Random Musings of the Enceinte #0004: 24/7 Feeding Machine

Well, my embargo against morning sickness seems to be holding, but there's another digestive-type problem: food insatiability. Never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I am sick of eating. I am sick of food. This blasted blastocyst demands food 24/7. She does not care if I am working, or driving, or SLEEPING. It's Feed Me Feed Me Feed Me. Ever since this whole person-growing thing started I've had to get up in the middle of the night and have a bowl of cereal (high-fiber, high-protein, low-sugar, she smugly informs you ), but the past few nights..three times she's getting me up. I am sick of cereal. I tried to appease her Saturday night with a cup of warm almond milk. Nope. An hour later, more demands. And you would think that with this new food schedule I'd have gained a ton of weight. I have gained some, but not near the amount I would have gained had I eaten like this pre-pregnancy. So what's going on? Is it twins?

That'd be kinda cool.

Combine this with my half-dozen nocturnal trips to that thing that flushes, and you've got my reason for blog slowdown. I'm EXHAUSTED. As if I wasn't tired enough recovering from last week's cold.

Damn it! I've got to go eat again.

Is this normal?

Note to Readers: The Library

I have been, bit by bit, updating The Library to reflect what I am reading and what I have read this year. Just so's ya know.

TV: Cagney & Lacey, Pt. 2

I've finished Season 1 (with erstwhile Cagney Meg Foster, she was growing on me). It was like riding in a time machine! I am big fan of the police procedural. and have spent many happy hours with Olivia Benson, Brenda Leigh Johnson, Kima Greggs, et al. Becoming acquainted with Dets. Cagney and Lacey for the first time from this vantage point...WILD!

An epi on domestic violence.  C&L respond to a call where a little girl is standing on a rooftop ledge of a 14-story building. Lacey rescues her with her particular superpower, Mommy Genius, and the kid won't say a word, for hours. They release a photo and then the kid's grandma calls, the next day, and tells them where the kid lives. So, they take the kid home and leave her with her spooky weird vibe family, very few questions asked. The questions not asked: why didn't you report her missing? why is a six y.o. hanging out on the ledge? why won't you let your wife answer any questions. As they leave the apartment Lacey asks Cagney, Did that seem weird to you? Cagney: Nope.

I won't spoil the rest of the story for you, except to add that when C&L go see the department shrink to help them get a read on the situation, he tells them that their experience as women has made them too sensitive and over-likely to suspect abuse.

The show has a very realistic vibe, so all I have to go on is to think that their consultants kept things pretty true, but...did women detectives really conduct police work in skirts and heels (even though loose and short, respectively)? And I'm not talking about Benson-type chunky heels. I mean the kind that I would not want to pound the pavement in. And, note: Deputy Chief Johnson does not pound the pavement, so don't throw her back to me as an example.

I was not expecting the ongoing love affair that is the marriage of the Laceys. It kinda reminds me of my own domestic semi-bliss. How adorable is Harv? And how gorgeous are those kids?

The last epi of Season 1 has C&L protecting a Phyllis Schlafly-like character who's receiving threatening phone calls and stalkings, etc. The ERA! How did that not pass? But on the other hand, it's kinda good to know I can't be drafted. The look on the anti-feminist's face when Lacey uses her Mommy Genius to apprehend the stalker is priceless, and no more needed to be said.

I gotta say, it's nourishing to a pop culturist's soul to watch a show that relies solely on excellent writing, acting and directing. No sensationalism, no gizmos (they didn't even have cell phones? How is that possible?), nobody is impossibly gorgeous and well-dressed, no gory details (CSI, I hate you!)....   It's like one of Harv's home-cooked meals. (I'm pregnant and constantly starving, so expect frequent references to meals over the next few months.)

TV: Cagney & Lacey, Pt. 1

Cagney & Lacey is one of those classic shows I've always meant to watch. Tyne Daly! Groundbreaking! Crimes to solve! I'm home sick, so yesterday I started watching. The first thing I noticed was that Sharon Gless was not in it. This is interesting, so a little bit of research was in order. Meg Foster played Christine Cagney for the first season, which was six episodes, eventually replaced for being a bit too butch. God, that must have pissed her off, especially with all the acclaim the show eventually went to garner. She'd not be considered butch at all by today's standards, and even if she were....We've come a long way, baby. Also, what a risky move (unless the backlash gave the producers cover), to replace the actor for an established character? I'm only on Ep. 3, but I'm very curious to see how this transition goes. Foster had great chemistry with Daly.

