Athena's Mom

Help me find the F train

Filene's Basement needs to ban all non-bra wearers from its bra section.   Sorry, the space is too small for your non-bra wearing five year old, purse holding husband, or the huge ass strollers that all New York parents are required to have on hand at all times.

Nope, only those of us who can use a bra can enter the bra section.

Filene's was a big disappointment.  They had Theory, but only the ugly stuff.   I weep for the taste of the average Filene's Basement shopper.  Polyester suits farther than the eye could see, Dana Buchman and Jones  NY Mom-Jeans suits, Betsey "Acid Trip" Johnson accessories.  This is where sartorial taste comes to die.   I did manage to find a cashmere cardigan way marked down.  And a bra to keep the girls in place under the cardigan.  The store was offering 20% off the lowest market price, so I did manage to replenish my sock and underwear supply for under $30.

But the clothes--I must be the only woman who actually wants to be taken seriously.  Everyone else is dead set on dressing like 19 year-old sorority skank.  I saw a 50 something woman wearing uggs on the subway this morning.  Cleavage, bright colors, unflattering smocks, cheap fabric, low rises.

I'm not asking for much--I want to look put together, wear items that flatter my figure and coloring.  I don't want to show my underwear.  I don't want to have to lotion up my muffin top to protect it against the elements it will inevitably be exposed to when I wear jeans.

I am not 60 years old.  I am not a Mormon.  I am an adult woman with several graduate degrees, a modicum of taste, and professional job where it is to my detriment to dress young.

My friends mock me relentlessly for this-- but I tend to find what I'm looking for at J.Crew.  Their pants fit, their suits are wool, their sweaters and shirts fit my torso.  Oh, and along with the trendy colors, J.Crew sells items in classic colors.

Now, J.Crew is not without its flaws.  Every holiday season, the company tries to convince consumers that it won't be Christmas without a $500 silver bugle beaded cashmere tank top and matching tuxedo pants.  And the Crew Cuts models are just miniaturized J.Crew models.  In other words, the stuff of nightmares.

But did I mention that their pants fit me?  And flatter my figure?  Most of my suits are from J.Crew.  And if you know how to sew on loose button, their shirts hold up amazingly well.

So after not finding slacks at Filene's, I hoofed it to J.Crew and found a pair of slate grey chinos in a winter weight fabric.   Sure I had to pay retail.  I know waiting for sales means I don't get my preferred pants length (i.e. not dragging on the ground).  This season, however, these were the one pair of perfect pants.  So I can justify shelling out an extra $30 to save myself another three weeks stuck in dressing rooms looking at my butt.

I don't know why men hate shopping for clothes.  Their pants come in 16 different lengths.  Women, on the other hand are assumed to either be under 5'3" or over 5'10".   Those of us in the middle better invest in a good tailor, or resign ourselves to never wearing flats.

Men's waist sizes are measuring in actual inches, instead of the the Zen Koan that is women's sizing.  What is a true size 6?  Some sixes swim on me.  Others I cannot get over my hips.  To be a six, I must be one with the size six item.

Women often have to pick through racks of brightly colored polyester items to find something that is well made and in a neutral color.  Men have stores full of wool suits in dignified greys and blues.  Do you know why so many women show up to court in the default black suit?  Because our alternatives were teal with big tweed flowers sewn to the lapels.

Men get to select shirts that not only have sleeves that match their arm-span, but they can find shirts made for their neck size, down to a quarter of an inch.  Women are lucky if they can find a shirt that only has minimal gaping at the bust.

If I had access to the clothing that men have access to, shopping would be a breeze.  Shopping would be done quickly and efficiently.  Compromises would not be made.

So yeah, men should shut up.

Now I got the world swingin' from my nuts

President Barack Obama.   Just say it and feel the endorphins rush in.

And Rahm Emanuel is Chief of Staff.   Jan Schakowsky's name has been floated to replace Obama in the senate.    It is all very Chicago centric, and so nice and liberal.  And sure I will flaunt my tolerance for those different than me by talking about all the republicans I know.

But seriously-- I recognize my government again.  We are going to respect human rights, sign international treaties, rebuild infrastructure...and there is not a god damn thing the free market/intolerant douchebags can do.

My friend Ari and I were discussing how many of us really did think that the majority of American voters were too racist to vote for a black man.  The last eight months have been a crash course in the Bradley Effect.

And it is not so much that we ourselves were racist.  It's just that we had been taught from birth that those (the majority of 'mericans) were not as enlightened as us--this minority of urbane liberals.  Life outside the big city was just a big Klan rally.

