Turn Turn Turn

The Byrds are in my head. Or Ecclesiastes, depending on your bent. My favorite "Season" song is by The Zombies, but that doesn't capture the trudging through, the holding on, the letting go. For obvious reasons, it lacks the Biblical gravitas and comfort.

R&R number two has come and gone, and though it seems to Husband that he's been there forever and seems to me that time has both gone ludicrous speed and crept to a trickle, we are only halfway through this tour. Or maybe: hooray! we are halfway through this tour.

I feel strange claiming "we" are halfway through anything. As I looked around my kitchen this morning, surveying all the dishes that weren't magically done overnight, I sighed, acknowledging in that breath that it's all on me again. It's all on me, in Denver, with the kids, in our house. With restaurants and grocery stores and family and a friend here or there. I can't complain. I even have a personal trainer. Egads, my life is horrible.

But Husband, in his tiny room, with his kids far away...but Husband.

We've done this before, but the raw and inescapable truth is that leaving your one year old for a year is quite difficult, but leaving your two- and five-year-old for a year is a horribly cruel thing to do to yourself or have done to you. We ask this of diplomats, soldiers, Marines, airmen, and sailors. We've asked this of Husband and I note with no small amount of guilt that we have not yet asked this of me. The sad truth--the pitiful truth--is I don't know if I could. It's sad because it's my job, yes, but it's even sadder because Husband's been asked twice. Girl still wants Mommy above all things and...I can't. I can't tear away. Husband can barely do so, and it is only because of his commitment to so many things and above all else to our family that he did.

It was an R&R marred by epic rainfall and a long and lingering stomach virus all around. It was a vacation into the ordinary, with school pickups and swim practice. As he was gathering his things and his wherewithal to return to Afghanistan, Husband admitted that no amount of sunshine, no surfeit of good health, not even a new motorcycle or a million margaritas would have changed what had to happen. He went back, as he must, and he will trudge on.

And we will be here, waiting.

UT: A Progress Report

This is not our first shot an unaccompanied tour. Last time Husband was in Iraq, Boy and I in India. That set-up had its own challenges, not least of which that was after, er, R&R number two, I was pregnant, working full time, parenting a toddler solo and, oh yeah, in India.

This UT is completely different, and more akin to those faced by most Foreign Service families. One spouse is employed in a warzone, the other is managing the rest of life divorced from OpenNet and any other resources that keep you connected to the Department. As an employee, I've watched my bidding season come and go, and unless someone can churn up a FS position at the closest passport agency (which I'd happily take), I'll likely watch the next come and go as well. We have no idea what resources Boy will need in school next year, so we are in no position to say whether we can go overseas again or whether we can both work full-time in Washington. There are a lot of question marks still, a theme of recent times.

So, three months in, with the first R&R halfway over, where are we? I am still on LWOP, Husband is still assigned to Afghanistan. His professional life is in flux, due to the crossroads of drawdown and tragedy, and therefore has some unanticipated stressors. I miss my work and colleagues. I miss seeing adults. I don't miss the panicked rush to find childcare or the always marriage-enhancing game of Who Is More Important  at Work Today? when the kids are suddenly sick. I don't miss the chaos of getting two kids to separate schools for their ten hour days, then taking separate cars to pick them up so we can get both of them in the narrow window between the end of the work day and the end of their school hours. I don't miss taking phone calls from Washington while trying to dress a screaming, exhausted toddler for bedtime. I don't miss the guilt when we explain that no, both of us can't be at a 6:00 a.m. event because someone has to feed our children, dress them, and get them to school.

On the flip side, at home I'm on all the time. No adult comes to rescue me (except for some awesome aunts*). No one takes duty calls. Boy wakes up by 5:30 (before 5:00 for the past week), and because Girl sleeps later and naps, she doesn't go down until 7:30 or even 8:00 some nights. I put in 14 hour days of full-on parenting more often than not, and follow them up with dishes and laundry. The extent of my adult interaction is some local family members (oh thank Jeebus*) and the great people at the gym. Coincidentally, I'm at the gym A LOT. Well, a lot for me. They have a daycare there and I lose weight. Everyone wins.

I've mastered ___________ to the extent it will ever be mastered. [Choices: Grocery shopping with two kids; Cleaning the house with two kids; Mowing the lawn with two kids; All of the above.]

