Sexiest Man Without a Pulse

Around this time of year, the end caps of supermarket checkout areas are filled with "People Magazines" showcasing the Sexiest Man Alive. The denizens of this list have long included Clooney, Pitt, Damon, Depp, Gere, et al. The cast of the "Oceans Eleven" remakes, Ben Affleck, a handful of buff young TV stars showcasing their pecs, a few real life heroes thrown in for good measure. I'll admit perusing the issue for male eye candy is an interesting diversion while waiting behind someone with a basket filled to the rim with Thanksgiving haul. But, yawn. Ho hum. Same old. Why limit the list to those with a pulse? History is resplendent with film idols, historical figures, and the like with sex appeal up the ying yang. Without further adieu, I present my list of Sexiest Men Deceased.

In Memorium, 2009

2009 marked the passing of quite a few celebrity hotties. While intelligence and a sense of humor would place William Safire and Soupy Sales at the top of the list, I will stick with the more obvious choices, in the tradition of "People" and "E!"

Dennis Cole: American actor, once married to Jacyln Smith of "Charlie's Angels and K-Mart fame. In the seventies, he had a bitchin' head of blond feathered hair and a cute face.

DJ Am/Adam Goldstein: Tall, dark, handsome in a brooding way. Amazing talent. Live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse kind of sexy.

Michael Jackson: Talent in the stratosphere. Dancing phenomenon. Enough said.

Ted Kennedy: Power. Last living Kennedy sibling of JFK and Bobby. Kennedy equals sex appeal. The hard living, yachting Hyannisport meets Chappaquiddick bad boy thing doesn't hurt. Nor did his commitment to universal healthcare.

Ricardo Montabaln: Welcome to Fantasy Island. White linen suit, suave, sexy accent. And remember those Chrysler commercials.

Patrick Swayze: "Dirty Dancing," "Ghost" I rest my case.



Still Dead After All These Years...

Humphrey Bogart: "We will always have Paris."

Rock Hudson: Pretty dreamy in those flicks with Doris Day...

William Holden: Hard drinking bad boy, especially in "Sabrina" with his move of filching a bottle of bubbly and two flutes destined for the tennis court...

Bobby Burns, Scottish poet

Elvis: Those lips, those eyes, that deep fried peanut butter and banana???

James Dean: Smouldering...

JFK: See above mention of Teddy...

John F. Kennedy, Jr.

Bobby Kennedy

Sinatra: The Rat Pack had a special glamorous sexiness of its own...

Dean Martin

Peter Lawford

Paul Newman: Those eyes and that salad dressing!

Heath Ledger: Talent and sex appeal in one...

Cary Grant: Elegance personified...

Gregory Peck: My mom's favorite...Those eyebrows and "Roman Holiday"...



I am sure I have left off a slew of others. Please feel free to leave your own suggestions...

In Memory of Mom's Apple Pie

This weeks marks eight years since my mother passed away from breast cancer. Today, as I perused the produce aisle, I was tempted by the MacIntosh, Romes and Granny Smiths to bake her famous apple pie.

My childhood memories are puncuated by the vision of piles of red and green apple peels filling the kitchen sink. I would pull the peels on top of the pile, munching as I did my homework while my mother prepared her grandmother's beloved pie. Now, my namesake, Grandma Bessie, made her crust from scratch. Her secret ingredients were a dash of lemon or orange juice in the crust and filling and a layer of corn flakes under the apples. My mom used Ritz pie crust which was probably the only prepared crust without lard. I have used Marie Callendar's and sprinkle my bottom crust with Cinnamon Toast Crunch but everything else remains the same.

During the final weeks of my mother's life, she would share with me some of her recipes for brisket, stuffed chicken breasts, and that famous pie. As with most women, our recipes will outlive us. We hope our children continue to make our lasagna, brisket, wontons, or pierogis long after we are gone.

Yesterday, my younger daughter helped me slice the apples with the same kind of gadget my mother used. "When I grow up, I am going to be a great cook," she proudly noted. I am sad my daughter never had the chance to know my mother. Yet, from a certain angle, she resembles her and certainly shares her childhood spunk.

In a sense, our loved ones never leave us. We are bequeathed their favorite recipes, maybe some jewelry or a favorite scarf. We reminisce with family members and friends. We look at old photographs, fondly remembering the past.

To immortalize my mother, my grandma Fran, and her mother-in-law Grandma Bessie, I leave you the family recipe for apple pie.

Mom's Apple Pie

prepared double pie crust

1/2 c. crushed cornflakes (or Cinnamon Toast Crunch)

4 MacIntosh apples, pared, cored, sliced

4 Granny Smith apples, pared, cored, sliced

3/4 c. sugar

2 T. flour

1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1/4 tsp. salt

1 T. orange juice or lemon juice

Butter

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Toss apples, sugar, flour, cinnamon salt, and orange or lemon juice in a large bowl. Line pan with half of pie crust. Sprinkle bottom of crust with 1/2 cup crushed cornflakes or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Fill crust with apple mixture. Dot with butter. Cover with top crust. Pinch sides and make fork impressions in top crust. Bake 10 minutes at 425 degrees. Reduce temperature to 350 degrees and bake for an additional 50 minutes or until top browns.

Palin/McCain '12?

I miss Sarah Palin. "I can see Alaska from my front porch," "Joe the Plumber," and all those other moments which seem to have been ripped from SNL's "Weekend Update."

So, I was thrilled to find out a profoundly witty satirist friend of mine has written a new book, Sarah Palin's Secret Diary, forged by Joey Green. This parody exposes behind the scene antics of the extended Palin family and includes such juicy tidbits as books the former Governor would love to burn, how to speak Maverick, waterboarding Tina Fey, campaign slogans for '12, and what Sarah did with all those ritzy clothes.

A perfect holiday gift for your friends who are Democrats (and even Republicans with a sense of humor!), Sarah Palin's Secret Diary is available for just $9.99 through Amazon. If you act now -- or even in a few days -- you can get free shipping with the purchase of three copies!

The link to order Joey's 174-page book is



For more information, go to

It's Five O'Clock Somewhere...

It's five o'clock somewhere in the world. In other words, time for a stiff drink. It may be more socially acceptable to don workout gear on your way to spin class following a tough day at the office. But there will always be a crowd at the local watering hole, toasting the end of day whistle. Whenever I watch "Mad Men" on AMC, I find myself craving one of those cool retro cocktails, evocative of simpler, drunken times. (I also find myself wondering how these folks could possibly have gotten any work done, given their proclivity for midday scotch and groping with secretaries.) I have been considering a trip to Crate & Barrel to purchase highball and double old fashioned glasses. Maybe I will even make some rumaki! So, let's don a skinny tie or little black dress with pearls and clink our glasses. In a virtual sense. I leave you with a collection of classic cocktail recipes in hope you'll invite me over for a swank evening of drinking. We'll leave the cigarettes at home!

Old Fashioned Manhattan

1 oz. whiskey

1/2 oz. sweet vermouth

3 dashes bitters

1 t. sugar

1 splash club soda

Pour the whiskey, sweet vermouth, bitters and sugar into a cocktail glass over crushed ice. Stir well. Top with club soda, and stir again gently. Garnish with a maraschino cherry, and serve.

Tom Collins

2 oz. gin

1 oz. freshly squeezed lemon juice

1 t. superfine sugar

3 oz. club soda

1 maraschino cherry

1 slice orange

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the gin, lemon juice, and sugar. Shake well. Strain into a collins glass almost filled with ice cubes. Add the club soda. Stir and garnish with the cherry and the orange slice.

Gimlet

4 parts gin or vodka

1 part Rose's lime juice

Serve straight or on the rocks in an old fashioned glass. Garnish with lime


Whiskey Sour

2 oz. blended whiskey
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 t. powdered sugar
1 Maraschino cherry
1/2 slice lemon
Shake blended whiskey, juice of lemon, and powdered sugar with ice and strain into a whiskey sour glass. Decorate with the half-slice of lemon, top with the cherry, and serve.

Champagne Cocktail

2 dashes bitters
1 tsp sugar
chilled Champagne
1 twist lemon peel
Place one lump of sugar with bitters in a chilled champagne flute. Fill with chilled champagne. Add the twist of lemon peel and serve.

Cheers!

