Escalator Music

There is one subway station where the weirdly musical wail of the escalators can be heard some distance away as you approach. They sound like kind of a howling lament interspersed with off-key drawn-out yelps and squeals. It's like listening to a chorus of coyotes and donkeys, or maybe whales. The noises are impossible to ignore, so the commuters riding down into the abyss of the subway station usually glance at each other with slight, embarrassed smiles - it's one of those rare shared-experience-with-strangers moments.

Double True

Now that I have these foot problems, I can actually appreciate why some people have a foot fetish. I always took for granted that I could walk around without problems, and wear any shoes in my closet. But I can't walk the distances I want to any more, even in sensible shoes. Some days my foot bothers me more than others. Anyway, I notice other people's feet now, and I feel admiring of nice feet.

I somehow got onto a mailing list for a company that sells orthopedic stuff, and they send me a catalogue every month or so - page after page of a model with beautiful feet showing off the various products. The lines of her feet are so clean, not even a hint of a bunion, and her toes are lined up perfectly. Her arches are ideal. She obviously doesn't need the products, it's a joke for her to be trying on the bunion regulator with an expression of delight, or smiling in approval at the sight of her foot with its toe spacers. I'm so envious of her for having feet like that. I even noticed at a party over the weekend, when we were all sitting around on the floor in our socks, how straight the lines of everyone's feet were. Not a bunion in the room, except for mine.

I complain about this stuff too much. Who cares about my toe woes, when there is genius like "Lazy Sunday" in the world? Today, if you haven't yet experienced it, I invite you to partake. It will get in your head and you will want to watch it over and over, and to reenact it with loved ones. True dat, double true!

Why Women Make Good Spies

Yesterday I felt like a spy because I was doing a lit drop and had to get past the guards. I'm very sneaky about it. I wear stuff to blend in with the crowds, trying to look like I work there; I choose an entrance that's not directly in line with the subway to distance myself from all the other lit-droppers; and I try to walk in just ahead of a group of people so they'll be less inclined to make an issue of checking my bags. I am careful to adopt a slightly bored, this-is-routine expression as I dump my (zipped-up!) bag on the x-ray. I avoid eye contact with the guards, like I'm not expecting any confrontations with them, and I pick up my stuff from the belt without waiting for their permission, as though I'm certain it won't be a problem. The moment I'm through, I don't waste time getting away from the guards by taking the elevator to the top floor in the building, never mind where I am actually heading - I sort that out later. On the top floor, I duck into a bathroom to organize my stuff, where I'm less likely to be caught by a guard roaming the halls. Sometimes my destination is not even in that building, but once I'm in, I can take the underground passage to any of the buildings in the complex.

All these precautions are probably unnecessary, but after a guard caught me last year and really reamed me out, I'm terrified of confrontations. It felt so horrible when she was yelling at me. It's not illegal to distribute literature. But some guards seem to think it is. It's funny to me that I often enjoy being places I'm not supposed to be (gardens at night, the cathedral towers). I've often roamed around forbidden territory where I would have been in trouble if I was caught, and I liked feeling like a spy. I wonder why I dislike it so much in this context. It's either because I actually did get caught once (whereas I've never been caught in other places), or because it's something I have to do for work, not a choice I'm freely making. The forced risk feels bad to me.

Temple Grandin, who writes about animal cognition, says that animals never forget bad experiences. No matter how many times they have a good experience in the same situation, the good stuff just overlays the bad stuff, it doesn't cancel it out. They'll have the residual fear forever. So it's really important not to scare or upset an animal on their first experience with something. I'm that way with lit drops. I've done many since that time with the guard, and never had any problems, but I'm still freaked out and scared.

Oh but back to why women make good spies. It's because, I think, there's a higher threshold at which women are perceived to be a threat. So they can get away with stuff where a man would have been challenged or where at least his actions would have aroused some suspicion. Especially if the guards are male, they respond to women with openness, at a subconscious level. Unfortunately for me, though, you can't fly under the radar when the guard is another woman.

