Clutter-Free Cluster-Fun? Holidaze Hankerings Edition

And then there was one... less than one... month to TWO!! AGH!!!

Actually, Chaya's already embracing her twoness in many wonderful ways.

I'm learning many of my most oft repeated words from her burgeoning little linguistic repertoire: "pretty cool," "awesome," "oh really?", "oh goodness," "careful!", "nervous," "BABY DOWN" (my attempt at neither escalating nor minimalizing Chaya's frequent pratfalls), "accursed mountebank"... the usual.

And she has coined what appears to be the word FAGULOUS... which I'm not sure I think she should be repeating in polite company, but could be appropriate uttered in very narrow circumstances. Along with her continued insistence that we must call a spoon "booze" and use a work for "fork" that definitely has some cacophemistic qualities to it.

She also does high fives and raises the roof (or possibly razes; "RAIZ ROOF RAIZ ROOF"), and says "OOOOPA!" for her daddy and "OOOOKRA!" for her mommy.  And ABDs, ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR... THEEE-FOOOR-FIVE-NINEs.

And the emotions. They be big, as promised. I hear that two actually isn't that terrible compared to what lays ahead. I hear that two-year-olds are walking bags of frustration and angst because they ought to be understood and want to understand and it's just damned frustrating (little artists). I hear that then they're three and they understand and they're like "fork that noise, mommy and daddy." And then they're four and they're all that but big enough that it's even harder to physically restrain them from hurting you and ... seriously parents of older kids love horror stories. I get a little nervous that Chaya already can trigger me, exasperate me, and get my mommy-goat (mah mah here and mah mah there) despite all my gentle meditative mindful effort, already! Before she even really is trying to do so.

At any rate there is a flavor of two that we're definitely imbibing at the moment, for good and ill and all adorable. There's an iron will, for sure. Vivid concentration. Immaculate memory and object permanence. A desire to test boundaries and assert identity. The gleeful bacchanalia that tips into ovestimulated decompensation at a second's notice. And of course the wonderful wonder and sense of discovery. It's a barrel of wowza.

As we wind into year two, the household continues to adapt.

The Schtuff schlog persists. We've wended through accessories (bye bye amazing earring collection languishing in dusty desuetude), and special purpose clothing (note to self: modern maternity bathing suits are beautiful and go a long way towards celebrating the non-existent BUMP, creating a rather eerie vacuum in your post partum midsection and it's time to let go).

And we continue to contemplate acquisition in regards to the little schtuff magnet.

It's strange to reflect on certain joys and 'filias of my childhood; and then choose to do something differently than my parents. I had an amazing childhood. I think Chaya should be half so lucky with her parents as I was with mine. And I have such strong positive memories of acquiring things. I blanch at some of the things I took joy in. If it was bored, I liked just going to an accessory store and buying earrings. Or a shirt. Or anything. I loved to buy things. And receive things. And acquire. And store things. But in a sense, we all evolve. I evolved with my mother and father after their divorce. What gave me joy then is different. And it at the very least reinforces that no matter what we start with, Chaya's preferences (and ours) will be two hundredfold different by the time she's an adult.

I can only do what I can do. And for all our sakes, I'd love to promote a less congested world. At the very least so mommy doesn't die strangled in Chaya's undersized shirts or tripped down the stairs of WonderBlox.

** Standard Disclaimer- Omphaloskeptical Skepticism of Everything Else I say Above and BelowAhead **

Apparently the key word into the cultist version of my yen to simplify with a child is "clutter free." Welcome to the handy world of blogs, listicles and hand crafted sustainable advice.

Clutter free also represents the kind of fastidious minimalism that doesn't appeal to me either. I think there's merit and logic in allowing a little chaos and celebrating objects and possessions.

The fixation on experience over possession only goes so far. One can just as readily clutter one's time with meaningless business or obsessions (like, say maintaining a minimal lifestyle in a society of pullulating consumption). Of course we clutter our time with busy-ness, phones, etc. But I'll get to that in a sec. 

I get the sense that the emphasis on leisure time over possessions is pointedly a signal of participation in a certain class of American society. Time is valuable in a way consumable goods no longer are. In a culture where time is the true premium - where we are flooded with so many cheap and available goods and junky mass-produced food as to have no limitations on our acquisition of it before it become deleterious to our well-being - of course it becomes a certain endemic that people will feel oppressed by their stuff.

 Of course classist strains of "virtue" will attach itself to those who have time to: (1) live sustainably, (2) cultivate their possessions, (3) eat handmade food with minimal processing, (4) optimize their free-range learning opportunities, (4) etc. And that the time and energy required to keeping only what is needed, organizing and caring for what is kept, and otherwise maintaining a lifestyle that might be the only option in a less "affluent" society, is only something available to the wealthier. 

Besides, as an introvert, I really do value my empty time as much as my empty space. Sometimes I hear the suggestion of offering to take a beloved child on a trip and I think of the many relatives I would have hated traveling with or being left alone with for a period of time. Or classes I would never want to be obligated to attend any more than hanging onto something. 

Not all clutter free sermonizing is blind to this one. There's a heavy emphasis on the screen-free. The Nordic fetish with playtime and Hygge... But, still, keeping a perfectly balanced and clutter-free home for your free-range child smacks of "stuff well-off white people like" about as much as day hiking with a structured pack (ahem, not that we've done that recently), farm-to-table foods, or paying to pick berries (uh huh) at the local farm. 

Not that this is bad intrinsically, but it's worth the reflection that I am pointedly a product of my culture.

And, let's just be honest... it all comes down to a fetishization of some sort. One can be minimalist one of two ways: (1) basically an anorexia of ownership- turning compulsive consumption into compulsive non-consumption until it truly consumes one's life, (2) putting all one's energy into consuming and possessing only the highest quality items. There's an Epicurean delightfulness in this, but it certainly manages to again prioritize consumption. So we're all somehow in the same situation. We just have different resources for our consumption. And it's nice to have time and resources to be mindful. But seriously, with a toddler, I don't have that much mind left, so maybe I'm not the right target for anything too thorough on any grounds. 

Finally, I am NOT a mom-blogger who thinks my kid should make her bed every morning, donate all her toys, and keep the fridge totally clear (seriously??)

Ok... that out of my system. There's too much stuff in our house!! Chaya and I are both overstimulated. Let's manage instead of cultivate for now...

