Monday, July 27, 2015

Addendums: Skinned Standard Standard

Okay, this is embarrassing....

Yesterday, while weeding, it suddenly came to me. I stood right up and exclaimed, "I can't believe I forgot that!" Yes, my "Standard Standard" blog was supposed to include the double standard related to those in the superstar universe. I had specifically been thinking about Madonna vs. Mick Jagger...

....but, I totally forgot that part for the blog, which is rather humorous, considering the title of said blog.

I was going to whine about how sick and tired I am hearing about Madonna "not acting her age," while Mick Jagger, who is a decade and a half older than her can prance around shirtless on the stage and everyone commends him. People don't say the Rolling Stones are too old to be on stage or to do whatever antics they please. When Madonna does things that are provocative in one capacity or another, she is told to "act her age." (Do I think it's fabulous she wears a grill? No. But, I would have thought that no matter her age.) Both Madonna and Mick Jagger are superstars beyond compare. Both changed the history of music. Yet, it is okay for the older men to do what is not okay for older woman to do.

Madonna's--and the Rolling Stones'--ability to shred the competition in putting on a concert should give them permission to do whatever they damn well please. Both have earned the right to act whatever age they want. Madonna's breaking down of barriers and smashing things previously deemed taboo demand respect of those who can do as they please BECAUSE of her. All her antics opened doors for performers of today. Respect to Mother Madge, no matter how she acts at her "advanced age."

Besides, she's a hell of a lot better looking than any of those Stones' men. 

Forget who can sing better or dance better or or put on a better concert. Comparing them is apples to oranges. I'm only noting the double standard. Hollywood, I spit on you.

I'd go on and on, but this is an addendum. So, enough said.

As for the Skinned Addendum, I am sad--or, happy--to report to "my" first group of gravity-tattered friends that "my" second group of friends look AMAZING. Gravity has nothing on these ladies. I did indeed look like a pervert as I stared at their skin. As was the case with the first group, the summer time boating attire featured much bare skin. Group Number two is definitely defying gravity. (Dear god, do you know how many accidental "hits" I'm going to get on this blog for including that descriptor? Four bazillion pre-teens are going to google defying gravity and end up reading about all these old people. Respect your elders, youngsters! Your skin is gonna get cheesy, too!) I'm telling you--group number two's legs did not feature the cheesy wiblet hell holding group one hostage. Although this made me sad--after all, I'm in the cheesy wiblet pile--I was really, really impressed with this group. So, I cannot say across the board that gravity always takes its toll by the time we are 60.

Madonna, by the way, does not sport cheesy wiblets. 

(Neither does the skin and bones Mr. Jagger. He definitely doesn't have any wiblets of any kind.)

Does this give me hope? Of course! Does this mean I'm going to change my diet or exercise or anything? Of course not! Instead, I'm going to listen to Madonna music and celebrate her continued efforts to crush those things of which need to be crushed. Like Madonna says: she was fearless like a renagade...she came, she saw, she conquered.

Standard Standard? Madonna's not worried. Veni, Vedi, Vici, bitches.

Veni, Vedi, Vici. Look it up, you who think she's too old to do what she's doing. Don't you standard standard my beloved Madge.
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I gotta go back to weeding so I can remember all the other things I forgot.  Happy Addendum-ing!
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Saturday, July 25, 2015

Skinned

Bad news, Addiverse visitors...it has finally happened. I took a gander at the list of top ten pop songs and I recognized NONE of them. I've dreaded this day for years and now it has come to fruition. Truly a sign of getting old and crusty. Thankfully, a second look at the list allowed me the satisfaction of knowing (but certainly not liking) one of the songs--it had a title of which I didn't recognize but then I figured out I did indeed know (and again, did not like).

Switching gears. Gravity is a cruel, cruel master. (Told you I'm switching gears. But, not really. It all ties in.) Yes, we need gravity to stay attached to this world but it's an ugly force when one looks at her....

....five decade old skin. Specifically: five decade old female skin.

(I have no idea about guy skin. That's for a different blog. I'll have to do some research.)

The other day, we were hanging out with a bunch of female friends who just happen to be a bit older than us (from a few years older to up to a decade older). As it's summer and as it was mighty hot, not many items of coverage were being employed. Tank tops and shorts were the fashion of the day.

