Mumbling Madly

As much as I admire the new full body suits the men are splashing around in for the Olympic games, I have to say I miss the speedo.

(If hottie Michael Phelps is gonna keep winning medals can’t we further hail him as a sport’s hero by objectifying him?)

OK, so I’m a sucker for a deal. Such a sucker that I would break my self-imposed ‘no fast food restaurant’ ban in order to take advantage of the Friday Free Latte deal at McDonalds: From 11am-9pm on Friday you can stroll into the chain and receive a free small latte. Granted, there is zero advertising in the actual store, so you have to casually inquire, “Are you participating in the free latte promotion?” I guarantee you will get a blank look, because it will most likely be the employee’s second day and he hasn’t been informed about the give-away. However, after frantically checking with a pissed-off looking manager the free latte promo will be confirmed and the drink will be presented.

I learned about this promotion on the TV–probably the first time I was aware (consciously) of an advertisement influencing me to go out and but their product. If you watch standard television you’ve probably seen the ad campaign for McDonalds’ new line of espresso drinks. The latest one features two stuffy looking twenty-somethings sitting in overstuffed couches at a cafe, the perky sound of jazz in the background. One of them announces that Mcdonalds is serving espresso drinks and after a moments hesitation the two are thrilled, THRILLED. Suddenly, they realize they can cast off their dower appearances and really cut loose from the confines of the cafe scene. “I can start wearing heels again!” One of them cries.

I’m sorry, WHAT? I know the ad is trying to imply that folks who patronize, say, a Tully’s are nothing but dumpy, turtle-neck wearing, practical-shoe buying, snobs but when was the last time you saw a McDonalds patron wearing heels? Have you been in a McDonalds lately? Because Seattle breeds the exact type of clientèle the ad campaign is making fun of, the standard fast food patron in this city tends to, oh, lack teeth. Call it classist, but that’s just the way things are around here. Now that I think about it, I really should have put on a pair of heels and strolled in for my free latte–unfettered and unrestrained. As it was, I admittedly was wearing old birkenstocks. (Damn, maybe the stereotype is right).

While working for The Bucks I used to comment that it was a “McDonalds for rich people.” Coffee is cranked out, branding is shoved down throats, and superiority is felt by all. However, customer service is very important for the elite coffee chain and this is why the person ringing up your espresso tends to be a shade more cheerful then your average McDonalds teller. So, while you might have to pretend that you actually like jazz (as the McDonald commercial jokingly suggests) the benefit is that you get someone who is relatively polite taking your money. At McDonalds the poor fellow who procured my drink was enduring his second day midst the chaos of a busy lunch rush. He fumbled with the push buttons on the screen, couldn’t find the ‘iced’ button, forgot to ask what type of latte I wanted or what kind of milk. He looked about 16 and was obviously miserable as the snapping manager practically punched out the buttons on his register.

The verdict? Well, the complimentary McDonalds iced latte (which normally retails for $1.99) was terrible…completely and utterly horrible. The idea of McDonalds selling espresso at half the price is alluring–and a brilliant marketing idea. However, the quality just doesn’t match up. You know that stereotype? The snooty girls in the commercial who toss off their glasses with relief at no longer having to put on airs in the cafe? Well, those girls don’t exist. Like myself, those girls would take one sip of a McDonald’s latte and grimace. I AM one of those girls and I have to tell you: I almost bought into it. Not because I find espresso chains exhaustingly snobby but because I love espresso and wanted a bargain.

My McDonalds unfettered espresso experience was similar to buying a latte in Kansas City: the shit sucked. Pallid, melted, and tasteless, the drink paled in comparison to what you’d receive in even the dankest of cafes. Somewhere in Italy (home of the original espresso) a barista is crying. Call me a snob: I went home, brewed up two espresso shots in my fancy pants machine and tossed it into the watery semblance they called an iced espresso drink. Free is a very good price and I’m glad I didn’t pay a dime for that craptacular latte.

