Concerns over 'the perfect gift for Paul' are forever erased

Apparently, wombats are popular in more than one New Orleans household. Thanks to a local wombat-fan's post, we found this wonderful website.

With a wombat giftstore. Paul will never be short of silly t-shirts again.

Let's go see the stars!

I saw this meme on Charlotte's blog and it made my night. I had to keep the entertainment high and continue it here.

The Rules:
Post a quotation from 15 of your favorite movies. (Use IMDB if you need a little help.)
Fill in the film title when it’s guessed (guessers leave your answers in the comments) or when it’s evident no one can guess it.
No cheating with Google, etc!


1. "I always think there's a band, kid."
What movie would you chose if there were only one movie you could have to watch for the rest of your life? For me, it's The Music Man. The line above is toward the end, when Harold Hill has been discovered, and admits that his passion for The Band is real... even if the actual teaching and use of the instruments is not. Picking a scene from this movie as a favorite is like choosing between children. But the universality of 'Ya Got Trouble,' drumming up suspicion out of air over nothing, wins out:



2. "Lick it up, baby. Lick it up."
Eli, you made my day! Mean girls couldn't touch Heathers. Here's a clip with another of my favorite lines... because I wasn't able to easily find the party scene above:



3. "Fasten your seat belts. It's gonna be a bumpy night."
One of Bette Davis' most famous screen lines, as Margo Channing in All About Eve. (If it weren't for "What a dump!" from Beyond the Forest, I'd say it was her most famous.) Guessed correctly by Melanie and Charlotte! (Can you believe that Paul has never seen this movie?) Here is the clip:


4. "We plunged into the cornucopia quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice."
Yes, Eli! A Christmas Story! My family has quoted this movie over and over for nearly 20 years; and we refer to the opening of presents as, "are you ready to start the unbridled avarice?" Although I was really attempted to use the line, "FRA-GEE-LAY... it must be Italian!" something said in our house every time a package arrives. Here's the arrival of The Lamp...


5. "After all... tomorrow is another day."
Ariail guessed correctly, it's the last line of Gone With the Wind. The last 2 1/2 minutes of the movie are here:



6. "All I do is dream of you the whole night through; with the dawn I still go on, dreaming of you. You're every thought, you're everything, you're every song I ever sing; summer, winter, autumn and spring. And were there more than twenty four hours a day; they'd be spent in sweet content dreaming away; when skies are grey, when skies are blue; morning, noon and night time too; all I do the whole day through is dream of you."
This song is done twice in the movie. Once by Debbie Reynolds and the Coconut Grove Girls and then again dreamily by Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. I couldn't find the Kelly version of it from the movie, so here is another of my favorite scenes:



7. "Remember, George, no man is a failure who has friends."
The angel, Clarence, in It's a Wonderful Life. LibraryGhost got it. The end of the movie is here. Just try and watch it and not get a little teary.


8. "I'll never let anybody put me in a cage!" (Another hint: "Holly, you're drunk.")
I used to fancy that I was named after Holly Golightly (one could say 'we're both poor slobs'), although Tiffany's really isn't my ideal place. Melanie & Charlotte guessed Breakfast at Tiffany's correctly!

9. "Nasty smelly things, motorcars!"
Eli, you rock! Grandpa says this to his son Caractacus Potts and his grandchildren, Jeremy & Jemima, as they drive away for the very first time in their newly repaired motorcar, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. You can see the theme song here. But for the link below, I'm posting Hushabye Mountain, which is one of the songs I sing to the kids before bed each night.



10. "Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. But we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions."
The letter left for Mr. Vernon by The Breakfast Club. Guessed by Shrimpfriedrice. I really wanted to leave a different line, ("That man is a brownie hound" along with something from Ally Sheedy... "I'm not a nymphomaniac, I'm a complusive liar" are the lines that stand out in my head from the movie) but thought it would be too hard to guess. Here's the trailer:



11. "I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."
Maybe the most romantic moment in any movie. Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally. Guessed by LibraryGhost. Here it is:


12. "Lightning. Fire. The power of God or something."
Eli again -- Raiders of the Lost Ark! I have this movie on the brain right now, as the 4th is due out and Marian is back... perhaps with Indy's child? I like the trailer because it has another great line, "I dunno... I'm making this up as I go along." The most quoted lines from this movie in our family are from the character Sallah "I am missing you already," and "water? you want water? I will bring you some" which my Dad likes to say in a big John Rhys-Davies booming voice. Here's the trailer:


13. "But they showed no corrections of any kind. Not one. He had simply written down music already finished in his head. Page after page of it as if he were just taking dictation. And music, finished as no music is ever finished. Displace one note and there would be diminishment. Displace one phrase and the structure would fall."
LibraryGhost got this one, too. Spoken by Salieri, the fantastic fan and villain in Amadeus, the movie based on the Peter Shaffer play (Salieri is one the best written roles for men, in my opinion). Here's the scene:


14. "The defendant is not guilty - but somebody in this courtroom is. Now, gentlemen, in this country, our courts are the great levelers. In our courts, all men are created equal. I'm no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courts and of our jury system - that's no ideal to me. That is a living, working reality! Now I am confident that you gentlemen will review, without passion, the evidence that you have heard, come to a decision and restore this man to his family. In the name of GOD, do your duty."
The words of Atticus Fitch as played by Gregory Peck in the film adaptation of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. Yeah, Melanie! Also the story and movie which inspired the name for my cat (Scout). Although the courtroom scene where everyone stands is the most powerful moment (in my eyes), here is Atticus in his closing statements:


15. "We're gonna need a bigger boat."
JAWS 1975. (Thanks, shrimpfriedrice!) The line is a little over 2 minutes into this original movie trailer:

Making The World a Bit Brighter

Improv Everywhere is a theatre group who insert performance into regular life... depending on your view, it can be hilarious, annoying, eye-catching, surprising, or maybe even creepy? I think it's brilliant.

Their most recent performance was making a Little League game a Big League event... with professional announcers, blimp, free snacks from vendors, and of course, plenty of fans. Watch the video before you read the glowing and thankful comments from parents, though. I didn't and ended up having to reach for the Kleenex.



Better copy available on the Improv Everyday website.

Gear shopping...

... stresses me out.

I've been avoiding the fact that I still don't have a voice recorder. I have IRB... but don't have a recording device. Today was a research day.... gear research. It feels indulgent.

After Ipod research and review, I think I'm going with a $100-or-less Olympus digital voice recorder. It does everything I need, without attachments and things to loose. I don't need an Ipod and don't want to mess with all the gadgets required for voice recording. I'm trying to decide between a few models and force myself to order tonight. I'm trying not to think of the cost of transcription... ugh.

Tripod research took at huge leap with the recommendation from my Aunt Deb, which lead me to this. Protective case/bag/backpack is the next consideration.

Slice Bali Ha'i in half? You're out of you're mind!

I'm researching thermostatic valves and fixtures for the bathroom (we've got to be able to get them cheaper than the crack-smoking local supplier!) and I decided to put the 'tube on actual live TV on the background, something we do only when staying in hotels. The guide showed that South Pacific was on, and while it's not my most favorite musical, (I prefer the actors from the original stage recording) it does have some of the finest music of any musical, so I put it on.

But what is this??? It's a television re-make with Harry Connick, Jr. (as Joe... sort of believable, but yet unbelievable that they managed to make a man so naturally pretty look so damn awful on screen) and Glenn Close. As Nellie. Seriously, Glenn Close! It's not the age that bothers me... it's that she's not acting her age. She's dumbed the part down as if she's "acting" young and it comes across as totally stupid. Just change a few words and add a few pounds to Honey Bun and work with it. But Bali Ha'i? They cut it in half. And Some Enchanted Evening? One of the most beautiful songs of the American Theatre? Utterly destroyed. As painful as that Kristi Lee country-take on Lennon/McCartney on American Idol. In a world with so many wonderful tenors, I have no idea why they didn't cast an Emile who could sing the part.

Some things are just sacred, people, and the MUSIC is what is sacred about South Pacific. The plot? No way, baby, have a field day. I've always hated that Joe gets killed (if not, he may recognize his idiocy and marry poor Liat, whose role is just to be used and abused, 'cause a white guy can't marry a woman of color, can he? That alone is good enough reason to NOT use the original plot in this day and age.) So change that end. Let Joe live, play up an aged Nellie if you want to go that way (something I like, in theory), and have a big wedding at the end with Bloody Mary throwing the party!

Generational Review

25 years ago: "Wow. Those big kids are SO COOL."

15 years ago: "Like, do you need a keyboardist?"

5 years ago: "Look, Honey! Remember when we were all funky and offbeat and alternative?"

Today: "Wow. Do you think our kids will be that plucky when they are teenagers?"

Scale

Now that our "bathroom" and "laundry" are located all over the house while we renovate, the kids are finding all sorts of new play toys.

Will likes bottles of shampoo and cleaning supplies.

Kate likes toothbrushes. Actually, she LOVES toothbrushes.

