rice on your head

blonde leading the blonde

Posted by cgcopy on September 4, 2013 in coloring outside the lines

We’ve all heard those blonde jokes — and I, for one, would like to put them to rest. Three reasons — first, because they demoralize women in general; second, because I happen to be one of the blonde minority and don’t appreciate the aspersions; and third, because they’re just not true. So, in an effort to educate the masses and give a shout-out of support to my blonde sisters everywhere, I thought I’d choose a few of my favorite blondes — some fictional, some real — who prove my point. (By the way, whether naturally blonde or not, it’s the mindset we’re talking about here).

First, Hillary Clinton. Is anyone going to argue that this former senator, Secretary of State, and past and possibly future presidential candidate is a dumb blonde? Didn’t think so.

Next, Alex Forrest (Glenn Close) in Fatal Attraction. Not exactly a silly bunny. Crazy, yes; stupid, not at all.

Rapunzel. Locked away in a tower, this girl used her long blonde hair as a means to escape. Okay, hair that long would probably use up enough shampoo to clean a small car, but still.

Madonna. A one-name, one-woman, one-in-a-million marketing machine. Undisputed holder of the Blonde Ambition title.

Lisa Fremont (Grace Kelly) in Rear Window. Smart enough to figure out a murder mystery. Gorgeous enough to knock Jimmy Stewart’s socks off (if he were wearing them instead of being in a leg cast). Resourceful enough to order in from 21.

Elle Woods (Reese Witherspoon) in Legally Blonde. Sure she looked like the stereotypical blonde air brain, but this blonde bombshell proved them all wrong. Don’t you love it when the smart girl and the beautiful girl are the same girl?

Meryl Streep. In every role. The woman is a chameleon, virtually turning herself into every character she plays. Her accents are flawless. Her acting, superb. Her hair, blonde. Oh, right — did I mention she’s a graduate of Yale?

Did you hear the one about the brilliant blonde? Now you have.

As for me, the name is Blonde. Jane Blonde.

Tags: blondes Permalink

1 Comment

dream believer

Posted by cgcopy on August 28, 2013 in it's life

Just a few words to sum up my feelings on this 50th anniversary of the March on Washington and Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech.

The words, actually, are Ted Kennedy’s from the 1980 Democratic Convention. But they speak volumes both about that incredible, historical day in August of 1963 and that incredible, historical day in November of 2008.

“The work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives and the dream shall never die.”

Amen to that.

Tags: dream, freedom, hope Permalink

4 Comments

just coasting

Posted by cgcopy on August 22, 2013 in coloring outside the lines

As someone who has spent her life in New York and LA, it’s hard not to compare the two coasts. While some comparisons are obvious — LA has better weather, New York has a better skyline — the real differences, I think, are in the details.

Best Baseball Uniforms Yankee pinstripes beat Dodger blue every time.

Best Hotdogs Dodger Dogs have the edge over NYC streetcart dogs. (Of course, I eat hotdogs with ketchup, so my opinion on this matter might be moot in your eyes.)

Best Jimmy Smits Role Victor Sifuentes in LA Law or Bobby Simone in NYPD Blue. Let’s see — Armani suit, shirts in shades of grey, and a few years older and sexier? It’s gotta be Blue. Simone says.

Best Theme Song Sinatra’s New York, New York or the Beach Boys’ California Girls. Hey, I love Sinatra. His Capitol Years CD (his 1950s cuts) makes my heart go pit-a-pat. The man invented the sexy sing. But New York, New York? Sorry. Big cliche that takes itself too seriously. (Still a bar mitzvah standard, though, especially with the Long Island set.) I’ve got to give this one to California Girls. Sexy, fun, and so cool. Like totally.

Best Pizza Seriously? Not even close. (And if you have to ask, maybe you should order something else).

Best New Year’s Eve Times Square sets the standard for New Year’s Eve celebrations. LA goes to sleep at 9 p.m. (“It’s already New Year’s in Times Square — why bother staying up? I’ve got early-morning beach yoga tomorrow.”)

