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Elaine's writing has finally tumbled into cyberspace! After writing content under the radar for other websites, she is coming clean and tagging her opinions, humor and sarcasm with her own name.

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Thursday, November 30, 2006

Atypical Christmas

At this time of year, everything gets pretty damn cheery. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just… well… predictable. The appearance of Santa, candy canes and reindeer somehow flips a switch in our brains that sets us in “Merry Mode.” We venture out into retail hell, smile and wish complete strangers all the best (of what exactly?! We don’t know these people!) and pretend we’re happy that we’re spending “disposable income” that we already disposed of a month ago. “Oh, what the hell,” we say, “it’s the holidays!”

Holidays make everyone nostalgic. People speak of “traditions” with such reverence. Family gathering around the fire, at the feet of Grandpa Joe, while he reads ’Twas the Night Before Christmas. Strangely though, in their memory, Grandpa Joe sounds more like Burl Ives or James Earl Jones. Aunt Matilda, who likes vodka just a tad too much, is glowingly described as “the life of the party”… conveniently forgetting that someone always has to drag dear Aunt Matilda out from under the pile of coats by the end of said party.

Now… let me stop you before you go assuming I’m some old Scrooge. I’m not. I adore Christmas. It’s a beautiful time that actually makes folks slow down and remember… and if those memories are a little too sugar plum fairy, who cares? I am heartily in favor of focusing on dancing candy rather than dancing Aunt Matilda! Although, truth be told, she’s funnier.

A sense of humor can get anyone through the holidays. If people were honest about their REAL holiday traditions, we’d spend more time laughing and less time stressing over things like PS3s and TMX Elmos and all the other impossible - to - find - no - matter - how - much - you’re - willing - to- spend gifts.

So, I’ve decided to get the ball rolling today by sharing a first TRUTHFUL tradition (and welcome you all to contribute some of your own by leaving a comment or dropping me an email!)… Putting up the Christmas lights!

Who doesn’t like their home to look like the perfect, tranquil, snow-covered, twinkly scene from the front of a Christmas card? However, to get there involves untangling sets of lights that, somehow over the summer, morphed into something that threatens the “World’s Largest Twine Ball.” It’s a wonder you can even roll the damn thing out of the shed! After spending 16 hours passing over, passing under and passing through… you’re about ready to pass out! Yet, the fun is just getting started. Now you have to hang ‘em.

Taking a cue from years past, you decide to plug in the strings and check them BEFORE you staple them to the roof. Good thing the hardware store has that sale… every other light is burnt out. Standing bleary-eyed and shoulder to shoulder with about 50 other people, you all read the boxes… and commiserate...

“Crap! Do you know if these are the right voltage for the SuperDuperExpensive brand lights they sold here last year?” “If I use indoor lights outside, will they still work?!” “Does ANYONE know where you can buy these in RED?”

You finally just grab 20 boxes of replacement bulbs and pray all the way to the register that they’re going to fit.

Back home, you do more screwing than a frat boy in a whore house and finally, you’re ready for the ladder. Up and down you go, stapling lights, your sleeve, your pant leg, and very nearly a finger, to the house. All set to bask in your decorative genius, you connect the lights to the extension cord. Well, you WOULD connect them if you had a male and female end to jam together. As it stands, you only have two female ends to slide against each other… popular in porn; VERY bad in Christmas lights.

Ripping the lights OFF the house in a hail of staples, you begin again... and finally get things in the right order. Plug in the extension and TA-DAH! Why are they BLINKING?! They aren’t supposed to be BLINKING. Looking at one of those packs of replacement bulbs, you realize NOW that the white ones make the lights blink. You didn’t WANT the white ones to make the lights blink.

Back up the ladder you go. Every white light gets changed for a red or green or blue and, finally, a sum total of 24 hours later, you have the lights you wanted. You call the family out to bask in the non-blinking, multi-colored glow of your talent and your wife says, “They look great, hon. Now you can start on the bushes.”

You decide, at that moment, to visit Aunt Matilda.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Put things in perspective, people!

Now that the some of the kafuffle has died down over the Britney Spears/Kevin Federline divorce announcement, I feel more able to type those names and get on with the business of having an opinion. Back in early 2005, I wrote a column called Media Marriage and part of it included my distaste… uh… disapproval… dislike? … oh hell, my GUT-WRENCING HATRED for the portrayal of marriage in the fabricated world of “celebrity.”

