Fashion Wonders

Every special awards event to do with entertainment ends up a fashion show. If the award has anything to do with the arts: film, music, fashion, dance and so on, the arrivals and departures of the subjects has become a designer fashion show. The media takes special space to mention the designers' names while giving little time to dwell on the reason for the award that the wearers have won. There are media cats prowling about with hand mikes and camera trailers interviewing the winners who are made up so that it is a wonder how they can speak without cracking. If you have watched the day long preparations given to these talented people who are forced to go through this routine to heighten their ratings, you might feel the wonderment I do. But I am full to the gills of fashion foolishness. I am tired of the bevy of brides and their white gowns made by those who feed on the event like nuptial sharks.  Most of fashion is fakery from the boning and padding in the rental dresses to the impossible stiletto heeled shoes, the rich loaned jewelry and the professional make-up and hairdo teams who all make it a circus. When there are people in the world struggling for freedom, food and security, it feels unseemly to find runways such as in these events in big cities anywhere in the world with togs that run average cost enough to feed, clothe and relocate hundreds for a very long time on a show that lasts only a few hours. There is something about it that disgusts me. But I could be wrong. And yes, I have heard how these things are good because they employ the masses. Somehow that doesn't seem to compute since most of the workers who make the cast offs from the industries involved, work for minimum wage and do so  only because it's better than starvation. But not much. Not long ago, I went to my e-zine site to see what the NYC guys are doing fashion-wise and what I saw, made me ponder. It's not their fancy full length dresses or the ruffled and frilled suits or the cute little kilt skirts or even the darling floral accessories that bother me. Persons may dress how they wish. The trouble I have is with  my own reaction that makes me wonder if I am giving male fashion its fair due. Females dress in outlandish and horrifically detailed garb that takes months to create with hoards of little stitchers working day and night to prepare for the shows, so it's all part of the game I suppose. Seeing the male models that defy determining their sex because of their hair styles, unusual designs and heavy make-up, made me question whether I ought to feel mystified at all. Is it fair? The fashion industry does this all the time. It loves to surprise us. And determining the models' sex has nothing to do with it. It is simply the fashion world's push to show off something  unsung or newly invented or that which shocks and amuses and ultimately entertains. There isn't really anything wrong with that. So why does it disturb? I continue to wonder which is perhaps the whole point: wonderment.

Entertain Me

Entertainment used to be something you did somewhere else. But now, it happens in a device in your hand or home. Of course there are large venues such as "concerts", living room comfy movie houses and musical extravaganzas but most of our entertainment is us to them, not the other way around as it used to be. We make all the decisions now, with a tiny button called "off" or the other ones that scroll. Our power has increased exponentially as has the industry. They watch us. Those little side ads to which you have learned not to let your eye wander as you game or read or view your faves are there because you've already seen them. Somehow. When you shop on-line you are being scanned. Unwittingly, in those tiny warnings you x-out tell you they are going to stalk you,  you and I ignore them. These ghostly figures know a lot about us: what products we are into, their colours, types and styles. They are the daily spies that have no hearts, they are all tech. You can't yell at them or write them letters or tell your neighbours how bad they are. These were once called "big brother" and "brother" they are big and make millions, nay billions. Aside from all that, we, the vast world of viewers and users, are mild and gentle folk who seldom do much about the situation we have ourselves in this millenium, other than the odd letter-to-the-manager who never sees it anyway, but makes us feel we did do something about "it", continue to put up with the status quo. What we want is what we have always wanted, and that is to be entertained. Please. When I watch a show, that is my prime reason for turning the set or box on. I do not want anything else. No ads, no biogs, no intros, no subtitles. Just entertain me. Lately, on my big small screen, I have to roll through a plethora choice of films in which I have absolutely no interest. After a day of whatever I call work, I want to sit down with my drink of choice in hand and perhaps a snack, put my feet up and be entertained.  I don't want gory violence, deep evil or political strife. I want to feel happy, not sappy. I am not into teen angst so I scroll past the pretty little perfect faces. I am not into street politics or gun blood battles, car race antics or armor clad sword fights of yore. I like a nice psychological mystery or spy thriller without a team of wired up stunt folk flying through the air doing impossible things. Give me wit over schmaltz and great acting over done up youthful prettiness or gooped up monsters. I like a good story with an intelligent plot and generated or real scenery that means something. I am not sitting here, feet up, with popcorn in hand, needing to fix the colourful world or watch nasty show hosts pitting contestants against one another or stupid gangs killing each other for suitcases of cash or writhing naked bodies. I want to have good, clean, bright fun: laugh, cry, sigh and fly. I am one of the masses. Make me feel good. Just entertain me.

