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Talk, chew, and a revolution – filling the oprah void

02/09/2012 By Amber Dorsey 2 Comments

As soon as Oprah announced her show was coming to an end speculation began as to who was going to take her place. Whom would they find to fill the void for the many women who tuned in diligently day after day?

When she first started out there was no shortage of daytime talk shows (thank you Maury , Sally Jesse, Ricki Lake and Jerry Springer for the variety in programming) but in recent years daytime TV has fallen off a bit.

It’s now mostly court shows, the news and soap operas. And we know now that our most beloved and longest running soap operas are coming to an end as well.

What is the world coming to???? No more All My Children or One Life to Live??

So with Oprah leaving the stage along with several soaps, how were stay at home moms, retired women and the like supposed to cope? What would women the world over do without her positive affirmations, upbeat attitude and plentiful giveaways? Sure there are other shows like Ellen and Dr. Phil but those tend to pale in comparison to the almighty O.

The View is always entertaining and lively but it’s more of a news and views format and lacks that feel good, warm fuzzy feeling that Oprah gave to so many. It was like have a soul searching chat full of belly laughs with your best friend. Every. single. day.

Suddenly, there are a new crop of shows that have crept onto the radar this past year that are slowly trying to claim the hearts of the big O’s former audience. Shows like The Talk, The Chew and most recently…. The Revolution.

All three of these shows aim to create an atmosphere of camaraderie amongst their audiences. They are trying desperately to re-create the formula that worked so well for Ms. Winfrey.

Be personable,be relatable, show positive results, give things away, be funny and most of all be a place of solace. A place where a woman wants to curl up on her couch with a cup of coffee and watch. Or fold laundry and laugh. Or feed a nursing baby and become inspired.

And I think the three of them combined are doing a swell job. But the competing time slots lets me know that one of these is not going to be around for too long.

The Talk is too similar to The View.

The Chew is funny but it lacks that magical ‘aha!’ moment Ms. Winfrey was so famous for.

The Revolution may be the closest thing to Oprah as there are a variety of  individual specialists that each bring something to the table.

But none of them are her. Not a single one can hold its own against her.  None of them give me that same zest for life that she provided.

She truly was/ is an inspiration and something of a phenomenon.

The encouragement to “live your best life” is unparalleled and somewhat forced in the shows that have since cropped up.

And I wonder will day time TV ever be the same?

You can read more of Amber’s musings here

Filed Under: Entertainment, Opinion Tagged With: , , , ,

Politics as usual?

02/08/2012 By Amber Dorsey 2 Comments

I’m not very politically inclined I’ll be the first to admit. My upbringing was such that you “don’t talk politics and religion with people as it only leads to hurt feelings and emotional outbursts.” I only really got “into” politics during the last election. The fact that it was full of so many historical events (first woman to run & be taken seriously and a black man as candidates?) really rocked my world and encouraged me to get more involved and pay attention to what was going on in our government. So I did. To an extent. I will never be able to argue minut points on policy and practices but I have learned quite a bit. I still don’t understand a lot of it but I’ve been paying attention to what’s been happening.

And like so many other Americans I’m intrigued by the state of the union which I find myself compelled to watch each time. It’s very interesting to see how my generation is affected by politics in this day and age.

However, I’ve noticed a few things: there are certain people whom every time the President speaks, choose to remain stoic. No matter what he’s said. Valid point or not, they refuse to even acknowledge him as our leader. They yell out and boo ideas they don’t agree with and to me that seems a bit childish. Aren’t these representatives supposed to (at the very least) put on a unified front for the American public?

There is also a great divide within the two parties that makes it difficult to obtain the kind of reform that is so necessary for our country to survive. These types of occasions only make the dissent that much more apparent. But I still tune in every time to see what the responses and reactions will be.

Its always interesting to see on which side your friends tend to side with. The post political Facebook rants leave me particularly intrigued as you can see a direct correlation between the issues in Washington and how they have skewed the public’s view of the American president. And, as much as I hate to say it, racial divisions.

It seems our current POTUS is quite the polarizing figure. And I must say it humors me to no end. The anti-Obama slurs, speeches and rants. The “facts” about his presidency and how he single handedly has destroyed the country. It’s sad but an interesting study in today’s culture.

I’ll admit I voted for him. Not because he’s black and so am I. I voted for him because I truly believed (and still do) that he has the country’s best interest in his heart. I do not believe he is pushing his own agenda as much as past presidents and I do believe that he has done his absolute best to work within the constraints of his office and the party divisions in Washington.

I could sit here and spew facts and figures about what he’s done versus what they say he has/hasn’t but that’s not my style.

No mine is to sit back, observe and watch as it all plays out on a national level.  And to pray. Pray for our country and where we are going. For the people in charge and their daily struggles.

Pray that we, as a people, are able to see how divided we have become simply because of the color of a man’s skin, his funny sounding name, and his desire to ‘meet in the middle’.

No one person is going to encompass all of our ideals. No one man can accomplish that.

But perhaps – we,the people, can reach a middle ground and in that meeting will discover the solution to many of the issues plaguing this great nation.

But if not……then I will just pray for my children. That they will inherit a better life/country/planet and know what to do with the legacy we have left them.

You can read more of Amber’s musings here.

Filed Under: Humor, Opinion, Politics Tagged With: , , ,

Dumpster-diving

12/14/2011 By Britton Minor 19 Comments

I’ve done it a few times–at least twice to retrieve expensive, napkin-wrapped retainers, and more recently to hunt for a friend’s keys. I think I would make a good crime scene investigator. I’m not easily grossed out, and I often wear clompy shoes. Besides, the last time I saw the C.S.I. truck in our neighborhood, I fantasized about pulling over to offer them my help, “I’ve got my boots on. I don’t mind blood and guts. What’ve ya got for me?”

In case my humor annoys you, please know that I am concerned about my cavalier pride in this skill, dumpster-diving. After all, not everyone chooses to crawl inside slurgy, murky, splimy stinking surprise-bins. Some people do it to survive–without a warm shower waiting for them afterwards, or a pocket-sized bottle of hand-sanitizer at the ready. It is difficult to imagine crunching on the apple core previously nestled next to the used disposable diaper. See. You just gagged, didn’t you? I did too, and nearly chose another example, but it was worse. And these things happen–at least I imagine they do. I saw what was inside that bin.

As winter approaches and temperatures drop, I cannot help but think about how easy it is to throw on another blanket or flip on the heater when I am chilly–to grab a hot cuppa–while beyond the great comforts of my home, someone has not chosen to be homeless, freezing…and hungry. Or, as I have learned while researching this piece, some people do (choose to be homeless). I stumbled on a blog, http://guide2homelessness.blogspot.com that illuminated homelessness in such a way that I begrudgingly became enlightened on the subject. I learned, for example, that some efforts to help the homeless are fraught with intrusive rules–help given that strips away any remaining fragments of dignity the homeless person may possess, or heavily laced with piety that requires something from someone who, in his moment of greatest need, has nothing to give. I became aware of my own rules.