Whew. That feels better.

At the time, the Britster and Fed-Ex were about to appear on TV in their “reality” show called “Britney and Kevin: Chaotic.”

Reality, my ass.

Jump forward a couple of years and SURPRISE! The marriage is toast. The only sympathy I feel in this situation is directed at the progeny. Two boys, who by all accounts are cute, sweet little guys, are now going to grow up in a world of “theoretically” jumping around between parents. I say “theoretically” because I’ve never been convinced about the devotion of Fed-Ex to being a parent. I actually can’t believe he IS a parent. Who has the time, what with frequent partying in Vegas and trying to promote a tour where they have to give away tickets to get anyone to attend the shows? This, of course, assumes the media reports the truth. Ahem. In any case, it would seem that Kevin can neither rap nor WRAP – because the only thing he is successfully cranking out keeps resulting in more kids.

All criticisms aside, what really got to me was something I read recently on a message board. The poster remarked that she felt sorry for Britney Spears because she was now a single mother.

HOLD THE FRIGGIN’ PHONE.

She feels sorry for WHAT exactly? That Britney will still be worth scads of millions of dollars, even after she pays off the sponge in the divorce settlement? That she has, and will continue to have, the capacity to raise her children in a lifestyle that most of us can never even fathom? That she has the good fortune to be able to obtain the best help, if she needs it, to ensure that her children remain happy, healthy and as well-adjusted as possible, under the circumstances?

Yeah. She has my sympathy.

Look. I realize I have no right to make assumptions about people that I don’t even know – celebrity or otherwise. But, I AM capable of writing about what I DO know. I know how to be a single mom. I was one. For five years, actually.

I have the utmost respect for single parents. It is damn hard to fill alone what most people consider to be a team role. Depending on the day, it can be frustrating, sad, demoralizing, lonely or blissfully happy. You just never know. I realize that most of those feelings relate to parenting in general but, as a couple, you tend to have someone under the same roof who is willing to commiserate with you… or at least to eat junk food and bitch.

I spent some time thinking back on my own experiences and, in all honesty, I don’t think that Britney will have to….

…face the tears of two beautiful kids who, at the ages of 9 and “almost 6” are old enough to hear but not to understand why Mommy and Daddy are suddenly telling them that they won’t all be living together anymore;

…stand in a garage, fighting back tears, because she got the “crappy car” in the split and it has broken down yet again;

…stare the holiday season in the face and wonder, after only being “re-employed” for three months, how the HELL she’s going to put presents under the tree;

…drive an hour each way, fingers crossed behind the wheel of the “crappy car,” to pack up a two-storey, four-bedroom house alone, because her ex’s employer already sent in a moving company to pack and deliver his stuff – including the “better car” – across the country to his new life;

…be caught in the middle of caring for a mother struck with cancer, who needs her, two growing daughters, who need her, and a job, that she needs more than anything, just to keep everything afloat.

However, if she’s lucky, Britney will eventually get what I got. Two kids who are growing up and proving themselves to be intelligent, articulate and valuable citizens… and a husband that accepts us, baggage and all, and loves us unconditionally.

Trust me. Ms. Spears will be JUST fine. So, she’ll be a single mom. I just can’t convince myself, no matter how hard I try, that it will be much of a struggle. In her absolute worse case scenario, she’ll learn the same lesson as the true single moms of this world… the REAL definition of “Chaotic.”

Friday, November 17, 2006

Two to Tango

In our house, we love penguins. When the girls were young, their schools would schedule trips to the nearby “Biodome,” which has a great penguin area. One of my daughters was thrilled beyond belief when a penguin decided to play with her. It swam up to the glass, right near her face, and she put her little hand up, as if to pet it. Then, as she walked back and forth in front of the huge display, that same penguin swam right beside her. I held my breath for the inevitable, frantic, pleading question… “Can we have a penguin, Mommy?! When it came, she helpfully informed me that it could live in our bathtub. Believe me, the thought had crossed MY mind, too!

