The Trip Back

1987 called and he wants his look back.

Now don't get me wrong:  I adore vintage, but a fine line exists between retro and wrong-tro.  Every decade gone by has brought her fair share of glorious fashions, from the Roaring 20's Flapper to the New Look of the late 1950's/early 1960's (my personal favorite) to the fun frivolity of the 1970's (think Studio 54 and Halston, NOT the Brady Bunch).  The Great Gatsby, Mad Men, and even Downton Abbey with its own fabric line, prove that period pieces still turn heads and inspire trends.  Yet as far as the 1980's go, the jury's still out.  

A number of teens, I've noticed, have adopted the skinny pant and neon colors I wore in my youth, but I don't see many adults following their lead.  There's a reason for it:  some of those styles, in hindsight, were downright hideous, and what works for youngsters does not translate well for those of us old enough remember Magnum PI and Alexis Carrington.

The inspiration for this little musing stems from a recent reception I attended in which another reveler, approximately my age, sported a full-blown Miami Vice tribute, complete with whisker stubble and sockless shoes.  I'll give him credit, though - the lavender t-shirt he wore under his cobalt blue suit worked nicely.  Had we been at my senior prom (class of 88), I would have stood in a corner using my Jedi mind-trick powers willing him to dance with me (side note:  that never worked on straight boys back in my day, but I didn't care - the best boyfriends were the ones more interested in my wardrobe than in a love connection.  The fun we had devouring Seventeen Magazine each month!). Anyhow, I spent the evening wondering what in God's name possessed him to go for it in such a rad and totally tubular way.


Over time, I've lightened up in my role as judge, jury, and executioner when it comes to fashion.  From what I've seen in restaurants, airports, and grocery stores, only a handful of people were listening to me anyway.  Yet occasions such as running smack dab into Crockett and/or Tubbs in 2015 have me falling back into my old stylish snarkiness.  So indulge me, Gentle Reader, for offering the following Gentle Reminders:

1.  If you are old enough to have worn a trend when it was trendy, don't wear it now.  Opt for modernized nods to your era of choice.  

2.  You can get away with an era that is older than you, but again, modernization is the key.

3.  If your children are wearing it, you really really really shouldn't.

4.  If you've never left a particular era, it's time.  Cyndi Lauper and Boy George have transitioned nicely into the modern age, and you can, too, Sweetie.

Fashion is a fabulous venue for self-expression.  If it feels good, do it, but proceed with caution when it comes to wearing vintage.  There's a difference between 'Hello, Darling!' to 'Hell No, Dummy!" so be careful.  Seek style gurus that resonate with YOU (loads of them on the Internet), and follow their lead.

And if you have specific questions (limit two per person, please, for I'm very busy and don't have much of an attention span these days), feel free to submit them via the comment box.  Cheers, Sweeties!

The Comfort Zone

Had the groom told us beforehand that the dress code was 'sky clad', the guests, along with the bride and the members of the wedding party, most likely wouldn't have shown up.  To be honest, I didn't know the couple that well;  I'm merely a friend of a friend of a friend. I only went because I'd never been to a Pagan wedding before.  Little did I know at the time that lesbian Universal Life ministers would become a trend, so I totally wasted my time with this one.

Anyway, we thought he made the request in jest, but when he disrobed and threatened to call the police if others didn't follow suit (pun totally intended), we knew he meant business.  The bride cried while her father threatened to punch his new son-in-law in the mouth.  If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times:  hard core Pagans and free-flowing champagne are never a good combination. 

I'm not comfortable with public nudity; I am, however, comfortable with free cake, so once I helped myself to a slice, I hightailed it out of there.

Now you understand why I rarely leave the house. There's always going to be some element of large gatherings that makes me uneasy. Whether it's nudity or just the noise, I can't handle being part of a big group.  I play a good game for a while, though, and can find tools to help me cope (see: free cake), but generally speaking, I'd prefer spending time with a small segment of fully-clothed, like-minded individuals.

My friends and I gladly own our introvert status, and we've finally reached the age in which we're comfortable telling one another, "It's 8:00, and I need to leave."  We, unlike those pesky extroverts, would never insist that you stay for just one more. 

We understand and embrace the comfort zone concept - we're only equipped with what we have and we try to make the best of it.  No amount of goading or badgering shall change us, so don't bother trying.  

I guess the point of today's story, boys and girls, is that we've no right to infringe our own way of life upon one another.  Your insistence upon nudity is someone else's worst nightmare (for more reasons than one.  Have you ever noticed that those who practice nudity are never really the ones you want to see naked?). You've no right to request that everyone get on board with it.  I'm not enforcing my fabulous clothes upon you, Streaking Stanley, so leave me alone.

