The Dark Side of Transparency...

Honesty is the best policy. Yeah we have all heard it before, but my malleable adolescent brain must have absorbed that golden rule at a much higher capacity than others. Or perhaps it was my inclination towards bending the truth as a child, a punishable offense in my house, that branded it into my brain. At this point in my life honesty is almost a compulsion.

I tell the truth in every way possible. You know how omitting the truth, is just a different way of lying? Yeah that is what I mean. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I can't keep my opinion to myself. I give more information than necessary. If there is something on my mind you'll know it. Poker champion I will never be. Honestly, I even speak in an authoritative manner that makes my personal perspective sound like fact. I answer questions after these obligatory caveats

'Do you really want my honest opinion?' or 'This is going to sound horrible but...'

with complete and unsparing truth. Like I said it's a compulsion.

Of course my sharp tongue can lash with the best of them. I have hurt those close to me and while they say they love and accept me for my honesty, it still hurts to know I have hurt them. After all, you can only say you are sorry so many times before you've rendered the word completely and utterly useless. And forget first impressions. There is no recovering from being a bitch in front of or to a new acquaintance or complete stranger. You can't.

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." That is so true Ms. Angelou. How do I know? Well because I have been on the receiving end too. At some point the tables always turn.

In this case I am referring to my feelings. I have a heart that is among the easier to bruise. I've let down and left my guard around my ankles many times for exploiters both hidden and obvious to take advantage of. The only thing that follows is disbelief, self doubt and deflation. It's hard to bounce back when you are only half full.

Any sense of empathy or imagination can see this makes for quite the precarious situation. It is as if I am always walking on a tightrope, balancing between violently active verbs and a hopelessly romantic heart. Both of which are inherent to who I am and have become. I watch my words fly like arrows, wishing I could swallow them the minute after I let them fly. I watch my heart fall harder, faster wishing it wasn't made of glass and I wasn't standing on concrete. And because at this point it has become habit, it is definitely a hard one to break.

A very good friend of mine recently told me that I have this crazy curious, doe-eyed naivete whose companion is solid, unfaltering conviction. No one has ever gotten it so dead on. I am so transparent in some situations, you can practically see through me. I am as opaque in others that you wouldn't even bother trying to argue with me. Quite the dichotomy. Definitely an internal struggle. After all, how do you change something that at 27 has become so much a part of you?

While I would never want to change completely, I know I could be honest with more grace. A lot more. I know I could be transparent and self-preserving at the same time. At least when I need to be.

I recognize these traits are assets in specific situations. I realize that for some they are honorable, they are envy inducing, they are even the correct way to respond. I don't necessarily disagree, but I have learned that honesty isn't always the best, especially when brutal. Truth will out the nasty as well as the good and it is easy to be overlooked when you're completely transparent.

The Stall Standoff...

Yeah girls aren’t supposed to talk about this kind of thing, but working in an office building of over a thousand people, it comes up. So if you have a problem with public restrooms, stop reading right now.

I have anxiety in public restrooms, well really only when someone else is in there reminding me it is a public restroom. I always feel this weird tension if I walk in and a stall is already occupied, like I am intruding. I am guessing that is because I always feel like I am being intruded upon when I am in there and someone else walks in. And for some reason this anxiety usually leads to what I like to refer to as “The Stall Standoff”. The reason I named it is because I know others have experienced it too. Whether it’s because there is some alternate version of stage fright, embarrassment or because you feel like whatever happens in that room should be private (yeah I know I am ruining some people’s belief that girls don’t do that) there is this weird power struggle. Seriously, it becomes a waiting game where whoever waits the longest wins. Wins what? Nothing really. Maybe a few seconds of privacy, but not really because you are in a public restroom. The problem is, if you wait too long someone else will eventually join you to brush her teeth, reenact her morning beauty regimen or conduct a completely unnecessary conversation and then the stalemate starts all over again.

I know there are people who literally refuse to use public restrooms. “The Stall Standoff” is one reason I can sort of slightly understand their neurosis.

Jingle Jangle

I think advertising needs to bring back the jingle. Seriously, no matter what state I have lived in, there are mom and pop businesses that always use jingles. And no matter what it includes, their name or phone number, people ALWAYS remember them. Luna, Empire, Adriana Furs and The General are just a few you hear in the great state of Illinois. Whether you are in the market for a new bed or a car insurance doesn't even matter. When people hear the beginning of the Empire jingle, they can always fill in the phone number blank. ALWAYS.

So why is it, as a copywriter, I never decide that a jingle is the way to go. I don't think I have ever been in a meeting, since my advertising career started that a creative team has ever presented a jingle. Why is that? I mean everyone can sing the Oscar Mayer bologna song or the Band Aid jingle. Even people who have never seen the ads can sing them. Currently people can cherry pick parts of the long-winded FreeCreditReport.com jingle or recognize the tune of McDonald's 'I'm loving it.'

Maybe the solution to all advertising is bringing back the jingle. People don't just remember good ones, or even likable ones. They remember them no matter how obscure, awful or amazing they are. Sure in my 'ad' opinion I've been ingrained to believe that jingles are a cop out, but I am wondering more and more if I only think that because I was always told that they are. I mean I was also told to never show something and say something at the same time, but now we are forced to do it everywhere we can. I was also told that repetition was a 1950's Madison Avenue device and when used today it is embarrassingly outdated. Jingles are for those people who don't have anything more clever or creative to say. I have to say, I do believe that most of that is true.

However I also know this to be true... the majority of consumers can fill in the following blanks.

"Plop, Plop, ____, ____"

or

"Like a good neighbor, ________________."

Get ready world, I'm bringing back the jingle one client at a time. Hey, a girl can dream



p.s. I wonder what Mustafa would sing if Old Spice decided to add a jingle to their campaign. I'm sure it would be hilarious, and it would probably make those ads test better with recall. I'm telling you. Jingles are where it's at, just not here.

Lauren, you're too LOUD....

could be heard every other day coming from my sister's mouth when I was a kid. That is probably a conservative estimate in fact. I was a loud kid. I'll admit it. Between wanting to be a singer, which of course would have lead to fame and fortune the likes that even 1980's Whitney Houston hadn't seen, and "scweaming my bwains out" on my neighbors truck I was bound to annoy a few people. Rachy was definitely no exception.

Well to my dismay, and others celebration I am sure, I was recently informed that I need throat surgery to clear a polyp from my right vocal chord. I was diagnosed with singer's nodes in grad school, but the otolaryngologist and I agreed they would go away when I quit my job at the bar I worked at at the time. It was a late night joint that often entertained live music and I had to strain or scream for hours at a time to take and deliver hops and hamburgers. It seemed like a classic case of cause and effect. Once the cause of the nodes was gone, the effect would be a back to normal voice.

False.

At some point between then and now, a blood vessel burst in my right vocal chord and the node is now a polyp that can't be treated with voice therapy alone. It needs to be surgically removed or it will just get worse. Worse to the point where my voice will be permanently damaged. It is an out patient procedure. There's general anesthetic. It's no big deal. That is what I was told. Hakuna Matata, right?


In light of the situation, this post is for my big sister. This is for all the times you had to tell me to be quiet or put your hand over my mouth. This is for all the drowned out Grass Roots choruses and Defying Gravity exhibitions. You were right. I was too loud. I am going ahead and telling me so, for you.

YOU WERE RIGHT. The informational packet confirms it.

Assocation with "Extroverts"
Children with vocal fold polyps usually are extroverts and may have a loud voice, which can often be particularly percussive.

So there. Even medical experts agree with you. I wasn't just loud, I was too loud, just like you said. The thing is, I am loud. It is part of who I am. Even my personality is loud. But on November 22nd 2010, that part of me will be silenced forever. Okay dramatic. Not forever, just for seven days after the surgery. I won't be able to talk at all. After that I will have to ease back into talking, while training myself to communicate in a manner that will not cause the problem to return.

So Rach if you want relish in your rightness, come to Mom and Dad's for Thanksgiving dinner. For once in your life you can do all the talking you want. You can tell a story without my interjection. You can ask a question you have never actually wanted the answer to. I will not be able to interrupt, talk over you or sing Uptown Girl. This Christmas you will have to carry Sisters all by yourself. It's your turn to sing, just make sure it isn't too LOUD.

