Time Passages

I was in the car the other day, and "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong" by the Spin Doctors came on the radio. When the D.J. informed us listeners that the tune was from 1993, at first I just thought, "Oh, right, that was when I was living in Boston after college, before I moved to Manhattan." But then I did the math: "Holy crap, that was EIGHTEEN years ago!" Because, while it doesn't quite feel like yesterday, it certainly doesn't seem like almost two decades ago.

It got me thinking about how the passage of time feels so much different now that I'm getting older. I remember being, oh, fifteen maybe, and rolling my eyes whenever adults would say something stupid like, "Enjoy it while you can...before you know it, you'll be all grown up with real responsibilities!" Because back then, it seemed like it was taking forever to grow up. And now, of course, the years do seem to be passing by much more quickly.

But that's to be expected so it's no big deal. However, what I am having trouble wrapping my brain around is this:

When I was 15 years old, 18 years earlier was 1967, and the differences between 1985 & 1967 seem SO MUCH more extreme than the differences between 2011 & 1993. The confusing/disturbing/weird part is that I can't figure out why this is the case. Surely it can't only be because I actually experienced the years between '93 and '11, while I was either unborn or else a young child for most of the years between '67 and '85, can it? That just seems crazy. Perhaps it's because the changes in the world in the late 60s and 70s were so huge and important that it makes it feel as though 1967-1985 had to be more than 18 years.

Because think about it....

1967 was the Summer of Love, The Doors, Beatles, hippies, flowers in hair, Vietnam War, and protests.

The following 18 years were incredible: Students were shot at Kent State, the Vietnam War finally ended, the Women's Rights Movement took off, abortion was legalized, Watergate happened, there was the Three Mile Island incident, the arms race with the Soviets escalated, and punk co-existed with disco...just to name a few monumental events.


Now let's look at 1985:


Madonna, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, day-glo, drug cartels, Reaganomics, New Coke, Live Aid, and Miami Vice.

So much changed in the world from the late 60s to 1985!

However, when I think of the 18 years following 1993, sure there were some important events that occurred--most notably the terrorist attacks of 9-11, cell phones, and the Internet--but in 1993, the U.S. was in a recession and we were mired in Middle East nonsense...and well, it's pretty much the same today.

I think what it comes down to is innocence. Back in 1967, it seemed like our country still had an aura of innocence about it. Although I wasn't yet born, everything I've read, watched, and listened to from that era has me believing that people generally felt as if everything would be okay. People were still optimistic about the world and about life.

Innocence was lost shortly thereafter. It was hard to remain optimistic in the face of civilian massacres in Vietnam (and at home), the Charles Manson murders, and numerous rock star O.D.s. By 1985, forget it: Cynicism and pessimism ruled. We'd become a suspicious, untrusting nation.

But in 1993, innocence had already been lost, so there wasn't that same monumental change taking place in the 18 years following. We just went from pessimistic to pessimistic again.

Or maybe it just seems this way because I'm getting old and delusional. Who knows?

You Win Some, You "Win" Some

My five-year-old son, Gavin, is starting soccer next weekend. It's his first foray into organized sports, and I'm not all that confident it's going to go smoothly.

Gavin is, shall we say, competition-adverse. You know those little boys who are always challenging their friends with, "I'll race you!" and "Let's see who gets there first!" Yeah, well, I don't have one of those. But my nephew is one of those boys, and when he and Gavin are together and Gavin responds to his invitations to race with "No thanks," the confusion in my nephew's eyes makes me sad. Why can't my son just say, "Sure!" and make his 3-1/2-year-old cousin's day?

Gavin is sweet, funny, smart, and creative. He's also athletic and coordinated: The problem with sports is all in his head. He enjoys kicking a ball around or hitting pitches but any whiff of competition shuts him down.

I know this isn't particularly unusual and that lots of kids behave this way, but that doesn't necessarily make it acceptable. Is it just me or are more parents letting their kids off the hook nowadays when it comes to competing? When I was little, you played games and learned to lose without being a total baby, and learned to win without being a total jerk. Because being a baby or a jerk meant you weren't gonna be too popular with your peers.

But these days, kids don't get to learn what competition is all about. Parents are always trying to protect their kids from getting their feelings hurt; nowadays everyone wins and everyone gets a medal. But competition is part of life, and I don't think age five is too young to learn about losing--especially when the outcome just doesn't matter much.

