Still Cranky

When the “Something Old” at Your Wedding is…You.

September 23, 2014

I recently became something I never thought I’d be:                I became a bride.

To say I “married late” is an understatement. I'd sooner tell you my Social Security number than admit my age. But let’s just say the last time there was any estrogen floating around in my system, Mitt Romney was in favor of healthcare reform and Cher still had remnants of her original face.

According to the infamous 1986 Newsweek story about single women, I had a better chance of being hit by a meteor/struck by lightning/killed by a terrorist than of getting married after the age of 40 (I love defying statistics!). How I met my husband (hint: it was nothing short of a miracle), and the ups and downs of our seven years together before marching down the aisle, is a story for another time. So is the story of how I assiduously avoided marriage most of my life (hint: I had cornered the market on every unavailable/inappropriate/sociopath). Or the story of how I panicked after the proposal and suffered a major case of commitment anxiety.

Those stories can wait. The story I want to tell is what it was like to become a first-time bride at an age when most women are picking out their Mother of the Bride outfits. “Weird” doesn’t even begin to describe it. “Surreal” comes closer. And yes, sometimes, it’s also been quite wonderful.

First came the proposal (it wasn’t a surprise…I’d already been ring shopping for months). As a newly engaged Woman of a Certain Age, I often felt like a freak of nature. News of our engagement was greeted with a mix of shock, awe, confusion and delight. I suppose there’s something sweetly endearing and hopeful about older people finding each other late in life and tying the knot, against all odds. But it’s definitely not the norm. It’s kind of like seeing a bear riding a tricycle.      It’s a novelty, but slightly abnormal.

I’m sure every woman, regardless of her age, experiences a whole gamut of emotions when she gets engaged for the first time. Some of those emotions are universal. Wedding blogs are filled with comments from young women fretting about their ring/dress/caterer/invitations/flower arrangements, etc. etc. etc.         I shared many of those same concerns.

But as an older engaged woman, I also felt different. It was hard to relate to 20-somethings bemoaning the fact that their Girls Nights Out drinking Cosmos with their BFFs might be coming to an end. These girls clearly identified with Carrie Bradshaw. I felt more like one of “The Golden Girls”. Besides, I can hardly stay awake anymore past 9:00 PM, so I wasn’t terribly worried about losing my freedom or missing wild nights out with the girls.

On the other hand, many young brides worry about losing something more significant: their identities as independent, single women. In my case, that identity wasn’t something newfound; it had been a core part of my being for decades. As wonderful as it is to find love, getting married late in life means letting go of one’s lifelong status as a single adult (and a certain perverse pride that goes with it). At times after I got engaged, I almost felt like I was betraying my other single women friends — abandoning the “club”, as it were. I worried how my longtime single friends would react to my new status (the answer: most of my friends were very supportive and happy for me — but there were some mixed reactions. After offering congratulations, one friend blurted out, “Oh NO…this means I’m the LAST one!” I was taken aback. But frankly, had it been me, I might have reacted the same way).

Another dismaying discovery: wedding blogs are full of women confessing they “waited a really long time to get married". From the sound of it, you’d think they'd barely escaped Old-Maidhood. Then you realize these women are all in their late 20s and early-mid 30s! There is nary a mention of anyone over 40. OMG, what would they think of me?? It would be like their Great Aunt Tilly walking down the aisle…like, gross!

So while I was able to feel a certain degree of kinship with my bridal sisterhood,    I mostly felt completely alienated from their ilk.

Even more alienation awaited me in wedding magazines and on wedding blogs. Naturally, they are all geared towards young women. Of course, these womens’ perspective is completely different from mine; they are just starting out — their whole lives are stretched out in front of them. They are planning families, sharing hopes and dreams of the future. My new husband and I are looking forward to shared AARP memberships and discounts at the local multi-plex. For us,“Will you still love me when I’m old and grey?” is not just a hypothetical question.

Getting engaged, however, was only the beginning. Then there was the whole question of The Wedding. Neither my fiancé nor I could even imagine having a wedding. We were much too old to make a fuss. We didn’t want all the stress and expense. We seriously considered running away and eloping. Either that or just have a really small wedding (a non-wedding). But…what if it escalated and turned into a much bigger wedding? My fiancé and I debated all of this for weeks. The eloping option was looking better by the minute. But we finally agreed on a very small family wedding at my parents’ home.

Now it was time to plan the wedding. I would have preferred to have had a root canal. I know a lot of women dream about walking down the aisle their whole lives. Some of them fantasize about their Wedding Day from the time they are little girls. That was never me. I wasn’t anti-wedding. I was just indifferent. Ambivalent about marriage in general, and even more ambivalent about weddings. One thing was for certain: I was not one of those wedding-crazed women obsessed with color schemes, bridesmaids dresses and themed bachelorette parties – ick!! I was paralyzed over the thought of calling caterers, getting estimates, renting tables and chairs, sending invites, editing the invitation list…ALL of it.

I refused to become yet another victim of the Wedding Industrial Complex.            I scoffed at all those brides and their ridiculous color schemes. I laughed at all those brides who obsess over flower and seating arrangements. I ridiculed all those brides who fret about finding the perfect shoes.

And then a funny thing happened: I became one of those brides. Seriously.          A month or so before the wedding, something snapped in my brain and I became BRIDEZILLA. A living, breathing stereotype. A walking, talking cliché.            The dormant Bride gene had been activated. There was no hope.

For the first time in my life, I suddenly gained entry into a rarefied world previously off-limits to me. The sparkly, pastel gates opened and I entered the kingdom known as…ta da! — Wedding World!

Nothing could have prepared me for this strange, new land. If I had landed on Mars, I could not have found the terrain more foreign. And yet, I was here. I was now a member of the elite group known as “brides”. I had a wedding to plan. And there was work to be done.

Suddenly, I was spending hours online, pouring over photos, searching for the Perfect Bouquet. I looked at more bouquets in one evening than I had looked at in my entire life. I knew I’d hit rock bottom when I discovered Martha Stewart Weddings and it became my new bible. Martha Stewart Weddings?? Me?              It couldn’t be possible.

It got worse. For the first time in my life, I picked up a copy of Brides Magazine at the nail salon, and leafed through its glossy pages, staring at photos of dewy skinned, lithe young women in their Size 2 Vera Wang wedding dresses.                   I devoured the stories about hairstyles and honeymoons. Poured over the photos of floral arrangements and wedding arbors. And took copious notes on creative ways to fold napkins. That’s when I knew I was gone.

When the dressmaker told me my wedding shoes were not the exact right shade of ivory, I raced to the shoemaker to have them dyed. Then, just to be on the safe side, I ordered a backup pair of shoes from an obscure online retailer in Beijing. (I bought a beribboned, lace-trimmed pair called “Pretty Pretty Lady Wedding Shoes”. They were pretty pretty, but they hurt hurt).

I went to food tastings. Agonized over table cloth colors. Edited and re-edited the guest list. And hand-picked every song I wanted our pianist to play. I also dieted like a fiend, in hopes of squeezing my ample Midlife midriff into my wedding dress (ladies, this is why it really helps to get married at 20).

