Month: August 2015

Young Texans Are About To Get A Whole Lot Dumber – And Your Kids Might Get Stupider Too (March 16, 2010)

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Texas

Instead of galvanizing me to act (though I’m not sure yet what I can do), this latest news story makes me want to sit down and release my frustration via a good cry:

U.S. history textbooks could soon be flavored heavily with Texas conservatism
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ynews/ynews_ts1253

The item made me painfully aware of two truths of which I remained ignorant to this point. First, it seems that the Texas education system is such a large consumer of new textbooks, it is able, quite literally, to determine the curriculum and ideology imbibed by the rest of the nation’s students. And in the second place, the Lone Star State apparently has no regard at all for the fundamental U.S. principle of the separation of Church and State. Unhappy with what they view as the “liberal leanings” of our children’s schoolbooks, they have decided to cherry pick the facts they like, excise the ones they don’t. And most disturbingly, it seems no one is going to stop them.

Among the new conceptions of our nation’s history that students will be told to embrace:

1. “A greater emphasis on ‘the conservative resurgence of the 1980s and 1990s.'”

In other words, less Bill Clinton, or the successful work of activists in creating awareness and containing the AIDS epidemic that threatened our populace 30 years ago. Instead, more Reaganomics, more Newt Gingrinch, more O’Reilly and Limbaugh.

2. “A reduced scope for Latino history and culture.”

As of 2009, Latinos represented a full 15% of the American population. That percentage is considerably higher in Texas. Nevermind that the State was once part of Mexico, Latinos will be marginalized in favor of the compelling influence of crusty old white men in the nation’s development. Tragic.

3. “Thomas Jefferson no longer included among writers influencing the nation’s intellectual origins.”

By the time I reached this outrage, I was tempted to start slapping anyone wearing a cowboy hat. Among the intellectual forerunners to be highlighted in Jefferson’s place: medieval Catholic philosopher St. Thomas Aquinas, Puritan theologian John Calvin and conservative British law scholar William Blackstone. Two of these three were never even colonists, let alone Americans. I realize Jefferson, a slave owner, was hardly perfect, but it’s impossible to overstate his importance in the U.S. origin story. Believe it or not, I am wiping tears from my eyes as I continue to contemplate this atrocity.

I could go on, but I will let you folks read the rest of this insanity for yourselves. The good news is that a final vote to implement these changes will not come until May. There is still time to stop the crazy. I just need to figure out how. Any ideas? If Rosebud runs up to me in six years, insisting that Joe McCarthy was really just a misunderstood patriot/martyr, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Stimulating the Economy (March 13, 2010)

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economy

Eddie and I are doing our part this month, and I suppose every dollar counts since most Americans have rethought their free spending ways since the economy buckled in 2008. A massive depression and record unemployment will do that to a country. In some ways that is for the best. Our national debt has been closely rivaled only by our collective personal deficits. 2009/2010 has been a painful, but in some ways needed period of adjusting expectations and fiscal habits.

With me mostly out of work (I freelance, but that ain’t paying no gas bill), my husband and I have also responded to the new economic realities of this decade. Much discussed plans to buy our first condo have been scuttled in favor of renting a bigger place. We’re heading to Rogers Park in two weeks. I don’t believe we’ll be engaging in any real estate transactions for a few years. Home prices need to stop falling, and credit markets need to release their chokehold.

Then there’s the depressed auto market. Eddie and I planned to stay away from that too, having just paid off his 2004 Mazda 6 last month. However, the old clunker, my hubby’s convoy as he moved around from Arizona, to California to Illinois after grad school, had different ideas. In the last year, we’ve dumped over $3,000 in repairs, the final $900 coming this week. It stopped making sense to prop the old girl up any longer.

As of Monday evening, we are the new owners of a Mazda EX-L:

http://automobiles.honda.com/tools/build-price/summary.aspx?ModelName=Civic%20Sedan&ModelYear=2010&ModelID=FA1F9AJNW&EColor=R-525P&IColor=BE

I know, I know, we didn’t buy American or a Hybrid. I thought about both and do feel some guilt on those scores, but Honda is reliable, affordable and throughout March, giving 1.9% APR financing to qualified buyers. We didn’t plan to purchase this year – funds and time were limited. Sue us.

