Traffic

'The only bad thing about Cold Utopia,' they said to us before we came, 'is that the traffic is really bad at rush hour.'

I was just out on the main road at 4:45 PM. It slowed down to 40 mph twice, for a total of maybe two miles. Ha, ha, ha.

Bad traffic is when you're driving back from a wedding on Long Island and it's 1 AM and they've decided to close all but one lane of the highway. The highway being I-95. Which then has a 15-mile backup.

Really bad traffic is when you stupidly leave somewhere in LA at 4 PM and spend the next two hours on a freeway full of people who want to kill you, still mysteriously barely moving, and then give up and try surface streets, and drive over an hour an a half worth of crazy full twisty little streets and then arrive home in complete frazzled exhaustion.

Insanely bad traffic is when, on the way back from your honeymoon, after ten hours of driving, you are a half-mile from the Tappan Zee Bridge when a pasta truck explodes, causing a fatal accident and closing the entire bridge both ways, and you sit there for four hours and only then do you get detoured 100 miles up a 2-lane road to Bear Frigging Mountain, which has a two-lane bridge handling all the traffic into and out of !@#$! Manhattan, and by the time you get home you're wondering if this whole marriage thing is going to work because you're about to KILL one another.

(All true.)

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Irony

I have just exchanged a long series of emails with various persons at Cold University, trying to get the speaker's schedule; my boss is speaking here tomorrow and I would like to corner him for 15 minutes and try to hasten this whole graduating thing. (Apparently I get exactly 15 minutes which, if you have ever met my boss, is typical.)

One of his hosts here is a former postdoc from the lab, now Cold U faculty. After asking what the heck I was doing in Cold Utopia if I was a grad student at Snooty U... he asked if I'm looking for a postdoc.

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It is snowing here.



[Slightly later:

1) My spouse is arguing with his rabidly conservative parents about politics. I had to leave the room.

2) His father keeps having seizure-like attacks, in which he stops breathing for up to 25 minutes, brought on by the stress of teaching. Retire now, or get 2.6% extra on his pension and maybe DIE? Hmm. I think they're getting a little greedy.

3) If you are depressed about the elections, do this: first, watch Tina Fey as Sarah Palin. Watch all of them. Then watch Sarah Palin's actual interview (Part 1, Part 2) with Katie Couric. Then be comforted that there is no way anyone could actually elect this woman to national office. As Tom Paxton said, "Some people you don't have to satirize. You just quote 'em."]

The next morning: Now it is snowing HARD.

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In Which All Employers Can Bite Me

One of Dr. S's colleagues knows someone who works at the journal which advertised the perfect job. Apparently, although the ad did not specify any bizarre software and therefore did not appear to be a sham, they already know who they want to hire. Bah.

I just interviewed at Big Tech Company. They appear to rely heavily on written tests, consisting mainly of grammatical corrections and logic puzzles. I am not entirely sure what I think of this, especially given that Dr. S's colleagues also know people who work at Big Tech, and largely think they've been brainwashed into working ludicrous hours. Thanks, better brainwashers than you already tried, and it didn't take.

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My New Favorite Commercial, Or, Guess That Party!

Congressman for Re-Election!
Congressman in front of factory. 'Stop sending US jobs overseas!'
Congressman in front of statehouse. 'Stop sending state contracts overseas!'
Congressman in front of oil well. 'Congress has prevented oil drilling in most of the US!'
Congressman in front of dollar bill. 'We should rescind the ban and drill in the US!'
Congressman in front of... windmill. 'So we can take the fees from the oil companies and invest in clean energy! Like windmills!'
Picture of Congressman in front of.... solar panels. 'And solar energy!'
(...what?)

-fin-

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Jobs and Babies

I am coming to a realization that I suppose all mothers reach eventually: I do want a job. But I don't want a job that is less entertaining and more annoying than staying home with my baby.

Somehow this had never occurred to me before. I've supported myself since the day I left college, and I've had a job since I was 16. Between my family's Protestant work ethic and many years of professional training, I expected I would always work. Staying home with a kid was never on the list; I thought I'd be bored witless.

Then I had my first adult employment encounter with Big Business. (When I met them before, they were usually trying to sell me something.) Every time I talk to them, I'm less and less impressed. (Also, every time, the salary I want goes up. Corporate recruiters beware: stupidity costs.) For this I'm going to leave my tiny baby with strangers? So I can be overworked and stressed out, doing something I don't even care about? Grad school was bad enough, but at least I cared.

If, say, the editing job wants me, that's interesting and rewarding- and part-time. But we don't really need the money. We won't be rolling in cash, though I wouldn't mind freelancing some or translating, but we'll get by just fine.

