She's crazy.
She's a trainwreck.
She's a stoner.
She pierced her cheeks, crashed her car - twice - while driving drunk, wears awful blond wigs, Tweets bizarre statements, and retires-un-retires-retires from acting on a regular basis. Her neighbors complain about the pot smoke and smell constantly eminating from her apartment, and finally called the police when they found her rambling and stumbling in the hallway, stoned off her butt.
Why don't her parents do something? Why doesn't someone do something?
There is no law against being mentally ill - but there is a law that prevents someone to lock up or restrain or forceably commit another person to a mental health facility unless they are a danger to themselves or others. When she was arrested most recently, she was given a psych evaluation before being booked at the police station - so they thought she may be having a mental health crisis, but once it was determined she was not going to harm herself, they had to release her.
There are very good reasons for this - there was a not-too-distant past time when it was all too easy to commit a mentally ill person to a mental health facility - an "asylum" in antiquated terms - when they were not deemed to be fit to live in civil society. Those so-called asylums were anything but - they were often no more than warehouses for the mentally ill and those with profound physical or emotional disabilities, or mental retardation.
Many people with mental illness do not know they are mentally ill. It slowly creeps up on them, and builds up in such a way that it's not evident to them they are ill. There are no red splotches on their foreheads that let a family member or friend say "Uh oh, Amanda, you seem to be coming down with a case of szchizophrenia or bi-polar...". I can only imagine it's worse with celebrities, who are already often eccentric by nature, or made that way by the bubble they live in.
When they feel out of control, they may try to self-medicate.
How would you self-medicate? Alcohol and drugs....
Pot quiets the disturbing thoughts and the voices in their heads.
As someone close to several people dealing with a variety of mental illnesses, it saddens me that she will eventually be diagnosed and get help, and will have to look back at the social media trail of destruction in her wake, look around and ask herself the same thing the general public is asking every time she posts a strange selfie, or is caught rambling non-sensically on a streetcorner...
"Why didn't someone do something?"
The answer is complicated. It has to do with free will, government non-interference in our private lives, and the challenge of convincing someone with a problem that they in fact have a problem they don't think they have. It has nothing to do with how much her parents love her, or how badly she needs help.
We don't want the government dictating how we live our lives or keeping track of our medical history, but we see someone in crisis like she is, or like Britney Spears was, and our hearts want someone to do something. I feel that way too.
The question is: Who gets to decide where the line gets drawn?
California disability rights activists in the 1960's, from what I can find, appear to be the source of the modern legislation attempting to ensure humane treatment of the mentally ill. The Conservatorship law that governs Britney Spears life was conceived and passed by California state assemblymen, and is described here: http://www.calhospital.org/overview/lanterman-petris-short-lps-act.
It seems this is also where the rumor circulating since I was a child that Reagan 'kicked people out of the mental hospitals in the 80's' comes from... He was Governor of California and passed the legislation reforming the mental health system in the 60's - not as president in the 80's. And that was bi-partisan legislation, by the way. Another example of a good idea executed poorly, to disasterous results.
It was a perfect storm. The ACLU provided the lawyers for the original cases that were the genesis of many changes and legislation - advocated that the definition of someone being able to take care of themselves should mean able to bathe, dress, and feed ones self, versus the more traditional definition of being able to obtain food and shelter and financial livlihood. But the half-way homes and community support services that were supposed to simutaneously arise to support the people who were not ill enough to be institutionalized, but were not well enough to live indepdendently, never materialized. Most of those people ended up as homeless on the streets as a result.
So Amanda Bynes bizarre behavior is very likely due to the onset of mental illness in her early 20's - the most common time for the emergence of several common mental illnesses, by the way. And the good intentions of both the Left and the Right in the 1960's to change the way mentally ill citizens interact with the healthcare system have created an impossibility to help those closest to her to help her.
In the end, it's a draw....
Should we provide support to those in crisis? Yes.
Should we protect the rights of individuals? Yes.
Meanwhile, people like Bynes are trapped in the midst of this philosophical tug of war.
I don't have an answer, but we have to keep asking the question.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
On the Virtues of the (Paper) Address Book
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| Mead "At-a-Glance" Telephone Address Book |
My computer died last week - gave-up-the-ghost died. (I'm writing this from my work laptop - on my own time, just in case anyone's asking!) But this is not a post about what happens if you lose your phone/computer/tablet and it contains all your addresses. And I do have a thing for paper and office supplies and wrapping paper and cards - always have. But this is not a post about how awesome paper is for paper's sake.
What this is about is the artifact we create over time when we keep a paper telephone-address book. This is about the way shifts subtle and dramatic in one's life are revealed in this simplest of devices.
I have kept a paper address book for years. I loved watching my mom keep hers, updating it with each birth, graduation, marriage, separation, divorce, move to a new house, new state, new job... and occasionally, a single solemn line through an entry marked the passing of a friend or colleague or family member. I'm sure the Franklin Planner people would advise to write everything in pencil, so it can be easily erased and updated. But that's not for me. I want to see the history etched into the pages. It's a living time capsule of your relationships. It's your past and present and it's always at your fingertips.
Much has been made of the tactile experience of reading a book that even the best e-ink on the best e-reader cannot replicate. The smell of slow decay that releases warm tobacco and vanilla notes from the paper as you turn the page will never emminate from an electronic device. And likewise, writing - and over-writing - one's contact list will never provide an equivalent experience to flipping through a paper address book. I can use different color inks to represent my family and D's. I can tuck a book of stamps into the pocket, so I'm not always searching for them in the junk drawer. I can slip business cards for the new salon I visit in the pocket, until I am sure I want to make it a permanent resident of the address book. (And when I tear the addresses off envelopes at Christmas I have a place to put them until I'm ready to update everything instead of sticking them on the fridge :-D)
I'm not advocating an 'either-or' approach, by the way - I keep both an electronic address book and a paper one. But it's the paper one that sit with when I'm writing party invitations or graduation announcements. It's the paper one that I reach for when I'm on the phone with someone and they need an address, and my computer isn't booted up. And if there's a major power outage, or I lose my phone, I will not lose access to my friends and family too...
Because ultimately, it all comes back to people. Physical addresses don't represent Facebook friends - they're real friends. Flipping through a paper address book is like flipping through a yearbook for your life - the good and the bad, by a name and address - but meaning much, much more.
One more thing....
You always think you will remember forever the place your family lived when you were two. You think you will always remember the address where your grandparents lived when you were twelve and spent the summer with them. You think you'll always remember the address of the beach house you stayed at when you were fifteen. And chances are, you won't - but you won't realize it until it's too late. I make a habit of putting even 'obsolete' or un-used addresses in my book, as a kindof archive- addresses that I don't actually need for mailing anything, but they remind me of a time and place, and they provide fodder for a fun rainy day activity, to use Google Streetview to "revisit" places you used to frequent with your friends and family.
Tips - obvious, but true!
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| Isn't this way better than a little black book? ;-) |
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| At-a-Glance DayRunner 4-size Address Book from Staples |
One more thing....
You always think you will remember forever the place your family lived when you were two. You think you will always remember the address where your grandparents lived when you were twelve and spent the summer with them. You think you'll always remember the address of the beach house you stayed at when you were fifteen. And chances are, you won't - but you won't realize it until it's too late. I make a habit of putting even 'obsolete' or un-used addresses in my book, as a kindof archive- addresses that I don't actually need for mailing anything, but they remind me of a time and place, and they provide fodder for a fun rainy day activity, to use Google Streetview to "revisit" places you used to frequent with your friends and family.
Tips - obvious, but true!
