Posts from — April 2009

I had the honor of receiving my very first Navy memo (sorry, sorry, “all hands bulletin” in non-civilian speak) today. Unlike in the movies or on “NCIS,” it was not a curt, official statement full of acronyms. It was actually a longwinded, passive-aggressive scolding that made me think I might lose my allowance money if I don’t shape up and stop using headphones on base.

No iPod for you

A little background: we’re staying in the middle of nowhere, or a naval base in Dahlgren, Virginia, for two months while Brian learns about fascinating Navy things. Where is Dahlgren, you ask? I have no idea, but its hot spots include an Arby’s, a Burger King and a Food Lion. That’s if you can get off base. We have no car here, so we are limited to the simple pleasures of cooking dinner on our two-burner stove and catching up on our Netflix queue.

It’s nice in some ways to get back to basics, but it can also drive me a little stir-crazy. I work from a hotel room for eight hours a day and then spend most of the evening in the same room, so the only thing I want to do at 5 p.m. is take a nice long walk with my iPod so I can drink in the scenery and catch up with my friends at “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me.”

The first time I did this on base, a soccer mom in a minivan destroyed my serenity by flagging me down to tell me (not very nicely, I might add), “You can’t do that here.” Do what? Walk? Listen to commie NPR podcasts? Ohhh, use headphones while walking. I wanted to explain to her that I have evolved enough to master walking/talking/listening/chewing gum all at the same time. Brian and I made a few calls around base, but no one could back up this woman’s claim, so I continued to defy her silly rule.

And then we got this delivered to our door:

*** ALL HANDS BULLETIN *** Please distribute widely ***

WALKING OR RUNNING WITH HEADPHONES/EARPIECES IS PROHIBITED

While running can certainly help improve your health, running while using headphones/earpieces can be equally hazardous to it. With the onset of Spring comes the walkers, runners and bicyclists on roadways or on routes that cross roadways. Who doesn’t like listening to their favorite tunes while being outdoors and enjoying these recreations?

Effective immediately, please be reminded that all tunes will need to be sung or whistled by you because headphones/earpieces are NOT allowed on board any Naval Support Activity South Potomac installation, to include Naval Support Facility (NSF) Dahlgren and NSF Indian Head. The only exception is on trails such as the Railroad Trail, around the football field at Indian Head or the loop behind the gym at Dahlgren – in essence, trails that are closed off from and not adjacent to open roadways. This change was necessitated by the folks that continue to wear headphones while walking/jogging on open roads and on accesses that cross them.

Headphones can distract people from what they’re doing. They mask the direction of sound so that you may not be aware of vehicles beeping or coming up behind you. While base employees and residents were previously allowed to use headphones while walking or jogging on sidewalks, it’s become apparent that they are not being taken off when running on the roadways where  there are no sidewalks at all.

Walkers or joggers found using headphones in areas other than those permitted above will be stopped by Security and asked to remove the headphones. Names of offenders will be forwarded to their command. Repeat offenders could be subject to a range of options from being given a ticket to having on-base driving privileges revoked.

The real punishment, though, often isn’t handed down by Security. While accidents involving headphones do not happen often, the consequences of just one can be devastating. Is this really worth the risk?

R,
CAPT Catie Hanft, USN
Commanding Officer
Naval Support Activity South Potomac

My favorite lines are: “Who doesn’t like listening to their favorite tunes while being outdoors and enjoying these recreations?” and “Names of offenders will be forwarded to their command.” A nice blend of “Hey, I’m cool, I’m with it” and “Haha, suckas, I don’t care!” So does that mean Brian is my command? Will he revoke my privileges if I repeat the offense?

Photo courtesy of Foxtongue’s Flickr photostream

Way back in August, Chuck got me hooked on a brilliantly simple Tumblr blog called 1001 rules for my unborn son. Its tagline is “Let’s get some things straight before I get old and uncool,” and it contains some of the best and funniest advice I’ve found. I have always intended to keep a list of things I want to remember once I’m a parent, but I like this spin on it, too.

With my own awesome parents

I started my own list after Katie Ide inspired me with her “10 rules” for her “really, incredibly unborn child,” but it has been sitting neglected on my desktop since this summer. Thank you, Nicole, for reminding me of its existence. It’s a good exercise to try to wrap up your own values and beliefs into little bite-sized pieces. Here’s the first installment; I’ll try to add to it in 10-item increments as the fancy strikes me.

Oh, and by the way, this does not mean that we are planning on hearing the pitter patter of little feet any time soon. So please don’t ask me. As my friend Heather so wisely puts it, “It is rude to ask a woman when and if she is planning on having children because you don’t know a thing about her. That being said, if you ask me, I might cut you. Also, don’t ever tell me to relax. Because if you do, I just might ask you how easy it is to relax while I am hurling my fist at your jaw bone.” There is no way I can improve upon that.