A true New Yorker can tell you where every subway line goes and the fastest way to get from Wall Street to Midtown to the Upper East Side at any time of day. A real Angeleno knows the freeways intimately and can juggle the 10, the 110, the 405, and the 101 as easy as 1-2-3.

Both think their city is the center of the world. Both would be wrong.

But you’ve got to respect the franchise.

Tags: NY vs. LA Permalink

1 Comment

like riding a bicycle

Posted by cgcopy on August 8, 2013 in it's life

Can two people who were married for many years, have three grown children, and have been divorced for ten years share a dance like it’s old times? (Cue The Odd Couple theme.)

In the movie It’s Complicated, Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin play such a couple (Jane and Jake Adler), who find themselves at a hotel bar while in New York for their son’s graduation. One drink leads to two leads to dancing and then to the rest of this terrific rom-com (if you haven’t seen it, Redbox it now). But it’s the dancing that really struck me.

If you’ve ever watched a long-married couple dance, you’ll see them just kind of melt into a rhythm and flow that’s indicative not just of their fancy (or not-so-fancy) footwork — it’s also indicative of a life lived together. It’s a familiarity that can’t be taught in dance class; an intimacy that comes from this not being their first dance; a certainty that’s not just romantic — it’s real. And remembered.

Watching Jane and Jake dance, you can see the years fall away (even if it’s just for a while). She fits just so into his arms, he holds her hand the same way he did at the beginning, and for a few minutes — and a few minutes more dancing to Wouldn’t It Be Nice? later in the movie — they’ve recaptured a piece of their life together.

Of course, marriage isn’t just about dancing — it’s also about finding your center, learning to balance, and continuing to pedal so you don’t fall off.

Quite simply, one hell of a ride.

Tags: dancing, marriage Permalink

2 Comments

romancing the stones

Posted by cgcopy on July 30, 2013 in coloring outside the lines, finding the funny

Hey guys, here’s a news flash. Unless you’re Michael Phelps or Ryan Lochte (or Mark Spitz in 1972), we women don’t really want to see you in a tiny swimsuit (you know the ones I’m talking about). In fact, even if you are Michael or Ryan (or Mark back in the day), most of us would prefer not to see your stuff so publicly outlined.

Call it too much information, call it too much of a good thing (if that takes the sting out of it) — seeing a guy’s goods on display isn’t as enticing or attractive as you may think. Much more engaging would be to leave something (please!) to our imaginations.

Go with board shorts, go with swim trunks, go with land-to-water shorts, go with volleyball trunks; go with solids, stripes, patterns, colors; go short (not too) or go long; but please, go home if you’re wearing a “man thong.” (Unless, that is, you’re on a private beach with your significant other who loves the look.)

And here’s another clue. Unless your body is absolutely perfect (cue Michael and Ryan), that teeny, tiny “slingshot style” is going to make you look like you’re trying way too hard to be a Greek god — and failing miserably. Mere mortals put their trunks on one foot at a time — instead of trying for Adonis, opt for adorable. That always wins our hearts.

So please, gentlemen, step away from the Speedos. The family jewels deserve so much more respect.

Protect those carats.

Tags: attraction, men Permalink

1 Comment

heir of respect

Posted by cgcopy on July 22, 2013 in coloring outside the lines

Maybe it’s all those commercials for Viagra and Cialis, telling men that now when they’re ready for action, they can be sure they’re ready for action. Maybe it’s the overload of reality shows, where bachelors make out with lots of women before they pick the one they’d like to marry within just weeks — and after they’ve been with all the others. Maybe it’s the unabashed lack of embarrassment among the Real Housewives as they bare their innermost uglies and their outermost fangs. Maybe it’s just me — but I’m thinking that the art of respecting others and ourselves is suffering greatly due to a lack of interest. And boundaries.

