Saturday, December 18, 2004
The "experts" on makeover shows need makeovers
I just finished watching TLC's show "What Not to Wear," and, although it was entertaining, as it usually is, the most striking thing about it was how badly the people giving the advice need makeovers themselves.
The guy who does the hair went from having a semi-cute tousled short cut that was ok aside from always looking dirty and greasy (which is a serious problem, but theoretically easy to fix) to a buzz cut that looks DREADFUL; what does it say about his judgment about hair that he went from the "needs shampoo" look to the "must have gotten a haircut when he was drunk" look? Furthermore, his first thought with any woman with long hair is that it MUST be radically shorter, even on women who really need the hair to balance a big face or heavy features, or, and I'll be blunt, to give them something attractive for a man to look at (most men LOVE long hair)... and all this when the female host has long hair and the makeup girl has super-long hair, which gives something of a mixed message.
The makeup girl's sole qualification seems to be that she's exceptionally beautiful; she wears her hair the same way she probably did in junior high, her clothes are the sort of excessive stuff that gets thrown out when the makeover subjects own them, her makeup is too heavy (VERY bad sign), and she does mediocre work at best: she gives everyone too much blush and lip gloss (and in this case consistency is NOT admirable), the eyeshadow colors she glops on seem odd and random, and the eye makeup in general is such that the victims can't duplicate it... or are too smart to want to.
The male host is fairly cute (and he has a hairy chest, which gets him bonus points), but nearly every shirt he has has the sort of blinding pattern that gets people nominated for a makeover; there's no harm in a man owning a wild shirt or 2 for... whatever occasions there might be that they might be appropriate for, but wearing that sort of thing ALL the time is NOT indicative of having a style, or a clue about style-sorry Clinton.
The scariest one is the female host, who manages, despite having a small bust and being bone-thin, to have fat rolls around her bra straps, and I mean on EVERY show where she isn't wearing enough layers to hide it; how is someone who can't even pick the right size bra supposed to have any credibility when telling other people how to pick things that fit them? She never wears any shoes without sky-high spike heels, which doesn't show the sort of awareness of the many kinds of cute shoes that are available that one expects from a person who's giving advice to others about footwear. Some of the colors she wears make me wonder if she looks in the mirror at all after she gets dressed; she once wore a sweater that was a green so intense that only the darkest complected African-Americans should ever attempt it, and it was so distracting in its awfulness that it was hard to keep track of what was going on the whole time she had it on. She's also had wide stripes in her hair that just screamed "fashion victim," a long list of outfits that somehow managed to be too tight on her tiny body, and a total lack of understanding that some fabrics are too thin to have a clingy shirt made of and not wear a camisole underneath.
Still, everyone on the show knows more about what looks good than the people that get brought in for the makeovers, which I guess is all that counts; I'd really like to see an episode where the hosts get made over, though... and not just to see footage of Clinton changing shirts, either. ;-)
PS It's now Saturday night, and I'm watching another episode of this show; it turned out to be an old one... the one in which the female host is wearing the one garment of hers that I had a clear specific memory of-that green sweater. Coincidence? Nope.
The guy who does the hair went from having a semi-cute tousled short cut that was ok aside from always looking dirty and greasy (which is a serious problem, but theoretically easy to fix) to a buzz cut that looks DREADFUL; what does it say about his judgment about hair that he went from the "needs shampoo" look to the "must have gotten a haircut when he was drunk" look? Furthermore, his first thought with any woman with long hair is that it MUST be radically shorter, even on women who really need the hair to balance a big face or heavy features, or, and I'll be blunt, to give them something attractive for a man to look at (most men LOVE long hair)... and all this when the female host has long hair and the makeup girl has super-long hair, which gives something of a mixed message.
The makeup girl's sole qualification seems to be that she's exceptionally beautiful; she wears her hair the same way she probably did in junior high, her clothes are the sort of excessive stuff that gets thrown out when the makeover subjects own them, her makeup is too heavy (VERY bad sign), and she does mediocre work at best: she gives everyone too much blush and lip gloss (and in this case consistency is NOT admirable), the eyeshadow colors she glops on seem odd and random, and the eye makeup in general is such that the victims can't duplicate it... or are too smart to want to.
The male host is fairly cute (and he has a hairy chest, which gets him bonus points), but nearly every shirt he has has the sort of blinding pattern that gets people nominated for a makeover; there's no harm in a man owning a wild shirt or 2 for... whatever occasions there might be that they might be appropriate for, but wearing that sort of thing ALL the time is NOT indicative of having a style, or a clue about style-sorry Clinton.
