Too much McDonald's and Hand Sanitizer

As some of you know I have a phobia of cops. Not like a diagnosable phobia (although I am pretty sure I have those too, I just make sure I am never near those things – such as feet.) But this is a phobia where I am a law abiding citizen diligently checking that my parallel parked car is close enough to the curb and watching my speed and signaling and stopping at railroad crossings (this I would do anyway because it would be dumb to be run over by a train because you didn’t stop and check.) However, despite my law-abiding status I am sure that I will be arrested soon for something. Therefore every time I pass a police car my hands sweat and I usually have to narrowly avoid a collision because, instead of watching the road, I am watching if it is coming for me in the rear view mirror. It’s not just driving either. I can’t really even walk past them. I start gesturing wildly like I am telling a funny story and laughing a strange cackle of a laugh. It does seem to be working so far as I have yet to be arrested.

As we left our friends' house one evening, Amelia was in a talkative mood and we were discussing her poor taste in music.  It really is shocking. I had thought all the Five for Fighting and Bic Runga we played when she was a baby would have set her on the proper path to refined music taste. However, on most days we find we are in conflict over whether each song is having a negative impact on gender equality and exploitation of women and their bodies. Mostly they are.Anyway, we drove up to a road block where the police were checking for drunk drivers. So I was trying to change the look on my face from frightened bunny who just robbed a bank to cool hipster parent. (I wasn’t sure what this face looked like but I was trying.) I didn’t have anything to drink but I was sure that they were also checking for people who don’t wash their car enough and there is probably a new rule about this that I didn’t know about (yes, the car was dirty, it looks like a motel for spiders). Being that our daughter was in such a talkative mood, she asked about the process. So when we pulled up, in an I’m-so-relaxed voice, I counted to four out loud into a little device, like the kind officer asked. And then, as the little device blinked and beeped Al and I both used our very patronizing teachable-moment voice and said, "Watch Amelia, you'll see what it does.” And she did watch – it came up as a FAIL.

“Did you drink any alcohol tonight?” The officer said, still kind but with just enough hint of official to make me nearly pee my pants.‘No!’ I said in a slightly high pitched voice as Amelia made judgmental noises from the back seat. (Like ‘OOOOOOO. SHAME!’ These are actual quotes. I think she may have been trying to get me arrested for my comments about her music.) ‘Just so much McDonald's.’ I offered, first because I already felt a little guilty about eating the McDonald's and feeding it to my family. And I find it’s always best to admit your crimes up front. But also I was hoping there was some sort of fault with the device that made it so that if you eat too much McDonald's with your friends you sometimes get a false positive. Then he asked something I didn’t quite comprehend because, at that point, I was wondering if I was going to prison for eating McDonald's - only to be released when Amelia was twenty-three - because they finally worked out the flaw when prisons were being overrun by tired mothers who were bringing home McDonald's for dinner. I sensed movement beside me and then Al drapes himself over my lap and proceeds to hold the hand sanitizer out Vanna White style. Something the officer said had triggered Al’s memory about some copious use of hand cleaner. (He was so excited – he really wishes he was a cop or at least be a consultant - so much smiling and leaning over my lap to be helpful.) I expected the man to say, “Oh well of course you have used so much hand sanitizer that you set off our detection thingy (yeah, he would have said “thingy”). Instead I was directed out of the long line of traffic to the side of the road for secondary testing – where every person in the cars behind us nearly injured their necks watching our shame. (The shame of so much McDonald's - because I really had not had anything to drink besides a cup of coke that tasted like it had been sitting out on the counter all day. I did, however, feel shame about that.)

All I had to do was blow in this little straw but I couldn’t breathe already because I thought I was going to be executed soon. And I kept asking all these questions about how to do it. But I couldn’t really understand him because his words got lost in the flashing blue and red lights. So I didn’t suck in a big enough breath and thus ended up looking like I had no lung capacity - which then made me panic more because I was sure looking like you have decreased lung function also means you look drunk. I managed to force the last molecules of air from my lower lobes with a grunt. 
I passed the secondary test and drove on with my giddy husband and my judgmental daughter. I drove very slow all the way home.

Midlife crisis

You know that feeling when you're entering into a maze and all of the possibilities are equally good? You are well hydrated and well fed - because you are at a maze, which means you are probably on vacation; so you've recently had the most fantastic strawberry punch and eaten the most delicious piece of cheesecake – because you are allowed cheesecake on vacation – in fact, cheesecake is considered an essential food group when you are traveling anywhere. Anyway, you are well hydrated and full from your, delicious perfectly made, New York cheesecake. (You may or may not be in New York but most vacation spots have a New York cheesecake - stay with me.) You jump into the maze, not caring whether you go left or right, running around each curve, squealing when you hit a dead end and then skipping while retracing your steps. This is what it’s like for a good portion of your early adult life. Things are open, choices are made, and failures overcome. Possibility.

Then there's the point in the maze experience when you start to wonder if you will make it out alive. That maybe you have been lured here by a serial killer or that you are the dumbest person alive and you'll have to be airlifted from the entertainment structure by a rescue helicopter and you're the only person in the 100 year history of the maze that has ever had to be rescued from it. You start to wonder if you will ever be able to eat cheesecake again or if you will have to find a way to live off of the bushes that line the path. You think you've passed that same rock fifteen times now; and perhaps the people running the maze have gone home; and they have closed the entrance/exit and it looks like just another wall now – and you have actually found your way out but it's locked. Sometimes you sit down and pout. Sometimes you want to scream for help but you are too embarrassed. But most of the time you just keep running and rounding corners because that's what you have to do. This is what this portion of my adult life feels like. Decisions feel so final and failures seem unrecoverable.

