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What is the baby doing in the womb all day when he's awake? Is he bored? Is he scared?

Also, why does the internet say you have to talk to your baby? I talk all the time--the baby can't possibly tell the difference between me talking to my students or mom on the phone or Francisco and talking to him, right?

A Random Assortment

~ Francisco found the coloring book that our kids will be using when they're old enough: Color Your Own Italian Renaissance Paintings.

~ This is excellent (look at the pictures!)--"Who Wore It Best: Pope Francis or Olivia Pope?":

Olivia Pope sports her endless collection of luxe coats like impenetrable breastplates, usually in a color telegraphing her level of inner turmoil; here she is offering herself up as a peace-making angel, ergo pure snowy white, with the cape on coat even providing a vaguely winged look—and an extra layer of armor between her own noble intentions and the roving hands of her bratty bureaucratic lover, President Fitzgerald Grant III.
It’s hard to compete with a guy whose vestments were chosen for him both by the Lord above and a trippy plume of (matching) white smoke. But Pope Francis also bests Pope-Comma-Olivia with a less uptight feel, which is saying something given that he has the more rigid dress code. His capelet is swingy; his garments fitted but not snug. And not for nothing, he’s got some bravura accessories.

Yes, dear friends, I am watching Scandal. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I have noble intentions: My students don't watch any good tv--The Wire, The Sopranos, Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Friday Night Lights, etc. So they don't get my references. For heavens sakes, they don't even watch bad tv that I watch--like Downton Abbey. So I'm trying to watch what they watch, so I can give examples in class (it's working! Today we talked about how Hobbes relates to Scandal and they perked right up). I am a sacrificial teacher, admire me. (Just kidding--I love tv and I'm easily amused even by the low quality stuff.)

~ Adorable picture of Kate and William and George.

A Diary of Early Pregnancy.7

--The Neti Pot: After two or three weeks of persistent congestion and sinus headaches, I finally gave in and called the midwife. Her only recommendation was something that Francisco owns and so I've heard of, but I had hoped never to experience: the neti pot. Basically, you take this little watering can looking thing and pour it in one nostril and it drips and drains out of the other. What's in the watering can is a mix of water and salt. Anyway, it is not pretty, dripping stuff through your nose, but it's also pleasant to be able to breath. (Between our new humidifier and the neti pot, for the first time in weeks this morning I woke up breathing like a regular person and sans headache.) (For the record, there's an ever-so-slight chance that they can kill you, so be sure to use distilled or sterilized water.)

--Last night I dreamed that I was in labor, giving birth to twins (my worst nightmare), and it was a perfectly fine experience--intense, but totally do-able. I think that I've really internalized the hypnobirthing stuff about it not being pain, but rather pressure: even my labor dreams are positive!

--Today I told my students that we're expecting. Two of the classes clapped, which was very cute and made me blush. One class suggested that they throw a Tocqueville-themed baby shower. 

--I ordered a christening gown for the baby's baptism. Somehow this one thing seemed like an essential preparation to make right away--I've literally bought zero other baby things. But Francisco and I don't have old vintage baby baptismal gowns in our family (as far as I know), so I had to pick one out on etsy. Plus, it had to be little boy and little girl appropriate. I found one that was sufficiently British-looking for Francisco's taste and sufficiently long and lacy for mine.

--Just turned down presenting at APSA, since I'll likely be in labor with the baby at that time. This is definitely the biggest sacrifice I've had to make so far (and totally unavoidable, unless we want to give birth in DC). 

Veronica Mars

Veronica (previously TB, but let's just admit, that's not a good blog nickname) and I finally got to watch the new Veronica Mars movie (it has been out for a whole week already!). So good.

Well, okay, aside from a love scene in which an exhausted Veronica Mars forgets about the recent tragedies in her life in order to rip (literally, break the buttons off of) the shirt of the sexy new man in her life. That was a little over the top.

But in general, it was pretty good. Very localist--the overall message is that you shouldn't leave your hometown for your careerist ambitions in the big city, but rather you should help where you are.

Also, I think that the film is not the end: in my opinion it's the perfect set-up for a new season of Veronica Mars. I don't think this is just wishful thinking (maybe it is). Her time back in Neptune could have ended nicely as just the visit home it was supposed to be, the slight break in her East Coast adventure. But it isn't--she decides to stay. The villain is set up: the corrupt sheriff, manipulated by some even bigger villain, who we don't see, is there to be fought. Weevil takes his former place at the head of a biker gang. Wallace is a teacher at Neptune High, so she can still draw on him for student records. She could have left Neptune to take care of itself, but she doesn't, and we want to be there to watch her.

