Never Done: I spent 15 minutes following Twitter
And I concluded that I should follow more people and then do it again. (I put "follow" in italics to indicate that I meant Twitter follow and not just randomly follow.)
Here are the reasons why I wanted to spend some time on Twitter. I have been thinking a lot about how Egyptians used Twitter to bring about radical change, and how it's been used as a political news source and a rallying tool across the world. I have a Twitter account, and a couple weeks ago I started tweeting my daily Never Done blog post titles, and I follow some people, but until today I actually never took the time to look to see how people actually follow Twitter -- where and how tweets come in. It seems important to me to understand how one of the most significant social networks of our times works. I mean, what if we were suddenly engaged in a revolution? I'd want to know where to go to topple some statues!
The other thing that happened is that Anthony Weiner admitted he did in fact tweet lewd (are there any other kind?) photos of his cock to a student. And I just wanted to see -- why would someone tweet a cock shot? I thought Twitter was by nature a public social media forum, so this made me realize there must be a private message function like there is on Facebook.
And as I trolled Twitter and watched the tweets roll in, I started thinking about this week's mide (middah) of Silence: Reflect before speaking (or tweeting.) I think a lot about what I write in these blog posts, since they go out publicly, and I have in fact once written something I later regretted. (I guess one regret out of 260 posts is actually doing pretty well.) Where I have a harder time with the Silence practice is when I am actually speaking. I have a tendency to blurt things out when I am socially off-balance. I did it just yesterday, despite the fact that all week long I've been thinking, reading, and writing about Silence. I think what happens is that once I realize I would be better off not saying something, I've already given some signals (usually preamble) that I'm about to say something, and then it feels really socially awkward to stop. But I actually think (just realizing this now as I write) that this is the path I should follow; the next time I realize I am about to say something I might not want to, I should just stop and face the awkward social silence.
Maybe Anthony Weiner and millions of other Tweeters would like to try the same.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
I completed a triathlon
Never Done: I completed a (sprint) triathlon
Back in March when I signed up for the Flat as a Pancake Triathlon, it sounded like a piece of cake, ehem, so to speak. 1/4 mile swim? No problem! 12 mile bike ride on a flat course? I can do that. 5K run? At the time I wasn't already running 5K, but it was within sight. The whole thing seemed completely within my reach. Since then I've trained hard , and my muscles have gotten stronger, and I've learned about triathlon culture and nutrition and gear, and yet somehow the prospect of doing the event got more and more daunting. I guess sometimes ignorance is bliss.
But let me take a step back. I've been training now for 12 weeks, and I have 10 weeks left before the big New York Triathlon. I'm turning down dates with friends so I can get to bed early so I can get up early to go out and ride or run. And while I'm out there training, I'm not really enjoying myself because I have whatever I have (exercise induced asthma?) that's making it so hard for me to breathe right. I don't mean to complain -- this is something I am choosing to do -- but I do want to be honest in my evaluation of what I've chosen. I think that at this point, if I were just doing this as a solo pursuit, I would probably stop. But I'm not really doing it for me. I am doing it as a part of Team in Training (that link is my personal fundraising page) as a fundraiser for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and so I'm motivated by something outside of my own enjoyment. Many of you know that my mom died of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and also right now the 4-year-old grandson of one of my family's closest friends is going through intense treatment for Burkitt's lymphoma. I think about him and his family a lot while I'm out there on the road, and as off as it might sound (I don't usually go for out-of-context comparisons) I think that he can endure the treatments he's going through, then I can ride harder and longer around the park. But the part that's harder for me to come to terms with is that my friends and family are taking a hit -- a hit they didn't choose. I've not been as available as usual for the past 3 months, and it's not going to be getting better til after August 7, at which point I intend to hibernate on a remote island with a steady supply of fresh juices and leg massages. (I don't actually intend to do that. I intend to fantasize about doing that.)
Speaking of leg massages, as you know, I got one in preparation for the Pancake triathlon, and except for left calf cramping on the final stretch of the run, my legs held out fine. The end of the story is that I did the whole race, and I was neither the slowest person in the triathlon nor in my age group. (Not that it would have mattered if I had been...) My muscles felt toned and strong, and I had all the right equipment, and I felt that I knew how to perform in all three sports. But my breath left me again. It is the strangest thing, because it's not about over-exertion because it starts as soon as I start to exercise. It doesn't wait for me to going hard; it just preemptively keeps me from going hard.
