Open the door and let me in! There’s a mean world out there!

Just around dinner time, a well-dressed man came around ringing my doorbell. I thought he was selling Jesus paraphernalia or distributing “free” (nothing’s ever really FREE) Bibles – I mean nothing by this except to say that the only well dressed strangers that ever show up on my doorstep are of this métier. I opened just ONE of my two big front doors and I looked inquisitively but with suspicion at this guy.

He said that he knew me to be a friend, having seen my sign in the laundry room window that faces the street [it says: “it’s up to the WOMEN; elect X & Y” – I do not want to reveal my political bias at the moment; I’m sure you have NO IDEA whom I will vote for on Nov. 2 and I am somewhat baffled as to the message on my sign; someone gave it to me at the Farmers Market and it looked cool, so I put it up – though I am ready to concede that any number of things in this world are up to women, so it can’t be all bad]. I let him in. “Oh thank you!” he tells me, weary of rejections, I’m sure.

“I support all your candidates; what else do you want from me? Money? I donate! I do it all, even post signs in the window at the risk of waking up to splattered raw eggs the next morning” (I live in a politically “mixed” neighborhood; it may be the only one in Madison, but it certainly appears “mixed.”).

He asks: “Will you need absentee ballots for November 2nd?” Megosh! Yes!! Two from this household will have secured them for sure, but the third member, scheduled to be away that day – I’m not so sure… [Do NOT rob this house thinking it to be vacant on November 2nd. I am planning a mega election thing and we will all fight off burly criminals who interfere with the event.][Does that sound convincing and like a proper repellant to criminal-types? I’m not actually sure I am planning a mega event , but MAYBE!]

And so I filled out forms and signed papers and secured an absentee form and it was time to say good bye to the fine young man in the crisp chinos and blue oxford-cloth shirt. [I’m sure he was breaking down stereotypes and making a statement, like maybe: hey, *they* are not the only ones that dress up when duty calls!]

“Thank you!” he tells me.. “Thank you so much for being our friend!”

Now I ask you: would the OTHER party have treated me this well?

Discouraged

Of course, the newspaper only confirms what we already know: the rift between the US and Europe is increasing. Consider this, from reputable studies, summarized today (here) in the IHT:

76% of Europeans disapproved of current American foreign policy
47% of Americans disapproved of the way GWB was handling international relations

Both unions – the European and the American one – agree that terrorism and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction are a major threat facing societies. However:

28% of Europeans believed that military strength is the best way to ensure peace
54% of Americans believed that military strength is the best way to ensure peace

When asked whether a war can be just:

41% of Europeans said yes
82% of Americans said yes.

And yes, Poland was part of the European sample, otherwise the divide between the US and the EU would have been even greater.

Working away…

Today marked the first day of intense teaching. My schedule keeps Mondays and Thursdays loaded with back to back classes and places less of a strain on the remaining days where I have only one class to prepare for.

The interesting challenge is to rev myself up for switching the substantive mindset midstream – from a morning hour and a half on Family Law, I sail forth and plunge into the first year Torts class. During the in-between half hour, I sit in my office and try to put myself into that body of Tort law, so that I can live and breathe the stuff by the time I am in class.

Several conclusions:

It is SO COLD in my office that I have a space heater going full blast, which of course makes it nice and toasty, as a result of which any prolonged period of sitting leads to a nice healthy morning or afternoon doze.

I am SO TIRED after the double teaching that I am all the more likely to fall asleep after the second class (it happened today).

I am SO SCARED that I will go into prolonged slumber, missing appointments, generally making a nuisance of myself when people stop by.

I am SO DEPENDENT on my afternoon cup of coffee to wake me up that I have set up this elaborate brewing system right in my office. But this, in turn, contributes to an atmosphere of complete peace and serenity, what, with me, my workspace and my cup of latte – as a result, I again am tempted to nap.

I wonder if having a jail cell with a concrete floor, a steel desk and a single suspended light-bulb would be more conducive to getting things done. Sometimes I think I have managed to make myself too comfortable. [now in the old country…]

Will they throw rotten tomatoes at my house after this week-end?

