OK, I‘m about to do something I never imagined I would do in my lifetime. I am going to defend Kim Kardashian. Before I do, I want to make it clear that I am not a fan. That is – I’m not a fan of the whole Kardashian “thing.” I’m not a fan of the “thing” in general. The Kardashian/Hilton/Honey BooBoo/fake reality show/famous-for-being-famous garbage.
Don’t get me wrong. I do watch competitive (non-celebrity) reality shows like Survivor and Amazing Race. It’s the ones like I just mentioned that drive me insane. The rich people do everyday things – isn’t it entertaining type. The let’s exploit little girls and parade them around like tiny hooker dolls type. The redneck idiot ‘murrica type. The catfights and the ignorance and the hook-ups and the paparazzi – they all make me want to scream.
So you’d think any chance I have to jump all over Kim Kardashian I would. And when she poses fully nude & oiled up for a magazine and blasts it all over the internet, it seems like the perfect opportunity. But I’m sorry, I won’t be doing it.
I’m just not one to get all het up about this stuff. I personally don’t care who poses for whom, wearing or not wearing clothes. Kim Kardashian can paint herself purple, shave her head, and ride a buffalo naked, and pose for all the photos she wants. I don’t care. Do I want to see the photos? Probably not. Does that mean that no one should see or want to see them? Definitely not. The solution is simple. If I don’t want to see them, I won’t look at them. And before you go on about how they are popping up in facebook feeds whether you want them or not – so what? It’s the human body – we all have one. The photos aren’t porn. She’s not shoving anything into an orifice. She’s not breaking any laws. You see similar images (though maybe not that butt-shelf trick) in any museum. I’m not saying it’s the same as Manet’s “Olympia” or Titian’s “Venus of Urbino,” but anyone who is familiar with the work of Gustav Klimt (or even better Katsushika Hokusai’s “The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife”) knows that even fine art can be erotic (and sometimes bizarrely erotic). So right off the bat, what I am saying is that I am not bothered by nude photos as long as they are taken knowingly and willingly, and everyone is an adult. My only caveat is that people be careful with what could get out there and be seen. Clearly that isn’t a problem for Ms. Kardashian, since she tweeted the shit out of her photos.
I’m less bothered by her photos (you could effectively describe my attitude as “Have no shits to give”) than I am about people’s reactions to her photos. One reaction in particular:
“She’s a mom!”
I have seen comments and posts and tweets galore raging about Kim’s nude photos and the majority of the people who are up in arms about it seem to be so solely because she’s a mom. Which makes me want to ask one important question:
Why are the rules different for moms?
If you are opposed to nude photos – fine, whatever. If you are OK with nude photos as long as the subject has no children – Um…what? Why? If a woman is beautiful/sexy/erotic/sensual, etc, she doesn’t stop being those things just because she has given birth. She doesn’t stop being a woman, and she certainly doesn’t stop being a person. If we’re going to play the mom card here, why don’t we say that moms shouldn’t skydive, or bungee jump, or swim on the ocean, or…the most dangerous activity of all drive/ride in a car? Those are dangerous things. You can be hurt or killed, and if you were, your kids would suffer.
That’s the argument that is being used regarding these photos – her poor child will have to grow up knowing those photos are out there! The horror! To that I say, “so what?” Chances are that because YOU are appalled by it, your kids would be appalled by it. But those same chances tell me that a woman who feels entirely comfortable with baring all and sharing it with the world (whether it is for art or porn or – in this case, most likely – total fame-whoredom) – is going to raise her child with the same attitude – that it is no big deal (that it is art/that it is natural/that it’s an easy way to get more fame and money). Regardless of their opinions on the matter, her kid will care far less than you do. Also – not your kid, o stop worrying. That child will grow up with plenty to east, a roof over her head, and more luxuries than you or I could even imagine. As long as she is not being physically abused or neglected –it’s not your business or mine.