Ooooh, hey here is another cool thing about Barack Obama's victory: pissed off white supremacists.  Little Aryan Justice's parents must be seething.

But here we are...ebullient.

Or as The Onion put it:
Nation Finally Shitty Enough To Make Social Progress.

McCain's flying turd of a campaign didn't hurt either.  Thank you for attack ads, and not finding a message, and nominating a bimbo to be your running mate--thank you John McCain for making things just a little bit easier for Barack Obama.  Because he's taking on a hard job come January.

11/4/08

Because we can! That's why!

My day,

7:30am--print out ACLU worst case scenero sheet (lots of numbers to call if I get to the polling place and find out my name is on a list of convicted felons).

7:45--dress in special election day outfit: layers for warmth, chucks for comfort while standing in those long, long lines.

8:00-- leave apartment.

8:04--face-plant onto sidewalk.  I'm okay!  Burly guy helps me up, asks me,  "are you okay, mami?"  Continue walking to polling place.

8:10-- arrive at local public school, follow the trail of white people to the room with the voting booths. Seriously, lots of white people (and Latinos.)  More white people that I thought lived in Inwood.  It's like a farmers market.   But without apple cider (or the "I voted" stickers).   Find the table for my election district.  No line.  They find my name, take my signature and usher me into a booth.

8:11-8:13-- I flick the lever for Obama.  I feel good.  A little apprehensive, but good.

8:13-- leave voting booth, notice that 10 people have lined up at my district's table.  I have to be the only person in the country who did not have to wait in line to vote.  I win at timing.

Interlude of non-election day stuff (like work).

7:30pm-- arrive at the Takeaway's election night party, buy the first of several drinks.  Watch returns.

11pm-- CNN calls it for Obama.  We cheer, dance and repair all the property that we destroyed eight years ago when they called it for W.

Yawn

Election fatigue...want it to be Tuesday so I can just vote already...

But I live in like in a really good part of Encino so it's okay

I have been a blog neglectorerer lately.

Suckage.

Work has been busy and intense.  I tend to get really into my work.  I seem to be incapable of 'phoning it in'.

This can actually be a hindrance in certain situations.

For instance, let us say that a project I am working on suffers a minor set back for whatever reason.  I have these moments where I feel like it is the end of the world.  A key email got eaten by a spam filter and I am now on top of a deadline without feedback and things won't go the way I expected them to, and good god I have nothing else.

And then I sit in my office and cry because I am so fucking frustrated and apparently still at an age where I cannot always roll with the punches.

Before I went to law school, I worked at a market research company where the expectation was that you would pretty much do a half-assed job.  Only I didn't get that memo.  And my boss didn't get the memo that I gave a shit.  And the person who trained me didn't think to add, "Oh by the way, [Athena's Mom] just phone it in--if you can't get the information you need, just make something up that sounds plausible."  I ended up tackling my tasks in that job much like I had tackled all of my academic pursuits: intensely.   I worked my ass off, didn't cut corners, and became a real bitch around deadlines.

A couple of years later I was talking with one of my friends from that job about our time with the company.  I mentioned how the quality department always made me rewrite substantial parts of my reports, and how it always annoyed me that they removed all of my stylistic changes (changes that I implemented to make the whole damn report more readable-- you know, shorter sentences, tight and precise language).  I also whined how people who just cut and pasted information into existing reports never lost points with the quality department.  And my friend was all like "duh! You were supposed to cut and paste."

Oh.

It just never had occurred to me to do things the easy way.  When my boss said write up a report, I thought she meant write a report the way that a professor means write a report:  from scratch, with clear and concise writing, using information gleaned from empirical analysis and not your own ass.  So that is what I did.

My boss, on the other hand, really meant just phone it in, churn out the product with as little effort as possible-- our customers don't care about style or accuracy-- they want uniformity.  Make your work look just as bad as your co-workers, basically.

There is a great aphorism for these kinds of situations-- you can't get pizza from a Chinese restaurant.  And there I was, in a cube farm of people phoning it in until the economy improved, they got into grad school, their boyfriends proposed, a job in finance opened up, etc.; ordering my pizza from bosses who had nothing to give but egg rolls.

In my mind, I figured that if I did not get into law school-- I needed this job as a stepping stone.  So I spent time honing my writing skills on those damn reports and bugging my bosses to train us in Microsoft Access.

And for that reason, I never quite fit in at the office or felt happy in that job.

