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2013-04-30

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.

2013-04-27

Tone

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.

2013-04-22

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.

2013-04-18

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.
ONWARD
   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

2013-04-02

Chequelist (I'll explain later)

HEY THERE!

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.

2013-03-13

Mr. Rogers Helped the Little Children

This is a beautiful story by a guy who knew a guy whose life was changed by Mr. Rogers from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. It's an account from a survivor of child abuse.

No way to tell if it's true or not, but it doesn't really matter because the writing is good, the story is real even if it was fabricated (that makes sense to me, hope it does to you too), and I also loved Mr. Rogers when I was a child.

I mean, I watched his show and I have specific memories from it. It definitely left an imprint on me. But it didn't have nearly the effect on me that it did on a certain kid in trouble--that's what I like about the story I linked to above, which directs you to a specific entry from Everything in Black via Tumblr.

And now here's Fred Rogers' Wikipedia page in case you've never read  about the man before. He's pretty much your quintessential nice guy, and you can sound cool to all your hipster friends by talking him up at parties while wearing a sweater like he used to.

He was a friend to millions. Just read the Tumblr story, ok?

2013-02-18

Briar's Birthday Party!



Here are some pictures from yesterday at Teal's son's third birthday party.

The Dad of birthday boy wasn't able to make it because he had to work, and he is not happy about that. I was thinking I'd try to make him feel better by telling him it wasn't that great, that he didn't really miss anything.

But then I asked myself, 'How you gonna tell a dad that he shouldn't feel bad about missing his kid's third birthday party?'

Just not gonna happen. If one of my kids was turning three, and was having a party for it, there's no fucking way I wouldn't want to be there for it. Just to be there in the kid's memory, you know? Just to show support. Although, Todd didn't miss for a bad reason--the family needs money, and if the job is hassling him about time off, then he's kinda gotta bite the bullet and do it and keep providing.

Thanks, Teal. You rock. Todd, you rock. Both of you are strong foundations of support for your family.

2013-02-14

Internship Fair Success

Yesterday I went to an internship fair at UW. My first as a participant, and was it ever an experience I won't soon forget. The world virtually opened up before me.

My competitive advantage over my younger colleagues was soon very, very obvious as I schmoozed my way around that room, talking to business representatives, marketing myself, taking my time and waiting in line where appropriate, shaking hands and introducing myself to those more formal, and for others just going in with, "So do you have anything in the communications, social media, marketing, and PR realms?"

The responses ranged from, "How about all of the above?" to, "No, we're looking more for software engineers who can do coding, but you should check back with us at X time."

I handed out many, many copies of my resume, to probably a little less than half of the businesses there. That may not sound like much, but there were plenty I didn't want to work for. And it was really nice to be able to avoid them, and to have the ability to choose my destiny. To be selective in my career path feels like the greatest freedom and power. My experience in school, writing, working here and there, and the maturity that parenting forced me to quickly adopt, are all finally adding up to a pretty impressive totality that I can put to use for myself--too feed and care for my family.

Because they're who I'm doing it for. And myself, of course, but I want to see my kids and Megan provided for, and be able to live comfortably. Not to be beautiful and take vacations all the time, but to afford, like, new gaming systems, games, and albums when they're released. And a variety of instruments to keep my talents up, and the equipment to record their sounds and the nice padded room to do it in.

Do you remember me mentioning my competitive advantage over my colleagues at the internship fair? Want me to explain myself? Good, me too. One word: people skills. It amounted to basically overcoming my fear of sounding dumb and just going around and being the People Person that I am, talking to impressive business reps I'd never met before, feeling comfortable, asking if they had anything open in my fields of study--and getting lots of results. More than I expected. I mean, like, in my backpack right now, there's a folder with eleven or twelve business cards and flyers for companies who are waiting for emails from me.

Two fellow students that I spoke to afterward, who had been at the same fair, did not have the same results. One scored a shitton of free candy, and the other was hoping for more of a ... something. As for the younger students, they were dressed really nicely, often awkwardly, like it was their first time putting on a tie and tucking in their shirt. Then, there were other kids who had really nice, snazzy outfits on, well-fitted and smooth business greys and UW purples.

Anyway, the more inept youngsters spent way too long talking to just a few businesses reps, asking them elementary stuff they could figure out on their own, like how to write their cover letter. I mean, I waited in a line for about 10 LONG minutes, in that hot, sweaty, huge, and packed conference room with my heavy coat and backpack on, to talk to a Fred Hutchinson rep for like five seconds. This greasy boy at the front of the line kept asking inane questions, incredibly nervous and unable to offer any responses, smiling and laughing nervously, and just going from question to question. I questioned whether anything was sinking in.

