I recently participated in some lame growing-older lady activities, namely looking at antique shops and perusing places that specialize in tea blends.
I realize this puts me just a few steps away from wearing shawls and acquiring multiple cats. I've accepted that.
Anyway, at one shop the elderly woman manning the counter was big on small-talk. After the obligatory mentions of weather and gardening (ah, yes, gardening. It's official: shawls and cats are in my immediate future), our attentions were turned to a noise just outside the store.
There was cheering, chanting, and eventually, a glimpse of what was causing all the fuss (fuss! An old lady term! I should just start stocking up on Fancy Feast now.): some guys were trotting along the sidewalk; not quite goose-stepping, not quite Ukrainian dancing, but doing something confusingly in between. (If I was being literal, I guess that would make what they were doing ... Polish?) It was clearly some kind of stunt brought on by Frosh Week. I deduced this not from a Sherlock Holmesian brilliance, but from the fact they were all wearing T-shirts that had "FROSH 13" written across them. Indubitably.
I'LL SIT ON YOUR FACE, AND TELL YOU I LOVE YOU, TOO ....
"Well, they did the one about ..."
I LOVE TO HEAR YOU ORALIZE WHEN I'M BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS...
"... well, wow, they had so many sketches. And movies. It's hard to pick just one ..."
LIFE CAN BE FINE IF WE BOTH SIXTY-NINE ....
"They're a funny group from Britain, right?" she said. "I just love British humour! It's so clever. So witty!"
And - finally - a different sketch (something completely different, if you will) came to me. "I fart in your general direction!" I screamed in her face.
"Oh, yes, right," she politely replied, having no idea what I was talking about.
I really shouldn't ever leave my home.
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You guys are beyond lovely. You're more awesome than all the cupcakes and zombies and bacon in the world (although I've been told that burritos are the new bacon. Rest assured, you're better than all of those too).
Thank you.
My gift to you is to not predictably include a Dido or Alanis Morissette song in this post, rather to include one that is just simply fantastic that I hope you enjoy:
Have an amazing weekend, everyone!
I love reality TV, I'm a sucker for it. I especially like interesting and informative reality TV - something that hasn't really caught on in America (I'm not sure we can count Snooki's urinary tract infection story arc as a public service). However, in Britain, "edutainment" reality programs are far more popular and totally freaking amazing.
One of the inspirations for the 50s Housewife Experiment (and future experiments which I hope to share soon! I know I keep promising this stuff and not doing it ... but I swear, wheels are in motion! Motion!) was a delightful British reality show called The 1900 House, a program where a modern family moves into a Victorian home and lives the turn-of-the-century lifestyle. It is BANANAS GOOD and I was jealous that they had all the original, authentic stuff from the era to use in their social experiment. I, on the other hand, while doing the '50s thing, had to stare at my microwave and will myself with every bit of strength I had not to throw a pizza pop into it:
But as you can imagine, I was thrilled off my ass to discover another British reality show that took a similar approach to tackling eras, one week at a time, to see how the lifestyle impacted a modern couple. "The Supersizers Go ..." features the comedy duo of Sue Perkins and Giles Coren who live and, of great focus of the program - eat, like they did in different times in Britain. Each week they munch through a new era, including the '70s, the Edwardian age, and Medieval times (the period, not the hilarious castle and horse show-slash-restaurant). And .... the 1950s! Oh, it was good. Great. AMAZING. And I've just learned that these episodes are now appearing on The Cooking Channel in the States, and I must insist that you Americans with cable watch it. Like, right now. It's brilliant and will give you a taste of how good reality TV can be. The Situation and gang will never look lamer, something you probably didn't think was possible.
Because I'm so enthused, I've embedded the entire "The Supersizers Go ... Fifties" below for your viewing enjoyment. Let me know what you think of the show!
February kicks off Black History Month - a reminder of not just the history of black people, their accomplishments, and how they rose up against inequality and intolerance, but it's also a reminder of the history of the people who challenged progress (or, to be exceedingly kind about it, "didn't know any better"). It is the history of a multicultural society that has made leaps forward, and can continue to make leaps forward, provided that we learn from the past.
