Lawyerish

Books of 2011: Part Two

The books I read in the first half of the year are reviewed here.  I realize we're not at year-end, of course, but I've gotten through a bunch of books recently and wanted to blather on for a bit about what I thought of them.  As always, feel free to weigh in on anything you've read recently, too.

Ten Thousand Saints by Eleanor Henderson.  This got a lot of accolades in the press when it came out, but I didn't love it.  I can't place exactly what bothered me about it, and I did want to keep reading it so something about the characters and plot were reasonably compelling, but it didn't set me afire. 

Silver Girl by Elin Hilderbrand.  Total beach reading.  This novel is loosely based on the Madoff scandal and follows a fictionalized version of Madoff's wife as she escapes to Nantucket to get away from the press and all the foofaraw after her husband was arrested.  Some parts strained credulity or were kind of hackneyed, but overall I liked it.  I thought the characters were well-drawn and their emotional lives seemed both real and realistic. 

Daughters of the Revolution by Carolyn Cooke.  This was another one that got a fair amount of attention when it came out, and once again it didn't bowl me over.  I actually disliked this one even more than the other one; I kind of couldn't wait for it to be over.  The plot synopsis described the book as being about the first women to attend an elite, all-male private school in the 1960s.  It...wasn't really about that.  I can't even articulate what it was about, honestly.  I couldn't connect with the characters and sometimes I was like, wait, WHO are we talking about now?  What's going on?  Meh.

Imperfect Birds by Anne Lamott.  I have no idea why I have made it this far in life without reading Anne Lamott, but this book made me want to read everything she's ever written.  I realized after I finished it that this was the THIRD book in a series of three, and I HATE THAT.  I hate reading things out of order, and I think the Kindle Store needs to be much clearer about this sort of thing.  Like if you look at the synopsis, it should link you to the first two books in the trilogy so you can read them IN ORDER.  Sigh.  However, this did not dampen my enjoyment of this particular book.  It is just gorgeously written, and it's not trying too hard or being all complex for the sake of some grand literary idea.  It's just about people who seem as real as you and me.  And it made me DREAD the teenage years, for me and for Felicity.  Oh, dear.

Rosie by Anne Lamott.  Obviously, after reading the LAST book in the series (can you tell I am not over this yet?), I had to buy the first two, and this one, inexplicably, is not available on Kindle so I had to order a hard copy and SWEAT through the three days it took to arrive from Amazon.  It did not disappoint, though, and the only reason I didn't weep inconsolably when it was over was that I had one more Rosie book to go. 

Crooked Little Heart by Anne Lamott.  As you may have guessed, this is Book Two of the Rosie series.  It was also terrific.  I will say that Imperfect Birds was my favorite of the three, and I really hope that Lamott goes on to write more, because I miss these characters and want to see what happens with them next. 

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.  I KNOW.  I told you, I wanted to read the entire Anne Lamott canon, but I stopped after this one.  This is a book about writing, and I loved it.  Reading it felt like flopping onto the couch with Anne Lamott and having her pat your hand and say, "Listen.  Here's how it is to be a writer.  And you can do it."  I underlined a lot of it and laughed a bunch, and it made me realize that a lot of my hang-ups about writing are COMPLETELY normal and in fact almost universal to writers.  Though the difference, of course, is that writers actually WRITE, whereas I just dither about writing and tell myself I'm worthless.  So that's fun. 

This Year You Write Your Novel by Walter Mosley.  This writing how-to was a bit sterner, but it also had useful advice.  When I stop dithering and procrastinating, I'll have it nearby to consult as needed.

Still Missing by Chevy Stevens.  Oh, you guys.  I have very STRONG, and rather negative feelings about this book, so if you loved it, please skip to the next book -- we can agree to disagree!  It's cool.  I HATED the narrative voice and I HATED the ridiculous plot (especially the second half) and I HATED every character in it.  The concept seemed intriguing and suspenseful -- a woman gets kidnapped and taken to a remote cabin by this creepy dude -- but I just didn't believe any of it, from the way the narrator spoke to the way everything unfolded to the absurd plot twists.  The first third or so was kind of gripping, in the way that many books seem to be these days -- that is, the writing is not good and you're not 100% buying what's going on, but somehow there is something that keeps you turning the pages.  But after that I just kept reading so I could periodically exclaim, "Wait.  WHAT?  What the...WHAT?"  My RAGE kept me going.  And then when I was done I seethed with anger about how this book got culled from some literary agent's pile of submissions and made it all the way to publication and it is supposed to be SO HARD to get published.  (I believe you've heard me rant about this before.)  So. 

Maine by J. Courtney Sullivan.  This was what I would call intelligent beach reading; it's another novel that's exploring people and family dynamics and whatnot, but it's not going out of its way to be impressive with schmaltzy language or overly quirky characters.  It was writing without tricks, and I liked it.  However, I will say, and this is not really a spoiler as it's brought out early on, that I am growing a bit WEARY of books in which women become accidentally pregnant.  This happened in SEVERAL of the books reviewed here, and it's kind of a cliche at this point, and here in 2011 we have many effective methods of birth control, so ENOUGH ALREADY.  Find another way for female characters to discover something about themselves, mmmkay?

