So Blake and Ryan got married. Sort of, a little bit, totally surprised?

So, on this lovely Monday morning following a busy weekend, a raging middle-of-the-night rain storm, a power outage, and completely over-sleeping after power-outage alarm didn't sound, I'm starting the week thinking, "Wow. I could really use a weekend right now."

And then -- THEN -- I discovered that my last two cans of Diet Dr Pepper (upon which I survive during the workdays) had been NABBED by some office nitwit, which meant I had to go purse-diving for some pocket change to feed into the office soda machine for something Decidedly Less Tasty (and more Coke Zero-ee) than my beloved DDP.

To make matters more Monday-like, I:

1 -- Paid for my Vending-Coke
2 -- Grabbed my change and realized that someone else had left several quarters behind in the change tray, as well.
3 -- Remembered that the person who had used the vending machine before me was an UBER-SPOOKY individual from "the department upstairs" whom several of have decided is CERTAINLY a serial killer.
4 -- Opted to leave those bonus quarters behind, fearing the Uber-Spook would realize he'd left his quarters, return to retrieve them, find them missing, REMEMBER who was in line behind him at the soda machine --
5 -- Hunt me down
6 -- Kill me.

So, there's that.

All in a Monday morning.

The good news, however: Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds conformed to my theory that like faces marry like faces by running off to the hills of South Carolina and getting hitched on some Romantic Plantation that was used in "The Notebook."

While it's not surprising that they decided to swap vows, it IS surprising how....surprisingly they played the event. No big media roll-out of their engagement, no sale of "We're So In Love!" photos to US Weekly, no "Covert meetings with famous wedding gown designers in a lead-up to the big, cover-winning reveal." None of it.

They played it RESPECTABLY. They actually managed to do it in a way that suggests they have respect for the vows, The Institution, each others' families, all that jazz.

Much like my delight when Katie Holmes sprung herself from the clutches of Cruise, this one caught me pleasantly off guard.

Also: while I'll admit their respective public personas leave me a little uninspired, their private lives continue to be their PRIVATE lives, and that's true of SO FEW celebrities these days, I can't hate on them much. Neither are spied out partying, neither are known for getting unruly in the VIP rooms, they're apparently both down to stay at home in the burbs with their dogs and their baked goods and their weekend visits to the parents -- they're almost like: *gasp* -- NORMAL PEOPLE.

They're both sort of mediocre actors with generally pretty faces and bodies. They have matching chins, lips, and jaws. Toothy smiles. Both love jaunty hats.

I'm going to declare this a "marriage likely to last a decade." I think there will be strong-chinned, toothy babies with fantastic Baby-Style. I pray they continue to be as low-key as they've been for the better part of the last year that they've been dating.

I wish 'em luck.

I like their Game.

Word. Encouragement for us non-degree-holding smarty pants types.

So, this kid here never finished college.

Er, hasn't finished yet (and isn't presently enrolled).

I still have pie-in-the-sky ivy league, post-grad visions of grandeur. I'm a smart enough kiddo who loves the instant gratification of papers and exams and loves the scholastic mandate (excuse?) to lose myself in someone else's writing and then ruminate on it for a grade. It's Grown-Up Fun.

I love school, school loves me.

And it smarts a little when I realize how much I've let myself down by letting myself off the hook for the last dozen or so years since I last pursued collegiate-stuff full-time.

I don't talk about it much, publicly (instead, I e-publish it and toss it out on webernets for posterity. Much less embarrassing that way, right?). It's like a bruise to my otherwise "smart person" persona that I'd rather keep hidden under the bed. Sure, I have hundreds of credits to my name. One year of "Fancy College" in San Diego assembled an interesting mash-up of bible classes and Christian psychology. Many years of intermittent community college landed me with a different cornucopia of art history, media studies, and philosophy classes before a previous employer offered to pony up for an accounting degree which, while never finished, landed me with not-quite-transferable professional-development credits that favored debits, balance sheets, and direct cost crud that derailed my "lib arts" plans for a good several semesters.

AND YET -- even though I haven't had the luxury of finishing an official degree, those dozen-plus years of sometimes-school means I fancy myself a reasonably well-educated brat, well-read (except that I undercut myself by slumming it with the Motley Crue memoir this weekend....and....enjoyed it), supremely enthusiastic about learning, and still eager to fulfill my promise to myself to belly up and finalize a degree before the b-a-b-i-e-s commence in a few years.

THAT bit of personal history is why I was fascinated by one Greta Van Susteren's article on Huffington Post that asked if we'll ever have a president who attended a community college. It's a quick couple of paragraphs:

I was lucky, I went to some pretty good schools (University of Wisconsin and Georgetown Law School). One thing I learned going to those two schools and teaching in a law school, and rubbing shoulders all these years with people who went to similar schools or even much fancier ones, is that graduates of fancy schools don't have a monopoly on being smart or having good common sense or even good ideas and strong leadership skills. There is a giant pool of other people -- yes, those who went to a community college or maybe no college -- who are really smart. I regret we don't tap into this pool more often for ideas and for leadership. 

In many instances you go to fancy schools because you can -- your family has money, or you have scholarship or a special mentor, or your family guided you there because they knew about those schools. Some families don't even think those schools are within reach and so we never get to experience the leadership skills of their family member. 

I am certainly not criticizing those who seize the opportunity and go to fancy schools -- but merely lamenting the fact that we miss the opportunity to experience the great skills and leadership of those who did not. Not everything is learned in a classroom -- and all A's doesn't mean you have the answers for everyone else. It means you are good at tests. I think practical real life experience is much more valuable.

Oh, I have practical real life experience in droves. AND I get A's. Using The Greta Criterion I should be president. I have decent common sense, good ideas, and, if not necessarily Global Superpower Leadership Ability, I'm young yet. So I should probably run for president.

All kidding aside, I was about eleven years old when I recall watching my first national political convention. Watching the delegates parade in, watching the speeches, watching the "who's-who" of early nineties politics rub shoulders and give ovation after ovation, I remember being struck by the VERY vivid thought: "I'm supposed to be there someday."

Sure, convictions of an eleven year-old's homework-dodging mind are not always indications of a higher career calling, but, it was the beginning of my fascination with the theatre of politics, with the euphoric spell a finely-crafted speech casts upon an audience, with the cyclical nature of fervor and frustration on a national scale.....there's something about the whole meal deal of Politics that continues to engage me on a sort of romantic level, as one of humankind's oldest traditions, as something toward which precious few people feel REAL apathy (sure, there's conversational apathy, but I think most people DO have fairly specific opinions about how the world ought to run).

This year, my personal political outlook has changed QUITE a bit, been tested quite a bit, and I've re-evaluated quite a bit, but what hasn't changed is my fascination with the theatrics of elections, with the pomp of it all, the "using too many words to say too little" tactic used to whip large crowds into a sign-waving frenzy....it's FUN.

And Greta's right, smart folks come from less-lauded Alma maters, too (but, the sad truth, I fear, is that our current pool of political candidates is whittled more by the dollars to their name than by their smarts or their "practical real-life experience.").

Anyway -- more power to community college candidates of the future. We're out there.

Three months, no venue, no date: no problem.

Quick update.

Super-quick. because if I weren't me, and I were reading me, I'd be in the "shut up about the wedding stuff" camp. But maybe some people's little "please! no more book reviews!" radars actually perk up for wedding stuff. I know there are zillions of blogs out there frequented by zillions of daydreaming chick-like people who love nothing better than to stare at pictures of other people's table centerpieces and silverware and aisle-runners, so:

Wedding stuff.

Theoretically, we're planning to tie the knot on December 1st. Theoretically, because, with 94 days till W-day, we have:

No firm, official date, stemming from the fact that we have:

No venue.

