Please Beg My Pardon

Please excuse all the reposts today.  I'm switching my book reviews to Blogger format since they were linked to my Facebook account which is not a public account.

Book Review: Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, by Amy Chua

I’d read a lot of reviews about this one that pretty much scared me away from it for awhile. But, then as I was visiting a Borders Going-Out-Of-Business sale, there it sat on the shelf. Staring at me, drawing me nearer with it’s "Additional 20% off" sign. I bit. I’m glad!

If you haven’t heard the premise yet, Tiger Mother was written by Chinese-American Amy Chua, a Professor of Law at Yale University and all around over-achiever. It’s the Chinese way. I can’t get away with saying that, right? Well, I’m just easing you in. I may not pull off throwing around such blatant racial stereotypes, but that’s exactly what this book is about. Comparing the Chinese way of parenting to, what the author refers to as, the “Western” way.

In all the synopsizes I’d read, it was the same shocking comments. That Ms. Chua (and all Chinese parents) do not:

• Compliment their children in public
• Allow their children to attend play-dates or sleepovers
• Allow their children to watch television
• Allow their children to bring home any grade less than an A. (And, yes, an A- is less than an A.)
• Allow their children to choose their own extra-curricular activities
• Allow their children to come in second place in anything they’re participating in. Science fair, spelling bee, musical competitions… Blue ribbons are only accepted.

All of the above are true statements taken from its pages. Thankfully this is not a self-help book, but a memoir of the author trying to raise her daughters (with her Jewish-American husband) adhering strictly to these tenets.

From what I had heard about it, I was worried this book would become a slowly unwinding account of child abuse. But, by the first chapter I was relieved to find “Oh thank goodness! She’s funny!” Being so blunt about why “Chinese is better” and hearing her daughters reactions to these statements kept me in stitches. Like when her younger daughter brought home a school paper graded 100%, but Tiger Mother noticed she did not complete the extra credit problems and scolded her for it. Daughter lies and replies that no one does extra credit. Tiger Mother proclaims that she’s “100% sure that Amy and Junno did the extra credit” (noting to the reader that Amy and Junno are her two Asian classmates.) Daughter defies that “Not only Asian kids do extra credit!”

Yes, she is blunt and confident that the Chinese way is best. Yes, she did return the birthday cards her daughters drew for her because they were hastily and sloppily made. Yes, she and her husband did find teeth marks on the family piano (created by a frustrated child who practiced the instrument for hours a day.) But, she finds the humor in the extremes she often went to and can plausibly reason a lot of this behavior away. She wanted her daughters to meet their full potentials. She was a constant companion during their hours of piano and violin rehearsal, there to correct every note and technique flaw, and two child prodigies were made! It’s hard to knock it at times.

But, this memoir follows her parenting into her children’s teenage years… which, by then, has bred one very rebellious thirteen year old! Tiger Mother does lighten up and if her critics had finished the book to its end, the scary reviews I had read may have left a different impression on me and I might have had the delight of reading this book much sooner.

Her husband and daughters even helped edit and guide the manuscript for this book. Every word was crafted to please all parties involved, so lay off the Tiger Mom because I’m crossing my fingers for a sequel!

Book Review: A Lucky Child, by Thomas Burgenthal

A Lucky Child: A Memoir of Surviving Auschwitz as a Young Boy. It's unimaginable that I would find a book with such a subtitle entertaining. Gripping, suspenseful, heartbreaking... yes. But, entertaining? Surprisingly... yes, that too!

I don't know if I've ever heard a Holocaust survival story told from quite this perspective before. From early childhood affluence, to captivity, to surviving, to thriving! And, oh my goodness! What an amazing account!

I'm trying to figure out how to review this book without giving too much away. I don't want to rob the author of any story that he has already told much better than I could. Let's just say, A Lucky Child will give you a unique peek into a story of survival that exemplifies survival to the nth degree. His survival, part instinct, part happenstance, part genetics, part outside help, and major parts luck. Well, what the author as a decided unbeliever calls "luck", but I would call divine intervention.

As a child he survived several work camps, selections, and even a death march. This is a man who, according to the rules of the Holocaust, should never have become a man. He escaped the gas chambers and the firing squads so many times in his young life that you run out of fingers trying to keep count. Each time, in such an unexpected way that I found myself "whoot"ing (which is the noise that accompanies fist-pumping) out loud with every escape. (I do recall actually throwing a fist in a celebratory pump after one particularly successful chapter.)

The horrors he witnesses are given no more time or detail than required. More interesting are the stories of his day-to-day life, because these memories were burned with his childhood perspective. He recalls secretly learning how to ride a bike at a labor camp. How it feels to make friends under such circumstances. How to find a job that would grant you a bite more food a day. Where to stand to survive a daily count. How much time is the right amount of time to spend in the infirmary. What it's like to be separated from your parents, but how not dwell too much on the question of whether or not you still have parents.

Just as fascinating as his survival throughout the unsurvivable, is the story of his life after liberation. You don't often hear what became of the survivors immediately after freedom is granted. You walk out of the camp and where do you go? You're eleven years old and have been separated from your family. Do you still have a family? If so, what country are they in? You have no citizenship. How do you get there? There is still war. You are still hungry. How do you continue to survive?

He doesn't know how! He tells you what happened to him. Which was such a unusual chain of events that it's hard to believe he met them by just ambling on one day at a time. Ending up wherever life took him. (Which even leads him, at one point, to be informally "adopted" by the Polish army for a stint. With a pet circus pony, by the way.)

By the end, you'll see the unique education he was eventually granted. The special reunions he gets to have enjoyed. The roles and jobs he takes on as an adult. And, you'll just want to meet him one day to prove to yourself that he really is still here. As luck (or God) would have it!

Rolling Stoned: My Book Review of Life, by Keith Richards

Who knew Keith Richards was so coherent? That thought ran through my mind over and over again while plowing through his memoir. It wasn’t until about half-way through that I noticed the title page, “Life, by Keith Richards. With James Fox.” Aha!

Still! These 547 pages account not for Mr. Fox’s memories, but Keith’s. As if in defense of any preconceived notions, he’s even inscribed on the inside jacket sleeve, “This is the Life. Believe it or not I haven’t forgotten any of it." And the amount of detail remembered is quite astounding, considering...

It’s one thing to have a good sense of recall. It’s a whole ‘nother wonderful thing when your recall includes the most colorful, dramatic, inspiring, often hilarious events of a very full life. A jammed-packed life. As, he explains in the opening passage of the second chapter, “For many years I slept, on average, twice a week. This means that I have been conscious for at least three lifetimes.” Maybe that’s his secret!

