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!

Reine de Saba, Upside Down Style

The best way to execute French cooking is to get good and loaded and whack the hell out of a chicken. Bon appétit.” Julia Child

Inspired by a recent PBS donor drive special featuring old clips of Ms. Child pursuing her passion, I googled a recipe for Reine de Saba, a little chocolate almond cake from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Butter, separated eggs, semisweet chocolate, flour, ground almonds. Didn't seem that complicated. Except when I tried to purchase ground almonds in the bulk food section of a natural foods market. OK, I would need to break out the Cuisinart.

Breaking down the recipe in steps, I would need to melt the chocolate over a double boiler. Add a tablespoon of coffee or brandy. I went with the coffee. Whip egg whites till stiff with a dash of salt and tablespoon of sugar. I would need to transfer the egg whites to another bowl. Note to self: Must extra Mixmaster bowls if I am going to pursue this French cooking thing. Wash and dry Mixmaster bowl. Change to paddle attachment. Cream unsalted butter and sugar. Add egg yolks. Blend. Add in chocolate mixture. Sift pastry flour. Alternate between folding in egg whites and pastry flour. Add in some almond extract. Fold into buttered and floured round cake pan. Bake at 350 for 25 minutes. Cool.

Remove from oven. Looking good. In the meantime, I prepared the frosting by melting more semisweet chocolate and then whipping in six or so tablespoons of butter. Second note to self: Buy hand mixer. Julia says to whip chocolate/butter mixture over ice. Oh, well. Talk kids out of eating icing directly from bowl. Spread over cake and decorate with almonds. Impressive looking. At least until this morning, when I realize I forgot to remove the cake from the pan. Now, my cake is frosted upside down.

Gives new meaning to Upside Down Cake.

Ms. Child was one of a kind. She peppered her cooking shows with bon mots, including "Find something you're passionate about and keep tremendously interested in it." She once commented, "The only time to eat diet food is when you are waiting for your steak to cook." When asked to name her favorite wine, she responded, "Gin."

Perhaps I should take my cue from Julia's playbook. If I had tossed a few Tanqueray & Tonics during my baking attempt, I might have remembered to remove cake from pan before icing. Or maybe not!

When I Grow Up, I Want to be a QVC Host!

I think I may have found the perfect career! Unfortunately, this would require relocation to West Chester, PA. No offense to the folks of West Chester but I am thinking this isn't exactly the cultural epicenter of the U.S. But what other job would indulge my fashion and beauty passions while allowing me to appear on television and chat with complete strangers about Easy Pay and the advantages of a Tourmaline Hair Drier!

Occasionally while channel surfing, I stop at QVC, mostly when makeup, beauty products, or exercise equipment is being sold. I have never missed FFANY, an annual footwear and handbag event to raise money for breast cancer research and support. The only purchases I have ever made are a few Maxx NY handbags and some Bare Escentuals makeup. I do have friends who have ordered interesting housecleaning equipment and Pilates machines. I don't think I have ever met anyone who has bought a Quacker Factory Christmas sweater but, then again, I live in L.A.

QVC, for the uninitiated, stands for Quality, Value, Convenience. Founded by Joseph Segal in 1986, the shopping network features such retailing concepts as Easy Pay (paying by monthly installments), Today's Special Value, and One Time Only Value. The whole limited time introductory price idea is quite compelling. And the competition to acquire the limited number of items before start of the next show...

At the risk of sounding elitist, QVC to me represents middle America. Lots of polyester blends and elastic waistbands. Mom jeans. Comfortable shoes. Wrap skirts by Elizabeth Hasselbeck. Not a lot of sex appeal. However, some top names in beauty and hair have changed this. Ken Paves, Frederik Fekkai, Bare Escentuals, Smashbox. Maybe nothing we can't find at Sephora but still. Sometimes when a girl can't sleep at 2 am, there's something compelling about being able to purchase an eyeshadow kit from a stranger.

