I came across this blog post the other day about going makeup free for a week and had to take a hard look at myself and my habits.
It's not like I look like a cast member of the "Jersey Shore," but I do wear makeup pretty much, oh all right, every day. I even out my skin tone with a light touch of foundation, use my favorite blush by Tarte, curl my eyelashes, use a couple of swipes of mascara, and apply some lipstick and gloss. If I'm going out at night, it gets a little more elaborate with maybe a smokey eye. It's something I don't even think about, it's just part of my lifestyle like flossing and blow drying my hair. What can I say? I enjoy being a girl.
I understand the idea behind going makeup free - embracing your natural beauty and not conforming to societal preconceived ideas of what a woman should look like... I get it. I have some friends who wear no makeup, and some who wear more than me. I have always thought the ultimate goal of feminism should be to allow each of us to be who we are. And for me that means a moderate amount of makeup, quite often some heels and clothes I feel great in.
I don't believe these things minimize who I am any more than they define me. I am smart, ambitious, funny and caring. I just happen to believe looking good and being taken seriously aren't mutually exclusive.
We had some pretty impressive thunderstorms early this morning here on Cape Cod, along with some much needed soaking rains. Because it was so dark I slept in, well for me I slept in - 7:30 isn't exactly the crack of noon.
Tuesday is my Skype day with my daughter in Korea so I got myself into the shower, fed my meowing cats and sat down to sign on and wait to talk with Emma. Only one problem, no Internet connection. I rebooted, I plugged and unplugged my Linksys and modem under my desk, still no connection. At this point I picked up my phone - just as I thought, no dial tone. A curious situation because I'd just been watching Matt Lauer.
After making it through the maze of voicemail at Comcast I finally got Chuck. Chuck I realized thought I had mad tech skills because he was instructing me to do things in my creepy basement with the main modem that I didn't have a clue how to do. And, did I mention my basement seems creepy and I don't like my basement, or any basement?
Since my land line wasn't working and I was on my cell, I immediately lost my lifeline, Chuck, as I descended into the bowels of my home. I was equipped with the requested paperclip and flashlight and could not figure out what the hell he'd told me to do. I sill don't get how in 2010 a paperclip counts as a high-tech tool.
I called my friend Mary Lou who's much more tech-savvy than me. I'm betting a tree stump is more tech savvy than me. She told me what to look for and with the clock ticking on my Skype date I once again went into the cobwebby cellar. I unplugged and replugged, and stuck the end of a paperclip in a tiny hole. And then I ran the hell up the stairs.
I picked up my phone - a dial tone! I had done it! I ran up, signed on to Skype, and proceeded to check my e-mail. At the top of the inbox, an e-mail from Emma. "Sorry, can't Skype today, how about Thursday?"
Well, the morning wasn't a total waste, now I know how to fix a modem with a paperclip. Call me anytime, I am now officially Geek Girl.
All right, I will confess I did not make it through the book version of "Eat Pray Love." I wasn't crazy about Elizabeth Gilbert's voice, and found her a bit cool and unfriendly.
That said, I do believe in the message and overall goal of being true to yourself and seeking happiness.
Yes, the character of Liz Gilbert (and the real life one) was suffering from first world problems. She wasn't being abused, wasn't hungry or in danger, but she felt unsatisfied with her life. I daresay most of us have felt that way at one point or another. Hell, I feel it on a regular basis.
I don't happen to believe that looking for ways to be happier or more complete in your life makes you spoiled, selfish or in any other way defective. I think it makes you alive, clever and aware.
Many reviews have been, well, harsh to say the least, implying it is self-indulgent and who is this woman to complain about her life anyway?
In our rush to judge we seem to believe that unless you're in danger of losing life or limb who are you to complain? I believe we are put here to be happy. Not every minute of course, but to overall have a happy life. And I believe you need to do what you need to do (save destroying others' lives) to make that happen.
Most of us can't or won't take a year to travel, eat, meditate and reflect, but we can, in our own small, personal ways find our own path to happiness.
And what that ends up looking like is completely up to you.
There was an article in the New York Times today about the trials of being a "formerly," a new word for a woman who was once hot, but because age has ravaged her so, apparently, can no longer be labeled as such.
I have sat by while my contemporaries have been called MILFs and cougars, well, I haven't always been silent, but I have let it float by. But today when I read about yet another new label, I thought enough already!
There is a tendency in most of us to want to label which I get. But I've reached a saturation point with how single women are regarded, and I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!
Just because you are no longer twenty-something doesn't mean you aren't beautiful or sexy. I actually like to think that older women are more comfortable in their own skin ergo, are sexier and better partners.
