“Think about it like sleep. If someone was interrupted every 15 minutes while they were trying to sleep, you wouldn’t think they’d be getting a good night’s sleep. So how can getting interrupted all day long lead to a good day’s work?”
Thoughtful post on pros and cons on the usage of group chat apps like Slack by Jason Fried: Is group chat making you sweat?
(via Jocelyn)
Get out your notebooks, sharpen your pencils, hone your note-passing skills: Laundry School is in session! We’re devoting the entire month of May to the subject of laundry. And what fun would Laundry School be if you couldn’t backtalk the teacher, right? So! The Twitter hashtag for this is #LAUNDRYSCHOOL. If you follow me on Twitter (@joliekerr) you can holler at me when you do your laundry! Or lemme see those beautiful piles of folded clothes! Or ask questions! Or tweet at me in emergency situations! Or maybe you just really, really, really need to talk to me about how folding a fitted sheet sends you into fits of rage. This is me, being here for you. And because I try to be here for you in as many ways as possible, I’ve started a pinboard devoted entirely to laundry to serve as a reference source. Most importantly: got questions? Ask away!
Here we are, coming up on the end of laundry school and oh my, aren’t you all impressive looking in your caps and (perfectly pressed!) gowns. Ach! Just lovely. I’m so proud.
As we did with #LAMOB, for the final installment I’ll recap what we’ve learned — not just this month, but an entire round-up of all the laundry-related questions that we’ve tackled during the lifespan of this column, then I’ll do quick answers to a few more questions and then we’ll throw ourselves a wicked rippah to celebrate our graduation! But before I do that, I feel like I owe you a wee apology: I had every intention of making #LAUNDRYSCHOOL into as well planned out and steady a project as #LAMOB. Then things got, ummm, a li’l busy, and I don’t feel that I’ve brought my A-game to this series. So! To make it up to you, come the Fall we’re going to pack up our extra-long twin sheets and head off to #LAUNDRYCOLLEGE. Which is to say this — all of you who asked about getting cat hair off your blankies and sweaters and dear God on your underpants too?? What all are you doing with your cats? Nevermind, I don’t want to know (unless you’re getting rid of them, in which case OH GOD YES I WANT TO KNOW, I WANT TO KNOW): I will get back to you, promiseies. Also, gosh there were loads (HEH) of other fantastic questions but I’m only one Clean Person, ya know?! So! Please don’t fret if there’s a laundry topic we’ve not yet covered, we’ll get there. Also maybe we’ve already got you covered and you didn’t even know it? Aaand with that lead-in, let’s go to the highlight reel!
The basics of how to do laundry
Tips for laundering items in hard water
Stain removal for the bustier among us
Doing battle with ‘pit stains
Keeping air-dried clothes smelling fresh
Hand washing bras
Setting the color in dark denim
What to do about dingy whites
Removing Laffy Taffy from clothes
Getting bicycle grease stains off clothing
Hand washing cashmere
What to do when you accidentally use fabric softener instead of detergent
Barf stains on corduroy
Blood stains on underthings
Mildew smells in laundry
…And in washers
Machine washing down parkas
More dye setting tips
Cleaning faux fur trim
What to do about cum stains on sheets
Prewashing cleaning rags to cut down on loads of laundry
Keeping summer whites and brights looking that way
How to get a stinky comforter smelling fresh again
Deodorant stains on bras
Getting yellowed linens white again
Treating mysterious grease spots on laundry
Caring for silk sheeting
Solutions for excessively lint-y towels
Lint removal for bedding and other large surfaces
Handwashing wool and other “dry clean only” items
Washing oversized comforters and mattress pads
Static cling
Washing greasy sheets
Mascara stains on pillowcases
Ironing basics
What to do when colors bleed
Woof! That was exhausting. And yet? THERE’S STILL MORE. But let’s make this fast so we can get onto the important work of signing one another’s Laundry School Class of 2012 yearbooks.
With the weather heating up, I thought this was a timely Laundry Month question: my boyfriend dutifully sprays himself down with sunscreen, but it always leaves a gross orange/pink ring around the collar of his white v-necks. I’ve tried Zout on the stains and OxiClean in the laundry, but neither worked. He suggested bleach — I noticed that when the bleach splashed onto the shirts in the washing machine, there was a momentary chemical reaction where the entire shirt (the white part of the body, there are no stains on the shirt itself, primarily just the v-neck ribbing) turned the same orange/pink. So what’s going on? And, how do I get this stuff off? We live in sunny New Orleans and at this rate he’s going to go broke buying new white v-necks all summer.
There’s an ingredient that is commonly found in sunscreens called avobenzone that reacts with iron particles found in water, particularly hard water. (Remember hard water?? This is how I figure out if you’re paying attention in class, btw.) When the avobenzone gets all funky up with iron it oxidizes and causes what are essentially rust stains. So that’s what we need to treat.
There are a bunch of commercially available products out there that treat rust stains on laundry; Rust Stain Magic (it’s magic!) is one, and while it may seem strange to use the same product on your clothes that you use on your toilet I promise it’s fine. And actually? I guess it’s not that strange. I dunno, that narsty looking toilet on the front of the bottle is throwing me for a loop.
If you want to go the all-natural route, you can use a combination of lemon juice and salt to pull the stains out. Rinse the item in cool water to flush out as much of the stain as possible, squeeze lemon juice on the discolored areas, and sprinkle liberally with salt before allowing it to sit for 24 hours before laundering as usual. The same thing will work with vinegar and salt too.
What you don’t want to use is bleach or, more devastatingly, OxiClean. They won’t work and, particularly in the case of bleach, will make the staining more pronounced. Poor Bleachie, he means well but just can’t seem to get it right.
I’ve got lots of sailor-stripey type tops. I collect and wear them, and I love them so much. I’ve got black on white, white on black, blue on white, and equally spaced red (or blue or black) and white stripes. Sometimes mostly white, and sometimes mostly dark background, if you see what I mean. I’m always saving them for a special load because I’m afraid the white stripes will go dingy on me. However, this often means I have to spend a long time not wearing my favorite striped tops. I’m sometimes tempted to toss the black tops with thin white stripes into the dark wash, but then I get scared I’ll end up with dingy white stripes on a black top. Oh, I should say, most of these tops are cotton, or cotton with lycra. Some are cotton/modal.
Am I being needlessly careful? Can I mix my stripes with my colors? I’m a dutiful separator of colors in washer AND dryer (even separating the red spectrum colors from the blue spectrum colors, and mixing heather grays into both when there’s not enough of each for a load). I love doing my laundry right, you can’t imagine how proud I am of my technique. But the stripes have me stumped!
Oh man, you’re speaking my language — I’ve never met a striped-shirt I didn’t love. My friends and I call them “French Vacation Shirts” and I should probably just go ahead and tell you that I organize my shirt drawer in the following way:
Long sleeved tees
Short sleeved tees
Striped tees
Naturally, the striped tees pile is the biggest one, such that it requires a special folding method so that I can fit them in a double row so that they’ll line up with the solids, those assholes. I don’t even know why I bother with the solids. They’re such dullards.
ANYway. This is mostly to explain that I GET YOU. And I mean? Really what do you do with items that are both white and colored?!? It’s so confounding. But happily I’m here to worry and think and worry about these things so you don’t have to. So here are my two recommendations for you, which you can take in an and/or way: when you first get your striped items, give ’em a soak in a vinegar/water solution to set then color and then wash the whiter of the stripies with your whites, confident in the knowledge that the colored parts won’t bleed because of your forethought. The other choice you have is to use or use the Shout Color Catcher in your mixed wash, which is the best bet for your darker stripies. The Shout Color Catcher, savior of stripie-tee lovin’ lads and lasses the world ’round.
I got a white bathing suit accented with a shiny gray pattern last summer. It actually fits my 32F boobs, which is so nice, but it was super expensive because of that. Anyway, I was at the beach at the time, and in the ocean, and everything was fine. The next time I wore it, it was in a pool and I guess the chlorine or something tinted the white parts yellowish-green. I tried washing it but no luck. It’s been almost a year since I tried to do anything with it, so I guess it is set in pretty badly. I really want to wear the bathing suit this summer … any tips for me?