Ferris Wheels of Life

Today, I took my daughter to our town's annual namesake event, The Pumpkin Festival. My daredevil daughter is always excited about the prospect of rides and the allure of the all you can ride wristband. Kind of like a compulsive overeater at a Vegas buffet. Much to her chagrin, the actual rides numbered two. A somewhat decrepit-looking carny Ferris wheel and a tot train which circled around the park's sport court. I ponied up a few bucks for a couple of ride tickets and we headed towards the sole ride which could be construed as adventurous in the eyes of a nine year old.

Apparently, the rest of the festival attendees shared our notion. This would undoubtedly be one of life's experiences where time spent waiting would outlast the ride itself. I presume there may be some hidden meaning behind my current obsession with waiting. But, then again, maybe not. In high school and college lit classes, I would often ponder author's intent. Was there a symbolic meaning behind every word or phrase?

Back to the subject at hand. The longer I spent in the line, the more unsure I became about riding the somewhat rickety looking carnival attraction. A sign listing height requirements for children "traveling alone" calmed my nerves, especially when I noticed a few kids who could not have been older than first graders proudly climbing into the seats. Well, that is until the woman in front of us declared she wouldn't be joining her kids because she would "get sick." I had promised my daughter at least a spin on a ride and I was not about to let my hesitation disappoint.

My daughter dropped the tickets into the bucket. We climbed into our basket. The attendant buckled and harnessed us into safety. As we slowly ascended the circle, stopping so others could get on, my daughter commented, "I hope this ride goes really fast so it will be over soon!" I chuckled under my breath. I am more of the "let's just close our eyes if it gets too scary" school of thought.

When everyone was aboard, the ride began more fluid movements. I have to admit, it was rather fun! I sang along to a Journey tribute band as we soared above the park, admiring the mountains in the distance. A beautiful, clear October day in Southern California.

The ride was over within two songs. We climbed out of the basket, ready for an order of freshly cut fries and a hand squeezed lemonade or some other carnival treat. Never one to take things at face value, I thought about the day's lesson. Life sometimes resembles a rickety carnival ride. We spend so much energy worrying about the future, in general and specific. When our basket stops atop to let others on, time stands still. We wish the ride would speed up so we could get off quickly. Anticipation is often much worse than the actual object of fear.

If we admire the surroundings and sing along to the music, the ride becomes less scary. If all else fails, we can always shut our eyes!

Does She or Doesn't She?

This morning, my Yahoo homepage announced the results of a study comparing the primping times of blondes and brunettes. I asked myself, "Why?" Who sponsored this study?

According to the study, brunettes spend 66 minutes per day grooming vs 72 minutes for blondes. In other words, blondes spend 22 days per year vs the brunettes' 19 days. Brunettes are more likely to leave the house without doing their hair and makeup.

I suppose I am the exception rather than the rule. My readers know by now. I am a total girl. Sephora is my candy store. I brake for a fabulous red lipstick and never leave the house without my Dior Show mascara. And I have never nor will ever be a blonde. (Although "some of my best friends are blondes!")

So what can we surmise from this study? Please "enlighten me."

34 x 30, Dark Rinse, Homage to Don Fisher, Founder of Gap

Upon reading of the September 27 passing of Don Fisher, founder of the Gap, I recalled a Saturday Night Live skit which featured Adam Sandler and David Spade in a drag portrayal of "Gap Girls" at the local mall. The two complained about their job duties which included folding sweaters and jeans.

Gap, as it is now referred, most likely has as many critics as enthusiasts. As a brand, the Gap may never dismiss its association with khaki and blue oxford button-down wearing Yuppies on Casual Fridays. Regardless, Don Fisher was a marketing and retail genius as well as generous philanthropist and supporter of the arts.

The first time I stepped into a Gap was in the Willowbrook Mall in Wayne, New Jersey. The perimeter of cubicle-shelved stacks of Levi's was a unique although not particularly inviting concept. Gap was an innovator in the global phenomenon which led to a Starbuck's on every corner. In later years, Gap carried only private label lines, peppered with occasional forays into limited edition "designer" fashion. Some feel Gap does basic best. Khaki's, jeans, cardigans, pullovers. I was a huge fan of the Audrey line a few years back. Skinny capris, shells, ballet flats evocative of a young Hepburn whose image from "Funny Face" appeared on our televisions, dancing to "Back in Black."

Back in 1969, Don Fisher had no retail experience when he opened the first Gap in his hometown of San Francisco, a shop filled with Levi's, records, and tapes. Credited with inventing the specialized retail category, he eventually expanded the company into a nearly $15 billion dollar business with over 134,000 employees and more than 3,100 stores. At first, Don envisioned a small chain of maybe 10 stores selling the casual wear which became quite popular during the 1960s and 1970s.

In the late 1960s, Fisher had leased space in a building he had bought to a Levi's salesman who opened a showroom. Purchasing jeans, he noticed a dearth of sizes and lengths. He envisioned a store which carried a wide assortment of sizes in one place. In his business plan, he noted four basic requirements for success: location (an area populated by 12-25 year olds), sufficient parking, adequate stock, and the right employees. Don and Doris opened the first Gap on San Francisco's Ocean Avenue. The store was a smashing hit. The company went public in 1973 and the stock split nine times since then. In 1972, the Gap label was launched. Retail whiz Mickey Drexler was hired in '83. The Gap acquired a small two story and catalogue company called Banana Republic. A few years later, they created Old Navy which became the first retailer to reach a billion dollars in sales in fewer than four years. Today, the company brands include online shoe purveyor Piperlime which has added an edited line of designer jeans and casual clothing and Athleta, a yoga and activewear online site. Several years back, the company launched Forth and Towne, a retail experience targeted to the 35 plus customer who grew up with but lost touch with the Gap. All stores were closed after an 18 month trial run.

Gap, with its five subdivisions, continues to be the largest speciality retailer in the U.S. Don and Doris Fisher's original concept of a small chain of casual wear shops selling jeans and music to 12-25 years olds during the Youth Quake mushroomed into a retail and cultural phenomenon.

Waiting for Godot!

The average American spends 159 hours in a lifetime waiting. OK, I just pulled that number out of my hat. As I spent much of today "lying in wait," I came up with a lifelong timeline of detainment. Here goes...

In utero: We spend approximately forty weeks waiting for our arrival into this world. Starting as a fertilized egg, we slowly develop from a tadpole into the more humanlike fetus. And then we wait...

Infancy: Much of babyhood is spent waiting. Waiting for a bottle or feeding. Waiting to be burped. Waiting to be changed. No wonder babies cry with so much frustration! It is almost worse than the DMV!

Toddler Stage: We have made it through infancy but are still waiting....Waiting for mom or dad to pick us up. Still waiting with the dirty diaper. Waiting for the next spoonful of mushy cereal. Waiting to eat something that doesn't resemble paste from a jar...Waiting for that first tooth to erupt...

Pre-Scho0l: The official home of learning to wait. Wait your turn on the tricycle. Wait for the purple crayon. Wait for the juice and cookies. Wait for your turn to talk...

Kindergarten: Still waiting. Waiting for the bus. Waiting for mommy or daddy to pick us up. Waiting for our turn in the bathroom. Waiting for the ball. Waiting for Susie to be finished with the doll.

Elementary School: Waiting for our turn as flag or office monitor. Waiting for the teacher to notice we are raising our hand. Waiting for our turn at the handball court or jump rope. Waiting to write the answer on the chalkboard. Waiting for the bus...

Junior High/Middle School: Waiting for our crush to notice us. Waiting for our friends to notice our new haircut, shirt, jeans. Waiting for an invitation to a big party. Waiting for our teacher to grade our essay. Waiting for the most popular school lunch. Waiting to get to high school.

High School: The waiting continues....Waiting to get a grade back. Waiting to find out if we made the team or got the lead part. Waiting to find out if that cute boy in Spanish likes you. Waiting for your friend to find out if he likes you. Waiting to see if he'll ask you to Homecoming. Waiting for your license. Waiting for a car. Waiting for your SAT scores. Waiting for your thick college acceptance letter. Waiting for your prom date. Waiting for graduation.

