Hair Today

As Nick and I entered the restaurant, I knew the food could not possibly meet our expectations. “Pig,” a farm to table restaurant located in the countryside near Bath, England, had been recommended by a local friend when she heard that we would be staying in the Cotswolds. “Best meal of my life,” she said, “We stayed for hours.”  When my husband mentioned the restaurant to a business colleague in London, he expressed jealousy at our reservation.  We both flushed with pride at our insider’s knowledge.

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Podcast: Hair Today

Could the hair in my food be intentional?

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My Life in Stockings

The Debut

The girls’ dress code in my 1960s grade school consisted of a skirt or jumper, sturdy Oxford shoes and bobby sox or knee socks in the winter.  Stockings were not permitted.  Bare legs were allowed, but not a completely covered leg; at least a bare kneecap was required.  Perhaps the rationale was that stockings could draw curious eyes beyond the hem of the skirt and distract classmates from the serious business of education. Tights were eventually allowed, but not sheer stockings.

Dancing school started in sixth grade.  Boys wore coats and ties, girls wore little white gloves and a dress, something more formal than the shirt, skirt, and oxfords of the school outfit.  That left legwear up for grabs.  At the onset we all showed up with a classier version of bobby socks, perhaps with a demur bow or a ruffle flourish, but as the fall progressed classmates started to show up in sheer stockings and “party” shoes, defined as something other than sneakers or oxfords.

In the context of an innocent sixth grader, stockings became an explicit public display of emerging sexuality.  The onset of menstruation was a private matter.  The first bra did not come with same public announcement.  Stockings signaled that girls/young ladies might be receptive to an offer to dance, a passed note in class, or under the right circumstances an invitation to a game of Spin the Bottle.   As I climbed the stairs to the musty dancing school gymnasium, I could check out the legs ahead of me and see who had crossed that line.

My mother never discussed menstruation with me, which she called “the curse” as she handed me a box of Kotex.  I was on my own bra-wise.  However, when I told her that classmates were now wearing stockings, she took me to the local department store to pick out my first pair.  She didn’t want me to fall behind.

The saleslady showed us different colors – taupe, nude, ecru.  I draped a pair over my hand and held them up to the light to appreciate their shimmer and the shape outlining a stylish calf and foot.  A garter belt was only a utilitarian accessory, but its lacy floral design added to the allure.   The saleslady wrapped them up in tissue paper and put them in a flat square box.  Over the next few days, I would peek into the box, lift the tissue paper, and touch their nylon smoothness, awaiting my public announcement.

Pantyhose

Stockings with a garter belt were soon eclipsed by the unsophisticated pantyhose.  A dedicated trip to the hushed surroundings of the department store was replaced by a routine purchase at the grocery store, tossing random packages into the cart along with the cookie dough and dog food.  The popular brand L’Eggs wadded their pantyhose into an egg-shaped container.  There was no shimmer, no shape, only a wrinkled, characterless mass that looked a deformed fetal version of the real thing.

In my high school boarding school, the dress code still mandated skirts, but leg coverings were at the discretion of the student.  Bobby sox were out – we had all crossed the line at that point – but pantyhose were unbreathable and hot.  I missed the ventilation provided by the garter belt.  At days’ end, the best word to describe the suffocating pantyhose environment was “pooky,”  an ideal culture medium for yeast.  The winter work-around was knee-high boots.

As skirts became shorter and shorter, the expanse of unprotected thighs exposed to the winter winds increased.  The school allowed one concession, permission to wear pants if the thermometer dipped below 20 degrees.

Stockings thrilled me, but pantyhose awakened me to the double standard of the dress code.

Knee Highs

In the 1980s I entered the quasi professional world of my pathology residency, a job requiring a plastic apron, gloves, and a mask to protect me from spraying body fluids as I performed autopsies and processed body parts removed at surgery.  Though pants were allowed, I often wore a skirt to look more professional.  Even though my legs would be rarely visible under a desk or behind the autopsy counter, I felt bare legs would devalue the look.  The job won out over any feminist statement.

