It is pretty safe to say that social media is here to stay. Facebook has 300 million users that visit the site everyday. Twitter has 56 million users with an active account (following at least 8 others.) Perhaps we may even see Facebook and Twitter evolve the way Microsoft and Apple did (or are?) "Are you on Facebook?" "No way. Facebook sucks. Twitter man. Twitter." Regardless of what we are are tinkering with in five years there is really no going back - another adapt or die moment...or not.
My dabblings in social media over the past four years have made me realize how insulated my life is, and perhaps always has been. Yes, social media is a great way to connect with the people from high school so you can see with your own eyes who hit their peak at 17. But there is a dark side and I don't mean of the "child predator" variety. People have issues. Serious ones. And even though I think of myself as open-minded with a pretty good handle on understanding that "I don't know what I don't know" I have had more regretful, bone-chilling interactions with people than I ever thought possible.
The neighborhoods we live in, the restaurants we frequent, the organic foodstores we patronize, the schools our children attend all create a bubble around us that determines who we will, and who we will not, encounter. Walls are inadvertently built around us just by virtue of the choices we make or the good fortune that has crossed our paths. Those walls, that bubble, means there are certain people we are probably never going to meet. They don't travel in our circles and I am not really talking about socio-economics and I am certainly not talking about race or religion - although I know those walls are often constructed too. I am talking about walls that are built silently without our knowledge.
Since we don't really know those walls are there, it is not until something breaks through them do we realize how safe they made us feel. Social media tears down those walls - breaks through them - in good ways and in, well, bad ways. Someone who was on the other side of your invisible wall is now a click away. They are commenting on your post, they're "liking" your picture, they are retweeting your thought to their followers like a piece of red meat thrown to a pack of wolves. Then you better brace yourself for the assault. If you are not careful your views and opinions can get you thrown into the middle of cage match. (Just for good measure, never forget the first rule of Fight Club.)
It hasn't all been an experiment in terror. There has been the joyous reunion with a childhood friend, the friendship with a family member that ascends to a different level, and even the unexpected mending of an old wound. About a month ago I posted a CNN video about a girl who was stood up by her prom date but was then banned by her school from actually going to the prom. Having gone through a similar experience as a high school senior (the stood-up-for-the-prom part not the banned-from-the-prom part) I posted it and said "been here - but I won't mention any names!" Knowing that the guy that stood me up (now part of my friend list) might see it. It has been over 20 years and if it still had any sting left I never would have been able to joke about it. I didn't take it very seriously then and I certainly don't now. But much to my surprise he takes it very seriously, even today. Instead of responding to my public post with a good-natured yet snarky remark (as I was expecting) he sent me a heart-breaking private message. All these years later my post had cut deeper than I had ever expected or intended. "If I never apologized to you let me do that now. I am truly sorry for how I treated you. If I live to be a hundred I will always feel bad for what I did." I treated what happened like a punch line at a cocktail party "yeah I got stood up for the prom" and all that time it was something that gnawed at him when he thought about it. It was something, he said, he really tried not to think about. My post was like a punch in the gut. I felt terrible.
We all have things we wish we could take back and do over in our lives, probably more than we can list in one sitting. But what I never really thought about was how I might be entangled in someone else's regret. At the time my ego was bruised for a couple of weeks but I survived. I never would have dreamed in a million years that he even thought about what happened. We are all fragile and for some reason we walk around thinking we are the lone vulnerable daisy in a forest of redwoods. Every one of us is fighting a tremendous battle every day - why don't we acknowledge that more? This shit is hard. Perhaps it is the very nature of social media itself that perpetuates the illusion that other people have it together more than we do - that things are easier for other people. We need to remind ourselves that, on Facebook, everyone is ready for their close up.
Our Christmas card this year was of my two sons in matching elf pajamas in front of our jukebox with their guitars and Santa hats, big smiles and arms around each other. "Rock your socks off this holiday season!" Picture perfect. If people only knew what it took to get that money shot. It took over an hour, each kid was in time out at least twice. It was horrible. I honestly felt like I should have included a "making of" video with each card that revealed the truth behind the Norman Rockwell-ness snapped by my camera at just the right moment. "Don't let the perfection fool you. We're a mess. Happy New Year!" We are too hard on ourselves.
