To preface this entry I would like to say the following; I am very opinionated and if you are easily offended, quit reading now.
Now, that we have crossed that bridge I’d like to get into the subject at hand.
I was in the Baltimore Airport recently and I went to the magazine stand to look for some reading material. There were dozens of different magazines covering subject’s matters from money to parenting to exercise. However, I started to see a trend that did not set well with me. It seemed like every magazine cover was obsessed with physical characteristics highlighted by “Ripped Abs in 30 days” “Lose 30 LBS without Dieting” or my favorite, “Reduce Your Belly Fat by Eating this Fruit.” If that isn’t bad enough, the covers of these magazines make things worse.
On the “Muscle Mags” you have an Incredible Hulk like figure with muscles in places most people don’t have places. On the other side of the coin the magazines aimed at women have relatively thin, almost emaciated cover models. What is going on here? What is the “media” trying to tell our society?
Now, I have no issue with the people on the covers of these magazines, they are in great shape (in most cases) and it’s their job to look like that. I myself have trained; physique athletes, a Miss America contestant and other “body conscious” athletes. I have no issue in competing in something that judges your body in some way. What I do have issue with is the projected image of what is beautiful and in shape. It is unrealistic for the average people that picks up one of these magazines and expect to look like these people. Most of these individuals have been athletes all their life, have put in the hard work to look the way they do and have a great genetic profile. Should that stop them from trying? No! But should it convince them that because they saw this on a magazine cover that they are inadequate if they don’t look this way? Our society’s opinion on what is acceptable, beautiful and realistic is warped.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Feb 27, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
If you feel too old to be young, chances are you are really just too young to be old.
Seriously.
If you think you are too old, past your prime, don’t have it “goin’ on” anymore….puleeez!
Don’t waste our time telling us it can’t be done because your age or can’t try now because, “What will people think?” We know what they’ll think.
The same thing you’ll think if you wait another five years, “Why didn’t I do this 5 years ago?!!”
Want proof your are cheating yourself and others with stories of being on the wrong side of the aging pendulum?
Watch Steve Winwood (the rock star) singing his classic “Dear Mr Fantasy” in “his prime” in 1972.
And then watch Steve Winwood (now the master) singing his classic “Dear Mr Fantasy” 35 years later, “in his prime.”
Someone, I’m sure, told Steve Winwood he was too old for this more recent concert…But he told them, I’m guessing, something like…. “Nah. You can’t be too old if you still haven’t peaked!. Come see me again in 30 years and we’ll talk then. I’ll get you back stage passes.”
My dog is snoring beside me as I write this. She looks adorable sprawled out on my bed—she likes to put her head on my pillow. When animals do things that look human, we always think it’s great. I’m looking at her innocent sweet face, and I’m tempted to kiss her head.
But I won’t wake her up; she is very tired. She didn’t get as much sleep as usual because for some period of time over the course of the night, she helped herself to a leftover chicken. Or maybe it only actually took 5 minutes and then she enjoyed a deeply replenishing tryptophan induced slumber for 8.75 hours. I’ll never know.
I walked into the kitchen this morning, and the evidence was everywhere—the trash can tipped over, assorted garbage, mango skins, and the empty very clean roasted chicken containers were sprawled across the room—the cleanest garbage a person could ask for.
But I couldn’t believe it. Our dog is 10 or 11 (the family of a rescue never knows for sure) and has been with us 7 or 8 years (a middle-aged-woman never remembers for sure), and I don’t think there has ever been an incident of kitchen trash trespass. This was a little shocking—I stood staring for half a minute. For 10 of those seconds I actually even surmised that it was a raccoon who had done it. They have opposable thumbs you know.
So I tested my hypothesis by calling my pup to the crime scene. I didn’t warn her with my tone that this was a test (and may I just say that this was very canny and professional behavior on my part, very, very canny and professional at 6:47 A.M after staggering out of bed with my dream all around me still. I have had no formal crime scene training).