Something else to notice. In Ep. 3, the issue is a murdered Guatemalan teenager brought over illegally by a coyote. Cagney and Lacey have a tiny argument about illegals taking jobs. (I guess this was when Americans actually wanted those jobs?) And someone gives a statistic about 2,000 illegals entering NYC every week. If that figure was true, and held true, that's 3 million over the last 30 years.

Speaking of 30 years...wow! It is so cool to watch this time capsule. More later....

Actual Book Review: We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver

This is cheating. :D.  I wrote this review a long time ago. (Note: I use the term "review" loosely.) I've got piles of 'em. So, let's go with a motherhood theme for the next little while.

Feb. 6, 2010. Damn. This is one of the most frightening, frustrating books I've ever read. I'm a thirty-something woman planning motherhood, and Stephen King couldn't have scared me more. 

Why: This book gets a lot of praise, and I've loved the other books by Shriver that I've read.

This happily-married 37-year-old career woman has a baby because her husband wants one, and she resents the intrusion into her life. Whatever. That could be a million people. Some readers think that she's so horrible because she's cold to her uncuddly little sociopath Kevin from the beginning. I think she should have drowned him in the bathtub.

But, anyway, Shriver sure knows how to wield a pen so that the ink gets under your skin. The story just draws you in further, and the horror quotient creeps up as Kevin gets older and his mother grows increasingly powerless. His father's willful ignorance gets more and more alarming, and I just want to scream at the main character: Run, Eva, run!

Exceptionally well-done. A few flaws. I found the ending a bit implausible, but maybe not. It's very thought-provoking, but I don't want to provide spoilers.

As a nice tie-in, I found this article by Shriver re unlikeable characters on Slate this morning. (This is legal, right?)


Today's comments:


I once told my neighborhood bartender that the most controversial word in the English language (besides "God," probably) is "mother." Kevin lends validity to my theory. This book is, at base, about what we can expect from mothers, and what mothers expect of themselves. This isn't a book about the father, although he's there the whole time, too. Shriver said that it would have been irresponsible for her to have written the book if she had children.  I've pondered that. Does she mean that if her children ever read such a story by their own mother...yeah, I get it now.


Back to controversy. Ask ten different people about Kevin's mom and her part in making a sociopath and you'll get probably six different answers, at least. From what I gathered on LibraryThing chat boards, my opinion is a bit in the minority. But I don't really see why: absent extreme abuse, which did not occur--no abuse occurred, on the part of the parents anyway--, Kevin's extreme actions are his own.  And if maternal ambivalence can create a school shooter, we'd all have had one in our high schools.


So, really, what did Eva do that was so terrible? Full disclosure: my own mother is not a bit maternal, and look how well I turned out ;-)


UPDATE: I watched the trailer for the upcoming Kevin movie.  It look awesome, but I don't know if I'll be able to watch it. It would be like reading the book again, but worse, in a way. I got creeped out from two minutes of snaps and clips. How could I take a prolonged narrative? So torn.

Random Musings of the Enceinte #0003: Ramblings of a Former Erstwhile Crazy Person

I feel like a crazy person, and this is not cool. You know why? Because I have worked very hard on not being a crazy person. I was a crazy person, and I thought that one of the perks of becoming a grown-up (a real one, like Suze Orman, or my friend Jeanette) was that I would no longer have to be a crazy person. I wouldn't have to get my feelings hurt over imagined slights: since I'm not crazy, I give people the benefit of the doubt and recognize that the world does not revolve around me.  I wouldn't have to review, and re-review, every bad decision of the last two decades because I know that we cannot change the past and I have learned to appreciate the present. Right?

Wrong. I am now a crazy person. And the worst part about this sort of crazy is that I can feel the crazy as separate from my normal thought processes. I am watching the emotions from...well, as much distance as you can get inside your own head, and I am saying to myself, Hmm, haven't felt that emotion in a long while. What is that? Insecurity? Geez. Wonder what's causing that, cuz nothing has happened to make me feel that way.

It's almost like I'm faking it, but I'm not because if I were faking it I could stop faking it. These feelings are chemical! They don't have a cause that needs to be addressed!

So. Now what?

Random Musings of the Enceinte #0002: What Would Tina Fey Do?

I left work early on Friday to sleep. I slept all weekend. I am still sleepy. This is outrageous! I am actually sick of sleeping. But that doesn't keep me from looking forward to lunchtime when I plan to have a nap. I think I can make the car real cozy for this sort of thing. My house is only 10 minutes from my office, but I'm thinking that's 20 minutes that I could be sleeping.

