What I Need's a Little Patience

Here it is, new Year's Eve, and we're home because we flaked on getting a babysitter. But that's okay...because it's not like we had anywhere to go anyway. Do people have NYE parties anymore? Not in our town, apparently. Without an invitation to a local party, our other choices were: go out in White Plains (ugh) or schlep into Manhattan to fight for bar space with all the other amateurs. No thanks. I've always preferred to do my partying on less obvious occasions (St. Patrick's Day is another night I've tended to stay home).

So I'm here at home, going over the past year, thinking about how I'd like the coming year to be  different. My New Year's resolution: What will it be this year? Did I even make one last year? I don't think so...I may have resolved never to make another resolution again. After all, they tend to be given up or forgotten by Groundhog Day anyway, so what's the point?

Or maybe I resolved to be more patient--with my kids, my husband, in general. Impatience is one of my worst flaws, so I often find myself taking deep breaths and trying to cool down. Self-improvement is a good thing; an extra instance of resolving to be a better person certainly can't hurt. But the problem is that I, like everyone else, tend to forget about it and continue with my impatient ways.

When I was younger, however, things were different. I got a rush out of making a New Year's resolution because I truly believed that if a person made one and was serious about it, it would happen--sort of like a birthday wish. Back in those days, I probably resolved to try harder at soccer or practice my clarinet more. Later on, it was always eat less junk food, exercise more, lose ten pounds: superficial stuff.

This year, I suppose I'll try for patience again. Mainly, I'll just be waiting for this nonsense to pass, because it comes down to this: New Year's resolutions mean the gym is going to be really crowded for the next month. And I hate having to wait for a treadmill while some out-of-shape person flails away on it.

To deal with that, I'm going to have to be more patient.

Hillary Clinton for President! (A Girl Can Dream, Can't She?)

I saw a picture of Hillary Clinton in a magazine the other day, and was surprised by the pang of longing I felt. I love Barack Obama (and think he's doing a pretty good job so far) but I was a big Hillary supporter leading up to the 2008 Democratic Primary. I still think she would've made a heckuva president.

I remember being a girl and looking through a big coffee-table book about the presidents that my parents had. I was amused by the weird facial hair (nice muttonchops, Martin Van Buren!) and strange names (Millard? Grover? Woodrow?) and enjoyed learning about American history. The tragic stories (Lincoln, McKinley, Kennedy) brought me back to the book again and again. But every single time I looked through that book, it bummed me out and made me angry that there weren't any women's faces looking back at me. A woman president! Wouldn't that be amazing?

A few years later it was 1984, and suddenly, having a woman as president in the near future seemed much more likely when Walter Mondale chose Geraldine Ferraro to be his running mate against Ronald Reagan and George Bush, Sr. It was the first time a woman was nominated for that position by a major party.

We all know how that turned out: No female vice president in 1984, and no woman was again nominated for that position by a major party for 24 long years.

Back in 1984, even though the Reagan/Bush ticket prevailed, I was optimistic about the chance of there being a woman V.P. or president in the near future. But election after election left me dejected. So many stuffy white dudes! (Except for Clinton, who's white and a dude but refreshingly unstuffy.) What the heck was going on? Where were the major-party chicas?

(Sure, plenty of ladies have attempted to win the Democratic or Republican presidential nomination over the years--starting with a couple Democratic gals way back in 1920--but none succeeded until Ms. Ferraro in 1984.)

Fast-forward 24 years, and Hillary Clinton had successfully sloughed off her poor-betrayed-wife image to get herself elected to the U.S. Senate. Her new image was as a smart, tough negotiator and problem-solver. I was happy to have her as one of my U.S. senators, but when she threw her hat into the Democratic presidential nominee ring, I was psyched!

Clinton quickly gathered momentum and she seemed destined to win the nomination. I thought: This is going to be our year, ladies! Because with Bush as unpopular as he was, the Democratic nominee was pretty much a shoo-in as president. Hillary's going to win! We're finally going to have our first woman president! It's about time, people!

Then came Obama, seemingly from out of nowhere. The man was on fire...and my dreams and hopes for a woman president were dashed.

I'm so, so proud of our country for electing our first black president, really I am! But I truly thought a woman would come first. I dunno...you hear about how people in the South are still racist, so I didn't think a black candidate could get enough of the non-urban vote to win. But what the 2008 election taught me is that, apparently, more Americans are sexist than racist. And that surprised me. I'm not sure why, but it did.

So now what? Is Sarah Palin all our gender has to offer? Say it ain't so! Hillary, darling, sweetheart...how about making another go at it in 2012? As much as I love Obama, the majority of my fellow Americans don't seem to agree with me. The last thing we want is a <shudder> Republican back in office two short years from now (or Sarah Palin anywhere near Washington D.C.).

Sure, "Secretary of State Hillary Clinton" sounds pretty good, but nothing beats "President Hillary Rodham Clinton," right?

Do it for all us former little girls who dreamed that there would, one day, be a female President of the United States of America, but have grown into women voters (some with wide-eyed girls or our own) without yet seeing this dream realized.

We've waited long enough, don't you think?

Too Much Christmas Spirit?

It seems to me that Gen X is the first generation whose members have never completely grown up. As I drive around local neighborhoods during this holiday season, I'm convinced this is why there are so many more ugly Christmas decorations around than when I was a child. Because when it comes to kids and decorations, the more garish the better. So it follows that adults who are still kids at heart will purchase the biggest, tackiest, over-the-top thing they can afford.

Yes, I'm talking about the huge blow-up Santas, Frosties, and Rudolphs. At night, they glow and sway in the breeze, buzzing with the sound of pressurized air being pumped into them. During the day, they are hideous multi-colored puddles on front lawns.

When I was growing up, decorations mainly consisted of pretend candles in house windows, a wreath on the front door, and maybe some lights--usually tasteful white ones--on a few bushes.

It was nice, classy stuff that made our little New England town look like Santa's Village for a few weeks.  (That's another difference: Decorations used to go up the second week of December, not the day after Thanksgiving.) I used to love sitting in the backseat of our station wagon with my brothers as my parents drove us around to look at all the pretty lights. Nighttime was darker back then and the air stiller, so the twinkling lights seemed extra magical.

But now, there's no lovely feeling of calm when we drive around looking at decorations. It's all, "WOW! Look at that house! OH MY GOSH, look at that one!" My kids particularly love the houses where you can't even see any grass because the entire lawn is covered with deer, presents, candy canes, sleighs, etc...as if the North Pole exploded and random pieces fell from the sky and landed in people's yards.

I'm not bah-humbugging it; the decorations amuse me and my kids' excitement is contagious. But I do miss how it used to be, when tasteful and classic ruled. Because now the feeling is less "O Holy Night" and more "All I Want for Christmas Is You."

What a Girl Wants

The other day I was reading an interview with Christina Aguilera in Redbook magazine, in which she was talking about balancing work and motherhood. What she said pissed me off: "I'm not a 9-to-5 woman who has the same kind of lifestyle for years on end. I couldn't do it. I need the spontaneity, that thrill of change."

Well then, it's lucky for you, Ms. Aguilera, that you are a singer and actress who can change it up whenever you want...that you have enough money to pay someone else to provide your son with the consistency he needs while you are following your bliss. Most of us had to make a few compromises after having kids. 

After all, that's exactly what I used to say: I needed a varied life and never wanted it to consist of doing the same thing day in and day out. I wanted spontaneity...to experience the "thrill of change" whenever I desired. I mean, really, didn't we all? 

But here I am now: my life nothing but consistency, repetition and predictability. 

And that's okay, because my lifestyle isn't by accident. I've been led to believe that kids thrive on consistency and routine. And even if I wasn't inclined to follow the advice of "experts" in the field, I can confirm this just from the experiences I've had with my own children. It's true that they like knowing what to expect out of their day, and that too many last-minute changes can wreak havoc (especially true when kids are little).

