Make Nice

I'm not exactly a fan of Lady Gaga's music (one or two songs, alright) but I find her an interesting individual. Her interview on "60 Minutes" shows an intelligent and deep-thinking mind beneath the stunty wardrobe and makeup. Not just anyone gets accepted to Julliard. 

Her song, "Born This Way," has become the mantra for the misunderstood teenager. While I may kvetch about teasing classmates, that is nothing compared to what other children go through in public schools. Suicide is now considered a viable escape for too many kids. 

Gaga has now started the Born This Way Foundation, being run by her mother, for this express purpose: to encourage niceness. 

. . . initially, she thought about focusing on a top-down crackdown on bullying. But, over time, she said, she decided instead to use her followers to start a bottom-up movement to try to make it cooler for young people to be nice.

Wow. 

As observant Jews we may believe we have dibs on "niceness," but I think that some of us has forgotten what it actually means. Being pleasant. Sunny. Complimentary. Instead of, say, the opposite. 

I'm of the opinion that in the end, for a child to know not to hurt someone else comes from parents. As I mentioned in a previous post, many parents want their kids to be "go-getting extroverts" - and self-interest doesn't take others' feelings into consideration. 

I asked Lady Gaga if people won’t be cynical about an agenda so simple and straightforward as kindling kindness. Exceptionally articulate, she seemed for the first time at a loss for words. “That cynicism is exactly what we’re trying to change,” she finally said. 

Kindness isn't glamorous. Often it is considered nerdy, or wimpy, or asking to be stepped on. I still find it sad how quite a few equate "nice" with "sucker," and try to take advantage either by demanding favors or flinging casual insults. 

Yet simply being nice can do amazing things, both internally and externally. And by making it appealing, Gaga seems to be going about it the right way.

Hi, Handsome

"What really matters to me," she said, "is if the guy is good looking." 

"Huh?" my head snapped around.  

"Definitely!" another female chimed in. "It's, like, 97 percent." 

"Huh?" I repeated. 

"Well, you said yourself that the last date was chinless and big-eared." 

"And his eyes were too close set. But, as I said before, I really don't care about looks. I didn't hold that against him. Just because I don't take looks into account doesn't mean I'm not aware of them." 

The two snort in disbelief. 

It would seem, gentlemen, that the cheese stands alone. While you insist you want pretty, well boys, so do the girls. Your personality? Your charm? Your witty rejoinders? Useless in the face of . . . your face. 

You've got to up your game now, men. 

Justin Theroux

Get some contacts; girls like to see big, expressive eyes. 

I would not advocate an eating disorder, exactly, but enough frum girls are driven to it that maybe the males should experiment with starvation from time to time (although I've never understood the supposed correlation of thinness with facial beauty . . .) 

Bench pressing something would be nice. 

Be well groomed. Not in a metrosexual way, I personally find that kinda sissy, but trim hair accordingly, side parts are flattering, and shave instead of maintaining three-day-scruff. Check out the ol' nose hair while you're at it. 

Wear SPF daily. It's the best way to prevent wrinkles and unsightly discoloration.

Go shopping. The nattier the suit, the better; you'd be amazed how many things a good wardrobe can compensate for. Use the tips we talked about. You want to make the girl plotz, don't you? 

Chop chop, boys! I've got you penciled in at the dermatologist. Your skin has to glow on the next date. She's expecting it. 

(Disclaimer: This post was meant for humorous and sarcastic purposes only. Should not be read if lacking funny bone. If, while reading, feelings of self-righteous indignation arise, please seek comedic help immediately.) 

Jon Stewart's Take on Pesach

I was just begged to see the first segment of last night's The Daily Show, and I nearly fell of my chair laughing. 

Watch it. I shan't provide any spoilers. 

Bum Bum Bum Bum BA Bum Bum BA Bum

If anyone didn't get that, it's Darth Vader's theme. 

What could be more awesome then flipping through the Sunday Styles and being faced with an article about Star Wars' endurance? 

It cites this ad, which I have bookmarked, and watch from time to time. 

My nephew, like the boy in the article, refers to Darth as "Dark," and creates his own fantasy. He refused to believe me when I told him Boba Fett is Jango Fett's son (actually, his clone, but I can't exactly explain that to a five year old). 

