Tidbits for Women

MESSAGE from the blogger: I’ll be taking a hiatus from my regular posting for awhile, beginning next weekend. Catch you again sometime in late June or July.

The April 13 issue of Advertising Age carried a number of interesting tidbits about women that caught my attention. I’m not sure if it was just a coincidence that they all ended up in the same issue, or if that assemblage was intentional on the part of the editors. Whatever the reason, I’m sharing them here.

The cover of Golf Digest’s Fitness & Power Issue featured a half-naked Lexi Thompson, a professional golfer. A drying towel is draped strategically around her neck. Ms. Thompson was so proud of her cover girl status that she tweeted about it, saying she was “pumped to represent fitness & power. #girlpower”

Shaunna Taylor, co-chair of the Canadian Sport Psychology Association took exception, tweeting that an “unnecessarily topless cover photo is not… empowering to the women’s game.” Though my husband and I now live on a TPC golf course, I don’t feel informed enough to weigh in on this issue. I just hope I don’t see Lexi golfing half-naked on the fairway behind us one day.

Lane Bryant, the marketer of clothes size 14 to 28, has a new ad campaign for “real women” (à la Dove soap). In the print ad, the tag line #ImNoAngel is superimposed over a group of plus size models in sexy bras and panties. There’s a TV version as well. Way to go, LB girls! The idea pokes fun at the popular Victoria’s Secret campaign that features rake thin models wearing scanty lingerie, feathered wings and smiles. Can’t wait ‘til someone does a similar ad featuring seniors with silver wings and golden halos.

Speaking of rake thin models, the government of France is considering a law that will impose fines of up to $82,000 on clothing designers who use emaciated models. Since most runway ladies would qualify as emaciated IMHO, I’m not sure how the French define that term.  Additionally, using these stick figures can result in up to six months of jail time. Finally, if the ads for those clothiers have been Photoshopped to make the babes look more Twiggy-like, this needs to be disclosed (not sure to whom). All together now: Vive la France!

On the opposite side of the world, the ad consortium Grey Group Singapore has partnered with Neelvasant Medical Foundation and Research Centre on a program that is focused on women’s health. They’re providing women in rural India with bindis that are designed to dispense iodine. Iodine deficiency is a major problem in that part of the world. The bindi is a traditional adornment for these women, making it a practical solution. The campaign is called “Life-Saving Dot.” Score one for the creative and culturally sensitive use of resources.

What strikes me most about these four media items is the scope of the information. We go from covers that reflect male chauvinistic attitudes to efforts to lift up real women to programs to improve women’s health in disadvantaged areas of the world. I suppose women should be grateful that only one of the four pieces objectified a woman and that at least one of the four addressed a serious health issue in a creative way. Baby steps, but worth celebrating nonetheless.

Here’s to women everywhere, whatever their shape or age, no matter where they call home. This seems like a good note to end on before my blogging break.

Retirees’ Triads

Pampers has a new tag line. It’s a take off on the book and the movie: Eat, Pray, Love. Procter and Gamble tweaked the diaper version to Love, Sleep, Play. To which I snorted: “For people our age, it’s more like: Eat, Pray for Sleep, Eat Something Else.” This got me thinking about other well-known triads and how they might be revised for retirees.

One that comes to mind immediately is Veni, Vidi, Vici. (I came, I saw, I conquered.) The seniors’ adaptation has to be: I came, I forgot why I came, so I left. Another from literature is Keats’ “beloved trinity”—“Give me women, wine and snuff untill I cry out ‘Hold, enough!’” With minor alterations it’s a favorite of ladies who’ve migrated to Florida. “Give me women, wine and Mah Jong ‘til I cry out ‘Enough already!’”

Some of the revised groupings are inspired by health issues that plague many older folks. The patriotic red, white and blue are phonetically modified into bread, wheat and gluten—foods to be avoided by those with sensitive digestive tracts. The western The Good, the Bad and the Ugly mutates into The Cane, the Walker, and the Wheelchair. That popular lunch sandwich—bacon, lettuce and tomato? It’s still bacon, lettuce and tomato—but now it’s things we have trouble chewing or digesting.

