The Sin of Pride

Running a 10K on lovely, cool summer morning is akin to chewing a plaque tablet. You remember those little pink tablets that the dentist used to give us, or they’d hand out at school during dental hygiene week? The ones that you chewed after brushing and then opened your mouth and saw all the plaque you missed? Well running is just like that.

I was inordinately proud of myself for finishing my first 10K and I’m pretty sure, I made sure everyone else knew about it… “I’ll have paper bags and did I mention I ran a 10K this morning?” I could be heard saying at the grocery store or “No, come on over for dinner, I ran the 10K this morning, but I still have plenty of time to make dinner for twelve” to friends. And then I got in the shower and was instantly transported back to being the annoying know-it all seven year old insisting that I’m the perfect teeth brusher, only to be knocked off my high horse by those stupid pink pills.

Now I’m someone who is happiest when the water is just shy of scalding. But on this day, the day of my athletic triumph, I kept turning the temperature down, and down and further down. In fact I turned it so far down, even my husband, who prefers to shower in what can barely be called tepid water, was turning it up. And then it dawned on me, it was the pink pill effect. Here I was feeling all good about running, basking in my general in-shapeness and I realized that the temperature felt so hot because I was freezing – or at least certain parts of me were. Parts like my hips and butt and other places fat likes to collect. My thighs and arms and other muscled areas were still warm from the expenditure of energy, but the rest of me, not so much so. Who knew that running a 10K would actually highlight, much like those pink pills, all the areas I need to work on?? And I was feeling so good about myself. I guess pride really does come back to bite you in the butt…and apparently everywhere else you have fat.

A Word on Horoscopes

Have you ever noticed that while most of us say we don’t believe in horoscopes, we rarely, if ever, say we don’t read them. I know because I fall into this category. Even though I think it’s crazy that some people think a few sentences about life has universal application to everyone born between April 20th and May 20th (I’m a Taurus), I still have my horoscope pop up on my home page everyday.

Some people say that horoscopes are really just a vehicle to help you look at your life in a different way, not a guide for how your day or life is going to go. And I have to say, I completely agree. More often than not, I read my horoscope and say “I wish my life was like that. Even if just for a day.”

The other day, my horoscope read something along the lines of “Something crazy will happen today, go with it and all will be good.” I’m a more-or-less at home mom with two school aged boys who are into all the sports and things that require me to drive 60 miles a day all within a five miles radius of our home. Having something crazy and unexpected happen might be kind of exciting, especially since the horoscope made it sound like it would be a fun/crazy thing and not a bad/crazy thing. I felt strangely let down when life proceeded as usual that day.

Just yesterday, my horoscope read that I should jump into the (assuming) metaphorical pool with both feet and everything will be good. I’m pretty sure they didn’t mean signing up to head the Ice cream Social at school.

But then there is The Onion. If you are anything like me, you need to include a weekly reading of your horoscope on this site. While all the others tend to remind me of the monotony of life (and I have to say, thank god for that because really, while I would love for my life to be like my horoscope on some days, who could handle all that excitement every day?? Yesterday I was supposed to jump into the pool, but today I'm supposed to keep my mouth shut), The Onion reminds me that even though my life is a pretty routine suburban life, I can still appreciate sarcasm and political incorrectness. Although I suppose as a Taurus I should be careful since, according to the powers that be at The Onion, “You’ll be pulled over by the grammar police this week, asked to slowly step out of your car, and then beaten mercilessly for using a double negative.”

I don’t not think that will happen, but I’ll let you know.

India and Georgia - Secret Sisters??

One of the biggest perceptions northerners have about the south is that the south is bigoted and racist. From a quantitative perspective, I can’t comment on this either way, but I won’t deny that in many Northerners’ point of view, “The South” and “Racist” or “Bigots” are nearly synonymous terms.

I bring this up because during my visit to Georgia there was more than one occasion when, but for the color of people’s skin, I could have been visiting with my Indian family. The incongruity of it all was startling, but the fact remains, India and Georgia seem to have a lot in common. (And when I say “Indian” I mean Indian from India, not Native American.)

I fell in love with Savannah during my few days there and in an effort to convince my husband that the South really isn’t that bad, I even made a list noting the similarities between his native culture and the state through which I was traveling.

