Big words

My 14 year old had a homework assignment today...find an article on politics and explain it. I applaud the thought -- I think our kids need to understand the world they will inherit one day. So I pulled out my favorite -- the WSJ. An hour later, I'd spent most of the time trying to explain the vocabulary of politics: "federal subsidies", "healthcare reform", "reelection bids", "liberal" vs. "centrist", "deficit-cutting" and "tea party hero"... When we finished, he commented in a way only a 14 year old can, "Politics needs to be more kid friendly." I might amend that to say "Politics needs to be more friendly." I have several degrees and consider myself an educated person. By the time I got to the end of the article, there was so much speculation and political slang that I couldn't really sum up the article any better than "the mid-term elections" are going to screw things up even more.

Here's a novel thought for all the folks that work in, write about and discuss politics in a public setting. What if we were to challenge ourselves to make the issues understandable to a 14 year old? What if the new rule of politics was that each side had to distill their point of view into a sentence or a paragraph that was so simple even 14 year olds could understand it? Maybe people would think more and expound less. Because this I know. If you can't sum something up -- an issue, a business opportunity, a recipe -- in a succinct, easy to understand manner, your audience might smile and nod but they're not going to get it. And most of the time the person expounding on it doesn't really get it either. If we're ever to hope for an informed, involved and engaged electorate, it's about time we get rid of the hyperbole and the posturing and focus on issues in a simple, straightforward way, free of irony and sarcasm.

Off to address my own deficit spending at the mall in support of our economic meltdown. Ciao. Jules

Friends and Casseroles

My twin 14 year old boys have been on Facebook for the last year (a contentious decision for many I know, but I caved…what can I say?) So I joined the game too. And I’m proud to say I’ve collected a reasonable number of friends…north of 100 but shy of 200. Not bad.

However, within a matter of weeks, my sons lapped me. I pulled up the computer the other day and was greeted with one of their Facebook pages. But before I could dig for the dirt, I noticed a friend of his on the page…repeatedly. There must have been about 200 “Happy Birthday!” wishes from almost every child I’d ever seen in my kids’ school. I shut it down, thinking about the fact that I had never had so many friends wish me Happy Birthday if you added all my Birthdays up!

My contemplation was interrupted by my friend Mary Ann at the door bearing a warm casserole, salad, bread and homemade lemon meringue pie. I’ve had a tough time of it lately and she had emailed out of the blue and offered to bring a warm meal. I took her up on it.

Which got me to thinking about all the hundreds of birthday wishes. What is the value of a friend? Is it better to have more? Are you out of line if you don’t friend everyone you know, from your boss to your ex to your gynecologist? If I was arrested in the middle of the night, would I ask for one “post “rather than one call? None of my hundreds of virtual friends ever brought me a warm dinner.

I suppose both routes to friends serve their purpose, but...If you’re going to be “friends” with hundreds of people, make sure you know the difference between a virtual friend and one who shows up in person with a warm cassarole on a cold night.

I’m still on Facebook, and I still add friends. But I’m sure going not going to write a handwritten note to all 197 of them thanking them for dinner. Gotta find the stationery. Ciao.

Jules

Shock and Awe

Growing up in the Midwest has been the cause of much of my “shock and awe” response to today’s new rules I suppose. We were not the hotbed of bleeding edge, progressive anything…poliitcs, fashion, culture. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that the overriding majority of folks I grew up with looked at the “edges” of life as dangerous, wild, lurid places that if you ventured to in any subject matter, you just might fall off the edge of the earth and get eaten.

I say this because as a mom of twin 14 year old boys, I am in the heart of shock and awe territory on a regular basis. Howard Stern, Bill Clinton, Lindsay Lohan… Take one of my recent “ahas”…Eminem. My boys love Eminem…yep…the ex-con who made my hometown “8 Mile” famous. I grew up doing my best to stay away from 8 mile road…definitely wild, dangerous and lurid. And now he’s mainstream and has more followers on Facebook than Obama. My boys actually put “Mockingbird” on my ipod.

My parents took the approach “don’t ask, don’t tell, and definitely don’t talk approach.” And they weren’t alone. Contrast that with my friend Tegan. She talks about EVERYTHING. She swears. She talks about sex, drugs, death…She doesn’t sugarcoat it…for anyone, her kids included. It helps that she has a magnetic personality, a quick smile, and she’s a therapist. But all that aside, she has a point. Once you talk about it, it sort of paves the way for other conversations that you NEED to have today with kids, particularly teenagers.

