Cough cough

Is this thing on?

Why no Sentiment?

Duh, I had a baby nearly 6 months ago. We can't find a nanny. I've got her blog to keep up with. And work. And the garden. Etc. etc. Sorry. I was considering just totally taking down this site. I've archived it to my hard drive, but that's not very satisfactory as it just saves raw text and no formatting...hard to read that later for posterity. For now, it's still here and I guess I'll post again if I ever get a few seconds. In the meantime, thanks for reading and commenting and caring. I do appreciate it.

Speaking of organic gardens

If you're in Austin (a) and you're not a gardener (b), and you bag your leaves for city pick up (c), let me know. I'll come 'n get them, add them to the compost pile, and pay you back with delicious organic heirloom tomatoes or herbs next summer...

Waiter, there's a chemical in my food...

Consumer Reports on which foods to buy organic (and which ones not to worry about). Good info. I thought it was mostly spinach, tomatoes and apples you needed to worry about. Who knew even celery was loaded with pesticides? Ew.

Resolutions

Meh. I've never gone much in for resolutions. I used to make a list of accomplishments from the previous year and goals for the next one, but I've even let that go in recent years. I am goal-oriented and driven enough -- better for me to go with the flow. This year, I've been thinking about the words "resolution" and "resolve." Most meanings have to do with solving a problem, coming to a conclusion or -- in one odd definition -- the subsidence of swelling. (ew!) The problem is, as I read yesterday, there really are very, very few real beginnings and endings in life. Probably only two, if you think about it. Most if it is middle. Other definitions have to do with making up your mind about something. But therein, again, lies the problem. A "made up" mind leaves so little wiggle room. In music, a resolution means a return to consonance from a dissonant chord. I like that. In geek-world, resolution refers to the number of pixels on a screen. The more pixels, the clearer the picture. I like that too. This year, my only resolutions are for harmony and clarity. How 'bout you?

Enough with the self-examination! Make with the linky goodness!

"The networks will all be creating exciting, innovative new spin-offs of today's shows. Approximately 67 percent of all television will be CSI-based, including CSI: Des Moines, CSI: New York but a Different Part than Gary Sinise Is In and NCSI: SVU WKRP, which covers every possible gruesome crime with a groovin' '70s beat. " -- Joss Whedon on the Future of TV. Oh, Joss. Come back to TV. We miss you so.

Dear 2005,

I think our relationship has come to its logical end. We just aren't good for each other. And I'm not even sorry to say that it's not me — it's you. I don't even want to be friends. There's just been too much DRAMA. Consider: - Major job change for M, with ensuing enormous jump in stress and workload - Passing out cold on my face at less than 6 weeks pregnant - The Hail Storm -- Jeesus, Gawd, what a fight that was! Did you have to smash up both cars AND the house? That's a little excessive, dear. Frankly, I call it abuse and suggest you seek counseling as soon as possible. - The remodeling process/hail-storm clean-up -- Contractors? Pain-in-the-ass Loan Counselors? Delay, delay, delay? If these are the friends you brought to this little "thing" we had together, you can keep 'em. - Then there was the cute day when the gas pump spewed all over me. Yeah, that was a postcard of a day, let me tell you. - SUMMER OF SIMMERING HELL-HOT-OW-OW-OW-MY-STOP-IT-ALREADY. C'mon, why you gotta treat a last-trimester prego girlfriend like that? - And for my birthday? All you got me was a C-section. I ASKED for a pony. - "Hello, new mama. Your intestines don't work anymore. Bladder went with them. Thanks for playing. You win two weeks in the hospital!" Worst Lottery Ever. So, after tallying all that up, I really think we should just end it right now. Goodbye Heavy-Drama 2005, and good riddance. But I'm keeping the stuff you gave me - the cool new job for M, a snazzy newer Honda, the awesome kitchen and such. And don't even try to come visit the baby. You're not her real father anyway. She's way too adorable for that.

Tea snobbery for fun and recreation

Those who know me know that I enjoy any and all opportunities to be uppity about something. Usually it's some crusade I'm launching -- against ponchos, for instance, on anybody last year who is over 12. But occasionally, I do enjoy holding forth on something I am definitely FOR. Sadly, I missed the opportunity to be a wine snob, since I quit drinking at 23 — when most of us have merely crossed from cheap light beer into slightly more expensive imported beer, and wine is something grown folks drink over snotty food. However, 3 years ago this December, I found my beverage to be a connaisseur of. (Should that be "connaisseuse" since I'm a lady? It definitely shouldn't end in a preposition, that I'm sure about.) Anyhoo. This is the best tea in the world, discovered on a romantic side street in the Marais in Paris (the Rue de Bourg-Tibourg). The Mariages Freres have been in business for over 200 years. The shop is pleasingly crowded with big tins of tea and effete men in matching linen suits bustling about pontificating on the different blends. We went there 3 times during our honeymoon week -- the last for a brunch where they paired teas with each course, just like a fine wine. I fell, hard. This is seriously good tea. Tea with depth and substance. Tea with opinions. The Marco Polo, for example, smells like strawberry pastry and went wonderfully well with my mille-feulles. The Earl Grey (of which there are at least 3 blends) smells like perfume. The 1854 is as stout as coffee. Orientale makes all the "orange spice" tea packets you've ever found in a doctor's office waiting room taste even more like ass — this tea tastes like breathing in an orange grove at dusk. The next year, I happily discovered that there's a company in Dallas who imports Mariages Freres Teas (you can also sometimes find them at Williams-Sonoma, overpriced). You can mail order from The Cultured Cup instead and support a lovely local business (even if it is in Dallas). Just yesterday, I ordered online to restock and the darling UPS man delivered my package today. So, there you go. Toss out the Twinings, because it's dry and dusty anyway. Get a decent tea strainer, or if you must, you can order the cutest little hand-tied tea bags of Mariages Freres. But you owe it to yourself to taste really, really good tea. You might even give up your Starbucks for tea time. I know I did. Lecture over. Class dismissed.

Life's little mysteries

Why is the hot water at my mother's house set to "thermonuclear?" Seriously, her kitchen sink is just one step away from being a hot tub, only less kinky and more Palmolive.

Interesting

"What's awry, from a Buddhist point of view, is that for the most part we've lost the ability to let gifts make us happy." -- from A Buddhist Perspective on Christmas This Christmas, may you get what you want and want what you have. And recognize a blessing when you receive one. (Me, too.)

I get it now

I was trying to explain to the Jackal why new parents seems so boringly obsessed with their babies, and I think I've got it pegged. Having a new baby is like: -- Getting a new job with huge responsiblities, for which your past training, education and experience are absolutely useless and you won't know if you're doing any good at it until you get your first review some 20 years later -- Starting a relationship with a fascinating person who doesn't speak English and is utterly helpless -- Diving into a new hobby that is alternately extremely rewarding and totally frustrating You're doing all of this at the same time, on very little sleep and with very few breaks to clear your head. And, if you're a mom, your body is doing somersaults while reconstructing itself into a reasonable facsimile of your pre-pregnancy body. If you're a dad, you're trying to figure it all out without the help of mommy hormones. If you're a mom, well, there are those hormones... yeesh. Who needs mood-altering chemicals when you've got estrogen?

I so needed this today

After meeting with the doctor who's probably going to perform laser surgery on baby V's little nosie, I completely needed this: Ridiculous Cuteness. And so do you.

Kitchen confidential

Nobody ever taught me to cook. For one, I'm the youngest of 3 girls with a working mama, so nobody had time or patience. For two — and I say this with all due respect to my mom — she's not the best of cooks. I learned what she learned (being the youngest of 6 with a single mom), which is mostly how to warm a few things up. Cooking is something far different, in my book. It entails truly understanding ingredients, techniques and how to put things together in an artful fashion. M has it naturally, since his dad's a chef. His approach is scientific and methodical (big surprise). I'm more of an intuitive cook, more left-brained about it -- which is problematic when you don't have the foundational knowledge to go from. So, a few years ago, I started trying to learn how to cook. Surprisingly, there really aren't any books that I know of that start from scratch and truly teach one how to be a cook. There are books of recipes, yes, but that's not the same thing. Recently we discovered Good Eats, and most of Alton Brown's information really helps. Most interestingly, this process has been an emotional one. It's a microcosm of so many other things -- how I don't like doing things I can't already do well, how I hate admitting when I don't know stuff, how I enjoy ignoring directions and diving right in (but how embarrassed I get when I fail). Anyway, The Jackal recently did a stint at the Culinary Institute, and he told me about his vegetable cream soup-making technique/recipe. The whole thing is just following your nose, starting with a few simple things. Already a fan of carrot soup, I thought I'd dive in. Last night I made cauliflower soup. I don't even like cauliflower, really, but I have found that sometimes it just takes finding the right cooking technique to make a food delicious. (For example: Brussels sprouts? DELISH if you just blanch them, then roast with pine nuts.) I portioned out a teeny bit of soup into 3 ramekins and did a tasting with different seasoning (just pepper, curry & nutmeg, and pepper & thyme). Each one had it's high points -- how fun! We settled on one we both liked and that was it. Turns out cauliflower can be quite tasty. Go figure. Next up? Perhaps the mysterious rutabaga.

You may say to yourself, "How did I get here?"

Six years ago, I had just wrecked my beloved green Mustang, four payments before paying it off. I was $10k in debt for the CD that never got finished with the band that had broken up months before. I was working the Hell Job. I was single. I was about to go to Aspen and Boulder with MC Overlord to do some gigs over New Year's 2000. Fast-forward: Since 2000, I have met and married the love of my life, and found out just how lucky I am on an ongoing and continually astonishing basis. I have started and abandoned several musical projects -- only this time I know that it's all part of the creative process. I quit the Hell Job and returned to freelancing, which makes me infinitely happier. My dad died. My friend Didi died. My friend Patti died. My granny died. I learned a lot. We bought a house. We went to Paris. We rocked San Francisco & Napa. I'm out of debt, thanks to totalling the Mustang, and am on my second car, the Subarussudio — which is SO not a Momcar, even though... I have a baby. Seriously. I am not making this up. As the song goes, "This is not my beautiful life." Because, clearly, things are supposed to be more f-ked up my existence. They used to be. I used to be. And yet, here I am. The past five or six years have been the most eventful in my whole life. I feel like I've been on the Life Autobahn, and al the scenery is just whizzing by while I alternately scream in terror and shout with delight.