College: Waiting to register. Waiting for a bid from a sorority or fraternity. Waiting to sign up for a popular course. Waiting for an internship. Waiting in line at the keg. Waiting to talk to the professor. Waiting to talk to that guy or girl in your Psych 101 class. Waiting to find out if he or she has a girlfriend or boyfriend. Waiting for to find out a grade. Waiting to see if you got into Junior Year Abroad. Waiting for an internship. Waiting for graduation. Waiting for interviews. Waiting for a job.

Adulthood: Waiting. Waiting in line at the DMV, at the market in the express line in back of someone with 12 items. Waiting at the doctor's office/dentist's office/any office which only has year old "People" Magazines and "AARP." Waiting for test results. Waiting to hear about a job. Waiting for a returned phone call/text/e-mail. Waiting to pick up an accident report which isn't yet ready. Waiting at the pharmacy, both when you drop off a prescription and pick it up. Waiting for bread to rise. Waiting for something else to rise. Waiting at the cleaners, the bank, the post office. Looking back and noticing the line behind is now longer than the line in front which is the most fulfilling part of waiting.

Waiting for the bus. Waiting for a cab. Waiting for our outgoing or incoming flight. Waiting for someone else's incoming flight.

Waiting for the proposal. Waiting for the ring. Waiting to find out if she accepts. Waiting for the wedding. Waiting for the honeymoon. Waiting to find out if you got the house. Waiting for the movers. Waiting for the cable guy/electrician/plumber or anyone else with a four-hour window. Waiting for the home pregnancy test. Waiting for the doctor. Waiting for amnio results. Waiting to tell everyone. Waiting till the sixth month. Waiting for labor pains. Waiting for the epidural.

And then it starts all over again!

Better than "Tex"

A FB friend from high school posted she was doing mani/pedis and shoe shopping with her mom. Later on, she posted she bought three pairs of sunglasses for the price of one and one pair of shoes. I would have preferred the other way around!

I told her I was monogamous with my Chanel sunglasses but with shoes, I play the field. Although I live in sunny L.A., I have always been dedicated to one pair of expensive shades. Predating Blackberry and i Phone, I once left a sexy pair of Laura Biagotti's at the public phone at Kate Mantilini in Beverly Hills. This set me back $300 and a measure of personal pain. At one time, in NY, I did flirt with two pair of trendy Alain Mikli cat eyes which I turned into regular glasses. Very eighties. In college, I sported gold Vuarnets with that pink loop around my neck.

My obsession with Chanel started many years ago. I knew the time was right to purchase my stunning black Chanel shades which I will never give up. Till death do us part.

Shoes, however, are a completely different story. See, I am a shoe word that rhymes with door. (My 13 year old daughter is a follower of this blog so I will keep this rated PG!) The more, the merrier. If a pair of sexy and preferably expensive shoes so much as winks at me, I am off and running. I am not the kind of girl to wear the same pair of shoes each day, despite the name of this column. I am a footwear flirt.

Today, I made a quick pit stop into Nordstrom's Rack, just to check out the scene. Much like a cougar scans the crowd at the local watering hole, I was drawn to the shoe rack in my size. Wow! Jimmy, Manolo, and Christian all awaited in my size! I resisted temptation but had a brief thought. Finding a pair of uber designer shoes at a discount outlet can be somewhat orgasmic. Scratch that. From what I recall, perhaps better than word that rhymes with Tex....

Screw Traffic!

Driving on the freeways of Southern California, one notices all sorts of reasons for traffic tie ups. Accidents, stalled cars, debris in the roadway. Yesterday, someone left a blow up doll in the middle of the carpool lane of the 60 freeway in Mira Loma.

We have all seen movies where some jerk kicks his girlfriend out of the car following an argument. This leaves me wondering what the blow up doll did to warrant such a reaction. Certainly, she didn't spurn his sexual advances. I thought that was kind of the point of blow up dolls, aside from perhaps some sexual fetish.

What would Ponch and Jon do?

Top Ten List of Why Not To Bang Your Female Employees

This just in from The Home Office. Last night, in a stranger than life on camera appearance, David Letterman admitted to his audience he had sex with his female employees. Not one. Presumably not two. He was forced to come clean following an extortion attempt by a male producer who threatened to write a movie or book about his claim. The producer has since been charged with grand larceny.

I heard chuckling from the studio audience who may have thought this was a joke. I mean, I am a firm believer that humor and power (and really good champagne) are aphrodisiacs. Yet, I am a bit skeptical about the sexual draw of the gap toothed Letterman. Who would have thunk? This guy married his longtime girlfriend after siring a son in midlife. He has suffered from heart ailments which, from the warning voice in drug ads would preclude him from taking Viagara or Cialis. I would have thought he "might have been advised by his doctor he might not be healthy enough for sexual activity." At least sexual activity with most of his employees!

In an era of sexual harassment lawsuits, I am frankly surprised Dave would mix business with pleasure, especially with a multitude of underlings. Didn't he think they might talk by the water cooler?

The top story on my local 11:00 news featured comments by the manager of The Comedy Store and Jeannie Wolf, TV gossip columnist, who concurred that this scandal would bounce off Dave. Fodder for other late night hosts.

Oh, what I would give to be a fly on the wall at The Late Show's office Christmas party!

So Play the Game of Life!

A few months back, I blogged about "solemates," friendships and the like. Life in transition, I've become contemplative. Life resembles the eponymous board game, you know the one with the little cars and pink and blue stick people? Roll the dice, move five spaces ahead. Next turn, take a time out or move back four spaces.

Sometimes life is in the roll of the dice or a game of chance. An eternal glass half-full girl, I am a firm believer in fate. We meet seemingly random people who help guide us to our next place, professionally and personally. That is, if we are open to the experience.

I've been fortunate in the past few months to reconnect and also to meet a group of amazing new friends. Make new friends and keep the old. Chance meetings have led to close friendships and new career opportunities. Through Craigslist, I met a clothing designer with an artist husband. I felt an instant rapport. The designer is making some clothing for me; I will be repping her husband's artwork. Attended a wine tasting event a few months back, expecting to taste some nice wines and catch up with some girlfriends. Ended up meeting an amazing new friend who has helped me through some rough spots.

What we put out, we get back in spades. Karma. The Golden Rule. When we put our positive energy and a smile into the universe, we'll receive positive energy and smiles in return.

OMG! I Am Going to be a Mom!

"Like, I have been throwing up for like two mornings now..." Pan to bathroom vanity covered with home pregnancy tests....Wow! They are so cute and purple! "I can't hide this from Khloe much longer but it is just so hard for me to say I am pregnant." "OMG, I am going to be a mom." "I think I'll pose nude while pregnant. I don't know. I'll have to think about it." "I like when you can see it, I like run around at home naked all day."

Kourtney Kardashian is like a fountain of knowledge about like the whole pregnancy thing...

Now, I have absolutely no gripe with the Kardashian/Jenner crew. I have shopped in Smooch and Dash, seen Bruce at my local Starbuck's, and even have some mutual friends. And I have heard reality tv editors confess to utilizing editing and scripts to spin the story. There's no such thing as bad publicity, yada yada yada. An eternal optimist who sees the good in virtually everyone, I am hoping these quotes are taken out of context. I mean, Kourtney like graduated from the like University of Arizona...

Last week's episode, "All Men Are Dogs," showed a nauseated Kourtney of late period on a road trip through the Everglades with sister Khloe in their Porsche Cayenne. Derailed and saved by a few Floridian guys who reminded me of the 70s film "Deliverance," they spent the night in a bug infested cabin without like cell service. Bummer. (What happened to the camera crew?) Jumbled shots of barf in the toilet and retching noises throughout. Gross!

According to Kourtney, she like forgot to take her pill. No worries. The pregnancy has like "improved her relationship" with boyfriend Scott. Good to know. In this week's US, Scott gushes on his favorite qualities of his baby mama. "I think she's gorgeous. Her body is perfect." Yikes.

I am guessing the sister on sister competition is also a publicity stunt? Kim Kardashian told E!, "She's huge. She is huuuuge! I think she's in denial of buying maternity clothes, because she just borrows Khloe's clothes." "Khloe is going to kill me for saying that, but it's really because Khloé is so much taller. Kourtney will take Khloé's top and wear it as a dress...She will not buy maternity clothes. I don't know what's wrong with her." Wow.

Kim also told a website, "She just only craves healthy food . . . I gotta get pregnant." Double wow.