I am rather curious about all those call-in's who feel compelled to share their retail experiences with the rather pleasant hosts. Are these people so lonely they need to tell others about the lovely detailing of their Christmas sweaters? According to the website, "At QVC, we like to go to the phones during our shows to hear what you have to say about our products. Because these phone calls are live and uncensored, QVC cannot substantiate and, therefore, cannot be held responsible for claims made by viewers." I once watched a prank call on U-Tube involving a tabletop doorbell and a guy who claimed to live in a "shoebox by the train tracks." I wonder why more college students or other drunk dial types don't follow suit.

It seems QVC has gotten involved in some labor snafus regarding 401 (K)'s and discriminatory hiring practices. This doesn't really surprise me. And the past few retail cycles have seen a downturn, due to the economy as well as the proliferation of online shopping.

However, QVC still hosts studio tours and special weekends, including a Girls Weekend where you and your BFF's can road trip to West Chester, stay in a local hotel, visit the local outlet mall, and even lunch with your favorite QVC host!
Anyone in?

The Test Dream

Last night, I had another of my recurring exam dreams. I am wandering a long hallway in what appears to be a high school. I feel panic as I attempt to remember where my classroom is located. I finally arrive at the room to find everyone seated, prepared to take a final for which I have not studied. In fact, I don't recall ever attending this class or receiving the syllabus. And when I look down, I have forgotten to put on my clothes!

Thanks to the Internet, I was able to peruse a few dream interpretation sites where I found this to be in the top ten list of common dreams. Several interpretations revolve around low self-esteem or feeling anxious about being tested or scrutinized. Analyzing my feelings, I believe my dreams have more to do with feeling ill-prepared.

As a card-carrying member of the Right Side of the Brain Club, I have a drawer filled with Bar Mitzvah invitations, appointment cards, and the like. I have tried Outlook, Palm Pilots, the calendar on my phone, a desk top calendar, all to no avail. I have rifled through my drawer in search of a Bar Mitzvah invitation, convinced that we forgot to attend. Thank God for those reminder calls from the orthodontist's receptionist! I am always in search of a dog groomer, waxing person, and colorist who can schedule a last minute appointment. My wallet can't possibly hold more of those little appointment cards stating a 24 hour cancellation policy.

Living in the suburbs, I have friends who are Alpha Moms. I admire their organizational skills. These moms coordinate schedules, appointments, classes on their Blackberry's, buy school supplies a few years in advance, have probably scheduled their kids' dental appointments for the next 10 years. I, on the other hand, can't recall ordering my school supply kit and will most likely be at Target, praying they still carry compasses and protractors.

Which is not to say I am unable to multitask. I chair more than a few fundraisers and charity events each year, usually simultaneously. My kids' birthday parties are unparalleled.

However, I have no idea where my car is parked. I usually have two containers of baking powder, a few boxes of brown sugar, and a bunch of Teriyaki sauce in my fridge because I just couldn't recall if I have any at home. Holiday time, my fridge is filled with pounds of butter because you never know when you might need to bake five dozen cookies!

Each year, my new year's resolutions include finding some kind of organizational system which would work for me. I am open to suggestions! Scratch that. I am desperate for suggestions!

The advent of all these technologically advanced options is enticing. However, what happens if they all crash? I used to have a Palm Pilot but would forget to sync before the battery ran out. Since I have all my phone numbers on my Blackberry, I became quite panic stricken when the desktop icon disappeared. Thankfully, my daughter showed me how to search for names. I don't even own a hard copy address book. In planning my daughter's bat mitzvah, I purchased this nifty Mitzvah software which has a spreadsheet for addresses. I am proud of myself for having input the information!

Passwords, numbers, log-in names, appointments, invitations, deadlines. There is just far too much to remember. No wonder I keep having those pesky exam dreams. Now if only I could remember where I put my shopping list!

Let's Go Shoe Shopping!

High heels have gotten a bad rap. In fact, the British Trade Union Congress has been drafting a ban in the workplace of heels over one-inch tall which they deem as "demeaning," sexist, and dangerous. I don't really get it. The labor organization is mostly male. I always thought men liked to see a girl in heels.

In fact, Isaac Mizrahi who may not be the most alpha of males has said, "All I want are high heels, high heels. If I was a girl, I'd wear a lot of high heels. High, stiletto heels."