So fast forward to now-- where my job is basically an all you can eat pizza buffet that never closes.

I guess my point is, that in the end law school was worth it-- even if my blogging suffers.  And I need a Xanax.

Lift the Curse

All is right with the world.   Pigs won't be flying afterall.

Never gonna give you up

In the midst of the American financial system's implosion (colloquially known as "oh fuck"), we have levity:

Dear American:

I need to ask you to support an urgent secret business relationship with a transfer of funds of great magnitude.

I am Ministry of the Treasury of the Republic of America. My country has had crisis that has caused the need for large transfer of funds of 800 billion dollars US. If you would assist me in this transfer, it would be most profitable to you.

I am working with Mr. Phil Gram, lobbyist for UBS, who will be my replacement as Ministry of the Treasury in January. As a Senator, you may know him as the leader of the American banking deregulation movement in the 1990s. This transactin is 100% safe.

This is a matter of great urgency. We need a blank check. We need the funds as quickly as possible. We cannot directly transfer these funds in the names of our close friends because we are constantly under surveillance. My family lawyer advised me that I should look for a reliable and trustworthy person who will act as a next of kin so the funds can be transferred.

Please reply with all of your bank account, IRA and college fund account numbers and those of your children and grandchildren to wallstreetbailout@treasury.gov so that we may transfer your commission for this transaction. After I receive that information, I will respond with detailed information about safeguards that will be used to protect the funds.

Yours Faithfully Minister of Treasury Paulson

This would be indistinguishable from an actual scam if it had been A) in all caps, B) mentioned Jesus Christ.

Nation blogger Christopher Hayes' friend (who allegedly authored the 'plea') included all of the other scam email elements-- the situation is most urgent; reassurances of the "transactin's" legality and safety are most vague, almost as vague as the promises of riches to those who respond.

And the plea was penned by an official serving in the government of a country in rapid decline.

But without all caps...I'm just not convinced that this minister Paulson really needs my blank check. He is 'speaking' in a calm voice. Shoot this to my inbox when he starts shouting. (MOST KIND SIRS/mADAMS).

This American Life actually did a story about a group of people who scammed an email scammer. It's worth a listen. The scammer's scammers believed that the longer they kept this guy away from his computer, the more people they saved from scams. So they tricked him into schlepping out to Dafur and then kept promising to wire him money. And the guy fell for it. Aren't scammers reluctant to trust anyone, what with being inherently untrustworthy themselves?

And finally, for those of you who find your names disconcertingly liberal, un-American, elitist, uppity, or just too 'namey'--we have the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator.

I'm Dust Chinstrap Palin.

Mama gets high

My inner circle is evenly divided between two camps: those who were too repulsed to watch the RNC, and those who watched the entire thing, like it was a slow motion 20 car pile up, and are now convinced that this country is fucked.

I am in the latter camp. Sarah "Britney" Palin has distracted voters from the tanking economy, etc. You know, real issues.

People are going to vote for McCain for really dumb reasons. Not that the left is a paragon of truth these days. Check out factcheck.org:

"[Sarah Palin] did not demand that books be banned from the Wasilla library. Some of the books on a widely circulated list were not even in print at the time. The librarian has said Palin asked a "What if?" question, but the librarian continued in her job through most of Palin's first term."

I am against a Sarah Palin vice presidency because I disagree with her conservative world view, and her desire to implement said world view if given the chance. Not because she allegedly banned books in Alaska, or because she refers to dinosaurs as Jesus horses.

I do feel like I am being played by the McCain campaign. He panders to the conservative base by nominating this right wing wack-job. He pandered to the identity politic feminist voters. He found a candidate whose personal life Springer-esque drama could distract us from the fact that his administration would be a competent version of the Bush doctrine (the what doctrine? Exactly).

And the whole lipstick on a pig incident?--- lipstick gate-- You know, where John McCain cynically tried to turn his base against Barack Obama by claiming that Obama's use of the phrase "lipstick on a pig" was his way of insulting lipstick heterosexual Sarah Palin?

The sad thing about this transparent move to keep his campaign in the public eye and smear his opponent is that it worked.

It probably worked for that slightly stupid, extremely inattentive segment of the population.