Seriously? How hard is it to build a placenta? It's not like building the Pyramids. Is it?

If I seem incoherent, that's because I am. I also managed to watch the entire Season 3 of 30 Rock. Netflix instant streaming is my new best friend. But of course, while I'm watching all I can think is, how did Tina Fey do this while she was pregnant? Maybe I should ask her. Wonder if she's on Facebook.

Writer, You Are Far Too Effective

I was just on Goodreads' Listopia, which is crack for a tech-savvy bookworm btw, and was playing on the list about books you've read at least twice. That got me thinking about another kind of book: The book that was absolutely amazing, searing, a true literary achievement...and which you will never read again, because it was just too damned traumatizing. Truthfully, you don't even want to think about it. Here's mine. Please tell me yours.

1984 - George Orwell
We Need to Talk About Kevin - Lionel Shriver
Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro
Bastard Out of Carolina - Dorothy Allison
Carrie - Stephen King (this is when I made the decision not to read any Stephen King that is strictly horror. I can read The Eyes of the Dragon or Dolores Claiborne, but not The Shining.)

I am sure there are others, but it is possible they have been blocked out.

Literary Drive-By #00002: Mr. Woodhouse

Am I alone in finding Mr. Woodhouse, Emma's father, one of the most annoying characters in literature? Not amusing like Mrs. Bennet or Mrs. Dashwood, but just...I wish I could just scream, Shut up and eat your frickin' gruel! Well, I supposed I could scream that, but I don't think he would hear me, and if he did he'd probably just faint, which come to think about it, would shut him up. But it's a moo point.*

I'd rather hang out with Marianne and Elinor's sister-in-law than Mr. Woodhouse. But I don't suppose Miss Austen would care much for my opinion. It is the first time in my reading of Austen that I wished she'd cut some words. Feels sacrilegious, like criticizing Oprah.

*I prefer the usage of "moo" to "moot," from future classic sitcom Friends, in which dim bulb Joey says, "It's like a cow's opinion. It just doesn't matter. It's moo."

Random Musings of the Enceinte #0001: On Being Cissexual

I am convinced that this child is a girl. I am so convinced that I am afraid that if it is, in fact, a boy, I am at this moment transgendering it with my belief. Not to be overly cissexual-normative, but being transgendered  seems really difficult, and dangerous....so sue me if I'd rather have a cissexual child. If you are transgendered and you are still reading this, I think you ought to give me points for knowing the word "cissexual." But I know you won't because that would be like me giving you points for knowing the word "African-American." No...that's not right. For knowing the word....damn it! I can't think of a sufficiently esoteric and politically-charged word to describe myself. I am soooo cissexual.

:D

OMG! I have followers! Is a follower anything like a minion? I've always wanted minions. Hmmm. Maybe that's why I'm starting a family...I can minionize the children and they won't even realize what's happening. I've tried to minionize my husband and it has turned out quite poorly. He keeps grumbling something about autonomous beings. What a drag.

Literary Drive-By #00001: I'm Going to Die! One Day.

LDB No. 1: I had this dream of writing detailed, in-depth literary reviews for this blog. But that's just not me. I can do it every now and then, but not every day. So, now I have another dream: The Literary Drive-By. Since a single day can find me reading anywhere from one to, say, four or five books, and my brain operates more like a hopped-up gangsta than a patient, disciplined sniper assassin, the drive-by is a good model for sharing my literary life.

No further ado.

I'm going to die! This is what His Holiness the Dalai Lama told me yesterday in the audio book, Becoming Enlightened, and I swear it's the best news I've heard in some time (other than the whole enceinte thing of course). I was just as surprised as you that it had this effect on me. As I was kind of half-sleeping (very comfortably) in bed last night, I kept having the thought: I'm going to die! Me, yours truly, citygirl, is going to die one day! Let me tell you something: it was, and is, intensely joyful and liberating. Now before you chalk me up as some foggy depressive (sometimes true) with suicidal tendencies (not at all true), let me give you a little context. HHtDL says that our problems come from viewing this life as permanent and told me in no uncertain terms yesterday as I was driving that I, indeed, was going to exit this life at some point. No matter how much I ignored this fact it was not going to go away. It is inevitable. Therefore, he suggested that I face my own mortality. Now, of course, I was aware, before I heard this, of a rumor going around that human beings, every single one, is born, lives, and then...dies, vampire lore notwithstanding. And I gave this rumor a lot of credence. In my experience, several people that I have known personally have, in fact, died. But the much larger majority of my acquaintance is still living, so it is not a proven fact, just a likely theory. And, vaguely, I was aware that most intelligent people would agree that I, citygirl, would probably die some time in the future, and I guess I also subscribed to this theory, but truthfully, I'd avoided thinking too much about it. Don't we all? I mean, other people die and are going to die, but not us. Right? It's really kind of inconceivable. But yesterday, I learned, with certainty that I am going to die...one day.

