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October 27, 2006
Op-Ed Contributor
Will Play for Food
By HARLAN COBEN

Ridgewood, N.J.

ENOUGH with the organized snacks.

When did this start anyway? I'm at my 7-year-old's soccer game. The game ends and this week's designated "snack parent" produces a ginormous variety pack of over-processed chips and an equally gargantuan crate-cum-cooler. Our children swarm like something out of the climactic scene in "The Day of the Locust."

Do our kids need yet another bag of Doritos and a juice box with enough sugar to coat a Honda Odyssey? Can't they just finish playing and have some water?

Call me a spoilsport, but I don't want to bring a team snack. I hate that first day, when the coach's spouse passes around the sign-up sheet so we can schedule what parent brings the communal snack on what day. It's too much pressure. Suppose I'm away? Suppose we want to visit relatives and miss that week? Now we have to find "snack coverage." And heaven forbid you forget altogether and then the little darlings look longingly for the expected goody and you're the social pariah who didn't come through and that one mom, the one who always has the perfect after-school arts 'n' crafts project, gives you the disapproving eye and head shake.

The scheduled snack is yet another way we cater to our child's every whim. Guess what? Precious can go an hour -- maybe more! -- without eating. And if your child can't make it that long, bring your own snack. Feed your kid's need, not mine.

Are none of us reading about the obesity of our young people? Do you think it helps their well-being that after every sporting event our children gorge themselves Fall-of-Roman-Empire style on extra calories, extra sugar, extra hydrogenated fat? I recently sat down with Annette O'Neill, a registered dietitian and bona fide nutritionist, and asked her, "Do you think it's a good idea for our kids to have Cheetos and Kool-Aid after a sporting event?" Her response: "Uh, no."

And please don't get on me about bringing so-called alternative or healthy snacks. I barely remember to put on my son's shin guards and cleats, not to mention those long socks and that black soccer eye makeup -- I don't have time to slice up 50 orange wedges that the kids will never eat because last week's cool parent brought Ho Hos and Hawaiian Punch.

This isn't about ruining anyone's fun or being the food police, but does the fun always have to revolve around food? Do you know what should be fun when your kid plays soccer? Playing soccer.

While we are on the subject, when your child celebrates a birthday during the school day, maybe we can try for a small cookie or cracker and a rousing, even multicultural, rendition of "Happy Birthday." Stop with the cupcakes the size of softballs. Have you ever seen the leftovers brought into the school's main office? By two in the afternoon, the place looks like the San Gennaro festival.

Where did this organized snacking start anyway? Is it a holdover from the toddler years, those half-hour library story times when we trot out Goldfish and those cute Cheerios containers and use the small foods as calming pellets? Is it the Old World philosophy of food-equals-love? Or are we just trying to keep them quiet for our own sake?

I don't know. I don't care. But I want you to join me in banning these organized parental sports snacks. Let's do something for the youths of this country right now and end the American Snack Tyranny.

I will start by asking my friends at the Ridgewood Soccer Association to stop the snacks. Furthermore, I am asking all sport associations in my hometown to follow suit. I encourage the rest of you around the country to contact your league officials and join the fight.

Instead of spending those last few athletic minutes forcing down a fruit roll-up (what mentally malnourished monster, by the way, invented those?), why not have your child gather with his coach, have him or her explain some of the fundamentals (like how being active is healthy!), talk about teamwork or the important life lessons of sports? Maybe even try listening -- instead of trying to sneak an extra Chips Ahoy for his younger sibling?

And hey, enjoy your water.

Harlan Coben is the author, most recently, of "Promise Me."

October 22, 2006
Nip and Tuck
By TONI BENTLEY

By Alex Kuczynski.

" 'IT'S only liposuction' are the three most dangerous words in the English language," screams an outraged former patient played by Jill Clayburgh. She's standing on a street corner in a business suit, shoving fliers at alarmed pedestrians. Each flier features a gruesome photograph of her botched stomach liposuction. It looks as if a pit bull was the doctor.

This scene appears in "Nip/Tuck," the subversive television drama that, in the words of its creator, is "anti-plastic-surgery" because "for the most part, plastic surgery does not solve your problems." The word seems to be getting around. Now we have Alex Kuczynski's "Beauty Junkies: Inside Our $15 Billion Obsession With Cosmetic Surgery," just in time to protect a few other bellies from butchery.

But it may well be a losing battle. Cosmetic surgery is now so prevalent that it could qualify as a national epidemic. And under all that Botox -- the gateway procedure -- as well as the face-lifts and tummy tucks, lies a sinister story, as deep as it is shallow. In exploring it, Kuczynski, a former reporter for The New York Times who now contributes the Critical Shopper column to Thursday Styles, has performed a real service. She gives you everything you need to know -- the menu of procedures (right down to toe liposuction), the price tags, the names of doctors and dentists, the drugs, the implements and implants, the celebrity patients. She also lays out the dangers, the disasters and the deaths.

Along with the reporting, Kuczynski provides delicious tidbits for the cocktail-party circuit: that, for example, the synthetic collagen called Cosmoplast is manufactured from fetal foreskin stem cells harvested from a single baby boy, who would now be a teenager. (It's probably a good thing, she notes, that he doesn't know that cells from his penis are filling "the lips of hundreds of thousands of men and women around the planet." He might need as many therapists.)

Kuczynski manages to sustain that light tone, and doesn't spoil the illusion inherent in her subject by looking very far below the surface for the "why" of it all. She neglects, for example, to mention the sobering recent studies suggesting that women who have had cosmetic surgery are three times as likely as their sagging peers to kill themselves. In other words, depressed women are the most common beauty junkies.

Make that depressed women with extra cash. Cosmetic surgery is still mostly an elitist preoccupation, though some plucky girls take up collections on the Internet, promising their benefactors pictures of their new breasts. Indulging in just a few of the procedures outlined in Kuczynski's book can cost more than $50,000.

How did this practice of self-mutilation, masquerading as a search for beauty, become not only a society-sanctioned addiction but a $15 billion industry? Economic greed and insecure women are such a potent combination that plastic surgery now rivals, economically, the far less disingenuous, much-criticized pornography industry. Which one, you have to wonder, hurts women more? Kuczynski connects the two, proposing that the desire to look like a porn star is one of the most prevalent motivations for the society ladies who indulge in the most cosmetic surgery. "Beauty Junkies" documents, in morbid detail, an obsession that represents a failure in the 150-year battle of American feminism to empower women. One of the faces of so-called third wave feminism may be the literally paralyzed mask of the surgically remastered woman.

Kuczynski is well equipped, given her own surgical dabbling, for her subject. Her book is, in fact, a curious hybrid -- half investigation, half memoir. "I was myself a beauty junkie," she has admitted in an interview, adding: "I think of myself as a method journalist. ... I couldn't have written this book without knowing intimately the experience of the cosmetic surgery patient. I don't think anybody at The Times would say, She's shallow because she had puffy upper eyelids and had them fixed. The extent of the procedures that I subjected myself to was not so over-the-top that it invites ridicule."

