Stiletto bootie: Demi Moore vs. Gisele Bundchen

Smart ^^^^ Don't walk. Just look cool like Gisele Bundchen. I see her now and then and she always looks breezy. The first time was in St. Tropez and like many young women there, I wanted to touch them to see if they were real. They are.

I often am amazed at what shoe designers come up with in their efforts to dazzle, and pull in female consumers.  The latest trend, or yet another sneaky way to keep women on their toes is the "stiletto bootie."  Could their be a more fitting oxymoron? The one above also comes with deadly studs, so could also come in handy as a weapon. But for the sake of this argument.

Here is a random stiletto bootie:

Here are my booties:

Here is the combine brainchild of Christian Louboutin:

I'm not going to be slipping that thing on when I get out of bed to make pancakes.

Like all fashion trends, designers call upon celebrities to bring awareness.  Here is Demi Moore at the Sundance Film Festival when the trend was just beginning. I call this the death-trap bootie. Why anyone would trudge through three feet of snow, capped with ice in stilettos is beyond me.

As an aside, one year at Sundance, my dear friend Allegra Huston and I were walking down slick, snowy Main Street and as we approached an alleyway, this enormous black SUV came barreling between gift shops without stopping. God forbid he arrive late to the next trendy party. Allegra slipped and fell, right in his path. The driver had no intention of stopping, in fact he would have killed her, but that's Hollywood.

I quickly grabbed Allegra by the ankles and pulled her to safety on instinct. We were both kind of shocked, but okay. Unlike Demi, not one person came to our aid, despite Allegra having done a face plant. The driver never looked back. We dusted off the snow and ice and carried on. Allegra was wearing thick, rubber-soled snow boots.  We were soon laughing and figured it was a kind of rapid oxygen facial.

Here we have Jessica Simpson, not only wearing 5" bootie heels, but is pregnant, carrying heavy bags and walking in the middle of the street. In LA. The city with the worst drivers per capita in the nation. I suggest she at the very least cross at a light.

And who can forget poor Gwyneth Paltrow at the Grammys? Not that I watched. But this borders on, well, just plain dumb. I get everybody wants to own/wear/be seen in Louboutin shoes (except possibly me) but this girl deserves some kind of Olympic prize for making it down the stairs, while singing, dancing, smiling and getting her Plume on.

Let's look more closely at the Plume. It's the top of the line bootie, costs more than a small vehicle and frankly is ugly. But that's me. I get these are "works of art." But then put them in a museum behind glass.

Aren't women tortured enough in this society regarding their looks? Not only does this society encourage women to get to cut up their faces, starve themselves to death and where clothes that are grossly uncomfortable, now the idea is to turn them into cripples as well.

Then, yet another genius idea. How could any shoe designer not think of this? "Hey! We missed something. Let's make a mountain hiking boot but a stiletto bootie! Every actress and socialite will where them to Aspen."  Look at this thing--

Unless the heels are serving as crampons, this company should be sued. Things will not turn out well for this girl.

All women know when wearing a high heel, they have to factor in a mathematical problem.  It looks something like this:

On any given occasion you can raise the slope to ground factor, then proceed. I didn't get this right until my 3rd time at a garden party. I'm standing on a steeply sloped, perfectly manicured lawn talking to oh, probably some very important people.

"Rhonda, let's go over to the bar and grab a drink."

So we start to wander over, but my 5" heels are stuck in the thick, moist sod. You never know this is actually happening because you don't actually feel yourself slipping into the quicksand grass. Therefore, when it comes time to actually move, your heels are firmly embedded, you are not, and falling face down ensues. It's horrifying.  But once you get the ratio graph worked out, you'll be fine.

These shoes of course are never made for men. This might be why.

I have a theory why Stiletto Booties are so popular right now. Okay, it doesn't take a lot of brain power. Super Heroes. We are surrounded by them. They are everywhere. Movies, TV, books, board games, role-playing. (Not that I would know.) But what male designers don't seem to understand is women can barely walk in these things, let alone defend herself against Evil Avengers.