I am not the same woman I was at 25, thank God! I have clarity, a perspective and confidence I didn't have back then. My butt may not be what it used to be, and my stomach, having expanded to grow two big-headed boys doesn't lie quite as flat, but I think I'm still pretty damn good.
I am not formerly anything. I am presently happy, confident, attractive and yes, at times, sexy. I never want to look back and think those were the good old days, these are the best days, and I intend to completely enjoy them, stretch marks and all.
I live on Cape Cod - hence the name, "Candy on the Cape." After the success of "The Jersey Shore," TV executives decided they wanted to keep this cash cow going and come up with a new twist, this is where the seed of, "Wicked Summah" was planted.
I'm a writer who writes about pop culture and entertainment often. I love movies, watch TV and am not some puritanical New Englander. But, I am against this show. I feel it sinks to the lowest common denominator and encourages debauched, classless behavior.
Cape Cod is where my own 20 and 30 something children grew up. Yes of course during the summer lots of folks come here to party, but we're a lot more than that. How about we celebrate the great and inspiring things going on here - the folks doing things to help others and make this a better place to live?
If like me you want to keep the Cape reality TV free, take a second and sign this petition.
"Gilmore Girls" is probably my all-time favorite TV show, and the town of Stars Hollow has always reminded me of where I live.
I live in a very small Cape Cod town. How small is small? Well, we have one traffic light, and it only flashes, it doesn't change. We have a general store that hosts a coffee hour for older gentlemen at the crack of dawn every morning. We have a hardware store, some small markets, (you have to go to another town for a Stop and Shop or Shaw's)a plethora or antique stores, a post office and some banks.
And we have a lot of characters.
Last night I started my evening at a business networking/social event and met some amazing people, like a woman from Champ Homes, an organization that helps homeless people get into secure housing. She was completely inspiring. I had fun talking to some other people, but had planned to sneak out early to go to a local open mic night run by a friend of mine, folk singer, David Roth. I'd planned to go alone, but my friend Diane, an amazing yoga teacher, jumped up and said she'd love to go. So off we went.
As with any open mic night you never know what you're going to get. When we walked in a man was sitting in front of the mic with a guitar and telling the story of a breakup that then led into a very sad song about how once his girlfriend and her Milk Bone eating dog were gone how much he missed her.
After him a group of kids sang a song they'd written with David in a song writing workshop with him about the gift of having a home. Total choking up moment for sure.
Next up was a woman who sang a song she wrote for Chrissie Hynde about how in her mind Chrissie is a lesbian only sleeping with women like Joan Jett. It was actually a pretty catchy tune.
It was jarring however to go from the electric guitar musings of rock and roll lesbianism to an older gentleman and his concertina singing about John Barleycorn. At this point Diane and I began to lose it. Seated in the back of the room we tried to discretely hide our escalating silliness, but it was a challenge. I'd pulled out my ever-present reporters notebook from my bag (I didn't want to forget a moment of this evening) and we began writing notes back and forth like we were in middle school.
"This is a perfect example of the whacked patriarchy that could make a woman lose it for Chrissie Hynde" she wrote about the Barleycorn man.
Or after one particularly not-so-great ditty when she wrote to me, "Can I just say, holy shit?"
The icing on the cake however had to be a semi-pornographic poem one man got up to read about clams. Yes, clams. It was actually pretty clever and by the end I was feeling kind of... hot. And craving melted butter.
As we sat there, trying to be good audience members, a very warm, non-clam related feeling came over me. As I looked around I thought only in a tiny town in New England could you have a evening like this. An evening that registered somewhere between a Dali painting and a sitcom.
In my town we may not have a movie theater, an art museum or even a Starbucks, but hey, we've got folks who write about clams, Chrissie Hynde and even if they can't sing a note are brave enough to get up and give it their all.
I'll be sure to be there the next time, sitting in back and trying to be good, but no matter how amusing some of it is, I love that I live in a place where people can be themselves, no matter how odd that may be.
You could write a book about it. Wait, lots of people have, and we don't seem to any smarter about them, well, I'm sure not.
In theory it doesn't seem like it should be as hard as we make it. Boy meets girl, they have a spark, they like each other, hopefully it grows to more, and everyone lives happily ever after. Ends up, that really is a fairy tale.There's a lot of false starts, broken hearts, misunderstandings and fights along the way.
In this week alone we've watched Kate Winslet split from Sam Mendes and ever more surprisingly, had to watch the public humiliation of Sandra Bullock dealing with the alleged infidelity of her husband, Jesse James. Why is it so hard to love and be loved?