My, how times have changed

According to an editorial in the NY TImes, The American Family Association is boycotting Target for not using the word "Christmas" in its advertising. O'Reilly is encouraging folks not to shop at stores that don't say "Merry Christmas." All these conservative folks say they are defending the traditional American Christmas. But the Puritans who "founded" America considered Christmas un-Christian, with its links to the pagan holiday of Saturnalia and the WInter Solstice. Most of what we think of as traditional Christmas thingies are creations of advertisers or reworking of heathen motifs (tree worship, anybody?). And all of this commercialism? In the early part of the 20th Century, most Christians decried the retail takeover of the holiday. I remember talk about that even when I was a kid. Weird. For me, Christmas has always been about the return of light in the darkest times -- whether that light be Jesus, the sun or whatever you choose. These are dark times for lots of Americans. Why insist that they shop their way out of it?

Odd gruntings

I haven't been writing here because I don't have much to say. Or, rather, I have entirely too much to say but I can't find the words, so it would only come out in babble. (Hmm, maybe that's the deal with babies too...) Went to the doctor today because my weird abdominal aches and pains won't go away. As I suspected, it's the same thing as a year and a half ago, a month after dad died. Personally, I think it's the boomerang effect of stress. When I'm going through something horrendous, I soldier through ("you're such a champ," my OB/GYN said). And then a month later, all the emotions and tension rebounds and punches me in the gut. In otherwords, my guts hate my guts.

Falling

The red oak out front is just starting to turn colors, while many of the other trees around are filling the air with bright oversized confetti. I love Fall. I love Spring too — both seasons are about potentiality, whereas Winter and Summer simply are what they are. Fall is my favorite. I love the tinge of melancholy, that metallic taste in the air, bringing out the blankets and sweaters, and savoring warm cups of tea and unexpected brisk breezes. I love that Fall simply gets cooler and cooler (as opposed to Spring, with the threat of Summer, hot on its heels). There's a cold front working its way through today. It's oatmeal for breakfast tomorrow morning, the slow-cooked kind made overnight, with its snuggly scent wafting through the house. My toes might get cold, but I'm glad.

Adventures in Poo-town

Yesterday? Adorable Baby V had a diaper moment so momentous that it went through my lap to the slipcover on the chair. (Yay! Slipcovers! And yay me for flouting those Pottery Barn namby-pambies and throwing that durn thing in my own washer instead of paying Jack Brown to wash it for me. That was a brave move, let me tell you.) Anyhow, where was I? Oh, POO. And other effluvia, going in or coming out. You can't rush (or do much to stave off) a 6-week-old baby. All I can do is try to roll with it on an hour-by-hour basis. Most days I'm lucky if I get my teeth brushed, which just astonishes me. I keep thinking I have many Big Important Things to accomplish, to justify my maternity leave somehow. But of course what I have to do is just hang out with V. That's not so easy for an overachiever like me -- I slide over into trying to be the Best Mother Ever, entertaining her like crazy when she's awake, getting all of her feedings exactly right (complete with burping techniques you'd be amazed to see). It helps to remember what a friend said the other day, "Hey, she's still alive. You must be doing something right." Okay then. The bar, she really isn't all that high. The girl is fed, clean, warm, loved. I am mostly clean, dressed and functional. That's the ice-cream. The rest is just sprinkles.

"Can I go home now?"

You've gotta be kidding me. The emails Michael Brown wrote during Katrina have been released. A snippet? ""If you'll look at my lovely FEMA attire, you'll really vomit. I am a fashion god."

What's this? A gardening entry? No way!

Way. I know I'm getting a bit back to myself when I am feeling like gardening. Last week, I replaced the dying purple fountain grass in the two pots by the front door with some winter-y looking juniper. If it dies, it dies. I've decided that replacing plants in those two pots is no more expensive than buying cut flowers for the house for a couple of weeks. Big woop. Of course, while I was at HoDe, I had to pick up 6 pots of Mexican feather grass. The pathway bed out front has been fretting me all summer. In a word, it looks like butt. The crinum is boring me and I can't figure out how to incorporate it in an actual bed. The mealy blue sage has never looked anything but mealy, really. The Russian sage just leans out into the sun. So, I've decided, it all goes. The Russian sage, I'll move to the back. I may give some crinum away, because you can't kill that stuff. The two problems with that bed are A) it's half in the baking sun along the driveway and half in the shade of the red oak, and B) it suffers from my usual spotty planting, due to my fear of plant commitment. Screw that, I'm committing. The one Mex. feather grass I planted last spring because M liked it is thriving. I'm going to plant swathes of that stuff all down the sunny side. It's pretty. It moves in the wind and looks nice backlit (good, since the house and the bed face west). I know it reseeds and I may regret it, but for now, I'm just going to take the plunge. On the shady side, I'm thinking more foxtail fern. But I'll get back to you on that. Now the only problem is finding time to get out there and rework things with Baby V. It freaks me out to have her in her carrier in the shade while I'm working -- what if i bug lands on her? But if I go out in the hour and a half or so that she's sleeping (monitor in tow), I may have to run inside all covered in dirt. And after the time change, there's no more daylight once M gets home, so that's not an option either. I guess I'm going to be a Weekend Gardener this season, and that's okay. Unless I can find some sort of pup-tent/mosquito netting to put over Baby V... They make them for casseroles and cook-outs, why not babies?

Babble on

Hi. My family came this weekend. With the Mom. With that on top of my inexplicable lapse into babytalk a good deal of the time (inexplicable because I am in denial), I cannot formulate a decent posting that isn't about A) Guilt, 2) Poop and/or bottles, or X) Who's a cute baby? You are! Yes you are! Back when my cerebral cortex returns from vacation.

Can't we all just get along

One of the things we're discovering is that parenting is as loaded a subject among friends and acquaintances as politics or religion. The very best of kindhearted people get zealous to the point where you can't even discuss different viewpoints. It's a loaded subject to be sure -- everyone wants very much to do the best job possible, and to suggest another approach can sometimes smack of criticism or censure. There are two big camps in the baby-rearing world: attachment parenting and a more scheduled approach (sometimes represented by the book Baby Wise). Now, M and I believe that the structured approach would fit in well with our lifestyle, general approach to the world, and our temperments. While we don't think a kid should be forced to wait until The Schedule says it's time to eat, for example, having a bit of structure in feeding, sleeping, etc. and allowing the child to develop some independence...well, it just makes sense to us, in the same way that certain political or religious or even ethical choices did. That isn't to say that another family might find the attachment approach (generally, feeding on demand and sharing a lot of physical closeness -- such as having a family bed, etc. etc.) more their cup of tea. What dismays me is the inability to discuss different ideas openly. Most of my mama friends are open-minded -- I found those that did natural childbirth, for example, to be completely understanding of my choice to have an epidural. However, it's true that most of us do share a similar philosophy (and I suspect, political and spiritual viewpoints as well). However, I have a dear, dear friend who had a baby 6 mos. ago. She and her brilliant, wonderful hubby have a completely different parenting approach than we have chosen, and she is such a loving, passionate person that I am scared to death to talk with her...afraid of what our clashing parental worldviews might do to our friendship...afraid of being judged, if I'm honest. Her? Doula. Waited until labor started naturally -- 11 days late. Mostly natural childbirth (except for some pain relief for an unexpected episiotomy at the end). Breastfeeding. Family bed. Attachment parenting. Me? Induced, 10 days late. C-section (not by choice). Had to quit breastfeeding due to complications. Mostly scheduled feedings, with some flex. Baby is already sleeping in her own crib, in her own room. Stuff happens in life. You make the best choices you can at any given moment, and you try to keep moving on. I see this as another example of the fear of open discourse in our society. Is this a new phenomenon? Did people used to be able to talk about politics, religion, parenting, philosophy -- openly, passionately and yet politely? Is it the dual-minded Libra in me that is always interested in the other side of the coin and the argument? I dunno. Maybe the lesson here is, stop looking for anybody else's philosophy or permission and trust my/our instincts. V's Auntie Hurricane (my sister) says to put away the books and quit trying to parent perfectly. Boy howdy, that's easier said than done.

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans

"If you don't get what you want, you suffer; if you get what you don't want, you suffer; even when you get exactly what you want, you still suffer because you can't hold on to it forever. Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change. Free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is a law, and no amount of pretending will alter that reality." Dan Millman from The Way of the Peaceful Warrior (by way of the Interlude Thought of the Day. I have such a hard time when things don't follow the script in my head. And boy howdy, nothing about Vivian's birth (or heck, most of my pregnancy) followed the Grand Plan I had in mind. I didn't plan to be induced. I didn't plan to have a C-section after a full day of labor and an hour and a half of fruitless pushing. I certainly didn't plan on my intestines quitting on me, or being in the hospital for 2 weeks while poor M had to be Mr. Dad and Wife Support and everything else super-human he could be. God, the Universe, whatever, had other plans for us. Plans involving a tiny little amazing person we're still getting to know, and will be for the rest of our lives. Plans that showed me, yet again, just how fragile life is...how tenuous my reliance on my body to just keep right on chugging without much attention from me... how miraculous and how f-ing WEIRD biology can be. I learned, AGAIN, that every moment is a gift. That I am not "above" the vulnerability, occasional (often frequent) grossness and downright animal nature of my body. That self-sufficiency is a complete farce, and I need all the help I can get just to make it from moment to moment. The hardest thing is letting go of the cute little plan I have in my head, and letting The Plan unfold as it will. I know that I am not promised that everything will work out the way I want it to. It might not even make sense, not for years and years. My job is to stop trying to make sense of life, stop trying to force it into the narrow little box I have set aside. Just let it be what it is, and enjoy the ride. So far, my 3 week old baby is much better at this than I am. I'm forever relearning humility.

Weird words to ponder

"My daughter." Wow. Okay. Hmm...

So, wha' happened?

Well, stuff and things. Most importantly, Baby Vivian happened! Born on 9/28/05 by C-section. 8 lbs, 2 oz. 20 inches. All is well. After that it gets weird. For those near and dear, you know where to find the details (BBQ Club Guys, ask Matt for the link). Some of that I prefer to keep private, so I'm not linking to that site here. Everybody is now okay. I'm home from the hospital finally, and we're settling in. Thanks for all of your support. More banal and baby postings to come. ;-)

Got a date with an angel

Well, here we go. We're checking in tonight to start the inducing process and BabyC should be showing up sometime tomorrow. Stay tuned!