Hiwela High....

I never thought I would go back to camp. I really didn't. For one thing I grew up. Then the camp I attended as a child closed it's doors, and with it closed that chapter in my life. Albeit a chapter revisited and remembered fondly but definitively in my past, or so I thought.

Just a few weeks ago I was given the opportunity to reopen that chapter and amend it, this time as a counselor. The force and fervor with which camp songs returned was astounding. The thrill of a schedule that included arts and crafts was palpable. I was going back to camp. A mixture of nostalgia and nerves filled up every inch of my body as I packed towels and tennis shoes. I worried the campers wouldn't like me. I wondered if I'd forgotten how to play. I dreaded the thought of a shower being an afterthought. I laughed at my own vulnerability.

Like I mentioned in a previous post, being the baby of the family for twenty five years has left me quite the novice when it comes to adolescent behavior. The disciplinarian, the teacher, the example, the friend. All things I haven't been to people more than a few years my junior for the majority of my life. This was now the task at hand. A task that to me was blinking like a hazard light off in the distance. Needless to say as the luggage filled up with jersey and repellents, my stomach filled with knots. This experience was going to be a first, and I could not have comprehended how a week later I could even imagine making that week at camp my last.

Upon arrival I was jolted back to flagpole, campfires, silly games and sloppy meals. The smell of burnt wood lingered among the living. The hugs of returning volunteers mixed with the timid handshakes of newcomers. The white washed cabins looked foreign against the backdrop of the forest. I remembered how great it felt to feel like part of a frontier. Since the campers hadn't arrived yet, my anxiety cut me loose. I just stood for a second to drink in an environment I hadn't visited in decades. It was beautiful. It only lasted for a moment because the kids would arrive in less than twenty four hours and there was a lot to do. Training commenced, lunch was eaten, people were introduced, camp was acquainted, songs were sung and beds were tossed in anticipation. Before I knew it there were nine girls standing in front of me. Some wide eyed. Some veteran. Some gorgeous. Some guarded. Some introverted. Some out loud. They were there, standing in front of me. It was amazing how immediate the feeling of ownership hit me. I felt like they were mine and that scared me even more. I was responsible for these girls until they left over 100 hours later. May seem like a short time to some. That was an eternity.

Now I have to caveat this story by saying, I wasn't alone. I had other counselors with me. I wasn't solely responsible. But unlike the rest of them, save one, I was the only virgin. They had done this before. So, I had a support system from the day I got to camp and they were with me the entire way. They were saviors, sidekicks and supports. The experience wouldn't have been the same without them. However, this post isn't about them. It is about me and the girls.

They ranged from the ages of 9 to 12. Most of them from the inner city. Their backgrounds were starkly different from my own. Everything from where they lived, to how they lived was a contrast. Their schools, their shoes and their attitudes all a bit unfamiliar. Some more callow than others. Many of them older than the years displayed on their faces. The differences from girl to girl were almost as obvious as the difference between them and me. This was a bit of a comfort, but still for me, uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable like being asked a question on your first day in your first graduate course, more like your skirt being caught in your underwear uncomfortable. Unknowingly exposed. Feeling powerful because of my authoritative position, but feeling unqualified at the same time. I felt like a walking contradiction and it was hour three.

Thank goodness time heals all things, because as the hours passed by the contradiction faded away and the connection became apparent. When it comes to growing female, there are baseline issues that no matter your background akin you to one another. The struggle for friendships. Feeling left out or forced in. Becoming a woman. Fighting for attention using whatever talents you have at your disposal. Establishing your role in a group. Struggling to keep it. Detaching all together. Diving in headfirst. Watching this group of young women acclimate to their new, temporary social circle was a trip. I would dare any woman my age to say they didn't recognize the interactions I witnessed from their own pubescent memory. These girls were astonishing to behold. Truly, the were enlivening with their ghettoric (that is what we called it). They were self-conscious -effacing and -indulgent. It was a pleasure to be around them, as well as a throbbing pain. It was fulfilling and frustrating. I was amazed to see how the personalities were already cemented. I mean, these girls were and are who they are going to be for the rest of their lives. I could tell you which girls were motivated by intelligence or attention. Those who would chase the boys and those that the boys would chase. The antagonists and the protagonists. The self-reliant. The needy. The ones I would have befriended. The ones I would have frenemied. I knew who was going to end up gyrating at the dance way beyond her single digits. I could tell who was going to spend the majority of her time in the company of adults instead of cabin mates. Well, that one will always be contemplative. Her? She will always thrive on positive reinforcement. This one will forever and always be non-compliant.

It was a slightly shocking revelation that we are who we are that young, and that got me to wondering. If I could interview counselors that had me as a camper, they would probably agree. Twenty years later they'd say, yep, that is the Lauren Buckley I remember. I actually found myself attaching bits of me to bits of them. They were me, but in smaller vessels. Their age was just a number that I had passed fifteen years earlier. It wasn't an obstacle I had to get over in order to relate to them or them to me. In fact, it was the reason I could.


By the third day I woke up and realized I was not just a part of this experience, I was entrenched in it. I found myself vying for some of the girl's attention. I thought about which activity I wanted to sign up for depending on what girls were going where. When breaking up a fight I found myself wondering what side I would've been on. I knew which table I wanted to sit at breakfast,lunch and dinner. I knew what boys I would have flirted with. I even started adopting some of their bad attitudes about things they didn't want to do.

Pathetic. Hilarious. Wrong. Go ahead, you can judge me. I know I am right now.

But the thing is, the good, the bad and the ugly come out at camp. It did when I was younger and it definitely did with my girls. I am glad it all surfaced. I couldn't be happier about it, all of it. I decided to go back to camp as a counselor, but I actually went back as me. Just me and it was almost out of my control. My inner child. My disciplinarian. My last picked for the team. My caregiver. My educator. My student. My gossiper. My nurturer. My discoverer. My loner. Every nuance of my character was brought forth, challenged, found adequate or found wanting by my girls. First they introduced themselves and then they reintroduced myself to me.

Life happens and you do live and learn beyond your foundation as a human being. I know I have in the time after my days as a camper. But at the end of the day it was the unconditional love and acceptance of nine young women that taught me more than I ever could have imagined. When the buses pulled away from camp on the final day echoes of laughter were lost in a haze of exhaustion. I felt incomplete and renewed. I loaded my luggage, a little lighter. I loaded myself, a little heavier. I was a walking contradiction, again. As our bus pulled away I knew my chapter would continue to amend itself the following year. Same cast of girls, but a very different counselor.

Nerd Alert...

So I got on the bus this morning and I sat down next to what I think most people would constitute as a male nerd. I know the distinction has gotten a bit muddled with the emergence of the hipster culture, but this guy wasn't trying to be a nerd. He just was a nerd.

He had a Napoleon Dynamite type shirt on tucked in to his pants of course. He was futzing at first with his iphone, which I caveat is not nerdy, but then started awkwardly bobbing his head to music I couldn't quite make out. Actually bobbing isn't the correct word. It was more a seizure like motion with his head and a weird Hitch like containment with the rest of his body. Then he took of his head phones, took his out his glasses case and put on his 'four eyes'. Again, nothing against glasses, I wear them in fact, but it added to his overall Urkelness. He proceeded to pull out his ipad, again not nerdy, and began playing some sort of Grand Theft Auto like game but with way more parochial graphics. Grand Theft Auto is probably not nerdy, but on this guy, this game more than even his weird gesticulations made me really uncomfortable. His appearance alone made me assume he was not exactly bursting at the seams with social skills. That mixed with the fact that he was playing an unbelievably violent video game made me really uncomfortable. Even after I got off the bus I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I am not sure if news stories of men like George Sodini, or names like Dylan Clybold are the reason I had such a negative reaction to this guy and his video game but it got me to thinking. Maybe something other than his appearance gave me an uneasy feeling. Or perhaps the nerd factor lead me to think about the loner factor, and that made me uneasy. I don't know what it was. I mean he left me alone, he didn't leer. He was just doing his thing. However, in that short amount of time he got me to thinking. Historically, there aren't a lot of infamous females that have blown up buildings, convinced people to drink kool-aid, shot up their high schools and college campuses or randomly open fired in a female dominated gym. I am sure there are a few, but movie Monster was such a big deal because it was a case of an out of the ordinary serial killer. The out of the ordinary part is the fact that the killer was female. I don't know if it society, socialization or Malcolm Galdwell's exploration of contagious and infectious behavior that kept my mind running in circles. I obviously haven't done any reading on the subject, this is just how my mind was working that day.

