Weddings, Hipster Style

Weddings, Hipster Style

My fellow baby boomer friend has a daughter that is newly engaged and is starting the laborious process of planning her wedding.  As a non-traditional hipster, we are projecting what choices she may end up making that will seem crazy and foreign to us.  We agree that some of the elements of an old school wedding do deserve to be retired.  They were ridiculous to us, even then.  So here is an over the top description of what a new wedding, hipster style could look like.  (In all fairness to the bride to be, she has not made any of these suggestions.  We are just fantasizing how crazy it COULD get. ) See Update Below.....

The Invitees

The first stressful component of wedding planning is the number of invitees.  The overall cost and magnitude of the production hinges on this critical decision.  Once you take care of your most immediate family and closest circle of friends, anyone else that makes the list is expendable.  This is where you start treading in some turbulent water.  Do you invite your Aunt-in-law’s cousin Harry because you know that he won’t fly all the way from Vancouver, but knowing full well you are really just after the gift?  What about your best friend from second grade who you just found on Facebook and based on her postings has been in and out of rehab 5 times and you are unsure which version of your friend will arrive-- the evangelical teetotaler who will boorishly recite the 12 steps to anyone that gets stuck in the reception line next to her or the rave-starting hellion that may cause you to lose your deposit at the Country Club?

Not to worry.  Here is the most technologically advanced way to invite people, not hurt anyone’s feelings and reap the largest amount of wedding stash.  SKYPE.

I can see it now.  A bank of LCD TVs against the wall of the grand ballroom where people can “technically” be a part of the festivities ala Reverend Jim (reference the episode on Taxi called Zen and the Art of Cab Driving.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player detail page&v=UJ0BetC8BGM).  This saves money on airfare, fancy wedding clothes, and valet parking fees.  As a society, we are already desensitized by technology, so this shouldn’t be too much of a stretch to watch and participate in a wedding from your leather sectional at home.  Perhaps a nice touch would be to send a package to each of these Skypers that contains a champagne glass, cheese straws, a slice of wedding cake and rice.  These props would make the event more experiential for the virtual attendee and cut down on the cleaning costs at the real location.

Going Green to the Extreme

No authentic Hipster is going to be OK without a sincere effort to reduce greenhouse gases at their wedding/reception.  Here is a list of environmentally friendly ideas:

1. Thick paper plates that can later be repurposed for Ultimate Frisbee competitions
2. Hybrid Limousine 
3. All unconsumed food/liquor (I mean PBR) from the reception would be taken to the nearby soup kitchen.  
4. In reverse Gone With The Wind style, all purchased wedding garments such as the brides gown, mother’s and bridesmaid dresses would be deconstructed and sewn into curtains for the couple’s new loft apartment.
5. The honeymoon could only take place in a free trade location.
6. All of the flowers used in the ceremony would be made of marzipan and reused at the reception in place of the traditional mint trays.  An exception would be made for the bride’s bouquet (it has to be thrown to someone, after all) and it could only contain flowers harvested by street urchins.
7. Flash Mob Wedding.  An ad is placed on craigslist with a time and location where the wedding party is to meet, perhaps the local Starbucks, and a mass wedding takes place.  This is a great way to pool resources and buy gift cards for those lucky couples at the same time.

Hipster Fantasy Destination Wedding

Truth be told, any Hipster worth his big black framed glasses is going to drool at the following description of the ultimate wedding.  

Location:  Sundance (or any indie film studio location)

Apparel:  The wedding party is given carte blanche to wear whatever they want as long as it is vintage or from Urban Outfitters.  The only commonality will be the skinny jeans.

Wedding Vows:  Written by the bride and groom utilizing many quotes from the movie Juno and authors Ayn Rand and Jack Kerouac. 

Transportation:  Single gear bicycles and paddle boards, if near water.