For example, I like to feel as if the measly dollars I give will amount to something after I give them. I like to try to discern which needy person asking for money will use it to help themselves versus buying alcohol with it. Michael’s blog and our subsequent e-mail conversation knocked my strongly held judgements off their ornamental pedestals. He taught me that not all “beggars” are homeless, and that those who are probably have few others skills on which to lean for survival. He also taught me, without putting it mildly, that my desire to ensure the wise use of my money is a violation of a person’s “rights of agency.” My “see I told you so” attitude in response to the recent sign I saw stating, “I need money for alcohol,” was rebuffed with the fact that sometimes an alcoholic’s need is so acute that not getting alcohol may mean death. I still struggle with this facet of begging, but I understand what Michael meant about my specialized giving: I am giving with conditions and with judgement.

“You must give with your eyes averted,” my homeless mentor told me. I still wasn’t convinced I could change my thinking, but I wanted to. Last night we drove past a blanket-bundled man on a stool. His sign said, simply, “Help Me.” As the kids and I passed him, I pondered Michael’s words again, and marveled at the simplicity of the man’s plea. My heart pulsed again, and I realized that giving can be simple. I checked with the kids.

“What about the alcohol thing?” my daughter asked.

“Well,” I thought aloud, “perhaps it doesn’t matter. Perhaps giving has its own special energy, and we don’t need to worry about how the money will be used.”

“Yah Mom, he looks really cold. I wonder if someone gave him that blanket.”

Approaching the bundled man, I rolled down the window, handed him the cash (he was surprised–gentle in his thankfulness), and drove off feeling less noble, more privileged, less burdened by judgement, abundantly thankful, and significantly enlightened. Our response to “Help Me,” can be a simple, “Sure, here you go.”

Filed Under: Humor, Motivate, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Breaking up is hard to do

12/13/2011 By Amber Dorsey 6 Comments

“If you don’t do this for me, I’ll never forgive you”. That was the first message I read in a series of texts from an estranged friend. Pretty heavy for 8am if you ask me, and since I hadn’t seen the previous 8 messages I had no idea what she was talking about that could be so drastic, so damaging that it could warrant un-forgiveness. FOREVER. Turns out she had asked me a favor the day before but being pregnant and scattered I did not commit to said favor. Apparently this was not cool.

Over the next several hours I received a range of texts alternating from begging for my assistance to out and out irritation that I would deign to not commit to her. This friend I have. My childhood best friend at that. When we  hooked up in the first grade we were as thick as thieves until junior high when suddenly I was no longer in her circle of favorites. That stung a bit, but it was okay as I had other friends as well. Moving on to high school she went to a completely different school and then there was the “incident” after which we were banned from hanging out together. Over the years we remained in touch, in and out of each others lives, but still friends in the loosest sense of the word. But still I kept in her my life. Not necessarily because she was ‘such a good friend to me’ but because it’s what I knew.

At some point in my adult life, I began to shed old friendships as a snake does its skin. Simply because I needed to be surrounded by people who understood me, wanted to be friends with me, and wouldn’t hold a grudge over a slight that happened years before. Call it growing up, if you will, but it needed to happen. Somehow though she slipped through the cracks since we really didn’t talk that much and there were never any hard feelings, and that ‘friendship’ remained. Then I got married, while planning the wedding there was annother ‘incident’ and she became livid when I didn’t react to her quickly enough. A full year before it was supposed to even take place. So we I cut her out of my life. Slowly she wedged back in and ended up getting an invite to the wedding (my husband just shook his head). She showed up, after the ceremony, stayed for cocktail hour and then left stating she had to get back to her kids. I was PISSED and continued to keep her at arms length but did what any “good friend” would do- I called her on it. She acted surprised that I even cared. We eventually reconciled and I would still invite her to family functions and sometimes she would come, sometimes not.

I was okay with that. I’ve learned that friendships are like a marriage, they have both good and bad moments. They go through ups and downs and require lots of love, forgiveness and time to get things to work properly. But it’s a process. I get that. I’m not sure however, that she does. I’m also not entirely sure she really knows how to be a friend. A real and true friend. Not just when it’s convenient. And that’s okay too.

Back to the texts – I chose my fate of being unforgiven as what she wanted was in direct conflict with my own schedule. And at this stage in my life I can’t spend it pleasing others because of my fear of their reactions. Needless to say I haven’t  heard from her since. I’m not particularly losing sleep over it  as she’s not the first friend breakup I’ve had to deal with in recent years. It’s not fun but I understand the necessity to purge from time to time. I hope she does as well.  I’m not sure that the ‘friendship’ we’ve had is healthy. We’ve been hanging on to a relationship that was unhealthy and had run its course, for longer than necessary. Simply because it was easier to stay than it was to face the truth: we’ve out grown each other.

I still love her dearly but realize that at this point in my life and hers, we were just not meant to be. Breaking/growing up is sometimes hard to do…….

You can find more of Amber’s musings on life here

Filed Under: MISC, Nostalgia, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Men are from Walmart. Women are from Nordstorm.

11/01/2011 By Elizabeth Cassidy 5 Comments

I am a snob. I inherited this trait from my father. Never got those blue eyes that could have helped me in the charm and disarming department.  No, I got the eye color that looks like mud on a spring morning and the snob gene.  I don’t really feel all that guilty about it. The snobby part that is.  I remember my dear old father proclaiming that if he died while in Walmart (where my mother used to drag him crying and screaming) that he would want his lifeless body driven over to Lord & Taylor’s where it would be placed ever so gently on their front steps. No New York Times obituary was ever going to state that he expired by the Bermuda shorts and novelty tee shirt department at Walmart.

The husband was getting ready for work the other day. He gets up at the ungodly hour of 5 AM which means that I might as well get up also. Lights, action and some low muttering about what one of my well behaved cats did during the night. Just charming. It’s like having all the really cool religious leaders sitting at the foot of my bed and going, “elizabeth, have a wonderful day. And you know all those things you wished for last night? Well, the UPS man will be delivering them to you today. And the Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus families want you to spend the holidays in Vail with them.” Notice they made no mention of Walmart. Even God knows that you can’t wash clothes from Walmart twice because they will melt together in the dryer. I have seen that happen.

Where was I? Oh, right the husband is getting dressed. And then he comes in to say “get up, you lazy witch” and I see him wearing a red baseball cap with a ghastly flame on the side, shorts with 17 pockets (and men say we carry big bags), tube socks and black sneakers. Oh and a tee shirt with De Kooning-like paint stains splattered all over it and a denim shirt finishes the ensemble. And he is leaving the house this way? Does he not realize that he is living with a snob? Oh, yes, he does.  I think he puts these outfits together as a way to punish me for marrying him. Running me over with his pick up truck 6 to 800 times would hurt less. And yes, he does have a pick up truck.  My membership to the Project Runway Fan club is in jeopardy. Tim Gunn – I can explain.