So, yes, I've somewhat sacrificed my desire for a varied life in order to provide my kids with the stabile routines that help them thrive. Just add it to the list of sacrifices we parents make for our kids. But I'm happy to do it, as are the majority of parents out there.

Then along comes Christina Aguilera spouting off about how she just couldn't bear having the same lifestyle for years on end, how she needs spontaneity--and it riles me up. No, honey, you don't need it, you're just lucky enough to be able to choose it. 

The Princess Bride

On July 29, 1981, I sat glued to the TV as a pretty young Lady--who was only eight years older than myself at the time--became a real and true Princess. The Cathedral, horse-drawn carriage, poufy ivory gown, miles-long train, glittering jewels: it was all so magical...and I was an impressionable 12-year-old girl who was utterly sucked in by the incredible romance and pageantry of it all.

My fascination was harmless (though witnessing such a fairy-tale wedding can set a girl up for disappointment later in life, but that's another story); however, now there's another Princess-in-the-Making, and I'm concerned how all the hoopla is going to affect our young girls. Because when it comes to princesses, things are really different nowadays.

Back in the early 80's, princesses didn't really have any special status in the eyes of a young girl. Princesses, princes, queens, kings: they were all just characters you pretended to be while playing with your friends.

Fast-forward to 2010, and the CULT OF THE PRINCESS threatens to brainwash all our little, well, princesses.

Starting at an incredibly early age, girls are bombarded with everything Ariel, Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Belle, Jasmine, and Tiana (sorry, Pocahantas and Mulan, you don't seem to have made the cut). My daughter was able to say "Ariel," "Snow White," and "Belle" before she could say her own name. She dressed up as Snow White for Halloween and now she wants to wear the costume every single day. She's happiest when she's in that dress.

I can completely understand it: the sparkly dresses (each Princess with her own signature color), the flowing hair, the beautiful faces--it's mesmerizing. Of course little girls get sucked in.

So what happens when hundreds of thousands of girls who were raised on a steady diet of princesses are further bombarded with the impossibly romantic love story of William and Kate? My own little princess is too young to be affected by it all, but I'm sure there are countless eight or ten year olds who will be eagerly devouring every last detail about the Royal Engagement, Royal Wedding Gown, Royal Ceremony, and Royal Honeymoon.

Is this a bad thing? Not necessarily. But I don't think anyone can argue that it's a good thing or an educational thing or a healthy-for-a-normal-girl's-self-esteem thing. Because although media outlets are making a lot out of the fact that Kate Middleton is a "commoner," there's no way some girl from New Jersey or Kansas or even Bourton-on-the-Water, U.K. is going to grow up and marry a prince.

And I know that come April 30, 2011 (the day after the Big Day) there's going to be a huge, collective sigh from the thousands of girls who have just decided that their own lives are terribly and horribly normal and boring. Because that's how I felt watching Diana and Charles walk down the aisle almost 30 years ago.

It's just too much emphasis on the wrong things, and I wish the media would lay off. That's not going to happen, of course, so all I can do is patiently wait until the hoopla's over.

And hope that Prince Harry doesn't get engaged anytime soon.

Thanks Anyway, Gloria Steinem

There have been a lot of heated discussions in the media lately about being a working mother versus a stay-at-home one. Both sides often adopt a holier-than-thou attitude, but there's no right or wrong answer; it's all about what's right for that particular mother and her family.

I chose to be a stay-at-home mom, and while I do not regret the decision at all, I don't love that I'm reinforcing the very gender stereotypes that I promised my younger self I would always challenge. Boo to me. I don't bring home the bacon (unless we're talkin' actual bacon, because in that case, yes, I do bring it home...but only the antibiotic-and-nitrate-free kind!!), I shop for the food, prepare the meals, wash the clothes, do (most of) the cleaning. My husband goes to work, takes out the garbage, and mows the lawn. I'm teaching my kids that dads go to work and moms stay home.

Sometimes I wonder how and why I let this happen. Part of it has to do with boobs: I have them, my husband doesn't, so when we had our first child, it made sense for me to stay home because I could breast-feed. After the baby got a little older, my husband could've quit his job and I could've gone back to work (we didn't want both of us working full-time), but it was just easier to keep going along as before. Then baby #2 came along, more breast-feeding ensued, and nothing changed.

I know I'm lucky that I don't have to work, and I'm happy (mostly) with how things are. But, yeah, I worry about the lessons my kids are learning.

But you know what's great? My kids have only ever experienced women doctors and dentists. That's a nice change from when I was little. Sure, their preschool teachers are still all women, but there are lots of female cops and mail carriers around. Quite a few of my kids' friends have mothers who work, and on any given day there's at least a handful of dads dropping off and picking up from preschool.

So things are definitely better than when I was growing up. I may be slacking off in the shaking-up-gender-stereotypes department, but as they say, "it takes a village" to raise a child. And luckily our "village" is helping my children learn that you can be whatever you want to be, regardless of gender.

Hopefully it's sinking in.

Rock-a-Bye Baby

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too selfish to be a really good parent. Because, as we all know, when you have kids, you have to put your own needs on the back burner. And I'm finding that challenging these days.

Maybe it's not just me...after all, Gen X has been accused of being an entirely self-absorbed generation. Oh, we're not the only ones. I don't think Gen Y or even the Millennials are much better. But we were the first to be labelled as such, and coming after the Baby Boomers--who were known for their activism--made us look worse.

Generation X's decades were the 80's and 90's: better known as the Greed Is Good decade and the Slacker decade. "Give me money, give me more" segued into "Whatever, dude. Where's my car?" Me, me me...we grew up with it being all about us.

So making that transition to parenthood and it NOT being all about us anymore can be really, really hard. Not as hard as I'd feared, though, because there's something in those pregnancy hormones that numbs the selfish part of a woman's brain (for a while, at least). But at some point, even though your love for and devotion to your child has not diminished in any way, the ME, ME, ME (!!) area of the brain begins to awaken.

And that's when the trouble begins: After five years of everything being all about my kids all the time, I'm finally starting to lose it. My patience (in short supply to begin with) is waning, and my poor 2-1/2-year-old daughter is getting the brunt of it.

She's at the stage where everything has to be just so: When she goes to bed at night, she has to have Dora and Blue Bear right next to her, and her pink blanket must be draped over her precisely the right way. The whole nighty-night process has become an exact science. If I do something wrong, she freaks out and we have to go back and repeat the last step...and thenmy last bit of patience dries up. I snap.

The warm & fuzzies now over, I raise my voice and rush through the remainder of the bedtime routine. Which of course doesn't help my little one stop crying. It only makes it worse--I realize that. But by 8:30 at night I've had it and just want to veg out (or, more likely, finally fold the laundry that's been sitting in the dryer all day).

So I march out of her room and leave her there crying. She's upset but so am I. Ten minutes later she's still crying. My brain about ready to explode, I stomp to her room and push open the door.

"Go to sleep NOW!" I order.

"Blue Bear!" she wails.

She can't find her precious blue bear, which is hidden in the blanket. I give it to her and she stops crying. That's all it takes. For ten minutes I did nothing while she cried...just because I was frazzled. I feel terrible and mean and like she deserves a better mother.

The sight of my little girl wrapped up in her pink blanket, cuddling Blue Bear, her cheeks wet with the tears she'd shed while I was trying to tune her out, breaks my heart.

"Go to sleep, baby girl." I whisper through tears. "Mommy loves you so much."

And she'll try to be more patient from now on.

The Natural History of Growing Up

There was another blog-worthy episode of How I Met Your Mother last night (maybe I should turn this into a HIMYM blog!).

As you may or may not know, Marshall and Lily met in college, back when they were anti-establishment idealists bent on making a difference. Marshall became a lawyer, with the intention of working for the NRDC (Natural Resource Defense Council) so he could "save the world" as Lily says. But instead, he ended up a corporate lawyer for Goliath National Bank. He defends his position: "Remember, no one's the same as they were in college." But Lily doesn't like it and she won't accept it.