I've spent a lot of time on a lot of couches trying to figure this out. Therapists couches, folks, get your minds out of the gutter. And after reading book after book, every woman's magazine on the planet, interviewing experts and waging my own unsuccessful experiments, I'm no closer to the answer.
I've been reading the book, "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin and happened this week to be reading about love. And I came up with a theory of my own.
In the book she describes a week where she is just nice to her husband all the time. She doesn't question him when he wants to go the the gym when she's really looking for some help with the kids, packs his lunch, does errands for him and is just an all around super nice partner. Sounds great, right?
I believe that you treat people how you wish to be treated. So, I'm nice. I try to be thoughtful, caring, considerate and undemanding. I cut people a pretty wide berth. I have worked hard to learn to respond and not react, I take responsibility for myself and try to not blame others for whatever my lot seems to be.
But there's a downside to this I've discovered. By being so nice all the time and seeing the other person's point of view, being patient and understanding, it's easy to forget your own needs. When that little voice pops up in my head telling me I don't like something, I tend to rationalize it away and find a way to on the surface be okay, but underneath it all, not so much.
I've been told I'm sweet, (which I believe is the female equivalent of being a "nice guy" and we all know how well that usually turns out) and I'm thinking maybe being sweet isn't always such a good thing. There's a reason why books like "Why Men Love Bitches" become best sellers.
In the span of less than three years I lost both of my parents, and almost lost my oldest son, twice to drug overdoses. These events profoundly changed me. What used to seem important isn't anymore - if someone is late, hey, I'm glad they are alive and well. Small, irritating things really don't seem important.
But what I've found is that in trying to be so Zen-like about the things that really do bother and hurt me, I kind of lost myself. And here I was thinking, rather ironically, I'd really found myself, and the perfect way to be in a relationship. The thing was though, I still had the same needs I always did - to be appreciated, heard, respected, valued and loved, but I was so busy putting others' needs ahead of my own I kind of forgot to ask for that. Perhaps after having lost so much I've erred on the side of wanting to please, lest I lose more.
So my new theory is that yes, you can be nice, be kind and loving, and do all the things you truly love to do for others, but you have to be just as nice to yourself and ask for what you need too. That's a stretch for us nice girls, we're not always very good at that, but I do truly think that's the answer.
It's not rocket science, but who knows, it's simple enough that it might just work.
Yesterday I watched the first stage of the Tiger Woods apology tour. I wasn't alone, I heard that trading even slowed on Wall Street as he stood there reading his prepared statement before a select group of family, sponsors and sports management folks.
As I watched I didn't feel cynical, I thought he seemed sincere, and extremely uncomfortable. I could imagine nothing much worse for a guy than standing there, in front of his mother no less, talking about how he had extra martial relationships with not just one, but many women.
But what has struck me as much more interesting than his actual statement has been the inevitable aggressive post mortem that has transpired in the less than 24 hours since.
Angry news people and women he slept with, all critiquing and analyzing body language, weighing every word and examining every nuance with a scrutiny usually reserved for frame by frame examination of the Zapruder film. I half expected to see people with torches and pitchforks running through the street.
"I don't think he's really sorry!"
"Yeah, he seemed rehearsed!"
"He should have just spoken, not read something!"
"I hate him!"
What do these people want? Honestly, if I was ever in that situation I'd want a script too. I cannot imagine anything more humiliating than having to stand before the entire world talking about my sex life.
But other than those personally impacted by his choices - namely his wife, children, mom and co-workers, who does he owe? Certainly not me.
He screwed up. Big time. His behavior is beyond the pale in indiscretion, selfishness and insensitivity to his wife. No one deserves to ever be so disrespected, disregarded and mistreated. Elin and only Elin can decide if she can forgive him and work toward repairing their marriage. That choice is hers alone and is none of my business.
As for the women he cheated with who feel they too deserve an apology and more than they've gotten, I say, really????? Really???? You had relationships with a married man. You're not a victim, you made a choice. Tiger Woods is a celebrity, it's not like you didn't know he was married. To those who have cashed in on the fact that they slept with him I say, well, quid pro quo, ladies, - you have truly screwed each other.
Maybe I'm alone in my thinking, but I don't feel Tiger Woods owes me a thing. I don't deserve, need or want to know how many women he slept with, what they did, where they did it or why. There's only one person who deserves those answers and it's certainly not Oprah, Anderson Cooper or me.
