On My Son And Dating
Note to you, dear reader: While I wrote this awhile ago, I never posted it, and I wanted to revisit the subject in light of Ohio State’s new sexual consent policy and Rush Limbaugh’s comments.
Seeing as my son is only fifteen-months-old, the SO and I haven’t exactly had a lot of conversations about how we’ll handle all of those important coming of age discussions – the birds and the bees, puberty, at what age it’s OK to date, etc. However, not surprisingly, I already have a lot of opinions on the subject.
About seven years ago when I was working in Nashville, a press release for the Date Safe Project arrived at my desk. Since I was the Lifestyles editor, this info fell under my Relationships sub-category, and was just one promotional material I received in a slew of weekly notices. (Previously, my submissions pile had included tips for online dating, how widowers could “get back out there” and one particularly uncomfortable piece on controlling rage within marriage.)
All I saw was, “Can I kiss you?” and I quickly dismissed the release. (And probably thought “tool” while I was at it.)
Then, as I am prone to do, I got bored. I was tired of writing Top 7 lists, and the Date Safe Project DVD was still on the corner of my desk. Figuring that I could at least kill an hour watching a video and call it “work,” I popped the disk in.
It was a pretty uncomplicated video that featured Date Safe Project founder Mike Domitrz talking to a group of school kids and their parents. Domitrz’s basic premise is that either partner should ask for permission before engaging in any sexual activity.
And he means any sexual activity, including kissing.
For some reason, I again thought this idea was kind of ludicrous. I don’t know if it was the effort – like taking an hour to get dressed for a party was worth my time, but talking about sex wasn’t – or the simple fact that I’d never thought about it, but I couldn’t really get on board.
Then Domitrz made one of his key points: If you don’t ask to kiss a female, she has one of two options – accept the kiss or push her date away. Either way, a female’s only options are physical.
That’s when I started thinking. Why do we expect women to have to push men away as part of our “normal”? Is that really the best way?
Buoyed on by the DVD, I called the number on the press release and arranged an interview with Domitrz.
We talked about dating. We talked about getting physical. We talked about what to do when you’re the parent setting the standard for your kids. (Yes, he recommends that you ask to kiss your spouse even if you’ve never done it before.)
One of my favorite comments from Domitrz is in the video. It’s something along the lines of, “People want to know, ‘do I have to ask right one and or left one’? It doesn’t have to be that particular. It’s about asking your date if she or he is comfortable going to the next level. “ For Domitrz, it’s about making sure everyone is on the same page.
So, regardless of what you might think about the Date Safe Project – or my recollections of it seven years later – here’s what I got from all this: explicit consent should be part of any romantic relationship from the get-go. Women (and men) have a voice that should be respected. Boundaries need to be clear. And if someone is too drunk to verbally consent, it’s a no-brainer that fooling around doesn’t even begin.
At this point, when I talk about my dating theories, I usually get one of two reactions from my friends:
1. “Asking for a kiss? What happens to being spontaneous?”
Now, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had too many spontaneous kisses in my life. Usually a lot of talking, making sure we were at the same party and hair flipping has gone into my makeout sessions.
I forget who says that fooling around happens when you run out of things to say to one another, but there’s a lot of that, too. Sometimes, I just couldn’t come up with one more comment on politics or The Challenge.
If the kisses were spontaneous, it often involved a lot of alcohol or wasn’t something I was prepared for. (With this latter point, therein lies the problem. Why should I have to shove someone off of me to avoid a kiss? And conversely, why should a nice guy have to get shoved just because he read the signals wrong?)
I have most always known when someone was going to kiss me, and it never took away from the moment.
2. “That kills all the romance!”
All I know is that if I want someone to kiss me – and I’ve put in the witty remarks, accidental brush-ups and mascara to make it happen – nothing can ruin that moment. The sudden act of asking about a kiss would not be a mood-killer for me. Bad breath? Slobbering? Slipping in a homophobic joke before making a move? These would ruin the romance. A simple question? No.
It’s fascinating to me that in an age when we talk about rape culture, gray rape, Stubenville and the like, we’re pretty quick to dismiss garnering consent as “unromantic” and even “unnecessary.”
I don’t think a little more communication hurt anyone, especially with the variables of libido, alcohol and still-developing brains in the mix.
So, it’s entirely possible that I’ll be the weird mom who suggests her kid ask before he kisses someone. And asks before he goes to second base. And checks in again before considering any of those other bases, etc.
I know one thing: I would much rather be the weird mom who talks to her kid about asking for kisses than the one explaining why it’s not OK to post half-naked pictures of drunk classmates on Facebook.
I also know there's a high probability that he won't follow my advice, what with being an adolescent male and all, but I think I'm OK with that, too. Because maybe, just maybe, if I make a big enough deal about consent, I'll at least have gotten most of the point across.
What do you think? What do you plan to tell your kids about dating?
Image courtesy of Marzie.
Why HIMYM Should Not End With The Mother's Death
On Why "How I Met Your Mother" Should Not End With The Mother’s Death
Like most fans of HIMYM, I’m pretty emotional about the upcoming series finale. Obviously, a show I began watching in my 20s about people in their 20s trying to figure out their lives is going to have a pretty strong hold. In 2005, when HIMYM debuted, I was 25 going on 26, I had just finished graduate school and I was anxious to see how the next phase of my life – career, relationship, family – would play itself out. I was a Ted Moseby who wanted to be a Lily, only I didn’t have the same assurance of an older-me narrator to guarantee that it was all going to work out. Nine years later, I’m married, and I have an adorable nine-month-old and a mortgage. I will miss this show and these characters because I feel like they’ve been there with me on the journey.
As a long-time fan, I also have to express my great distress over the pesky Internet rumor that HIMYM will end with us learning that the mother has died and Ted is about to marry Robin.
I am a devoted Robney shipper, but that actually has nothing to do with why I’m so opposed to this ending. I don’t like this ending because it doesn’t fit with all that HIMYM is about and has been about for the past nine seasons.
The thing about searching for “the one” is that you have no idea what you’re looking for until you find it. Until you’ve found “it,” it’s all just supposition and guess work. While this statement might sound as empty as “it is what it is,” you can’t know until you know. And no matter how much you want something, you can’t make yourself get there before you’re there. It happens when it happens. At its heart, HIMYM is a love story, and the most amazing part of all our individual love stories is that we have no idea what moment is going to change our lives forever. Everything else only gains significance in hindsight.
The whole arc of HIMYM – as evidenced most clearly in the title – is leading us to that one moment for Ted. Which moment in these nine years will be the defining one that shapes everything that comes next? We see all of the close calls – dating her roommate, being so near the yellow umbrella, walking into her class – and all the women who might be “it.” But, of all those thousands of moments, it’s meeting the wedding singer.