You betcha! Okay but first let’s talk about what NOT to use: as much as we love it, do not (DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT!!) use bleach on your bathing suits. (Man. Rough week for Bleachie!) It’s absolutely terrible for the fabric.
The best thing to do with any bathing suits you wear into a chlorine pool is to rinse it thoroughly in cold water immediately after wearing. You really don’t want those chemicals hanging out in your suit. You don’t need to wash it straight away or anything nuts — heck, you can just rinse it in the shower when you’re rinsing yourself. (You’re rinsing yourself after swimming, right? Right.)
General bathing suit laundering tips: treat ’em basically like your brawrs. Handwash them in a gentle detergent like Woolite — if they’re dark colored you might choose to use Woolite Dark, which will help to protect the integrity of the color, which takes a real beating what with all that sun and salt and chlorine and rum.
OxiClean is an option, but many people report mixed luck with it on yellowed bathing suits. What does totally work is baking soda, which is convenient since even the barest of refrigerators generally contain a box of baking soda, which means it’s almost always on hand. You’ll want to use a half cup of baking soda dissolved in a sinkful of cold water, and allow the suit to soak in that solution for 1-2 hours. Then drain the sink, rinse the suit and allow it to air dry.
As a last resort, if you really can’t get things as bright as you want them try using a product like White Bright or Rit Whitener & Brightener.
Previously: Laundry School Week 1, Week 2, Week 3 and Week 4.
Jolie Kerr is not paid to endorse any of the products mentioned in this column, but she sure would be very happy to accept any free samples the manufacturers care to send her way! Are you curious to know if she’s answered a question you have? Do check out the archives, listed by topic. More importantly: is anything you own dirty?
The AKC currently recognizes 188 distinct dog breeds, and photographer Ty Foster is determined to photograph each and every one! His ongoing series Canine Collective has captured 74 of these unique breeds so far, presenting them in both a portrait and profile view.
Ty has this to say about the series:
The dog (Canis familiaris).
The descendent of wolves, they have been selectively bred by mankind for millennia for sensory capabilities and for specific physical and behavioral attributes. Genetic sequencing dates dogs back 24,000 years when mankind were still hunters and gatherers. Since then, dogs have undertaken a wide variety of roles such as: hunters, guardians, companions, herders, service roles ( K9 unit, military, aiding the disabled), medical assistance, therapy, search and rescue, and entertainers. The reason dogs are able to assume so many roles so effectively is because of their ‘purpose built’ nature and the intentional breeding of specific traits and attributes. Ranging anywhere from 6 inches to 7 feet long and weighing as much as 155 pounds, this targeted breeding has resulted in hundreds of unique breeds of dogs.
The goal of this project is to celebrate the unique physical qualities of the dog and showcase the beauty, variety and personality of the species. This will be an ongoing project until as many breeds as possible have been photographed.
Take a look at the project in its current development over on TyFoster.com and see if you spot one of your favorite breeds in the mix!
“Nothing important comes with instructions.”
– James Richardson
Self-development is often portrayed as a rosy, flowery progression from dumbass to enlightenment that involves a lot of joy, prancing in fields of daisies, and high-fiving two thousand people at a seminar you paid way too much to be at.
But the truth is that transitions between the life stages are usually triggered by trauma or an extreme negative event in one’s life. A near-death experience. A divorce. A failed friendship or a death of a loved one.
Trauma causes us to step back and re-evaluate our deepest motivations and decisions. It allows us to reflect on whether our strategies to pursue happiness are actually working well or not.
How to move through the four stages of life, by Mark Manson.
(via Jocelyn)
This new cover for It is perfection. Also, this version of the book comes in more normal sized type, which made me realize that It is the War and Peace of horror novels. I could hardly hold it in one hand.
Anyway, I got you guys something.
The post New Cover for Stephen King’s It appeared first on Mighty Girl.
Dear Captain,
I’ve just spent weeks reading through your archives. I’ve learned so much and made lots of plans for how to better interact with parents, friends and colleagues. One of the subjects I read about a lot are difficult mothers and mothers in law.
My husband’s mom is emotionally abusive and very sad all the time. For a few years after marriage, I tried to tiptoe around her and keep the peace… Not that it ever prevented screaming fights or insults where I was mostly silently stunned and my husband resignedly grabbed his coat and we left. After we had some kids things got both better and worse. My mil LOVES our kids and the only times I’ve seen her smile is around them. However, the bad times were worse because now there’s more to fight about (The baby’s name is already on the birth certificate! Drop it! We’re not changing the name!) and also because I don’t want her to someday hurt my kids the way she does my husband.
A few years ago, we stopped having any contact after a particularly bad episode. Recently, my husband has stated talking about reconciliation. I’m hesitant. I can see about 100 negatives and only 2 or 3 positives.
I can see that the scripts and advice you’ve posted would work really well to help manage this relationship – if we go ahead with seeing her again. But, just the thought of it makes me so tired. It is stressful and exhausting before, during and after to interact with her. And even using your advice – it’s a lot of mental and emotional work, especially now that I’m worrying over my kids and my husband-keeping all five (5!) of them calm, quiet, and out of her rampaging danger zone. We live so far away, and the number of times we’ve flown and arrived tired and hungry and unpacked the suitcases and then packed up and left in tears before dinner…Well, it’s more than twice!
My husband is great, smart, easy -going, and a wonderful dad. He won’t reconcile without my support and help. So if I say no – it’s no. If I say yes, I have to go there WITH him to keep him steady and notice when the fighting has become too much and say, “it’s time to leave,” and drive away. I think he relies on me too much, but when I don’t want to see her, he won’t go.
She’s a lonely, sad woman who has driven away all of her family and friends. Is my exhaustion at the thought of having to “deal with her” a good enough reason to keep away?
Thank you for any advice you have.
P.S. If you have the magic combination of words that would convince her to see a therapist, I’d appreciate them.
Thank you,
Fulfilled and happy career gal, mom, and wife… Turned exhausted stressed-out shell by MIL
Hello and welcome to Awkwardland!
If your husband wants to try reconciling with his mom, I think it’s up to him to figure out a process that might work and to put supports in place for himself to make it possible, and I think that it’s okay for you to put the onus on him to do the work here.
What that process could look like:
Baby Step #1: Husband institutes weekly (or monthly) phone chat with his mom – 10-15 minutes (max) at the same set time every time, with advance notice if plans change. If she says something mean to him, he should end the call fairly immediately (“Interesting idea, Mom, well, good catching up, bye!“) and not contact her again until the next scheduled call. (1-3 months)
Baby Step #1a: Husband lines up a counselor or therapist or friend or a journal or some sort of sounding board or other ritual to process his Momthoughts before and decompress after these calls. Maybe he needs to run or bike or kick a big bag at a gym or angrily do yardwork or wash dishes. Whatever works for him time-wise and budget-wise and energy-wise can be fine, with one exception: That sounding board shouldn’t be you. (1-6 months, the sooner the better)
Baby Step #2: If after a little while the chats are working – Mom is behaving herself, husband is able to decompress and soothe on his own afterward without you losing an entire evening to his ranting (for example) – maybe he can swap the solo chats out for a brief Skype session with one or two of the kids and closely monitor the conversations. If your mom behaves herself and doesn’t say nasty things, this routine will continue. If she does start up, your husband can end the discussion immediately and revert to no chats or solo chats only and ease back in at his convenience. (6 months – 1 year)
Baby Step #3a: Alternately, what if Grandma & kids became pen pals? She gets crayons and finger paints and glitter (the devil on my shoulder says “SO MUCH GLITTER!) and visible talismans of her grandkids to display and hold onto, your kids get a fun art project for an afternoon, and postal mail is a pretty relaxed way of maintaining contact in this digital world. Everyone makes fun of greeting cards for being trite, but think of it this way: Your husband can just sign his name and the kids can cutely sign theirs, and some copywriter does the hard part! Throw on a stamp and your husband is good for 1-2 months of “LOOK MOM, I’M TRYING” credit. (3 months – 1 year)
Baby Step #4: If chats are going well, and a visit seems in order, howabout husband visits solo or takes one of the kids along for a short trip? Maybe? He shouldn’t do these on major holidays (thereby ruining them for you), he shouldn’t stay in her house, he should schedule time with other nearby relatives or friends, and he should build in nearby attractions/activities that are kid-friendly….(after 1 year of successful lower-key interactions)
Baby Step #4a: If the visit goes well, maybe there can be more of them spaced out over time. If it doesn’t, back to square one and rebuild (or not) from there. If his mom agitates for holiday visits, or the whole family, he can say “Those big family trips really haven’t worked for us in the past, so we’re gonna keep doing it our way.” Translation: “Take it or leave it, Grandma. You have no rights here and were given plenty of chances to not suck at this.” (1 year – infinity)
His mom can’t be taught to be a nicer person, but she can be taught to behave better if she wants to see her grandkids. It’s not a perfect solution (it never is with abusive people) because if the kids form a relationship with her and they start to look forward to Chats with Grandma it’s harder to pull back on them without explaining why to your kids. However, if your husband focuses on protecting the kids and himself from abusive behavior, the kids will form their own opinion about Grandma over time. She may rally a bit and put a good face forward in order to preserve the tie. That can be a good outcome, even if it feels like a betrayal of everything you know to be true about her and you and husband giving each other the side-eye that means “It is so unfair that poisonous people get to mellow with age.” The kids may (infuriatingly) adore her. Maybe that’s how it heals, a little. Maybe they will figure out she has a shitty personality and ask to opt out of visits and calls. Maybe it never heals.
