Mass Effect

I don't usually broadcast to the world how much of a geek I am. Most people who know me are well aware of this fact but I typically do my best to avoid doing or saying anything that reminds people just how geeky I really am. That said, I have to announce that I absolutely love Mass Effect! I've been waiting for this game to come out on the Xbox 360 for a long time now, and since getting it for Christmas I can't go a day without playing it. It is visually amazing, as near to life-like as possible for a game console. When you first begin to create your character it is slightly alarming to see such a lifelike face staring back at you. (Thus illustrating the paradox that the more realistic the characters become the creepier it is to play them.) Once you get over the "whoa" response, you get to make your characters features to your liking. The best part about the game is that it looks cinematic during actual game-play, and my character is in every scene right down to the small scar that I chose when I made her. It is so sweet it makes me giddy. Taking place in space it has a galaxy that you can explore at your whim. You can follow the main plot straight through or go off on your own and visit strange new worlds, and seek out new life and new civilizations. Well, there's really not much of the last two because the worlds that are open to exploration are largely unsettled. It's not limitless, but there is certainly a degree of freedom to the game that is unusual for most console games. The only downside is that it is RPG heavy. In other words, you do a lot of talking to people and no where near as much fighting as games like Halo or Call of Duty, which are all fighting. There's a lot of dialogue and a lot of different choices you can make to direct the dialogue. You can be super nice, an asshole or somewhere in between and the people you talk to will act accordingly. You get the same information no matter how you play it, but the tone of the conversation definately changes and sometimes it is harder to charm the information out of a character then it is to threaten them and vice versa. If you like that sort of game and own a 360 I highly, highly recommend buying Mass Effect. It's just plain awesome. Now I'm off to play! Later!

Junk and Despair

Peter and I are pack rats. We have so much crap that our drawers and closets are overflowing, and our whole house is just one big mess. Looking around the room I can see the disorganized closet in full view for anyone to see (it doesn’t have a door). There are boxes, paper, bags, doll clothes I want to sell on Ebay, a large blank canvas painting, and a big picnic basket full of Christmas presents that need to be wrapped. My desk is littered with photographs, notebooks, knickknacks and doodads, papers, pens, and of all things, a paper mache mask. There is a dead monitor in the corner next to my mom’s old sewing machine. Our art supply cabinet looks like someone set a bomb off inside and now half of what it should neatly contain is actually on the floor. Paid bills, receipts, and instruction manuals are stacked on top of the filing cabinet because we’re too lazy to actually put them inside it. There are two more canvases in the room; paintings that are never quite finished enough to make it onto a wall. A drawer overflowing with Peter’s projects sits in the middle of the room. There is a stack of old newspapers, an old telephone, cameras, cords, headphones, and boxes of computer shit we never use and will never need to use. This is all in a room probably a little bigger then your typical office cubical, and doesn’t include Peter’s desk behind me (I’m afraid to look). When we finally get fed up with the crap our closets can no longer hold the shit gets tossed into the basement. Except for camping gear and holiday decorations, most of the shit down there is never wanted, needed, or seen ever again. I hate living like this. I feel uncomfortable in every room, and all the useless clutter is oppressive and depressing. Peter says we have higher priorities then keeping neat and organized. I just feel lazy, dirty, and completely overwhelmed. I have plenty of time on my hands yet I sit in this pathetic mess every day and do little to improve it. Even as bad as this house makes me feel I am still not motivated enough to roll up my shirt sleeves and get to work. I have lots of excuses. Foremost of them is that I don’t want to do it alone. Just thinking of how much time and effort it would take to get this house in good shape exhausts me. I would also have to prepare myself for an all out battle with my husband. Hard to believe, but Peter is worse then I am. The amount of truly useless crap he holds onto astounds me. Whenever I suggest we get rid of things he says he wants to at least try to give some of it away first. Not only do I doubt that anyone would want any of this shit, I feel that we’re beyond that. If it were possible, I’d have one of those big garbage bins delivered and I’d just throw it all away. It might be wasteful and bad for the environment, but right now my own personal environment is so toxic and polluted that I’d be more than willing to do it. So, overwhelmed with the amount of work to be done, and knowing the resistance I will get should I attempt a major overhaul of the entire house, I wallow in self-pity and despair. We need an intervention. We need help…serious help. Any volunteers?

