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You Could Be Another Lincoln*

04 Mar

Recently I heard of a woman who made a lovely batch of lemonade out of a whole bunch of lemons.  She had spent most of her working life in finance management.  Through pluck and competence she moved up the ranks nicely.  Then she was laid-off at the same time her son was diagnosed with behavioral issues.  Like most of us, her stress behaviors began to kick into high gear.  For her this meant organizing everything within her sight.  She had always found organizing to be soothing and imbued the results with subtle sacred qualities.  Growing up in a chaotic household and moving often as a child, she found order comforting.  So she took the doors off her son’s closet, replaced all his drawers with clear boxes and organized and labeled him into a more focused kid.  Her child’s teacher noticed the difference in his behavior, and a conversation resulted in other children’s rooms being organized by the ex-financial manager.  Packing up her label maker and color coded files one day, she joked to her husband; “This is like a job.”

I think we all know where the story goes from here.  But wait, there is one tiny hitch.  This highly educated, super competent woman decided she needed credentials.  She went off to the Organizing Institute (or something as ridiculous sounding) and got herself a certificate.  I can picture the graduation ceremony: a row of color coordinated graduates holding their hand over the heart and pledging to banish randomness and clutter.  Now that she’s certified does that mean she enjoys client/practitioner privilege?  If she discovers a bloodied shirt and knife in an over-stuffed dresser drawer is she obligated to keep that information to herself?  Why did this seemingly talented, smart, sophisticated woman feel the need to trot off to the wizard to get a doctorate in thinkology?

Could it be that we are now living in the age of expertise?  You’ve heard of the the jazz age, the cold war age, the disco age?  The age of expertise isn’t nearly that interesting or fashion specific.  The expertise age may very well be the product of the perfect storm of populace insecurity and a global speaker’s corner.  Whether people’s insecurities are innate, organic or the result of marketing susceptibility, the results are the same.  Grown people walking around feeling shaky and out of step.  They probably are perfectly happy (or happy enough) but are bombarded with messages about tablescapes, second homes in Tuscany, French parenting, Tiger’s mothering.  Having not mastered the skill of tuning out, sooner or later these various messages boil down to one thing; “other people know more than I do.”  Now, that is actually true.  But the people who know more than most of us are not the ones telling us how to carve the perfect jack-o-lantern.

People achieving expert status without robust credentials is nothing new.  Certainly we can think of at least one radio talk show “doctor” raking in the benefits.  But the platforms for such expertise have expanded beyond computation.  So we find ourselves with a huge audience for “experts” in fields which often have no history of formal certification.  Everything, and I do mean everything, has become an area of expertise.  In just one week I have heard of a woman whose specialty is herding cats, another who designs walls (she’s not a muralist or even a house painter, she tells you where to hang your artwork.)  And the infant/child fetish is still skyrocketing: getting your baby to sleep through the night? 1-800-i’ll take your money is on the way!  not sure how to toilet train? HaveM&MsWillTravel.com is at the ready.  I think we can all agree that there are iPhone app experts being created everyday.

Is all of this malarkey a sign of the end of time?  Hardly.  Would anyone confuse another “it happened to me so it must be universal” book with actual sociology?  Doubtful.  If there is any harm it is merely that throwing around terms like “expert” and inculcating people as such is not helping anyone or anything.  We’d be a lot further ahead to feel confident in our own abilities (to organize our sock draw, or teach our child to use the potty.)  Secure confident people make better decisions, for themselves, their families and even at the polls.

*If I Only Had A Brain – Yip Harburg, Wizard of Oz (1939)

 
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Posted by on March 4, 2012 in Cultural Critique, Media/Marketing

 

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Careful The Things You Do*

01 Mar

Hauling nutritionally balanced snacks to Little Leaguers (who engage in actual exercise for about 10 minutes.)  Creating elaborately themed birthday parties for children who would be happy with a whoopee cushion and a pizza.  Dressing little girls as miniature Mae Wests.  What do these, and many more slightly wacky things, have in common?

When asked, the majority of adults will explain (variations of the above) behavior with the following: “There’s such pressure.”  Such pressure.  From their child?  Visions of a pigtailed girl a la The Bad Seed dance in my head.  There she is in the middle of GapKids/Gymboree/Children’s Place, her $200 doll held aloft prepared to swing; “Buy me the fur shrug or the latte gets it.”  I don’t think so.  If so, someone call Willy Wonka and have him rustle up some oompa loompas.  I think what these parents in fact mean is that there is perceived peer pressure.  That’s right; peer pressure.  That plausible excuse for the pack of cigarettes your parents found in their car, the explanation for shoplifting that 45 (a small disc when placed on a turntable emits prerecorded sound,) and a plausible excuse for kissing that boy in the basement.  But peer pressure in adults?  How does that work?  How does one even keep a straight face?  I suspect that it is not peer pressure so much as it is herd mentality.  Semantics perhaps, but defined as “group think” it makes just a bit more sense.