- If you can afford it, choose a model that allows you to add pages so you can add pockets, business card holders, and other 'add-ons' to customize the book's functions
- If you buy a refillable model, choose a brand carried by Staples, Office Depot, or another office products store or website, to increase the liklihood your style/size will not be discontinued
- Don't limit an address book to addresses: keep a list of your frequently-used websites, online accounts and passwords in the book - some, like the DayRunner, have pages just for documenting them
- A model with pockets lets you keep address labels, envelopes, cards, etc. until you have time to sit down and update your list - and keeps the fridge and junk drawer uncluttered!
- Buy an extra pack of page inserts when you buy the book and put them in it to guard against discontinuation of a specific size/style you like, even if you know it will be a long time before you need them, otherwise you'll lost the extra pack, I promise!
Friday, April 12, 2013
The Agony of de Feet
In a recent Glamour magazine poll, when women were asked “Do you prefer your heels a practical height or sky-high?”, 57% said “1 to 2 inches is plenty”. Which made me wonder why the vast majority of heels in US stores are over 3”? In fact, Glamour reader favorite Jimmy Choo and other brands now consider 3” pumps a “mid-height” heel, and I’ve seen 2” heels described as “kitten heels”!  |
| 4" Alien cage heel by Zanotti |
I long assumed that my D-width foot was the reason 4" heels were a non-starter for me, since at 4" you are walking mainly on your toes and the edge of the ball of your foot - which on me is the widest part of my foot, and generally wide shoes - at least American ones - are rather "orthopedic" looking to begin with. But if the majority of women agree with me, WHY are stores and websites filled to the brim with them?
Not too long ago, 3” heels were reserved for special occasions that didn’t require much walking, and the only place you could find 4” heels was Frederick’s of Hollywood or other specialty stores. Women wore flats or 1-2" heels for everyday wear, because you needed to be able to walk in them without your feet hurting - and European, Asian, and Latin American women disproportionately still do. In the 30's and 40's, shoes frequently had ankle straps and a wider heel base, making them more secure on the foot. Today this style would read as "frumpy" to most fashionistas - unless you're wearing a vintage pair on purpose, as a statement shoe.
Today, instead of being worn as a special-occassion shoe, American women wear high heels all day, every day - something that our mothers and grandmothers, not to mention women in other cultures - would find ridiculous. And the definition of “high heels” has literally inched up to 4” or even higher in a few cases, and the pages of fashion magazines are plastered with photos of these uber-heels, with very few options for the 57% of us looking for fabulous 2”-2.5” heels that are suitable for literally pounding the pavement. In fact, a quick check of one of the more popular shoe brands’ website revealed that 46 styles were classified as “High/Beyond High”, while just ten – TEN - were classified as “Mid Heel” – and that included all the 2-3” heels they offer.
For generations we’ve understood there is a difference between the artistic vision of designers and the ‘ready to wear’ reality into which their vision is translated… except evidently with shoes. A sketch of an anatomically impossible shoe becomes … an anatomically impossible shoe! Women cannot walk on their toes – yet this is precisely what these shoes force us to do… it is beyond painful, it’s physically harmful in a way that no shirt or purse will ever be.
We are coming frighteningly close to coaxing the average woman to wear toe-shoes at this point – something that ballerinas train to do, and do only for a few seconds at a time - and willingly destroy their feet in the process… But you literally have to pass a test to dance in toe shoes if you’re a ballerina, while shoe designers put their customers in the same position without a thought. Take a look at a 4.25" (net) high heel ... Stop looking at the shoe, sexy as it is, and look at where the weight is on her foot...
Toes were not meant to carry our bodyweight, even if you're a size 00! When you show a shoe photographed at the right angle, without a foot in it, 4" looks like a 'doable' height, right? I mean this one, which is also 4.25" - doesn't look that high, due to the way it's photographed. Or how about this beautiful 4.3" Gucci pump for SS/13? It's only really when you see a shoe with a strap or bootie that you can tell something is wrong - the fact they have to be angled severely forward, e.g., these 4.25" stunnners - should be alarming. But without seeing a woman actually walk in it, it's just not. Which brings me to another point...
Have you not noticed how many designer shoe advertisements these days feature the model sitting down? It may not be intentional, but the message is they aren’t made for actually walking in… Are we really to that point that companies don’t worry about whether shoes can actually function as a shoe?
I love the look of a sexy high heel as much as anyone, but the distance has never been greater between what designers and editors put on the runway and in stores, and what their customers can consume.
CODA: In Brazil, and Germany, and the UK, I can find LOADS of cool shoes with a heel less than 3” high. And when I’m in one of these places on business, I cart home a suitcase full of them. My most recent haul included an incredible pair from Brazil-based Shutz, which were oxblood platform wedge sandals in patent and suede, with a heel cup pieced from different textures of leather in a lotus flower shape – and the net height was under 3”, so they are very comfy to walk in, without sacrificing an ounce of style. Sure there are very-high heels for sale too – but to walk into any shoe store and have a real choice of options in ‘lower’ heels is amazing. It’s shoe nirvana…
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Forty is the New Black
When I was a teenager, I remember calculating how old I would be in the year 2000.
TWENTY SEVEN.
That sounded so ... adult. So ... mature.
And so very far away.
When I think about how to process age, as a woman, I think about the evolution of my style and of fashion. The way you present yourself to the world matters even more at 40 than at 20, because you are at a different point in your career inside or outside the home, and you've figured out - or hopefully you have - "who you are". You have an identity, rather than trying different ones on.
And so to some extent, our style on the outside reflects the state of our psyche on the inside. How often have you seen a woman at a store, and looking out of the corner of your eye, thought to yourself "Doesn't she know how ridiculous she looks? She's way too old to wear that." On the flip side, I look at someone like Helen Mirren, who at 63 rocks a low-cut one-piece bathing suit and looks incredible and elegant in a full length evening gown with sleeves, without ever looking "old" or "dowdy". Sure, 63 is a far cry from 40 - but that's the point.
Our style evolves and changes, and it is a direct reflection of how we see ourselves. Wanna bet whether Paris Hilton - who's now over 30 - will be wearing essentially the same clothes at 40 that she wears today - which are the same things she wore at 27?
At 27, I was living in California, away from home from the first time, and it felt amazing. I felt - to fall back on a cliche - like I'd found myself. Found my true North. I was happy, and excelling at work, and living mere blocks from the beach in a small town where I could walk to the grocery store, hardware store, library, cleaners... everything. Twenty-seven was sky-high platform heels and flirty dresses and big hair and funky jewelry.
And at 27, the idea of 40 was still a notion to me. The women I knew who were 40 were mothers with minivans. They were married and 'settled'. But, refreshingly, they were not the 40-year old women of my childhood. Today, women who were 40 in the 70's often looked like they were a decade or more older... By 2000, women on the cusp of 40 felt free to wear skirts above the knee, to skip pantyhose if they felt like it, had discovered yoga pants and Juicy sweats, and didn't feel compelled to cut their hair short. Progress! (Ok, except maybe for the Juicy thing...)
At 36, back on the East Coast, I found my other true North - my partner, D. I'd long since resolved that I was single for life... I was content to have dates and flings periodically, and assumed that it was the way my life was meant to be - an aunt, a friend, a sister, a daughter - leaving me time to travel and volunteer and achieve greater success in my career. I had a comfortable home, money and time to travel, and wonderful friends. And then I found love. Totally unexpected, totally amazing.
At 36 I didn't feel that much older than I had at 27. Deeper crows feet, sure. More creaking noises in my knees when I went up and down steps... I realized I was now the age of my friends in California - and I realized that what I shared with them was a sense that 36 wasn't merely "four years from forty". At 36, I knew myself - did not feel like I had to live up to anyone's expectations anymore. My self confidence (if not my self-image) was at an all-time high.
