One of the perks of my job is getting reader feedback. It's nice to know that the words you're penning are actually being read, even if it's just to give people something to complain about.
Take this recent letter, for example:
"i am pretty sure you are the person i wish to contact. i was reading the marion voice out of marion NY. i was pleased to find a list of school supplies for the upcoming school year but what shocked me was that on the opposite page of supplies was a column you wrote about which reality tv show was real or made up. the one that caused me to get upset was i believe it was called 'cat house' the daily life of an opertating whore house. i read it over and over to make sure i was seeing what i thought i was seeing. i just couldnt believe something like that was in a local paper , the front page having pictures of local athletes, im sure their parents will want to save that edition, and to have the word 'whore house' just a few flips away??? i just found that completely ridiculous. and to make matters worse, i went to your website and saw how you write for christan papers as well and were talking about God. all im saying is that do what you want, say what you want, afterall it is America, but have some class about it and remember your readers. thank you"
My response:
"Thanks for your email! (Your name was either cut off or not included in the email so I apologize for the impersonal greeting.)
The fact that the premise for the show 'Cat House' was so outrageous was the reason I included it in the humor piece. Hard to believe that something like that actually runs on television, isn't it? I apologize if you were offended by the words 'whorehouse'; that is the term the network used to describe the show. I don't agree that using the term is either classless or unChristian, but I do sincerely understand your point and appreciate your feedback. I'll try and be more sensitive next time.
Unfortunately, I have no control over the fact that the piece was located next to the school supply list.
Thanks again for taking time to write.
All the best,
Joanne Brokaw
www.joannebrokaw.com"
The reader is refering to my column "Test Your Reality TV IQ", where I listed summaries of reality TV shows and readers had to guess which were real.
The irony is that the reader was offended by the use of the term "whorehouse" but not by the premise of the show; it's a reality TV show chronicling the daily activites in a working whorehouse. He/she must have been so upset he/she missed the term "Pimp" in the made up show "Pimp My Pet", which was listed directly below "Cathouse".
He/she also wasn't bothered by the premise of "Playing It Straight", the real show where one woman who tries to win money by figuring out which of the men she's dating is gay. I think that's disgusting. Or how about the show where people undergo plastic surgery to look like their favorite celebrity? That makes me sick.
I guess what I learn from reader letters like this is that people don't care what you write about as long as you use words that don't make them uncomfortable. I learned that the word "pimp" must now be approved for use in everyday conversation, while "whore", which is used several times in the Bible, is not allowed in print. (Thanks, Mike, for pointing that one out to me.)
Monday, August 22, 2005
Sometimes when I can't sleep, I get up in the middle of the night and read reference books. It's a sort of oddball obsession I have, flipping through the World Almanac, or surfing the web and noting strange statistics. What can I say? I like trivial research. And late night snacks.
Tonight is one of those nights. Care to join me? Pull up an Oreo and let's see what random information we can find ...
* * * * *
Did you know that the chances that you will be accidentally killed in a firearms mishap are far less than any other accident?
Here, according to the World Almanac are the numbers for accidental deaths in 2002:
Motor vehicle 44,000
Poisoning 15,700
Falls 14,500
Ingestion of food/object 4,200
Drowning 3,000
Fire, flames or smoke 2,900
Mechanical suffocation 1,300
Firearms 800
You're five times more likely to choke on a chicken bone than to get accidentally killed by a gunshot. And yet no one wants to outlaw chicken ...
* * * * *
How about this? According to World Christian Trends, the personal income of Christians in the US is estimated for 2005 at $17,350,000,000. (That's $17 trillion.) Giving to Christian causes totaled $340 billion. That's less than the $370 billion "The Passion of the Christ" took in at the box office in 2004.
* * * * *
There are 37,000 different Christian denominations worldwide and 3,714,000 worship centers.
