On Friday, April 11th, Ian and I headed in with a full crowd to see Peter Sagal, host of Wait Wait, Don’t Tell Me. The Mondavi center promised a behind the scenes look at our favorite weekend show, but Sagal gave us a talk about a miniseries he did with PBS instead: Constitution USA. Sagal introduced us to several people, all of whom believe in the Constitution, all of whom have very different ideas about what it’s meant to do for them.

My three take-aways: 1. Sagal is funny in person too. 2. He pointed out that our constitution is the first and shortest, because our founders were smart enough to know it should be brief and vague enough to let us adapt it as we evolved. 3. The Constitution only works because we believe in it. Lots of other countries have one–many of them are repressive regimes. Their constitutions are sick jokes–more like PR for the international community than a document that makes rules and guarantees rights for their peoples. As Sagal said, our constitution is like Tinkerbell, and we gotta keep clapping.

I was disappointed that we didn’t really get to talk about Wait, Wait, disappointed in Davis for booing when he mentioned that we used to be Berkeley’s farm (we did–why shame him for bringing it up, even if he did find it funny?), disappointed that even with Q&A, we only got an hour and a half. On the other hand, it’s half an hour more than I usually get with him.

Later today, I will finally get my xolair shot, only three full months after I was supposed to get the last one.

It took me being on the phone with several different people for hours. It took my shot nurse doing the same. It took my medical advocate doing the same. It took faxes and pdfs and tears.

Those of you who have been following the saga know that I used to pay $9/month for my xolair (thanks to Genentech’s xolair assistance). Blue Shield told me for over two months that I would pay $125/month + 40 for the nurse visit. Yet I couldn’t order the drug because BS was telling the pharmacy something else. Then BS told me that they had been wrong–all five people I’d talked to were just wrong–and that my copay was just under $1100/month (+40).

Here’s what we now know actually happened:

BS was wrong on their authorization form–they listed a pharmacy that was actually out of my network (“that was an error”); that cost me a week.

BS was wrong when many, many people told me to set up an account with the pharmacy and to order the drug. The letter they sent me, addressed to me, addressing me in second person (“your provider . . .”), was, they admit, “confusing” as it seemed to also tell me that I had to order the drug, when, in fact, the doctor’s office was supposed to do it.

BS was wrong when they tried to bill $1100–both because I was apparently not supposed to order the drug myself, but also because that copay would only apply to this drug if I had an out of network doctor. My plan is the UC Care plan, made especially for UC Davis Employees who use UC Doctors. My doctor works at the UC Davis Medical Center. When I get bills from there, I have to write checks to the Regents of UC Davis. When I got switched to this plan, I called BS to confirm that all of my doctors, including this one, were in my network. So how could I possibly expect them to get this right, even when the authorization lists this very doctor as being one of their providers? Silly me.

My copay is actually zero. I will have to pay $40/month to see the nurse, so under the new insurance plan, my cost goes up $31, which is, of course, fine. I just wish I were allowed to make this many mistakes as a patient/bill payer. I just wish my lungs hadn’t been hurting for a couple of months. I just wish I could get all those hours back.

And I wish they weren’t giving me more BS about a procedure I need on my neck, turning it down.

How am I supposed to trust them now?

(In other news: my students’ stand-up performance is here: http://webcast.ucdavis.edu/llnd/1bf40024 I’m the MC, so I do some stuff at the start and in-between. I was basically workshopping all new stuff, so it’s not polished.)

I haven’t been in the kind of contact that I want to be with most of you. Part of it is that I’m busy. Part of it is that I don’t necessarily want to talk about how I am.

I was really hoping that this year would be better than last. Last year was busy (no surprise), but also difficult due to my gall bladder, an amazing cervical spine headache that started in summer, and a car accident, which resulted in hours of physical therapy each week (it’s only ended last week).

This year hasn’t been easier so far. I’ve already written about my grandmother dying last month. What I haven’t said yet is that, while she was sick, this particular time of death didn’t have to be. What I haven’t said yet is that I’m angry about some of my mother’s decisions and angrier about her refusal to acknowledge them.

Next month, I will return home during Spring Break. My family is waiting to put the ashes in the ground until I get back. I need to try to have a calm conversation in which I explain to my mother that she can’t change my grandfather’s medicines, etc. without notifying the doctor. But she’s going to get defensive, and we’re going to have a fight, and I’m stressing about it.

The other thing I haven’t said is that it really sucks to be the only woman in the world with the middle name Jewreen. Before, there were two of us.

