Feelin' Crappy (The 59th Big Migraine Song)

With all due respects to Misters Simon and Garfunkel:

Oh god, here it comes
The pain, the lights, it's not fun
Just kicking off another one
Lookin' ahead at
Feelin' crappy!

Hello aura,
Whatchya knowin?
I've gotten used to your lights glowin'
Aintchya got no end for me?
Lookin' ahead at
Feelin' crappy

I got no sick days,
no time left off.
I'm nauseous and dizzy and ready to sleep
Let this migraine be ended and over for me
Stress I hate you...
Feelin' crappy!

The Beach

Roundabout 1939 or so, my late (maternal) grandfather had the foresight to purchase an amazing house about half a block from one of the most beautiful beaches in Massachusetts. He retired there, had the home winterized, and when he died in 1987, he left a trust fund to ensure the upkeep and maintenance of the house.

The house has since become the heart and soul of our extended family. It's served as refuge from troubles for more than one family member, and repeatedly been the go-to location for celebrations large and small. If a pile of horsehair plaster, stone, wood, and one really strong cast-iron lally pole can be animate, then the Beach House is definitely alive and well.

Not a summer has gone by in my 40-something years when I haven't been there for a day or a week, sometimes two. I've been alone, with friends, with family, had parties, and not. I've introduced college roomates' (and then their spouses and children) to the house. I left that house a one afternoon as a single woman and came back 24 hours later, married. I spent the first half of my honeymoon idling away afternoons, remarking to my new husband that yes, being married does feel different.

When the hot humid green New England summer rolls in, the house comes into its fully occupied, noisy glory as our family hub. Cousins and their spouses and children, neighbors, aunts and uncles rotate in and out; our paths all crossing. Up and down the hill from the front yard to the beach go the sunburned and sandy, straight into the frigid Atlantic in cycle unbroken for four generations.

Except for this year.

In order to add a bit to the dwindling "house fund", a tough decision was made to rent the house for several months (summer included). The decision was smart, heartbreaking, and thankfully, a one-time thing.

So what do I do now? What do I do without the one thing that was a balm to my soul?

I will not see my cousins and note the years advancing on all our faces; I will not quickly recall summers past, and see them played out again through the joyful sounds of the current generation intently pondering the mystery of starfish captured in a pink plastic bucket.

Instead, strangers will sit on our porch, in our house.

But as Yoda said to Obi-Wan Kenobi's glowy ghost in "The Empire Strikes Back", perhaps there is another. I found a place that, though pale in comparison and lacking the memory-weight of the Beach House, offers a similar feeling. It's not the same, this place--nothing can be--but I'll spend a week there in July and maybe, just maybe, I'll feel a little less like I lost a piece of myself.

Bad Bosses, Caring, and Your Powerlessness

Believe it or not, the following excerpt comes from a TV review. It is, however, without doubt, the most apt, funniest, and depressingly true thing I've ever read about why your Corporate Overlord does not, and will not, ever care about you:

Caring isn't quantifiable and is therefore highly overrated. Human beings may begin work at a new job feeling seen, heard, appreciated and lauded for extra efforts, but over time, the ability of the bossman or bosswoman to exert the energy necessary for such games of make-believe far outweighs the benefits of doing so. After all, two or three years onto the job, you'll be rumored to have a "mortgage" to pay plus "children" to support, burdens that the powers that be recognize will keep you cemented in your cubicle doing shit ASAP, around the clock, the specter of a crumbling economy and rising unemployment constantly stirring up the fear in your heart. Since fear is a far more effective motivator than "caring," no boss-type-person will be holding your hand or expressing their gratitude until you aim a gun at their heads (hence the current popularity of this option). Besides, your bosses are far too busy buttering up their brand new underlings to bother with the likes of you.

To read the full review, check it out here.

Alien probes or my typical day?

It's been one of those weeks, and it's only Tuesday.

I started my week by trying to do the right thing for my floppy, aging body. I got up early and went to the gym with the intention of getting in a solid half-hour of hard cardio.

After dropping my friend at the curb, and cursing the row upon row of film trailers littering Copley Square (and occupying every available metered parking space), I figured I'd ask the cop on duty if he knew how long said trailers would be situated in what I have come to think of as "my parking spaces" outside the gym.