You know, I have like only the best wishes for like Kourtney and Scott. Really. In fact, I may even go into Smooch, Kourney and Kris's children store, to buy a gift! Like, totally!

Sanka for the Starbuck's Crowd

Please say it ain't so...

As a Starbuck's junkie who looks forward to my daily fix, I have adjusted my coffee consumption during this economic downturn/recession. Unless I am meeting a colleague or friend, I brew at home. To me, the Starbuck's experience has always been part cappucino/part social. Sort of like the Cheers of the 90s and beyond. "Where everybody knows your name..." Well, at least the barista who may also know your usual drink is a 2% dry cap.

When I first read Starbuck's would be selling Via instant coffee, my stomach did a backwards flip. I am old enough to remember my grandparents ordering Sanka from crusty diner waitresses. I can even picture the orange and brown packets. The only thing worse than Sanka might be Sanka with two packs of the "pink stuff." I also recall those little glass jars of Nescafe. Now, I have been drinking java since my pre-school years. While chocolate milk might have been a treat for my friends, I preferred a touch of my mom's coffee in one of those little plastic creamers. It wasn't a huge leap to my own cup of coffee. In fact, in high school, my breakfast was a glass cup of coffee (with skim milk, ycch!), 1/2 cup of Friendship cottage cheese, and a few orange slices or handful of grapes.

I can even remember my very first cappucino, at Fisherman's Wharf during a family trip to San Francisco. Creamy, whole milk, a foamy head. I was hooked.

During college, my friend Adam and I took turns brewing gourmet beans in our mini Krups so when we returned from class, a cup of joe would always be awaiting us. Unfortunately, the 80s were a hey day for flavored blends. We would unvariably purchase Southern pecan, Seville orange, or some other oily beans which would leave us nauseated, dumping the grinds into the trash can.

Adam who later worked his way up the ranks of both Starbuck's and Seattle's Best turned me on to Starbuck's venti iced latte's during a trip to visit him in Chicago. Living in L.A. at the time, I was thrilled when Starbuck's in Pavilion's, my local market.

I currently go back and forth from Starbuck's to a local coffee house which roasts its own beans. But, there is a certain level of comfort derived from being able to grab a venti cap at the airport or in a distant city. I know I will at least have a good, "bold" cup of coffee.

Which leads me to the Via. Why? Certainly not the price point, at approximately a dollar per cup. Convenience? There is still a Starbuck's on almost every corner and most of us own those little thermal carafes.

I think I was most disturbed by the airline/Via connection. Although airplane coffee is a pretty abyssmal brew, second only to those little "coffee-bag" contraptions found in hotel rooms or at the carwash. The best thing about it is that it's free. Well, until now. United Airlines will be selling 3-packs of Via to its in-flight customers. Wonder if they will start charging for the stale pretzels or honey-roast peanuts?

According to Howard Schultz, Starbuck's CEO and my personal rock star, most folks won't be able to tell the difference between freshly brewed coffee and its instant counterpart. I remain a bit skeptical. But, what have I got to lose? I can always sprinkle some into my espresso brownie batter and call it a day!

Cougar vs Python

Wednesday evening's new lineup on ABC presented a few May/December scenarios. "Cougar Town" stars Courtney Cox-Arquette as divorcee/realtor Jules Cobb, navigating the dating scene in Florida. When high school boys steal the realty signs bearing her sexy MLF portrait, her teen son Travis is forced to defend her honor amidst his drooling classmates. Josh Hopkins, my personal choice for TV hottie of the year, portrays Jules' neighbor Grayson Ellis, a divorced guy who dates girls young enough to be his daughters, presuming he fathered children somewhere between high school and his early 20s. Jules ribs him for wearing a hoodie, suggesting he sport feet pajamas if he wants to appear younger than he actually is. On a side note, I found Hopkins tremendously appealing in his turns on "Swingtown," "Brothers and Sisters," and "Private Practice." He is becoming the resident sex symbol on ABC! When Jules' younger partying co-worker takes her to a trendy club, she meets a cute 20-something guy who is quite enthralled by her. Her friend later deposits him at her house for an evening of hot sex and "coitus interuptus" by the pool -- when her cheesy ex and son stop by.

It has been said that women reach their sexual peak somewhere near 38 while men peak at 18. Perhaps this explains the Cougar phenomenon Or that we experienced women who take care of ourselves are hot! Guess we will have to stay tuned for Jules' future adventures. I am rooting for some steamy neighborly interaction between Jules and Grayson. We shall see.

In a more classic May/December romance, Ed O'Neill's patriarch Jay is wed to a much younger woman on "Modern Family." When a good looking guy hits on his wife at his corpulent son's soccer game, the guy presumes Jay is the wife's father. Jay corrects him as he struggles to get up from the soccer chair in his track suit.

Interestingly enough, I spent part of my 20s attracted to "older" men of maybe mid to late 40s. At some point, these men have turned the corner from sophisticated yet youthful to most likely balding geezers in need of Viagra or Cialis. Of course, there are exceptions.

It seems to me that many of us women spend hours at the gym, in yoga or pilates, coloring our hair, and working at maintaining our looks. Of course, I am generalizing. In a twist of payback, the tables are turned. Anything goes, well, almost anything!

The truth is -- age is but a state of mind, not necessarily affixed to a number. Those of us who take care of ourselves, constantly learn and try new experiences will be attracted to each other. The folks eating Pop Tarts while watching TV on the couch...well, you know the drill.

I am curious to see the outcome on these two shows. I did chuckle when Jules commented about her elderly client one day dying beneath his much younger gold digger wife. Shades of Hef and the Girls Next Door...Interestingly enough, Hef's former housemates have gone on to be with guys their own age. A sign of the times?

Garanimals for Grown Ups?

Does anyone remember Garanimals, a children's clothing line of mix and match separates introduced in 1972. Each respective animal represents a color and style to coordinate with any piece in that line. The concept is driven by the idea that how a child dresses will effect their self-concept.

Now, I saw the clothing line on the company website. These Gymboree type collections aren't exactly hip. Lots of thematic graphics and patterns. Not exactly fashion forward.

However, I did get to thinking. What if someone came up with a Garanimal type line for adults? I have seen enough adults in my day who look like they just grabbed whatever looked sort of clean from the hamper and rolled out the door.

What if there was a Cougar line filled with cheetah prints, low cut shirts, and leggings with some metallic thrown in for good measure? How about Cougar prey for 20-something slackers? Baggy pants, backwards baseball caps, and bling? The sloth line for balding middle aged divorced men of Hawaiian shirts, cargo shorts, and same baseball caps. The hippo line for heavy-set county fair attendees or poly blend slacks with elasticized waistbands, track suits, and over blouses.

Then again, since these folks already wear said clothing, perhaps we should go with a more fashion forward look.

Clothes do make the man...or woman...or child. Fashion is a form of self-expression and an art form.

The Perfect Date...I Mean Black Pants!

Earlier today, I listened as a single friend told about her male friend's dating checklist. I couldn't help but think of that weirdly soothing pitchman for e-Harmony. Dr. Neil Clark Warren, founder of the dating website, applied over 35 years as a clinical psychologist and marriage counselor in developing his theory that a laundry list of characteristics can be used to predict compatibility and success in relationships. My friend complained this approach took all the fun out of dating and the discovery process. I would have to agree.

Meeting new people, whether they be potential romantic partners, friends, business associates, or dates, is like unwrapping a gift. Sometimes, we gingerly untie the ribbon and detach the beautiful paper from the box. Other times, we can't wait to rip open the package, especially if wrapped in yesterday's comics. Hmm. At any rate, the fun is in the discovery process. What do we have in common? Any fascinating stories? Chemistry?

Once we lay it all on the line in some computerized inventory, we lose the whole process. Developing relationships shouldn't involve resumes, CV's, and a human resource search.

It's kind of like shopping at the outlet mall or Loehmann's. When you go in looking for that perfect pair of black pants or a white blouse, we probably won't find it. When you least expect it, you'll find that adorable Tory Burch gilded sheath dress which would be perfect to wear to your next cocktail party!

So, single folks, listen up! Put down the mouse! Get out of the house and talk to three strangers today. You never know where you will find a treasure! And the fun is sometimes in the discovery!

The Cougar of Kuala Lampur

107 year old MMF seeks much younger man for marriage and companionship. Drug addicts in or out of recovery need not apply.