Stilettos are like wine. One day, a glass of red wine is great for cardiac health. Just look the health of Mediterraneans. A few days later, moderate consumption of alcohol raises breast or prostate cancer risk. We can't win.

Despite all the hoopla how heels cause bodily harm, recent reports have addressed the benefits of Louboutin and company as well as some inherent problems with flats.

“Over the last three to four years we’ve had a significant increase in the number of problems caused be wearing flat shoes such as ballet pumps or flip-flops,” said Mike O’Neill, consultant podiatric surgeon and spokesman for the Society of Chiropodists and Podiatrists.

Donning flat shoes can cause wearers to shuffle which ruins posture. Feet roll forward which stretches ligaments and tendons, pulling toes out of alignment from feet, causing foot pain and ultimately unsightly bunions. The flat shoe shuffle can also force knees into an angle which can lead to inflammation, pain, and at times, at arthritic condition of the knees. When the feet roll in they pull the knees with them. Walking up hills or running in flats can cause inflammation along the shin and shin splints.

On the other hand, heels provide a plethora of benefits, all sexier than bunions and shin splints. High heels promote good posture, forcing a shift of balance as the heel hits the ground first. I have read that wearing heels lifts your bottom by 25% -- and ladies, who doesn't need that! Stilettos tone muscles and give legs a longer appearance. And get ready to break out the credit cards because an Italian urologist has found a fabulous health benefit to those Jimmy Choo's!

In a study to be published in European Urology, Dr Maria Cerruto cited her research promoting the pump. Higher heels may improve pelvic floor muscles, boosting your sex life.

Dr. Cerruto studied 66 heel wearing women under 50 and found that those who held their foot at a 15 degree angle to the ground, which translates to about a two inch heel, showed less electrical activity in their pelvic muscles, suggesting a strengthening and improvement in their ability to contract. Anyone who has been through pregnancy and childbirth can attest to importance of Kegel exercises to strengthen the pelvic floor. Who would have thought wearing high heels could give a similar benefit!

"Women often have difficulty in carrying out the right exercises for the pelvic zone and wearing heels could be the solution," said Dr. Cerruto. "Like many women, I like high-heeled shoes. It's good to know they have potential health benefits."

"We now hope to prove that wearing heels during daily activity may reduce the need for pelvic exercises," says Dr. Cerruto.

Infamous shoe designer Manolo Blahnik rejoiced in this news. "When you put on a high heel, it makes life more exciting," Blahnik claims.

"It's a way to appeal to the male species, to attract," he added, "and it works. I have men who tell me that heels have saved their marriage."

I will be signing off now to run to Nordstrom's to buy that stunning (and healthy!)pair of grey suede platform boots with the 3 1/2 inch heel!

To Tell The Truth, 2009

At various times since 1956, a game show called ""To Tell the Truth" featured panelists charged with guessing which of three guests was honest.

A significant part of my youth was spent in front of the television watching shows such as "Match Game," "What's My Line?," "Password," and other classic game shows. I am still a fan of the Game Show Network.

Ah, where have all the good game shows gone?

Well, the Michael Jackson events of the last few days have inspired me to produce "To Tell the Truth" updated for 2009! The pilot will feature a cast of eccentric characters, all claiming parentage of MJ's children!

"I am Blanket's mother!"

Billie Jean Jackson made this assertion in court. Six months ago, Ms. Jackson filed a $1 billion lawsuit against the Gloved One and asked for joint legal and physical custody of Blanket. She wants visitation rights Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at 2 pm. Wonder what she is busy doing beforehand?

Our second contestant is Claire Elisabeth Fields Cruise who claims DNA evidence will show she is the mother of Michael's children, as well as Connor Cruise, the son of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. She claims Michael happily handed over Connor because he didn't like the shade of his skin. Ms. Cruise claims former boyfriends fathered the Jackson's children and that "there is technology in existence" to transplant conceived children from her body into the body of surrogates who gave birth to them.

The third guest will be cast when someone else presumably enters the mix which could be any day now.

Blindfolded panelists will question the three women and decide which of three is the birth mother!