This is debatable. Two-thirds of the way into her book, Kuczynski takes a detailed detour into an account of her own adventures, lasting almost a decade, with "what we refer to in New York as maintenance." This personal story -- in which she moves from microdermabrasion to collagen treatments to Botox injections to liposuction, eyelid surgery and Restylane-plumped lips -- may sell more books, enliven the gossip columns and provide a necessary pre-emptive strike against her critics. But Kuczynski's objective-subjective straddle can be compromising; at the very least, it argues against the supposition, in this age of the memoir, that one's vanity is expiated by self-exposure. This bright, well-employed, sophisticated woman confesses to being "honest and brutal and bitchy" and then proves her claim while cruelly assessing the sewn-up skin flaps on a formerly obese lawyer, a doctor's "prize patient" at a medical conference in New York. This vulnerable and brave woman is, in fact, one of the few truly poignant characters in the book, but Kuczynski demonstrates no compassion for her.

In addition to the story of the $6,000 she spent to suction fat "out of my rear," Kuczynski tells a tale of her two eyelids. She had them lifted -- the "puffy" problem -- though she displays, with admirable humility, one of her pretty blue "before" eyes on her book's jacket. Sixteen times. At nearly 40, she has now sworn off surgery and informs us not only that aging is inevitable -- "time's winged chariot will catch up to you and march all over your face" -- but that she gets "smarter every year." Her surgical obsession, she confesses, did not achieve "its ultimate goal: happiness and satisfaction."

Kuczynski's book is most interesting when she switches from the confessional to the informative, as in her brief but fascinating chapter on the history of plastic surgery. In the second half of the 16th century, an ingenious method of rhinoplasty was devised by an Italian doctor, Gaspare Tagliacozzi, for a Knight of Malta whose nose had been mangled in a duel. Tagliacozzi cut two parallel incisions in one of the man's upper arms, encouraging the wound to heal with the flap hanging loose. Two weeks later, he secured the flap onto the man's face, holding the arm in place with a sling. After several weeks of this inconvenience, when the arm tissue had grown into the remaining nose tissue, the arm was cut free. Thus began the first of six surgeries to shape the lump of scar tissue into something resembling a nose. (This elaborate procedure was admittedly imperfect. A sneeze could blow the whole thing right off your face and across the dinner table.)

Kuczynski's story of the beauty regimen of Mrs. X, the wife of a film-industry executive, demonstrates just how far we've come since the knight's battle of honor -- although there's very little honor here. The compulsive activities of this "Hollywood housewife," suggest a kind of cosmetic Münchausen syndrome. Her basic maintenance routine involves hair coloring and styling (twice a week), facials (once a week) and full-body waxing (once a week), as well as periodic use of tanners, regular manicures, teeth cleaning and whitening. Her face and body are slathered with expensive creams made from caviar, 24-karat gold, human growth hormone or wild yam extract. For keeping her muscles toned, there's Pilates, tennis and Rolfing. Mrs. X also visits two or three plastic surgeons about three times a year to discuss what needs fixing. She has been injected with Gore-Tex, Botox and Artecoll, and is a member of a Restylane frequent-user awards program. (How many miles of Restylane gets you a freebie?) She has had liposuction and breast augmentation -- in, out, then in again, but bigger -- and has "done" her eyes and brows. "She is," Kuczynski notes, "among her peer group, considered the norm."

Last year, Mrs. X crossed the final frontier with labiaplasty -- getting that whole mess down there cleaned up, tightened up and, as it were, re-virginized. Genital cosmetic surgery is, according to Kuzcynski, one of the most rapidly growing "areas in the field." Finally, the doctors have located the original sin and defanged the vagina dentata. This creation of an alternate surface through surgery -- the Jungian shadow side taking a walk on the outside -- raises interesting spiritual questions. At the pearly gates -- and many Americans claim to believe in heaven -- will St. Peter turn a blind eye to your body and see your soul? Or will he fail to recognize your reconstructed self and direct you to the unknown-persons department for all eternity?

At its most extreme, this craze for plastic surgery is more than a display of culturally conditioned self-hatred. It is, rather, a current manifestation of female masochism -- a sister compulsion to anorexia, bulimia, cutting and excessive tattooing and piercing. Here ritual, aesthetics, theatrics and exhibitionism are ceremonious enactments of self-annihilation in the hope of transcendence (if you're a romantic) or escape (if you're a realist). These are death and resurrection exercises. Self-loathing, on the other hand, keeps you firmly in the eternal hell of the here and now.

But unlike religious or sexual masochism, which is free (except for the occasional dominatrix), plastic surgery is expensive -- even if, as more and more people do, you put it on a credit card. It has become a perversion of a perversion, thanks to the cynicism of the pharmaceutical and medical industries, dynamo publicists and doctors who on occasion perform what one of Kuczynski's sources calls a "P.W.B." or "positive wallet biopsy." How paradoxical that in our society masochism is considered a pathology to be cured, while cosmetic surgery is celebrated and encouraged, especially in popular women's magazines.

Dare one note that this particular form of self-mortification intimates a kind of subcutaneous eroticism? Perhaps unwittingly, Kuczynski titles her own confessional chapter "My Love Affair With Dr. Michelle." After all, the doctor is an authority figure (whether male or female) who inserts various instruments into the body in order to implant "injectable fillers." It's difficult not to recall that in the late 19th century, doctors were the first to offer the vibrator cure for hysterical women. That too was once considered a legitimate "medical" practice.

Kuczynski finishes her book having sworn off surgery herself -- after her Restylane "large yam" lip debacle. "By the time this book comes out," she writes proudly, "I won't have had a Botox shot or a collagen shot for a year." You go, girl! However, her simplistic admonishment to "stop and think. And think and stop," will deter no one intent on surgical self-improvement. It doesn't even begin to confront the hunger being assuaged by external alteration.

Asked if she ever considered a career, Mrs. X, the film-colony wife, replies: "No, because I was never going to be that good at anything. Or at least I was never going to be so good at anything that I would have made a difference." The disguise of a woman who has sewn, injected and scraped her surface into a masked carapace is only a distraction from her profound, perhaps unconscious sadness. Here the pathos in the Bride of Frankenstein's agonized cinematic scream finds a brand-new face.

Toni Bentley, a former dancer with the New York City Ballet, is the author, most recently, of "The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir."

October 15, 2006
Editorial
Guilty Until Confirmed Guilty

When President Bush rammed the bill on military commissions through Congress, the Republicans crowed about creating a process that would be tough on terrorists but preserve essential principles of justice. "America can be proud," said Senator Lindsey Graham, one of the bill's architects.

Unfortunately, Mr. Graham was wrong. One of the many problems with the new law is that it will only make it harder than it already is to separate the real terrorists from the far larger group of inmates at Guantánamo Bay who were bit players in the Taliban or innocent bystanders. Mr. Graham and other supporters of this dreadful legislation seem to have forgotten that American justice does not merely deliver swift punishment to the guilty. It also protects the innocent.

Mr. Bush ignored that fact after 9/11, when he tried to put the prisoners of the war on terror beyond the reach of American law and the Geneva Conventions. For starters, he dispensed with one of the vital provisions of the conventions: that prisoners must be screened by a "competent tribunal" if there is any doubt about who they are and what role they played in hostilities. As a result, hundreds of men captured in Afghanistan and other countries were sent to Guantánamo Bay and other prisons, including the network of illegal C.I.A. detention camps, without any attempt to determine whether they were any sort of combatant, legal or illegal.

