Zen Imbecile

whaaaa?

2009-06-22T12:55:00.000-07:00

It has been almost a year since the BBB* was born.

Yesterday, we were at the swimming pool and I was reminiscing about the days leading up to his birth. I'd go to the pool just to get a little relief from gravity. I remembered the ache and the swell, the feeling of bursting at my seams both physically and emotionally. Such discomfort!

Then the strangest thought occurred to me:

"This hasn't been that hard. It has just been a year. A year of struggles but nothing insurmountable. Obviously, since we're here in the pool with a laughing baby in our arms."

And then I shared that thought with my husband and we both cackled at the absurdity of it.

*BBB is our new, more socially acceptable substitute for "bubba." It is prounounced "buhbuhbuh."

When ashamed of evidence of your country-bumpkin antecedents, add a syllable. It works every time!

... you haven't been paying attention

2009-02-25T11:59:00.001-08:00

By the way, anybody like us who, prior to this mess, did "everything" right should be at least as appalled by what happened on Wall Street as they are about what happened on Main Street.

If anything, I have more sympathy for people with mortgage troubles.

I know why we did "everything" right: we were raised by at least one parent who taught us how to do it. But many people didn't have any such luck.

But investment bankers - people with advanced fucking degrees in economics or business or law - don't have any fucking excuse.

the biggest losers

2009-02-24T10:28:00.000-08:00

Who are the biggest losers in the WEDSGD?

And by losers, I mean the "big L bouncing off their foreheads" kind, not the "bereft of their funds and possessions" kind.

Is it really the homeowners who got loans bigger than they could afford? The people who are going to need a $75 billion bailout?

Or is it the investment banks who got loans - on Wall Street they call it "leverage" - bigger than they could afford, to the tune of a $800 billion bailout?

Give me a fucking break, you finger waggers. All those people who got those bad loans were at best being duped by mortgage brokers they thought they could trust and at worst were following your fucking lead.

And ***YOU*** were making money off of them.

Fuck you.

(And also fuck you to the media and the left/moderates for not pointing that out more often.)

25 businesses likely to thrive during the WEDSGD

2009-02-20T12:33:00.000-08:00

1. car repair shops

2. shoe repair shops

3. dollar stores

4. comfort food purveyors

5. career advice specialists

6. resume writing services

7. movie theaters

8. strip joints

9. pornographers

10. libraries (if they could be for profit)

11. book stores

12. thrift stores

13. check cashing & payday loan places

14. pawn shops

15. knock off purveyors

16. outlet stores

17. fences (not the wooden kind)

18. cigarette companies

19. lottery vendors

20. gum manufacturers

21. con men

22. lawyers for investment bankers

23. providers of cheap indulgences

I'm trying to think of some good examples. This would be things that seem luxurious, help the person feel spoiled, but actually don't cost very much. Like cupcakes. I imagine that the cupcake business will continue to thrive.

24. ghost busters

25. underwear

25 things to do during the WEDSGD

2009-02-20T04:37:00.001-08:00

(WEDSGD = Worst Economic Downturn Since the Great Depression)

If you still have a job:

feel superior for seeing it coming "a mile away"
assign blame
consider whether we're permanently or only temporarily fucked
rent as many post-apocalyptic films as possible looking for survival tips
make a list of businesses that will thrive during a downturn
get angry that you can't get a loan to start one
assign blame
shop at the dollar store
fantasize about what you'll do with your money when the WEDSGD is over
fantasize about how much money you could make in the stock market if you can only get in just as things are starting their upward swing.
consider whether we are only temporarily or permanently fucked
fantasize about all the things you'll with your free time do when you get laid of
make lists of 25 things (tune in tomorrow ...)

If you lose your job:

panic
scramble
cut back
give up
set up a clothesline in your backyard, buy a prairie dress or overalls at thrift store, and pretend like you live in olden times.
go to the library a lot
ride your bike places for fun and exercise
find new music on Pandora
make some sandwiches and have a picnic in the park
people watch
take up a cheap hobby like writing or drawing or photography (hooray for digital cameras) or gluing stuff to other stuff
meditate (but don't hold your breath)

mixing a metaphor

2008-10-29T12:44:00.000-07:00

According to a co-worker, the squeaky wheel is the one who really stirs the pot.

A pot full of metaphors, apparently ...

good company

2008-10-24T05:10:00.000-07:00

I don't have the standard anxiety dreams. My teeth don't fall out. I'm never naked ... except, you know, when it makes sense.