There really is no point to this post, other than the fact that for a morning I was completely preoccupied with a stranger on the bus and a trend that has spanned news coverage for decades.

Cafeteria Christian...

For those of you who may not know, Cafeteria Christianity is a derogatory term used by some to accuse other Christian individuals or denominations of selecting which doctrines they will follow, and which they wont. A recent conversation about this very idea got me to thinking about what cafeteria line I'm standing in.

My family is heterogeneous when it comes to religion. My father was brought up and educated in the catholic system. My mother was brought up in a Presbyterian household. So my sister was born and baptized Catholic. I however was baptized Presbyterian, in what has been described to me as the coolest ceremony ever preformed by a foreign minister visiting the church that month. Yeah, riddle me that.

Anyway, I have had multiple conversations with both my parents about their religious upbringings. My father has not attended church since, I don't even know when, but he used the hood of his jacket to hide his eyes multiple times during 'The Exorcist". Obviously something about his Catholic background lives within him. My mother will say she was brought up in home that had a strong Christian foundation. Don't lie, don't cheat, don't steal and always treat others the way you would like to be treated. However, in college she was told by a professor that after talking about religious philosophy, hers in particular, he believed she didn't belong anywhere. She was a malleable early twenty something at the time. She doesn't claim any affiliation to this day.

That was the household I was brought up in. Someone who stopped placing any effort in Catholicism married to a person who believed in the fundamental application of Christianity but didn't subscribe to anything specifically. Therefore, my sister and I were baptized two different sects, yet we attended the same Sunday school. The years following Sunday school, if my memory serves me correctly, was empty of religion unless I was in a place of worship for a wedding or a funeral. A white or a black dress is what my religious experience boiled down to as an adult. That is a very slight over dramatization, but for the most part it hasn't played a huge role in my life. I took a World Religions class in college to try and figure out if I did belong anywhere. It just confused me more, and that is partly due to the fact that it is more common than ever to change religious affiliation. To get more generic or more specific. To cast off the teachings of an upbringing to follow your own path. Religious freedom abounds, or so it seems.

When you take that idea and put in the context of a cafeteria line, religion is much more Central Park West than General hospital, if you know what I mean. It is like politics. Nowadays you can be the daughter of a right wing nut job and have a baby out of wedlock. You can be a staunch environmentalist but lobby for factory farming. In the case of religion, you can be Catholic and divorced multiple times. You can be Buddhist and a billionaire. You can be atheist and hate the song Imagine. It seems that anything goes, or at least is possible in a country that boasts of religious freedom. I know the indoctrinated children from 'Jesus Camp' would disagree, bless their hearts, but there are two sides to every conversation. When it comes to religion I would argue there are many more than two.

Here is mine. I once thought that religion was the opiate of the masses. That faith was something people followed blindly. It is part of the reason, as a young adult I rallied so hard against it. I used to think that I was special because I thought religious texts were just really amazing sagas, written to quell or swell the fears of mere mortals. I thought I was outward thinking if I only entertained the idea of six commandants and filled in the remaining slots with Siddhartha's four sights. That as a woman, religion was created to hold me down and therefore was something to be reckoned with. So young. So self-indulgent.

In my experience the majority of people I know are in a line at The Religion Cafeteria. In my expeirence, most people are just like me, but different. I have friends in the Catholic line, the Latter Day Saints line, the Juddiasm line, the Wiccan line and of course standing in front of the consistently empty chafers of the Atheist line. They are picking and choosing what to put on their plate and subsequently swallow, just like me.

Everyone has a different palate, and can only consume so much of any given doctrine. I'll have a serving of Halakha, with a side of The Principle and some Christian Fundamentalism for dessert. I know it isn't as simple as fusion cuisine, but I can tell someone I am agnostic and that is the end of the conversation. It is not even close to a derogatory term. A word was created in the mid 19th century for people like me, so I could confidently express a religious unaffiliation and not necessarily be judged (again the 'Jesus Camp' kids come to mind) for it.

I'm still not sure of what I believe entirely, and I am not sure that I ever will, but what I do know is that my taste changes depending on the subject and even that ebbs and flows. I am at the cafeteria but even then I would jump lines. I would mix creeds and wash it all down with a healthy glass of apprehension. Maybe that means I have no faith in faith, or perhaps I am still struggling with the idea that I have no faith at all.

I don't know. But I do know if there is a line for people like me, I sure hope Chris Farley is behind the glass with a hair net slinging dogma along with a huge helping of comedic relief because everyone needs a good sense of humor to have this conversation.

Goodness, now I'm hungry.

Resigning my family title...

It is an odd sensation when at 25 you are experiencing tinges of jealousy, at having lost the title of 'baby of the family'.

Yes that is right, I said jealousy. I mean, come on, I was the baby in my family for 25 years of my life. Giving up the spotlight is difficult when you've held and ROCKED the title for that long. But alas, my cousin had a baby, and my reign came to a close.

Yes I realize how awful that sounds. However, my selfishness is not the point of this post.

I now, after a recent extended family vacation am happy to report that jubilation beats jealousy every time. This little boy invigorates the older generations in my family in a way that their own children haven't been able to in years. It is an interesting thing when the youngest generation reaches adulthood and how a family's dynamic can change. To see my cousin, only a few years older than me, take on the role of a father. To see my grandfather become a great grandfather. It is strange.

The vacation traditions change but they stay the same. We still golf, we still play card bingo, we still make dinner. The conversations however, have changed from high school basketball games to babies. Salaries instead of summer camp. Home renovations over relationship statuses. Somewhere along the way the 'kids' grew up. It was inevitable. But now, there is a little one running around, and the traditions that I can only pull up from other people's recollections are happening right in front of me. The 'when you were little stories' are now playing out in real time. The horse rides my grandfather gave me as a two year old are reenacted as if I am watching a moving picture. My mother on her hands and knees playing peek-a-boo. The inflections in my grandmother's voice when she asks him a question, rings eerily familiar in my own ears. The silly faces my father makes. The worry my aunt cannot hide when play gets a little rough. All these things have an once removed element of déjà vu.

It is peculiar to observe the grandparents and parents go through the motions of what I can only assume was mine, my sister and my cousins childhoods. It is nostalgic. It is energizing in a way. To see what they must have been like with us. To see what they are like with him. It is the circle of life through the lens of a family. It is pretty extraordinary to see.

I can say, in all honesty, that I am glad to be among the adults in the family. I will find my role in this new group soon enough. But before I do I have to say, because it would be uncharacteristic if I didn't, that every baby will be welcomed into the family knowing full well that they have very big shoes to fill. Size eight and half to be exact.

Water from the sky...

And I am not talking about rain.

If you live in a city, you have undoubtedly experienced the mystery that is random water falling from the sky.

It isn't at all reminiscent of getting slimed on Double Dare. No, that is just the window washer on the 27th floor who has bad eye-hand coordination. Be careful, the bucket usually follows.

No, I am talking about the fine mist that conjures memories of the first moments of a cool summer shower. However, when examined further there seems to be no point of origin. It also comes and goes as it pleases. It is not consistent. It is almost like a mirage. It is over before you know it and it leaves you wondering if it was real.

Where does this mystery condensation come from? What is it? Is there meaning behind it? Is something from above trying to tell us something?

There is something oddly intriguing about, but when I let my mind wander it goes to a disturbing place.

If anyone has answers, please let me know.

Don't Buy That Shirt...

Here is my belated second entry. Fashion faux pas of the week.

Puka shell necklaces.

What up bro? Where did you get that sweet, double strand puka shell choker bro? Bro? Did you just get back from riding some surf or perhaps just revisiting 1992?