By now we’ve all heard the song “I Kissed A Girl.” I can only imagine the throngs of adolescent boys casually slipping this song into their ipod for their girlfriend to listen to in desperate hope: “See, SHE kissed a girl and she LIKED it.” It has to be a sign of progress (?) in this country when the majority of responses to this song are the following “this song is so awesome, i love it, i mean, come on, half the chicks here have to have kissed a girl once, even if it was just on the cheek or whatever… so yea, its pretty cool” –Courtesy of the youtube comment feed.

Remember when the first same sex kiss appeared on Melrose place? It was May 18, 1994, edgy gay character, Matt, shared an intimate moment through a kiss near the pool with guest-star boyfriend Rob — except it was only implied because a threatened advertiser boycott forced Fox to shy away from the actual lip lock. Wading into same sex kissing waters in the 90’s was quickly picked up on by recently outed “Ellen” (liplock between Ellen and best friend Paige ), the super square “Party of Five” (Julia Salinger engages in a short-lived lesbian affair with a professor ), and most hideously: “Ally McBeal” ( In a much-watched episode in 1999, Ally McBeal and fellow lawyer and co-worker Ling Woo (Lucy Liu btw) engage in a 21-second-long kiss). By the way, did ANYONE like Ally McBeal? I HATED that show.

I merely bring up television because, well, one has greater chance of seeing a same sex kiss by accident in the convenience of their own home versus screening themselves away from it via movies. For example: Don’t wanna see hunky Heath Ledger (R.I.P.) get all gay in Brokeback Mountain? Don’t go to the movie. Television, however, is so accessible that when it comes to truly liberating same sex kissing, you can thank the boob tube. And, luckily, there have been some really legitimate same sex kissing on TV, you know, for political and personal reasons (not just voyeuristic). In “Will & Grace “: An episode in the 2002-2003 season featured Will liplocking with his best friend Jack while “The Today Show’s” Al Roker and the rest of the New York crowd and TV audience look on. While researching the pop culture same sex kiss phenomenon I also learned about the controversial “Dawson’s Creek” smooch in 2000 — It’s considered the first romantic gay kiss between two men on TV. After a season of teenage angst and longing, Jack McPhee, who came out the previous season after briefly dating Joey Potter (a nubial young Katie Holmes), shares an on-screen kiss with former friend now turned boyfriend Ethan.

It’s been over 15 years since “Melrose Place” introduced an openly gay character to their cast of angsty, twenty-something, beautiful people–AND let him join in on the action (because really, “Melrose Place” ended up being so trampy, why get all huffy over a little same sex lovin?) Now we have same sex SNL characters dressed up in drag smooching each other in semblance of hetero love. We have entire sitcoms based on gay characters (thank you very much, “Will and Grace”). So getting back to my point: How in the world is the song “I Kissed A Girl” even relevant? And can I say for the record: Who hasn’t? I mean, really…ladies if you haven’t gone out and smooched your best friend drunkenly at a party then please go out and do so before you die. This is such a small measure of edginess these days, a valuable part of coming of age, and, thankfully, it’s become an acceptable part of our society. Oh sure, there are conservative Christians out there who shudder at the thought, but c’mon…most women I know have lapsed into same sex curiosity somewhere a long the line. Some of them were just ‘tri in college” (I’ll ‘tri’ anything), some of them were lost and looking for answers, and other’s were legitimately gay.

I know that female on female action is widely more accepted then male same sex kissing (despite the “Melrose Place” debut). If Katy Perry was, say, a man, I doubt her song would have the same ring. The fact that she’s writhing around with a tube of cherry chap stick in her music video certainly lends to the sexual exploitation of the whole sensationalizing of a pretty accepted behavior.
Is Katy encouraging social experimentation? Is she merely perpetuating a sexist, female on female, porno-type expectation? Is she opening the hearts and minds of a new generation with her encouraging bisexual lyrics? Will she dwindle into the One Hit Wonder category? Perhaps we’ll simply associate Katy Perry with other goofy songs that resulted in silly outrage. Like Joan Osbourne when she sang “What If God Was One of Us” (What?! How dare she say that God is a slob!) or the “Thong Song” by Sisqó (What?! Thong undies are so uncomfortable, why would anyone sing about them?!). Either way, I’m not impressed.