So she came wagging toward the kitchen but stopped on the threshold, head down, tail disappearing. Aha! She had done it. It was not a raccoon. Mystery solved. She slinked away to hide on my bed.
In this 8 minute video, people of varying faiths discuss forgiveness. I’m drawn to The Dalai Lama in the final 40 seconds who says, “Anger [doesn’t] help—only destroy[s] your own peace of mind. Deliberately, try to keep your mind more calm.”
Herein people are discussing forgiveness in far more serious terms than the sins of a beloved pet, but I feel it’s worth saying here that we practice first at home. What an opportunity to check-in with ourselves about our reactions. I ask myself here if I can respond rather than react in general, to perceived slights from others. What about when I’m kept waiting and it’s no one’s fault but a “stupid system” like traffic that has inconvenienced me AND caused me to be late? What about later today when I have to deal with roasted-chicken-carcass-dog-vomit in my carpet?
Read the rest of… Lisa Miller: Forgiveness and Triggers after Chicken
By Lauren Mayer, on Tue Feb 26, 2013 at 3:00 PM ET
Like many of my peers, I grew up in a completely traditional family, with 2 parents, 3 kids, several pets, and a house in the burbs. My parents were each other’s first marriage, we all had the same last name, and we were just like nearly every other family on the block. However, that model is increasingly rare, even in my own experience – I’m divorced from my kids’ dad and remarried, plus I never changed my name either marriage, so our neighborhood carpool chart has to refer to us as ‘The Mayer/Grinthal/Visini family. Plus my ex has remarried a woman with kids of her own, so we’re all one big happy blended family, meaning we can all sit together at graduations and barmitzvahs (and giving me better material than I could ever write – I landed one corporate consulting gig through my first husband’s second ex-wife’s third husband, which as you might imagine I love to say!)
And my kids are growing up comfortable with all sorts of families. When my son Ben was about 8, he met a kid who was being raised jointly by a gay couple and a lesbian couple, and Ben informed the boy that he also had two dads and two moms – Ben was referring to his parents and step-parents, but in his view there really wasn’t any difference. Families now come in all shapes and sizes, and so when I was asked to write a kid-friendly song for a special needs program, I couldn’t resist throwing in my own agenda – plus as we get closer to some pivotal Supreme Court decisions on marriage equality, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to celebrate diversity!
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Feb 25, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Getting an unpleasant message about yourself….
I heard some awfully wise advice at Sunday School last Sunday.
Our teacher said “Sarcasm is a sign of intelligence……without wisdom!”
His wife added the second part, and I think those are words to live by. So I try to be cautious and watch for sarcasm and crankiness and cut them off before they spread to the tip of my tongue.
But I am usually a little late to the scene. We need others to let us know when we are veering off course and have a tendency to dismiss unflattering feedback about ourselves. It seems to work itself out in ever escalating stages.
For example: When your family tells you that you are being grouchy and sarcastic, you can chew on it and disregard (several consecutive times) without consequence.
When a friend tells you that you are being grouchy and sarcastic, it gives you pause and reminds you to be more cheerful around them next time (or avoid them altogether for a while).
But when a person who is more of an acquaintance (hence objective observer) tells you that you are being grouchy and sarcastic…… Well, put it this way, it’s kind of like when you were a child and your parents told you that you needed to take a bath, but you didn’t. Then a friend suggested a bath, and you ignored them. But when someone who you barely knew suggested it was time “That boy took a bath,” well, you figured it was getting pretty close to the time to take a bath.
Or in this case, to stop being a sarcastic grouch and soften up a bit….at least until you are, as I heard someone once say, “Sweeter than a bumblebees behind.”
Or thereabouts, give or take. ; ) At a minimum, sarcasm is to the soul what poor hygiene is to the body.
And if bystanders notice, it’s time for me some lye soap. For the soul. ; )
By Jonathan Miller, on Thu Feb 21, 2013 at 3:00 PM ET
Forgive the not-so-humble brag, but I’ve lived a charmed, Forrest-Gumpian existence, having rubbed shoulders with Presidents, movie stars, and my full share of the rich and famous types so adored by our celebrity-worshipping culture. I’ve also endured many extraordinarily stressful situations, ranging from national TV interviews to intense world poker tournaments.