After The Click

The other day, I had to call a certain financial office where I know they are of the opinion that I blab. And they are right. Sort of. I hear the chomping in the background which tells me that my call isn't quite as vital as the iced doughnuts and coffee. Then there are the desk mavens, the whole time you are trying to gain some information, who think they are hiding the blips of the shoot-em-up game  on their computers while they speak. Around the water tank, they call it "multi-tasking". That is, if you are fortunate enough, at all, to get a real person when you make a business call. Everyone in this nano rpm world, doesn't want to be bothered by you as a human being; they want your numerals only: your phone number, your credit card number, your mother's maiden name and who was your first pet. Or worse, they want you to play a numbers game such as the famous Just Press One If You Want group. In my day, we had rules of being friendly with those we did business with. They included not just a hello and good-bye, but a light honest conversation that expected responses equally as honest and light. We called it being polite which is an archaic term now. And when I want to make an enquiry for enlightenment purposes and get the office speaker phone, it isn't uncommon for me to catch the sound of eyeballs hitting the ceiling when I say my name. Those in the office don't like LOLs  or Little Old Ladies such as I am, and have made it the office joke when I am put on speaker phone. They don't care that it's my money that helps them rent them that ceiling on which their eyeballs linger. Then again, I am equally guilty when it comes to hitting the off button and saying rude things about the individual I just spoke to. Most of the time, it is a machine and it tells me it will call back when it has time. Sometimes it takes half and hour or more, but then I am grateful that I don't have to listen to their rock and roll coming at me from a mini tinny speaker. When I do get the call back, it's from a worker halfway around the world. Only then do I realize why it took so long, but the person on the line is so very sweet and helpful, why should I complain. Not that I can understand fifty-percent of what they are saying. Sorry. My television set and I no longer worry about accents as long as we can get to watch more old Friends series. Furthermore, I know now a lot of ladies and gentlemen callers from India and the Philippines who don't seem to mind having a friendly chat as well as get the job done before I hang up and say "that was nice".

Wedding?

Weddings used to be when a couple decided to marry and maybe have someone "stand up for them" such as a friend or relative of each. My mother was married in the nineteen thirties and she wore a blue bias cut silk dress and carried some long stemmed lilies. From the garden. My dad's brother and his wife Blanche smiled alongside them as they stood beside their boxy black Ford honeymoon sedan. Neither had a job and they were eloping because my mother's father, even though she was twenty-one years old, didn't want her to marry a man who hadn't a job. There was a shot gun involved later when he went to claim back his daughter from the inlaw's home where they were to reside for awhile. Only the fast talking mother-in-law saved the day, when she, Mary, told John, my grandfather to be, that the couple was married and that it was too late for a shotgun. The rift was mended when I came along  a year later. My dad had found work. It was the Dirty Thirties. Today I read the on-line magazine that makes me howl at their calculation of the "average" cost of a wedding: thirty thousand dollars. What? That amount would make a nice downpayment on a studio condo where I live or maybe buy a pretty good car. Some families live on that amount for a year! Not well, but they somehow survive. Most of the weddings I hear about these days are after the couple has been together for a number of years, perhaps even buying a domicile together, and often, having had children. Then the wedding takes place and it is more a confirmation of their determination to stay together as a family or simply have for their friends and relatives, just a darn good party. Things do change in a hundred years! What disturbs me is not the latter kind of event but more the celebrity ones where the indulgences rise far above what seems moral or even normal. Or perhaps I am jaded. I still want to attend a wedding where The Dress and Tux don't cost half  the rest of the celebration and the guest list is made up entirely of people who love the couple and the whole event isn't put on for show but for happiness of the true kind. I fail to see in celebrity weddings why there are hundreds of attendees who probably only know of the couple and are there for the food, the dancing and the fashion show. This peculiar magazine that represents homage solely to the goddess of overindulgence, also pictures the up to five dresses the bride wears during the wedding plethora of designer label bragging and the cost of these wear-it-once gowns. There are before, during, feasting and dancing bride outfits as well as the honeymoon do dah clothes. In fact, since the weddings are held anywhere to brag about in the world, everyone is already on the honeymoon, too,  in their designer togs.  It seems that weddings of this kind are surpassing top designer fashion shows much as The Globe and Oscar events are with pruned down stars as their models. Getting back down to earth weddings, even the smallest ones of our ilk here on my part of the planet, are also kind of ridiculous and expensive. Some take years to pay off. The ones I love are the garden weddings behind someone's house with a table of goodies to nibble on and a toast or two to the bride without the dancing and rude roasting and everyone goes home to ponder the lovely couple and their union. My favorite ones, too, are those where the pair goes off alone and makes their vows in whatever way works for them because they want a promised life together immersed in what really counts over everything else. Love.