Reception Music:  The goal here would be to compile a playlist of music/bands that no one has heard of, especially the parents.  Or better yet, have 2 separate receptions….one for the hipsters and one for the oldsters where they can bust out their moves to Celebrate by Kool and the Gang or Jump by Van Halen.  It might be necessary to have some paramedics on standby for them.

In conclusion, we are unsure at this point what the bride and groom will want for their wedding but I am betting it will be blend of both new and old.  So, I better keep my Skype account updated (I’m unclear at this point how expendable I am on the invite list) and an open mind. This new generation might very well reinvent a better, more economical and memorable event than we did in our day.  A formulaic, traditional route doesn’t ensure happiness or success:  thousands of Vera Wangs hanging in consignment stores across the country can attest to that.  In the end, all this folderol is really about creating a significant day that celebrates the union of two people, forging through this world together.  And if you can leave the reception with a new Frisbee as a parting gift, all the better.

UPDATE May 2012:  We weren't too far off on our predictions as it turns out....

The wedding is going to take place in a small Texas town located 8 hours from the Hipster capital of the world, Austin, TX, where the bride and groom live. 

The bridesmaids and groomsmen have been eliminated due to space constrictions, therefore, the attire that would have been purchased and otherwise repurposed has been shelved, thus saving landfill space. 

The Wedding destination is famous for being the backdrop of the movie, GIANT.  It is NOT famous for its plethora of hotel accommodations. Once those scarce rooms are filled (more than likely by the parents and other older wedding guests), the other options are teepees and converted Volkswagen buses. You may think that I am making that up or being exceedingly sarcastic?  I'm not. 

The wedding food will be casual and indigenous to the area...Barbecue...thus eliminating transportation costs. 

The reception music will be provided by the groom's old garage band and the playlist will be eclectic and, more than likely, undancable for the senior set.  They can just sit that one out. 

This writer will be sitting it out as well. The new plan eliminated the second tier of invitees which will probably include me.  No problem. I'll just watch the replay on the YouTube video that I'm sure will be created and quickly posted 3 nanoseconds after the ceremony. It's the next best thing to being there. Oh yeah, and I don't have to wake up the next morning with a view of Texas through the steering wheel of a Volkswagen bus. 

I'm ok with that. 

Why we weren’t fat kids/adolescents/college students

As astute and arrogant baby boomers, we have lauded our “best times” over the heads of our younger, more unenlightened listeners.  We say things like “so and so’s first album was their best” (refusing to give up the word, album) or “things (cars, appliances, houses) are just not made the way they used to be” in our attempt to adjust to our rapidly changing times.  Some of our points are valid and some of them are lame.  When pressed for details or examples, we can be caught off guard when we make sweeping statements such as, “we did not have a childhood obesity problem when I was growing up”.  Let me help you out with a list I have compiled to give you ammunition the next time you make such a haughty statement and your younger counterpart rolls their eyes. 

Note:  There is no science or verification process to this list, just my ability to turn assumptions into facts; a basic skill that is inherent in every person born between the years 1946-1964.  

1.       Record Players.   Whether we were listening to the B side of a 45, or LP (Long playing) album, it required our intervention to flip it over to hear the whole thing.  We could stack them, but true audiophiles winced at this and berated us if they saw us doing it. We also cared for our record collection by cleaning our vinyl with Disc Washer and continually monitoring the alphabetization and inside jacket positions to make sure the albums were put away to our specifications after an extended listening session with our friends.  Moving an extensive collection back and forth to college could be strenuous and required milk crates or boxes specifically created for their size. CALORIES BURNED:  200

2.    Encyclopedias.  Research for term papers required bicep curls when lifting these monoliths, especially if you were looking up Socrates or Chlorophyll. And if you needed to cross reference, multiple volumes were pulled out which magnified the effort, which nowadays is equivalent to 30 minutes on an elliptical. 
CALORIES BURNED:  100

3.      Television.  The lack of a remote required that you leave the comfort of your plaid polyester covered sofa to change channels, albeit there were only three or four, and the calisthenics required to ensure a watchable broadcast signal meant one family member had to stand at the television (or on the roof) to adjust the antennae/knobs/rabbit ears (aluminum foil often worked wonders). The real workout began if your vertical hold went haywire and it meant a constant up and down movement that would put any Stairmaster to shame.  But I believe that vertical hold may be responsible for many bad baby boomer behaviors.   It really should have come with this tag…..