So here’s my new rule in this newly unfiltered world -- if anyone is going to talk to my kids about divorce, sex, drugs, ethics…anything…it’s going to be me, scary and uncomfortable as it might be. It’s no longer about protecting kids in this world, it’s about giving them the tools, the smarts and the judgment to navigate it. Because I guarantee you they will ask, they will tell, and they sure as hell will talk. So you better teach them who to ask, what to tell, and where to talk. Or they’re likely to end up in the headlines.

“…I can no longer play stupid or be immature
I got every ingredient, all I need is the courage
Like I already got the beat, all I need is the words
Got the urge, suddenly it's a surge
Suddenly a new burst of energy is occured
Time to show these free world leaders the three and a third
I am no longer scared now, I'm free as a bird
Then I turn and cross over the median curb
Hit the 'burbs and all you see is a blur from 8 Mile Road…”
-Eminem’s 8 Mile

Ciao.

Jules

Leather and Lovers

I have a new lover. She is soft and fits me perfectly. She keeps me organized and makes me look kind of cool when she’s on my arm. There’s lots of places where I can hold her, and when I reach for her, she’s the perfect height. This is only my third lover. My first was killed in a steampipe explosion in NYC…covered by asbestos…died a horrible death. My second I still love, but I needed a change. This lover is different…she’s not perfect, she’s a bit classic, a bit rock and roll.

No I’m not a lesbian. And my lover is leather. My new bag. Thank you Michael Kors for crafting the perfect lover. You see, I am a bag snob. It takes me a long time to find love, but once I do, I’m loyal. For awhile. My lover has to be perfect. And she’s definitely female…after all, she has to understand my needs perfectly as we spend more time together than almost any other accessory. I don’t think any man will ever quite understand my love affair with my bag, or my need to be a serial lover on a semi-annual basis.

I spend a lot of time looking for her. Generally I find her in the spring and the fall when all the trendy new girls are coming out. She has to have “feet”…I tend to make her stand in some awkward places – the subway, under tables at restaurants, on the baseball field. And she has to have that perfect “look”…you know, she is just dressy enough without be overdressed, god forbid she’s frumpy, and she has to be able to hide a few extra pounds occasionally. She also needs a signature style that’s just her own. I never want to show up with my lover dressed the same as another lover. Ecccckkkkkk!

My lover is a reflection of how I want people to see me. I want her to be quality but not snooty. I don’t particularly want her to carry a big sign that she was someone else’s first …you know…like “Guess” tattooed across her chest. If she wants a little body art, it better be stylized and hip, like LV…we all know what it stands for but I can at least pretend it stands for Love…and it’s generally well stylized.

As I said, I’m a bag snob. I’m demanding of my lover. But I treat her well. And I will care for her in her old age. If you’re going to spend money on something, learn to love it. We all have way too much stuff. So why not think of your belongings like your loves. Better to have fewer, deeper, more passionate loves that never leave you, that you will treasure in your old age. They will remind you of great stories and entertain you with great memories long after they’ve finished their useful life. And when you think back on them, you will smile.

Gotta go clean my closet and put to rest my last love. Want to make sure she has a warm, clean place to rest. She served me well, and eventually I’m sure we will have a brief rendez vous in the future. After all, who doesn’t like to have “ex-sex” on occasion with a cherished past lover. Ciao,

Jules

p.s. Promise to post pictures of my ex's shortly.

The Age of Indulgence

Standing in the sheets of rain at the train station this morning, I was rueing the fact I’d put off buying a rain hat, thinking it only future closet clutter, cute for all of 10 minutes once a month when no one would see me. A useless indulgence. Then I looked down the train platform. Same height, weight, age… except she had a great rain hat on and had managed to look pulled together, chic AND dry. Clearly she indulged.

Which led me to start considering if I had reached the “age of indulgence.” Yes definitely. In fact, my girlfriend Lizzie had a “moment” last weekend when she commented on this age. She had attended a party the night before where everyone was “her age.” (over 35, under 50…all I’ll say) She called me the next morning distraught, having to report everyone else at the party was OLD. And yes, they were her age, but they were OLD! Many were a little overweight, several had gone “natural” (aka GREY) and none had considered the baggy look went out at the age of 25.