As for myself, three things are going on physically. Today I have a tube going from my stomach, out of my nose, and to a recorder. It’s testing the ph of my acid reflux and also checking to see if some of the reflux ix actually bile, now that we know I have some bile in my stomach. I am very uncomfortable, doubting I’ll be able to sleep tonight, and looking forward to getting it out after my classes tomorrow. Some of what we’ll learn will determine if the doctor thinks I need surgery for the hernia in my esophagus.

My inclination is not to have surgery; however, the drugs I’m on haven’t been controlling my reflux symptoms like they used to. And I’m on the highest dose of things.

I was finally able to see someone at the pain clinic for this cervical spine headache in December. We are looking at doing a nerve burn in my neck–pain medication isn’t doing anything, nor are the non-invasive things like massage, etc. Friday, I had a nerve block, a sort of test to see if the nerve burn would work. The very temporary block had wonderful effects, although I’m sore and swollen from the procedure. My insurance company wants me to have another test block done before they approve the burn, which would be longer lasting.

Lastly, one of the drugs I need, xolair, is expensive and weird. When my insurance changed at the start of the year, I had to try to get reauthorized for it. It’s now almost the end of Feb–I’ve been off my drug for almost two months. Both my nurse and I have spent hours on the phone with insurance and hours on the phone with the specialty pharmacy. It looks like I might finally be able to get back on the drug next week, though my copay will be lots higher. And then the insurance company wants to reevaluate in June. Every dose they can prevent me from having saves them thousands of dollars.

The other big news is that my aunt Mindy is not doing well. She is now basically too disabled to work. She has been living with my cousin for the past few months. My cousin’s husband, however, is getting transferred to Guam. My aunt has been unsuccessful so far in getting insurance, etc. (The Southern States have not expanded medicaid to poor adults.)

The short version of this is that Mindy will be coming to live with me at the end of Spring. It will be a bit tight–I don’t have the money right now to move us to a three bedroom. But I at least should be able to get her the care she so desperately needs.

Work is fine. The students are understanding about papers coming back two days late the week Gma died. They are understanding and sympathetic about the awkwardness of a tube coming out of my face today. My stand-up class is a joy.

I gave a smart and amazingly attended presentation at a Writing Teacher’s Conference in January. Had a good MLA. I’ve applied to be the coordinator for the Upper Division Comp exam. I’ve got a paper coming out on (a)sexuality in Sherlock. The Prized Writing Ceremony went swimmingly–the Chancellor was there for the first time, and she enjoyed it so much that we’ve already scheduled next year’s so she can be there. I’ll present at pca/aca in April (no more conferences for the year, though–too broke). The Margaret Atwood journal is going online. I’ve been contracted by Cambridge for an Atwood collection. The authors are writing now. Denise and I are putting together a Simpsons collection. Melissa and I are putting together a collection of best comp paper assignments. There are and will be plays and movies and, in April, Willie Nelson. Book group still gathers here for food, wine, and cats. When HBO or BBC is doing something good, there are weekly movie nights too. The boyfriend cooks for me and distracts me and pleases me. Alexander is generally in good spirits. He doesn’t love all of his classes. (His classes are part of me being broke.) But we get along well.

Just today, he reminded me that I wasn’t allowed to use the microwave (due to the weird machine I’m wearing). Then, when I thoughtlessly went to the microwave half an hour later, I got the same tone from him that the cats do when they jump on the counter.

My friends are lovely. I miss you and love you all.