For some inexplicable reason I feel myself drawn to the Southcenter Nordstrom’s Rack. Maybe, it’s because I exchanged the Seven’s Josh gave me for an even better pair. Maybe it’s because they offer both the left and the right shoe to try on (unlike the downtown Rack which covets the left shoe). Perhaps it’s because the location is much closer to my home. But really it’s because I totally love Nordstrom’s Rack and I can’t seem to get away from it. I even started visiting the downtown Rack before performing over the weekend–both nights. It makes sense to get downtown early for parking and is a great time waster.

However, this still means that I have to contend with the latest poor choices in fashion:

It’s as if the fashion industry is punishing us. The obesity epidemic has spawned their wrath and the industry has made fat billowy clothes that look terrible on average individuals. In fact if you want to feel overweight (or look pregnant) just slip on any of these puffy little numbers in a dim fluorescent lit dressing room.

Last night we presented a ‘lecture series’ on an assigned topic for a show I’m working on. One of the ensemble members did an entire lecture on tomatoes. When asked why she chose this topic she claimed that she just really loves tomatoes–especially tomato sandwiches. “You know, the kind with really good bread, a ton of mayo, a really ripe tomato and some salt?” Omigod. I was suddenly transported to some far, far, time when my father handed me that exact sandwich. I became obsessed with recreating that memory and today I made a tomato sandwich for dinner. The tomato was a little mushy and the bread fell victim to the mush, but other then that it was FANTASTIC! If you love fresh tomatoes (and they’re in abundance right now at your local farmer’s market) now is the time to go and make yourself a tomato and mayo sandwich!

This post has been a long time coming. I kept seeing hints of this trend coming back, from random celebrity sightings to that Levis add with the girl plowing through NY traffic to stare face to face with that dude, I had a horrible feeling that fashion was about to recommit a terrible crime from the 80’s. I can handle the other come-backs: leg warmers, fine, enormous earings, OK, I was even cool with the brief reappearance of neon. I REALLY believed that society as a whole would reject this resurfaced trend. I find that it is with great sadness that skinny jeans have found their way back into mainstream fashion. I AM NOT OK WITH THIS. Has no one been paying attention? Did we learn nothing from the What Not To Wear girls? Tapered jeans look AWFUL on majority of women–and men for that matter. Lately I’ve seen the dumpiest, shortest, hipster chicks walking around Seattle with their skinny jeans paired with FLATS…dear GOD, flats? No, no, no, if one wants to attempt to pull this trend off, you need to suck it up and wear the goddam heels so your legs look somewhat alongated and not like two short stumps. But no one wears heels in Seattle, we’re way too practical for that.
The last time I wore straight legged pants was in middle school–and this was also when peg-rolling was fashionable. I had a nice acid wash pair with a high waist and a little stretch. My feet had ballooned up to a size 10 and my short frame had yet to catch up with my gigantic appendages. I looked like Olive Oil…I looked like a stick with two marshmellows attached to the end. Skinny jeans do nothing for the big footed girl, we like to be able to hide our paws with a healthy hem. And, I’m sorry, but skinny jeans don’t do anything for anyone unless you are, well, SKINNY. This is why super models can pull this look off the same way they can pull off leather chaps, enormous belts, and fur. The rest of us need to pick and choose our trends carefully, based on what looks good for our body type. OK, so you MIGHT get me in a pair of straight legged jeans, but I draw the line at tapered.