Wook Kundor is on the prowl so watch out, men of Malaysia! This wrinkled faced centenarian fears she "doesn't have the body nor am I a young woman who could attract anyone." Personally, I am impressed she is even thinking about dating and guys as she is well past the point where she blew out 100 candles on her birthday cake!

Her current husband, seventy years her junior, is currently in rehab and she fears he'll leave her for a younger woman once his program ends. Considering 99.9% of the female population is younger than Wook, she may have a point! The playing field is wide open, although I am not sure a guy just out of recovery is a good match for anyone! Shouldn't he be working on his own stuff before he hooks up with someone else? But that's another story...

I find myself rooting for Wook. She is like the ultimate cougar! Meow

Snuggies at Fashion Week, Say It Ain't So!

For anyone who has ever watched informercials, you've seen the Snuggie, that bizarre blanket with sleeves comme sweatsuit designed (and I use the term loosely) for vegging out in front of the tv. To paraphrase Jay Leno, are we Americans getting so fat that we need to wear blankets instead of clothes? I myself am a bit weirded out by the whole concept. Yesterday, I think I saw a woman sporting a Snuggie driving a Smartcar on the 101 Freeway. Crazy.

So, imagine my disdain when I saw Snuggie hosted a show at Fall/Winter Fashion Week in NY! What next? A spread in "Vogue?" I clicked on the story and saw a plethora of animal prints. This doesn't surprise me one bit. Cheetah and zebra prints are like the fashion apex of the Walmart/QVC crowd. (Please pardon my fashionista snobbery.)

And if that wasn't enough, Snuggies for "man's best friend" were also shown on the runway. I have to tell you, my Maltese, Yvette Brigitte Bardot will NOT be sporting a Snuggie this season!

Facebook Lite?

Facebook Lite? Fewer calories, less filling? What is this about? Generally speaking, with the exception of Lite Beer and diet soda, I consider the modifier "Lite" to be a pejorative. Kind of like the Cliff Notes experience vs. reading the original literature. Missing out on the experience in favor of a streamlined version. Don't get me wrong. I spent the better part of my formative years eating "frozen dietary confections," and even did the fat free thing in the early 90s. That was then. "The Skinny: How to Fit into Your Little Black Dress Forever" by Melissa Clark and Robin Aronson changed my life. I am all about LBD's, great food, and an occasional glass of Krug. What this means in real time? Moderation. No faux foods.

What does this have to do with FB Lite? If it ain't broke...

Facebook Lite is a streamlined version of FB designed originally for users in other countries with lower bandwith. Whatever that means.

According to Facebook, Lite could help attract new users. "We have found that people who are new to Facebook tend to be most interested in a simpler experience, and focus on establishing their network of friends and communicating with them by writing on their walls, sending messages, and looking at pictures. We have introduced the Lite site with these new users in mind," the company said in a statement. FB Lite users can post and share videos, photos and events, as well as exchange one-on-one messages.

I am guessing these new users might be senior citizens or people slow to adapt. The kind who use a Go Phone or are Text-phobic. I support any development in communication which brings the outside world to homebound senior and even those who are out and about. "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" brings tears to my eyes, evocative of the Native American in headdress from those cheesy environmental PSA's of my youth. My own grandmother used Web TV to e-mail and surf the web in her 90s. And J-Date and similar sites are like the fern bars of the 70s.

That said, I'll be shelving FB Lite like I do lite Mayo, light butter, fat free half and half.... Or as Julia used to say, "If you're afraid of butter, just use cream!"

The Sting, 2009

I have always been skeptical about sting operations. Do filmmakers,"the authorities," cops, FBI, CIA, etc. really have so much time on their hands they need to ensnare prospective drug dealers, hookers, and the like? I have always thought these activities better left to Chris Hansen of "Dateline's To Catch a Predator" or Newman and Redford in "The Sting." (At least they were ridiculously handsome but that's another story!)

So, when I read that Fox News was airing a video showing two ACORN employees on a hidden-camera apparently counseling a "pimp and ho" to lie about her involvement in "the oldest profession," my antennae went up! (Hey, get your mind out of the gutter!)

The video was the most recent in a series which led to the firing of four employees of the advocacy group ACORN in Baltimore and D.C. Self-identified activist filmmaker James O'Keefe and Hannah Giles, the directors of this scenario posted on BigGovernment.com, presumably because they are so pained to see "government" helping the little guy?

ACORN spokesman Scott Levenson charges O'Keefe and Giles dubbed over the voices to make the interaction more objectionable. The employees have been suspended pending further investigation.

In the video, O'Keefe and Giles are seen explaining their "unique lifestyle situtation" to acquire housing help. An ACORN administrator answers, "Honesty is not going to get you the house. That's probably why you've been denied."

"Don't say you're a prostitute thing or whatever. ... You have to sit back and think and find another name for it," says the housing coordinator who also suggested burying a tinload of cash in the backyard. An uninvolved friend could transfer the dough as a gift to O'Keefe to pay for the house, the administrator advises. The housing coordinator did have the sense to question the legality of prostitution in the Empire State. Guess we'll have to ask Eliot Spitzer.

In her mentoring capacity, she counseled Giles to "start thinking, and when you're in this business you have to think fast."

"I can't tell you don't do it, because you won't listen to me. ... If you're going to do it, do it well, and start thinking for yourself ... and save for a rainy day."

That is the true American spirit!

Spanx for Kids?

This morning, my fourth grade daughter and I waited to turn into a traffic circle on our way to school. My mission? To avoid adding to the excessive gridlock and spilling my coffee! Fashion plate daughter, "Wow. Those girls over there are way too fat to wear such short shorts!" P.C. Mom, "They aren't fat, just big boned." I didn't actually say that. But, I did think about self-image, fashion, and the nexus between the two.

You can't pick up a fashion mag or even Oprah's "O" without reading a cover story on Choosing the Right Swimsuit for Your Body Type, How to Dress 10 Pounds Thinner, or some other promise which may or may not involve giving up chocolate and wine for an evening of spot toning. Spanx sucks in our muffin tops, croissant thighs, buns, cupcake tummy. When I just googled body shapers, I found 643,000 websites dedicated to smoothing and shaping your rear with spandex. And it isn't just for women. A website called Go Softwear features a waist eliminator for men, as well as a super padded jock, brief and boxer. What about truth in advertising? Saks is carrying a line of body shapers for men called 2(x)ist. Andrew Christian, a men's undergarment designer whose line is featured at Fred Segal in L.A. is selling the Flashback Butt Lifting Technology Boxer. I have no comment.

As a fashion observer, I can't help but notice all these pre-teens and teens running around in less than flattering outfits. Part of me applauds their devil may care attitude. Why not sport tight leggings or Daisy Dukes with a pair of Ugg's? I have no interest in promoting eating disorders in young girls. I spent my adolescence living on Tab and apples and wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. I am just curious. Is there a certain point when we realize maybe we should abandon the bikini for a one piece? When do we collectively decide to "dress 10 pounds thinner" or choose control top pantyhose? Now, I live in L.A., and realize this does not happen to everyone. I have witnessed enough middle aged plus women displaying cellulite, muffin top, and pouches sporting string bikinis to last me a lifetime. Ditto love-handled men in Speedo's. Thank you, very much.

I am strongly in favor of dressing for your body type. Showcase your best features. If you have great legs, wear heels and a pencil skirt. If your arms are buff and toned, go sleeveless. (Of course, some vendor is now selling a Spanx-like compression garment for arms. Presumably to wear under tight sleeves?) Sweaty, overweight men in tank tops bearing chest and underarm hair? PLEASE PUT ON A T-SHIRT!

There's a fine line between nurturing adolescents' self-esteem and giving them fashion hints. Maybe adolescents' need to fit in and conform by way of Ugg's and Minnetonka boots surpasses the need to look one's best. Part of me is glad to see these teens participating in fashion and not wanting to blend into the background in a pair of lumpy sweats.

I am just hoping no one starts selling Spanx for kids or worse yet, those ridiculous gut sucking boxers!

Punctuation People!

Yesterday, I read one of those teaser stories on my Yahoo homepage about 10 Office Faux Pas or something like that. While I don't currently work in an office, I presumed (correctly) I might find fodder for a humorous blog or at least a few good laughs. I was right.

