Lisa Romero's Open Salon Blog

You kicked the girl outta me - but not the feminist

Thu, 1 Oct 2009 01:10:40 -0400

WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL, you know, back in the early ‘70s (born in the far-out ‘60s), I wore dresses. And roughly cut-off, hand-me-down jeans as shorts. And pixie-cut hair – and no shirts.

I looked like a little boy. The way my sister and I ran around the sandy, piney, woodsy outdoors of southern Jersey, chock full of blueberry bushes and bramble, who was to say otherwise? On Sundays, I was a girl. Every other day of the week during summer, I was a tanned, scratched up little boy, and lovin’ life.

But in my heart, I was a girly girl. And in the end, when you couldn’t hide my girliness (but could still hide the scratches), I grew up that way, as anyone who knows me can faithfully attest.

I played with Barbies (and G.I. Joe was welcome to tea parties, of course). I spoke the King’s English and read The Secret Garden and all the Nancy Drew mysteries, and I knew my ultimate role in life, because it was pretty clear-cut: Go to school. Perhaps attend college. Be a good girl. Plan on being a mom. Don’t talk back. Do as I was told. Find a husband who was like my dad (downfall, that). Maybe work someday, but that was not a given, nor was it exactly expected. Don’t play sports. Do crafts. Do sing or cheerlead. Do defer. Do look pretty. Don’t be unattractive (multiple meanings).

What the hell. How utterly ridiculous by today’s standards. Oh, wait - and by my grandmother’s standards, which were a million times more restrictive. If you're a man, you don't get it. If you're a woman over age 35... how can't you get it?

All I have to say is, I didn’t ask to be born now. And, despite all the "rights" I have, I certainly wasn't BORN FREE. I know my sister-friends agree.

With all the roles we’ve been saddled with over the years, I’ve been anything BUT free to be me. I've had to carve out every last crevice of my life as if it were the first time a woman had ever done so. No joke.

Listen: I understand the roles have changed. No one has to tell me that. The girls of today would laugh at the girls of yesterday, and today's women feel beyond "emancipated" now. But I disagree with their definition of freedom. In the past 120 years, women's roles have probably changed more than at any other singular time in human history. And in the past 25 years, the transformation is positively mind-boggling:

Girls in my high school who were winners (winners!) on the track team were considered gay. Imagine that today. No, really. IMAGINE THAT TODAY.
I wore power suits to my first jobs in journalism: shoulder pads, full skirt suits, dark colors, nylons, high heels. Every day.
Sexually explicit jokes were common and expected. (Good, cutting comebacks from women among the men were especially appreciated, and a sign you had “moxie.” Oh, and potential.)
As recently as five years ago, women were still learning, in workplace training classes I attended, how to “be more like men in business.” Ohhh, but let’s take that back another 8 more years…. It’s a long-standing issue – wrong to the nth degree, as almost everyone agrees now. Women add something to business – and don’t have to “ape” (sorry, it’s the best word that comes to mind, nothing personal) what men do to contribute value.
Women fought sexual stereotypes – so much so, that in the early ’90s, harassment laws were passed, discussed ad infinitum, ad nauseum. We wrote STORIES about the change, for God’s sake.

And now. And NOW. And now. What can I say?

I mentor women who wear pants that show their ass crack. And they think this is acceptable to wear to a JOB INTERVIEW. Or CHURCH. I wish I were kidding.
I regularly watch women debase themselves for the attraction and approval of society, associated with an “image” of what they are supposed to be: sexual. They don’t strive to look intelligent, diligent, focused, demure. They’re aiming for the gut, what I call the "3 Bs": boobs, butt, belly. The trifecta of imperfecta. Shoot. Me. Now.
I cringe when sorority images show dumb blondes navigating the most superficial of worlds…. But, being an older sorority woman, I cannot say strongly enough how wrong those images are about women who embrace the GREEK image of striving for excellence of the mind, spirit and body (health), an appreciation for all that makes us human: intelligent thought and discourse, the arts, the impact of science on people and the world around us, diverse cultures, etc.

In my current life, in this media-bastardized world, I’m grieving while watching so many women take a step back, oh, about 40 years where their personal reserves of power and, yes, sexuality, are concerned. I want to pull my hair out. Almost on an hourly, if not daily, basis.