1) When leaving a social engagement or saying goodbye after a meal, it takes at least twenty minutes – usually more to actually make it out the door
2) Social gatherings are marked by a general sense of complete and utter chaos
3) Being thirty minutes late isn’t late, it’s on time. Showing up at the appointed time is rude
4) The weather is hot and muggy
5) Everything revolves around food and meals
6) The meals themselves are shockingly similar in style in that there are at least 200 different dishes served at each meal – probably more at formal events
7) Indians and Georgians have an uncanny ability to make okra actually taste good
8) Religion is not just a religion, it’s a social thing, too
9) It’s hot and muggy
10) Everything moves a lot slower than it does in other places in the world. For example, getting your car fixed in Seattle will take approximately four hours. In Georgia and India, it will be more like four days. But the delay isn’t a big a deal since family and friends are always there to help out and drive you anyplace you need to go while your car is in the shop
11) The concept of community and family is central to the society
12) Appearances count for a lot
13) You will be judged in the afterlife on the extent of your hospitality
14) It’s hot and muggy

Needless to say, despite the similarities, I couldn’t convince him and we’re still living in rainy, gray Seattle and not warm, beautiful Savannah. Of course, our kids are getting a top notch public school education, the technology industry is still pretty strong here and violent crime is nearly unheard of in our area. But even so, I think people might be surprised at just how easy it could be for an Indian to slip right into the Southern culture.

A word on the word “Redneck”

Redneck is an interesting word. I don’t know what the etymology of it is, although I would guess it has something to do with the men (and women) who worked in the fields and the sun exposure. But, whatever it meant then, it now means something else (or, rather, a lot of somethings else. And yes, I know “somethings” is not a word).

In the south, redneck seems to mean something like the salt of the earth. It refers to someone who has no pretenses, isn’t afraid of manual labor, doesn’t aspire to material wealth, and is somewhat traditional in their thinking. They may possibly more politically conservative, but after meeting a few self-proclaimed rednecks in Georgia this past summer (including an eighty year old woman who worked her family farm as a child), I’m not entirely sure this is true. It is true that they were much more conservative than me and my liberal friends in some ways, but in others, they were fairly progressive and open which, yes, did surprise me.

While some folks I met in Georgia did use the term in an uncomplimentary way (more akin to what I grew up with), I found it interesting that it is a much more dimensional word than I ever suspected. For example, the country singer Gretchen Wilson made it big with her hit “Redneck Woman,” describing herself as someone who shops at Wal-Mart, keeps her Christmas lights on all year, and stands barefooted in the front yard with a baby on her hip. It all sounds kind of charming and harmless, doesn’t it?

But, in Northern California (where I grew up), if you refer to someone as a redneck, about the only thing they’ll have in common with Ms. Wilson’s version is that they’ll be standing in the front yard. They won’t have a baby on their hip, but they will be toting a huge-ass rifle and if you’re not white, it will be pointed at you. Hell, even if you are white it will probably be pointed at you since if you’re close enough to see the front yard, you’re probably trespassing. In California, there’s nothing charming about a redneck. They’re mean and bigoted. In fact, where I grew up, the terms “redneck” and “bigoted” are basically interchangeable. And god knows where they shop. Rednecks in California span the socio-economic spectrum and you’re just as likely to see on in Neiman Marcus as you are in Wal-Mart. It never occurred to me that it could be any different.

When I started thinking about the word “redneck” and its meanings I realized that while I had some idea of how the South and the West thinks about the word, I was struggling with the Massachusetts/Northeast definition of the word. I spent a lot of time there, I have a lot of friends there, it didn’t seem like it would be that hard to come up with a contextual definition of the word. But I couldn’t. I can’t. And after several days of digging through my memories, I realized that the word “redneck” isn’t really used in Massachusetts (or other parts of New England I’ve been to). I’m not sure if it’s because the word – like the word “Republican” – isn’t used in polite society (or at least not used politely in society) or just that it’s not part of the vocabulary. Either way, if you refer to someone as a redneck while you’re in Massachusetts, you’ll probably be met with a blank stare, and then the person to whom you are talking will just assume that you are referring to someone who got a little too much sun. Probably while vacationing at the Cape.

