000-a-year job (which she must cling to for the benefits because Ian freelances). At night, horny and sleepless, she paces the exquisite kitchen, gobbling mini Dove bars. The main breadwinner, Rachel is really the Traditional Dad, but instead of being handed her pipe and slippers at six, she appears to be marooned in a sexless remodeling project with a passive-aggressive Competitive Wife."
As I see it, women have created (by and large) their own monster. We have begged, pleaded, groveled, yelled and demanded to be treated not as mere equals to men but AS MEN. In the process, we emasculate men, demand that they take on everything we can't possibly handle as "poor working mothers," and then whine because they turn into "passive-aggressive Competitive Wi[ves]" - who are probably leaving their partners without intimacy because they are TOO DARN TIRED TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT after a day of working, whipping up healthy meals and shuttling the kids to and from everything. Sure, they should focus on the relationship too, but if we're too busy crying "martyr!" and shoving everything into their laps, we hardly have room to complain.
Now, to be clear, I'm all for equal division of labor ESPECIALLY because I work. I want a partner in parenting, in household tasks and in life - in addition to someone who is also a romantic partner. But I'm not going to get that if I insist on whining about how rough my life is to be the main breadwinner, so therefore I cannot possibly be asked to do anything else. Isn't that the whole 1950s "Man gets home, gets pipe and newspaper ignores family" scenario that we as women have been campaigning against for some 50 years, only with the gender roles reversed?"
I want to know what is wrong with the "stable men" she rails against in her article. What's so wrong with being stable? Stable doesn't have to mean boring, and if it does, maybe she'd best look at herself as she critizes everyone else ... look where it got her ... at least now she can play the "woe is me, SINGLE working mom" card.
The problem is, she seems to confuse Love with Lust - which even a scientist would tell you are two completely different things - from a cellular level right on through your marital vows. That is never more clear than in her last paragraph, in which she states:
Avoid marriage—or you too may suffer the emotional pain, the humiliation, and the logistical difficulty, not to mention the expense, of breaking up a long-term union at midlife for something as demonstrably fleeting as love.That just leaves me speechless.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Moon Walks and Vampires
On Moon Walks
20 years ago today, I made my first trek to the National Air & Space Museum in downtown D.C. I was spending the summer at my aunt and uncle's house in Virginia, and was mid-way through indulging myself in what would ultimately end up being a life-changing experience.
We had made several trips downtown in previous weeks - the first being for the not-to-be-missed 4th of July celebration on the National Mall - but we hadn't yet ventured to the Smithsonian museums on the mall's south side.
I certainly didn't recognize the significance of the day until my arrival (with hundreds of thousands of other people) at the air and space museum that day - the 20th anniversary of man's first walk on the moon. I touched a moon rock, gazed at real and replicated space craft and learned more about space in a few hours of reading every museum sign I could lay my eyes on than I had in all my nearly 11 years of life up to that point. It was, after all, only 3 short years after the Challenger disaster, my last real interaction with space, which had left me a bit skeptical and slightly bruised.
I remember feeling kind of important for being in a place so significant on the anniversary of such a great historical event. It was, ultimately, one of the things that gave D.C. such an incredible pull over my psyche. Standing in the middle of history was intoxicating - so intoxicating that it never quite left me, until I migrated back as an adult resident.
It's hard to believe 20 years - and so much more history - has passed. Today, as I listen to the recaps of the 40th celebration of man's walk on the moon, I can't help but reflect that for me, the lunar landing happened not on July 20, 1969, but on July 20, 1989, as I had the chance to re-live a piece of history in a city known for staging some of the most significant historical, political and social acts of the 20the 20th century.
That day, D.C. became my town.
On Vampires.
It surprises me, looking back, that the thing that terrified me most about my first surgery (at age 14) was not the surgery itself, or even the anesthetic (something I learned to fear with the next surgery, which left me in critical care on life support). Rather, my greatest fear was having my blood drawn and typed the week before surgery. It wasn't the needle so much as it was the fact that I had to sit and watch vials upon vials (or so it felt) of my blood leak out of my arm.
Today, as I journeyed to the hospital lab for my fourth blood draw in 12 days, I realized just how grateful I was that I go over the whole thing a long time ago. As it turns out, if one ends up with a blood clot while pregnant, one ends up spending a significant amount of time getting to knowvampires phlebotomists on a first-name basis. I have one more draw this week until the doctors determine if I am medicated at the correct level. Then I get to repeat the whole process in 10 days when I begin another drug that may or may not interact with the first one, requiring another two weeks of vampire lab visits every three days.
The whole experience has taught me something though - if you have to go in for frequent lab work, go to a hospital. Himself confessed that hospitalvampires phlebotomists generally have more experience overall (not to mention much more experience with difficult veins or people like me who now artificially bleed like a stuck pig upon the slightest abrasion) and are more skilled with a needle. I don't want to risk jeopardizing the streak yet, but so far, 5 sticks with needles (counting the one where I got stuck and didn't bleed - odd) and not a single, solitary bruise. A significant event, given the fact that this medication makes me bruise spontaneously.
It still doesn't make me terribly fond ofvampires blood draws, but at least it makes it tolerable. Plus, they give Woodstock a dum dum sucker if she happens to be with me, which makes her find my lab visits downright thrilling. And anything that makes a toddler happy, makes a toddler's mother very happy.
20 years ago today, I made my first trek to the National Air & Space Museum in downtown D.C. I was spending the summer at my aunt and uncle's house in Virginia, and was mid-way through indulging myself in what would ultimately end up being a life-changing experience.
We had made several trips downtown in previous weeks - the first being for the not-to-be-missed 4th of July celebration on the National Mall - but we hadn't yet ventured to the Smithsonian museums on the mall's south side.
I certainly didn't recognize the significance of the day until my arrival (with hundreds of thousands of other people) at the air and space museum that day - the 20th anniversary of man's first walk on the moon. I touched a moon rock, gazed at real and replicated space craft and learned more about space in a few hours of reading every museum sign I could lay my eyes on than I had in all my nearly 11 years of life up to that point. It was, after all, only 3 short years after the Challenger disaster, my last real interaction with space, which had left me a bit skeptical and slightly bruised.
I remember feeling kind of important for being in a place so significant on the anniversary of such a great historical event. It was, ultimately, one of the things that gave D.C. such an incredible pull over my psyche. Standing in the middle of history was intoxicating - so intoxicating that it never quite left me, until I migrated back as an adult resident.
It's hard to believe 20 years - and so much more history - has passed. Today, as I listen to the recaps of the 40th celebration of man's walk on the moon, I can't help but reflect that for me, the lunar landing happened not on July 20, 1969, but on July 20, 1989, as I had the chance to re-live a piece of history in a city known for staging some of the most significant historical, political and social acts of the 20the 20th century.
That day, D.C. became my town.
On Vampires.
It surprises me, looking back, that the thing that terrified me most about my first surgery (at age 14) was not the surgery itself, or even the anesthetic (something I learned to fear with the next surgery, which left me in critical care on life support). Rather, my greatest fear was having my blood drawn and typed the week before surgery. It wasn't the needle so much as it was the fact that I had to sit and watch vials upon vials (or so it felt) of my blood leak out of my arm.
