Hey! Did you miss me?

I was on a cruise. A cruise from Tampa to Cozumel and back. I thought about nothing outside of whether I was going to have a pina colada rather than more champagne. It was the most relaxing thing I've ever done. Here's how it went: With our passports and laminated color copies of our passports, my husband and I and both of his parents bucked up and packed light and all four squeezed into his parents' Prius, along with all our stuff, and drove to Tampa. How's that for patriotism during an oil crisis? So, anyway, there was a cozy road trip with barbeque in Tifton, GA, and lots of good long leaf pine sightings as we drove south. We stayed overnight at a La Quinta Inn near the pier, which was quite nice with a little courtyard and lots of excited anticipation. We had delicious Cuban food for lunch in Ybor City and then there was some minor chaos associated with getting on the ship but it was no big deal. Comparable to a domestic flight. Now comes the cruise:

The minute we stepped on the boat, we were escorted to the pool deck and given booze while we waited for our rooms to be ready. The drink was called a "funship" and, let me tell you, it was fun. As soon as we got to our rooms, we popped into our swimsuits and headed out to the hot tub. Here's a word of warning: They apparently clean (i.e., shock with chemicals) the various hot tubs and swimming pools between cruises. If you hop into your swimsuit the minute you get to your room, you risk bleaching it out in the hot tub. Fortunately, the cruise people were nice and gave us a $50 credit. Actually, this is just the beginning of how incredibly nice all of the cruise people were. I've never had such nice service in my life. Everyone was so so nice. I'm just waiting to find out that Carnival cruise lines has horrible labor policies and that I should feel guilty for all my good times. That's the only way I will ever keep from cruising every day of my life. I love this shit. There's all this ocean all the time and, while the food is only so so, it's available all the time and, in the dining room, with such elaborate ceremony. It's not bad food, it's just, you know, fine. Like a really good Picadilly. Anyway, they clean your room twice a day and when they turn down the covers at night, they make a little towel animal with chocolate mint eyes. That other stuff on the bed is the schedule of activities for the next day. And the water slides are so much fun. And the ocean. The shore excursion would have been nice had we gone somewhere besides Cozumel. They can't help it if I don't particularly like my destination. I can fix that be selecting a different cruise. So, long story short, I left Atlanta thinking, "I don't know how I can afford to be away for five days." and by day three, I was thinking, "Surely I can't be expected to go back!" It was simply the most relaxing thing I've ever done in my life.

"Hillarious" jokes about Obama

So, of course my post from yesterday has context. It is this: Occasionally people make jokes about Obama and occasionally those jokes are completely tasteless and utterly upsetting for the majority of the population. This crazy cartoon on the cover of the New Yorker is difficult to understand. Now, it's funny that just last week my father and I were talking about how people are always making little quips about how the cartoons in the New Yorker are over their heads. I'm always thinking that maybe I'm missing something because I don't find the jokes difficult to understand so much as not always funny. Enter this cartoon. I've got to be missing something here. I mean, I like John Stewart very much but he was going on and on about how the popular media has exaggerated the severity of this cartoon. It's just a cartoon, he was saying, what's everyone getting so worked up about? (I'm paraphrasing so I didn't use quotation marks. Is that right?) I really think that this cartoon is terrible. Some have called it "tasteless and revolting" and I think it is. It is racist, these people and I agree, to use racial and ethnic stereotypes in this context, even if there is some back-and-forth switch-a-roo in which the cartoonist is making fun of the way that the conservative media is portraying this couple. Knowing that The New Yorker is a liberal publication, I'm assuming that the old switch-a-roo is what's going on here. I think the problem has to do with the fact that not everyone is in on the joke. Also, there is the fact that the joke isn't all that funny in the first place. So, this is what the whole, "We're not allowed to make jokes about Obama," story was referring to. One super bad-taste joke spoiling the whole bushel. I'm going to say, to those who are now saying that Obama can't take a joke, that the problem isn't with Obama and his constituents so much as, in this case, a really really bad joke. I guess that even liberals have forgotten that Muslims actually count when we're talking about not throwing around stereotypes.

