Why, oh why do I continue to read the fiction in the New Yorker? Why, when it continues to be, without fail, depressive literature? Not just depressive- bleak is more accurate. Characters wandering through their lives as ghosts of real people, their dreary existences mapped by failures and/or misfortune, or at best oddities.
Recent yarns I have read include: A story about a boy who makes it his life's goal, quite apropos of nothing, to press his lips to every square inch of his body- he actually snaps vertebrae in the process; A tale of a put upon guy with an asthmatic toddler, his ex-wife hateful and hurtful, his job and carpool mates a miserable mess; A remembrance of two college girls, from different backgrounds, interested in the same man- one of them settles for small town boredom (after the man had chosen the other girl), and dreams about what life had been like they been together, only to meet the man on a train many years later, and discover he's really not all that great after all; And a dizzying story in which a man's mid-life to death is reduced to half-remembered flashes of drunken nights and never quite knowing what in his life he really has had any control over- told in a rapid succession of seemingly overlapping memories, unsettling as it is confusing.
Even a piece by Stephen King a while back- I wasn't expecting happy go lucky, but maybe something scary or suspenseful to break up the monotony. But no, it was a simple piece about a man waiting in his car on a very hot day, while his wife goes into a convenience store. She proceeds to have a heart attack and die in the store. He goes in and is consoled by the people in the store, and stays around just long enough so that when he leaves to go to the hospital to claim his wife's body- he returns to his car to find he had forgotten the dog had been in there and is now dead as well. Sigh.
It's not that these stories aren't compelling, or poorly written. The fact that I have plowed my way through them, despite the somber subject matter, speaks to the fact that they are clearly interesting pieces. And maybe I read them, hoping for a little sunshine to peak through somewhere. A little joy... perhaps some whimsy. It's gotta happen sooner or later, right? I suppose I'll just keep reading to find out.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Confessions of a new dad, vol. 31: That old feeling...
I've seen, many times, when mothers (maybe some dads too, but mostly I notice this in moms) are around another new baby, it's always, "Oh I remember this!" Or "I miss this..." I just didn't think something similar would happen to me.
It's such a great and rewarding experience to see your child grow, and develop, and change before your eyes. Her personality coming through, her increased response to you and things around her are just amazing. So why in less than a year's time do I find myself pining for small babies when I see them on the street, or the train. Or when a picture of K from the first few months pops up on the computer, I get that pang of longing... longing for what though, I can't exactly say.
Do I want another little baby already? My wife and aren't sure at this point if we even want another child. I mean, we lightheartedly discuss it sometimes as we lie semi-comatose across from one another on the couch at the end of another exhausting, yet all too normal day. But at this point I can't even realistically imagine such a thing. Or is that I just want my current little nugget to shrink back down to when things were simpler? To relive the innocence? Of course there's a part of me that misses that time, but really I wouldn't want to trade the stage we are at with her now for anything. Ask me again when she's thirteen.
So what is it about seeing a tiny baby that gives me that ache? Probably the fact that it's not my baby. The fact that I can be free to look, maybe even cradle him/her in my arms, without having to give the whole of myself to this little being. It's the fantasy of having another baby- all the coos and tiny appendages- without the reality- the middle of the night feedings, etc. So until that time comes, when reality sets in (or doesn't)- I'll just be the baby gawker. Living vicariously through other parents' and their teeny tinies, while enjoying my ever-growing one.
It's such a great and rewarding experience to see your child grow, and develop, and change before your eyes. Her personality coming through, her increased response to you and things around her are just amazing. So why in less than a year's time do I find myself pining for small babies when I see them on the street, or the train. Or when a picture of K from the first few months pops up on the computer, I get that pang of longing... longing for what though, I can't exactly say.
Do I want another little baby already? My wife and aren't sure at this point if we even want another child. I mean, we lightheartedly discuss it sometimes as we lie semi-comatose across from one another on the couch at the end of another exhausting, yet all too normal day. But at this point I can't even realistically imagine such a thing. Or is that I just want my current little nugget to shrink back down to when things were simpler? To relive the innocence? Of course there's a part of me that misses that time, but really I wouldn't want to trade the stage we are at with her now for anything. Ask me again when she's thirteen.
So what is it about seeing a tiny baby that gives me that ache? Probably the fact that it's not my baby. The fact that I can be free to look, maybe even cradle him/her in my arms, without having to give the whole of myself to this little being. It's the fantasy of having another baby- all the coos and tiny appendages- without the reality- the middle of the night feedings, etc. So until that time comes, when reality sets in (or doesn't)- I'll just be the baby gawker. Living vicariously through other parents' and their teeny tinies, while enjoying my ever-growing one.