He has only watched one of the films, but he has an army of Star Wars Lego, as well as the same Nintendo DS game (where the bad guys explode into Lego bits and pieces). 

This allure is not solely with the child-crowd; there are even adults currently in Jedi training. He may not have been Yoda's student, but since we are in a limited galaxy one just has to make do. 

My thanks to George Lucas, for appealing to children, as well as every adult's inner child.  

Long Lasting Lipstick

There are many makeup books out there, and based on the high recommendations on Amazon, I purchased a used copy of Kevyn Aucoin's Making Faces.

Since it was so ecstatically reviewed, I expected some mind-blowing tips. That it did not deliver; it discussed more makeup theory (where one should apply highlight rather than how or with what), and had examples of looks already done with some written instructions which were not particularly useful. 

Although, there was one tip I picked up from the book that has come in good use. Kevyn writes that after a first coat of lipstick, blot, reapply, blot again. It seemed like too much work to me, so I never bothered. 

Until I had a family simcha and I thought to give it a try. To blot, Kevyn suggests peeling apart two-ply tissues and using the now single ply. 

I applied, I blotted, I applied, I blotted, I applied, I blotted. 

During the evening I sneaked off to check the lip status, as I assumed after all the food and drink I had consumed, my lips must desperately need a refresher. I rummaged through my evening bag for my (retractable) lip brush and turned to the mirror, hand poised, only to see that my lipstick was still perfectly on. 

Thanks, Kevyn. 

Friends With Your Money

It is amazing what an influence other people have in one's life. Friends' casual comments or their own lifestyle can make us question ourselves, doubting our own judgement and soon we are living our lives for them. 

And they don't even care! As Dr. Phil says, "It's like my dad used to say: You wouldn't worry so much about what people thought about you if you knew how seldom they did."

That's it in a nutshell. I see so many people killing themselves because they think they are "supposed to." Purim alone is enough to make one take to the bed, the way it works nowadays.

I went out once with a guy who helped people with their debt, and he said how there are actually families out there who have more than one luxury car and take vacations they can't afford and buy a house that will bankrupt them because, and they weren't even ashamed to admit it, "They have to keep up with the neighbors." Spoiler: the neighbors don't notice either way.  

This article breaks down who is the bad money friend and how to deal with them. Interestingly enough, it doesn't make any claims on how to change them, because, that is, after all, out of one's hands. It just teaches how to react to their mishagaas. 

It's all in your hands, cookie.

Not ALL in White . . .

It is now a common sight that an engaged gal will don a white ensemble for her vort to evoke her expectant wedding gown. 

But I notice when I look at full-length photos, something niggles at me. They usually pair the white dress with a white pair of shoes, and that is where my eyes are drawn. 

In one photo, by the casual l'chaim, she is wearing black tights and black shoes, and her legs and feet appear to be rather shapely; in the next, for the vort, she is has donned the white dress, sheer stockings, and white shoes, yet now her calves looked obviously less slender. 

I decided to blame the footwear. White is not a forgiving shade (maybe that's why many cultures consider it the hue of death), and I find that it is difficult to locate a white shoe that is styled flatteringly enough to make the foot still look dainty. 

Fear not, freshly affianced! There is another option. 

Nude. 

Nude is a great option for shoes in general. 

1) They match EVERYTHING, making them a practical purchase. What to wear with navy is no longer a problem.

Via fromme-toyou.tumblr.com

2) They make legs look better! They give the visual effect that the leg is longer, ergo leaner. 

Via citygeisha.com

3) They are ideal for cheering up black attire without having to be a bright shade.

Embrace the nude shoe! 

DV by Dolce Vita

Wander and Ye Shall Find

You know all those funny hashgocha pratis stories? There's always a few when it comes to dating. "My plane ticket was changed and I ended up marrying the girl I was sitting next to" or "I rear-ended her car" or "Our grandmothers had us married off when we were in the cradle but we were set up years later" and so forth. 

This one is by Natalie Appleton, who has an epiphany while living with her boyfriend in her small Canadian hometown of Medicine Hat, that this is not where she wants to be. She leaves him and drives off. 