There are more Christians in Africa, Asia, Europe and Latin America than there are in N. America (World Almanac 2004)
According to the World Almanc for Kids, "the world's largest Christian church is in Yamoussoukro, the capital city of Cote d'Ivoire, Africa. Modeled on St. Peter's in Rome, Our Lady of Peace seats 7,000 people, with standing room for about 12,000 more."
* * * * *
Have you ever read the first amendment to the Constitution? It doesn't say anything about keeping religion out of government. It's purpose is to keep the government out of religion:
"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peacably to asssemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."
Where on earth did we get the notion that we're not allowed to freely practice religion? When did the government take it upon themselves to ignore this amendment and start bossing everyone around? And when did Christians stop understanding their Constitutional rights? Practice your faith, speak it freely, and be peacable about it, for goodness sake. How much easier could it be?
* * * * *
Did you know that (from www.corsinet.com) :
- a cluster of bananas is called a hand and consists of 10 to 20 bananas, which are known as fingers?
- chocolate contains phenylethylamine (PEA), a natural substance that causes the same reaction in the body as falling in love? (No wonder I love chocolate so much ... bananas and chocolate ... maybe I'll have some ice cream ...)
- McDonalds and Burger King sugar-coat their fries so they will turn golden-brown?
- Hindus don't eat beef so the McDonald's in New Delhi makes its burgers with mutton?
- a typical American eats 28 pigs in his or her lifetime?
* * * * *
OK, I'm done reading tonight. I have a list of notes and column ideas and I'm finally tired. But I'm not hungry. Definitely not hungry any more.
Tonight is one of those nights. Care to join me? Pull up an Oreo and let's see what random information we can find ...
* * * * *
Did you know that the chances that you will be accidentally killed in a firearms mishap are far less than any other accident?
Here, according to the World Almanac are the numbers for accidental deaths in 2002:
Motor vehicle 44,000
Poisoning 15,700
Falls 14,500
Ingestion of food/object 4,200
Drowning 3,000
Fire, flames or smoke 2,900
Mechanical suffocation 1,300
Firearms 800
You're five times more likely to choke on a chicken bone than to get accidentally killed by a gunshot. And yet no one wants to outlaw chicken ...
* * * * *
How about this? According to World Christian Trends, the personal income of Christians in the US is estimated for 2005 at $17,350,000,000. (That's $17 trillion.) Giving to Christian causes totaled $340 billion. That's less than the $370 billion "The Passion of the Christ" took in at the box office in 2004.
* * * * *
There are 37,000 different Christian denominations worldwide and 3,714,000 worship centers.
There are more Christians in Africa, Asia, Europe and Latin America than there are in N. America (World Almanac 2004)
According to the World Almanc for Kids, "the world's largest Christian church is in Yamoussoukro, the capital city of Cote d'Ivoire, Africa. Modeled on St. Peter's in Rome, Our Lady of Peace seats 7,000 people, with standing room for about 12,000 more."
* * * * *
Have you ever read the first amendment to the Constitution? It doesn't say anything about keeping religion out of government. It's purpose is to keep the government out of religion:
"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peacably to asssemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."
Where on earth did we get the notion that we're not allowed to freely practice religion? When did the government take it upon themselves to ignore this amendment and start bossing everyone around? And when did Christians stop understanding their Constitutional rights? Practice your faith, speak it freely, and be peacable about it, for goodness sake. How much easier could it be?
* * * * *
Did you know that (from www.corsinet.com) :
- a cluster of bananas is called a hand and consists of 10 to 20 bananas, which are known as fingers?
- chocolate contains phenylethylamine (PEA), a natural substance that causes the same reaction in the body as falling in love? (No wonder I love chocolate so much ... bananas and chocolate ... maybe I'll have some ice cream ...)
- McDonalds and Burger King sugar-coat their fries so they will turn golden-brown?
- Hindus don't eat beef so the McDonald's in New Delhi makes its burgers with mutton?
- a typical American eats 28 pigs in his or her lifetime?
