it's been, what, 658 dog years since i wrote here. i cringe to see that i've changed my oil since i actually posted some comments. but i think i'm starting to get why. i feel like i have to write something important. or i should say try to write something important (i'm not so uber self-confident to think that i ever achieve *importance* in much of anything i write!) anyway, to heck with gravitas and to heaven with gastronomy. i want to opine about an upcoming show i discovered, a pbs show that features the cuisine of spain, a road trip with mercedes coupes, a celebrity chef, and actress and groupies (aka, friends).
no, this is not a joke, although it does sound a little like the one that goes "there was a priest, a rabbi and a banker." it's for real. the show is called "spain...on the road again," and stars gwyneth paltrow, mario batali and two people i've never heard of but are apparently near and dear to "bats" and gwyn. the show's concept is simple yet oddly fascinating. take 4 unlikely travel buddies, give them sports cars to drive and point them in the direction of spain, where they are to eat just about everything they can get their incisors on for a duration of 1 season plus 1 month. film the trip and air it. sounds a little weird (can YOU imagine mario and gwyn chatting it up for 4 months??) but i'm thinking lovers of all things mario, gwyn, spain and/or food will find something to watch here. hey, i saw the youtube clip less than an hour ago and already i'm already thumbing through the spanish tapas cookbooks and decanting the malbec. but if you're having trouble wrapping your head around the concept, check it out for yourself here.
well, check out the show's site and then prepare yourself for the guilt that is inevitable (you'll be two-timing rick steves, and on his own network after all!). after you watch the show, which airs sometime in september on local pbs stations, check back here. i'd be interested to know if you found it better than any of the 43 food network shows aired on any given day that feature bobby flay grilling lobster tacos or rachael ray cooking a "yum-o" 30-minute meal.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
desire for what?
i was standing at the grocery store register trying to avert my gaze from the myriad of fashion, gossip and home improvement magazines. funny thing. sometimes i try to steal glances at them without buying. as i'm putting my produce on the conveyor belt and while the person if front of me punches in their debit pin number, i try to consume the mag without anyone noticing. if i'm honest i'll admit that at these moments even though i tell myself i really don't care, i somehow do. i really want to quickly find out which star's having a baby, who's up for a grammy, who's dieted and lost 15 lbs. and if not that, how much a house in the wallingford neighborhood of seattle goes for these days. for whatever reason, i never, and i mean never, buy those magazines, but sometimes (many times!) i can't help but gawk. it feels compulsive at times. and compulsiveness feels out of control, and let's just say it: sinful.
on this particular day at the check stand i think about the compulsiveness of the glancing. it suddenly strikes me that the reason i try not to look at but sometimes can't help avert my eyes from these magazines is that i'm ashamed to look at them, like you'd be ashamed to be caught gawking at porn. porn, you say? well, yeah, i think some women's magazines are a form of porn. porn for women. they are meant to hook our eyes, stir up desire, instill a sense of dissatisfaction, pull our dollars from our wallets and keep us panting for more.
before i totally confuse, confound or worse, scandalize anyone, let's quickly define pornography. some ethicists among us define it as: "the sexually explicit depiction of persons, in words or images, created with the primary, proximate aim, and reasonable hope, of eliciting significant sexual arousal on the part of the consumer of such materials" (the encyclopedia of ethics, 1992, 991). but interestingly, the greek word from which the word pornography is derived (porneo) can be defined as broadly as "idolatry." considered together, we might infer that porn is material that is meant to elicit sexual arousal and/or promote idolatry in the consumer.
i'm suggesting that magazine covers which showcase beautifully decorated and spotless houses (especially vacation houses) or those that feature thin, beautifully dressed women with long legs, dewy complexions and perfect hair, or those that exploit the heartthrobs, health crises and hairdos of top stars are meant to make us want, covet, deeply desire something else; a different spouse. a better house. a glamorous life. a thinner body. i'm also suggesting that the effort to make us desire these things is pornographic. no, it's not that we want those women, but we want to be like them. we don't want that exact home, but we want a better one than we have. we might not want that star's boyfriend, but we want a whirlwind romance like she has (or at least a passionate weekend at the Central Park Ritz Carlton, which we read all about in the style section).
one of the main problems with this female porn is that, like other forms of it, the material lies. nobody has nice hair all the time. no matter how luxurious a home is, it's just a place with beds and a sofa. no matter how hot that actor is, he's bound to get divorced or fall off the a list or at least develop a paunch.
lest anyone think i'm drawing dark lines on these mags where they don't belong, consider this. where reality really doesn't mesh with fantasy, photoshop comes to the rescue to create astounding photo spreads: legs are trimmed, zits removed and waistlines slimmed all with the stroke of a magic pen. so what's really pathic is that while i stand there gazing at the glossy covers and working up a nagging sense of dissatisfaction with my life, what i'm coveting isn't really real. it promises something that can't be delivered no matter how much you want it. if that's not a prime example of porn, i don't know what is.