There are loads of famous people with cameos in this movie. What fun. The best, though, is Dax Shepard's dancing for Veronica at a club, at which she turns up her nose. Delightful.

The Grand Budapest Hotel

Francisco and Cardigan and I went to see The Grand Budapest Hotel, since I love Central Europe and Francisco loves going to the movies.

The Grand Budapest Hotel shows Wes Anderson's playful imaginative vision. It's like a children's story, and yet not--chopped off fingers become even more grotesque in contrast to the film's dream-like charm.

I didn't buy the architectural transformation of the hotel's exterior from early 19th century Secession to communist brutalism (nor the interior, which changed from a grand staircase to a low-ceiling-ed European Mad Men look). But I did love the art--there's a Klimt in the background of one of the shots and the main painting of the film is taken down and replaced with an Egon Schiele (whose paintings are so shocking, you never forget it if you've seen one).

There is history--loyalty and tradition and secret clubs and generations. There is commitment to a place and a way of life and a person. But there are also new things, both good and bad--immigration and the effects of war and communism.

And, of course, there's loving a woman, which trumps all the rest.

Quote

"I have only to contemplate myself; man comes from nothing, passes through time, and disappears forever in the bosom of God. He is seen but for a moment wandering on the verge of two abysses, and then is lost.
If man were wholly ignorant of himself he would have no poetry in him, for one cannot describe what one does not conceive. If he saw himself clearly, his imagination would remain idle and would have nothing to add to the picture. But the nature of man is sufficiently revealed for him to know something of himself and sufficiently veiled to leave much in impenetrable darkness, a darkness in which he ever gropes, forever in vain, trying to understand himself."

--Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America, Ch. 17 "On Some Sources of Poetic Inspiration in Democracies"

Inside Llewyn Davis

Francisco was delighted--I think it was his favorite movie in years.

It was well done, a stream-of-consciousness snapshot into Llewyn Davis's poorly-going life. And the music is gorgeous.

It is dark and not dark: On the one hand, you look for Llewyn to get a break, as you would in a typical struggling-artist story. But on the other hand it's not that, his partner has died (killed himself?), he has no money, no place to live, no gigs and probably has signed away royalties on a good song to get some quick abortion money to take care of an inconvenient pregnancy. There's no meaning, and there's not much hope at the end.

But others have far more interesting thoughts:

"We are, after all, inside Llewyn Davis, a place where music has lost its meaning as a social tool, as a means of reciprocal human connection, as anything other than the nearly abstract expression of pure talent and the desire to be recognized. That it failed to resonate more fully for audiences in this age of American Idol and instant, disposable fame says much more about audiences (and the vagaries of movie marketing) that it does about this latest wonder from the fertile, unforgiving, blackly comical minds of the Coens." --Dennis Cozzalio (the whole thing is great)

"Watch how Llewyn uses his music as a tool: a weapon, a shield, a challenge, a payment, a bribe, a gift, a meal ticket, a proof of authenticity, an apology... You could see it as a kind of Raging Bull with an acoustic musician instead of a boxer, a man so steeped in pride and self-loathing that his life has become an effort to build a monument to his own iconoclasm and unlovability, cloaked in a form of non-careerist ideological purity.

And then there’s the cat, an orange tabby we (and Llewyn) belatedly find out is named Ulysses. He takes us on quite an odyssey, leading us back in time, through the Village streets and into the subway, and eventually all the way to Chicago. Who is this cat and what is he doing here? That’s a good excuse for another viewing..." -- Jim Emerson

A Random Assortment

~ For Stearns: old pocket globes.

~ H and M is making a 100 dollar wedding dress. I like it, and it isn't too wedding-y, which I also like. The only slightly awkward thing would be if lots of brides in the same dress started popping up on facebook. (So my slightly more expensive Nordstrom version is still better.)

~ The slideshow in this article about the Bill Cunningham exhibit, Facades, is great and makes me want to go see this exhibit even more.

~ "The Overprotected Kid." This is great--Hopkins sent it to me, saying it reminds her of Roxaboxen. When I was little, we had lots of time for unsupervised play in the woods behind our house (although, sadly, my siblings and I weren't joined by a lot of neighborhood kids--we had to have our friends driven over by their parents). Now that we're having a child, I wonder if we'll be able to have something similar for our child, and what sort of place to live will be best for that.

~ Wow, fracking state forests in PA? Of course we are. I admire these peoples' spiritedness, although I'm not really sure about their methods:

Workers en route Thursday morning to a gas drilling site on Dam Run Road were unable to get there because three protesters had chained and apparently cemented their arms to the interior of 12-foot-long plastic pipe that was extended across the center of the two-lane road.