State of Wonder by Ann Patchett.  I LOVED LOVED LOVED this book.  I did not want it to end, possibly ever, and when I finished it I was bereft to have to leave those rich, believable, complex, flawed characters behind.  Swistle wrote an excellent review of this, which is what made me disregard the kind of lame book jacket synopsis of the plot and read it.  And I would highly recommend you do the same. 

Books of 2011: The First Six Months

I am always looking for new things to read, and I love getting people's quick summaries of what they've been reading -- yet I always forget to go on Goodreads, even though it's a terrific resource.  So I'm going to put this out there, in the hopes that it helps you find something to pull off the library shelf/upload to your e-reader this summer AND encourages you to comment and let me know what you've read lately that you've loved! 

Here's what I have read this year so far:

The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins:  I loved these books SO SO SO SO much.  I am actually STILL sad that I'm finished reading them, months later.  During the first book, at times I had to put it down or just look up for a moment or two because I was getting SO STRESSED by the intensity and suspense.  And the character development is great, much more so than something like the Twilight series -- I actually believed that these people could exist and that they would act they way they did in the book.  On the whole, a gripping read. 

Bitter in the Mouth by Monique Truong:  I liked this book, although it was pervaded by a sense of isolation and melancholy that was a little off-putting from time to time.  It's written as a modern Southern Gothic novel and the protagonist is a woman with synesthesia:  when she hears a word, she experiences a particular taste in her mouth.  I enjoyed it well enough, and there were some good surprises in the plot, but for some reason that I can't fully articulate, I didn't connect with the book completely.

At Home:  A Brief History of Private Life by Bill Bryson:  This was an interesting enough read and was written in Bryson's signature charming style.  It covered a lot of ground and revealed some curiosities about history that I hadn't previously known.  On the downside, at times it was a little disjointed, as he meandered from topic to topic -- I could imagine him researching one subject to the hilt and then happening upon a little-known fact and saying, "Oooh!  I'll delve into that next!" and so on, until he had a whole book. 

An Object of Beauty by Steve Martin:  I really, really liked this.  It's a take on the New York art world and to some degree a story about a young woman coming into her own after moving to the City (it was a happy coincidence that the main character moved to New York around the same time I did, so her experienced paralleled mine, at least time-wise).  The writing is deft and evocative, and the characters well-drawn and three-dimensional.  I was so surprised to sit there thinking, "Dude, Steve Martin wrote this."

Shopgirl by Steve Martin:  I adored the movie of this when it came out years ago, and the book was just as poignant, if not more so.  Again, Steve Martin somehow paints an astonishingly insightful and sympathetic portrait of a young girl in a big city.  If you've ever been in a relationship that you shouldn't have been, one in which you know you deserve better but don't have the fortitude to say so, this is a book that captures that point in a woman's life so well that it hurts to read it.

The Pleasure of My Company by Steve Martin.  Do you sense a streak here?  This one is about an isolated young man, who lives in Santa Monica and suffers from several forms of rather paralyzing anxiety.  As with the others, I thought it effectively created a unique character, without being heavy-handed.  It made me, at times, uncomfortable, because the experience of the main character was so realistically and sensitively portrayed. 

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua:  I wrote a whole post about this book -- in short, I liked it and didn't think Chua was as cray-cray as she came off in the press; but I thought it should have gone further in a lot of ways to explore the family relationships more.

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson:  A very light, quick read with characters I enjoyed getting to know.  There was a subplot that ended up being sort of the climax of the book that I wasn't sure was entirely necessary, but even that didn't detract from my overall enjoyment.

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls:  WHOA.  That is what I kept thinking to myself as I read this.  What a life Jeannette Walls has led, and to see where she ended up after the childhood that she had is truly astonishing.  She writes with an openness and frank tone that are almost raw.  You know how bloggers often write about themselves and their personal lives without really revealing much?  Well, she reveals everything, and the result is a rare and wonderful book.

Room by Emma Donoghue:  I have mixed feelings about this one.  As I was reading it, I could not put it down.  First, I wanted to hurry up and get to the part where the circumstances of the plot were explained, and then the action got so heated that I was almost shaking with the suspense.  But there were things about it I didn't love.  One particular thing in the plot seemed like a total cop-out, and aside from that I just felt like after the climax (I hate that word), the tightness of the book and the characters unraveled.  Maybe that was intentional, but it bugged me.  It seemed like a great concept that was executed pretty well to a point, and then...not as well.  On the other hand, it was a vivid reading experience, so worthwhile overall.   

The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown:  This one gets a big meh from me.  It was filled with character and plot cliches, particularly surrounding birth order stereotypes.  Also, the book appears to take place in the present time, but there was almost nothing at all to put it in a temporal context.  It also lacks sufficient detail overall.  For example, the main characters are always reading -- it's like their family's Thing, that they are hyper-literate -- but the author never bothers to identify WHAT they're reading at any given time.  It seemed lazy to me.  Definitely a skippable book.

