Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in dianeofnka's LiveJournal:

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Tuesday, November 17th, 2009
7:38 pm	Meditation update I mentioned in a previous entry that I would put an update here on how my meditation practice was going. I have continued to meditate about five days out of seven, usually twenty minutes at a time, but a few times doing thirty. I do the usual shtick: I sit on a zafu cushion, close my eyes, listen to a calming background noise via the Brain Wave app on my iPhone, and try to think of nothing until the program turns off. I have three ways of doing this: 1) Breathe in for a count of four, and then breathe out for a count of four. 2) Do a chakra meditation. I can’t remember where I read about this, but you imagine light (or energy, or the universe, or whatever) pouring into your body, and it lights up your first chakra, which is red and sits at the root of your spine, then the second chakra, which is orange and is roughly where your internal genitals are, then the third… There are seven spots, not hard to learn them, and they follow the colors of the rainbow. 3) Do a verbal chant, such as “Ooooooommmmmm” on the out breath. Why do I do these funky (and quite frankly, extremely Californian) meditations? Because they allow me to empty my mind and only focus on that one thing. It’s almost impossible for my mind to wander if I’m fixated on visualizing lights of various colors lighting up through my body. I don’t actually feel any different when I visualize an area lighting up with energy, but I sure can’t think about anything else. (I have a very strong visualization muscle–I really “see” things when I imagine.) And if I spend time focusing on my body, I will relax the various areas as I go through them. With the “Om” I don’t believe it’s really the sound from the birth of the universe, or whatever it’s supposed to be. (Sorry: am card-carrying atheist.) Chanting that sound just massages my body from the inside, being both soothing and tingly at the same time. Seriously, take a moment right now (possibly in your bathroom or your closet or something where no one will hear you) and say “Oooooommmmmm” a couple of times, really letting it reverberate through you. Doesn’t that feel wonderful? Now imagine it saying it for twenty minutes straight. You’ll feel like you got a tummy massage. Our brains don’t want to calm down. Meditation is you learning how to take control of your mind. When your mind wanders onto thoughts of what you should be doing or your shopping list, a great technique to deal with it is just say “Thoughts, thoughts” and dismiss them. Or, if like me, your mind wanders to fantasies about what you should have said to the rude salesclerk or what life would be like living in a fabulous Paris apartment, say “Fantasy, fantasy” and get back to the whole breath-counting thing. I can fantasize any time (and if you know me, you know I probably am). There’s plenty of time during the day to fantasize about my Parisian castle while standing in line at a store to buy that thing I didn’t buy from the rude salesclerk. What’s the point of all this sitting in place and counting breaths and quieting the mind? I have no idea. But it feels awesome. On days when I don’t meditate, I can feel it. I start feeling antsy. I crave those minutes of just sitting there and doing nothing. I don’t think it’s improved me as a person yet: I haven’t had any spiritual experiences, I haven’t heard a small internal voice telling me what I should do with my life, and I’m not noticeably calmer during the day (I think). But that twenty or thirty minutes of sitting with myself has really helped me say, “You know, taking a little time just for myself and quieting my mind is worthwhile.” So, of late I’ve become a big proselytizer for taking up a meditation practice. I guess I should put up some links here for places you can check out for more info, but frankly, all you need is ten minutes and a willingness to give it a shot. Honestly, it’s really as wonderful as all the propaganda has made it out to be. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Saturday, October 31st, 2009
11:18 am	October remodeling Here we are at the end of another month, and where are we with the remodeling project? Remember, this is what the house used to look like: It now fits in to the spirit of the season more: (Hm. I clearly need to visit only on days when I can stand in the exact same place to take pictures, which I couldn’t do on this particular day because there were construction trucks everywhere!) And now you can do fun things as look in the front door and see the back yard: There used to be a coat closet/pantry blocking us seeing anything through the front door: gone, gone, gone. That bit of construction on the second floor that you can see above the front door: that is the extension we’re getting to our master bedroom. I couldn’t get into the back yard, but I hope to get pix of the new staircase for next month. They had to stop for several days because of a hellacious rainstorm we had that came through. The contractor said they put up tarps, which lasted all of about 20 minutes. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, October 21st, 2009
8:38 pm	And miles to go before I sleep When you’re training for a marathon, it feels like the hardest thing in the world. And it is hard, no question. You do a lot of long runs, you wonder why in the hell you’re doing this, and then the day comes and you run the marathon and you’re done and you think, “I just ran a marathon! Now what?” That “Now what?” turns out to be the actual hardest thing. Because once you’ve reached that goal, there’s the inevitable letdown. Now what in the hell do I do? In the months leading up to the marathon—April, May, and June—I ran 108, 135, and 116.7 miles. (Subtract 26.2 from June’s total for the actual training miles). In July, August, and September I ran 50, 50.5, and 53.5. That’s me slacking off a lot. I’ve gained about four pounds since the marathon, which isn’t too bad, but you have to nip that sort of thing in the bud quickly, before four turns into fifteen. (I have continued working out with weights, and I still weigh myself every morning, although I’m not as manic about it as I was a year ago.) I looked at my 2009 mileage total and discovered that I need to run 23.2 miles a week from here on out to get to 1000 for the year. I’m currently at 764.7, in case anyone wants to check my math. I’ll be out of commission for at least one week (that I know of right now), so that 23.2 miles total bumps up to about 25 or 26. 26 miles a week from here to the end of December. Hey, that’s like a goal. A goal gives me something to aim for. 26 miles a week. A long weekend run of 10-12, then two midweek runs of 6 and 8. If I ever do a longer run, I bank that many more miles toward 1000. (It doesn’t mean I get to slack off on planned runs. That way leads to sleeping in!) Now I have a plan, an incentive to get my butt out the door and do some of those longer runs. I’m actually kind of excited about getting on the road again Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Thursday, October 1st, 2009
3:12 pm	September remodeling I figured this would probably be a good place to keep you all up to date on how the changes at Chez Nous are going. First, a refresher course of how our house used to look: Our house, with small boy   The front steps, then and now   The front door, then and now   The kitchen   Ooo, that was a little messy. Let’s try that again. The kitchen, then and now That pile of wood? Is all of the wood flooring we had put in a few years ago. Easy come, easy go. We’ve donated almost all of our appliances and much of the interior—flooring, drywall, wrought iron—to Habitat for Humanity, which apparently can use all of it in new projects they’re doing, which gives us a three-fer: a warm fuzzy feeling, satisfaction knowing we haven’t exploded the landfills more than we normally do, and a tax deduction. Yay, team.   The back deck That bit where the red-handled pole is coming out of the deck is where they’re laying the foundation for the new staircase. Since I’ve taken these photos, they’ve also removed the front porch and the roof. But those pictures will have to wait for next month’s entry. What’s weird about this whole process is seeing that our big, solid house is nothing of the sort. Easy to change the facade, easy to change all of the details. As I said to Darin, we could have gone from Mediterranean Revival to Tudor if we’d wanted to. (His response: “No, no we couldn’t.”) It’s just a big framework with plaster stuck on the outside. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
9:30 am	A thought for the day Yoga sutra number 33, as discovered in Neal Pollack’s essay on being happy for friends’ success instead of envious: In daily life we see people around who are happier than we are, people who are less happy. Some may be doing praiseworthy things and others causing problems. Whatever may be our usual attitude toward such people and their actions, if we can be pleased with others who are happier than ourselves, compassionate toward those who are unhappy, joyful with those doing praiseworthy things, and remain undisturbed by the errors of others, our mind will be very tranquil. I love this. If I had already dug the printer out of the garage, I would print this and hang it on the wall. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, September 30th, 2009