None of us can know what that moment will be in our own lives until we’re in it. I met my husband at a practice for a local improve comedy group on a Sunday afternoon when I had a terrible hangover and hadn’t washed my hair. We all have, or are waiting for, our life-changing moment, and I think it’s that part of Ted’s journey that touches us and makes the show so appealing.
Until I met my husband, I thought at least six different people were my soul mates and made a lot of questionable decisions – including one possibly ill-advised transoceanic flight – to that end. I have my own Victoria, Stella, etc. (And I won’t even get into the not-quite-soul-mate-level people that I also spent a lot of time with and made yet more questionable decisions because of.) For a good six years, I was sure that I would eventually end up with one particular person. For me, that person is my Robin – the one you’re sure you want and that you can come up with so many reasons that you two should be together.
But, you won’t end up together.
Because he or she isn’t the one. And you can’t know that you’re chasing shadows until you find the real thing.
I think that in the best-told story, Robin remains the one Ted is sure he wants before he finds the one that’s really meant for him.
HIMYM addresses topics and themes that pertain to singledom/life in your 20s and early 30s in a way that is heartfelt, honest and usually very funny. Some examples? When Ted discovers that he’s inadvertently recreated his parents’ relationship. When Ted realizes he has feelings for someone that is married. When Ted has to face the idea that being an architect might not be in the cards.
This isn’t about “getting the girl” in the unrealistic romantic comedy sense of star-crossed lovers in a will they or won’t they pull. This is a story about finding the one. And obviously, especially for those poor kids trapped listening to this story, there’s a lot that comes before finding the one. And nothing about the people you love before finding the one negates how great and wonderful it is once you find it.
Ted can love Robin with his whole heart and still be meant to find a better and more satisfying relationship with the mother. Those two coexist in the real world all the time. We all love people that aren’t the one. But, the person we build a life with still gets to trump all.
The real love story on HIMYM is just beginning, and the better more honest story is in what becomes of Ted after he moves past Robin and opens himself up to the possibility of a better love. (Enter the mother …)
Because how do most of our real life love stories go? Do you spend years pining away for someone only to have the person realize one day, years after you’ve met, that yes, you two are meant to be together and now a great relationship begins?
No. When you meet the one, it works. And it usually works right off the bat. That’s the beauty of the one. And it’s the very same thing you can’t force or make happen or twist and bend into submission. It happens when it happens. Until then, we’re all just waiting and searching and hoping.
HIMYM needs to end exactly the way it told us it was going to end nine years ago – with Ted Moseby meeting the love of his life and the mother of his children. Any other ending – dead mother and Robin reunion included – is disingenuous to the story telling and the truth of the human experience.
Image originally posted to Flickr by Francis Orante under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.
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Mail Call
This is not a post about politics. This is a post about mistaken identity. If you’re going to get all worked up about politics, please save us both the headache and stop reading now.
I love to get the mail.* It’s like a daily dose of presents. I even enjoy catalogs, and I read Clipper magazine. (I’m not sure you can call that reading, but I flip through it and cut out restaurant coupons like I’m going to use them rather that just chucking it in the recycling bin straight away.) Of course, I’m human and don’t like bills, but sadly, there are days I’d take bills to an empty mailbox.
When we have to stop the mail while we’re out of town, and an entire week’s worth of postal goodies arrives at once, you’d think I’d won the lottery.
As long as I can remember, I’ve loved the mail. My sisters and I had to develop a schedule for collecting the mail because we were all equally excited about being the one to get it. Maybe we were strange children, or maybe we just knew how to appreciate the little things in life. I’m going to choose to believe the latter.
Summer camp was awesome because your parents pretty much had to send you letters and packages because they might risk ignoring the fact that you could be homesick or damaging your self-esteem by making you think they didn’t miss you.
I consider myself lucky now because the SO does not care about mail nearly as much as I do. I can check the mail every single day! (He can avoid the long walk down the driveway every single day. This may be the closest we get to a win/win.)
The best part about the mail, for me, is the unexpected. Again, this all comes back to bite me when it’s bill-related, but there’s nothing quite like a letter or package you didn’t know was on its way.
So, the other day when a big envelope arrived via mail for me, I was pretty pumped. Then I opened it up to discover, of all things, a picture of Mitt and Ann Romney.
This raises a lot of questions for me:
- What would I do with a photo of Mitt and Ann Romney? Even if I was a fan, would I frame it? Is it supposed to go in the office? Do I put it on Facebook? How does this photo factor into my life?
- The photo is a candid shot. Why, of all the choices one could make, would you decide to send out a candid photo of Mitt and Ann? Is it supposed to make them seem more relatable? Is it so I can lie and say I snapped the picture myself at a campaign event? The last I checked, Mitt was not so good with the candid moments -- is this a misstep or a way to make up for the “stiff” image?
- A letter** accompanied the photo thanking me for my loyalty to the Republican party. Who did the fact checking here? I am a registered democrat with an Obama sticker in my car (more on that later). I’m not one of those people who is independent or doesn’t sign up anywhere. I’m publicly affiliated, and it’s not with the Republican side. (OK, now that I've read the letter again, I realize I can answer #1. I'm supposed to put the photo in my home or office as a sign that I stand with Mitt and Ann.)
- The letter also said that if I liked the photo, I should consider paying for it. (It was more delicate than that, but I think we all know what I’m talking about, and I know both sides do it.) I understand the psychological principal of reciprocity, and it doesn’t work with me. I don’t pay for return address labels I didn’t ask for either. Also, since said letter attacks the liberal agenda, and if one references #3, I think it would be obvious why I’m not paying for this particular “gift.”
- Mr. Romney addressed me as Laurel Fain Mills. A lot of people know my middle name thanks to stuff like this here web address, but I feel like this narrows down the field of people who could have given the RNC my info into two categories a) my mortgage company or b) someone who likes to mess with me. Since the SO has not taken credit for this one yet, I feel like there could still be a prankster out there. If so, I’d love to know who you are. This was a good one, and I applaud you for it.
Obviously, the amount of time I’ve spent considering this subject is reason enough for why I find the mail so entertaining. I am easily amused, and now I’m easily amused with Romney memorabilia.
I can’t wait to see what’s waiting for me this afternoon.
* I should clarify that I love the mail as it is delivered to my home. I still don’t like going to the post office.