* * * * *
OK, I'm done reading tonight. I have a list of notes and column ideas and I'm finally tired. But I'm not hungry. Definitely not hungry any more.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
I've spent most of this week trying to figure out what I want my new website to look like, and driving my web designer crazy.
When I started out, I thought I wanted something bright and sassy, something to highlight my humor writing. I collected pictures and color swatches for things that struck me as ... well, "me". I gave Keith a list of writers websites I hated along with some other things I didn't want on my site. But I couldn't put a finger on what I did want.
To be fair, Keith said that he'd come back with something I'd hate, then we'd make some changes and I'd hate them less, and eventually I'd love the design. But I didn't believe him. I thought he could get inside my head and figure out the perfect design right off the bat. Turns out he's a prophet and I'm a multiple personality.
The first few designs looked fantastic - very professional, nicely done, bright - but I didn't like them, mostly because I thought that they weren't "me". He did a great recreation of my business card (I love my business cards) that looked great but again, not "me". It's what I asked for but not what I liked.
I finally told him to take a break because I was driving us both crazy, and I spent an entire day - literally - staring at the computer screen and the three designs we had so far. One had bright fall-like watercolor trees across the top to match my business cards. One was softer pastel with folk art trees across the top. The other a more geometric bright green with a graphic. I sent the links to my friends and family and asked for feedback. Everyone liked a different design, and this is when I came to a stark realization: Not only do I not understand "me", neither does anyone else!
Some people thought one design really captured me while others said the same design was nothing like me. Some people picked the one I liked least and said it was exactly me. Others picked the one I was leaning towards and said it didn't reflect me at all.
What does that say? Maybe I should change my name to Sybil.
After a day of staring at the monitor, I finally called Keith and told him that while all of the designs were extremely well done, the one thing that I loved and kept coming back to was the pastel background behind the folk art trees. It looked like water at sunset. I told him that it made me feel like I was sitting under a cabana on the beach with a notebook on my lap, a pen behind my ear, and a handsome waiter on the way with with a pina colada. That's me. Lying around, thinking about writing, and waiting for someone to wait on me.
I had him take off the trees and play around with a few things just to satify my curiosity and viola! I fell in love! Instead of a graphic, my name is prominent on the page. Good, it's all about me anyway, isnt it?
The new site should be up sometime in September - if I haven't driven Keith crazy by then. He's probably relieved he's not also a photographer, since I also need a new head shot. Should I wear my hair up or down? Straight or curly? Glasses or no glasses? Inside or outside? With the dog? What should I wear? ...
When I started out, I thought I wanted something bright and sassy, something to highlight my humor writing. I collected pictures and color swatches for things that struck me as ... well, "me". I gave Keith a list of writers websites I hated along with some other things I didn't want on my site. But I couldn't put a finger on what I did want.
To be fair, Keith said that he'd come back with something I'd hate, then we'd make some changes and I'd hate them less, and eventually I'd love the design. But I didn't believe him. I thought he could get inside my head and figure out the perfect design right off the bat. Turns out he's a prophet and I'm a multiple personality.
The first few designs looked fantastic - very professional, nicely done, bright - but I didn't like them, mostly because I thought that they weren't "me". He did a great recreation of my business card (I love my business cards) that looked great but again, not "me". It's what I asked for but not what I liked.
I finally told him to take a break because I was driving us both crazy, and I spent an entire day - literally - staring at the computer screen and the three designs we had so far. One had bright fall-like watercolor trees across the top to match my business cards. One was softer pastel with folk art trees across the top. The other a more geometric bright green with a graphic. I sent the links to my friends and family and asked for feedback. Everyone liked a different design, and this is when I came to a stark realization: Not only do I not understand "me", neither does anyone else!
Some people thought one design really captured me while others said the same design was nothing like me. Some people picked the one I liked least and said it was exactly me. Others picked the one I was leaning towards and said it didn't reflect me at all.
What does that say? Maybe I should change my name to Sybil.