~ Chevron pizza controversy puts southwest Pa. coal town in the spotlight:

in February, a Chevron natural gas well near Bobtown exploded, killing a young worker. Then, the company responded by giving community residents free coupons to Bobtown Pizza.

A Diary of Early Pregnancy.6

--My Grandmother, a Lamaze activist in her day (my dad tells harrowed stories of walking into his living room, full of breastfeeding women, as a young boy), asked if I was going to try to breastfeed once I have the baby. She offered her copy of The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding, which I would actually like to read. She said it isn't the latest edition, but that those things don't change much. (She also wanted to make sure I'd be able to keep working, which I thought was very progressive of her.)

--Gosh--this time last year I was making a wedding registry; now my friends keep mentioning a baby registry. Is this really something that I have to do? It all just seems so complicated. What I'd rather make is a maternity clothes registry.

--I asked the very nice priest at our local parish for the blessing for expectant mothers. What a wonderful blessing and a reminder that all this preparation for childbirth and for the baby's arrival isn't just physical, but also spiritual. It's pretty long. It begins: 

May Christ, the Son of God, who became man in the womb of the Virgin Mary, be with you all. 

The reading is from where Elizabeth meets Mary and the baby in her womb leaps for joy. I think of this often when I receive communion and think of the baby in my womb encountering Our Lord. 

There is a blessing that includes: 

God, author of all life, bless, we pray, this unborn child; give constant protection and grant a healthy birth that is the sign of our rebirth one day into the eternal rejoicing of heaven. 

These are exactly the practical concerns I have--protection for my baby, who I can't even feel kicking yet and I just believe is still alive in me, and a healthy birth--obviously I have no idea what birth is like, and it's easy to be intimidated by something so daunting. And, at the end, the priest blessed us with holy water.  

--15 weeks: I think I'm officially showing, just a little bit.

--I've told all my places of employment; they were incredibly supportive. Like seriously, overjoyed on a personal level and accommodating on a professional level. 

--People have started to tell me, with surprise, that I look good. I find that rather ominous--like I have a disease and any day now will start to look really bad.

--Bleh. Who said the 2nd trimester is, like, way better than the 1st? (Everyone.) I guess I had an easy 1st one, so it would be impossible to have a better one. I've been getting lots of sinus headaches these last few weeks. I feel like my motivation to work hard has returned, but not my energy. So now I'm just frustrated with my diminished capacity. 

--"Lovely to hear of new baby looking to be born." --JVS

A Diary of Early Pregnancy.5

--Have I mentioned that I sometimes accidentally called it my "first semester" of pregnancy? 

--14 weeks: Maternity pants are awesome. I'm never going back to regular jeans--they're like jeans with sweatpants on top. 

--I feel like I don't read fiction anymore--just pregnancy/birthing/baby-raising books. So far: 

A Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy. Fine, but totally not crunchy, so not my thing. Also: definitely there's a lot of able-ism there. "Don't worry, you're baby won't have genetic abnormalities, but if he/she does, you can just terminate anyway."--It's not a direct quote, but the general idea. Once I hit that chapter, I couldn't read it anymore. So I didn't finish. 

HypnoBirthing. Totally crunchy. I mean, way out in left field. Way more my thing. There's no such thing as pain, just pressure. Let's call contractions, "surges." I find all of the redefining of vocabulary odd and unnecessary, but the whole thing is geared toward positive thinking, positive talking, and positive visualization of the outcome--you holding your baby. I love it, but I also realize that it's overly optimistic.

Birthing from Within. It's a bit more realistic--birth hurts, really bad, but you can do it.  It encourages you to hold ice cubes to practice pain tolerance techniques. I don't know if I like that idea--I don't really want to have any more pain than I have to. It also focuses a lot on birthing art, which I find uber-weird. I'm not going to paint any pictures of my hopes and fears about birthing, nor am I going to make a cast of my pregnant body. Maybe I would write a poem, but I'm not even sure about that. 

--Since I'm reading about birthing, these mass readings (below) were especially poignant for me. They remind us that God is with us even more than a mother is with her child. We're supposed to trust in him--even in the midst of labor. 

Reading 1IS 49:14-15

Zion said, “The LORD has forsaken me;
my LORD has forgotten me.”
Can a mother forget her infant,
be without tenderness for the child of her womb?
Even should she forget,
I will never forget you.

