Thursday, October 4, 2018
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
An Exhilarating Ride
A friend who co-owns a tour company on Tinian offered to take me back to Saipan by boat, something that I have always wanted to do. I have this photo of Grandpa riding a boat around Tinian on a reconnaissance mission during World War II:
The expression on his face doesn't reveal how incredible the ride is across the open sea (by the way, my friend was able to identify exactly where Grandpa was - the spot visible in the background is called "Drop Coke" because the soldiers apparently dumped a bunch of coca cola bottles there after the war and now scuba divers can go there to see them). My videos provide a little more insight... This was truly one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. It was frightening, but in an exciting and adventurous way.
After we passed the point of Tinian, the waves got much bigger - too big for me to hold the camera (and my beer). Sometimes the boat landed in such a way that the salt water drenched my face.
I felt so alive.
Monday, October 16, 2017
Monday, September 4, 2017
Sex(ual Harassment)-On-The-Beach
At the beach today, just sitting in the water with the dogs, beach "security guard" walks over. He's maybe in his late twenties and seems friendly enough, so we make small talk for a second, then this:
Him: Be careful out there. Are you here with someone?
Me: Yes [looking at my dogs]. We come here all the time. I don't swim by the reef anyway.
Him: I mean besides your dogs?
[I ignore the question, hoping he'll get the hint.]
Him: Where did you park?
Me: [Thinking maybe he has the authority to ask as part of his job] Over there - Why? Is that a problem?
Him: [Shrugs.] It's fine... You aren't here with anyone? Your husband or your fiancé?
Me: I'm here with my dogs. [In fact, there are only 3 other people on the beach, and they clearly are not with me.]
Him: Why isn't your husband or fiancé with you?
Me: I came here to be alone [hint hint] with my dogs.
Him: Do you have a husband or fiancé?
[I pause, just to let him sit in the awkwardness for a second.]
Me: That's a very personal question.
Him: I was just wondering because... usually I see people here with their husbands and their dogs.
Me: Uh huh.
Him: But you're just here alone, so I was just checking.
Me: Right. Well, clearly I'm fine.
Him: I guess you're just independent [smirking].
Me: Yeah... gotta go give them some water so... [walking away].
If you're a man reading this, you may not understand why it's worth a blog post. If you're a woman, on the other hand, you know. We deal with this shit all of our lives, on a weekly, sometimes daily basis. It's more than an annoyance too. It destroys the atmosphere because your guard has to go up. Why did he want to know where my car was parked? Is he going to try to follow me? Or will he be out there when I get to my car?
Of course, I push those thoughts aside and try to enjoy the day, but I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, checking to see if he's watching me. Yeah, he's probably just an awkward guy. He's not local; maybe he grew up in a culture where men and women don't interact much until marriage, so he just doesn't know how to talk to women. I don't know.
But one thing is certain: my marital status was none of his damned business.
Friday, August 18, 2017
Pizza Delivery
Interesting aspect of #IslandLife: ordering pizza. We have a Pizza Hut, but last couple times I had a craving and called them, they were not accepting any more delivery orders for the night because the one driver had too many pizzas to deliver.
When there is a driver available and you place your order, the next step of course would be providing your street address. But here, we do not have street addresses. I'm told every street has a name, but no one really knows them. (We call our main roads "Beach Road," "Back Road," and "Middle Road.") So, without using any actual street names, you tell the Pizza Hut operator how to get to your street. And then you describe your house and maybe your car if it is parked outside, since there aren't any house numbers. Those directions are entered into their system (in full) for future orders. (When you get your receipt, your directions are printed out on it for the driver.)
Island directions are a language in and of themselves, like "turn right on the gravel road after the mom-and-pop [store]," or, "left at the cemetery and keep going until you pass the chicken farm," or "back where the old McDonald's used to be [a decade or so ago]?"
Now I guess I'll return to reading the news while I wait for my pizza to arrive...
Friday, July 7, 2017
Travel poem
I've been vaxxed for
Every type of hepatitis,
Japanese encephalitis,
Typhoid, tetanus, flu or virus,
Preventatives for parasitis,
Running through my veins.