Then we have trios of noises, or groups that morph into them. Let’s begin with Snap, Crackle and Pop—the sounds of a beloved breakfast cereal. These days, snap, crackle and pop are still morning sounds, but they’re the ones we make when we first get up. Remember the rock band Earth, Wind and Fire? They’re now Gurgle, Windy and Fart. (Oh, don’t give me that look. You know you were thinking something similar.)

Famous threesomes from TV and movies get makeovers as we age. The Three Stooges are no longer Moe, Curly and Larry. They’re now Bald, Frizzy and Flyaway—our hairstyles. The Marx brothers, Chico, Harpo and Groucho, have become Cheeky, Harpy and Grouchy—our personalities. The Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Woodsman morph into the Couch Hippo, Frightful Hair Crow and Titanium Knees Man.

How about the gifts the Three Wise Men brought to the manger—Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh? If they were coming to see us today, they’d bring presents that are more age appropriate, like cold compresses, Airwick and Vaporub. Meanwhile, The Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria translate into a trinity that grandparents and great aunts everywhere will love—Nana, Pop-pop and Tanta Mariuccia.

Then there’s the classic baseball play: “Tinker to Evers to Chance.” It’s now: “Don’t Tinker with the TV remote settings, because it will take forEver to figure them out again. We only found PBS by Chance.”

We also have famous three-part mottos. The words of the French Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité still translate into Liberty, Equality and Fraternity. But for senior citizens they mean we still have some mobility, our socks match, and to keep in touch with our family and friends, we need an iPhone. The Olympic motto Citius, Altius, Fortius (Faster, Higher, Stronger) stays the same, but it now refers to our heartbeat, our blood pressure and our body odor.

We still enjoy the Sun, Moon and Stars. However, if your night vision has evolved in sync with your age, the sun often appears to be glowing around streetlights at night. You may go to bed too early to appreciate the celestial moon, but you can still catch a glimpse when a gentleman with stretched-out Sansabelts bends over. And the stars are what we’re assured every one of our friend’s grandchildren are, as we look at yet another dozen photos from their ballet recitals.

Let’s consider a holistic triad—Mind, Body and Soul. We must nurture all of these if we aspire to lead a long, full life. Some maxims to follow to make this happen are: Don’t mind anything your neighbors say about you. Don’t look at your body in the mirror unless you have on at least two layers of clothing. And if you want to cultivate your soul, forget those Chicken Soup books. Read Retirement Sparks every week.

Lastly, referring to the biological classifications Animal, Vegetable, Mineral: Seniors are told to avoid red meat, get plenty of roughage and keep hydrated with lots of water, not wine. As if that’s going to happen.

Signs It’s Time for Spring Cleaning

We’re expecting houseguests from overseas in about three weeks, which has me assessing the cleaning needs in our condo. I’ve never claimed to be a Suzy Homemaker and the current state of our home shows it. I did answer to Suzy Potts at one time, however.

That was a nickname from my parents. At least, I thought it was until sometime in my twenties. Turns out they were saying “you’re crazy” in the Italian dialect of my mother’s family. I misunderstood and they chose not to disabuse me of the idea that it was a term of endearment. I signed cards to them “Love, Suzy Potts” even after I learned the truth. But I digress. Back to house cleaning. (See, I even resist writing about it.)

I dust everything and clean the floors at least twice a year. (Don’t panic. The sinks and toilets get regular scrubbings.) After decades of dealing with this on a seasonal basis, I’ve collected some wisdom on the topic. To prove that I’m not totally without knowledge of this subject, I’m sharing it with you. You know it’s time for spring cleaning when…

You can write your name on every horizontal surface, discover a spelling error, and rewrite in the same place to correct it. That’s a lot of dust, my friends.

You realize that your cats, which are mostly white, are suddenly gray instead. Sadly, I no longer have this visual barometer of the need to clean. I’m considering wearing white socks around the house so I’ll have a similar indicator in my tool kit.

You take off your house shoes when you leave the condo so you don’t track dirt outside. (Think about that one a minute.)

The bathroom mirror has more toothpaste splatter than your face has age spots. Or maybe those are meal tidbits that got trapped in your caps and were liberated by dental floss. Apologizes if this is TMI for some of you.

You invite people to visit so you’re forced to finally clean. I probably shouldn’t admit to this. The next time I invite folks over, they’re likely to be offended at being used like that.