The water temperature was 60 degrees in Raritan Bay, so that probably sent my lungs into protective mode pretty quickly. I wasn't wearing a wetsuit, but I had made an excellent decision in deciding to buy a neoprine rash guard (tight long sleeved shirt made out of insulated floaty stuff) that spared me all the wetsuit freak-out I experienced in the water a week ago. The water didn't feel all that cold to me, and I certainly wasn't exerting myself too hard in 10 minutes of swimming really quite slowly, but I just had a really hard time getting enough air. I mean, is this anxiety instead of exercise-induced asthma? A lung doctor had me run up and down his stairway 6 times last week, and then listened to my lungs and heard a tell-tale wheeze, so he thinks it's the latter. But could it also be the former? Or does EIA feel like anxiety? I did my best to push these thoughts from my mind as I swam 1/4 mile in the ocean, and ran to the transition area to put on my biking gear and go.
Everything about the day was a surprise to me; I did better at biking, which I consider to be my weak sport, than I did at anything else. I rode steadily, I was able to push a little, I was able to focus on spinning my legs faster than usual (you're supposed to spin them as fast as you want to run, so it will feel somewhat normal to get off a bike and start running) and I wasn't too winded. Also, I was in the last wave of athletes to enter the water (women over 40) so that meant that by the time I got to the final lap of biking, I was one of the final people on the road -- so I had plenty of space around me, and plenty of time to notice the place where it smelled lovely like a claredendron tree, and the old man smoking a cigar near the baseball field, to wave at all the cops guarding the closed-off streets. (Since I was frequently the only cyclist going around the lap turn, the photographer got lots of action shots of me that I imagine will be up on their website soon.)
Finally I got off the bike and I got on my own two legs, and that's where my breath just completely failed me, right from the start. I took, literally, a dozen easy steps and I was breathing like I had already run a hard mile. So ducked into the port-o-potty to pee, thinking the minute would help my breath get more steady, and it calmed right down, but as soon as I started to run again, it was the same story. So I ran a really slow 5K -- 36 minutes, which included several stops to bring my breathing down so I could start running again. I was able to push for the last 50 yards, avoiding tripping over a little dog -- and its leash that was stretched across the track to the finish line, with Josh and Kelley and Aleza cheering me on at the end, gulping for breath as I finished. And then as quickly as my breathing had become labored, it came back to normal within a couple minutes of finishing. And then we ate pancakes. (The course is flat as a pancake and then they serve pancakes.)
For those of you who like hard statistical data, here's my results page.
The swimming pace just seems random to me -- I can swim 1/4 mile in a pool in 8 minutes at a moderate pace, but that's just totally different from swimming in cold choppy water with other people swimming up on top of you. I usually ride the hilly 3.6 mile loop around Prospect Park in 15 minutes, so I thought it made some sense that I rode the flat 4 miles loops in something close to that. And I can run 4 hilly miles in 36 minutes, so I should be able to run a flat 5K in closer to 30 minutes -- but I have no idea what would be normal for me after swimming and biking.
It's hard not to get into a game of comparisons -- comparing my performance against my own performance under different circumstances, and against other people in my age group, or even out of my age group. I raced with two friends who are 30. When I got home, I compared my times to theirs (my swim was a minute faster than one and 10 seconds slower than the other; my bike was 2 minutes faster than one and 4 minutes slower than the other; my run was 12 minutes slower than one and 4 minutes slower than the other.) But what does this mean? Maybe I've trained longer or have a faster bike or learned how to swim younger or shouldn't have stopped to pee during the run. Maybe they got less sleep than I did, or entered the race with completely different goals than I did. And yet, I am still fighting off a little bit of gloating (which I think is problematic ethically) that I am 18 years older than them, and performed as well or better than them in most areas. I also think it's ethically problematic when I console myself that my friend did such a great run by reminding myself that she's 18 years younger. Because I think that negates all the hard work she puts into getting in that kind of shape. Just because she's 30 doesn't guarantee that she can run 5K in 28 minutes.
I started out this post writing about enjoyment, and I've come to comparison, and I don't think it's a coincidence. Because really, what kills enjoyment more than comparison? This isn't as fun as I hoped it was going to be. She's not as good in this movie as she was in her last movie. I used to look great in that dress. I thought (puff, puff, puff) this running (puff puff puff) was going to be easier (puff) than this (puff puff.) Ass opposed to perhaps (not that this is a comparison) staying in the present, and noticing that I am still running, and the ocean is beautiful, and an hour ago I was in it, and now I am running alongside it, and people are cheering for me, and I am having a hard time breathing but it's OK if I need to stop and catch my breath, and I'm learning a lot about my abilities and limitations, and that's a cute dog but it shouldn't be in the middle of the course -- better not trip over its leash. Oh wow, I did it! I finished a sprint triathlon in an hour and forty two minutes.