It’s easy to assume, when dealing with such a character, that over time one has created just that. A character. (Like a fellow band-mate may or may not be accused of doing so somewhere within these pages.) It’s disappointing when a legend can’t live up to his own myth. But, even when reading the early chapters of this book, it’s very clear that the Keith Richards we all know and love, is the same Keith Richards that has always been. I enjoyed reading about his eccentric childhood and almost mourned its loss as he, and his band, began to grow up throughout these pages. The first part of his life was story enough… I wasn’t sure I was ready for the debauchery I knew was yet to come!

When thinking of a rock guitarist, it’s tempting to suggest that it all started with three chords, a pair of torn jeans and a very loud amp. I was impressed to learn the musical background of his (slightly screwball) family. His chance to finally take a go at that guitar his grandpa Gus seemed to leave teasingly atop the piano to taunt him on visits. His early (and eternal) love for good ol’ Chicago blues. The fact that The Stones was actually created as a blues band! His passion and hunger for the instrument he came to master. The drive to never know enough, but constantly seek new tips and tutelage from any performer that came his way with a new trick in the bag. Getting his chance to learn from legends and eventually even getting to teach other legends the tricks of his trade.

Great tips for guitar players also included. If you’ve ever had trouble trying to get “Brown Sugar”, “Honky Tonk Women”, “Start Me Up” or “Satisfaction” to sound just right when strumming around the house, here’s his secret: Pop off the bottom E-string and open tune. A trick he figured out listening to old acoustic blues and slide guitarists. (I haven’t had my guitar out in awhile and my playing skills are rusty, but here’s more info if you’re itching to give it a go: http://www.guitarplayer.com/article/keith-richards/mar-05/556) This trick Keith used to blow audiences away in the late 60’s with his “new” sound. He even recalls Ike Turner dragging him to his dressing room one night, after Ike’s demanding, “Show me that five-string s***!” 45-minutes later Ike had it down and it was used all over his next album.

You'll also learn: 1. The unique relationship between The Beatles and The Stones (They weren't quite the competitors you'd think.) 2. The unique relationship between Keith and Mick. Yes, the truth comes out! Feuds and all! 3. How the Altamont concert looked through his eyes. 4. Why pharamaceutical coke is healthier than street grade. (Just go with him on this one...) 5. How to win a knife fight. 6. When to pull out the pistol. And more!

I don’t want to give too much away. But, yes, you'll find all the sex, drugs, arrests, tragedies, squabbles with band-mates and nine-lives you'd expect in his story. His flaws he chooses to lay bare. His excesses he doesn’t promote, yet doesn’t exactly repent for either. Every rumor you’ve ever heard is either squashed or verified. In the end you'll see him as a poet, a romantic, a pipsqueak, a musical genius, a candidate for anger-management, a brother for life to those who've earned it and the classic-rocker-you'd-be-most-delighted-to-share-a-long-flight-with (What? You don't have that top-ten list?!) And, you’ll end up really really hoping his tale will become the next big Hollywood biopic. (Starring Johnny Depp or Christian Bale… just a suggestion.)

Don’t look for this book at my next garage sale. I will be keeping it and I will be reading it again. Go out and get your own!

Mark Twain is Full of Himself: The Autobiography of Mark Twain Book Review

Mark Twain is full of himself.

In reading his century-awaited autobiography over the last few months, that is the quickest and most reoccurring analysis I have come to.

Mr. Twain was a proud man. Very proud of his own accomplishments, talents, opinions, business savvy, connections and, seemingly, his temper as well. He is also a merciless name-dropper. I’ve never seen so much effort put into dropping names that has had the most unimpressive effect (given the removal of a century between the impresser and his audience.)

Don’t let that distract you from picking this one up though! Mark Twain is full of himself. But, in the most blatant yet endearing way.

He has an effective way of convincing you that he was constantly surrounded by people less intelligent than he. People who needed his opinion thrust on them in every matter of their lives. People who surely would have come to utter ruin if they had not crossed his path. And, THESE were his friends. Reading about his enemies is where it gets really entertaining!

Twain’s saving grace is, no matter how many paragraphs are dedicated to knocking his chums down a notch or two, they are always book ended by a gracious statements of, “Oh well. He was a kind man and I enjoyed his company.” And, he must have too, because he continues to keep their company and they become reoccurring characters throughout his story. It’s who Twain was. You soon come to accept it and read on.

His memoir feels part like homework, part letter-from-home and, perhaps, part tabloid fodder (if we could only figure out who these littered names belong to!)

Given its thickness, it’s tempting to want to bypass any chapter that starts off slow. I almost did this on several occasion but, upon sticking with it, came across something wonderfully delightful in boredom’s wake. If you are going to skim, do it only paragraphs at a time rather than in entire chapters. Whether you become lost on the people, places or language of the time, Twain will always bring you back with a overly-descriptive gem that suddenly absorbs you into that setting where you can finally picture yourself there.

Skipping a chapter may also cause you to miss something you’ve been anticipating. Since much of it is taken from dictations, these chapters wind and weave and suddenly become something other than what they started out to be. Many passages, paragraphs in, have him suddenly realizing that a tale---one he had already perfectly drawn you into the scenery of---was being recited from the wrong memory.  "No. Wait, now… It wasn’t such-and-such at wherever, it was such-and-who and over here that this happened. And, maybe a decade later..."  And, so he begins to delicately paint a brand new picture of the same story.

Not my favorite reading style, but it’s what he insisted on. You become as patient as you would be with a beloved grandparent who speaks in much the same manner. Those cases where respect and adoration restrain you from saying, “C’mon! Quick circling the block and cut to the chase!” And, since the book also keeps no chronological order, skipping ahead will lead you nowhere expected.

I enjoyed the essay-styled chapters myself. Especially ones written about his family and his childhood. It's a sweet change of pace when he speaks of his family. They seem to earn only pride and reverence from his pen... and I love that! These were the gems I sought out.  

I’m only about 70% through it. But, I’m sure I’ve gathered enough information to produce my review. Hopefully, making the remaining 30% feel less like homework and more like sitting at the foot of Grandpa’s rocker. We’ll see!

Good Ol' TV

The good 'ol days. One TV for picture, one TV for sound.

Wednesday is not a great TV night.  I only have Modern Family on today's primetime agenda.  The need to be entertained by the glowing boob tube can be a strong force in my life.  But, there's not much temptation the better part of the week.  What happened to the days when you looked forward to the same shows every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...?  Every episode would be a good one and you could rely on reruns all summer long. 

These days every show is a "test" show.  Just as you get interested in one, they pull it!  By the time it returns to the lineup three months later, you've already replaced that time slot with a different new show.  Then it gets canceled.  Recyclable TV. 

I miss the good days when new shows had actual new concepts.  And, we would watch the reruns in the summer time because Rudy Huxable clenching her fists and singing, "Baby!  Baby! ♫" was just as hilarious upon multiple viewings.

