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Save the Timber

Sigh. I didn’t post anything on this website yesterday, a weekday rarity for me. Usually I can whip up something even if it’s the literary equivalent of a jelly sandwich (sloppy and missing something), but yesterday my attention span buckled under the heft of my brain’s ponderosity. 

I wanted to rant about the Sierra Club, the grassroots environmental group that sends me thick envelopes on a semi-annual basis, extorting me to become a member. Last week’s envelope had a message scrawled on it: “Take a stand against the timber industry!” Really, Sierra Club? Really? You waste reams of paper sending untold thousands of people bookmarks, address labels, and polar bear stickers along with double-spaced treatise about how a $35 membership will save Planet Earth… and you want me to take a stand against the timber industry? 

Maybe you can’t make an omelet without cutting down some trees, but… I hate the Sierra Club. I apologize to any Sierra Club members out there, or any living thing or plant that has actually benefitted from the efforts of the Sierra Club, but oh. Nothing burns me more than looking through my mail and seeing a fat piece of wasteful junk mail from the Sierra Club. 

I forget exactly when I received my first Sierra Club mailing. I remember being sorely tempted to join for whatever Sierra Club schwag they were dangling as a membership gift, so it could of been 8-10 years ago, when I was going through my Proclivity for Free Crap phase (around the time I joined PBS for a free tote bag).

And despite changing addresses 8 times in the past 10 years, the Sierra Club’s thick envelopes continue to follow me. Is it my AMC membership? My REI membership? My Trustees of Reservation membership? Has the Sierra Club drilled a GPS device into my brain so that my migratory patterns can be tracked?

Anyway… yesterday I was going to scan and post a photo of the Sierra Club envelope along with the relevant content of this post, but the envelope got lost in the stack of recycling-bound paper. This totally deflated my enthusiasm, and I gave up on the Sierra Club. I ended up scrunched up in a ball on my bed, snuggling with my husband as strange hot winds gusted against the bedroom blinds.

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By Meredith – April 29, 2009

Love in the Time of Swine Flu

The Guardian UK published this picture of a couple in Mexico kissing goodbye for the day, wearing surgical masks to give themselves an illusion of protection from the outbreak of swine influenza that originated in their country and is currently spreading globally.

I think there’s 2 pandemic survival lessons to be learned from this photo:

  1. Trust no one!
  2. Ladies, it really does pay off to color coordinate your outfit with your surgical mask. The matching hairband makes the whole outfit pop.

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By Meredith – April 27, 2009

The Verboten Topics

The hardest thing about this website is not the actual writing of the posts, it’s brainstorming the topics about which to write. I read recently in a technical writing blog that all blogs should have a “mission statement” upon which all of the posts can “rally around,” to enhance the audience’s comprehension as well as facilitate the writing process by providing focus. Although I loath the use of corporate lingo to describe non-corporate activities, I must concede that rallying around a mission statement would enhance and facilitate this goddamn blog.

I’ve thought about this before: “For now on, I’m only going to write: Fiction and poetry! Reviews of perfume samples! Satirical news stories! About bread!” But I’m reluctant to pigeonhole myself into one subject area. What would happen if I only wrote reviews of Boston-area freshly baked bread, and I cultivated an audience of people who were interested solely in Boston-area freshly baked bread, and one day I wanted to rant about some Lance Armstrong wannabe nut on the bike path?

So I don’t want a mission statement, but I do have a mental list of verboten topics. These are topics that I refrain from writing about on this website, mostly to spare you and myself from the inherent boredom that these topics inspire. Like the weather. Seriously, I could write all day long about the weather, but how sucky would that be?

For the past 3 days there have been no posts because all I want to write about are these topics. So I figured, why fight it? Why not just group all of the verboten topics together, write a bunch of boring shit, and get them the hell out of my system so I can focus on a more substantive topic… like a review of a perfume sample?

