Resolutions 2013

Writing your resolutions on a drink coaster? Well, if it's in writing, you have a commitment, no matter how drunk you were.

While gathering unwanted items in the house for a garage sale last year, I stumbled upon the super-secret Chemistry textbook that contains notes written fast and furious by Cindy and I when we should have been paying attention to Fr. McLearnen's lectures. Among the lovelorn notes, teenage conspiracies, overly-dramatized replays of running into a crush in the hall was my new year's resolution list for the year 1986. In a facebook conversation with my BFF, I described the list as such:

"In 1985, I made 17 new years resolutions. The first 4 are about homework; number 5 is about the Detroit Tigers; 6 and 7 are about boys; 8 is about being more adult; 9 & 10 back to homework; 11 is about the Tigers; 12 - 16 personal goals; 17 back to boys. It's pretty funny."

If homework now equals housework, I've got some work to do there. I think my issues with with boys is properly resolved. The Tigers? They have their own resolutions to make. So that leaves me with personal goals.

Here we go 'thirteen!

Pass Gold Moves. I regret to say this resolution was not achieved in '12, unless there's a last-minute new year's eve miracle. The good news is I have not been slacking, and according to my coach, all the moves are at or above passing with the exception of the brackets. I hate the brackets. BUT here we are a year later, and I have all 8 brackets turns down, it's a matter of riding the edge back to the line to complete the lobe. Huh? Skaters understand.

Train like a 10K. I find it hilarious that I hemmed and hawed about the RBR last year. No only did I compete in that race, I competed in SIX races this year! So much for me not being a runner. So now what? I still view running as a means to an end for skating and weight loss, but I'm wondering if it isn't possible this spring to push the endurance a little further. I have until the end of April to decide to do the 5 or 10K for the RBR.

Move yer ass. I have found that while I'm not especially fond of running, I'm addicted to achieving the goal, the satisfaction of completion. It wasn't too much to do 6 events this year, but to balance it with skating, I've resolved to do at least 4 runs this next year. Two are already on the calendar, the RBR in May and the Run for the Lights in Grand Haven in February. I'm pretty sure I'll do the Turkey Trot again, but now I'm thinking Warrior Dash on September 21.

Get back to competing. I can't say I've missed competing this year, I think preparing yourself to perform better is equally important. But at some point, you have to put it out there and say "lookit that!" Mids and ANs is off the table with family commitments coinciding with the timing of the events. But that still leaves a season that is wide open. I could do GRO, Michigan Showcase, Buckeye, Peach, even find a club competition to test the waters.

AXEL! The holy grail of adult skating. I can do them two-footed from a standstill. Time for momma to step up her game.

Incredible Shrinking Woman, part 2. I am proud to say I have thus far lost 31 pounds since the end of January, when the perfect storm of March Madness, Biggest Loser and my diabetes diagnosis gave me the necessary push to make changes in my life. I am more than halfway towards my goal, but there's more to lose. I'm aiming for 150, so I need to lose 18 more - for those keeping track at home, you do the math. 

Home. Yeah, clean the house more.

Typing Out Loud: My Consessions to Girly-Girlness

You know you want a pair.

There is a dichotomy in the perception of me at times. Growing up, I felt that I couldn't tolerate being a girly-girl: the lace and ruffles, the dolls, the caked-on makeup, pretending to be scared of spiders, and standing in circles talking about boys when I could be over at the fence talking TO boys.

But rest assured, I am pure girl. When I got in a fight with Tommy the next street over, I remember the swirl of my skirt as I wound up to smack him upside the head with my Love Pup (not a doll but a red stuffed dog), while screeching menacingly "leave my sister alone!"

On with the list.

NOT: Lace and ruffles. Ugh, so prissy and far too fussy. In more practical terms, lace as outerwear or as trim, scratchy. Ruffles, on a girl that was a D cup by 11 years old? Makes a girl appear even bigger. Total pass.