I know our mailman has got to be confused. I look at our mail and I am sometimes aghast and horrified. There are cute little kittens and puppies in need who are featured on envelopes that are stuck in between Outdoorsmen Love Quiche and I Have a Riffle and I Don’t Care How Cute You Are Quarterly. I just hate how my Instyle and Spirituality and Health magazines have to rub shoulders with Cabela’s fifteen pound catalogue that features camouflage thongs for men. With beer bellies.  I was asked if I would like anything from Cabela’s for Christmas. Who knew they have a divorce lawyer section right after the gun and pepper spray section – way in the back. Real small type.

Just for the record, the husband can look quite dashing when he applies himself.  And when he does, I don’t feel like the need to apply to the Snob Protection Plan. But I might try it out for six months.

Now please let me know if I am wrong about this, but who wears black shoes with a brown belt?

Give me a pair of shoes and belt that coordinate or give me death. Just plant my cold body by the entrance to Neiman Marcus’ jewelry department – by the sales items. I said I was a snob. Not stupid.

© 2011 My Views from the Edge ™

Please visit my site: My Views From The Edge

Filed Under: Humor, New York, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , ,

#OccupyResponsibility

10/31/2011 By Jami Rogers 9 Comments

Let me start by saying I am all for protesting. I don’t think I would ever actually participate in a protest but I think it’s great when people stand up, take to the street, and express their feelings in a peaceful, constitutional manner. Protesting helped get women the vote, it got our government to withdraw from Vietnam, and was a huge motivator in the civil rights movement.

I am all for protesting.

Well that isn’t entirely true. Let me rephrase…

I am all for protesting with a purpose.

The protesters in the Occupy Wall Street/Orange County/Your Backyard movement that is happening now around the country is pointless and I completely disagree with it.

Of course I am against corporate and Wall Street greed, and of course I think it’s awful that so many people are out of work or can’t find jobs that pay them for what they deserve. My hubby had three jobs in one year due to the recession/depression of our economy. But here is where this protest totally comes unglued for me: I plan to fight against this greed by voting new, fresh people into congress, the senate, and our local government, so that we can turn things around from the inside. The Occupy protesters seem to just want to complain about life not being fair. Most of their random demands almost have an air of communism or socialism about them.

For example:

  • Guaranteed living wage income regardless of employment. WHAT? That makes absolutely no sense unless we live in a socialist society. People work hard for the money and the positions they earn. Yes, many people are struggling right now making less than they should, but the economy WILL come back. We will not be in a recession forever and when it does those people who are underemployed now will be promoted. If you aren’t being recognized financially for your work find a new job (they ARE out there,) or go get more education to help make more money. But this whole one income for everyone only works in places like Russia or China, so move there.
  • Free college education. America is a democracy. Supply and demand. People earn what they get here and we pay for quality things like education. If you want free education I guarantee it would be a crummy one and again you should move to a communist country like Russia or China if that’s what you want.
  • Racial and gender equal rights amendment. Don’t we already have this???
  • Institute a universal single payer healthcare system. Go to Canada. Our American democracy will never have socialized health care and it shouldn’t. Think about something the government is in control of, like the DMV. How awful is the DMV? Do you really want the government running your healthcare system? I have family in Canada and they wish they didn’t have socialized healthcare. It takes months to get in and see a doctor. Most people call an ambulance for an ear ache just so they can be seen by a doctor immediately. Do you really want that?

The protesters pride themselves on being leaderless but I think that may be their main problem. Their demands are all over the place and most of them are so far off in left field; it’s ridiculous. There needs to be a unified point of a protest for it to, one: be taken seriously; and two: have demands met.

This last demand is by far my favorite and just sums up how absurd these protesters are:

  • Immediate across the board debt forgiveness for all. Listen up protesters! You are to blame for your debt. Nobody held a gun to your head and made you sign up for a credit card, let alone to use it. Nobody forced you to buy a luxury car you couldn’t afford. You chose to go to that elite college that costs a hundred thousand dollars a year; when you could have gotten the same education from your amazing state college. You chose to be in debt. You chose to live outside your means. That is not the governments fault, that is you being immature and irresponsible.

This whole time you are out on the street protesting you could have been looking for a job, getting a job, or working a job.

Get off your lazy booties, take responsibility for your actions, and stop playing the victim.

Life is hard. Get over it!

Occupy Responsibility!

Filed Under: Opinion, SoCal

I guess I don’t want to be “Richard Cory”

10/19/2011 By Melanie Myatt 5 Comments

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favoured and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good Morning!” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine — we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet in his head.
–Edwin Arlington Robinson

I am a lit. major so I had to study a lot of poetry when I was in school.  For some reason, this poem has always stuck in my head more than any other that I studied.  This may have something to do with the fact that my dad is a big Simon and Garfunkel fan and played their songs (including one based on this poem) ad infinitum until I couldn’t help but become a fan myself.

At this point in our circumstances, we are beyond poor.  Thanks to the government we have food and healthcare.  Thanks to careful shopping at thrift stores and birthday money, we are dressed appropriately.  And thanks to a bit of savings, we can afford to pay our rent each month.

For the most part, I don’t mind being poor.  I used to joke that I was raised to be poor, since I am the offspring of two Dutch parents for whom the phrase “full price” is as unmentionable as certain other four letter words.  I know how to shop the sale racks, I can spot a clearance sign faster than an English professor can spot a comma splice (how many do I have so far, Professor?), and I have an inner magnetism that draws me toward the best place to find a deal in any store in any city.

I know how to be poor.  More or less.

But sometimes I have days where I just want to walk into a department store and buy anything that catches my eye, even if I might only ever wear it once.  Maybe I would purchase an entire outfit, including top, bottom, shoes and accessories, instead of trying to piece things together from here, there and everywhere.

I’d like to go to a restaurant and order anything off the menu that sounds appetizing, without calculating the cost vs. satisfaction vs. taste factors first.  If we were rich, I could order an appetizer, main dish, dessert and a drink, without a second thought.

Maybe I could even plan a vacation where I was able to go somewhere I’ve never been.  I could stay in a hotel offering more than two beds and a bathroom.  I could pick the attractions I really wanted to see, instead of just the ones that are the most “cost effective.”

Maybe, someday.

The thing is, I know people who have this lifestyle.  They buy what they want when they want.  They go where they like when they like.  They eat food that my kids would never dream of tasting, like fish eggs and liver paste (and, frankly? I’m with my kids on that one).

I know one couple in particular who lives this way.  Occasionally they have even showered their blessings on us, and, for a brief time, I got a taste of the indulgent life.  For all appearances, they have everything you could ever dream of having.

Except, apparently, happiness.