I rolled down my window, politely greeting the gray-haired member of Boston's constabulary with a "Good morning, Officer...I just..." and was cut-off, mid-sentence, when he yelled at me.

Now, given that it was 6:10AM and I hadn't had any coffee (or cardio), I was a bit slow on the uptake. I was also taken aback by the whole screaming at me part of it. Apparently, he wasn't satisfied with his first attempt at communication. He yelled at me twice again, in rapid succession, before I finally determined that he wanted me to move along.

Here's the kicker: The officer had the good manners to cap it all off with, "WHAT?? ARE YOU DEAF OR STUPID OR BOTH???"

Then I made the mistake of going to work.

And, well, let's just say that things only went downhill from there.

So, now, a day later, I'm trying to forget about it.

I'm trying to focus on the the gray and overcast sky. Toward the horizon there is a tinge of eerie yellow light. It makes me think of the "ginormous invading spaceships arriving" montage from the movie "Independence Day".

I've suggested to a colleague that the weird light is, indeed, being caused by ginormous invading spaceships finally arriving as predicted by so many for so long.

My colleague, in turn, thought that given my day yesterday, I send up an S.O.S. and escape this crazy planet. But would I necessarily be escaping? After all, what about those probed-by-an-alien stories you're always hearing about?

Then again, the way my days have been turning out, being probed by an alien might just be more fun.

The Power of No Power

Spring has sprung in the land of the bean and the cod, and for the natives, that means Nor'easters.

A spring Nor'easter is a three-day period of cold, wind-driven rain. The name stems from the meteorological pattern itself: A large, swirly, hurricane-like-looking low pressure system that moves up and out over the northeast coast, pushing wind and moisture from the north and east, down into what lies south and west (that would be us.)

Spring Nor'easters are usually worse than other times of year because of flooding. The thaw has started, and groundwater that's been caught up as frost for the past few months begins to melt, draining toward watersheds. Streams and rivers swell with melting snowpack. Add three days of intense rain, and sandbags around subway stops become the order of the day. With the wind blowing trees down onto power lines and rain bedeviling electric junction boxes, transformers blow.

Without warning, the modern conveniences of life are useless. You cannot finish dinner in your electric oven, but instead don foul weather gear, venture out, and use your grill to cook.

You skip the TV, the internet, the texting, and, in playing backgammon by candlelight, are reminded just how much you love someone.

Spring Cleaning

I've been utterly unproductive in my professional life, and I ascribe it spring fever. Here in Beantown, the first four to five consecutive days of daylight after 5:30PM, in combination with daytime temperatures above 50 degrees, tend to set our frost-addled minds all aflutter.

I thought, well, if I can't concentrate on work, I'll have a little fun with my chewy tidbits of bloggy goodness and do some spring cleaning! New layout, updated links, and more meanderings of my middle-aged mind.

Enjoy.

A long dry winter...blog post-wise, that is

I had recently been told by a few friends that they had not heard from me recently, bloggedly speaking, that is. I kept thinking, "What, I just wrote a post the other day!"

That "other day" would be, oh five-and-a-half months ago.

Whoopsie.

A lot can happen in that time, and yet here I am searching for something entertaining to write about. Perhaps that's why I haven't posted anything: I do not feel entertaining.

What I feel is burned out, tired, exhausted. This is the kind of soul-wearying exhaustion that can be remedied with, oh, a seriously intense month of doing nothing but deciding which beach to go to and whether to nap in the sun or out of it.

I'm fried, people...fried to a crispy dark brown, bordering on burned, and there is no relief in sight.

The Interwebs Are Interesting Today!

The interwebs are chock-full of fun stuff to read (including this here blog-a-delic thingey.)

But today, I have stumbled upon a cornucopia of goodness, including:

* An article about road-testing cat litter. Now, as someone who loves cats, and frequently changes poopy catboxes, I have a personal interest in this; however, overall, it's a well-done consumer product testing piece.

* A nice review of the fall TV season. My sister has been raving about Modern Family, and now my favorite TV critic is, too. I guess I'm going to have to tune in before my cable goes digital and I no longer have TV reception. (Don't ask; it's a looooong story.)

* An interview with Balki. I don't know, maybe it's that I grew up in a family where a funny accent was always encouraged, but I have a soft spot for Balki.