So next weekend, no matter what, I'll be out there encouraging my son to play, to try his best, and to have fun. And I swear, I'm not going to let a few tears change my mind: he's playing for sure.

It's Called "March Madness" Because the People Who Watch It Are Insane

I just need to rant a little bit about the insanity called "March Madness." Okay, so the "March" part is clear, but "Madness?" The only reason it could be called that is because the people who live and breathe college basketball this month are CRAAAAZY. Cuz if you ask me, it's a colossal snorefest.

The bottom line is that I just don't get it: Why are so many people who were actually last in college during the Ford administration watching a bunch of kids play ball who've probably never even heard of Gerald Ford?

Every year this question occurs to me, but since my husband is not a basketball fan and doesn't force me to watch the tournament, I've not had reason to really ponder it. But this year, we happened to spend a March weekend at my in-laws' house, and because my mother-in-law is a basketball fan and an even bigger March Madness fan, we ended up watching a lot of college b-ball that weekend. (Or, in my case, staring a lot at the wall just above the TV set.)

So I asked my m-i-l, "What is it that you love so much about watching non-professional players who are more than 40 years your junior and who attend colleges you have no affiliation with compete against each other?"

"I like watching good plays."

Really? Is it that simple? No, it can't be...not for most people. I mean, back in the 80s when I was a youngun, I went through a massive basketball phase, watching every Celtics game I could. Back then, NBA basketball was still fast-paced and entertaining--full of good plays!--but despite my love of the game, I didn't watch March Madness. Nor did I watch it when I was actually in college and went to lots of games because I was friends with many of my university team's basketball players.

I guess it just wasn't as big a deal back then? Though according to Wikipedia, the tournament's been happening since 1939.

So, please, can someone explain it to me? Why do so many people suddenly care about colleges they've hardly heard of before, like Butler and Gonzaga and VCU? Why? Why?

Absolut Crap

While at the liquor store earlier today (replenishing supplies), I saw something Absolut-ly heinous and offensive:

Yes, you are correct: the limited edition Absolut Brooklyn. This offends me on quite a few levels, actually. The first level is the ridiculousness of the vodka's flavor: red apple and ginger. I kinda get the ginger part but my feeling on apple is that, unless you are under the age of ten, you should not be drinking apple-flavored beverages. The very thought of lifting a glass to my lips and getting a strong whiff of red delicious makes me want to barf.

Not that this new flavor combination should surprise me. Gross vodkas have been around for decades, though the first couple Absolut variations--Citron and Kurant--were relatively grown-up, at least. Now however, other wacky flavors are available: Berri Acai (does anyone actually know what acai tastes like?), Wild Tea (are there really people out there who wish their hard liquor tasted more like tea?), and the super-sweet and cloying sounding Absolut Mango.

The second level of offensiveness is, of course, the name.

I have nothing against the regular, old Brooklyn (a sometimes gritty/sometimes lovely place); it's even my second favorite borough. My problem is with the "new" Brooklyn: the one with all the greasy, bearded hipsters, trendy bistros, and just-completed, over-priced condos.

As someone who lived for over a decade in downtown Manhattan back when it was the center of the rock-n-roll universe, I resent Brooklyn for stealing that title from the city I love. Because, despite what it desperately wants to believe, Brooklyn will never be as cool as Manhattan. TRUST ME (because I've been to Brooklyn).

Sure, it's got some cool and funky parts, but they are tiny, hip pockets nestled within a sprawling, usually-dirty, often-dangerous, 99-cent-store borough. Brooklyn as a whole will never have Manhattan's energy. You know how the second you enter the city, its energy zips through you like electricity coursing through your veins? Doesn't happen in Brooklyn.

And the third level of offensiveness is to whom the vodka is marketed. It's certainly not meant to appeal to the bedraggled Brooklyn hipsters (and that's just the chicks), because they can't afford $18 cocktails. And surely Manhattan folks aren't clamoring for hooch named after the borough that stole their precious borough's thunder, right?

Which pretty much leaves Jersey...and/or other areas of the country aspiring to hipster-dom and trendiness.

And I resent any alcoholic beverage that's marketed to Jersey.

