dude, ou est ma voiture?
YOU KNOW I WON’T STAY SOBER
I ran a whole bunch of miles this week. This is all very good for my cholesterol and weight maintenance and future cancer risk. It may be less good for my mental health (despite scientific evidence to the contrary), because I am starting to feel a little addictive and obsessive about it. I think about when I can run next, I want to read about running, I want to post Facebook updates about my latest run, I have been lurking on running forums, I have been boring my friends with the running talk. Is this why most professional athletes are rather dull people? Do I need to return to my beer-swilling, slug-like ways in order to have anything interesting to say? Is there some sort of cocaine-like substance being secreted from the fabric of my sport bra? Seriously, what is going on with me?
It’s the data. I’m addicted to data, which is one reason I run on the treadmill instead of outside. Data addiction has been expressing itself lately in less-healthy ways than just exercise, however. For instance, I can see Nora’s grades online. This is a useful feature of the Chicago Public Schools in a lot of ways. Most of the teachers put the assignments online, so I can sort of see what’s been going on in class. Attendance is tracked too, so in theory if you had a high schooler who was skeeving off every day to go smoke grass at the lakefront, you’d know about it.
However, because I am ABLE to look at her grades online, I end up doing it EVERY DAY. Which is ludicrous and gives the whole Grades Enchilada a lot more mental weight than it should rightfully have. Of course the averages change very slightly every day, since even the occasional in-class worksheet is “graded” at this school, so I end up thinking things like WHAT’S THIS B IN MATH? THE KID KNOWS BORROWING AND CARRYING ALREADY! And then of course I back off and calm down (and it should go without saying that I never say anything of the sort to Nora herself). And I remember that this is FIRST GRADE and that grades are not a reflection of what she knows anyway, and so on et cetera et cetera. But honestly, I blame the data. If the option of seeing the online grades were not available I would notice her grades about four times a year (each report-card day). But it is available, so I look.
Wrapped up with the data problem is the simple fact that I sometimes get lonely for my kid during the day. So I check her grades online for the same pathetic reason that I have her schedule taped up next to my computer: to feel a little more connected to her school life. Next week, however, there will be more school connection than I’ll know what to do with, as I’m taking off to both volunteer at lunch AND hear her sing the dreidel song at the “Winter Pageant.” Her class is doing a Kwanzaa song too, which just seems to be about following your dreams and you can achieve blah blah. (Although at least it’s better than this one last year.) This annoys me. If we must acknowledge Kwanzaa, at least make it awesome and 1970s “Afrocentric,” with drums and power salutes.
MORE iPOD CRITIQUE FROM THE BACK SEAT
Song: “Reena” by Sonic Youth.
Nora: Ugh this song is boring. Oh man it’s so stupid. Oh BORING. What band is this?
Me: They’re called Sonic Youth.
Nora: It’s terrible.
Me: Well, it’s not their best work, that’s for sure.
Nora: I like the name “Sonic Youth.” That’s a good name. The song should be better.
Song: “Serge” by Folk Implosion
Nora: Is this a guitar? And drums?
Me: Yeah, I think so.
Nora: It doesn’t really sound like a guitar.
Me: There’s a lot of other stuff…some recorded samples…plus effect pedals too.
Nora: It sounds like a video game.
Song: “Soon” by My Bloody Valentine
Nora: The best part is where it goes bonk bonk bonk.
Me: [deciding to just let that one lie there]
Song: “Shout It Out Loud” by KISS
Nora: Oh this is good. Good music, mom.
Me [curious]: Why do you like this?
Nora: I don’t know. It’s just like more rrraaaarrrrr, you know?
Me: Yeah.
PARTY CRITIQUE
The worst music I’ve personally heard lately was at my husband’s work party. What that DJ was thinking, playing Miley Cyrus at a too-loud-to-talk volume during cocktail hour, is beyond me. Miley Cyrus! This is an office party, no one here is twelve years old! Also, thanks a lot for giving me the “Single Ladies” earworm for a full week. Catchiest fucking song in existence, could be used by the CIA to control people’s minds.
The party was on a boat, which was kind of superfluous in a Chicago winter. Every once in a while I would look out the window and remark on the novelty of the moving skyline, but really it could have been any generic party room. The true novelty, of course, was not knowing anybody other than LT. I considered going way overboard on the wine and sharing lunatic hollow-earth stories with everyone I met—can’t fire someone for having a crazy spouse!—but instead I behaved myself. BORING! ALMOST AS BORING AS A 2006 SONIC YOUTH TRACK! Now I need a really proper drinking session, perhaps for my birthday. And speaking of birthdays, one of the strangers at the party guessed that I was 30 years old (it came up when she was shocked that LT and I had been married for almost 15 years). This pleased me. I did not want it to please me because I EMBRACE MY CURRENT AGE! I AM BEYOND ALL THAT CRAP! But it still pleased me, which means I have some work to do. Drinking heavily and deconstructing society’s fascist conception of femininity will be the first step! WHO’S WITH ME?
—mimi smartypants tips her bartenders.