I quickly learned that the only way to slow the inevitable losing of my mind was to insist that the children help with everything they can. Boy helps with laundry. Girl helps unload the dishwasher. Both dust. Boy cleans up his Legos every night. Girl helps put away toys in the playroom. Boy buckles himself into his carseat. They can both feed the pets. Boy lets the dog in and out. These are little things, but they make me feel like it is slightly less all on me.

I fill out paperwork and add Boy to waitlist after waitlist. Socialization groups, behavioral therapy, IEPs. We're waiting.

Denver was the right choice for us, and a blog post is evolving in my mind reviewing Denver for families. That said, this is the first time I've lived in America, but not in DC or New York, so my friends seem so close and far at the same time. Luckily I jet to my college reunion in a few days. Thanks to Husband for holding down the fort. I want to see my people.

Oh, and I pierced my nose. Sorry, Dad! It won't stay in forever, just for LWOP. Promise.

*When we made the decision not to go to Washington, we flirted with the idea of Portland or Austin. Thankfully flirting was all it was, because without the family that's here I would have been up a sad, frustrating creek. And all our stuff would still be in boxes.

Recuperation

Husband is en route for his first trip home.

THANK THE SWEET BABY JEEBUS.

Originally we were aiming for mid-June, three months after he arrived at post, but four after he left Colorado. The Timing Gods smiled on us in some ways, and it worked out that he could come home now. The theory was he could help me finish off the to-do list for the house (some things just go better with two people, like building a swing set and getting the master bedroom even slightly organized), but everybody involved just needs a break as well. He needs a break, I need a break, the kids need a break.

I had planned to surprise the kids with his arrival, but I envisioned their disappointment every time a trip to the grocery store or the zoo didn't end with a surprise appearance from Dad. That would be a long three months and while they lament their father's absence every day, without fail, I don't think I could bear the gnashing of their terrible teeth and rolling of their terrible eyes when he didn't show up in the dairy aisle. It would not only be heartbreaking, but it would also send me over the cliff of insanity. I am perilously perched on the edge these days. No need to push myself over. New plan: surprise them when he returns for good.

I've stocked up on good wine, ready to resume our late night mutual bitchfests. We preach to each other's choirs about politics, policy, and--I am certain about this--Benghazi and guns specifically. I've always been surrounded by other FSOs--colleagues, friends, and my spouse--but without them I have no safe place to pull my hair out about the former. That's about as much as I can safely type on a blog at this point, because it's not my lane and I'm not a total idiot career-wise (writes the woman sitting in pajamas in Denver on a workday--winning!). As far as guns, I'm sure our complaints will center around a) that Congress is not able to begin to pass a bill supported by 90% of Americans even with a majority of votes in the Senate because of the unholy intersection of the NRA and the filibuster and b) guns marketed to small children because what. the. hell.

It's just been me and Jon Stewart for 3 months. I need my husband back.

Don't Know Nothin' 'Bout Nothin'

I grew up in Virginia--southern Virginia. Taaahdwahter. Well, that's partially true. I spent ages 8 to 18 there, but those are some pretty formative years.

I always attended Catholic school. Always. The habit was hard to break, so even grad school was a former Catholic college.

The nuns hated, absolutely hated, when we said "ain't." Which we did. A lot. It was a struggle to get me in shoes and to actually shower regularly.* My neighborhood friends and I spent our afternoons playing in the ditch that ran behind our cul-de-sac, catching tadpoles, minnows and snails, and not paying nearly enough attention to the location of water moccasins and--of slightly less concern--muskrats. Of course I said "ain't." My dad's dad, who lived in Chicago and wore a suit to church and on a plane and would never say "ain't," regularly accused me of being a downright hillbilly when I ran around the house barefoot.

I was always barefoot.

I started wearing paddock boots when I finally got to spend all my free time with horses.

This did not improve the condition of my feet.

I stopped riding horses when I went to college and I had to pay tuition and Georgetown rents instead of show fees my folks had to pay tuition and Georgetown rents instead of show fees, but I went back to being barefoot as much as possible, often while sitting in a tree. I lacked a certain gravitas. Still do, most days.

After college, I kicked my way to a black belt to alleviate stress, lose weight, and feel bad-ass. This did not improve the condition of my feet either.

Today Girl catches sight of my feet and points, exclaiming in horror, "Boo boo!" This tickles husband to no end, although that quickly ends when I punish him by putting my foot on him. Oh, the squeals! Delightful!

This was going somewhere.

