CNN

sucks.

Michelle Obama

rocks.

Ted Kennedy

I'll admit it: I cried.

Hair

There is a photograph in the newspaper today of an aggressively blonde woman whom I used to know when she was a mousy brunette way back in the day. She looks ridiculous. There's a lesson about my gray in there somewhere.

Bag Lust

Despite my bag obsession, I have never gone for the designer bag thing. Why? Because: 1) I am all about the aesthetics and the function; 2) I have, when it comes to bags, less than zero interest in the status; and 3) I have not, when it comes to designer bags, anything near the funding. Not to mention the fact that most designer bags strike me as supremely ugly (i.e. the aesthetics over the status).

But then I saw this bag. And while I can't say I get the designer bag thing (a new bag every season? all that money on bags? renting bags?), I very much and totally wish I could get that bag.

Cost

Oh goodness, there must be something wrong with me. I assume I ended up reading Roxana Robinson's new novel Cost because of a good review. What I do, when I see a review of something I think I might like to read, is I order it from the library, and then eventually it shows up as a pleasant surprise (the branch library is at the end of our block, which makes it even more pleasurable to get the email announcing that the now-forgotten-about book is waiting for me, and then just walk down and pick it up). At any rate, the critics seem to agree that this family-deals-with-junkie-son novel is great (scroll down for links), but I found it quite abominable: faux-Woolfian over-dramatization of mundane moments and deep thoughts (my disgust reached an early peak at exactly that mayonnaise moment the Wall Street Journal highlights) crossed with Lifetime Movie of the Week. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. (I feel that I can write about it, because I did not simply abandon it, but skimmed to the end, both to find out what happened and to see if it remained as dreadful, which I truly felt it did. Then again, clearly I am wrong.)

And speaking of critics, when I read the first few paragraphs of Walter Kirn's evisceration of James Woods in today's Book Review. I thought it was a classic case of the lesser critic letting loose the flame of his jealously righteous indignation, but, truly, despite my dislike for Kirn, it is quite a fabulous evisceration, and though I haven't read this particular book, it (review and book) seems truly to capture Wood's (pedantic) spirit, and I very much agreed with Kirn's critiques viz the many projects of fiction, etc..

Oh, I was saving this for another post, but since I am sounding so negative and crotchety myself, I must let loose, myself, with my absolute passion for Rachel Seiffert's Afterwards, which is by far the best book I have read in months. On this one I believe I concur with the critics. I initially thought, when I read the reviews, that I had no interest in a book about Northern Ireland and the Mau Mau Rebellion, but don't go away! This is one of the best love stories, work stories, war stories, trauma stories I can think of (ack, must go read some Pat Barker), and the minimalist but absolutely lush prose is simply beautiful, and the other thing that is just lovely is all the biking and walking. Just go read it right now, it's that amazing.

There, I can like things, see?

Today

Scene: I am working at the dining room table. My Husband is on the computer in the living room (it turns out he is working too, but this is not relevant, because he is going to work in a few hours, and that is his official worktime). My Children are playing all over the house.

My Children: Mommy, we're hungry, can you make us some lunch?

My Husband (quietly): I'll make you lunch.

Me: Why, when you know I am working, and Daddy is right there on the computer, are you asking ME to make you lunch?

My Youngest Child: Because you're our mommy.

So much for feminist childrearing. At least we're doing OK on the feminist husband front (then again, we may simply have scored on the chef husband front).

You Know What I Hate?

When the swimmer takes the turn, and NBC superimposes the name of the leader on top of the lane, so you can't see the turn or the first few strokes. As if all the television audience cares about is who's winning, not the swimming. As if!

(I also think Phelps should have immediately turned to his right and shaken hands with Cavic, and, you know, if he was a woman swimmer, he would have.) (Well, actually, if he was a woman swimmer he would have hugged Cavic, which leaves me kind of cold, but the point is the sportsman--woman--ship, and I think the women swimmers have it all over the men.)