Anyway, please notice that we are a loooooooong way away from six people getting on a plane for a tense & expensive holiday visit with you as Chief Logistics and Emotions Manager.
Also notice that in these imagined scenarios it’s your husband who is taking the steps to contact his mom, setting boundaries with her, monitor her treatment of him and your kids, and emotionally take care of himself through the process.
Finally, please notice that the steps outlined what that process could look like but does not address whether it should happen at all. If your husband can’t or won’t take on the majority of the emotional labor, maybe he shouldn’t reconcile with his mom right now. He’s the only one who can really make that decision, and I think you are 100% allowed to say “That’s up to you, and I want you to have whatever relationship with your mom you decide you want to pursue, and you know I will always support you and believe you and remind you of your worth. But I won’t I won’t drag myself and all our kids there anymore, so if you want to visit her, plan on going solo or taking one kid at a time, and I’ll support you by holding the fort down here.”
You could also say, “Tell me more about what ‘reconciling’ looks like for you?” which does two things: 1) It shows him that you are willing to listen and support him and 2) it assigns the question of what exactly his wants and needs and plans for this are as something he should generate. If he moves ahead, there will also be the little ongoing conversations where you suggest & maintain specific boundaries, for example, “After you talk to your mom tomorrow week, could you make a plan to go for a run or play a video game or jam out on your jazz flute for a while? I want to support you, but the full, immediate download is overwhelming for me.”
Letter Writer, you’re rightly feeling uncomfortable right now, and I don’t think that’s just because of your well-founded pessimism about how this reconciliation is going to go or your stellar instincts to shield your kids from the woman who abused your husband(!!!!). You clearly have a lot of empathy for your mother-in-law even after how she’s treated you and yours, and it’s a very kind of you to try to imagine a way that she can have a relationship with her grandkids and to want to give her something good to hold into. But by telling you “it’s your call” your husband is already outsourcing the emotional work of all of this to you, and that’s not okay. It’s natural and understandable and forgivable that he would do so, on many levels – you’ve been a great support and buffer in the past, and as the chief survivor of her abuse he’s not a bad person for wanting someone to brave the lion’s den with him. In some ways it’s a sign of respect that he values your opinion so much and recognizes how much work it is for you to support him through this that he won’t proceed without your buy-in. But it’s not okay to put the pressure of the decision on you, and definitely not okay unless he is willing to shoulder the majority of the work and to take steps to put more of a support system than just you into place. Probably the best thing you can do for your entire family including your husband is to model good self-care and good boundaries by saying, “I won’t stand in your way, but I won’t take the lead either.”
P.S. Bonus therapy suggestion script, since you asked:
I don’t think you or your husband will necessary persuade his mom to go to therapy, especially if they have been out of contact for a while and aren’t close. Down the road, if he sees a counselor (not the worst idea if he’s going to re-open the can of worms marked ‘Mean Mom’), one approach might be: “You seem really angry and sad to me when we talk lately, Mom. Have you ever tried talking to a professional about it? I’ve tried that out lately, and I was surprised by how helpful I found it.” If she has a primary care doctor that person could probably recommend someone, or if there is a local “Department on Aging” they might be able to offer some phone numbers, and he might be able to fold it into “general health” concerns, like, “Ma, get your annual checkup, and please make sure you tell your doctor how sad you’ve been feeling lately, since that can affect physical health.”
P.P. S. In the comments, I bet the Letter Writer would love to hear from parents who have and those who have not made efforts to make peace with a problematic parent for the sake of fostering a relationship with grandkids.
P.P.P.S. Finally, Winter Pledge Drive Week remains a thing that I will mention during all posts this week. Maintaining the blog takes about 30 hours weekly when you add in comment moderation and it’s a big help to have your support. If you’re able to send a few dollars, feel free to use Paypal (welcometoawkwardtown@gmail.com) or contribute via Dwolla or Cash.me. Thanks for all the contributions and the kind words so far, it’s amazing to be connected to so many kind people!
This Red Fox print by Michael O’Neal would will look so good in my home.
This snowflake cookie cutter seems like a very efficient way to go about cookie making…
This minimal beauty of a wall clock is called Melancholia and the designers added a seriously poetic product description:
Like the film Melancholia, my clock also consists of two parts. The minute hand is called ‘Justine’, and she deals with her melancholic sister – the hour hand ‘Claire’. And just as Lars von Trier’s planet, Melancholia, devours the Earth, my minute hand will devour the hour hand twice a day. Twice a day the minute and hour hands are at the top together. But slowly, melancholia descends between them like a curtain she has set in motion. It looks like the “sisters” truly suffer from doubts. Twice a day you see them meet and talk about their experiences of being alone. They have different tempos. But they have been two, and, for a brief moment they become one. Alone in the Universe. It’s a scary and sobering thought. As when you see pictures from outer space, you shiver with the sense that we’re awfully alone.
A man in purgatory gets one minute to ask any questions he wants.
Has a man recently told you, “You look tired” at work? That’s a big deal. You’re probably putting out distress signals that say “I’m not prepared to have it all!” Here’s a mini-guide to help get your face looking bright and perfect so you’ll never mess up anything ever again.
1. Apologize — Apologize for everything, especially your face. Now go home and fix your face, and apologize to everyone you make eye contact with on the way home. Apologize when you return. Apologizing means it’s your fault, and that’s how you remain in control. Stay in control!
2. Wear a Belt — Studies have shown* wearing a belt not only makes you appear slimmer and therefore more attractive, it can also help you lose 5 – 30 lbs. depending how tightly you cinch it around your stomach. Cinch it!
*No.
3. Ask the Man If Anyone Ever Asks Him If He Looks Tired — Just kidding! Men never look tired, they only look more powerful.
4. Take a Mini Spa — Just because you don’t give yourself a lunch break doesn’t mean you don’t have five minutes for a mini spa. Lock yourself in the office bathroom and set your cell phone timer. Put sliced cucumbers over your eyes, then massage your temple and sinus areas while reciting positive affirmations and taking vigorous breaths. Rinse your face, then douse it with hot sauce. Follow with a quick application of brown eyeliner.
5. Wear Bright Red Lipstick (or orange-red, depending on your skin tone) — Starting at your left ear and following the projected contour of your natural lip line, outline your lips, ending at your right ear. Repeat for lower lips. Fill in with the stick you’re using, or a whole different shade altogether. Go bold! If you’re in the mood to splurge, cosmetic tattoo technology now allows for woman’s eyebrows to always look groomed and alert.