But it's the scale that has really captured their imaginations. They could play with it for hours. It's a complicated model in that you have to put slight weight on it and quickly remove the weight for the scale to take a few seconds to calibrate... THEN you can put your full-self on to get your weight. The two-step system takes a bit of time to get used to, but finally Will has figured out that he doesn't weigh "E" and that he has to wait until he sees "0.0" before stepping on and getting an accurate read. Kate, on the other hand, is thrilled with whatever the scale displays. Mostly because she is standing on it just to copy whatever Will just did. The squeals of delight, gleeful dancing, and general happiness produced by this on-the-scale, off-the-scale game are mind boggling.

The side benefit is that we have good weights on the kids.

Will is 38.4 pounds. "Thirty-eight FOUR?!?" he says, as if those last four tenths of a pound amount to the weight of twelve kids. I've decided to try his strategy and must say that I like focusing on the tenths column much more than the rest. Score one for Little Man!

Kate, who officially turned 22 months on the 9th, is solidly 22 pounds. With a sweater, turtleneck, jeans, and shoes we can eek that weight up to 22.7 pounds, which is pretty respectable for a child who Goes To Eleven. It is nice when we can get the scale to read 22.7 for Kate, because Will reads it as "TWO TWO SEVEN!?!?" -- with my brain finishing "is the place to be, with Marla Gibbs and her fam-i-ly" as if on perfect cue. I had such a soft spot for Florence.

Passive aggressive crafting?

Can't think of something to get for the boss-from-hell's baby shower?

Boingboing says, " think of the incredible mental scars you could leave on your child by hanging this over her crib!"

Murphy's Law... last night was clear as crystal.

I just got home from a board meeting and apparently, I've missed all there was to see -- the cloud cover is too thick to see anything! Paul reports he and Will were able to see a little through the clouds earlier (from Will's bed, you can look through the transom on his back door and out the new skylight in the gutted section).

Last night it was clear and gorgeous, with full and open access to viewing the moon. We know, because we went out 4 times to watch for the eclipse (we'd miss-remembered the date).

We've got about 40 more minutes left... maybe we'll keep trying and hope some clouds clear for a sec... until then, I've been told that this site has a link to a live webcast of it, although I'm still looking to confirm...

I don't care how "low the water is" -- these people are crazy.

Yesterday afternoon, Will saw a picture of Mount Everest with hikers climbing around in some area low enough and far enough away that they were relatively mildly dressed and outfitted. It was such a causal picture that it almost didn't seem out of the ordinary for Will to suggest, "we should go hiking there one day." I explained that this was the tallest mountain in the world and that it was very far away and very dangerous. No matter, he was hooked: "Mommy, can we go there? Can we hike on the Tallest Mountain In The World???" (The fascination was extreme; he spoke those last words in Capital.)

Somewhere, the universe is laughing at me. Because the one thing I made Paul swear he would NEVER, under ANY circumstances take up was extreme mountaineering. I do not want to ever be in a position where I am biting my nails while someone I love is playing that roulette game with nature: the Into Thin Air IMAX convinced me of this. It would figure that Will is now fascinated with the idea of climbing Everest. (Mental Note: work on instilling fear of heights into children.)

We now have a second "No You CANNOT, Not EVER, NEVER." I don't care how the water is low and the current mild. This is crazy!
h/t: growabrain

On this Valentine's Day...

When I taught at Michigan, I used to put an overhead of this up on the board as students walked in when I had class on Valentines Day. Sort of sums up my thoughts on the whole Valentines thing*. It had a lot more bite to it in the days before Blood Diamond and was a great launch into discussing the paradigms around relationships.

Share it with someone you love on this Valentines Day. (You can find online copies of it here.)



Ten Reasons Why You Should Never Accept a Diamond Ring from Anyone, Under Any Circumstances, Even If They Really Want to Give You One.

By Liz Stanton, CPE Staff Economist

1. You’ve Been Psychologically Conditioned To Want a Diamond. The diamond engagement ring is a 63-year-old invention of N.W.Ayer advertising agency. The De Beers diamond cartel contracted N.W.Ayer to create a demand for what are, essentially, useless hunks of rock.

2. Diamonds are Priced Well Above Their Value. The De Beers cartel has systematically held diamond prices at levels far greater than their abundance would generate under anything even remotely resembling perfect competition. All diamonds not already under its control are bought by the cartel, and then the De Beers cartel carefully managed world diamond supply in order to keep prices steadily high.