Seriously, I have never understood this fad, except for when I was in the islands, where it isn't a fad. In Hawaii, the wearing of puka shells was traditionally thought to ensure a peaceful and safe voyage, especially for sailors on a long journey, so puka shell necklaces were especially worn by those who had to travel at sea.

Someone should tell that to the 30 something man riding my morning bus. He didn't just have one ring of puka shells around his neck he had three. Count em. One. Two. Three. Each getting closer and closer to pushing the 'few extra pounds' up around his face, like a Shar-Pei whose collar is a few notches too tight. It was disturbing but I couldn't look away. I wondered if they were stuck on. Perhaps the clasps had rusted through to the point of impenetrability. Maybe they are the shackles he wears to remind him of his contrite and miscalculated past. I guess I will never know.

I'd like to believe that the Hawaiian snail shells, in the context of a fratastic 19 year old who has buried his puka within the folds of his popped collars would be better. My intuition, however, screams otherwise.

For the love of...

As a former resident of the great state of Minnesota, I have to say what a bunch of babies.

They said how ridiculous we acted when Brett decided to retire from the Pack, then un-retire, then retire, then un-retire, then retire, then un-retire...THEN go play for the Jets, then retire, then un-retire to play for the VIKINGS!!!! Everyone remembers how ridiculous they said we acted, right?

Okay Minnesota, he said he was coming and then he said he wasn't. But then he DID and he played for you and sure while he had a heck of a season, it culminated in an amazingly poor pass decision by the Brett that Packer fans know and for some still love. Had to mention that it puts a smile on my face.

Now he is saying after ankle surgery (poor baby) that he may not come back and EVERYONE in the entire state of Minnesota is crying??? Jimney Crickets...this kind of reaction after only 1 season??? I think Minnesota's reaction should be staggeringly different form the reaction of a state full of fans that cheered him on through thick and through thin for 17 seasons ...wouldn't you agree?

I hope all the criticisms, and reprimands, and taunts and heckles...I hope all of the words those Viking fans are just starting to swallow get stuck in their throats like a HUGE CHUNK OF CHEDDAR CHEESE.

SKOL THIS YOU INFANTS!!!!!!!

In case you are ever in need of a good insult.

http://jezebel.com/5577719/100-greatest-movie-insults-of-all-time

I was a little worried Sandlot wasn't going to make it in there...but this did not disappoint.

Romance per Brigance.

Over the years I have had a lot of conversations about the men I date, the men I want to date or the men I like spending time with. My father, for example, has been a willing sparring partner when it comes to this particular topic. This is not out of the ordinary for a father who has gone through two daughter's worth of prime dating years. I mean he never polished shotguns in the living room waiting for me to come home, but we have butted heads about some of my choices. I know he always has my best interest at heart at the end of the day and that he just wants me to he happy. However lately, some of those conversations, from my teens to my twenties, got me thinking.

Have you ever seen the movie 'A Time to kill'? Well for this entry I hope you have because otherwise you may not get the reference.

Close your eyes. Okay, well you can't read this if you do that, so imagine you are closing your eyes. Now picture a Midwestern girl in her twenties. No. Picture a daughter of a daughter of a farmer's daughter wandering the city streets of Chicago. Now imagine that she is looking for someone to compliment the woman she is and the life she lives. Imagine her wanting someone who is confident and has the ability to communicate. Someone who can express emotion and physical affection. A guy who wants to show her off, who wants to take her out, who speaks about her like she is something to be proud of. Someone who is successful and who isn't afraid to talk about the future, whatever that future may be. A guy who is willing to ask what she wants and expect the same in return.

Now imagine what that guy looks like. now imagine he is Black....or Pacific Islander, or Asian or Latino.

Does that make any of the qualities aforementioned less important? Does it make this imaginary couple somehow less legitimate?

Let me digress for a moment just to say that my father is an amazing, caring, nurturing man, and in this particular case I am using him ONLY as an example of someone I have talked to about this topic. It's not like he is a member of White Pride. Hell, he isn't even a Republican. I am using him in this instance because he is my father and more than others has an investment in person. I will spend the rest of my life with. Now back to my point.

Spending the majority of my adult life in diverse areas has made diverse couples part of the norm. I don't see it as an issue the way others might. If I am ever lucky enough to find a guy who demonstrates the qualities mentioned above, I'd be happy just having found him. I know those who genuinely care about me will be as well and that includes my father.

GleeKed Out...

After last night's Glee Live at the Rosemont theatre I am walking around today in a hazy afterglow. The kind of afterglow that would make Sue Sylvester say something like...

"I'm going to ask you to smell your armpits. That's the smell of failure, and it's stinking up my office."

But I just can't help it. Hearing Kurt's crystal clear soprano made me believe, much like Brittany, that he could be mine one day. Watching Finn stumble his way around the stage proving his charm with every determined step made me giddy. Listening to Mercedes voice run a marathon in almost every song was moving. It all made me feel like I was defying gravity. Even a non Gleek, my mother, likened the experience to the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. There were times when the screaming fans drown out the sound of New Directions. It was pandemonium and I was in the thick of it.

Seeing it live may have been a mistake, because what was once just a deep love and devotion, is now a full blown obsession. I have been singing mash-ups in my head all day. I can see everybody's halo because I AM walking on sunshine. So much so, that I had to plan a special luncheon with a fellow Gleek just so I could process out loud just how much I love the show, Kurt, the concept, the music, the social commentary, Kurt, the Broadway nods, the high school memories and of course Kurt. It is a night that will stay with me much like the many immortal words of Sue Sylvester.

She once said, "I can't wait to start singing and dancing and maybe even putting on the Ritz a little bit."

I couldn't agree more. Listening to the cast sing and watching them dance just made me want to join in. It was unadulterated and euphoric. It was a feeling, well a feeling that baby I just can't fight anymore.

I am a GLEEK for LIFE!!!!

Encore, Encore.

Alright people, if you missed Betty White's historical performance on Saturday Night Live, first of all you are an idiot. Secondly, she was a real class act. A five star entertainer. Sure they had her tell the same joke every sketch...but if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Plus, the return of the women of SNL was a welcome addition. Maya Rudolph and her Whitney impression. Even Rachel Dratch in CSI Saratoga. Sure, it was a stupid sketch but seeing her again reminded me of the Welshly Arms skit with Drew Barrymore and Jimmy Fallon. Loooovvvvaaahhh. God I miss when SNL was consistently good.

I digress, like I always do. Back to Betty.

In Ms. White's monologue, she thanked Facebook for it's integral part in getting her on the show. So, I decided that we, as the citizens of the United States of America, should start the next campaign to get another lovely woman of a certain age to host the show. In fact, this lady has so much in common with Betty White that I think it is a natural progression for Lorne Micheals to consider her in the 2011 season. Ladies and gentleman, I give you the wonderful, talented and old Elaine Stritch. If Betty can do it, so can she and here are the facts of my case.


Betty White was born in 1922
Elaine Stritch was born 1926.

Both lived through a World War.

Both were born in the Midwest.

They both have old time radio show chops.

They both started on the stage. Elaine on Broadway and Betty at the Bliss Hayden Little Theatre.

They both debuted on television in 1949. They both have played title and cameo characters since then including roles on the Cosby Show, Boston Legal, Oz and of course Golden Girls. In fact, Elaine was supposed to be on that show but she blew her audition to play Dorthy Zbornak. God bless Bea Arthur, but I have to say that would have been great casting as well.

They are both Emmy Award winners.

They've both done terrible movies. Sorry Betty but Lake Placid??? Elaine, come on. Monster-in-Law??? In the words of Amy and Seth... REALLY???!!????

They've both done Soap Opera work.

And most importantly they both have recently made their way back into the hearts and minds of pop culture fanatics. Those who love late night television, know that Betty White had staring segments on both Jay Leno and Craig Ferguson's shows. This allowed the actress best known for playing the passive and more than absent minded Rose Nyland to reintroduce herself as a comedienne of vintage age with a modern mouth.

On top of reoccurring roles in HBO's OZ and on the ever changing cast of Law and Order, those who love the award winning 30 Rock know Elaine Stritch best as Colleen Donaghy. She is the loud, obnoxious, pushy, pot-stirrer of a mother Alec Baldwin deals with on a weekly basis.

