Apt. 11D

A Memorable Memorial Day

The Cadillac El Dorado turned onto Broadway carrying the white haired veterans who waved to the locals. The young families squatted on the curb, while the older folks rested on fold out chairs along the parade route. Next came the troops of boy scouts and girl scouts. Then the little T-ball kids. Jonah marched by slightly ahead of the other kids. Ian sat with us on the curb pulling down his ears because the civil war reenacters were blasting off their muskets. It was not quite the end of a busy weekend.

We had taken off for a few days to New Hope, PA and Lambertsville, NJ, two towns that border on the Delaware River. The main block of New Hope is thick with B&Bs and outdoor cafes. Ibiza for the argula eaters. We stayed at a Ramada in the next town over and mixed up visiting trains with shopping for a pretentious dining room table.

First up, a visit to Northlandz, the world's largest model railway. With eight miles of tracks and gallons of cement molded into a topographical fantasy land, it is a frightening display of one man's obsession. Something uniquely American. After paying an obscenely steep admission fee, you are taken into this old warehouse withwinding passageways that give you different vantage points of this monstrosity.

We shopped around for pretentious hand planed table looking for something that would work well as a place for homework and as a piece of art. Found some good candidates, but didn't buy anything yet.

Ate some okay meals, but couldn't go near the fancy places with the kids.

The streets were packed with upper middle class couples shopping for antique garden ornaments and being fabulous. Lots of gay couples and bikers roaring down the center streets on their Harleys. We were the oddballs carting around a sleeping three year old in a stroller and a five year old with a new coloring book.

It was a pleasant trip. The kids loved the communal sleeping in the hotel and we loved just getting away. I read nothing while I away. No news or wonky magazines. A political post will follow after I have a chance to catch up.

Question of the Day

It's Fleet Week in New York City. Sadly I'm missing it, because I'm a boring old fart in New Jersey.

The uniforms and short hair don't do much for me, but boosting the number of straight men in Manhattan is always amusing.

So, in honor of Fleet Week, the question of the day is for the straight women and gay men, what type of guy turns your head. Trim and uniformed? Goateed and bookish? Gelled and metrosexual?

Where Am I?

Posting has been jumpy and inconsistent these past few days, because Steve took off a couple of days from work. Poor sap. He just wants to veg out in front of the computer, and instead, he's been enlisted in a major painting job of the kid's room. Sorry, dear, it had to be done. The fake wood paneling made the place look a crack den in Grandma's basement.

The walls are done, and we're onto the next project. Packing. We're taking off for a weekend in New Hope, Pennsylvania. There's the world's largest model train railway, which should amuse all members of the family, albeit on different levels. We also found a place where the kids can take an hour ride through the mountains of Pennsylvania on a steam engine. Whlie the kids are still numbed with the euphoria of trains, we'll jump into some antique stores and Amish furniture shops. We might wade in the Delaware watergap and play pinball in the hotel. Wahoo. Road trip.

Before I go, you must check out this blog which was recommended by Assymetrical Information. Scary cool.

5 Grandkids

They Did It For The Nooky

Matt Miller says that his wife had to opt out of a high staked profession after she had kids.

If the most interesting and powerful jobs are too consuming, Jody says, then why don't we re-engineer these jobs - and the firms and the culture that sustain them - to make possible the blend of love and work that everyone knows is the true gauge of "success"? As scholars have asked, why should we be the only elites in human history that don't set things up to get what we want?

Most professional work is antithetical to family life.

Today talented people live in fear of sounding anything less than 24/7. Tell your boss you have to deal with a drinking problem and you'll be fine; say you want more time with your family and you're on the endangered species list. As a result, my wife says, we're being led by a class of people who made choices (because there was no alternative) that are alien to what most of us want.

Miller calls for men and women worked to demand a more sane worklife.

It's time workaholic males took up this cause, because top jobs will never change unless we do. Jody even has an incentive plan. In Aristophanes' play "Lysistrata," the women withhold their charms until the men agree to stop making war.

Honey, I'm withholding "my charms," unless you get home before 7:00 tonight.

Two and a Half Hours

I was thinking about posting on the filibuster or something today, but there's just too much going on around here. It's a mostly personal post.

With Ian now in pre-school five days a week for two and a half hours, I'm suddenly looking at twelve hours per week of child-free time. Twelve hours without kids that need feeding, stories, and help finding additional Lego wheels for an extra long battering ram.

Twelve hours is such a luxury. In the past three years, we've been babysitter challenged. It was too complicated to arrange in the city with the kids in different places, and it was also ghastly expensive. More recently, we were too afraid to put Ian in childcare because of his speech disability and therapy schedule. So, for three years, I've always had a kid in tow.