The next table over was for KEXP, a cool Seattle radio station, and that was much more fruitful. The guy there was really helpful. He was sitting there sweating, and had gotten done with his own long talk with a really tall, really young kid with rock and roll sensibility but not much business sense. Reminded me of myself at that age. I opened with, "Sick of talking yet?"

Luckily it worked. He laughed and said he doesn't talk much in his normal life, so it's extra weird here. But we got to gabbing, and it was much more my speed. There's an opportunity there with their little-known metal show that I'm gonna try to edge in on, and a few others that are up my alley.

After that I got a bit more confident and just started making my way down the three aisles, lined on both sides with businesses, dancing through the crowd with my big awkward messenger bag on, asking around, feeling people out, schmoozing. Throwing my resume out when appropriate, always asking first, and alternatively just writing down contact info when desired. Some reps didn't want a resume, but the majority did. You just have to be able to feel people out and ask the right questions.

All the middle-aged reps and I were very comfortable with one another. It was great. Even Denise, public defender for Pierce County, who, when I asked what was the appropriate way to address her, said, "Denise," with a laugh. A couple reps turned out to be fellow fathers and we ended up talking about kids.

The internship fair was scary and stressful going in, but once I got going it got a lot better, and afterwards the stack of opportunities added up  pretty high. I'm quite pleased.

Now to figure out what zillion pages I'm not going to be able to get done reading before class tonight. International political economy (which the lessons from helped me schmmmooooze successfully to a potential employer who exports his product to developing nations).

Success!

2013-02-10

"Toot," Birthdays, BB in a Ponytail

Every time I exhude whinde from my ahnus, my little 1yo BB says, "Toot," all nonchalantly. Early morning to early evening.

Yes, folks, my second and final daughter is four or so months away from turning 2.

Holy shit my birthday is Feb. 27. I'll be 31. How did that happen?
SURPRISEBIRTHDYALIST
I want the Zelda: Hyrule Historia book for my birthday, and a gift certificate to get Grand Theft Auto 5 when it comes out this spring, and a Wii U. And a practice amp for guitar and bass. And a bigger bass cabinet to play out on.

So but for my daughter, yeah she's getting like trains and puzzles and shit. Books, you know. Fun stuff. Yeah.
We have four birthdays four months in a row in this house:
February, March, April, May
Myself, Lucille, Megan, Beatrix
31, 4, 30-wouldn't-you-like-to-know, 2
And aviator sunglasses. And a nice black shirt that's made of material that's like a step up from cotton, but not quite silk. I want a shiny nice black shirt. And some black ties and a blue, red, and purple one. Flat colors, preferrably, unless there's some really sweet elegant design you could see Obama wearing.

I love my birthday time of year! The days are starting to get longer, winter's icy hold is beginning to loosen to make room for the warmth of the sun, and Neptune's Razcissor grants us all +2 Charisma (Barter, Speech skills).


Today BB let a ponytail stay in her hair for at least 20 minutes. Usually she pulls it out immediately, but I smoothly cooed, "Let it stay in," and to my surprise she did. The effect made her look older and more feminine.

Her hair right now is the biggest, curly blonde baby mop you've ever seen. It's pretty long, but isn't straight like mine or her sister's. And since she's a grubby little 1.75-yr-old, always dirty from rolling around on the floor and leaving food caked to her face and hands and everything she touches, her personality kind of becomes a grubbly little ragamuffin too, but it's offset by her sweetness. Indeed, they're interrelated: such a high-pitched small voice, innocent and pure, could only come from someone so ... liberal in their cleanliness choices.

Her face and neck and general skull shape were exposed in the ponytail. She looked so refined. Elegant, almost. The change--to me, as her father with plenty of biases towards her--was pretty extreme. She's got this beautiful face and a huge smile with deep dimples, which is cast in a completely different light depending on what her hair is doing.
Soon my ragamuffin will grow up out of this state and get cleaner, more coordinated, wiser. Sister Lucy is the mature one. The difference between them brings up images of how Lucy used to be, and how she didn't. I mean, they're the same and different.

One big difference is that Lucy is way less cautious than BB. As a toddler Lucy was always falling down and smacking her head against sidewalks and floors. It made the worst kind of thunking sound you've ever heard. BB's more hesitant and cautious. She also doesn't ever wear socks--another difference--which gives her feet better grip. 

But lately she's coming out of her shell with her body getting bigger and the daily language and motor coordination improvements.

You know what else? Lucy's going shit and piss in the big toilet now! Huzzah! Now I don't have to dump her excrement out of the little green toilet into the big one and have to wipe it out and rinse it out and wipe it out and wipe off the toilet rim and wash my hands every time she excretes!

I'm gonna study some motherfuckin Interpersonal Communication, a class taught by genius Professor Mac Parks at the University of W.