The Bush administration showed not the slightest interest in fixing this problem until the Supreme Court said in Hamdi v. Rumsfeld that the president cannot simply lock up anyone -- even a foreign citizen -- without giving him a real chance to challenge his detention before a "neutral decision maker."

In response, Mr. Bush created Combatant Status Review Tribunals, which gave the most cursory possible reviews of the Gitmo detainees. These reviews took place years after the prisoners were captured. They permitted the use of hearsay evidence, evidence obtained through coercion and even torture, and evidence that was kept secret from the prisoner. The normal burden of proof was reversed: the tribunals presumed prisoners were justifiably detained and the prisoners had the burden of disproving government evidence -- presuming they knew what it was in the first place.

The new law leaves this mockery of justice stronger. The Military Commissions Act of 2006 makes it virtually impossible to contest a status tribunal's decision. It prohibits claims of habeas corpus -- the ancient right of prisoners in just societies to have their detentions reviewed -- or any case based directly or indirectly on the Geneva Conventions. Even if an appeal got to the single appeals court now authorized to hear it, the administration would very likely argue that it cannot be heard without jeopardizing secrets, as it has done repeatedly.

The new law dangerously expands the definition of illegal enemy combatant and allows Mr. Bush -- and the secretary of defense -- to give to anyone they choose the authority to designate a prisoner as an illegal combatant. It also allows Mr. Bush to go on squirreling prisoners away at secret C.I.A. camps where none of the rules apply.

Mr. Bush wants Americans to trust him to apply these powers only to truly dangerous men. Even if our system were based on that sort of personal power and not the rule of law, it would be hard to trust the judgment of a president and an administration whose records are so bad. The United States has yet to acknowledge that it kidnapped an innocent Canadian citizen and sent him to be abused in a Syrian prison. In another case, a German citizen has accused the United States of grabbing him off the streets of Macedonia, drugging him and sending him to Afghanistan, where he was brutally treated. Then there is the Ethiopian living in London who said he was grabbed by American agents and brutalized by Moroccan torturers until he confessed to plotting with Jose Padilla to set off a "dirty bomb." Mr. Padilla was never charged with the crime. The Ethiopian remains at Guantánamo Bay.

Republicans who support the new law like to point out that it only covers foreigners. But Americans have never believed that human rights are just for Americans. Our nation is outraged when an authoritarian government jails an American, or one of its own citizens, on trumped-up charges and brings him or her before a phony court. Surely that is not the model we want to follow in our nation's prisons.

October 15, 2006
To Be Married Means to Be Outnumbered
By SAM ROBERTS

Married couples, whose numbers have been declining for decades as a proportion of American households, have finally slipped into a minority, according to an analysis of new census figures by The New York Times.

The American Community Survey, released this month by the Census Bureau, found that 49.7 percent, or 55.2 million, of the nation's 111.1 million households in 2005 were made up of married couples -- with and without children -- just shy of a majority and down from more than 52 percent five years earlier.

The numbers by no means suggests marriage is dead or necessarily that a tipping point has been reached. The total number of married couples is higher than ever, and most Americans eventually marry. But marriage has been facing more competition. A growing number of adults are spending more of their lives single or living unmarried with partners, and the potential social and economic implications are profound.

"It just changes the social weight of marriage in the economy, in the work force, in sales of homes and rentals, and who manufacturers advertise to," said Stephanie Coontz, director of public education for the Council on Contemporary Families, a nonprofit research group. "It certainly challenges the way we set up our work policies."

While the number of single young adults and elderly widows are both growing, Professor Coontz said, "we have an anachronistic view as to what extent you can use marriage to organize the distribution and redistribution of benefits."

Couples decide to live together for many reasons, but real estate can be as compelling as romance.

"Owning three toothbrushes and finding that they are always at the wrong house when you are getting ready to go to bed wears on you," said Amanda Hawn, a 28-year-old writer who set up housekeeping near San Francisco with her boyfriend, Nate Larsen, a real estate analyst, after shuttling between his apartment and one she shared with a friend. "Moving in together has simplified life," Ms. Hawn said.

The census survey estimated that 5.2 million couples, a little more than 5 percent of households, were unmarried opposite-sex partners. An additional 413,000 households were male couples, and 363,000 were female couples. In all, nearly one in 10 couples were unmarried. (One in 20 households consisted of people living alone).

And the numbers of unmarried couples are growing. Since 2000, those identifying themselves as unmarried opposite-sex couples rose by about 14 percent, male couples by 24 percent and female couples by 12 percent.

Matt Foreman, executive director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, said gay couples were undercounted because many gay people were reluctant to disclose their sexual orientation. But he said that inhibition seemed to be fading.

"I would say the increase is due to people feeling more comfortable disclosing that they are gay or lesbian and living with a partner," he said.

The survey did not ask about sexual orientation, but its questionnaire was designed to distinguish partners from roommates. A partner was defined as "an adult who is unrelated to the householder, but shares living quarters and has a close personal relationship with the householder."

Some of the biggest gains in unmarried couples were recorded in unexpected places. In the rural Midwest, the number of households made up of male partners rose 77 percent since 2000.

The survey revealed wide disparities in household composition by place. The proportion of married couples ranged from more than 69 percent in Utah County, Utah, which includes Provo, to 26 percent in Manhattan, which has a smaller share of married couples than almost anyplace in the country. But Manhattan registered a 1.2 percent increase in married couples since 2000, in contrast to the rest of New York City and many other places.

Among counties, the highest proportion of unmarried opposite-sex partners was in Mendocino, Calif., where they made up nearly 11 percent of all households.

The highest share of male couples was in San Francisco, where, according to the census, they accounted for nearly 2 percent of all households. In Manhattan, they made up 1 percent of households. Hampshire County, Mass., home to Northampton, had the highest proportion of female couples, at 1.7 percent. Some of the highest numbers of unmarried couples were recorded in the South, which as defined by the census, has the largest population of any region.

David Blankenhorn, president of the marriage advocacy group the Institute for American Values, said married couples had become a minority largely because of the growing number of households made up of people who planned to marry or who used to be married.

Steve Watters, the director of young adults for Focus on the Family, a conservative Christian group, said that the trend of fewer married couples was more a reflection of delaying marriage than rejection of it.

"It does show that a lot of people are experimenting with alternatives before they get there," Mr. Watters said. "The biggest concern is that those who still aspire to marriage are going to find fewer models. They're also finding they've gotten so good at being single it's hard to be at one with another person."

But Pamela J. Smock, a researcher at the University of Michigan Population Studies Center, said her research -- unaffiliated with the Census Bureau -- found that the desire for strong family bonds, and especially marriage, was constant.

"Even cohabiting young adults tell us that they are doing so because it would be unwise to marry without first living together in a society marked by high levels of divorce," Ms. Smock said.

A number of couples interviewed agreed that cohabiting was akin to taking a test drive and, given the scarcity of affordable apartments and homes, also a matter of convenience. Some said that pregnancy was the only thing that would prompt them to make a legal commitment soon. Others said they never intended to marry. A few of those couples said they were inspired by solidarity with gay and lesbian couples who cannot legally marry in most states.