So, here's where I bring it all together, linking today's post with yesterday's: As I see it, there are at least two camps among the people that I know. One of these camps holds John Stewart and Jimmy Kimmel (I think) and involves people who think that this New Yorker cartoon and other Sarah Silverman-style humor that is blatantly bringing out racist stereotypes, that just puts all the cards on the table, is one of the steps toward opening up our minds to each other. That this sort of thing helps us to move forward. In opposition is the other camp which, I suspect, holds those who may have heard or remember having heard, lots of racist and oppressive things being said in earnest and with hate. These people are smart people and understand that the new version of humor that we're talking about is satirizing that hateful sort of talk but they also have noticed that the new humor is the same as the old humor and that a lot of hard work and dilligent awareness-making went into getting to where we are today, where this sort of thing is uncommon. History matters, say these people.

SO (drumroll please), I think that it is the war between these two camps that maybe keeps down jokes about Obama. There are the New Yorker cartoonist-types rattling to make the obvious jokes that no one is comfortable hearing (and that many people are actually dramatically offended by). Then there are the people who are saying, "Forget race. Let's make fun of how he's a picky eater. That's funny." (i.e., Maureen Down). The problem with this compromise is that, no matter how we want to think differently, it's very hard for people to laugh at picky eater jokes and ignore what is probably an elephant in the living room, in terms of the offensive jokes. So, that, I think, is what Jimmy Kimmel was referring to when he said, "reverse racism." Right? He means that people are totally tied in knots over the race issue and can't figure out what to do about it. So, it's racism that causes folks not to make jokes about Obama. But, it's "reverse racism" because it's a weird and convoluted 21st century racism that people don't quite understand. Is that what he meant?

Definition, please...

It's been a funny presidential race so far, right? Or, as the new york times op-ed columnist Maureen Dowd points out, a not funny race. She, and other people apparently, suggest that the reason there haven't been very many jokes made about the Democratic candidate is because Barack Obama is black. So far, everything about the election has been because Barack Obama is black. John Lewis ran contended for the first time in a billion elections because he is also black and he supported Hillary Clinton initially. (Oh, wait, of course you're right. Not everything about the election has been because Barack Obama is black. There's also the fact that Hillary Clinton is a woman.) Everyone is very cautious but everyone, particularly the public opinion mass-entity referred to as the media, is in love with the easy shot. Give the candidates a quick once-over. Just open your eyes and then close them again. Now, make your judgements. Al Gore has a tan, go. Now he's gained weight, go. John Kerry has a long face and he's boring, go go go. Barack Obama is, holy shit, he's black! Can't see...can't notice anything else...blinded by unexpected race...
Jimmy Kimmel apparently referred to peoples' reluctance to make fun of Barack Obama as "reverse racism." Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but, does the term "reverse racism" seem racist to anyone else? Here's the Merriam-Webster definition of racism:

Main Entry:

rac·ism

Pronunciation:
\ˈrā-ˌsi-zəm also -ˌshi-\

Function:

noun

Date:

1933

1 : a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race 2 : racial prejudice or discrimination — rac·ist \-sist also -shist\ noun or adjective

(Did you notice that the term "racism" got its start in 1933? So, just before the second world war, during the depression. Fascinating.) What, pray tell, makes this situation reverse racism? The fact that people are so afraid that their racism will surface that they're overcompensating by just not talking at all? Or is Mr. Kimmell somehow implying that black people, in general, are immune to media ridicule while white people suffer this sort of abuse on a daily basis and that this is unfair? Thus using one of the classical interpretations of "reverse racism," which is when white people are discriminated against in a horrible turn of unjust misunderstanding of the "reality," which is that white people are better than everyone else. Or maybe Mr. Kimmell calls this reverse racism because he is implying that we all like this man exclusively because he's black and not because he's the first politician in most of our lifetimes who has made it so far in politics while still speaking in plain straightforward language as if everyone listening actually has a brain in his/her head?
I'm here to promote the other thesis set forth by Ms. Dowd (and apparently Bill Carter):

because many in [comedians' and satirists'] audiences are intoxicated by him and resistant to seeing him skewered

At this point, Maureen suggests that, if we elect someone who isn't bafoonish to the point of absurdity, "it won’t be the economy that’s depressed. It will be the rest of us." I beg to differ Ms. Dowd. I'm looking forward to an administration where we can comfort ourselves by knowing that our future as Americans is secure, rather than having to resort to making a list of all the stupid things our president has said so that we can laugh instead of putting a gun in our collective mouth.

