Strongly Worded

And the Homage Goes To ...

So you know how people and their habits and insights kind of stick with you over time? Even if you haven't seen them in years?

Here's what I mean:

Every single time I bathe, I think of my physicist friend (who now does management consulting). He once explained that the force that sucks the shower curtain towards you when you step in the tub is the same force that keeps planes in the air.

Every time I eat Twix, I think of this guy Gidon in my grad program, who introduced me to the sublime combination of iced coffee with a side of Twix. (He consumed this every single day on the way to class.)

The Pachelbel Canon (one of my favorite pieces of music of all time) has been forever tainted by my high school friend, who deemed it the theme song of her uncle's battle with AIDS.

The skyline of Boston reminds me of my grandmother, who explained to me once how cities can be beautiful just as nature can.

Cocker spaniels will forever bring to mind my Spanish boyfriend and his irrepressible dog, who had severe separation anxiety and would pee on the floor to avenge abandonment.

The sound of street-cleaners evokes the brilliance of my friend N., who was once awakened in the middle of the night by a truck repainting lines on the road. She identified the sound without even looking outside.

When I eat Greek yogurt (the tart and creamy kind), I always think of my friend Ina, with whom I had an amazing Greek meal once, in Seville, when we were just becoming friends. We had the yogurt with honey for dessert, and I still remember how it tasted (particularly because the food in Spain is boring, and this represented a rare and wonderful departure).

These are just a few that come to mind ...

Posted by Dori at 8:04 AM 0 comments

Radical Honesty

The woman who works in the office next to ours is a sex therapist, and I think her job is among the world's most fascinating. Jassy and I have lunch together occasionally, and during this week's lunch I learned all about the latest therapeutic concept: Radical Honesty.

Jassy just returned from an eight-day training on this theme. The training was led by a pioneering psychotherapist, and entailed intense emotional bonding and an entirely raw-food menu. The premise of Radical Honesty is that all feelings have physical origins, and that by identifying and responding to them, we can purge ourselves of resentment. Apparently all feelings stem from resentment (which is intrinsic--a byproduct of fight-or-flight instincts). When we just notice resentment (as opposed to analyzing it), we can own it and thus get rid of it.

Example: We are dining at the Cheesecake Factory and you point out that my Navajo sandwich is huge, and that I could save half of it for lunch tomorrow. I notice my pulse increase. As a Radical Honesty disciple, I say, "I resent that you said that my meal is so big. It makes me feel like you're harping on my weight." I do not say "I resent it when you criticize my eating habits" because that would be (potentially erroneously) interpreting the comment. Being radically honest means not caring or thinking about intent. It's all about gut reactions, not analysis. We should start feeling and stop thinking. The Radical Honesty guru swears that the "mind is a terrible thing not to waste."

I have thought about this idea at length over the last few days, because I think Radical Honesty (in many forms) is a very powerful idea. It's a central tenet of the Unitarian faith, and my friend A.P. (who is Unitarian but also on a spiritual quest) taught me about how amazing relationships can be when they are completely devoid of any and all lies:

I know you'll find a higher-level job (actually, I think you should settle for an admin position).

Wow-- that was hot and arousing (actually, I hate that move--are we done yet?).

I enjoy the company of your friend Amanda (actually, she's a complete narcissist).

I think your shredded, faded bedsheets are romantic (you get the idea).

My Guy and I are at the stage where radical honesty is coming into play--not so much in our communications about each other, but in our communications about ourselves. Once you learn someone's geology, you see where water has pooled underground. You find the fault lines; begin to interpret the fossil record. And there is lovely discovery in this process, but also risk.

A few nights ago I was talking to my Guy about recent angst, and my self-doubts about my value in the world, and about what it means that I'm no longer as crazed and overcommited as I've been in the past. He probed around this, and, in response, I became blase and changed the subject. And later on, he talked about the origins of a deep and persistent problem, and the more I tried to unearth, the more reticent he became.

Sometimes I think to myself: fuck it. I am who I am, and if he or I or anyone can't deal with my more radical elements, well, better to know that now.

But this is only bluster; radical honesty terrifying.

Posted by Dori at 9:36 AM 2 comments

I Can See Clearly Now

OK, so remember a while back, I went to the eye doctor and was told that I had caused irreversible damage to my eyelids by wearing my contact lenses for way, way longer than directed?