i did a little poking around today and found out that others are thinking about and writing about our passionate relationship with our homes. now, nobody is using the word pornography to describe that desire, that's all me. but basically they're saying similar things. an article entitled "house envy", written by a finance guy, focuses not on the price or value of homes, as you might think, but rather on how the author's youth daughter desires to have a bigger and better home than her own. after visiting a new playmate at his home, a structure about 5 times as large as her own, she came home wanting to live in a "palace." the author's point and concern was that no one had to teach his daughter to want more than she had, to covet her neighbor's stuff. she lived in a perfectly good home but somehow wanted more, bigger, different. she's six.
the book, house lust: america's obsession with our homes, by daniel mcginn, which my friend kate introduced me to a couple of months ago also weighs in on the topic. it lists several reasons americans obsess on their homes. reason #5 is that our homes are a status symbol, a personal extension of ourselves, a part of our self-image.
it strikes me that as i have been moving through life, my status symbols have changed as the years have passed. earlier on i was focused on what clothing i wore, which shoes i had for which sports, how my hair was done and which friends gathered with me. in college i was aware of my car, boyfriends (or lack of them), whether or not my eyebrows were plucked and if i had drugstore makeup or not. these days, as i have been confessing above, i'm drawn to consider (obsess on) my relationship to my home. it's not that i don't care if my eyebrows are scrubby, my car old or my dating calendar empty. but there's something about this home thing that runs more deeply. maybe it's the magazines at the checkstand and maybe it's hgtv. and maybe it's that for every season of life there is a particular brand of temptation that tends to strike.
the next time i'm at the store, i think i'm going to try to breeze past the mags and actually talk to the grocery checker.
on this particular day at the check stand i think about the compulsiveness of the glancing. it suddenly strikes me that the reason i try not to look at but sometimes can't help avert my eyes from these magazines is that i'm ashamed to look at them, like you'd be ashamed to be caught gawking at porn. porn, you say? well, yeah, i think some women's magazines are a form of porn. porn for women. they are meant to hook our eyes, stir up desire, instill a sense of dissatisfaction, pull our dollars from our wallets and keep us panting for more.
before i totally confuse, confound or worse, scandalize anyone, let's quickly define pornography. some ethicists among us define it as: "the sexually explicit depiction of persons, in words or images, created with the primary, proximate aim, and reasonable hope, of eliciting significant sexual arousal on the part of the consumer of such materials" (the encyclopedia of ethics, 1992, 991). but interestingly, the greek word from which the word pornography is derived (porneo) can be defined as broadly as "idolatry." considered together, we might infer that porn is material that is meant to elicit sexual arousal and/or promote idolatry in the consumer.
i'm suggesting that magazine covers which showcase beautifully decorated and spotless houses (especially vacation houses) or those that feature thin, beautifully dressed women with long legs, dewy complexions and perfect hair, or those that exploit the heartthrobs, health crises and hairdos of top stars are meant to make us want, covet, deeply desire something else; a different spouse. a better house. a glamorous life. a thinner body. i'm also suggesting that the effort to make us desire these things is pornographic. no, it's not that we want those women, but we want to be like them. we don't want that exact home, but we want a better one than we have. we might not want that star's boyfriend, but we want a whirlwind romance like she has (or at least a passionate weekend at the Central Park Ritz Carlton, which we read all about in the style section).
one of the main problems with this female porn is that, like other forms of it, the material lies. nobody has nice hair all the time. no matter how luxurious a home is, it's just a place with beds and a sofa. no matter how hot that actor is, he's bound to get divorced or fall off the a list or at least develop a paunch.
lest anyone think i'm drawing dark lines on these mags where they don't belong, consider this. where reality really doesn't mesh with fantasy, photoshop comes to the rescue to create astounding photo spreads: legs are trimmed, zits removed and waistlines slimmed all with the stroke of a magic pen. so what's really pathic is that while i stand there gazing at the glossy covers and working up a nagging sense of dissatisfaction with my life, what i'm coveting isn't really real. it promises something that can't be delivered no matter how much you want it. if that's not a prime example of porn, i don't know what is.
i did a little poking around today and found out that others are thinking about and writing about our passionate relationship with our homes. now, nobody is using the word pornography to describe that desire, that's all me. but basically they're saying similar things. an article entitled "house envy", written by a finance guy, focuses not on the price or value of homes, as you might think, but rather on how the author's youth daughter desires to have a bigger and better home than her own. after visiting a new playmate at his home, a structure about 5 times as large as her own, she came home wanting to live in a "palace." the author's point and concern was that no one had to teach his daughter to want more than she had, to covet her neighbor's stuff. she lived in a perfectly good home but somehow wanted more, bigger, different. she's six.