Jennifer Lynch, a 28-year-old stage manager in New York, said she had lived on the Lower East Side with her boyfriend, who is 37 and divorced, for most of the five years they have been a couple.

"Cohabitating is our choice, and we have no intention to be married," Ms. Lynch said. "There is little difference between what we do and what married people do. We love each other, exist together, all of our decisions are based upon each other. Everyone we care about knows this."

If anything, she added, "not having the false security of wedding rings makes us work even a little harder."

With more competition from other ways of living, the proportion of married couples has been shrinking for decades. In 1930, they accounted for about 84 percent of households. By 1990 the proportion of married couples had declined to about 56 percent.

Married couples have not been a majority of households headed by adults younger than 25 since the 1970's, but among those aged 25 to 34 the proportion slipped below 50 percent for the first time within the past five years. (Among Americans aged 35 to 64, married couples still make up a majority of all households.)

"It's partially fueled by women in the work force; they don't necessarily have to marry to be economically secure," said Andrew A. Beveridge, a demographer at Queens College of the City University of New York, who conducted the census analysis for The New York Times. "You used to get married to have sex. Now one of the major reasons to get married is to have children, and the attractiveness of having children has declined for many people because of the cost."

William H. Frey, a demographer at the Brookings Institution, attributed the accelerated trend to the lifestyles of baby boomers.

"It's the legacy of the boomers that have finally caused this tipping point," Dr. Frey said. "Certainly later generations have followed in boomer footsteps, with high levels of living together before marriage, and more flexible lifestyles. But the boomers were the trailblazers, once again, rebelling against a norm their parents epitomized.

"This would seem to close the book on the Ozzie and Harriet era that characterized much of the last century," he said.

A year ago 1 October I joined one of my local gyms (the closest one to me that provides childcare) and started exercising on a regular basis.

Well, actually, I went and joined, then I went over to the sporting goods store and bought myself a pair of sneakers (I did not have *any* -- how's THAT for a lifestyle indicator?!) and THEN I started working out regularly.

I started out kinda slow, in relatively familiar territory -- first on the one ancient Stairmaster that they had (the kind I'd used when I desperately lost 25+ pounds before I got married) for, oh, maybe 15 minutes at a time. I slowly ramped up to more time, and then tried out the elliptical trainer that just has stationary bars that you hold onto. Found that it was really nice, so I spent a good month or so playing around on it, increasing my time to 30 minutes and even getting into increasing the resistance.

And then a couple of times both of those stationary-armed elliptical machines were occupied when I wanted to work on them, and because I was (and am) hardcore, I refused to slack off and do the treadmill copout. Instead, I moved up another notch to the arms AND legs elliptical machine. And I stayed at 30 minutes. But I avoided the resistance. I found that that was a *really* intense workout -- challenging... but fun, too, when I had a great playlist to accompany it.

Now, at the same time that I started doing cardio, I also started doing weight training using a few machines (upper body -- lats, delts, & pecs, with some back & triceps work) and free weights (working arms, shoulders & chest).

Oh -- and of course, there's the stretching time on the floor in between cardio & weights, and that's when I work on my flexibility and do all those great ab exercises and butt & thigh toning stuff like lunges & dirty dogs & donkey kicks -- and push-ups. Gotta love push-ups.

Back in January, or maybe it was February, after I got back from Cali when my dad died, they started having weekly yoga classes. I took a yoga for the first time back in 1992 when I was a sophomore in college. I thought it would make me more flexible for sex. HA! It was just really really hard to do; I should have known better than to take a yoga class at Smith -- everything they do there is going to kick your ass.

Fortunately, I didn't let my "Ow this hurts so bad I think I'm dying" experience in yoga the first time around spoil it for me. The next time I had the opportunity to do so (it was 1998) I started taking classes again. And this time, I had a great instructor and it was about the journey and where each individual was -- it wasn't about competing or making things hurt as much as possible. Sure, you push yourself in each pose -- but it's only to the point of gentle pressure; every pose is for relaxing in.

From that class, I took lots of different elements and incorporated them into the way I move or stand or sit or occasionally stretch. I still do a lot of yoga-ish stretching as part of my daily routine, and now I'm wanting to start doing "real" yoga every day on my own; I think I'm ready for that -- it's just a matter of making it a habit and setting aside the time.

Over the year-long period since I started exercising, I have gone from around 180 pounds down to around 164 (but weight always fluctuates). I was wearing size 18 jeans very snugly back then... and now I can pull size 14s off the rack (and NOT the fat chick one!) at any store and at least be able to get them on; whether or not I like the way they look is a different matter -- but even being able to evaulate clothing based on whether or not I like the way it *looks* on me is a refreshing novelty again. I used to just have to settle for whatever I could find that would fit.

Being fat also meant that ANY physical activity was going to mean PAIN. Like mowing the lawn -- I would have pushed the mower around my little yard, and then been feeling it in my hams and my arms and my back (particularly my back!!) for a week afterwards. When I was heavier, I was in constant pain. I don't know when it went away -- or maybe it hasn't, because even now I'm pretty darn sore. But my soreness now is more along the lines of being aware of where I've worked really hard -- and it feels good.

I have finally learned not to pay attention to the number on the scale, but rather to pay attention to how I *feel* and how my clothes fit. How I look to myself is unreliable, because I haven't quite learned yet how to see myself beyond the flaws that always jump out and grab all my attention. Sometimes I have moments of clarity... but mostly I have to use other criteria by which to evaluate my "progress."

One major development for me is that in the last couple of weeks, I've done some running.

There's a 5K Fun Run coming up in my town, and after years of driving by and scoffing at how nuts people must be to punish themselves thusly, I found myself this year thinking, "Hey -- I bet I could *do* that!"

So I got on the treadmill and gave it a try, just to see if I'd be able to manage to finish the "race" within the allotted 40 minutes. It turned out that I did a little over 5K in less than 28 minutes -- AND I actually *ran* for more than 6 minutes straight on my first attempt!!

I also got really bad shin splints (always happens when I try running), but on my next attempt, I ran for FIFTEEN MINUTES without stopping to walk. That covered a distance of more than one entire mile. I had NEVER run an entire mile in my ENTIRE life -- not when I was in high school, not when I was in college -- NEVER. I know it's not a real fast pace to have set; I am the first to acknowledge that I'm built for comfort and not for speed. Just being able to go an entire mile blows me away.

So I guess it was Talinom that wanted to hear our diet/weight loss stories. The truth of mine is that no dieting has been involved. I have continued to eat what I like, when I want it. There have been times when I've cut back on my latte consumption, or have focused on eating more fish and fruits & veggies -- but honestly, I haven't tried to restrict or modify my diet in an effort to lose weight.

And I haven't even been trying to lose weight, per se. I am fully aware that muscle is a lot more dense than fat, so as I gain muscle, I might see the numbers go wonky and slip in the "wrong" direction a little. I just don't freak out. I don't get real excited when I'm down a pound or two -- and I don't get the least bit fazed when it goes up. I can gain or lose that amount of weight overnight, depending on how hard I've worked out and how much water I've had to drink.

