an open letter, in guilt and near-resignation

Dearest Hawksley,

Please forgive the presumption of addressing you on a first name basis, but the whole pseudonym thing seems to make the familiarity a little less invasive.

I have this pathological unfortunate tendency to admit to my failings and I find myself needing to do so again. And it involves you. And, really, it's better to just come out and say it:

Unlike the majority voting for their favourite song on your new album, some lapse - some gross error, neglect or karmic backlash - has left me unable to fully appreciate piano blink.

I have tried to come to terms with piano blink since Between the Beautifuls arrived at my door and even waited to see the video before writing this. And the video kicks ass. And the song itself is catchy and insidious infectious memorable. But something in it causes a disconcerting reflex reaction. And, while I have theories that don't bear expansion here, I have truly yet to put a firm finger on the It that is the issue.

Perhaps I haven't been able to give it enough of a chance in my near music-less 9-5 and surrounding hours of toddler requests for itsty-bitsy spider. Perhaps I just want so badly to skip forward to pomegranate daffodil or back to oh you delicate heart that it has been lost in the shuffle. Perhaps I have no excuse other than that I am getting crotchety and narrow minded in my old age. Perhaps the more I find myself humming it [did I mention insidious catchy?] the more it will grow on me. Perhaps when seen live, it will get past the unfortunate association filters that warp it and I will finally have a piano blink epiphany.

That is, of course, if you're allowing dissenters into the shows. Maybe those who have had their tickets prominently displayed in the kitchen weeks in advance?

Gods and security guards willing, I'll be there. I just may not be singing along quite as emphatically to one song...

Humbly requesting forgiveness in advance,

Sunday Edition

An open letter to YouTube:



Relevant links:

• The League of Maternal Justice
  

one small step for patient safety, one big, hovering step that has the potential to quash a lot of unsuspecting people for Big Brother

Dear Microsoft,

It seems that you have taken the plunge off the deep end first and are offering a free site where people can store their medical information. Lots of it. And allow others, should they so choose, to access it.

Now, I can completely see the potentially altruistic merit in this, particularly for someone with multiple doctors, a lot of ongoing testing or for someone who may travel a lot: easy, near instant access [assuming the relevant people have been granted access] to medical history, recent results and prescriptions. Doctors and medical staff could get important information and save time and, perhaps, lives.

Could.

Privacy issues on the part of the patient aside [and I do not toss this aside lightly - this is a huge issue], have you asked if medical professionals are really going to want to use this? Who has entered the data and where is it coming from? Who has verified it? Are reference ranges and interpretations included with the laboratory test results? No hospital would think of accepting my blood donor card as proof of my blood type: I fail to see the difference in an online, personal website that states my last thyroid function test was acceptable. Oh and, at least the donor card is issued by a blood collection and testing facility! Simply, you do not seem to have created some sort of universal hospital information system. Now that would be useful for patients. And doctors. I'm not quite sure who this new site is useful for, at the moment, other than someone who has a lot of medical information that they want to keep track of themselves. Which they could do in an Excel or a fancy-schamcy Access file. It's okay - you'd still get royalties or whatever from that.

And, let's get back to those privacy issues. I put out a lot of info - blogs, facebook, email, flickr - and I have no doubt that, by some standards, it's too much. And part of me feels that I have nothing to hide. But I did consciously decide not to become part of the ancestral genome project, despite the proverbial burning curiosity to do so. I have watched too many X-Files episodes and the conspiracy theories set of too many little warning buzzers to allow me to send out my DNA. No, my cholesterol result can create a clone, but it does tell you something about me, dear Microsoft. And not everyone who gets to see it necessary needs to know about it. You can't tell me that no one else - no one who works for HealthVault? - would see it.

Now, before you call me on it, you're right: I may very well blog about my recent pap test or my daughter's urinalysis [there's a first for everything]. But I see no need to have the test results uploaded to a public website - no matter how secure [ish] you may claim it to be - on the off chance that another health care professional may want to have a look at it on their Blackberry some day. And if they did? I'd find one who would rather access the information from the validated hospital or laboratory information system in an accredited facility.

I'm just saying. You jumped first. I hope there's a pool of patients and medical staff out there waiting for you...

those in glass houses...

Dear Man of Retirement Years,

While it is apparently true that skinny jeans were brought back by some evil-doer, I do not believe that they are suggested to be paired with a checked button-front shirt and barrel chest.

Stacy and Clinton, correct me if I'm wrong,
Jenn

my sister is an esthetician and I have no idea how she deals with people's feet all day long

Dear Mr.Q,

I will begin with the positives: it is much appreciated - let me repeat: much - when you decide to take the time to care for you feet. Your feet appreciate it. Your socks appreciate it. I appreciate it.

There is, however, one more little thing that would also be greatly appreciated, in addition to the trimming of toenails. Please, should you find it necessary to care for your feet outside of the bathroom, make sure I don't know about it. Don't tell me of the event, as you sit in the living room, tending to toes. And, please return the clippers to their rightful drawer so that I don't find them on a dining room chair. It's icky. I know our bathroom isn't terribly large; it certainly can't accommodate a cozy chair or television set. But it does have good lighting and seating that is comfortable enough for the duration of a chapter or single game of kakuro.

I will not tell you this in person, because it may cause you give up on foot care all together and we really can't have that. But if you catch me staring at you, it is not only about you're recently shaped pinkie toe. It's more about trying to send subliminal messages to your brain about keeping your pedicures behind closed bathroom doors.

