I didn’t think I’d be able to say that in my lifetime, but it feels good. Cabana Boy got me Obama’s three books for Christmas. I read Dreams from My Father first. He wrote it before he went back for his law degree, and it was about his experience of and thoughts on race, as well as a reminiscence of his childhood. It was really cool. You could hear his voice in every word, and this man is truly and deeply intelligent and thoughtful. He’s also very honest (yes, he inhaled frequently) and very likeable. I usually only read fiction, but this book, with its vivid images of Hawaii and Indonesia, and glimpses of Kenya and the mythology of his father, had all the un-dry qualities that make me enjoy fiction. I only wish he had told more about meeting Michelle, but she probably vetoed that.

Having misplaced The Audacity of Hope, now I’m trying to read Change We Can Believe In. This one wasn’t written by him, but by his campaign. You can still hear his voice in places though. It’s essentially a listing of all of his campaign promises. As I struggle through it during interludes between library trips, I keep thinking that I should grab a highlighter and check off the promises as he keeps them. Only six weeks into his presidency, I’ve already found dozens that could be checked off! At the rate he’s going, he’ll have it all done by summer! Who does that? Who really means what they say on the campaign trail? President Barack Obama, that’s who. I love that man.

I also love that I can finally let go of some of the self-conscious guilt I’ve always felt about being white. Logically I know that I can’t help being white, and that I haven’t personally done anything to promote or condone inequality, but the guilt has always been there, regardless. But now, seeing young black men walking a little taller, meeting your gaze without so much resentment or hostility, I feel a slight lightening of that load of guilt and shame that our white forefathers bequeathed us. I feel like our whole nation has shaken off some of that burden, and I wish I could personally thank every single person who voted for Obama. I am so proud of us! I am so proud to show the rest of the world that we really are who we say we are.

Yes, in spite of the lovely moment I’m having here, I can nevertheless hear Republicans whining about the state of the economy. All I can say is, you people let George Bush drive it into the state it’s in for eight years. No one knows whether there is anything anyone can do to fix it at this point. President Obama is doing his best to fix it. (And shut up about the deficit–where were you with all your bitching about spending when Bush was handing out our country’s money to his cronies?) He’s only been in office for six weeks. I have faith that if it can be fixed, he’ll do it.

President Obama is so refreshingly thoughtful and intelligent and conscientious and unsullied by big business. Regardless of whether he can fix the economy, I am just so proud to have him as president that I can still be moved to tears by it. And for the first time in my adult life, I can say absolutely and without any trace of irony that I am proud to be an American.

What music makes me unable to sit still in my seat and type this? Even when my nose is raw from blowing through two packets of Kleenex today? Trey Anastasio, doing Burlap Sack and Pumps. (This link pops open Media Player.)

Speaking of Trey, we’re going to see Phish! At Bonnaroo! This June! Woo hoo!!!! We usually make the All Good Festival our summer vacation, but Phish!!!! TWO SHOWS!!!! This so totally makes up for me not being able to get tickets to their Virginia show!

Okay, this is something I have to share. I’ve been smoking for 30 years. Yeah, 30. More years than I lived without smoking, which would be 13. And I was a rabid smoker. Just let anyone try to get between me and my habit! Ask Cabana Boy. He’s endured me on flights to California a few times. Not fun for anyone. I was the kind of smoker who would have panic attacks just knowing I was out of cigarettes, even though I just had one. I couldn’t walk into the office without cigarettes in my purse, even though I couldn’t smoke in there.

So Linda, a coworker at Honda, told me that her friend had smoked for 40 years, and quit with no problems using Chantix, a prescription drug. I never dreamed, when I was a rebellious 13-year-old, that I would still be smoking 30 years later, and my kids have been on me to quit, and I really do want to see my grandchildren someday, so I did my usual thing. I googled. I read the scary New Yorker blog written by the guy who developed a serious depressive (possibly psychotic?) episode on Chantix. I read medical accounts. And I read tons of comments on a doctor’s blog. I decided it was worth trying if it could break this habit.