Brilliant! (Also, some blasphemy)

Did I mention it was 107 yesterday? And gonna be 103 today? No? Must've been the heatstroke. I have to agree with The Daily Show here regarding our heat/drought in addition to Rita/Katrina. To wit, I think God is just being kind of a dick. Weather-wise anyway. Here's my brilliant proposal: I'm building a Habitrail from my front door to my car, and then from my car to HEB/Whole Foods/the doctor/the hospital/Amy's Ice Cream/Whataburger. A fully air-conditioned Habitrail, sans that stupid wheel thingy because...Seriously. I'm not getting on that wheel thingy. But the Habitrail bit, that's brilliant, right?

What passes for normal around here

Now that we're over a week past due, I've sort of settled into this "well, I guess this is how it's gonna be" mode -- as if, y'know, I'm just gonna be pregnant forever, so I might as well get used to it. Thing is, it's some weird stuff I'm getting used to. I wanted to write out how it feels, not to complain, but to try and describe the weirdness. There's so much about being pregnant that they DON'T tell you until it's TOO LATE! 1) My hands hurt. All of my knuckles and joints and wrists ache, especially when I wake up in the middle of the night and haven't been moving. I can't grip anything tightly, which means M has to open those pesky jars of peanut butter and such and I feel like a wuss. It's weird. I literally can't get a grip. 2) Did you know how much you use your legs when turning over in bed? It's true. I can't roll from one side to the other now without using my arms, because my legs just gave up a few weeks ago. To be blunt, I feel rather bowlegged and like I've been trail riding for a few months. Yee-HAW!!! 3) Lower back aches kinda all the time, like i've been pushing a wheelbarrow full of rocks uphill all day long. Same with hamstrings. Come to think of it, this could be good training for a 3rd-down specialist running back. 4) Mild stabby-stabby feelings in the nether regions. That's all I'll say about that. 5) My hands fall asleep in the middle of the night, depending on which side I"m sleeping on. I think a nerve's getting pinched in my shoulder. I miss the days of sleeping on my tummy. 6.) I can no longer sit in a ladylike fashion. Mostly I sit like Buddha (if Buddha were a beer-drinking VFW ho-bag wearing scruffy gym shorts and a giant Chick Creative t-shirt). 7) My toes? So very far away. Okay, that seems like a litany of complaints, but I mean it as a List of Oddities. 'Cuz I'm mostly used to it all by now, and relatively willing to accept it. We go to the doctor today (yay! my real doc is back!) and honestly, if she said, "Let's have that baby tomorrow!" my reaction might well be "huh? I'm supposed to have a baby? You mean it's not normal to have a loveseat grafted onto my belly? Cuz I've kinda got the room decorated around it by now..." Also: Yesterday was my 37th birthday. I have the most wonderful pancake-making husband on the planet, and if I write any more about how much he rocks, you will all know what morning sickness feels like.

In dog we trust

Our little gang has become quite enamored of Dog Almighty, the best gosh-darned hot dogs you're ever gonna eat. Check out the site and discover how these are actually healthy (ish) dogs and real cool folks. We've gone there for lunch a zillion times -- but didja know they're open for dinner? Yes! And it's not as hot walking across the parking lot into the Farmer's Market! And they'd love us for coming to dinner more often! I propose, once we get this baby business squared away, perhaps a biweekly Hot Dog Noshfest. Say, Thursday evening? Who's with me?

Attention Centex BBQ Hounds

BBQ Fest.jpg
Originally uploaded by M+M Chang.

If this baby ever gets out of my belly, some of this BBQ will DEFINITELY need to work its way in.

Jeezy Chreezy

Okay, at the risk of sounding insensitive, everybody in Austin needs to calm the F-K down! I just went out to get gas, pick up a little bottled water, no big deal. Costco is totally out of gas. People at HEB were freaking out, buying like the world was about to end. There were lines at every register, carts full to the brim. Despite my signaling for an empty parking place, some old broad in a giant SUV cut in front of me and took it. When I walked up to the store, all but two of the carts were gone. Two people walked right in front of me and took the carts, ignoring the hugely pregnant lady right there (that would be me). At least two more people came up behind me, pushing empty carts from the lot, and when I innocently asked "oh, are you bringing that back?" they got all defensive, "Oh, no, I need this!" Yeah, you need that more than me, mister. Enjoy the karma. Screw it. I bought a couple liter bottles of water at CVS, and I'll fill up some empty tea pitchers with water and bag up some ice from our ice maker. But people, chill. Seriously. Preparedness is one thing. Freaking the hell out is another.

Better shot of dots

IMG_3130
Originally uploaded by M+M Chang.

They RULE, and they go with the quilt we chose. (For some reason, we don't have a complete crib + bedding photo yet... )

Dots are courtesy of Wallcandy Arts.

More fun with Flickr!

IMG_3131
Originally uploaded by M+M Chang.

Here's a shot of one wall in the nursery, complete with awesome dots and a crosstitched quilt (complete with carefully substituted black Asian-baby hair!) by my mom. She's a love.

Jon Stewart on the Emmys

I didn't watch them because, y'know, football. And also? Emmys are lame. Apparently Jon Stewart was darn funny in a pre-taped bit about the government's response to Katrina. Here it is on IFLM. But I got better results with the streaming video on Comedy Central's site. Just click on "Jon's Katrina speech" to view. "Shockingly ept." Heh.

Roosevelt in the bouncy seat

IMG_3134.JPG
Originally uploaded by M+M Chang.

Look, I figured out how to add Flickr photos. Yes, I know it's ridiculously easy... I just never took the time to sit down and figure it out.

By the way

I had to add Word Verification to my comments because I was getting comment-spammed. It's not a big deal, you just need to type in the "word" shown for comments to be accepted. Thank you for your forbearance.

Moody much? Gawd...

After a great chat with my friend Afton about how insane I possibly am and yet still remarkably sane and functional, I am feeling much cheerier now. (I think the peanut-butter and apple-butter sandwich on toast also helped.) So, in an idea stolen from the far funnier than I am and also pregnant and about to burst Amalah, here's my To-Do List for the forseeable future: 1. Wallow 2. Dilate. Efface. Repeat. 3. Double-check suitcases a couple thousand times in case we forgot something, because going to the hospital 5 miles away is SO like going to a foreign country, isn't it? You might need snacks. 4. Seriously consider some Chick-Fil-A. Waffle-fries will totally induce labor, right? 5. Watch all of Firefly because I have completely missed out on the Joss-lovin' boat and the movie is coming (accomplish this before labor, missy) 6. Grouse. 7. Mark the plants that look hideous now so that later in the fall when it's cool and I feel industrious again I can rip them out and/or move them and never never never have such a crappy looking summer garden again. 8. Consolidate baby announcement list 9. Prepare the next round of direct mail pieces for my client mailings, so they're ready to go in the mail when I can think again 10. Move extraneous stuff from baby's room to garage. Move OTHER extraneous crap from garage to trash and/or Goodwill (which, surprisingly, is still not my personal trash hole). 11. Lounge about 12. Answer Mom's "just checking in" phone calls. Most of the time. 13. Shower daily, at least attempt to fix hair and wear water-proof mascara so that post-baby photos won't be completely disheartening for the next BAZILLION years of my life 14. Forget something important. Feel guilty about it.

Yep, still here

I started this blog not thinking anybody was reading it. Now that I know several of the people who do, I tend to want to censor myself, not to reveal too much... or to try and be entertaining when I really just want to whine or moan or bitch. Today, I'll just be straight up with you and you can decide if I'm a nutjob or what. Yesterday the nurse practitioner said I MIGHT be dilated about a half centimeter. That's sort of progress anyway. We also had the non-stress test, which I was more stressed about than I realized. But all went well -- baby is moving just fine and the heart rate is acting like it should. I was so relieved I felt much better for most of the day. Honestly, though, I must admit that behind everything -- especially behind the latent grumpiness and oversensitivity -- I'm at least 50% terrified a lot of the time. Excited, yes, but also scared. Being overdue with an oversized baby scares me. The talk about C-sections scares me. Possible induction scares me. Epidurals and episiotomies scare me. My doc being out of town scares me. Going into actual labor, despite the relief of "finally, we're on our way," well, that scares me too. Well-meaning, kind, loving people tell me that all of this is perfectly normal and it will all work out just fine. I know that intellectually, and appreciate the support. But to know things in your head and yet still contemplate them actually happening to your actual body...those are two different things. It makes me want to hide from everybody, for fear of insulting people or hurting someone's feelings when they mean well. Of course they mean well. But being scared makes me prickly, and I don't have the energy left over to create that veneer of social graciousness. I slept terribly last night, up until 2:00 and then spent most of the night on the couch tossing and turning. I was worried and upset. Frustrated that my emotions are not my own. Angry that the world, my belly, and SLEEP FOR GOD"S SAKE won't cut me any more slack. Pregnant ladies get a lot of slack, but there are still moments when it's just not enough, dammit. The unrelenting mental pressure cuts no slack. The non-stop discomfort and aches and pains cut no slack. The anxiety cuts no slack. And, of course, the only way to get beyond all of this entails the spectre of unfamiliar new pain, hospitals, the unknown. So I simultaneously want this to be over and also dread what that means. I've been having some tummy cramps and backache since last night. Maybe we're on our way. I'm crossing my fingers -- hoping for what, I'm not totally sure. There's no way out but through. Please, don't tell me it will all be okay. I do know that, I do. Hearing that really really frustrates me, for some reason. I guess I want empathy for how I feel right now, rather than promises that I will feel better eventually. Or at least permission just to feel crappy and scared and irritable and thrilled and excited and lucky and crampy and weary and whatever else I feel today.

Please make a note of the exits

"Doot doo doo doo... Hmmm, getting a bit crowded in here -- stupid efficiency apartment. There's hardly any room for my stuff. I should definitely consider moving. Moving! Yes! Not a bad idea at all! New sights to see! New friends! More space! Fewer, er, pancreases crowding my space and harshing my vibe. I think that's a pancreas, anyway. Let's kick it and see... "Anyway, where was I? Oh, getting out of this place. I think my lease was up today. Hey, isn't there some sort of off-ramp or 'this way to the exit' sign? It's DARK in here! Shit. I can't find a freakin' thing. Maybe I should... Oh, never mind. Moving's too much of a hassle. All those boxes. Who's got time for that? "Eh, screw it. "ZZZZzzzzz...."

Movies

Just got back from seeing The Brothers Grimm. Meh. Hate to say it, because I love Terry Gilliam, largely for The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, one of my favorite movies and one which I use to test people. If you don't love that movie, I don't understand you. Brazil, on the other hand, gave me a headache. But that might be because I saw it back in college, at Hogg Auditorium, in the front row. In a wooden seat. Probably at midnight. Perhaps I should see it again.