I was completely out of control. So was my spending. I knew the security code on my VISA card by heart. The whole time I was planning my wedding, I felt like I had a neon sign on my forehead flashing, “Go ahead, rip me off — I’m a BRIDE!”. There were the outrageously expensive catering estimates, the outrageously expensive flower estimates, the outrageously expensive photographer estimates, etc. etc. (in fairness, some vendors were quite nice and very reasonable, but many were clearly rip-off artists).

Overnight, I went from being the woman who didn’t want ANY wedding to the woman who was micro-managing every last detail of a tiny wedding.

And guess what? It paid off. The wedding was absolutely perfect. Sweet. Lovely. Really small…relaxed…wonderful. We are still savoring the memories.

Which brings me to the much-anticipated wedding photos. Seeing them moves me to tears. Sure, they bring back beautiful memories. But mostly, they make me think, “Why the hell didn’t I get married when I was still relatively photogenic?!” Now I wish I’d saved some money for a much-needed facelift and tummy tuck.      I get it now. There’s a reason why people get married young. It’s not because you are naïve and full of hope. It’s because you look good in your wedding photos and you don’t need hours of Photoshopping.

So that’s my story. We’ve been married for nearly two months (and they said it would never last). I can already anticipate the comments to this post. I’m sure many of you will congratulate me and wish me well (thank you!). Some of you may remind me how lucky I am to have found true love late in life (better late than never, right?). I agree. Honestly, no one is more grateful than me. Not a day goes by when I don’t marvel that it happened at all. I still can hardly     believe it. Sometimes, I just have to pinch myself. And believe me, these days, there is plenty to pinch.
Unsubscribe me. (From EVERYTHING!)

August 27, 2014

In those halcyon days before the Internet, I, like all Americans, was inundated with nonstop sales pitches.

Those pitches came in the form of tv and radio commercials, print ads, outdoor boards, direct mail, and the occasional door hanger.

Being bombarded with those traditional forms of marketing was, and still is, annoying (and yes, I'm responsible for writing some of it. Guilty as charged).

But pre-Internet, I operated under the quaint delusion that as bad as it was, things surely couldn't get any worse.

Of course, things did get worse. Much worse.

Who could have imagined a world where in addition to the tv commercials, billboards, plus mountains of junk mail crowding our actual mailboxes, we would now also have to contend with a nonstop barrage of virtual junkmail clogging our email mailboxes?

I, for one, didn't see it coming. That's what surprised (and horrified) me most about the advent of the Internet; how the web instantaneously enabled even more insidious and intrusive forms of marketing on a scale previously thought unimaginable.

The Internet exposed — and spawned — a world of opportunistic marketers more unscrupulous, more unconscionable, and more unrelenting than anything we had previously witnessed. It was like turning over a rock and discovering millions of hideous, slimy, blood-sucking insects scurrying around in the muck. All of them looking to crawl into your in-box (and eventually, your wallet).

The lowest form of life on the marketing foodchain is spam. I still can't fathom the sheer volume of spam that's out there. And it keeps morphing into new, even more evil forms; such as the targeted pop-up ads that seem to scream, "So we see you bought a RED SWEATER today? Well, here's ANOTHER RED SWEATER you should buy! And maybe you want some RED SHOES to go with it?"

Those are bad. But I am frankly even more annoyed by the innocent looking emails I routinely receive from companies I've done business with — or similar companies who want their slice of the pie and will stop at nothing to get it.

To me, these retailers' methods are even more insidious than the spammers     and scammers. Because these types of emails masquerade as legitimate, friendly "updates" about sales or new merchandise. Updates I never asked for and          don't want. And yet they keep coming, like toxic waves washing ashore after an oil spill.

Companies refer to this devious practice as "CRM" or "Customer Relationship Marketing". You see, it's not about selling. It's about relationships. It's about connecting. And sharing. As in, "We want to share our new Spring lineup        with you…so you will share your hard earned money with us".

Give them an inch, and these sleazy marketers will take a mile. They're like the creepy guy you smiled at once, and then he starts following you around forever. He only needs a minimum of encouragement and then you can't shake him.

It's the same with marketers today. Just give them a quick glance (in the form of one purchase), and they will glom onto you and stalk you forever online.

The stalking usually begins immediately after I've made a purchase from an online retailer. From that point on, even when I've clearly said, "NO, I don't want to receive promotional emails from you", I start receiving a flood of those promotional emails (plus emails from everyone else they've sold my                          information to). Because in the Brave New World of online marketing, "No" doesn't mean "No". The word "No" is not even in their vocabulary. Let alone in their marketing strategies.

Every time I receive one of these unsolicited emails, I have to go through the annoying step of unsubscribing. Good luck with that. Most companies pretend to make this process simple. But if you've ever tried it, you know better. It's easier to kill cockroaches than to eradicate the endless onslaught of promotional emails that invade your inbox.

The process goes something like this: First, you click on the "unsubscribe" link at the bottom of your promotional email. Next, you receive a pop-up message containing the obligatory, guilt-inducing "Please don't go!" message. It usually says something like, "We're sorry to see you go. Are you sure you want to unsubscribe from our email promotions?" You click "yes". Another message tells you that you have "Successfully unsubscribed".

But not so fast. It's not that easy. Because you typically receive yet another message saying, "Please note that it may take up to 10 days to process your unsubscribe status." 10 days?? It took you all of a nanosecond to ADD me to this frigging list, but now you can't remove me for 10 whole days??

Ok, whatever. At least you now have a glimmer of hope that the emails from said retailer WILL cease. In just 10 days, you will be forever liberated from emails about their Big Summer Sale and special savings on corduroy leggings!

Sadly, though, your feelings of hope are short lived. Because soon you notice that you are still receiving emails from that very same retailer well beyond the 10 day grace period. Did they not get the message? Don't they know you broke up      with them? Apparently not.

Then you proceed to go through the whole goddamn process again: Hit "Unsubscribe", and hope that maybe this time, it will take. Maybe they will hear your cries of "No!!".

Some companies don't let you off the hook that easily. Like a persistent, utterly tone deaf suitor, they want you to explain WHY you broke up with them. Ostensibly, under the guise of "responsiveness", they want to know exactly why you unsubscribed. So after the "We hate to see you go" message, they will ask, "Please tell us why you are unsubscribing". This is usually followed by a menu of multiple choice answers:

A) I'm receiving too many emails

B) Your emails are not relevant to me

(And my favorite, the wonderfully disingenuous…)

C) I don't recall signing up for emails

Really? Are those my only choices? How about "D") "Because I never signed up for your fucking email list in the first place!"

You know how some people say it should be hard to get married and easy to        get divorced? I feel the same way about email subscription lists. It should be hard to sign up for them and easy to get out of them.

Wouldn't it be great if, when you first subscribed to a company's email list, they would confirm your decision with questions like, "Are you SURE you want to receive emails from us?" or "I mean, seriously, do you REALLY want to receive a million annoying emails from us?" or "Please don't do anything rash. You might want to reconsider joining this list…before it's too late."

