The Boomer Rants

Then:  Directly Responsible

Now:   Direct Response

I have a vivid memory of standing in the hallway outside my homeroom, with a piece of gum on my nose.  Now, of course, I wasn’t in this predicament by choice, although I did have control over the actions which led to this punishment.

I talked too much.  And I was chewing gum.  Two activities, strictly forbidden in the classroom.  I would have preferred to just spit it out and write  “I will not chew gum in class” until I had filled up an entire notebook rather than stand on display for all the school to see.

But my teacher was a smart man and he knew this would stop my behavior.  Which it did.  Nothing is more embarrassing that standing with a wad of pink stuck on your nose while your crush walks past with all his friends.

My point here, is that back then teachers were allowed to enforce punishments in direct relation to the behavior.  They weren’t afraid of getting sued by their student’s parents and losing their job.  Today, forcing a student to stick gum on their nose could be construed as physical ( if not mental) abuse.

I was directly responsible and I paid the consequences.

In today’s “quick paced – I want it now” world,  many people act without thinking.  Thus,  the huge direct response market.  How many of us have fallen for those late night ads which play on our senses?

At that moment, in the middle of the night, we must have that electronic chopping device  that all but cooks our meals for us.  Or that exercise contraption that helps us lose wait just by looking at it.

If we regret this decision in the morning, we can usually call our credit card company and have the sale reversed.

What happened to taking responsibility?

And I have another question.

What happened to that anti-aging gum I bought last night when I couldn’t fall asleep.   Shouldn’t it have arrived by now?

Quick. Without thinking, answer this question: What is something that you make and then break without even a second thought.

Well, if you answered ‘A New Year’s Resolution,’ then you got it right.

How many times have you made one of these ridiculous commitments, only to end up apologizing to yourself, days or maybe even only hours later?

I admit. I’ve made them, too. And throughout my years, which have been many, I’ve come to the conclusion that the New Year’s Resolution falls into one of four categories: Fire, Water, Earth, and Air.

Let me define these for you.

The Fire Resolution: This is one that is burning inside you. One that you know you’ve just got to make and have to keep. The one that defines who you are. Or so you think. Such as writing a chapter everyday. Knitting five more inches of your shawl every evening. Painting a scene each morning. The desire to accomplish ‘X’ amount everyday so that at the end of the year, you will have that finished manuscript, the perfect shawl, a new painting. But, ah, like any fire burning out of control, you can only keep up this ferocity for so long and it begins to die. ‘Every day’ becomes ‘every other day’ which melds into ‘once a week’ and then, well, just whenever you feel like it. So goes that resolution.

It’s not to say that the book/shawl/painting doesn’t get finished. If something is important to you, you’ll do it. You’ll make the time for it. And you won’t need to set a beginning date.

The Water Resolution: This one has been flowing inside of you for a long time. You need to stop eating sugar. You need to watch less TV. You have to exercise more. But like any tributary it needs a place to stop and collect itself. So, New Year’s Day becomes your personal dam. The day you throw out all the cookies in the house. Cancel HBO. Join the gym.

But several days into the new year, you start having withdrawals and begin to wonder why you imposed such an ‘all or nothing situation’ on yourself. You can eat a little sugar. Why not? And that HBO special about Real Sex is educational. And really, exercising everyday just leads to aches and pains that you can live without.

Stopping any activity cold turkey is just a bunch of hogwash.

The Earth Resolution: This has been revolving through your mind, on and off for years. Like the tide, it ebbs and flows and it’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never found the time. Like learning to foxtrot. Or to take cooking lessons. Or read every book written by Charles Dickens. You just need a date to start it.

But once you do start, the revolutions don’t end. And then one day you ask yourself why are you even doing this?

The Air Resolution, also known as the Peer Pressure Resolution: This is one you make because, well, everyone else is making one and you’re falling under the group mentality. So, you just pluck one from out of thin air.

You’ll let people in front of you in line if they only have one purchase and you have a full cart. You’ll remember to recycle. You’ll answer every e-mail in a timely manner.

This may be the easiest to keep, because after all, you haven’t been obsessing over it. And there is no life-changing consequence involved with the resolution.

But in the end it doesn’t matter which category your New Year’s Resolution falls into. Because one thing is certain – wherever it falls, it’s going to get broken.