***

My current fixation is on occasions, particularly with the little one's second coming up. How to celebrate them and bring the magic of my childhood holidays into her life in new ways.

Right now I'm trying to figure out the balance between object and experience. Receiving and giving gifts is an experience in itself. There's a place for this far beyond any mercantile exchange of goods. And there's something even more important about tangibility in an increasingly virtual world. 

 I remember holidays and the magic around gift-giving so fondly. Christmas and the brightly colored packages. The crinkle of ribbons. The visceral satisfaction of stockings. And the Easter baskets. Objects become totems for tacit and deeply held mutual affections. The act of exchanging them in certain ceremonial ways become reinforcing rites that glue families together in tradition. There is a joy in tangibility that I cannot deny. I miss that joyousness even now, though I less frequently get hand wrapped gifts. When I do get a stocking, even if nothing in the stocking is particularly interesting, there's some magic still clinging.

Which makes me wonder: how do I preserve that tangibility and festivity without relying on (1) junk, or (2) junk food. Really, I have no desire to replace clutter with crap. Not that certain holidays won't be devoted to the mindless consumption of things, but ultimately... well, I'd rather find a third way.

A few thoughts I've had so far:

* I enjoyed my childhood Easter Tradition of finding dyed eggs, then making them into an Easter meal. I also enjoy Claudia's Easter tradition of using shelled eggs, brightly coloring them, filling them with confetti, and then cracking them on the ground at the end. OOOPA!

* I recently discovered a group called Skagit County Rocks! They are centered are painting rocks found while exploring, then hiding them again for other members of the group to find, then rehide. I like the idea that these are things people can paint creatively, and then give forward

* I like the idea of planting a tree each birthday. Maybe a similar green plant experience for other holidays?

* Chaya's recently become obsessed with stickers. While not exactly being consumable, they tend to stick on things briefly, get torn off and go into the trash. Major win.

* Chaya's always obsessed with balloons. And they too die over time instead of sedimenting.

* I love "adopting" an animal and sponsoring a child in a poorer country when I was younger. I "had" an orca, a goat, and a leopard. And I actually corresponded with a few children in various parts of the country. There are also magazine subscriptions. I loved Zoo Books as a kiddo.

* Of course there is a place for experience. I do want to do an outing and a special family meal/hang out for each occasion. This year, we're going to the zoo. I'm sure we can think of something special associated with that. Maybe animal feed for the chickens if we go to a farm? Something silly like that.

* Well, this is highly material, but new "big girl" clothes are always useful at this age. That will slow down, but... shoes and socks, hats, coats, etc. Still highly consumable.

* I am playing with the idea of doing a small annual time capsul. A small note. Maybe an item or two of special importance. Seal it up somewhere and wait 5-10 years to open it again. Possibly asking all participants in a baby party to bring a small memento to be interned until the future. That one's all very theoretical. It creates a certain kind of clutter in a basement somewhere, of course, but still...

* Of course there are always really creative and weird foods. And one of my favorite adult traditions is something of a "food challenge" in which my father and I (usually by accident) acquire odd ingredients and are then forced to ad lib some fabulous meal with them. I kind of like the idea of giving less common fruits and veggies and edibles and then doing something with them.

* Seriously, Chaya would be happiest with several rolls of floss, a few spinny toothbrushes, some plastic gum containers and a few piles of dirt.



At any rate, there's a little less than a month to improvise this year and start fantasizing about Christmas.

And/or survive the terrible terrific twoness.

Wish us luck and lots of love!!

Making More of Me to Love: A New Year's Resolution That is Surprising to Me

Well, the holidays have commenced, have been had in fact, and continue for the having. Christmas was lovely (see various linked photo albums to supplement the narrative, as I am lazy):

With my mom, we started off some grand traditions - namely setting the ceremonial burrito ablaze, dousing the floor with glass and water, and running backwards around the highschool track. There were also some very fine holiday movies (and some less fine ones, of course), and splendid pumpkin waffles made by me and adapted ad hoc (as always) from a vegan recipe that went back to non-vegan when I realized that I had either left the soymilk at the store or lost it in the caverns of my mother's cupboard. Oh and the cat did not destroy the Christmas tree, so all in all a win!

With my Dad, we spent an - and I realize the term is overused, but this really could have been broken out into chaptered verse and multiple sagas - epic Odyssey around the Christmas tree, trying to get through the Christmas cornucopia of sparkly delights sent by my aunties in New Jersey. They sent over 50 wrapped presents of varying degrees of sheer novelty. I would say that the present portion of our day was roughly four times the length of the previous day's. We also made a very fine babootie (a touch sugary for my tastes, but this of course made it perfect for Andrew and my Dad who would eat sugar flavored butter topped with crisps of fried sugar all day if they could get away from it, and the spice combination was succulent). Blah blah blah tradition, gratitude, warm fuzzy feelings, STUFF!!! Christmas and so on...

Which brings us to New Years. I don't really do New Year's resolutions per se. I often reassess my goals and make incremental changes throughout the year, and prefer to think of my goals as evolving and perpetually being implemented in small steps. I find gradual adaptations preferable and more enduring, which is hardly the New Year's NEW BEGINNINGS schtick. Still, since I don't drink much and don't enjoy staying out late or paying ten times as much to do the same basic things I'd do on any Saturday night, I faintly sometimes attach a goal of a given moment to New Year's, just to fall in line with the flocks... tipsy on champagne and bleating Auld Lange Syne. Mine this year is a little interesting for me: namely, I am "resolving" to gain 5-10 pounds.

I am just not those girls with the tiny frames and lightening fast metabolisms who melt off hamburgers and french fries within seconds of eating them by merely turning their heads. Nor am I really one now, so it's a surprising thing to consider, especially in the season of virulent it's ok, the holidays were tough but you *can* lose weight!! articles everywhere..  I will always have birthing hips and thighs that brush. At the high end of my weight range, I'll carry it well and you'll still be able to count my ribs. At either end of the spectrum, clothes will still be large about the waist and tighter at the ribs and hips. I'm built to carry or not carry weight and damned if I can make aesthetic distinctions between carrying and not-carrying.

