I Was Barbie's Bestie

 

Portrait of the Author as a Young Freckle Face (are those Barbies next to me?)

We don’t go to many movies in theaters these days. But there are some films that simply MUST be viewed on the big screen, like those blockbuster action/adventure flicks, all starring George Clooney, Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. Matrix-17 doesn’t pack quite the same punch at home as it does, sound jacked waaaaay up, while sitting in a soda-soaked cinema seat with a $20 small popcorn on your lap, right?

But Barbie? We definitely could have watched that one later on, chez Seyfried. By last weekend’s opening, though, I’d read enough reviews and analysis of it to write a dissertation—I just HAD to be among the first to experience this movie! I was prepared to go solo, but to my surprise Stevo was game to join me.

 

For those of you who are planning to see Barbie (and I encourage this decision), or who just can’t stand to read one more line about it at this time, I will spare you. No lengthy paragraphs on Ken and the patriarchy, or Barbie’s through-the-looking-glass journey into the Real World. Suffice it to say, we both loved it—for us, it hit every note. Different actors played each of the Barbies (Doctor Barbie, President Barbie, etc.—the Main Barbie, played by Margot Robbie, actually referred to herself as Stereotypical Barbie), and many were the Kens as well. HOWEVER…

 

I was a bit sad to see Midge, Barbie’s BFF, get relatively short shrift. Because, as a child, I played with my Barbies a lot, but I WAS Midge. She wasn’t the tall blond beauty (nor was I) but instead the freckle-faced sidekick doll. I worked Midge into every playtime scenario, and thought she was wonderful. I gave her a heartwarming backstory, and a secret talent (novelist). Midge never stole Barb’s limelight, but was over in the corner, looking perky, scribbling away—yet always there when her friend was in need of rescue, or maybe just a sharpened pencil.

 

Alas, Mattel wasn’t as wild about Midge as I was. At some point she disappeared from the stores, and, except for a brief, pretty horrific return as “Happy Family Midge” (she had a plastic baby in her tummy that COULD BE REMOVED!) my spunky, speckled friend was retired for good. 

 

Looking back, how did it feel to identify with a minor supporting character? I really didn’t mind. Resigned in real life to being no one’s idea of a glamour girl, Midge had given me hope that I could still be part of the popular, pinker than pink scene. 

 

I have mixed emotions about Barbie—empowered and multi-careered as the doll’s character has become over the years, she’s still impossibly pretty, and for the littlest girls, bewilderingly “developed.” But I applaud Greta Gerwig for making such a fun and thought-provoking movie. 

 

For the inevitable sequel, I vote to feature a different doll. Let’s focus at last on that true-blue bestie who is, in her own freckly way, even somewhat attractive. 

 

Let’s make Midge the star.

 Photo of Barbie by Sandra Gabriel on Unsplash

Shazaam!

Photo by Tim Alex on Unsplash

Fun party ice breaker: ask the revelers the name of Oscar Wilde’s novel about a man whose mirror image ages, but he does not. Then ask if there are shades on the sun cartoon on the Raisin Bran box. For good measure, ask them to spell a popular shoe brand that rhymes with “fetchers.” Chances are, they will answer wrong (and so would I, had I not researched for this post). 

 

Answers:  

*It’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, NOT The Portrait of Dorian Gray

*The cartoon cereal box sun NEVER wore sunglasses

*The shoes are “skechers”, NOT “sketchers”

 

I could go on and on about the discrepancies between our collective memories, and the truth. Misremembering is a very common thing. Often, those events we think we recall from earliest childhood, can be chalked up to old photographs, or stories told by family members. To this day, I am not certain that, as a baby, I fell out of my crib onto a broken glass formula bottle. I clearly remember my dad picking glass out of my little back, and that my mom was not home—she was out doing some evening grocery shopping at Gristede’s Market. But did people really put their kids to bed with glass bottles, even back in 1957? Is it possible that I just sub-consciously wanted my father to be a loving and nurturing parent (neither of which he really was)? 

 

But what’s most fascinating to me, is when a huge number of us misremember things the exact same way. Two prime examples: many, many people think African anti-apartheid leader Nelson Mandela died in prison in the early 1980s (he actually passed away decades after his release, in 2013, after serving as South Africa’s president). On a lighter note, tons of folks swear there was a movie called Shazaam! starring comedian Sinbad playing a genie. In reality, they're probably thinking of the movie Kazam, starring basketball superstar Shaquille O’Neal as—this part is true—a genie. 

 

This tendency of ours to assume, and to internalize those assumptions, is only human. But it’s also a real problem. Lawyers could speak at length about the inconsistencies of “eyewitnesses” to car accidents, for example. And of course, now, in this post-truth world, it’s so hard to know whether all these false statements are being spouted knowingly, or from deeply held misunderstandings. Which is why I’d never actually USE the above-suggested party ice breaker; I’d be too afraid my guests would depart in self-righteous huffs, long before dinner was served.

 

Don’t know if there’s a solution, but the closest I can come is this: let’s try to be open to the possibility that we’re wrong. Being wrong is not the end of the world, but refusing to entertain the thought that we’re mistaken is the root of so much that IS wrong: broken relationships, bad legislation, close-minded notions of faith. 

 

One thing I do know for sure, though. There IS a cornucopia on the Fruit of the Loom logo.

