Saturday, October 5, 2013
I'm Just Saying: "You're Not as Cute as You Think You Are"
I'm Just Saying: "You're Not as Cute as You Think You Are": On a recent episode of HBO's series, "The Newsroom," Will McAvoy (played by Jeff Daniels), tells his executive producer/former...
I'm Just Saying: Don't Nobody Bring Me No Bad News: A Field Guide t...
I'm Just Saying: Don't Nobody Bring Me No Bad News: A Field Guide t...: The other night - it was a Sunday night after a grand and glorious weekend of fun with my husband, mom, aunt, and nephews - my mother called...
I'm Just Saying: Shutdown Showdown: Why social media + political di...
I'm Just Saying: Shutdown Showdown: Why social media + political di...: This week, the world was reintroduced to the dysfunctional family which is the U.S. government. And while both sides of our elected official...
Shutdown Showdown: Why social media + political discourse = "unfriending"
This week, the world was reintroduced to the dysfunctional family which is the U.S. government. And while both sides of our elected officials took to their talking points (and allegedly to their office minibars) and the airwaves to make their case, we, the people, hashed it out with #hashtags and Facebook rants. Political discourse is vital to any democracy, but the unmediated world of social media, much like the online comments sections, is clearly punching above its weight.
So how did we get here? It's obvious that the seeds of hostile political discourse were sown long before this latest government shutdown. Some would point to March 19, 1979 when the Cable-Satellite Public Affairs Network (more commonly known as C-SPAN) began cablecasting the U.S. House of Representatives live to 3.5 million households. Before that, the deal making and House floor across-the-aisle negotiations that made legislative history were covered by the reporters who were in the chamber. But something happens when the words of your two-minute floor speech flow, unfiltered, to the voters in your congressional district. It's a little like giving a toddler a baseball bat and a 5-lb bag of sugar and walking away, confident that all will end well! With C-SPAN, not only can you hear one Congressman address an opposing Congressman as "my friend", but you can also see the tight-lipped sneer on his face as he's saying it! At times, it becomes the political equivalent of the comic actor Norman Fell's "Three's Company" breaking of the fourth wall, also known as "Ropering", when he would deliver a line to the character "Jack Tripper" and then gaze directly into the camera at us with that sly smile on his face! Some days I'd watch the congressional shenanigans on C-SPAN and I'd laugh to myself and say, "Classic Roper!!"
And then, on June 1, 1980, CNN had it's first broadcast. Soon, other 24-hour cable TV news channels joined them, and then came the Internet, bloggers and the death of print journalism. We have been re-wired to want things faster and, with the arrival of Twitter, shorter, and so it's little wonder that talking points have replaced thoughtful deliberation. Talking points are the Cliff's Notes of politics, and they have become a crutch for politicians. We have elected officials who think that they don't have time to read the bills they vote for or vote against, so they choose, instead, to read the talking points on the bill. These same talking points will then be used in the press release that their office will release shortly after the member makes their floor speech (also prepared using the talking points) ahead of their colleagues so that the national media spotlight will fall on them first, which will (fingers crossed) get them invited to do a two-minute live interview from some cramped studio in a congressional press gallery. This interview, really, is just another recitation of the talking points. And waiting in the wings, like Mama Rose, is the member's press secretary, Tweeting out to the masses the 140-character version of the talking points as well as a heads up on when the interview will air. And there we sit, watching the interview, listening to the recitation of the talking points, and off we go to Facebook where we go off on each other.
Ask yourself this question: Is it worth it? Is it worth the time and the tension and the trouble to turn the virtual space that's usually reserved for the exchange of cute kid pics and updates on what you ate for dinner into a segment of "Hardball"? If the fires of political engagement burn so hotly within you then read the legislation, learn the voting record of your elected officials, and volunteer with your party for get-out-the-vote and election day activities. This government shutdown has many human faces who are living on the financial margins, so donate time, money and food to your local food pantry. Facebook and Twitter may create virtual community, but we humans who use these tools must create real community. So let's leave the talking points to the talking heads - we've got more important things to do.
