I was on the phone with my brilliant brother when he said to me do not click on the link in the poster. Link? what link?
The conversation went just like this:
BROTHER: Remember that video I sent you with all the dumb people?
BROTHER: Well this guy made an incredible poster and he edited the video and inserted it so that all those folks would click the link.
ME: What link?
BROTHER: The link in the poster I sent you.
ME: What poster?
BROTHER: Okay, hold on Jess, I’ll send it again.
And he sent me this glorious piece of artwork. [do not type the link]
ME: Why can’t I click the link?
BROTHER: Because it’s old people porn.
ME: That sounds funny, I want to see it.
BROTHER: No you don’t.
ME: Oh my gawd, I totally want to see it
BROTHER: Jess, you don’t understand this guy, this really smart guy created the poster and embedded the link in a site where he posted that video, he baited all those dumb people and sent them to the most disgusting porn site ever.
ME: How gross.
BROTHER: 90 year old people screwing 80 year old people, lots of them. Your readers will hate you if they see it.
ME: Most of my readers already do hate me. I mean some of them like me, but a lot of them are just waiting for me to screw up.
BROTHER: Still… it’s too awful. Don’t look, you really can’t unsee this. It will be in your brain forever, you will be miserable.
I confess. I have not seen the site, but I know at least one of you will, and I’ll get some measure of joy being the bearer of gross news.
Plus the thought of the wackadoodles over there… it’s like manna from heaven.
My kids go to a school where they wear uniforms. I love the uniform. I would list all the reasons, but we’d run out of space.
Every so often the kids get free dress. Free dress days are when the kids are able to wear whatever they like. Free dress accomplishes many things, it delights the children and, all too often, it reminds us parents why we chose a school where children wear uniforms. This morning the schoolyard was a mass of fluorescent knee socks, skinny jeans and sports jerseys.
Although it’s a 95 degree day here in Los Angeles, my sweet Jane is wearing her dark wash skinny jeans with a new black and royal blue flannel shirt. My husband was horrified, “she’ll be hot. What is she crazy?” He may have spoken more but I was lost in my own reverie. Somewhere around 6th or 7th grade Norma Kamali had a fall line that included drop waist long skirts, tailored flannel shirts in red, royal blue or white plaid. I had the blue and white shirts. I wore them with a pair of stirrup pants, extra shoulder pads (because the ones they came with were big, but not big enough) and a white double wrap Ralph Lauren belt that I’d bought in Sun Valley on a fly fishing trip. I believe I wore ballerina flats. I loved that outfit, and though I lived in sunny Southern California I sometimes covered up with a Ton Sur Ton puffy jacket, just because I loved wearing it so. It was impractical at best, I loved it as Jane loves her skinny jeans and flannel. I understand.
When I was in Chicago, in a moment of intense longing, I skipped out of BlogHer and ran to the Tribune building to get Alexander a Cubs Jersey. I stood staring at little boy jerseys and player names and as I was about to buy one, the man next to me whispered, “nuh uh, steroids.” Quietly I thanked him and returned the jersey to the rack. I called my husband at home, “Hey I’m buying Alexander a jersey, who is the nicest guy you know on the Cubs?” He ran down a list of several names and ended with “… and Derrek Lee is a super guy with a daughter who is the same age as Alexander. His daughter wears glasses too and he does a lot of charity work…” Good enough, I tuned out, and bought the Lee jersey. Alexander wore it today for his first free dress. It’s a heavy weight shirt, but he knows Derrek Lee is a good guy, and he knows that I bought it for him when I was missing my boy.
It all matters. Every subtlety, every nuance, every piece of clothing we pick and purchase, there’s something wrapped into all of it.