What brought this observation into focus today is the any-minute-now birth of the heir to the British throne (perhaps by the time you read this, His or Her Littlest Highness will have arrived). The fact that the world is totally captivated by Kate Middleton is not a surprise. The fact that so many millions tuned in to see her wed to Prince William is also not a shock (in the spirit of full disclosure, I must admit that I was one of the millions who tuned in to watch the wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles in 1981, in the middle of the night East Coast time).

But the hordes of media camping out just outside the hospital door, reporting that Kate is — gasp! — in labor? What exactly are they doing outside the hospital — hoping for a glimpse of the royal delivery? (I wouldn’t put it past anyone in the media to film that moment if given half a chance — “And here we have the royal placenta!”) Apparently, the Queen will be the first told once her great-grandchild has arrived. And then the rest of the world will get the news, delivered via a written announcement outside of Buckingham Palace (and, in a nod to our times, via Twitter). So why is half the world watching TV coverage of the hospital door?

Is there not even an air of discretion or respect in what is reported? In the newscast that put me over the edge this morning, a journalist was explaining the birth process (ohh — is that how it works?). And guessing as to whether Kate would be having a c-section or a vaginal delivery. I don’t know about you, but I think Her Royal Highness deserves better than to have the media speculate on what her doctors see in the speculum.

So here’s my idea. How about if everybody just gives it a rest until Baby Royal is here.

Let’s not all get our nappies in a bunch.

Tags: respect, royalty Permalink

mr. sandman, bring me a dream …

Posted by cgcopy on July 18, 2013 in coloring outside the lines

I love the romance of baseball. That first look at the field when you enter the stadium. That sound when the ball hits the sweet spot on the bat. The deceptive ease with which outfielders catch, great batters hit, and gifted pitchers throw with pinpoint accuracy.

And I love baseball movies, most notably The Natural with Robert Redford, For Love of the Game with Kevin Costner, and 61*, a movie about the Mickey Mantle / Roger Maris competition to beat Babe Ruth’s single-season home run record (and the asterisk issue that followed — trust me, rent the movie).

In For Love of the Game, Kevin Costner plays Billy Chapel, a 40-year-old pitcher playing the final game of his career, one which turns out to be a perfect game. There’s a line in the movie said by the game announcer (real-life Dodgers announcer Vin Scully) that captures all the romance of baseball for me:

“He’s pitching against time. He’s pitching against the future, against age, and even when you think about his career, against ending. And tonight I think he might be able to use that aching old arm one more time to push the sun back up in the sky and give us one more day of summer.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly what happened at the All-Star Game at Citi Field a couple of nights ago. I’m referring, of course, to Yankee pitcher Mariano Rivera (aka The Sandman), arguably the sport’s greatest closer, now playing his final season.

It was magic. Rivera taking the field in the eighth inning by himself, with both teams standing and applauding, the audience on its feet in tribute, the sun having set. A tribute richly deserved — as deserved as the number 42 (Jackie Robinson’s retired number) on Rivera’s jersey, the last 42 in the league. And then Rivera did what he does best. He pitched a perfect eighth inning.

It was glorious. Inspiring. A hero of America’s game giving us a moment where time stood still. Where he pitched against the future and against age. Where he managed to push the sun back up in the sky.

Where summer again became a time to dream — and a time when we all believed just once more.

Pitch perfect.

Tags: baseball, summer Permalink

4 Comments

donkey see …

Posted by cgcopy on July 12, 2013 in coloring outside the lines

Having just returned from a week in New Mexico, I brought home with me the expected — a volume of Georgia O’Keeffe’s work, a recipe for amazing guacamole, a pair of gorgeous turquoise earrings. B. brought home with him the unexpected — a love bite from a donkey.

I know. But an adorable donkey that lived just across the road from the casita we were staying in developed a crush on my husband. Who could blame her? It all began with our morning walks on the unpaved country road. We’d pass cows, chickens, horses, dogs (some of which came out to greet us and lead us along) and Julia (pronounced Hulia), the donkey.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a donkey close up, but they’re actually quite cute. Long brown ears. Big brown eyes. A sweet little white stripe around their muzzle. And a braying sound that could peel the paint off your walls. Julia did not disappoint.