Valentine’s Day tends to be celebrated in a sexist way. That is, rather than being a celebration of two people’s love, it is a holiday in which men are expected to spend money and plan surprises. I’ve always thought that both women and men should give gifts (if gift giving is part of the holiday for the couple), that both should plan, etc.
One year, with an ex, I decided I wanted a roomba. We went in on it together. Best Valentine’s gift ever–it has spared my back a lot of agony.
Part of the reason that the holiday has morphed into this one-sided money orgy, however, is that, for many women, this is one of the two times a year that romance is possible. Today and on their anniversary, they are told they are loved. They receive physical proof of his love.
And that’s part of why I don’t like the day. If Valentine’s Day is the almost only day you have romance in your life, then what is going on in your relationship?
(It’s also why I don’t like the idea of what many men refer to as “Steak and Blowjob” day. Why would you only want that once a year?)
In the relationships wherein I’ve been happiest, romance has happened all year long.
Don’t get me wrong–I’m not getting flowers all the time or serenades or chocolate.
The key, you see, is having two things:
–a thoughtful partner
–a better understanding of what romance is
To illustrate, let me share a story of my favorite couple, my grandparents. My grandmother, a great lover of romance novels, had a more traditional understanding of romance–flowers and candy and whatnot.
My grandfather’s children would sometimes find things my grandmother would like for Valentine’s Day and prompt him to buy them. One such weird object was a rose that had been dipped in gold. He bought it for her. She loved it. I’m not sure he would have ever thought to buy it himself. I’m not sure he should have thought of it.
My grandfather demonstrated romance every day. Whatever little thing might bother my grandmother was something he attempted to fix. Her back hurts? Here’s a hot tub. The phone cord keeps getting tangled? Here’s one guaranteed not to do that.
When she got older and had trouble going outside, he would go out every morning, pick a rose from their garden, and present it to her.
Women often complain that men don’t just *know* what they want. Even when they drop hints.
Women: what hints are you dropping?
For example, if you mentioned that you were having trouble having a healthy lunch and he started packed them for you, then perhaps it’s time to forgive him for not just *knowing* that you want a cliche heart necklace today.
Of course, I’m presupposing that your partner does love you, does listen to you. Not every partner is giving. Not every partner is loving. Not every partner is attentive. In those cases, him giving you chocolate on the one day that all of society tells him to isn’t romantic, either. Obligation doesn’t equal love.
I’m also framing this critique with men giving to women. Women can be just as guilty of not being romantic, loving, giving, attentive. Ladies, do you know what he really wants as a gift? Do you present him with surprises throughout the year? Love should go both ways.
It should also be noted that romance doesn’t always equal love in the way we think it does. One of my most chivalrous lovers was also the one who left me when I was almost nine months pregnant with his child. I’ve had a man hitchhike across Canada and then sneak across the border to be with me. I’ve had men write songs about me. I’ve had flowers and candy and people climbing trees to woo me on my balcony. I’m not with those people now, for various reasons.
Tonight I will have cocktails, wine, fancy appetizers, dinner, and dessert. It’s a gift my guy and I are giving to each other.
The bottom line?
Ladies, if you want something *special* this year, then tell him what you want. And don’t tell me it will take away the surprise. The fact that you and society believe he HAS to do something special today and only today means there’s no real surprise anyway.
If you do want actual surprises, then V Day is a silly time to want them.
And think about surprises. What if, on a Tuesday in June, he did something really thoughtful for you? Would that surprise you? If so, that’s sad, because wouldn’t you like him to be thoughtful all year?
And shouldn’t you be thoughtful back?
Maybe the best way to be thoughtful, by the way, is to take some of the more extreme expectations off of this day.
Your question shouldn’t be: What will he do for Valentine’s Day?
Here are the questions:
Does he love me?
Does he show it (whether or not showing it means money for you)?
Does he accept me for who I am?
Does he make me want to love him, to show it, to accept him?
Gee, would he like some flowers and candy?

Here’s one of my favorite pictures of my grandparents, from two years ago when they renewed their vows.

Courses taught: 5

Papers graded: 870, not counting homework

Book contracts for an edited collection on Margaret Atwood given by Cambridge: 1

Car accidents: 1

Hours of physical therapy per week for over two months: 3-6

Nieces and nephews born: 2

Books read for work: about 20

Books read for pleasure: None, I think, even over break.

Upper GIs: 1

Cancers found by Upper GI: 0 (yay!)

Conference panels chaired: 2

Book chapters written and sent to editors: 2

Margaret Atwood Journal issues out: 1

Minor foot surgeries: 1 (a redo, since the Jan doc did it so badly)

Campus Book Project talks given: 1

Campus Book Project talks chaired: 3

Campus Book Project books chosen: 1

Plays attended: 3

Awesome Halloween costumes: 1

Mix CDs produced: 3

Kittens fixed: 2

Kittens taught to stay off the desk and counters: 0

New Recipes Tried: probably 15-20

New mentees for the Guardian Scholars Program: 1

Trips to take the boy’s car to the shop: 2

Letters of recommendation written: 6

Types of bitters homemade by me, Vanessa, Rae, Marina, and Melissa: 5

Trips to wine country: 2

Here’s to a better year (all the good stuff, but less of the silly medical stuff)!

I don’t love everything about Christmas. I don’t like that the season starts too early (thanks to our amazing commercialism); I don’t like realizing that while I’m in the midst of finals after what is usually my busiest quarter, I am behind on making, buying, baking, and shipping presents; I don’t like the pressure to buy things for people I don’t know well.

