I'm super-exhausted, but I need to remember to write down this story.
Zadie went to skate camp over Spring break. I was nervous to leave her. Even though she had been to music camp last summer, there seemed somewhat less risk of injury there. Given that she had been on her skateboard about twice ever, I was concerned. Plus, I was leaving her with a bunch of skater boys in a concrete and plywood skate park down by the river.
I shouldn't have worried. First, the skater boys were consummate professionals. They were great with the kids. I'd often return to find one holding her hand and helping her skate up a small ramp, or letting her borrow his board so she could do a move more easily.
But the second reason is that she's the most self-assured kid I think I've ever met. The first morning, I stayed for about 15 minutes and took some pictures while they introduced themselves, went over the rules, and split into groups. They were doing that, "My name is X/ Hi X!" thing. When kindergarten started, Zadie decided she wanted to go by her full name Azadeh. Most of her friends now call her that, and we go back and forth. So when it came time to say her name, she said "Azadeh." They needed her to repeat it. She did. They asked again. She said, "It's okay -- I have a nickname. It's Zadie." They said "Hi, Zadie!"
A couple hours later when I came back, one of the first things I heard was her instructor calling her. "Azadeh," he said. "Let's try over here."
I have no idea when or how she corrected him on her name, but she did. And she did it without me there. It was something that mattered to her, so she got it done.
I just feel like that's pretty cool -- when I was a kid, I think if someone had pronounced my name wrong, I'd have just rolled with it. But not her. She knows who she is and how she wants to be addressed, and she'll make it happen. That feels like it bodes well for the future.
Thursday, May 01, 2014
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Follow-up on that scary stuff, plus happy stuff!
So, when you get a call from someone who introduces herself as a genetic counselor and tells you that the state of California is ready to pay for pretty much any kind of diagnostic test you want, the actual number of the chance that there's something wrong, 1 in 150, loses some of its meaning.
I was a little nervous going into the ultrasound, and when we checked in, we were a little early, so the genetic counselor had us sit in her office and talked to us about what tests are available, how accurate they are, and why we got the call in the first place.
And while we're not 100% clear out-of-the-woods, that talk was VERY reassuring. See, you have these hormones that they test, and the hormones have a sort of baseline level of 1. They naturally range higher and lower, but that's sort of the middle. A baby with Down's Syndrome would tend to have numbers like .5 and 2.0 or 2.5, and ours were all 1.43, .78, etc. It's just that our blood work fit the sort of general pattern of which ones were high and low. She even drew a bell curve for us with our results wiggling gently along the center line and a typical Down's Syndrome result going off the chart back and forth.
Then we had the actual ultrasound, and the good news from there, which I'll share first even though chronologically it was last, is that they didn't see any of the "soft signs" of Down's Syndrome. In fact, the doctor said the baby looked "marvelous." We still opted to have a blood test that's over 99% accurate, and we'll hear from that in a week or two. But we chose not to have an amnio.
The ultrasound itself was kind of fun! The tech had just barely put the wand thing down when she said, "Oh!" She picked it up again. "Did you guys want to know the sex?" We said yes, and she put the wand right back where it was and pointed. "It's a boy! There it is, right out there."
Then she took a whole lot of pictures. The genetics counselor had moved our appointment so that we could have this more sensitive one done, and she had told me on the phone that even though it was different, we could still get pictures if we told the technician ahead of time. I very seriously intoned that we would definitely like pictures, and the tech (who reminded me of one of Z's pre-school teachers) was like, "Of COURSE we do pictures! Heck, we probably do more for you than they do at the other facility! Who told you that, anyway?" For the record, they did give us a LOT. I think I have three times as many as I had of Z.
Other funny things we saw were his cute little booty, how he likes to keep his hand by his face, and how he had his lower legs crossed in the exact position Sweetie had his in!
It's so hard to tell from the freaky pictures, but I think he has a handsome profile. I mentioned that with Z, they had only been able to get a straight-on shot of her face. I posted that picture on Facebook, and my friend Skye said, "She has lovely orbital cavities!" The tech laughed and said, "Oh yeah, the Skeletor shot! I love that one. Here, I can get that..." So we got a Skeletor shot of him too.
I mentioned that he hasn't been kicking as much as I remember Z doing, and she said sometimes it's because of the placement of the placenta, but mine was in back, so that wasn't it. But as we went on, she noticed that he was moving a lot -- she called him a wiggle worm -- and that although he wasn't making big kicking-type motions, he was constantly moving.
She was trying to get a good look at his brain, and she told us that. He moved his head into my pelvis. She said, "Okay, well, let me have a look at his spine, then... Hey! You see that?! He's rolling away from me. I think he heard me. Stinker." That is so much like Zadie when she was still in utero, although I know it's crazy to say they have little personalities already. She used to dart away from the instrument every time they'd try to get her heartbeat.
Anyway, it was nice to get to see him in there, and to have pretty good reassurance that he won't be affected by Down's Syndrome. Not that I wouldn't love a baby no matter what, but I think this may be easier. Still, no counting chickens! We'll wait for the blood tests to really exhale.
Here's his profile shot. Try to ignore that it kind of looks like a freaky old man with a beard (the beard would be my little guy's shoulders).
I was a little nervous going into the ultrasound, and when we checked in, we were a little early, so the genetic counselor had us sit in her office and talked to us about what tests are available, how accurate they are, and why we got the call in the first place.
And while we're not 100% clear out-of-the-woods, that talk was VERY reassuring. See, you have these hormones that they test, and the hormones have a sort of baseline level of 1. They naturally range higher and lower, but that's sort of the middle. A baby with Down's Syndrome would tend to have numbers like .5 and 2.0 or 2.5, and ours were all 1.43, .78, etc. It's just that our blood work fit the sort of general pattern of which ones were high and low. She even drew a bell curve for us with our results wiggling gently along the center line and a typical Down's Syndrome result going off the chart back and forth.
Then we had the actual ultrasound, and the good news from there, which I'll share first even though chronologically it was last, is that they didn't see any of the "soft signs" of Down's Syndrome. In fact, the doctor said the baby looked "marvelous." We still opted to have a blood test that's over 99% accurate, and we'll hear from that in a week or two. But we chose not to have an amnio.
The ultrasound itself was kind of fun! The tech had just barely put the wand thing down when she said, "Oh!" She picked it up again. "Did you guys want to know the sex?" We said yes, and she put the wand right back where it was and pointed. "It's a boy! There it is, right out there."
Then she took a whole lot of pictures. The genetics counselor had moved our appointment so that we could have this more sensitive one done, and she had told me on the phone that even though it was different, we could still get pictures if we told the technician ahead of time. I very seriously intoned that we would definitely like pictures, and the tech (who reminded me of one of Z's pre-school teachers) was like, "Of COURSE we do pictures! Heck, we probably do more for you than they do at the other facility! Who told you that, anyway?" For the record, they did give us a LOT. I think I have three times as many as I had of Z.
Other funny things we saw were his cute little booty, how he likes to keep his hand by his face, and how he had his lower legs crossed in the exact position Sweetie had his in!
It's so hard to tell from the freaky pictures, but I think he has a handsome profile. I mentioned that with Z, they had only been able to get a straight-on shot of her face. I posted that picture on Facebook, and my friend Skye said, "She has lovely orbital cavities!" The tech laughed and said, "Oh yeah, the Skeletor shot! I love that one. Here, I can get that..." So we got a Skeletor shot of him too.
I mentioned that he hasn't been kicking as much as I remember Z doing, and she said sometimes it's because of the placement of the placenta, but mine was in back, so that wasn't it. But as we went on, she noticed that he was moving a lot -- she called him a wiggle worm -- and that although he wasn't making big kicking-type motions, he was constantly moving.
She was trying to get a good look at his brain, and she told us that. He moved his head into my pelvis. She said, "Okay, well, let me have a look at his spine, then... Hey! You see that?! He's rolling away from me. I think he heard me. Stinker." That is so much like Zadie when she was still in utero, although I know it's crazy to say they have little personalities already. She used to dart away from the instrument every time they'd try to get her heartbeat.
Anyway, it was nice to get to see him in there, and to have pretty good reassurance that he won't be affected by Down's Syndrome. Not that I wouldn't love a baby no matter what, but I think this may be easier. Still, no counting chickens! We'll wait for the blood tests to really exhale.
Here's his profile shot. Try to ignore that it kind of looks like a freaky old man with a beard (the beard would be my little guy's shoulders).
Thursday, April 03, 2014
18 weeks, the upcoming ultrasound
I'm 18 weeks now, and I feel the baby kicking a few times a day, usually when I'm leaning forward. I think he/she gets cramped. I feel good, though I'm ashamed to admit that all my cravings for healthy foods have disappeared and been replaced with cravings for the offerings of SuperTaco.
I am in all maternity clothes now, and I look decidedly pregnant, but even today it was mentioned and a few people said, "oh, I didn't know!" Perhaps they think I am just getting terribly fat in the abdomen only.
People keep asking if we know the sex, and we don't. I honestly don't care, either. I didn't care with Zadie, and this time I am curious, but have very little preference. (A girl would mean sharing a room, which is a benefit, but one of each sounds nice, too.) Our ultrasound, in which we find out, is next week. But the sex is not really high on my list of priorities. See, we got a call that my blood work came back with a slightly elevated risk of Down's Syndrome. Not, like, crazy elevated-- a one in 150 chance, which is the same chance you have just getting pregnant at my age. But it was enough that they called me to reschedule the ultrasound for a different lab and location, whe they can do a very thorough job. At that time, they can either tell us we're in the clear, or do more tests. I have chosen not to have an amniocentesis because of a friend's nightmarish experience, but there's another test that's accurate if the ultrasound indicates further testing is needed.
I'm not terribly worried, but I am looking forward to it being over with. I know Sweetie is worried, but he says no more than normal. I'm glad I'll have him with me there.
Honestly, the worst case scenario isn't some unknowable thing. It's that we have a child with Down's Syndrome. And while I'm sure that isn't easy, it's not like we wouldn't still have the second child that we've signed on to love.
Speaking of worry, I sometimes wonder whether Zadie will suffer from the anxiety that seems to plague her Dad's sided of the family. The other day, I said something about taking Christmas pictures with the new baby this year, and she said, "IF there's a new baby. You aren't having pains or anything, are you?" I reassured her. We've told her about our loss last year, and I wonder if that's what made her concerned. It is really hard, sometimes, to figure out the delicate balance of her intelligence and curiosity, our belief in honesty, and her tender, tender age.
This has been a very serious kind of post, and I didn't mean for it to be. I'm feeling good, if tired, and I like watching my belly pop out and feeling the kicks. This one kicks less often and less hard than Z did -- is that a good sign? Z has been rambunctious forever-- I could use a mellow one!
Sweetie and I are discussing names. As this is my blog and he hasn't blogged for years (or commented here), I'll tell you without bias that my names are wonderful and he has stubbornly rejected them all, whereas he has only a handful of really terrible ones, which I've politely declined.
All for now.