Fortunately, skirt lengths had dropped down from mid-thigh to rest just below the knee.  Knee highs were now a possibility, but only if they nestled in the crook behind the knee.  This was an unrealistic stretch goal.  I remember bending over to hike up the socks every few steps as I walked down the hall.  I began to recognize particular brands with more spunk, but gradually transitioned to wearing pants exclusively.  Weddings and formal events were a challenge, but as the decades wore on, skirt lengths dropped even further so that even saggy knee highs were adequate.

Current Day

The internet reports that sales of pantyhose have sagged over the past two decades, a result of changing dress codes and women who rise up and say, “Time to release the hostages.  These damned pantyhose are giving me queefy BO.”

Michelle Obama is among them.  The internet is full of pictures of her bare legs.  On the women’s talk show The View, Michelle revealed that she gave up pantyhose years ago because they were “painful.”

Others consider pantyhose “make-up for the legs,” a necessity for women who don’t have Obama’s toned legs or who cannot maintain a daily shaving habit.  I’ve never worn make-up and I rejected the woman’s dress code years ago, grateful I had a job that allowed me to do so without making a confrontational stink.  However, I still retain a whisper of vanity.  Age has taken its toll. Spider veins, various other dings and irregularities are not features I choose to display.  My legs have not seen the light of day for years.

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Podcast: My Life in Stockings

From stockings to pantyhose to knee highs, a fashion review.

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Hard Boiling It

Forty five years ago a friend introduced me to the crime fiction author, Ross MacDonald and his detective Lew Archer, a descendant of the hard-boiled detectives Sam Spade (Dashiell Hammett) and Phillip Marlowe (Raymond Chandler)   I devoured the series, reveling not so much in the plot lines – the type of seamy family dysfunction where you could marry your sister without realizing it – but rather Lew as a combination of PI, psychologist and philosopher punctuating the plot with cynical but insightful quips.  Sue Grafton’s alphabet murders (A is for Alimony, B is for Burglary) falls into the same category with the twist of Kinsey Millhone as a female detective working in a man’s world.

My original strategy for this pandemic summer was to work my way through David Foster Wallace’s 1,000 page acclaimed novel, Infinite Jest.  I crapped out by page 238, unable to digest his dense prose where a discernible plot was only an occasional flourish.  I felt like the book condemned me to eat a sumptuous meal encompassing all senses, where the waitstaff was equipped with a pair of tweezers to artfully rearrange three pea tendrils atop three (potentially toxic) foraged mushrooms.  One such meal can be appreciated, but not a steady forced diet.  Couldn’t do it.

A return to the hard-boiled detective novel was my work-around.  Ten years ago, I wrote my own crime fiction novel, featuring Liza Blue as the detective dispensing quotable quips as she works her way through a case.  The plot oozes with family dysfunction, peaking when Liza nails the identity of the young women, figuring out whether she is the client’s step-daughter, niece or grand-daughter.  The novel has idled in my desk drawer ever since.  Time to dust it off.  How would the wit and wisdom of Liza Blue match up against Spade, Marlowe and Millhone?  Continue reading

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Podcast: Hard Boiling It

Ten years ago I wrote a crime fiction novel featuring my detective Liza Blue.  How does her wit and wisdom compare to the icons in the genre – Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe and Kinsey Millhone?

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Pandemic Ponderings: Heinous Division

“In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories.”

For over 20 years the word “heinous” has been hammered into the American vocabulary via the opening lines of Law and Order: SVU.  Originally obscure, this word can now be heard any day of the week, multiple times a day if you dip into ubiquitous SVU marathons.  Heinous is now so commonplace that it has infiltrated the active vocabulary of millennials, who might say, “That dress my mother wants me to wear is, like, so heinous.”  The SAT has dropped heinous from its menu of challenging words.