I don’t like how the phrase “Merry Christmas” is changing. I say both “Happy Holidays” and “Merry Christmas” interchangeably–I always have. Both are accurate for me and basically everyone I know. Almost all of us get Christmas off, so even the few people I know who don’t celebrate Christmas can still enjoy that break. Happy Holidays, despite what Fox news says, has always been fine–there are more than this month that we celebrate. I’ve never had anyone who doesn’t celebrate Christmas get upset with me for wishing them well. But now there are apparently people out there who get upset when I wish them well for more than one day in a season.

Dan Savage recently wrote about reading Sarah Palin’s book, which says you can’t wish people peace and love without wishing them “Merry Christmas” because there is no peace and love without Jesus. I guess that means a bunch of people I know, including myself, don’t really love. This war on the made-up war on Christmas is going to create the very thing it rails against, as I, like Dan Savage, now feel obligated to say “Happy Holidays,” as reaction against those who say we’re not allowed to. Years ago, those people took the American flag and made it the symbol for conservative rather than American; now they’re taking my ability to say “Merry Christmas.”

Just the other day, I said “Merry Christmas” to a local business owner on the way out the door. He commented that he “had” to say “Happy Holidays” so as not to alienate people. He had mistaken my automatic I’m-leaving-now holiday wish as a statement against political correctness. I probably gave him the impression that I’m conservative and Christian by my thoughtless use of a phrase. I just noted that I say both phrases and that I’ve never gotten in trouble for either one. He confessed that he had never been corrected by someone for using the Christmas word in his greetings, so in the spirit of Christmas getting-along, we were able to agree that since neither of us had actually experienced this particular front of the war on Christmas, it was likely just something those people on TV made up.

Why, you might ask, do I celebrate Christmas if I’m not Christian?

Well, like most Americans, I was raised Christian, so Christmas is part of my childhood, part of my life. It represents family, the gorging on gifts that comes with being a kid, and the only time when my mother and stepfather would try not to fight, when my mother’s smile would return for days on end.

When it was my turn to be a parent, I didn’t want to lose that connection to childhood or to rob my child of it. Christmas can be magic. Not celebrating the birth of Jesus (which would be in Spring anyway, Biblical scholars agree) is surprisingly easy, given how pagan the whole holiday is. We combine solstice festival traditions, medieval traditions, and the Roman sun-God Baal’s day (today) into a frenzy of presents, singing, eating, drinking, and decorating trees inside the house.

However, what I’d like to confess about Christmas is how much I love it. Despite all its problems, despite the commercialism, despite the war I’m apparently in about it, I love it.

I love finding the perfect gift for someone. I love those moments when my friends find that perfect thing for me.

I love the baking. Although I cook all through the year, I rarely give myself the time to bake. Each Christmas, there’s a little frenzy. Alexander says it’s the most stereotypical mom thing about me. Each year, I make some classics, which, because I only make them once a year, mean it’s Christmas when I bite into them (eggnog pie, cranberry apple pie, scotchies, oatmeal lace cookies, sour cream drops with burnt butter frosting, etc). And each year I try something new. This year, it was Mansikkalumi, Finnish Strawberry Snow. And then there’s the ham, which I usually only get at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and which is my very favorite meat.

I love the movies and TV shows. Not all of them, of course. Today, Alexander and I are watching Doctor Who Christmas specials and Simpsons and Futurama Christmas episodes. I haven’t had the chance to watch the movies this year–Christmas is often like that–once I’m ready for it to be Christmas, there isn’t time to see everything I love, from strange Finnish horror films about Santa (Rare Exports) to Bridget Jones’ Diary to Scrooged to About A Boy to the original Miracle on 34th Street, the ultimate Christmas movie. (Back when I wrote a movie column, I wrote about the best Christmas films: http://www.matchflick.com/column/2510; http://www.matchflick.com/column/1829; http://www.matchflick.com/column/1820.)

As the creator of 9 volumes of Christmas mix cds, I must admit that there are several songs I apparently love as well, some traditional, some new. “The Carpenters Christmas Portrait” is my favorite cd of the old hits. I had the records as a child. I also have a house mix of totally secular awesome Christmas songs by Weird Al, Jonathan Coulton, etc.