Tomorrow (or possibly later today if I'm really bored): The interwebs are also full of good things to buy!

You Can't Kill an Idea: It's Banned Bookweek!

Banned Book Week ends on Sunday, so take some time to celebrate your intellectual freedoms with a banned book, or with John Stuart Mill, who eloquently outlined the value of diverse discourse in On Liberty:

"If all mankind minus one, were of one opinion, and only one person were of the contrary opinion, mankind would be no more justified in silencing that one person, than he, if he had the power, would be justified in silencing mankind. Were an opinion a personal possession of no value except to the owner; if to be obstructed in the enjoyment of it were simply a private injury, it would make some difference whether the injury was inflicted only on a few persons or on many. But the peculiar evil of silencing the expression of an opinion is, that it is robbing the human race; posterity as well as the existing generation; those who dissent from the opinion, still more than those who hold it. If the opinion is right, they are deprived of the opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if wrong, they lose, what is almost as great a benefit, the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error."

Good Boss, Bad Boss, Part 1

Well, in case my previous post didn't indicate anything was amiss with work, I have been in the crosshairs since returning from my hoo-hoo-related medical leave.

Today, I was once again the recipient of another condescending, snarky email written in a tone more suitable for a mother addressing her stubborn four-year-old than boss addressing a grown-up professional.

Which brings me to my post title: Good Boss, Bad Boss.

Good Boss
* The Good Boss does not blame an individual for an error. When errors occur, The Good Boss looks to process, deconstructing and reviewing processes to detect potential weak spots. The Good Boss then works collaboratively to correct flaws inherent therein.
* The Good Boss understands that humans occasionally need time to go to the dentist, see a kid's play, or take the cat to the vet, and that the time to do these things doesn't necessarily have to result in lost vacation hours or lost pay.
* The Good Boss knows that most people are adults who will, when trusted and given the right resources and authority, do a good job.
* The Good Boss knows power and responsibility need to be delegated simultaneously.
* The Good Boss does not expect you to keep working once you get home.
* The Good Boss is happy and willing to do the grunt work alongside you, and in some cases, does it for you.

Bad Boss
* When errors occur, The Bad Boss is quick to jump down an employee's throat without assessing why the error occurred. The Bad Boss is not interested in processes, but in results only.
* The Bad Boss does not have your back. The Bad Boss leaves you to fend for yourself if something goes wrong, and takes all the credit when it goes right.
* The Bad Boss has no problem being unprofessional, but will become extremely indignant if you behave unprofessionally.
* The Bad Boss thinks that his/her employees don't talk about salaries, layoffs, who got a raise and who didn't, who left their stinky yogurt in the fridge too long, and so on.
* The Bad Boss is a master of intimidation and will use fear, passive-aggressiveness, and many other childhish tactics to get what s/he wants.
* The Bad Boss usually has no empathy.

As I said, this is Part 1. I'm sure that Part 2 will be equally thrilling.

Shove My Head in a Chanel Bag and Send Me to Manhattan

I have had it.
I am done, done, done.
I want to win the lottery, shove my head in a Chanel bag, move to New York, and become a Lady Who Lunches.

I'm completely serious.

I just don't give a shit anymore about "caring" in my work-a-day life. I don't care if what I do impacts anyone positively, because, oh, honestly, it doesn't. Show me ONE PERSON who read something I wrote and was moved to, say, get a mammogram, or go to the VA and get a check up for prostate cancer, or anything that would improve their lives or health or whatever.

I am sick of trying to push for what's informative, thoughtful, and correct, only to be told:

* This isn't very well written.
* You really don't understand the medical literature.
* This isn't your best work.
* You really don't understand our audience.
* You really don't have a sense of the corporate voice.
* This isn't very tight.
* This is confusing.
* You don't understand the relationship between copy and design.
* The designers know how to design, not you.

So listen up, all of you (and you know who you are): You are all correct! I have spent the past 20 years of my life learning nothing. I'm no smarter than I was the day I left high school. I understand jack shit about healthcare communication. I wasted $30K on graduate school and should not have bothered. Congrats.

I'm going to quit this bullshit field and go do what I do best: Shop, drink, and eat.

Have a nice day.