** For people who like random letters. (Download Mitt_romney)
My 5 Favorite Shows Of The New Season
I’ve found the last few television seasons to be, well, rough. I’m still struggling with the end of Lost (I know it's been 2 years), they put Community on a temporary hiatus (March 15 cannot get here fast enough), they cancelled Ghost Whisperer and Medium, and just when I thought Criminal Minds had been put back together after a lackluster sixth season, Paget Brewster announces that she’s leaving the show – again. While I’m on a roll, How I Met Your Mother killed 2011. 2012, not so much. I need ghosts, time travel or sexual tension – pick your poison – and I need them ASAP.
Luckily, this year, I have a few shows to hold onto. Unfortunately, just by saying this, I’m probably dooming them all to cancellation.
1. Ringer
All that really had to happen was for the CW to put Sarah Michelle Geller back on the air. That they did, in a double your pleasure, double your fun kind of way. As a Buffy fan, I love some Ringer. Then Logan from Veronica Mars showed up. All around awesomeness. I also appreciate that at 18, I modeled all of my outfits around Buffy’s. Now at 32, after years without guidance, I have her back as a style icon. Double the role, double the outfits – even though they are still way out of my price range.
2. Once Upon a Time
Admittedly, this one has to do with another one of my girl crushes. I adore Jennifer Morrison. She is enough to make me question my hair color. (My desire to be blonde can go a little off the rails at times.) I still miss the sexual tension between her and House. Throw in my love of the dark side of fairy tales and an excellent supporting cast, and I can’t help myself on this one. Plus, it seems to be the closest I’m getting to time travel this year.
3. Up All Night
Basically, Maya Rudolph opens her mouth, and I laugh. Christina Applegate and Will Arnett rock, too, but it’s Maya playing a version of her infamous Oprah character that has me tuning in week after week.
4. The New Girl
For some reason that I’m not sure I understand, I know that Zooey Deschanel and “adorkable” have created a divide in the pop culture community. Whether it’s cool, not cool or trying to be cool, I love The New Girl. It’s just funny, and I’m fully prepared to watch the will-they/won’t-they sexual tension between Jess and roommate Nick for years to come.
5. Awake
I may be calling this one early, but I loved the pilot. (This also seems to be the only show I like without a strong female lead. Did you know Netflix actually suggests shows for me with strong female leads? You do now.) There’s crime solving, a very likable lead and Wilder Valderama is playing this role without an accent. Plus, there’s a chance of conspiracy (another fave). So, whether I’ve got a guy talking to ghosts, a hole in the time-space continuum or a big-time cover-up, it seems like a win all the way around.
* For the sake of the SO’s dignity, I should share that refuses to be in the room when Ringer or Once Upon a Time is on.
Whitney, The Misuse Of Poison Lyrics And A Valentine
I was a big fan of Whitney Houston.
When I was 9, I sang “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” on a near-daily basis. I even performed her song in front of six grades during our school’s annual dance contest. (Long story short: We didn’t even get an honorable mention, and I was pissed. My hand motions were so descriptive.)
When I first opened the cassette tape holding “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and found the mass-produced, signed photo of Whitney at the back of the lyrics booklet, I thought I had Whitney’s actual autograph and carried it around with me for weeks.
(On another note, what do you call that thing that you unfold with all the song lyrics and info about the producers? Does it have a name? I considered it a study guide for learning my favorite songs for mirror performances, but I imagine any musician reading this is hanging his or her head in shame with such a description.)
When The Bodyguard came out, I was still carrying a torch for Kevin Costner. (I know, I know, but I thought Dances With Wolves was a really sensitive film.) I could not wait to see Whitney and Kevin together, and “I Will Always Love You” became my new ideal for romantic love.
Incidentally, at the time, I also thought the movie had a happy ending. When Whitney climbed off the plane to hug Kevin Costner on the tarmac, I thought they were getting back together. I think this is the same kind of wishful thinking/re-writing of history that made me want to be a writer, but I also just might not be that bright. Mulholland Falls is way beyond me, and I’ve also crafted my own ending to Beverly Hills, 90210 that has nothing to do with the finale or the current incarnation of the show. (In my mind, Brandon and Kelly got back together. I live on the precipice of fan fiction.)
At 20, I broke up with someone using Whitney Houston lyrics. The remix of “It’s Not Right But It’s OK,” was pretty popular at the time. Said boyfriend was explaining to me, after arguing that we should get back together, that he was going to continue dating me and another girl when we started back to school in the fall, and something finally clicked.
“It’s not right, but it’s OK,” I said.
“What?”
“It’s not right, but it’s OK.”
Then there was some staring.
“I’d rather be alone that unhappy,” I said. Then I stood up to leave. (I loved melodrama back in the day). “And I’d rather be alone,” I said.
(This same boyfriend once quoted Poison lyrics to me during one of our fights, so it seemed reasonable to me at the time. Plus, I think my choice was far more dignified than, “Instead of making love, we both made our separate ways.” I also stand by the sentiment – no relationship is worth constant misery. I would rather be alone than unhappy.)
In summation, I guess this cheesy, nerdy, completely lacking in rhythm and soul, tone deaf girl wants it known that she’ll miss Whitney Houston. She was a great talent, and she made some wonderful music. I’m also pretty appreciative for that break-up. Senior year of college was a lot more fun without a BF.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to let a certain someone know that I’d like to feel the heat with him* this Valentine’s Day.
*Mom and Dad -- that is not meant to be dirty.
In Which The Dogs Question That Whole "Pack Leader" Thing
Unfortunately, last night was another night for deadly storms in Alabama. My thoughts are with the families who lost loved ones and homes.
You might think that you would eventually get used to the sound of weather sirens in the night, but I think most people who live in tornado alleys would second that it's always an unnerving and unsettling phenomenon.
Since I live in a house with a concrete slab foundation, our "place of safety" (the real term if you don't live in inclement-weather-prone parts of the country) is the only room in the house without windows -- otherwise known as the guest bathroom. It is also the only bathroom with a tub, so it's where the dogs get their baths. Whether it's claustrophobia or bad memories, neither pooch was too crazy about the idea of getting in there with a bunch of fleece blankets, pillows and the Kindle fire at 3:30 in the morning.
When they realized that they we would be sleeping in there until the tornado warning ended around 4:30, or I knew from local meteorologists that the worst part of the storm was out of Jefferson County, they did not seem pleased.
I might be projecting too much, but I do think my authority is in question now. There's just something in their eyes that seems to say, "The lady has finally lost it."
* Of course, I don't mean to make light of what anyone suffered last night. For those affected by last night's storms, the Salvation Army has announced feeding stations, and I'm sure that the Red Cross will be coordinating donations.
Too Soon?
I know it's only January 12, but I might want to call the most accurate headline of the year. (And yes, I double checked the date. Even though the story is mostly focused on Reggie Bush, and not the dude she actually married a few months ago, this is a 2012 publication.)