5*. If no cosmetics are readily available, tape something like a prettier picture of you from the Internet onto your existing face. In a pinch, taping post-its, bookmarks, or newspaper clippings will also help obscure your visage.
6. Scream, “You’re right, I AM tired — OF YOUR FACE!” Apologize immediately, then wait to get fired.
Taylor Orci is a writer and comedian living in Los Angeles. She does wear brown eye liner when she’s tired. Someone told her that works(?).
Photo via Flickr
A.NFirst idea sounds like you kellu
About a month ago I left my editorial job to return to writing, and I knew I was going to do this for a while, so I had a few months to really hyperventilate over my decision. I hadn’t written much in that time and was feeling kinda dead inside as a result, so well before I was unemployed, I set myself the task of writing down 10 ideas every day. They couldn’t be stupid—“write a bestseller” or "make a million dollars" couldn’t count as an idea, much as I wanted it to— but “not stupid” was otherwise broadly defined.
This was a really valuable exercise and I recommend it. Idea generating is hard work. It tires you out like exercise can tire you out. Just like exercise, it can feel overly difficult and pointless, until you start to see results.
When you’re churning out ideas you generate all kinds of garbage. Sometimes you're delighted by the useless garbage. You get to look back at your lists from weeks before and you don't have a single clue what you were thinking. Were you falling asleep when you wrote these?
Then you post a few to your blog because what the hell.
Well, that's easy. You're not terrible! You're the best, not the worst! Why do you think you're terrible when you're definitely not! Only people who are terrible don't think they're terrible. Wait, did you not previously think you're terrible and now you do because I said this? No way, not you. You're a shimmering being of light. I want to take pictures of you all day. (Great idea, great story, get this published immediately)
Oh my god, what? Get a hold of yourself, Bradley. Also what Alisons are there in this world? Alison Williams? Alison Brie? Commendable young ladies, but no. Gross. Stop it. Now I'm mad at me.
I don’t have a clue what this means. I don’t know what it could possibly mean even in my imagination. I’m 99% sure I was dreaming when i wrote this. This is dream language. But then my penmanship is pretty legible. It wasn’t even my last idea of the day. Was I thinking about Buzz Aldrin railing against the moon on 30 Rock and I thought, that’s proven gold, just flip it and make it local? Oh well, here you go:
We’re here to remember that guy who lived down the street. He was a good man, even though he was super angry about the sun. He was always outside, which is weird, seeing as how the sun made him so angry. Most of us on the block have a fun story about Bill—his name was Bill, obviously, we all know this—standing in the middle of the street, waving his arms around about the sun and its hidden agenda. “But it’s cloudy out today, Bill!” we’d say, and he’d reply, “But it’s there, damn your hide! Don’t you understand? It’s not leaving us alone, it’s just hiding! Continuing its secret work!” And we'd tell him, "Bill, we need the sun for warmth and energy!" And that's when he'd start karate chopping the air. He was a colorful guy and wore a real big hat. We’ll miss his yelling—his sunrise yelling least of all.
Rest in peace, idea.
One of my neighbors left, on the curb, the following tableau: a Plan B box leaning against an empty bottle of Old Fitzgerald bourbon and a pair of denim cutoffs. I’ve been trying to find a way to mention this online ever since. God that felt good.
“The White traveler has had no difficulty in getting accommodations, but with the Negro, it has been different.” So reads the foreword of a series of travel guides called Green Books, created to help black Americans travel safely through a segregated and often unsafe country during the years of Jim Crow.
The Green Books are among a giant new free digital archive of over 187,000 historical documents including maps, postcards, photographs, and documents released by The New York Public Library and reported on recently by my colleague Adrienne LaFrance.
Named after its creator Victor H. Green, a postal worker in New York, the Green Books were published between the 1930s and the 1960s, halting when the Civil Rights Act finally ended the legal practice of segregation. In a 2010 interview with NPR, the civil-rights activist and the then-chairman of the NAACP Julian Bond recalled his family’s use of the travel guides during road trips. “My family had a ‘Green Book’ when I was young,” he said, “and used it to travel in the South to find out where we could stop to eat, where we could spend the night in a hotel or somebody’s home.”
Also in a 2010 interview with The New York Times, Lonnie Bunch, the director of the National Museum of African American History and Culture added his own memories. “The ‘Green Book’ tried to provide a tool to deal with those situations,” he said. “It also allowed families to protect their children, to help them ward off those horrible points at which they might be thrown out or not permitted to sit somewhere. It was both a defensive and a proactive mechanism.”
The original Green Book, published in 1937, is fairly limited, with only 16 pages. But by the 1960s the publication was around 100 pages filled with hotels, restaurants, attractions, and homes that black travelers could safely visit. And those listings weren’t solely black-owned businesses Jennifer Reut, a historian who has studied the contents of the Green Books notes. Reut’s project Mapping the Green Book, takes an in-depth look at individual establishments around the country and their history. As time went on, the books and their entries became more sophisticated and varied, with international listings that stretched into Canada, Mexico, and the West Indies. The official title also became swankier: The Negro Motorist Green Book: An International Travel Guide.
The most prolific listings are exactly where you’d expect them, cities like New York, Detroit, Chicago, and Washington, D.C., where there were thriving populations of black Americans and more progressive mindsets. Reut says that the Green Books and similar travel guides were perhaps more valuable for their listings outside of these metropolises, where friendly facilities were few and far between. She says that the race of the owners of the facilities that advertised in the guides ran the gamut, but were all welcoming to black residents.
Reut’s work traveling to the Green Book sites is a reminder that the the horror of Jim Crow wasn’t that long ago at all. In her work Reut has come across institutions mentioned in the Green Book that are still up and running, and families whose businesses are mentioned in the books have reached out to talk. Reut says that in her travels she’s always looking for businesses that have survived the decades since the guides’ publication. In some places she says there should be more: In Los Angeles, for instance, she says only about one in every five listings is still around. “You had urban renewal in the ‘60s when they just came in and wiped out these incredible, thriving black business districts,” she said. “So time after time I will go to big and small places and the entire landscape of black business is gone.”
During his interview with NPR, Julian Bond noted how just a few short decades later, the severity of the racial segregation that made these publications necessary can be difficult to grasp. “You think about the things that most travelers take for granted, or most people today take for granted. If you go to New York City and want a haircut, it’s pretty easy for me to find a place where that can happen, but it wasn’t easy then. White barbers would not cut black people’s hair. White beauty parlors would not take black women as customers—hotels and so on, down the line,” he said. “You needed the ‘Green Book’ to tell you where you can go without having doors slammed in your face.”
Jessica Olien is a writer and illustrator who moves a lot.
I have a cleaning etiquette question! Say that you are a frequent cat-sitter. In addition to cat care, and respectful treatment of the apartment, and all that good stuff, say you want to improve the cat-owner’s (or the cat’s) living conditions? My question is: what is appropriate to clean and not clean?
I’m thinking fair game is things like scrubbing shower curtains, or kitchen cabinets, or certainly stoves. Or buying new litterboxes. But I also think that cleaning of the spaces of others can be intrusive or even hostile or insulting! How far can I go, to inspire delight without committing insult or bad feelings?
This is a really, really tricky one, because yes you do run the risk of being invasive and offending. And there is absolutely no way to give a definitive answer, because what one person finds intrusive and insulting another will find welcome and thoughtful. Hell, the same person might find the gesture insulting one day and welcome the next! People! They are so pesky, what with their moods and traits and differences and such.
Here’s what I’ve done in the past (where, granted, the catsitting was done in an already pretty clean home): Cleaned the bathroom and kitchen surfaces to gleaming, swept/mopped floors, cleaned out a refrigerator (not, like, a full deep clean but I’ve tossed things, wiped a grungy surface, put things back inside in an orderly fashion). My logic is this: In the course of staying there I dirtied the bathroom, used the kitchen and may have noticed spoiled items in the fridge. I also may have gone to the grocery store and while putting things away done a wee bit of reorganization. Right? All normal activities that justify a cleaning! (Also, if you’re staying in someone’s home you’re cleaning the bathroom and kitchen up before you leave, yes? Yes. OK good, just checking.)