My Inner Dork Shines Through

I have a new cell phone. It's been wonderfully handy so far. I'm a little awkward with it though - it takes me an embarrassingly long time to fumble it out of my pocket and answer it when it starts ringing, and when I use it I feel self-conscious. It's like smoking. How are you supposed to hold the thing? Where do you direct your gaze? Some people are naturals, and they always look cool. I have these trappings of coolness now, but somehow I don't think I'm fooling anyone.

Identifying With the Turtles

The weather was so warm that I decided to walk home from work instead of taking the bus. It's about a three mile walk and I really enjoyed it - the damp evening smells, the woods on my right and the houses lit up in the dusk - until the last block. They're doing construction and there are chain-link fences barricading off the whole block. I figured I would just walk on the curb between the fence and the street, because I didn't feel like waiting for the light to turn so I could cross and walk up the opposite side of the street.

After I'd gone about thirty paces, the fence suddenly pushed out all the way to the edge of the curb, and there was no place for me to walk at all. Just the street, three lanes of rush-hour traffic barreling past at high speed. I flattened myself back against the fence, figuring I'd wait till there was a gap in traffic and there was room for me to walk. After a long time there was a gap, and I scurried forward to cover as much ground as I could. I only had about ten seconds before cars started rushing past me again, and again I flattened myself against the fence.

It was nearly dark now so the cars couldn't see me, or if they did they made no effort to swerve around me. They were hurtling past literally inches from my face, and some of them were SUVs and other big vehicles. I was sure I would be hit. I felt pinioned against the fence (I know the word is pinned, but I had an image of myself spreadeagled to be as flat as possible, so pinioned sounds better). Again a brief respite, and a scuttle, but I hardly covered any ground at all before the traffic started up again. I was stuck about halfway along the block, too far to go back. If there had been a long gap in both directions I could have just run across the whole street, but it never came. I was desperate enough that I thought of climbing over the fence, or getting under it, but it was really high, came all the way down to the ground, and was sunk in cement holders every few feet, so I couldn't.

I thought about all the millions of animals killed on highways every year in the U.S. Some organizations try to build culverts under the road and direct animals like turtles into them by erecting guidewalls along the sides of roads (they only have to be a few inches high for turtles), and channeling them toward the underpass which is the only safe place to cross. These innovations save many animals' lives. I felt like a turtle, too dumb to read signs, unable to see far enough to understand where to cross - just blindly forging ahead on a disastrous path. Where was my culvert? I thought of how my obituary might read: "Throughout her life, she enjoyed challenging the status quo. Tragically, her failure to yield to authority by heeding the signs that directed her to use the opposite side of the street resulted in her downfall one January evening."

My big fear as I hovered there was that a bus would come along. I was right in the lane it would use, and I know those big suckers take up the whole lane. It was just good luck that during the time it took me to travel the block, no buses went past. Finally, about twelve traffic-light cycles later, I made it to the end of the block, and the crosswalk. Whew!

The Fur Trade

Reading about the fur industry makes me feel so sick and angry. I just read an article about a woman who was hiking in a national forest when her dog started pulling to investigate something off the path. It was a steel leg-hold trap - the scary bear-trap kind - camouflaged under some leaves. As she was approaching the trap, before she even realized what it was, the woman's steps accidentally tripped it, and the trap snapped shut - luckily without harming her or her dog. According to the article, it is legal for trappers to put traps like that on public property, where anyone could step on them. Her dog could have been maimed or killed; she could have stepped on the trap herself and been seriously injured.

I think it's awful that fur trappers are allowed to operate at all, let alone use those barbaric types of traps, let alone use them on public land.