That grinding noise? That's my priorities, shifting.

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For a Rare Change, On Politics

Because they said it better than I could, and because it is a very personal tragedy when someone loses their much-wanted and much-loved babies late in pregnancy:

Dear John McCain,

...when you discussed your feelings about partial birth abortion during the debate last night, your true opinions became clear to me. You really are a social conservative; it was in 2000 that you were playing a role. When you discussed partial birth abortion and used quotes around the "health" of a mother, claiming that the idea of preserving a woman's health has been "stretched" so that woman can just go ahead and abort babies willy-nilly whenever they want showed your true colors. You really ARE a small-minded anti-choice hater of women.

You've bought the propaganda. Even if I tell you that late term abortions make up only one fifth of 1% of ALL abortions that happen in this country, and that they are performed universally only in cases of extreme risk to the mother or lack of viability for the child, you won't believe me. In your mind, women like me are sluts that got what we deserve, and changed our minds at the last minute when the reality of a baby became clear. If I tell you that the day my doctor performed my life-saving medical termination of my pregnancy was the worst day of his professional career, in your mind he's a callous murderer willing to kill children.

Or this:

Not only is John McCain saying we shouldn't have the right to terminate a pregnancy in the event that our lives are at stake, he's telling us he's skeptical that that happens at all.

Register to vote.

Find your polling place.

Learn about the candidates.

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In Which I Am Told: Eat More Chicken

Our first appointment at the birth center was yesterday. We met one of the three lovely midwives, all CNMs with lots of experience. All three fulfill my main criteria for medical professionals: won't give me treatment I don't need, and can recognize when it is needed. I love modern medicine, really I do. Low-risk births, however, do not (usually) need much ntervention. And the ambulance can pull right up to the birthing room and cart me to the hospital in fifteen minutes flat. Just in case.

The baby's heart is pitter-pattering away at 150something, and all is well. Dr. S does not want to find out the gender, and given how incredibly cranky I've been and how he's been doing all the cleaning, well, okay. ('Are you serious?' he asked. 'Yes!' I said. Then he gave me a deeply suspicious look, like, what's the catch. No catch, dear, really.)

The only not-great thing is, in four months I've gained... four pounds. I mean, I eat when I'm hungry, but noodles and edamame and frozen strawberries aren't really very caloric. 'Are you... a vegetarian?' she asked, looking at my average-daily-consumption. 'No,' I said, 'not any more.' 'Well,' she said, 'you really need more protein. A lot more protein.'

It reminded me forcibly of a conversation my pregnant and chronically-anemic sister had with her OB:
'Do you eat meat?' the OB asked.
'Yes!' my sister said.
'No, no. I don't mean, do you have chicken on Shabbos. Do you eat MEAT??'
'Er... no?'
'Go get a steak.'

Tonight: biscuits and sausage (well, kosher turkey sausage patty) gravy. Mmmmmm.
***
P.S. Found a job ad for a part-time scientific editing job. Perfect for having a baby. My resume could have been written for this job. HIRE ME HIRE ME HIRE ME!!!

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???

The company with which I am interviewing wants a copy of... my college transcript. For pity's sake. Seven years ago! Do I have a copy of this? Can I get one in seven days? No. And what about my !@#$ grad degrees, THANK YOU VERY MUCH???

The phrase currently in my mind ends with 'and the horse you rode in on.'

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Someone Else's Sadness

I've just heard, through Dr. S's former boss, that a colleague of theirs delivered her twin boys very prematurely. One baby was stillborn, and the other is in the NICU. They have two other little boys, both under 10.

They aren't particularly close friends of ours, more professional acquaintances, but I am so sad for them and want to do something to either make their lives a tiny bit easier, or remember their baby. I should add that they're ten years older than us and quite well off, and also at the best hospital in the area, and that their families live in Europe.

If I still lived anywhere near them, I would make frozen dinners and arrange to drop them off quietly. (Casseroles are the correct answer to all bereavement.) Sadly, I don't think I can manage lasagne from a distance of 1000 miles. There's a company called Schwan's that will deliver some frozen for me, though. Is this a good idea? I have no idea how it will taste. If I do this, I'll get in touch with Dr. S's former boss's wife (a friend of the family) and check with her first, and have the meals delivered in a week or two.

I was, alternatively, thinking of (in a month or two, and likewise through former boss's wife) finding out the baby's name and making a donation in his memory. Thoughts?

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On Jobs and PhDs

Cold Utopia is, it turns out, amply blessed with the biotech industry. (The Army Reserve post is also hiring biologists, but one must join up. No, thank you.) The biotech industry is even hiring.