So how did we get here? It's obvious that the seeds of hostile political discourse were sown long before this latest government shutdown. Some would point to March 19, 1979 when the Cable-Satellite Public Affairs Network (more commonly known as C-SPAN) began cablecasting the U.S. House of Representatives live to 3.5 million households. Before that, the deal making and House floor across-the-aisle negotiations that made legislative history were covered by the reporters who were in the chamber. But something happens when the words of your two-minute floor speech flow, unfiltered, to the voters in your congressional district. It's a little like giving a toddler a baseball bat and a 5-lb bag of sugar and walking away, confident that all will end well! With C-SPAN, not only can you hear one Congressman address an opposing Congressman as "my friend", but you can also see the tight-lipped sneer on his face as he's saying it! At times, it becomes the political equivalent of the comic actor Norman Fell's "Three's Company" breaking of the fourth wall, also known as "Ropering", when he would deliver a line to the character "Jack Tripper" and then gaze directly into the camera at us with that sly smile on his face! Some days I'd watch the congressional shenanigans on C-SPAN and I'd laugh to myself and say, "Classic Roper!!"
And then, on June 1, 1980, CNN had it's first broadcast. Soon, other 24-hour cable TV news channels joined them, and then came the Internet, bloggers and the death of print journalism. We have been re-wired to want things faster and, with the arrival of Twitter, shorter, and so it's little wonder that talking points have replaced thoughtful deliberation. Talking points are the Cliff's Notes of politics, and they have become a crutch for politicians. We have elected officials who think that they don't have time to read the bills they vote for or vote against, so they choose, instead, to read the talking points on the bill. These same talking points will then be used in the press release that their office will release shortly after the member makes their floor speech (also prepared using the talking points) ahead of their colleagues so that the national media spotlight will fall on them first, which will (fingers crossed) get them invited to do a two-minute live interview from some cramped studio in a congressional press gallery. This interview, really, is just another recitation of the talking points. And waiting in the wings, like Mama Rose, is the member's press secretary, Tweeting out to the masses the 140-character version of the talking points as well as a heads up on when the interview will air. And there we sit, watching the interview, listening to the recitation of the talking points, and off we go to Facebook where we go off on each other.
Ask yourself this question: Is it worth it? Is it worth the time and the tension and the trouble to turn the virtual space that's usually reserved for the exchange of cute kid pics and updates on what you ate for dinner into a segment of "Hardball"? If the fires of political engagement burn so hotly within you then read the legislation, learn the voting record of your elected officials, and volunteer with your party for get-out-the-vote and election day activities. This government shutdown has many human faces who are living on the financial margins, so donate time, money and food to your local food pantry. Facebook and Twitter may create virtual community, but we humans who use these tools must create real community. So let's leave the talking points to the talking heads - we've got more important things to do.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Don't Nobody Bring Me No Bad News: A Field Guide to Aging Parents, Sickness, Health and Other Everyday Occurences
The other night - it was a Sunday night after a grand and glorious weekend of fun with my husband, mom, aunt, and nephews - my mother called. It was around 8:30pm, after a lazy Sunday of church in the morning, a breakfast picnic, my epic post-picnic 60-minute walk followed by an equally epic living room nap. I could tell by the tone in her voice that the reason for her call wasn't going to be fun, and I was right. I'd like to say that this was my mom's first nocturnal data dump, but it's always been her SOP. When I was a little girl, Mom and Grandma would recite the list of injured and infirm from among family and friends. When I went away to college, the dinner recitations became late night phone calls to the hall phone in my dorm. Mom's streak continued while I was in grad school, so much so that I was rendered a nervous wreck anytime the phone rang after 8pm.
After grad school I got my very first cellular phone which I thought would thwart her, but it didn't. It just encouraged her to leave two post-sundown messages of doom - one on my house phone and the other on my cell. When I took a job that required shift work that put me on overnights, the telephone would ring at 7am, when she knew I'd just be getting home. I don't know which ticked me off more - the insensitivity on my mom's part or the fact that she always happily chirped a "sleep well" into the phone after dropping her bomb.