Where's The Food?

An ad I happened to pick up on a margin, advertises cartons of "new and improved" bits that have "real" meat in them. Now your protein bars are made with real meat. Wow! Another clip shows the  most photo-fixed female in the world, standing in front of her fridge full of goat milk  while she  boasts that her surrogate birthed children are fed meticulously on a plant diet. If I had her money I'd fill that fridge with filet mignon and champagne!  Sugar and starch are dirty words now. It's true. I have some visitors who, when I offer tea or coffee and put out a plate of cookies and sandwiches, they say,  oh I don't eat carbs. And, no sorry, to the ham and cheese spikes, they tell me  have fat in them and cow's milk. They are just recently intolerant to dairy and wheat. Well, I think to myself, all is not lost, they might like the garlic dill pickles. Alas, they can't have them either. They have given up salt. But, they all eat garlic my nose tells me. Okay, how about a cup of tea? Earl Grey? Do you have chai? Huh? I finally solved the problem and offered them bottled water. Their dazzling smiles since their implants were a delight to see. Ahem, what brand they asked? I tell them and there is a round of eyeball shiftings. Oops. They inform me about which brands are recycled in which ways and that my brand is a  no-no. As I wave bye bye finally, to this toned body set  as they jog off, in their brightly striped gym togs, I think of our conversation which was entirely about gyms, yoga, diets and cosmetic "procedures". What a shame for I had prepped myself on the latest world happenings that could have serious results. Those topics  didn't happen. I hasten to say that my friends are university grads and former professionals. They can't be called air heads. So what happened to socializing? It's all about food and no food. In fact, it seems that most of the food our folks grew up on and allowed survival, such as WWII and other times, were according to my fadfoodists entirely bad for them. As I looked critically at the contents of my fridge, I found regular potatoes and carrots and meat and lettuce and fruit and milk.  None of it was expensive or as special as their delivered weekly recipe boxes or their kid's plant diets or their no carb plans, but it surely works for healthy me. It's real food and I like nothing more than a steak and fried potatoes and a big salad with fat dressing and let's not forget some pie or cake for dessert. I'm not skinny nor fat. Nor am I starving, and thinking every moment about what I shouldn't or can't eat or how many reps I can do on a machine in a sweaty gym.  I enjoy my morning coffee while I watch the joggers ruining their joints going by and  I surely do love reading the morning news on the computer before having a happy hearty English breakfast.