I came home to a message on my phone telling me that I was invited to be a judge in a neighborhood dessert competition this Saturday. After the glow of flattery had worn off, I began to consider my future in the community. They don’t hate me at this point. True, I missed the boat on the old-timers. I was one of the few women who had a full-time job and so I just didn’t get into the fun and games and gossip then. Round two is passing me by as well. There has been a significant turn-over in my block alone. I am one of the oldest now, having lived here since 1988. They all have kids, mine are up up and away.

But I like this new wave of fresh faces, even if I don’t always partake in their games and gatherings. Does anyone remember my post on the flamingos across the street (I’m talking February; please don’t look for it, it’s meandering and inconsequential)? My kind of people! Who else would have stuck the skinny plastic birds in all sorts of weird positions and then left them there until the snows began to melt?

So I want to show my thumbs up on the whole lot of them. I think well of so many of the individuals here; I don’t want to make enemies.

But now this judging thing has come along. How long will I survive if I reject someone’s famous apple pie? Or chunky chocolate chewies? It’s a no-win situation. I walk around, I sample, I look at the eager faces and what do I say, “it’s all good!” ??

It wont work. After showering praise on everything, I have to vote and select: number one and number two and number three. I know, I know, it doesn’t quite rise to the level of a Sophie’s choice-type dilemma, but on the other hand, people do get really invested in their baking. And to the non-winners I get to say –> not good enough. [Oh God, you don’t suppose I have to award the boobie prize as well, do I? And are there kids with fragile dispositions standing behind their goopy entries? ]

There is also the problem of eating it all. If I go to a winemaker and taste ten wines, I can spit nine out and walk away sober. It’s expected. I’m sure I’ll be allowed no such privilege here. Marshmallow madness with grape jelly? Bring it on! Peanut butter pumpkin pie? Yes, place it right here in front of me! I have to eat everything.

Oh, but how can one say no…I’ll survive this, I know I will. I am almost looking forward to the gluttony and the sugar high. And I’ll be sure to post afterwards. And hope that no one in the neighborhood reads my blog.

Deja vu

I tell myself that I will not start each day with a romp through headlines about the forthcoming elections and then, like a true addict, I wake up and click “display” rather than “delete” when I see a title that promises to put yet another spin on what November 2nd will bring about.

It is especially frustrating to subscribe to E-headlines from both the NYT and the IHT, because oftentimes the IHT will rerun an NYT story under a different title, so that not only am I depressed one day after reading it, I am, secondly, depressed again, based on the same content. How stupid is that?

It happened this morning when I read about the "stalled Kerry" in the IHT (here). Hey, it’s virtually the same story as the “On Labor Day, candidates have work to do” story from two days back (here), just doctored a little because we are no longer on Labor Day. And if you get to the end the second time around (and I did, just in case I missed something on first reading of it two days back) you get the same dismal line:

Republicans and Democrats say the biggest problem for Mr. Bush is the sense among Americans that the country is headed in the wrong direction.

Why dismal? Because if you believe that the country is completely off track, heading who knows where, and you STILL want to vote for the incumbent (as most, at this point, do), what hope is there in this world?

I’m rethinking my strategy. Tomorrow: no headline clicking. Unless it seems really important. Or optimistic. Or something.

Rugged individualism: my kind of thing!

Isn't it ironic, ISN'T IT IRONIC, that on the same day (September 3rd, see post below) that my mom was complaining about my absence of notable pursuits in life, the AP was running a story on its feature wire that included references to my various involvements with the kitchens at L'Etoile?

Did I even know? Of course not. But Doug Moe picked it up yesterday in the Cap Times (here), and I eventually picked up my copy of the paper LATE yesterday, threw it away (does anyone ever read the paper they subscribe to? Okay, okay, I do as well. Usually.), only to be told (more like teased) today at work that I am HOT STUFF (perhaps not quite that hot, perhaps not even lukewarm, but mentioned nonetheless).

The phrase that stands out for me is not the mention of my cooking activities at L'Etoile or my foraging, but my picking out Odessa due to my attraction to her rugged individualism. In truth, I just wanted to work for the best chef in town (why kill yourself for lesser beings), but it sounds cool -- like I am a rugged type myself.

To reiterate a phrase that I have used repeatedly in the last months, not knowing of its potentially irritating qualities, it's all good.

A face from the past. Maybe.