Why I Can Never Be POTUS

I cannot ever be President of the United States of America because if I were Barry O., I would make a speech to Congress that would go something like this:

"You are a bunch of total asshats. Why in god's name do we spend more, per person, on healthcare, but are the LEAST healthy developed nation in the world? Why? I'll tell you why: Because YOU ARE ASSHATS who can't see beyond your own re-election coffers funded by Pfizer.

Now stop being stupendously moronic ASSHATS, and pass a healthcare bill that guarantees everyone some kind of basic, affordable, quality healthcare that won't result in 62 percent of all individual bankruptcy filings being related to medical bills."

(P.S. I was BORN IN HAWAII, which, by the way, IS PART OF THE UNITED FUCKING STATES.)

And that is why I will never be POTUS. Hang in there, Barry.

Shoes

Sometimes, even though you haven't showered, are sad, uncomfortable, and wearing stained, fold-over waist shorts from Target, you can put on your sexiest pair of shoes and feel just a little bit better.

Paragraph of the Day

I do not make a regular habit of reading Paul Krugman's column in The New York Times, but I'm always satisfied when I choose to do so. Today, in particular, was quite rewarding. I was pulled into it by the headline: The Swiss Menace. Turns out it's an Op-Ed piece about a subject slightly less near, but no less dear, to my heart: healthcare reform.

To wit:

Besides being vile and stupid, however, the editorial was beside the point. Investor’s Business Daily would like you to believe that Obamacare would turn America into Britain — or, rather, a dystopian fantasy version of Britain. The screamers on talk radio and Fox News would have you believe that the plan is to turn America into the Soviet Union. But the truth is that the plans on the table would, roughly speaking, turn America into Switzerland — which may be occupied by lederhosen-wearing holey-cheese eaters, but wasn’t a socialist hellhole the last time I looked.

I'm not sure what made me laugh more: "vile and stupid" or "lederhosen-wearing holey-cheese eaters".

Clearly, Krugman wasvon a role. But he should have taken it one step further and gone with, "lederhosen-wearing holey-cheese eating neutrality monkeys".

So Much to Post About...Yet No Posts

You would think that the amount of sheer boredom and life-altering mishegas experienced as a result of a hoo-hoo-ectomy and it's subsequent convalescence would provide for many Deep Thoughts.

Nope.

Nosiree, bob.

Actually, all I can think about is:

* When will I be able to roll over onto my left/right side?
* Did I really make the right decision, because this just sucks.
* Wow, I had no idea that EVERYTHING IN MY KITCHEN weighs more than 8 pounds and I cannot, therefore, pick it up.
* A well-mixed martini overwhelmingly outweighs the pain-relief powers of Percocet. And you don't need a prescription.
* The only man to touch me below the waist since July 18 is a highly paid professional hell-bent on causing me extreme pain by removing things in the name of saving my life. The nerve of him.
* Online shopping is fun; however, the post-surgical attempts at trying stuff on....not so much.
* If anyone else says, "Wow, you're so lucky! I wish they'd take mine out!" I will procure weapons and go from there.
* Six weeks off in the summertime when you cannot go swimming is cruel. Just plain cruel.

There is more; oh yes...much more. But perhaps that is best saved for another day when I cannot nap and there are no more "Say Yes to the Dress" marathons on TLC.

Making You Feel Better By Making You (Feel Like) Crap

There is a guaranteed method of making sure that a surgical patient will heal quickly. Apparently, it has to do with making that patient feel as NASTY as possible prior to the surgery so that, in retrospect, the patient is duped into thinking that s/he is "recovering" when in point of fact, s/he is NOT recovering, but is merely returning to the baseline point of health that would have existed after surgery had not the patient had to:

* Become dehydrated.
* Go 24 hours without solid food.
* Poop. A lot. For hours.
* Lose sleep.
* Poop some more.
* Go an additional 24 hours with hospital food.

So, I'm just pointing out that when you arrive at the hospital for surgery, and you feel extra-rotten, it's just a trick. They are tricking you.

Don't let them trick you!!

Today's Statistics!

Okay, so in praise of my departing, uh, ladyparts, I ran some stats. It's the last ever time I will have Aunt Flo in town, and it got me to thinking about the whole thing:

* 33 years
* 400 times
* 2000 days
* 10,000 ob's

Other miscellany:
* If it ran continuously, that would be 5.4 years.
* Advil and Aleve used to be by prescription only.
* You don't have to have it at all now, if you take Yaz.