Here’s what I’ve not done: Reorganized pantries and spice racks, utility closets, or under sink areas. That’s crossing a line I think that can’t really be justified with an “Oh so sorry — while I was here I spilled a whole pitcher of Crystal Light in the fridge and had to clean the whole damn thing out! I hope you didn’t think I was being a crazy clean freak!!!”-style fib.
But back to that point on the nature of the individual: The best advice I can give is to make a judgement call based on how much you know about the person whose home you’re in, whose cat you’re minding and proceed from there. That is so vague! I am sorry! But if the home belongs to your most high-strung friend, who is currently in Jamaica getting her groove back after an ugly divorce and 45-pound weight gain then maybe just leave things be? If it belongs to the most laid-back person you know, who is currently in Jamaica getting even more laid-back than usual then by all means BLEACH AWAY. BLEACH WITH IMPUNITY! Just don’t bleach the litterbox (we’ll get to that)!
But cripes, if the litterbox is growing fur or the shower curtain liner is covered in mildew and a week of having it potentially touch you in your Beulah is more than you can take, replace the damn thing. Just leave a little note, perhaps even one that contains a lie (DON’T LIE, LYING IS BAD, YOU LYING LIAR) like, “I noticed Fluffy’s box had a split along the side, so I replaced it!” or “I slipped in the shower and tore the liner clear off the rod — I bought you a new one, so sorry, I hope you weren’t attached!”
Jolie, cat pee on carpeting. Does anything actually ever get rid of the smell?
I do not allow living things other than myself — human, plant or animal — into my home as a general rule, so I consulted noted cat- and carpet-owner Choire Sicha for his thoughts on this rather common dilemma:
Cat pee on carpeting is pretty fucking bad.
I mean, I just scrub it like 80 times with a strong but organic soap. But! Synthetic carpets and real carpets are different animals. (Quite literally: carpets made of actual animal hair-based fibers clean differently — and they are alive and they breathe and they must be treated well. For real carpets, the answer is best addressed by a professional.) But most modern carpets are actually petroleum byproducts. And are therefore easier to clean — the stink doesn’t actually saturate the “fibers” which just need to be extensively washed, which is hard if the carpet is “installed” and you can’t force water through it. It’s usually best if you can pull it up from one side because of course a liquid will saturate any padding beneath the carpet or also remain on the floor. In lieu of forcing water and soap “through” the carpet, it’s just scrub and wet, dry, repeat, followed by a bonding carpet cleaner and vacuuming.
BOOM.
(P.S. FEBREZE IS THE DEVIL AND JUST MEANS THERE’S CAT PEE EVERYWHERE THAT YOU CAN’T QUITE SMELL.)
(Choire’s disdain of Febreze thrills me to my soul.)
I followed up to ask if he had a favorite brand of “strong but organic soap” and I got this:
OH MAN!
Well I was a HUGE fan of those witches who made the what ya call it, you know who I mean, they had a broom on everything — oh, CALDREA! But didn’t they sell the company? To, I dunno, GE Westinghouse Kibbles and Bits or something? (Oh: SC Johnson. But you know, so what, I guess.)
Our household also prefers an original castile soap for nearly all forms of cleansing. LOL.
So OK! There’s one approach, any of you cat-having ladies have other suggestions for our friend with the pee-pee carpet? The only things I would add are 1. enzymatic cleaners and 2. carpet steamers. Oh and! Don’t use ammonia or ammonia-based products, as cats are attracted to the scent of pee-pee (LOL EW), which contains ammonia, and they’ll just piddle in the spot where you ammonia’d.
This one should be fairly simple, but I’m flummoxed. What is a foolproof system for keeping a litterbox from smelling? Extenuating circumstances — two elderly cats one of whom has a thyroid problem (being treated) that makes him pee a bit more than your average cat and the fact that I’m away for 36-48 hours a couple of times a month. My roommate can feed the little guys but I don’t expect him to scoop the litter. I did get some kind-of-exciting psychedelic blue “Tidy Step Crystals” that have helped keep the problem more under control, but even with daily scooping the smell goes instantly from non-existent to OH-MY-GOD-WHAT-KIND-OF-CRACKHOUSE-AM-I-LIVING-IN? levels of stench at some incredibly-difficult-to-pinpoint (ahead of the time) instant. Please help.
Welllllllll. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your roommate is going to have to start scooping. If this is something that he is going to balk at because it wasn’t part of the living arrangement social contract you two worked out, then you’re going to have to find a way to make it worth his while. (Presumably living in a not-pee-pee-smelling home isn’t enough of an incentive.) Pay him in beer? Pick up the entire cable bill? Whatever, you talk to him and work it out.
Here are some other things you should try out, in addition to scooping every single day.
A final word here about bleach: Do not use any bleach-based products when dealing with litterboxes, because, as I mentioned up-column, pee-pee is ammonia-ish, and as we’ve discussed before ammonia + bleach = A BIG NO-NO. (Also vinegar + bleach, also a no-no.) And won’t you think about poor Fluffy and her overly sensitive sense of smell? Right, eschew bleach. (The hippies are so happy right now. Bah.)
Jolie Kerr is not paid to endorse any of the products mentioned in this column, but she sure would be very happy to accept any free samples the manufacturers care to send her way! Are you looking for a green alternative to the suggestions found here? Because we’ve got some! More importantly: Is anything you own dirty?
A reader digs up a great moment from the late David Bowie:
Jay Smooth recently posted this video of Bowie asking, with terrible politeness, why there were so few black artists featured on MTV. It’s an absolute masterclass in how to use privilege well. Being a white celebrity means that he doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Being a white musician means that he has an advantage when it comes to remaining genuinely calm in these sorts of debates, because it’s not personal to him, and rather than treating that fact as a reason to abandon calmness, he treats it as an opportunity.
Finally, being white at all means he has a better chance of being perceived as calm. I don’t think a black person could have said all that, in precisely that tone, without being pejoratively accused of being “angry.” So, Bowie just uses the power he has to pull an awkward fact into the light and sit with it until it becomes terribly uncomfortable, deftly walking the line of politeness without ever letting MTV off the hook. It’s beautiful, and worth learning from.
Much more Bowie praise from Atlantic readers and writers here.
“Very few people have the humility to start as amateurs. They procrastinate doing the work they want in the name of perfectionism. You know these people. The one’s who have been saying for years that they’re going to do something but never do. Yet inwardly, they’re terrified of what other people will think of them. They’re caught in a state of paralysis by analysis — too busy calculating and never reaching a state of flow. Rather than doing work their own way, they do what they think will be well-received — being merely imitators of what is already popular.”
How to Become the Best in the World at What You Do, By Benjamin Hardy
I consider myself fairly crunchy on the “granola” spectrum. I homebrew kombucha, take a lax view toward showers and shampoo, and, yes, bake my own granola. So when I started hearing buzz about menstrual cups – much of the buzz from Hairpinners themselves! – it sounded way up my alley.
(Yes, that is a portent of things to come.)
I am pro-environment and as anti-spending money as the next twenty-something grad student, so I researched the heck out of those little guys. The number of review websites alone will boggle the mind. As usual, though I am totally willing to try new things, and want good information first, there’s a point where my deciding-things brain shuts down from overload and my doing-things brain says “PICK ONE,” which is why I settled on the Diva Cup. I ordered the pre-childbirth model and awaited my next period with anticipation.
Now, I knew there was a learning curve with these things—even my friends that didn’t flee in horror at the idea of a silicon sippy cup up in their business, those friends who routinely and successfully use them had mentioned the possibility of leaking, of the seal being tricky, etc. I was not to be deterred by a learning curve. I’d pop that baby in the day before my period, give myself some time to figure it out, and stock up on pads just in case.