Get me: I’m no prude. I’m a student and a child of the feminist movement – which started in the early 1900s. Which started well before that, but who’s counting, right?... Which culminated in the 1960s. My mother was a quintessential feminist – working full-time as a nurse in a male-dominated medical profession in the '70s and making a difference in the world, never asking for special consideration. She has known and forgotten more about medicine than (I venture to say) many or any of the young buck docs she hands instruments to in the O.R. today. And they know it. And I love it.

The other day, I had a 50-ish woman say to me, “I can’t figure out what to do…. I’ve retired. But I can’t find my passion. I don’t know what to be going forward. Can you help me?” My response: “Why are you beating yourself up about that when the roles have changed so much in the past 100 years, let alone during your lifetime? Compare yourself against the past millennium. Or, if not that, what I call the ‘normal woman’ theory…. Would a normal woman, considering the totality of change in the past century, feel as you do?” She answered, hesitantly, hopefully, “Yes!” Absolutely.

Bottom line: As a woman in the midst of the greatest female-role transition of all time, I am who I am, and not who you think I am. And a part of who I am must speak for women – and say this: Who we are is who we’ve been, and please don’t forget it. And please don’t abandon it. And please remember our most promising future. Not as sexual playthings. Not as professional adversaries or partners. Not as scintillating sports or intellectual characters. But as the nurturing, communicative, fully integrated, community-building and ultra-connected human beings we are - who help weave and preserve the beautiful fabric that keeps this screwed-up world together.

If it feels schizo to be a woman, sister, it is. Join the club. Girl-boy, man-woman: Be yourself. In the end, no matter how much change, there's value in you being you. Never forget that. I sure as hell won't.

Laugh, for God's sake: For fun, because it's FRIDAY (viral)

Fri, 24 Jul 2009 00:07:29 -0400

IF YOU NEED A REASON TO SMILE, this one's as good as any:

I got this from a girlfriend tonight. As of now, YouTube says only 3oo+ people have viewed it.

I'm going to go out on a limb - and say by weekend's end, it's MORE.

Celebrate life. Celebrate love. Be different. Break the norms. Be original. Be inventive. Be alive.

ShamWHOA! An honest-to-God, free-money informercial tale

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 07:07:54 -0400

A FEW MONTHS BACK, WHEN ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS, DAVE - aka "The Squealer" to those of us who knew him as the king of snarky columns at our college newspaper (before the word "snarky" became vogue, and the vogue became law) - well, as I say, when Squealer sent me the following e-mail after months of absolutely no contact (typical), I was quite sure he was yanking my chain.

Either that, or this was spam:

Above: An original Squealer Communique... so rare
these days, but worth more than I thought.

As you might imagine, I had a number of questions upon receiving this communique, not the least of which was how on earth did Dave, who has never been one to conform to social norms much anyway, conceive a plan to check my maiden name against unclaimed property records going back - literally - 2o years? I've been married twice in my life, and hell - for the record - if I had been adopted by every man my mother married, my full name would be (get ready):

Lisa Anne Cellini Ramirez Kulkusky Levy Romero

But I digress.

Mine is not to wonder why - or even to conceive whether Squealer has become one of those dudes who sits in front of a computer in their skivvies until late at night, uncovering forgotten truths about society or his friends. Mine is to wonder what to do with the business at hand - namely determining whether this was factual or fraud.

So here's what I did:

RESEARCHED THE SITE - www.missingmoney.com - and found it is legitimate. As stated, there is no fee - and they work with states and agencies to help identify people who are owed unclaimed funds. Don't take my word for it, though: CNN checked them out, too. Do did Salon's Machinist columnist Farhad Manjoo.

CHECKED MY NAME: The writer formerly known as LISA CELLINI was, in fact, owed a sum of undisclosed money being held by the State of Michigan. (Just for the heck of it, now that I was on a roll, I checked all the various transmutations of my name AND my husband's name besides. Nada - but now I was beginning to enjoy the prospect of CLAIMED property in my future. Feels a lot like greed.)

FILLED OUT THE PAPERWORK: It's all supplied right through the site for your convenience.

PRINTED IT OFF, got it notarized at the bank.

SENT IT IN, waited the appropriate 120 days.

And you know what? I actually did get money this week. I kid you not.