My anxiety dream is always the same. I'm in a broken elevator. It isn't hung well and it is swinging from side to side. And it turns out that Charlie Kaufman, who I think is an absolute genius, told Terry Gross that he has the same recurring dream!

on the positive side

2008-10-16T11:41:00.000-07:00

Boy, there's nothing like a good international economic crisis for helping a mom like me take that baby weight off!

I know some folks turn toward comfort eating in times like these. But not me! My stomache clenches up and the food just can't fit.

And I shall call him Bubba

2008-10-04T12:59:00.000-07:00

This whole "baby changes your life" thing is all fine and dandy but I seem to be experiencing some kind of severe chemical reaction bordering on psychosis. And I don't mean postpartum depression unless spontaneously calling your baby "Bubba" is one of the symptoms.

Seriously. I'm calling him "Bubba."

The first time I heard myself say it, I thought "What on god's green earth is wrong with me?" I am a native Texan, true, but I am the type of native Texan who loves the myths, the brash personalities, outsized everythings, and absurd verbal ticks from a distance assumed by the informed and bemused observer.

Not to suggest that there's anything wrong with calling your child Bubba. It's just not me.

Really

It really freaks me out that I say this word "Bubba" in reference to my child. And I say it with affection.

So how did I end up in my own personal Bubba-ville and why am I dragging my child there with me?

This is my defense:

It started out as "Bebe" but perhaps because I sometimes call our dog "Puppeh" it morphed to "Bubbeh."

(If you're wondering how desperate I am to excuse this behavior that I would try to draw a distinction between an "eh" and "a" at the end of that word, I'll say that you have a tin ear and should never try to learn a foreign language.)

At some point, "bebe" and "Bubbeh" got mixed up with "Bubeleh" (pronounced BOO [as in "book"]-buh-leh) which is what my Great Aunt Millie called me when I was a kid and she wanted to shark me at penny ante poker.

(Not really. Millie always supplied all the pennies for the game)

(Also, totally off the subject, but Millie looked like a fat witch with a giant hairy mole on her chin, beady black eyes, and a long nose. Also, no joke, she used to hook her cane around my ankle and say "Come here Bubeleh" when she wanted me to come to talk to her.)

(I loved her so!)

So in the end, there's a simple, almost mathematical explanation:

Bebe + Puppeh + BOO-buh-leh = Bubba

Yet in the end, all that intellectualizing, analyzing, and linguisticizing still boils down to two bare facts:

My baby is my Bubba and I love him so!

si, se puede

2008-09-25T12:33:00.000-07:00

Seven things I've done that you probably haven't:

1) Traveled alone in the interior of Mexico for eight months.

2) During rush hour, spun 180 degrees on North Central Expressway in Dallas and lived to tell about it.

Not only did I not get hit or hit anyone but noone hit anything else attempting to avoid me. By the way, this road is so infamously congested during rush hour that it earned a spot on the Atari game Frogger.

3) Lied to an immigration officer about the location of my visa and got away with it.

At two in the morning, the Transportes Americanos bus I was dozing on stopped at the Mexican immigration checkpoint on its way to the US. The lights went up and the men in uniform sauntered down the aisle with big black rifles over their shoulders, examining each person's papers. When one guy got to me, I looked as surprised as I could possibly manage and explained sheepishly that my visa was in my backpack in the luggage racks under the bus. When in fact it was godonlyknowswhere, as I had discovered when packing my bags the night before. He grunted at me to bring it with me next time and moved on.

Can you imagine getting away with that in the US?

4) Left a different visa on a bus in a bag full of trash and somehow convinced the ticket agent to get his colleagues at the next town over to hunt it down and return it to me.

For details, see http://mcbmx.diaryland.com/031223_21.html

5) Accidentally spent an evening in a Mexican crack house.

Explaining this requires its own post. Someday ...

6) Had Rachel Hunter (yes, that Rachel Hunter) tell me that we were "alot alike."

I was a production assistant on the movie Pendulum and one of my duties involved bringing her tea every morning. I had a reputation as a space cadet, hence the comment.

7) Had my purse stolen from a state park outside Sao Paulo, Brazil and returned, intact, less than a month later.