Later on in the episode, Marshall tells Lily that he's been offered a five-year contract with Goliath; Lily assumes he's not going to accept, because working at a bank was supposed to be just a temporary thing. She still views her husband as the not-for-profit, idealistic guy he was in college. But people change, and he's not that dude anymore. Lily is devastated: "I want you to be the person I fell in love with."

In a brilliant scene, Lily is sadly wandering around the Natural History Museum (the gang is at a formal gala, sponsored by Goliath), pondering the news that Marshall is determined to accept the GNB contract, thereby putting an end to her dream of him saving the world. She enters a room with various animal dioramas. Next to a "DALL'S SHEEP" one is this: "COLLEGE MARSHALL (EXTINCT)." Behind the glass is College Marshall in his dorm room. He has the munchies and is eating a huge sub.

"I want you, as opposed to who you've become," says Lily. "You've changed so much."

"You can't have me," replies Marshall. "Look at the sign; I'm extinct."

It got me thinking about the extinct me: the girl who marched on Washington in a pro-choice rally and stayed up half the night arguing about the latest cause. The girl who dreamed of a career as a documentarian, or maybe a spy. The girl who was going to travel the world...learn to speak Russian...climb the highest mountains...help bring global injustices to light.

Where is this girl now? She's a married woman, living in middle-class suburbia, driving a mini-van, cooking dinner every night, folding laundry, and wiping poopy bums. Sigh....

But yet she's also raising two incredible little people: nurturing, teaching, feeding, clothing, playing, singing, dancing, laughing, tickling, kissing, hugging, and loving, loving, loving, loving.

There is so much more love in my life today than I ever could have imagined. The present-day me has so much more going for her than the college me. I'll take my current life, thank you very much.

It beats climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro any day of the week.

Manicure, Pedicure...Insecure

Last night should've been fun, but it wasn't, not really. The problem was that I was pretending to be something I'm not. I'm just not a spa-mani-pedi gal. In fact, I've actually never had either a mani or a pedi! I know, the horrors. But it's just not my thing. However, did that stop me from saying yes when my fun new friend (the one who had the Oktoberfest party and also goes out every weekend even though she has three kids under five) invited me to a wine and nails event she was organizing at a local salon? It did not. After all, I might not be into the "nails" part but I certainly can get on board with the "wine" part!

I felt awkward from the moment I walked in. I didn't know many of the ladies there but yet they all seemed to be buddy-buddy. Everyone lived in Priusville, no doubt. Never having had a mani or pedi, I didn't know what I was supposed to do or what was going to happen. So I kinda just observed and made chit-chat and drank wine. I spent way too long picking out my polish color (there were about a million colors to choose from...I went with Rock Star Skinny for the name alone) and then all the chairs & manicurists were taken. So I had to make more chit-chat with the other ladies waiting for a spot to open.

It was sort of painful; everyone was nice but the whole thing had a cliquey/sorority-ish vibe, which was  just blech. I wanted to leave but it was way too soon. Then the conversation turned to some event taking place next week where formal dress is required and mani-pedis are therefore essential. I had no idea what they were talking about: something to do with a fund for education or some such. See, I don't live in their town so I don't know what's going on.

As I was standing there not talking, washing down chocolate-covered pretzels with Chardonnay, I asked myself, Why am I trying to be friends with these people? Because if we're not going to move (and I'm starting to think we won't) then I shouldn't even bother. If we're staying where we are, in a school district that's different from these mani-pedi moms, then my kids won't be in school with their kids, our kids won't be friends, and realistically, these moms won't stay my friends. So why bother?

I should've stayed home and watched 30 Rock instead.

S#*! the Big Sister Says

All this talk about bullying really bums me out. I posted about it before (here) but I can't get it out of my mind.

Bullying isn't just amongst peers, although that's what's covered by the media; it also occurs within families. Fighting and name-calling between siblings close in age isn't bullying, it's just normal, but what about when a few-years-older sister mercilessly teases her little brother? Does that count as bullying? Was I a bully to my brother? I think maybe I was...and I feel really guilty about it.

My brother is four years younger than me. I also have an older brother--we're just 15 months apart and were very close growing up. We did everything together, I think. My little bro came on the scene when things around the house were already pretty darn good. Perhaps I could've used a little sister, mostly because I wanted a tiny mannequin to dress up and a long head of hair to braid and style: a living doll. So yes, a second brother was kind of a disappointment, though the reality is that nothing is better to a four-year-old girl than a real live baby.

I have fond memories of singing the ABC song to him while my mother changed his diaper, and I recall the impressive arc of pee shooting into the air as he laid on the changing table. Better than a Betsy Wetsy doll!

My brother was almost as good as a sister. He grew long, blonde curls (hey, it was the 70's) and had huge brown eyes with thick, feathery lashes that elicited, "Oh, she's so cute!" from the old ladies at Stop-n-Shop. I always got a kick out of that. At home, I'd put barrettes in his hair and make him look even prettier.

But none of that was mean because he didn't know any better; he thought it was fun and was happy to be getting attention from his big sister.

The trouble started when he was four or five and figured out how to manipulate my father with his tears and tantrums. Imagine the scene: Shopping mall; dad and kids in Kaybee Toys; the two older kids understanding that this is a "looking" visit not a "buying" one; the little brother understanding this but not accepting it, throwing himself onto the floor while crying, screaming, and kicking his arms and legs; the unprepared dad caving in and purchasing desired toy; the little brother beaming while exiting the store holding a gigantic backhoe loader.

It brought the evil out of my well-behaved, good-girl self.

I called him stupid and told him he wasn't as smart as me and my older brother. Sometimes I'd get mad at him and just call him a brat, but that never got the rise from him that "dummy" or "idiot" did. I knew how to wound him. When his pet turtle died, I taunted him with, "Yay! Tommy the Turtle's de-eh-ed! He's de-eh-ed!" As my brother cried, I laughed in his face.

I wish I could say that our taunts (it wasn't just me...my older brother chimed in as well) didn't have a lasting impression, but I don't think that's true. My brother never thought he was smart. He didn't do great in school and acted like he didn't care. But I'm happy to say that he got his act together toward the end of his college career, was accepted by and graduated from (as Valedictorian no less!) an excellent dental school, and is now very successful.

Still, though...I don't think he considers himself to be as smart as he actually is. He's not at all bookish. He doesn't do crossword puzzles like me and my other brother. I can't help but think he'd be different if it weren't for my put-downs, that my bullying changed him...permanently.

And for that, I'm really, really sorry.

A House Divided

I've been toying with the idea of moving to the town next door, which my husband and I love for its cute downtown, eclectic stores, artsy cinema, bars, walkability, parks, sidewalks, and liberal population. We moved to the town we live in not knowing much about it. Basically, we found a house we loved, the commute into the city was doable for my husband, and the school system was supposedly pretty good. But there's no downtown to speak of, nowhere to walk to, no sidewalks, and the population is a bit too conservative for my liking.

However, it's school quality that's really making me think about moving. The reality is that most schools in Westchester are good. The super-highly-rated ones, like Scarsdale and Chappaqua, are (from what I've heard) pressure cookers for the poor stressed kids who attend. Navigating school seems challenging enough these days without the added academic pressure these schools put on kids. I don't want that for my little darlings. Besides, property taxes in these towns are insane.

So when we were looking to move to Westchester, we overlooked these high-pressure towns for more low-key, (relatively) poorer, and less snobby ones. The town where we ended up in is nice--it's a solid-family-values and strong-work-ethic kind of place. Except, apparently, for many of the high-schoolers;  I've heard they aren't exactly the highest achievers.

And of course that concerns me. Because while I don't want my kids to be subject to such insane pressures that they burn out (or worse), I do want them to be sufficiently challenged and surrounded by students and teachers who are all trying their best. I want my kids attending schools where curiosity and a hunger for knowledge are encouraged and valued. Our town's K-Gr. 2 program is universally praised as one of the best in the county, but unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the middle and high schools.