Since that is not going to happen anytime soon, we are stuck with the Sisyphean task of trying to unsubscribe from a tsunami of unwanted emails.

But where there is a need, there is certainly an online service to fill the void. Several companies have sprung up to help you unsubscribe "from everything". One such company, Unroll Me, says "Toss the junk with one click". Wow, toss ALL the junk? Sounds great. Until you realize that in the very next breath, the same people who purportedly want to help you from unsubscribe from junk mail want to sign you up for other annoying services like "The Rollup" ("Combine what you love into one beautiful digest"), which consolidates all your "favorite subscriptions" into one email. Favorite subscriptions? I have no favorite
subscriptions. I want them ALL gone. Banished to some virtual graveyard for promotional emails.

So you see, there is no end to it. We've opened the Pandora's Box of online selling and are now dealing with the aftermath. One annoying email at a time.

Some will say that all of this annoying e-marketing is inescapable and a necessary evil in a free market.

Sorry, but I don't subscribe to that.
April 14, 2014

One of the most disturbing hallmarks of growing older is the sad and shocking realization that younger people don't relate to your cultural touchstones.

This realization was never more evident to me than this week. Because this week, Shirley Temple died.

The minute I saw the headline crawl across the bottom of my tv screen, I was stunned. The news hit me like an earth shattering event. Shirley Temple gone?

Immediately, the world was suddenly sharply divided into people who know and care about Shirley Temple and people who don't. Sadly, I've discovered that I may be in the minority.
Sleeveless in Seattle (and New York, and Atlanta, and Detroit…)

April 14, 2014

Outside the Today Show studio window, the snow was coming down hard.

Inside, Today Show co-hosts Savannah Guthrie and Natalie Morales were on camera, telling millions of viewers about the latest blizzard that had gripped the East Coast.

"It's the coldest winter in recorded history!" gushed Savannah. "I know, it's just freezing…brrrrr" remarked Natalie, doing a little fake shiver.

Matt Lauer chimed in about the frigid weather, too. But he was wearing a suit.     Both of the ladies were wearing sleeveless, summery cocktail dresses. In the middle of a blizzard. In the middle of January.

I switched channels to MSNBC, only to find "Morning Joe" co-host Mika Brzezinksi sporting a bright cobalt blue sleeveless sheath dress. She looked like she was going clubbing. But instead, she was headed into a heated debate on healthcare reform with Joe Scarborough.

I hit the remote again. There was Kelly Ripa, flaunting her ripa'd biceps in a tight, sleeveless frock.

No need to check on Fox. Every woman on Fox News goes sleeveless.      Fox practically invented the "sexy anchor" look. Foxy Meghan Kelly would sooner come out in favor of gun control than appear on camera in a dress that covered her well toned guns.

Everytime I turn on the tv, I see female reporters and tv hosts of every age wearing the ubiquitous sleeveless sheath dress uniform. Andrea Mitchell shows up for White House briefings in skimpy sleeveless dresses. On CNN, Ashleigh Banfield routinely goes sleeveless, but balances the look with her trademark     Clark Kent glasses that say, "I'm a serious reporter. No seriously, I am."

Recently on MSNBC, the earnest and professorial Melissa Harris-Perry uncharacteristically showed up in a halter dress so provocative, it gave the network's tagline, "Lean Forward" a whole new meaning.

Sleeveless, and its slightly more demure cousin, the tiny cap sleeve, is the          new blazer. The only holdouts I've seen are Cristiane Amanpour, Rachel Maddow and Candy Crowley. I don't think we'll see any of them rocking the sleeveless and stilletos look anytime soon. But I fear that at this very moment, Candy Crowley is being pressured by some network exec to slim down, hit the Stairmaster, and squeeze into a sexy, plus-sized number by the mid-term elections.

And the sleeveless trend isn't limited to just the gals on the national news.      Even on my local news, our less than glamorous anchorwomen flaunt their arms nightly in sleeveless dresses that scream K-mart more than couture. And needless to say, every female weather reporter would wear sleeveless even in a tsunami. Wearing tight, sexy clothes is clearly a job requirement.

Look, I know it gets hot under tv studio lights. But did the heat just recently become so intolerable that it suddenly necessiated an all-sleeveless-all-the-time wardrobe?

I don't think so.

What I think is that a) producers insist their female on-camera talent dress in an overtly sexy way, showing as much skin as possible, to boost ratings and b) many of those females spend hours in the gym and want to show off their toned upper arms.

Look, if my upper arms were ready for prime time, I might want to show          them off, too. But not every day. And not all year long.

I still cling to the antiquated notion that some clothes are seasonally appropriate. I know, it's an outmoded concept. But I'm sticking to it. You want to wear sleeveless? Wait till August. If it's the middle of January, I don't want to see skin. I want to see sleeves. Or better yet, a sweater.

And if you're reporting on a serious news story, sleeveless just doesn't look all      that serious. So why have news outlets traded serious for sexy? To attract more male viewers? Or because they can't afford to spring for dresses with sleeves? I'm all for women looking feminine and attractive on tv. But that's different from dressing like the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

Should we blame Michelle Obama for starting the sleeveless trend? Perhaps.     The First Lady looks great in her sleeveless dresses, and I don't blame her for flaunting her seriously toned arms while she can. But it's gone too far.

Are tv producers so desperate for viewers that they have to turn every female newscaster into a sexy bombshell? And the bigger and more disturbing question is, why are women going along with it? Why do seemingly intelligent women slavishly follow every fashion trend and try so hard to look like Kardashians while trying to sound like Edward R. Murrow?

I don't get it.

We've come a long way, baby. Which is why I long to see long sleeves.
When the Question is the Answer: The Dumbing Down of TV Interviews

April 9, 2014

How excited are you to read this blog post?

Not very? Gee, how can that be? My question already presumes you are wildly enthusiastic about reading my latest mindless rant.

Besides, I'm just trying to keep up with the current interviewing trend. Have you noticed lately that whenever a TV interviewer asks someone a question, the interviewer inevitably structures the question to contain the precise emotion they want to hear parroted back by the interviewee?

It usually goes something like this:

INTERVIEWER: So, you were trapped in the wilderness for three whole days. How difficult was it for you to survive on nothing but stale trail mix and Rolaids?

INTERVIEWEE: Oh my gosh, it was really difficult. I was terrified.

INTERVIEWER: So how amazing was it when you finally saw the rescue team arriving in the helicopter?

INTERVIEWEE: It was pretty amazing. Honestly, I couldn't believe it.

INTERVIEWER: And how relieved and grateful are you to be alive?

INTERVIEWEE: Oh, I'm so relieved and grateful. Actually, it's hard to express —

INTERVIEWER: Sorry, we're out of time. Thank you again for sharing your emotions about this truly remarkable experience. And now, here's Kyla with today's weather…

This style of questioning is now commonly used to discuss virtually any topic, from the very serious to the very trivial. The more trivial the topic, the more earnestly this interview style is employed.

