Entertainment Ethics

I listen to a lot of podcasts. I listen when I work out, when I walk my endless loops around the neighborhood, when I'm cleaning, and when I'm in the car. Pretty much if you are trying to picture me at any given moment, just imagine me with earbuds in.  I listen to interview shows, comedy shows, and NPR shows. I listen to true crime, politics, and economics. I listen to anything, really. I could probably be convinced to listen to a sports podcast if it were well done.

But recently I've run into a problem.

I concerned about the ethical implications of my entertainment. I listened to S-Town and was slightly horrified. Yes, it was really well done. Yes, it was a compelling story and I listened all the way to the end by the day after the series dropped. But at the end I felt dirty and sticky. SPOILERS AHEAD. This was clearly a story of a man who was mentally ill. The manic episodes were clearly demonstrated early on in the show. Can a mentally ill man give permission to a reporter* to use interviews with him?  Was it fair of the podcast to out a dead man as gay?  To not talk about the mental illness until the last episode? To take advantage of the man's grieving friends?  To record at the man's graveside service?

It was a well told story. It really was. But I don't think it should have been made and I don't think I should know any of this.  I'm starting to feel like my entertainment is being made at the expense of others and I don't like it.

And that brings us to Missing Richard Simmons. I have not listened to the podcast because I firmly believe the man should be left to his privacy. There have been wellness checks on him, he's in weekly contact with his family, and he just wants to be left alone. I'd be pissed if some asshole guy with a microphone tried to get into my inner circle to dredge up dirt on me and I'm not currently opting out of society. 

I struggle with entertainment. Should the accusations of sexual harassment stop me from watching Manchester by the Sea? Should I refrain from listening to music of those who have been found guilty of domestic violence (i.e., Tommy Lee, Ozzy Osbourne).  Should I dismiss Edward Scissorhands from my mind because Johnny Depp is losing his damn mind?  I have a hard time separating art from artists and frequently do just stop supporting artists to ease my own personal guilt.

But who am I punishing by not listening to Missing Richard Simmons? My silent protest means nothing. But I guess I will switch to audiobooks if the exploitative nature of podcasts continues to be problematic in my world.

*This brings up a whole new set of problems for me. Are podcast hosts reporters? Should I hold them up to the same journalistic standards I would hold up a reporter for a major news network?

2017 Yearly Goals, Quarter 1

The following is an honest update on my 2017 goals. Most are going well and some are not. Let's recap.

Area One: Fitness Goals
1) Workout four times a week - I did this 100% of the time. Once I even worked out five times in one week. Good job me. Maybe someday working out will just be a habit and I won't have to track it, but I like that I have tangible proof in the manner of a checkmark on my spreadsheet. 

 2) Walk 11,500 steps a day - I missed this only two days of the quarter, so I'm going to call it a success. One day I was pretty close (I made it to over 10,000), but one of those days I was not close at all.  My average step count for the first quarter was almost 13,000 steps a day, so this is a solid good job.

3) Weigh myself weekly - I'm not so great at this. I missed 4 out of the 12 weeks, so 67% success rate. On the bright side, my weight has stayed within a 3 pound range the whole time, so I'm not super worried. I will try to to do better on this goal next quarter.

Overall, I'd say the fitness goals are going great. This is definitely the highlight of the goal areas.

Area Two: Communication Goals
1) Update my blog twice a week - Ha ha ha ha ha!  I started so well.  I've posted 20 times since the start of the year, which is an average of 1.67 posts a week. I will keep working on this, but I must admit that updating my blog is less of a priority for me than I like to admit to myself.  It needs to get prioritized higher.

 2) Make contact with four people (MDTT) at least once a week - This one really does need to be a priority. One of these people has a 100% weekly correspondence with me, I missed two weeks with one of them, and I missed three weeks with two of them. This is an 83.3% success rate, which is an okay start, but I'd really like it to be 100%.

 3) See my mom four times in the year -  I saw her in January, so my one time a quarter was met.

