Looking For Cheer (With a Sick Dog)

Posted May 19, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: Stress, Uncategorized

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Sick Dog

I was ready tonight to write about the wonderful reserve of the old-time British hero, Horatio Hornblower (created by C.S. Forester);  this is a character that knows how to pack a great deal of meaning into a very few words; who is masterful at mastering his feelings, careful to mask and make do with discontent, sadness, anxiety.   But I come home from work to find my very old dog suddenly immeasurably older.   Something is very wrong with her, and suddenly reserve feels immediately like a much less interesting quality to me.

When your old beloved dog is sick, you really are not looking for a friend to say, crisply, “hard luck.”

Certain types of cheerfulness are even worse than the crispness of a stiff upper lip.  For example, when you are anxious or grim, it’s not always helpful to have someone tell you, brusquely, to cheer up, or to not give up hope yet.

Maybe it’s just me.  Perhaps I am of an argumentative nature.  (Actually, there’s probably no “perhaps” about that.)  But, when someone tells me cheerfully not to give up hope, I want to respond tearfully, (i) that hope is already far gone, and (ii) just leave me alone.

I find that instead what helps when I am truly anxious or upset is some kind of commiseration–an echoing or mirroring of the upset feelings.  Yes, I know this sounds  like wallowing–or, even worse, getting your friends to wallow with you–but instead of strengthening bad feelings, this kind of commiseration seems to give a stepping stone for getting out of them.   This could be my peculiarly argumentative nature.  All I know is that if I am upset, and someone agrees that my situation is pretty awful, my kneejerk impulse is to say that it’s not so bad, and to actually feel some kind of  hope.   (It’s as if the sympathy gives me enough strength to become my own comforter.)

In a similar play of opposites, many look for someone to take care of them–financially, emotionally, physically–while the being that most readily captures their heart is one that they take care of.

A dog.

Here’s hoping.

The Benefits of Being Embarrassed. (Before Being Found Out.)

Posted May 18, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: news, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Untethered

I have been thinking about a post I wrote this morning about Richard Blumenthal, illustrated with a drawing of burning pants (liar liar pants on….)  and I am concerned now that I was too arch, too glib.

The fact is that even though I feel pretty disgusted by  Blumenthal, I also can’t  help but feel sorry for him.   He’s had a long career, a distinguished career, which now seems to be in tatters because of stupidity, hubris, and, perhaps, cowardice (fear of embarrassment, fear of consequences.)   Who knows how the original exaggerations got started?  Perhaps he did feel a true connection with those serving in Vietnam;  perhaps he really did feel spat upon when he finished his long-avoided service with the Marine reserves.  Probably, he genuinely does feel sympathy for returning veterans.

Is any that enough to excuse his mischaracterizations? No.

Nor is it an excuse to look to our culture–its emphasis on self-promotion and anecdote, where expertise is frequently alleged on the basis of minimal experience (see, e.g. Sarah Palin on foreign policy based on neighboring Russia).

I’ve recently been reading the Horatio Hornblower books by C.S. Forester, about the perfect English seaman in the Napoleonic Wars, and also just finished watching the new episodes of “Foyle’s War” about the perfect police detective in Hastings (England), at the end of World War II.   In the old-style British traditions explored by each of these narratives, the heroic impulses are just the opposite of those so common today.   These heroes are not only stiff-upper-lipped; they are close-mouthed.  They forbear to advance themselves through reference to even true accomplishments; a self-touting speech would be deemed unseemly, undignified, even dishonorable.

But we live in an age of self-promotion, an age when memoirists and fiction-writers alike make up their autobiographies; an age too where everyone takes credit for the good stuff, points fingers with respect to the bad, avoids liability at all costs.  (People use words like “taking responsibility” but shy, ultimately, from “owning up.”)

None of this lets Blumenthal of the hook.  Still, what does it all mean?   That we should look for politicians who have the strength and integrity to sometimes be embarrassed, or even openly ashamed, of themselves?  In advance of being found out?

Hmmm…..

Richard Blumenthal’s Pants

Posted May 18, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: news, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Richard Blumenthal's Pants

Breathtaking spectacle of Richard Blumenthal, Democrat, Attorney General in Connecticut, running for Senate.  You’ve probably heard already–he’s the guy who got five deferments from military service in the Sixties, then joined the Reserves (which, unlike now, was a safe harbor from combat service, and basically consigned him to community service in D.C. and New Haven rather than transport to Vietnam)—and , more recently, has cited his service in Vietnam, or homecoming from Vietnam, in speeches that leave the impression he actually was there.

