Jas Space

As soon as I was old enough not to consider myself a kid anymore, I detested kids. Man, I knew from that day forward that I would never want, and never have, any kids. Couldn’t stand them. Oh, babies were fine, and I liked holding them, but then I wanted to give them back when I was done. I babysat my nieces and nephews, and they made me understand that my first impulses were good ones, and I considered just how young they’d let me get a vasectomy.

I finished college and still felt exactly the same way. I knew I’d never want kids of my own, and suspected I’d be alone forever, or at least a serial monogamist, because of it.

Then I met this wonderful woman who felt the same way. She and I were very compatible, and we both knew that, even though she was studying to be a teacher, that we’d never want any of our own. It was too nice being able to send them home at the end of the school day and not having to worry about them over nights or weekends.

Once I entered my thirties, we both started wavering a bit in our convictions. Maybe we’d adopt, or have foster kids, we thought. Foster kids sounded like a good plan - we could get rid of the little stinkers if they turned out to be awful. But neither of us was weak at the same time, and whoever was having thoughts of adding kids to our already hectic life would find themselves in one of those real-life “birth control moments” where you’re surrounded by awful families and their awful kids and all you want to do is escape and you go out for dinner later and say “never!” once more, firmly back on track.

Oh, I know, it’s not all bad when you’re a parent. Some people really like it, and everyone says it’s different when it’s your own kid, but I knew me better than that. I’m very, very selfish with my time and I’d hate to bring a child into our lives and then resent the hell out of her (it was always a ‘her’ when we talked about it - on that we agreed as well) once she was there. No, I was willing to forego the wonderful bonding moments in exchange for the freedom and “me” time that I was not giving up.

And I’ve also had those moments when I think about how cool it would be to have a kid of my own, don’t think I’m made of stone. But it wasn’t until recently that I realized just how much of that must be utterly inescapable, no matter how much of a hard-ass one is - that eventually that nurturing urge will out, no matter what you do.

At the start of this school year, my wife started teaching at a new school. She immediately started making friends, real friends, something that she’s not had much luck with in years past. Some have come and go, entering and then leaving the orbit of our lives, but two have stuck around for the last three months and don’t appear to be going anywhere.

What struck me is how, while they’re Melissa’s friends, I immediately felt the sort of protective urges that a parent might feel for their own brood. I referred to it as paternal, but my therapist and I agreed that, to some degree, it was also maternal. I’ve since essentially adopted them, and let me tell you, this is parenting I can get behind.

Lisa is the little spitfire of our group. She is absolutely one of the funniest people I have ever met, with comic timing that leaves me jealous. The self proclaimed Mayor of Crazy Town, she is rarely if ever without a story about the drama that seems to materialize around her with alarming frequency. Even as allergic to our cats as she is, she still makes time to come over and hang out with us, always taking my proffered antihistamine tablets and gutting it out. She keeps threatening to sing for us, someday, claiming it’s one of her favorite things to do.  It’s in those situations that I’ve seen a wee peek inside the brash and bold young lady to the uncertain girl inside.

Sarah is tall and willowy, her dancer background just about shouting out at you from her frame and her natural grace. She’s very like me, a giver until it hurts, taking immense personal pleasure and fulfillment in doing for others. Sometimes I hope that she’ll find someone who’s worth of her attentions, but as her self-declared father figure, there’ll never be a guy who measures up. She’s also like me in that she’s quiet and reserved until she gets to know you - and then you start learning things about her that you’d never imagine from the unassuming and sweet young thing that she is. If Lisa always has something going on to talk about, Sarah always has a story from her past to fit positively every situation you might find yourself in.

It’s never a dull evening when my girls are around. We talk about how we need to find some nice guys for them, but deep down I’m not so sure. If they find the right guys, they’ll have less time to spend with us, and that would be an utter travesty.

So there you go. That’s my answer to having kids. Be smart, wait until you’re older, and then steal somebody else’s kids after they’ve managed to get through college. Apparently 25 or 26 is the ideal age, but your mileage may vary. All I can tell you is, I’m loving this overprotective father gig more than I’d ever have imagined.

Someday, I’ll teach myself to play guitar. I’ve started time and again, but I really don’t know if I’ll ever get it. Sometimes I think I ought to have gotten a bass, again, as I’m powerfully drawn to it. I don’t know.

Someday, I’ll write again. I used to write in college. I’m not sure why I don’t write more now, other than a sense of apathy and a failure of imagination.

