Half Changed World

The Washington Post had a nice article on labor force participation in the business section last Friday.  While the headline focused in on women — "Whither the Women?" — the article actually adds some useful perspective to the whole "opt-out" discussion.

Key points:

• Men’s labor force participation has been declining since 1949!  The article suggests that this is due to a combination of more time spent in school and pensions and social security allowing men to retire.  There’s presumably also a story about low-skilled men who are neither in school or working.
• Women’s labor force participation rose steadily until around 1990, and then rose more slowly until 2000.  It’s now down about a percentage point from its peak.
• This doesn’t seem to be a story about moms not working, as the participation rate has declined for women both with and without children.  (Heather Boushey at CEPR has also made this point.)  The share of women who give "home responsibilities" as the reason for not working has also declined.

Some of the reasons that men are working less also apply to women — in particular, women are staying in school longer than men.   The generation of women which has been most work-oriented is just starting to hit retirement age, so that’s likely to reduce labor force participation (if they can afford to retire). And women tend to live longer, and so are likely to spend more years out of the workforce in retirement.

By the way, the "recent analysis" by demographer Cheryl Russell appears to be a post in her blog.  Not that you could tell by reading the article. 

Tuesday’s post reminded me that I had never written about Let’s Dish after actually going there (as opposed to the theoretical discussion back here).  Overall, I’d say the experience was less than I hoped for, but the food was better than I expected.

The experience:

Putting the meals together was ok, but less social than I had hoped.  I think it’s mostly an issue of time.  I did the 12-dinner package, which costs a lot less per meal than the 8-meal package, but doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for schmoozing.  They want you in and out in 2 hours, and after leaving time for the orientation, putting your meals away and washing your hands between stations, and checking out, that doesn’t leave a whole lot of extra time.  If I do it again, I’d like to split the 12-meal package with a friend, and then we could talk while we assembled.

They have the process very well thought-out, with the appropriate measuring cup or spoon for each ingredient right there, and the staff replenishing ingredients and wiping down counters every time you turned around.  The ergonomics weren’t great for me — I’m 5′ even, and often found myself straining to reach things.

The process was less sensual than cooking ordinarily is.  You don’t actually cook anything on site, so there’s no good smells coming out.  And everything is prechopped, so you’re mostly just scooping things into plastic bags and then squeezing the ingredients together.

The food:

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the food.  Of the 10 or 11 dishes that we’ve tried, only one of them was really disappointing — the Chow Mein dish was just soggy.  With hindsight, I should have known that stir-frying frozen vegetables was unlikely to have good results.  I found one of the sauces for the steaks unbearably salty, but my husband liked it, and it wasn’t incorporated into the dish, so it was easy enough for me to eat the meat without it.  Everything else has been tasty and easy to prepare.  And the grilled salmon was excellent — that’s a dish I probably wouldn’t have had the confidence to try from a cookbook, but will make again (although probably with a different marinade).

Is it gourmet coooking?  No.  Is it anything that we couldn’t assemble ourselves in advance?  No.  But has it improved the quality and variety of what we actually eat on a day to day basis?  Yes.  We’ve had a lot fewer meals of spaghetti and jarred sauce.  Will I go back?  Probably, especially if I can get someone to split a session with me.

In a creative writing class I took long ago, the teacher lectured us about "beer truck endings."  A beer truck ending is when the author doesn’t know how to end a story or a book, so writes something like "And then X was crossing the street and got hit by a beer truck and killed.  The end."   You can’t get away with writing a story like that, with an ending that isn’t related to what’s come before.  But, of course, in the real world, people sometimes do get hit by trucks for no good reason.

Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic is Alison Bechdel’s exploration of her strained relationship with her father, who died after being hit by a Sunshine Bread truck, shortly after she had come out to her parents as a 20 year old college student.  Or rather, it’s her exploration of the various narratives that she tells about his life and death.  Was it a suicide in response to her announcement?  Or is that just a story she tells to convince herself that she was more significant in his life than he showed?  Did he time his death to match his life to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s?  Or was it just a freak accident?  At times she wishes that he had died of AIDS instead, because the death of a closeted gay man of AIDS in the early 1980s would have made a narrative sense in way that the death of a closeted gay man by being hit by a truck doesn’t.  The book is full of literary references, as Bechdel’s father was a high school English teacher (and funeral home director) and literature was one of the few ways that they connected. (I found myself wishing I had read Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.) 

