Bad-ass of the Week

And There Is Hope!

I was sent this today by my HR department. I am not sure how frequently I was "licked and groomed" as a child, so I am not sure whether this news bodes well for me or not. But - it is nice to know there is a possibility of avoiding the lunacy of old age:

"Some interesting research has been launched by looking more carefully at data on older people. We've all heard about how just about everything declines with age: muscle strength, memory, reflexes, balance, etc, etc. It used to be that gerontology statisticians were simply a little annoyed that the variation in these characteristics increases, that is, there is more spread in functioning as the average functioning declines. It made their graphs less attractive. Then some people said: "Hey, wait a minute. That means some of us aren't getting worse as we get older. How come?" That led to research with rats which showed that some "age successfully," and one correlating factor that has been well documented is their treatment at infancy. The ones that were handled a lot by humans, or groomed and licked a lot by their mothers, aged more successfully than average. Just when nice treatment no longer counts isn't known, but this observation does provide some hope that we can learn how to minimize old age decline. It is speculated that managing stress better may be one equivalent to being licked a lot by a mother rat."

We can hope.

A Follow Up to Wednesday's Political Rant

I wanted to share this - a friend of mine posted it on Facebook. It encapsulates everything that is crazy about the Tea Partying, Fear Mongering, Health-care hating Right.

"This morning I was awoken by my alarm clock powered by the public power monopoly regulated by the US Department of Energy. I then took a shower in the clean water provided by the municipal water utility. After that, I turned on the TV to one of the FCC regulated channels to see what the National Weather Service of the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration determined the weather was going to be like using satellites designed, built, and launched by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. I watched this while eating my breakfast of US Department of Agriculture inspected food and taking the drugs which have been determined safe by the food and drug administration.

At the appropriate time as regulated by the US Congress and kept accurate by the National Institute of Standards and Technology and the US Naval Observatory, I get into my National Highway Traffic Safety Administration approved automobile and set out to work on the roads built by the local, state, and federal departments of transportation, possibly stopping to purchase additional fuel of a quality level determined by the Environmental Protection Agency, using legal tender issued by the Federal Reserve Bank. On the way out the door, I deposit any mail I have to be sent out via the US Postal Service and drop the kids off at the local public school. After work, I drive my NHTSA approved car back home on the DOT roads, to the house which has not burned down in my absence because of the state and local building codes and fire marshal's inspection, and which has not been plundered of all its valuables thanks to the local police department.

I then log on to the internet which was developed by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Administration and post on Fox News Forums about how socialism in medicine is BAD because the government can't do anything right. Just say 'NO'!"

Where All Misogynists Eventually End Up

A tribute to my (ex) co-worker. Who spent his days alternately hitting on me, snarking on my failures, and treating me like a secretary in front of clients. He began as a lawyer, found his way to Marketing at a small-time assessment publishing company, and then was fired for using company money to pay his car insurance. Last I saw, he had joined a "Find Your Strengths with Astrology" group on Facebook.

May he find happiness with all the cake in the world.

Why I am Sick of Television

For me, the last recent opportunity for political outrage was the Obama/McCain election. I became addicted to Keith Olbermann - whose indignant rants were always mollifying - I fought with friends and acquaintances on Facebook, and I truly believed that if McCain and Palin won the election, America as I knew it would be destroyed.

All that emotion -patriotism, fear, and outrage were absolutely exhausting, and I temporarily swore off politics in November of 2008.

Then came the health care debate.

This time around, I have refused to get up-in-arms about any of the issues - I definitely wanted health care reform, but was not concerned that the world would end if it failed. I am excited to see it passed, and to see Obama sign it into law, but my excitement has been somewhat dampened by the hyperbole and hysteria of the other side.


The public is always susceptible to media messaging, and it's been disheartening to hear people with a LOT of influence (Limbaugh and Beck are the two that stand out in this case) using their influence to incite. I know that this happens on both sides, but the level of extreme and hateful things being said by the Right seems unprecedented to me. Encouraging people to do anything in their power to destroy and "crush" the Left. Saying irrational things like "Progressiveness is a Cancer that must be destroyed" - or - "these socialists must be wiped out" - or - "This is the end of prosperity in America forever." Comparing Obama to Hitler (when it seems to me that calling a group of people "a cancer" is closer to Hitler-talk than anything Obama has ever said.)

It's talk that gets people off the actual issues, encourages radicalism and violence, and whips America into a frenzy. Using words like "socialism" "communism" and "fascism" in this debate to describe what really comes down to extra regulations on insurance companies, is such a divisive and at best, unhelpful way for people who supposedly "love America" to behave. It gets us away from working toward common goals (even if our methods of achieving those goals differ) and puts us in this "us or them" mindset where nothing can ever be accomplished.