the book, house lust: america's obsession with our homes, by daniel mcginn, which my friend kate introduced me to a couple of months ago also weighs in on the topic. it lists several reasons americans obsess on their homes. reason #5 is that our homes are a status symbol, a personal extension of ourselves, a part of our self-image.
it strikes me that as i have been moving through life, my status symbols have changed as the years have passed. earlier on i was focused on what clothing i wore, which shoes i had for which sports, how my hair was done and which friends gathered with me. in college i was aware of my car, boyfriends (or lack of them), whether or not my eyebrows were plucked and if i had drugstore makeup or not. these days, as i have been confessing above, i'm drawn to consider (obsess on) my relationship to my home. it's not that i don't care if my eyebrows are scrubby, my car old or my dating calendar empty. but there's something about this home thing that runs more deeply. maybe it's the magazines at the checkstand and maybe it's hgtv. and maybe it's that for every season of life there is a particular brand of temptation that tends to strike.
the next time i'm at the store, i think i'm going to try to breeze past the mags and actually talk to the grocery checker.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
girl whimsy
it strikes me that a lot of my posts are serious. i tend to muse about issues. that's okay but today i'm going a different direction. it's all about the fun. girl fun, that is.
yesterday my wonderful little (i mean big girl) niece came over for a couple of hours after school. she's three going on four. or maybe i should say three going on thirteen. she's very precocious, keen to show anyone listening that she can navigate the english language: "auntie, i would like a pink excavator when i grow up. oh, the elevator is what we ride in at the airport." (you see, there has been some confusion about those words--excavator and elevator--and now she has it figured out--but how i'm not sure, since all the adults in her life think the confusion is absolutely adorable and don't really correct her).
anyway, katie was with auntie yesterday. which means that katie says that she loves auntie a lot and fervently and auntie gives katie the world, or at least a second glass of milk and another animal cracker. katie also got a nice bath which was made extra nice because she didn't have to share the tub with her stinky brother who takes up too much space or her girl cousin who is her beloved nemesis. so no conversations like this: you are in my part of the tub. that's my horsey not yours. mine! mine! mine! etc, etc.
the afternoon got brighter and picture-worthy when auntie figured out a way to let katie paint her own toes and fingernails. it's simple: just give her pale pink polish and let her go wild. so here she is in all her cosmetological glory.
the diaper days and tantrums are in the rear view mirror now, thank goodness, and katie's graduation day from college is just over the horizon. right now, we must paint our nails. hopefully many times between now and then.
(notice the technique employed here with pinky in the air!)
yesterday my wonderful little (i mean big girl) niece came over for a couple of hours after school. she's three going on four. or maybe i should say three going on thirteen. she's very precocious, keen to show anyone listening that she can navigate the english language: "auntie, i would like a pink excavator when i grow up. oh, the elevator is what we ride in at the airport." (you see, there has been some confusion about those words--excavator and elevator--and now she has it figured out--but how i'm not sure, since all the adults in her life think the confusion is absolutely adorable and don't really correct her).
anyway, katie was with auntie yesterday. which means that katie says that she loves auntie a lot and fervently and auntie gives katie the world, or at least a second glass of milk and another animal cracker. katie also got a nice bath which was made extra nice because she didn't have to share the tub with her stinky brother who takes up too much space or her girl cousin who is her beloved nemesis. so no conversations like this: you are in my part of the tub. that's my horsey not yours. mine! mine! mine! etc, etc.
the afternoon got brighter and picture-worthy when auntie figured out a way to let katie paint her own toes and fingernails. it's simple: just give her pale pink polish and let her go wild. so here she is in all her cosmetological glory.
the diaper days and tantrums are in the rear view mirror now, thank goodness, and katie's graduation day from college is just over the horizon. right now, we must paint our nails. hopefully many times between now and then.
(notice the technique employed here with pinky in the air!)
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
20
it hit me last night at the most random moment. i was watching dancing with the stars "results show", one of my cheesy pleasures. the band def leopard was performing "pour some sugar on me" while the professional dancers on the show danced a paso doble. (if this is jibberish to you, just focus on the fact that the 80s glam rock band was singing one of their hit singles on the show and dancers were flitting about to the music.). as i was sitting there watching the banderilla steps and the one armed drummer , i mused aloud, "i don't really like this band. i didn't like them 20 years ago and i don't like them now."
then it hit me like a pile of cassette tapes: 20 years ago. i listened to this song 20 years ago. when i was in high school. a senior in high school. i graduated from high school 20 years ago. not about 20 years ago, but exactly 20 years ago. exactly. suddenly i started sweating even more than lead singer joe elliott and the paso doble gang. this year is my 20th year class reunion.