10:27 am	57 channels? Not even. We made a couple of changes to our life when we moved out of our house and into this rental house. For one thing, we moved from a 2800 square foot house without a garage to a 2200 sq. ft. house with a garage, so we took a hard look at many of the things we owned and either said, “Bye,” or “Into a box in the garage you go.” (All of our books? Packed away. ALL. Except the kids’, who have been insistent that their books needed to be liberated, and so they were.) Another thing was that we got rid of was the satellite TV. And despite going with Comcast for our internet connection, we didn’t pick up cable. We have no direct connection to the wide world of television out there. I suppose we might be able to get “over the air” broadcasts (are those still happening even?), but we haven’t tried. One night back at our house I found Darin in the TV room watching some movie and I asked what it was. “I don’t even know,” he said. “It was just on.” “That is a silly reason to watch something.” “Yeah, it is.” Did we need all of these movie channels? We rarely watched stuff off of them. Did we need the 100s of basic cable channels? Not much. We thought about how we were spending $90 a month on satellite—that’s $1080 a year!—on stuff we just never watched. And things we did want to watch… Well, there was always iTunes. We’d gotten into the habit last year of just buying “Lost” on iTunes every week, because for some reason the ABC-HD feed in our area kept messing up the transmission. Or our satellite dish was pointed the wrong way, but only on Wednesday nights. $1080 divided by $30 (avg. cost of iTunes subscription?) equals 36 shows a year. I would be amazed if all of us watched 36 separate series a year. Here’s what I’ll be watching: Lost: Final season. SOB. Dollhouse: The name “Joss Whedon” buys a lot. The logic gaps are sometimes infuriating and Eliza Dushku is not exactly right for this material. But it’s okay. Community: So far this has been hilarious. “Sharks, pencils, and Ben Affleck.” Good times. The Simpsons: Yes. Still. 30 Rock: When it’s good, it’s great, and when it’s not, it’s still okay. Chuck: Of course! Even if it’s on NBC! Dexter: A little Michael C. Hall covers up many storytelling weaknesses. Darin also watches Mad Men (which I personally can’t stand), The Office, and Big Bang Theory (which I’ve enjoyed the few times I’ve seen, but I have a hard time loving sitcoms, despite having three of them in my above list). I want to watch National Parks (which Nina said KQED is streaming? Let’s get that computer hooked up to the TV, people just discovered iTunes is carrying this one!). We find series, by the way, following the advice of our most trusted TV critics: Alan Sepinwall (who as every “Chuck” fan knows, is DA MAN) and Ken Tucker (whose in-print stuff for EW is better than his blog, but never mind that). See? Critics are worthwhile, people. So far it’s worked out great: we have stuff on the Apple TV we want to watch, we can store the old shows (or watch them on the computer, or on our iPhones, or whatever without too much hassle), and we don’t have the lure of just anything being on. Darin has been reading The Lord of the Rings to the kids, and as soon as they finished “The Fellowship of the Ring” we rented the movie. Simple. What we’re missing out on: Food Network shows. My daughter misses her daily dose of Bobby Flay. Perhaps Food Network will figure out a way to deal with this. Even if we do end up paying more than $1080 a year—I’m going to try to mark the various series subscriptions in Quicken to keep track of how much we end up spending—on the whole this system is a much better TV experience than watching cable/satellite. No commercials to fast-forward through! No endless promos for other shows! No teasers ruining the entire show before we see it! Now if Darin would just hook up our DVD player so I could restart the Netflix subscription, that’d be good. Of course, what he really wants to do is get a PS3 “so we can watch Blu-ray disks.” Uh huh. I am the kind of “stupid wife” who “believes that.” My friend Otto also recommends hooking up a Mac mini, so as to use Hulu on the TV. But we don’t have a Mac mini. Maybe the kids will sacrifice their iMac for the cause…. HAHAHAHA. Just kidding. Since sitting in front of the TV and just watching what’s on is not my idea of a good time, this setup is working perfectly for me. If I want to sit around and stare at a screen for hours to waste time…I’ll use my iPhone to play games, thanks. § We also gave up our home phone in the move. Yes, it’s true: Darin and I no longer share a phone. But everyone knows that to contact him you call his cell phone, and having the answering machine at home mostly served as a vehicle for frustration for me (since he never listened to messages). Now I get everything on my phone and it’s much easier for me to stay on top of calls I need to return and messages I need to deal with. Dang. We really are living in the future. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Friday, September 25th, 2009
1:35 pm	Diane’s Guide to Enlightenment My descent into touchy-feeliness continues unabated. First, I gave up gossip because I realized it was making me feel icky—knowing those things about people does not improve my appreciation of their talents, ever; in fact, it can only lessen it. I’m at a point in my life where it’s easier to feel compassion for the mistakes people have made with their lives. Snark is both too easy and leaves me feeling foul inside. No. Really. I’m still me, people. Just a me determined to excise snark and sarcasm from my vocabulary. It’s a constant process—now when I let loose at someone and snark I know it’s about me, not about them. Most of the time, when someone says something I find stupid or hurtful, I tell myself, “That is not about whatever they are talking about, that is about them, and that is something they need to deal with.” It makes dealing with the world much, much easier. I’m also doing meditation and and I’m keeping a gratitude journal. And as with most things, there are iPhone apps for that, and having an app makes things just that much more fun. § I was sold on trying meditation again by The Happiness Hypothesis. I’ve tried meditation at various times in my life and always failed miserably—I’d either fall asleep during (possibly, the “lying on the floor” position was not my best choice) or forget to do it. I do well with guided meditations, but that doesn’t seem to be the same thing as garden-variety sit-down-and-shut-up meditation at all. Guided meditation tends to put me “out” much the same way hypnosis does: I wake up at the end of the session feeling pretty good, but with no memory of what happened or what Nigerian scam I’ve agreed to. What I do now is take 10-20 minutes a day to meditate. I sit on the floor, legs crossed Indian-style, back straight. Sitting this way turns out to be way more painful than it was when I was in kindergarten because I’m so much less flexible, and suddenly the reason that meditation and yoga are so tightly interlinked becomes extremely clear. I put my hands on my lap, palms up, and I try to breathe in on a count of four and out on a count of four. I also put on my headphones and listen to the Brain Wave app from Banzai Labs, which is a binaural beats generator. It has 20 different programs—”Positive Mood Boost,” “Lucid Dreaming,” and “Meditation” are three—but mostly what I’m aware of is the sound of “pink noise.” I thought it was “white noise” but “pink noise” is apparently totally different. It provides just enough cover to help me tune out the outside world, and if the binaural beats are helping me meditate, so much the better. So far my meditation practice usually goes like this: One, two…my hips are really tight and my nose itches. I need to get a meditation pillow to sit on. Focus! Breathe in: One, two, three…I’ll do a body check and breathe relaxation into the tense parts of my body. Mostly I’m thinking about things itching. Breathe out: One, two… I wonder if I ran the dishwasher last night. I will push that thought away for right now. Breathe in: One, two… Does this get easier with practice? Practicing, there’s a good idea. Breathe out: One, two, three, four… Hey, I got to four that time! Next stop, enlightenment! Wait, what’s this about the dishwasher? Breathe in: One, two… now my foot itches. I haven’t had any amazing things happen as a result of doing some meditation: no spiritual experiences, no suddenly becoming psychic (as apparently happened to one woman, who then ran out and wrote a book on meditation, which I happened to read some time ago). My big goal right now is to get to a whole count of four in and out before my mind wanders. This will most likely occur sometime in my next incarnation. But that’s really okay: learning to quiet my mind, if only for a count of two, is pretty good. It’s amazing how loud my mental radio is playing ALL THE TIME. (I also use Brain Wave on the “Creativity Boost” setting when writing. Does it make me more creative? Who cares? The pink noise drowns out the rest of the world.) § I also read in a number of places about “gratitude journals,” which are journals you write in every day about the good things in your life. (Apparently Oprah talks about these; she was not one of my inspirations for doing this. This is not a judgment, just a statement of fact.) All you have to do is write down five things you appreciate every day! How hard could that be? To encourage me to do it, I use the Gratitude! app from the Happy Tapper. Look at the icon: Doesn’t that make you smile? That’s just cute. Seriously: Good job, app icon designer. The Gratitude! app gives you a page per day to write down 5 (or 10, or whatever) things per day that you are grateful for, plus rate your day from one to five stars, plus stick a picture on the page. For one thing, this app reminds me to take pictures of stuff with my iPhone so I will have a picture for my day’s entry, and since I’ve begun using it I’ve never had a less-than-three-star day. I have to report that, as with meditation, I haven’t had any of the marvelous mystical things that people report happening when they start using a gratitude journal, but I don’t care: it’s just nice to remind myself every day that things are good and honestly I have lots to be happy about. I’m not too proud to admit that “high-quality chocolate” has made the list more than once. Because some days, I really am all about appreciating the chocolate. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Sunday, September 13th, 2009
5:16 pm	The Happiness Hypothesis At the moment, we have no books at Chez Rental. All of our books are in cardboard boxes in the garage, helpfully labeled “Books.” Well, except for the kids’ books, which were labeled “Girl’s Room: Books” and “Boy’s Room: Books,” and which have been liberated from the garage and into their new rooms. All of Darin and my books, however: packed. In an attempt to get some interesting reading material here and there, however, we have actually ventured back into bookstores from time to time and picked up a few books. If they don’t make the cut, out they go! (We’re really good at letting things go right now.) But we don’t have many books around at the moment. Darin, who is not a big believer in e-books, is always looking for something to read, so in a fit of boredom he picked up one of the “flaky” books I’d bought and read it. “This is really good,” he said. By which he meant: full of substance and not so very flaky after all. The book is The Happiness Hypothesis: Finding Modern Truth in Ancient Wisdom by Jonathan Haidt. Haidt, a professor of psychology at the University of Virginia, takes 10 Great Ideas from ancient philosophical and religious traditions and investigates them using scientific studies: Is the Golden Rule so golden, for instance? What are the divisions we live with in our daily life, and what do they mean? (For example, mind vs. body, left vs. right, new vs. old.) Is it better to live a life with or without adversity? What in the hell is happiness, anyhow? The best thing about this book is not the ground he covers, although that’s pretty good. The best thing about this book is Haidt’s writing is immensely clear and conversational: you feel as though he’s discussing these ideas, right here with you, right now. Instead of either being too esoteric or too chatty, he manages to keep the discussion at an adult level that doesn’t presume that you, too, have a degree in philosophy or psychology. By the way, I can give you one of the takeaways from this book right now: happiness is achievable, right now, no matter who you are or what your circumstances are. So no excuses, people. One of the best parts of the book is how he shows that meditation, cognitive psychology, and Prozac are all equally effective for managing your mind—the book has, in fact, inspired me to finally give meditation a shot again. (If I manage to keep the practice up, I’ll report back about any and all effects I get from it.) Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Saturday, August 22nd, 2009
12:04 pm	Random and assorted, plus advice! Several very large, very polite men from Jack Trux Moving are taking everything out of my current house and loading it on to a couple of trucks, which will then take it all to the new house, where we will live where the current house gets demolished inside and rebuilt. This is a very exciting, very nerve-wracking process. Nonetheless, Darin and I manage to be quite cheery about it. I don’t know whether this is optimism, stupidity, or just simple naivete. Seems to have worked out okay so far. Darin took the kids to see Ponyo, in order to get them out of the house for this part. I have chosen to remain behind, both to answer questions (since I’ve already decided where everything’s going in the new house and the floor plan exists only in my head) and to do laundry. Because like death and taxes, there is always laundry. § I have new goals in life: To have laundry minions, who will just take care of the laundry for me, dammit, day in and day out. I know laundry isn’t the greatest trauma in the world, but it’s such a pain in the ass. Next year, I want to do the world’s most perfect move: walk out the door of one place, walk in the door of the next. No movers, no boxes, no unpacking, no tsuris. All new stuff waiting for us at the end; leave the doors open on the old place for looters, et al. Darin has said that if I can figure out how to do it for our move back to this house, he is all for it. I didn’t say they were important goals. § I’ve been hanging out a lot at my favorite fashion forum, only not in the fashion areas, but in the chat-about-life areas. Many (though by no means all) of the posters on the forum are young women in their early 20s, and God help me, I want to shake them so badly. I know, there are certain truths you can only learn for yourself, and people can tell you this stuff over and over and you won’t grok it until you get it for yourself. But if I could get a few things through to these women (and, by extension, to 20-year-old me), I would say: You are all you have. Anything more than that you have access to (family, friends, money, living situation): awesome. But in the end, you are all you got. Act accordingly and treat yourself like the special, important person you are. Important corollary: you are all you need, too. Which is convenient and cuts down on the number of things you need to stuff in your bags. Not everybody’s going to like you. There’s no magic formula of niceness or agreeability that will make you popular. In fact, the popular people are the ones with strong convictions, who go ahead and do what they want no matter what you think. The trick is, You have to actually not care what other people think about every damn thing you do. Conveniently, this turns out to be much, much easier than we were led to believe as children. Don’t wait. Ever. For anything or anyone. You don’t get extra points for being the patient, uncomplaining one. In fact, you’re probably going to get stepped on for your troubles. The person you are waiting for is not going to wake up one day and go, “Oh gosh, that person who’s just been so accommodating—she’s the one!” Your boss is not going to say, “Hmmm, who’s the best worker, the one who never says anything or the one who tells me in detail about their weekly accomplishments and is vocal about taking on new responsibilities?” The whole Discovering-Cinderella shtick wasn’t true back then and it ain’t true now. When I was investigating agents to query, I was amazed at the number of people who focused on the one agent they wanted and they were just going to wait forever for the response from that person. My advice was always: Move on. If they want you, they’ll get back to you. In the meantime, check out who else is out there. Which brings me to… Make them (boy, job, whatever) reject you. Don’t decide ahead of time you’re not going to get it. Ask for it, and make them say No. Yes, rejection hurts. So, somebody doesn’t like you. Here’s your mantra: NEXT. That one didn’t work out? NEXT. A young woman I know got a callback for a role in a Harry Potter film…and decided she wasn’t going to get it, so she didn’t even go. I want to shake her! But what’s done is done. And I’m not so sure that the universe is going to make that offer too many more times. (Yes, I’m anthropomorphizing the universe. You’d be surprised how well that actually works.) Just say what you want. No demands, no threats. It’s a simple formula: “I want such-and-so, and I will not accept anything less.” If you get something less, honor your commitment to yourself and leave. That’s it. This bargaining skill works with everything: lovers, jobs, children. For example, many people have noted that we have good communication skills with our kids: we tell them what we expect of them, and we tell them what’s going to happen if they don’t live up to it. This doesn’t stop me from yelling…but generally the yelling happens when I wasn’t clear enough before hand, so: my bad. (And when I get a hold of myself, I apologize to the kids for my behavior.) The guy he is right now is the guy he’s going to be forever, unless he decides to change. Deal with the person in front of you, not the person you want him to be. If I read one more goddamn romance (or bulletin board thread) where the object is to transform the bad boy through the magic of the (patient, understanding, loitering) woman’s love, I’m going to vomit. Remember that line from As Good As It Gets where Jack Nicholson says, “You make me want to be a better man”? The only response to that is, “Then go ahead and work on that, and right now I’m going to go out and find someone who’s already there.” It really is better to be alone than in bad company. The nice thing is, there are so many good people out there to be with! Stop worrying so damn much about how you look. You’re never going to look prettier than you do right now. And pretty/fashionable/anorexic has nothing to do with how attractive you are or how much you get laid. We have all known size Whatever women who could attract anyone they want, because they like themselves no matter what. Is it more fun to be with someone who likes herself, or one who’s criticizing herself all the time? Yes, if you stand up for yourself and what you want, you’re probably going to lose some friends. Conveniently, this will weed out which of your friends aren’t really your friends, which we can only regard as a BONUS! Mind you, I’ve learned every single one of these the hard way, and many of them I have to keep telling myself, over and over, day in and day out. But when I’m using them, I feel so much more powerful and in control and every day life is just so much more enjoyable! Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 19th, 2009
12:31 pm	Nail polish About a year ago, when I started to lose weight, I became very interested in how I looked, both in terms of my clothes and my accessories. I wore belts infrequently before a year ago, because I always wore jeans that didn’t need them. They didn’t need them because I was wearing what my friend Nina lovingly referred to as “mom jeans”: high-waisted, unflattering jeans I wouldn’t be caught dead in today. Of course, when you move to medium-waisted or low-waisted jeans, you discover why everyone keeps talking about “muffin top” and why you need a belt for your jeans. Another thing I started doing was taking care of my nails. I’ve bitten my nails for years. And I started saying, No, I’m going to take care of my hands, so they look nice. This hasn’t been 100%—this week, in fact, I’ve had a hell of a time keeping the stresses of trying to get the house in order off of my nails. But for the most part, over the past year I’ve had very nice nails. My first point of order a year ago was to buy more of my favorite nail polish, MAC Vino. Alas! MAC no longer made this shade. So I dived headfirst into what was available, trying to find a duplicate. From there, I branched out into brighter reds. Then pinks. Then purples. Then I went nuts and hit my favorite shade, a dark purple/grey named OPI My Private Jet. While looking for all of these faboo nail polishes, I made quite a collection. And now they all have to stay here until I find a place for them in the new house. Alas. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 18th, 2009
11:59 am	Modern terms for women This recent entry by Justine Musk reminded me of the not-especially-novel realization that words to describe women in a derogatory way are a)commonplace, b)much meaner than any similar terms used to describe men, and c)often used as shorthand for, as Musk puts it, “nuts and sluts.” And I was reminded of the whole “nuts and sluts” defense (although to be fair, this poster left out any suggestion that I was running around having affairs while taking a break from my golddigging, which is a bit surprising when you think about it because clearly I had the time, since the kids are so rarely with me….). When you try to tear down a woman you call her: selfish, spoiled/ungrateful, crazy, golddigging, bad mother, slut, whore, fat, ugly. Because these are the worst things a woman can possibly be (which means she’s supposed to be: selfless, sacrificing, chaste, thin, beautiful, pleasing, and of course ’sane’, which I suspect often translates to ‘not causing any trouble or inconvenience’, and unspoiled/grateful, ie: ‘lacking any bothersome sense of entitlement’). What is the equivalent for a man? Is there one? There are no equivalent terms for men. Calling a man a “bastard” or “asshole” is not the same thing as calling a woman a “bitch” or a “whore”—you know the old line: “Men are assertive, women are aggressive bitches.” (My favorite definition of “whore” or “slut” is “Someone who’s had sex with one more person than I have.” It makes me giggle every time I hear someone use one of those words. Which is good, because it keeps me from slapping them across the face.) In direct reflection of assertive/bitch: Where a woman is “pleasing” or “friendly,” a man is probably just a “pansy.” Or an even worse p-word (which is, of course, in and of itself a derogatory word meaning woman)? Does anyone really think calling someone a “dick” is the same thing as calling them a “pussy” or a “cunt”? And are those insults have the same impact on men and women alike, or are they considered a greater insult to one sex over the other? There is no plot to The Devil Wears Prada if the protagonist’s boss is a male instead of a female. The entire plot of the movie is: The female boss doesn’t try to make friends with her underling; instead, she treats her underling…like an underling! And expects the underling to do her fucking job without needing a pat on the head! SHOCK! Was it even possible to relate to Anne Hathaway’s character’s sense of entitlement and resentment? Grow the fuck up, honey, and do it NOW. One of the knocks on Sandra Bullock’s character in The Proposal is that she doesn’t say “Hi” to the secretary as she goes into the Big Boss’s office. Wouldn’t it be considered weird if Important Executive Christian Bale stopped to say “Hi” to the secretary simply to be friendly (instead of, say, to get her phone number for a quickie or to insinuate himself for some corporate espionage later)? He’d be considered completely unserious management material if he stopped to say “Hi” to every goddamn secretary he ran across. (Don’t even get me started on how The Proposal decides to humanize Sandra Bullock by having her confess that after a fellow executive insulted her, she fired him…and then went into the bathroom to cry, because her widdle feelings got hurt!) I know there have been female attempts to reclaim the word “bitch”, but I think they’re not as successful as the gay community’s reclamation of “queer,” sadly. “Bitch” is still just pejorative. It all comes down to: She’s not being nice. Let’s put her in her place. You know what? Not everyone likes you. They’re going to call you “bitch” and “ballbuster” and “whore” and whatever else behind your back anyhow. Fuck ‘em. But don’t use any of those words in response. § Ten years ago, during the whole Monica Lewinsky nonsense, I received mail from my high school addressed to “Miss Diane Patterson.” My exclusive all-girls Catholic high school, which had always drilled into me the importance of relying on myself, which assumed I was going to college and not going off to get married immediately, which had always placed the emphasis on seeing me as the most important person in my life…was referring to me as “Miss.” I wrote a letter to the school’s principal, who had also been one of my teachers while I was there, and said, “Could you add a form of address to your database that doesn’t rely on my relationship to a man?” I am happy to report every mailing I’ve gotten since has been to “Ms. Diane Patterson,” if not just “Diane Patterson.” There is no excuse for using the term “Miss” for a woman over 18. I’m sorry, there just isn’t. My marital status is none of your damn business; if you need to know, you can ask. It’s not more polite, it’s not better etiquette, it’s just a way of filing a woman into the “available” category. § A year ago I was lying around the pool at Club Swanky, envying the mothers walking by who were wearing bikinis, whereas I felt like a big fat slug. The terms “MILF” and “trophy wives” came to mind, and I immediately found myself asking: “Who’s the ‘I’ in that term” and “Whose trophy, precisely?” Then there’s my new favorite term: “cougar.” Which leads us to the question: “Too old for sex with WHOM?” These are all words describing a woman solely in terms of her relationship to a man—and simply a sexual relationship at that. Who does she belong to? Whose life is she improving simply by existing? Who is she too old for? There’s nothing about her qualities, what makes her an individual, anything about her experiences or hopes and dreams… Nope, it’s all about who she’s servicing sexually. If you use them, please stop. You’re just promoting the idea that women are nothing more than plastic play dolls, serving the same purpose and as interchangeable. § Man, you’d think something had happened to me recently to bring this rant on. Actually, things are really great—stressful, with the upcoming move and all, but overall fine. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 4th, 2009