After a day of staring at the monitor, I finally called Keith and told him that while all of the designs were extremely well done, the one thing that I loved and kept coming back to was the pastel background behind the folk art trees. It looked like water at sunset. I told him that it made me feel like I was sitting under a cabana on the beach with a notebook on my lap, a pen behind my ear, and a handsome waiter on the way with with a pina colada. That's me. Lying around, thinking about writing, and waiting for someone to wait on me.
I had him take off the trees and play around with a few things just to satify my curiosity and viola! I fell in love! Instead of a graphic, my name is prominent on the page. Good, it's all about me anyway, isnt it?
The new site should be up sometime in September - if I haven't driven Keith crazy by then. He's probably relieved he's not also a photographer, since I also need a new head shot. Should I wear my hair up or down? Straight or curly? Glasses or no glasses? Inside or outside? With the dog? What should I wear? ...
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Sometimes I really love my job.
I know, I vent a lot about what I don't like, what frustrates me or makes me roll my eyes. But deep down, I love what I do. Especially when I clean my desk and the surrounding piles of CDs and plop a random CD into the walkman while I (attempt to) clean, and I hit on something like "The Imposer", by Kevin Max.
Maybe I was just in the right frame of mind to listen to the new album, which hits stores in October. Today I went out looking for a Psychadelic Furs album, itching a bit for some of that Euro-rock I listened to in college, and this album scratches that itch for sure. It's kinda like the Furs meets David Bowie meets cool. Rare when a Christian album is that good, isn't it?
The album is an emotive, poetic rush of energy that wraps itself around you in a storm of sound. I'm loving it. I wish I had more press material to look at the lyrics and song stories; I'm sure that'll come later. For now, I'm just glad I cleaned my desk.
I know, I vent a lot about what I don't like, what frustrates me or makes me roll my eyes. But deep down, I love what I do. Especially when I clean my desk and the surrounding piles of CDs and plop a random CD into the walkman while I (attempt to) clean, and I hit on something like "The Imposer", by Kevin Max.
Maybe I was just in the right frame of mind to listen to the new album, which hits stores in October. Today I went out looking for a Psychadelic Furs album, itching a bit for some of that Euro-rock I listened to in college, and this album scratches that itch for sure. It's kinda like the Furs meets David Bowie meets cool. Rare when a Christian album is that good, isn't it?
The album is an emotive, poetic rush of energy that wraps itself around you in a storm of sound. I'm loving it. I wish I had more press material to look at the lyrics and song stories; I'm sure that'll come later. For now, I'm just glad I cleaned my desk.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Frustration.
I got some edits back on a piece I was working on for a magazine, and noticed that a direct quote had been changed but left in quotation marks. When I asked about it, the editor said they do that sometimes to clarify the quote.
I am a stickler for things like proper quote attribution in an article. When I submit a piece to an editor, they can be sure that if I put quotes around a person's comments, that person said exactly those words, and meant them in the context of the paragraph. I'll replay an interview tape several times to clarify one word or not use the quote at all if I can't be sure I've got it exactly. If the direct quote just needs to have a word changed for clarification, I'll go back to the interviewee and ask them for permission to change or clarify. If I can't quote it directly, I'll paraphrase and use an indirect quote.
But I'll never change a direct quote to fit a word count or to make the sentence sound better. And yet it's something I encounter more and more with writers and editors who should know better.
I was at a press conference once, and the writer next to me scribbled a comment made by the speaker but wrote it down incorrectly. When I pointed out the error he said, "Who cares. No one knows what he really said." Oh, but I knew, and he did too.
It's a slipperly slope. One minute you're "fixing" quotes to make them sound better. The next, you're making up stuff that didn't happen because it adds flavor to the story. Get caught once, and everything you've ever written is questioned. Just ask Mitch Albom.
Not that there isn't room for error. Even journalists are human. We screw up. But intentionally putting words in someone's mouth - even if it sounds better than what they really said - is wrong.
I got some edits back on a piece I was working on for a magazine, and noticed that a direct quote had been changed but left in quotation marks. When I asked about it, the editor said they do that sometimes to clarify the quote.