Next week's show will feature former child star Mark Lester and two other men claiming paternity.

If anyone likes my pitch, I am seeking representation!

Tie Me Up! Glue Me Down!

What do you get when you mix three or four scorned women, a philandering rake, a bunch of rope, and some Krazy Glue?

A rather interesting story making its way through the airwaves.

Last month, Therese Ziemann allegedly lured her boyfriend of three months, Donessa Davis, to a seedy motel room, perhaps the kind that rents by the hour. After tying him up with the promise of a sensual massage, she phoned her sister, Michelle Belliveau; Davis's other lover, Wendy Sewell; and Davis's estranged wife, Tracey Hood-Davis. One of these acquaintances whom Ziemann claims to have known for "two minutes" brought the Krazy Glue and things got messy!

Davis charges the cabal taunted him and then Krazy glued his manhood to his leg. The women dispute, claiming they attached his penis to his stomach. I find myself curious about the distinction. Men have been known to exaggerate the size of a certain organ. It seems Davis wants to downplay that feature. Whatever.

With piqued curiosity, I watched a cool and collected Meredith Vieira interview Ziemann who denies being the ringleader of this plan. In fact, Therese (I feel like we can be on a first name basis since I know so much about her sex life) denies even the existence of a plot. Reminds me of one of the reality shows where everyone "coincidentally" shows up at the same party.

Therese confided in Meredith Vieira that "we had a conversation on the phone and all the three girls have their own interests in this. I can only speak for myself and mine has nothing to do with being a scorned woman, nothing." "Tying up Davis was personal between him and me."

In fact, she goes so far as to assert that "nothing was done against his will."

Now, as a fan of Pedro Almodóvar, I have seen "Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!" and get the bondage thing. However, I have yet to hear of a man who was turned on by having his penis permanently glued to another body part. Especially a guy like Davis who has a reputation for "keeping busy" with a plethora of sex partners.

Ziemann and Davis met via Craigslist, the paradigm of dating websites, I am sure. “I’m embarrassed — embarrassed might not even be the word — but I fell in love with him, and I’m ashamed of that, because it was just an actor I fell in love with. It’s not who he is."

So what is the lesson for today?

Girls, Craigslist is like the 99 Cent Store of "dating" websites. At least aspire to E-Harmony or Match.com!

And guys, if you agree to meet a woman in a motel room, make sure that is massage oil and not Krazy Glue!

Blogging as a Life Choice

This afternoon, one of my daughters and I sneaked out to see "Julie and Julia," an homage to Julia Childs and Julie Powell. Nora Ephron did a fabulous job blending the parallel stories of two foodies who shared their passion with their audience. I spent many hours of my childhood glued to PBS, watching Julia chop, dice, and snort her way through French cuisine. Not to brag, but I even did a pretty wicked imitation of Ms. Childs chopping onions! I have prepared the bouef bourgignon, mousse au chocolat, and other favorites. I even had to chance to see Ms. Childs at a book signing years later. And I share her love for butter!

Aside from brilliant, witty performances by Meryl Streep, Stanley Tucci, and Amy Adams, what spoke most to me was the exhilaration Julie Powell felt when her blog was acknowledged and read by strangers. I imagine Ms. Childs felt the same when receiving compliments for Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Writing is a solitary art. We spend hours alone at the computer or earlier, the typewriter. It may be every writer's dream to end up on the New York Times bestseller list or, in L.A., sell our screenplay. But at the end of the day, writing is one of our life functions, like breathing and eating. We are constantly observing, listening, watching. We seek humor or depth all around us.

As a teenager, I wrote a series of articles about a six week tour of Israel for a New Jersey daily newspaper, my first paid writing experience. I remember relishing the idea of others reading my work even more than the checks. My gig led to a speaking engagement to a senior group, many of whom had followed my articles. Very exciting for a 16 year old!

Blogging is basically blends personal expression with the drive to acquire an audience, whether they be "followers" or those who identify you as "favorite." What a thrill when the first reader who is not genetically related to us comments on one of our posts! We are being heard!