Responsorial Psalm PS 62:2-3, 6-7, 8-9

R/ (6a) Rest in God alone, my soul.
Only in God is my soul at rest;
from him comes my salvation.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my stronghold; I shall not be disturbed at all.
R/ Rest in God alone, my soul.
Only in God be at rest, my soul,
for from him comes my hope.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my stronghold; I shall not be disturbed.
R/ Rest in God alone, my soul.
With God is my safety and my glory,
he is the rock of my strength; my refuge is in God.
Trust in him at all times, O my people!
Pour out your hearts before him.
R/ Rest in God alone, my soul.

Readng 2 1 COR 4:1-5

Brothers and sisters:
Thus should one regard us: as servants of Christ
and stewards of the mysteries of God.
Now it is of course required of stewards
that they be found trustworthy.
It does not concern me in the least
that I be judged by you or any human tribunal;
I do not even pass judgment on myself;
I am not conscious of anything against me,
but I do not thereby stand acquitted;
the one who judges me is the Lord.
Therefore do not make any judgment before the appointed time,
until the Lord comes,
for he will bring to light what is hidden in darkness
and will manifest the motives of our hearts,
and then everyone will receive praise from God.

Gospel MT 6:24-34

Jesus said to his disciples:
“No one can serve two masters.
He will either hate one and love the other,
or be devoted to one and despise the other.
You cannot serve God and mammon.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life,
what you will eat or drink,
or about your body, what you will wear.
Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?
Look at the birds in the sky;
they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns,
yet your heavenly Father feeds them.
Are not you more important than they?
Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span?
Why are you anxious about clothes?
Learn from the way the wild flowers grow.
They do not work or spin.
But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor
was clothed like one of them.
If God so clothes the grass of the field,
which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow,
will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith?
So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’
or ‘What are we to drink?’or ‘What are we to wear?’
All these things the pagans seek.
Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.
But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness,
and all these things will be given you besides.
Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself.
Sufficient for a day is its own evil.”

A Diary of Early Pregnancy.4

11 weeks, forward

--At  this rate, when the baby is born, he'll only be able to fall asleep if I sit the computer on top of him. 

--Receiving communion is even more wonderful than before--realizing that the baby gets it, too. 

--I find it so, so hard to travel while pregnant! My favorite things in Slovakia--Bryndzova halushky, deminovka, zlaty bazant, all off limits. I ate some of the traditional braided sheep cheese, but I'm not sure if I should have. I broke down and took one bite of halushky and a couple sips of zlaty. Basically, the only thing I could have that I love is lemon ice cream. Sigh. 

It is so inconvenient, however gracious your host is, to travel while pregnant--I have to pee and eat constantly; I'm scared of traditional food, because, um, there aren't enough vegetables. At the wedding, I couldn't drink to celebrate. The jet lag was horrible. I was a little nauseous on all the trams and buses. It just makes you just want to stay in your house so you can eat like the baby-growing machine that you are. 

But there was a great moment at the wedding--the eastern slovak uncle, with whom I drank a lot when I visited his house several years ago, blessed me with the sign of a cross immediately when I told him (through his translating son) that the reason that I couldn't drink is that I'm pregnant. What a wonderful blessing for me and for our child! He also said that if I drank just a little, the child would be more Slovak. 

--Sayers sent me non-alcoholic pink wine to celebrate the start of my second trimester. This is seriously the nicest gift ever, since mostly I feel like I'm missing out on things. (This is the second time she's mailed me wine--the first was on my 21st birthday to a dry college campus where I was an RA.) We started the bottle together, and I finished it the next morning in bed, while eating (pasteurized) goat cheese and crackers and feeling, for once, like a human being, rather than a baby-growing, protein-consuming machine.

--I'm enjoying the last week or two of being allowed to lie on my back--my favorite position. 

--My second doctor's appointment (midwives' appointment?), 14 weeks: I'm super healthy--my labwork is all good; the baby's heartbeat sounds good; you could even hear him moving in there; the only thing--I only gained half a pound since last month (not for want of eating everything in sight all the time)--so the midwife suggested having a bowl of ice cream every night! Besides the deep and continual joy of knowing there's a baby inside me, this is a really, really great moment of pregnancy. 

A Diary of Early Pregnancy.3

-- Eating restrictions and prescriptions. Well, first of all, there is the nausea and the cravings, which for me go hand in hand--I want gentle foods like fruit and soup. But secondly, there are a thousand a half things you shouldn't eat (such as deli meats and unpasteurized brie and feta and goat cheese). Then, there are the thousand and a half things you are supposed to eat--like twice as much protein (I barely eat protein normally, and now I'm supposed to have loads of it?!) and fish, but not mercury-heavy fish. Francisco and I want to eat more fish, but we're not exactly good about doing that. Plus, there's the fact that you need to eat basically constantly--from the time you wake up to the time you go to bed, you are eating small meals, for a couple of reasons: to ward of nausea (which results from low blood sugar), and in my strictly non-medical opinion, because your stomach doesn't have room to expand too much, so you have to eat in small chunks throughout the entire day. Now, I ate a lot before I got pregnant. I guess I'm not eating more now (since I haven't really gained any weight yet), but I am eating constantly. Like, there is always some snack sitting beside my bed. I buy and carry loads of snacks with me. Getting ready to go to school for the day involves making 18 meals. I don't like to think about food a lot; now it feels like it's the primary thing I'm thinking about. 