 

Or is there?

Image by LillyCantabile from Pixabay

 

 

 

 

The Flaneurs

  

Yeah, sure, that's what THIS part of the street is called

I never intentionally wander aimlessly when traversing a new town or city. Indeed, I clutch my maps and phone for dear life, because if there’s anything I fear, it’s getting lost. 

Which, of course, means I DO get lost, all the time. Sheer panic sets in immediately, and my brain goes straight to dangerous scenarios: thieves lurking in the shadows, kidnappers ready to pounce—or even just never, ever finding my way back to the hotel, and eventually dying alone on the streets of Barcelona, or Venice (both of which have really sparse and misleading signage—in Venice, a street may have one name, and mid-block it suddenly has a NEW name. How delightfully random!)

 

I am a happy camper when I know precisely where I’m bound and exactly how to get there. I realize this approach does NOT include strolling casually around, taking in surprising sights and sounds, checking out this or that cute shop or bistro. Let others have their fun discoveries! All I want to discover is the museum I have actually planned, in advance, to visit…and the correct metro station to get me, safely and swiftly, back to my lodging. I do better traveling with a companion for sure, figuring that one of us can run for help while the other is being mugged.

 

The French have a word for one who sets off on a walk without directions, confident that pleasant adventure awaits: flaneur. A flaneur enjoys the journey and doesn’t get concerned about reaching a particular destination. These are the folks who post on Trip Advisor: “In Salzburg, Betty Sue and I discovered this incredible sausage stall down a dark alley! Very, very hard to find but worth it!” Now, I will take that flaneur’s recommendation and drill down, locating the precise spot where the bosna (local curry sausages, and they are delicious) are sold, and heading directly there, with zero “fun” detours. Mission accomplished, quickly and efficiently! Isn’t that what travel is all about?

 

My offspring tend to be MUCH more casual about their itineraries. I break out in a rash when I hear Evan discuss his rambles through Indonesia, or Rose her night market roaming in Thailand. Don’t they know there are perils around every corner? Their mother sure does! 

 

Sometimes I wish I had even one spontaneous bone in my body, but alas! My life hews to a script of my own creation, as closely as possible. I realize I’m missing out on all of life’s serendipitous experiences, but I’d rather rocket directly from Point A to B and eventually to Z, checking everything off as I race through my years. I don’t know why I am so surprise-averse, but at age 66 I doubt I’ll change my ways. 

 

Steve and I are hoping to get over to England and Scotland next spring, and I’m already mapping out our every conceivable move. Praise be to Rick Steves!

 

Guess that makes me less of a flaneur, and more of a… plan-eur?

Evan, cheerfully lost in the Dolomite Mountains

D.I.Y. Holiday

  

Yeah, yeah, Independence Day, blah, blah

Don’t know about you, but I’m a tad irked that there are only a few holidays on the calendar specifically to celebrate ME. There’s my birthday (December 22, for those who like to plan their cards and gifts to me ahead of time), Mother’s Day/Grandparents Day, and I guess you could throw in my wedding anniversary, though I have to share that one with Steve. When, I ask, is Freelance Writer’s Day? Retired Church Worker Day? Children’s Theatre Veteran’s Day? I plod through the year, most often totally neglected.

 

But no more!! I just read the most inspiring and empowering news! It is now a thing to Create My Own Holiday! This stellar 24-hour span can be designed to my personal specifications, but also (very important), it can be added to official holiday directories. It can be covered by media outlets! Imagine the thrill of knowing that people around the country (or even, the globe) are getting the day off work, or at least exchanging festive greetings, in honor of some random thing I cooked up.

 

The article I read offers this sage advice: “Avoid dates that are associated with bigger holidays or other special occasions.” Well, that certainly makes common sense! It’s likely, for example, that the notoriety around July 4^th (marking our independence from England, a silly thing) might conceivably overshadow my concept of, say, The Fourth of July as “National Non-Bike Riders Day” (celebrants would defiantly WALK or DRIVE THEIR CARS everywhere, perhaps tooting those ridiculous bicycle horns festooned with streamers). I can see the T-shirts now-- a picture of a Schwinn with a big red line crossing it out. Now THAT'S a snappy logo!

 

Other must-to-avoid dates would include, I suppose, Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Thanksgiving Day. But a quick glance at any of the big holiday calendars tells me that they are also chock-a-block with frivolous commemorations of things like “National Watermelon Day” “World Smile Day” and “Hoodie Hoo Day” (a random February day when you’re supposed to call people up and say “Hoodie Hoo!” to them. As Dave Barry would put it, I’m not making this up.) 

 

So, it might be tough to find a blank spot on which to scribble the addition of my Very Special Holiday. Assuming I can snag one, I would next select my theme, send out a press release, and get busy contacting CNN, Fox, and The Weather Channel, all of whom would be delighted to help spread the word, I’ve no doubt. After all, we’re so sick and tired of gloomy doomy news, right? What better way to perk up the population than decreeing next Monday to be “Hug a Hamster Day”? Our furry little rodent friends would enjoy it also (do caution your children not to squeeze too hard, of course!) 

Easy does it there!

At the moment, my top two contenders are: “Take Your Favorite Spiritual Humor Writer to Lunch Day” and (cutting to the chase), “Elise Seyfried Day.” 

 

What do you think? Vote early and often, my friends!!