In Julie and Julia, Amy Adams character references this thrill several times. As a blogger and writer, I can relate to this phenomenal experience. Julie Powell lived the dream. Editors, publishers, Food Network execs, lit agents noticed her and she got a book deal and a movie! But even listing as an Editor's Choice is a personal accomplishment!

In essence, writing is very much like cooking. When we prepare the perfect Hollandaise, reine de saba (chocolate almond cake) or boeuf bourgignon, we generally do not cook for one. When Stanley Tucci's Paul Childs closed his eyes in appreciation for one of his wife's incomparable meals, Julia was in heaven.

So, as I leave you to contemplate fileting a duck or preparing live lobster (OK, maybe seared scallops over a bed of arugula), I am inspired by these two women who turned their passion for words and food into a cottage industry. And in Julia Childs' case, left a profound butter coated handprint on the way we experience food.

Bon Appetit!

Stop and Smell the (Nipple) Daisies

Recently, I came across some rather curious products while searching online. Depending on your point of view, these items may be hysterically funny, a sign of our times, or downright disturbing. I'd be interested to hear your take. All three of these items speak to our societal need to rush through childhood only to arrive at middle age and hit that brick wall.

The first item is Heelarious described on the company website as "soft crib shoes designed to look like high heels." These shoes came to be when two childhood BFF's, Britta Bacon and Hayden Porter, became business partners. Hayden is a high heel obsessed girl after my own heart. Her pal Britta seems to be more of the flat type. Note that this is not my intent to put down her personality, just her shoe type. At any rate, on her way to her daughter's 4th birthday party, she looked back at her daughter's babyhood, something all of us moms tend to do. Her brain cells seemingly crossed wires with thoughts of her friend's shoe obsession and Heelarious was born.

Retailing at $34.50, these faux shoes come in hot pink, red, pink satin, leopard, and a baby pink satin version complete with peep toe. They all feature really cute linings. The latest generation are cowboy boots, complete with spurs, available in black and in pink. I am curious to see that all black pump versions are about to be retired. Shoe rule Number One. When in doubt, buy black. Maybe shoppers fear dressing infants in black. I am waiting for the red soled version or maybe a nice Chanel style cap toe.

These shoes have been a hit with celebs such as Tori Spelling (surprise!) and have appeared in swag bags at the Oscars and Bravo A-List Awards where Paris and Kim Kardashian picked up a pair.

Obvious by the title of this blog, I, too, am a shoe obsessed girl who would go pretty far for a laugh. However, the mere thought of putting infants in stilettos somewhat bothers me. What next? Chanel bottle covers?

As the mother of a young teen, I am aware of our societal push to"bring sexy back" -- at least in hair, makeup, and style choices seen in fashion mags and in junior departments. Daisy Dukes, Uggs, and copious lipgloss are a common dress choice in junior high. Enough so that I support school uniforms! Are we really ready to bring babies into this mix?

Which leads me to the next product. Berjuan, a Spanish company, has introduced a baby doll which can be nursed, to promote lactation as a lifestyle choice. Now, I was a nursing mom and totally support the practice. However, I am not so sure we need to be showing six and seven year olds how to get their babies to latch on.

Bebe Gloton is currently available only in Spain. The doll comes complete with a halter top/bra contraption with daisies where a woman's breasts would be. The doll makes a crying sound followed by a sucking sound when the mouth device is activated near the floral nipples.

After watching a video demonstration of the doll, one European wrote, 'This toy would never work in the U.S. because the public would sexualize the act of breastfeeding, thereby deeming it inappropriate for little girl to engage in.' Guessing the reviewer has never heard of Heelarious. Culturally, we Americans are torn between our Puritanical heritage and Cinemax Late Night. Interesting.

Why do we try to rush through childhood without even pausing for commercial breaks? (Which are now obsolete thanks to TiVo!) That is, until we get to middle age. "Vogue," "In Style," and the like are filled with ads for cosmetic fillers and costly moisturizers. If we could lose ten pounds in a week while turning back the clock ten years, we would be in nirvana. As we arrive at the credits, we want to rewind. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It is part of life. We reconnect with past friends, reminisce and reflect on our life choices.

