I Pity The Fool

Actually, getting out of Cali wasn’t the problem at all.  My cousin’s wife drove me to the airport in Sacramento this morning, where I had plenty of time to browse the gift shop and ultimately pick up a "Governator" t-shirt, all while talking to my dad on the phone.  I flew to Denver, trying out my brand-new earplugs (also bought at the airport), and discovered that there really is a ton of noise on airplanes when you compare earplug-wearing to non-earplug wearing. 

I dealt with the awkward issue of knowing someone nearby is doing something inappropriate, but not wanting to be the jerk/party-pooper/OCD-ish nerd who has to point it out…  Specifically, the girl next to me was actually trying to use her cellphone, over and over again, while we were in flight.  She was around 16 or 17 years old, I think, and appeared to be traveling with her grandma.  One or both of them should absolutely have known better.  I sat there agonizing over whether to say something, and how that might adversely affect the remainder of the flight time spent right next to them…praying that one of the flight attendants would see it and say something, so I wouldn’t have to do so.  Why has our society degraded to the point where those of us who *know* we’re right are afraid to comment on those who are doing something wrong?  I know in my case, it’s usually because the person misbehaving strikes me as equally likely to do something combative, violent, or otherwise disturbing…making me weigh the pros and cons of whether to say anything at all.  I guess it also depends on whether whatever the person is doing is harmful, or basically harmless (even if rude).  In this case, I observed that the girl sort of hid her phone under her tray table when the flight attendant gave us our drinks…in other words, she obviously knew what she was doing wasn’t cool.  I rehearsed in my mind the argument I imagined might result from speaking up:

"I’m not a pilot or any other kind of expert, but there’s obviously a reason why people are not allowed to use devices that can send and receive information…I’ve heard it can interfere with the pilot’s system…if everyone was doing what you’re doing, we’d all have to suffer through a hundred people’s mindless phone conversations…You must be aware that this is not okay, since this cannot possibly be your first time on an airplane -your Southern accent reveals that you’re not from Sacramento- plus they announced it when we took off, I heard them and so did everybody else…etc., etc., etc."

But, as luck would have it, I didn’t really have to defend my position.  Instead, I took up courage (I mean, what’s a 17-year-old white girl really going to do to me in mid-air, in front of her grandmother and dozens of other witnesses?), and looked directly at her.  I said something like, "You know, you’re really not supposed to be using your cellphone while we’re in flight."  She looked the tiniest bit sheepish, and actually answered, "Yeah, actually I’m not really getting a good signal up here anyway."  Firmly (i.e., without too much quavering in my voice -why the hell should I be afraid of this teenage girl?!?), I responded along the lines of, "Well, actually you shouldn’t even have it on at all while we’re in the air."  With a barely perceptible eyeroll, she more or less admitted I was right.  A moment later, she turned off the goddamned phone.  She did, however, continue to play with it, opening and closing it, etc., for the remainder of the flight; I kept watch out of the corner of my eye, but didn’t really make eye contact after that, despite the fact that I basically won. 

I felt like telling her, "We don’t have to be sitting here like this- I don’t like being *that person,* but honestly, you made me be that person.  I’ll even give you a piece of gum if you just accept the fact that you do not have the right to endanger the lives of everybody else on this aircraft.  Seriously!"  But instead, I said nothing, and hurried off the plane in Denver as soon as I could get out of there.  Incidentally, I wondered if I was overreacting on the safety issue- it’s possible.  I looked up this question on the internet just now, and it seems that information sources disagree on how dangerous it is or isn’t to use cellphones during flight.  That said, I have to point something out: even when a rule may need to be changed or updated, based on more current data, I don’t feel like the musings of a 17-year-old girl count as fighting oppression.  I honestly believe that unless a rule/law is actively hampering your safety/well-being, you should just stick with it until it changes…this is, essentially, the social contract by which we should all agree to live.  Unfortunately, less and less people give a flying f–k about the social contract.  Coincidentally, many of these people are the ones having the most babies…which is why this movie is funny AND scary, and also why I will probably NEVER be out of a job.  I suppose that wha may have bothered me almost as much as the potential safety hazard is that once again, someone with a completely unjustified sense of entitlement decided that rules don’t apply to her, because she’s just such a special individual…and for once, not an individual who scared me enough to make me keep quiet.