Whether we realize it or not, we truly are all in this together. So keep calm and carry on.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Confessions of a Life-Long George Michael Fan
Here is my confession. Whenever someone asks me what kind of music I like, I lie. Not a bold-faced fabrication but a serious lie of omission. I frequently fail to mention the one artist whose music has provided the soundtrack to my life - a man whose bold, outspoken nature has transformed many of my attitudes about the world around me.
I am a proud George Michael fan. So why do I lie? Well to be honest when someone asks me what kind of music I listen to and I do say George Michael, 99 times out of a 100 that person makes a snide remark, makes fun of him or looks at me like I have three heads - or all of the above. I am not very good at biting my tongue. So I lie. It boggles my mind - he is one of the most successful recording artists of the past 30 years and he gets very little respect, especially on this side of the pond. Without artists like George Michael we would probably still be using words like "black music" and "white music" and "cross-over." Those terms really don't exist any more, not only because of black artists that crossed over to "white radio" but white artists like George that broke into black radio, arguably the more difficult move.
George hasn't exactly been prolific in the tour department, or, compared to his contemporaries, the music department either. So every chance I have had to see him I have taken it. In 2000 I drove from Philly to DC to see him at the Equality Rocks concert. In the parking lot I had to maneuver my car around anti-gay protesters screaming into bull horns. And if I am going to be completely honest it was the first time I had really seen hate and bigotry in the flesh like that and it is something I will never forget. In 2004 I slept in front of the Virgin MegaStore in Times Square, waiting in line for close to 20 hours just to meet him for six seconds and have him sign my Patience CD. Patience indeed. I wish I had a time lapse camera to document the transformation of the people that passed by - at 11 PM somewhat sober people made their way to or from here and there; 3 AM the happy drunks stumbled home; 4 AM the not so happy drunks stumbled home; 5 AM the die hard runners zoomed on by; then by 6 AM the suits descended on the Square. I spent the entire time in line next to an 80 year old woman who was getting the CD signed for her daughter who was dying from cancer. I heard her stories about being one of the original medical clinic foot soldiers in the early days of the AIDS epidemic. Her name was Bea and I will never forget her.
Another thing I will never forget, courtesy of Mr. George, is a video he showed during his Equality Rocks performance. It was a short documentary he commissioned himself about the kidnapping and abuse gay American teens were facing at the hands of their own families - victims of tortuous "Aversion Therapy" in "clinics" the tactics of which include genital electrocution. Go to http://www.tomasmournian.com/ to view the video. George was compelled to have this short film made after reading an article by Tomas Mournian detailing these atrocities against gay youth. After the premier of this video I (and George too I believe) fully expected this to be all over the news the next day, but there was nothing. No piece on Dateline or 60 Minutes. Nothing. When George recently shared the link to the video on Twitter, I in turn did the same (three times). I was once again shocked by the silence, there wasn't a single person that retweeted it to their followers from my feed. Not one - and I am followed by almost 400 bleeding heart liberals like myself. Why? This is about our children - this is about the civil rights of our children. Children are being held against their will and tortured on our watch FOR BEING GAY.
So here is another confession - I am not quite sure what my outlook on the world would be without this man's music running in the background. Had I not witnessed how he has repeatedly stood up for what is right I am not sure I would give a crap the way I do. He has screwed up along the way, made me shake my head from time to time, but he has always impressed me with his self-effacing candor and unshakable integrity.
In the fall I will be headed to London for his rescheduled concert at Earl's Court. Last year we almost lost him. John, Elvis, and Marvin are dead, but George is alive and well. See you in October, sir.