The scariest one is the female host, who manages, despite having a small bust and being bone-thin, to have fat rolls around her bra straps, and I mean on EVERY show where she isn't wearing enough layers to hide it; how is someone who can't even pick the right size bra supposed to have any credibility when telling other people how to pick things that fit them? She never wears any shoes without sky-high spike heels, which doesn't show the sort of awareness of the many kinds of cute shoes that are available that one expects from a person who's giving advice to others about footwear. Some of the colors she wears make me wonder if she looks in the mirror at all after she gets dressed; she once wore a sweater that was a green so intense that only the darkest complected African-Americans should ever attempt it, and it was so distracting in its awfulness that it was hard to keep track of what was going on the whole time she had it on. She's also had wide stripes in her hair that just screamed "fashion victim," a long list of outfits that somehow managed to be too tight on her tiny body, and a total lack of understanding that some fabrics are too thin to have a clingy shirt made of and not wear a camisole underneath.
Still, everyone on the show knows more about what looks good than the people that get brought in for the makeovers, which I guess is all that counts; I'd really like to see an episode where the hosts get made over, though... and not just to see footage of Clinton changing shirts, either. ;-)
PS It's now Saturday night, and I'm watching another episode of this show; it turned out to be an old one... the one in which the female host is wearing the one garment of hers that I had a clear specific memory of-that green sweater. Coincidence? Nope.
Friday, December 17, 2004
An oddity of old scifi
Have you ever seen artwork from the covers of early scifi novels? As often as not, there would be a hideous alien, often resembling a man-sized or bigger reptile or insect, posed with a beautiful human woman in such a way that it was understood that what it was hoping to do to the woman was something sexual... although it was hard to imagine exactly what, given the anatomical differences. It was always accepted as part of the story lines of those novels that, along with their plans to destroy Earth, or wipe us out and move in, or enslave us, or eat us, they'd want to fool around with Earth women... despite the fact that, anatomical incompatibilities aside, we look so different from them that we'd have to appear as freakish and repulsive to them as they did to us.
What was the point of the whole aliens-molesting-women idea? Did the threat of the aliens seem more intense if they were going to rape human women? The whole planet being destroyed was an abstract idea, after all, but a woman being ravaged was easy and upsetting to envision. Was it a reflection of our racial fears, with the aliens standing in for the sort of big black man that foolish whites believed was eager to attack white women? Most of this sort of artwork, and the stories being illustrated, predate the civil rights movement, when most white people didn't even know any black people, and so had all sorts of unreasonable fears about them. Was it a reflection of the cultural angst about sex, at a time where the traditional values were starting to slip? Or of the cultural angst about what effects science would have on human relationships, at a time when science was still in its infancy? Was there an element of resentment against women, who were just starting to think about having rights and lives separate from men, leading to an unconscious desire to see them forced into their traditional role as sexual receptacles? I HOPE it wasn't because anyone thought it was sexy to see women in sexual situations with non-human species... although I guess you never know. More than likely, there were bits of all of these things (except that last one, let's assume) behind those odd, scary images; the world was changing fast in the middle of the last century, and that's always anxiety-producing to people, especially the young ones who were the right age to have bought those books.
If there ARE other intelligent species out there, and it's the height of arrogance to imagine otherwise, I think the LAST thing we'll have to worry about is them wanting to do whatever sorts of mating procedures they have with human women; heck, if they're advanced enough to come here across the vast gulf of intervening space, they'll be advanced enough to figure out that we're crawling with bacteria, viruses, and other organisms that might be deadly to them; they wouldn't want to touch us, wouldn't want us to BREATHE on them, probably wouldn't come near us without the alien equivalent of hazmat gear. Heck, if they were REALLY advanced, they'd be so horrified at the violence and ugliness shown by all too many members of our species that they'd declare our solar system the galactic equivalent of a toxic waste dump and avoid us like the plague. Our primary fear needs to remain about the depredations of the most deadly species imaginable; homo sapiens.