3. Diamonds Have No Resale or Investment Value. Any diamond that you buy or receive will indeed be yours forever: De Beers™ advertising deliberately brain-washed women not to sell; the steady price is a tool to prevent speculation in diamonds; and no dealer will buy a diamond from you. You can only sell it at a diamond purchasing center or a pawn shop where you will receive a tiny fraction of its original “value.”

4. Diamond Miners are Disproportionately Exposed to HIV/AIDS. Many diamond mining camps enforce all-male, no-family rules. Men contract HIV/AIDS from camp sex-workers, while women married to miners have no access to employment, no income outside of their husbands and no bargaining power for negotiating safe sex, and thus are at extremely high risk of contracting HIV.

5. Open-Pit Diamond Mines Pose Environmental Threats. Diamond mines are open pits where salts, heavy minerals, organisms, oil, and chemicals from mining equipment freely leach into ground-water, endangering people in nearby mining camps and villages, as well as downstream plants and animals.

6. Diamond Mine-Owners Violate Indigenous People’s Rights. Diamond mines in Australia, Canada, India and many countries in Africa are situated on lands traditionally associated with indigenous peoples. Many of these communities have been displaced, while others remain, often at great cost to their health, livelihoods and traditional cultures.

7. Slave Laborers Cut and Polish Diamonds. More than one-half of the world’s diamonds are processed in India where many of the cutters and polishers are bonded child laborers. Bonded children work to pay off the debts of their relatives, often unsuccessfully. When they reach adulthood their debt is passed on to their younger siblings or to their own children.

8. Conflict Diamonds Fund Civil Wars in Africa. There is no reliable way to insure that your diamond was not mined or stolen by government or rebel military forces in order to finance civil conflict. Conflict diamonds are traded either for guns or for cash to pay and feed soldiers.

9. Diamond Wars are Fought Using Child Warriors. Many diamond producing governments and rebel forces use children as soldiers, laborers in military camps, and sex slaves. Child soldiers are given drugs to overcome their fear and reluctance to participate in atrocities.

10. Small Arms Trade is Intimately Related to Diamond Smuggling. Illicit diamonds inflame the clandestine trade of small arms. There are 500 million small arms in the world today which are used to kill 500,000 people annually, the vast majority of whom are non-combatants.

References:

* Collier, Paul, “Economic Causes of Civil Conflict and Their Implications for Policy,” World Bank, June 15, 2000.
* Epstein, Edward Jay, “Have You Ever Tried to Sell a Diamond?“, The Atlantic Monthly, February 1982.
* Global Witness, “Conflict Diamonds: Possibilities for the Identification, Certification and Control of Diamonds,” A Briefing Document, June 2000.
* Human Rights Watch/Asia, “The Small Hands of Slavery: Bonded Child Labor In India,” Human Rights Watch Children’s Rights Project.
* Human Rights Watch, “Children’s Rights: Stop the Use of Child Soldiers.”
* Kerlin, Katherine “Diamonds Aren’t Forever: Environmental Degradation and Civil War in the Gem Trade,” E: The Environment Magazine.
* Le Billon, Philippe, “Angola’s Political Economy of War: The Role of Oil and Diamonds, 1975-2000,” African Affairs, (2001), 100, p.55-80
* Mines and Communities, “The Mining Curse: The roles of mining in ‘underdeveloped’ economies,” Minewatch Asia Pacific/Nostromo Briefing Paper, February 1999.
* Other Facets, Number 1, April 2001; Number 2, June 2001; Number 3, October 2001, www.partnershipafricacanada.org/hsdp/of.html [dead link]


*Full disclosure: I do own a diamond that I consider to be one of the most precious things we have. It was Paul's Grandmother's engagement ring from the 1920s, set in a completely one-of-a-kind ring that she designed. I like to think that it holds a bit more innocence for it's age, originality, and family history. But hey, I eat meat, heat my house, take long showers, and own clothes that came from maquilas, so I am in no way innocent. Even still: I have never bought a diamond.

Dusty and Stormy

We're home. It's dusty. Very dusty. Big dirt from the demo came through the walls into the bedrooms... we planned on me returning early this morning to bring the kids right to school so that I could have a few hours to clean before the kids were in the house. (Thank goodness for the IRB- related downtime.)

We are down to one tiny tiny bathroom in the front of the house. Stuff is packed everywhere. Other stuff is in the new section, covered in dust. The washer and dryer (complete with a dent from a falling beam) are still in the gutted section -- Paul was reluctant to take these away without being ready to hook them up in the new section. They won't stay in the new section, he's just putting together a temporary location.

The next few months of renovation/construction are going to be the worst.