Kids may tease her about it someday. When she’s 11, one of her male classmates may pull out the photos and show to his friends. Maybe she’ll be embarrassed. But every one of us knows that an absence of these photos is no guarantee of an absence of teasing or bullying or embarrassment. The may tease her because she short. Or tall. Or for the way she pronounces her Rs. Or because he dad is a jerk. Or because she didn’t know the answer to a question in class. Or because she drank from the water fountain on the right and today all the cool kids are drinking from the left. If there is one constant ion life, it is that kids are assholes. And she’ll be embarrassed of her parents – nude photos or not. ALL kids are. We make stupid jokes. We pull out baby photos. We sing loudly (and badly). We drive them to school in our jammies. We kiss them in front of their friends.
So in the grand scheme of things, these photos are a drop in the bucket. It seems to me that the people crying mom are simply trying to force their own sense of morality onto someone else and justifying it by saying they are just thinking of the children. If you’re worried about children, worry about your own. Or the millions of others without enough food, or a home, or medical care.
In fact, if you’re worried about the kids? Here’s a great place to go and help some:
It’s a far better use of your time and energy.
Old. I’m feeling old lately. Not the number –the number never bothered me. It’s the life experiences that are getting me. I have a son who is a senior in high school. He’ll be going away to college next year. WITHOUT ME! Also – have you looked into tuition costs lately? Don’t. If you’re my age, it will kill you.
I find myself looking at everything he does right now as his last. His last first day of school. His last first halftime performance. His last bus painting. His last homecoming, etc. It helps that I am busy (I’m doing the Christmas musical again (and Emily got the lead this year – yay!), plus I am chaperoning band activities, plus driving everybody everywhere. Burt in those precious few minutes of free, alone time I have (usually in the car), I find myself getting wrapped up in the overwhelming emotion and worry of all of it. To the point of physical symptoms – near panic attacks, where I waver back and forth between OMG, he’s graduating! He’s going away to college! Will he be safe? How will we pay for this? These, I know, are normal worries. But in my warped, obsessive mind, they build and turn into – OMG I’m old and my life is almost over! I DON’T WANT TO DIE! WAAAAAAHHHHH!
It’s about as fun and attractive as you are imagining.
I don’t think it helps that my baby is in her last year of elementary school. I’m not ready for middle school. They have boobs on middle school. I’m not ready for boobs. Or dates. Or hormones. Elementary school has enough drama. Hold me!
And I think losing my grandma recently is contributing. I mean – grandmas die – it’s normal. It wasn’t so much ME losing my GRANDMA that is bothering me, it’s MY MOM losing her MOTHER. I think you can subconsciously think – my mom still has her mother, therefore she must be pretty young still, therefore *I* am practically a baby! Then you realize that if your parents are old enough to lose their parents of totally natural causes, then your parents are aging. That they are mortal. That you are again and mortal. Fuck this getting old shit.
However, the one way getting older is a win is technology. My generation is pretty technologically savvy. Maybe not s much as the kids who have never known a world without mind-blowing technology, but we were there when I happened. We can handle it. The kids don’t get that, though. They think that we are idiots when it comes to technology. Just like we thought our parents were stupid about new things. But what I have discovered is that what we thought was stupidity was actually Parenting 101. Listen up, kids, because I am going to let you in on a little secret:
You only think your parents suck at technology. It turns out we’re actually pulling a fast one on you. We can sit on the couch and eat a cookie, while we call you in to hook up the blueray or set up the new computer, or update our new phone. And all we have to do in exchange is accept a little ribbing about how old we are. GOOD TRADE! And now that you know, don’t go pouting around about it like babies. Because when WE were kids, we had to get up and walk all the way across the room to change the channel every time our dad decoded to see what else is on (and dads always care about what ELSE is on). You’re getting off easy. You’ll get the same privilege when you’re my age.
I didn’t know Christopher M. Panatier. I had never even heard his name until I heard it read along with 2,965 others. And though I know I heard it read, I don’t know that I really even took notice of it. 2,966 is a lot of names. It’s especially a lot of names when we’re talking about people who lost their lives.