Also:

No guest list.

No invitations.

No caterer.

No "wedding website" (BUT! I did actually splat down money for a "normal" domain rather than a blahblahblah.ourwedding.iforgottheurl.com, so once I find a template, I can get www.peterheather2012.com up and rolling. Because that's cute and easy to remember, right?

So, apparently it's hard to find an indoor venue for about 120+ people in high Company Holiday Party season with only 3 months notice. APPARENTLY, it's sort of like a reality TV show to see who can find and secure a venue before the Local Electrical Company locks that action down with a nice, plump, company check. Gladiator Weddings.

We DID toss around the idea of a quick, small, intimate, "legal wedding" to sign the papers and git 'er done....there are MANY reasons this would be practical, logical, money-saving, stress-reducing, fill in the blank. We'd treat the immediate family (and a lucky friend or two) to a nice dinner at a small, intimate, local winery, I'd put on the dress and the fancy shoes, he'd wear a suit........then we'd wait until spring when we could save some money, and drag it all out all over again. For the sake of the crowd. Put on the dress, force some friends to get dressed up, arrange the cake and caterers and music and photographer....and: fake it, sort of.

But (unless I'm keeping a super-special secret and we're already married........), we're opting not to go that route.

We'd rather rush, hustle, cut some corners, and throw elbows at Local Electrical Company in our bid to lock down some yet-un-chosen venue, throw out the party platters of pasta and Caesar salad, hit up Costco for the most decent bubbly we can buy in bulk for $7 a bottle (heh, heh, heh), and pay for a keg. We'll force brothers and sisters into tuxes and bridesmaid dresses, we'll debate the merits of Cee-Lo versus Band of Horses for a processional (or Abba. Don't discount our willingness to go off the reservation and play Abba as I drag that train down the aisle), we'll have awkward toasts and awkward dancing to Ke$ha (YES.) and old Usher (YES.) and, oh, Amy Grant (double YES.) and then force everyone out the door by 11pm so that we don't get charged for extra hours at Holiday Party Central. That's what we'd rather do.

So -- that's where it's at.

We're just not there yet.

And, I know, that wasn't super-quick.

Cleaning up the news feed: making Facebook work for ME.

(....actually -- you MUST go check out the "reviews" for the Lady-Pens. As good as "wolf t-shirt" reviews...)

First off, I'll remind us that I spend All Day On The Internet. All caps. It's a "short attention span for real work" sort of thing, coupled with a genuine Love and Affection for Al Gore's Brain Child. 

So. 

Realized the other day that it seemed like my Facebook (and, to a similar extent, Twitter) feed had become nothing but one big, loud, obnoxious, never-ending advertisement for crap I don't need. Realized, concurrently, that I'd been the maestro of my own irritation, orchestrating a series of "likes" and "subscriptions" and "follow" mouse-clicks that meant my day was spent scrolling through nothing but advertisements for junk hucked at me by companies I'd rather just left me alone.

Anyone who's ever "liked" a store at which they shop or a product they buy and then immediately regretted that the company actually posts annoying stuff with much regularity will relate to the chagrin: it was beginning to feel like my online life was nothing but a collection of commercials. And no one likes commercials. 

Unless they're Dos Equis commercials. Or, if you're Mr Wonderful, the "free credit score dot com, dot com" commercials, EVEN THOUGH the jingle gets stuck in his head for days. Especially at night when we're trying to sleep. 

Anyway. 

Sure, I "liked" Jiffy Lube to get a $5 discount, but I don't really want to hear what they have to say about winterizing my car when I fire up Facebook in the morning.

Yep, I "liked" that steakhouse downtown because they had a free dinner giveaway once (a dinner that costs most of a pay check, actually), but I don't really care to read about their whiskey-tasting dinners and their famous guests chefs when all I really want is to cruise through pictures of actual friends' weddings and pregnant bellies.

Maybe I "like" that tanning salon, but would they PLEASE stop posting pictures of bikini-clad girls in lots of jewelry asking fans to "Yea" or "Nay" whether or not layered necklaces are a "must" when poolside this summer - ???

And yeah, I "like" that cheap chain clothing store that cranks out chintzy junk made by Chinese slave labor, but I don't care that they just slashed clearance prices on their website and I don't care that they want to re-direct me to this month's "Elle" magazine to see the many ways I can copy designer looks for less. And I don't have Homecoming anything on the horizon (this should be telling me something about their target demographic. And it ain't me). 

Yes, I "like" the expensive department store, but that doesn't mean it helps my "buy things" compulsion to have $9700 dresses appearing in the news feed as though any REAL people (read: people who do not appear on any television programming on the Bravo network) would ever buy a Lanvin for ten grand just because Facebook showed it to them. Now when they finally get the full line of Tom Ford cosmetics, then maybe I'll........NO. No, I'm not a masochist. 

And I couldn't even tell you why I "liked" that particular film studio, in the first place. All they produce are violence-heavy, dude-magnet action flicks. Wait -- actually, I love those.

Where were the "friends" in my "social networks?" Don't real PEOPLE use these sites anymore? Why am I constantly sifting through the songs they just listened to on Spotify? Why do I care that so-and-so likes Tide detergent? 

Life on the webertubes was becoming like commercial radio -- you think you stop by to hear some peppy summer hip-hop, you end up dodging "Ovation Cell Therapy" commercials and Nothing But Katy Perry.

It's a wasteland.

Because I allowed it to be. 

Cue moment of clarity. 

I created this mess, I can unsubscribe myself from this mess. 

Sort of like when I purged my email of ALL junk mail a year ago. If it wasn't from a person, I unsubscribed. It gradually seeps back in, the junk, but at least I had a baseline. For a few good months, my phone wasn't full of 18 junk emails when I checked it in the morning. If I could do that, I could do the same with Facebook, right?

So I did. 

And, because most of the rest of us are deluged with crap we "like" and songs we played (or skipped), it was a little.....desolate out there, once I whittled the noise down to just friends and family. So, I started adding back to the mix. Rather than overloading myself with sales pitches, I chose to follow sites that I actually visit and respect. Blogs and organizations that add something positive to the online conversation. The equivalent of choosing to eat at a restaurant I really ENJOY during a lunch break instead of filling up on beef jerky and diet coke from the drug store down the block from the office.

(But no one else does that, do they.....? Those little "Cocktail Pep's" are so good when you need a salty, greasy, mid-afternoon protein fix....... And at least I weaned myself from the Sour Patch Kids.....THAT must deserve a pat on the back...? Heather, you're gross.). 

Anyway -- I've realized that it sort of restored my faith in the webernet to make a more focused decision about my online diet. Less Oberto, more parsley. Less candy, more grapefruit. All of a sudden, the world is a brighter, more optimistic place. 

I need more optimism these days. I hate my day job (even while it provides ridiculous amounts of time for You Tube and celebrity gossip.....). I'm frustrated with the current political dialogue. I don't get nearly enough sleep. There are 11 pounds more of me to love than I'd prefer, say my jeans. The wedding planning is a massive undertaking for which Mr Wonderful and I are woefully under-prepared. I'd love a vacation. BUT. But! In the midst of that, I can remind myself that there are smart people out there, saying smart things about important topics in ways that are accessible to massive numbers of people. 

It's just our job to go find it. 

(...look! local issues getting national attention!...)

(....Decision made: I'll "like" organizations that re-focus my "webernet diet...")

(....see? It makes me THINK during the day......)

(...book cupcakes! see, I can keep some "junk food" and still ENJOY the newsfeed...)

(...I've discovered legitmately RESPECTFUL discussions in the comments...!)

(...I love these "Business of Books" ladies -- they teach publishing. And are witty......)

Love it. It's like an "early aughts" match made in heaven.....