So it's not surprising that the "answer in the question" interview technique has become a staple of Reality TV shows. Leave it to the folks who perfected the art of fake reality to perfect pre-fabricated responses to questions.

I first noticed this phenomenon while indulging in my favorite guilty pleasure, "Dancing with the Stars" (I confess, I watch it regularly. Please don't judge me).

On DWTS, every time a celebrity finishes their dance routine, the breathless co-host asks the celebrity dancer, "So…how nerve-racking was it to dance the Quickstep knowing that Kristi and Tony just earned perfect 10's?" Thus forcing the celeb to answer with either, "Oh, I wasn't really that nervous…" or "I was REALLY nervous…I mean, Kristi and Tony were just awesome…" or some other variation of an answer that must, of course, include mention of said person's presumed nervousness.

Another proven way to add drama to the post-dance interview (or any interview) is to ask about the amazingness of the experience.

CO-HOST: How amazing is it to make it to the Finals after breaking your leg and puncturing a rib in Week 1?

CELEB: Oh, it is like, soooo amazing. This whole journey has just been amazing.

Clearly, the more times someone says "amazing", "awesome", or "journey" in their answer, the better. Because these days, no other answer (or words) will do. So it is essential to lead the respondant to the required response.

You can't even call these "leading questions". They are more like answers posing as questions.

Lest you think this style of questioning is strictly the purview of reality shows and trashy tabloid tv, you would be wrong. Because I now see it used on even so-called respectable news programs. Mercifully, you still won't see Chris Matthews or Charlie Rose posing these kinds of non-questions. But just about every other commentator or newscaster makes liberal use of the "answer in question" style question (Anderson Cooper has, of course, perfected this type of question, as have most of his colleagues at CNN).

Why is this? My first half-baked theory is that we live in a time where we have to constantly try to gin up excitement and emotions around everything. It's no longer ok to let someone tell their story in their own words. Because what if those words aren't exciting enough? That would just be too boring. Today, no one would dare risk getting an honest, unscripted answer. Hyperbole is the name of the game. Viewers have come to expect a certain amount of overwrought language and emotion. Let's face it, all of pop culture is overwrought. This is America. It's all about amped up emotions, all the time.

Also, Americans are lazy. We don't want to have to think about the answers or parse a nuanced answer. So it's just easier when we're force fed some pre-chewed pablum in the form of an easily digestible soundbite.

I also suspect that this particular interview style is just part of the larger linquistic trend, popularized by the young. The current fashion of commenting in the form of a question, as in "How cool was that?" or "Free donuts? How awesome would that be?" has had an insidious influence on language in general.

How certain am I about these theories?

Not very.

How annoying is it to hear this style of questioning on my tv every day and night?

Very.

How amazing would it be if interviewers allowed people to actually answer questions in their own words?

Like, so amazing.
The Good Ship Lollipop Has Sailed

February 16, 2014

One of the hallmarks of growing older is the sad and alarming realization that younger people don't relate to your cultural touchstones.

For me, that has never been more true than this week. Because this week, Shirley Temple died.

When the headline crawled across the bottom of my            TV screen, I was stunned. Although I had been anticipating this news for a while, I still couldn't believe it. Shirley Temple gone? You might as well have told me that the earth had spun off its axis. It simply wasn't possible.

I never met Shirley, but somehow, this loss feels profoundly personal. It's as if it marks the official end of my own childhood. Even though it ended decades ago.

It's hard to describe what Shirley Temple meant to me. Although I wasn't alive in the 1930s when she made her movies, her films were a huge part of my childhood. Growing up, Shirley Temple movies played on TV all the time. And from the moment I saw my first Shirley Temple film, I was smitten. I loved everything about Shirley; her smile, her dimples, her hair, her clothes. I knew every line of every film by heart, every word of the songs, and most of the dance routines.          I still do.

Even as a child, I knew the storylines were silly. The films were pure fantasy and beyond saccharine. But it didn't matter. I was transported by Shirley's charm, by the music, by the dance numbers. I also loved Shirley's co-stars, from Jack Haley and Alice Faye to James Dunn, Buddy Ebsen and Frank Morgan.

Shirley Temple movies were my entree into Hollywood Musicals. They were the gateway drug that opened the door to the classic movie musicals of the 1930s, introducing me to the delights of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Busby Berkeley, Eleanor Powell, The Nicholas Brothers and countless others. And once I walked through that door, there was no going back. I began a love affair with films, music, and dance from Hollywood's Golden Age that endures to this day. And it was Shirley who inspired me to learn to tap dance and who helped turn dancing into a lifelong passion.

Shirley had such a profound impact on my life, I just assumed that everyone else must feel the same way. And so I eagerly awaited an outpouring of reaction to news of her death.

On my way to work last Tuesday, I anticipated my office would be buzzing with talk about Shirley. But it quickly became apparent that what for me had been an earth shattering event was for my peers, clearly, a non-event. It was just business as usual. I glanced at my young colleagues, staring at their computer monitors. Were they posting thoughts about Shirley Temple on their Facebook pages?   Hardly. I would guess the vast majority of them had never even heard of her. If I inquired, I was told, "Oh yeah, my mom — or grandmother — used to love her movies." Were I to ask them, "What's your favorite Shirley Temple film?", I'm sure I'd be met with blank stares. I might just as well ask, "Which of William Howard Taft's speeches was your favorite?" (Just for the record, my favorite Shirley Temple movie is "Poor Little Rich Girl", followed closely by "Curly Top" and "Captain January").

Suddenly, the world was sharply divided into two distinct camps: people who know and care about Shirley Temple, and people who don't.

Later that day, I hurried home, eagerly awaiting what I imagined would be a tsunami of tributes to Shirley. But on the news, it was also just business as usual. On CNN, Piers Morgan's lead story was about Tom Brokaw's health problems, followed by some rehashed Clinton scandals. Later in the show, during an interview with Bruce Dern, Piers Morgan briefly mentioned Shirley's passing. That was it.

I flipped through the channels, expecting there would be more coverage of what to me was clearly a world shattering event. But I never found it. If Kim Kardashian breaks a nail, it's front page news. If Miley Cyrus buys a new thong, it's the lead story on "Entertainment Tonite". Shirley Temple was once the most famous person in the world. She was one of the last surviving stars of Hollywood's Golden Age. Why wasn't this the biggest story of the day? Was it because there was no scandal or drug overdose involved?

When I bemoaned this disappointing lack of media coverage to my husband, he said, "Well, don't forget, Shirley Temple was famous two or three generations ago…young people don't know her anymore. Neither does most of the media."

I know he's right, but I have a hard time accepting it. In my eyes, a world where Shirley Temple is no longer relevant is a diminished world. A less sparkly world. A less beautiful world. Certainly a far less charming world.

Shirley Temple may not matter much to the new generation. But she matters        to me. And she always will.

As the 20th century, and especially the early 20th century, recedes further and further into the distance, fewer and fewer of that era's cultural icons are still remembered or appreciated. And that's tragic.

Which is why this week, I have a bad case of the 21st Century Blues.
Crimes of Passion

October 15, 2013

My topic today is something I feel very passionate about; namely, the egregious overuse of the word "passion".