The dictionary provides the following synonyms:  hateful, odious, abominable, reprehensible, atrocious, villainous, nefarious, infamous, flagrant, and flagitious (which the dictionary defines as heinous).  In an effort to steer clear of any “me too” offense, Vocabulary.com provides “clubbing of baby seals” as an example of heinous behavior.

Among the synonyms, heinous is the best descriptor of sexually-based offenses.  Nefarious implies cold and calculating, which eliminates the spontaneity of hormonally-fueled offenses.  Flagrant implies obvious, so does not capture the dark nature of the crime. (Jaywalking can be flagrant.)  The onomatopoeia of heinous is an attractive attribute.  The announcer’s somber tone implies something evil and dark.  Viewers must know that heinous cannot mean sunshine and light.  If you casually drop the “h” you are left with an allusion to a dark, dank, and forbidden piece of anatomy, a place where the sun don’t ever shine.

After twenty years, SVU has showcased every depravity multiple times.  The  writers struggle to find new plot lines.  Perhaps rethinking the story’s intro will provide a fresh jolt of creative energy.  Below are options from other writers.  These are their stories.

Cat in the Hat

There is Thing One and Thing Two that make something heinous

Trafficking of children and crimes against gayness

Oh dear, what a shame, what a shame

That such things happen that have such a name.

When a mess is too big and so deep and so tall.

We cannot fix it.  There’s no way at all.

But the man on the corner, he’s wears a blue hat

He’ll do the job, so thank him for that.

King James Bible

Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither pedophiles, forceful fornicators, nor peddlers of flesh.  Yea all are especially heinous unto him.

The Lord calleth them to kneel before an esteemed tribunal and they shall be judged.

The Lord also decrees that a man may now lieth with a man and woman with woman, and women may wear what pertaineth to a man, and a man may put on a woman’s garment.  These are no longer abominations and whosoever says so has committed a heinous act and will be judged.  So sayeth the Lord.

Ernest Hemingway

Man’s behavior is a moveable feast of good and bad.  Moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.  That old fisherman made one mistake, and he felt bad, but it was a heinous mistake, so they took him to the big house.

Paul McCartney

Yesterday, all my troubles were far back in time

Now I’m a victim of a heinous crime.

Oh I wish it’s still yesterday.

 

Suddenly, I need a man from a special squad

To get a fingerprint or a DNA swab

Oh, yesterday come back to me.

Donald Trump

There are bad apples everywhere, but mostly from Mexico.  I don’t really know, it’s just what I’ve been hearing, that M-16 gang out there on Long Island is especially heinous.  That’s a word from that cop show Law and Order, so you all know what I’m talking about.  I know lots of cops.  They are very, very good people.  I used to say Make America Great Again, but then I became president so now I say “I Made America Great.”  Get that, I went from make to made, so that’s a success.  A really very big deal.  The police, who are really very dedicated people, they work for me to keep great what I made great in the first place.

David Foster Wallace[1]

When I binged all 248 episodes of SVU, I perseverated on the grammatical errors in the introduction.  The announcer says “especially heinous,” but heinous is already at the far end of the spectrum of behavior.  There can be nothing worse than heinous, so to say something is “especially heinous” is meaningless.[2]

The intro switches from “especially heinous” crimes to “vicious felonies.”  This is repetitious.  Are there heinous felonies that are not vicious?[3]

Remember that the SVU introduction is ad copy, not great literature.  The copy writer is not playing to the lively mind, but to the spittled doper whose feebly firing synapses require repetition.  I’ve been that slacker on the couch.  Don’t change a word.

[1] From the Editor:  This pandemic summer seemed like the perfect opportunity to tackle DFW’s 1,000-page acclaimed novel, Infinite Jest.  The novel features extensive digressions at the slightest provocation and over 200 pages of footnotes that could themselves be considered a novel.  Infinite Jest is not a “beach read,” its title poking fun at determined readers, such as me, who have stalled out on page 238 but still display the book on the coffee table.  DFW was a fanatic about grammar and described the correct usage of the words “nauseous” (causing nausea) and “nauseated,” (feeling nausea).
[2] From DFW:  “Especially” is a category of adverb known as an “intensifier,” a word that amps up the companion adjective or verb. Writers who use adverbs are too lazy to find the better noun, adjective or verb.  Gratuitous intensifiers include “very” or “really.”  “A really very big deal” is bad English.  You can delete “really,” “very” and “big” and say, “It was a blockbuster.”  Or if you are both a pathologic and pathogenic egomaniac, go ahead and use the all-purpose f-word intensifier, “I am fucking great.”