If Fun Home were fiction, it would be called a graphic novel.  It’s a memoir, so I’m not sure there’s a word for what it is.  The art style is very similar to Dykes to Watch Out For, the comic strip that Bechdel’s been drawing for 20+ years, and a few of the DTWOF characters make cameo appearances as Alison’s fellow members of the gay student union.  Photographs are reproduced as realistic drawings, and one haunting panel shows the carefully rendered negatives of the images we’ve just seen.

Fun Home is more than a bit painful to read.  Bechdel complains that her father treated his furniture like children and his children like furniture.  The acknowledgements thank her mother and brothers "for not trying to stop me from writing this book."  In a conversation with fellow cartoonist Craig Thompson, she explains that the only way she was able to write the book was that she didn’t expect anyone to see it.  (DTOWF mostly runs in gay and lesbian newspapers, and has never achieved mainstream success.  Fun Home has gotten rave reviews and Bechdel is clearly struggling a little with her newfound fame.)  And there’s no redemptive payoff at the end.  But if you read it, the story and images will stay with you.

We had a close to perfect Fourth of July — swimming in the city pool, halfway watching soccer while cleaning and cooking, grilling dinner with a group of friends, watching the fireworks on the mall from the GW Parkway — only slightly dampened by the early evening downpour.  I got lots of compliments on the grilled salmon, and was slightly embarrassed to admit that it was one of the meals I prepared at Let’s Dish (yes, I did go there when one opened nearby — I should do a post about it someday).

I think the highlight for D may have been the chemical "glow stick" that I gave to each of the boys for the walk back to the metro.  I could argue that the sticks helped them be seen by the cyclists going way too fast on the crowded paths, but the truth is that I gave them to the boys mostly to keep them distracted and happy when they’re tired and overstimulated.  I feel a little guilty about using them, since I’m sure the chemicals in them are terrible for the environment. 

On the way home, I was thinking about how much pleasure the boys get out of the cheap plastic crap that is sold by Oriental Trading Company (which is where the glow sticks came from) and given out at fast food restaurants.  The conventional wisdom is that these toys are bad because kids play with them for 10 minutes and then forget about them.  Not my kids.  If the kids forgot about them, they wouldn’t be such a pain in the neck.  The problem is my boys adore them, play with them, and get hysterical when they break, which they do all the time, or when I try to throw them out to stop us from getting buried alive.  On the other hand, it’s sort of charming to see the boys in ecstasy over something that cost 95 cents.  When it’s so easy to make them so happy, it’s hard to resist.

Book review tomorrow — too tired tonight.

Last week, the federal Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices recommended adding a new vaccine, Gardasil, to the standard immunization schedule for 11 and 12 year old girls.  Gardasil immunizes against several strands of the Human Papilloma Virus (HPV), which causes genital warts and cervical cancer.

As Rivka at Respectful of Otters explained, the conservative groups that had initially responded to the prospect of such a vaccine in a hysterical snit ("How are we going to stop people from having sex if we can’t threaten them with deadly disease?"  — no that’s not a literal quote, but the real ones aren’t far off), have moderated their message, and are now saying that they’re glad the vaccine is available, but it shouldn’t be mandatory.  This change is rhetoric seems to have been effective: the NYTimes says that "a few religious groups have expressed mild reservations about the vaccine."  But Rivka argues that there will always be exceptions available for religious objectors, and if the vaccine isn’t made mandatory, states may not pay for it.

If I understand the issue correctly, assuming that HHS accepts the ACIP recommendations, the new vaccine will be covered under Medicaid and the federal Vaccines for Children program.  So really poor kids should get it (as long as they have access to the documents to prove their citizenship, but that’s a topic for another day).  And most private insurance will cover it as well.  The problem is the state programs that provide vaccines for kids who aren’t poor enough to qualify for Medicaid, but don’t have insurance.  Gardasil is expensive — $120 per shot, with a series of three shots required — and covering it would nearly double the cost of some states’ immunization programs.