I am a proud George Michael fan. So why do I lie? Well to be honest when someone asks me what kind of music I listen to and I do say George Michael, 99 times out of a 100 that person makes a snide remark, makes fun of him or looks at me like I have three heads - or all of the above. I am not very good at biting my tongue. So I lie. It boggles my mind - he is one of the most successful recording artists of the past 30 years and he gets very little respect, especially on this side of the pond. Without artists like George Michael we would probably still be using words like "black music" and "white music" and "cross-over." Those terms really don't exist any more, not only because of black artists that crossed over to "white radio" but white artists like George that broke into black radio, arguably the more difficult move.
George hasn't exactly been prolific in the tour department, or, compared to his contemporaries, the music department either. So every chance I have had to see him I have taken it. In 2000 I drove from Philly to DC to see him at the Equality Rocks concert. In the parking lot I had to maneuver my car around anti-gay protesters screaming into bull horns. And if I am going to be completely honest it was the first time I had really seen hate and bigotry in the flesh like that and it is something I will never forget. In 2004 I slept in front of the Virgin MegaStore in Times Square, waiting in line for close to 20 hours just to meet him for six seconds and have him sign my Patience CD. Patience indeed. I wish I had a time lapse camera to document the transformation of the people that passed by - at 11 PM somewhat sober people made their way to or from here and there; 3 AM the happy drunks stumbled home; 4 AM the not so happy drunks stumbled home; 5 AM the die hard runners zoomed on by; then by 6 AM the suits descended on the Square. I spent the entire time in line next to an 80 year old woman who was getting the CD signed for her daughter who was dying from cancer. I heard her stories about being one of the original medical clinic foot soldiers in the early days of the AIDS epidemic. Her name was Bea and I will never forget her.
Another thing I will never forget, courtesy of Mr. George, is a video he showed during his Equality Rocks performance. It was a short documentary he commissioned himself about the kidnapping and abuse gay American teens were facing at the hands of their own families - victims of tortuous "Aversion Therapy" in "clinics" the tactics of which include genital electrocution. Go to http://www.tomasmournian.com/ to view the video. George was compelled to have this short film made after reading an article by Tomas Mournian detailing these atrocities against gay youth. After the premier of this video I (and George too I believe) fully expected this to be all over the news the next day, but there was nothing. No piece on Dateline or 60 Minutes. Nothing. When George recently shared the link to the video on Twitter, I in turn did the same (three times). I was once again shocked by the silence, there wasn't a single person that retweeted it to their followers from my feed. Not one - and I am followed by almost 400 bleeding heart liberals like myself. Why? This is about our children - this is about the civil rights of our children. Children are being held against their will and tortured on our watch FOR BEING GAY.
So here is another confession - I am not quite sure what my outlook on the world would be without this man's music running in the background. Had I not witnessed how he has repeatedly stood up for what is right I am not sure I would give a crap the way I do. He has screwed up along the way, made me shake my head from time to time, but he has always impressed me with his self-effacing candor and unshakable integrity.
In the fall I will be headed to London for his rescheduled concert at Earl's Court. Last year we almost lost him. John, Elvis, and Marvin are dead, but George is alive and well. See you in October, sir.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Only What We Can Handle
I know we must play the hand we are dealt, and admittedly I have been dealt a pretty sweet hand - great parents, solid education, excellent health - perfect kids. I have no complaints. But I often wonder how true it is that we are only given what we can handle - if that's the case the universe must not think I'm your go-to-gal if it all goes to shit. A couple months ago my preschooler broke his femur. He required surgery and for the better part of seven weeks he had to stay off his feet completely. I held it together pretty well as I tried to take care of him while still working from home. But there were moments - more than I care to admit - that I really lost it. Moments when I could not imagine how I would handle a predicament any worse.
This past Friday evening we had dinner with a couple of friends we had not seen in several years. Their lifestyle had been drastically transformed from a lucrative real estate deal a few years ago. So the new fortunate trajectory of their lives, summers in Park City, affluent social circles, many holidays abroad, caused us to drift apart. Then last summer they under went another lifestyle change - a new, less celebratory trajectory. Mic had a biking accident and broke his neck.