Oh yes. Virginia to ain't to hillbilly to barefoot to horses to college to Tae Kwon Do to parenthood to Don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'. The nuns wouldn't have liked that one either, but it surely seems to apply as we navigate the purchase of our very first (as of yet unidentified) house. I would get into the specifics that confuse me, but I don't understand them so I can't.

In the meantime, I pop up to take a deep breath and realize the colossal reality shift we are about to experience. Husband will be back in a War Zone and I won't have to wear shoes. It seems so unfair for him and both so delightful and terrifying for me. Do I really have to do this all on my own? No housekeeper this time? Does he really have to Skype his kids every night? With a bigger time difference? Can we really just take a road trip to see our friends in Tucson? I mean: Can we really just find a pet sitter and then take a road trip to see our friends in Tucson?

Am I ruining Girl? Will she resent this some day? She reportedly stood at the door of her daycare this evening, waving goodbye to each child, declaring Homseni! ("Until tomorrow!") She loves school and is quite good at it.

On the other hand, she was the first child in and the last child out. That can't be good either.

I can't even begin to list the questions I have about Boy. I really hope I don't mess this up.

Oh, the opportunity costs. That's how I'll sum up all of this. Every single bit.

Oh, the opportunity costs.

*Pre-puberty. Figured it out in middle school. Unlearned it in parenthood.

On the Other Side

As we prepared to leave for our R&R a year ago, Boy's school said it might be good for him to have a few weeks away from the social pressure of group rules and norms. They were right. While our trip was never easy, really, we all breathed a little better. Some space and a lot of sun did Boy some good.

Somewhere during that trip, or shortly thereafter, we started wondering if we were doing this parenting thing all wrong. Was it worth it to drag our kids around the world? What would we do if we weren't dragging our kids around the world? I, for one, am completely unemployable in the private sector.

I love my job. I do. Along the way, though, I felt like I couldn't do it well or parent well or at least not both at the same time. A small doubt crept in and blossomed into surrender. I'm not cut out for this. Every other officer who is a parent makes it work. What's wrong with me?

Well, as the avalanche of articles on doing it all would attest: no, not every person makes it work. And, for better or worse, many Foreign Service families have one parent at home to work as the family manager and do the heavy lifting when life gets difficult.

We brainstormed and brainstormed, wondered how we could survive on one salary (what salary? at what job?) and eventually decided the best thing we could do is deal with it in summer 2014 as we left Tallinn. No need to rock the boat. Got some tattoos instead.

I made one mistake, though, which is assuming I'd have to seriously consider leaving the Foreign Service after Tallinn to care for my children.

Boy's medical clearance for Tallinn was revoked this week. We knew this was a possibility when MED sent us to Baltimore and we agreed with MED that we would do whatever we had to do to address his needs now, even if there were no viable options in Estonia. That email, though, sent me into a tailspin of guilt. I felt I let Post down, let all of working womanhood down (seriously, Rachel, get a grip), let my friends who are coming to Tallinn to replace Husband down. How? I don't know. By not being a better parent and solving this without turning the world upside down? I should file that under "Would if I Could."

Then, in a moment that was almost embarrassingly emotional, I felt more than anything that I've spent the past two years letting my son down. Buried under layers of guilt is an immense sense of relief: I can deal with this now, and in a way I couldn't if I had to work full time in a foreign country. 

The kids and I will go the U.S., and Husband will go on another unaccompanied tour to allow us to do so. Turns out, if you email the Department in December and say you might not be able to stay at post because of your kid, but maybe you'll be able to stay at post, but you don't know so is there anything in AIP* available just in case?, they will find something in AIP. 

I hated to tell our front office. I hated to tell Washington. I hated to tell our friends. To a one, they have all been supportive. 

Here's the deal: this job is inherently not family-friendly. Potentially long hours, high pressure, lots of travel, increasing amounts of responsibility, no local support network. That's diplomacy, my friends! The Department, however, has shown itself to be incredibly family-friendly on this one. Let's be clear: this is inconvenient for everyone, and not cheap. No one has told us to do anything other than what works for the family. I thought I had to give up this career, but now I know I can hit pause and try again in a year or so. It's not ideal, but that's life. I'm thankful to everyone who has made it possible to be the mom I have to be, so I can ultimately be the employee I want to be.

And now to pack out.

*Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan

Living Americana

Whoops. Did I manage to go nearly a month without writing anything? Completely unintentional.