Verboten Topic #1: The Weather

Truly Boston only has 10 days a year of good weather. These 10 good weather days feature blue skies with no or minimal clouds, temperatures between 68 and 78 degrees, still or breezy winds, and not a trace of humidity. Bostonians treasure these days because the other 355 days, we are either freezing in gelid winter or sweating in humid summer.

For the past 3 days, Boston has erupted into an elated springtime euphoria over a bout of unseasonably sunny, warm weather. It was not perfect weather. Friday was pleasant but windy, Saturday was pleasant but hot, and today was downright torrid. Yet I loved this peculiar warmness, because it is April, because it occurred over a weekend, and because it reminded me that I need to get a pedicure.

Verboten Topic #2: Dreams (of the Nighttime Varietal)

Did you know that a woman is more likely to have vivid dreams and nightmares during the second half of her monthly cycle, when the hormone progesterone surges through her body? My acupuncturist calls them “progesterone dreams.” On Friday night, I had 3 nightmares in a row. The first one involved a vague threat that I defended myself against by grabbing knives from a long wooden block. The second one I was trying to flee a brick building with my sister but all of the entrances were blocked. The last one I woke up trying to scream, convinced that someone was breaking into the house. My screams came out in whispery yelps that failed to stir my husband, and even though it was only 5:30am I gave up on sleep, for it was obviously not a place where my brain wanted to be.

Verboten Topic #3: That Nice Walk I Took Today (with pictures)

Given the spate of good weather (see Verboten Topic #1), I took 3 nice walks this weekend.

On Friday, Mr. P and I enjoyed the evening warmth by walking around Spy Pond (shown below) and watching youth baseball games (does this look like a woman who is about to have 3 horrible nightmares, see Verboten Topic #2?):

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On Saturday, I joined the crowds on the local bike path and then took a solitary hike through the meadows (shown below):

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And today, Mr. P ran the James Joyce Ramble 10K (shown below at finish line — no, the time on the clock was not his time) and I walked the corresponding 4.5 mile walk, which features James Joyce readings by costumed actors (shown below, a very demure woman):

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By Meredith – April 26, 2009

Throbber

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A few years ago, a co-worker approached me with a suggestion for the software user documentation.

“You should document that thing,” he said, pointing to the upper-left hand corner of our software’s graphical user interface, where an animated line of dots moves when the program is performing any action other than crash. “That way, users will know how to tell if the program is still working or if it is frozen.”

“Good idea,” I agreed, whisking out a sticky pad to write myself a to-do note to document that, um, thing. “What is that thing called, anyway?”

The co-worker paused. “I don’t know, it’s just the, uh–”

“The loader?” I ventured. “The loading indicator?”

“Not very user-friendly. How about the moving dots?” the co-worker suggested. He paused. “The magical moving dots.”

Later, I found out on Wikipedia that loading indicators are called “throbbers” by GUI and widget geeks, so I dutifully dotted the documentation with tips about the throbber. 

And if I ever needed confirmation that people are really reading the documentation, the widespread adaptation of the term “throbber” within the user community is a good indication. There’s no way anyone would know what to call that thing if not for me. Some people might smirk when they hear someone complain that “My throbber’s not moving. It’s totally frozen” or “My throbber’s been going for at least 5 minutes.” But me, I smile. I throb with pride.

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By Meredith – April 23, 2009

Sorbet in the Rain

Some days I feel like flower that’s losing its bloom, with flailing petals drooping over a slack stem. I felt like this today, as I stood outside of Harvard Square T station, eating my free cup of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. It was sorbet actually, sweet and tart, cold and yielding. I spooned the sorbet in my mouth, watching the college kids saunter about in the light rain. It was not a good day for free sorbet, but some things we cannot control.