Once my parents found a skunk that had been caught in a leg-hold trap. It was half-crazy with fear and pain, covered in blood and froth, and had been trapped so long it had worn a circle in the dirt where it had dragged itself and its shattered leg in the trap, around and around. My father drove three miles down the road until he found a farmhouse so he could borrow a shotgun (this was Texas and my parents were probably the only people in the state who didn't own a gun). Then he drove back and shot the skunk. My mother couldn't bear to look at the skunk or watch, she was horrified and crying. My parents describe the episode cautiously, biting off their words as though they can't bear to remember it, their pain at witnessing something so cruel still evident after many years.

My Awesome Mom

I love my mom. I hope I grow to be more like her as I get older. She always seems to know the exact right thing to do or say in any given situation. She's funny and smart and just really nice. When I see her at a distance with a group of people, I always think she has a pleasant expression on her face; she looks like the kind of person I'd pick out to confide in, if I didn't know anyone.

We saw her at church last week - she was in the choir, so we didn't get a chance to even say hi before the service, but as she processed down the aisle at the end, just as she passed our pew she gave us a wink. In that moment I felt such a rush of love for her. I wonder if I'll have it together enough that my kids will ever feel that way about me.

A Riddle

Q: Where was Erin when the lights went out?

A: In the dark!

Also, unfortunately, in the bathroom!

Crumbs

Ehh, the cookie baking didn't go so well. I used to be great at cookies - they would turn out just right every time, crisp on the outside and chewy on the inside. People would always ask me to bring them to get-togethers. But the last few times I've tried to make them, they've turned out crumbly or burnt or not completely cooked. Last night I couldn't get them off the pans - they were glued on so tight I had to chip them off with a knife. Now instead of four dozen cookies I have four Tupperware containers full of crumbs lined up on my kitchen counter. I'm not sure what I did wrong.

It's raining and I'm worried about religion. It's supposed to make people treat one another better and feel happier about their lives, but too often it's an excuse for them to hurt one another.

Cookies

Today when I get home I think I'll bake some cookies, maybe the kind with oatmeal and butterscotch chips. Cookie baking is a very relaxing kind of activity, full of sensory pleasures. The whisper of sugar hissing out of a bag is a nice sound, and so is the whomph of the oven firing up, like a tired dragon grunting as it does its duty. Then there's the way it makes the whole house smell of warmth and contentment. It's kind of a "luxury" smell - when you walk into a house that smells like fresh-baked cookies, you know that everything is all right, and even if it's not, whatever isn't is not very important.

In Love with the Forties

I miss the styles of the late 1930s, early 40s. We've never found any cut for jackets, skirts, or trousers that was quite so flattering as the lines from those days. I love the derbies and long trenchcoats all the men used to wear, the nipped-in waists for women's suits and the rakish little hats tipped forward over their eyes. I saw a women's suit in a 1940s style and almost bought it last week - but the look was too strong, too daring for me. It would've looked great, but it also would've made me stand out when the point of a suit, for me, would be to blend in and look unremarkably professional. I'd buy it if I went to lots of charity concerts, autumn picnics under pavilions, or retro fashion shoots. Alas, I do not. Anyway, everyone says that things come back into style if you wait long enough, but it seems to me we're stuck in a loop that's too short, cycling around bell-bottoms being in/not in style. We never make it all the way back to the sophisticated and elegant styles from the pre-war days.

Fired, With Benefits

Today I read that the chief of transportation for the city got fired. (One paper said he resigned, another said he was "dropped" - I guess when you are high enough up, you can't get fired, you just get asked to step down.) But the kicker is, he's still going to get $200,000 a year for the next three years to finish out his contract, a pension of $100,000 a year, and free health care for life. Wowee kazowie. That just blows my mind. It's so much more money that most people will ever earn.

The average salary in the U.S. is about $40,000 for men and $30,000 for women (according to this website), and 46 million people don't have health insurance at all. It seems unfair to me that someone who got fired would get all that. But life is unfair. It's not true, for example, that if you work harder, you'll earn more money - all the hardest jobs are menial labor that pay barely a living wage, and usually don't even come with health benefits. And look at the $10,000 discrepancy between men and women "with similar work experience."