Warning:  Prolonged exposure to vertical hold may produce hallucinations, depression, apathy, ADD, consumerism, one-upmanship, nostalgia, bombastic tendencies and an overwhelming urge to own a designer dog.  These symptoms may not show up until years later when you are at a cocktail party, drinking a Lemon Drop martini, bragging about your portfolio, three car garage and current trophy wife who has never sported pink sponge rollers or worked out to Jane Fonda.

CALORIES BURNED:  Saturday Night….75, Other Nights….n/a (I can't remember what was on)

4.  American Bandstand/Soul Train.  This is where we learned to dance.  Dick Clark and Don Cornelius provided a venue that allowed us to emulate the latest dance crazes such as The Pony, The Monkey, The Jerk, The Bump, The Swim, The Soul Train Line and all the Disco moves we still pull out at company functions and weddings. The practice and effort were important because we were all using these shows as our guide for choreography and coolness (an "air" bump just looked stupid if it didn't connect with someone else's hip).  Watching and learning was an investment in our future and burned fat as well.  CALORIES BURNED: 500 (as long as you didn't eat Pop Tarts during the commercials)

 5.  Automobiles.  Stick shifts, manual roll up windows, bench seats (without seats belts, this required stabilization on turns which really worked your core) and no cup holders full of calorie-laden lattes all contributed to what turned out to be an unintentional workout while driving.  Without drive through car washes at every gas station, we labored over our vehicles on Sunday afternoons with buckets of suds and Turtle Wax applications. There is no amount of treadmill walking or Zumba dancing that can burn the calories like the ole wax-on wax-off move.  CALORIES BURNED: 1000+

A workout on wheels, look at the radius on that steering wheel...great tricep work.











I'm sure that this is an exhaustive list of ways we avoided the obesity epidemic that is now facing our nation. Feel free to comment if you think that I have left anything out........In the meantime, after I finish googling my research for this blog, I'm going to get in my automatically steered car, listen to some oldies on my mp3 player, and wonder what is causing my road rage (vertical hold, I'm sure of it!) and go work out at the gym.

Why I Blame Walt Disney for Ruining My Love Life (a tongue in cheek diatribe, not a man-hating rant....I promise)

As a little girl, growing up in the sixties and seventies, I bought the whole fairy tale romance concept.  It seemed innocent enough---a beautiful, sweet, unassuming ingénue, going about her daily business of scrubbing the floor in an effort to appease her manipulative stepsisters is given the chance to meet the man of her dreams.  Cinderella with the help of some hocus pocus makes it to the biggest go-to event all year (cue the fairy dust and presto-- a magic carriage.)  Upon arrival, the Prince picks her out of a crowded room and falls instantly in love with her.  They meet, share a dance, she leaves her shoe (possibly the most fantastical part, since no real woman is going to let that happen to a brand new sequined pump) and he incessantly tracks her down until finally, they can be together.  A perfect formula of female passivity, a dream, a fairy godmother, a love struck man that goes after what he wants and we are left with a perfect ending. 

In a hamlet, probably one town over, we see a young innocent victimized by yet another jealous stepmother.  Snow White’s father (who is somehow oblivious to this growing animosity) thinks things are working well until his daughter comes of age, turns out to be captivatingly beautiful and catches the eye of her stepbrother, the Prince. (Not sure why this plot device was never played out on The Brady Bunch because it was certainly going on backstage).  The Queen won’t allow this and threatens poor Snow White.  Fearing for her life, Snow White flees her home and ends up with a similar cleaning gig in a home full of dwarves--which proves that if you know how to scrub floors and tidy things up, you can land on your feet.