(And one of the many reasons I am not an Olympic athlete is that I think getting a silver medal in the Olympics is a huge triumph, not a failure.) (See women's gymnastics, albeit a few days ago.) (And speaking of women's gymnastics, given that we have a 12-year-old girl in our family, and given that we live in one of the American centers of Chinese adoption, we happen to know about a half-dozen 12- and 13-year-old girls who were born in China, and let me tell you [along with everyone else who is telling you], those Chinese gymnasts would fit right in with M and her peeps, and they'll definitely be having their 16th birthdays a few years from now. [Because Shawn Johnson may be tiny, and all of them may have a distinct lack of cleavage, but you can see it in the face, and Shawn Johnson has a face like our teenage babysitters, not M.])

A Day Without Childcare

Took the girls to work with me, and they were fabulous. I blasted on the work, since I'm out of the office for the next three weeks, and they amused themselves, and E was even helpful. Then they went out shopping and bought E sparkly pink jelly flip-flops and brought back sushi for lunch. I had to go to an event in Trendy Neighborhood. I was meeting some people at a hip cafe beforehand, and we didn't have a lot of time, so we took a cab. The cafe was hip in the greatest of ways--nice-looking and good food--and the girls sat at their own table with snacks and again behaved impeccably. More impeccable behavior during the event, which was work-related and very excellent and validating. Then it was pouring so we took a cab to meet S and go to our friend's new restaurant. I don't think we've taken that many cabs in East Coast Big City ever, so we kind of felt like we were in New York. The restaurant is good, but not as good as our restaurant, but it was fun to see all our friends who work there.

I must admit that I enjoy the rare days when my life feels like it's glamorous.

Last Day of Childcare

Tomorrow is the last day of the summer childcare circuit.  All the camps, all the babysitters, all the parents and grandparents: it's all worked out perfectly, not a day's problem, not a lost child (literally or metaphorically).  After tomorrow, I'm with the girls for the rest of the summer (give or take a meeting or two), and we're good.  So when does our luck run out?  Tomorrow, of course.  S has to work early; I have to work late; all three babysitters are busy.  I'm choosing to take this as a sign that I should gratefully appreciate how well everything has worked out so far.  

And, Uh, By the Way, Speaking of the Red Sox, Not That We Were

Can you BELIEVE this game?! (Yes, we have Michael Phelps on the TV and the Sox on the computer, because we're like that.)

Summer (Rain)

Today was a jeans day.  I wore jeans, to work, which I rarely do, and everywhere I went people wore jeans.  Sweaters, too.  I saw a woman in tights, and two in boots (not rainboots).  It's the middle of August.

Remember all that summer music?  Yeah, not so much did so much of it happen.  Rain, children, a lot of wasted money.  Ugh.  S says we will never buy concert tickets again.  (Remember the Madonna tickets?  Turns out S can't go.  But M can.)

Speaking of rain...one thing there's been a lot of this summer is driving.  Somehow we didn't really plan a vacation, and instead we've been doing lots of mini-trips, which have been lots of fun, but a little discombobulating.  And then there's the driving.  Which seems to happen more often than not in the rain.  I'm a little over it.

For the last many summers, I've spent at least two weeks in the country.  After spending all last summer in the country, I was OK with not really being in the country this summer, since it wasn't going to work out.  Or rather, I was OK with not having a big chunk of time in the country.  But I think that ended up discombobulating me too.  We've actually been to the country four times (driving--and rain) (also the lake, Country Town, the beach, and New York, each once, most involving driving in the rain), but not for longer than 48 hours, and when I get there there's that funny feeling of being there and not quite there, when usually I am so deeply there in the country.

I did get to spend one afternoon in one of my favorite summer-afternoon places: the grass down by the river behind the drive-in, where the girls play in the water and I lie under the tree and close my eyes and let the sun dapple my eyelids.  It was bliss.  And then it rained, and I had to drive back to East Coast Big City in the rain (this sounds like a joke, but it's totally not).

I have just finished a big chunk of work that was hanging over my head.  Next week one last trip that should be really a vacation, at least that's the plan: three days camping in the mountains, two days in our favorite bed-and-breakfast at the beach.  S and I just agreed that if it rains we're checking into a motel.  With an indoor pool.

(More summer pleasure: the pond.  More summer discombobulation: renovation, which is going swimmingly, but still entails noise, clutter, decisions--I had no idea I cared so much about doors, but I do.)