What was the point of the whole aliens-molesting-women idea? Did the threat of the aliens seem more intense if they were going to rape human women? The whole planet being destroyed was an abstract idea, after all, but a woman being ravaged was easy and upsetting to envision. Was it a reflection of our racial fears, with the aliens standing in for the sort of big black man that foolish whites believed was eager to attack white women? Most of this sort of artwork, and the stories being illustrated, predate the civil rights movement, when most white people didn't even know any black people, and so had all sorts of unreasonable fears about them. Was it a reflection of the cultural angst about sex, at a time where the traditional values were starting to slip? Or of the cultural angst about what effects science would have on human relationships, at a time when science was still in its infancy? Was there an element of resentment against women, who were just starting to think about having rights and lives separate from men, leading to an unconscious desire to see them forced into their traditional role as sexual receptacles? I HOPE it wasn't because anyone thought it was sexy to see women in sexual situations with non-human species... although I guess you never know. More than likely, there were bits of all of these things (except that last one, let's assume) behind those odd, scary images; the world was changing fast in the middle of the last century, and that's always anxiety-producing to people, especially the young ones who were the right age to have bought those books.
If there ARE other intelligent species out there, and it's the height of arrogance to imagine otherwise, I think the LAST thing we'll have to worry about is them wanting to do whatever sorts of mating procedures they have with human women; heck, if they're advanced enough to come here across the vast gulf of intervening space, they'll be advanced enough to figure out that we're crawling with bacteria, viruses, and other organisms that might be deadly to them; they wouldn't want to touch us, wouldn't want us to BREATHE on them, probably wouldn't come near us without the alien equivalent of hazmat gear. Heck, if they were REALLY advanced, they'd be so horrified at the violence and ugliness shown by all too many members of our species that they'd declare our solar system the galactic equivalent of a toxic waste dump and avoid us like the plague. Our primary fear needs to remain about the depredations of the most deadly species imaginable; homo sapiens.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
One of my mother's most psycho moments
A very odd memory popped into my head today; I was about 14, at the mall with my mother, aunt and uncle, and we'd found a really nice bathing suit for me on sale (the only way I ever got anything). My aunt and uncle had gone on ahead to the food court while my mother and I waited to have the purchase rung up, and when we got out of the store they were already out of sight. As we headed down the length of the mall, my mother announced that I was going to have to stop wearing my other bathing suits and just wear the new one. Since I was an old hand at dealing with her, I knew that this was a trap, and that if I agreed, she'd either get hysterical about how ungrateful I was for my OTHER bathing suits, or wait until I'd followed the new "agreement" for a week or so and THEN jump on me; furthermore, I had no intention of the new suit meaning that I could have only one to wear from then on, as that was NOT an improvement... so I flatly refused. In response, she announced that she was taking the suit back, ducked her head and shoulders down like a football player about to run down the field, and went charging back towards the store. I trudged along after her.
She stopped partway there, seemed to think better of it, and started walking back towards where my aunt and uncle were waiting for us. A minute later, she fired her next volley (giving no indication that she was changing her demand, as usual); to show my appreciation for the suit, I should wear it "most of the time." Instantly grasping that this would mean tacitly agreeing to have her monitor what I was wearing to the pool, one of the few things she wasn't already controlling in my life, and adding stress and aggravation to my life because *I* would have to keep track of what I was wearing, and that of course I would never be able to get her to define what she meant by "most of the time," making it easy for her to attack me on that subject at any time no matter how often I wore the suit, I again refused... and again, she ducked her head down and went charging back in the direction of the store.
She was closer to the store this time when she stopped and began heading back towards the food court, and hadn't gotten far when she announced the next scheme; I should wear each suit equally, and prove that I was doing so by keeping a written record of what I wore on what day... that one didn't take any thought to know to refuse, with the same results as my previous refusals.
We were quite close to the store by the time she reversed direction again, and this time her idea was that SHE would assign what suit I should wear on each day... and, as it had finally penetrated into her demented mind that her melodramatic fake "runs for the store" weren't having the effect on me that she'd intended, she added a much bigger threat than just the return of the suit; that if I refused, I wouldn't be allowed to go to the pool anymore. I looked her right in the face and told her that I'd rather not go to the pool than go along with something like that. In a pitiful effort to use peer pressure against me, she asked what I'd say when my "little friends" called and asked why I wasn't going to the pool anymore, and I responded that I'd tell them that it was because my mother had gone insane; this wasn't just a reference to the craziness of her sudden obsession with what I wore to the pool, or of the plans she was trying to get me to agree to, either... anyone seeing her crazed face during this chunk of minutes would have thought she was out of her mind. Her reaction to this was to do a wild swing, with a fully extended arm, at my shoulder, with the bag, as if it contained something solid rather than 2 ounces of cloth, and to do a final head-down sprint all the way to the door of the store.