Today, as I journeyed to the hospital lab for my fourth blood draw in 12 days, I realized just how grateful I was that I go over the whole thing a long time ago. As it turns out, if one ends up with a blood clot while pregnant, one ends up spending a significant amount of time getting to know
The whole experience has taught me something though - if you have to go in for frequent lab work, go to a hospital. Himself confessed that hospital
It still doesn't make me terribly fond of
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Breaking (Obvious) News
Yesterday's health headline on MSNBC was "Pregnant Women More At Risk From Swine Flu".
A more obvious headline (and a more panic-inducing one for already homormonally deranged pregnant women) could not have been crafted.
What was more eye-rolling however, were the less-than-newsworthy tidbits the article provided, including:
The entire rest of the article goes on to talk about how Swine Flu does or doesn't differ from the regular flu virus, fears of it mutating and how the antiviral drugs are a good idea to lessen it's effects.
I can (sort of) understand the inital fear - an unknown virus, proving to be rather strong in Mexico, begins spreading worldwide. But I am at a total loss how it is STILL warranting fear-mongering headlines in the media. It's far less deadly than the regular flu (thus far), obviously is going to be more dangerous for certain groups and people do need to take stock of their personal hygiene, but does any of that warrant the crazy headlines/updates that are still going on? A simple "don't forget to keep washing your hands" PSA ought to suffice.
Signed,
Pregnant Woman with Asthma (who washes her hands and is healthy and sees no reason for publishing obvious "news" that is just meant to scare people)
A more obvious headline (and a more panic-inducing one for already homormonally deranged pregnant women) could not have been crafted.
What was more eye-rolling however, were the less-than-newsworthy tidbits the article provided, including:
- So far, the swine flu has not proven to be much more dangerous than seasonal influenza, and it’s not clear whether or not pregnant women catch swine flu more often than other people.
- In general, flu poses added risks for pregnant women
- Pregnancy weakens a woman’s immune system, so that she’s more likely to suffer pneumonia when she catches the flu
- Pregnant women with asthma and some other health conditions are particularly at risk for complications.
The entire rest of the article goes on to talk about how Swine Flu does or doesn't differ from the regular flu virus, fears of it mutating and how the antiviral drugs are a good idea to lessen it's effects.
I can (sort of) understand the inital fear - an unknown virus, proving to be rather strong in Mexico, begins spreading worldwide. But I am at a total loss how it is STILL warranting fear-mongering headlines in the media. It's far less deadly than the regular flu (thus far), obviously is going to be more dangerous for certain groups and people do need to take stock of their personal hygiene, but does any of that warrant the crazy headlines/updates that are still going on? A simple "don't forget to keep washing your hands" PSA ought to suffice.
Signed,
Pregnant Woman with Asthma (who washes her hands and is healthy and sees no reason for publishing obvious "news" that is just meant to scare people)
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Partying Like It's 1999
Okay, you thought that Pop Culture commentary only appeared on Bonnie's blog, but once in a great awhile, I snap out of my pop-culture-dummy fog and actually know about something before reading it on her blog or hearing it about it in staff meeting from someone whose oldest child is only six years my junior.
On Monday, MTV's one-time hit show, TRL was on the air for a celebrity reunion finale after a 10-year run. It's funny that the article caught my attention. I haven't purposely watched MTV since Real World Seattle aired 10ish years ago. However, I was a TRL junkie by default during the show's early days when Britney was still an "innocent" teen pop star, Justin Timberlake was better known as part of a boy band, Eminem was still married to Kim the first time, Beyonce was a child of destiny and no one dreamed of being an American idol.
My junkie-as-an-innocent-bystander status was short-lived, but nonetheless very impactful. During the late summer of 1999, my 18-year-old freshman roommate from Arizona* would come home from class every day and turn the TV to Carson Daly and thousands of screaming fans in Midtown.
In fact, it was so critical to her educational and moral development that she (or rather daddy dearest) paid the entire cable bill, just so she could have MTV. Come to think of it, I'm not sure how we even got it. I didn't think the school in Happy Valley let their approved housing have MTV, but we did (shhh - don't tell - we probably committed other horrible atrocities as well!).
I remember sitting on the couch working on my physics homework (it had to be physics - I had physics homework every day for the eight straight weeks of summer term) with "Baby One More Time" in the background and her drooling over Eminem. Every. Single. Day. I have her to thank for the fact that I actually know who Carson Daly is, though I would be hard-pressed to pick him out of a lineup. (Only slightly related sidenote: I also read a story of a woman unable to identify anyone's voice - even her own daughter's - except for Sean Connery's. Long live the sexy Scottish burr!)
TRL was a storied part of that almost-final semester of college. It unwittingly played a small role in my education that summer. In fact, other than the tornado that hit The Frontier and the sudden death of JFK Jr., watching my roommate watch TRL would have a fighting chance as my most significant memory of that moment in lfie.**
Farewell, TRL. Thanks for the memories.
*Said roommate drove me up the wall. However, I now realize it could not have been much fun living with a grad student and a college senior who both had "get me out of here now" attitudes that were probably not well disguised.
**I was stuck in a weird East Coast v. Happy Valley time warp for those eight weeks. I don't remember much of anything, which is probably why what I DO remember is so ridiculously insignificant.
On Monday, MTV's one-time hit show, TRL was on the air for a celebrity reunion finale after a 10-year run. It's funny that the article caught my attention. I haven't purposely watched MTV since Real World Seattle aired 10ish years ago. However, I was a TRL junkie by default during the show's early days when Britney was still an "innocent" teen pop star, Justin Timberlake was better known as part of a boy band, Eminem was still married to Kim the first time, Beyonce was a child of destiny and no one dreamed of being an American idol.
My junkie-as-an-innocent-bystander status was short-lived, but nonetheless very impactful. During the late summer of 1999, my 18-year-old freshman roommate from Arizona* would come home from class every day and turn the TV to Carson Daly and thousands of screaming fans in Midtown.
In fact, it was so critical to her educational and moral development that she (or rather daddy dearest) paid the entire cable bill, just so she could have MTV. Come to think of it, I'm not sure how we even got it. I didn't think the school in Happy Valley let their approved housing have MTV, but we did (shhh - don't tell - we probably committed other horrible atrocities as well!).
I remember sitting on the couch working on my physics homework (it had to be physics - I had physics homework every day for the eight straight weeks of summer term) with "Baby One More Time" in the background and her drooling over Eminem. Every. Single. Day. I have her to thank for the fact that I actually know who Carson Daly is, though I would be hard-pressed to pick him out of a lineup. (Only slightly related sidenote: I also read a story of a woman unable to identify anyone's voice - even her own daughter's - except for Sean Connery's. Long live the sexy Scottish burr!)
TRL was a storied part of that almost-final semester of college. It unwittingly played a small role in my education that summer. In fact, other than the tornado that hit The Frontier and the sudden death of JFK Jr., watching my roommate watch TRL would have a fighting chance as my most significant memory of that moment in lfie.**
Farewell, TRL. Thanks for the memories.
*Said roommate drove me up the wall. However, I now realize it could not have been much fun living with a grad student and a college senior who both had "get me out of here now" attitudes that were probably not well disguised.