I am a stickler for things like proper quote attribution in an article. When I submit a piece to an editor, they can be sure that if I put quotes around a person's comments, that person said exactly those words, and meant them in the context of the paragraph. I'll replay an interview tape several times to clarify one word or not use the quote at all if I can't be sure I've got it exactly. If the direct quote just needs to have a word changed for clarification, I'll go back to the interviewee and ask them for permission to change or clarify. If I can't quote it directly, I'll paraphrase and use an indirect quote.
But I'll never change a direct quote to fit a word count or to make the sentence sound better. And yet it's something I encounter more and more with writers and editors who should know better.
I was at a press conference once, and the writer next to me scribbled a comment made by the speaker but wrote it down incorrectly. When I pointed out the error he said, "Who cares. No one knows what he really said." Oh, but I knew, and he did too.
It's a slipperly slope. One minute you're "fixing" quotes to make them sound better. The next, you're making up stuff that didn't happen because it adds flavor to the story. Get caught once, and everything you've ever written is questioned. Just ask Mitch Albom.
Not that there isn't room for error. Even journalists are human. We screw up. But intentionally putting words in someone's mouth - even if it sounds better than what they really said - is wrong.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Ok, so this is going to be a random post which you may choose to ignore. I have a column due ... yesterday ... and I have no ideas so I'm going to brainstorm out loud ...
A few very random observations from Kingdom Bound:
- the line up of bands was pretty light this year, and why was By The Tree scheduled against Jeremy Camp? Argh. I hate when that happens.
- When the kids got to meet Skillet, one of John's favorite bands, Stephanie said, "Do you think John is jealous that we got to meet them?" Carole replied, "John got to meet Jesus. I don't think he's jealous of us."
- During the Newsboys concert, on the first night of the festival, the most amazing thing happened. It had been raining, and there was still incredible lightning crackling across the sky in this weird and eerie pattern - not bolts of lightning, but branches of lightning traveling sideways as if the sky was shattering like glass. As Peter Furler was singing "Host of Heaven, sing over me", the sky was filled with the shattering lightning and rolling thunder. Wild stuff.
- I spend four days in heat and dirt with flies, walking miles and miles from stage to stage, and it got me thinking again about Amardeep, the little boy I sponsor in India through Compassion. His hut is probably the size of my tent. I would imagine that dirt, heat and flies are commonplace where he lives. What's my problem?
- It also got me thinking about missions. I always think of missions as how I can help someone else. I'm going there to help them, as if I have something special to offer. But what we don't count on is how they affect us - how halfway around the world, a little boy I'll probably never meet prays for me and writes me letters and impacts my world. How the children in Mexico touch your heart simply by asking you to eat lunch with them, even when they can't talk to you. By all standards, I'm richer, healthier, safer, and living a "better" lifestyle, and yet instead of me changing their lives, they changed mine. Funny, isn't it, how God works that way, helping you to get over yourself?
- I've come to the conclusion that I'm a good networker because I'm not in it for me. When I meet someone new, I'm always thinking in the back of my head how I can connect them with someone who can help them or who they can help. Is that good or bad? I don't know.
Other stuff that's been on my mind:
Define "friend". Do I have any friends? Or merely aquaintances? Is there anybody out there who really knows me? Is there anybody out there I want to know me? Because someone knows your name, does that mean they care about you? Just because you know their name, does it mean you care about them? Does everyone want something from everyone else? What do I want from other people? Do I have anything to give other people?
My daughter and I were having a conversation about some random stuff today, and she was telling me that I always talk bad about my mother. The funny thing is that I don't think bad about my mother, so I'm not sure what I could be saying bad about my mother. Cassie said she couldn't think of anything because she leaves the room when I talk about my mom. (Like she's one to talk - I can't think of the last time my daughter said anything nice about me, but that's ok. When she turns 21, I'll bet I get a lot smarter.)