A short time ago, their marriage experienced a rift so great that it became public, at least within family circles.  Great depths of unhappiness were revealed.  Money had not been able to buy them healthy relationships and self-satisfaction.

If people who don’t have financial worries aren’t happy, what does this mean for the rest of us?

The fact that this couple who quite honestly and truly has everything I could ever imagine wanting in the way of material possessions and is still not happy has really made me think.

What does it take to be happy?

I’m trying to think differently about money.  I still long for financial stability, even if I’m trying not to view it as the answer to my problems.  But these days I’m focusing on the joy that my kids share just by sitting around the table together at supper together.

“But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that.”

There may still be days where I wish my food was gourmet and my clothes designer, but I’m working harder to make this my motto. Contentment and happiness obviously cannot be bought so I’m going to work on creating them with what I have available right now.

photo by sushi♥ina

You can find more of Melanie’s writing here.

Filed Under: Opinion Tagged With: ,

Two People

10/11/2011 By Addison Renick 4 Comments

There are two people in my life that when their names come up in conversation or their image pops into my head I instantly become angry. My pulse begins to race, my body temperature rises, and the vein in my forehead rapidly pulses uncontrollably. Every mean, unkind thing they have ever said or done to me comes rushing through my brain. I relive each situation over again and the feelings and thoughts I had then are the same ones I have now.

Don’t even get me started on when I have to physically be around them. I honestly have to take deep breaths to calm myself down before the dreaded encounter. I get pep talks from my spouse on the way over. “It will be okay this time, I’m sure.” “Just ignore them.” “Who cares what they think?”

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, Breathe out.

The logical question would be “Why do you see these two people that are so upsetting to you?” “Why put yourself through this?”

The unfortunate answer is ” I have to. They are family.”

Which means at every holiday, every family gathering I must endure them, their comments, their looks, and their attitude.

People can choose their friends but they can’t choose their family.

Ain’t that the truth!

Filed Under: Opinion

Intimacy and Solitude

10/05/2011 By Britton Minor 7 Comments

Strange bedfellows, intimacy and solitude. Craved for its heady high and delicate, delectable power, intimacy deludes its captors and eludes its pursuers in equal measure. He is not always what he seems.

Likewise, solitude subtly lures her “victims,” offering only teensy crevices between rocks and hard places, belying the truth of her oceanic depth.

We covet being deeply connected to at least one other person–its acquisition thought to capture and bottle the elusive happiness panacea. Some will argue that ironically it is our sexual pursuit of intimacy that hinders attaining it, and that only abstinence will allow us a more honest assessment of our desires and help us separate the chaff (a one-nighter) from the grain (a more lasting union). Others claim that without an initial sexual spark, true intimacy will rarely happen. Even the settling of this argument via a spiritual belief or the absence of one does not address the crux of our intangible malaise, this “tip of the tongue” feeling about naming the culprit, i.e. the reason so many of us walk around with the feeling that “there must be more to life than this.” And being the creatures we are, we seek “more” in various ways-drugs, alcohol, affairs, sex, movies, pornography, parties, dating, shopping, exercising, dieting, etc. –anything that feels as if we are switching things up a bit–either by escaping, avoiding, attempting to change our appearance, or simply interacting with others. We’ve all witnessed or been the lonely person who inappropriately unloads a bit of “TMI” (too much information) on the unsuspecting cashier.

It is far easier to get the quick emotional fix of superficial connections than it is to get deep ones. This is one of the main reasons social networking is so popular. Need to connect? Post something provocative and wait for friends to respond. Or, find an intriguing post and add a comment as if you were in the room or in the midst of a physical conversation. Though powerful and valuable, social networking and many of the other ways we seek to connect are not necessarily intimate–we are missing what even a great refiner’s fire cannot burn away: the need for intimacy with ourselves.

Our awareness of our acute need for some alone time (the kids are driving us crazy, the spouse or spouse-equivalent is smothering us), might push us in the right direction but then yield the ironic result of us sitting in Starbucks Facebooking–ahh, “alone” with 300 of our “closest” friends. This incessant, activity-rich decade or two has us (almost) believing that we are fulfilled by using our private moments to “connect,” If we are lucky enough to realize that we are not satisfied, we still have a difficult time slowing down long enough to identify the source(s) of our displeasure.

Managing the pace of our lives, thanks to the miracles of technology, has us so lubricated by instant gratification that our deeper needs slip by. And then our intimate relationships begin to suffer…sometimes weathering the tempest of our anxiety and dissatisfaction, sometimes not. As the storms blow through, we do not bend and adjust as we should. We do not stop to analyze what is happening, much less why. We shoulder on with our commitments, our cyber-connections, and our playdates, our responsibilities, the needs of others–oblivious to Solitude as she valiantly yet silently screams for our attention. Why do we avoid her? We are afraid of what we might find there, of course–afraid that we won’t like what we feel or see, or that because we already don’t like what we see, we will self-destruct, burn up, cease to exist if we get too close to the fiery hot truth of ourselves.

Still, only solitude can purify our thoughts, clarify our desires, and speak our deepest truths, leaving us with the closest thing to a philosopher’s stone we will find on Earth: authenticity. And, like the miles of training a runner puts in before competing in a marathon, this is our base, from which we are more likely to experience a satisfying level of intimacy, or at least begin to try. Intimacy and solitude are strange bedfellows indeed, but partners nevertheless–even if one is temporarily sleeping in another room.

I’m curious–as this is such a huge topic, what your experiences are. Are you willing to share some of the ways in which you either embrace or avoid solitude? Perhaps, since one woman’s discussion about this topic certainly falls short of adequacy, we can start a deeper conversation? I welcome your public OR your private comments (thejadedlens@gmail.com). Perhaps a future post can include (without naming names) the suggestions, the struggles, the victories you share. With gratitude…Britton

Filed Under: Motivate, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Horrible Bosses – The Prequel

10/02/2011 By Elizabeth Cassidy 2 Comments

I have not seen the new movie, “Horrible Bosses.” I don’t need to see Jennifer Aniston in her underwear eating every variety of vegetable that screams of looking a tad phallic. When I go to the produce department at my local supermarket, I shy away from the HUGE cucumbers and zucchinis – not because they are all seeds, but because I don’t know how to pick them up without some guy looking over at me and winking.

So this is not about produce dos and don’ts, but about horrible bosses. And I have had a few. Haven’t we all?

The thing that upsets me about horrible bosses is not that these people shouldn’t be bosses because they are dreadful human beings (but a damn good reason), but because all the horrible bosses I have had were women. So much for sisterhood being powerful. I have been asking intelligent women I know about their horror stories about the miserable low life, the scum you scrap off the bottom of your shoe bosses and they said they were women.

Why are we doing this to each other?

My horrible witches –  am not using the word  boss anymore – they didn’t deserve the title and I am sure there are a few wonderful bosses who are women out there. Where?