Will I miss it? Not really. But it's odd to think that I'm performing a biological function for the last time, quite literally. How often do you get to say, "This is the very last time I will ever (burp, fart, sneeze, etc.)?" I mean, seriously? If you knew you'd never sneeze, ever again, would you miss it? Would you think about all the other times you've sneezed and wonder about sneezing's role in your life? Would you think, "Hey, I'll never need to buy Kleenex again, because, hey, no more sneezing?"

At Home, Away From Home: The Irish

I am in an strange city, alone, but I find a fairly cheesy, inauthentic "Irish" pub. I hear a penny whistle, a bodhran, and a beautiful voice. I walk in, no longer tired, alone, and lonely. I sit down; order a black and tan....I am suddenly home. My mother's voice is with me, my aunts, my family....everything that I need to make it through one more long work day is here.

I am a mutt, but I am Irish. I can always go home.

Sex For Younger Ladies Is Healthy, Normal, and Fun....Really!

Okay, this is not another addition to the conversation about the whole madonna/whore, capitalist notion of female sexuality, and whether girls going wild can be empowering or just drunk and stupid. Those conversations have been augmented many times by others who've added more value and cohesion than I.

Okay, I lied. It is another one of those conversations.

We've entered into this Bizzar-O-Land of muddled sexual mores, and I can no longer take the Sex = Slut argument. It's really messing up a lot of Young Ladies, some of whom I am related to.

I say "entered" into this weird land, because I feel as though there had been a tiny window of opportunity in the early, pre-AIDS 80s where feminist ideals of female sexuality converged with cultural acceptance of said, and us gals were genuinely empowered about seeking out, and enjoying, lots of sex. Sadly, that time passed far too quickly.

I have had a lot of sex. Some of it was fun. Some of it was really fun. Some of was awful. Some of it was really awful. Some of it was with a known entity, some of it was not. So here's what I have to say on the subject.

Having a lot of sex, on your own terms and by your own choice, does not make you a slut.

I encourage the Younger Ladies to, in the absence of a partner, learn about their bodies and understand what makes that body feel good....sort of like training wheels. After all, you don't just go out there and immediately ride that two-wheeler, do you? So, spend quality "you time" first, Younger Ladies. Then, after figuring it out on your own, have a lot of (safe*) sex!

(*By "safe sex", I mean: condoms always and an additional method such as: foams, suppositories, creams, the Sponge--which is finally coming back again--oral contraceptives, Depo Provera, the ring, the patch, you name it; you've got options, Young Ladies, and barebacking with withdrawal is not one of them.)

Have sex because:

* It's fun.
* It feels good, physically.
* The guy/girl is hot and you want him/her for that night only with no strings attached and don't ever expect to hear from him/her again.
* It can help you learn about what you like and don't like.
* You love the person, and the person loves you right back and it's nice to be intimate with your loved one.

Do not have sex because:

* You think your boy- or girlfriend will leave if you don't.
* You think it will bring you closer. (If you need closeness, just ask for a hug and have an long conversation instead.)
* You think it will make you appear to be smarter/prettier/more important/popular.
* You are depressed and think it will cheer you up.
* You are pressured into doing so.
* You expect that by having sex, you will end up in a relationship with this person.

Yes, there are risks to having a lot of sex. Believe me, I know. However, there are far more risks to labeling and shaming an entire generation of Younger Ladies with the Sex = Slut argument, and by offering that generation yet another double standard about their own healthy, normal, exciting sexuality.

BMI Is a Lie

Kate Harding is a Chicago-based blogger, who, along with several other equally fabulous ladies, maintains the Shapely Prose blog. Ms. Harding has just put together The BMI Project.

It's a slideshow of average folks (mostly women, but a few fellas, too.) Using the Body Mass Index, which many healthcare providers default to as a measure of overall health, Harding demonstrates that BMI is really bullshit.

And, as testament to just how bullshitty and asshatty BMI really is as a measure of fitness, the delightful Ms. Harding starts the slideshow off with a photo of her doing yoga, in the Crow Pose.

Just another reminder to love the body you have, eat as well as you can, don't smoke, and get some exercise on a regular basis.

Carry on!