Category: Uncategorized

I use Seeded Buzz as a marketing tool to promote my blog.  At present, it avails me little, but it does give me a rich cache of other bloggers to read through when the notion strikes.  Today, I clicked through the entertainment heading and found this post from DK King about Vulture Culture.

That we have become a pile-on society is nothing new.  It bounced back to my attention yesterday, with the reports that Joan Cusak had told Gabourey Sibide that she should “quit the business” because it was so image conscious.  All my social media lists blew up with outrage.  How dare the “herself unattractive” and “only successful for her brother’s goodwill” Cusak tell the sweet, precious Precious that she wasn’t good looking enough for the business?!  Ugly, devil woman!

Since I am the first person in line to tell anyone (great looking, or fugly) that the entertainment industry is no place for human beings, much less human beings with insecurities, I could easily see myself saying something similar in the context of a conversation over the difficulties of making it in the business.  Since Cusak has been outspoken about her own professional struggles as one of the Unf-ckables (what Rachel Dratch calls that set of women who only get hired to play the roles of ladies no man would ever consider sticking it to, in her book–which is not great, but is worth reading if you’ve ever wondered why SNL hasn’t been funny for the past decade) I have a hard time thinking she would be Junior High Mean Girling Sidibe about her looks.  I have a very, very hard time thinking Cusak was looking down her long, unconventional nose and sniffing, “Fat Girl, you should just quit the business now, because no one with your butt is going anywhere.”

Since Sidibe said Cusak was being nice, it is easier for me to fantasize that the conversation was more like, “Girl, if you have any insecurities about it, quit the business now because it is extremely hard to make it if you don’t fit the mold.” 

Of course, I want to believe that Cusak is a nice, helpful person because to this day I find myself doing Cusak’s backbrace dance from Sixteen Candles, and I cannot use a water fountain without thinking of her.

It is an excellent example of the pile-on, the words that are going to get the page views, are the ones that accuse Cusak of trying to crush a fat girl’s dreams.  And, as the vultures descend, projecting out of their own insecurities or very real experiences, the implications turn darker, until Cusak is the naked bones DK talks about.  Pile on.  From a sound bite.  From a quote taken out of context.

It feels like we are always reduced to factions.  Those who are for.  Those who are against.  And those who couldn’t give a rat, and who think those who are For and those who are Against are morons.  It feels like there is no table for conversation across lines, only the high school lunch tables segregated to the Jocks, the Criminals, the Basket-Cases, the Brains, and the Princesses.  And the ones who don’t give a rat and think the other ones are morons.

On the way to school this morning, the news reported on the latest Texas inmate to be executed.  Thor listened along and then asked, “Would anyone do that to kids?”  I asked what he meant, wondering if he was asking if children could face the death penalty, and he said, “Would anyone shoot kids?”

Whenever there is a disaster or tragedy, there are news shows with tips on how to explain things to your kids.  What should you tell your child about Columbine?  What should you tell your child about Katrina?  What should you tell your child about Iraq?  What should you tell your child about Norway?  I tell mine the truth, and then I tell him my disaster prevention and disaster recovery plans.

I don’t shield Thor from the truth about the world at large, obviously he listens to and watches the news with me, so he is exposed to what is happening locally and nationally.  What I try to do is break it down so that it isn’t horrifying.  There are days when just dropping him off at school is enough to send me into a tailspin of worry, and I am a fairly reasonable adult.  He is six and is still afraid of mirrors at night.  I don’t want the world to be a walking slasher flick for him

This morning, I turned the radio down and said, “There are some bad people in the world who would hurt children.  Yes.  That is why Daddy and I–” and here I listed the precautions we take with Thor, reinforced why he doesn’t play outside when I can’t see him, why his school teaches Stranger Danger, and why his pediatrician reminds him that it is only okay for her to be examining his private areas because she is the doctor and I am in the room with them.  For his own safety he needs to know that there are bad people out there, but for his own peace of mind he needs to know that we are proactive to keep him as safe from harm as possible, and he needs to know that he has autonomy of his own to object, run, scream, and tell what he might have seen or experienced.

There is a lot of meanness in the world.  It is inevitable that Thor will encounter some level of it.  My hope is that his personal experience runs only to the garden variety meanness of junior high.

You know how in love with my kid I am.  As in love as every mother should be. 

I have a billion pictures of him.  I have friends who are amazing amateur and professional photographers, who take pictures of things, and places, and make art out of blue sky.  I take pictures of my people.  I just don’t care about looking at anything else.