*I do take issue with the use of "world exclusive." I'm pretty sure most of us didn't need a tabloid to figure this one out.
Christmas Ornaments Of A Different Ilk
For all you dog and cat lovers out there, Shelter Partners, a great organization that helps dogs like Goofy the Great Dane find homes all over the country, is selling ornaments for Christmas to benefit their organization. I personally know a rescue dog who is hoping we can all spread the love.
Christmas On The Cheap
Thanks to some time in grad school, and the lucrative career choice of “writer,” there are plenty of years when I haven’t had that much money to spend at the holidays.
I am a crafty person, but even crafts cost money, and sometimes more than money, they take time. During graduate school, I had very little money, and thanks to finals, very little time. I wanted to do something for my friends, but I didn’t have an answer to the question of how.
Eventually, I drove to a store called Happy Price Zee Outlet. Since you probably don’t have one in your neighborhood, let’s just say that it’s kind of like the Dollar Tree and Dollar General had a crack baby. The prices are very low, and the merchandise can be a) defective b) ridiculous c) cheesy d) borderline dangerous or e) all of the above.
If you want a rainbow-themed umbrella to wear on your head, it’s the place for you. It also carries an unnatural number of bobble-head cats. I cannot imagine the patron that shops here for non-gag gifts, but I sense that his or her home/van might resemble that of a hoarder’s.
(As a total aside, I think few people took to the idea of gag gifts like I did as a child. Once my mom told me what they were, I couldn’t believe anyone had ever come up with such a genius concept and that I hadn’t known about it before. It’s your birthday, you open something hideous and have to pretend you like it since you don’t know whether or not it’s a joke? Hilarious. Since I was also on the beginning of the reusing trend, it was not at all uncommon to open a copy of "Decadent Disco” wrapped in an old granola box from me when I was between 11 and 12.)
That year, I went through the Happy Price Zee Outlet, grabbed a bunch of items (oh, that citrus-themed kitchen thermometer was a treasure!), wrapped them and handed them out to my friends with tags that said, To: X, From: Milo (who was my pet at the time), Happy Holidays!
Whenever anyone opened a gift and seemed puzzled, I said, “I don’t know why he picked that out for you. He’s a dog. It’s not like he knows how to shop.”
The joke seemed to go over well. Then again, I’m not the one who got knee pads that year.
What I Have Learned Watching TV With The SO
The man in my life is into zombies. From what I can gather, this is somewhat normal. At my Halloween party two years ago, at least half the men showed up dressed as zombies. Zombies seem to have snuck into our lives over the last few years. (And please don’t get me started on what it’s been like since The Walking Dead premiered. I think it’s a fine show, but six episodes and then you take off for a year? Can we really call that a season? Really?)
Then again, I watch Lifetime and shows where women talk to dead people, so I’m sort of in a glass house here. While I don’t mind the zombies, I can’t say that I love them. The flesh-eating thing just doesn't really grab me.
Anyway, based on my recent viewings of these kinds of post-catastrophe shows/movies, there are a few tips and tricks I’ve picked up for surviving/dealing with aliens, zombies and danger at every turn.
1. There are absolutely no rules about who lives and who dies. Don’t even try to figure it out. If you’re popular and young, it actually seems like you’re more likely to be a goner. Also, your death will be incredibly unpleasant. If you have any sort of pre-existing anxiety issues, be sure to raid the local pharmacy for Xanax as soon as the looting begins.
2. One member of your vagabond group of survivors is psychotic, plans to sacrifice you to save him or herself or will betray you. It is never the uglies or dirtiest member of your group, despite their appearance and cryptic comments. Trust is going to be hard.
3. It is not a good idea to capture a zombie/alien/freak so that you can study the creature and try to figure out how to overcome its kind, yadda, yadda, yadda. One member of the team will die, and it’s usually the one who had the idea to study the creature in the first place, or the person best equipped to figure out anything science-y.
4. Any captured creature will also most likely possess some kind of mind control abilities, so, well, you’re just kind of f*&%ed there, and seeing as you’re already f&%$ed, why invite more trouble?
5. If you are in need of medical attention and find a doctor, don’t ask, “What kind of doctor are you?” If you don’t know already, or the information hasn’t been volunteered, the answer is always “vet.” Ignorance is bliss here, especially seeing as you won’t have any other options.
6. Hope the catastrophe/supernatural takeover happens while you’re wearing good shoes. Long journeys and lots of walking are, for some reason, crucial to your survival. I’d vote for finding the loon in the neighborhood with a panic room or bomb shelter and waiting it out, but apparently I’d be in the minority there.
7. Having sex to escape your feelings about the end of the world is never a good idea. You’ll either end up with a jerk who is also “helping out” all of the other ladies in your motley crue or with the most inconvenient pregnancy ever. (Please see #6 and #5 as it will be much harder for you to walk while pregnant, and your baby will inevitably be delivered by a vet.)
What happened to the good old days when shows were set in bars and coffee shops? There was so much less to worry about then, unless you were Norm and had that nagging Vera to deal with.
Kids These Days -- And Their Kids?
I think this needs to be said: There are too many pregnant teenagers on television.
Is teen pregnancy a reality that should be addressed? Absolutely. Is it unrealistic to pretend that there are no consequences to teen sex? Sure. But, good God, if you pay attention these days, you’d think 1 in 3 teenagers has had a baby. I’m sure there are some great think tanks spreading similar propaganda, but I really want to know when this became entertainment.
No one on Dawson’s Creek had babies. Or Felicity. The original 90210 had some dramatic pregnancy tests, but it’s nothing like you see today. (I also think Brandon dated a girl who had a baby, but they had to break up so she could concentrate on her son, kind of like how he and his ice skater girlfriend had to break up so she could focus on her sport. Note to self: Brandon Walsh’s exes might make for a good “Where are they now?”)
I guess I should have seen the beginning of the trend with One Tree Hill five or six years ago. Two of the main characters were born to teen moms, and another character had a daughter. (If you paid close attention, you’d also notice that half the commercials associated with the show were for pregnancy tests or diapers.) But after awhile, the question became who really watches One Tree Hill? Or the CW network in general? And do we really need Chad Michael Murray in our lives?
(I realize that my aversion to the CW (before Sarah Michelle Geller showed back up) and most reality TV – yes, I watch a lot of reality TV, but it still doesn’t compare to the legions of shows that are out there – is why I don’t know 75% of the celebrities in tabloids these days, but it was probably only a matter of time before I needed to give up my celeb gossip habit. Taylor Momsen, I still have no idea who you are.)