A little while ago, I shared one of my not-so-fun vintage finds, an article from 1965 about neighbours giving their opinion on the prospect of a "Negro family" moving onto their street. While I can't claim to have the most extensive of vintage media collections, that article was among the earliest I had in my hoard pile possession that straight-forwardly dealt with race relations and bigotry. Because I tend to collect magazines and books targeted to women in the 1950s, the content of the material I have is decidedly focused on homemaking, family relationships, and fashion. Current events tended to take a back seat to "Easy Flower Arrangements You'll Love" and "How To Choose A Fur".
But if you specifically look for examples of how civil rights and attitudes around race were addressed in the 1950s mainstream media, you'll surely find them. Below is a half-hour drama called Crossroads that aired on CBC in 1957. Directed by the National Film Board's Don Haldane, Crossroads is a "sensitive drama that tells the story of a couple, Roy and Judy, and the reactions they encounter when they announce their intention to marry, reactions complicated by the fact that Roy is black and Judy is white."
According to what I've researched, Crossroads was well received by the Canadians who watched it on TV in 1957 and was applauded for its sensitive and accurate portrayals of people at the time. One wonders how it would have gone over in the United States.
It's interesting and sad, inspiring and infuriating, and it's a part of your history and mine, regardless of where our ancestors came from. It's a history that shapes relations and politics today within our countries, and it's hopefully a history was can continue to learn from.
This has the potential to be both awesome and depressing at the same time:
Eeee?!
And yes, that's a trailer for a commercial. A commercial. We don't know what product it's for yet, but if Ferris ends up shilling for an insurance company, I might kill myself.
Regardless, this buzz for an ad confirms that the cultural tastes of future generations will be exactly as they were portrayed in Demolition Man:
(I'm actually not judging; I would totally be charmed by a jingles-only radio station.)
But let's hope for the best that this mini Ferris Bueller reprise is fun and doesn't send us all into a grief spiral over our lost youth and lame dulled adult lives.
I'm not a fan of "performance" reality TV competitions (like American Idol or X-Factor or Dancing with the Not-Really-Stars) nor do I watch musicals or, ugh, Glee, but when I see a politician sing well, regardless of what political stripe they wear, gosh darnnit if I'm not just positively tickled pink.
Barack Obama only gave a couple lines of Al Green last night, but I am on the verge of fan-girling:
It's not the first time he's sung for a crowd:
And he's certainly not the only politician to do it. Here are a few other examples ...
Canada's Prime Minister Harper is a surprise guest of the National Arts Centre a few years ago and performed this Beatles song:
Italian Prime Minister Berlusconi sing something I don't know:
Philadelphia Mayor Michael Nutter drops some Sugarhill Gang:
Russia's Prime Minister Putin is more cringe-worthy than charming in his rendition of Blueberry Hill, but check out all the Hollywood types in the audience:
And it's not singing, but remember this? Ha. Oh, Bubba, those were the days:
It almost makes you wish all elections had a talent component. Almost.
If you know this blog, you know I loves me some vintage living. But what I like to explore - however ridiculously at times - is how a chapter in history was reflected in its media (and, in turn, the ideals and values that were impressed upon the culture). Well, that, and disgusting retro recipes. This is not, however, entirely reflective of reality. If you were to go purely by the 1950s women's magazines I own, you'd think, "race relations? What race relations? Shouldn't we be busying ourselves with a Jell-O mold right now?"
But come 1963-ish, magazine cover stories became less about "Soups Men Love!" and more about stuff like this (you'll know it when you see it):
"When A Negro Family Moves Next Door", written by Suzanne Hart Straight for Parents' magazine, January 1965. Oh, cringe.
I debated posting this entry because, well, it's totally horrible. That, and I'm a giant pussy whose intellect is more on the level with topics of Marshmallow Fluff than racism. But seeing as Martin Luther King Jr.'s life is celebrated today, it seems appropriate to remind people (and in some cases, educate people for the very first time) what he and those who fought for civil rights and dignity were up against.