***Hey folks, I’m just warming up.  It’s 1:23 AM here, but I’m still on West Coast time!***

So anyway, once I got to Denver, I had time to eat the sandwich I’d brought with me, plus buy a cookie, and stretch my legs a bit before my boarding time…at which point I learned that due to inclement weather in New York, my flight home would be delayed an extra 90 minutes or so.  Argh!  In case you’ve ever wondered, Denver does not have a very interesting or exciting airport, especially when you’ve been told not to stray too far from the gate in case anything changes.  You want to take the opportunity to walk around and get the old blood circulating, but you’re afraid of losing your precious seat, on the off chance that you wind up with further delays.

You have a magazine, most of which you’ve already perused, but you don’t want to buy another book and you’re too annoyed to read, anyway.  When we finally did board the plane, they apologized and declared that the Direct TV service, normally priced at $5 (the free headsets are just to tempt and sucker you in) would be provided free of charge.  The movies, on the other hand, would still cost $8.  Yes, $8 to watch a movie on that little seatback screen, $8 I’d resisted on my trip out to CA because I thought it seemed like highway robbery.  However, since I’d finished my book on the trip out, and had five or so days to think about it, I’d already resolved myself to shelling out the $8 sometime yesterday.  I chose Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End, because I guess I would have rented it eventually anyway, and at 160 minutes, would last almost the entire duration of the beleaguered DEN-LGA flight.  It was long-winded (sort of like the majority of my blog posts), at times confusing, and far from perfect…however, it kept me completely occupied and that itself was rather a blessing. 

Incidentally, I also decided to shell out for a cab home, since I knew I wouldn’t even be leaving the airport til 10:30 or 11.  At least now I know that even with a nighttime surcharge, and a decent tip, the cab fare from LaGuardia to my new ‘hood nearby is only $13: $11 more than bus/train, but faster, door-to-door, and at 11 PM, a mere week after a sexual assault two blocks from my house (also at 11 PM), and in the context of my almost year-long gainful employement…it’s well worth the comfort and peace of mind.

***Switching gears once more before I go to bed.***

The following is a fair representation of what was on my mind during much of my trip to California.  I wanted to post it on Monday, but couldn’t get my cousin’s internet connection to work.  I’d like to post it here now, and then continue on with an overall account of my three trips this summer…next time…though I realize that however small my readership is, it must be vaguely annoying to you (if you care) that I keep promising something along these lines, and failing to deliver.  Hope I’ve provided some amusement in the meantime.

Now here’s the bit that I wrote on Monday, edited somewhat since it came from a letter I was writing to my friend, C.  The title would have been something like, "On Parenthood," except hopefully more clever:

I’m actually in California now, at my cousin’s house, while
he and his wife are both at work. Their
16-month old son, Dean, is at childcare- I could have watched him if necessary,
but it’s sort of nice that they didn’t want to make me do it. I have been having a lot of fun with him
over the past few days, but it’s definitely taught me that I am not ready to be
a parent! Even having been a long-term
babysitter (for a school-aged child, though), not to mention a child
psychologist (who had to take all those classes in development)- these things
aren’t quite the same exposure to babies as actually living with one. I don’t think I’ve spent more than a couple
of hours with a baby since my brother was one, and he’s 25 now.

Living here for the past few days has really brought home
the point of why everyone always says young parents look “happy, but
tired”…also why the ones who are actually good parents seem to rarely get the
chance to go out and do something for themselves. Of course, intellectually I knew this…but actually seeing it in
person really brings the point home. Becky and David are every bit as wonderful as parents as I knew they
would be. They always seemed like my cousins
who were fun, and close to my age, but just a bit older and wiser. Now, in spite of parents, they seem more
like peers (they’re about 2.5 and 4 years older than me, respectively, but once
you’re adults it doesn’t make such a big difference), in spite of having
already accomplished two major life milestones (i.e., getting married and
becoming parents).