I consider myself a pretty open-minded person who is not adverse to the unknown or things that are different, but I have to admit that this dinner had me very anxious. Mic is a no nonsense guy - not the most emotional person - some even refer to him as an incredibly likable, well, asshole. He's aggressive, tells it like it is and is one of the most driven people I have ever met - but you can't help but adore the guy - he's kind and funny and would do anything for you. My trepidation about the meeting had more to do with what his personality transformation may have been more so than his physical one. Would our dinner conversation leave me (as just about all conversations with him had) wanting to punch him in the face? His physical being was going to be different, but what about the person - the elements of him that make us love him, yes and the ones that make us roll our eyes and shake our heads. Would they still be there? If they were gone how on earth was I going to hold it together? He, nor his wife, needed to deal with someone throwing a weepy pity party. I felt very guilty about my anxiety. I felt like I was being incredibly self-centered, but just wanted it to "be OK."
With the nice Philly spring weather comes unbearable down-town traffic so when we arrived at the restaurant Mic and Karen were already seated. I took a deep breath and looked up only to see Mic - sitting there as people do when they are waiting for tardy dinner companions. It was Mic. The same old Mic and the only thing jarring about was him was his hair was long-ish. That was it. I was comforted by the fact that I almost teased him about his hair, but I held back - I didn't want to get too ahead of myself. The strides he has made are incredible. He put his glasses on to the read the menu - took them off, put them back on. He drank his usual spirit of choice from a stemmed wine glass with championship precision and grace. He ate oysters unassisted and ordered his duck extra crispy, devouring every last bit. We joked, we reminisced, we played the "how old are the kids now" game. Mic interrupted Karen over and over and she gave him a piece of her mind, as always. Big steps, small steps - Life goes on.
With Mic and Karen's front row seat through the labyrinth of the health care system has given them a very unique, very real perspective on how broken it is. Even with their "gold-plated insurance policy" there have been pitfalls and frustrating stall tactics and unreasonable restrictions. Our politics are very different. Mic is a die-hard Republican - I'm a bleeding heart liberal. By the time dessert arrived we were in the throws of a heated political discussion. And much to my heart's content - I wanted to sock him one. As always Mic was a little more than I could handle... thank God.
This past Friday evening we had dinner with a couple of friends we had not seen in several years. Their lifestyle had been drastically transformed from a lucrative real estate deal a few years ago. So the new fortunate trajectory of their lives, summers in Park City, affluent social circles, many holidays abroad, caused us to drift apart. Then last summer they under went another lifestyle change - a new, less celebratory trajectory. Mic had a biking accident and broke his neck.
I consider myself a pretty open-minded person who is not adverse to the unknown or things that are different, but I have to admit that this dinner had me very anxious. Mic is a no nonsense guy - not the most emotional person - some even refer to him as an incredibly likable, well, asshole. He's aggressive, tells it like it is and is one of the most driven people I have ever met - but you can't help but adore the guy - he's kind and funny and would do anything for you. My trepidation about the meeting had more to do with what his personality transformation may have been more so than his physical one. Would our dinner conversation leave me (as just about all conversations with him had) wanting to punch him in the face? His physical being was going to be different, but what about the person - the elements of him that make us love him, yes and the ones that make us roll our eyes and shake our heads. Would they still be there? If they were gone how on earth was I going to hold it together? He, nor his wife, needed to deal with someone throwing a weepy pity party. I felt very guilty about my anxiety. I felt like I was being incredibly self-centered, but just wanted it to "be OK."
With the nice Philly spring weather comes unbearable down-town traffic so when we arrived at the restaurant Mic and Karen were already seated. I took a deep breath and looked up only to see Mic - sitting there as people do when they are waiting for tardy dinner companions. It was Mic. The same old Mic and the only thing jarring about was him was his hair was long-ish. That was it. I was comforted by the fact that I almost teased him about his hair, but I held back - I didn't want to get too ahead of myself. The strides he has made are incredible. He put his glasses on to the read the menu - took them off, put them back on. He drank his usual spirit of choice from a stemmed wine glass with championship precision and grace. He ate oysters unassisted and ordered his duck extra crispy, devouring every last bit. We joked, we reminisced, we played the "how old are the kids now" game. Mic interrupted Karen over and over and she gave him a piece of her mind, as always. Big steps, small steps - Life goes on.