And they say I'm dangerous for the future of the country.

The Summer Time Freak Show

And no, I am not referring to the circus.

I am referring to the phenomenon that is - European grandmas at the pool.

I went lap swimming today for the first time this year, which means I also visited the pool's locker room for the first time this year.

I suppose I should lead with the admission that inherently, I am not a huge fan of public nudity. I am also not a fan of the elderly. In this, the pool locker room serves as some awful form of immersion therapy, because if you have ever participated in the 11am lap swim, you would know that it is predominantly filled with people like this:

And this.

And while I am certainly not one to begrudge the elderly their low-impact workout, I don't understand the incessant need of these people to be graphically naked before and after their swim. Amidst bushes that have NEVER seen a clipper, nipples touching belly buttons, asses the size of cars, and thighs that look like tapioca pudding, I was the only person who seemed to have any sense of modesty. I mean, I get there is a momentary need for nudity between the swimsuit and undergarments, but these women have no shame.

Today, I was brutally eye raped. Not only was I faced with the gruesome sight of an overweight octogenarian using a washcloth like toilet paper while her friend used a bathtub scrubber to clean her toes, but an older German woman with mile-long boobs asked to borrow shampoo.

In times like this, all I can say is - Thank God my grandma doesn't swim.

Why?

At this exact moment, Grandma P is upstairs watching Wendy Williams. I have also caught her watching Telemundo, Glenn Beck, mid-day infomercials, and some very wacky televangelism programs, all at a volume that is probably destroying whatever hearing she has left.

Olympic Athletes - Incredibly Focused, or Victims of Tunnel Vision?

Ok, I suppose Olympic athletes are some of the few people in the world it's probably wrong to shit on, so I am going to go with "incredibly focused." Anyways, I'm probably just jealous that there is no way I would ever be so committed to something that I could take it to the level of Olympic glory.

I wonder, did these athletes ever feel that they were missing out on a normal life? What interests/friends/pursuits did they have to abandon to become the "best" at one particular thing? They all seem to think it was worth it, does this mean that their interests were really so focused that it was a joy to do nothing but snowboard, or luge, or skate, day in and day out for most of their young lives?

The Olympics are now long gone, but I find myself still thinking about what it takes to become "the best in the world" at something. Does it all come down to natural talent? Or does the athlete's level-of-commitment actually play the biggest role?

Perfect example of natural talent paired with lack of commitment

I sometimes worry that in my frenzy to see and do it all, that I will miss out on actually becoming GOOD at something. There were the years of ballet, tap, jazz, and modern dance, the years of piano, the years of flute, the multitude of creative writing classes, basketball practice, track and field, swimming, Spanish class, a half-hearted attempt at Italian . . . . I seem to pursue subjects I enjoy and have have some natural ability in, but once the pursuit takes up too much of my time, or forces me to abandon other interests, I let it go. So at this point, I know a medium amount about a lot of things, but I can't really claim expertise in many areas (although I do on a regular basis.)

There's a lot of areas I hope to excel in - writing, business, philosophizing, cooking, wine, fitness - but if I can't pick something to focus in, I'll probably just end up being “pretty good” at a lot of things.

Unless of course they give out awards for "world's best generalist."

Say Whaaaaaat? Pt. 1

Our VP of sales is a very interesting guy. His sales team absolutely sucks, he never seems to have a clue about what the rest of the organization is doing, and like a wayward cousin or uncle, he can only be reached when he needs a favor.

BUT - it's OK, because he uses obscure words in every day settings, so he MUST be intellectual and on-his-shit.

His over-used fancy word of late: Copacetic.

You may have heard the word in the popular song, "Bound to the Floor" or you may have said it yourself in a joking manner.

What does it mean? In layman's terms, it means "OK." "Satisfactory." "Fine." For a Brit's take on the etymology click here.

Examples:

"We scheduled this meeting to make sure everyone is copacetic about the new L4 goals."

"I ordered pizza for the meeting . . . . I just want to take a minute to make sure everyone on the phones is copacetic with this."

"No one completed the task as it was assigned. I want to make sure we're all copacetic - get back to me by end of day."

Stay Tuned - the next time our VP has a hot date with the thesaurus, I'll update with his new buzzword! (If you don't currently, don't you wish you had an office job?)

On Nostalgia

"Nostalgia. It’s delicate, but potent.
In Greek, Nostalgia literally means the pain from an old wound.
It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone.
This device isn’t a spaceship - it’s a time machine.
It goes backwards, forwards.
It takes us to a place where we ache to go again."
- Mad Men

This is one of the truest, and most sublime quotes I've read in some time. It really speaks to me this morning as I reflect on the past. The older I get, the more nostalgic I seem to become, and it comforts me to know that I might not be alone in it.