Despite the unfortunate opinions expressed by some of the people interviewed in this article, I'm quite thankful for it, as it provides a look into what people really were thinking and feeling at the time without a PC-filter. It shows how far we've come, but it can also, perhaps, allow us to connect a few dots between those attitudes and how we view other groups and minorities in society today.
Isn't it weird to see those words in a magazine? It startles me that an article like this was relevant just 47 years ago and during my parents' lifetime (Barrack Obama would have been four years old, and my mom - whose birthday is today! Happy Birthday, mom, sorry to hijack it with this hate crime! - would have been eight.). It is downright strange to read what "normal" people once (?) were concerned about when it came to black people and all kinds of horrifying to read the vile things less-than-normal people were proud to express to a nationally-read magazine.
What's more, as I was reading, I had to keep reminding myself that this discussion wasn't about some weirdo town in the South that we all figure was full-on batshit racist, but was instead a middle-class neighbourhood in New Jersey. Yeah, buddy.
Let's not kid ourselves, there are still plentyofshittythingsgoingonoutthere, said and done by people who weirdly claim it's not hateful (it's free speech! It's my religious belief! It's a genuine threat! It's hilarious! It's against my vision of America! The founding fathers wouldn't like it! Their hair products cloudy up my pool!). Give me a fucking break, you fucking fuckstains.
The author of "When A Negro Family Moves Next Door" does what I clearly can't do (as I just demonstrated); she responds to some really heinous opinions calmly, with facts and without a lot of judgement, possibly because she knew that you win more flies with honey and that, at the time, Parents' probably had a fair share of readers who related to what was being said by these neighbours.
But that shouldn't stop you or I for letting a "holy fuck!" or a "oh, hell no!" fly out of our mouths while reading this, particularly when you get to the part where "Mr. Heath's" shithead opinion is shared. I mean, just look at what this asshole has to say:
Ugh. Yes, please leave, Mr. Heath.
But the article isn't just a bunch of awful quotes. It shows a turning of a tide, people who were clearly rational and thoughtful and no doubt helped to shape the attitudes of their own neighbours. And - as a lesson for me, they did it without calling anyone a "fucking fuckstain":
So, without further ado, here's the article in its entirety, followed by a "Group Discussion Article" - some questions and information for people to use when discussing this article with friends, family, co-workers, or neighbours (I love that! Gold star, Parents'!). You should be able to open these images into a separate tab where you can expand them to a legible size:
Discussion Prompts:
So, thoughts? Anything surprise you? Can you share any memories (or perhaps stories from your parents) from this time? Does any of it feel familiar when thinking of other groups that are currently marginalized in our society?
And finally, how are you spending Martin Luther King Jr. Day?
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I'm still gross and sick, so I'm spending the bulk of my time laying down while sniffling, hacking, consuming liquids, and having impromptu, drool-heavy naps. This activity, combined with my slug-like physique, has led me to dub the platform bed that I'm conducting this important business from as "Jabba's Barge". Maybe it's the Buckley's, but this all seems like a pretty accurate reflection of what's happening in my room right now (except instead of demanding the death of Han Solo, I'm simply satisfied with orange juice and Jane Austen films. That, and Patrick no longer fits into the metal bikini):
Sadly, this is how I'm going to be spending New Year's Eve this year: out with a pathetic gurgle.
Hopefully your New Year's Eve is more fun than that and that 2012 is your best year ever!
Thanks for reading the blog and I hope to see you next year! U kalle rah doe kankee kung!
Presuming you know what tops and bottoms are when it comes to sexual lingo, maybe this little tiny snippet from the claymation classic, Santa Claus is Comin' to Town - that I ended at just the right time - will never be viewed quite the same way again. Or maybe you'll just never view me in quite the same way again. It's the risk I take.
I couldn't resist. Jr. High humour never really dies:
You know how you sometimes have to play a tune a couple times before it will snag onto you? I feel like each of these are love at first listen. How is it these songs weren't hugely popular? They're so hit-worthy it hurts!
So let's correct that, shall we?