Since my last post the following things have happened:

• a gecko has been acquired
• one fish has died
• two more have replaced it
• one of those two died
• I saw Lady Gaga
• a puppy has been acquired
• and other non-animal-related and non-Gaga-related things as well.

Oh yeah, and I ran-ish a half marathon. There was a slow moving virus that kept me out of work far too long (the kids' virus, not mine) and the arrival of our new Ambassador.

Wait, did I write a puppy has been acquired? I most certainly did! Let the fuzzy iPhone pictures attest:

This is not a puppy. This is Girl, who has the makings of a crazy bag lady.

This is a puppy.

This is a cold puppy. It was September 1, after all. Can't expect a small puppy to stay warm all on her own in September.

We can add "puppy" to the list of things these two bond over. Also on the list: Legos and poop jokes.

The cats aren't too sure about this development. Tupelo, the fat orange one, takes a swipe at her once a day for good measure. Klezmer, the fat black one, has never hurt a living thing in his life, so mostly hisses and then runs away, which Dali (the not fat puppy) finds to be great fun.

Nope, not scary at all.

More than one reasonable person has expressed utter horror at the idea that we added to our daily burden so dramatically. Two jobs, two kids, two cats, a dog, a gecko, and a fluctuating number of fish, all in a foreign country? Crazypants. 

Yes, it is crazypants. Everything about us is crazypants. Only crazy people drop life as they know it to take a weird government job with the very real possibility of sending you to Bujumbura. Only crazy people decide to drunkenly adopt a cat when they are just kinda dating and then, very sober, follow up on that decision the next day. Only crazy people get engaged after five months. Only crazy people have a child a little over a year into their marriage. Only crazy people do an unaccompanied tour with one person in a war zone and the other in the developing world. Only crazy people add another child to that mix while trying to learn one of the world's hardest languages.* And only crazy people insert a gecko and a puppy into the chaos in less than a month. 

The gecko, it turns out, is not a lot of work.

Husband and I crave a night of good sleep and some free time, but not so much that we will actually pursue it. All joking aside: the dog is something we'd have in the U.S. It's a simple as that. We've been married for over five years, and in this career for 7 (him) and almost 7 (me). Our kids know their grandparents over Skype and Boy thinks he's Estonian. Seriously: try telling him he's American. He does not agree. There are moments--an increasing number of them--when we are desperate for some normalcy. While a few acres in Colorado with a smallish gaggle of livestock (oh! the menagerie we would have!) is out of our geographic reach at the moment and would require a major lifestyle overhaul, a dog is doable. Come PCS time we'll be out a bunch of money and effort, but that's one move a couple years away. What's one more pet to ship?

So forgive me, dear reader, for not writing. A young pup, unlike the gecko, is a whole lot of work.

*Edited to add: oh, and tattoos. We can't forget tattoos. 

Tandem-Induced Chaos

Caution: Much whining contained within.

Two weeks ago, my section bid farewell to the other officer in it. It was sad, not only because he was well-loved, but also because he won't be replaced. Literally. His position has been cut, or more accurately, sent to China. The reality of the State Department is that our mission is expanding in every direction: war zones, visa demand, nation-building, et cetera et cetera et cetera. Hiring doesn't keep pace--an oft-quoted statistic is that there are more military band members than Foreign Service Officers. It's true. In the world of limited resources and nearly unlimited demand, you put your people where you need them the most. If you compare the ballooning demand for consular services in India, China, Brazil, Mexico, Russia, Nigeria, Jamaica, and so on, our little Visa Waiver post can't compete. Fair enough. I get that.

Being a tandem couple has some challenges. Being a tandem couple with children has a lot of challenges. Being a section chief married to a key country team member in a small embassy with children has so far presented the most challenges.

Wednesday, as I prepared to make my way from visa interview to meeting to meeting to meeting to gym to meeting to visa interview to meeting (yes, five meetings), Husband took Boy to the ENT. Boy had gone to the ER on Sunday for what was quickly diagnosed as an ear infection, but three days of antibiotics had done nothing to lessen his pain. The ENT took moments to identify the problem: not an ear infection, but Boy's tube was trying to come out and was pressing against the wall of his ear drum. The solution? Minor outpatient surgery to remove his tubes.