I spent a good part of last week writing an article for the Cape Cod Times about Valentine's Day to run on February 12. The theme was great love stories. I asked several people to tell me about their favorite love song, movie or book. I got a myriad of answers, and I learned something else: lots of people HATE Valentine's Day. I mean REALLY hate it. I have to admit I was a little stunned at the intensity of these feelings.
Admittedly I have had my own strained relationship with the holiday. Mostly I've loved it, but there have been times I've been a bit less than simpatico with the day. Sometimes it served as a reminder of a lost love, or felt like a flashing sign screaming "loser" when strolling the aisles of my local CVS looking to purchase nail polish remover and the latest copy of Glamour, and coming face to face with teddy bears dressed as cupid. There were times, in the past I wanted to rip their furry little heads off.
But no more. I've made peace with Valentine's Day in last few years and have become one of its biggest fans, even in the face of detractors willing to pitch heart shaped candies at my loving, smiling face. I am now leading a one-woman campaign to help people see it isn't just about romance, it's about love. It's not about breaking the bank to buy over-priced roses and jewelry, it's being kind and thoughtful to those you love - whether it's a child, partner, parent or pet.
I think Valentine's Day is the sweetest holiday of the year. There's no big rush to buy everyone you know a gift, no endless to-do list or huge meal to prepare for your entire extended family. It's simple and it' s sweet.
And in my mind, any day that gets us to think about loving one another and being sweet is indeed a very good thing.
So I was reading this blog post today about how good being naked is for you, and I was thinking, yeah, well, maybe not in every circumstance or for every body.
I've never been someone who likes to sit around naked, do chores naked or write naked. I kind of have to say the thought of any of those things makes me feel pretty uncomfortable. And chilly.
Perhaps it's being a New Englander. Not only does the persistent cold and dampness preclude round the clock nudity, it's a mindset. I cannot imagine my old maid aunts (or, "unappropriated blessings" as my grandfather apparently called his sisters) sitting around playing canasta in the nude. Having met my great aunts, Emma and Mary on many occasions, I can pretty much bet they never got naked. Ever.
I'm sure we've all had naked friends, you know those people who are oh so free and uninhibited. There were a couple of women at the gym I used to go to who would stand there buck naked and carry on a conversation with me as they put lotion on, brushed their hair and way too slowly finally got dressed. I always wanted nothing more than to hand them a towel and cover them up.
Maybe I'm a bit of a prude. Or shy, or very easily made uncomfortable. I'd wager all three. I just don't need to see all of anyone I'm not in an intimate relationship with. And lord knows I don't want to be showing all God and a lifetime of questionable food and exercise choices, and baby making has given me to just anyone. I like to think by the time I get to that point in a relationship, that the select person invited into my nerve wracked world has already been blinded by my charms. And if that doesn't work there's always the forgiving nature of very dim candlelight, and the equally forgiving effect of a couple of glasses of wine.
Twenty-one years ago today someone came into my life who forever changed it very much for the better. That person is my daughter, Emma who on December 6, 1988 arrived into our family on a plane from Seoul, Korea.
Emma was tiny. At three-years-old she was barely on the growth chart, weighing in at only about 23 pounds and 32 inches tall. After over 24 hours of travel her hair was matted, she had green gook running from her nose and she spoke no English. But from the second I'd seen her photos months before, she was my daughter. As soon as I saw those above photos of that tiny girl with her name pinned to her shirt, I fell in love.
I've always had a very hard time writing about how I feel about any of my children because I love them so much words just escape me. I truly don't have the words to say how much I love her. Emma has been such a gift in my life, I cannot imagine how my life would look without her.
I'm one of those lucky moms who can honestly say Emma isn't just my daughter, she's a friend as well. Granted, a friend who gives me a really hard time, teases me relentlessly and makes me question myself, but that's a big part of why I adore her. She is sassy, smart, funny and despite her attempts to hide it from everyone - she's a loving, caring young woman.
When Emma graduated from Wellesley College a year and a half ago, I sat there wishing her birth mother could see her. That she could see how her selfless act of letting her toddler daughter go to a country thousands of miles away had turned out. Here she was, this girl who'd been orphaned in Seoul, Korea graduating from the school of Hillary Clinton and Madeleine Allbright. I thank this woman I will never know for entrusting me to love and raise the daughter she gave birth to. I am forever in her debt and hope on some level she knows just how much I adore the girl she named Eun Bee.
Emma is now back in Korea for one year. She always wanted a chance to go back and spend some real time in the country of her birth. She's teaching English to elementary and middle school students who don't believe she is Korean because she dresses and sounds like an American. She is loving her time there and learning more about what it means to be a Korean American.