I lived for The Cosby Show, The Muppet Show, Golden Girls, The Love Boat, The Brady Bunch, Diff'rent Strokes, Facts of Life, CHiPs, Who's the Boss, T.J. Hooker, Kate & Allie, Cagney & Lacey, Moonlighting, Head of the Class, Growing Pains, Family Ties, Simon and Simon, Dukes of Hazzard, Little House on the Prairie, Happy Days, The Waltons, Silver Spoons, Square Pegs and any other show I forgot to thank.

Sure, most programs were situation comedies or cop shows back then.  Maybe they weren't actually as good as I remember because I was just more easily impressed at that age.  But, I loved my TV time!

Hubba hubba!

I had my crushes:  Gopher, Peter Brady, Willis, Chad Allen, Gerald McRaney, Michael J. Fox, Luke Duke, Potsie, Ponch and any other dark-haired hunk with an odd nickname starting with "P".  Ricky Schroeder was the first guy I ever hung on my wall and the first name I ever drew a heart around on a Trapper Keeper.

I questioned how others became heart throbs: Kirk Cameron, Fred Savage and Doogie Howser with their Brillo pad hairdos.  (All handsome men now, though.)  Obnoxious Larry from Three's Company.  The teenage son from Mr. Belvedere.  And, how did Doc from The Love Boat get so much action?  That never made any sense.

There were the girls I wanted to be:  Alyssa Milano, the redhead from Head of the Class, Mallory Keaton, Jo from Facts of Life, Marcia Brady, the brunette daughter from Kate and Allie, Punky Brewster.

I'm the sole sister to escape this haircut.

The girls I wondered how they became sex symbols:  Joanie Cunningham, Janet from Three's Company, Julie and Vicki from The Love Boat. Mainly because they all had short hair and I didn't understand how a Dorothy Hamill  bowl cut could be deemed cute.  (Except on Joey Lawrence, of course.)

"Reality" TV was limited to the news and PBS documentaries.  Talent competitions were the likes of Star Search, Dance Fever and That's Incredible.  Variety shows were all the rage (Love you Carol Burnett!  Tug, tug.)  And, for some reason, we liked to watch other people dance. (Soul Train, Solid Gold, American Bandstand...)  Alot.

My younger brother, sister and I used to actually play American Bandstand.  One of us would be the camera man (That was the boring role, like being the banker in Monopoly.)  The other two would be the dancers.  We'd dance around lackadaisically until the cameraman (usually my brother) would aim at you, then you shake your bon-bon in overly-exaggerated ways for your "close-up".  Then, as the camera would move away, you'd go back to your lazy left-together, right-together move.  We were young, but we were observant!  Don't think we didn't notice Bandstand dancers!  We'd see you in the background looking bored, but when it was time for your close-up the arms would fly up, the hips would suddenly grind to life and your shoulders would react as if Pat Benatar had taken possession them.  Yeah, we were on to you too, lazy Solid Gold dancers.

There are still new concepts that crop up now and then to my utter delight.  And, some clever twists on classic concepts.  Rare gems like Lost, My So-Called Life, Freaks and Geeks (like Square Pegs, but with better writing), Glee, The Office (introducing America to the "They're filming a documentary in my workplace!" trend.)  And, cable TV has introduced us to rock docs, nostalgia countdowns (I Love the 80's, One Hit Wonders of the 90's...etc.) and home improvement makeover shows.  Ain't all bad.

So, some people may call me a TV addict but I don't think that's true.  I only watched 30 minutes of television tonight (Blogger pop quiz: Do you remember which show I was watching?)  I don't think I spend any more time in front of the tube than the average American viewer.  I just willingly admit to it.  And, I'm guessing most of you caught every vintage television reference and character I mentioned in the above paragraphs.  It's okay.  We're all in this together.  You take the good, you take the bad... It's how our nation unwinds.

Now, quick, raise your hand if you know who George Glass is.  Your hand is up!  I caught ya!

Sister Wives

My eyes!  My eyes!  He has four wives and I can't look away!

This is my only excuse for still watching TLC's Sister Wives.  If you're one of the five people who haven't heard the premise, it's a reality program that follows polygamist, Kody, and his four (count 'em FOUR!) wives and umpteen children.  This is a strange lifestyle I'd never had the chance to get a glimpse of, so I watched out of curiosity.

By the time season one had ended---surprise, surprise---authorities started investigating Kody on the charge bigamy. (Probably why I'd never seen anything like this on TV before!)  Yet, I still watch... with hesitation.

I'm a conflicted viewer.  It was interesting in the beginning.  He had three wives at that point and they all seemed delightful and got along like sisters.  They lived in Utah, at the time, in a house built especially for polygamist-type families (Because you can find a contractor with that specialty in Utah.)  Each wife had her own wing of the household where she'd reside with her batch of offspring.  And Kody, on a revolving schedule, rotates between bedrooms throughout the week.  He would try to get our sympathy by showing us how difficult it is to get out the door on time in the mornings because his belt might be in Wife #2's room while his matching pants are in Wife #3's closet.  The cameras would follow him around in the morning while he frantically tried to assemble a complete outfit.  It was bizarre, yet entertaining.

You start off wanting to judge them for their strange sense of normalcy, but then you realize if you met any of these women outside of the home, they could probably become your best buddies!  I especially like Wife #1 (Meri) and Wife #2 (Jennelle).  They have great senses of humor, are alot of fun, their kids are great and they all dress like normal people.  (Raise your hand if you thought all polygamist women looked like this):

(Me!)

And, that's the hook of the show.  Once they've started to convince you that they're normal, they go and do something polygam-y.  Like at the end of the first season when Wife #1 set Kody up with future Wife #4.  (They tell us that's Wife #1's job, to recruit new sister wives.  Who knew!)  Now, I've always been a jealous enough girlfriend, I cannot imagine a day at any point in my future where'd I'd be inclined to fix up my own husband!  But, this is normal to them because they all (except Wife #2) grew up in polygamist families and had multi-moms themselves. 

Aye-yi-yi!  And, the more they try to argue to us the benefits of their arrangement, the more jealousy you see in their eyes as #4 soon get mixed into the goodnight kiss rotation.  The more they talk about how thin and young #4 is and how Kody finally deserves a "trophy wife", the more you can read their thoughts of snapping her in half like the twig she resembles.  Poor #1-3, they had a good thing going!

Wife #4 got her little ceremony out it all.  She got a wedding band and a sister wife ring.  This is not a legal ceremony mind you.  Kody is only legally married to our dear Meri.  Oh yeah, and I forgot to mention, #4 came complete with three ready-made children from her previous marriage (they prepped her young daughter for the new arrangement by giving her four Barbie dolls and one Ken.  I only wish I had made that up!)  Oh yeah, and #4 was pregnant by the time this season started airing last night.  (And, already rubbing it in the face of Meri, who has only been able to bear one beautiful child.  All under the guise of not rubbing it in her face, of course.)