Very few of us, no matter how many times we’ve done it, feel like professional parents.  Every child, every developmental stage, in fact every day presents new challenges.  Yes, there are some whose very nature is laid back.  They feel confident that their child is well fed, healthy, happy, and curious.  They don’t grasp at enrichment programs as if they were life preservers or buy every latest geegaw and gizmo.  Their confidence might be innate or may be a reflection of their diverse portfolio.  Perhaps all their identity eggs are not in the parenthood basket.  They may have a paid job or not.  They may be married or not.  The diversification is more internal than that.

But these are not the parents hiring aerialists and face painters for a bris.  They are not the ones baking for the school/church/scouts/karate class/soccer club every week.  The parents staying up to create bespoke goody bags for their 6 year old’s birthday party are hearing different voices in their head.  They want desperately to get it right and like the creature in the strange land (that all parents really are) they take every cue and piece of advice to heart.  A cycle is created of external reinforcement.  Where the trouble may lie (if you consider hovering parenting and spoiled children, trouble) is a sense of unease and disquietness.  Look around.  How much of the media noise is about “stressed moms” “mommy wars” or far worse “the hidden drinking life of moms.”  How long do you think it will be before we have a psychological condition known as “stressed mother?”

Feeling exhausted and strained is nothing new.  Mother’s little helper, anyone?  But the angst which comes from losing one’s internal compass is.  What would happen if we tried something new, yet very old for 30 days?  For 30 days, let’s not visit any parenting websites, chat rooms or magazines.  Let’s only talk to our friends and acquaintances about what’s going on in our own lives, not our child’s.  Let’s plan weekly dates with our partners (and hire babysitters.)  If something comes up in those 30 days which really warrants guidance, call a parent, or aunt, or uncle or grandparent.  Look to the elders, the survivors if you will, for guidance, reinforcement and comfort.  For 30 days, do not look to the others floundering in the sea of parenthood for help.

Let me know how it goes.

*Children Will Listen – Into The Woods, Stephen Sondheim (1986)

 
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Posted by on March 1, 2012 in Childhood

 

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How Lovely To Be A Woman*

28 Feb

If you have been in the vicinity of a woman under 27 in recent years, you have undoubtedly found yourself asking “is she asking me that or telling me that?”  Putting a question mark at the end of every sentence began as a teenage affectation and has migrated into the adult world.  If you have spent anytime in the workplace?  You have heard the inflection?  Time and time again?  Like the co-worker of a Tourette’s sufferer, you politely pretend it’s not happening (and later slam your head against your office wall.)  I would probably have far fewer dents in my head if it weren’t for the fact that I have never, ever met a young man who engages in oratory self-doubt.  I’m willing to acquiesce that the question mark had the same genesis as the nervous tic of “like” or dotting “i”s with smiley faces.  They are all just proof of the herd mentality of finding one’s adolescent individuality.  But surely college and then the workplace are not smiley face life stages.  (Oh my, there’s probably software for that now.  It’s only a matter of time when doctoral thesis will be turned in with little smiley faces doting the “i”s.  Ph.D candidates will march across the podium to receive their diploma emblazoned with the 7th grade spelling they created of their name – “Bahrbra” “Stacye” “Sharyn”)

The ubiquitous question mark is disturbing for its implication of uncertainty.  One need only hear Molly Wei testifying in the Rutgers University invasion of privacy case for proof.  This serious, well-groomed and coached witness, ends every sentence with a question mark.  Hopefully the jurors all have teenage girls at home.  There is nothing new about women (of any age) altering their voice for effect.  We can all think of at least a dozen performers or celebrities who have adopted breathy/baby voices.  Performers do that.  It’s what’s called performing.  But when a sales associate? or account manager? ends every sentence with a question mark?  It’s about something else.

A delayed adolescence and all the insecurities that accompany it are on full (somewhat cringe inducing) display.  Walk through a large office and note the identical manicures, outfits, handbags, sunglasses, tech toys.  It’s like walking through a high school.  There was a time when being old enough to work meant being old enough to have an identity.  While I admit (very begrudgingly) that television shows are not exactly the same as social anthropology, it is interesting to note the WJM newsroom.  Even if you were from Mars, you would never confuse Mary with a visiting Rhoda or Phyllis.  They all had a distinct style and sound.  (Sue Ann Nivens was her own best creation, but was a bit older than the other women.)  Was there ever a better voice manipulator than Mary?  Whether she was “Rob”ing or “Mr.Grant”ing you would never confuse her with anyone else.  Isn’t that the point?

Whether it’s habit, insecurity, or immaturity, it’s time to stop.  See all those strings/rubber bracelets on your wrist?  Snap one every time you hear your voice go up.  I promise you, in just a matter or weeks you will lose the tic and before you know it; find you voice.