GIRLY! Embroidery. I fell in love with Mexican peasant blouses when my grandmother brought me one from her trip to Mexico back when I was in single digits. I am immediately drawn to tops, skirts and dresses with intricately stitched designs.

NOT: dolls. I played with them, but it was more about setting them up as action figures dive bombing bubble baths. No packed wardrobes of tiny plastic shoes, no aching for the Barbie Dream house.

GIRLY! Little House books. It all started with On the Banks of Plum Creek and the summer of my eighth year was devoted to walks to the Orange Street library to check the books out, one by one, until I received the set for my 9th birthday from grandma and grandpa. A set I still have 32 years later.

NOT: makeup. I am really not a fan. I of course wore the hell out of it in grade school when the nuns would scrutinize our face for detectable levels of the devil paint. I became quite skilled at blending and shading so when our school principal Sister Gloria would tell makeup offenders to go scrub their faces, I was left looking fresh and dewy while the rest of the girls wiped away their telltale orange lines of foundation.

GIRLY! lipstick/gloss. From the dollar store to the department store, I am drawn like a magnet to any version of lip care. I love 'em all, be it a pot, a wand, a stick, a tube or a roller ball. All time favorites are Victoria's Secret Beauty Rush in Pinked Lemonade, Clinique's Raspberry Glace, mint Chapstick, and Avon's Dew Kiss.

NOT: baseball. This one is iffy because I know a lot of girls who love baseball. But there are factions out there that are at the game to flirt, drink beer and stare a men in tight white pants. The line "chicks dig the long ball"? I always answer by saying "this chick also digs the squeeze play, the outfield assist, and when the pitcher strikes out the side." One of the pictures burnished on my memory is walking up the tunnel at Tiger Stadium for a night game, all that green and blue and white on the perfect summer night, one of the most beautiful sights one could see.

GIRLY! figure skating. I have loved skating since the '76 Olympics and the iconic Dorothy Hamill. What do I love about it? depends on the discipline. For the ladies, I love the costumes, music, artistry, and everything pretty. For men, the power, skill, and interpretation. For pairs, the power, relationship and storytelling. Ice dance, it's all about the costumes and story.

NOT: baking. I don't bake. Period.

GIRLY! shopping. I can make a dent in a budget when it comes to clothes shopping. As has been covered before, to counteract my tendency towards being a clotheshorse, I am quite the thrift and resale shopper. Some may think it's gross, but when you can get a pair of designer jeans that fit like a glove for 69 cents, you sew the button then do a load of wash.

NOT: Led Zeppelin. One of the most startling comments ever made to me in my courtship days was by an ex, who scornfully commented "Girls don't listen to Led Zeppelin. It's a little unladylike, don't you think?" I shoulda broke up with him then, but continued to date him through series of eye rolling commentary and observations best suited for the 1950s. Ramble on, Matt.

GIRLY! Spice Girls. There are some acts that fly in the face of the whole "Imma rocker!" ideal. Truth is, I grew up with a taste for light as air top 40. I don't think I miss a weekly countdown from the age of 7 through the age of 15. Even today, reclaiming my access to the VH1 video countdown, I feel all is right again with the world. As heavy and bluesy as Zep were, sometimes you need joyful jangles and catchy hooks coupled with a little girl power.  

And the spiders? Ugh, hate them, they are downright squeal-worthy, but you'd never find me dancing on top of a table demanding a man finish the job. That is when all that shoe shopping comes in handy.

Why Art Matters: Betty Rizzo

"Sounds like a drag."

I've never wanted to be an actress. The exception is the role of Betty Rizzo in the musical Grease.

The most iconic Riz was played with lustful zeal by Stockard Channing in the classic '78 movie adaptation. Although 33 at the time, Channing played Rizzo as a teenager on the verge of adulthood, a tough yet vulnerable mix of girl/woman who thinks she's more mature than she really is.

Channing shines in her two musical numbers, "Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee," and "There Are Worse Things I Could Do." The first is played with juvenile absurdity and that come-hither sexiness. The other is gentle in its treatment of her vulnerability and private wounds.