Back in March when I signed up for the Flat as a Pancake Triathlon, it sounded like a piece of cake, ehem, so to speak. 1/4 mile swim? No problem! 12 mile bike ride on a flat course? I can do that. 5K run? At the time I wasn't already running 5K, but it was within sight. The whole thing seemed completely within my reach. Since then I've trained hard , and my muscles have gotten stronger, and I've learned about triathlon culture and nutrition and gear, and yet somehow the prospect of doing the event got more and more daunting. I guess sometimes ignorance is bliss.
But let me take a step back. I've been training now for 12 weeks, and I have 10 weeks left before the big New York Triathlon. I'm turning down dates with friends so I can get to bed early so I can get up early to go out and ride or run. And while I'm out there training, I'm not really enjoying myself because I have whatever I have (exercise induced asthma?) that's making it so hard for me to breathe right. I don't mean to complain -- this is something I am choosing to do -- but I do want to be honest in my evaluation of what I've chosen. I think that at this point, if I were just doing this as a solo pursuit, I would probably stop. But I'm not really doing it for me. I am doing it as a part of Team in Training (that link is my personal fundraising page) as a fundraiser for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and so I'm motivated by something outside of my own enjoyment. Many of you know that my mom died of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and also right now the 4-year-old grandson of one of my family's closest friends is going through intense treatment for Burkitt's lymphoma. I think about him and his family a lot while I'm out there on the road, and as off as it might sound (I don't usually go for out-of-context comparisons) I think that he can endure the treatments he's going through, then I can ride harder and longer around the park. But the part that's harder for me to come to terms with is that my friends and family are taking a hit -- a hit they didn't choose. I've not been as available as usual for the past 3 months, and it's not going to be getting better til after August 7, at which point I intend to hibernate on a remote island with a steady supply of fresh juices and leg massages. (I don't actually intend to do that. I intend to fantasize about doing that.)
Speaking of leg massages, as you know, I got one in preparation for the Pancake triathlon, and except for left calf cramping on the final stretch of the run, my legs held out fine. The end of the story is that I did the whole race, and I was neither the slowest person in the triathlon nor in my age group. (Not that it would have mattered if I had been...) My muscles felt toned and strong, and I had all the right equipment, and I felt that I knew how to perform in all three sports. But my breath left me again. It is the strangest thing, because it's not about over-exertion because it starts as soon as I start to exercise. It doesn't wait for me to going hard; it just preemptively keeps me from going hard.
The water temperature was 60 degrees in Raritan Bay, so that probably sent my lungs into protective mode pretty quickly. I wasn't wearing a wetsuit, but I had made an excellent decision in deciding to buy a neoprine rash guard (tight long sleeved shirt made out of insulated floaty stuff) that spared me all the wetsuit freak-out I experienced in the water a week ago. The water didn't feel all that cold to me, and I certainly wasn't exerting myself too hard in 10 minutes of swimming really quite slowly, but I just had a really hard time getting enough air. I mean, is this anxiety instead of exercise-induced asthma? A lung doctor had me run up and down his stairway 6 times last week, and then listened to my lungs and heard a tell-tale wheeze, so he thinks it's the latter. But could it also be the former? Or does EIA feel like anxiety? I did my best to push these thoughts from my mind as I swam 1/4 mile in the ocean, and ran to the transition area to put on my biking gear and go.
Everything about the day was a surprise to me; I did better at biking, which I consider to be my weak sport, than I did at anything else. I rode steadily, I was able to push a little, I was able to focus on spinning my legs faster than usual (you're supposed to spin them as fast as you want to run, so it will feel somewhat normal to get off a bike and start running) and I wasn't too winded. Also, I was in the last wave of athletes to enter the water (women over 40) so that meant that by the time I got to the final lap of biking, I was one of the final people on the road -- so I had plenty of space around me, and plenty of time to notice the place where it smelled lovely like a claredendron tree, and the old man smoking a cigar near the baseball field, to wave at all the cops guarding the closed-off streets. (Since I was frequently the only cyclist going around the lap turn, the photographer got lots of action shots of me that I imagine will be up on their website soon.)
Finally I got off the bike and I got on my own two legs, and that's where my breath just completely failed me, right from the start. I took, literally, a dozen easy steps and I was breathing like I had already run a hard mile. So ducked into the port-o-potty to pee, thinking the minute would help my breath get more steady, and it calmed right down, but as soon as I started to run again, it was the same story. So I ran a really slow 5K -- 36 minutes, which included several stops to bring my breathing down so I could start running again. I was able to push for the last 50 yards, avoiding tripping over a little dog -- and its leash that was stretched across the track to the finish line, with Josh and Kelley and Aleza cheering me on at the end, gulping for breath as I finished. And then as quickly as my breathing had become labored, it came back to normal within a couple minutes of finishing. And then we ate pancakes. (The course is flat as a pancake and then they serve pancakes.)
