S2 told me the other day, “I love you so much, Mama, I don’t want you to go in the street.” 4 1/2 years old, sweet as sugar, and–she’s been listening all these years when I tell her not to go in the street, and to hold my hand when we’re walking through the parking lot.
I am still under 40. I wasn’t sure if I had a smart phone when I called Sprint the other day; two Sprint employees said I did, and one said I didn’t. I remember when twitter was what birds in trees did.
Oh, to go back to those days. Some people who are famous, or who wish they were famous, like to post “selfies”. These are photos of themselves, taken, I think with their smart phones, and posted on Twitter, or Instagram, or both.
I like having my picture taken, and yes, like looking at myself in the mirror. The thought of taking a picture of myself “sleeping” on the couch (Kim Kardashian/Lardassian/Kartrashian), or skimpily dressed, sprawled across furniture (Rhianna, Miley Cyrus) has never crossed my mind. This is not only because it’s hard to take a picture if I’m really asleep, or I’m never skimpily dressed, or because my furniture is just so-so. It’s also because there seems something tawdry about having to work so hard to promote yourself.
It would seem much more flattering if someone else wanted to take a picture of me. I would also hope that someone would not ask to snap a picture of me eating a bowl of cereal, or going out of the house without wearing makeup. Gasp! These things are so mundane. It seems so to think that people would think that others would enjoy seeing snapshots of them doing everything–or nothing.
One SuperBowl Sunday, Janet Jackson suffered a “wardrobe malfunction”. Justin Timberlake wasn’t criticized, just Janet and her booby. I was a little suspicious that the whole thing wasn’t staged.
A few months ago, Anne Hathaway, whom I remember from The Princess Diaries–where has that girl gone? This Anne Hathaway decided to go out in a formal gown, sans panties.
Now, I am no fan of Sacha Baron Cohen, but when he joked about her throwing open the curtains of Hollywood, he got it right. As one poster said, your underwear is hard to forget.
So now, Jennifer Lawrence of The Hunger Games suffers a tear in her gown at an awards ceremony that exposes her thighs. It hardly looked like it was covering much of her anyway, before the tear.
I wrote about this just last September. A naked John Lennon showed his smallness. Prince Harry showed his drunken jewels. Shock us all, people–keep your clothes on!
Watching the biopic Ray, Jamie Foxx crooned “You don’t know me”. It was catchy.
Last year, I sung it to Allstate, when they sent me an e-mail telling me about how to be prepared for hurricanes. (Where I live, there is no ocean, and even the lakes dry up.)
I almost sang it to YouTube tonight. The kids and I were watching clips of old Beatles cartoons. On the right hand side of the screen, it had many Beatles clips. “Recommended for you”, it said.
I used to not like “recommended for you” on YouTube. “Don’t tell me what you think I like,” I thought when I first saw it.
OK, but many times it does get it right. Like tonight, it recommended, “The Beatles-Leave my Kitten Alone”. I didn’t know the Beatles sang about cats, but I agree. Do you know why Iike my cat? His Rotundity only says, “Meow”. There are some people I’d like to limit to one word.
Not my cat, but this one looks like mine!
Yet also tonight, I wanted to sing Ray Charles to YouTube when it listed “Hippopotamus with Explosive Diarrhea–Recommended for You.” Whaaaaa? Why is it recommended for me? I never watch dirty clips on YouTube.
Before I was leaving town with the kids and my parents, my parents noticed I had a flat. Because it would take sooooo long driving only 50 mph on a donut to get there, I decided to rent a car instead.
Here’s a strange observation: no matter how small a car is, or the fact that it is less glamorous than the car you already have, if it’s newer, it just seems better.
S1 agreed with me.
“Mama,” he told me from the backseat as we were going down I-40 in the rental car, “I’m not putting boogers anywhere in this car, because we’re not keeping it.”
Once, I wrote on the wisdom from Waffle House. I have been privy to some hilarity in my new town (which yes, has Waffle Houses, too).
S1 was on a float with his fellow Tiger Cub Scouts at the Veteran’s Day parade. There was a group of motorcyclists behind the Cub Scout float. S1 loved to hear them rev their engines.
After the parade, the Cubmaster told us that he had been talking to the motorcycle group. Though I can’t remember its exact name, it was like Bikers for Christ or something.
“One part of Boy Scouts is about religion. I was talking to the group about coming to one of our meetings. They would give a little talk, and let the boys ride with them around the parking lot. You don’t have to tell me now, but I wonder if anyone objects?”
“Do you object?” a man asked his wife, teasingly, “Since you’re an atheist. I know you’ve already given me over to the Devil.”
“No, dear,” said the woman, “You’ve already done that yourself.”
I also found humor at another of my frequent hang-outs, Dollar General. I was checking out, and the cashier rang up my big bag of M&Ms. I also had a single-size bag of M&Ms. I mentioned how I’d have to hide the M&Ms if I wanted any for myself.
“I know,” the cashier said, “I used to tell my kids, “If you saw me eating a bowl of POOP, you’d want some!”
The cynic in me says, “Make some news by covering up!” First, Prince Harry of Britain gets drunk in Vegas, and lets it ALL HANG out. He’s photographed, and the palace is upset at him.
I remember looking at a book of so-called “iconic” photographs from the 1960s. Little did I know when I turned a page in that book, that there would be a picture of John Lennon and Yoko Ono posing in the nude. When I saw John Lennon, I thought, “I’ve seen better”.
John Lennon did it for the shock value, no doubt, egged on by Yoko Oh-no, as some call her. Harry, I suppose, was too drunk out of his mind to care.
My rule in life, which yes, I strive to pass on to my children, is: don’t let someone photograph or tape you in the nude. Tell whoever asks that they will just have to hold your beautiful image in their minds.
Fast forward to the Duchess of Cambridge, photographed sunbathing in France sans her top. Her picture was snapped multiple times, yea, and was published. The palace was angry, and spoke of privacy.
I’m assuming that privacy means more in Europe, because in the U.S., EVERYONE is fair game. Sunbathing topless is common in Europe, one media outlet assured readers. OK, but it really doesn’t make sense, does it? You’ll still have a tan line from your bikini bottom, right?
Kate and Harry, cover up, will ya?