Punctuation

Look, I suck at grammar. But I know two things:

1. Do not use single quotation marks for anything except for quotes within quotes. Like: "Suzanne is such a bitch," Suzanne's classmate complained. "She said, 'Why the fuck are you in an MFA program and using single quotes for everything?'" Not: 'Suzanne is such a bitch,' Suzanne's classmate complained. Or: I put this in quotes to highlight that it is "ironic." Not: I put this in quotes to highlight that it is 'ironic.'

People at school used these single quotes all the time and it drove me up the wall. Then I doubted myself. Maybe I was the idiot? I looked it up in Strunk & White's book on grammar, and I was correct. Smugness.

2. If you have a list of things, commas go between all the items. This has been the subject of many books. I know that fancy modern writing is OK with sentences like, "I brought my six pack of beer, my handgun, my rifle and my sawed off shotgun to the grammar conference." But that sentence hurts my brain. I learned that it is proper to write, "I brought my six pack of beer, my handgun, my rifle, and my sawed off shotgun to the grammar conference."

Sure, my blog is riddled with typos and I am bad at figuring out when I need a comma to link to sentences. (Is it, "Sure, my blog is riddled with typos and I am bad at figuring out when I need a comma to link to sentences" or "Sure, my blog is riddled with typos, and I am bad at figuring out when I need a comma to link to sentences?" And does that last sentence end with a period or question mark?) Actually, that example brought up another pet peeve, which is punctuation done outside of quote marks. I learned that commas, periods, question marks, etc. belong in the quote mark, not outside of it. (Like, "You stupid fuck," she yelled; not "You stupid fuck", she yelled.)

Grammar is hard. It gives me a tooth ache. OK, sinus pressure also gives me a tooth ache. And so do sentences starting with and, or, but...

It's Here!

The Census form arrived yesterday! I am very excited. Instead of working on my thesis, I am going to fill it out tonight. After all, it says in block letters on the envelope that it is required by law to return the Census. Am I a law breaker?* No I am not!

Besides, it is very important to be counted. Every day when I read the news, I despair at the state of the nation. Texas just re-wrote standards for all textbooks to emphasize the importance of Phyllis Schlafly; drop Thomas Jefferson because he wrote that church and state should be separate; and remind people that women and people of color got the right to vote because white males were kind enough to let them. Seriously. A dentist/"historical expert" on the committee that rammed through this abhorrent crap challenged people to show him where the Constitution calls for a separation of church and state. (He said he'd donate $1,000 to a charity of choice of anyone who can "prove" that this concept exists. Yeah, and he'll sooner believe "evidence" that dinosaurs and Jesus played together as children while unicorns swarm in rivers of chocolate.)

Blah. The point is, I want to be counted because I know damn well that evil people who believe that the US is a Christian nation are going to be counted. I didn't open my Census form last night, but I'm pretty sure that the Census does not ask about religion. I'm bummed about that because even though America is predominantly Christian, it would be nice to know how many people aren't so we can be sure to protect everyone's rights. Husband always says that we should be ready to flee at a moment's notice. I used to think he was insane ("This is America!" I'd tell him), but history has shown that even the stablest democracies can turn, and of course, Jews have been kicked out of pretty much everywhere except North America (not that Peter Stuyvesant didn't try really hard), so we're probably due someday.

Um, yeah. Anyway. This sure turned into a downer, huh? No one is going to hire me to write ads for the Census if I keep this negativity up, so... The Census is here! Rah rah! Don't forget to get represented! YOU matter! Woo!

*Well, if I could steal my political adversaries' Census forms, I totally would. That's the kind of bad ass law breaker I am. Except that I'm not, because that would be wrong. Sigh.

Stike Out for Choice!

Others might make jokes about "striking out a life" (which I find really funny, by the way, because my gallows humor on this topic is so finely honed; another good one might be about alleys), but I am participating in an abortion access bowl-a-thon in April. Seriously.