12:02 pm	How do I create my own ebooks? Update: Oh frabjous day! Turns out there is shareware that will do precisely what I want! After playing with these various epub guides (and crashing upon the shores of “The metafile needs to be added first and not compressed in the zip file…”), I discovered Sigil, a bare bones (not to be confused with Bare Bones) project with a simple text editor that helps you put together an ebook really, really simply. Yay, Sigil! § Re: the ongoing e-book format wars: damn, is there nothing more annoying that downloading an e-book…and then discovering you can’t upload it to the e-book reader of your choice (in my case, an iPhone) because you picked the wrong damn format? Yes, yes, I know: “Diane, you’re a dumbass.” But still: trying to pick the right format out of the many competing ones…is there any wonder I just buy from Amazon and eliminate the middleman? § I have some .pdf files of old books I would like to read, but they’re not formatted correctly for my iPhone ebook reader (whether Kindle…or eReader…or Stanza…or B&N eReader (which doesn’t read the same books as my eReader/Fictionwise app, dammit)). What I’ve done so far is open the .pdf file in Lexcycle Stanza and save it as an .epub file, which is the same thing as a .zip file, only with a different extension. Everything I know about the .epub format I learned during this tutorial, in case anyone wants to double-check my knowledge. So I change the extension on the .epub file and unpack the zip, which gives me mimetype META-INF folder OEBPS folder Great. I edit the HTML info in the content.obf and toc.ncx files (and maybe that’s a problem, because those are UNIX executables when I open them, but when I save them, they become text files), and I edit the various header information in the separate chapter files. I save the .zip file, change the extension back to .epub, and upload to my iPhone…whereupon I get the error “Failed to download and import…” because the information in the container.xml file is wrong. Well, I didn’t touch the damn container.xml file. I could understand if one of the other files were causing the problem, but they’re not. My friend Rob recommends I just use DropBook, which I have now given a shot (but where is it putting the completed book file? I can’t find it anywhere). § This process is very frustrating. And I know that right now the ebook market is the Wild, Wild West, but in case book publishers would like to know why ebooks haven’t taken over the world, this is why: it’s too confusing, there are too many variables, and there are too many damn formats. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Friday, July 24th, 2009
10:27 am	10 Short Shameful Confessions You know, I haven’t done this for a while, and confession is always good for the soul. And now…10 Short Shameful Confessions (with a bonus confession!)*. * Now edited to include more shame. I don’t actually think that many things are awesome. I say “Awesome” because it’s expected, but most of the time I’m really “Meh.” I don’t check my site stats or how many people are following me on Twitter or anything like that. I feel as though I’ve missed the purpose of the internet not caring, or I should get really into it and try to really attract a following or something. Perhaps I don’t care as a way of pre-emptively dealing with failure at not being a top blogger? I set up Google alerts to send me mentions of when my name or Darin’s is mentioned anywhere, and now I’m just annoyed when I actually receive the alert emails. I am too lazy to discontinue them. I have ever only seen one episode of “American Idol,” and that was from the first season. I don’t understand the continual AI hysteria and feel like I am watching a mind-control experiment on the general population. I secretly think the people who watch AI would be better served by finding another hobby. Entertainment Weekly is the only thing standing between me and complete and total cultural ignorance. I sound like I know so much more than I do, and it’s only because of EW. I’m sad we don’t go to ComicCon any more. It does sound like it’s become a complete and total circus now (which is hilarious, given what a circus we thought it was 10 years ago). At the size it is now, it wouldn’t be fun, it would be wall-to-wall work, so why do I care? I have become completely and totally bored with gossip, whether about people I know or celebrities. Especially celebrities: yes, they’re deeply fucked up people, but speaking badly about them doesn’t make me feel better. And if there’s some topic concerning a friend I could gossip about, I think I’d rather discuss the matter with the friend than someone else. The worst part about this: I find myself being mildly judgmental about other people who gossip, and that’s perhaps worse than the original gossiping. So I have to stop that. There is, in fact, only one celebrity on the planet I want to meet, and I have it on very good authority that I don’t really want to meet this person (as is usually true for the celebrities you admire or lust after or whatever—trust me, for the most part you don’t want to meet them). So I’m cool with it…but still, I feel kind of stupid for actually wanting to meet a celebrity. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I started coveting a Mercedes SL. The second I did, I began to see them everywhere (which isn’t hard, given that much of the Silicon Valley looks like downtown Düsseldorf). You might have to know me in person to know how unlikely it is that I would covet not only a car, but a wildly impractical car (for both my everyday life and my values). I’m understanding midlife crises a whole bunch better now. I am also hoping the phase passes. I switched from ice cream to soymilk ice creams and coconut milk ice creams. I made a whole lot of drama in my head about my great sacrifice and I don’t miss the real stuff at all. Secretly, I feel I deserve some sort of prize for this. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009
5:33 pm	THIS is how I get myself into these things Actual conversation, just now: A BOY Can I try the dish ratatouille? HIS MOM Of course! I don’t know where to get it, though. A BOY I do! Paris! HIS MOM I see. And when are you going to Paris? A BOY February 2010. HIS MOM You’re going to Paris in February 2010? A BOY (skipping downstairs) Sophia! We’re going to Paris in February! You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find myself in the City of Lights ’round about seven months from now. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Saturday, June 27th, 2009
10:42 pm	My marathon (Nina tells all on her blog here. Also, she has pictures and I don’t. Check out the arms on the chick she was running with!) I did it! I did a marathon in almost 5 hours exactly, which was my prediction. I ran 26.2 miles/42 km and I ran the whole way! (Not that I have ANYTHING against doing a walk/run combo–that totally works as a strategy. But I knew for me that if I started walking…I wouldn’t start again.) We did the Inaugural Seattle Rock and Roll Marathon! Leading up to the race, my two biggest fears were that I wouldn’t get any sleep at all…and that I’d sleep right through my alarm. So I set 3 different ones. Last night I told kids they had to turn off tv and lights at 10. I said, “You can stay up all night every night the rest of the trip. Tonight you need to go to bed now.” You would have thought I said, “By the way, it’s time to go work the coal mines of Numidia.” However, they were asleep in seconds. Then, at 11, the world’s loudest motorcycles went by, blasting Michael Jackson–the rarely seen Double Fail. I woke up before any of my alarms and set about getting ready: went to get a bucket of ice, mixed the Cytomax, set up my Camelbak, took my preventative 4 ibuprofen (I would eat 4 more during the race), got my running number ready, grabbed my iPhone, and headed out to meet Nina at the Westin Hotel, where shuttles were taking runners out to Tukwila, the starting point for the race. I was surprised when I left the hotel, shortly before 5am, because while it was cold, it wasn’t that cold. I said, “This is going to be a nice run.” We got out to Tukwila, where it became rapidly evident that, yes, a town’s worth of people were about to run a race. It definitely felt like the Bay to Breakers, because it was just a sea of people. (And when we were lined up, ready to be let loose, it really felt like the B2B, because of the sea of humanity.) The weird thing is that, as the sun started to come up, the temperature kept getting colder. Nina and I were huddling together, unwilling to take off our outer layers until the very last moment. Nina and I were far enough back in the sea of runners (Corral 25) that we didn’t cross the start line until 40 minutes after the first runners, or in layman’s terms “right around when somebody was probably winning the damn thing.” (Right as we passed the start line, my Polar watch went kablooey—the screen fizzed out, it lost all of its settings, and it basically went haywire. I spent the first mile trying to reset everything on the run (rimshot). I have no idea if it just picked the worst time in the world to do that, whether all the other Polar watches interfered, or there was something about the load of electronics at the start that made it go nuts.) The marathon was run really well. There were Cytomax/water stations every 1.5 or 2 miles, with tons of people handing runners cups as we went by, and 3 Gu stations. (Gu is a thick sugar food supplement—not unlike cake frosting, actually—that runners and other athletes use to get fast, easily digestible calories.) Lots