Counter-Reproduction

As I was poking about on a social networking site the other day, I came across the profile of an acquaintance whose status breathlessly announced, "I'm so excited!!! I am two weeks pregnant!!!" Beside her exclamation was a photo , taken at what looked to be arm's length, of her stomach. It took me a moment to figure out what I was looking at, because I thought at first that she had taken a picture of wallpaper.

I don't usually react with cynicism to these kinds of announcements, but the up-close belly pic irked me. First of all, I could detect no discernible difference in the photo between her abdomen in the picture and what it looked like in the image taken three weeks earlier. Maybe it's just my monitor. I was likewise bothered by the feeling of obligation that the announcement demanded: "Be equally thrilled for me!"

It is exciting that this person is welcoming a second child into the family, I suppose. Parenthood is good - I happen to be a parent. But it is also a personal joy, one that I am glad to hear of, but perhaps without the intimate detail. During her pregnancy, another acquaintance was apt to posting her sonogram photos on her page, from nascent cannelini bean-stage through the last trimester. What ever happened to pleasant profile shots of family pets or, even better, the profile owner's face?

I daresay that the general public will soon be privvy to photos of this girl in the hospital waiting to be be admitted, and probably some in the delivery room during the birth. In fact, she intimated that these scenes are treats we can perhaps look forward to. For myself, I prefer to see the resulting child, rather than to witness something that my cat can accomplish quietly in just under twenty minutes behind the television set.

How to Be a Failure, Part I

People want to believe that the word "failure" carries with it a certain foreboding, a final pronouncement of hopelessness. In fact, it takes a special kind of person to welcome failure; in order to be okay with the idea, one need only envision the possibilities that open up when things don't work out. With a little bit of effort, any of us can become comfortable with the idea of failing, or of being called a Failure.

Consider for a moment a few of the great failures of history. Who comes to mind? Here's a little list that I came up with in the fifteen seconds that I devoted to the question:

• Gen. George Armstrong Custer
• Benedict Arnold
• Ferdinand Von Zeppelin
• John DeLorean
• Napoleon Bonaparte

See? What do all of these men have in common? You might say that they were all delusional, maybe even insane. But the other quality they share is their fame! These men are all famous for failing at the endeavors to which they devoted their lives. Perhaps you feel that this kind of large-scale failure is beyond the grasp of the average person, and you may be right. What we can learn, however, is how to embrace failure gracefully and fearlessly. In the posts that follow, I hope to provide some guidance into such quagmires as: how to respond when others accuse you of failure; dealing with public humiliation; finding ways to exploit your own failure.

Success is easy. Failure is hard. And what do we learn from success? I wouldn't know, but probably not very much.

On Relaxation

A student told me today, "Whatever it is you do to relax, Mrs. Anderson, please do it." I gave a flip response, but his comment has been bugging me. I just finished watching The Devil Wears Prada, a film I've resisted watching because, frankly, I've lived it. I used to live a life that lent itself to relaxation: go to a coffee shop, read the NYT Magazine, then cocktails, then dinner at the "now" NYC or SF spot, then more cocktails and pithy exchanges... Those days are gone, and I can't decide whether or not I miss them. I made a conscious choice to give them up in favor of the life that I have now - a life with meaning, no doubt - but there are some evenings, after a glass of wine and the announcement of a former Columbia floormate having won the Booker prize or the Pulitzer, that I wonder what meaning is really most significant?

Hatin' on Orphans

You think you're better than me.

The Scab Eater

So, for a while now, I've been taking responsibility for all manner of other people's problems. Maybe "taking" is the wrong word. People have been very generous to me, gifting me with one onus to shoulder after another. I appreciate these gifts, but I'm also a practical gal. I've got mouths to feed. So I'm going to start charging. Think of the service as selling Indulgences but probably a lot more economical. I'll take just about anything. Does male pattern baldness run in your family? I'll take it. Is your teenager alienated and distant? I'll take that, too. Awww, does your girlfriend think you're an insensitive asshole? Probably my fault. What's that you say, your cousin Ricky is incontinent and you can't figure out why because there's no history of this in your family? Gimme. I can't get enough of it, and I'm embarrassed with a wealth, so why shouldn't I turn a profit? To that end, I've made up a preliminary price list:
Sibling Rivalry: $.50 per incident
Traumatic Breakups: One-time flat rate of $20, or buy a year's subscription for $75 (if you're a real emo loser, this is definitely the better deal.)
Adolescent Malaise: Due to the chronic nature of this blame-generator, the cost is a flat $500 (if your kid is a total emo loser, this will cost far less than your weekly therapy encounters, and will make you feel way better.)
Newfound Awareness of Alternative Sexuality: $Market Price
The Peace of Mind That Comes From Knowing Nothing is Your Fault: Priceless

A Solution: Revised

The 5,000 people responsible for outselling the "Handpainted Oil Portrait of a Shih-Tzu on a Cushion in Ornate Gold Frame" on HSN gave up their personal information and, therefore, their right to privacy. They must be individually tracked - each and every one of them - and their voter registrations must be revoked.* This is not the painting I saw on TV

** I realize it's a Pekingese

*** I thought it evoked the same gestalt as the Shih Tzu on Pillow one

The Sea Pig

Pig left his pen
Somewhere south of here
A life in the slop
Was ordinary
He longed to look at moving waters.
"A brine bath," he thought."Sounds fine."
A trotter he dredged through the shallows.
The current carried him out to sea
He'd never felt so light
So free
It may have been days
He didn't wear a watch
He longed to dive to the floor
But he absorbed the watery life around him
His swelling hide, it
Buoyed him up
To his annoyance.
The pig resolved:
"Before my next jount to the sea
AloneI'll fill my pockets upWith stones."