Oh, I think I should also mention that my BMI is 31. That's officially obese, by the way. So please, look at my pictures and see what obesity looks like. (Either that, or acknowledge that maybe BMI is *not* the end-all/be-all of healthy weight gauges.) I think that based on normal charts, since I'm 5'1" I should weigh ideally around 115 pounds. And that just ain't never gonna happen. I've got too much muscle and my tits are just way too big. So hell with the charts -- I'm voluptuous and gonna stay that way. I don't think I'm perfect right where I am -- but I'm not really concerned about "losing more weight" either.

Things that I've really noticed about the changes in my body are, well, yeah, I'm less fat. It really shows in my face, I think. My RoF is reducing in size -- but I've had two kids, and I *never* had a flat stomach even before they were born; I'm not holding out much hope that I'll be able to develop one now. What I find myself particularly excited about is the definition I can see in my arms. Even though my body fat is still pretty high (I don't know what it is, but all you have to do is look at me to know it's true), my arms are well-toned and change shape as I move & engage in different activities.

I also really like how flexible I am now. I can touch my forehead to all different kinds of parts of my body; I can bend and straighten my legs all over the place; I can lean forward & backwards & sideways really far -- while standing flat-footed...

I'm pleased with my body. I enjoy the clothes I can wear. I feel strong and healthy and energetic. I don't need any numbers to tell me any of this. I am living the truth. :-)

October 1, 2006
Thoughtless
Hitting a Self-Destruct Button
By MARK LEIBOVICH

WASHINGTON

POLITICS incubates all manner of gaffe, scandal and humiliation, and then there are those rarified doozies that become classics at I.M. speed.

Hello, Representative Mark Foley, here's your special membership pin and thanks for joining Washington's "What On Earth Was He Thinking?" Caucus.

The illustrious club includes a special "Sex Scandal" subcaucus that features, among others, Wilbur Mills (D-Tidal Basin), Gary Hart (D-Monkey Business), Bob Packwood (R-Senate Elevators) and, of course, Bill Clinton (D-Oval Office).

Mr. Foley, the six-term Republican from Florida, gained slam-dunk admission Friday when he resigned from Congress and apologized to his family and the people of his state over reports that he sent sexually explicit messages to underage male pages.

Note the inclusion of the terms "sexually explicit," "underage," "male" and "page," in addition to the tidbits tidily extracted from the instant messages that ABC News reported were exchanged between Mr. Foley and his 16-year old, er, friend:

"Do I make you a little horny?" Mr. Foley reportedly asked under the log-in name "Maf54."

Teen: "A little."

Maf54: "Cool."

Mr. Foley gets double bonus points for his helpful if imprudent use of electronic mail, which made it so easy to spread around the mirth and amusement and -- oops, scratch that, we mean genuine sadness and compassion. This is Washington, after all.

The exchange was quoted verbatim in the lead story of ABC's "World News Tonight" Friday and linked in its entirety on ABC's Web site under the heading of "READER DISCRETION STRONGLY ADVISED: Foley's Exchange With Underage Page."

Career-ender, in other words. At least until Mr. Foley does his confessional interview on Oprah, gets his very own talk-show ("Mark!") and secures the requisite seven-figure book advance. The book would divulge all the sordid details, except that it's hard to imagine things getting any more sordid than what's already on the Internet. The snippet quoted above is just the PG-13 teaser.

The "Sex Scandal" club is only one subcaucus in the big tent of Washington infamy and shame. There is also the "Blatant Financial Improprieties" subcaucus (with the guest star Duke Cunningham), the "Ill-Advised Nazi Comparison" subcaucus (Howdy, Senator Dick Durbin) and the "Racially Insensitive Remark Directly Into a Video Camera" ("You're an animal, George Allen").

But the sex subcaucus is easily the biggest.

"You always seem to have politicians doing bizarrely self-destructive things, especially involving sex," says Lawrence Kestenbaum, creator of "Political Graveyard," a history Web site that includes an exhaustive cataloging of transgressions by politicians.

Under the heading "Politicians Who Were Ever in Trouble or Disgrace," the section contains 420 entries, in chronological order, many of them involving present and former members of Congress. Among the escapades:

• Barney Frank, Democrat of Massachusetts, was reprimanded when it was revealed that a male lover had been running a prostitution business out of his Capitol Hill apartment.
• Donald (Buz) Lukens, Republican of Ohio, who was convicted of a misdemeanor for having sex with a 16-year-old girl.
• Dan Crane, Republican of Illinois, and Gerry Studds, Democrat of Massachusetts, both of whom were censured by the House for having sexual relations with teenage pages -- Mr. Crane with a female in 1980, Mr. Studds with a male in 1973.

The "Politicians Who Were Ever in Trouble or Disgrace" section comes with the devastatingly simple disclaimer "Very Incomplete!"

Mr. Kestenbaum says improprieties in the political realm tend to resonate more than in others. First, they tend to become public, necessitating apologies and, in many cases, resignations. He points out that if Mr. Foley were a purchasing manager at some store, he might actually keep his job.

"The political world tends to be very judgmental," Mr. Kestenbaum says. This creates towering spectacles of dishonesty, famous last words that are often caught on tape. Mr. Clinton created the gold standard for this when he looked into a camera and indignantly declared, "I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky."

Mr. Foley gets triple bonus points for hypocrisy. As co-chairman of the House caucus on missing and exploited children, he has been a fierce advocate for tough sanctions against people who sexually exploit children over the Internet. Not that Democrats have been pointing this out relentlessly since the news broke or anything.

Or reminding people that Mr. Foley was a big supporter of President Clinton's impeachment.

"Part of his thing was, 'What do we tell the children?'" recalls the longtime Clinton aide Paul Begala. "Apparently, we'll tell them in a sexually explicit e-mail."

Gleeful, anyone? It's unclear exactly where this fits in, but any story about politicians and sex scandals feels incomplete without the iconic quote from Edwin Edwards, the rascally former governor of Louisiana: "The only way I can lose this election," Mr. Edwards once boasted to reporters, "is if I'm caught in bed with either a dead girl or a live boy."

He said nothing about instant messaging, however.

...Bethanie?

Indeed, the hills of NE Georgia are alive with the sound of "music."

I attended my first ukulele band practice session today -- and BOY was it FUN!!

I had bought a baritone uke a week ago Friday, but hadn't gotten around to practicing with it at all, so I went into this gathering COMPLETELY clueless as to what I was doing.

OK, maybe not *completely*, because back when I was 18 I tried to teach myself guitar so I actually understood the concept of fingers on strings and frets and reading fingering charts and such. But back when I was doing that, I was teaching myself picking and not chords ('cause I believed my mother when she told me I couldn't -- and shouldn't -- sing. That may still be very true, but at this point I have lost all sense of shame and shed all my inhibitions).

In any case, there were four of us there today, in about a 6'x10' space -- the clear floor space in the front of the proprietor's music store (she's also the leader of the band) -- with chairs and music stands, and, of course, our ukuleles.

Two of the ladies were really good -- they did some lead solo bits on some of the songs and it was a *real* treat to hear them play. And the other lady and I just kinda hung back and strummed in the background.