I love that this Avril/Nickleback "surprise!" came out of nowhere, and none of us stateside had ANY idea these two sorta-has-beens were even a thing....

I love that they're a thing.* 

I love that they both think they're tough, hardcore stuff, and then they pose for People with an awesome "church-directory circa 1987" photo that slaps 'em both with a dose of The Proms. 

Aren't they pretty much just a match made in dirty Converse-wearing heaven? If that Zumiez store still exists, I'm pretty sure these guys should be their new Spokescouple. 

Aside from the fact that the Most Annoying Recording Artist of All Time bought his Sk8R Gurrrrl a pretty righteous ring, we have an equally Girl Scout proposal, if the tabs are to be believed. Lainey Gossip reports that: 

according toHELLO! Canada Avril was scrapbooking when Chad proposed. He slipped an extra page in there that read “WILL YOU MARRY ME”. Go ahead and process that. It’s amazing.

Yep. Amazing. 

Here's the thing: I'm totally fascinated by Avril's choices for Man Friends. Here's a quick photo tour:

The ex-husband, Deryck Whibley (they got hitched in 2006, divorced 3 years later). 

"Oil" heir Brandon Davis. She slummed it (SERIOUSLY) with him in 2009, post-split. 

 Brody Jenner (yes, of "The Hills" and "Kardashian" fame). They were together from some point in 2010 until this January. 

 The Kroeger. That's "KREW-Gur" to those of us who aren't...um....Canadian?

Okay, girlfriend doesn't have a type. AND, if we use my theory that we're attracted to people that look like us, she has no concept of the proportion of her own features. But she likes a strong chin.

Anyway -- lil Av' went from rock dude, to drunken, oily heir (seriously -- just try to find a picture of that guy where he's not looking sweaty and greased), to reality star frat boy, to......Her Perfect Match. 

I'm sold -- they're perfect for each other. They both think they're more hardcore than the rest of us think they are. People make fun of both of their careers like it was Olympic sport. They're like twin punchlines. Happily Ever After Punchlines. Who's faces from the nose down are strikingly similar. Which is how we know they'll make it last. 

Again, Lainey Gossip has the scoop via HELLO! Canada. Avril says:

“He makes me laugh every day. He takes care of me in every way and is extremely attentive.”

And Chad says:

“I knew I was falling for her. It was incredibly powerful and something I'll never forget. I feel like the luckiest person alive.”

I love this. Make way for babies with dip-dyed hair and shredded jeans. Just wait for it.

*Oh, and in the spirit of full-disclosure: I dig Avril. She's cute. Her music is contagious. Her shoes are consistently horrible. There. We got that over with. 

Can we boycott this stupid movie? Please???????

I wanted to get excited for this movie. I mean -- Paul Rudd, Leslie Mann, Judd Apatow.......we're conditioned to laugh before the trailer even BEGINS, right? It has all the ingredients for Grown-Up Comic Gold -- Paul Rudd is basically Movie Jesus, after all, blameless savior of cinema, beloved by women, children, and smart men the world over.  And the subject seems watchable enough: suburban malcontents trying to spice up their life? Sure, most of us burb-dwelling, middle-management types can get excited about that.

Except: if the entire film is anything like the trailer, this will be one protracted confirmation of stereotypes about women.

Such as:

Women are afraid of aging.

Women are uptight and vain.

The only alternative to the natural aging process is SEXINESS. You may be old, but you can still be a "boner machine" if you keep those abs tight enough.

Your husband will get tired of hearing you speak.

You're a harpy.

Your kids find you irksome and old-fashioned.

Old, flabby doctors will make fun of your ancient vagina.

Oh -- and childbirth? If you've INFLICTED that sight upon your mate, he'll be so horrified he'll still be feeling the need to RETALIATE, 15 years later. Heaven forbid.

I get it, I get it: couples need to reinvigorate a marriage they've not maintained, and there's something about that magic number 40 that makes some folks feel old. BUT -- why are all of the jokes at the expense of the wife? And are we ladies supposed to go see this movie and giggle at the ludicrousness of women aging, thinking, "silly old cow, better tighten up those abs or her husband will go find someone with a better tummy who knows better than to say what she's thinking. More crunches! More crunches!"

Not that Bridesmaids was any huge leap forward for women in movies in terms of SUBJECT matter (it was still a lot of catty girl-on-girl drama in pursuit of Happily Ever After With A Man), BUT: the jokes were more or less aimed at the ridiculousness of ladies' attempts to sabotage one another's happiness.

"This is 40," on the other hand, just looks like another way to solidify the media myth that women older than 25 are pretty much whiny brats with cobwebs on their lady parts, who want nothing more than to "be sexy again."

As though that were the holy grain of lady-hood.

Just check out THIS PIECE on the shrinking age of Cosmo cover models. According to Refinery29's take:

"... it suggests that the mainstream definition of womanly and sexy is changing, and increasingly, older women are being told, at least subliminally, that they aren't it. Instead, we're being told that since we are literally losing value as we age, the way to feel sexy is to channel our inner teen (or take advice from a teen girl)."

My face is channeling Demi Lovato. I didn't give it permission to do that.

There's a big difference between this:

Exhibit A: Victoria Justice

And this:

Exhibit B: Demi Lovato

I was aiming for looking like option A, today.

Instead, I feel like I'm channeling option B.

And THAT (minus the Star Trek hair), is not quite how I'd wanted the face to end up looking today.

I think it's mostly the eyebrows. I totally ended up with RoboBrows today.

Not that Demi isn't a lovely girl -- she is. But, um, spider lashes and glass-cutting eyebrows aren't quite "sunny Friday at the office"-congruent.

But -- we can't all be Victoria Justice.

So, my eyebrows and I will power through the day with an inadvertently smug expression that has nothing to do with my attitude and everything to do with that damn waterproof pencil......

Champagne and picture-hanging.

Wanna know the super-secret key to successful interior decorating?

Champagne. At midnight.

Okay, prosecco, but Let's Not Be Annoying.

Bubbly. Champers. Sparkling wine. Critical to the success of midnight picture-hanging. Less critical to the success of getting up with the five am alarm a few hours later, but really: Thursday's already Friday's obnoxious, yappy dog (to use a metaphor that hits close to home), so why not dress it up with some sleep-deprived headaches and a drowsy brain, too - !

So, if I had more pictures, I'd toss them up. These ones are the official documentation that we couldn't decide whether mirror looked better Vertical. Or. Horizontal. This was a matter of grave philosophical importance. The room's chi hangs in the balance. The fancy wall bolts won't allow us to change our mind -- we must make a decision, and then STICK WITH IT. A decision about this mirror's orientation must not be taken too lightly.

Grave. Philosophical. Importance.

So, when a decision likes this proves simply too vexing for the Midnight Champagne Minds of an otherwise quite decisive couple, the obvious alternative is to abandon the mirror, and go absolutely crazy hanging every other colorful piece of art you own on your bedroom wall.

We did this last night. As though we needed to apologize to the living room wall for leaving one portion of it naked and mirror-less, we attacked the other walls with that hammer like we had something to atone for. In the end, we just proved that our bedroom walls can handle a lot more color than we gave them credit for. We're snoozing under a rainbow of blues and greens, watched over by parrot portraits and splashy, abstract gardens and "river scenes" that only look like "river scenes" because I tell myself they do: we were basically suckered into a giant, poorly painted, exceptionally colorful canvas full of horizontal lines of blue-ish green that we LOVED only because it was So Cheap! And So Big!

And so we have a wall full of Cheap and Big and Colorful art, hung (with a miraculously keen eye for Straight) at midnight.

Woke up this morning delighted. Which means we did something right.