Knock me over with a feather, why don't you. During this crappy economy, when I feel like everyone's nickle and diming me to death and creditors are just waiting to pounce, Squealer - you da man!

I have fantasized for weeks about what amount we could be talking about here.... After all, would a cash-strapped state like Michigan really hold onto a piddly amount like $60? (I sensed for some reason it might be 60 bucks.... Upon seeing the Blue Cross, Blue Shield reference, I distinctly recalled how one very small unpaid medical bill caused me quite a bit of back-and-forth grief, and I could never figure out why the doctor's office didn't get the payment.)

$60 for 20 years? Really?

Oh, yes.... Michigan, as it turns out, could not claim my cash. It sat there until Squealer uncovered it.

Here's the princely sum I want to thank Michigan's Treasurer Robert J. Kleine for keeping safe for me:

It's kind of small. So if you can't read it, let me enlighten you:

$74.25 - held, just for me, for 20 years.

I cashed the check yesterday with a sense of awe. FREE MONEY. Finally, my ship had come in. Forget that it was a dinghy.

And now I am what you would call a TRUE BELIEVER - and I'm sharing the love with you.

If you, like me, thought these unclaimed property stories that the TV news bobbleheads trot out every sweeps month are a scam, perhaps, just perhaps, you should reconsider.

Not everyone has a Squealer in their corner. (Squealer, by the way, formerly worked in TV - a different station than me, but he knows the score. He has many interesting share-worthy stories to explore, including how he came to be the "Keeper of the Trowel" from the Night of the Living Dead classic horror flick. Yes, he's that kind of guy. A love of comic books, Chiller conventions, medical oddities, carnivals, and other strangeness that makes him, well, Dave.)

But because of my Squealer, who knows? You could actually check this out and find you're a few dollars richer.

Sears Tower - you can never be Willis to me

Fri, 17 Jul 2009 08:07:05 -0400

I'VE OVERCOME AN ABSOLUTE TERROR OF HEIGHTS since I was a kid by putting myself in situations that force me to deal with it. So one of my greatest successes in curing me of this phobia (well, as much as anyone can actually be said to be "cured") was leaning into the windows at the top of Sears Tower, where you could do that kind of thing.... On the right day, with the right wind, you could almost look down and see the street. Quite a rush.

This did not happen at WILLIS TOWER. This happened at SEARS TOWER, which - as of today, no longer exists. A British company which took over a sizable chunk of office space there wants to brand itself to the world. But I'm not buying into it.

Look, politicians and businesspeople: Buildings are a part of the American landscape. Signficant buildings have a lore associated with them. Just because you temporarily call french fries "freedom fries" doesn't mean people think of them differently - or that the new name sticks - or that it doesn't revert to the former name.

I live near Philly. On the New Jersey side of the Delaware River is the old E Center. It's a nice outdoor entertainment venue, with a big sloping hill within sight of my native city, and on a clear night in summer, you can listen to the best music the world has to offer, and drink a beer with your friends while sitting on a blanket and thinking it just doesn't get better than this.

Except it's not called the E Center anymore. They renamed it the Tweeter Center. And then that folded. And now I think it's called Susquehanna Bank Center. And when that dies the death of a thousand banks, I guess someone else will buy it. I've stopped trying to remember all the names in the past 10 years for a very public place. So I've stuck with E Center - and any Philly person who's been around a while knows the score.

Same is true for the First Union Center in Philly, down by the sports complexes. It's the Wachovia Center now (the former having morphed into the latter) - or at least I think so. Of course, can it ever replace the iconic name so many natives in this brash, blue-collar town came to call it: the F-U Center (I have always loved this accident of marketing, by the way).

Was a time that significant public places were named after significant people. Not people responsible for funding the thing, usually. Presidents. American heroes or heroines. That's long past.

But hear me now, Willis Group: I think you'll find an uphill battle in getting people to embrace your name. At least for a generation.

It's a fine name. It's a great building. But our Sears Tower has achieved a certain prominence in American culture - and you can't just buy that away and remarket it to the masses.

You're such a jerk, and I'm so DONE with you

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 23:07:47 -0400

Hey, YOU! Yeah, YOU - I'm talking to you, pal! The guy who's publicly humiliating the poor cowed waitress at the table next to me like she doesn't only owe you decent service but isn't fit to wipe the mud from your pathetic Birkenstock knockoffs....