On the other hand, now that I’m around the same age she was
when she got pregnant, I can understand much more her uncertainty, anxiety, and
self-questioning. Personally, I never
thought that the two of them should worry about whether they’d be great
parents, because to me it seemed obvious (though of course, the hubris of
anybody just assuming from the get-go that they would be great parents, would
almost surely preclude them from actually being great parents!). At the same time though, I had some
understanding about the important sacrifices any great parent would have to
make for the benefit of a child…albeit solely intellectual understanding, not
experiential. Now that I’ve been here a
little while, I have an inkling of the true sacrifices to your personal,
marital, social, financial, and overall life that are necessary…delicately
balanced on the belief that it will all be worth it, that your child will grow
up to be a wonderful person and an active participant in a strong, happy
family.

Now as most people know, especially those who work with the
population that I do, such forethought/insight/philosophy/deliberation rarely
factors into childbearing (I was going to say family planning, but “planning”
is really not an issue in many of these cases) for a substantial proportion of
young parents in the U.S. today. Many
people become parents who are not at all prepared to make even basic sacrifices
to their selfish lifestyles…sometimes (especially if there are other, more
mature role models and caretakers around), their kids turn out okay
anyway. Conversely, there are families
in which the parents seem to have done everything right, but their kids
inexplicably hate them, go down the “wrong path,” etc. Parenting is such a gamble…yet, in my
opinion, there are still things you can do to improve your family’s odds. I can honestly say that D. and B. are really
doing an amazing job- I’m proud of them, and inspired. That said, they’ve also shown me the truth
about parenting. It is not easy, even
when you have two stable, educated parents, adequate resources, a spacious
home, and a loving marriage. I think
that if they hadn’t been together for so long beforehand (they’ve been married
for five years, but were together almost continuously since high school!),
parenthood could have put much more of a strain on their relationship.

Among other things, it’s reinforced the point to me that if
I ever do get married, I want to spend a few years just enjoying the time spent
with my husband, and not jump headlong into raising a family. I think I’ll be ready for it someday, but
for now, I want to enjoy the opportunity to do things just because I feel like
doing them, without worrying about the effects on another, tiny human
being. Like so many other middle-class,
bourgeois young people, I have worked hard for my accomplishments, and I want
to enjoy them for now…while I can.

***One last, unrelated thing.***

A classmate/reunion-planning buddy of mine recently referenced my blog on his own (check it out, he’s a good writer…and much more succinct than I am!).  He also pointed out the utter hideousness of the ads that Friendster tacks on, particularly the irritating voices that tell you about emoticons, free i-phones, or what have you.  All I can say is, I’m sorry about that.  In fact, a year or so ago, when Friendster first started doing that, I actually used to add a little apology/disclaimer at the end of each post…til I just got fed up with the redundancy.  And speaking of redundancy, all I can say is, I’m sorry…