I don’t tolerate “very” and “really” in my writing. Or in conversation.  However, “exquisitely” has emerged as my go-to verbal tic intensifier. It is mostly used in a positive sense, but I like to pair it with a negative word, such as “exquisitely ugly.”  A word check of my writing reveals references to exquisite hygiene, exquisite ass, exquisitely-designed sphincter and exquisitely painful.  I first encountered the latter description in a medical journal and liked the juxtaposition.  Yes, the sado-masochist might thrill to exquisite pain, but I see another meaning  – intense pain that has some redeeming value.  I asked the Moms if she had experienced exquisite pain and she told me about the first time she breast fed me – that wincing, close-your eyes, hold-your-breath, suck-it-up, slap the arm chair pain, a pain like a pair of pliers twisting a tender nipple, but in the end worthwhile.
[3] From the editor: DFW goes on an extensive riff about the etymology of various sexual offensives.  He seems particularly entranced with the mythological origins of the words “succubus” and “incubus”, i.e. men who violate dead women and women who violate dead men, respectively.  He contends that succubus and incubus are only heinous crimes if the perpetrator has killed the victim.  If not, the act is a crime of opportunity, only a misdemeanor, not a vicious felony.  The discussion then veers to a detailed anatomic description of the exquisitely choreographed facial and tongue musculature to pronounce succubus, describing the word as sibilant and susurrus with a great mouth feel.

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Podcast: Pandemic Ponderings Heinous Division

“In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories.”

Various authors rework these opening lines of Law and Order SVU.

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Pandemic Ponderings: Sports Edition

The visceral up-chuck I experience at the sound of Trump’s voice, or the imitation of his voice, makes me a dangerous driver.  Therefore, I generally listen to sports radio in the car, as it is reliably a no-Trump station.  As we headed into the pandemic shutdowns., I wondered how sports talk shows would fill the vast emptiness

A key attribute of radio talk show hosts is their ability to turn the tiniest nugget into an entire afternoon debate.  However, by April I could tell they were struggling.  On one errand, they discussed their favorite color of mustard and how to perfect a hamburger flip.  On another trip, they nattered on about the implications of a wink – when it was sexual come-on versus an innocent tease.

These beleaguered talk show hosts need something meatier to discuss.  I’d also  like to contribute to the pandemic-induced clamor for change.  Here are my ideas for revamping each of our major sports.

Basketball

I will admit I don’t understand basketball.  In the absence of Michael Jordan’s highlight reel, to me it looks like a group of freakishly tall and sweaty men milling around.  However, I do notice, with dismay, that players routinely foul each other on purpose.  Is there any other sport where breaking the rules is considered a routine strategy?

I grew up in the 1960’s when women’s sports were essentially non-competitive.  Breaking the rules was considered the epitome of poor sportsmanship.  Yes, I see that a foul could be necessary to stop a breakaway in soccer or hockey, but then you’d have to accept the risk of a penalty shot.  A penalty should be a deterrent for further bad behavior.  Allowing your opponent to shoot a free throw does not rise to that level.

The end of a basketball game is not the frantic flurry I would prefer, but a drawn-out ordeal cluttered with time outs, intentional fouls and free throws.  Five minutes on the clock can take twenty to play.  As I said, I don’t understand basketball, but I’m grateful that someone named Elam does and has proposed a clever rule to eliminate intentional fouls in the fourth quarter.  At the four-minute mark, the game clock is stopped.  In its place there is a designated “target” score determined by adding a few points – maybe seven points or so – to the score of the leading team.  The first team to reach the target score wins, regardless of how much, or little, time it takes.   The trailing team must play tight defense as the target is approached; they cannot afford to commit intentional fouls.   The Elam Ending was used at this year’s all-star game and was well received.