Once I caught up with her, she demanded to know if I was going to agree to do what she'd said (not specifying WHICH of the things she'd said that she was referring to, not that it mattered); I weighed the possible loss of the suit against the likelihood that they'd refuse to take it back if she tried to return it, since technically they couldn't take ANY return on a swimsuit even if it had just been purchased, and, more importantly, against the understanding that if they DID take the suit back, she had no story she could tell my aunt and uncle that would convince them that she'd been anything but a monster for buying me something and then instantly returning it, and that she KNEW this, and calculated that there was very little chance that she actually could and would return the suit. Beyond that, I simply wasn't willing to put my own head into the noose by giving her something new to over-involve herself in my life with and use to harass me over, and, even beyond THAT, I knew that to show any hint of weakness, to act in any way that indicated that she could intimidate me, or that I even cared what she did, would lead to her reacting like a shark that smelled blood in the water... so I again refused to agree to do anything. She claimed that we'd stand there until I agreed; I replied with a reminder that we had relatives waiting for us who had to have long since started wondering what was taking us so long. She fixed me with her most belligerent, threatening look, which could probably have melted chrome off a bumper, but I'd realized early in my life that looks did me no harm, and had thus long been unfazed by them, so I met her gaze with one of utter contempt.
As if a switch had been flipped, she gave up; she pivoted around and started quicktime-marching towards the food courts, barking at me over her shoulder to hurry up. She didn't say another word during the walk across the mall, and when we got there she loudly overrode the squawkings of my aunt and uncle about the endless delay with some vague lie about having to wait at the store, told me to hurry up and figure out what I was going to eat, and then launched into some other line of conversation with the adults-I can't remember what anymore, but I know they went numbly along with it like everyone in the family always did except ME, even though they were all grownups and I was a kid.
Can you imagine if this incident had happened in a climate of fear like we have today? She'd have had security, the cops, a SWAT team, and a bunch of big guys from the nearest mental hospital all converging on her long before she got back to the door of the store. Still, she must have realized later on how easily her behavior could have led to disaster if even one person had been freaked out enough to call security, or if the relatives had come looking for us and seen her, because she never put on a public display like that again; she never quite figured out where the line was beyond which her behavior would be seen as weird, though, but that's a whole other essay.
She stopped partway there, seemed to think better of it, and started walking back towards where my aunt and uncle were waiting for us. A minute later, she fired her next volley (giving no indication that she was changing her demand, as usual); to show my appreciation for the suit, I should wear it "most of the time." Instantly grasping that this would mean tacitly agreeing to have her monitor what I was wearing to the pool, one of the few things she wasn't already controlling in my life, and adding stress and aggravation to my life because *I* would have to keep track of what I was wearing, and that of course I would never be able to get her to define what she meant by "most of the time," making it easy for her to attack me on that subject at any time no matter how often I wore the suit, I again refused... and again, she ducked her head down and went charging back in the direction of the store.
She was closer to the store this time when she stopped and began heading back towards the food court, and hadn't gotten far when she announced the next scheme; I should wear each suit equally, and prove that I was doing so by keeping a written record of what I wore on what day... that one didn't take any thought to know to refuse, with the same results as my previous refusals.
We were quite close to the store by the time she reversed direction again, and this time her idea was that SHE would assign what suit I should wear on each day... and, as it had finally penetrated into her demented mind that her melodramatic fake "runs for the store" weren't having the effect on me that she'd intended, she added a much bigger threat than just the return of the suit; that if I refused, I wouldn't be allowed to go to the pool anymore. I looked her right in the face and told her that I'd rather not go to the pool than go along with something like that. In a pitiful effort to use peer pressure against me, she asked what I'd say when my "little friends" called and asked why I wasn't going to the pool anymore, and I responded that I'd tell them that it was because my mother had gone insane; this wasn't just a reference to the craziness of her sudden obsession with what I wore to the pool, or of the plans she was trying to get me to agree to, either... anyone seeing her crazed face during this chunk of minutes would have thought she was out of her mind. Her reaction to this was to do a wild swing, with a fully extended arm, at my shoulder, with the bag, as if it contained something solid rather than 2 ounces of cloth, and to do a final head-down sprint all the way to the door of the store.