Yours, Mockula
I am in all maternity clothes now, and I look decidedly pregnant, but even today it was mentioned and a few people said, "oh, I didn't know!" Perhaps they think I am just getting terribly fat in the abdomen only.
People keep asking if we know the sex, and we don't. I honestly don't care, either. I didn't care with Zadie, and this time I am curious, but have very little preference. (A girl would mean sharing a room, which is a benefit, but one of each sounds nice, too.) Our ultrasound, in which we find out, is next week. But the sex is not really high on my list of priorities. See, we got a call that my blood work came back with a slightly elevated risk of Down's Syndrome. Not, like, crazy elevated-- a one in 150 chance, which is the same chance you have just getting pregnant at my age. But it was enough that they called me to reschedule the ultrasound for a different lab and location, whe they can do a very thorough job. At that time, they can either tell us we're in the clear, or do more tests. I have chosen not to have an amniocentesis because of a friend's nightmarish experience, but there's another test that's accurate if the ultrasound indicates further testing is needed.
I'm not terribly worried, but I am looking forward to it being over with. I know Sweetie is worried, but he says no more than normal. I'm glad I'll have him with me there.
Honestly, the worst case scenario isn't some unknowable thing. It's that we have a child with Down's Syndrome. And while I'm sure that isn't easy, it's not like we wouldn't still have the second child that we've signed on to love.
Speaking of worry, I sometimes wonder whether Zadie will suffer from the anxiety that seems to plague her Dad's sided of the family. The other day, I said something about taking Christmas pictures with the new baby this year, and she said, "IF there's a new baby. You aren't having pains or anything, are you?" I reassured her. We've told her about our loss last year, and I wonder if that's what made her concerned. It is really hard, sometimes, to figure out the delicate balance of her intelligence and curiosity, our belief in honesty, and her tender, tender age.
This has been a very serious kind of post, and I didn't mean for it to be. I'm feeling good, if tired, and I like watching my belly pop out and feeling the kicks. This one kicks less often and less hard than Z did -- is that a good sign? Z has been rambunctious forever-- I could use a mellow one!
Sweetie and I are discussing names. As this is my blog and he hasn't blogged for years (or commented here), I'll tell you without bias that my names are wonderful and he has stubbornly rejected them all, whereas he has only a handful of really terrible ones, which I've politely declined.
All for now.
Yours, Mockula
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
#evaluatethat
The latest wave of school reform is focused on linking student test scores to teacher evaluations. There are a bajillion good reasons not to do that, and a couple lousy ones in favor, but this isn't exactly about that.
This is about the backlash to it, wherein some teachers have taken to writing little Facebook stories about the ways in which they've helped students that can't be measured by a test. I have a couple of those, and this is a decent place to share them. I actually don't feel comfortable sharing them on Facebook for reasons I'm not sure I can articulate.
Anyway, Gemma* was a freshmen in my English class when, a few months into the class, it occurred to me that she wasn't really doing that well. She tried, and she turned everything in, which counts for a lot. If you have a rowdy class, you turn your attention to those little fires to put out first before you turn your attention to a girl who's quiet, respectful, and working. But it became hard to ignore: her writing was awful. Her spelling was bad. I looked at her test scores, I looked at her grades, I looked at everything I could look at, and then I called the counselor. Although Gemma's first language was Spanish, she had been enrolled in schools here since kindergarten. She had been designated as an English language learner, and been in ELL classes for a full ten years. Most students test out of it much sooner than that. The counselor, the student, her aunt, and a special ed professional and I had a meeting wherein we decided it would be best to test her for special ed services. Ultimately, she qualified, and was able to receive the help she needed for the rest of her high school career. She graduated two years ago. #evaluatethat
Three weeks ago, I woke up to a message on Facebook from a former student. I write personal letters to all my graduating seniors. Alyssa was writing to tell me that she had kept my letter over the years. It was one of the only things she had kept from high school, but she likes to get it out and re-read it periodically, because it encourages her and reminds her that "it's okay to be me." #evaluatethat
Last week, Carey was having a bad day. He said something about how he had already ruined his life, and he thought it would be better if he weren't alive. I didn't take it as a suicide threat, because it wasn't delivered that way. Nevertheless, I pulled him out of class later that day to talk to him. We sat and chatted about a lot of things, and he admitted that he normally didn't feel that way, it was just a rough morning. He had big plans, and wanted to follow through with them. Near the end of our conversation, I reminded him that he could come talk to me whenever he needed. I asked, "you know I'm on your side, right?" He said he knew. #evaluatethat
Last May, Jessica came in after school. "Ms. Mockula, you know that letter you wrote me for the scholarship?" "Sure," I answered, half-turning to my computer thinking that she needed another copy. "Well... I got it!" It was a huge scholarship, and it was going to help pay a pretty good chunk of her tuition at a private school. #evaluatethat
Although each of these is a real, specific event, they're also representative of countless others. I was reminded of Gemma because I had a similar meeting today: we discovered that a kid I thought needed services already had been identified as special ed in a previous district. We just didn't have his cumulative file because he had moved schools so many times. Alyssa's story is one I've heard from many, many of my alumni. It sounds like a lot of them keep their letters. And the students I counsel, and the students I write letters of recommendation for... I couldn't begin to keep track of how many over the years.
And yet none of that is "value-added." None of that shows up on test scores. None of that "counts."
I'm not trying to be self-aggrandizing. I don't think I go above and beyond the call of duty. I think most of my colleagues do the same kinds of stuff, some of them a great deal more. Which is why test scores and percentages and value-added measures et cetera mean so little to me: because that's all bullshit. It's not the work of teaching. I do good work every day, and only some of it involves my subject area. A lot more of it involves those kids knowing they have someone in their corner. And you just can't evaluate that.
*All student names changed.
This is about the backlash to it, wherein some teachers have taken to writing little Facebook stories about the ways in which they've helped students that can't be measured by a test. I have a couple of those, and this is a decent place to share them. I actually don't feel comfortable sharing them on Facebook for reasons I'm not sure I can articulate.
Anyway, Gemma* was a freshmen in my English class when, a few months into the class, it occurred to me that she wasn't really doing that well. She tried, and she turned everything in, which counts for a lot. If you have a rowdy class, you turn your attention to those little fires to put out first before you turn your attention to a girl who's quiet, respectful, and working. But it became hard to ignore: her writing was awful. Her spelling was bad. I looked at her test scores, I looked at her grades, I looked at everything I could look at, and then I called the counselor. Although Gemma's first language was Spanish, she had been enrolled in schools here since kindergarten. She had been designated as an English language learner, and been in ELL classes for a full ten years. Most students test out of it much sooner than that. The counselor, the student, her aunt, and a special ed professional and I had a meeting wherein we decided it would be best to test her for special ed services. Ultimately, she qualified, and was able to receive the help she needed for the rest of her high school career. She graduated two years ago. #evaluatethat
Three weeks ago, I woke up to a message on Facebook from a former student. I write personal letters to all my graduating seniors. Alyssa was writing to tell me that she had kept my letter over the years. It was one of the only things she had kept from high school, but she likes to get it out and re-read it periodically, because it encourages her and reminds her that "it's okay to be me." #evaluatethat
Last week, Carey was having a bad day. He said something about how he had already ruined his life, and he thought it would be better if he weren't alive. I didn't take it as a suicide threat, because it wasn't delivered that way. Nevertheless, I pulled him out of class later that day to talk to him. We sat and chatted about a lot of things, and he admitted that he normally didn't feel that way, it was just a rough morning. He had big plans, and wanted to follow through with them. Near the end of our conversation, I reminded him that he could come talk to me whenever he needed. I asked, "you know I'm on your side, right?" He said he knew. #evaluatethat
Last May, Jessica came in after school. "Ms. Mockula, you know that letter you wrote me for the scholarship?" "Sure," I answered, half-turning to my computer thinking that she needed another copy. "Well... I got it!" It was a huge scholarship, and it was going to help pay a pretty good chunk of her tuition at a private school. #evaluatethat
Although each of these is a real, specific event, they're also representative of countless others. I was reminded of Gemma because I had a similar meeting today: we discovered that a kid I thought needed services already had been identified as special ed in a previous district. We just didn't have his cumulative file because he had moved schools so many times. Alyssa's story is one I've heard from many, many of my alumni. It sounds like a lot of them keep their letters. And the students I counsel, and the students I write letters of recommendation for... I couldn't begin to keep track of how many over the years.
And yet none of that is "value-added." None of that shows up on test scores. None of that "counts."
I'm not trying to be self-aggrandizing. I don't think I go above and beyond the call of duty. I think most of my colleagues do the same kinds of stuff, some of them a great deal more. Which is why test scores and percentages and value-added measures et cetera mean so little to me: because that's all bullshit. It's not the work of teaching. I do good work every day, and only some of it involves my subject area. A lot more of it involves those kids knowing they have someone in their corner. And you just can't evaluate that.
*All student names changed.
Sunday, March 09, 2014
Mishmash
I am trying something new in my garden this year. I'm having a go at polyculture, growing a bunch of different kinds of things all mixed up. I made a mixture of bush beans, chard, parsnips, carrots, beets, green onions, radishes, and lettuces, and sprinkled them liberally on one of my raised beds. They're supposed to grow at different rates and heights and whatnot and provide each other with some shade and protection, plus I can harvest the first things that come up so the next ones have some sunlight. The book I was reading said you have to be semi-good at recognizing stuff, but I think I am.
Of course, this morning, the stupid squirrels had dug a bunch of holes in my new garden to get to the seeds. So today I built a hoop house. I've been planning to try it for a while anyway, but it seemed like the time had come. I used these instructions. I had read up on greenhouses, hothouses, cucumber frames, and more. Most are a way to extend the growing season by providing a temperature boost, but since it's March and next weekend is forecast to be 80, I'm not very concerned about that right now. The hoop house seemed simple enough to build and had the added advantage that I could swap out coverings: plastic sheeting to keep the temperature up, and mesh to keep the birds out.
It wasn't too hard or expensive to put together, although I did badly miscalculate one thing. The bed I'm using is the one I think of as my "lettuce bed." It's very shallow and short -- I used salvaged wood from my mom's yard. Which means that it was REALLY hard to screw in the dowels, because there were only a few inches of space between the ground and the screw. I had to hunt up a stubby screwdriver and then some slot/flat screws, because my only stubby screwdriver is a flathead. Nevertheless, I got the project done and I'm hoping it deters the squirrels, although I know those little buggers are relentless.
As for my pregnancy stuff, I'm feeling pretty great. My morning sickness seems to be basically gone (but for some weird, frequent burping) and my appetite normal. Of course, I'm gaining weight now and starting to look decidedly pregnant, although that somewhat depends on what I'm wearing. I remember with Z that when I could no longer sleep on my stomach, I was super-bummed. I am a stomach sleeper! But it seems to have happened, and it's no big deal. I'm more accustomed to sleeping on my side, I guess.