She loves to tell me that it took 21 years, but that she finally found a way to escape the US and find her way back to Korea, away from the crazy white people who adopted her. I know however, that as much as she loves to tease and torment me that she loves me as much as I love her. Well, maybe almost as much.
I read all four of the "Twilight" books last winter and while they weren't great literature, I had a good time reading them. I did however always have my concerns about the messages being sent to the tween and teen girls the books were targeted at.
Last night I went to see "New Moon" with a friend and both of us had some real concerns and questions about what girls were being told about what love looks like and how relationships should be.
There are some spoilers here, so be aware!
In this second book of the four, Edward, the sparkly vampire, leaves Bella who completely falls apart without him. All right, so we've all been heartbroken at least once in our lives and it sucks. But. most of us move on, right? Not Bella. She sits looking out her window for months and months. She loses weight, she sits alone at school and ceases all contact with any friends. Can we say co-dependent anyone?
The only thing that brings Bella out of her funk is when she starts hanging around with Jacob, her werewolf friend. She's seems to only be okay when there is a guy in her life who becomes her whole life. Not exactly the message I would have wanted my daughter to be getting at 13, or any age for that matter.
My friend Sandy brought up two great points as well: We don't really know Bella. She is a blank canvas. All we see is her obsession with Edward. Does she like dance? Sports? Reading? We don't know because she is like a hologram, an empty shell of a person other than her love for Edward. She is so completely dependent on him that it caused my daughter to say while reading the books, "Bella needs to grow a pair." She appears strong in some ways, but only when it comes to Edward, without him she ceases to live, until she gloms on to Jacob, essentially using his love for her to make herself feel better. She's really not a very nice girl.
Sandy's second point, very well taken, is the subtle message of domestic violence in the movies and books. There's always the possibility that Edward could hurt her, and he's protective of her to the point of controlling her and treating her like a child. He's a guy, he knows better, she needs to listen to him. There are elements of stalking in the way he's always there, watching her. We are given the message that she cannot be safe or function in the world without Edward right there. It makes me think of the No Doubt song, "I'm Just a Girl." You're just a girl so be careful!
Worse that this is the wolf pack couple, Sam and Emily. Emily bears a disfiguring scar on her face from a time Sam got angry and phased from man to wolf and attacked her. But, here she is, lovingly making muffins for them all when Sam comes in, pulls her into his arms and kisses her. Is the message girls are getting, "Hey girls, just because a guy gets mad and hurts you doesn't mean you still shouldn't love him"? Men get angry every day and hurt the women they supposedly love. It's not okay. And being a werewolf is not an excuse!
As we drove home from the movie we talked about the seriousness of the messages about love that girls are getting from these books and it's a bit disturbing. Young girls are impressionable and what they read and see on screen does impact what they think love should look like.
My hope is that girls can override the messages in these stories, see them as flawed fairy tales and know that they are valuable people who can survive and thrive without a boy/vampire/werewolf in their lives. Anyone who has read the entire series knows that eventually Bella gets her wish to give up her mortal life and become a vampire, able to live for all eternity with her beloved Edward. Do we really wants girls thinking about giving with their lives for the boys they love? That's not romance, that's suicide.
I think a much better cinematic role model, if you're looking for one, might just be Bridget Jones who ends up with Mark Darcy, a man who loves her just as she is. And she doesn't even have to become undead to be with him, she just gets to be herself. All in all, a pretty good message.
Recently I was reading my dear friend's blog where he had listed his top ten TV shows of the decade and was struck by the fact that while there were some choices (several actually) I agreed with, it was still a decidedly "guy" list. So, I decided to make my own list. My own girl-centric list.
So herein lies my Top Ten All Time Favorite TV Shows of the Decade. These may not all be critical winners, but I love them.