Once I caught up with her, she demanded to know if I was going to agree to do what she'd said (not specifying WHICH of the things she'd said that she was referring to, not that it mattered); I weighed the possible loss of the suit against the likelihood that they'd refuse to take it back if she tried to return it, since technically they couldn't take ANY return on a swimsuit even if it had just been purchased, and, more importantly, against the understanding that if they DID take the suit back, she had no story she could tell my aunt and uncle that would convince them that she'd been anything but a monster for buying me something and then instantly returning it, and that she KNEW this, and calculated that there was very little chance that she actually could and would return the suit. Beyond that, I simply wasn't willing to put my own head into the noose by giving her something new to over-involve herself in my life with and use to harass me over, and, even beyond THAT, I knew that to show any hint of weakness, to act in any way that indicated that she could intimidate me, or that I even cared what she did, would lead to her reacting like a shark that smelled blood in the water... so I again refused to agree to do anything. She claimed that we'd stand there until I agreed; I replied with a reminder that we had relatives waiting for us who had to have long since started wondering what was taking us so long. She fixed me with her most belligerent, threatening look, which could probably have melted chrome off a bumper, but I'd realized early in my life that looks did me no harm, and had thus long been unfazed by them, so I met her gaze with one of utter contempt.
As if a switch had been flipped, she gave up; she pivoted around and started quicktime-marching towards the food courts, barking at me over her shoulder to hurry up. She didn't say another word during the walk across the mall, and when we got there she loudly overrode the squawkings of my aunt and uncle about the endless delay with some vague lie about having to wait at the store, told me to hurry up and figure out what I was going to eat, and then launched into some other line of conversation with the adults-I can't remember what anymore, but I know they went numbly along with it like everyone in the family always did except ME, even though they were all grownups and I was a kid.
Can you imagine if this incident had happened in a climate of fear like we have today? She'd have had security, the cops, a SWAT team, and a bunch of big guys from the nearest mental hospital all converging on her long before she got back to the door of the store. Still, she must have realized later on how easily her behavior could have led to disaster if even one person had been freaked out enough to call security, or if the relatives had come looking for us and seen her, because she never put on a public display like that again; she never quite figured out where the line was beyond which her behavior would be seen as weird, though, but that's a whole other essay.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
The ideal gift for a husband or boyfriend
One of the oddest legends surrounding Christmas is that bad children are supposed to get a lump of coal in their stocking; I know it was meant to be a bummer to not get toys or sweets, but why COAL? No one seems to know, and a search failed to turn anything up, but it doesn't matter, because we all grasp the connection between coal at Christmas and naughtiness... and so when a friend of mine found a prettily-packaged lump of coal to give to her husband in his stocking a decade or so ago, we all howled with laughter. When I got together with MY husband, I started looking for coal for HIM, and, when I finally found some (in the form of hard licorice candy in a little coal scuttle), everyone hailed it as the perfect gift, including him... heck, even his mother, who worshipped him, thought it was funny. Since then, he's gotten several kinds of candy coal, bags of coal gum, pieces of real coal in various kinds of tins and novelty packages, a candle, rubber balls, and a resin thingie that look like coal, and Christmas ornaments of Marvin the Martian and Donald Duck extracting coal from their stockings... he even has a stocking of his own that says "One lump or two?" on it. He takes great pleasure and pride in this collection, and of course in the bad behavior that earns it for him every year, and we all get an annual laugh at his expense.
Ladies, if you check the Christmas candy section of your local drugstore or general store, there's a good chance you'll find the little red cloth bags with black bits of gum that are supposed to represent coal, and possibly candy varieties as well; if not, your local candy store will have various licorice or dark chocolate things that can be put in a bag with a label that says "COAL" on it... whatever you choose, buy it in secret, hide it well, and then have the camera ready to capture the moment when your man, and whoever else is there to open gifts with you, sees what he's received.
Men, if you want your woman to think you're a god, get a coal-related thing for yourself and slip it into your stocking, and then act surprised when you take it out; she'll probably be so impressed that she'll give you a "bonus gift." ;-)
Ladies, if you check the Christmas candy section of your local drugstore or general store, there's a good chance you'll find the little red cloth bags with black bits of gum that are supposed to represent coal, and possibly candy varieties as well; if not, your local candy store will have various licorice or dark chocolate things that can be put in a bag with a label that says "COAL" on it... whatever you choose, buy it in secret, hide it well, and then have the camera ready to capture the moment when your man, and whoever else is there to open gifts with you, sees what he's received.
Men, if you want your woman to think you're a god, get a coal-related thing for yourself and slip it into your stocking, and then act surprised when you take it out; she'll probably be so impressed that she'll give you a "bonus gift." ;-)
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
A bad lesson we teach our kids
It's important for kids to learn early on that everything they want costs $, and that the way to get $ is to EARN it; to this end, most kids do some chores around the house to get an allowance (often an allowance far in excess of what their efforts deserve, or what they should have at all at their age, but that's a whole other essay), and many kids still babysit, deliver papers, mow lawns and walk dogs to earn $... this is all as it should be.