I have - through my twenties - officially toured through the entire spectrum of healthy weight from slightly overweight to slightly under-weight. I'm ranging around the upper 120s, which is just under healthy for somebody of my height. I could claim that some of this is muscle loss from not following my maniacal pilates/running/training schedule - but that might miss the point a little. For practical purposes, it means none of my clothes fit, which is sincerely annoying but honestly when have my clothes ever fit?.For larger implications, well, there's a reason they call it "healthy weight," and I needn't elaborate too far onto something already well documented.

Interestingly, I have followed the same trajectory as my mother and sister of being slightly heavier through adolescence and early twenties and then getting far wirier over time. It makes me wonder about the complexities of set points and how much of this is extrinsic behavioral changes versus something more intrinsically biological. I was always fairly active when I was younger and never particularly gluttonous. There have always been factors - I started dancing a lot, there was law school stress, I started running a lot, then THE BAR, then maybe walking on a treadmill all day punctuated between dancing and pilates and aerobics and having little taste or physical tolerance for salty/fatty/sugary/refined foods/meat...  So yes, lifestyle changes, no doubt play a part, but it's easier - especially wading through sensationalist "health" article after article claiming that "POTATOES MAKE YOU FAT" or "IT'S ALL HORMONE XYZ" or "EAT ONLY PROTEIN AND STICKS OF BUTTER LIKE OUR ANCESTORS DID!!!" - to believe that body weight is an unintelligible and contentious issue that rivals religious fervor in strong opinions and ultimate reliance on faith and prayer.

That skepticism aside, I've gone back to calorie monitoring. I had to do this when I was running more heavily to make sure I was getting enough food and it is an interesting exercise (har har). I'm trying to aim for enough calories to gain about half a pound a week for a little while based on a little formula that may or may not be useful (either way, it forces me to be conscious of how much I'm eating and add a little more here and there). It is genuinely difficult to do this with a hint of accuracy, as I am a nibbler/grazer and I am a fidgeter... trying to track either of these into meaningful data is challenging. I'm adding a little something to my main meals and an extra snack break, but I still feel a little unsure how it all comes out in the wash. I've been doing this for about two weeks now, and am not sure if it's working or not. But it's all little adjustments... otherwise I will have to give in and buy new pants that don't fall off and that would involve shopping and that would be a nervous breakdown waiting to happen, so we're gonna go with eating more for now!

Equally difficult is the mental shift. The world we Americans live in is *obsessed* with losing/maintaining/reducing weight and this in turn takes on moral, ethical, social, and personal implications. One can say the words "obscenely thin" as a compliment in our twisted society. I can barely find an article about healthy eating that does not have heavy weight loss undertones. People praise me for "resisting" treats and other temptations, while simultaneously attempting to break what they perceive to be my resolve - temptations in the dessert instead of the desert I suppose...

 What these moments have taught me is that there's always pressure and always attention. I have had so many unsolicited conversations about my weight as it's changed, I have to recognize that it is always on the radar and will always be a component of how I am perceived for better or worse. And, because I am athletic, I will even guess that being lean (and I am far more lean and dare I say "toned" than emaciated or delicate) gives me a slight aura of credibility as a dancer that may be unwarranted but unshakable. And given how imprecise a science the calories-in-calories out formula really seems to be whenever you start to think about it ... it's hard to wonder what might happen if I gain "too much" even as I recognize that I like myself better a little heavier and will never have habits that would open the FLOODGATES of weight gain in two easy days or whatever. Still, as long as I can abstract it through numbers and little baby goals, I think I can side step my own nerves and hesitancy and do what I objectively understand to be better for me over all.

Otherwise, I guess it is time to break out the bubbly and heap on maybe an extra serving of dark chocolate... should get me on my way to a resolution-accomplished New Year

Deliver us from 1Ls

The girl reading The Essential Holmes makes the ghastly admission that she doesn't know who John Stewart Mills is. If tables could gasp, this table certainly did. The boy with the iProduct festooned in iStickers (a dead ringer for pretty much any late nineties record store clerk) queries WHAAAAT!" The girl with the five different colors of highlighter and an iPod mutters something in a theatrical voice to which the first girl responds "well not ALL of us studied economics, you know." This is some people's version of jocularity apparently as every one chuckles (far too cool for laughter)

"He's father of utilitarianism!" proclaims the really iProduct boy who is now shuffling cards with another bald boy with square black rimmed glasses. "Oh well then I guess I should know that" the girl says with what appears to be a permanently affixed self-satisfied grin (botox? superglue? It is definitely on there for good). After some conversation about what appears to be civil procedure (although given the acoustics of the room and their pittance of a grasp on the subject, it could have been anything), the perma-grin girl just said "It just makes me sad for humanity" - grin-girl, I feel you on that one.

Anyways, I try not to overwhelm you with talk of school, but I am sitting here in the law school "cafe area" and am unfortunately near to a squad of 1L's (ewwww). I can't help but wonder if 1Ls have always been this suitable-for-the-washing-out-of-ladies-private-areas or if I'm just getting even grumpier in my old age! I mean, I know, I know, law students... but they are particularly smug, self-satisfied and otherwise caricatures of what I hope I never was, shall never become, and never EVER shall be mistaken for.

They're little law-school hipsters, which must be fairly confusing because you kind of have to sell out a little to be in law school in the first place or be so unironically idealistic that hipsters would snort in derision at you, Also nobody actually is as sincerely *into* being law students as 1L's are. Yeah they complain prolifically about how awful it is, but I feel like 2Ls and definitely 3Ls don't really think about it too much any more. You have to recognize the impact the experience have had on you (and I offer the self-description "law-student" to innocent third parties as often as not apologetically in the spirit of fair warning), yes, but I feel sometimes like 1Ls are still trying to act out some scene of The Paper Chase (or Legally Blonde? but with less pink) of how "law students" act. There's just this overwhelming ejaculation of FACADE going on over here. I may drown and it shall not be pleasant. It's kind of like when somebody who doesn't date much finally lands a significant other and manages to work this little fact into every sentence: "Oh are you going ot the movies? MY GIRLFRIEND loves the movies. WE go to the movies ALL THE TIME (ever since we met two days ago). Except now I don't eat popcorn because MY GIRLFRIEND doesn't like it so WE eat red vines. I would totally go with you, but I'm meeting MY GIRLFRIEND."