Well, yesterday I had the pleasure of going back to the opthamologist for "dilation." This is a really delightful procedure where they put numbing drops in your eyes "so the doctor can get the instruments nice and close to the retina" (great!) and then they put in additional drops to dilate the pupils "so the doctor can get a look at your eye muscles" (even better!). You also get a bonus eye-pressure test, which entails resting your forehead on this medieval-looking contraption while they shoot blasts of air at your cornea. After the dilation is complete, your vision is distorted and blurred for several hours. This is truly fun times.

However, I was vindicated on one point. I asked the doctor to assess the so-called irreversible damage that I had allegedly caused--and he said my eyelids look fine. Apparently the condition of one's eyelids can improve in just two weeks by reducing contact lens wear. And putting on what my Guy refers to as my "sexy librarian glasses."

Posted by Dori at 8:20 PM 1 comments

The Shackles of My Heritage

So Saturday night marked the start of Passover.* I was born on Passover, so I really like this holiday. Particularly because, right after I was born, and my mom went to sleep after ten hours of active labor, my dad donned a pink shirt in my honor and went to the seder as a brand new dad.

Because my family is as secular as you can get, we are basically "cultural" Jews. This means we have festive celebrations for two of the major holidays (Rosh ha Shanah and Passover). When my brother and I were young, we also celebrated Hannukah, because it's become a big deal in the U.S., mainly because of its proximity to Christmas.

I didn't have a Bat Mitvah. When I turned twelve, my parents asked if I would prefer a ceremony (requiring months of preparation and chanting in public), or a trip to the Carribean. I know you'll be stunned to learn that I opted for the latter. My parents sent me to Sunday school all through elementary school (so I could "understand my roots") but I hated it so much that my Sunday school teacher wrote on my report card that I was "constantly testing the limits of socially acceptable behavior."

As a teenager, I joined a youth group that was ostensibly part of a Zionist "movement." Really it was an excuse for kids from all over the region to bond at events, stay up late, make out, and lord power over one another (as elected officers and activity leaders). It also was a lot of fun, and built my self-esteem, and my leadership skills, and it did reinforce my Jewish identity, so I'm not knocking it. I also met E., one of my dearest friends, through this experience. The youth group events were all intended to be inclusive to kids from all religious backgrounds, such that we observed all the customs, including Shabbat, in a rather irreverant way. We led our our own services, and put the prayers to our own music--one blessing was sung to the tune of the "Gilligan's Island" theme song. In retrospect, I can see why this may not have been inclusive at all.

Since becoming an independent adult, I have adopted a number of customs myself, which amuses my parents. Unlike them, I have a mezuzah on my door. I go to services on Yom Kippur. And, for the longest time, I didn't write out the word "God", because I was told at some point that writing the whole word is equivalent to taking the name in vain. My friend A., who is an observant Jew, has since straightened me out. Apparently the whole G-d thing is antiquated and not at all necessary. AND, for the past four years, I have co-hosted a feminist-vegetarian Passover seder, which has become a tradition (albeit a non-traditional one), and which has become very important to me, because through it I am carrying on the practice of preparing a festive meal--the only remotely "religious" thing that ever happened in my home.

Otherwise, I do not at all observe any Jewish laws. I happily eat shrimp. I do work on the Sabbath. I don't fast on Yom Kippur. And I'll eat leavened products during Passover (no "bread of affliction" for me!). I am what one calls a "Buffet Jew"--picking out a few customs that I like and abandoning the rest. Interestingly, my lack of religious observance does not preclude a sense of identity that is fairly entrenched.

This manifests itself most clearly in my desire to date and eventually marry someone Jewish. This has complicated my life to a great extent, simply because we Jews are pretty scarce these days, and so dating "within the tribe" severely limits one's options. On many, many occasions friends have mentioned some lovely and progressive single guy, and then sighed because he was not Jewish, and thus, a no-go. I've dated plenty of non-Jewish people, but I'm at the stage where the dating is a little more goal-oriented, and thus, I've been trying hard to avoid a situation in which I fall in love with someone not Jewish, and then have to live with the fallout. And what would that be, you ask?

My parents have said repeatedly (and especially when I am Bitter and Single) that they just want me to be happy, and would embrace anyone I choose, regardless of his religious background. And I know that this is true, to some extent, but I also know that they would vastly, vastly prefer it if my life partner were Jewish, and that they would feel a sense of failure and disappointment if he were not (I mean, they invested in all those years of Sunday school ...).When they talk about family friends who marry non-Jews, they say things like: "oh, he's amazing, and sweet, and kind, and brilliant, and perfect for her. [pause]. He's not Jewish, of course, but really, what does that matter?".