And now at 40, still deeply in love; still deeply happy with my life. Forty for me has been a continuation of my 30's - and the journey continues!
On one hand, of course I think sometimes that I have now been working for 20 years, and that feels strange - because time does fly, but because also I feel like I am in my prime... I am still traveling and working full time and loving my life. Perhaps it's also because I'm child-free (i.e., no children, by choice), and nothing seems to mark the passage of time like watching children grow.
Do you know what DOES freak me out? Thinking that if I work 20 more years, that's just 20 more vacations to take - 20 trips. That's not a lot! THAT worries me! There are so many places I want to go - or go back to! I haven't been to Argentina, or Russia, or Sweden, or Belgium, or Ghana... I need to go back to Australia or Brazil when it's not for work. That's "7-years' worth of vacations" right there! OMG, how am I going to make this work?
But then I think to myself, "As long as I have been working, that is at least how long I have left to continue working". In other words, I'm just hitting half-time in my career. And I may not be able to pull 16 hour days anymore - but I don't regret not having to, either. And when I consider how far away my first job feels, it comforts me to think that the distance between that first job and today, is the same distance from today to retirement. Then, I don't feel so bad.
Today, it's about finding a balance... about acknowledging my age without shining a spotlight on it.
In this context, it's recognizing that colorful rope bracelets are a relic of my past, and high-heeled sneakers (all over the runway this spring) are never going to make an appearance in my shoe closet! I realize that it's not wise for a 40-year old woman (unless you live in L.A., maybe) to wear that hot pink ruched club dress and lucite heels. I know that it's increasingly difficult to pull off blunt-cut long hair, which draws attention to the deepening crows feet and smile lines. I know that I can still shop at Forever21 - but the bulk of my wardrobe should not come from there! And I know that just because Harper's Bazaar and Elle say blunt bangs and neon nails and cut-out lace is THE trend, that I have to pick and choose what trends to adopt more carefully than my college-age sistren.
In other words, me at 40 is me at 36 with greater contentment; greater satisfaction; greater self-confidence; and the most amazing man to share it all with. Maybe 50 is when I have the "oh crap!" moment. Maybe 50 is when I relent and let my friends and loved ones throw me a blow-out party. I don't know.
What I do know is that right now, for me, 40 is the new black - and it still looks good on me, so I'm going with it!
TWENTY SEVEN.
That sounded so ... adult. So ... mature.
And so very far away.
When I think about how to process age, as a woman, I think about the evolution of my style and of fashion. The way you present yourself to the world matters even more at 40 than at 20, because you are at a different point in your career inside or outside the home, and you've figured out - or hopefully you have - "who you are". You have an identity, rather than trying different ones on.
And so to some extent, our style on the outside reflects the state of our psyche on the inside. How often have you seen a woman at a store, and looking out of the corner of your eye, thought to yourself "Doesn't she know how ridiculous she looks? She's way too old to wear that." On the flip side, I look at someone like Helen Mirren, who at 63 rocks a low-cut one-piece bathing suit and looks incredible and elegant in a full length evening gown with sleeves, without ever looking "old" or "dowdy". Sure, 63 is a far cry from 40 - but that's the point.
Our style evolves and changes, and it is a direct reflection of how we see ourselves. Wanna bet whether Paris Hilton - who's now over 30 - will be wearing essentially the same clothes at 40 that she wears today - which are the same things she wore at 27?
At 27, I was living in California, away from home from the first time, and it felt amazing. I felt - to fall back on a cliche - like I'd found myself. Found my true North. I was happy, and excelling at work, and living mere blocks from the beach in a small town where I could walk to the grocery store, hardware store, library, cleaners... everything. Twenty-seven was sky-high platform heels and flirty dresses and big hair and funky jewelry.
And at 27, the idea of 40 was still a notion to me. The women I knew who were 40 were mothers with minivans. They were married and 'settled'. But, refreshingly, they were not the 40-year old women of my childhood. Today, women who were 40 in the 70's often looked like they were a decade or more older... By 2000, women on the cusp of 40 felt free to wear skirts above the knee, to skip pantyhose if they felt like it, had discovered yoga pants and Juicy sweats, and didn't feel compelled to cut their hair short. Progress! (Ok, except maybe for the Juicy thing...)
At 36, back on the East Coast, I found my other true North - my partner, D. I'd long since resolved that I was single for life... I was content to have dates and flings periodically, and assumed that it was the way my life was meant to be - an aunt, a friend, a sister, a daughter - leaving me time to travel and volunteer and achieve greater success in my career. I had a comfortable home, money and time to travel, and wonderful friends. And then I found love. Totally unexpected, totally amazing.
At 36 I didn't feel that much older than I had at 27. Deeper crows feet, sure. More creaking noises in my knees when I went up and down steps... I realized I was now the age of my friends in California - and I realized that what I shared with them was a sense that 36 wasn't merely "four years from forty". At 36, I knew myself - did not feel like I had to live up to anyone's expectations anymore. My self confidence (if not my self-image) was at an all-time high.
And now at 40, still deeply in love; still deeply happy with my life. Forty for me has been a continuation of my 30's - and the journey continues!
On one hand, of course I think sometimes that I have now been working for 20 years, and that feels strange - because time does fly, but because also I feel like I am in my prime... I am still traveling and working full time and loving my life. Perhaps it's also because I'm child-free (i.e., no children, by choice), and nothing seems to mark the passage of time like watching children grow.
Do you know what DOES freak me out? Thinking that if I work 20 more years, that's just 20 more vacations to take - 20 trips. That's not a lot! THAT worries me! There are so many places I want to go - or go back to! I haven't been to Argentina, or Russia, or Sweden, or Belgium, or Ghana... I need to go back to Australia or Brazil when it's not for work. That's "7-years' worth of vacations" right there! OMG, how am I going to make this work?
But then I think to myself, "As long as I have been working, that is at least how long I have left to continue working". In other words, I'm just hitting half-time in my career. And I may not be able to pull 16 hour days anymore - but I don't regret not having to, either. And when I consider how far away my first job feels, it comforts me to think that the distance between that first job and today, is the same distance from today to retirement. Then, I don't feel so bad.
Today, it's about finding a balance... about acknowledging my age without shining a spotlight on it.
In this context, it's recognizing that colorful rope bracelets are a relic of my past, and high-heeled sneakers (all over the runway this spring) are never going to make an appearance in my shoe closet! I realize that it's not wise for a 40-year old woman (unless you live in L.A., maybe) to wear that hot pink ruched club dress and lucite heels. I know that it's increasingly difficult to pull off blunt-cut long hair, which draws attention to the deepening crows feet and smile lines. I know that I can still shop at Forever21 - but the bulk of my wardrobe should not come from there! And I know that just because Harper's Bazaar and Elle say blunt bangs and neon nails and cut-out lace is THE trend, that I have to pick and choose what trends to adopt more carefully than my college-age sistren.
In other words, me at 40 is me at 36 with greater contentment; greater satisfaction; greater self-confidence; and the most amazing man to share it all with. Maybe 50 is when I have the "oh crap!" moment. Maybe 50 is when I relent and let my friends and loved ones throw me a blow-out party. I don't know.
What I do know is that right now, for me, 40 is the new black - and it still looks good on me, so I'm going with it!
You WILL Eat More Vegetables... and Like It!
I always thought I didn't like vegetables. The dreaded frozen "mix" - corn, carrots, and peas, or worse... cauliflower, brocolli, and carrots. (Is there a more pointless vegetable to a child than cauliflower?) Lima beans in any form were a close second.
All of these were staples of my 1970's childhood, along with vaguely brown-tinted 'green beans' from a can that were so soft they were practically pre-digested. I would sit at the dinner table for an hour, alone, picking at piles of cold, bland vegetables, not even thinking of dessert - just thinking that I really did not want to eat what was on my plate.