Anyways, yesterday was Easter. There was a decided dearth of easter bonnets at church. I am sorely dissapointed. Also, little girls don't wear the foofy dresses that i once loved. They seem like miniature recreations of a Seventeen Magazing photo spread, which dissapoints me a bit. I utterly cringe at the tendency of those in my and previous generations to rail on "kids these days" and make judgments because we think somehow that they are not enjoying the same mixture of challenges (which made us hardcore and them pathetic) and advantages (which make us cool and them pampered) that we did. It makes me feel like I must be eighty and screaming at kids to get off my lawn while muttering about walking uphill in the snow both ways or whatever. Still, it's sad not to see the foofy dress.  Easter was time for me to look like a bed ruffle, with matching hat and gloves.

It was then, of course, time for me to get this immaculate explosion of tulle and lace utterly soiled by crawling around in the backyard looking for eggs and ultimately ending up in the lake. If you're not sullying frippery for Easter, what kind of child are you?

Anyways, I also disappointed myself by finding nothing particularly festive or adorable to wear myself. I turned to what is rapidly evolving into the Adella uniform which involves a blue-green long sweater shirt and my black pants with blue pinstripes. In honor of Easter, I did wear bright blue tights, but this was as crazy as I went. Alas. Forgive me fashion world for my aesthetic edentia.

if only this came in my size!

Fashion aridity aside, it was a pleasant break from the above-mentioned last quarter grind. Yes, I spent the rest of the weekend chiseling away at my mammoth med-prod-liability paper (or writing the paper, while chiseling at my brain?), but did take a break for brunch with my Dad and his standing date for most holidays. Food was eaten. Stomachs expanded. And photos were even broken out, which was kind of fun.According to George and Linda I have always had "such great posture," which surprises me because I have always thought of myself as a devoted sloucher.Learn something new about yourself every day.

I'm not sure it's not broken my pace a bit to have had a little bit of a break. I feel pretty mentally unready to begin another week, but fortunately I don't really have much of a choice about it, so I guess I shall anyways.

Happy Monday!

Netiquette drawing out my inner grammar/punctuation snob

First off, I am generally a descriptivist in virtually all walks of life, but particularly so when it comes to linguistics. I find that the function of grammar is communication and if a point has been communicated, then the construction wasn't "wrong" - perhaps non-standard or non-academic, but again all language is very contextual. I have a little less tolerance for hypercorrection - when people alter their speech to what sounds "more formal" but which is grammatically "incorrect" (e.g.: "Whom ordered the turkey sandwich") - I suppose, part of this is that it smacks of pretension but also it tends to just not sound right to my native ear. Also, considering the oddly complex sentence structures that strike my fancy, well ... stones and glass houses etc. etc.

I guess punctuation usually is the textual substitute grammar and intonation. We speak with more than our literal words, and the arrangement of these words requires some instruction to be read back in our heads (sotto vocce, andante! Smiley face!!!). When these signals are lacking or errant, we may perhaps confuse verbs for nouns and other confusing atrocities. Hence the idea of "crash blossoms" - a consequence of the distance between spoken and written language and our general tendency to "sound" things out when we read. Usually the best crash blossoms occur due to poor word placement, but punctuation can also contribute.

But - as always - I digress. I've noticed an increasing amount of errant apostrophe's (HA!) recently. Now, I tend to be pretty forgiving of these sorts of errors. More often than not, I think that it's a brain-finger disconnect along the lines of your average typo. When I go to write its - knowing full well that I intend the possessive of it, and that this form of it takes no apostrophe due to the consternations of what we may call the English language - my fingers will succumb to habitual apostrophe without running it past my brain whatsoever. And the rules for the apostrophe are arbitrary and capricious: is it -s's or -s' or -seseseses'??? who knows! But let's agree: ordinarily when the eyes do their right-to-left scanning, an apostrophe draws them in. If it's clearly a context where the possessive is appropriate: no problem. If it's clearly a place where a verb should be and the s soothes my inner sense of action: equally no problem.I'm a little warier when the apostrophe comes rolling in strictly for pluralization purposes... of course there are times where this is handy, but it's just one more complication waiting to be egregiously misused to baffle my reading speed. And yes I will get to that in a minute.

Incidentally, I tend to think the its/it's distinction should be discarded all together. While it takes less time to simply write its, people seem hellbent on always writing it's, regardless. Which is a waste of energy and often misplaced. I've seen errant it's popping up not only in adverts, but in AP articles, renowned magazines... it's time to give up the battle, and I vote for less punctuation over more.

But to get back to that odd duck of apostrophe pluralization, there is a facebook friend of mine (of course!) who is posting a little more frequently than I would prefer. My main complaint is that these posts are intensely redundant and each post is reposted word-for-word from her business profile, her personal profile, and her second-in-command's profile. This is in addition to about four weekly invitations to business related events she knows full well I cannot attend... while I support actually networking through social networks (satisfying the that-for-the-sake-of-which in purely Aristotelian orgasmics!), it does incline me to be a bit ornery in a "hey you kids, get off my wall!" kind of way. And thus: there is some hubbub about new logos shaking the triplicate statuses. (Not as in the greek logos and in the beginning there was logos and the logos was bios, etc., but those pretty little pictures that businesses use). It's a common topic of the multi-post-monster. And each time she writes "logo's" - NOT in reference to the possessive but to indicate multiple logos. I know, it's NOT a possessive, but everytime I read it, my brain crash blossoms dramatically. She also maintains a photo album titled, LOGO IDEA'S. Idea's what??? AAAAAAAAAH.




The official brochure for the NW Chocolate Festival
I forgive them because they gave me chocolate



I think perhaps she throws in the apostrophe it just to draw attention, and sadly it works in my case. Apparently we learn better when we read things written in difficult fonts. The brain is set to take familiar and easy constructions for granted, but when something isn't as it should be - we perk up. Kind of a survival mechanism for that familiar bush over there having a tiger in it that morning (do tigers hang out in trees?). I think nonstandard speech can have an extra oomph due to that second of dissonance - my theory for why "wicked awesome" came to be a phrase. Anything that more or less conveys the appropriate meaning but sounds just a little "off" is striking. And when it's striking in a way that also connotes a sociolinguistic membership of some sort... well it's even more striking.