At first, I thought MTV’s Teen Mom was a great cautionary tale. I would pay good money to burn the image of Gary in a bunny suit from my brain, let alone not to be tied to him for life. But, then I started seeing all the stories about teens getting pregnant to become celebrities, and I realized the SO was right about the show having the opposite effect.
I think the real problem is that no one understands the difference between negative and positive attention anymore. It used to be that celebrity had something to do with talent. Now, as Reese Witherspoon pointed out, it’s all about sex tapes and bad behavior.
Want to be famous? You’ll at least need to apply to The Real World and make out with members of both the same and opposite sex before your bags are even unpacked.
My favorite piece of reality show dialogue lately? Kris Jenner (who clearly has issues but also some sort of freaky luck) being upset because her friend told her she’d be “mortified if her daughter had a child out of wedlock and didn’t marry the father.”
I want to back up for just a moment here, Kris. It’s incredibly embarrassing to you that your grown, independent daughter who supports herself has a baby without being married, but you’re totally down with the fact that anyone can watch Kim doing it with Ray J?
Yeah.
And while I realize I’m partly contradicting my own argument by admitting that I saw all of this on Keeping Up With The Kardashians, I’d also like to express my gall at the fact that Kim sided with her mother on this issue and said marriage before kids was more in line with “her values.”
Does she have “desperate desire to get married at any cost” confused with a “value”? Is 72 days of marriage till death do us part? Did Punk’d come back on the air and no one told me about it?
Of course, it’s not just reality TV that’s the problem. I’ve seen more marriage proposals on ABC Family’s The Secret Life of the American Teenager than any other show this year, and half those kids don’t even have their driver’s licenses. How do they even get around to have all the sex that they’re having?
The alternative to having a baby on that show seems to be oral sex, and all the church-going kids do is have the same amount of sex as the rest of their classmates and then tell their pregnant friends they’ll go to hell if they have abortions.
Is this really what the American Broadcasting Company wants to call “family” programming?
I’m not arguing that we should ostracize teenage mothers in any way, but I also think we need to be extremely wary of normalizing teen pregnancy. (Pregnancy pacts anyone?)
I admire girls and women who raise children in far less than ideal circumstances. Hell, I can barely take care of the dogs some days. However, I think those same women would probably be the first ones to tell you how hard early motherhood is, and I don’t think most of them are running around getting breast implants a la Farrah Abraham.
While we’re on the subject, I’d also like to talk about the fact that Bristol Palin made $272,000 last year as an advocate against teen pregnancy. ?!??! Six figures because a less-than-diligent VP vetting team picked your mom from political obscurity, and you had a baby before finishing high school? Really?
I didn’t have a baby as a teenager, and I don’t make nearly that much money. Isn’t it possible that I might be a little more qualified to talk to girls about not getting pregnant as a teen seeing as I successfully avoided teen pregnancy? Bristol Palin has multiple US Weekly covers. I can’t claim that, but I did graduate from college. It’s not that I have to be the poster child for this issue, but what is wrong with our role models?
Again, me = no baby in high school. Bristol Palin = one baby in high school. When it comes to the topic of avoiding teen pregnancy, I think that alone makes me more qualified to discuss the issue.
No one’s asking, but if they were, here’s my plan: Let’s differentiate between positive and negative attention, consider who our real role models should be and, thinking like the crazy liberal that I am, make condoms available to teenagers.
Also, someone needs to investigate how the Kardashians took over tabloid magazines and the E! Network. I’d kill for the good old days of bi-weekly Jessica Simpson covers anytime now – unless she’s guest starring on One Tree Hill or The Secret Life of the American Teenager, of course.*
* Clearly, I wrote this before Jessica Simpson announced her own pregnancy. I'm sure there's a way to tie it all together, but Jessica Simpson is a grown woman, and I'm kind of tired. I'm going to let the coincidence speak for itself for now.
The Obligatory Halloween Post
I tend to write a lot about Halloween. It’s one of my favorite holidays. My mother says I’ve always been this way about Halloween, and I can only assume that I never saw the downside to elaborate costuming and free candy.
I used to spend hours trick or treating, always hoping to stumble on the one cool house that gave out full-sized candy bars. One year, I found that house, and the candy bars were Snickers (my favorite). It was a true triumph. I vowed that when I grew up, I would be that person on the street, but we don’t get trick or treaters, and those full-size candy bars are expensive, so basically, I’d be spending a lot of money to gain five to ten pounds.
When I was younger, I also tended to bounce back and forth between choosing ordinary costumes and those that were incredibly difficult for my mother to make and made no sense to the neighbors.
When I was a witch (normal, yes?), I also had to have a wig, face paint and fake nails. The year I decided to be a ghost, I freaked out the moment I found myself covered from head to toe in a sheet and insisted on wearing my tutu instead. All in all though, I think we can still classify “witch,” “ghost” and “ballerina” as pretty standard.
Then, I decided I needed to be Jem from Jem and the Holograms. Apart from tearing one of my mother’s workout shirts and putting glitter on my face, there wasn’t a lot of room to work with that one.
The same thing happened the year I decided to be Jessica Rabbit. I mean, really, how is a kid in elementary school going to pull that one off? But I took one of my mother’s long red skirts, wore it as a dress and told people that I was Jessica Rabbit. I’m sure my mom feared what the other mothers thought of her allowing her daughter to dress as a cartoon sex symbol, but I was, and always have been, a determined gal.
(Between my love of Jessica Rabbit and Ginger from Gilligan’s Island, I can only assume that apart from an actress and lawyer, I also aspired to be a busty redhead as an adult. Lord only knows what I would have chosen for costumes if Kristina Hendricks had been around then.)
Despite my much-discussed love of the slutty costumes, I’m still a fan of the offbeat, too.
One year, I dressed up as a washed-up country singer because I happened to have a hideous and cheap red wig as well as a Western-style shirt from Old Navy. (Wigs inspire much of my dressing up -- it’s the only reason I was ever Elvira – but if that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.)
Fortunately or unfortunately, the year I dressed up as a washed-up country singer also happened to be the year I discovered the voice memo feature on my cell phone. I woke up to a lot of song ideas in the style of “note to self” dictations at various levels of slurring, like:
“Why Did You Have To Ruin My Credit While You Ruined My Virtue?” (the one I apparently shared with everyone all night)
“You Robbed Me Blind While I Was Blinded by Love”
and “You Took Everything But My Tears.”
Considering I have never lent a boyfriend money (what would there be to give?), so-signed an ex’s loan or even shared a utility bill with a man, I have no idea why I was fixated on lost love and financial ruin that night, but there you have it.