Apparently my feelings are quite common and can be diagnosed as a Midlife crisis.

I wasn’t aware I was having one until I received an email telling me I was. I should have seen it coming because my email has been sending me things like: the five unknown signs of pancreatic cancer and You are probably only days away from death – you just didn’t know. And I know that it knows things about me. I hate that it knows and I don't know how it knows - but it knows. So, when my email has this sort of tone, it really shouldn’t have surprised me that they decided I was unaware I was having a midlife crisis and sent me a list of signs so I could recognize them.
Here are the signs:

1) When you start panicking about health issues - check

·         This was already true because the emails had started making me panic.

·         Plus I am already sick so I was already paranoid ever since I was 18.

2) When you start having more questions than answers, like ‘Is this all there is?’ and ‘What am I doing here?’

·         I can’t say that the first question stood out because I feel like I can’t keep up with “all there is”. There's a chance I have asked, "Can there be less?" I don't think that's what they meant though. 

·         I have been asking myself: “What am I doing here?” a lot. For instance: Wondering why I have my daughter and three children of unknown parentage buckled into my car for a road trip; trying to explain to them why I have to change the song because the music is sexist - they don't care because of the beat yet I keep trying to explain as my daughter sinks further into the passenger seat. Or when I find myself in an awkward silence with one of Amelia’s teachers – the conversation is finished and yet I'm still standing there staring - not sure where to go next; so I keep standing there and so does he. So now we are just two people, standing outside next to each other, staring off into the horizon with the heat and the heavy weight of silence making us sweat. Or when I decide to suddenly stop at an open home for a dilapidated house filled with creepy-clown wallpaper that's being sold for half a million dollars. Realizing that we are the proletariat who will never be able to afford an expensive, terrible, clown-haunted house, unless there's corruption and banks give out loans like candy again. But then I realize I don't want to spend half a million dollars even if the house wasn't haunted by clowns. But I also don't want to keep funding my Landlord's yearly three-month-long European luxury tour.  So then I consider living in a portable pod on our friend's lawn. 

3) When you start comparing yourself to younger co-workers and feeling regret

·         I can’t say this is an issue except today, one of my younger co-workers said my outfit was a "throwback to the nineties". I still didn’t really regret it, though, because the outfit had been sitting on my table, clean, for a few days. So, not only did I not have to put it away but I also got dressed in less than two minutes because I didn’t have to decide what to wear.

4) A crisis seems to come from exhaustion and the sudden acknowledgment of the passage of time.

·         This is real. This happens every time I go to the gym; I'm exhausted and then I'm stunned that the "passage of time" has been two minutes.

·         Also, this happens to me every morning when it takes me a while to remember what day it is and I can’t open my eyes to check. And then when I do get up I want to go back to bed an hour later. And I can fall mouth-open-drooling-asleep in the car at any soccer practice.

·         So I guess this one gets the big tick because this happens to me every day?

5) A sudden urge to lose weight

·         This isn’t true because it has never been sudden – it is a constant wish. In fact, I was just yelling at the guy at my gym that, his gym was broken. I am running and ellipticalling (see my dictionary for the definition) my way through the “passage of time” yet my weight remains the same. He asked me what I’m eating and I yelled at him saying, “I refuse to go on a diet! Because diets make me sad and there are too many sad things in the world. I only eat delicious food. If it's not good for me, I only have a little so sometimes I only eat a quarter of a sandwich. Also this happens quite a bit because there's always that chance that there will be chocolate cake soon and, if I had eaten already, I couldn’t have the chocolate cake. So I usually try not to eat very much in case there's cake or cookies or something.” And he said, “hmmm, can you think of food as fuel rather than delicious?” and I said, "sure" but with a little too much teenage angst and sarcasm and walked away to do hours of running – I ate brownies for dessert - my weight remains the same.

The rest of the signs/symptoms did not apply because they were about “sexying up” and having affairs.  And, as I have already said, I get excited when I can just throw on my nineties outfit and get one more day out of my dirty hair; and I'm way too tired to even go to the movies with my friend - who I always want to see and I always want to go to the movies with - so I definitely do not want to balance, like a pelican, on a bar stool - drinking drinks that I would not be able to "think of as fuel” - not getting hit on because I look like a hip grandma in my capri pants - and I have  recently developed a permanent scowl because I no longer tolerate stupid conversation  – and I currently assume every conversation with a stranger will end up being stupid. It's a new theory because I used to be nicer. This wasn't listed as a symptom but I think it must be. But I don't have time to test my theory because of "all there is" to life.

So I’m not sure what to think. It wasn’t really a score thing like, you have to say yes to more than five in order to be in crisis. So maybe I am just a tired, middle-aged woman who hates to shop? Or maybe its because I just had a birthday and I couldn't remember how old I was turning? But as a bright spot, I called my parents today and Dad had decided to give Facebook a try and said, "I think this Facebook thing is going to be really great!" So at least I am winning at Facebook?