I just finished a book called The Luminaries, by Eleanor Catton, and I popped onto Goodreads to see what others thought of it. A lot of the reviews were lukewarm, many for two reasons: they had high expectations because it won the Man Booker prize, or they didn't understand the horoscope/star chart stuff. Well, I quite liked it. It was like an old fashioned mystery. I probably have low standards, because I basically like everything, but the award didn't unduly raise my expectations. And as for the astrology stuff, I didn't get it either. But I have zero interest in that stuff anyway, so I didn't even bother looking at it. Honestly, I don't know either my husband's or my daughter's astrological sign, and I have checked my horoscope about ten times in my life, usually on my birthday just for kicks. So when I saw the pages with the star symbols, I thought "might as well be Kabbalah or Greek" and skipped it entirely, never attempting to make any sense of it. So I wasn't hung up on that at all. The beginning of the book was a little slow (mainly because there were about 20 main characters, and I had a hard time keeping track of who was who), but by the end, it was terribly gripping.
And finally, I thought I'd mention that I've been playing with a band. They're kind of serious -- like, a two-hour practice every week. And they play music that's WAY faster and more complicated than I'm used to. I'm working hard to pick it all up and learn the new songs, and it's very challenging. Sometimes it's frustrating, too. Like this week, we tried "Sweet Child of Mine" for the first time, and I had worked to learn it over the last week. I didn't have it perfect, but thought I'd blend in okay. But when we started playing it sounded WRONG WRONG WRONG. I stopped a few measures in, and was like, "I'm sure it's me, but something sucks. What key are you guys in?" "Oh... shoot. I forgot to tell you we play this a half-step down to make it easier to sing." Well, for a really pro musician, that would be no problem, but for me, I've practiced it one way, so I need to really re-think how to do it. Hopefully by next week I can have it down. So even though it's challenging and frustrating and a lot of work, it's also really rewarding. I'm learning a lot and improving my playing, and I'm grateful for that.
Take care all! Mockula out...
Of course, this morning, the stupid squirrels had dug a bunch of holes in my new garden to get to the seeds. So today I built a hoop house. I've been planning to try it for a while anyway, but it seemed like the time had come. I used these instructions. I had read up on greenhouses, hothouses, cucumber frames, and more. Most are a way to extend the growing season by providing a temperature boost, but since it's March and next weekend is forecast to be 80, I'm not very concerned about that right now. The hoop house seemed simple enough to build and had the added advantage that I could swap out coverings: plastic sheeting to keep the temperature up, and mesh to keep the birds out.
It wasn't too hard or expensive to put together, although I did badly miscalculate one thing. The bed I'm using is the one I think of as my "lettuce bed." It's very shallow and short -- I used salvaged wood from my mom's yard. Which means that it was REALLY hard to screw in the dowels, because there were only a few inches of space between the ground and the screw. I had to hunt up a stubby screwdriver and then some slot/flat screws, because my only stubby screwdriver is a flathead. Nevertheless, I got the project done and I'm hoping it deters the squirrels, although I know those little buggers are relentless.
As for my pregnancy stuff, I'm feeling pretty great. My morning sickness seems to be basically gone (but for some weird, frequent burping) and my appetite normal. Of course, I'm gaining weight now and starting to look decidedly pregnant, although that somewhat depends on what I'm wearing. I remember with Z that when I could no longer sleep on my stomach, I was super-bummed. I am a stomach sleeper! But it seems to have happened, and it's no big deal. I'm more accustomed to sleeping on my side, I guess.
I just finished a book called The Luminaries, by Eleanor Catton, and I popped onto Goodreads to see what others thought of it. A lot of the reviews were lukewarm, many for two reasons: they had high expectations because it won the Man Booker prize, or they didn't understand the horoscope/star chart stuff. Well, I quite liked it. It was like an old fashioned mystery. I probably have low standards, because I basically like everything, but the award didn't unduly raise my expectations. And as for the astrology stuff, I didn't get it either. But I have zero interest in that stuff anyway, so I didn't even bother looking at it. Honestly, I don't know either my husband's or my daughter's astrological sign, and I have checked my horoscope about ten times in my life, usually on my birthday just for kicks. So when I saw the pages with the star symbols, I thought "might as well be Kabbalah or Greek" and skipped it entirely, never attempting to make any sense of it. So I wasn't hung up on that at all. The beginning of the book was a little slow (mainly because there were about 20 main characters, and I had a hard time keeping track of who was who), but by the end, it was terribly gripping.
And finally, I thought I'd mention that I've been playing with a band. They're kind of serious -- like, a two-hour practice every week. And they play music that's WAY faster and more complicated than I'm used to. I'm working hard to pick it all up and learn the new songs, and it's very challenging. Sometimes it's frustrating, too. Like this week, we tried "Sweet Child of Mine" for the first time, and I had worked to learn it over the last week. I didn't have it perfect, but thought I'd blend in okay. But when we started playing it sounded WRONG WRONG WRONG. I stopped a few measures in, and was like, "I'm sure it's me, but something sucks. What key are you guys in?" "Oh... shoot. I forgot to tell you we play this a half-step down to make it easier to sing." Well, for a really pro musician, that would be no problem, but for me, I've practiced it one way, so I need to really re-think how to do it. Hopefully by next week I can have it down. So even though it's challenging and frustrating and a lot of work, it's also really rewarding. I'm learning a lot and improving my playing, and I'm grateful for that.
Take care all! Mockula out...
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Announcement time!
Many of you (I can only ever think of four or five people who read this) already know, but in case you don't...
I'm three months pregnant! I've been journalling all along, but wasn't really ready to share it with more than a handful of people, so here's an excerpt of what's been going through my head.
12/26: In December, as Christmas approached, I wasn't feeling particularly hopeful about our chances of getting pregnant again. We'd been trying for so long, and with so little luck. In fact, when I got violently ill on late Friday early Saturday, I called the hospital about what I could do for my throat pain (I damaged it vomiting!), and they asked if I was pregnant. I said I didn't know, but that it wasn't likely.
Christmas Eve was day 28, and although I wasn't having what I thought of as symptoms, I was in a Rite-Aid and I thought strongly about buying a pregnancy test. But no, I thought to myself -- I'd have to wait until Christmas day to be sure not to waste it, and I just couldn't handle that kind of disappointment on Christmas day.
But on the actual day, we had a long quiet period when I was hungry for something healthy. I went to the grocery store for fruits and vegetables, and given that I still seemed not to be at the end of my cycle, I bought a test.
At home, I took it, capped it, stood up and washed my hands. I had avoided looking at it, but I thought to myself that I ought to put it somewhere for it to finish out its wait time while I distracted myself with something else. I picked it up and... even though the time wasn't close to over, it clearly had a plus sign. I looked at the package to make sure that a plus sign meant what I thought it meant, that it wasn't some sort of elaborate control line or that I wasn't holding it wrong. But it was positive!
Anyway, I'm excited! I'm terrified! I'm trying not to get too attached, although I know that will be difficult.
12/31: I'm still quite nervous, and the nervous is outweighing the excitement a bit. Like, I want to go look at cute baby clothes and things, but I haven't even Googled, because I've been busy trying to check my lab results and memorizing the normal range of hCG levels at this stage.
I feel... kind of normal. Fatigued, for sure. Peeing a lot, but not every 15 minutes or anything. Just more than usual. I remember with Zadie, I was craving sweets like crazy. This time, I can kind of take or leave them. I was also starving, and this time my appetite is normal. I even find that it's reduced a bit at mealtimes. I feel a little hungrier when mealtimes roll around, but then I find my capacity is just a bit reduced. I am, however, fantasizing and daydreaming about food of the very healthy and hearty type. Like, I want cooked greens, chickpeas, black beans, squash, stew, barley, lentils, roasted vegetables... This morning I made kimchee rice with basted eggs for breakfast, and if I hadn't been worried about using another pan, I'd have sauteed some greens to go with it.
1/7: Sweetie says he thinks it's a girl. I don't have a feel for it. Last time I wanted it to be a surprise, but my mom and Sweetie both wanted to know so badly that I gave in. This time, I will definitely want to know. If it's a boy, we need all new baby clothes, and you're not really supposed to have a shower the second time around. I still like the idea of being surprised and hearing "It's a ___," but I'll get over it.
1/11:I had my first ultrasound yesterday. I had to wait a while, because the office was busy, but then my doctor came in and asked a few questions and we got started. I told him in advance, "I've been pretty nervous, so if you feel like making any comforting noises during this, that would be great." He said he'd do his best. The screen was turned so I could see it, and at first it looked like static. But then there were dots. And the mostly-black dot is the little amniotic sac, and inside it was a whitish thing that was flickering rapidly. He said almost immediately, "Oh yeah, there it is. That's looking good." He pointed out where a yolk sac (ew) was forming, and then asked if I saw the flickering. I did, of course, and I already was pretty sure I knew what it was: the heartbeat. He confirmed it, then made a couple measurements on the screen, and I watched them both come up as "6 wks" (which is exactly where we are). As the doctor said, we're not completely out of the woods (most miscairrages happen in the first trimester), but at this point, we're going to treat it like a normal, healthy pregnancy. So my next appointment isn't until February!
I'm feeling good, and I'm exercising and trying to get a lot of rest. Sweetie has a nickname for the baby: Ant. He thinks it's a girl and would like to name it Antigone. I have known exactly one Antigone, and she was a rather quirky science teacher, so I'm not sold yet.
1/17: Zadie kissed my stomach in the shower the other day, and she has out of the blue begun to ask Grandma to play "baby sister" with her again, after about a 6 month break. I don't know if it's a coincidence, if she has some sixth sense about it, or if she just has figured it out from the many whispered conversations that have taken place around her, but I don't know if we're going to be able to hold out on telling her as long as I'd thought. We'll see, I guess. I bought her a cute t-shirt that says "Big Sis" on it, and I'm wondering what her reaction will be. Obviously, I'm hoping she's wildly excited, but whenever I get my hopes up like that, her reaction is inevitably, "Oh. Cool."
Appetite situation is the same. I feel full after eating about half my normal portion. And I'm definitely more queasy/refluxy than usual. That's fine. I didn't have it at all with Z, so it's kind of a new experience.
I read these updates from pregnancy web sites about the baby's development, and it's just amazing. The kid is making its own blood cells, growing hands and feet, has color to its eyes, etc. And in the last week, it has doubled in size. What a lot of energy that must take!
[Undated, but around 1/26] About 8 1/2 weeks now. I've been thinking a lot about how my pregnancy with Zadie and this one have been different. I remember that with Z, I was starving all the time -- I basically carried around a zipper bag full of cereal, raisins, and nuts everywhere I went. This time, I am hungry, but mainly in the hour or so before mealtimes, and then about 75% of the way through the food, no matter how delicious, I start feeling over-full. In fact, twice lately, I've taken seconds and then realized I shouldn't have -- I felt really sick one night after trying to eat a second serving of pasta.
2/5: The ultrasound was kind of neat -- Zadie's first one, at about the same time, looked like a fava bean. This one is super-clear: you can see a head, torso, and hands pretty clearly. It's cool to have.