There are books now that teach parents how to 'hide' veggies in other foods - to disguise them. But as adults, those children won't think they like eating veggies any more than I did. Not even Whole Foods Brownie Bites contain hidden amounts of zucchini puree...
HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE MY VEGGIES
The revelation happened slowly. Travel helped. In the South of France, a real Salade Nicoise contains soft, flavorful butter lettuce leaves, crispy raw or blanched thin green beans, hard boiled eggs, vine-ripe cherry tomatoes, sweet small yellow potatoes, mild tuna belly, and fresh, still-silvery anchovy fillets. This is tossed with a caper-laced red-wine vinegar dressing and served as a meal. Think you don't like anchovies? Here, they provide the salt with added protein - mixed in they are barely distinguishable. The perfect balance of carbs, protein, and fiber - heavy on flavor. The whole is definitely greater than the sum of the parts!
In Germany, 'salad' doesn't necessarily mean 'lettuce'. Shredded carrots and plump raisins in a light sweet dressing is a salad. So is tomatoes diced with white onions in a vinegrette. So is paper-thin slices of English cucumbers (which actually have flavor) tossed with a creamy-dill sauce. So is a tangy multi-bean mix with onions and carrots. So is shredded cabbage tossed with a sweet cream sauce. You get the idea.
And then there was the revelation that is BistroMD - a diet meal-delivery service that gets the top ratings for food quality and flavor. 1/5 to 2/3 of each meal is comprised of vegetables... and it was the final piece of the puzzle. I DO like vegetables after all! I just do not like bland, over-cooked, soggy vegetables.
I think - my opinion - this is why we have such a tortured relationship with vegetables:
1. We got rich. Rich nations eat much more animal protein than poorer ones - outside the developed world, meat is a once-per-week luxury, or only for celebrations. We can afford to eat tons of meat, so we do.
2. We are obsessed with innovation. i.e., we were primed to see TV dinners, processed foods, and fast food as 'good', even while the majority of whole-food-oriented cultures see them as 'fake' foods.
3. We lack a homogeneous native cuisine. Agricultural cultures developed traditional dishes that survive the test of time... typically these are flavorful and combine local ingredients for which the local people have developed a taste.
And maybe most importantly...
4. We forgot how to season our food.
Somewhere along the way, perhaps in our rush to get dinner on the table because we are now predominantly two-income households or singletons working long hours, we forgot that opening a can of peas, or beans, and heating it in a pot is not what it means to eat vegetables. Nor is drowning chemically-treated iceberg lettuce, flavorless hothouse-grown tomatoes, and flavorless short, thick American cucumbers (versus the longer, thinner English cucumbers) in a 1/2 cup of fat-free Ranch dressing.
CHILDREN WHO LIKE VEGGIES BECOME ADULTS WHO LIKE VEGGIES
Speaking of asparagus (or Brussels sprouts, for that matter). A few years ago, I learned that people's tastebuds change over time... infants and young children, for example, taste bitter foods as even more bitter - presumedly a natural protection that would prompt a toddler to spit them out because poisonous plants disproportionately tend to taste bitter. Conventional wisdom - as well as research I've anecdotally heard in recent radio reports (NPR, in particular) - is that you have to introduce a food to a child up to 13 times before you can be certain the child does not like that food. I don't know many American parents who try to get a child to eat a food more than two or three times, let alone thirteen!
Then there's the advent of the "children't menu". Chicken tenders - the scourge of modern society! Frozen to plate in three minutes, and 99.9% of children will eat them without protest. They lack the stigma of fast-food when prepared at home, even if they are loaded with fillers and covered in breading just like popular drive-through options.
I've traveled a lot, and NOWHERE else I've been, in East Asia, South Asia, North Africa, or Continental Europe, do children get catered-to (pun intended) the way American children are, when it comes to food! Picky eaters are a 'first-world problem' to a great extent... and that means we can change things!
Children are given to eat what adults are given, with few exceptions. In France, what Americans consider 'stinky cheese' is eaten by small children. In Belgium, kids eat mussels. In Germany, it's blood sausage. In Thailand, it's crispy whole fish. And in America, children eat... peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chicken nuggets, and pizza?!
Certainly economics is in play... It is more expensive to buy fresh foods than fast foods or processed foods. And in urban areas, it can be challenging to find a full grocery store, versus a corner market or worse, a 'drug store' chain without any fresh food options.
CHANGING THE END GAME
But this is separate from the question of how to increase our consumption of vegetables on a voluntary basis - i.e., because we actually like them. Vegetables should not be seen as, or used as, punishment. Children and adults in the US are cut from the same genetic cloth as those in Europe, Asia, Africa, and South America. And you don't have to be a self-described hipster-'foodie'-snob to experiment with vegetables - my Goodhousekeeping 1945 cookbook provides plenty of vegetable dishes that are way more appealing than what I grew up eating (sorry Mom!), that use basic pantry staples.
You do have to spend a little more time in the kitchen - but really, it's very little. The dividends will pay off today, and in a decade, and in fifty years, when you and your children are healthier - and more importantly, do not view the largest nutritonal food source on the planet as something to wrinkle up your nose at!
Final thoughts:
1) If you buy a vegetable that you end up not liking... so what? Try something new once a week - butternut squash, leeks, nappa cabbage - as part of a side dish, and if you aren't crazy about it, try it in other dishes.
2) Don't give up trying. Cauliflower is disgusting... unless it's cooked in an Indian curry! Took me thirty years and dozens of tastes of other people's dishes and restaurant food to figure that one out. I hated mushrooms until I was 27. Now I love them. I hated olives till I was in my early 30's, and I still hate big green olives stuffed with pimentos - but Castelvetranos, Nicoise, and Kalamatas? Can't get enough of 'em.
3) Use appetizers to experiment. In a chef-owned restaurant (i.e., not a chain) you can often find unique seasonal veggies on the menu - try ordering the salad with pea shoots and shimeji mushrooms... it's an inexpensive way to try new foods that you may not - or may - like.
ADDITIONAL RESOURCES:
Epicurious.com - recipes collected from the best food magazines, providing the widest range i've seen.
Cookinglight.com - fantastic original recipes and classics revamped for health-conciousness.
Recipe.com ------->
Supercook.com----> These 3 sites let you plug a list of ingredients in, and suggests receipes
Recipekey.com---->
One to get you started... 1000+ people have given this roasted veggie side dish top ratings:
http://allrecipes.com/recipe/roasted-vegetables/
And finally, that awesomely addictive 3-bean salad (Cooking Light magazine):
1/4 c. cider vinegar
3 Tbsp. grated onion
1 Tbsp. sugar
3 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. minced garlic
1/2 tsp. dry mustard (e.g., Coleman's)
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp. kosher or sea salt (non-iodized)
1 lb. green beans, trimmed (French-style recommended)
1/2 cup minced red onion (i.e., small sized)
1/2 cup chopped fresh flat leaf (Italian) parsley
1/3 cup sliced green onions (scallions)
1 can (~15-16oz) Great Northern beans, rinsed and drained
1 can (~15 oz) kidney beans, rinsed and drained
Combine first 9 ingredients in a small bowl, and blend well with a whisk or fork.
Steam green beans, covered, 5 minutes or till crisp-tender. Drain and rinse with cold water and drain.
Cut beans into 1-inch pieces, and transfer to a large bowl. Add red onion and remaining ingredients to bowl. Add vinegar mixture to bean misture, and toss to coat. Cover and chill 4 hours or more. (Even better the second day... in my experience, keeps well for a week in the fridge, covered.)
Yields 7 one-cup servings.