 4) Send a letter or postcard to my grandmother and two of my elderly aunts at least once a month - I met this goal with 100% success. I sent them some photos from the visit with my mom and sister in January and sent them Valentine's Day cards in February and St. Patrick's Day cards in March.

5) Post a photo to Instagram at least once a day - 100%.

Some popular first quarter photos.

These communication goals are going okay, but I definitely can do better, particularly with the first two goals.

Area Three: The Rest of My Life
1) Vacuum twice a week -  Ahem. I vacuumed 15 times. That's 1.25 times a week. That is not okay. I think I'm going to do a Monday/Friday schedule and that will force me to do it. It's getting warmer now and Zelda's going to start shedding like crazy, so I definitely need to do better and stay on top of the fur.

2) Brush Zelda's teeth when I feed her at night - I skipped 13 nights when I fed her which works out to 83.5% success rate. This is definitely better than the once a month I had going before, but I fear it might be too little too late. Her teeth have quite a bit of tartar on them and I'm a bit nervous every time we go to the vet to hear that we're going to have to have them cleaned or worse.  I'll keep at it, though. She likes the toothpaste a lot.

3) Get my sewing machine out at least once a month -100%. I did a couple of presents, worked on a dress, hemmed some pants, and reinforced some seams on our duvet. 

I guess I have some work to do, but overall it's not too bad and I have a good system for tracking everything. Let's call quarter one a win and move on to an even bigger win in quarter two.

Heaven in this Hell

I was so very nervous the first time I met her. I was the first girl her youngest son had ever brought home. It was the weekend of her oldest daughter's wedding.  There were bridesmaids in and out of the house, several freakouts about popped seams and the wrong foundation shade. Out-of-town family members were randomly stopping by, dropping off presents, and staying for "just a chat."  What was I doing going there?

But as soon as the truck door slammed, she rushed out of the garage.  She hugged her son first, of course, but then she ordered him to take our bags upstairs as she enveloped me in a hug as big as the blue Iowa sky. She thanked me for coming and chattered at me nonstop as we walked into the house where she fed me homemade chili, all the while ignoring everyone and everything else. My mother is great, of course, but she is the mother that every little girl dreams of having. A mother who listens, a mother who stocks the house with your favorites even when you live another state away (just in case you stop by!), a mother who is quick with hugs and words of praise, and a mother who is a caretaker first and foremost.

A week ago I sat around a room with her children and her husband as the palliative care doctor told her that she most likely has weeks to live. I also heard her ask the doctor repeatedly if he needed anything to eat or drink, a welcoming hostess to the very end.

One of the things Dr. BB told me about his mom on the way to meet her for the first time was that she loves her yard and especially the bird feeders she has hanging outside the kitchen window.   We've spent hours watching birds with her. And last week, when it became clear that she was probably never going to go downstairs again, Dr. BB went to the store and bought a pole that he could attach to the deck outside her bedroom window. We put a bird feeder on it and watched as goldfinches and purple finches flew around it, feeding and flitting.  When everyone else went down to eat lunch, I laid on the bed next to her and listened as she told stories about her father building wren houses and he had a drill bit just the right size for the wrens to get in, but to keep the big birds out.  She told me how tired she was and I told it was okay for her to sleep. 

And it is. 

63 and counting

Today would have been my father's 63rd birthday. I would have sent him a card, called him with my fingers crossed that it would go to voicemail, and felt badly about being a bad daughter. But instead I silently stewed at my desk as I considered calling my mother or my sister, but realizing that I just didn't want to talk to them. I just wanted to remember.

I want to remember how he taught me to tie my shoelaces. I want to remember how he would print off chain emails for me to read. I want to remember that time he nearly hit a bear in Yellowstone Park and the Pepsi in his lap went flying so that there was sticky residue in mysterious places in that minivan for the remainder of its lifespan. I want to remember how he would finish an Asimov novel and then rate it for me (his ratings were never the same as mine).

So I will remember those things and take solace in the fact that those memories are still here.

Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir by Lauren Slater

I read Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir by Lauren Slater because TJC told me to after I should in my discussion about what Devil in the White City was nonsense.

And, frankly, I thought this book was nonsense, too. Why was it shelved in non-fiction when the narrator starts by telling us she's a total unreliable narrator? In 2017, a time when we use the term "alternative facts" like that's a fucking thing, this entire thing made me want to scream.

Let me back up. Slater writes this "memoir" about her experiences as a person who may or may not have epilepsy or other health conditions, but certainly has a problem with truth telling. She uses the frame that many patients with epilepsy are compulsive liars (which explains so much of my childhood, my friends) to get you to walk with her through a chronology of her life in which she shares many tales and embellishments and you, as the reader, are supposed to glean from this something. I don't know what. In the end, it turns out she may or may not have epilepsy, but for sure she lies.

Look, I get it. I get creative non-fiction and that there are stories that blur lines. But then shelve it under fiction.  Yes, there are times when you can experience the same event at the same time as someone else and have a different rendering of that event. Yes, we went to that Garth Brooks concert and you thought the "Shameless" performance was better than the "That Summer" performance and I disagree. That's fine. Your opinion can be different from mine. But Brooks played both those songs. That's a FACT that can't be changed.  And shit like this just keeps blurring the line between fact and opinion and I am just not on board with that in the political climate of 2017.

Did she have a seizure? Did she get diagnosed as an epileptic? Those are facts I'd like to know.

How did she feel when she had a seizure? How did she interpret her parents' reactions to the seizures and how their treatment of her changed? Those are thoughts and emotions that have no right or wrong answer. And I get that memoirs can include both fact and emotions/reactions, but this was not a memoir. It was a story based on the novelist's life without actually being the novelist's life.

And the writing was clumsy and awkward and full of someone winkingly breaking the rules of grammar to be cute and it just wasn't cute at all.

But.

I finished this book weeks ago and I keep thinking about it. Yes, I get hepped up whenever I think about it, but isn't the point of literature to rouse you? 

Commonwealth by Ann Patchett

Our book club book this month was Commonwealth by Ann Patchett.  I've attempted to read Patchett before (apparently there was an aborted attempt to finish State of Wonder), but there are a couple of Patchett fangirls in my club who really lobbied hard for us to read this one, so I waited and waited and waited and my request finally came in at the library.

I spent a couple of pleasant afternoons reading this book on the couch. The writing was fine, the plot was interesting enough, and the characters were diverse and entertaining.  That said, our last book club book was Moonglow and it was just so brilliant and memorable that this Pathcett book was just not as exciting.  I finished Commonwealth about a week before we were all meeting and I had to brush up on it before I went to see everyone because the details were already lost to me after only a week.  The novel was fine. It was an enjoyable read and we had a great discussion about familial relationships at book club based off of it.  But it won't stick with me and I doubt I'll put any more Patchett on my list of books to read.

It won't hurt to read this book, but with so many great books out there to read, including the entire Chabon catalog, I think you could spend your time better elsewhere.

Exclamation Point!

At some point in my life, I just gave up editing my tendency toward exclamation points in my personal life. In my work emails, I frequently edit them out, reserving one exclamation point per email. I understand that a large number of these punctuation marks can make you look insincere and mocking, but the truth is that I am just that enthusiastic about just about everything, so in my personal life I tend to write notes like this:
Going for a walk! Love! D!
We need cumin!
Happy birthday!  Can't wait to see you this weekend!
Don't forget to take your keys!

So, if you are my husband, you encounter these types of notes on a nearly daily basis.  I don't actually know how he interprets them in his mind, but I imagine he sort of pictures me going manic about cumin or something.

So last week he needed to the CD drive in my laptop (PC for the win!) and I diligently wrote the password on a sticky note for him so he'd be able to access it.

Him: I had to type your password a couple of times because I thought the exclamation point at the end was just you being you.
Me: ...
Him: Eventually I figured it out.

I changed my password the next day.