of people came out to cheer the runners on, with massive enthusiasm. Certainly more enthusiasm than I’d show for someone else’s marathon. The bands were probably pretty good, but we only got to hear every band for 20-45 seconds as we ran by, so I can’t tell you which one was my favorite. It was nice hearing bone-rattling music as we passed by though. And we could not have asked for better weather. Perfect temperatures, clear skies, no breeze. Exactly what we wanted when we signed up to run in Seattle. The first 10 miles were great, running through Tukwila (which was kinda boring, sorry, Tukwila), but ending up in residential neighborhoods and parks overlooking the lake. At about mile 10 the half-marathoners split off from the marathoners, and we ran over the floating bridge, which allowed us to do such things as gaze at Mt. Rainier. Then we rejoined the half-marathoners for a long run through a freeway tunnel, which was unpleasant on so many levels: smells, light level, sound level, claustrophobia induction. (We ended up running through two more tunnels as well, which was really not very much fun. You ever read The Stand? Yeah. It was like that.) Nina and I disagreed about who was driving whom: she kept saying I was making her run faster, and I kept wondering who in the hell was the one who kept speeding up into hills because they felt so good on her legs. (No, seriously, I run with a woman who speeds up into hills. I can’t decide which one of us is crazier.) On hills I found myself mentally chanting either “I know I can, I know I can,” or “I can run faster than Nina can,” which never made me run faster than her but did seem to work at keeping me within a few meters of her at all times. At mile 13.1 we stopped to eat energy bars. “I’m sore,” I said, “but I’m not hating life.” I felt pretty good, in fact. I knew the tough part was going to be mile 20 and beyond, since the longest run I’d done was one mile. We ran down a freeway into Seattle City Center, which was pretty cool: this mass of people descending on Seattle. We split up from the half-marathoners again, this time at Qwest Field (because they had to “cross the finish line”), and we began what I would have to describe as the long, hard, unpleasant section, not only because it was the final 12 miles, but because it was all concrete. (See below.) The medical teams started giving out packets of salt, which Nina started hoovering up due to cramping she started getting in one leg. I started having aches in the muscles that connect the hips to the, uh, gluteus, which make it really, really tough to keep lifting those feet. It was also during this stretch (miles 18-22, let’s say) that I realized all I had eaten that day was 2 protein bars, about 6 packets of Gu, and all the Cytomax I could swim in. All I’d had was sugar, and my body passed along word that if I so much as thought about eating or drinking anything else with sugar in it, I would probably vomit. I felt like if I didn’t get some actual food into my stomach soon, I was going to pass out. I don’t know how I would solve that in the future—drink less Cytomax, more water?—because I can’t eat a lot of heavy, solid food before I run. And especially not before a long run. At mile 23, we passed the incoming finishers, which meant we had another loop ahead of us with a turnaround. Someone on our side asked people on the other side, “Mile 24?” And they said, “25.” Which meant we had another two miles to go on this open concrete stretch. We’d been running for 4.5 hours, we were both exhausted, we both felt sick from the constant sugar, and I had started having trouble keeping up with Nina. That was the point I said, “I’ve started hating life.” Nina did not dignify that with a response. We discovered later that at about Mile 24 I was on the verge of saying, “I’m going to walk, you go on ahead”… and Nina was thinking of saying much the same thing to me. Which is hilarious, because Nina kept pulling ahead of me, and all of my inner monologues that had previously worked to keep me abreast of Nina stopped working. I was wondering where in the hell she was getting all the damned energy at that point. The last bit was a downhill approach to Qwest, which rocked, because no matter how tired you were at that point, you knew the marathon finish was not that far away and you could get a little bit more out of your legs with gravity’s help. So we took off down that ramp like two bats out of hell, and the whole time I was wondering, “Are Darin and the kids here? And will I be able to pick them out of the crowd?” As it turned out, the answer to both questions was Yes! and I waved madly at them. (Nina managed to spot her husband too, surprisingly enough.) We crossed the finish line at exactly 5:06:00, which was hilarious and gratifying, given that I’d predicted a 5 hour finish. We kept walking—you have to keep walking after a long run, or else your muscles seize up—and I made us both eat bananas, because despite the obvious sugar they contain, they have stuff like potassium and carbohydrates too. I told the woman who handed us ice-cold bottles of water that I loved her. I put my medal on and refused to take it off. When we found Darin and the kids we discovered that he had bought a dozen doughnuts for me as a congratulations! Which was my fault, because I’d told him to, but man, did the idea of sugar really turn our stomachs at that point. This lack of marathoner/doughnut interest was okay with both my kids and the kids of my Seattle friend Mary, who was also there at the finish to see me. The kids sampled every doughnut type. Nina and her husband took off, and Darin and our family and Mary and her family headed out to get some lunch. I didn’t care what I ate, so long as it was salty and filled with lots of starchy carbohydrates. We went to a pan-Asian food court somewhere near Chinatown, which was okay, but I discovered that I couldn’t make myself eat! I’d thought I was intensely hungry, but something about the run completely shut my system down and I could barely eat anything. I figured my system would adjust as soon as it figured out I didn’t have to eat pasty Gu any more. Mary took my kids with her while Darin walked me back to the hotel. In hindsight: despite the benefits of walking after a long run, the walk was really too much for me and we should have just taken the free bus service. I limped terribly at the end, mostly because of my sore hips (and I’ve been limping all day since). Darin left me in the room and rejoined Mary and the kids. I bathed (to try to soothe my legs a little), showered (because I’d just run 26.2 miles), and sacked out for an hour. You’d think that, having woken up at 4am and done some strenuous exercise, my body might want to put me down for, I dunno, at least 1.5 hours, but you’d be wrong. I got up, rejoined the gang, and we all had a fabulous picnic lakeside, with the kids frolicking in the water! Turned out I’d run by this beach earlier in the day, though I had to admit I didn’t actually remember it. § Bests and Worsts of the Marathon Worst marathon preparation failure (almost): I forgot to pack a sports bra (but thankfully discovered this yesterday). Turns out Niketown doesn’t carry them. However, there is always Nordstrom, which has everything you could ever need. A marathon is not really the day you want to break in a new piece of athletic gear, especially not one that’s so, uh, close to your heart. Only thing worse would have been forgetting my shoes. Worst marathon preparation failure (actual): I forgot to apply sunscreen. I was in such a hurry this morning, I just forgot. This turned out to be a perfect way to stripe my body in red and white. You can tell exactly where the edges of my shorts were. Oh yes, and: OW. Worst marathon result (possibly unpreventable): I developed a perfectly round dime-sized blister on my right big toe. One of the things I’ve learned with long-distance running: how to drain blisters. You need a needle, rubbing alcohol (to sterilize the needle), and the fortitude to stick the needle through healthy skin to get to the blister. Yay. In addition, the nail my right second toe feels weirdly numb, like it got bruised or something. It looks fine now, but it still feels like hell. Best sighting: An American bald eagle, in a tree, watching us run by. I said, “This marathon’s organizers went all out in getting attractions for us.” Best conversation during the run: “I’m sorry, this is going to mess up our time, but the next time we see a porta-potty I have to stop.” “Time? You think I care about our time? At this point all I care about is pain management.” Weirdest conversation during the run: When Nina and I both admitted we were working on our blog entries in our heads. Worst company name: The porta-potty vendor was named “Honey Bucket.” Worst snafu: I’d signed up for Darin to get texts informing him of my progress. Worked great for 9 miles…then nothing. Finally they sent a text telling him they were having issues—which he’d kind of guessed, given that I had already finished. (Their website, however, worked fine at informing him of my progress, so it was a good thing he knew my runner number.) Best inspirational sign: “NO BAILOUT FOR YOU! Keep running.” Worst runner habit: Seriously, people, have you never heard of “Runners left, walkers right?” if