2/14: 11 1/2 weeks! Doctor visits ramped up rather suddenly. I had an ultrasound at ten weeks, plus we did a bunch of paperworky intake stuff, and then this week, we had another appointment scheduled. I thought it was just for lab work, but I actually met with a nurse practitioner who checked all my vitals, did a breast exam, and did the external ultrasound (so I got to hear the heart for the first time!). She said it was a good, strong heartbeat. I was making my next appointment, and they said I should come back next week for a glucose test as well. No need to fast or anything -- just don't eat anything I knew was high in sugar beforehand.
It was the day before Valentine's Day, and there was a basket of fun-sized candies on the desk, so I asked if I could take one. I had a small Twix. Then I went downstairs for the blood work for my genetic testing (we've decided to do this check for issues like Down's Syndrome, but are skipping anything more invasive which carries more risk). When I checked in at the pharmacy, the woman asked if I wanted to do my glucose test that day. Well... I sure as hell didn't want to come back again next week (since that would make three weeks in a row), but I had had that Twix. Would it throw off my results? Was it worth it? I decided to stay and do the glucose test. Luckily, the results came back this morning, and they were fine. Because I really didn't want to have to call my doctor and be like, "Hey, I know my glucose was high, but, well, there were these fun-sized Twix, you see..."
And that mostly brings us up to date. I'm at 13 weeks, which depending on where you look, is either the last week of the 1st trimester or the first week of the second. We have told everyone -- a few people knew already, then on Monday we told Zadie, and then we called Sweetie's family, and then I posted the video above on Facebook. We are surrounded by love and happiness and congratulatory wishes, and I'm feeling good.
Oddly, the one thing that's vastly different (as alluded to above) between this pregnancy and the one with Zadie is that I have had morning sickness. Like, a lot. But it's not really bad sickness -- more like a bad case of reflux. I'm not puking or anything. Which I consider to be a bright side! Lots of people have it worse than me. The other kind of bright-side-ish thing is that my appetite has been so decreased that I've only gained a single pound. I am starting to round out a bit, but I'm still in my normal clothes. In fact, I have some cute maternity dresses that I bought, and I considered wearing one the other night, but when I put it on, it looked ridiculous! By three months with Z, I was wearing maternity clothes almost exclusively. I really popped early, and by four months I was huge. I'm not saying this because I'm vain about my body -- I know I sound proud of having not gained weight in my pregnancy, and for most people, that would be kind of perverse. But given my starting weight, I'm supposed to limit the amount I gain overall, so it's more like so far so good!
And there's your typical Pollyanna optimism silver-lining of the day: I have morning sickness, but I'm not puking, and I'm not huge. Double rainbow all the way!!
Sunday, February 02, 2014
Ray
I was outside surveying the garden today, not really working, but trying to plan for what I might plant and where. A neighbor walked by, one I didn't know, but still, I said hello. He stopped first to hope for rain (here in California, as you may know, we're in the middle of a serious drought, so we address it in most small talk). We talked about what measures we were taking to conserve water, and about letting our lawns die. He said that soon we'd have to not flush our toilets until we did "something serious." I mentioned that we already have a dual-flush toilet to help conserve. He expressed worry that his house was old enough that it wouldn't work well.
He indicated that his house was one of the oldest ones on the next block. Our two streets and one more form a sort of W with no real outlets other than the main cross-street. He mentioned that he has lived here since 1947. I said that my house was built in 1948, and he said he could remember -- that many of the lots were vacant when his parents first moved in. In fact, he gently chided a woman who I previously thought was the longest-residing neighbor for "thinking she remembers things that she doesn't really remember." After all, he remembers when she was born! (For the record, I think she's about 70, and she also lives in a house that belonged to her parents.)
We may have chatted a bit more than that, but not much. He started to walk on, and he glanced at the bumper of my car, which has a Human Rights Campaign equals sign sticker, the one that supports marriage equality.
"Oh!" he stopped. "You're gay!" (It's, uh, not an unreasonable conclusion to draw from the way I appoint myself on weekends.)
"Oh, no, just a supporter."
"Well, I'm gay!"
"Oh! I support you!" I laughed.
Apparently drawn to tell me a story, he then shared that he had first gotten married in 1965. His wife couldn't have children, and she feared that she faced limited marriage prospects because of it. He was willing to adopt (though he says that they did try the normal way), and they did. They had two children, a boy and a girl, and shortly thereafter, he was of no use to her anymore. He asked for a divorce, and by then it was the 70s, when it was a little more acceptable to be openly gay. He came out, and for a long time, his ex-wife and her friends accused him and blamed him. Why did he get married to her if he knew he was gay? He said that he didn't know when he married her, and he would have divorced her even if he was straight.
He didn't fill in a lot of the intervening decades, other than to mention that he has another "little old gay man" friend who is just a friend ("gayer than a peach orchard, though! You could see him coming a mile away.") I asked him if we was happy now, and he said he was. He had a very happy life.
He reminded me it was better for my car to keep it in the garage, he shared that he had gotten a bad case of the flu in November that lasted into December, we chatted a little bit about home sales and prices in the area, and then he continued on his walk.
He glanced once more at my car, this time at the only other sticker.
"'I guess I was punk once.' Huh. I guess I drank punch once."
There's no real takeaway from this story, other than that I'm so glad to live in the kind of neighborhood where people stop to chat. I love hearing people's stories.
He indicated that his house was one of the oldest ones on the next block. Our two streets and one more form a sort of W with no real outlets other than the main cross-street. He mentioned that he has lived here since 1947. I said that my house was built in 1948, and he said he could remember -- that many of the lots were vacant when his parents first moved in. In fact, he gently chided a woman who I previously thought was the longest-residing neighbor for "thinking she remembers things that she doesn't really remember." After all, he remembers when she was born! (For the record, I think she's about 70, and she also lives in a house that belonged to her parents.)
We may have chatted a bit more than that, but not much. He started to walk on, and he glanced at the bumper of my car, which has a Human Rights Campaign equals sign sticker, the one that supports marriage equality.
"Oh!" he stopped. "You're gay!" (It's, uh, not an unreasonable conclusion to draw from the way I appoint myself on weekends.)
"Oh, no, just a supporter."
"Well, I'm gay!"
"Oh! I support you!" I laughed.
Apparently drawn to tell me a story, he then shared that he had first gotten married in 1965. His wife couldn't have children, and she feared that she faced limited marriage prospects because of it. He was willing to adopt (though he says that they did try the normal way), and they did. They had two children, a boy and a girl, and shortly thereafter, he was of no use to her anymore. He asked for a divorce, and by then it was the 70s, when it was a little more acceptable to be openly gay. He came out, and for a long time, his ex-wife and her friends accused him and blamed him. Why did he get married to her if he knew he was gay? He said that he didn't know when he married her, and he would have divorced her even if he was straight.
He didn't fill in a lot of the intervening decades, other than to mention that he has another "little old gay man" friend who is just a friend ("gayer than a peach orchard, though! You could see him coming a mile away.") I asked him if we was happy now, and he said he was. He had a very happy life.
He reminded me it was better for my car to keep it in the garage, he shared that he had gotten a bad case of the flu in November that lasted into December, we chatted a little bit about home sales and prices in the area, and then he continued on his walk.
He glanced once more at my car, this time at the only other sticker.
"'I guess I was punk once.' Huh. I guess I drank punch once."
There's no real takeaway from this story, other than that I'm so glad to live in the kind of neighborhood where people stop to chat. I love hearing people's stories.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
The myth of the magical teacher: or, why I am putting in LESS effort today
I don't do it often, but I complained about a kid on Facebook today. I got a lot of sympathy for me, and one very sympathetic response to the kid. This friend suggested that he probably had a lot of disadvantages (true) and could benefit from a home visit (perhaps) and that I could (I'm sure she meant this jokingly) take him in.
Sigh.
I thought of the movie Freedom Writers, which I watched with my students for the first time last year. The teacher in it goes to great lengths to help a group of troubled kids at a troubled school. She gets a second job to afford books, and then a third job to afford field trips. She calls in favors. Her marriage breaks up. She goes to their houses, finds them on the streets, etc. It was moving. When we finished watching, the kids asked, "Is she still a teacher?" I told them I'd look it up, but in my heart, I already knew the answer: no. You can't put that much effort in and continue to do the job for thirty years. I was right: she taught for exactly four years.
Jaime Escalante, hero of the movie Stand and Deliver, taught for longer, about 18 years, although perhaps not as heroically as in the movie. Friends who had his class at Hiram Johnson all said he was nothing special -- in fact, they used to sneak out after attendance, and he apparently never noticed.
Mr. Holland's Opus depicts the good he did for his students at the expense of his relationship with his family.
Every once in a while, someone shares a meme about how much teachers actually work.
Sigh.
I thought of the movie Freedom Writers, which I watched with my students for the first time last year. The teacher in it goes to great lengths to help a group of troubled kids at a troubled school. She gets a second job to afford books, and then a third job to afford field trips. She calls in favors. Her marriage breaks up. She goes to their houses, finds them on the streets, etc. It was moving. When we finished watching, the kids asked, "Is she still a teacher?" I told them I'd look it up, but in my heart, I already knew the answer: no. You can't put that much effort in and continue to do the job for thirty years. I was right: she taught for exactly four years.
Jaime Escalante, hero of the movie Stand and Deliver, taught for longer, about 18 years, although perhaps not as heroically as in the movie. Friends who had his class at Hiram Johnson all said he was nothing special -- in fact, they used to sneak out after attendance, and he apparently never noticed.
Mr. Holland's Opus depicts the good he did for his students at the expense of his relationship with his family.
Every once in a while, someone shares a meme about how much teachers actually work.
This is the one I saw most recently. And I think it's kind of ridiculous. Like, do most teachers really spend 4 weeks (20 8-hour days) on campus in the summer before school starts? Because I sure as hell don't. I mean, I might spend several hours here and there lesson-planning, communicating with colleagues, making copies, refining my syllabus, organizing my room, etc., but like... maybe 4-5 hours at a stretch, you know? Not full-time. Do I go to trainings? Yeah, but for 3-4 days. And the rest of the time, I'm taking my kid to the zoo.
And 3-5 hours every night of meetings, phone calls, grading, planning, etc.? Uh... no. More like 40 minutes of it at school, then at most, an hour at home. There are variations on a theme -- if I have a lot of essays, I might spend 90 minutes at home on them for a whole week straight. Then the next week, I might not do a damned thing but read the book I've assigned my kids.
Now some of my extra work comes in other places -- I work through lunch a lot of the time, for example.
Maybe the above graphic is true for some teachers, though. I sure as hell hope they're single, or childless or empty-nesters or something. Because I have a LIFE. Twelve to fourteen hours a day, as this chart suggests, is INSANE. That would mean going to work at 7:30 and stopping working at 7:30 pm to, I don't know, eat? Do these crazy fuckers eat? Do they sleep? Do they go to the gym? When do they shop for groceries? How do they keep up with the Kardashians?
You may already know that 40-50% of new teachers don't make it to 5 years. 15.7 percent of teachers quit every year, and 40% who pursue teaching degrees never enter the classroom.* There are almost 3 million results on Google for "teacher burnout."
What would happen if I gave this job my all? My 110%? What would happen to my home, my kid, my marriage? Could I save these students? Could I drag them out of poverty and illiteracy and abusive homes and drug- and gang- infested neighborhoods and show them the light and change their whole lives?