--I think about everything now in terms of babies--from the peanuts that I take out of the shell to the butternut squash with those pesky seeds, attached by long skinny strings, which now make me think of umbilical cords. I found the puppy/horse Superbowl commercial endlessly adorable:




Plus, I suspected strongly that we were expecting all through midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and we found out for sure on Christmas Day, all of which made me think about the theological importance of having children--with Mary, we wait expectantly and hopefully for our child's birth. Having children itself is an act of hope--if you despaired, you wouldn't bring another life into the world. 

~ “To someone who says, ‘I can’t deal with a risk of breast cancer,’ I would say: ‘Look, there are all kinds of risks. You and your children are going to be hostage to fortune and no amount of testing is going to change that,’ ” Mr. Wasserman said. (From "Ethics Questions Arise as Genetic Testing of Embryos Increases")

When the possibility of genetic testing came up, we were sort of thrown off--I had only known about amniocentesis, testing that carries its own risks, which I wasn't willing to accept. Now there are perfectly safe genetic tests that just analyze your blood. I have no moral problems with these genetic tests (because obviously we wouldn't choose not to have our child because of any genetic disorders we discovered). And it might be nice to have a head's up. However, Francisco was less interested, because, he says, having children will lead to tons of uncertainty and risk and problems that we can't predict and we can't try to figure out in advance--we have to get in the practice of having faith and accepting difficulties as they come. I think he's probably right. 

~ Right now I feel like a baby-growing machine that doesn't get to have dietary preferences, it just has to shove as much protein into its mouth as possible. Did you know that pregnant women are supposed to have 71 grams of protein per day?--That's significantly more than a non-pregnant person, and even far more than an adolescent male. The problem is, I'm just not that into meat (especially buying and cooking it--I hate touching raw chicken). So I'm trying to up the beans and lentils/dairy/nuts/fish part of my diet, too, as well as the meat. It just feels like a daunting task: before I just ate when I was hungry, whatever sounded good to me. Now I eat like a baby-growing machine, which is just not that fun. (And I haven't even started in on exercising, which I don't really like and now am trying to do regularly.)

A Diary of Early Pregnancy.2

9 weeks

--Midwives actually say "baby" and "bag of waters" just like in Call the Midwife: For instance, "Baby already broke the bag of waters." Weird! Also: midwives seem a little scary: We're hoping to use a birthing center up the road rather than a hospital, so we went to an information session there. Some of the handouts referred to the pain medications that they use (you can't get an epidural there), and so one of the attendees at the session very reasonably asked about the pain medication. The midwife replied brusquely, we only give pain medication in really extenuating circumstances; if you want pain medication, go to a hospital. 

--I think I'm getting over morning sickness already--not that it was ever more than feeling "bleh" with zero motivation. I think I'm on the upswing. 

--I haven't craved a single thing that's bad for you this whole time. 

--I miss wine. I have wanted some of that. (Later there's a positive resolution to this craving.)

--I hate the cold. It doesn't have much to do with pregnancy, but it's true.

--Interesting article on giving birth in France, since I'm obsessed with natural birth and amazed at birth costs in the U.S.

Almost 10 weeks

--Hearing the baby's heartbeat was the most incredible experience. (Francisco compared it to our wedding day--the overwhelming emotion is sort-of unexpected and just takes you by surprise.) The nurse told us that we might not hear it at all, because I wasn't yet 10 weeks along, and she told us that it would probably take several minutes to find it, if we did hear it. She moved the doppler along my stomach and we heard it--the fast 160 beats per minute--when she reached the left side. It's surreal--you're finally totally convinced that you are actually, really, truly pregnant and you have actual evidence of the little life inside. It's overwhelming and wonderful. I was happy for the rest of the day. (It sounds something like this.)

-- Francisco: "Newborns don't look like they should be out. They look like they should go back in for a while. They look soggy from being in there." 

A Diary of Early Pregnancy

Dear Readers,

I haven't been able to blog as much of late because I've been spending a lot more time sleeping than usual: Francisco and I are expecting!