But I also have to be honest. I can't blame my parents. I myself would also be disappointed if I didn't get to break a glass at my wedding (this is a traditional good luck Jewish thing). I want my kids to spin dreidels and eat matzo balls.

I want to carry on--and pass on-- the traditions and values of my heritage. Even if they seem a little heavy at times.

*"Passover is the 8 day observance commemorating the freedom and exodus of the Jewish slaves from Egypt during the reign of the Pharaoh Ramses II ... the story of Passover is retold through the reading of the Haggadah. Before the holiday begins, observant Jews will remove and discard all food with leavening (called chametz) from their households and not eat anything leavened for all eight days of the holidays.

It is traditional for a Jewish family to gather on the first two nights for a special dinner called a seder (derived from the Hebrew word for "order", due to the very specific order of the ceremony) where the story of the Israelite exodus from Egypt is retold by the reading of the story in the seder prayer book, the Haggadah." This info is lifted from here.

Posted by Dori at 9:11 AM 0 comments

In a Name

I am fascinated by names, probably because my own name is rather weird and unusual (Dori is short for Dorith, which no one can spell or pronounce--but my middle name is Edna--which is hard core--so I count my blessings). In bookstores, I always seek out the baby name books that define names, rank them in order of popularity, and put them into categories, like "Porch Sitters" (Wilhemina, Gertrude, Agnes), and "Ethnic Gems" (Aisha, Ebony, Imani). I always look up my own name, which is hardly ever listed.

"Dor" means "generation" in Hebrew, but my parents insist that my name is modern and doesn't mean anything (They almost named me Sharon. Iris was the next runner up. Variations on my name (like Dora, Doris, Dore ...) mean "golden", "gift", "of the sea", or "pile" depending on the book.

Recently, of course, there has been a surge of interest in my name because of Dory, the fish in Finding Nemo. When I visited the San Diego aquarium, a cluster of schoolchildren cried out my name. Just as I was preening in my newfound celebrity, I realized they were pointing to a school of Regal Tang fish (Dory is a Regal Tang).

Right now, the top six names for girls are Emma, Madison (like in the movie Splash?), Emily, Kaitlyn, Hailey, and Olivia (!). Jacob and Aidan are the top two boys' names. Having a weird name growing up was a huge pain, and so I get angry on behalf of babies named Thyme, Apple or Quayliah. My kids will have lovely but classic names. I like Susan and Hannah for girls, Evan and Justin for boys.

Posted by Dori at 9:40 AM 4 comments

Referring URLs

So yet another source of distraction for me at my fascinating job is sitemeter, which tracks visits to my blog with an addictive level of detail. So I can see as often as I want how many visits I'm getting, how many page views, how long my visitors are hanging around, and, most fascinating, where they're coming from. Most of the visits come from "unknown" referring URLs, meaning, they are people who know me and/or the blog and just type in stronglyworded.com all on their own.

However, there are quite a few visitors who are referred by blogexplosion (a vehicle for blog traffic exchange), by blogspot (the interface for posting, which has a "recently updated blogs" feature), and, more recently, by yahoo searches. For your amusement, the search terms that have recently called up this blog:

"conversational narcissist"
"his ponytail"
"Museum of Pasta Foods"
"enneagram questioner"
"Madeleine Blais"
"salt and bread"
"dating multiple women"

And the clincher:
"Paris Hilton Hairstylist Vega."

Posted by Dori at 9:35 AM 0 comments

Three More Additions to the SW Glossary

DTR: Defining The Relationship (it's not RDT as I wrote earlier). Origin: The Midwest (allegedly).
Usage: They've been living together for four years and still haven't had a DTR. What is that about?

NIPE: Nice Idea, Poorly Executed. Origin: recent. Usage: They just found additional leaks in the Big Dig tunnels. The whole project is a total NIPE.

Nouveau Hot: Attractive, brilliant, and funny. Origin: Danny K of The Apprentice. Usage: I'm looking for a woman, 25-35, who lives in the Greater Boston area and is Nouveau Hot.

Posted by Dori at 9:10 AM 0 comments

A, B, C ,D or All of the Above

So one of the most bizarre aspects of my Relationship with the Guy I am Dating is our similar response to anxiety (which we have in roughly comparable abundance). In the past, I have exclusively dated men who are (at least outwardly) more mellow than myself, such that a major leitmotif in my romantic history goes as follows:

Me: I am so worried about [my upcoming exam/the state of whatever project I'm spearheading/my relationship with X person/my general competence, intelligence, health, or appearance]. I can't deal!