Rules for My Future Children: #1-10

1. Learn to speak a second language well enough to swear comfortably. Live in a country where it’s spoken long enough to know your grocer or bartender by name.

2. Keep a journal, especially during your hardest and happiest times. It will be cathartic to write and entertaining to look back on.

3. Love cooking as much as you love eating (if you’re my child, you’ll have no problem with the latter). Don’t fear vegetables, spices or seafood.

4. Take lots of pictures and make sure you’re in some of them. Recognize that you are damn good looking.

5. Don’t let your peers dictate your timeline. Life is way too short to live by other people’s expectations.

6. Listen to your instincts when it comes to love. Be open but not careless. You’ll know when you find someone who brings out the best version of you (you’ll also know when you’re dating a tool).

7. Do something active every day—make exercise a necessity and not a chore. When in doubt, walk there.

8. Read newspapers, novels and non-fiction regularly. Indulge in Us Weekly occasionally.

9. Know how to drive a stick shift, throw an impromptu party and type with your fingers on the right keys. These are all skills that will serve you well.

10. Surround yourself with positive people. Real friends will support your crazy ideas and smack some sense into you when you’re thinking of quitting.

I have a confession to make: I have been looking forward to changing my name since I was a little girl… well, at least since kids in my class discovered that my last name contained a four-letter word and was therefore worthy of mockery. So around sixth grade. Junior high is not kind to the Dickers of the world.

As I’ve gotten older, tougher and wiser, I have embraced my family’s name and have become unfazed by any jokes people may throw my way. There is a long, fine line of Dickers before me, and I am proud to be part of that lineage. I’m sorry, are you giggling? Did I say something funny?

We will always be the Sisters Dicker

For the last few years, I’ve gone back and forth on whether I would change my name or not after I got married. The independent feminist in me said I should keep my maiden name to show I am still my own person with or without my husband. The family-oriented part of me wanted me to hyphenate or take my husband’s name to show unity between us and to make things easier for when we have kids someday.

Well, it turns out I don’t really like the way “Dicker-Burgess” or “Burdicker” or “Dickurgess” sounds. Plus, DMV employees already get testy with me for having a super long name. If I became Gillian Elena Mei Po Dicker-Burgess, they might kill me with their angry, soulless eyes. I decided to make the full change to become a Burgess.

I went to the Social Security Administration and the DMV last week to change my name officially, and I got a lot more emotional about it than I thought I would. I’ve had this name for 25 years, and it has served me well. Brian came with me to both places, waiting patiently and holding my hand in depressing, crowded, fluorescent-lit offices. We went out to lunch to celebrate after Social Security legitimized my new identity as Gillian Burgess. As we toasted over Karl Strauss beers, I told my husband that I’m happy I did it. And I meant it.

Welcome to the Burgi

Changing my name was a hard personal decision, one I thought about a lot before I took the plunge. If I was surprised by my strong emotions on the matter, I was even more surprised by the stronger reactions I received from friends, acquaintances and even total strangers (beyond the expected “wow, it’s going to be awhile before I get used to your new name”).

A few:

• It’s archaic to take the man’s last name and you should keep yours.
• You should definitely hyphenate.
• I think it’s nice when the woman goes the traditional route and takes her husband’s name.
• I’m going to change my name, too, when I get married.
• I would never change my name.
• You’re a terrible feminist and you might as well kiss your freedom goodbye because you are now your husband’s property.

Maybe that last one was more implied than stated outright, but I can read between the lines.

I respect everyone’s opinions, but this experience made it very clear to me that a decision that is good for one woman is not necessarily good for every woman. Taking a new last name or not, having children or not, being a stay-at-home mom or a working mom, traveling the world or settling down and buying a house, all the gray area in between– these are all choices we get to make as individuals. No one can make them for us. And that’s what both thrills and terrifies me about being a woman.

Coming soon… The Name Game, Part II: A How-To Guide to the Tedious, Obnoxious Process of Changing Your Name

I have a habit of going through periods of extreme, massive and sometimes violent change. I don’t, for example, just start a new job or move to a new apartment. Oh, no. That would be too easy. I go, what my friend Gene would call, “balls to the wall” when I shake things up in my life.

Around Christmas a year ago, I got laid off from one job, started a new one, moved from California back to New Orleans, found out that Brian was being deployed to Iraq, went through a number of emotional breakdowns and got engaged… all within a month. This is just how I roll.

OMG, what happened? Where did these rings come from and why am I wearing a blanket with sleeves?