Yes, yes, I said it

I know that back in the day, I swore that this baby was gonna be late, because we tend to cluster birthdays in my family. My sister is 9/24, I'm 9/25, so I figured the baby would come around 9/22 or 9/23. I thought it was cute. People, I was a TOOL.

Yes, I know

Britney had her hellspawn. Ahead of me. With her Versace baby wardrobe and everything. Matt called just to make sure I knew, around 6 yesterday, predicting labor for me by midnight. Ha! I showed him! My kid is gonna make its own entrance! And not even grow up to live in a van down by the river! So there, Britney. Try and steal my thunder, will ya? At least I have a handsome husband with an actual job. And no man-capris or scraggly chin-stubble. No spare illegitimate chillen either. Suck it, Britney. Heh. Maybe I'm a bit too hostile to give birth right now. (Or perhaps that's a clear sign I'm on my way.)

Poor ol' Roosevelt.

It was seriously cute when we discovered Roosevelt the Devil Kitty snoozing innocently in the bouncy seat. "Aww, he's pre-loving it" I told M when he protested. It's not so cute now. M found him sleeping in the crib this morning, and just a while I go I found him in the bassinet. Poor guy, he doesn't know better, but I don't want him thinking these are kitty snooze places. And bless his heart, he's 11 years old. He's not so very trainable. For now, I'm blocking the top of the bassinet and putting some foil or something in the crib so maybe he'll learn those aren't cozy spots for kitties. Maybe when the baby comes, the scent and crying will put him off. The thing is, poor ol' Roosevelt has had a rough go in this life. He always seems to be doing something "wrong" and getting in trouble. I blame myself. I didn't know how to train a kitty, let alone a bottle-fed one who didnt get adequate training from his mom. The things I read today say that yelling at him won't really help, and in fact might make things worse. So instead, I've got to figure out how to convince him that he doesn't want to sleep in those warm, cozy places. Right. Cat psychology, anybody?

The vestibule

When you're sitting at the bedside of a dying loved one, the waiting becomes a place all its own. The rest of the world shrinks down and you can't really be anywhere else but there. The waiting room. In the 2+ weeks I spent with my dad last year, in the hospital, I was keenly aware that the timing of his death was up to him. My mom prayed daily for God to take him, exhorted me to pray for that too. But when she left the room, I'd take Dad's hand and tell him, "It's okay, Dad. You do this however you need to do this. Take all the time you need." Some nights I'd get frustrated and weary with the waiting, but mostly I was at peace with it. I felt honored by it, glad I could love my Dad along on his way, despite the sadness. This waiting room has a similar character -- kind of like how all doctor's offices feel the same way. I know that this baby's birth is really about him/her (she says coyly, not revealing what she knows). I'm just an attendant, really. The baby needs to take its time, and that's okay with me. But I am weary with the waiting and the omnipresence (and omniverousness) of being pregnant. It never leaves you. It eats up everything in your life until you can't really focus on much else. Some of that is joyful, some solemn and fearful, some just plain weird. It's been 9 months of transition -- never a comfortable process. Really, the last 3 years have been one transformation after another, so maybe that's why I'm extra tired. I've become a wife, a fatherless daughter, a person who understands death and now almost a mother... However, that's not what I'm here to write about. The waiting room. People can come and visit you in it. The pets are particularly good for that. It helps. M is here with me, but really it's his own waiting. My own waiting. You can't share it. You can relieve it with distractions, but it never fully goes away. My sister, who was to be called Auntie Hurricane until Katrina stole that joke from us, said something wise today. She does that frequently. She said that most of life's big events happen on a schedule. Your wedding, for example. Graduation. You know when they're coming, so you can get a sense of how close things are and plan accordingly. Birth and death are the only Big Life Events that don't conform to any real schedule. They happen however they're going to happen, and we just have to be ready. Then again, maybe it's that the real Big Life Events aren't really all that black-and-white. They're transformations that occur over a long period of time, with perhaps just one definite moment of before and after to mark the occasion. My dad was dying for years before he really went. Maybe this baby has been coming into the world for a lot longer than I realize, longer than the 39 weeks it's been inside me. And sometime soon, from one moment to another, it will move from "becoming" to simply "being." For now, I just have to wait.

Also

I wanted to be funnier in that last post. Sorry. I'm just really frustrated.

Not comin' out, nuh-uh

Dear Lord a'mighty, this kid is taking its own sweet time. Two weeks ago, the doc estimated the fetal weight at 8 lbs 3 oz. Kids, babies gain half a pound a week. That means we're looking at 9lbs+ right now. And nothing's going on down south, if you get my drift...ain't nobody in a big hurry. Meanwhile, I can't breathe, I can't sit comfortably anymore, and I'm getting a bit stir crazy with the waiting. PLUS, my doc goes on vacation for a week starting this Friday afternoon... The kid actually moved back UP this week. What what what?? That's not allowed is it? If the kid doesn't drop into the pelvis, we're talking C-section, and that's less sassy than it seems when it's possibly going to happen to you. (Britney, I'm talking to you, ho-bag.) If the kid is just too huge, we're talking possible induction and then STILL a possible C-section... Holy cats, I'm sick of being pregnant. My TOES, people! They turned purple with the bad circulation and the swelling today, while I sat on the stupid exam table sweating through the sexy-sexy paper drape. And my belly looks like I swallowed a medium-sized watermelon. The baby weighs as much, if not more, than Coco the Wonder Pup at this point, and gaining on Roosvelt the Devil Kitty. (Hey, at least it'll be able to hold its own against the menagerie.) In less than 2 weeks I'll be 37, and perhaps STILL pregnant. Sexy!

What I hope to teach my child

One of the things I've been mulling around in my head since Katrina hit is this whole "Why does God do stuff like this to his people?" thing. I see lots of faithful folks really struggling against it, and it makes me sad. Because I don't believe God does stuff like this to us. I think... well, let's see if I can articulate it... Shit happens. Years ago, I realized this regarding choices and consequences in my own little life. I went into the studio with my band, looking high and low for signs that this was or was not "the right thing to do," believing that if I just made sure I was doing the right thing, everything would work out well. Yeah, $10k in debt and no band and no CD later, I thought God had tricked me. Hey, Mr. Dude-in-Sandals, I was trying to do "your will" or whatever, so why did everything fall apart around me? Oh, duh. I made a choice. I didn't like the consequences. End of story. God wasn't punishing me. I wasn't being "tested." Really, the suffering was my choice too. I could've just looked at the consequences and said, "huh, well...that didn't work. Let's try something else." instead of wallowing in grief for months on end. Now, gigantic big-ass natural disasters are a whole 'nother story, I realize. And my theory breaks down when it comes to tiny babies and starvation in Darfur and Hitler. Bear with me, I'm working this out. But maybe the choices/consequences thing is also true on a macro level, for the whole freakin' world. We make choices, they have consequences. If we don't like 'em, it's not God's fault. It's our RESPONSIBLITY to step up and try to make them better. And sometimes, random shit happens. The only purpose I can see in them -- beyond such impersonal global effects like "flooding is good for re-fertilizing the soil" or whatnot -- is that they serve to remind us how fragile we are, how much we need each other, and (most of the time) how truly wonderful people can be. I read about a guy in California who just rented a Lear Jet, filled it full of food and diapers and stuff, and flew it to LA. Then he flew back with dozens of people. I see my neighbors in Austin doing huge acts of kindness...and small ones, like setting up a beauty parlor in the Convention Center so the ladies can get their hair did. So, what I hope to teach my child is that shit happens -- painful stuff we can't understand, even grownups. What matters is what we try to do with it. More musings to come, I'm sure. I just wanted to start trying to sort this out in my head, and writing's how I do it.

A thing concerning me this morning

Radio Paradise is playing that Yes song from their one hit 80s record -- "It can happen." Remember? Remember when they had this bizarre HUGE record around 1985 or something? Yes, I owned it. Shut up. Anyway, here's my concern: Is it awesome in its lameness, or truly lame in its awesomeness? Because you can front all you want, but there's a hint of awesomeness in there. Just like many of those Boston tunes you used to crank up in your Nova when nobody was around and drive 45mph down Northwest Highway with the windows down... Don't even pretend you didn't.

Awww, I love Austin

From the Austin Chronicle -- our mayor done good: "... volunteers discovered they were running short on towels. It was 3:30am Sunday, and there were 500 bedraggled guests waiting for showers. The Austin Hilton across the street, the mayor was told, had refused a request to wash hundreds of towels heaped in a cart. So the mayor commandeered a trio of fellows, and the four of them pushed the automobile-sized cart up Red River and into the Hilton. The hotel night manager told the mayor he would "love" to help, but didn't have the authority to wash the towels. "I ain't asking for your authorization!" Wynn bellowed. "Where the hell are your washing machines?" With that, the staff grabbed the cart and scurried off to the laundry room.

Nice one, Miss Alli

Wonderful rant about what's bothering her in Bush's attitude about the evacuees -- ditto that for me. Last night we were downtown for a quick pre-baby photo shoot with the wonderful David Grimes (check out his new site, I wrote the copy) , and saw two gentlemen walking along from the convention center with pink wristbands on. I rolled down the window and asked, "Hey, are y'all from Louisiana?" "Yes, ma'am." they said. "Welcome to Austin. We'll take good care of you here." says I, lamely but with all my heart. Because jumping out of the car to run and give them a hug would've been just a wee bit over-the-top, but it's what I wanted to do.

Race and response

Interesting post at Slate about race and the president's response to Katrina. Excerpt: At the heart of the matter is the racial pattern of American constituency politics. I don't think Kanye West can support his view that George W. Bush just doesn't care about black people. But it's a demonstrable matter of fact that Bush doesn't care much about black votes. And that, in the end, may amount to the same thing. I had been saying that I'm not so sure it's a race thing so much as an economic thing -- they (and sometimes "we," meaning we liberal-minded priveleged types) don't seem to care enough about poor folks to actually take action on a personal level beyond platitudes. Perhaps they make us uncomfortable. We feel guilty. Whatever excuse you can name. But the political pragmatism card is an interesting slant -- Bush doesn't care about black people because he doesn't have to. They aren't his constituents, and he's won without them. Hmmm. Things to ponder.

My my my

First, this: "What I'm hearing which is sort of scary is that they all want to stay in Texas. Everybody is so overhwlemed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway so this (chuckle) — this is working very well for them." — Former First Lady Barbara Bush (after meeting survivors at the Astrodome) Also, Plastic has a pretty good roundup of the various ways our mainstream media is finally showing some freakin' cojones. Hope it lasts. Can't wait to see what John Stewart says about all this... except, how do you make this funny?

