At Least Now I know Where the Expression "Scaredy Cat" Comes From

We got a cat five days ago. Paulina's cute, she's furry...and end of story. Okay, so it's probably too soon to judge, but I really wouldn't know. That's because I'm a dog person. I've never spent much time around cats and have never particularly liked them. So why did I allow one in our house, you ask? Ha, because I'm a sucker, that's why.

The literature the animal shelter sent us home with outlined how cats take a while to warm up, and that it might be a week before she even shows her face. Well, Paulina isn't that extreme. She does let us pet her...BUT you have to lie on the floor next to the bed under which she's camped (she's taken over the spare bedroom) and reach, reach, REACH your arm in to do so. Then sometimes she'll purr and use your hand as a scratching post. But you have to go to her; so far it's never the other way around.

I think my problem with this "cat attitude" is that I sort of have one myself. Throughout my life, I've not often been the one who pursued relationships; either they've just happened or else I've been the one pursued. It's just not in my nature to aggressively seek love and affection. Which is why I'm a dog person. Dogs do not hide their love; they slather you with it. With dogs, you get back what you give. With cats...not so much.

The way I feel is that, if the cat wants companionship, she'll come to me. I refuse to beg for her love.

My husband, on the other hand, is always up there reaching his long arm under the bed to pet her, trying to win her affection. Is this a guy thing? Perhaps all those years of wooing girls makes it come naturally to them? Is this learned behavior or innate? Because my son is up there even more than my husband, cooing to the kitty for ages. My daughter, however--whose 3rd birthday present the cat was to begin with--can't understand why the cat is always hiding under the bed, and probably wishes she'd asked for a new tutu for her birthday instead.

Maybe it's a gender thing, or maybe my daughter just takes after me while my son takes after my husband. Who knows?

What I do know is that cats can live a looong time. I also know that I don't plan on sharing my house with a feline stranger for the next decade.

You hear that, Paulina? You'd better start showing us some love soon.

(Oh, and FYI, by love I don't mean the pile of poop you left in our bedroom earlier today because you were too scared by three noisy kids running around to venture down to the basement to use your litter box. That is NOT okay.)

Talking to Girls About Duran Duran

One of the Christmas presents I received from my husband last December was Talking to Girls About Duran Duran by Rob Sheffield. I've admired Sheffield's music writing in Rolling Stone for years, and, as those who know me are well aware, I was a HUGE Durannie back in the day. So I was definitely looking forward to reading his latest book, which is basically a music memoir (as is his first book, Love Is a Mix Tape, which I have not read).

I'm enjoying Talking to Girls About Duran Duran and would recommend it--but mainly just to those folks who came of age in the '80s and will be able to appreciate all the era-specific references (Phoebe Cates, Soloflex Man posters, Square Pegs) and one-hit-wonder recording artists (Haircut 100, Kim Wilde, Tone Loc). If you didn't live it, I don't think you'll really get it.

Also, Sheffield's writing style suffers slightly in the longer format; he tends to repeat himself and over-explain things, as if he stretched 100 pages of material into a 274-page book. 

But that's okay, because it turns out Sheffield is even a bigger Duran Duran fan than I am, so I gotta respect that. I was a young girl when they made it big, and therefore my flame burned hotter (I doubt Rob wallpapered his bedroom with John Taylor photos). But his flickered longer: Sheffield still buys Duran Duran albums, while I stopped when the '80s ended.

One great thing Sheffield does is completely and utterly capture the way teenagers can infuse music with way too much meaning and importance. For example, this is what he says about Hall & Oates's "Maneater":

"But I love every minute of this song. The long, smoldering intro, building up tension beat by beat. The cheesy '80s sax solo to end all cheesy '80s sax solos.... And the way it warns me about those tough girls they were always singing about. The girl was deadly, man, but she could really rip my world apart? 

Why the hell didn't I meet any girls like this? Where did all these she-cats hang out?...Okay, so the beauty is there, but the beast is in her heart. Where's the downside, Hall? He wouldn't say. All he told me was, 'I wouldn't if I were you. I know what she can do.' And all Oates added was 'Watch out!' I have to admit, I was intrigued."

Clearly, Sheffield put way too much thought into each and every song he heard in the '80s. But didn't we all? Because, as Sheffield writes, these were the songs that "...warped my brain with dubious ideas, boneheaded goals, laughable hopes and timeless mysteries.... But I'm not tossing these songs into any kind of fire--I'm just shaking them to see what memories come tumbling out. And of course, a lot of those memories have to do with love, and learning about love through pop music." 

That's why these songs mean so much to us: because at the time, everything meant so much to us. We felt every aspect of life so deeply, and music was no exception. Nowadays, I can still occasionally get fired up about a song (like Adele's "Running in the Deep"), but it's not the same. I miss those days when I would rush out to the record store, babysitting money in hand, to buy an eagerly anticipated album the day it came out. Needless to say, that doesn't happen anymore.

Reading Talking to Girls About Duran Duran brought all that back to me. So thank you, Rob Sheffield, for the trip down memory lane.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

My upcoming 20th college reunion has got me thinking about old friends and acquaintances I haven't seen in years. Who will show up for the festivities? And what will they look like now that the glow of youth has faded? Seeing people after so many years can be an unsettling thing: Some folks look pretty good, which is to say they've aged gracefully. A few actually look even better than when they were young--those who coped with bad acne or lingering baby fat back in the day. Then there are the "What the hell...?" folks--the unlucky ones who have aged so horribly they're barely recognizable.

Here's a few of our favorite stars of the '80s and the categories in which they belong:

Category One: Looking Pretty Good for Your Age

Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface,
1983--perfection

Michelle now--just as stunning
(surely she's had plastic surgery,
but at least it hasn't completely
changed her looks)

John Stamos in his 80s
General Hospital days--
very cute!

John now--still gorgeous

Category Two: Better Than Before

Jeremy Piven--a bad case
of dorkiness-with-braces
(he was in Lucas and
Say Anything in the 80s,
but I couldn't find photos)

Jeremy now--sure, he's an
ass, but aging is working
in his favor

Sarah Jessica Parker in her
less-than-glamorous
Square Pegs days

S.J. now--never a beauty,
with age she's learned to work
 with what she's got and looks
 much better (though she's
almost certainly had a nose job)

Category Three: GOOD GOD! What Happened to You?!

Kelly LeBrock in Weird Science, 1985--
 so hot she could melt an iceberg

Kelly now--Oy, vey!

Val Kilmer--he was beyond
sexy in 1984's Top Secret

Val now--AAAHHHH!
Say it isn't so!

I'm hoping that most of the people I see at the reunion look great...except, that is, for the guy who broke my heart. Him? I'm hoping he makes Val Kilmer look like John Stamos.

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.