Helloooo, Ladies!

Black cohosh, passion flower and fillet of snake,
Stir in caldron and let slow bake. Add
Primrose oil, flax seed and toe of frog,
Chaste berry, valerian root and tongue of dog,
Wild yam, sarsaparilla, and blind-worm’s sting,
Gingko Biloba, Gotu kola, and owlet’s wing,
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

I was standing in my local GNC reciting my shopping list when I suddenly had an epiphany about the witches of “Macbeth.” Were they nothing more than three friends of a certain age? Bonding together in a cave in the middle of the night desperate to create some magic potion that would work? The one concoction that would make all of those nasty symptoms vanish…the insomnia, the hot flashes, the irritability, the forgetfulness… …what was I saying?…

However, I also realized that, since at least the 16th century, (and probably since the beginning of human existence,) men have not fully understood what women experience during this time. Forget about the discomfort of waxing, the pain of childbirth. Those are only winks in time. But menopause….it seems to go on forever! Believe me, if we could get away from ourselves during this change, we would.

The great Bard himself described us this way:

What are these
So wither’d, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like the inhabitants o’ the earth,
And yet are on’t…
You should be women
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret

Well, we could say that you don’t look so hot yourself with your receding hairline or your love handles, your ear hairs or your increasing flatulence. But we love you anyway and we really are grateful that you love us too, in spite of everything.

We promise that, eventually, we’ll get through this rough patch. And we’ll love you even more for staying by our sweaty sides. Just bear with us for another couple of years. It’ll be over in a flash.

In the meantime, gentle reader, say “hi” when you see me. I’ll be the one holding the portable fan, waving a piece of paper in front of my face and gently dabbing at my forehead.

Just call me “Eve.”

A friend of mine called the other day to remind me of a mutual friend’s anniversary. It would be one year since her husband left.

I admit that I’m not very good at remembering birthdays and anniversaries. I remember my husband’s birthday, our anniversary and a handful of other dates. If I remember (or if Facebook remembers for me) I may call or send an e-card.

However, I make a big deal over my own birthday, which never ceases to amuse Rich. For him, a birthday is just another day. I see it as the one day of the year where I can be completely self-absorbed. All the rules are suspended. I don’t feel obligated to do anything I don’t want to or listen to anyone else’s bullshit. June 4th is the “all about Ellen” day and I have a 24-hour free pass. If you’re not going to party with me, don’t show up to the event.

My 78-year-old mother is the same way. She was born on July 11, and she believes that she has ownership of the number 711. Any time that number is mentioned, she sing-songs, “That’s my birthday, that’s my birthday!” (This is one of the reasons that I will never accompany her to Las Vegas or Atlantic City.)

I don’t begrudge anyone’s celebrations but, as we grow older, we don’t need the yearly birthday parties with brightly wrapped presents and balloons and cake and ice cream. It’s enough to simply have another birthday to celebrate and, if we’re lucky, at least one good friend or partner to share it with.

That politically correct philosophy aside, I confess that I am disappointed if there aren’t some heavy square hand-addressed envelopes mixed in with the bills on my birthday. As illogical as it is to expect something from others that I don’t give, I still have flashes of disappointment. I have done my best to remember my friends’ “big” birthdays and will splurge on a $4.99 mass-produced sentiment plus $.42 on the stamp for those occasions. As corny as the Hallmark cards are, we secretly are tickled pink when we get one. It makes us feel special and that’s how birthdays should make us feel.

However, I never understood why people made a big deal over anniversaries (excluding “The Biggies.”) Rich and I shared our wedding with our friends and family, but our marriage is between the two of us. Why do we need to receive cards or calls on our anniversary? And why do these callers and card-senders express their “Congratulations?” Is another year of marriage that rare an achievement? Thank you, but I’ll celebrate the occasion quietly with the only one who matters.

So, this leads me back to the non-anniversary anniversaries. There are days that have a negative significance. I don’t begrudge anyone’s sentiments to acknowledge those days. Both Rich & I call our widowed mothers on our fathers’ birthdays. We understand the need to remember loved ones and to take the time once a year to reminisce.

However, if we fully participated in everyone else’s celebrations and sentimental occasions, we would be doing so every single day of the year, including February 29th.

I empathize with my friend. Divorce is never easy. Is it callus of me to say that she already knows this, having gone through the process once before? Of course, which is why I keep that thought to myself. During the past year, I have offered my shoulder, lent my ear and have made all of the right sounds at the right times during her weeping or venomous monologues. I understand that there is no place for honesty during times of emotional upheaval. Each conversation I have had could have been accompanied by a thought-bubble: “ It isn’t as if she has young children to raise…” “She’s lucky that she is in a strong financial position to take care of herself….” “She has her health….” There are some other thoughts I’ve had, gentle reader, but in the spirit of good taste, I will keep those to myself.

I didn’t write down the anniversary of my friend’s husband’s departure in my date book. For the last year, she has blamed everything on her ex. I have no interest in fanning her fires. I don’t plan to call, I don’t plan to send her a card, and I certainly don’t plan to be at her side. It would be too awkward: I would have no idea what to wear or what gift to bring for the occasion.