However, on the parenting lists that I’m on, most of the discussion has been from parents who aren’t sure that they want to give their daughters a new vaccine, especially if they’re not sexually active.  I’m not going to quote anyone without permission, but what I’ve been hearing is pretty similar to the parents quoted in this article about the vaccine.  My kids are way too young, and the wrong gender (although eventually Gardasil or another similar vaccine is likely to be available for boys and men as well), so it’s not a decision I’m personally facing.  But I tend to be pretty pro-vaccine in general.

***

I saw a poster on the metro over the weekend, seeking healthy volunteers to participate in clinical trials for a malaria vaccine.  I don’t remember the URL and google has failed me in digging it up, but I’m going to look for the poster again.  Obviously, I want to learn more about both the vaccine and the study protocol, but I’m seriously considering doing it. 

Via Becca at Not Quite Sure, I read Meghan O’Rourke’s commentary on Linda Hirshman’s book.  The part of the essay that jumped out at me was this:

"If you are a woman who is committed to gender equality, who doesn’t believe that a woman’s place is necessarily in the home, she argues, then you have to think about how your choices shape the collective good. Her stubborn insistence is refreshing. Unlike others, she is willing to come out and say, in no uncertain terms, that the luxury of making our own decisions as if they had no larger implications isn’t ethical at this point in time."

Fair enough.  Our choices have implications for the environment, for the economy, for society as a whole, and yes, they have implications for other women.

But Hirshman simultaneously asks too much of women (insisting that they should stay in jobs even if they’re unhappy and unfulfilled) and too little (because just showing up in an office every day isn’t going to change the structure of society). 

I’ve been thinking of some ways that we can further the "common good," regardless of whether we work for pay.  Here are my initial thoughts — I’d love to hear others’ suggestions.  I’m deliberately not including voting or other political activism in this list, although I do think it’s critical.

If you are a stay at home parent:

• Volunteer in the schools.  And spend your energy on things that improve education for all kids, not just your own.  If you’re in an affluent school district and are fundraising for extras, consider partnering with a school in a low-income neighborhood that doesn’t have access to those sorts of resources.
• Don’t insist that all school-related functions happen on weekday afternoons, because evenings are "family time."  Let working parents participate as much as they can. Don’t sneer at them if they send in store-bought cookies for the bakesale. 
• Don’t let your spouse off the hook for being an involved parent.  Fight back against the working world’s attempt to relegate family life to secondary importance.
• Occasionally, cut a working parent a break.  Offer to pick up their kid when the schools let out two hours early with no notice because of snowfall.  I’m not saying be a doormat, but a little help can go a long way.

If you work for pay:

• Stand up for your rights.  Show employers that you don’t have to be what Joan Williams calls an "ideal worker," free of family obligations, to be productive.  Especially if you’re male, don’t try to hide it when you have family responsibilities.
• Stand up for the rights of others, especially lower-paid workers who tend to get fewer benefts and less flexibility, as well as less money.  Fight for systemic change, not just special privileges for the favored few.
• If you have any hiring authority, take a second look at the resumes of people who are returning to the workforce after taking time off for caregiving.  I’m not saying you should hire people who aren’t qualified, but give them a chance to show their qualifications.
• Appreciate the people who make your work possible, the daycare workers caring for your child, the next door neighbor who keeps an eye on the middle schoolers waiting for the bus, the boss who lets you telecommute one day a week.  And don’t just think it — make sure they know.

What else?

This is still true.

Today HHS published regulations implementing the budget bill’s changes to Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF), aka "welfare."  I worked on them while I was at HHS, and my frustration with both the content and the process was a good part of what led me to jump ship.  It’s very strange to read them from the outside now.

We’re trying to get a draft of our preliminary analysis out to advocates who we work with by tomorrow.  So I was in the office at 7:15 this morning, left at 6:30, and will go online to work some more when I finish this up.  But I’m not complaining — I don’t mind working long hours occasionally, when there’s actually work to be done.  And it’s a lot more fun to spend all day writing when you get to say what you think.  I’m feeling pretty good about my decision to take this job.

