Thursday, July 3, 2008
Random thought
Sister, do you think you're doing justice to that conspicuously large Chanel bag by pairing it with a cotton camisole and flip-flops?
Things I Didn't Know Before Hot Pants
There are many, many things I didn't know about babies before I had a baby. Some of them include:
1. Babies, even newborns, don't necessarily just fall asleep on their own. You actually need to help them get to sleep. Wild! Babies don't sleep like the proverbial baby!
2. Babies will sometimes sleep with their eyes open (or half-open), particularly during the REM phase. Took me a while to figure this out!
3. Old ladies will literally accost you on the sidewalk, standing directly in the path of you/your stroller, in order to try to get your baby to smile at her (good luck, granny!).
4. Your armpits--well, fine, my armpits--have permanently taken on the odour of buttermilk, even when freshly washed. Spousal unit loves that, I tell you.
1. Babies, even newborns, don't necessarily just fall asleep on their own. You actually need to help them get to sleep. Wild! Babies don't sleep like the proverbial baby!
2. Babies will sometimes sleep with their eyes open (or half-open), particularly during the REM phase. Took me a while to figure this out!
3. Old ladies will literally accost you on the sidewalk, standing directly in the path of you/your stroller, in order to try to get your baby to smile at her (good luck, granny!).
4. Your armpits--well, fine, my armpits--have permanently taken on the odour of buttermilk, even when freshly washed. Spousal unit loves that, I tell you.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Battlestar Galactica and Philosophy: A Review
I've just finished reading Battlestar Galactica and Philosophy: Knowledge Here Begins Out There, published this year by Blackwell. It's a collection of 20-odd essays that explore various philosophical themes that appear in Battlestar Galactica. The book's jacket claims to be of interest to anyone interested in learning more about philosophy and is also "indispensable" to fans of the show. I'd say this is a bit of a stretch.
I'm familiar with some of philosophy's greatest hits--Aristotle, Descartes, Rorty, and so forth (though philosophers like to draw a strong distinction between their discipline and political theory, which is the field I'm actually trained in). Some of the essays in this book do draw on philosophy's most seminal thinkers in interesting and sometimes entertaining ways. Robert Sharp's piece on Nietzsche's master/slave morality in the context of human/cylon relations was thought-provoking, and the obligatory feminist contribution ("Is Starbuck a Woman?") by Sarah Conly drew purposefully on de Beauvoir and Carol Gilligan.
However, many of the pieces failed to satisfy in that most crucial of departments: answering the "so what?" question. While most of the essays provided a modicum of food for thought, too many of them had the gloss of a hastily-written paper written on the Sunday night before the deadline. There was too much of a, "Look, there's comparisons to Plato in that episode!" kind of a flavour in too many essays. Moreover, the amount of repetition across the book as a whole lent itself to a dull read (nearly every essay used the quote "ragtag fleet," and at least half cited Adama's speech just before the cylon attack).
But there were two things that I found most disappointing about this text as both a fan and a former scholar: the exclusion of a discussion on love and the complete absence of any reference to Marx. The theme of love, which has been present in BSG since the beginning, is a particular interest of mine (it was the topic of my doctoral dissertation), and I was surprised to find none of the authors had picked it up, given the fact that many classical philosophers themselves have written about love. The failure of any of the essays to also discuss the class conflict on the show, or even use Marx to discuss the theological elements in the show, was a disappointment, too. In my opinion, in demonstrated the limitations of this text.
Sure, if you're a BSG fan and you're jonesing for some kind of input until the show resumes in 2009, go ahead and check it out. The essays are pretty accessible (that is one virtue of this text), so you don't need an academic background to get something out of this book. But don't rush out to pick this up, either--there's probably more fun to be had philosophizing about this show with your friends over a frosty glass of beer.
I'm familiar with some of philosophy's greatest hits--Aristotle, Descartes, Rorty, and so forth (though philosophers like to draw a strong distinction between their discipline and political theory, which is the field I'm actually trained in). Some of the essays in this book do draw on philosophy's most seminal thinkers in interesting and sometimes entertaining ways. Robert Sharp's piece on Nietzsche's master/slave morality in the context of human/cylon relations was thought-provoking, and the obligatory feminist contribution ("Is Starbuck a Woman?") by Sarah Conly drew purposefully on de Beauvoir and Carol Gilligan.