A Sad Realization

I've realized that I became the person I least wanted to be, the person who becomes their diagnosis. My daily life was spent thinking about and reacting to chemotherapy. "How do I feel now? Am I too tired to clean the kitchen? Damn this chemo for making me feel so tired." I spent time researching my options, talking to friends about how things were going, talking to absolute strangers about how things were going. People wanted to talk to me and spend time with me because I was sick, because I could die. Now in the absence of chemotherapy and in the face of remission (short or long-term) I feel completely lost. I have no sense of self anymore. What am I if not someone sick from chemo? Who am I if not someone who has cancer? No one calls anymore to see if I'm alright or to grab up every moment of what precious time I have left. I have time on my hands and nothing to fill that time with. I am boring, bored, and completely beside myself with fear and anxiety. I have already been chastised for feeling this way. People who still have cancer, who are still staring into the face of death and trying to beat it away with a stick, have told me to essentially get over it and start living life again. I contend that I was living life more when I was sick then I ever did before or since. I may not be staring death in the face anymore, but it is near-by, a shadow on my mind. It lurks, it waits, and it will be back. No matter how hopeful everyone is about my future I know it will be back. No one has Stage IV breast cancer go into remission indefinitely. But if they are lucky enough to have it go into remission at all they should count their blessings and enjoy it. Right? My death sentence has been temporarily revoked and I should be living my life to the fullest. Right? Not as easy as it sounds. At least not for me.

What Happened to Halloween?

I've been thinking about how sad Halloween is these days. Peter and I went out like we usually do to avoid answering the door. Not that there are tons of kids around our place. The ones that do live here go to all the shops and grocery stores for their trick or treating. We walked to a restaurant and as we entered two families with small children in toe entered ahead of us. One couple had their kids dressed up, as a dinosaur and a duck, and the other couple had their kids in their normal clothes. The kids in costume were so young they seemed oblivious. The kids not in costume were scared of the other two. I commented that it seemed kind of silly to spend money on costumes when kids are too young to remember them. Peter said he thought it was for the parents...that dressing up kids in super cute costumes makes up for some of the chaos of day to day dealing with kids. I suppose there's truth in that, and I'm sure I was dressed up in silly costumes that I don't remember. I really feel bad for the kids who go to the stores instead of door to door or who end up trudging through the mall because it's too cold and too scary out there in the real world. I remember how much fun it was to be out with my friends after dark, roaming through the neighborhoods high on sugar. I remember the houses we were afraid to go to and the ones not to be missed and the candy trading at the end. There were years it was so cold we'd pile into our parents' cars every few houses to get warm. There were years that we ran from house to house to escape the rain. Halloween was an adventure, and a parentally sanctioned opportunity to live on the wild side. The rest of the year we were indoors before dark, in bed before 8:00, and were generally supposed to be well behaved tiny members of society. Kids these days are missing out. The mall may be warm and dry and safe, but it isn't a little taste of wild freedom in an otherwise boring life.

The End of Chemo!

Last Friday I got the results of my latest CT scan. Pictures looked good...that's about 6 months of good pictures. I had another discussion with Dr. Lee about stopping chemo, and this time I decided to stop. I have two full months off. Two months to enjoy life again....but....in two months the cancer could come back, so I'm not jumping up and down for joy over this. I'm actually more scared now then I ever was about chemo. And sadly, changes that happened gradually also improve gradually. In two months I won't have enough hair to really do anything with besides wear a hat. In two months my weight will only begin to return to normal. In two months I probably won't have new nails or no chemo brain or no menopausal symptoms. Life will be almost as it has been for the last 2 years...only I won't get really sick every month. Oh, and will have a Herceptin treatment every 3 weeks as a maintenance therapy, so I'll keep my port for now.

Why I Kept My Maiden Name

I’ve was asked recently why I didn’t take Peter’s last name, so I thought I’d take a moment to answer that touchy question.

First and foremost I kept my last name because my mom told me to. When she married she didn’t keep her last name and suffered an identity crisis as a result. All her life she’d been Linda Martin and then suddenly she disappeared and was replaced by Linda Trammell or worse, Mrs. Trammell. Who was this Linda Trammell? Did she like sports and the same music? Did she want kids and a career? What were her dreams, her likes, and her dislikes? She always said she’d regretted not hyphenating her name (she would never have been as brazen as to not take my dad’s name at all) and so when I got married and kept my last name I did so for her.