First thing to mention: Getting the Diva Cup in was… not easy. It’s made of surprisingly tough, springy material that you’re supposed to origami in specific ways before easing it up your vaginal canal. I kept pressing it into one of the two recommended folds and having it spring back to its original shape and leap out my hands like it knew something I didn’t. Still, with time, relaxation, and commitment, I got that sucker in. I did not, however—I repeat, did not—manage the all-important 360-degree turn. I sort of lost control of it once it was up in the vaginal canal, but the stem (the shorter, smaller piece of silicone meant for you to grab onto to ease the cup downward so you can release the seal for removal) was nicely situated right at the vaginal opening, so I figured, eh, I’ll get that part next time.
I spend the entirety of that day in a post-Christmas blur braving a family reunion and several malls in the greater Los Angeles area, and didn’t think twice about the Cup until I got home that night. I knew it might take some time to get out. I got comfortable, and followed the instructions to press down with my pelvic floor to help shift the cup downward. But I realized, with an increasing panic, that I could not get it out. I tried to get it out sitting on the toilet. I tried to get it out lying down. I tried to get it out squatting, in child’s pose, in the bath, in bed, with a hat, with a cat, and so on.
The cup was not budging.
It was, well, way, way up my alley. Without that all important twist-to-seal movement, the Cup had migrated up to the top of my vaginal canal, and had created its own rogue seal much farther up than it should have. It had also shifted so that the stem was tucked up above my pubic bone—technically, my pubis symphysis, I think. (You read up a lot on your anatomy when you lose something in it.) I could reach up there with one-hooked finger to try and drag the stem down to a more graspable place, but, unfortunately, Captain-Hooking myself proved totally ineffectual.
A crucial piece of information: I’m a virgin. This is not necessarily an issue, according to the makers of Diva Cup, but, in my particular, small, unexpanded case, it was. Not being big on vaginal penetration, I have used tampons for years with aplomb, but the maneuver to remove this lodged cup was kind of out of my reach. I just was not expanded enough up in there to root around with two fingers, pinching like one of those dinosaur-headed grabber toys.
Unable to get it out or down, I gave up. I gave in. For a moment, at least, I would be the Bionic Woman: half-lady parts, half-silicone. That night, I had no less than three dreams that the Diva had magically migrated itself into the outer world. The next morning, approaching 24 hours with this silicone cup snuggled up against my baby-maker, I had gotten desperate. I had reached the point when you’re seriously considering plumbing your own depths with a popsicle stick, and I knew it was time to bring in some professional help, lest I end up on the news under the banner “Woman Fishes Out Own Cervix.”
It was a Sunday morning, so my regular gynecologist wasn’t an option. I could have waited till Monday (there’s no risk for toxic shock syndrome with the Diva, thankfully!), but at that point I JUST. WANTED. IT. OUT. I drove to a local Urgent Care, and cheered myself with the thought that I’d be out of there in an hour and back to my normal routine of not sticking new things up my vagina.
The very nice NP at Urgent Care had never even heard of menstrual cups before, which didn’t help our cause—but neither did my forgetting to bring the box, the instructions, a picture from the internet, or anything else besides my claims that it was safe, really. She had no idea what kind of voodoo I had shoved up my hoohaw. I’m pretty sure she thought I had either fallen prey to an internet scam, or had lost a new-fangled sex toy up there, and was too embarrassed to admit it. Either way, after multiple failed attempts, she couldn’t get it out, and sent me to the ER.
The ER waiting room was roughly like the steerage deck of the Titanic. Throughout my three-hour wait, there were altercations between patients and patients and between staff and patients, and the security guard was kept busy separating and ejecting various parties from the waiting room. I mention this because the thing about this whole removal situation is that it depends quite a bit on one’s ability to relax. And the ER is not a place to relax.
My good friend, K, was my texting buddy throughout this whole ordeal from the first “Gonna try the Diva lol” to “Haaalp its stuuuuckkk”, and went so far as to send me a video of how she managed to remove a condom that had gotten lost inside her (true friendship). I admit to trying her tactic in the emergency room bathroom, with no luck.
The ER doctor who finally saw me went through the exact same process as the NP at Urgent Care: beginning with confident nonchalance (they’ve pulled a lot of things out of a lot of people), leaving and coming back with longer and longer forceps, ending with—swear on my cervix—a torture-device-looking thing with scissor handles that was legitimately a foot and a half long. AHHHH. (Thankfully, she didn’t show that to me until afterward).
She confirmed that it was totally, totally suctioned onto my cervix, and after propping me wide open with a speculum she worked to slowly—agonizingly—get a small, slippery piece of silicone unstuck from further up my vaginal canal than I am used to having strangers reach around. I was actually grateful not to be a part of this process of removal; it made me feel like less of a wimp for not being able to get the thing out myself, and grateful that there exist men and women to help solve our unexpected and embarrassing problems. I spent this time breathing deeply, bracing myself against the hospital bed, and envisioning a Tahitian beach.
As Diva users know, what goes in must eventually come out. Though, in my case, rather than easily and as instructed, it was with the help of multiple medical professionals. When I heard the weird suction sound of the cup finally exiting my person, I shouted “THANK YOU,” and got a tiny glimpse of what it might feel like to give birth: wanting nothing but to get something outside of you that seems lodged inside forever.
Of course, with birth, the added bonus is that the thing that comes out is your own human baby, and not a piece of plastic you finally retrieve for a refund.
Although it took a day of discomfort, this whole process didn’t make me anti-menstrual cup. Like I said, I have a number of friends who use theirs with comfort and success. I do think I’ll retreat back to the world of those little cotton capsules of doom, at least until I have good reason to think I’ve gotten wider or more flexible in my lady space.
Here is what I’ve learned:
1. Confident does not equal competence. Confidence does not equal competence. I repeated this to myself throughout the day at the ER. Just because you’re gung-ho about a new experience, doesn’t mean the universe is gonna do you a solid and magically support your freewheeling experiments with your body. It doesn’t mean I’m done being a freewheeling experimenter, but it does mean I might think twice about experiments that involve inserting new things into my orifices.
2. Embrace your embarrassment. Yes, it was embarrassing to tell every nurse, every orderly, and every doctor about the exact state of lady business. But I did. And everyone was only very nice and very supportive and “so sorry” for my whole ordeal. Embarrassment: not so embarrassing, sometimes.
3. Every step of the way—from the nurse who took me into a private room to tell her all the details when I was admitted, to the doctor who was finally able to finagle the stubborn thing out of there—kind, capable, professional women literally took me into their hands and helped me. Although the male medical professionals I interacted with that day were just as helpful and kind, there is something comforting about someone with a vagina handling yours.
4. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, MASTER THAT 360 TURN.
Amy is a writer and a grad student who lives in Los Angeles.
Last week, Donald Trump was addressing a large crowd in Burlington, Vermont, when he was interrupted by a series of protestors who raised their voices against him. Soon, he asked security to remove the disruptive audience members, asserting his power in a legitimate manner so that he could continue with his remarks.
But that wasn’t enough for the billionaire.
Standing before a crowd of supporters and acting on an impulse, he piled on, ordering security personnel at the event to seize the coats of the protestors in addition to kicking them out. “Get him outta there! Don’t give him his coat,” he said on one occasion. “Keep his coat. Confiscate his coat. You know it’s about ten degrees below zero outside. No, you can keep his coat. Tell him we’ll send it to him in a couple of weeks.” In the clip below he gives those orders near the beginning and the end.
In the present campaign, voters are deciding whether various candidates can be trusted with the extraordinary power that is vested in the president of the United States.
Who will use that power with wisdom and restraint?
Trump can’t help but abuse the power of presiding over a rally. His supporters believe that he will stand with little guys against elites. Yet there he was amid thousands of fans ordering hired muscle to strip powerless dissenters of their coats. There he was saying they should be turned out into the Vermont winter that way.
He was not content to restore order. He went a step further, using power vindictively, whether to satisfy his own desire or to play to the worst impulses of the crowd.
His behavior was needlessly cruel.