Started Early, Took My Dog by Kate Atkinson:  This is the latest in the Jackson Brodie series, and it was as gripping and excellent as the prior three.  It's a mystery/suspense novel without being pulp-y, and the characters are really fascinating and complex.  The only downside is that there are some plot points that are left -- quite maddeningly -- unresolved. 

Bossypants by Tina Fey:  Loved this.  It's like finding a great, hilarious, insightful blog and reading straight through the archives.  It's very light reading and not strictly a memoir, but I love Tina Fey's chatty style and I enjoyed some of the points she made about being a woman in a male-dominated workplace and about being a working parent.  Those parts I highlighted and will return to again and again.

The Wilder Life by Wendy McClure:  Reviewed here.  Had fun reading it; wished I had written it.

For Better:  How the Surprising Science of Happy Couples Can Help Your Marriage Succeed by Tara Parker-Pope:  I thought this was ok, but it was a bit repetitive and the really new/newsworthy insights were few and far between.  That said, I did think it offered some good practical tips and had some interesting bits about different types of marital relationships.  I also found the divorce statistics very enlightening (i.e., that the divorce rate isn't REALLY 50% when you break it down).  I have a great marriage already, but this offered some worthwhile reminders on how to keep it that way.

Skipping a Beat by Sarah Pekkanen:  Silly and hugely obvious.  I wouldn't even recommend it as light beach reading. 

SuperFreakonomics by Steven Leavitt and Stephen Dubner:  I love books like this that deal with smart, complicated subjects in an engaging, accessible way, especially when they take on the conventional wisdom about things (NurtureShock! was similar).  Thumbs up.

What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell:  Pretty much my same comment -- I've read all of Gladwell's books, and each of them has made me look at things in a new way.  This one is a collection of New Yorker pieces, so it covers a lot of ground but doesn't feel overly weighty.  I'd love to have a beer with Malcolm Gladwell (or the SuperFreakonomics guys). 

Your turn!  I need some good recs before we go away in a couple of weeks!

When in Doubt, Twirl It Out

Against my better judgment, I am watching this season of "The Bachelorette," and after getting through the first two episodes I feel like the producers may have reached through my television and given me a lobotomy. 

Perhaps all that needs to be said is that there is a guy who not only made it onto the show, but has now lasted through two Rose Ceremonies, while wearing a mask. 

Now, I understand that a lot of these dudes (a) only do this show to bolster their faint hopes of getting a walk-on role on some pitiful soap opera (see: that guy from the Real World Chicago who ended up on Passions), and/or (b) feel like they need to come up with a gimmick to make themselves memorable.  And, of course, the producers will do anything, absolutely anything under the sun, to make this appear to be the Most! Dramatic! Season! Ever! 

So I can only conjecture, if I am giving him the largest benefit of the doubt possible, that Mr. Mask offhandedly or even jokingly suggested in some production meeting that he might wear a mask when he got out of the limo to meet the Bachelorette, and that translated into the producers telling him that he HAD to wear the mask 24 hours a day, and in fact he should forgo interacting with the other contestants in favor of skulking about in the background, as if he were auditioning to be the next Phantom of the Opera. 

And there's no justification I can think of for the Bachelorette keeping him around, other than at the producers' insistence.  Because, I'm sorry, if I were standing there in some sparkly dress, hoping to find my husband through a (ridiculous, contrived) reality show, and a guy got out of the limo wearing a mask, I would first burst out laughing, then look around for the "TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes" crew (remember that show?  Along with "Real People" it was one of my faves in elementary school -- I still recall the wacky prank they pulled on a leather bomber jacket-wearing Kirk Cameron), THEN tell the guy, politely but firmly, to please get back in the limo and return to wherever he came from. 

Between the masked man, the guy with a daughter named Cozy (!) who is "not there for the right reasons" (much as they bandy that phrase about with frivolity EVERY single season, this time it appears to be true, since he completely trashes the B-ette behind her back, then cozies (see how I did that?) up with her by the fire as a way of staying in the game), and the MANY contenders who have lost relatives or spouses and/or had other Major Life-Changing Events, it feels a bit like having gone down the rabbit hole.  Send help. 

Or bananas.

Unrelatedly, here are some photos from our long weekend, which was mostly good except for the ten years that were shaved off my life when a technical glitch led me to believe that a brief I'd worked on for many hours had disappeared into the ether.  (Fortunately, some computer genius types recovered it, and I did not have to jump out the window.) 

Aside from that and a lingering cough that has just about rendered Joe deaf (I am super attractive), we had lots of quality family time frolicking in the park, exploring the museum, visiting the animals at the zoo, and trying to introduce Felicity to the fun of playground sprinklers -- she was curious at first ("Water!  Water!"), then skeptical, then clingy as a baby monkey.  Maybe she will warm to it as summer wears on. 

Finally, Felicity has discovered twirling, and it is now one of her favorite things to do.  I believe my work here is done.

