Madonna said it in 1984. "We are living in a material world." That's all well and good, but Midge forgot to mention that we are also living in a rushed, rude and often ugly one. I'm not talking about the big problems. I'm talking about the genteel touches — or really, the lack thereof. To quote another famous M (one Ms. Stewart) "Manners matter." If Martha didn't actually say it, she's certainly thought about it. A lot.
Where are all the day-to-day niceties we left behind? I, for one, do my best to maintain them.
For example, this week I have reinstated the formal breakfast tray. Our family doesn't eat breakfast together unless we're on vacation. (Wouldn't that be nice? The eating breakfast together part, not the vacation part. Oh all right, the vacation part too.) My teenage daughter is the first to leave in the morning, while I eat after my walk. I'm not sure when my husband eats. At any rate, while she's putting the finishing touches on her ensemble upstairs, I typically cut her some fruit and prepare some starchy thing (with chocolate in it more often than not: croissant, muffin, waffles, you get the picture). A hot pink "Teen Advantage Vitamin" and a glass of water and ... voila! ... zee breakfast, shee ees served.
This week, I took a moment and went out to our little garden. I snipped some begonias, popped them in a crystal bud vase (wedding present), pulled out a tray, arranged the aforementioned gourmet repast and ... volia! ... breakfast was served with ever so much more class.
My daughter eyed me with a mixture of puzzlement and suspicion.
"It's nice," I told her. "It's like Downton Abbey."
Her expression remained the same but she cocked her head a bit which added to the effect.
"You know," I continued. "Like that time when Lady Mary was getting ready for school and Carson brought her a tray with a chocolate chip cookie dough Pop Tart and some fresh flowers, so she wouldn't have to get off her iPhone and go to the table?"
I was once again reminded that my daughter does not appreciate my considerable wit. Nevertheless, she has had flowers with her breakfast every day since.
This longing for a more refined life is also the reason I insist on beds that are made. This infuriates my daughter to no end. She finds it illogical, as well as "so-o-o annoying!" To me, it's a civilized ritual that marks an evening over, a new day begun. It instills the room with a sense of order and serenity. It has nothing whatsoever to do with my compulsive neatness.
Okay, so it does. Sue me.
"You can do whatever you want when you live on your own," I recite like a broken cliché machine, "In this house, we make the beds."
I did give her a pass for most of the summer. But, back to school means back to bed-making. This, despite having learned from our schooner captain that making a still-warm bed is like sending a backstage all-access pass, V.I.P. open house invitation to dust mites. Eeeeeeew.
I know I can't really roll back the calendar to a more elegant age. And I do live in the present as evidenced by my posts about Miley Cyrus and twerking (which achieved the highest hit rates I've ever had — how sad is that?). But, whether it's flowers on the breakfast tray or smooth sheets and throw pillows, I believe we can make an effort.
What else are we to do in today's graceless world?
Keep calm and ring Carson for tea.
In recent months, as the mother of a teenage girl, I have developed a great (okay, an enormous, a colossal, an absolutely frrrrrrkkkin' HUGE) appreciation for perspective.
Keeping things in perspective.
Here's what I'm talkin' about ...
My daughter stayed up later than we agreed and I was a little ... well ... pissed. Perspective: she was in her room. Not at a bar, not in a parking lot, not at the police station.
My daughter no longer likes the (overpriced) jeans she simply had to have. Perspective: we are lucky enough to be able to afford nice things. And, they will earn some much-needed money for the school's thrift shop.
My daughter's room is a mess. Perspective: while I may think of it as a "disaster area," in truth, we live in a safe house on a safe street in a safe town. As you can surmise, we are all safe. I've seen the results of disasters in New Orleans and New Jersey. Her bedroom doesn't really need assistance from FEMA.
"Wah wah wah," I say. Most of our issues are decidedly "first world problems." Especially when you put them in perspective.
So, with this in mind, I've given some more thought to the media storm around Miss Miley Cyrus. Just as there are far worse things than breaking a bedtime curfew, discarding virtually unworn jeans or trudging through piles of crap on a teenager's floor, there are worse things than a misguided young celebrity twerking on an awards show.
Perspective. She's young and pretty and vaguely talented.
How about so-called normal people twerking?
There are people who (without the benefit of Miley's backup dancers), twerk with their dogs and cats. Does this constitute animal abuse? Quite possibly. But that doesn't make it any less popular. "Twogging" is all over YouTube.
I weep for the future.
