Fat Biscuit

Just a Bad Day, I Promise

If the holiday season is upon me--this feeling I've developed--then this year's celebration is destined to be a bit sad, a bit cheerless. This could all change tomorrow, since I sometimes let myself get overwhelmed by small things, small undone tasks, which once resolved appear so silly; how could I have ever worried about that? But today, everything was not quite right. I wonder if I'm developing the same condition that sometimes bothers my sweet mother-in-law: the holidays can be sad if you realize how unlucky many others are, how many food banks need donations, how many homeless shelters need tutors, how many people can't get proper dental care because in Virginia, Medicaid does not provide it. Maybe when you're older you think about others a little bit more. In my case, this would mean that I register their existence occasionally. 

In news concrete, Owen's on Thanksgiving vacation, and tomorrow our Fleet family arrives to celebrate with us. Owen is very excited to have the company, as he sometimes "get(s) lonely." I'm excited that Taylor will do most of the cooking. You should have tasted the foul "Chinese" dish I served up last night: Do not use a marinade as a topping for rice and veggies. Way too much sodium. Taylor says I need to expand my repertoire. I was flattered that he managed to use the word "repertoire" without laughing. 

Tonight, though, we'll avoid the whole horrible cooking mess by getting takeout from Chipotle. Then Taylor and I are all set to watch Bright Leaves, which will definitely cheer me up.

Growing Better Kids!

Already the imminent presidency of Barack Obama is making my child more aware of race. This morning, as he ate his breakfast, Owen commented that, "Oback Obama has black skin like my chocolate milk is black." Then he chuckled a bit to himself because this was such a genius comparison. "Yeah," I said, "that's pretty much true." Then Owen's face grew serious and he asked why some people have black skin. My immediate thought was to launch into a brief discussion of genetics and Darwinian evolution, etc. However, Owen is five! Not gonna get it! Just saying that everyone is different in their own special way seemed pathetically PC and terribly ambiguous. I mean, having black or white or brown skin, is not merely random. So, I ended up saying that it depends on the part of the world where your parents or your parents' parents came from. I wanted to add, "For instance, Owen, where we come from pretty much guarantees little skin pigmentation and hence little protection from the Sun and hence from skin cancer."  

How do other people out there explain race to their kids? 

Cuddling at the Gershwin Hotel

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Originally uploaded by Alert Elf Toy

"Assessing Internal Stress Evolution . . ."

After a busy weekend, I'm now back at the computer, trying to get some work done. Eating chocolate kinda helps to keep my mood lifted. Listening to public radio (Y-Rock on XPN from Philly) on iTunes is fun but seems to be distracting me this evening. Most of the time because I'm thinking, "What the hell band is that?" It irritates me that I can't see (last.fm style) the artist and song as I listen. 

We went to the Green Festival this afternoon. We took the Metro into D.C. and carried backpacks loaded down with books to donate. We also got in free for donating books, so it wasn't entirely altruistic. Lots of vendors, lots of free samples, lots of HEMP, and lots of pseudo-hippies (not that I'm more keen on real hippies, but there you have it.) Highlight of our stay at festival was hearing Barbara Ehrenreich speak. Owen sat fairly complaint-free for a good 40 minutes so we could hear her talk. I'll be waiting for her new book (This Land is Their Land) to reach the Fairfax Library System. Actually, knowing Fairfax, it's probably already on the shelf waiting for me.

I purchased one thing at the Festival: a Wrap-N-Mat for Owen's packed lunch. This wrapper is much less bulky than lugging around a tupperware container and provides yet one more way in which my kid can NOT fit it. If it isn't the Jim Waive tee shirt with the hoochie momma on the front, it's the red gingham wrap-n-mat. Thanks, Mom.

Happy Day. Obama Day