Even though Olivia Newton-John was the star, Channing got the best wardrobe. Note the chic all-black number above - for school! The body-hugging red prom dress with the sequinned polka dots. Skinny jeans and her boyfriend's leather jacket. The man's shirt sleepwear. The button-downs with the tight skirts. Then for fun at the carnival, her fire engine and cotton candy palette. And a big shout-out from curly-girls everywhere, Stockard rocks the close-cropped 'do, I love it! (Thanks to the blog "Clothes on Film" for their in-depth analysis.)

Channing also delivers all Rizzo's lines with more meaning than intended, from sensual flirtation to acidic sarcasm and double entendres, all are delivered with tongue firmly in cheek. And I quote:

She looks to pure to be pink!

What's up, Kenick?

When told to bite the weenie: With relish.

I feel like a defective typewriter.

I've got so many hickies people will think I'm a leper.

Peachy keen, jellybean.

Eat your heart out.

December Playlist: 2012

Bruno Mars at '12 Grammys - channeling Elvis, again!

Let's flash forward 25 years to what's NEW in music. I mean, there's only so much 80s nostalgia you can stomach in one year, and I did a little too much of that with this year's playlists.

So what can I tell you about me and new music? I'm over Taylor Swift and Katy Perry, not that I was under them or even into them. My tastes are somewhere in between VH1, adult top 40, and indie WYCE. And when I'm listening to YCE, I don't know anymore if a song is brand-new or 15 years old. No, I'm not cool; not even sure if I was ever cool. Who gives a crap, my kid requested I put the Monkees on the other day when I was listening to some podcasts. At least it wasn't Disney.

Gimme All Your Love, Madonna - debuted at Superbowl with LMAFO, Nicki Minaj and some Brit chick who flashed her boob.

That's What Makes You Beautiful, One Direction - sunshine pop from a Brit boy band. Perfect summer song. Don't judge.

Settle Down, No Doubt - I feel a kinship with Gwen Stefani, as well as Nancy Kerrigan and J.Lo since we are all the same age. So it stands to reason that I would love a new effort from the resurrected band that made Just a Girl famous. Get-get-get!

Fifty Ways to Say Goodbye, Train - mariachi pop. Hilarious lyrics. Even more amusing video.

Call Me Maybe, Carly Rae Jepsen - more sunshine, with lyrics as innocent as innocent gets. Nothing more than hey, you're cute, and if you think I'm cute, give me a call.

Runaway Baby, Bruno Mars - Oh sweet little Bruno. I like thinking I saw him in Vegas years ago performing as Little Elvis. While he's never been a favorite, there isn't a song of his that has been released that I haven't liked. This one, however, I loved.

Somebody I Used to Know, Goyte - Earworm as high art, the video is just cool, as Goyte and Kimbra, singing in response, turn into an abstract painting. Both the video and the song turned into prime parody material, including the above. I think the song is STILL on the charts.

Rumor Has It, Adele - Driving and hypnotic bass, aggressive lyrics and sung by this year's pop queen.

Pound the Alarm, Nicki Minaj - and now the year's batshit crazy rap queen. Infectious anime Barbie pop by a rap artist. It's like an African American Hello Kitty doll at a Japanese-industrial rave. I'm too old to figure this crap out, I just enjoy dancing to it during WERQ class. Her exorcism at the Grammys was a serious WTF? moment.

What's Right in the World: be true to yourself

Billy Shakes makes for a popular tat.

I worked myself up into a panic this week. Why? My 25-year class reunion is this weekend, and in typical girl fashion, I stood in the middle of my closet with the age-old lament that I have nothing to wear.

This of course is not true, as I am properly attired on a routine basis. Even at this writing, I am wearing clothes. Nice clothes even.

Ah, but a class reunion, merely being clothed is not the point. You want to be noticed. You want that boy that broke your heart in 1986 to think "damn!" You want girls jealous. Did I have anything like that? I don't know! Off to the store I went.