Maybe the guy really went through hell the past few years, so he deserves this severance package, and maybe he's so invested in his work that being fired still hurts. I always feel a little sorry for people who get fired. But still. I can't help but wonder how all the bus drivers and train mechanics who work under him for petty wages are going to feel when they hear how much money he's getting for doing nothing the rest of his life.

Separation of Church and Erin

We met with the priest at my mom's church who will perform our wedding ceremony. It was kind of an awkward meeting, for me anyway. She quizzed me on my church-going (scanty), my opinions of previous rectors at that church (hmmm... last time I was attending that church regularly was 15 years ago and I was a kid, so my recollections are also scanty), and my involvement with the cathedral (I volunteer there but that's not what she meant). I felt like it was test day and I hadn't studied. It was kind of like when a gay person tries to have a straight relationship, to see if maybe they're straight after all, and it just feels so weird and wrong, they realize, "Yep, I really am gay." Well, I really am atheist.

Everyone says your wedding day should be all about your relationship, and expressing who you are. When I get married, I want to be able to say every word from the heart. But instead I'm going to be faking my way through something I don't believe in. It worries me.

The good stuff: He was wonderful about everything, knew exactly what to say to smooth things over and rescue me when I was starting to stumble. Things like that give me more faith in the strength of our marriage than saying prayers together. Besides, I'm not sure I believe your wedding day should be all about who you are. It should also be about the families that are coming together, and about compromise. Maybe I should view the necessity of doing and saying things I don't believe in as a sacrifice for the families, to make them happy. Viewed in that light, I don't mind nearly as much.

A Difficile Illness

There are so many scary things that can happen, even in our mostly safe society. Today I was reading about C. difficile, a bacterial infection that used to affect mostly the elderly, but is now showing up in otherwise healthy people. Suddenly it's causing illnesses that are really severe, even fatal, and that can't be cured with antibiotics. Last year a healthy 31-year-old woman who was pregnant with twins contracted a C. difficile infection, and died. Her only "mistake" was taking a generic antibiotic for a urinary tract infection a few months earlier (taking antibiotics increases the risk of developing this infection). What a terrible thing to have happen, and how awful it must have been for her family. In another case, a 10-year-old girl was hospitalized and almost died. She hadn't even taken antibiotics. Another 35-year-old woman has been incapacitated for months with an infection that isn't responding to treatment.

A bacterial illness is a spectacularly scary and unusual way to die; I should probably be worrying more about car accidents, cancer, and heart disease, the big killers in this country. They're just as seemingly inexplicable, striking without warning. I wish there were things you could do to stay safe.

Maybe I am just worrying because spending all that time with loved ones over the holidays made me feel so close and so fiercely protective of my family. I've heard it said of enormous grief that you get through it, because you have to, there is no alternative. But if anything happened to my parents, my brother, or my fiance, I don't know how I would manage.

Some Virtues of Guinea Pigs

Squeakiness.
Just the right size to sit in your lap.
Big, beautiful eyes. Their eyes take up most of their head. If they were in a Japanese anime, they would look exactly the same as in real life.
Intense obsession with food - squeaks of anticipation when they're about to be fed, rummaging around the play area searching for it, eating it, checking neighbor's mouth to see if neighbor is eating anything, etc.
Willingness to stand on hind legs, leap through hoops, etc. in order to get food.
Cleaning frenzies.
Nice, kind of musky smell.
When placed on the chest of a reclining human, tendency to move up to snuggle under the human's chin.
Popcorns (an explosive leap in the air that guinea pigs do sometimes).
Freaking out about completely random things, like someone sneezing.
Getting really excited about sounds like the vegetable drawer opening, or a plastic bag rustling.
"Driving" around in their cardboard box.
Cilantro tug-of-wars.
Turning the play area into a racetrack and scurrying laps around the table legs.