10. "South Park." This show isn't always great, but when it's on, it's spot on. Who can forget the "Trapped in the Closet" episode? 9. "Ally McBeal." It's easy to forget this show because it's been off the air for a few years, but it was edgy and broke boundaries with it's unusual story lines, dancing babies, cute pajamas and frogs. And whimsy, there's not enough whimsy on TV. 8. "Daily Show"/"The Colbert Report." Sad or not, these two back to back Comedy Central shows are one of my favorite sources of new. Smart, incisive and willing to offend anyone and everyone, they are often the first ones to point out hypocrisy where it needs a spotlight. 7."The Sopranos." Okay, so the series end was a little vague, but it was a show that kept me coming back season after season. 6. "30 Rock." I adore Tina Fey. I think she's a genius. Any woman who can be the head writer of "Saturday Night Live, " write "Mean Girls," and create this series is totally my hero. 5. "Mad Men." The show just ended it's third season and it's already in my top five. The characters are well drawn, the set and costume design are stellar, the writing is top notch and the acting is superb. 4. "Rescue Me." This series about a group of New York City Firefighters in a post 9/11 NYC is gritty, hard hitting, funny at times and always intense and thought provoking. As both its star and co-writer, Denis Leary is amazing. 3. "The Office." I just love the lads and ladies of Dunder Mifflin. 2. "Sex and the City." This show has great dialogue like: Charlotte: "I just know no matter how good I feel about myself, if I see Christy Turlington, I just wanna give up." Miranda: "Well I just want to tie her down and force feed her lard, but that's the difference between you and me." 1. "Gilmore Girls." This may not have been a super critically acclaimed show, but the writing was magnificent and completely holds up a few years after the series end. Admittedly it did jump the shark when Luke had a previously unknown daughter show up in the next to last season, but it still remains my favorite if for no other reason that the love I have for my own daughter and that special bond only a mother and daughter can share.
In today's London Times I read an article about being a "good wife." When I saw the headline I admit I had visions of suggestions of wrapping yourself in Saran Wrap or making sure you've got a pot roast in the oven and that his socks are properly sorted. What I read was nothing like that.
Now as a disclaimer - I'm the first to admit that being divorced might preclude me from waxing too seriously about how to be a good wife, but actually having been divorced may give us divorced folks a better perspective - we sure know what doesn't work.
As I read the above article what I realized was that the message was mostly about being kind and being supportive. Now call me the anti-Christ of feminism, but I don't think there's anything wrong with that. Why wouldn't you want to be with someone who makes you feel good about who you are and is unfailingly supportive?
Of course these are things that go both ways. Being a good husband requires the same support and kindness as well.
I wince at the way I hear some women talk about their husbands and men in general. I happen to like men. Very much so. Sure they think differently than women do, but they're not dumb Neanderthals dragging their knuckles on the ground waiting for us to tell them what to do.
Author Ayelet Waldman caught a whole lot of hell when she wrote about loving her husband more than her children. She spoke of not replacing the passion she feels for her husband with how she feels about her children. She was pilloried for saying this, but I think she had a point.
The "good wife" article goes on to talk about the importance of kissing and having sex as well. Think about that the next time you ignore your significant other in favor of updating your status on Facebook or watching "Project Runway." It just seems that we've decided that TV, computers and cell phones are more important than the person we share our lives with. Maybe it is an outdated ideal I have, but I think nothing is more important than relationships, and at the top of that list is the relationship with your partner.
Last year I read a book, "Just Do It: How One Couple Turned Off The TV And Turned On Their Sex Lives for 101 Days (No Excuses!)" by Douglas Brown and first thought, damn it, why can't I come up with a high concept book idea like this, and second, I think the author had a point. The more often you are affectionate and loving, the more you want to be.
So what does it mean to be a good wife or husband? I think it's pretty simple - always remember to treat your mate like the treasured friend they are. Too often people treat their spouse in ways they'd NEVER treat their best friend. Don't let stupid things get in the way. Socks and tops of toothpaste tubes don't matter in the long run. Take the time to remember why you chose this person in the first place.
I was given an assignment to write a story to talk to women about the issues brought up in Chris Rock's movie, "Good Hair." As a Caucasian woman with what I guess would be called, "good hair" I wasn't sure I was the right person to write this article. Even though I decided not to do the story, it did get me thinking about about the question I posed in the headline: Does ANY woman think she has good hair?
Last week at my writing group the six of us were talking about this very topic. These were all white woman of varying ages and hair types. I heard a variety of complaints.
"My hair is too thin."
Mine's too curly"
"Mine's too flat."
"When it rains I can't do a thing with it."
When I was 13-years-old I used to take my already-straight, long, blond hair and roll it over a giant orange juice can in an effort to make it even straighter. Like many women I have had a life long love/hate relationship with my hair. At this point in my life most days I like it. But I've permed, highlighted, straightened, ironed, moussed, gelled and fluffed all in an effort to feel like I've got good hair.
In a conversation with an older black woman I know, she enlightened me a bit about the history of all the torturous ways women of color have straightened their hair for decades. She described painful sessions as a child, her mother using a almost-red hot comb to straighten her hair, one searing section at a time. There are chemicals that burn your scalp, electric irons to flatten and straighten and hours spent blow drying it within an inch of its life.
This woman, who has seen a lot in her life, was shocked however when I told her that many, many Caucasian women struggle with their hair too. By no means am I minimizing the racist undertones women of color and their hair choices face, but I just think in many ways we're all a lot more a like than we often think. And as a true woman's woman, I think we should stick together and celebrate how we can support one another in any way we can.
