Baby-Crazy (Indulge Me)

I think I've discovered just how good it can get.

A week and a half ago (but oh how much longer ago it feels) I was home on vacation with my family, and I got to spend a day and a half with my niece/cousin/quasi-god-child Paige. (It's my cousin's baby, but we grew up practically as sisters. As Kristi is an only child and we've decided this baby really needs an aunt in her life, I'm it. You can call me Aunt Melissa. As for quasi-god-child...turns out the Catholic Church has some rules about the baby's godparents being Catholics, or something. So I'm godmother in spirit, if not by rites.)

I thought laying in a hammock was pretty amazing. I thought laying in a hammock in the woods was even better. I thought that napping in a hammock in the woods was pretty damn close to perfection. But as it turns out, I'm pretty much convinced that there is absolutely nothing better than napping in a hammock in the woods with your warm, soft, adorable month and a half month old niece napping on top of you.

Okay, so I'm not exactly a neutral source here, but I think she's pretty damn cute.

Wanna see?

Here's a few of Paige & her mom...

And here's Paige & Papa....who loves babies....

Of course, who doesn't love a baby?

Please, Sir, May I Have Another?

Some random thoughts and observations – I’m feeling far too scattered to connect the dots today….

- I purchased what I believe is my eighth (count ‘em, eight) umbrella of the season today. Without fail, it never starts to rain until I’m already on the bus. Without fail, Walgreens never hesitates to raise the prices on their cheap-ass (I’m pretty sure the one I bought is already broken) umbrellas when it rains. I think this means I’ve spent over $60 on umbrellas this year. I’m going to stop thinking about this now.

- I’m starting to remember what real stress – that time-crunched, 8000 things to do at once sort of stress – feels like. The workload of having what are essentially two full-time jobs (one which paid, but that I care about only moderately; one which is pro-bono, but that, despite the many frustrations and stresses and fights and hassles, I absolutely love doing) is starting to weigh on me, and I’m trying hard to find a balance between doing what I care about, doing what I need to do, and trying to preserve some semblance of a non-work life (Ha! Fat chance.)

It makes me realize that I haven’t actually worked all that hard lately. This frantic pace isn’t new to me – it’s basically how I spent four years of college – but I haven’t been here in awhile. I’ve been taking it a little bit easy…making time for cooking, for friends, for reading for pleasure, for travel, for going to the gym, for long walks and nights on the town. That was a conscious decision on my part – to make some time for the non-work, non-political side of me – and I’m glad I did it. I’m even looking forward to getting back to that sometime soon.

But at the moment, it feels pretty good to remember what hard work for something I am passionate about is like. To remember what it feels like to be tired down to my bones, to subsist on not enough sleep for days (if not weeks) on end, to be thinking about five different things as I fall asleep and wake up still thinking about them. It feels good to work hard.

- We were prepping the candidate for an upcoming forum/debate last night, and at one point our consultant told that her that she needed to stop apologizing for things when she spoke because she had absolutely nothing to apologize for. She pointed out that she would try – was trying – but that she’d been apologizing for 27 years, whether or not she was sorry, and it was a hard habit to break. Immediately, every woman in the room nodded up and down, knowing exactly what the candidate meant. The consultant, who is as cocky and unapologetic as they come (and he would readily admit this), looked a little taken aback. I don’t know that he got it.

These are the differences between men and women (or at least how we’ve been socialized). The insidious differences that you don’t think about but that make all the difference. Women (and I’m generalizing here, but only to a point) apologize for having strong beliefs, for potentially hurting someone else (whether they deserve it or not), for possibly giving offense. Men not only don’t apologize for these things, but they don’t think to. It’s not a consideration.

I recently learned that my male co-worker (who is just out of college with much less experience than I have) went back and forth three times in his initial salary negotiations. Three times. Hell, I was impressed with myself for asking for a higher salary at all. It wasn’t easy to do. And then of course I rolled over when they tossed in an additional $500 (big money, right?) and told me that was all they could give me right now. I didn’t even think to toss back a second counter-offer, much less a third. (Were they lying? Of course. Do I now know I got lowballed? Absolutely. Did I push for a larger raise at my last salary review? Nope. I wimped out. I jumped at the first measly offer and said ‘thank you very much.’)

These are the differences. These are the things that make me think, were I to raise a daughter, I would do it differently. I wouldn’t let her get away with apologizing for her beliefs or not demanding what she deserves. I know my generation is a far cry from that of our mother’s, and even further from our grandmother’s. We’ve reclaimed the word “bitch,” we’re less worried about seeming “pushy,” and more and more often, we’re asking for what we deserve. But still I hope that the next generation of young women will be better.

Had We But World Enough, and Time

On one of my long, extended trains of thought this week, I started to think about the literature that defines us.

(You'd be amazed how far your mind can wander when you spend hours each day laying in a hammock.)

I don't mean the literature we love the most or enjoy the most. I'm not talking about favorite books or treasured authors. I'm talking about books, poems, essays, plays, whatever, that alter and shape the way we view the world. Concepts, passages, lines and ideas that work their way into our consciousness, ready to be pulled out in a moment of need. A framing of thoughts that informs the way we view a situation, or a phrase from a novel that actually changes the way we act.