Then there are the safety hazards inherent in twerking. A video went viral this week of a young woman doing some sexy twerking moves for her boyfriend. (Whatever happened to love letters?) She was hot. I mean, she was really hot. I mean, she was hot, hot hot. On the off chance you didn't already see it (nearly 10 million people have), watch here.
Jimmy Kimmel has since come forward and confessed that the whole thing was a prank. The girlfriend in the video is actually a stuntwoman (good thing). Kimmel explained his motive as he thanked his gullible audience:
"Thank you for helping us deceive the world and hopefully put an end to twerking forever."
Perhaps the most tasteless and offensive of all, there are videos of ... moms twerking. That's right, moms. Oh, the horror!
I confess, I'm a mom and I have been known to twerk — although I didn't know at the time what it was called. I have one Zumba instructor who is an incredible dancer. But her style is not ... shall we say ... balletic. In fact, she channels her inner stripper every time she teaches. And we, her ragtag class of lumpy middle-aged moms, go along for the ride. We bend our knees, we place our hands on our thighs, we shake our booty, hinging front and back, and wagging our tushes for good measure in between. Yes, as sad as it is (and even sadder to watch, I have no doubt), we twerk.
I'm actually pretty good at it. In fact, I'm surprised that the makers of a particular workout video didn't call me to star in the TV spot. I mean, really. Moody teenager, "boring old mom," I could have done it in my sleep.
So, my husband, once he learned what twerking was (my daughter and I staged an impromptu tutorial in the kitchen recently), asked the age-old question:
"Can a twerp tewerk?"
The answer is "Yes." Everyone can twerk.
But that doesn't mean everyone should.
Right now, Google "Miley Cyrus VMA."
I'll wait.
Nearly a week after her ... um ... controversial performance at the MTV Video Music Awards, the search pulls up 389,000,000 results.
That's right. 389 m-i-l-l-i-o-n.
I've been writing Lovin' the Alien for about two and a half years now. And, if I do say so myself, I have the greatest fans in the world. Not only do they read and share and "like" my posts, but often they suggest new topics for me.
"Did you hear about the push-up bras at Abercrombie Kids?"
"What are you going to say about Corey Monteith?"
This past week, the requests have had a common theme: one former Hannah Montana.
"When are you going to write about Miley Cyrus?"
" 'Can't wait to read what you have to say about Miley Cyrus!"
"What do you think about Miley Cyrus?"
Here's exactly what I think ...
All the media brouhaha surrounding Miley Cyrus is much ado about nothing. Why do I say so? Let me count the ways ...
1. This is nothing new.
MTV's raison d'être is to push the proverbial envelope. They've been doing it since I was in college. (And we all know how long ago that was.) A provocative sexy performance on the MTV Video Music Awards? Ooooh, stop the press! Call the cops!
Puh-lease! It's MTV. What do you expect?
2. Ms. Cyrus is not a child.
The girl may have been in the public eye since she was a tiny tween, but she's technically a grown-up now. If she wants to get up in front of bazillions of viewers and shake, shake (SHAKE!) her booty, that's her business.
Do I think she's made consistently good decisions? Well, no. But we don't want her to stay a child star forever, do we? I mean, haven't you seen Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
3. It wasn't even that sexy.
For heaven's sake, she was wearing granny panties!
And, if it was too sexy for your youngsters, why are you letting them watch MTV?
4. All of this attention is just drawing more attention.
In a way, I have to laugh. They say 'the only bad publicity is no publicity.' So basically every person who raises his or her voice about this sorry spectacle is just raising the volume. To all of you outraged parents ... have we learned nothing from raising toddlers? If a two-year old is acting insane and you give them more attention, what will they do? Continue to act insane.
The best way to stop this particular insanity would have been to ignore it.
5. The act wasn't even good.
Let's face it, if there's any reason to criticize Miley, it's because her little performance was ridiculous. It began like a Build-A-Bear Workshop on crack. And what was with the tongue? I thought her father was Billy Ray Cyrus, not Gene Simmons.
As for those "shocking" moves? Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't a skinny white girl twerking kind of defeat the purpose?
The entire thing was cringe-worthy. But maybe that isn't the point.
Right about now, Ms. Cyrus is cringing all the way to the bank. This may prove to be a most brilliant career move.
And, if Miley does regret it, she needn't worry. Something equally stupid will take this story's place before too long.
Because if there's one thing we can count on even more than our society's obsession with the lewd ...
it's our collective attention deficit disorder.