But when I ran into my childhood hero this afternoon, I immediately regressed into a bumbling, stumbling pre-teen.
Jack “Goose” Givens was the star player on my favorite sports team, the 1977-78 national champion University of Kentucky Wildcats. In his final 40 minutes in a blue and white uniform, Goose scored a near-record 41 points to clinch the NCAA championship, forever sealing him in this then-10-year-old’s mind as the greatest human to walk the earth.
Just this afternoon, I ran into Givens in front of a Lexington restaurant. “Goose?” I asked. He warmly smiled. I can’t remember anything else I said, although I seem to recall a few mutterings about his picture still being on my wall, forever sealing me in his mind as a deranged stalker.
In the wake of recent scandals involving sports icons Lance Armstrong, Alex Rodriguez, Ray Lewis, and now Oscar Pistorius, there’ve been plenty of agonized news stories like this and this that highlight the danger of placing too much faith and confidence in our near-worship of talented athletes, who too often fall far short of the idealized vision we have of their character and integrity.
But in my sophomoric glee in my brief encounter today with my own childhood hero, I was reminded of how important a role sports plays in our own sense of innocence, even for a cynical, middle-age recovering politician. In an otherwise hectic, stressful day, I was transported to a special time in my life, one that I shared closely with my beloved late father, when superheroes did exist, and magic was possible. And I will endure all of the stories of steroids and sexual escapades, if but just for a few more brief moments of that special brand of nostalgia for myself, my daughters and their children.
By Lauren Mayer, on Tue Feb 19, 2013 at 3:00 PM ET
I just returned from chaperoning a high school trip to New York, taking 85 dance students to see shows, take class, and explore Manhattan. Granted, I was one of several chaperones so it wasn’t as arduous as it sounds, but it was still exhausting and challenging – try explaining to a huffy teen girl that “bed check” means I have to check that she’s actually in her room, so she can’t just text me that she’s going to bed. However, in general I can report that there is hope for the next generation. (My father used to worry that our generation would amount to nothing since we didn’t grow up with saxophone music, but the popularity of artists like Huey Lewis and Bruce Springsteen, with prominent sax players, reassured him. Likewise, I used to fret that the next generation was doomed because they were addicted to electronics, self-absorbed with short attention spans, and uninterested in reading the classic kids’ books I loved, but this trip convinced me they’ll be fine, based on a few observations:
– Sure, today’s teens text incessantly and have lost the ability to spell, thanks to spell-check and shorthand like ROTFLMAO, but they are also much more open-minded than we were as kids, eagerly trying new experiences and extremely tolerant of the more eccentric members of their group. (Remember, this was a trip for dance/theatre students from a large, extremely diverse public school, so we had the same types of characters you’d see on shows like Glee, as well as kids ranging from a senior who works 2 jobs to help support her family to some extremely wealthy kids who quietly put in extra money when the lunch group didn’t have enough for their table’s check.)
– Some things haven’t changed, like adolescent girls squealing and sighing over cute celebrities, but this group idolized the chorus boys from Newsies (with whom they got to take class and pose for photos), and even their less theatrically-inclined friends are more likely to worship movie starsn or singers with actual talent. (Of course, I still maintain the Monkees were talented comic actors in on the ironic joke, not just a manufactured boy band selected for their teen appeal)
– Speaking of irony, this generation gets it in a way mine never did. In fact, they have multiple layers of irony, so that they can ‘like’ everything from Hello Kitty to Justin Bieber – something about the ‘air quotes’ makes everything okay, which makes it not okay to tease their classmates for uncool tastes. (The weird girl in my 6th grade class who was obsessed with Dark Shadows, because she decided she was a vampire, would have fit in much better today!)