The seven 'g's of grounding

Writing is a very head-intensive process. Meaning that a person stays in her own mind all day every day, to the point that insanity can ensue. Friends of mine in the writing process have had such body and soul-neglective side effects as: constant shivering no matter how warm the room, extreme weight loss, frequent crying, and residual unprecedented lack of lust for life. Remembering what I do about my dear mother's lessons in the mind/body/soul balance, these symptoms are indicative of severe mind-centric imbalance. So, in such fond memory of my incredible mother (whom I miss so much every day) and her new age ways, my aunt (Mom's sister) and I came up with my seven 'g's of grounding: (1) This one you can guess. Go ahead, there are two 'g's...yes, Gilmore Girls. This, the first of the 'g's has to do with turning off the active mind and shifting science to the subconscious via marathons of my favorite pair of saucy ladies and their fight-the-man antics. See, I knew it counted as work. There is so much mental and creative processing that occurs in the subconscious mind. I swear to you that this is true. It was in the New York Times. (2) The next 'g' is a bit of a stretch but it refers to my blog. I call it "gushing." It also includes long emails to friends, phone calls, angry explosions in the car with my sweet and understanding husband, and the venting-sessions in hallways and offices of all of my coworkers. (3) Gardening is an obvious tool for grounding. Sometimes, as I recall, these things are quite literal. So, the square-foot gardening, and eating the cucumbers and tomatoes harvested from my own yard, have been counted as the third 'g.' (4) The gym. You may be noticing a theme, in that I've blogged about all of these 'g's before but I've only recently "grouped" them. Hehe. That's another 'g'. (5) Grooming. Aunt Becky thought of this 'g' for describing the pedicure I got yesterday afternoon as well as the pricey haircuts that I maintain as one of my last pieces of luxury freight to throw overboard when it comes time to pinch pennies. (6) Guacamole. Let me hear you say "Oh, yeah!" Margaritas also count in this category because I consume the two items together. And the seventh 'g' of grounding is (7) Games. This includes facebook wordtwist and scrabulous as well as a crazy set of kids games I found on my new computer called "Purble Place." Don't judge me until you've tried these delightful and brightly colored games. They're harder than they look. Now, I have to say that I feel very proud of Aunt Becky and me for coming up with these things. I really think that Mom would endorse our work. Also, Mom, if you're reading this from wherever you are, notice that we used "seven" things. "Seven" is an important and non-patriarchal number, unlike the evil "ten" utilized by what's-his-name on late night TV (please, as if I'm up at that time of night).

Welcome family, please ignore the curse words.

I have just reminded my beloved family about my blog. I reviewed my posts to ensure that I wouldn't be embarassed by myself and I think it's fine, aside from curse-words and that post down there about bras (it's an informative post for the ladies, but, if you're a dude, you can skip it). So, what I'm going to do now is put a giant smiling picture of me and remind my family how much they love me. There, it's me and Wyatt. We love you...Wyatt loves everyone who is willing to hug him.

The hoops! The jumping and the flames and the hoops!

You won't be surprised to hear that this, the title of my blog, is another Gilmore girls quote. They just keep mirroring my life. I'm trying to get this god-forsaken PhD and it's just so far out of my reach. So, I am going through the literature today, working on writing my own contribution and I just feel so disillusioned. Maybe it's my day and my total and complete exasperation when it comes to pleasing my gatekeeper/prison guard/advisor. He's very good but I just don't even agree with him on edits anymore but the only choice is to do as close to what he wants as possible. So, really, my job at this point is to read his mind and to bow to his every whim and to prostrate myself. It's so demoralizing.
And here's where it comes to the literature, and reading it--I'm trying to write something good and yet so much of publishing papers is just picking a hot topic. It's all sold in the introduction. It's about spin. It's like flipping a house. You make the deal on the front end. And I don't just mean asking a good question. There are some kick-ass scientists out there, and the thing that makes them hot, what allows them to make a real contribution, is the questions they ask. The problem is that if you pick global warming or HIV or breast cancer, you can just spew garbage and get it into these journals. Then the next schmo gets hosed because she can't re-do the crap that got the brush-off in the last manuscript. She has to pretend that those bozos contributed something and write them into her introduction. "Based on data by Idiot et al. (2004), the distribution of ho-hos in 7-elevens across the country correlates with slurpee machines. While it is possible that these correlations are based on the decisions of 7-eleven corporate, the authors conclude that this correlation is due to a symbiotic relationship between chocolate and cherries." We're making progress, right? I mean, science is moving forward I think. I just go through these papers and see myself and my own insecurity and so much of what I do when I'm pulling things together and blowing smoke and I have a hard time believing that any of it is real. I guess that you listen to the themes and just use what you have. I guess that every contribution adds to the pile. The natural world doesn't lend itself to easy answers. No single person's hypothesis is going to be exactly right. So then you try and address phenomena. Tell me, does anyone else get a very disappointed feeling upon reading a journal article? Is it just me or are they all the same? And, for those of you in this business, have you noticed that we are all, all the people that I know, working so much harder than these other people? Does every fucking title have to be so dramatically inflated to the point that you can only cry, upon reading what was actually done? I think that maybe looking at things on the small scale is the problem. Hopefully the sum is greater than its sad and disgruntled parts. I mean, look at all the progress we've made with global warming. Ugh. I'm going to manage a 7-eleven. I like slurpees...and ho hos.