And it was familiar. It shared something with the football player who throws a kidney punch in the dog-pile after the opposing receiver is down, and with the police officer who slams the suspect’s head against the doorframe as he puts him in the back seat. It reminded me of the boss who makes the worker who beat him in the March Madness pool stay late, just to inflict pain that reminds everyone who is in charge. Or the politician who beats a political enemy, then orders her audited.
Trump is a bully. How many of his supporters still haven’t realized that? How many don’t care because they think he’s their bully? If they elect him, they’ll find out the truth. He’d as soon tell hired muscle to take their coats if it served his purposes.
A.NFor the Melissa Harris perry link.
Annabel has been talking about wanting to get her hair cut for a while, but we finally found the time for it last week. She showed us how much she wanted cut, which came out to three inches. It’s still very long, but it’s so much easier to brush (it takes about 1/3 of the time now), and it looks so nice. She knew exactly what she wanted, even asking for little layers in the front (how she knew about layers is beyond me). She said, “Mom, someday I want to donate my hair, but right now I like it how it is.” You’re the boss, kiddo.
Around The ‘Net
~They Don’t Understand, And Maybe That’s Okay
~What Goes Through Your Mind: On Nice Parties and Casual Racism
~Melissa Harris-Perry has a great point about Oprah’s new weight loss ad.
~Why Kindergarten Is The New First Grade
~The Celebrity Surgeon Who Used Love, Money, and the Pope to Scam an NBC News Producer
~How Contact Lenses Plucked From A Corpse Helped Close This Murder Case
~Who Really Controls Your Facebook Feed
~Someday Never Comes: The death-embracing magic of Marie Kondo.
~Going Dry: The Benefits Of A Month Without Booze
~How The Internet Picks Its Boyfriends
~After 60 Years, McDonald’s Is Getting Rid Of Its “Cafeteria Look”
~Mayim Bialik And Her TV Family Reflect On 25 Years Of ‘Blossom’
Instant Fan
~I know many of you were curious about my Instant Pot, so I am here to tell you: am in love with it. In. Love. It cooks everything so fast, and it all tastes SO GOOD. I made spaghetti squash in seven minutes. I made tomato soup in 25. I made three artichokes in THREE MINUTES. It is totally changing how and what I cook. One of the things I dislike about doing a Whole30 is how labor intensive it can be, but the Instant Pot has made things so much easier. So if you’re thinking about getting one, I definitely recommend it. I’m keeping track of my recipes, if anyone is interested! Keep an eye on it on Amazon, or set up a CamelCamelCamel alert – I’ve seen it sell as low as $78!
Rigby Rules
~Rigby has had a month of chemo, and we got her first round of blood tests back. She is responding SO well! Her numbers have shrunk dramatically (from 140 down to 22, and normal is 17), and she continues to act like herself. I am so grateful that she’s doing so great. Right before Christmas, I went to the groomer who found Rigby’s swollen glands and gave her a thank you gift. Then I cried all over her shirt because I was just so thankful and overwhelmed. I can’t imagine what would have happened if we hadn’t found out about Rigby’s cancer until she started acting differently.
Currently Obsessed With
~James’ froggy rain boots. He loves them, too!
~Cozy socks to go in MY rain boots. Because we’re having rain here! It’s a miracle!
~These Minnetonka Kids Fringe Boots that I found for Annie on a swap site for only $25 – and they’d never been worn!
Happy Sunday, Everyone!
© copyright Heather Spohr 2016 | All rights reserved.
This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
Assisted reproductive technologies, or ART, are more common in the U.S. than they’ve ever been: The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that around 11.3 percent of women between 15 and 44 have used some sort of infertility service. In 2013, doctors performed a total of 191,000 cycles of ART at nearly 500 clinics across the U.S., resulting in around 68,000 babies.
But even the most run-of-the-mill medical procedures were once novel—and the earliest days of ART were a far cry from the strict ethical standards of today.
The first physician to take a systematic approach to human artificial insemination was the controversial 19th-century surgeon J. Marion Sims. Although he founded the Women’s Hospital in New York, the first establishment devoted solely to women’s health, he’s also known for more troubling activities: Many of his notable medial contributions were a result of research he conducted on slaves without his subjects’ consent.
The Women’s Hospital opened in 1855, and during its first several years in operation, Sims performed 55 artificial-insemination procedures on six different women; only one resulted in a pregnancy, and it ended in a miscarriage.
His techniques likely would have been effective if Sims had taken his patients’ ovulation cycles into account—but because he didn’t, the first artificial insemination to result in a live birth, performed by the Philadelphia physician William Pancoast, didn’t happen until a few decades after Sims’ attempts. In 1884, one of Pancoast’s patients, a 31-year-old woman, came to see him at Sansom Street Hospital about her inability to conceive.
Pancoast initially assumed that the problem was with the woman’s fertility, but numerous exams led him to ultimately conclude that the issue was actually her husband’s low sperm count. When the husband, a 41-year-old wealthy merchant from Philadelphia, came in for an examination of his own, Pancoast deemed him “of sound body,” with the exception of a case of gonorrhea from years earlier. Microscopic examination indicated that his “spermatic fluid” was “absolutely void of spermatozoons,” likely a result of the infection.
Originally, Pancoast told the man that the problem would be easily fixed with a course of treatment—but after two months without any progress, the doctor determined that the merchant’s seminal ducts were permanently obstructed, and that he wouldn’t be able to impregnate his wife.
Instead of disclosing any of this information to the couple, though, Pancoast scheduled another “examination” for his patient. Here’s how the first successful artificial insemination took place: In front of six medical students, Pancoast knocked out his patient using chloroform, inseminated her with a rubber syringe, and then packed her cervix with gauze. The source of the semen was one of the medical students in the room, determined to be the most attractive of the bunch.
Nine months later, the woman gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Pancoast didn’t reveal the circumstances of the conception until after the birth—and even then, he told only her husband. Together, the two men decided that she would be better off not knowing the truth about her final “examination” or the biological father of her child.
The story remained a secret until 1909, when Addison Davis Hard—one of the six medical students present the day of the insemination—published a letter in Medical World describing the case. (Prior to publishing the letter, Hard contacted the resulting child, by that point a 25-year-old businessman living in New York, and informed him of the details of his conception.)
“At that time,” Hard wrote in Medical World, “the procedure was so novel, so peculiar in its human ethics, that the six young men of the senior class who witnest [sic] the operation were pledged to absolute secrecy.”
Hard went on to argue that “artificial impregnation offers valuable advantages,” chief among them the ability to ensure that semen without the “promise of good and healthy offspring” was disregarded in favor of “carefully selected seed.”
Even with all the advances in ART over the past century and a half, in other words, one thing has been the same since the very beginning: When babies can be created in new ways, they can also, to varying extents, be designed. It’s an old story, but an ethical debate that’s as relevant as ever.
South Korea resumed propaganda broadcasts—including K-pop, news and weather reports, and criticisms of its northern neighbor—that North Korea views as an act of war, two days after Pyongyang said it had tested a hydrogen bomb.
“We plan to air the show for two to six hours every day on an irregular basis, but in a way that prevents any damage from a possible attack across from the border and minimize the residents’ inconvenience,” a military official, speaking on condition of anonymity, told reporters.
The official added: “Most subjects are based on facts, and some are about human-rights violations and others the nuclear test, saying the regime is worsening already difficult economic circumstances.”
Here’s more on the broadcasts themselves, from the Korea Herald:
At noon, the “Voice of Freedom” show began with the host calling for soldiers to quit smoking as a New Year’s resolution, followed by the 1980s rock band Gun Son’s popular song “No Smoking” and Rimi and Potato’s “Baby I’m Cold.”
Unfolding at 11 locations along the heavily fortified frontier, the broadcasts provide a rare source of outside news and music for North Korean frontline troops and residents of border towns in the reclusive society. It has four main themes, each aimed at promoting freedom and democracy, illustrating the South’s political and economic ascent, recovering national homogeneity and revealing the reality of the regime, according to Seoul’s Defense Ministry. …For the reopening, the military upgraded the content to criticize the recent atomic test, while adding latest hit tunes such as Lee Ae-ran’s viral “A Centennial Life,” GFriend’s “Me Gustas Tu,” Apink’s “Let Us Just Love” and Big Bang’s “Bang Bang Bang.” In a radio drama aired around 6 p.m., a top aide of Kim’s deceased father and late strongman Kim Jong-il sexually harrassed a married woman who then was shot to death by him while trying to protect her disputing husband.