The general consensus is that Grades 3-12 are better in the cute town next door.

So what do we do? Do we stay here and hope the middle and high schools continue to improve (as they've been doing)? After all, our son isn't even in Kindergarten yet so time is on our side. Do we stay here until the kids have completed the acclaimed K-Gr. 2 program, and then move? Or, if we're planning on moving eventually anyway, wouldn't it be better to do it now so they aren't uprooted partway through their education?

Further complicating matters is the fact that my son currently goes to school in the next town over and 90% of his friends live there. Kids are flexible, I know, and I'm sure he'll make new local friends at Kindergarten next year, but still, he won't know anyone going in. Also, house-wise, you get less for your money in the cute other town. Do we accept a lesser house as a trade for a better school system?

And finally, there's this: I've recently begun infiltrating the "cool" group of moms who live in the cute town (I've written about them before). So far I've found out that they have Meet-in-the-Park Wednesdays with wine and pizza, and on Friday and/or Saturday nights they get babysitters and a bunch of couples meet up at one of the local bars (get this, they walk there!). We were invited to join them last night, and it was really fun (we were the only ones who drove). We could have a real, active social life if we moved to that town. People where we live now just don't do fun stuff like that.

So while I don't know what we'll end up doing, I do know that I'm looking at a couple of houses next week. I mean, who knows, right?

The Importance of Spirit Day

Today is Spirit Day: The Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation is asking Americans to wear purple to show their support for efforts combating anti-gay bullying. Of course I support this, and I'm happy to wear purple today (it's my favorite color anyway). Spirit Day is a great idea--it brings attention to horrible stuff going on--but it's also sort of a shame that there has to be a day for something that should really just be common sense. "Do unto others" and all that. But since when do teenagers have a lot of common sense, right? Or some adults, for that matter.

Everything about high school is worse now than it was 25 years ago when I was there. College admissions are way tougher and kids are under all kinds of pressure to succeed academically, athletically, musically, and school-spirit-ally. Teens are peer-pressured to do a lot more than chug a beer or go to second base or shoplift some nail polish these days. But the increase in bullying--any kind, not just anti-gay--takes the cake.

At least I think there's been an increase in bullying. I'm sure it existed in my day, though I didn't experience it personally and didn't even see much of it being done to others. Sure, kids could be mean and hurtful sometimes, but I don't remember it being anything but stupid. Generally, it was the kids who didn't have much going for them who did the teasing. Most people could kinda turn the other cheek and not let it bother them too much.

If anything, you'd think being teased about being gay would've decreased since the 80's. After all, society as a whole is more accepting of homosexuality nowadays. Why is this happening? Is it because kids tend to come out earlier and are therefore more visible? In my day, there were kids people knew (or suspected) to be gay--and, yes, these kids were more likely to be teased--but no one was really out and proud.

Or are kids just meaner now? Or maybe they are more insecure, and this insecurity leads them to belittle others, thereby making them feel better about their own selves. I don't know.

Much of the problem is with the others: the witnesses, those who stand by and do nothing. Because if bullies were continually alienated and ostracized, then they probably wouldn't do it anymore.

Making real changes is going to take more than being open-minded and silently wearing your purple. We need to step in and actively stop the abuse when we see it. We need to call these bullies out and make it clear that being mean and abusive is not cool or funny or a way to increase popularity.

It's gotta stop, people.

Biergarten, Strudel, and Lederhosen: Oktoberfest!

A crazy thing happened last night: my husband and I went to an adult party, with kegs and liquor and music and finger food and everything. It was an Oktoberfest theme, and since grown-up parties are extremely rare around here, we decided to make the most of it by dressing up.

In our Oktoberfest garb

The party was fun but it was much more sedate than ones we'd attended in pre-kids, city-livin' days. That was to be expected--after all, most of the guests were expecting 7 a.m. wake-up calls from their kiddies the following morning. I knew a bunch of people there--moms I see around--so it didn't matter that everyone else was from Priusville (the much cooler town next to ours, where the party was held). This party was also different in that people were friendly enough so that relying on excessive amounts of alcohol as a social lubricant was unnecessary. Besides, we drove and hadn't decided beforehand who would be the designated driver.

Here's another way this get-together was different: Back in my single days, I'd go to a party and get a crush on a guy there. After I became serious with my husband-to-be, I stopped looking at other men that way and instead, sometimes I'd leave a party with a little crush on a woman. (I didn't have romantic feelings, rather I was drawn to these women because they all had qualities I envied. The crushes were more admiration than anything else.) But last night, it dawned on me: now I get crushes on couples.

It's tough to find a couple where both members are equally nice, funny, and cool. Usually, this is what happens: you meet another mom with whom you hit it off, but then then all four of you get together and find out the husband is a total dud. It's a bummer because that friendship can never get to the next level.

Last night I left the party crushing a bit on a couple we met there, Ryan and Maggie. We met Ryan first: he was very impressed with our Oktoberfest garb and told us his wife would be envious when she saw us. Points scored for complimenting us right off the bat! Then we found out that both he and his wife were/still are actors and had recently moved to Westchester from Brooklyn. It's funny because when I lived in Manhattan, Brooklyn people annoyed me with their self-righteousness, but now that our entire town seems to be from the Bronx or Yonkers, Brooklyn sounds like Shangri-La.

We met Maggie later on, and just as her husband promised, she went ape-s#*t for our costumes. Both she and Ryan were very bubbly and engaging so the conversation flowed and there was lots of laughter. They both also happen to be adorable and even have two little girls named Alice and Hazel. I mean, really, Hazel? I could just die with the cuteness of it all.

So here I am, thinking about the fun evening and wondering if I'll ever see Ryan and Maggie again. I really hope so. I'll be looking everywhere for them now: library, playgrounds, grocery store. Hope I don't turn into a stalker. We sure could use friends like them. <Sigh>

Bumper Sticker Bummer

This would be my response.

In one of my first posts, I mentioned a mom I know who commented at the town pool one day that unless she didn't start using sunblock on her face she'd look forty before too long (as if looking forty was the epitome of horrible). Well, I saw her again the other day. On the way to the gym, I was stopped at a red light behind a minivan...her minivan as I'd soon find out. "Choose Life" read one bumper sticker (and so did her license plate holder). But there was another one I hadn't seen before: "How can there be too many children? That's like saying there are too many flowers."

This quote is attributed to Mother Teresa, I Googled it. I hate to argue with a woman who's in the process of being canonized, but really, that's just a ridiculous comparison. I don't even get it. What, kids and flowers are both sweet and lovely? They look nice? (It's certainly not that they both smell wonderful.)

Or maybe this one. 

This bumper sticker on its own wouldn't have bothered me because the sentiment is sweet. But together with "Choose Life" it takes on a whole new meaning--and stops making sense. After all, unlike flowers kids don't stay in one place, and they need a heck of a lot more than water, soil, and sun to survive. You can't leave them at home and continue to live an unencumbered life.

I absolutely agree that every life is precious, but the abortion issue is way too complex to address it by comparing children and flowers. It's trying to simplify the issue but just ends up trite. Besides, I just don't like people who use their motor vehicles to proselytize--you are forced to learn their point of view without being able to put in your own two cents. It doesn't seem fair. It irks me.

Now, not only am I watching that woman, but I'm wary of her as well.

Will You Be My Friend?

I've lived in the 'burbs for four years now. I'm getting the hang of it, finally...but making friends can still be challenging. I have friends, I do. But when you add kids to the equation, friendships have a tendency ebb and flow. For example, when my son was in class and best friends with this one boy, his mother and I saw a lot of each other, but now that the boys aren't in the same class, I haven't seen her in three months. Stuff like that.

So this new year finds me down a friend or two. I could use some backups. But nothing is more nerve-wracking than trying to chat up another chick. (It's worse than hitting on a dude--men are easy.) It makes me feel like an insecure tween all over again, trying to become friends with the popular girl in school. Shouldn't this get easier with age?

