Monday, January 12, 2009 - Posts
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I'm admittedly coming very late to the lengthy, sugar-daddy exchange, but maybe for that reason, after reading all the posts at once, I think it's worth acknowledging what a privileged, upper-middle-class discussion this is. After all, these days, most people scarcely dare dream of keeping their lousy, $7-an-hour job, much less of self-actualization. The desire for nannies, private schools (and for the record, my daughter, to date, has benefited from both, so I’m not casting stones)—such accoutrements are beyond the reach of 90 percent, maybe even 95 percent, of all Americans. And I wonder if this normalization of luxury desires, which Paul Krugman has lamented as one aspect of the new (now surely passed) "Gilded Age," isn’t part of what’s gone wrong in our country over the last 30 to 40 years.
When I was growing up in Dallas, even the wealthiest families in town often drove average, American-made cars. Yes, teenagers were as fashion-conscious as today, but keeping up with the Joneses didn't cost an arm or an iPod. (I still remember when you could buy clothes on layaway at Casual Corner.) Even affluent families often saved up for years for major home purchases, such as a new sofa or dining-room table. By contrast, as the real-estate bubble expanded, shelter magazines exhorted us to change our entire look—from, say, shabby chic to ultra-cool modern—every few years, at a cost of thousands of dollars. Furniture from Ikea is almost disposable. As a kid, I don’t recall a single family (including my own) that replaced its kitchen or bathroom counters. And there were plenty of fine home cooks who somehow managed without a Viking stove or All-Clad cookware.
Yet, in recent years, many average, middle-class families often seemed to want it all—and by “all” I don’t mean work-life balance—but the German (or at least Swedish) car, the multi-thousand-square-foot home, the remodeled kitchen or bath, the beautiful Eames furnishings, the designer shoes and handbags, every foodie kitchen appliance (whether anyone in the home actually cooked or not), in addition to the scheduled kids, the nanny and "best" schools. Even for those on a budget, high design has trickled down to the masses and can now be purchased at Target. Some of that, no doubt, is all for the good: I have no problem with everyone getting to enjoy a Michael Graves teapot.
But in my own life, I yearn to be satisfied with less and struggle with how to hold on to what really matters (which typically costs surprisingly little) in the distracting, expensive clutter of American life. Recently, I was reading the Little House books to my daughter, who is now 5, and kept having this pang for a one-room log cabin with a dirt floor swept clean by a straw broom, no more clothes or furnishings than one could carry in a covered wagon and instead of the usual Christmas bonanza of plastic toys, a tin cup, a piece of candy, and a shiny new penny. That’s a fantasy, too, of course—and equally out of reach. But nowadays when I dream, that’s what I often think of, not Sugar Pa.
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I'm firmly in the "Tina Fey can do no wrong" camp, and while her acceptance speech was one of the only bright spots in an otherwise snoozy and self-congratulatory Golden Globes, it always strikes me how uncomfortable she is when embracing accolades. When she accepted her Emmy last year, Fey said, "I thank my parents for somehow raising me to have confidence that is disproportionate with my looks and abilities." Then last night upon receiving her second Golden Globe for best actress, she said, "If you ever start to feel too good about yourself they have this thing called the Internet and you can find a lot of people there who don’t like you.”
I'm well aware that self-deprecation is pivotal to Tina Fey's humor, and that's what makes her so relatable to so many women. Though I may be making too much of this, I wonder if a man in her position would always publicly downplay his own talent. Last night, Tina allowed Tracy Morgan to make a speech when 30 Rock won for best comedy for the second year in a row. Again, that was one of the funniest and best parts of an otherwise mind-numbing three hours, but if "Lorney Mikes" had been the executive producer, writer, and director of the show, would he have let Tracy make that speech? Is it more just Tina Fey's personality to shy away from the overwhelming press attention she's been receiving in the past few months? Is she savvy enough to know that America may be experiencing Tina Feytigue and so she's backing off so we don't get sick of her? Or does it have to do with her gender?
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That Atlantic piece on the imminent demise of the New York Times as sheets you can cram into your oversized purse is really haunting me: How would Sundays ever be the same? While our kids are receiving religious instruction they can't remember the gist of 10 minutes later, would we have to lug our laptops to the corner coffee shop in order to carry on interrupting each other's reading by calling out snippets of stuff from the Times that the other is not quite as interested in? (Him: They want to drive Israel into the sea! Me: Natasha Richardson is all wrong for Desiree Armfeldt. Him: They want to wipe them off the map! Me: Oh yay, Dahlia has an op-ed. Him: They have a right to defend themselves! Me: And look at this ad for a speakers' series comprised entirely of people you would pay big bucks not to have to listen to.) Government cannot bail out its watchdog, I know, but I wish advertisers would.
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