bras and boobs

Wait, it turns out that I have something else to talk about today. I went last night, on the recommendation of 3-4 friends and Oprah, to Intimacy to get a bra fitting. "It expensive," my friends told me, "but it is worth every penny." "You just have to have 2-3 of them and they last forever," one of my most-trusted friends attested two years post-fitting. "They're the only bras I ever wear." "Once you know what size you are, you don't have to shop there anymore," they swore. I decided to give it a shot.
When you get there, they make you fill out a little questionairre. It wants to know why you have come in to be fit and what your bra dissatisfactions are. Also it asks, "Do you believe that a bra can change your life?" I checked "no." I don't believe a bra can change my life. But, I do believe that it's unreasonable for me to spend every day of my life being torn between wanting to rip my bra off and trample upon it and wanting not to have the crazy hanging-down boobs of hippies and other non-bra wearers. It's not just aesthetics, people, the non-bra option isn't comfortable either. It's not just the sweat caused by skin touching skin, it's also the...we'll call it "jostling." You ladies hear me, right?
Anyway, back to my story: So, I fill out the questionairre: I have a problem with slipping straps, I have a problem with digging wires, I just want to be comfortable, it wouldn't hurt if it were also cute, etc. Secretly, I am un-convinced. I suspect that they will confirm the size I've worn since I was 13 (36B) and then follow it up by guilting me into spending a jillion dollars. So, my fitter comes to retrieve me, after just a little while (only because I went on a Monday night). It's hot, because, for some reason, Atlanta's swankiest mall is having AC problems. All the better for beating the crowds. Now, here's the magic secret part, people. I'm going to disclose my fitting. Are you ready? Get ready.
The fitter says that they don't use measuring tapes, that they just try bras on you to fit them. So, of course, I start by taking off my shirt. (Step number 1: remove your shirt). The fitter talks about things. There are posters on the wall with common bra misconceptions. She comes around behind me to pinch the main strap part of my bra off my back about 4 inches. This is surprisingly more comfortable. She points out that my little strap guy is on the last hook already and clearly much to big, so, first alteration made. 34, not 36. (Step number 2: pinch the back strap of your bra until the thing is snug. note whether or not you're using the first hook or the last hook. use this information to determine your little number). I assume that, if you are on the last hook and already you have a lot of squeezing going on, you may need to make changes somewhere besides the little number. It's possible that you would be allowed to increase the number but I suspect that this is a rare problem. So, having watched Oprah, I knew that most people need to go down in number and up in cup size so this didn't surprise me but I'd tried a 34C before and it felt too tight. So, the lady, at this point, told me that my back is small. I told her that I have a problem wherein the cups never totally encompass on the sides, that they need to be wider, not deeper. She doesn't look surprised. I suspect that there are other things I missed because of my particular problems that the lady would pinch and observe, based on obvious problems that people have but, somehow, I suspect that this job is intuitive, once you know the tricks. Someone with digging straps would need to let us know about that problem but, based on the information on the wall, I would anticipate that all problems are caused by not having enough grabby-grabby by the main strap or not having enough coverage by the cups. OK, so, something that I should have mentioned before now that was the most shocking part of the fitting is that the next step is for the lady to unceremoniously whip off the bra of the fittee and look critically at her breasts. (Step 3: Remove bra and examine breast shape.) At this point, my lady (who was somewhat grumpy about the heat) pointed out a couple of (apparently magical knowledge) things that I won't mention and left me in the dressing room, completely topless, for about 10 years. OK, it wasn't 10 years but it was a long time that she was gone. I guess it was the heat that caused her not to recommend that I don the little coat hanging on the back of the door but I felt very strange. There was no place to sit down but there was a big mirror and kind of a lot of reading material on the walls. I got used to it eventually but I was a little unsettled, standing and reading information about bras (including some fascinating diagrams) without my clothes. Now, the lady returned with bras of various sizes for me to try. (Step 4: Try various sizes of bra, based on your assessments so far. Don't be afraid to go two sizes up in cup size.) The rest of the game was obvious. The 34D bras looked terrific on me and felt like I had finally come home. I think that, at this point, you should be checking for strap at mid-back and shoulder straps resting comfortably on shoulders but, if you're wearing the bra, it's easy to tell that things have improved substantially. The 34C, as was my previous experience, was still too tight but it was because the cups were too small. Who knew? This is why the "try on everything" section is important. I think it's probably tough to know exactly what the problem is. For my next chapter (after my bank account has filled back up again), I'm going to try on some lacy numbers from a less expensive store, in the new size, to see how universal the process is. I wish they had brought me a 36B in their fancy brand so that I could confirm that they're not just playing mind-games. I actually went home and tightened some shoulder straps and tried some of my old bras again. Some I discarded but some are okay. This seems mysterious. Anyway, here's the moral of the story: If you are uncomfortable in your bra, there is probably some sort of problem and trying on new sizes is the only way to fix it, with or without a knowledgeable person to stare at your naked breasts.