So, as women, just remember, this too shall pass.

Goodbye NRA!

Dear NRA members

We, The Enlightened States of America (E.S.A.), are all getting sick and tired of your stale arguments regarding your right to “bear arms.”  Back in 1791, because there was no National Guard and a lack of trained soldiers, the government deemed the 2^nd Amendment worthy; that is to protect people from thieves, bandits, Native Americans and slave insurrection.  The government also wanted to remind the rest of the world the U.S. was well armed, dang it, so don’t even think about messing with us.

But we are also talking loaded muskets and not assault weapons that have no place in our present, civilized country. Not to mention the ideology behind the 2^nd Amendment is outdated by a few hundred years.

We now have a nearly impenetrable U.S. military and outstanding National Guard. There is simply no need for local militias. We understand you are still sore about our giving rights to minorities, but we have a plan for that.

We know you are made up primarily of good old white boys that have spent more time at the gun range than at school, and feel naked without your guns. We are not unsympathetic to this need. We understand you will do nearly anything to preserve your right to “bear arms” even though many of you have no idea what that actually means. And it seems the more it’s threatened, the more noise you make.

Let’s not forget it was you, the NRA, that backed the first major federal gun regulation, the 1934 National Firearms Act, which was upheld by the Supreme Court.  

In essence, it states, the 2^nd Amendment did not protect the right of individuals to possess guns for private purpose. Instead, it was restricted to the keeping and bearing of arms by the people collectively for their common defense and security. (General Robert Jackson.)

As time wore on, this was not good enough for gun lovers. Clearly there would be no need for a militia, so you wanted the reigns loosened, the wording adjusted just so-- to give the illusion to all Americans they are being cheated of their gun rights.

You wanted the “false” right back to “bear arms” under any circumstances. And you had enough supporters and money to start making this happen.

Timing is everything. Hello 1970!  You, the NRA, and millions of conservatives, saw an opportunity to shrewdly piggyback on the minority and women’s rights movements.

You start screaming:  “Hey, we have rights too! Protected by the US Constitution no less! If you are going to start making new amendments, let’s revisit this one!”

You then created a giant lobby and publicity apparatus to spread this new doctrine.  During all this politicking, Chief Justice Warren Burger said that the 2^nd Amendment “has been the subject of one of the greatest pieces of fraud—repeat fraud, on the American public by special interests groups that I have ever seen in my lifetime.”

Sadly Burger had retired by then and you were in full force, with a mighty mission. Get that message out there---“Americans!  You have the right to carry guns! Don’t let the government tell you otherwise!”

It matters not to you that technology has changed to such a degree people assume they can own a cache of military weapons for no reason at all. We are certain our forefathers did not intend to give everyone a warm gun to take wherever they pleased: shopping malls, Tupperware parties, weddings, single mixers, churches, parks, and so on.

Given you have deaf ears when it comes to any rational discussions and in fact offer up a solution suggesting what this country really needs are more guns, the E.S.A has come up with a finely executed proposal.

Let’s not forget you are still terribly disappointed regarding the $19M dollars you spent on this election to no avail. Your solution? Stockpile more guns for fear of government take over.  Not to mention after every massacre, you all make a run on guns, so we assume you are fully equipped and ready to fight.

Therefore the E.S.A has a plan of action where everyone wins.

1)   Keep your assault weapons, automatic rifles, pistols, handguns, and hunting rifles and leave the US. You clearly think it isn’t safe, so leave. What you need is a war. In war, you can sling as many ammo magazines around your waist as deemed necessary. We suggest you go as mercenaries. This way, you are helping people and countries in dire need of protection.  Many of you contend, “We are a peaceful bunch,” therefore it should be your obligation to render said peace around the world where wars are taking place right now. There are plenty of opportunities. To name a few, Darfur, Libya, Somalia, Republic of Congo, Nigeria, and Mali.

2)   We have great confidence in your marksmanship skills. Most of you boast about this incessantly.  Time to put those skills to good use.