Watching the Olympics with M

How much more do we love Natalie Coughlin, now that we know she shops at the Farmer's Market and loves to cook?  We definitely love her.  Even if her world record is kaput.

How impressed with Bob Costas are we for his hammering of the president?  Impressed.

How disgusted are we that this man is our president, and has been for almost eight years?  I mean, we're always disgusted, but when we actually see him speak...we're left speechless with disgust ("American has no problems"?!  The country you live in is where??).

How dazzled are we by Shawn Johnson?  As dazzled as everyone else, which is to say totally dazzled.

And Michael Phelps?  Yeah, baby, he's the swim god of the universe.

Edited to add: M on The Suit: Everyone's wearing it, they have to be wearing it, they're gonna lose if they don't.

Checking In On the Sox

How about that Jason Bay?  A single, two doubles, and I'm going to bed.  Hope Manny is having himself a dandy evening wherever he is.  (I know, I know, he's no Manny, but then again, he's no Manny...)

The Travesty of Contemporary Existence (Media Conglomerate Version)

As I type these words, Ashley Tisdale is dueting with Kermit as the Muppets go Disney on Studio DC: Almost Live.

(M: Remember, you're that nine-year-old girl who doesn't care about venture capitalism!)

Four Posts In One

Hasta La Vista, Manny

I have to say, I was a "Manny being Manny" girl for a really long time.  I was even unfazed when he pushed the guy down.  But this week I hit the wall.  Playing games in the Green Monster is one thing, and, yeah, I liked that part, and I liked the hits too, but this week, we got down to pure greed and bad sportsmanships.  Look dude, you've made $160 million with the Sox, you're 36 years old, you should be fucking grateful for your fabulous life, not pissed off because they won't talk contract till the end of the season.  And, you should be playing your ass off, so that you either convince them they still want you, or you make everyone else salivate for your free agency.

We may be even worse without him, but he had to go.

(Sorry about the lack of links, but either you know what I'm talking about, or you don't care.  Take my word for it.)

Whence Coffee Yogurt?

Am I the only person who wonders what happened to coffee yogurt?  Does everyone else already know?  Or does nobody else miss it?  I'm not much of a yogurt person, but I go through phases.  I remember when I used to eat a Dannon coffee yogurt for lunch every day.  Yum.   When I get a yogurt craving, it's always for a coffee yogurt, and today I got the craving, and there I was in Whole Foods, facing a wall of yogurt: fruit yogurt, chocolate yogurt, caramel yogurt, yogurt this, yogurt that, a half dozen brands of yogurt, and not a single coffee yogurt, not even cappuccino.  I got maple.  It was not the same.

However, just last week we got some coffee syrup.  We've been having coffee milk.  Yum.  I'm thinking maybe plain yogurt and coffee syrup?

The Game of Life

I can't tell you how much I hate that game.  My kids love it, but I can usually wriggle my way out of it, but today I have been in good-game-playing Mommy mode.  I played Whatever's Next (great game!) and SmartMouth (also a great game!) with E this afternoon, and then we were about to play Life, because I was in good-game-playing Mommy mode, but M came home, and we decided to go swimming, so I was saved, but then after dinner they decided to play, and they wanted me to play too, so being good-game-playing Mommy, I agreed, but I hate that game.  First of all, it's incredibly boring.  Second of all, it seems to always involve fighting (along with, I must admit, great and fairly cute enthusiasm).  Third of all, it's all about the money.  Even when you go to the Grand Canyon and get a Life card, you ultimately trade it in for money.  Great lesson.  Yuck.  (M: Just pretend you're a nine-year-old girl and you don't care that it's teaching kids about venture capitalism.)

A Few Other Things

E has impetigo.  You have never seen such medicine-taking drama in your life!  (The impetigo, or rather the medicine, is why we played so many games today: She's taking Bactrim and it's making her sick, plus she's supposed to stay out of the sun, which we've been lax about, and we think that's making her sicker, so today we stayed home and out of the sun, and she was indeed less sick.)

M had her first real paid babysitting job today!  She also made dinner: croque monsieurs and French potato salad.  It was delicious.  I think if she can support herself and feed herself, I may be out of a job.