Nevertheless, the next trend is remotely creepy. Seems grown women have been spending cash, upwards of $4000, on lifelike baby dolls. Designed for people who "love to hold and nurture babies," for "emotional healing" and "filling a void," all comments I read online. Maybe these women should hold out till Bebe Gloton arrives in the States!

Are we incapable of enjoying each stage of life as it comes? Put the life TiVo on pause and let the kids play outside! Just don't let them wear stilettos to play kickball! And conversely, embrace your actual age! By all means, color your hair, practice yoga and Pilates, slather on that moisturizer! But, don't stress out about turning back the clock.

And if you need to buy one of the above items, I say go with the Heelarious crib shoes. At least they might get a few laughs at a baby shower or make a witty conversation piece decorating your desk!

More, More....

Ah, the pleasures of summer. Blueberries, corn on the cob, that juicy peach. And bad reality television which constantly reinvents itself. (Of course, some credit must be given to the creators of reality tv.)

Mike Fleiss, creator of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, has given us a new dating competition show. According to the Fox-TV website, More to Love follows "one regular guy's search for love among a group of real women determined to prove that love comes in all shapes and sizes." Well, bachelor Luke Conley is a 6'3" and over 300 pounds. Casting calls for these "voluptuous" and "full figured" ladies were held at national Lane Bryant plus sized boutiques. But, the point is well-taken.

I watched the premiere with some hesitation, especially when I read each girl's weight would be printed below their names. Yikes! I wondered if this was their "driver's license" weight or whether they stepped on a scale off camera. Really. Do they display the IQ's of the model/actress types as they emerge from the limo on The Bachelor? Okay, that was mean. But, why the constant focus on how much these folks weigh? Luke is described as a "former college football offensive lineman..." Is that code word for "What's your excuse?"

More than a handful of these curvy women cried about their lack of dates. I have watched enough reality shows and know enough single women to know this is a common complaint. However, some of these women have never even been on a first date, let alone made it to "round two." I wonder, in real life, if their desperation and lack of self esteem were more of a turn off than their appearance. The fairly constant stream of tears and "pity party" atmosphere at first engendered empathy. However, this could quickly turn the corner to annoying, especially peppered with discernible self-deprecation, as when Danielle referenced looking like a "beached whale" after jumping into the pool in her evening gown.

In lieu of the rose ceremony, these women are asked if they would "do the honour" of wearing Luke's "promise" ring. When he sends five girls packing at episode end, they are asked to return the ring. Pretty harsh. And all that talk about the "Luke" sandwich. Gag! Luke reminds me of nursery rhyme's Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry. In a smarmy pick up line approach, Luke asked one girl, Malissa, how to say "kiss" in Spanish. When she responded, he said, "Why don't you show me?" Pretty creepy but she complied. He asked for another "beso" after telling her about the elimination round. Is that a threat of a promise? She ended up in the final 15.

As I watched the women competing and hoping for a chance to make it to the next episode, I thought about junior high P.E. class. Remember the nonathletic kids who were left praying someone would pick them for the kickball team? I am sure some of these girls are athletic. There is even a personal trainer in the bunch. But, the whole scenario of seemingly desperate, needy women pining for a real estate developer from Santa Maria is a hard pill to swallow.

I think I will stick with "NYC Prep!"

Shoes by the Bay

I have recently returned from a glorious long weekend in the City by the Bay. My husband and I took our daughters on a first family trip up north. New Yorkers and other East Coast city dwellers typically prefer San Francisco to Los Angeles, two to one. I have never taken a survey but I am guessing I am on the money. L.A. is the land of flip flops, rice cakes and spray-on tans. San Francisco is much more sophisticated. The St. Francis, Nob Hill, pearls, and a martini, straight up. Of course, during summer, tourists roam North Beach and Fisherman's Wharf. Many of these tourists speak French and wear nice shoes. Don't get me wrong. I get the comfort/shoe connection. After all, lots of hills and walking to find transportation from one tourist spot to another. That said, when we took our cruise and tour of Alcatraz, I was the only one in Tory Burch Reva flats and pearls. I am not a sweatshirt and sneakers kind of girl. Imprisonment in Alcatraz would not have been an option.