**I was stuck in a weird East Coast v. Happy Valley time warp for those eight weeks. I don't remember much of anything, which is probably why what I DO remember is so ridiculously insignificant.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Somewhere in the Middle
Somehow, I managed to forget that the election wouldn't be over on November 4 after all. In fact, all the post-election jabber - after 22 months of pre-election jabber -is just driving me further to the brink of insanity.
What is paining me more, however, is the devisive finger pointing that is still continuing. I woke up this morning and felt rather positive about things because I felt that, whatever anyone's political persuasion, the new president-elect just might be charismatic enough to at least get people to take action and try and sort out the historical mess he is inheriting. At the very least, what's done is done, we will roll up our sleeves and join together to make headway among failing finances, global instability and corruptive power.
But reality isn't in 30-second sound bites on the morning news. Reality is people misunderstanding. People calling names. People failing to respectfully agree to disagree. People breaking the basic rules of civility - sometimes politics and religion cannot be discussed - and that isn't a bad thing. Sometimes it is okay to not understand, not persuade, not see eye-to-eye. Sometimes it is okay to step back and say, "we see differently, but that doesn't make either of us a bad person - let's do lunch and change the subject."
Sometimes - one just has to sit silent, pray for understanding and strength and not answer. And sometimes one has to turn, brush away the tears and walk away.
My heart hurts this morning as I know several people, friends, on different sides hurling generalizations, accusations and hurtful things. Both sides making bold, sweeping generalized proclamations. Each is wounded. Each is pacing in the corner, like an injured bear - lashing out at any perceived attack. Some are likely guilty of taking a soundbite and passing it on - without really forming his/her own opinion.
I'm not proposing sitting down and singing Kumbaya with our fingers stuck in our ears and ignoring the issues, but I am pleading for civility. There has to be a better way.
I want to cry. Instead, I am sharing my own statement:
Maybe this post, by a blogger I do not know, and have never met, says it even better.
You don't have to agree with me to be my friend. You just have to play nice.
What is paining me more, however, is the devisive finger pointing that is still continuing. I woke up this morning and felt rather positive about things because I felt that, whatever anyone's political persuasion, the new president-elect just might be charismatic enough to at least get people to take action and try and sort out the historical mess he is inheriting. At the very least, what's done is done, we will roll up our sleeves and join together to make headway among failing finances, global instability and corruptive power.
But reality isn't in 30-second sound bites on the morning news. Reality is people misunderstanding. People calling names. People failing to respectfully agree to disagree. People breaking the basic rules of civility - sometimes politics and religion cannot be discussed - and that isn't a bad thing. Sometimes it is okay to not understand, not persuade, not see eye-to-eye. Sometimes it is okay to step back and say, "we see differently, but that doesn't make either of us a bad person - let's do lunch and change the subject."
Sometimes - one just has to sit silent, pray for understanding and strength and not answer. And sometimes one has to turn, brush away the tears and walk away.
My heart hurts this morning as I know several people, friends, on different sides hurling generalizations, accusations and hurtful things. Both sides making bold, sweeping generalized proclamations. Each is wounded. Each is pacing in the corner, like an injured bear - lashing out at any perceived attack. Some are likely guilty of taking a soundbite and passing it on - without really forming his/her own opinion.
I'm not proposing sitting down and singing Kumbaya with our fingers stuck in our ears and ignoring the issues, but I am pleading for civility. There has to be a better way.
I want to cry. Instead, I am sharing my own statement:
"If I disagree with you, it doesn't mean I don't like you, don't respect you, don't understand why you might believe differently. It doesn't mean I think you are bad or that I am 100%right and you are wrong. It just means that my own life's path has led me to believe something different. While everything in life gives me perspective, depth and consideration, no one forms my opinions for me. They are mine, and mine alone."
Maybe this post, by a blogger I do not know, and have never met, says it even better.
You don't have to agree with me to be my friend. You just have to play nice.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
A Job I Do Not Want
I'm as apt to criticize the President of the United States as anyone. Though I'd rather moan about the status the House of Reps or the Senate.
However, I realized today, after reading the headline story in The Wall Street Journal ("New Economic Ills Will Force Winner's Hand" - seen here), I realized I should probably keep my mouth shut.
In high school and college, economics bored me to tears. Now, nearly a decade after entering corporate America, I find it fascinating. I love figuring out how futures, markets, hedge funds, short sells, naked short sells, etc. work. I like macro economic theory. I particularly find the nuances of real estate finance on both the corporate/bank and consumer side fascinating. Not surprising to anyone who has known me for more than 30 seconds, I have opinions on everything.
It doesn't mean I would want to (or necessarily know how to) deal with the huge drop in auto sales and factory output, the credit freeze, the bailout or ridiculous executives at the helm of the likes of AIG (since forcing them to relocate to Siberia in the dead of night is more than slightly illegal and reeks of Stalinism). On top of that there is the big "What to Do" about Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Kenya, North Korea, Russia, Georgia (the country, not the state), Venezuela, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan and several handfuls of other countries bordering on the brink of insanity, instability, and odd behaviors. Not to mention the collapse of economies from Western Europe to the Far East. What to do? Who knows, exactly?
It is a job I do not want. I voted today and did a little happy dance that A) I got to vote for someone ELSE to worry about it and B) there are NO MORE ELECTION COMMERCIALS. After 22 months of campaign nonsense, I'm not sure which felt better.
All in all, voting today gave me warm fuzzies. A short line, a nice chat with the neighbors and a lovely walk to my polling place just as the sun was rising (and the rain was falling).
Tomorrow, one of the candidates will wake up, turn to his spouse and say, "Honey, what on earth were we thinking!?"
Because sometimes reality isn't nearly as cool as the anticipation.
However, I realized today, after reading the headline story in The Wall Street Journal ("New Economic Ills Will Force Winner's Hand" - seen here), I realized I should probably keep my mouth shut.
In high school and college, economics bored me to tears. Now, nearly a decade after entering corporate America, I find it fascinating. I love figuring out how futures, markets, hedge funds, short sells, naked short sells, etc. work. I like macro economic theory. I particularly find the nuances of real estate finance on both the corporate/bank and consumer side fascinating. Not surprising to anyone who has known me for more than 30 seconds, I have opinions on everything.
It doesn't mean I would want to (or necessarily know how to) deal with the huge drop in auto sales and factory output, the credit freeze, the bailout or ridiculous executives at the helm of the likes of AIG (since forcing them to relocate to Siberia in the dead of night is more than slightly illegal and reeks of Stalinism). On top of that there is the big "What to Do" about Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Kenya, North Korea, Russia, Georgia (the country, not the state), Venezuela, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan and several handfuls of other countries bordering on the brink of insanity, instability, and odd behaviors. Not to mention the collapse of economies from Western Europe to the Far East. What to do? Who knows, exactly?
It is a job I do not want. I voted today and did a little happy dance that A) I got to vote for someone ELSE to worry about it and B) there are NO MORE ELECTION COMMERCIALS. After 22 months of campaign nonsense, I'm not sure which felt better.
All in all, voting today gave me warm fuzzies. A short line, a nice chat with the neighbors and a lovely walk to my polling place just as the sun was rising (and the rain was falling).
Tomorrow, one of the candidates will wake up, turn to his spouse and say, "Honey, what on earth were we thinking!?"