I stupidly left the purse on the front seat of my ex-brother in law's car in the parking lot of said state park under the faulty assumption that people at state parks don't steal things. After tramping through rainforest, diving into crystal lakes, and all that other Brazilian state park jazz, we returned to discover the window busted out and my purse gone. A few weeks after returning to Austin, I got a call from IBM security who explained to me that someone had found my purse on the streets of Rio de Janiero (a good long distance from Sao Paulo, mind you), and found my old IBM ID card inside. So they brought it to the IBM office in Rio who mailed it to Austin and could I please come pick up right away. They also wanted to know why I hadn't told them about the stolen purse to which I answered "I haven't worked for you in like six months."

8) Gave birth to my little buddy.

zen imbecile / child = mombecile

2008-09-16T05:28:00.000-07:00

Boy.

You spend years working on your shit. Your insecurities, anxieties, emnities, and all the other ities you've carried around since childhood. You read and meditate. Take lots of deep breaths. Think you've got 'em licked.

And then you have a kid and they all come flooding back to you as if your ego were pregnant and its water just broke ... all over your psyche.

sigh (the good kind)

2008-09-15T08:02:00.000-07:00

Summer in Texas can crush your soul like a steamroller, but on the first lovely morning of autumn, it springs back to full form and then some.

Jokes is Funny

2008-08-21T01:45:00.001-07:00

But this isn't really ...

Q: What is the difference between an insomniac mom of a newborn baby and a regular mom of a newborn?

A: The insomniac thinks she has some psychological advantage over the normal mom because she's used to getting by on not a lot of sleep.

Q: What does an insomniac mom do when her baby starts sleeping through the night?

A: She wakes him up to keep her company.

...

Just kidding!

kick ass!

2008-07-31T08:44:00.000-07:00

I'm supposed to be publishing an essay about place but I just got the best comment ever on this post and I had to let everyone know!

I'm flattered beyond words.

:)

The best part is that I have no idea who this person is or why she ended up on my blog. How exciting!!!!!!

Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda

2008-07-29T15:47:00.001-07:00

We have a son!

In the interest of time, which is in very short supply these days, I'm publishing something I sent to friends and family a few days after his birth:

Everybody kept asking pregnant me whether I was "soooooo" excited to have a baby. And while standard protocol might be to reply "I am soooooo soooo sooooo excited" I could not tell that lie. My answer sounded more like: "Uh ... yeah, I guess ... and terrified."

What I realize now is that I've always hated the word "excited" for being sort of meaningless and I especially hate it in regard to having a baby because what I am is ... completely transported by joy.

I've also been told throughout the pregnancy "Nobody tells you how hard it is," a statement which immediately belies itself. But the truth is that nobody can possibly describe to you how good it feels. I mean, he's just a little blob of red flesh and farts with no motor control and no personality but I'd gladly put myself on the rack - which we have over the last five days ;) - for his sake.

So sorry to bore you with a mini-essay but I'm mostly writing to say that we're home and safe and your phone calls are more than welcome. We have to be careful about visitors because his little immune system is still under construction. And I can't guarantee that we'll actually answer the phone but we'd really really love to hear from you.

A few details ... we went into the hospital early because my blood pressure went up. He was five days late so the doctor decided to induce. Unfortunately he didn't tolerate labor well - I won't get into the medical details - so we ended up having a C-section after about twelve hours. And then both of us had fevers so he was in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and I got put on massive amounts of antibiotics. He only had to stay in the NICU nursery for a day before his temperature stabilized and then he stayed with us the rest of the time we were in the hospital.

7 songs (subtitle: baby baby baby)

2008-06-12T10:08:00.000-07:00

I was tagged by Ryan:

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.

1) Handlebars - Flobots
I just heard this song for the first time yesterday and it immediately got under my skin. I can't evaluate its success in its genre - it is sort of hip-hop by way of Cake - but I love the way it starts out so simply (I can ride my bike with no handle bars/no handlebars/no handlebars) and increases in intensity both musically and lyrically until it becomes a rousing anthem to the scariest aspects of modern American life (I can end the planet in a holocaust/in a holocaust/in a holocaust). I know it sounds pretentious but I don't care. I love it. It gives me chills.

2) Unknown Title - Dan Deacon
This is a song that the Alamo Drafthouse is using for their various promos. It is totally nuts. I don't know how to describe it except to say that it makes me want to dance like Ally Sheedy in the Breakfast Club.

3) William, It Was Really Nothing - The Smiths
Kurt has been trying to learn this song so it has been in my head alot.

4) You Are My Sunshine - Dunno
Supposedly I learned how to sing this song when I was 18 months old. I think that makes the toddler me freakishly precocious but it all petered out after that. :)

The rest of these are going to be songs on our delivery room play list.

