104 posts tagged “pointless pontifications”

The C had a rough day at school the other day and, when we were reviewing his day, started hitting himself. That drives me nuts, and I usually beg him to stop or admonish him. It's his way of punishing himself, and it is disturbing to watch and more disturbing to know your kid is hurting himself.

So I figured I'd try my parent's tactic: to talk to him at my level and let him know how I deal with pooey days. Because guess what? Mommy has rough days too. We talked about how if I'm overwhelmed I go into Tolga the Data God's office and whine and plead (true), and the C points out that I'm saying that just to make him feel better. I'll take him in soon to clear that up.

Then I talked about what I do to make myself feel better after a rough day: I... clean.

It was like someone opened a big, gaping window into my subconscious and out came all the smoke and other awful smells: holy crap, I'm an OCD cleanfreak because I'm unhappy with myself. Well, no, not quite that drastic. But I clean because it is something I can control: project isn't going to ship because skiplevel changes everything, ON SHIP DAY? Time to wax the floors; at least that will be awesome.

I'm coming to find out that as a parent you find out at least as much about yourself as you do about this junior human you're in charge of. I've also discovered I'm really, truly, not that good with change.

Unless it's change I know is coming.

You see, if I know a project is going to be riddled with change and uncertainty, I am Totally Copacetic. I will contingency plan and be smug when plan number 457 comes true (out of plans 1-13,492). This explains why the first few (15 or so) X changed tactics or things got shirty with him I freaked out: this was supposed to be a stable, non-changing thing (once divorced). Now that I know it won't be, the latest cryptic email or snyde comment bothers me only slightly less than the newest chin hair to be tweezed.

Did I mention my skiplevel changed the project on ship day? That was this Monday.

It shipped with all the changes Wednesday. And my boss thinks I'm awesome.

Greetings from the Southwest Airlines terminal at the Seattle Tacoma International Airport.

I arrived ludicrously early to the airport this morning – as in, two and a half hours early. Bag check and security was negotiated within 20 minutes, and so I headed to Anthony’s for a drink. (I don’t like to fly).

Alas, the rumors of free WiFi via Google were grossly overstated: instead of starting on the 9th, it is now delayed and starting on Monday the 18th. This being the 13th, it does nothing for me, and I do not wish to spend $8 for AT&T Wireless for 2 hours.  I’ve spent the last hour or so trying to scrape some free Ethernets from the nearby “hoity toity” clubs (British Air, Delta) to no avail until now.

Why would I pay for in-flight WiFi and not for terminal WiFi? Well, yours truly is on a stop flight (non plane-changing) from Seattle to Las Vegas by way of… wait for it… Salt Lake City. I will be on a plane exactly twice as long as I need to be to save spending twice as much on a ticket. Ergo, my $8 for a realistic 2hrs of WiFi in the terminal would stretch longer on nearly four hours of flight.  (Oh, wait, it looks like I’ve just acquired a signal from British Air… with 40 minutes before boarding, awesome!)

Not that I expect to penny-pinch this trip, on the contrary: I’m trying to save on little things because I know in my heart of hearts I will be very bad this weekend. There has been discussion of custom face makeup application and fancy dress and fancier restaurants; of coercing concierges for favors. But the house taxes are paid and the savings account is getting better, I think I will be ok. Thanks to a work hookup, we are staying at THEHotel at Mandalay Bay (as much as my spell check does not like the way that is spelled, that is how it is spelled).  I have brought my running gear, which should hopefully offset all of the gastric and alcoholic excess.  Or, it will sit untouched in my bag while I, and my two cohorts, galavant.

Pursuant to this trip I spent yesterday in a frenzy of tying up work loose ends, obsessive cleaning, hair-cutting-and-coloring (I didn’t do it myself, which is why it turned out well), and general whack-a-mole-ing. I was, in effect, earning my time to Quark’s Bar. 

Which is not to be: while trying to find a link for the infamous “Warp Core Breach” I have discovered that the Star Trek Experience at the Las Vegas Hilton is no more! Curses! It is set to reopen at the Neonopolis Mall… in 2010.

