It's over.

It is Midnight. The last day of August. My month of blogging every day is over. In the beginning of the month, I told you that I wanted to do Nablopomo (National Blog Posting Month) as a writing exercise and a personal challenge. I also wanted a shiny Nablopomo badge for my sidebar. Well, it was a long haul, but I kept going until the end.

One of the things I learned is that you publish a lot of bad stuff when you publish a post every day. It’s miserable, and I whined about it. (I take solace in whining.) But I learned something else. There is an inescapable honesty in these bad posts. They are naked. They are what they are. I had to be a bit courageous to publish these bad posts. I had to just let it all hang out.

Unfortunately, I was not successful in my Nablopomo. Even though I published a post for every day in August, I was late publishing some of these posts. I missed my deadlines. So, I will not get my shiny Nablopomo badge.

But it's OK. I will keep going. Just not every day. Because publishing a post every day is really miserable.

The Tell-Tale Post, with apologies to Edgar Allen Poe.

I had been very nervous. Very, very nervous. Nablopomo (National Blog Posting Month) had sharpened my senses. I heard every little sound. But I was not crazy. No. Look at how calmly I tell you this story.

I can’t say how I first got the idea to do Nablopomo. But once I had the idea, it haunted me day and night. I liked posting on my blog. I didn’t mind that it didn’t bring me any money. Not having many page loads did not matter. But I think it was the tiny heads who were following me, with their tiny eyes. Whenever I saw them, I felt so anxious.

Now, you will think I am crazy. But I just wanted to lay my head on my pillow and go to sleep. I even felt a bit relieved. I didn’t really need to publish a post for Nablopomo. My computer was using its screen saver, so I could not see the tiny heads with the tiny eyes. I listened to the rain falling on the roof of my house while everyone else was sleeping. But then I heard a low sigh. I thought it was the wind, or a mouse. Maybe it was Adam or Five. But no. It was my blog, sighing as it heard Death approach. I knew that sound so well. It was like the sound of a clock, ticking away the minutes until the deadline to publish. I grew resentful of my blog, demanding that I publish a post every day. My anger increased, and I felt as if I might delete it.

But I stopped myself. I lay frozen in my bed, but the hellish ticking of the minutes continued. Tick, tick, tick. My blog’s terror must have been growing larger. Would I publish a post? Now, at this dead hour of the night? The house was silent, but the ticking grew louder and louder until I thought it must wake everyone and the neighbours too. Tick, tick, tick.

I shut down my computer. But for many minutes, the computer closed applications and began to install updates. Still, a tick, tick, tick, until the computer stopped. Finally, all was quiet. I rested my hand on the computer, and it was still. Maybe you think I’m crazy. But I hid the computer in a drawer. It had been a long day. I didn’t want to publish a post. I picked up my book and began to read. But then, there was an alert on my phone. I had a DM. I looked to see who was there, with an easy heart, because what did I have to fear? My blog with its tiny heads was shut down inside my computer.

It was @ThreeOfficers on Twitter. They were from Nablopomo. My father had alerted them when I did not publish a post on my blog, and suspicion had been aroused. They were obliged to look for a post. I lied and told them I was planning to publish a post, but I had been feeling ill. I said, I will turn on my computer and you can search for it. You will see that I have a post to publish. Then I gave them permission to remotely access my computer.

@ThreeOfficers was satisfied. They found some drafts for posts that had not been published. We chatted on Twitter about the Emmys. But before long, I really wished they would go away. I had a headache, but still they chatted. Why would they not leave me alone? I continued to chat on Twitter, but I heard a ticking sound. It was the tick, tick, tick sound of the clock. It grew louder and louder, but of course @ThreeOfficers could not hear it. I argued about Glenn Beck and Koch Industries, and I grew more flustered and annoyed. Oh, God! What would make it stop? Anything was better than this suffering, this pain. I felt that I would die if I continued to hear the ticking of the clock.

“OK!” I yelled in all caps. “I WILL PUBLISH THE BLOODY POST!”

Seven things I like.

Some time ago, I was tagged for a meme by the lovely Happy Frog and I. The rules are that you write a list of seven things about you, and then you go on and tag some other bloggers. Happy Frog wrote a list of 30 (!) things, but I am going to change the rules and keep my list to just seven things I like:

1. I like to make lists. When I go to the supermarket, I make a list before I go. Oh, and I love bullet points. When I was younger, I used to make a lot more lists. Something about (ahem) control issues.