And then I got married and the calls stopped. It was the happiest of times. I mean Mom and I still talked and met up for lunch and shopping, but the nightly tales of trauma stopped. Well, at least for the first few years. And then, wouldn't you know it? Everyone started getting old, including, apparently, my mom. Soon, she was back working the night shift and telling me all of the ghoulish details of this one's MRI and that one's CAT Scan. So, when my husband suggested that we activate the Caller ID on our home phone, I gladly said "hell yes!!" And then I hugged him. And then I slept, like a baby.
I had quite the call-screening operation going until my sister, who had studied at the feet of the master we call "Mom", discovered texting and soon her stressed-out texts filled my phone inbox with cryptic texted tomes of "Call me!!!!" or "Emergency!!!" that covered everything from a broken down car to a nephew at the hospital ER with a sinus infection/allergy attack/school yard scrape.
So then there were two and there was no safe place.
And then Dad got sick and soon I couldn't switch off the family switchboard. After his death, the floodgates opened and every Mom-call was answered, even the after-8pm calls. But, it's been a struggle. Every time the phone rings after 8pm, all I can hear going through my head is that song from The Wiz - "Don't Nobody Bring Me No Bad News". Not familiar with this little ditty, where's here's a verse:
After grad school I got my very first cellular phone which I thought would thwart her, but it didn't. It just encouraged her to leave two post-sundown messages of doom - one on my house phone and the other on my cell. When I took a job that required shift work that put me on overnights, the telephone would ring at 7am, when she knew I'd just be getting home. I don't know which ticked me off more - the insensitivity on my mom's part or the fact that she always happily chirped a "sleep well" into the phone after dropping her bomb.
And then I got married and the calls stopped. It was the happiest of times. I mean Mom and I still talked and met up for lunch and shopping, but the nightly tales of trauma stopped. Well, at least for the first few years. And then, wouldn't you know it? Everyone started getting old, including, apparently, my mom. Soon, she was back working the night shift and telling me all of the ghoulish details of this one's MRI and that one's CAT Scan. So, when my husband suggested that we activate the Caller ID on our home phone, I gladly said "hell yes!!" And then I hugged him. And then I slept, like a baby.
I had quite the call-screening operation going until my sister, who had studied at the feet of the master we call "Mom", discovered texting and soon her stressed-out texts filled my phone inbox with cryptic texted tomes of "Call me!!!!" or "Emergency!!!" that covered everything from a broken down car to a nephew at the hospital ER with a sinus infection/allergy attack/school yard scrape.
So then there were two and there was no safe place.
And then Dad got sick and soon I couldn't switch off the family switchboard. After his death, the floodgates opened and every Mom-call was answered, even the after-8pm calls. But, it's been a struggle. Every time the phone rings after 8pm, all I can hear going through my head is that song from The Wiz - "Don't Nobody Bring Me No Bad News". Not familiar with this little ditty, where's here's a verse:
When you're talking to me
Don't be cryin' the blues
'Cause don't nobody bring me no bad news
You can verbalize and vocalize
But just bring me the clues
But don't nobody bring me no bad news!
Maybe this is my punishment for being the good girl growing up, being the one Mom could always talk to about everything. Maybe it's time for me to be as open and honest with my mom as she always has been and continues to be with me, even when I want her to stop. Maybe I can create some sort of Mom shorthand or Morse Code that lets me know that all's clear and it's safe to talk to Mom. Or maybe I can finally provide Mom with a one-word data dump of my own: Stop!! Well, actually, Stop PLEASE!! I mean she is my mother, after all and I'm no fool! I can't change her, but maybe I can get her to change the subject once in a while.
Friday, September 20, 2013
The Saddest Place on Earth: Why designer capsule collections and fast fashion must stop
So I spent a few minutes at a local Target this morning picking through the racks of their latest designer collaboration, this time with Phillip Lim, whose 3.1 Phillip Lim line has garnered high praise and awards from critics and consumers alike. Lim's aesthetic is refined urban street chic. His take on the motorcycle jacket shows restraint while also adhering to the womanly curves of its wearer. Prices range from $150 for a t-shirt to $1700 for a coat. In fashion terms, Lim is affordable. Which is just one of the reasons that we, the hoi poloi, have flocked to Target, H&M, and Zara in droves when a designer, such as Lim, goes slumming with a capsule collection for these fast fashion outlets.