You know how it is, you're like surfing Perez Hilton, and did you see Posh Spice's new haircut? And like I can't believe Lindsay's girlfriend is wearing that. So your BFF Jill texts you to like OMG turn on CNN, which you do just in time to see McCain saying how offended he is by Obama's whole pig thing. And like "OMG! Jill, WTF?" And Jill texts you back with "Like, Obama said that Sarah Palin looked like a pig wearing lipstick." And you are like so outraged that you have to change the channel from CNN to an episode of "Real Housewives of the OC." So like the next time you are stuck with a bunch of elitist uppity types and you need to say something about politics, so like duh, they don't think you're a total Ralph Wiggum-- you have that nugget about all the negative things that Obama has been saying about the other side. Plus people are totally being way harsh on your girl Sarah. I mean, she's all like the candidate I want to take to Sephora and max out my credit card. And she's got way cute hair...OMG! Are you going to eat that? It is like so loaded with carbs. What? Oh politics.

In the past two weeks, various people have compared Sarah Palin to the following celebrities, movie characters and archetypes:

• Tracy Flick


• Tina Fey


• That mean popular girl in high school


• Regina George


• Peggy Hill


• Stiffler's Mom


• Ann Coulter in a woman's body


• Lenscrafters model


• Paula Franseze


• Lynn Spears


• Pat from Saturday Night Live

Feel free to add to the list in the comments section...

The world according to GOP

A maverick is:

A. Showing independence in thoughts or actions.

B. Displaying slavish devotion to the Republican party line.

C. Never remembering how many houses one owns.

"I own??? Sheven houses? Yeshhhh, sheven. Oh, oh, what'sh that, Shindy? You jusht bought another one? Doesh it have a pool? It doesh! Shweet!"

D. Shooooooo, we meet again, Trebeck!

He could bake the most delicious cakes

The Jesus Penis would be a great name for a band.

Put out the fire and don't look past my shoulder

It seems that every political argument I make now is followed by the refrain "it's been a long 8 years."

Obama's health care policy will lead to a healthier populace...it's been a long 8 years.

McCain's economic policy of shifting social safety nets to the private sector is deeply flawed...it's been a long 8 years.

Obama's post racial vision for America is the first step to greater equality...it's been a long 8 years.

McCain's policies perpetuate the same immorality we have been living under for a long, long 8 years.

8 years being the whole of my adulthood...during which I switched health insurance multiple time...with preexisting conditions...several of which I also developed during the Bush administration. I paid an alarming amount (according to those who have not attended a public university in the last decade) for a degree at a public university, paying for it mostly with federal loans, and getting small grants from private groups. I wracked up six figures in student loan debt; but still less debt that most law students-- it's like West Virginia, all relative, right? My public interest salary is market rate for my particular position-- this amount has been paid to people in my position, across organizations for 20 years. Let's just say that I get the wage stagnation concept. Sixty percent of my take home pay goes towards rent. I am lucky, however. My education and connections will eventually find me a higher paying job. I live in one of the greatest and most humane cities in the world. And there is cheap entertainment available to me every night. Would my struggle over the past 8 years been a lesser one, had Bush not been in office? I know I probably would not get to cross off “stopped traffic on Lake Shore Drive” on my bucket list if it had not been for the invasion of Iraq…it’s been a long 8 years.

And you know what? Obama is right-- I am on my own for the most part. And sure I have friends and family who will help me if I fall-- the government won't do as much, however. I am probably one major illness (ha, I have that major illness- I was just lucky enough to find treatment for it ) or medical crisis away from financial ruin. But so are many Americans.

I wake up every day, go to work on one of the best run public transportation systems in the country. I spend the day engaged in the minutia that comes with fighting for a cause I believe in. I am lucky.

I fantasize about collectively strangling the Bush administration-- or maybe the entire Republic party-- for not getting the Lockean social contract...

It's been a long 8 years.

Maybe under a different political regime I could have gotten more grants and fewer loans to pay for graduate school. Maybe there would have been more job openings for someone with my background. Maybe my brother and his boyfriend would have eloped in Vegas by now.

It's been a long 8 years.

Barack Obama's speech on Thursday night provided me with the least cynical hour of the past 8 years. Because as it turns out, I still want to believe that America can do better.

And then the next morning, McCain made his most calculated and cynical move yet-- nominating Sarah Palin as his running mate.

My first thought? There go the Hillary diehards. Those palio-feminists who dream of women in high places, more than they do of social equality. And surely this type of woman only exists in Meghan Daum's "Quality of Life Report."

I assure you, dear reader, the only thing I have in common with Sarah Palin is that we both have vaginas. And we aren't even in agreement about the government's roll in choosing what happens to them.

McCain's nomination was deeply cynical in that he nominated a woman, an NRA member, a staunch anti-environmentalist, a parent of a disabled child, and so on and so on...it's been a long 8 years.

