I can see!

A couple of weeks ago I finally got my eyes checked. (Life List! Or, if not Life List, then Life Errand.) After checking my eyes and examining the eBay reading glasses that have been living on top of my head for the last two years, my optometrist told me that I might be a good candidate for contact lenses. Apparently there is science that allows people who use reading glasses to have tiny, wet reading glasses hugging their eyeballs all day long, while also allowing them to see far away, drive without crashing into walls, etc. “How does that work?” I asked skeptically. My optometrist felt that it would be a better use of our time not to explain the physics of lenses, but to make me follow the tip of his pen until my eyes crossed.

Monday I went to pick up my contact lenses. They were hard lenses, so he put some desensitizing drops in my eyes to make them easier to adjust to. I spent the next three days with watery eyes, being unable to read. At the same time as I got my lenses I had also purchased a new pair of back-up bifocals for times when I didn’t want to deal with the contact lenses, which turns out to be always. I always don’t want to poke myself in my wandering eye, or watch both lenses disappear up into my brain with little hope of getting them out without the use of abrasive tools and prayer. I know, there’s an adjustment period, and I didn’t really give them a chance. But I am a glasses person, it seems. I know that now, deep in my heart, and I embrace it without regret.

Before! After!

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What is this?

Jack says it’s a “potato bug.”

I almost stepped on this little fellow last week when we were walking along the bluffs. Since it was still wiggling its feet a bit, Jack flipped it over so I could take a proper portrait. It was huge! Like, two inches long. My god, it looks like a dinosaur, doesn’t it.

This handsome dinosaur bug is most assuredly dead by now, and I say it like that because I’ve been reading Evelyn Waugh.

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Peace out

Videos of people waiting and trying to be still because they think I’m just trying to take their picture delight me for some reason.

If that didn’t do it for you, maybe my latest thing over at The Stir will suit your mood. My best actor and actress Oscar predictions are informed by nothing but whimsy and hubris, as will surprise no one. Have a wonderful weekend wherever you end up standing, sitting, or lying down, on camera or off.

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This is why I cannot shop online

A couple of weeks ago I pulled my old wool royal blue pencil skirt out of the closet, and then I wore it to work and it looked terrible on me all day. It bags in the front and it bags in the back and the waistband itches and the zipper fell out when I was 23 and a dry cleaner on east 86th Street sewed it back in for two dollars. Yes, when did I buy the Sad Blue Skirt? In college, which was 30 years ago, from a thrift store, when the skirt was already at least 20 years old. So I wore a 50-year-old skirt to work the other day and was shocked to discover that it was tired. It needs a rest. It wants to go to the Old Skirts Home.

The next day I was up in La Cumbre getting my watch repaired, and you can’t get your watch repaired without walking past the J. Crew store. (You can, of course. You can avoid it completely. YOU can. I chose not to.) The J. Crew store was having a sale. Since Jackson was with me, I said, “Let’s go in for a minute,” and he said, “I’m going to stay out here on the bench,” and I said, “Stay where I can see you,” and then I went in and in the space of 45 seconds found four skirts that had started out in the $135 range and were now down in the $35 range. Because I was nervous about Jackson being alone on the sidewalk, I decided not to try any of them on, I just eyeballed the sizes and bought them.

As the cashier was handing me my new skirts in a bag, I said, “So, are these exchangeable, in case I have sizing issues?” and he said, “No,” and I said to myself, “I’m about to buy four new skirts that are going to end up on eBay,” and then I said to him, “Okay!” I took them home and they fit perfectly, but here’s the thing:

As you can see, they’re all pretending to be different sizes. I held them all up to me in the store, and then I held them up to each other to make sure they were they same, and then I brought them home and discovered that I had a 10, two 8s, and a 6. (I just threw the H&M skirt in there for fun, because I guess I’m also a size 12.) It reminded me of when my mom died and I tried on one of her dresses and it fit perfectly: it was a size 16. So thank God my new skirts all fit on my somewhere-between-size-6-and-size-16 body.

I’m not sure what my point is. J. Crew has magical skirts? No one knows what numbers mean anymore? My body is a wonderland? And skirts are just the half of it. I also have a man’s head (since women’s hats are always one-size-fits-a-cat), and I can reliably wear either a size 10, size 11, or size 12 shoe. Actually, I take that back. I have a pair of men’s size 7 Ecco loafers in my closet. They look great with everything.

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Growth is painful

Yeah, I cut my hair again. (Did you really think I wouldn’t?) I may have to finally admit that long hair is for those who have long-hair lifestyles and long-hair self images. People who are able to ignore the pain and frustration of hair blowing into their face/eyes; who are not irritated as fuck when their hair gets tangled in their bag strap or zipped into a dress. These are the blessed, for whom being romantic and windswept looks natural, instead of laughable.

Unfortunately, my son is in the thick of his need for me to look “like other moms,” for which this hair cut does not qualify. The only other short-hair mom at his school moved back to the Netherlands (so now I’m the tallest mom, too! The obviousness of my sticking-outedness is mythological in scope. Grrr, Mrs. Kennedy SMASH!). Last night, after I came home from work and he saw what I’d done to myself, he stopped just short of begging me to wear a hat. But this is a child who also thinks I should drive a Mustang, wear knee-high boots, and take him to Disneyland for a week. I don’t really understand how any of that will help me blend in.

(Video made using Everyday.)

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Monday linkage

Remember the videos I went to New York to shoot last month? They’re online now. And you know what? I’ve only watched four of them. It seems I have a really hard time watching myself say and do things on video. Alice says they’re fine, so I’m taking her word for it.