---
In the midst of the afternoon cleaning, we were visited by a the-end-is-near type storm. There were a few moments where we paused to listen if we were hearing a tornado, but the real excitement came from the leaks in the new ceiling. From all three skylights. The good news is that Paul investigated and feels that the wind was pushing the layers up and water under (it's still only the first layer up there) and feels confident that it will be fine... but he's still checking with the expert guy at the local supplier warehouse tomorrow.

Paul is doing well from the weekend warrior marathon... despite stepping on two nails which went through his shoe and deep into his foot.

---
In other more topical news, this completely inappropriate bit of fun had me in stitches.

This totally freaks me out.

There is no way I'm ready for a return of the New Kids.

Piles it Higher and Deeper Reflects on NOLA

The guy who draws PhD Comics, Jorge Cham, came through New Orleans on a trip to the Gulf Coast and wrote a comic about some of what he heard and saw in his most recent installment. Click on the comic to go directly to it on the web:

Tin Roof, Rusted (Part II): Party Conversations

One of the people I most enjoyed was a wife of one of Paul's cooler co-workers, who is the Department head of the Math Department of a local high school and teaches AP Calculus and AP Statistics. She and I were discussing the importance of women in Mathematics and Sciences when she came out with this: "I have a class of 28, and each year, about 21 of them are female and all of them consistently outperform their male peers. Our student government is always female. So what I want to know is: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN COLLEGE????"

A brilliant question placed so nicely within the observations and experiences of someone who faces it everyday. What is happening to women?

Once upon a time, Paul and I made similar observations about friends and acquaintences, noticing that they shared the same college: we joked that this particular university had a curious way of beating dreams and aspirations out of women. This particular university is also well-known for having faculty who openly have flirtations and affairs with students -- and write about it -- and maybe this isn't a coincidence. What happens in college, and what happens after, and why is it so toxic to the promising potential in the talents of women?

Maybe it isn't necessarily what happens in college, but is instead what happens afterward? She gets hired by Company X and gets stuck working with the guy with the roaming hands. This guy is pervasive everywhere and is typically one that everyone seems to like (or is maybe tolerated out of some strange peer-pressure fear), and while it's well-known that he is inappropriate, he remains untouched by an indifferent management (make the environment more friendly to women? what is that a requirement of management?) Worse, he may be her boss. Or, her boss totally ignores her, calling in for the first time on the day she resigns. She gets paid less than her male peers, receives less promotions, and is hounded on her personal life (marriage and kids makes a working girl distracted, ya know.) Are all of these things illegal? Well, maybe, but they are all active and real... as part of corporate culture as power ties and pumps. Maybe my use of the word 'corporate' unfairly fingers business, which is not my intent: it is even worse in academia.

So what does the world offer to women, professionally? Well, I'd argue it offers all that it offers to a man -- at a reduced pay, of course -- IF the woman is willing to act like a man.

For a woman to be successful, she must remain aloof, act tough, rough, and hard (which will label her a "cold bitch" but is preferred to the alternative, patronizing treatment). She is constantly observed for signs of female-ness: did she marry, buy a house, or (gasp!) have a baby!? These are all connected to risk within the robot-male business model, where one must have no emotion to any thing but the job, dedicate all time to it, and reject life outside of work. Forget that 30 hours a week of work is the most efficient, connected to more completed in a work week, healthier employees, and a better overall company: you are required to be at work, even if you're not doing anything at all, 12 hours a day, everyday. Not performing at this level is a feminine slip, a sign of weakness, and shows lack of dedication. Want to push back that 4pm meeting to 3pm so that you can make Tommy's soccer game? Tisk, tisk... your priorities are all messed up. (Incidentally, if your male boss makes the same request, he's just "being a good Dad.")

A day of sexual harassment, hours and hours of extra work with little reward, pay out of whack with peers, and diminished opportunities for advancement... who would willing and openly choose this life? Staying home with babies (who actually need to be with their Mothers for more than the ridiculous 6-week window) does not sound like a "choice" but a rational path made by smart women who are lucky to have enough resources available to them so that they do not have to endure the torture of a sexist, hostile work environment.

If the work world was structured to be family friendly: to offer part-time opportunities with benefits (or have university health care so that benefits were not a requirement for families), and work options that allowed for quality jobs with less hours and more flexibility; if maternity leave was reasonable; if childcare was affordable and on-site for nursing mothers... in short, if women and families were valued, then I believe more women would remain in professional positions in all fields. Women "choose" to leave the work force because there is no other choice to make. I don't think it a coincidence that so many women have part-time independent businesses, photography studios, craft endeavors, design consultant services: these are flexible areas where women can control their professional lives. Signs that women want to continue to develop themselves outside of their family identity and responsibilities, but cannot do so in the professional world. So they look for other places to do so.