I even get to talk to the press.  Yesterday, one of my colleagues called me and said "hey, Jason DeParle’s on the phone; can you talk to him about the regs?"  (No, I wasn’t using inappropriate insider knowledge — the regulations were on public display at the Federal Register’s office yesterday.)  I’m not sure I was at my most thoughtful and coherent, though; I was sufficiently impressed that I managed to accidentally turn on the speakerphone in my office, and I wasn’t sure how to turn it off without risking hanging up on him.

The short version is that overall, I think the regulations stink.  I mean, the welfare reauthorization was truly lousy lawmaking — it was tacked onto the budget bill in the middle of the night, with lawmakers desperate to go home, having no idea what they were voting for.  HHS only had limited flexibility to improve things in the regs.  But instead, they made things worse.  They made it harder for people on welfare to go to school, harder for states to help people who need services like substance abuse treatment or counseling.  And after all those years talking about state flexibility, it turns out, surprise surprise that the Republicans only believe in state flexibility when the states choose to do what they want them to.  Feh.

(There will be a polished version of what I’m working on up on my organization’s website in a couple of weeks.  If any of you are interested in reading all 25 pages of detailed analysis sooner, drop me a line and I’ll forward it to you when we have a sharable draft.)

Today’s book is Money, A Memoir: Women, Emotions, and Cash, by Liz Perle.   Perle’s personal story is a zinger — she quit her job and moved to Singapore with her four-year-old son, only to be told by her husband that he wanted a divorce.  She writes about her learning, the hard way, that marrying wealth doesn’t really buy you security, and the freedom she found in learning that she could survive her worst nightmare.  When she remarries, and her new husband asks if it’s a problem for her that he isn’t financially secure, she has the insight to answer that she likes to feel taken care of, and that she’s spent a long time associating that with money.  That’s a nice, hard won, distinction.

Unfortunately, only a small part of Money, A Memoir, is actualy a memoir.  Mostly it’s a mushy pop-psychology book about how women are still looking for Prince Charming to rescue them from having to make tough financial choices.  There are some nice lines — I liked Chelle Campbell’s definition of the "emotional middle class" as "somebody who feels she still needs to strive to make ends meet but who has a lot of nice things so she feels she can’t really complain too much" — but not much substance. 

Perle is also oddly judgmental in some places.  When she hears that a former slow-track father of her acquaintance has taken an editor in chief position, where he travels a lot, she is "crestfallen," rather than glad that he’s had the opportunity to focus on his family and now is trying something else.   At the same time, she is highly critical of an artist who was reluctant to take a regular job when he and his wife had a baby, accepting at face value his wife’s complaint that he was "irresponsible" for the same characteristics she had previously valued.

Perle writes well, and the book is a quick read.  But it left me unsatisfied.  I’d rather have heard more about Perle’s own story — even if she didn’t open her check register, as Sandra Tsing Loh suggests.

As you might know, people in DC freak out when there’s even the slightest chance that it might snow.  Flurries in the western suburbs are enough to shut down the Fairfax schools for at least two days.  So I’m finding it somewhat amusing that it is rain that has wreacked more havoc than any snowstorm I’ve seen in the 10 years that I’ve lived in the area. 

The morning commute was just brutal today.  I left 20 minutes early because I had a 9 am meeting, and still got to work 15 minutes late.  And I was one of the lucky ones — most of my waiting was on the platform, rather than on an overcrowded train.  My boss left work early because her basement was flooded and there was water running out of the light fixtures in her kitchen.  Several federal office buildings and Smithsonian museums are closed.

(The lights have been flickering as I type.  My laptop has plenty of power, but the wireless network will go out if we lose electricity.)

I know the hardest rain was yesterday, but the most impressive electrical storm was Thursday night.  My bedroom is right under the roof, with two skylights, and it was unreal to watch.  I couldn’t fall asleep because it was so loud.  The boys slept right through it.