As soon as I walked into Target, the Phillip Lim display was front and center, with ladies apparel that included elliptical-hemmed tanks, belted Burberry-inspired trench coats, floral collage vests/jackets/dresses, and black pebble-grained tote bags that looked like downmarket replicas of Lim's luxury version of the bag - all modestly priced. There were also some pieces for men, including black high-top sneakers, camouflage tees and sweatshirts, and button down dress shirts. It was all pretty sad - designer duds under florescent lighting. While I walked the rest of this parade route of sad fashion, a mother and her teenage son entered the Phillip Lim maze. She was trying on one of the trench coats, which was clearly too large for her, so I mentioned that I had seen some smaller sizes a couple of racks over from us. She thanked me, and went on to tell me about her experience on the opening day at one of these Target designer collaborations down in her hometown of Miami, Florida. The woman's leg was in a cast at the time, and as she limped along with some of the designer items in her shopping cart, a young woman approached her and snatched two items from our hobbled friend. It was a feeding frenzy! We parted, and, just then, the jagged sobs from a toddler long past their nap time rung out behind me, and I knew that it was time to go.
I made my way out to my car, feeling ill at ease, and I couldn't understand why a little fast fashion was having such a negative effect on me. I started to go through my mental catalog of favorite fashion memories. As a little girl, I would spend hours flipping through Vogue magazine, mesmerized by the clothes. By the time I was a teenager, fashion magazines were where I spent most of my disposable income. I imagined myself in those body-conscious Donna Karan dresses, or kitted out in head-to-toe Givenchy Rive Gauche, with a soundtrack of Grace Jones' "Slave to the Rhythm". I had Haute Couture dreams on a Gap budget, but that was OK. A girl can dream, and that was the great gift of fashion then and now.
There's a wonderful documentary about Yves Saint Laurent and there's a scene with the wondrous actress Catherine Deneuve doing her final fittings for her everyday suits at the designer's atelier. And while the conversation between Ms. Deneuve and the team at Yves Saint Laurent touches on chickens and hens and breeding, La Deneuve speaks on the joys of the caress of silk on the skin, specifically the silk of the skirts and dresses from Yves Saint Laurent. Fashion of this caliber is special. And even though I choose to spend my dollars on groceries and other daily essentials and not a pair of $800 designer shoes, I don't want luxury fashion to climb down from its high place.
Years ago on my very first trip to Paris during an uncharacteristically frigid week in December between Christmas and New Year's Day, my friend, Jenn, and I took an early morning stroll and passed the Givenchy store. It was closed, but I still insisted on her taking a photo of me in front of the store. This place was like a temple of fashion and my joy was just in seeing these pieces of tremendous beauty, not in possessing them. So, for the Phillip Lims out there, I'm going to pass on the fast fashion and the collaborations, and stick with the fantasy.
As soon as I walked into Target, the Phillip Lim display was front and center, with ladies apparel that included elliptical-hemmed tanks, belted Burberry-inspired trench coats, floral collage vests/jackets/dresses, and black pebble-grained tote bags that looked like downmarket replicas of Lim's luxury version of the bag - all modestly priced. There were also some pieces for men, including black high-top sneakers, camouflage tees and sweatshirts, and button down dress shirts. It was all pretty sad - designer duds under florescent lighting. While I walked the rest of this parade route of sad fashion, a mother and her teenage son entered the Phillip Lim maze. She was trying on one of the trench coats, which was clearly too large for her, so I mentioned that I had seen some smaller sizes a couple of racks over from us. She thanked me, and went on to tell me about her experience on the opening day at one of these Target designer collaborations down in her hometown of Miami, Florida. The woman's leg was in a cast at the time, and as she limped along with some of the designer items in her shopping cart, a young woman approached her and snatched two items from our hobbled friend. It was a feeding frenzy! We parted, and, just then, the jagged sobs from a toddler long past their nap time rung out behind me, and I knew that it was time to go.