One big question comes to my mind, well, two big questions—the first being variations on how could he do it?   Oh, I’m sure there’s some casuistic explanation.  But how could he look himself in the mirror afterwards?  How could he actually utter the words?

The second is, why?

Actually, scratch the why.   Obviously, he thought active military service would seem more appealing, less effete, to a wide cross-section of voters than, say, Yale Law School.

So, I guess my second question is how in the world did he think he could get away with it?  We live in a world where the past is public.  Did he honestly think no one would check?  Granted, the press tends to largely feed off itself, simply repeating repeating repeating one brave soul’s original reporting; but in a campaign!? !

The answer to this question seems to be that, in addition to problems with integrity, Blumenthal has problems with common sense.   It doesn’t seem to me to be stupidity (which shows, I guess, a certain bias on my part towards the basic intelligence of  Yale Law School graduates).  Maybe egomania?  Maybe… arrogance.

The commentary of people reading about Blumenthal is interesting, in part, because it is so partisan—about half seem to say, “what do you expect?  He’s a Democrat.”  The other half:  “what do you expect?  He’s a politician—just like Bush and Cheney.”   And the other half (and my proportions may be a bit off here):  “what do you expect?  He’s from Connecticut.”  (Sorry, Connecticut.)

And then there are the realists.  Correction.  Maybe I should call them the wishful thinkers:  they simply say, he’s finished.

PS – they talk about strong politicians helping the election of others in their party with their “coattails.”   Will there be a drag-down effect of Blumenthal’s liar liar burning pants?

Vegetarian Along the Hudson

Posted May 17, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: New York City, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Eel on the Esplanade

The late part of the evening started with me semi-bragging about, semi-bemoaning, an adult lifetime of limited ice cream consumption.  I won’t go into all the reasons for this, but will simply say that I really haven’t eaten much true ice cream (as opposed to some weird kind of frozen diet delite) since about age 17.

Actually, there’s a distinction here between ice cream eaten (that is, other people’s ice cream tried, and spoonfuls taken straight from a quart), and ice cream purchased for one’s own consumption.    What I’ve done little of, as an adult, is buy myself ice cream.  (I estimated less than ten cones’ worth.)

My husband, a person raised with a high esteem for dairy fat, told me that was the saddest thing he’d ever heard.

Somehow this led to the idea of his feeding me huge amounts of ice cream if I ever developed full-blown Alzheimers.  This then transmuted into a joke about feeding the projected non compose mentis me large amounts of meat, despite my many years of vegetarianism.

“You wouldn’t do that.  Promise me you wouldn’t do that,” I said, surprised with the sudden depth of my feeling.

A sweet guy, he quickly promised repeatedly that, of course, he would not.

Later tonight, walking my dog along the Hudson on the esplanade in Lower Manhattan, I saw a man dart across the sidewalk.  He darted with the urgency of traffic-avoidance though there are no cars on the esplanade (other than the little truncated electric trucks in which the Park Police whiz around.)

He was darting to retrieve one of three fishing poles propped against one of the more solid walls that line the river bank.  With swift jerky movements, he pulled something that was totally black, but marked with a mirror-like shine, over the wall, then let it drop and flop onto the sidewalk.

Passers-by stopped, stared.  I pulled my very reluctant old dog (she was sure her obligatory walk should be already done) down from the upper walkway to get a better view.

The length of dark shine swiveled and flipped.  The man bent down to it with what looked a knife—it seemed like he was cutting, jabbing—but it must have been the line, because when he straightened, the fish still whirled and twisted.

I am always a bit suspicious of fisherman along this fairly polluted part of the Hudson.  Because they are out here late, and in very cold, damp weather (although tonight was neither), they do not look like mere “sportsmen.” That may be part of why I couldn’t stop staring at the dark satiny creature and thinking (1) toxins; (2) suffering;  (3) eel.

Eel?

Too long and uniformly narrow to be a fish.

I pictured (unwillingly) unagi.  Some kind of brown sauce.  And thought again, toxins, gills, suffering. More suffering. I wished the fisherman would just pick the darn thing up and bonk it hard on the head.