I had one who made sacrificial lambs out of all the women in the department – one by one. There were no men in our department – it would have been nice if they had shared their findings with us. Could have prevented a lot of heartache. I thought she would have spared me since we knew some of the same people in the industry (and they told me their horror stories), but ,NO, my turn came. So when the other women in the department meekly asked me what my plan was, I did the only thing I could do. I hustled and found another job. But not before I reported her to the HR department and brought her up on religious discrimination charges.  And she got her butt whipped. You can’t be a horrible witch and break the law. Not around me you can’t. I have to say that all of those women went on working with her until she finally got fired. Just love ya, Karma.

And then I had the twin witches at the next company. How lucky can one girl get?  I went from one witch on wheels to the torturing duo – my own little two headed monster. Karma must have been on vacation or in jail.

They both started off saying lovely things about me. That was Mistake #1. Silly me, I never learn. I experienced a living hell with these women (who had procreated and did not eat all their young – how odd is that) and watched them trample the souls of the people who worked hard for them. Doing a good job and not putting something in the engine of their car was not enough. Making you feel like nada and making the occasional tear nosedive down your cheek was mother’s milk to them. My God, they loved to see us in pain almost as much as they loved causing it.

And how did they get away with it? Friends in high places who I can only assume loved to get their bottoms smacked by them. Just my theory, folks. I have no scientific evidence to prove my theory, just a strong gut feeling. But these higher ups turned a blind eye to the abuse and it was abuse. Karma would like to have a few words with you jackals. Karma didn’t make bail and is really quite annoyed with the world.

So I would like to put women bosses (well, the majority of them. I know there are some extraordinary ones out there. Where?) on notice. You do not beat on someone’s ego because you fear that people will find out that you are a fake. Breaking News: you are a fake and we knew it. The only difference between you and decent people is that you held our jobs in your hands. You should never have been able to dangle our essence on a pole while running down the hall with your hair on fire.

In the end, we may have needed antacids to get over you, but we will still have our dignity and people who like us. No matter how many times you made us cry.

And Jennifer Aniston, put some clothes on. I don’t feel like writing another “I hate my body” blog.

© 2011 My Views from the Edge ™

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Filed Under: Humor, New York, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , ,

You are not an expert

09/21/2011 By Adam Rogers From The Smartly 3 Comments

I am no expert on experts, but you sir, are no expert. How do I know this? Because you said you are one. Well, maybe you didn’t use the word expert, but you probably used something like ‘guru’ or ‘ninja’ or some equally self-aggrandizing statement. Because you said it though; you’ve negated any authority you have on the subject.

You see, there is a very easy way to spot a real expert. They are the person in the room that never says a word about how they are an expert, and yet somehow everyone seems to know that’s exactly what they are. I’m reminded of the old saying, “speak softly and carry a big stick.” That is what I believe is the true mark of someone who is the top of their field.

They don’t brag, they don’t shout at the top of their lungs “listen to me! I know what I’m talking about!” They speak softly, with authority, and what they say commands our attention, not because of the volume of their voice, but by the depth of knowledge, and the conviction they pass the knowledge in with. Quite simply, they speak, and we listen.

Filed Under: Opinion, SoCal

The fallacy of getting organized

09/20/2011 By Robin Grosland 6 Comments

I need to get organized.  I need to develop a system.  I need a plan.

No matter how often I clean, the house still seems to always be a mess.  If I were more organized and we had a system, it wouldn’t get so messy.

I need to plan better and stick to a schedule.  There are so many things going on in my life that I can’t seem to stay on top of them.  Commitments are falling through the cracks.  I would be able to do all the things I want/need to if I just planned better.

There never seems to be enough money.  If I were just better at sticking to a budget, we could afford to do all the things we want to do.  I should be able to keep track and form a plan so that we are building up our savings while still living a good life.

Do any of these sound familiar to you?  If you haven’t said them you’ve probably heard them.  Everyone thinks that if they were just more organized everything in life would run smoothly.  That’s why there are so many products, TV shows, containers, books, and professionals to help you get organized.  Because getting organized is magical!  It will solve all your problems!  It’s pretty!

Sometimes, in some areas, this might be true.  But I would argue that in most cases no amount of organizing is going to fix the problem.  Organization isn’t the problem.  The problem is that there is just too much.

You own too much stuff.  There is a finite amount of space in your house.  It is filled with things you don’t use, don’t like, or are saving just in case even though you got a new one.  Unless you are going to stack things floor to ceiling so that your family and friends have to call Hoarders, you are going to run out of space.

You have too many commitments.  There is a finite amount of time in the day.  There are people in your life that you don’t enjoy.  There are commitments in your life that you feel obligated to do that someone else could take over.   You enjoy being everything to everyone.  You cannot do everything you want to do.  In fact, it isn’t healthy to be busy all the time.  And you know that.  But you can’t seem to bring yourself to turn anyone down or cut out those things that just aren’t fulfilling anymore.

You are living beyond your means.  There is a finite amount of money.  Rearranging it won’t mean there is more.  The only way to increase how much money is left over is to quit spending it on things that you don’t really need or want.  You’re going to the store hungry and buying snacks when you promised yourself you wouldn’t.  You’re rationalizing that Diet Coke everyday because it’s just a couple of dollars without considering that over a year it’s hundreds of dollars.  You’re going out to eat more than you are cooking and eating at home.  I’m willing to bet there is some way to trim the fat in your budget.  But you have to learn to give things up.

What area of your life feels like it is stretched too thin?  Examine it and decide if it really all must be done and must be done by you.  Is there anything you can let go?  Is there anything extra?  Or detrimental to you?  Are there things or people in your life that you just don’t like? Are there things you own or do because you feel like it is expected of you?  How much of what is in your life did you consciously choose and how much just kind of showed up?

When there is too much, it can be suffocating.  It is oppressive.  It weighs on you.  Whether you are consciously aware of it or not, your brain is tracking it.  Your mind is aware that it is still in your life.  It is sucking energy from you.

We pack our lives so full because society tells us we should.  You should have more.  You should have newer.  You should be more productive.  And everyone around you should be able to tell that you are working harder than them.

It gets so crazy that we start to feel like less.  All those things and commitments that we thought would make us feel better actually make us feel like failures because we can’t stay on top of it all.

Filling our lives, schedules, homes, plans, or budget with too many things is like constantly trying to wear your old pants after you gained twenty pounds.  Maybe you can get them on.  But even if you do, you are not going to be comfortable.  And you are going to look like a sausage.  And that’s not a good look on anyone.

Don’t let your life be a sausage.

Image created at Wordle.net.

Read more from Robin at The Mess that is My Life.

Filed Under: Motivate, Opinion Tagged With: , , ,

Do I call you Horace or Pookie Bear?

08/22/2011 By Ridgely Johnson 6 Comments

I prefer you call me Pookie Bear, honey!