This year, I didn’t have quite the same zeal for Halloween costumes. Not even my pumpkin carving was at its finest. I’m not sure if the dampened enthusiasm began when my first costume arrived in the mail damaged, and I had to send it back, or if it’s just that I acted like a normal person for once, but there you have it.
Either way, I ended up at the thrift story on the morning of the one much-anticipated Halloween party I was attending with few ideas. I came home with a housecoat and an ugly dress (‘80s career woman came to mind).
I told a friend about my purchases, and she said, “If you’ve come up with a valid reason to wear a housecoat around all night, go for it. Think of how comfortable you’ll be.”
That night, I put on my housecoat, some blue eye shadow, the ugliest earrings I could find and a shower cap. When anyone asked what was up, I said, “Oh, I’m not a guest. I’m just a neighbor from across the street who came to complain about the noise.”
Lunch Wars: The Underworld Of School Food*
Lunch Wars by Amy Kalafa is exactly what the book purports to be, a guide on “how to start a school food revolution.” Filled with facts about local produce, the business of school meals, the impact of nutrition on children’s behavior and overall well being, as well as practical advice on who to approach in your school’s food program when working for change, templates for letters and petitions demanding better lunches, and lists of resources to get you started, Lunch Wars is the ultimate how-to guide for building a healthier school cafeteria.
Kalafa takes what would seem to be a daunting task – weaning children away from sugar and snacks to healthy meals while staying on budget and getting the school system’s support – and breaking it down into manageable and logical steps.
She never claims that the transition will be easy, but her determination and success stories are inspirational.
When I started the book, I was pretty sure Kalafa was preaching to the choir, and while she was doing that with gusto, I wasn’t always enjoying the read. (When the idea of foregoing candy on Halloween for other sugar-free activities came up, she almost lost me.)
I am not a mom, but I have had my own experiences with school lunches as well as spending time in cafeterias as a substitute teacher.
In my elementary school, the “cool” kids brought their lunch from home. I went to private school my entire life, so bringing lunch from home wasn’t a show of money, it just meant that if you already had your lunch in hand, you were guaranteed a spot at the cool table rather than having to wait in the lunch line and risking that the only seats left would be on undesirable cafeteria real estate. We also always had half an hour for lunch, so time was never a concern.
In my high school (also private), lunch was included in the price of tuition, so everyone ate at school. Also, since my high school was populated with both boarding and day students, you could eat three meals a day there. Our lunches included the standard hot fare of pizza and fried burritos, but we also had a baked potato bar and salad bar. There were healthy options, and when one attractive high school girl takes a salad, the rest tend to follow.
(My school was founded on the motto “learning through living,” so at one time it had been an actual working farm with students tending to cows and going to class. That ended pretty quickly since taking care of a farm can be too time-consuming when there’s other book learning to be done.)
My high school remains ahead of the trend in the “lunch wars” by Kalafa’s standards. Today, students grow a garden on the grounds and sell their produce at a local farmer’s market throughout the summer.
With my experience based only on private education and wealthy school districts, and conscious of the socio-economic makeup that seems to dominate my Saturday visits to the farmer’s market, I had concerns about less affluent schools that have trouble finding money for books, let alone freshly grown produce.
As a former managing editor of a magazine, I visited a school in an under-served area when the kids were given a playground as part of a grant from Kaboom!. I kept thinking that if playgrounds are a hard sell, what happens to school food – especially when government regulations are involved.
However, Kalafa changed my thinking on that. Her examples and anecdotal evidence come from all kinds of school districts throughout the country. Her data and commitment are compelling, and the end of Lunch Wars convinced me that healthy eating must be a priority in our schools and culture. I began to re-think my own eating habits, and I would recommend this book to anyone interested in food politics and the ever-changing landscape of how and why we eat the way that we do.
(Not that I'm ready to give up all of my bad habits yet, Cadbury Creme Eggs will always have a special place in my heart.)
* This was a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are my own.
In Other News
Please check out my upcoming creative writing classes in the left-hand sidebar. "Telling Your Story" will be a class focused on essay and memoir as well as general good-writing practices at Canterbury United Methodist Church. "Fundamentals of Creative Writing" is a broader course covering the basics of creative writing as well as both fiction and non-fiction genres offered through Samford University's After Sundown Continuing Education program.
My friend and former colleague Michelle Hazelwood-Hyde and I have also recently published a children's book for the Birmingham area entitled Night Night Birmingham. I invite you to check it out and also join us at our launch party at Oak Hill Bar & Grill on Thursday, September 15 from 5-8 p.m.
Thanks so much!
In The Event Of The End Of The World
I realize that some people think the world might end tomorrow. I’m not actually one of those people, and honestly, I don’t even know what the theory is based on, but I do pay attention to the four stories that pop up on my Yahoo! home page, and May 21 has been getting a lot of attention lately.
I mean, if the world is going to end, it’s not like there’s a lot I can do about it. (Not that this is an excuse to stop recycling or pursuing green initiatives in case there are still any conservatives left in my blog audience.) As I was discussing with a friend over the weekend, I think most generations would almost like to think that the end of the world would come within their lifetimes. It’s a good way to put off the unnerving truth/realization that, most likely, life will go on without us, for generations and generations, and possibly even eons. An ongoing world means we’re all a little more forgettable, and no one wants to be forgettable. (Sorry to get a little dark there.)
I also know some people are freaked out by the fact that the Mayan calendar ends in 2012. Anxiety disorder and all, I think this is one of the least upsetting signs of a possible impending apocalypse. Let’s be real. For a group of people that went out around 1450, I think it’s pretty impressive they even bothered taking the calendar to 2012. How far out front are you supposed to get with those? I doubt anyone is working on day planners with New Yorker cartoons in them for 2415 right now, and I hardly take it as a sign that the world will end whenever the people down at the warehouse decide to stop making kitten calendars.
However, since we never know what can happen, I might need to get a few things off my chest before tomorrow – just in case.
1. I cheated on my menu tests at both La Paz and Calypso Joe’s. I have never cheated on any other tests in my life, but those menus presented some problems. At La Paz, I was a hostess, so I didn’t really see a need to learn the menu. They were going to make me take the test until I passed, so I used the menu as the hard surface on which to take my paper test. (I did learn a little though. That job is the only reason that I know the difference between an enchilada and a burrito is that a burrito is made with a flour tortilla while an enchilada is made with a corn one.) As for Calypso Joe’s, well, that one was just pride. The manager liked to post scores at the end of the day, and I refused to come in behind a bunch of perfect scores because I couldn’t have cared less about what dipping sauce came with the conch fritters.