Right now, I do my best to teach the kids how to write well, how to communicate, how to understand what they read, how to be persuasive, how to recognize bias, how to tell what sources are worth using, how to synthesize information and respond to different points of view. All the English stuff. And then at the end of the year, when my seniors are heading off into the world, I sneak in some lessons that aren't in my purview. I teach them about payday loans and interest rates, and I teach them about pyramid schemes and why not to work for Cutco or Herbalife, and I teach them about consent and the variety of people they'll run into in the world, and I teach them what to do if they get pulled over when driving, and I tell them what jury duty is like, and I encourage them to join all the clubs and take advantage of the movies and the lectures, and I teach them how to dress for an interview, how to shake hands, how to maintain eye contact, and to turn their phones off before they even get in the lobby.
I think I could sacrifice my personal happiness, my family life, and my sanity, and perhaps I could be a savior for a certain number of students. Let's go with a high number of 25 per year. I could probably swing that for as much as five years before needing to quit and do something easier. That's 125 students. Or I could help all my kids, about 115 per year, learn how to get jobs and not sell Herbalife. And I can do that for about three decades. That's 3500 students at no personal cost to me.
When I weigh those options with the greater good in mind, I always end up with me teaching for 30 years. Maybe I'm nobody's savior. Maybe I'm nobody's miracle cure. But I'm a good teacher, I'm a good mom, and I'm a good wife. And I'm on track to be at this for a couple thousand students longer.
So no, I'm not taking this kid in. I'm going to do exactly what I've been doing: trying to show him how to take personal responsibility. Giving him make-up work when he gets himself suspended. Working gently with his emotional issues so that he knows he's safe with me and welcome in my classroom. Smiling and saying hi in the hall even when he's been an absolute butthead earlier in the day. Correcting his work so that he's doing his personal best, but not setting the bar so high that he's frustrated and gives up. Teaching him how to read, write, communicate. And hopefully keeping him out of the Herbalife business. And out of jail.
Today, I'm not making phone calls. I'm not answering emails. I have to do some grading later, after Z goes to bed, but right now, I'm playing Monster High with her, and I'm having fun doing it. Except for that this wig is so itchy! (We get very into character.)
*http://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2013/10/why-do-teachers-quit/280699/
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Science is real… and I just got my flu shot!
I don't know why I bother. I saw this image on a friend's Facebook page the other day, and I decided to answer the question. And then I got involved.
The answer, of course, is that I'm not concerned about MY vaccinated kid. I'm concerned about the immune-compromised, the very young, and those who can't be vaccinated. I'm sort of concerned for your kids, even though that's more your business than mine. I mean, if you want to get pertussis, go nuts, but I am a little sad if your argument is "people used to get whooping cough all the time -- it's not that bad!"
And of course, vaccines aren't 100% effective*. Duh. I mean, sometimes you get the flu shot and then get the flu. But huge amounts of research show that you get it less often and less severely. Now go read this. What it says is that in countries with high rates of vaccinations, they have low rates of pertussis. If bunches of people get vaccinations, fewer people get pertussis. And it's not that bad… for you. But for kids under 6 months old, it can be deadly.
The thing is, so many of the people who advocate for not vaccinating take this "educate yourself!" approach. And I actually have, and continue to. The overwhelming evidence is that although there are some rare cases of negative side effects of vaccines, and although vaccines aren't 100% effective, they have helped to wipe out many diseases, some of them fatal. I mean, if you're my age or older, you probably met some people living with the after-effects of polio. We don't have that anymore.
I know I'm probably somewhat more of a critical thinker than many, but I'm not exceptional by any means, and it just drives me nuts the way people torture logic.
The cartoon above, for example, is kind of a straw man fallacy. It attacks an argument you're not making.
The one I hear about keeping kids healthy through healthy diets is called a false choice: it makes it seem like you either get your kids vaccinated, then hook up the chicken-nugget feeding tube, or make them slow-cooked gluten-free broth and ensure their continued health that way. You can do both. Nothing wrong with increasing their immune response via a healthy lifestyle.
And the following argument I'm going to make in favor of science doesn't invalidate the fact that I'm a skeptic, but there are certain things that satisfy my skepticism.
So… I am NOT a scientist. I'm not even that good at science. And I understand and recognize that about myself. What I do know is that science tends to use large samples, tends to control for variables, tends to test and experiment and re-test to get the same results. And when someone is pretty sure their science is legit, they write a paper in which they describe their methods so that other people can examine or re-create them, and then several other science people have to read it and agree that it's legit before it gets published. And even then, lots of other scientists are anxious to publish, so they try to tear it apart or address things that that study didn't address, or take a different spin on it, until there are hella pieces of research out there to read.**
So when you go read that research, and the VAST (like, about eleventy-billion to one) majority of those articles say "Yeah, vaccines are helpful," then my skepticism is alleviated somewhat.
But one has to be thorough, right? So I went looking for the other point of view. I searched. I followed footnotes and links and made a number of slightly-differently-worded searches, and what I found was one or two studies that said, "Well, it's possible that vaccines might cause this bad effect. We can't exactly rule it out. But since they are so overwhelmingly positive, our overall view is that you should probably still get them."
But the anti-vaccine people will argue with you all day. They have a gut feeling. They harken back to our ancestors. They think the decline in disease is due to better sanitation, not vaccines. And they have web sites! Their web sites are, by and large, selling something, but no matter. They have a feeling. They have thoroughly researched both sides (they are just unable, at the moment, to show you the research that supports them). And they made a choice.
Neil DeGrasse Tyson said, "the good thing about science is that it's true whether or not you believe in it." So I still can't figure out how reasonable people can look at mountains of evidence in favor of vaccines and a few woo-woo paranoiac sites with no evidence and feel as though they've considered both sides and come to the decision that's right for them.
My guess is, either they didn't really look at both sides -- they've simply allowed a few cult-of-personality types to tell them what to believe -- or they're not actually reasonable people. Or maybe both.
Because longitudinal studies that include hundreds of thousands of people and "this one time at band camp" stories are just not equivalent.
Now let me finish by saying that this isn't an argument in favor of mandatory vaccinations. I still think you can make your choice -- it's just a bad choice, based on bad evidence. And if you believe that woo is the same as science, then I've got news for you.
*Neither is birth control, but many of us have used it to great effect.
** A great example of this process is the infamous Wakefield study linking vaccines to autism. It was published, but then a WHOLE bunch of other scientists rebutted it, and then the researchers who worked with him wanted their names removed from it, and ultimately he lost his medical license over it. Of course, that was the ONLY study that showed a link between vaccines and autism, and yet 18% of the population believes there's a definite link, and 30% more just aren't sure.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Happy New Year!
I guess this has become something of a tradition!
January:
February:
March:
April:
May:
June:
July:
August:
September:
October:
November:
December:
Monday, December 30, 2013
Happy fun times in San Francisco and Santa Cruz
"Man, this has been the best day!"
"Good, maybe now you'll finally have a happy blog post to write."
"Haven't I written any happy ones lately?"
"No! Nothing for months and months."
I reviewed it myself later. I suppose, except for the Christmas music one, that he's quite right. It's not that it's been a bad year. In fact, lots of things have been very good. Obviously, there have been some genuine down sides, too, but overall, really I have a great life that I'm exceptionally grateful for. But as with many of my friends, much of my social media sharing has moved to Facebook. And Facebook is good for sharing positive, quick things. "Hey look, we are at the nature center and the sun is shining!" No one wants long-form gushing, right? And second, when I feel those political rants a-comin', I realize I should probably restrict them to you: mostly friends and family, and a few strangers. But strangers are easier than acquaintances. If a stranger thinks I'm too wacko-liberal, they quit reading (or read in a "get a load of this" way), but if an acquiantance does... Awkward!
Which has had the effect, overall, of turning this into a sinkhole of ranting.
But no more! (Or at least, not today.)
This was a brilliant weekend, and I am going to bask in its glory, reliving it by writing it.
First, we went to San Francisco. Properly, we barely went to San Francisco: we went to the Exploratorium. If you've never been, imagine a museum of science and technology where you're invited to touch and manipulate everything. The old one was at the Palace of Fine Arts, which is a gorgeous building, but in order to expand, it has moved to piers 15 and 17 on the Embarcadero. The downside was that there were about a million people there, and the line stretched for about a quarter mile (I found an accidental and mostly ethical way to skip it that will never work again). Honestly, I love watching Z explore things, but I could easily see spending 6 or so hours there all by myself. We played with magnets, built rube Goldberg devices, stood in a slowly turning structure and a camera obscura, watched beetles eating a dead rat, smelled things, looked at optical illusions, experimented with sound, spun wheels, built motors... It was awesome.
But we had other destinations ahead! After some GPS-related difficulty getting out of town, we hit pretty good traffic towards Santa Cruz. We checked into the hotel and walked to Saturn Cafe. We headed back to the hotel and started to change into our bathing suits (Z has talked of little else but getting into the hot tub here since we first booked the trip), when I slapped my hand to my open mouth. "You didn't!" "I forgot her suit!" With not too much difficulty, we convinced Z to draw and watch cartoons until bed.
On Saturday morning, we went to Cafe Brasil. I think Sweetie and I look as forward to that as almost anything. We both order gallo pinto, a rice and bean dish with eggs and a vinegary sauce, plus fried plantains. Z had a massive pancake.
We drove to the Seymour Marine Science Center and parked outside the gates. There's a nice walk to be had, and we were a little early. We walked to the cliff edge and watched some surfers, and slowly wound our way to the center, where we stood looking out at the ocean. Sweetie spotted an otter, and we watched him for a long time.
Inside Seymour, Z completed a scavenger hunt at record speed (we think the idea was to get people to actually look around, but Z took it as a timed challenge), then did some puzzles, almost touched the swell shark (she gets closer every time), and touched a few things in the starfish-and-whatnot tank.
After that, we went back downtown, this time for a longer visit. The shops on Pacific avenue have changed a lot, and the small, independently owned joints are being encroached upon by the Gap, the Urban Outfitters, the American Apparel... But they're still surviving, many of them. The book shop, the used bookstore. Palace Art, the stationery store, the sock shop, the lingerie store, a comic shop... We walked around quite a bit, and Z and I got Jamba Juice for lunch. I looked in several surf and outdoor-type shops for a bathing suit for Z, and finally found one in the Gap. It is a bikini, but I relented and she loves it. After a long shopping trip (during which many books and cards are acquired!), we returned to the hotel to swim in the pool.
It's heated to about 80, so not uncomfortable even though it's only about 70 outside, and there's no sun on the pool area. We also enjoy the hot tub.
For dinner, we have mediocre Mexican food. We've never had great luck finding restaurants we like for dinner. Breakfast? Hell yes! Lunch? Many fine, casual options. Dinner? Mainly just Saturn.
But after dinner, we stop for a scoop of Marianne's ice cream. Sweetie was skeptical of the long line, but I forced him to come in, and I think we were all pleased. I had Mexican chocolate, he had mandarin chocolate, and Z had rainbow sherbet.