FactCheck.org on Bush & the Hurricane

I get emails from these guys ever since the election -- generated by the Annenberg Political Fact Check project. Here's today's: Is Bush to Blame for New Orleans Flooding? He did slash funding for levee projects. But the Army Corps of Engineers says Katrina was just too strong. September 2, 2005 Summary   Some critics are suggesting President Bush was as least partly responsible for the flooding in New Orleans. In a widely quoted opinion piece, former Clinton aide Sidney Blumenthal says that "the damage wrought by the hurricane may not entirely be the result of an act of nature," and cites years of reduced funding for federal flood-control projects around New Orleans. Our fact-checking confirms that Bush indeed cut funding for projects specifically designed to strengthen levees. Indeed, local officials had been complaining about that for years. It is not so clear whether the money Bush cut from levee projects would have made any difference, however, and we're not in a position to judge that. The Army Corps of Engineers – which is under the President's command and has its own reputation to defend – insists that Katrina was just too strong, and that even if the levee project had been completed it was only designed to withstand a category 3 hurricane. Analysis   We suspect this subject will get much more attention in Congress and elsewhere in the coming months. Without blaming or absolving Bush, here are the key facts we've been able to establish so far: Bush Cut Funding Blumenthal's much-quoted article in salon.com carried the headline: "No one can say they didn't see it coming." And it said the Bush administration cut flood-control funding "to pay for the Iraq war." He continues: Blumenthal: With its main levee broken, the evacuated city of New Orleans has become part of the Gulf of Mexico . But the damage wrought by the hurricane may not entirely be the result of an act of nature. …By 2003 the federal funding for the flood control project essentially dried up as it was drained into the Iraq war. In 2004, the Bush administration cut funding requested by the New Orleans district of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers for holding back the waters of Lake Pontchartrain by more than 80 percent. Additional cuts at the beginning of this year…forced the New Orleans district of the Corps to impose a hiring freeze. We can confirm that funding was cut. The project most closely associated with preventing flooding in New Orleans was the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers’ Hurricane Protection Project, which was “designed to protect residents between Lake Pontchartrain and the Missisippi River levee from surges in Lake Pontchartrain,” according to a fact sheet from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. (The fact sheet is dated May 23, long before Katrina). The multi-decade project involved building new levees, enlarging existing levees, and updating other protections like floodwalls. It was scheduled to be completed in 2015. Over at least the past several budget cycles, the Corps has received substantially less money than it requested for the Lake Pontchartrain project, even though Congress restored much of the money the President cut from the amount the Corps requested. In fiscal year 2004, the Corps requested $11 million for the project. The President’s budget allocated $3 million, and Congress furnished $5.5 million. Similarly, in fiscal 2005 the Corps requested $22.5 million, which the President cut to $3.9 million in his budget. Congress increased that to $5.5 million. “This was insufficient to fund new construction contracts,” according to a U.S. Army Corps of Engineers’ project fact sheet. The Corps reported that “seven new contracts are being delayed due to lack funds” [sic]. The President proposed $3 million for the project in the budget for fiscal 2006, which begins Oct. 1. “This will be insufficient to fund new construction projects,” the fact sheet stated. It says the Corps “could spend $20 million if funds were provided.” The Corps of Engineers goes on to say: Army Corps of Engineers, May 23: In Orleans Parish, two major pump stations are threatened by hurricane storm surges. Major contracts need to be awarded to provide fronting protection for them. Also, several levees have settled and need to be raised to provide the design protection. The current funding shortfalls in fiscal year 2005 and fiscal year 2006 will prevent the Corps from addressing these pressing needs. The Corps has seen cutbacks beyond those affecting just the Lake Pontchartrain project. The Corps oversees SELA, or the Southeast Louisiana Urban Flood Control project, which Congress authorized after six people died from flooding in May 1995. The Times-Picayune newspaper of New Orleans reported that, overall, the Corps had spent $430 million on flood control and hurricane prevention, with local governments offering more than $50 million toward the project. Nonetheless, "at least $250 million in crucial projects remained," the newspaper said. In the past five years, the amount of money spent on all Corps construction projects in the New Orleans district has declined by 44 percent, according to the New Orleans CityBusiness newspaper, from $147 million in 2001 to $82 million in the current fiscal year, which ends Sept. 30. A long history of complaints Local officials had long complained that funding for hurricane protection projects was inadequate: * October 13, 2001: The New Orleans Times-Picayune reported that “federal officials are postponing new projects of the Southeast Louisiana Flood Control Program, or SELA, fearing that federal budget constraints and the cost of the war on terrorism may create a financial pinch for the program.” The paper went on to report that “President Bush’s budget proposed $52 million” for SELA in the 2002 fiscal year. The House approved $57 million and the Senate approved $62 million. Still, “the $62 million would be well below the $80 million that corps officials estimate is needed to pay for the next 12 months of construction, as well as design expenses for future projects.” * April 24, 2004: The Times-Picayune reported that “less money is available to the Army Corps of Engineers to build levees and water projects in the Missisippi River valley this year and next year.” Meanwhile, an engineer who had direct the Louisiana Coastal Area Ecosystem Restoration Study – a study of how to restore coastal wetlands areas in order to provide a bugger from hurricane storm surges – was sent to Iraq "to oversee the restoration of the ‘Garden of Eden’ wetlands at the mouth of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers,” for which President Bush’s 2005 gave $100 million. * June 8, 2004: Walter Maestri, emergency management chief for Jefferson Parish, told the Times-Picayune: Walter Maestri: It appears that the money has been moved in the president’s budget to handle homeland security and the war in Iraq , and I suppose that’s the price we pay. Nobody locally is happy that the levees can’t be finished, and we are doing everything we can to make the case that this is a security issue for us. * September 22, 2004: The Times-Picayune reported that a pilot study on raising the height of the levees surrounding New Orleans had been completed and generated enough information for a second study necessary to estimate the cost of doing so. The Bush administration “ordered the New Orleans district office” of the Army Corps of Engineers “not to begin any new studies, and the 2005 budget no longer includes the needed money.” * June 6, 2005: The New Orleans CityBusiness newspaper reported that the New Orleans district of the Corps was preparing for a $71.2 million reduction in overall funding for the fiscal year beginning in October. That would have been the largest single-year funding loss ever. They noted that money “was so tight" that "the New Orleans district, which employs 1,300 people, instituted a hiring freeze last month on all positions,” which was “the first of its kind in about 10 years.” Would Increased Funding Have Prevented Flooding? Blumenthal implies that increased funding might have helped to prevent the catastrophic flooding that New Orleans now faces. The White House denies that, and the Corps of Engineers says that even the levee project they were working to complete was not designed to withstand a storm of Katrina's force. White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan, at a press briefing on September 1, dismissed the idea that the President inadequately funded flood control projects in New Orleans : McClellan: Flood control has been a priority of this administration from day one. We have dedicated an additional $300 million over the last few years for flood control in New Orleans and the surrounding area. And if you look at the overall funding levels for the Army Corps of Engineers, they have been slightly above $4.5 billion that has been signed by the President. Q: Local people were asking for more money over the last couple of years. They were quoted in local papers in 2003 and 2004, are saying that they were told by federal officials there wasn't enough money because it was going to Iraq expenditures. McClellan: You might want to talk to General Strock, who is the commander of the Army Corps of Engineers, because I think he's talked to some reporters already and talked about some of these issues. I think some people maybe have tried to make a suggestion or imply that certain funding would have prevented the flooding from happening, and he has essentially said there's been nothing to suggest that whatsoever, and it's been more of a design issue with the levees. We asked the Corps about that “design issue.” David Hewitt, a spokesman for the Army Corps of Engineers, said McClellan was referring to the fact that “the levees were designed for a category 3 hurricane.” He told us that, consequently, “when it became apparent that this was a category 5 hurricane, an evacuation of the city was ordered.” (A category 3 storm has sustained winds of no more than 130 miles per hour, while a category 5 storm has winds exceeding 155 miles per hour. Katrina had winds of 160 mph as it approached shore, but later weakened to winds of 140 mph as it made landfall, making it a strong category 4 storm, according to the National Hurricane Center.) The levee upgrade project around Lake Pontchartrain was only 60 to 90 percent complete across most areas of New Orleans as of the end of May, according to the Corps' May 23 fact sheet. Still, even if it had been completed, the project's goal was protecting New Orleans from storm surges up to "a fast-moving Category 3 hurricane,” according to the fact sheet. We don't know whether the levees would have done better had the work been completed. But the Corps says that even a completed levee project wasn't designed for the storm that actually occurred. Nobody anticipated breach of the levees? In an interview on ABC’s “Good Morning America” on September 1, President Bush said: Bush: I don’t think anyone anticipated breach of the levees …Now we’re having to deal with it, and will. Bush is technically correct that a "breach" wasn't anticipated by the Corps, but that's doesn't mean the flooding wasn't forseen. It was. But the Corps thought it would happen differently, from water washing over the levees, rather than cutting wide breaks in them. Greg Breerword, a deputy district engineer for project management with the Army Corps of Engineers, told the New York Times: Breerword: We knew if it was going to be a Category 5, some levees and some flood walls would be overtopped. We never did think they would actually be breached. And while Bush is also technically correct that the Corps did not "anticipate" a breach – in the sense that they believed it was a likely event – at least some in the Corps thought a breach was a possibility worth examining. According to the Times-Picayune, early in Bush's first term FEMA director Joe Allbaugh ordered a sophisticated computer simulation of what would happen if a category 5 storm hit New Orleans. Joseph Suhayda, an engineer at Louisana State University who worked on the project, described to the newspaper in 2002 what the simulation showed could happen: Subhayda: Another scenario is that some part of the levee would fail. It's not something that's expected. But erosion occurs, and as levees broke, the break will get wider and wider. The water will flow through the city and stop only when it reaches the next higher thing. The most continuous barrier is the south levee, along the river. That's 25 feet high, so you'll see the water pile up on the river levee. Whether or not a "breach" was "anticipated," the fact is that many individuals have been warning for decades about the threat of flooding that a hurricane could pose to a set below sea level and sandwiched between major waterways. A Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) report from before September 11, 2001 detailed the three most likely catastrophic disasters that could happen in the United States: a terrorist attack in New York, a strong earthquake in San Francisco, and a hurricane strike in New Orleans. In 2002, New Orleans officials held the simulation of what would happen in a category 5 storm. Walter Maestri, the emergency coordinator of Jefferson Parish in New Orleans, recounted the outcome to PBS’ NOW With Bill Moyers: Maestri, September 2002: Well, when the exercise was completed it was evidence that we were going to lose a lot of people. We changed the name of the [simulated] storm from Delaney to K-Y-A-G-B... kiss your ass goodbye... because anybody who was here as that category five storm came across... was gone. --by Matthew Barge   Sources  Sidney Blumenthal, “No one can say they didn’t see it coming ,” salon.com, 31 August 2005 Deon Roberts, “Bush budget not expected to diminish New Orleans district’s $65 million,” New Orleans CityBusiness, 07 February 2005 Manuel Torres, “Flood work to slow down; Corps delays new projects,” Times-Picayune, 13 October 2001 Mark Schlefistein, “Corps sees its resources siphoned off; Wetlands restoration officials sent to Iraq ,” Times-Picayune, 24 April 2004 “Mark Schleifstein, “Ivan stirs up wave of safety proposals; Hurricane-proofed stadium is one idea,” Times-Picayune, 22 September 2004 Deon Roberts, “Bush budget not expected to diminish New Orleans district’s $65 million ,” New Orleans CityBusiness, 07 February 2005 Mark Schleifstein, “Bush budget cuts levee, drainage funds; Backlog of contracts waits to be awarded,” Times-Picayune, 08 February 2005 “Bush budget fails to fund flood control in New Orleans ,” New Orleans CityBusiness, 14 February 2005 Deon Roberts, “ New Orleans district of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers faces ,” New Orleans CityBusiness, 06 June 2005 Will Bunch, “Did New Orleans catastrophe have to happen? ‘Times-Picayune’ had repeatedly raised federal spending issues,” Editor & Publisher, 31 August 2005 Toby Eckert, “Could disaster have been prevented?,” Copley News Service, 02 September 2005 Jim VandeHei and Peter Baker, “ Critics say Bush undercut New Orleans flood control ,” Washington Post, 02 September 2005 “The City in a Bowl ,” Transcript, NOW, Public Broadcasting Service, 20 September 2002 Jon Elliston, “ A Disaster Waiting to Happen ,” bestofneworleans.com, 28 September 2004 Scott Shane and Eric Lipton, “ Government saw flood risk but not levee failure ,” New York Times, 02 September 2005 Paul Krugman, “ A can’t-do government ,” New York Times, 02 September 2005 “Lake Pontchartrain, LA and Vicinity Hurricane Protection Project, St. Bernard, Orleans, Jefferson, and St. Charles Parishes, LA ,” Project Fact Sheet, US Army Corps of Engineers New Orleans District, website, 23 May 2005 “Fiscal Year 2006: Civil Works Budget for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers ,” Department of the Army, February 2005 “Press Briefing by Scott McClellan ,” whitehouse.gov, 01 September 2005 Karen Turni, “Upgrade of levees proposed by corps; gulf outlet levee may be too low, officials worry,” Times-Picayune, 12 November 1998 John McQuaid and Mark Schleifstein, “The big one: A major hurricane could decimate the region, but flooding from even a moderate storm could kill thousands. It’s just a matter of time,” Times-Picayune, 24 June 2002  