people continuously run around both sides of you, move to the RIGHT. Weirdest runner habit: A woman was running with her hands down by her sides, without moving them back and forth. Try it. You’ll probably fall over. Best t-shirt: Worn by the two young women who were wearing t-shirts that read Non-refundable wedding deposit: $6000 Non-refundable wedding dress deposit: $1500 Cost of entering Seattle Rock and Roll Marathon: $150 Celebrating the “ex” in front of fiancé: priceless Worst place to put a band (tie): 1) Inside one of the freeway tunnels; 2) Right across the freeway from another, louder band. Best music: Let’s see, I have 25 bands to choose from, so I’m going to go with… DJ Steveboy of Podrunner! DJ Steveboy has basically made our running regimen possible with his mixes at various beats per minute—I’m convinced he’s a major part of why I’ve graduated from 12 minutes per mile to 9-10 minutes per mile. (Yes, the marathon turned out to be about 11 minutes per mile, but we stopped for porta-potties and stuff.) If you do any running at all, use Podrunner. It is Teh Awesum. Meanest marathon course trick: We ran to Qwest Field…and then veered away again for another 10-12 miles before returning to finish. So mean! Why I’d do this marathon again: Very well-run, lots of enthusiastic participants and supporters, extremely scenic. Why I wouldn’t do this marathon again: The last 10 miles or so were on concrete. I think my Seattle friends called this stretch “the Embarcadero,” if that tells you were it is: it’s the freeway that runs along the shipping areas. The order of surfaces you want to run on are 1) dirt, 2) asphalt, 3) concrete. Concrete has absolutely no give to it, so it’s just hell on the joints, and I think it’s a big part of the hurt I have now. (The other part being, of course, I just ran 26 miles.) § I am utterly thrilled I’ve actually done it! After so much time spent thinking about doing one—and having gotten horribly sick the last time I was supposed to do one, thereby missing out—I am just psyched that I’ve actually accomplished it! Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 24th, 2009
2:37 pm	Food, Inc.: the review We went to see Food, Inc. last night—we are at the cornucopia section of the summer, where there are so many movies we want to see, yet instead of the three options I usually send Darin for our movie choices, I sent him only this one. It’s a documentary, it’s not a fun topic, gosh only knows how long it will be in theaters. So off we went to see it, and of course Darin ran into someone he knows. (This is a fairly frequent occurrence, honestly.) I did get my usual Red Vines, but Darin passed on the popcorn. Which, really, was all for the best. Food, Inc. is sort of a greatest hits of current factory farming/industrial food complex criticism that we’ve read about from such writers as Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation) and Michael Pollan (The Omnivore’s Dilemma), both of whom are featured prominently in the film. Their theses are, to logline it: We have become removed from the source of our food; if we knew what went into our food we’d demand serious change; it is in everyone’s best interest to be fully informed about what the food manufacturers are presenting to us. The movie presents an overview of the major factors involved with the industrial-caloric complex: the political, the economic, the medical, and the environmental. The political, showing the toothlessness of the federal government (when the USDA can’t even shut down processing plants known to be producing unsanitary food). The economic, where food—by which I mean food “product,” or the crap that litters our stores—is made so cheap by the vast corn subsidies our government gives “farmers,” by which mean the multibillion dollar conglomerates like Archer Daniels Midland or ConAgra or Tyson. The medical, where there’s no debate about how our modern Western diet is killing us. The environmental, where the runoff from the CAFOs (Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation, where animals are grown and live their entire lives in a cesspool of their own manure) is destroying watersheds, killing towns, and encouraging the growth of diseases like our old friend, e coli. I also have to criticize the movie for sacrificing depth for breadth. For example, one section of the movie is the story about the low-income family who can afford dinner for a family of 4 at the Burger King drive-through (primarily because everything at Burger King is heavily processed food, dependent on the ubiquity of cheap corn). The family goes to the supermarket to find healthier, fresher choices and they simply can’t afford it. Broccoli is not deeply subsidized. Burger King is. The father is taking various medications for diabetes, the cost of which severely reduces their food budget even more. The younger daughter is now at risk for developing diabetes soon. The film gives us lots of statistics about the rise of diabetes in our country…but then assumes we know the connection between this food and the diabetes, because it sure as hell doesn’t explain it to us. The clear culprit of our current food system is the corn subsidy. Surprisingly, the film doesn’t call for the subsidy to be ended (or at least severely changed). That may be the take-away they’re hoping we get from it, but it never says it out loud. Of course, maybe they’re worried about being sued about that kind of thing. The film does explain that, unless you’re Oprah and have the money to pay the team of lawyers to fight the Man, you’d better shut up and keep your head down, or otherwise the ranchers/Monsanto/other will sue you to kingdom come. Many people say, If the price of food rises, people won’t be able to afford it! The answer to that one is pretty goddamn clear to me: we can’t afford what we’ve got going on now, and if people can’t afford it, it’s time to pay them some more goddamn money, isn’t it. (And stop making them spend most of their food budget on diabetes medications.) Our American way of life is not sustainable, and we have to rethink what our real priorities are here. If Food, Inc. gets people curious about the topic, so much the better. § If you are interested in this topic and don’t know where to start, here are some great books to check out. They’re popular science, meaning they’re written for normal human beings to read. (With the possible exception of The China Study, which has lots and lots of scientific studies and research for the biggest wonk to wade through, but you can still read plenty of stuff in there without going cross-eyed.) Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser. The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan. In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan. This is a good overview of the problems and issues confronting us in the modern food age and asks us to really think about what we’re going to do about it. Food Matters by Mark Bittman. I like Bittman’s food writing for the NY Times a lot, and this book is another good overview of the issues we need to deal with, like, NOW about our the industrial-caloric complex. Plus: recipes! Food Politics by Marion Nestle. This is an excellent in-depth investigation of what makes it to your plate and why. What To Eat by Marion Nestle. After Food Politics so many of her friends said, “So what am I supposed to eat, anyhow?” Nestle then went into a supermarket and investigated what the hell is actually on the shelves. Wonderful reference tome. Fat Land: How Americans Became the Fattest People In the World by Greg Critser. Critser investigates where all this cheap corn came from (the Nixon administration) and the effects it’s had on our food and our health. If you want an explanation of what high fructose corn syrup is and why it’s bad for you, check this out. The China Study by T. Colin Campbell. If, like me (being a good indoctrinated American), you said, What on Earth can we learn from the Chinese about nutrition, the starvation of whom we’ve been made guilty about for years? Well, this ain’t the Cultural Revolution and China exports food to us. (Think about that.) Campbell makes it pretty clear that the absolute first line of defense against what’s known as “the Western diseases” is what goes into our mouth. You can argue with his conclusions—but this is a pretty dense scientific tome and he’s published, y’know, actual scientific papers on these topics. The Way We Eat: Why Our Food Choices Matter by Peter Singer and Jim Mason. Singer is a philosopher who specializes in the ethics of our food choices, which seems specialized and arcane until you realize it touches just about every single aspect of our lives. The book uses three families who have very different food philosophies (fast food, organic and free range food, vegan) as the jumping-off point to investigate where we get our food from and why it matters. I absolutely will not eat turkey ever again after reading this book (sorry, Aunt Lil, but no way, no how, am I eating turkey this Thanksgiving, or ever again at any other time). Singer is vegan but he doesn’t disparage the families who choose to eat meat: he investigates why and and where their food is coming from. Feel free to suggest others in comments. § In my continuing quest to go vegetarian cut way back on the