Because of his pain, surgery was scheduled for first thing the following morning. Husband was set to fly to Munich at 6:30 a.m. and come back by midnight, and the tickets had been purchased. I had visa interviews scheduled for that morning, but what can you do? We frantically rescheduled our applicants so that I could take Boy to surgery. I got to work at noon and stayed until 7:00, adjudicating until 5:00 and then spending the next two hours clearing something through Washington. I could have stayed until midnight and still had more to do on my list, but Nanny was with the kids and I wanted to relieve her.

I am going to Stockholm for work next week (the horror!) and I'll return on Saturday. Nanny is going out of the country for the weekend, so Husband will hold down the fort. Unfortunately, he has a work event on Saturday. Our solution? He'll bring the kids and I'll come there straight from the airport. With any luck, Girl will keep the tantrums to a minimum and Boy will refrain from kicking her until I get there.

The cost and logistical nightmare of our December training trips still haunt me.

This keeps happening. One has to be someplace for work, the other has to be somewhere else, and those places are often across national borders. In the middle sit our kids, waiting for Mom and Dad to do helpful things, like feed them and not leave them alone. Nanny leaves for the U.S. in July and the panic is already starting to set in. Babysitters are a much-coveted and very limited resource here.

I imagine parents in the U.S. do this two-parents-working-oh-God-what-about-the-kids-thing as well, but my friends never seem to scramble the way we do. Are we doing it wrong? Is it because we don't have a deep bench at our embassy? Am I actually complete crap at multitasking? I hope not, otherwise I'd have to change this blog title.

The Service is experiencing a pretty constant uptick in tandemness, as it's the easiest way for a family to ensure two incomes with full-time work across a normal career span. So far we have learned that it's also an easy way to ensure you will be apart for large chunks of time, you will hemorrhage money on child care, and that you will always have challenges many of your colleagues won't. A meeting on Sunday morning? That's a tough one for us. This may be an inherent problem with both people having a career that is better described as a lifestyle.

If you've made it this far, thanks for listening. I recognize my fretting over our both being gainfully employed is a luxury these days, yet fret I do. There are a lot of balls in the air, and it often feels like we are one crisis, one hospitalization, one expulsion from preschool away from it all crashing down.

Home Improvement

Jill over at Baby Rabies has thrown down the New Year's Resolution gauntlet, encouraging her fellow bloggers (of which I am barely one) to come up with 12 resolutions for 2012. Digger over at Life After Jerusalem noted she doesn't make resolutions, she makes (and meets or fails to meet) goals. I usually don't make real resolutions, because the second I do I start feeling preemptively guilty for not fulfilling them. I never fulfill them. Buuut....it's hard to reach a goal if you never set it, so I might as well. Putting them on the internets will help keep me honest.

1. Sleep at least one night a week. Meaning: kids go down, I shower, brush my teeth, read a bit and turn off the light by 9 at the latest. I depend way too much on coffee as things are now.

2. Have a tough conversation or twenty. I hate conflict and I hate disappointing people. I manage to make and enforce immigration and nationality decisions with applicants, but in all other things I need to grow a backbone.

3. Learn to garden. My stepmom generously gave me a bunch of both functional and adorable gardening gear. We have a large yard with berries and apple trees, and plenty of space to grow a few tomatoes and some other useful produce.

4. And then I will can it. I will make and stock salsa, tomato sauce, etc. You just cannot buy edible salsa here.

5. Spend more date nights humoring my husband. Or, even better, just have more date nights. Nanny returns to the U.S. this summer, and we'll miss having a readily available babysitter in the evenings. While I'll never be able to stomach much violence, I need to accompany Husband to his movies and his restaurants of choice more often. It'll make him happy. I will not, however, start watching Terra Nova.

[Pause...12 is a higher number than I thought it was.]

Um...

Yes! Okay, I've got it.

6. Make academic goals for Boy. He's in preschool, but not in a very academic environment. He's not really learning anything new, even though the social practice is priceless. I want to ensure that he is challenged and interested. He's a smart kid with a lot of questions in his little brain and I don't want to squander that.

7. The dreaded baby books. In Boy's case, started and abandoned. In Girl's case, entirely theoretical. This must change before they hit middle school.

8. Spend more time moving, and less time sitting. We have a Wii and, thanks to Grammy, now an Xbox. I have no shortage of exercise options right on my very own TV. I really have no excuse.

9. Make a financial plan and stick to it. We save for retirement and college. We pay our taxes and Nanny's salary. That's all well and good, but we are hoping to make some significant changes after Tallinn and that will require significant preparation.

