(Fill In the Blank) Complete Me

My post about Whoopi Goldberg’s reaction to the line “You had me at ‘hello’” from the film Jerry Maguire needs a correction. As I was tidying my work area, I came across a note that made me realize I misquoted Whoopi. The equally-iconic phrase from that movie that drives her nuts is “You complete me.” Her point was that she doesn’t feel she needs someone else to complete her.

I’m happy to have uncovered my note for two reasons. One is that this explains my not being able to remember exactly why the Whoopster didn’t like “You had me at ‘hello.’” My memory may not be that bad after all. Another reason I’m glad is that it gives me a topic for another post. What would complete me?

I love my husband and we have a great marriage but I don’t feel I need him to complete me. This is a good thing, since lately he’s been wandering off to India for weeks at a time. My cats went a long way toward completing me, which may be why it’s lonely around here now that the last one has gone to the Rainbow Bridge. They added a wonderful dimension to my life, and they filled it in many ways, but I never felt they completed me.

After ruminating on this for a few days, I concluded that much like “You had me at,” what would complete me changes in different situations. For example, now that I’m once again watching how much I eat and keeping a food journal, what would complete me right this minute is a bowl of coconut almond ice cream.

My first car, a 1967 Volkswagon Beetle, probably completed me. Sigh. I had it for 18 years and 100,000 miles and we went on some great trips together. I’ve had three Honda Accords since then. They get me from point A to point B and back. That’s about it, although I do like the heated seats that came with my current Accord (bought used; I didn’t go looking for that feature). These days I’d be inconvenienced without my car, but it doesn’t complete me.

Female condo owners who are enamored with their master bathroom suites might entertain the notion that their Jacuzzi tubs complete them. I haven’t used ours yet and we’ve been here almost six months. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. I just haven’t used it as a Jacuzzi. I set up a collapsible clothes drying rack in the middle of it. That’s where I drape laundry that I don’t want to put in the dryer. It’s perfect for that: out of the way and I don’t have to worry about water dripping on the floor.

Male readers might have similar feelings about their Weber grills. We have one on our deck; it came with the condo. As with the Jacuzzi, we haven’t used it yet. All I can say about it thus far is that it complicated clearing the snow off the deck this winter. It will have to go a long way this summer to redeem itself, much less to complete me.

My writing fulfills something within me—to a point. But complete me? Maybe if I had a higher profile or more recognition. I doubt that would change things, since I write for my own enjoyment and not for critical acclaim. I sometimes go for days without writing anything. When it comes to completing me, you’d be smarter to put your money on the Jacuzzi.

I spend a lot of time on my computers in retirement. My desktop Mac is my preferred computer, but my older Mac is also indispensable. That’s the one with the tower on the floor and the ancient Sony monitor that Lily used to curl up on. It has Photoshop and QuarkXPress (desktop publishing) software on it, but it’s no longer hooked up to the Internet. My MacBook Air is highly portable, and I use it a lot for drafting my essays, but it gives me kinks in my neck. So none of these toys can claim to complete me.

Perhaps that’s a good thing. When we reach a point where we feel complete, doesn’t that mean we’re finished? Nothing left to do or pursue? No more dreams to chase after?

When I think about how much I use all my computers, I feel like I’ve come full circle. My first job out of college was programming mainframes in basic assembler language. I’ve made many stops from there to here, each one contributing a piece to the person I am today. This makes me realize that I know how to fill in that blank after all.

The journey completes me.

You Had Me At (Fill In the Blank)

Whoopi Goldberg talked about her reaction whenever she hears the phrase “You had me at ‘hello’.” For those living under a rock, she was referencing the classic Renée Zelwegger line to Tom Cruise in the film Jerry Maguire. I don’t remember exactly what Whoopi said, but I believe it had to do with her wanting to finish the line with something other than ‘hello.’ Or maybe she hated it altogether. In any case…

This got me thinking: What line that begins with “You had me at…” would grab my attention? Thus far, I haven’t come up with a universal word to fill in the blank, one that would stop me in my tracks no matter what the circumstances. I have, however, come up with several that would do it in specific situations.

Certainly in a retail environment “You had me at ‘free’” would do the trick. That doesn’t mean I’d take the free item, but I’d definitely give it a look-see before I went on my way. Many of the other had-me-ats that I came up with are short phrases. Among these are “senior discount,” “includes shipping” and “extra gas points.”

Not surprising given my age, several of my phrases are health-related. Take for instance “low salt,” “covered by Medicare,” “easy to swallow” and lately “gluten free.” (My husband has self-diagnosed that he’s gluten intolerant. Don’t ask.) There are quite a few others in this category, but I’m not going to list all of them. You can probably come up with plenty of your own.