 

All About the O

I remember watching the Oprah Winfrey Show in its earliest days when I was in sixth grade, with its 80s-tastic lavender-and-blue set and Ms. Winfrey's impressive shoulder pads.  In fact, I remember seeing promos for the show before it even aired -- the commercials featured Oprah coming out of a theater with a guy in a tux and someone asking, "Opera?" and she would respond, "Oprah!", with a gesture of grandiosity. 

For years, the Oprah show would be on while I was hurrying to get my homework done after school, before I went off to spend the rest of the evening in the ballet studio.  Sometimes the stories were sad, sometimes they scared me (anything about any type of crime, or anything fire-related, used to scare the pants off me), sometimes they were amusing (all those middle-aged women losing their shit over the Alaskan bachelors).  In a way, it was a kind of background noise since I was focused on so many other things and wasn't really watching it to watch it, but somehow a lot of what I saw on that show stayed with me. 

After I went to college and then to law school, Oprah faded much further into the scenery.  Occasionally, I would watch a rerun of the day's episode at 2am, when I was too burnt out to read another word of my Crim Law textbook.  But oftentimes my mom would mention something she saw on Oprah, and then the magazine started and the Harpo empire expanded as Dr. Phil entered the scene with his "How's that workin' for you?" catchphrases.  I thought it was all a little silly, just another bit of fluff set to a soundtrack of Josh Groban, Celine Dion and Michael Buble.

Then came The Secret years, which were not my bag (see also: cleanses) -- all the talk about manifesting intentions and whatnot...it wasn't for me.  Also, around that time, whenever I would see the show -- usually if I was home sick on the couch -- it seemed like it was about five minutes of the guest talking about whatever they were there to talk about, and fifty-five minutes of Oprah talking about herself.  Or it would be her and a Hollywood star gushing over each other -- "You're amazing!  You have such truth!"  "No, YOU'RE the one with the truth! You have a beautiful soul!" -- and it made me want to put my fist through a wall. 

And THEN came the Tom Cruise couch-jumping episode a few years ago, which put Ms. Winfrey back on the map for me.  On some level, it demonstrated to me that her platform was somehow singular enough that someone like TC could cast aside the veil of the Carefully Crafted Public Image and be as wackadoo as he wanted to be in her presence.  You had to hand it to her for giving a celebrity that level of emotional security, you know? 

So now we're in Oprah's final season, down to a handful of episodes left.  For some reason, although I hadn't seen the show in ages, I started TiVoing it after the new year, and I've been watching at night when there's nothing else on.  And I have to say, much to my surprise, I love it.  And I love her.  That's right, I said it: I love Oprah.

Not only has she majorly toned down the all-about-Oprah-ness of the show, but she has this way -- which I know she's always had, or she wouldn't have lasted for 25 years; it just seems more pronounced to me now -- of making you feel like she's right there in the armchair next to your couch.  Like she's bringing you into the world of her studio, and thereby her world at large, instead of just showing it to you -- and that is a crucial difference. 

I no longer feel, as she's interviewing Chris Rock or whomever, that they're having a private conversation about how awesome it is to be rich and powerful.  Which is precisely how I used to feel, once she was in Oprah Empire Mode -- it seemed like there was this energy between her and a guest that said, "You and I are different."  Or else you just felt like she and, say, John Travolta were so weirdly bonded in their mutual, tear-stained admiration that they couldn't let anyone else into their little friendship, that as a viewer you couldn't penetrate it or even remotely understand it. 

In short, I don't feel like rolling my eyes when I'm watching anymore.  Instead, I feel like I'm watching someone who has truly transformed the world -- for good and bad (ahem - giving pseudo-science a platform on multiple occasions - ahem), but mostly good -- and who will probably never be matched in global reach and influence, at least not in the same way that she has done. 

Because despite who she is, she still feels -- through that screen -- like she COULD be your girlfriend, or maybe one of your mom's girlfriends if you're especially young.  She asks the questions that YOU want to know; she doesn't poke, poke, poke just to elicit a certain emotional response (see: Barbara Walters), but she doesn't shy away from the difficult questions, either.  It's like she's asking on all of our behalf what we'd be asking if we were sitting in that buttery leather chair next to Cameron Diaz. 

And she really did come from the most unfortunate of circumstances and built everything she has from the ground up, and I cannot do anything but respect and admire that.  I don't have to have always adored her or take anything she says as gospel to recognize what she's accomplished and to appreciate all that she's added to our conversation for more than two decades.

This might be the most earnest-sounding post I've ever written, but I'm ok with that.  I've had this complicated on-again-off-again/love-disdain relationship with Oprah's show for 25 years now, and that fact alone -- that she could be ANY kind of presence in our lives over that span of time, without being someone that we actually KNOW -- is fairly astonishing. 

So I don't know that I will be devastated when her last show airs, as it's not that much a part of my daily existence; but it is strange to think that we will no longer overhear snippets of conversations that start with, "I saw on Oprah the other day..."  In a way, it's like the royal wedding, in that one can be fairly uninterested in a thing until it happens and it's over, and it leaves you going, "Well, damn, that girl could have been me."  But of course, it couldn't have been; I couldn't have been Kate MIddleton (on whom I have a bit of a girl-crush now, and can we TALK about her total BABE of a sister??), and I sure as hell couldn't have been Oprah.  She has a talent and a drive that most of us just don't have.  And when she's not on the teevee every afternoon anymore, her absence will be felt.