I am at a loss for words. That was one of my favorite things about Vegas, it was literally a required stop from the time it opened. The last time I went I dragged some six members of a bridal party to go feel Ferengi ears. Yes, I am a geek; but dammit, man! Dry ice in a fishbowl with 7 shots of Rum is nothing to sneer at!

Oh, sure, I can acquire foot-long margaritas and make do. I suppose there is some new/shiny/better gimmicky thing in Vegas – for that is what Vegas does best – but I really think it’s unfair they didn’t consult me. That they are coming up with a new/shiny/better one Next Year is beside the point, I haven’t booked that trip yet.

Take off is in 50 minutes.  Next post courtesy of SWA WiFi… maybe…

Disclaimer: I do not have Windows 7. The statistical likelihood that I will have it in the next year or so is equivalent to me being descended from Anastasia. You know, the one who died in vain according to Mick Jagger. I'm moneygrubbing and my laptop is 4 years old and I won't replace it for another year or two.

That said, I have long been a fan of the Get A Mac ads, because they were funny and punchy. They would playfully exhibit the differences (both in purpose and daily use) of each OS and it was at a level that was "all in good fun". The latest "Get A Mac" ad, though, is weak.

And here's why:

Every single previous ad brought out a specific feature, issue, or benefit that Mac had over Windows. Maybe it was removing the myth that only Windows OS could do business. Maybe it was exploring Mac's graphics/arts-friendly side. Maybe it was antivirus issues. But each and every ad had a point.

Until now.

This ad ("Broken Promises") is so generic it threatens the whole genre; there isn't a specific target except that each Windows release has promised to improve on its predecessor. Well, I would think that Mac's OS' have offered the same (after all, if there isn't improvement, then what is the point?). It's a below-the-belt punch, and it shows that Apple is truly threatened, or at least perceptually threatened, by Windows 7.

This bothers me on a couple of levels: one, I do have some significant friends and family who busted their @ss on Windows 7, and rightfully so: I hear it's a sweet ride. Two, I'm all for competition and playful (or barbed) banter: but it needs to have substance. The latest Get A Mac ad is the equivalent to Churchill retorting "I know you are but what am I" to any of his foils.

The irony being that it sends me down the path of looking to a Win-specific platform next year, and not switching to Mac.

I see I have forgot to blog about the Seattle Weaver's Guild Sale.

The SWG Sale happens this time each year-- in honor of my birthday, I presume -- and is more of a "fabric arts" sale than weaver's sale. True, you can find much in the way of woven fabrics, from ragrugs to wall art to wraps to scarves. Some weavers weave first and dye next, some follow the opposite pattern. Some, you simply can't tell what they did.

Other items include knittery, crochetery, spinning-work, handmade buttons, and other knickknacks.

This is a very bland description, though, of the actual experience. Here is the detailed synopsis:

You walk into the basement of St. Mark's Cathedral in Cap Hill. You've already had to park your car with tetris-like precision, because this year, the Weaver's Guild advertised on Facebook, Twitter, and the Stranger. As you enter the basement you see four elegant elderly ladies behind what I call "church" tables -- you know, those fold-out long banquet tables -- and the tables are littered with random paper paraphernelia. It turns out this paper is to, among other things, inform you about what the Weaver's Guild does and alternately to figure out who you are and how they can get ahold of you. The four ladies watch you expectantly, attentively, and a trifle patronizingly as you inscribe your email address into their form.

There is no charge to go to the Sale, which is interesting, because it is an event.

You shift right from the table to enter the semi-circular layout that is the sale. You are immediately in the "high end" section: wall art, artsy woven shawls and pashminas, items that run from a couple of hundred bucks well into the thousands. The artist's name, their title for the item, and the price are neatly labeled in a spinsterly scrawl on preprinted cards. I saw one piece that I thought was nice (a yellow woven number with different dye patterns) and ran for $900. I don't have that kind of money; presumably somebody does.

Wandering away from the High End you travel into the Yarn and Thread section: raw wool, dyed wool, and spun wool (and acrylics, and cottons). You can get your stuff in any stage of readiness, skeins ranged from a reasonable $10 to a slightly more egregious $36; all similarly displayed so you really did need to read all of the fine print. The racks are side by side and quite close, so you end up doing a move that looks like the Charleston trying to back-and-fill into gaps so you can see if that aquamarine thread is actually wool or cotton blend.