That's where the local kids' gym comes in. It's not in our town (there's nothing in our town), it's in the next one over, where we spend most of our time. The town has cool, quirky stores, an artsy movie house, and our kids go to preschool there. It fits us so well that I'm toying with the idea of moving there. I'll call it Priusville (what my husband calls it).

There's a group of moms I see at this kids' gym; they all live in Priusville and seem to know each other from before. My son is buddies with one of the women's son, so we've been to each other's houses for playdates. We're friendly though not quite friends yet. But at the kids' gym, she's got this whole other group. When I see them, I try to participate in their conversation but since much of what they talk about is Priusville-related, I often feel left out.

So I'll find myself standing there, trying to think of witty and relevant things to say, starting to sweat. After ten minutes, I can't hack it anymore. I'm stressed. So I go sit on a nearby bench, open my New Yorker, and pretend to read. I keep an ear on their conversation and whenever possible, chime in with a comment or two. One of the women was reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest, and since I've read the first two Stieg Larsson books, I chatted her up about it. No sooner had we started discussing the book, when my daughter began moaning that she needed help climbing the gym apparatus. I had to run off...conversation over.

I give myself pep talks about smiling more and being outgoing. Sometimes it works and I'm bubbly and engaging (which can be exhausting). Other days, I feel lazy and decide that a quick "Hello" will have to do. I hope the other moms understand and don't think I'm a bitch. 'Cuz then I'll never make new friends.

When I was a child...

When I was a child...

...I heard the statistic that people sleep away one-third of their lives and thought that sounded terrible. NOW it sounds wonderful.

...I thought all doctors were men. NOW my kids think all doctors are women.

...I wanted to be a nurse when I grew up because I thought nurses and doctors never got sick or died. My father told me I should become a doctor instead. NOW I'm grateful I had a father who always told me I could be anything I wanted to be.

...I wished I looked like Barbie. NOW I'm glad I look more like Skipper instead.

...I worried that there would be a nuclear war. NOW I worry that my kids are growing up in a world where there's way too much to worry about.

...I was scared that kidnappers would snatch me and throw me into the back of their van as I walked home from school. NOW I know that such evil is much more likely to be found lurking in cyberspace.

...I thought beer smelled (and tasted) disgusting. NOW I still think it smells pretty gross: skunk in a glass.

Kelly, Kris, Sabrina

...I loved playing Charlie's Angels but I always had to be Sabrina, the smart Angel, because I was the one with brown hair. I pretended that's what I wanted, too. NOW I wish I'd stood up to my friends and insisted on being Krissy, the pretty one, every now and then.

...I loved drawing rainbows. NOW I still love drawing rainbows.

...I hoped one day to have a son, a daughter, a sweet, funny husband, and a cute house with a white picket fence. NOW I have all those things.

What are your THEN and NOW differences?

An Unfinished Life

I can't believe I'm posting on How I Met Your Mother for the second time since the new season began, but can I help it if the show is awesome and totally relevant? Last night's episode was titled "Unfinished," and it was about stuff in one's life that's, you guessed it, unfinished: dreams not yet achieved, ambitions not yet met.

In this episode, all the major characters (with the exception of Barney) have loose ends and unfinished business: Robin's breakup with Don was too abrupt for closure, Lily regrets abandoning karate after one lesson, Marshall wishes he still gigged with his funky lawyer band, and Ted never achieved his lifelong dream of designing a building in New York.

However, when Ted gets a second chance at designing that building, he turns the opportunity down because of how stressful it would make his life. He says, "I have a quiet, simple, happy life, and I like it that way.... Letting go of that dream is the best thing I ever did. I'm happy and I'm not letting go of that." His friends try to convince him to go for it, to follow his dream. He resists and resists, but then his next seminar lecture is about Gaudi and how the church he designed in Barcelona remains forever unfinished--not because Gaudi gave up on his dream but because he was hit by a bus before he could complete his masterpiece.

Ted lectures his class about why dreams usually aren't realized: "Most of the time, it's too difficult, too expensive, too scary. It's only once you've stopped that you realize how hard it is to start again. So you force yourself not to want it. But it's always there. And until you finish it, it will always be...." and then he runs out of the classroom, finds Barney, and agrees to design the building after all.

When you're twenty, your whole life is ahead of you and the possibilities are endless. There's no reason to think your wildest dreams won't come true. But then life tends to get in the way: dreams can be hard to achieve, or really expensive, or terribly frightening. And so we put it off, we say we'll try again tomorrow. We don't give up on our dreams--heavens no!--we just put them aside for a while, take a breather and regroup, waiting for a time when it won't be quite as difficult, costly, or scary.

But then one day you wake up and "a while" has become ten years, twenty...and you aren't close to being the person you thought you'd be or living the life you thought you'd live. You realize it's too late to follow your dreams--you have too many responsibilities and people counting on you. Your life doesn't revolve around you anymore...you can't afford to be that selfish. So "you force yourself not to want it." You tell yourself you don't want it, you even believe you don't want it. But you do, you do want it. You are incomplete and your life is unfinished until you get it. What happens then?

The question is this: When is the not having it finally going to catch up to you and begin eating away at your insides until the pain is too much to bear?

And are you ready for what will happen when it does?

Seventh Heaven? More Like Hell

There's an interesting review in today's The New York Times Book Review. The book is Bound, and it's by Antonya Nelson. I've never read anything by Ms. Nelson but it sounds like she's on my wavelength.

The reviewer writes about the novel's protagonist: "Although she's in her early 40s and long married, Catherine still feels 'nagged by teenage unease' when she looks in a mirror." She goes on to compare Catherine to another character in a previous work by Ms. Nelson. Like this other character who thinks, "Now that he's become one it surprised McBride how few adults were grown-ups," Catherine feels stuck in seventh grade.

I can totally relate. Whenever I feel insecure and self-conscious, seventh grade is always the year I'm transported back to. I was never so awkward and hopelessly uncool as I was that year. In sixth grade, I didn't yet care that I wasn't popular, and by the time high school rolled around, I'd begun the process of coming into my own and finding an acceptable place in the social hierarchy. I would never achieve uber-popularity (and oh, I craved it) but I wasn't a dork either.

In seventh and eighth grade, however, I was afraid I'd be invisible and unpopular forever. Sure, I had friends, but those friends were just as uncool as I was. They didn't exactly drag me down; rather our little group was mired in social mediocrity. We were outsiders, only ever hearing about the parties, romances, and adventures of the popular set, but never able to participate.

So, yes, when I was living in the city after my first child was born, not working, alone all day with the baby, no mommy friends close by, I would enviously watch other mothers hanging out together at the playground and feel twelve again. So insecure. I'd eavesdrop on their conversations about feedings, play groups, and sleep, and wish they were my friends.

It happened again when we moved to the suburbs. I had no friends or family nearby (neither did my husband) and my child was still too young for school. Each and every day we had nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to do. I'd take the baby for walks around the neighborhood in the lovely autumn afternoons and say shy hellos to all the moms waiting for the school bus to come and deliver their children home. They'd be talking and laughing, so engrossed in their parents-of-school-age-kids-world that they hardly even noticed the new mom pushing her baby around in the stroller day after day, sneaking furtive looks their way, hoping to make a friend. Again, I was back in seventh grade, overhearing kids raving about the most popular boy in school's Bar Mitzvah and so desperately wishing I'd been invited.

I've found my place here now, and have made some wonderful new friends. Luckily, times when I feel self-conscious and insecure are fewer and farther between. But I know that the next time it happens, I'll be twelve once again.

Remember When "Being Green" Referred to Kermit the Frog?