The Dreaded Post About Religion

My husband and I watched Bill Maher’s scathing documentary, Religulous, for the first time last night and I have to say, it made me happy not to be religious. No duh, of course it did; Maher found and interviewed every religious wacko he could find, so there was no chance of religious fanaticism coming across as anything but ridiculous. Christians, Muslims, Jews, and Mormons alike were skewered.

There is no one more cynical and mean-spirited than Bill Maher, and this movie was by no means a fair and balanced investigation of organized religion. Nevertheless, I can relate to a lot of what he said in Religulous. I'm a realist (even as a child, I was less prone to flights of fancy than most kids) and therefore I've always found Biblical "stories" (The Creation, The Resurrection, etc.) hard to swallow. I can remember many an Easter, sitting in Sunday School (which my dad forced us to attend only sporadically), listening to the teacher explain the resurrection story, and trying really hard to believe that Jesus actually came back to life on the third day. Even as a kid I knew that dead is dead and there's no coming back.

Even though I had issues with some of the Bible's contents, that didn't mean I didn't pray to God just like the other kids. Every night before bed, I’d pray for my family and friends, as well as for whichever animal or people were in the news at that time (starving Ethiopians, clubbed baby fur seals, etc.). My final prayer would be, “And please, God, don’t let there be a nuclear war.” Hey, it was the Seventies, after all.

Occasionally I would communicate with God at other times, but it would almost always be when I either wanted something or was in trouble and as a result, it ended up being stressful for me, not reassuring. I figured that since God sees and knows everything, he most certainly would have realized that I only called on him in times of trouble. I was a poor-weather friend to God: when everything was going great, I forgot all about him. This made me nervous that perhaps God didn't hold me in very high regard, and therefore I was never confident that my prayers would be answered. I started to get resentful of the whole God thing.

Despite my misgivings, I generally believed in God while growing up. It seemed like the thing do to, and since I was always pretty much a rule-follower, I just went along.

But then I became a teenager and, as teens will do, started questioning everything I believed in. God and religion came under fire, and I stopped praying. I didn't exactly stop believing, but God pretty much disappeared from my life. Eh...I had other things on my mind, you know?

Then came college, and agnosticism set in. Being religious in college was almost as bad as having an STD: it made you a social pariah. You were basically considered an idiot of you were religious. I'm sure there were God-loving and God-fearing people around, but I certainly didn't know them.

And that brings me to the present. I have two young children with malleable little brains: what to do, what to do? We live in a very Catholic town, so when it comes to religion I've decided to keep my mouth shut and leave their religious upbringing to my Catholic-raised husband. He takes them to church (while Mommy goes to the gym) and leads them in their bedtime prayers. I figure my role will come later on, when they are teenagers and begin to question and doubt. I'll tell them it's okay to be unsure, that they need to make their own decisions, and that they are wonderful people no matter what they choose to believe.

What else can I do, right? After all, I can't make myself believe in something I don't. And when it comes right down to it, I'll admit it: I'm sort of with Bill Maher on this one.

School Daze

Ack! I can't believe I'm already stressing my son getting into college...and he hasn't even started Kindergarten yet. It's going to be a nerve-wracking 13 years, that's for sure.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those Tiger Mothers who sign their two-year-olds up for Arabic classes or force piano lessons on 'em at age four. My son is smart but normal: he's five and just starting to read, and he only speaks one language. I want him to have a normal childhood and pursue those activities that truly interest him, regardless of what might look best on his college application.

But is playing dinosaurs and making pom-pom animals really putting my son on the Ivy League track?

And that's what it comes down to, folks. I went to an Ivy League university and I'll do everything in my power to give my kids that opportunity as well. Because, unlike the haters out there (you're all just jealous!), I believe that graduating from an Ivy League college opened many doors for me.

I was a driven teenager. I knew from an early age that I wanted to attend a top-notch university, so everything I did from then on was with my eyes on the prize. Sure, I enjoyed playing clarinet, but the only reason I busted my butt learning every single scale--minors included!--was so I'd earn a spot in the selective, award-winning concert band. Why? Because it would look good on my college app.

I was an excellent student--ranked #8 in my graduating class of 270 students--but nowadays even being Valedictorian does not guarantee a kid admittance to an Ivy. And besides my grades, I did everything else quite averagely: average soccer player, average clarinet player, average number of extracurriculars. My SAT scores were above-average but nothing spectacular.