OK, that was just two other things.  Nothing much else is worth blogging.

Oh Dear, There Goes My Indie Cred

Just discovered that E's name has been steadily rising in popularity since about three years before she was born. It still hasn't cracked the top 100, but looks like it's on its way. (Why did I look this up? Because someone told me recently, I think, that it was something like in the top 10, which I knew wasn't true, but I was still curious.) We've hardly met any child Es, as yet.

We wanted an E name to name her after my grandmothers, and we considered and discarded what is now a very popular name (which actually isn't an E name, but still would have named her after one of my grandmothers), because while I was pregnant a few movie stars grabbed it (and thank goodness for that, because it has become wildly popular, though of course that's probably why). We also considered a radically unpopular and quite pretentious name that I still kind of love, but decided it wouldn't fly in No Longer Red State (it remains radically unpopular, not even cracking the top 1000 in the last 50 years).

I decided, when she was a toddler, that she shouldn't have been E at all, she should have been Allegra and called Ally. This had something to do with her blond curls at the time, as well as her sunny personality. I know: weird. (No, duh, of course not weird, totally Longfellow! How could I never have realized that till this moment? Except I was conflating two of them!) Now I have accepted her E-ness. But I do hope we are not in for a major influx of Es. At least if there is one, ours will be obviously in the vanguard (and at least she's not Violet...) (no offense to our beloved and barely vanguardy--or at least pre-Ben and Jen--Violet).

Edited to add: Link for this site here. And looks like M peaked the year she was born (!) and has been falling since--not that it got very high at all.

Oh God, Here We Go Again

Except I don't know where we're going. Is this (see esp. L10) the beginning of another pathetic collapse, or are they going to dramatically turn it around and kick everyone's butts, or is it going to be an ugly struggle to eke out that wild card spot and then drag themselves through to the end? And will I be able to bear it? Or should I just surf the internet for more shoes?

(Speaking of important things, can we all regain our outrage over these Monica Goodling findings? She asked people their opinions on same-sex marriage and abortion? She complained about someone who admired Condoleeza Rice because Rice is pro-choice? She asked people about their party affiliations? WHILE HIRING FOR THE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT? [The Post article is better, but you need to sign in.] What is wrong with us that we're just sitting here taking this shit? Why aren't we lying down in the street in front of the White House with copies of the Constitution in our arms?!) (I know, I've said this before, and really it's self-disgust at my own failure to do anything but scream silently in righteous outrage, but...but...BUT!!!!!!!!!!)

Birthday Weekend Scoreboard

Presents: two bags (I've been almost as obsessed with bags as with shoes--oh dear, am I becoming an accessory queen?) (and if you make it to the end of the post, maybe I'll tell you about the two pair of shoes I bought today), slippers, earrings, housecleaning, money to do something fun, and...yes, start getting jealous now...Madonna tickets!

Exercise: one hot yoga class, one long run

Work: about four hours, very satisfying

Drinks: one lemon ginger martini (fabulous), two vodka gimlets, two glasses of champagne (remember, this is a birthday WEEKEND)

Food: Cambodian, Turkish, cheese

Sweets: blueberry coffeecake, two delicious chocolate things that weren't quite cake but one had salt on it which is the best

Art: Turner (loved the watercolors)

Celebrants: S, M, and E; Aunt M; a collection of friends from a past life who look great; my oldest friend

Shoes: the new ones, out of vanity, leaving me with completely mangled feet, leaving me no choice but to finally give in to the prevailing motif and buy some nice black flipflops, which do not rub against any of the existing raw spots, and are in fact quite cute and comfortable, and while I was there, I could not help but buy these (in red), even though they have absolutely nothing to do with anything I need

Today's Swimming News

OK, the melodrama is starting to get a little thick...

Do you think Dara is just trying to stage her own Lifetime biopic?

(I know, the cynicism, it is really inappropriate, but come on...the 41-year-old swimmer, the 15-year-old swimmer, the swimmer with testicular cancer who is putting off treatment till after the games because this is his DREAM, and now this...wonder what's happening on the badminton team these days...)