The mirror is still waiting for its prince to come in the form of some molly bolts and a permanent place of (either horizontal OR vertical) honor on what's probably the only wall in our house that doesn't have something Large and Imposing tacked up yet.

That's tonight's project.

And the utter aimlessness of these few paragraphs are brought to you by Morning After Midnight Champagne Brain. Because calling it "hungover" doesn't sound very artistic.

"Skyfall" trailer - yippee!

Color me giddy: it's the new James Bond trailer - !!! And not a wimpy little teaser, either: we get a full-length, 2.5-minute long "wheeeeeeee!" -fest peppered with plenty of Daniel Craig's smug, unsmiling machismo and (of course!) car-flipping, flame-throwing, gun-blasting special effects.

Once upon a time, I owned every single James Bond movie ever made. To say "I lost them in the divorce" sounds cheesy, but.......alas, years ago my "let's keep this friendly" magnanimity got the best of Bond, and away went "Tomorrow Never Dies," away went "The Spy Who Loved Me," away went "Octopussy," away went "Thunderball," away went "Doctor No." Gone. All gone.

Now, maybe it's a sacrilege to tarnish the memory of the library loved and lost by saying this, but: I miss the Daniel Craig versions the least. Because dude is NOT James Bond. The Daniel Craig as James Bond movies are GREAT movies, but I have trouble reconciling the bottles of Bollinger and the "no means yes" cultural nuances of the 60's and the corny personal air- and watercraft that make up the lexicon of my Bond appreciation with the Serious, Brooding, BLONDISH Craig-Bond that seems now to be the de facto FAVORITE iteration of the hero. It's like the Borne reboot with Jeremy Renner. Movie looks good in its own right, but don't try to tell me it's the same character.

Because it's not.

Bond is a tuxedo and cheesy banter. Bond is a head of pomade-slick hair and a smirk. Bond is a smarmy come-on with the ladies. Bond's girl troubles are only ever one-movie long. Bond doesn't brood. Bond pops the cork and finds a classier broad with a sillier name. Bond (ok, fine) occasionally rides a cello case down a  snowy mountain. Bond lands in an enemy fortress and drinks their sake. When Bond gets hurt, he Ace-bandages that action and jumps back in the fight.

BUT: I love me an expensive action flick. I love big explosions, and expensive cars flipping end over end, and I love seeing a boat chase or a top-of-a-train chase, no matter what. I love antiheroes with unreconciled emotional scars that make them Angry Special Agents with Pent-Up Passion.

All of that said: this Daniel Craig Bond routine looks like it's giving a nod to the Bond of Old, right down to Javier Bardem's blonde homage to the villains of the Roger Moore era (I'm thinking of Christopher Walken in "A View to a Kill"). The set and cinematography look more indulgent than in "Quantum of Solace" (which, frankly, made me thirsty to watch...all of that sand, and desert and heat....). The "gondola inside the dragon's mouth" bit looks terrifically campy -- reminds me of the sort of grand, illusory sets and scenery of "From Russia with Love" or "Moonraker," some of the earlier Bond films with big flair.

Overall: I'm excited about it. Ralph Fiennes is back to looking well-groomed and seems frankly, delightfully ominous. This round of Bond girls look as lovely as ever. And toward the end of the trailer -- that moment where Bond leaps into the train car from out of nowhere and then straightens the cuffs on the suit?

Classic.

Can't wait.

Deconstructing pop lyrics: sorry, now it's stuck in your head

New recurring topic! I'm gonna take chart-topping pop songs we all hate and deconstruct the lyrics. Because, for as much as I avoid all commercial radio, there are certain songs that it's impossible to avoid, and, if I'm going to wake up with those songs stuck in my head, we may as well get intellectual with exactly what messages we're internalizing, whether we asked for it or not.

Honestly, I got the idea from a Maroon 5 song I was shame-singing in the car. Slumming it with music. Because their latest album is catchy as hell. And I hate that. So, I listen privately, and sing along when I know no one will hear me. Anyway -- the first song on the album is this terrible.....love battle anthem, of sorts, where Mr Levine swears up and down that he'll quit this girl. After just one more night. He may hate himself, but damn, her lipstick. That sort of healthy stuff. Just try not to like the song though -- in my mind, it's a parade of angry Victoria's Secret models sparring with skinny, tattooed Lotharios by moonlight.

Got me thinking about the fact that we take completely for granted that pop songs are almost always about L-O-V-E in one way or another, and (since I was recently around a couple of under 10 year-olds who knew every word to Fun's "We Are Young" ode to dysfunction), I realized that we don't actually "think" about what these songs are really saying all of that often.  Unless it's a Lana Del Rey song, in which case, you're left going, "wait -- what the heck.....? I don't get it......."

So, let's get all "middle school essay" on this action and dissect the song everyone loves to hate, Billboard's current #1 ear-killer: "Call Me Maybe."

Okay, okay -- first off: that should really be "Call Me, Maybe." Otherwise, it's a very Arrested Development-esque plea for someone to refer to her by the name Maybe. Which, I suspect, is not at all what Carly Rae's aiming for. I suspect she wants a phone call. That's sort of quaint in its own right, right? I mean, if we were being really "up-to-the-minute" it would be, like, "Tweet Me, Maybe." or "Friend Me, maybe" or even the predictable "Text Me, Maybe."

But no. Carly Rae wants Mr Ripped Jeans to actually make her phone ring.

Let's see what else she wants, shall we? Incidentally: this chick looks like me. Which makes me think perhaps bangs again this summer?

Moving along.

"Call Me Maybe"


I threw a wish in the well,

Don't ask me, I'll never tell

I looked to you as it fell,

And now you're in my way

Honestly: that's actually sort of "5th grade cute." Except that Ms Jepsen is 27. And being marketed like she's 17. Gonna be a hard mold to break out of. But, I guess that's the point: grade school kids need a pop hero who's NOT Rihanna. 

So, she's chucking quarters in the mall fountain with some sort of secret wish for (presumably) LOVE, and, whaddaya know, looks up and there's the Zumiez employee of the month blocking her path to Sephora. For instance. 

I'd trade my soul for a wish,

Pennies and dimes for a kiss

I wasn't looking for this,

But now you're in my way

Really?

Okay. Let's go with it: 

She'd TRADE HER SOUL for whatever she's secretly wishing for. Love? Okay -- so she'd trade her entire soul for love, she'd happily give away kisses for free, BUT: let's be clear -- this dude who's in her way? She wasn't interested in whatever he's selling. 

Oh, the contradictions of the 27-going-on-17-year-old's inner yearnings. "I just want love! I'm not looking for love! You're here! Love me!" 

Your stare was holdin',

Ripped jeans, skin was showin'

Hot night, wind was blowin'

Where you think you're going, baby?

Heh. Wow. That is straight up "Patrick Swayze Fantasy Hour" right there. So, we've tossed some pennies in the fountain, spun around to find some dude staring at us, rockin the ripped jeans while his (dare I say "feathered") hair blows around in the hot, summer wind, right? 

Okay, it did just occur to me that this might be a same-sex romance, in which case the ripped jeans and wind blowing and hot night sort of thing becomes a lot more interesting. But -- a quick google search yields startlingly little support for that idea. 

So, we're gonna have to work the Metro-Male angle here. She turns around and has "Sergio" blocking her path. Which is pretty perfect. Because she wasn't LOOKING for him, but now she won't let him leave. She's pretty quick on her feet, because instantly the tune becomes:

Hey, I just met you,

And this is crazy,

But here's my number,

So call me, maybe?

The chorus that launched a thousand memes. 

HOWEVER, let's give her this: she's assertive. She may not be looking for love, she may be giving away kisses for free, she may like guys with goofy pants, BUT, she takes the helm here, in a sort of non-committal way that both empowers and dis-empowers her in that single, titular phrase. 