The bad part is when we teach kids to guilt-trip and manipulate to get $ rather than working for it; it starts with the traditional lemonade stand, where the child learns that by stealing the ingredients for lemonade from their parents, and accosting whichever neighbors don't see them in time to avoid them, they can get people to hand over 10X the value of the paper cup of beverage that's being offered because no one wants to have the kid tell their parents that Mr. or Mrs. So-and-so didn't buy any... what career exactly does any of that translate into valid business lessons for, other than maybe drug dealing? Think about it; watering down (cutting) the active ingredients and then hard-selling the finished product on the street at a price far in excess of cost... what else fits that description?
The more advanced version of this is when adults, who SHOULD know better, instruct kids to go door to door to try to make their hapless neighbors buy everything from candy bars to magazines to coupon booklets to, yes, cookies, to fund their activities or win them prizes; sometimes, the parents come along with the kids, and stand there where the neighbors can see them watching, so that the pressure on the neighbor to cough up enough $ to not incur their disdain can be added to the unwillingness of most human beings to brush off a little kid that's looking up at them with such eagerness and hope... and what does THIS teach kids that's of value in the business world, or even about how to be good people? Teaching them that there are ways to arm-twist others into coughing up $ for something they don't want or need will only look good on their resumes if they're going to apply for jobs with the Mafia collecting protection $... all the kids need are baseball bats to break the kneecaps of any who refuse, and they'll be perfect little wiseguys.
One of my parents' rare flashes of wisdom was their absolute refusal to EVER allow me to go around trying to extort $ out of the neighbors. The only exception they ever made was when our next door neighbor, who was supposed to be my mother's friend, sent her whiny daughter, who was in my class, over to our house to sell an overpriced candy bar towards winning prizes that *I* wasn't being allowed to compete for; the moment the girl had gone, my mother snatched one of the order forms that I'd brought home from school out of the garbage where she'd thrown them, and had me march right over to their house and sell one to her friend, who was bright enough to never pull that one again.
I DID get some entertainment from this whole thing in high school, though, because by then I was at a private school where there was a class ski trip each year that I was of course not allowed to go on, a token % of which was supposed to be funded by selling coupon booklets. Every year, the class president, an otherwise very intelligent girl, would try to publicly badger me into participating in the fundraising for THEIR trip, and it always went something like this:
Her: Everyone is required to sell at least one, so everyone has to take at least one home.
Me: Not me.
Her: Yes, you too.
Me: You know I'm not allowed to sell things to people.
Her: Well, this year you have to.
Me: Oh? And how are you planning to make my parents change their policy about this? Or, are you suggesting that I sneak around and disobey my parents?
Her: {mindful of teachers in the room} Well, fine, then get THEM to buy one.
Me: {laughing} They wouldn't spend one penny to send ME on this trip, do you think they're going to hand over $ for YOU to go?
Her: Yes, this is a good value.
Me: No, it's a waste of $, and under no circumstances will they buy anything I bring home; I'm not allowed to even ask them.
Her: Well then, YOU buy one.
Me: {laughing louder} You think I'm going to give up my birthday and Christmas $ to pay for a trip I'm not even going on? Are YOU going to pay for something for ME in return?
Her: Oh, whatever, have it your way.
I kid you not, that selfish twit really did ask me, in all seriousness, to give up my own $ to pay for their trip, and really did in general believe that I was obligated to produce $ for them, and that the family and neighbors of every other student were also obligated... I cringe to contemplate what sort of greedy, self-centered person she turned out to be.
Back to the point: Parents, please, do your offspring and your neighbors a favor; teach your kids that they have to WORK to EARN $, or do without the stuff they want. If there's something you'd like them to have that's beyond their earning power, YOU pay for it-that's your job... as is teaching them that in real life there are no legal, moral shortcuts to getting things.
Monday, December 13, 2004
The benefits of being understood
There MUST be some, right? Teenagers howl that no one understands them. Women moan that no man understands them. The first thing the married man says to the hot chick he's hoping to cheat on his wife with is that his wife doesn't understand him. Some people get all worked up if anyone in their life doesn't understand every single thing about them every moment of every day. If you ask one of these people why it MATTERS whether or not they're being understood, you'll get a blank stare in response, followed by outrage that you dared to question their powerful feelings on this issue; the fact that they honestly can't give a reason for how they feel apparently doesn't matter.