I’ve also been busy wrangling the Twilight cast into Popcorn Whispering with me about the new Johnny Depp movie. Warning: it gets a little gossipy over there, everyone wants to try on Johnny’s pirate hat, and then Edward pouts about his hair.

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It’s OK, I can take it

I know you’ve been concerned about my inability to answer the world’s most benign question (“How are you?”), so you’ll be relieved to know that I’ve gotten over it. It wasn’t the incredible depth of my self-examination that brought me to enlightenment but the fact that three weeks of holidays/school vacation/no alone time, ever, were finally over. For a time, it was all I could do to arrange my face in into something resembling human civility.  But now that order has been restored (my child is back in school! I had a week off of work! I doubled my morning coffee consumption!) my little human-relations problem seems to have resolved itself.

I didn’t manage to Popcorn Whisper this week, but I did post a thing over at The Stir where I use celebrities and E. B. White to explain Chinese astrology.

Even with only 12 signs, Chinese astrology runs on a 60-year cycle. Elements come into play (earth, fire, water, wood, and metal), as well as our old friends yin (female) and yang (male). So as we leave 2011, the year of the yin metal rabbit, 2012 will be the year of the yang water dragon, 2013 will be the year of the yin water snake, and so on forever until you don’t need to care anymore because you’ll be dead.

All right, I have to go, Coneheads is on.

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Whoops

I was looking around inside a 7-11 store today while Jackson was negotiating with the Coke nozzle on the Slurpee machine. (Are banana Slurpees new? I was disgusted at first, but then a wave of sense memory overcame me, and all my childhood summers of eating banana-flavored popsicles flooded my mouth, and icy fake-banana flavor sounds magnificent right now.) Jackson was struggling with getting the lid on his cup, and two older boys were waiting for him to get it together and get out of the way, and my first instinct was to help but then I thought I’d probably just embarrass him. So I wandered over to the refrigerator section with pre-made burritos, bologna, hotdogs, and ham, and I started thinking, “Those hotdogs definitely cause cancer and bologna makes me want to die, but I’d eat the ham. I wonder if I could live off of whatever I found in 7-11 for a month?” Thinking that, of course, tons of people make do with food from small markets, either by choice or because they don’t have a larger grocery store nearby. Our 7-11 has apples and bananas, small bags of flour and sugar, charcoal, a few cleaning supplies, 500 kinds of chewing gum, 20 kinds of lottery tickets, milk, butter, and beer, but no eggs. So if I were to shop at 7-11 and try to continue doing the Paleo thing, I’d be eating mostly packaged ham, apples, and water. I like to think I could make do anywhere, but I’m sure I’d be all, “One little bag of Doritos won’t hurt,” and that would lead to “One little six pack won’t hurt,” and it wouldn’t be long before I’d be practicing yoga in the nacho cheese dip aisle and living on Ben & Jerry’s. Now I’m actually barricaded inside a 7-11, indefinitely. I have a cot in the back room and I’m armed to the teeth. I’ve constructed a catapult out of cannibalized metal shelving and I’m mounting an after-hours attack on the Chevron station across the street. I’ve never liked the way they’re always .5 cents a gallon higher than the 76 station next to the freeway, where you can also get a free car wash. Yes, I’ll join forces with the inmates of Taquería Rincon Alteño and the laundromat, and soon we’ll control this whole exit. No one will use our restrooms except people who buy something first!

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Got MLK

In honor of Martin Luther King Day (or, if you depend on Twitter for your research, Martian Luther King Day, or maybe Martin Lutheran King Day), I woke Jackson up and told him he had the day off school to think about peace and forgiveness and racism. Which is timely, because he told me they’re going to read Huck Finn in class next year. According to an older kid at Jackson’s school, they use the original version, not the “sanitized” one. As a purist, I am sort of glad about that? I dig that they’re sticking with the version Twain wrote in all its post-antebellum glory, and I completely trust his teachers’ ability to guide a mixed-race classroom through the subtleties, ironies, and vagaries of the text. (I think Twain’s pretty blunt, actually. Plus there’s plenty of action.) But part of me thinks the themes are too big to grasp at that age. They’re gearing up with Tom Sawyer right now, and frankly, Jackson seems more prepared than I was at ten to examine his conscience and inherited beliefs. Huck didn’t have much appeal for me at that age; once Becky Thatcher fell out of the picture I think it felt too much like a boys-only story. It wasn’t until I wandered into a post-grad course on Melville and Twain and read all of his travel writings that I got fully back on board the Twain train. (I will also recommend Melville’s Typee if you’re interested in avoiding Moby Dick. It’s full of ships and exotic lady savages and longing for simplicity and all that unironic 19th-century stuff.) In the end, he’ll read it now and if he’s lucky he’ll read it again as an adult and it will be a whole new book for him.

(Thanks to a suggestion that Jackson read Origami Yoda and Darth Paper, we made some origami cranes and put them in their origami nests. It’s a post-racial way to honor MLK, as we judged these cranes not by the color of their paper, but by our ability to fold them without making them all wrinkly and sad.)

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Wrap it up

Here’s the other stuff I was doing this week when I wasn’t doing it here.

1. Over at Faking It, I decided to write about pretending to read New York Times best-sellers. There’s one comment, and in that comment the commenter tells me that I should read a book. (The book I should probably read is How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read. I have a copy of it on my shelf. I haven’t read it yet.)

2. At The Popcorn Whisperer, I was visited by the stars of the Twilight movies, and what did they want to talk about? The new season of Downton Abbey, naturally. Those Twilight kids are very class-conscious, I was surprised. Also, Bella has no idea where France is.

3. You might have seen this earlier in the week if you follow me on Instagram (I’m @toasteroven), Twitter (@MrsKennedy), or Facebook (you know where Facebook is), but here it is again because paisley for the motherfucking win.

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