Either way, the symptom checker didn't help. I still feel like I'm lost in a maze and now it's sort of a horror maze; like from those Young Adult books (that I read and REALLY enjoy so I can't be that old) but instead of the creepy robot-bugs that eat you - I have little things dressed as cancer jumping out around one corner, followed by scary clowns around the next, interspersed with real-estate agents holding clip boards and assessing my dirty hair poking out in all directions, with judgey eyes and pursed lips that say, "welcome," but really mean, "you have no business here, do you." So who knows, maybe the exit is just around the next corner or maybe my next blog will be written from a one-room pod plugged into my friends house. Watch this space!

Begging for Puppies

Something has been bugging me. Not like the anger that I feel when I have to go to the gym – that’s more of a percolating rage at the ridiculousness of the process of running and ellipticalling until time ceases to exist. That kind of rage can be bottled for an alternative source of energy. (Even if you don’t believe we are killing the planet, it would be great to have such a renewable source, right?) But this is different, I mean bugging me, as in, that twinge you get in your stomach when you think something is wrong but you can’t articulate it. (Or you can articulate lots of things that are wrong but you feel like there is one more that hasn't been addressed.) So I thought I would investigate what it is here - because that seems to be what these things are for. I have been hearing, for a few years, people angry and ranting at being forced to be “politically correct”. And when people rage against something, I tend to want to figure out why. They complain about how the government is trying to take their freedom of speech. But that is not “politically correct”; that is censorship and should be fiercely stood against.
        
      It is really important not to confuse the two concepts. They are similar, I will give you that, but different – and different enough that confusion of the two would be as bad as the years I wasted singing the wrong words in second verse of Adele's song Someone Like You. I thought the line was - We were born and raised in a summer haze bound by a piece of pie of our glory days. The line really is – bound by the surprise of our glory days. Not such a huge mistake, but one that implies that their glory days consisted of being tied up with pie. Pie is delicious but glory days tied up with pie insinuates that there were no glory days but some sort of horrible trauma related to pie – which would then make it not delicious. So I was belting something, quite opposite to the spirit of the song, at the top of my lungs in my car. Unfortunately, I feel like this belting about political correctness is a similar mistake but more insidious.

 So let’s define them. (Boring I know, but if we don’t know what we are talking about, we could be singing songs that celebrate horrible pie eating experiences and never really understand why.) Censorship is the government regulating what people can read, watch, learn or say. Politically Correct is a belief that offensive language should be eliminated. So one is an oppressive government deciding what should and should not be read and watched and the other is a culture of people deciding how they should conduct themselves. The key difference is: controlling “the dispersion of facts” verses belief.

So I am trying to get my head around this. What is making people so mad? No one is saying that free speech should be taken away. But words have power. It is what I love about them. Martin Luther King used word after beautiful word to change the world. And yet just before him Hitler used words to convince an entire nation that they should annihilate a specific group of people. He labeled them as less than human – as vermin. This made it possible for the killing and torture of millions of men, women and children. Have we really come so far that we don’t remember this?

The amazing thing is, we have the choice to say anything we want; our government made sure of it and so they should, but what we do with that freedom has consequences – culture defining consequences. I keep hearing people say, “I can’t worry about everything I say just because I might offend them! It is their problem if they get offended.” As Louie CK says, "That's like saying, 'yeah, I shot this guy in the face and then I guess he got himself murdered.'"

Why are we even bothering to teach our children to be nice if they can just grow up to say anything (or type anything) they like without thinking about other people. Just because you have the right to say anything you want doesn’t mean you should say it. I have a right to say to the guy who comes into the gym constantly pulling one leg of his shorts up over his hip (it’s like he hates one leg of his shorts being equal with the hem of his other leg. I’m not sure why he doesn’t just cut off one leg) and coughing at even intervals, without covering his mouth, while he runs, that he annoys me more than the constant high-pitched ring of a smoke alarm. But I keep my mouth shut because he is not murdering anyone. Is he disturbing me? Yes. Is he a narcissist that thinks the gym is there for his own personal use and none of the rest of us lab rats matter? Possibly. But he is not murdering anyone.

Now let’s say murder was involved. Let’s say that a completely different man who hiked one leg of their shorts up, so he looks like he's wearing half a speedo, and coughed at even intervals was murdering people in Texas. I can’t just start yelling at the guy in my gym that his short-hiking-cough-prone-bronchi makes him a murderer. I could consider his personal psychosis and rationally think if there is a link between coughing and short-leg-raising to susceptibility to murderous thoughts but I would have to dismiss it. Whatever happened to the advice, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”? At least as a first filter sentence to run through your head before speaking or typing. What could people possibly be scared of? It can’t be censorship because that is something else entirely.