The ennui coincidence

Check out what Lee pointed out to me:



Such an amazing coincidence! I love ennui. I have ennui. My name should be "ennui."

Usually that is fine, but today, sorry lady, I have ennui

Probably it's clear to all of you at this point that I've decided that the Gilmore Girls, and watching them incessantly to the detriment of the rest of my life, are one of life's joys and necessities. Today, the topic is the final episode of season 1 (Love, daisies, and troubadours), right at the beginning when Lorelai comes into the inn to find Michel not answering the phone. This is when he says one of my favorite Michel lines of all time (and that's saying something):

Look, I've made my peace with the fact that everyone who calls here is a notch above brain dead, and that the pennies I am thrown each week are in exchange for me dealing with these people in a nonviolent manner. And usually that is fine, but today, sorry lady, I have ennui.

He defines "ennui" as "existential angst." This is how it's defined by merriam-webster:

Main Entry:en·nui : a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction : boredom

Pronunciation:\ˌän-ˈwē\

Function:noun

Etymology:French, from Old French enui annoyance, from enuier to vex, from Late Latin inodiare to make loathsome — more at annoy

Date:1732

I'd prefer that it be referred to as existential angst. I spent the rest of my weekend telling Kevin, whenever asked what was the matter, that I had ennui. It turns out that mine was more like Sookie's, which dispersed as soon as she told a little joke:

Sookie: You look happy.

Lorelai: Oh, well… what's the opposite of ennui?

Sookie: [pauses] Off-ui. [giggles] Oh, hey, I'm cured!

Golf carts make things fun.

So, for all of you out there in the internet world who don't know, my in-laws, whom I love, live in a golf-cart community. A crazy conservative golf cart community with beautiful tree-covered cart paths that take you anywhere from the grocery store to church to the high school to the various community festivals. There's also a lake from which my father-in-law recently caught an 8 pound bass (another story from another time). Now, the key phrase for you to keep in mind about the previous two sentences is, "various community festivals." I spent the 4th of July there. I wore patriotic colors to blend in. Now, first there was a parade, like any other (aside from a series of Christian floats like this, the only one I took a picture of...they're fishers of men...Yay) but you just ride your little cart up to the line and you're right there. So, the next thing that's exciting about the whole situation , aside from parades and free food everywhere and just general good times, is the golf carts themselves. Here are a few examples. And here's ours. Finally, comes the fireworks display! The lake means that you can see these fireworks from so many different places that it's not crowded (that's right, our cart had a light-up flag) and there are food vendors and, man oh man, if it weren't for the commute and the fact that I would have to make that commute in order to hang out with people who don't care that I don't care for our president, I would live in this place. Just wait until you see what they do at Christmas!