Last year, we watched “March of the Penguins,” as a family, and we each loved it as much as the next. We’ve been eagerly awaiting the opening of “Happy Feet” (and truth be told, I’ve had a “Happy Feet” background on my laptop for months already!) … but it has come to my attention today that penguins are making some people less than happy.

If you are unfamiliar with it, there is a book called And Tango Makes Three.” Recommended for children aged four to eight, it is based on the true story of a pair of chinstrap penguins who incubated and hatched a chick at New York’s Central Park Zoo.

Well, the happy train derails for some folks when they find out that the penguins are both male. Yes, horror of horrors – gay penguins.

Named Roy and Silo, these males became a couple and stayed loyal to one another for six years. They displayed all the classic signs – known in penguin-speak as “ecstatic behavior” – of any other pair. They entwined necks, vocalized, all of it. Evidently, after some time, they tried to “hatch” a stone. They took turns sitting on it, to no avail. The zookeeper noted their behavior and capitalized on an opportunity. A male/female pair rejected a fertilized egg and the zookeeper gave it to Roy and Silo. They cared for it until it hatched. The chick was named Tango and all three penguins still reside at the zoo.

Some time last year, I believe, Silo dumped Roy and took up with a female named Scrappy. Sorry, Roy… love can be rough.

In spite of the ultimate demise of the relationship, I think this story is incredibly charming. Some people in Shiloh, Illinois disagree with me. They want the book removed from the children’s section of the school library. They suggest it be placed in the section for more mature readers and even go so far as to recommend parental permission be required before this title can be borrowed.

Are they insane?

These are PENGUINS. The artwork is adorable and the story is – whether you like it or not – TRUE. This wasn’t fabricated to make a statement about homosexuality. It wasn’t created to cause a sensation or to titillate. It’s FACT. Why do people have such a problem with the truth? It is what it is.

In the article I read, a mother says that she was unaware of the contents of the book when her daughter brought it home but, at the point where the story alludes to the two penguins “being in love,” she refused to finish reading to her child.

Honestly. I’d like to know how she explained that move. Did she tell her daughter that it was “bad” for the two penguins to love each other? THAT would be a great message, wouldn’t it?

I sincerely try to appreciate all viewpoints on an issue but there is absolutely no part of me that can understand taking this book from its intended audience. I’ve been searching the internet for response to this work and I read an interesting piece where one of the authors (an assistant professor of psychiatry at Columbia and Cornell) mentioned that, at several live readings, the children were really just interested to know where the egg came from… they were not the least bit concerned with the penguins’ gender. That wasn’t an important part of the story.

I would like to suggest that this book has another message… and no one seems to be discussing it. The use of penguins could be a gentle way to convey that, sometimes, parents just can’t take care of a child. And, sometimes, those parents need to find other people with a whole lot of love in their hearts to help them. Those people might not represent the nuclear family but it doesn’t mean they can’t take that child under their wing and bring them up in a world that accepts and values them. I think this book could offer “chosen” children further reassurance of how very much they are wanted. But it seems, in some places, that message is destined to be silenced.

I suppose if someone wishes to shelter a child forever from the different ways that people love each other, then that person won’t be able to stomach PENGUIN love either. It’s their right to believe what they believe… just as it is my right to feel a little bit sad about the whole damn thing.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Red-faced for a Reason

Do you have kids?

You do?

Did they give you your membership card yet?

If not, don’t worry. If your kids are over the age of about …ohhhh… let’s say four or five, it’s on the way. You’ll know it when it arrives. It’ll read, in big, bold, shiny letters: This card confirms the holder to be an embarrassing waste of space.”

Carry it with pride. I do!

You see, having just recently entered, kicking and screaming, into the world of parenting not one but TWO teenagers, I’ve come to some realizations.

No matter what I say, I will be wrong.
No matter what I do, I will be wrong.
No matter what I wear, I will be wrong.
No matter what I expect, I will be wrong.

I could go on but I’m sure you’re sensing the pattern here. According to most teens, by virtue of reproducing, parents immediately lose all recollection of what it’s like to be “their age.” Doesn’t matter what age that is – we can’t possibly remember it. We also lose the substantial brain matter required to make such decisions as “what is an appropriate curfew” and “is it necessary to carry an umbrella in a downpour.” Any decisions we make will be received with the obligatory eye-rolling and a groan or sigh so loud that, for a moment, you mistakenly fear that your floor is about to cave in. I’m frequently surprised when I don’t find myself standing in the basement, in a cloud of dust and splintered wood, watching my daughters’ eyeballs scurrying off in several directions.