Don't cook food in the office microwave. Keep your shoes on. Use the vibrating feature of your cellphone. Okay, I wasn't going to go there! I am guessing kids today think they will forever be in the dorm, guzzling beer and playing Nintendo DS...Although the same was probably said of my M-TV watching generation.

One "don't" particularly caught my eye. Overusage of smiley faces. A boss cited a post-grad who filled her cubicle with happy faces. She no longer works there, for presumably unrelated reasons. I find myself wondering if her co-workers were on anti-depressents or in need of serotonin if they were bothered by her obsession with the yellow-faced symbol of my youth. Now, I get the need for professionalism in the workplace, especially in our overly casual culture. Flip flops, low cut sundresses, wrinkled shorts, and non-standard English should be left at the door. We have fallen into a pattern of perpetual casual Fridays. But, a little individuality in the corporate world may not be a bad thing.

I've been thinking about personal e-mails. Those peppered with a few exclamation points show exuberance and enthusiasm for life. Ditto the use of colored fonts. I can do without an excess of emoticons. Once in a while is enough.

So, leave the flip flops at home, maybe cut back on the smiley faces in the workplace, and certainly avoid cooking shrimp scampi in the office microwave...unless you bring enough for everyone!

Fall Shopping!

Fall is in the air. Alright. I live in Southern California and the temperature gauge in my car hasn't dropped below 90 during the day. We are in for a long, not spell, fueled by the Santa Ana's. But, the stores are filled with sweaters; my dog-eared September issues of "Vogue," "In Style," and even "People Style Watch" are as tempting as Ben & Jerry's to a dieter.

You can take the girl out of the East Coast but never the East Coast out of the girl. I've put away my white shoes and white jeans. I have been staring at the space bag filled with sweaters and other fall items which currently resides under my bed. I have adapted to our clime. My "uniform" of sorts is a fitted sheath dress or a pencil skirt and a cardigan. When the weather drops, I'll break out the well-heeled boots.

Yesterday's "Today" show featured fashionista Bobbie Thomas and a report about menswear for women, a resurgent trend which pops up nearly every year. One outfit caught my eye. Crisp white blouse, hot pink v-neck sweater, worn with a great tweed pencil skirt and heels. See, I have never been a fan of menswear in direct translation, except maybe in my high school preppy days. If I am wearing trousers, I will pair them with heels and lots of jewelry.

I'm currently reading "The Gospel According to Coco Chanel" by Karen Karbo, a fabulous read about the designer, the quest for Chanel, and plenty of bons mots. (Can't wait for the L.A. book reading in a few weeks!) Chanel was a master at introducing a touch of menswear influence yet maintaining a beguiling feminine look. Coco was the essence of gamine, with her boyish figure and impish personality. When the corseted, long trained looks of the day didn't suit her, she came up with an alternative.

"Fashion fades; only style remains the same." Chanel was right on the money. Take your part in the stimulus package. You don't need to go overboard with the plaids and liquid leggings. Buy a crisp white blouse. Banana Republic has some great variations. Search your closet for a pencil skirt or a great pair of trousers. Consider breaking up an old suit. Shoulder pads are making a comeback, although not as extreme as "Dynasty." Get thee to a tailor. Add your own style. You will always look stylish but never over the top trendy. You'll look professional and will save money in the long-run.

Happy Shopping!

Of Navy Blazers, Madras, and Espadrilles

Nancy Talbot, co-founder of the eponymous clothing company which features conservative, ladylike fashions, died yesterday from complications of Alzheimer's disease. She was 89.

Fifty plus years ago, Nancy and her husband Rudolf opened their first boutique in Hingham, Massachusetts and started a mail order business one year later, in 1948.

Looking back, I remember buying a gold buttoned navy blazer in the days of
the "Official Preppy Handbook." I had saved up my movie theater concession girl salary to buy the must-have before leaving for Vanderbilt University. Unfortunately, I left the blazer in the student center cafeteria, never to be seen again. Vanderbilt in the eighties was a bastion of preppy attire. Headbands, kilts, cords, and Madras reigned supreme. It is no great shock that some other co-ed probably expressed delight in finding a Talbot's original! (Not to lay blame on a Kappa or Tri Delt!)

In more recent years, the Talbot's catalogue has become a personal test. Whenever I fear I may be a compulsive shopper or at least sartorially obsessed, I peruse through a catalogue and find nothing I am itching to buy. Generally speaking, this exercise has involved the Talbot's, Chico's, or J. Jill.

Yet, I will always hold a soft spot in my heart for Talbot's, Greenwich, Connecticut, and lime green wrap skirts....

Rest in peace, Nancy Talbot!

Healthcare Protester Gives Finger!

In the truth is stranger than fiction category, Wednesday evening, an opponent of President Obama's healthcare reform package had his finger bitten off by a protester from the other side of the fence. Demonstrators from MoveOn.org and Code Pink, Women for Peace, gathered in Thousand Oaks, California in a pre-Labor Day rally to show support for universal healthcare.

William Rice, 65, of Newbury Park, was driving by and stopped to see if the groups were protesting the military. Mr. Rice's son is an officer in the Marine Corps and he strongly opposes government involvement except when it comes to the military.

Rice reportedly got into a heated argument with a member of Code Pink. According to sheriff's department spokesman Captain Ross Bofiglio, an unidentified man confronted Rice, calling him names. Sticks and stones.

“When he got in my personal space, I popped him in the nose. I felt like I had no choice other than to defend myself," commented Rice in a phone interview.

The two men started a fight which ended with Rice losing part of his pinky finger to his opponent's chomp. Rice drove himself to the local hospital where he was treated under Medicare. Unfortunately, the finger could not be reattached. Police are still looking for the biter, but don't have plans to arrest him at this time.

This is one case where a man's bark may not be worse than his bite!

BO Ban on Buses?

Body Odor. Public Transportation. These two elements go hand in hand, like peanut butter and jelly. Fries and ketchup. Coffee and cream.

Today, the Honolulu City Council heard a bill in committee seeking to "regulate a number of dangerous and annoying behaviors on city buses" which includes B.O. Authored by Councilmen Rod Tam and Nestor Garcia, the bill would carry up to $500 in fines and a possible jail term of up to six months for these olfactory offenders. The ban would make illegal to have "odors that unreasonably disturb others or interfere with their use of the transit system," regardless if their source is clothes, personal belongings, animals, or presumably armpits.

Now, I have spent many hours on the subways of New York and New Jersey Transit, mid-summer. The malingering aroma of body odor mixed with whatever these folks ate for lunch is enough to turn your stomach. Throw in a couple of flatulent riders and nausea ensues. However, isn't the whole aroma thing part of the experience? Like Starbuck's without the wafting scent of roasted espresso beans or Ray's Original Pizza without the whiff of garlic?

Does anyone remember the Smelly Car episode of Seinfeld when Elaine discovers a parking valet's lingering b.o. in Jerry's BMW? One of the funniest moments of television!

I think I may have a better solution than throwing all these offenders in jail. (And imagine prison guards working with all that body odor around them? They will probably go on strike for unfair working conditions!) Why don't the bus drivers pass out little samples of Secret or Ban? Unscented, of course! Maybe the Renuzit people can invent some kind of bus sanitizer.... Or Public Transit Febreze?

I will be following the outcome of this story. And I am wondering what the other "dangerous and annoying" behaviors entail? What about burping loudly, passing wind, picking one's nose?

And we were worried about the Patriot Act!

BEWARE OF CAPS!

In the milieu of e-mails, texts, and IM's, CAPS are the equivalent of screaming fire in a crowded theater. Yelling across an upscale dining room to a long lost friend. Public screaming matches.

Vicki Walker, an employee of New Zealand's ProCare Health actually lost her job for her missives to fellow employees, which she wrote in red, bold, and cap fonts. Apparently, her co-workers missed the boat on following directions when filling out forms. Perhaps she could have added a few smiling emoticons or that cute little less than sign followed by a 3 to look like a heart? Some xoxoxoxo's to soften the blow?

Vicki won her wrongful termination case. Perhaps, her mood has shifted and she will revert to lower case letters in a pretty blue.
Personally, I have tales from less tech saavy women who gone CAP-happy, unaware of the implication. Maybe there needs to be a rule book about PC politeness and Mac Manners? Let's start out with a couple of pointers.