The family has also moved to Nevada to escape the charges and provide a "safe" environment for the kids.  But, imagine this, they couldn't find a polygamist house in Vegas, so each wife is residing in her own abode in the same neighborhood.  And, Kody can be seen running from house to house with half of a matching suit flung over his shoulder each morning.  Talk of the neighborhood, I'm sure!

Now let's talk about the kids.  There are 16 1/2 of them as of this week.  About half are teenagers and the rest infant through preteen.  The older kids gets pulled into serious family meetings on a regular basis, where their opinions are usually vetoed by the end of anyhow.  They are all, smart, well-spoken, well-adjusted and independent minded (at least one teen daughter has openly stated that she does not want to  practice polygamy as an adult. Yay! One down, 15 1/2 to go!)  The family prides themselves on the fact that this is not a cult.  The children are allowed to choose their own religions.  Which is ironic, because in this week's episode they were told they could not.

The move to Las Vegas has obviously minimized the family's church options (or completely decimated them, I should say.)  No longer living in a polygamist-friendly environment they've had to settle on holding their own church services at home (which at least two of the teens had opted out of participating in on this week's show.)  The parents decided maybe they should try finding an area church youth group where the kids could commingle with other teens of the same moral set.  This leads them to a meeting with the local Presbyterian pastor.  They kindly explained what they were looking for out of this arrangement and the pastor kindly stated that this would be a nice nonjudgmental Christian safe haven for their teens to socialize in.  Then, two of the wives suddenly felt uncomfortable being there.  "No offense to you," one wife jesters to the pastor, "But, this just feels very wrong."  I'm guessing she senses demons in her midst.  Demons who love the Lord, but don't marry in multiples.  The other wives seem interested, but Kody and the other two's discomfort overrule and they scurry out of there before the Presbyterian hooks sink in.  (Really?  You're scared of the Presbyterians?  They're like the Switzerland of Christianity!)

The two strong-minded wives (my bet on the first ones to leave this situation, since they are the closest in terms of coming to their senses) aren't pleased that they don't seem to have a say in the matter, so the adults call yet another meeting of the big kids.  They lay out the situation before them and about half of the teens seem interested in joining this youth group.  The two strong wives make their points well and remind everyone that the kids are free to choose their own faith.  But, then #4 pops in with a new stipulation to this rule.  "No!  When they're eighteen they can chose their own church!  Once their frontal lobes are developed!"  One of the snarky teen girls argues, "Frontal lobe?  What the heck about our frontal lobes?!"  "It's true," Wife #4 carries on, "their frontal lobes aren't developed yet, so they can't make such decisions."  And, daddy agrees since he's scared of the Presbys.

It was such a sad scene to watch.  The kids can't hang around any Christian kids because they're not the "right" kind of Christian kids.  And, I'm too dumb to understand why because my frontal lobe is also underdeveloped due to my inability to understand this whole lifestyle.  (Something tells me Hugh Hefner's place is brimming with an overabundance of frontal lobes.)  I'm not even sure where #4 gets so much power in this decision.  Her own children are only elementary school-aged and younger.  Maybe the freshly impregnated get an extra vote in these matters.  I don't know all the rules yet.

Sadly, though, one of Wife #2's high school-aged sons is obviously suffering from a certain amount depression since the move.  Maybe from leaving all his friends behind, maybe because of the legal troubles his family is facing, maybe because all of this is being seen by countless strangers as a means of entertainment, but my heart aches for this kid.  Their attempts to "fix" him included asking him repeatedly "What's wrong?"  and when he replies, "Nothing." they leave it at that.  Now I've only had one teenage brother in my life, and I know enough to know that asking, "What's wrong?" is the least direct route to finding out what's actually wrong in a teenaged boy's life.  Kody tries to force football on him.  Wife #3 (the sweetest and most naive of the bunch) lets him escape a teenage pool party that's going on at his house to come over and play with her baby named Truely.  She claims Truely is the best therapy for him right now and "the cheapest too!"  It is the first smile we've seen crack out of him this season, but Truely can only serve as a depression Band-aid.  Someone needs to sit this kid down, off camera, and make sure he's really okay.  And, be totally open to the possibility that it may be their lifestyle that embarrasses and/or disgusts him.

Well, I have no words of wisdom to impart in closing.  Just "Ew.  Ew.  Ew. Ew.  Can't look away!  Ew."  And, "Ewww!"

Songs of my Youth: Sister Christian

Motorin'!  That one word instantly places me in Night Ranger's "Sister Christian" video, ala Molly Shannon in Superstar.  Although, I'm not sure "motorin'" or "motoring" is even a real word.  I think it's just a made-up catchphrase the one-hit-wonders were desperately hoping would catch on as slang for cruising.

I don't know if "Sister Christian" ever caught on with guys, but us girls in 1984 were sw-ooooning over it!  There was a tame urban legend circulating around school that the song was written by the lead singer for his teenage sister who had gotten knocked up.  In actuality, the song was written by drummer, Kelly Keagy, as a cautionary tribute to his kid sis who was suddenly growing up too fast before his very eyes.  (She later got embarrassed and tried to legally change her name over the whole hubbub, if Wikipedia and VH1's One Hit Wonders special are to be believed.)

The song had sweet intentions.  But, once the video was released the message turned awfully confusing.  Sister Christian was in high school (presumably Catholic school, judging by all the kneeling at the grad ceremony and the creepy nuns waving goodbye through the clouds of dry ice at the end of the video.)  She longingly watches out the school window as her denim-miniskirted classmates hop into random convertibles driven recklessly by random Brat Pack lookalikes.  Christian knows she's not ready for all of this cruising and miniskirt drama and always lags behind.

She graduates during the bit and is lost in a maze of massive eighties bangs bouncing down the school stairway.  She doesn't feel as grown as the rest of these girls.  Maybe it because of her brother's lyrics which are echoing throughout the hallways as a constant plea for chastity.  "What's your price for flight?"  Yes, what is your price for flight Sister Christian?  You're not going to go leaping into every convertible that's comes around, are you?

Well, here's the real twist of the story.  Though the lyrics remain cautionary, the video turns very "final scene of Grease."  Christian is indeed saving herself.  Not for the high school boys, but for her brother's bandmates!  (Watch out for that Andy Gibb lookalike, Christian!)  She stalks their rehearsals and the band's favorite lunch spot.  Then finally decides what her price for flight in finding Mr. Right is.  Rock and Roll!

The nuns do their creepy goodbye wave and she's off like a dirty groupie.  Into the band's convertible she goes.  But, don't worry, she pays her brother respect by bringing along a couple of friends for him as a thank you (A boy named "Kelly" would need this kind of help.) 

Lesson learned: Don't waste your purity on the high school boys, when you have an older brother with older friends and Rock and Roll dreams.  How many babies do you think Sister Christian has now?  Just wondering....

As Disney as I Wanna Be

Disney World + my family circa 1983

I had the day off work today.  It was rainy, I slept half the day away and my allergies were acting bananas, so that only left one reasonable option on how to spend the rest of my afternoon.  Disney World videos!