Why look at a doorway when I could look at Thor?

It’s a truism that runs through all my photo albums.  My photo album from Europe is almost exclusively of Renae and me standing in front of things.  No artsy shots.  Just us with wide, open-mouthed smiles.  My wedding album?  Exactly one photo that is not of faces.  Who cares about pictures of cake?  I wanted pictures of my new husband.

Look how much he has grown since October.

Those baseball pants?  Same pants.  According to the physical he had earlier this week, he has grown 4 inches in the past year.  4 inches.  His shorts don’t even fit right anymore.  Half of them look like he’s an NBA player from the 70s.  (Dear NBA, Please pass along my thanks to whomever deserves them for getting the players into longer shorts.  Those 70s era uniforms were harrowing.  Sincerely, Lane) I took the training wheels off of Thor’s bike last night, and after about 30 minutes of false starts, he got it figured out.  Granted, the bike did not grow the 4 inches he did, so it looks a bit like he is a Shriner on a tiny bicycle in a parade, but it’s a good start.  He’ll be getting a real bike for his birthday this year.  Meanwhile, I am scouring the sale lists for a cheap, used adult bike so I can ride with him to the park.  No way I can keep up running along behind him now.

I have just finished reading Your Voice In My Head, by Emma Forrest, and I am trying to decide whether to send raving fan mail, or raging hate mail to Lainey for having so highly recommended the book and piquing my interest.  So far, Lainey is five for five with book recommendations (I am also reading Girls Like Us, a triple biography of and feminist tribute to Carole King, Joni Mitchell and Carly Simon and it is living up to the rec as well.)  It’s one of the reasons I still read her site daily.

Forrest, whose name I’d never filed away as important, is an extremely accomplished and award winning young writer, who has also had a series of high profile romances, including the one with Colin Farrell, about whom she writes in this book–never revealing his name, so it’s a bit less scandalous.  Mainly, though, the book is about her journey to mental health, the eponymous voice in her head being that of her treating psychiatrist.

It is a naked, tender, raw and revealing portrait of ill-health and the struggle to find a way to live out life when depression is your first nature.  Forrest tells her own story with a just eye toward the players in it, and with dry wit and heavy-with-the-wet-of-tears wisdom.  I’ll be thinking about the book for weeks, I’m sure.  And I’ll reread it down the road, but not anytime soon–I need to process it.

It is fairly consuming as you read it.  Forrest is charming and draws you in with her nakedness–who can resist a peep show?  Especially when it is a peep show into someone else’s soul?  Not me. 

Maybe I relate because I share that streak of emotional exhibitionism.  It is safer, as Andy Warhol taught me through acne, to expose your own weaknesses and invite a mutual scrutiny.  If you stand outside yourself with another onlooker and share the experience, your flaws become a sort of art installation and you can find a way to appreciate the least of yourself.

Maybe you don’t want the Pollock hanging in your living room, but if you look at it long enough and talk to enough people about it, you can start to see why someone else would.  Same thing with your fear of sharks, or the shape of your nostrils, or that weird thing about your toes.  When you take yourself out of the equation (and that’s what exhibitionism does for me) you can see why someone else might see you as a vital part of the formula.

We’re all art, really.  I might not want you in my living room (and vice versa), but if I tilt my head and squint, and can appreciate why you are considered priceless, and the love and work that’s gone into you.

I picked Thor up this afternoon, and we ran over to WalMart to get some sprinkler heads for watering the lawn, and ended up with a couple of jump ropes, a kick scooter, and some plants.  We did manage the sprinkler heads as well, but those were nearly an afterthought.  When we got home, we ate dinner on the patio and watched the birds–we have several varieties living in the trees around us, most notably a very, very bold Robin Redbreast, and a curious Blue Jay.  After dinner, Thor rode his scooter up and down the sidewalk and climbed the tree, while I piddled around with the plants.  I could not have been happier.  This is exactly what I wanted for my child.

A neighborhood where he can play, and a yard to play in.

I started watering the back yard after I’d bored myself with the plants, and next thing I knew, there was Thor, right in the sprinklers.  No worry over how wet he was about to be.  Not a care in the world.

Birds chirping.  Wind chimes tinkling.  Thor laughing and squealing.  And later, B at home with his rumbly voice putting the finishing touches on my idea of heaven.

I remind myself that this is the part of my life that matters.  This is the part of my life that counts.  This is the part of my life that is the reason I put in the other, less pleasant hours.