2. Eating. I live to eat. I'm always thinking about my next meal.


3. Reading. Reading is my great escape. Right now, I’m reading The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood, and I can’t wait to get back to it.


4. Running. I started running a year ago, and I’m hooked.


5. Making people laugh. It's my little gift, and I do the best I can.


6. The sea, the sea.


7. Trains. I have always loved trains.


8. Cuddling with Five. Is anything in life as sweet? He is growing up so fast.

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OK, now it’s your turn. I’m choosing seven of you. Feel free to play along, or not. I'd love to read your list of seven things. Or you can simply take this as me telling you that I enjoy your blogs.

AmeriNZ is an insightful blog by a bleeding heart liberal American expat living in NZ.

Girlvaughn.com is a funny blog by a list-loving reader of books. I don't know a lot about her, but I really enjoy her posts when they come up.

naked toes on algae-covered skipping stones has some funny portraits of working life, poems, and other nicely done posts. I could listen to him go on as long as he can spare.

Practically Perfect is a blog by an American expat now living in NZ. I like reading about her impressions of NZ.

TechnoBabe’s Adventures An uplifting range of topics from nostalgia to the past to humour.

That’s Why is a very funny blog by my new bloggy BFF.

UK to New Zealand – The Brunts Big Move is a blog by an Englishwoman now living in New Zealand. She has a criminally small following. Gorgeous, affecting writing.

My first vlog.

I did it all wrong. Oh, well!

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Edited to add. Sorry the video and audio are a bit out of sync. I should have used the flip instead of the web cam. But I was too lazy. And Adam told me to go ahead and post this.

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Edited again to add. My mother just told me she can't see my vlog on her iPhone. Here's the link to make it work.

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Edited again to add. My mother didn't even notice the video was out of sync. I love my mother!

Take this job and shove it.

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Flight attendant Steven Slater got so fed up with disgruntled passengers that he activated the plane’s emergency slide and became a folk hero. But how did he get hired in the first place?

Once upon a time, I interviewed with a couple major airlines for a job as a flight attendant.

The screening sessions were like an open casting call. The candidates had to take multiple choice tests, speak or read in front of a group, and prove we could reach the overhead bins.

Against the odds, I advanced to the second interview stage, where I had one-on-one interviews and video tests in a group environment.

I answered behavioural questions about handling disgruntled customers and not being supported by my employer. (In hindsight, I probably answered these questions too fully.)

When I got to the scenario questions, I really failed. I wasn't able to show an interest in the safety and comfort of every passenger. (Because I hate people.)

Instead of the proper Miss America answers, I admitted I just wanted travel benefits. I also said first class passengers need to follow the same rules as everyone else. (Which is obviously WRONG.)

So, the airlines refused to hire me. I wasn't smart enough I was too smart to become a flight attendant. I guess I was lucky to avoid it. Because it's no longer a nonstop party with glamorous perks, is it?

I should have followed my father's advice and become a pilot. The end.

Does sex make it impossible for men and women to be friends?

There are some quotes from When Harry Met Sally. . . that have become enmeshed with our culture. I have been thinking about this scene:

Harry: Would you like to have dinner?... Just friends.
Sally: I thought you didn't believe men and women could be friends.
Harry: When did I say that?
Sally: On the ride to New York.
Harry: No, no, no, no, I never said that... Yes, that's right, they can't be friends. Unless both of them are involved with other people, then they can... This is an amendment to the earlier rule. If the two people are in relationships, the pressure of possible involvement is lifted... That doesn't work either, because what happens then is, the person you're involved with can't understand why you need to be friends with the person you're just friends with. Like it means something is missing from the relationship and why do you have to go outside to get it? And when you say "No, no, no, no, it's not true, nothing is missing from the relationship," the person you're involved with then accuses you of being secretly attracted to the person you're just friends with, which you probably are. I mean, come on, who the hell are we kidding, let's face it. Which brings us back to the earlier rule before the amendment, which is men and women can't be friends.

When Harry Met Sally... is a 90 minute meditation on the impossibility of men and women being friends. Movies and television suggest to us that friendships between men and women must result in some kind of romance. But I want to think there is a wider range of possibility in these friendships than what Harry and Sally faced.

Before the 20th century, men and women lived and worked in separate spheres, and friendships between the genders were rare. Even today, friendships between the sexes have ambiguous boundaries. Voluntary gender separation is still common. (Think of those parties when men may go off to one corner, and women to the other.)