So back to: “Hey that’s my opinion and I’m allowed to have any opinion I want. And why should I have to worry if I offend someone.”  Well, let’s say I was having a particularly annoying day at the gym and I decide that this guy with the shorts is actually beneath me – he is stupid.  So I go home and my daughter does something silly, like spill milk all over the counter. And I say, “Ha! You are such a shorts-hiker”. She is not offended and, in fact, because of my tone, we both laugh as we clean it up. (Let’s assume she knows this person and has also been annoyed at the shorts-hiking.) And let’s say I used the term every time she screwed up. Then the shorts-hiker becomes less than us – something to be better than. Now she is at college and the shorts-hiking thing has become quite popular and young men everywhere are grabbing their shorts and hiking them over their hip. It's all the rage.  Now she see’s all of them as stupid and less than she is, because they are associated with failure. It would be a short step for her to treat them as less than her – less than human even. If one of them pissed her off she might not have any issues with ripping those hiked shorts right off their bodies. (This is a hypothetical; my daughter is very kind - even to shorts-hikers.)
Words have power and, when something has power, caution should be exercised when using it. It is why we don’t let the five year old drive; and also why we say to the five year old, “think about what it would feel like if someone called you a shorts-hiker/cougher”. We need to stop worrying about whether being politically correct is violating our rights and start asking if the things we are typing online and saying out of our mouths have been carefully thought out and given the respect that powerful things deserve. By-the-way my daughter just learned how to light a match last night. We teach our children not to play with fire, because they tend to freak out and drop a still burning match on the carpet (which is what happened and why children need adult supervision when lighting fires).

Maybe we should all start thinking of our words as flames. They can be contained in a fire place that welcomes friends into a cozy environment  of respectful discussion – or they can spew out of our mouths under the guise of righteous rage: it burns the house down and you are left homeless and your guests are naked or standing in the street in shredded smoldering clothing.

Now I know that all of our world issues can’t be fixed with a slumber party but what if we all stopped putting little I’m-smarter-than-you-comments and meme’s on Facebook and started having real conversations – it might take a long time and, yes, in the mean time, someone crazy might set off a nuclear war head; but at least then we can all die knowing that before someone destroyed the world we had all started being nice to each other. I mean we tried the other way. We gave it a real go. We yelled at each other; we threatened everyone else from the safety of our social media fortresses that allowed us to use hate and then sign off to go watch TV, with our conscience clear, because what we said was true. How about we try it the other way for a while? I’m just sayin’, can we continue to discuss the REALLY important issues while still watching how we speak about each other. And when we are not discussing the real issue can there be a place you can go and just watch puppies until we are at peace again. Because there are a huge amount of real issues and if you don’t take a break a couple of times a day your head might explode or you will get tired and stop discussing and arguing about these really important issues. Because sometimes there are so many issues that you feel too overwhelmed and are not sure which issue to fight against. (I read a great blog about staying focused on certain issues so you don't get numb and eventually apathetic because it is all so overwhelming, but I can't remember who wrote it, sorry - especially to the author!) So can we go back to putting videos of puppies on Facebook – PLEASE! Because let’s face it - where will real change come from? From a meme? Or from people doing the hard work of figuring out who we want to be as a human race - in between decreasing cortisol levels by studying puppies?

So I will help kick things off. Here are a couple videos of us trying to get Percy to cross the footbridge. He was very scared…

After trying to get him to cross back over the bridge - he ran off with another family. It took quite a bit of encouragement to get him to live with us again.

Word of the Year

Surreal – That is the word Webster’s picked for this year. I didn’t know that the Webster’s dictionary picked a word of the year until two days ago. And it just so happens that the year I discover this tradition is the year I completely agree. I don’t think I have ever agreed with Merriam so much before. (In fact, I have several particular problems with her/his/their lack of definitions see this for words that should be included but are not.) But surreal and its definition are perfect for this year. (I looked up the definition in order to contribute to the stats that Webster used, which was fun! But it was probably too late and they are not watching the stats any more. Also Dad said I had to define it. Anyway, Here it is: "marked by the intense irrational reality of a dream".) So many people have been saying what a terrible year it has been (I particularly enjoyed John Oliver’s farewell). But because of the surrealness of it all, I could not seem to wrap my head around the world events, let alone my own personal year, in order to categorize it.

I had a great job (my most favorite job – I got to tutor creative writing students!)  and I tried out calling myself a writer for a while - but then the puppy

pulverized Al’s leg

and Amelia got in trouble at school for being proud of the fact that she made the Waikato Soccer team.  (Literally, she was congratulated for making the team, and gave a smile and a thumbs-up and was in big trouble. She was nearly taken before a Senate disciplinary hearing. Or so news reports said.) Also she was told she could not say “no” when someone asked her to dance. Which I understand; in a middle school dance they would all just say no and sit there; but still, I don’t want anyone telling my daughter she can’t say no because they don’t want to hurt any feelings. And with all the horrible “let’s not punish rapist” things happening, it feels like not such a good year for women or people. Plus why can’t you be proud of accomplishments? Sorry I can’t let Thumbs-up-gate go. And, as with all “gates”, such as Watergate, I have no idea what actually took place and who the villains are. There was no weird tape recording catching the mastermind in the act of… I still don’t know. But I'm pretty sure the villian is not the person giving the thumbs-up.

Now, I am particularly fond of conspiracy theories because I have a profound distrust of authority. I pretty much think they are out to get me. As evidenced by the X-Files (choose any episode – but the ones with the guy smoking through his tracheostomy are the most convincing; also the one with all the bees – oh, and the one where Scully is finally abducted by Aliens AND the government – I think – but as with all the “gate controversies”, I’m still not sure what is happening in that show. I thought the two movies, and the little bonus season Netflix just gave us, would have cleared things up. But they only just made it more confusing and I still can’t tell if Mulder and Scully are together or if they ever were.) Anyway, despite my confusion, the X-Files made it clear that we are living in a conspiracy world (not material – you are singing the song wrong if you sing Material) and I am a conspiracy girl.