I wanted to wait for a while to write about it here, since, well, the first trimester is a little scary--the risk of miscarriage is about 1 in 5. But now we're past that and into the second trimester, which is supposed to be the blissfully great one, but my experience so far is still one of lots of fatigue and some new headaches. (All in all, I've been ridiculously healthy and really have very little to complain about.)

Anyway, of course I couldn't just not write about early pregnancy, so I wrote about it as it was happening and just waited to put it up on the blog.

So, here you go:

--I  panicked the day before our flight to California, because I realized that I didn't have a flu shot and was now pregnant. So I insisted that Francisco and I get flu shots immediately. We went to CVS; they took forever, and we barely left in time to get home and finish packing. And then I was then worried that we'd get fevers reacting to the flu shot on the beginning of our Northern California vacation. Our Northern California trip was a story in itself: I proceeded to fall asleep every night at 8:30 (jetlag and fatigue). We didn't tell anyone that we were expecting, since it was so early, but people could tell--I turned down wine, fell asleep at the drop of a hat, and was not doing so well on the curvy rural roads. 

--I got a pat down at the airport since I'm pregnant and not sure what those machines do to babies. They pat you down right in the midst of scanners and x-ray machines--it was a very awkward thing to have done to you in public, but I guess having it done to you in private would be bad in a different way. Definitely not may favorite thing. Although the first woman who patted me down was uber-thorough; later pat downs have been more cursory and not as aggravating. Also--I always forget to say "I opt out of the scanners" and instead say "I'd like a pat down." (Obviously I wouldn't like a pat down, but the two statements amount to the same thing.) Once, when I said, "I'd like a pat down" the woman TSA agent gave me elevator eyes from feet to head and said, "You'd like a pat down?" It did occur to Francisco and me that we might be able to sue for sexual harassment and get some money out of it.

--I'm worried about chemicals in everything now: I took off my nail polish and don't plan to wear it again; I'm worried about my foundation and the other little bit of make-up I wear; I'm trying to eat healthy food, although Francisco and I give in to McDonald's occasionally, and I always threaten afterward to give birth to a hamburger; I drink primarily filtered water (for the first time in my entire life). 

--We nicknamed the baby the Little Monster after seeing this picture. 

-- I'm constantly worried about miscarriage. It's really hard to have something affect you this much (I'm constantly aware that I'm pregnant because I feel different, sometimes a lot different), and, at the same time, to know that there's a sizable chance that it might not stick. It's also really odd to have something happen to you that so significantly impacts your future and not be able to talk about it with most of your friends, since you're supposed to keep it a secret until you're out of the first trimester.

--I have intense food appetites and aversions: I hate, hate, hate sandwiches. I'm not that interested in sweets and I want salads and soups and fruit all the time. (This is amazing to me since, in the past, I survived primarily on bread and chocolate and candy.)

Student Evals

Reading student evaluations is always anxiety-inducing for me; this one made me laugh:

"I enjoyed waking up at 8:30 to come to her class."

(I didn't even enjoy waking up at 8:30 to come to my class. Thankfully I don't have to do that this semester.)

(My evals were pretty good, so that also made my day.)

Quote

On the last man:

"No shepherd, and one herd! Everyone wanteth the same; everyone is equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
'Formerly all the world was insane,'--say the subtlest of them, and blink thereby."

--Thus Spake Zarathustra, Nietzsche

Louis C.K. and Pascal

)

I showed this clip to my classes today, in which we were discussing Pascal. I think this is an incredibly Pascalian diagnosis of the human condition--the recognition that there's a part of you that is forever empty, that you're being human when you're alone with yourself, that if you incessantly divert yourself (including through technology) you're never totally sad, nor totally happy.

Her

After loads of recommendations, I wanted to see Her--especially since it explores technology and personhood.

Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule ranked it second for the year:

The heart of Her may be digital, but even as it betrays the fears and attractions of a world infused by and addicted to the siren call of social media and other invasive technological advances, its emotional range remains stubbornly analog, encompassing the recognizable warmth and unfulfilled longing of lovers from the past, like Rick and Ilsa fading into ones and zeroes on a virtual tarmac.

PAL says:

Her is quite the meticulous and creepily seductive criticism of our techno-orientation toward transhumanism.  It is the dystopian film of our time, a haunting glimpse at the near future.

The NYTimes opinion section offers a philosophical consideration:

“Her” raises two questions that have long preoccupied philosophers. Are nonbiological creatures like Samantha capable of consciousness — at least in theory, if not yet in practice? And if so, does that mean that we humans might one day be able to upload our own minds to computers, perhaps to join Samantha in being untethered from “a body that’s inevitably going to die”?