However, many of the pieces failed to satisfy in that most crucial of departments: answering the "so what?" question. While most of the essays provided a modicum of food for thought, too many of them had the gloss of a hastily-written paper written on the Sunday night before the deadline. There was too much of a, "Look, there's comparisons to Plato in that episode!" kind of a flavour in too many essays. Moreover, the amount of repetition across the book as a whole lent itself to a dull read (nearly every essay used the quote "ragtag fleet," and at least half cited Adama's speech just before the cylon attack).
But there were two things that I found most disappointing about this text as both a fan and a former scholar: the exclusion of a discussion on love and the complete absence of any reference to Marx. The theme of love, which has been present in BSG since the beginning, is a particular interest of mine (it was the topic of my doctoral dissertation), and I was surprised to find none of the authors had picked it up, given the fact that many classical philosophers themselves have written about love. The failure of any of the essays to also discuss the class conflict on the show, or even use Marx to discuss the theological elements in the show, was a disappointment, too. In my opinion, in demonstrated the limitations of this text.
Sure, if you're a BSG fan and you're jonesing for some kind of input until the show resumes in 2009, go ahead and check it out. The essays are pretty accessible (that is one virtue of this text), so you don't need an academic background to get something out of this book. But don't rush out to pick this up, either--there's probably more fun to be had philosophizing about this show with your friends over a frosty glass of beer.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Liveblogging BSG! (Spoiler-free, though)
It's the final epi until 2009!
I'm wetting my pants four minutes in!
Adama's got a decision to make!
I love you, Felix Gaeta!
They're not messing about in this episode. It's all action (sez Spousal Unit).
Lee, you're so pretty!
I've gone from wetting my pants to something more substantial, seven minutes in!
Lucy Lawless, you're so flawless!
Oh, Christ! I think I'm going to throw up!
I'm wetting my pants four minutes in!
Adama's got a decision to make!
I love you, Felix Gaeta!
They're not messing about in this episode. It's all action (sez Spousal Unit).
Lee, you're so pretty!
I've gone from wetting my pants to something more substantial, seven minutes in!
Lucy Lawless, you're so flawless!
Oh, Christ! I think I'm going to throw up!
Today's random thoughts
Lady, if I wanted you to see my naked breast here in the Roots store, I would take off this giant piece of fabric I've got draped over my front.
Baby: check. Diaper bag: check. Shopping bags: check. Ice cream: check. Shit, I am a multi-tasking machine.
Wow, the cordless phone props up my boob perfectly so it's at the height of Hot Pants' mouth!
Baby: check. Diaper bag: check. Shopping bags: check. Ice cream: check. Shit, I am a multi-tasking machine.
Wow, the cordless phone props up my boob perfectly so it's at the height of Hot Pants' mouth!
Zohan Zo Terrible
I'm not against Adam Sandler movies in general. I have no principled stance against light-hearted, dumb comedies. But if you like Adam Sandler movies, do not go see Don't Mess With the Zohan. If you don't like Adam Sandler movies, do not go see Don't Mess With the Zohan. It's just a bad movie.
I didn't know what this movie was about before I saw it. All I knew was that it was playing at the "mommy matinee" and Hot Pants and I needed to get out of the house. Adam Sandler plays an Israeli counter-terrorist who immigrates to America to become a hairdresser. God, even just writing that down I wonder how this movie ever got green-lighted.
The movie is choppy, poorly edited and too long. It's got disappointing, pointless cameos (Chris Rock, Mariah Carey, Kevin Nealon, John MacEnroe). It rests on dull stereotypes and has too pat an ending (hey, Jews and Arabs can get along!). It's mostly not funny--with the exception of sight gags involving hummus. I'm a sucker for hummus humour, really. I probably would have walked out of this movie, except my daughter was asleep on my lap and I wanted to go out for beer with the other moms afterwards.
I didn't know what this movie was about before I saw it. All I knew was that it was playing at the "mommy matinee" and Hot Pants and I needed to get out of the house. Adam Sandler plays an Israeli counter-terrorist who immigrates to America to become a hairdresser. God, even just writing that down I wonder how this movie ever got green-lighted.