Tree-ey the time capsule

I'm kind of a materialist. We humans love to tell the stories of who we are and where we came from. It's this incredibly reaffirming thing to do and share with others. As the story evolves - and we pick and choose which details to remember and what weight and perception to attach to them - we don't just write our own story through present action, but equally as much by our choice of hindsight. The talismans we attach to these stories are physical projections of this internal artistry. They're artifacts not just of a time, but of a metaphysical mindscape. I think you can see quite a lot through other people's eyes when they explain their possessions - artifacts of their experiences, passions, and relationships - and what these mean to them.I feel a similar way about music, scents, tastes and other intangible sensory experiences that trigger a return to an entire state of being... that is one of the really nifty things about holidays. Somehow they exist in the present but simultaneously own and incorporate the past and future in a singular instant.

Through my childhood, ornaments were always particularly magical. Yes, largely because they were SHINY, but also because they were always accompanied by a story, a rush of memories, a sense of a past folding out behind and beyond me and my present life. One of the few family traditions that I remember upholding through my mom's side of the family was the gathering of all the grandchildren to decorate our grandparent's tree. It was an occasionally tense or awkward time as tempers revved up for the holiday insanity, but mostly it was about pretty sparkly things, cider, festive music and all those trappings of family and nostalgia that didn't always gel as much with my extended family. Each year, my grandmother "gave" us a new ornament (she kept them at her house, so I'm not sure if we were owners and she had an easement on them or if we were tenants in common and yes it's been two years since property so I'm just vomiting random terms here...).

At my Dad's house, we have ornaments going back to his grandparents. You can always tell the ones that have a certain strong attachment, a certain musk of the past to them... and we hear the stories - short as they are - of Christmases past as personified in a single ornament. I've always liked that and it's a tradition I want to continue in my life, so I've decided to start buying one ornament a year that represents that year's Christmas. I have ornaments at my mom's and dad's houses, so these ornaments for me are a lot about having these little talismans to share with Andrew (even though I get sole custody of them... property words start flying!) I told him he should be careful, because these are the ornaments that I'll show and tells stories about someday to our theoretical children. I then made a hilarious Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf joke that fell very flat because he'd never seen or read it (blasphemy!), but I digress.

So... ornaments. They tend to need a tree. I don't have one. I had a beautiful fiber optic silver thing that has made a run for the Canadian border (and since I've let my passport lapse, I can't really go after it right now, darnit). So instead I found some paint, construction paper, nail polish and lots of love and made myself a tree:

For Xmas 2009, I decided that my big thing was going skiing for the first time ever with Andrew's family at Tahoe. So I found this.

This year was probably a bit early to form an actual Christmas memory yet, but earlier this month, my first dance studio closed. Well, ok, they nominally closed. Actually they reincorporated as a new company with a different business model and now rent through a different arrangement from the same grandiose ballroom they've always been in, but the initial news was CLOSING ITS DOORS and so after the expected upsurge of sentimental emotions that such proclamations inspire, nearly anyone and every one who had ever set sueded ballroom shoe on that floor had determined to come for the "last U&Me dance." Myself included. It was one of the most intense concentrations of the people who have shared and contributed to meaningful moments over the last six years of my life. And in appropriate holiday spirit, the moment encapsulated past present and future. I was really glad to make some of those reconnections, to catch up, and to show Andrew (who made it as well), what I consider my extended family and certainly many of the influences that go into who I am now. So, I wanted a dancing ornament for this year.

Anyways, speaking of ornaments, this week I will be festooning my dad's tree with ornaments along with my dad, sister, and possibly Andrew! I'm quite excited. Let the Christmas jonesing begin!

Alright, time to talk netiquette: eDA

 We now live in a world where public and private are confounded by devices that make it easier and easier to completely check out while physically in public and hook in when you might have otherwise had privacy. This has many consequences - no, I don't think it's changing my brain(!!!!!), but it definitely degrades basic civility stemming from the awareness that others actually exist(!!), one of my pet peeves - but the one I'd like to address today is eDA.

eDA is my term for electronic displays of affection, particularly those "publicly" expressed over social media (facebook). Naturally when we're online, we have a proclivity for TMI in general, but nothing gets under my fingernails quite like inappropriate eDA. I guess because it often displays not only the general boorishness and narcissism of finding yourself far too interesting, but often implicates other subtler psychological problems that lead to a lot of grief and misery such as codependent relationships and other soap-opera dramas that make my stomach churn.If you're my friend,  your bad relationship affects me directly. If you're just my "friend" your bad relationship at least gives me some stomach churning (occasionally) flashbacks of actual and vicarious experiences of foolish years past. Your decisions over ham or cheese on your sandwich don't have the same effect on me.

 I'm addicted to facebook, so any element in choice in reading my feed has been eliminated. That said, sometimes logging into FB feels an awful lot like being stuck in a movie theater full of teenagers exchanging baby talk and groping each other. Can you please shut up, I'm trying to see the movie!

Is it just me or is there an inverse relationship between how demonstratively effusive (LOOK AT US WE'RE IN LOVE, LOOK AT US!!!!!) and the longevity/quality of the relationship. Maybe it's just more prominent when these relationships crash and burn (and start again, and crash again, and start again), but I still think there's a certain level of media-whoring that suggests either a breathtaking amount of smarm (really, do you *really* want to be a d-list embarrasing celebrity so badly that you turn your friend's facebook feed into your own one-person gawker report???) or a baseline level of relationship insecurity that is so desperate for assurance that you must beg everyone for recognition constantly. I don't know. Either way it doesn't bode well.What really disturbs me is when a person seems so consumed with another person that they completely abandon their own identity. It's an odd combination of narcissism - in the exhibitionist style - and complete abnegation. It's like screaming "look at... her, look at ... her, look at ... her" as if "her" and "me" are now the same thing.

 To be fair, *some* eDA is not only normal, but completely positive. I like that people are still in love after being together for a long time. I can even crack a little smile to see them flirt online.

Besides, we're social animals - there's an affirmation of indicating something about ourselves in a public manner. From the way I dress to those with whom I affiliate, putting myself and my tastes out there and recieving positive feedback is something I'm programmed to do, however delicately.