I have an envious collection of Disney World theme park movies.  Old souvenir VHSs from childhood visits, new DVDs from an adulthood trip, several years worth of the official vacation planning DVDs, the Modern Marvels episode, one personal home video and a gaggle of films of random theme park features that I've found online and accumulated over the years.  When the budget's too tight for a trip there, I can always visit all four theme parks, saunter through each resort, take in a Christmas parade and ride any number of rides all from my couch at home.  I just love that place!

Mary Blair concept art

There's just something comforting to me about the whole Disney brand.  The theme parks, the movies, the merchandise... I just want it all!  I don't know what formula they've cracked to win me over as a consumer.  But, Disney is my crack and I'm a lifetime devotee. 

I love everything from the old animated shorts to the vintage Mary Blair artwork to Walt Disney's whole ideology to the story of building the most amazing vacation resort on planet Earth.  Disney speaks to me.  And, what it says is that an imagination is a valuable resource.  It's not just for kids.  It's a wonderful and useful asset to all who possesses one, no matter what your station in life.

All hail Mary Blair!

And, I don't believe any other brand exists in the world that has made fuller use of imagination than Disney.  They even call their company's engineers "imagineers".  How cute is that?  (We've got to find a secretarial equivalent of that title to make my own day job seem more fulfilling.)

My deepest burned childhood memories are almost all Disney-related.  Back in the late 70's through mid-80's, Disney World was a viable vacation option for the average American family.  The Magic Kingdom, being the only theme park at the time, made ticket prices much more feasible than today's more-than-quadrupling in sites to see there. 

Fort Wilderness

My family would camp at Fort Wilderness, Disney World's official camp ground where you could take a quick boat ride directly from its shores to the gates of the Magic Kingdom itself.  Ahhh.  I remember nightly outdoor movies at the campground where Chip and Dale would always make an appearance, more than willing to sign your autograph book with their fluffy little costumed hands.  Sitting on the beach to watch the Electrical Water Parade.  Riding the monorail at nightfall with my mom and sisters as we'd sneak self-guided tours through the fancier hotels.  I vividly remember my sandal strap breaking in the Magic Kingdom during one visit.  Since Disney can fix all, the nurses station managed to staple the strap back in place so I could go on about enjoying my day.  While we were there, a call came in that medics were bringing in an older gentleman who had chickened out of riding It's a Small World After All and tried hopping out of the boat at the last minute.  He fell into the water and got run over by an incoming boat!  (Thus, spawning my curious fascination with urban legend-worthy Disney vacationers strange accidents and deaths.)  Was it really worth it dude?  C'mon.  Small World?  Maybe he had a strange phobia of small round-headed audioanimatronics.

Even the merchandise I owned as a kid was more memorable than any other toys or books in my collection.  I vividly remember all of our classic Golden Books and the stories on the 33 records that had accompanying books to read along with.  The stuffed animals, the stickers, the t-shirts, the tote bags and my Donald Duck hat that squeaked when I honked its bill.

I remember our family gathering around the TV for the weekly airing of The Wonderful World of Disney.  Walt Disney himself would host and a movie or collection of animated shorts would follow.  On a good night for me, it would air the original The Parent Trap or those silly collections of cartoons that would be hosted by Professor Von Duck as he explained the human psyche through use of Donald Duck and Goofy shorts.  On a bad night I'd have to sit through Swiss Family Robinson or some other such malarkey that I had no interest in at the time.

Now they have their own channel with their own programming!  And, Disney stores all over the country!  And, a website!  If I had a house, it's completely feasible that I could furnish from floor to ceiling in mouse ears if I really wanted to.  (Don't think that's not a dream of mine!)

But, the Disney trips come fewer and farther between these days.  I did have the honor of getting to bring one of my nieces and one of my nephews to Disney World a few years back.  And, you can imagine the tears that formed in my eyes each time I watched them form memories of their very own.  I had my mental checklist and every time I saw joy in their eyes I would shed a tear in mine as I'd check something else off.  First time hugging Mickey.  Check!  First time seeing a monorail in real life.  Check!  First Spectromagic Parade.  Check!  First firework show over Cinderella's castle.  The list was long and my eyes weren't dry for an entire week.  

First character encounter. Check!

I found Disney World alot more exhausting and over-stimulating as an adult.  As a kid, I could imagine hiding in the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse and living there forever.  As an adult, one week was plenty.  (My suggestion though is to stay onsite.  There are still affordable options right on the Disney grounds.  And, the impeccable service and free transportation services are worth it alone.  When you or the kids tire throughout the day, it's an easy trip back to the hotel to rest up or enjoy the relaxing resort amenities until you catch your second wind.)

My goal is to keep the Disney-loving tradition alive for the next generation.  Even if I can't afford to bring each child there in person, I'm happy if the world of Disney and its philosophies dust their little consciences somehow.  The five year-old already has made a favorite of the old Chip and Dale cartoons. The fourteen and nine-year-old regale him with stories of their trip, meeting the characters and jumping on the hotel beds.  They love all the movies from the classics to the newer Pixar collaborations.  We loved the moral taught in Meet the Robinsons.  I'm delighted when any of them pick up one of my vintage Disney books or even if they fight over who gets to use the Mickey blanket.  It's nice to see the Disney love already in their hearts because it's a bond we'll always share. 

Now, if only I could get them to watch Charlie Brown with me. Still haven't found a way to make The Peanuts stick. 

"I would rather entertain and hope that people learned something than educate people and hope they were entertained." ~ Walt Disney

What the Gleek?

You know how sometimes you ruin a good thing by over-anticipating it so much that there's no way it can possibly live up to your expectations?  Sorry Glee Season Three premiere.  Wah-waaaahh.

I love Glee!  Don't get me wrong.  I'm a total Gleek and posed for the above picture while awaiting last night's premiere.  I studiously rewatched the entire first and second seasons on DVD over the summer in preparation.  But, then last night happened.  I'm still a fan and happy it's back.  I just have a few complaints:

• Too much change too soon - I'm sure alot happened in Gleetown over summer vacation, but I feel like I've been thrown into a bottomless pit of new information and I'm still falling.  They tore apart the two most intriguing couplings of last season.  I was so excited to see how the Sam/Mercedes (Samedes?) thing played out.  Over.  Dunzo.  Dating-timid Mercedes is suddenly confident and womanly with her new football player boyfriend.  They never even explained the Sam/Mercedes relationship. They just dangled it in our faces in last season's end and then snatched it away!  And, Puck and Lauren Zises.  She just quits the gang?!  Is she even still on the show?  Waaahhh... Santana and Britney are Cheerios again.  (And, Santana's kicked out of Glee club.)  Blaine leaves the Warblers and joins New Directions.  Emma's suddenly waking up at Will's house. Quinn's now a "freak"/"burnout"/"misfit"/choose your own discriminatory label. Rachel's now nice. Finn... was Finn even on? I know I saw him somewhere. I don't think I saw Sam though. (I think Sam's off somewhere suction-cupped to the mouth of Emma Roberts.)  This is very reminiscent of when the Brady Bunch kids lampooned Sherwood Schwartz with all of their ridiculous ideas and demands as a bargaining strategy and ruined the show for good.  I can picture it now.  Mercedes: "I want a MAN or I don't go on.  And, not some itty bitty Beiber-headed boy... a real man!"  Kurt: "I want to hold hands with Blaine in the choir room. How come Blaine never gets to visit the choir room?"  Britney: "I really wanted to start wearing street clothes on the show, but those big hats you keep putting me in are hurting my brain.  Can I just go back to wearing the cheerleading skirt?"  (And, speaking of street clothes... What's with Blaine's?  I understand the look they're going for.  I just can't endorse it.)  It seems like everyone is getting their way, but the audience.  My head is spinning.  Somebody bring me the smelling salts.
• Too many new characters introductions for one night - I did not catch one name of theirs either.  Mercedes' boyfriend (was he one of the football players who was once throwing Slushees in her face?  I couldn't tell with their faces macked up against one another through the whole episode.)  The "Aspergers Girl", whom I'm very disappointed in the obviously uneducated view this character casted on the disorder.  The character would have actually worked and fit in with the show without the Asperger's label.  Is it too late to fix this?  Quinn's new friends.  Too many to keep track of, but I think there were three.  More on that in a minute.  And, what do her parents think of this new crowd she's hanging out with and her Ryan Seacrest tramp stamp?  No one seems to have parents anymore.  I guess there's not room in the budget for them with all of the NYADA mixees on the pay role now.
• The impending doom - They didn't waste two minutes before clarifying who was a senior and who was a junior.  This in an obviously attempt to cover up Ryan Murphy jabber jaws that have already revealed that the seniors will be graduating off of the show by next season.  Now we officially know who's on the chopping block.  (Bye bye "Other Asian".)
• Something was just... off - The production value seemed to take a dip this season.  Maybe they spent too much of the budget on all of these additional characters they're suffrocating us with.  The colors weren't as lively.  The lighting not as bright (Maybe they switched to energy efficient bulbs?)  The sets and wardrobes were kinda blah.  The writing seemed forced and the dialogue not as snappy.  Too many musical numbers being crammed together.  They seemed lazily choreographed and missing a bit of spark.  I did have a flu shot yesterday.  Maybe I need to rewatch it and decide again.  Maybe my vision was hazy.  Or maybe Ryan Murphy took the best of his crew onto his newer producing endeavors.

There was good though last night too.  I did  like:

• Quinn's new hair - I'm hoping this new clique of hers transitions into a Runaways type rock group. They have to keep the music in Quinn.   If not Runaways, at least can you give us a Josie and the Pussycats out of this?
• The first appearance by a Glee Project contestant - Yeah, it was just Lindsay.  (Check out my Glee Project post for my opinion on her.)  But, it was exciting nonetheless.  They created a believable role for her. (If you missed it, she was the girl singing and dancing in the red beret at the NYADA mixer.)  I'm a little bit crushed that her character didn't turn out to be the one I had dreamed up for her: the Disney freak.  Every glee club needs its Disney freak.  (Or, at least, every American Idol top twenty does.)  You know... the girl who only wants to sing "Part of your World", "Colors of the Wind" or any other Disney princess theme.  I could picture her in the choir room with a different colored silk ribbon in her hair every day.  Oh well.  I guess NYADA girl with the red beret will do.  I can't wait to see what they cook up for Alex, Samuel and Damian! (I actually thought one of the girl's in the Quinn's new "skank" posse was Alex in drag for a minute there.  Oops. My bad!)
• The blantant buildup for a Kurt and Rachel spinoff - Ryan's already alluded to it and I really can see it all now.  They'd be perfect for their own Making-it-in-New-York sitcom.  Like Extras, but on Broadway.
• Will and Emma - I always wanted them to end up together, no matter how much Terry, the first gym teacher, John Stamos and Gwyneth Paltrow got in the way.  But, I also feel robbed that we missed something.  They were back to being best of friends and then something happened over the summer which led to her waking up in is house every morning and them packing each other's lunch boxes.  Are they living together now?  Yes, it's been two whole seasons, but it still somehow feels like too much too soon. 
• That's all I can think of for now...

Well, I'm still excited to see where all of this goes.  And, I'm counting down the days until our other Glee Project finalists show up in the halls of McKinley High.  I just feel like I've been left out on alot of what happened over the summer. Let's just cross our fingers for a couple flashback episodes coming up to show us what we've missed!

(And, one last critique.  Would Sue Sylvester ever really wear a purple track suit?  I know... they were trying to match the purple piano theme.  But, Sue is opposed to the music program.  She's not going to play matchy-matchy with it!  Wherever it is that Ryan Murphy took his best writers, I have a feeling their costume designer followed right behind.  There.  I've said my peace.  Phew.)

THAT Appointment

I've been poked in so many places today I've lost count!  At the doctor's office.  Yes.  It's that day.  The day all women count down to every year with dread and anxiety.  (Men, if you're squeamish you may take today's blog off.)  I'll be trying to navigate today's entry with prudish cautiousness as not to come across as vulgar but, if you haven't figured out what today is, you obviously have the wrong body parts and didn't stop reading two sentences ago as requested.

With all the advances in medical science you'd think there'd be a less barbaric way to get a look in there. But, I'm assured that there is not.  Maybe because I have a doctor who has an evil habit of laying the tools out one by one it front of me like torture devices. I don't know if she does this on purpose or not, but it seems this is a ceremony that could probably be performed before calling me in from the waiting room. Today after she clunked down each metal apparatus, she looked at me sideways and cheekily tossed a paper cloth over them as we had this exchange. Me, "Yep. Cover them up!" She, "Well, there's no reason to stare at them while we're talking." Me, "And, I will if they're not covered up."   (Then again, I'm also the patient who feels the need to watch as my blood is being drawn, shots are being administered and stitches being stitched... So, maybe I'm the sicko.)  Luckily, I also have a doctor that shares the same sense of humor as me, so it's easier to relax through the pokes and tugs while you're chuckling.

I like to keep my doctor's visits to a minimum, so I multitask with them.  Today I went whole hog.  I'm already there for the worst part, so I always toss in a physical, all my blood work for the year (fasting blood work.  Upon being asked, "Did you fast for 12 hours?" I rudely replied, "YES! And, I'm STARVING!" Low blood sugar much?), x-rays, dietary and digestive concerns and, today, I also got talked into a flu shot as the frosting on this bitter pill.  (May as well stuff as much into one copay as possible!)  I went through my mental checklist while staring at the mobile hanging from the examining room ceiling and realized I'd forgotten one thing.  I was literally still in the stirrups when I decided, "Oh yeah, let's talk about my swollen knee!"  Keep her prisoner while she's yours ladies!  (Or him.  But, if you're seeing a him, try to find a her.  It makes all the difference in the world.  I promise.)