Let me be more specific. When I think about the literature that defines me, I immediately think of Marvell. To understand me, to understand the way I view the world and the route by which I choose my actions, I think you have to understand "To His Coy Mistress."

At first read, sure, it's all about a guy trying to charm his reticent lady into bed. While I certainly can identify with his quandary -- oh those reticent, virginal, quaint-honored ladies! -- it's the philosophy of life behind the poem that really draws me in. That striving for the intense experience, that admonishment to make much of time (though that's another poem.) That desperate race to make the sun run, the entreaty to grab pleasure in life we can before it all slips through our fingers.

This weekend, I met a friend of my brother who is one of the most intense kids I've ever encountered. Not intense in a dark-and-tragic sense...rather, you can simply tell that this kid is living life as intensely as he can. He's only 13, but within 30 seconds of meeting him, you know he will be the life of every party he goes to. Every time my brother hangs out with him, it's a little adventure.

Turns out, this kid had cancer when he was 10. It's all clear now, I guess, but he was pretty close to death at one point. And suddenly it all makes sense...when you almost lose your life at such a young age (perhaps even too young an age to truly comprehend the significance of it all), how can you not make every day an adventure? Even if he doesn't know it consciously, how can he not, in his very bones, know that every second had better be lived with intensity because who knows if it'll be your last? I hate to get all cliched and corny here, all sentimental about the shortness of life, but after an experience like that, I feel quite certain that at his back this kid, too, always hears "Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near."

And so I come back to Marvell:

Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life.

At times, I feel almost frantic with the need to do great things with small amount of time I feel I've been given. (Be that another year or another 80; they both feel far too short). I know there is far more out there to see, to do, to taste, to touch, to read, to learn, to visit, to know, than I can possibly achieve. I'm sure I don't have world enough, or time. I'll be lucky in my life to barely break the surface. And it drives me nuts when I see others caught up in inertia, unable to understand the urgency of grabbing what pleasures we can, now, before it' s too late.

So if I seem a bit crazed to you at times, a bit urgent when urgency seems unwarranted, a bit anxious for no discernible reason at all, understand it's only because I'm trying to tear through the iron gates of life... and sometimes they feel rusted shut.

Time to Get a Grip

Oh Roberta
I don't look for you in other people
Like I used to do, that's dangerous
and my soul needs a rest...

-- Slaid Cleaves, "Oh Roberta"

I'm amazed, sometimes, by the way bad habits and poor decisions can pile up on one another, snowballing into one big, bad ball of unhealthiness. One bad decision begets another, and once you've gone down the path there's no stopping yourself. I saw it in my eyes this morning, after another late night of high emotions, heavy drinking, and barely three hours sleep. Or, rather, in the dark circles under my eyes. It's time for a rest.

There's been too many late nights, too many hefty bar tabs, too many cigarettes smoked (I've about crossed that line where calling myself a 'non-smoker' is a tad hypocritical) and unhealthy meals consumed. I'm a master of justification -- whether I'm celebrating a triumph or drowning a sorrow, I've always had a good reason, lately, to make the unhealthy choice.

I'm headed home for a family vacation this Friday, and I simply cannot wait. My mind is ready to leave all these stresses and worries behind in Boston for a few days, and my body is ready for a retreat. I'm looking forward to days spent lying on a hammock in the woods, swimming in rivers and hiking through forests. Cooking s'mores and reconnecting with my family.

I'm ready to rest my soul and recharge my brain. Figure some things out. It's time to start making smart decisions again.

Blogger Plays the Pimp for Desperate Male Mumbaikers

I've got this thing called Site Meter on my blog, which basically lets you see how many people are viewing your blog and where they are viewing it from. Occasionally my blog goes international -- I've received views from people in countries in every corner of the globe -- which I always find a bit amusing. Sitemeter also allows you to see how the person got there -- for example, if they linked to your blog from another blog, or if they typed the blog name in on their own.

My personal favorite is when a person stumbles across my blog through Google search terms, which Blogger is so kind as to record.

(For your own personal knowledge, it might be useful to know that if you type in, say, "kinky sex with horses" and that connects you to someone's blog that has Site meter, someone, somewhere, will know that you, at IP address "1234567", are interested in reading about kinky sex with horses. Just, you know, so you know.)

Anyway. On a semi-regular basis, random souls out on the information superhighway (does anyone call it that anymore? What a great, if antiquated, term!) come across my blog by typing in seemingly innocuous phrases. My posting titled Vengeance is Mine Sayeth the Lord is popular -- and I just love the idea of all sorts of bible-quote-seeking types stumbling across my rather non-biblical (unless you mean in the biblical sense) musings. The Kundera quotes I like to sprinkle in from time to time are also popular. Really, any random phrase that isn't used all that often will do.

So today, a gentle reader from Mumbai, Maharastra, India came across my blog after using the Google Blogger search function. His terms? "Women who need male massagers in mumbai."

Love it. Some guy in Mumbai is trying to find a woman looking for a male massager, and he somehow comes across my blog. (I'm assuming it has something to do with my mention of the highly annoying Chowpatty Beach massagers in my posting on Mumbai.)

The real question is -- how many other blog sites did he come across that fit his search terms? And did he ever find what he was looking for?

p.s. And while I'm pointing out odd technical quirks of the blogging world...is it not the height of irony that Blogger's spellcheck does not actually recognize the word "blog"?