I Got A Rock

"Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin" - I watched it for the fortieth time. I am always amused by this particular scene. Really pathetic on Charlie's part. Also, I can relate to Lucy's irritation. Between the ages of four and seven, my brother always got sick on Halloween. Thus, because I was able bodied (and the under the unwavering title of 'The Oldest'), I was forced to ask for double doses of candy from the Neighbors. I always tried to briefly explain the situation to the candy-giver prior to asking ("My brother got diarrhea and had to go home early. Can I have another box of Junior Mints for him?") Often times my well-rehearsed rationale was greeted with rolled eyes and wary dispensing. I was never outrightly denied an extra sweet but it did come at the cost of my credibility. Although, all of my kiddie wheeling and dealing was not in vain. When I did returned from the a night of T&T, fingers cold and pillow-case full, Kyle would be waiting on the couch for me, still dressed in a Robin Hood or Cowboy outfit that never saw the light of any porch bulbs, his breath smelling of Mylanta. He would paw through what I had secured for him, happy with his loot. I felt better knowing that I had once again prevented a Halloween brouhaha....
Oh, and as collateral for my efforts, I always gave myself the preferred of the two pieces. 1/2 of Kyle's bag was bastard confections like Dots and Necco Wafers. He never seemed to mind.

Halloweenies

I've got Halloween on the brain. Nothing to be alarmed about. What with the holiday being a week away, my preoccupation is not abby normal (bad "Young Frankenstein" reference...been watching seasonally appropriate movies too.) I don't celebrate Halloween to the extreme. I do however derived a great deal of satisfaction from coming up with a character that is different from the standard go-to choices. I am still not sure what I am being yet but exposure to this year's HOT NEW costume trends has reaffirmed to me what I do not wish to parade around in on All Souls Eve.

1. Light Up Skank-ess: As "Mean Girls" so eloquently states, "Halloween is the one night of the year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girl can say anything about it." There have been many variations on the sexy theme, some less obvious than others (Provocative Lady Bug?) The worst is yet to come. A new element has been added to these skimpy get-ups: lights. If a girl wasn't calling enough attention to herself as a Sensual Raggedy Ann Doll, let's puncture her tight, striped shirtfront full o' holes and light her up like a Christmas tree! The photo below is especially bothersome because of the anatomically correct skeleton blazoned across the torso. I know few guys who, after being approached by a woman with a blinking pelvis, would think, "Isn't she something special..."

2. Dictators: Politics and Halloween are often intermingled. A Dick Cheney rubber mask paired with a rifle is enough to get even the staunchest of Republicans and their Democrat counterparts to share a hearty chuckle. Dictators though? Maybe Che, for iconic reasons. Perhaps Castro, for nostalgia sake. Kim Jong? Ehhh. With the current strained ties America has with North Korea, is it smart to be impersonating the dude? What if a picture of a drunk frat bro doing a keg stand, dressed as Kim, gets leaked onto the Internet? The backlash is enough to cause another nuclear arms threat. Identity aside, the costume itself is racially muddy. The jumpsuit comes with a pair of thick glasses that have slanted eye holes. Is such an accessory necessary? Awkward...

3. Jersey Shore: The Jersey Shore phenomena literally hits close to home for me. I can't get over the notion that a terrible version of my state is presently being peddled in the aisles of Party City. Hilariously enough, we natives are not standing idle. Why pay 20 bucks for a Snookie hair piece when we've already got a vanity drawer full of Bump Its? Such facts were reiterated by an article published on Tuesday in The Star Ledger: "It's what they're wearing anyway. Half of our customers come in looking like them. It's funny because we're saying, 'It would be hot here, too, if they weren't already dressed like that.' "

(http://www.nj.com/entertainment/index.ssf/2010/10/halloween_costumesemulate_pop.html)

All the other states will be suckered into paying to dress like the kids from the Shore. Us? As far as MTV is concerned, we might as well be ourselves for Halloween.

4. Baby Wigs: There is no need for an in-depth explanation. The concept is exactly as it sounds. A wig...for a baby. I don't understand the twisted reasoning that makes Baby Wig wearing morally okay. For all those yuppie parents out there who get their digital camera snapping jollies from putting a toddler in a toupee, buck up your ideas. Buck them up quick. Your two year old might not be able to talk yet, but he still reserves the right to maintain his dignity.

Mad (Wo)men

In conjunction with the official close of "Mad Men" 's fourth season, here is a reprint of a review I did for Hopscotch, a online women's magazine:

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Over the years, television consumption patterns have reached new heights of accessibility. Back in the day, one waited on baited breath from week to week in order to satiate a question of universal fan anxiety: what happens next? Now, with the advent of online network streaming, there is no need for patience. Even crazier, one maintains the ability to latch on to a series at any point during its lifespan. Newly converted enthusiasts aren’t left behind for long. They digest past episodes as fast as Netflix can deliver.

I am a part of the latter category when it comes to “Mad Men.” For those of you out of the loop, “Mad Men” is an AMC drama that centers on the lives of Ad Execs on Madison Avenue in the early sixties. “Mad Men’s” overarching theme is “appearances can be deceiving.” The characters behave accordingly. Their lives are governed by image, similar to the carefully crafted product campaigns they create. Behind tailored suits and declarations of wholesome propriety exists a whirl pool of repressed sexuality, addiction, highbrow racism and gender inequality.