But he was attending to his other poles and paid little attention to the persistent, if slowing, squirm of the eel, except to look down now and again, more carefully after it wriggled into the shadows in the lee of the wall.

I sometimes think of vegetarianism as a bit precious, elitist, even PC, though I’ve been vegetarian for a very long time.   But for the second time in one night, it felt suddenly genuine, meaningful.

Still I didn’t say anything.  (Meaningful?)  Took the dog inside.

Junk “News” Nation – Twinkie/French Fry Speak Takes Bat At Kagan

Posted May 16, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: News Media, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Junk News Speak

Over the last few months on this blog, I’ve periodically embarrassed myself with confessions of my escapist fascination with vampire novels (and certain actors who play their starring characters.)  My only excuse has been a combination of stress, a decaying brain, and—I admit it—a wish to get “hits”.

Given my own weaknesses, I very much understand the drive of the news media (a) to sell papers; and (b) to get people to watch, or click on, their programming.

I also understand that legal theorizing, judicial precedent, and the parsing of amici briefs, can be–well, let’s say, boring. (We won’t go all the way to stultifying.)

As a result, I can imagine the glee of cable TV newsrooms when, faced with new Supreme Court nominee, Elena Kagan, they found something other than Roe v Wade to hang a story on.

But, come on!  An old photograph–not of  the judicial nominee drunk and philandering, or speaking at a segregated club, or even wearing a funny hat–but playing softball?!  A game which is supposed to be the all American past-time, but which we now discover (after endless media discussion) is truly a code activity for gayness!

It’s all just so goofy (and sickening)–a dumb and dumber approach to news which relates to relevant fact in about the same way that tweeting relates to exposition.  Snarkiness substitutes for commentary; smirks for analysis; talking heads become chuckle heads as they fall over themselves to say that (a) they are not saying anything; and (b) by the way, did you get it?

In the same way that fast and processed food has taken the place of real food (food stripped of nutrients and hyped instead with artificial color, ultra-fructose sweeteners, and loads and loads of trans fat and salt), we now have fatty, salty, simpering gossip replacing real news, news that takes thought, and provokes thought.

At least, vampire novels don’t pose as anything but entertainment;  at least, the vampires in them openly show their fangs.

Running Late – Exercise On the Go

Posted May 15, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: New York City, Stress, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , , , , ,



Running Late (and Slightly Elongated)

Followers of this blog know of my earnest, if multi-tasking, devotion to Astanga Yoga and the elliptical machine, but I’ve yet to discuss my most efficient method of getting regular exercise.  This is to leave a bit late for nearly everywhere I go.

I am not sure that this exercise method would be effective in more car-friendly environments (where you might only accumulate speeding tickets), but if you are running late in New York City, you usually are also trotting, jogging, speed walking, scooting, maneuvering, and dashing, late.

There’s nothing like that “whiled-away fifteen minutes” after your pre-set time of departure –you know, that time spent not departing when you are hopelessly trying to find something to wear that feels “right”, sweeping your kitchen, taking your vitamins, circling back to your apartment to turn off your iron—to get the old legs moving, and that regretful heart pumping.

In addition to the physical benefits of running as quickly as possible, for as long as possible, along a crowded street, there are also certain psychological benefits to a chronic lack of punctuality.  If, for example, you are trotting alongside your husband, who is also perennially late, you will find every single unresolved issue between you coming to the fore and absolutely ripe for frank discussion.

Even if you are chasing along on your own, you will happen onto epiphanies.  Chief among these is a clear understanding, usually (eventually) reached while waiting for a subway train (which, because you need to make time, is delayed) of the impotence of your individual decisions; your relative puniness in the universe; the fact that you are subject to great forces—fate, the MTA, your own inability to leave on time–forces that are determined to always make you late, forces that you must simply accept.

Hopefully, around the time you reach this understanding, you will find yourself in a place with cell reception.

Gritted (Pleasing) Teeth–Important Tool In the Kit for Women Seeking Raises and TIME.

Posted May 14, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: news, parenting, Uncategorized

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Pretty Please

Although I really do try to keep my work life separate from my blog life, I wanted to weigh in on an interesting article by Tara Siegel Bernard in today’s New York Times, “A Toolkit for Women Seeking a Raise.”