“How lovely to be so grown-up and free!  Life’s lovely when you’re a woman like me!” – Kim Macafee (age 15) Bye Bye Birdie – Lee Adams, 1960

 

 
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Posted by on February 28, 2012 in Cultural Critique

 

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And God Created Great Whales – Review

25 Feb

It is rare that a new musical production appears; beautifully crafted and perfectly executed.  And God Created Great Whales is just that.  This two-person play is the story of Nathan (Rinde Eckert) and his muse Olivia (Nora Cole) and their creation of a Moby Dick opera.  Olivia is Nathan’s fantasy, inspiration and musical partner.  She is also often all that is left of his mind.  Nathan is suffering from a rapidly progressing form of memory loss.

The stage is set with several cassette tape recorders, post-it notes, and flashcards.  Evidently, Nathan in the first throes of his illness created effective prompts for the future diminished Nathan.  Through much of the play Nathan wears a recorder around his neck, duct taped to his waist.  Each session at his piano starts with listening to the tape.  He must listen to more and more of these previously recorded reminders as to who he is and what he’s doing as the play progresses.   It would be unbearable to watch if not for the rich bursts of lush operatic score that emerge. The opera is the play within the play and allows for ravishing duets and solos.

There is also much humor in the play.  But its true Amazonian strength is its flawless storytelling.  What could be a depressing and predictably sentimental theme is made beautiful and inspiring.  There is simply no separating the performers from the performance in this production.  Eckert and Cole are mature actors completely immersed in their characters.  They move like trained dancers, in and around each other on the thrust stage.  Eckert is also the creator of the play (and score) as well as the sound designer.  The sound design of this production is worthy of its own review.  It would be overstating to suggest that the sound is a third character in the play.  The lighting (John Torres, Caleb Wertenbaker) and costuming (Clint Ramos) add a great deal to the very exposed and intimate stage.  But it is the fluidity and high production value of the sound that are the most essential.

Directed by David Schweizer, there is a wholeness to this play that is rarely seen on or off-Broadway.  There is not a whiff of anything forced, or a moment that doesn’t exist to propel the story forward.  The structure of the storytelling is very traditional which leaves room for great innovation.  (This alchemy is similar to that of Passing Strange (2008) and Unnatural Acts (2011.))  Both actors are on stage for 90 minutes and at every moment are completely mesmerizing .  My only complaint is I often could not watch both of them at once.  There is much to linger with this play; the fragility and resilience of the mind, the mysteries of the creative process, the many means to an end.  But what will stay with me is a paragon of musical theatre.

Playing at Culture Project until March 25th.

 
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Posted by on February 25, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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Is This Seat Taken?

24 Feb

I have reached the point at which the Town Crier warning the villagers about the evils of social media barely registers.  It’s white noise to me now.  “Yes” I think, “Facebook has taken your mature, socially sophisticated, confident teenager and turned her into a gossiping over-sensitive bully.”  (I think this with the soundtrack of The Music Man in my head. “It starts with ‘F’ that rhymes with…”)  I roll my eyes and pound my fist upon hearing that parents and therapists view Facebook postings as a clue to the inner workings of adolescents.  Evidently, talking to your children or patients does not produce as much insight as does as a status update.  The only thing separating a status update from a scribble on a notebook cover or a diary is its audience, not its nature.  When people start wringing their consumer hands over the privacy of social media, I scream into my throw pillow (purchased with a credit card, online.)  Unless you live in a yurt and only traffic in the cash you store under your mattress, your privacy has already been invaded.

But when an airline is going to let people select a seatmate through their connections on Facebook and Linkedin?  Hand me a pitchfork.  I, perhaps like you, use Linkedin to connect with former and current colleagues, and business contacts.  There is nothing about these rather formal and superficial categories which would suggest I want to be trapped sitting next to them for three+ hours in a flying can, or on the tarmac for that matter.  What if I’m flying to a job interview, or to a not entirely kosher consulting gig?  What if I’m on my way to a funeral?  Do I really want to sit next to that tool in personnel whom I could not afford to not connect with?  While Facebook provides a network a bit more personally meaningful than Linkedin, I still don’t want someone to make a transcontinental date with me without asking.  Look for me at the gate.  Security procedures and delays being what they are, we’ll have hours to catch up and perhaps then decide to try and sit together.  I do not want to go through all the aggravations of planning my travel, be patted down and searched, have my chapstick confiscated, wait at the gate for hours with people eating fried foods in their pajamas, listen to blaring CNN, board a can that smells of disinfectant and fuel, find my seat, shot-put my carry-on, settle myself in, and then hear “Surprise!”  I don’t think our reminiscing about 6th grade will make it past the runway.  And you know what?  Without those George Takei photos, I’m not sure either of us is all that interesting.  It’s hard to believe that the airline industry doesn’t have enough problems.  Do they want to get into the business of enabling stalking?

 
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Posted by on February 24, 2012 in Travel

 

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