On the first day of our walk, she just looked at us. B., chatty New Yorker that he is, felt compelled to start a conversation. “Good morning, Julia,” he said. “How’s it going, sweetie?” On subsequent mornings, Julia actually walked over to the fence to let B. pet her. I teased him that her braying in the middle of the night was actually her serenading him with a donkey lullaby.

By the end of the week, she got so close that she leaned her head against B. and nuzzled his arm. And wouldn’t let go. Again, who could blame her? Julia hung on to his arm for only a moment or so, but when B. managed to disengage, he was left with a donkey love bite that turned black and blue later on.

Now not only was Julia adorable (a donkey fatale, if you will), she was also really smart. She knew that she had to apologize to B. for potentially breaking his heart (at least she didn’t break any skin). So the next morning, the moment she saw us walking, she loped over to the fence to greet him. This time she nuzzled very gently, making sure not to hurt him. Apology over, she then went back to her donkey duties.

Just another day of donkey business.

Tags: animals, country, love Permalink

3 Comments

shoo — or shoe!

Posted by cgcopy on July 10, 2013 in it's life

Never underestimate the power of a woman. And never underestimate the power of a Jewish mother-in-law with a broom when you dare to enter her domain. Literally. Because my tiny but mighty mother-in-law recently faced down a snake in her living room — a snake which then slithered away, its proverbial tail between its proverbial legs.

She was just watching TV one evening last week in her southern Florida condo (Seinfeld fans, think Del Boca Vista) when she looked down and saw a snake crawling across the floor. She id’d the perp as about two feet long with a red stripe — and then she took action.

From her closet she got a broom (does anyone but Jewish mothers-in-law still use a good old-fashioned broom?) and approached the intruder, all 4 feet 11 inches of indignation. “Out!” she ordered, but the snake just looked at her with major snake attitude. “I said, out!” she repeated, but the snake just laughed its snake laugh.

My mother-in-law gave the snake her best stare-down. Then she said those immortal words that strike fear into the most reptilian of creatures. “Either shoo,” she said softly, “or you’re shoes.”

Realizing it had met its match — and with broom bristles providing guidance — the snake slid out of the living room double-time, onto the sun porch, and then back into the grass, a petite Jewish woman with her broom casting a long shadow over its getaway.

My mother-in-law may be little, but she’s big on moxie.

She’d be even taller in a pair of snakeskin pumps.

Tags: mother-in-law, moxie Permalink

2 Comments

just name it

Posted by cgcopy on June 27, 2013 in coloring outside the lines

Names are a funny thing. Sometimes they seem to fit their person perfectly. Sometimes not. Some are more memorable than others; some, better off forgotten.

Let’s start with the one-name wonders. Those who go by just a single name because they’ve reached such iconic status that a surname would seem superfluous — Beyonce, Oprah, Kobe, Cher, Elvis, Madonna. Then there are those hybrid names, a combination of he and she worn by the ultimate pop-culture couples — Brangelina, Billary, Kimye, and, until last year, TomKat. Nothing like reducing two people to one cloyingly cute identity.

I’ve often thought it unfair that we all have to rely on our parents to choose our name — the label that follows us all of our life. Whether it’s naming kids after boroughs (Brooklyn, Bronx), inanimate objects (Apple, Blanket), or the ethereal (Moonbeam, Rainbow), let’s hope that those children really love those tags. Somehow, I think that anyone named Rainbow Schwartz or Apple McIintosh, for example, might have a tough time of it.

For all the people who give their children such unusual names, there are those who give their pets people names. Some of these, I think, work — like a cat named Cleo, a dog named Sam, even a parrot named Lola. But some people names just don’t make the cut for me — a dog named Gary, a cat named Susan, a hamster named Stephanie. Major disconnect.

In the end, though, we can all either live up to the potential of our names (whatever we might choose that to be) or make a change.

Instead of Brooklyn, I’d take Manhattan.

Tags: names Permalink

← Older posts

Newer posts →

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Post navigation