This is fine with me, as I think I'm going to just subscribe to the "The world needs ditchdiggers, too" philosophy of ukulele playing -- if I can just manage to learn the chords and how to switch between them relatively smoothly AND keep up with the rest of the group singing, then I'll be quite satisfied with my performance.

In any case, today I actually PLAYED the following songs:

• Buffalo Gals
• La Cucaracha (which was my suggestion -- they knew how to play the tune, but not the words; I got to sing sola on that one, and it may end up being our grand finale song, complete with maracas and sombreros *grin*)
• Camptown Races (dooh-dar! dooh-dar!)
• You are my Sunshine
• Clementine
• Hush, Little Baby
• Michael, Row the Boat Ashore
• Polly Wolly Doodle
• She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain

And I learned (kinda -- gotta practice a LOT more before I have the fingering memorized & have it come automatically) the chords A, A7, C, D, D7, something called a D natural 7, G, G7, E minor, and E7.

I couldn't believe how easy it was to simply play along and how good we sounded without ANY practice whatsoever! The songs we did are also pretty darn fun. Glad there aren't too many religious ones -- I don't think I could hang with playing a bunch of Kumbaya and Jesus Loves Me shit. Too tempting to twist the lyrics around to make them filthy dirty and/or very very blasphemous.

So, anyway -- I'm pretty jazzed about having done something today very much outside my realm of previous experience. My fingertips are numb, and I think I'm definitely gonna have to clip my nails, but I'm just really jazzed that I don't suck REALLY bad at it.

Gonna be a while before you get any kind of recordings, though, both because I don't have my own place to post them on the web and because I got LOTS of practicing to do before I'll share with an audience that I can't reach out and bop on the head with my uke if they're too critical (which at this point would be the *least* little bit -- AHEM).

:-D



* Yes, I *do* play Ukulele!

Inspired by Fun Guy's mention of his dog Fezzig (which is SUCH a totally awesome name for a dog!!) I thought I'd put the question out there: What are (or were, if deceased) your animals' names?

I'm sure that among this group we'll have some awesome ones. :-)

(Oh, and in case there's some privacy issue involved, AC posting is enabled. Not so important to know who belongs to whom -- I just wanna hear what cool name you picked out for your pet.)

Or at least I cut my lawn like one.*

But wait... Would a hippie even *have* a lawn? I'd think that letting things just grow wild and natural, maybe with a big ole human-waste-composted garden and a nice, lush stand of pot off to the side somewhere would be more of the "true" hippie style. A nice, green, sodded lawn would be just too... suburban.

In any case, I guess I don't qualify as a bonafide hippie if I've actually got a lawn to mow -- but maybe I get some bonus points for how I do it. (And yes, I generally take my shirt off 'cause I like to get a little sun while I'm outside, but again, it doesn't count as true hippiedom 'cause I actually wear a bra.)

This is my lawnmower. And these are my weedwackers. And this is my leafblower.

And yes, I *am* my own personal Jesus. But I cost a lot less.

I believe it was on NPR this past week (or maybe the week before) that I heard them talking about the greatest energy efficiency is the energy not used. And if that's truly the case, then I am doing my part by providing all the power behind my various yardcare tools.

Honestly, it feels great to get out and push the mower around. When we had the lawn installed (how else would you say it when it's a sod lawn -- you get it "laid"?), I told Hubby that I wanted a reel mower and that if I got one, then I'd do the mowing. He did, and I have been true to my word -- even though I had NEVER mown a lawn before in my entire life.

With a reel mower, it's a completely different experience. It's quiet, for one thing. I can still hear the birds singing, I can hear the sound of the blades cutting the grass... It's quite satisfying. There's also the absence of the smell of the 2-cycle. I *hate* the way that smells. And I also feel a lot safer with the reel mower, even though the cutting mechanism is completely exposed. The thing is, as soon as I stop, the blades stop, too. I am not the least bit concerned about losing any fingers or toes. And that always intimidated me about motor-driven mowers.

I enjoy being out in the sun and getting my sweat on. Helps me justify skipping the gym on a Sunday, even though I know that a day off is good for me. I like thinking of the pampered & spoiled housewives out there hiring personal trainers to help them feel like they're making an effort to lose those extra 15 pounds, while they've got a small army of people in their employ to do the manual labor around the house: tending to the yard, cleaning the pool, doing all the housework... I like thinking about all the money I save by combining all those functions together. Maybe I should package it all up and market it with books and videos and make a zillion dollars. It's called the "Get Off Your Lazy Ass and Do It Yourself, Bitch!" workout.

Hmm... On second thought, maybe not.

In any case, the grass clippers were a gift (along with a good pair of leather gardening gloves) from Hubby for my birthday. Takes a lot of confidence for a man to give his wife that sort of thing for her birthday, particularly considering the potential for expression of displeasure if she happens not to like it. But it was just right. I put them to good use this afternoon after I mowed; I like the nice, neat trimmed look of my vegetation. And I got a nice stretch in my hamstrings, to boot!

After I trimmed the grass, I also installed some black rubber edging between the lawn and the beds. The grass was beginning to encroach upon them, and rather than just letting it go until it became a MAJOR pain in the ass, I actually got out there and took care of it today! Thirty feet of 5" deep trench -- done all by my little lonesome!! I'm feeling very tough, and rather pleased with myself at this point.

Another source of endless pleasure is my basil plant. Started out as one of those dinky little 4" pots from the produce section in the grocery store. I stuck it in the ground over in the corner of one of my planting beds, and, well, you can see for yourself how it's doing. Mmmmm.... ensalada caprese (except I make it with Queso Fresco instead of Mozarella).

So, if any of you recall my New Year's Resolution to put an end to the redneckscape that was my front yard, go ahead and take a gander. It's far from actually being *finished*, but what I have thus far is a very very good start.

*Remember, kids, if you have problems seeing the pictures, click the "Go" button on your browser. In Firefox, it's up there almost all the way over to the right, between the URL window and the Search Engine Window.

...But I know what I like when I hear it.

So I usually don't write much about music. I think that it's one of those things like politics or religion... everyone has their own beliefs and their own opinions, and while they might make for an interesting exercise in comparison and contrast, it's not as if the discussion is going to be productive or anything.

But I made one of my VERY rare (like, maybe 2 or 3 albums a YEAR) purchases of an ENTIRE [double!] album a few weeks ago, and I have been extremely satisfied with said purchase.

Before I get into the actual commentary, I do want to talk about the process of buying music these days.

Of course, I have an iPod... and iTunes (which, by the way, is STILL completely fubared on my Mac; I have lost all my ratings and playlists too many times so now I won't give it permission to do ANYTHING it suggests. Sam wrote a JE a while back about backing up playlists -- I gotta go back to that and do what it says before I'm gonna fix stuff.)... and now I even have a MacBook.

I enjoy finding and downloading new music on iTunes -- the instant gratification rocks (quite literally, most of the time).

But when it comes to buying entire albums, I would prefer to buy the hard copy. First of all, as I seldom buy ANYthing "hot off the presses," it's usually easy to find what I want used. And the thing is, when I buy the hard copy, then I don't have to worry about DRM and not being allowed to make more than X number of copies -- for whatever reasons I have. I consider the plastic disc a sound investment. If I could pay an upgrade fee for a DRM-free copy of an album (or even for a few choice songs), I'd *definitely* do so in some cases.