I mean the similarities are almost endless. Like the assassins of Abraham Lincoln and JFK. It is scary. So, though she is 4 years more sprightly than the lovely Betty White, I think Elaine deserves a shot at the stage that has been lucky enough to be under the feet of Steve Martin, Nancy Kerrigan, Al Gore and Charleton Heston. I mean Elaine would wipe the floor with Nancy Kerrigan. She is a trained actress for gosh sakes. So here is my plea. Elaine Stritch for SNL in 2011. Hell have her co-host with Alec. Steve Martin did it.

Ourselves facing history...and what happens when we do.

I was lucky enough to attend a Facing History and Ourselves event recently and although I wanted to attend to see Dave Eggers speak, by the end of the event the mission of this organization and the passion with which its members speak is what really inspired me. I come from a family that was and is comprised of multiple generations of teachers so Facing History and Ourselves really spoke to me. If you haven't heard of them you have to check it out. The work they have and are continuing to do is awe-inspiring and often jaw-dropping.

For example, at the event they spoke about bring a curriculum to both Ireland and Northern Ireland that addressed the historical information of both Catholics and Protestants in the country. It blew my mind, and maybe I am naive, that they weren't already teaching accurate historical accounts to the children and students attending the Ireland's schools. In this case, they are addressing intolerance where it begins, perhaps even before it begins. They are actively trying to change the way youth of an entire country feel about each other. To me, that was amazing.

If this sounds interesting to you at all you should check them out at:

http://www.facinghistory.org/

Here is their mission, just to give you a better idea.

Facing History and Ourselves delivers classroom strategies, resources and lessons that inspire young people to take responsibility for their world. Internationally recognized for our quality and effectiveness, Facing History harnesses the power of the Internet and partners with school systems, universities and ministries of education worldwide.

Each year we reach more than 1.9 million students through our global network of more than 28,000 trained educators, staff, adjunct faculty and international fellows facilitate hundreds of seminars and workshops annually, and we reach the public through community events and extensive online resources. In 2008, the Facing History and Ourselves website received more than 700,000 visits from people in 215 countries.

At the heart of our work is the resource book Facing History and Ourselves: Holocaust and Human Behavior, which explores the consequences of hatred. Students all over the world learn to recognize bigotry and indifference. They also meet exemplars of courage and compassion in the face of injustice and see that their own daily choices can have major impacts and perhaps even be a critical link to a safer future.

Facing History's work is based on the premise that we need to — and can— teach civic responsibility, tolerance, and social action to young people, as a way of fostering moral adulthood. If we do not educate students for dignity and equity, then we have failed both them and ourselves.

We believe that students are moral philosophers who are able and willing to think about tough moral and ethical dilemmas in surprisingly sophisticated ways. Our materials and our approach help students with a wide range of abilities and learning styles understand that their choices and actions matter, and that young people can, and should, be agents of change. We provide teachers with the tools they need to educate students so that they can act on their knowledge.

"The Moth" Affect

A few months back I had the pleasure of attending my first "Moth" event at Martyrs in Chicago. For those of you who don't know, the Moth is a non-profit storytelling organization that curates sections of the NPR show "This American Life," as well as "The Moth" podcast. It started in New York City but The Moth made its way across the country and into my life.

If you have never heard of this organization, program or podcast I strongly suggest you check it out. There is everything from the heartfelt to the hilarious. From the well told to word vomit. Really there is something for everyone. That night at 10pm a man got up and told a story about a fellow scout at Boy Scout Camp carving a wooden dick for his girlfriend. I have never laughed so hard in my life. Not because the story was filled with sophomoric jokes, but because this man wove such an interesting and intelligent, witty and winsome story about this little boy and his wooden dick that I couldn't help but cheer when he won the MothSLAM.

It made me wonder why I hadn't done it. It made me aware of common charisma. It made me think about what story I would've told. It made me realize the power of words. It was inspiring. It was a unique experience in Chicago that I won't soon forget. I laughed. I teared up. I rolled my eyes. I was embarrassed to be a woman. I was embarrassed for men. I was filled all these emotions. I was not surprised but overcome by the fact that all these feelings were created, at the simplest level, by words. The intensity, the passion, the truth. Words can change lives. I know the quotes is "Actions speak louder than words", but there are times when I couldn't disagree more. This realization has continued to affect me since, and will continue in another post, but until then I leave you with some more info about "The Moth".

Check it out here. http://www.themoth.org

What is The Moth?

The Moth, a not-for-profit storytelling organization, was founded in New York in 1997 by poet and novelist George Dawes Green, who wanted to recreate in New York the feeling of sultry summer evenings on his native St. Simon's Island, Georgia, where he and a small circle of friends would gather to spin spellbinding tales on his friend Wanda's porch. After moving to New York, George missed the sense of connection he had felt sharing stories with his friends back home, and he decided to invite a few friends over to his New York apartment to tell and hear stories. Thus the first "Moth" evening took place in his living room. Word of these captivating story nights quickly spread, and The Moth moved to bigger venues in New York. Today, The Moth conducts eight ongoing programs and has brought more than 3,000 live stories to over 100,000 audience members.

Why "The Moth"?

The screen around Wanda's porch had a hole where moths would flutter in and get trapped in the light. Similarly, George and his friends found that the characters in their best stories would often find themselves drawn to some bright light—of adventure, ambition, knowledge—but then find themselves burned or trapped, leaving them with some essential conflict to face before the story could reach its conclusion. So George and his original group of storytellers called themselves "The Moths". George took the name with him to New York, where he hoped that New Yorkers, too, would find themselves drawn to storytelling as moths to a flame. They did. With no advertising, through sheer word of mouth, every show to date has sold out in 48 hours or less.

No children for you...

Most women on the planet can get pregnant. Infertility only affects about 12% of couples that are considered of 'childbearing age', whatever that means. That is a infinitesimal number consider the amount of people having kids these days. However, those women are still referred to as barren. According to the dictionary, barren is defined as showing no results or achievements, unproductive; bleak and lifeless or empty of meaning or value. Yikes ladies, we better hope we don't have any fertility issues, because apparently that renders us less valuable just by the nature of the word.

I don't get it. Sure, back in the day when queens were required to produce a male heir, a woman who couldn't produce was a 'problem'. But now a days is that still really the way women who can't have children should feel? Hell, adoption is en vogue now, so with those kinds of possibilities, is an uncooperative uterus or a pair of flippant ovaries a situation still punishable by shame and ridicule?

I guess part of the reason is the fact that for some women, no matter how much time passes or how far the pendulum shifts, it seems they've not reached their full potential until they're a mother. I don't think there is anything wrong with that, I just wonder if there will ever be a time when there will be no stigma attached to women who are barren. Or who I like to refer to, just for laughs, as productively challenged.

Don't Buy That Shirt

My mother taught me early on how to dress for my body type, which is much more Marilyn than Moss. I remember as early as 6th grade, having a sit down with her about what is and isn't acceptable to wear.

"Other girls your age may be able to wear what is trendy right now sweetie, but short skirts and tight tops are not going to get you the right kind of attention."

I remember thinking she was wrong and that was exactly the kind of attention I wanted even in 6th grade. Sick. But she was right in the end and I have her to thank for every compliment I have gotten as a both a young lady and a young woman (even though if you ask me I was a young woman long before a lot of my friends were, if you know what I am saying. And I think you do.)

However, her chastising paid off. I have received remarks from men and women of all ages that I really know how to "present myself". That I really know how to "put an outfit, and myself together." Okay so no toddlers are saying this stuff to me because they don't know what putting myself together means, but you get the idea.

Where am I going with this? Well after being told this yet again from a friend of mine and her friends at her birthday party, we decided that I can call myself a "self-proclaimed fashion expert", and should then be able to comment in the webisphere about the apparel choices of others. At the back booth of Glascott's this new segment to my blog was born and it is called...

Don't Buy That Shirt

It will appear sporadically here and there as colorful commentary on the state of fashion specifically in the Midwest and less specifically the world. I hope you are looking forward to it as much as I am.

Taffy Factory

Did you know that a "taffy factory" is a name you can use for any kitschy place you go to. Any place at all. I for one immediately think of 2/3rds of the places you pay to go in Wisconsin Dells, but that is because of my personal experience in that place.