Friendships between men and women can be so intimate. Sometimes sexual interest and sexual appreciation flare up. However, this is different from having sex. It is about the possibility of what could have happened if circumstances were different. Or it can be reassurance that we are still attractive or sexy. These kinds of attachments can and should be a support system. But can these friendships really work? Or does the presence of desire doom friendships between men and women? And what about the awkwardness of its absence?

Men and women tend to be subtle and creative when building friendships. Men probably get more out of it. In a friendship with a woman, men are able to share their feelings or personal reflections, something that they might be less likely to do with other men. Maybe women benefit because friendships with men are light and fun. (I was going to add that women can find out how men think, but men actually are not that difficult to figure out. They are simple creatures.)

Platonic relationships between men and women seem unlikely in our culture. People outside these friendships often assume the couple is having sex. If they are not having sex, the number one thing men and women do in these friendships is talk. And a spouse may be just as jealous of talking as of sex.

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Remember health care reform?

Access to health care is a human right. A long-held dream of Democrats has been to have universal health care coverage in the U.S. Americans whose jobs come with health coverage will see little effect from the health reform legislation that was passed in March. But it will do a lot to help the less fortunate and control costs.

In New Zealand, the health sector is predominantly State-owned and operated. There is universal coverage for New Zealand’s residents. In the last three decades, health insurance elements also have been introduced, creating a mixed public-private system for delivering health care.

Nobody in New Zealand needs to worry about being able to afford health care. But reigning in health care costs is a concern. There aren’t enough resources in our small, remote country to meet our demands for treatment. (A lack of resources is not likely to be a problem in the U.S.) Of course, people want to get the best care that they can, and everyone should have equal entitlement to whatever services are provided. But we still need to figure out how to ration who gets treated according to need and ability to benefit.

For years, there has been an ad-hoc system of rationing care in New Zealand. We sometimes joke that we need to “be our own advocates” when seeking care, or we complain about "lists". But care should not go to whoever complains the loudest. This is a downside of our politicized public health system.

We also need to stop the escalating demand for health services by better addressing societal problems like alcoholism and obesity. I think public health money would be well spent insulating our houses.

Our health care professionals need more incentives to be cost-efficient and deliver treatments better in their regions. If the public sees health professionals leading the way for change, people may be more likely to get behind their initiatives.

Being 16 was exactly like that.

In high school, I wanted to be Molly Ringwald's character in The Breakfast Club.

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I would have settled for Pretty in Pink.

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John Hughes (1950-2009) was a filmmaker who scripted some of the most successful movies of the 1980s (The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller's Day Off). Hughes remembered the central dilemmas of adolescence and the feelings that it produced. His movies are classics, with a reach far beyond the generation for which they were intended.

How tolerant is America?

Everyone is weighing in on the topic of the community centre (that people keep calling a mosque) in what used to be a Burlington Coat Factory by the strip clubs in Lower Manhattan.

A friend wrote a comment in a thread on a Facebook page, and it is haunting me. It was along the lines of: America never has been a tolerant country. It only pretends to be.

One of our core beliefs as Americans is that we do not persecute. We are the good guys!

But then I came across this excellent photo essay in Time:

A Brief History of Intolerance in America

America has a history of intolerance. Over the course of its history, America has persecuted Jews, Catholics, Chinese, Japanese, Native Americans, and African Americans.

We can't let this small, ugly side of America to represent us all. We need to stand up and speak out. A bad economy doesn't make it OK to project our fears on a scapegoat. The First Amendment isn't up for a vote.

America's "problem" with Muslims has been manufactured by the corporate oligarchy to keep us fighting among ourselves.

Meanwhile, they keep screwing us so the rich can get richer. I really don't know how we stand it.

I'm not writing a post tonight.

“I’m not going to write a blog post tonight,” I said to Adam. “If I miss a post in National Blog Posting Month, I think it will make my blog persona more sympathetic.”

“I’m sure people want you to complete it,” Adam replied. “People don’t want the All Blacks to lose.” (The All Blacks are the New Zealand rugby team.)

“If I post every day, it's annoying. And it’s kind of showing off,” I said.

“You should finish it. It was a personal challenge that you set for yourself. It’s not about other people,” said Adam. He clearly doesn’t know anything about blogging.

“It is about them because they are my audience. They read my posts,” I explained. “So, wouldn’t it be more entertaining and dramatic if I wasn’t able to finish the challenge? It could be a plot twist. I struggle but come up short.”

“No.”

“O.K. It was just an idea. I’ll write a post. Besides, I still might fail, without throwing the challenge on purpose.”

“That’s right.”