Christopher Panatier was 36 on that day. Ten years younger than I am now. Many, many years younger, I’m sure, than anyone ever imagined they would lose him. Christopher was a foreign currency trader for Cantor Fitzgerald. I imagine he left for work that day in the towers thinking the worst thing he would deal with was traffic, or irritable clients, or a busy day. Instead, he – along with almost 3,000 others, lost his life in the one of the worst tragedies we have seen in this country.
Christopher was a husband, a father, a son. He married his high school sweetheart, Carolyn, and they had two children, Annie and Christopher. His children were only 6 and 4 when they lost him. Too young to lose their father. Especially to lose him that way. Too young to even understand how something like that could happen. But really, there is no age, no amount of knowledge or wisdom that could ever make sense of what happened that day.
Everyone who talks about Christopher seems to mention what an amazing, adventurous, and funny man he was. People were drawn to him.
So even though I didn’t know Christopher, I am remembering him along with the other innocent victims of the September 11th 2001 attacks. He was a good man, a good husband, a good father, and a good friend. Because of that, his legacy lives on.
He will be remembered not only for how he died, but for how he lived.
This post is a part of Project 2,966. Go there to see more tributes.
You’d pretty much have to live under a rock to not have heard about Robin Williams’ suicide. And any time there is news of a suicide, I inevitably see comments on how selfish suicide is. I understand that sentiment – it’s a terrible thing for a family who is left behind. I’m ashamed to say that there was a time when I made the same comments. Then I met my old pal depression.
I have written about depression before – what it is like, what it does to your life, your friendships. And maybe only people who struggle with depression can understand, but saying that suicide is selfish just isn’t that simple. People don’t commit suicide for spite. They don’t think well, I’ll fix them, I’ll kill myself. Or at least rational, mentally healthy people don’t. If they did? Sure – that would be selfish. But for someone who is suffering from depressions (and suffering is truly the word for it), their minds don’t work that way.
You might think about suicide and your attitude would be “I could never do that to my family, they need me, it would be selfish” But the mind of a depressed person works differently. They think, “I can’t believe what I am doing to my family – I am a burden. They would be better off without me. I am doing this for them.” Because that is what depression does – it lies to you. It tells you that you don’t deserve to be happy, that you aren’t worth anyone’s time or kindness or love. It tells you that the world would be a better place without you. And because you are in its grips – you believe it.
Let’s stop saying that suicide is selfish. When someone dies from cancer, we don’t say how selfish they were for leaving their family like that. Because cancer is a disease. Well, guess what? Depression is a disease, too. And suicide is nothing but a tragedy.
If you are feeling like suicide is an option, please call 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) for the National Suicide Prevention Line http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
On the weekend of July 4th, we celebrated my amazing, life-loving, kickass grandma’s 95 birthday. We all knew it would be her last, which made it a bittersweet day for all of us. We took a few photos, but she simply hadn’t looked like herself for a while, and i decided that instead of traditional photos, I would take hand photos of her with her daughters and granddaughters, and am so glad I did. Instead of seeing my once beautiful grandma looking sick and pained, we each have a beautiful keepsake to remember her by. Ten days after the party, she left this world, with the majority of her family being lucky enough to be at her side when he went. She left us with a smile on her face.
As we planned her funeral, I knew that I didn’t want the only words to be said by a clergyman who didn’t know her all that well. So I decided to write my own goodbye and share it at the services. It was hard to do, but my grandma was worth it. This is what I said:
When I was little, I had no idea that I was lucky. I thought everyone had what I had: a big, close, loving family, cousins who were more like siblings, and loads of grandparents. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized just how special my family was. And when it came to grandmas, I had the best of both worlds. One of my grandmas was the stereotypical milk and cookies grandma. And then there was Connie.
She was my life-of-the-party grandma.
That’s not an exaggeration – she was the kind of person people were drawn to. Her personality, her acceptance, her generosity, her beauty – everything about her guaranteed that she was SOMETHING to everyone who knew her. A mother figure, a defender, a supporter, a cook, a nurse, a fashion icon, a sounding board, and often – a poker buddy.