Boyfriend: ???

Responses to my ongoing worry and angst fall into four major categories:

a) Distraction: "Don't worry about it. Let's talk about something else."
b) Affirmation/Validation: "This is very scary and worrisome! Let's wallow together in your stress."
c) Reality Checking: "It's really not so bad. Your exam isn't until next month/your project is not really a big deal/your relationship is not in jeopardy ... also you're brilliant and wonderful and you'll do great."
d) Supportive Intervention: "I can totally understand why you're worried. Maybe if you tried [insert constructive suggestion] ... then ... [insert desired outcome]."

Last night the Guy told me about a stressful situation he is facing, and here's the scary part: I needed to do the reassuring! I was faced with the multiple choices, all nuanced. And there was no "ask the audience" option. So I had to just ask the Guy, and he opted for B and D (I think. It's all blurry now).

And just so you all know, I'm pretty much a B and C kind of gal.

Posted by Dori at 9:02 AM 0 comments

Banned!

So I've been thinking lately about what I would ban if given the authority to do so.

Here are some things that come to mind, in no particular order:

1) Spam, malware, spyware, and all the other evil spawned by hackers with low self-esteem and no social skills and nothing better to do than to bludgeon my innocent laptop.

2) SUVs. I hate everything about them, and particularly the fact that while they may technically fit in the "compact" parking spaces in front of the supermarket, they endanger the finish on my car doors and compromise my (admittedly limited) ability to park.

3) Private pay health insurance. I believe health care is a fundamental human right, and I find it appalling that greedy people in high rise office buildings endanger the lives of poor people and strangle the health care system with bureaucracy. Similarly, I would ban drug companies from hoarding patents that allow AIDS to spread in the developing world. I would ban a lot of things about drug companies, but I'll just leave it at that.

4) Sororities and fraternities (aka cruel, abusive drains on higher education).

5) Guns. I would just strike down whatever amendment we have that allows disgruntled 16-year-olds access to semi-automatic weapons. No guns. No guns. No guns.

6) Similarly, a whole slew of conservative policies (like parental notification for abortions, the death penalty, time limits for welfare recipients ...).

7) John Mayer's song "Daughters." Even if the lyrics remotely made sense, and even if the song were played with acceptable frequency, it needs to be banned from the airwaves.

8) Demeaning images of women on television. And, by the same token, blood-spewing, head-rolling video games and "entertainment". I'm not sure how to implement these (because I'm pretty big on freedom of expression), but I think the world would be a much nicer place without Mortal Kombat et. al., and without all those perfect, gorgeous, and scantily clad "dancers" panting around those overweight, necklace-wearing, bitch-slapping rappers.

9) Similarly: all gossipy non-funny radio morning shows that disrupt my ability to zone out while driving and listening (to music, not the stupid chatter of DJ's picking out names for Britney Spears' offspring).

10) That Six Flags commercial with the incredibly catchy inane music and the revolting dancing guy with the big glasses.

Posted by Dori at 5:13 PM 1 comments

Because I'm Bored

So here I am "working" on Patriot's Day, and I actually have quite a few meaningful tasks to complete, but, instead, I am googling random bits of trivia in response to curiosity that surfaced over the weekend.

At Saturday's birthday party we all speculated what Patriot's Day actually commemorates. Turns out "it's the battle of Lexington and Concord which were fought on April 19, 1775. Part of the history of this famous revolutionary battle was the midnight ride of Paul Revere and William Dawes. The Sons of the American Revolution in Massachusetts were largely responsible for the official recognition of the event." Phew. Now we can all sleep at night.

At Sunday's Indian dinner we (meaning me and the Guy I am Dating) speculated about the origin of the word Diva. Turns out that "'Diwali', also known as 'Deepawali', means 'a row of clay lamps' ('divas' or 'diyas'). In India, the houses are lit for Diwali with many of these little lamps. The lights are a symbol of truth and knowledge banishing the darkness; they are also a sign to welcome prosperity into the house."

The more widely used definition of the word ( "prima donna") comes from the Latin word for goddess. Just so you know.

Posted by Dori at 10:11 AM 0 comments

Me, You, We

My name is Dori and I am in a Relationship. Although the Guy I am Dating and I have not officially had what he calls an RDT (Relationship Direction Talk--aka discussion of "where is this going"), I have, in the course of one Saturday, done two Girlfriend things.