Right now is another one of those times where everything is changing, and I just have to embrace the madness or go mad myself. First step toward sanity: going back home and burning things with my sister. Yep, that’s right. Melia and I have both been moving all over the country, yet we still have boxes and binders and bookcases of old memories left at our parents’ house in Sonoma. Every time I go home, I say I am going to get rid of things I no longer need, but I always find an excuse to put it off to a later visit.

Didn’t get to paint over the hot air balloons this time, but the Sarah McLachlan and Austin Powers posters did come down

Well, it’s finally time. If I’m really going to make the transition into adulthood and marriage, I don’t want to be tied down by pieces of my past I just don’t feel like dealing with.

Signs of progress: cleaning out shelves full of books, photo albums and knickknacks

Melia and I both came home the same week, and we formed a moral support group of two, spending our evenings deciding the fate of stacks of photos and papers and books. I was amazed by what I had kept for the last 10 or 20 years. Why did I hang on to letters that remind me of a time I’d rather forget? Did I really think my high school English paper on “The Kitchen God’s Wife” was worth saving to show my future children? I don’t even like Amy Tan!

We decided a ritual bonfire was the right way for us to let go of the past and move forward. We gathered together the bags and bags of papers we wanted to burn (sadly, photos had to be disposed of another way) and lit a match in the fireplace. In went Melia’s identity as a nonprofit workaholic: Rolodexes, curriculum plans, workshop notes. In went my reminders of being a reserved and over-achieving teenager.

Burn, baby, burn

With every stack, it got a little easier. Notes from my junior high BFFs, angsty teen poetry, senior project writing assignments, college term papers. I watched them all go up in flames, and it was glorious. Let me tell you, there is nothing more freeing than burning your SAT scores.

Anyone who has ever had to write a “dialectical journal” will know the satisfaction I got from burning one

Melia wrote a blog post about our fire, and she captured very eloquently how I felt about our ritual:

Burning the written documentation of your past is much, much more cleansing than dumping it in the recycling bin, or even shredding it. When the flames consume the pages that symbolize your past, your former self and relationships instantly cease to exist. What remains is nothing, and it forces you to relate to people — your best friend from middle school, or your enemy, for that matter — in a completely new way instead of clinging to how things used to be.

I am very different than I was at age 15 or even 20 (thank goodness), and it was a huge relief to erase my old expectations and make a fresh start. The way I celebrate a fresh start is by breaking open a bottle of red wine… and making a new list. Borderline alcoholic, maybe. More-than-slightly nerdy, definitely. But this is a good list, not my normal “holy Christ, I have so much to do and will never finish it all” list. This will be an ongoing fun list…

Fresh Start List #1: A Few Goals for the Near Future

1. Go to Central America and learn Spanish

I love traveling, and it has been far too long since I’ve gone on a down-and-dirty, fit-everything-in-a-backpack, shower-every-now-and-then trip. Summer 2005, to be exact, when Jenna and I took over the Greek Isles. I have always wanted to go to Costa Rica, Guatemala, Honduras, you name it. I loved Panama when Brian and I went there on our honeymoon, but I hated not being able to communicate beyond my toddler’s vocabulary of “hello” and “thank you” and “I have hunger.” I want to learn Spanish, and I’m comfortable enough with French now that I’m ready to tackle a new language. This summer, I am determined to go on a Central American extravaganza with my girl Angie. Our plan is to go to language school for a few weeks, then spend another month traveling from country to country on buses full of chickens while practicing our new skillz.

September 2005: Jenna has a “Titanic” moment on the ferry from Greece to Italy

2. Take the plunge on new projects

I have a million ideas a-brewin’ in my head at any given moment– business ideas, freelance writing ideas, home decorating ideas, costume party ideas– but a lot of them don’t go anywhere. I get so overwhelmed by wanting to do something perfectly that I never actually do it at all. That needs to stop. If I want to try to build a Web site (or a bookcase or a magazine) from scratch, dammit, I need to give it a shot. The worst that could happen is that it won’t be perfect and that I’ll learn something from the process.

3. Do more things every day that make me happy

I consider myself a fairly happy person. Sure, I stress out over things more than I should sometimes, but when I get carried away, I try to take a step back and keep it all in perspective. Lately, though, I’ve been working too much, working out too little and not making time for a lot of activities that make me really happy. Dancing. Cooking. Swimming. Watching movies. Taking pictures. Speaking French. Writing for fun. The best New Year’s resolution I ever made was freshman year of college when I vowed to go dancing at least once a week. I kept it up until the end of the school year (longer than any other resolution I’ve ever made), and I couldn’t have been happier doing it. I’m making a resolution to make more of these resolutions.

French Quarter Fest 2008: Dancing in the streets with my sis