THEN:  CASH AND CARRY

NOW:  CLICK AND SAVE

The smell of peppermint coffee. The sound of bickering relatives. The sight of holiday shoppers bumping into each other. The taste of hot buttered rum. The feel of plastic as you swipe that credit card and try not to shudder.

Can it really be happening already? It seems like I was just biting into my first juicy peach and now the winter holidays are barreling toward me. No matter how tightly I close my eyes, cover my ears and duck my head – it’s time to shop!

Every day a new mailer arrives announcing the next “Best Sale” on toys, clothes, books, perfume, computers, cameras, cars. You name it. And not only mailers. This year my e-mail box is cluttered with ads from every site I’ve ever visited, plus some.

As a kid I don’t remember everything being so rushed. November was a wonderful month. The days grew cold and crisp. The leaves turned colors, fell onto the ground. We sat by the fire after dinner, watching TV – as a family.

“Shopping” meant grabbing our coats, piling into the car and driving to the mall. A place where my senses came alive with the surroundings.

Not so anymore. With the invention of the Internet, shopping has changed dramatically. Online sites offer better bargains, no waiting in lines and no confrontations with angry shoppers. But my senses are paying the price. The data they process today is so different from back then.

Instead of seeing life-like, well-dressed mannequins, I stare at clothes and shoes and purses inside little boxes lined up neatly on my computer screen. Cyber lights blink on and off in the borders with the intention of giving me that holiday spirit. But more often than not, they give me a headache.

I used to love to touch soft cashmere sweaters that I might buy for my mom. Or pick up a book and flip through the pages. Now I touch my keyboard, scratch my head. Is the waist really that tiny on that dress? Are those gold buttons too gaudy for my sister? Tapping on the screen enlarges the image. But I still can’t feel the texture.

My computer beeping isn’t quite the same as hearing the sound of the cash register ringing up a sale. And unless I put on a CD, there isn’t any holiday music to keep me in the mood.

Now instead of tasting all those delicious samples offered in food shops such as Williams-Sonoma and Hickory Farms, I have a bitter taste in my mouth every time my computer “times out.” Because it’s inevitable. After hours of careful clicking and moving items into my shopping cart, suddenly I get an error message and the screen goes blank. And I have to start all over again.

After prolonged shopping sessions with my computer, the only thing that I can smell is myself. I get so wrapped up in wanting to finish that I sometimes forget to shower.

Online shopping doesn’t require much grooming. It doesn’t require interaction with real-live people. And after a while it can drive you senseless.

Sure there are good bargains and less crowds, but something is missing: good old-fashioned holiday camaraderie. And Santa Claus. The last time I checked he only made house calls on Christmas Eve.

I may still do some online shopping this year. But I think I also need to grab my coat, get in the car and head for the mall.

After I take as shower, that is.

THEN: Waffle Iron Wonderness

NOW: Waffle Iron Wars

When I was a teenager, Sunday mornings were “waffle” mornings. My dad would get up before the rest of the family, mix up a batch of dough, heat up the waffle maker, put on his apron and wait patiently for the rest of us to wake up. Which we did, to the inviting smell of homemade waffles. Those waves of sweetness would pull my sister and me out of bed and into the kitchen. Now I can’t say that waffles were my favorite food, but just the mention of them evokes those wonderful memories.

That was until yesterday, better known as Black Friday. Now, waffles have taken on a whole new meaning: utter chaos.

Every year people go crazy over some item. Rushing into the store, shoving and pushing. I don’t see the sense of it. Although, getting a $500 iPad for only $300 might be worth the wait.

But a waffle iron? My god! What makes shoppers go so crazy over getting one for $2.00? Is it just the fact that they are getting a bargain? Or did all those insane people really need one?

It makes me wonder how many relatives are now going to get a waffle iron for Christmas?

It’s so absurd that it’s hard to get my brain around what happened. I know times are tough. Money’s tight. We’re all looking for a bargain. But still.

I can only hope that some of those waffle irons will be used to make a delicious Sunday breakfast, much like the ones I used to share with my family. And that lasting memories will be formed.

Then maybe the craziness was worth it.

Maybe.

How about you? Did you shop on Black Friday?

THEN:   SEX, DRUGS & ROCK AND ROLL

NOW:  SEX, DRUGS & ROCK AND ROLL

As long as I can remember “Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll” have been a part of my life. I can’t imagine it having been any other way.

But my involvement with two of these so-called vices has changed considerably over the years.