 
It was on this trip that the clothes made the man, or rather the shopping experience made the woman.

In one shop, I made an anxious grab for miniskirts and dresses. While they fit, it was, to be honest, embarrassing. I saw a glimpse of someone in the mirror attempting to be something she wasn't. Who was that in the bronze leather mini that I couldn't sit down in? Was she trying for sexy? Trying for flirty? Or just trying too hard? Definitely not me. Definitely not the message I want to send my old classmates.

Onto the next store.

I had a little more fun with clothes at Kohl's. A little J.Lo, a little Lauren Conrad, a little Vera Wang, a whole lot of sequins. J.Lo's my age, so I tried on a nude mini-dress covered with sequins. I looked -- awesome! Buuuuuuuuuut...? 

A nude sequined mini dress? 

In November? 

At 43? 

Isn't that a *bit much* for Jackson? I tried moving around in the dress and the sequins scratched and the sleeves were tight enough that I couldn't move my arms above my shoulders. I didn't feel myself, I felt like I was trying to be J.Lo. And not just J.Lo, but J.Lo on a riser, with a wind machine blowing, lip-syncing her latest hit with Pitbull rapping behind her, at the Grammys.

I was momentarily dazzled, and the sequins itched.

So I was back to shopping my closet and thinking about how I wanted to feel as well as how I wanted to look. I wanted to look nice. Happy. Comfortable in my own skin, which is important for someone who didn't really come into her own until late junior year, and even then...

I have a lovely little navy blue silk dress, a-line, that I bought a million years ago at Old Navy on a whim. It didn't fit, so it was a "motivation dress" this past year for when I lost weight. Back in January, I was hoping to wear it to my reunion. I was in it by May. It is *almost* too big for me now, but it caresses the skin, the neckline is very flattering, the skirt flutters, and it looks great with either my gold shoes or my silver bling shoes.

So my journey today started to be about fashion, but it came around to me coming to terms with being true to myself and of course, "to thy own self be true."

Typing Out Loud: Invisible?

This makes me think of The Zombies' "She's Not There"

I was at the Y for the Diabetes Screening Day yesterday. Now when I'm at the Y, I do my thing, chat up the staff I'm in direct contact with, grab my stuff and go. During the process of getting screened, the activities director (someone I don't recall seeing but a few times) addressed me by name and said I was a regular, welcomed member whose numbers ought be amazing given how much weight I have lost in the last year.

I was struck by the fact I have not been operating invisibly this year. People saw me, took note of what I have been up to. I was recognized! I hadn't been working out incognito. Going upstairs to do a little elliptical to warm up for the .1K race (really), I felt the weight of eyes on me at first, then I settled down.

I went through the same phenomena with adult skating when I first started competing nationally. As a last-placer, I thought invisibilty screens were up and operational. I timidly introduced myself to a few of the high-level male competitors at the after party, because, well, who was I to them? To my astonishment, they told me without a doubt, they knew who I was and invited me to dance. As a matter of fact, Brooks is the one who stun-gunned me with the comment, "it may surprise you, but you are not invisible." Added Jason, "You definitely stand out." They have since become dear friends.

So after the Y, Will and I headed downtown to "compete" in the .1K race, a charity "run" for Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. For those who don't know, that is oh, 528 feet or so, about a block and a half. That is when I turned invisible. At the hydration tent, where energy drink girls were giving away free samples to cute guys and college-aged girls, I was completely ignored. I've encountered this phenomena before with free sample girls: rebuffed by the Budweiser bikini girls giving away free t-shirts; encountered the I-see-thru-you gaze of the Gatorade girls; cold shoulders from the blinking button Zima girls back in the day, who were looking to pin my boyfriend instead.

Pissed me right off.

Not willing to put up with it, I demanded their attention in the loudest, yet sweetest voice I could muster. Still nothing, I simply shrugged, grabbed a sample and went on my merry way.

Once we were packed behind the starting line, I was content to blend in, be one of the 2200 racers having fun. But I still wanted to be noticable enough that people recognized I had a 3 foot tall racer with me.