Yesterday, in the evening, I was walking home from Whole Foods (it’s an hour’s hike each way if I am fast about it), when a car passed, halfway up Old Sauk hill, honking wildly, with the driver waving in the most enthusiastic way. He pulled over by Crestwood School and I paused alongside.

“Wow, it’s been a long time! It’s so good to see you! How ARE you?” He asks.

He’s about my age, in gym attire and he looks vaguely familiar. Vaguely.

“Good, good…just walking home from the store…” I say.
He takes stock of my bags --“Oh, I see you have groceries.. Do you want me to give you a ride home? Where do you live anyway?”
I tell him vaguely “Just a few more steps up, around the corner. It’s fine. I’m in it for the exercise.”
“As you can see, I just came from the gym…” Yes, I can see that – he looks a bit ‘sweaty.’

Anyway, our chat ended soon after. Of course, even if I had been tired beyond tired, I would not have gotten into the car of a virtual stranger who obviously was not someone close enough to even know where I lived and may well have faked the whole “it’s been a long time” bit. I come from Eastern European ancestry that is steeped in dark suspicion and distrust of even the closest neighbor (Germany, the former Soviet Union, etc..). That’s not the point.

The point is that I probably did know him and should have recognized him. ‘Haven’t seen me in a while…’ -- Who? A judge from the Dane County courts that I once frequented? A lawyer representing the “other side?” A public school teacher? A parent of a child? Who? The guy was extremely gregarious – a trait that is not common among the men I know and one that typically makes me take note of the person exhibiting it. You would think, therefore, that I would recognize the bearer of the wide grin and booming voice. But no, I could not place him at all.

The question that I have is this: how do you find out without appearing completely rude? I could not say “you know, you do look a touch familiar, but who the hell are you?” I had hoped that prolonging the chat would have caused him to reveal some fact that would have solved the puzzle, but no such luck. What might have I asked?

My colleague is about to become a millionaire and it was my idea!

Ann of Althouse blog fame has posted (here) that she will now accept donations to her blog, given how much time and effort she devotes on a daily (hourly?) basis to the project. She notes that in the last several days her readership has been higher than high and perhaps some would now like to show financial appreciation for her work (example of a sacrifice made: toting her computer to a dinner party last Thursday, to loyally continue her simul-blogging of the convention). Imagine, if one tenth of the current 250,000 gave even a dollar, she’d be able to upgrade her little VW to a sporty car with one more letter thrown in (BMW).

Here’s the thing: I got her started. Really. She admits this. Without my words of encouragement, she may still be sketching faces during Law School faculty meetings rather than blogging for bucks. I think it is not unreasonable to remind her of various ways people have been compensated in the past for jumpstarting a business venture. Maybe 10% of the first million and after that it’s all hers? Fair, isn’t it?

The question may arise if you should dole out a buck to Althouse rather than to a political campaign of your choice this year (the Democrats are the needy ones, so let’s even it out a little, shall we?). There is something to be said for supporting our champ of pundits, the self-proclaimed moderate and shrine to the entrepreneurial spirit of success who even as I type is launching a patriotic campaign to make “Closer to Free” the Wisconsin state rock song.

If you’re a Republican and you slip her the greenback, it wont make you or break you and it wont make or break the Republican campaign either. I am certain you’ve written that with ten zeros after it in the last month alone. If you are a Democrat, you MUST support her so that she understands that you are reading her as well and that your hard-earned pennies are being handed over to ensure that she pays equal attention to your electoral needs.

I say go right ahead then: write the checks and include a note stating that at least part of the donation is to be targeted to the one who poured the concrete onto the Althouse foundation.

P.S. “Ocean” remains free. Donations honoring its content can be made to any number of worthy places. Just as an example, lately I have become fascinated with the Save the Goat Campaign. I’m full of ideas.

What are you, a New Yorker? A Virginian? What?

Last night, during a congenial after-dinner chat, I reiterated my idea (from an earlier post here) that perhaps the way you choose the place with which you identify is by looking to where you had your first serious crush. Mine, having been a wallop of a crush, was definitely in Warsaw and so even though I lived an equally large number of years in NY, I still consider myself more of a Varsovian and not really a New Yorker. Several points were made in response to this and I am posting them here because they offer us a chance to look critically at our younger years:

* Most report having strong crushes at very young ages and they view this as a poor marker of identification with a community. It was suggested that the better phrase may be “had a serious crush and could act upon it in a significant way.” But what does that mean? Kissing? Hair-pulling? Hand-holding? Or are we talking about an out and out act of physical errrr… embrace?