With Mic and Karen's front row seat through the labyrinth of the health care system has given them a very unique, very real perspective on how broken it is. Even with their "gold-plated insurance policy" there have been pitfalls and frustrating stall tactics and unreasonable restrictions. Our politics are very different. Mic is a die-hard Republican - I'm a bleeding heart liberal. By the time dessert arrived we were in the throws of a heated political discussion. And much to my heart's content - I wanted to sock him one. As always Mic was a little more than I could handle... thank God.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Peggy Olson or Betty Draper?
I am very picky about the TV I watch. And I don't mean that it has to be narrated by someone named Attenborough (but you can't ever go wrong with Sir David). I mean it has to make me think about it even when I'm not watching it. One of those shows is Mad Men - whether it is chuckling about a clever Roger Sterling-ism or frankly just thinking about Roger Sterling at all - I think about that dysfunctional ad agency even when I am not watching. Yes, I know ladies, Don Draper is handsome, but Roger Sterling is sexy - I will tackle that monumental difference another day.
I find myself thinking about Peggy more than any other. I don't think there is another character whose arc I have loved watching more than that of Ms. Peggy Olson. Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce's cautiously ambitious copywriter never disappoints. She has allowed me a front row seat to the construction of this career path I tread on so carelessly. I have watched each of her missteps and tumbles, each of her triumphs and sacrifices like a mini history of the working woman that could be titled "Wanna know whose shoulders you are standing on, Ms. 401K?"
I had such a lack of appreciation for the working women in their 50s and 60s I encountered when I entered the workplace in the mid 90s. They must have chuckled to themselves and thought "dear you don't know how good you have it and, by the way, you're welcome." I didn't pay much attention to them. I had very little appreciation for what they had seen, the battles they knowingly or perhaps unwittingly fought for me so I could flippantly ask myself "gee, what do I want be when I grow up?"
The single most important thing for the advancement of women has been our proliferation into the workforce. I would even go so far to say that without working women there would have been no Roe v. Wade. Working has enabled women to define their place in this man's world - the bitter potion needed to transform ourselves into the fighting machines we need to be to achieve everything else from this day forward.
There has been much talk lately about stay at home moms and working moms - and oh wait all moms are working moms. Sure. Have it your way. All moms are working moms. But can we please stop already with "it's the hardest job in the world?" It's not. Seal Team 6 - that job is hard - see the difference? Here is another hard truth - some moms have one job, moms that work outside the home have two. I am a work-outside-of-the-home-mom or whatever phraseology I am supposed to use so I don't hurt someone's feelings. And to be honest I am not working so "all women can have the right to choose to stay at home." I'm not - stay at home moms make me scratch my head in bewilderment. In the non-car-elevator-having real world the majority of women have no choice - they must work to ensure the security and stability of their families. Those moms that get to "not work outside the home" - good for you, thank your hard-working partners - often. But please do not compare your one job to my two, or, for some woman, three. Or even more. We live in different worlds.
If it weren't for all the Peggy Olsons women could aspire to be nothing more than a Betty Draper, I mean Betty Francis. And that's not much of a life worth having...if you ask me. So thank you Ms. Olson. Where we would be without all of you I just can't imagine...
I find myself thinking about Peggy more than any other. I don't think there is another character whose arc I have loved watching more than that of Ms. Peggy Olson. Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce's cautiously ambitious copywriter never disappoints. She has allowed me a front row seat to the construction of this career path I tread on so carelessly. I have watched each of her missteps and tumbles, each of her triumphs and sacrifices like a mini history of the working woman that could be titled "Wanna know whose shoulders you are standing on, Ms. 401K?"
I had such a lack of appreciation for the working women in their 50s and 60s I encountered when I entered the workplace in the mid 90s. They must have chuckled to themselves and thought "dear you don't know how good you have it and, by the way, you're welcome." I didn't pay much attention to them. I had very little appreciation for what they had seen, the battles they knowingly or perhaps unwittingly fought for me so I could flippantly ask myself "gee, what do I want be when I grow up?"
