Friday 8 October 2010

IT'S ALL HAPPENING ON THE STREET

To most in my age group – we’ll keep that exact number quiet at the moment - the mere mention of Sesame Street brings about a nostalgic collective sigh. It’s one of those shows that pushed the boundaries, entertained, and educated all in one swoop. And half the time it did it with such an effortless flair, that it actually – yes, that old phrase – made learning fun. It can happen. Even more amazing is that it is not only still on the air, but people still regard it in such high esteem. Seriously, when you have a bunch of puppets singing alongside someone like Ray Charles, how can you go wrong? My sister and I used to watch it religiously. We were big Burt and Ernie fans, likening each other to them respectively. I was Ernie, the shorter of the two of us, with an eye for mischief of course. She was more like Burt, quiet, a bit more introspective. We'd always practice getting into bed at a sideways slant like they did, as if we were puppets. This of course drove my mom nuts as all it did was prolong our bedtime.

Recently, Sesame Street has gone Nigerian. A renamed version called ‘Sesame Square,’ has hit the airwaves and it has got a unique West African flair. Mainly, a few of the puppets are dealing with distinct issues and problems endemic to the region. Kami, a girl puppet, is HIV positive. She is of course also effervescent, blond, and has a zest for adventure. Then there is Zobi, a blue furry muppet who seems to gravitate towards trouble and mischief. (My kind of puppet). But thankfully in true Sesame Street style he manages to escape it and more importantly, learn his lesson.

Sesame Square is quite pioneering actually – following in its forefather’s footsteps of course – and aims to address some of the biggest challenges facing the region, be it AIDS, malaria, or religious intolerance. One episode focuses on Zobi getting tangled up in a mosquito net; hijinks ensue of course, but the moral always remains which is that a net could very well save Zobi’s life from malaria. Of course it also focuses on learning skills and all the while remains sensitive to the region’s religious bent. Apparently the girl and boy puppets are not allowed to hug due to a very Muslim population in northern Nigeria. Oh come on, they’re puppets! They’re made of fabric, I promise you nothing will come of it. Maybe that’s another lesson they should have on there, one being that a hug between men and women can be utterly innocuous. Okay okay, Rome was not built in a day. I shall relent.

So all this got me thinking about a few more puppets I think Sesame Street over here should include in its fold. Firstly: the gay puppet, or why not the gay puppet couple. It’s clearly legal to marry on Sesame Street of course. And all the other puppets will embrace them wholeheartedly without question or mention of their sexuality. Then there could be the neo-con and liberal puppet that get along like a house on fire. Maybe they could even live in the same trash can like James Carville and Mary Matalin? And of course there are the religiously diverse puppets – including the atheist puppet, and she’s real nice and has impeccable morals J - that all learn from one another but do not discriminate. Muslim puppet digs Catholic puppet, and Catholic puppet bakes cakes for Hindu puppet, and so on. Of course this will all go on whilst we learn about the letter L. For “Let’s all just get along people!”

A girl can dream.

Thursday 7 October 2010

MY CAN OR YOURS?

Two architects in Philadelphia have come up with their solution to the housing shortage across America. They have designed pre-fabricated houses using farm grain dryers that resemble soup cans. Yes boys and girls, if you are very lucky, you and your family can live in a soup can. According to Mergold and Austin, the innovative architects in question, this can shaped structure is the icon of the American landscape.

That just says it all about American architecture doesn’t it.

These fabulous tin dwellings can come in one or two stories and you can even have a green house on the roof, if you so desire. Isn’t it just sounding more and more tempting as I go along? Okay, I have to hand it to these two gentlemen to address the housing shortage. Gold star for at least trying, as so many people in the world could care less about those that cannot afford homes. But encouraging people to live in cans just sounds a bit, well, undesirable. Okay, let’s look at the positives, you could hose down the outside of the house very easily. So there is the clean factor, which I of course love. The echo inside could provide some interesting acoustics, so a plus if you’re a singer. Then again, the King (his lungs) and I trapped inside a can? That’s just cruel. Hmm, what else, you certainly would be the talk of the neighborhood, although I’m not sure it would be for all the right reasons. Then again, how much fun would it be to go to a bar and ask some dude (purely hypothetical of course) if he wanted to go back to your can?