A friend of mine introduced me to this term and I fell in love with it. It is up there with "candy store" for liquor store and...well I guess that is the only equivalent I can think of. But I love it. I love words in general that stand for something else...especially ones that other people or the general public don't know about.

For example,

Nammers.
Tuls.
Happysuck.
Crunk Monster.
and others that have been made up over the years by my sister and I.

Please add any that you can think of.

An education, in Las Vegas.

Things I learned on my first trip to Las Vegas.

1) Anything is possible, literally anything.

2) Girls, we look really stupid wearing 4-12 inch heels when we are trying to walk somewhere intoxicated.

3) In fact we look stupid in 4 - 12 inch heels trying to walk anywhere further than the length of a catwalk

4) I have the highest arches in my family and cannot walk 16 miles in two days. It results in a 26 year old body that looks like it needs a walker. Thanks to The Walking Company for fixing that little problem.

5) Men will pay for sex, and have no qualms about it. It doesn't even have to be a private exchange. Side note: Roger you are GROSS!!!

6) I understand how people lose their entire life savings in that city. It is too easy to get hooked on winning. I will never understand runner's high but I do understand winner's high.

7) My mother is lucky. She just puts out a positive energy into the world and it comes back to her in Vegas.

8) My sister could have been a clown in Cirque de Soleil

9) Las Vegas is the perfect place to inflate your self-esteem. Seems contradictory right? The thing is, as a woman you WILL get hit on no matter what and there WILL be at least 25 people in the same room at any given time that look worse than you, even after getting caught in the rain. Double BONUS!!!

10) You can be a star, just find a karaoke bar that pumps it's AV system onto the strip.

11) My mom is a Cougar. A man her age told her that though, so it was a bit confusing. Maybe he wanted to set her up with his son??

12) Nobody laughs as much as my mom, her sister, me and my sister. Seriously, we got dirty looks for how much we were laughing.

13) Officers are gentlemen, especially if they are in the British Air Force and Army.

14) There are plenty of beautiful women that are 100% natural.

15) White guys CAN dance.

16) Play some Michael Jackson and even the old ladies in the back will clap.

17) Wedding rings are often just for show, they don't really seem to stop anyone from doing anything.

18) High roller rooms and high stakes poker are mostly inhabited by business men from the far east. Not just in movies.

19) The dollar is worth shit.

20) You can literally bet on anything, down to the designer a star is wearing at the Oscars. Way to go Hurt Locker!

21) Sleep is extremely underrated. You shouldn't do a lot of it while you are in Vegas, but if you don't give yourself proper time to recuperate from the trip you will maintain a certain level of deadness in your brain.

22) Everyone is friendly, even if you can't believe a word that comes out of there mouth.

23) James at Mandalay Bay, I love you.

24) If I could dance my way through life I would be happy.

25) Buffet, buffet, buffet. When you walk over 40 miles in three days, you can eat whatever the hell you want.

26) Pregnant women should not have to serve drinks on casino floors. There is smoke and those outfits aren't made to fit someone with a bun in the oven, plus I felt bad for her, which made me not want to order a drink from her. I wanted her to ask her boss if she could go home early.

27) If you hold hands with your sister while walking the strip, most people will think you are lesbians.

28) Mohawks, not fauxhawks, but Mohawks are still really really in.

29) Life is all about fun. Not even a recession will keep people away.

30) I am sure women pay for sex too, I just didn't see it. We didn't go to Thunder from Down Under show because my mom and my sister said it sucked. :)

31) I am already excited to go back in June for Keely's wedding...even though I have to say I will have a completely different approach for round 2.

Swagger...version BETA.

I have to say the man who invented swagger, like the way Soulja Boy talks about it today is none other than the King of Pop, Michael Jackson.

Case and point is in the following video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBHjxjGlkMo

Now I don't know about you, but the way he moves not only in his signature pops, locks, and spins... but the way he follows that woman around. He's like a predator. He's got SWAGGER to spare. Look at his face when he is singing to the girl when she is in the alley. That face is all attitude, all confidence. It makes me smile. I guess I should mention that Moon Walker was my favorite movie when I was 7 years old, but that isn't really a factor in my decision.

Urban Dictionary defines swagger as follows: a person's style- they way they walk, talk, dress. He even sings about it in his own song for Pete's sake. Therefore, I think Michael Jackson from this day forward, postmortem should also be called. The King of Swagger.

Is it a habit???

I am perplexed by people who talk with their hands when they are on the phone. It is a phenomenon that I just don't understand. I am sure I probably talk with my hands, but not excessively. I am not one of those people who feels I'm not truly expressing myself unless I have hand signals to go with my words. I have met people who completely disagree with me, and I do agree that a well placed hand motion at the right moment can make all the difference, but not when you are on the phone.

Whoever you're talking to can't see you shrug your shoulders, or wave your hands in the air (which came dangerously close to clocking me in the face, by the way). You aren't making your point stronger or gaining sympathy with your pointing and your clapping. You look foolish and whatever your motivation for using your hands is lost on the person on the other end of the line. They are blind to your wild gesticulations and over the top body language. Hint: they call it body language because the person has to actually be able see it. So make your faces if that helps you sound more serious, more confused or more elated. But doing the wave to emphasize your excitement makes me think you either don't understand the fundamental technology behind a telephone, or you've got some crazy Tourettes-like body tic.

A faux academic argument...

I recently read an article in Women's Health titled "Is The Alpha Male In Danger Of Extinction?” While I was reading it I found myself physically shaking my head in agreement. I felt like I was reading a transcript of past conversations I have had in my head (don't act like you've never done it). While my mind digested paragraph after paragraph, my mouth filled with an acrid metallic taste. I believe it was the physical translation of feeling bitter. I guess there literally is such a thing as a bitter aftertaste. Who knew?

I could tell the author had talked to professionals, possibly only the kind to reinforce his own point of view, on the topic of the male gender role in today's society. But, I also felt like he had a chip inside my brain and someone, somewhere was dictating what I've thought or heard in my post-pubescent cerebral cortex. It was like reading a dictation of female opinions that I have agreed with, supported, challenged and cried through. When I finished reading it I made a mental note. 'Tomorrow look up that Atlantic article that had upset my friends and I a few years back.' I was too exhausted to do this kind of mental exercise at 12:30 a.m., but here I am weeks later and I'm still thinking about it. So I looked it up.

"Marry Him!" ran in The Atlantic Monthly magazine in 2008 and a much savvier, sophisticated friend of mine posted it on her Facebook page. What followed her post can only be described as Internet assault. My inbox exploded with responses from her page, and my head exploded with a knee-to-the-groin reaction that would make Gloria Steinem proud. That day it was apparent, feminism is alive and well. After reading it again for the purpose of this blog, I realized my memory brought it back not only because of the similar subject matter, but I remember after reading the Atlantic article I had that same bitter aftertaste but for a different reason.

When taken into consideration the author of the articles, the publication and the audiences of both, there are obvious differences to consider. A 40-year-old single mother, making a case for ‘settling’ for a man, wrote one. The other written by a man, who I believe is in his 30's, wrote about the current state of male gender roles in today's society. With that I give you a little taste of both.

"Marry Him!" is full of statements that would make any single girl ponder her current relationship status or lack there of. For example:

"Despite growing up in an era when the centuries-old mantra to get married young was finally (and, it seemed, refreshingly) replaced by encouragement to postpone that milestone (marriage) in pursuit of high ideals (education! career! but also true love!), every woman I know - no matter how successful and ambitions, how financially and emotionally secure - feels panic, occasionally coupled with desperation, if she hits 30 and finds herself unmarried."

True. True. True. As my friends and I get closer to 30, there is this unspoken countdown to judgment day. Everyone is holding their breath, not everyday all day, but moments of anxiety bind us together.

"I used to listen each week to the litany of unrelenting complaints about people's husbands and feel pretty good about my decision to hold out for the right guy, only to realize that these women wouldn't trade places with me for a second, no matter how dull their marriages might be or how desperately they might long for a different husband. They, like me, would rather feel alone in a marriage than actually be alone..."

Because, there is nothing worse than being alone. Right?

