Various and Sundry

You lovelies know that I can run with the best of them in the hypochondria marathon, but honestly.  It's enough already with this swine flu.  Do you people know how many people get the regular flu, let alone die from it, every year?  5-20% of the population gets flu-like symptoms in the U.S. each year, according to the CDC.  200,000 are hospitalized, according to the CDC.  (In the U.S. alone.)  36,000 die from flu-related causes each year, again, according to the CDC.  Do you know how many cases of swine flu we have confirmed in New York state here so far?  About 45.  Do you know what percentage of the population that would work out to if the number of cases were to stay steady at that number each month for the year?  The population of New York state is about 19.5 million.  If there are 45 cases per month for an entire year - through next April - that's about 540 cases.  That's not five percent.   540 cases is less than .00005 of the population of New York state.  (A certain mother of hoofed ones tells me, "The problem is that with pandemics, it's not going to be a linear, maintained occurrence of cases.  If there's a jump in confirmed cases that points to exponential change....we have a problem."  My response to her?  "Meh.  This isn't a pandemic."  Famous last words?  Aaiieeeee!!!!  I feel like now, just for kicks, the universe is going to give me swine flu.

And now Egypt is slaughtering all their pigs, even though they haven't had a single case of swine flu yet.  "No pun intended," says Tommy Thompson on CNBC at 10 a.m. today, "but that is overkill."  LOL, Tommy Thompson for the gruesome win.

*headdesk*

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It's been 90 degrees in New York for the past few days.  Not that I don't enjoy hot weather (to a certain extent), but the miserly sadists who own our apartment building don't turn on the coolant in the AC thingy (whatever it is) until Memorial Day.  No matter what.  No matter. What.  Our apartment isn't exactly set up for optimal cross-breezes, either, so I basically have to sit in front of a dinky fan, half naked all day when we're in this predicament.  And not that it isn't nice to be admired, but there's only a certain number of times my boobs can be randomly grabbed per day (by my spouse - chill) before I get crabby.

It's back to 57 today and oh my gaaaaawd that's nice.

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Awesome.

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I'm going to Sonoma with my mommy a week from Thursday.  It's going to be freaking awesome.  You can either expect no posts, or lots of tipsy posts.  Or posts about how I contracted swine flu at the airport.  You've been warned.

Meh.

Um.  

Go read this.

I have nothing to say.  Sorry.

Very Tentative "Squee"

New York Times: Patterson Will Introduce Same-Sex Marriage Bill

This NY Times blog post makes significant note of the hurdles ahead of this bill, and makes sure to stress that it's not even certain to make it to the floor for debate, but YES! This is a step in the RIGHT. DIRECTION.

I am happy to be in the Empire State today.

Easter Confession

So,* here's what happened:

The beginning of this year brought with it a period of unremitting, profound stress unlike any I've known in my adult life thus far. (It was totally unrelated to the economy, hilariously enough.) Like any good former anorexic, one of my main tools to drag myself through the stress swamp was to stop eating as much as possible. The stressful period abated, mostly, after about a month, and I'd lost about five pounds. Not a huge deal either way, five pounds. But, like any good former anorexic, I found my affinity for hunger didn't fade into the background with the stressful situation. Now, in mid-April, I've lost more like 8 or 9 pounds. Still not the end of the world. I am still well within my healthy weight range (which is a larger range, for nearly every person, than the media would like you to believe). It's not a question of how much I weigh (about what I did at the end of college, in my final period of weight gain post-anorexia). It's a question of why I'm allowing myself to delay and shrink meals, to revel in the feeling of lightness if not lightheadedness, and to fixate on my waist or my arms or my belly in a way I haven't in several years now (that is to say, in an accomplished, purposeful way instead of a defeated, disgusted one). I am at a medically sound weight, but I feel that old, familiar pull.


* How many sentences do I not start with "So," on this blog? Maybe 40%? Yeah, I'm thinking that maybe Joyce Carol Oates doesn't write like that.

Passover Vignettes

Me this afternoon, while I ponder the ironies of the Bible: Isn't it odd to think that celebrating Passover is essentially celebrating the night that thousands of innocent young boys died?

K: Hm?

Me: The Egyptian firstborn sons?

K: Oh, right. Good point.



K this evening, while we sit around the Seder table with his family: So, Ali pointed out earlier that, "Why would we celebrate dead babies?"

Me: *facepalm*

Everyone else: *cricket cricket*

Me: *Ksmack*

K: Ow! What?!

My Butt: Not Unclenching 'Til ca. 2075

Last night was the third night of our family sitting Shiva for K's grandfather. For this third night, we drove down to my in-laws' house, about 90 minutes south of the city. K drove. Here is an illustrative example of my passenger experience:

It's not so much that he's a bad driver - it's that I'm a control freak. Granted, he's a tailgater (OH MY GOD - GET A FRICKING PHYSICS BOOK! ONE CAR LENGTH BETWEEN YOU AND THE CAR IN FRONT OF YOU FOR EVERY 10 MPH YOU'RE GOING!), but he's generally very aware of the surroundings, which is, as we know, the key thing about driving. That and not hitting curbs, which, to be fair, I have done twice in 12 years of driving and he has done not at all. ... Or so he claims.

Anyway, the point is: Control Freak = Me. Every time I've been in a car with him while he's driving I can't unclench my butt, both literally and figuratively. (Shall I be more elucidating? Okay: I feel like I did 30 minutes on a Stairmaster today. I did zero. Actually, I didn't exercise at all. I did eat a lot of rugelach, though. But I'm not sure that counts.) So I've got to ask myself, why not just relax? Of all the times I've driven with K, not once has anything gone awry. Why shouldn't I feel more relaxed about him driving on roads he grew up on than if I were behind the wheel? My suspicion is that this rather risible quirk is part of the same tangle that makes me want to follow all rules/laws because they are rules and laws and if you don't follow them you will get into trouble automatically, zomg. That little tangle is probably also the genesis of my pathological need to put things together using step-by-step instructions (I don't mean in a normal way - directions are well and good, but I had a dressing down about not following them for a word problem in 2nd grade and oh my god, I follow them now). And, well, we all know (at least, if We All have been reading this blog for more than five minutes) that eating disorders are Related To Control. So I suppose that's at least tangentially related to the Oh My God Follow The Rules And Let Me Be In Charge So I Can Make Sure We Follow The Rules And Don't Get In Trouble Because Getting In Trouble Is The Worst Thing In The World tangle.

Well, now that we know what's wrong, obviously I can just unclench my butt and relax.

LOL! I'm hilarious.

Well, sh#t.

In a fit of body love and acceptance, I appear to have given away my "skinny jeans." And now that my other jeans are all mysteriously too big, I do not have my "skinny jeans."

A-hole therapists, trying to cost me more money than they already charged for, like, five years. What do they want? Me to carry the whole economy?

*indistinct angry muttering*