All this said, since I was a child and an avid Smurfs watcher, I always wanted to live in a mushroom. It just looked so cozy and one with nature. Then again, the mold problem would be a b*tch to navigate; saying this, it couldn’t be any damper than living in England. I’ve gotten so used to seeing mold on the walls here, that I’m considering marketing a line of paint in a variety of mold-based colors. Not as innovative as living in a can, but I think pretty darn close.

Wednesday 6 October 2010

FEELING CRAZY YET?

[As much as I'd like to take credit for the baby in the above photo, that is NOT the King]

I’m starting to think no one knows anything when it comes to babies. Okay, fine, a mother will know her own baby, but trust me, there are times in the beginning where even that is questionable. Then there are the ‘experts’ who claim to know everything about everything. Bastards. They write books and tell you what you should do, what you shouldn’t do, and what of course you’re doing wrong to screw up your child and ensure that they will be the one on top of the college auditorium with a rifle. Thanks for that. And of course keep in mind that for every one of their books, there are 60 others telling you to do the complete opposite thing. Hence, I am now convinced that rearing children can and will lead to schizophrenia.

The problem is this, it’s a business; this entire baby racket thing is a multi-billion dollar business to sell you things that may work, won’t work, or will work for five minutes and then forget it, you’ve missed your window cause they’re not going to work anymore. Are you feeling crazy yet? What ends up happening of course is that you feel like a failure – a tired, un-showered failure – cause you don’t know how to interpret some expert's regime, which leads you to toss out their ethos and pick up another, (cha-ching) and of course spend more cash in doing so.

As of now, I feel like it’s the blind leading the blind theory at play. My friends – god love them – are all very helpful when it comes to giving advice in regards to the King. But they will readily admit that for them, such and such worked. For me, well, good luck, I might come up totally snake eyes. You see, I believe that by month two, a mother knows that it is a crap shoot; they know that what works on Monday – whether it be rocking your child to sleep, cooing him, standing on your freaking head wearing a blue caftan singing “Let It Be,” at top volume…well, none of that may work on Friday. So enjoy the peace and effectiveness while it lasts.

As I’ve said before babies, and the King has got this characteristic all sewn up, are ever changing. Sure they like routine. We all do. But they only like it until they’re good and ready to change it, and then to hell with your routine, revolution is happening in our baby kingdom and you just have to adapt and deal with it. My partner and I have never uttered the phrase, ‘maybe it’s…’ more in our lives. Every day we look at one another and say it tiredly and repeatedly like it’s a mantra staving off death. I believe it is a string of hope. It makes us somehow feel in control and if I say maybe enough times, I might just know what the King is doing and what ball he’s going to hurl at me next. Wow that curveball is a bitch.

No wonder babies start laughing and smiling right about now; I am sure they are highly entertained by our attempts and deductions that we know what is best. The other day when I said out loud to the King that just MAYBE, I had no clue what I was doing, I swear the kid winked at me.

Tuesday 5 October 2010

ANIMAL KINGDOM

Today’s blog is in honor of someone very close to me who just lost her dog after sixteen years. :( It got me thinking of course how significant a role in our lives animals play, more than I suppose we ever realize until a beloved animal passes. I’ve known this friend of mine since I was a little girl and she will admit that I’ve never been a pet person. Ironically enough, I grew up with pets. We had dogs, hamsters (seriously, the point??), horses (much more my speed), birds..I even had a pet turtle named Barney. And don’t get me wrong, I liked all of them, but I knew I was never one of those diehard animal people. The funniest thing was that every animal that I came into contact with knew it. They could smell my ambivalence from a mile away and set themselves on a determined course to change my mind, as only animals can.

So this particular friend and I would spend every weekend together at her house - in fact my Mom would actually call and ask when, and if, she was ever going to see me again - and in this house there was a serious animal menagerie going on. She had cats, dogs, rats (domestic of course), ducks; you name it she had it. And every night, no fail, when we’d get into bed and have our pre-sleep pillow gossip about the important things in teenage life – you know, who liked who, did you see what that person was wearing, when were we going to shop next, etc. – her cats would come and sit on me. Not just on me, but right on top of my head as if I was their cat basket. While this was happening the other cats would go to their litter box and as if on cue just to torment me, they’d do their business in such a way, it would send my friend and I under the covers screaming in horror (she of course would be laughing so hard at the look on my face). And I swear to you, they’d only do this in my honor, as if to say, you’re not an animal lover, fine, but we’ll show you who is in charge. I even watched one of her cats give birth – in the same bedroom of course. I’m telling you, that room saw a ton of life experience.