A woman was attacked two blocks away from my house last night.  When I got home this evening, I was carrying three bags and hastening to get my keys out.  Unfortunately, the bag I dropped on the sidewalk was the one containing my poor, now-pulverized bottle of Kindzmarauli.  I bought it at this Brighton Beach liquor store* while on my Andrew Zimmern-inspired gastronomic mini-tour of the area.  Click here to see my photos!
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Last night, it’s entirely possible that I might have been around on the street to be victimized, but instead of having a lengthy, solo train ride, I was lucky enough to get a ride home.  I’d been at a barbecue in Farmingdale, Long Island, since about 2:30 PM.  It was organized by one of my coworkers, and her brother and his family felt that driving me home was a better choice than dropping me off for a three-train trip home.  The party was a very Long Island-type of celebration**, reminiscent of barbecues I’ve attended with my own cousins who live out there.  The conversations are pleasant, but completely apolitical; people compliment each other on their expensive (whether authentic or not) jewelry/watches/leather goods/home electronics; everyone eats until digestive consequences are *imminent.*  There were definitely a few people there who didn’t listen to a word I said, as well as incredibly spoiled children (since when does a 12-year-old need his own cellphone?  Or get to use the word "shit" multiple times in conversation with his parents, aunts, and uncles?).  However, I have to acknowledge that nobody made me feel the least bit unwelcome; no one was pretentious or affected; certainly no one above the age of 13 acted like you’re an idiot if you don’t like the same bands as they do.  There’s something about people who are just simple and genuine, no matter how different their individual tastes/politics/background may be from your own, that can be refreshing…especially compared to the often tiresome experience of trying to meet new people my own age in this big damn city who don’t need to feel superior in some way.
That said, I still felt the need to recount my surreal ride home last night.  After they were essentially volunteered to give me a ride back to NYC, my coworker’s brother C. and his wife M. talked right through my awkward attempts at conversation, in between yelling at their kids in the back of the SUV.***  Mercifully, M. cranked up the radio, sparing me from any further inclination toward small talk…I was grateful despite her choice of KTU (even her daughter objected, though her request for Z100 would not have made much of a difference).  M. was basically on edge for almost the entire car ride, although she chilled out a bit when quizzing us on trivia gleaned from one of those spam emails that’s been going around for about a million years (e.g., a pregnant goldfish is called a twit…).  But once again, I really did overlook the social awkwardness of the atmosphere in appreciation for the goodhearted and sincere offer of a ride home: to my door, in fact.  All differences aside, some people are prepared to offer kindness and help someone who needs it; I’ve certainly encountered others with politics or education more similar to my own, who would have been much more reluctant to go out of their way to help.
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Speaking of my home, I’ve continued to have somewhat frustrating interactions with my landlady.  I no longer find her quite as alluring as Little Orphan Annie (remember that?) ; in fact, I’m still trying to figure out whether the issue is that she’s ditzy (as I’d presumed), or duplicitous, or both.  I have definitely noticed that communication with her is much more effective in person than over the phone (much less, laughable attempts to convey information to her via notes that she almost certainly does not read).  She did indicate awareness of my question (via voicemail) about when someone is coming to measure the windows…however, she feigned total ignorance regarding installing a new electrical outlet (something SHE originally mentioned to ME!), among other issues.  And a week or two ago, she tried to convince me that the "waterbugs" I’ve observed are due to the fact that we live near the park (yet not as close as I lived to Prospect Park for approximately 24 years of my life).****  On the other hand, she is genuinely ditzy- she left her phone up here today, for example.
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I still haven’t told you about my trips to DC and Chicago.  Thursday, I leave for California.  This post is long already.  I don’t know how many of you honestly care that much about what happened on my trips, but then again, you’ve read this far. ;)  I’ll try to post an amusing anecdote or two, unadulterated by talk of SUVs, roaches great and small, or Landlady.  Coming soon.
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Notes:
*Check out their sign:

If you look at the photos, you’ll see more pics from the liquor store, including booze bottles shaped like Santa.

**before any Long Island people get insulted, notice that I compared the partygoers to MY OWN RELATIVES.  And I am perfectly aware that not everyone from Long Island is like that!

***Why do Americans need to purchase 7-seater, gas-guzzling cars for a family of four?  When my parents got a new car in late 1985, I remember finding it luxurious due to the fact that it had four doors, back windows that could actually roll down, and plush seating instead of the vinyl that burns your ass in the summertime.  Not to mention the fact that today’s children are too unimaginative to even look out the window on cartrips anymore; instead, they all need their own personal DVD players, handheld game systems, or what-have-you.

