I don’t know about you but I can barely keep up with the public statements made by men who can’t seem to keep it in their pants. As a public service, I’ve gathered four statements from four men, all issued after their indiscretions were made known to the world and they were forced to acknowledge them. I guess I could have gathered a few more – God knows the list of indiscreet men is lengthy and tiresome - but reading the sentiments of these four slimy liars just about made me sick. I don’t think I could have taken even one more.
But after reading them, it became obvious that a number of common themes run through them. Perhaps they all hired the same PR firm, one that specializes in repairing the damage to high-profile individuals once their cheating is discovered. Sure, each statement has its own flavor and personality, but they are more alike than different. I’ve deconstructed the comments and noted several themes that appear in each “apology.”
Let’s go back more than a year and hear from Elliott Spitzer, former Governor of New York, once his sexual escapades were discovered:
Themes: Gratitude for the love of his wife, love of his family, regrets about letting so many people down, including every resident of his state, abusing their trust, atoning for this in private, appreciating the support, yadda, yadda, yadda:
“In the past few days I have begun to atone for my private failings with my wife, Silda, my children, and my entire family. The remorse I feel will always be with me. Words cannot describe how grateful I am for the love and compassion they have shown me. From those to whom much is given, much is expected. I have been given much: the love of my family, the faith and trust of the people of New York, and the chance to lead this state. I am deeply sorry that I did not live up to what was expected of me. To every New Yorker, and to all those who believed in what I tried to stand for, I sincerely apologize.”
Themes: I’m not a total scumbag and my track record proves it; plus, the people I worked with here are pretty cool:
“I look at my time as governor with a sense of what might have been, but I also know that as a public servant I, and the remarkable people with whom I worked, have accomplished a great deal. There is much more to be done, and I cannot allow my private failings to disrupt the people’s work. Over the course of my public life, I have insisted, I believe correctly, that people, regardless of their position or power, take responsibility for their conduct. I can and will ask no less of myself. For this reason, I am resigning from the office of governor. At Lt. Gov. Paterson’s request, the resignation will be effective Monday, March 17, a date that he believes will permit an orderly transition.”
Themes: I can do better; really I can, plus a reference to a hackneyed aphorism about falling down and getting up again. More healing, more hoping for better days, good luck and thanks for the memories.
“I go forward with the belief, as others have said, that as human beings, our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. As I leave public life, I will first do what I need to do to help and heal myself and my family. Then I will try once again, outside of politics, to serve the common good and to move toward the ideals and solutions which I believe can build a future of hope and opportunity for us and for our children. I hope all of New York will join my prayers for my friend, David Paterson, as he embarks on his new mission, and I thank the public once again for the privilege of service.”
Thanks, Elliott. And what’s this I read about you mulling a new candidacy? I’m glad you’re trying to serve the common good outside of politics.
From one politician to the next, we hear from South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, who told quite a whopper to try to distract us from the truth of his situation. The Appalachian Trail is a far walk from Argentina. But once he began confessing, he couldn’t seem to stop:
Themes: letting down wife and family, repairing this will take a while, and isn’t my wife wonderful for sticking by me and raising our family while I pursued my dream. Note: first time we’ve come across the word “profound” in an apology. We’ll see it again later.
“… let me first of all apologize to my wife Jenny and our four great boys, Marshall, Landon, Bolton and Blake, for letting them down. One of the primary roles, well before being a governor, is being a father to those four boys, who are absolute jewels and blessings, that I've let down in a profound way. And I apologize to them.”
“ And I don't like apologizing in this realm, but given the immediacy of y'all's wanting to visit and my proximity to them, this is the first step in what will be a very long process on that front.”
“I would secondly say to Jenny, anybody who has observed her over the last 20 years of my life knows how closely she has stood by my side in campaign after campaign after campaign, in literally being my campaign manager and in the raising of those four boys and in a whole host of other things throughout the lives that we've built together.”
Theme: My staff has been great; I’m really sorry about lying to them, too. And to everyone in South Carolina, too. I like his use of the phrase “creating a fiction.” I think that means “a lie.”
“I would also apologize to my staff, because as much as I did talk about going to the Appalachian Trail, that was one of the original scenarios that I'd thrown out to Mary Neil (sp), that isn't what -- where I ended up. And so I let them down by creating a fiction with regard to where I was going, which means that I had then, in turn, given as much as they relied on that information, let down people that I represent across this state.”
“And so I want to apologize to my staff and I want to apologize to anybody who lives in South Carolina for the way that I let them down on that front.”
Theme: another “profound” apology, this time to a good friend: Tom Davis. But not only to him, to all the Tom Davises of the world, whoever they are.
“I want to apologize to good friends. Tom Davis came over to the house. He drove up from Beaufort. And he has been an incredibly dear friend for a very long time. In my first race for governor, he moved up and he lived in the basement of our house for six months….”
“And he gave of his time and his talent and his effort for ideas that he believed in, to try and make a difference in those ideas. And so I, in a very profound way, have let down the Tom Davises of the world.”
Theme: more apologies, this time to the in-laws, who must hate his guts at this point, and how he “let them down.” And something inexplicable about a conversation he and his father-in-law had about where his heart was. (?)
“On the ride over here, I called the house, and in the background I could hear my parents-in-laws, who'd come up to be with Jenny, and I've let them down. I had the most, you know, surreal of conversations a number of weeks ago with my father-in-law, laying some of the cards on the table.”
“And he was incredibly gentlemanly, as you cannot imagine, in saying here were some things that I was struggling with -- in regard to where my heart was, where I was in life, those different kinds of things. And I let him down. I've let down a lot of people. That's the bottom line. And I let them down -- and in every instance, I would ask their forgiveness.”
Theme: Time. This will take some time. Other than that, I can’t quite make out what he’s trying to say here. How God’s laws will protect him from himself; that the biggest self of self is, indeed, self. What?
“Forgiveness is not an immediate process; it is, in fact, a process that takes time. And I'll be in that process for quite some weeks and months and, I suspect, years ahead.”
“But I'm here because if you were to look at God's laws, they're in every instance designed to protect people from themselves. I think that that is the bottom line of God's law, that it's not a moral, rigid list of do's and don'ts just for the heck of do's and don'ts. It is indeed to protect us from ourselves. And the biggest self of self is, indeed, self; that sin is, in fact, grounded in this notion of what is it that I want as opposed to somebody else?”
Theme: one more time, apologies to the people of South Carolina; well, actually just to people of faith in South Carolina.
“ And in this regard, let me throw one more apology out there, and that is to people of faith across South Carolina, or for that matter, across the nation, because I think that one of the big disappointments when -- believe it or not, I've been a person of faith all my life.”
…
Theme: but hey, you should know more about the woman who stole my heart and why. And how he hurt her, too. Ummmm, Mark? Shut up. No one cares if you hurt her. This theme is not found in any of the other apologies, thank God. This guy is nuts.
“And so the bottom line is this: I have been unfaithful to my wife. I developed a relationship with a -- what started out as a dear, dear friend from Argentina. It began very innocently, as I suspect many of these things do, in just a casual e-mail back and forth, in advice on one's life there and advice here.”
“But here recently over this last year, it developed into something much more than that. And as a consequence, I hurt her. I hurt you all. I hurt my wife. I hurt my boys. I hurt friends like Tom Davis. I hurt a lot of different folks. And all I can say is that I apologize.”
Theme: Privacy. Finally we come to it: his request that the media please leave his family alone. We need our privacy to heal and work through this. We love the cameras until we don’t.
“I -- I -- I would ask for y'all's -- I guess I'm not deserving of indulgence, but indulgence not for me, but for Jenny and the boys. You know, there are a team of cameras and crews and all those sorts of things camped out down at Sullivan's Island.”
“And I would just ask for a zone of privacy, if not for me, for her and the boys. As we go through this process of working through this, there are going to be some hard decisions to be made, to be dealt with, and those are probably not best dealt with through the prism of television cameras and media headlines.”
In a much more succinct fashion, we move onto David Letterman. He took a bit of different approach, and addressed his “work family” before he mentioned how horribly he behaved toward his wife. Interesting choice.
Themes: I’m not a total scumbag, just a dummy numbskull who can’t think beyond the moment, and the people I work with here are pretty cool:
“I’m terribly sorry that I put the staff in that position. Inadvertently, I just wasn’t thinking ahead. And, moreover, the staff here has been wonderfully supportive to me, not just through this furor, but through all the years that we’ve been on television and especially all the years here at CBS, so, again, my thanks to the staff for, once again, putting up with something stupid I’ve gotten myself involved in.”
Themes: acknowledging that his wife has been hurt; atoning for it, yadda, yadda, yadda. Note there is no mention of love or support; nor expressions of compassion and trust. No, it feels like this whole episode is much more pragmatic for Dave: we’ll fix it or we won’t.
“Now the other thing is my wife, Regina. She has been horribly hurt by my behavior, and when something happens like that, if you hurt a person and it’s your responsibility, you try to fix it. And at that point, there’s only two things that can happen: either you’re going to make some progress and get it fixed, or you’re going to fall short and perhaps not get it fixed, so let me tell you folks, I got my work cut out for me.”
Which brings us to Tiger Woods, clearly the biggest narcissist of the bunch. This guy is unbelievable. Lied to cover everything up, and now that he’s been found out, he kind of has an attitude about it.
Themes in this paragraph: Like Mark Sanford, Woods “let his family down,” kind of like he might if he couldn’t come up with enough tickets for the Masters, his enormous regret, a self-deprecating “I’m not perfect” line, followed by a big ‘get lost’ to the press that helped build his career.
“I have let my family down and I regret those transgressions with all of my heart. I have not been true to my values and the behavior my family deserves. I am not without faults and I am far short of perfect. I am dealing with my behavior and personal failings behind closed doors with my family. Those feelings should be shared by us alone.”
Theme in this paragraph: More on how much he despises the press for what they are doing to him in his hour of shame. Plus a nod to his wife for her “grace.” Damn straight.
"Although I am a well-known person and have made my career as a professional athlete, I have been dismayed to realize the full extent of what tabloid scrutiny really means. For the last week, my family and I have been hounded to expose intimate details of our personal lives. The stories in particular that physical violence played any role in the car accident were utterly false and malicious. Elin has always done more to support our family and shown more grace than anyone could possibly expect."
Theme: Hate the coverage. Hate it. I’m not going to share one more thing about this. And how what’s at stake is not fidelity and honor and taking marital vows seriously; what’s at stake is his privacy. Oh, and he “let them down” again.
"But no matter how intense curiosity about public figures can be, there is an important and deep principle at stake which is the right to some simple, human measure of privacy. I realize there are some who don't share my view on that. But for me, the virtue of privacy is one that must be protected in matters that are intimate and within one's own family. Personal sins should not require press releases and problems within a family shouldn't have to mean public confessions."
Whatever regrets I have about letting my family down have been shared with and felt by us alone. I have given this a lot of reflection and thought and I believe that there is a point at which I must stick to that principle even though it's difficult."
Theme: I can do better; sorry to everyone; and another “profound” apology.
"I will strive to be a better person and the husband and father that my family deserves. For all of those who have supported me over the years, I offer my profound apology."
Notice that not one of them mentioned learning a lesson in hubris and entitlement and over-playing power. No one promised to never do it again, not that their promises are worth much.
These men all have power, influence, and millions of dollars. Some of them have millions of fans, too. And what do they need to be happy? An adoring woman (or two) on the side who will remind him over and over again how amazing he is, how alluring, how sexy and intoxicating, all without the realities of everyday life intruding on their bliss.
I wish I had millions, too. I’d make it my job to show up wherever these guys were on a regular basis, and hold up signs that read ‘lying scumbag cheater’ right in front of them.
Okay, that’s not realistic. Maybe we should just make it a rule that for the year following a transgression, each one of them gets his name prefaced with “Lying, scumbag cheater” every time anyone writes it in an article or announces it on TV. I’d enjoy that.
“And now, approaching the 18th, sitting at three under par, lying, scumbag cheater Tiger Woods has this championship all but wrapped up.”
“Tonight, lying, scumbag cheater Dave’s guests include …”
“Joining us on the panel, lying, scumbag cheater Governor Mark Sanford…”
“According to lying, scumbag cheater former Governor Elliott Spitzer…”
Hey, it’s just for a year. If they’re all so darn sorry, seeing this in writing or hearing it on the air would be far less painful than anything their families have already endured. It’s the least they can do.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Webs...and the breaking thereof.
“On this doorstep I stand, year after year and watch you leaving.
And think:
May you not skin your knees; May you not catch your fingers in car doors;
May your hearts not break; May tide & weather wait for your coming.
And may you grow strong to break the webs of my weaving.”
Several years ago, I referenced this simple and perfect poem by Evangeline Peterson in a column I wrote to mark the passage of time as my boys were growing up. They were about 11, 11 and 12 years old and living through those exploratory years that build the bridge between the end of childhood and the beginning of adolescence.
What I didn’t quite recognize at the time – even though the poem references it so beautifully - is that they were in the early stages of stretching their webs, creating the tension and the tugging that would eventually lead to breaking them. In my mind, we had so many more years together. It didn’t feel possible that they were starting to grow stronger – and away from me - already.
Did I really believe in that last line in the poem? Hat tip to Evangeline if she truly did: she’s a braver mother than I. Did I want them to break those webs I had been weaving for more than a decade?
Intellectually, I think I believed it. I knew that realistically, barring no true heartbreak for any of us, they would eventually break their ties to me and to our home and make their way into the world. And if all went very, very well, they would do so with “tide and weather” waiting for their coming. In my mind, I understood that even from babyhood, our children break or at least stretch the webs we weave almost daily.
Emotionally, I didn’t really mean it. I wanted nothing to change and no webs of any kind to be so much as tested, much less broken. It’s not that I yearned for their baby days or the preschool boys who melted my heart daily. I accepted the passing years because I found the boys relentlessly fascinating and stimulating and challenging at every age. I accepted those years for one other main reason: the boys were right there. Right upstairs, or across the table or next to me in the car.
Yes, of course I imagined them grown up someday and contributing to society. I believed they would find their way, even that they might make a couple of wrong turns from time to time, and it was a comforting thought. The bad news, the difficult part for me, was that it was very unlikely that any of the paths they chose to follow would lead directly back to our front door.
But they have walked back in, for a few days at least. It’s the first Thanksgiving holiday where all three of them “came home” from their new lives. And in a very real way, it’s confounding. Growing up, we lived through thousands of comings and goings on a daily basis. And even then, even when separations lasted only hours, not weeks, every single time we reconnected, some part of each one of us had changed. One of us had lived a tremendous day or a crappy day, or had an argument that debilitated us or a stimulating discussion that would be long remembered, or enjoyed a connection made of friendship or love, or a endured a hurtful flash of ignorance or hate. We carried it home with us that day – and whether or not it was evident – it was there. And sitting around the table almost every night, even though we lived together and spent hours and hours around each other daily, it was sometimes difficult to read their faces and hear their tone and pick up the clues that gave away the details of everyone’s day.
So this holiday weekend, I can’t help but look at my boys and think in the most profound way: how have you been? What has changed inside you? I wonder about the thousands and thousands of moments they have lived over the past few months without that physical, daily connection between us. Let me be clear: I don’t expect – nor really want – full disclosure here. I went to college, too, and prefer to leave some decisions I made at that time, and the resulting memories, behind. The activities themselves don’t concern me as much as the remains of those activities. Are they happy? Confused? Despairing? Optimistic? I’m not sure I can get a good sense of that in the next four days.
The truth is, I’m straining to hold onto that web I weaved so carefully and lovingly for the past two decades. It’s showing signs of weakness and it’s not going to last. It can’t. It wasn’t made to endure. It was created to keep everyone connected and safe and secure – for a while.
We’re all way past the web stage anyway. As our webs break – or even stretch thinner for the next few years – I have to believe something less noticeable but even stronger replaces them. The extra long hug or our clasped hands or the strong arm thrown over my shoulder. The shared laughter so hearty that it brings tears. The smile that translates as “you’re still a little bit crazy but you’re my mom.”
My sons are growing stronger, in invisible, untold ways so they can “break the webs of my weaving.” I’m resolved to that (I think.) But maybe, just maybe, we all leave a single thread or two dangling, just in case we need to hang on from time to time.
And think:
May you not skin your knees; May you not catch your fingers in car doors;
May your hearts not break; May tide & weather wait for your coming.
And may you grow strong to break the webs of my weaving.”
Several years ago, I referenced this simple and perfect poem by Evangeline Peterson in a column I wrote to mark the passage of time as my boys were growing up. They were about 11, 11 and 12 years old and living through those exploratory years that build the bridge between the end of childhood and the beginning of adolescence.
What I didn’t quite recognize at the time – even though the poem references it so beautifully - is that they were in the early stages of stretching their webs, creating the tension and the tugging that would eventually lead to breaking them. In my mind, we had so many more years together. It didn’t feel possible that they were starting to grow stronger – and away from me - already.
Did I really believe in that last line in the poem? Hat tip to Evangeline if she truly did: she’s a braver mother than I. Did I want them to break those webs I had been weaving for more than a decade?
Intellectually, I think I believed it. I knew that realistically, barring no true heartbreak for any of us, they would eventually break their ties to me and to our home and make their way into the world. And if all went very, very well, they would do so with “tide and weather” waiting for their coming. In my mind, I understood that even from babyhood, our children break or at least stretch the webs we weave almost daily.
Emotionally, I didn’t really mean it. I wanted nothing to change and no webs of any kind to be so much as tested, much less broken. It’s not that I yearned for their baby days or the preschool boys who melted my heart daily. I accepted the passing years because I found the boys relentlessly fascinating and stimulating and challenging at every age. I accepted those years for one other main reason: the boys were right there. Right upstairs, or across the table or next to me in the car.