My friend Kerry of Citizen Kerry asked me to be a part of her on-going discussion on the WSJ article “Where Have All the Good Men Gone?” Thanks to Citizen Kerry for including some of my thoughts, and linking OJAAT as well!
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
The High Road (Or the Blackberry never lies)
Why do people feel the need to be hostile? Or why is it, that for some people- hostility seems the easier path, than reasoning it out level headed-ly?
I was at an appointment the other day for physical therapy- when some lady limped in claiming to have an appointment, with the same therapist at the same time as me. Her go-to argument being, "But it's in my Blackberry!!" The girl at the front desk was calm and non-confrontational in trying revolve the situation. In the course of probably two and a half minutes, limpy lady stated that: She had made the appointment a week ago. Then: She had made the appointment a week and a half ago. And then: She had made the appointment two weeks ago. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she glared at the girl "I know you think this is very funny, because you keep shaking your head at me, but it's not!" The girl was just as confused as I was, as there was no laughter or insinuation this situation was funny at all. "I just spent $10 on a cab ride over here, what the..." was followed by "There's no way I would have scheduled an appointment last week, I had big clients in from Mexico for a few days." Then about a minute later, "I had really big clients in from Mexico all week last week."
I get it. It's frustrating when appointments get crossed. I would be put off, for sure. But when someone is trying to be helpful, why don't people realize that perhaps verbally abusing this person isn't the best way to get what you want out of the situation? It seems simple to me.
Well, eventually the girl at the front desk excused herself to go talk to the physical therapist about the situation, and gimpy chick huffed and puffed off to the side saying, "It's always something or another with this place, I should go somewhere else," all the while staring at her Blackberry- presumably at the appointment that the god of all schedules had apparently beamed into her electronic calendar. And when the therapist came out to tell her what the were going try and do, squeeze her in if she'd just wait a couple minutes, she kept interrupting accusingly (going back to the $10 cab ride argument in the process) as if he he was saying I am sorry you are not on the schedule please go home- which is what I wanted to say, as she was cutting into my appointment time. Which was both on my schedule and the physical therapist's schedule too. And when the situation had seemed to be corrected, there was no thank you. No awareness that her behavior was affecting anybody else's schedule but her own.
I like the saying, "If your lunch mate is nice to you, but not to the waiter- then they are not a nice person." This woman was not nice. It took a lot of restraint on my part not to say anything to this awful woman. And she was truly awful. Not my battle, I kept telling myself, not my business. This woman couldn't possibly wrap her mind around the fact that the mistake could have been her own. No way. Not when it was In her Blackberry. I have no idea what kind of baggage or issues, other than physical pain, this woman brought in with her, but there is no excuse in my book for treating someone as she did- especially when that someone is in the position to and trying to help. Perhaps "physical" isn't the only sort therapy she should be looking into. I realize I am far from a saint- judge not lest ye be judged, I once read somewhere... But I hope I am never as ugly to others as this woman was, and let's face it- probably is in other other aspects of her life. Ugh.
(Steps off his soap box, which was positioned very carefully, on very high ground)
I was at an appointment the other day for physical therapy- when some lady limped in claiming to have an appointment, with the same therapist at the same time as me. Her go-to argument being, "But it's in my Blackberry!!" The girl at the front desk was calm and non-confrontational in trying revolve the situation. In the course of probably two and a half minutes, limpy lady stated that: She had made the appointment a week ago. Then: She had made the appointment a week and a half ago. And then: She had made the appointment two weeks ago. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she glared at the girl "I know you think this is very funny, because you keep shaking your head at me, but it's not!" The girl was just as confused as I was, as there was no laughter or insinuation this situation was funny at all. "I just spent $10 on a cab ride over here, what the..." was followed by "There's no way I would have scheduled an appointment last week, I had big clients in from Mexico for a few days." Then about a minute later, "I had really big clients in from Mexico all week last week."
I get it. It's frustrating when appointments get crossed. I would be put off, for sure. But when someone is trying to be helpful, why don't people realize that perhaps verbally abusing this person isn't the best way to get what you want out of the situation? It seems simple to me.
Well, eventually the girl at the front desk excused herself to go talk to the physical therapist about the situation, and gimpy chick huffed and puffed off to the side saying, "It's always something or another with this place, I should go somewhere else," all the while staring at her Blackberry- presumably at the appointment that the god of all schedules had apparently beamed into her electronic calendar. And when the therapist came out to tell her what the were going try and do, squeeze her in if she'd just wait a couple minutes, she kept interrupting accusingly (going back to the $10 cab ride argument in the process) as if he he was saying I am sorry you are not on the schedule please go home- which is what I wanted to say, as she was cutting into my appointment time. Which was both on my schedule and the physical therapist's schedule too. And when the situation had seemed to be corrected, there was no thank you. No awareness that her behavior was affecting anybody else's schedule but her own.