I will entertain anything from the moon landing to Atlantis. First of all, because I love stories and second because listening to other points of view is good for my brain. I'm sure there are studies but I don’t have time to find those right now. I'm too busy trying to read the internet web of truth. I mean there is so much out there to learn - especially from the truth-seeking, online journal called Facebook.

The main conspiracy this year seems to be that you can’t trust anyone.  You can’t trust the government; you can’t trust the media’s reporting on the government; you can’t trust the scientists running all the experiments (because they are paid by the drug companies). I mean, I'm even starting to doubt Facebook’s journalistic integrity. For example, there is a news story about a baby elephant who was rescued from a raging river by his whole family and I read/watched it (they scroll the story over the picture so you don’t have to click on it and get the sound – it helps to keep up the appearance that you are getting actual work done - Facebook is so helpful!) and I cried and it was true! But as I said, I am beginning to doubt that all my online sources are reliable. So I must decide if the Elephant family is trustworthy. But I have not met the Elephant family. They may be terribly mean elephants (because even mean people help babies). Perhaps, just last week, they walked away when a neighbor elephant from another tribe got kicked out of his tribe. But I don’t know that story. I only know the story of the baby elephant and so I am thinking of joining the group that supports the tribe that rescues its young struggling baby elephants - but then I could be embroiled in a real controversy when it comes out that, not only did the tribe abandon the refugee elephant, but they hacked the emails of the other tribe and got the elephant deported themselves. Not only that, but the baby elephant was a paid actor and was never in any real danger in the river but was just good at acting. Then I become a key player in Elephant-gate. And we all know where that leads… (we don’t really because we still don’t understand any of it but we are really good at pretending at parties.)

I want to believe that people are just living and working and eating hotdogs for dinner, just like me. (Look people, I tried to hate hot dogs when people told me they were bad but what have we learned here today: NO ONE CAN BE TRUSTED especially people who disparage hotdogs.) But then I watch the news (Facebook and the one with the trained emotive sitting at a desk, because I want to look at things from every angle) and it seems like the people with the really important jobs might be psychopaths bent on getting all the money they can before getting in a space ship and leaving as they hit the self destruct button on earth. (This button is located in the arctic – once the polar ice caps melt; it is exposed when the earth raises to a hot enough temperature, making it easy to reach.) I’m not sure why they need all the money if they are leaving the planet – while I am sure there are aliens (the truth is out there people), I'm also sure the aliens will have a different currency. But they know why they need money and they are sure taking all of it. Maybe they just need it to build the space ship – those things are expensive. Also, I have no idea who they are, but they are certainly someone.

But then they can’t all be bad, right? I’m sure we will be fine. But see, this is where the surreal thing comes back into play. It feels like one of those things where there's one juicy conspiracy after another and I keep expecting to wake up the next day and be like “haha that was fun! And, as a bonus, I have some survival food and water stored up.” Like, for example, when Y2K happened: we put water and canned goods aside, went to the town fun-time, and then the next day veged out on the couch and watched as the world welcomed 2000 without a hitch. But this time, it’s like I keep waking up and it feels like we are taking really slow steps toward the edge of a crumbling cliff. It's still safe but everything out on the horizon seems to be a bit murky. Not only that, but the people pushing us to the edge keep telling us “everything is fine” or “everything is not fine” and meanwhile they keep shoving us closer to the edge. (Remember their space craft is waiting so they have nothing to lose.)

I’m not sure what to expect in 2017. I guess if I start hoarding non perishables, I'll at least be alright after an earthquake. Which there were a lot of in this year… So farewell 2016 I’m not too sure what to think of you yet. But I’m sure Facebook will form my opinions with sound advice and impartial reporting.

Crazy Kale Juice

Sorry to join the election discussion, that I am sure you all would like to stop forever. But I am getting lots of questions from my friends in my foreign country home, as well as, concern and confusion, about words I say, from my family and friends in my home country. I do not mind the questions! But I think better, sometimes, on paper… or on screen; especially when thoughts are tumbling around like Percy at the dog park. (He thinks the dog park is where you shop for new families. So he runs after all dogs and people, trying to collect them so they will come home with us. And we will all live in a small commune where we nap and eat cheese together.) So I needed to sort my thoughts out via a keyboard, and since only friends and family read my blog I thought I could also share my thoughts here. 

When I first moved to New Zealand, I was overwhelmed with how much I did not belong. It was a shock. (I believe the academics call it culture shock.) But I didn’t expect it (which, if one was being pedantic, one could argue is the definition of shock and is therefore redundant – Al. One could also argue that one is trying to make a point - so I will not edit it here - out of protest. Write your own non-redundant, “condensed and more concise" blog.) As I was saying, I was surprised at my unease because I hadn’t moved to a third world country (some of which I had already visited and survived like a pro, well, except for India. I did not do well in India - so much chicken pox and diarrhea…). I was moving to New Zealand where they spoke English (sort of - in a really quiet lots-of-missing-letters-sort-of-way) and drove cars (albeit on the wrong side of the road) and ate with the fork in their left hand, knife in their right, scooping food that seemed familiar but slightly different (so much pumpkin with my potatoes - why was there pie filling with my potatoes and gravy?). It was as if I had stumbled into a parallel universe where things looked relatively similar and everyone assumed I knew the rules. But I had been raised on a different playbook.