I made my way out to my car, feeling ill at ease, and I couldn't understand why a little fast fashion was having such a negative effect on me. I started to go through my mental catalog of favorite fashion memories. As a little girl, I would spend hours flipping through Vogue magazine, mesmerized by the clothes. By the time I was a teenager, fashion magazines were where I spent most of my disposable income. I imagined myself in those body-conscious Donna Karan dresses, or kitted out in head-to-toe Givenchy Rive Gauche, with a soundtrack of Grace Jones' "Slave to the Rhythm". I had Haute Couture dreams on a Gap budget, but that was OK. A girl can dream, and that was the great gift of fashion then and now.
There's a wonderful documentary about Yves Saint Laurent and there's a scene with the wondrous actress Catherine Deneuve doing her final fittings for her everyday suits at the designer's atelier. And while the conversation between Ms. Deneuve and the team at Yves Saint Laurent touches on chickens and hens and breeding, La Deneuve speaks on the joys of the caress of silk on the skin, specifically the silk of the skirts and dresses from Yves Saint Laurent. Fashion of this caliber is special. And even though I choose to spend my dollars on groceries and other daily essentials and not a pair of $800 designer shoes, I don't want luxury fashion to climb down from its high place.
Years ago on my very first trip to Paris during an uncharacteristically frigid week in December between Christmas and New Year's Day, my friend, Jenn, and I took an early morning stroll and passed the Givenchy store. It was closed, but I still insisted on her taking a photo of me in front of the store. This place was like a temple of fashion and my joy was just in seeing these pieces of tremendous beauty, not in possessing them. So, for the Phillip Lims out there, I'm going to pass on the fast fashion and the collaborations, and stick with the fantasy.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
It's Not You, It's Me - No, It IS You: My Break-Up with Reality TV
For those of you haters who said, from the beginning, that it wouldn't last, well all I can say is it lasted longer than you thought it would. But, after years of frenemies, hair weaves, paternity tests, cat fights, trash-talking, Christian Louboutin knock-offs (c'mon, ladies, you think that can of red spray paint does the trick!!), bling, and more bling, it's time to show you the door. That's right, reality TV and I are breaking up!!
It's been a long time coming, and the first question you might ask is why now, after more than a decade spent watching the splendid tackiness of surgically-enhanced people as they traverse the hardships of fake friendships and made-for-TV personal crises for viewers like me. But, just like I outgrew my Barbies before I hit puberty, I've outgrown these real-life Barbies. Now, this isn't to say that I'm a TV snob or something, but I prefer my soap operas scripted and starring SAG-card carrying actors playing fictional characters who do some really messed up stuff!
But, I haven't answered the question of why now? Well, it was a clustering of several things, not the least of which was watching Theresa and Joe Giudice of Bravo's "Real Housewives" franchise getting hauled into court stemming from alleged fraud that was a direct result of their lavish spending in support of their reality TV lifestyle. And this wasn't the first time one of the Real Housewives cast members had been popped for overspending in the name of keeping up appearances. I mean, how many mobile hair and makeup teams do you reckon there are in Atlanta, GA?? And seriously, do you ALL need a personal assistant to help you run your empires??
Of course, not all of these concierge-style services are paid for by the Housewives, in fact they receive so much promotional product that it's a wonder how they seem always to be in hot financial water!
Now, I know it sounds like I'm picking just on the Housewives, which is only fair since they are the best role models for this bad behavior. But the Housewives DNA has established itself far beyond the confines of Bravo, so that now, there is no safe space, not even the History Channel!!
Look, this is hard for me. We've had some good times, some great times, but there is no rose for you tonight, reality TV:( So pack your knives and go home. Are you still not getting what I'm saying? OK, let me speak to in your language, OK?
Reality TV, I'm not disrespecting you, but you are no longer "Gone With the Wind" fabulous! No, I'm not straight up tripping, but at the end of the day, I have to be Team Me. I know we'd all like some closure, if you think that I'm going to come crawling back to you with remote control in hand, well hell to the no!