A Query or Two

A few questions, very randomly:

1.  If you were to go on "The Amazing Race," who would you pick as your teammate?  (Assume that your first choice wouldn't have any practical restraints such as work or child care issues.) 

I think I'd have to go with my dad.  He is (a) the most well-traveled person I know, so he'd probably have already been to at least half of the places we'd have to go to and he has all sorts of world-traveling skillz, including the ability to eat horrifying things for the inevitable gross-out food challenge, which would be key; (b) mentally and physically fit; and (c) unflappable -- very, very few things upset him to a degree beyond mild irritation, so I could fly off the handle all I wanted while he would remain utterly calm (oh, there would be much flying off the handle by me, I can assure you -- I've traveled a lot, but not under those kinds of conditions, and I hate being lost, I hate feeling like I don't know what I'm doing, I'm hyper-competitive, I want to be right all the time, I don't deal well with fatigue, I could go on).  I mean, we've long suspected that he was not really an international businessman but rather a spy -- isn't it always the mild-mannered ones who are secret agents? -- and obviously that would give us a huge advantage.  Plus we'd be all shmoopie and tear-jerky at the end when we won and got to gush over the father-daughter bonding experience it was. 

2.  Have you read Jonathan Franzen's latest novel, "Freedom"?  If so, what did you think of it?

I'm a handful of pages from the end of it (no spoilers here, not to worry), and while it was compelling enough for me to get through 500-plus pages, I have mixed feelings about it on the whole.  The characters were reasonably well-drawn and the plot had sufficient suspense and timeliness, but...  It was built up a bit too much, perhaps, so I am left a bit cold. 

I think I was bothered the most by what I considered to be gratuitous raunch.  Not throughout the book, but a couple of scenes (at least one sexual, one scatological that I can think of offhand) seemed to me to cross the line.  I have this problem with Roth and Updike, too; I enjoy their writing (well, I enjoy Updike's writing), but then I always feel like they go beyond what is strictly necessary in terms of bodily functions and appetites.  For me it takes away from the literary value of the piece.  Yet Franzen's book has had the word "masterpiece" bandied around in its regard, and as I read these scenes I thought, really?  It's a fine book, but let's settle down, shall we?

________________________________________________

Also, I forgot to mention a couple of things about Felicity in her eight-months status report, and for the sake of completeness of her scrapbook (compiled by my mom at year-end and drawing heavily from this website), I wanted to note them here.  Feel free to skip if you're already bored to death by baby stories.

First, one of her favorite pastimes is playing "catch" with her O-Ball.  I hold her in a standing position while Joe sits a few feet away, and we hand her the ball and she "throws" it (it's more of a glorified drop) and we say "Yayyyyyy!" and clap and she goes NUTS.  She Chicken-Dances and squeals and she'll do this for at least half an hour without tiring of it. 

Second, one of her toys is a stacking thing where each of the plush rings makes a different animal sound when you squeeze it in the right spot.  She's figured out how to get them to make the sound, and now she thinks that every toy will make noise if she squeezes it.  So when you hand her a different toy, she'll take it in her little hands and squeeze the daylights out of it.  Sometimes she gets genuinely perturbed that the wooden mallet or stuffed animal isn't mooing or chirping and of course I sit there and laugh while she grunts and squeezes harder. 

Third, if I pick up a stuffed animal and hug it and rock it and then hand it to her, she'll hug it to herself and rock it back and forth, too.  It is deadly cute. 

And finally, when I put her in her crib she'll root around and find her pacifier and put it in by herself, and then without my help she'll grab her plush pig and hug it.  I swear, next week she's going to find a way to crawl into her room and get into her crib by herself, too.  Mama not needed!  Good NIGHT!

The Ties That Bind

I am rather excited by the Hub channel, particularly by the reruns of "Family Ties."  That show played an integral role in my formative years; it fell between my preadolescent crush on Ricky Schroeder in "Silver Spoons" and my extremely unfortunate "heavy metal" phase beginning in seventh grade.  I had a tremendous affection for Alex P. Keaton, even though I already had a couple of inches on him at the time the show aired. 

We used to watch the show as a family on Thursday nights, along with "The Cosby Show" and "Cheers."  On the episode where Jennifer got her period, my mom took the opportunity, as she was wont to do during "Very Special Episodes", to make sure I understood what was going on and see if I had any questions she could answer about puberty.  (I didn't, and I probably wanted to DIE of embarrassment from the mere mention of it.  I was very resistant to teachable moments.)

My dad and I still quote at length the episode where the parents go away and Alex and Mallory turn the house into a motel during a big homecoming weekend at the local college.  You know, the one where a bunch of the guests steal the Crawford kangaroo, and the dad comes home in the midst of all this chicanery, and the following exchange ensues: 

Dad:  When parents go out of town, they expect something to go wrong.  Some spilled milk on the rug.  A broken dish. ... There was a kangaroo in my living room.
Alex:  Dad, he was just here for the party.
Dad:  Well, I guess I'm overreacting.