After wandering a bit, she finds herself in Thailand teaching English but meeting no one new. She believes she is here for a purpose, but what? 

Four months later, I received a reply from an online date who was a fellow English teacher and Canadian . . . he was heading home for summer holidays. “I grew up in a small town in Alberta,” he wrote. “You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s called Medicine Hat.”

I choked on my coffee.

All those nights I had wondered why I was in Thailand. The truth and pain of waiting slapped me like oars.

Wanting and gratitude danced in my body. I read those last four words again and again: “It’s called Medicine Hat.” And I knew. 

How's that for divine intervention? 

At our wedding two years later . . . he said, “And hey, if you, uh, if you ever want to meet a nice girl from Medicine Hat, just move to the other side of the world and wait a while.”  

Not Just Any Yenta

My neighbor called my mother, asking for the name of a shadchan. 

"But," he stipulated, "not the name of a bored housewife who decided to become a 'shachan.'" 

Well, well, well. It seems I'm not the only one to cotton on.

Love and Other Drugs

Sometimes the conversation in our community regarding marriage is less than romantic. Heck, I'm no romance-lover, but nowadays it can sound downright clinical. Often phraseology is akin to a one-day sale. "Getting" a shidduch has a "running of the brides" image. 

That's why I stop and read articles like this one, which shows all the biological benefits to a committed relationship. Diane Ackerman begins with the love between a mother and child which stems from the initial oneness. That is what infants seeks for the rest of their days. 

But as a wealth of imaging studies highlight, the neural alchemy continues throughout life as we mature and forge friendships, dabble in affairs, succumb to romantic love, choose a soul mate. The body remembers how that oneness with Mother felt, and longs for its adult equivalent . . .  Loving relationships alter the brain the most significantly.

When two people meet, the resulting compromises and introductions into the other's world floods the brain with new information. 

When two people become a couple, the brain extends its idea of self to include the other; instead of the slender pronoun “I,” a plural self emerges who can borrow some of the other’s assets and strengths. The brain knows who we are. . . we trade bits of identity with loved ones, and in time we become a sort of chimera. We don’t just get under a mate’s skin, we absorb him or her. 

On Scrubs, in a fantasy episode called "My Princess," the smug and newly-wedded Turk and Carla morph into one being, the two-headed Turla. While they were irritating, they are the ideal, I suppose. We believe in two neshamos becoming one. 

And that feeling as though an imaginary hand is squeezing your gut when you are rejected? Not imagined. 

 . . . the same areas of the brain that register physical pain are active when someone feels socially rejected. That’s why being spurned by a lover hurts. . . . the bundle of nerve fibers zinging messages between the hemispheres that register both rejection and physical assault. Whether they speak Armenian or Mandarin, people around the world use the same images of physical pain to describe a broken heart, which they perceive as crushing and crippling. It’s not just a metaphor for an emotional punch. Social pain can trigger the same sort of distress as a stomachache or a broken bone.

On the other hand, the presence of a loved one can do wonders for the brain. 

If you’re in a healthy relationship, holding your partner’s hand is enough to subdue your blood pressure, ease your response to stress, improve your health and soften physical pain. We alter one another’s physiology and neural functions . . . scanned the brains of long-married couples who described themselves as still “madly in love.” Staring at a picture of a spouse lit up their reward centers as expected; the same happened with those newly in love (and also with cocaine users). But, in contrast to new sweethearts and cocaine addicts, long-married couples displayed calm in sites associated with fear and anxiety. Also, in the opiate-rich sites linked to pleasure and pain relief, and those affiliated with maternal love, the home fires glowed brightly . . . A happy marriage relieves stress and makes one feel as safe as an adored baby. 

I thought of my cousin, who had always been a bundle of nerves. I remember distinctly how after her marriage her spouse, who was in tune to her worries, took care of what she needed to be dealt with, transmitting to her his own calmness, created this new creature, a relatively tranquil being compared to her previously single self. 

During idylls of safety, when your brain knows you’re with someone you can trust, it needn’t waste precious resources coping with stressors or menace. Instead it may spend its lifeblood learning new things or fine-tuning the process of healing. Its doors of perception swing wide open.

But this divine being doesn't just happen. And something this precious shouldn't.