Or YOU - the girl who's sassing and hassling your mom in the department store to buy you that $300 patchwork leather handbag that's so ugly I guarantee it won't even sell for $15 at TJ Maxx in about three months - and do you even have a job anyway?....

Or YOU - the jerk who's riding the motorcycle that just weaved its way in and out of 30 cars during rush hour down I-476 to cut me off before I begin passing a semi - forcing me to watch my life flash before my eyes and wonder "what if I hadn't seen him?" as my heart rate soars....

Or YOU - the idiot staring at the kid with the goiter hanging from his neck like a deformed melon, laughing at him with your pals as he walks by in utter horror and shame....

Or YOU - the defective who forgot that when you're angry with a company you don't have the right to yell at the customer-service rep or receptionist on the other end of the line like she's not even human, making her cry hysterically and wish she could take any other job, but knowing this is her only option at the moment....

Or YOU - control-freak helicopter parent, haranguing that teacher about giving your spoiled non-Einstein kid a better grade he doesn't actually deserve, or heaping a world of grief on the volunteer aide who's helping out your brat for free....

Or YOU - stuck-up chick who didn't tell my very nice optometrist that you also wanted a contact lens prescription - and when they wouldn't give it to you for free (because it's a different exam, honeybun), you go all rock-star diva on them, telling everyone who will listen in the reception area that you know the owner....

Or YOU - seated behind me on the plane with your two friends, cursing up a blue streak and totally oblivious to the elderly gentleman next to you trying to sleep or the small children and obviously appalled mom in the seat behind you....

I've had it up to HERE with you. Got that? I understand there are times when you just can't control your selfish urges or spur-of-the-moment rudeness. We've all been there. We're human, not perfect.

But this country doesn't exist to make you comfortable at all times, in all ways. There's no invisible tally where you're owed more than you actually contribute to society simply by virtue of gracing us with your presence, with you the sole accountant keeping track, tit for tat, and the rest of us never catching up to your insane expectations.

You are NOT all that and a bag of chips. You are NOT the end all, be all. You are not the Alpha and Omega, or the center of your own damned reality show, with the rest of us playing bit parts. Join the human race why don't you and get down from that dime-store pedestal you've put yourself up on? Apparently, you need to be reminded that MANNERS MATTER, now more than ever.

The past 10 years have been an angry time for America. People feel like they have to fight to get what they are owed, or at least to keep what they have, even if all they're saving is face. Add to that the whole new dynamic of a "Me Now" generation that was raised to believe that in-your-face confrontation is the norm (even if it happens most often online, from what studies indicate).

Time to get passed that. Time to TAKE RESPONSIBILITY for your actions and how you impact others. I blame myself and my polite compatriots. We thought you might figure this out as you went along in life. Perhaps we didn't always step in when we should have to show you a little of the error of your ways. But we were wrong, and perhaps society has been silent too long. So, to help you, here's a crash course on acting like a human being in a difficult situation:

Step back and let cooler heads prevail.
Be nice, even when you don't want to be, because you're not God and you can't know the circumstances to everything, even when you think you do.
Remember: People respond best to people who try to understand them, or at least to people who try to put themselves in their shoes.
Not everyone is stupid because they don't understand something, so try to communicate it in a way that ensures they "get it" - because sometimes the fault is yours, not theirs.
Put a little of your religious or spiritual faith to good use - and practice that thing called the Golden Rule. You know, about doing to others and stuff. (Imagine how your world would look to you if what you dished out was reciprocated. Oh, the horror! Oh, the humanity!)

I can't always tell you how I feel, anonymous jerk. I don't always get the chance - and half the time, I'm so flabbergasted and aghast by some uncouth stunt you pull, I don't even know what to say (until, like, 15 minutes after the fact... and then it always comes to me! so frustrating!).

But I'm 41 - older, wiser, a quicker wit - and ready to step in far more often to help remind you at your less-than-best moments it's probably in your best interests and the world's if you toe the line a little.

I'm not alone in this view. I'd guess I have millions who would back me up on this reminder to be a little more civil, a little more human, and a little less asinine.

The times are a-changing - and your "my way or the highway" attitude isn't going to fly forever. Unless you want to die alone, ostracized, miserable, unloved and unsung.

Consider yourself warned.