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By Meredith – April 21, 2009

Violence Rules

Today is Patriots’ Day, that uniquely Massachusetts holiday commemorating the Battles of Lexington and Concord — the original “Shot Heard Round the World” (Did You Know? The phrase’s progenitor, Ralph Waldo Emerson, was referring to the Revolutionary War’s initial skirmish in Concord Massachusetts… before Franz Ferninand’s jugular was ripped open by a bullet, before the Aurora signaled the start of the October Revolution with a single blank shot, and long before Dick Cheney went hunting):

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,

Here once the embattled farmers stood,

And fired the shot heard round the world.

-from “Concord Hymn,” Ralph Waldo Emerson

Boston celebrates Patriot’s Day by inticing the world’s most elite runners to come and run 26.2 miles in its ill-tempered early spring weather, and then shooting them… with cheers of encouragement, that is. 

Last week in my conversational French class, prior to the start of the class and the official prohibition of English speaking, I was talking with two older women about crime in the well-heeled suburbs of Boston. One woman lamented her perceived increase of violent crime in the area. The other woman said, “There may be violent crime here, but rarely is it random violent crime.”

I resisted the urge to quip “That’s right, the only people who get shot are the ones who deserve it” and instead said “Oh, but what about that man in East Arlington last month who was prowling the streets with a gun?” They looked at me with disbelief. “Oh yeah. He lived there for 10 years and it turned out he was one of those nuts with a huge cache of guns,” I added.

“Whatever was he doing here, in Arlington? Why wasn’t he in New Hampshire or Texas?” They chortled lightly, with distaste. 

I thought about them this weekend when hundreds of Revolutionary re-enactors descended on Arlington and its neighboring towns of Lexington and Concord with their fake muskets and cannons, eager to recreate this bloody yet victorious episode of America’s past during which the militia prevealed over the ruling forces. And we gentlefolk of Massachusetts, we applaud their theatrics for outcome that they espouse. We adore and honor our violent past with parades and celebration while clinging to our present-day moral superiority. We are the next revolution.

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By Meredith – April 20, 2009

Jehovah’s Rebels

After six months of winter weather, today Bostonians drank in weekend spring sunshine like dehydrated camels eager to stock up the balmy radiance for the inevitable bouts of foul weather that typifies our climate 90% of the time. I spent the morning in the laundromat — a hard place to cope with while the world frolicked outside. I had planned to spend my idle laundry moments strolling on the sidewalks, but my five separate loads were staggered in such a way that attention was required every few minutes.

I passed the time with the only reading material available: A Jehovah’s Witness Watchtower magazine. This Watchtower was from October 2001, and appeared to be in unread condition. The magazine may be dated, but its message? Timeless. On the cover, a middle-aged man adopts a close-mouthed zombie smile while holding a pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses below the single headline: You can have true faith.

What impresses me most about the Watchtower is how nearly every sentence is appended with a Bible verse citation. Not only the direct biblical quotations, but also sentences like “Jehovah’s Witnesses strive to contact everyone they can with the Kingdom message. At times, it takes an extraordinary effort to reach those who are seldom at home (Mark 13:10).” I didn’t have my Bible with me, but I was dying to know how Saint Mark addresses the inconveniences of door-to-door proselytizing.

As creepy as the Watchtower is, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Gotta give those Jehovah’s Witnesses credit. By obstinately clinging to their rights to go proselytizing door-to-door, to be excused from military service on religious grounds, and to refuse to put another deity before God by saying the Pledge of Allegiance, Jehovah’s Witnesses have protected all of our civil liberties and speech freedoms — something not discussed in the Watchtower. Perhaps they should take their marketing to another level. Perhaps they should change their name to Jehovah’s Rebels.

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By Meredith – April 19, 2009

De Rigueur

I knew about the French proclivity for America’s Funniest Home Video well before I met Mr. P. It was during a red-eye flight from Boston to Paris about 8 years ago. After the remnants of the evening meal was taken away, I swaddled myself in pillows and blankets and put my seat back, intent on grabbing a few hours of fitful sleep. Only… the big screen at the front of the cabin was showing non-stop episodes of AFV, and the French people on the flight were going nuts. There was no sleep to be had on that flight, not with the Gallic belly laughs induced by footage of zany pets, guileless babies, and American men getting hit in the balls with balls.

