Popcorn and Sushi

Reality Overload

Some people don't realize that we get American TV in Japan.  We also have USPS mail service, and we can buy a limited selection of American books and magazines just around the corner on the base.  Since Husband works for the U.S. government, we receive some pretty cool benefits that aren't available to other expats.

But of course, selection is limited.  And our TV shows are interrupted not by commercials, but by informative and thus often-annoying public service announcements produced by the U.S. military.  It doesn't take long to learn them all by heart, so my kids are well-versed in "just saying no" to sexual harassment, never shaking a baby, and not disclosing too much personal information which could come back to bite some military operation on the bum.

But the kids and I have been in Texas for almost a month, visiting family and friends as we have done around this time every year since 2004.  And this means "real" TV. 

When I say "real," I mean loads of Disney for the kids, and waaaaay too much reality TV for me.  What with trying to keep up with the Kardashians, shaking my head in wonder at Rock of Love 2, taking the occasional peek inside Kat's tattoo world, and analyzing whether Scott Baio will ever make a decent father, I really have time for little else.  Sure, I'm reading before bed, but my eyes flit from book to Britney constantly. 

I get ensnared every year.  It's all pretty fun for a while--I'd say two to three weeks--until you realize that in order to live your own reality, it's necessary at some point to hit the "off" button.  Thankfully, when my head starts to spin (or when we're back in Japan with less reality-junkie variety), I can turn to ever-reliable, ever-hilarious The Soup for a condensed, much-saner reality fix.  I do love The Soup.

But speaking of reality, I can't say I've just been plopped in my twin bed at my mother-in-law's all day, every day.  No--I have indeed been stewing in my own reality, which currently involves much talking and working with my parents to figure out how to deal with my quickly-aging grandmother.  The kids and I have swooped in and feverishly tried to do as much as possible to be helpful in some way while we're here.

It reminds me of why many people like reality TV--it's indeed a diversion from our own reality.  Well, and it can be pretty darned funny, too.

Tea and Smileys

Check out this feature on Takashi Murakami's show at NYC's Gagosian Gallery.  Murakami's work explores the intersection of popular and high culture, East and West, traditional and contemporary.  Appreciated and well-known both in and outside his native country, he seems a pretty darned good ambassador/ spokesperson for the Japan of today.

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And the Coolest Mom Award Goes To...

I am not a gamer.  In fact, just using the term "gamer" is foreign to me.  I'm no Luddite--after all, I have a blog--and at times I can even use a modicum of techno-jargon in a conversation.  But video games have never had a large presence in my life.  Here, I present to you my complete gaming history:

First I will show my age by admitting that my earliest video game-associated memories are of playing "Pong" on my parents' friends' huge console TV--or was that big thing a stand-alone game system?  I don't know and don't care--all I knew at the time was that "Pong" was pretty amazing.  As an only child, I'd sit alone mesmerized, playing and playing it until my eyes developed a protective anti-glare film, while my parents were off in the regal dining room on the other side of the house laughing it up with the Pong-owners. I'm sure the friends must've told my parents it was "harmless entertainment."  And I'm sure none of us imagined there could ever possibly be anything grander--more interactive and visually-stunning--than "Pong."

A couple of years later, enter the hand-held race-car game.  My parents, either wanting to save a buck or not exactly being aware of the latest in Mattel technology, presented it to me at Christmas.  This was no electronic toy; its most high-tech characteristic was that it took batteries.  Probably double-A. It was a video game impostor, I suppose--I can still hear that "rrrrr, rrrrrrrrr" sound it made as the plastic tape bogged down while trying to do its repeated loop through the casing, with me turning that little black steering wheel on the front like there was no tomorrow and the Grand Prix win would be mine.  It was decidedly down-market, but I was taught to appreciate a gift, and besides, a girl takes what she can get.

Next came the TRS-80, that old grand-pappy Radio Shack computer many 80s-kids had, which was supposed to revolutionize my high school paper-writing.  The intent behind its purchase was that I would learn how to use the word processor, but today, I have no recall that such a thing even existed.  Instead, I used the computer for a much more important purpose:  playing a maze game in which I battled various line-drawn monsters until one or the other of us was virtually-"eliminated."  This got boring after--well, not soon enough, but it did.

Once the Trash-80 lost its appeal after those wasted hours, there were the "Gap Years," in which I, atypically for teenagers/young adults of my day, did not darken the doors of an arcade nor own any computerized device.  I was a bookish child who grew into a bookish teenager who grew into a bookish adult, and I guess my earlier forays into computerland hadn't yielded much in the way of success and enjoyment.  Actually, I had a variety of interests, but video gaming just wasn't one of them.  I was never afflicted with "Pac-Man Fever," though like every human with a radio, I had the song stuck in my head for months.