In any case, the album in question is Stadium Arcadium, by Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Of course, I heard (and saw) Dani California in the mainstream media -- and it's a good, solid pop tune in their own particular idiom. But it got me to listening to the older stuff of theirs that I have (namely Mother's Milk and Blood Sugar Sex Magik) and I realized that I *really* like it.

When I was a kid (high school) and listened to it, it was too screechy for me, and it bothered me that I couldn't understand Anthony Kiedis's lyrics -- either what they were or, when I could make them out, what they meant. The heavy guitar bits were just too much for me.

Now, though, I can appreciate some heavy shit. And I've come to realize *just* how funky this shit is. It doesn't bother me that I don't know all that's being said nor that it can be literally interpreted. Actually, that's really refreshing, 'cause I get really tired of ALL the damn trite crap that's out there.

In any case, I have had Stadium Arcadium "in hand" now for about 3 weeks -- and I have been enjoying listening to it VERY intently since I got it. The best way I can sum it up is to say that it's just eminently listenable.

My favorite is probably "Hump de Bump" for sheer funk factor. The music is perfect. Who can listen to this song and NOT bump their hips and flap their elbows out to the sides of their heads?

....

OK, maybe that's just me. But it really gets me going.

And on the elliptical trainer, I experienced a moment of pure nirvana when, at 22 minutes into a 30-minute session, "Storm in a Teacup" started pulsing through my iPod and directly into my brain. 'Cause you KNOW I can straddle the atmosphere... DAMN that worked up a GOOD sweat.

This morning it occurred to me that "She's Only 18" would make a perfect song to pole dance and/or fuck to (or maybe even both!). It's just that kinda song.

Don't get me wrong. Not every song on both discs puts me in the mood to sweat and/or fuck and/or dance exotically (well, no moreso than usual, anyway!). There are a few, like "Hey" and "Hard to Concentrate" and "If" and "We Believe" and especially "Animal Bar" that actually made me think of that sweet, emo-boy Zach Braff movie soundtrack for Garden State. I think it's that aquatic-style vibration effect they're using. It sounds a little swirly and a touch psychedelic; it's good.

The opening licks of "Torture Me" remind me of that scene in Spinal Tap when they explore the "jazz fusion" incarnation of the band at the state fair or wherever it was -- but the song is good. It's one that I found going through my head when I woke up and as I went through my day last week.

In any case, among these 28 songs there is PLENTY of variety, and yet, there's also a comfortable familiarity with the sounds and voices of these guys that have been growing and evolving just as I have over the past 20 years. It's kinda cool when your music grows up as you do.

I can't say that I think EVERYone should buy or listen to this album -- all I know is that it's going to be one that I will be listening to for a VERY long time to come, that will very likely always be associated in some way with this period in my life (like Indigo Girls and Lyle Lovett when I was applying to college, or San Francisco Days from Chris Isaak the spring that I graduated).

And speaking of Chris Isaak -- I went to Chastain on 29 August to go see him perform. And "perform" is something of an understatement. The man is a GREAT entertainer. He's smart and sexy and funny and DAMN if he can't belt out a tune. He has a seriously beautiful voice.

There were essentially 3 acts to the concert. The first started out with high energy and fast pacing... And he even took his mic and guitar (each separately in two different instances) and went out INTO the audience in the amphitheater. It was extremely fun -- and delightfully refreshing in post-911 America that he should do so even though there were NO metal detectors or bag checks when entering the venue. Finished up the first act with a VERY good cover of Cheap Trick's "I Want You to Want Me," which was already near and dear to my heart -- now it's even moreso. He OWNED that song.

In the second act, he and 4 or 5 bandmates sat around on stools and played GREAT rearrangements of some of his slower, more romantic hits. He had a great anecdote to share about an electric slide thingie that he and the guys had bought out from under one of the band members on eBay -- they whipped it out right there on stage without the guy even realizing that it was THEY who had bought it; so the entire audience got let in on the joke.

Another nice thing was learning that Chris Isaak has been playing with the same group of guys for 20 years.

For the "encore" (final act), Chris came out on stage wearing his famed mirrored suit. I think what impressed me most was that he was pretty frank about his sex appeal -- and charmingly self-deprecating about the whole celebrity status thing. He did some great hip bumps a la Elvis, but almost self-mockingly. Gave props to the late, great Roy Orbison. Had a gaggle of hot young chicks come up and dance with them on stage.

Personally, I LOVED being out in the sultry Georgia night. I particularly loved being out late on a SCHOOL night. And it was fun getting out on my own down in the city, too. The entire experience was enjoyable in every sense of the word.

On a couple other musical notes (HA), I wanted to be sure to point out to those of you who might care (Gecko?) that Bob Seger's Night Moves is available on iTunes now, and it seems that he's coming out with a new album or something? I can't find the info anymore, but it was in their weekly email thing.

And I happened to turn on Pandora today, and she played me the most WONDERFUL song. "Do it Again" by Stroke 9. When you hear it, just think of me. That's all I ask.

Oh, and I'm joining a ukulele band. Actually, it's more like a lesbian ukulele jam session -- but I've been invited to come take part. So I'm working on teaching myself how to play at least a little bit. The next time they're getting together is in a couple of weeks. I bought a baritone ukulele today and a decent book with a CD, but I don't think I'm quite getting it. I think I *might* have managed to get the thing in tune -- but I need better pictures than what I have, particularly for the fingering charts.

But the nice thing is that with age, I am learning to be more patient with myself. I'm giving myself more allowance for learning curves. Even the fact that I would subject myself to something brand-spankin-new and completely foreign to me is a sign of significant personal evolution.

There isn't any real purpose to the group except to get together and play and sing and laugh. There's talk of perhaps taking part in one of the local parades, and putting on a show as part of the children's program at the local library this spring. I'd enjoy actually performing -- but I want to get a bit of musical chops first, so that I don't inflict too much pain on my poor audience.

Speaking of which, if I can manage to figure out how to do it, I'll post a couple of my GarageBand projects, since we seem to be doing a little show and tell. I know y'all will be waiting with bated breath. :-)

These are the songs that I'm burning for my students. Just thought it might be fun to share with a bit of annotation.

Track 1: Livin' La Vida Loca (from Shrek 2)
Artist: Eddie Murphy / Antonio Banderas
Starting off with something I expect them to at least be familiar with. Personally, I think this version rocks WAY more than the original -- and there's just a touch of Spanish for fun.

Track 2: In These Shoes?
Artist: Kirsty MacColl
Another one with a little bit of Spanish, and just an all-around HOTT fucking song, anyway.

Track 3: Peaches
Artist: The Presidents of the United States of America
Suitable for any immigrant to Georgia, particularly our rural neck of the woods. Lots of repetition and incorrect use of reflexive pronouns (Gonna eat ME a lot of peaches) that we can discuss.

Track 4: Like a Prayer
Artist: Madonna
I had a specific request for some Madonna. This seemed good enough.

Track 5: Joy to the World
Artist: Three Dog Night
Hmmm... Somehow, this song just has universal appeal to me. Plus, singing about a bullfrog with wine? If that doesn't fuck them up, nothing will!