Live and let live, friends. That's the elegant way.

Our Cause in Review

On-the-job travels have kept me away for a couple of weeks, so I welcome myself back to this little musing with open arms.

Unfortunately, Gentle Reader, I have no specific topic in mind, but since we're here to celebrate elegance, let's reconnoiter.  We cannot make strides toward world domination if we don't take pause to review what, specifically, we're here to do.  

Elegant Musings Mission Statement:  to enhance our lives with lovely and loving people, places, and things.  To ignore and/or mock those who refuse to measure up to our high standards.  To dress appropriately for every occasion and to use the proper fork. To display good will for all except those who don't deserve it (which includes but is not limited to bigots, hate-mongers, narcissists, oblivions, and your basic run-of-the-mill idiots).

Requirements for Acceptance:  a good sense of humor and a desire to make the world a kinder, more compassionate and spiffier place.

Things We Won't Tolerate:  whiners, loud-mouths, stinkpots, cat-haters, know-it-alls, and lactose.

Things We Will Tolerate:  humor, irony, spiritual exploration, art, five-dollar words, and bottles of red wine.

How You Can Help:  laugh at this blog when appropriate, share this blog if you'd like, and take this and any other advice-offering forum with a grain of salt.  Only you know what's best for you.  Don't give me that, of course you do - turn off the TV, sit in silence for a minute (or day...or week...) and try to figure yourself out, for crying out loud.

Any Other Business?:  why, yes, thanks for asking. The only way we can make the world a more elegant place is by doing the best job we can while on this plane. No fighting, demonstrating, petition-signing is going to do it.  Pick a couple of causes that resonate with you (in addition to this one), and contribute what you can peacefully.  

Turn off all gadgets while at the dinner table.  

Eat good food.  Real food.  Fresh food.  

Shop locally if you can, and do visit second-hand and thrift stores often.

Limit the amount of stuff in your home.

Clean your home, for Heavens' sake.

Adopt as many cats and dogs as you can.

Limit your attention to Western medicine; seek alternatives when you're ill (if you're gravely ill, see a doctor, though - don't be stupid).

Get together with friends on a regular basis.

I could go on, but I've got Pineapple Pork (yes, local and organic, Wise Guy) in the crock pot and I must take my leave of you, dear hearts, in order to check on it.  If I haven't told you before, let me tell you now:  I appreciate you so much for reading my little scribblings, and although we may not change the world, it's nice to know I'm in good company in our efforts.

And the Award Goes To....

It's Oscar-time, Sweeties, and I can't think of anything more glamorous or self-congratulatory, can you?

Come on.  How many other professions take an entire season, culminated in a 15-hour televised broadcast, in order to pat themselves on the back? Think about it.  There are no trophies for Best Supporting Nurse.  No one gets a Lifetime Achievement Award for Outstanding Bathtub Scrubbing.  And Best Score by Your Cranky Band Director?  Not going to happen.  But just suppose....

Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the 45th Annual Proctologists Awards!  Tonight, we honor Dr. Harvey Finkelstein for his gripping work in How Did That Get in There?

It's all just so silly, but be that as it may, I'd like to offer my (not so) much researched insights as to who should win.  Have I seen every movie nominated?  No; in fact, I've only seen one of them, but that certainly won't keep me from chiming in.  Do I want to see every movie nominated?  No.  Do I care anymore what anyone is wearing now that I no longer have Joan Rivers and her fabulous running commentary? Absolutely not. Nonetheless, here it goes:

American Sniper - Clint Eastwood is a brilliant filmmaker, but I probably won't see this.  It has absolutely nothing to do with politics and everything to do with 'too much realness'.  When I plop down in front of a screen with a tray full of snacks, the last thing I want is reality, which is highly overrated.

Birdman -  I watched it last night (better late than never, right?).  Good. Interesting.  Creative.   Was it the best movie I've ever seen?  No, but I enjoyed it nonetheless, and I've adored Michael Keaton ever since Night Shift  and he will remain the only Batman I shall ever want or need, so I'm hopeful he'll get a nod in the Best Actor category - his performance, just like everything else he's ever done, was stellar.  Same goes for his co-star, Edward Norton.  Two fine actors who deserve all the success and recognition they can get.

Boyhood - Twelve years in the life of a boy. Something tells me it might take twelve years for me just to get through it.

Grand Budapest Hotel - The title alone suggests I should check into a hotel and nap through this one.  Next.

Imitation Game - 'A group of English mathematicians'....and I'm done.