For those of you who like hard statistical data, here's my results page.
The swimming pace just seems random to me -- I can swim 1/4 mile in a pool in 8 minutes at a moderate pace, but that's just totally different from swimming in cold choppy water with other people swimming up on top of you. I usually ride the hilly 3.6 mile loop around Prospect Park in 15 minutes, so I thought it made some sense that I rode the flat 4 miles loops in something close to that. And I can run 4 hilly miles in 36 minutes, so I should be able to run a flat 5K in closer to 30 minutes -- but I have no idea what would be normal for me after swimming and biking.
It's hard not to get into a game of comparisons -- comparing my performance against my own performance under different circumstances, and against other people in my age group, or even out of my age group. I raced with two friends who are 30. When I got home, I compared my times to theirs (my swim was a minute faster than one and 10 seconds slower than the other; my bike was 2 minutes faster than one and 4 minutes slower than the other; my run was 12 minutes slower than one and 4 minutes slower than the other.) But what does this mean? Maybe I've trained longer or have a faster bike or learned how to swim younger or shouldn't have stopped to pee during the run. Maybe they got less sleep than I did, or entered the race with completely different goals than I did. And yet, I am still fighting off a little bit of gloating (which I think is problematic ethically) that I am 18 years older than them, and performed as well or better than them in most areas. I also think it's ethically problematic when I console myself that my friend did such a great run by reminding myself that she's 18 years younger. Because I think that negates all the hard work she puts into getting in that kind of shape. Just because she's 30 doesn't guarantee that she can run 5K in 28 minutes.
I started out this post writing about enjoyment, and I've come to comparison, and I don't think it's a coincidence. Because really, what kills enjoyment more than comparison? This isn't as fun as I hoped it was going to be. She's not as good in this movie as she was in her last movie. I used to look great in that dress. I thought (puff, puff, puff) this running (puff puff puff) was going to be easier (puff) than this (puff puff.) Ass opposed to perhaps (not that this is a comparison) staying in the present, and noticing that I am still running, and the ocean is beautiful, and an hour ago I was in it, and now I am running alongside it, and people are cheering for me, and I am having a hard time breathing but it's OK if I need to stop and catch my breath, and I'm learning a lot about my abilities and limitations, and that's a cute dog but it shouldn't be in the middle of the course -- better not trip over its leash. Oh wow, I did it! I finished a sprint triathlon in an hour and forty two minutes.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
I applied for a writing job at About.com
Never Done: I applied for a writing job at About.com
A good friend of mine writes for About.com, and she says that it compensates her fairly well. She has a good, evergreen topic to write about -- one that holds both her own interest, and the ongoing interest of her readers. Since I've been blogging daily, it occurs to me that I've been honing my short and quick writing skills, and that I really enjoy writing like this, and that I would love to be paid for it. So every day now for about a month, I look at About.com to see what topics are up for grabs.
Even though I feel like I know about a lot of things, I rarely see a topic that I think is right for me. Right now, for example, they are looking for people to write about The Young and the Restless, Vintage Clothing, Annuities, Tires and Wheels, Baltimore, and Jeans and Denim. I mean, I've worn a lot of jeans and denim in my day, but write about it on a regular basis? I don't see it.
I keep waiting for Soup, or Home Cooking, or Gluten-free Cooking, or Low-cost Adventures, or How to Give Great Presents, or Adapting to City Living, or Adapting to Country Living, or First-Time Triathlete, or Adopting Older Children .... but instead, I've just kept coming up against Bankruptcy, Cincinnati, Urology, and Mobile Homes.
Until now, when they posted Disability and Immigration Issues. OK! Two topics I know quite a lot about! One of which I've written quite a lot about! When I went to look at what About.com writes about immigration, I found something quite interesting: the writing is liberal to progressive, and the comments are reactionary. (The anti-immigrant "environmental" group NumbersUSA posts on their comments with some frequency.) This tells me that the anti-immigrant forces routinely troll the site and counter-post, making About.com either an actual forum for debate, or just a forum for argument and a free platform for messaging. Oooh, that makes me want to get the job writing about Immigration Issues.
So I applied (for both) and now I wait for them to review my application, as per this nice auto-generated note:
Thanks for applying. We have received your application to be an About.com Guide for Disability. We have many open topics right now so, while we strive to review all applications as quickly as possible, it may take a long time for you to receive a response. Please do not resubmit your application until you receive a response from us, because that will only delay us further. We look forward to reading your application soon.