Arguably the biggest shows of devotion and commitment are those that make breaking ties that much more of a pain in the ass (I mean, look at marriage - talk about a pain in the ass to end!) Declaring to the world that you are committed to a relationship with someone ups the stakes of the commitment by holding it up to public scrutiny. It's kind of like when you were in grade school (and were a girl - bear with me here if you weren't). You could tell three or four or five different girls that they were your best friend and hope it wouldn't get spread around between them, but if you were to publicly declare one of them your best friend  your social credibility would diminish if you were to then declare another girl your "best friend". PDA in many regards is a means of displaying to the world "yes, this is the person I have chosen" and in a similar way makes breaking ties more difficult without reflecting poorly on you.

 We're judged for our tastes, and this extends to our partners. I won't affiliate myself with another person's brand unless who they are says something that works with want to say about myself to the world. I've dated guys whose brand would have ultimately said "she's insecure and settling" for instance, which I haven't much desired to share with the world. If I'm not willing to associate my name with my S.O.'s, then that bodes ill for the relationship. Public displays of affection come hand in hand with being proud of the person you're with - probably a good thing as long as it complements instead of supplanting your own "brand" in your self-image.

I'm using PDA because eDA is just a natural evolution of PDA. It's the equivalent of a couple holding hands in public. But some really amp it up to a point where the real-world equivalent would be mounting each other and dry humping while screaming to their friends "I LOOOOOOVE THIS WOMAN! AREN'T WE SEXY TOGETHER????"

I have friends who would be physically uncomfortable seeing couple even touching and others who probably wouldn't mind hearing grotesque details of somebody's sexual escapades while both escapaders are in the room, so it may fall to somewhat subjective taste, but here's where I draw the line.

I'm going with the Glamour themed "sexy" versus "skanky" but substituting "sweet" and "smarmy" (and occasionally obnoxious, which I think is more along the lines of the grey area)

1. It's sweet and fairly normal to post a profile picture of you and your significant other. (Or you and your baby. Or your friends. Your parents. Your parakeet...) It's a little obnoxious to post a new photo of you and your significant other every day or several times a month. When you're posting photos of your significant other (minus you - apparently you are so invested in the relationship that *you* don't actually have any identity!) every day or two with captions about your sexy s.o.'s sexy sexiness... smarmy!

2. It's sweet to post the odd comment on your S.O.'s fb wall, photos, or status updates. Sure you probably see each other in person all the time, but we're a digitally connected society. Maybe the moment you see the particularly relevant xcd.com cartoon or that lol cat who looks JUST LIKE that cat you saw the other day is the moment you're apart. And like I said, there's something really affirming about displaying your positive emotions about a person in public arena. It's obnoxious to post high-school worthy love poems on your S.O.'s wall - we all have to read them, so at least go with the Shakespeare. It's smarmy to post sappy love poems, which your S.O. "likes" and also responds to in kind, then "like" your S.O.'s response, then post another and another all of which you both "like" on and on and on and possibly cross-reference your ongoing conversation in a new status. Once you're having a conversation, no matter whether it be scheduling or sap... call each other for god's sake. You know how hard it is not to eavesdrop on another person's cell phone conversation?? Amp that up by ten and you have the wall-to-wall sap session.

3. Along those lines, when those public "conversations" go on for a while, they will inevitably start referencing inside jokes. If you're exchanging a few, that can be sweet to mildly obnoxious. You know when you're sitting at a table with "friends" and are the only person who doesn't get the inside joke? Groups develop inside references to establish unity: The ones who "get it" are part of "us" and those who don't are immediately excluded. A hint: people don't like to feel excluded. It's not such a big deal when it's a passing reference. It's awkward when it's a more involved reference involving that weird facial limbo of "everyone else is laughing, I should mimic that, but they know I don't get it so it'll make me look even worse! What expression should I go for here??". It's downright annoying if that's the entire conversation and your face starts to ache from passing between neutral, scowling and smiling. It's healthy for a relationship to build an inner vocabulary and syntax to develop that sense of unity. But again... awkward when that dialog is being forced onto you while you're browsing your feed. It's kind of the equivalent of "LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME... YOU'RE NOT A PART OF THIS GO AWAY!" I've been the third wheel many, many times in my life and turning all of your online friends into a third wheel is something that I personally consider bad karma. So, a line or two... ok and maybe cute. An entire shared dialog and or continued cross reference... smarmy


4. It's sweet to have photographs of your significant other in your albums. You spend a lot of time together so it's likely that you'll share the memorable and photogenic moments of your life  Occasionally you'll see your S.O. doing something interesting or funny that otherwise deserves being recorded - after all, being proud of your S.O.'s appearance, sense of humor, and style is a good a thing for the relationship. It's obnoxious to frequently post albums of you and your significant other posing for the camera. It's smarmy to stage bi-weekly photo shoots for the sake of photo shoots of you and your S.O., or to devote an entire album for photos of your S.O. that you downloaded from other places and involve events that have nothing to do with you, with the album title of "MY SCHNOOKY-OOKUMS!!!"

5. It's sweet to mention your S.O. in your status updates. All that time you spend together probably means that some of those random thoughts you're throwing out into cyberspace have to do with him/her. It's obnoxious when it's more often than not all about your S.O. It's smarmy  when you tag-mention your S.O.or refer to them as MY ____ (insert any hundred of "I have an S.O. LOOK LOOK LOOK" nouns) in every single post and - for reasons mentioned above - write an intentionally obscure comment that only said S.O. could possibly understand, but is just suggestive enough for others to get that you're making an in-joke.

6. Ok, sweet probably isn't the right word but it's normal to change your relationship status when you either become an item or break up. In the first case, it's become a relationship milestones and often very handy in fending off single suitor/"friends" without having to say a word of rejection. In the second case, people who have strong support networks tend to survive break ups better and it often avoids a lot of awkward "how's S.O. ... oh you what? I'm SOOOO SORRY!!" It's obnoxious, albeit somewhat understandable, to then mention your feelings about this change in status in your subsequent status updates and/or to change your relationship status every couple of weeks (it's like throwing a big ceremony for your tenth wedding - we only have so much enthusiasm to go around). It's smarmy to make every update for the next twenty days a testament to your feelings about that relationship status, to reference it in your comments to other people's status updates, and to take the opportunity to self-comment on the change by giving an entire biography your self-made wikipedia entry that includes all the intimate details of your relationship.

That's just my ten cents, feel free to add or defend...