The Queen eventually finds her, poisons her with a drug laden apple and Snow White is rendered unconscious until the Prince, driven by love, finds her.  One kiss and they are together, forever.  In my own adult, altered epilogue, I see Snow White tossing her mop and scrub brush out of the window of the carriage on their way back to the palace.  As the Prince is silently planning their erotic honeymoon, Snow White is dreaming of growing her nails back out and thrilled at not having to iron those tiny, little outfits that the dwarves wore.

Story after story, we were transported into a fantasy world where men will pursue women to the ends of the earth after just one encounter.  All a girl has to do is bide her time, put up with a little family dysfunction, throw a few wishes out into the cosmos or into a magic mirror, learn to spit shine and we will end up with the man of our dreams.  These fairytales may vary by location and plot devices, but they all contribute to the stories we women tell ourselves about how love works.  The real evidence we see in with our own families and friends is pooh poohed as we focus in on our dreams, telling ourselves that our romances will be different, special.

Albeit, I speak from the only perspective I know—the female one—I would love to see an analysis of what men were exposed to that formed their ideas about romance.  I’m not sure of the demographics, but I would wager that these Princess movies were not well attended by little boys.  If they were there, it was begrudgingly.  Their other friends, who did not have sisters, were out in the yard with GI Joe planning the next battle.  In my day, Joe was on the same size scale as Barbie, not the miniaturized version we see today and my long brown haired Barbie was hot for him.  Poor Ken, especially the metrosexual Malibu version, never had a chance against a Soldier. But you may feel sorrier for Joe.  He has no idea the plans Barbie was cooking up in her little plastic head which included an extended honeymoon and moving him into her Dreamhouse.

 Boys were exposed to ideas and games that centered on conquering, building and strategy.  Even if they were forced to sit through a romantically plotted Disney movie, did they relate to the male leads and formulate their future dating protocols based upon how Aladdin or The Beast got the girl?  I venture to say, probably not.  I am not suggesting that the boys that grew into men are romantically deficient, but I don’t think that Disney had the same kind of influence.  Not directly, anyway.

So why am I perturbed, specifically, at Walt?  He didn’t invent these stories.  Cinderella was written originally in 1634 by Charles Perrault, Snow White was a Brothers Grimm story and The Little Mermaid was written by Hans Christian Anderson.  These fables, in book form, have been around for years; voraciously consumed by little girls around the world. 

Walt just capitalized on a transcendent theme—love-- and brought it to the masses.  And in doing so, these stories and lessons were not only available to everyone, but with Disney’s ingenious marketing and bottomless bucks, they were as assimilated into the female psyche as quickly and permanently as food coloring permeates cupcake frosting.  I don’t think it was his intent to brainwash a generation of women into believing that we should expect a fairytale ending.   But in retrospect, did we anyway?

That “Princess” mentality can be best illustrated at a wedding.  The whole focus is on the bride, the star of the show, wearing a big white dress (lest anyone should miss her) and the pageantry of her stroll down the aisle, complete with theme music.  She also has a supporting cast of giggling bridesmaids, hoping that they are next.  Later on at the reception, the baton will be passed and verified through the ridiculous ritual of catching the bridal bouquet.  You catch it?  You’re next.  It’s the law.  Yeah, the law of “magical thinking”.

Recently I had a debate with a married relative who happened to be a male.  I was speaking, with what I thought to be realism and not fatalism, about my failed romances.  He sweetly told me that just because it had not happened, didn’t mean that it wouldn’t.  He offered suggestions such as “going where men go”, “making eye contact” and “being approachable”.  He laid these on me with the conviction and fervor of a televangelist.  He kept saying that things will work out and that when I least expected it, it would happen.

Wait a minute. He was quoting me relationship platitudes?  Where did he conduct his research? Although I appreciated the optimism, I was frustrated because I was looking at the evidence.   The Walt Disney blinders were off.   Just because you want it, doesn’t mean you get it.  Was he confident because he was already married and had been for 16 years?  Probably.  But he didn’t get married until he was almost 40, AND he confessed that he would have been OK either way.  He simply had no expectations.