 Anonymous Artist, 1971

Back in the 70's when I was a kid, there was plenty of talk about "ecological awareness" and "conservation." My elementary school even had a tree-planting ceremony every year on Earth Day (or was it Arbor Day?). But compared to nowadays, these efforts seem quaint in hindsight. Towns didn't have recycling programs back then, and cars were worse gas guzzlers (though there were fewer of them on the road). People might've looked outward at how they could help "Save the World" but no one really looked at their own lives and tried to "Go Green" on a daily basis. It was all macro, not micro. The oil crisis and protesting hippies did manage to raise consciousness about the state of the environment but for most people, helping meant signing petitions or sending a yearly check to Greenpeace.

80's Extravagance

Then came the 80's: OUR decade, the one in which we came of age. We were bombarded with "greed is good," "conspicuous consumption," "bigger is better," neon, shoulder pads, and Aqua Net. Hardly earthy-crunchy stuff. Recycling was certainly something I was aware of, but American culture at the time did not applaud or reward conservation. It was pretty much BUY BUY BUY! MORE MORE MORE!

Now it's GREEN GREEN GREEN all the time. Don't get me wrong, I am all for saving Mother Earth. We recycle, I tote my water in a reusable bottle, bring my own bags to the grocery store, and we've held off purchasing a second car (my husband bikes to the train station). Also, I figure the fact that I lived for ten years in Manhattan--a Manhattanite's carbon footprint being 30% less than the average American--has earned me some green brownie points.

So what if I use disposable diapers, toxic RAID, and energy-sucking halogen bulbs? Kill me already. I feel guilty sometimes, especially when I'm around moms who use cloth diapers and drive hybrids, but I try not to beat myself up. I could be a lot worse. And Kermit said it best: "It's not easy being Green."

HEINOUS TREND ALERT: Jeggings

Lovely Brit gals wearing TopShop jeggings

How are jeggings relevant to a blog that concerns itself with all things Gen X, you ask? Well, back in the good old 1980's we lived through a similar heinous pant trend: the reviled STIRRUP-PANT. No one--certainly not today's young, naive fashion victims--knows better than us just how awful leggings-gone-bad truly can be.

Take today, for example. I brought Charlotte to her music class and then couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that the teacher was wearing jeggings. This woman is not exactly over-the-hill (she appears to be in her late 40's); however, she does happen to have a very typical mother-of-two figure (i.e. not a size two). Don't get me wrong, I adore this woman. She's one of those rare persons who is so totally kind, welcoming, vivacious, happy, and positive, yet not at all annoying...so I will always give her the benefit of the doubt. However, she was NOT pulling the look off. At all.

Coincidentally, there was another person in music class wearing jeggings and absolutely ROCKING THEM. The fact that she was an adorable 18-month-old (whose mom paired the jeggings with a darling paisley tunic) just made the teacher's attempt at being hip even sadder.

Basically what it comes down to is this: Jeggings should NEVER EVER be worn. But if they must exist, then the wearer should be a tiny, precious, little girl. Fashionable prepubescent girls can also sort of pull off the look. And as far as adults go, if you were born after 1987 and are a size 0 or less, then you have the right to go for it. But if you aren't a stick, don't for a minute think jeggings are flattering.

Or you'll end up looking like this:

REMEMBER: FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS WEAR JEGGINGS.

Rock-n-Roll...Suburban Style

I don't see live music too often anymore--my last big show was U2 a year ago--for these reasons:
1. Tickets and babysitters are expensive.
2. We no longer live in Manhattan and therefore have to drive.
3. The cool shows run late, and my kids wake up early.

But when I lived in the city, seeing live music was one of my favorite things to do. Bowery Ballroom, Mercury Lounge, Roseland Ballroom...I'm practically tearing up just thinking about the awesome times I've had at these (and other) venues.

Nowadays, when I do get to see live music, the experience is...shall we say...different. Take last night, for example. I went to a local bar/restaurant, Victor's, to see my neighbor's band play. Victor's is a total dive--there's really no other way to describe it. The place was even recently overhauled but a fresh coat of paint can't mask its divey-ness. Manhattan dives often have sexy histories: maybe Bob Dylan strummed guitar there or Dylan Thomas croaked there or Sid Vicious shot up there. But a local dive has just seen the same sad sacks year after year. And you won't find any cute bartenders at Victor's, just the same surly dude who's been working there for years (decades?).

Another big difference between last night and seeing a band in NYC was the crowd. There wasn't a hipster to be found at Victor's. The closest was a Joey Ramone look-alike. But he wasn't a hipster, he was just a weird dude who was stuck in the past and obviously hadn't cut his hair in years. And the women were all decked out--tight jeans, sparkly tank-tops, and stilettos (in a dive bar!)--with very big hair. They were also sorta old. It was totally Real Housewives of Westchester (but with less money).

In Manhattan, chicks at rock shows do not ever let on that they're trying to look hot. The goal is to look disheveled and little dirty--as if you couldn't care less about your appearance--but then somehow achieve the effect of being smokin' hot. It's not easy, folks.

Oh, and there were at least ten obvious alcoholics in the crowd last night.

But the music was loud, the band rocked, the crowd sang along, and the beer was cold. Not too different, after all.

When Is Your Hotness Expiration Date?

Last night, I watched the season premiere of one of my favorite shows, How I Met Your Mother. An observation was made on the show, which I found interesting. Robin, the headstrong Canadian, is suffering from a recent break-up, and she's really let herself go--she walks into the bar wearing dirty sweats, looking horrible, week-old Cheetos stuck in her ratty, greasy hair. Of course, everyone's favorite misogynist Barney Stinson has something to say. He tells her she's lost "it," that, "Girls are like milk; they have a hotness expiration date, and you've hit yours." Robin disagrees. She says she still has "it" and can get "it" back whenever she wants. She storms out of the bar and comes back a bit later all cleaned up and looking hot in a tight, white dress. She saunters up to the bar and is there just moments before a guy approaches. She glances at her watch, looks at Barney and gloats, "Fourteen seconds! Fourteen seconds and already some ding-dong steps up thinking he can get some of this!"

I hate to say it, but Barney sort of has a point. I do think each a person (men included) has his or her own unique Hotness Expiration Date. For some people it's 25--sad but true!--but a few lucky folks (Catherine Deneuve, Raquel Welch, Sean Connery, and Clint Eastwood come to mind) stay hot forever. For most, however, it's somewhere between 35 and 55. What's scary is that the person whose hotness is most at risk is often the last to know. He or she goes around acting, dressing, and thinking like a rockstar, not realizing it's just not happening anymore.

Maybe each of us should have our own personal Barney Stinson...to make the world a slightly less scary place.

My Thoughts Upon Hearing That There Might Be a New "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" Movie

I don't remember when I first laid eyes on Keanu Reeves. I know his first big role was in River's Edge (1986), and while I've definitely seen that movie, there's no way I was cool enough in 1986 to have seen such a dark flick. Sixteen Candles was more my speed. Therefore, my introduction to Keanu must've been Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure (1989). That one I definitely saw in the theater. I remember laughing so freaking hard at the parts about "Sew-Crates;" I was taking a philosophy class in school at the time so the contrast between the real Socrates and the comedic Hollywood version was absolutely hysterical to me. It's also possible that some smuggled-in booze may have added to the hilarity.

But the main reason I thought Bill & Ted was the best movie EVER was because I fell in love with Keanu Reeves. I mean, seriously, he was the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen. By far.

Two years later Point Break came out, with a more mature, muscled, and even handsomer Keanu. It was summer, 1991, and I was spending it in Missoula, Montana--hiking, swimming in rivers, camping at Glacier Park, and drinking and partying with the locals. The renegade spirit of the movie spoke to me, since I was having my own incredible adventure, freer than I'd ever felt. When Cop Keanu catches a wave for the first time and then gets sucked into the surf punk scene, he starts questioning everything he'd worked to achieve. Which is exactly what I was doing in Missoula. Up to that point in my life, I'd been the perfect daughter: well-behaved, straight A's, Ivy League college. I was in Montana trying to figure out what I wanted from life and what was important to me. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but Keanu Reeves's character spoke to me.