God bless poor Mayor Nagin

He went OFF on the Feds this morning. Here's a transcript. Amen.

How do you fix this?

Over and over, throughout the past 8 or 9 years, I went to New Orleans when I was broken beyond repair. The first time was when I was burnt out in my ad agency job and trying to drub up some hope that my performing days weren't over. I went to Jazzfest the year my band blew up in the middle of making a record, when I thought my music was gone. I saw the Nevilles, George Porter, Dr. John, Bobby Blue Bland, Taj Mahal and Ray Charles in one day and that was good enough medicine for anybody. I long to go whenever my spine needs unkinking (which is frequent), whenever I get entirely too uptight (even more frequent), when I need to dance, when I need to wander spooky streets and be a shadow, when I need a parade for one person in second-line time. Now the lovely NOLA is broken and I wish I could fix something. I can't even really do much to help from here, being hugely pregnant and sleep-deprived and hot and worn out. M tells me to stay away from the news because I'm having a rough enough time sleeping, but I can't help it. I obsessively check the Times Picayune online. I turn on CNN, and get mad when they babble on and on about looting (because, hello? If I were stuck in a flood with no food, water or A/C, you can bet I'm stealing some shit). I get mad that nobody ever planned to get the poor folks out, irked at our classic American bravado that says nothing bad will ever happen here, so why plan for the worst-case scenario? (HInt: Put a woman in charge. We always plan for the worst-case scenario.) Ultimately, I know that fatalistic/optimistic/surrealistic New Orleans spirit will survive somehow. They found Fats Domino, by the way. But I do know what it means to miss New Orleans, and I need to hear some Rebirth Brass Band right about now. I hope the benefit concert on Friday features all of the good ol' favorites, and not just MTV/CMT dorks. WIth Marsalis in charge, I have hopes. We need a little Louis Armstrong, stat.

We grow 'em big around here

Ultrasound says Impending Babyness is currently 8 lbs, 3 oz and growing, with 2.5 weeks left to go. I'll just say "ow, ow, ow ow ow ow ow..." and leave it at that. I look like I'm smuggling a beach ball under my top. However, if anybody needs a linebacker in roughly 2023, let us know. Kinda quiet these days. Glued to CNN, though I probably shouldn't be. Very sad about N.O., one of my favorite places, and powerless to help out. Not sleeping much. A bit freaked out by impendingness. Excited and overwhelmed. Touched and honored by the generousity of friends and the wonderfulness of Future Daddy M. SOOOOO psyched for Longhorn kickoff this weekend. And did anybody mention the heat? No? That's the report from here. Send snow cones.

Apparently, you get knocked up and your brain falls out

These are actual name brands of quite popular diaper bags: Petunia Pickle Bottom You have got to be f-ing kidding me.

Hi. Pregnancy makes you sleepy. And a little bit nuts.

'Member when I was whining about having too much work and needing to rest? Well, now work has dried up for a bit, and I'm freaking out because I have too much time to worry about whether I've earned enough to continue paying myself through maternity leave (self-employment, woohoo!) and not enough energy to actually DO too much. Also, nesting instinct? What's that? I'm in denial. What happens is I do some productive stuff, take a nap in the afternoon or stare at VH1 for a while, and feel guilty about it. Because I should be polishing something, or folding something, or putting something else away, right? Or reading the scary, scary book about breastfeeding (you want me to do what with WHAT?). Or packing a bag for the hospital trip, which is really a whole month away, so how can I think about that now? Or doing that damn prenatal yoga DVD I have, with the annoyingly serene and sweat-free giant pregnant lady with the skinny thighs. Bitch. And here's a tip: please don't ask me to leave the house after 1:00 in the afternoon unless you are going to drive me to your igloo house in a refrigerator truck. It's 101 out there, people. I can't be held responsible for what I might do if you ask me to leave my house in the afternoon. You have been warned.

Just so you know

According to Slate: In Touch magazine reports that Britney Spears "will deliver her baby in a special pool filled with 1,000 one-liter bottles of specially blessed Kabbalah water—costing a whopping $3,800!" In the spirit of keeping up with the Federlines, I hereby announce that I will be giving birth in a orchid-petal-strewn delivery room, serenaded by Prince and Dolly Parton, with a steady delivery of Dog Almighty hot dogs and cold cheery limeades from Sonic. And I will look very, very pretty while doing it, and also curse a blue streak.

August is a cruel, cruel month

This is what August has reduced me to: People, I watched "Rock Star: INXS" last night, because there was nothing else on and I was too brain-dead to read. And I don't know if it's the hormones or what, but now I sorta care who wins. Please, please, please bring on the football season. And a new Arrested Development. That'd be good.

Two things

As P. Diddy has announced his name change to just "Diddy," I would like to take this opportunity to inform Matt: you may now call me just "Belly" rather than "P. Belly." Also, there's Walken for President. That is all.

Well, why not?

On Friday, while running around town, I saw a bumper sticker for a local business that's always amused and frightened me -- "Cheer Station" -- which I imagine as a scary Gestapo boot camp for robo-Barbies overdosed on pep. We joke about it among our friends, suggesting that The Jackal probably tailgates there on weekends... Anyhoo, I'd never seen the bumper sticker before. On Friday, I saw an SUV (natch) with one on it, only I misread it. "Cher Station" is what I read. And then I thought, well, why not? I mean really. Baby drag queens need a place to fine-tune their Fabulash, as much as any 14-year-old Amber needs somewhere to hone her herkeys. So if this advertising thing doesn't work out for me, I'm opening a Cher Station.

Here's a mindblower for you

I've spent years thinking that I didn't really have the parents I needed. My mom was too controlling, too judgemental, too driven to perfection....My dad was too, well, gone most of the time. Too emotionally stunted. Too angry. Too scared. Well, something I read in all of this baby stuff that says "don't worry, you'll become the parent your child needs." I found it very comforting, as I worry about being a good parent. A minute ago, it hit me. The same is probably true of my parents, now isn't it? They were the exact right parents I needed to become the person I am today. Flaws and all -- theirs and mine. Wishing they'd been better at X, Y and Z would mean I'd be somebody else. Told you it was a mindblower. There go a few years of precious resentments. I liked those resentments. They were cozy. Guess I'll have to re-evaluate. Again.

Stereotype alert!

This just in: I'm nearly 9 months pregnant and eating a pickle. Cue the snark.

Contrary fandom

Neil Young is on my favorite Itunes radio station right now (Radio Paradise), and once again I'm reminded that I respect the dude as a songwriter but I just can't stand his voice. Same with Dylan -- I know he contributed ponderous amounts of songwriter-y goodness to the world at large, but hello? Can anybody stand listening to him? I sincerely want to know. And can I be the fag-hag that I am and still acknowledge that I hate Barbra Streisand? I recognize that she posesses technical prowess as a singer, but there's no soul there. All respect to Lucinda Williams, but she's like nails on the chalkboard to me. Word to NWA, Public Enemy, The Beastie Boys, et al, but lemme change the channel when they're actually on the air... I can respect their various contributions to music, but it's not my bag. Is that weird? On the other hand, I actually downloaded some SuperTramp on a nostalgic whim recently, so my taste must surely be questionable.

Bummer

I am really rather bummed that Peter Jennings passed away. I didn't even know he was sick! Back during the whole 9/11 aftermath, Peter Jennings was the only newsman we could stand to watch. He was so sane and smart and comforting (without being smarmy), that M and I called him "Uncle Petey." Somehow, I trusted him to be un-hysterical, thoughtful and intelligent about the whole deal — whereas Katie Couric and her ilk make me want to urp. RIP, Uncle Petey.