And that is what I’m left with……..the Princess-fostered ideals women have and the pressure they put on men to meet them.   Even if they are the most swashbuckling of their friends, it's hard to battle and win against the elaborate machinations of the female mind, in love.  It is powerful, inpenetrable, unbending and fueled by years of research.   Not only do they have to compete with the girl’s “perfect” father, but also with every Prince in every fairytale that has presented a distorted reality.  Princes are never late to dinner, always complimentary, don’t have two inch nasal hairs and are indestructible.  Princes, after disrobing, don’t leave their royal garb in a pile on the floor for someone else to pick up.  Real men are flawed and insecure.

But so are real women.  We don’t use the mirror that is used for magical incantations and turn it around on ourselves to reflect back our own imperfections.  The fairytale Princesses are always kind and cheerful in adversity.  You don’t see them talking to their girlfriends on the phone, dissecting every bad romance in which they are always the victim and never at fault.  We blame men for our shattered dreams.  And I’m no different.  But currently my vitriol is centered on just one man—alright, a dead one—but a man just the same.

At the risk of sounding like a mean-spirited, man-hater, if I ever do have the chance to meet Walt Disney-- or rather his mythically frozen head-- I may thaw it out  ( don’t want to break a nail, after all) and slap him on behalf of all woman-kind.  He needs to know that his commercialization of fantasy romances have helped to set women up for failure.  He needs to feel the sting of unmet expectations that were sold to little girls, disguised as wholesome entertainment.   And while I’m at it, I’ll slug him in the nose for the guys since they have plenty to be pissed off about, as well.

And we'll all live happily ever after.  The end.



The Love Boat Conspiracy Theory

I don't think we realized the ulterior motives of the producers of Love Boat when it was happening. Every week, the same crew of Issac, Captain Stubing, Gopher, Doc and Julie welcomed fresh passengers aboard the Love Boat, exciting and new. For nine years, every Saturday night we watched in anticipation to see who was going to walk up that ramp onto the Promenade Deck. Would it be Charo, Sid Caesar, Hans Conreid (you are probably more familiar with his cartoon voice overs than his face), Engelbert Humperdink, Jack Jones (who also sang the theme song), Carol Lynley, Hayley Mills, Minnie Pearl, Charlene Tilton, and the proverbial kiss of death...Alan Thicke? We loved watching the antics, perils and love affairs aboard the ship. And the love affairs, oh the love affairs. I'm pretty sure that Charo was on multiple episodes with the hunk du jour at the time. That Charo could give some good coochy coochy which explained her numerous appearances, right?


I believe that there was something more sinister lurking behind the scenes. I suspect that someone was greasing the casting director's palms. Some of the has-beens that made it on the boat should have been left on shore. They weren't "all that" even in their prime and way too old to be flirting with Captain Stubing. There was an "ick" factor present that I don't think we considered back then. Could an appearance on the Love Boat be part of the SAG contract? Actors are part of a union and I would not be surprised to find out they were guaranteed a spot. And if you could provide pictures of the casting director with a goat, you got double or triple booked. (hence Charo's repeated visits, I'm guessing) It just seems logical considering the amount of terrible over-acting that took place week after week. Or perhaps, over a lifetime of mediocre work or one hit wonders, an actor earned credits similar to the comps one accumulates at a gambling casino and they could cash them in as a last ditch effort to revitalize their career. Or at least earn enough money to apply to the SAG old folks home.