So what happens to women to take them out of mathematics and sciences (and the professional world, in general?) Well, they get beaten. Enough licks and anyone with a ripcord will pull it to get out.

The whole situation sucks for men, too, who are expected to work, expected to find well-paid employment to support a family, expected to work too much, and expected to not notice that they are missed at home. What would it take to re-think how we work and who we expect to work? Is it too much to encourage young women to think beyond a life in homemaking and allow men to pursue art or craft-making without looking at him as irresponsible?

Tin Roof, Rusted

Not really. Just thought it summed up the weekend.

We're back. Some lessons:

-- Flying without children is a treat, no matter what happens. You can sleep, read, use the bathroom, and actually have that bag of pretzels and cranberry juice from the attendant. These are true luxuries, even when they happen in coach.
-- Shots pushed into your hand from someone who maybe a boss of your spouse is a very different type of peer pressure. Especially when you're the one in the room giving out Mardi Gras beads.
-- I have become the one who can handle cold. Paul complained of impending frostbite in the 20-degree weather on Sunday (granted, that hard wind was bitter, and I was dragging him all over monuments on exposed hillsides) while I surrendered winter gear to ease his pain. Make no mistake: the cold still hurts, but I didn't find it particularly bad -- and my ears were as exposed as Paul's and I was wearing less layers and a lighter jacket. Still, I was shocked when (I-love-hockey) Paul admitted, "there is no way we can ever move to back Michigan." Either he drank so much the night before that his thinned blood couldn't take the cold, or my cross-campus marathons over iced paths and brutal winds hardened me more than I thought. It was a surprise: as long as the sun is shining, 20 degrees and freezing winds are no huge deal to me.
-- We really do love DC. We mean that as DC, the area across the Potomac, where one is taxed without representation. There is no great desire to live there, although we admit that living in the District would not destroy us. Paul is perhaps less interested in the idea as me (and by interested, we mean "not 100% against the idea as something to do if we had to" and by had to, we mean "otherwise would suffer ignoble destruction") -- mostly this is because he is certain that the likelihood of the city being hit by a Really Big Bomb in our lifetime is at the same level of risk of New Orleans' flooding once again. We've done one of the two and would like to stay with experience.


The point of the trip was for Paul and I to attend his company's post-holiday ("no, we always planned it to be a post-holiday") party. Thank goodness for the post-holiday idea, which is a brilliant one. Bummer was that it coincided with Krewe du Vieux and blasted those plans. But it was too hard to not take the opportunity: professionally, socially, politically.

The party was at Clarendon Grill, set in a flashy area of Northern Virginia located near Metro stops and built up with all the accouterments of the urban yuppy: huge Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrel, Whole Foods, Container Store, and even an Apple Store... all glowing new and shiny with 'clean lines' and 'simple design.' It's a fun area; young and hip, single and swinging. The hotel was perched on a hillside 2-blocks from Courthouse Metro and offered easy access to all the area's offerings.

The party was fun, mostly because of some really cool and interesting co-workers. The rest of the fun was due to the incredible band, Gonzo's Nose, a local cover band... a really, really, reeeally good cover band. You can't have a bad time when them on the stage, nor can you avoid the dance floor all night (although Paul gave a valiant attempt, he eventually gave in over "Jessie's Girl" and once broken in, became a permanent fixture to the pit). We brought throws in the requisite Endymion bag... beads of all types, a light-up crawfish, a few spears and tomahawks, Frisbees, some stuffed toys. Just a little NOLA spirit going out in party shwag.

Thoughts on difference, choice, and education

We enjoyed having Valerie, Eric, and baby Diego with us this past week. We especially enjoyed watching Will and Kate interact with a baby in their house: Will was watchful, gentle, sweet, and concerned (just as he had been with Kate) and Kate was curious and, as with everything else, followed Will's lead. Here's Eric reading an Elmo book to Kate (in the cowgirl hat) as baby Diego listens in:
Something unique about Diego is that he was born with one arm. His right arm did not fully develop in utero, leaving him with a very small hand on a small arm. As a family, they endured countless needless tests and exams, multiple doctors looking for other "problems" based on this one difference. I can only imagine how frustrating this must have been; it is stressful enough becoming a parent without having to advocate for your baby to be respected simply for who he is. Sometimes, it seems that children with differences are not seen past their differences. We all have personalities, characteristics, and physical differences that give us group diversity; I have a hard time with the tendency to put those with physical or cognitive differences that create challenges to ability in a completely other group.