amount of animal products I consume (I’m sorry, I’m such a weenie, I’m just not a labels person), I have started made it my default behavior to search restaurant menus for the most vegan meal possible. That is to say: a salad without cheese as a main listed ingredient >> a salad with cheese >> a salad with fish >> fried chicken sandwich with slab o’cheese and mayo. Holy God, it’s nearly impossible. Seriously, play this game at the next restaurant you go to. Look for the vegetarian dish. Find the meal where you can easily remove the animal products and have anything left. When vegetarians complain about pretty much being offered green salad (and usually iceberg at that) or maybe some roasted vegetables on pasta, they are not kidding. There is such a huge range of vegetarian cuisine out there and the general public does not see any of it, unless they go to an ethnic restaurant, such as Indian or Ethiopian. (Many vegetarian entrees at Chinese restaurants are often cooked in chicken broth, so that’s a big ol’ No.) And there’s an upper limit, even for me, on the amount of falafel and hummus I can consume. Admittedly, it’s a pretty high upper limit, but a limit nonetheless. No wonder people think vegetarians are odd: they’ve been crammed into the odd corner. I’ve taken to using apps such as VeganXpress and VegOut to try to find someplace in the neighborhood to get something to eat. I think I need a few new ones to help me out. If you have any suggestions, leave ‘em in comments. After the movie last night we went to Rock Bottom Brewery, where I played the “anything but iceberg lettuce” game—I have nothing against salads, salads are the best, I actually love eating huge gigantic salads now, but I don’t want that to be my only thing—and came up with… the Tex-Asian vegetable potstickers. Which turned out to be (more or less) samosas in a vaguely potstickerish wrap. Well, I guess it’s a start. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Saturday, June 13th, 2009
1:21 pm	More about clothing sizes and running A couple of months ago I wrote about clothing sizes and how it’s not vanity sizing, it’s how manufacturers deal with their target market. It’s all true, I stand by everything I said. It’s not vanity! There’s no such thing as an archetypal size 8! It’s all based on the market and the sizes of the customer! But still. These sizes. It’s crazy. I recently measured myself and I’m basically the same size I was at 22. Yeah, I know: Go Team Diane! But finding clothes is getting hard. I bought a pair of size 4 Gap Long and Lean jeans on Mother’s Days, and they’re somewhat loose now. This body, 20 years ago, I was a size 8, maybe a size 6 with these legs—how in the hell can I be a size 4? Size 4 is for skinny people! And no matter what my running bud Nina says, I don’t feel especially twig-like. It’s not me, it’s the clothes, which is to say, it’s the population. (What we learn from this is: Anyone who’s kept the same pants size for a decade or two? Hasn’t, if you know what I mean.) What’s ridiculous is, a size 6 skirt I bought shortly before I got pregnant with Sophia (that would be 10 years ago! gack!) is still tight. And that Calvin Klein skirt (also size 6) I was so looking forward to wearing again? Yeah, it just looks kinda silly on me now—I’m guessing my parts are not quite shaped the way they were, even if they measure the same. Apparently clothing sizes have been adjusted downwards a lot in just the past 10 years. Alas, I am going to have to let the CK go, because I just don’t feel comfortable in it. Wah wah wah. (And just in case you’re wondering, I have almost the exact same measurements as Marilyn Monroe did, according to this page, except my waist is 29, not 22. I can’t quite fathom a 22 inch waist, frankly. Your envy of Darin’s good fortune may commence now.) § Nina and I did a 15 mile run today, and at mile 13 she said, “Are you tired?” “Hell yes, I’m tired. I’m still waiting for my runner’s body to show up and this won’t hurt anymore.” “I know, I’m wondering where mine is too.” It’s just not fair that we’re doing all this running and all this training and it’s still hard. A six-mile run feels pretty normal these days; a 15-mile run feels like someone whapped me hard with a tire iron. And over the past several weekends I’ve done: 15 miles, 17 miles, 15 miles, 20 miles, and 15 miles. You’d think I’d have adjusted by now. But no: 15 miles still feels killer. I’ve got to remember to bring ibuprofen for the marathon, because I need to be proactive on the pain. Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Friday, June 5th, 2009
5:07 pm	Vanity Fair done me in I’ve subscribed to Vanity Fair for years. Years. Maybe twenty years. I had a roommate in college who subbed to it, and she described to me its wonderfulness, with pictorial spreads of Giorgio Armani clothing (I had to say, “Who’s that?” because I was so out of it) and gushing suck-up articles on celebrities, balanced with really wonderful and intelligent in-depth political and global work that was clearly being paid for by the pictorial spreads and gushing suck-ups. So be it. During the oh-so-crucial shopping season of September through December, during which glossy magazines swell like so many Octomoms with their endless advertisements, Vanity Fair led me to invent a new verb, “to vanityfair,” which means, “to rip out the gigantic quantity of ads from the magazines, sometimes reducing its thickness by over a third.” Every so often I’d say, “God, this magazine sucks, I have to stop getting it,” but then they’d have another article that was totally wonderful and unexpected and I’d start liking it again. But they’ve done it. They’ve finally managed to get me off my ass and cancel my subscription. Last month, they had Jessica Simpson on the cover. Why? I don’t know. The story was all about how she’s not fat, she’s gorgeous. I don’t know that much about her, and I knew when I first heard the “Jessica Simpson is fat” stories that they were all an attempt to get some attention and sympathy. To have Vanity Fair waste my time with that story made me go, “Oh, please, do we really not have any celebrities any more?” (In fact, we don’t, not really. The reason we have Brad and Angelina on the checkout stand every week—well, maybe you do; thankfully, my supermarket does not have checkout tabloids, yay Lunardi’s—is that they are recognizable to a vast audience and have great crossover appeal. The great expansion of the entertainment infosphere through hundreds of channels and the internet and iPods and such has led to inevitable schisms of domain—now there are tons and tons of celebrities, all of whom are known to a smaller and smaller audience. Movies are targeted to extremely narrow audiences: the likelihood that anyone over the age of 35 knows the name Shia LaBeouf, let alone what he looks like or how to spell his name, is pretty damn low, which is why he was in that stupid Indiana Jones movie last summer.) But no, it wasn’t even Jessica Simpson that did me in. It was their 87 millionth article in a row on the great travails caused by Bernie Madoff. They could not say any louder that they are New York-centric; they couldn’t be any clearer that the magazine is designed to be read by people that range from the Upper West Side to the Long Island Expressway. They have lots of New York things and nothing else. It’s tiresome and incestuous, it really is. I know Bernie Madoff did a very bad thing. But it’s really not Topic #1 everywhere in the country. It’s really not the most interesting thing to happen ever, you know? No, apparently Vanity Fair doesn’t know, because in this month’s issue (possibly my last), there’s another goddamn Bernie Madoff article. The obvious criticism, of course, is that Bernie Madoff is exactly the kind of uber-successful, high-flying financier that Vanity Fair has extolled and sucked up to for years. Their endless investigations of the criminality of the Bush years does not make up for their continual praise of the Bush gang while things were good. (Really bugged me at the time too.) Anyhow, in case VF is wondering why they lost another subscriber, that’s why! Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (Comment on this)
Sunday, April 26th, 2009
5:59 pm	A couple of pix I’m not sure the difference is really noticeable here—in fact, if you ask me, it’s hard to see any difference at all. (But I may be slightly biased about this.) Here is me last July, at Mystic Seaport, doing the Fat Mom Hiding Behind the Kids pose, at about 177 pounds: And here I am today, after a run with Rob, at about 145 pounds: If you can’t see a difference…just STFU and don’t tell me about it, okay? Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, April 23rd, 2009
9:38 am	Followup to yesterday Darin points out that the supremely stupid Maureen Dowd column (redundancy alert!) about Twitter contains the following exchange: ME: Do you ever think “I don’t care that my friend is having a hamburger?” BIZ: If I said I was eating a hamburger, Evan would be surprised because I’m a vegan. Enough with the burgers already. We need to find a new standard food. (Admittedly, Biz’s response is somewhat of a non-sequitur. Okay, more than just somewhat.) Originally published at Nobody Knows Anything. You can comment here or there. (4 Comments |Comment on this)