Some popular marketing jargon that could be hot buttons for me, depending on my mood (read: how much wine I’ve had) includes “convenient,” “money back guarantee” and “for a limited time.” In the order in which they’re listed, I’d need an increasing number of glasses of vino to care about those promises. “For a limited time” usually means about as long as it takes me to finish a bottle of chianti. That’s also about how much I’d need to have imbibed to take the bait.

I used to sit up when I heard “quick.” Now that I’m retired, I don’t care a lot about how much time something may take to accomplish. “No mess” and “long lasting,” on the other hand, are still motivational for me. I should mention that the way I define “long lasting” has changed as I've gotten older. It used to mean for at least 20 years. Now I consider 5 years a long time. In contrast, my definition of “no mess” has become more rigorous. If it will take over five minutes to clean up, I’m not interested.

Certain words and phrases are more appealing as I age. Among these are “comfortable” and “easy to use.” Both of these are moving targets, however, meaning that something that is comfortable today might be annoying next week. Likewise, it may be easy to use this week, but frustrating to manage next month. Note to marketers: If this is your go-to pitch, you’d better get me on the hook now. Tomorrow all bets are off.

Then there’s a bunch of slogans that would easily reel me in, but that we don’t often hear. In that group you’ll find “hard to lose,” “impossible to forget,” “24-hour technical support” and “made especially for those with arthritic fingers.” These shouldn’t require an explanation, except that “hard to lose” refers to physical items, not weight.

Some claims that once might have “had me” but no longer cut through my mental clutter are “physician recommended,” “AARP approved,” “one of Oprah’s favorite things” and “as seen on The View.” I no longer trust physicians to endorse anything; they’re in the pockets of big pharma and medical device manufacturers. AARP’s approval is now an advertiser’s bonus. Oprah has moved on (and so have I), and The View post-Joy Behar and Barbara Walters is rarely worth tuning in.

Let’s face it. We get crankier as we get older. I suppose if there were one go-to way to fill in the blank that would have a good chance of getting my attention, it’s probably “You had me at ‘goodbye’.” On that note…

Sensor-Activated Restroom Facilities

A recent road trip to Vermont reminded me of the challenges I now face when I use the restrooms on our Interstate highways. New technologies that enable hands-free and paperless cleanup are steps forward for reducing the spread of germs, but they’re often stress-inducing for me.

It seems logical to start with the toilets, since that’s where our visits usually begin. I’ll bet all the women out there have had experiences similar to mine with restroom toilets. They often self-flush before I even get my jeans unzipped, but I’m never sure why.

The facilities in the sink area are sometimes light sensitive, other times motion-activated. I had always assumed that the ones in the stalls were all motion-activated. Now I’m wondering if they have dual controls. The pale moon of my behind seems to trigger a second flush before I even sit down. And yes, ladies, now that my balance is hinky, I’ve given up straddling.

The third flush happens during the cleanup phase. (Mercifully, the toilet paper dispensers have escaped sensor technology thus far.) What is usually the fourth and final flush follows the movement of zipping up my jeans. Not only are all these flushes bewildering, they’re also a flagrant waste of water.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have the flush sensors that don’t recognize that I’ve entered the stall, used the throne, tidied up and prepared to exit. These seemingly nonfunctional units force me to lean in over the bowl, waving my hands in front of the sensor, looking for a push button override. You know where this is headed. Just as my face is squarely over the bowl, the flusher activates, giving me a facial that means an extra cleanup at the sink.

Ah! The sink! The water and soap dispensers are typically light-activated. They’re looking for beams to bounce back from a white top. Or at least a non-black one. I worked in Manhattan for 20 years and I still live in black clothing. I’m sometimes tempted to drop trou and flash my pasty whiteness to turn on the water. Of course, that would be impolite. Besides, by the time I could turn back around, the water would have turned off.

What I’m sometimes forced to do is to ask a complete stranger who is clad in a light top and using a nearby sink to please stand in front of my faucet. Eventually, I find someone who stays in proximity long enough for me to explain the light reflection problem—black absorbs light; white reflects it. I then stand to the side of my sink and stretch my hands in to reach the water that they have kindly turned on for me.

I fare no better with sensor-activated paper towel dispensers, but those are mostly being replaced. The newer machines with the “blades” of hot air seem to respond better to my presence. They create different problems for me. Sometimes the blast is so intense it almost knocks me over, and I’m no featherweight.

More often, the device is mounted too high for me. In order to get my hands far enough up to activate the air flow, I have to hold them shoulder height or higher. That causes the water on them to roll up my forearms, soaking my sleeve ends. This in turn requires me to stand at the machine for a considerable amount of time until the fabric dries. By then my upper arms are aching. If I’m going to be traveling a lot, I'll need to lift hand weights to strengthen my biceps.