Calories per serving: 207
Fat: 7g (saturated 1g; monounsaturated 4.8g, polyunsaturated .9g)
Protein: 8.5g
Carbs: 29.7g
Fiber: 9.2g
Sodium 368mg
All of these were staples of my 1970's childhood, along with vaguely brown-tinted 'green beans' from a can that were so soft they were practically pre-digested. I would sit at the dinner table for an hour, alone, picking at piles of cold, bland vegetables, not even thinking of dessert - just thinking that I really did not want to eat what was on my plate.
There are books now that teach parents how to 'hide' veggies in other foods - to disguise them. But as adults, those children won't think they like eating veggies any more than I did. Not even Whole Foods Brownie Bites contain hidden amounts of zucchini puree...
HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE MY VEGGIES
The revelation happened slowly. Travel helped. In the South of France, a real Salade Nicoise contains soft, flavorful butter lettuce leaves, crispy raw or blanched thin green beans, hard boiled eggs, vine-ripe cherry tomatoes, sweet small yellow potatoes, mild tuna belly, and fresh, still-silvery anchovy fillets. This is tossed with a caper-laced red-wine vinegar dressing and served as a meal. Think you don't like anchovies? Here, they provide the salt with added protein - mixed in they are barely distinguishable. The perfect balance of carbs, protein, and fiber - heavy on flavor. The whole is definitely greater than the sum of the parts!
In Germany, 'salad' doesn't necessarily mean 'lettuce'. Shredded carrots and plump raisins in a light sweet dressing is a salad. So is tomatoes diced with white onions in a vinegrette. So is paper-thin slices of English cucumbers (which actually have flavor) tossed with a creamy-dill sauce. So is a tangy multi-bean mix with onions and carrots. So is shredded cabbage tossed with a sweet cream sauce. You get the idea.
And then there was the revelation that is BistroMD - a diet meal-delivery service that gets the top ratings for food quality and flavor. 1/5 to 2/3 of each meal is comprised of vegetables... and it was the final piece of the puzzle. I DO like vegetables after all! I just do not like bland, over-cooked, soggy vegetables.
I think - my opinion - this is why we have such a tortured relationship with vegetables:
1. We got rich. Rich nations eat much more animal protein than poorer ones - outside the developed world, meat is a once-per-week luxury, or only for celebrations. We can afford to eat tons of meat, so we do.
2. We are obsessed with innovation. i.e., we were primed to see TV dinners, processed foods, and fast food as 'good', even while the majority of whole-food-oriented cultures see them as 'fake' foods.
3. We lack a homogeneous native cuisine. Agricultural cultures developed traditional dishes that survive the test of time... typically these are flavorful and combine local ingredients for which the local people have developed a taste.
And maybe most importantly...
4. We forgot how to season our food.
Somewhere along the way, perhaps in our rush to get dinner on the table because we are now predominantly two-income households or singletons working long hours, we forgot that opening a can of peas, or beans, and heating it in a pot is not what it means to eat vegetables. Nor is drowning chemically-treated iceberg lettuce, flavorless hothouse-grown tomatoes, and flavorless short, thick American cucumbers (versus the longer, thinner English cucumbers) in a 1/2 cup of fat-free Ranch dressing.
- Try dicing up some zucchini, heat in a pan for 10 minutes, then toss with some jarred natural tomato-basil pasta sauce for a super-quick side dish, or add more sauce and pour over pasta. Only in modern America is this considered a way to "hide" vegetables in one's food. When did finding complimentary flavors become something secretive?! Weird.
- Dump a can of Kidney beans, a can of Northern White beans, chopped raw French green beans and scallions together in a boll and toss with a dijon vinegrette for an addictively crunchy, yummy dish I challange even the most die-hard carnivore to dislike. You'll be sneaking bites from the fridge of this one - I promise.
- I hated asparagus - until I learned that lemon juice counteracts the bitter flavor... now, I steam asparagus and sprinkle with "Real Lemon" brand crystalized lemon juice over it instead of salt, and I like it quite a bit, thank you! (Or do as the Germans do, and make a velvety cream of asparagus soup with WHITE aspaaragus - grown underground, it lacks the chlorophil that makes the green ones bitter.)
CHILDREN WHO LIKE VEGGIES BECOME ADULTS WHO LIKE VEGGIES
Speaking of asparagus (or Brussels sprouts, for that matter). A few years ago, I learned that people's tastebuds change over time... infants and young children, for example, taste bitter foods as even more bitter - presumedly a natural protection that would prompt a toddler to spit them out because poisonous plants disproportionately tend to taste bitter. Conventional wisdom - as well as research I've anecdotally heard in recent radio reports (NPR, in particular) - is that you have to introduce a food to a child up to 13 times before you can be certain the child does not like that food. I don't know many American parents who try to get a child to eat a food more than two or three times, let alone thirteen!
Then there's the advent of the "children't menu". Chicken tenders - the scourge of modern society! Frozen to plate in three minutes, and 99.9% of children will eat them without protest. They lack the stigma of fast-food when prepared at home, even if they are loaded with fillers and covered in breading just like popular drive-through options.
I've traveled a lot, and NOWHERE else I've been, in East Asia, South Asia, North Africa, or Continental Europe, do children get catered-to (pun intended) the way American children are, when it comes to food! Picky eaters are a 'first-world problem' to a great extent... and that means we can change things!
Children are given to eat what adults are given, with few exceptions. In France, what Americans consider 'stinky cheese' is eaten by small children. In Belgium, kids eat mussels. In Germany, it's blood sausage. In Thailand, it's crispy whole fish. And in America, children eat... peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chicken nuggets, and pizza?!
Certainly economics is in play... It is more expensive to buy fresh foods than fast foods or processed foods. And in urban areas, it can be challenging to find a full grocery store, versus a corner market or worse, a 'drug store' chain without any fresh food options.
CHANGING THE END GAME
But this is separate from the question of how to increase our consumption of vegetables on a voluntary basis - i.e., because we actually like them. Vegetables should not be seen as, or used as, punishment. Children and adults in the US are cut from the same genetic cloth as those in Europe, Asia, Africa, and South America. And you don't have to be a self-described hipster-'foodie'-snob to experiment with vegetables - my Goodhousekeeping 1945 cookbook provides plenty of vegetable dishes that are way more appealing than what I grew up eating (sorry Mom!), that use basic pantry staples.
You do have to spend a little more time in the kitchen - but really, it's very little. The dividends will pay off today, and in a decade, and in fifty years, when you and your children are healthier - and more importantly, do not view the largest nutritonal food source on the planet as something to wrinkle up your nose at!
Final thoughts:
1) If you buy a vegetable that you end up not liking... so what? Try something new once a week - butternut squash, leeks, nappa cabbage - as part of a side dish, and if you aren't crazy about it, try it in other dishes.
2) Don't give up trying. Cauliflower is disgusting... unless it's cooked in an Indian curry! Took me thirty years and dozens of tastes of other people's dishes and restaurant food to figure that one out. I hated mushrooms until I was 27. Now I love them. I hated olives till I was in my early 30's, and I still hate big green olives stuffed with pimentos - but Castelvetranos, Nicoise, and Kalamatas? Can't get enough of 'em.
3) Use appetizers to experiment. In a chef-owned restaurant (i.e., not a chain) you can often find unique seasonal veggies on the menu - try ordering the salad with pea shoots and shimeji mushrooms... it's an inexpensive way to try new foods that you may not - or may - like.
ADDITIONAL RESOURCES:
Epicurious.com - recipes collected from the best food magazines, providing the widest range i've seen.
Cookinglight.com - fantastic original recipes and classics revamped for health-conciousness.