Unfortunately, my love affair with Mr. Reeves didn't last. My Own Private Idaho was interesting, but then Speed, Johnny Mnemonic, and Chain Reaction came along. I fell out of love. By the time Matrix was released in 1999, I was so over him that I didn't even see it.

Now I hear a third Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure might be made. Here's a link with the details. I say bring it on. I could use a little Ted Logan in my life again.

Mariah Carey Is Trying to Ruin Your Christmas (Again)...and Other News

-- Mariah Carey has another Christmas album coming out (pictured left). Great photoshopping: she hasn't been that skinny since 1991!

-- Tom Cruise's favorite lesbian gets hitched. 

-- Pearl Jam frontman finally marries his baby-momma (and millions of women say, "Awww...")

-- Why you'll never catch me buying any L.A.M.B. clothing. My eyes are now bleeding.

-- As if Mondays don't suck enough, it turns out I'm older than The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Happy 40th!

-- Cousin Eddie is at it again! Sharing his gene pool with this whack-job can't be helping Dennis's career.

The Cult Is Back! (but don't try to find 'em on ITunes)

I heard a Cult song on the radio today. I'm not sure what song it was, but it sounded newish. It got me wondering what The Cult are up to these days. I sort of remembered an album coming out a few years ago (Born Into This), but I didn't hear much about it at the time. The single from the album, "Dirty Little Rockstar," got some radio play, but after that...nothing.

"She Sells Sanctuary" is one of the top ten best songs of the 1980's, for sure. Maybe one of the top 20 songs EVER. It's just...ahhhh, perfection. Ian Astbury has an incredibly distinctive and powerful voice. And then there's that hair. "She Sells Sanctuary" was released in the U.S. in 1985. When you think about the kind of songs on the charts then (Corey Hart's "Never Surrender" and Survivor's "High on You" were two of the year's biggest hits), it's not surprising that The Cult attracted rabid fans.

So after hearing the (new?) song on the radio today, I looked into what The Cult are doing these days. It turns out that on September 14th, they released an EP-type album that they're calling a "Capsule." It's called Capsule One, and you can purchase it here, but if you just want to buy the single called "Every Man and Woman Is a Star" you are out of luck. I read that it was available on ITunes and tried to check it out, but when I was rerouted to ITunes, I got this message: "The item you've requested is not currently available in the U.S. store." What kind of b.s. is that?

The song sounds pretty good. Here's an (amateur) video of The Cult performing it on tour in Europe this summer, so you can check it out for yourselves. I'm not sure if I want to fork over $12.99 for the measly five songs on Capsule One but I'd definitely be willing to shell out a couple bucks for the single. What's up with the U.S. being shut out?

Tickets Go on Sale Tomorrow, 9/17

Hmmm...I have two kids under the age of five...what are the chances I'll be getting to London this November? Such a bummer, because this looks like a fun night:

Yeah, I know the print is a bit small for all you Gen-Xers but this event--scheduled for Sunday, November 21st in London--will be featuring live performances by Adam Ant and Bow Wow Wow. And Andy Taylor, guitarist for Duran Duran, is one of the special guests.

Everyone's Favorite Golden Girl Has Done It Again

I've loved Betty White ever since I was a kid, when I would watch her as ditzy Sue Ann on reruns of The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Over the years, I've kept up with her career (of course I watched Golden Girls in the 80's; I mean, who didn't?), even managing to sit through the horrible Hot in Cleveland. Once.

As far as I'm concerned, Ms. White can do no wrong. Yeah, yeah, I know...she's everywhere all of a sudden and lots of people are getting sick of her. But seriously? She's still rockin' it at 88 years old! That's some impressive career.

For all you fans out there, Betty has made a hilarious video to promote her new apparel line, which includes items featuring her likeness on them. (I totally know what I want for Christmas now.) Even better: A portion of the proceeds will benefit the Morris Animal Foundation, a pet charity. Click here for some serious LOLZ.

Enjoy!

George Michael Is Going to Jail, and Other News

- Stemming from his DUI arrest this past July, George Michael has been sentenced to 60 days in jail (though he'll more likely only serve half that time).

- A "stripped down" version of John Lennon's 1980 album "Double Fantasy" will be reissued in October to coincide with what would've been Lennon's 70th birthday. Yoko Ono is overseeing the project. (This is sort of old news, but I hadn't heard about it until today so I'm posting it anyway.)

- For all you Michael Jackson fans out there: If you decide to make the trip to the Glendale, CA cemetery where The King of Pop is buried and want to leave a gift, you will now have to fork over $3 for the privilege. 

I Want My MTV

All last week, I was looking forward to the MTV Video Music Awards (which aired last night, 9/12). Yeah, I know...it's for 12-year-olds, so shoot me. But at 10:30 p.m., as I started getting ready for bed, I suddenly remembered: The goddamn, motherf*@#ing awards are on!! I had totally spaced. I rushed downstairs, thinking I'd catch the last half-hour, but because we were already taping both "Mad Men" and "Entourage," I couldn't watch without un-recording one of those shows. I sacrificed the first five minutes of "Entourage" to watch Chelsea Handler get in a hot tub with "The Jersey Shore" idiots (and emerge fake-pregnant--ha-ha, good one), but then turned the TV off, and went to bed. Forget it, I was too late.

What's the big deal, you ask? It's just a stupid awards show on a stupid channel with stupid shows and no videos, you say? Okay, you have a point...but I happen to love videos. Always have, always will.

"I want my MTV!" was music television's slogan in its early days, but it was also my most desperate wish. My grandmother, who lived in the next town over from us, got cable in the early 80's and therefore had MTV. Our more-upscale town, however, thought cable would rot our brains so they held out for years. No MTV for us.

As a result, when holidays came around and my family went to Grandma's house to celebrate, my brother and I (13 and 12 years old respectively) would park ourselves in front of the TV/MTV for six hours straight. I'm surprised my parents allowed this, but I guess they figured the silence was better than non-stop whining: "PLEEEEEEASE, can we watch MTV? PLEEEEEEASE?"

By age 12, I finally had outgrown the little-girl music I was previously obsessed with (Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett), and the videos on MTV--the first I'd ever seen--hit me like a ton of bricks. I was mesmerized by them: trying to figure out how exactly something could "Hurt So Good," examining Billy Idol's sexy lip curl as he rasped "Hot in the City," and watching a delicious Michael Hutchence circle that banquet table in "The One Thing." I'm sure there were some chick videos on, too, but I don't remember those.

Thus began my addiction to videos. It was hard to get my fix without cable or MTV, but luckily, the Boston area had a crummy local VHF channel, V66, that aired videos during certain time slots. They played some of the same videos as MTV but also gave local bands air time. I saw 'Til Tuesday's "Voices Carry" on V66 way before the song was a massive hit. Other Boston bands didn't hit it as big, but it doesn't mean they weren't good. Check out the video for Face to Face's "10-9-8," which I only ever saw on V66. (How hot are her red boots, by the way?)

I still watch videos whenever I can. At the gym, I often forgo my IPod to watch NYSC's video channel. If I have to suffer through Christinia DeBarge (could she really be the evil spawn of the DeBarge of the 80's?) to see the new Ting Tings vid, it's worth it. I even occasionally watch videos On Demand. (I mean, really, who does that?)

George Michael's "Faith" Is Being Reissued (the bathroom jokes may now commence)

On September 27th, Sony Music is reissuing a remastered version of George Michael's 1987 album, Faith, in the U.K. Various formats will be offered, including a Limited Edition Collectors box set.

Are you rejoicing over this news or laughing your butt off? George Michael tends to provoke extreme reactions in people. The man has sold millions of records--he obviously has his followers--but there are few artists out there who provoke as much ridicule as Andrew Ridgeley's former bandmate.

