Yes, there was another post here.
It was whiny and petty and passive-agressive and it’s gone now.
Solve my problems for me please, dear readers.
1. A former intern has asked me to be a professional reference for her. Quite frankly, she was a complete flake. Very nice, but very flakey. Promised things and didn’t deliver them, didn’t listen to feedback, couldn’t write her way out of a paper bag… you get the picture. I did a lot of the work on the project that was supposedly her responsibility. My former boss, when asked for advice on what to tell her, said “boy, I’m glad I was on maternity leave for most of the time she was her so I don’t have to deal with that one.” Do I:
a) Tell her I don’t think I’d be the best person for her to use as a reference for this field (I don’t think she has a lot of other people to turn to)
b) Say yes, and hope no one calls me. Be honest if they do.
c) Say, well I can certainly say you were enthusiastic (if nothing else) and hope she gets the picture.
2. One of the security guards at work, L., has told me that her niece and niece’s partner are going to Cape Cod to get legally married in a few weeks. They are super excited, have been busy planning a huge party at L.’s house when they get back, etc. etc. She’s thrilled for them and doesn’t understand why they can’t just get married here. I don’t understand either, but I think I’ve written about that before.
They live in New Jersey. It’s my understanding that MA will not marry out of state residents (if they’re gay). If her niece and partner are from a socio-economic background similar to L.’s, which I think they are, it’s entirely possible that they may not have access to the most current information regarding gay marriage in MA. Do I say something to L. about the fact that I’m not sure they’re going to be able to pull this off?
The topic was opposites. Young/old, big/small, good/evil, you name it.
I didn’t get a chance to shoot anything new, but I had fun looking back through my old photos. I came up with two contrasting hand pictures…
And some nice big/small, young/old from our trip to India:
I wore Pili’s ear out last night, bitching about a letter to the editor in the NY Times. Finally, I said: “Perhaps I should blog about this.” And she, eager to get back to the Escapes section, said, “Yes, perhaps you should.”
ASIDE: There is nothing that gets my dander up more than reading letters to the editor. At least the ones in the NY Times are well written, which is way more than I can say for our local paper, whose letters to the editor generally read something like this: “How dare you say bad things about our President?!? Dont you know we are at WAR????” There are terrorists and WMDS out there in Iraq and they want to kill US!”
In this letter to the Editor, a nurse expresses her opinion about IVF and stem cell research. In the end, we agree with each other. “The ethical and moral obligation,” she writes, “lies with saving lives, not saving potential lives.” Great. Fabulous. We agree.
In the middle of her letter, though, she opinionates about IVF.
“It is disingenuous to support in vitro fertilization,” she says, “and not support stem cell research. With in vitro fertilization, precious health care dollars
ART-SWEET: Whose health care dollars? This makes it sound like the government is paying for IVF, which g-d and our bank account both know is not the case
are spent creating embryos
ART-SWEET: here’s the part that had me spitting out my tasty organic grilled veggies in shock
to satisfy individuals’ selfish need for children who match their own DNA. There are so many adoptable children already born into this world that it seems immoral to create ‘adoptable embyros’.”
A CONFESSION: When Pili and I first started down this whole get us a kid route, I was of the sternest moral fiber. Anything beyond clomid was immoral, I thought. A waste of money given all the kids that need homes. Obviously, somewhere along the way, I changed my mind.
So what bothers me about this letter?
First of all, there’s the typical misunderstanding of adoption. The desire to physically bear children is much more complicated than simply a wish for children “who match our own DNA.” There’s the desire to nurture life within one’s own body – to have that essentially human physcial experience. To know one’s child from before he or she is even born. To control the environment – nutrition, chemical exposure, drug and alcohol exposure – of one’s child’s early formation. To raise a child who knows without a doubt where he or she came from, what his or her medical history is. Not to mention the desire to have a child without undergoing the financial and emotional scrutiny involved in adoption.