Because sometimes reality isn't nearly as cool as the anticipation.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
One Of These Things Is Not Like The Other ...
(Identifying details have been changed to protect the guilty, the employed and the semi-innocent)
This morning I read through my weekly press clippings to find this:
ACTUAL MEDIA ARTICLE
I scratched my head. Funny how it appears XYZ Inc. presented a very large sum of money to three organizations as a result of our [Name of Event Here] two weeks ago. And funny how it seems they raised all this money at the event.
Curious, I went back to the e-mail/release I sent the reporter. It looks nothing like what was written.
ACTUAL MEDIA RELEASE
Not even close.
This morning I read through my weekly press clippings to find this:
ACTUAL MEDIA ARTICLE
XYZ Inc. supports Nonprofit Cause
XYZ Inc. presented $XX0,000 recently to three benefited charities: $XX0,000 went to the Charity A $XX,000 went to Charity B and $XX0,000 went to Charity C.
Sponsoring Nonprofit Sara Works For with its [Name of Event Here] in October, XYZ Inc. was able to raise the funds at the event. [Brief statement about Nonprofit Sara Works For Here].
I scratched my head. Funny how it appears XYZ Inc. presented a very large sum of money to three organizations as a result of our [Name of Event Here] two weeks ago. And funny how it seems they raised all this money at the event.
Curious, I went back to the e-mail/release I sent the reporter. It looks nothing like what was written.
ACTUAL MEDIA RELEASE
[Nonprofit Sara Works For] Raises $XX0,000 for Nonprofit Cause
[An intro paragraph and a quote].
Generous donations from [Name of Event] sponsors like XYZ Inc. and ABC Inc., other corporate and private donations, and donations received that evening from guests of more than $XX,000, were distributed among the event’s three benefited charities. [Nonprofit Sara Works For] was able to present checks Saturday totaling $XX0,000 to Charity A, Charity B and Charity C.
Not even close.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Another One Bites the Dust
The first order of business would be to find out what marketing genius thought that using the lazy, internal shorthand "WaMu" to replace a perfectly respectable sounding "Washington Mutual" was a good idea.
"WaMu" conjures up visions of hip hop, text messaging and killer whales. Which is exactly what a financial institution wants its customers to think of when they decide whether or not to place my hard-earned cash in a bank or under their mattresses ... if they want to ensure mattresses regain favored status as savings accounts.
(Sidenote: It is just for that reason I would never bank with WaMu - I want my money in a respectable insitution with an equally respectable name, complete with a legion of bankers wearing charcoal suits, white shirts and sensible 2" pumps or maroon ties, thankyouverymuch.)
Now, apparently, it doesn't matter.
Last night, the Feds stepped in, stripped them of their assets, their debts and the ridiculous sounding name and sold them off to JP Morgan Chase - which conjures up images of Brownstones, the Upper East Side and, well, J.P. Morgan. Tipping the favor back toward banks vs. mattresses as the best places to store money.
The problem is, it gives one more reason for the frantic pompous political windbags to scurry around Washington in a distracted frenzy, yelling "fire! fire! fire," trying to figure what side is most likely to win, so they can stand there. It's an election year, after all. The whole thing is a bit like musical chairs for old white guys.
Meanwhile, the little guys are scurrying around like ants at a picnic - gathering the last crumbs in hopes that they will be enough to stave off the famine when powers that be ride gleefully off into the sunset, somewhere in the vicinity of an offshore bank account where the three martini lunches come with little paper umbrellas.
"WaMu" conjures up visions of hip hop, text messaging and killer whales. Which is exactly what a financial institution wants its customers to think of when they decide whether or not to place my hard-earned cash in a bank or under their mattresses ... if they want to ensure mattresses regain favored status as savings accounts.
(Sidenote: It is just for that reason I would never bank with WaMu - I want my money in a respectable insitution with an equally respectable name, complete with a legion of bankers wearing charcoal suits, white shirts and sensible 2" pumps or maroon ties, thankyouverymuch.)
Now, apparently, it doesn't matter.
Last night, the Feds stepped in, stripped them of their assets, their debts and the ridiculous sounding name and sold them off to JP Morgan Chase - which conjures up images of Brownstones, the Upper East Side and, well, J.P. Morgan. Tipping the favor back toward banks vs. mattresses as the best places to store money.
The problem is, it gives one more reason for the frantic pompous political windbags to scurry around Washington in a distracted frenzy, yelling "fire! fire! fire," trying to figure what side is most likely to win, so they can stand there. It's an election year, after all. The whole thing is a bit like musical chairs for old white guys.
Meanwhile, the little guys are scurrying around like ants at a picnic - gathering the last crumbs in hopes that they will be enough to stave off the famine when powers that be ride gleefully off into the sunset, somewhere in the vicinity of an offshore bank account where the three martini lunches come with little paper umbrellas.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
View from the Board Room
For several years in my Other Life, I had a birds-eye view of the beginning of the financial nightmares addressed last night by President Bush and the major conversation point of all the talking heads.
From my view in the board room in DC - the real estate, financial and regulatory powerhouse good ol' boys club - what I saw didn't make sense. Of course, it was only me, the one who has had no formal economic, financial or business management education (though my longing for an MBA puts me at least in the "firmly interested, read everything" category). That should have given the world reason to pause - if I, the one whose solitary "F" on a test came in financial accounting, saw reason to go "what the...?!" things were already on their way south - and fast.
Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #1:
Year-over-year property appreciation growth of 17-20%. In Fairfax County, the median price of a single-family home in 2002 was $260k. In 2006 (the absolute peak of market), it was $500k. An increase of 92% in 4 years.
I sat in a meeting one day where Countrywide lenders (bidding to be the "preferred" lender on a project) said, "We can get absolutely anyone into a loan."
I sat in a first-time homebuyers informational session (one of my marketing events) and listened to a lender tell a couple, "you think you can afford x condo, but we could get you into y condo ($100k more) for $7k down, interest only, variable apr - you can refinance in 2 years." Guess what the couple did? Went for the "we'll have a second bedroom, but nothing to put in it, ever, because every single dime we make ON BOTH INCOMES is going to be paying our INTEREST ONLY mortage payment. We'll sell it in two years and make a fortune!"
Given my "aptitude" (or significant lack thereof) for numbers, it makes me wonder if I am clairvoyant. More likely, the contract one must sign to make a 7-figure-or-more salary must certainly read: thou shalt not use common sense, thou shalt wring all the money out of a company as fast as you possibly can, though shalt run the company into the ground if need be to see 20% return on investment, and - oh yes - shareholders, common people, taxpayers and your grandmother living off her pension backed by mortgage securities be damned.
Seriously.
From my view in the board room in DC - the real estate, financial and regulatory powerhouse good ol' boys club - what I saw didn't make sense. Of course, it was only me, the one who has had no formal economic, financial or business management education (though my longing for an MBA puts me at least in the "firmly interested, read everything" category). That should have given the world reason to pause - if I, the one whose solitary "F" on a test came in financial accounting, saw reason to go "what the...?!" things were already on their way south - and fast.
Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #1:
Year-over-year property appreciation growth of 17-20%. In Fairfax County, the median price of a single-family home in 2002 was $260k. In 2006 (the absolute peak of market), it was $500k. An increase of 92% in 4 years.