Will was naturally curious about Diego's arm and hand (he said it was "cute") and Valerie brought up the well-fitted example of Finding Nemo, where Nemo had one fin that was smaller than the other. The example made sense to Will, who got that Diego was just like any other baby, and that was that.

But the whole thing got me thinking. Right now, Will shares his school with children who have cognitive and physical differences. Indeed, the Reggio approach prioritizes children with differences as an important and essential part of its programs. But how long will this last? As we consider schools for our kids, I realize that finding out about how a school handles differences in ability isn't something I asked or even remembered to think about.

My junior high/high school had a special needs class completely separate from the rest of the school -- in a hallway on a floor rarely used, out of the way from the main areas. We rarely saw these students; sometimes there would be a class session where one or two might be in the room. But there was no interaction. The whole set-up seemed to give lip service to the idea of inclusion, but really, was designed to have as little distraction as possible on the comings and goings of the general school. And that was really unfortunate.

What would have happened if inclusion was better prioritized in this environment? Would my fellow students and I have learned more patience and be better at friendship? Would we have gained skills in listening, empathy, and respect? I believe so; for these are the lessons we learn when we stop to consider the world from another's point of view.


***

A variety of excellent work has shown how the concept of "choice" has been warped by social standards and values. One of the side effects of choice (and I should note that I am, unabashedly and completely in support of reproductive choice in every situation) -- is that women are judged for the choices they make regarding children. Choice of when to have a baby is closely tied to choice regarding what kind of baby to have. For example, every woman over the age of 35 is automatically referred a genetic counselor for invasive testing of her fetus. This is because the risk of genetic differences, Down's Syndrome in particular, increase in women over the age of 35. While there may be good reason to know if your child will have a condition that may require special care and knowing beforehand may help preparation, the practice seems more connected to the question "is this child normal" than to "how can I prepare for whatever this child may be." And what does genetic testing reveal? A list of percentages of risk related to a range of issues that may be present in the growing baby. You are presented a gamble, a numbers game that ultimately asks how much are you willing to risk that your child won't be the 100% standard kid. If you take this gamble and do have a child that is different, you are stigmatized for this "choice" because you were warned. The thing about having a choice (and I have a hard time using that word within the issue of reproduction since, in truth, very few situations involve choice in the liberal sense) -- is that when you are seen as having a choice, there is the possibility of not choosing the right one.

I did the triple screen with Will and when it came back abnormal, I was automatically referred to a genetic counselor for an appointment that included a consultation and amniocentesis "if, after the consultation, I decided to go ahead with it." I canceled the appointment on the spot. I did this because I knew that I was going to love my baby, no matter what, and I didn't want to deal with the frustrations and fears around the possibilities of problems. Having a baby is scary no matter what and regardless of who that child is, the parent will feel fear, uncertainty, and frustration. As it turned out, my dates were wrong and caused a false positive in the test (something that is exceedingly common with the triple screen.) With Kate, I declined this prenatal test and had to sign a variety of forms certifying that I didn't want screening. In short, I had to resolve anyone of responsibility: if my baby was born "different," I'd have no one to blame but myself.

I say all of this because I am troubled by the lack of respect we have for differences in each other and deeply bothered by the continued move to erasing differences in each new generation. While I try to teach my children to value diversity and appreciate others, I hope that they can find formative experiences in their schools to enhance these lessons.

Indecisive No More

In our house, we are decidedly undecided about everything regarding the primaries. Because really, does it matter? Will our votes really sway the Louisiana electoral college to go blue? Seriously?

But if we could dream, who would we choose? No idea. In one of the first elections where I could vote, I remember discussing that we start a movement for all to join the Cherokee Nation, so that we could have Wilma Mankiller as President (I can't take credit for the idea, as I probably picked up the idea in Ms. magazine or something). The point is, if I was that disenchanted during the Daddy Bush/Clinton years, there really isn't much hope for me now.

But surprise: we have come to a decision on the next presidental election. If Mike Huckabee becomes President of the U.S., we are leaving the country. We can take Katrina, crime, awful schools and expense, but Mike Huckabee? No way.

On this birthday

After letting me sleep in, Paul greeted me with a tidbit from this morning's NPR show, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me. The show deals with quirky current events and includes a game where a contestant listens to three different stories linked by a common theme and chooses which of the three is the one that is true (the other two being made-up stories).