Selma - I have nothing but the utmost respect for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and I will most likely see this at some point.  The one thing holding me back from doing so now:  Oprah.  I'm sorry.  Let's move on.

The Theory of Everything - I'm a bit resistant when it comes to biographical movies. I'd prefer to read a well-researched book about someone's life or hit up Wikipedia in a pinch.  If Stephen Hawking ever gets a cover story in Star Magazine, I'll gladly check it out.

Whiplash - A young musical prodigy and his tough-as-nails teacher.  I saw this in '80's.  It was called Fame.

In a nutshell, based on my own viewing experience and powerful process of elimination, Birdman should win them all. 

Now, let's talk about the ceremony itself.  It's too long, and there's always one yahoo who takes the stage, receives his trophy and then proclaims, 'This is a movie that had to be made."  Give me a break. We have diseases to eradicate and hungry children to feed, and your little 3 1/2 hour piece of warped propaganda gets the green light?  Pu-lease.

Today's Oscars ceremony also lacks the elegance of days gone by, when you could count on Bob Hope to keep it light, bright, and moving along.  You could count on the winners to keep their speeches brief and sincere.  Everyone dressed appropriately and behaved appropriately, too.

Perhaps our never-ceasing thirst for entertainment has contributed to the outlandishness of awards these days. Whatever. Good work is good work, whether you're an actor, a teacher, or a carpet salesmen.  It's nice to receive recognition, but it's not as nice as knowing deep down that at the end of the day, you did the best you could.

That's Entertainment

Mesmerized by 'Old Hollywood', I simply can't get enough information about the stars of yesteryear. One recurring theme that runs throughout many of the books I've read centers on private parties, hosted by everyone from Bogie to Bing, Judy to Joan.  How glamorous it all seemed....

Think about it:  everyone shows up gussied up, and once the drinks and dinner have been served and somewhat digested, it's time for a little entertainment, usually provided by the guests.

I love that idea - exploiting people in the name of a good time.  

On the rare occasion that Mr. Newman and I host a 'do, I mention how fabulous it would be to insist that our guests perform something.  It could be a song, a dramatic reading, fire-juggling - heck, I don't care.  I'm easily entertained.  He entertains for a living, as do many of our friends, so they always put the kibosh on my big idea.  Pretty rotten, don't you think?  

I mean, come on - with the amount of talented people we know, we have all the makings of A SHOW.  Sadly, though, it will never come to pass. We'll continue to just stand around my living room like a bunch of a-holes eating cheese balls and sipping cheap wine.

I've even threatened family with 'performance pieces'.  Rather than gift-giving, why not give us a 'number'?  I think it's brilliant, and just imagine the money we'd all save.

Well, Sweeties, I made good on the threat yesterday, in honor of my sister's birthday.  

In two parts, because you simply can't contain this amount of talent into one video...

As I watch this, I now understand why my family and friends are hesitant about entertaining just for grins.  A Duran Duran tribute performed by a middle-aged woman, her cat, and her ukulele might look good on paper, but when the rubber hits the road, it falls short.  Way short....

But at least I tried, and knowing me, I'll try it again.  You have been warned.

Dough for My Bread

It occurs every Saturday morning.

As I stand before my open fridge, tossing out non-eaten and soon-to-be expired perishables accumulated during the week, I can't help but calculate the money I'm literally throwing away. We've two humans and three cats living in this house, so it's not like I have to buy an exorbitant amount of groceries each week.  Nonetheless, my tendency to graze and Mr. Newman's tendency to do whatever the hell he wants food-wise results in a sad sack full of wilted vegetables and dodgy meats and cheeses.  It vexes me greatly, and the Mr. laughs at me, which vexes me even more.  Yet I never complain, until it's time to come up with a topic for my little scribblings.

Yes, I am frugal.  Yes, I realize others who are less fortunate would gladly come over and partake each week of the leftovers, but I don't want a bunch of strangers in my house, so I don't issue any invitations.  Frugal with money, frugal with generosity - that pretty much sums up my current existence.

I find, too, that the older I get, the more this frugality rears it's cheap ugly head.  I pride myself on never paying full price for clothing, books, and household items.  I readily admit to removing a beautiful plant stand a neighbor placed beside my dumpster because I needed one for the patio.  And sure, I'll even confess to hoarding pennies in an old Folgers coffee can in the event that our whole system shuts down due to the zombie apocalypse or total government mismanagement (which could very likely be one and the same).

I will not, however, dumpster dive. Taking something beside the dumpster is one thing; actually going into the dumpster is quite another.  I watched a documentary about people who get their groceries straight from the bin.  These people looked unhealthy.  And dirty.  And weird.  I'm weird enough - I don't need to egg it on even more.