Recipe.com ------->
Supercook.com----> These 3 sites let you plug a list of ingredients in, and suggests receipes
Recipekey.com---->
One to get you started... 1000+ people have given this roasted veggie side dish top ratings:
http://allrecipes.com/recipe/roasted-vegetables/
And finally, that awesomely addictive 3-bean salad (Cooking Light magazine):
1/4 c. cider vinegar
3 Tbsp. grated onion
1 Tbsp. sugar
3 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. minced garlic
1/2 tsp. dry mustard (e.g., Coleman's)
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp. kosher or sea salt (non-iodized)
1 lb. green beans, trimmed (French-style recommended)
1/2 cup minced red onion (i.e., small sized)
1/2 cup chopped fresh flat leaf (Italian) parsley
1/3 cup sliced green onions (scallions)
1 can (~15-16oz) Great Northern beans, rinsed and drained
1 can (~15 oz) kidney beans, rinsed and drained
Combine first 9 ingredients in a small bowl, and blend well with a whisk or fork.
Steam green beans, covered, 5 minutes or till crisp-tender. Drain and rinse with cold water and drain.
Cut beans into 1-inch pieces, and transfer to a large bowl. Add red onion and remaining ingredients to bowl. Add vinegar mixture to bean misture, and toss to coat. Cover and chill 4 hours or more. (Even better the second day... in my experience, keeps well for a week in the fridge, covered.)
Yields 7 one-cup servings.
Calories per serving: 207
Fat: 7g (saturated 1g; monounsaturated 4.8g, polyunsaturated .9g)
Protein: 8.5g
Carbs: 29.7g
Fiber: 9.2g
Sodium 368mg
Sunday, February 24, 2013
This Blog is Made in the USA
Recently I was looking for new bedlinens, when a Comment on a particular set stood out to me. It said:
"I'm always on the lookout for linen bedding as it seems difficult to find these days. This set fits the bill, I love the light weight of it, and it holds up well after repeated washings (mine are nearly 2 years old). Even though it's a good value it's a bit too steep to be able to purchase multiple sets in different colors so I took off a Value star for that. I would definitely recommend them though. My only complaint is that I wish they were made in the USA rather than imported."
This is something I increasingly see in Comments on all manner of websites... "I wish they were made in the USA". This particular comment made an impression because of the sentence that preceded it - that the consumer decked the company one star on the review for "Value" because they're too expensive for her to buy multiples!
When someone says "I wish this were made in America!" what they are really saying is "I want to bring manufacturing back to the US while paying the same that I pay today for things made in China so I can assuage my guilt about supporting the loss of manufacturing jobs without compromising my quality of life improvements that outsourcing has brought!"
Think about this for a moment: this consumer believes that a product that is rare and difficult to find, and is imported, is (still) too expensive for what she expects (wants) to pay - but she is asking the company to make a change to their supply chain that will increase the price.
Q: Why are goods made in China? In part because labor is cheaper, and the government is willing to raze an entire town and displace all the residents just to build a factory; because citizens have no rights.
Q: Why are goods NOT made in America? In part because labor is expensive, workers get benefits and contracts, and building a modern, automated factory is extremely expensive and taxes on businesses are high. Not to mention we are spoiled in paying nothing for almost everything.
Let's say that the company who makes these particular linens decides to in-source the manufacturing of them. The price is likely to increase by 50-100%, depending on the margins and source of origin of the raw materials used in the production process, even with reduced shipping costs for finished merchandise. Given that this item is already a 'rare' item, it's possible the price would increase by a factor of 2X or more... Is this woman going to buy the sheets at 1.5X or 2X the current price that she's already criticizing? You cannot have it both ways...
It's so easy to tell a company "Bring our manufacturing base back!"
But few people are willing to let their quality of life slip in order to achieve that outcome.
The AFL-CIO estimates 70% of WalMart products are made in China. WalMart improves the quality of life of millions of Americans. If you live paycheck to paycheck and have two children, WalMart is probably the difference between being able to buy new shoes and school supplies each fall, versus shopping at thrift stores. It means being able to add more dairy and meat to the family's diet, with the money saved on household expenses.
Consider that according to the American Apparel and Footwear Association, as quoted by the NY Times, "...about one-third of all apparel sold in the United States being produced in this country in 2000. By 2009 that amount had fallen to 2.1 percent...". According to the AFL-CIO, WalMart accounts for nearly 10% of China's total trade value with the US.
That most American of companies - the company that's raised the standard of living of millions, has done so on the backs of Chinese workers from rural areas whose own lives have been transformed by factory work, just as American workers' lives were transformed a century ago by the same back-breaking, low-paid work.
But today, American manufacturing runs robots on the shop floors, controlled by computers with automated programs to manage the production lines, and most importantly requires highly-skilled employees who little resemble the greasy factory workers of a century ago. We have the luxury to recoil in horror upon hearing tales of the horrendous conditions in Chinese factories... we think we are above those conditions. But it's only the patina of time separating us from them.
The truth is, even if we DO build factories and in-source, those factories are not ever going to employ all the displaced workers, because productivity has increased dramatically in the same time we've lost the manufacturing jobs - the loss of jobs is not all outsourcing, it's also a function of automation and the introduction of robotics and IT to the manufacturing process. Would you tell factories to be LESS productive? LESS efficient?
Instead of asking for something to be made in the USA, lobby your representatives and school boards to modernize our education system, to prepare students to run factories of the future - factories that require highly-skilled, tech-savvy human resources. And lobby them to prepare a generation to become entrepreneurs who will find creative ways to re-invent domestic manufacturing to create jobs for workers displaced by the automation of modern factories that don't need armies of workers.
Manufacturing as it existed in the US forty years ago is nothing but a mirage. Insourcing of manufacturing requires fundamental changes to our education system - something I've unfortunately not observed Americans to have the stomach for. Re-introduce apprentice programs for students who are not inclined to enter STEM fields, and stop pretending that every child can and should go to university - many are not interested, or not cut out for the academic lifestyle.
We cannot simultaneously cling to a National Geographic photo-essay version of American manufacturing that hasn't existed since the 60's, while denigrating young people who aspire to work in traditionally blue-collar industries. We need to get real about what is manufacturing in the 21st century - and about our self-image.
And in the mean time, if anyone does find an American-made source of superior-quality cheap linen bedsheets, do let me know!
Recommended Viewing: Gung Ho (movie)
Recommended Reading:
1. "The Face of American Manufacturing"
2. "A Reality Check..."
3. "American Manufacturing has Declines More than Most Experts Have Thought"
My Love-Hate Relationship with Catalogs
When I was a kid, I could not wait for the arrival of Sears 'Wish Book' - the huge tome that simultaneously signaled the coming of the holiday season, and satisfied my nascent love of all things paper... The pages were glossy, the photos in color, and best of all, they were a cornucopia of 'stuff' - from toys to clothes to girly sheets for the bed. I'd pour over the pages, circling potential wish-list items.... I'd read and re-read it, till dog-eared, it gave up the ghost and was tossed by my mother, gone for another year. (Needless to say, this was pre-Internet...)
Favorites included tutus with sequins (before sequins were considered every-day wear), rock tumblers that turned stones into gems before your eyes, a Barbie Dreamhouse - split-level with swimming pool - and the best Christmas gift ever - a two-tiered trolley filled with doctor's instruments, including a working stethoscope - go Mom and Dad!
Catalogs have become an iconoclast in the Internet age - they defy the conventional wisdom that tablets and HD make paper obsolete. I shop online all the time, but there is something inherently satisfying about flipping through a catalog. I love the feel of paper - the texture, the smell, the "je nes sais quoi"... which cannot be replicated by even the most bleeding-edge computer screen. (Not to mention, iPads aren't bathroom-proof!)