OK, I can wait. And in the meantime, I will keep checking the site every day to see if they post a job writing about the Red Sox, or Documentary Film, or Community Building through Ice Cream.
A good friend of mine writes for About.com, and she says that it compensates her fairly well. She has a good, evergreen topic to write about -- one that holds both her own interest, and the ongoing interest of her readers. Since I've been blogging daily, it occurs to me that I've been honing my short and quick writing skills, and that I really enjoy writing like this, and that I would love to be paid for it. So every day now for about a month, I look at About.com to see what topics are up for grabs.
Even though I feel like I know about a lot of things, I rarely see a topic that I think is right for me. Right now, for example, they are looking for people to write about The Young and the Restless, Vintage Clothing, Annuities, Tires and Wheels, Baltimore, and Jeans and Denim. I mean, I've worn a lot of jeans and denim in my day, but write about it on a regular basis? I don't see it.
I keep waiting for Soup, or Home Cooking, or Gluten-free Cooking, or Low-cost Adventures, or How to Give Great Presents, or Adapting to City Living, or Adapting to Country Living, or First-Time Triathlete, or Adopting Older Children .... but instead, I've just kept coming up against Bankruptcy, Cincinnati, Urology, and Mobile Homes.
Until now, when they posted Disability and Immigration Issues. OK! Two topics I know quite a lot about! One of which I've written quite a lot about! When I went to look at what About.com writes about immigration, I found something quite interesting: the writing is liberal to progressive, and the comments are reactionary. (The anti-immigrant "environmental" group NumbersUSA posts on their comments with some frequency.) This tells me that the anti-immigrant forces routinely troll the site and counter-post, making About.com either an actual forum for debate, or just a forum for argument and a free platform for messaging. Oooh, that makes me want to get the job writing about Immigration Issues.
So I applied (for both) and now I wait for them to review my application, as per this nice auto-generated note:
Thanks for applying. We have received your application to be an About.com Guide for Disability. We have many open topics right now so, while we strive to review all applications as quickly as possible, it may take a long time for you to receive a response. Please do not resubmit your application until you receive a response from us, because that will only delay us further. We look forward to reading your application soon.
OK, I can wait. And in the meantime, I will keep checking the site every day to see if they post a job writing about the Red Sox, or Documentary Film, or Community Building through Ice Cream.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
I got a sports massage
Never Done: I got a sports massage
I haven't had a massage in at least 9 years, which is as long as I've lived in New York. I'm not sure when before that I had one, so it might be a full decade since I've gotten a massage. And I've never gotten a sports massage before, which as far as I can tell is like a regular massage, only with intense and specific stretching, and intense and specific massaging of certain muscles areas, i.e., my left leg.
A few months back I read a wonderful book by Haruki Murakami: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. It's one of those wonderful books that is ostensibly about running but is also about writing. (Sometimes they're books about writing which are really about something else, like alcoholism or tenaciousness.) In one passage of WITAWITAR, Murakami describes the way his muscles have cramped into hard stones, and the weekly 90-minute massages that keep him going. He says they hurt so much that he sweats through his clothes. And he says it's worth it. When I read that, I made a mental note that I was going to get a sports massage. I was going to pay someone to kneed my knotted muscles. I was going to see if it would make a difference when I run, if maybe my left leg would cramp up less.
So I did what any modern amateur athlete would do; I googled "Brooklyn sports massage" and the third hit was for a woman who works 1/2 block away from my apartment in a pilates and spinning studio in which my landlord is a partial owner. I read her online reviews; they were great; I booked a massage with Karen Clifton Mahoney for after work Friday. She's good. She's really good. The first thing I noticed is that she's emotionally mature -- which you would think should be a quality of any massage therapist, but it's not always. She neither projects a great deal of either woowoo sanctity around the massage process nor does she bring the interaction to a chatty place. She's straightforward and confident and talented, with strong hands, knowledge, and probably the highest level of responsive listening I've ever encountered in a massage therapist. I feel like I'm writing her a recommendation, and I suppose I am.
The job of a massage therapist is so strange in that she has to make thing hurt to make things better. Maybe -- to a lesser extent -- like the job of a dentist, which I remember being told has the highest suicide rate of any profession, because of all the time they spend seeing that they inflict pain and bring up fear. How does she know how much pain is too much? Does she have to rely solely on what I say, or does she go more by how my body reacts. And if so, how does she balance that out against what I say if there's a conflict?