Yes, of course I imagined them grown up someday and contributing to society. I believed they would find their way, even that they might make a couple of wrong turns from time to time, and it was a comforting thought. The bad news, the difficult part for me, was that it was very unlikely that any of the paths they chose to follow would lead directly back to our front door.
But they have walked back in, for a few days at least. It’s the first Thanksgiving holiday where all three of them “came home” from their new lives. And in a very real way, it’s confounding. Growing up, we lived through thousands of comings and goings on a daily basis. And even then, even when separations lasted only hours, not weeks, every single time we reconnected, some part of each one of us had changed. One of us had lived a tremendous day or a crappy day, or had an argument that debilitated us or a stimulating discussion that would be long remembered, or enjoyed a connection made of friendship or love, or a endured a hurtful flash of ignorance or hate. We carried it home with us that day – and whether or not it was evident – it was there. And sitting around the table almost every night, even though we lived together and spent hours and hours around each other daily, it was sometimes difficult to read their faces and hear their tone and pick up the clues that gave away the details of everyone’s day.
So this holiday weekend, I can’t help but look at my boys and think in the most profound way: how have you been? What has changed inside you? I wonder about the thousands and thousands of moments they have lived over the past few months without that physical, daily connection between us. Let me be clear: I don’t expect – nor really want – full disclosure here. I went to college, too, and prefer to leave some decisions I made at that time, and the resulting memories, behind. The activities themselves don’t concern me as much as the remains of those activities. Are they happy? Confused? Despairing? Optimistic? I’m not sure I can get a good sense of that in the next four days.
The truth is, I’m straining to hold onto that web I weaved so carefully and lovingly for the past two decades. It’s showing signs of weakness and it’s not going to last. It can’t. It wasn’t made to endure. It was created to keep everyone connected and safe and secure – for a while.
We’re all way past the web stage anyway. As our webs break – or even stretch thinner for the next few years – I have to believe something less noticeable but even stronger replaces them. The extra long hug or our clasped hands or the strong arm thrown over my shoulder. The shared laughter so hearty that it brings tears. The smile that translates as “you’re still a little bit crazy but you’re my mom.”
My sons are growing stronger, in invisible, untold ways so they can “break the webs of my weaving.” I’m resolved to that (I think.) But maybe, just maybe, we all leave a single thread or two dangling, just in case we need to hang on from time to time.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
From the 'Things I Never Imagined I’d Think About' file:
The "perfection” of eyebrows.
This is exactly why I was born too late. I guarantee you not one woman of my mother’s generation ever spent more than nineteen seconds at a time thinking about, contouring, shaping, coloring (yes, coloring), or plucking her eyebrows. Make that eighteen seconds.
And yet, there it is, every time I open my Facebook profile. That ad, encouraging me to enter a contest to win $3,000 worth of laser hair removal. I don’t know if this will take care of my eyebrows, plus one entire side of my body, or just my eyebrows. Three thousand dollars is a LOT of money for just eyebrows, isn’t it? I doubt I even have 3,000 individual hairs that could be removed from my eyebrows without leaving my brow-less. I really do. But the promise in the promotion is that I’ll never have to wax or pluck again. That should be enough to entice me to enter to win the grand prize.
Months ago, I wrote about an MSN homepage article – you know how I love those - when I came across one that discussed the way to “perfect,” even “sexy” if I’m remembering this correctly, eyebrows for women. Sexy eyebrows. Is there some kind of eyebrow beautification movement going on that I’ve missed? Are the eyebrows found on American women wretched and disgraceful? This must be the secret turn-on men never admit to feeling.
I refuse to believe any of this. We have reached some kind of nadir in terms of ‘beauty’ and the pursuit of same when we can somehow get all charged up over the look of our eyebrows.
Then again, maybe my eyebrows are a disgrace and cause much consternation among people who know me. I had a manicure recently and the technician asked me if I wanted anything else done. “Your eyebrows?” she asked helpfully. I’m not kidding. I couldn’t tell if she was simply hoping to add another service to my tab or was honestly dismayed by what she saw above my eyes.
It’s not enough that women are encouraged to worry about every single aspect of our appearance. I know – we’re not forced to do that and I swear I’m getting so much better at ignoring those commercials and magazine covers that tell me what a pathetic case I am on a daily basis. I know I am. Must be that “second half of my life” phase kicking in. But despite all my intentions, like every truthful woman in this country, I'll admit the following: Yes, I think about my hair – the stuff on my head, I mean - the hair on the rest of me, the health and 'glow' and elasticity of my skin, especially the skin on my face and neck - yes, now I'm thinking about my neck on a daily basis - my hands and how “old” they make me look, my nails, my overall measurements and our various other ways I can brood about my appearance.
But. Even I have limits. I draw the (custom brow shaping pencil) line at eyebrows. I really do.
This is exactly why I was born too late. I guarantee you not one woman of my mother’s generation ever spent more than nineteen seconds at a time thinking about, contouring, shaping, coloring (yes, coloring), or plucking her eyebrows. Make that eighteen seconds.
And yet, there it is, every time I open my Facebook profile. That ad, encouraging me to enter a contest to win $3,000 worth of laser hair removal. I don’t know if this will take care of my eyebrows, plus one entire side of my body, or just my eyebrows. Three thousand dollars is a LOT of money for just eyebrows, isn’t it? I doubt I even have 3,000 individual hairs that could be removed from my eyebrows without leaving my brow-less. I really do. But the promise in the promotion is that I’ll never have to wax or pluck again. That should be enough to entice me to enter to win the grand prize.
Months ago, I wrote about an MSN homepage article – you know how I love those - when I came across one that discussed the way to “perfect,” even “sexy” if I’m remembering this correctly, eyebrows for women. Sexy eyebrows. Is there some kind of eyebrow beautification movement going on that I’ve missed? Are the eyebrows found on American women wretched and disgraceful? This must be the secret turn-on men never admit to feeling.
I refuse to believe any of this. We have reached some kind of nadir in terms of ‘beauty’ and the pursuit of same when we can somehow get all charged up over the look of our eyebrows.
Then again, maybe my eyebrows are a disgrace and cause much consternation among people who know me. I had a manicure recently and the technician asked me if I wanted anything else done. “Your eyebrows?” she asked helpfully. I’m not kidding. I couldn’t tell if she was simply hoping to add another service to my tab or was honestly dismayed by what she saw above my eyes.
It’s not enough that women are encouraged to worry about every single aspect of our appearance. I know – we’re not forced to do that and I swear I’m getting so much better at ignoring those commercials and magazine covers that tell me what a pathetic case I am on a daily basis. I know I am. Must be that “second half of my life” phase kicking in. But despite all my intentions, like every truthful woman in this country, I'll admit the following: Yes, I think about my hair – the stuff on my head, I mean - the hair on the rest of me, the health and 'glow' and elasticity of my skin, especially the skin on my face and neck - yes, now I'm thinking about my neck on a daily basis - my hands and how “old” they make me look, my nails, my overall measurements and our various other ways I can brood about my appearance.
But. Even I have limits. I draw the (custom brow shaping pencil) line at eyebrows. I really do.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Puma life. Nah - doesn't sound nearly as exotic, does it?
Up until Sunday, I was able to mostly overlook the idea of a website called Cougar life, or something like that. I wrote it off as something of a freak show that advertised on Howard Stern. But it has gone beyond that now.
Let me back up a bit. Before I heard of Cougar life, I had already endured at least a year of radio ads for something called Ashley Madison.com. (Yes, I always hit another channel when the bank of ads begins playing on Howard’s show but it’s impossible to skip all of them.) Who named the company Ashley Madison, I’m not sure – not doubt it’s a combination of female names that tested positively with focus groups of a certain age. But here’s the best part: A-M.com is basically a dating service for married men and married women who want to have affairs.
Isn’t that admirable? If you’re married, I think we can all agree that it’s basically slimy to join a dating service and present yourself as single and unencumbered. But by joining A-M.com, you can participate in a dating service filled with people just like you: they are unhappy in their marriages and want to find love elsewhere without going through the hassle of separation or divorce. This is a group filled with honest cheaters, if that kind of person is even possible. You can’t say you weren’t warned.
But back to Cougar life. As the name implies – sadly, the word cougar now “implies” something about women in our society - this is a dating service for women over the age of 40 and younger men who want to date women over the age of 40. (I think age forty is the cutoff. I refuse to fact-check this.)
My dismissive attitude toward something like Cougar Life.com and its purpose changed when I read the story in the Times on Sunday. This is no longer some kind of fringe, off-the-radar activity. It is real and even more alarming as a result. OnSpeedDating.com has added a monthly “Cougar/Boy Toy” night to its events. At the latest event, the men ranged in age from 23 to 31; the women were between 35 and 56.
And lest you think men might feel confused or unsure of the next steps when they think about dating older women, don’t you worry about it. They can turn to something like Urbancougar.com to have all their questions answered.
Still need help finding your next relationship? Sign up for the first international Cougar cruise next month.
“ ______.” I’m not sure how to put this.
KUUUUUUUUUSSSSCHH! (That’s the sound of my head banging into my laptop screen.)
In no particular order, here’s what is running through my brain, besides a slight headache:
1. What on earth could possibly attract – in a real, substantive, enduring way – a woman of a certain age to a man who is twenty-four years old? (Okay, besides that. I can appreciate the Orlando Blooms of the world as much as the next person. And sure, no one mentioned “real, substantive or enduring” but I can’t help myself.)
2. Same question, reversed. Let’s be honest here. Not many of these cougars are Heather Locklear or Courtney Cox or Demi Moore. In fact, exactly three of them are: Heather Locklear and Courtney Cox and Demi Moore. I’m pretty sure none of them are hanging out at a Cougar speed dating event on Long Island, looking for a date. Are these guys really looking for woman who could be his mother, who shops in the same stores she does and listens to the same CDs? That's a whole 'nother issue.
3. Are women that needy? That lonely? Have we rationalized our need for affection and “love” to the point that we’ll agree to create some kind of empty relationship with a man who is twenty years younger than we are in order to prop up our own sagging (among other things) egos?
4. Somehow, I don’t think the men in these relationships are all that lonely. This is their way of spending time with women who “have seen how bad things can get” according to one Cougar-dater, and as a result they look like heroes. They get zero pressure for marriage or children from these women. The mature woman will overlook a young man’s minor flaws; they’ve seen worse after all.
5. I hate the title “cougar.” I really hate it. Don’t know who started it but it’s completely aggravating and somehow even more fake and pretentious than almost any other title that could be affixed to this fake and pretentious phenomenon.
Maybe this whole thing will fade away as quickly as it arrived. It’s just sort of embarrassing, isn’t it? For me, there is something kind of pathetic about women who use – yes, use - younger men to help them make peace with being in their forties and fifties.
Come on, sisters. We’re better than that, aren’t we? Right? Didn’t our sisters (and mothers and grandmothers) march for the right for us to be forty and fabulous? Or fifty and fantastic? Or sixty and sensational? It somehow diminishes all their hard-fought battles when we all show up at the company Christmas party with a twenty-six year old.
Call it what you want. Cougar life. Or Cougar / Boy Toy night. I call it female insecurity masquerading as twenty-first century sophistication. May it soon be in our collective rear view mirror.
Let me back up a bit. Before I heard of Cougar life, I had already endured at least a year of radio ads for something called Ashley Madison.com. (Yes, I always hit another channel when the bank of ads begins playing on Howard’s show but it’s impossible to skip all of them.) Who named the company Ashley Madison, I’m not sure – not doubt it’s a combination of female names that tested positively with focus groups of a certain age. But here’s the best part: A-M.com is basically a dating service for married men and married women who want to have affairs.
Isn’t that admirable? If you’re married, I think we can all agree that it’s basically slimy to join a dating service and present yourself as single and unencumbered. But by joining A-M.com, you can participate in a dating service filled with people just like you: they are unhappy in their marriages and want to find love elsewhere without going through the hassle of separation or divorce. This is a group filled with honest cheaters, if that kind of person is even possible. You can’t say you weren’t warned.
But back to Cougar life. As the name implies – sadly, the word cougar now “implies” something about women in our society - this is a dating service for women over the age of 40 and younger men who want to date women over the age of 40. (I think age forty is the cutoff. I refuse to fact-check this.)
My dismissive attitude toward something like Cougar Life.com and its purpose changed when I read the story in the Times on Sunday. This is no longer some kind of fringe, off-the-radar activity. It is real and even more alarming as a result. OnSpeedDating.com has added a monthly “Cougar/Boy Toy” night to its events. At the latest event, the men ranged in age from 23 to 31; the women were between 35 and 56.
And lest you think men might feel confused or unsure of the next steps when they think about dating older women, don’t you worry about it. They can turn to something like Urbancougar.com to have all their questions answered.
Still need help finding your next relationship? Sign up for the first international Cougar cruise next month.
“ ______.” I’m not sure how to put this.
KUUUUUUUUUSSSSCHH! (That’s the sound of my head banging into my laptop screen.)
In no particular order, here’s what is running through my brain, besides a slight headache:
1. What on earth could possibly attract – in a real, substantive, enduring way – a woman of a certain age to a man who is twenty-four years old? (Okay, besides that. I can appreciate the Orlando Blooms of the world as much as the next person. And sure, no one mentioned “real, substantive or enduring” but I can’t help myself.)
2. Same question, reversed. Let’s be honest here. Not many of these cougars are Heather Locklear or Courtney Cox or Demi Moore. In fact, exactly three of them are: Heather Locklear and Courtney Cox and Demi Moore. I’m pretty sure none of them are hanging out at a Cougar speed dating event on Long Island, looking for a date. Are these guys really looking for woman who could be his mother, who shops in the same stores she does and listens to the same CDs? That's a whole 'nother issue.
3. Are women that needy? That lonely? Have we rationalized our need for affection and “love” to the point that we’ll agree to create some kind of empty relationship with a man who is twenty years younger than we are in order to prop up our own sagging (among other things) egos?
4. Somehow, I don’t think the men in these relationships are all that lonely. This is their way of spending time with women who “have seen how bad things can get” according to one Cougar-dater, and as a result they look like heroes. They get zero pressure for marriage or children from these women. The mature woman will overlook a young man’s minor flaws; they’ve seen worse after all.
5. I hate the title “cougar.” I really hate it. Don’t know who started it but it’s completely aggravating and somehow even more fake and pretentious than almost any other title that could be affixed to this fake and pretentious phenomenon.
Maybe this whole thing will fade away as quickly as it arrived. It’s just sort of embarrassing, isn’t it? For me, there is something kind of pathetic about women who use – yes, use - younger men to help them make peace with being in their forties and fifties.
Come on, sisters. We’re better than that, aren’t we? Right? Didn’t our sisters (and mothers and grandmothers) march for the right for us to be forty and fabulous? Or fifty and fantastic? Or sixty and sensational? It somehow diminishes all their hard-fought battles when we all show up at the company Christmas party with a twenty-six year old.
Call it what you want. Cougar life. Or Cougar / Boy Toy night. I call it female insecurity masquerading as twenty-first century sophistication. May it soon be in our collective rear view mirror.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
If he "lets" me? Really?
Okay, I’ve been married for more than twenty-three years – to the same husband by the way – so I may not be the best source for stuff like this but I don’t understand why MSN keeps posting articles about men and how they think. Men aren’t that deep. They really aren’t. [Disclaimer: thoughts included in this post have not one thing to do with my remarkable, amazing, charming, talented, loving sons. They are three notable and worthy exceptions to the “men aren’t that complicated” rule. But they’re wonderfully – not exasperatingly – complex and interesting if you see my point.)
By the way, I don’t particularly think there’s anything wrong with being uncomplicated. I really don’t. In fact, I think I could live a happier life if I took a less intense, less convoluted approach to almost all things in life. But let’s check back in on those MSN home page headlines, shall we?
Yesterday, I read something about why men can’t commit. I tried to find it again and searched this phrase: “why men don’t commit.” In response, I received a list of 5,310,000 links. That’s more than five million places I could go to find out why men won’t commit. No one could possibly be that interested in why men can’t / won’t commit.
I’ll save you the time for God’s sake. Men won’t commit for the same reasons women won’t. Fear. Past mistakes in his painful relationships with women. Maybe he witnessed too many bitter breakups among his family and friends. Perhaps he wants to do something as simple as meet a lot of women and see who appears to be the best fit in all ways. Or maybe he wants to travel, and take a semi-annual golf outing to Scotland, or go on ski trips, or play in chess tournaments around the country or climb mountains, or follow Blink 182 around the world or bowl / play softball / go fishing every single weekend all weekend, or hang out at a bar, or read books or play music or paint or write or build furniture in his spare time, or spend his money on the largest collection of video games or porn on the planet without having to explain it to or hide it from his wife.
Please: I know. He can do every single one of these things while he’s married. Sure he can. Assuming his wife is equally enthralled with doing her own thing without him or she’s in a coma and never even misses him. But not one of the activities will feel the same as it did when he wasn’t married. It’s no one’s fault. It just is.
So while I couldn’t find the commitment-phobe MSN story, today – yes, one day later – they have a new one posted: If he lets you buys his undies, you’re The One. Excuse me – if he “lets” me? I’m kind of cranky about that verbiage. Is this some kind of girlish dating privilege I’ve forgotten about over the past twenty-three years? That makes me “The One?” The one who what? Buys underwear? What an honor.
And I have yet to meet an adult man – or even a boy – who calls his underwear his “undies.” That should be a deal breaker for any women. Rule: Run in the other direction if he talks about his undies, or anyone’s undies for that matter. (The underwear-purchasing article was based on a British study so maybe it’s a European thing, although I doubt it.)