I'm a bit biased on this one as I pretty much love everything Buddy Holly ever did. For some weirdo reason, "Heartbeat" only reached #82 in the charts in 1958:
I've been crapping my pants about this song since I heard it four years ago, telling pretty much everyone I meet that they should listen to it. It was recorded in 1968 and never made it on the charts. A little while ago I heard it in that weird Seth Rogen mall cop movie and felt like I should have gotten credit for it somehow. The song, not the movie. Totally not the movie:
This song did alright - reaching #5 in 1968 - but seems to have been rather forgotten unless you're already a Donovan fan. My poor old roommate Will would barf if he found out I still listen to this one as I used to put this song on every.single.day when we lived together. And speaking of crazy, is it just me or does young Donovan kind of remind you of Kristen Stewart?:
I love Terry Callier's voice. It's kind of Hendrix-y, no? This track didn't make a blip on the charts when it was released in 1973. Pity.
I think this is one of the best We're-Probably-Going-To-Break-Up songs ever. It reached #9 in 1985, which is great, but it was dwarfed by The Boss's other better-known hits:
The kisses featured on TLC's Virgin Diaries look like ________________________________.
A) A mother bird feeding a baby bird.
B) An incompetent zombie trying to gum someone, face first.
C) You. Summer camp. 1992.
D) None of the above. Write your own answer in the comments!
Yesterday I told Patrick that I was going to make something very special and rather traditional on account of American Thanksgiving. I assured him the meal would be not be from one of the vintage Thanksgiving recipes, so he was fairly pumped. Correction: VERY pumped.
He knew something weird was up when he arrived home and I was playing jazz music.
(This is only the tip of the iceberg of how funny and clever I think I am. It's sickening, really.)
Patrick enjoyed it, sort of.
Until ...
"Okay, Okay ... so what are we really having for dinner?" he said after indulging in my silliness for about a minute.
"This is it. I didn't make anything else," I said.
"Are you kidding me? This isn't a real meal."
"Patrick - be grateful. It's American Thanksgiving and I clearly slaved all day to make this," said Mrs. Laugh Riot.
I was too busy enjoying my shit-eating grin to take a picture of his reaction. He refused to "recreate" his expression, but this is pretty much exactly what he looked like:
And then, through the magic of MS Paint, I can show you what Peppermint Patrick did immediately after that:
I've had a bunch of music stuck in my head this week and it's only fair that I infect you with these too (sure beats the other things I could have infected you with, right?). As you'll see, my subconscious brain is a touch spastic in its musical interests.
Companies can make clever ads, they can get "engaged" in social media, and they show how much they CARE ABOUT THE CHILDREN [insert Sally Struthers emoticon], but none of that builds real trust. "Trust" isn't a silly marketing buzzword - it's a business's greatest bond with its customer, and it's developed, strengthened and broken during real interactions. And it's trust that caused FedEx Canada to lose precious little me as a customer.
But let me back up, because this story actually starts with something pure and good. It started with this:
I love that damn show, as does my dear husband. This husband that I love almost as much as Community had a birthday in July and because I am a clever, thoughtful and pop culture-obsessed wife, I ordered two of these mugs from the NBC store as a birthday gift:
$12 a pop for mugs is a bit much, but whatev. Birthday, right? Troy and Abed, right?
The package was received by our concierge and the mugs were in perfect and wonderful working order. Total state-of-the-art liquid containment. Husband was happy, the birthday was splendid, and I retained my position as Patrick's Favourite Wife.
On August 12th, I received an invoice from FedEx, looking for their "Advancement Fee" - which is supposedly the charge that's meant to cover duty and "managing customs" on account of this being a cross-border shopping experience. YOU'RE WELCOME, AMERICA:
I think it's rather strange that I'd get charged HST (a tax on goods and services provided in Ontario) on a product from the US, that it's all kinds of fun that FedEx's total charge for something worth $24 was $14.29 (60% of the product cost. Splendid!), and that you have no idea what the charge will be until long after you make your transaction - but that's not even what this blog post is about.
This blog post is about the fact that I paid it. That day. I called the little 1-800 number and paid that ridiculous charge without complaint. Aren't I a good little drone? YOU'RE WELCOME, CAPITALISM.
A screen shot from my bank account. It's really small.
But you can click it!