You don’t need your glasses to see the dust balls on the floor. I’m talking about when you’re just walking around the place, not when you’re down on your hands and knees, inspecting for areas that might need special attention.

You’re refilling your allergy pills at least once a week and the pollen season isn’t even here yet. It’s amazing the havoc dust can wreak on one’s sinuses.

You’re buying the large size bottles of saline nasal spray and you have one in every bathroom in your house. This makes the perfect companion to allergy pills, by the way.

You can see your breath when you exhale, but not because it’s so cold in your house. They’re called “dust clouds” and they’re especially visible in the sunlight that streams through your ceiling-high living room windows.

When you do your floor exercises in the morning, your body leaves an imprint like a snow angel in the dust buildup. (You shouldn’t have donated that yoga mat when you downsized.)

There you have it. Ten things that clue me in that it’s time to clean the house. When I see a confluence of four or more of them, I put the task on my iCal with an intrusive audio reminder. When the count reaches six, I stop using the “remind me again in xx minutes” feature. Of course, when guests are coming, I’m forced to face the job before they’re due to arrive. Which means I’m getting out the vacuum as soon as I finish this post, but please don’t call me Suzy Homemaker.

Random Thoughts and Potpourri Spring 2015

April is when I generally post my spring potpourri of tidbits I’ve found in various media. This year I’m adding some random thoughts, with which I’m beginning this essay.

The  April 19 New York Times had a piece titled “Reclaiming the Age-Old Art of Getting Lost.” My first thought upon seeing the title was that it would be a treatise on growing old, since getting lost is one of the things most of use get better at as we age. Author Stephanie Rosenbloom’s subtitle was “Ditching modern-day navigation apps in favor of wandering and discovery.”

As it turned out, she wrote an essay for everyone. I put a link to it on my Facebook page. It elicited many comments from friends who’ve been practicing getting lost in foreign lands for years. This made me yearn to travel again as I did in my twenties. Eurail pass, youth hostel card (OK, forget that) and a set of sheets (cancel that, too). Sigh. At least we can still take advantage of the affordable and flexible train pass. A quick look-see turned up four options priced from $67 (1 country) to $338 (28 countries).

Somewhere along the way in following this thought train (not a literal train, and hold that thought, please), I came across a scribbled quote from John Steinbeck in Travels with Charley. “I was born lost and take no pleasure in being found.” I’m saving that as a potential motto for when I reach my eighties. I may need it.

That issue of the Times provided fodder for other random thoughts. An op ed by Ross Douthat (opining about critics of Charlie Hebdo cartoonists) noted that “critics… need to realize that satire isn’t just for ‘suitable’ subjects.” I get his point, but I prefer to keep my satire relatively tame. I have few enough loyal readers as it is. I’m still struggling to get some of them to understand that my columns are, in fact, satirical and not, in satire, factual—not a train meant to be taken literally.

My last tidbit to share from the April 19 Times was about a trend in Afghani weddings. The culture has a tradition of hospitality, which means even wedding crashers must be welcomed and fed. A typical event might have 600 invited guests and 700 other folks popping in for the free banquet. One of them was quoted as saying “With a wedding every night, there is no need to go hungry.” Maybe also no incentive to get married.

A few potpourri items from Time magazine 1/26/15 have to do with numbers. Cadbury reduced the egg count in its Easter-favorite Creme Eggs pack from 6 to 5. Distraught fans were described as "basket cases." A man in Hong Kong tried to smuggle iPhones into mainland China by strapping all 94 of them to his body. No doubt one of his trips to the loo gave new meaning to “butt dialing.” In a major accident in South Dakota, a truck dumped 500 pounds of McDonald’s French fries onto the Interstate. Motorists definitely were not "lovin’ it."

From that same issue of Time, some state of the art technology. The French have developed a belt that loosens automatically after you’ve had too much to eat. Seems like that must be targeting the tourist trade, or made for export. Those skinny frogs can’t possibly have a use for it. I’d rather have one that tightens itself, making me feel full.