But nobody wants a PhD, except to run a 'research group' for things ranging from developing rat poisons to drug discovery. (No, really.) If I were a nurse, I could find fifteen jobs. But not a PhD. The ads are for a biostatistician with ten years' experience mapping crime or a clinical microbiologist who has worked with cheese. Sadly, I do not think the ads are written with a specific person in mind. They reflect either an extremely narrow view of who can do the job, or an unhealthy degree of optimism. This is not a large city, after all.

I learned a lot of things in grad school. How to deal with difficult people. How to get my way. How to keep a good poker face. How to get people to do what I want. A little about science. But mostly, I learned how to figure things out. Every month, I had to teach myself a completely new protocol, troubleshoot it, and produce data. On my own. It was very sink-or-swim at Snooty U, but it was also very... educational.

I probably wouldn't do for a crime-mapping statistician, but there are a lot of other jobs I could learn to do. I could learn it fast, and they'd only have to tell me once. Good companies hire people who can learn to do the job, not someone who only knows one thing. All I have to do is convince them of it.

(Also, if I ever get an in-person interview, I have determined that a Lands' End shirt one size too big will handily camouflage the baby-filled stomach for at least another month.)

Later: Have had phone interview. They suggest I might be suited for a position in technical customer support, doing the rough equivalent of juggling ferrets. In-person interview next week. Am deeply skeptical, but will go anyways.

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Placeholder

Now with photos.

Working on a post about jobs and work. No brain. Must go register to vote today, too. Walk and be tired all day, or be a lazy slob? Choices, choices.

(Belle: the last photo is a surprise. For you. DON'T LOOK AT IT! NO CLICKING!!!)

1) The Mustard Museum


Mustard.


Mustard pots.


Yet more mustard pots. Oh, there was so much more!

2) The Hippie Festival, Highlights


Part of the Stilt Brigade


My two favorites, captured in one photo! Front: Some dude in awesome drag. Back: The Raging Grannies. Sadly, you cannot see the one in the wheelchair holding a sign that says 'Peace Now.'


An entire truck of people with drums. Note that they are, sensibly, wearing earplugs. They were LOUD.

3) My Chubbular Tummy


I swear I used to have a waist. (15 weeks.)


Note my highly stylish trousers, the only thing I will now wear.

4) Garage Sales Are Fun


Ignore my ugly carpet. Look! Eeeny weeny adorable baby clothes! In gender-neutral colors! Though I dreamed that I was having a baby girl, who knows.


Slightly less eeeny-weeny baby clothes. I seem to have a thing for overalls. The tarp? That's for under the high chair. (Just kidding! It's for our bikes.)


Baby bag and baby carrier. It was cheap; my mom's giving me my old baby carrier for larger kiddos. Total expenditure so far on baby objects: $25.

Belle, don't look at the next one!

Sewing project: birthday present for Belle. Grocery and produce and bulk-foods bags; note the little windows! Inspired by this. I was all like, I can make that. Constructed entirely from fabric scraps, plus a half-price bit of plastic from the craft store which will make, at a guess, 256 bag windows. Most of the bags also stand up.

Now all I need is another sewing project....

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In Which I Apologize For Being Boring

Dear, faithful, readers (all five of you): I make a very dull housewife.

Today I must go on an exciting expedition to find:

1) an alarm clock, as currently we have a lab timer, and there is nothing so disconcerting as waking out of a sound sleep to the feeling of 'My reaction!! AAAAAA!!'; and

2) a pair of yoga pants that are not green, as this is the only garment that doesn't touch my belly, and also as my dear spouse, who has the fashion sense of, well, a male Midwesterner, and who is to boot somewhat colorblind, nonetheless refuses to go out of the house with me in Kermit-colored trousers. Because I embarrass him.

3) groceries.

On a slightly more interesting note, I have a phone interview next week. In preparation, the company wanted me to fill out the World's Most Inane Personality Survey ('Are you more: easily irritated by others; comfortable in large groups; efficient at boring tasks.' Gee. I wonder what the right answer is.)

Dr. S has started work in his new lab, which is funded by That Crazy Frozen Dead Guy (you can guess who). He gets there, on average, 2.5 hours before anyone else, because he has a compulsion to work. They all leave promptly at 5 to pick up the kids. It's like living in an alternate universe, compared to both our old labs.

We now have a variety of bizarre but nice benefits, including dental insurance, because they provide a medical-insurance allowance every month which makes it like getting it all for free. They specifically cover both birthing centers and contraception. It's very.... civilized.

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