In order to belong, I had to challenge the belief that my way of thinking or living was the correct way of living or thinking. That my belief system, my country, and even my politics were just one of many ways to look at things. This was when I first became aware of the term “other” as a way of describing another human. Of course growing up fundamentally Christian the idea of “the other” had permeated my life but I had never seen it until I was “the other”. I was the one with the foreign belief systems. I was the one with the wrong view point. While this was extremely hard to understand as an eighteen year old (who believes that all of her beliefs are fully formed and correct, because duh.) it turned out to be perfect timing to learn this lesson. It also turned out it would feel like a trip to a sadistic dentist for a root canal. Because, while I learned that my culture was not the only correct culture, those around me were unwilling to admit that their culture may not be the utopia they thought it was. (Don’t worry, most of them are not like this - most of them are pretty great actually - just some of them are mean. I just happened to be in a confined space with multiple anomalies. It was like there was a magnetic force field sucking them all to one place. Which is really scary when you think about it - maybe they are just mean because of all the pressure on their heads from the force field! Also: are there other magnetic force fields we should be avoiding? I think further research is needed. I met the cool kiwis later. But I had to learn my lesson on my own with the mean people first.) While I still tend to think I am right (we all do because otherwise we would all be very confused all the time. You have to have a viewpoint. Otherwise people will just keep eating kale - because they don't have a strong belief that the terrible taste should be avoided along with the health benefits. Then people are mad because they had a kale smoothie instead of  protein for breakfast, and that is how society breaks down.) I did learn that the truth has nothing to fear. So, if I disagree with someone, either the truth will reveal itself to them, or to me. So I can chill out and not eat kale for a while but also sit with them while they drink Kale.

Fast forward to this election and I was freaking out (picture Percy at the dog park again except scared instead of happy). As the election results started to come in, I was horrified when Trump won Florida. But as I sat staring at the blue and red map on my computer screen, I realized that I would have been just as worried if Hillary had won Florida. (Not to be confused with Flo-Rida because people are not won.)  But then I took a deep breath and cast my mind back to just two years ago before the circus became a reality and remembered that what had been frustrating me about the American Government was still the problem.

I realized years ago, after living away from the states for a while, that I had not been living in a democracy or a republic. Probably since before I was born, I was living in an oligarchy and those in charge used everything in their power to tell me I lived in a democracy.They painted very elaborate pictures and told me stories and used the media to tell me what to be mad about and what to be happy about and I chose the media that best fit with my current set of beliefs.

I realized that this whole election was another big show. Another in an extensive script to make us all outraged and yell about a war criminal competing against a misogynistic, possibly crazy, man. Both of whom are part of the super-rich oligarchic system and, in the end, no matter who won, the people still have none of the power. (I get that there are other issues but, geez people, this is a blog and you probably stopped reading three paragraphs ago. So I am really only writing for myself and I don’t need to write all the issues for me but I do need the page to process my churning thoughts. So don’t yell at me.)

Therefore I write this dull and dry, barely funny, piece as a way to get some thoughts down (as writers are allowed and prone to do) and to encourage everyone to see things from “the other’s” point of view.

One group of people thought they were voting against the oligarchy - that they were going to bring a republic back. They were voting to vote to show the establishment that they still had a voice and they felt it was not being heard. And it was heard.

The other group thought they were voting for someone who would champion the rights of those who do not have the same rights as everyone else.

Both were valid hopes but what I fear is, both sides were voting for the wrong people to see those things accomplished. Both sides had no real way of knowing that what the candidate promised was real. They didn't know who was lying about the lies and if bigoted words were taken out of context or if context even mattered.  (And other things. I get it! This is too simplified! But you are not reading anyway, so stop yelling at me. Wait. Who is yelling at me if you have stopped reading...weird. I definitely hear yelling… maybe it is the voice in my head that says I am not allowed to speak...)

The problem is, there is no way to see the whole picture. It’s hard. It takes hours of time that no one has. We are working, living, and attending endless amounts of soccer games. We have to rely on the media to filter our stories but, in the end, they give us the message we want to hear, or the message they want us to hear. And not just that, we have to remember that we are "the other" to someone else. Our point of view is the right point of view. We know it, with certainty, and so do they. Yes, there is truth. But can we really think, for one second, that multimillion dollar corporate news agencies (and I am talking about every news agency, even yours and mine – the ones we agree with) have any interest in the actual truth. Why would they? Most truth is boring – for example: brushing your teeth everyday decreases tooth decay. And we all already know (and clearly agree) that kale is terrible so they can't keep reporting on that, can they.

So I guess there's no hope and my creative writing teacher has been right all along. All these years I have been stamping my foot with stubborn insistence, championing the happy ending and finally she can say to me “Ah-HA! Told you so! There is only dark brooding realism!” She is nicer than this and would not say “I told you so” to me with such a villainous laugh. But with a name like Dr. Slaughter, can you blame me for taking creative license?

