the edge of doom

I've been meaning to post something about this: after something complimentary happened to me the other day, I realized that the only person [n.1] I could really tell about it is my husband. In other words: marriage means never having to apologize for bragging. [n.2]

n.1: Other than my parents, of course.
n. 2: Love Story reference. [n.3]
n.3: Footnotes are the enemy of subtlety. [n.4]
n.4: My husband has become a DFW [n.5] fan, and I'm concerned our marriage is in jeopardy.
n.5: Figure it out your damn self.

But as the fierce vexation of a dream

Lately, at night after Nugget has gone to bed, I've been thinking a lot about what it was like to be a kid lying awake and listening to the adults still moving around the house. It is poignantly funny that I wanted desperately to be up with them. What I would give now to be in bed with Nugget instead of hunched over my computer trying to finish some work before I go to bed, pushing down the nagging ever-present worries that crowd my brain! How little I realized that my bedtime was not so much a magical time for grownups to enjoy their freedom as it was a time for the drudgery that makes a child's charmed life possible. I don't begrudge my son his turn -- I had an idyllic childhood, and now I want to give him the same. Well, better. But how silly and sad that I didn't know what I had when I had it.

O, Reason Not the Need*

I took a class in the spring of my senior year of college called something like How Fiction Works, which was much less interesting and useful than it sounded and mainly involved the professor-- who had published a dozen or so novels but never achieved much success and was sort of lesser Saul Bellow--recounting anecdotes about famous writers he had met or known. There was a grad student in the class, a PhD student in comparative literature. He was odd. At one point he informed me that my feet were lovely and he derived great pleasure from admiring them during class. Eventually I realized that was him hitting on me, and was mildly disturbed.

But that's not the point I was heading toward. One day after class I was telling him that I had taken a job in a smallish town in Minnesota. I guess he was shocked that I would do such a thing, and in explaining why I was doing it I focused on the fact that the people there were very nice.** "Is that important to you?" he asked. I don't know what I said. I think I was speechless. It was not a question I'd ever thought to ask. In a way he had a point, because it turned out I didn't like living there. Of course, it turned out that the people were not that nice, they were mostly just passive aggressive. So I don't think it really proves he was right. I till value that a lot. And I really don't understand why anyone wouldn't, although I guess I know now that not everyone does. I just can't understand it.

Tonight my wallet was stolen. And then someone was rude to me for no apparent reason. And I'm not sure which event upset me more. I can understand why someone would steal my wallet. There are possible motivations there that I can comprehend, even if they're not nice and I don't agree with them. But the person who was rude to me for no apparent reason? I just can't understand that, and that makes it so much more upsetting. Even though it didn't cost me anything or require that I spend an hour on the phone cancelling credit and debit cards. Even though it didn't rob me of the little scrap of love note I've carried in my wallet since my husband gave it to me in the early days of our relationship.

Is there something wrong with me, that I need people to be nice to me? Or is there something wrong with the idea that being nice shouldn't be important?

* This is my favorite speech and scene in all of Shakespeare.
** I use the word "nice" in its bland modern sense. The history of the word is interesting but not relevant to my point. And the broad vagueness of the word suits my purpose. Don't be nice about it. If you don't have anything nice to say . . .

Let us therefore eat and drink

A few months ago I made a very important discovery. I now know what I will eat for my last supper should I ever be executed. There's a gastropub in Chicago's Andersonville neighborhood that serves the most decadent sandwich known to man or woman: cashew butter, fig jam, and fried cheese on sourdough. Words fail. To top it off, they serve it with Stilton mac & cheese and frites (actually, homemade chips, but you can substitute frites, which you should do because their frites are to die for (heh)). Mac & cheese AND fries? On the same goddamn plate? Picture me pushing you hard in the chest and shouting Get OUT because that about sums it up. But wait, there's more. Hopleaf, the genius behind this Plate of Perfection, also has a 16-page beer menu. Do they let you drink beer with your last supper when you're executed? I submit that it's unconstitutionally cruel and unusual if not. So Trent and I have been back multiple times and each time I have ordered this exact same thing. I can't even bring myself to try the chips. Bcecause why mess with perfection? Afterward we walk down the street to George's Ice Cream & Sweets for a waffle cone, because the CB&J with mac and frites and beer wasn't enough for my arteries. Oh, bliss.

Where be his quiddities now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks?

I'm really confused about how to raise my son these days. After reading this article by Alfie Kohn I bought his book Unconditional Parenting and started reading it over the weekend. He likens timeouts to solitary confinement, which sounds a little crazy but I think I actually agree with his point that the basic premise of timeouts is withholding love to coerce your kid into blind obedience. But I worry that ideas like this are the reason well-meaning parents raise out-of-control kids who desperately need someone to give them some boundaries. I don't want to make that mistake. But I also want my kid to do the right thing because it's the right thing, not because it's what I/the government/his friends tell him he should do.

I have no answers to that one so I'm just going to move along to another subject: special thanks to ResidentMommy for freaking me the hell out, um, I mean helpfully reminding me, with this chart that I'm sliding quickly toward infertility ... I'd been thinking it would be best to wait til Nugget starts to be more independent, like when he starts school, before having his sister (I didn't care about Nugget's sex, but now that I already have a boy I desperately want the matched set) but I had forgotten that I am already 30--oops, I mean 31, haha sigh--and I don't have the luxury to wait. Ah, mortality.

Lapland sorcerers inhabit here

I was very excited albeit a little puzzled recently to receive an email from a PR rep asking me to post about a retail site ... I am guessing their bar for how many readers a blog has to have is pretty low. Also, much as I love shopping, especially online, I don't think I've ever blogged about it so I'm not sure why they targeted me. Nonetheless, the info they sent me is worth passing on for two reasons -- one, I love a deal, and two, it's for a good cause. So:

Discount high-end makeup retailer BeautyTicket.com will donate 10% of proceeds to BreastCancer.org (a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing the most reliable, complete, and up-to-date information on breast cancer) when you enter the code “AWARENESS” at checkout, plus U.S. customers who use the code will get free shipping on all orders over $50.

Speaking of which, I do not understand why any online retailers charge for shipping. I really hate paying for shipping. Sometimes I will get all the way to checkout, do my usual check of retailmenot and similar sites for a free shipping or other discount coupon, and then decide not to buy the stuff after all because I can't get free shipping or an equivalent discount. On the other hand, I am a total sucker for the "spend this much, get free shipping" strategy. I am all about adding on stuff I don't need that costs more than the shipping did just so I don't pay for shipping.

p.s. I did not receive anything for posting about any of the sites referenced here. Also, I've never bought anything from BeautyTicket.com so this should not be construed as an endorsement.

Dogeared

This piece talks about many of the themes that are foremost in my mind lately -- in particular, the sad and frightening feeling that one's choices are increasingly limited as one grows older. Some choice quotes:

Some people flirt briefly with being freethinking bohemians before becoming
their parents.

Most of my married friends now have children, the rewards of which appear to be exclusively intangible and, like the mysteries of some gnostic sect, incommunicable to outsiders. In fact it seems from the outside as if these people have joined a dubious cult: they claim to be much happier and more fulfilled than ever before, even though they live in conditions of appalling filth and degradation, deprived of the most basic freedoms and dignity, and owe unquestioning obedience to a capricious and demented master.

Tim Kreider, The Referendum, NYT 9/17/09

(What is dogeared?)