So, it seems like it is on. As it were.

I think that Obama gets it on a fundamental level. His vision for society and his roll as president in shaping society in that vision comports with my own vision. And no, this does not have to do with class, race, gender, bowling scores, or any of the eleventy million minutias that the press harps on. Obama gives a shit about the right things...it's been a long 8 years.

For all I know, most of my political opinions have been formed within the clutches of a Bush induced outrage delirium.

What can I say? It's been a long 8 years.

Baby got back

So summer is never a heavy blogging season for me. Okay, maybe I blogged during my first summer of blogging--but everyone blogged incessantly during 2003-2004. It was that era's "where's the beef?!?"

I've been busy. But that's a lame excuse. And I can't keep using my office's summer interns' good-bye party hang-over as an excuse.

I wasted our interns. I never asked them to get me a cup of coffee, or a summary of 50 cases focusing on an arcane point of law that I might use six months from now.

Actually, I spent my summer afraid that they were going to ask me for career advice---fuck if I know.

Yes, I worked hard, kissed ass, and had a firm hand shake. I was friendly, ambitious, knowledgeable, and sent thank you notes to job interviewers. But I got my position from being in the right place at the right time (granted with the right resume and background). It was luck.

So saying, "well, I worked the network workingly worked worker work net", or "I aced the following law school classes" doesn't really bring my rise to the top of the proverbial one year out of law school heap (aka the employed with health insurance, my own office, and Westlaw password) into the correct context.

In reality, a contact of a contact heard about an opening with my organization, sent the information about the opening along to his network. I sent in my resume, pointed out in my cover letter the way my interests and research in law fit exactly with my organization's mission...also, I really hit it off with the executive director during my interview.

The point is, it was luck. I didn't waltz into OCI with Jenner (the Jenner office where I wanted to work wasn't doing OCI at my law school) and walk out with a job offer. I didn't get absorbed into the family business. Or win American Idol, or some other competitive reality show.

And yet, to be honest, based on what I do on a day to day basis--I've hit the jackpot for right out of law school employment. I've even hit the jackpot in the whole when I was 14 what did I want to be doing at 30 jackpot.

It's just jack and pot, here.

So not much blogging, because I am busy at work, then I come home--and give myself a few hours where I do not have to express in writing a sophisticated grasp of nuanced social policy...yes, I want to blog about politics, class, race, poverty, music, etc. But I also want to turn off my brain and make mindless puns on my friends' Facebook walls.

I miss blogging. Because I am so fucking interesting, and the Internet will die if it does not continue to be a conduit of written evidence of that fact.

I need dinner. With protein. Cheese.

It sure is! Thank you!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCFwHDu4j3U&feature=related]

Isaac Hayes, 1942-2008

Like a polaroid picture

I think what I hate most about body odor is that moment after you catch a whiff and you wonder "is that coming from me?"

It's entirely possible, right, that you forgot to put on deodorant, stopped showering, pissed yourself repeatedly, and took a roll in dog shit--all before getting on the subway this morning.

I shared my neurosis about body odor with my father who said, "you and your mother with your hyper-sensitive sense of smell.   You know, I don't smell other people.   You got this from her."  In case anyone was wondering how my father survived the mens room at Wrigley Field-- he has no sense of smell.

My mother, on the other hand, can tell down to the half hour the last time I showered.   She can walk into a room, sniff around and identify who ate garlic for dinner.  She can distinguish between eu de homeless and eu de workman.

She once described to me the difference between my natural body odor and my brother's (mine is more of a floral musk, whereas my brother's is more oceanic---although she can no longer smell his because he won't quit smoking).  She could not tell me how my body chemistry would react with certain perfumes however.  She hates perfumes.  They overwhelm her.

I don't think I have reached her level of olfactory defensiveness-- I can still appreciate a touch of Chanel No. 5 at the pulse points, or a freshly cut cucumber.

BO on the other hand has no redeeming qualities.  It smells like necrosis.  And reminds me that my time is short, and life is painful.

No One's Giving You Ear

From Morning Edition:

MS Patient Falls into American Insurance Gap.

The story compares the experience of two Multiple Sclerosis patients-- one in the UK and one in the US.

The conclusion?

Linda Oatley of Buckland, England, had several months' delay in getting coverage for a new treatment. She also has to pay a small fee for weekly physical therapy.

And the scorecard for Jeff Rubin [U.S. MS patient]? A year and a half of cutting drug dosages, a repossessed house and bankruptcy.

So which system would you choose?