I will point out, right now, that absolutely no one pressure sales you. Like at all. Some of the artists/crafts(wo)men are there and some are not, but if you have questions the onus is YOURS to go find someone to ask about it. They are not overtly solicitous and this works just fine by me.  I will also point out, right now, that if it werent for discreet (and by that I mean hardly noticeable) little nametags you'd have a hard time judging the tradespeople from the patrons; everyone (yours truly included) arrived wearing their latest crafted item.

Past the Yarn and Thread section was the rag-rug and Other Rug Section, and past that was what I could call the KnickKnacks section: wool felt baskets, crocheted buttons, tissue covers, the like. By this point GH and I were about crafted out, and I was to say "Hi" to my mom's friends at the cash register.

Never was another human not welcome at the register.

NOT by the ladies manning the registers, mind you, but by the 20-odd people in line, who were absolutely certain that I, with nothing to purchase in my hands, was somehow line-jumping.

Have you ever been to a bingo game with elderly people? Do you know how vicious they can get? This is about the caliber of looks you get for POTENTIAL line-jumping at the Weaver's Guild Sale. Thus deterred, we left the sale, having purchased nothing (I did drool over a few things and would've purchased if I hadn't had more craft stuff than I know what to do with) and having failed in the ancillary mission of saying "hi". However, we will be back again next year.

For my birthday :) 

Tomorrow, I may be on the phone lines for 94.9 KUOW's Fall Fund Drive. (Disclosure: I listen to KUOW on my commute religiously, and I donate in the spring. This year I decided to sign up for phone duty for the Fall Fund Drive because I have fiscal guilt and figure it would be nice to do something in addition to send my "hush money" as a friend calls it. Also, I have this feeling I should go do weird things, for me. This, therefore, counts as weird.)

Or I may not.

As I got in on the "volunteering" a little late, my scheduled time is, alas, tomorrow between 5:30 and 9:15, in the evening. This means after training my brain to do sit-ups all day long I will drive through hellish traffic to arrive in Seattle to answer the phones for people reluctantly giving money to a radio station you just KNOW they have spent 2+ hours per day listening to.

Or not.

You see, if you are of the unfortunate few to volunteer late-ish, you may or may not actually get to volunteer. Out of their $1.1 million goal, they are at $1.01 million. It's been 10 days. They're cookin'.

I got the volunteer person call today, and it went along the lines of this:

HER: "Hi, it's [miscellaneous female name]here from KUOW, calling about our Fall Fund Drive; you're scheduled to volunteer tomorrow evening, is that correct?"

ME: "yep!"

HER: "Great! Well, we'll see you here... except we're really close to our goal so we might not. We encourage you to listen to KUOW throughout the day to see if we make our goal before heading over, okay?"

ME: "ok!"

HER: "Great! well, um, thanks!"

The thing is, I win any way you look at this:

• If they make the goal before I get there, I get a night off -- actually two! -- in which to drink a glass of red (actually two) and watch more recorded Mythbusters.
• If they don't make goal I get to go and see what answering phones is all about. I suspect it will be edumacational.
• If they don't make goal BUT make it while I'm there I get to be part of the cathartic celebration that will ensue, in which we snack on organic shade-grown free-market chocolate-covered-espresso beans and discuss how many rows of knitting we just didn't get done through the whole ordeal.

Oh yes: knitting. I have a new hobby. It's addictive. I've learned to knit (not purl) and have finished a scarf. The second project includes purl, which means I get to make a RIBBED scarf (yes, for her pleasure) instead of the plain-ol colorblock knit one I did at my mom's while drinking too much and discussing popular novelists of the 1970's.

Unless, of course, they make the goal.

Presidents are like furniture.

I was sitting in the car, in my curbside parking space next to the Top Pot Doughnuts in Bellevue, having the anecdotally convenient "driveway moment": I couldn't leave the car, because I was listening to something on KUOW. What I was listening to was Mr. Obama's speech on his Nobel Peace Prize.