* One person said that even though he moved early on from NY to Virginia, his parents were such New Yorkers to the core (hey, New Yorkers always see themselves as “to the core”) that it was without a doubt a family identity that got passed on to the kids.

* Another said that if you lived your entire childhood years in one community then EVERYONE who came in later (moved there and joined the school in fourth grade, for example) was an outsider. They may CALL themselves a Yonkers dude, but they WEREN’T perceived as such by TRUE Yonkers-types.

* To which someone added that they are ashamed of themselves for the treatment they bestowed on true outsiders. This person, whom I would regard as pretty high on the kindness continuum, admitted to circulating a petition to “get [newcomers] X & Y out of the school NOW!” She reports being relieved to note during a recent high school reunion that this did not appear to leave any permanent scars on either X nor Y who, it seems, are among the more successful of the lot [yeah, sure, after years of therapy…].

* And then everyone tripped over each other in their recollections of real "formative years" behaviors: the unintentional (and admissions were made of intentional as well) hurts bestowed upon other classmates, all arising out of bending to “peer pressure.” It was said that if you cannot recall a single incident of (not necessarily deliberate) unkindness perpetrated by you during your school years then you are not being honest with yourself.

So am I a Varsovian because it is there that I offered no protest or defense of poor Fela during the birthday party prank of looking for bugs to put in her hair? Is the true place of affinity that, where you made a menace of yourself? Somehow I like my “fell in love with someone” dimension better.

Post scriptum

I received some pretty inspired and inspiring comments from readers responding to my European Dream post of yesterday. Rather than quoting them all here, let me just say thank you, in the “European” way – globally. And let me add a plea: save the tone of hope and approbation for your sons and daughters too, please. Do NOT tell them that you think they have lead trivial lives, no matter how much, deep down, you view them as life’s losers. One reader wrote “I believe that each person is of infinite value.” Is it too obvious to also add that measures of value are infinitely and wonderfully diverse?

Jeez, it could be that by one measure (possibly my mom’s?), I already peaked, perhaps in 7th grade (I had a great year then). Yet I still may expect of myself a life’s commitment to finding new and unique paths toward providing some small iota of good stuff to the community in which I find myself. I am hereby giving a loud hoorah for all our ongoing efforts at providing value, until the last nail is pounded into each of our coffins! [That’s a lot more optimistic than it sounds at first blush.]

Feeding the mind and body

Two separate (and at first glance insignificant) articles in the NYT caused me to sit back and reflect this morning: the back-page essay of the Travel Section (on reading multiple books during vacations) and the Food piece in the Magazine. What do they have in common? Both pieces hit below my guilt belt.

The first describes a family that travels everywhere with a suitcase full of books. I have to admit that I am the opposite – I read the least number of novels when I am on a trip. A day begins early for me – almost always at sunrise – and it ends with a late late dinner. True, in recent months I have traveled with my computer and I have found time to blog often late into the night, but by then, typically I am in a dazed stupor brought on by a bursting-at-the-seams day of walking, viewing and eating. It’s not a conducive state for picking up a Russian tragedy, for example. [The Hartmanns – the family that is the subject of the NYT article – must have a lackluster sightseeing agenda and certainly they cannot be drinking wine with dinner or they’d be equally zonked at the end of the day. It is not possible to pick up Anna Karenina after a three hour Italian dinner that ends at midnight.]

Do I at least read on long flights? Rarely. Most people regard this as somewhat bizarre, but during periods of time suspended in the air I frequently just sit and think. Only during solitary walks do I ever have such beautiful chunks of thinking time. On my last overseas flight, the passenger next to me was nearing the end of his copy of Ulysses. I, on the other hand, was on page 50 of a rather good novel that I had begun on the outbound flight, but I quickly put it down because I realized it was cutting into my thinking time.

This explanation for my poor reading habits during travel does not diminish pangs of guilt for being so illiterate during periods of what is essentially “free time.” I think I should be plowing through a book or two per day, just like the NYT Hartmann family.