Let’s start with sex. Suffice it to say that sex in my sixties is not quite the same as sex was during the sixties.  Not that I don’t still have sex, but after thirty years of marriage, I now embrace the concept of “Cuddling with Benefits” rather than the “Free Love” spirit of my hippie days.

My body isn’t as limber, as lustful or as lubricated as it was during the sixties. And I’m definitely not about to undress in front of a bunch of strangers and show off my flap-jack boobs or cottage cheese thighs.

I’m not going to brag about my behavior during the Summer of Love and subsequent years, but I’m not going to condemn it either. It was what it was. And let me tell you, it was a lot of fun.

The world was changing. And as a Baby Boomer I was right there in the thick of it. Of course, as a member of the Baby Boomer Generation, it was much easier for me to indulge in sexual activities than it had been for my mom, a member of the Greatest Generation or my grandmother, who was born into the Lost Generation. And that was because of the birth control pill. Women no longer had to fear getting pregnant. We should have been worried about disease, but we weren’t. We had a drug to prevent unwanted children. Life was good.

This brings me to the second vice: Drugs. Ah – how much fun it was to smoke a joint or drop some LSD and venture out into the world. Everything looked so different in that altered state. Some days my friends and I solved the world’s problems. Other days we simply followed Timothy Leary’s advice. We would “Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out,” watching the clouds drift across the sky.

Today, my mind-altering drug of choice is vodka. As for illegal drugs, I don’t partake anymore. (Well…maybe just a little toke now and then.) Think Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin in It’s Complicated.

And I now have a prescription for the legal drug, Boniva – something I never thought I would need when I was trying out those Kama Sutra positions. Come to think of it, maybe all those manipulations of body parts contributed to my current bone situation.

Finally, we come to Rock & Roll. And this I am happy to report hasn’t changed at all. I still listen to the oldies, but I haven’t shut my mind off to the new groups of today. I don’t complain, as my parents did, about the music my daughter listens to. Or even my grandkids.

Of course, the way I listen to music has changed considerably. Gone are the vinyl record albums, along with all those wonderful album covers. Gone are cassette tape players. It’s now a world of iTunes and iPods. But anyway you listen to it, it’s still music.

The way I see it, music keeps me young and in touch. And on some days, when I listen to Jefferson Airplane singing,  “…don’t you want somebody to love, don’t you need somebody to love, wouldn’t you love somebody to love, you better find somebody to love,” I’m thrown back in time, into an altered state, ready to whip off my top and run wild through the streets of San Francisco.

Of course, then I open my eyes and realize the only place this naked body is going is into my own shower.

THEN:  ASPIRING WRITER

NOW:  WEEKLY COLUMNIST

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always wanted to be a writer.  As I grew older, my goal became more defined.  I dreamed of being a columnist.  Of writing about the world around me in a universal, yet very personal way.  And today, that has come true.

I will be writing for the great website IN THE POWDER ROOM.      Please check out my column every Wednesday in the SHIT HAPPENS category along with those of the other amazing writers.

Every day there will be something new and delicious to devour.

Leave us comments.  Tell us what you think.  Stay for awhile.  And come back often.

http://www.inthepowderroom.com

THEN:  The Candy Bar

NOW:  The Candy Bite

I don’t have a  spooky Halloween story to tell or any scary video to share.    What I’m going to talk about is candy.   And to me the inflation involving the good old candy bar is scary.

I don’t really like candy all that much.  Oh, sure, I crave the occasional Snickers Bar or Peanut Butter Cup every now and then.   But then more than now.

And THEN it was really a candy bar!  At least five or six inches.  Something you could savor for a few minutes, at least.  That bar cost about fifteen cents.  Today, that candy is about an inch long, one bite, and costs approximately sixteen cents.   It’s called the Fun Size bar.   But what’s so fun about it?  You do the math.

We’re getting less.  Paying more.  That doesn’t sound like too much fun to me.

Perhaps dieters appreciate the smaller sized candies.  Just one little bite isn’t much.  But one bite often leads to two bites which leads to three and so on until you’ve devoured half the bag.  In my opinion the little sized candies are a detriment to someone watching their weight.

But I can’t change the future.  Candy bars will no doubt continue to shrink in size as their cost goes up.