3)   Many of you also don’t believe in paying taxes. And many of you are in jail for killing someone with a gun. Imagine the money the US will save by not having to support your sorry existence in the US, not to mention the enormous savings regarding correctional facilities.  Plus we can cut back on Defense Spending knowing we can call on you at any time. We can put that financial surplus to more important things such as education, energy sources, clean air, mental health, scientific research, Social Security, Medicaid, homelessness, health coverage, parks, the arts, transportation, deficit reduction, an endless list of ways to improve the quality of life in the US.

4)   Given the peculiar high rate of obesity among you, another huge savings for the US would be in health care costs and food alone. A large majority of you does not have your own health insurance either. So the government is picking up the tab on that one. We will provide you with proper nutrition classes, physical training courses and meditation seminars free of charge.

5)   Imagine having your own all-white male fraternity! What could be more fun? In your units, you won’t have to deal with any people of color, differing religions since you are all mainly Christian, and we will provide you with as much beer and Playboy magazines as you would like. In your down time, you are free to discuss how Suddam Hussein was responsible for 9/11 and dinosaurs roamed the planet a few years ago with great enthusiasm and no counter opinions. There will be no age limit in this proposal. A 65-year old man with an assault weapon can come in very handy when a village is under attack.

6)   For services rendered, the longer you stay away and protect other countries from harm, the more you will benefit. During your service, you will earn American dollars, though you will be required to pay tax; you will receive a free college education upon return; you will have access to health insurance. There will only be one condition upon return; you will be required to hand in your weapons. If you find this impossible, then you don’t return. We understand the financial compensation will not come close to the amount of money you earn through kickbacks on gun sales, but after you’ve seen the reality of war, you may decide to settle for a little less.

7)    If you happen to die while on active duty, we will pry your rifle from your “cold, dead hands” but anoint you a hero in the line of action.

Sincerely

Citizens of the Enlightened States of America.

Below is from NRA anon member:

The Nanny Statists are on the war path, here in the United States. While their incessant calls for a ban on semi-auto firearms will probably fail, I predict that a bipartisan compromise in Congress will result in a new ban on full capacity magazines. This renewal of the 1994 to 2004 ban will likely have a grandfather clause, but no sunset clause. So TODAY is the day to do your best to round out your family's multi-generational supply of magazines. Even if you' don't already own an AR-15 or and AK-47, buy a dozen magazines for each. And for all of the guns in your battery that can accept 11+ round magazines, consider six magazines per gun to be a bare minimum, and 20 per gun to be a comfort level. Do not hesitate on this, folks.Prices are likely to gallop, once the details of Senator Feinstein's ban bill are announced! And even if common sense prevails in congress, at a minimum we can still expect an executive order that will ban the importation of 11+ round magazines. So this makes buying magazines for your foreign-made rifles (AK, FN PS-90, FN-FAL, FNAR, Galil, HK, etc.) or handguns (Beretta, FN, Glock, HK, SIG, etc.) your highest priority.

Planking Junkies

Planking Junkies by Rhonda Talbot

My latest story in The Rusty Nail Magazine, click above link or read below. Thanks!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day Coral graduated rehab, she was asked to become a counselor. The hours were good, decent wage, and the only requirement was having a valid driver’s license.

 “Sure. I love helping people.” Coral actually had little regard for others, but needed the job. She knew she had blown her opportunities as a registered nurse in one short year after getting caught stealing meds. A darn good job too. But she was programmed in rehab to “not regret the past.” So she didn’t.

Coral was considered a “lightweight” drug user, or a party girl, taking painkillers recreationally with champagne chasers.  There was nothing remarkable about Coral’s looks, but the pills and booze gave her a sense of belonging in otherwise out of reach trendy clubs.

After she was fired from the reputable hospitable, and having forgotten to pay her rent for a few months, and after her car was repossessed, her parents flew out from Michigan and drove her to Belle Grande in West L.A., hoping their prized only child would straighten up.