On Sunday, we had a lighter breakfast - pastries and bread at the French bakery. We drove back to the hotel, then walked downtown for a few things we had missed before (mainly comics), and on the way back, hit the Trader Joe's for picnic lunch fixings.
We took our lunch and took a long drive down West Cliff to Natural Bridges state beach. We stopped briefly at the visitor center, which was packed with people wanting to see the butterflies, and then had our picnic. We walked down to the beach and I spread out a blanket and Sweetie and Z disappeared. I read. Then I tried to nap. Then I read some more. They were gone a long time! Apparently, they were on a voyage of discovery, and had walked almost all the way back to the Marine Center! We fooled around on the beach as you do, kicking feet in the waves, making little sand castles, and when we'd been in the sun for a couple hours and Z was thoroughly wet and sandy, we walked back toward the butterflies.
They overwinter at this park, and they're only active when it's above 65 degrees, which it was today! There are a whole bunch of monarchs that chill in the eucalyptus trees, and they flutter and fly about above the heads of the crowd. It's marvelous.
We came back to the hotel for another swim, and then we had a fancy dinner at the hotel restaurant, Solaire. It was mostly lovely, although I didn't care for the gnocchi as much as I have elsewhere. And now we're back in the comfortable beds, having enjoyed a treat from Donnelly's Chocolate (yum!), and Z is sleeping soundly.
Tomorrow we leave, and Sweetie and I both just realized that eventually, we have to go back to work. But not right away. And the sunshine and the ocean have been just shy of miraculous. 70 degrees in December? Thank you, forces of good. Or possibly global climate change.
Other notes: Z has taken up comic reading in a big way. She will stay engrossed in a comic, not even hearing our questions, and then pop up to tell us, "Mom! An artist wanted to make his painting heat up, and Hot Stuff took him too literally and set the painting on fire!" "Dad, Richie Rich was going to give his friend a gift, and she said she couldn't take one that was so lavish, so he said it only cost a quarter, but he meant it cost a quarter of a million!" It's really fun to see her reading things that she has exclusive access to. Like, we're not reading it along with her, so she tells us about it if she chooses to. It has also made her a much better car traveler. I haven't heard "when are we going to get there?" once.
I won't go into great detail, but one of the things that's great about my and Sweetie's relationship is that we crack each other up. Yesterday, we saw a sign for Rexford wines, and we invented a character called Rexford Wentworth the Fourth (or sometimes Rexford Wentforth the Third or Rexforth Wentworthingtonford), a British-accented, mildly stupid, insensitive pun-lover of the upper class. We've been trading off Rexford-isms all weekend, usually when Z is engrossed in a book. It is so good to have someone to be irresponsibly goofy and sometimes off-color with. I'm still crazy in love with this goofball.
"Good, maybe now you'll finally have a happy blog post to write."
"Haven't I written any happy ones lately?"
"No! Nothing for months and months."
I reviewed it myself later. I suppose, except for the Christmas music one, that he's quite right. It's not that it's been a bad year. In fact, lots of things have been very good. Obviously, there have been some genuine down sides, too, but overall, really I have a great life that I'm exceptionally grateful for. But as with many of my friends, much of my social media sharing has moved to Facebook. And Facebook is good for sharing positive, quick things. "Hey look, we are at the nature center and the sun is shining!" No one wants long-form gushing, right? And second, when I feel those political rants a-comin', I realize I should probably restrict them to you: mostly friends and family, and a few strangers. But strangers are easier than acquaintances. If a stranger thinks I'm too wacko-liberal, they quit reading (or read in a "get a load of this" way), but if an acquiantance does... Awkward!
Which has had the effect, overall, of turning this into a sinkhole of ranting.
But no more! (Or at least, not today.)
This was a brilliant weekend, and I am going to bask in its glory, reliving it by writing it.
First, we went to San Francisco. Properly, we barely went to San Francisco: we went to the Exploratorium. If you've never been, imagine a museum of science and technology where you're invited to touch and manipulate everything. The old one was at the Palace of Fine Arts, which is a gorgeous building, but in order to expand, it has moved to piers 15 and 17 on the Embarcadero. The downside was that there were about a million people there, and the line stretched for about a quarter mile (I found an accidental and mostly ethical way to skip it that will never work again). Honestly, I love watching Z explore things, but I could easily see spending 6 or so hours there all by myself. We played with magnets, built rube Goldberg devices, stood in a slowly turning structure and a camera obscura, watched beetles eating a dead rat, smelled things, looked at optical illusions, experimented with sound, spun wheels, built motors... It was awesome.
But we had other destinations ahead! After some GPS-related difficulty getting out of town, we hit pretty good traffic towards Santa Cruz. We checked into the hotel and walked to Saturn Cafe. We headed back to the hotel and started to change into our bathing suits (Z has talked of little else but getting into the hot tub here since we first booked the trip), when I slapped my hand to my open mouth. "You didn't!" "I forgot her suit!" With not too much difficulty, we convinced Z to draw and watch cartoons until bed.
On Saturday morning, we went to Cafe Brasil. I think Sweetie and I look as forward to that as almost anything. We both order gallo pinto, a rice and bean dish with eggs and a vinegary sauce, plus fried plantains. Z had a massive pancake.
We drove to the Seymour Marine Science Center and parked outside the gates. There's a nice walk to be had, and we were a little early. We walked to the cliff edge and watched some surfers, and slowly wound our way to the center, where we stood looking out at the ocean. Sweetie spotted an otter, and we watched him for a long time.
Inside Seymour, Z completed a scavenger hunt at record speed (we think the idea was to get people to actually look around, but Z took it as a timed challenge), then did some puzzles, almost touched the swell shark (she gets closer every time), and touched a few things in the starfish-and-whatnot tank.
After that, we went back downtown, this time for a longer visit. The shops on Pacific avenue have changed a lot, and the small, independently owned joints are being encroached upon by the Gap, the Urban Outfitters, the American Apparel... But they're still surviving, many of them. The book shop, the used bookstore. Palace Art, the stationery store, the sock shop, the lingerie store, a comic shop... We walked around quite a bit, and Z and I got Jamba Juice for lunch. I looked in several surf and outdoor-type shops for a bathing suit for Z, and finally found one in the Gap. It is a bikini, but I relented and she loves it. After a long shopping trip (during which many books and cards are acquired!), we returned to the hotel to swim in the pool.
It's heated to about 80, so not uncomfortable even though it's only about 70 outside, and there's no sun on the pool area. We also enjoy the hot tub.
For dinner, we have mediocre Mexican food. We've never had great luck finding restaurants we like for dinner. Breakfast? Hell yes! Lunch? Many fine, casual options. Dinner? Mainly just Saturn.
But after dinner, we stop for a scoop of Marianne's ice cream. Sweetie was skeptical of the long line, but I forced him to come in, and I think we were all pleased. I had Mexican chocolate, he had mandarin chocolate, and Z had rainbow sherbet.
On Sunday, we had a lighter breakfast - pastries and bread at the French bakery. We drove back to the hotel, then walked downtown for a few things we had missed before (mainly comics), and on the way back, hit the Trader Joe's for picnic lunch fixings.
We took our lunch and took a long drive down West Cliff to Natural Bridges state beach. We stopped briefly at the visitor center, which was packed with people wanting to see the butterflies, and then had our picnic. We walked down to the beach and I spread out a blanket and Sweetie and Z disappeared. I read. Then I tried to nap. Then I read some more. They were gone a long time! Apparently, they were on a voyage of discovery, and had walked almost all the way back to the Marine Center! We fooled around on the beach as you do, kicking feet in the waves, making little sand castles, and when we'd been in the sun for a couple hours and Z was thoroughly wet and sandy, we walked back toward the butterflies.
They overwinter at this park, and they're only active when it's above 65 degrees, which it was today! There are a whole bunch of monarchs that chill in the eucalyptus trees, and they flutter and fly about above the heads of the crowd. It's marvelous.
We came back to the hotel for another swim, and then we had a fancy dinner at the hotel restaurant, Solaire. It was mostly lovely, although I didn't care for the gnocchi as much as I have elsewhere. And now we're back in the comfortable beds, having enjoyed a treat from Donnelly's Chocolate (yum!), and Z is sleeping soundly.
Tomorrow we leave, and Sweetie and I both just realized that eventually, we have to go back to work. But not right away. And the sunshine and the ocean have been just shy of miraculous. 70 degrees in December? Thank you, forces of good. Or possibly global climate change.
Other notes: Z has taken up comic reading in a big way. She will stay engrossed in a comic, not even hearing our questions, and then pop up to tell us, "Mom! An artist wanted to make his painting heat up, and Hot Stuff took him too literally and set the painting on fire!" "Dad, Richie Rich was going to give his friend a gift, and she said she couldn't take one that was so lavish, so he said it only cost a quarter, but he meant it cost a quarter of a million!" It's really fun to see her reading things that she has exclusive access to. Like, we're not reading it along with her, so she tells us about it if she chooses to. It has also made her a much better car traveler. I haven't heard "when are we going to get there?" once.
I won't go into great detail, but one of the things that's great about my and Sweetie's relationship is that we crack each other up. Yesterday, we saw a sign for Rexford wines, and we invented a character called Rexford Wentworth the Fourth (or sometimes Rexford Wentforth the Third or Rexforth Wentworthingtonford), a British-accented, mildly stupid, insensitive pun-lover of the upper class. We've been trading off Rexford-isms all weekend, usually when Z is engrossed in a book. It is so good to have someone to be irresponsibly goofy and sometimes off-color with. I'm still crazy in love with this goofball.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
My top ten Christmas songs
I'm not a religious person. I don't know whether I'm an atheist or agnostic, exactly, but it's something like with aliens: I don't really believe they're out there, but hey, it's a big universe, so… meh, could be.
That said, culturally I participate in a couple of Christian holidays, and Christmas is my favorite!! I put up a tree, I put up house lights, I wear Christmas socks, and I bake while wearing a Christmas apron, listening to Christmas music and utilizing Christmas potholders. I think Christmas is just wonderful!
I am crazy about Christmas music, too. I've been thinking about doing this list, and I know in advance it will be hard to narrow it down to ten, but I'll work at it!
Bowie and Crosby Little Drummer Boy
This is hard to justify: It's schlocky and schmaltzy (and that's a lot of Yiddish to describe a Christmas song!), and apparently Bowie was kind of a dick when recording it, and the video version is awkward… and NONE of that makes me love it less. First, I like the original song. It's about a kid who has nothing to give to the baby Jesus, so he does the only thing he can for him. Giving all you have when you have nothing is just about the most beautiful of the Christmas morals, and that song has always gotten to me. And even though Bowie's "Peace on Earth, can it be" vocals over the top kind of bastardize the original song, I don't mind. I like his voice, I like the way their voices blend, and I actually think it works overall.