In the end (no pun intended), I came home with new diet restrictions to add to my already enforced cholesterol and blood sugar friendly ones.  A pamphlet of knee exercises. ("Didn't I give you these to do last year?"  "Ummm.... I think I lost the paper...")  And, two fresh stab wounds to my left arm. 

Every year as this day draws near I question myself as to why I'm going through with it again.  Then I remember that the good doc also withholds all pills once your year's supply runs out.  So, to make the best of it, I always take the day off of work as a reward to myself for following through and not canceling. Sometimes I'll go shopping afterward, sometimes a trip to the zoo... whatever the reward, it is certainly well-earned and the rest of you women should "treat" yourself as well.  Seeing that my fresh stab wounds feel like a dump truck has run over my bicep, today's reward was diminished to lounging in the backyard reading old fashion magazines. Still beats a day at work!

Just remember, there once was a time when we didn't have these advances and women's "female problems" went undiagnosed and untreated.  If the technology is there, how can we not take advantage of it?  It's worth the few moments of discomfort (and if you have a female doctor; she's been there, she knows and she'll go quick!)  As, my doctor finished up today with the "worst part" today she announced, "Done!"  To which I sighed, "Yay! The most dreaded moment of my year is over!"  She replied, 'Hey. If that's the worst part of your year... then you're having a pretty good year!"

I think she may be onto something.

Dancing With the Stars

Let me get this out of the way.  Every year I'm initially intrigued by Dancing With the Stars but then my intrigue usually peters out sometime before the season finale.  Maybe because a favorite goes home early.  Maybe because the Viennese Waltz soon becomes a one-way ticket to Snoozeville.  Or maybe because a better show like Glee starts airing against it on another channel.

Well, since Glee is switching to Tuesday night this fall, I decided to give Dancing another shot.  Here's my first impressions of this years cast.

• Ron Artest - I missed Ron's performance. I was checking my Facebook at the time and had my back to the TV.  I did glance back at one point and noticed his hair (on top of head and facial) the shade of Dennis Rodman yellow. Being from Detroit, my immediate thoughts upon hearing his name is the picture of him brawling with an arena full of Pistons fans.  I overheard him during his intro footage mentioning having a daughter who had gone through chemo.  So, I'll brush aside my brawl at The Palace memories for the moment.  Seeing his replay, he seemed to be having fun out there. Eh, we'll see.
• Rob Kardashian - I can't believe a guy growing up in a house with that many females can be so masochistic. "Come here woman!" he commands his partner. Yuck!  I know he thinks he's being cute and flirty... but, yuck!  Then again, I retract my first sentence after remembering who these women are that he grew up in a house full of.
• Kristin Cavallari - She spends most of her intro assuring us that she "not really a bitch."  Meanwhile footage of her acting bitchy is spliced in between her rehearsal shots.  Sure, Kristin.  I've seen two seasons of Laguna Beach and all the seasons of The Hills that assure me otherwise.  Either own it or quit acting that way.  And, less squirming, more footwork!
• Chynna Phillips - Chynna was a graceful sweetheart.  I hope she goes far.  I love her husband and I love the footage of her singing "Hold On" on the beach with her skinny waist and Dutch Boy haircut.  Hold on, for one more day... You can ho-ooo-old on!  ♫
• Nancy Grace - I was too distracted with Nancy's rack hanging out to form any kind of opinion on her dancing skills.  You can take the pantsuit off the girl, but you can't... Holy moley Nance!  Cover those things up a little bit!  (And, I think they were being cheeky when they asked, "How are twins?"  She responds by saying, "They're right there in the audience!" while pointing at her kids.)
• David Arquette - I simply adore David Arquette and always have.  He was one of my favorites to see on the roster this year.  I loved his can-do attitude tonight and his ear-to-ear smile of genuine joy.  And, how cute was Coco in the audience as he proclaimed his love for his only daughter.  He's in my top three for sure.
• Elisabetta Canalis - The woman who thinks she can disguise forgotten choreography by rubbing her belly.  Won't miss her if she goes this week.
• Hope Solo - I don't know these sports people. But, she entertained me during her rehearsal footage and gave it a good sportsman's try.  I don't know her, but I don't mind her.
• Carson Kressley - Another happy roster spotting.  I've missed Carson so much since Queer Eye for the Straight Guy got canceled.  I wasn't sure how his dance skills would be, but I knew he would be entertaining to the 10th power.  And, that he was! (His dancing wasn't too shabby either.  I think.  I was distracted by all the flair.)
• J.R. Martinez - I didn't know who J.R. was, but his back story was touching. (Former infantry soldier badly injured and disfigured in Iraq turned soap star. That's right.  I said "turned soap star".)  He was such a delight to watch rehearse and had the best attitude and zest for life.  Unfortunately, I missed his performance because I had a bagel burning in the toaster. That's right, I said "a bagel burning in the toaster!"
• Ricki Lake - Derek Hough is back!  Oh yeah, and Ricki Lake is his partner.  Ricki was quite graceful and a better dancer than I expected.  And, did I mention that Derek looked like Leonardo DiCaprio in the fancy dinner scene from Titanic with his hair slicked back like that?  (But, then he did a creepy "eyebrows dancing" move during the judging.)  But, oh yeah...  Ricki was pretty good.
• Chaz Bono - The long awaited debut of Cher's daughter-newly-turned-son.  They kept stressing that Chaz was the "first transgender to compete on the show"!!!  As, if that door has been closed for all of these past seasons.  I can't think of many other transgender children of celebrities that have been trying to bust down the barrier of dancing on a C-list reality competition, but I guess that's the only label they could stick him with.  (They did refer to him as "author" at one point in the evening too.)  I was pleasantly surprised at his groovy moves and genuine smiling appreciation to be there.  I think Chaz had fun!  And, you could see both his mom and dad's showmanship shining though.  He'll be a fun one to watch this season.

Well, so far so good.  One episode down and I'm still hanging in there.  Let's hope the Fox Trot doesn't eventually do me in.  Now, if you'll excuse me... new Hawaii Five-O up next! (P.S.  I love TV!)

Football

Am I ready for some football???  That's the question I wasn't sure I was prepared to answer at 7:30 this morning, getting ready to leave the house at 8 for a 9:00 game.  Did I mention this is Saturday, and I'm not known to arise before 10:00 on Saturday mornings?  And, did I mention it was actually two back-to-back games I was in store for?