That sounded harsh, didn't it? I'm sorry. There are so many things that I'll miss about you. The way you make me wait until after the commercial break to find out if NeNe/Theresa/Jill/The Countess hit Kim/Caroline/Alexis/Vicki. The way you play that intense music that builds until I find out whether or not the client liked Chef Roble's craw fish. I"ll miss your Tim Gunn Saves, your Heidi Klum "Auf wiedersehen", your trips to Mood, and your last-minute trip to the Piperlime/Lord & Taylor's/Macy's accessories wall. I'll miss your augmented breasts, your plastic-surgery reveal parties, and your love of clear heels. I'll miss your constant use of rented limos and car services for everything from winery trips to 30-minute drives to dinner parties hosted by other cast members. I'll miss that you call people who are your alleged friends on a show that's supposed to be based in reality "castmates". I'll miss that every cast engagement and pregnancy guarantees a limited-run spin-off where we get to meet more tacky people! But, what I'll especially miss is the 60-minute vacation that my brain got to enjoy each time I tuned in to see the mundane goings-on of people desperate for the attention. If you need me, I'll be reading:)
It's been a long time coming, and the first question you might ask is why now, after more than a decade spent watching the splendid tackiness of surgically-enhanced people as they traverse the hardships of fake friendships and made-for-TV personal crises for viewers like me. But, just like I outgrew my Barbies before I hit puberty, I've outgrown these real-life Barbies. Now, this isn't to say that I'm a TV snob or something, but I prefer my soap operas scripted and starring SAG-card carrying actors playing fictional characters who do some really messed up stuff!
But, I haven't answered the question of why now? Well, it was a clustering of several things, not the least of which was watching Theresa and Joe Giudice of Bravo's "Real Housewives" franchise getting hauled into court stemming from alleged fraud that was a direct result of their lavish spending in support of their reality TV lifestyle. And this wasn't the first time one of the Real Housewives cast members had been popped for overspending in the name of keeping up appearances. I mean, how many mobile hair and makeup teams do you reckon there are in Atlanta, GA?? And seriously, do you ALL need a personal assistant to help you run your empires??
Of course, not all of these concierge-style services are paid for by the Housewives, in fact they receive so much promotional product that it's a wonder how they seem always to be in hot financial water!
Now, I know it sounds like I'm picking just on the Housewives, which is only fair since they are the best role models for this bad behavior. But the Housewives DNA has established itself far beyond the confines of Bravo, so that now, there is no safe space, not even the History Channel!!
Look, this is hard for me. We've had some good times, some great times, but there is no rose for you tonight, reality TV:( So pack your knives and go home. Are you still not getting what I'm saying? OK, let me speak to in your language, OK?
Reality TV, I'm not disrespecting you, but you are no longer "Gone With the Wind" fabulous! No, I'm not straight up tripping, but at the end of the day, I have to be Team Me. I know we'd all like some closure, if you think that I'm going to come crawling back to you with remote control in hand, well hell to the no!
That sounded harsh, didn't it? I'm sorry. There are so many things that I'll miss about you. The way you make me wait until after the commercial break to find out if NeNe/Theresa/Jill/The Countess hit Kim/Caroline/Alexis/Vicki. The way you play that intense music that builds until I find out whether or not the client liked Chef Roble's craw fish. I"ll miss your Tim Gunn Saves, your Heidi Klum "Auf wiedersehen", your trips to Mood, and your last-minute trip to the Piperlime/Lord & Taylor's/Macy's accessories wall. I'll miss your augmented breasts, your plastic-surgery reveal parties, and your love of clear heels. I'll miss your constant use of rented limos and car services for everything from winery trips to 30-minute drives to dinner parties hosted by other cast members. I'll miss that you call people who are your alleged friends on a show that's supposed to be based in reality "castmates". I'll miss that every cast engagement and pregnancy guarantees a limited-run spin-off where we get to meet more tacky people! But, what I'll especially miss is the 60-minute vacation that my brain got to enjoy each time I tuned in to see the mundane goings-on of people desperate for the attention. If you need me, I'll be reading:)
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