1) So on Saturday morning, realtors were traipsing through the Guy's ghetto apartment (which is so ghetto and so overpriced that none of the roughly 30 people who have seen it thus far want to rent it). The level of realtor tenacity has made this process a true test of endurance. We are contemplating printing T-shirts: "Co-ed Naked Realty: We Stay Aroused Until We Get You Housed." Anyway, because he did not want to witness the continuing rental spectacle, and because he has over $100 in unspent Gap gift card money, he decided to go shopping. I was delighted to be invited.

I sat on the floor of the Gap's dressing room, and I aided and abetted the Guy such that he bought five pairs of pants that fit. I was very directive about this process, and steered him far away from the "loose" and "relaxed fit" jeans that he has been wearing, and that have strong M.C. Hammer overtones. The new pants look great and are fashionable (one pair is "sandblasted vintage"!). The extremely gay Gap shopping consultant approved of the selection.

When the cashier rang up the purchase, she smiled indulgently at us. (We were all flushed with the joy of "wardrobe refreshment".) She said, "You have no idea how many girlfriends we see these days, directing traffic on the fitting room floor."

2) It has always irked me when I ask a friend about her activities, and she answers, "well, we (meaning she and her love interest) slept late and then had brunch and then went to the movies." I always want to say: I want to know what you did. Just you. Singular. Remember, you? The person I know and care about?

But then last night at a friend's birthday party, I was asked what I had done all day, and I replied, very consciously and with effort, "I had lunch with my friend E. and did laundry, and earlier in the day I went shopping with the Guy and he bought five pairs of pants."

But it was stupid and futile. We fucking went shopping. We bought five pairs of pants (technically he purchased them, but I really was equally involved in the purchase). And we may see his out-of-town friends today.

I'm owning this.

Posted by Dori at 9:42 AM 0 comments

Getting Involved

So I used to chair this unwieldy volunteer network, and I spent an unbelievable amount of time trying to make it succeed--recruiting people, attending meetings, writing and circulating minutes, planning events, and despairing because fewer and fewer members wanted to do any work. One by one, people dropped out of the group, saying that they wanted to "stay involved" but couldn't "commit" to doing anything. I had to be gracious but I saw each and every departure as a personal betrayal.

In my current job I encounter a similar "involvement" syndrome. People readily share their ideas, but are very erratic when it comes to undertaking concrete projects. Recently, I had to ask two different volunteers to write and send a thank-you note to a donor, and it didn't happen because neither had the wherewithal to look up the woman's address once they lost the information I gave them.

So. The current leader of the aforementioned unwieldy volunteer network just emailed me, asking for my advice and for my level of commitment to the next phase of work. I read the message and experienced a sinking feeling. I support the group's mission--in fact I used to be really passionate about it. Participating used to bring me a lot of joy--and--I admit--a certain amount of professional clout. My involvement led me to meet some people who have subsequently supported my Machiavelian career moves. And now I'm in a place where I doubt that this network can no longer benefit me professionally, and while I'd love to "give back" on an individual level (like helping other people find jobs or contacts--or delivering an odd workshop here and there) , I don't really want to sit through angsty meetings about mission, vision, and values. I just don't CARE. And I don't want to do outreach (I hate, hate, hate outreach) or raise money. Or implement programming. Or even participate in programming.

So pretty much, as I told the woman, all I'm willing to contribute are my opinions. Which I acknowledged--sucks.

Posted by Dori at 3:51 PM 0 comments

Oncological Love

Remember my touching haiku about the media stinum (which is apparently only one word)?

So here's the Guy I am Dating's version, which had all his co-workers "on the floor" laughing.


Cynicism

Mediastinum
Bad lymphadenopathy
Will die from cancer

Posted by Dori at 8:11 AM 1 comments

Just So You Know, I Could've Been a Surgeon

So last night I had a somewhat graphic discussion with the Guy I am Dating about invasive medical exams, and it turns out that some particular gynecological procedures can involve "nicking" if not done correctly. I learned that gynecology involves a whole lot of surgery and thus, if one is pursuing this particular specialty (which, thank God, the Guy is not) it helps to have little hands (which I do) and be very dexterous (which, it turns out, I am).

Hmmm. So while I was rethinking my whole economic justice career, I learned yet another reason why I am uniquely qualified to cut people up. Apparently one indicator of a really successful surgeon is the ability to tie his/her shoes with one hand. And I am extremely proud to report that I can do this--both with my right and left hands--while talking on the phone! It must be all my knitting.

