Sunday, July 5, 2015

Macy's 4th of July Spectacular ... Fail

Been chatting about this on a friend's Wall today, and I figured I'd bring the convo here to open it up to y'all cuz the topic's been bugging me since last night.

What did you think of the Macy's 4th of July Spectacular programming last night? My immediate reaction was that it was a complete SNOOZEFEST. I tuned in late, so maybe there were some more exciting numbers earlier in the evening, but I'd have thought that they'd work to build *excitement* ahead of the fireworks rather than put people to sleep.

On a deeper level, assuming that the focus of the programming was intended to be "Look! This is America!"--you know, given that it was the 4th of July and all--the vision of the U.S. that it presented was, well, kinda sad.

The few reviews of the show that I've seen online so far have given the country performances the biggest thumbs up, cuz "what's more American than country music?" So let's start there. Coming to the show late, the most upbeat song I heard was from the country guy who performed immediately before the fireworks started. I found his message of "what's more American than hating your boss and hating your job and suffering through the shitty week just to get to the weekend parties?" deeply moving. [cough] Apparently a different country dude had opened the show with an all-American anthem we can all relate to: "Drunk on a Plane." U! S! A! U! S! A!

Immediately before the boss-hating guy--again, leading straight into the Big Show--were two quiet ballads in a row that seemed to go on for years. One from James Taylor (cue sweeping audience shots of old white people seated on a lawn, looking very civilized, at least most of whom appeared to be awake--a testament to the Great American Tenet of hard work?) and the other from Ed Sheeran (cue sweeping audience shots of young white girls, looking sweaty and moony-eyed). Interestingly, Sheeran performed solo acoustic, making his quiet song even more sedate than usual. I like Sheeran's song, I love solo acoustic performances, heck, I even like James Taylor, but the timing was weird.

Kelly Clarkson was there, too. I missed her. She's white, but she gets diversity points for rocking her beautiful Mama body without apology, which frankly takes balls of steel in her industry. And she sang a song that wasn't a ballad or about beer. So at least there's that.

What's whiter? These fireworks, or the Macy's 4th of July Spectacular itself?
Photo by Jason DeCrow for AP, original located at Spectators brave tight security for NYC fireworks show.

But...but...it wasn't ALL white! I know, I know...all the pre-show publicity made a big deal about Gloria Estefan performing during the fireworks itself, but somehow I actually missed that(!), and apparently Flo Rida performed at some point--with Robin "(white) Sexist Pig" Thicke. Somehow this still isn't saying "diversity" to me as much as it says "tokenism."

Is that honestly the best they could do? Holy crap.

Monday, April 13, 2015

Beyond the Pale (Gray)

OK, so, I'm generally the last person on earth to comment on how someone looks. I'm faceblind, generally focused on where I'm going, and frankly don't really give a shit. But waiting in line for the elevator at Century 21 this afternoon, in an ill-fated attempt to introduce the Muppets to Peppa and George Pig, I had the rare occasion to observe trendy New Yorkers in their natural habitat. And the I spotted for the first time in the flesh a phenomenon I'd read about but assumed was surely just a flight of some fashion writer's whimsy: the gray dye job
There she was, waif-thin and Amazon-tall, with what was probably lovely olive skin under a thick coat of orange-tinged Spackle. But I wouldn't have noticed any of that if it weren't for the long, wavy locks of mousy gray hair hanging over her shoulders from quarter-inch JET BLACK ROOTS.
Seriously?! J. Buddy Christ, why not just etch "I do what the fashion magazines tell me to do" right across your forehead-Spackle? Why on EARTH would someone...just...WHY?
I dunno why this irritates me so much. Obviously I have no problem with dying hair weird colors, but that's just it: Gray isn't a "weird color." It's a fucking DESTINATION. You will all get there, young grasshoppers. But you must wait until it is your time. Gray is experience. It is sacred. It is earned. You can get aaaaany other color from a bottle or a tube, but gray comes from LIFE. 
Not a tube. Life.
Gray is not a passing fad. Gray is a state of mind. It is miles traveled and lessons learned. It is strictly the realm of "old ladies" and those of us who, through trauma or genetics, prematurely bore the hue--along with the stigma to match. Our grays, from white to slate to silver, chose US, and we in turn found ourselves in the ways in which we embraced them.
So back away from the tube, Spackle Lady. Your gray will come when you're good and ready.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

I've got a Nose for Love

I fell in love for the first time when I was a freshman in high school. I knew it was the Real Thing because the emotion inspired in me a hormonal surge that sprouted a zit on the very tip of my nose the size of which had, to my knowledge, never been seen before within the city limits.

The target of my affection, a man who was very beautiful, a little dangerous, and very, very gay, was duly impressed at this visual manifestation of my feelings for him--so much so that he drew a happy face on it with a black felt-tipped art pen. 

We named her Bertha. Bertha the Love Zit.

Thus began a tradition of naming my most spectacular blemishes. So allow me to introduce you to today's special guest, Glenda. 



Glenda must have heard that I'll be seeing The Breakfast Club on the big screen next week and assumed it was 1985, because it's been a while since I've seen the likes of her. This is only Day 1, so she'll prolly be extra sexy when I go back to teach tomorrow. Go for the gold, Glenda! There are 80 kids in my first class, and you don't want the ones in the back row to miss you!




Friday, March 20, 2015

Thank you, 16-year-old Giantess...

...for dressing like a demented granny instead of a cheerleader. Cuz THAT would be a lot harder for me to pull off these days.

Yes, still with my feet planted firmly (and ever more gleefully) in Midlife Crisis Mode, it is now time to replace my formerly reasonable responsible depressing summer wardrobe with . . . clothes I would have worn in high school. 

I'm 40. I gather it's how we roll. 

Now, before you glance at the photo below and jump to vile conclusions about how I spent my tender youth, I'll have you know that this is, according to Amazon, a "50s sundress." 



I guess that explains why both my parents come from such large families.

Aaaaaanyway, although my current shift toward a work-at-home lifestyle would, in fact, make such attire completely office-appropriate, I went ahead and opted for something slightly more demure. Though my newly rediscovered interest in polka-dot swing dresses and 60s-print paisley shifts is probably no more age-appropriate at 40 than it was when I was 16, I feel pretty good about the fact that I give even less of a damn now than I did back then what anyone has to say about it. #mymidlifemyrules