Phoebe Kate

The sayings “40 is the new 20″ and “60 is the new 40.”  Oh, come on.  Who are we     kidding?

Emeril, Rachael Rae, Paula Dean and Sandra Lee. 

PDAs by couples who’ve been out of high school for more years than they care to admit.

Carrying tiny dogs in purses.

“Yummy mummies.”  Sure, you and I could be one, too, if we had an unlimited budget for beautification and wardrobe, nannies and cooks and maids and personal shoppers and a couple of secretaries to give us the time for spa-going, and hairstylists, makeup artists and personal trainers who make house calls.  Lacking such, we’re doing pretty damn well to be clean and neat every day, if you ask me. 

Kitchen islands. 

The belief that the modern woman “can have it all.”  How did we, intelligent females that we are, let ourselves get sold this outrageous bill of goods?  There are only 24 hours in a day and everything on our long to-do list – career, time for our children, husband/significant other, relatives, friends as well as “me-time” – can’t be our #1 priority.  Some things (and people) are inevitably going to get short-changed.   No wonder millions of American women between the ages of 25 and 44 are clinically depressed and the sales of Prozac and Buspar keep rising by leaps and bounds.    

Anything having to do with any Red Carpet event of any sort.

“Less is more.”  No, less is less and more is more.  Always is, always was and always will be.  Amen.

–phoebe kate

They’re at it again, folks.  The Chinese just won’t quit messing around with stuff.

As if it’s not bad enough that they have flooded the American market with defective tires and toasters and tainted products like seafood, pet food, medicines, vitamins and toothpaste as well as toys laced with lead or the date rape chemical, now they’re screwing around with Mother Nature.

Seems that Chinese scientists think they’ve devised a surefire way to keep it from raining during the 2008 Olympics in Beijing.  They’re going to blast the clouds out of the sky using artillery, rockets and aircraft.

Oh, yippee-skippee.  What will they come up with next???

I shudder to think…

–phoebe kate

Only in Hollywood, dahling.  And only by the grace of state-of-the-art technology.

The soon-to-be-released and long-awaited Sex and the City flick catches up on the lives of the four main characters.  Hopefully, the passage of time has made the gallivanting Manhattan gals wiser — but they won’t be older, that’s for sure.  Thanks to digital air-brushing, Carrie and Samantha and Miranda and Charlotte will look like they fell head-first into the Fountain of Youth.  

Ironically, the cinematic rejuvenation process was personally supervised by Sarah Jessica Parker, who is on record as saying she won’t resort to cosmetic surgery to eradicate the realities of aging.  Apparently, she thinks her wrinkles are fine in real life but not on the screen — and not for a character who is verging on menopause.

The popularity of the SATC series resulted from its willingness to take risks in being honest about the life of 30-something single females.  Forget the $400 Manolos and designer clothes and luxurious apartments — they were just eye-candy.  The show was about loneliness, and the lies we tell ourselves to make it through another day, and the illusions we cling to in order to survive, and the desperate measures we go to in the pursuit of happiness.  The four characters, no matter how fabulous they looked, were psychological messes who made terrible mistakes and alternated between being endearing and annoying — but that’s why we loved them and identified with them.  On a gut level, they were real.

Not so in the movie, it would seem.  Too bad.  After all the awful things these characters went through in 6 seasons on TV, they’ve earned the right to have wrinkles and sags and bags four years later.  Just like the rest of us.

–phoebe kate     

Yeah, he was just a horse.  But ohhhh – what a horse… 

And no, I’m not one of those folks who thinks Barbaro departed this earth a year ago today and became an angel.  I’m just an animal lover who grew up around horse racing and love horses and mourn the loss of a glorious creature who showed what he was made of on-track and off.

And yes, he is an example of grace under fire and courage in the face of adversity.  He — a mere animal – was a more cooperative patient at the New Bolton Center than most of us are when we get carted off to the hospital for some unpleasant procedures.

Whether we’re comfortable with the idolization and idealization of an animal or not, Barbaro captured not only headlines but the heart of a nation.  Yes, it’s a phenomenon and you can read about it in my feature for PopMatters last year called America’s Pony.

On a more intimate note.  As a journalist, there really aren’t a whole lot of opportunities to write about something you have personal feelings about.  You write about what’s assigned you whether you’re interested in it or not — and you make it interesting to your readers, despite your own POV, because that’s your job.  You write about what’s popular because it’s popular, not because you like it yourself.  You write objectively because your job is to convey information, not broadcast your own opinion.  America’s Pony was one of the rare moments where I could both write objectively and subjectively at the same time without a conflict. 

Thanks, Barbaro, for giving me the inspiration and the opportunity.  You were a hell of a fine horse, if ever there was one.  I just wish more of us humans embodied the qualities you displayed.   

Rest in peace, my dear equine friend.

–phoebe kate 

So today, the KITH (Kid in The House) comes home from school and asks me, “What’s Betty Berg’s address?”

“Who???” I ask in return.

“Betty Berg.”

“Betty who???”

“BETTY BERG!” the KITH shouts at me with typical 11-year-old impatience.  “You know her.  What’s her address?”

“I don’t know any Betty Berg.  And I certainly have no idea where she lives.”

“Everybody knows Betty Berg.  She’s famous.”

“What does she do?  Is she some new actress or rock star or something?”

“No, I don’t know what she does.  But she’s famous because of her address.”

“Because of where she lives???” 

(Now I’ve known people who claimed they lived in the Dakota, the NYC apartment building where John Lennon & Yoko Ono lived, or with Hef in the Playboy mansion during a brief career as a Bunny, or with Sean Penn or Johnny Depp or whoever in a Malibu beach house or a Soho loft or a 40-foot cabin cruiser in the Caribbean, or with a ghost of a disgruntled Confederate general in a Savannah mansion.  I take all these claims about as seriously as Betty Berg’s.)

“Yeah,” says the KITH.  “Everybody knows her address.”  Kids of 11 love to make the adults in their world feel stupid.  It’s hotwired into them at birth, along with stubbornness, sneakiness and an insatiable fondness for all things sweet.

“So where did you hear about Betty Berg?” I inquire.

“In school.”

“In what class?”

“History.”

AHA!!!!  The lightbulb clicks on above this blonde-with-dark-roots-and-streaks-of-gray middle-aged head.  Hey, I wasn’t born yesterday.

“History?  Betty Berg’s address?  Do you mean the Gettysburg Address?” 

The Kith blinks and blinks again.  “Oh, yeah.  That’s it.”

“Oh, okay.  So what did you learn about the Gettysburg Address today?”

The Kith looks at me like I’ve just grown a horn in the center of my forehead and replies, “Nothing,” and walks off.

And this child is in the gifted class at her elementary school. 

I said GIFTED, not special.

Sheeeeesh….

 –phoebe kate