Our trip to San Francisco was definitely a learning experience. We hit almost all of the tourist hot spots, some from the Hop On, Hop Off double decker bus. I would like to share some of the more salient points.

Lessons from Alcatraz

I will admit. The allure of visiting a prison, closed or not, has always escaped me. I guess it may be a guy thing. However, the gift shop did offer some pretty kitsch items quoting rules from the Regulations for Inmates, USP, a copy of which was given to each prisoner upon arrival.

1. You are entitled to food, clothing, shelter and medical attention. Anything else that you get is a privilege. I am presuming this doesn't extend to caviar, designer shoes, a suite at the Hyatt, or a face lift but elements of the more basic type.

2. As a general rule, you will work eight hours a day, five days a week, with Saturdays, Sundays and Holidays devoted to recreation. Weekend warriors or not?

3. LOAFING, LOITERING, VISITING, OR UNAUTHORIZED ABSENCE FROM WORK will result in disciplinary action, and may result in loss of your job, and withholding of, or forfeiture of, good time. Of course, in the outside world, loafing, loitering, and visiting during work may constitute a "good time."


4. Meals are served in the dining room three times a day. Do not exceed the ration. Do not waste food. Take what you eat; eat what you take. Of course, on the outside, leave some food on your plate, especially if you are on a date or watching your weight!

Lessons On the Outside

Following our departure by ferry, we visited the Farmer's Market at the Ferry Building, a foodie's paradise. Where else can you stand in line to buy "pig parts," artisan chocolates, and Acme bread? I picked up Indian spices and sauces, presumably to prepare curries at home which brings me to our next lesson.

5. Naan N' Curry: My twelve year old daughter and I practically convulsed with laughter when we noticed an Indian/Pakistani restaurant, open 24/7, across from our hotel. Because you never know when you might crave biriyani or curry at 2 am. Imagine our disappointment when we found out a la carte items were not available while the kitchen was undergoing renovations.

6. Try it, you'll like it Our trip offered many opportunities to try new experiences or tastes. My husband tried a Gewürztraminer. Our eight year old and I sought adventure on the Rocket Boat, a 45 mph rock n' roll cruise on the bay. All four of us rode across the Golden Gate Bridge on top of a double decker bus.

7. If you are a crab, it is best to avoid long, hot baths. At Fisherman's Wharf, we witnessed live crabs being boiled in vats until they turned red and were served up on someone's plate. To avoid a similar predicament, know when to get out of the jacuzzi or hot tub.

8. Window shopping should be an Olympic sport. While my husband went back to the hotel for some R & R, my "team" strolled around Union Square for some girl time. Saks, Neiman's, designer boutiques galore. Nordstrom's and Bloomie's a few blocks away. San Francisco is a shopper's nirvana. Birthplace of GAP, Esprit, Levi's, and Benefit Cosmetics, a fabulously fun cosmetic line started by the identical Ford twins with their modeling earnings. This witty line features such products as BADgal Mascara, dr. feelgood complexion balm, and pink to please woman...gold to get the guy color palette. Macy's Union Square features an fab Benefit boutique, complete with Brow Bar. I just love being a girl!

On our "workout," we noticed a window display at Macy's featuring the Verse collection of Converse, preferred shoe of my footwear interns and countless other tweens and teens. Available only at Macy's, Verse offers women sparkling glitter, shiny varnish prints, and hand-drawn graphics in a casual shoe. These shoes "tell stories" and "inspire the creative individuals who wear them to act spontaneously and discover their own stories." Glittery footwear is my personal Kryponite. And as a "creative individual," I will tell you spontaneity and self-discovery are not typically a problem for us right-brained types. Maybe we should pass out these shoes to lawyers, accountants, and other left-brained types?

Our four-day sojourn to San Francisco was filled with laughter, great food, and various modes of transportation. Long after the bracelets bought from street vendors are broken, the memories of family experiences and lessons remain. Back in L.A., I have renewed my vows to avoid wearing flip flops! (And I think I may have eaten enough sourdough bread to last me till the next trip!)