I had some other thoughts about self and other while I was on the table. What does it mean to pay someone to rub down your body? Is she as genuinely interested in my knotted muscles as I am? Does she enjoy her job? Am I giving her enough feedback? If I don't feel like talking, is that more of a burden for her than if I want to talk and she doesn't? Why does therapeutic massage feel like more of an indulgence than, say, acupuncture? That's a lot of chatter for my once-a-decade massage, and so I did my best to quiet it, and to go on the working assumption that Karen does like her job, and that I could assume that if she needed anything different (like me to talk more) then she could tell me, and that therapeutic massage feels more indulgent than acupuncture because it feels a hell of a lot better. I also went on the assumption that it is good for us to take care of ourselves, even if it makes us feel uncomfortable to indulge.
Then when I came home and looked again at her website, I found this quote attributed to the Buddha: “To keep the body in good health is a duty; otherwise we shall not be able to keep our mind strong and clear.” And in a flash I realized that, of course, we do have an obligation to take care of ourselves, so that we can be powerful and effective in the world.
I haven't had a massage in at least 9 years, which is as long as I've lived in New York. I'm not sure when before that I had one, so it might be a full decade since I've gotten a massage. And I've never gotten a sports massage before, which as far as I can tell is like a regular massage, only with intense and specific stretching, and intense and specific massaging of certain muscles areas, i.e., my left leg.
A few months back I read a wonderful book by Haruki Murakami: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. It's one of those wonderful books that is ostensibly about running but is also about writing. (Sometimes they're books about writing which are really about something else, like alcoholism or tenaciousness.) In one passage of WITAWITAR, Murakami describes the way his muscles have cramped into hard stones, and the weekly 90-minute massages that keep him going. He says they hurt so much that he sweats through his clothes. And he says it's worth it. When I read that, I made a mental note that I was going to get a sports massage. I was going to pay someone to kneed my knotted muscles. I was going to see if it would make a difference when I run, if maybe my left leg would cramp up less.
So I did what any modern amateur athlete would do; I googled "Brooklyn sports massage" and the third hit was for a woman who works 1/2 block away from my apartment in a pilates and spinning studio in which my landlord is a partial owner. I read her online reviews; they were great; I booked a massage with Karen Clifton Mahoney for after work Friday. She's good. She's really good. The first thing I noticed is that she's emotionally mature -- which you would think should be a quality of any massage therapist, but it's not always. She neither projects a great deal of either woowoo sanctity around the massage process nor does she bring the interaction to a chatty place. She's straightforward and confident and talented, with strong hands, knowledge, and probably the highest level of responsive listening I've ever encountered in a massage therapist. I feel like I'm writing her a recommendation, and I suppose I am.
The job of a massage therapist is so strange in that she has to make thing hurt to make things better. Maybe -- to a lesser extent -- like the job of a dentist, which I remember being told has the highest suicide rate of any profession, because of all the time they spend seeing that they inflict pain and bring up fear. How does she know how much pain is too much? Does she have to rely solely on what I say, or does she go more by how my body reacts. And if so, how does she balance that out against what I say if there's a conflict?
I had some other thoughts about self and other while I was on the table. What does it mean to pay someone to rub down your body? Is she as genuinely interested in my knotted muscles as I am? Does she enjoy her job? Am I giving her enough feedback? If I don't feel like talking, is that more of a burden for her than if I want to talk and she doesn't? Why does therapeutic massage feel like more of an indulgence than, say, acupuncture? That's a lot of chatter for my once-a-decade massage, and so I did my best to quiet it, and to go on the working assumption that Karen does like her job, and that I could assume that if she needed anything different (like me to talk more) then she could tell me, and that therapeutic massage feels more indulgent than acupuncture because it feels a hell of a lot better. I also went on the assumption that it is good for us to take care of ourselves, even if it makes us feel uncomfortable to indulge.
Then when I came home and looked again at her website, I found this quote attributed to the Buddha: “To keep the body in good health is a duty; otherwise we shall not be able to keep our mind strong and clear.” And in a flash I realized that, of course, we do have an obligation to take care of ourselves, so that we can be powerful and effective in the world.
Friday, June 3, 2011
I registered to take the Notary Public test
Never Done: I registered to take the Notary Public test
People are forever looking to get things notarized. And if you're people like I'm people, you probably have to go into some institution that makes you die a little inside -- a corporate bank or a crusty old real estate office that reminds you of Glengarry Glen Ross. So why shouldn't some of us become notaries, so we can notarize stuff for each other at piano bars and shabes potlucks? I mean, do people covered in glitter have less moral character than people in suits? Of course I don't think so. In fact, my judgement might swing the other way (whether fair or not) and claim that people in suits might have less moral character than people covered in glitter. (Glitter of course being actual glitter and also metaphoric glitter -- referring to the fabulousness that has been known to adorn my community of artists and radicals.) Why am I even talking about moral character? Because look at the New York Notary Requirements: How do you test for good moral character? Put a question on the test that asks if we plan to stamp and sell blank documents? That's unlikely, so if it's not a question of testing, how do you measure for it? Is it completely self-selecting, so those of us who think we have good moral character gravitate toward jobs that require it? But doesn't every job require good moral character?