So I am off to celebrate my personal boost to the stalled American economy with a logical reward: a pig out Indian buffet lunch. See – we’re helping small immigrant business owners too. We’re givers.

Corey Haim Continues a Bad Run for People Born in the 70s (March 11, 2010)

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Corey-Haim

http://movies.yahoo.com/photos/collections/gallery/2441/corey-haim-obit-%20gallery/fp#photo0

I would like to share a couple hypotheses that have been rolling around in my brain for the last year or so, in the wake of a number of celebrity deaths, as well as real world afflications for my age and peer group:

1. The 30s are the new 20s – In the real sense that adolescence now seems to run on ad nauseum, no matter what one’s ostensible responsibilities are: parenthood, career, et al. I feel, with certain exceptions, that my generation has taken “Peter Pan” syndrome to the next level – creating feelings of entitlement and invincibility. When drugs enter into that picture, as they did for Heath Ledger, Brittany Murphy, and Corey Haim – all people old enough to know better than to mix medications – the results are carelessly deadly. Instead of a 23 year-old River Phoenix collapsing in front of the Viper Room after a coke binge, in the 21st century, we see delayed Hollywood hedonists going to sleep in their own beds and never waking up.

2. Simultaneously, and somewhat paradoxically, the 30s and are also the new 40s. – Though Peter Pan may never want to grow up, there does come a time when self-awareness creeps in, no matter how long one has fought against it. If one if 38 years old, living with his mother, as Haim was, and a Hollywood hasbeen with a pill problem, he must occasionally experience twin realizations: what has been lost as well as what will never be again. I would argue that nothing is more soul deadening than the combination of youth and failure, a sense that you have years in front of you, only to remember what you’ve already missed. No wonder so many of these sad individuals turn to the easy coping strategy of self-medication. For them, the cliche midlife crisis comes a decade early.

Lindsay Lohan would seem to be a candidate for succumbing to the combination of an ever unencumbered adulthood, and the knowledge that she has already seen her professional peak. At only 23, she is ramping up the new Hollywood breakdown cycle.

However, I think my hypotheses are applicable to 30-somethings outside of Hollywood as well. On a much smaller scale, I am not immune to waffling between the idea that I am not fully formed, yet should have accomplished something bigger by now. But what I have, that I fear Heath, Brittany and Corey did not, is a proper support network, people who genuinely care about me. For my sister, husband, family and friends, there would be no fear or enabling if I went off track. They would try to pull me back, because their own fortunes are not tied to my professional solvency (I am talking to you Simon Monjack!). Money and selflessness are two words rarely viewed in the same sentence.

I started this post with the intention of waxing nostalgic about Corey Haim’s memorable performances – Lucas, The Lost Boys, License to Drive and other staples of the 1980s. However, there are plenty of web and TV tributes of that sort already.

I like to think this spate of young celebrity overdoses presents a learning opportunity. A platform for discussing how we, as a society, can help reverse the trend of avoidable prescription drug deaths amongst young people, both famous and not. Deaths that I postulate are brought about in part by a combination of being told as a child that you will own the world (I think generations before were taught to think a bit smaller), then realizing well into your adulthood that you might just be a regular person. Why is that so tough to accept in the media age? There is no pill you can pop which cures normalcy.

Baby Fever (March 9, 2010)

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Babies

While I was having dinner with Jen and Eddie last Thursday, my friend Wyatt gave me a ring and asked me to call him back right away. It sounded urgent and any number of awful scenarios sprang to my mind, in large part because it seems so many people in my peer group have become afflicted with out of the ordinary traumas and ailments. But it turns out Wyatt, my former co-worker from 2005-2007, had some good news to report: he and his new bride Monica, married last August, are expecting.

Once I recovered from the immense dread that weighed in my chest as I dialed the phone, I experienced a strange brew of joy and shock. I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised as the 37 year-old Wyatt, who declared he’d never remarry when I met him, had obviously waived away that vow. So naturally, I should have seen the claim that he’d never procreate was also in jeopardy. I found my equilibrium and gave he and the Mrs. my most genuine congrats.