Ah, that's good stuff. 

Once when I was in law school, I was avoiding studying, as per usual, and came upon that episode.  I called my dad and told him to turn the TV on to TBS.  We watched the whole episode together on the phone. 

It's funny, in a way, how television creates these weirdly specific memories and inside jokes (Allison and I have a LOT of TV references dating back to junior high and even earlier that still crack us up).  I have plenty of non-pop-culture-related warm fuzzies about game nights and holidays and whatnot, of course; but these reruns bring up cozy feelings, too.  I can picture my dad in his Eames chair nursing a martini; my mom in her spot on the couch, doing needlepoint; my brother sprawled on the floor as the theme song played and that paintbrush started to fill in the sleeve of Elise Keaton's dress. 

For all the alleged evils of the teevee, I have to say, when it's good, it's really really good.  And don't even get me started on "The Wonder Years."

Friday Baby Dance Party: This One's for You, Alex Wong

I'm pretty broken up about Alex Wong's injury, and will fully admit that I wept like a fool during last night's show.  Cat Deeley was tearing up, too, you know she was (and what WAS she wearing?  it was sort of a Cleopatra-meets-Barney-Rubble-meets-Annie-Oakley get-up -- and yet, she somehow pulled it off).  Speaking of Cat, I loved how she stood up for Adichike on Wednesday night when they kept raking him over the coals, mostly for things that were the choreographers' fault, not his.  But man, it is already not the same show without Alex.  Here's to you, kid -- the best male dancer ever on this show and possibly just ever, period -- and seemingly a very sweet guy to boot.  Heal up and hurry back, would you?

Aside from saluting her homie Alex, today Felicity is dancing about a break in the heat wave (which we hear is coming tomorrow via some torrential downpours and gusty winds, hooray!), long naps and getting ready to turn four months old on Monday! 

What are you dancing about today?

(First two outfits by Gymboree, dress by Baby Gap).

It Is, Indeed, Very Hot

I won't bother to rant about the ungodly, inhuman heat (much), except to say that I am abjectly terrified that there will be another blackout.  Because wouldn't that be a hoot with a baby?  Not to mention a dog.  And a freezer full of breastmilk.

(Here's my account of the 2003 blackout.  It was a real blast, and that was back when it was just the two of us (plus the cat).) 

It occurred to me last night that I should worry about getting stuck in the elevator with Felicity -- what if we're just running out to take the dog for a quick walk and the power goes out?  Would I be able to scream loudly enough for someone to hear us (I guess it doesn't matter since SHE certainly would)?  Is there some kind of trap door through which they could rescue us?  Would we run out of air?  It's important to come up with every possible contigency and obsess about it endlessly, you know.  Because a hot day can no longer just be a hot day; it must be a possible Life-Ending Event.

Unrelatedly, episodes of "The Love Boat" have become our sole entertainment aside from "The Bachelorette" and SYTYCD (side note: did anyone else see the interview with Jake and Vienna?  I am not and never will be a Vienna fan, but DUDE.  That guy?  Is a pathological ASS.  I actually thought he was going to hit her at one point ("Would you STOP INTERRUPTING ME!") and all his talk about her "undermining him" was just...bizarre and weirdly suggestive of an abusive personality.  To think he tried to pass himself off as this aw-shucks, Nice-Guys-Finish-Last goober, and in fact he is controlling and rage-filled and fuh-reakay.). 

Anyway, let me tell you, the writers of "The Love Boat" were smoking some serious '70s weed. 

Aside from the general absurdist premise that people regularly meet and fall madly in love in the course of a three-day cruise, the plotlines range from the mildly silly to the downright ridiculous.  For example, in one episode, a couple (the husband played by a rather dashing, skintight-pants-wearing Robert Urich (sadly, now dead)) have come on the cruise to pick up their adoptive child in Mexico.  Yes.  Because how ELSE would you travel for an international adoption?  They show up in Puerto Vallarta at the orphanage only to be told by a solemn-faced Padre that the birth mother changed their mind so no baby for them (that part was at least within the bounds of credulity).  The Padre then suggests that they adopt the only child available at the orphanage, who happens to be a 12-year old boy.  One who can already SHAVE and who is a kleptomaniac.  So, naturally, they go ahead and say, sure, why not?  Back on board the ship, Bob Urich starts getting cold feet -- the kid's a thief!  And I wanted a BABY, not a hormone-addled preteen! -- and at one point becomes so riled with Pepito (oh, yes, his name was Pepito) that he grabs the kid's arm and yells, "I'm taking you to the cabin for a spanking!" 

(Awkward silence.)

And then there was the one in which Sid Caesar and some woman from Laugh-In communicated only through their ventriloquist dummies.  I am not making this up.  Like, they would be sitting in their cabin, just the two of them (or, the four of them, I suppose) and would only talk to one another through the dummies.  At one point the Laugh-In woman (who had a very large, horsey face and looked sort of like a man) told him THROUGH HER DUMMY that she wanted a divorce.  I guess once you've cast Bernie Kopell in an intended sex symbol role, you've pretty much given up on even the most remote plausibility, but still. 