No, I can’t change progress (if you can call it that) but I can preserve my memories of Halloween.  Those cold wintry “trick or treat” nights, walking with my neighbors, sucking on candy cigarettes (remember those?), excited to get home and go through my candy stash.

And at least that part hasn’t changed for the kids of today.   Oh, except for the cigarette part.

Happy Halloween!

Then:   Film Development

Now:   Digital Delete

I currently have hundreds of photos on my digital camera.   In order for my friends to see them , they usually have to put on their reading glasses so that they can actually see what they are looking at.  About once a year or after some big event, I’ll finally take out the memory chip and have them printed up.   And then I’ll put all the photos into a big box.   Oh, I’ll frame a few.  But by the time I have the actual hard copy of the photos, I’ve already looked at them a hundred times on the digital screen.

The other day, I ran out of memory (on my camera) and told my granddaughter that I had to get my pictures developed.   Uh?   She looked at me with this quizzical expression. What does developing mean?   And I realized I was using the wrong terminology.  I corrected myself and told her I meant I had to print them up.

But this got me to thinking about how it used to be.  How I would shoot a roll of 24 or 36 pictures and when the roll was finished, I would  take it immediately to get it  developed.  Way back, this process took at least three to five days.   And the prints with come with jagged edges.  Remember those?  As the years passed,  along came the one hour Photomat.  But now, hey, I’ll wait months, even years to print up my memories.   And then sometimes I can’t remember where the photo was even taken!

Back then, some of my photos came out blurry.  Some begged the question: what is that?  But fact is, I developed the entire roll and some of those “Oh, don’t take this, please,” photos were the best ones on the roll.

Now I can see the photo within a second of taking it .  Snap.  Let me see!  The camera is passed around the group.  The same pose might be taken five or six times before everyone is satisfied.  Photos are instantly deleted if someone doesn’t  like their smile or if their eyes are half closed or if a hair is out of place.

To me,  that’s a shame.  Some of  those deleted photos are actually the best ones.  The ones which show us how we really were that day.

And getting that roll of developed film and going through the pictures was always so much fun.  It was like reliving that special birthday dinner or that day at the beach a few weeks after the event.  Now we have that dinner, take photos and look at them on our camera only minutes after the dinner is finished.

We’ve become so accustomed to having everything now.  This moment.  It’s all so instantaneous.

Well, I’m going to make a new vow.  From now I’m going to print up my photos the instant the event is over.  No more waiting until the disc is full.

And then maybe I’ll be able to remember where every photo was taken and actually put them into an album.  Maybe.

Then:  Postcards

Now:  Blog Post

So, I’m looking at my refrigerator door.  Something doesn’t seem quite right.  Photos of my kids and grandkids stare back at me, held up by magnets from Disneyland, Nashville and various other places that I’ve been.  There are drawings of trees and stick people.  And a few coupons for my favorite coffee place.  But still- something is missing?

And then it dawns on me.  I used have postcards.  You know those small 5 by 5 cards with lovely photographs of places around the world.  On the back side would be a short note.   Having fun. Wish you were here.  The message had to be short, much like today’s tweets.  So, the traveler often got creative in her message.  I received notes of endearment from cousins, grandmothers, friends.  Of course, sometimes the postcards would arrive after the traveler returned home.   Sometime, I even sent them to myself as I reminder of where I’d been.

But now…well, with the Internet and social media sites, people tend to post pictures of their trip while they are still on vacation. They write all about all the interesting things they’re doing and by the time they get back there is nothing left to tell.

So why bother sending a postcard?

I’ll tell you why.  The postcard lasts forever. Deltiology, the collecting of postcards is the third largest collectable hobby, surpassed only by stamps and coins.  At least it was up until the Digital revolution.   I imagine both postcards and stamps will no longer attract many of the younger generation.  Hey, they may not even know what a stamp is decades from now.

But fact it, postcards tell the history of our country.

And who doesn’t love to sit down on a rainy day and go through memory boxes. Sit cross-legged on the floor with a glass of hot tea.

Scrolling down a computer screen does not evoke the same memories. At least for me.  Touching a postcard somehow brings me closer to the photograph I’m looking at.  With it between my fingers, I can almost smell the scene I am looking at – be it an ocean, a bed of flowers or a Parisian night club.  Almost taste that plate of pasta on the table in a fancy Italian restaurant.   And hear the stars whispering to each other as they appear over the Pacific Ocean.

How about you?  When was the last time you sent a postcard?