The single most important thing for the advancement of women has been our proliferation into the workforce. I would even go so far to say that without working women there would have been no Roe v. Wade. Working has enabled women to define their place in this man's world - the bitter potion needed to transform ourselves into the fighting machines we need to be to achieve everything else from this day forward.
There has been much talk lately about stay at home moms and working moms - and oh wait all moms are working moms. Sure. Have it your way. All moms are working moms. But can we please stop already with "it's the hardest job in the world?" It's not. Seal Team 6 - that job is hard - see the difference? Here is another hard truth - some moms have one job, moms that work outside the home have two. I am a work-outside-of-the-home-mom or whatever phraseology I am supposed to use so I don't hurt someone's feelings. And to be honest I am not working so "all women can have the right to choose to stay at home." I'm not - stay at home moms make me scratch my head in bewilderment. In the non-car-elevator-having real world the majority of women have no choice - they must work to ensure the security and stability of their families. Those moms that get to "not work outside the home" - good for you, thank your hard-working partners - often. But please do not compare your one job to my two, or, for some woman, three. Or even more. We live in different worlds.
If it weren't for all the Peggy Olsons women could aspire to be nothing more than a Betty Draper, I mean Betty Francis. And that's not much of a life worth having...if you ask me. So thank you Ms. Olson. Where we would be without all of you I just can't imagine...
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
A Guy's Girl in a Girl's Girl World
"Are you a guy's girl or a girl's girl?" I heard this statement uttered not long ago on one of those abysmal reality shows that I watch when no one is looking. It was really the first time I had heard that phrase uttered and yet I instantly knew what the bimbo in the couture t-shirt meant. Once again a "meaning of life" moment came to me from an unlikely source. The answer? I am a guy's girl. The question? Why do I find interacting with women so difficult?
Now contrary to what you might think, being a guy's girl does not mean that men want to be around you more than women want to be around you - although that may end up being the case. It has more to do with who you prefer to be around. Ask yourself this - you have signed up for a professional training class of some sort and there are two tables each with just one seat remaining. One is a table of men, the other is a table of women. At which table would you prefer to take your seat? Not the one at which you may actually sit, but the one at which you would rather be for the next 7 hours? If you said the guys' table, then you are a guy's girl, even if some unidentified social pressure leads you to plop down with the gaggle of gals. Let's face it, that unidentified social pressure is wanting to be accepted by other women.
Now it seems simple right? All the guy's girls should be friends and all the girl's girls should be friends. However, we don't necessarily wear lapel pins or have a secret hand shake. Besides, all the guy's girls want to be hanging out with men anyway. So by definition guy's girls repel each other - at least at first. This does not mean that guy's girls don't have female friends. I would venture to say that I probably have just as many as any other 40 year old. What I don't have are enjoyable cocktail party experiences. I, for the life of me, cannot pull off small talk with another woman. I can't get much mileage out of talking about my children - it's just not me to talk about how wonderful motherhood is or which park has the best jungle gym. I am also the only woman you will ever meet that doesn't fuss over shoes. However, put me with a stranger of the male variety and I am perfectly comfortable talking about the weather... or my kids, or even shoes.
Case in point. This past weekend I attended a small-ish gathering of a group of people I adore. All of our children are about the same age and all attended daycare together. There is one couple I do not know very well and I have noticed that the wife never seems to want to be around me - we never exchange hellos or goodbyes and any words we do exchange are very forced. I don't worry about it too much - not everyone likes everyone. But I found myself yuckin' it up with her husband. In the pile of toys in the corner we spotted the new and improved EZ Bake Oven. Yep those little fire hazards are still around. So we started to joke that Top Chef should do a Quick Fire challenge based exclusively on the EZ Bake Oven. It was a funny, quick conversation that would have been impossible with his better half.