I can remember when I was quite fond of the word "passion". Once upon a time, "passion" was a term mostly reserved for expressions of romance and desire.      As in "10 Ways to Put the Passion Back in Your Marriage", steamy Harlequin Romance novels, and swarthy Argentine Tango dancers. What's not to like?

One could also be passionate about a cause or one's art. We expect artists, dancers, and musicians to be passionate about what they do. They operate in the rarefied world of Art, where passion is practically a prerequisite. I have no problem with that.

The problem is that today, suddenly everybody is passionate about everything. Passion used to be a somewhat rare commodity. Its scarcity was part of its allure. But no more. Now passion is plentiful.

Alas, passion has lost its power. And has become something else: a tepid cliche.

I trace the overuse of the P-word back to the 1980s. Specifically, I blame advertising, and wine advertising in particular. All of a sudden, it wasn't enough to just make wine. Winemakers had to be "passionate" about their "craft".

That's when passion met its P-word partner: pretension. And it all went to hell from there.

Soon, passion crept into food. The more we fetishize food, the more passionate we get. You can no longer simply like dark chocolate, coffee, or Greek yogurt. You have to be passionate about those foodstuffs. Or fashion. Or yoga. Or your favorite brand of toilet paper.

Being passionate about hair products and sundried tomatoes is bad enough.      But now, passion has infiltrated Corporate America. In short, the P-word has been co-opted by the HR Industry. This is especially true in Tech, Marketing and other creative industries. And this is where it gets ugly.

Have you perused the job listings lately? If so, you already know that practically every single job posting now includes the exact same requirement: "Must be PASSIONATE about _________" (insert something really boring here that no one in their right mind could ever be passionate about).

Do a quick search on Indeed.com or any other job site and I can practically guarantee you will find the P-word mentioned in virtually every posting.        Never mind…I'll do it for you. Here's a recent sampling:

"Must be passionate about customer experience"

"This job requires a passion for great storytelling"

"You are motivated, a team player, and passionate about sales technology"

"Must have a passion for creative excellence"

"Requirement: A deep, loving passion for the Lyft community. Join our creative team and tell the story of our passionate community"

And then there is this lulu…an actual job posting for the CEO of the yoga wear company, LuluLemon:

"You are passionate about doing chief executive officer type stuff like making decisions, having a vision, and being the head boss person."

There's so much passion in these postings, it kind of makes you want to puke.

Passion in the workforce used to mean that someone in Accounting was having a steamy affair with someone in Quality Control. Now it's merely a standard job requirement. Sort of like not having a prison record.

This is disturbing on so many levels.

First, there's the aforementioned pretension. When you equate "passion" with work, it elevates the work itself (and the company doing the work) to a level of importance and faux altruism that is rarely, if ever, deserved.

I recall seeing a job posting for a well known local gaming company. It included this gem: "You are passionate about creating games that can change the world". So now I guess designing code for "Grand Theft Auto" is on the same level as curing cancer. Right.

That's bad enough. But to me, what's worse is that the new "passion" requirement for employment just happened to coincide with the Great Recession and record joblessness.

At the very same time when millions of highly qualified, experienced people found themselves out of work, employers decided to up the ante. It was no longer enough to be skilled, dedicated, conscientious, and a hard worker. Now, you had to be "passionate" about doing your Excel spreadsheets or proofreading 6 pt. legal copy. As if writing a hundred cover letters, filling out endless, impersonal online applications, and jumping through hoops wasn't enough.

Why the sudden "passion" requirement for employment? I have two (equally cynical) theories.

Cynical Theory #1: "Passion" is code. It's Corporate Speak for "must be willing to work around the clock and enjoy cold pizza at your work station." This is why job postings for start-ups require an extra high level of passion. (Note to job seekers: Beware of that other ubiquitous job requirement, "Must thrive in a dynamic, fast-paced environment." Careful. Those words are an almost surefire guarantee that you will be eating cold pizza at your desk on a regular basis).

In other words, once employers were in the driver's seat, and could pick and choose from thousands of qualified applicants, they decided to screen out anyone who couldn't pass the Passion Test. But just how often do employers return       the passion?   We all know the answer to that one.   How do you say "pink slip"?

Cynical Theory #2: Companies are trying to attract low-salaried (or no salaried) Millennials. Employers know that while many of the current crop of twenty-somethings may still be living with their parents and dining out on Groupons, they won't stoop to accepting just any job. Oh no. These incredibly special young people need to be passionate about their work. It's a generational entitlement.

So much for my useless, and somewhat bitter, theories.

At this point, I'd like to offer up some equally useless historical perspective. Passion as it relates to work had its birth in the classic 1970 bestseller, "What Color is Your Parachute?". At that time, "following your passion" was a radical — and very appealing — notion. It certainly was to me. I bought every edition of that book — as did millions of others. But now, those dog-eared books sit on my bookshelf, mocking me. Many of us never found our passion. At least not in the workplace. And in many cases, our parachutes never deployed.

Then, just as our colorful parachutes were deflating, Oprah arrived on the scene and single-handedly created her own Passion Industry. More than anyone else, I blame Oprah for creating the passion for passion.

O, The Oprah Magazine, is chock full of articles such as "Find Your Passion", "Take the 'What's Your Passion?' Exercise" and "Live Your Passion".                   The assumption being that if you are truly passionate about, say, knitting afghans, of course you can simply ditch your boring Accounting job and make millions with an online startup called "KnitWits". You go, girl!

But what if you don't find your passion? What if you don't have the moxie, the spare time, or the trust fund, to find your passion in a career? Can you still like — or even love — your job, without being "passionate" about it? Is that even acceptable today? Can a job be…dare I say it?…just a job?

Maybe, like a lot of us, you can channel your passion into other things.        Perhaps it's even better when your passion isn't your job. Because then the things you love aren't untainted by the harsh realities and demands of business.

By now, you may be thinking that I'm just not a very passionate person.               But, Dear Reader, I can assure you that you're wrong. As a matter of fact, I'm passionate about many things. Cutting through the bullshit is just one of them.
Valley Nation (OMG. Why does, like, EVERYONE talk this way now??)

May 15, 2012

So, like, every day on my bus ride to work, I am, like surrounded by these 20- and 30-something girls talking like rully rully loudly on their cell phones. And it is like, so TOTALLY irritating. Seriously, I want to grab their iPhones from their gel manicured fingertips and run screeeeaming from the bus.

Their conversations all sound exactly alike. It’s as if these girls were all hatched from the same sorority at some College For The Overindulged where they majored in Shallow and minored in Snotty.

But what I notice most is that their voices all sound exactly alike. And OMG, it is, like, the most super annoying thing everrrrr.

Young women used to be mocked for speaking this way. They were parodied as moronic “Valley Girls”. Valley Girls were a popular stereotype and their trademark "Valspeak" was a staple of comedy routines and teen movies. Very few women actually aspired to talking that way.