I told Cabana Boy to watch me closely for signs of depression. (Unfortunately, he knows what to look for from 10 years ago.) I went for it, prepared for nausea, but hoping to avoid it by always taking Chantix with food, and prepared for some killer psychedelic dreams. Alas, no dreams, but awesomely, no other side effects either. Well, I was a little tingly and floaty the first day, but no nausea.

Chantix works by blocking the receptors in your brain that nicotine usually fills. Normally, that would make a person like me go into insane withdrawal. But the thing is, when you smoke, and the nicotine gets into those receptors, you get this little reward called dopamine. So Chantix gives you the dopamine. 

It takes a while to build up in your system (they start you off slowly to avoid nausea), so you don’t try to quit as soon as you start taking it. In fact, I didn’t actually try to quit at all. As the drug builds up in your system over the first week or two, the association between that good feeling (dopamine) and the cigarettes starts to break down. On the third day, for the first time in nearly 30 years, I actually forgot to smoke after dinner. I kept smoking after that though, but just didn’t feel as urgent about it.

After about a week on Chantix, I felt pretty ambivalent about cigarettes. They had always smelled bad, but I used to think they tasted good anyway. It turns out that without the dopamine enticement, they really don’t taste all that good. I think it was a week or 10 days into it that I took the big plunge and went to work without cigarettes. I mean, it’s one thing not to smoke them knowing that I could if I wanted to. It’s an entirely different thing to set out without cigarettes in the cold dark of ungodly early morning on an hour-long commute to Planet Honda, where everyone wears white and you cannot leave for eight and a half hours, and then it’s another 15 or 20 minutes’ of the drive homeward before you reenter the real world. So for me, the prospect of 10 hours with no prospect of smoking was a true test of my mettle. (And yes, I could have bummed a cigarette from someone, but none of my coworkers smokes, and I’d been smoking in my car. So I would have had to bum one from a complete stranger.) I was fine, and went several hours at a time without even thinking about it. And it was awesome to sit with my friends during break instead of freezing my ass off outside.

You may be thinking that this sounds too easy, and that there must be a catch. Well, there are several:

  1. Chantix costs about the same as smoking a pack a day, so until you quit, you’re paying out double unless you’re lucky enough to have insurance that will actually pay for it. Mine only got me a $25 discount. Oh yeah, and they come in four-week packages, so prepare to lay out $115 (or $140 if you don’t have insurance).
  2. It doesn’t work for everyone. Cabana Boy started taking mine two weeks ago and says it’s not doing it for him. (It might just be taking longer to build up for him though, so I hope it will still work.) But there are some people who develop mental problems or can’t get past the nausea. So there’s the risk that you’ll invest all that money in a month’s worth of pills that don’t work for you.
  3. You’re still stuck with figuring out what to do with yourself as a non-smoker. If you’re skinny and have always wanted to gain weight, well this is your chance! If you’re like me, you’ve got to find a way to get out of the self-indulgent mindset and quit overeating. It’s easy to get discouraged at this point (like three weeks into it for me).

Linda suggested knitting to keep my hands occupied. Turns out she was right again! When you’re knitting, you want your hands clean so the thing you’re knitting doesn’t get dirty. This means you don’t want to go snacking while you do it. Also, it’s kind of addictive (just let me finish this row!) and soothing, and with a little practice, I don’t suck at it nearly as much as I did last time Mom tried to teach me. It’s satisfying to have a dishcloth to show for your time instead of an overflowing ashtray. And now I’m embarking on my first baby afghan.

I think I’m about a month into it (maybe a little more), and I’m feeling great! That gunk that I was coughing up for the past 25 years is gone. I don’t get that alarming whistle in my chest any more. I can smell again. (Egads! How long did my tennis shoes smell like that? And nobody told me!) I don’t go around reeking. I’m mostly past the “Oh God what do I do with myself now?” phase. I think the wrinkles around my lips from having them puckered for what amounted to a couple of hours a day are starting to ease. I’ll probably live longer. And I finally found my mindset to get the weight off. My new mantra is “Which would be more fun? Eating this junk or dancing to Phish at Bonnaroo without worrying about flabbering out all over the place?”