2. I didn't like Titanic -- or Sex and the City.
3. From the ages of 21-25, I gave out my fake phone number to boys far too many times. It wasn’t very nice, but that’s kind of what happens when you’re a slightly cowardly people pleaser. It’s probably a little late, but I’d like to say I’m sorry anyway.
4. I don’t like the symphony, ballet or opera. I find them boring, and they always remind me of being forced to do educational stuff when I was a kid. (And this is coming from a girl who likes learning new vocabulary words.) If I nod when these topics of conversation come up, I’m only pretending to be cultured (or listening).
5. In the third grade, I stole my classmate's square dancing partner. I had a crush on the tallest boy in class, and square dancing partners were assigned by height. As the shortest girl in class, I was screwed -- and stuck with the boy who got very, very angry every time we played dodge ball in gym. When my classmate was out for a couple of days with a stomach bug, I saw my chance to move up, and we she came back to school, I pretty much implied that our teacher thought the new dance partner relationship was better. (Although, I hardly think our teacher had an opinion about the dancing partners.) Oh, the things we do for love ... And again, sorry about that one.
6. I prefer my dog to a lot of people. I can’t help it. She’s adorable, snuggly and completely non-critical. I should probably have some more love and compassion for humanity, but in general, a lot of my affection goes towards the dog. And that whole thing about there not actually being dogs in heaven if you go by strict theology? (I told you Sunday school was quite upsetting for me.) I’m not pleased.
7. For a few years now, my chest has actually been known as “the rapture.” It was a name that a female friend came up with for my boobs while we were drinking one night. I kind of thought it was awesome (especially since my late-blooming meant I didn't have a chest until the age of 18), and the name stuck. I hope this will not be considered blasphemous during the actual rapture, but clearly I can’t be sure. Even in the end of days, we can all appreciate a good joke, right? Maybe?
Anyway, I look forward to our continued interactions next week when I will most likely be experiencing some shame for what I hope are a few very premature confessions.
A Sunday School Drop-Out Spared
My parents tend to worry – a lot. Kidnapping, hostage-taking, teen pregnancy, drugs, drunk driving – you name a problem; my parents have considered how to keep it from happening to their kids.
There’s only one thing my parents never worried about when it came to me and that had to do with joining a cult. Their theory? “You had so much trouble with conventional religion; we never really figured you’d fall for some extreme splinter group.”
I guess there’s at least one plus to raising a natural skeptic.
My parents both taught Sunday school when I was growing up. My father taught kindergarten, and my mother usually taught sixth grade.
Through what I will claim is no fault of my own, I tended to be a troublemaker in Sunday school class. It’s not that I ever meant to get in trouble; I just like to ask a lot of questions. (Outside of Sunday school, my mother and I spent many hours in the library researching my various topics of interest from why ostriches liked to stick their heads in the sand, how an egg develops and the growth of asparagus.) Curiosity, neurotic-ism or annoyance? You decide.
Wikipedia and IMDB have been Godsends in my adult life.
Long before I knew the difference between evolution and creationism, when one of my Sunday school teachers went over Genesis, I had to ask why she seemed to be in direct conflict with my science teacher. “If the Earth was created in six days, what about the dinosaurs?” I said.
Mrs. Johnson, my science teacher at the time, had explained that dinosaurs roamed the Earth with no humans, and I really didn’t see where Adam and Eve fit in on this time frame.
Then, there was the day our Sunday school teacher came in to explain that “We were all adopted because we were all God’s children, and He had given us to our parents on loan.” (The “on loan” might not be a direct quote, but I promise that that Sunday school teacher was not particularly eloquent.)
I think I started the crying that day, but I know a lot of other kids eventually joined in. I think adoption is lovely, but as a kid who feared learning she was one day adopted, breaking the news this way seemed insensitive to say the least.
I also did not know how much I would upset my first grade Sunday school teacher when I answered the question, “What’s the last movie you all saw?” with “Aliens.” My mom had been out of town, and it was true. I’m sorry she only wanted Disney answers.
Eventually, my Sunday school teachers seemed really tired of my questions, and it could be hard to get them to notice my raised hand, but I’m not one to give up easily.
“Would King Herod really have cut the baby in half? What if none of the moms said anything?”
“How could you really have all of your power in your hair?”
“Wouldn’t the whale’s stomach acid be a problem for Jonah?”
“Just going from Saul to Paul doesn’t seem like a real earth-shattering name change. Wouldn’t Joe or Sam have been more dramatic?”
Apart from making my class the Bible Trivia champion of 1980-something, I was not an asset to most Sunday school classes. (I actually had to share that title with another Sunday school class, a decision I contested and still consider to be an unfair ruling, but the journey to move on continues.)
I don’t know whether or not it was discussed during some sort of Sunday school teacher conference, but from fourth grade on, I spent three years in my mother’s Sunday school class. She was used to my questions, and I imagine my departure from the regular course of Methodist teachings was a relief to many.
So, this Mother’s Day, I’d like to thank my mom for putting up with a lot – from the struggle to define infinity for me to typing up the school newspaper my third grade class dreamed up one day. But, I suppose that most of all, I’d like to thank her for taking me in when no one else was eager to, listening to and trying to find answers to my questions and never making me feel like I was the weird one for going against the flow.
Happy Mother’s Day Mama! I love you!
Acts Of God And Nature
Not to go all Patch Adams on everyone, but I really do feel like laughter can be the best medicine (along with antibiotics and all the traditional Western stuff that is). I think we should look for laughter – and joy – whenever we can because life can be pretty darn hard.
However, there are also plenty of times when laughter doesn’t seem appropriate. Or when there doesn’t seem like there’s much to laugh about. For the past few months, I often haven’t felt like laughing, but that’s another story for another day, when I’m ready to tell it.
More immediately, today is not a day that I feel like I can share anecdotes or talk about my annoyances from trips to the pharmacy, talking on the phone or attempting to fit in the clothes at Forever 21 (because at 31, I still believe I can be Forever 21).
On Wednesday, as most of the nation knows, a tornado unlike anything I have ever seen tore through my state and my city. The worst reports I hear have the main funnel at 1.5 miles wide and traveling a 200-mile path. Hundreds of people are dead, missing or homeless. So, even though I’ve spent most of my life being called irreverent, I’m going to just let today be today. There but for the grace of God, they say.
Also, at the risk of sounding preachy (which is not anywhere I ever want to go), I’ve been thinking about the ring my best friend gave me when I graduated from college. She’d had the same one for years, and I’d always wanted one of my own. It’s made of silver and says “This too shall pass” in Hebrew. A skyline of Jerusalem is engraved on the inside.
(I’m not Jewish. I have a St. Jude medal, too, even though I’m not Catholic. I don’t worry about it, so I ask you not to either, if you’d be so kind.)