The movie is choppy, poorly edited and too long. It's got disappointing, pointless cameos (Chris Rock, Mariah Carey, Kevin Nealon, John MacEnroe). It rests on dull stereotypes and has too pat an ending (hey, Jews and Arabs can get along!). It's mostly not funny--with the exception of sight gags involving hummus. I'm a sucker for hummus humour, really. I probably would have walked out of this movie, except my daughter was asleep on my lap and I wanted to go out for beer with the other moms afterwards.
Friday, June 6, 2008
BFing brou-ha-ha
As a pregnant woman reading up on social responses to breastfeeding, I felt a sense of anxiety and defensiveness about what I would do in certain situations where I was breastfeeding in public. After all, some of the literature I read made it sound like breastfeeding in public could inspire a wrath previously visited only upon lepers.
Little did I know, though, that the convenience of extracting food from my body for my baby would trump all of those worries. I have now since nursed Hot Pants in several Starbucks locations, a Chapters outlet, our local pizzeria, our local fish n' chips joint, St. Lawrence Market, the mommy matinee (natch), a convenience store, while walking around Toronto Island, and while walking down King Street in Toronto. In other words, I'm starting to lose track of all the places that Hot Pants and I have done our thing in the presence of strangers.
And so far, no public reaction.
But today I even shocked myself. Hot Pants and I were out with two other new moms on a staggeringly hot and humid day. I was sweating like a hog, and because Hot Pants was strapped to my chest, she was suffering from the heat, too. This made for a very unhappy baby. And so, in the midst of her crying, I did what I always do, which is to whip out The Boob and offer it to her. This worked eventually and soothed her crying. It was only when I looked up and continued the conversation with my two pals that I realized...HOLY SHIT, I'M BREASTFEEDING MY KID ON THE BUS.
AND WE'RE SITTING AT THE VERY FRONT OF THE BUS.
AND THERE ARE A WHOLE BUNCH OF PASSENGERS ON THIS BUS.
AND THERE IS A STRANGE MAN SITTING BESIDE ME.
But you know what? I still didn't get a reaction. So not only have I turned out to be a fearless breastfeeder, but that breastfeeding persecution complex that seems to dog some women has not yet come to pass.
Little did I know, though, that the convenience of extracting food from my body for my baby would trump all of those worries. I have now since nursed Hot Pants in several Starbucks locations, a Chapters outlet, our local pizzeria, our local fish n' chips joint, St. Lawrence Market, the mommy matinee (natch), a convenience store, while walking around Toronto Island, and while walking down King Street in Toronto. In other words, I'm starting to lose track of all the places that Hot Pants and I have done our thing in the presence of strangers.
And so far, no public reaction.
But today I even shocked myself. Hot Pants and I were out with two other new moms on a staggeringly hot and humid day. I was sweating like a hog, and because Hot Pants was strapped to my chest, she was suffering from the heat, too. This made for a very unhappy baby. And so, in the midst of her crying, I did what I always do, which is to whip out The Boob and offer it to her. This worked eventually and soothed her crying. It was only when I looked up and continued the conversation with my two pals that I realized...HOLY SHIT, I'M BREASTFEEDING MY KID ON THE BUS.
AND WE'RE SITTING AT THE VERY FRONT OF THE BUS.
AND THERE ARE A WHOLE BUNCH OF PASSENGERS ON THIS BUS.
AND THERE IS A STRANGE MAN SITTING BESIDE ME.
But you know what? I still didn't get a reaction. So not only have I turned out to be a fearless breastfeeder, but that breastfeeding persecution complex that seems to dog some women has not yet come to pass.
Okay, but...John James Preston?!
This week I attended the mommy matinee screening of the Sex and the City movie, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I did, of course, miss a few scenes whilst I was changing a poopy diaper. But there was lots of great dialogue, great eye candy and great emotional highs and lows. It was a bit long, but there were all those babies in the theatre to check out when the scenes dragged a bit.