I also refuse to buy in bulk.  I don't have the space to store five years worth of diapers.  I also don't have a baby.  This brings me to the extreme couponers:  if you're not going to use it, why purchase it?  I know a bald extreme couponer who has a hundred bottles of shampoo sitting atop a shelf in his garage.  His sole companion is a hairless cat.  'I had a coupon,' remains his only explanation for it.

I will, however, own the fact that I don't know everything (just most things):  the super-jumbo package of croissants Mr. Newman brought home the other day did not go to waste as I'd predicted. If I had a dime for every croissant I've thrown away recently, I'd have several dimes.  He assured me they would not wind up in the garbage, and just to make sure they wouldn't I ate the last one this morning.  Don't tell him.

I will also acknowledge that sometimes trash really is trash.  Unlike some people I know, I won't attempt to fashion bracelets out of toilet tissue cardboard nor will I wear a lampshade as a hat. 

I actually did wear a lampshade once in my early twenties, but it had nothing to do with frugality and everything to do with an outrageous party thrown by a friend of a friend.

Come to think of it, it really was a cute lampshade. It totally brought out my eyes.

But I digress....

In my opinion, waste is wrong.  Wasted food, wasted time, wasted talent, wasted youth - if we utilize the ingredients we already have, perhaps we'd all be a bit richer, and not necessarily in monetary terms.

Not-So-Brilliant Conversationalists

A colleague and I recently discussed how folks these days have little to actually talk about in person due to social media.  She didn't have to tell me about her Christmas, nor did I need to share about mine.  Thanks to Facebook, we knew the holiday score and in one regard it was fine - we could get down to business fairly quickly.  On the other hand, we missed the social element that once-upon-a-time prefaced 'getting down to work'.

I took that encounter to heart, and have tried to be super-mindful of what I throw out into the cosmos via the Internet.  I never felt the need to post the minutia of each moment, and I certainly never posted anything heavy or personal.  I've always tried to keep it light in the hopes that my reported deeds and misdeeds might make someone smile.

Social media is a wonderful tool for staying in touch with far-away family and friends.  It's also a great method to 'meet' and 'interact' with like-minded souls.  Too many of us misuse it, however;   when we're more concerned with impressing the masses rather than those living within our homes, then we've got a problem.  

We live in the age of Too Much Information, and I wonder if the overload has gone so far overboard that we can no longer discern fact from fiction.  

I also wonder how much of that TMI energy we're absorbing simply by default.  Got five minutes to spare?  Check Facebook.  Then log on to Twitter.  Then visit Instagram.  That five minutes turns into a good solid hour, and then where are you?  Behind in your work; behind in your being.  I know, for I've been guilty of it far too many times.

Off course,  we should take note of the fact that social MEdia sites are rife with narcissists, sociopaths, and your basic run-of-the-mill attention whores.  These folks have no interest in real connections.  They're more concerned with reaching a certain number of 'likes'.  One connection I had went so far as to create fake profiles for a cast of characters with whom he 'interacted' - everything from fake personal assistants to fake family members, which then led to fake enlightenment and fake excitement.  His desperate attempts at presenting himself as a raconteur fell flat rather quickly. The fewer responses he got, the more outlandish his posts became.

I ended up deleting him from my online world.  I 'd never met him in person, and couldn't quite recall how we connected in the first place. 

There is no shame in living a life that's real. And undocumented.

This leads us back to the original point:  have we lost the art of conversation?  Real conversation - the equal exchange of give-and-take.  Listening more while speaking less. I once clocked someone in at 43 minutes before he even asked, 'And how are you?'   It's probably my own fault; I've never been much of a talker and I'm terribly private.  Still, it's always nice to be asked.

If, like me, you're desirous of changing your social media habits, why not give the following a try:

1.  Logging on only once or twice a day; posting even less.

2. Deleting or blocking the narcissists and Debbie Downers (I conducted a 'blocking ceremony' a couple of days ago, and it certainly felt good).

3.  Post only the positive.  If it will make someone smile, laugh, or think, you're good to go.

4.  Share links to art, music, and the written word, not the latest horror from the news.

5.  Live honestly and simply, and relay your life as such. 

6.  If it's not someone you'd want to chat with over a glass of wine, don't connect with him online.

Just like everything else in life, finesse and balance in our social media habits are important. Our real and online interactions have the power to make or break someone's day.   Utilize your networks wisely, but more importantly, utilize your time with the person standing two feet away from you wisely, too.  Ask, listen, and reciprocate - quite easy, once we put it back into practice.