Now, I'm not going to go into whether or not he deserved it (he says he didn't) or whether or not he should accept it (he did, on behalf of everybody), or if this is a good or bad thing (I think it's a "thing": recognition is nice, but let's keep our eyes on the ball, because the game is still in play). It occured to me, with all the pre-and-post peace prize punditry, that it's really a lot like furniture.

We spend a considerable amount of time and effort evaluating our options. Like a newlywed couple furnishing our new house, America pours over every glossy (or dull) detail of its candidates. Those that are eminently practical (Ikea shoppers -- yours truly included) do not care about the attractiveness or the hairstyle, and are more concerned with voting record and the like. Some like their furniture shiny and ornate, some like it simple and streamlined (but not quite so elegant). We agonize over the "cost" of the item, the sorts of financing we may have to use (or should we buy this other one directly, which is not as nice but we can afford outright?). We evaluate how it will fit into our lives: will it be durable enough? Will it be versatile enough? Can we show it off to friends and family only, or would we be proud to host complete strangers to dinner on it? Is it comfortable? Should it even *be* comfortable? Is this a long-term purchase, or is this just a stepping stone to the next, more idealized one?

In time, we buy the piece. We position it where we want it, and friends and family comment freely about it. We discuss our purchase criteria and why we picked it, we defend the small dent in the corner and point out that for the price you really couldn't beat it. It may not display exactly as you had planned, but then again it may be a lot sturdier than you thought. Your evaluation of the piece, over time and as you become accustomed to it, changes: you either come to think of it as part of your everyday life and enjoy it, or you grow to intensely loathe it until, after bitching about it incessantly, you put it on Craigslist (or vote against it).

For those pieces that don't get Craigslisted... that become part of the furniture inventory of the Union, as it were... they get a new coat of varnish every few years. Slowly the dent fades and becomes less noticeable against the character of the overall piece (much like Lincoln and Kennedy are immortalized in money and memory: no one mentions derisively the ape-like ambling or the ape-like rambling of the former and latter, respectively). Each coat of varnish, another decade or so, and the flaws and foibles fade, until we are left with the "perfect" piece, the one that no one would dream of removing.

The other pieces? The Craigslisted (or worse, donated) ones? Well, unless they were truly hideous (like Aunt Martha's vinyl 1970's chairs that new covers couldn't de-atrocify), you forget them. And if you can't forget them, at least you are thankful that they're no longer stationed on your floccati rug. 

I have debt.

I know. I've railed against debt, having debt, the existence of debt, the very fact that debt has a silent"B" in it, but I have Student Loans.

I finally admitted the precise figure of said loans to GH, whose only comment was "Holy Shit".  Keep in mind, we've been dating (or whatever) for 1 year 9 months and 6 days. While he may have decided I wasn't really playing on my "best behavior" for that period, I think it was a shock to know that there was a little more "red" in this Woman. I'll give you a hint: you could buy a very nice car for what I owe in Student Loans from my MBA. On the flip side, you could also buy a very nice car for what I've paid of that degree.

You see, when I took out said loans, I was married. I was part of a dual income household that had a decent budget and a decent wad of savings; I fully expected them to be paid off in short order. Six months before I graduated, I divorced. Then I did what all newish divorcees do: I spent money that I oughtn't've. I bought a laptop (after all, I needed a computer). I bought a dry suit (after all, I expected to dive). I partied and went on dive vacations. And after a couple of years, I sobered up.

Not that I regret any of those purchases, mind you; it's just that I'm this much farther along in time, and not much farther along against the principal. So I have spent the last few weeks assessing, and reassessing, the habits which need to change. Ironically, I got out of the habit of purchasing coffee and trips; it seems to have morphed into purchasing cookies and other stuff of late (Concealer at Gene Juarez, anyone?). I'm doing slightly odd things like asking GH to bake me cookies so I don't buy them and scouring through my bathroom cabinets to figure out just how many bottles/tubes/canisters of lotion/soap/makeup I actually have. And I'm considering selling my dry suit.