Without giving this report too much credence, it would appear that men buy their own underwear only when they’re dating and looking for a partner. This seems to have something to do with good grooming and looking presentable. Once a man is settled into a relationship, the study reveals that he stops shopping and turns the task of girding his loins over to the woman in his life. (There is mention of a brief flurry of activity once again in the late thirties / early forties… presumably his marriage has broken up and he’s looking for love again.)
The article basically admits that men rely on their mothers to buy their underwear for about two decades or so. Later, they rely on their wives to perform the same task. It’s only when they’re “on their own,” those single years spent as a man who can’t seem to commit, that he finds the time to stock up on the Hanes or Fruit of the Looms.
Let’s face it. How complex is buying men’s underwear? Once you get the waist size right, the decision making is virtually over. Anyone could buy a guy his underwear. Mother Teresa could buy guy his underwear. It’s just that unspectacular and just that sensual.
This is just one more way men are … not complicated. If you’re a single woman who read the MSN homepage article with hope in her heart and a three-pack in her shopping cart, sorry sweetie, buying the boxers doesn’t make you “The One.” It makes you helpful. And if you do it too much, with too much joy, it makes you kind of pathetic. We’ve established that buying men’s underwear is not exactly a challenge, so if a woman is willing to pick some up once in a while at Target, why would a man would turn that down?
In fact, I think just the opposite of this “study” is true. When a woman ‘lets’ a man buy her underwear, he is definitely The One. It’s intimate. It’s personal. There are lots and lots and lots of choices to be made about this purchase. The female timeline on this activity is exactly the opposite of the male timeline. Women buy their own underwear from their teens into their twenties. We may turn that task over – at least partly – to our partners while we’re in our twenties. Then we move past that phase, and the lingerie becomes a blouse that becomes a sweater that becomes a lovely piece of jewelry. Victoria’s Secret turns into Target for us, too.
And for couples everywhere, if all else is well, that arrangement is okay with everyone.
By the way, I don’t particularly think there’s anything wrong with being uncomplicated. I really don’t. In fact, I think I could live a happier life if I took a less intense, less convoluted approach to almost all things in life. But let’s check back in on those MSN home page headlines, shall we?
Yesterday, I read something about why men can’t commit. I tried to find it again and searched this phrase: “why men don’t commit.” In response, I received a list of 5,310,000 links. That’s more than five million places I could go to find out why men won’t commit. No one could possibly be that interested in why men can’t / won’t commit.
I’ll save you the time for God’s sake. Men won’t commit for the same reasons women won’t. Fear. Past mistakes in his painful relationships with women. Maybe he witnessed too many bitter breakups among his family and friends. Perhaps he wants to do something as simple as meet a lot of women and see who appears to be the best fit in all ways. Or maybe he wants to travel, and take a semi-annual golf outing to Scotland, or go on ski trips, or play in chess tournaments around the country or climb mountains, or follow Blink 182 around the world or bowl / play softball / go fishing every single weekend all weekend, or hang out at a bar, or read books or play music or paint or write or build furniture in his spare time, or spend his money on the largest collection of video games or porn on the planet without having to explain it to or hide it from his wife.
Please: I know. He can do every single one of these things while he’s married. Sure he can. Assuming his wife is equally enthralled with doing her own thing without him or she’s in a coma and never even misses him. But not one of the activities will feel the same as it did when he wasn’t married. It’s no one’s fault. It just is.
So while I couldn’t find the commitment-phobe MSN story, today – yes, one day later – they have a new one posted: If he lets you buys his undies, you’re The One. Excuse me – if he “lets” me? I’m kind of cranky about that verbiage. Is this some kind of girlish dating privilege I’ve forgotten about over the past twenty-three years? That makes me “The One?” The one who what? Buys underwear? What an honor.
And I have yet to meet an adult man – or even a boy – who calls his underwear his “undies.” That should be a deal breaker for any women. Rule: Run in the other direction if he talks about his undies, or anyone’s undies for that matter. (The underwear-purchasing article was based on a British study so maybe it’s a European thing, although I doubt it.)
Without giving this report too much credence, it would appear that men buy their own underwear only when they’re dating and looking for a partner. This seems to have something to do with good grooming and looking presentable. Once a man is settled into a relationship, the study reveals that he stops shopping and turns the task of girding his loins over to the woman in his life. (There is mention of a brief flurry of activity once again in the late thirties / early forties… presumably his marriage has broken up and he’s looking for love again.)
The article basically admits that men rely on their mothers to buy their underwear for about two decades or so. Later, they rely on their wives to perform the same task. It’s only when they’re “on their own,” those single years spent as a man who can’t seem to commit, that he finds the time to stock up on the Hanes or Fruit of the Looms.
Let’s face it. How complex is buying men’s underwear? Once you get the waist size right, the decision making is virtually over. Anyone could buy a guy his underwear. Mother Teresa could buy guy his underwear. It’s just that unspectacular and just that sensual.
This is just one more way men are … not complicated. If you’re a single woman who read the MSN homepage article with hope in her heart and a three-pack in her shopping cart, sorry sweetie, buying the boxers doesn’t make you “The One.” It makes you helpful. And if you do it too much, with too much joy, it makes you kind of pathetic. We’ve established that buying men’s underwear is not exactly a challenge, so if a woman is willing to pick some up once in a while at Target, why would a man would turn that down?
In fact, I think just the opposite of this “study” is true. When a woman ‘lets’ a man buy her underwear, he is definitely The One. It’s intimate. It’s personal. There are lots and lots and lots of choices to be made about this purchase. The female timeline on this activity is exactly the opposite of the male timeline. Women buy their own underwear from their teens into their twenties. We may turn that task over – at least partly – to our partners while we’re in our twenties. Then we move past that phase, and the lingerie becomes a blouse that becomes a sweater that becomes a lovely piece of jewelry. Victoria’s Secret turns into Target for us, too.
And for couples everywhere, if all else is well, that arrangement is okay with everyone.
Monday, November 09, 2009
It's November, 2009. Yes: 2009.
I think I must have missed the outrage. Yes, I read the news in the media over the Kellogg’s cereal claims about fiber. God bless them; they tried. How can parents go wrong if they serve a bowl of sugary milk that’s also filled with fiber-rich cereal?
Unfortunately, people didn’t quite take to that notion with as much enthusiasm as Kellogg’s PR team may have hoped. No one really believes they’re buying a wonderful nutritional choice when they take home these kinds of kids’ cereals. Popular with kids from sea to shining sea? Yes. Nutritious? Not so much.
I think we can all agree that no one buys sugary cereal in order to add more fiber to their diet. But Lucky Charms or Reese’s Puffs or Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Apple Jacks were some of the sweet cereals my kids could usually find in our house as they grew up. We weren’t candy buyers, and rarely had cabinets of cookies or other treats in the house. But yes, we had our share of kids’ cereal. So sue me.
The fiber thing isn’t really my issue here. I just watched the Froot Loops commercial again and confirmed what I thought I saw before. I also checked the calendar and confirmed that we have just about completed the first decade of the 21st century. Another way to calculate the time would be to note that it’s almost forty years after the debut of Ms. Magazine.
Here’s the problem. The premise of the Froot Loops commercial is that one child – a boy - is in a doctor’s office and getting his check-up. He gets called into the office by another child, playing the receptionist, or maybe the nurse – a girl. Then the patient gets his check-up by the doctor – a boy.
Ummmm…once again, did I miss the outrage? Is there a reason the ‘doctor’ here had to be portrayed by a little boy and the ‘helper’ had to be a little girl? I’m not some kind of lunatic about political or social correctness or a radical feminist but let’s face it, shouldn’t someone at the ad agency who produced this commercial for Kellogg’s have raised this objection to typecasting straight out of 1956? Did anyone speak up and wonder aloud about the little girl being the helper and at the little boy being the boss?
And what about the people at Kellogg’s? I’d like to think someone at some point raised some objection – or at least a question - about the stereotypes we all thought would be anachronisms by now, that appear to be alive and well in their 2009 commercial. I’m so sorry but I can’t quite get past this. Even if I loved Froot Loops and my kids begged me for them, I’d stop buying them on principle alone.
If I missed the commentary on this, I'd be grateful if someone could post a link to a column or some reaction to this commercial. I may be getting more cranky in my old age - in fact I know I am - but this can't just be me, can it?
Unfortunately, people didn’t quite take to that notion with as much enthusiasm as Kellogg’s PR team may have hoped. No one really believes they’re buying a wonderful nutritional choice when they take home these kinds of kids’ cereals. Popular with kids from sea to shining sea? Yes. Nutritious? Not so much.
I think we can all agree that no one buys sugary cereal in order to add more fiber to their diet. But Lucky Charms or Reese’s Puffs or Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Apple Jacks were some of the sweet cereals my kids could usually find in our house as they grew up. We weren’t candy buyers, and rarely had cabinets of cookies or other treats in the house. But yes, we had our share of kids’ cereal. So sue me.
The fiber thing isn’t really my issue here. I just watched the Froot Loops commercial again and confirmed what I thought I saw before. I also checked the calendar and confirmed that we have just about completed the first decade of the 21st century. Another way to calculate the time would be to note that it’s almost forty years after the debut of Ms. Magazine.
Here’s the problem. The premise of the Froot Loops commercial is that one child – a boy - is in a doctor’s office and getting his check-up. He gets called into the office by another child, playing the receptionist, or maybe the nurse – a girl. Then the patient gets his check-up by the doctor – a boy.
Ummmm…once again, did I miss the outrage? Is there a reason the ‘doctor’ here had to be portrayed by a little boy and the ‘helper’ had to be a little girl? I’m not some kind of lunatic about political or social correctness or a radical feminist but let’s face it, shouldn’t someone at the ad agency who produced this commercial for Kellogg’s have raised this objection to typecasting straight out of 1956? Did anyone speak up and wonder aloud about the little girl being the helper and at the little boy being the boss?
And what about the people at Kellogg’s? I’d like to think someone at some point raised some objection – or at least a question - about the stereotypes we all thought would be anachronisms by now, that appear to be alive and well in their 2009 commercial. I’m so sorry but I can’t quite get past this. Even if I loved Froot Loops and my kids begged me for them, I’d stop buying them on principle alone.
If I missed the commentary on this, I'd be grateful if someone could post a link to a column or some reaction to this commercial. I may be getting more cranky in my old age - in fact I know I am - but this can't just be me, can it?
Friday, October 30, 2009
The startling news about Baby Einstein
Well, I was shocked, I tell you. Just shocked when I read the news about the Baby Einstein products. Turns out, buying the videos, now DVDs, and then plopping your baby or toddler down in front of them for a couple of hours does not automatically grant them a waiver from submitting an essay along with their applications to The Ivy League. (I thought perhaps there was a box to check on those admission forms that confirmed: Yes, I watched and enjoyed thoroughly all the Baby Einstein videos by the age of 26 months.)
That sounds a ridiculous, I know, but it’s no more ridiculous than the idea that watching videos of any kind will improve your child’s I.Q.
Before I go much further, I’m not some kind of “no television ever!!” parent. I remember enjoying many moments of sanity that came in 30-minute increments, courtesy of Disney’s Sing-Along-Songs videos. Those video compilations of Disney’s greatest hits, with the lyrics accompanying each song on the screen, entertained my kids many times. The words on the screen were simply an added bonus; at no time did I ever imagine that these videos were also teaching the boys to read. Not once.
I have to congratulate the marketing team here. If you want to lure parents into the making quintessential purchase that will benefit your child, how do you go wrong if you evoke the Einstein name? Who doesn’t want a baby Einstein?
Turns out, nearly everyone does. At least among the enlightened parents who want “in” on the latest thing that will elevate their progeny to the rarified air we call “gifted” or “advanced” or whatever title we affix to special children who are somehow quantified as more intelligent than their peers by the age of six. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? The headline we should all take away from this is that, sorry, not everyone is intellectually superior and you can’t train someone to be.
There’s a reason that an entire culture connects with that name, and exactly why the title of this series was so brilliant. Einstein was a genius who comes along maybe once in a generation. The very name itself represents a phenomenon, an anomaly, something we won’t see again for perhaps decades. According to Wikipedia (not my favorite source but it was more concise than most), the recap of Einstein’s career included these contributions to physics: the special and general theories of relativity, the founding of relativistic cosmology, the first post-Newtonian expansion, explaining the perihelion advance of Mercury, prediction of the deflection of light by gravity and gravitational lensing, the first fluctuation dissipation theorem which explained the Brownian movement of molecules, the photon theory and wave-particle duality, the quantum theory of atomic motion in solids, the zero-point energy concept, the semi classical version of the Schrödinger equation, and the quantum theory of a monatomic gas which predicted Bose-Einstein condensation.
Got that? I also learned that Einstein never wore socks, was basically a slovenly dresser, didn’t like games like Scrabble that made you “think,” and was a horrible speller. Okay, fire up the DVD and let’s go! Your child is just six disks away from being a genius!
All I know is I must have some money coming to me from various exercise gurus and trainers. I bought their videos and did the workout exactly as they proscribed for weeks and weeks. I wanted to ‘hit the spot’ or get various body parts ‘of steel’…I wanted it all. Guess what? I don’t have rock hard abs or killer arms. Class action lawsuit, right? Anyone want in?
It’s called marketing, folks. It’s advertising. It’s putting the right name on the right product for the right audience at the right time. You can’t go wrong. Baby Einstein worked for these reasons and more. But now you can get your money back for up to 4 DVDs, purchased between June 2004 and September 2009. For the record, Baby Einstein notes that this is simply an extension of a refund policy that has always been in place, mostly to publicly address an attack by a vengeful consumer. You can read their statement here.
Look, I’m not opposed to video entertainment for children. I’m not even opposed to video edu-tainment (cringe). I am opposed to parents who view some videos as more equal than others, and then feel somehow misled when they find out that sometimes a DVD is just a DVD. Entertaining, enjoyable, fun, light-hearted and yes, enthralling, even for just 30 minutes.
That sounds a ridiculous, I know, but it’s no more ridiculous than the idea that watching videos of any kind will improve your child’s I.Q.
Before I go much further, I’m not some kind of “no television ever!!” parent. I remember enjoying many moments of sanity that came in 30-minute increments, courtesy of Disney’s Sing-Along-Songs videos. Those video compilations of Disney’s greatest hits, with the lyrics accompanying each song on the screen, entertained my kids many times. The words on the screen were simply an added bonus; at no time did I ever imagine that these videos were also teaching the boys to read. Not once.
I have to congratulate the marketing team here. If you want to lure parents into the making quintessential purchase that will benefit your child, how do you go wrong if you evoke the Einstein name? Who doesn’t want a baby Einstein?
Turns out, nearly everyone does. At least among the enlightened parents who want “in” on the latest thing that will elevate their progeny to the rarified air we call “gifted” or “advanced” or whatever title we affix to special children who are somehow quantified as more intelligent than their peers by the age of six. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? The headline we should all take away from this is that, sorry, not everyone is intellectually superior and you can’t train someone to be.
There’s a reason that an entire culture connects with that name, and exactly why the title of this series was so brilliant. Einstein was a genius who comes along maybe once in a generation. The very name itself represents a phenomenon, an anomaly, something we won’t see again for perhaps decades. According to Wikipedia (not my favorite source but it was more concise than most), the recap of Einstein’s career included these contributions to physics: the special and general theories of relativity, the founding of relativistic cosmology, the first post-Newtonian expansion, explaining the perihelion advance of Mercury, prediction of the deflection of light by gravity and gravitational lensing, the first fluctuation dissipation theorem which explained the Brownian movement of molecules, the photon theory and wave-particle duality, the quantum theory of atomic motion in solids, the zero-point energy concept, the semi classical version of the Schrödinger equation, and the quantum theory of a monatomic gas which predicted Bose-Einstein condensation.
Got that? I also learned that Einstein never wore socks, was basically a slovenly dresser, didn’t like games like Scrabble that made you “think,” and was a horrible speller. Okay, fire up the DVD and let’s go! Your child is just six disks away from being a genius!
All I know is I must have some money coming to me from various exercise gurus and trainers. I bought their videos and did the workout exactly as they proscribed for weeks and weeks. I wanted to ‘hit the spot’ or get various body parts ‘of steel’…I wanted it all. Guess what? I don’t have rock hard abs or killer arms. Class action lawsuit, right? Anyone want in?
It’s called marketing, folks. It’s advertising. It’s putting the right name on the right product for the right audience at the right time. You can’t go wrong. Baby Einstein worked for these reasons and more. But now you can get your money back for up to 4 DVDs, purchased between June 2004 and September 2009. For the record, Baby Einstein notes that this is simply an extension of a refund policy that has always been in place, mostly to publicly address an attack by a vengeful consumer. You can read their statement here.
Look, I’m not opposed to video entertainment for children. I’m not even opposed to video edu-tainment (cringe). I am opposed to parents who view some videos as more equal than others, and then feel somehow misled when they find out that sometimes a DVD is just a DVD. Entertaining, enjoyable, fun, light-hearted and yes, enthralling, even for just 30 minutes.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
A publishing miracle.
Inexplicably, something that actually makes sense came about as a result of James Arthur Ray’s depraved indifference toward human life, otherwise known as his sweat lodge in Sedona, Arizona. You may have heard of Ray: he was one of the contributors to the mega-bestselling The Secret. His latest news made headlines everywhere but the basics are these: About 50 people, dedicated to Ray’s teachings and philosophies, paid almost $10,000 each to attend his “spiritual warrior” retreat in the Arizona desert earlier this month. After several days of participating in various practices and rituals, including food and sleep deprivation, they entered into an enclosed space – Ray’s new age version of a Native American sweatlodge.
The tragic result was that twenty-one of his followers needed medical attention and three of them died as a result of his enlightened approach to spiritual “cleansing.” It’s very likely a number of factors contributed to their deaths, among them the oppressive heat, and Ray’s own direction to everyone to stick with the program and not give in to their desire to abandon the effort. Even while the criminal investigation is underway in Arizona, Ray is continuing to enlighten different followers, otherwise known as same s—t, different day.