Plus, in those days, you rarely ever heard anyone speak "Val" outside of the San Fernando Valley. It was strictly a regional accent, restricted to a small region of the country, and limited to a subset of young women (mostly teenage girls). Living in San Francisco, it wasn't uncommon to overhear a snippet of Valspeak now and then. But I always assumed it was a purely West Coast phenomenon.

That is soooooo not true anymore.

Seriously, have you noticed that now virtually ALL young women, in all parts of the country, speak this way? “Valspeak” has infiltrated the language like never before. It has no geographic boundaries. You can hear it on the streets of Manhattan or in the malls of the Midwest. Everrrrryone talks this way now!

I have coined a term for this latest version of Valspeak. I call it “The Voice” — and there is no escaping it. Turn on your tv and you will hear The Voice nonstop. Almost all young women on tv, from The Kardashians to The Bachelorette, now have The Voice. Even so-called “serious” journalists like CNN's Erin Burnett have The Voice (ok, using "serious journalist" and "CNN" in the same sentence is a stretch). Over at MSNBC, you can hear The Voice nightly — just listen to party girl turned political pundit Krystal Ball. Even when she's saying something semi-intelligent, it's hard to take her seriously because of…The Voice (and then there's also her NAME…and her penchant for tight, sleeveless dresses doesn't help her credibility, either).

The popular AMC series "Mad Men" prides itself on meticulously recreating the Sixties era. The show's set dressers and wardrobe people strive for authenticity. They usually get every last Sixties detail right; from the Mid-Century coffee tables to the women's kitten heels and teased bouffant hair.

But on a recent episode, that carefully crafted illusion was instantly shattered the moment Don Draper’s new wife, Megan, opened her mouth. OMG…she had The Voice! I'm sorry, but in the Sixties, women simply didn’t speak that way. "Mad Men" may be set in 1965. But Megan's vocal inflections are a dead giveaway that the show is produced in 2012. The Voice is as emblematic of our times as iPhones and Facebook profiles.

The Voice is also ubiquitous in tv commercials. I call this particular variation "Croaky Cutesy Voice”. Suddenly, almost every tv spot with a female voiceover sounds like it's being narrated by a six year old with a head cold. At first, the Croaky Cutesy Voice trend was sort of cool and different. Now it's just cloying. And mega annoying. Commercials used to be narrated by grownup women with sophistication and gravitas. But now, instead of Lauren Bacall, we get Baby Smurf. Really, enough is enough.

So, you ask, what exactly, is so irritating about this unique speech pattern? DUH. You mean in general, or shall I go alphabetically?

For starters, there's "uptalking". This is definitely one the most annoying linguistic trends of all time. Uptalking is when the speaker pronounces statements as if they are questions. As in, “So, like, yesterday, I went shopping? And like, I saw some really cute shoes?” What’s up with that? Listening to uptalk makes me, want to like, upchuck.

Then there is the phenomenon that linguists have dubbed “vocal fry”. This is the speech patterrrnnnnn where people draw out and end sentences with a gravelly low vibrato. This is like, THE most annoying trend everrrrrr.

Another trademark of The Voice is a bit subtler. It involves pronouncing the short "i" ( as in"pill") as a short "e" ("pell"). If you haven't heard this one yet, listen for it and you well. I mean, you will.

Of course, there’s the dreaded "l word": like. This is, like, the hallmark of Valspeak. But I have to confess, I am guilty of this one myself. Try as I may to avoid it, "like" has crept into my speech and has taken hold like a fashionista who just found a pair of Jimmy Choos on sale. I, like, say it ALL the time. So I am not, like, going to get all high and mighty about this one. Still, I know it is like, RULLY annoying (especially when combined with the "A-word": actually. As in, "We like, actually, didn't even start eating dinner until, like, actually, 9 PM").

Call it The Voice, call it Valspeak, call it whatever you like, this unfortunate linguistic trend is taking over our nation and it's time we called a halt to it.

Young Women of America: Why, oh why, do you persist in talking this way? Do you think it sounds fun and cool? It doesn’t. It sounds stupid and shallow. And super annoying. Does it make you feel like you're part of the club? Damn right it does — The Spoiled Ditzy Airheads of America Club.

Um, ladies, hell-o! Can't you plueeeze stop? Seriously, I am, like, begging you. PLEASE. STOP. TALKING. THIS. WAY. NOW.

Of course, it's hopeless. It seems Valspeak is here to stay.

And I am, like, sooooo over it.
Bad Trip: My Journey to Discover Why Everyone is on a Journey

February 20, 2012

Overuse can turn a perfectly good word into a perfectly horrible one. One word that's currently on the road to linguistic lame-itude is journey.

Have you noticed that suddenly, everyone in America is on a journey?

Just glance at any "People" magazine cover or watch any celebrity interview, and chances are you'll learn about someone who has just completed, is still on, or is about to embark on some kind of journey.

You can’t turn on the tv these days without hearing about these dramatic, personal journeys. Piers Morgan asks virtually every guest, “Tell us…what kind of journey has this been for you?” “It’s been a journey” is now the stock answer to describe everything from Kirstie Alley's weight loss battles to Brook Shield's triumph over post-partum depression. The subject matter doesn’t really matter — as long as one has been on a journey, it suggests some sort of profound transformation to a more enlightened state of mind. It's definitely not about the destination, it's all about the journey.

Merely using the word “journey” adds import to anything — no matter how trivial. So it’s no surprise that Reality TV is rife with journeys. No episode of "Dancing with the Stars” is complete without the Co-Host, Brooke Burke, injecting the "journey" question into her backstage, post-performance celebrity interviews. "So the judges just awarded you 10's for your Paso Doble", she'll gush…before switching to her Really Serious Voice to ask, "We know you've worked so hard for these past 8 weeks…can you tell us…what has this JOURNEY been like for you?" (The answer to that last question inevitably contains the two words most often associated with these sorts of profoundly life-changing journeys: "so" and "amazing", as in "Oh, it's just been SO amazing!").

“The Biggest Loser” is also big on journeys (so I hear, I don’t watch it). Every contestant is on his or her own journey (“Follow Courtney’s journey”… “Biggest Loser winner Olivia Ward opted for a tummy tuck to remove excess skin after shedding 116 pounds. See her journey and dramatic transformation.” Viewers are also invited to “Watch the final four journeys, or go online to find recipes, advice and support for your own journey.”

(Geesh, I’m so worn out from hearing about all this, I think I’ll journey to the fridge and inhale a quart of Rocky Road).