Here’s something from Time magazine 4/20/15. Apparently, turning those number cards on The Price Is Right is more challenging than it appears. One of their models revealed a correct price before the contestant had a chance to guess it. Needless to say, when he made his guess, the price was right. The cost to TPIR? $21,960. It was a Hyundai Sonata. The model was heard mumbling afterward, “Why couldn’t it have happened with the damn washing machine?” Why indeed.

Finally, a not completely random observation. The moniker “dames” has been creeping into the news lately. The aforementioned Time of April 20 had an article about fashion that featured older models who are more and more in demand. “Grand dames are redefining beauty with their senior chic,” trumpeted the piece. The same week, Cokie Roberts was stumping for her new book Capital Dames, about the contribution of women in Washington, D.C. during the Civil War.

This leaves me wondering: Is “dames” the new term for “babes” (especially for seniors)? Probably not. After all, two data points do not a trend make. Not even in satire.

Theme Songs for Seniors

The popular songs of our youth and our salad years continue to evoke a visceral reaction when we hear them on the radio or other media. Often they transport us back to a period or a specific event in our lives, usually one that calls up fond memories. Sadly, our current circumstances and especially our bodies aren’t quite up to the task of recreating those times in reality. Because of this, I’m rethinking some classic tunes to provide more age appropriate images.

The song that immediately comes to my mind as having new meaning is Hank Locklin’s 1960 hit: Please Help Me I’m Falling. No longer about love, this is to be taken literally. It brings up some related titles with slightly new lyrics. “Walk right in, trip right down, daddy let your pants hang down.” This 1963 Rooftop Singers hit is now a call to action: tighten your Sansabelts or get some suspenders. For women there’s the variation of Nancy Sinatra’s 1966 chart topper: These Danskos Are Made for Walkin’.

This brings me to the subject of downsizing our homes and looking for a place with a first floor master suite so there are fewer stairs to deal with. Remember The Animals 1965 smash We Gotta Get Out of This Place? You’ll know it’s time if your new favorite oldie is Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head, best known as the theme song from the movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. A smaller house means fewer entrances and One Less Bell to Answer (á la the 5^th Dimension in 1970).

Another group of tunes that have strong connections to seniors are sleep-related. Sometimes it’s due to a snoring spouse—All Night Long (Lionel Ritchie 1983). Sometimes it’s just chronic insomnia. Or too much caffeine late in the day. Or not enough wine in the evening. All of which lead us to the 5^th Dimension’s I Didn’t Get To Sleep At All (but not for the reasons they had in mind in 1972). How about Simon & Garfunkel’s Sounds of Silence as a wishful-thinking lullaby?

We also have some songs that relate directly to health issues that are common among folks my age. I especially like Jay and the Americans’ 1964 hit, Come A Little Bit Closer, because I can’t hear you when you’re So Far Away (thank you Carole King). Or my favorite before-and-after pairing of adapted lyrics. “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s a cataract.” Followed after successful laser surgery with “I can see clearly now the film is gone.”

Then there’s the revisionary tune for diabetics—A Spoonful of Splenda (Makes the Medicine Go Down). Thanks to The Searchers in 1964, we also have a title for the sensation older folks often get in their toes at night: Needles and Pins.

Once we retire, we don’t get regular social updates at the office anymore. Unless everyone we care about is active on Facebook, you can be pretty certain that if we know what’s going on, it’s because, like Marvin Gaye, we Heard It Through the Grapevine.

We also have some senior anthems that need no explanation. They’ve simply taken on new importance as we’ve aged. There’s the 1964 Bob Dylan classic The Times They Are A Changin’. They are indeed, and the smart ones among us are committed to changing along with them. That’s because, to quote the Bee Gees, we know that it’s one of the best ways to keep Stayin’ Alive.

Senior Flirting Techniques

Ah, Spring! The season of bare limbs and flirtatious behavior! The older we get, the less we’re inclined to bare things. But age is no reason to stop flirting. We simply need to adjust our techniques to be age-appropriate. Here are some guidelines for seniors who still enjoy this time-honored spring ritual.

If you wear reading glasses—and who doesn’t?—slide them slowly up off the bridge of your nose and perch them on top of your head. Follow this motion with a smile and lean forward toward the object of your flirtation. You’ll need to lean in to see him or her clearly without your glasses in any case, so the move has double benefits.