"But Suzanne," Dear Reader may be thinking, "abortion is legal. How can it not be accessible?"

Yes, that's what I used to think, too. Then I found out that 87% of counties in the US have no abortion providers. This affects approximately 1/3 of American women. The lack of providers increases exponentially for women who need abortions after 16 weeks.* These women are forced to travel long distances, sometimes as many as hundreds of miles, to get the medical services they need.

Add it up: there's the cost of the procedure (not covered by Medicare in 32 states; although those lucky enough to have private health insurance are covered by many policies for now), the cost of transportation, and potentially the cost of a motel if the person has to stay overnight. Since 50% of women who get abortions already have children, there's the cost of child care, too.

While abortion may be legal, it is only really accessible to women who live in certain geographic regions and/or those who have financial resources.* So, I join the abortion access bowl-a-thonin an attempt to keep pins, not women, in (back) alleys. Um, or something like that.

*There are many reasons for why that may happen.
**Just like other health care! How nuts is that?!?!

The Census is Coming! The Census is Coming!

A white envelope waited for me when I checked the mail last night. In huge letters it said, "United States Census 2010." Excitement surged through my veins. Ooooh! The Census! Not only do I love filling out questionnaires (seriously), but I love helping New York get its fair share of resources.

I ran back into the apartment. "We got the Census form!" I told Husband, waving the slim envelope triumphantly in the air.

"Are you sure? It could just be a letter telling us that the Census is coming."

"Oh." Suddenly the tiny envelope made more sense. I ripped it open. It was a letter. In bold letters, it said, "About one week from now, you will receive a 2010 Census form in the mail."

Fine. I got all excited again. "The Census is coming! The Census is coming!"

I sort of hope that my enthusiasm for the Census will not be matched by people who live in states that don't believe in government services or civil liberties. I don't want them getting their fair share of representation if they are going to use it to deprive me of my fair share of rights. I'm just sayin'....

International Women's Day Was Yesterday

Basically, I have no idea what is going on outside of my little sphere of work and thesis writing. I thought today was March 8th, which is International Women's Day, and was all excited to write about it. I understand now that March 8th was actually yesterday. I'm going to say some shit anyway.

I wrote a post for BlogHer about 30 Woman Making History, a campaign by the Woman's Media Center to highlight, yes, 30 women making history while also raising some dough to employ women to write about news and politics. Good idea. I picked five women that I thought were making history (Shada [Shatha] Nasser, Eveline Shen, Sindiwe Magona, Shirley Rodriguez Remeneski, and Alysa Stanton). Links for more info on each awesome woman is in my post at BlogHer if you want to know more, and yes, that's my way of getting people to click over there. Whatever.

Today I read a post over at another awesome woman's blog, Suebob's Red Stapler. She quoted a not awesome woman blogger who said that equality is stupid because it is about fairness and we all know that life isn't fair. "Fuck that!" was essentially Suebob's reaction, echoed by all the excellent people who left comments on it.

One comment in particular stood out: "Vagina's are wasted on some people I swear." This was written by Thordora, who totally made my day.

And now, back to my day.

Another Disturbing Ripple in My Universe

My mother and I are planning a trip to Warsaw in mid-June. We will visit the Jewish cemetery and try to find my great-grandfather's grave. (He died before the war, so he probably is lucky enough to have a burial place unlike my grandfather's sisters and mother.) We will see the few remnants of the wall of the Warsaw ghetto. We will visit the Jewish Historical Institute. We will do a records search. We will pass by the address where my grandfather's family owned a butcher shop and/or lived.

We will also go to Treblinka.

I always assumed that my grandfather's family died in Auschwitz, if they even lived to be deported from the ghetto. But, one of the dangers of Holocaust hagiography is that the fame of Auschwitz dwarfs reality. Deportations began in 1942, and when Warsaw's ghetto was liquidated in the spring of 1943, everyone left was sent to Treblinka, 2 hours outside of Warsaw in an isolated forest. There was no work at Treblinka. People died within an hour of their arrival.