This morning, the stories were on the subject of patents taken out for various devices related to birth (hence why Paul thought it appropriate, it being my birthday and all). Guest panelist Paula Poundstone's contribution to the three stories of "Unlikely Patents," was the following paraphrased description of a possible patent:

A machine which uses centripetal force on a birthing mother by spinning her around and around to lessen how hard the mother has to push when delivering a baby.

Yikes.

Sorry, folks, someone holds the patent to that yet unmade device. I shudder to think what horrors the made-up stories held.

On that note: thanks, Mom.

Surprise!

A surprise email came in this morning from Nairobi. Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles! Committee member number 4 is back to Nairobi from far west Kenya, got my last draft (sent last night), says it looks great, has no concerns or comments, and will be available this afternoon for the defense! (Although it will be 11pm her time; she's 9 hours ahead.) Yesterday, we thought we were just going to go with the requisite 3 members and press on. So today will be a great test of Kenyan mobile phone service (very pertinent since this is a main research interest of said committee member). I cannot believe that this is working out.

One issue remains.

I realized that the one Very Important Detail I had completely looked over was my outfit. I'm a bit of a clothes horse (what can I say? I've got a theatre background... it's all about the costume). Having forgotten about the outfit was a new one for me. Maybe it wasn't so much forgetting as not having time to think about it.

Once upon a time, in a world without children, I possessed a fabulous wardrobe comprised of gorgeous hand-me downs from my Mother's exquisite professional collection (my Mom is the Queen of classy dressing) and beautiful suits that said Mommy bought for me to use for the various wedding-related things that happened the summer Paul and I got married (thanks, Mom!) I used these outfits for Every Single Special Event I attended over several years... until I got pregnant. I finally gave up the ghost this summer (let's face it, I'll never be able to button a size 8 blouse again) and donated or consigned the bulk of my professional collection (worn when I worked for the Government). I kept those wedding-summer outfits because they are just too good to part with. Maybe Kate will wear them someday. (Don't laugh: a major portion of that professional collection were clothes that my Mom saved from when I was as young as Kate is now. And those who know me from high school know that I wore outfits from my Mom's high school days -- straight outta Grandma Betty's closet -- all the time.)

But today, in the here and now, I am woefully lacking in the wardrobe apartment. I've been a grad student or working in contexts where fancy dress is not appropriate for so long that I have nothing respectable to call on.

For the Bat Mitzvah last October, I bought a pair of dress shoes (the only ones I own... bright red patent leather flats that are awesome*), a beautiful pair of part-silk brown pants from Talbots (hugely on sale) and a fancy orange v-neck sweater (also on sale). I dressed it up with a scarf I bought years ago in India and pulled it all together to be just fancy enough for the party. The one issue... I didn't have time to go to the Bead Store and make jewelry to accent the ensemble.

It isn't the best outfit for a defense, but this morning I thought I could wear it, if I could finish the jewelry. I made a necklace weeks ago (the nicest one I've made yet) with wooden beads of different shapes and colors. But I wasn't sure about doing the crimps on the ends and didn't think I had the right materials to finish it off. My intent was to visit Georgia on the way downtown to finish it. But this morning, I had to play with it... so I took it out, decided to add a little length, took off the tape securing the edge... and dropped it. Beads went everywhere. No more necklace. *sigh*

What else do I have? I'm not even sure. The brown pants are the only nice pants I have. I do have a white blouse (really cool, ties in the center) also from that Talbots sale. But it needs ironing (it's washable, but requires ironing afterward). This is a problem as we do not own an iron or an ironing board. Maybe I can go to a neighbor's and iron it there? But will it even work with the pants? (It would be best with a more fitted black pant.)

Oh, and then, there is the issue of my hair. Which has not been cut, highlighted, styled, or otherwise by anyone qualified in almost 9 months. Do I even own makeup? I'm fairly certain that there is no lipstick of any variety within my entire house. I did give myself a little manicure last week, so at least my nails aren't offensive. In my defense, I at least was thinking about my hair... I asked Paul a few weeks back if I should cut it, or color it (I've done highlights about once a year for about 10 years), or something different? I think he's exact words were "hair? what hair? you've got hair?"

Bright side: I'm no longer worried about the defense. I'm worried that I'll look like myself: a woman who has not spent an ounce of time or effort on her appearance in over 7 years.

*I have not tried on the shoes since I broke the foot. I still cannot wear the majority of my shoes and am terrified of the reality that these will kill my right foot. My back-up plan is to wear a slipper or something to the room and then just ignore the binding pain for the defense. I just have to stand in one place, so it shouldn't be too bad...