"Call me" is direct. Admirably direct. She knows it's "crazy" because they just met, BUT: she'd like to chat with him. 

And then the "maybe" drops. She gives away her power. Puts it back on him. 

Carly Rae, darlin: stick to your guns! Give girls some ammunition in their quest for the right to ask boys out without feeling too forward or silly! Nail the landing!

But nope. There's the grammatically disappointing "Maybe." 

It's hard to look right,

At you baby,

But here's my number,

So call me, maybe?

First time I heard this song I was a little thrown by the "It's hard to look right at you, baby" bit. Strangely, I took it in the direction of "he's as beautiful as the sun -- can't look directly in his face.....tooooooooo beautiful......!"

And then my own inner "shy kid" kicked in and I'm having visions of a 17 year-old mall girl staring at her feet and twirling her hair and giggling because she's uncomfortable being assertive enough to make decent, uninterrupted eye contact with Mr Ripped Jeans. 

I 100% understand that. I'm the Princess of that. By way of example, introverts sometimes have more difficulty making eye contact with someone when they're the one speaking. When they're listening to someone else speak, they're great at eye contact. It has to do with neuro-pathways and circuits of information retrieval and all sorts of cool brain chemistry stuff -- but, let's imagine that she's a love-struck introvert. All of a sudden: hard to make eye contact. 

Actually, Mr Wonderful wondered if I had some kind of eye contact PROBLEM on our first date, because he said I'd "look anywhere but in his eyes." We'd chatted on the phone, but this was our first face-to-face, and I was consumed enough with worrying about being conversational, with my lips healing from a recent attack of fever blisters, with wondering if I was speaking too quickly, all of that. Eye contact took a major nosedive. That was just one thing too many to remind myself to do. 

Carly Rae: I feel ya.

And all the other boys,

Try to chase me,

But here's my number,

So call me, maybe?

More incongruousness. Now she's miss "Hot Commodity," and she's letting him know her dance ticket may soon be a sold out show (to mix metaphors a little). So, like, I'm super-cute, and, like, all of these boys wanna totally buy me ice cream and hold my hand and sing me songs, but, like, you should call me, MAYBE. 

Ugh. I've never liked that tactic, that sort of "everyone else wants me, you should, too" brand of self-marketing. HOWEVER -- it's in the same passive-aggressive spirit as the whole "Maybe" thing, so she's consistent, at least.....? I guess? 

You took your time with the call,

I took no time with the fall

You gave me nothing at all,

But still, you're in my way

This is where I beg womankind everywhere to demand more. She goes out on a limb, he leaves her hanging. Eventually, he calls. And is cagey. And doesn't reciprocate her peppy little love-fest attitude. Nevertheless: she's in looooooooooove. Can't get over him. "Falls" for him. 

How 'bout we set a higher standard for ourselves than playing the "sitting by the phone waiting for Mr Big to call" role? It just looks desperate.

I beg, and borrow and steal

Have foresight and it's real

I didn't know I would feel it,

But it's in my way

By this point in the song, I'm starting to worry about little lady a bit. She went from trading her soul in the first verse to begging and stealing, then claiming that she had no idea she was going to feel this way.....I'm getting the idea that she bit off more than she can chew when she stuck her neck out and asked for a call, and now she's just resorting to weird cliches about borrowing and stealing. OR -- it's a throwaway verse because they needed to pad the song for length and tossed in some generic phrasing that doesn't really link into the rest of the story? Let's go with that. 

Finally, the closing sucker-punch that will stick in your head until the day Gaga comes out with someone anywhere nearly as catchy as Bad Romance:

Before you came into my life

I missed you so bad

I missed you so bad

And you should know that
So call me, maybe?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. This line betrays it all: I wasn't looking for this, but you're hot and I can't stop thinking about you, and now -- MY LIFE WAS EMPTY BEFORE YOU. The ultimate power sacrifice. Without saying so in as many words, it's a betrayal of her independence or plucky, assertive spirit to fall back on the whole "before we met I knew you were the piece of me that was missing.......MAYBE you should call me, after I've slapped that heaviness on you? No pressure. It's just, you're the missing puzzle piece in my life, I'm empty without you, so, ya know, if you have time, or there's no one cuter out there, or you're bored or whatever....call me, maybe!"

Sigh. 

If she were 17 I'd let her get away with this mess, but the girl is nearly 30. The marketing department behind her label had better figure out how they're going to allow her to transition into normal adulthood before they have a perpetual teen-star on their hands who's actually 34. Because that's as uncomfortable as watching Biebs do donuts in a parking lot while showing only the backsides of the video girls in "Girlfriend." 

Oh well. Honestly -- one of the cleaner, less-offensive, less objectifying pop songs we've seen at the top of the charts in awhile. 

Once Carly Rae's bumped from the top Billboard slot, we'll dissect whatever song succeeds her. Cuz this is fun!

I shouldn't care. BUT........if two hipster vamps can't make it last, WHAT HOPE REMAINS?!?!?!

So. Turns out it's true.

This is one of those gossip stories that has me inexplicably BUMMED, dude.

Bummed.

Usually, I couldn't give two pop tarts whether or not some famous person cheated on another famous person (it's par, right? that's what HAPPENS in Hollywoodland), BUT.... for some reason....hearing that Kristen Stewart MAY have run around on R-Patt with her Snow White and the Yadda Yadda director (who is married --to a MODEL -- and has a couple of kiddos, mind ya) made me grumpy. Grumpy on a sort of visceral, "why is this bothering me so much" sort of level.

I didn't WANT to believe that those pictures of Mr Director and K-Stew are legit, but....um.....I think they're legit. IF, that is, we believe that sort of grainy photos scanned from the inside of a magazine are ACTUALLY the two in question. Frankly, (the doubtful, bummed) part of me wants to think some random US Weekly intern staged a make-out session in the company Town Car with the Guy From the Mail Room and sold it to her editors as the biggest deal this side of TomKat, but...........

But then the skittles hit the fan and Kristen actually issued a public statement, via People:

"I'm deeply sorry for the hurt and embarrassment I've caused to those close to me and everyone this has affected. This momentary indiscretion has jeopardized the most important thing in my life, the person I love and respect the most, Rob. I love him, I love him, I'm so sorry," 

Dude.........

To make matters, worse, the person on the receiving end of her "love and respect" didn't even hear it from her directly. Nope -- via "Hollywood Life:"

“Robert actually found out about this via his people sometime on Monday when people at US Weekly contacted his people to tell them they were going to run the story. Kristen did not tell him about her cheating. Robert was completely blindsided by the news.”

And, there be the transgressors, right there. 

And hey, I understand that all of the focus is on K-Stew and R-Patt since they're "the famous ones," but man -- for a married woman to (presumably) find out that the father of her children was running around on you via the tabloids: can we all just agree to be Team Wife and Kids? 

Director Man (fine, Rupert Sanders) also issued a statement via People:

"I am utterly distraught about the pain I have caused my family...My beautiful wife and heavenly children are all I have in this world. I love them with all my heart. I am praying that we can get through this together."

Ah, everyone's suddenly in pain and distraught, begging for forgiveness, hmm? 

Come on, tools, let's be honest: you're not really terribly sorry for the hurt you caused your families and lovers by cheating -- that was selfish and without regard for the people you'd hurt. You ARE, however, terribly sorry for the hurt and embarrassment and pain you've caused yourselves by getting caught.

Gross over-generalization? SURE. But -- if the timeline holds -- Kristen and Director were snapped together as recently as last week. Which seems like an enterprising paparazzo snagged the pictures, sold 'em to Us Weekly, and it's taken a few days to put the story together to the point that they could run it today -- because they knew it was true, and wanted to dot and cross I's and T's before they pulled back the curtains.