Carry a package of straws at all times. When you see someone flirt-worthy, put a straw in your drink. Swirl it around and stroke the end of it sensuously. Remember the chess scene with Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen in The Thomas Crown Affair? (If you have 6 minutes, watch the seduction on YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVp9v9kCXE8.) You can use this technique with almost any drink, including prune juice. But if your choice of orange juice is high-pulp, best to try something else.

Bake some brownies in the shape of hearts and offer to share them. Break the heart in two—a matching half for each of you. Making “brannies” (bran-muffin brownies) is especially thoughtful. In the current food climate, finding a gluten-free recipe is also a wise move. My niece, Pam, can probably help with that.

If you have a First-Alert alarm button that hangs around your neck, twirl it with your index finger. You might have to practice this in front of a mirror a few times. If you accidentally push the button, you can quickly cancel the rescue service without any embarrassing explanation. Once you have it perfected, try it on your intended paramour.

Tie a colorful bandana around your neck and coyly chew on one of the ends. This has the added benefit of hiding most of your wrinkles or your “natty” (neck wattle). Make sure you have plucked all your “stiffies” (bristly goat hairs on your chin) before you do this, lest you draw extra attention to them. Men can adapt this by using a necktie. Drape it around your neck, one end looped simply over the other, like you did on the knob of your dorm room door if you had a female guest when you were in college.

If you’re a senior who now uses a walker to get around, you have yet another way of flirting with your companions. Gently rock the legs of the walker back and forth in place. If you can manage without falling over, rotate your hips in a clockwise circle (think hula hoop motion). Hum a provocative tune while you do this. Some good songs to consider: I’m In the Mood for Love, For Your Eyes Only and I Can’t Help Falling in Love. All romantic, but low impact. Be sure not to trip when you hum that last one.

Here’s a variation on the drinking straw flirtation. If you’re in a home environment, slather your feet with baby oil. Then slide one foot in and out of your slipper very slowly. When the oil on that foot has soaked in, switch to the other one. You may have to repeat this a few times to get a response from your paramour. Don’t try to re-oil your feet during the process. No one wants to see what goes on behind the curtain…

Fan yourself with a Victoria’s Secret catalog. You can open it to an appropriate page (no flannel pajamas, please) or just flash the cover his way. Do not use the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition as an alternative. Picturing someone our age in one of those skimpy bikinis will have the opposite effect from what we’re trying to achieve here. It might even provoke a heart episode.

If you’re one of the rare seniors who are tech savvy, take some provocative selfies and show them to your target. Borrow a teenaged relative’s smart phone to get some ideas of poses. Anything with your tongue, an earlobe or some cleavage (women only, please) should work. Best not to combine any two of these in one photo, however.

This list should provide a useful launch pad for your flirtation journey. What are you waiting for? Get started right now. You can thank me later.

Spread the Words

Starbucks recently introduced a campaign that they hoped would stimulate dialogue about race relations. Its baristas were instructed to write “Race Together” on their customers’ coffee cups. After just one week, the company pulled the plug on the campaign, but they claim it wasn’t because of the negative backlash on social media. Perhaps it was just taking too long to write that message neatly while the customer was twitching in line, waiting for his caffeine fix.

Whatever the reason, it got me thinking about the power of words. Each January, I along with dozens of others put out a list of banned words for the upcoming year. These are always negative words and phrases, ones that are like fingernails scratching on chalkboard. It dawned on me that this is a glass-half-empty approach. What we really need is a glass-half-full list of words that we urge others to use. In the interest of promoting positive thinking (and speaking), here are my suggestions.

My first grouping features words that support people’s efforts to become the best possible versions of themselves. Let’s talk about empowerment, encouragement and potential. I especially love the copy line my husband came up with for his store SPECTRUM-India. He’s taken the glass-half-full concept further and tells his customers they are “an overflowing glass of phenomenal potential.” He even has T-shirts with that message on them.

We should use language that helps folks tap into their potential. Don’t put up roadblocks and scatter disincentives. Instead, promote creativity, inspiration, and imagination.

In the spirit of Race Together, we should also fill our conversations about how to achieve personal goals with concepts like collaboration, togetherness, compassion and harmony. I prefer those to the commonly used teamwork. That sounds more like the mechanics of achievement and less like the relationship part of getting there.