They had spent over half a million dollars on Coral’s education, first a prestigious private high school, then Sarah Lawrence. Her Healthcare major was a big disappointment, intensified by her utter lack of ambition. Coral’s ability to obtain gainful employment softened the riff between them but it did not last. Of course, the rehab sticker price of 40 grand didn’t help matters.

 Coral enjoyed the recovery center, and met some colorful characters, “hipsters” that generally would never associate with her on the outside. Musicians, writers, and a few actors on TV network shows. The people were similar to those at the cutting-edge clubs, except now they talked to her, laughed with her, even if communal participation was mandatory. Coral did not mind.

 Most of the addicts were entertaining, droll, some quite attractive.  Coral felt this was the real reason she had moved to Los Angeles in the first place. Sure, she loved nursing but it was not a coincidence she chose Los Angeles when looking for a job.

 Belle Grande boasted a sequestered section referred to as the “hopeless cases,” the junkies, who were kept in their own special ward, sealed off like contagion. She occasionally saw them in the meal hall huddled together like a zombie brotherhood. They intrigued her the most with their Twilight mystery and sexy allure.

 Much to Coral’s delight, this would be the group she would be assigned to. Newcomer “techs” were low on the rehab totem pole thus she was relegated to the scourge.

On her first day, Cora wore a tight, black miniskirt, a tank top, heels and black eyeliner hoping to impress the junkies.

She was in the office punching in her employment card.

“Hey. I’m Bobby. You’re counselor buddy.”

“Oh. Wow, really?” Bobby had graduated from the contagion unit just as she was entering the facility.

“I’m in Antioch now studying addiction counseling,” he offered without prompt.

“I’m a nurse. How funny.”

“Not really. Nurses have an incredibly high rate of addiction. I learned that recently.”

“Oh.”

 Coral couldn’t believe her luck, working alongside a celebrated musician who had jammed with Springsteen, The Foo Fighters, Dylan, Joanie Mitchell, and the Stones!  Then came his legendary fall into drugs, rehabs, and relapses. Though she was puzzled as to why he would give up his glamorous life, just toss it away to work toward some therapeutic degree; Coral deducted it had to be part of a plea bargain to avoid jail time.

 Coral had an outrageous crush on him. And had for years. Though old enough to be her father, she saw him as a kind of John Mayer plus 30 years more hard living.  Her heart was pounding but she had been trained to slow heartbeats and quickly brought hers down. Breath deep, tense muscles, hold, release.

 “We’ll be working with the lowest of the low, the scum. They’ll shoot you for ten cents and stab you for less.”

“What do we do exactly?”

He studied her with his famous hazel eyes.

“First of all lose that stupid skit, wear a bra and don’t wear jewelry unless you want to get shivved. Second, our job is to take them out. Museums, beaches, parks. Places they’ll hate.”

He led Coral to the ward. “Can you believe these idiots trust me with a key?”

“I used to listen to Baby I’m On My Way over and over in high school.”

“I don’t do that anymore.”

Bobby kicked open a door.

“Get your sorry ass out of bed loser!”

There were four beds, all young men covered in tattoos and heavy blankets. “Go away, Bobby.”

Bobby picked up a broom and started poking them one by one, then handed it to Coral.

“Here, you’ll get used to it?”

“I will?”

 Coral swept lint off one junkie’s back.  

“Yeah, keep doing that,” he moaned.

Bobby grabbed the broom and smacked him on the back of his head.

“Get up! Before the sun goes down. We’re going to the beach.”

They all grumbled and cursed.

“The vitamin D helps with withdrawal.”

Coral was pretty sure this was a lie, but they jumped up, all fully clothed, most wearing hoodies and heavy work boots.

“Who’s the hottie?”

“She’s a junkie like you, asshat. Now look at her. She’s going places.”

“I’m not a junkie, Bobby,” Coral whispered. He ignored her.

“Coral was a junked up, near- dead super model. Runways, magazine covers, the whole shebang. Now she’s got a photo shoot for Italian Vogue next week.”