1. CAPS imply you are hopping mad or at least hot under the collar. The equivalent of shouting and screaming, no matter the message. And unless you are emphasizing a point, lose the bold face or rainbow effect of switching colors mid-message.

2. Save the heavy hand with emoticons for those under the age of 13. This is kind of like the social equivalent of wearing a message t-shirt reading "I'm With Stupid" with an arrow pointing to the right or "My Parents Went to Vegas and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt."

3. Unless you are planning to overthrow the PTA or go in on a birthday gift, there's really no need to hit Reply All. Especially since most of us are on Blackberry's or i-phones. Do we all need to know you got the message? 24/7!

4. Enough with all those flowery e-mails to show everyone how much they are loved or some lame joke which we have seen a few dozen times. Ditto all those e-mails telling us to add our name to some online petition. I am an activist by nature but until you've checked it out on Snopes.com.

5. As tempting as it is, don't write an e-mail you wouldn't send. All it takes if for one person to inadvertently hit Send and your message is sent into Cyberspace. Wars have been fought over less!

I realize I am probably preaching to the choir. But feel free to add a few smiley faces and forward to your friends who aren't as tech saavy as you! Just don't use all CAPS!

Insolia, Where Science Meets Sexy!

Despite its title, Shoenogomy, this blog has transitioned to the realm of social and cultural commentary with an occasional nod to fashion and footwear.

As I spend quite a bit of my free time researching online, I occasionally come across a product which commands my attention enough to try it out. In "In Style", I first read about Insolia High Heel Inserts. By my bio, you know I have a "predilection for heels." Necessity is the mother of invention and probably more than a few online purchases.

The brainchild of world renowned podiatrist Dr. Howard Dananberg and two MIT alums, Brian G.R. Hughes and Paul Rudovsky, Insolia transfers weight from the ball of the foot back to the heel by "placing the foot in the optimal position for high heels."

As Hughes explains, "about 25 percent of the weight that would have slid down to the toe remains back at the heel. Cupping the heel increases the contact area and reduces the peak force by 50 percent. It creates the very strong illusion that you are wearing a heel that is about half the height of the one you are actually wearing."

Insolia, constructed from an anti-bacterial material, are transparent, allowing your designer labels to show through. These are not your mother's Dr. XYZ. If this new technology, pegged by the company website as "where science meets sexy" did the job, I was willing to risk my four-inch Louboutin's. I followed the simple instructions, inserted in my Prive pumps, and voila! I slid on my heels and wore comfortably for three hours!

Insolia Inserts can be used with any kind of heel, from pumps to wedges; stilettos to peep toes. The inserts are sold by shoe size and, as they are not transferable from shoe to shoe, are available in packages of three.

As soon as I am finished writing this blog, I intend to purchase at least two more sets so all my heels will be covered!

And if you act now...

Thanks to company president Michael Backler, President of Insolia/HBN Shoe LLC, all Shoenogomy readers will receive 10% off their order! Simply enter coupon code shoenogomy when placing your order!

The Insolia website is http://insolia.com/

I'd love to hear your comments!

Boundaries?

AUGUST 31, 2009 5:49PM


We have all been guests at a home with white carpet. There may be a line of shoes by the door or even a basket filled with footwear. Maybe even a sign asking us to remove our shoes. I always thought this was a bit circumspect, maybe a little OCD, certainly not gracious. But, this exemplifies setting boundaries or limits. Maybe the carpet is new. Who wants mud from dirty soccer cleats or grease from the driveway tracked all over the new Berber?

In families, people who consistently disregard boundaries leave these dirty shoe tracks all over the place. By meddling, interfering, and expressing unwarranted opinions, they destroy feelings and relationships. These obtrusive, prying types are always snooping for information, while confident in their own personal virtue. They are masters at their game. As guests in your home, they are the ones sneaking through your medicine cabinet or reading your personal e-mails. They can't help themselves.

We live in a culture without locks on the doors. Everything is out there. In one Google search, yentas can find out how much you weigh, which political candidate you supported, where you live, how much you paid for your house, and how much you owe on it. These just feeds into the busybody culture. Lack of privacy is unsettling at best but when these folks decide to move in with you, in a metaphorical sense, relationships are destroyed.

After 9/11, we heard about chatter, when government officials heard talk of terrorist plans. In our personal lives, we can experience the same kind of behavior. The phone lines burn with people's opinions and spin on what really happens in someone else's home.

Overstepping family members have been a problem ever since the advent of marriage. Even Adam and Eve dealt with an overstepping authority figure who banished them from the Garden of Eden. However, new technologies and constant communication have moved these behaviors into an entirely different, more toxic category, with subsequent consequences.

Senator Kennedy, Rest in Peace

Senator Ted Kennedy is gone. The patriarch of the Kennedy dynasty, the de facto royalty of American politics or at least Democratic politics of the 20th century. The longest living scion of Joseph P. Kennedy, Senior, hard-living, ambitious Irish-American businessman who passed his love of politics and back-room dealmaking to his sons.

Joe Kennedy hung his initial hopes on his eldest son, Joseph Kennedy, Jr., graduate of Choate Rosemary Hall and Harvard. Unfortunately, Joe lost his life during Operation Aphrodite during World War II. Operation Aphrodite was a series of bombing runs by explosive-laden airplanes piloted by a skeleton crew who would parachute from the aircraft before detonation. Following Joe's untimely death, JFK and later Bobby took over the family political helm. Teddy was elected to the Senate in 1962. Following his brothers' subsequent assassinations, he rose like a phoenix to serve nine terms in the Senate.

Marked by the Chappaquiddick scandal, his presidential aspirations were dashed. However, he spent 47 years in the Senate, championing the poor, working, and middle classes, civil rights, and working tirelessly on the issue of universal healthcare.

The Senator was a hard drinking, football tossing Kennedy who loved to sail at Hyannis Port. He helped his extended family whose lives were often marred by tragedy, from his brothers' assassinations to the premature deaths of JFK Jr., David, and Michael, sons of Bobby.

Senator Kennedy is gone. The end of an era. Of crusty lifelong politicos who knew how to play the game, to negotiate bills, to command respect from both sides of the aisle. He is survived by his family, the Senate, and a political legacy that will live on for eternity.

My Personal Kennedy

Growing up in a politically liberal Jewish, East Coast household during the mid sixties and seventies, the Kennedy name was revered and respected. I remember pulling "Profiles in Courage" from our rather copious bookshelves, reading over and over JFK's detailed description of PT-109. My dad spoke frequently about JFK, Camelot, of our nation's dreams. One of my dad's most proude yet saddest moments was in November 1963, when he was asked to serve as the Jewish chaplain at Charleston Airforce Base, where he was a Captain in the US Airforce. Years later, I played for hours with my three foot tall cardboard Jackie Kennedy doll, dressing her in English riding habits and her Oleg Cassini suits and A-line dresses. I adored Jackie, her love of all things French, her elegant, soft-spoken manner. Although quite young, I have a strong memory of my parents tearfully watching the television reports following Bobby's assassination. I even attended John F. Kennedy Elementary school.

Our paths crossed the Kennedy's on several occasions. I recall a Christmas Eve dinner at Tavern on the Green, snow falling gently in Central Park. At an adjacent table, Teddy, Jr. and a cousin dined. Many winters, we visited Palm Beach, playground of the Kennedy's, frequenting Au Bar and other Kennedy haunts. Years later, I campaigned alongside Joseph P. Kennedy II in Bill Clinton's first bid for the presidency.

I have asked my father about the origin of our reverence for the Kennedy's. I think, for my dad, the Kennedy's represented a much simpler time. When JFK took the oath of office, kids under toe, our country was full of idealism. Sure, we had the Cuban Missile Crisis, impending War in Vietnam, Civil Rights violations. But it seemed like nothing a few martinis, straight up, couldn't fix. During Camelot, we revered our politicians. The press kept quiet all hints of personal scandal. And the Kennedy's embodied the American Dream. On a personal level, to my parents, Camelot represented newlywed life on an airforce base. They dined with friends at the Officers' Club, gave birth to their first child. Happy times. The promise of a future ahead. Youth.

Oswald's bullets shattered forever our collective dreams, spilling blood on Jackie's pink boucle suit. Our country would never be the same. Our collective innocence was further pierced by Sirhan Sirhan's shots in the Ambassador Hotel.