I like the saying, "If your lunch mate is nice to you, but not to the waiter- then they are not a nice person." This woman was not nice. It took a lot of restraint on my part not to say anything to this awful woman. And she was truly awful. Not my battle, I kept telling myself, not my business. This woman couldn't possibly wrap her mind around the fact that the mistake could have been her own. No way. Not when it was In her Blackberry. I have no idea what kind of baggage or issues, other than physical pain, this woman brought in with her, but there is no excuse in my book for treating someone as she did- especially when that someone is in the position to and trying to help. Perhaps "physical" isn't the only sort therapy she should be looking into. I realize I am far from a saint- judge not lest ye be judged, I once read somewhere... But I hope I am never as ugly to others as this woman was, and let's face it- probably is in other other aspects of her life. Ugh.
(Steps off his soap box, which was positioned very carefully, on very high ground)
Friday, March 4, 2011
A lesson in 21st century Jungian Analysis
An overheard conversation on the train this morning between two teenage girls.
[Mid-sentence:]
"...and isn't having sex on the train illegal?"
"I dunno..."
"It's just weird, what a weird dream."
"It's weird."
"I know I was like, 'what'?"
"You should look it up on urban dictionary."
[end]
Which made me think, she should look what up on urban dictionary? Matters of legality? Symbolism and meaning in dreams? Yeah, urban dictionary is totally the first place I think of to go to get that kind of information. I'm not even aware of any purpose of urban dictionary, other to enlighten the reader as to the meaning and derivations of slang words and phrases. But what do I know, I'm old. Maybe there's some sort of secret section for teens where they log in and all is revealed to them. Life, love, investment strategy...
And anyway, I was eavesdropping... eavesdropping of course being a relative term since they were both less than a foot away from my ear, speaking at increased volume do to the fact that the entirety of their conversation took place wearing earphones, attached to their respective iPods with audible music emanating. Ah youth...
[Mid-sentence:]
"...and isn't having sex on the train illegal?"
"I dunno..."
"It's just weird, what a weird dream."
"It's weird."
"I know I was like, 'what'?"
"You should look it up on urban dictionary."
[end]
Which made me think, she should look what up on urban dictionary? Matters of legality? Symbolism and meaning in dreams? Yeah, urban dictionary is totally the first place I think of to go to get that kind of information. I'm not even aware of any purpose of urban dictionary, other to enlighten the reader as to the meaning and derivations of slang words and phrases. But what do I know, I'm old. Maybe there's some sort of secret section for teens where they log in and all is revealed to them. Life, love, investment strategy...
And anyway, I was eavesdropping... eavesdropping of course being a relative term since they were both less than a foot away from my ear, speaking at increased volume do to the fact that the entirety of their conversation took place wearing earphones, attached to their respective iPods with audible music emanating. Ah youth...
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Confessions of a new dad, vol. 30: Mobile mayhem
Mood music: The Who, "Going Mobile"
Getting ready in the morning, lounging around in the evening, preparing a meal... well, just about everything has changed now that our little Miss K has gone mobile. (Thanks Pete and Roger, I'll take it from here.)
Time was we could leave our little girl snug on the couch for second or two in the boppy, with little fear of her rolling off or causing any sort of calamity. Then when she started rolling over, the couch became off limits as a means of her minding herself. But she fit every so nicely in on the carpet, or in her little play gym. If she did move, it wasn't far and she had all she needed to keep herself entertained with dangling toys, not to mention her fingers and toes. Then rolling over turned into rolling and tumbling- a true means of transport. It may have taken her a while, but she could get from point A to point T(rouble) if she wanted to. But the grunts and sometimes little yelps that accompanied the little tumbleweed were alarm enough to know that she was on her way to no good- and in enough time to scoop her up or change her course.
Well, when the tumbleweed joined forces with the "army crawl" (using her arms to pull herself along like a soldier in the field) it spelled the beginning of the end of, let's call it, normalcy. Now she was able to get around a little swifter and quieter- opening her eyes to things all around her, now that her head was somewhat forward while she puttered along. Such as her feline brother Mickey Mantle, who was at once intrigued and terrified by the slow-moving mass coming towards him. It was during this phase that my candidacy for Parent of the Year hit full swing, when I happened to snooze for maybe two minutes one morning while "watching" her, only to find when my eyes opened that she had moved deftly across the room and pulled over the basket in which we keep (see also: kept) our cell phone chargers, with wires aplenty attached- and plugged in, mind you. So my POTY candidacy really did take off you see, what with the risks of electrocution and strangulation all rolled into one!
