In a bit of editorial tidying I need to start off today by clearing up a few points. I like how magazines have Editor's Notes all over the place and the Corrections can't be found without a magnifying glass and a shovel. Not me, boy. I'll air out my dirties in the front window!
When I said that fetal sex information is kept from expectant parents in China I should have expanded that sentence considerably. Or boiled it down a bit. I meant to say that Chinese doctors have a long standing policy of not telling Chinese expectant parents the sex of their babies until the last month. As Americans seeking medical attention from any of the international clinics dotting the Beijing landscape, Kasha and I are more than welcome to inquire after the pickle's naughty bits.
In fact, our doctor and at least one sonogram technician have been nearly flabbergasted by our desire to be kept in the dark about it. Maybe flabbergastaition is ham-fisted in this case, but it went like this: Dr. Omar, a really sweet and articulate Obstetrician/ Gynecologist of Syrian extraction (although not a math-whiz), informed us with xmas-morning-excitement that we'd finally be able to know the sex of the child. Thank you, no is what we said. Tick, tick, his mouth falling open, "but other parents do... want to know... the humma humma humma."
So, what would you call it? Without a doubt, that's a weak argument. I mean, if other expectant parents were jumping off a bridge. You know. Would you have me say the man was dumbstruck? Doctors can't be dumb, although I am sure they'd know what to do if ever they were struck. Astonished might work, but you can't say the word without saying "ass" which is just immature. Puzzled doesn't work either for this story. Even if 99% of people want to know the sex of their baby and only a sliver of folks don't want to know (or want to prove to themselves that they don't care "as long as it's healthy!") that's still just two scenarios. Okay, one would be highly unlikely, but how are you going to be genuinely puzzled at the outcome of an event with only two possibilities?
No, I'll stick with the flabbergasted Dr. Omar. The guy was momentarily caught off guard, is all. And we're privy to the information (of the sex of the pickle) whenever we want it. I think it would be great for Kasha and I to find out and keep it a secret from everyone else!
Another point that I think needs clarification is Bruce Lansky. Anyone who can be a best-selling author (besides Glenn Beck, that is) deserve their accolades in simple sales/earnings terms. Yeesh, that's a lotta books. But, let's be clear, this dill rod did write a best-seller, it is 699 pages long, and to the dreadfully unimaginative I am sure it's every bit the helpful and fascinating tool that its cover purports it to be. But, I have to say it: being an author means writing. Sure, Lansky wrote a book that has very nearly seven hundred pages in it, and it weighs very nearly five pounds, but it has less than 700 sentences in it and fewer than five paragraphs. You give me any topic you can think of, this is a dare, any topic at all, and if I can't write a seven hundred page LIST on the subject... I'll give you one of my kidneys (whether or not I'm your donor-match) and a heart-felt handshake. 'Cause that's what you call it. Writing books involves crafting sentences. Making lists usually involves groceries.
And people say Comix aren't literature!
So there! It just needed to be outed. I know I said some nasty things about Bruce Lansky, but give me credit, what I had initially hoped to write is that I wanted to bury Bruce Lansky in a mixture of the powderized bones of his ancestors and his own greasy crap. Up until just now I had shown commendable restraint.
So there you have it. I feel it almost confessional or therapeutic to approach the needed corrections in such an open manner. Makes it seem almost dishonest to think of editing in secrecy!
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