Friday Quickies, Vol. 10

1. Dana Joy Altman’s column this week on the Huffington Post struck so close to home I had to stop and come back to it a few times before I could get through it entirely. Her column is about “real food” and reintroducing real food into one’s life. This week’s column was about how the recession and her personal misfortune has reinforced her commitment to treat herself well by eating well. It’s a story that has been written over and over since the economy began its freefall – how to persevere and stay optimistic in the face of uncertainty, only this time written in the language of food. 

I’m struggling with the issues surrounding money and food purchasing like never before. I never gave thought to my grocery bill before the restaurant opened. (Oh, the irony. The wife of a chef who can’t afford gourmet groceries. This would be funny if it were happening to someone else.) Now I have to feed my family frugally without sacrificing quality or nutrition, and it’s far harder than it sounds. We’ve eaten quite a bit of downright unhealthy food in an attempt to find less-expensive restaurants to substitute for our favorite places. I know beans are cheap and healthy and in my price range, but what about more expensive vegetables? Do I have the right to them now? Am I irresponsible when I say screw eating at home tonight, we’re going out for sushi for the first time in months? Is good food a luxury that I’m not entitled to right now? 

Altman’s column is positive; it ends on a note of gratitude. But earlier she writes: “There have been so many days when the fear of the unknown has been paralyzing.” I don’t know how she makes it through those days, but I know sometimes the fear can’t be acknowledged or it will overtake you.

2. Something from the “who knew?” files: NBC anchor Brian Williams is a major music freak with multiple maxed-out iPods who loves to create playlists. He launched a Web-only interview show this week called “BriTunes.” Cool side project, clever name.

3. This story in People – about the women of Oyster Bay, Long Island, getting all gussied up for errands and the school drop-off, hoping to run into Brad Pitt – got me thinking about what a great service he’s providing. Most women need some incentive to do a bit of grooming, so there needs to be a Brad Pitt lookalike in every town – who constantly rotate, so you never know if the real Brad Pitt will show up at your Barnes & Noble – to keep us on our game.

I know when I look good, I have better posture, I eat better and just plain feel better. I’m not one to primp without cause, though, so if there were a chance of seeing Brad Pitt I think I’d give the yoga pants the day off and get better acquainted with my eyelash curler.

Because what if one morning I DO spot him, at Starbucks, waiting for his full-flavored coffee beverage? And as I sidle over from the cashier counter to wait alongside him – not too close; I’m no wide-eyed bumpkin –  trying not to make eye contact but also trying to not try too hard; I mean, he’s a person like anyone else, and I would give a short yet neighborly “hey” to a sharp-dressed stranger in Starbucks, so why wouldn’t I give a cool nod to Brad Pitt? And as the barista hollers out, “Tall skinny vanilla iced latte” (who the hell knows why he’s so goddamn loud; I mean, it’s just me and Brad Pitt standing here waiting for our coffee; this isn’t a club), our fingers touch as we reach for the plastic cup at the same time and our eyes meet and we both blush, just a bit, and giggle about having the same drink order, because what are the chances Brad Pitt and I both like tall skinny vanilla iced lattes during the warm weather months, and I begin to sputter, “Oh! I’m sorry!” And he says, gentlemanly, “No, please, you take it. I’ll get the next one.” And I frantically search for something to say, because if I don’t come up with something quick my only real option here is to thank him for letting me have the first latte and be on my way. So I sloooowwwly grab one of those big green straws and flash him a big smile and say, “Thanks” and then pause deliberately for a bit so I don’t talk too fast; I don’t want it to appear that I’m looking for an excuse to chat him up; and after a full second goes by, ask in a very matter-of-fact voice, “How are your kids liking school here?” because I read the bitty Pitts – or at least the ones that are old enough to speak – are attending a language-immersion school and, actually, it’s a school I’m considering for my daughter, who will be 4 soon, so it’s really not a fake question at all but one I’d ask anyone whose children were attending that school, and it’s really a brilliant question, because it’s not about him or that tattooed woman, because if I had asked him something like, “Have you and Angelina been finding fun things to do?” that would seem like I was asking where he was spending his evenings with the sole purpose of showing up at the bar of whatever restaurant he mentions, that very night. But since I asked about the kids, I’m just another parent, talking to a peer. Not a celebrity at all. And as he starts to tell me about how awesome the school is and which of his kids can count to 10 in Mandarin already, he takes the green straw from my hand and slips it through the hole in the lid of your drink, down into my latte, and then raises his head a bit and his eyes lock with mine and oh God what was he talking about? One of his kids likes Mandarin oranges? Shit, keep your cool. And I sense that the best thing I can do, before this whole exchange ends up like a scene on “30 Rock” where Liz Lemon tries to act sexy, I say, “Well, thanks again. I hope you and your family have a nice time while you’re in town.” And I sling my bag over my shoulder, pull my sunglasses down from on top of my head and walk toward the door. I take one glance back to see Brad Pitt watching me, chewing lazily on a green straw.

