One Man's Trash...

I've become a lot more budget conscious since becoming unemployed, not to mention I'm on a new "less is more" kick when it comes to everything to do with our house and what we buy. As my favorite comedian of all time, George Carlin, once said, "a house is just your pile of stuff with a cover on it." He also goes on to say the only reason people move is because they just have "too much stuff - they need a bigger place to store it all." (Okay, some people move because of job transfers, or having another child, or to escape a crime-ridden neighborhood, but in general the "too much stuff" theory works for me, for now.)

Carlin also did a bit once about garage sales that I can't for the life of me find online. His point was that garage sales are basically one person saying, "I do not need all this crap. But I bet if I put it out in front of my house with a price tag on it, someone will pay me for it and take it home with them." Garage sales are just a pile of other people's stuff they don't want anymore.

This past Saturday, I drove by at least eight garage sales. Slowly. Curious to see if they were selling jogger strollers or high quality toys for bargain prices. But something kept me from parking and going into look. One problem was that I only had $4 in cash in my wallet at the time. The other was that I was afraid of getting sucked into all the deals to be had and would walk out with another vase (50 cents!) or a stack of CDs (I love hits of the 80s!) much like the ones I just cleaned out of our den closet. So I kept going, probably missing out on a fabulous deal on someone else's unnecessary crap but perhaps on some fantastic, gently used baby item that would actually be put to good use at our house in the coming year. Maybe I can be talked into becoming the garage sale type. Until then, I'll always hear George Carlin in the back of my mind, telling me I've already got too much stuff.

Child Stars

So Michael Jackson died yesterday. I haven't yet read the paper, but the television and online media are celebrating his music, dissecting his life. Celebrities are commenting (some, like John Mayer, suspiciously - what does John Mayer know?). As a "child of the 80s," I remember when my sister got the Thriller album in the mail from Columbia House (probably one of eight that she bought for JUST A PENNY!). We listened to it again and again. We even dusted off Off the Wall and still found we liked that album, too. I begged my mom to buy me his poster at the drugstore (she wouldn't). I even remember where I was when I heard he'd caught on fire filming that Pepsi commercial. In high school, the Jackson 5's Greatest Hits CD was among the first I bought (again, thank you, Columbia House). In other words, I liked his music.

But then he brought Webster to the Grammys. Adopted a chimp and named it Bubbles. Built Neverland Ranch and befriended Macaulay Culkin. And started his physical transformation. Got a more obvious nose job. Straightened his hair. Recorded Bad. Suddenly I was more entertained by Weird Al Yankovick's parodies of his songs that I was by him. (Okay, I do have a weak spot for "The Way You Make Me Feel.") I stopped listening to Top 40 radio and became more interested in artists' the generation before me liked (Paul Simon, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix). Then grunge music went mainstream and I never looked back on pop music. I lost track of Michael Jackson, except for the occasional news story about him marrying Lisa Marie Presley, or dangling his baby over a balcony in Berlin. Every piece of news I heard about him made me wonder what happened? How did he go from being so cool to being so weird? Why do some celebrities - especially child stars - survive fame and others succumb to it?

He is often quoted as saying he didn't have a childhood. Well, did Jodie Foster, who had her first national ad campaign for Coppertone at age 2, have a childhood? Brooke Shields seems to have turned out alright despite her stage mom managing her career. Justin Timberlake survived Lou Pearlman's creepy ways and, so far, he seems to have come out ahead. Leonardo DiCaprio is not only alright, he's one of the better actors out there today.

But for every Jodie Foster, there's a Lindsay Lohan, or a Tatum O'Neil, or, of course, a Britney Spears. There are Gary Colemans and Dana Platos and the kid who played Bud on "Married With Children." Let's not forget Judy Garland, whose own mother started her on diet pills and Valium when she was, what, 13?

So are the parents to blame? Are some children just stronger than others? Or more chemically balanced? Is it the type of education they get? Notice how many child actresses - Reese Witherspoon, Shields, Foster, Natalie Portman - went to top tier universities. Are they just naturally driven as people and as performers, and some child stars are just driven in the wrong direction? Joe Jackson, it has been said, would have done anything to get his family out of their crappy 2-bedroom home in Gary, Ind. Are the parents of the ones who turned out okay the same parents who weren't so desperate for the money and fame themselves? It seems for every example there's one to counter it. And some stage mom in Texas putting lipstick on her five year old and telling her to suck in her stomach.

Anyway, I bet Mark Sanford is the most grateful politician since Gary Condit to have this trifecta of celebrity deaths overshadow his affair.

If Diet Coke Were Allowed

This would be me today (minus the pedophile glasses):

What irritates me

Things that irritate me lately:

People spitting in public (intentionally, that is).
When the driver in front of me enters the expressway at 45 mph when traffic is moving at 65 or faster. Please press the pedal on the right or we will both die!
Shia LeBeouf's name.
Shia LeBeouf.
Paris Hilton's fame.
Simon Cowell's wardrobe of v-neck T-shirts.
Simon Cowell's hair.
Oh, alright. Simon Cowell.
Romantic comedies.
Chick lit.
The phrase chick lit.
People who feel the need to talk about how much they waste - in time, money, energy - as if it's amusing or impressive. I don't want to know you overpaid for that dress. It doesn't make you cool in my mind, it makes you dumb.
People talking on their cell phones in small public spaces - the el, the Metra, a bathroom stall (that is just gross).
The adorable bunny who is less and less adorable because he keeps eating the flowers I just planted.
People who abuse the system.