Hey I'm a girl, of course I'm obsessed with shoes

For my birthday last week I got a great gift-promise from my dad: one pair of new running shoes and one pair of new tango shoes. I'm all over the running shoes. I love my asics; I am definintely getting a new pair of these, despite being tempted to try those weird foot glovey toe-shoes (for lack of a better name) to prove that I am one with nature and prefer to run the way God evolved me to do or however it goes.

If you're unfamiliar with this debate, it's one raging in the running community at the moment - is it better to run (virtually) barefoot or with our fancy schmancy shoes? The argument for running (virtually) barefoot, does make some sense - better connection with the ground, using your foot, etc. On the other hand, I have run in any number of different sorts of shoes - not only the rather impractical stilletto boots while trying to catch a bus, but also flats and the nearly not-there dance slippers - and I have to say I really appreciate the support of shoes. Also, any argument that premises on the "It's more natural"/"this is how we're evolved" instantly inspires obstinate skepticism in me.

It just seems so - well - optimistic about evolution. The evolutionary process seems to paint with fairly broad strokes - largely of the "adaptation to a certain environment that offers a mild improvement in the probabilty of lasting long enough to mate that statistically adds up towards favoring certain traits over a very long time" variety and not in the "making the ultimate super being" sort of fashion. I am wary of anyone trying to say that we're better off emulating cavemen because we "evolved" to be that way, and this sort of simplified presentation is one that I see quite a lot in these contexts. "Evolution" literally means "change" - trying to pinpoint some form of ideal homeostasis seems pretty odd to me. Mankind's propensity for innovation might be included as part and parcel of the evolutionary process. Not to say every technological change has been for the better, but I certainly wouldn't turn down a pacemaker because I hadn't "evolved" to have wires in my chest; it just seems like it's always going to be a pick or choose proposition at any rate in deciding when "natural" is going to be healthier and when it isn't. And besides, take the raw food movement (no please take it), which seems to result in high levels of food poisoning (hey raw hemlock salad is delicious!), malnutrition, ammenorhea, dental erosion, low bone mass...

I'm not saying, by the way, that these weird shoe glove things aren't totally the way to run or that they don't look really cool, because they kind of remind me of toe-socks, which I happen to love. Not quite as colorful though. I think I'll wait until the vibram fivefingers come out with stripey rainbow-colored shoes, preferrably with glitter and maybe some form of tassle. But really, I think my reluctance to the style is that they scream "yuppie hipster anti-gear-headed-gear-headedness" and avoiding that is of much greater concern to me than optimized running.

My new Vibram toe-shoes design (no stealing)

So Asics it is. But the tango shoes... what about them? This should be easy, considering my previously heavy habit, but I seem to be lost in a whirlwand of unattached brand loyalties. I am sooooo over Comme Il Fauts (OMG!!!). I'm not really, but, I'm less into them than I used to be.

To my sense, they've become victims of basic economic principles: When I got my first pairs, CIFs were very difficult to come by in the states, despite their coveted status. Distributors sold them, but few were willing to dish out, so they were always in short supply. Most CIFs came from individuals picking up a few extra pairs/getting completely carried away in Bs As and selling the extras for profit to cover their trips. This meant you could often find them on ebay for a steal, because the sellers weren't necessarily market savvy.

Just a few years later, the shoes are *a lot* more commonly distributed. This should theoretically should make the price fall, but the ready availability has instead contributed to an even higher increase in demand... Long story short, the supply and demand curve has shifted out and the shoes are even pricier than they used to be. Add to this the increases in costs for shoe-materials and you find a lot of cost-cutting going into the shoes even while the prices are staying pretty steady. So they basically suffer from sucessful-restaurant syndrome, where the more popular the place becomes, the smaller, less tasty and pricier the portions become.

Disclaimer: This blog is solely the personal opinion of one blogger. It in no way advocates the eating of tango shoes for all dancers. Readers are encouraged to do their own research regarding which shoes fit best for their dietary habits and what portions suit their personal needs.

Or maybe it's really sociological: signalling is at the bottom of it all. A signal is a mark that distinguishes a high performer from a non-high performer. For instance, some theorize a college education is not actually helpful for the job market, except insofar as it indicates something about the person who has recieved it. It identifies him/her as a hard worker, both because the opportunity cost of four additional years of study is lower for harder workers and because it shows they are more willing to delay gratification and stick to a job. I've speculated that clothes and shoes serve as a short-cut signal for tango. CIFs used to suggest that a person had either studied in Argentina or was serious enough about her studies that she was willing to expend the money. The diminished difficulty of acquiring the signal dilutes its potency, and on the other side there is the elite reaction of counter-signaling. A counter signal is a statement that one is *so* good that no signal is even necessary. This of course becomes a signal in and of itself - see, e.g. an entire generation of ironic hipsters who end up becoming clones of each other even as they "react" against conformity. In tango, one could perhaps pinpoint the new fad of practica shoes/dance sneakers and sweat pants over CIFs as perhaps being a counter-signal/the new signal. Nuevo is all about throwing any and all formality aside.

Me? I want something purdy, but I also want certain qualities in my shoes:

1. The sole has to be leather. That's just unquestionable. I need to be able to pivot on a dime and with leather I can use the side edge of my foot to stop quickly.

2. The straps have to be a little flexible and placed just at the right spot on my ankle to allow some support without confining the natural motions of my foot or keeping me from moving to the inner edge when I dance.

3. The workmanship, needless to say, needs to be solid. Shoddy shoes are a nightmare to dance in. Generally, something made of leather (sorry animals, I won't eat you, but I sure will wear you), that follows the shape of my foot, is lightweight, but also durable... It should also be able to take a lot of scuffing, because my feet do brush past each other in collection.

4. The heel is the most important part of the shoes as far as I'm concerned: It's go to be spiked and battle ready!! Boleo attack!! Ok, or, well, there are other things I like about a shoe.

* My heel has to be placed just at the right point in the foot: neither too far to the front or back of the heel. I tend to step heel-toe when walking forward both because the sound pleases me and because I enjoy the sense of absorbing the ground and rolling through my foot, so the heel must be strong enough for this (i.e. good craftsmanship rule applies). I should be able to touch it to the ground for support, but generally feel comfortable with it being just slightly off the ground (at the end of the day, I don't dance with the further back-weighted nuevo posture).