I always thought green tea tasted like barf…in fact I was never all that crazy about tea in general. I remember being really, really, disappointed with tea as a child. The boxes were always labeled with really tasty sounding names: “Strawberry Fields” or “Lemon Zest.” I think I expected the tea to taste like Kool-Aid. Tea would always show up when I was sick so I developed an association, (other foods that remind me of illness are apple juice, honey, and Campbell’s chicken and noodle soup).
Since embarking on becoming a teacher of small children, I’ve faced new levels of illness. For weeks at a time I’ve experienced agonizing sore throats and runny noses. I won’t go into the level of disgustingness I’ve viewed with my students picking and digging away at blood crusted nostrils, let’s just say we’re all sick. The little ones are dropping like flies left and right. A new health notice goes out every time an illness circulates, last week was strep throat…this week: pinworm.
When I’m not sick, I’m furiously exercising, sleeping, or eating apples. All of these steps will help combat the barrage of germs I face daily. And I’ve found tea…yes, the green tea craze has finally reached me. Ever since a doc on Oprah bragged about how one could lose 10 pounds in 6 weeks by replacing coffee with green tea I’ve been intrigued. I tried green tea at an Asian restaurant and thought it tasted like dirt. I’ve had friends (specifically other teachers) tell me, “I’ve recently discovered tea” and secretly thought they were frou-frou. My father goes through periods were he forgoes coffee for tea to remedy a heart condition and I’ve pitied him. My love for coffee has only blossomed and become snooty: I prefer to make cappuccinos with Peet’s Espresso Forte only. Yes, I waste time every morning around 6:45am steaming soy milk into my coffee mug. I appreciate regular coffee, but I have an internal fear of my teeth becoming yellow and my addiction reaching to preposterous heights.
Recent health problems have led me away from coffee on a regular basis. Several months ago, when I was just starting to come down with something, another Resident Teacher slipped me a little green tea packet. I initially rejected it but realized the time had come to try something other than orange juice and vitamins. To my surprise, the green tea made me feel amazing and I was able to finish out my school day. Lately, I’ve been drinking green chai in the morning and decaf green tea in the afternoon. It still tastes a little like moss but I’m getting used to it. The health benefits are hard to ignore:
1) Green tea has high levels of polyphenols. Polyphenols prevent the oxidation of cholesterol, thereby reducing blood vessel damage. This makes green tea a potent weapon against stroke and other cardiovascular ailments.
2) Green tea stimulates the immune system and helps defend against dental plaque–and it gives you great breath!
3) Green tea protects against liver damage. New research shows that it may help decrease liver transplant failure in patients.
4) It has a thermogenic effect that aids in weight loss.
5) It helps hormone activity and decreases acne.
6) Green tea has been proven to prevent certain types of cancer including colon, pancreatic, and stomach cancer.
7) Green tea also acts as a mild diuretic, ridding the body of excess water.
8) Regular consumption of green tea can reduce overall cholesterol levels as well as levels of LDL (harmful) cholesterol.
9) A reduction of overall blood pressure and heart disease is one of the most important benefits of green tea consumption and studies have proven that, for those who consume several cups daily, the risk for stroke and heart disease may be reduced by one-half.
Supposedly, the above list has all been backed up with recent scientific research. I’m a bit of a health nut, and despite sounding frou-frou myself, I can’t resist: Green tea here I come!

