girlfriday

Welcome to Objective-ville Located in Beautiful Subjective County.

noreply@blogger.com (elphaba) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 04:43:00 +0000

*****SPOILER ALERT***** FROM TONIGHT'S PROJECT RUNWAY

It was pretty obvious from before they spent their 300 dollars at Mood that Christopher and Gordana were the weakest of the remaining 5 contestants on Season 6 of Project Runway. I did like how they made you think that the judges might just possibly overlook skill and put a designers humble beginnings at the forefront of their choices for the top three headed to Bryant Park. But, they did no such thing and so we await next week's triple bitch fest featuring Carol Hannah, Irina and Althea.
The way they judge this show is kind of like ice skating at the winter olympics. You think you pretty much know who is going to win, but there's always that one crazy German judge who gives the latest Sonja Henie a low score. In PR's case the judge isn't German, she's Nina Garcia.
I miss Michael Kohrs.

He doesn't look the way I expected him to look and his voice is a definite surprise.

mollymcgee83@gmail.com ("Molly McGee") — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 18:05:00 +0000

New at MBC

noreply@blogger.com (Snarky the Moonbat) — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 20:07:00 +0000

Quick self-promotion: new post at Moonbat Central on the nature of government and its relationship to freedom. It might be useful, but there is no cake to be found anywhere.

Reverting to form

noreply@blogger.com (Snarky the Moonbat) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 07:06:00 +0000

So, I was sitting around the other day and I realized that I hadn't written anything worth reading for quite awhile, and I felt faintly disgusted with myself. And then I wondered why.

As it turns out, sometimes we write for others, sometimes for ourselves, and sometimes for the sheer bloody pleasure of it. I have not been writing for my own pleasure for quite a long time, and that is sad.

The thing is, life is short enough without doing stuff that other people think we ought to do and have fun with. If we give into the Siren Song of Shuddah, we end up writing crap that no one wants to read anyway, and end up where I was...wondering where the Muse trotted off to.

Well. My Muse is an imp, a trickster, and he has a really warped sense of humor. He is not kind to people who do not deserve it, and he has a tendency to drop banana peels in the most entertaining places. He is full-tilt bozo, an inveterate moonbat, and, as it turns out, I have the most fun writing when I channel him and let him bang on my keyboard.

The Snark is back. Send the kids out of the room.

The Black Screen of Death

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 03:26:00 +0000

Isn't it supposed to be blue?

Either way, it's dead. My screen currently reads:

Windows could not start because the folliwng file is missing or corrupt:
\WINDOWS\SYSTEM32\CONFIG\SYSTEM

The Latest AP Genius

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 23:28:00 +0000

Analysis: Liberals tired of health care compromise (AP)
AP - Frustrated liberals have a question for President Barack Obama and Democratic lawmakers: Isn't it time the other guys gave a little ground on health care? What's the point of a bipartisan bill, they ask, if we're making all the concessions?

Hey, here's a thought: If the Republicans don't want what you're proposing AT ALL, then giving in to some pressure from the public isn't a concession to the Republicans.

But otherwise it's a great paragraph.

I've grown to detest the Associated Press.

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 04:00:00 +0000

Yes, the news is biased, blah, blah, blah.

It's still the news and it's not all bad.

But the AP has really lost the plot. Their news alerts automatically pop up when I open Yahoo! mail. I can't avoid reading the headlines.

Bonkers, those guys. They met Bias, whispered sweet nothings to Bias, coronated Bias, had Biases children.

The latest is hilariously bad. But at least it's good journalism, right Ms. Lane?

(Sorry, couldn't make the image any bigger. The headline reads, "Obama invokes grandmother's death in health debate."

AP-Now, it's personal.)

Nature Shows

noreply@blogger.com (JEB) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 04:54:00 +0000

Is there such a thing as a nature show that doesn't paint humans as the great white devil? I actually really like to watch these shows for my own personal enjoyment and because they are interesting to a five year old and you don't have to cover their eyes or shoo them from the room. But they are always laced with so much animosity towards humans that I find myself having to deprogram my five year old after each viewing.

Right wing rant aside, did anyone know that, while it was once thought that ne'er the twain should meet, a few years ago, DNA tests on a dead white bear that had brown markings, found that it had one polar bear parent and one grizzly bear parent. Saw that on "Arctic Bears" on PBS the other day.

Strange Wonder

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 01:41:00 +0000

Guilt and cocktails.

I think that was nothing less than a brilliant answer from elphaba. I've thought about it a lot and chuckled to myself.

Motherhood is guilt and cocktails: Everything that is hard and self-defeating over and against everything that is sweet and liberating.

Amazing the amount of guilt a five month old can produce without even knowing it.