Before I go further, I think it best to note that over the past few months I've been kind of freaked out about my skin. Specifically, how gravity really does a job on skin, especially as one ages. I'm not talking about freckles and crow's feet or age spots (although I am not a fan of the age spots in any capacity). I'm talking about gravity-destroyed skin stuff.

Don't even get me started on those cheesy wiblets. 

No one tells you about this issue when you're younger. Oh, they say things like, "stay out of the sun" or "don't get sunburned 'cause you'll get skin cancer." But, they don't say things like, "Your skin is gonna look like orange peels and cheesy wiblets, right down to your ankles, when you get older, so go ahead and fry in the sun." No one says, "it doesn't matter if you are skinny or not--gravity is going to have say about how your skin looks, so you might as well eat that third cookie." Everyone assumes those skinny bitches are going to have to worry about cheesy anything.

Well, I beg to differ. Skinny bitches of my relative age sing the same song as everyone else. Gravity is the master in this domain.

I am a normal size and I'm in good health but my thighs are screaming YOU ARE 53! I do not know when this cheesy wiblet thing fully took over but it is here and now, and my legs now suggest my true age. Forget the little jowls or changing face. That stuff is the stuff of real lie. But, this leg thing. Sheesh.

Back to the friends. I admit that I spent more time staring at their skin than I did staring at the beauty of nature surrounding us. We all have "gravity has screwed our skin" sagging, lumpy, wrinkly look. Even the skinniest of the bunch--and, she is definitely underweight for her height--had the cheesy wiblet-marked-gravity-ruined skin-on-thighs.

I was secretly very pleased by this. Don't tell anyone. Eh, they don't read my blog so I'll say what I want. That's what they get for not reading my blog.

There was sagging skin from all sorts of places....back of arms were waving to me, sunny-in-Cleveland skin was wrinklier than an un-ironed linen shirt, throat wobblers were wobbling more than I remember from the past...and, sagging from the back of the knees! How is this even possible?!! Most of them had nice, smooth, unblemished-by-the-sun skin...but, all sported gravity-tainted skin. I had no idea this gravity-pocked-wiblet-thigh-and-moving-south thing would happen. Oh sure, I've seen the skin of those around me but I've never really paid attention to what was happening until I noticed the issue on my legs. (Yes, while sitting on the toilet. That's when I really noticed.)

I've decided that unless you are eating some raw-food diet, working out 7 hours a day, 7 days a week AND have a good surgeon, your skin is gonna look like my skin.

Or, at least something like mine. I suppose you'll have to eat a lot of sugar in order to do a fair comparison.

(Actually, I'm not even sure if eating a raw diet and running daily marathons would help. I've seen some mighty-healthy female runners wobble with the best of them.)

I thought about getting into better shape but that sounded tiring. 

I don't know if this is an American thing or a global female thing. Only middle-class, Midwestern American females were in view, so this is a very small sampling of lumpy thighs. I'll have to expand my worldly view before I can speak on that.

Later today, we are going out with a different group of friends--same kind of age group, same kind of deal (hot weather, not a lot of clothing). I'll be able to scope out what gravity has--or, has not done--to their skinned-covered beings. I'm guessing this lot is a bit healthier, but they will also represent those who spent a LOT of time in the sun, decades on end. I'll be looking at them instead of the scenery.

I hope they don't think I'm some pervert. I'm not. I'm doing scientific research.

Or, maybe I'm doing therapy. I sure did feel a whole lot better after spying that last group of friends' gravity-based skin. Cheap therapy. Self Therapy.

I feel better already. Bring on the swimsuit.

Friday, July 17, 2015

Standard Standard

Get it? Double standard!

 How've you been? I've missed you. I am sure you have been having fun and practicing safe sunning during my "absence." While you were out doing summery things, I was recovering from carrying a recycled screen door home. No, I'm kidding. Along with a purposeful silence and wasting a ridiculous amount of time pinning Doctor Who memes and tattoos, a trip to Minneapolis was squeezed in to my already entertaining schedule, with the purpose being attendance at an art therapy conference. There is nothing like hanging out with 1000 art therapists. I shall refrain from saying much about it, as I like being a professional in the field. Suffice it to say, hanging out there makes me look pretty normal. That should scare all of you.