This post is perhaps a little passé, considering this is the second summer in a row skirts went from just above the knee to microscopic butt covers. The question posed is this: When is One Too Old to Wear a Mini Skirt? I ask this because I pondered this question last summer while I wore my practical knee length skirts. (I have so many that I have actually made a pact with myself to stop buying skirts all together). However, now that we’ve embarked on the second summer with everyone and their Mom wearing micro-minis, I broke down: I bought myself a mini-skirt. A pleated, denim, little number made by Levi–my most trusted jean maker. To hell with it, I figured, I haven’t danced for twenty-one years to have one of my favorite assets covered–I have great legs! Sure they’re kinda white and pasty, but all that aside, I’ve worked hard for my calf muscle definition. One of the best compliments I’ve ever been given was a fellow, straight, dancer of mine named Efrem: “Mara, you have the best legs I’ve ever seen…and I’ve watched a lot of porn.”
Sure, when gravity hits, my varicose veins pop out, and my legs no longer look nice, well then: Mini-skirt it’s been great but good-bye! I mention this because my hesitation with buying a new mini is that, well, you know, we’ve all seen cases of various women who have not retired their mini-skirts in a timely fashion. Ok, ok, not all of us have the body of a 16-year-old, and according to my observation at Westlake Mall every single girl under the age of 16 has a mini-skirt. (Ok, so a few of them were wearing those ridiculous, bulky, peasant skirts that look like a pleated bed ruffle). Granted the mini marketing campaign is aimed at the cute. So what, right? Can’t those of us hang onto this recent trend while we can?
The mini skirt has surfaced several times in my life. We all know it began in the 60’s, but the first time I was hell bent on a mini-skirt was in the late 1980’s. I finally talked my Dad into buying me one at Ross, it was light blue and had these weird little floating ducks on it. Paired with an oversized, v-neck, tee and a pair of white Keds and I was SET. Sixth grade, here I come! Scrunchy socks? They look great with my cotton/lycra, purple, ribbed mini, thank you very much. I continued to rock the mini in middle school, and I have to say it may have assisted in my short lived popularity in 7th grade. Sure, there was the sudden realization that while walking up three flights of steps at Shumway Middle School, anyone could look right up my skirt. Sure, my thighs stuck to plastic seats. Ok, I had to cross my legs all the time and that was kinda uncomfortable. Typically I braved the cold and wore the mini solo, legs shivering and bare. My legs became immune to the cold and as long as I had on a sweater I was set, my legs be dammed. It was worth it, man. The mini-skirt commanded a lot of power back then.
A surge of self-consciousness eliminated my mini-skirt wearing until 11th grade. I started wearing little shorts, and than boxers, under my enormous, billowing, baby-doll dresses. We wore those little slip dresses with Dr. Martins, year round. Occasionally, when it dipped below 35 degrees, we were known to pair a mini with long underwear–God forbid! (Hey, it was grunge, it worked…) Than I got a boyfriend and stopped caring about how my legs looked in a micro-mini. Entering college I was wearing size 38, ancient, hole-in-the-crotch, denim bought at Value Village. Everything was oversized and ill-fitting. I stopped dancing between the ages of 17 and 19 and my self-image went to pot.
But, around my 19th birthday I bought myself a black mini-skirt. I had a new boyfriend who was extremely exploitive and really celebrated my legs. I felt very certain that in order to embark on my new clubbing lifestyle I had to arm myself with a tiny skirt. This was right around the time when my one-woman show premiered at the Fringe Festival, and I rocked the crowd with various tiny skirts. An entire monologue was based on seducing a rock star using my “napkin-sized mini.” How great was the mini-skirt? It provided so much ventilation while navigating through hot, heavy, gay dance clubs. By the time I was 21 and attending the Miss. Cherry Bomb Drag Queen contest every Wednesday night at the now defunct Aerospace, my black mini was thoroughly broken in. Than, at 22, I moved to Colorado.
No one wore mini-skirts in Colorado. I don’t know if this was because they went out of style during the time I lived there…it’s quite a possibility. I just know that I replaced most of my cute, clubbing, night-on-the-town clothing with polar fleece. It’s sad how that happens…perhaps I was just getting old. Suddenly, my legs seemed goofy and cold hanging out in the breeze. Luckily, the skirt trend was accommodating and, like I previously mentioned, I bought a lot of long skirts.
Now, years later I am faced with the whole quandary: Is it too late? Sure, I’m no match for the 60-something woman with spider veins crawling blue and purple up her legs, skirt hiked up around her armpits while waiting for the #5. These days, the only minis I see are on adolescent girls and the occasional prostitute trolling Aurora Blvd. But, I admit I am terribly susceptible: Old Navy has been marketing mini-skirts and it’s hard to resist. Should I abandon what was once a fashion staple of mine just because I’m 28? No, right? I caved in.

