Before mega-malls, before outdoor “lifestyle” promenades, before the Internet, people used to shop ” downtown.”  During my era, there were 2 places to buy jeans, Teen Haven,” where we’d go with our mothers for neatly hemmed and pressed denim pants or Googleplex, a head-shop which sold, among other things, Landlubbers.  These low-slung, hip-hugging bell-bottom jeans perfectly accented my curvy post-pubescent shape.

A decade later Googleplex and Landlubber went the way of Huckapoo and Wayne Rogers shirts.  Designer jeans were in style: Sasson, Gloria Vanderbuilt and, of course, the jeans that made Brooke Shields famous for claiming that “nothing” came between her and her Calvins.

The next step in jean evolution was the emergence of jeans that were so tight they literally left no room for anything between you and your Georges Marciano’s, not even imagination.

When trying them on, it was standard practice to lie on the floor of the dressing room in order to zip up.  We took to shopping with our girlfriends, so they could maneuver our immobile bodies to a standing position, close the ankle zippers and slip on our stiletto shoes, to allow us to admire ourselves in the dressing room mirror.  The question then was never, “Do they fit?” but rather, “Can you breathe?”

It is unfathomable, looking back, how we managed to get ourselves into these jeans by ourselves once we bought them, or how we allowed fashion to dictate that this was the outfit of choice to go disco dancing.  We grinded, we hustled, we bumped, while silently singing, “I will survive!” which had nothing at all to do with the Gloria Gaynor song.

Twenty-five years later, I can dress myself, breathe and, yes, even dance, thanks to the miracle of cotton spandex.

But I started out to write about good genes, not good jeans.

I celebrated a birthday this week.  I don’t feel any older but, after the year I’ve had, I definitely do feel wiser.

The weird thing about getting older is, well, getting older.  Age may be a state of mind but nobody tells your body this little secret.

I am sure that my contemporaries who have children have mentally adjusted to their  age.  They witness their children’s milestones: graduating from high school, graduating from college, getting married, having children of their own.  Without children, however,  life becomes a straight road without these mile-markers. One day you look back in amazement at how far you’ve actually travelled.

Most days I feel the same as I did twenty-plus years ago but then I notice a couple of new gray hairs (I won’t say where) or that my dimples have somehow become elongated,  Each sign of physical age is a startling surprise.  No one takes me for my age and I thank good genes for that blessing.  I am in the best shape in my life, a result of the physical aspect of owning and running a restaurant.  But, at the end of the day, my right hip aches and if something falls on the floor, my husband and I look at each other, hoping the other one will bend down to pick it up.

All in all, I’d like to think that I am growing older graciously.  Our nieces and nephews see my husband and myself as hip (unless, of course, we actually use the word “hip.”)  I still revel in the fact that we get to sit at the “adult” table at holiday dinners, although I’m usually sitting at the annexed bridge table by dessert.

I still believe that you’re only as old as you feel and, most days, I feel pretty damn good.  It’s rewarding to know that I can still fit into those jeans from long ago, but it is even better to possess the common sense that comes with age that tells me not to even try.

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.”