I highly recommend Chantix. Even if it doesn’t work for everyone, it’s worth a shot in case it works for you as well as it has for me. I’ll put an update on here when I quit taking it, and let you know how that goes. My doctor said that I should stay on it for six months, since I smoked so much and for so long. I hope this helps a fellow googler!

Okay, this one was enough to break my blogger silence.

So it’s our anniversary (11 years of Cabana Boy marriage, 13 years since our first date) and we’re all riding home from an evening of brews and wings with the family in the back of my dad’s minivan. I had just finished eliciting promises from the girls that, at least through Sunday, they would not do to each other any of the things that make their sister go “STOP!”

I thought that my little 5 year old nephew was contributing to my cause with his new name for Sierra: “Little Miss Pit Stop.” But as his next sentence revealed, I was oh, so wrong.

“Yeah Siewwa! You’we Little Miss Pit Stop because you always pissed off Aja!”

Joy Joy!!! That door-to-door stuff works! And registering young people at concerts! I’ve never felt strongly enough to do anything remotely like this before, but my dad, a lifelong Republican (cured by Bush), started campaigning for Obama a few months ago. So after he hit the phone banks for a couple of hours one night, I went the next time. Then my mother-in-law came from California, which was already for Obama, and joined me and my dad in the Knock for Barack thing one weekend.
 
Wow, it’s unbelievable that in Ohio, in September, 2008, there were people who had no idea about Obama and who actually wanted to hear why I felt strongly enough to go around and knock on undecided voters‘ doors. Out of the 50 doors, less than half answered (we left really nice pamphlets on the closed doors), and of the almost-half who did answer, about a quarter had gone McCain’s way and another quarter had decided on Obama. Ah, but the other half, more than a dozen of them, were confused and hoping for someone to explain things to them. And they really responded. It was SO cool! I left at least half a dozen people with the realization that Obama was the right choice for them, and another half-dozen-plus with a lot to think about and some web sites to explore (non-partisan factcheck.org was one I recommended in cases like that), and one shining star–someone else willing to volunteer.
 
I know this was a drop in the bucket, but the coolest part of it was thinking of all the other drops falling into the bucket along with ours, just like the $5 and $20 donations of all the “little people” were falling into the bucket. I also put in a few hours for non-partisan HeadCount.org calling people to get out the vote. I wasn’t allowed to say anything about Obama, but figured that statistically, the young vote couldn’t hurt.
President Barack Obama… how sweet it is.
 
Woo hoo!!!!

a friend who’s a new daddy asked:

when he is fussy, small red spots start showing up 
and once he is back to normal they dissappear 
are those heat rash ? ?  
  
 just googled: Crying increases pressure in the blood vessels above the neck. It’s called the Valsalva effect, and occurs after straining at stool too. This sometimes breaks small blood vessels and leaves petechiae. Check with your pediatrician, but that’s all it sounds like. Vigorous little fellow, isn’t he?
 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petechia

A petechia (pronounced [pɨˈtiːkiə]), plural petechiae (pɨˈtiːkɪiː) is a small (1-2mm) red or purple spot on the body, caused by a minor hemorrhage (broken capillary blood vessels)[1].

The most common cause of petechiae is through physical trauma such as a hard bout of coughing, vomiting or crying which can result in facial petechiae, especially around the eyes. Petechiae in this instance are completely harmless and usually disappear within a few days.

(Just thought I’d paste this in so other new parents can find the info all in one spot.)

do younger people have the same reaction to the old-fashioned phone ring? or is it a response learned only from years of living with that as the only phone sound? (except the british double-ring we heard in movies)

“who’s michael jackson?”
“the guy with the fake nose.”
“oh yeah.”
Two jobs kinda makes it hard to blog. But I’ve sent myself a few emails with stuff I wanted to blog, so I’ll just paste those suckers in here without even capitalizing.

Aja told my mom “I think God’s wife should be named Julia. Don’t you?”

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