But why would it have been impossible or, at best, excruciating? I am going to go out on a limb and try to solve this mystery. And yes, brace yourself for one of those "men and women are different" lists. Men are less judgmental. Men are less guarded. Men have more accessible senses of humor. Men don't overtly compete with each other on the small stuff. Men just have less interest in bullshit. There is a reason they say that women primp for other women not other men. Men don't notice the small shit, let alone care. I was once at one of these gatherings and one of the women not-so-subtly lamented that I was the only woman that had not declared her shoes to be "fabulous." To which I wanted to reply - "you're wearing shoes?" But I didn't because I want them to like me. Yeah I am thinking it's a lost cause.
So since most of the men I encounter are married, engaging in too much enjoyable small talk with them would pretty much seal the deal that I won't be buddy-buddy with the Mrs. So at cocktail parties (with the men off limits and the women impossible to talk to) - I am pretty easy to spot - I am usually the one filling the ice bucket.
Now contrary to what you might think, being a guy's girl does not mean that men want to be around you more than women want to be around you - although that may end up being the case. It has more to do with who you prefer to be around. Ask yourself this - you have signed up for a professional training class of some sort and there are two tables each with just one seat remaining. One is a table of men, the other is a table of women. At which table would you prefer to take your seat? Not the one at which you may actually sit, but the one at which you would rather be for the next 7 hours? If you said the guys' table, then you are a guy's girl, even if some unidentified social pressure leads you to plop down with the gaggle of gals. Let's face it, that unidentified social pressure is wanting to be accepted by other women.
Now it seems simple right? All the guy's girls should be friends and all the girl's girls should be friends. However, we don't necessarily wear lapel pins or have a secret hand shake. Besides, all the guy's girls want to be hanging out with men anyway. So by definition guy's girls repel each other - at least at first. This does not mean that guy's girls don't have female friends. I would venture to say that I probably have just as many as any other 40 year old. What I don't have are enjoyable cocktail party experiences. I, for the life of me, cannot pull off small talk with another woman. I can't get much mileage out of talking about my children - it's just not me to talk about how wonderful motherhood is or which park has the best jungle gym. I am also the only woman you will ever meet that doesn't fuss over shoes. However, put me with a stranger of the male variety and I am perfectly comfortable talking about the weather... or my kids, or even shoes.
Case in point. This past weekend I attended a small-ish gathering of a group of people I adore. All of our children are about the same age and all attended daycare together. There is one couple I do not know very well and I have noticed that the wife never seems to want to be around me - we never exchange hellos or goodbyes and any words we do exchange are very forced. I don't worry about it too much - not everyone likes everyone. But I found myself yuckin' it up with her husband. In the pile of toys in the corner we spotted the new and improved EZ Bake Oven. Yep those little fire hazards are still around. So we started to joke that Top Chef should do a Quick Fire challenge based exclusively on the EZ Bake Oven. It was a funny, quick conversation that would have been impossible with his better half.
But why would it have been impossible or, at best, excruciating? I am going to go out on a limb and try to solve this mystery. And yes, brace yourself for one of those "men and women are different" lists. Men are less judgmental. Men are less guarded. Men have more accessible senses of humor. Men don't overtly compete with each other on the small stuff. Men just have less interest in bullshit. There is a reason they say that women primp for other women not other men. Men don't notice the small shit, let alone care. I was once at one of these gatherings and one of the women not-so-subtly lamented that I was the only woman that had not declared her shoes to be "fabulous." To which I wanted to reply - "you're wearing shoes?" But I didn't because I want them to like me. Yeah I am thinking it's a lost cause.
So since most of the men I encounter are married, engaging in too much enjoyable small talk with them would pretty much seal the deal that I won't be buddy-buddy with the Mrs. So at cocktail parties (with the men off limits and the women impossible to talk to) - I am pretty easy to spot - I am usually the one filling the ice bucket.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Jeremy Wade & the Myth of Getting to Carnegie Hall
"Anyone who tells you there isn't an element of luck is lying." A very straightforward statement that came flying at me like a curve ball. And it came at me from a very unlikely source - Jeremy Wade the intrepid fisherman of Animal Planet's River Monsters fame. He was answering a question he had easily been asked a hundred times before in one form or another, "What is the secret of your success?" Fully expecting the answer to be the stock "hard work, years of sacrifice" I was very surprised at the frank admission that comprised part of his answer. Like everything I had seen him do (survive a plane crash in the Amazon, wrestle an enormous sting ray from the bottom of a river, catch several bull sharks on the end of his line) this answer made me lean forward and pay closer attention to a man that frequently had me peering between my fingers and wondering "does his mother know he does this crazy stuff?"