Baseball

Unlike basketball, I know baseball – witness my knowledge of its arcane rules like dropped  third strike and infield fly.  Baseball was a major part of my life, both as a spectator and participant, but my enthusiasm has waned as the game has slowed down.  Now baseball only occasionally serves as a backdrop to a long nap,  the kind of nap where you have to brush your teeth when you wake up.  As a former fan, I feel qualified to offer suggestions.

Recently, baseball announced some rule changes for the shortened 2020 season, most notably that any extra inning would start with a player on second base.  This might pep up the finale of an otherwise boring game, but what about the other nine innings?  I need something to keep me awake for the entire game.

In all other sports, the defense and offence are closely tied.  In football, a strong defensive stand requires the offense to dig out of a dicey field position.  In hockey and basketball, the transition between defense and offence can swing from a seamless triumph to a punitive tragedy in a matter of seconds.  In baseball, offence and defense are entirely separate.  A bad defense doesn’t handicap the offense.  I contend that the team on the field should be rewarded if they hold their opponents to three batters.  When they come up to bat, I propose that the batter due up automatically go to first base.

What a bonus if the next batter up is the feeblest hitter (e.g. the pitcher in the National League), what a mixed blessing if the batter is the home run hitter!   A taut double play would be a necessity.  The pitcher would have to be able to hold the runner at first and pitching from the stretch also would diminish the oomph on his delivery.  Perhaps the team at bat could defer their reward to a different inning, a move requiring exquisite strategy.   The announcers would have endless palaver to fill the dead air of baseball.  I’d be honored if they referred to this innovation as the “Blue Bonus.”

By the way, in the past I have proposed that just for variety, bases should be run in the opposite direction.  However, this idea is too radical even for this pandemic season of change.

 

Football

The only way to watch a football game is join a recorded game about one hour in, click through the ads, catch up and watch the final minutes as a live event.  My new clicker is my biggest complaint about football.  The old clicker had a 30 second fast forward button, which is the exact time allowed for the huddle.  As soon as the play was over, I could advance 30 seconds to precisely arrive at the beginning of the next play.  My new clicker advances five minutes, requiring me to manually inch ahead.  As I write this, I am embarrassed by my demands for convenience.

My understanding of football is woefully incomplete, but still better than basketball.  Despite listening to hours of commentary, I have never “picked up a blitz,” and don’t know what a “dime” or “nickel package” is.  I find it confusing that a tackle is an offensive position, but these players aren’t allowed to tackle anyone, they can only block oncoming opponents.  And then there is the full back, who doesn’t play all the way back at all.  He plays in front of the half back, so their names are reversed.  These gaps in my understanding don’t matter.  It is a beautiful thing to watch an arcing pass fall into the outstretched fingertips of a streaking runner.

Soccer

The rest of the world probably thinks Americans are ignorant about the elegance of a one-nil final score, but scoring has got to pick up. if the world wants our powerhouse economy to go all-in on soccer.  Kicking the ball out of bounds on purpose slows the game down and seems like a chicken-shit move.  Soccer should take a page from basketball.  Allow the team to intentionally kick the ball out of bounds maybe four times, but after that the opponents are awarded a free kick instead of a throw-in.  The hair-trigger for offsides within the box is a major deterrent to scoring.  Soccer could also take a page from the hockey blue line and eliminate off-sides within the box.   At least they should think about it.

Ice Hockey

My pandemic pondering leads me to conclude that ice hockey is the perfect game.  It’s simple, creative, continuous, fast-moving and unencumbered by arcane rules.  The offence and defense are intimately twined.  Penalties are impactful.   All sports should aspire to its grace and splendor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Podcast: Pandemic Ponderings: Sports Edition

In this season of pandemic-induced change, I offer some suggestion on how to revamp our major sports.

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