But here is the problem this creates for me: for each friend of mine, no matter how wild a partier in their former lives, who takes a step toward parenthood, my own excuses for abstaining, presented to my in-laws in a weekly web chat, become more and more flimsy. First I was just too young, then I was too newlywed, Eddie was traveling, I was attempting to get this writing career off the ground (still true), we were moving, etc. As I sit here rounding the corner toward 32, husband firmly on the ground and home each night, about to move into a fabulous condo, even I can see that the sands in the in-law filibustering hourglass have nearly run out.

So what’s next? It seems, gulp, honesty. The truth: I do not want kids and probably never will. Eddie almost entirely echoes my sentiments (though the vain part of him is curious about a mini-Bon Jovi or Bon Joviette). But we have talked endlessly and we just don’t, for a variety of reasons, think childrearing is for us.

However, we have not been brave enough yet to say this out loud, definitely, to stand down the intimidating force of the Indian parental unit. Call it a cultural difference if you want, although Eddie is not subject, but native Indian parents just do not see the point of getting married without the “blessing” of children. They feel that life (naturally, mostly for the wife) can never be complete without procreation.

Once we gather up the sack to make clear that the likelihood of Boop Jr. is minimal, I expect horror, tears, pleas, anger, not the least because Eddie is my in-laws only viable option in terms of grandchildren. Eddie has an older brother, Sonu, who has been bedridden since the age of two (a sad story for another time). I have complete sympthy for my in-laws desire to move forward with the future generation after a lifetime of taking care of their own sick child. I just can’t share their desire, and in the end, it isn’t right to bring a baby into the world to make someone else happy.

I really have no ending argument for this post. I am simply sharing my fears of a confrontation that is soon to come, one in which I must hold my ground. In the past, I have been known to buckle and take certain steps in my endless quest for others approval, but I know instinctively, this is not a time for ingratiating myself at the sake of my own vision.

Oscars 2010: Boop Calls Best Picture/Best Director (March 6, 2010)

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Oscars_2010

I have a plethora of nerdy stories to share, and I will share them in time, that will clearly illustrate I have always been uncool. It’s not like publicizing the fact on a blog makes it shocking. It is a truth universally known in my own circle. Not only have some of my past hobbies made it amazing that I ever had sex at all, but it redoubles the thrill of victory that I managed to land a hot husband. Because honestly, I might look alright, but I am a DORK.

Case in point: in the spring of 1996, as a member of Lincoln Park High School’s Academic Decathlon team, I won a gold medal in the interview category. It was the regional competition at Senn High school, and though I had a decent day overall, I knew as soon as I walked out of the classrom where students chatted with judges, that I had nailed it. The crux of my repartee? A detailed, charming and lengthy chat about why I hate to find myself out of the loop on Oscar night; my quest to be as informed when I watch the annual telecast as I am while watching the SuperBowl after 17 weeks of play. Seriously, this superficial swill won me a gold medal, out of about 100 contestants, because I was so freaking earnest. I leave you to decide which is the most nerdy part of this anecdote: Academic Decathlon, a Hollywood insider’s rant about the Academy Awards, or the fact that I was earnest in doing so (there’s honestly no better word to describe it).

But I digress: another year, another Oscars awards show. This year, the producers (including the fab Adam Shankman) are mixing it up: two comedic hosts (Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin), no more Lifetime Achievement honours during the televised program (thank you!) and count them, 10 Best Picture nominees. The latter change is a throwback to the Oscars of yore, pre-1950, and has already lived up to its potential to be exciting and controversial.

Although, in the end I did not see many of this year’s Best Picture nominees, having watched A Single Man and Crazy Heart be shamefully overlooked in favor of the overrated and overhyped Avatar (yes, I said it) and The Blind Side (Really?), I am prepared to call the race for a film I still very badly need to fit into my schedule: The Hurt Locker. I have yet to hear anything less than stellar feedback about this one, and I think it’s high time a female helmer walk off with the Director’s trophy too. Recent bad PR karma caused by an overzealous producer aside, I think it’s Bigelow’s year all around. Please let it not be James Cameron.

If I am wrong, I hope the error favors Precious, Up, or Up in the Air. Who is your favorite this year? And do you like the 10 nominee format for Best Picture?