10. Read more from our bookshelf. We have a lot of books, just billions, and I haven't read many of them and I've forgotten several that I have read.

11. Be a better emailer. I like living in Estonia, but I desperately miss my friends. My life is the same: kids, work, kids. Plus I have the Facepage and this trusty blog to keep them updated on all things mundane and fantastic. That's great, but I want to hear about them, which means ditching the mass messaging now and then and just typing out an old-fashioned email. I'd write letters, but considering my mom's Christmas presents are still in a box in my sewing room, I wouldn't hold my breath on getting those out the door. Speaking of...

12. Celebrate milestones on time. Mail those gifts a month in advance, actually send a card, order the right thing two weeks before. I miss a lot of big events and even more little ones. I want to be able to celebrate in this little way.

That's it, my thoroughly unexciting resolution list. What can I say? I'm thirty and in many ways I peaked long ago. Skydive? Check. Travel? Check and, well, that's our entire lives. Can applesauce? Hasn't happened.

Gratitude

Happy Thanksgiving! Here is where I engage in the annual tradition of declaring my gratitude publicly.

I am, of course, thankful for my family and friends, a job that not only pays me but challenges me, and my health. When I start to feel cranky and whiny, I check out the various lists of First World Problems, and I regain a little perspective.

I am thankful for the following non-obvious big things in the past year:

1) My VBAC. This was huge for me, changing the way I parent and they way I process my relationship with Boy. That's another story for another day, but it ranks near the top in the highlights of the past year.
2) Nanny. She helped us turn an awful situation into a blessing. She's been great with both our kids, and as a result I find myself completely surprised by actually being thankful Boy had to leave daycare.

3) Boy's new school. The director stopped me a little over a month ago and told me how much she enjoyed Boy, despite how much energy he has and how unpredictable his outbursts can be. My Lord, I never imagined an educator would say that about my son. It was a blessing in countless ways, not least of which was a reminder for me that Boy is loving, smart, and full of potential. No one should ever tell any three year old otherwise.

And the little things:

1) Girl took her first steps about ten days ago, and today, at the advanced age of 11 months and one day, toddled between adults.

2) Boy has started doing the potty dance before he realized he has to pee. These few seconds of advance notice prevent many an accident. Sadly, they did not prevent one on the plane from Poland, but that's only because he didn't know there was a bathroom on board and couldn't potty dance while strapped into his seat. I heart the potty dance.

3) Do you know that in the past four years, except for selling my Malibu when I left Israel for Korea, I have not had to worry about a single damn thing that is car-related? When the Mini betrayed us for the final time and we traded it in, Husband picked the new car out, asked my blessing, and told me where to sign. I haven't had to deal with an oil change, the tires, or any of the many iPod adapters. In this marriage, we embrace the idea of comparative advantage. He has cars; I have poopy diapers. It works.

Life is good.

In Defense of a Philistine

Thanks to a friend's Facebook link, I stumbled upon comedian Jason Good's brilliantly accurate blog. I did so at lunch on a day when Husband was home sick, so I proceeded to bombard his inbox with link after link after link.

It's just so true. I feel like that's our marriage with our kids. It also makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, my kid isn't that way because I'm a horrible parent. My kid is that way because all kids are that way: insane.

This entry, though, is all Me. Husband and I go round and round on this frequently. I accuse him of music snobbery; he accuses me of music ignorance. I label his music "Girl with Guitar on Stool;" he labels mine "ridiculous, without merit, and for the masses." (He is a little bit of a snob about such things). My younger brother is a landscaper/professional guitarist (it takes a while in a musician's career to lose the slash) with impeccable taste for all thing rockabilly, jazz, and old old country. Meanwhile, I heart me some TLC. I do like some "good" stuff: The Roots, Spoon, Phoenix, etc., but in general I prefer to avoid self-consciously depressing music. Why are all you people so sad? And why do you want to make me sad too? And why can you not be arsed to enunciate when you sing?

The economy is lagging, one of two major parties in our country wants "believes in evolution" to be a disqualifier, women in Congo are raped repeatedly. I don't need a hipster's angst to assault my mood any more than real life does. If it doesn't put a bounce my step or make me dance at inappropriate times and in inappropriate venues, chances are I'm not going to be too into it. This is probably a flaw and an indication of why I am no genius, let alone an artistic one, but I embrace it. If you ever need a lift, ask for a Rachel-created playlist, and I'll happily help you out.