So if I could overcome a few little barriers: blood grosses me out; I am paralyzed in the face of urgent decisions; I have no working memory ( ... so after the chest compressions, what am I supposed to do again ...?); and I am vague with numbers (wait ... was that 50 ccs or 500 ccs?) I would be a fabulous surgeon.

During the same conversation I learned that the media stinum (pronounced Steinem), is the part of of your lung where your heart lies. This seems very poetic to me, so poetic that I was moved to write a haiku about it. Unfortunately, it is very hard to write a poem about hearts and breath without sounding extraordinarily trite, but please find my attempt below:

Media Stinum

A swirl of tissue
Where your heart lies in your lungs
Beating and breathing

Posted by Dori at 9:11 AM 0 comments

C'Mon Get Happy

As I have mentioned before, I emerged from a major Vortex of Gloom around this time last year. My emotional health has been steadily improving since then, and has surged recently because it's springtime and I am completely enamored with this Guy I am Dating (who has joined the Strongly Worded readership, and still wants to date me after reading the blog. In fact, he deemed it phenomenal).

But I digress. My point is that, while I'm grateful and touching wood that I feel fine, and that I'm experiencing regular bouts of joy, I do recognize the literary limitations of this. It's well known that artists do their best work when they're suffering, and, particularly in the singer-songwriter world, a loss of agony often correlates with a loss of quality. Two cases in point:

1) My beloved Dar Williams. A selection of her old songs: "All My Heroes are Dead"; "It's a War in There"; "This was Pompeii." She wrote of the ocean: "it swallowed the sailors and spat out their keepsakes." She wrote of depression: "And it felt like a winter machine/That you go through and then/You catch your breath and winter starts again/And everyone else is spring- bound.

Then she got married and got happy. And songs from her latest album include "The World's Not Falling Apart" (since when?!); "Fishing in the Morning"; and "Farewell to the Old Me." I liked the old Dar! She was deep! She was dark! I want her back!

2) My equally beloved Deb Talan. She used to sing agonizing songs laced with pain. Among the best break-up lines ever: "any two points can make a line, but I can never make you mine." But then, she too fell in love and got happy. And her newest album includes a song which is actually called "Happiness" and one called "Vegas Baby" and another called "All that I Want." This last song includes the titter of sleigh bells. What is that?

So. My point is that even though I may have emerged from the shadow (again, touch wood), I can still hook you up with some darkness and pain. I am no singer-songwriter-traitor. Below are two poems that I found are good ammo against the Vortex.

The Thing Is, by Ellen Bass (Compliments of the Guy)

To love life, to love it even
When you have no stomach for it
And everything you've held dear
Crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
Your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
Thickening the air, heavy as water
More fit for gills than lungs;
When grief weights you like your own flesh
Only more of it, an obesity of grief,
You think, how can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
Between your palms, a plain face,
No charming smile, no violet eyes,
And you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.


From "Four Quartets" by T.S. Eliot (Compliments of my wise friend D.M.)

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Posted by Dori at 5:26 PM 1 comments

Pulling a Dori

So today I visited my alma mater and delivered a presentation for aspiring idealists, entitled "Doing Well at Doing Good: the Nonprofit Job Search." In fact this title is getting trite (I did not make it up, and I've seen it used in multiple professional development contexts), but I figured that the undergrads had not yet been dragged through the drivel of the workforce, and would therefore think it was cool. (The woman at the Career Office certainly did). About ten women showed up for the workshop. I expected that they would all have blue hair and express a desire to "Take Down the Man", or, alternately, "to help those less fortunate than myself." Luckily, they did not annoy me at all, and they were interested and attentive, and I felt that it went well. BUT, the whole deal lasted for exactly 60 minutes (from 5:00-6:00), during the magic hour between the end of classes and the beginning of dinner. At 6 p.m., sharp, they all started rustling their handouts and squirming out of their seats. As the woman at the career office said, "They all get kind of Pavlovian around dinner time."

I spent a rather long time setting up this presentation (scheduling, etc.) and then a rather long time creating a handout and talking points. It also took about four hours, round trip, to drive to and from my alma mater, requiring that I miss an entire day of work. And I spent about $20 making copies, because the first batch came out upside down. PLUS, I got a parking ticket while parked outside the printing place.

I always ask people what would it mean to "pull a [name]." I once asked this of an arrogant guy who intrigued me at a party, and he replied, "To pull a Jonathan would be to pontificate at length about some esoteric topic." Which proved exactly true, and very annoying. (Especially since, soon after, he pontificated about why gun control is a bad idea, and would not stop talking about this even after it became very clear that nobody agreed with him).