You say “Goodbye, Honey,” to your husband every morning. You don’t give it a second thought. We adore our husbands, our wives, and our partners. Honey is an endearment we covet in this day of broken relationships and online dating. Using the term audibly reinforces our declaration of adoration, or so we think. Yet, some well-meaning souls warn against using pet names to refer to your soul mate. What? This means no more Pookie Bear, Stud Man, Sweetie, Sugar and Handsome? Yes, that’s exactly the bottom line.

Evidently using these terms of endearment erode the sizzling passion in our love nests. The prevailing notion is that it’s just a matter of time before these terms of endearment start creeping into our subconscious. Suddenly, you are not thinking of your man as that LA firefighter coming to rescue you and extinguish your fire Friday night. You see him as a snuggie partner for a Lifetime movie. The solution: d/c “sweetheart,” murmur his ‘given name,’ whether Elmer or Horace, and miraculously the sizzle is back. Your man takes on the virility of his college days; the lady flashbacks to her early days dancing on tabletops, winking at her man.

Admittedly, I had never used endearments excessively: not because of any preconceived fear of plummeting sexuality, but more of the type of communication I regularly have with LT during day-to-day life. He is a Watch-Commander for a large city. In other words, he is a big dog cop. Most days, I address him, not by his given name but rather as Lieutenant. When he gets home, I call him by his given name.

I decided this situation called for a study, an experiment, if you will. My experiment required a given time period when I addressed my dear husband “Pookie Bear.” Never in our 20 years together have I called LT “Pookie Bear.” Guess what? Pookie Bear presented as a Grizzly Bear, not a snookie, cuddly, Lifetime watching partner. I had a few like-minded fillies experiment with pet names for their mates. The names ran the gamete from Sugar Pop to Sweetie Pie. Perhaps it is in the delivery where these other ladies ran amok as Sugar Pop and Sweetie Pie’s scores were off the charts!

I do not doubt these honey-hating ladies conducted a study. But, if their study accurately reflected Americana, then divorce lawyers would be a thing of the past. As long as you called your mate his/her given name, the sizzle would last forever. Hear that Horace?

This is not a book review. But if you think I made this up or are skeptical or curious check it out: Stop Calling Him Honey and Start Having Sex.

Until next time, Mrs. Pookie Bear signing out.

photo by dreamstine

visit ridgely’s site

Filed Under: Humor, MISC, Opinion Tagged With: , , , ,

Who asked you?

07/20/2011 By Robin Grosland 3 Comments

Don’t you just love unsolicited advice?  The way everyone around you knows exactly how to fix your life?  No, me either.

Do I believe their intentions are pure?  Sometimes.  Do I think they are trying to be hurtful?  Not usually.  Do I find what they say to be helpful?  Very, very rarely.  Usually it comes across as self-aggrandizing, holier-than-thou preaching.  At least to me it does.  And sometimes it’s downright mean.  Especially if I am really having a hard time.

I am not going to tell you how to talk to someone who’s having a hard time.  That would be exactly the problem I’m talking about.  I am going to tell you how I would like people to interact with me when I am having a hard time.  (But I bet some of this will work for anyone who is struggling.)

1.  Don’t assume you know what the problem is.  My life is multi-faceted.  What bothers me one day doesn’t the next.  If you think that the one problem you know about is the only problem in my life then you are delusional.  One day it’s my health.  One day it’s my relationship with my husband.  One day it’s my past.  One day it’s hormonal.  And some days I don’t even know what it is, so how could you?

If you want to know what the problem is (because you are concerned, not out of a morbid curiosity or need to know for your own selfish reasons) then ask me.  Talk to me.  Express your concern and your willingness to listen.  And be prepared for a brush off.  If you are not a person that I am comfortable talking to in that moment, respect that.  These are my feelings and I get to choose who to share them with.

2.  Don’t you dare tell me that you know how I feel (or how I should feel).  You don’t.  Even if you’ve had a similar experience, your life up to and around that point are not the same as mine.  You do not have the same temperament as me.  You do not live inside my mind and body.  You do NOT know how I feel.  Nothing will alienate me from you faster than that.

But it will ingratiate you to me if you admit right up front that you don’t know how I feel.  Maybe you have an idea, maybe not.  Express your own personal sorrow at seeing me in pain.  Or express your frustration that you can’t make me feel better.  Or express your willingness to listen.  Again, listening is the key.  Which leads to number three.

3.  Don’t try to fix me or my life or my problem.  These are not yours to fix.  It is not your job to make me feel better no matter who you are.  And when you try, when you tell me how to fix it, you are saying that you have no faith in me to overcome it on my own.  You are saying that you know better how to live my life than I do.  I’m sorry, but there is no chance that when I reach final judgment I am going to be asked how well you lived my life.  It’s my life to live and I need to do it.  I need to figure it out for myself.

Listen.  Just listen.  Cry with me.  Hug me.  Comfort me.  Whatever.  But don’t try to take my problems away from me.  They are mine.  They are how I become who I am meant to be.  They are how I grow stronger.  They are mine and I will not surrender them.  They are a part of me and I am less without them.  I need them.  And when I don’t need them anymore it will be because I overcame them.  I chose to give them away.  I got everything I needed out of them and gave them back to God.

Read more from Robin at The Mess that is My Life.

Photo by Nutdanai Apikhomboonwaroot. Courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

Things that go bump in the night

07/05/2011 By Darren Nethington 8 Comments

There has been a mildly entertaining  proliferation of ghost stories on TV lately: Ghost Hunters, A Haunting, Ghost Lab, and my personal looking-at-a-car wreck favorite, Celebrity Ghost Stories—because it’s final proof that there is an afterlife for aging celebrities who can’t find meaningful work (unless you count Lifetime Movies).

On Ghost Hunters, there are these guys who spend nights in supposedly haunted old buildings. They come prepared with night vision, tape recorders and various gadgets designed to catch elusive denizens of the afterlife in the act of being themselves. I enjoy the history of these places, but the actual nuts and bolts of ghost hunting is rather boring. They set up cameras here, recorders there. They have long strategy discussions– “Um, it’s kind of cold in here, so maybe we’ll set something up here,” or “The guy said he saw a shadow move here, so, um, we’ll put a camera on this table.”

Then the lights go out, and we get to watch a half an hour or so of greenish tinged people asking each other if they heard something. Invariably, somebody will play back their Electronic Voice Phenomena (EVP) recorder. They will swear they heard an evil entity tell them to “Get out!” No matter how much I strain my ears, I can’t hear anything that resembles a ghostly admonition. To me, it sounds more like “You guys are a bunch of idiots.” Helpfully, the subtitle that accompanies the EVP play back verifies our intrepid ghost hunter’s translation. Since the guys usually stay the night anyway, I stand by own inexpert interpretation.