I also love words that suggest that we should be happy with what we have achieved in life. This of course assumes that we have first made an honest effort to be the best that we can. Let’s hear it for contentment, serenity, fulfillment and abundance. (But please, not an abundance of caution! I banned that phrase for 2015.) Along those lines, let’s also be thankful for what we have and make regular use of appreciation and gratitude.

I’m attracted to terms that may sound a bit New Age to some of you, but that put me in mind of a highly positive approach to living. Holistic and organic are two of these (and I’m not thinking about food here). These words have me considering all aspects of my life, about how to keep them in harmony, and about being open to change and growth even when it might not have been on my radar.

The Chinese (or Buddhist) philosophical concept of The Tao translates to The Way. I’d like us to practice thinking and talking about ways to be. Let’s be generous and full of kindness toward others. Let’s be full of promise and wonderment for ourselves. Be proud of what we’ve accomplished and give praise to others for their achievements. Look at the glass as half full, on its way to overflowing.

Wouldn’t it be great if we all made a conscious effort to spread positive words and thoughts like these? All that good karma wafting throughout our universe! Sing along now: “What a wonderful world it would be.” (Thank you, Satchmo.)

(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?

Sexual Desire, the Sexes and the FDA

I’ve recently begun watching PBS's To The Contrary with Bonnie Erbe on Sundays after the political talk shows. Erbe often has provocative topics and interesting female guests. One episode that caught my attention highlighted an example of sexual discrimination at the FDA. The panel discussed a new drug, Flibanserin, seeking FDA approval. It’s designed to treat female sexual desire dysfunction, or Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder as the medical community labels it.

Do not confuse this problem with Hyperactive SDD, aka nymphomania, for which the male-dominated pharmaceutical companies appear to have no inclination to research corrective medication. Hypoactive SDD (or simply HSDD from here forward) is commonly experienced by women of a certain age, especially those who are menopausal. There are other causes as well, but they’re less common and, as far as I can tell, not relevant to my circle of friends.

The company that makes Flibanserin has resubmitted its application for FDA approval of the drug. That would be Sprout Pharmaceuticals, by the way, an evocative name if ever there was one. Their website describes their drug as “a novel, non-hormonal treatment that has shown promise.” The most interesting part of the discussion for me was that the first time out of the gate, the regulatory agency declined to approve the drug because of its side effects. These include sleepiness, nausea and dizziness.

Why did I find this so interesting (you may be wondering)? For two reasons. First, it’s ironic that a pill designed to heighten arousal would cause conditions that are even better than a headache to use as an excuse for not engaging in sex with your partner. Second, (and this is what the panel homed in on), the drug that treats male HSDD was easily approved, even though its side effects include stroke and sudden death. I guess the FDA believed men would feel it was worth it to die with a smile on their face.

One To The Contrary panelist noted that women have more complicated bodies and brains. Hence, the development of a drug for female HSDD would inevitably take longer. Francesca Chambers claimed: "It’s been more difficult to come up with drugs for women because women are different than men. And this is actually a good thing, a compliment to women.” Yeah, right. I’m always a tad suspicious of the word “different” when it’s used to categorize women vs. men. It usually sounds like “inferior” to me.

More likely the FDA rejection notice read: “Women are complicated. They don’t need medication. They just need more time to get aroused. Come back to us when you’ve figured out how to address that.” Don’t hold your breath.

I haven’t been able to find photos of Flibanserin online, but it’s often referred to as “the little pink pill.” One would expect that to be the color of choice for the female alternative to “the little blue pill.” What my search for pink pills did turn up were photos of OxyContin, Naproxen, Clonazepam and dozens of other drugs, including several brands of Lisinopril. This is scary, since that’s one of the most popular blood pressure medications, including my own.

Flibanserin should probably carry a warning for hypertension anyway. After all, one drug group wants to help you lower your blood pressure, while the other is trying to get your blood pumping. A contraindication if ever there was one. In any event, the “little” pink pill had better come in a distinctive shape, to distinguish it from other pink ones. No doubt some chauvinistic developer at Sprout will suggest making it a heart. That’s too corny to contemplate.