A purposeful silence? Although I am having trouble with "training furballs" again (so much talking, so many furballs), that's not what I mean. Oh, how I don't want to get all serious and political on here, even though it's my mundane blog and I can certainly do whatever I dang well please. Perhaps it is unwise to temper my feisty naughtiness--it might lead to some body part exploding or an intense case of constipation. Good or bad, right or wrong...there is so much fodder in the world right now. From The Donald running for president to Caitlyn Jenner accepting a sports award to continued arguments about whether a cake baker should have to bake a cake for a gay wedding....fodder, fodder, fodder. (I will say that why on earth would I want a cake from someone who doesn't want to bake my cake? I mean, I'm gonna eat that cake of which they probably spit in or used Ex-Lax in the chocolate frosting. Forget it!)

That said, I can't keep my yapper shut about the continued pay inequity for women. (So much for that self-imposed silence.) How is it that in this day and age the world's champion Women's Soccer team brings home a total of TWO million dollars in prize money while the world's champions Men's soccer team brings home a THIRTY FIVE million purse? Don't blame it on viewership--the women's soccer thing had a bazillion people watching, including Americans (who don't seem to grasp the concept of soccer on a very profound basis). In Addiverse math, in the U.S. viewership, the men had 167 total viewers, while the women had 167 trillion viewers. Perhaps I'll stick to watching things like Wimbledon, where the men and women get paid the same thing.

I still remember having a conversation about such inequity with my cousin in 1989. Yes, I am sure it was 1989. During a trip to the Grand Canyon, we passed a female construction worker holding up one of those slow/stop signs at the beginning of a construction zone. I mentioned how men get paid more money to do that job....a man holding a slow/stop sign got more money to stand in the same place, doing the same thing. I thought that absurd. I was wrong. What's absurd is that it is 25 years later and the inequity continues. People! Today, women get paid an average of 78 cents to every man's one dollar. God help you if you are a woman living in Louisiana--you'll be lucky to average 66 cents to the guy's dollar. Since there are NO states where the men and women make the same pay, I feel confident about my choice to babble about it for a few minutes here. I'm done now. Carry on.

 As for Minneapolis, it was a whirl-wind of a stop so I can't say much profound about it. The hotel was 1.5 miles away from the conference, so I had time to walk downtown on my way to/from the happenings. My first impression? "Everyone in this city smokes!" It was the weirdest thing. As I was walking down the street, I was engulfed in cloud of cigarette smoke. There were so many smokers that they even had the balls to smoke right under a sign stating "no smoking withing 25 feet." (How could I NOT take a photo????) As I looked around, it seemed like everyone was (1) wearing a backpack and (2) smoking. I found this odd, as Minny seems like such a healthy city--after all, everyone is walking around wearing back packs--so, I found a local art therapist at the conference and inquired about this. At first, she seemed confused and surprised by this. After a few seconds of contemplation, the light bulb went off:

Minny-Peep: "How do you like the city so far?"

Me: "Oh, it seems very nice! I have noticed something, though--it's like everyone smokes."

Minny-peep: [puzzled look]

Me: "I walk to and from the conference. It just seems like everyone smokes--I feel like I'm walking through a cloud of smoke. It seems weird, considering everyone appears to be walking everywhere and busy being healthy."

Minny-peep: [still puzzled]

Me: [waiting....oh geez, I've insulted her home town]

Minny-peep: [see light bulb go on]: "Oh! Everyone smokes outside. There is no where inside to smoke, so smokers smoke while they are walking to and from places."

That made complete sense. No smoking inside means ya gotta smoke outside. Since everyone is always walking here and there, the smokers are walking and smoking at the same time. Mystery solved.

As there was little free time in my conference trip schedule, the only thing I really got done that wasn't conference-related was a spontaneous trip to a Twins' baseball game. I can't resist a visit to a ballpark. (PNC Park and Petco Park, be proud--you remain on the top of my list.) The Twins were playing the Detroit Tigers, so that was a bonus--I'd never seen the Tigers play. I love when stadiums are incorporated into the downtown areas--you know, with a view like this. While I love the Cubs, Wrigley doesn't have this kind of feel. It has a feel, a mystique, of course but it is not this kind of feel. Target Field is nice enough--very clean, inviting, great view, good food, expansive grounds, easily accessed by foot--it didn't make my top three parks. That's okay--it was still fabulous and it was a great compliment to an art therapy conference.

I look forward to the day I can visit Baltimore and Fenway....oh, how I want to see the Green Monster in person.