Do You Hear What I Hear
There's something I like about the little shepherd boy and the little drummer boy both. I like the way the songs are about the ripple effect of Jesus' birth on regular old people. These are just poor kids, and I like the way the songs foreground them. In fact, I like the last verse, "Said the mighty king to the people everywhere; listen to what I say!" the least. For every other verse, it's a question to another; do you hear? Do you see? Do you know? And the mighty king is all "Listen to me! Pay attention to me! I'm a king!" But then I forgive him, because he follows it up with "Pray for peace, people everywhere," which is the kind of sentiment I can get behind. Plus, when this song is good, it's very good, with lovely light harmonies and junk.
Walking In A Winter Wonderland
In general, I prefer religious music to secular. I think it's all that minor-key seriousness. And so many secular songs are about crappy subjects, particularly like how Santa is stalking you, or you want to whore it up with the fat man. That's weird. But I find Walking in a Winter Wonderland charming. You know what I love about it so much? That stupid snowman that they're going to pretend is Parson Brown. And the conspiring. I love a good conspiracy by the hearth.
Fairytale of New York
This song by the Pogues didn't come to my attention until a few years ago, and it's about homesickness and regret and dreams vs. reality and it's SO sad, but a little hopeful, too. And I love maudlin drunk, black-humored Irish songs. Which is why I picked the next one as well.
St. Stephen's Day Murders
This is on my all-time favorite Christmas album. I own a lot of Christmas music (if I just hit "play" and let it go, we could listen for over 8 hours), and I listen to The Chieftans' "The Bells of Dublin" at least twice as much as any other album I play. All 23 tracks are brilliant, but this one has Elvis Costello, murders, grumpiness, and lilting Irish pipes, and I'm just SO into it.
The Cherry Tree Carol
I like this one because it tells a whole little story: Mary and Joseph got married. One day, she asked him to gather her some cherries, "for I am with child." And he gets mad, because obviously! And there's this real Maury Povich moment where he says "Let the father of the child gather cherries for thee!" But then the baby Jesus speaks from her womb (okay, that part is creepy) and a cherry tree branch bends down to Mary's hand. It's just a tiny miracle and a sweet personal moment, and no towering angels spake from on high or anything. A pregnant lady wants some cherries. It's sweet. (This version by Sting isn't my favorite -- I like the Peter, Paul and Mary version. Mary Travers has a knockout voice.)
Linus and Lucy
The vast majority of the other songs on the Vince Guaraldi Trio are jazzy piano arrangements of traditional Christmas songs. This original composition is the one that pops into my head when I think of A Charlie Brown Christmas, however. And it's pretty hard to think of that Christmas special without feeling some serious warm fuzzes.
We Three Kings
Talk about your dark, melancholy, minor-key motherfuckers. It's all, "Hey, we're here to bring you some presents. This one symbolizes death!" (I'm serious: "Myrrh is mine: its bitter perfume/ breathes a life of gathering gloom. Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying/ sealed in the stone cold tomb.") You are literally waiting with bated breath for an Easter palate cleanser. Some sort of springtime, "Hey, it's cool, he got resurrected!" song. And yet that repeated "guide us to thy perfect light" line is a plea, a lament, and a hopeful belief all wrapped up in one. Lovely.
2000 Miles
Yeah, it's another non-traditional, secular, pop song. What of it? Much like the Fairytale of New York, this song recognizes that Christmas is a little sad, too -- for the people who are far away from their loved ones, for the people who feel lonely for other reasons, for the people whose holidays are less light after a loss... And I just can't get enough of Chrissie Hynde's voice.
O Holy Night
This song, performed half-way well, can make me cry. It's the "Fall on your knees" part. The song just builds and builds and builds until you finally get to that beautiful, climactic moment (it actually keeps building until "O night divine," but that high point really starts at "fall on your knees"). It's so suspenseful, so poignant, and so perfect.
That said, culturally I participate in a couple of Christian holidays, and Christmas is my favorite!! I put up a tree, I put up house lights, I wear Christmas socks, and I bake while wearing a Christmas apron, listening to Christmas music and utilizing Christmas potholders. I think Christmas is just wonderful!
I am crazy about Christmas music, too. I've been thinking about doing this list, and I know in advance it will be hard to narrow it down to ten, but I'll work at it!
Bowie and Crosby Little Drummer Boy
This is hard to justify: It's schlocky and schmaltzy (and that's a lot of Yiddish to describe a Christmas song!), and apparently Bowie was kind of a dick when recording it, and the video version is awkward… and NONE of that makes me love it less. First, I like the original song. It's about a kid who has nothing to give to the baby Jesus, so he does the only thing he can for him. Giving all you have when you have nothing is just about the most beautiful of the Christmas morals, and that song has always gotten to me. And even though Bowie's "Peace on Earth, can it be" vocals over the top kind of bastardize the original song, I don't mind. I like his voice, I like the way their voices blend, and I actually think it works overall.
Do You Hear What I Hear
There's something I like about the little shepherd boy and the little drummer boy both. I like the way the songs are about the ripple effect of Jesus' birth on regular old people. These are just poor kids, and I like the way the songs foreground them. In fact, I like the last verse, "Said the mighty king to the people everywhere; listen to what I say!" the least. For every other verse, it's a question to another; do you hear? Do you see? Do you know? And the mighty king is all "Listen to me! Pay attention to me! I'm a king!" But then I forgive him, because he follows it up with "Pray for peace, people everywhere," which is the kind of sentiment I can get behind. Plus, when this song is good, it's very good, with lovely light harmonies and junk.
Walking In A Winter Wonderland
In general, I prefer religious music to secular. I think it's all that minor-key seriousness. And so many secular songs are about crappy subjects, particularly like how Santa is stalking you, or you want to whore it up with the fat man. That's weird. But I find Walking in a Winter Wonderland charming. You know what I love about it so much? That stupid snowman that they're going to pretend is Parson Brown. And the conspiring. I love a good conspiracy by the hearth.
Fairytale of New York
This song by the Pogues didn't come to my attention until a few years ago, and it's about homesickness and regret and dreams vs. reality and it's SO sad, but a little hopeful, too. And I love maudlin drunk, black-humored Irish songs. Which is why I picked the next one as well.
St. Stephen's Day Murders
This is on my all-time favorite Christmas album. I own a lot of Christmas music (if I just hit "play" and let it go, we could listen for over 8 hours), and I listen to The Chieftans' "The Bells of Dublin" at least twice as much as any other album I play. All 23 tracks are brilliant, but this one has Elvis Costello, murders, grumpiness, and lilting Irish pipes, and I'm just SO into it.
The Cherry Tree Carol
I like this one because it tells a whole little story: Mary and Joseph got married. One day, she asked him to gather her some cherries, "for I am with child." And he gets mad, because obviously! And there's this real Maury Povich moment where he says "Let the father of the child gather cherries for thee!" But then the baby Jesus speaks from her womb (okay, that part is creepy) and a cherry tree branch bends down to Mary's hand. It's just a tiny miracle and a sweet personal moment, and no towering angels spake from on high or anything. A pregnant lady wants some cherries. It's sweet. (This version by Sting isn't my favorite -- I like the Peter, Paul and Mary version. Mary Travers has a knockout voice.)
Linus and Lucy
The vast majority of the other songs on the Vince Guaraldi Trio are jazzy piano arrangements of traditional Christmas songs. This original composition is the one that pops into my head when I think of A Charlie Brown Christmas, however. And it's pretty hard to think of that Christmas special without feeling some serious warm fuzzes.
We Three Kings
Talk about your dark, melancholy, minor-key motherfuckers. It's all, "Hey, we're here to bring you some presents. This one symbolizes death!" (I'm serious: "Myrrh is mine: its bitter perfume/ breathes a life of gathering gloom. Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying/ sealed in the stone cold tomb.") You are literally waiting with bated breath for an Easter palate cleanser. Some sort of springtime, "Hey, it's cool, he got resurrected!" song. And yet that repeated "guide us to thy perfect light" line is a plea, a lament, and a hopeful belief all wrapped up in one. Lovely.
2000 Miles
Yeah, it's another non-traditional, secular, pop song. What of it? Much like the Fairytale of New York, this song recognizes that Christmas is a little sad, too -- for the people who are far away from their loved ones, for the people who feel lonely for other reasons, for the people whose holidays are less light after a loss... And I just can't get enough of Chrissie Hynde's voice.
O Holy Night
This song, performed half-way well, can make me cry. It's the "Fall on your knees" part. The song just builds and builds and builds until you finally get to that beautiful, climactic moment (it actually keeps building until "O night divine," but that high point really starts at "fall on your knees"). It's so suspenseful, so poignant, and so perfect.
There are several more that should make honorable mention, but this will do. Merry Christmas, or whatever you celebrate, if anything.
Thursday, December 05, 2013
Raising the minimum wage
is fair and just and I cannot BELIEVE there's even a debate about this. I hardly ever yell at the radio DJs anymore (and it wasn't the morning morons, either), but seriously, it was SO STUPID.
"I lived on minimum wage when it was $4.25!! And these jerks want $15 an hour?!"
Hey, guess what you're leaving out? That your rent was $325 and gas was $1.10 a gallon. Apartments now are $1000 a month and gas is $3.50 a gallon. Let me do some quick math on my fingers… OH.
"If these losers want a better wage, go get a better job!"
10% unemployment rate in this town, suckers. There IS no better job.
"They can work their way up like everyone else does. If you want better pay, work your way up to manager!"
Because obviously those positions are plentiful and everyone is equally able to get those jobs!
"I can't believe MacDonald's regional managers make more than I do!"
Is that right, Mr. 23-hours-a-week* and dropped out of school in 7th grade? (Yes, really.) Did you consider that they probably supervise a couple hundred people?
"If a single person with a kid can't raise a kid on one income, they shouldn't have had a kid!"
I suspect you didn't MEAN to be a misogynist when this popped out of your face hole, but 72% of single parents are mothers, and many of them have little choice in the matter.
"Why can't they live on what they make?"
Could you live on $10,000 a year? That's what most "crew members" make. Even if you're full time (and ask yourself how many McDonalds' employees are getting 40 hours), the company itself suggests that you take on a second job of about 32 hours to make ends meet. Here's what a living wage looks like: In my city in California, a single parent (of one child) would need about $54k to get by with a modest living. That's about twice the poverty level. It's about five times as much as a shift manager at McDonald's makes.
"If you can't make it, then get a second job!"
Many people do. But should you have to work 72 hours a week to have shelter and food? Really?
"If they raise the minimum wage to $15 an hour, that's double. The price of a Big Mac will double like THAT."
Well… McDonald's may use that as an excuse to raise prices, but obviously not all of their budget goes to salaries, and if they charged $8 for a burger, no one would buy it. Something between five cents and 68 cents is more likely.
A caller actually called in and said, "I was making a lot of money in my field living in San Francisco. Then I got laid off and divorced, and now I'm a highly skilled worker making $9 an hour." I THOUGHT the next thing she was going to say was how absolutely ridiculous that is, and how impossible it is to live on that wage… "And if I'm only making $9, why should fast food workers make $10 an hour? That's ridiculous!"