My daughter said she doesn't want to hear any more about my childhood because I blame my mother. The irony is that I don't blame my mother for anything. Quite the opposite, in fact. I don't blame anyone for anything. The truth is that since I've become an adult, I have a new appreciation for my mother and her committment to us kids. I also know that I am the product of God's will and my choices, and no one else can take the blame or credit for it. So I don't know what she's talking about.
To be honest, my daughter knows almost nothing about my childhood. We laugh about how we "put the fun in dysfunctional" - and most certainly, we have had our fair share of dysfunction (having some right now, in fact). Let her think that I'm crazy, if it means she never has to live in through her parents divorce. It sucks, but you have to just move on, people. Life happens. Get over it.
So anyway, I'm wondering about all that right now.
I'm also very upset because, to my horror, I have become a dork again. For the past 15 years or so, I have been transformed from an ugly duckling to a semi-swan. I grew up scrawny, with thick coke-bottle glasses, and a hair cut that looked like it was done at an army base. (Gotta get your money's worth.) When I got into my 20s, I got used to wearing contacts and filled out a little, and I got a little pretty. As I got into my 30s, I got smarter and more confident, which only made things better. At 40, I was on top of the world. I felt ... dare I say it? Sexier and hipper and cooler and all that.
But in June, when I got back from Mexico, I learned that I'd scratched my cornea and had to wear my glasses for several months. My out-of-style, thick, ugly glasses. As if that wasn't bad enough, at the four-week check up, the dr. said my prescription had changed so much that I needed new glasses (I told them at my last visit I couldn't see, but did they listen? No ... they said I was getting older ... like I didn't know that already ....), so I spent several days trying to find something funky that didn't make me look dorky. When the glasses came in, I was dismayed to see how thick they were, even with the high index polycarbonate lenses. My husband says I'm just imagining things. Maybe. They are pretty cool glasses. And I do feel sorta hip.
But my gray roots need dying and I'm out of cash so gray they will stay, at least until next month. I came home from camping with a zit the size of Montana on my chin and a lovely cold sore on my lip, and when I looked in the mirror I realized that I am a four-eyed, gray haired, zit-faced dork. My run as a swan is over.
Another observation: you can be funky in glasses. Hip. Even cool. But not pretty. Don't let anyone kid you. Pretty never wears glasses.
Some of the writers on the humor group were contacted by "Wife Swap" to consider appearing on the show. They were also contacted by American Greetings, who is looking for humor writers. I was contacted by neither. Only Nigerians asking me for money, and offers for discount Viagra and ways to make my hips smaller. What does that mean? That if I have more sex I'll have smaller hips? Do I need smaller hips? Do I need more sex? Can't I have both?
OK, this isn't really helping me write a column, is it?
A few very random observations from Kingdom Bound:
- the line up of bands was pretty light this year, and why was By The Tree scheduled against Jeremy Camp? Argh. I hate when that happens.
- When the kids got to meet Skillet, one of John's favorite bands, Stephanie said, "Do you think John is jealous that we got to meet them?" Carole replied, "John got to meet Jesus. I don't think he's jealous of us."
- During the Newsboys concert, on the first night of the festival, the most amazing thing happened. It had been raining, and there was still incredible lightning crackling across the sky in this weird and eerie pattern - not bolts of lightning, but branches of lightning traveling sideways as if the sky was shattering like glass. As Peter Furler was singing "Host of Heaven, sing over me", the sky was filled with the shattering lightning and rolling thunder. Wild stuff.
- I spend four days in heat and dirt with flies, walking miles and miles from stage to stage, and it got me thinking again about Amardeep, the little boy I sponsor in India through Compassion. His hut is probably the size of my tent. I would imagine that dirt, heat and flies are commonplace where he lives. What's my problem?
