tryptophan and ramblings

On Ravelry in the “knitting engineers” forum, there’s a thread on “Silly Things Said to Women Engineers”. One person there reported that when she was trying to climb into a very tall truck, a male coworker said to her, “Sorry about the big truck. I have a small penis.” Had it been me, I’d probably have injured myself when I fell back out of the truck laughing.

Many of the things on that thread amount to harassment in my opinion. If there’s an opposite of harrassment, this might be it. (Yeah, OK, it’s still a little tasteless and out of place in a work environment, but I’m inclined to take a lenient view on comments that don’t either impugn the other person’s professionalism or imply that she’s in any way lesser than her male colleagues or just there for their amusement.)

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I’ve been rereading Sense and Sensibility. While Austen’s obviously making fun of 17-year-old Marianne and her conviction that Col. Brandon, at 36, is a doddering creature in a flannel waistcoat who is far too old to have any actual emotions, I still found it a bit depressing to realize that I’m now older than Mrs. Dashwood, Elinor and Marianne’s mother.

It’s not just relative to a society in which 17 is a marriageable age, either. I’m only a year or two younger than Ted’s mother was the first time he brought me home – and he and I met as adults, out of college and in our first jobs.

I don’t feel like I’ve wasted all those years, but unless you absolutely hate kids, I think there are always moments of regret now and then for not having any. (The flip side is whenever I’m ill, or one a long plane flight, thinking, “Thank goodness I don’t have to deal with kids during this!”)

That also reminds me that March 23 will be twenty years from when Ted and I met. I’ll have to try to make sure we’re in the same country for that anniversary.

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Yesterday, CNN International had a commercial for Prague, which is a magnificent city and well worth visiting. However, the music was a bit disorienting; I suspect it was from Czech composer BedÅ™ich Smetana’ symphonic poem, Vltava / Die Moldau. Seemed like a weird choice, given that it’s possibly better known as the tune of the Israeli national anthem.

I suppose it’s no weirder than if they’d had a commercial for visiting the US with brackground music of “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” (a.k.a “God Save the Queen”).

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It turns out I will have Thanksgiving dinner tonight (at a coworker’s apartment), tomorrow night (at a restaurant, invited by a different coworker), and Saturday (at our place, with Ted and another couple). Tryptophan city, man. Oh well, I started the Holiday Challenge this morning, so maybe I need the fuel.