(because I am a cliche and all I can think about is baby baby baby)

Kurt is bringing his guitar so we can entertain ourselves:
5) The Carter Family - the first CD in the collection although I can't remember the name. Also the song book.
6) The Beatles song book

7) Lefty Frizzell
8) Astral Weeks - Van Morrison
9) Apologies to the Queen Mary - Wolf Parade
10) The Soft Bulletin - Flaming Lips
11) A bunch of other stuff I can't remember right now

10) The Beatles song book

Grand Champeen Peach Prince

2008-06-09T08:09:00.000-07:00

Child-to-be, your father is a true champ. A peach. A prince among men.

While I've been incapacitated by exhaustion and a physiognomy that causes rolling over to take a twelve-point turn and rising to be a six-step process, he has:

1) Coddled me
2) Fed me
3) Tolerated my crankiness
4) Carted me around to satisfy insane cravings for pig cookies and Beck's near beer
5) Painted the nursery
6) Listened to me snore like a horse
7) Affixed the car seats
8) Assembled the crib
9) Stroked my hair
10) Constructed furniture
11) Did the laundry
12) Installed a ceiling fan!!
13) After I took an unfortunate stumble Saturday night, stayed awake with me until 2:30 at the hospital while the doctor's monitored your well being and unplugged me from the monitor every five minutes so I could pee.
14) Too too many other things to even mention
15) Smiled sweetly and loved me all the while

How did we get to be so lucky, kid?

very localized

2008-06-03T19:28:00.000-07:00

Don't gasp at me, people.

Please.

When you see my belly, just ... you know ... smile and say "You look great!"

Today, two different co-workers who haven't been in the office in months gasped audibly at me and squealed, "Omigod!" They both clasped their hands over their mouths. Multiple others have used the word "rotund" to describe my torso or asked "Are you sure its not twins?"

Yeesh. I know that nobody is trying to be mean but you're freaking me out!!! Is my size really gasp-worthy?

For fuck's sake.

Thankfully, one of my engineer girlfriends made up for it all by describing my belly in clinical, rational terms as "very localized."

I'll show you some braxton-hixie

2008-05-29T09:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday at the gym, after finishing my pathetically short and unstrenuous swim workout, I stood at the end of the lane stretching and simultaneously feeling jealous of my lane neighbor who, as evidenced by her huffing and puffing, was in the middle of a nice hard training session.

As I listened and stretched, I looked forward to the day when I could push my limits in the pool - not advisable when you're 36 weeks pregnant - when my reveries were interrupted by this very woman gasping beside me:

GW: "Are you OK?"

What?

Me: "Yeah. I just can't do the workout I used to."

GW: "You were breathing heavy."

I was breathing heavy? Me? Are you projecting?

GW: "And you looked kind of Braxton-Hixie."

What does that mean? How does one look Braxton-Hixie*? Is that perceptible to the human eye?

Me: "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

Shut up, Butt-inski.

* Braxton-Hixie presumably refers to the condition of having Braxton-Hicks contractions. These are also referred to as "practice" contractions that happen throughout pregnancy but increase in frequency and intensity toward the end of gestation.

CBT is my best friend

2008-05-27T14:23:00.000-07:00

My favorite thought stoppers in order of appearance:

1. There's no way I can really know what s/he/it is thinking.

2. I can't anticipate the outcome. Every time I've tried, I've been wrong.

3. Most people die of old age.

(#3 got me through my darkest moments in Mexico.)

you will not spy with your little eye

2008-05-24T02:22:00.000-07:00

... any sign of my nips.

(my mother-in-law might be reading this so I'll apologize in advance for any "mature" content that might make her uncomfortable but I feel very strongly about this and must have my word!!)

I plan to breastfeed. I even intend to breastfeed in public when necessary. But barring any confluence of unfortunate events, my nipples will remain my private property with viewings available by appointment only. At the discretion of the owner - meaning me - naturally.

(For the record, I do not have a problem with other people doing whatever they need or want to do with their nipples. This is just a personal preference that I feel the need to justify through a blog post.)

Some of you might be thinking, "For shame, Imbecile! Why should you be embarrassed by something so natural and beautiful! You have fallen under the sway of the patriarchy which sexualizes and objectifies your body! Love your nipples, do not hide them!"

I do love my nipples, people.

Believe me.

The patriarchy did not sexualize them. Nature did.