As a former marketing and product development executive, I believe I have the perfect shape for them: round with a hole in the center, like a Cheerio. I didn’t see anything like that in my search results. Moreover, Viagra looks a lot like an arrowhead. The little blue and pink pills would thus become symbolic of the sex act itself. I should get royalties for this idea. With my luck, they’ll offer me a lifetime supply of their meds. I’m feeling nauseous already.

Fifty Shades of Creepy

“You start to get creepy when you get to be a certain age.” So sayeth Whoopi Goldberg on The View the week after the release of the movie Fifty Shades of Grey. The show that day had male guest host Ryan Paevey who had tried out for the role of Christian Grey. He didn’t get the part, despite an admirable physique, as evidenced in a blown up ad where he modeled underwear. The waistband read “Girls On Top.” The younger hosts offered appreciative comments on his physique.

Whoopi chose to avoid any cougar-like observations, saying she always pictures a younger man holding a baby rattle. Instead, she wanted to know where she could find underwear with that message on it. This was followed by her “You start to get creepy” pronouncement. I have to agree with her. The TV ads and news items that landed on my scratch paper this week all add up to Fifty Shades of Creepy. More on that in a moment.

Like Whoopi, I don’t indulge in fantasies about younger men. But then, I’ve generally been attracted to older men for whom I might have been the younger fantasy. Or not. My husband is eleven-plus years older than I am, and he’s closer to my age by six years than the man I co-owned a house with before him. But like Whoopi, I’m getting creepier in other ways.

I read all three volumes in the Fifty Shades of Grey series. (Gifts from a friend, I swear.) The first was the trashiest, and as poorly written as reviewers claimed. The second one actually spent time on character development and toned down the BDSM. Author E. L. James clearly ran out of petrol by the time she penned the third one. I slogged through it only to find that things ended like a fairy tale, far removed from the original premise (and promise). I have absolutely no desire to see the movie.

While I don’t lust after younger men, I do appreciate a fine example of maleness in its prime. By prime, I mean anything from mid-twenties to late-eighties. That age-spread alone should elevate me on the creepy meter. Unfortunately, there aren’t many fine late-prime specimens paraded in the media. That leaves me enjoying the early-prime ones.

Take for example #HotDudesReading. It’s a collection of photos taken by a group of women who set up an Instagram account. The men are all reading books or newspapers during their subway rides, seemingly oblivious to the women admiring them. The project is supposed to emphasize that smart men can be sexy. It also appears to say that smart, sexy men are frequently hirsute.

Dudes reading led to a hunk dancing. I watched the BuzzFeed video of Ukrainian ballet star, Sergei Polunin, soloing to Hozier’s “Take Me To Church.” My friend Vicki brought this clip to my attention. She and I regularly attended the American Ballet Theatre and the New York City Ballet in the 1970’s when we both worked in Manhattan. Sergei’s performance brought back fond memories of us swooning over Mikhail Baryshnikov’s fabulous buns. It also explains why Putin wants to reclaim the Ukraine for Russia.

As you can see, creepiness is in the eye of the beholder. It can also be its own reward. Sigh. By the way, Misha is only two years and change younger than I am, so I can still lust after him without feeling creepy.

Returning now to the underwear theme that began this post. After The View aired, I Googled Ryan Paevey. Apparently he’s not just an actor on General Hospital, but also a model—mostly of underwear, it seems. In addition to the “Girls-On-Top” option, the Internet also has shots of him in pairs with “Get A Grip” and “I Want Out” on the waistband. (These appear to be ads for Schultz Jeans, for my fellow-creeps who want to see more.)

Finally, we have a hysterical commercial for Duluth Trading’s Buck Naked Underwear. A rather paunchy cartoon male in “regular” underwear has his private parts in a vice grip and a crank on his behind. He turns the crank, making his undies all the more uncomfortable. (Any of you ladies out there thinking “mammogram”?) Then he tries a pair of Buck Naked underwear and begins dancing with joy to banjo music. A black rectangle obscures his privates. The tag line is “No Pinch. No Stink. No Sweat.”

I confess. I’m more mesmerized by the Buck Naked commercial than I am by HotDudesReading or Ryan what’s-his-name in the Schultz ads. Just color my shade of creepy humorous.