Without giving anything away, my favourite moment in the film was something that Samantha does for Carrie when they're in a hotel room together. No, it's not what you're thinking. It's a tender, beautiful moment between two friends, and it brought tears to my eyes.
I know people have often pontificated about SATC, trying to figure out its popularity. But I think it's pretty simple. The show was unique in that it struck a smart balance between aspirational and identificatory [Is that a word?--Inner Ed.]. On one hand, it had all the ridiculous fabulousness with the shoes, the fashion, the swanky parties--things that many viewers don't come close to having but perhaps secretly aspire to (or a part of them does). At the same time, there are two key things that viewers do have and can identify with: the relationship angst and the passionate friendship. It's the dialectic between the two, I think, that appealed to viewers.
I am now going to violate a personal rule I had established for myself during my pregnancy: I'm going to blog about my baby's poo. Probably the best part of seeing the SATC movie at the mommy matinee this week was not actually anything that occurred on screen. It was a moment that happened near the end of the film, during a pivotal romantic moment. The violins were literally swelling as I thought to myself, "Oh. This is not the direction I wanted this to go in." And just at that moment, baby Hot Pants brilliantly reflected my thoughts by letting rip an enormous shit explosion in her diaper. It was awesome, and in the 8 weeks that she's been alive, I've hardly been more proud of her.
Without giving anything away, my favourite moment in the film was something that Samantha does for Carrie when they're in a hotel room together. No, it's not what you're thinking. It's a tender, beautiful moment between two friends, and it brought tears to my eyes.
I know people have often pontificated about SATC, trying to figure out its popularity. But I think it's pretty simple. The show was unique in that it struck a smart balance between aspirational and identificatory [Is that a word?--Inner Ed.]. On one hand, it had all the ridiculous fabulousness with the shoes, the fashion, the swanky parties--things that many viewers don't come close to having but perhaps secretly aspire to (or a part of them does). At the same time, there are two key things that viewers do have and can identify with: the relationship angst and the passionate friendship. It's the dialectic between the two, I think, that appealed to viewers.
I am now going to violate a personal rule I had established for myself during my pregnancy: I'm going to blog about my baby's poo. Probably the best part of seeing the SATC movie at the mommy matinee this week was not actually anything that occurred on screen. It was a moment that happened near the end of the film, during a pivotal romantic moment. The violins were literally swelling as I thought to myself, "Oh. This is not the direction I wanted this to go in." And just at that moment, baby Hot Pants brilliantly reflected my thoughts by letting rip an enormous shit explosion in her diaper. It was awesome, and in the 8 weeks that she's been alive, I've hardly been more proud of her.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
2:00 a.m. thoughts
When it's the middle of the night and you're rocking your kid back to sleep, you have all kinds of thoughts for blog posts that seem really brilliant at the time. Last night, I actually jotted these down at 1:45 a.m.:
- In the Dark, My Kid Kinda Looks Like Anderson Cooper
- If Looking at My Cute Baby Doesn't Make You Broody, You're Right: You're Meant to Remain Childfree
- Things I Hope Are Universal For All Parents (or, If the Wet Spot is Small Enough, You Can Overlook It)
- "When Will She Fall Asleep?!": Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Adult Populations
- "Honey, Only When She Falls Asleep": Effects of Babies' Sleep on the Sex Lives of Adult Populations
- "She Liked The Music Last Night. Why Isn't it Working Tonight?": The Hermeneutics of Sleep Induction in Infant Populations
Monday, June 2, 2008
Facebook redux
A while back I complained about Facebook and why I had joined and withdrawn after a mere week. I'd had privacy concerns and a desire to let the past stay in the past. Along came Hot Pants, though, and I figured I'd better beat back that social isolation that can accompany motherhood. Turns out I can magically make the blog appear on Facebook (thanks, W!), which is where I've had some good commentary going on. Do I know you? Wanna be my Facebook friend? Look me up and I might give you the royal assent.
Natural mother! Ha!
Like many things related to sex and reproduction, it turns out that being and becoming a mother isn't so natural, after all. By this I mean that there is no deep-seated mechanism that emerges when one's sprog springs forth, like a Cylon's programming being switched on at a pre-set moment. There is nothing, I'm starting to think, that necessarily comes to one naturally as a mother.