Someday, I’m going to write a history of electronic music. I’m always amazed at the depths of the relationships that exist between bands. I’ve been a fan of New Order for twenty years, and yet only learned tonight that they were formed from the ashes of Joy Division. So now, having listened to some Joy Division, I’ve moved on to listening to Electronic - a fantastic pop collaboration between Bernard Sumner from New Order and Neil Tennant and Johnny Marr from the Smiths. I love love love the incestuous interactions and in-breeding that occurs in these loose collaborations.

Another thing, unrelated to someday - covers of songs. I usually own myself offended when a band makes a cover of a popular song and it’s almost exactly the same as the original. What a waste, I say to myself, to take a song and not even put your personal stamp on it. Some of my favorite covers have been by Marilyn Manson, for heaven’s sake - from Sweet Dreams to Tainted Love, they’re all new interpretations of the song. When we were watching the often execrable “Rock Star: INXS” it was Marty Casey’s version of “Hit Me Baby” - the Britney Spears awfulness - was the hit of the show.

And yet, hearing the Radiohead cover of Joy Division’s song Ceremony, which is as faithful a rendering of a song I’ve ever heard, I think I begin to understand some of the joy that must come from honoring the intention and the product of the original artist. And I’m not a traditional fan of Radiohead.

Someday, I’ll know what my musical taste is. I’m so all over the place that I feel like some sort of rock and roll slut - if it’s rock, I’m likely to like it. That’s no way to live…

On NPR this afternoon, they were talking about folks who had been swayed one way or another from their undecided status in the presidential debate.

First, if you’re undecided now, you’re just not trying. You’ve got all the information you could want and more, and if you can’t make up your mind based on that, you ought to have your voting privileges revoked.

That said, one guy said he’d been swayed to vote for McCain because of “all the specifics” that McCain came up with during the second debate. That Obama hadn’t answered anything specifically, but McCain had all sorts of numbers and the like.

And the first thing I could recall about his numbers was that he trotted out the demonstrably false “94 tax increase votes” that he loves so much. And I realized that the old line about “lies, damned lies and statistics” can be improved upon. All you have to do is to lard up your damned lies with statistics! If they’re demonstrably false, so much the better, because they’ll get so much airplay that people will start to internalize them as true.

It’s a win-win for McCain, and a lose-lose-epic-fail for the American people.

At first, there was the Paulson plan - give Wall Street a crap-load of cash, no strings.

Then the Democrats came up with a notion - why don’t we put some restrictions on there and make this something that could, in some way, be potentially not just a throw-away of taxpayer cash. And everyone just assumed that the Dems would start from that bargaining position and then cave, and wilt, and generally wimp out until we were back at the Paulson plan.

And then they brought everyone together, Dems and Reps and tried to come up with something that was designed to make absolutely nobody happy - it had some of the protections for Main Street that the Dems wanted, and fewer of the restrictions on Wall Street that the Reps wanted, and as we all saw today, it was a total stinker - dead on arrival in the House.

And in looking at the situation, I don’t know if we don’t have the absolute best of all possible worlds, politically. The public hates this legislation, but they hate even more the idea that their 401(k) plans and the like are going into the toilet. They’ll come around to understanding the need to do this, and they’ll push hard, really hard, for tight controls and benefits for the common man - something that the Dems wouldn’t do without solid backing from their base. 

And now we have the Republicans as being on record as being against the bailout. They either have to keep fighting against it, no matter how bad things get in the markets, or they have to change their tune and back it - but by then, the Dems’ll be in a stronger position, and they’ll be able to get more concessions - or better yet, not have to concede anything to the Reps.

And if they can keep it going in this way for a few weeks, that’s several more weeks that Obama can stand there and reap the benefits of the uncertainty.

And now I have to wonder - did Nancy Pelosi give the speech she gave intending to piss off the Reps, and make them balk? I sure hope so. It means she’s really got a read on those assholes.

John McCain would like to be known as a maverick. He would like for people to think that he’s not just another empty republican suit. That would make him quite happy.

The truth, it seems, is that he’s not much of a maverick at all. 90-95% (I’ve seen different figures floated) of the time, he’s right there with the pack, voting in lockstep with the rest of the republican robots. It’s when he goes off the reservation that his campaign tries to highlight.

Occasionally to their grief.

McCain is less a maverick than he is an erratic, unpredictable, forgetful old man. They paint him as being one  who marches to a different drummer. Unfortunately, that drummer is sounding more and more like early onset Alzheimer’s instead of an independent spirit.

Don’t believe me? What do you make of the notion that his own staff has had to rein him in, even limiting his use of his own cell phone lest he hear some new opinion that sways him off in some new direction? It’s not conjecture, it’s fact.