I’ve never asked for a pay raise.  This reflects well on my employer, who I have always believed to be both generous and tolerant.  But it is also apparently typical of women, even more typical (I fear) of women of my age and  and generation (middle/end of baby boom, beginning of feminism).

On the other hand, I am someone who, years before it was fashionable, negotiated flexible work arrangements due to the different pulls of child care, creative life and work life.

I’m not sure if these factors truly equip me to comment on the article, but here I go:

Two things jump out at me: first, a new study conducted at Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, which found that women “need to take a different approach” than men to requesting pay raises, an approach which is “more nuanced” and “avoids undermining their relationship with their boss.”

As Hannah Riley Bowles, an associate professor at Kennedy says, “we have found that if a man and a woman both attempt to negotiate for higher pay, people find a women who does this, compared to one who does not, significantly less attractive…. Whereas with the guy, it doesn’t seem to matter.”

Sorry, but, DUH!

Anyone who has followed Hillary Clinton’s political career knows how difficult it is for women to assert themselves in our culture and still be considered very likeable, (as opposed to “likeable enough”.)

The range of what is considered attractive, both on a physical and a behavioral level, is simply narrower for women than men.   This range does not allow women much leeway for self-assertion.

What Professor Bowles seems to say, in fact, is that in order to negotiate a pay raise and keep a boss’s good opinion, a woman needs to grit her teeth (but not visibly), and please.

To give Professor Bowles credit, her advice is based in pragmatism.  Still, there’s something awful about it.

Another point of the article that struck me discussed women’s negotiations on child care issues.  Bernard  here cites Paula Hogan, a Milwaukee based financial planner, who tells women to take responsibility for a need to be with children.  As Ms. Hogan points out, most companies are not going to say, “Gosh, I notice you have three kids now. Would you like Tuesdays off?”  Women need to think through what they want and then ask for it.

Of course, Ms. Hogan is right.  One additional piece of advice I would offer is that once you figure out a solution, and (if you are lucky), get your employer’s agreement, then you need to grit your teeth again, and stick to your agreement.

I cannot overemphasize the “gritting your teeth” part of this equation.   The fact is that employers may be fair-minded enough to agree to a certain amount of flexibility—but that doesn’t mean that they will be thrilled by your late arrival (because you took your kids to school), or assist you in meeting an early departure (so you can pick up your kids at school).   Nor will your employer feel particular sympathy for the fact that, even with the flex-time, you are still gasping for breath.

As a result, in order to keep this kind of split arrangement going you may have to give up on some of the pleasing, and just take the agreed flexibility.

One further piece of advice:  once you do leave the office, be very very sure that when you are with your child to enjoy that walk (or drive)  home from school.

Shrink-free Ways To Shrink Inadequacy

Posted May 13, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: Stress, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Stuck

A chronic issue for ManicDDaily types is how to handle gnawing (as in ravenously persistent) feelings of inadequacy and imperfection–not how to address the reasons for such feelings (whether temperamental or circumstantial), but how to lessen them.  This is a subject upon which I’ve done much research, and I’ve developed  the following four more or less, do-it-yourself methods; methods that do not require professional help.

Four Shrink-Free Ways To Shrink Inadequacy

1. Be perfect at all times.

2.  Failing that, think of yourself as absolutely perfect at all times.  (I hate to sound sexist, but this seems to be an easier method for men than women, or at least for baby-boomer women.)

3.  If you can’t be perfect, and you can’t think of yourself as perfect, own up to the imperfection; resign yourself to it:  you made a mistake; you have certain failings.   So what?

Try not to get stuck in a mire of analyzing, denying, justifying, defending, self-mortifying, not to be a tire in mud, spinning spinning spinning the same old muck around.  Yes, you may have made a mistake; no, you may not have.  Whatever.  The fact is that skillful conduct and good intentions don’t always translate into happy results, no matter what.  (Think of all the times you organized a picnic and then it rained.  Don’t, like me, be the kind of person who apologizes for storm clouds.  And then to storm clouds.)

4.    Maintain old friendships.   When you are chewing the rawhide (your raw hide) of a failing, an old friend is probably the best person to help you digest it.    Family members may also help, but they are more likely to veer between the overly candid, as in “why in the world did you do that?”, to the solicitously duplicitous as in: “of course, it’s not your fault: it’s never your fault.” Husbands or wives can be particularly difficult;  they will often give advice on how to resolve whatever is troubling you instead of just listening to you go on (and on and on) about it.