The relief was, and is, intense. My whole perspective shifted, for the better. Now that I know that I am going to die, I am soooo excited about living! Like right now, I am at work, and I could be playing addictive, smart-making Asian logic games (you have got to try Hashi) or fondling my virtual books on their virtual bookshelves (LibraryThing and Goodreads) as a way of avoiding the paper debris on my desk, but no, I am WRITING! The thing I am usually miserable about not doing, and I am doing it. Why? Because I am going to die one day, so if I'm going to get any writing in, I had better do it while I'm alive. I mean, I don't know how Tupac does it, but I think posthumous creative activity is beyond my abilities.

So have a great day! And, if you want to feel good, try contemplating your mortality. Mazel tov.

Reading List

Btw, the Reading List has gone bust. More on that later.

Enceinte: Things Change

Enceinte. Most probably you know the story about how the censors wouldn't let anyone on the cast of I Love Lucy say the word "pregnant" when Lucy Ricardo was carrying Little Ricky, so the French word enceinte was substituted.

Undoubtedly it is more appropriate for a somewhat prissy (but never prudish) citygirl to be enceinte than preggo, pg, knocked up (though I kind of like that one), with child (how Virgin Mary), in a delicate condition, in trouble, in a family way (ugh). And please, no effing buns in any effing ovens. If I want to bake, I'll bake! (I don't bake.)

So, the point is: the focus of this blog is going to change a bit, which is fine, because I was way too precious about it before, so precious that I hardly ever blogged. Not to worry. Gory details will be limited, not only because it is rude to blog about them, but also because I am squeamish and will be trying to avoid them myself.

Reading List, Wherefore Art Thou Created?

Since my toddlerescence, when I spontaneously began reading (according to family lore; of course I don't remember), I have had at least one book on me at all times, in case of emergency, and a pile of them in the spots of my usual be-ness. For years I read pretty much willy-nilly, sauf class-assigned tomes. (More on that later or somewhere else.) Whatever caught my eye or my fancy. I reread a lot in childhood and pre-adolescence (I think it's  a trait of the age; you want to re-capture, or something.) Partial to Judy Blume and Paula Danziger and the ever-satisfying Harriet the Spy and the strangely fascinating Diary of a Young Girl by the posthumous Anne Frank. (Who doesn't try to fall asleep by pretending to be in hiding from the Nazis and therefore lying absolutely still so as not give away one's presence? It doesn't work.)


For years and years I read whatever I damned well felt like. Fortunately my tastes improved over the years. I don't mean that Blume et al. were not worthwhile, they were; I mean that before I knew better I read things like Judith Krantz and James Patterson, not exclusively--there was also Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Toni Morrison and Milan Kundera among many others. 


Then a funny thing happened during my first year in law school: one day I found that I just couldn't read crap writing anymore. Where once I might have turned to Danielle Steel in a fit of desperation, that was no longer an option. I didn't turn to a steady diet of lofty tomes, but even the escapist writing had to be done well. I suppose everyone has mixed feelings about her law school experience, but I can unequivocally say that at the very least it did my reading a favor.


And I was still reading what I damned well pleased. 


In 2007 my life changed forever. I discovered LibraryThing, a reader's dream. If you're a reader,  check it out. I won't go into the ecstasies to be had right now, but I will say that Tim Spalding (founder, developer) is a jeeeeeeeen-yuss of probably the first order, if there are orders of genii. In 2007 I started logging my reading; attempts in the past had been unsuccessful. And I learned of thousands of books that I just had to read. LT has a place to catalog your wish list and I was able to follow the reading of others with the same tastes and interests. There was whole world of authors about whom I knew nothing. No more aimlessly wandering bookstores, wondering if the $15 dollar investment will be worth it. My addiction to LT precipitated a three-year long book-buying spree. A particular delight was finding the best books at the lowest prices (thank you, Amazon, and library book sales everywhere).  And of course I bought the books way faster than I could read them, and newly-acquired books were often read before the older ones. 


Something had to give.


So, I compiled a list (which experiences changes from time to time, being a living list) of books that I had been dying to read or at least add to my literary mental database for a while now. The books are listed in the previous post.