Husband has a friend who lives in Warsaw who is very kindly helping me arrange my trip. He sent me a link to the Treblinka Museum. One of the things that fascinated me when I first learned about the Treblinka site is how noncommercial it is. Auschwitz, to me, is tourist attraction at this point. Tour groups go, people gape at the convent built on site, they exclaim over the signs proclaiming how much the Poles suffered* because it was initially built for Polish political prisoners. Treblinka was completely destroyed by the Nazis, so there's nothing "fun" to see. It is a sober monument to the 800,000 Jews and thousands of Gypsies and Romani murdered there.

Anyway, as I read the museum's website, I was taken aback by this statement:

The memorial should be visited with due seriousness and respect.
Within the area of the museum it is forbidden to bring dogs, smoke or eat ice cream.

Damn, I can't eat ice cream there? Well, I guess I'll have to pack ham and cheese pierogies and chocolate kolacky.

I hope that this was a translation error and in Polish it says, "no eating." Otherwise, WHAT THE FUCK? How weird is the focus on ice cream? Even weirder, it reminds me of a fucked up Hasidic monument I visited in Israel:


I mean, they are not the same thing, but the utter randomness of what is forbidden strikes me as similar. (In case the photo does not appear, it is a sign that says that it is forbidden for women to dance at this site.)

Anyway, it is going to be an intense trip. I believe we will also take a trip to Krakow, as Husband's friend recommended.

*Oh yeah, and some Jews, gypsies, and homosexuals died there, too. But whatever. (This is written in the vein of signage at Auschwitz, so pardon my bitter glibness.)

Bring on the Funny

My thesis, which is about the spoken and unspoken experiences that I inherited from my paternal side, uses humor to explore the horrible things that happened to my grandparents and father during and after World War II. The humor is integral because my grandfather relied on jokes to deflect topics that he didn't want to deal with and as a coping mechanism for his enormous losses. I think that this reliance on humor is something that I inherited from him.

Anyway, today I spent some time reading Jewish humor books. Partly it is for research, partly to procrastinate because I have no ideas at the moment. I thought I'd share one:

Sadie says to her husband, "Moshe, I'm fed up with frozen chicken. Please buy for me a live chicken for a change. Then I can make for us a lovely meal."

So Moshe goes to the market and buys the chicken. On his way back, he sees that Funny Girl is showing at the movies. He calls Sadie on a pay phone. "Sadie," he says, "They're showing Funny Girl at the movies. I think I'll see it before I come home."

"OK," replies Sadie, "but what about the chicken?"

"I'll take it inside with me," Moshe answers.

Moshe stuffs the chicken down his trousers and goes in to see the film. Unfortunately, part way through the movie, the chicken pokes its head out. Two women are sitting next to Moshe and one turns to the other and whispers, "There's a man next to me with his shmeckle hanging out of his pants."

Her friend says, "Why be shocked? If you've seen one, you've seen them all. Just watch the movie."

"But this one's different. It's eating my popcorn."

OK, this joke totally cracked me up because it is so weird and random. I can almost hear my grandfather telling it. (He really liked dirty jokes, just like I do.)

Heads Up!

For a nanosecond, I wanted to scream when I stepped onto the subway on Tuesday morning. In a seat between two disinterested women lay a disembodied head, face down. Its black hair stood up at odd angles, and its brown neck was evenly sawed off from a torso.

I quickly realized that the reason that the women were so nonchalant about this horror was that it was a severed mannequin's head. Further inspection lead me to notice that the mannequin's little bud nose rested on a cosmetology magazine. The head seemed to belong to the woman on its right, who thoughtfully gave it its own seat so that actual humans had to stand.

At 42nd Street, the woman gathered her shopping bags, scooped up the head and magazine, and exited the train. I sat down in the seat formerly occupied by the lifeless head. I love living in New York City.