This is what I tell people when asked about my decision and usually it’s enough to suffice, besides, who wants to argue with a woman’s dead mother? However, I’ve learned that telling this in Peter’s company gets me into trouble. He’s never been particularly pleased that I didn’t take his last name and isn’t going to let me take the easy way out. In his opinion, if I’m going to keep my name in part as a social statement, then I damn well better make it (even in mixed company with people I’ve never met and might be offended, irritated, or generally put off by the whole truth). So here’s my statement: I’m a feminist.

Ooh, it’s the big scary F-word. Often associated with bitchy, overly aggressive women who wear power suits, or worse, men’s clothing, and refuse to shave or wear make-up on the grounds that it’s society’s way of keeping women psychologically barefoot and pregnant. I am not that woman (although some would certainly argue that I can be a wee bit bitchy). I am usually dressed in feminine clothing, and if I had a better body I’d have no problem dressing up my assets even more. I like shoes and wear make-up because it makes me feel better about myself. Some call this lipstick feminism, some call it feminist-lite, some call it pathetic (men and women), and some call it an excuse to be bitchy when the mood suits (men).

However, saying I’m a feminist as a means for explaining why I didn’t take my husband’s last name isn’t really an explanation, the explanation lies in why taking a man’s last name upon marriage has never seemed right to me. Historically, changing one’s name meant the change in ownership from one’s father to one’s husband. It was legally binding. A father couldn’t take his daughter back without ramifications no matter how much of an abusive a-hole her husband was. In this modern era, I find the symbolism oppressive although 90% of married women disagree with me. Some would argue that following this logic, keeping one’s maiden name indicates the continuation of a father’s ownership. I would argue that growing up with your father’s last name and keeping it perpetually doesn’t have the same psychological impact as being branded with a new last name as a grown woman. In response to this dilemma some women change their name’s to their mother’s maiden name (preferring to be associated with their mother) or make up their own last name. I didn’t do either of these things for the reason I mentioned originally…identity crisis.

For me personally, not changing my name also had a bit to do with aesthetics. Even though I did not change my name, merely thinking about it results in silly smiles, or pointing and snickering. Kim Popp brings to mind that annoying song, “Umm Bop.” Kimberly Popp sounds like a brand of popcorn. While we’re at it, Trammell-Popp sounds like a British Popp band (and is the main reason for not hyphenating). Peter has had a lifetime to get accustomed to jokes made about his name, and is generally good natured about it. I doubt that the rest of my married life would not nearly be enough time for me to be comfortable with it. It takes thick skin to handle a name like that and I don’t have skin that thick.

Finally, consider how much work it is for a woman to change her name (and then change it back again should the marriage end up in divorce). Signing one’s name on a marriage certificate is the easy bit. What follows is endlessly standing in line and notifying everyone and their neighbors of your new name. A woman has to get a new license, passport, credit cards, deeds, insurance, and more while nothing in a man’s life changes other than a ring on his finger.

There are, of course drawbacks to not changing my name. Disdain from men and women alike are chief among them, but that I can deal with. Being called Mrs. Trammell is kind of weird, but not nearly as bad as when Peter is called Mr. Trammell, so I can’t complain. All things considered, I don’t regret my decision. I’m happy being Kimberly Anne Trammell and will never change my name for any man, even the one I love best of all.

I was once asked if I thought that women who took their husband's last names were oppressed or lacked a sense of self-worth. This gave me pause. I know plenty of women who change their names but seem to otherwise be quite independent of their husband. Children are the primary reason because having a name different from your child's does create problems. I've also been told they do it out of love, or tradition, or because they just don't care. I think what it comes down to is that I don't look down on other women for changing their names, but I would think less of myself if I had my name changed.

Too much pink...

People think they should buy something that's pink to support breast cancer, but do they ever wonder just which charities get the money and how much money is actually going to those charities? It seems to me that companies are more interested in their image then in helping the fight against breast cancer. The one that gets me is Yoplait, which (according to the http://www.thinkbeforeyoupink.org/ website) donates ten cents for every pink yogurt lid mailed back to the company—it would take 4 lids just to make up for the price of the stamp. So while I want people to be involved in fighting to end breast cancer it worries me that in the end the only people really profiting are the companies, not patients and survivors. Still, there is some benefit to a world awash with pink items...it gets the word out that breast cancer is still deadly to many women (and a few men) and maybe someday it needn't be so.