As to the article on food – specifically on creating one’s own version of the French Salade Composee (which is a salad that is good enough to serve as a meal) – I am impressed. I have been struggling to come up with ideas on how to make terrific meals this year without resorting to the frozen foods section of the local grocery store and here I have it: bingo! An artfully created salad with yummy tuna, good quality olive oil, and a number of compatible, seasonal vegetables. Why didn’t I think of that myself?

Oh the merits of reading the Sunday Times! In a creative year of “accomplishing something” (see post below), I am certainly keen on the idea of moving around town (though not on a trip to distant places – never then) with a suitcase full of books (you never know when a moment to read will arise) and ending each day with a salade composee.

[I also have a few projects in mind for the year, but these will not be revealed until (unless?) they are accomplished.]

What you might pick up at Madison’s Farmers Market

At the market this morning (while fulfilling my foraging duties for L’Etoile) friends and farmers answered my call for advice on how to embark on a “worthwhile” endeavor this year. I was told yesterday that this was my “last chance” (see post below) to do anything remarkable. Bereft of ideas that would be worthy of labels such as “great” and “worthwhile,” I turned to those around me for suggestions on what direction I should follow. [Nota bene, the farmers at the Saturday Market are always more than willing to talk and lest you think they have little to contribute to lofty discussions, let me just say that Dane County has the most degree-laden agricultural community in the nation, a fact which, though not dispositive of loftiness, certainly speaks to a willingness to engage in speculative discussions of this nature.]

Here are some reactions:

“Read a book!” [Okay, I did take this to be a bit of an insult: I have a year to reach for great heights. I should read a book?]

“Write a book!” [Better. I had, not too many years ago, begun work on a novel. Don’t we all have author pretensions at some point in our lives? After months of agony and miniscule progress I switched to short stories. I do enjoy writing short stories, but maybe I should contemplate a novel again? Is one year enough for one’s first (and necessarily ‘great’ or else it doesn’t count) novel?]

“Join a few book clubs!” [I belong to two. How "great" is that though? In any case, I am a poor team player – if I don’t like the book, I just read the first and last chapters.]

“Do you have a TV?” nc: yes… “Unplug it.” [Yes, okay, and then what?]

“Learn a language!” [Whatever my other deficiencies, knowing too few languages is not one of them. Though I suppose if I learned Greek or something reasonably esoteric, I might be proud of myself. I don’t think it would mean beans to my mother though. Still, I am only in part pandering to her directive.]

“Start a salon.” Now, this peaked my interest. It sounds pretentious and not at all something my mother would rally behind, but still, it is intriguing. nc: How do you start a salon? “First, get a subscription to UTNE Magazine.” nc: Salon thoughts are put aside for a while. A digression follows:

UTNE and the European Dream

During blogger dinner on Thursday, one of the attendees asked me: “Do you like living in America?” To my knowledge, I have never complained about living here. Indeed, I CHOSE to live here. Most of my family, including my sister and father, still live in Poland. I do not. Moreover, I did not come here for political or economic reasons. I came because I wanted to attend the university here. I stayed for personal reasons.

However, there are aspects of life that I find personally excruciatingly difficult to adjust to. I have mentioned these in the course of blogging, but to fully understand my ambivalence (and I have to immediately underscore this: ambivalence means exactly that. It does not mean disfavor or antipathy. It means ambivalence and mine is founded on certain premises that I understand are part of the American reality), one could look to an article recently appearing in UTNE. It’s the best thing I’ve read in recent times that pieces together the fragments of my own personal ambivalence and my frequent longing to find or recreate here what I think lies at the core of my own European experience. Read it here if you wish, or at least consider the excerpts posted below.

The author, Jeremy Rifkin, wonders if one can still speak of the “American Dream” and if most living here still subscribe to its premises. Further into the article he juxtaposes it to the emerging “European Dream.” [If you read the article to its conclusion, you will understand that the mere existence of the European Dream does not guarantee its future success. Its potency lies in its core elements and the author is quick to point out that the European personality, unlike the riddled-with-optimism American archetype, has perhaps too many depressingly pessimistic strains to allow for sustained commitment to something that is difficult to attain (a dream by definition is a dream, an aspiration – not by any means a reality).]