I'm pretty anal about paying bills on time and keeping records, so when they give you that reference number that most of us either a) pretend to write down but really don't or b) write down on a scrap of paper which we later wrap our gum in, I actually write them down. On the bill. And date it. And then file it. In file folders. Actual file folders! It's like every day is 1993 in my home.
I should get a pre-inked stamp, right? I love stamps.
I especially love having a legitimate excuse to get a stamp.
This is where the story should end, with FedEx Canada humping its pile of money and Patrick and I pouring vodka coffee into our Troy and Abed in the Morning mugs over breakfast.
But it doesn't end there.
On October 6th, my mailbox greets me with this letter from FedEx:
So I was kind of stunned. What was this about? The letter gives no information about the services rendered, only an invoice number. I order things now and again from across the border, so I'm not sure exactly what it's for. And so, to the '90s I went, and I dug up the info from my file folder.
I was quickly able to match up the invoice amounts, see that I had called to pay, saw the reference number, went online and confirmed that amount was indeed charged. Some people would see this and feel mad. But you know how I felt? Relieved. As I was digging up my info, the entire time I genuinely felt awful that I might have skipped out on paying something that I owed. Because, like I said, I'm not just a drone, I'm a good drone.
So I call FedEx Canada.
Nicely!
There's zero need to get all uppity and crazy with the poor schmuck who happens to answer the phone - it's not his fault. And mistakes happen, right? I was just glad that I had the information I needed to correct the situation.
Oh, speaking of which - you know those reference numbers I mentioned earlier - the ones a company gives you that most of us don't bother saving or writing down? FedEx does the exact same thing with them. They're just like us! The number I quoted meant nothing to guy I was on the phone with. Neato.
But since FedEx clearly charged my credit card in the amount of gee-what-a-coincidence-that's-how-much-is-on-the-invoice, they've got to have a record of that somewhere, right? So I give the guy the last few digits of my VISA and he says he'll take a look at the transactions, have it straightened out and agrees with me that there must have been a miscommunication between departments.
"Thanks for calling and thank you for choosing FedEx."
Technically, NBC chose FedEx, but whatever ....
So, then I make my trusty note on the letter and file (!) it.
Today I'm up to whatever shitty thing I do between meals when:
SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.
The letter is dated five bloody days AFTER I called FedEx.
ARE THEY KIDDING ME!?!?!
I felt a Troy Barnes-style Nosebleed of Rage coming on (no quicky linky on that reference, you'll just have to go watch Communityto get it. YOU'RE WELCOME, YOUR BRAIN CELLS).
The letter threatens to transfer the balance to a collection agency where "all related costs will be your responsibility and your credit rating may be affected."
Here's a zany fact, kids: credit ratings are somewhat important to adults. It impacts our ability to do things like get mortgages and rent apartments, get a business loan or establish a line of credit. They're not the sort of thing you should be screwing with.
But FedEx will! Over $14.29. That you already paid in August. And already called them about. Oh, tra la la.
I again took out my file folder, which is now marked "SERIOUSLY?!", and called FedEx for a third time.
I'm told it's now "resolved".
But do I trust that FedEx has made things right? Do I trust their data management? Their customer service? Their ability to send a message from one department to another? Am I confident that they won't "accidentally" keep escalating this to a level of harassment that is completely unwarranted, unnecessary, and potentially financially damaging?
Nope. I don't trust them at all.
And I don't do business with companies that I can't trust.
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My name is Jen and I look like that picture at all times. I enjoy appetizers as entrees, fountains choreographed to music and television shows intended for teenage girls. Oh - and I really dislike it when people spell it "Jenn"; it's practically a phobia.
Chuck Lorre Club "music" CUPCAKES Extremism Factory farming Fruit-flavoured teas Humid days Hypocrisy (EXCEPT MINE) Laugh tracks Mice Mob mentalities Mondays My typos PC policing Prop 8 Self-defecation Sexy Halloween costumes Snakes Social media obsession Sports highlights The Easily Offended The Easily Outraged The Humourless The Super Cynical
Need words? I'm a Toronto-based freelance writer who injects great ones into blogs, websites, magazines, ads and more. So many services, one lovely Jen (with one 'n').
(the book)
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