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Jean Fitz's Weblog: The UN-Mathing and UN-Dressing of the Artist: Feminist Asymptopia

Jean Fitz's Weblog: The UN-Mathing and UN-Dressing of the Artist: Feminist Asymptopia

This is my friend Jean's blog entry about women and feminism and math and careers and clothes. She's got some good things to say.

Plus we used to date and you can go, "Wow Glenn, how did you ever get that hottie to like you?"

And I'll go, "Dude! Concentrate on her words, not her appearance!"

But then you get to those pictures at the bottom and you're like, wow I'm in a sort of amorous trance.



Reading the end of my last post, I'd revise my words and tone to say--it doesn't mean war. It means Megan and I have to become better parents.

So in doing so, we've been reminding Lucy more and more often that the tone she takes should be nicer than demanding, that she shouldn't whine, and that even when she says please she can't yell her question at mama.

Cause she doesn't yell her questions at me. It's really frustrating. She has different behavior for the both mama and I. Actually, that makes sense. It shouldn't be frustrating. I behave differently in front of different people. For her to do it with us is a matter of intelligence, of survival by means of getting along--of socializing.

My Lax Parenting Standards Regarding Television

Lucille and her sister get way more tv than both Megan and I did when we were kids, but also... I don't care. I find a hard time giving two craps whether they have 2hrs per day or more when it's all educational-ish shows like Dora, Diego, Curious George, and basically not what my brother and I watched as kids, which was just... boy-friendly explosion violence stuff in animation like X-Men and ... I wanna say Thunder Lizards?

A big argument for keeping tv time down for toddlers is that it teaches them to not talk--that the tv will just keep talking to them, regardless of whether they respond. Then they lose the instinct to respond when people talk to them. Or.. I dunno, maybe if it doesn't sink in when they're that young, it really has a big effect. Speech stunting.

BB wakes us all up every morning by sitting up in bed and talking to herself. She's talking to Dora right now when she asks her, "Is this the treasure chest?" And BB got it right all three times! "No! ... No. ...yeah!"

One last thing--since we do Netflix for their shows, no commercials. Less bad influence, right? Can we all agree that kids oughtn't watch television advertisements? Further reason to be lazy and let the tv keep them babysat while I jerk off in the bathroom.


Graham Cracker Milk Battles

Let me delve back into parenting on this parenting blog.

Every morning, I give the kids two graham crackers and a cup of milk apiece. They dip the crackers in the milk and eat them, something everyone can appreciate, but they're left with 'graham cracker milk.'

That's what we call it, anyway. Beatrix, the little sister, drinks hers without issue. Lucy, the big sister, absolutely refuses to drink it. But not with big tantrums--with quiet resistance, avoidance, neglect. She'll leave the cup on the table all fucking day, dealing with thirst apparently with aplomb and grace.

Most days I cave--I dump out the milk after I tell her how bad it is to waste food, contradicting the message right before her eyes as it's told to her. So, on days when I'm feeling strong--like I can take her on and not feel guilty about depriving her of what she wants--her and I get into what feels like a fight. These fights consist of quiet acceptance of the others' viewpoint, from both of ours, and an unwillingness to submit to the others' wishes. It involves a lot of waiting. Lucy thinks she can wait me out. I think.

I don't know what she's thinking--she's 4 years old. She can't yet articulate complex thoughts, though she tries and God bless her for it. She'll grow up into an intelligent woman one day, with standards about how men and women should treat her, that I'll pat myself on the back for teaching her.

In a perfect world, right? I'm sure every parent thinks this at the stage of parenting I'm at, even when their kids grow up to let people walk all over them, or to walk all over others. It happens--you know it does. People can be shitty. Usually you can blame it on the parents. So all I'm saying is that I have high hopes for my kids--but whether they're fulfilled isn't up to me. All I can do is be a teacher, a guide, a signpost in the blizzard, a light in the fog.

Today, the Graham Cracker Milk Battle rages. But we're at a point I'm not used to. She spilled the graham cracker milk when I wasn't in the room--then used a kitchen towel to clean it up. Even took her step stool over to the elevated towel rack to get it--I walk into the kitchen and she's ineffectively wiping up her spill.

Earlier in the kitchen, she was quietly shedding tears (which usually makes me cave--quiet suffering is so much more effective than tantrums) because I gave Beatrix a cup of juice after she finished her graham cracker milk. Today, I'm being firm. We don't waste food in my house.

I think that she wanted me to feel proud of her for cleaning up her spill by herself and just get her some milk because there was no more milk in her cup. After all, I did tell her to make it all gone. But she overlooked a few important details.

The first is intent. On her part. What was her intention in spilling the milk? Was the spill intended at all? --that's the first question. I think it was. I think she spilled it intentionally so that she could get out of drinking it and still get the juice--to have her cake and eat it to. But I was out of the room when it happened, so I don't know the circumstances of the spill.

The second detail she overlooked is that I don't want my nice kitchen towels cleaning up spills on the dirty floor--that's for sponges to handle. I have to explain this a little better to her--in the past we've congratulated the girls for grabbing a towel by themselves to clean up their own spills. So I've gotta set a rule or something. I dunno.