"Pulling a Dori" often entails initiating a project whose complexity only emerges after it is underway, and then regretting both the idea and the implementation. Often these projects involve long trips on public transportation (in Spain, I traveled from Seville to the Strait of Gibraltar and back--in the same day); the transport of heavy things (I once moved a kitchen cart from Downtown Boston to Somerville--on the subway); and logistical challenges (coordinating the purchase, transport, and installation of a washer-dryer to an apartment I didn't yet live in).

It was my idea to "give back" to my college, and my idea to create the handout and the cool interactive activity, but as I was wandering around the campus killing time (because a key component of "pulling a Dori" is arriving very early to the locale, and also stressing about driving/parking/timing), I questioned (as I almost always do) what possessed me to volunteer to do all this in order to impart an hour of knowledge to hungry undergrads.

Posted by Dori at 9:31 PM 2 comments

A Pill for Everyone

Even though we are not yet having sex, the Guy I am Dating and I have recently been discussing procreation. The Guy (who has expertise in all things medical) is a huge fan of oral contraceptives. "I love the Pill," he said. "I love it. It's a great product. It reduces the risk of pretty much every kind of gynecological cancer, and it regulates the menstrual cycle, and it works really, really well."

I am not such a huge fan of the Pill. In response to his accolades, I said that the Pill often causes weight gain. Also it can cause blood clots. (A friend of mine was hospitalized last year for this reason, and it was very scary). Also it can obscure signs of pregnancy; the debut of Seasonale (the Pill that lets you have "just four periods a year"--and is promoted by an extremely compelling ad campaign in which women dance among four pink dots) has prompted discussion among my friends that having just four periods a year could result in being pregnant and not knowing it for three months.

Of course, I acknowledge that the Pill is the lesser of many contraceptive evils. I am not such a huge fan of other forms of birth control, mainly because pretty much all of them are hugely inconvenient on some level. Which prompted the discussion about the male Pill. The Guy waxed enthusiastic about this prospect. "I wish there were a male Pill."

Which surprised me, because, even if such a thing were possible (and, as the Guy indicated, there are all kinds of urological barriers), I don't think there would be much of a market for a male Pill. I also don't think I would feel at all confident about male compliance with the regimen. First of all, men have a much less direct stake in preventing pregnancy. Even while, across the Board, most men want to avoid impregnating their partners, I believe that the risk is not great and ongoing enough to motivate men to regularly take medication and refill prescriptions. I can't imagine guys standing in line at Planned Parenthood (in time for "Sunday start") , or going to the urologist every year for an exam. I also think that a male Pill would require a major cultural paradigm shift, in which birth control is no longer the woman's problem/responsibility. Again: I'm talking across the board, not about men in committed relationships, or even lovely educated single men. I'm talking baseline Maxim-reading, football-watching men.

So. I said this to the Guy, and he concurred somewhat, but said that if there were a male Pill, he would happily take it--but expect that his partner would take oral contraceptives as well. So essentially this measure would have no benefit to me (or whoever), other than extreme certainty about "stork busting" capacity.

Perfect.

Posted by Dori at 12:05 PM 1 comments

Time and Distance

According to the Guy I Am Dating, the best way to limit radiation exposure is "time and distance": don't spend too much time around radioactive material, and if you do, stay as physically far from it as possible. The Guy works with radioactive things all day long, so he knows of what he speaks. I've found that the "time and distance" directive actually applies to many other areas of life.

Case in point: last Sunday, my ex-boyfriend called to wish me a happy birthday. We have not spoken at all--not even once--since the day we broke up on October 18th, 2004. I was pleased and nervous when I saw his number on the caller ID, and we had one of those conversations which underscored all the reasons why we're both lovely people and yet completely unsuited to each other. After the requisite catch-up, and that pause that indicates an impending close to a conversation, I said, "thanks so much for calling ... it's so good to hear from you." And he said, "Well, I would have called a lot sooner, but you made it clear that you didn't want to be in contact."

To which I responded: "I emailed you twice after we broke up, and you never wrote back."

This communicative disconnect resulted in a 6-month silent period. And in retrospect, I'm not
at all sorry. Maybe it would have been OK to be in contact earlier, but probably it would have brought on drama, and probably it would have enabled long periods of nebulous "hanging out" which would only have delayed the ultimate outcome: we both give up and get up and move on.

Time and Distance. It's good stuff.