* It's sort of like how dogs and their owners sometimes resemble each other, except with shoes: my tango heels should be tall and thin just like I am (or given there is about 8 inches more vertical and 9 inches less circumference to me in relevant areas not including the head than "the average american woman" I am comfortable with the t&t description as a relative evaluation that ignores any confusion caused by the existence of models and the like in the netherworld of the fashion industry). This is for both aesthetic and functional reasons.

Aesthetically, I think it creates a much prettier and more daring line, by elongating and extending the leg. It also allows for nicer embellishments either with a pointed or flexed foot, by allow more point and more flex and therefor more flash and flicker.

Functionally, 4 inches or thereabouts puts my weight exactly where I want to be on my foot (and my partner's face just about at the top of my low cut shirt - so probably exactly where he wants to be on my body), so that I don't have to dance in releve position. And thin offers a flexibility to dance on the inner edge of the foot. With a sturdier heel, the foot stays right on top of itself in the middle of the ankle. A thinner heel allows the ankle more ability to roll, pronating and supinating at will. Naturally this is more dangerous since it can roll either to the lateral or medial edge if there isn't good ankle control, but with strong ankles, the freedom and handling that comes from this are necessary. It's like the difference between an automatic transmission and a stick-shift. Some of us like the discretion.

Of course it's hard to know where to look when most of the shoes I'm considering are made in Argentina and will require at least four weeks of shipping and possibly a suitable fit, but the work ethic in Bs As isn't ideal. Wish me luck!

Dressed to... advertise?

So, I'm compulsively concerned about "putting on airs." Mostly, this means I want to dress and behave in a way that reflects my ability and experience. Usually this means that I go to the other extreme and present myself in exactly the way necessary to completely undersell. It's part of my nature, which has its ups and downs.

My most glaring example being tango shoes - I refused to purchase them for over a year after I started tango. Partially because I was afraid that a sign of commitment such as purchasing specialty shoes would be one of those inevitable death knells in my relationship with tango (isn't that always the way?) Partially because, I was a begining dancer from a small town who wasn't "ready" to own real tango shoes. There's some validity to this - until you reach a certain level, the benefits of a perfectly crafted shoe are lost on you. In fact, until you reach that certain level, these shoes - with their skinny little heels, slippery soles, and altitude scaling heights - are more hinderance and hazard. The more you dance, the more strength and technique you develop to protect your knees and ankles from shoe-associated injuries. But there are also deep social implications. Dancers need a quick means of identifying experienced dancers between tandas, and the ability of a potential lead/follow to "fit in" by picking up on all the subtle customs and fashions of a particular group immediately identifies the people you want to dance with from the ones whose eyes you won't be meeting. I did not want to advertise above my abilities, only to dissapoint potential partners. I wanted - if anything - to be a delightful surprise. I still sometimes feel a little affronted when my beginner students walk into class with shiny new Comme Il Fauts.

Similarly, in Buenos Aires, I was so careful, always opting for subtler, more casual, but smarter. Because it is such a highly populated tango-tourist location, the standards for identifying veteran dancers become increasingly subtle and under-articulated to the untrained eye. I doubt I ever manged to transcened the tourista look, but at least got closer to attracting the milongueros over the draguers as I increased my style savvy. There are even variations between appropriate fashion between milongas, so it's not uncommon for dancers to change between Canning and La Viruta - switch out the CIFs for practica shoes and the dresses for harem pants and bring on the nuevo. At festivals and in Seattle, I waffle. I suppose I feel enough at home here to not be as concerned, but there's still a bit of a hesitancy to egregiously overdress or break some of the laws of tango fashion and thus advertise myself as a rank beginner.

This is a pretty common mentality in the ballroom world, where a costume designer will aggresively solicit your patronage, but be equally bold in clicking her tongue at you when you attempt to purchase something that is utterly "inappropriate" for a cute little bronze or silver dancer. Not that costume inflation isn't rampant in some arenas, but there is definitely an underlying attitude that the sorts of costumes that lower level amatuers wear are cheaper, less revealing (thank god, since the high standards of fitness don't really carry over to beginners and boy does fat jiggle in a good jive or samba), and adorned with murkier stones.

Dress has always been a way of identifying skill and status within a subculture, whether it be subliminal or overt. Karate, ballet, various scouts, or - well- the myriad joyousness that I'm told is highschool... all stratify via uniform. It's an inherent part of our culture and reflective of a deep-seeded human psychology.

All of this is a lead up to saying that I've finally given in and bought myself some running clothes. Now, in running I don't actually have to worry about identifying or advertising myself in any tangible manner. I don't run as a social activity. I don't need partners in order to to it. I don't even race, or hang out with other runners. But the attitude endures. There's just something about the overabundance of overweight, miserable-but-determined *runners* who slog around my neighborhood with raptor arms, kicky legs, jelly bellies and bobbing heads; it's something that makes me not want to associate myself with them as people who take themselves seriously. And these sorts always seem to have perfectly coordinated little running outfits. I still feel like a novice - a bronze level runner if you will, as yet undeserving of the switch from korean rhinestones to full-on swarovskis. The running shoes I had to buy, although they are hardly status symbols. The clothes: I forestalled in my sweats and ill fitting cotton tank tops for as long as humanly possible. For months. All the way through last week's heatwave. Slogging through the sauna with soggy sweats slapping my legs was ... something. I usually weigh myself before and after a run to figure out how much I need to rehydrate and these were fascinating runs in that I seemed to gain weight during the run.

I finally have clothes that fit, clothes with built in bras and materials touting themselves as "moisture wicking." I refuse to buy actual track shorts, but I did work my way up to capri-cut pants to share my lovely paper-white calves with the world. Of course all my running clothes are black, because I am a Seattle runner at heart and embrace my coffee-swilling-goth roots. Plus, it saves me the frivolty of having coordinated outfits. Black matches black, but all black is never intentional so much as easier.

It feels good, this not stumbling through workouts in damp and ill-fitting cotton. Looks good too, based on my entirely ill-informed vision of myself in the gym mirrors (which I swear have been treated in such a way as to cut down about five pounds on anyone who glimpses in them and pose an interesting counterpoint to the scales which tend to be about two pounds more sensitive to weight than other scales). I'm not sure I'm as impressed by the "wicking" qualities of my tank, but the built in bra and the general lack of chafing more than makes up for that. I don't know if this means I'm taking myself more seriously, but I am certainly conforming just a little more to the part. What next? I shudder to think.