The surprisingly lucid news about this story follows: On Monday, I read an update in Publisher’s Weekly, stating that Ray’s publisher, in a moment of clarity that was no doubt encouraged by the company’s legal team, had postponed the upcoming publication of two new books by the financial advisor turned spiritual guru. The first title scheduled was the paperback edition of his bestseller Harmonic Wealth: The Secret of Attracting the Life You Want. The second was a new book from Ray, titled The Seven Laws of True Wealth.
Before I go any further here, I have a few questions: why is everything that can make me happy in life is a secret? And why does everyone seem to know it but me? Why would I want to attract a life I don’t want? When there are laws or rules or habits that everyone should know, why are there always seven of them? Why aren’t there 23? Or 6? Or 327? What is false wealth and who would desire it?
Okay, enough about my issues. Hyperion, Ray’s publisher, has postponed his books until January 2011. Yes, that’s fourteen months away. By that time, Ray could well have offered the injured and the grieving families of the dead enough money to help this all fade from public view.
I hope they get some kind of compensation for their pain – whatever that could possibly be - but not one of them should allow him to get away with this. I’ve watched enough Law & Order to know Ray committed some kind of crime here and needs to be held responsible. Arizona must have its own real life version of Jack McCoy.
Hyperion has started to pull the plug on his deadly game of smoke and mirrors and good for them. The book-buying public needs to begin to do the same, not only to James Arthur Ray, but to every specious guru like him who professes to know exactly what we need to know to be fulfilled and happy and enlightened…knowledge they’ll happily share with us if we pay them a small price (in the case of a paperback book) or a very large fee, like those required to attend the horror show in the Arizona desert.
Because no matter how enthusiastically these now deceased people followed Ray, I refuse to believe that any of them were willing to pay with their lives.
The tragic result was that twenty-one of his followers needed medical attention and three of them died as a result of his enlightened approach to spiritual “cleansing.” It’s very likely a number of factors contributed to their deaths, among them the oppressive heat, and Ray’s own direction to everyone to stick with the program and not give in to their desire to abandon the effort. Even while the criminal investigation is underway in Arizona, Ray is continuing to enlighten different followers, otherwise known as same s—t, different day.
The surprisingly lucid news about this story follows: On Monday, I read an update in Publisher’s Weekly, stating that Ray’s publisher, in a moment of clarity that was no doubt encouraged by the company’s legal team, had postponed the upcoming publication of two new books by the financial advisor turned spiritual guru. The first title scheduled was the paperback edition of his bestseller Harmonic Wealth: The Secret of Attracting the Life You Want. The second was a new book from Ray, titled The Seven Laws of True Wealth.
Before I go any further here, I have a few questions: why is everything that can make me happy in life is a secret? And why does everyone seem to know it but me? Why would I want to attract a life I don’t want? When there are laws or rules or habits that everyone should know, why are there always seven of them? Why aren’t there 23? Or 6? Or 327? What is false wealth and who would desire it?
Okay, enough about my issues. Hyperion, Ray’s publisher, has postponed his books until January 2011. Yes, that’s fourteen months away. By that time, Ray could well have offered the injured and the grieving families of the dead enough money to help this all fade from public view.
I hope they get some kind of compensation for their pain – whatever that could possibly be - but not one of them should allow him to get away with this. I’ve watched enough Law & Order to know Ray committed some kind of crime here and needs to be held responsible. Arizona must have its own real life version of Jack McCoy.
Hyperion has started to pull the plug on his deadly game of smoke and mirrors and good for them. The book-buying public needs to begin to do the same, not only to James Arthur Ray, but to every specious guru like him who professes to know exactly what we need to know to be fulfilled and happy and enlightened…knowledge they’ll happily share with us if we pay them a small price (in the case of a paperback book) or a very large fee, like those required to attend the horror show in the Arizona desert.
Because no matter how enthusiastically these now deceased people followed Ray, I refuse to believe that any of them were willing to pay with their lives.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Baseball questions that spring to mind.
I will rarely watch a baseball game during the regular season. I have little patience for a game where the ball is actually moving and literally in play for somewhere between 10 and 12 minutes during the entire game.
I will, however, stage my own rally during the post season and support my super-fan husband when his beloved and erstwhile Phillies are involved. He has his own ridiculous rituals when it comes to doing his part to bring about victory, rituals that will go unexplained at this point. Suffice it to say, they are pointless and I guarantee you they will influence exactly nothing that's taking place in the City of Brotherly Love tonight. He also has a lot of opinions, especially about pitching, that he'd be happy to share with Charlie Manual should he place a call to us one night.
But here are my questions:
Why would Joe Torre, the Dodgers' manager, hold a mini-interview with the TBS commentators during the game? I know this is more of a TV thing, not necessarily a Torre thing, but shouldn't the manager of a major league baseball team, a team playing for a spot in the World Series, push that mike away and explain, "Can't talk to you now, I'm working." I mean, would a surgeon step away from an open chest cavity to take a couple of questions about the procedure taking place? Would an orchestra conductor step off the podium and speak to a reporter and let the musicians hold it together on their own? No, no they wouldn't.
I don't get players like Manny Ramirez. He not only left the dugout, he literally took a shower and was practically out the door before the game ended the other night, only to find that not only did his team lose the game, they lost it in quite dramatic fashion? Isn't he part of a team? Doesn't a team work together, and support each other during the disappointments? (This isn't the high school team, I get that, but still. These are grown men - extremely well-paid grown men, I grant you - playing a game they've adored since childhood. If there weren't at least a little leftover boy in each one them, I don't think they'd pursue the dream.) I guess his work day was done and regardless of the excitement swirling around him, he was out the door. That's camaraderie. That's brotherhood. Very impressive stuff from Ramiriz.
Since when do managers put pitchers in a game to pitch to one batter? This idea of a specific kind of pitcher to face a specific kind of batter is nonsense. Aren't these guys professional ball players? Don't they pitch to all kinds of batters all season long? Doesn't Charlie Manuel remember that this is the kind of poor management that lost the game in Colorado a week ago? (This is one of the reasons the mister wants Manuel to call him. He can remind him.)
Are the umpires nervous about that little box that indicates where all the pitches land? If they can be tracked accurately through this "cyber-ump," why does the game need these guys? Is it the human factor and the idea that ballplayers and managers love to look aggravated and argue with umps whenever they can? That baseball wouldn't be baseball unless fans could complain the next day (and for the next thirty, forty years or so) about the calls that went against them during that fateful game?
Okay, I think that's it for tonight's baseball mysteries.
Oh - one more thing. This isn't a question, it's an observation. I have personally witnessed the sign of a true Phillies fan: he can find misery in a game where his team holds a six-run lead. Should the Phillies win tonight, I've learned that there is too much time between now and the start of the World Series. Why? The Phillies will cool off and no one will cool off faster than Ryan Howard. What the heck is that about? Only a real Phillies fan could find the crumb of torment lurking inside a possible victory for the National League pennant.
You gotta love it.
I will, however, stage my own rally during the post season and support my super-fan husband when his beloved and erstwhile Phillies are involved. He has his own ridiculous rituals when it comes to doing his part to bring about victory, rituals that will go unexplained at this point. Suffice it to say, they are pointless and I guarantee you they will influence exactly nothing that's taking place in the City of Brotherly Love tonight. He also has a lot of opinions, especially about pitching, that he'd be happy to share with Charlie Manual should he place a call to us one night.
But here are my questions:
Why would Joe Torre, the Dodgers' manager, hold a mini-interview with the TBS commentators during the game? I know this is more of a TV thing, not necessarily a Torre thing, but shouldn't the manager of a major league baseball team, a team playing for a spot in the World Series, push that mike away and explain, "Can't talk to you now, I'm working." I mean, would a surgeon step away from an open chest cavity to take a couple of questions about the procedure taking place? Would an orchestra conductor step off the podium and speak to a reporter and let the musicians hold it together on their own? No, no they wouldn't.
I don't get players like Manny Ramirez. He not only left the dugout, he literally took a shower and was practically out the door before the game ended the other night, only to find that not only did his team lose the game, they lost it in quite dramatic fashion? Isn't he part of a team? Doesn't a team work together, and support each other during the disappointments? (This isn't the high school team, I get that, but still. These are grown men - extremely well-paid grown men, I grant you - playing a game they've adored since childhood. If there weren't at least a little leftover boy in each one them, I don't think they'd pursue the dream.) I guess his work day was done and regardless of the excitement swirling around him, he was out the door. That's camaraderie. That's brotherhood. Very impressive stuff from Ramiriz.
Since when do managers put pitchers in a game to pitch to one batter? This idea of a specific kind of pitcher to face a specific kind of batter is nonsense. Aren't these guys professional ball players? Don't they pitch to all kinds of batters all season long? Doesn't Charlie Manuel remember that this is the kind of poor management that lost the game in Colorado a week ago? (This is one of the reasons the mister wants Manuel to call him. He can remind him.)
Are the umpires nervous about that little box that indicates where all the pitches land? If they can be tracked accurately through this "cyber-ump," why does the game need these guys? Is it the human factor and the idea that ballplayers and managers love to look aggravated and argue with umps whenever they can? That baseball wouldn't be baseball unless fans could complain the next day (and for the next thirty, forty years or so) about the calls that went against them during that fateful game?
Okay, I think that's it for tonight's baseball mysteries.
Oh - one more thing. This isn't a question, it's an observation. I have personally witnessed the sign of a true Phillies fan: he can find misery in a game where his team holds a six-run lead. Should the Phillies win tonight, I've learned that there is too much time between now and the start of the World Series. Why? The Phillies will cool off and no one will cool off faster than Ryan Howard. What the heck is that about? Only a real Phillies fan could find the crumb of torment lurking inside a possible victory for the National League pennant.
You gotta love it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Another (but this time, a lucid one) view of success
I can’t help but juxtapose Ivanka’s “we all have our advantages” philosophy against another world view I read just recently, in an enlightening and ultimately uplifting book titled Closing Time by Joe Queenan, a writer I admire a great deal for many reasons. What follows is an excerpt, Queenan’s take on the crapshoot we all call our destiny:
“American folklore stipulates that those who rise above their humble circumstances do so because of an indomitable will to succeed, coupled with the good fortune to inhabit a country that rewards industry. Here’s another: Poor people who succeed do so because they are born with talents that other poor people do not possess, because they are cunning enough to capitalize on these talents, and / or because they are either born lucky or develop a lucky streak pretty damn quick. If you are born poor and stupid, you’re going to need to be very lucky. If you are poor and stupid and ugly, you are going to need to be even luckier. If you are poor and stupid and ugly and a member of an ethnic group that American purports to admire but secretly abhors, then you might as well skip the preliminaries and get yourself started on a life of crime at the earliest possibly opportunity.
...
“Most things in life come down to the luck of the draw. Line up ten poor people. Nine of them won’t make it. One maybe two, will. It might as well be you, third pauper from the left. It will help if you are born with chutzpah and personality or are capable of unleashing a stupefying amount of violence on complete strangers in a short period of time with little concern for the consequences. But even that will not be enough. Everyone who is saved is saved because someone tossed him or her a lifeline or, in my case, numerous lifelines. It may be a parent, it may be an employer, it may be a teacher, it may be a priest, it may be a boxing instructor, it may even be a parole officer. But, as the events of Good Friday make abundantly clear, no one is saved all by himself. Alumni of the slums succeed either because someone is reaching down from above or because someone keeps pushing hard from below. Or, in the ideal situation, both.”
I don’t know about you but I find that viewpoint enormously refreshing in these days of endless empowerment or enlightenment or illumination or whatever the "you're wonderful" scheme of the day seems to be. I love the fact that first and foremost on Queenan’s list of “how to succeed” qualities is a little thing he labels “talent.” It's not a specific talent, not an option, not a vague concept none of us can quite grasp. A concept like, oh I don’t know…a concept like “some kind of advantage.”
Nope – Queenan chooses “talent” first and adds the ability to capitalize on your gifts and maybe a little luck as well in order to have “success.” He adds things like “chutzpah” and “personality” and then, only after those ingredients are in place, does he acknowledge that the assistance of others who want to see you succeed is vital.
So who do you side with here? Ivanka or Joe? I am clearly in the Queenan realism corner here. My sense is that when you achieve your success on something other than honest talent and ability, you’ve built it on a house of cards and your success is just about that secure. Unless, of course, the foundation on that stunning house of cards was built by the Trump Organization. Then, sure, you’ll probably be in pretty good shape all around.
“American folklore stipulates that those who rise above their humble circumstances do so because of an indomitable will to succeed, coupled with the good fortune to inhabit a country that rewards industry. Here’s another: Poor people who succeed do so because they are born with talents that other poor people do not possess, because they are cunning enough to capitalize on these talents, and / or because they are either born lucky or develop a lucky streak pretty damn quick. If you are born poor and stupid, you’re going to need to be very lucky. If you are poor and stupid and ugly, you are going to need to be even luckier. If you are poor and stupid and ugly and a member of an ethnic group that American purports to admire but secretly abhors, then you might as well skip the preliminaries and get yourself started on a life of crime at the earliest possibly opportunity.
...
“Most things in life come down to the luck of the draw. Line up ten poor people. Nine of them won’t make it. One maybe two, will. It might as well be you, third pauper from the left. It will help if you are born with chutzpah and personality or are capable of unleashing a stupefying amount of violence on complete strangers in a short period of time with little concern for the consequences. But even that will not be enough. Everyone who is saved is saved because someone tossed him or her a lifeline or, in my case, numerous lifelines. It may be a parent, it may be an employer, it may be a teacher, it may be a priest, it may be a boxing instructor, it may even be a parole officer. But, as the events of Good Friday make abundantly clear, no one is saved all by himself. Alumni of the slums succeed either because someone is reaching down from above or because someone keeps pushing hard from below. Or, in the ideal situation, both.”
I don’t know about you but I find that viewpoint enormously refreshing in these days of endless empowerment or enlightenment or illumination or whatever the "you're wonderful" scheme of the day seems to be. I love the fact that first and foremost on Queenan’s list of “how to succeed” qualities is a little thing he labels “talent.” It's not a specific talent, not an option, not a vague concept none of us can quite grasp. A concept like, oh I don’t know…a concept like “some kind of advantage.”
Nope – Queenan chooses “talent” first and adds the ability to capitalize on your gifts and maybe a little luck as well in order to have “success.” He adds things like “chutzpah” and “personality” and then, only after those ingredients are in place, does he acknowledge that the assistance of others who want to see you succeed is vital.
So who do you side with here? Ivanka or Joe? I am clearly in the Queenan realism corner here. My sense is that when you achieve your success on something other than honest talent and ability, you’ve built it on a house of cards and your success is just about that secure. Unless, of course, the foundation on that stunning house of cards was built by the Trump Organization. Then, sure, you’ll probably be in pretty good shape all around.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Willy DeVille tribute: notes from the day
From Sister Sue -
The story below is also attached to the original post ("And another musical light flickers out" August 2009), but here they in one place, for everyone who asked about the event on Saturday in New York.
Thanks for writing, Sue - it sounds like the kind of loving commemoration of a life all of us would like to leave behind someday. Please do share my August blog post with Nina - and let her know Willy's music will remain in my heart.
R.
Here is Sue's recap:
Hello all. My apologies for taking so long to get back here. As you can imagine, I have been just overwhelmed.
The event was incredible. There was a ton of work to be done getting ready. I mean weeks of work. It consumed my life and at times I had to wonder if it was worth it. It was.
Nina (Willy's wife) had written to me asking if she could come. I had a feeling that she would not show and she ended up deciding at the last minute not to come. That was fine. If she didn't feel it was right for her then I think she did the right thing. I only wanted two things. And I wanted them desperately. To honor Willy and to find someone... ANYONE!... to share emotions with.
We had a good turn out of fans and the bar was perfect (Bar on A at 170 Avenue A, NYC). I spent hours decorating it. Pictures of Willy everywhere. Candles. Signs. Memory book. White roses. Etc... The bar was homey with couches and was intimate and it looked great!!
We had only been going for about 15 minutes. People were eating, drinking and singing (very loudly!!!) to all the Willy songs I was playing. A man in his 30's came in, looked around and immediately became teary. It was Kevin. Willy's nephew. Kevin has lost his mother and father. Willy was everything to him. Everything.
Someone immediately introduced me to him. He grabbed me, hugged and kissed me and told me multiple times how much the family appreciated this. After he calmed down a bit I asked him if he would like to speak when I got the program going. At first he was uncertain because he is extremely emotional still. But he resolved that he wanted to speak. So I told him that we'd let people get drinks, mingle, more people arrive, then start the program.
I had put out a sign up sheet for audience members who wanted to speak. Quite a few signed up. So I told Kevin that I would speak first to break the ice, then he would talk so he could get it out of the way and relax and listen to the audience speakers.
When I went up to the stage to speak, Kevin got a bar stool and put it down right next to me. He would laugh, cry and comment on many of the things I said, often grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him. He made both public and private comments, which I will always treasure.
Kevin's speech, totally unprepared and from the heart, was amazing. People in the audience were literally sobbing.
The event went on for about 6 or 7 hours. Everyone in the place came up and expressed thanks for organizing the event. They all needed to acknowledge, celebrate, remember... whatever... Willy. Willy's son, Sean, showed up as well. He, Stephanie (Kevin's girlfriend) and Kevin expressed thanks many times from the family. It was very touching.
We had a memory book at the event. People wrote thoughts, emotions, and messages to Nina. I am going to send the memory book to Nina on Monday. I had to bring it home because I had not had time to write in it, my daughter (11 years old!) wanted to write in it and a few people here in Kansas City want to write in it.