Child Experts

There are new ideas on how to rear children, yes, "rear" not "raise" which is what you do with farm animals. The how-tos advise how to make perfect children in a perfect family. In truth, it's how the parents want their kids to be, not what the kids want.  Children really don't care much about being perfect. They like to play at whatever interests them. To a child, no matter if that child is challenged or genius or autistic or whatever term we label the kid with, to them, everything is perfectly natural and okay. We parents and other adults are those who attach labels. If there is a problem, we call in the experts. The children trust in us but are seldom asked their needs. Children need one basic to be happy and that is Love. Love is having everything in their environment that is open and safe and  fun. After thirty years in the education business with all children from five to eighteen plus and from all "walks of life", I learned a few things that don't make me an expert with a lot of letters after my name, but I am enlightened by what the children taught me. Most families consider themselves loving and caring and they mean well. Teachers are sworn to secrecy about their charges' privacy through a signed legal ethics code. Family secrets are safe. Experienced classroom teachers know a lot about families and children and many other school matters than those outlined in the curriculum. They are "experts" with on-the-job-training. They aren't perfect either but they try.  In my years, I recall many scenarios that made me feel disturbed. These unfortunate situations happen in schools pass, but remain forever in the minds of all retired educators. In teacher magazines teachers write about teaching in various places and  their humorous times, but few speak of "the bottom line". The down sides and the tragedies. They are also part of the teaching life. Parental pressure is a signficant aspect in the child pushed to "perfection". Talented kids are often driven to stresses by  parents who want results. If their child doesn't win a game or score the most points or get the highest marks in what they do, they will suffer. Expectations are sometimes bizarre. One little girl of nine in Grade Three, was always dressed in very adult provocative garments including tiny high heels. Her mother taught her how to flirt.  Another young lady in high school was made to dress in little girl frilly frocks, accessories and hair styles that her actor parents thought would get her roles as a much younger child.  A nine year old boy with brothers who were adults came to the classroom with drawings and cartoons that his home siblings thought were going to create some negative "fun". That was stopped short. Sometimes, tee shirts with very unacceptable pictures and language appear and parents are brought in for discussion. Poverty exists. In a city lower economic location, a small girl complained about how cold she was coming to school in the snow. Her shoes had no soles. One child came daily with  paper bags of popcorn that his struggling single mother told him to trade with other children for a better lunch. The health department helped out. A little boy with divorced parents whose agreement gave mother the girl and father, the boy would see his other parent appear at my classroom door weeping and pleading. A small boy who was taunted and beaten by his dad's new family sons, often entered the room and curled up in a tight ball on the carpet. These are but a few of the dark moments in teaching. Things teachers cannot tell.  Experts come in with their degrees and advice and solutions, but the classroom teacher and assistants are the "first responders". They are our "experts".

Out Of Bounds

There is nothing cute about doing anything that is in an "out of bounds" area. Rescue teams know how dangerous their work is and how much impact they feel when a chance-taker who thought it would be fun to go out of bounds, is found dead. Tragically, the risk taker didn't. Those who go out of bounds, are gravely mistaken by their love of a cheap thrill going where they put their lives in danger. They are shallow thinkers who can't seem to stretch their meagre thought processes beyond their own egos. Such as they are. They aren't thinking of anything but their own need to pit themselves against the odds. They usually know nothing specific about the environment they enter, nor are they intelligently prepared for the hazards it presents. They forget that the signs are there for good reasons. Rescue teams are in place to save people who are genuinely in trouble in the safe zones, not the stupid individuals who play games and for selfish and silly reasons, go beyond the danger signage. I don't think I'm wrong when I say that some of those rescued are irresponsible types who crave attention. They want the so-called infamy fame of being rescued and becoming part of "the news". They want their pictures in the media so that they can brag to all of their equally stupid supportive peers about the experience they brought upon themselves. They gave no thought about putting the lives of their rescuers in danger, the well trained people who have families at home worrying about them, too. Why are we not charging these individuals for the service costs that we tax payers have to bear in saving irresponsible humans who deliberately go beyond out of bounds signs? It annoys me to read over and over about the times, almost daily, that people deliberately cross the safe boundaries for what they think is going to be a fun experience.  I read today about two kids who crossed the boundary signage with their snowboards and had to be rescued by a helicopter crew. The crew did so putting their lives on the line to pick up these irresponsible boys who should know better. What they did was not funny.  I will not say why the story hit the headlines because it would just give these two silly little boys more attention. The attention they received unlike what they think it was, is not how amusing their actions were, but how stupid and thoughtless it was to be there in the first place.  But it is certain that what they did to "help" themselves will give them a great deal of fame or in truth, infamy, of their young teen friends. The cell phones will be hot with it no doubt. I would hope, however, that the same young people who giggle over the incident will also give due praise to the adults on the helicopter and others who daily have to deal with such stupid and disgusting actions.

Sweet Talkin'