- It also got me thinking about missions. I always think of missions as how I can help someone else. I'm going there to help them, as if I have something special to offer. But what we don't count on is how they affect us - how halfway around the world, a little boy I'll probably never meet prays for me and writes me letters and impacts my world. How the children in Mexico touch your heart simply by asking you to eat lunch with them, even when they can't talk to you. By all standards, I'm richer, healthier, safer, and living a "better" lifestyle, and yet instead of me changing their lives, they changed mine. Funny, isn't it, how God works that way, helping you to get over yourself?
- I've come to the conclusion that I'm a good networker because I'm not in it for me. When I meet someone new, I'm always thinking in the back of my head how I can connect them with someone who can help them or who they can help. Is that good or bad? I don't know.
Other stuff that's been on my mind:
Define "friend". Do I have any friends? Or merely aquaintances? Is there anybody out there who really knows me? Is there anybody out there I want to know me? Because someone knows your name, does that mean they care about you? Just because you know their name, does it mean you care about them? Does everyone want something from everyone else? What do I want from other people? Do I have anything to give other people?
My daughter and I were having a conversation about some random stuff today, and she was telling me that I always talk bad about my mother. The funny thing is that I don't think bad about my mother, so I'm not sure what I could be saying bad about my mother. Cassie said she couldn't think of anything because she leaves the room when I talk about my mom. (Like she's one to talk - I can't think of the last time my daughter said anything nice about me, but that's ok. When she turns 21, I'll bet I get a lot smarter.)
My daughter said she doesn't want to hear any more about my childhood because I blame my mother. The irony is that I don't blame my mother for anything. Quite the opposite, in fact. I don't blame anyone for anything. The truth is that since I've become an adult, I have a new appreciation for my mother and her committment to us kids. I also know that I am the product of God's will and my choices, and no one else can take the blame or credit for it. So I don't know what she's talking about.
To be honest, my daughter knows almost nothing about my childhood. We laugh about how we "put the fun in dysfunctional" - and most certainly, we have had our fair share of dysfunction (having some right now, in fact). Let her think that I'm crazy, if it means she never has to live in through her parents divorce. It sucks, but you have to just move on, people. Life happens. Get over it.
So anyway, I'm wondering about all that right now.
I'm also very upset because, to my horror, I have become a dork again. For the past 15 years or so, I have been transformed from an ugly duckling to a semi-swan. I grew up scrawny, with thick coke-bottle glasses, and a hair cut that looked like it was done at an army base. (Gotta get your money's worth.) When I got into my 20s, I got used to wearing contacts and filled out a little, and I got a little pretty. As I got into my 30s, I got smarter and more confident, which only made things better. At 40, I was on top of the world. I felt ... dare I say it? Sexier and hipper and cooler and all that.
But in June, when I got back from Mexico, I learned that I'd scratched my cornea and had to wear my glasses for several months. My out-of-style, thick, ugly glasses. As if that wasn't bad enough, at the four-week check up, the dr. said my prescription had changed so much that I needed new glasses (I told them at my last visit I couldn't see, but did they listen? No ... they said I was getting older ... like I didn't know that already ....), so I spent several days trying to find something funky that didn't make me look dorky. When the glasses came in, I was dismayed to see how thick they were, even with the high index polycarbonate lenses. My husband says I'm just imagining things. Maybe. They are pretty cool glasses. And I do feel sorta hip.
But my gray roots need dying and I'm out of cash so gray they will stay, at least until next month. I came home from camping with a zit the size of Montana on my chin and a lovely cold sore on my lip, and when I looked in the mirror I realized that I am a four-eyed, gray haired, zit-faced dork. My run as a swan is over.
Another observation: you can be funky in glasses. Hip. Even cool. But not pretty. Don't let anyone kid you. Pretty never wears glasses.
Some of the writers on the humor group were contacted by "Wife Swap" to consider appearing on the show. They were also contacted by American Greetings, who is looking for humor writers. I was contacted by neither. Only Nigerians asking me for money, and offers for discount Viagra and ways to make my hips smaller. What does that mean? That if I have more sex I'll have smaller hips? Do I need smaller hips? Do I need more sex? Can't I have both?
OK, this isn't really helping me write a column, is it?
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