How can I say, "No towels to clean up spills"? Usually I get mad when the girls make spills, so telling them to come tell me when they spill is probably not going to work--who's gonna want to come tell their parent about a mess they made, when said parent has been shown to react poorly to messes? Why would someone willingly walk into the teeth of the lion?

So I wiped up Lucy's spill today, intentional or not, while telling her that I suspect she spilled it on purpose, that we don't spill our drinks, and that since she didn't drink her milk, she gets no juice.

+1 point for Lucy: she got out of drinking her graham cracker milk.
+1 point for Dada: he did not give Lucy juice because she did not drink her graham cracker milk.

I gave her a cup of warm water. I didn't even want her water to be cold and enjoyable.

What would you do?


Megan just came home for lunch and learned me a few things.
1. Lucy colored a picture on the kitchen table with crayons.
2. Lucy didn't drink her graham cracker milk all day yesterday either.

Additional points against her:
She yells at her mom all the time and teaches her sister the same behavior.

This means war.


Time Hole

Megan's Birthday and a Day at School:
A Blockbusting Allegory

Sometimes I think I should change the above banner to, “I like to write about myself,” possibly adding, “which vicariously involves my kids.”

Man, I was going to write about school, but I just spent the last 10 minutes lost in daydreaming about how big a dumbass I was as a young 20-year-old. Maybe I’m ADD. Maybe it’s because my kids are watching cartoons in the same room. Most likely, I’m mentally disordered and discombobulated.

No. I know why. It’s because I was remembering Megan and I’s anniversary. It will be ten years this May. Kind of a big deal. And I was a young 20-something then. She really helped me calm down as a young man, and to this day--yesterday in fact--and she doesn’t know this because I didn’t tell her cause it’s all just my fucked up thought processes that she kind of reads ESP*-style anyway, I was getting stressed and angry because Lucy and her were having an argument, and I had to go to school, and I hadn’t smoked weed all day cause I was out. I had a headache.

I was convinced that I was acting like a dick as I got ready to leave for class, but I think it was mostly in my own mind. Cause when I went to say goodbye to Megan and Lucy (BB was napping), Megan was totally fine with me and kinda looked at me funny like, ‘Why do you have that look on your face?” I kissed her goodbye and it turned into a few prolonged, deep kisses. It made me relax and breathe deeply. I calmed right down.

To this day Megan helps me calm down when I really need to. She’s really good for me. Plus she’s hot.

Her birthday is April 28. Wish her a good one, will ya? She likes diamonds and pearls and you watching our kids for a night.
   to talking about a day at school I had, for no particular reason.

It was weirdly officially summer, people were out en masse, it was weird, and it felt good.

Arriving on campus, I walked thru Red Square and onto the open walkway lined on either side with cherry blossoms. When they bloom they’re all pink and fluffy.

Students flock there. They sit individually and in groups, while others lay back and pretend to be there just to soak up the sun, not just to be seen. Parents take children thru there. People get their senior pictures and wedding photos taken there. Dumbass 20-something males throw Frisbees thru the crowd, the ease with which they could easily hit someone not enough of a deterrent to find a new location—after all, who wants to throw a Frisbee and NOT be the center of attention? And two big, tall black dudes were doing this hip-hop performance art—really loud, synchronized chanting and rapping. I caught the tail end of whatever it was, which I couldn’t see thru the crowd, which was particularly thick.

There’s a guy standing there, drinking a coffee. White cap, coat and backpack, brown skin. Looking pretty sharp. Different style than the mostly whitebread kids on campus. “Do you know where the HUB is?” Something about my coolness must have caught his eye cause he chose me to talk to.

The guy and I walked for a minute together. I forget what we talked about, but I do remember it was awkward. I pointed him toward the HUB, and kept walking.

I went to class.

Then, when I was waiting for the bus to go back home, something mildly amusing happened.

I’m standing there on the sidewalk, facing the street, on my phone, so my eyes are kinda pointed toward the ground. There’s a kid with a blue hoodie on, headphones in his ears, also messing on his phone. And in my periphery, and I must have just turned around to look his way at the same time to be able to see this—white droppings fall straight down on him, hitting his hoodie, shorts, sleeve.

He didn’t react immediately, but I turned around and said, “Did that just happen?”

He took a headphone out of his ear, shook his head and said, “Yeah.”

I gave him a napkin.

*Excessive Sadistic Phlogging


Chequelist (I'll explain later)


Here's what I want to get done today:

  1. Write this dad blog entry.
  2. Read the KEXP blog and get a sense for what sort of feel they're going for to which I can shape my writing.
  3. Check out how my boss edited my post on said blog.
  4. Finish reading the textbook selections for class tomorrow.
  5. Write a show review for Spacebag/Ubik at the Highline.
  6. Write a show preview for Yob/Lesbian/Samothrace (to which I have invited all of my likeliest- and unlikeliest-to-attend FB friends) at the Highline.
  7. Play with my kids--done (me, not them).
  8. Call my Aunt Colleen and wish her a happy birthday--cheque.
  9. Do the dishes. ...uuuuggghh, the dishes. They're just sitting there in a pile on the counter, extending to the stovetop.
I'll explain later.