Now that I'm a little older I've learned to appreciate what I have and who I am. That doesn't though that for one minute mean I'm going to trade in the highlights and hair products and go all natural. I'm not crazy! I celebrate what God and my very lovely parents gave me, and the rest is thanks to a great hairdresser and some really good styling products.
Once again we're being forced to know way too much about a celebrity's private life and the sad thing is, I'm less and less shocked every time something salacious comes out about someone.
That said, I have to admit I thought a bit more of Dave. In my 20s and 30s I had a major crush on the comedian. I loved his geekiness and self-deprecating humor. I didn't bother to think about the possible ego involved in getting someone that far up in the food chain of fame. What was I thinking? Like many men in positions of power of course he slept with willing young women.
Before he was a parent and partner that was fine, but now there are a couple of people who need him to not be an ego-centric star and just be a dad and a husband.
Being the crack investigative journalist I pretend to be, I wanted to know what one of Dave's former long-term girlfriends had to say about all this, so I went to her blog. I have always loved Merrill Markoe. She and Dave created a lot of the bits - like Stupid Pet Tricks, that Dave still uses. She didn't say much in her post, but the line, "As you can imagine this is a very emotional moment for me because Dave promised me many times that I was the only woman he would ever cheat on," led me to believe that this isn't the first time he's been unfaithful.
To answer my own question in my headline, I think he's both a bad guy and a victim. It's wrong obviously for someone to shake you down for cash in order to keep their silence, but clearly he was not right in cheating on his girlfriend/now wife.
There's no easy answer to why people cheat, and let me be clear, I know women do it as well, I just think it seems a bit more common amongst males. Especially successful males in positions of power.
When Dave first confessed his transgression my first thoughts went to his wife. My heart broke for her because there are few things more painful than being betrayed by the person you trust and love more than anyone. Behind all his jokes about how chilly things are at home is someone who is really hurting, and there's nothing funny about that.
I would love to live in a world where no one hurts people they love. Where people are faithful, loving and true. But humans are flawed and at times weak.
I may be less shocked when these things happen, but it doesn't mean I'm not disappointed. I always thought Dave seemed like a good, stand-up, mid-western guy, but no matter how old I am or how much that's not good life shows me, I will never give up hope that most people are indeed committed and good.
When I saw all the brouhaha about this photo of model Lizzie Miller in Glamour magazine I was a bit torn. On one hand I thought it was great that this photo of a woman who is a size 12-14 (the size of the average American woman) had garnered lots of positive response from readers wanting more. Yet on the other hand, looking at this lovely woman, it made me sad that she was considered "plus sized."
Our expectation of beauty is so far out of whack I don't know if we can ever find a healthy balance. We have designers who create fashion for women built like 12-year-old boys, not the beautiful curvy creatures we are, and a multi-billion a year magazine and beauty industry that preys on our insecurities and makes us feel bad about ourselves.
Lizzie Miller is 5'11" and weighs 180 pounds. She has a little bit of a tummy, and isn't a stick. She looks like a woman, a very beautiful woman.
In doing a little research I discovered that as a woman who is 5' 9 1/2" tall and wears size 8s and 10s I am considered plus-sized in the modeling world. In my life I only know a couple of women who wear sizes as small as the ones models are expected to wear - and both are about 5'2," not over 5'9" like most models.
Due to the overwhelming positive response Glamour received from running this photo, they are planning in November to run nude photos of several plus sized models.
It's a start, but the real success will come when it doesn't take a "special issue" of a magazine to have women of all sizes and shapes in their pages. When that day comes hopefully it will allow girls to grow up loving themselves, just as they are.
Okay, so this isn't the most cheery thing to watch, but please do. Studies show that texting while driving is actually more dangerous than driving drunk. If you know a teen driver sit them down and make them watch this.
This PSA was filmed in England. American television companies felt it was too graphic to show here. Two weeks ago a 19-year-old girl on Cape Cod, where I live was killed on our main highway, she crossed lanes, hit an elderly couple (who recovered) and died. How important was that message she just HAD to send at that moment? I doubt it was worth losing her life over. I don't think you can scare teens enough about texting and driving.
Let's make Don't Text And Drive as much a part of our culture as Don't Drink And Drive.
I wasn't a teen when John Hughes hit the big time, I was a twenty-something and a young mom. But I was young enough and also old enough to know he really got it. I was extremely sad to hear of his passing yesterday at only 59-years-old.