– Okay, they may not read Little Women or The Hobbit (since they can see the movie, duh . . . ), but they are fairly sophisticated. My 16-year-old son was on the trip – mostly with another chaperone’s group, since the organizers realized no kid in his or her right mind wants to spend a high school trip with a parent! – and he came back one day very proud of having bought two LPs in a vintage record store (records being as exotic to these kids as 78s were to us!) And several of his friends bought LPs as well. When I explained my turntable had been destroyed several moves ago and many of his friends’ parents were probably in the same boat he replied, “Oh, they’re not to play, Mom, it’s all about the aesthetics.” (I also love that the records he chose were by Rush and Frank Sinatra – how’s that for ironic fusion?)
– They are fairly tolerant of our generation’s befuddlement. The whole trip made me feel a bit like Jane Goodall researching chimpanzees, observing an entirely different species and trying to decode their communication methods – I’ve finally learned text shorthand, LOL, but I’m still not sure whether Instagram is a noun or a verb. But when I tried out their vocabulary, using ‘dope’ or ‘JK’, they didn’t laugh too loudly (at least in front of me).
– Today’s kids are a great combination of independent and needy – they found their way around and got themselves up on time, yet they weren’t afraid to call on a chaperone when they had questions or were concerned about their roommate whose boyfriend broke up with her via text. (I particularly loved seeing “The Mystery of Edwin Drood” with them, which is a highly stylized, odd musical based on English music hall theatre, including lots of characters talking to the audience and having women play male ingenue roles, a tradition begun with operas using mezzos as boys. At intermission, a group of the kids came up to me and told me they were completely confused, so when I gave them a bit of background, one of them exclaimed, “Oh, we just thought they were lesbians!” Which they actually thought was cool . . . . )
One other side note – it was wonderfully refreshing to go several days without seeing a newspaper or looking at a computer, and consequently having no idea of what was going on in the world. When I mentioned that to my husband in one of our very brief phone check-ins, he said, “Well, you heard a meteor crashed in Russia,” and I thought he was joking. Anyway, if you are a parent who is nervous about chaperoning this type of large trip, rest assured that it will be reassuring (but not very well restful), so take inspiration from these kids and go for it. However, you won’t have much time to act on that inspiration, which is why I don’t have a video to post this week. Stay tuned for next week!
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Feb 19, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET
Be yours.
Happy Valentine’s Day are the three most unwelcome words to most singles. And to a lot of married people too. It’s not that I don’t like love. I’m in the love business. I am a hopeless romantic. I am happily married. But I secretly hate Valentine’s Day. Please don’t tell my husband, or he’ll stop getting me the obligatory card and flowers. I would be embarrassed not to get them, even though I hate Valentine’s Day. Thankfully, he doesn’t read my blog. 😉
Guys- let me tell you this- even if a girl hates Valentine’s Day, even if she seems like the biggest tomboy in the world, even if she is the most independent career girl you have ever met, she will silently turn to the mush inside the Cadbury chocolate egg on Valentine’s Day. (i.e. a sweet mess. If she happens to be a hot mess too, then you’ve got a keeper.)
It’s so much pressure. I know, that’s why I don’t like it. It’s especially unfair to guys. They can’t win and they have to be emotional on cue. Actually, they can win. If they propose on Valentine’s Day. Another word to guys- if you are anywhere close to engagement (which could even include being on a second date) the thought will cross her mind. We can’t help it; it must be the estrogen. Which is probably offset by the seratonin in the chocolate, so that explains the Godiva Diva Empire.
Here’s one more tip guys- you actually can win another way- buy lingerie for Valentine’s Day. This will show her that you still think of her in that way and it might help you get laid for Valentine’s Day. So I recommend that more than chocolate or flowers. However, if the thought of your wife/girlfriend in a Victoria’s Secret teddy makes you want to cringe because of the “freshman 20” she’s gained in the face of your relationship gone stale, I can’t help you. Well, not with a quick tip. There’s ways to approach this but not on Valentine’s Day. Contact me for coaching and we’ll tawk….
Did I mention that I hate Valentine’s Day? Maybe that’s why this blog is turning so sour right now. I think I’m being cruel and cynical. That’s not like me at all. Here’s the story of how I met my husband, as told by the New York Times, on July 1, 2001, our wedding day. I really am a hopeless romantic- believe me.