My point is this. When we are young, we join health clubs (often to meet men), we get manicures, we CONSUME fashion magazines (even when we can’t afford 1/10 of what they show). In other words, we are very self involved in the pursuit of what we want – men, career advancement, hell, if we’re honest the envy of other women. But as we “progress”, we get so distracted by others’ needs (kids, husbands, parents…) many of us tend to lose our self focus. We categorize our excuses under “no time”, “no money,” or “no reason.” Well let me tell you ladies, we’re dead wrong.

We live in a visual society. People make judgments everyday about who they want to surround themselves with, date, play, work. While not ALL of that is based on looks, anyone who tells you it doesn’t matter is LYING. I’m not saying your external presentation is the ONLY consideration, but don’t relegate it to the boxes stored in the basement either. As we “progress”, our personal appearance takes more and more work. And yet we often object to those things that would make us feel the best – exercise, sleep, make-up, good hair or a hot dress. So stop looking down your noses at those women heading off to the dermatologist or sneaking Lucky in their bags. And get your ass to gym. Don’t do it for others, do it for yourself.

When you reach the age of indulgence, indulge. Whether it is a new hair color, personal trainer, great bag, or Botox – at a certain point, this is not an indulgence but as necessary as food and water to your soul. Contrary to popular opinion, it’s not about the mirror or finding a date, it’s a matter of self respect. In this YouTube world, we are all personas.

You may think you’re past the age where it matters. But here’s a newsflash. Economies tank and you might need a job. Divorce happens and you might need a date. Kids go to college and you might need a life. Indulgence is your insurance policy that you will not be left in the dust. If you choose to ignore this, more power to you. But then I do not want to hear you complain about your husband (or lack thereof), your social life, your sex life, your job or your lack of “life” in general. Gotta’ go…Sephora just opened. Ciao.

Jules

Welcome to the New Rules of the Game

My mother always told me the only thing that would really get me in trouble was my mouth…  Turns out she was only partially right.  My mouth plus a keyboard will likely be my downfall.  So be it!  Here goes…Welcome to www.RulesbyJules.com -- where I intend to start a conversation about the “new rules” out there that admittedly, I usually break.  I wish it was because I was like my friend David who claims to be an anarchist, but I’m not that colorful.  I usually break the rules because when I try to play by them, I generally find out they changed and no one told me.  Don’t believe me?  Let me give you an example.  Let’s take a simple one—your job.  If you were like me, you grew up in simpler times.  I grew up in Detroit, need I say more?  The city of “entitled lifetime employment” where following the rules of conformity was sure to lead you to a guaranteed retirement, a condo in Florida, healthcare benefits til you died, and at least one freakin’ vacation a year.  Work hard.  Be modest.  Your actions speak louder than your words.  Let others shout your accomplishments.  Turns out…the rules changed, eh?  Maybe playing by the rules at your job isn’t so wise? 

Contrast this with the disparaging remarks senior managers often make  about the “next generation” – they’re self-indulged, they need immediate gratification, they want to start at the top, they’re not willing to earn their stripes.  Hell they were the products of helicopter parents who could ring the world twice over with store-bought trophies to reward midget soccer teams and  Little Leagues.  Hellooooo!  Remember Detroit?  If you knew you could only expect two to three years out of a company before they “reorganized” you out of a job, wouldn’t you want to start at the top?  Wouldn’t you want immediate gratification?  Wouldn’t you make sure you took every day of vacation you had knowing that putting it off held no value?  If you are shaking your head in despair, shame on you.  You created these creatures! 

So here’s a way to think about what the new rules might be at work today.  Work hard.  Then spend an equal amount of time talking about it, promoting your work, and publicizing it.  Chances are in a few years, you’ll need the notoriety to get hired again.  Grow the company’s brand, and equally if not more importantly, grow your own. 

Just a taste of the many conversations I’d like to start. 

So as I navigate my incredibly complicated life as a mother of twin teenage boys (who I am sure will be horrified by this experience if anyone ever reads this blog besides me) living in a large metropolitan area with no extended family, fabulous friends, a sister on the other side of the country who leaps tall buildings in a single bound,  and Lulu my slightly neurotic golden retriever, I’m going to share the “new rules” I seem to stumble upon daily

And I’m hoping that a few friends out there might share their new rules with me.  Because in the end, if you’re going to change the world, you kind of have to understand where it stands today, and what your world COULD look like if you played by different rules.  Ciao.

Jules.