Of course, for the non-essentialists among you, that should be a given. But it remains that mothering is still largely understood in natural terms, rather than learned or social and cultural ones. Take breastfeeding, for example. Though you may not know it, through a stone in any Gymboree store and you're bound to hit a gaggle of moms who had problems establishing and maintaining the breastfeeding relationship with their babies. There are latching probs, sucking probs, infections, lack of milk letdown, too fast a letdown, oversupply, undersupply, blocked ducts, mastitis--I mean, the list is endless.
It took me a solid 5 weeks to run the gamut of probs before Hot Pants and I got our BFing deal sorted out. Sure, you'd think breastfeeding would be more "natural"--i.e. easy, unlearned--since the human race depended on it in the millennia before Nestle came along. But it ain't so. And the mantle of the natural is what can make it really difficult for some women who just can't make breastfeeding work and switch to bottle feeding. But I'm starting to think that the only thing that comes naturally to a mother is guilt, thanks in no small part to the Judgy Judies among us who make women feel like shit if they choose to bottlefeed their babes.
Of course, for the non-essentialists among you, that should be a given. But it remains that mothering is still largely understood in natural terms, rather than learned or social and cultural ones. Take breastfeeding, for example. Though you may not know it, through a stone in any Gymboree store and you're bound to hit a gaggle of moms who had problems establishing and maintaining the breastfeeding relationship with their babies. There are latching probs, sucking probs, infections, lack of milk letdown, too fast a letdown, oversupply, undersupply, blocked ducts, mastitis--I mean, the list is endless.
It took me a solid 5 weeks to run the gamut of probs before Hot Pants and I got our BFing deal sorted out. Sure, you'd think breastfeeding would be more "natural"--i.e. easy, unlearned--since the human race depended on it in the millennia before Nestle came along. But it ain't so. And the mantle of the natural is what can make it really difficult for some women who just can't make breastfeeding work and switch to bottle feeding. But I'm starting to think that the only thing that comes naturally to a mother is guilt, thanks in no small part to the Judgy Judies among us who make women feel like shit if they choose to bottlefeed their babes.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
In the future
According to the aesthetic of Battlestar Galactica, human civilization will, in the future, still:
- use paper
- use pencils
- use compasses (the kind you used in math class)
- have plain old photographs in plain old frames
- have wired phones
- get cancer
- have non-miraculous cancer treatments
- engage in the practice of a woman taking her husband's last name upon marriage (i.e. Sharon Valerii becoming Sharon Agathon)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Outrage
In a way, a real bonus of becoming a mother is the new set of opportunities for expressing outrage that you are presented with. Accessibility is one of them. All of a sudden, I'm seeing stores and public buildings that are difficult or impossible for me to access when I'm pushing a stroller. While this adds to the smug factor when I'm wearing Hot Pants in her baby carrier, it certainly creates frustration and anger when I'm carting her around town on 3 wheels.
Last week, Hot Pants and I went down to the Distillery District to tool around and grab a coffee. I had her in the stroller 'cause I wasn't up for the struggle that can sometimes ensue when I want to wear her in her carrier. I was shocked to register--for the first time in all the years I've been going to the Distillery District--that almost all the buildings were not accessible. Almost all of them had at least one step at the entranceway. Imagine my happiness, then, when I discovered a new cafe there that actually had a ramp. Yahoo!
But as I deftly wheeled my baby up the ramp, I realized that the door to the cafe, which had been propped open, was actually barricading a third of the ramp. Not only was I not going to be able to squeeze my stroller through, but there was no way a wheelchair or other mobility device would ever get in, either. I considered standing at the bottom of the steps and yelling at the staff inside; instead, I settled for mentally writing an erudite letter of complaint as I left the Distillery and went to Starbucks instead.
In short, one of the many unexpected facets of parenting that baby Hot Pants has brought is the need to suddenly re-write all my cognitive maps of Toronto. I am slowly building a repository of information regarding the bumpiness index of certain sidewalks (from smooth to positively brain-rattling), the noise level of certain downtown construction sites, the surprising inaccessibility of various buildings (the PATH system, for example: totally inaccessible! Who knew?), and the locations of automatic door-opening buttons. Who said being a stay-at-home-mom didn't require any brain power?