Bobby winked at Coral to go along.

“Yeah, Vogue.”

But Coral was five feet four in heels, probably 15 pounds overweight and didn’t know the difference between Gap and Gucci.

“Come here, honey.”

Bobby nudged her.

The guy’s face looked like it had been chew off by a wild animal. He was missing teeth and smelled like dead fish. It occurred to Coral the junkies looked better from afar.

“You’re the only reason I’m getting out of bed. What’s your name doll?”

“Coral.”

“You wanna date when I get out?”

“I’m with Bobby now. We’re living together.”

“Okay, that’s enough. We have to get a few more.”  Bobby lifted Coral over his shoulder and for a moment she thought maybe this was all real.

 Sure he had dated famous actresses and models, but Coral was convinced he was ready to settle on a less complicated girl. He would study, she would get her job back, and they would learn to control their drug use, go to star-studded parties, and maybe have a penthouse wedding at the Soho House.

 Bobby drove to a semi-secluded beach and corralled the dope sick addicts onto the sand where he situated them next to each other, a symmetrical pattern of tightly woven cocoons resembling eight body bags.

 “Huh. That’s a perfect Instagram.” He took their picture on his phone and shared it on a dozen social websites.

Once settled, Bobby and Coral sat nearby, Coral’s opportunity to discuss their future, but his eyes drifted off taking in the beach Barbie’s playing volleyball a few hundred yards away.

“Is that natural? Her tits are perfect teardrops. And that ass! Watch her spike the ball. Shit.”

Coral took off her heels, and adjusted her tank top to partially reveal one breast.

“Man, it’s hot. Hey, Bobby, did you know that Eric Clapton wrote that song Layla for my grandmother. She used to tell me to never get plastic surgery.”

“What? Your grandmother was Patti Boyd?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s odd cause’ she never had any kids.”

“I mean, like a godmother.”

Coral’s entire body sagged in shame. Of all people she couldn’t have lied about. This potential romance was doomed for good. She thought about walking into the ocean and never returning.

“Anyway, I can always get implants.”

“Coral, you know the rule. No relationships for a year in sobriety. But I don’t think that applies to normies. I bet that girl in the red bikini never took a drug in her life.”

“I’m going to get them some water.”

“Hey, get me a Coke, would you?”

 Coral said a silent prayer to a higher power she did not believe in. Though she was told to surrender anything she might want for herself, she instead asked the power to force Bobby to fall in love with her.

She didn’t really want to get water for the junkies; she just wanted Bobby to taken notice of her firm ass as she walked away. She was certain he was looking. She held her breath and turned, but he was still sitting like a little boy staring at those girls like they were rare mammatus cloud formations.

Coral’s plan was to get everyone their drinks then continue into the ocean and drown, but as she approached the body bags, skeletal hands reaching out of blankets, some grabbing her ankles, she noticed one cocoon was deflated.

Coral returned to Bobby, handing him his Coke.

“Jill is not in her blanket.”

“Maybe she’s taking a piss.”

“Did you see her leave?”

“Are you fucking kidding? I can barely keep track of these girls. They must be UCLA co-eds. Jesus.  Don’t worry. Jill is probably looking for dirty needles in the sand.”

 After coming up empty on Jill in the bathroom, Coral followed her tiny footsteps south. Rickety beach bungalows were strung along the coast, surfboards lining their exteriors. Coral approached a gang of young, buff dudes patiently waiting for a good wave.

“Hey, have you seen a petite girl, all dressed in black.”

“Man, what a head case. Total spinner.”

“Yeah, another Bell Grande success story. She’s working on her fourth step, snorting what’s left of our coke.” They laughed.

“Holy shit!” A perfect swell was bubbling up and off into the ocean they ran.

Jill was sitting at a small kitchen table licking the remains of cocaine from a piece of white paper. Her sleeves rolled up, sweating from the heat and drug detox, Coral noticed a dozen or so slice marks up and down her reed thin arms.