Swimmin' with the Oldies

I've managed to keep up my swimming routine these past few weeks and think I've finally figured out the best days to go in order to have the pool to myself. I will now avoid Mondays, as it seems to be a popular day for the senior set. For the first half of my laps, I had a lane to myself. Then suddenly it was like a scene from "Cocoon." Three women in their 70s were in the lane next to me. As I turned around at the end of the lane, wondering if I could learn a flip turn in time to put it into practice before my belly gets in the way, I saw an octogenarian at the other end, waving to me. He wanted to share my lane. I looked over toward the sauna and spied two other men in their early 80s.

I finished my lap, and stopped next to the elderly man in my lane. He said, "Do you mind sharing your lane?" I said, "No, not at all. I can just stay on this half, if that's alright." (Alternatively, if we swam at the same pace, we could swim in a circle formation, sort of following each other.) He said, "Oh, that would be fine. I just hop on one foot."

Huh?

I said, "Oh, okay, well, I'll just try to stay on this side," still not sure what he planned to do. Was he going to just hop in one spot? I started on another lap and on my way back discovered that he indeed hops on one foot all the way down the lane. Unfortunately, he was facing sideways rather than straight down the length of the pool. Equally unfortunate is the fact that I am not so skilled a swimmer that I can breath out of both sides. I put my head down, exhale, and when I come up for air I always come up on my left side. This, of course, meant I had to look right at him, hopping, when I swam past him. Every time.

After the first lap, I noticed he was waving over a white-haired lady friend of his, presumably to join him in our lane for some hopping.

Mercifully, before she could get in the pool, the young guy in the far lane finished when I had about three laps to go, so I let my lane friend know he had the lane to himself and ducked under the ropes.

Today, I had nearly the whole pool to myself. I actually felt bad for the teenage lifeguard because he had no one to monitor but me and my slow-and-steady crawl. I'm grateful that he's there, and I know he's being paid, but the lifeguards that work the indoor lap pool must have drawn the short straw.

On a separate note, I wondered while I was swimming what it feels like for the baby. Is it like being in the swimming pool on a cruise ship?

Baby Boy Healy

We had our 20 week ultrasound this past week and learned we are having a boy! I really thought it was a girl, only because I know so many pregnant friends and family members who are expecting boys already. We truly didn't care either way, we are just elated to be pregnant and with a healthy baby, but it's fun to know now that we do. We're starting to toss around names and can officially refer to the baby as "he" without catching ourselves.

The ultrasound was entertaining. Our tech was an Asian woman named Bridget - and by Asian I mean from an Asian country, not Asian American. I think she was Chinese but I didn't want to generalize. She was not only the first Asian woman I've ever met named Bridget, she was also very perky. When she started the ultrasound she got the baby on screen and said, "Okay, now baby is positioned with the head down." Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out this visual aid, minus the hat:

She held it so the doll's feet were facing me, and its hair was askew, so at first I thought it was a troll doll. That would have creeped me out. But then I realized it was Strawberry Shortcake, a doll I played with quite often as a kid. (In fact, my mom saved this little 3" tall, scented figure and my nieces now play with her when they visit Grandma. Oddly enough, she still smells.) Bridget explained that the baby was facing down at the moment and that it was about that size - I should have asked if the head was as disproportionately large as this doll's, but I was afraid she might say yes.

After several minutes of measurements and showing us all the baby's organs, spine and limbs, she did some prodding and encouraging words of "come on, baby," he finally moved his legs down and we saw his business. It's a boy!

Street Fest Parents

Brian and I worked as volunteer bartenders this past Saturday at a German heritage festival in our old neighborhood. Now that we're expecting our own child, I find myself noticing couples with babies out in public. And then I find myself judging them.

First I saw what was maybe a two month old, out in the sun with no hat on, his bald head and crinkled face exposed and squinting. I wanted to take him from his mom's shoulder and run under the festival tent to the safety of shade.

Then I saw what looked like a caravan of babies in strollers, travel systems and car seats (one infant had been set on the sidewalk in hers), their parents socializing and drinking their steins of imported beer, occasionally rocking them or looking down to make sure their baby wasn't the one that was crying (it was hard to tell over the live music coming from the stage 30 feet away). They were situated, strategically or not, directly behind the porta potties. I suppose it would be more disgusting if they were in front of them, right?

As they day went on, and the nearby Cubs game ended, the festival got more crowded. But the parents and their babies all stayed, continuing to drink in the sun. I assume they went home after 7, the time of my last trip to the bathrooms.

I hope we can be one of those families who isn't tethered to their house just because there's some extra equipment and a small person to bring along. I hope we still get out and enjoy the city. But, I don't know, is a festival whose main attraction is Hofbrau served by the liter really the place for a newborn?

Halfway There Already?

I'm officially 20 weeks pregnant today. Is that really halfway? I feel like my October due date is still so far away.

Halfway sounds like a lot, but in any race I've ever run, the halfway point, while nice to see, only meant that there was more work ahead. When I hit the halfway point in a half marathon I did last year, I thought, "Jesus, I have to run another 10k?!? And then some?!?"

The difference here, though, is that every week I feel less sick. I look more pregnant. I feel the baby moving more. I don't have a spare tire, I have an official bump. This week, we find out if we're having a boy or a girl, so we can look more seriously at names, nursery decor, and baby gear. We can stop accidentally referring to the baby as "it."

Unlike a run, I think the second half of this experience will be more fun than the first.