But we were still somewhat able to keep her entertained in various devices at that point- the exersaucer or the swing, or the like. But what came next- what we are dealing with now- is the full-fledged crawl. The crawl!!! And not only the crawl, but she can pull herself up willy-nilly on any object to a standing position thereby creating- literally- a whole new level of trouble for her to get into. The crawl happens fast. And it happens ever so quiet. So when you turn your back, and turn around again, she's made it into the foyer and pulled some of the books off of the bookshelf. Or she's found the one cord we haven't baby-proofed. Or she's dialed India on my cell phone- or at least the Indian take-out place up the street. Or neither, but you get my drift.
Now that she's mobile, she's not nearly as amenable to being kept one place by the exersaucer or the swing for any extended period of time. She's gotta move! So in the morning, when either my wife or myself has to care for her alone, while trying to get ourselves ready- it proves to be quite challenging. There's a lot of "keeping the ears open," and running from room to room so as to accomplish what we need to, yet not allowing her to find her way into the very things we try and keep her away from. There are only so many things you can block off with a baby gate. I've been looking through the baby-proofing aisles for some sort of tether-ball pole inspired leash sort of thing, where the most she could do is crawl around in circles. But oddly enough, I haven't found such a device. And when I am part of the team that designs it- my election to Parent of the Year will be a shoe-in.
P.S. I know it will only get worse when she starts walking... sigh.
Getting ready in the morning, lounging around in the evening, preparing a meal... well, just about everything has changed now that our little Miss K has gone mobile. (Thanks Pete and Roger, I'll take it from here.)
Time was we could leave our little girl snug on the couch for second or two in the boppy, with little fear of her rolling off or causing any sort of calamity. Then when she started rolling over, the couch became off limits as a means of her minding herself. But she fit every so nicely in on the carpet, or in her little play gym. If she did move, it wasn't far and she had all she needed to keep herself entertained with dangling toys, not to mention her fingers and toes. Then rolling over turned into rolling and tumbling- a true means of transport. It may have taken her a while, but she could get from point A to point T(rouble) if she wanted to. But the grunts and sometimes little yelps that accompanied the little tumbleweed were alarm enough to know that she was on her way to no good- and in enough time to scoop her up or change her course.
Well, when the tumbleweed joined forces with the "army crawl" (using her arms to pull herself along like a soldier in the field) it spelled the beginning of the end of, let's call it, normalcy. Now she was able to get around a little swifter and quieter- opening her eyes to things all around her, now that her head was somewhat forward while she puttered along. Such as her feline brother Mickey Mantle, who was at once intrigued and terrified by the slow-moving mass coming towards him. It was during this phase that my candidacy for Parent of the Year hit full swing, when I happened to snooze for maybe two minutes one morning while "watching" her, only to find when my eyes opened that she had moved deftly across the room and pulled over the basket in which we keep (see also: kept) our cell phone chargers, with wires aplenty attached- and plugged in, mind you. So my POTY candidacy really did take off you see, what with the risks of electrocution and strangulation all rolled into one!
But we were still somewhat able to keep her entertained in various devices at that point- the exersaucer or the swing, or the like. But what came next- what we are dealing with now- is the full-fledged crawl. The crawl!!! And not only the crawl, but she can pull herself up willy-nilly on any object to a standing position thereby creating- literally- a whole new level of trouble for her to get into. The crawl happens fast. And it happens ever so quiet. So when you turn your back, and turn around again, she's made it into the foyer and pulled some of the books off of the bookshelf. Or she's found the one cord we haven't baby-proofed. Or she's dialed India on my cell phone- or at least the Indian take-out place up the street. Or neither, but you get my drift.
Now that she's mobile, she's not nearly as amenable to being kept one place by the exersaucer or the swing for any extended period of time. She's gotta move! So in the morning, when either my wife or myself has to care for her alone, while trying to get ourselves ready- it proves to be quite challenging. There's a lot of "keeping the ears open," and running from room to room so as to accomplish what we need to, yet not allowing her to find her way into the very things we try and keep her away from. There are only so many things you can block off with a baby gate. I've been looking through the baby-proofing aisles for some sort of tether-ball pole inspired leash sort of thing, where the most she could do is crawl around in circles. But oddly enough, I haven't found such a device. And when I am part of the team that designs it- my election to Parent of the Year will be a shoe-in.
P.S. I know it will only get worse when she starts walking... sigh.
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