But she wasn’t soft – my gram. She was fair, she was honest, she was kind, she was loving, but just TRY to put one over on her, and prepare to face the wrath. Quite honestly – she was a badass.
She was a women ahead of her time. She was independent in a time when women were subservient. She was strong when they were meek. She was outspoken – oh boy, was she outspoken – when they were timid. She raised her daughters to be strong like her – strong of mind, strong of spirit, and strong of heart. They raised our generation to be the same. Now we’re raising our children in the example that she set for 95 years.
She was a study in contrasts. She’d give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. She’d also kick your butt if you needed it. She’d listen to you when you really needed someone to talk to. She’d also shut you up with a mere look (or wave of the hand) if you were being unfair, unkind, or simply annoying her. She’d defend you to the death, even if she knew you were wrong, but oh boy – if you WERE wrong – just wait until she got you alone.
She was a people person. Everyone who knew her loved her – she was irresistible that way. She could fry an egg like nobody’s business, mix a mean drink, dance circles around everyone in this room, and of course – take every last cent you had in a poker game.
If anyone ever lived – truly and fully LIVED their life, it was Corrine Adele.
And while we are all brokenhearted to see her go, she lives on in each of us.
She lives on in Myrna in her devotion to her family.
She lives on in Marlene in her generosity.
She lives on in Claudia in her determination.
She lives on in Cindy in her resourcefulness.
She lives on in Cheryl in her nurturing.
She lives on in Lauren in her sense of humor.
She lives on in Audra in her intelligence.
She lives on in Nicholas in his acceptance.
And me? She lives on in me in my great big mouth.
And I think we ALL might have gotten a little bit of her lead foot.
So, as long as we have each other, she’ll never truly be gone.
I’ll miss you, Grandma. You can’t hold my hand anymore, but you’ll hold my heart forever.
My friend Hedge and I went to the theater last night, along with my 10 year old daughter and Hedge’s teenage son (one of the girl’s favorite people). The show was great and the company was a blast. There was a 3-minute, full-on, shaking, snorting case of the church giggles. It was unstoppable – we were literally SOBBING with laughter. The kids were not amused (actually, I think they were, but it’s a kid’s job to pretend to be annoyed, right? Kind of like you reprimand a toddler for swearing, while cracking up inside, right? RIGHT?)
Anyway, after the show, we headed home and on the way, we stopped at our favorite ice cream shop. It’s our favorite because 1) the prices are low, 2) the portions are huge, and most importantly, 3) they have Dole Whip (the most delicious treat in all the land). And since they had pineapple flavor last night (the most delicious flavor of the most delicious treat in all the land), there was no way we could drive by without stopping.
Hedge and her son didn’t want anything, so the girl and I got out of the car to order our enormous cones. As we passed the car next to us, the elderly couple inside smiled at us sweetly. When we headed back to the car, they smiled at us again. Everyone at this place is always nice – you always seem to strike up a conversation with the other people in line. Another reason I like it.
Anyway, the thing about Dole Whip is that it isn’t as structurally sound as regular ice cream, and as the girl was getting back into the car, hers flopped off her cone and into Hedge’s hands. After she cleaned up, I handed Hedge my cone and the girl and I headed back to the window to get a new one.
While I was waiting, I remembered that I wanted Hedge to try mine, since I had been raving about how good it was, and not that Hedge didn’t believe me but I rave about a lot of foods, so she probably figured it was normal foodthusiasm.
The windows of the car were up, so I couldn’t yell to her to try my down, so I started motioning. When I got her attention, I motioned for her to give it a taste.
We got the girl’s new cone and headed back to the car, only this time, the sweet couple next to us didn’t smile – they looked at us like we were deranged perverts. I couldn’t figure out why until I realized what my version of please-try-my-ice-cream-cone sign language looked like. Picture me holding my imaginary cone in a loose fist and mimicking licking it.
Yeah. I got it, then. Sorry, elderly couple!