Oh, honey. First of all, if the minimum wage was raised, and your pay was below it, yours would be raised, too. Second, why is human nature so prone to thinking, "If I don't have something, no one else should have it either!" instead of "hey, they deserve that, and so do I"? I've seen this so many times in the debate about public employee retirement or health benefits. People scream, "I work in the private sector and I don't get a retirement!" I always want to say, "You're right, that's totally unfair. Go demand a retirement! Hell, unionize! " What impulse makes you wish everyone were as miserable as you rather than wishing you were as happy as others?
Anyway, off my soapbox. I hope it happens soon, and I am thankful for Obama (with reservations), Elizabeth Warren, and the Occupy movement, which has kind of died down, but which did bring attention to income inequality in this country.
*I don't know the ins and outs of radio DJ contracts. This guy is ON the radio 23 hours a week, but I suspect he also has to prepare, go to meetings, and do publicity stuff.
"I lived on minimum wage when it was $4.25!! And these jerks want $15 an hour?!"
Hey, guess what you're leaving out? That your rent was $325 and gas was $1.10 a gallon. Apartments now are $1000 a month and gas is $3.50 a gallon. Let me do some quick math on my fingers… OH.
"If these losers want a better wage, go get a better job!"
10% unemployment rate in this town, suckers. There IS no better job.
"They can work their way up like everyone else does. If you want better pay, work your way up to manager!"
Because obviously those positions are plentiful and everyone is equally able to get those jobs!
"I can't believe MacDonald's regional managers make more than I do!"
Is that right, Mr. 23-hours-a-week* and dropped out of school in 7th grade? (Yes, really.) Did you consider that they probably supervise a couple hundred people?
"If a single person with a kid can't raise a kid on one income, they shouldn't have had a kid!"
I suspect you didn't MEAN to be a misogynist when this popped out of your face hole, but 72% of single parents are mothers, and many of them have little choice in the matter.
"Why can't they live on what they make?"
Could you live on $10,000 a year? That's what most "crew members" make. Even if you're full time (and ask yourself how many McDonalds' employees are getting 40 hours), the company itself suggests that you take on a second job of about 32 hours to make ends meet. Here's what a living wage looks like: In my city in California, a single parent (of one child) would need about $54k to get by with a modest living. That's about twice the poverty level. It's about five times as much as a shift manager at McDonald's makes.
"If you can't make it, then get a second job!"
Many people do. But should you have to work 72 hours a week to have shelter and food? Really?
"If they raise the minimum wage to $15 an hour, that's double. The price of a Big Mac will double like THAT."
Well… McDonald's may use that as an excuse to raise prices, but obviously not all of their budget goes to salaries, and if they charged $8 for a burger, no one would buy it. Something between five cents and 68 cents is more likely.
A caller actually called in and said, "I was making a lot of money in my field living in San Francisco. Then I got laid off and divorced, and now I'm a highly skilled worker making $9 an hour." I THOUGHT the next thing she was going to say was how absolutely ridiculous that is, and how impossible it is to live on that wage… "And if I'm only making $9, why should fast food workers make $10 an hour? That's ridiculous!"
Oh, honey. First of all, if the minimum wage was raised, and your pay was below it, yours would be raised, too. Second, why is human nature so prone to thinking, "If I don't have something, no one else should have it either!" instead of "hey, they deserve that, and so do I"? I've seen this so many times in the debate about public employee retirement or health benefits. People scream, "I work in the private sector and I don't get a retirement!" I always want to say, "You're right, that's totally unfair. Go demand a retirement! Hell, unionize! " What impulse makes you wish everyone were as miserable as you rather than wishing you were as happy as others?
Anyway, off my soapbox. I hope it happens soon, and I am thankful for Obama (with reservations), Elizabeth Warren, and the Occupy movement, which has kind of died down, but which did bring attention to income inequality in this country.
*I don't know the ins and outs of radio DJ contracts. This guy is ON the radio 23 hours a week, but I suspect he also has to prepare, go to meetings, and do publicity stuff.
Monday, December 02, 2013
What's your excuse?
Sorry I'm Not Sorry
When I posted the above image on Facebook, I was just trying to say that I am extremely well-educated. I'm naturally smart, but I also make education a priority. I'm sorry you responded to the image by reflecting on your own failings. I won't go into details about how things were hard for me too -- how I struggled with science classes and worked 35 hours a week while taking a full course load at school, too. I won't even mention how it took ten years for me to get the three degrees I have, and how I got both my teaching credential and my Masters while working full time as a teacher.
What I will say is this: it's not my responsibility if you're too dumb and lazy to get an education. If you're jealous of me and my high levels of attainment, you can work to improve yourself and alleviate those feelings of inferiority. Stop being inferior to me and you won't feel inferior anymore.
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Update
Wow, what a whirlwind! It seems like people really hate me over this. Many people are saying that I must be naturally gifted, or have circumstances that allow me to advance my education in ways that others don't. Of course it would be silly to say that everyone should be exactly like me! Not everyone is born with the intelligence I was gifted with. People are different! I just wanted to inspire people to be as good as me. With hard work, anyone can attain high levels of education, and that's something you should strive for. If that makes you feel bad about yourself, that's not my fault. I am the product of discipline, dedication, and desire. I just wanted to inspire you to start on your own educational path. I feel so misunderstood. I'm an inspiration!
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New Blog Post, Y'all!
This morning I saw in my news feed a bunch of posts and news items about people who had dropped out of school for a life path they found more fulfilling. I can't believe that in America in 2013, we would be celebrating people who choose to be dumb! They were saying that school wasn't for them, and they were proud of it and loved themselves anyway! I know getting an education is hard, but I can tell you -- it is worth it. I just think we are breeding a strange mentality when we celebrate people who choose not to be smart. Smart and well-educated go hand-in-hand, and there's really no way these people can be smart while choosing not to get their education. It's really shameful, and they should be ashamed of themselves. And we should all be ashamed for giving them a platform to celebrate their stupidity. Shame is really the message to take away from this.
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I'm Banned from Facebook.
So, apparently some people thought that last blog post was too critical of dummies and I was reported on Facebook for it, so they took the post down. But I made sure to include it here because, hateful or not, I think everyone deserves to hear my thoughts on the subject! Again, if you feel bad about yourself for being really, really dumb, that's not my fault, but yours. But some people took my words to mean that you shouldn't love yourself if you're dumb, or that you should be ashamed of yourself. I didn't mean that. I meant, you shouldn't love yourself and you should be ashamed of yourself until you strive to get smarter. And then, when you are smart like me, you can love and accept yourself as you are. I have a passion for intelligence and education (and, can I make this point often enough? I believe the two are interchangeable and inextricably linked), and I just think everyone should value the same things I do. In fact, I don't really understand that there are other things out there that people value. So, sorry-not-sorry for ruffling some feathers out there, but I have to stand up for what I am passionate about!
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If it was unclear, the above was satire. And though I hate to drive even more traffic to this gal's page, here's the link if you're so inclined.
Maria Kang been making the news a lot (like, a LOT a lot) lately for her views about obesity. And obesity is a problem. But poor health and fat aren't as closely related as she makes it seem -- I know plenty of people who have a high BMI and are very fit athletes, and of course there are the people in terrible health who are slender. And she says we should celebrate people who are a result of discipline and hard work. But that's sad to me -- that she believes the only kind of discipline is the kind that results in physical fitness. People have other priorities, and can and should be celebrated for the successes they have in other areas. Nevertheless, even though I disagree with Ms. Kang on many things, I was going to decline to comment on it. But the rant that was removed from Facebook was egregious. It was aimed at a group of women who were celebrating and loving themselves, and who had put themselves out there, quite bravely, only to be lambasted by the likes of Kang, who finds their bodies unappealing. Kang is a fitness model, and she sells fitness and diet-related products for a living. I'm happy for her that she looks as great as she does. But the bottom line is that the women in the Curvy Girl campaign announced, "I am beautiful and I am deserving of love," and Kang replied, in effect, "No." That's some bullshit right there.
It's good to eat right. It's good to be healthy. I wish I wasn't so fat. And I agree with Kang that it's important to work towards improvement goals (not only physical ones, but including those). But my question for you, today, is "What's your excuse… for not loving yourself as you are?"
P.S. I don't think the smart/well-educated and thin/healthy analogy here is a perfect parallel (for example, I don't think people who are fat have "dropped out" of trying to be, you know what I'm saying?), but I do think that the idea that linking fat to unhealthiness in every instance is fallacious, and I think Kang's statement that you can tell if someone is unhealthy "just by looking at them" is both insulting and weird.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Ungrateful
So on top of everything else, I get to feel guilty.
No, just, you know… that whole "date we quit trying if we haven't gotten pregnant by then" passed. I thought I was pregnant and then it was very apparent that I wasn't. (Like, I had a plan to go to the Dollar Tree for one of them dollar pregnancy tests, so… glad I didn't waste the buck.) And I'm trying so hard to just will myself to pack up all the baby shit and take it to Goodwill. But even thinking of it makes me cry.
And I was like, "Gee, Mockula, you usually write a list of all the things you're grateful for at Thanksgiving." And I was like, "Pound sand, inner voice!"
And then I was like, "Well, I remember how this process felt before I had Z, and now I have her, and my life is a million times more awesome even though it was pretty good before, because I have a wonderful family and home and job and my health and my Sweetie, who is just tops." And I managed to eke out, in my head, a little "I'm thankful we're together, and safe, and healthy, and warm." And inner voice was all "That's pathetic!" and then I felt bad for not feeling more genuinely grateful today.
But anyway, if* you see me driving a carload of stuff to the Goodwill, and on top of it is a crib, then, you know, just try to avert your gaze, because I am an ugly cryer and then I'll be embarrassed, too.
*And even if I manage to do it, no guarantees that it isn't some freaky bargain I've made in my brain to try to trick the universe into thinking I've given up. "Oh gosh! A positive pregnancy test! And just when I had gotten rid of the last of the baby things!"
No, just, you know… that whole "date we quit trying if we haven't gotten pregnant by then" passed. I thought I was pregnant and then it was very apparent that I wasn't. (Like, I had a plan to go to the Dollar Tree for one of them dollar pregnancy tests, so… glad I didn't waste the buck.) And I'm trying so hard to just will myself to pack up all the baby shit and take it to Goodwill. But even thinking of it makes me cry.
And I was like, "Gee, Mockula, you usually write a list of all the things you're grateful for at Thanksgiving." And I was like, "Pound sand, inner voice!"
And then I was like, "Well, I remember how this process felt before I had Z, and now I have her, and my life is a million times more awesome even though it was pretty good before, because I have a wonderful family and home and job and my health and my Sweetie, who is just tops." And I managed to eke out, in my head, a little "I'm thankful we're together, and safe, and healthy, and warm." And inner voice was all "That's pathetic!" and then I felt bad for not feeling more genuinely grateful today.
But anyway, if* you see me driving a carload of stuff to the Goodwill, and on top of it is a crib, then, you know, just try to avert your gaze, because I am an ugly cryer and then I'll be embarrassed, too.
*And even if I manage to do it, no guarantees that it isn't some freaky bargain I've made in my brain to try to trick the universe into thinking I've given up. "Oh gosh! A positive pregnancy test! And just when I had gotten rid of the last of the baby things!"
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