Also, I am almost finished reading "The Girls from Ames", which is a nice book and all, but the writing kind of makes me want to punch myself in the face.  It's just a bit MUCH at times.  Also, there are two Terrible Kid Things that happen and one Terrible Pregnancy Thing, and both caught me by surprise and left me rather shaken, as these things do.  I am thinking of starting a website where I can warn people about the Terrible Things that may befall children and pregnant women in popular books and movies just so the fragile of constitution, such as myself, can know in advance what they're getting into.

In other news, I interviewed another nanny candidate yesterday and it went well, except that Felicity hollered and carried on pretty much the entire time, until after an hour or so I was finally able to coax her to sleep.  It was like, "Hi, I'm Meredith and this is Felicity.  Can I get you--" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" "So, tell me about the families you've--" "WAAAAHWAAAAHWAAHHHMAMAAAAAAAAAMAMAAAAAAAAAAA!"  It made for a very easy, un-awkward conversation, let me assure you.  Although I guess at least this lovely woman knows what she would be getting into if she came to work with us. 

("WWAAAAAAAAAAAAH! EH EH EH EH WWAAAAAAMAMAMAMAAAA!"  Sigh.)

Who me?  Loud and screamy?  You must have the wrong child.  I have the delicate voice of an angel.

(These PJs are from Gymboree, and what I want to know is why they make the arms so TIGHT on their pajamas?  It takes a crowbar to get her in them, and she has pretty lanky arms.  Sheesh.)

Reality Check

It took me three nights to get through it since I collapse into a heap every night at 9pm, but I finally watched the first episode of "The Bachelorette." 

OH MY FREAKING GOSH YOU GUYS, I just wrote a whole post about this stupid show and Typepad ATE IT.  And it was quite witty, if I may be so bold.  It simply cannot be recreated, at least not in the dwindling time I have left before the baby wakes up from her nap.  GRAH. 

ANGRY FACE.

SO.  In sum:  Ali is all tarted up with fake hair and 500 pounds of spray tan; the 25 guys comprised a full-on Hair Product Extravaganza that I am amazed did not end in a conflagration given the liberal use of candles on-set; and among the contestants this season were an "outdoorsman" who appeared not to have seen the working end of a shower in some time; a guy who apparently believed that Ali would find a premature {ahem}ulation story to be ever-so-charming in their first one-on-one time (he was explaining his nickname: The Shooter; I am not making this up); and a guy who I can only describe as a low-talking Muppet -- I couldn't understand a word he said (and the producers would like us to believe, from their exceedingly overwrought previews for the season, that he becomes "obsessed" with Ali and tries to kill himself.  I'm thinking the reality is something more along the lines of him slipping in the tub and getting an ouchie while shaving). 

There was also a guy who seemed decent, but who told Ali that his parents were "still together" even though, um, his mom DIED recently.  He said he didn't want to play the dead-mom card so early on, but won't that make it RATHER AWKWARD when he has to tell her that, oh, yeah, actually, my parents aren't so much still together as they are...well, my mom is dead.  What the...?

So clearly it promises to be a thrilling season.  I plan to watch it with wine handy so I can drink every time anyone witch-hunts for a guy who is allegedly "not there for the right reasons" and every time the phrase "man up" is used. 

God, I love trashy TV.

Shocked at my poor taste:

Meanwhile, I really don't want to HARP on this, but I think I need a reality check, if any of you have any advice or experience or observations to share.

As I've mentioned in passing before, I have about 15 pounds standing between me and my pre-pregnancy weight.  I gained about 43 pounds in total and lost a whole mess of it in the first two weeks post-partum, and since then I've just been HANGING OUT at this same 15-pounds-up weight.  I've been exercising since Felicity was six weeks old (and even before that, I was walking a lot); I eat healthy food (not, like, RAW FOOD or PALEO FOOD or WACKY CLEANSE-type food, but normal-healthy food) in what I think are proper portions; I eat treats in moderation; I drink a lot of water (not as much as I did when I was pregnant, as continuing that intake would eventually cause a global water shortage, but still probably three liters a day).  My exercise level isn't what it was a year ago, but I'm getting a goodly amount of physical activity every week, both cardio and toning-type stuff.

The thing is, before I got pregnant, I'd been at a consistent weight for about...eight years?  Maybe longer?  Whether I was training for the marathon or half-heartedly doing the elliptical on occasion, my body had found its set point and stayed there, almost without regard to what I ate and how I exercised.  It was a comfortable weight for me; my body was slender and fairly fit without a lot of fuss.  I basically didn't have to think about it that much.

What I'm wondering is if my bod is clinging to these last 15 lbs to help sustain the baby via nursing -- a few people have told me that they had trouble losing the last bit of weight from pregnancy while they were breastfeeding.  Sort of a cavewoman thing to ward off starving the offspring, or whatevs.  Does that sound...reasonable?  Is there any way to get around that?  Like, if I eat EVEN MORE, will it trick my metabolism into letting those stores go?  Realistically, I imagine at least five pounds of this weight is concentrated in The Rack itself so that may stick around until we transition to solids, but the other ten -- which is distributed virtually everywhere else, from my arms to my ankles, and everywhere in between -- I would like to bid GOOD DAY a bit sooner.  If nothing else, I am quite weary of the clothes I've been wearing to death (isn't it odd how SOME of my pre-preg clothes fit, even though they're the SAME SIZE as all my other clothes that DON'T fit?  and how, when I go shopping now, I have to buy a couple sizes bigger than that size?  What gives, clothes??).