I could still get
'Pendicitis,
Some weird sickness spread-by-ISIS,
Pushed right through that dang no-fly list,
North Korean spies.
It's important, yes my life is,
But I'll not let a fear of crisis
(Or even rising airline prices)
Keep me from my dreams.
Every type of hepatitis,
Japanese encephalitis,
Typhoid, tetanus, flu or virus,
Preventatives for parasitis,
Running through my veins.
I could still get
'Pendicitis,
Some weird sickness spread-by-ISIS,
Pushed right through that dang no-fly list,
North Korean spies.
It's important, yes my life is,
But I'll not let a fear of crisis
(Or even rising airline prices)
Keep me from my dreams.
Letter to the Editor of the Huffington Post
RE: Reader Response to “The Real Problem with Lena Dunham and her Dog” by Emily Peck
Dear Editor,
I write in response to the article entitled, “The Real Problem with Lena Dunham and Her Dog”, by “Senior Reporter” Emily Peck, published online on July 7, 2017. In her article, the author criticizes Ms. Dunham, not just for surrendering her rescue dog, but also for referring to herself as the dog’s “mother.” In fact, the author barely comments on the real issue, which is the fact that a celebrity with an abundance of financial resources gave up her responsibility to care for the animal she adopted. Instead of tackling that important social issue, the author uses the incident as a springboard for attacking animal lovers.
The author transitions into discussing what she refers to as “the real problem” by noting that Ms. Dunham is “just another annoying dog-person who’s confused having a pet with raising a human child.” Ignoring the fact that Ms. Dunham’s posts clearly describe herself as a mother only as it relates to her dog, the author goes on to explain the difference between parenting a child and a dog, to the point of making the ridiculously obvious point that parents cannot leave their children at the shelter if they don’t behave. “None of this is typically how parenting works,” the author quips, as if making some profound point that parents (parents of humans, of course) everywhere will appreciate.
My response to this article is two-fold. First, the author blatantly misrepresents that, by claiming to be a mother of a dog, Ms. Dunham is equating that to being the mother of a human. If Ms. Dunham ever made such a remark, the author certainly did not cite it (and I doubt that she did because Ms. Dunham is not stupid). Second, and also without any evidentiary support, the author paints that claim onto the rest of us. Even in the subheading, she writes, “[l]ike many others, [Ms. Dunham]’s confused having a pet with raising a human child.” This statement, and others like it throughout the article, is incredibly offensive and condescending to people like me.
I am a very proud dog mama. I call my rescue pups, Tub (collie/shepherd mix) and Cash (beagle), “my babies.” I’ve plastered my social media accounts with hundreds of pictures and videos of them. My parents even refer to them as their “granddoggies.” I am also a very proud aunt, “auntie” (to friends’ children), and godmother. I was present for nearly all of their births, and actually in the room for the birth of my godson. I’m approaching forty, so nearly all of my friends have children. “Like many others” (to use the words of the author), I’ve babysat, changed countless diapers, listened to the joys and tears from parents and children, waited in agony during medical emergencies, prepared meals for couples suffering the horror of a miscarriage, attended many, many birthday parties, and, most importantly, fallen in love with each one of these incredible children in my life.
As the author so dismissively noted about Ms. Dunham, the same is true about me: “She is not, however, a mother.” No, she is not. I am not a mother. I probably will not ever be one. But that doesn’t make me stupid. I have an enormous respect for mothers. I cannot imagine what it must be like to love a child any more than I love my nephew, for instance, but I know that they do. I have seen it. The beautiful bond between mother and child has brought me to tears, time and again.
I love my fur babies, but I am not “confused.” They are neither “property,” nor are they human; they are animals, in a class of their own. I believe that everyone should recognize animal rights (all fifty states currently have animal cruelty laws; sadly, the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, the U.S. territory where I live, does not). I have hundreds of Facebook followers who “like” and comment on my posts about my babies, who I certainly treat as family. No one has ever accused me of pretending that I know the trials and tribulations of child-rearing simply because I love my dogs. The word “dog” is expressed or implied in every reference to myself as a mama, as it is with every “dog mom” I’ve ever known.