Would anyone here like to contribute as well? I think it woud be awesome if you would share your thoughts, feelings, emotions, whatever you want to share. I know that Nina will treasure it. If you write something I will print it off and make sure it gets into the memory book and directly to Nina as long as you get it to me before Monday. I really really hope that you are able to do this!!!
If you do write for the Memory Book PLEASE get it to me before Monday. Do not write it here. Email it to WDcelebration@gmail.com. You can certainly post it here also if you want, but I need everything coming to one place. Please!! I am completely overwhelmed as it is!
That's the report for now. I look forward to getting your thoughts for the memory book. We all know how much Willy would appreciate us writing to Nina and letting her know our feelings for Willy and his music.
If anyone can tell me how to post pictures I will be happy to post pics of Kevin, Sean, audience, decorations, etc.
Love and Emotion to all! SisterSue
The story below is also attached to the original post ("And another musical light flickers out" August 2009), but here they in one place, for everyone who asked about the event on Saturday in New York.
Thanks for writing, Sue - it sounds like the kind of loving commemoration of a life all of us would like to leave behind someday. Please do share my August blog post with Nina - and let her know Willy's music will remain in my heart.
R.
Here is Sue's recap:
Hello all. My apologies for taking so long to get back here. As you can imagine, I have been just overwhelmed.
The event was incredible. There was a ton of work to be done getting ready. I mean weeks of work. It consumed my life and at times I had to wonder if it was worth it. It was.
Nina (Willy's wife) had written to me asking if she could come. I had a feeling that she would not show and she ended up deciding at the last minute not to come. That was fine. If she didn't feel it was right for her then I think she did the right thing. I only wanted two things. And I wanted them desperately. To honor Willy and to find someone... ANYONE!... to share emotions with.
We had a good turn out of fans and the bar was perfect (Bar on A at 170 Avenue A, NYC). I spent hours decorating it. Pictures of Willy everywhere. Candles. Signs. Memory book. White roses. Etc... The bar was homey with couches and was intimate and it looked great!!
We had only been going for about 15 minutes. People were eating, drinking and singing (very loudly!!!) to all the Willy songs I was playing. A man in his 30's came in, looked around and immediately became teary. It was Kevin. Willy's nephew. Kevin has lost his mother and father. Willy was everything to him. Everything.
Someone immediately introduced me to him. He grabbed me, hugged and kissed me and told me multiple times how much the family appreciated this. After he calmed down a bit I asked him if he would like to speak when I got the program going. At first he was uncertain because he is extremely emotional still. But he resolved that he wanted to speak. So I told him that we'd let people get drinks, mingle, more people arrive, then start the program.
I had put out a sign up sheet for audience members who wanted to speak. Quite a few signed up. So I told Kevin that I would speak first to break the ice, then he would talk so he could get it out of the way and relax and listen to the audience speakers.
When I went up to the stage to speak, Kevin got a bar stool and put it down right next to me. He would laugh, cry and comment on many of the things I said, often grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him. He made both public and private comments, which I will always treasure.
Kevin's speech, totally unprepared and from the heart, was amazing. People in the audience were literally sobbing.
The event went on for about 6 or 7 hours. Everyone in the place came up and expressed thanks for organizing the event. They all needed to acknowledge, celebrate, remember... whatever... Willy. Willy's son, Sean, showed up as well. He, Stephanie (Kevin's girlfriend) and Kevin expressed thanks many times from the family. It was very touching.
We had a memory book at the event. People wrote thoughts, emotions, and messages to Nina. I am going to send the memory book to Nina on Monday. I had to bring it home because I had not had time to write in it, my daughter (11 years old!) wanted to write in it and a few people here in Kansas City want to write in it.
Would anyone here like to contribute as well? I think it woud be awesome if you would share your thoughts, feelings, emotions, whatever you want to share. I know that Nina will treasure it. If you write something I will print it off and make sure it gets into the memory book and directly to Nina as long as you get it to me before Monday. I really really hope that you are able to do this!!!
If you do write for the Memory Book PLEASE get it to me before Monday. Do not write it here. Email it to WDcelebration@gmail.com. You can certainly post it here also if you want, but I need everything coming to one place. Please!! I am completely overwhelmed as it is!
That's the report for now. I look forward to getting your thoughts for the memory book. We all know how much Willy would appreciate us writing to Nina and letting her know our feelings for Willy and his music.
If anyone can tell me how to post pictures I will be happy to post pics of Kevin, Sean, audience, decorations, etc.
Love and Emotion to all! SisterSue
Thursday, October 15, 2009
What were your advantages?
We’re in the midst of the next greatest generation in the media. This can’t be good.
We’ve seen the likes of Luke Russert – remember him? - and Jenna Bush invade the airwaves at NBC. Russert was supposed to be the voice of his generation for NBC News. I’m not sure whether or not that’s still happening. He seems to have disappeared. Jenna Bush apparently does some kind of reporting for The Today Show on NBC. I think she’s still there.
What these two bring to their positions other than their family name is beyond me but I didn’t hire them and as you can tell, I don’t watch them on NBC. Like everything to do with television, it’s about ratings, building your audience and doing whatever you need to do to beat the other guys so you can charge your advertisers more money for your commercial airtime.
None of this explains a new book on sale this week, titled The Trump Card: Playing to Win in Work and Life. The author is the 27-year-old daughter of Donald Trump, Ivanka.
I’ve watched the Nightline interview with Ivanka, and read two excerpts from the book. She is smart, no doubt about it. From the very start, she acknowledges her privilege, her advantages, her status, her family’s wealth, her connections and the fact that she entered the real estate business, the same business both her father and grandfather had built and excelled in for generations. This is how she addresses it:
“Yes, I've had the great good fortune to be born into a life of wealth and privilege, with a name to match. Yes, I've had every opportunity, every advantage. And yes, I've chosen to build my career on a foundation built by my father and grandfather, so I can certainly see why an outsider might dismiss my success in our family business as yet another example of nepotism.”
She acknowledges this all over again when she recalls her post-college plans: “I had a clear idea of what I wanted to do and how to accomplish it. I also had an edge: there’s no denying that my family name, first-class education, and top-tier contacts gave me a bit of leg-up, a Trump card if you will but I’m also a firm believer in making your own luck and the most of your opportunities.”
That’s clever, right? How can we object to her, now that she has acknowledged everything we’re all thinking? How honest and refreshing! How disarming and self-deprecating – if you can call what she wrote deprecating – of her!
On the other hand, I read sections that reveal just how a life of privilege colors your view of something as universal as a job interview. Words of advice from Ivanka about your interview skills: “It’s not about the school you went to, what you majored in, what your GPA was, or who your parents happen to be or know.”
You’re joking, right? I’ve been on lots of job interviews in my life and not once did I ever worry that the interview would turn into a monologue about who my parents happen to be and who they know. Not once. Never happened. But thanks for the tip!
Ivanka also describes the process she uses to overcome the preconceived notions others might have about her because of her background. It’s pretty simple, actually:
“Get over it. It's the same message I used to give to myself whenever I spent too much time worrying what people would think of me or how I'd risen to my position in the company or what attributes I brought to the table. I'd catch myself agonizing along these lines and think, Just get over it, Ivanka. Or, It's not your problem, it's theirs. After all, I eventually realized, we've all got our own baggage. Whatever we do, whatever our backgrounds, we've all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way. Some break that might have gone to someone else. Some edge or inside track we couldn't have counted on.”
Examining this entire statement would just about wear me out and make me want to weep so I’d like to focus on just one thought here: “Whatever we do, whatever our backgrounds, we’ve all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way.”
Hmmm. Whatever we do, whatever our backgrounds, we’ve all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way. I need to break that down and since this is primarily supposed to be a business book, I’ll focus on that:
Whatever we do…: no matter what job you have, what career you’re pursuing, what specialized skill you possess, be it plumbing, farming, toll-taking or performing brain surgery, you all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way.
Whatever our backgrounds…: whether you are the daughter of a blue collar family in western Pennsylvania or the daughter of an international real estate mogul in Manhattan; the son of an illiterate father and poorly educated mother in West Virginia or the son of an international real estate mogul in Manhattan, you all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way.
Once again, the message for us is unmistakable: “…we’ve all some kind of advantage somewhere along the way.” I asked my husband to share the advantage he had along the way. He’s thinking about it and said he’ll let me know. I’m still thinking, too.
Let's face it. Ivanka is pretty, she's a household name thanks to her father and her appearances on his television show and she seems fairly grounded. At the very least, we didn't have to witness her devoting herself to some kind of lawless, rudderless "wild days" a la Paris Hilton. I suppose writing a book about success in work and life isn't the worst thing she could do. I only hope she's donating her advance and any subsequent earnings to charity. Maybe someone on the receiving end of that contribution will realize a couple of "advantages" as a result, somewhere along the way.
We’ve seen the likes of Luke Russert – remember him? - and Jenna Bush invade the airwaves at NBC. Russert was supposed to be the voice of his generation for NBC News. I’m not sure whether or not that’s still happening. He seems to have disappeared. Jenna Bush apparently does some kind of reporting for The Today Show on NBC. I think she’s still there.
What these two bring to their positions other than their family name is beyond me but I didn’t hire them and as you can tell, I don’t watch them on NBC. Like everything to do with television, it’s about ratings, building your audience and doing whatever you need to do to beat the other guys so you can charge your advertisers more money for your commercial airtime.
None of this explains a new book on sale this week, titled The Trump Card: Playing to Win in Work and Life. The author is the 27-year-old daughter of Donald Trump, Ivanka.
I’ve watched the Nightline interview with Ivanka, and read two excerpts from the book. She is smart, no doubt about it. From the very start, she acknowledges her privilege, her advantages, her status, her family’s wealth, her connections and the fact that she entered the real estate business, the same business both her father and grandfather had built and excelled in for generations. This is how she addresses it:
“Yes, I've had the great good fortune to be born into a life of wealth and privilege, with a name to match. Yes, I've had every opportunity, every advantage. And yes, I've chosen to build my career on a foundation built by my father and grandfather, so I can certainly see why an outsider might dismiss my success in our family business as yet another example of nepotism.”
She acknowledges this all over again when she recalls her post-college plans: “I had a clear idea of what I wanted to do and how to accomplish it. I also had an edge: there’s no denying that my family name, first-class education, and top-tier contacts gave me a bit of leg-up, a Trump card if you will but I’m also a firm believer in making your own luck and the most of your opportunities.”
That’s clever, right? How can we object to her, now that she has acknowledged everything we’re all thinking? How honest and refreshing! How disarming and self-deprecating – if you can call what she wrote deprecating – of her!
On the other hand, I read sections that reveal just how a life of privilege colors your view of something as universal as a job interview. Words of advice from Ivanka about your interview skills: “It’s not about the school you went to, what you majored in, what your GPA was, or who your parents happen to be or know.”
You’re joking, right? I’ve been on lots of job interviews in my life and not once did I ever worry that the interview would turn into a monologue about who my parents happen to be and who they know. Not once. Never happened. But thanks for the tip!
Ivanka also describes the process she uses to overcome the preconceived notions others might have about her because of her background. It’s pretty simple, actually:
“Get over it. It's the same message I used to give to myself whenever I spent too much time worrying what people would think of me or how I'd risen to my position in the company or what attributes I brought to the table. I'd catch myself agonizing along these lines and think, Just get over it, Ivanka. Or, It's not your problem, it's theirs. After all, I eventually realized, we've all got our own baggage. Whatever we do, whatever our backgrounds, we've all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way. Some break that might have gone to someone else. Some edge or inside track we couldn't have counted on.”
Examining this entire statement would just about wear me out and make me want to weep so I’d like to focus on just one thought here: “Whatever we do, whatever our backgrounds, we’ve all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way.”
Hmmm. Whatever we do, whatever our backgrounds, we’ve all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way. I need to break that down and since this is primarily supposed to be a business book, I’ll focus on that:
Whatever we do…: no matter what job you have, what career you’re pursuing, what specialized skill you possess, be it plumbing, farming, toll-taking or performing brain surgery, you all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way.
Whatever our backgrounds…: whether you are the daughter of a blue collar family in western Pennsylvania or the daughter of an international real estate mogul in Manhattan; the son of an illiterate father and poorly educated mother in West Virginia or the son of an international real estate mogul in Manhattan, you all had some kind of advantage somewhere along the way.
Once again, the message for us is unmistakable: “…we’ve all some kind of advantage somewhere along the way.” I asked my husband to share the advantage he had along the way. He’s thinking about it and said he’ll let me know. I’m still thinking, too.
Let's face it. Ivanka is pretty, she's a household name thanks to her father and her appearances on his television show and she seems fairly grounded. At the very least, we didn't have to witness her devoting herself to some kind of lawless, rudderless "wild days" a la Paris Hilton. I suppose writing a book about success in work and life isn't the worst thing she could do. I only hope she's donating her advance and any subsequent earnings to charity. Maybe someone on the receiving end of that contribution will realize a couple of "advantages" as a result, somewhere along the way.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Life Lessons from Q.T.
My day started out with a headline and story blazing across my screen, a headline that couldn’t have portended anything good: Life Lessons from the Wizard of Oz or something like that. I’m not going into the details of this because the article itself could have been written by everyone who has seen the movie, provided they have mastered the ability to hold a crayon.
But it got me thinking. What other movies have I seen that taught me some important things about life?
After some deep thought, I came up with this: Life Lessons from Pulp Fiction. I know; it’s not nearly as cuddly and not exactly as obvious but the Oz Lessons article more than covered those categories. So just go with me on this, okay?
1. “Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.” In other words: be prepared. This timeless piece of wisdom is nicely illustrated by Vincent and Jules, preparing for their meeting with Brett and Roger, who stole their boss’s property. They need shotguns but don’t have them and have to make do with handguns instead.
2. “Never be afraid to try; you just might surprise yourself.” Vincent didn’t have any idea he would find himself participating in a dance contest with Mia Wallace during their evening together and yet, not only did they enter the contest – they won. Sometimes when we try things that frighten us, we find they aren’t so intimidating after all.
3. “True friends are there for you, even when you’re not at your best, even in the very worst of times.” Lance is there for Vincent when he needs to inject Mia with a hypodermic needle to bring her out of her heroine overdose; Jimmy is there for Jules and Vincent when they need to cover up the murder and subsequent mess left behind by Marvin’s brains when they shot him in the backseat of their car. Real friends never let you down when you need them.
4. “Always keep your promises, even when that’s a challenge.” Pulp Fiction illustrates this perfectly through a memorable scene featuring Captain Koons and a young Butch. Koons gives Butch a watch; a watch that had been hidden on, or more correctly in, two soldiers during the Vietnam War and secretly transported home through – shall we say – an unusual method.
5. “Indulge yourself in wonderful moments. If not now, when?” A lovely notion is made obvious by this classic line from Fabienne: “Any time of day is a good time for pie.”
6. “If you made the mess, take responsibility for it and clean it up.” Nothing drives this message home better than Jules being on “brain patrol” and then encouraging Vincent to switch jobs with him so Vincent can take on the more onerous task of scraping together Marvin’s remains.
7. “Always turn to experts for the help you need.” Let’s not forget how Lance consults his medical book before instructing Vincent on exactly where and how he needs to plunge the needle into Mia’s chest to revive her. And suffice it to say without Winston Wolfe's expertise, Vincent and Jules would have never solved their Marvin problem.
8. “The enemy of your enemy is your friend.” Zed, Maynard and the Gimp vs. Marsellus and Butch. Enough said, I hope.
9. “Manners always matter, even during times of stress.” Vincent asks Winston for a “please” after being ordered to start the clean-up in the garage. To his credit, Winston complies, albeit with a big helping of sarcasm.
10. Articles that offer “Life Lessons” based on movies are predictable, specious and insipid.
Yes, including this one. Which proves my point.
But it got me thinking. What other movies have I seen that taught me some important things about life?
After some deep thought, I came up with this: Life Lessons from Pulp Fiction. I know; it’s not nearly as cuddly and not exactly as obvious but the Oz Lessons article more than covered those categories. So just go with me on this, okay?
1. “Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.” In other words: be prepared. This timeless piece of wisdom is nicely illustrated by Vincent and Jules, preparing for their meeting with Brett and Roger, who stole their boss’s property. They need shotguns but don’t have them and have to make do with handguns instead.
2. “Never be afraid to try; you just might surprise yourself.” Vincent didn’t have any idea he would find himself participating in a dance contest with Mia Wallace during their evening together and yet, not only did they enter the contest – they won. Sometimes when we try things that frighten us, we find they aren’t so intimidating after all.
3. “True friends are there for you, even when you’re not at your best, even in the very worst of times.” Lance is there for Vincent when he needs to inject Mia with a hypodermic needle to bring her out of her heroine overdose; Jimmy is there for Jules and Vincent when they need to cover up the murder and subsequent mess left behind by Marvin’s brains when they shot him in the backseat of their car. Real friends never let you down when you need them.
4. “Always keep your promises, even when that’s a challenge.” Pulp Fiction illustrates this perfectly through a memorable scene featuring Captain Koons and a young Butch. Koons gives Butch a watch; a watch that had been hidden on, or more correctly in, two soldiers during the Vietnam War and secretly transported home through – shall we say – an unusual method.
5. “Indulge yourself in wonderful moments. If not now, when?” A lovely notion is made obvious by this classic line from Fabienne: “Any time of day is a good time for pie.”
6. “If you made the mess, take responsibility for it and clean it up.” Nothing drives this message home better than Jules being on “brain patrol” and then encouraging Vincent to switch jobs with him so Vincent can take on the more onerous task of scraping together Marvin’s remains.
7. “Always turn to experts for the help you need.” Let’s not forget how Lance consults his medical book before instructing Vincent on exactly where and how he needs to plunge the needle into Mia’s chest to revive her. And suffice it to say without Winston Wolfe's expertise, Vincent and Jules would have never solved their Marvin problem.