Am I perhaps being unrealistic altogether?  Does it just take a Long-Ass Time to get rid of the preg weight, regardless of breastfeeding?  I know it hasn't been THAT long so I didn't expect to have it ALL GONE by now; what's getting me is this Unending Plateau.  It's just frustrating for things not to budge for so long, you know?

Any help appreciated. 

In other news, Felicity is getting psyched for tonight's premiere of "So You Think You Can Dance":

What Can I Do For You?

People really need to stop saying to me, "Oh, you must be due any day now!"  This is the equivalent of the spectators who stand on the marathon course at mile 19 and yell, "You're almost there!" when you still have SEVEN #@*&%$ miles to GO. 

Yes, I'm about 85% of the way through this, but I still have MORE THAN A MONTH left at most (oh, please, please, please let it be less) and I'm learning with each passing day that this last 15% is designed to make you BEG for the pain of labor and delivery because it seems so infinitely preferable to waddling around with your lower back in flames and your belly entering a room five minutes before you do.

I made the mistake of standing in our kitchen barefoot for over an hour yesterday (hey, another pregnancy cliche accomplished!) while making red velvet whoopie pies and Ree's potatoes au gratin for our Valentine's Day feast (which also included brown sugar chicken from the slow cooker and a side of spinach).  This followed two days of working out AND walking all over creation for errands, church, friend-visiting, baby shopping (we have DIAPERS in the house now!  Diapers, people!  Do you know what this MEANS?), and my body was not pleased.  My feet felt like someone had taken sledgehammers to them and my back wrote me a strongly worded letter about wearing supportive shoes AT ALL TIMES. 

It seems that the addition of some forty pounds to my frame is beginning to cause some structural breakdown.  This belly is seriously dense and I just feel HEAVY on my feet.  I still don't feel all THAT big, but maybe my eyes and brain are being kind to me.  In any event, the "any day now" comments -- of which I have now received MANY (usually when I am wearing my winter coat, which is admittedly rather tent-like, but still) -- need to stop.

(By the way, the potatoes and the whoopie pies were totally worth the aching feet and back.  TOTALLY.)

I just looked back at this list, and we've already checked off everything on it!  And still there is much time left!  We've done the birthing class, the hospital tour, the doula hiring, the pediatrician selection, and the photo session; we've been to see the play and had two three-day weekends; and both "The Bachelor" and the Olympics are in full swing (speaking of which: quel quandary as to which to watch tonight; I am thinking Bachelor, because if I TiVo it, I may not get to see it for another two weeks until the Olympics are over, and anyway there is clearly more tension and adrenaline involved in the fantasy dates than in some snowy, potentially dangerous competition for a medal, right?). 

The baby's clothes, blankets, towels and bibs have all been washed and put away.  We've also bought our stroller and carseat and virtually every other essential piece of baby support equipment one can think of that will fit into a Manhattan apartment (I'm thinking I'll do a baby gear post at some point, although since we haven't road-tested any of it with an actual baby, perhaps that should wait? or perhaps it's really boring and no one actually cares?), and all of said equipment has been meticulously set up, organized and, in many cases, labeled for ease of use/finding. 

I do have one piece of art that I need to get framed and hang in the nursery (after which I will do a post with pictures of the baby's room, since some of y'all have asked -- I happen to think it's ever so pretty), and next week I have an appointment at the Upper Breast Side (hee) to assess and purchase nursing supplies.  And starting a week from tomorrow, I will be seeing my doctor every week (to my chagrin, these appointments will now require me to take my pants off; it's been so enjoyable for the past six or so months to visit the OB/GYN and not have to disrobe). 

But other than that, we are READY.  We have been pretty darn ready to house and attend to a baby for, oh, about three years now, but as of today we are, like, REALLY REALLY FLASHING NEON SIGN WITH WHOOPING ALARM READY. 

So basically, in the remaining weeks, left with no more necessities to purchase and nothing to obsessively organize or label, I am going to end up cleaning our baseboards with a toothbrush (after which someone will have to come help me up from the floor, possibly with the assistance of a winch and a tractor), washing vertical surfaces, arranging our bookshelves according to the Dewey decimal system and perhaps knocking on our neighbors' doors to see if they need anything dusted/polished/buffed/scrubbed/baked/organized/labeled. 

I think what I need are some homework assignments.  If there's something you want me to write about, some questions you want answered, perhaps an existential or practical dilemma you need solved or a project I can complete and document, preferably without causing myself any bodily injury (note: I can injure myself just getting off the couch these days), do let me know via comment or email. 

Let's make this time pass together, shall we, so I can get to "any day now" a little quicker.