I believe that my feelings are a more adequate representation of animal lovers than those expressed by the author. Although I admittedly do not know what exactly happened, I can’t imagine surrendering one of my fur babies, like Ms. Dunham did. But that fact in and of itself proves that the author’s entire premise is wrong: Ms. Dunham gave up the dog because she was its owner, not its mother. Like the rest of us, Ms. Dunham understood the difference.
Sincerely,
Betsy Weintraub
Dear Editor,
I write in response to the article entitled, “The Real Problem with Lena Dunham and Her Dog”, by “Senior Reporter” Emily Peck, published online on July 7, 2017. In her article, the author criticizes Ms. Dunham, not just for surrendering her rescue dog, but also for referring to herself as the dog’s “mother.” In fact, the author barely comments on the real issue, which is the fact that a celebrity with an abundance of financial resources gave up her responsibility to care for the animal she adopted. Instead of tackling that important social issue, the author uses the incident as a springboard for attacking animal lovers.
The author transitions into discussing what she refers to as “the real problem” by noting that Ms. Dunham is “just another annoying dog-person who’s confused having a pet with raising a human child.” Ignoring the fact that Ms. Dunham’s posts clearly describe herself as a mother only as it relates to her dog, the author goes on to explain the difference between parenting a child and a dog, to the point of making the ridiculously obvious point that parents cannot leave their children at the shelter if they don’t behave. “None of this is typically how parenting works,” the author quips, as if making some profound point that parents (parents of humans, of course) everywhere will appreciate.
My response to this article is two-fold. First, the author blatantly misrepresents that, by claiming to be a mother of a dog, Ms. Dunham is equating that to being the mother of a human. If Ms. Dunham ever made such a remark, the author certainly did not cite it (and I doubt that she did because Ms. Dunham is not stupid). Second, and also without any evidentiary support, the author paints that claim onto the rest of us. Even in the subheading, she writes, “[l]ike many others, [Ms. Dunham]’s confused having a pet with raising a human child.” This statement, and others like it throughout the article, is incredibly offensive and condescending to people like me.
I am a very proud dog mama. I call my rescue pups, Tub (collie/shepherd mix) and Cash (beagle), “my babies.” I’ve plastered my social media accounts with hundreds of pictures and videos of them. My parents even refer to them as their “granddoggies.” I am also a very proud aunt, “auntie” (to friends’ children), and godmother. I was present for nearly all of their births, and actually in the room for the birth of my godson. I’m approaching forty, so nearly all of my friends have children. “Like many others” (to use the words of the author), I’ve babysat, changed countless diapers, listened to the joys and tears from parents and children, waited in agony during medical emergencies, prepared meals for couples suffering the horror of a miscarriage, attended many, many birthday parties, and, most importantly, fallen in love with each one of these incredible children in my life.
As the author so dismissively noted about Ms. Dunham, the same is true about me: “She is not, however, a mother.” No, she is not. I am not a mother. I probably will not ever be one. But that doesn’t make me stupid. I have an enormous respect for mothers. I cannot imagine what it must be like to love a child any more than I love my nephew, for instance, but I know that they do. I have seen it. The beautiful bond between mother and child has brought me to tears, time and again.
I love my fur babies, but I am not “confused.” They are neither “property,” nor are they human; they are animals, in a class of their own. I believe that everyone should recognize animal rights (all fifty states currently have animal cruelty laws; sadly, the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, the U.S. territory where I live, does not). I have hundreds of Facebook followers who “like” and comment on my posts about my babies, who I certainly treat as family. No one has ever accused me of pretending that I know the trials and tribulations of child-rearing simply because I love my dogs. The word “dog” is expressed or implied in every reference to myself as a mama, as it is with every “dog mom” I’ve ever known.
I believe that my feelings are a more adequate representation of animal lovers than those expressed by the author. Although I admittedly do not know what exactly happened, I can’t imagine surrendering one of my fur babies, like Ms. Dunham did. But that fact in and of itself proves that the author’s entire premise is wrong: Ms. Dunham gave up the dog because she was its owner, not its mother. Like the rest of us, Ms. Dunham understood the difference.
Sincerely,
Betsy Weintraub
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