Last week, Hot Pants and I went down to the Distillery District to tool around and grab a coffee. I had her in the stroller 'cause I wasn't up for the struggle that can sometimes ensue when I want to wear her in her carrier. I was shocked to register--for the first time in all the years I've been going to the Distillery District--that almost all the buildings were not accessible. Almost all of them had at least one step at the entranceway. Imagine my happiness, then, when I discovered a new cafe there that actually had a ramp. Yahoo!
But as I deftly wheeled my baby up the ramp, I realized that the door to the cafe, which had been propped open, was actually barricading a third of the ramp. Not only was I not going to be able to squeeze my stroller through, but there was no way a wheelchair or other mobility device would ever get in, either. I considered standing at the bottom of the steps and yelling at the staff inside; instead, I settled for mentally writing an erudite letter of complaint as I left the Distillery and went to Starbucks instead.
In short, one of the many unexpected facets of parenting that baby Hot Pants has brought is the need to suddenly re-write all my cognitive maps of Toronto. I am slowly building a repository of information regarding the bumpiness index of certain sidewalks (from smooth to positively brain-rattling), the noise level of certain downtown construction sites, the surprising inaccessibility of various buildings (the PATH system, for example: totally inaccessible! Who knew?), and the locations of automatic door-opening buttons. Who said being a stay-at-home-mom didn't require any brain power?
Burning etiquette questions
Having a baby has presented me with a whole slew of new social situations for which I have no frame of reference; hence I have found myself lately wondering about baby etiquette in public. For example, now that Hot Pants and I take at least one excursion per day (even if it's just to go pick up a coffee and breathe some fresh downtown air), I've been wondering a lot about relating to other moms with babies. Specifically, are moms who are pushing kids in strollers supposed to smile at, nod at or in any way acknowledge other moms pushing kids in strollers? I do feel a sort of connection to these women--or at least, I want to. "I'm one of you now," I want to say. "Can you let me into the club?" So I make some eye contact, wait for them to acknowledge me and prepare my facial muscles for a smile. Frequently, the eyes fail to connect and the potential smile vanishes. I'm oddly left with a sense of being excluded.
However, I have noticed one exception: the clubby sense of fraternity derived from name-brand stroller ownership. Husband and I bought our stroller for its versatility and its maneuverability, but it just so happens that the brand of our stroller is sort of the indie rock answer to Celine Dion. It's not the hottest, most expensive, uber-hip stroller (that would be the Bugaboo) but the brand does have its own cachet. As a result, the most success I've had with smiling at other moms on the street have been with those pushing the same brand of stroller as me.
Talk about lifestyle and values being tangled up in commodity production! It reminds me of being a kid in the 1970s when my parents drove a Volkswagen van. Those vans had their own explosion of alternative-type popularity, and I recall that drivers would honk at each other in greeting when passing on the road. It's kinda like that in stroller land, sans horns. But for my part, I'll continue to try to smile at the other moms. After all, the day will come very soon when I will be the experienced mom, and I'll pass by a woman venturing out onto the street for the first time with her newborn and might have her heart warmed by a smile from someone else in the club.
However, I have noticed one exception: the clubby sense of fraternity derived from name-brand stroller ownership. Husband and I bought our stroller for its versatility and its maneuverability, but it just so happens that the brand of our stroller is sort of the indie rock answer to Celine Dion. It's not the hottest, most expensive, uber-hip stroller (that would be the Bugaboo) but the brand does have its own cachet. As a result, the most success I've had with smiling at other moms on the street have been with those pushing the same brand of stroller as me.
Talk about lifestyle and values being tangled up in commodity production! It reminds me of being a kid in the 1970s when my parents drove a Volkswagen van. Those vans had their own explosion of alternative-type popularity, and I recall that drivers would honk at each other in greeting when passing on the road. It's kinda like that in stroller land, sans horns. But for my part, I'll continue to try to smile at the other moms. After all, the day will come very soon when I will be the experienced mom, and I'll pass by a woman venturing out onto the street for the first time with her newborn and might have her heart warmed by a smile from someone else in the club.
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