As I was pondering this, I decided to google "good moral character, and I came up with this Wikipedia page that explains that it is actually a defined legal term characterized by the absence of criminal and immoral activities, including Money laundering, Tax evasion, Earning your principal income from gambling, Being a habitual drunkard, and Practicing polygamy.
OK then. I'll start the practice test, and before long, I'll be your Glittery Public. Call me.
People are forever looking to get things notarized. And if you're people like I'm people, you probably have to go into some institution that makes you die a little inside -- a corporate bank or a crusty old real estate office that reminds you of Glengarry Glen Ross. So why shouldn't some of us become notaries, so we can notarize stuff for each other at piano bars and shabes potlucks? I mean, do people covered in glitter have less moral character than people in suits? Of course I don't think so. In fact, my judgement might swing the other way (whether fair or not) and claim that people in suits might have less moral character than people covered in glitter. (Glitter of course being actual glitter and also metaphoric glitter -- referring to the fabulousness that has been known to adorn my community of artists and radicals.) Why am I even talking about moral character? Because look at the New York Notary Requirements: How do you test for good moral character? Put a question on the test that asks if we plan to stamp and sell blank documents? That's unlikely, so if it's not a question of testing, how do you measure for it? Is it completely self-selecting, so those of us who think we have good moral character gravitate toward jobs that require it? But doesn't every job require good moral character?
As I was pondering this, I decided to google "good moral character, and I came up with this Wikipedia page that explains that it is actually a defined legal term characterized by the absence of criminal and immoral activities, including Money laundering, Tax evasion, Earning your principal income from gambling, Being a habitual drunkard, and Practicing polygamy.
OK then. I'll start the practice test, and before long, I'll be your Glittery Public. Call me.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
I bought a sundress without trying it on -- and it fits
Never Done: I bought a sundress without trying it on -- and it fits
I have been trying to figure out how to get some clothes that fit, that aren't worn out, that (sorry if this is too much information) aren't so old that they are permeated with BO under the armpits. I know that for most people there's not much to "figure out" here, but for me there is. Because when I go shopping, it doesn't take much for me to decide I don't need -- or want -- something. When I try on clothes, it's easy for me to decide something doesn't look good on me, and once I've gone through the first batch of clothes I brought into a dressing room, I rarely have the wherewithal to go back for more. If something isn't completely perfect, I usually determine it costs too much to buy if it's not completely perfect, and there you have a recipe for being an unsuccessful shopper.
I was heading to a meeting when the subway (F train at 34th street) let me out literally inside a JCPenney store. In order to get outside, I had to walk through. On my way walking through, I saw some sundresses I thought I might like. I didn't have time to try anything on, so I was about to walk on by, when it occurred to me that if I didn't try a dress on, I couldn't reject it. And maybe if I would get it home, in a calmer environment than a Manhattan dressing room, I would find a way to wear it (with all my bra options) that would work for me. I reasoned that I could always return it if it was a disaster, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it would work out.
I chose a cream cotton jersey sundress with flowers on it, size medium, and took it straight to the register. When the young woman rang me up, the dress price was half what it said on the tag. I asked her how long the sale was lasting, and she said -- oh, this is isn't a sale. All our clothes are always less than the tag. So I had been willing to pay $28 for a dress, and here it was, only $14. Did other people know that about JCPenney? What about other stores? Have I been rejecting clothes as too expensive for years, when their prices would have been randomly reduced at the register? Do people who enjoy shopping know all the ins and outs of deals and stores the way I know about, say, gardening or baseball?
These are the questions I asked myself as I tucked my new dress into my bag, and headed out to my meeting. And later, when I got home, I tried on the dress -- and it fit. The part I thought might be weird is weird, but it is workable weird. (It's cut for someone with smaller boobs, so there's a seam across my bust, but it's stretchy so it's basically OK.) I am not sure if I would have rejected this dress in the dressing room, and I am trying not to think about it too much -- just appreciate the fact that it's already 80 degrees at 8:30 AM, and I have a cool dress to wear today.
And maybe I've discovered a new way to shop that will take less time, and actually be productive. We'll see if it works a second time.
I have been trying to figure out how to get some clothes that fit, that aren't worn out, that (sorry if this is too much information) aren't so old that they are permeated with BO under the armpits. I know that for most people there's not much to "figure out" here, but for me there is. Because when I go shopping, it doesn't take much for me to decide I don't need -- or want -- something. When I try on clothes, it's easy for me to decide something doesn't look good on me, and once I've gone through the first batch of clothes I brought into a dressing room, I rarely have the wherewithal to go back for more. If something isn't completely perfect, I usually determine it costs too much to buy if it's not completely perfect, and there you have a recipe for being an unsuccessful shopper.