Having hunkered down in my suburban existence long ago I have accepted that, for the time being, my travel adventures must be had vicariously through the "tell me all about your trip" talks over hastened lunches or the divided attention I might give to one of those "100 places your lame ass will never get to see" travel shows. That brought me to my accidental stumble onto Mr. Wade. I switched on Animal Planet one random afternoon two years ago and the rest is history that, well, explains why my DVR memory is always near capacity with episodes and specials I refuse to delete. Simply, he had me at "Hello, I am going to sit in this pool of piranhas to see what happens."
Over and over he has allowed me to be his silent travel companion and, being the nice bloke he is, has let me get away with not having to carry a single bit of gear. I was now able to trek to real places - not the antiseptic "slice of America" resorts scattered across the globe - but other cultures, other worlds, where Jeremy and I were the polite, soft-spoken interlopers. All the while, I watched this unique man pull fragile monsters from rivers, marvel at them and release them back to the murky depths.
Sometimes what stirs us, what awakens parts of us we did not even know were asleep, can be more unexpected than the realization that we were asleep in the first place. Fish? Not only fish, but fishing? The thing my aunt used to complain my uncle did too much of? No. Not the fishing. Not even perhaps the fish. Him. And I don't mean it that way - I don't mean the physical him, although - oh never mind. I mean the existential him. I have been told (as I think everyone has) that if you follow your heart and do what you love the money will find you. Funny, I always hear that from people who seem unbearably miserable with what they are saddled with doing day in and day out.
I don't think Mr. Wade would say that the money found him (although I am quite sure it has). I'm just not sure the two were even looking for each other. But I do think he would say that by staying true to his passion and being guided by his principles and his own happiness he has had his rendezvous with luck. And now, millions of people get to see him do what he would be doing anyway, with or without us. Lucky for me, he lets us watch.
Having hunkered down in my suburban existence long ago I have accepted that, for the time being, my travel adventures must be had vicariously through the "tell me all about your trip" talks over hastened lunches or the divided attention I might give to one of those "100 places your lame ass will never get to see" travel shows. That brought me to my accidental stumble onto Mr. Wade. I switched on Animal Planet one random afternoon two years ago and the rest is history that, well, explains why my DVR memory is always near capacity with episodes and specials I refuse to delete. Simply, he had me at "Hello, I am going to sit in this pool of piranhas to see what happens."
Over and over he has allowed me to be his silent travel companion and, being the nice bloke he is, has let me get away with not having to carry a single bit of gear. I was now able to trek to real places - not the antiseptic "slice of America" resorts scattered across the globe - but other cultures, other worlds, where Jeremy and I were the polite, soft-spoken interlopers. All the while, I watched this unique man pull fragile monsters from rivers, marvel at them and release them back to the murky depths.
Sometimes what stirs us, what awakens parts of us we did not even know were asleep, can be more unexpected than the realization that we were asleep in the first place. Fish? Not only fish, but fishing? The thing my aunt used to complain my uncle did too much of? No. Not the fishing. Not even perhaps the fish. Him. And I don't mean it that way - I don't mean the physical him, although - oh never mind. I mean the existential him. I have been told (as I think everyone has) that if you follow your heart and do what you love the money will find you. Funny, I always hear that from people who seem unbearably miserable with what they are saddled with doing day in and day out.
I don't think Mr. Wade would say that the money found him (although I am quite sure it has). I'm just not sure the two were even looking for each other. But I do think he would say that by staying true to his passion and being guided by his principles and his own happiness he has had his rendezvous with luck. And now, millions of people get to see him do what he would be doing anyway, with or without us. Lucky for me, he lets us watch.
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