Look -- I don't want to get into a cycle of "slut-shaming" where we fling around the phrase "home-wrecker" and damn only the interlopers, because, let's face it, every relationship is more complex than that and indiscretions are seldom as black-and-white or as "good guy/bad guy" as tabloids want us to believe. BUT -- in this case, I'm bummed because it seems like dear old Sparkles actually WAS a good guy, who believed in fidelity (remember those Vanity Fair comments? He said something along the lines of, "But there's a thing I've never got: That is, why do people cheat? I can understand the impulse, but not how you can keep two relationships going at the same time for long."). Here, he's getting the short end of the icky stick. AND -- if we thought those Twihards were desperate to get their geek-fingers on R-Patt before? Imagine how fiercely their little "hope flame" will burn if he and Kristen split.

Not to mention: this will make promotional duties for the final Twilight installment VERY, very interesting.

I'm probably also bummed because I actually really like Kristen Stewart -- I think she gets an unfair rap for her acting ability, I think she's young, and is just figuring out what types of soundbites to feed to interviewers in order to sound "smart and accessible" versus "aloof and pretentious" and I think she does take her career and her craft pretty seriously.

Peripherally, I'm thinking this:

She's 22 years old, and, as many girls who went through stages of infatuation with men in positions of influence will tell you: it's easy to be taken advantage of, and not realize that you were being taken advantage of by people willing to abuse their power until WELL after it's all over and done. You believe you're an equal participant, you believe you're making an adult decision, you believe you have yourself under control. You don't realize that you're just as swayed by the Title and the Power and the Influence and the Magnetism as you are the Actual Person. She's young. She's famous. She's in full "invincibility" mode. She gets to live through her mistakes in front of the court of public opinion, which makes this doubly ugly. I'm not making excuses for her, I'm breaking down why she may have been vulnerable to advances that she didn't realize were as inappropriate and predatory as they look from the outside.

Dudes: what's with the matching outfits?

Mostly, though -- I feel for the wife and mother who is now splashed across every tabloid as the "Woman Married to the Director Who Nailed Kristen Stewart."  As the woman who's going to be expected to make some sort of statement begging for privacy while you work through things, or as the woman who's expected to toss the cheating baby daddy out of the house.

This is not the kind of  "fame" you want added to your gossip dossier. This is not the sort of reputation you want your children to see slapped on their family. This is not the sort of notoriety anyone ever envisions having to navigate when they settle down, get married, have some babies.

It's lame, all around.

Yeah -- this is one cheating scandal that just flat BUMS me out. Because I didn't want it to be true. Because I'm disappointed that it's true.

I wish I'd grown up with Caroline Heldman's list on my bathroom mirror.

(this film should should be a standard part of every middle school's curriculum, period)

So, these days, I have two sort of "pet obsessions" that I probably don't yak about nearly enough.

First off, I'm completely obsessed with the fact that we're attracted to people who look like us. I see it everywhere. Just like Mr Wonderful has his "three steps to love" philosophy that he's fairly certain will net everyone on earth their one and only, I believe in this sort of.....biological imperative that you're going to be a lot more successful with a one and only who has similarly structured facial features.

But that's a different topic for a different day. A more fun day.

My other pet obsession (and let's prepare ourselves for a Champagne Rising Soapbox Opus, of sorts):

The marginalization of women in media.

It's insidious, it's pervasive, and it's creating an absolutely devastating global effect on female-kind -- PARTICULARLY because this inescapable objectification sends women and girls an all-too powerful message about their worth, their station, their value as a human being.

What's that message?

You're simply an object who exists for other people's sexual entertainment.

This is an ENOURMOUS topic -- obviously -- and I could spend days damning everything from the under-representation of women in the film industry (specifically behind the camera), to the rampant digital photo retouching in print media that creates artificial representations of the female form that undercut girls' understanding of what "normal" looks like from the first time she stands in line at the grocery store and stares at a photo-edited magazine cover.

I could harp on the egregiousness of "comedians" like Daniel Tosh trying to make "rape jokes," but I'm not even going to get into that. Every woman on the planet (and, let's be honest, every man as well) should boycott that particular "entertainer" from here to eternity -- a quick Google search will tell you everything you need to know about that situation, I'm not going to lower myself to quoting him here.

I could gather up hundreds of advertising and PR images used recently that show women subjugated and sexualized in attempts to sell anything from jeans, to fragrance, to burgers.

I could direct us to lists like THIS ONE that evaluate women politicians on the basis of their sexual attractiveness rather than professional merit.

I could remind us that we set our kids down in front of Disney movies that create a fantasy world which we generally receive as fairly healthy and harmless, a world in which "princesses" abound, and are, almost always in need of either rescuing, marrying, or awakening by a prince, or a father, or.....a pet horse. You name it. These princesses can't help themselves out of a paper bag. But our girls want to be princesses, and we don't question whether or not they want to be EMPOWERED princess, or helpless slaves waiting for a leg up from their faceless prince.

I could point you to a well-read, rather popular celebrity gossip blog that's run by a gentleman who routinely disparages women with any extra meat on their bones, and the readers who routinely comment on those disparaging posts with equally disgusting perspectives on how women ought to look.

And let's not talk about our global "post-partum weight loss obsession" in the media that marginalizes a healthy mother and child and valorizes a "bikini-ready figure" as soon as the placenta drops.

But today I don't want to get bogged down in the depressing details of precisely how low media has allowed femininity to sink -- we'd all be crying into our "skinny lattes" (without realizing what a social statement even our coffee makes about our self-image. Guilty as charged). What I want to focus on are some of the small, simple, positive steps EVERYONE can take to move toward a recognition of the ways we routinely give up our power, and give the media permission to put a gun to the head of feminism and pull the trigger. Speaking of feminism: while I feel like my millennial generation has dismissed the phrase as something belonging to our mothers, a brilliant writer named Caitlin Moran puts it beautifully in an interview with the New York Times:

The word “feminism,” Moran said, has for some reason gone off the rails to connote, incorrectly, preachy humorlessness and grim separatism. “When I talk to girls, they go, ‘I’m not a feminist,’ ” she said. “And I say: ‘What? You don’t want to vote? Do you want to be owned by your husband? Do you want your money from your job to go into his bank account? If you were raped, do you still want that to be a crime? Congratulations: you are a feminist.’ ”

It's that very spirit of practicality that compels me to share this fantastic list of suggestions that Caroline Heldman put together on her blog in a series that aims to raise awareness about and resistance to the rampant objectification of women in the media. It's a list of daily rituals we should STOP performing (and some alternate suggestions of what we might do instead). 

I wish I'd had this list taped to my bathroom mirror as a high school kid (the age at which I became keenly aware of my perceived low-ranking on the boys' pecking order of desirability among girls my age).

I'm going to excerpt one part of the series, but do yourself a favor and read her entire four-part tretise on objectification. It's an eye-opening read, not ONLY for women, but ESPECIALLY for women. As I start thinking about the culture in which my someday children will be raised, it's important to me to place a premium on protecting them against images and messages that devalue their humanity, that tell them they're not good enough -- and this list is something I'd like our family to be comfortable talking about. 

Yes, someone commented that this series is exceptionally hetero-normative. And that's true. But, frankly, so are most of the media images with which we're assaulted. And the sense of worthlessness that accompanies marginalization and sexual objectification isn't limited to those who identify as heterosexual, obviously. BUT, she had to start somewhere, and this list of suggestions could apply to behaviors and attitudes across the sexual spectrum. 

So -- onward with the list of Rituals to Stop. 