“Hey. Hi. Don’t tell Bobby. Okay.”

“We have to go.”

“I’ll never get better. You know that, right?”

“I tried to kill myself once with a disposable shaver.”

“Now that’s lame.”

Coral gave her a candy bar.

“I remember seeing pictures of you and your mom in People all the time. I would be so envious. My parents are furniture.”

“My mom is a phony bitch. I’m her show pony and could never talk. It wasn’t fun unless I was high.”

Coral would never understand what it was like to grow up in the public eye, yet feel invisible. But Coral knew what it felt like for no one to see you. No words can fix that wound.

Leading Jill back to the group, Coral began to understand why Bobby gave up the life he had. After a while, she understood glamour wore off, perhaps an impossible dullness sets in. For all she knew, Bobby’s wound was bigger than hers. He was not the answer.  Maybe she bought Jill another day. Maybe not. But there was satisfaction in knowing that Coral had gotten Jill back inside the van, to Belle Grande, alive, and Jill possibly might survive another night. Coral could try and connect with her again. Tomorrow.

Top Christmas Albums 2012

With so many holiday albums to choose from and time running out, compiled is a list that won’t disappoint. While the classics such as Elvis Presley, Ella Fitzgerald and a remixed Charlie Brown are always available, some of these new artists are guaranteed to put you in the holiday spirit.

1. A Very Special Christmas – 25 years (2012) A great collection of artists going back 25 years, there is a bit a cheer in this jam packed record for everyone's enjoyment. Artists include Train, Jewel, Michael Buble, Rascal Flatts, One Republic, Christin Aguilera and more. Lots of festive tracks for various musical tastes.

2. Merry Christmas Baby by Rod Stewart (2012) Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame inductee proudly releases his first Christmas album. Many classics are song by the Grammy Award winning singer, as well as collaborations with Cee -Lo Green, Mary Blige and others. Upbeat, yet soothing, Rod Stewart has a way of spooning you into the Holiday spirit.

3. Holiday Rules (2012) Another complication album; though this one delivers all new recordings featuring rockers, alt-pop, bluegrass, electronica, jazz and more. A few of the artists include Paul McCartney, The Shins, The Civil Wars, Punch Brothers, Holly Golightly, Y La Bamba, Heartless Bastards, New Orleans Gosple and more. Easily the most anticapted and exciting album of the year.

4. Christmas in the Sand by Colbie Caillat (2012) Colbie’s pop radio hits such as Bubbly shot her up in the charts and her holiday album offers similar stylish takes on holiday classics, including a number of duets with Brad Paisley, and Jason Reeves among others. Breezy and fun, just like Christmas in Southern California.

5. Cee-Lo’s Magic Moment (2012) Cee-Lo and friends have created a spirited, funky and soulful record that will put a pep in your step all through the holidays. Already considered a classic, Cee-Lo's unique voice is matched up with some great classics that deserve repeat listening. The ablum also featuers Christina Aguilera and Rod Stewart.

6. Silver and Gold by Sufjan Stevens (2012) Box set. Certainly the most ambitious of the albums with 58 songs on five discs, Sufjan spreads his songs of hope, love and peace while mixing in autobiography, religious fantasy and history, the Chinese zodiac and animals too. The most unique and fascinating of the albums, Sufjan Stevens style of music defies description and so does this album. It is exquisite.

7. A Very Merry Perri Christmas by Christina Perri (2012) The Jar of Hearts break out singer brings her soulful voice to a variety of classics including a few original songs. The ablum also features choral contributions from varied artists such as Michelle Branch, LP and Bushwalla.

8. Home for Christamas by Celtic Woman (2012) Home for Christmas features the celestial voices of this all female Irish music ensemble. They cover many classics with superb harmonizing and an outstanding choir. Their uplifting music has transcended international borders and this album is no exception.

9. What Christmas Means by Kem (2012) R&B superstar Kem covers the classics in this touching, harmonic album that simply soars. Choirs, amazing vocal arrangements and superb production quality is a delight from beginning to end.