8. “The enemy of your enemy is your friend.” Zed, Maynard and the Gimp vs. Marsellus and Butch. Enough said, I hope.
9. “Manners always matter, even during times of stress.” Vincent asks Winston for a “please” after being ordered to start the clean-up in the garage. To his credit, Winston complies, albeit with a big helping of sarcasm.
10. Articles that offer “Life Lessons” based on movies are predictable, specious and insipid.
Yes, including this one. Which proves my point.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
I was wrong. The Emmy award is here.
I should have known better than to imagine something as mundane and ordinary as SNL appearance that will lead to the President's future Emmy Award. This is about to have its debut.
He's gonna need a bigger shelf.
Well, President Obama already has a Grammy award to display next to his Nobel Peace Prize so that leaves an Emmy, an Oscar and a Tony. Possibly also a Golden Globe.
He hasn't won a Pulitzer (yet) but he helped someone win. The 2009 winner, Damon Winter, won the Pulitzer for his photographs of Obama during the presidential campaign.
It will take exactly one SNL appearance to win the best the guest star Emmy; I expect that appearance will happen sometime this season. Perhaps already in the running is one of his late night talk show appearances. So we can almost check that one off.
The Oscar will have to wait until he produces a documentary about his presidential years, sooner if he's the "producer" on a film about his campaign; and the Tony will come for his one-man show in 2016.
How someone wins a Nobel Peace prize based on his intentions or his mission or his philosophy or his popularity or his promises or his eloquence is beyond me. The hubris of his nomination alone astounds me. (The call for nominations went out last September, two months before the presidential election.) Forget about the fact that as of the nomination deadline, he had served .82% of his term according to The Wall Street Journal.
I get it. It's a message from the rest of the world (well, from Norway anyway) to America: thank God you have finally gotten rid of GW Bush, his people and his toxic approach to humankind and given us someone we like for a change.
And that's what wins a Nobel Peace Prize these days? God help us.
He hasn't won a Pulitzer (yet) but he helped someone win. The 2009 winner, Damon Winter, won the Pulitzer for his photographs of Obama during the presidential campaign.
It will take exactly one SNL appearance to win the best the guest star Emmy; I expect that appearance will happen sometime this season. Perhaps already in the running is one of his late night talk show appearances. So we can almost check that one off.
The Oscar will have to wait until he produces a documentary about his presidential years, sooner if he's the "producer" on a film about his campaign; and the Tony will come for his one-man show in 2016.
How someone wins a Nobel Peace prize based on his intentions or his mission or his philosophy or his popularity or his promises or his eloquence is beyond me. The hubris of his nomination alone astounds me. (The call for nominations went out last September, two months before the presidential election.) Forget about the fact that as of the nomination deadline, he had served .82% of his term according to The Wall Street Journal.
I get it. It's a message from the rest of the world (well, from Norway anyway) to America: thank God you have finally gotten rid of GW Bush, his people and his toxic approach to humankind and given us someone we like for a change.
And that's what wins a Nobel Peace Prize these days? God help us.
Friday, October 09, 2009
And in the continuing category of things that make me cry….
Immediately, with almost no warm up, I will cry at the end of the film, Schindler’s List. I don’t even need to watch the entire movie, although that is a very emotional experience every time I do. No, I need only the last few scenes and I’m overcome. The sight of the people who survived the horror of the Holocaust largely because of Oskar Schindler and his dedication to doing what was right is enough for me. The survivors filing past his grave, placing stones in tribute to the man and his life on his memorial move me to tears.
I watched the end of the movie recently and once again recalled the story of Irena Sendler. Like Oskar Schindler, Yad Veshem recognized Sendler as a righteous Gentile and the organization planted a tree in her honor in 1989. In fact, there are thousands of people the organization has recognized for their humanitarian efforts.
Sendler was a Polish woman who rescued more than two thousand Jewish children from inside the Warsaw Ghetto and other locations in Poland during World War II. You can read more about Irena and her life-saving and life-altering efforts on Life in a Jar website. She was a humble, sincere, dedicated, courageous, and selfless. She also suffered cruelly for her efforts, including imprisonment and torture at the hands of the Gestapo.
In May 2008, at the age of 98, Irena Sendler met with some of the cast members of Life in a Jar, a play written about her rescue operation. She told them: “You have changed Poland, you have changed the United States, you have changed the world [by bringing Irena’s story to light, Poland has seen great changes in Holocaust education, in the perception of the time and have provided a grand hero for their country and the world]. I love you very, very much.”
I love that quote. I love the fact that it’s only because of her efforts, and the people who worked with her, risking their very lives, that the dramatization of her life even exists. But the only time she uses the first person “I” is to express her love for the cast who portrays her story.
Sendler was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2007. That year, the award was given to Vice President Al Gore, for his commitment to enlightening the world and leading the fight against global warming (now called climate change.)
…
In other news, we congratulate the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize winner: President Barack Obama.
I watched the end of the movie recently and once again recalled the story of Irena Sendler. Like Oskar Schindler, Yad Veshem recognized Sendler as a righteous Gentile and the organization planted a tree in her honor in 1989. In fact, there are thousands of people the organization has recognized for their humanitarian efforts.
Sendler was a Polish woman who rescued more than two thousand Jewish children from inside the Warsaw Ghetto and other locations in Poland during World War II. You can read more about Irena and her life-saving and life-altering efforts on Life in a Jar website. She was a humble, sincere, dedicated, courageous, and selfless. She also suffered cruelly for her efforts, including imprisonment and torture at the hands of the Gestapo.
In May 2008, at the age of 98, Irena Sendler met with some of the cast members of Life in a Jar, a play written about her rescue operation. She told them: “You have changed Poland, you have changed the United States, you have changed the world [by bringing Irena’s story to light, Poland has seen great changes in Holocaust education, in the perception of the time and have provided a grand hero for their country and the world]. I love you very, very much.”
I love that quote. I love the fact that it’s only because of her efforts, and the people who worked with her, risking their very lives, that the dramatization of her life even exists. But the only time she uses the first person “I” is to express her love for the cast who portrays her story.
Sendler was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2007. That year, the award was given to Vice President Al Gore, for his commitment to enlightening the world and leading the fight against global warming (now called climate change.)
…
In other news, we congratulate the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize winner: President Barack Obama.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
When is CALM not a priority? When it starts in Washington.
You have to love Washington, D.C. I’m not what you would call a news junkie but even someone like me knows that our government is in the throes of addressing some of the most trying times on our history.
Some of the highlights of our situation: the highest unemployment in a generation; the financial, housing, media and automobile industries in tatters and surviving on life support at this point; continued unrest and violence in the Middle East, including the possibly escalating war in Afghanistan and the madman at the helm in Iran; and finally, the debate about health care that rages on from coast to coast. In the midst of these headlines, we've had an ACORN scandal, an Olympic debacle, and news about any number of personal indiscretions committed by our elected officials that have come to light.
Yes, Washington seems to be occupied by a number of critical issues. Which is why I was delighted to hear that in the midst of all this, the House Energy and Commerce Committee is taking on one of the most pressing problems of all, by enacting the Commercial Advertising Loudness Mitigation Act, also known as C.A.L.M. This is exactly what you think it is.
You know how you plop down at night, all set to click through something like 400 channels as you look for the same old movie to watch on TNT (The Shawshank Redemption / Lord of the Rings) or AMC (Lonesome Dove / A Few Good Men) or TBS (Wedding Crashers / Titanic) and once in a while, you find yourself somehow stuck in a commercial break? Or maybe you somehow forgot to DVR a program or a movie and you are forced to watch it in “real time,” not in "recorded time" that would allow you to fast-forward through every break. As a result, you get confronted with a commercial or two, a circumstance that’s usually as rare as Congress putting something to a vote. But like every twenty-first century American with access to a keyboard or keypad of any kind, instead of watching it attentively, you surf the net or send a text message or Twitter something or update your Facebook status or check your bank balance or read your work email or buy something online or play thirteen quick games of Solitaire or Bejeweled to pass the time until the program begins again.
But it’s not that simple. Ever notice how the commercials are much LOUDER than the program you’re watching? That’s not an accident or your imagination. In this age of TIVO, DVR and HULU, networks are desperate to have someone watch their commercials before they lose every single advertiser that still pays attention when they announce their fall season programming. If they have to assault your senses to do it, they will.
But like I said, that should come to an end. We have Washington on our side. I suppose if the Commercial Advertising Loudness Mitigation Act gets passed, we’ll get some relief from commercials shouting at us every night. Thank God the House Energy and Commerce Committee knows where to focus their energy and effort.
Some of the highlights of our situation: the highest unemployment in a generation; the financial, housing, media and automobile industries in tatters and surviving on life support at this point; continued unrest and violence in the Middle East, including the possibly escalating war in Afghanistan and the madman at the helm in Iran; and finally, the debate about health care that rages on from coast to coast. In the midst of these headlines, we've had an ACORN scandal, an Olympic debacle, and news about any number of personal indiscretions committed by our elected officials that have come to light.
Yes, Washington seems to be occupied by a number of critical issues. Which is why I was delighted to hear that in the midst of all this, the House Energy and Commerce Committee is taking on one of the most pressing problems of all, by enacting the Commercial Advertising Loudness Mitigation Act, also known as C.A.L.M. This is exactly what you think it is.
You know how you plop down at night, all set to click through something like 400 channels as you look for the same old movie to watch on TNT (The Shawshank Redemption / Lord of the Rings) or AMC (Lonesome Dove / A Few Good Men) or TBS (Wedding Crashers / Titanic) and once in a while, you find yourself somehow stuck in a commercial break? Or maybe you somehow forgot to DVR a program or a movie and you are forced to watch it in “real time,” not in "recorded time" that would allow you to fast-forward through every break. As a result, you get confronted with a commercial or two, a circumstance that’s usually as rare as Congress putting something to a vote. But like every twenty-first century American with access to a keyboard or keypad of any kind, instead of watching it attentively, you surf the net or send a text message or Twitter something or update your Facebook status or check your bank balance or read your work email or buy something online or play thirteen quick games of Solitaire or Bejeweled to pass the time until the program begins again.
But it’s not that simple. Ever notice how the commercials are much LOUDER than the program you’re watching? That’s not an accident or your imagination. In this age of TIVO, DVR and HULU, networks are desperate to have someone watch their commercials before they lose every single advertiser that still pays attention when they announce their fall season programming. If they have to assault your senses to do it, they will.
But like I said, that should come to an end. We have Washington on our side. I suppose if the Commercial Advertising Loudness Mitigation Act gets passed, we’ll get some relief from commercials shouting at us every night. Thank God the House Energy and Commerce Committee knows where to focus their energy and effort.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The New "It" Couple. If by "it," you mean pointless.
Who is the world are Giuliana and Bill?? (It’s okay, I never heard of them either.) Then I spent the better part of three days sleeping – or restlessly not sleeping as the case may be – in bed with the flu, or what felt like the flu. In my fevered state, I flipped through a number of vapid television shows. And although I never watched an episode, I was intrigued by what appears to be TV’s new power couple, Giuliana and Bill.
Let me see if I understand this. Bill Rancic once found (semi)fame as the first season’s winner on The Apprentice. According to his Style TV biography, many years before he appeared on television, he started a company called Cigars Around the World, which is a multi-million dollar organization today. How someone who founded a multi-million dollar company needed to find his way into the business world as Donald Trump’s apprentice is a mystery to me but let’s leave aside that for now. Since his Apprentice victory, Bill has gone on to a career as – what else?- a motivational speaker and author of not one, but two books.
Giuliana (DePandi) Rancic is a former entertainment reporter (now anchor and managing editor of E! News) who met Bill when she interviewed him. Born in Italy, her family moved to Washington, D.C. when she was 7 years old, where Giuliana promptly taught herself English by watching television. Not surprisingly, she has also written a book and produced such television gold as “Celebrity Rap Superstar” and “Nicole Richie: Her Simple Life.” And aren’t we all the richer for it?
According to the website, the show also features someone named Matt Jacobi, who works as Giuliana’s personal assistant. He “is always there to help Giuliana manage her hectic, high-profile life.” Whatever.
I truly don’t get us. Or at least I don’t get the people who produce and sell programs like this to networks and eventually to us. A “reality” show winner marries an entertainment reporter and there it is. That’s a show. Someone tests the concept with focus groups, and concludes that, yes, in fact we may all just want to follow their every “unscripted” move.
You have to feel sorry for good old Mary Hart. I wonder if she thinks she was born too early? Where were all these reality shows when she was younger and the only female entertainment reporter any of us could name?
All I know is that this week’s promo for G & B centered around a “guys’ night out” in Las Vegas where Bill and his friends get away from their wives and families. As Bill himself says, “What could be better than that?”
Hmmm. I can think of something better; a few things actually. That reality show stars take their winnings and go away immediately after receiving their prizes? That reality show stars never get their own follow-up television shows? That not one of them ever publishes as much as a column, much less a book, or worse, two books??? That the next time a cable network decides to produce a show featuring a motivational speaker / entrepreneur / reality show winner / author married to an entertainment reporter /executive producer / author, someone with the ability to say no to this nonsense, and also with the sense God gave a flea, smacks them very hard across the face and turns it down.
Any one of those things could be better than a boys’ night out, especially one that will be documented for posterity on Giuliana and Bill.
Let me see if I understand this. Bill Rancic once found (semi)fame as the first season’s winner on The Apprentice. According to his Style TV biography, many years before he appeared on television, he started a company called Cigars Around the World, which is a multi-million dollar organization today. How someone who founded a multi-million dollar company needed to find his way into the business world as Donald Trump’s apprentice is a mystery to me but let’s leave aside that for now. Since his Apprentice victory, Bill has gone on to a career as – what else?- a motivational speaker and author of not one, but two books.
Giuliana (DePandi) Rancic is a former entertainment reporter (now anchor and managing editor of E! News) who met Bill when she interviewed him. Born in Italy, her family moved to Washington, D.C. when she was 7 years old, where Giuliana promptly taught herself English by watching television. Not surprisingly, she has also written a book and produced such television gold as “Celebrity Rap Superstar” and “Nicole Richie: Her Simple Life.” And aren’t we all the richer for it?
According to the website, the show also features someone named Matt Jacobi, who works as Giuliana’s personal assistant. He “is always there to help Giuliana manage her hectic, high-profile life.” Whatever.
I truly don’t get us. Or at least I don’t get the people who produce and sell programs like this to networks and eventually to us. A “reality” show winner marries an entertainment reporter and there it is. That’s a show. Someone tests the concept with focus groups, and concludes that, yes, in fact we may all just want to follow their every “unscripted” move.
You have to feel sorry for good old Mary Hart. I wonder if she thinks she was born too early? Where were all these reality shows when she was younger and the only female entertainment reporter any of us could name?
All I know is that this week’s promo for G & B centered around a “guys’ night out” in Las Vegas where Bill and his friends get away from their wives and families. As Bill himself says, “What could be better than that?”
Hmmm. I can think of something better; a few things actually. That reality show stars take their winnings and go away immediately after receiving their prizes? That reality show stars never get their own follow-up television shows? That not one of them ever publishes as much as a column, much less a book, or worse, two books??? That the next time a cable network decides to produce a show featuring a motivational speaker / entrepreneur / reality show winner / author married to an entertainment reporter /executive producer / author, someone with the ability to say no to this nonsense, and also with the sense God gave a flea, smacks them very hard across the face and turns it down.
Any one of those things could be better than a boys’ night out, especially one that will be documented for posterity on Giuliana and Bill.
A Celebration: Words and Music by Willy DeVille
I heard this news from one of the generous readers who commented on this post a few weeks ago. It sounds like a wonderful celebration of the man and his music.
Here is the invitation to all - thanks Sister Sue!
Come celebrate Willy DeVille's life and music!
Sat, 10/10/09 in NYC. 3pm - Tompkins Square Park. Avenue B side.
Share stories, emotions & Willy's amazing music.
Bring stories/music or simply be comforted by the company of other fans & friends.
We have RSVP's from Canada, San Francisco, Kansas City & more!
Don't miss this chance to celebrate Willy's life & music with people who understand & care.
RSVP to WDcelebration@gmail.com. But feel free to come whether you RSVP or not!
If bad weather or you join us late we'll be at:
Otto's Shrunken Head
538 E 14th St
NY, NY 10009
Here is the invitation to all - thanks Sister Sue!
Come celebrate Willy DeVille's life and music!
Sat, 10/10/09 in NYC. 3pm - Tompkins Square Park. Avenue B side.
Share stories, emotions & Willy's amazing music.
Bring stories/music or simply be comforted by the company of other fans & friends.
We have RSVP's from Canada, San Francisco, Kansas City & more!
Don't miss this chance to celebrate Willy's life & music with people who understand & care.
RSVP to WDcelebration@gmail.com. But feel free to come whether you RSVP or not!
If bad weather or you join us late we'll be at:
Otto's Shrunken Head
538 E 14th St
NY, NY 10009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Another* flying story
No, this isn’t another case of me wailing about delays and other assorted kinds of airline inflicted pain. In this story, although the airline ultimately irritated me, my complaint lies largely with my fellow passengers.
Here’s the story. Dallas / Fort Worth to Newark; the 5:45 pm departure. I’ve taken this flight many times and it often lands promptly at 10:15 in Newark, which puts me home and in my bed before midnight. Not great but not horrible. The horrible times are when it’s delayed in Dallas and lands around 1 or 2 am in New Jersey.
This week was not one of those late nights. In fact, our flight landed at 9:30 pm. Yes, 45 MINUTES early. I don’t get it. I’m guessing the pilots follow the same flight plan every night from DFW to Liberty International but who knows. It’s obviously that weird airline ‘time warp time’ that makes no sense to me: a three and a half hour flight really takes just two hours and forty-five minutes. Except when it doesn’t. Okay, fine. That must have been some tailwind.