I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve tried to explain that I really AM possessing of some common sense. I really HAVE learned some things over the years. I am not a TOTAL lunatic. I’ve tried begging, pleading, yelling, screaming, threatening and throwing a few tantrums worthy of a two-year-old in the toy section of Wal-Mart at Christmas. All of these things strangely yield the exact same result as banging my head repeatedly against the wall. I get a serious headache and they stare at me wondering what the HELL I am trying to accomplish.

Looking back at my own years spent on the other side of this struggle, I know that my kids are just doing their job, exactly as nature intended (although I wish that my older daughter didn’t do hers QUITE so well!). I WAS them, some 25 or 30 years ago. Though, oddly enough, my parents progressed as I got older and eventually they became pretty damn smart. I wonder how that happened.

It’s perfectly normal, as parents, to reflect on how we were parented. I mean, who didn’t screech, at the top of their lungs and OFTEN, in their teens, “I WILL NEVER BE LIKE YOU WHEN I HAVE KIDS!!!!” It’s almost ironic the day you wake up and realize you ARE your parents. Mother Nature’s an amusing woman.

The days when parenting seems the hardest, I DO spend time trying to figure out how my parents coped with us. My daughters are basically “Me and My Sister, v. 2.0” so it’s a reasonable comparison. I have come to the conclusion that my father, in particular, adopted the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” philosophy.

Here’s just a sampling of the parenting tools my Dad kept at the ready:

1. His Dentures: At some point in his life, Dad was the recipient of a full set of false teeth – top AND bottom. He liked to seize on opportunities, such as one of us having a friend over for dinner, to use them to his advantage. I tell you, in all honesty, there is nothing more humiliating than sitting at the dinner table, snickering at some “inside joke” with your best friend, only to notice her eyes suddenly teetering on the edge of their sockets, threatening to drop into her mashed potatoes. At this moment, I would get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach because I KNEW. Looking up, there would be my Dad, false teeth upside down, sticking out of his mouth, appearing determined to eat the rest of his face!

2. His Tighty-whities: I was in my late teens when I learned the embarrassment potential of men’s briefs and their… well… contents. My parents were strict and I always had an earlier curfew than every one my friends. I distinctly remember coming home later than I should have, thinking I could sneak in quietly and no one would be the wiser. The first time I tried this, I got just inside the front door when I heard thunder. Thunder?! What the HELL? It wasn’t raining. At that moment, I got that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach because I KNEW. Blinking frantically through the temporary blindness set off by every light in the house coming on, I saw him coming. Dad. All 300 pounds or more of him, barrelin’ and jigglin’ down the hallway, IN HIS FRUIT OF THE LOOMS. I quickly realized that I would gladly accept all of his yelling and punishment if he would JUST invest in a robe!

3. His Farts: Dad was like a little boy when it came to farting. He found it utterly amusing and used it to its full humiliation potential. He would routinely tell my friends that he had recently gotten a job at the dry cleaners – picking farts out of blankets. If we had friends over to watch TV, Dad would let one rip and would immediately blame the dog. Growing up, we always had a pool in our backyard, so our house became the “neighborhood nerve center.” Dad was obsessed with keeping the water crystal clear and used a lot of algaecide to achieve it. The up-side of that particular concoction is that it allowed Dad to get in the pool with me, my sister and all our friends and, using his big, strong arms, he’d stir up the water into a bubble bath. It was great fun until the day he told all of us to watch and he’d make bubbles. At that moment I got that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach because I KNEW. Once every eye in that pool was upon him, he proceeded to shatter the mercury right out of the embarrassment thermometer by FARTING just below the surface of the water. Everyone had to go home early that day, for some reason.

I learned long ago that, in his all-too-short life, my Dad was a happy man. It wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I learned he was also a brilliant man. He had inherently understood that, if your kids were going to be so utterly embarrassed by you anyway, you were damn well gonna give them something to be embarrassed about!