I saw my Minny-peep the next day at the conference. She asked how my stay was going. I mentioned that I went to a Twins' game the night before. She seemed perplexed by this....almost as much as she had been about my smoking question. I guess art therapists visit art museums and artsy-galas, not MLB games.  I could tell that a Twins' game was not in her realm. I didn't bother to tell her that I got my first tattoo while at an art therapy conference back in the 1990's. I figured that would really befuckle her.

Speaking of tattoos....a last thought about Minneapolis. I didn't see many tattoos. Backpacks and cigarettes: yes. Tattoos: not so much. In Pittsburgh, tattoos were everywhere. I couldn't believe the volume of tattoos I saw while walking in Steel City. Minny, not so much. Art therapists aren't exactly sporting a plethora of tattoos, either, so that was disappointing. I do love seeing a good (or bad) tattoo when wandering the nation.

Good news is that tattoos cost the same thing whether you're a man or a woman. I have no idea if women tattoo artists get paid the same as the guy tattoo artists. I feel a research project coming on.....


Monday, July 06, 2015

Storming the Door

The Fourth of July holiday weekend found us doing something that we have NEVER done before; in fact, if I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have believed it.

The back story: the wife, one of the most dedicated recyclers on the planet, is always lamenting about the people who drive around the night before garbage day, looking for little treasures on the curb. She always mutters how that is illegal and I retort how I don't understand why that is illegal--it seems like a good thing to me:

The wife: "Ugh! There's someone else going through the garbage. THAT'S ILLEGAL!"

Me: "For someone who is all about recycling, I'd think you'd like it when people took things out of the trash. That's the ultimate in recycling."

The wife: "Well, it's illegal. They shouldn't do that." [Goes about her business, muttering about the merits of recycling.]

Every.Single.Time. 

The wife worries about the pill bottle I just threw in the garbage, as I'm supposed to recycle that...yet, she frets about people taking things to re-use them. It's not like they are making a mess. They "shop" and go. It doesn't seem illegal to me but I'm sure it is (after all, the wife knows her recycling laws) and I have to believe there is some reason the law is in place. (I've never seen the law but I'll take the wife at her word.)

So, imagine this: while walking the dog on the morning of July 3rd, we came across a brand new storm door window. The item in question was propped up between two green garbage cans filled with lawn refuge. We both saw it at the same time, with both of us commenting on how weird it was that this door window was at the curb with the garbage. It was obviously waiting for a trip to the landfill. A closer look showed that it still had the original stickers on it and that it was indeed brand new. An even closer look by the wife led to the discovery that it was the exact brand and size of our existing storm door.

She looked toward the building and mentioned how the people had a new storm door. She looked toward the window between the garbage cans and then back toward the newly-installed door.

It was then I saw it--the wheels turning, the internal angst, the pros-vs.-cons....

...The wife was actually thinking about how to get this storm door home!

We were a little over a 1/4 mile from home. We're walking a 105 year old dog. It's hot out. I looked at the window and then looked at the wife. The window looked heavy.

Did I mention we were walking?

The wife decided we needed this window, illegal scavenging be damned! I offered to walk ahead and get the car but she declined, saying it won't fit in the car and that she could carry the window home. I think I mentioned the illegality of the operation of which we about to partake and I may have mentioned ten or eleven times about her stance on garbage-picking, but I think she had selective hearing and thus went over to the window. She picked it up and started home.

I couldn't let her have all the fun or bear all the load, so I grabbed part of the frame with one hand and dragged the dog along with my other hand. It really was pretty heavy, more so because it was an awkward thing to carry. Sweaty hands make it hard to hang on to a storm door window.

We marched down the street, hoping not to cross paths with some unsuspecting neighbor.

Of course, we did indeed run into a neighbor. Try explaining what's going on when carrying a glass storm door down the street. At first, she didn't seem to see the glass. At second glance, she seemed perplexed but still offered to help. We politely declined and kept on moving.

When we finally got home (like, three weeks later....or, so it seemed), the wife zipped into the garage and confirmed her victory. The window was indeed the same brand and size and it was nicer than the window we already owned.

Score one for the wife. Two thumbs up for the landfill.

Now that she's faced the thrill of victory, maybe she'll look a little more kindly at the scavengers....

After all, she's one of them now. 

Perhaps this adventure will allow her to view the weekly scavengers as magicians instead of as criminals. After all, recycling turns stuff into other stuff and that is pretty magical.

So, recycle.

Reuse.

Refuse.

Re-purpose the neighbor's door.

Personally, I recycle whenever possible in an effort to save the Earth...






We all have priorities.