Oh, my beautiful Will. For him, I am content to blend into woodwork and go from being "Melissa!" to Will's mom. I was very proud of him for running in his first race, and his joyful fist pump when realized he did it. He won the trophy (a gold spray painted addidas sneaker) for being the Clean Up Kid. What does that mean? I don't know, but I'm so glad the lesson he learned from my 5K race last month came to fruition this month.

Redemption came later at the drink tent post-race, where Will was awarded a flashlight keychain by the guy who took over for the girls. He was given the choice of green or blue. Will looked up at the drink guy, and for a moment was indecisive. He then brightened, and took both, telling him "green for Will and blue for mommy!"

I guess he's not content with either of us being invisible.

The visual symbolism of Wonder Woman's invisible jet is so obvious!

And in researching photos to illustrate this little story, I am aware my little insecurity issue is what the kids call "First World problems." In other parts of the world, women are completely invisible in terms of politics, education, socio-economic status, etc. Sadly, they are not even considered their own person, but the property of their father, then their husband. While I respect other people's cultures and traditions, not all cultures or traditions should continue. It's a matter of human rights.

And that's more important than scoring a free energy drink.

Why Art Matters: O Henry

Tell me a tale with a twist  Mr. Porter.

One of the most casual gifts I ever received is one I've cherished ever since. I was writing and designing brochures for Catholic Charities' nursing homes. Noticing the impressive collection of books in one of the manager's offices, I casually  noted I was a fan of O. Henry's work. He swiftly plucked a thick collection off his shelf and presented it to me with the promise that I enjoy. That I have.

O. Henry was born William Sydney Porter in 1862. He dabbled in numerous professions, becoming a pharmacist, a draftsman, bank teller, journalist, surveyor, bookkeeper, and a politician. He kinda failed at most of his professions, and some discrepancies at his bank led to his imprisonment on embezzlement charges.

All the while he dabbled in writing short stories as a hobby for cash on the side. Well, a man in prison has time on his hands, so he wrote more. Since he was incarcerated, he hid his identity behind the pseudonym O. Henry. During his brief career, he wrote 400 short stories for the New York World  magazine.

Why do I love his work? There is a distinct art to writing a short story. You have limited time and space to create fully fleshed characters, defined by their action and reaction to the plot of the story. The story has to be engaging and he was the master.

He was also the master of the classic twist ending. If you expect him to zig, he zags; even better, sometimes he even zips. Or zings. He captures quite comically how fate can throw life for a loop and change the course of your path. A hilarious example is the Curse of the Red Chief, when two thieves kidnaps a rich man's son in hopes of securing a ransom but the kid is such a brat, they pay the father to take the kid off their hands.

His views of New York City is fun and breathless. I have compared it in the past to Candace Bushnell's 1990s take on Manhattan in the Sex in the City. Both are boozy, filled with a colorful cast of characters, set sometimes in glamorous locations with plenty of shopping and an obvious love of Gotham. But where Bushnell's characters are brittle and cynical, there is a warmth to even the most crotchety of O Henry's characters.

Oh, his characters! Jim and Della sacrificing their watch and hair for the other. Soapy the homeless man looking for a few months out of the cold. The glove salesgirl who turns down the most eligible bachelor in town, mistaking his claims of riches for descriptions of rides at Coney Island and thus, turning down his proposal cold. The "socialite" in her regal beaded gown, vacationing at the most glamorous hotel in town, only to reveal to her suitor on the last day she really works at the department store and is down to her last dollar; the suitor acknowledges the fact, and takes the dollar as a final payment on her dress, asking her out for coffee and pie at the local diner. The girl who sets out to impress her boss at a Christmas party with the perfect dress only to have her roommate undermine her efforts... but she get the guy anyway.

Most of his work is in the public domain, and available for all to enjoy. For myself, I need to take a trip away from 1900s Manhattan or introduce myself to his Texas cowboys.