Read the rest of… Nancy Slotnick: Valentine’s Day Revisited
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Feb 13, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
My kind of rebel.
A friend was making his 8 hear old daughter attend the adult worship service which is an hour long and hard for a youngster to sit through without lots of restless squirming.
To cope the plucky little girl would stand and draw on the program. My friend got her to stop drawing where people could see what she was doing but couldn’t get her to sit without being firm.
Finally, he sternly , teeth gritted, said emphatically “Sit down now, young lady!”
And she did.
But two minutes later whispered to her dad defiantly, “I am still standing up in my mind.”
My friends, family, and students are used to my repeated profession of love for modern technology. They laugh when I pledge adoration for my camera, washing machine, air travel, television, teleconferences, the iron lung (I just watched The Sessions with Helen Hunt and John Hawkes—great movie by the way), movies, my blender, power-point projectors, computers and the web, and, my iPhone!
This is an amazing time to be alive; I feel deeply, deeply, deeply fortunate to live in this part of the world today. I have such gratitude for these intelligent inventions that make my life easier and bigger (consider the amount of time it used to take our great grand-mothers just to wash family laundry. I don’t know about you but I don’t have time to beat my husband’s shirts and underwear against the rocks at the local stream). And I love my automatic garage-door opener so much.
BUT, no matter how terrifically these things enhance, ease, and upgrade my life, they take up but a speck of space in my heart compared to what I feel for the essential celebration-worthy, beauty of interaction between human beings.
I’m talking about friendship here. Today I profess my love and adoration for this. It’s fitting for valentine week, too.
The typical starter in blooming friendship is life-commonality—resonating with the experiences, views, needs, interests, and dreams that others also hold dear.
“We know this, we know this—we’ve had friendships since kindergarden—they come and go, some last, there will be more where that came from.” For many people the commonality of friendship has become so expected that its essential value to human happiness is enormously undervalued.
Have you ever observed the way that 10 year olds appreciate their new friends, or on the flip-side, teenagers who don’t have any? What about Facebook—I know a lot of people who spend some good amount of time there, making friends and keeping them, in space, ahem.
From a human-development hierarchy-of-needs perspective, friendship is to the human spirit as manna was to the Hebrews.
Watch this terrific video about the blooming of friendship—it’s just 4 minutes and 53 seconds long—your heart will like it and you will observe human spirit in action as time and place seem to recede (and that’s not an easy set-up for grown-ups sittin in a ball-pit on a busy urban side-walk), and complete strangers become important and personal to one another:
(This video created by Soul Pancake by the way, a fabulous site that captures art, philosophy, science, spirituality and humor, and serves it up all warm and (ful)filling.)
Now I ask myself what it is that I look for in friendship today. Have you deliberately thought about this lately? Me thinks this an important question. As adults we’re no longer really limited in our choices for the most part—we’re out there in the world with options greater than who lives next door or who sits next to us in classroom alphabet seating.
I loved that the question from the ball-pit was “who inspires you?” not, who pisses you off that you want to complain and gossip about? We absolutely have choice when it comes to whom we want to spend time with. And time is definitely a “spending”—there’s no reason to waste it in depleting relationships with “friends” who remind us of our worst qualities.
So I’m making this a valentine week of heartfull thought about what I most appreciate about my loved-ones (you know who you are! Mu-ah!), all those I’ve loved in friendship but who are no longer in my life, and the type of friend I want to continue to grow into.
And finally, with this brilliant invention called YouTube, applaud with me here as I sit in awe as two of my favorite things come together in this video: the seeds of unexpected spontaneous friendship, and the technology that allows us a ringside seat at the beauty of it.
On the “Muscle Mags” you have an Incredible Hulk like figure with muscles in places most people don’t have places. On the other side of the coin the magazines aimed at women have relatively thin, almost emaciated cover models. What is going on here? What is the “media” trying to tell our society?