I hope to prove her wrong. I am sure there is a utopia waiting just around the next futuristic, parallel-universe bend. Maybe there can be a new secret election where these millions of people get together and choose two people quietly without telling the crazy people in charge - and the crazy people in charge can keep thinking they are in charge - and really everyone starts looking after each other and meeting each other’s needs and running the country from within. (It could be like the best kept secret - like Bruce Willis’ surprise bleeding shirt in The Sixth Sense.) Meanwhile, the power-money hungry at the top will be thinking that they still have all the power and that the country is fixed but really all the normal people just fixed it all by themselves. They stopped yelling at someone because they were a democrat or a republican or neither and started looking at the problem with the oligarchic system. And they were careful how they spoke to each other - and they asked questions when people said dumb things to make sure they heard right. And if the person did say terrible things they would stop and realize they were being terrible - and then stop being terrible and narcissistic. And they stop killing each other. And they stop lying (except if someone is having a bad hair day or wears a terrible sweater you don’t like - because liking a multicolored sweater might just take some time, and perhaps, looking at it from a different angle, like sideways - and then all the geometrical shapes look awesome. So you could say you like it, and then come to like it, so it is not a lie. Also if someone has the courage to wear a sweater like this:

they really should be told they look awesome because they probably do, so again, you aren’t even lying! I mean, come on, there's a row of baby ducks following a mother duck!) And they did the little things, focusing on the next person they saw that needed help. And then that person was okay enough to help the next person. And there was like a secret utopia! HaHA! In your face Dr. Slaughter; I brought home the happy ending! (I must state for the record, because I am now an English major, and words matter, that utopia means “no place” but still I use the word in its proverbial or metaphorical meaning, which is allowed because, as a Masters student, you can use words like proverbial and add descriptive words like metaphorical with liberal flourish. I also must say, for the record, I would never say “In your face” to my professor - to her face - only through the safety of the secure internet where she will never see it.)

So these are my thoughts, not worth more than a penny so you can have them for free. I had even more thoughts but Al said I had to cut my exhaustive discussion of the term, politically correct. Because, he says, no one wants to read an eight page blog. It’s fine. I’ll just do my PhD on it. And then he will have many more years reading out loud lines that begin with “This research proves…” and “Pedagogically speaking, it seems…” IN YOUR FACE AL! I will say “in your face” to Al’s face, anytime, anyplace, especially after I beat him in any footrace. Except if he broke his leg – that was sad. I do not say “in your face” to sad people with shards of broken bones instead of legs. I am not a monster.

So to my New Zealand peeps, this is what I think happened. Most of America probably disagrees because I am looking at it from a distance and not soaking in it every day like they had to. Thanks for letting me live here and helping me build a life here. Thanks, especially, for the delicious coffee, chocolate and mini-families to substitute for my missing family members. I love you guys.

To my fellow Americans, take care of each other over there. I miss you. I love you and I love my country. Please keep it safe till I can come home again.

The Busyness Continues

So the time saving initiative has taken a dark turn. See this other post for advice that might work if you are looking for successful time saving tips. The current post has only warnings.  Things seem to have gotten to, as physicists would say - critical mass. The other day, I was faced with a dilemma: what to do with the hair on my head. It was dirty but also in a significant amount of knots. As if tiny Christmas elves were bored (being that it is not yet time for Christmas busyness) and spent the night singing Christmas carols and tying individual strands of my hair into knots. I first considered wearing a hat - my go-to solution when my hair has become personified anger. But when I put on my favorite hat, I looked not only sickly pale but childish and angry so that I was a taller version of the scary twins in A Christmas Carol - Ignorance and Want. You know, the ones that hide in The Happy Ghost’s robe so that he is no longer happy but weird for keeping scary children in his robe.  So I discarded the hat but the time I had wasted contemplating why I looked like a character from a Charles Dickens’ story meant I had less time to wash it. Plus I didn’t want to waste time washing it  because I had to go to the gym later, and it seemed like a waste of my ever disappearing minutes to wash my hair and then have it dripping with sweat in just under 8 hours. So in order to save time, I tried to wash my hair without getting it too wet. I rubbed a bit of hand soap (yes shampoo makes more sense but I was rushing) on my fingers and lathered up the dirtiest parts. Then I stood at the sink trying to use my fingers to get the soap out. It did not work. In the five minutes this took (which is about how long it takes for me to wash my hair), I looked like I had decided that my hair might fall out, so I had better glue it to my scalp. I wore a hat that day. I still looked like the scary angry toddlers but I felt I was at least bringing a little trendiness to the character. I figured I would just need to tone down the angry face.

        This proved harder than anticipated as it is Spring now; so my woolen winter hat began to radiate heat down through my scalp which made me feel like I was spending the day inside the Happy Ghost's heated robe. It also made my forehead itch, so I kept angrily scratching at it and grimacing while talking to important people at work. But this is really not an excuse because in general I seem to be angry with many things: Fellow drivers; things I have to carry such as drink bottles; and strangers who combine their run with a trip to the supermarket. While with Liz the other day she got to witness my outburst as I threatened to punch a perfectly dressed young lady as she jogged into the store ahead of us to purchase some fruit. To my endless shame I had told Liz I was “a little grumpy today” to make it seem like an anomaly when in actuality I have been grumpy everyday and have no excuse to punch runners. But seriously, people that are that efficient make my skin feel too tight. First of all running to the supermarket wouldn't be a long enough work out and second how do you carry everything home? I realize I don't have very good hands but still. When have you ever gone to the supermarket for just one thing? I often go intending to get one thing and then end up carrying fifteen things like a circus performer - the clown one. Because everything just falls on the floor and other people have to pick it up and pile it on top of the balanced box of tampons for me while I laugh like it is normal for people to follow me around picking up my sundries. Yes I should get a basket, that's true, but those things are layered with a healthy slather of germs. The person before me could have had Ebola or just a cold but with all the ways the medical profession is trying to kill me, a common cold is like Ebola to me. So shut up. I am too grumpy and sick to use a basket.