In summary…well there really isn’t a summary to this blog. I just thought it was interesting to discover that a word I grew up knowing positively what it meant can actually mean something else. And not only that, its meaning isn’t necessarily something to dislike. Bigots and bigotry are definitely something I don’t condone, but people like the ‘rednecks’ I met in Georgia – people who work hard, play hard, and (probably) pray hard – are people any one can respect.

A Perspective on Feminism from the South

In July last year (2008) I traveled from Seattle to Georgia for the express purpose of meeting Southerners. Of all kinds. It’s a long story as to why I ended up interested in this topic, by suffice it to say, my trip to Georgia is the first in what I hope will be a much larger project looking at the perceptions and misconceptions Northerners have about the South. Below is an excerpt from a chat I had with a woman who is quite possibly the epitome of a Southern Belle.

On a warm Saturday morning, we gathered at the home of a woman whose family had been in the Madison, Georgia area for generations. Viviane lives in a development a few minutes away from the town square in a lovely little brick home with a well maintained, but browning lawn. I didn’t realize when I traveled to Georgia, a place I think of as damp and humid, that the state, along with much of the South was experiencing one of the worst droughts in decades – affecting not just lawns, but the substantial farming community as well.

We retired to the sitting room, a room steeped in her family traditions and mementos, with sweet tea. And let me tell you, the lilting cadence of a true Southern accent isn’t something Hollywood created – in fact I don’t think they’ve ever done it justice. Viviane, as she talked about growing up in the Madison area, her family and how they survived The War (and yes, when they say The War down South, it’s always in capital letters and it always means the Civil War), could have charmed a snake with her accent.

We talked a lot about the women of the South. She pointed out that Southern women were not only left during The War (when their husbands, brothers, fathers and sons went to fight) but, unlike the Northern women, Southern women also had to defend their homes and families. They became soldiers in their own right fighting, in what ways they could, to protect what they valued, home and hearth. And while this might conjure up images of Scarlet protecting Tara, it was about much more than this. Homes were and are a symbol of family sovereignty, but from a purely practical perspective, these women were fighting to have a roof over their head for themselves and their families. I’m sure they wanted to and did try to save as many family heirlooms as possible, but you can’t tell me that between a cherished piece of family silver or food for her baby, any of these women picked the silver. They needed their homes for shelter and they needed their land for food and they did what they could to make sure that they had both.

And when it was all over, and when there was, literally in some places, nothing left but ashes, they had to rebuild and survive. If they were lucky, their men survived and came home, but many, like some of Viviane’s relatives were left widowed and fatherless. If they could, the women rebuilt. If it wasn’t possible they did whatever else they could to provide for their families. Viviane’s grandmother (several ‘greats’ back) became a teacher in one of the first schools for black children.

After hearing all this and gaining a different understanding of the impact The War had on the women of the South, I asked her what she thought about the Northern stereotype of the Southern woman – the idea that feminism just passed the whole region by.

She laughed and said something like this: “Honey, feminism didn’t come here because it didn’t need to.”

And now for the pre-flight safety instructions....

I am not normally a superstitious person. “Normally” being the operative word here.

We live in a world where reason either does or should prevail. Except of course, in politics where reason seems to be just about the only voice missing from the room. But that being said, I do have one superstition I’m going to cop to – I always pay attention during the pre-flight safety video or demonstration. I don’t mean I stop talking or put my book down, I mean I pay attention. I watch the video, I listen to the flight attendant, sometimes I even read the pamphlet.

Why, I am not exactly sure. It’s not like I think I’m going to actually prevent the plane from crashing if I’m a good little passenger and pay attention – like arriving safely is my treat for being well behaved and listening. And it’s not like I think I have much to do with whether or not the plane reaches its destination safely – I would say the mechanics and the pilots own this puppy, not a suburban lawyer traveling with two kids and a couple Nintendo DSs. But even though I know all this (along with all the statistics indicating that we’re more likely to die in a car accident on the way to airport than in actual plane), I’m still superstitious and I still make sure I watch every little thing. After countless flights, I know it by heart and yet still, I watch.