George Michael gets a bad rap. Sure, in some ways he deserves it. How many times was he caught propositioning men in public bathrooms, again? Then there were a couple of DUIs and drug arrests, I think. (I didn't look up his record so I'm not sure about the actual charges...but it's not the point of this post anyway.)

The bad rap I'm talking about is regarding his musicianship. People have always made fun of George Michael. Yes, Wham! was lame; yes, he sported that awful five o'clock shadow 24/7; and yes, he was often decked out head-to-toe in black leather. But let's give credit where credit is due: the man has one of the best voices out there. Ever. 

I've never bought or owned anything by George Michael but despite that, his music made up a significant part of the soundtrack to my adolescence. "I Want Your Sex," "Faith," and "Father Figure" are the three best-known singles from Faith. I remember riding in my friend's convertible in the summer of '87 with the top down, singing along to "I Want Your Sex," (not that either of us had had any yet). It was our last hurrah before starting college. A few months later, I was sweating along to "Faith" in an aerobics class offered through my college. The following winter, "Father Figure" was released, and to this day, whenever I hear that song, those dark, dreary, and depressing days come back to me. 

Despite not really caring for pop/R&B music in general, and not thinking much about George Michael specifically, I find myself always defending him to the haters--his voice, his songs, and even his character. His music is just too much a part of the girl I used to be. How could I not love it? 

Photographer Responsible for "Heroin Chic" Dies

K. Moss by C. Day, 1990

Corinne Day, the photographer responsible for putting Kate Moss on the map, passed away a couple of weeks ago at age 48, from a cancerous brain tumor. In 1990, Ms. Day photographed a very young and innocent-looking teenage Kate Moss for British magazine, The Face. Clearly, Ms. Day was a talented photographer, and it's always sad to lose an artist before his or her time; but that said, Ms. Day started something that, while innocent at the time, ended up becoming very dark and destructive.

Ms. Day's naturalistic (not airbrushed) photos were labelled "gritty" and "grunge," and they were refreshing after the big hair, padded shoulders, and caked-on makeup that characterized fashion photography of the late 1980's.  But over the next few years, this gritty style got more and more extreme. Relatively healthy-looking models like Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell were replaced by gals like Moss who looked anorexic and/or addicted. "Heroin Chic" was born.

by Mario Sorrenti, 1993

In 1993, Ms. Day took another batch of photos of Ms. Moss for British Vogue. The photos came under fire because of how skinny Ms. Moss's appeared in them. People suspected an eating disorder or drug addiction. Adding fuel to the fire were photos taken of Kate Moss by Mario Sorrenti for Calvin Klein's Obsession for Men campaign. The images of an emaciated, wasted-looking Moss were EVERYWHERE: billboards, the sides of buses, every magazine you opened.

At the same time, grunge was taking over the music charts, heroin usage was on the rise, the economy sucked, and the crime rate was skyrocketing. It was a dark time, and though photos of some skinny British model seem insignificant in comparison, if you were a young woman at the time, you couldn't help but be negatively affected by them.

Thin was obviously in, and for me--a highly-impressionable young woman, recently out of college, just moved to Manhattan, trying to find a career (and a life)--it was powerful stuff. Girls in the city actually WERE that skinny, and they pouted and slouched and smoked their way around the Lower East Side looking gorgeous. My body shape naturally being closer to Kate Moss than Anna Nicole Smith, I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Many fewer calories and lots of miles on the treadmill later, my body actually (scarily) resembled Ms. Moss's.

No, I'm not blaming Corinne Day for my journey to the dark side, but if she'd not taken those photos of Kate Moss back in 1990 that catapulted her to fame, who knows what the alternative would've been? All I'm saying is that in the early 90's, when conditions in the world were so dark and depressing, did we really need art and advertising to echo the times?

Lilith Fair 4.0

Throughout this summer, I vaguely followed the progress of Lilith Fair 2010: After a more than ten year hiatus, Sarah McLachlan had organized another all-female festival, with lots of old and new artists scheduled to perform, such as Sheryl Crow, Mary J. Blige, Kelly Clarkson, Indigo Girls, and Emmylou Harris. It was big news in the summer music-festival circuit. I wasn't paying much attention at first (I don't go to many festivals these days), but shortly after the line-up was announced, things started going terribly wrong. That's when I got interested.

Due to lackluster sales, a bunch of tour dates were cancelled. Then various headliners began dropping out: first Carly Simon, then Norah Jones, Kelly Clarkson, The Go-Go's, and Queen Latifah. Media outlets were calling it a huge failure.

The latest news, however, isn't quite that grim. Despite the cancelled shows and poor ticket sales, Lilith Fair ended up raising $500,000 for North American charities. So that's pretty good...but I'm sure Sarah M. originally intended the amount to be much higher (the first three concerts in '97, '98', and '99 raised over $10 million).

To be honest, singer/songwriters were never my thing (I've always been more of a rock-band kinda girl) and sitting through an entire Lilith Fair experience actually sounds painful to me, but that doesn't mean I don't love the idea of it: a concert by and for women (and their ridiculously sensitive boyfriends). If you're a woman, what's not to like?

So, what happened this time around? Obviously, not enough young women bought tickets. Because by now, a large portion of Lilith's original audience from the late 90's is probably saddled with young kids, making attending a festival out of the question. Did the young 20-somethings not realize the baton was being passed to them or did they just not want to grab it? I'd argue for the latter. After all, female artists have come a long way since the mid to late 90's; back then, most of the women in the biz were making dance music (Mariah, Janet, Madonna). So when the singer/songwriter variety took the world by storm it was like, "WOW, these chicks are TALENTED! I feel empowered! Let's check them out!" Now it's almost the norm for women artists to write the lyrics, arrange the music, play an instrument (or two), AND sing the song. So what's the big deal about a bunch of women performing at a festival? It kinda seems quaint.

So I'm not surprised Lilith Fair didn't take off this year. However, Sarah M. says she's going to put together another one next summer. I think she would be smart to do some rebranding: Make it hipper and sexier. More tattoos, less granola. Then perhaps the young ladies will come out in force and raise more money for charity. Hey, it could happen.

What to Wear?

I'm in a rut. For a while now, I've been having trouble figuring out what to wear. I'm not a kid anymore so I can't exactly go around dressed like Avril Lavigne. (Wish I could, though!) It would be easier if I was a prep by nature--then I could just live in Ann Taylor and be happy--but that's not my style.

Part of my problem is that I'm not a big clothes shopper anymore so I don't even know what's out there that's both cool yet appropriate for a mom my age. It used to be way more fun to shop when I lived in the city and had a social life--there were places to go where I could wear the fabulous things I bought. Then came the baby/spit-up years when all I wore was old stuff I didn't care about. But now that my kids keep their food down and I'm back to my fighting weight, it's time to get some style back into my life.

The summer is easy because all you have to do is toss on a cute, comfortable skirt and funky sandals to look good. But when it gets colder, I mostly turn to jeans and boring, long-sleeved shirts. Pair that with comfortable (dull) black shoes and you see where I'm coming from. All I really want to do when it's cold is hibernate, so it's hard to get excited about fashion. But I want to spice things up a bit this year. Last winter, I tried black leggings and long sweaters but when you're dragging two little kids around with you everywhere, it can easily look like maybe you're pregnant with #3. No thanks.

Many of the brands marketed to the slightly more mature woman look to me like old lady clothes. Eileen Fisher, anyone? The Gap and Banana Republic are okay but often so boring. Shopping at places like that is what got me into this rut in the first place.

Part of my problem is that the clothes I really want to wear aren't exactly appropriate for an almost-middle-aged mom like me. I'll show you what I mean. Here is my favorite T-shirt (which I haven't worn since 2004 due to mom-hood):

Clearly inappropriate for small children's eyes. And even if the tykes can't read, their moms can and wouldn't appreciate it, I'm sure. Hey, I don't want to make any enemies, I just want to be unique.

                                                   So, while I want to dress like this:                              

  

                                                  I feel pressure to dress more like this:

What's a suburban mom to do?