10. Cheers, It’s Christmas by Blake Shelton (2012) Blake covers the classics in a grand manor, brining in an orchestra and featuring several duet performances with Michael Buble, Miranda Lambert and his mother Dorothy Shackleford, among others. A highly anticipated album Blake fans will love.

Meanwhile, one of the most beautiful duets ever to be sung, by Eva Cassidy and Katie Melua  will not be an any record.

ONE DIRECTION Take 2

Okay, I was a little hard on the guys.  They're pop stars, charismatic and kind of cute. I had a talk with my nine-year-girl about the matter. She knew the song Little Things. To my surprise, she knew ALL One Direction songs or as she corrected me 1D.

A:  Mom, you don't get it. They are telling this girl they love her not matter what she feels about herself. Plus it's catchy.

Catchy?

Me: But don't you think it's odd that the boys point out the ways in which she hates herself?
A: No. Because maybe she does, he is helping her by saying no matter what YOU think, I love you anyway. Just like in their song What Makes You Beautiful. She could look like an ogre. He would love her. Why are you asking me this stuff? You don't get it.

Me: Well, what about the part where he's spying on her sleep talk. >>>>>>>>


A: Mom! He's just showing interest. Can you go now? I'm busy here. Can you shut the door, thanks.

Me: Okay, one last thing. If some boy would like you, only if you had, say green hair, or you were bigger or wore jeans, would you do that for him? You know, change for him?

A: Uh, no. Like, never. Why would you even ask that?

I felt like I slipped in a teaching moment, but it wasn't even necessary. My girls have great self-esteem. So far, so good. Nonetheless I need to run this by my cultural odometer guide for a hood check.

I took my complaint to my son who will surely understand why I don't think this is pro-girls, like say, Pink's song You're Perfect. Which I think is very empowering.

My son is a young adult and being at the older end of the Millennials, he has it all covered.

"I can't believe you are making me look at a video of One Direction. No, Mom. I will just read the lyrics."

I tried to impress on him the effect it may be having on the girls which is why he agrees.

He read the lyrics. I point out this section which I find suspect.

I know you've never loved
The crinkles by your eyes
When you smile
You've never loved
Your stomach or your thighs,
The dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine
But I'll love them endlessly

Son:  Mom, it's adolescent. They're like 15 or something. But I get what you are saying. The lyrics are lame. And kind of creepy. I don't even think they're musicians.

Me: See? So, I'm not crazy. Thank you.

Son: Sure. Can you get out of my room now? I need to finish this. Shut the door.

I guess when I reflect on what I was listening to at age nine, it's quite different. The Four Tops, The Supremes, Beatles, Beach Boys, Janis Joplin, The Doors. It was actual music. I don't know what to call this fuzzy pop stuff. But it's everywhere. And growing.

I don't watch any of those "make me famous" shows, but that is exactly what the judges encourage.  Sound poppy, superficial, catchy and be cute. Being white is a plus.

I have to let my kids listen to whomever they want and find their own way. I seriously can't believe I have become a parent that says, "Don't listen to that! It's the devils handiwork!"  For One Direction! Ridiculous.

My own parents never actually cared what I listened to, in fact my mother not only encouraged music, the darker the better, but took me to some awesome rock concerts. She even bought me drinks. I think I was ten at this one, Rod Stewart. Good times. I think the first lyric that really stuck with me was "welome to hell, mother f****rs!"

So I will lay off for now. At least they are not listening to Marilyn Manson or going to rock concerts in tube tops with their mother.

My Dumb Blonde Lightbulb Moment

I know you have asked yourself this, how many blondes DOES it take to screw in a lightbulb? 

Sure, this is a joke of mythic proportions. Along with all the other dumb blonde jokes. Hell, I've even laughed at most of them. Mostly because I'm blonde and I can screw in a lightbulb, so, you know, ha-ha.