At the time, I thought my “This too shall pass” was just a reminder that the bad times aren’t permanent and won’t last forever. (I’m sure it’s the depressive in me.) However, my friend reminded me that the adage isn’t just for the dark moments. It’s a reminder in the happy ones, too. We will not always be sad, just as we will not always be happy. Life happens in the ebb and flow, and you have to appreciate each of the moments when you’re in them because you have no idea how long they’ll last or what you might learn.
Like we all know, life is hard, and it isn’t fair. I’m just trying to figure it out like anyone else. And what do I know? Very little. But I know that today I’m lucky while others aren’t, and I may not always be the lucky one.
To quote more pop culture (because that’s what I do) I like what Morgan Freeman says in Bruce Almighty. When it’s all going downhill, sometimes it’s not the time to look up, but to look around. I am thankful for the family, friends, volunteers and general human beings who share in our triumphs and do want they can to make the tough times a little easier to bear.
The End Of An Era And A Day of Mourning
All My Children and One Life to Live were cancelled yesterday. (AMC and OLTL for those of use in the Soap Opera Digest know.) While this may not seem like a big deal to some, it’s the end of a very special era for me, and dare I say it, America.
I have never hidden my love of soap operas. Without them, I probably wouldn’t be the slightly dramatic, prone-to-hyperbole gal that I am today. My secret wish in life has always been to be a soap actress (preferably playing my own evil twin as well). I believe soap operas taught me as much about dialogue as any other writing. If you think about it, that’s all that really happens on a soap anyway.
I may not have watched a soap in years (I got too old for the drama. Once my couple is together, I want them to stay together), but that doesn’t mean my love for the characters or the genre is at all diminished.
Perhaps more important than my personal loss is what this means for television. Is this just another nail in the coffin of scripted television? Will our children grow up on reruns of Nancy Grace, Judge Judy and Jersey Shore? Will Maury’s paternity tests go on indefinitely? Will Cheaters be the default for tired moms folding laundry throughout the day?
On soap operas, despite the shenanigans, the good are eventually rewarded while those who lie, trick and manipulate are punished. Can I come even close to saying the same thing about any of the Real Housewives? No.
Even taking me and the fate of television out of the equation, who will teach the children? How will they know all that they’re missing?:
1. The L-Shaped Sheet: That special sheet used in post-coital daytime scenes to cover the woman to her sternum and the man to his waist.
2. How easy and inevitable it is for the heir from the right side of the tracks to fall for the girl from the wrong side of the tracks (most likely after a lifetime of playing together while her mother worked in the rich people’s home).
3. A kinder, gentler and generally more attractive mafia.
4. Is there a better memory exercise than keeping tracks of characters’ changing last names? I’m not convinced.
5. The aforementioned evil twins.
6. The common, everyday nature of long-lost siblings and children.
7. The inevitability of aging – how toddlers will go upstairs in the Spring and re-emerge as teenagers during May sweeps (usually just in time for Summer story lines to capture the teen demographic).
8. Hospitals run by three doctors that don’t need specialties because they have to treat every problem from pregnancy to trauma in a town of 40.
9. The real emotional toil of amnesia and multiple personality disorder.
10. Paternity tests limited to two candidates – one’s loving husband/boyfriend and the ex you accidentally slept with while thinking your loving partner was cheating on you.
11. How to run a city with only cops, lawyers, doctors, competing corporate magnates, models, the help and the staff of one restaurant/night club/coffee shop/country club.
I’m nervous about a world without Oprah, Susan Lucci or Erica Sleazak. Someone please hold me and tell me it’s all going to be OK.
From The Way Back Machine: Laurel As Marketing Guru
From my days on the Lipstick magazine blog, circa 2008. (Although, in my new incarnation as media guru, I would like to add for my clients that I understand -- and love -- e-blasts and viral videos, but I remain ambivalent about mass text alerts.):
I will be the first to confess that I am no marketing guru.
I have an OK head for business — supply and demand, profit margin, yada, yada. But I could care less about packaging, price points, focus groups and all the rest of it. (My brilliant slogans for Lipstick — "Read Lipstick magazine!" "Lipstick is a good magazine!" — were met with blank stares, and probable questioning of whether or not I was a good hire on the fourth floor.) I like what I like, and I tend to assume that other people will like what I like, too. Self-involved? Yes, but it's gotten me this far — 8' X 4' cubicle and all the printer paper a girl could want — so why ask questions now.
Apart from my love of funnyordie.com, I don't necessarily understand all of the new-fangled means of marketing like e-mail blasts, viral videos and text message alerts either. But, despite the fact that I can be out touch with what the kids are doing these days, I do still think of myself as a relatively informed and intelligent human being.
And it is for this very reason that I am completely baffled by CNN's latest venture. When you go to the CNN.com main page, you'll notice that certain stories have a little video camera and a little t-shirt icon next to them. The video icon is so that you can watch the story. This makes sense. After all, CNN stands for cable news network. The little t-shirt icon is so that you can purchase a t-shirt with that particular headline on it.
Seriously?
I read US Weekly; I've noticed how much fun people have putting pithy sayings on t-shirts. I've seen plenty of "Your boyfriend thinks I'm hot" and "Everyone loves an Italian boy." And, while sometimes it's hard to find the appeal of this ("Give me my coffee and no one gets hurt"? on a shirt? why?), I can accept it.
What I can't understand is why anyone would want to wear a CNN headline. Here are some examples from yesterday:
Colossal squid has soccer-ball eyes
Teen too young for 'come hither' pose?
And my personal favorite: Crying 4-year-old found along highway
Why on earth would anyone need a shirt emblazoned with "Crying 4-year-old found along highway"? I hardly think it's the same frat boy market that buys up "Beer drinkers get more head," or the politicos looking for "Every time you vote democratic, God kills a kitten." And I can't really see how slogan-ed t-shirts would be the final piece of Ted Turner's multi-layered, much-researched media empire.
Then again, I'm no marketing guru.
The Things I Think But Do Not Tweet
No offense, but it seems like psychic Alison Dubois really should have called Camille Grammer's divorce at some point on Real Housewives.
Why don't I tweet it? Because after that particular episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, I'm kind of terrified of Alison Dubois. (I'm really glad I've already enjoyed my years of Medium viewing.) Seriously, I'm afraid. She brags about knowing when people are going to die?!?! This is no good for someone with an anxiety disorder and people-pleasing issues. I really hope she doesn't get into the double-digit pages of Googling herself.
And I know we all miss things, but just from context, Kelsey had already run off to New York for two months without his wife. It seems like this one could have taken more "educated guess" than "psychic prediction."