I haven't been diving in the cold water for more than a year. Successfully, for nearly two. My last dive was in November of last year and I'm not doing a tropical trip anytime soon. I feel, like I do with my bike, that if I don't start using it I will need to cut it out as all it is doing is taking up space and collecting dust. It's a beautiful suit and it is incredibly comfortable and it doesn't deserve to just sit there.

The reality is that I know I'm rusty. I *hate* being a rusty diver, as there was a time in my life where I was the shit. Granted, that was several years ago; now I avoid going deeper than 80' and I suck air like a newb. I look at my tanks and know they need to be re-certified and while that will cost money they will almost certainly ALSO need to be replaced. I see dollar signs associated with uptaking this sport again and have to assess if they're worth it. Further, it means that when I go on my first batch of five or six dives, I will be the newb that slows my buddy down. I will be the person people are reluctant to dive with. And really, do I want to bother? Do I want to do that get-up-early, get into cold water, swim around for an hour in low vis? It just doesn't seem to hold the magic for me that it once did.  

There are other things as I take inventory that were once huge parts of my life that are just empty or by the wayside. I took up knitting for an afternoon in Portland this summer, I haven't touched it since. I have 3 quilts to make; I have 3 skirts to make and/or take in. I have neglected book club and craftaculars and it's been at least two months since I've done anything useful on the farm. My foray into container gardening failed this year -- I like to think because of the unusually hot and sunny weather; but also because of neglect. The only thing that seems to have survived unscathed were some pepper plants -- again because of the unusually hot and sunny weather.

I think that no matter how much I get done, that there will always be more that I feel as though I should -- perhaps not can -- do. There are times when I'm copacetic with that and times where it annoys the high holy shit out of me, and I think the latter is one of these times. I'll probably generate a frenzy of emails and dates to "fix" it, and probably run into a circumstance where I get overwhelmed again and have to drop some things or others.

And so, the guilt cycle will continue. Maybe *that's* the meaning of life ;)

Hi! I have only one drama, and I'm not publicly posting about it. If you have a login and are my friend-- in my opinion -- you can read all about it. It's simply ghastly.

Aside from that, things are pretty much quo. As in status quo, not quo vadis or anything.

I am only slightly more freaked out about my first triathlon than I am of the $150 bike repair bill. I managed to swim a constant half-mile the other day, which is good. Work is going to be interesting this next year as we go into a new venture -- involving true development, vs. SQL dev. And I continue to play PTSA Webette.  I continue to be happily relationship'd with someone I can't live with, which works out great (but still, nearly 2 years later, requires explanation to various and sundry peoples).

Actually, I call it a great day if I can get the boychild ready and off to school, home and homework done, extracurricular stuff done (swordfit!), AND work and homestuff and workouts and dogstuff and the myriad of homeownership kept in check. Check!

Yes, my trash bins are out. My neighbors never took theirs back in...

Perception is the basis of reality.

Specifically, YOUR perception is the basis of YOUR reality. If you are a nutzo-schizophrenic-psycho who talks to him/herself next to a dumpster behind the 7-11 while holding a Barbie doll in one hand and a pack of Marlboros in the other, your reality sucks. Your perception may be off, too.

What I'm driving at is that I'm seeing, more and more often, declarations that you make your own decisions on life based on what you see and feel. If you elect to be "happy", you can be happy. If you elect to be "pissy"*, you can be pissy. It's that whole "finding the silver lining" thing: if you can take an objective -- or pleasantly biased subjective -- view of something you can shift how you feel about it and therefore be "satisfied".  In short: affirmations, all over again. (BTW, I hadn't realized this was "New Age"... I heard of it from a Scott Adams/Dilbert comic book).

There is a *lot* going on in my life that I could be vex'd and stress'd about. Quite. Some of it I have/will blog about in "private", and some of it is evident (work, oh, work!). Of late though I feel pretty good, and I'm not sure if it's that I'm kidding myself or that my perspective is deliberately obtuse.

Or, as we said at Doug-the-Bartender's party on Saturday, reveling in my obtuseness. I don't know that obtuse can have a "-ness" suffix, but as Shakespeare spent rather a lot of time coining useful words, so shall I. Obutseness, that's my quality.