Posted by Dori at 7:56 AM 0 comments

Personal Maintenance

So last week I had a dentist's appointment and yesterday I had an eye-doctor appointment. I don't understand how people have children, and manage their own health while also addressing assorted strep throats, booster shots, and the like. Health is so time consuming.

Alas, I have only myself to deal with and apparently I'm not doing such a good job. Last week, the Haitian dental hygienist clucked at my gums and said with her lilting accent, "You are bleeding! You need to floss every day." While I had thought I was a star for flossing on most days. I crept out of the office with a sample bottle of Listerine in my bag and shame in my heart.

Then yesterday I feel great for getting my eyes checked (OK, truth be told, 1-800-Contacts wouldn't fill my order unless I got an exam). The doctor asked me how long I usually wait before changing my lenses (meaning, throwing out a pair and replacing it). I admitted it: usually several months. I thought I was supposed to change them every six weeks or so, but it turns out that my "Acuvue 2" lenses are good for two weeks at a time. So for the past year and a half I have been wearing lenses for much, much longer than I should have. The doctor did that horrible thing where they flip your eyelid inside out, and then he said, "hmmph, just as I thought."

Turns out I have some kind of revolting inflammation on the inside of my eye that is caused by wearing lenses for much, much too long. Apparently it is irreversible inflamation. He was pretty casual about it--he said it doesn't do any harm as long as it doesn't get worse. I promised, promised, promised to change my lenses every two weeks. But I'm still horrified that I have permanent inflammation anywhere in my body (and it's gross--he showed me a photo of what it looks like on his poster which features pictures of all kinds of hideous eye diseases).

I told the Guy I am Dating about my irreversible damage in a very sad voice. And--get this! He said, "That's nonsense! The human body just doesn't work that way. There's no way the inflammation can just stay in your eye indefinitely. What kind of doctor is this guy?" I was encouraged by this. I looked at my prescription and it said, John Doe, O.D. "Aha!" said my Guy. "He's not even a doctor! He's an optometrist." I asked whether an optometrist might possibly know a lot about eye inflammation since he deals with eyes all day long. My Guy snorted. "It's possible," he said, "but I've never heard of anything like this. And I don't want to be a snob, but not all "doctors" are created equal."

Take that, "inflammation"!

Posted by Dori at 7:27 AM 1 comments

Bring on the Daylight

So I just made my Sunday "to do" list and was just settling down to do item #10 (blogging). I cranked up the computer only to find that it's almost eleven o'clock, not almost ten as I thought. Yes! We are springing ahead! How marvelous to have even more daylight to enjoy. As someone stricken with Seasonal Affectation Disorder, today is normally joyful day for me. And yet I am a little bit sad about losing an hour, because I could really use it today.

My birthday rocked. The Guy I am Dating (whom R. has declared my boyfriend) met--and exceeded-expectations for my Friday night birthday surprise. He cooked me dinner (which included three-cheese tortellini with gorgonzola wine sauce, a perfectly executed bruschetta, and extremely gooey cream-cheese brownies topped with vanilla-bean Haagen Daz ice cream which was drizzled with amaretto (He also cleaned everything up, which I had been concerned about.)). Afterwards came the surprise: we got into my foster car and I followed driving instructions to the National Heritage Museum in Lexington (you can imagine how mysterious this all was), and it turned out that Kris Delmhorst (the singer I was raving about last week) was performing, and the Guy had procured tickets for us. I also got the sweetest card ever, and in general had a fantastic evening.

On Saturday (my actual birthday) my family came into town and we had a pretentious brunch (a selection of [microscopic] artisanal cheeses"; a roasted-garlic-and-shallot confit in aged vinegar; and then fancy individual entrees followed by a lemon curd tart with "heirloom citrus"). It was super fun and delicious despite the pretension. My birthday gifts included flowers, a new tote bag, and a selection of avocadoes, asparagus, and an enormous globe artichoke--these are three of my favorite foods in the whole world.

Everyone remembered my birthday and I got calls and emails and felt very loved and happy.

So. Now it is Sunday, and I have to go to the gym (something I've been neglecting). I have to deposit my paycheck and wash my hair and do all these things to get ready for my week and impending reality.

It's such a shame, really.

Posted by Dori at 10:54 AM 0 comments

On a More Serious Note

Like everyone else, I feel very alarmed by the Terri Schiavo case. So, being the paranoid health care consumer that I am, I have downloaded an advance health care directive (living will). In case this is something you want to do, (it's free and pretty simple to complete), you can find the form here (each state has a different form).

Posted by Dori at 8:18 AM 1 comments