Feeling Antisocial...And Also Regretful

I already regret yesterday's entry - it sounds so mean-spirited. I still don't get why I feel that way. Why do I want to avoid people who are so kind to me? Why do I feel trapped and frustrated when they are obviously just being friendly to me? What's wrong with someone talking to me for an hour? - it's not like I have to get home or there's anything else I need to be doing.

And why does this only seem to happen to me? I don't notice other people around me getting stuck in conversations. I have a sense that if they did get involved in a conversation, they would have the skills to get out, that no one could hold them there against their will. I always feel like I'm in quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper even as I smile and nod, totally unable to say what's foremost in my mind: "could we stop talking now so I can leave?" It's like I secretly want to make connections with people, so I go out of my way initially to be friendly, but once they're made, I panic.

Feeling Antisocial

Today I'm feeling aggressive about wanting my privacy. It used to make me feel good that the security guard and my Spanish amigo were my friends and always wanted to talk to me. But after I got sucked into a few interminably long conversations with the guard (despite saying "I have to go" and edging away - he just talks right over me), I started wanting to avoid him, even wishing I could sneak in the building through a different entrance.

Sometimes my amigo will spend half an hour or an hour talking to me too. Knowing this, I've started darting out of the office early, before he starts his shift (then the following time he always wants to know where I was). The language lessons are progressing slowly - I'm just not getting it. I run out of things to say and I get tired of constantly saying, "No comprendo" and laughing. Yesterday he told me I was una amiga hermosa, amable y bonita, and he called me his preciosa. They're compliments I don't deserve, and I know he doesn't have a lot of people in his life so maybe I am doing a good thing by being his friend. But I don't want the responsibility of looking out for him emotionally. I just want to be able to say hola or wave when I see him doing his rounds, and leave it at that. In the mornings or evenings, I just want to say hi to the guard and keep walking, and not have to talk about my weekend or hear about his family. I feel mean writing this. I am supposed to be nice and friendly and open-minded to everyone. It's elitist to limit my friendships.

The General Rallies His Troops

I just came back from hearing Al Gore speak about global warming - an incredibly stirring presentation. The images just rolled on and on - emaciated polar bears, huge cliffs of ice plunging off glaciers into the sea, flooded streets in China, cracking riverbeds in India, perhaps most effective for me Keeling's graph of carbon dioxide emissions with its relentless climb. As I listened, I wavered between wanting to just cry - because so much is at stake, truly no less than the future of life on earth, and as a nation our political will to do something about it is so weak - and wanting to hope that we can avert the crisis.

According to him the technology we need is within reach. If we adopted stricter pollution controls, made cars more efficient, and used renewable energy instead of fossil fuels, we could return to pre-1970 emission levels. It's possible, but the public has to be behind it. Right now it's so far off the radar screen of the average American, no wonder other countries are exasperated with us.

His closing comments stuck with me: "These next few decades are a critical turning point in human history. And this is your moment." (He was speaking to an audience of environmentalists.) "You are here in the right place, at the right time, with the opportunity and the means to make a difference. This is your time."

Starting the Year Upside Down

New Year's is an interesting holiday. Everyone feels the need to get out and do something, and everyone asks, "What are your plans?" but there aren't any real traditions (except maybe, getting drunk and spending New Year's Day with a hangover, which I did once and don't recommend).

I just did a web search and apparently some people eat black-eyed peas, while others eat donuts (to symbolize the year coming full circle). I also heard that in Denmark it's considered lucky to be in the air when the year changes, so you should get up on a chair and leap off at the stroke of midnight. I like that one so I'll do it next year. What I usually do is run outside after the ball drops, listen to the fireworks and horns in the neighborhood, and stand on my head. My boy invented that tradition and it's great fun. Maybe someday I'll live in an area where there are deep snowdrifts around New Year's, which will make it challenging - but I'll still do it.