Francisco and I were pretty disappointed--maybe it's just too hard to make a rom-com in which one character is only a voice; maybe the imagined techno-future it presents is just a little too absurd (random phone sex with a woman whose fantasies include being choked by a dead cat; a 3-D video game in which there's a weird, dirty-mouthed little marshmallow character); maybe Scarlett Johansson's voice is just a little too breathy and voluptuous to pass as a computer. We found it awkward and only funny in its awkwardness.

In one sense, I have to acknowledge, having spent more years of my life in long-distance relationships than I care to admit, Her resonates--Theodore and his operating system-girlfriend, Samantha's relationship developed not unlike that of a couple who lives apart--hours and hours of talking on the phone, describing your days, reading each other's work, longing to be physically present.

In another sense, it's just too absurd to buy: Samantha's artificial intelligence, which can adapt and adjust to new information, pretty quickly surpasses that of humanity--and, at the end, does a pretty human thing.

A Random Assortment

~ At least it's spring somewhere.

~ My family members from Lancaster are the only people I know with a Philadelphia accent (besides random people on the street I meet here now)--my grandparents, my great aunts and uncles, some aunts and uncles and cousins, and my father. I hope this accent sticks around, cause it's a great one.

~ Judith Butler's theory in practice.

~ The Oscars reminded me: I forgot to tell you that I watched Gravity and Captain Phillips (along with some really terrible movies that I've blacked out of my memory) on my recent flight from Vienna (which is to say, there was a lot of time to watch a lot of movies). Captain Phillips: I just thought Tom Hanks' character was too perfect--there was nothing wrong with him and so he was just this changeless plank of a character who really wasn't sympathetic. Gravity: It was amazing that there could be a film with one and a half characters that was so gripping. The scene where Sandra Bullock strips off her space-wear and stretches, floating, happy to be alive, in a tank top and short, tight shorts made me laugh so hard--the director obviously wanted to sneak in an opportunity for the viewers to enjoy Bullock in something less than a space uniform.

~ The Philly Potholes are that bad. 

~ I'm not much of a boots person, but I would totally wear these.

~ Arundhati Roy on political fiction:

“I’m not a person who likes to use fiction as a means. I think it’s an irreducible thing, fiction. It’s itself. It’s not a movie, it’s not a political tract, it’s not a slogan. The ways in which I have thought politically, the proteins of that have to be broken down and forgotten about, until it comes out as the sweat on your skin.”

You Know You're an Adult When...

...your primary Spring Break activity is spring cleaning.

(Especially depressing when it's still too cold outside to open the windows.) Also depressing when it may or may not have been the first time all semester that you've cleaned.

The Sweet Dove Died

This is one of the weirder of Barbara Pym's novels (which are often traditional stories of women in English villages), and for that reason even more delightful than usual. Leonora is an elegant, aging woman in London who attracts two admirers: Humphrey, a man of her own age who runs an antique store, and his nephew, James, who he's grooming for the trade. Leonora likes James, and they embark in a deep friendship. The novel's epigraph:

I had a dove, and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving;
O, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied
With a single thread of my hand's own weaving ... 

John Keats

Leonora and James flirt with the boundaries of friendship and love. The novel contemplates the interplay of love and letting go. And aging and death compared with youth and vitality are a constant theme.

While the story is one of almost forbidden love, there are also very traditional aspects--Leonora cooks and manages the house and likes male attention and care. And the novel proceeds in the slow, character-studying fashion to which one is accustomed from Pym.

(Excellent Women, No Fond Return of Love, A Few Green Leaves, Quartet in Autumn)

Slovak Wedding

So let me tell you about the Slovak wedding that I attended. It was the wedding of an old and dear friend, known on this blog as Elizabeth Bennett. Slovak weddings are rather different from ours, so sometimes I didn't know quite what was going on, but here's what I picked up:

The wedding was in an old church in Raca, the part of Bratislava where Elizabeth Bennett is from. I think that the original church was built there in the 1400s or so, but rebuilt after a fire in the late 1800s. We had translations of the readings and the vows, but not much else (their vows were exactly like our vows!). After the wedding, there was a chance for the many people who attended the mass, but wouldn't be attending the party that evening, to greet the bride and groom and give them flowers. After that, when we were standing in the courtyard, the best man brought around shots and the maid of honor brought around cakes. Because the wedding party didn't start until 8 p.m. (the mass was at 2:30), many people were dressed very casually for the wedding and the cold weather. Other people were dressed in long formal gowns with their hair up, so there was quite a range.