But what really gets under my skin is the idea that infertiles are expected, by virtue of the fact that our bodies have not cooperated with our dreams, to forswear those dreams as selfish – the means to fulfill them immoral since adoption is also an option.
Is it selfish for fertile folks to have one, two, three, four… sixteen kids? What about the healthcare costs that incurs? If they want large families, why shouldn’t they “just adopt”? I don’t hear her calling them selfish.
Bri, this is not your birthday post. It’s coming later, I promise. But if you’re reading this, go wish Bri a happy birthday anyway.
I’m placing this ad for my friend “Gonalfa.” She’s been living in our fridge for a while and is need of a new home ASAP.
Untouched but Hot-to-Trot Gonal-F Pen seeks willing infertile (US only please) cycling SOON (expires 8/06).
Please email me and tell me your story if you’re interested. I’ll run the answers by Gonalfa and get right back to you.
Not Good Enough to Wipe my Ass Bush:
Let me see if I’ve got this straight:
“Marriage is the most fundamental institution of civilization, and it should not be redefined by activist judges.”
But it’s okay for one activist president to overturn the will of the American people, as defined by their elected representatives – the will of the American people that their tax dollars should be used to fund research that could cure alzheimers, parkinsons, diabetes, and a host of other ailments – in order to protect the “life” of a handful of cells in a petri dish?
If we don’t use the four embryos sitting in the deep freeze right now, they’re going to medical research in the hopes of possibly improving the quality of life for me and millions of other living, breathing human beings. They’re not going to become some evangelical’s miracle snowflake baby. So let me and my elected representatives decide where to put our money and concentrate your limited energies on something you do well, like provoking frickin’ world war III in the Middle East.
White Hot With Rage,
I will be honest, since this is my blog. But if you’re pregnant, you might not want to keep reading. I would understand that.
Lots of folks in my little corner of the internet have gotten pregnant lately. They are filled with joy. They are looking forward without hesitation to the Baby that will Be. And you know what? Their Baby Will Be.
They will have doubling betas, beautiful fuzzy ultrasounds at which they clasp each other’s hands and gasp (clasp, gasp, aren’t I clever?) at the sound of their baby’s heartbeat. Nothing will go wrong for them. Why not? I don’t know why not. Maybe they were nicer to their mothers in a past life. Maybe they’re just not me. Maybe if I had just believed whole-heartedly that nothing would go wrong, if I had not allowed doubt to slip in, nothing would have gone wrong. Did I jinx it by allowing the possibility of wrongness to materialize in my mind – one small grain and then another and then another – like the elementary school science experiment of sugar crystals on a thread?
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t in the least begrudge them their good karma. I just wish it extended to me. Perhaps the very fact that I can’t just be happy for them without a reflex kick of self-pity and self-doubt is indicative of the starter crystal that sent our baby astray?
As excited as I am about the potential of Guatebaby, I just can’t get these thoughts out of my head.
I can almost hear the gentle, rational voice of my father in my head, telling me statistics, reminding me of the joys of my life, trying to convince me these things don’t happen because of me. And I don’t know what scares me more. Random crap luck, or the idea that I make my own luck and that luck is bad.
Ms./Mr. Groundhog (I wasn’t getting close enough to those claws to find out whether he was a she or she was a he. Plus s/he smelled terrible.) has been released into the woods, off the aptly named “Woodchuck Hill Road.” My neighbors may hate me, but my garden thanks me. One down, two to go.
Very clean house, because Mrs. Vaseline Teeth came over today and did the home visit! She seemed very pleased with the house, with my peppermint ice tea and zucchini bread, and with the cats, and was her general agreeable non-questioning self.
Thanks to the wonders of laptops and wireless internet, I blog all over the house.
I blog in bed. With (from L to R) the laptop, the fan (because it’s damn hot), Bart, Pili’s knees, and Idli.
I blog in my office. Pili and I share an office; I have this cute little alcove at the south end of the room. Go to flickr to see all the commentary on this one.
And in the winter I can frequently be found blogging in front of the fire.
Note the happy hanukkah lights!