Remember Star Trek? There was always some hapless red shirted guy named Kowalski who was going to die within 5 or 6 frames of landing on a planet. On Ghost Hunters, there is always a guy in frumpy clothes who has to sleep by himself in some basement room where somebody supposedly died violently. This poor schlep doesn’t die, but at the first wheezy EVP, you can count on him running screaming up the stairs, his flash light beam bouncing frantically on the walls.

At some point, a ghost hunter will confront the entity, mano y plasma. There is a big build up to this, with lots of coming-up-next teasers. Man, you can’t wait for the commercials to get over with so you can see this guy show this ghost who’s boss. Then the moment arrives—and we get two minutes of a guy talking to himself. I waited for this? I can get that looking out my front window, without the commercials. Just once I’d like to see one of his buddies pop a balloon behind him while he’s calling out the ghost.

“Show yourself,” the guy says, eyes all big. “Face me! FACE ME, DAMN IT!” And then, POP!

Now that’s entertainment.

Photo courtesy of:  http://www.nuo2x2toys.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/PM-revenge-ghost.jpg

Filed Under: Entertainment, Humor, MISC, Opinion, Spirituality Tagged With: , ,

Congratulations?

06/21/2011 By MichelleS 8 Comments

Crying EyeI am a great aunt. Both mom and baby are doing well. In fact, the baby is absolutely gorgeous. It should be a moment to savor and to celebrate. Unfortunately, the father is my 17-year-old nephew. The mother just turned 15 within the last month, and my nephew and she are not even dating. This is not cause for celebration.

My nephew was a good kid. He is incredibly intelligent and has always been surrounded by a loving extended family. His mother and father, however, had a miserable marriage and ended up divorcing a bit too late. Over six years after they called things off, my nephew remains filled with rage at his father and life in general. We have seen him go from top of his class to failing almost everything and eventually dropping out of high school. In fact, he should have graduated last week. Instead, he gets to face parenthood.

My brother-in-law, the new grandfather, has tried to convince both new parents to put the baby up for adoption and give her a chance at a better life. The mother wants to wait to see if she can handle motherhood. Did I mention she was only 15 years old? Even with all the support in the world, how can someone that young handle motherhood? What’s worse is the fact that my nephew and the mother of his child are not even in any sort of relationship. This was literally a situation of scratching an itch or giving into teenage hormones.

I am not naive. I know that kids these days are more sexually active than most people realize. I know they are bombarded with sexual images and all sorts of pressure. I know that parents try to teach responsibility, or should be doing so. I could rant about the availability of condoms or putting daughters on the pill or better yet the shot so that there is no worry about missing pills. The fact is that no matter what I can say does not change the fact that two children did something completely stupid and irresponsible and are now faced with the result of their actions for the next 18 years.

As I see my nieces and in-laws celebrate the birth of this newest member of the family, I cannot help but feel tremendous heartbreak that such a talented child, one who had the whole world before him, would end up like this. My heart goes out to the young mother. She will be welcome into the family and given all the care and support we can give her, but her life has changed forever because of one bad decision on both their parts.  At this point in time, I can only see the tragedy behind this entire situation.

Filed Under: Opinion, Parenting Tagged With: , , , ,

Cat Ranch

06/08/2011 By Laurie LaGrone 8 Comments

Here in the country we have pretty much everything we need. We could use more money, more regular filling of pot holes, and more reliable cell phone reception, but otherwise, we’re doing fine.

We don’t need any more cats, thanks.

I can imagine the scenario. You have a female indoor cat who gets out one night, lured by the serenading male cats out on your lawn (who were, of course, lured there by her feline feminine cycle in the first place). A few weeks later – and it is way too late tonight to Google the gestation period of the common house cat, sorry – you’ve got kittens. What to do?

You could sit outside of Safeway with a box of wriggling, adorable kittens; sit there all week until every Safeway patron in town has snubbed you, twice. You could take them to the Humane Society, but that would just be an admission of owning an unspayed cat, and who needs that kind of grief on a Tuesday? Not me – not you, either, apparently.

So, you do the logical thing, and drive way out to the country to dump them beside the road in the dark . . . next to a dairy or farm. “Hey,” you reason, “Dairies have mice and rats, so they need cats!”

There are several problems with this thinking. First, we have cats. If the cats we have weren’t feral, we would consider driving all 4000 of them over to YOUR place to dump them. We hear you’ve got a female in heat . . . Also, cats are not born knowing how to hunt. They are trained by their mothers to hunt, just as lions are. If their mother should die before they learn to hunt, the wild kittens aren’t likely to survive, unless they find a doorstep where they can lurk to do their hunting. In the human world we call this begging.

The cruel reality is that the feral cat population is kept in check in four ways. One, the survival of the fittest, otherwise known as starvation. It isn’t pretty. Two, gang warfare, in which the biggest and toughest survivors throw their weight around. It isn’t pretty. Three, overpopulation, which always leads to disease. Feline distemper scourges the property periodically, systematically thinning the cat population and leaving a few ragged survivors, more desperate than ever. It isn’t pretty.

Finally, four: crowd control. This is the human – and humane – solution to what’s left of the cat problem that Nature couldn’t quite wipe out. This is best accomplished with a .22 rifle and a beer chaser. I have never done it (I’m way too soft, and that’s no compliment), but I tip my hat to those who take up the grim task every now and then when the cat population is out of control.

For several years we had three indoor-outdoor pet cats (all now in Kitty Heaven), two of which had been dumped here. Outside we feed more cats than I can count. When we can catch them and have money to spare we get the females spayed, but it’s a losing battle. Mom feeds at least three over at her house. Not feeding these cats is not an option. We tried that, and the bolder ones ended up trying to get into our house, fighting with our cats, and generally making us all miserable.

So while I know that YOU would never dump an animal out in the country (dogs are dumped almost as often, with even sadder results, usually), there are people out there who will. I hope they know that they do no one – especially not the cats – any favors. Please spay and neuter your pets.

Laurie blogs about life on the ranch and more at her blog Reasonably Educated Bumpkins

Filed Under: Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

The glory of women

06/06/2011 By Robin Grosland 3 Comments

I want to sing of the glory of women.  But how do I do this without coming off sexist?  How do I do this without slighting or disparaging men?  How do I do this without offending those who have experienced life differently?

I speak from the heart, of what I know, and hope that my words are received with understanding.

To the men:  You are wonderful.  You have so many gifts and talents.  You have a presence that touches the heart of a woman.  You have a glory all your own.  But it isn’t your turn today.  Please forgive me for leaving you out and take some time to think about how blessed you are to have incredible women in your lives.

Many of the traits I discuss apply to men and to women.  There are many women who do not fit these categories.  I do not intend to generalize.  Generalizations just don’t work; there is always an exception.  Instead I will speak in specifics.  I will speak of women I’ve known.

I’ve known women who were tender.  They can reach my heart with just a look.  They can soothe my soul with their arms around me.  They can find the pain I couldn’t see and help me understand.  They can guide me to my own healing.