now, i must tell you. i don't freak out about age stuff. not normally, i should say. i freaked out last year when one of my mom's acquaintances turned a bright smile toward me. i freaked out just a little when i went to seminary and lived with people 10 years my junior. but these panic responses didn't last long; in the first case i didn't smile back and in the second i gained life-long friends from the experience. somehow, however, the thought that i have been out of high school for two decades made me jump from my chair and want to go highlight my hair. or do more yoga. or date someone in his early thirties.
what was the difference? undoubtedly a number of things. here are a few. certain landmark dates--like one's 20th year reunion--are meant to be heavy, thought provoking, even course-correcting. you are meant to look back to those "good 'ole days," reconnect with friends from the past, hope that you look roughly like you did back then (or maybe nothing like you did back then!) and take stock of how life has gone for you, while trying not to play the comparison game too much and while trying not to drink too much and embarrass yourself.
another factor in this is that i currently work with youth from three churches. ever since i started in this ministry last year i have had tons of funny moments to realize a) i could easily be these kids' mommy, b) i could help them with their "high school musical" outfits because i actually wore those clothes when i was their age, c) i no longer know the coolest lingo and the latest cool songs (or should I say, "tight" songs?). i now go to the junior department in stores to scope out clothes to make sure that what i wear doesn't make me look like an alien, and i surf for top 40 pop song charts on the internet to get in touch with what everyone's listening to on their iPods. it's not so much that i desire to be cool, uh, tight, it's that i realize that if i am to understand some of their world i must investigate it as an outsider. oh, and i must get a great deal faster at texting.
i'm not ashamed about getting older and i'm not ashamed of what's happened in my life these last 20 years (thanks be to god for his grace). but boy, (and i'm going to sound ancient in saying this) living in a culture that worships youth and youthfulness provides plenty of freakout-able moments, i'm realizing. i can either become emotionally gridlocked, lock myself in my room and watch molly ringwald movies or I can move forward with humor and humility. time passes for us all, even for the young among us (some day iPods and pdas will seem quaint and ancient).
oh, did i mention that i was class president somewhere in there and it's up to me and one other guy to plan our reunions? where's my breakfast club vhs...
then it hit me like a pile of cassette tapes: 20 years ago. i listened to this song 20 years ago. when i was in high school. a senior in high school. i graduated from high school 20 years ago. not about 20 years ago, but exactly 20 years ago. exactly. suddenly i started sweating even more than lead singer joe elliott and the paso doble gang. this year is my 20th year class reunion.
now, i must tell you. i don't freak out about age stuff. not normally, i should say. i freaked out last year when one of my mom's acquaintances turned a bright smile toward me. i freaked out just a little when i went to seminary and lived with people 10 years my junior. but these panic responses didn't last long; in the first case i didn't smile back and in the second i gained life-long friends from the experience. somehow, however, the thought that i have been out of high school for two decades made me jump from my chair and want to go highlight my hair. or do more yoga. or date someone in his early thirties.
what was the difference? undoubtedly a number of things. here are a few. certain landmark dates--like one's 20th year reunion--are meant to be heavy, thought provoking, even course-correcting. you are meant to look back to those "good 'ole days," reconnect with friends from the past, hope that you look roughly like you did back then (or maybe nothing like you did back then!) and take stock of how life has gone for you, while trying not to play the comparison game too much and while trying not to drink too much and embarrass yourself.
another factor in this is that i currently work with youth from three churches. ever since i started in this ministry last year i have had tons of funny moments to realize a) i could easily be these kids' mommy, b) i could help them with their "high school musical" outfits because i actually wore those clothes when i was their age, c) i no longer know the coolest lingo and the latest cool songs (or should I say, "tight" songs?). i now go to the junior department in stores to scope out clothes to make sure that what i wear doesn't make me look like an alien, and i surf for top 40 pop song charts on the internet to get in touch with what everyone's listening to on their iPods. it's not so much that i desire to be cool, uh, tight, it's that i realize that if i am to understand some of their world i must investigate it as an outsider. oh, and i must get a great deal faster at texting.
i'm not ashamed about getting older and i'm not ashamed of what's happened in my life these last 20 years (thanks be to god for his grace). but boy, (and i'm going to sound ancient in saying this) living in a culture that worships youth and youthfulness provides plenty of freakout-able moments, i'm realizing. i can either become emotionally gridlocked, lock myself in my room and watch molly ringwald movies or I can move forward with humor and humility. time passes for us all, even for the young among us (some day iPods and pdas will seem quaint and ancient).
oh, did i mention that i was class president somewhere in there and it's up to me and one other guy to plan our reunions? where's my breakfast club vhs...
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