I've never for one moment in my life felt the desire to be understood, by ANYONE, or wondered whether or not I was; now that I AM thinking about it, I'm 100% sure that no human being has ever understood me at any point in my life... and it's had no effect on me whatsoever. If someone DID understand me, what would that gain me? Would I win a prize? Live longer? Have more $? What return would I get that would make it worth all the time and effort it would take to foster understanding in someone?
I asked my husband about this, and he said that HE never cared about being understood, either; he admits, though that he IS understood by ME... and adds that he wishes I understood him "25% LESS," because that would make his life easier (since that would mean he'd get away with more, which is his goal in life... and he's reading over my shoulder as I'm writing this, snickering away). As unusual as this viewpoint is, it's interesting that we both have it; it's probably NOT a coincidence, as I'm betting that our lack of attempts to make each other understand is part of what makes us fit well together.
I asked him if he's ever been interested in understanding ME, and he said "no, that might be scary," lol. Seriously, though, men just aren't programmed to want or need to understand others, and if women internalized that there'd be much less upset in the average romantic relationship, and in other sorts of relationships between men and women as well.
In general, I think that we as a culture need to grasp that the countless details that make up our mental and emotional landscapes may NOT be an effective use of anyone's time to learn, and thus that it's not reasonable to ask or expect people to understand us... and that, if they DID understand us, it wouldn't actually benefit us. I know, you think that if people just understood you, they'd alter the way they behave with you to a way more to your liking, but it just ain't so; people's personalities dictate how they behave, they aren't creating a different set of behaviors for each person based on their understanding of them, so learning new information about people has little or no effect on how they act. If you've got people in your life who are good people, and who treat you well, that's all that matters; to get all hurt that these well-meaning and caring folks don't understand you is just plain silly, and to generate negative energy over a harmless situation is NOT good for your karma.
Besides, if you're not understood by even the people who know you best, doesn't that mean that you're an unusually complex person with many unique aspects to your personality? How bad could THAT be?
I've never for one moment in my life felt the desire to be understood, by ANYONE, or wondered whether or not I was; now that I AM thinking about it, I'm 100% sure that no human being has ever understood me at any point in my life... and it's had no effect on me whatsoever. If someone DID understand me, what would that gain me? Would I win a prize? Live longer? Have more $? What return would I get that would make it worth all the time and effort it would take to foster understanding in someone?
I asked my husband about this, and he said that HE never cared about being understood, either; he admits, though that he IS understood by ME... and adds that he wishes I understood him "25% LESS," because that would make his life easier (since that would mean he'd get away with more, which is his goal in life... and he's reading over my shoulder as I'm writing this, snickering away). As unusual as this viewpoint is, it's interesting that we both have it; it's probably NOT a coincidence, as I'm betting that our lack of attempts to make each other understand is part of what makes us fit well together.
I asked him if he's ever been interested in understanding ME, and he said "no, that might be scary," lol. Seriously, though, men just aren't programmed to want or need to understand others, and if women internalized that there'd be much less upset in the average romantic relationship, and in other sorts of relationships between men and women as well.
In general, I think that we as a culture need to grasp that the countless details that make up our mental and emotional landscapes may NOT be an effective use of anyone's time to learn, and thus that it's not reasonable to ask or expect people to understand us... and that, if they DID understand us, it wouldn't actually benefit us. I know, you think that if people just understood you, they'd alter the way they behave with you to a way more to your liking, but it just ain't so; people's personalities dictate how they behave, they aren't creating a different set of behaviors for each person based on their understanding of them, so learning new information about people has little or no effect on how they act. If you've got people in your life who are good people, and who treat you well, that's all that matters; to get all hurt that these well-meaning and caring folks don't understand you is just plain silly, and to generate negative energy over a harmless situation is NOT good for your karma.
Besides, if you're not understood by even the people who know you best, doesn't that mean that you're an unusually complex person with many unique aspects to your personality? How bad could THAT be?
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Christmas card conundrum
We got the first Christmas card of the year today, and as I do every year, I wonder; WHY do we do it? How did it become ingrained into our culture that we should send a slew of cards each December to people we can't be bothered to keep in touch with the rest of the year, people we often don't care about any more, people whose lives we're no longer part of or familiar with, or who NEVER meant anything to us?