Yesterday, after I dropped Ian at school, I sat in the coffee shop daydreaming about all the things I could do with that time. It's like someone dropped a thousand dollars on my lap.

I look with envy and awe at the parents whose kids are in school the whole day. Sometimes I ask them what they do with all that time. They usually do the foodshopping, pay bills, clean, and deal with the kids' papers. (God, they come home with a lot of crap once they start school.) One woman said she washes the kitchen floor every other day, does two loads of laundry, and makes everyone's bed.

Was it Betty Friedan who said that a day can easily be filled with senseless chores? I'm guarding my twelve hours from the bed making syndrome. Our place will continue to be tidy but dusty. Cleaning will continue to happen while on the phone and over the weekends. I am using my precious twelve hours to work on The Big Project.

You know what else I won't be doing with that time? Blog. I could very, very easily blow all that time writing witty comments and roaming freely around the blogosphere. What's that bipolar, bisexeual biographer doing today? What's the latest gossip on Drudge, Huffington, and Instapundit? What is Lileks collecting today? I have to keep my addictions in check.

This fall, the twelve hours might even increase to fifteen or more (if my mom can help out), so I'll be able to adjunct again. I've been calling local colleges who've been very eager to hire me. It's doesn't hurt that I have healthy CV and the willingness to work for nothing.

Different Wiring

The latest study on why women don't push for the top jobs.

Reading and Waiting

Up and showered by 7:00 am this morning. Lots to do. I had to get two boys ready for school by 8:30. Ian started special ed preschool today.

In between making lunches, packing up spare clothes for preschool, and toasting bagels, I flipped on the computer to check the e-mail and the comments on the blog. (Very amused at the comments on the geek question.)

Hubby sent over a link to an article on the Pew study of bloggers that I mentioned last week.

Popped Jonah on the school bus and then drove to Ian's new school. I was very worried. Ian has a very complicated way of communicating -- part sign language, part grunt, and part mom just knowing that the sign for monkey refers to Dora who has a friend who has a monkey and that Olivia next door has a ball with Dora on it and that's what Ian wants. There's no way that his teachers are going to have any clue what he's talking about.

I camped out in the school office for two and half hours just in case he flipped out because nobody understood him or because someone tried to pressure him to talk. I caught up on my reading.

I picked up the New York Times magazine and fiddled with the crossword puzzle for a while. Moved on to the OCD article, which made me itch.

Then there was the cover piece on Rick Santorum. Santorum is predictably against gay marriage.

To Santorum, who is married and the father of six children (as well as one who died shortly after birth), marriage is primarily about procreation and child rearing, and a union without at least that possibility need not be legally sanctioned. ''Society's interest in marriage is the future,'' he told me. ''It is the next generation. It is in providing a stable environment for the raising of children. That's why we give marriage a special status, not because people like to hang out together and have fun.'' ...

When I asked him if he viewed gay marriage as a threat to his own marriage, he answered quickly. ''Yes, absolutely,'' he said. ''It threatens my marriage. It threatens all marriages. It threatens the traditional values of this country.''

I haven't written much about gay marriage on this blog mostly because I don't get what the controversy is about. If Rick thinks that marriage is only about producing kids (should infertile people be prevented from marrying?), he's entitled to his beliefs. Whatever. But I don't get how other people getting married just for the fun of it affects his marriage. Where's the threat? Just don't get it.

But truthfully, I also don't get why so many gay folks want to get married. If I was gay, getting married would be the last thing on my mind. I would be all leather clad and pierced, making out with another cute lesbian and taunting the hetero guys. (I fully admit that I may projecting myself as a very shallow gay person, who probably isn't even gay, and this whole matter probably deserves more thought and seriousness than I've given it. Tomorrow.)

After sneering at the ethical column, I moved on to the New Yorker. First up, Anthony Lane reviews Revenge of the Sith. Oh God, life is good.

The general opinion of “Revenge of the Sith” seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones.” True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion.

The whole piece is one amazing snark. Must read.

Ian made it through the whole 2-1/2 hours. There were some tears, but no meltdowns. When he saw me waiting for him at the door, the bottom lip went out. I grabbed him, and he hid his head in my shoulder. It's going to be rough for Little Boy as he gets used to the new regimen, but he'll be okay. And I'll catch up on my reading.

The Rich Are Different From You and Me

Margie's kids are still not sleeping through the night, so once a year, her husband sends her off to a hotel in New York City so she can get a good night's sleep.

Question of the Day

What maketh a geek? Is it a collection of number one issue comic books in plastic wrap? Is it a working knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons? Is it a reading history that includes Isaac Asimov's Foundation series? A vast memory of Star Trek trivia? Boba Fett anyone?

What makes a geek and are you one?