Then again, maybe it's a weird artificial high from all of the working out. I'm kind of freaking out over this triathlon: I'm not the strongest swimmer, my bike needs some serious work, and it promises to serve up 2 hours of physical Stress. I've had fantasies of breaking a leg or coming down with swine flu and "having" to avoid it; I recognize this as a weakness of character because I had essentially the same fantasies over the last two half-marathons. I've been compensating by going to the gym every day (when not eating everything in sight and sitting on my ass): swim, bike; swim, bike; swim, bike. Today I swam 7/8ths of what I need to do for the tri. I have four more weeks to train.  

Fortunately, my perception takes this into account and just keeps pushing me. That, and the perception that what with the recession I need to watch cash, and I've paid some cash (entrance fee, bike, accoutrements) for this triathlon. And it won't be my last, because the spreadsheet says so. But that's it: I spend most of my time obsessing over what is in front of me at the moment, with certain constants. The C is a constant obsession (is he learning enough? is he having enough fun? etc.), work comes in a 2nd (am I good enough? Am I stuck in my job forever/can I grow?); the rest is a dull roar of insecurities washing over and through me.

Hm. My reality doesn't seem to be much different from what my perception is of the swim for the triathlon: frothing water kicked up in my face, dark, murky and unpleasant tasting; something I intend to conquer.

I wonder how this compares with Paris Hilton's perception?

*I am quite humored that "pissy" is apparently a spelling no-no according Vox.

I have some highfalutin' friends. While sitting in a backyard of North Seattle we drank wine and made tacos and played Quelf, which is awesome. We also (briefly) discussed the "seven year itch". Note that of the attendees, I was the only single lady. Or divorced lady.

Ali is married, has been for 10+ years. Mindi and MK are in the 5-ish range (plus years of engagement/dating). CC is a blushing bride with only a year under her belt -- plus 5 years of cohabited bliss. These are happily married, and in most cases procreative women. They are also all professionals, mostly within analytics (or medicine).

We were discussing the seven year itch; and while I admit mine was long past due (X and I tanked at the 10 year mark or thereabouts) MK noted that every 7 years your nerve cells have regenerated.**

Now, they don't all do this at once, because that would be 1. inefficient and 2. painful. They do it in bits and pieces, like the rest of your body, so you don't notice. But the cycle takes 7 years, so the person you are now (in terms of nerves -- if not nerve) is essentially not the person you were 7 years ago.

Think of the possibilities... please. Because I did and I have and I still can't shake it in the giddy mental-masturbatory sense.

*If* you're willing to posit the following: that human beings possess real live energy, that that has to go somewhere when you die (and people don't know where it goes), that your brain and nervous system is what controls that energy, and that it's the nerve cells regenerating... what does that mean?

1. Is psychological damage healable within 7 years if you are willing to "let it go"?
2. When people say, "people can't change", how is that possible with this news?
3. If it is true that you are essentially a "new/different" person every 7 years (and it's a moving target, so from day to day/week to week/month to month you don't really note it) then wouldn't it make sense to limit contractual relationships between individuals (e.g., marriage) to 7 years?

It's an intriguing thought, to consider that it may be just the luck of the draw that marriages beyond 7 years work out because the "change" affected in those individuals allowed them to be compatible as a couple. It would also provide a convenient culprit for those of us who still have to label themselves as "divorced" on legal paperwork. It is *not* my fault, my/his nerves changed! (Then again, I'm very happy where I am, and can't imagine myself still married; so this is a good thing and I'll gladly take the "Credit" instead of the "Blame").

However, I need to look more into this, because (for example) I had a large-ish surgery that severed a nerve about 9 years ago, and I still can't feel anything in a 3 inch diameter around my navel.

Maybe my stomach doesn't have the nerve :p

** I have no idea if this is true, but it wouldn't surprise me. There is no shortage of things that wouldn't surprise me about the human body. Think about all of the neat things yours has done -- and all of the illogical things -- and you'll see what I mean. For examples of illogical, I encourage you to ponder nipples on a man. For neat, I encourage you to ponder reproduction.