They are number two on my list of favorite erogenous zones. In fact, if the list were graphed based on a range of sensitivity from 1000 - 1, item number one would range around 1000, nipples would be, say, 750, and everything else would fall below the 300 mark.

And I'm most definitely not ashamed of that! I simply prefer to keep it between me and my husband.

Shit.

Wait a minute.

I kinda fucked that up, didn't I?

First, there's the whole matter of the baby. He's gonna get an long term lease, of a decidedly nonsexual nature, at the top of my nipple guest list.

And then there's you, reading this post. To whom I have just exposed myself in the figurative sense.

...

Watch yourself.

If I catch you staring, I will smack you.

And the award for Best Husband Ever goes to ...

2008-05-20T13:52:00.001-07:00

So I was complaining over IM to my husband about work. I'm feeling overwhelmed and underappreciated, having been dragged through a months-long effort only to have it all pulled out from under me at the last minute. Etc etc.

And you know what he said in response?

In complete sincerity?

"I can't wait for the moment when I can serve you whisky in the tub"

This is a man who understands me and wants to make me happy.

geography lessons

2008-05-12T12:56:00.000-07:00

On January 4, 2003, I arrived by bus to a small town in the middle of the middle of Mexico. On January 21, a magnitude 7.6 earthquake hit Colima.

A few days later I received a large volume of e-mails chastising me for not letting everyone know that I was OK.
There were hundreds of miles and one very large mountain range between me and the earthquake. My response at the time was "Learn your geography, people. Mexico is a huge country."

But now I'm the wrong side of the same problem. My parents are in China. According to the itinerary they sent me, on Mother's Day they were in Xi'an, about 500 miles north of the earthquake. And today, they have supposedly flown to Hong Kong, which is even further away from the disaster area, with their tour group .

Hopefully soon they'll be doing some of this:

And then some of this:

baby specifications

2008-05-03T05:26:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about what I want for our baby ... and what I want in a baby.

I'm sure that sounds incredibly callous to you but whatever. I mean, this little creature has been pummeling at my insides for months now and my body has dedicated a great deal of time and resources to manufacturing him. Don't I have a right to be invested in the outcome?

I think it is only natural to imagine a child as fully realized human being who is like us - only better. Maybe he's braver or more dedicated. A harder worker. More talented or at least more disciplined. Someone with access to all the advantages we did without. At a bare minimum we might hope to have a kid we like to be around.

And yet most of the time when he's knocking around in there, all I can think is "Who are you? What are you going to be like?"

It wouldn't too hard to make something up, honestly.

I mean, I do, hear, see stuff and he "reacts." For example, we went to see U2 in 3D at the IMAX. I liked it and he was going nuts throughout the show. Did that mean he liked it too? Or was he clawing desperately at his prison walls in an attempt to escape?

Not long after, we saw a free SXSW day show at the French Legation featuring Sons and Daughters, J.Mascis, and Thurston Moore. Another set of performances I thoroughly enjoyed, but Baby didn't have much to say. Was he enthralled and in silent awe? Did he spy through my belly button peephole how the cool kids express their enthusiasm - nary a head nod and absolutely no toe tapping - and decide to follow suit? Or did the day's spring breeze and golden light and my decidedly uncool hip-shaking chair dance lull him to sleep?

Early in the pregnancy, I made a long list of hopes and dreams for him. A recipe of sorts. But as his arrival date gets closer (7 weeks for God's sake!) I've realized that I don't want to be greedy. Right now my greatest wish is that he makes it all the way to D-as-in-"due"-day.

Beyond that, I think, "What's essential? What will get him through life with his fair share of joy?"

And it isn't whether he's an artist or an accountant, friendly or shy, hardworking or lazy. It has nothing to do with how he is as a child or where he ends up as an adult.

What's essential is what he carries with him from start to finish that will make whoever he is and whatever he does the right thing for him.

So these are my three hopes for our little boy:

1) A sound body

2) A clear mind

3) An open heart

Audi 5000

2008-04-28T20:14:00.000-07:00

My belly button is about 5 seconds away from transcending its terrestrial boundaries. (I can say that since I'm already pretty much the size of a small planet.)

It has an aspect of shock and awe. I like to imagine it smeared with camo grease, muttering, "The horror. The horror."

It also looks a bit like a prim old biddy whose rear end has just been pinched. Maggie Smith in Room with a View, maybe.

Or a baby chimp keening for a banana.

I'm terribly sorry, belly button, but it can't be helped.