I didn't put him down in time. I put him down too soon. He's been hungry all this time? I think I'm overfeeding him. I wish he'd sleep; he needs it. Why is he sleeping so much? I'm not spending enough face time with it. His little brain needs lots of stimulation; I'll put him in his exersaucer. He's been in his exersaucer too long; I should be holding him.

But oh the sweetness! I can't kiss him enough or hold him too long. I wish I could stroke his face for hours, or nurse him without interruption or distraction. When he holds my finger and looks at my eyes and whispers the sweet, meaningful gasps of joy--oh, that it would never end.

But it does, and I can't stop it.

I needed help to understand. How could I hold on and let go? Why must the joy have such a sting? I hunted down Lewis' Weight of Glory to help.

What more, you may ask, do we want? … We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it...That is why the poets tell us such lovely falsehoods. They talk as if the west wind could really sweep into a human soul; but it can't...Or not yet.

For if we take the imagery of Scripture seriously, if we believe that God will one day give us the Morning Star and cause us to put on the splendour of the sun, then we may surmise that both the ancient myths and the modern poetry, so false as history, may be very near the truth as prophecy.

At present...We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.

Wednesday Morning, the Sky over Aberdeen

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 17:37:00 +0000

The heavens looked like they were trying to touch the earth.

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 03:49:00 +0000

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson

I am a Mom. Far Out.

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Mon, 11 May 2009 00:04:00 +0000

Last week I was in the card aisle at our local grocer's. As I stood there, scanning the racks for Mother's Day cards, pushing the cart back and forth in an effort to keep my little boy asleep, I had one of those incredibly silly moments.

I am a mother.

No longer just a daughter, just a granddaughter, just a daughter in law, this day was for me now, too. I was shopping for a card, but sharing in the experience, wishing for others what I hadn't thought about wishing for myself.

I, a mother? Thirty-two years of giving handmade cards, "coupons" for back rubs, flowers, and chocolate and suddenly I was thrust behind the sacred veil myself.

Oh, God, make me worthy of the name.

Convenient To?

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 19:17:00 +0000

That phrase is a real head-scratcher for me. I see this quite a bit in remarks for homes for sale.

"This home is convenient to a local park." Or "dining room is convenient to sun room."

Does "convenient to" work alone in a sentence? It strikes me as incorrect; like there are words missing.

What do you think?

"Oh Ha, Ha, Real Funny, Guys"

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 21:33:00 +0000

So someone at CraigsList is a comedian. Is that not the longest verification word EVER?

Is anyone paying attention yet?

noreply@blogger.com (Snarky the Moonbat) — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 21:43:00 +0000

It has to be blindingly obvious to anyone who is paying the least bit of attention to the news these days that the media is still in the tank for the President. Over the course of his still young presidency, he has produced gaffe after gaffe, error after blunder after botch, and still the cheering section praises his calm demeanor and his cool temperament. He is challenged by the Russians and backs down. He is fronted by the Iranians and nothing much happens. AIG executives get bonuses, and he is shocked, shocked that such a thing could occur, even though the bill that authorized it was shoved through at his behest. He considers taxing employee benefits to pay for universal health care and industry (cap and trade) to fund his various green power boondoggles, and is amazed when anyone objects to raising taxes in the midst of an economic deluge.

Contemplating his endless talking down of the economy in the interest of maintaining a crisis to pass his pet projects gives me heartburn. Let me simply point out that the few things necessary to actually clear the economic debris (suspending mark to market accounting, for one, would help immeasurably) left by the housing implosion remain undone in the interest of tightening regulations on the entire economy and finding scapegoats for the ongoing mess.

So why not just say it? As early along as this is, it is absolutely apparent that this Administration is woefully ill-prepared for the job at hand, and has the arrogance and moral certitude of a modestly educated teenage boy. And if the First Lady is to be believed, the boy and his friends are already partying hearty in the family quarters above the shop.

I have already pointed out to anyone who will listen (and a few who manifestly refuse to pay attention) that this current crowd is beginning to remind me eerily of the Carter Administration. The part that scares me the most is this: President Carter is looking much the better executive in comparison.

Progressive Tidying

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 13:33:00 +0000

True, I am a natural neat freak. Not quite as bad as Monica Geller but I do love to clean. Getting rid of dirt is so satisfying. Now you see it. Now you don't.

But I am not wonder woman. It's hard to keep a house truly clean, let alone tidy.

Here's the secret of my success: I do it in stages. Let's face it, tidying up is mostly about moving something from one room to another. You do NOT have enough time to do this every day. So move it someplace closer first.

Anything outside our bedroom door goes someplace else in the house.For example, when we've stockpiled a few DVDs in our room (Between morning sickness and breastfeeding baby, we've spent a lot of time on our bed watching movies over the past ten months!), I'll set them outside our bedroom door.