But then--and yes, I'm skipping a few years in which computers took on a bigger, but only school- and work-related role--I had kids.  The first one came with a brain and heart full of everything dreamy, creative, and relational; the second one came hard-wired for action, immediacy, mathematical prowess, and conquest.  After a few years, I was dragged against my will by this child into a world of bizarre characters and a language I still understand only slightly-better than Swahili--a place inhabited by Rare Pokemon and moving Lego-creations.  A place now also enthusiastically shared by that creative First Child and her dad, my husband.  I have to say that more dollars have been spent in my household on Gameboy games than I could ever have imagined, and I've been sucked into buying them--but never playing them, to my kids' chagrin.

So I'm the odd man out, as it were.  But wouldn't my kids be surprised if, the next time I'm waiting around for them at baseball practice/ballet/Girl Scouts/Japanese lessons, I whipped out a lovely little pink Nintendo DS Lite instead of a copy of "Pride and Prejudice"?  Could I be drawn out of my anti-game prejudice and perhaps even find something I like playing?  Is it possible I could immediately be crowned "Coolest Mom on the Planet"?  Or, at least "Coolest Red-haired American Mom Living on a Hill in Western Japan With a Teacher-Husband and Two Children Under the Age of Twelve"?

Nintendo, via Crazy Hip Blog Mamas, is giving away a DS Lite, along with a copy  of the game "Brain Age."  Something I need?  Heck, no.  But the chance to win the title of "Coolest Red-haired American Mom Living on a Hill in Western Japan With a Teacher-Husband and Two Children Under the Age of Twelve" comes around only every so often.  I wouldn't want to miss my chance.

Beer-chan

So. I'm not certain what message little Beer-chan is trying to get across ("Balancing beer on your head is fun"??), but it's stuff like this that can make living in Japan a real hoot. Never mind that I got the link from the Fred Flare blog. Personally, I'm equally-fond of Afro-dog and Tissue-san.

Go here to experience the animated silliness of Beer-chan. Perhaps there is something deeper here. What am I missing?

On Notice

Because I'm still too tired/busy/lazy? to write a real post: 

Here, instead, is a nice little list of people and things I'm officially putting "on notice."  Thanks to Mr. Colbert, and to Sweetney for the link!

I'm going nighty-night now.  Back soon--pinkie-promise.

My Take on Britney and the "New Momism"

A few days ago I was reading Susan Wagner's most recent Mama Monologues column over at mamazine.com.  Susan wrote of her mixed feelings about being photographed at an interview "lounging seductively" in heels with her laptop and wondering whether her glamorized appearance sans children was contributing to the perpetuation of what's being called the "new momism"--a romanticized notion of motherhood in which mothers must appear (and be) near-perfect and celebrity moms in particular are held up as the gold standard. 

The "new momism" was brought to light in The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How it Has Undermined Women, by Susan Douglas and Meredith Michaels.  While I haven't read The Mommy Myth, I can't help thinking that mothers have always been romanticized, and so have celebrities; that's not exactly "new."  But sure, even without having read this book, I understand and can empathize in regard to the expectations placed these days on all mothers, both by ourselves and by our society.

Britney Spears has been feeling the pressure that comes from being a celebrity (someone who is expected to be physically perfect) and a mom (someone who is expected to have attained a certain amount of maturity).  Susan Wagner noted a possible example of the "new momism" in a piece by the Washington Post's Robin Givhan, about Britney's recent interview with Matt Lauer, in which she pleaded for understanding and non-judgment while appearing, well--not quite "put-together."  It's certainly possible to read Givhan's humorous but biting article and feel that she clearly believes that Britney's clothing choice spoke volumes; I'm just not sure that Givhan or anyone else was judging Britney's parenting based on her outfit that day.  It seems to me that her celebrity status was being called into question more than her mothering skills.  After all, as Givhan notes (like it or not), "in the world of celebrities, physical perfection--or the appearance of it--is a requirement of the job."

But back to Susan's piece and her fear of contributing to the "new momism": I commented.  I told her that I didn't think the world would expect her to pose for a photo shoot in a "saggy tracksuit and pilled, stained terrycloth houseslippers, with a kid hanging off each arm."  She responded, in part, that her photo, and others that were taken with her crying child, do not tell the world what kind of mother she is, just as "...Britney's miniskirt and gum don't really say anything about what kind of mother SHE is."  Absolutely.  Exactly!  I didn't catch the now-infamous interview or any of the response to it besides Givhan's article--but again, I can't help thinking that people perhaps were shocked with her unkempt appearance because she IS a celebrity, mom or not.  Certainly there are plenty of celebrities who happen to be moms (I'm thinking Courtney Love, here) who occasionally make arses of themselves in public, and we aren't all (A) blaming their demeanor/appearance on the fact that they are mothers, (B) completely excusing their actions and forgetting that they are mothers, or (C) remarking triumphantly that that's what being a "real" mom is all about!  So what's mothering got to do with?  I feel that in Britney's case, she's been singled out in the past for some of the decisions she's made (parenting and otherwise), and her appearance in the Lauer interview just gave her detractors more to crow about.  Her seemingly-contrived attempt to look like "Everywoman" in the interview simply backfired.