Dummy Logic: Something tells me incomes weren't going up 92%.
Reality '08: If it's too good to be true, and actually IS true, it won't last. And, funny thing, incomes didn't go up 92%.Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #2:
I sat in a meeting one day where Countrywide lenders (bidding to be the "preferred" lender on a project) said, "We can get absolutely anyone into a loan."
Dummy Logic: Anyone? Seriously? Aren't there rules about this kind of thing? You are saying this on year 5 of a double-digit upswing, you're talking interest-only, no money down, variable interest loans - do you think "Anyone" will be able to pay that back in 5 years when the market has changed and his $1.5k/month payment has become $3k and his $80k job has become only $85k?
Reality '08: Countrywide. In shambles. Match. Set. Point.Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #3:
I sat in a first-time homebuyers informational session (one of my marketing events) and listened to a lender tell a couple, "you think you can afford x condo, but we could get you into y condo ($100k more) for $7k down, interest only, variable apr - you can refinance in 2 years." Guess what the couple did? Went for the "we'll have a second bedroom, but nothing to put in it, ever, because every single dime we make ON BOTH INCOMES is going to be paying our INTEREST ONLY mortage payment. We'll sell it in two years and make a fortune!"
Dummy Logic: I'm not even going there. I nearly choked on my crudite.
Reality '08: Forclosure rates are up 27%.Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #4: Companies buying old real estate (rentals) for ridiculous prices, raising the price to an even more ridiculous level (selling as for-sale condos) and then putting them up for sale to "get a piece of the action."
Dummy Logic: Huh? Am I the only one that thought that was a ridiculous way to do business?
Results '08: It didn't even take that long. By '06, pure flip conversions were slashing their prices by $100k. Is it wrong to say "I told you so?"Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #4:Pseudo mortgage companies and developers - suddenly "experts" - enter the game to make a quick buck.
Dummy Logic: We're leaving the handling, sales, development and flow of capital to novices? And greedy ones at that.
Reality '08: Four words and an acronym: Bear Stearns. Lehman Brothers. AIG. The dominioes keep falling.
Given my "aptitude" (or significant lack thereof) for numbers, it makes me wonder if I am clairvoyant. More likely, the contract one must sign to make a 7-figure-or-more salary must certainly read: thou shalt not use common sense, thou shalt wring all the money out of a company as fast as you possibly can, though shalt run the company into the ground if need be to see 20% return on investment, and - oh yes - shareholders, common people, taxpayers and your grandmother living off her pension backed by mortgage securities be damned.
Seriously.
Monday, September 22, 2008
A Little More West Wing, Anyone?
West Wing was one of my all-time favorite shows - loved the writing (most of the time), the characters (some more than others) and the premise.
So it was with delight that I read Maureen Dowd's op-ed column in the New York Times this weekend - an encounter with President Bartlett and Senator Obama, penned by Aaron Sorkin.
It made me miss West Wing, and it made me wonder what Sorkin would do with the show if it was going on in the midst of this all-jumbled-up election season.
Is it sad I like fictional politics more than real politics these days?
So it was with delight that I read Maureen Dowd's op-ed column in the New York Times this weekend - an encounter with President Bartlett and Senator Obama, penned by Aaron Sorkin.
It made me miss West Wing, and it made me wonder what Sorkin would do with the show if it was going on in the midst of this all-jumbled-up election season.
Is it sad I like fictional politics more than real politics these days?
Thursday, September 11, 2008
We Will Never Forget
This morning, I walked out to the car to go to work. There were flags lining the street (it is a church service project - the flags are put out on federal holidays).
I stopped. And thought. And wondered what federal holiday I had missed and panicked about what to do with Woodstock (Miss Jan is closed on federal holidays).
And then I remembered.
"We Will Never Forget" - banners, signs, people, ads, music, artists shouted.
Except, seven years later, for a small moment, I had.
I was in Baltimore on 9/11/01. I knew people in NYC, at The Pentagon and people who lost family members and close friends. Just 12 months before I had been living across the street from The Pentagon. I picked up the phone and called my mom at work. The secretary asked who was calling. I said, "Her daughter in Virginia." The secretary made a little, shocked "oh" noise and paged Mom immediately. I longed to be somewhere safe - which, at the moment, was not standing on the twentysomethingth floor of a hotel next to one of the nation's busiest harbors across from another World Trade Center.
I came home to Navy fighter jets flying loaded, to a strangely silent, barren horizon as you looked over to the Naval Base from the HRBT. Not one ship stood at the pier.
I had nightmares for months. For five weeks I spent weekdays at my barren, quiet apartment and weekends with a friend. I couldn't stand being alone. I spent my lunch hours that week with colleagues at prayer services at the Baptist church across the street.
Himself and I passed e-mails back and forth through a Military censor - once a day. For that, I was extraordinarily fortunate. Others headed to the Gulf were not so lucky.
I stood and looked into the crater of Ground Zero and watched the neighboring buildings fall and rise over the course of 5 1/2 years on various trips to Manhattan. I watched the Pentagon rebuild as slightly paler bricks replaced the flag hanging over the burning crater in the wall. I watched as the new memorial began construction. Noted the subtle changes in life, in attitude, in fervor.
Each subsequent year, I observed the moment of silence for the Twin Towers and The Pentagon and Flight 93. I attended memorial services or contemplated where we were versus where we are. Time passed. I got used to carrying a small wallet, empty pockets and no liquids - to save time going through security at any place that seemed remotely significant.
Then, I moved to The Frontier and life changed so significantly, the little reminders were no longer there. I didn't drive by The Pentagon several days a week. There were no more random road trips or business trips to NYC. The only security I encountered was in the airport - which now just seems annoying rather than an invasion of a peace we took for granted.
And then, last year I brought Woodstock home from the hospital on 9/11. I watched the memorial service on TV as I nursed her, but my tears were for the pain in my body, the frustration with not being able to figure out how to feed one's starving infant rather than for the loss of life, of innocence of national security.
It was that thought that returned to me this morning in the shower - the memory of bringing Woodstock home for the first time, rather than the memory of loss.
We Will Never Forget - but we will slowly replace the sensations, the memories, the horror.
And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
I stopped. And thought. And wondered what federal holiday I had missed and panicked about what to do with Woodstock (Miss Jan is closed on federal holidays).
And then I remembered.
"We Will Never Forget" - banners, signs, people, ads, music, artists shouted.
Except, seven years later, for a small moment, I had.
I was in Baltimore on 9/11/01. I knew people in NYC, at The Pentagon and people who lost family members and close friends. Just 12 months before I had been living across the street from The Pentagon. I picked up the phone and called my mom at work. The secretary asked who was calling. I said, "Her daughter in Virginia." The secretary made a little, shocked "oh" noise and paged Mom immediately. I longed to be somewhere safe - which, at the moment, was not standing on the twentysomethingth floor of a hotel next to one of the nation's busiest harbors across from another World Trade Center.
I came home to Navy fighter jets flying loaded, to a strangely silent, barren horizon as you looked over to the Naval Base from the HRBT. Not one ship stood at the pier.
I had nightmares for months. For five weeks I spent weekdays at my barren, quiet apartment and weekends with a friend. I couldn't stand being alone. I spent my lunch hours that week with colleagues at prayer services at the Baptist church across the street.