After visiting outside the wedding for a while, we met up with old friends at a coffee shop down the road. The great thing about this coffee shop--and there are several in Bratislava like it--is that there is a playroom for kids adjacent to where their parents can drink coffee or tea. So nice and comfortable for parents of little kids (like the family we were staying with).

At the wedding party itself, we arrived to traditional Slovak music and dancing, played by an appropriately dressed band. The only song I knew was the Levoca song, which ends tragically (which is normal for Slovak folk songs) with the woman throwing herself in the river, as far as I remember. And then there was a more contemporary band with more contemporary dancing.

There was a buffet of food that you could eat at any point (and food was necessary, as the wedding ended and Elizabeth Bennett and her new husband left at 5 a.m.--Francisco and I only made it to 1:30, due to the jet lag). The buffet was mostly contemporary food, but also had the traditional Slovak food (my favorite!) Bryndzove halusky--potato dumplings topped with Slovak sheep's milk cheese and bacon.

Since the wedding went for so long, there were also party games: For instance the unmarried men did a dance where they took turns dancing around stacked bottles; whenever you knocked some over, you took a shot. Another was like musical chairs with hats: There were one too few hats that got passed from head to head in rhythm with the music. If the music stopped and you (just the men were playing) had no hat, you took a shot and were out.

Around midnight there was a little ceremony--the bride and groom changed from their contemporary wedding outfits to the traditional outfits of the towns they are from. The lights were turned out and maybe 10 young women carrying candles and singing escorted them to their seats in the center of the room. Bennett's brother came out with a sword and asked whether she would rather give up the crown of leaves on her head (her virginity, right?) or would rather have him cut her throat with the sword. Twice she responded that she would rather have her head cut off than give up the crown of leaves. The third time he asked, she agreed to give it up. The young women blew out their candles and then her mother put a headscarf on her, the traditional head-ware of a married woman.

And then men lifted the couple up into the air on their chairs, and they intertwined their arms and took a drink.

The last thing we stayed for is a special dance (known by one of my Slovak friends as "the fundraising dance") where guests put money into a basket in order to dance with the bride and/or groom (in this wedding, the bride danced with everyone). And then we caved in and went to sleep. But I think that the rest of the wedding was mostly dancing till dawn.

Vienna, Vertical

Vienna

Francisco and I spent a day, just the two of us, in Vienna. Closest thing to a honeymoon that we've managed.

Above--St. Rupprecht (I think--it's at least in the church of St. Rupprecht, so I'd guess it's him) literally under an altar, visible through glass. Bennett and I stumbled upon this years ago in Vienna--it just blows my mind.

It always reminds me of Revelations 6:9-11, although I have no idea if there's any connection:

And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held:And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellowservants also and their brethren, that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled.

By the river, near our hotel (that's how you know it was a honeymoon--we splurged on a hotel), there was tons of graffiti. I love it.

(This one was actually in Bratislava, I think.)

I visited the Secession Building in Vienna (right). It was built to house exhibits of members of the Secession movement. What I wanted to see was the Beethoven Frieze, a Klimt frieze made for a 1902 exhibit. I love Klimt. The Beethoven Frieze is crazy. Here are the pieces--except they're all around the top of a room in a graphic-novel sort of arrangement:

We went to the Naschmarkt, in part because I love these Otto Wagner apartments beside the market.

Photo credit: Francisco

The market was nice, too. It is huge! And full of tons of different kinds of food.

An Otto Wagner train station.

St. Stephen's.

I love the architecture in Vienna.

The Single Life

Making Skype plans this week with Diana (since Francisco is gone and I'm home and on Spring Break), she wrote, "Ahhh the single life again!" (Her husband is off traveling the world at the moment, too.) I hadn't thought of it, but it's true--on the plus side, I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, and don't have to wait around on another person for meals. And I can watch whatever shows I like! On the negative side, I've eaten way to much ice cream and watched way too much cheesy TV.

There are far fewer dishes to deal with around here and fewer crumbs to clean up in the kitchen, BUT it snowed today and I had to shovel. I did it. Thank goodness it was on the 3 side of the 4-10 projected inches. But I am inordinately proud of my toughness, even if it did take an ice cream break to make it through.

Bratislava.2

The baby of the people that we stayed with is the cutest baby ever. I wasn't even able to catch her smiling, and she's still cute:

Eleven months old and full of personality.

Bratislava

I love this patchwork town hall (?) from the main square. From the other side:

Here are buildings from around the rest of the square:

And from nearby:

Since we were visiting for a wedding and just for a long weekend, we didn't get to do a lot of touring (which is cool--we've both been there before), but we did walk around downtown for an afternoon and stop in a grocery store so that I could pick up some Demanovka.