I’ve known women who were strong.  They can defend my right to be who I want to be.  They can stand up to abusive behavior to defend the defenseless.  They can rebuild families that have been torn apart by people who just didn’t care.  They can endure all that life throws at them.

I’ve known women who were brilliant.  They seek knowledge and truth.  They study human behavior so that they can meet the needs of others.  They look into another’s eyes and read their soul.  They learn so that they might teach.

I’ve known women who were generous.  They give their lives in the service of family.  They willingly sacrifice what they used to want for something better, the promise of tomorrow.  They serve in communities, families, churches, schools, non-profit organizations, and in all the areas we don’t see.

I’ve known women who were humble.  They take joy in the success of others.  They encourage others without feeling diminished by their accomplishments.  They listen to the cries of others who ask that they do more — and they do.

I’ve known women who were spiritual.  They listen to their hearts believing that wisdom will follow.  They trust in God believing that blessings are offered.  They connect with nature believing that there is more to this world than we can see or understand.

Biology aside, we would be lost without women.  There is something so inherently divine about womanhood.  So angelic.  So godlike.  It’s just that some of us don’t know it yet.

And, men, I think you’re really cool, too.

Photo by Graur Codrin.  Courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin at The Mess that is My Life.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion, Spirituality Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Dysfunctionally Happy

06/01/2011 By Meg Stivison 3 Comments

Something has been up with my mood recently, I’m almost afraid to talk about it, but…. I’ve been unstoppably happy.

There’s plenty for me to be objectively pleased about, with old friends and a new job. How it’s been a fairy tale spring of gorgeous days, and I’ve been smiling at the overcast skies and warm rains too. But everything else has been making me happy, too. My internal monologue is constantly spilling over with excitement over good coffee, trains turning up on time, mornings my hair looks pretty, and over and over I love this song!

My mental narration has tended to be dark. I see a missed train as further evidence of my chronic irresponsibility, making me a disappointing girlfriend and unreliable employee, which feeds into the mental litany of my mistakes. My bad ideas, bad decisions and missed opportunities, on repeat, forever.

I want to say it’s been some extreme force of will, that I changed this myself, that there is a set of instructions to shut off the cycles of what could fall apart. Something like Alt-F4 to shut to disengage depression circuits, but really I don’t know if I ran out of horrible feelings, like the last thick drops in an inverted shampoo bottle. Maybe I started with a finite supply of mornings where getting out of bed and getting dressed is a near-impossible task, and I’ve used them all up.

The world is still superlatives to me, but now it’s the best ever. Even my commute is amazing. Delays that would have soured my mood now barely register as I eavesdrop on the most fascinating conversations, critique the wildest outfits, read the greatest stories, or Pandora finds me the best songs. Evenings give me restaurants with old friends and the best white sangria,  or lying in my bed rereading well-thumbed novels. My mental storyline has shifted from disaster mode, from what will go wrong, from picking the least awful choice in a no-win situation,  to how this will be the best night yet.

My mood is set to eleven. In a dysfunctionally happy way.

Meg Stivison blogs on life, videogames and the intersection of the two at Simpson’s Paradox.

Filed Under: Opinion

The Uneasy Sisterhood of Bridesmaids

05/25/2011 By Kate Geiselman 6 Comments

Like the rest of the world, I went to see Bridesmaids last weekend.  I loved it.  It was smart, funny, well-acted and surprisingly moving.  Full props to everyone involved, especially Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo for the script, and Melissa McCarthy for stealing the show.

Since I was so pleasantly surprised by the movie, I went online the next day to see what other people were saying about it.  Here are some rough paraphrases of comments I read:

  • It was funny, but not that funny.
  • I’m tired of the all “Oh, look! Women can be funny too!” Why can’t it be discussed on its own merits?
  • Why does the movie present a wedding as a goal to be attained, and portray the entrance into matrimony as the end of authentic female friendships?
  • Is a wedding with a laser show really the happy ending?  Really?
  • What, now that she finds a nice guy her problems are all solved?
  • Aren’t we beyond laughing at the weird, fat girl?

As to how funny the film is, it should come as no surprise that men probably found Bridesmaids just slightly less hilarious than women did.  If you’ve never been on the receiving end of that oh-so-subtle “I’m waving my penis in the general direction of your face just to see where that might lead” move, perhaps you cannot fully appreciate how hysterically apt Wiig’s pantomime of same is, although you might chuckle at being called out for having dangled it thusly yourself from time to time. Different things tickle different funny bones, regardless of gender.  I have yet to hear anyone say that the movie wasn’t funny, so let’s call that one a draw.

But as for the rest of the criticisms, I’m ambivalent.  Yes, I am irritated by the pervasive and patently false assertion that women are not as funny as men (thanks so much for that, Christopher Hitchens.  I’m still holding a grudge), or that they can’t be funny on their own terms.  I’m irritated that we still have to talk about gender in filmmaking at all.  I am annoyed that at least two reviews I read before seeing the movie remarked that Kristen Wiig was pretty–as though that were somehow surprising or remotely germane.

On the other hand, I don’t think it’s fair to fault the movie because its characters are not feminist enough.  The movie I saw was about real women:  flawed, conflicted, complicated, and funny women who sometimes suffer the cognitive dissonance that comes from wanting to be happily partnered but wondering what they might give up in the transaction.  Men have been asking that question in films for decades; it is refreshing, for once, to see women asking the same thing.

For once, there are frank and funny conversations between women about men who don’t satisfy their sexual needs or who are frigid or unavailable–stereotypes that have been foisted on the “little lady” since the dawn of filmmaking.

For once, the “big girl” is not funny because she’s fat; she’s funny because she is totally self-assured, and because her intense physicality has little to do with her size.

For once, the nice guy is the one who gets his heart broken, and who points out that Annie is not the only one suffering but is also capable of causing real pain herself–because that’s what real people do to each other, both male and female.

And if you really think the laser show and puppies were supposed to be part of the happiness package, then you didn’t get the joke at all.

By virtue of being a Judd Apatow (produced) movie about women, Bridesmaids is shackled unfairly with a double burden.  Not only is it expected to be side-splittingly funny, bold, irreverent, and gross (because that’s what Apatow fans want, that’s what he does, and that’s how the movie was billed) but it also has to carry the weight of expectation that its characters “represent” for us women.

Personally, I’m getting worn out by this whole sisterhood bit.  Pulitzer prize winning novelist Jennifer Egan implores women to write smart and be brave and gets slammed by other women for being a hater of chick lit (more on this another day).  Tina Fey writes about motherhood (and virtually tiptoes around the subject) and is criticized for taking sides in the Mommy wars–or for stooping to have the conversation at all. Women write a movie that is honest and funny and are criticized for what the movie doesn’t do?

It is times like these when I find my own feminism very confusing.

Love it, hate it; see it or don’t. Maybe we all just need to lighten up a little.  Watch the movie.  You’ll laugh.  I promise.

*photo courtesy of acobox

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