Himself and I passed e-mails back and forth through a Military censor - once a day. For that, I was extraordinarily fortunate. Others headed to the Gulf were not so lucky.
I stood and looked into the crater of Ground Zero and watched the neighboring buildings fall and rise over the course of 5 1/2 years on various trips to Manhattan. I watched the Pentagon rebuild as slightly paler bricks replaced the flag hanging over the burning crater in the wall. I watched as the new memorial began construction. Noted the subtle changes in life, in attitude, in fervor.
Each subsequent year, I observed the moment of silence for the Twin Towers and The Pentagon and Flight 93. I attended memorial services or contemplated where we were versus where we are. Time passed. I got used to carrying a small wallet, empty pockets and no liquids - to save time going through security at any place that seemed remotely significant.
Then, I moved to The Frontier and life changed so significantly, the little reminders were no longer there. I didn't drive by The Pentagon several days a week. There were no more random road trips or business trips to NYC. The only security I encountered was in the airport - which now just seems annoying rather than an invasion of a peace we took for granted.
And then, last year I brought Woodstock home from the hospital on 9/11. I watched the memorial service on TV as I nursed her, but my tears were for the pain in my body, the frustration with not being able to figure out how to feed one's starving infant rather than for the loss of life, of innocence of national security.
It was that thought that returned to me this morning in the shower - the memory of bringing Woodstock home for the first time, rather than the memory of loss.
We Will Never Forget - but we will slowly replace the sensations, the memories, the horror.
And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I Want To Be Like Mike
I grew up during the era of "I want to be like Mike" - as in some basketball player of Chicago Bulls fame. You know, just a regular guy.
Twenty-plus years later, I've changed my mind. I still want to be like Mike, but this time Mike is a swimmer of Olympic fame. You know, just another regular guy.
I think I have a better shot at swimming well than playing basketball at this point in my life.
Although, by the time I am good enough to qualify for the Olympics (roughly around the time I'm 50), there will be no swimming because the races will be measured in milliseconds ... after all, at some point there is either an "unbreakable" world record or the race ceases to exisit because someone swam it in no time at all.
At that point, all I'd have to do is dip my toe in the pool and then touch the wall, because we'd be too fast to actually have a race. Which means I probably have a pretty good shot (If you overlook the fact that I cannot dive. At all. And, okay, several hundred other things.)
Seriously. 5 seconds off a world record? Makes you wonder if the old suits had lead or the new, much-hyped U.S. suits are jet-propelled.
Either way, I want to be like Mike. And Jason. And Ryan. And Peter. And Cullen. And ... you get the point. With the body of Dara, of course.
Twenty-plus years later, I've changed my mind. I still want to be like Mike, but this time Mike is a swimmer of Olympic fame. You know, just another regular guy.
I think I have a better shot at swimming well than playing basketball at this point in my life.
Although, by the time I am good enough to qualify for the Olympics (roughly around the time I'm 50), there will be no swimming because the races will be measured in milliseconds ... after all, at some point there is either an "unbreakable" world record or the race ceases to exisit because someone swam it in no time at all.
At that point, all I'd have to do is dip my toe in the pool and then touch the wall, because we'd be too fast to actually have a race. Which means I probably have a pretty good shot (If you overlook the fact that I cannot dive. At all. And, okay, several hundred other things.)
Seriously. 5 seconds off a world record? Makes you wonder if the old suits had lead or the new, much-hyped U.S. suits are jet-propelled.
Either way, I want to be like Mike. And Jason. And Ryan. And Peter. And Cullen. And ... you get the point. With the body of Dara, of course.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The Breakfast Club and The Candidates
Thanks to Kat in NY for posting this link on another site I frequent:
The Breakfast Club Primary matches up the '08 presidential contenders with key characters in the ultimate 80s flick.
Someone has too much time on their hands - but I appreciate the laugh break as I am neck-deep in politics and religion in regards to one of our clients.
Even if you hate politics (Oliver) you need to see it - it is really spot on.
And, for a second, I got to relive the fabulous "Fat, Ugly & Too Young" Molly Ringwald parties we used to have in lieu of going to formal dances in high school/junior high - even though as I look back, we were generally neither fat, nor ugly - just too young.
The Breakfast Club Primary matches up the '08 presidential contenders with key characters in the ultimate 80s flick.
Someone has too much time on their hands - but I appreciate the laugh break as I am neck-deep in politics and religion in regards to one of our clients.
Even if you hate politics (Oliver) you need to see it - it is really spot on.
And, for a second, I got to relive the fabulous "Fat, Ugly & Too Young" Molly Ringwald parties we used to have in lieu of going to formal dances in high school/junior high - even though as I look back, we were generally neither fat, nor ugly - just too young.
Friday, January 04, 2008
A Passion
I'm revealing myself a bit here ... but we just landed an account I'm so excited to work on.
I'm very passionate about a lot of what this film is about. I'm sharing it with you.
Thoughts? Comments?
I'm very passionate about a lot of what this film is about. I'm sharing it with you.
Thoughts? Comments?
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Neurotic Nonsense
My brain is all over today.
First, I have to brag on my father. He is the greatest father ever. I could write an entire book about it - and I would take on anyone who says that my claim to having the world's greatest father is biased. (And I'm tougher than I look).
Sometime during the decade since I lived in the Great Frozen North, all of my serious winter gear has dwindled into wimpy winter gear - an alarming number of fleeces, a wool dress coat (requisite for the East) and so forth. Being back in the Frontier, where it acually snows (and there are no such things as "snow days"), I realized I needed something more substantial to keep me warm (unless yesterday's 70-degree day has become the norm - very weird). Alas, I've only managed to pick up a good set of waterproof driving gloves.
Today my dad calls me at work - very unusual. He is, I realize, immensely excited over something. He asks if I've procured a winter coat yet. Nope. Then he tells me about a sale notice he got over e-mail today where there is a really great coat on sale for 50% off - no tax, no shipping if you order $X worth. He goes into the benefits of the coat and how much my sister paid for the same one last year (I'm sure my sister is thrilled to know she paid $40 more than I did). He reads me the item number, has me pull it up, recommends a size (yes, my blind father, recommending sizes - don't ask) and then he orders something to bump me into the free shipping zone (I don't tell him that paying for my shipping would have been cheaper than buying a new $50 camp pad).
Because of his eagerness, I was even able to snag a black coat in my size - on clearance (side note: who sells coats on clearance in November?!) - no neon green, slightly-the-wrong-size for me. My coat is on its way. I'm not going to freeze here. Thanks Dad!
--
In other news. One of my Google alerts for a client is "New Orleans" and "children" and "Katrina" - imagine the number of interesting news tidbits I get on that every day.
Today, however, I scored a good one - an interview with Jennifer Garner in Glamour, reprinted on MSNBC.com.
Most interviews with celebrities make me sick. They're either so ridiculously perfect with ridiculous, "I have no idea what the world is really like" opinions or they are ridiculously messed up. Usually I want to throw something at Jennifer Garner because she looks stunning - all the time - and lately I've taken to wearing my hair in a knot on my head - all the time - and smelling like eau de sour milk.