Yes, we send cards to loved ones, but we also send them to family members we barely know and rarely see, college roommates that we haven't ever been in the same city with since graduation, neighbors from where we lived a decade ago that were never more than friends of convenience, ex-coworkers that we never really socialized with, "friends of the family" that we've never exchanged more than polite greetings with... people who can't be getting any real pleasure from receiving the cards, any more than WE turn any cartwheels when we get THEIR cards.
Why do people who can't spare 5 minutes to call their elderly parents or grandparents spend hours and hours filling out cards for people that could drop off the face of the Earth without them noticing? Do we imagine that we're so important to these people who aren't important to US that they'll be devastated if we stop sending them cards? Do we secretly feel important if we receive a bunch of cards, and so we keep sending them out so we can get some back? Will we feel inferior to our friends if we don't have as many cards on display as they do? Do we feel like we're carrying on this great tradition of sending folded pieces of paper to bare acquaintances? Do we feel like better people if we can pretend that we care about all our intended recipients, despite the obvious fact that if we REALLY cared we'd use some of our free cell phone long distance minutes to keep in touch with them throughout the year?
One of the few useful things my mother ever did for me, if only indirectly, was to decide out of the blue one year that she was tired of sending cards, not just for Christmas but for all occasions, to all the endless members of my father's family when they couldn't be bothered to reciprocate, and that from then on if he wanted them to have cards, HE would have to handle it himself; her gargantuan annual Christmas card project became a breeze from then on, and no harm or complaint ever came of it from any of those who were no longer getting cards (as my father couldn't be bothered to send any to his own blood relatives)... and I learned that lesson well.
My first married Christmas, I made the effort to send cards to all those that a case could be made that I "should" try to exchange cards with, and each following year I subtracted from that list those who didn't reciprocate; this year, I've only sent cards to a handful of immediate family, and am going to see who sends one to me withOUT getting one from me first (mine always go out early)... I'll send a card out for each one I get, if any, and at the very least will have saved myself a good chunk of work.
Can you imagine the savings in time, effort, $ and trees if we'd ALL just agree to send cards only to people we actually care about? Nothing that sweeping will happen in our lifetimes, but if you haven't done your Christmas cards yet, ask yourself if some of them are being done for reasons other than love... and maybe we can make a start on a new tradition.
Yes, we send cards to loved ones, but we also send them to family members we barely know and rarely see, college roommates that we haven't ever been in the same city with since graduation, neighbors from where we lived a decade ago that were never more than friends of convenience, ex-coworkers that we never really socialized with, "friends of the family" that we've never exchanged more than polite greetings with... people who can't be getting any real pleasure from receiving the cards, any more than WE turn any cartwheels when we get THEIR cards.
Why do people who can't spare 5 minutes to call their elderly parents or grandparents spend hours and hours filling out cards for people that could drop off the face of the Earth without them noticing? Do we imagine that we're so important to these people who aren't important to US that they'll be devastated if we stop sending them cards? Do we secretly feel important if we receive a bunch of cards, and so we keep sending them out so we can get some back? Will we feel inferior to our friends if we don't have as many cards on display as they do? Do we feel like we're carrying on this great tradition of sending folded pieces of paper to bare acquaintances? Do we feel like better people if we can pretend that we care about all our intended recipients, despite the obvious fact that if we REALLY cared we'd use some of our free cell phone long distance minutes to keep in touch with them throughout the year?
One of the few useful things my mother ever did for me, if only indirectly, was to decide out of the blue one year that she was tired of sending cards, not just for Christmas but for all occasions, to all the endless members of my father's family when they couldn't be bothered to reciprocate, and that from then on if he wanted them to have cards, HE would have to handle it himself; her gargantuan annual Christmas card project became a breeze from then on, and no harm or complaint ever came of it from any of those who were no longer getting cards (as my father couldn't be bothered to send any to his own blood relatives)... and I learned that lesson well.
My first married Christmas, I made the effort to send cards to all those that a case could be made that I "should" try to exchange cards with, and each following year I subtracted from that list those who didn't reciprocate; this year, I've only sent cards to a handful of immediate family, and am going to see who sends one to me withOUT getting one from me first (mine always go out early)... I'll send a card out for each one I get, if any, and at the very least will have saved myself a good chunk of work.
Can you imagine the savings in time, effort, $ and trees if we'd ALL just agree to send cards only to people we actually care about? Nothing that sweeping will happen in our lifetimes, but if you haven't done your Christmas cards yet, ask yourself if some of them are being done for reasons other than love... and maybe we can make a start on a new tradition.
