Therapeutic language

I love the corny slogans of Feldenkrais: Retrain your brain. Less is more. And my latest favorite, Motion is lotion. What's so nice and neat about them is that they are tiny catchphrases that are an eloquent, calligraphic shorthand for an encompassing philosophy of treatment—and life!

Boomers are a bummer

Reading and watching the news, I am disappointed that my generation, which once aspired to set new standards of generosity and altruism, has set instead new records of greed and selfishness. And it's not just a corporate thing. It's a personal thing as well. Instead of observing, admiring and emulating, people covet what isn't theirs and take it—whether it be glamorous garments or other people's husbands and wives. What the fuck happened to us?

Granular unpacketed

Every so often, a relatively dormant word suddenly erupts. There was "transgressive" a few years ago, and "bloviate." And now I'm seeing "granular"—a lot.

A few examples: Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg apologized for the site's privacy issues by saying "Our intention was to give you lots of granular controls." Ariel Kaminer, commenting on the plethora of cell-phone cameras in Times Square, noted, "That’s surveillance far more intensive, and more granular, than anything Walgreens or Bank of America will ever manage." And today Journalism.co.uk reported, "For those of you that have been in hiding and didn’t know, Apple’s iPad launched in the UK today with granular reports from the media on who was the first to buy the device to who was the first to emerge from Apple's London store holding one (hopefully we’ll soon have details of who’s been the first person to leave theirs on the London Underground or to ask for a refund)."

I don't think they're talking about sugar.

Fasting for truth

Recently I viewed PBS's biodoc The Buddha, and I was struck by the role of anorexia in the spiritual quest. For six years during his search, the Buddha led a life of extreme asceticism, renouncing almost all food, and when he began to eat again, his former fellow ascetics blasted him for giving in to worldly desires (I'm just paraphrasing here). And I wonder if there isn't a bit of pathology in the spiritual quest and a bit of spirituality in the anorexic pathology. Just wondering.

Does this hair make my ass look too big?

For anyone who doesn't understand the importance of hair, Sue Sylvester (of Glee fame) puts it well: "I have a little head, thin hair, and a fat ass. When the hair doesn't have enough volume, the proportions just go off." It's the whole hour-glass concept.

Proctology joke!

Someone gave me a Pain Quotidien gift card a while back, so I broke it out on Tuesday—and ate a PQ Cobb salad every day this week (with a fork made out of cornstarch—how cool is that!). It's not that the Daily Pain's Cobb salad is anything to die for. Rather, it's a form of comfort-food addiction: Once something tastes O.K., why take a chance on anything else that might not taste as good? Good thing I've used up the card. Otherwise I'd be eating the same thing for the rest of my life.

On another note entirely (and perhaps not appropriate in the same post as food, but irresistible): a proctology joke. I'm sure there are a lot of proctology jokes out there, but this one was uttered by an actual proctologist. The doctor who's scheduling me for an early colonoscopy said he's just being "anal compulsive."

Voicemail from the grave

The day before Other’s sister died, she left a message on our answering machine. Other listened to it and erased it. After her death, he remembered the voicemail and wanted to listen to it again, just to hear her voice. But it was gone. Ever since then, I’ve felt reluctant to erase the chip after I’ve listened to my messages. It could be the last time.

For a long time after my father-in-law died, my mother-in-law kept his greeting on her answering machine. Partly it was to ward off any would-be predators with the suggestion of a male presence. Partly it was to hang on to his voice, to hang on to him.

On our answering machine, it is Other’s voice on the greeting, although he invites callers to leave a message for me, our daughter C and our son J. My mother, who has had a stroke, always gets confused by hearing Other’s voice when she’s calling me. She says, “Oh, Other, I must have the wrong number” or “Oh, Other, could you tell Mia I called?” or “Oh, Other, how nice to hear your voice. I’ll hang up and call Mia.”

It’s funny, her confusion, because my mother was one of the early adopters of the answering machine. Back then, it was I who was confused. I’d call home in an emergency and hear her voice and start to talk to her and get enraged when I realized it was only a recording. Just another of her mean tricks, I thought.

My parents are almost always home these days, but on the rare occasions when I call and get the answering machine, it is my older brother’s voice on the greeting. He must have set up the answering machine for them and completed the task by recording the greeting. Still, it always catches me off guard. What’s he doing there? I wonder.