Meme meme meme

Seems to be trendy these days, so: List ten songs that you are currently digging... it doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're no good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the ten songs in your blog. Then tag five other people to see what they're listening to. In no particular order: 1. Fold Me Up, by the Snuggle Ups: Cute geek love song 2. Tell Your Mama, by The Scissor Sisters: Because summer is the time for trashy, trashy glam-disco-rock 3. Alone Again Or, by Calexico: Like #1, another free download discovery from Salon 4. No one Takes Your Freedom, by DJ Earworm: Insane mashup of Tell Your Mama, Freedom by George Michael, For No One by the Beatles and Aretha's Think. And yes, somehow it all works. 5. It's Good to Be In Love, by Frou Frou : pretty, pretty 6. Ordinary People, by John Legend: MMMm! Gorgeous voice. Gorgeous man. What's not to like? 7. Cowgirls on Parade, by TullyCraft: Suddenly it's the 80s again! And I like it! And any song that goes "Woohoo!" repeatedly can't be bad. 8. Close My Eyes, by Shivaree: Divynyl-tastic 90s rock, sorta 9. Back in Love Again, by LTD: M's ringtone, for good reason. Song is slammin'. 10. Jamie's Cryin', by Van Halen: Because, duh! And because M doesn't really have an appreciation for the awesome power of David Lee Roth, so I had to make him sit in the car in the parking lot at Lowe's to listen to this when it came on the radio. I mean, really, buttless pants? What more do you want from a rock star? I think a steady diet of Van Halen is what he needs to balance out his Erasure obesssion. You really need both in your life. (Though he does appreciate the AC/DC for reasons I can't fully fathom.) Tag, Bunny, AEM, Matt(s), Rob, Omar and anybody else who might actually read this silly page...

Poetry corner

Working on a website for the amazing photographer David Grimes, and our discussions on his influences led to talk of Billy Collins, his favorite poet. I am woefully ignorant on poetry (especially for a girl who used to scribble verses in 5th grade), but I have always loved this one: Charles Smith: "The Meaning Of Birds" From "Indistinguishable From The Darkness" Of the genesis of birds we know nothing, save the legend they are descended from reptiles: flying, snap-jawed lizards that have somehow taken to air. ...But what does it matter anyway how they got up high...? ...We are often far from home in a dark town, and our griefs are difficult to translate into a language understood by others. ...But still, it is morning again, this day. In the flowering trees the birds take up their indifferent, elegant cries. Look around. Perhaps it isn’t too late to make a fool of yourself again. Perhaps it isn’t too late to flap your arms and cry out, to give one more cracked rendition of your singular, aspirant song. Oddly, I first read this poem in an article on Jack Nicholson in Vanity Fair. It's one of his favorites, too.

Heh

From the New York Observer: In War of the Worlds, we know Tom Cruise will make it from Hoboken to Boston, even if everyone else ends up as alien food; but he may not survive his own extinction-level event of fame. He’s like a country that’s gone rogue or a robot that’s malfunctioning. Now, y'all may or may not know how I feel about Tom Cruise. Can't stand him. For much the same reason that I always root for the underdog. Cruise is the scary-popular student council president guy, and I've always just wanted to punch him. He's the Anti-Cusack. (And, like the author of the above, I've always suspected he is really a robot...A Scientologibot.)

Wow. And, uh, ouch.

Found while researching quotes on simplicity: "Naturally the common people don't want war. But after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine policy, and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament or a communist dictatorship. All you have to do is to tell them that they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country."  (Hermann Goering)

Reminder to self

We are now in the phase of creating less chaos, not more. Every little action and decision is one less we have to make. One less "to do" hanging over our heads. And that makes all the difference.

Juggling

C'mon, admit it, you kinda hated those geeks who juggled back in college. Or played hacky-sack in the West Mall. At least I did, because those activities required a level of eye-hand-foot coordination that I can't muster even on my best days. (And I'll step out on a limb and mention the patchouli-stank danger and potential for Phish...) Anyway, there's too much to juggle around here and it's making me a tad cranky. The house stuff is really starting to settle in, though there are still lingering remodeling issues to deal with and filing for the insurance reimbursals (which can't be done until the dang remodelers finish everything...) Now we've rolled into figuring out all the mountains of STUFF you're supposed to need for a wee 7-8lb baby, and it's daunting to say the least. I feel like people are kindly looking to me, asking "do you need a flapdoodle?" and "are you gonna do blah blah blah?" Cuz I'm the future Mom and we're supposed to know these things? Huh? I've never had a baby. I don't know. I'm not even sure what a flapdoodle is for! And let's just not talk about the garden and yard, shall we? We haven't had a chance to mow in about a month. The weeds are taking over in the back, eroding my hours and hours of work last summer and winter. I can hear the bermuda grass laughing at me with it's nasal little voice. But I mean, really? When is there time to do it all? There's just not. I'm on the edge of sanity as it is, desperate for a weekend without stuff we HAVE to do. It's only going to get worse. People, the kid isn't even born yet. I'm in big trouble. Okay, okay, breathe... focus on the positive. There's lots of that. The kitchen rocks. M is awesome. I have plenty of work to do, so I should be able to earn my maternity leave. The new ceiling fan is bitchin'. Our friends are great. One thing at a time. Knock down the next boppy clown that springs up in the path. And to hell with juggling.

Rethinking work

Another interesting link in my ongoing series on the work/life balance: Time article on Best Buy's new approach. Particularly insightful about how the corporate culture translates time into value, and what this does to people... For a still-relevant past posting, see here.

Huzzah!

Kitchen things are just about done. Small snafu with the dishwasher, but it should be fixed today. Now for the Big Clean Up, and reconfiguring the guest room/temporary kitchen into a nursery. Check it out.

My first favorite book

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, of course. I remember checking it out over and over from the ol' Lake Highlands Elementary School Library (props to ol' Miss Peatree, Librarienne extraordinaire!). I loved the slightly shabby whimsy, the unstinting honesty, the sinister edges and the buckets of delight. When I saw the movie, I remember thinking "that's not the title! It's CHARLIE and the Chocolate Factory! That's the whole point!!" Years later, I love "Willie Wonka" for its druggy, trippy 70s goofiness. Gene Wilder is perfection, even if he's not MY Willie Wonka. The kid, however, was mostly a drip. The Oompa Loompas were totally wrong. And the songs suck. MY Willie Wonka would never stand for such dreck as "The Candy Man..." (Word to Sammy Davis, though. Word.) So, I have hopes for the new movie. My Johnny has seldom let me down. But I know that nothing will match the book for me. Isn't that the best part? I've got to find a good edition and re-read it. And save it for the little oompa-loompa.

Gully-washer, toad-strangler, Chick refresher

Yay rain! We had a good old-fashioned grumblestorm this afternoon and I dorked out watching the new gutters do their thing. My rain barrel is completely full. All the plants are sighing in relief. So am I.

You can't beat the blog

M is getting a bit dismayed because I keep posting the latest shenanigans to the blog before he gets a chance to IM all the guys about it. So, in the spirit of fair play, here's what may or may not be going on at House of Chaos: -- I'm carrying triplets -- Coco the Wonder Pup has a new album coming out -- I've started a tomato stand in the backyard and have cleared a hefty profit -- All the kitchen floor tiles were installed backwards -- The garage door is made of Solid Gold -- My cat's breath smells like cat food -- M is a scofflaw -- Roosevelt is on strike -- It sort of rained the other day -- We've decided to just keep on remodeling, one room at a time, until the whole house is a completely different structure -- Our new cabinets are hewn from virgin redwood by virgin eunuchs from the Virgin Islands -- You don't really need electricity in your kitchen, anyway -- We've decided we like the refrigerator in the living room, after all -- A family of carnies is squatting in our garage -- We might (just might) be almost done with this mess sometime. Maybe. (Crossing fingers)

The new neighborhood menace

We've been hit by a roving band of garage door repairmen. Well, one. See, our old door was removed and the guy was set to come back later in the day to install the new one. Fine, good. The tile guy was here all day, so I went off to work at M's office. Got home, look! New door! Only one problem: it wasn't our door. Our garage door guy kept calling and saying he was on his way, and we said "huh? we already have a door, dude." Turns out, some doofus from another company was supposed to install a door on another house around here, but he didn't have the address for it. He saw we had no door, and thought "well, Cletus, that there must be the place!" and installed his little heart out. It was the same size. Same color. Turns out he was off by just one house. Both door companies said they'd never even heard of this happening, in over 20 years. I think my "weird stuff happens to me" fate is spreading to the house as well... But just in case, close your garage doors. You could get hit too.

Important factoid

OMG! Did you know that Clint Howard was the original voice of Roo in the Disney Winnie the Poo movies? No kiddin'. He's been in a frillion movies. He won the only deserved MTV Movie Awards Lifetime Achievement thingy. And I've about decided that man is the coolest guy in Hollywood. He's frickin' Roo, for Chrissakes! That's almost as good as being Eeyore.

Because I care about your sanity

Take it from your old Aunt Martha: don't remodel. Just. Don't. 'Cuz stuff has a way of snowballing on you. First it was the floors -- finding out they don't make the Pergo we have any more, so we have to punt. Then finding out the Pergo was laid wrong in the first place. Great, okay, we can handle that. It's only a 10% overage. And then it was the discovery that the wiring to our ceiling fan was shoddy and dangerous. Okay, new ceiling fan. We'd been wanting that anyway, but were planning to wait. Last night, I closed the garage door with a lovely feeling of impending completion. The cabinets were installed. Tile floor goes in next. Electrical too. Allllllmooooooost done. SPROING! CLUNK! The old garage door, she be dead. Way dead. The spring had broken, the pulleys geronimo-ed off the tracks and the door wasn't gonna budge. Not good when you've got a crew coming the next day to lay tile, box in cabinets, finish out the garage wall, etc. Did you know there are companies who do 24-hour garage door repair? It's true! Oh, sweet angels of goodness! So, this morning, the old door is being hacked out and we're getting a new, not fancy but definitely functional door. I repeat, just DON'T start remodeling. Just don't.

Garden notes for next winter's endeavors

1) Relocate the crocosmia in the front bed. Replace with some sort of grass. They just look pitiful this time of year. 2) Front path bed needs compost badly, and redesigning -- relocate the Russian sage to the backyard -- simplify: Perhaps just grasses all over and ferns in the shady side? It all looks too patchy and unkempt. -- Give up on the mealy blue sage, at least for summer color. It's really not happy. 3) Move the firespike by the back door someplace else 4) Get more stella d'oro daylilies for the patio beds out back, and move brarygirl's artemisa up to the front pathway bed 5) More milkweed. It's happy. 6) More Mexican Mint Marigold. It makes me happy. Ditto for blackfoot daisy. 7) Rework the bed with the angel's trumpets in it. It's a jungle in there.