Rifkin writes this about what makes Americans and Europeans so different in their life's aspirations (I added emphases):

“That difference is reflected in the American and European Dreams, which at their core are about two diametrically opposed ideas about freedom and security. For Americans, freedom has long been associated with autonomy. An autonomous person is not dependent on others or vulnerable to circumstances beyond his or her control. To be autonomous one needs to be propertied. The more wealth one amasses, the more independent one is in the world. One is free by becoming self-reliant and an island unto oneself. With wealth comes exclusivity, and with exclusivity comes security.

The new European Dream is based on different assumptions about what constitutes freedom and security. For Europeans, freedom is found not in autonomy but in embeddedness. To be free is to have access to many interdependent relationships. The more communities one has access to, the more options one has for living a full and meaningful life. It is inclusivity that brings security -- belonging, not belongings.

The American Dream emphasizes economic growth, personal wealth, and independence. The new European Dream focuses more on sustainable development, quality of life, and interdependence. The American Dream pays homage to the work ethic. The European Dream is more attuned to leisure and "deep play." The American Dream is inseparable from the country's religious heritage and deep spiritual faith. The European Dream is secular to the core. … The American Dream is wedded to love of country and patriotism. The European Dream is more cosmopolitan and less territorial.

Americans are more willing to employ military force to protect what we perceive to be our vital self-interests. Europeans are more reluctant to use military force and instead favor diplomacy, economic assistance, and aid to avert conflict and favor peacekeeping operations to maintain order. Americans tend to think locally while Europeans' loyalties are more divided and stretch from the local to the global.”


How does this affect quality of life?

“When it comes to wealth distribution -- a crucial measure of a country's ability to deliver on the promise of prosperity -- the United States ranks 24th among the industrial nations. All 18 of the most developed European countries have less income inequality between rich and poor. There are now more poor people living in America than in the 16 European nations for which data are available…

Europeans often remark that Americans "live to work," while Europeans "work to live." The average paid vacation time in Europe is now six weeks a year. By contrast, Americans, on average, receive only two weeks. Most Americans would also be shocked to learn that the average commute to work in Europe is less than 19 minutes. When one considers what makes a people great and what constitutes a better way of life, Europe is beginning to surpass America.”

And let me just make a quick reference to the emerging European Constitution. Does it not give you hope? Again, from the perspective of a person living here, the answer is no. Rifkin writes:

“Much of that 265-page document probably would not be acceptable to most Americans. Although many passages are cribbed largely from our own Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution's Bill of Rights, there are other ideas and notions that are so alien to the contemporary American psyche that they might be considered with suspicion or even thought of as somewhat bizarre.

To begin with, there is not a single reference to God and only a veiled reference to Europe's "religious inheritance." Strange, on a continent where great cathedrals grace the central plazas of most cities and small churches and chapels appear around every corner. Many Europeans no longer believe in God. While 82 percent of Americans say that God is very important to them, less than 20 percent of Europeans express similar religious convictions. God is not the only consideration to be given short shift. There is only one reference to private property tucked deep inside the document, and barely a passing mention of free markets and trade.

Just as striking is what the constitution does emphasize. The EU objectives include a clear commitment to "sustainable development . . . based on balanced economic growth," a "social market economy," and "protection and improvement of the quality of the environment." The constitution would also "promote peace . . . combat social exclusion and discrimination . . . promote social justice and protection, equality between men and women, solidarity between generations, and protection of children's rights."

The constitution's Charter of Fundamental Rights goes far beyond our own Bill of Rights and subsequent constitutional amendments. For example, it promises everyone preventive health care, daily and weekly rest periods, an annual period of paid leave, maternity and parental leave, social and housing assistance, and environmental protection.

The EU Constitution is something new in human history. Though it is not as eloquent as the French and U.S. constitutions, it is the first governing document of its kind to expand the human franchise to the level of global consciousness. The language throughout the draft constitution speaks of universalism, making it clear that its focus is not a people, or a territory, or a nation, but rather the human race and the planet we inhabit."

Okay, if I reprint anything more, I’ll probably expose myself to copyright infringement.
Still, the short answer is that my formative years were spent in a climate where personal autonomy was not at the top of the heap of human values.