Dance belts are something one must become familiar with when becoming acquainted with dance retail. I typically describe them as “a jock strap for dancers…only softer.” When I first starting handing them over to men, it was for the local beginning ballet class offered at CSU. This was back when outside majors were still allowed to take dance classes, (the department had to close the doors on everyone but Dance majors after budget cuts). I allowed guys to try on the belt over their boxers so they could get an idea of what they were in for. This usually resulted in quite a few exclamations of “Oh My God!” through the dressing room curtain. Simply put, the dance belt is like a tight pair of briefs with a little extra padding for support. Trust me, fellahs, you want to be wearing one while executing multiple jumps across the dance floor. Below is a picture of a full seated dance belt, (typically professionals are required to wear thong belts under their tights):

Notice the seam in front? This usually indicates a good dance belt…also the quality of the cotton mixed with a touch of lycra. I learned more about dance belts as I matured into dance retail. For instance, most guys will buy a dance belt too large–for whatever psychological reason–and end up ‘falling out’ of the belt. Usually after purchasing the first one, most guys become more comfortable with the idea of needing one and immediately become experts. This is fine, because on the whole, men are much easier customers than women. They know what they need, they usually know their size, and they put up very little fuss. Part of this is the simple lack of choices men have in the dance retail world.
Now, most of you know that I have been currently struggling at the local dance store. It’s gotten so bad, that sometimes I fall into a deep depression when I realize I have to go back to work after a nice long weekend. I’ve had deep suspicions that no one knows what they’re doing, and I’ve had a very hard time keeping quiet about it. I think my past experience as a manager has really been hard to squash–I just have so many good ideas! I know how to make a dance store successful! I know my product, and I’m very good at selling it! People come to me specifically with questions about character shoes, the difference in leotard cut per brand, and for detailed pointe shoe fittings. I love sending off a little kid with a brand new leotard, ballet slippers, and tights. I enjoy helping older women find a way to squash their bunions into a 1.5′ inch character shoes–wait did I just say that?
This is why I have been so torn over quitting…I have the vain hope that somehow it will get better. Maybe I figure someday I’ll be in charge and I can really turn this defunct store around. I love dance retail, I hate to see it go. If I knew how or had the money or was delusional I would start my own goddam dance store.
Anyway, why the sudden rant, you ask? Because yesterday I learned that the store had been selling cheerleader briefs as dance belts….(see example of so-called ’spirit briefs’ below):

Now, I know the picture is sort of fuzzy and I know I just went into a brief explanation about what the product is but HOW CAN ONE POSSIBLY CONSIDER THIS A DANCE BELT? I can’t describe how flabbergasted I was when I started checking in these cheerleader briefs as dance belts in the computer. Are you KIDDING me? In fact, I think I was vaguely insulted. When I brought it up with the current buyer she blamed it on the past buyer: “This is what she used to bring in for, like, years! I don’t know…” Here’s the thing: It is apparent that none of these women have really taken a look at a dance belt…and chances are, the male customers go home, see that it’s wrong, and are embarrassed to return to the store.
I have to quit. I can’t be the lone pioneer on a quest to liberate the store from its embarrassing dance belt mistake. I can’t continue to fight an uphill battle…but I can’t seem to find a replacement job. I’ve been putting plenty of ‘irons in the fire’ and either it’s just taking a long time or I can’t seem to get anyone interested. People don’t call back in this town–even after two interviews, or a follow up visit, or whatever…It’s everything I can do to choke down my bitterness. The dance belt scandal only heightens it–but at least I had a good laugh.