But let's not limit our exploration to just the Love Boat. There have been other television vehicles that have participated in the entertainment industry's dirty little secret. Fantasy Island, which came on right after Love Boat had a similar modus operandi along with Love American Style. The formula was really quite brilliant and self serving. Design a program that contained a structure that was thematic (love offered unlimited potential) with a permanent host/cast supplemented by guests that varied on each episode. Depending on what actor was available--let's say, Robert Goulet-- the scriptwriters could create a character just for him that capitalized on his talent and body of work-- a sunglasses wearing, turtleneck sporting, matinee idol/Vegas- style crooner that Will Ferrill parodied so well on SNL years later. It was reverse casting. Instead of writing a script and searching for a suitable actor, the star was found first (probably lurking just outside, smoking a cigarette in the studio parking lot) and then the script was written. It cut out nasty contract negotiations and endless audition lines.

Game Shows were not exempt. Hollywood Squares, Match Game, What's My Line and Password all had celebrity players, but the casting became more challenging. These celebrities were not hiding behind a role, they were themselves and had to actually demonstrate some smarts and gamesmanship. With the upgraded selection process, the candidate pool was limited, but those that made the cut were potentially able to revive their careers with this thirty minute exposure on national television, basically a free audition. But some were able to make a career out of it --Paul Lynde (center square), Brett Sommers (raspy voiced actress married to Jack Klugman), Richard Dawson (Match Game to hosting Family Feud) and Charley Weaver (what he did prior to Hollywood Squares is unclear). As an aside, each show was peppered with some "dumb" bombshell that titillated us with this stereotype or defied it by actually being intelligent. Either way, it was entertaining.

Let's fast forward 30 years..........can you think of any current programming that uses this same formula? Yep, you got it....Dancing with the Stars, Celebrity Apprentice and Celebrity Fit Club. The death of the celebrity game show is resurrected through the transfusion of the new blood of reality television.

Think about it. You bring together celebrities in a prime time venue and see if they can dance it out over a 6 weeks. How do they select the cast? First, they eliminate entertainers that are currently working on projects because, well, they have a job. You're not going to see Jon Hamm (although I'd like to), Jennifer Aniston or Denzel in the line up for the new season. So let's dip into the pool of has-beens that are growing in numbers every day. Then let's narrow that search down to people that are still ambulatory and won't stroke out during the season. (However, a little fainting spell is ok and quite the ratings booster, Marie.) We end of with the likes of David Hasselhoff, Drew Lachey, Brooke Burke, both the Osmonds, Cloris Leachman and Jennifer Grey. And along with that comes coveted prime time coverage on The View, late night talk shows, National Enquirer stories and the Holy Grail.....Entertainment Tonight. It can be quite a coup if you can make it past the second week of competition and really exploit all that publicity. Who can blame these actors for risking injury and embarrassment to get their shot in the limelight? Either that, or find some product they can endorse such as a weight loss program, miracle face creams, perfumes or penis enhancement system (not happened yet, but look for it)

I'm all about second chances. Look at Betty White, the last surviving Golden Girl. She's never been so hot. But she didn't have to resort to Dancing with the Stars in order to become a household name again. She is out there because of her talent and splendid body of work and probably an energy drink laden manager. Maybe I'm just a cynical purist, but I refuse to be caught up in a phenomenon that promotes Crystal Palin, Pamela Anderson and "The Situation". But more than feeling manipulated by a show that may be nothing more than a promotional propaganda machine, I do understand the intrinsic appeal of "The Underdog" and "Comeback" stories. We want to think that we could have our own chance at a re-do. Can the vicariousness watching of these shows spring us into action? Or do we really want something more tangible and real world?

What if there was a grass roots movement-- a collective of Joe Schmos and Gal Fridays (the viewers of these shows)-- and they created their own reality show, a REAL reality show, where the common person could take their stash of past business successes (sales awards, company logo shirts, recommendation letters); or personal successes (mastering Mandarin Chinese, happy and gainfully employed children, extensive portfolio of tried and true recipes) or the accumulation of everyday living (mounting pile of walmart bags, 30 years of tax returns and National Geographic collections) and cash them in for valuable prizes such as a mortgage pay off, a midlife dream career or maybe even a cruise......if that floats your boat. The People's Love Boat. Now THAT would be exciting and new.