I've never been much of a football fan.  I always thought it was slow paced, the rules were confusing and I didn't know the difference between a down and a clown.  The last time I can remember sitting in the stands at a football game was in high school.  And, even then I was usually just there to keep friends in the marching band company or to hang with some guy I was kinda-sorta-maybe dating at the time (I was not into labels and very hard to get.)  My dad also coached my brother on a city league when he was young, but all I recall of that experience was sitting with my mom and sisters in the car to keep warm and fighting over which radio station to listen to.  But, I love my older sister's boys and was excited to finally see them in action. 

First up was my seven-year-old nephew.  His game was very comical.  There was a random kid dancing in place on the field.  Another watching the geese fly overhead.  One kid got the ball and ran the other way with it, losing us about 15 yards.  (He knew which goal to be heading for.  But, he also knew there were overly-padded beasts waiting for him in that direction.) Not to mention the tiny adorable cheerleaders who were cheering anything but in unison and had no idea what was going on in the game behind them. (This was proven many times by them rah rah-ing when the other team scored. And, chanting "Look at the scoreboard!  Yeah, look at the scoreboard!" when the other team was ahead by two touchdowns.)

Eight girls, eight different routines.

But my guy, who they've nicknamed "The Crusher", was impressive with his tackling skills.  He may not do much with the ball if he ever get his hands on it (Oops.  I wasn't going to mention who that was running the wrong way down the field) but, if the other team touches that ball, he's off and charging after them.  I should have been able to predict his sacking skills seeing that, as scrawny as he seems, he manages to knock my middle-aged butt to the ground almost every time I see him! "Crusher" seems very fitting.

Little buddy after getting tackled by his own teammate.

The ten-year old's game was less comical/more brutal.  Alot of helmet clanking, piles of six kids on top of one and the announcer calling out "Injury on the field!" every other play.  My nephew plays center, putting him right in the center of all of that clanking and piling up.  Both teams in this age group were on their game, so from the stands it just looked like a cluster of red and black moving up and down the field.  It was hard to tell who had the ball and what exactly was going on. Who's got the ball now?  Is our guy in that pile? "Injury on the field!" Again?  My main concern was seeing that #27 was upright again by the end of each play.

As much as I was hesitant about an entire day of football (and even though I caught myself sleeping with my eyes open for about 5 minutes there) I found myself screaming and cheering for our victories and moaning and demanding "Get him! GET HIM!!" when the other team ran off with the ball.  I was actually sad to see the clock run down on the fourth quarter of the last game.  They were two touchdowns behind and there was no time to possibly catch up, but I wanted our guy to have a winning day.  Was I actually enjoying this?

Well, I can't say I'm going to start watching Monday Night Football, or Sunday games on TV... but when it's little guys I love out there getting dirty, that's something I can become a fan of!  (I am also a big supporter of the four hour nap that succeeded.)

Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow

My roots are currently more than an inch, less than a foot... so I know tonight's the night to hit the bottle. Of hair dye that is!

My hair's been through alot in one lifetime.  Surviving the eighties alone should earn it some sort of medal.  The biggest relief to my beauty routine was the ushering in of the 21st century's "natural is in" trend.  Yay, I don't have to perm or tease the life out of my poor follicles anymore! 

No gel, mousse or 1/4-inch barrel curling irons can be found anywhere near my hair these days (or my house for that matter.)  I'm not even sure I could scrape up a stray bottle of hairspray in my bathroom if I were, for some ridiculous reason, ever in dire need of it.  Soft hair came back!  (It better be here to stay...)

My hair hasn't crunched in almost two decades now. No kidding!  Touch it.  TOUCH it!  (You won't lose a hand in there anymore. I swear!)

But, the dye will never die. 

I've been coloring my hair since the age of 16.  With a meager allowance, I started out using straight peroxide mixed with water in an old hair spray bottle.  This was 1990 and the days of Sun-In.  I would apply my concoction (on top of permed hair, yikes!) Then, instead of wasting time sitting out in the sun, I would stick my head right under the blow dryer.  Check the mirror. Eh, we can do better... and repeat the process multiple times until all visible hairs were properly brassy.

Matching eyebrows, not a concern in 1990.

Yeah, my head stank like the nurse's station, but I fit right in beside my Sunned-In friends without anyone being any wiser.  (We'd bleached all the wisdom out of our heads by then.)

My first experience with a "real" at-home dye kit came the following year.  Age 17, my first time applying plastic glove to applicator tip and shaking gently.  (This was also my first time applying brown splotches to the wallpaper in my parents' bathroom.)  And so, my natural hair color was never to be seen again.  (Unless we're counting that top inch of mane that crops up every couple of months.)

Since that day I've been everything from blonde to strawberry blonde to orange to reddish to all-shades-of-brown-but-the-natural-kind to black.  In my twenties it was almost like an Olympic-worthy event.  I would change my hair as often as once a month.  I liked to keep my on-lookers on their toes. 

I even went one year insistent on having the opposite hair color of the season.  Meaning dark hair in the summer, light in the winter, red in the spring instead of fall.  You get it?  Ooh. Such a rebel I was.  I don't remember what brought that on.  It could have been the miswiring in me that always wants to be different than everybody else.  Or, it could have just been the simple fact that the Clairol bottles go on clearance when they're out of season.  (Did I mention, I'm cheap?)

Whatever the case, consider me the guinea pig and trust me that it's near impossible to keep your hair dark in the summertime. Especially if you spend alot of time outdoors like I do.  It's not rebellious, it's just plain stupid.  The sunlight doesn't tend to make your hair any darker!

There was a day when it was impolite for a woman to admit her hair color was fake.  Now everybody dyes and nobody cares.  Everyone also seems to pretend that they've been dying their hair for so long that they "can't even remember what my natural hair color is."

They're liars.  I can remember with great confidence what color my natural hair is.  That's why I keep dying it, duh. 

People politely refer to those with my natural coloring as "mousy brown".  That brings up the cute depiction of cartoon Disney mice.  Real mousy brown hair is the color of real mice.  The mice you find in the sewers or rooting through your trash on garbage night.  With no depth or real color shading the hue.  Not dark and rich enough to be milk-chocolatety.  Not light and warm enough to be coined as golden.  Real mousy brown hair is the color of tree bark.  Not cartoon tree bark.  That real tree bark that is currently peeling off the oak in the backyard.  Colorists call it "ash" brown.  Dull and lifeless.  So dull it can almost be mistaken for gray.  (Sadly, my grayish brown natural hair is also now streaked with actual silver.)

Tonight I tried the newest fad in hair coloring.  No-drip "sublime" mousse.  I have to admit, it was pretty sublime.  Not at all messy to apply.  It didn't splatter or drip down behind my ears.  Easy to rinse out.  Less smelly on the smelliness scale.
 

Yes!

Yes!

Yes!

Consider this my endorsement.  Dye your hair all you want.  (Just, please don't use straight peroxide.)  And, buy the mousse if you're a born mess-maker like me. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go nurse a wicked head rush.