1) Stop seeking male attention. Most women were taught that heterosexual male attention is our Holy Grail before we were even conscious of being conscious, and its hard to reject this system of validation, but we must. We give our power away a thousand times a day when we engage in habitual body monitoring so we can be visually pleasing to others. The ways in which we seek attention for our bodies variesby sexuality, race, ethnicity, and ability, but the template is the “male gaze."

Heterosexual male attention is actually pretty easy to give up when you think about it. First, we seek it mostly from strangers we will never see again, so it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life. Who cares what the man in the car next to you thinks of your profile? You’ll probably never see him again. Secondly, men in U.S. culture are raised to objectify women as a matter of course, so an approving gaze doesn’t mean you’re unique or special. Thirdly, male validation through the gaze doesn’t provide anything tangible because it’s fleeting and meaningless. Lastly, men are terrible validators of physical appearance because so many are duped by make-up, hair coloring and styling, surgical alterations, girdles, etc. If I want an evaluation of how I look, a heterosexual male stranger is one of the least reliable sources on the subject. 

Fun related activity: When a man cat calls you, respond with an extended laugh and declare, “I don’t exist for you!” Be prepared for a verbally violent reaction as you are challenging his power as the great validator. Your gazer likely won’t even know why he becomes angry since he’s just following the societal script that you’ve just interrupted. 

2) Stop consuming damaging media, including fashion, “beauty,” and celebrity magazines, and sexist television programs, movies, and music. Beauty magazines in particular give us very detailed instructions for how to hate ourselves, and most of us feel bad about our bodies immediately after reading. Similar effects are found with televisionand music video viewing. If we avoid this media, we undercut the $80 billion a yearBeauty-Industrial Complex that peddles dissatisfaction to sell products we really don’t need. 

Related fun activity: Print out sheets that say something subversive about beauty culture — e.g., “This magazine will make you hate your body” — and stealthily put them in front of beauty magazines at your local supermarket or corner store. 

3) Stop Playing the Tapes. Many girls and women play internal tapes on loop for most of our waking hours, constantly criticizing the way we look and chiding ourselves for not being properly pleasing in what we say and what we do. Like a smoker taking a drag first thing in the morning, many of us are addicted to this self-hatred, inspecting our bodies first thing as we hop out of bed to see what sleep has done to our waistline, and habitually monitoring our bodies throughout the day. These tapes cause my female students to speak up less in class. They cause some women to act stupidly when they’re not in order to appear submissive and therefore less threatening. These tapes are the primary way we sustain our body hatred. 

Stopping the body-hatred tapes is no easy task, but keep in mind that we would be utterly offended if someone else said the insulting things we say to ourselves. Furthermore, we are only alive for a short period of time, so it makes no sense to fill our internal time with negativity that only we can hear. What’s the point? These tapes aren’t constructive, and they don’t change anything in the physical world. They are just a mental drain. 

Related fun activity: Make a point of not worrying about what you look like. Sit with your legs sprawled and the fat popping out wherever. Walk with a wide stride and some swagger. Public eating in a decidedly non-ladylike fashion is also great fun. Burp and fart without apology. Adjust your breasts when necessary. Unapologetically take up space. 

4) Stop Competing with Other Women. The rules of the society we were born into require us to compete with other women for our own self-esteem. The game is simple. The “prize” is male attention, which we perceive of as finite, so when other girls/women get attention, we lose. This game causes many of us to reflexively see other women as “natural” competitors, and we feel bad when we encounter women who garner more male attention, as though it takes away from our worth. We walk into parties and see where we fit in the “pretty girl pecking order.” We secretly feel happy when our female friends gain weight. We criticize other women’s hair, clothing, and other appearance choices. We flirt with other women’s boyfriends to get attention, even if we’re not romantically interested in them. 

Related fun activity: When you see a woman who triggers competitiveness, practice active love instead. Smile at her. Go out of your way to talk to her. Do whatever you can to dispel the notion that female competition is the natural order. If you see a woman who appears to embrace the male attention game, instead of judging her, recognize the pressure that produces this and go out of your way to accept and love her.

 - Via Caroline Heldman

So, there we have it.

I should clarify: I don't post any of this to demonize Man -- absolutely not. I bring it up to shine some light onto the ways mass media tell us we should feel and think and look and to what beauty ideals we ought to aspire.

The film preview at the top of the post is an important piece of my...."crusade," as well -- from the MissRepresentation.org website:

The film Miss Representation exposes how American youth are being sold the concept that women and girls’ value lies in their youth, beauty and sexuality. It’s time to break that cycle of mistruths. 

In response we created MissRepresentation.org, a call-to-action campaign that seeks to empower women and girls to challenge limiting media labels in order to realize their potential. 

We are uniting individuals around a common, meaningful goal to spark millions of small actions that ultimately lead to a cross-generational movement to eradicate gender stereotypes and create lasting cultural and sociological change.

Now THAT'S a cause I can get excited about. And THAT'S a cause I'd like to see more women mobilize behind. If we stop consuming the damaging media (yes, that includes websites that exist primarily to speculate about what women are wearing on the red carpet, how they look in a bikini, and whether they look like they've gained weight, or fashion blogs that paint women as little more than paper dolls, meant to be dressed up and photographed like pretty little decorations), and if we become more aware of the damaging self-monitoring we perform on a constant basis, and if we decry the damaging competition between women that degrades our self-confidence and fractures our mission for equity, then we're making small steps in the right direction, and creating an environment that will begin to empower our children and level the field, ultimately paving the way for more equal gender representation across the globe. 

Next I'll make my case for the "YES, your look like your husband, and YES, he's attracted to you partially because you look a bit like him" cause.

Watch "Kate" split. Watch "Kate" win the media game.

I'm calling this "Katie/Before"

But I'll get to that in a minute. Late-breaking news from the Pinterest Realm (which I only begrudgingly even bother with, because I'm tired of the universe posting "3 ingredient desserts that are the best thing you'll ever put in your mouth." Frankly. Anyway). Under the heading of "best sorta famous people who Pin" -- Rose McGowan and Ann Romney. Rose McGowan has a major shoe hangup and posts some EXCELLENT heels. Ann Romney finds the best recipes for healthy stuff. Good salads, good shoes: pretty good afternoon of work-dodging, right there.

So about that Watch Kate Split, bit:

Seriously: all of a sudden I have a crazy-unexpected brand of respect for that Katie Holmes. Enough respect that I definitely just fired up the entire first season of Dawson's Creek on Netflix because I never watched it, originally, but wanted to be reminded of the Young, Fresh Katie that I remember existed before the dead-eyed, mom-jeans-wearing version took over. Bring back Young, Fresh Katie! That girl's still in there! Smiles -- WITH TEETH -- are still in your future, darlin! "Grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly!"

Anyway -- obviously we know she filed to escape Xenu last week. BUT, that was just the start of a media blitzkrieg that's debuted a happier-looking version of what has turned out to be an exceptionally PR-savvy starlet. Want to get public goodwill on your side? Ice cream dates with Suri, complete with big, toothy (Tom Cruise-esque, ironically) grins. Plenty of "regular gal" runs to Whole Foods. Normal-person-clothes.

And this is "Katie/After"

Seriously, the girl has looked 10 years younger in the last 8 days -- it's a wonder what ditching the cult will do for a girl's glow. That's not the only thing she has working in her favor.....

APPARENTLY, her decision to file for divorce in New York was strategic -- first off, she's snagged herself a new apartment, is setting up a good case for permanent residency there (which will likely come into play with custody hearings, as I understand it?), and, even if Tom tried, he's unable to counter-file in California, because it's "Not possible to file in separate states at the same time." That means more legal jumping-jacks for Tommy if he's particularly set on hashing this out in a California court, for what it's worth. Rumor has it that he'd have a better chance of snagging joint custody of Suri if the entire divorce mess went down in California.