The show is an honest, smart look at what is perceived to be one of America’s most evolving decades to date. Although, sometimes being asked to remember disparaging bits about our social history is not perceived as entertaining. In fact, it is considered downright unpleasant. I was reminded of this while speaking with a Friend’s Mom about the return of “Mad Men” to AMC in August. After politely listening to my enthusiastic rant on plot developments, she informed me that she herself did not enjoy the show. Curious, I asked why. She replied that she was bothered by the way women were portrayed.

Prior to my Friend’s Mom’s assessment, I felt bloated yet confident in my new favorite TV show pick. I had gorged on all three seasons earlier in summer, eager to be up to date. However, it was quite possible that said binging had left me without a legitimate taste for “Mad Men’s” true flavor. Her comment got me thinking – why didn’t I feel bothered by the women of “Mad Men”?

The types chicks found in “Mad Men” fall into three categories: Secretaries, Wives and Single Girls. Secretaries are working women who cater to the needs of Sterling Cooper’s male employees, filing or otherwise. Wives are beautiful, chain-smoking visions of crinoline who fix casseroles for dinner and put the kids to bed. Single Girls are impressionable young things who sip cocktails and bat their lashes for the Right Guy.

A part of me validates these one-dimensional waifs via contextual reasoning. These personas were not invented by the writers of “Mad Men” – most already existed. Furthermore, they were reinforced by the ideologies of the time. I don’t believe it is correct to ignore ignorance – isn’t that what got us in trouble in the first place? Still, another line of analysis validates the notion that entertainment often inadvertently reinforces as opposed to changes ideas.

What should be noted is the difference between character and identity. Amidst an abundance of classically vapid females, “Man Men” tosses in a handful of individuals that break away from the heel-clad pack. One example is Peggy. Through the course of her development, Peggy evolves from a meek Assistant to a respected Copy Editor – a herculean promotion for a woman in a male-dominated profession. Another is Joan, an Office Manager. Joan holds the subtle upper hand when it comes to business dynamics. She draws you in, all curves and smiles, and then whispers in your ear exactly what she is after – the epitome of charm with an agenda.

Such women are not the majority. Yet, their effect on “Mad Men” is all the more profound because they are outnumbered, because (for now) they are not understood. As for the standard Secretary-Wife-Single, none are immune. All feel restless in one way or another, hunched behind their typewriters, blotting their lipstick. As for me, my fan anxiety has become null. Each Sunday, I am no longer drawn to the couch for the sake of suspense. I already know what is going to happen. I am just waiting for it to be realized.

Dessert Pants

My company is in the process of transitioning into a new office. The building itself has been in existence for awhile, sandwiched between familiar land marks like the Empire State Building and equally recognizable (yet not as tourist-inspiring) squat roof-top water towers. Because the twelfth floor is now OUR FLOOR, personal touches were unquestionably necessary. All of the trapping of redecoration were employed (stripping, tearing, sanding, caulking, gutting) practices that sound on par with a violent pillage. I had already bore witness to the process years before when my Parents were building a house. Since then I envision Contractors to be Vikings in hard-hats. They pat flustered customers on the shoulder with their clipboards and assure them, amidst piles of dust and smoking wires, that what lays before them will some day (pending schedule) be beautiful. As for us, the glory of a fully functional, completely chic establishment remains to be see. I knew better than to hope for a smooth transition. What I didn't anticipate was the opportunity to influence a portion of the space. Last week, I was asked to mull over paint samples and pick out potential colors for the kitchen. I tried not to read into the request (I am a girl. Girls spend alot of time in the Kitchen. Girls know what a Kitchen should look like...no, not really.) I chose a light shade of yellow labeled Lemon Sorbet. I was hungry at the time, which inadvertently swayed me towards food-inspired titles. The finality of my empty-stomach-based selection was not realized until the following Wednesday when I was introduced to the freshly painted space. Crucial information had been withheld from me. I hadn't been told that the ceilings were gray, as well as the floor. Set against a dark border, the mellow yellow became radioactive. Everyone shook their heads. I had failed at my gender-given task. Refusing to be discouraged, I backtracked and rebounded with a less controversial tan. Lemon Sorbet was promptly concealed under a thick layer of Khaki. No use crying over misplaced paint.

If I continue to lack focus in regards to my life, I may look into becoming a Paint Sample Namer. Two Reasons: First, power. I would be the person who makes couples sweat it out in the isles of Home Depot, agonizing over the seemingly endless differences between Moonlight White and Simply White. Who else can say that their authority resides in the careful manipulation of nuanced details? Second, originality. My paint samples would be items, emotions, situations we all are aware of but never have considered...

Current Working Ideas:

1. 5'o Clock Flush (watery Pink)
2. Farmer's Tan (ruddy Red)
3. Talk Radio (garish Green)
4. Silent Treatment (Muted Gray)
5. Bread Ends (Crusty Brown)

Until I get the chance to peddle my ideas to Sherwin Williams, my dessert walls will just have to be patient and wear pants.