Things that need to go downstairs end up on the kitchen table or on the top stair. If it's going in the trash or into the car, it's by the back door. You get the idea.

Piles are great. Reduce them as you go.

It sounds simple, but if you're not a cleaning type person, I suspect it's not. You probably get overwhelmed with piles.

Second Youth

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 02:08:00 +0000

Becoming a mother has had the strange and unexpected effect of producing a youthful vulnerability in me. Especially those first few weeks, I carried around a sense of awe, curiosity and joy mixed with a deep need to do what I need to do for my son but realizing I might not know how.

He breastfed the first time, within an hour of birth. It was easy. The next day he wouldn't, and I was pacing the floor, half-dressed, doing everything I could before the RN came in and intervened. In almost any other circumstance I would have found this humiliating. Now, I was just relieved.

Walking to the car, arriving home with a tiny bundle I would call my own, I depended on everyone for everything, while my son depended on me. I could give him the two things he needed most: nourishment and the comfort of love. Others could give me direction and support.

His eyes crusted over every morning. Mom showed me how to hold him over the sink, run warm water and rinse from the inside out. They were clogged tear ducts, so common in newborns but terrible to see.

I would forget to burp him after nursing, and he would cry. I was gently reminded.

Childbirth had been painful and terrifying and I was on a regular regime and Ibuprofen, Extra Strength Tylenol and stool softeners. My husband helped me keep track of what I should be taking and when. Mom pushed the water. "You have to drink a lot of fluids while you're breastfeeding." Who knew?

My sister and her six month old son showed up, brimming with smiles. With her example, I was reminded that babies aren't merely for putting down and lulling to sleep. They're for nurturing.

Every cry would bring me running. Conscious that I was doing it and trying to restrain myself, I would hover while others held him.

His wheezing was enough to stop my heart.

It's a wonder he ever slept as much as I peeked in on him. One night he slept longer than usual. I woke up, seized with fear and prayed that God would give me grace for whatever I found when I walked the foot and a half to his cradle to check on him. I resorted to waking him up and bringing him to bed with me!

I know that long-time mothers will relate to some of these stories and maybe chuckle. It's that knowledge that makes me feel so young and insecure in a way I don't recall feeling much before. The surprise is, always the self-confident woman, I'm not ashamed of my lack of surety. I am doing what so many have done before me; feeling my way through parenthood, half-blind but always seeing.

Except I feel like a kid while I'm doing it.

Our Parents Were Right

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 14:33:00 +0000

I do understand now. Oh, do I.

Do's and Don'ts 2009, Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (elphaba) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 23:01:00 +0000

Do
purchase and consume Horizon Organic Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup ice cream.

Don't
neglect to update your child's "in case of emergency" outfit at daycare to reflect the current size of said child resulting in a very, very dire crop top situation.

One Week Ago Today

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 05:35:00 +0000

My life changed.

Now I am awash in

tiny socks
wet onesies
soothies
blankets
Lansinoh
irrational fears
sighs
wonder
joy.

What's Worse?

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 21:16:00 +0000

Making preparations for an induction, then getting your induction re-scheduled twice due to a doctor's illness?

OR

Picking up a message at 2:30 in the afternoon that your doctor left at 9:00 in the morning saying she was feeling better and would we like to come in before noon for the induction?

My Favorite Pregnancy Picture

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 04:45:00 +0000

What is "Natural?"

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 01:38:00 +0000

A couple of things have gotten me thinking about this. One is, not surprisingly, labor and delivery. The other is the Little House on the Prairie books that I finished re-reading this month.

Like a lot of Americans, I've become more inclined to think well of products labeled "all natural" and usually for good reason. While "organic" is so overused it borders on absurd, "all natural" usually indicates no preservatives or no added hormones or generally less crap. I'm pro whole wheat and I vote.

Of course, in the 1880s you didn't have the options that we do today. Your food was organic because you either grew it yourself or you bought it from the guy who did. Food was carefully caught or harvested and carefully stored. They weren't processing the heck out of everything and there was no throwing away leftovers in Styrofoam boxes. Things were all natural by default.

The problem is, to paraphrase Bart Simpson, nature is a hideous bitch goddess. Like us, she is corrupted. What was good and pure is compromised.

Take the Rocky Mountain Locusts that extended their breeding ground into the Great Plains in the 1880s, devestating millions of acres of homesteaders' crops. Two competing "natural" forces collided: man, tilling the ground to produce food for survival and a bunch of hungry grasshoppers.

The Earth has always been meant to produce food for man (whereas we could argue about whether or not man was meant to hunt to survive), so in an important sense, farming is natural. So, too, do locust have to eat, and they frequently travel in swarms, so it was completely "natural" for them to migrate east for more food.