The Herald reported the broadcasts can travel up to 6 miles.
The resumption of the broadcasts, which Seoul had suspended last year under a deal to resolve tensions with the North, came after Wednesday’s claim by Pyongyang that it had tested a hydrogen bomb. South Korea said the test was a “grave violation” of that agreement. The North’s claim hasn’t been independently verified, and confirmation could take months, though many nuclear experts have expressed skepticism.
South Korea and Japan, which have borne the brunt of North Korea’s sometimes bellicose and often erratic policies, have tried to cobble together a diplomatic front to respond to North Korea’s announcement. The UN Security Council, which met Wednesday to discuss the test, hinted at further sanctions on the North.
Much of the focus has been on China, a permanent, veto-wielding member of the Security Council, which is North Korea’s main ally. Beijing said it was not informed about the test in advance—as it had been during the North’s previous nuclear tests—and criticized the North’s actions. But on Friday, it appeared to push back against calls from the U.S. and others to do more to influence Pyongyang.
“The origin and crux of the nuclear issue on the Korean Peninsula has never been China,” Hua Chunying, a spokeswoman for the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, said. “The key to solving the problem is not China.”
That, The New York Times reports, was “a clear reference to the belief in China that efforts by the Americans to isolate North Korea economically and politically over the past decade have worsened the situation.”
The candidate: Ben Carson
The gaffe: Speaking to a fifth-grade class in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, the good doctor asked, “Who’s the worst student?” Almost everyone pointed to the same child. Nothing like shaming a 10-year-old to put some pizzazz in a campaign event.
The defense: Carson likes to talk about how he felt like the dumbest kid in his class growing up. But this wasn’t a setup to make the dumbest kid feel smarter, it was just, well, dumb: “I figured people would be pointing around to all different people who they didn’t like,” he said later. The kid at least seemed pretty chill about it. “Knowing Seth, I think he’d take it in stride,” his mom said. “He’s very well-liked by all the students."
Why it matters (or doesn’t): This is a guy who’s obviously ready for the delicate diplomatic interactions required of a head of state. Seriously, who does this?
The moral: It takes serious smarts to go to Yale and become a decorated neurosurgeon, but there’s no emotional-intelligence requirement.
A spite house is a house built for the express purpose of pissing someone else off. Personal comfort, adequate living space, and compliance with local zoning laws all come second to this all-important goal. Spite houses come in all shapes and sizes, but the best are absurdly small and very angry indeed. Here are a few of my favorites, ranked from least- to most-spiteful.
The Story: You have options here. EITHER the house was a result of a divorce settlement in which the husband got the [large, non-spiteful house] and the wife got the front yard and decided to use it, dammit—OR, the house was built by Neighbor 1, after Neighbor 2 made him an insultingly low offer on the land and Neighbor 1 was so appalled that he decided to wreck things for everyone with a tiny house in the front yard. Neighbor 2 eventually ended up moving, and Neighbor 1 ended up with a tiny house in his yard. There is another alternative explanation which involves a landowner vacationing in Germany and letting someone build on his land as long as that somebody left him enough space to build his own home… you know how this ends up. Everybody wins! (Nobody wins. This is the story of most spite houses, in general.)
The Spite: Beautifully, ingeniously spiteful. By all accounts, the house, which is 15 feet wide at the front and 4.5 feet wide at the back (the end you see in the picture), is actually pretty comfortable, and it did get the better view and street frontage. If you’re the wife who is living in this place, you’re in pretty good shape, assuming you don’t want to do a lot of yoga in your kitchen. If you’re the husband/homeowner stuck in the house behind it, you’re totally screwed. It’s spite that doesn’t make life all that much harder for the spiter and much more difficult for the spite-ee.
The Story: The owner of one of the neighboring houses, a Mr. 
John Hollensbury, enclosed the alley next to his house to keep out wagons, loitering youths, and other miscreants. The house isn’t really a “house” with its own walls and structural system—it’s an enclosed alley with a roof and a front door, only about 7 feet wide and 25 feet deep.
The Spite: Quite spiteful. This seems like an awful long way to go to get across the age-old “Hey, you kids, get off my lawn” message. Not only that, you’re inflicting this incredibly tiny living space on someone else. The house seems to have found its niche with renters who enjoy very little natural light (no windows on the sides, just on the front and back), extremely low utility bills, and the spaciousness and efficiency of a ship cabin without any of the nasty seasickness.
The Story: Again, there are multiple explanations here. One involves the owners of the larger property selling off a narrow strip of land between their house and the street. They made the mistake of selling it to a carpenter, who started building on the site, got into a fight with the former landowners, and went and built a ten-foot-wide, 54-foot-long house in the space, completely blocking the larger house’s side view of anything but wall. Another story says that the larger plot of land belonged to a father with two sons, one estranged—the father gave the estranged son the smaller plot of land, and you all know how this ends.
The Spite: Spitetacular! If you check out aerial views of the site, that house is RIGHT in the way of the one next door—practically on top of it. It takes some serious rage to engineer and build a ten-foot-wide house, especially one that close to a road and another building. The rage was so strong with this one that the builder allegedly inlaid the word “spite” into the front stoop. Sick burn.
The Story: A businessman in 1880s New York—some say a man named Patrick McQuade, others say it was a Mr. Hemyan Sarner—
owned some lots along 82nd Street and wanted to fill them with apartment buildings. His land extended nearly to Lexington Avenue and he wanted to buy up the remaining strip of land to complete the block. The owner of the land, a Mr. Richardson, wanted much more for the property than McQuade/Sarner wanted to pay for it, so McQuade/Sarner said screw you and your crappy land, I didn’t want it anyway, and built his apartments so they overlooked the strip of land toward Lexington Avenue, clearly thinking that they would be able to enjoy the view without any buildings popping up in the five-foot-wide space. You see where this is going, right?
The Spite: Spitetastic. Not only did Richardson manage to build the 104-foot-long, 5-foot-deep building that completely blocked the Lexington Avenue views from McQuade/Sarner’s apartments, he made his building into apartments, living in one himself and renting out the others to desperate, skinny tenants. Richardson overruled his daughter’s worry that they wouldn’t be able to find anyone to live there, as “everybody is not fat and there will be room enough for people who are not circus or museum folk.” The tenants had to find unusually small furniture and not mind single-person staircases, among other minor issues. Keep in mind that though Richardson and McQuade/Sarner were the major players in this dispute, the people who really had to deal with the fallout were their tenants. It takes serious spite to inflict an 18-inch-wide dining table on someone you don’t even know, just to make a point. (Sadly, this house was demolished in 1915, so we can’t go experience the reality of a five-foot-wide living space for ourselves.)
The Story: So you’ve got two brothers. One brother goes to fight in the Civil War, and the other stays home and builds a house on their recently-deceased father’s property, leaving a strip of land for his soldier brother that was certainly too narrow to build on. Soldier brother comes back, gets mad, builds a house—just over 10 feet wide at the widest point—immediately on top of the brother’s house, cutting that side of the house off from sunlight, fresh air, and anything that isn’t a very angry brother going “THIS IS YOUR FAULT, YOU JACKASS.” Presumably.
The Spite: The spite-est! Cheating your brother out of his inheritance is bad enough, but doing it while he’s away at war is just the worst. Soldier brother certainly made his point—and made his brother’s life considerably more difficult—by refusing to go build elsewhere, but he made his own life much harder too. At its narrowest point, the house is just over 6 feet wide, and most of the floors in the four-story house hold only one room each. On top of that, building on top of your brother’s house to block his view means that your view gets blocked too, and you have to live next to the guy forever. It takes an awful lot of spite to live like that.
Photos via Wikimedia Commons.
Kathy Martinolich is an architectural historian in the great state of Kentucky, which does not have nearly enough spite houses.