Much love,
Jenn

I never promised to not post about breasts

Dear boobs,

What the hell are you doing? Last week, you settled into our new routine of three feedings per day within three days. I was, admittedly, surprised, but pleasantly so. And, really, why not? It wasn't a terribly big stretch and there was a great deal of consistency. I wasn't able to snack all throughout the day and your compliance just made sense.

This weekend, we even managed to keep to the routine. I didn't ask any more of you that I had the previous days and all was well. So what happened last night? Why did I wake this morning, soaked and sore? Why, this afternoon, did I need to once again stuff my bra?

The Magpie, for all appearances, seems to be content while we are not near; you can't be receiving hunger vibes from across the city. There are certainly no babies in the building who could be affecting you so. So what gives?

Maybe today was just a one-off. A reminder not to neglect you, that you are there. Okay. Hi. I do acknowledge and greatly appreciate all you have done over this past year. But don't over work yourselves. I need you well and happy for a little while longer, so don't burn yourselves out, all right?

I'll make sure to stay sleeping on my back tonight, though, just in case.

Love and support,
Jenn

why I am glad to now be in a hotel

or: why I now have new found respect for Kristen

Dear hosts with whom we recently stayed because you are related to my husband,

1. your bathroom sucks and has more germ-loving cracks and crevices than a low-rider jean photo shoot in the middle of a plumbers' convention.
2. there was already company staying at your house so that, with us, there were a grand total of 5 adults sharing this one [tiny] bathroom.
3. no one told me about this additional company until about six hours after we arrived.
4. your guest bed really sucks.
5. now that we have gone onto the next leg of our journey, it is significantly less likely that anyone will come pounding into the bedroom that our daughter is sleeping in to see if she is awake so that she can be brought down and paraded around to the guests who arrived to your open house.
6. your open house was from 5pm to 10pm. you told us it was from 5pm to 8pm.
7. you see no problem using the leaf blower directly underneath the bedroom the Magpie is napping in. nor yelling at the person using the leaf blower loud enough to be heard over it during the same nap time.
8. your computer is really slow and does not have wireless access
9. have I mentioned that your bathroom is tiny and it sucks?
10. Mint Green does not go with Harvest Gold.

Thanks for the visit, but it is not until tonight that I shall sleep well,
Jenn

an open letter to salesmen and solicitors

Dear people trying to sell newspaper subscriptions, cable tv upgrades and competitor's alarm systems,

If you come stomping up my front steps in full view of my window and ring the doorbell, the sound of your elephantine arrival and chime-y announcement will make my dog bark.

If my dog barks, the sharp sound of his voice - which is laying out, in no uncertain terms, your fastest route to hell - will wake my daughter from her peaceful slumber.

And, at that point, there is next to nothing you can say that will convince me to buy into your sales pitch.

Just letting you know so you don't waste your time. Or wake up my daughter and piss off my dog. And me.

Thanks so much,
Jenn

p.s. please forward this information along to politicians and anyone selling chocolate almonds.

an open letter to a force of nature

Dear Moon,

I would like to call a truce, 'kay?

I love you dearly - I spend time contemplating you when you make an appearance through our cloudy skies and pay some attention to your shifting phases. I am aware, through my pagan sister-in-law's blog, of your big events and give more than a passing thought to your effects on the world and your history.

So, I have to ask: why are you messing with me?

When I was younger [oh so much younger], we never had this strong of a relationship. My body worked on a strict 30 day routine, regardless of your whims. After the introduction of The Pill, well, our interactions were definitely only social at that point. And when I was trying to get pregnant? I apologize for ignoring you, but changes in your cycles weren't really the ones I was interested in at the time.

Perhaps that is what has upset you so. And now that I am not pregnant and not on The Pill, you have wrangled some sort of arrangement with my Mirena - that blessed IUD that can keep [most] feminine issues at bay. That must be the case. Because for the last few months, I have only been in search of feminine products for that brief moment on the night of a full moon - and, don't you worry, I have been noticing. I was starting to come to terms with our new arrangement and acknowledge your sway in such matters. But then there was this week. Right after the new moon and on the vernal equinox. Who knows what kind of bizarre gravitational fluxes we going on that night but you, dear moon, must have been having a field day.

So can we call a truce, please? Is it too late to mend whatever rift has caused this ill will? I do adore you so, moon, but I am beginning to wonder if our relationship is too one-sided. I do not wish to watch my calendar only to keep track of my bathroom supplies. It dispels any and all romantic notions that may be connected to you. And I don't really want that.

I'll keep a night open in roughly 10 days time - clouds willing, we can have a face-to-face meeting to work through this.

questionable allegiances - an open letter

Prince, oh, Prince. We're worried.

We love you. Really, we do - despite your creepily eerily intriguingly porcelain skin and heels higher than anything I can wear. You're a genius, not one for the excessive, whoring use of the spotlight and brilliant at emanating without oozing.

Which brings up the question: why, oh, why did you feel it necessary, or even reasonable, to appear on American Idol last night?? Were all proceeds from you appearance donated to a worthwhile charity that Ryan forgot to mention? Does Simon [either Cowell or Fuller] own your soul?

I was not even going to watch the first hour and 55 minutes of the two hour finale - until I read on another blog from an earlier timezone that you were on the show: on and performing. And, this, after Mr.Q and I were in Starbucks last weekend, in the presence of your new album, discussing your longevity, talent and how you would be the last person to appear as a guest on the Idol "I have a new album and love these kids" train. Oh, how we laughed at the thought...

I confess that we are now rather befuddled and concerned. Do you need to talk? We're here for you, if you do. We're sure there were good reasons; there must have been good reasons.

Please tell us there were good reasons.