We should have special restroom tools for women, starting with a long-handled flushing device. It should be strong enough to push any override buttons at the backs of the toilets, and it should be white, so it reflects light. A small pouch with a white flag would be useful to trick faucets into turning on. I could tuck it into the neck of my shirt like a lobster bib. Those blade devices will be trickier to get around. I suppose we could carry personal size hot air blowers in our purses, but really…

I think I’ll just take a selfie of my rear end and flash that at any of those sensors. The light will reflect off the photo, or the motion of the paper waving will get the sensor’s attention. I’m willing to provide copies to my female friends free of charge. My male friends will have to take their own moon shots. Most of them probably already have one from their high school days hidden in their sock drawer. And yes I know, gentlemen, this entire post is TMI.

Late Life Body Types

Dame Helen Mirren, actress and senior sex symbol, was on The Late Show with David Letterman to promote a Broadway play she’s in. Turns out she’ll be 70 in July. This is the same Helen Mirren who appeared in a bikini in a popular magazine when she was 63. Seven years later, she’s still sexy.

I realize that those in the public eye can usually afford an entourage to help keep them in good physical shape. But hearing that Dame Helen is the same age as I am set me to looking around for body images more typical of my age group. I discovered that the most appropriate symbols now come from the vegetable patch. To illustrate these types, I looked for examples among people who should be familiar to most of us.

Many men in their sixties and seventies put me in mind of the Pillsbury Doughboy. Men can get away with going to seed; women can’t. This body type has a pasty, doughy look, especially the cheeks. You feel that if you pushed your index finger into their cheek, it would leave a permanent indentation. William Shatner has one of those faces. So does the closing-in-on-sixty Alec Baldwin. I know: Alec is a sex symbol. That just proves my earlier point.

We also have Chevy Chase and Senator Mitch McConnell, neither of whom would be described as sexy. Chevy's face looks better than McConnell's, but he’s still doughy. The comments about his physical condition after the Saturday Night Live 40th Anniversary Special showed concern, not derision. “Chevy Chase Worries Fans After Massive Weight Gain” (LifeandStyleMag.com) and “Fans Fear For His Health” (HollywoodLife.com). If he’d been a woman, the Twittersphere would have lit up with snark. “She Let Herself Go.”

In our seventies and eighties, some of us start resembling string beans. A few still retain our sex appeal, but again, it’s more likely to happen for the men. Take Clint Eastwood, for example. Scrawny as a beanpole these days, but as sexy as ever. If you think he still attracts young hotties because of his money, you’re only half right. No matter how thin he gets, he still has those eyes. Likewise Ian McKellen. Hmmm. Maybe it’s all about the eyes, ‘bout the eyes, ‘bout the eyes.

Women have trouble pulling off the string bean look even when they’re young. (Remember Twiggy?) Once they’re past sixty, it’s called “character,” not sex appeal. Have you seen pictures of Lily Tomlin lately? Or Vanessa Redgrave?

Most older women have to look to other vegetables for our body image. One that comes to mind is the butternut squash, where the inexorable downward drag of gravity causes everything to settle at the base. Well, almost everything. The sexy version comes with two acorn squashes at boob level. Two great examples are Kirstie Alley (especially when she’s fallen off the diet wagon) and Patricia Arquette. Arquette isn’t even fifty yet, but she’s already a butternut-acorn hybrid. If she’s lucky, she’ll still be one in ten years, because the alternative isn’t pretty.

After sixty, we see more dimpled-melon bodies on women. This type has a smaller melon head and a large melon torso; both have lots of dimples. If you’re having trouble picturing this, Google images of Margo Martindale and Angela Merkel. Merkel will turn 60 this year, so she’s only now beginning to take on her melon identity.

When the two melons start to merge into one, we get a Barbara Mikulski, the retiring Senator from Maryland. At 79, she’s the longest-serving female member of Congress. A timeline of her photos shows what that job does to a woman’s body.

Angela Lansbury, Gena Rowlands and Doris Roberts, all well into their eighties, show us what a well-cared-for upper melon can do to divert attention from an ever-more-dimpled torso. Sadly for us women, preventing those facial dimples from turning into deeply-wrinkled creases is a major challenge. A history of Roberts’ images shows us what can happen as we close in on 90.

Most faces of women over 80 are so wrinkled that they cry out to have seeds planted in those furrows. The only good news in this is that they’re not deep enough to grow any vegetables. Then again (bite my tongue, because I love her), have you looked at any recent close-ups of Maggie Smith?