So tonight, I was not surprised to come into the living room to find Mr. P lounging on the couch, with the television tuned to America’s Funniest Home Videos. However, I was beyond disturbed to see that he was simultaneously watching YouTube videos of mimes on his netbook. Yes, mimes, including just about the creepiest mime I’ve ever seen:

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By Meredith – April 19, 2009

Frenchified

I am making steadfast progress on my commitment to learn the French language.

Every day, I immerse myself in French-language podcasts while walking to and fro the subway. My favorite is the Dailyfrenchpod, which features an unfailingly cheerful French man named Louis who presents a 3-7 minute French lesson. The scope of the Dailyfrenchpod can range from a single word (“Le mot de jour”) to a scripted conversation between two rapid-speaking French natives.

I am picking up some unlikely slang words from Louis: “Le mot du jour est connasse… connasse… co-nass-uh… En anglais, bitch. Par exemple, c’est une connasse. She’s a bitch.” Apparently, Louis can have really bad days.

Once a week, I go to a local French conversation class for beginners of varying degrees of proficiency. I floundered for the first two classes, unaccustomed to having to produce French on-the-fly and without the aid of a textbook, but I’m beginning to find my stride. The teacher encourages us to “Frenchify” words if we’re stuck, a tactic that works — imaginez ma surprise.

The weekly pressure of “performing” in front a classroom of strangers is motivating me to try out my French at home. Pity my poor husband, who waits patiently as I struggle through spellbinding homilies like: “Aujourd’hui, j’ai vu un chat. Il est un mignon chat. Je voulais toucher le chat, mais non. Le chat regardait les oiseaux.” (Today I saw a cat. It is a cute cat. I wanted to touch the cat, but no. The cat was looking at the birds.)

Just saying that is intellectually exhausting. Luckily, the novelty of hearing me speak French seems to be compensating for the feebleness of my repertoire. Most of the time. Today we passed an accident scene attended by police cruisers and tow trucks. “Beaucoup de lumieres!” I exclaimed, and Mr. P laughed. “It’s like you suddenly turn into a 2-year child. ‘Lots of lights!'”

A 2-year old child!? That’s progress!

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By Meredith – April 18, 2009

The Proverbial, Nonverbal Headless Chicken

Today I spent 9 hours generating massive PDFs from even-more massive Microsoft Word files. At first I attempted to do some web browsing while Acrobat churned away, but my puny laptop refused to walk and chew gum at the same time. So I sat and stared at the whirly Acrobat icon, contemplating life, love, and lunch.

It looked like such a nice day outside, with crystal blue skies and a strong sun. At lunchtime the streets were packed with people who had also looked out their office windows and decided to go for a walk to enjoy the nice weather. But you can’t see the cold bitter wind coming off of the harbor. Worse, you can’t make the wind stop. You can only shiver in your light spring jacket and long for better weather.

When the last of the PDFs finished generating, I wanted to smash something in triumph. Instead, I drank a hot chocolate and went to Boston.com, to look at pictures of a woman who was killed Tuesday night in a posh Boston hotel. She had advertised herself as a masseuse on Craigslist. She was just doing her job. We’re all just doing our jobs, if we have them.

Then I left the office and ventured back out into the cool sunshine. The wind whipped my hair around and it became stuck in my lip gloss. The sounds of the cars bother me — the roar of the trucks’ engines, the screech of the buses’ brakes. An ambulance trudges through the gridlocked traffic, sirens blaring. It bothers me like the wind bothers me, like the dead masseuse bothers me, because I can only shiver in my light spring jacket and long for salvation.

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By Meredith – April 16, 2009