Was this post about the Farmers Market? Indeed, yes. Just a few photos now to offset the large amount of text. If you read this far, you must be having a really slow day! Thank you, though. In so far as this blog ever gets personal, it did so today.

the colors of late summer (or early fall?) 

apples take over the market 

brilliant & alive 

Nice talkin’ to you

So, a perceptive reader may have noted that since the beginning of the semester, evenings (with the exception of last night) have been … quiet, of the type where you listen to the clock for an hour and then finally, in resignation, turn on the TV, even though you have no intention of actually watching anything. Just for the sound of the human voice. [nb, thanks to KF and KO for dragging me out for walks to ease the transition to “quiet-dom.”]

Tonight I broke down and called my mother. I owed her a call. What with all those periods of travel, I had “missed” talking with her since the beginning of August.

I wont go into details of her Great Unhappiness – something that she has been toting for I think about 4 – 5 decades – but I do want to offer for speculation her parting words. After an hour of idle moroseness, she tells me “good bye and use the time to do something great and worthwhile; it’s your last chance.”

Now, I do understand that my own mother doesn’t believe that anything I have done or continue to do on a daily basis is worthwhile. Indeed, were she to miraculously discover my blog (God, tell me that she hasn’t sprung forth this miracle!) and read yesterday’s post, one could give her some credit for intuiting my lack of “worthwhile” endeavors.

But assume she hasn’t read it. What now? How might I not disappoint her? Here I was, trudging along, thinking that my trilogy of work, family and friends is indeed worth singing grateful songs about – I love all three, after all. I may even add to that pile things that truly keep me bubbling away in a state of near-euphoria (most of the time).

But are any worthwhile?

Perhaps not. And so I am again asking for email suggestions. What might I do to satisfy that maternal desire (on her part) to see a daughter pull it off in life? It seems I haven’t struck gold yet. Any ideas where I may next channel my efforts?

BTW, happy anniversary to me.

How is it that this word has become so metro-golden?

I am sitting at Borders sipping a coffee, paying bills, snarling at myself for having missed the deadline for my Visa card payment (you get a reprieve if you call customer service, but only once; alright, so I used my freebie last month; both times I have an excuse – I was AWAY, darn it! Can’t you tell by the locations from which bills were being charged??), when I heard it again, at the table next to mine – “he’s soooo, metrosexual!”

It’s as if the word was waiting to be born and having arisen from some quirky etymological roots it now stands triumphant, ready to be dished out to all those deserving men who thus far had nowhere to turn to, remaining stuck in some multi-word characterization, such as “he dresses and cares for himself as if he were gay and had a queer eye, but really he is directing it onto his own most likely straight self” which certainly was a clunker. Not anymore, suddenly, all sorts are labeled “metrosexual.”

Now, I think we’re being carried away by word-euphoria here. I even checked wordspy.com to make sure I was correct in my understanding of who was indeed a true metrosexual and I think I can say with a straight face that most men labeled as metros are maybe accurately depicted on the sexual front but certainly there is nothing that would lead me to believe that they look, for example, like this.

And then there are others who are likely to be slumping off into the depths of depression, realizing that they themsleves could never be subsumed into this devilishly cliquey group (ah yes, I’m thinking of you!).

So here’s a plea: let’s not get carried away with these terms. Metrosexual-schmexual. I DON’T want to hear it ten times within each twenty-four-hour period. There are NOT that many well-kempt types around, let alone ones who are obsessive about it. Really.

The morning after

The blogger dinner ended without so much as an incident. All (for an enumeration of who came and links to sites, see Jeremy’s post below; pay no heed to his comments on the consumption of cognac – indeed, everyone sipped with great responsibility, which I have found almost always to be the case when you serve large amounts of food – people thankfully stay sober, a fact that is especially nice if you are the cook and want everyone to take note of what has been prepared) blogged and ate and some even sang.

Now, if the house would be thus filled with people every evening, I would be happy.

[My one complaint: the great blogger dinner must necessarily be followed by the great clean up; I am restraining myself from posting a photo of the disarray in the kitchen, but I am keeping this post short so that I can get to the tidying before the working day -- gulp -- officially kicks in.]

The writer over at Althouse, contemplating the dinner, the great blogging experiment, the convention and life itself 

Procrastination Central author expressing herself through music