Two things are starting to get to me these days, every time I board a plane. First: what’s with the passengers who decide to store their bags nowhere near their seats? This makes no sense to me. I’ve watched many men – it’s always been men in my experience – store their bags above row 5 or row 6 or row 7 and then walk back to row 20 or row 21 or row 22 – passing empty aisle after empty aisle - to take their seats. Then the people seated in row 5 or row 6 or row 7 get aboard. They look around and despite no one sitting in their rows, the overhead bins are full. Is this a power thing? A guys-taking-charge thing? Whatever.
But this week, I guess I was extra tired or something. As is customary these days, once the first class passengers boarded the flight, the Elite, Silver Elite and Gold Elite passengers were invited to board. I’m not kidding: nearly everyone stood up and clustered around the gate. (Here’s where I started to get aggravated.) Once they had checked in, that left about 20 people in the gate area, including me. (My Elite status has somehow disappeared or expired despite numerous trips on this airline annually. I can’t explain it.)
As the Elite passengers handed over their boarding passes, I couldn't help but size up the various pieces of luggage they carried with them. Very few met the height and width “requirements” Continental displays front and center at each gate. They were nearly all huge suitcases, mammoth garment bags and over sized soft-sided luggage. And I thought: this is annoying. Why does an airline bother having a “your bag must fit here” display if they refuse to enforce it?
The best news of the night was that as the rest of us walked down the jetway, one of the gate attendants joined us and announced she had to tag and check all our bags. (Our bags that fit within the stipulated requirements, by the way. I know. I looked around when she said she had to check them.) Surprise! The overheads were full. Well, I wasn’t at all surprised. I saw the size of those 100 bags those 100 Elite passengers carried on board. Everyone left at the gate could have told them they were too big for the overheads. It’s not that they didn’t fit; they did. But each one took up two or three spaces. Super.
So, I had to do what I NEVER do: check my bag. And then wait at the carousel for it to appear, while I watched all the Elite passengers on my flight walk by, nearly every one of them carrying a bag the size of an ottoman.
I called Continental the next day and voiced my complaint to a lovely passenger service person who listened politely. She agreed that especially in very full flights, attention should be paid to the size of the luggage accompanying passengers on board and promised to convey my displeasure to the gate crew in Dallas.
Will she? I don’t know. I don’t think it will make a difference anyway. Apparently, Elite passengers follow different rules than the rest of us. But as I said, I take this flight regularly. I’m sure I’ll get the chance to find out.
* You may want to read two other in-flight adventures, here and here.
Here’s the story. Dallas / Fort Worth to Newark; the 5:45 pm departure. I’ve taken this flight many times and it often lands promptly at 10:15 in Newark, which puts me home and in my bed before midnight. Not great but not horrible. The horrible times are when it’s delayed in Dallas and lands around 1 or 2 am in New Jersey.
This week was not one of those late nights. In fact, our flight landed at 9:30 pm. Yes, 45 MINUTES early. I don’t get it. I’m guessing the pilots follow the same flight plan every night from DFW to Liberty International but who knows. It’s obviously that weird airline ‘time warp time’ that makes no sense to me: a three and a half hour flight really takes just two hours and forty-five minutes. Except when it doesn’t. Okay, fine. That must have been some tailwind.
Two things are starting to get to me these days, every time I board a plane. First: what’s with the passengers who decide to store their bags nowhere near their seats? This makes no sense to me. I’ve watched many men – it’s always been men in my experience – store their bags above row 5 or row 6 or row 7 and then walk back to row 20 or row 21 or row 22 – passing empty aisle after empty aisle - to take their seats. Then the people seated in row 5 or row 6 or row 7 get aboard. They look around and despite no one sitting in their rows, the overhead bins are full. Is this a power thing? A guys-taking-charge thing? Whatever.
But this week, I guess I was extra tired or something. As is customary these days, once the first class passengers boarded the flight, the Elite, Silver Elite and Gold Elite passengers were invited to board. I’m not kidding: nearly everyone stood up and clustered around the gate. (Here’s where I started to get aggravated.) Once they had checked in, that left about 20 people in the gate area, including me. (My Elite status has somehow disappeared or expired despite numerous trips on this airline annually. I can’t explain it.)
As the Elite passengers handed over their boarding passes, I couldn't help but size up the various pieces of luggage they carried with them. Very few met the height and width “requirements” Continental displays front and center at each gate. They were nearly all huge suitcases, mammoth garment bags and over sized soft-sided luggage. And I thought: this is annoying. Why does an airline bother having a “your bag must fit here” display if they refuse to enforce it?
The best news of the night was that as the rest of us walked down the jetway, one of the gate attendants joined us and announced she had to tag and check all our bags. (Our bags that fit within the stipulated requirements, by the way. I know. I looked around when she said she had to check them.) Surprise! The overheads were full. Well, I wasn’t at all surprised. I saw the size of those 100 bags those 100 Elite passengers carried on board. Everyone left at the gate could have told them they were too big for the overheads. It’s not that they didn’t fit; they did. But each one took up two or three spaces. Super.
So, I had to do what I NEVER do: check my bag. And then wait at the carousel for it to appear, while I watched all the Elite passengers on my flight walk by, nearly every one of them carrying a bag the size of an ottoman.
I called Continental the next day and voiced my complaint to a lovely passenger service person who listened politely. She agreed that especially in very full flights, attention should be paid to the size of the luggage accompanying passengers on board and promised to convey my displeasure to the gate crew in Dallas.
Will she? I don’t know. I don’t think it will make a difference anyway. Apparently, Elite passengers follow different rules than the rest of us. But as I said, I take this flight regularly. I’m sure I’ll get the chance to find out.
* You may want to read two other in-flight adventures, here and here.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Thanks for the fantasy....
As my own special tribute to Patrick Swayze, here is the first piece of writing I ever did that earned me a paycheck. (It's nearly ten years old so forgive the anachronisms.) For that reason, and because of the responses it drew from all kinds of readers (including a number of men), it will always remain very special to me. You may want to choose your own favorite Patrick moment, but for me, it will always be that final scene. Enjoy.
If you have a VCR and a little time to spare, you have everything you need to understand women. In just two hours, you'll learn the secret to what makes women run, disguised as a sleeper hit from the mid-eighties. Its title has true "guy" appeal: Dirty Dancing.
No matter what, no matter when, I have to watch the final scene of Dirty Dancing whenever I come across it on TV. The goofy end-of-season resort talent show, the disgruntled dancers scowling in the back of the room because their leader was unceremoniously ousted from their ranks, the awkward table for three where Baby (Jennifer Grey) and her parents self-consciously sit and watch the entertainment.
It doesn't matter that I've seen it - oh, let's call it 50, 60 times - I have to watch it. Not because it's great cinema. Not for the awful singing of the older, less engaging sister. Not even because I have to hear that infamous line from Johnny Castle (Swayze): "Nobody puts Baby in a corner," before he hauls her up on stage.
No. Because deep down inside, I know and believe with all my heart that with just a few turns around the floor, I could learn the number from Patrick, wear the flow-y dress like Jennifer and do an unbelievable job with that final dance.
If you're surprised, it's because you're a man reading this. If you're a woman, you're nodding your head saying, 'Yes! Yes!" Am I right? Of course I'm right! Any woman worth her strappy, high-heeled sandals would say so. There but for the grace of a good dance partner go I.
So what does this have to do with understanding women? Try just about everything.
The teaching and the learning of the dance steps throughout the picture. The early challenges of Baby and Johnny's partnership. The first time they appear in public at a nearby resort, ultimately building up to that final ballroom scene where they put it out there for the world to see, is a road map for what women want.
What does Baby get from Johnny that she hasn't gotten from other men in her life? She gets exactly what all women want from their lovers: patience, dedication, and decisiveness, confidence in themselves and their partner, the good sense to share the spotlight - even step into the shadows occasionally - and finally, strength.
Think about it. Ever notice the way women stare at couples on a dance floor? Try wedding receptions. At the last one you attended, I guarantee you every woman at your table commented on a terrific couple on the dance floor and every other woman at the table nodded in knowing comprehension. We are all fascinated with the way they anticipated each other, the light touch on her back that commanded so much, the casual way they moved apart without ever really leaving each other.
Did Baby feel good about her first few turns around the room with Johnny? No. Did he believe he was quite possibly making an enormous mistake? Yes. Does that sound like countless first dates? Or maybe the first few years of your marriage?
But they made it through the toe-squashing and the missed moves. Somewhere along the line, Johnny's patience as an instructor paid off. His confidence helped Baby polish her own natural abilities and they became each other's perfect partner.
(Politically correct alert: Yes, Baby taught Johnny a few things, too. But that's another article.)
And the climax of the previously mentioned, never-to-be-missed, final scene? The lift! The scary, you-better-hold-on-tight-and-not-drop-me, I'm-not-sure-I-can-do-this, lift! With grace, trust, and a look of exquisite joy, Baby flings herself into Johnny's waiting arms and is...what? Elevated above and beyond, truly basking in the glow of her own pride and confidence, nurtured and encouraged all along the way by her lover and trusted friend.
So what's the secret? Arthur Murray? Maybe. But if you're not ready for the "take 12 lessons and the 13th is free" route, tuck these rules away and refer to them often.
Hold her. Hold her tight, hold her lightly, hold her passionately. Never think your touch is old and unwanted. When you stop holding her, you start missing even the easy steps together.
Let her go. A woman is nothing if not contradictions. She'll need to take some solo steps from time to time, and it will help to know you're in the wings, cheering her on, watching her make her own moves.
Pay attention. Dedicate yourself to getting it right. These "man / woman" steps get complicated sometimes. When you make a mistake, even a pretty bad one, move on together. Try real hard not to make it again.
Lift her up. When the rest of the world tries to defeat her, remind her through your indefatigable confidence in her that she's a goddess who can soar above mere mortals.
Look her in the eye. Fancy footwork will get you so far, but look into her eyes and confirm, "I want to take these steps with you for the rest of my life."
You'll get distracted: jobs, kids, life. You'll slow down in the years ahead, maybe even forget a step or two.
But your commitment to each other will make all the difference in your pas de deux. Like the couple dancing at the wedding, you'll fall into a comfortable, semi-private place every time you reach for each other, moving together like couples did so naturally, so many years ago in the Catskills.
If you have a VCR and a little time to spare, you have everything you need to understand women. In just two hours, you'll learn the secret to what makes women run, disguised as a sleeper hit from the mid-eighties. Its title has true "guy" appeal: Dirty Dancing.
No matter what, no matter when, I have to watch the final scene of Dirty Dancing whenever I come across it on TV. The goofy end-of-season resort talent show, the disgruntled dancers scowling in the back of the room because their leader was unceremoniously ousted from their ranks, the awkward table for three where Baby (Jennifer Grey) and her parents self-consciously sit and watch the entertainment.
It doesn't matter that I've seen it - oh, let's call it 50, 60 times - I have to watch it. Not because it's great cinema. Not for the awful singing of the older, less engaging sister. Not even because I have to hear that infamous line from Johnny Castle (Swayze): "Nobody puts Baby in a corner," before he hauls her up on stage.
No. Because deep down inside, I know and believe with all my heart that with just a few turns around the floor, I could learn the number from Patrick, wear the flow-y dress like Jennifer and do an unbelievable job with that final dance.
If you're surprised, it's because you're a man reading this. If you're a woman, you're nodding your head saying, 'Yes! Yes!" Am I right? Of course I'm right! Any woman worth her strappy, high-heeled sandals would say so. There but for the grace of a good dance partner go I.
So what does this have to do with understanding women? Try just about everything.
The teaching and the learning of the dance steps throughout the picture. The early challenges of Baby and Johnny's partnership. The first time they appear in public at a nearby resort, ultimately building up to that final ballroom scene where they put it out there for the world to see, is a road map for what women want.
What does Baby get from Johnny that she hasn't gotten from other men in her life? She gets exactly what all women want from their lovers: patience, dedication, and decisiveness, confidence in themselves and their partner, the good sense to share the spotlight - even step into the shadows occasionally - and finally, strength.
Think about it. Ever notice the way women stare at couples on a dance floor? Try wedding receptions. At the last one you attended, I guarantee you every woman at your table commented on a terrific couple on the dance floor and every other woman at the table nodded in knowing comprehension. We are all fascinated with the way they anticipated each other, the light touch on her back that commanded so much, the casual way they moved apart without ever really leaving each other.
Did Baby feel good about her first few turns around the room with Johnny? No. Did he believe he was quite possibly making an enormous mistake? Yes. Does that sound like countless first dates? Or maybe the first few years of your marriage?
But they made it through the toe-squashing and the missed moves. Somewhere along the line, Johnny's patience as an instructor paid off. His confidence helped Baby polish her own natural abilities and they became each other's perfect partner.
(Politically correct alert: Yes, Baby taught Johnny a few things, too. But that's another article.)
And the climax of the previously mentioned, never-to-be-missed, final scene? The lift! The scary, you-better-hold-on-tight-and-not-drop-me, I'm-not-sure-I-can-do-this, lift! With grace, trust, and a look of exquisite joy, Baby flings herself into Johnny's waiting arms and is...what? Elevated above and beyond, truly basking in the glow of her own pride and confidence, nurtured and encouraged all along the way by her lover and trusted friend.
So what's the secret? Arthur Murray? Maybe. But if you're not ready for the "take 12 lessons and the 13th is free" route, tuck these rules away and refer to them often.
Hold her. Hold her tight, hold her lightly, hold her passionately. Never think your touch is old and unwanted. When you stop holding her, you start missing even the easy steps together.
Let her go. A woman is nothing if not contradictions. She'll need to take some solo steps from time to time, and it will help to know you're in the wings, cheering her on, watching her make her own moves.
Pay attention. Dedicate yourself to getting it right. These "man / woman" steps get complicated sometimes. When you make a mistake, even a pretty bad one, move on together. Try real hard not to make it again.
Lift her up. When the rest of the world tries to defeat her, remind her through your indefatigable confidence in her that she's a goddess who can soar above mere mortals.
Look her in the eye. Fancy footwork will get you so far, but look into her eyes and confirm, "I want to take these steps with you for the rest of my life."
You'll get distracted: jobs, kids, life. You'll slow down in the years ahead, maybe even forget a step or two.
But your commitment to each other will make all the difference in your pas de deux. Like the couple dancing at the wedding, you'll fall into a comfortable, semi-private place every time you reach for each other, moving together like couples did so naturally, so many years ago in the Catskills.
Contrary to the title, I guess it is me.
Quick: who is Stephanie Courtney? Don't know her?
Well, how about Eric Violette?
Oh, come on. If you're alive and in America, you know them. I guarantee it.
Stephanie is that supremely annoying woman on the Progressive Insurance television commercials. Not only that, you see her face every single time you open your home page. Eric is the male version of Stephanie: he's the guy featured in the ubiquitous free credit report commercials.
Honest to God, I would never ever consider buying - or even investigating - Progressive Insurance because I find their spokeswoman cloying, insipid and patronizing. And as far as my credit rating goes, I've never ever wondered about it - not once - and there is not one thing about hopping online to get a credit report that appeals to me, free or not. (Years ago, a financial advisor I know mentioned that the new found feeding frenzy over credit reports or "knowing your credit score" was something of a financial canard. In other words, if you need to know your number, you can assume it's probably too low.)
The reason I've titled the post this way is that apparently, at least when it comes to Stephanie, I'm in the minority. According to Stuart Elliott who writes about media and advertising for The New York Times, many viewers LOVE Stephanie. They call her "breezy." Progressive Insurance even reports that people have called the company, and expressed their desire to buy insurance, but only if they can purchase it from Stephanie.
Whatever. I can only hope these callers deep down understand she's an "actress," playing a role of some kind, although I can't quite figure out what exactly she's supposed to be. To me, she's aggravating, not approachable. She's unctuous and smug. I'd run in the other direction if someone with her style and manner tried to talk to me about insurance.
But again, that's me. Maybe I am mostly alone in my perspective here. She does seem to keep getting work so there must be some return on this investment for Progressive. More troubling is the report of people calling the company and asking to speak to Steph or have her work up a policy for them. Could any of them be serious? Even just some of them?
Sometimes, I wish I were that clueless. Sometimes I feel too mean to live. Maybe therapy would help. I wouldn't mind getting some counseling, but only if I could sit across the room from Dr. Paul Weston for an hour or so every week. OK, so Paul is really Gabriel Byrne, playing a psychologist on television. What's the difference? The same people who buy policies from a TV spokeswoman would also call HBO and try to find out where Dr. Weston's Brooklyn office is located.
And we worry about securing healthcare coverage for everyone in the country. We should be more concerned about the number of citizens who think they can buy insurance by calling an actress who appears in a television commercial. I'll bet for every one who called, there are ten at home who believe the same thing. We're doomed.
Well, how about Eric Violette?
Oh, come on. If you're alive and in America, you know them. I guarantee it.
Stephanie is that supremely annoying woman on the Progressive Insurance television commercials. Not only that, you see her face every single time you open your home page. Eric is the male version of Stephanie: he's the guy featured in the ubiquitous free credit report commercials.
Honest to God, I would never ever consider buying - or even investigating - Progressive Insurance because I find their spokeswoman cloying, insipid and patronizing. And as far as my credit rating goes, I've never ever wondered about it - not once - and there is not one thing about hopping online to get a credit report that appeals to me, free or not. (Years ago, a financial advisor I know mentioned that the new found feeding frenzy over credit reports or "knowing your credit score" was something of a financial canard. In other words, if you need to know your number, you can assume it's probably too low.)