Heaping Piles of Seething Rage of Steaming Anger

Two years ago, my friend Sara and I were interviewed for documentary on abortion. I even put on make up and shit so that I would not look like a fetus-eating zombie on film, hence making the pro-choice side of what we were assured was a "balanced" look at the abortion debate look bad. Nope. I wanted to represent!

I never heard back from the motherfuckers. Not even, "Thanks Suzanne. It was nice of you to take time out to help us make a shitty documentary that no one will see." So when I discovered that the filmmakers actually did come up with something - and it is a scripted "dramamentary" about abortion in which the pretty blond white girl is treated like shit by nasty nurses in an abortion clinic and thus of course have her baby and all is good and - deep breath; this is an angry run on sentence/rant, sorry - the black girl who is raped and comes to NYC to have her abortion is saved by the nice white woman who hosts her through the Haven Coalition (which I was, at the time I was interviewed, the co-head of), I was mad fucking pissed. These douches could at least have had the courtesy to email me and let me know their shitty "unbiased" film (featuring a really cuddly 22 week old fetus in utero) that I helped them with was coming out. Or at least a "Lifetime"-esque trailer that befits a solid piece of filmmaking such as this was online for my viewing pleasure.

Oh. And I did I mention that this "balanced" film is executive produced by the guy who made that other even-keeled movie, Passion of the Christ, and the awesome Ben Stein movie about how "science" teachers who want to teach that evolution is all a lie are persecuted by baby- and Christ-killing Jews like me? Right. (CORRECTION: "The Passion of the Christ" guy is the one marketing this balanced film, although the exec producer is a right winger, too - "Hollywood's Most Powerful Christian," according to Christianity Today magazine. My bad.)

Of course, some of the documentary footage that these tools shot is in the film. (Hence the "-umentary" part.) The pro-choice people, according to the "LA Times," all get to say things like how fetuses are nothing more than parasites (which, sorta, is true, but unlike digestive parasites which make women thin, fetus ones make them fat - ewwwwww). I'm assuming (hoping and praying) that I didn't make the cut, but since this doesn't appear to be available to pro-choice audiences, I may never know. I think it's unlikely that I'm in it, since I said that people who supposedly are "pro-life" have killed a lot of actual people, and that they really scare me. Seems like something that a "balanced" film would not want to highlight.

The Tipping Point

One of my former bosses told me that she always knows who has had restaurant experience when she goes out with a group of people based on how much they tip. She said that people who've never worked in the food service industry generally give tips of up to 15%, but people who have worked tables give closer to 20%. I am fortunate enough to have been able to go through life thus far without waitressing (I guarantee that I would be awful*), but I tip 20% unless service was utterly abysmal (i.e. - the staff was actually rude to me). My ex-boss said I am an exception.

I find that in NYC, most people are calculate tips in one of two ways: they double the tax (which is 8.75%) or they give 20% of the subtotal. Either way seems right to me. The minimum wage in the restaurant industry in NYS is $4.60. In theory, if staff do not earn enough tips to average them out to $7.15 an hour, the restaurant must cough up the extra dough. But how likely is that? Not very.

I rant about this now because I have gone out with some people a few times who consistently refuse to acknowledge that they have to pay tax and tip. It is so bad that I've actually pulled out a calculator to show how their $15 entree is really over $19 when you add tax ($1.31) and tip ($3), so putting in $20 is fair. Even after this, people have argued with me that they overpaid.

Not everyone is good at math. I understand that. I'm no math genius myself. But when I fucking run through the numbers and explain them, and my co-diner still doesn't want to pay his fair share, I am going to be very angry. Because I'm not going to short restaurant staff because my companion is too fucking cheap to pay what he owes, I get stuck paying for it. And it adds up over time. Eventually I just focus on how the person is going to screw me or someone at the end of the meal, and I don't enjoy myself. It makes me not inclined to dine out with certain individuals any more.

*Maurice, the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain, would never be able to keep up with all the orders and I'd always forget to bring people drinks or who ordered what and all that.