This time, however, I wanted to hug her. I will forever love her for this quote, in response to who she thinks is heroic:
Someone who realizes that loving, cooking, working, balancing, juggling, going slightly insane, volunteering - living life - counts. That waking up every day and working to make it a better day is something to be celebrated.
It didn't hurt that she confessed to feeling sheepish about hugging the Boston Red Sox's mascot - a giant red sock. "Why did I have to hug the sock? Just say hello like a normal person."
Sometimes I metaphorically hug a sock too - it's nice to know I'm not the only goofball.
First, I have to brag on my father. He is the greatest father ever. I could write an entire book about it - and I would take on anyone who says that my claim to having the world's greatest father is biased. (And I'm tougher than I look).
Sometime during the decade since I lived in the Great Frozen North, all of my serious winter gear has dwindled into wimpy winter gear - an alarming number of fleeces, a wool dress coat (requisite for the East) and so forth. Being back in the Frontier, where it acually snows (and there are no such things as "snow days"), I realized I needed something more substantial to keep me warm (unless yesterday's 70-degree day has become the norm - very weird). Alas, I've only managed to pick up a good set of waterproof driving gloves.
Today my dad calls me at work - very unusual. He is, I realize, immensely excited over something. He asks if I've procured a winter coat yet. Nope. Then he tells me about a sale notice he got over e-mail today where there is a really great coat on sale for 50% off - no tax, no shipping if you order $X worth. He goes into the benefits of the coat and how much my sister paid for the same one last year (I'm sure my sister is thrilled to know she paid $40 more than I did). He reads me the item number, has me pull it up, recommends a size (yes, my blind father, recommending sizes - don't ask) and then he orders something to bump me into the free shipping zone (I don't tell him that paying for my shipping would have been cheaper than buying a new $50 camp pad).
Because of his eagerness, I was even able to snag a black coat in my size - on clearance (side note: who sells coats on clearance in November?!) - no neon green, slightly-the-wrong-size for me. My coat is on its way. I'm not going to freeze here. Thanks Dad!
--
In other news. One of my Google alerts for a client is "New Orleans" and "children" and "Katrina" - imagine the number of interesting news tidbits I get on that every day.
Today, however, I scored a good one - an interview with Jennifer Garner in Glamour, reprinted on MSNBC.com.
Most interviews with celebrities make me sick. They're either so ridiculously perfect with ridiculous, "I have no idea what the world is really like" opinions or they are ridiculously messed up. Usually I want to throw something at Jennifer Garner because she looks stunning - all the time - and lately I've taken to wearing my hair in a knot on my head - all the time - and smelling like eau de sour milk.
This time, however, I wanted to hug her. I will forever love her for this quote, in response to who she thinks is heroic:
My younger sister is my hero: She’s a mom and an accountant for the state of West Virginia. She’s able to juggle a job, kids, volunteer work and church, and she still manages to cook dinner every night without feeling bogged down. There are lots of people out there who are literally heroic, but what she does counts too.
Someone who realizes that loving, cooking, working, balancing, juggling, going slightly insane, volunteering - living life - counts. That waking up every day and working to make it a better day is something to be celebrated.
It didn't hurt that she confessed to feeling sheepish about hugging the Boston Red Sox's mascot - a giant red sock. "Why did I have to hug the sock? Just say hello like a normal person."
Sometimes I metaphorically hug a sock too - it's nice to know I'm not the only goofball.
Monday, October 29, 2007
File This Under Ridiculous
FEMA, struggling to recover from the black eye it gave itself two years ago over the handling of Hurricane Katrina, faked its own news conference - by filling the journalists' seats with federal employees.
As someone who has organized and attended press conferences, I'm still trying to decide why they thought faking a press conference would be a good idea.
FEMA was once one of my clients - during my short stint working for a PR firm in downtown DC. They were ridiculous then, but that was 7+ years ago. Their recent antics make their issues when I was their bottom-of-the-totem-pole PR girl look like nothing.
If I was Mr. Widomski, I think I'd be packing for an extended stay at someone's remote Italian villa about now.
"We had been getting mobbed with phone calls from reporters, and this was thrown together at the last minute," said deputy director Mike Widomski, of FEMA's public affairs.
As someone who has organized and attended press conferences, I'm still trying to decide why they thought faking a press conference would be a good idea.
FEMA was once one of my clients - during my short stint working for a PR firm in downtown DC. They were ridiculous then, but that was 7+ years ago. Their recent antics make their issues when I was their bottom-of-the-totem-pole PR girl look like nothing.
If I was Mr. Widomski, I think I'd be packing for an extended stay at someone's remote Italian villa about now.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Monumental Mourning
A shocking, awful event while I was away, as reported by The Washington Post.
Eastern Market, one of my favorite places in D.C. was nearly destroyed by fire yesterday. A devestating blow to the 14 vendors, the beloved lunch counter, the historic architecture, the neighborhood and everyone who has ever indulged in the wonderful kaleidescope of sights, smells, sounds and tastes associated with the historic market.
The damage is estimated at $20 million. The city has pledged to rebuild the landmark, but it will never be the same.
A moment of silence for the treasure lost to the ravaging flames, and a change to this weekend's plans.
Eastern Market, one of my favorite places in D.C. was nearly destroyed by fire yesterday. A devestating blow to the 14 vendors, the beloved lunch counter, the historic architecture, the neighborhood and everyone who has ever indulged in the wonderful kaleidescope of sights, smells, sounds and tastes associated with the historic market.
The damage is estimated at $20 million. The city has pledged to rebuild the landmark, but it will never be the same.
A moment of silence for the treasure lost to the ravaging flames, and a change to this weekend's plans.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Musings on Chinese
I'm not sure my passion for literacy was sparked because my mother is a librarian or because of my passion to read, but it is one of the causes about which I care deeply. In today's Washington Post, there is an article about China's literacy rate increasing dramatically, despite a campaign to eradicate it.
I confess, I've never actually spent much time thinking about the literacy rate in China, but given the attention China has garnered in the economic spector, it scares me that there continues to be a downslide in progress among the rural peasants in a country poised to dominate world markets in more than one aspect. I agree with the Chinese Education Minister, while I wonder how much the education ministry is actually doing, with inflated reports of literacy, poor measurement techniques etc. He says, "Illiteracy is not only a matter of education but also has a great social impact."
I only discovered the great social impact when I became an adult literacy tutor several years ago (a volunteer position I've had to put on hiatus over the last while, unfortunately). One of my clients was a woman who had a high school diploma. She was not even functionally literate. She could not read a single word. The first meeting with a client was always to determine the client's goals for the courses. Her response physically pained me. She looked at me and said, "I want to read to my boys. I want to buy a house. I just want to be able to support my family."
She made it through high school and graduated with her mother (and, likely, several other adults) knowing she at least struggled to read. Her mom figured she would "grow out of it," - overwhelmed with being a single parent and trying to do it all, she let it slide.
My client worked three jobs - ironically, one was as a behavioral aide in an elementary school. Her boys, pre-teens, both read at grade level. She had neighbors help her boys with their homework, or, under the guise of improving their reading skills, would have her boys read things to her. She desparately longed to get out of Section 8 housing.