These days, my Sears Wish Book is replaced by the likes of Garnet Hill, The Container Store, Michael Kors, Jimmy Choo, The Smithsonian Museum store, and L.L. Bean. I flip through, imagining what my bedroom/kitchen/guest room/bathroom might look like if I were inclined to spend a substantial portion of my disposable income on table lines woven of eco-friendly spider silk collected from abandoned webs by a fair-trade women's co-op in the rural villages of Cambodia, or how impressed my friends would be to see me in action with my artisan-made brass asparagus scissors in the shape of a crane (the latter actually exists, thank you Williams Sonoma)!
And therein also lies the problem...
Catalogs multiple like rabbits.
Web pages proliferate even more quickly, but catalog proliferation leaves you with a conundrum: you buy something from Garnet Hill, and you automatically are on the list for The Company Store and Cuddledown too. Smithsonian Museum Store catalog produces the Signals and Wireless catalogs. Two catalogs become six! The unwanted ones automatically go into recycling, but I cannot help but be annoyed at having to unsubscribe from these unwanted solicitations... except when they're not unwanted. Which of course I can't know until it comes. Which is precisely why they send them, of course...
Recently, some purchase I made online produced a catalog from a company called Uncommon Goods. I haven't been this excited since the Sears wish book! Molecular Gastronomy starter kits! "Salts of the World" in test tubes! How cool is that?! The first catalog I've gotten in years that's truly filled with new and exciting 'stuff'. A catalog that I have read and re-read, and dog-eared for several months now... a catalog that influenced my Christmas list and gift buying, a catalog that lead me to a website with even more incredible gift ideas.
And that, in a nutshell, is my love-hate relationship with them. I love reading the ones I love. I hate receiving the ones that I don't. But there is no way to know what you love until you see it.
With a web page, if you don't like the products you never visit it again. A catalog is the inedible version of the jelly-of-the-month-club: the gift that keeps on giving. So for now, the recycling guys continue to get a workout and my conscience nags about the volume of virgin forest felled to create a fair portion of them. But I am a paper fiend at heart, and I'm still waiting for my next fix...
Favorites included tutus with sequins (before sequins were considered every-day wear), rock tumblers that turned stones into gems before your eyes, a Barbie Dreamhouse - split-level with swimming pool - and the best Christmas gift ever - a two-tiered trolley filled with doctor's instruments, including a working stethoscope - go Mom and Dad!
Catalogs have become an iconoclast in the Internet age - they defy the conventional wisdom that tablets and HD make paper obsolete. I shop online all the time, but there is something inherently satisfying about flipping through a catalog. I love the feel of paper - the texture, the smell, the "je nes sais quoi"... which cannot be replicated by even the most bleeding-edge computer screen. (Not to mention, iPads aren't bathroom-proof!)
These days, my Sears Wish Book is replaced by the likes of Garnet Hill, The Container Store, Michael Kors, Jimmy Choo, The Smithsonian Museum store, and L.L. Bean. I flip through, imagining what my bedroom/kitchen/guest room/bathroom might look like if I were inclined to spend a substantial portion of my disposable income on table lines woven of eco-friendly spider silk collected from abandoned webs by a fair-trade women's co-op in the rural villages of Cambodia, or how impressed my friends would be to see me in action with my artisan-made brass asparagus scissors in the shape of a crane (the latter actually exists, thank you Williams Sonoma)!
And therein also lies the problem...
Catalogs multiple like rabbits.
Web pages proliferate even more quickly, but catalog proliferation leaves you with a conundrum: you buy something from Garnet Hill, and you automatically are on the list for The Company Store and Cuddledown too. Smithsonian Museum Store catalog produces the Signals and Wireless catalogs. Two catalogs become six! The unwanted ones automatically go into recycling, but I cannot help but be annoyed at having to unsubscribe from these unwanted solicitations... except when they're not unwanted. Which of course I can't know until it comes. Which is precisely why they send them, of course...
Recently, some purchase I made online produced a catalog from a company called Uncommon Goods. I haven't been this excited since the Sears wish book! Molecular Gastronomy starter kits! "Salts of the World" in test tubes! How cool is that?! The first catalog I've gotten in years that's truly filled with new and exciting 'stuff'. A catalog that I have read and re-read, and dog-eared for several months now... a catalog that influenced my Christmas list and gift buying, a catalog that lead me to a website with even more incredible gift ideas.
And that, in a nutshell, is my love-hate relationship with them. I love reading the ones I love. I hate receiving the ones that I don't. But there is no way to know what you love until you see it.
With a web page, if you don't like the products you never visit it again. A catalog is the inedible version of the jelly-of-the-month-club: the gift that keeps on giving. So for now, the recycling guys continue to get a workout and my conscience nags about the volume of virgin forest felled to create a fair portion of them. But I am a paper fiend at heart, and I'm still waiting for my next fix...
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Papyrus is My Crack, or, Did I Really Just Blow $8 on that Sheet?
I cannot be the only one. (Wait... is there seriously a font called "Trebuchet"? Can you only use it to hurl insults? Never mind.) Anyway.
I cannot be the only one who walks into Papyrus and within minutes stands convinced there is no more perfect piece of wrapping paper than the hand-printed, marbled blue sheet draped over the little bar behind the counter and thinks "Oh yes, it will be mine!"
I cannot be the only one who willingly plunks down $7.95 (a veritable bargain for an artisan, hand-crafted sheet of paper this lovely!), rolls it carefully inward and places a thin rubber band (not too tight!) around it and carries it home like a Ming dynasty porcelain teacup... and like said teacup, takes it out occasionally to look at it, but never actually use it.
Once I saw a shirt in a Public Radio catalog that said "Glitter is My Favorite Color". Indeed. You slather some of the sparkly stuff on a piece of handmade paper, and I'll gladly fork over megabucks for the chance to disperse that glitter all over my face, clothing, purse, rug, and eventually D's clothes and face by sheer proximity - not unlike Lush Bath Bombs (but that's another story).
It's impossible to wrap actual presents with it, of course - I've tried Elmer's Glue, Superglue, Gorilla Glue, double-sided tape, invisible tape, not-invisible tape - you name it... even Hollywood Fashion Tape, which is designed to prevent wardrobe malfunctions and/or toupee slippage - a bizarre and slightly disturbing combination when you think about it.
Eventually, I settled on double-sided tape and the "mad dash" method. That is to say, you wrap the gift without taping anything, take the tape to the location where you're giving the gift, secret yourself away to the kitchen (or restroom in a public establishment) where you proceed to tape that sucker out the wazoo, leaning in on it like an overstuffed suitcase, and then RUN to the lucky recipient and hand over the gift so they see it in all it's perfect, shining, glitter-shedding glory before it pops like a Christmas cracker and disrobes itself faster than Jenna Jameson.
It doesn't matter. I love it. All of it. The glittered ones, and the printed ones. The marbled ones and the retro ones. It's a little piece of art - art you can touch without the ubiquitous navy-blue uniformed museum guard scolding you!
I can't be the only one who takes photos of their wrapping paper - the really good ones that you know you (eventually) have to use or they will turn to dust, so you try to capture that je ne sais quoi that convinced you to fork over the beaucoup bucks in the first place.
By the way, turns out that some glitter is made from mylar - and mylar, turns out, sets off airport bomb detection equipment. And no, I'm not explaining how I know that. Just trust me - save the glitter paper for 'domestic' gifts...
I cannot be the only one who walks into Papyrus and within minutes stands convinced there is no more perfect piece of wrapping paper than the hand-printed, marbled blue sheet draped over the little bar behind the counter and thinks "Oh yes, it will be mine!"