My first Hughes movie was "National Lampoon's Vacation," and from the opening credits with Lindsay Buckingham singing "Holiday Road" I was in love. The writing was so smart, so quick, and so unlike anything we'd been seeing at the movies. I was eight months pregnant with my second son. In August. A hard time to feel anything is funny, but I still remember walking around outside in downtown Chatham, MA on that summer night reciting favorite lines to my then-husband. Lines like, when talking about French kissing, cousin Vicki tells Audrey, "My daddy says I'm the best." Or, Clark flipping out about Wally World being closed: "We watch his program... We buy his toys, we go to his movies... he owes us. Doesn't he owe us, huh? F-----' A right he owes us!"
I read today online a quote from Steve Martin where he said he once asked the filmmaker how long it took him to write "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," the film Martin starred in with John Candy, to which Hughes humbly offered, "I wrote it over a weekend." To writers like me who took 3 years to write a novel, that is unbelievable. To say he was prolific in an understatement.
He will, however be forever known for his teen movies. "The Breakfast Club," "Sixteen Candles," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off and "Pretty in Pink" were spot on in how teens think, relate to their parents and each other.
I've had the pleasure of interviewing Anthony Michael Hall several times, and he counts the films he did with Hughes as something he's forever grateful for. Unlike some former teen stars, he is gracious when fans ask him about those films, he embraces the era, and knows he was part of something iconic.
In this era of practically everyone shouting "Look at me! Look at me!" via Twitter, Facebook and blogs (oops, well, I don't Twitter) Hughes was a very private and humble man. After an incredibly successful run, he kind of bowed out of the movie business to be in Chicago and spend time with his family. Married for 39 years to his high school sweetheart, he truly was one of the good guys.
As I said, I wasn't a teen coming of age in the 80s, but John Hughes was was nonetheless a part of my growing up, as a young adult. I was a stay-at home-mom when Michael Keaton was feeding a baby chili in "Mr.Mom," and I took my young children to see "Home Alone." Hughes' work touched all age groups.
I thank him for countless hours of entertainment, and even though I'm far from 16, for still keeping the hope alive that you never know when your own Jake Ryan might just drive up.
I have always loved romantic comedies. Modern movies like "Sleepless in Seattle," "When Harry Met Sally," "You've Got Mail, "Love Actually" and classics like "The Philadelphia Story" are amongst my favorites.
The thing about those movies, and the reason I like them is because the women are smart, accomplished and not desperate to catch a man.
Something has happened in the romcom world though in the last few years, something has made me question my affinity for the genre.
Too many of these movies portray women as whiny, desperate and as jittery as a bunch of poodles. The single women I know (myself included) are none of these things.
I was about sent over the edge by "He's Just Not That Into You." The women were cloying and panicked at trying to get a man. Ginnifer Goodwin made me want to hit my head repeatedly until she stopped being such a weeny. She was attractive, adorable even, but somehow she was under the misapprehension that something was wrong with her because she didn't have a boyfriend.
I've written a novel that's a romantic comedy and my hope that while a little klutzy, my protagonist is neither desperate nor incapable of living a great life on her own.
It's amazing to me after reading about 15 reviews today of "The Ugly Truth" (which I had actually been thinking of seeing, but probably won't now) that reviewer after reviewer talked about how misogynistic it was. And it was written by three women! Why is it so hard for even women to write good roles for women? I've come up with a few rules that I'd like Hollywood to take note of, and hey, if any of them want to take a look at my book, I'd be happy to oblige.
1. No more showing women sitting by a phone, pacing by a phone, doing yoga while staring at a phone waiting for a man to call. We have lives of our own.
2. No more having women desperately dissecting conversations, body language and lack of said calls ad naseum with their equally delusional friends. See above for why.
3. Just because a woman is successful in her job doesn't mean she's. a. frigid b. socially inept c. pathetically lonely. Maybe she LIKES her job and is happy.
4. "You complete me" is a stupid notion and women need to get over it already. Compliment me? Sure, but stop making movies where women are sadly roaming the aisles of supermarkets looking for someone to make a pot roast for because unless they do they're lives are incomplete.
5. Start making movies again about people who are interesting in their own way, all on their own. Sally Albright in "Harry and Sally" was a journalist with lots of friends, as was Annie in "You've Got Mail." And well, no one would ever accuse Katharine Hepburn of being a wimpy woman who'd do anything to snag a guy in... well, any movie.
I want to love romantic comedies again. But I also don't want to feel like my gender is being denigrated and reduced to a ridiculous stereotype. I love love. I just want it to come in a package that doesn't insult my gender or my intelligence.