I was heading to a meeting when the subway (F train at 34th street) let me out literally inside a JCPenney store. In order to get outside, I had to walk through. On my way walking through, I saw some sundresses I thought I might like. I didn't have time to try anything on, so I was about to walk on by, when it occurred to me that if I didn't try a dress on, I couldn't reject it. And maybe if I would get it home, in a calmer environment than a Manhattan dressing room, I would find a way to wear it (with all my bra options) that would work for me. I reasoned that I could always return it if it was a disaster, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it would work out.
I chose a cream cotton jersey sundress with flowers on it, size medium, and took it straight to the register. When the young woman rang me up, the dress price was half what it said on the tag. I asked her how long the sale was lasting, and she said -- oh, this is isn't a sale. All our clothes are always less than the tag. So I had been willing to pay $28 for a dress, and here it was, only $14. Did other people know that about JCPenney? What about other stores? Have I been rejecting clothes as too expensive for years, when their prices would have been randomly reduced at the register? Do people who enjoy shopping know all the ins and outs of deals and stores the way I know about, say, gardening or baseball?
These are the questions I asked myself as I tucked my new dress into my bag, and headed out to my meeting. And later, when I got home, I tried on the dress -- and it fit. The part I thought might be weird is weird, but it is workable weird. (It's cut for someone with smaller boobs, so there's a seam across my bust, but it's stretchy so it's basically OK.) I am not sure if I would have rejected this dress in the dressing room, and I am trying not to think about it too much -- just appreciate the fact that it's already 80 degrees at 8:30 AM, and I have a cool dress to wear today.
And maybe I've discovered a new way to shop that will take less time, and actually be productive. We'll see if it works a second time.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Too much water for me to drink
Never Done: Shadow post
Never Done: I didn't go in the ocean
Every now and then I do something that I can't write about publicly, and so instead I write about something else. Don't worry -- I write about the private thing privately, so it's not lost for posterity.
The public thing ... Josh and I took a little detour between Maryland and Brooklyn to go to the beach for an hour at the Jersey shore. I wanted to get back in the water after my Hudson River fiasco, and I wanted to try out my new rash guard that I hope to wear on Sunday instead of a wetsuit.
The beach was gorgeous, and the water wasn't even very cold. But the waves were crashing hard with a strong undertow, and for the first time in my life, I was afraid to go in the water. Josh went in and played -- and I stood on the shore, with the surf coming in to about my knees, and ... didn't go in.
I can't remember ever been afraid of the water. When I was a little child, I fell in and sank to the bottom of a neighbor's swimming pool until a teenager plucked me out, and I don't think I was scared at all. I sort of remember a peaceful calm at the bottom -- one in fact that I replicated again and again just for fun. But now that my lungs aren't working right, and now that I had the experience of not being able to take a breath in the water, I seem to have developed a new fear -- (or maybe it's a new awareness of a hidden fear?) Whatever it is, for the first time in my life, I passed up a chance to get in the ocean on a beautiful day. I hope that either this phase doesn't last long, or that there's something really significant to learn from it.
Starting with empathy for others.
Never Done: I didn't go in the ocean
Every now and then I do something that I can't write about publicly, and so instead I write about something else. Don't worry -- I write about the private thing privately, so it's not lost for posterity.
The public thing ... Josh and I took a little detour between Maryland and Brooklyn to go to the beach for an hour at the Jersey shore. I wanted to get back in the water after my Hudson River fiasco, and I wanted to try out my new rash guard that I hope to wear on Sunday instead of a wetsuit.
The beach was gorgeous, and the water wasn't even very cold. But the waves were crashing hard with a strong undertow, and for the first time in my life, I was afraid to go in the water. Josh went in and played -- and I stood on the shore, with the surf coming in to about my knees, and ... didn't go in.
I can't remember ever been afraid of the water. When I was a little child, I fell in and sank to the bottom of a neighbor's swimming pool until a teenager plucked me out, and I don't think I was scared at all. I sort of remember a peaceful calm at the bottom -- one in fact that I replicated again and again just for fun. But now that my lungs aren't working right, and now that I had the experience of not being able to take a breath in the water, I seem to have developed a new fear -- (or maybe it's a new awareness of a hidden fear?) Whatever it is, for the first time in my life, I passed up a chance to get in the ocean on a beautiful day. I hope that either this phase doesn't last long, or that there's something really significant to learn from it.
Starting with empathy for others.
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