Thursday, June 17, 2010

As the Worm Turns

     Any idea what happens when the earth spins 18,250 times?  Fifty years go by.  One year of kindergarten, twelve years of school, six years of college, a multitude of experiences, marriage, childbirth, a tragedy or two..a real mish-mash of training and learning at the school of hard knocks.  So, after all that effort, why do I feel like I might have ditched too many classes?

     I don't know where to buy pants that come up to my waist.  I'd rather volunteer in the root canal class at theTorment and Torture School of Dentistry than wear pants with a two inch zipper.  Who ever thought that Grace Kelly's elegant trim waist would be usurped by a fashion industry that dictates women of all sizes, ages and shapes expose belly jelly that would make Mr. Sumo blush!

     I think we should call the current young cohort Generation U....for Underwear.  While no female under forty has ever heard of a girdle, the brassiere industry is booming.  Directly above every unwelcome midriff exhibit is a bra, where a nice blouse used to be.  And, to make matters worse..if a young woman IS wearing a shirt...she flaunts the bra straps.  What's THAT about?  In my day, I would rather pin my Maidenform to my shoulder than allow the public even a tiny peek.  Seriously though, I'd rather stand behind a dingy bra strap in the grocery store line than a Fruit of the Loom label snuggled into some hot shot's booty crack.

     Nothing meant more to the kids of the 60's than music.  I am really struggling with whats considered popular today.  It seems we have now evolved from Elvis-like faux bumping to on-stage real-time humping.  The Beach Boys didn't have sex on stage at a concert...they sang about waiting until they were married.  Oh my God.  Wait?  A concept from the frickin' dark ages.  By the way, I did try switching from popular music to Country for a spell, but I was forever wiping my nose on my arm when I ran out of Kleenex in the car.

     Once in awhile I find myself listening to my parent's music, dreaming of a more innocent time.  Of course, the entire world was at war, and those girls were delivering their babies six months after the wedding too, but the music was romantic and sentimental.  Can anyone imagine Kate Smith waggling her backside in the faces of her audience while singing "When the Moon Comes over the Mountain"?

     If you're my age you'll remember in the olden days how the Lavoris commercial made us cringe when the man talked about "halitosis"?  GROOOSS!  Now his son talks about "E.D."  Seriously?  I get the message about how to keep a certain part of the anatomy straight.  The big mystery to me is how the guy in the commercial manages to keep his FACE straight.  And puleeeze Mr. Advertising Exec..having a period month after relentless month is hell enough.  Sell us a product if you must, but here's a news flash...we ladies are honestly very aware of the entire concept.  Jeez.  Shut up!! is my question.  Whatever happened to modesty?  Innocence?  Decorum?  Or restraint?  Where did they go?  Gone with the wind are hats and gloves, respect for others, and manners.  Jeans at a funeral?  Really?  School teachers in tank tops? Excuse me?  Actually singing the words (or even knowing the words) to the National Anthem at the ball game?  Unheard of.  And while I'd just love to blame it on the young, it's just not so.  It was us...the people who lived the last 18,250 days who endorsed this sad evolution.  Somehow we have chipped away at the formality and the finesse of growing up in the fifties and sixties.  Why did we do that?  Why did we make ourselves and our experiences irrelevant in such a desperate world? 

     How fortunate we were when we were the young cohort.  Our folks' generation went without.  They lived their lives as an admirable mission to make their kid's lives better than their own.  They gradually gave us all they had lived without.....and it was a gracious plenty.  Still it was not enough for us.  We wanted more.  We sure made the most of the peace and freedom that were handed to us.  It seems in some fashion we rejected for our own lives, the lives our parents made for us.  Along with ridiculing their reuse of aluminum foil, their washing out of plastic bread bags, their used cars, their balls of string, their caches of rubber bands from the newspaper and their one bathroom homes, apparently we scorned their character, morals, sense of decency and responsibility as well.

     And boy, don't we regret it now.  The beat went on..and the worm turned and turned.

     I hold out a lot of hope for the next cohort though.  Thanks to the ongoing greed of our generation, the world has imploded financially.  While this is, and I know this personally, traumatic, humiliating, frightening, and seemingly unfair...based on the pendulum theory, it could be the life-changing wake-up call to what really matters in our lives, and for our families.

     Hold on....hang on.......let me get the soap flakes out of my eyes.  Sorry.

     Realistically, it could take at least another 18,250 days to get the world rearranged just the way I want it, so I'd better just stay focused on my own small daily challenges.

     I'd like to solve the mystery of how my backside migrated to my frontside.  I'd like to find a way to see the buttons on my IPOD without having to carry a magnifying glass when I take my morning walk.  I'd like to know why, if I finish up a roll of TP at someone else's house..there's never an extra roll to be found under their bathroom sink.  On that vein...I'd like to know if other people can change the TP without the roller clanging to the floor and rolling just out of reach. 

     And since I have digressed to the bathroom issues, let me just get this off my chest.  I think that instructions for flushing should be posted in the airport restroom.  I need to know exactly which button to shove with my foot, rather than kicking a hole in the wall or throwing my back out.  I am pleased to announce, however, that I have conquered the toilet seat cover issue.  After years of being gullible enough to believe the seat cover is actually going to alight on the seat rather than gently wafting into the next door stall...I now reassure my next door neighbor of my immpecable hygiene by pulling the seat cover out of the dispenser, rattling it around a couple of seconds, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it into the john.  What can I say?  We were a rebellious generation..

     Finally, there are the forever nagging doubts about the computer.  I really do not know the difference between a megabyte and a modem.  Actually I don't even know what either of them are.  It may be that I never know....but my 16 month old  granddaughter is learning how to I'm pretty sure, just as soon as she learns a few more words..... she'll be able to explain it to me.