Teddy Kennedy died last night. The end of a dynasty. To me, the death of yet another part of my childhood.

Classy & Fabulous, Parte Deux

A girl should be two things...classy and fabulous.

Gabrielle Bonheur aka Coco Chanel was definitely both.

Bonne Anniversaire, Coco!

Chanel started her life as a poor girl born to unmarried parents in Saumur, France. Her mother died before her twelfth birthday and she grew up in an orphanage with her four siblings. Educated in a convent, she would later be inspired by the habits worn by the nuns who taught her. Coco was quite the Renaissance woman, trying her hat at an assortment of jobs including dancer, horse rider, actress, and singer. In fact, it was at a singing gig at Cafe la Rotonde where she acquired her sobriquet.

To paraphrase Sinatra, Coco Chanel was one helluva broad. She wasn't above benefiting from many lovers who helped move her career forward. She once boasted, "I was able to start a high-fashion shop because two gentlemen were outbidding each other over my hot little body." One of these men was Arthur "Boy" Capel, shipping and coal magnate who was the love of her life. He bankrolled her first boutique on rue Cambon and guided her entree into French society.

Upon his untimely death in 1919, Coco developed an appreciation for rich, powerful men. Among her consorts were Stravinsky, Etienne Balsan, and the Duke of Westminster. He inspired her love of pearls and costume jewelry. Prince Dimitri, a Russian duke, helped with the launch of her fragrance empire.

During World War II, Chanel took up with a Nazi intelligence officer ten years her junior. She was hence interrogated and arrested by the French police but managed to escape the charges, thanks to Winston Churchill.

When questioned about her affair, Chanel reportedly answered, "At my age, when a man wants to sleep with you, you don't ask to see his passport."

Chanel left an indelible mark on contemporary fashion. The little black dress, quilted handbag, yards of pearls, boucle jacket, cap toe shoe, Camelia flowers, red lipstick.

Tonight, I plan to raise a glass of Dom Perignon and toast La Doyenne of the fashion world.

Happy Birthday, Ms. Chanel!

Dancing with DeLay (or Tango Argentino Part II)

Who got peanut butter in my chocolate? When the worlds of conservative politics and popular culture become enmeshed, humor is an obvious result. I couldn't even dream up a story resulting in more guffaws than this! Tom DeLay, Dancing Machine? The possibility of The Hammer appearing in pink spandex with "false chest hair." I could not resist signing up for updates on Mr. DeLay's website. Here's hoping it isn't some vast right wing conspiracy to get me to change sides!

If you haven't heard, Tom DeLay, former House Majority Leader, will be two-stepping, disco-ing, and performing all sorts of nifty dance moves on the upcoming season of ABC-TV's Dancing With The Stars. Apparently, Mr. DeLay has some pretty impressive moves on the dance floor.

Let's take a peak at the backstory before moving on. Mr. De Lay, aka The Hammer, developed a reputation for his enforcement of party discipline in close votes and for taking political retribution on opponents. He rose up the ranks of Republican politics rather swiftly until 2005 when a Texas grand jury indicted him on criminal charges for conspiracy to violate campaign finance laws, a charge he denies. Under pressure from his party, he stepped down as Majority Leader in 2006. Despite the conviction of two of his former aides in the Jack Abramoff lobbying scandal, he ran for re-election and won the primary. He decided to withdraw from the race and resigned from his seat.

That is the general consensus of things went down. However, Mr. DeLay has a different spin on the events.

According to his Dancing With DeLay website, "When former House Majority Leader Tom DeLay decided to leave Congress in 2006, he immediately went to work researching how the Democrats have built their outside operations and massive political coalitions, and rebuilding the conservative movement by identifying and filling the voids so conservatives could better compete in this new political paradigm. Despite repeated Democrat attempts to drive him out of politics, DeLay has thrived in a new arena, with the sole goal to help conservatives, whether through new or previously existing organizations, work together to drive their message. "

Wondering if that message includes the Hustle!

According to his wife, DeLay has been busy practicing his moves and even dropped 12 pounds! He told Chris Cuomo on GMA, "I love dancin'! You got to love dancin' if you're from Texas, I haven't danced in about 20 years. But, um, I love dancin'." Guess he was too busy aggressively pushing through the Conservative agenda or being chased out by liberals, depending on whose position you take.

While I was without a doubt no fan of DeLay's politics, I am anxious to see him boogie. In fact, I am delighted to note that he has links to Twitter, his Facebook page, and even plans to upload videos to You Tube! I could always use a good laugh and plan to start following him on Twitter today!

In the meantime, I strongly encourage you to visit Mr. DeLay's website, www.tomdelay.com. Sometimes, reality trumps fiction and I am assuming this is the case!

Tango Argentino

By now, we are accustomed to politicians and sex scandals. Like hot dogs, apple pie, and firecrackers on the 4th of July, these liaisons have become part of the American landscape.

As I await the September issue of Vogue (long my favorite! All those fall clothes!), I read excerpts from an exclusive interview with Jenny Sanford, wife of South Carolina Gov. caught up in an illicit romance with Maria Belen Chapur of Argentina. Back in June, Mark Sanford went MIA for several days, on getaway with his South American mistress. Jenny Sanford was the epitome of cool and collected when responding to press inquiries at the time. She replied that she hadn't heard from her husband in several days, including Father's Day.

This magna cum laude Georgetown grad with a reported IQ of 170 left a successful career as VP of Lazard Freres and Co. for marriage and motherhood. Mrs. Sanford has been the backbone of her husband's political career. When her husband told her of his Congressional bid back in '94, she was in the hospital recovering from the birth of her second child. Apparently, she took this all in stride, running his campaign, in which she "oversaw staff, drafted speeches, set policy, and raised money," all the while baking oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for reporters and other visitors. Clearly, she is a woman who can do it all.

In fact, one of her friends has commented, “So often when a woman is business minded, they’re not good at being a cookie baking soccer mom, but that’s the thing about Jenny. You cannot stereotype her that way. She can be either one of those things and do it effortlessly.”

By now, Jenny may seem like a Stepford Wife, but that's politics.

According to Mrs. Sanford, she and her husband weren't exactly hot and heavy when they met.

“We weren’t madly in love, but we were compatible and good friends. I like to think we balance each other out. I’m a conservative at heart, but I’m not passionate like he is. I’m better at making the trains run on time ... At heart, I’m an old-fashioned woman. If the Lord blessed me with children and family, I knew that would be my calling.”

While Mark Sanford never had a rep for flirting at parties, apparently this changed when he met his paramour. He became quite a lothario, with his romantic e-mails. Buenos Aires is the land of the Tango. Maybe he was inspired?

In an e-mail to Maria, he gushes to his mistress,“Two, mutual feelings - You have a particular grace and calm that I adore. You have a level of sophistication that so fitting with your beauty. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificent gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curve of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of the night’s light - but hey, that would be going into sexual details.”

Meanwhile, Mrs. Sanford continues her spin. Comparing Mark's relationship to an "addiction like pornography or alcohol" (aka The Devil Made Me Do It!), she underwent pastoral and marriage counseling when it became clear "he was just obsessed with going to see this woman." She admits being somewhat surprised that a man as upstanding as her husband would "do something like that." Boys will be boys.

Mrs. Sanford admits to googling the competition. " What woman wouldn't want to know what her husband's mistress looks like?" a friend of Jenny's asks in September's Vogue. "She's pretty," was her opinion. And furthermore, she can understand the appeal of a long distance lover. "Everybody would like to escape sometimes. I'd like someone 5,o00 miles away I could E-mail. It's not exclusive to men but it isn't realistic."

A good Christian, Mrs. Sanford feels sorry for the other woman. "I am sure she is a fine person. It can't be fun for her, though I do sometimes question her judgement...All I can do is pray for her because she made some poor choices."

To keep us up to date, Mrs. Sanford remains in the family beachfront home with her four sons while the Governor resides in the Governor's Mansion. She told Vogue, "I am not in charge of revenge. That's not up to me. That's for the Lord to decide and it's important for me to teach that to my boys....Now I think it's up to my husband to do the soul searching to see if he wants to stay married. The ball is in his court."

The lesson for political wives seems to be stand by your man, sprinkle your interviews with references to God, country, and family, and pray for the best. Who knows, you might even get a profile story in Vogue!