Yellow journalism

I just don't care about Lance Armstrong. There, I said it. I know it's blasphemy in this town, and especially as he meant so much to my friend Didi. who died of cancer last year. Then again, so did my dad and he didn't even know who Lance is, most likely. Maybe it's just because we get Lance rammed down our throats here. Yeah yeah yeah, "ultimate survivor." Yeah, his foundation has done a lot of good. But I'm tired of yellow rubbery bracelets standing as symbols for whether you really care about fighting cancer. They're sort of the AIDS ribbon of our times, or the yellow troops ribbon of the Liberal-minded. Or something. So, you go 'head, Lance. Ride your bike. Win. Or don't. Keep hanging out with your famous girlfriend, Skeletor. I wish you well. But enough with the ubiquity already. Enough with the lockstep "We love Lance" Austin propaganda. I'm not drinking the kool-aid on this one. I don't care about elite bike racing. And all the hype in the world can't make me.

Halle-freakin'-lujah

The cabinets were delivered this morning, filling our kitchen with crates and boxes (aka "Roosevelt's Kitty Jungle Gym" for the weekend). There's very little we can do this weekend around the house, other than cleaning up sheetrock dust and doing laundry. We have no family obligations. No ginormous plans, outside of hanging out with good friends we haven't seen in weeks and weeks. Nobody has tons of work to do. We might -- just might -- catch up on a little rest.

Stuff happens

Now, perhaps this is self-absorbed myopia, but I certainly feel like I'm That Girl That All The Weird Shit Happens To. I'm the one who had a lamp fall on her head. I'm the one who had 4 car wrecks in one year. I'm the one pregnant lady who passed out cold on a friend's floor in the middle of the night and landed on her face. Today, I'm the one who had a gas-station pump fountain unleaded all over me. The idiot behind the counter was no help -- she gave me the key to the (occupied) bathroom ACROSS THE PARKING LOT, never mind that she had a sink behind her counter I could've used. I was afraid I'd gotten some in my eye, so I frantically washed my face, and don't think I got any on there, but the front of my pants were soaked. My shoes. Part of my shirt. I drove home, fighting traffic on Mopac the whole way and trying not to freak out because of the fumes and the stinging sensation on my thighs. Windows and sun roof open. Hoping nobody tossed out a lit cigarette. 15-20 looooong minutes later, I was in the shower. All I could smell was gas. Scared to death. And of course, no A/C on at my house, 2 workers and and lots of paint fumes. Once I finally calmed down, I talked to a nurse friend who reassured me that I did all I could and it's not likely that I got enough gas on me for long enough to absorb too much through my skin and hurt the baby. I suppose I'm starting to get that parental primitive "protect the baby" instinct. Then again, I suppose anybody who took a gasoline shower in the middle of a hot summer day might freak out, just a little bit. Right? It's not just me, is it? Oh yeah, it probably is. I'm That Girl. Dang.

blah blah blah, whine whine whine, me me me

Kitchen is a disaster. Camping out in my own house has lost its charm. As has working like a vagabond copywriter. Giant hole in the ceiling. Can't match the Pergo, so we have to go with tile. Whirlwind trip to Dallas. Stomach cramps. Hamster brain. Lack of sleep. Meh.

Say hello to my little friend

Welcome my big sis, the Divine Miss J, to the blogosphere. Show her some love, people.

Demolition derby

All the old kitchen cabinets are gone. The banquette is gone -- apparently, the metal post that the table was mounted on was set directly into the concrete slab, so the guy had to grind the darn thing down. Amazing. There are new holes in the walls, and electrical work should happen tomorrrow or Saturday. Hello, good kitchen lighting!!! After 3 years with just one crappy overhead light and dark green cabinets, I can't wait for LIGHT! The outside painter showed up yesterday, unexpectedly. Now all the windows are taped over -- scary! Poor guy, while power-washing and prepping the house, he ran into 2-3 nests of bees or wasps in various eaves and corners. Sorry to evict the critters, but it must be done. Hopefully the over-spray won't waft over to any of my poor plants. Of course, with our kitchen torn up, we're having the peak of our tomato season. I probably have 10-12 big Cherokee Purple and Brandywine and Stupice tomatoes, ripening in baskets with a bunch of cherry tomatoes in the guest bedroom. Ahh well, we'll take them to Dallas for Mom's 70th birthday party. Everybody likes caprese salad! Also: Go Spurs!

Hi

Uh. Cough. Well. I was actually sick last week. The remodeling started yesterday (the old kitchen? yeah, it's already torn out). We'll be living out of the guest bedroom and a dorm frig for 3 weeks. I'll be working remotely from a friend's office and the local free WiFi coffeeshop (Triumph, for those of you playing at home). Mom's 70th birthday is this weekend, so we have the mandatory trip to Dallas. In M's parent's van, hopefully. With a double-bed wedged into the back since the guest bedroom is turning into the nursery. And the garden? Yeah, other than harvesting tomatoes, I officially can't care too much about it anymore. It's too darn hot, as the Velvet Fog would croon. (look it up!) And I'm 27 weeks pregnant. Hellooooooo, third trimester. Belly is alarming. Sweating in client meetings sucks. My car was 105 degrees when I got in it downtown yesterday afternoon. God help me, it's not even July yet.

I'b god a code (or someting like dat)

Bah! It's been over a week, and I'm still coughing and hacking and stuffy-headed and hoarse. I thought it was allergies. Now I think it's a cold/cough, whatever. I can't tell, because I NEVER get colds. Not for years. Nor the flu. Just don't get 'em, picture of health, thank you very much. So, F- you, hormones, for messing up my immune system. It's not BabyC's fault, I know. But dang -- a cold, a cough, pregnancy and remodeling AND summertime in Texas? It's enough to make anybody a bit homicidal. Watch out! Pregnant lady with some gardening shears! Don't make me cut you!

Also

There is very little that can't be improved by snacking on homegrown tomatoes.

This just in

I'm still in the middle of ripping all of our CDs to MP3 and Itunes glory, but I found this impressive: Currently, I have 3946 songs in my Itunes Library, 16.62 GB of music or 11.2 days of continuous play. Ha!

Pondering, not whining (no, really)

Meh, I've been under-the-weather all week with allergies, flirting precariously with bronchitis. I've kind of had it with this pregnancy thing. Not being pregnant per se -- it's more that I'm tired of not feeling like myself, not having the emotional and physical resilience that I'm used to having. I'm tired all the time. Back problems crop up, get resolved, then I feel good for a few days...and then insomnia, coughing, sneezing... Which reminds me a lot of last year (sans the physical part). With all the grief crap going on (see last year if you want to know why), I didn't have my usual emotional resources either. And I know I don't have the energy I did 5 years ago. So this line of thinking leads me to a realization: Crap, I'm getting old. This must be what it's like to be my mom, stuck with the knowledge that your body and spirit just can't do what they used to do. Ahh, it's true. Youth is wasted on the young.

Take my horse, please

From this morning's NY Post: "I DON'T care if a guy is in love with a horse, unless it's my horse. And even then, the only thing that really matters is this, is the horse happy?" — Jackie Mason

Apres le deluge

We had lots and lots of wonderful rain this weekend and again Tuesday night, so the garden is really responding. Out front, there's a big clump of crinum lilies bursting into bloom. The banana plant and purple-leafed canna out back are surging upward. And of course, the lawn is getting jungle-like already. We're out of town this weekend, so I won't get to make any mulch progress. I'm really hoping to get another inch or so on all the pathways and open areas before it gets entirely too hot for a pregnant lady to be out there slinging bags of mulch. I have such horrors of all my work last summer -- solarizing out the grass and weeds -- ending up for naught as the weeds take over again this summer while I'm too big to get out there and fight 'em. Ah, powerlessness is a gardener's lot in a Texas summer...

a good reminder

Found on Keri Smith's wonderful blog this morning: Things derive their being and nature by mutual dependence and are nothing in themselves. -Nagajuna, second century Buddhist philosopher An elementary particle is not an independently existing, unanalyzable entitiy. It is, in essence, a set of relationships that reach outward to other things. -H.P. Stapp, twentieth-century physicist

Casserole Daze

Okay, bunny, here you go: the infamous casserole post. I hope it's worth the wait. Growing up, I don't remember my mom cooking much besides casseroles. Ahh, the casserole -- that mighty stalwart of the 70s and 80s childhood. Mom worked until 5 every day, so she needed something easy to make, and I suspect (whispering) she really was never that great of a cook... Anyhoo, here are a few remembered favorites: Tuna-rice casserole Essentially, this is Minute Rice, plus tuna, cheese and peas for some reason. And of course, some sort of cream of something soup. What you get is a brick of vaguely tuna-cheesy-rice, which we spiced up with Tabasco. One of my favorites. Pastafazool Not what the Sopranos eat, I wager. It involved elbow macaroni and kidney beans, plus ground beef and some other stuff. Spaghetti sauce? Who knows? Tallerina I have no idea what this was, but Cathy loved it Green bean casserole You know you still want it for Thanksgiving. This is the only reason there were ever cans of french-fried onions in our pantry. I used to sneak the crispy onion bits for a snack. Oh, c'mon, you ate gross stuff when you were a kid, too. Chicken Sopa A soupy boiled-chicken-and-cheese-and-chilis-and-tortillas mixture, not unlike King Ranch casserole, but better. Especially after a few days in the frig. Dad would never eat it because he said he didn't like boiled chicken, so we could only have it when he went hunting on the weekends. I loooooove chicken sopa, but I don't think I want the recipe because I really don't need to know how heinous it probably is. Let the memory have its golden sheen... And finally, my favorite casserole of all time. The Reason Cream of Something Soups Were Invented. The Crossroads of Many of Nature (and Manufacturers') Perfect Foods: Tater-tot casserole Larl-larl-larl (Homer Simpson sounds)....This is just what you'd expect: tater tots plus hamburger meat plus green beans plus cream-of-something-soup. Heaven in a Pyrex baking dish. I don't really know how to make any of these casseroles anymore, but that's the beauty part... You don't have to. Just slap meat plus vague veggies plus cream-of-something soup plus perhaps a little cheese in a 9x13 pan. Stick in oven. Bake at 350 until done. Then tune into TV Land to watch Sanford and Son reruns. Instant Childhood.