... A cloud was over the sun. It was not like any cloud they had ever seen before, wrote Laura Ingalls Wilder in "On the Banks of Plum Creek."

There was no wind. The grasses were still and the hot air did not stir, but the edge of the cloud came across the sky faster than the wind...

The Cloud was hailing grasshoppers. The cloud was grasshoppers. Their bodies hid the sun and made darkness. Their thin, large wings gleamed and glittered. The rasping whirring of their wings filled the whole air and they hit the ground and the house with the noise of a hailstorm.

They ate everything that was green and good; every leaf, every ear of corn. They ruined Pa's crop, and then they laid their eggs for a frightening reprise.

Au naturale.

It is no wonder we developed pesticides. Man, unlike beasts, can develop artificial means to protect itself against predators or the elements. Isn't that a kind of natural?

The truth is, we don't know precisely what nature should look like, only what it does. And sometimes it ain't pretty.

All creation groans Scripture says. Not unlike a woman during childbirth I suspect. In anticipation. Agony and beauty wonderfully, horrifically, inexplicably entwined until the end comes.

This is why we need thoughtful people to wrestle with questions of medicine and science. We are not called to conquer nature, but sometimes we have to try to temper her awful power--not because we can but because she is imperfect too.

And I will go easier on women who opt for comfort measures during childbirth. What is natural is not always good.

So it's Saturday Night

noreply@blogger.com (girlfriday) — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 04:30:00 +0000

And today mom and I did a bunch of walking. The baby dropped and I have been having contractions off and on. It is amazing how, at this point, you're saying "Bring on the pain" because it's been nine long months of vomit, indigestion, heartburn, joint pain and anticipation.

Women I trust suggest that nine months of pregnancy is God's way of preparing us for the trial of child birth.

Sorry, there won't be any pictures.

Since I've been having contractions off and on this evening, I felt the need to tie up all those loose ends. Valentine's Day Dinner tickets for the Newman Center. Press releases and event calenders are working. Downloading Skype for my family's sake. Updating Facebook.

I'm telling the baby not to worry, to hang in there. There's only one way out of this!!!

The Snap Heard 'Round The World

noreply@blogger.com (elphaba) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 02:36:00 +0000

Chapter 1

It seemed normal enough. I had arrived in my classroom portable (via the front door) a couple of minutes after the first bell rang and made a bee line for the back door to let my shivering students enter after their morning hug. After the first wave of students were in the room getting settled in for the morning I made my way to my desk and started focusing on the teaching tasks for the day.

What happened next was so fast and chaotic, I didn't know who had let out the first cry, but what I heard bleating from my students' mouths was.....RRAAAAATTT!!! Pointing, jumping, scurrying of wee claws, disappearing into ceiling tiles, scratching, long tail, RAT!!
I didn't actually see it....thank the lord...but I heard it. My imagination filled the details in more than sufficiently enough for my tastes.
Of course you should know, or at the very least be informed, that my students' attention was completely shot for the day. I might has well have been trying to teach a porcupine to bake a cake. As each new student came in the room the story had to be told anew. It was a foot long! It was two feet long! It crawled up the extension cord! It's living in our ceiling! It should be our class mascot!
District maintenance was promptly contacted and on their way. My students were going to be working in the adjoining classroom that morning, anyway, so Wilton, the pest guy, could do his thing. He pulled me aside after having scoped out the situation and said that is was not good. It was more than one or two rats....there were feces everywhere. Awesome.

Chapter 2

After Wilton had done all he could do, which included setting different kinds of traps on the floor and in the ceiling, we resumed our routine and began their "Book Clubs." They chatted for a few minutes as they discussed the book and then all fell silent as they dug into the next chapter.

"SNAP!!" We all jerked to attention and listened and watched as the rat, for all we could hear and see, was thrashing, squeaking and scratching for his life. I froze waiting for the worst. Was this hairy bastard going to fall from the sky in the steely grip of the rat trap?? Oh Holy Moses!! The rat, so far, was staying on his side of the ceiling tiles.
My students knew what to do. Most of them ran screaming from the room. Was this actually happening?

They ran right into the building for lunch - thankfully it was our time.
After their goldfish and sandwiches, the assistant principal, hearing all about Ratgate '09 from my charges, decided to scope things out for himself and make sure there were no "live ones" in our rafters.
We returned from lunch and he was poking the ceiling tiles with a meter stick. I point to where we heard "the snap," he pokes it and, KA THUD! The rat is there, he is still dead and his is still giving me a major case of the heebee jeebees.
We left the room and learned about fractions in an alternative, rat free location.

I will never watch Ratatouille again.

I must return to my room, but I don't know if I can take it if.........SNAP!

How was your day?