Old friends, in contrast, will listen, cluck with true, but discerning, sympathy, and then move on to the next topic.  Which is exactly what you need to do.

What about new friends? It’s a bit harder to trust them.  Oh, they probably will not spill your confidences—but will they like you when they know how imperfect you are?!?

While old friends… old friends… they have known that you were imperfect for a very long time, and still will take your call.

Elliptical Thinking ….errr….Writing

Posted May 12, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: Blogging, elephants, Uncategorized, writing

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Gym Blogger

The other day I blogged about learning to write wherever–not, in other words, using one’s lack of a writer’s cabin as an excuse to put off work.

Today, I’m putting that admonition to the test by blogging at the gym.  Right now, I’m writing as I walk down the stairs to my gym, now I’m writing as I swipe my gym pass, now as I walk past the yoga class (writing there might be considered anti-Om). The place I’m heading is the elliptical machine, a machine which is dull, repetitive, and has a good ledge for my notebook.

And now I’m on the elliptical machine, and, in fact, I am already experiencing a slightly uncomfortable burn in my upper thighs and a definite twist in my lower back.  (One problem with writing on the elliptical, or perhaps any exercise, machine is that it’s hard to keep your body symmetrical.  I should note here that I’m writing in an old-fashioned composition notebook and not in an iPad or other electronic device which would perhaps allow one to jog and blog in perfect two-handed symmetry.)

Ah.  (It’s working… I mean, I’m working,  sort of.)

Though there are a few caveats to writing on an elliptical machine:

1.  Take care not to press your notebook into the electronic display or you will completely lose track of your time, strides per minute, calories, distance and heart rate.  Actually, forget about heart rate.  You are not holding to the hand bars and those heart rate measuring strips never truly work in any case.

2.  Do not expect to reach your maximum speed.  Maybe, in fact, it’s best not to even try for your maximum speed.

3.  Do not expect to write the great American novel.  At least not on the elliptical machine.   Frankly, if you wish to avoid disa—

Oops!  Just pressed the display  and the whole machine is rearing up, meaning that I’ve not only lost my time and calories, but all my resistance settings have plummeted and I’m suddenly going about a mile a minute.  No, only 141 strides per minute, but that’s still a bit fast for good sentence structure, and it also feels–

As I was saying (I’ve reset the settings now), if you want to avoid disappointment, you may be wise to let go of expectations of writing the Great American Novel, whether on or off the elliptical machine.

But seriously, the points of all this are:

1.  You can write anywhere.  Granted, the writing may not be always that great, but it can help you keep your writing muscles toned.

2.  We (I) seem to have this need to both multi-task and communicate.  Yes, it might be better to quell these needs, but sometimes there can be real comfort in just accepting your predilections–your fullest, most manic self (if you are not actually hurting that self or others).

Sure, people may view your truest self as being a bit strange–for example, the people around me right now may think I am a pretty poor excuse for a gym rat.  But, who cares?   There are plenty of empty machines to my sides.  In fact, my whole little section of this fairly crowded gym is completely unoccupied….

Hmmm……

Brain Teeming? Try Rhyme!

Posted May 11, 2010 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, writing

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Locust Leaves

What to do when your brain is teeming too much to think straight!  Write a poem, especially a rhyming poem.

A rhyme offers a wonderful thread away from fretful pre-occupations;  it can take you somewhere quite magical.   So, in the stress of mid-week, even though I no longer have the excuse of National Poetry Month, I am posting a draft poem written this evening, made up of rhyming quatrains.  (I don’t think it qualifies as magical, but it was a fun exercise.)

Behind the Locust

She tiptoed under the locust trees,
their shade bared earth, her shorts bared knees.
Their bark was rough, as rough as you please,
though the wood is soft in locust trees.

Though the wood is soft, the thorns are not;
sticks fall down, and leaves on top.
She tiptoed through the thorny plot
of earth and stem and leaf and rot.

The trunk was thin but she was small
and stood at angles–so, and so,
shifting from tip to the other toe,
to hide from all who’d come and go.

No one was looking, but still she hid,
looking herself at all they did.
She watched them walking, watched them sit,
keeping close the tree’s close fit.

What mystery to be lost and found
beneath the slightly rustling sound
of leaves like grapes; inside, the pound
of a heart that’s longing to be grown.