"That authors often resort to flattery, telling the reader to remember how fabulous, attractive, charming, and intelligent she is, in hopes that she'll project a more confident vibe on dates. In my case though, the flattery backfired. I read these books thinking. Wait, if I'm such a great catch, why should I settle for anyone less than my equal? If I'm so fabulous, don't I deserve true romantic connection?"

I believe my mother, my sister, my girlfriends, hell even my guy friends have said this to me. Not to mention the voice in my head that the author describes. I'm awesome...and single.

This article basically reads as a mother figure reading a fable to the women of the generations that have come after her. With wisdom in her voice, and sadness in her eyes it's as if she has changed the message from the motherly "because I said so" to the cautious "don't say I didn't warn you".

"Is the Alpha Male in Danger of Extinction?" is full of information that also makes any single girl ponder about her relationship status or again, the lack there of.

"Right now, a woman's chances of finding a man who is as educated and financially secure as she is are small and, according to recent studies, dwindling. Women earn a greater share of high school diplomas as well as associate's, bachelor's, master's and doctoral degrees. Significantly fewer men enroll in college than women, and an even smaller percentage graduate."

C'mon Spice Girls, sing it with me....Just girl power is all we need

"Those statistics suggest that men are both lazy and quitters, bringing to mind recent pop-culture depictions of dudes enjoying a prolonged adolescence of beer and PlayStation 3 marathons -- think Knocked Up and numerous other Judd Apatow and Seth Rogan films -- and freeloading off Mom and Dad (even before this recession, twice as many men as women ages 24 - 34 were living with their parents)."

"Indeed, should the trend toward the female-centric society continue -- and all indicators point in that direction -- many more women, as an unintended consequence of their success, may need to recalibrate their expectations of their long-term partners."

So, if we change our expectations, then everything will be alright? Doubt it.

This article reads as a guy who is treading lightly on a subject that no woman or man for that matter wants to talk about. No guy wants to hear he is being emasculated without his consent. Not girl wants to hear that self-investment will lead to singledom. However, he presents these as facts, and supports them as such. Not a whole lot to argue with there.

I have read both of these articles, what is written above are snapshots of the material. I strongly suggest everyone read both, if for no other reason than we should all read more. The purpose of this post for me is only to get these thoughts out so they can stop bouncing around in my brain. I am not a proponent of settling, but after reading "Marry Him" there are certain things, despite my best efforts, that I agreed with. I currently have two bachelors, a vocational master's, a career and no male prospects. I am one of the women that "Is the Alpha Male in Danger of Extinction?" is talking about. So, I find myself between a rock and a hard place.

"The dream, like that of our mothers and their mothers from time immemorial, was to fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after."

That dream is alive and well in me. I am a hopeless romantic. Thanks a lot Disney.

"The two sexes going in opposite directions has led to an epidemic of professional women missing out on husbands and kids."

Like the Jefferson's, I am moving on up, and because I am, there is a greater chance of never getting a ring on it, however, not for the reason that either of these authors mention. I believe it's a melding of the two. It's what I deduced for myself after reading them both. If I want to get married and have a family I will probably have to settle, because God knows I am not going to start dumbing it down. I am however willing to recalibrate my expectations like suggested, and realize that being alone is worse than being with Mr. Not-So-Right (domestic violence not included). However, I can't settle for what seems to be out there right now. I can only speak from my own experience, but I feel like the word settling wouldn't even do it justice if I were to marry one of the early to mid 3o's men who might be living with their parents, or completely void of ambition, or lack any follow through, or assume that at 26 I am already desperate enough to let them speak to me, or treat me in a way that would make their mother's blush (hopefully). I am comfortable with being successful and if that means I am the breadwinner in a relationship, that's cool. Finding a guy who's cool with that is another story. Basically what I am trying to say is, that like Gigi (He's Just Not That Into You) I haven't given up hope. I know there are plenty of men out there that don't fit the description mentioned above, but with the gender role shift, and the biology of being a woman I am finding dating hard enough. Who knows if I will even get to the point where I can entertain the idea of settling.

Morning Breakfast.

The agency I work for, when vying for the Humane Society account, decided it would go big or go home during the pitch. The results were dogs in our office. Four people in the agency, now three since one moved away, adopted dogs from the Humane Society, and the proceeded to bring them to work everyday. Teams were created to help with walking them, cleaning up after them and dog sitting if the owner was going to be out of town for a weekend. I think it is great and honestly, I love seeing them at work. It reminds me that I work in an advertising agency, not some big corporate hum-drum that would never allow such a thing.

However, I have to say when I am walking down to the cafeteria to get my breakfast and pass two pups on the floor below, the last thing I want to see is one of them taking a dump and the other one eating it. I mean I am sure they are just as hungry as I am at 9 a.m. and they just want some grub...but that is enough to make this girl...almost...lose her appetite.

Big Waxing Sale.

I was on my way to meet some friends for dinner and a movie the other night, so I was taking a different route than my usual. I walked to the bus stop on Clark, and stood waiting for the next bus to arrive. Since it was a new environment for me, I took in the cross streets and the businesses around me. One window in particular caught my eye. It was a nail salon that also provided waxing services. The only reason I know this is because one of the windows had a large sign hanging. There were three words on it.

'Big Waxing Sale'.

Now, I don't know about you, but as a female, WTF was the first thing that went through my head. As a former salon employee the second thing that went through my head was, did you order too much wax and now are trying to use it before it goes bad. Or has it already gone bad and you know that the results of waxing with are going to be so catastrophic that you want to get as much money in the door as you can before the man comes to close you down??? Or maybe someone was afraid the wax was going to take over the store like the blob.

Maybe it was advertising snobbery that turned me off, or perhaps it's the fact that those three words should never go together in the same sentence, if you can even call it that. Either way, it made me curious, but not enough to ever step into an establishment that would put that sign in the window.

Sleeping Beauty...

Tempur-Pedic successfully showcases the benefits of their products through advertising and testimonials. The wine glass, with the woman jumping on the bed, proving a restless partner won't ruin your sleep. The contour technology that conforms precisely to your exact body shape, giving you a hugging sensation as you fall asleep. Although these things are very attractive for someone who uses their bed for only for sleeping, I have to say these attributes make the bed unattractive for other things.

For example, if you have a partner who is a heavy sleeper. How are you supposed to shake them out of a night terror if you can't get their body to move from it's mattress encasing? If you have kids and they like waking you up by jumping on the bed, how fun is it going to be for them if they can't rouse you with a round of double dutch on the four-poster? Or let's say it's time to get a little, "business time" if you will, and you want to switch positions or really get the bed rocking. Tempur-Pedic's success rides on the basic idea that you can't easily do either of those things. It stays steady. So when you want the headboard to hit the wall to annoy your neighbors or just for the added effect, it ain't gonna happen. The mattress conforms to the shape of your body. I think it would be tough to rock out of that imprint by yourself, let alone after 15 minutes of the weight of somebody else on top of you.

I am sure that sleeping on a Tempur-Pedic results in a very good night sleep, but it doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun for those who like to do more than that on a mattress.

American Spirited Commitment.

I have a friend who is trying to quit smoking. She recently got some advice from a colleague who was also trying to quit. She told her to start smoking American Spirits. I realize that sounds a little ridiculous, if you want to quit smoking, keep smoking just change cigarettes. The thing is, a lot of people have used this particular tactic.

Apparently, American Spirits have less of the toxins other cigarettes use in tobacco. They also burn a lot slower than your typical cigarette. So while your brain is being slowly weened off some of the toxins you've become addicted to in Marlboros and Camels, you also don't smoke as often because your usual 3-5 minute cig break is now lasting up to 15 minutes. That yellow pack is a serious commitment. You have to commit to that cigarette when you light up because you are going to be spending a lot more time with the stick. The amount of time you spend smoking increases by like 30%. Nobody does anything now a days that takes up MORE time. It just struck me as strange.

Of course, she is still smoking, so who knows how much credibility this hypothesis holds. But one thing is for sure, if you see someone smoking an American Spirit, you know they aren't a commitment-phobic.

Tweeter...