So, over the years, I’ve become a kind of connoisseur of the pre-flight safety message. Some airlines deliver it in a matter of fact tone, much like they’re telling you how to pot a plant, not save your life. Some are comedic about it, which is nice, if done well. But then there are some that come across like their trying to make you feel all warm and fuzzy about the fact that the plane has eight emergency exits (two in the front, two in the back, and four over the wings). You know the videos I’m talking about. They are the ones with the beautiful people, the soothing voices and professional editing. I wouldn’t doubt it for a second if someone told me they actually worked with a psychiatrist to determine the right tone of voice and volume to use in order to best soothe the nervous flyer.

It is this last version that I recently encountered on a flight from Southern California to the Northwest. While I like the fact that the flight attendants look friendly and competent (I’m sure their acting coaches would be proud), I’m not so sure about how the whole piece is scripted. They have flight attendants showing us how to do everything from the seatbelts to the exits to the vests. But when it comes to the mask - you know, the one that is supposed to drop down in the “unlikely event of a drop in cabin pressure” – they have people playing passengers who just look too perky. I mean, they’re smiling. Come on, who would be smiling at a time like that? I can understand not wanting the passenger actors to portray how they might really react since panic, screaming, chaos and uncontrollable sobbing isn’t really the message the airlines want to convey, but really, smiling?

It’s almost like they weren’t taking the whole this-could-save-your-life thing seriously.

Okay, that’s a little bit of an overstatement, I know they take these things seriously, but smiling?

The Trouble with Being a Workaholic

Wikipedia describes a workaholic as “a person who is addicted to work. This phrase does not always imply that the person actually enjoys their work, but rather simply feels compelled to do it.”

I love that second sentence.

So, here is the real problem with being a workaholic person, even if you want to stop, you can’t. You just become a workaholic about not being a workaholic. I know, because this is me. I have times at work that are extremely high paced and intense and times that lull. From a survival perspective, I know I’m supposed to take advantage of the lull and re-coup my energy for the next spurt of intensity. You know, drop my workaholic tendencies and just sit back, relax and ‘enjoy the quiet.’ There are two major problems with this. As a workaholic, we may be able to sit back and relax and enjoy some quiet time, but not at work. You may think I’m exaggerating here but I’m not. To a workaholic, the notion of relaxing at work is as incomprehensible as well…I can’t think of anything more incomprehensible to compare it to. Work is, after all, supposed to be work. The second problem with this theory is that a workaholic needs work to stay energized. Like any other addict needs their drug, we need work. How sick is that?

Sad and sick, but true. I know. The lulls just suck the energy and motivation right out of us and then we become like trolls - grumpy and willing to eat you if you dare walk over our bridge. You might even see us hunched over our computers, drooling and scowling.

So, here is the workaholic’s dilemma. When there is a lull, in order to not turn into a troll, do I move slower through the tasks on my to do list and try to make them last throughout the day or, do I get them all done in the first hour at the office and then twiddle my thumbs or just make stuff up for the rest of the day?

The problem with the first is that it is also against the grain of the workaholic to slow down – we’re ruthlessly efficient and deadline driven. We like nothing better than to check off the list and move on. We get a sick sense of accomplishment if we can look back at the end of the day and know we got through everything on our list. And the more on our list the better. You know what I’m talking about, workaholics out there. Even if you aren’t a workaholic you know who we are, you can spot us a mile away. We’re the ones smiling smugly, one might even say ‘smirking,’ as we leave the building at the end of the day. Don’t mind us, we’re just reveling in our own sense of self worth.

So, moving slow, though it might make sense from a recharging perspective, will just make us twitchy and, well, probably unrecognizable by the end day. (I know, some of you might think this would be a good thing and you’re probably right.)

On the other hand, if we get through our tasks in the first hour of the day and then have nothing to do but live inside our own heads, well, that might be even scarier. You never know what we’ll come up with if we have a lot of ‘free’ time. You think the scope of that project only includes reconciling billing practices in a subsidiary? WRONG! It is now a comprehensive plan to reduce our environmental foot print, bring about world peace AND reconcile the world’s major religious conflicts through our very own new and improved reconciliation tool!

And by the way, if you’re wondering if you’re a workaholic or not? If you read the previous paragraph and found yourself nodding – welcome to the club.

It’s a mighty dilemma and I know all of my fellow workaholics will commiserate with me on this one. Luckily however, being a workaholic, I can create a whole project, if only in my own mind, on how to resolve it. In fact, it might take me months to formulate. In the meantime, I think I’ll just keep posting to this blog.