The reason I've titled the post this way is that apparently, at least when it comes to Stephanie, I'm in the minority. According to Stuart Elliott who writes about media and advertising for The New York Times, many viewers LOVE Stephanie. They call her "breezy." Progressive Insurance even reports that people have called the company, and expressed their desire to buy insurance, but only if they can purchase it from Stephanie.
Whatever. I can only hope these callers deep down understand she's an "actress," playing a role of some kind, although I can't quite figure out what exactly she's supposed to be. To me, she's aggravating, not approachable. She's unctuous and smug. I'd run in the other direction if someone with her style and manner tried to talk to me about insurance.
But again, that's me. Maybe I am mostly alone in my perspective here. She does seem to keep getting work so there must be some return on this investment for Progressive. More troubling is the report of people calling the company and asking to speak to Steph or have her work up a policy for them. Could any of them be serious? Even just some of them?
Sometimes, I wish I were that clueless. Sometimes I feel too mean to live. Maybe therapy would help. I wouldn't mind getting some counseling, but only if I could sit across the room from Dr. Paul Weston for an hour or so every week. OK, so Paul is really Gabriel Byrne, playing a psychologist on television. What's the difference? The same people who buy policies from a TV spokeswoman would also call HBO and try to find out where Dr. Weston's Brooklyn office is located.
And we worry about securing healthcare coverage for everyone in the country. We should be more concerned about the number of citizens who think they can buy insurance by calling an actress who appears in a television commercial. I'll bet for every one who called, there are ten at home who believe the same thing. We're doomed.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
WWJD?
I need to start paying attention to the annual rhythms of my life. It seems to me I go through similar kinds of feelings from season to season, from year to year. Not that much gets resolves, mind you. But it does feel kind of cyclical.
Example: like a lot of people, I usually find myself re-examining my life about mid-January every year. Once the holidays are behind us and a new year is underway, I spend a great deal of non-productive time thinking about my life and how exactly it has progressed to this point. I rethink my job, my personal life, my activities, my resolutions, my plans...just about anything you can think of and every single year I come to no reasonable conclusion and make no startling changes about anything. I've worked at the same place for more than twenty years, I've been married for almost twenty-three years and have no taken up a new hobby in forever. (I'm not sure I have any hobbies if I think about it.)
But it's too early for all that; this isn't the new year and the post-holiday brooding I engage in annually. No, it's the start of fall and if my personal history means anything, I'm entering into my Jane-Austen-is-a-goddess phase. I've started re-reading Pride & Prejudice , I've already watched Sense and Sensibility, and the Masterpiece Theater version P&P as well, all four hours, with the most perfect Mr. Darcy ever conjured up by a casting director, Colin Firth. There must be something about the fall, the coziness of a room with a blanket, a cup of coffee or tea and a great story from Ms. Austen that just cries out for some attention. I just don't think I could ever read P & P on the beach. It's a fall book, requiring a blanket and fading afternoon light.
As I engage in all this Austen overload, I think about my life and ask myself the logical question: WWJD? (What would Jane do?)
Let's consider the incomparable Elizabeth Bennett in P & P. In Elizabeth, we discover a woman who seemingly didn't spend a lot of time questioning her life. (Well, maybe she did in some ways but let's face it, her choices were somewhat limited.) Even so, I admire her resolute behavior, her independence, her intelligence and her feistiness. I wish I had more of her (and Jane) in me. I doubt she ever spent one single second considering the shape of her thighs or her weight. She didn't regret her abs, her roots, or her wrinkles. She didn't buy product after product to address the size of her pores. In fact, if she felt insecurity about her appearance, she kept it to herself.
She never once seemed envious of anyone around her, although it could be reasonably said that many possessed more and had more opportunities afforded to them in life. She enjoyed the company of her friends and was attracted to particular men, but she never lost herself in her pursuit of friends or lovers. I have to think that was mostly unheard of in actual life for Jane and the women who surrounded her. Pride & Prejudice character Charlotte Lucas alludes to as much, when she talks of marriage and how love is a luxury many women can ill afford.
I need to be channeling a little more Jane and Elizabeth. For god's sake, at this point in my life, the insecurity is getting a little tiresome, even for me. Maybe if I pose the WWJD? question every time I want to succumb to the daily assaults on my self-esteem, I'd feel better. Like the next time I see that "one simple rule to lose your belly fat" or whatever that ever-present ad is every home page I visit, I'll close it without so much as a pang of regret. Maybe I won't click through another ad that will tell me how to get effective butt-shaping moves. And maybe I won't develop Michelle Obama's arms. I'll live. I might not look my best, but I'll live. The question is: WWJD? She would note them with polite interest and move on. Okay, it's not much. But it's a start.
Example: like a lot of people, I usually find myself re-examining my life about mid-January every year. Once the holidays are behind us and a new year is underway, I spend a great deal of non-productive time thinking about my life and how exactly it has progressed to this point. I rethink my job, my personal life, my activities, my resolutions, my plans...just about anything you can think of and every single year I come to no reasonable conclusion and make no startling changes about anything. I've worked at the same place for more than twenty years, I've been married for almost twenty-three years and have no taken up a new hobby in forever. (I'm not sure I have any hobbies if I think about it.)
But it's too early for all that; this isn't the new year and the post-holiday brooding I engage in annually. No, it's the start of fall and if my personal history means anything, I'm entering into my Jane-Austen-is-a-goddess phase. I've started re-reading Pride & Prejudice , I've already watched Sense and Sensibility, and the Masterpiece Theater version P&P as well, all four hours, with the most perfect Mr. Darcy ever conjured up by a casting director, Colin Firth. There must be something about the fall, the coziness of a room with a blanket, a cup of coffee or tea and a great story from Ms. Austen that just cries out for some attention. I just don't think I could ever read P & P on the beach. It's a fall book, requiring a blanket and fading afternoon light.
As I engage in all this Austen overload, I think about my life and ask myself the logical question: WWJD? (What would Jane do?)
Let's consider the incomparable Elizabeth Bennett in P & P. In Elizabeth, we discover a woman who seemingly didn't spend a lot of time questioning her life. (Well, maybe she did in some ways but let's face it, her choices were somewhat limited.) Even so, I admire her resolute behavior, her independence, her intelligence and her feistiness. I wish I had more of her (and Jane) in me. I doubt she ever spent one single second considering the shape of her thighs or her weight. She didn't regret her abs, her roots, or her wrinkles. She didn't buy product after product to address the size of her pores. In fact, if she felt insecurity about her appearance, she kept it to herself.
She never once seemed envious of anyone around her, although it could be reasonably said that many possessed more and had more opportunities afforded to them in life. She enjoyed the company of her friends and was attracted to particular men, but she never lost herself in her pursuit of friends or lovers. I have to think that was mostly unheard of in actual life for Jane and the women who surrounded her. Pride & Prejudice character Charlotte Lucas alludes to as much, when she talks of marriage and how love is a luxury many women can ill afford.
I need to be channeling a little more Jane and Elizabeth. For god's sake, at this point in my life, the insecurity is getting a little tiresome, even for me. Maybe if I pose the WWJD? question every time I want to succumb to the daily assaults on my self-esteem, I'd feel better. Like the next time I see that "one simple rule to lose your belly fat" or whatever that ever-present ad is every home page I visit, I'll close it without so much as a pang of regret. Maybe I won't click through another ad that will tell me how to get effective butt-shaping moves. And maybe I won't develop Michelle Obama's arms. I'll live. I might not look my best, but I'll live. The question is: WWJD? She would note them with polite interest and move on. Okay, it's not much. But it's a start.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
I think this is what it means to come full circle.
Something about my activity this last week feels very familiar. I walk into a neat, clean, welcoming room; a room that looks absolutely perfect but for the absence of its owner. I wander in and out of it from day to day, puffing up a pillow there, smoothing out an already smooth bedcover there. The pictures are in place, the curtains hang neatly, and the little touches that make it unique remain intact from day to day.
I know what this feels like. The last time I spent this much time looking around a child’s room, just taking it in, was during the last stages of my pregnancies. I remember sitting in a rocking chair, anticipating who would eventually live in that room, first cradled in my arms as we both swayed in that glider rocker, day after day, night after night. I remember how much I loved creating that baby space, anticipating my newborn. I’d change diapers, nurse babies, dress children and read books in those nursery and boyhood rooms. I’d eventually watch each of my sons climb out of my lap, literally and figuratively, and walk out the door.
So here I am, some eighteen years later, having witnessed three little boys who are not so little anymore leave their rooms behind. All three are enthusiastically making new homes for themselves in a college apartment or a dorm room this fall. Only the glider rocker remains from all those years ago, but its former occupants are otherwise occupied. Well, not me, not really. I suppose I could take a seat as I survey the room, but I don’t.
The primary-colored plastic toys and stuffed animals are long gone. The X-men, Power Rangers, Street Sharks, Pokemon, Gargoyles, Disney characters and Star Wars vehicles are also either long gone or packed far, far away. Over these last few days, each of the boys’ rooms has taken on the undeniably attractive look of a crisp, clean, perfectly organized space. There is not even one cash machine receipt crumbled up on a desk, not one soggy towel draped on the floor, not one food wrapper or empty snack bag to be found. After housing years and years of living and laughs, years of sadness and tears, shouts and whispers, hugs and kisses, slammed doors and raucous debate, the rooms are strangely and unnaturally quiet. Each room has survived nicely, still standing after the challenges and missteps that define childhood. I can only hope the same is true of their owners.
I realize not every mother (or father) does this kind of nightly stroll down memory lane in what are now unoccupied bedrooms at home. It sounds sort of pathetic and I can’t really explain it other than to say it makes me feel closer to my boys somehow. Just standing in each room, looking around, quietly tells me each of their stories one more time. Sure, the rooms look more pristine than they have in more than a decade but the stories remain.
Now I spend some time anticipating my sons in a new way; imagining who and what they will be, this time as adults, not as my children. The rooms have their past; I’m not sure how much of their future they’ll hold. Yes, the school breaks, the vacations, sure; the next several years – maybe more than that - will find us with at least part time occupants in those rooms again.
Like the toys and games, our days of sitting in the glider rocker together are also long gone. What I hope remains, lingering in some way in those rooms and beyond those walls within each of us, is the familiar, comfortable feeling of home, of connection, of love.
I know what this feels like. The last time I spent this much time looking around a child’s room, just taking it in, was during the last stages of my pregnancies. I remember sitting in a rocking chair, anticipating who would eventually live in that room, first cradled in my arms as we both swayed in that glider rocker, day after day, night after night. I remember how much I loved creating that baby space, anticipating my newborn. I’d change diapers, nurse babies, dress children and read books in those nursery and boyhood rooms. I’d eventually watch each of my sons climb out of my lap, literally and figuratively, and walk out the door.
So here I am, some eighteen years later, having witnessed three little boys who are not so little anymore leave their rooms behind. All three are enthusiastically making new homes for themselves in a college apartment or a dorm room this fall. Only the glider rocker remains from all those years ago, but its former occupants are otherwise occupied. Well, not me, not really. I suppose I could take a seat as I survey the room, but I don’t.
The primary-colored plastic toys and stuffed animals are long gone. The X-men, Power Rangers, Street Sharks, Pokemon, Gargoyles, Disney characters and Star Wars vehicles are also either long gone or packed far, far away. Over these last few days, each of the boys’ rooms has taken on the undeniably attractive look of a crisp, clean, perfectly organized space. There is not even one cash machine receipt crumbled up on a desk, not one soggy towel draped on the floor, not one food wrapper or empty snack bag to be found. After housing years and years of living and laughs, years of sadness and tears, shouts and whispers, hugs and kisses, slammed doors and raucous debate, the rooms are strangely and unnaturally quiet. Each room has survived nicely, still standing after the challenges and missteps that define childhood. I can only hope the same is true of their owners.
I realize not every mother (or father) does this kind of nightly stroll down memory lane in what are now unoccupied bedrooms at home. It sounds sort of pathetic and I can’t really explain it other than to say it makes me feel closer to my boys somehow. Just standing in each room, looking around, quietly tells me each of their stories one more time. Sure, the rooms look more pristine than they have in more than a decade but the stories remain.
Now I spend some time anticipating my sons in a new way; imagining who and what they will be, this time as adults, not as my children. The rooms have their past; I’m not sure how much of their future they’ll hold. Yes, the school breaks, the vacations, sure; the next several years – maybe more than that - will find us with at least part time occupants in those rooms again.
Like the toys and games, our days of sitting in the glider rocker together are also long gone. What I hope remains, lingering in some way in those rooms and beyond those walls within each of us, is the familiar, comfortable feeling of home, of connection, of love.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
This confounds me. It really does.
As I stood at the checkout counter at a local bookstore, I came across a People magazine cover featuring a headline that confounded me. Here it is: Kate Strikes Back!! You won't be surprised to hear I didn't purchase it.
There she was, the ubiquitous Kate Gosselin. The subheads exclaimed: She's mortified about his affair with Hailey, feels like 'it's a fifteen-year-old I'm getting divorced from,' and finally, her explanation for Jon's behavior? 'Aliens have taken him away.'
I have never once watched an episode of this horrifying "reality" show featuring the Gosselin family. I can't think of anything that would compel me to do so. But even though that's the case, the media has done a bang-up job educating extraordinarily disinterested parties like me about every move the unhappy couple makes. At this point, I have to wonder: leaving people like me out of the equation, aren't even the fans of this show sick of these people yet?
I wondered what exactly Kate was striking back at these days. Could it be "the media?" The same media she invited into her home, her marriage and her family life; the media that has taken over her life and splashed it across the tabloid pages, not unlike the magazine cover she herself posed for this week? I'm sorry, but I have no sympathy for any of the adults in this little melodrama. The kids yes, the parents, no. Unfortunately, my feeling is that the kids don't have enough hours left in their lives for the therapy they're going to need with these two chuckleheads for parents.
The part that really, really gets to me, though, is Kate's best-selling book. Remember that? Just eleven months ago, this horror show found its way to the printed page and her fans snapped it up. Where do you start with something like this? Let's go to the logical place: the dedication.
Kate dedicated this to her husband: "...Now I know you meant it when you said in your vows that you would be here 'through new and challenging experiences.'" Charming. The introduction talks about God's plan for them and how fulfilled they are as parents. Published by Zondervan, a Christian publisher, each chapter opens with a quote from the Bible. (I'm sure the Zondervan folks are wondering what the heck happened in the past few months.)
Let's recap. The book pubs in October, 2008 and by June, 2009, the couple has separated. I don't know about you, but that sounds a bit like fraud to me. To your publisher and to the book-buying public, you are a Christian, spiritual, loving couple. Eight months later, the marriage is over and the husband has a girlfriend?
Let's go back a little further and consider the marketing savvy of this couple. Their sextuplets arrived in May, 2004. Fifteen months later, Discovery Health taped a few television "specials" about the family and by October 2006, production had begun on a regular television show. The show films three days a week and has been on the air regularly for more than two years. All this, while Kate was apparently drafting a book where they thank Jesus for the gifts he gave them and the strength to raise them.
I know we like to watch misery. We wait for the car crashes at a race track. I think Kate and Jon and the rest of them have shared enough of their own particular type of train wreck with us, don't you? Time to move on. Time to let someone else take the reins and gallop into our collective consciousness with their own particular kind of crazy. I'm sure there are lots of them out there, just waiting for that camera crew to show up.
There she was, the ubiquitous Kate Gosselin. The subheads exclaimed: She's mortified about his affair with Hailey, feels like 'it's a fifteen-year-old I'm getting divorced from,' and finally, her explanation for Jon's behavior? 'Aliens have taken him away.'
I have never once watched an episode of this horrifying "reality" show featuring the Gosselin family. I can't think of anything that would compel me to do so. But even though that's the case, the media has done a bang-up job educating extraordinarily disinterested parties like me about every move the unhappy couple makes. At this point, I have to wonder: leaving people like me out of the equation, aren't even the fans of this show sick of these people yet?
I wondered what exactly Kate was striking back at these days. Could it be "the media?" The same media she invited into her home, her marriage and her family life; the media that has taken over her life and splashed it across the tabloid pages, not unlike the magazine cover she herself posed for this week? I'm sorry, but I have no sympathy for any of the adults in this little melodrama. The kids yes, the parents, no. Unfortunately, my feeling is that the kids don't have enough hours left in their lives for the therapy they're going to need with these two chuckleheads for parents.
The part that really, really gets to me, though, is Kate's best-selling book. Remember that? Just eleven months ago, this horror show found its way to the printed page and her fans snapped it up. Where do you start with something like this? Let's go to the logical place: the dedication.
Kate dedicated this to her husband: "...Now I know you meant it when you said in your vows that you would be here 'through new and challenging experiences.'" Charming. The introduction talks about God's plan for them and how fulfilled they are as parents. Published by Zondervan, a Christian publisher, each chapter opens with a quote from the Bible. (I'm sure the Zondervan folks are wondering what the heck happened in the past few months.)
Let's recap. The book pubs in October, 2008 and by June, 2009, the couple has separated. I don't know about you, but that sounds a bit like fraud to me. To your publisher and to the book-buying public, you are a Christian, spiritual, loving couple. Eight months later, the marriage is over and the husband has a girlfriend?
Let's go back a little further and consider the marketing savvy of this couple. Their sextuplets arrived in May, 2004. Fifteen months later, Discovery Health taped a few television "specials" about the family and by October 2006, production had begun on a regular television show. The show films three days a week and has been on the air regularly for more than two years. All this, while Kate was apparently drafting a book where they thank Jesus for the gifts he gave them and the strength to raise them.
I know we like to watch misery. We wait for the car crashes at a race track. I think Kate and Jon and the rest of them have shared enough of their own particular type of train wreck with us, don't you? Time to move on. Time to let someone else take the reins and gallop into our collective consciousness with their own particular kind of crazy. I'm sure there are lots of them out there, just waiting for that camera crew to show up.
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