But we would probably have to unionize and a unionized society.......yeah, that smells like communism. Never mind. That self feeding Hollywood paradigm would not work in the real world. Art may imitate life, but it fails in the reverse. I don't think Jimmy Fallon is going to want me on his late night talk show extolling my starring role in my own mid life crisis and promoting the latest iteration of my resume-- "coming to an employment office near you"-- in an attempt to revitalize my career. It's OK, Jimmy. No hard feelings. I, too, would rather talk to Justin Timberlake and Tina Fey, even if they were just recounting how they organized their closets while on hiatus last year.

My drama is played out on a much smaller stage. In my personal show, I am captain in my own version of The Love Boat; steering in uncharted waters toward an unknown destiny wondering how to decipher the complex instrumentation. There is no manual and I am clamoring to figure it out as I go. The ship has set sail, there is no pause button and I am forced to draw on past experiences, good and bad, to point me away from Gilligan's Island (sorry, but I don't want to be marooned on a deserted island, wearing coconuts for a top and putting on skits for an audience of 6) and toward Reinvention Island (I made it up--poetic license). I am not alone. I have my regular cast of characters--family, friends and acquaintences--all poised to help me in the journey. But I sure could use a second mate; someone that may not have the manual either, but would collaberate on all of the various decisions that have to be made in order to reach our destination. I'm sure you know what I'm alluding to because it is so obvious.

I need Gavin MacLeod.Can someone get him on the phone? Is he still alive and available? He would be perfect for the part. He probably still has his costume. Wait, isn't that him strolling through the studio parking lot, talking on his iPhone? Hey, Gavin, come see me, we need to talk.

See how that works?

The Incredible Edible Egg Time Capsule

In 1979, I brazenly declared to my college friends that as part of my trip to California that summer, I was going to be on a game show. Youth often produces illegitimate optimism. However, as it turns out, that prediction actually came to be as I was the last contestant called that summer day on The Price is Right at the CBS studios in Hollywood. I had one chance to guess a prize to get on stage. You would have thought it was rigged because the items up for bid were two Brumby Rocking Chairs from Marietta, GA. What? Wait, I am from Atlanta......easy peasy? But I was a collegiate and really, what did I know about the price of anything other than a pack of cigarettes, text books, beer and occasional pair of painters pants from Sears? One lucky guess later and I was up on stage with a very tall and very dark haired Bob Barker. It was all a blur from there. It was fortunate that I had a friend that had one of these new video recorders and captured a copy of that show when it actually aired months later. Luckier still? It was a VHS recorder and not a Betamax.


Being on a game show can certainly be great cocktail party conversation....and I have developed a quite engaging description that I can throw out there if needed. However, an unexpected benefit of having this 30 year old Price is Right tape is that it has proven to be a veritable time capsule of a slower and simpler time. Typically when people find out I have this recording, they want to see it, I have it cued to the spot where I am on the show from the last time I showed it. But I ended up watching the whole tape just recently (cable must have been out) and I was amazed at what I saw.


I saw the incredible edible egg and other commercials that I hadn't seen/thought about in years. I was struck at the self-indulgent pacing and style of these "pitches" against our current backdrop of blazingingly fast images inspiring us to buy cars, computers, cell phones and cereal. This was pre-MTV and it really demonstrated how things have changed to such a frenetic speed. The 1979 commercial spots took time to tell a story, had less editing/scene changes and more eye contact with the camera. Multi tasking was not in our venacular. Is there a psychologist out there that would like to do a study on a potential link between attention deficit disorder and the onslaught of images that we are exposed to in any given day?