Saying all this, I always marveled at how much a part of the family all her animals were. They were like their children in the best possible way. It was – and I admit this now – almost hard not to like them as well, especially her Goldens. I mean, I’d be a cold-hearted beast if I couldn’t love a golden retriever. Years later, I got my own dog. It was an impulsive decision (especially for a seflish gypsy that I was at the time) and I certainly wasn’t ready for it, but I think it wasn’t until then that I truly understood the connection one could have. I of course was the worst pet owner in the world, in that I would spoil her rotten and had no clue about ground rules. [I’ve learned with the King of course; Dog. Baby, close enough]. My dog would sleep in my bed, try to jump in my bath, eat human food, and go to day care. This dog seriously thought she was the Queen of England, and I loved her to bits.

However, this next sentence will show you how unprepared I was for pet ownership (and judge me if you must, I can take it), as after a year, I chose to find her a new home when I moved to England. In my defense I did not want to put her through a six-month (at the time) quarantine. The rate of death and disease was high, and I will heartedly admit, it is a decision that torments me to this day. In my defense, she went to a family with children and spent her summers in Maine. It actually sounded better than my life at the time, so I figured if things on my end went tits up, I could go move in with her.

Years on, as irony would have it, I now find myself thinking that instead of a second child, I would get a pet for the King [purely cause I don’t have to get pregnant and give birth to it]. In fact, I’m starting to think that those individuals that are dedicated to animals have got it all figured out. Animals are much more dependable, loveable, and rewarding than the fray. In fact, if this world had more animals and less people, we would probably be better off.

So you see, even the most ambivalent can have a change of heart.

Monday 4 October 2010

BULLY THIS, BIG GUY

Sadly of late, it has been in the news that several gay teenagers have committed suicide as a result of excessive bullying from their peers. One case involved an eighteen year-old Rutgers student who jumped off the George Washington Bridge after his roommate and another, streamed footage of the student being intimate with another man across the internet. Stories like this get my blood boiling into such a rage it seems only fitting for a Monday morning rant.

The fact that there is still so much shame around one’s sexual orientation makes me feel like we’re living in the stone ages. Sadly, if this student had been heterosexual, I’m sure his sexual prowess would be celebrated all over campus, not ridiculed. But unfortunately, we are still living in a time where homosexuals are branded with a stigma that is heavier than some are capable of carrying.

Being a teenager is hard enough, having to navigate hormones amongst trying to figure out who the hell we are, let alone withstand the abuse of those who make it their mission to intimidate those weaker than they are (weaker only in size, never in character). Of course all of this sets my primal mother bear senses on high alert. I fear when the King starts going to school, cause my partner will have to nail my feet to the floor if anyone bullies him. I’m not proud to say that I will be the mad woman in the sandbox telling some tyrannical little monster where he can shove his harassment. Okay, not the message a model parent should be sending; I have a few years to work on that. What breaks my heart the most is that there are children and teenagers out there who think believe what these bullies are telling them and that instead of being proud of their differences and individual choices, they try to hide or even worse, stifle them completely.

I wish I could tell them that although they feel alone and alienated now, they will most likely turn out to be just fine. In fact, more than fine, considering that most people that suffer alienation and persecution have to cultivate other skills and interests, often resulting in amazingly honed talents and gifts for things (okay, fine, some end up shooting up their high school, but that is a very small percentage). I’m sure Bill Gates was not always the first to be asked to dance at the junior prom and yet look at him now, the man could buy every high school in the state of California. And those bullies in school, where do they end up? Well it’s pretty to sure to say that they’re either a day trader, a criminal, or an overstuffed beer-guzzling derelict that never left his town. As we all know their bullying personality is overcompensation for things that they were seriously lacking in; or sometimes the bully themselves are the ones hiding the very deepest of secrets, like a screaming desire to wear high heeled shoes. And that's perfectly alright too.

So King, rest assured, if you turn out to be a glasses wearing, bug collecting, bookworm, Momma’s got your back if anyone has a problem with that.

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