Also the food situation has gotten worse. In order to save time I purchased (with Liz, at the supermarket after I had responded to all of her food ideas with a grunt or growl – I think she is still friends with me I haven’t had time to check…) some premade pumpkin soup - you know the kind that is like “this is just canned soup but we said it is organic and put it in a non-biodegradable bag so it seems better for you” soup. Not surprisingly it was tasteless - not bland but literally had no taste as if they had just put colored water in the fancy bag. So I began my process of “doctoring” the mush. What I ended up with tasted great when I had one spoonful so I served it. Turns out, what I had made was gravy. Which does taste delicious on its own, one mouthful at a time, but after two or three it’s not so nice. I didn’t bother to fix it because I was too tired and I like gravy. Al tried it and said it was good but only managed a few bites before gagging and asking what the lumpy bits were. I told him it was flour that I had tried to thicken it with. (I said this around another mouthful as I was too hungry to care.) He put his spoon down and said, “Maybe we could eat it with something else on another night and left his bowl on the table. I finished mine - I was hungry, don't judge me. I had to do an actual never-ending 8 kilometer work out not a happy jog around the block to the supermarket like some stupid person with her perfect smooth no-knot bouncy ponytail and her cute pink and white running outfit with her matching iPod thingy on her arm. I don’t know what Al ate. Luckily Amelia was fed by another parent who still takes care of her children. Even though I am sure she is just as busy taking all the children to one of the thousand soccer practices we all have to get to. Speaking of  which I have to go. I am late for the gym - I know this doesn't seem true but I have to get there while the quiz show is on to distract me; otherwise the hours I spend there make me so angry I start yelling at other patrons. This is real... it happened.

Too Busy to Blog

I seem to be busy. But like confused busy. It seems I am constantly moving but I am not accomplishing anything in particular. It’s like Amelia has hit age twelve and we are running along behind her (because she is way faster than us) throwing food and clothing at her like those marathon helpers in the Olympics. But none of the running counts toward my gym time so I have to run there as well which takes up more time.

In order to combat this, I have started some time saving initiatives:

1.     Instead of cleaning the tables, I just vacuum them when no one is looking - even the one with the table cloth. It can be tricky because it can get stuck. Also, you have to ignore the fact that  something small and/or expensive may be lost.

2.   I made this for breakfast and ate it - because throwing it out would waste time AND food, otherwise known as money. It was supposed to be eggs in a basket:

Here is an online version to compare it to:

3.   Amelia has taken to wearing her pyjamas under her school uniform to save time getting ready in the morning. While I was only made aware of this two days ago, when I saw her jammies peeking out the top of her pants, I fully endorse this and feel that she has embraced the time saving necessary to our lives right now. And I am also trying to figure out how I can incorporate it into my life. But I am quite fond of the fuzzy plaid jammies that cannot be used in place of pants and don't tend to fit under skirts or jeans very well.

4.   If you are taking notes for your own time saving efforts,   (I don't recommend the egg one, it was terrible; burnt butter in a recipe is not quite the same thing as actual burnt butter and bread.) I must warn you that this one can backfire as it did this morning. As a general rule, I feel that time saving techniques should NOT be applied to coffee making; no matter how late I am, I really must have my Manuka Brothers latte with extra foam. So in order to make this happen, I will often steam my milk while grinding my coffee. Now this normally is OK but the grinder is just far enough away that I can't watch the grinder and the milk at the same time. This is also normally fine except, today, I started trying to work out a problem with my thesis. Which required staring out the window because trees and birds and clouds help creativity. It was quite a while before I realized that scalding milk was pouring all over the counter and my coffee was ground too fine. Which meant that when I tried to make the espresso my machine almost exploded because it couldn't get the water through the tightly packed grounds which had not been brewed but turned into cement. So, time saving techniques should be done one at a time; don't try to fix your thesis while time-saving in some other area.

5. In order to save time I recorded the Olympics but I still don't have time to watch because ALL THE SOCCER and all the thesising. (This is a word - it has to be because it is what I spend my free time doing... and if it is not a word - THEN WHAT IS IT ALL FOR??!!) But I feel bad that I have not watched these athletes who trained so hard and stopped eating delicious food like Eggs Benedict and doughnuts for years! So I have taken to watching it in fast forward. Not only am I honouring their hard work and amazingness BUT they are even more amazing! Ping Pong players in fast forward make them look like they have invented the hopping-dancing-flinging-invisible ball sport! And watching the men's pommel horse in fast forward makes them look faster than a helicopter - which means they might be able to fly!

I have to go  - I'm late for something. I have no idea what it is or who it is with, I think I better just drive around the city soccer fields to see if I left my daughter there. Unless I am supposed to be teaching a class in which case the jammies should be reconsidered.