I worked with her for a year. After a lifetime of learning to get by without being able to read, one starts to substitute words for the groups of undecipherable letters on a page, a menu, a document, a sign. She had years of "learning" to unlearn. We worked on phonetics, word groupings, memorization. Slowly, she progressed. When I had to relinquish her to another tutor because I was moving, she was reading at a first-grade level.
Perhaps, what scared me the most about the article on China's literacy rate, was how large the problem is still in the U.S. It's not shockingly monumental, like China's, but given the fact that the United States is, in theory, one of the most advanced countries in the world - a place where dreams can be realized, it still scares me. Any percentage of illiteracy is too high. Especially among those who have a high school education. An education that is supposedly based on the fundamental skill of reading.
I cannot imagine going through life not having the ability to read. I cannot imagine what it was like to be my client, gliding silently through life praying for help, while at the same time praying no one would notice her inability to read even the simplest of words. I cannot imagine the peasant farmers in China being so disenchanted as to believe that education is a waste of time.
Movement forward in time is supposed to equal progress. If China, on the brink of global economic domination, is struggling with such a fundamental problem with such a huge portion of its population, where do we stand to be in 5, 10, 20 years as a global society? What does it say about a world so obsessed with the race to domination that we fail to ensure basic skills are among the arsenal available to each man, woman, child for whom we race?
Interesting food for thought.
From 2000 to 2005, the number of illiterate Chinese adults jumped by 33
percent, from 87 million to 116 million, the state-run China Daily reported this month. The newspaper noted that even before the increase, China's illiterate population had accounted for 11.3 percent of the world's total.
I confess, I've never actually spent much time thinking about the literacy rate in China, but given the attention China has garnered in the economic spector, it scares me that there continues to be a downslide in progress among the rural peasants in a country poised to dominate world markets in more than one aspect. I agree with the Chinese Education Minister, while I wonder how much the education ministry is actually doing, with inflated reports of literacy, poor measurement techniques etc. He says, "Illiteracy is not only a matter of education but also has a great social impact."
I only discovered the great social impact when I became an adult literacy tutor several years ago (a volunteer position I've had to put on hiatus over the last while, unfortunately). One of my clients was a woman who had a high school diploma. She was not even functionally literate. She could not read a single word. The first meeting with a client was always to determine the client's goals for the courses. Her response physically pained me. She looked at me and said, "I want to read to my boys. I want to buy a house. I just want to be able to support my family."
She made it through high school and graduated with her mother (and, likely, several other adults) knowing she at least struggled to read. Her mom figured she would "grow out of it," - overwhelmed with being a single parent and trying to do it all, she let it slide.
My client worked three jobs - ironically, one was as a behavioral aide in an elementary school. Her boys, pre-teens, both read at grade level. She had neighbors help her boys with their homework, or, under the guise of improving their reading skills, would have her boys read things to her. She desparately longed to get out of Section 8 housing.
I worked with her for a year. After a lifetime of learning to get by without being able to read, one starts to substitute words for the groups of undecipherable letters on a page, a menu, a document, a sign. She had years of "learning" to unlearn. We worked on phonetics, word groupings, memorization. Slowly, she progressed. When I had to relinquish her to another tutor because I was moving, she was reading at a first-grade level.
Perhaps, what scared me the most about the article on China's literacy rate, was how large the problem is still in the U.S. It's not shockingly monumental, like China's, but given the fact that the United States is, in theory, one of the most advanced countries in the world - a place where dreams can be realized, it still scares me. Any percentage of illiteracy is too high. Especially among those who have a high school education. An education that is supposedly based on the fundamental skill of reading.
I cannot imagine going through life not having the ability to read. I cannot imagine what it was like to be my client, gliding silently through life praying for help, while at the same time praying no one would notice her inability to read even the simplest of words. I cannot imagine the peasant farmers in China being so disenchanted as to believe that education is a waste of time.
Movement forward in time is supposed to equal progress. If China, on the brink of global economic domination, is struggling with such a fundamental problem with such a huge portion of its population, where do we stand to be in 5, 10, 20 years as a global society? What does it say about a world so obsessed with the race to domination that we fail to ensure basic skills are among the arsenal available to each man, woman, child for whom we race?
Interesting food for thought.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Moment of Silence
Today was a very, very slow day at work. It meant I spent a portion of every hour updating myself on the tragedy unfolding in Blacksburg at Virginia Tech. Being a media junky, a student of crisis communications and a horrified human being, I had a hard time not going back again and again, hoping that it was all over.
On my commute home, I did some thinking. The same thoughts ran through my head that did during the coverage of the Columbine shooting eight years ago. What a tragic loss of innocence. What a rude awakening to the darker side of life. I thought about my own college experience - largely spent on a green, hilly campus nestled in the foothills. The community in which it was located was largely like that of Blacksburg - isolated, fairly rural, of a similar size. The campuses hosted about the same number of students.
There were a string of tragic and life-changing events during my tenure at university, but they were distinctly private tragedies - not a single one warranted coverage in even the student newspaper. The loss of family members by myself and roommates, emergency room visits, major medical issues, the suicide of an aquaintance who lived next door - all quiet events, a cause for pause among those closest to the incident with little notice by the outside world.
I can't even begin to imagine the horror that has settled on those closest to this tragedy - the students, the teachers, the parents, the administration, the community, the first responders. How do you explain something so tragic? How do you prevent something equally as heinous from happening again? How do you make up for the loss of innocence among young adults?
College students (young adults test-driving full-time adulthood) aren't innocent, but surrounded by peers the same age, in semi-isolation, on a quiet, respected campus, one forgets that the outside world co-exists. One forgets that real life moves on, even beyond the statuesque buildings, grand lawns and enclaves of students pursuing academic progress. When the two worlds collide on a day like this, it is undeniably shocking.
It is numbing and sad and disturbing all at once. My heart goes out to those injured, killed and profoundly changed by this horrible, confusing tragedy.
On my commute home, I did some thinking. The same thoughts ran through my head that did during the coverage of the Columbine shooting eight years ago. What a tragic loss of innocence. What a rude awakening to the darker side of life. I thought about my own college experience - largely spent on a green, hilly campus nestled in the foothills. The community in which it was located was largely like that of Blacksburg - isolated, fairly rural, of a similar size. The campuses hosted about the same number of students.
There were a string of tragic and life-changing events during my tenure at university, but they were distinctly private tragedies - not a single one warranted coverage in even the student newspaper. The loss of family members by myself and roommates, emergency room visits, major medical issues, the suicide of an aquaintance who lived next door - all quiet events, a cause for pause among those closest to the incident with little notice by the outside world.
I can't even begin to imagine the horror that has settled on those closest to this tragedy - the students, the teachers, the parents, the administration, the community, the first responders. How do you explain something so tragic? How do you prevent something equally as heinous from happening again? How do you make up for the loss of innocence among young adults?
College students (young adults test-driving full-time adulthood) aren't innocent, but surrounded by peers the same age, in semi-isolation, on a quiet, respected campus, one forgets that the outside world co-exists. One forgets that real life moves on, even beyond the statuesque buildings, grand lawns and enclaves of students pursuing academic progress. When the two worlds collide on a day like this, it is undeniably shocking.
It is numbing and sad and disturbing all at once. My heart goes out to those injured, killed and profoundly changed by this horrible, confusing tragedy.
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