Friday 18 March 2011

TODAY I'M AN SPACE COWBOY

Wouldn’t it be great if you could reinvent yourself on a constant basis? There is something enviable and liberating about watching performers like Bowie, Madonna, and of course Lady Gaga change their personas every two seconds - [okay, Bowie has taken a breather from all this reinvention stuff and Madonna is pretty much tapped out, but she gave it a good run]. Not that at this point in my life I need to start sticking prosthetic nipples on my shoulders or horns on my head as Gaga does.

But think about it, how great would it be to reinvent yourself every so often - a little internal and external redesign to spruce up the place and keep things lively. You certainly could stave off boredom by parading in a host of new characters to introduce to all your loved ones. 'Yes, family and friends, this month I’m going to be a cowboy and love all things horsey. Why? Because I can…oh, and I’m bored of being the girl that reads books and cooks Thai food. So there.' Then again, my partner would probably have me sectioned if I came home wearing spurs and chaps, and wonder who was sauntering around the house singing Western theme tunes. Then again, he may actually dig the whole chaps thing, I’ll have to check with him on that one.

The possibilities of reinvention are endless really; one month you could be a hippie chick and get really into growing your own organic vegetables, hydroponically of course, and then WHOOSH, by the next month, you could decide that you’re going to start hanging out at tide pools cause saving the oceanic ecosystem is imperative man! So you may begin to feel a bit like Sybil, and people would probably start to tire of your theatrics, but think of all things you’d learn and things you’d be exposed to, even simply on a superficial level. Go on admit it, you know half of you went to summer camp or somewhere no one knew you and started styling your hair differently and talking with a mild Bostonian accent just to see if you could get away with it.

In high school I used to dress differently almost every day. At the time, I was probably just trying to figure out my look, but I remember also thinking that being restricted to one style of dress was just boring really. Some days it would be a big hippie floral skirt and sandals, other days a more conservative preppy outfit, then out of nowhere, an Anthrax t-shirt and ripped jeans. I’m sure my mother started to wonder about my mental state. Then again, she had other teenagers to contend with, so perhaps she was used to the vacillations of the adolescent mind and figured as long as I was breathing, all was well. Hey Mom, it could’ve been a lot worse, I could’ve grafted horns to my head and left the house in my underwear!

Then again, perhaps all this reinvention stuff is just exhausting, and by the time you figure out who you are, you're so happy to have gotten to that point, changing seems like far too much work. Although, saying that, Gaga may have something with the nipples on the shoulder thing, it’s better than having them dangle round one’s knees. :-)

Wednesday 16 March 2011

THE NUMBER 2

I’m just going to say it, if I get sh*t on one more day, I’m going to lose it. No, I’m not speaking metaphorically. Not today anyway. In this instance, I am talking about the King’s backside literally exploding four times a day and of course it’s usually all over me. At the moment I’m hoping it’s teething. Either that, or my son has some killer virus that has taken over his intestines and has no sign of abating.

The scariest – or in fact, most surprising - part is how I react to these occurrences. If you had told me a year ago that I would soon be dealing with excrement on a daily basis, not to mention wearing it, I would run screaming from the room. But as life would have it, the sight of it now anywhere on my person does not cause me to flinch. In fact, I simply sigh with acquiescence and start to figure out how to get it off me without it getting it on the furniture, bed, pillows etc. I’m sure you’re wondering what the heck is going on in our house if I can’t contain a simple diaper, but I’m telling you, on some days there is no diaper strong enough to rein the situation in. It’s like one of those bad horror films where evil exits in the form of an insidious vapor – you can’t run or hide, it will find you and get on your hands damn it!

Which of course brings me to my next thought provoking question, if we can put men on the moon, build rockets and talk to each other via video screen (seriously, how the heck does that one work?), why oh why can’t someone create a diaper that doesn’t leak?! Is it too much to ask to have what is supposed to stay inside there, stay inside? I realize this is not a top priority for governments near and far, but it darn well should be. It’s certainly not like roses and cookie dough come out their backside, this is some heavily hazardous material.

The other thing that amazes me is how the sight of a baby’s ‘output’ shall we say politely, can render a grown man into a gagging hysterical lunatic. Truly, I have never seen my partner run faster than when the King serves up one of his mighty deliveries. In fact, now when I need him to get a move on, I just tell him our son has done a number two and suddenly he is off to get dressed, clean the house, and take the trash out, all to escape the act of dealing with the King’s behind.

The sobering fact is that I have roughly another 365 days of changing diapers. That is one long road ahead of me filled with unwanted surprises. And I thought changing the printer cartridge on the copy machine at my old office was a messy endeavor. I’m thinking this current job should really pay better. :-)

Monday 14 March 2011

TAKING PAUSE

It’s hard to write about anything this morning after watching the coverage of what has been going on in Japan. The devastation is so profound and heartbreaking it is almost too surreal to digest. And of course, because the media machine always must march forward, the absurdity of what is being reported in the news is glaring: one headline about another nuclear reactor under threat of exploding, towns having been washed away, the death toll and exposure to radiation mounting by the second; and of course, who got kicked off Dancing on Ice and how Kate Middleton is changing the face of fashion. I swear to you, one paper had them pretty much within inches of each other on the front page. The juxtaposition is enough to make one's head explode.

So I suppose I’m wondering at what point should there be a moratorium on pointless, stupid reporting, especially in light of events that are changing our world as we know it? Not to be totally macabre and depressing, because I do believe there should be a definitive balance in what is reported, but today it just feels very out of place. I don’t care who is shacking up with whom, or who lost weight or who cheated the government out of a thousand quid in benefits. At the moment, I am just trying to figure out how entire towns disappear and how to make sense of it.

I was watching a show yesterday about religion in the face of natural disasters, and the guests were all fighting about (their) gods, or lack thereof, and how one could explain the place of religion in the face of so many losing their lives. In the midst of all the arguing, one man said something so lucid, which is rare on these shows. He said, it doesn't matter if you believe in a master plan, or if you don't believe, as most of it makes little sense. What matters is how humans react in the face of natural disasters and such atrocity. The sheer humanity that brings people together is what we should all be focusing on. I'll hang my hat on that sentiment for the moment.

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