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I have been in my pajamas all weekend. There was lots of sun, but I didn't go outside. I have been lying on the couch under a blanket, watching a Keeping Up With the Kardashians marathon and girl movies. I asked Adam to go to the shop for more cold remedies. I drank cups of tea.

It is Midnight. Nablopomo is keeping me up past my bedtime. I’m not writing the post I had planned to write. Instead of writing this post, I want to go to sleep. I should have written this post earlier. Maybe tomorrow I will write a better story.

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Edited to add. Since this is a "blog with integrity", I need to tell you the truth. I fell asleep before I clicked on "Publish Post". And I missed my deadline--by 10 minutes. So, I failed my personal challenge. No shiny Nablopomo badge for me. (But this is a clever plot twist. Now my blog persona is just like Sandra Bullock in "The Proposal", or Meryl Streep in "Doubt". No, I'm like J-Lo in "Maid in Manhattan". AMIRITE??)

The Artist's Way.

My neighbour mentioned that she is reading The Artist’s Way. "But I haven't found time to take myself on artist's dates. I always sacrifice the time that is supposed to be for me," she said.

I first read The Artist's Way about 10 years ago. I had become blocked, and I was struggling to get rid of some negative programming. The book's creative exercises (going on artist's dates with yourself and writing in a journal) helped me to reconnect with the creative side of myself. However, those come with a recovery belief system that you will need to ignore if you don’t view the world through that filter.

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Religion can be a convenient belief system (or framework) to help discuss some of life’s essential questions. How did we get here? What happens when we die? And it encourages people to obey their conscience. What is right and wrong? What is our responsibility to each other?

In the last decade, my belief systems have changed. I used to have a New Age outlook on spirituality. I thought there was a Higher Power, maybe a pagan or earth-centred female deity. Or that I could read my Tarot Cards and tap into the other realm. Then I was kind of a Buddhist who meditated and went with the flow.

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I was raised Protestant, but I didn't have a very religious upbringing. Adam is a lapsed Catholic. We still have not taken Five to a church. But once a week at Five’s public school, the kids study Religion (If parents do not want their kids to participate, they can opt out.)

Since Five is not being exposed to religion at home, I'm happy to have him learn about it at school. One less thing for me to do! Adam is not enthusiastic about the programme, but I have tried to persuade him that it’s not a big deal.

In Five’s class, Religion is mostly about doing crafts. Last week, Five brought home his artwork. On his paper, an adult had written, “Dear God, Thank you that you made me.”

A few other parents were irritated by this. It wasn’t God who made their kids! Adam also was annoyed because the sentence is grammatically incorrect.

"Don't be pedantic," I said. "You know what they mean."

The kids were asked to fill in the blank for “Today I ask you”. But Five seems to have confused God with Santa Claus. He asked for a yo-yo.

Friday night drinks.

I’m a hypochondriac, and the Internet diagnosed me with pertussis (whooping cough). So, I asked Adam to pick up cough syrup for my "Friday night drinks" on his way home from work. Adam tried to save money by getting the cheap cough syrup at the supermarket. I wanted the expensive cough syrup from the pharmacy. The cough syrup that you need to show your ID to get because it has drugs in it. (Not the placebo for two-year-olds.) I was disappointed. It was like getting oregano when you try to buy pot. And Adam was all tough love. He said that if I want drugs, I need to drive to the pharmacy and get them myself. Thanks, Adam.

I probably just have a man cold anyway. All I want to do is lie on the couch and watch stupid TV. Like, tonight I was absorbed in watching The Bachelor. But Adam ruined it because he was gagging, and I kind of lost it. By this, I mean I stomped off to the kitchen, and I started throwing the dinner dishes in the sink. It was very satisfying until I broke my favourite bowl. Then I cried as I wrapped the broken pieces in newspaper and threw them in the rubbish bin. Outside by the bin, I fell on the ground, sobbing, and kicking my feet like a two-year-old. I wanted the mind-numbing hit that only The Bachelor can provide. I wanted a new drug. (I would have embedded this video from YouTube, if I had been allowed. Boo!)

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Edited to add. I just found out that I can watch The Bachelor on TVNZ's OnDemand. But I have lost interest. Now that I can get it on the Internet, the street value of The Bachelor has gone down.

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Edited again to add. The street value of The City and The Hills is still high.

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Edited again to add. If I ever get over this whooping cough, I'm buying a new bowl.

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Edited again to add. What exactly is in that cough syrup for two-year-olds?

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Edited again to add. I think I'll drink some more cough syrup. And watch The Bachelor.