Track 6: Talkin' at the Texaco
Artist: James McMurtry
A very apt description of life around here. I think they'll enjoy the humor.

Track 7: I Loved You Yesterday
Artist: Lyle Lovett
A touch of Spanish in this one, plus it's romantic (which they said they wanted) and uses both preterite and present tense.

Track 8: The Lady in Red
Artist: Chris de Burgh
OK, OK, OK. TOTALLY cheese-a-rific, but they SAID they wanted slow, romantic songs. And really, is there any slower, more romantic song than this one? We'll listen to it and end up little puddles of melty goo in our seats. Or maybe we'll talk about the past perfect tense. That'll be fun.

Track 9: This Kiss
Artist: Faith Hill
Romantic and rockin', with some great vocab.

Track 10: Housework
Artist: Robert Palmer
Couldn't make a playlist without some Roberto, now, could I? This one is great for all kinds of "housework"-related vocab AND it has a little twist, if they're paying attention to their pronouns. We'll see who gets the joke.

Track 11: Coconut
Artist: Harry Nilsson
I can think of absolutely no legitimate reason to have this one on the list. The diction is bad, the vocab is confusing, it goes really fast... But dammit, I'm the teacher and I LIKE this song. So it's in.

Track 12: Sweet Caroline
Artist: Neil Diamond
Another sentimental favorite. I kinda wanna see if this works across cultures. If nothing else, we can go through the whole thing and write every "-ing" word and double negative correctly.

Track 13: True Fine Love
Artist: Steve Miller Band
Looking for a good beat, simple lyrics? DUDE. SMB *is* the answer! Plus, "get your rocks off" and "knock your socks off" are good idioms to know.

Track 14: Dancing Queen
Artist: ABBA
Reminds me of the quinceañeras. Maybe it will for them, too.

Track 15: Ironic
Artist: Alanis Morissette
Good narrative lyrics, good vocab, helps explain the concept of irony. Plus, she's like... GOD.

Track 16: South of the Border (Down Mexico Way)
Artist: Chris Isaak
Another track with a bit of Spanish, and romantic. Plus... Chriiiiiisssss.... ... ... ...

OK. I'm back. Anyone got a Kleenex?

Track 17: Let's Call the Whole Thing Off
Artist: Harry Connick, Jr.
How fun to play with the either/either/neither/neither thing with ESL students!

Track 18: Better Than Anything
Artist: Natalie Cole & Diana Krall
Great tune, one of my favorites -- and AWESOME vocab. We could do a whole week of review and discussion on this song alone.

Track 19: Somewhere Over the Rainbow/It's a Wonderful World
Artist: Israel K
Beautiful version, optimistic & all that shit. Plus reminds me of Robin Williams' character in Good Morning Vietnam, and who wouldn't want to be THAT kind of ESL teacher?

Track 20: Ev'ry time We Say Goodbye
Artist: Simply Red
A little Cole Porter to tie things up. I remember when I was 14 and heard this song (THIS version, as a matter of fact) and thought, "WOW. *That's* a good song!" Of course, I had no idea it was a cover. Silly silly silly me.

So guess what.

I got a job.

Yeah. That's right. I'm not a desperately attention-starved nympho housewife anymore.

I'm a desperately attention-starved nympho teacher of English as a Second Language instead!

For a variety of reasons, I decided that it was time to get back into the job market, to refresh my skills, to do something that would actually be recognized by society as *productive* for a change.

And please don't feed me that line of bullshit about how valuable mothers are and how it's the most important job anyone can ever do -- I've been doing it for five years now, and you know what? It''s a fuckin' SHITTY job.

No, literally.

Shit.

All over the place.

Shit in the diapers. Shit from the dog. Cleaning shit off the toilets. Picking shit up off the floor. Cooking shit for dinner. And as soon as you finish with one pile of shit, there are two more that have taken its place.

You never actually accomplish anything, you never actually do *enough* for anyone, you're always a failure in *some* regard.

And in the meantime, you're a kept woman. No income to call your own (unless you were independently wealthy going into the deal), no pride in bringing home a paycheck. Minimal feedback except for complaints. It just basically, all-around sucks.

So I went out and got a job. I'm teaching ESL 16 hours a week (4 hours a day, 4 days a week). I've got about 16-22 adult students (depending on the day). So far I'm a week into it. And I love it. It's fun.

I get to stand up in front of a group of people who listen to me, who think I'm smart, who laugh at my jokes (when I manage to translate them correctly). I get to write on a white board. I get to practice my Spanish. I get to push myself around the classroom in a wheelie chair.

And I'm helping people. Not only am I transferring knowledge and skills, I am also instilling confidence in and nurturing my students. I love pointing out the parts of the language that gringos have problems with and explaining to them how they will have an advantage because they know what the words *mean* rather than just how they sound, and will see immediately how the wrong form of "their/there/they're" just doesn't make sense.

I'm showing them that I value their time and commitment to improving their lives, and doing my darndest to contribute to their efforts to the best of my own abilities.

I'm a teacher. I'm making lesson plans. I'm reviewing curricula. I'm considering various techniques and how to incorporate technology into our learning. I'm exploring alternatives to sitting around a table and talking as a means of learning. I'm focusing on goals and methods and tools.

It feels fucking AWESOME. It fits perfectly into my life. Naturally, I still have the shit work waiting for me when I get home again... But when it's balanced out with work that actually involves using my *mind* for something, it all of a sudden just doesn't seem all that damn bad.

I am really proud of me.

Yes indeedy doodly, I DID go see Snakes on a Plane! last night, 'cause, well, it was an opportunity that presented itself and I was prepared to take it and make the most of it.

The movie itself... Well, really, it's exactly what you'd expect. I'll avoid spoilers but basically sum it up as such: Did you see Speed? Well, change the bus for a plane and take out Keanu Reeves and add Sam Jackson and leave out Sandra Bullock altogether. Then replace the bombs with snakes and add lots more CGI effects. And you've pretty much got the movie.

But what SoaP has that Speed didn't is MONTHS of pre-release hype and cult status before anyone's ever even seen the fucker. So the people that go into see this movie are going to fall into one of two essential categories: 1) ignorant motherfuckers who'll go see any piece of shit in a movie theater just 'cause it's there (who will probably think it's a pretty good action flick, 'cause their standards are just that low and/or they don't know any better) and 2) the people who are privy to the hype and locked and loaded to laugh out loud and hoot & holler at all the magical uber-cheesy movie moments (like me and a couple groups of kids/20-somethings scattered around the nearly empty theater last night).

I have never been to a Rocky Horror show in a theater, but Hubby grew up in that era, so he has broken it down for me. I can see the same-ish sort of thing developing around SoaP... maybe. Then again, maybe it doesn't need to follow the Rocky Horror model for cult status. Maybe the memorabilia & general pop culture detritus will be sufficient to mark its place in cinematic history.

In any case, I, for one, will be able to bounce my grandchildren (or SOMEone's grandchildren) on my knee someday and tell them that, yea verily -- I was THERE. And on OPENING NIGHT even!!

One Kool Kiddie brownie point for me!

I looooooves you!!!

Can I have your babies (in the sense of, "I really don't want to have any more kids, but for you, I would")?

Sincerely,
Bethanie