As I watched this hour long program, I could feel my countenance relax. I observed that the colors were even more muted (I'm sure there is some great technical explanation, but let's just suspend that notion for now). The actors even spoke slower. Sentimentality aside, I truly believe this is a picture of how intense things have gotten over the last 30 years. We can do more so we expect more. This spinning globe is the same, we are just running around it faster and really, for what? In 1985 I had a job as an outside salesperson where I covered a very large geographic territory. Only 3 ways I could communicate with a client.....one...face to face appointment, two...phone call or....three...letter. 3 ways!!!! Is that sinking in? Now in 2010, let's add these to the list....fax, email, text, website, teleconferencing, skype, etc. No wonder energy drinks and coffee sales are at an all time high. We need this extra boost just to make it through a "normal" day.


I must be careful not to be too reflective or melancholy about the past otherwise I will miss living in the present. I embrace technology. I love the fact that I can have my entire music collection on an ipod and not have this huge stereo system made up of a turntable, tuner, tape player, humongous speakers and crates and crates of record albums. I love to be able to google anything and never have to go to bed at night with one of those lingering questions, like.....who were the actor and actress that played in Harold and Maude? And what other movies were they in? Can they be linked to Kevin Bacon? And are they still alive? ad nauseum......... I love the ability to have pictures taken and delivered to out of town friends with my iphone in a matter of minutes. That is crazy, right? My 1979 brain would have put that in the category of Science Fiction. I love to have a selection.......of whatever........shaving cream, m&m's, ice cream, shampoo, cereal, milk. But I also loved the simplicity of past limited choices as well. Four channels on tv (3 major VHF channels and one very fuzzy UHF channel). Keds or Converse. Levi's or Wranglers, Chevy or Ford. Coke or Pepsi. McDonald's or Burger King.


Self awareness is good. I have seen society progress and I feel that I have some advantage of having lived through those changes as they unfolded. With this recent economic downturn, and a movement toward simplicity, I am doubtful we can really go back. And if we could, would we want to? So, let us move forward while embracing the past......and make it our mission to never, ever forget that self imposed symbol of a kinder, gentler time......the incredible edible egg. I take mine over easy.

When did that happen?

So when did the change happen? Just like the day in the 90's when I went into the music store to buy a record and it had switched over to all CD's, I was struck with the thought, when did that happen? Was I that out of touch that I didn't see that coming? Recently I was in an antique store, with the emphasis on "antique" when I saw a vendor that specialized in retro toys. Oh yeah. Most of the toys were from my generation......a well used game of Operation, Nancy Drew books, a gyroscope (if you have to ask what that is, you are not a boomer), pogo stick, Mousetrap, Jane West doll, and the best one of all.....Clackers. AAAAHHHHH, clackers. So much fun. Two large acrylic balls on a string with a handle in the middle. The purpose was to get those balls moving up and down so that they met and made this huge noise. Loved them. We used to have contests of how long you could keep that toy clacking. I was pretty good at it so I made sure that we played that at recess......along with baton twirling and keep away.

Sadly it may have been the first toy recall in history when they found out that those acrylic balls could shatter with pieces flying right into your eye. My mother confiscated my clackers with great protestations from me. I even used some of my best 7th grade negotiation skills. You know the drill...."Come on, Mom. I will be careful with them. I won't clack them too hard. Nobody else's Mother is taking theirs" Didn't work......clackers were gone. So I had to return back to competitive paddleball. You can still buy this toy. A small wooden paddle with a rubber ball attached with a stapled rubber band. We were pretty sincere in our attempts to keep everyone at a level playing ground. If you recall, it didn't take long for the particularly ambitious player to break that rubber band, pronto. So you kept stapling the rubber band back to the paddle losing a little length at each repair. We would check each player's equipment to make sure they had less than 3 staple marks in order to be in compliance of our playground rules. George Brett and his pinetarred baseball bat wouldn't have stood a chance with our self imposed set of playground rules.

So when did it happen... when my toys are now fodder for those on an antique hunt? I tried not to take it personally. I'm sure that the biggest consumers of these items are baby boomers like myself, looking to reminisce about a simpler time. And not to be bitter about my long gone clackers, but seriously, can a wooden paddle with a wayward rubber ball/projectile really be any safer?