It’s hard to see your best friend aging. The slight hesitation before action.  Momentary lapses of memory.  Non-responsiveness to a gentle touch. Then, ultimately, facing the harsh reality that, sometimes, there’s just no motivation to keep going forward.  So when our TiVo finally succumbs, Rich & I agree that we will not replace it.

The end is near for network television. Innovative, well-written shows do not survive. American viewers have been fed a diet of cheap, dumbed-down programming for so long that they now crave it.

Ever since “Survivor” hit the airwaves, reality TV has taken over networks like kudzu in Mississippi. I admit that I watched the first two seasons, even through the gag factor of Richard Hatch’s nudity. But then the entire show started revolving around bug eating. Revolting enough, but how pathetic when a team’s survival was based on a vegetarian swallowing a creepy crawly creature?  Viewers apparently ate it up.  Jeff Probst-wannabe Joe Rogan quickly worked a “puke” factor into every episode of “Fear Factor.”  Is our country so obsessed with schadenfreude that there is pleasure in watching the basest cases of suffering?

Then, the game shows returned.  “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” provided some mental stimulation, although Regis Philbin was no Alex Trebeck. Apparently, though, it was a little too intelligent, so networks traded down to “Deal Or No Deal.”  Where is the excitement in contestants picking a random attaché?  We don’t know these contestants.  Why do we care whether their choice is lucky or unlucky?  Isn’t it basically the same show every week? And would someone please explain why people went out and paid money for the DVD home game version?

Baby boomers were the first television generation. Our parents grew up with radio and our children grew up with computers and VCR’s. But we were the first true believers.  We had 3 major networks.  We watched what was offered, when it was offered.   Our worlds stopped to watch our favorite shows, whether it was “I Dream Of Jeannie” or “Lost In Space.” Our parents tuned in regularly to “Man From U.N.C.L.E” and Mutual of Omaha’s “Wild Kingdom.”  And over 105 million people of all ages tuned in to watch the final episode of “MASH.”  If you missed it, you probably had to deal with being ostracized for the entire week. Advertisers had a captive audience and they competed hard to sponsor good shows.

Ironically, the innovations in technology began the downward spiral in quality network TV. The popularity of VCR’s paved the wave for cable television offering a variety of programming, unedited movies and, ultimately, original programming. More and more viewers tuned in to cable and turned off network.  Instead of responding with a strong competitive edge by offering innovative and entertaining options, networks resorted to stale formulaic sit-coms with laugh tracks and game shows (yes, gentle reader, “reality’ shows are nothing but game shows.) What was new and fun in the 1960′s is old and tired in 2009.
Just like the fashion adage if you wore it when it was first popular, don’t wear it when it re-emerges decades later, the same thing applies to television. If we watched it then, we won’t watch it now. It’s easier for networks to simply ignore the baby-boomer generation.  Our elderly parents may love the has-been shows, such as “Celebrity Apprentice” or “Dancing With The Stars” as much their parents enjoyed “The Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island,” and today’s teens may be addicted to primetime soaps like “Gossip Girl” as we were hooked on “Dark Shadows” but where is the middle ground for us?  Where is our “Star Trek?”  Intelligent and entertaining network programming for baby boomers will be impossible to find next season.  As impossible as, say, finding  “Life On Mars.”

About 20 years ago I lived at The Ansonia, an old grand dame of a building on Manhattan’s Upper West side.  Since I worked in a non-traditional job I was often able to enjoy “tar beach” in solitude weekdays during the summer months.  I would bring my beach chair, towel and water up to the roof and work, undisturbed, 18 floors above the noise and traffic of the city.

I was none too happy when a new neighbor followed me one sunny afternoon, eager to make a new friend.  It is not in my nature to be rude, so I initially kept my answers brief to try and discourage further conversation.

Sandy, however, was determined to befriend me.  After a few days of his appearance on the roof to offer me a “break’ from my work, I finally gave in and fully participated in the conversations.

One afternoon, he said, “You know, Ellen, you’re very opinionated.” I could feel my nostrils flare and my eyes burn as I said, “Opinionated? ” He laughed and said that he didn’t mean it as an insult.  He explained, “When I ask if you had seen a certain movie, you don’t just say yes or no, you tell me why you haven’t seen it: you don’t like the director, you think that the lead actress is only using the film as a vehicle to promote her political message, the cinematography is too dark…things like that.”  I was speechless.  I didn’t offer an opinion because I realized  he was right.

By the time the sun set behind the New Jersey Palisades, I was back in my apartment, making calls to my friends, for reassurance that I was not some single-minded opinionated bitch.  As my calls were returned (yes, gentle reader, these were the days before the instant gratification of cell phones, emails, and text messaging) one by one my friends confirmed what Sandy had said.  Some friends softened their answers with phrases like, “But that’s what we love about you!” or “It’s what makes you interesting!” Others were blunt: “Yes, Ellen, you are opinionated.”

I went to sleep that night, feeling like a different person, trying to come to terms with my newly discovered personality trait.

So, here I am, 20 years later, writing a blog because there are hundreds of thousands of things in the world that I have an opinion on.  Some of you may vehemently disagree with my point of view and others will agree. Some of my subjects may be relevant or mundane. But, no matter what, always remember:  it’s just my opinion.