Of course, these profound, personal journeys are even more ubiquitous in print . Today, no celebrity or politician memoir is complete without adding the requisite “My journey to…” after the title. All you need is a colon and a personal journey to make it to the best seller list. A quick perusal on Amazon reveals literally hundreds of such subtitles, including:

Not Afraid of Life: My Journey So Far (Bristol Palin)

Louder Than Words: A Mother’s Journey in Healing Autism (Jenny McCarthy)

Herman Cain: My Journey to the White House (Herman Cain)

Invincible: My Journey From Fan to NFL Team Captain (Vince Papale)

Just Call Me Mike: A Journey to Actor and Activist (Mike Farrel)

Three Cups of Tea: One Man’s Journey to Change the World…One Child at a Time (Greg Mortenson)

Pink Boots and a Machete: My Journey from NFL Cheerleader to National Geographic Explorer (Mireya Mayor)

Then there are the overcoming illness/adversity/addiction journeys…

It’s Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life (Lance Armstrong)

Save Karyn: One Shopaholic’s Journey to Debt and Back (Karyn Bosnak)

How to Overcome Bulimia: My Journey from Hell to Happiness (Shaye)

Livin La Vida Low-Carb: My Journey from Flabby Fat to Sensationally Skinny in One Year (Jimmy Moore)

And my personal favorite:

A Raw Life: My Journey from Cooked to Raw Foods (Nubia I)

Where will it end? Journey to the Centre of the Earth surely qualified as a journey. And Eugene O’Neill certainly earned the right to the title, Long Day’s Journey Into Night. But My Journey from Cooked to Raw Foods? Seriously?

Not surprisingly, corporations are jumping on the journey bandwagon. After all, corporations are people, too, and they are quickly co-opting this word for their own purposes. And why not? By simply adding “journey” to your company’s website copy, or generously sprinkling the word “journey” throughout your corporate mission statement, whatever actual work you are doing is suddenly imbued with an altruistic, almost religious quality.

This air of sanctity matters even more today, when many companies are striving to look environmentally responsible. So we get Rubbermaid’s CEO talking about “Making a Difference: Our Journey of Transformation” and Colgate Palmolive inviting us to “…follow our journey from a single store front to global front runner.”

Tech companies, in particular, are all over the journey thing. For an industry that prizes innovation and originality, their websites all sound surprisingly the same:

The destination of our journey is to build a real-time enterprise and we’re focused on business processes and the end-user to complete this journey.

EMC has traveled a long way on its journey to cloud computing.

The Value of Customer Journey Maps: a UX Designer’s Personal Journey

The founders of Edge Case, a startup, take the journey metaphor to new heights, as witnessed by this inspiring home page copy:

Over five years ago we started on a journey to create a company — the company we always wanted to work for. Recently, some friends of ours offered to help us continue on that journey and we accepted. We have not yet arrived at our final destination. We continue to hike along. The opportunity to reach our original destination and then continue on to new sites and explore new territory was too much to pass up. Today we are announcing that Digital Garage has acquired Edge Case. Together we are forming New Context, a company dedicated to bridging the divide between design and technology while helping build new companies and improve the software side of existing ones.

Phew. Sounds like these kids got some much needed venture capital funding in the nick of time — get those hiking boots on, boys, and let the journey continue!

I don’t know about you, but if I hear the word “journey” one more time, I may have to make a quick journey to the bathroom to throw up.

Once upon a time, the word "journey" was reserved for describing actual physical journeys and exotic travel, such as trekking by camel across Outer Mongolia. There were also religious/spiritual journeys. Then came truly life-changing experiences or dramatic life stories; whether it was an individual's battle with serious illness, or some type of remarkable achievement. Those qualified as "journeys", too. I get it.

But now, "journey" can be used to describe — and add faux gravitas to — just about anything, no matter how mundane. The more trivial the topic, the more profound the “journey”. Hence this late breaking newsflash about Kourtney Kardashian’s pregnancy: “We are sure that Kourtney will share her pregnancy journey with fans via her reality show, Twitter and her mommy blog.”(OMG. I can't wait to read Kourtney's mommy blog!).

How did we get here? I’m not sure. But as with most loathsome language trends, I suspect Oprah had something to do with it. “What journey are you on?” has been a staple Oprah-ism forever. We've also heard ad nauseam about Oprah's “weight loss journey”, her “spiritual journey”, her "career journey", etc. etc. I’ll bet if Oprah discovered a new shampoo, we'd hear about her "hair care journey".

Whether or not we can blame Oprah for modern day Journey Syndrome is unclear. All I know is we need to give this word a rest — and soon. Please, people, can we just STOP with the journeys??

So what have I learned while writing this post? (other than the fact that I clearly don’t know when to use quotes versus italics). I’m not sure I’ve discovered any definitive answers. Nor have I found enlightenment. And I certainly haven't lost any weight sitting here in front of the computer.

But at least writing about this topic has been somewhat cathartic. I feel a sense of healing…a surprising, new sense of lightness.

Thanks for being a part of my journey.
My Mattress Buying Nightmare: A Cautionary Bedtime Tale

January 29, 2012

Let me start off with a disclaimer: If you haven’t purchased a new mattress recently, this post will probably be of little interest. However, if you’ve just bought a mattress — or plan to buy one soon — keep reading. I think you will be able to relate only too well to my story.

Until a few months ago, the word “mattress” was barely even in my vocabulary.      I had been sleeping on an ancient, 25-year-old hand-me-down mattress. True, it was getting a bit lumpy. And once in a while, I would feel an ancient spring pushing through. But it was my bed and I was perfectly content to sleep in it.

My significant other, however, hated the mattress. He started issuing ultimatums, threatening, “It’s the mattress or me.” In retrospect, I should have said, “The mattress stays. You can go.” But it’s too late for that now. Far too late.

So began our Mattress Buying Adventure in Hell.

Our story started out in the usual way; with us traipsing around from store to store, trying out beds. We went to department stores. We went to chain stores. We went to small, independent stores. And like all new mattress shoppers, we quickly learned that the system is rigged. The mattress retailers are out to deliberately deceive and confuse you. And no matter how clever you think you are at this mattress game, you won’t outsmart them. Trust me, they are going to win. And one way or another, you are going to part with a lot of money (ca-ching! ca-ching!)

First, as every mattress shopper knows, the industry makes it almost impossible to comparison shop. Every store has their own models, with their own different, exclusive names. Say you like a Serta “Perfect Day/Taurus” at one store. When you go to a different store, you won’t find the same bed. Or, you’ll find it under the Serta “Trump Home Collection” (yes, Donald Trump has his own brand of mattresses…ick). Or something like it. Or not very much like it at all. Or they will tell you that particular bed was last year’s model and is no longer available. Even though you just saw that bed at another store fifteen minutes ago.               The confusion goes on and on. It’s maddening. Intentionally so.

Then there are the return policies. When it comes to buying a mattress, the store’s return policy matters. A lot. Some stores have a 60-day return/exchange policy. Some have a 100-day policy. Some allow no returns or exchanges at all. Which is a problem. Because the fact is, when you buy a new mattress, you really don’t know if you are going to like it until you’ve slept on it for about a month or two. You have to “break it in”. Of course, by then, the entire experience may have broken your spirit and made you question your will to live…or at least your need for sleep. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the shopping…

A few words about the mattress stores. You know those big mattress retailers who advertise a sale virtually every day of the year? Here in San Francisco, we have several of those stores all lined up on one block. I call it “Mattress Death Row”.     I have made numerous visits to every one of these fluorescent-lit emporiums of pain, and I now dread stepping inside their doors. The signs on their doors should say, “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here…And Abandon Your Wallets While You’re At It”.