Today I came across a photo of how to fix wrinkles and in these Bagged Out Boomer times this and similar schemes, have apparently become the new marketing ploy. The photo in the ad shows a picture of a woman, her face sagged down and unhappy looking and beside it, the after picture of her  fresh and cheery, thus almost wrinkle-free. The caption reads that it is an unretouched photo. But on closer examination, we see that the woman hasn't changed much but is now in better lighting and she is smiling. Smiling lifts any face. For curiosity's sake, I took the step and went to the site advertising this miraculous fountain of youth product. Like most ads of this nature, you know, the ones that hook you into listening for a half hour of what I call sweet talkin'? It's ninety percent blab with almost no actual information. How these ads draw in millions with their hollow diets and magic cures and how tos, makes millions. It's like listening to a salesperson going on and on about research and data and statistics that are designed to have you  believe he or she is actually knowledgeable. The spiel is well rehearsed to convince you how expert the salesperson is so that you will trust them. And buy. It reminds me of the time when I was searching for a new place and asked the long haired, designer dressed saleswoman who was gold loaded and made up to the nines, about a purchase. She could give me not one single straight answer about the construction, the systems of the building or the management of it. In short, she was selling herself and her appearance. She had done absolutely no research on the product that would cost me a good hunk of my earnings.  But, back to the little bottle of over priced oil. It's an example for consumers to beware the promises and sparkle but to look for informational specifics.  All of the sweet talk about research and the pictures of smooth skin that that did not happen using what's in the bottle are indeed tempting but good sense weighs more. You could probably slap some butter on your face for all the product will do. But you bite and sign up for the free sample bottle. You think that can't hurt. It's a free sample and the item can be returned any time. Watch out. Your free sample will arrive about the same time the actual costly bottle comes which you paid for with your card when you signed up. You'll be involved in having to cancel the payment and return the larger size. Off to the post office and calls to the card company are a nuisance. Enough people keep the first bottle and pay for it because they don't get around immediately to the hassle of cancelling. This is exactly what the sales department plans on. That bottle that you kept and paid for makes them a lot of money. Hey, you fell for the sweet talkin'. On line, similar hype merchants will sell you all sorts of quick and easy scams for free samples or marked down items or cheap how tos,  but if they sell enough before the customer catches on, it's how they make their living. Sweet talkin' seems to work.

Depression Cure

Before reaching out for that bottle of pills or liquid or calling your therapist, try bread making. I see you running for the nearest exit. Hey, stop. I am old and ignore the bursitis, arthritis and maybe some other itises and neither did I have a date for New Year's Eve. Aloneness? Why would I complain about it when most working people crave more time alone?  My method of bread making is the Coles of the matter. The first step is buying flour. Local is best but for now, I recommend a small sack of whole grain, not whole wheat, a sack of any old unbleached white flour and a jar of quick yeast. The rest, you already have except for your machine. Yes, use a machine to mix the dough. You're entitled. I used some airmiles to get the one that is the cheapest brand. Or get it at the cheapest store or second hand outlet as well. Pride is of no concern of wannabees or at our very wise age. The fancy brands being for show offs, my cheap brand works just as well and if it breaks, I can buy two more at the same cost as one of the pricey ones.  No. You are not going to bake bread in the bread maker, you are going to let it do the hard part: the kneading. If you are a kneader, hang on for the fun, you can do it at the end when you take the blob of dough out of the mixer. You will dirty up few utensils: one tablespoon and a measuring cup and when you're all done, the bread bucket from the machine. Not a lot of dish washing. Baking sheets are easy.  Here's the recipe. Plug in the mixer and push the button to "dough". Liquids go in first. Into your four cup measuring jug, put two cups of milk (powdered mix is okay), 3 tablespoons of butter and 3 of sugar, 2 of salt and a tablespoon of lemon juice or vinegar.  Heat it a bit in the mikey. Crack an egg into it and stir up well. Dump it all into the mixer bucket. On top of it put in your flour: three cups of white and two of whole grain flour. Dig a little dent into the top of the flour and put in close to a couple of tablespoons of yeast. Close the lid, and since you have already pushed the "dough"  button, hit the "start" one, and sit back until the beeps wake you up. ( I see you peeking inside the lid window as it works. Confession. I do it, too. ) Beep, beep, beep. You see a lovely dough. You can remove the little bucket and gently ease out the ball of dough. See what you did? You made bread! You can knead it a bit only if you like, and then cut the dough into shapes of your choice. I like cutting it in half and using one to make a round loaf and the rest for buns. They need to sit a bit to rise a little more and then they're ready for the oven. Brace yourself for the aroma of baking bread. After 25 minutes in a 350 degree, oven, you have arrived! You're a baker! When you get better at this, you can add to your flour what you please: cheese, nuts, raisins, dried fruit, herbs. If you want to impress all of your new found friends who dropped around at the aroma of fresh baked bread, you can brush the top of your bread with butter or beaten egg and drizzle on some oats or other herbs and grains during the baking process. For those who say they live in an urban small place too tiny for a bread machine, uh uh. Your bread maker friend covered, can make a good foot rest if nothing else!