There are high school seniors out there today who, with the same qualifications I had 24 years ago, wouldn't even get into one of my safety schools. So what does that mean for my kid? Things are bound to get even more competitive over the next decade, no?

I'm just afraid that, in order to be a competitive candidate, my son will have to sign up for every single club his school offers, speak multiple languages, be a musical virtuoso, have a .350 batting average on the varsity baseball team, and take five AP classes every semester. Not mention summer internships at the White House. Forget about how the heck my kid is supposed to deal with that workload, let's talk about how his MOTHER's going to hack it. Am I right, people?

Because I know, I JUST KNOW...it's going to be me gently nudging him to amp it up, me suggesting he join the f-ing Mathletes (may he forgive me someday), me helping him study for his APs. Did you know high school kids these days compile something called an Activity Sheet? It's essentially a resume for high-achieving teens without jobs on which they brag about how many Science Fairs they've won. Reading one can make your skin crawl.

I should probably not care what colleges my kids get into. I should probably not push them at all and just let them "follow their bliss" wherever it may lead them. But knowing myself, it's unlikely that will happen. I don't know what the answer is. All I do know is that it's a scary world out there...and it freaks me out that we are willingly sending our kids out into it.

What the F...ungi?

I saw a commercial the other day that made me laugh; it was a sarcastic laugh that fell into both the Holy-crap-now-I've-seen-everything! category as well as the How-stupid-do-they-think-we-are? one. It was for Aveeno Active Naturals Positively Ageless Rejuvenating Serum with...wait for it...SHIITAKE MUSHROOM COMPLEX.

Really? Because that's exactly what women are looking for these days: an easy way to smear fungi all over their faces.

According to the Aveeno website, shiitake mushrooms were first cultivated in Asia over 1,000 years ago, and were "recognized by ancient herbalists for their medicinal purposes." With this new product, Aveeno claims to have "captured the beauty-enhancing benefits of shiitake mushrooms in formulas that have been shown to enhance the youthful appearance of the skin." Okaaaaay....

I don't know why this latest concoction surprises me. After all, the skin-care and beauty industries have been marketing strange ingredients to consumers for years. Here's just a sampling of some of the odd ingredients in moisturizers, serums, and cosmetics being sold today:

-- Placenta: Because everyone wants skin as soft as a baby's, right?

-- Whale vomit: Called Ambergris, it's a scent ingredient used in perfume.

-- Cochineal beetles: Crush these suckers to get a lovely crimson hue for lipsticks!

-- Snake venom: Can reptile poison really smooth out wrinkles like Botox?

-- Egg whites: Called albumen, it constricts and firms (your wrinkles, supposedly) when dry.

-- Snail slime: Wow, anti-aging and anti-acne properties in one nasty snail secretion!

-- Caffeine: This vasoconstrictor reduces puffiness, rejuvenates, and is rumored to smooth cellulite.

Of course, this is nothing new. Quacks have been hawking snake oil and gullible pawns have been buying it up for centuries.

The term "snake oil" refers to traditional Chinese medicine made from the Chinese water snake, which was used to treat joint pain. It wasn't used in a derogatory way then, but the expression now refers to a product with exaggerated and unverifiable efficacy. (Sound like any products you know and use?)

Hundreds of years after the Great Chinese Water Snake Massacre, early North American settlers continued the tradition of patenting dodgy elixirs with dubious ingredients. One product called Stanley's Snake Oil, which was sold in the early 20th Century, contained the following frightening ingredients:

- fatty oil (most likely beef fat)
- red pepper (feel the burn!)
- turpentine (oil paint remover, people!)
- camphor (more burn!)

YIKES and OUCH, right? But apparently this is the same approximate composition of today's capsaicin-based ointments, though the fat is now usually vegetable based. But yes, turpentine is still used in many cosmetics and remedies (hello, Vicks Vapo-Rub)!

What it comes down to is that people have always been and probably always will be suckers for a sexy marketing scheme. We don't read or research the ingredients we're either slathering on our skin or tossing down our gullets.

And I guess when you compare it to whale vomit and and snail slime, a little fungi sounds downright appealing.