But now the joke should be, "How many blondes does it take to screw in a halogen lightbulb, or fluorescent lightbulb, or energy savers, or LED's or CFL's? This joke just got real.

I'm not going out on a limb here by saying I'm pretty darn good around the house. I can fix broken doorknobs, drain a sump pump, change a fuse, light a water heater, patch a boo-boo and even mow the goddamn lawn.

Recently, my office wall light, hidden behind a lovely sconce, burned out. I replaced it with another halogen energy saver. Didn't work. Then another. Nothing. So I typed in the dark because who has time to deal with this stuff. I have books to write.

After tripping over my kid's tennis shoes for the fifth time and finally twisting my ankle, I thought I had better call an electrician  But first I had to find one. I certainly wasn't going to faffle with the wiring behind the sconce. A girl could get electrified.

At the same time, two wall sconces blinked off in the guest bedroom. So he or she could fix those too.

In my neighborhood, a fabulous woman called Paulette Light started this referral system. I had actually started one of these years ago, before Angie's List; I was even in beta, but I am just too damn ambitious. I wanted a referral system in every city in every state, then every country, all at once.  I was 70 pages deep in HTML planning with no end in site and eventually put it aside and moved on.

So when I came across Paulette's TheFriendex,  not called Momstamp I was overjoyed.  It works! Because it's our neighborhood and nearby environs, but is quickly growing and made up of friends, friends of friends, and so on. So the referrals are much more dependable and reliable than say- Yelp- which I never believe anyway.

I found a short list of electricians and jotted down their names.

"Hi. Is this the electrician?"
"Yes. I'm an electrician."
"Oh fabulous. I got your name off Momstamp. People seem to like you."
"Oh. Great. I can't say I know what that is, but happy to hear it."
"So this is Manny?"
"Uh, no. Josie."
"Oh, sorry, I wrote a bunch of names down. Anyway..."

I went on to explain my entire ordeal and almost got into my childhood before he could stop me. Then Josie said:

"What's a conch? You have sea shells on your wall?"
"No... you know those things on the wall that cover light bulbs."
"Oh. Sconce?"
"Yeah. Sconce. Sorry. Did I say conch? I've been writing all morning. My brain is mush."
"Okay. Have you put in a new bulb?"
"Well sure. But it didn't work."
"What kind of bulb?"
"The new kind. The twisty kind."
"Those are fluorescence energy savers. In some houses, they work for a bit, then stop. Have you tried an old fashioned bulb? The kind from 50 years ago?"
"Shit, has it been that long?"
"Seems."

I put in an old fashioned bulb. It was tricky because I couldn't see inside the sconce.

"Nothing."
"Okay. Hit the on switch. The wall switch."
"Oh. Right."

And it worked!

"Oh my god. I have light. Josie, you're a genius. Can you help me in the guest bedroom?"

I took the phone into the bedroom and stood on a chair, just over the bed.

"Oh. These are shaped like a worm."
"Okay. Those are halogen. See the clips that are holding the worm?"
"Yep. I'll unclip those."
"Well, be careful. Don't touch it if it's hot."
"It's freezing. I did it! But I can't wiggle this worm out."

And with that, I fell off the chair. It seemed like slow motion. Like in a Tom Cruise movie. My entire body was in free fall, the phone flew to the ground and I hit the bed and bounced once.

 I quickly got up and grabbed the phone.

"Josie? Sorry. I dropped the phone. I think I will leave this for later."

No way was I telling him what happened.

"Well, you sound all set."
"Can I pay you? You are so awesome."
"No. Glad I could help."

I had a feeling Josie was laughing his ass off after he got off the phone. I actually just told a woman how to screw in a light bulb. I bet she was blonde.

I now have light. In every room. And if I trip, I can no longer blame the dark. I do keep flashbacking on that free fall. Thank god my bed was there.  But then again the reason I fell is that I stepped on one of the 20 fat pillows I stack on the thing for some reason.

Which, btw, I just purchased on Dark Friday.

Rhonda Talbot weighing in on light bulbs.