I think that would be worth slapping on a little concealer, don’t you?

[Interestingly, this sort of delusional buzz among the female population did happen in my little burg when George Clooney filmed a movie here a few years ago. C made dinner for him one night in his previous restaurant. The official word is that he's shorter than you'd think. I think most women were actually more excited to get a glimpse of Renee Zellweger.]

4. This week was lousy with topics that begged for elucidation skewering: who Punk’d on Twitter?; Carrie Prejean; Oprah’s chicken scandal; Lindsay Lohan finally getting a job, in a movie with Dave Matthews (huh?); Elizabeth Edwards; President Obama’s commencement addresses; is Dick Cheney running for president? It’s an embarrassment of fodder but quite frankly I didn’t have the stamina for it. But this, this could not go without comment.

Kate Gosselin claims everyone’s hot to copy that crazy-ass hair cut of hers. “Everyone wants it,” she says, ignoring the twin elephants in the room (her marriage and what role participation in a reality show exploiting her family may have contributed to the crumbling of said marriage). It could well be a sign of some sort of psychotic break, but I’m going to go ahead and give her this one. I can’t imagine the public hell she’s going through, and I’m sure if I were in her place I’d say some pretty outrageous things, too, hoping I could somehow control what was being written about me.

But that hair, honey? No one wants it. 

5. The bad mommies (and dads) are everywhere this week. In Slate. In Salon. Most of the ink focuses on Ayelet Waldman’s new book, “Bad Mother,” but of course any discussion about parents eager to brag about their sins ends up trolling the territory of mommyblogs. The articles share a sense of bemusement at the bad-assery of the self-confessed slacker parents – Slate’s XX blog even went the extra mile by posting a defense of Dooce – but don’t really break any new ground. 

I’m never shy to call out a blogger full of empty swagger, but I also recognize the vulnerability behind the facade. When a blogger lets it show, that is. In the midst of all this, even after I offered my opinion in another blogger’s comments, comes Penelope Trunk’s post today. I stand by what I said – she plays to Gen Y way too much, to distraction, in fact, and if she can’t keep the utilities on she needs far more help than what a house manager can provide – but maybe her kids do matter to her as much as her company. 

One post like Penelope’s today is more valuable to me than a whole stack of naughty parent books.

[The thing about her is, she loves to be controversial. Just she catches me off guard and I wonder if I had judged her too harshly comes this Tweet:

Schoolyard torture: I can't figure out what moms say to each other to socialize. I wish I wanted to be friends with them enough to find out. 17 hrs ago 

Um, fuck you? There's my thanks for defending her.]

6. Ouch! Guilty. Is there any explanation I could offer that you’d buy? The fact is, I’m the one who takes the photos around here. I have a million of my daughter and about a half-million of my daughter and husband together. And approximately three of me. Add in the body dysmorphic disorder and there you have it. I now see this is something I need to fix and fix fast.

7. Tired of shopping your closet? Try shopping someone else’s closet instead. Three clothing-swapping sites have emerged amid the recession. The Wall Street Journal evaluates their features and user-friendliness.  

I had put a number of items on eBay only to find a hideous buyers’ market where people thought they should be able to relieve me of my most luxe possessions for pennies on the dollar. I retooled by listings, added photos, but nothing. Since it’s nearly impossible to wring the full value out of your clothing and handbags, why not trade them for pieces you’ll wear more often? I’m still trying to decide which swap site I’ll try first.

 

Thanks to Jen F. for hosting Quick Takes Friday.

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Tagged as: Brad Pitt, Brian Williams, cooking on a budget, Dooce, fashion, food, hair, Jen F., Jon and Kate, Penelope Trunk, recession, writing