He should have had his membership card bronzed.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Jugs and Jarheads

Let me start by saying that I’m not advocating pornography. Let me continue by saying that I am a strong follower of the “to each his own” and “live and let live” schools of thought. Basically, while I do have an opinion about what goes on in the world, I’m sure as hell NOT going to impose that opinion on anyone. If it lives in my head, it’s mine. I own it. You can share it, if you’d like. If you don’t, that’s perfectly ok with me.

Having said that, let’s get back to porn. Specifically, one Jenna Jameson.

It seems that the military summarily dismissed Ms. Jameson recently, when she was “uninvited” (and, where I come from, we call that “dumped”) from a Marine Corps function. Her boyfriend, Ultimate Fighting Champ Tito Ortiz, was the intended guest of honor but, when the muckity mucks discovered who his girlfriend happens to be, said mucks stuck their fingers in their ears, went “la la la la la la” and pretended the whole invitation process never happened.

For anyone who has been living inside a paper bag or under a rock in recent years, Jenna Jameson is a hot commodity in the “adult entertainment” industry. In other words, she makes a bucket load of money showing off her naughty bits – for which, coincidentally, she surely PAID a bucket load of money. Having been the recipient of a fair number of random – and downright raunchy – instant messages from Marines over the years, I think it’s safe to say that MANY in attendance at a military function would be familiar with her work. Rather than rating it “two thumbs up,” I imagine it gets a hearty “hooter HOOAH!”

I’m not well-versed in Tito’s triumphs but I’m pretty sure much of his fan base comes from the exact demographic that’s of great interest to the military these days. Finding out he is dating a porn star would just be icing on their cake. It seems, though, that some people have the impression that Ms. Jameson might suddenly decide to jump OUT of the cake.

Idiots.

If she is not offended at this “un-invitation” then I, and hopefully a lot of women out there, am offended on her behalf. WHAT are these guys thinking? Well, I’m willing to bet one of the first thoughts was, “OH CRAP! I’ll never be able to even look at Jenna Jameson and then survive the searing pain of my wife / girlfriend / date’s press-on nails skewering my genitalia.” The official word, however, was that it wouldn’t be “appropriate” to have her attend the event.

Newsflash gents: much as you’d like to think otherwise, porn stars are REAL people. Sure, they have better bodies than almost the entire human race… but, contrary to what your little heads want to believe, they don’t stroll around naked ALL of the time and they don’t play “pick-up-sex” with every pizza delivery guy or swimming pool maintenance man that crosses their path.

It makes me wonder exactly what they thought Ms. Jameson would do… stage a fighter’s entrance, half naked, boobs-a-bouncin’, to a rousing rendition of “bow-chicka-bow-wow”?? Perhaps throw Mr. Ortiz on the head table and… well, “head table” is good enough. You get the picture.

Wisen up lads. Not every “adult entertainer” is an airhead. Granted, certain parts of them may APPEAR inflatable but that is neither here nor there. I’m sure that Ms. Jameson would have attended the event in a stunning outfit - but nothing that would have been any more “inappropriate” than what other ladies in attendance would choose to wear. I refuse to believe she would be THAT stupid.

I have a vivid recollection of one of those fabricated “priceless” photos (you know the ones modeled after the credit card ads?) circulating around the ‘Net a few years ago. A woman attended a military event, in a very revealing, “tied up the sides” black dress, clearly devoid of any form of foundation garment. Dancing with her partner, in the presence of more of those aforementioned muckity mucks in full dress uniform, her bumping and grinding revealed to anyone looking that she… ummm… preferred bare hardwood floor to carpet… if you get my drift?

A real class act – and VERY “appropriate.” <... /end sarcasm...>

I heartily suggest that some of our current decision makers, leaders of military and industry, pull their collective head out of the dark ‘n’ dirty tunnel it seems to be lodged in and stop imposing their personal beliefs on all and sundry. You object to pornography? Entirely your right and a great many people agree with you. But, in defense of Ms. Jameson, she was not invited to that Marine Corps hoe-down as a representative of her industry. She was not invited to be the evening’s titillating entertainment. She is dating the person that was chosen as their “appropriate” guest of honor.

Hmmmm… having Googled a few pictures of Mr. Ortiz, I wonder if they were sweating who in attendance might have found HIM to be the real hottie?

Oh right… THAT doesn’t happen in the military either!

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