I cannot be the only one who willingly plunks down $7.95 (a veritable bargain for an artisan, hand-crafted sheet of paper this lovely!), rolls it carefully inward and places a thin rubber band (not too tight!) around it and carries it home like a Ming dynasty porcelain teacup... and like said teacup, takes it out occasionally to look at it, but never actually use it.
Once I saw a shirt in a Public Radio catalog that said "Glitter is My Favorite Color". Indeed. You slather some of the sparkly stuff on a piece of handmade paper, and I'll gladly fork over megabucks for the chance to disperse that glitter all over my face, clothing, purse, rug, and eventually D's clothes and face by sheer proximity - not unlike Lush Bath Bombs (but that's another story).
It's impossible to wrap actual presents with it, of course - I've tried Elmer's Glue, Superglue, Gorilla Glue, double-sided tape, invisible tape, not-invisible tape - you name it... even Hollywood Fashion Tape, which is designed to prevent wardrobe malfunctions and/or toupee slippage - a bizarre and slightly disturbing combination when you think about it.
Eventually, I settled on double-sided tape and the "mad dash" method. That is to say, you wrap the gift without taping anything, take the tape to the location where you're giving the gift, secret yourself away to the kitchen (or restroom in a public establishment) where you proceed to tape that sucker out the wazoo, leaning in on it like an overstuffed suitcase, and then RUN to the lucky recipient and hand over the gift so they see it in all it's perfect, shining, glitter-shedding glory before it pops like a Christmas cracker and disrobes itself faster than Jenna Jameson.
It doesn't matter. I love it. All of it. The glittered ones, and the printed ones. The marbled ones and the retro ones. It's a little piece of art - art you can touch without the ubiquitous navy-blue uniformed museum guard scolding you!
I can't be the only one who takes photos of their wrapping paper - the really good ones that you know you (eventually) have to use or they will turn to dust, so you try to capture that je ne sais quoi that convinced you to fork over the beaucoup bucks in the first place.
By the way, turns out that some glitter is made from mylar - and mylar, turns out, sets off airport bomb detection equipment. And no, I'm not explaining how I know that. Just trust me - save the glitter paper for 'domestic' gifts...
A Fresh Start, or, How to Appreciate Your Partner
Like many of you, I was stricken with a hideous cold this week. Flat out on the couch for three days. Unmentionable gross stuff clogging my head.
On day two, D evidently went out to the store at some point because I woke to the sound of chopping noises and the smell of homemade chicken noodle soup boiling on the stove. He saw my misery, and being a man he wanted to do something to help. Something to 'fix' it. To make me feel better. He'd bought giant bottles of orange and red and green foul-tasting liquids and boxes of technicolor capsules, all of which foundered when faced with "Coldmageddon". I still felt awful. And so, the chicken soup cometh.
In a post I read today, a young woman complained that her husband was not pulling his weight at home. Reading her complaints, it felt mostly like poor communication - she'd have been better served simply talking to her husband than writing an advice columnist. (That this is anyone's first thought is a whole other issue....)
ANYWAY, I know how it goes... you come home and there are food wrappers and bottles.... The place is a mess. Shoes in front of the door; laundry piled on the floor. Why couldn't he just take a second to pick it up? What if someone drops by!? Your mind "goes there". Why does he expect you to pick up after him? You're not his maid or his mother! A full-blown fit is coming on.
It is soooo easy to 'go there', isn't it?
But isn't that a pile of mail you left on the table? Your dishes on the counter? A few pairs of shoes pushed under the coffee table? A roll of wrapping paper on the dining room table waiting for you to wrap one last gift? I'm sorry you had a crap day at work, you're hungry, your feet hurt, and you have a 7am conference call - and are most decidedly NOT a morning person. Please don't take it out on me!
Last weekend, I chose to take a walk through the woods with D instead of cleaning the house because let's face it, I will never say to myself ten years from now "Boy, I'm so glad I stayed home and vacuumed the house that day in January 2013". But I will remember walking in the woods, and laughing as we played "kickball" with a nut that fell from a tree on our path. D is unwavering in his support of my ambitions at work. He brings me my vitamin every morning to make sure I stay healthy - and when I am not, like today, he goes to great lengths to ease my suffering.
A messy living room is annoying, but it is not a character flaw. And it is most certainly not an indicator of his love or committment to you.
When something truly matters to me, he listens. He does not put the handmade pottery mugs in the dishwasher. He puts the bottle of red wine on a plate so it doesn't stain the tablecloth. He turns the TV off when we talk.
Here's the bottom line: would you be happier if you woke up tomorrow and he - or she - were not in your life? I know I would be devastated. I am grateful for all he does for me. Even if it's not everything I want, it's everything I need. It is the feeling of being loved, and loving, unconditionally.
Pick your battles, ladies.... as the saying goes, don't sweat the small stuff. Bon ani, einen guten Rutsch, and Happy New Year!
RECOMMENDED VIEWING:
"A Tale of Two Brains" (YouTube), by Mark Gungor
RECOMMENDED READING:
Why Men Don't Listen, and Women Can't Read Maps, by Allan and Barbara Pease
On day two, D evidently went out to the store at some point because I woke to the sound of chopping noises and the smell of homemade chicken noodle soup boiling on the stove. He saw my misery, and being a man he wanted to do something to help. Something to 'fix' it. To make me feel better. He'd bought giant bottles of orange and red and green foul-tasting liquids and boxes of technicolor capsules, all of which foundered when faced with "Coldmageddon". I still felt awful. And so, the chicken soup cometh.
In a post I read today, a young woman complained that her husband was not pulling his weight at home. Reading her complaints, it felt mostly like poor communication - she'd have been better served simply talking to her husband than writing an advice columnist. (That this is anyone's first thought is a whole other issue....)
ANYWAY, I know how it goes... you come home and there are food wrappers and bottles.... The place is a mess. Shoes in front of the door; laundry piled on the floor. Why couldn't he just take a second to pick it up? What if someone drops by!? Your mind "goes there". Why does he expect you to pick up after him? You're not his maid or his mother! A full-blown fit is coming on.
It is soooo easy to 'go there', isn't it?
But isn't that a pile of mail you left on the table? Your dishes on the counter? A few pairs of shoes pushed under the coffee table? A roll of wrapping paper on the dining room table waiting for you to wrap one last gift? I'm sorry you had a crap day at work, you're hungry, your feet hurt, and you have a 7am conference call - and are most decidedly NOT a morning person. Please don't take it out on me!
Last weekend, I chose to take a walk through the woods with D instead of cleaning the house because let's face it, I will never say to myself ten years from now "Boy, I'm so glad I stayed home and vacuumed the house that day in January 2013". But I will remember walking in the woods, and laughing as we played "kickball" with a nut that fell from a tree on our path. D is unwavering in his support of my ambitions at work. He brings me my vitamin every morning to make sure I stay healthy - and when I am not, like today, he goes to great lengths to ease my suffering.
A messy living room is annoying, but it is not a character flaw. And it is most certainly not an indicator of his love or committment to you.
When something truly matters to me, he listens. He does not put the handmade pottery mugs in the dishwasher. He puts the bottle of red wine on a plate so it doesn't stain the tablecloth. He turns the TV off when we talk.
Here's the bottom line: would you be happier if you woke up tomorrow and he - or she - were not in your life? I know I would be devastated. I am grateful for all he does for me. Even if it's not everything I want, it's everything I need. It is the feeling of being loved, and loving, unconditionally.
Pick your battles, ladies.... as the saying goes, don't sweat the small stuff. Bon ani, einen guten Rutsch, and Happy New Year!
RECOMMENDED VIEWING:
"A Tale of Two Brains" (YouTube), by Mark Gungor
RECOMMENDED READING:
Why Men Don't Listen, and Women Can't Read Maps, by Allan and Barbara Pease
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