Radar has good details here, the gist is that he's planning to "file a response in New York, asking that....proceedings be halted in the Big Apple because California is the proper venue for the matter to proceed. Team Cruise is going to assert that Katie doesn't meet the residency requirements to file in New York, and that both live full time in California, specifically Los Angeles." That's according to a source for Radar.

Then there's a second "vein" of gossip that deals with Katie's intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Scientology (auditing, etc), and that she's carrying on very visibly, and being photographed repeatedly in a bid for protection against the Scientology goons she's rumoured to believe are following her. The more flashbulb hounds she's being followed by, the more remote her chance of some sort of....."altercation" with the Xenu clan.

The Hollywood Reporter has an entire feature about The Katie Situation becoming Scientology's biggest nightmare.

Because she escaped.

After watching the light dribble out of her eyes over the years, this Katie Rebirth is engendering a huge sense of empathy toward her from most of us gossip-mongers. Seeing her look happy again is the best PR move she could have made -- but being legally savvy and covering her bases: that accomplishes something that wasn't even in the periphery for most of us before -- she comes off as smart, sharp, and alert -- and as the presumed underdog in the battle to come, America can't help but love her -- we love an underdog.

Also: not to jump on this before the ink on the paperwork is even dry, but how much fun is it going to be to play my "Who Should Katie Date Next?" game? It'll be fun.

Who knew: choosing a wedding dress is a psychological hurdle....?

Have discovered recently that when I'm feeling strongly about ANYTHING (from a house purchase to a book I just read), it helps to write about it. Forcing myself to get linear about what I'm thinking always helps me sort out intense feelings and make sense of things.

Today's "feeling strongly about" topic: buying my wedding dress.

Mr Wonderful and I are planning to tie the knot this December. That means I need to find "The Dress." Actually -- with exactly 5 months (and counting) until The Big Day, there's a hell of a lot of other stuff we need to find, and do, and organize, and "vision-cast" about, too -- but -- for today's purposes: The Dress.

It's not that I've NEVER thought about what sort of dress I might like to wear, I think I just assumed that, like bees to grease or Heather to Shoes, The Dress would just.....present itself once I walked in the store, AND (naturally), my friends and family's opinions would all coalesce in this cocoon of "oohs" and "aahs" choruses of "that's the one!" and, very simply, that would be that.

SO -- after yesterday's marathon of Dress Trying On appointments, I'm facing what I'm calling "The Morning After" effect, where I start to over-think everything and doubt myself and realize that this dress purchase is more like a microcosm for my entire decision-making paradigm, and that, when it comes down to it:

I've almost never made a single decision in my life that was ALL ABOUT ME.

Let's break that down a little bit:

The buying of the wedding gown -- it's a very personal decision. Sure, we're considering our Groom, sure, we're considering our venue, we're considering what friends and family will think, but really, as they've taught us so well on "Say Yes to the Dress," it's really all about what THE BRIDE wants.

That means me.

What do I want?

Not: "What dress am I okay with that my mom also loves?"

Not: "What dress basically fits really well that Mr Wonderful would dig?"

Not: "Which dress does my sister like the best?"

Not: "Which one is my family MOST in agreement on?"

Just: "What dress do I want?"

Turns out, when left to myself, I have almost NO idea what I want. This ceases being all about the a dress and becomes a matter of HEFTY personal reflection that sends me into this dizzying spiral of conflicting emotional junk.

This dress purchase is difficult because I am a people-pleaser. Difficult because I am self-conscious and easily influenced by what other people think. Difficult because I want everyone to be in agreement about what I want, or what I should want. Difficult because it would be nice to have other shoppers in the bridal salons also see me in one of these possibilities and give me big smiles of affirmation that help me make up my mind. Difficult because I want things to be crystal clear, from the moment I lace the back up, no doubts, no second-guessing, no panic that I've made the wrong decision.

It's silly, but it turns out I really have a VERY hard time listening ONLY to myself and being quite selfish.

Turns out this is really not so much about a dress, but about focusing on ME.

When we wrapped up yesterday's appointments, I believed I had it narrowed down to two (VERY DIFFERENT) gowns. I thought I'd sleep on it, wake up this morning and just KNOW which one I was supposed to wear to walk down the aisle and marry the most brilliant, wise, dependable, handsome, future baby-daddy God's ever made.

Turns out.........not so much.

Let's get more specific:

Dress A is very classic. Very traditional. Rather chic, rather well-suited to my figure, rather what I'd imagine people sort of expect me to wear. When the bridal consultant asked me where I'd rate it on a scale of 1-10, I gave it a 9. When she asked why, I said, "there's nothing bad I could say about the dress. It fits well, it looks nice......"

Turns out, there also wasn't really much GOOD I had to say about the dress, either, other than that it fits well, and looks nice. Something about that sort of uninspired ambivalence doesn't seem like the attitude a girl with a major clothes collection should have when buying her wedding dress. So much of the last twenty years have been about clothes -- I love them. I collect clothing, really. I love pretty things. I buy a lot of pretty things. To wear a dress that feels predictable and safe and fits well somehow feels like we're missing the other half of the equation. Shouldn't this be FUN? Shouldn't the dress make me feel something other than "satisfied with it's proportions" and relieved that there was "something sort of interesting around the hem?"

Well then -- there's Dress B.

Dress B is rather opposite. While it also fits well, it's on the more unexpected end of the fashion spectrum. Very different from what I think people would expect me to wear. Different than what I'd been drawn to on bridal websites and magazines. Very Princess. I rated this dress a 9 out of 10. Why? It was FUN! It was silly, and whimsical! I was initially delighted with how whimsical it was, how big and fluffy and romantic if felt. How the giant tulle skirt made me feel like a little girl playing dress-up.

And then I began to doubt myself about this one. Dress-up? Little girl? Princess? Was this a wedding or a Halloween party for 12 year-olds? And did I really just try that on with a tiara? Fun, but then another bride and her mother walked past and made a cutting comment about how "that girl's going 'Full Princess'" and I suddenly felt like they were making fun of me. And like I did look like a girl who aspired to be a cake topper or a Disney on Ice understudy.

As a self-conscious person, I certainly don't want to wonder if people are snickering behind my back at the Costume Wedding Dress wondering if I was acting out some sort of latent Sleeping Beauty fantasy that would end with princes and fairies and singing horses and magic wands.

Big sigh.

So, I'm left with either feeling a little boring and predictable, or I'm left feeling like the butt of a joke. And, like a good little decision-making-averse kiddo, I'm wishing that mom and sister were more vocal about which one they liked better, wish they were giving me a definite "Yes, this one!" reaction, but, of course, it's not about them or what they want.

It's what I want.

And when I wake up this morning, rather than feeling more sure about which dress to buy, I'm feeling like throwing them both out.

I made an appointment to go back to the dress shop and try them both on again, ALL BY MYSELF, hoping that, when left with only my OWN opinion, I'll be able to listen to myself better. When I'm not searching my sister's face for approval, and when I'm not expecting mother and girlfriend to give me an emphatic "YES!" to guide my decision, maybe I'll be able to tune into what I want.

Honestly:

It will be neither of them.

And so: I'm going to find this dress without an entourage with me. I'll go try them on by myself, look in the big mirrors by myself, come out of the dressing room to no one's opinion but my own, and, for the first time I can really remember, make a decision that's all about what HEATHER wants. No doubts in my mind about shadows crossing other people's faces, no emotional memory about the ones they liked the best, no worries about how anyone else reacted or failed to react or what they expected or didn't expect.

I'll just go buy The Dress I Like the Most.

And I feel relieved when I think about it that way.

Because, for what it's worth, I don't want to worry that I've pleased or disappointed anyone but me. It's my wedding. Good time to start thinking for myself.