I believe that most thinking mamas, and most thinking humans in general, know that celebrities (moms or not) have flaws just like "normal" people, but maybe we also need to comprehend the ridiculousness of believing that most celebrities (moms or not) would appear in a photo shoot looking anything less than spectacular, regardless of what their lives are really like.  And you know what?  I think Susan Wagner, having not quite achieved the celebrity status of Britney or Courtney, should also be allowed to look glamorous or perky in her photo shoot, without women throughout the country crying foul and shouting that this doesn't portray "real life" with kids.  Of course it isn't real life; it's a photo shoot!  Again, I 'd hope that all those thinking mamas out there would be fully aware that Ms. Wagner doesn't awaken each morning and immediately don her pointy-toed heels, plop down in a cushy chair with her laptop, and stay there, alone with adult beverage in hand, until midnight. 

Maybe what I've been getting at is this:  I don't understand why we feel we have to link looking good OR looking bad with being a mother.  I know, I know--this dilemma probably lies at the very root of the "new momism." But please tell me:  who the heck is looking to celebrities for parenting advice, anyway?  I'd knock them silly with my five-inch stilettos, if I owned any.

American Idol: Much Better When it's Bad

Okay, I'm not the first to mention this, but "American Idol," while never quite boring, isn't exactly cutting-edge entertainment.  I may feel this way because what passes for mainstream pop music often annoys me greatly.  I'm begging, "Idol" contestants: please, please, stop trying to sound like Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, or Celine Dion----unless you're bad, really dreadful.  The screechier and whinier, the better; bring out the Alien Within!  Can't carry a tune in a bucket?  Try anyway, because that's what makes the show for me:  the tone-deaf mingling with the top-notch!  And the tone-deaf are so much funnier.

If you want to audition for American Idol and you really have a voice that can sound like Mariah, more power to you, but I won't like it.  If it sounds like a cross between a chainsaw and a duck on helium, now we're talkin'!

Part of my problem with the "good" singers is that I usually don't like the artist/song selection (Mariah et al) chosen by contestants or foisted upon them in Hollywood by the "Idol" Powers-that-Be.  If the contestants are awful--well, it doesn't really matter to me what they choose to sing.  But if I have to listen to good singers, give me someone who sounds like Bono, Fiona Apple, or Chris Martin, pretty please! 

So anyway--my children are the reason I bring up this topic two weeks after the latest season of "Idol" has ended.  They've been going around singing bits of things they've heard on the show.  Thank goodness they don't try copying those "good" singers--bo-rinnnnng!  No, what they're after is more along the lines of "Mary Gilbeaux" and friends, holders of prime real estate on the "Worst of American Idol--Seasons 1-4" dvd, which we recently picked up from the library.  My kids have got it down quite well, too--from the angry cries of "Whateverrrrr!" to the butchered versions of our National Anthem and that beloved standard "Lady Marmalade." 

It makes a mama proud.

Britney and I: Not Separated at Birth

I was sitting here earlier reading CityMama's post from May 15 about a certain young celebrity who may have already made some less-than-ideal parenting choices with her infant son.  Inappropriate carseat usage was highlighted, which really made me realize that Britney may indeed not be my long-lost twin.  I suspect this because:

She:  makes a bazillion dollars every week.

I:  am part of a family of four supported by a public school teacher.

She:  is much more famous and well-known than her husband.

I:  am married to a man who is a minor celebrity to giggling Japanese women and American fifth-graders.

She:  has legions of groveling, adoring fans around the world who pay big bucks to see her in concert.

I:  have tens of friends around the world, who expect us to come see them--on our dime, of course.

She:  has had songs in the Billboard Top 10.

I:  might have to bribe someone were there such a thing as a "license to karaoke."

She:  sang about being "not so innocent."

I:  actually was that innocent.

She:  took a rather "guarded" approach to having her son checked for head injuries following a vault from his highchair.

I:  tend to obsess over a child's hangnail.

She:  basically let the baby "drive."

I:  currently make my ten-year-old ride in a booster seat.

This last "I" is what got me to thinking:  yes, Husband and I are a bit protective regarding Safety issues, but isn't that kind of what parents are supposed to do--guard their young from accidents and predators?  Besides, the ten-year-old weighs all of 60 pounds, dripping wet, as they say, and I've heard for years now that kids who are between the ages of 4 and 8 and who weigh between 40 and 80 pounds need to ride in boosters.  So, what we require for our daughter is not exactly within the realm of the hysterical and outlandish, though it may be fairly close to being unnecessary.  Second Child, who is 7, also rides in a booster--but even this is unusual among most kids we know who are his age.  Apparently a lot of people aren't quite as concerned as we are about the possibility of internal injuries caused by improperly-fitting lap belts.

Well, here's to hoping that most American parents at least won't "pull a Britney" with their infants (I know, she was under a lot of pressure from the papparazzi, but come on!).  I have faith that most adults with a modicum of education and common sense can be bothered by the inconvenience of strapping a child into a carseat.  Even pop stars.