I love the tree almost most of all. My stepfather’s house had a large, open foyer. He would put a big tree on a very big table in front of the sweeping staircase. I would spend hours playing in the tree. The more anthropomorphic ornaments became my dolls for a short season. My smallest toys would find their own places in the branches. My tree is always the first signal that it’s really Christmas and is usually with us for way longer than it should be. This year, I refrained from putting breakable ornaments on it, due to the mischievous presence of two little kittens, but it’s still here, staying moist from all the water bottle punishment sprays it takes with Jareth and Anubis.

Finally, I love Christmas because it’s the time of the year when I get out my address book and send a little something to those I love. I try to call people I haven’t talked to lately, but whom I miss.

(And did I mention the eggnog?)

Happy Holidays!

It’s the season that critics are posting their Best Of lists for the year. (What always strikes me as a bit odd is that year is not technically over when the critics do this.)

As I don’t want to be like everyone else, I’m going to use the rest of the month to post about non-traditional “Best Of”s.

The best ABBA song?

“Waterloo.”

Why?

Not because it won the Eurovision competition in 1974, but because it begins:

“My, my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender
Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way”

I just can’t imagine any pop song today beginning with a historical reference. This song not only does that, but continues all the way through, comparing this woman’s finally giving into love to Napoleon’s defeat. The military analogy somehow blends perfectly with the upbeat, danceable tempo.

“So how could I ever refuse” to love this song?

It’s easy to get discouraged these days.

I’ve had a bad headache for almost two months now.* It’s exhausting. Eula Biss, in her essay, “The Pain Scale,” argues that one of the worst limitations of how we measure pain is that we don’t have a metric for how long it lasts. I’ve gone through the summer without a break, and I’ve been sort of beating myself up because I don’t have any more money than I started with and a lot of “to do” list things didn’t get done. And my oven broke about an hour ago. Flames shot out of it.

Thus, I have had to give myself little lectures on what got done this summer. They help.

WHAT GOT DONE THIS SUMMER:

I taught four classes (successfully).

We judged the Prized Writing submissions, then I edited the publication, and now it’s out.

I prepped my five Fall classes.

I served on two Campus Book Project committees.

I paid the “pay off the credit card in three years instead of a billion” amount.

I was given a new crock pot, and I tried out a bunch of new recipes.

I got two new kitties.

I fixed one expensive thing on my car and two on the boy’s.

I went to London to be in the wedding of two people I love dearly.

I spent quality time with my son, my friends, my man.

I’ve done a lot to try to make this headache go away–switching drugs (including going off the one that caused hallucinations), massage, chiropractic, physical therapy, lots of doctors’ appointments.

I went to Ashland with Vanessa and Kevin, where we had good food, good drinks, and saw five amazing plays in three days (The Heart of Robin Hood, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Cymbeline, The Tenth Muse, and King Lear).

My fractured tailbone healed.

I kept the house reasonably clean.

In addition to the plays I’ve already written about in past blogs, I saw Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen and Billy Crudup in No Man’s Land (not my favorite play, but it didn’t matter!).

I chose essays for an edited book proposal I’m about to send off.

There, now I feel better. Time for more painkillers.

*For those who don’t know, I have a low grade headache every day. This has been the case since I was 12. It’s always there. All of my treatments over the years are to minimize the days it’s bad–the days it’s debilitating–the days I identify which muscle groups I would like to inject with some miracle that would make them release–the days I fantasize about guillotines. It’s been almost two months now of those days.

Summer classes are crazy. My students sign up, thinking that the classes they’ve feared the most will somehow be easier in a shorter amount of time. And then I explain that we have to do the same amount of work in six weeks. And then we struggle together. And then a few complain that we’ve done so much work. Sigh.

Last summer session, which ended a week ago, I had three classes running. At the same time, I was coming off Spring, off the London wedding, had that fractured tailbone, and was working to get the Prized Writing edition off to the printer.

I’ve survived. I told myself that if I did, I would reward myself in some significant ways. I would go to Ashland with V. I would have an amazing birthday weekend. I would do a little less work in summer session 2–reading more for pleasure, trying new recipes, getting some of the sillier stuff off the to-do list (eye doctor, finally printing out pictures, etc).

So now I have a trip to Ashland scheduled. This week, I’ve made four new recipes already. I’ve dusted most of the house for the first time since my Spring surgery. Went for a short walk and read a short section of a book this morning.

And my birthday was awesome. The winery I belong to, Kenwood, threw a paella party on my special day. The paella was amazing, the pours were generous, and the band serenaded me. And then I got to see friends who live near there.

Alex and I have been surviving together now for 20 years. And sometimes there are problems, but they’re fixable (except the ones that aren’t). And sometimes there’s wine and paella and music and friends.