Mattress salespeople are frequently compared to used car salesmen. I think this is unfair to used car salesmen. At some mattress chain stores, the sales staff practically ooze sleaze. You walk in and encounter a sales guy, perched like a vulture, ready to swoop down on his innocent prey and point him or her towards the priciest, top of the line Serta, Sealy or Simmons (the “S-brands”). These mattress-peddling predators can barely disguise their contempt for the customers. That contempt is only surpassed by the air of self-loathing that surrounds this breed. They hate their jobs. And I don’t blame them.

In other stores, however, I have to admit the sales people were quite friendly, low-pressure, and infinitely patient. And believe me, they need patience. At one such store, which I now fondly refer to as “SleepTrainWreck” , a young sales guy looked on for over an hour as my boyfriend and I ran back and forth between assorted Sertas and Sealys, arguing over which mattress to buy. I actually thought we would break up in that store. But we didn’t. Instead, we were so worn down by the process, and so desperate to make a decision and get the hell out of there, we finally bought a mattress: A Stearns and Foster “Governor’s Palace Euro Pillowtop” that cost about twice as much as we intended to pay (ca-ching! ca-ching!). The weary sales guy threw in some free pillows to sweeten the deal (more about those pillows later).

Now, you may ask, what was so difficult about choosing a mattress? An innocent enough question. But if you have to ask, then you haven’t bought a mattress lately.

Once upon a time, buying a mattress was simple. You chose from “Soft”, “Medium” or “Firm”. There were coils inside, and probably some cotton or horse hair, covered with thin (cool) cotton ticking. Sadly, those days are gone. Today’s mattresses are overly complicated, gimmick-laden slabs, filled with a host of mysterious, mostly synthetic materials that don’t breathe. There are wrapped coils. There are unwrapped coils. There are individual coils. There are no coils. And there are endless, conflicting opinions on which one is best.

As for the materials, all the big name manufacturers use a combination of either Latex , Memory Foam, or some other generic foam. Memory Foam is notorious for “sleeping warm”. So if you “sleep warm”, like I do, you have to avoid it like the plague. Latex is supposed to be cooler, but the jury is still out on that. Plus, there are many different types of Latex. Are you getting tired? Me too. I now know more about this topic than I ever cared to know. Let’s just say: it’s complicated. And, the fact is, you can try out the bed for hours in the store. But you don’t really know how you are going to like your new mattress until it’s home and broken in. As one blogger on a mattress forum so aptly put it, a mattress is “the one big ticket item where parts are concealed and enigmatic.” In other words: Buyer, beware.

The new mattresses are also bigger than before. Much bigger. In fact, they are now behemoths. I have no idea why people like these huge, heavy beds. I even read that interior decorators loathe them. http://www.nytimes.com/1999/04/15/garden/the-new-beds-a-step-or-two-up.html?pagewanted=all&src=pm

But apparently, there is a huge market for huge beds. Supposedly, a lot of women like them because they make them “feel like princesses”. I don’t get it. But there are so many things I don’t get.

We knew our new bed would be higher than the old bed. So we purchased the “mini” box springs. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the day the new bed arrived. An enormous delivery truck pulled up, and I watched in horror as three deliverymen wrestled the new, behemoth (king) mattress out of the truck, and up three flights of stairs. When they took away my old bed, I practically cried. When they put the new mattress onto the frame, I practically went into shock. It was gigantic. The bed now resembled a huge, mile-high throne in the middle of the bedroom. It dwarfed everything else in the room. When I climbed up onto the bed (which took considerable effort), I was suddenly peering down on a bird’s eye view of my bedside table. I didn’t feel like a princess. I felt more like Gulliver.

Before we could even judge how we liked the comfort of the bed, the “mini” box springs had to be changed out for even mini-er box springs. That meant another trip to SleepTrainWreck, another separate purchase so as not to forfeit our one mattress return allowance (ca-ching! ca-ching!), and yet another delivery.

Once we had lowered the mattress to a reasonable, human height, we quickly realized that the “pillowtop” made the mattress very mushy. We’d sink in so deep, we started calling it “The Mosh Pit”. It was also much too warm. The fault of the pillowtop? The latex mattress? Impossible to say. But we were sweating and needed to do something.

I had seen ads for a “cooling mattress pad” made with “NASA Outlast technology”. I immediately ordered one (ca-ching! ca-ching!). The day the pad arrived, it had such a strong chemical smell, we had to launder it right away.     The directions said it was ok to put it in the washer and drier. So we did.            On Low. The mattress pad disintegrated in the drier. It just completely melted. The Cooling Mattress folks apologized profusely and sent us a replacement pad.     We are still using it. But honestly, it isn’t any cooler than any other pad. So much for NASA technology.

Bottom line, after several months of trying to adjust to The Mosh Pit, we knew it had to go.

Thus began another endless round of shopping, researching, and lying on countless beds in countless stores. It was clear that every mattress came with a trade-off. The mattress would have some type of “cooling construction” — great! — but it would be too firm. Or it would be just the right softness, but have too much Memory Foam. Or the store wouldn’t allow any returns. Or…the list went on and on. At one point, we were tempted to buy an old-fashioned, cotton/coil mattress from a well-known local manufacturer. We could have had one — for about the price of a new car. So it was back to the evil “S”-brands with their polyurethanes, foams and scary list of unknowns.

It was discouraging and exhausting. But…I wasn’t alone. I soon discovered that the Internet is crawling with other miserable mattress owners/shoppers, all complaining bitterly about their new mattresses. The mother of all these sites is an industry-sponsored site called “What’s the Best Mattress”, http://www.whatsthebest-mattress.com/login.php?err=post&ref=%2Fforum%2Fpost.php%3Fp%3D19276&refn=

This website became my go-to resource and support group all in one. Log on, and you enter a world of hurt. There are literally hundreds of comments from people complaining about every possible make and model of mattress. There are disgruntled pillowtop owners. People complaining about collapsed mattresses. Or mattresses that “outgas” chemical fumes. Or that hurt their backs, shoulders or necks. Others complain about an uncomfortable phenomenon called “Latex Pushback”. There are even people offering advice on how to perform “mattress surgery”. Yes, you heard that right. These folks will tell you in agonizing detail how to cut open your brand new mattress to either remove or add your own fillers. It’s unreal. I mean…doesn’t the industry know we HATE their products?

In the end, we finally settled on a Simmons Beauty Rest “Pemberton Plush” (mattress names are clearly designed to make the buyers feel like royalty, instead of poor, sleepless schmucks who had to take out a loan to purchase a damn bed). The new mattress arrived this week, and so far, it feels very comfy. However, to my dismay, it also feels…very warm. But I won’t go there (not yet).

We returned the The Mosh Pit to SleepTrainWreck. They gladly refunded our money, or at least part of it. First, they deducted for the old box springs we had already returned (ca–ching! ca-ching!). Oh, and remember those “free” pillows? Well, we had to pay for those, too…or return them after months of use (ca-ching! ca-ching! ca-ching!).

Like I said, you can’t win at this game.

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