****The situation continues to be traumatic.  Tonight there was one crawling around by my showerhead.  It escaped my frantic spraying of household cleansers by crawling behind the sink.  I sprayed around the whole area and emptied out the cabinet down there…I’ve been resisting buying Raid, or any other truly poisonous materials (the nontoxic choice is mint oil, but I don’t know where to get it), but when you’re at the point of spraying ammonia-based glass cleanser in the same vicinity as your toothbrush, what difference does it make?  Either that, or I have to buy that giant box of Borax I saw in the supermarket, I suppose…
Worst of all: last week, I got out of bed one morning, sent off a quick message to my carpool buddy, and walked over to the dresser…where I felt something WARM and CRUNCHY underfoot.  Horror of horrors!  The bug flipped over onto its back and waved frantically.  I ran for the orange-clean spray and Oust, and sprayed it, suppressing my screams.  It continued to wiggle.  I got into the shower and scrubbed my foot three times or so.  The damned thing was still alive when I got out!  In the end, I got a handful of paper towels, squished it, scooped it up, and threw it in the trash (then scrubbed the floor).  I don’t know how I deal with this, other than having to recount it to as many people as possible.  Taste my pain!

I just ate ten (10) "Light, Flaky, Buttery…CLUB crackers."  It’s getting harder and harder to wait for K. to get here to have lunch, but I guess I should be happy that any one is willing to trek up to Astoria at all…particularly in light of this morning’s freak storm.  Did you hear that there was a tornado watch in BROOKLYN, of all places?!  Of course, now that I live 5 minutes away from work, it’s both a blessing and a curse…virtually no excuse ever to miss work due to weather or transportation delays.
As a matter of fact, my carpool buddy picked me up right in front of my house, and we got to work earlier than usual.
We were the only ones there.
We sat around wondering what would happen, answering the phone, and wishing we’d brought a DVD.  Then, about an hour later, our supervisor Ms. T. showed up.  I was pretty sure I’ve mentioned her previously in this blog, and…yep, apparently I christened her "Shelob" at one point.  Over the course of the year, my working relationship with her has actually improved/mellowed quite a bit.  However, this does not make her any less bizarre, overbearing, or obtuse than she was all along…it’s just funnier now. 
For example, let’s discuss our end of the year party for clinicians; she refers to it as a "meeting," supposedly so we can have it during school hours…but really it’s so that she can mandate our attendance…yet I had to pay $10 anyway!  She handed out notices/invitations a couple of weeks beforehand, with the name of the event in big letters across a flier that must have taken her hours to create.  The name, without any intentional irony, was Afternoon Delight (!)…this of course immediately set my mind racing to THIS, not to mention compelled me to show the flier to pretty much everyone else at work.  The party was supposed to be a luau, complete with lei-wearing (no roast pig, though), as well as gift-giving and announcements.  Ms. T. referred to me as "the baby of the group…who took our hearts by storm this year!"  I felt like I was winning an Oscar.  She also thought I was turning 22 on my last birthday…when I pointed out that I would have had to have been a child prodigy of some sort to have received my doctorate at age 21, she told me that she herself was a prodigy.  I resisted the urge to verbalize my conjecture that perhaps she meant a savant…although then again, savants have to be especially good at something.
But, as so often happens, I digress.
The point of this story was to tell you what happened when Ms. T. tried to illustrate her point about disliking crossword puzzles.  Arbitrarily, she picked a clue which she must have thought would be difficult to solve: "42. Erect…I don’t know what that is!" 

"How many letters?" I asked, carefully.  She said there were five, and I immediately responded, "Build."  She seemed surprised, but my colleague J. agreed with me.

Moments later, when Ms. T’s attention was diverted, I passed J. a note that said the answer might alternately have been "Boner," and WHY of all possible clues did she have to pick that one?!?  Needless to say, everyone else will hear this anecdote as well…it’s a small reward after having spent possibly the longest 2.5 hours of my life trying to participate in conversation with Ms. T. this morning.
In other news, I finally finished uploading my photos of Hungary from last summer.  This leaves Vienna and Italy, plus the rest of the pictures from my trips to the Netherlands and Phoenix this year.  And speaking of trips, I recently visited friends in both DC and Chicago.  I keep saying I’m going to post about these things with further elaboration, but my thoughts are not yet coherent.  Perhaps it’s sunstroke!
K. just called and I’m starving, despite having eaten at least 4 more of those crunchy sticks of butter that pass for crackers.  I’ll post again later and share with you all the gory details of why I need to buy some mint oil…
Ciao for now!