When you post something it's called a Tweet.  So then why isn't the website called Tweeter?  Or vice versa the website is called Twitter, so why isn't a post called a Twit?  I mean a lot of the people on there are in fact twits.  It seems like that would make more sense.

For the record I have an account, so I'm not knocking it...I just think it would be more seamless to pick one word and stick with it.

Don't forget to wash your hands...

I will never understand the signs in public restrooms. Well, not all public restrooms, but specifically the ones that are inside a restaurant or business. You know, the ones that say 'Employees must wash hand before returning to work'. Is it really something only employees must do? I don't think so. It should say 'All self respecting people must wash their hands before returning to their lives'.

And if employees don't what happens? Is there some super secret way of finding out if they did or didn't. Are they black lighting people's hands when they get back behind the counter or on the sales floor? Is there some sort of reprimanding system if an employee is infecting the store with streptococci? I doubt it. It's just another example of sign making companies getting paid to create a sign that doesn't do anything. Like when they passed the conceal and carry law in Minnesota. Signs went up everywhere that stated 'No guns allowed on these premises'. It is a conceal and carry law. I am pretty sure as long as the gun was concealed nobody was getting in trouble for carrying a gun no one else could see.

Oh, and for the record, the disinfectant gel or whatever is not a substitute for washing your hands. I don't care what you say.

The Biggest Hypocrite.

One of the many articles that's been written since Jillian Michaels introduced her line of cleansing, metabolism boosting diet pills, is titled "Shame on You, Jillian Michaels". To be honest, I couldn't agree more.

Jillian went through her own weight issues when she was a little girl and teenager and she worked her tail off to get in the awe-striking shape she is today. Her methodology, her books, her own story is one of eating right, portion control, exercising, hard work, and determination. . Jillian's equation helped not only herself lose weight and keep it off, but others as well. It got her on The Biggest Loser and the show helped her reach the fitness fame she has today. However, by introducing a line of diet pills she is broadcasting hypocrisy in the worst way. In the words of the author of the article aforementioned,

Her Extreme Quickstart rapid weight loss program goes against everything she has ever preached, sold, or screamed in anyone’s face. Instead of preaching behavior change, educated choices and hard work- you can now just take a pill! The program includes a fat burner, a detoxifying cleanse, and an appetite controller. Stimulants, basically. No proven successes and a laundry list of side effects.

Basically, she didn't even create a program with any dietary value. I know that money makes the world go round, and it's the reason for Jessica Simpson touting hair pieces, and Sean "Puffy" Combs having multiple fragrances. In my opinion, these celebrities are better than Jillian because of the stuff they are endorsing. For instance,

1) the products don't go against everything these celebs stand for

2) the products don't come with side effects

3) they don't go on TV every week stand on a soap box and preach hypocrisy

I bought one of her books, and I'm angry I gave her money. She is creating an empire for the American public that has come to expect and crave instant gratification. Take a pill and get skinny. However, what she is doing is more dangerous than the doctors that put on their lab coats and endorse Hydroxycut or SlimQuick. People are already skeptical of diet pills and doctors. Jillian has proven her effectiveness on a weekly show that demonstrates drastic results, and that is without the pills. I can't imagine what would happen if they contestants were given her new line of stimulants. I can only guess they'd be monitored more diligently by the medical staff on set than they already are.

I just think it's wrong and I am ashamed of her. Way to sell out Jillian. You've now joined the laundry list of celebrities and fitness gurus that are getting rich by playing on people's emotions and then ripping them off.

On top of that, you've ruined one of my favorite shows. I just can't look at TBL the same way anymore.

How Can I Help You??

I was in a Barnes & Noble a few weekends ago with a few friends.  One of them parked his car outside and we needed to get his ticket validated for parking. Before we left we got coffee at the B&N Starbucks. While I was waiting at the "pick up" station for my Grande Iced Americano, I asked the lady behind the counter if I could get the ticket validated at their counter.   She looked at me and said, "You can go to customer service to get validation."

As I walked to the "customize your coffee" station, I replayed what she has said. I added my faux sugar, half & half, shook it up and walked away.  Still, what she said kept bouncing around in my brain.    If I needed validation, I could go to customer service.   That got me thinking. Wouldn't it be great if any time I needed a little validation I could walk into any establishment with a customer service desk and just...get it. If this was the case, the world would be a very very different lace.   Less guys entering workout facilities shooting innocent people. Less women dying on account of shady cosmetic surgery.  Fewer people mixing sleep aids and anti-depressants.  I am sure you can add to the list.

In my case, I might have been a less crazy self questioning teenager. I'd be a much more self-assured adult.  I wouldn't have put up with boys who treated me badly, just for the few times they confirmed my existence.  No more diet pills.  Fewer crises of confidence. When in a fight with a friend, I could rely on a third party behind the counter to reinforce my feelings.  Think about it, a storefront that provided the service of giving validation.   Take a number, get some sanity.  You might be the most confident, narcissistic, self-assured person on the plant, but I guarantee you'd travel to a customer service desk every once in a while if they provided even a little bit of reassurance.

Imagine entering through automatic doors, greeted by a service specialist who says, "Hi, how can I help you today?"

You say, "I could use some validation."

They'd say, "Okay great. Where should we start?"

Trump Card Bachelor

A few of my sports savvy and more comedic male friends have a blog. You should check it out. It's attached to my blog.

Jesus is a Republican.

Recently I had the pleasure of hearing one of the many people who worked on the Obama 2008 campaign. He was one of the many masterminds behind the streamlined, obviously very effective Obama marketing, branding, social networking, etc campaign. The best part was after the event. The BOARDS sponsored a "happy hour" and I had a chance to talk to him.

After talking to him for a while I realized it was coming to a close, so before he moved on to the others who wanted to pick his brain I had to ask him one last question. What I asked him, which I am sure was as unoriginal as it sounds, "would you do it again?". He said "absolutely not", and began to walk away. Then he turned around. He looked at me and said very straightforward "I would do it again, but only Jesus decided to run for the Republican party." Then he walked away.

As he did, I thought he should add that line to his speech.

The Theatre, The Theatre...

What's happened to the theatre? Especially where dressing is concerned?? (If you don't know I am quoting Danny Kaye from Rodgers and Hammerstein's White Christmas, with a tweak). I am sort of a theatre nerd.

Seriously though, when did a night at the theatre become interchangeable with a night at the movies, a night at the comedy club, a night you decided to spend at home because you didn't feel like showering or shaving your legs? Recently I had the pleasure to escort a group of friends to the Oriental Theatre in Chicago to see "The Addams Family", now making it's cross country move to Broadway. Let me first say that the show was hilarious. The distinguished Nathan Lane put on a brilliant performance as Gomez, while the brazen and beautiful Bebe Neuwirth played Morticia. The show was hilariously funny and I thought it did the Addams cartoons justice. We had a wonderful time and the Oriental is the most gorgeous I've been to in the city. However, it was hard to focus on the ornate decor, the painstaking attention given to the smallest detail and the excitement of the night. Why you ask?

Well, because there was a guy in front of me, wearing the a five point pentacle around his neck, with his black jeans and his Gothic t-shirt under his ripped flannel shirt. The guy in front of him was wearing a baseball cap and a matching sweatshirt of his favorite NFL team. Listen, I am a psychotic Packer fan and if you have read this blog before you know that I will sport the Green and Gold anywhere...except the THEATRE!!! There was a woman wearing house slippers a few rows below him. Yes, we were in the "nosebleeds", but I still have the expectation that the "nosebleeds" at Wrigley field would be different than at the Oriental.

I may sound like a snob or an elitist, but in this case I don't really care. A night at the theatre, where amazing talents put on a show just for you should require a little more preparedness on your part than say a Wednesday evening spent in front of the television. I think the theatre is one of the few things left in our society that gathers the masses in a more formal setting, and I think it should be treated as such. Put on a pair of black pants, half the time they are more comfortable than jeans anyway. A button up shirt perhaps and it doesn't even have to have a suit coat over it. Wear some shoes that don't have Nike or Puma written across the bottom of them. Yes, I love that theatre has become more accessible to everyone, but treat it with the respect that it deserves. I will forever love being one of the people who gathers in the darkness, all I ask is for those who gather with me to leave the Zoobas at home.