I've noticed that there are fewer truly new, blank-slate experiences in my daily life. As the routine events and changes of life become more familiar, they become more and more loaded with meaning. A sunny day, the wind picking up in a certain direction in my neighborhood, the smell of the Bay in the fog, all of these sensual experiences are not unique occurrences, and more and more frequently these experiences leave me momentarily frozen, lost in the past.

This morning, it was the way the sun was so bright through the cold air, a telling sign that by midday it would be warm. All at once memories - of getting up early for coffee before senior ditch day, of early morning St. Patrick's Day drink-a-thons with my best friends, of summer road trips beginning at the crack of dawn, of waiting for the early train to go to the City - came rushing into my head as I waited for the car to warm up. Momentarily I was visiting lost events from the past, completely forgetting the moment I was actually in.

I used to get sad when I felt the twinge of nostalgia, but as I've gotten older, I've begun to embrace it as a way of appreciating where I've been, and recognizing past experiences for their appropriate influence on my future. It makes me wonder what it's going to be like when I'm old, and I've truly seen it all. When every odd weather combination, every sunset, every smell, and most of the songs are familiar to me, forgotten and remembered again throughout the years of my life. Will it be comforting, reminding me of a full life well lived? Or will it still bring on that strange twinge that comes when remembering treasures so long gone?

I am at least encouraged by this thought - that every day I'm alive, I'm creating the memories that could bring me peace in my old age. It reminds me to make every day count, because one day, these memories could be my most precious possession. And nostalgia, no longer a delicate and potent pain, my fondest and most familiar friend.

On Ulysses

I love this poem. You should too.

Not only that, but you should get your ass into gear, and go see the world. I mean, things turned out great for Ulysses in spite of the Lotus Eaters, Calypso, Hades, and the lot, they can turn out great for you too!

Sections of Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson

"I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;

For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

Let My Boobies Go

In DBo's family, the tendency is to be super thin with a moderate rack. I mean, that's cool with me, I'm not one to hate on the fortune of others. I'm not particularly thin myself - I mean, I work at it, I'm fit, but I would say I am more of the "boobs-and-ass" variety than the "twig" variety. And that's generally cool with me too.

What bothers me, is that because I am curvy and they are not, I have been consistently held to a higher standard of prudish dressing than the women in DBo's family.

Whenever I wear something that is remotely cleavage-y, or a teensy bit shorter than normal, I get the same death stare I’d expect to receive if I walked in wearing stripper heels and a strap-on.

On the other hand, DBo’s sister is constantly prancing around in teeny rolled-down shorts (like she’s 13 and trying to impress a boy in PE class) spaghetti-strapped midriffs that seem to say ‘Yeah I’m slutty, who cares?” and dresses from Forever 21 that look more like slips than something one would reasonably leave the house in.

Yet somehow, this is all passable, because she’s a twig. And yes, she looks good in her outfits, but there is no way in hell I would get away with some of the shit she wears. (Proof: I have been pulled aside at family parties for wearing a v-neck.)

I decided to try and get around this issue this weekend at my engagement party, where I chose a somewhat tight/boob-a-licious Band-Aid dress.

In reality, it's the opposite of scandalous, but it shows a bit of tit. So in the eyes of the fam, it might as well be a thong.

I was super excited to wear this dress out, and spent the week before the party tanning, working out, and getting the necessary waxes. However, when I showed up on Saturday night, I saw DBo's sister in a conservative flowy dress, and his mom was in an age-appropriate skirt. Of course, I started feeling insanely self-conscious. And of course, as expected I got the surprised look from his mom that says, “You’re really wearing that!”

Long story short, I spent the first hour of the party pulling the hemline down and the neckline up, and it wasn’t until I had a couple of Flaming Dr Peppers that I began to feel like myself, and stopped giving a shit. I ended up getting quite a few compliments, a few that I didn’t hear about until after the party, and, I suppose that all-in-all it was a good outfit choice for a party that’s all about me.

What’s amazing to me though, is just how much the judgment of thin girls can turn me into an insecure wall-flower. The first hour, I was ashamed to be in pictures, I couldn't make eye contact, and I didn't feel like talking to anyone. It makes me sad that I try so hard to please people who don’t seem to understand that there are only a few years where you can wear crazy red dresses and not be called a “Cougar” or a “Home-wrecker” or a flat out "Slut" and that you need to take advantage of them.

I mostly hate the fact that I apparently need to have a minimalist body type to be able to wear what I want around my future family. Unless I develop an allergic reaction to food or boobs in the near future, this is a problem I don't see going away . . . . and I have no clue how to A. shut them up, or B. make myself stop caring. Fuck'n sucks.