Those 70’s Men

While I was away on a hiking trip for my birthday, I hunkered down in front of the fire to do some work after dinner. As I absentmindedly flicked through the television stations, I stopped at a channel that featured old sitcoms. “Barney Miller” was on, and as I drooled over this all-male cast, it occurred to me that this show was where I formed my earliest childhood definition of masculine hotness.

I mean cops, hello?

Hal Linden. Max Gail. Ron Glass. Abe Vigoda. Ron Carey. The quiet and unassuming but side-splittingly funny Steve Landesberg, who had a movie-stealing cameo as Jason Segel’s pediatrician in “Forgetting Sarah Marshall.” Strong masculine men from the 70’s just hit different, didn’t they? Here are some of my favorite hot 70’s t.v. men:

“Rockford Files.” James Garner as Jim Rockford. What is it about James Garner? Twinkly eyes, lopsided thousand-watt smile, self-deprecating sense of humor. Big strong gorgeous man.

“Kojak.” Theo Kojak. Not my physical type per se, but Telly Savalas had that X-Factor, baby.

“Little House on the Prairie.” Michael Landon. I mean, what young girl didn’t dream of having Charles Ingalls for her father? (Sorry, dad, no offense). Talk about great smiles. Although he was a little too “goody-goody” for me, he was built like an oak tree and had great hair.

“Columbo.” Peter Falk. That gravelly voice and trench coat, he was the epitome of cool, especially when he played dumb.

“The Waltons.” Ralph Waite as John Walton Sr. I drooled over this man, and when he showed up as Kevin Costner’s father in “The Bodyguard,” Kevin was quickly forgotten.

“Mash.” I mean, the whole cast. Alan Alda, Harry Morgan, Wayne Rogers, McLean Stevenson. I loved these men.

“The Odd Couple.” I had a thing for Jack Klugman. He was a newspaper man, and I loved when he ranted and raved.

“Coach.” Craig T. Nelson. Just such a funny gorgeous specimen of a man who had a great cameo as Ryan Reynold’s dad in “The Proposal.”

“The White Shadow.” Ken Howard. I loved watching him walk.

Dabney Coleman in “That Girl,” “Tootsie,” “War Games,” and “You’ve Got Mail.”

Sydney Pollack, just handsome and rich and powerful in “Tootsie,” and also director of “Out of Africa” and “Sabrina.”

Garry Marshall, who directed some of my favorite movies, like “Frankie and Johnny,” “Runaway Bride,” and “Beaches. He also appeared in “League of Their Own,” just stole the whole movie.

I miss these men.

Titles

Thank you for asking me what I’m reading. I’ve been avoiding this post, for a couple of reasons. First, it’s a very intimate question, isn’t it? Books are personal super powers. Everything I have accomplished up to this point is because of my personal library. It’s like admitting to someone what perfume you wear (I’ll never tell).

The second reason is because the titles I’m reading right now just aren’t very interesting. I go through phases. Sometimes it’s stacks of magazines, sometimes paperback novels, sometimes educational journals, sometimes Shakespeare, sometimes a revisit of Malcolm Gladwell, Bill Bryson and David Sedaris, my Holy Trinity. I just read a book on how to make good Youtube videos. Yaaaaaawn.

(Yes, I’m going to start putting videos up on my Youtube channel. Before I was at “should,” now I’m at “have to“).

Right now I’m reading about book publicity, libel laws, education, and marketing. You can imagine the thrill quotient of my current titles. I don’t really read trash fiction. It has to be a phenomenal suggestion from a credible source for me to pick it up. The last two fiction books I read that I really liked were Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, and The Help by Kathryn Stockett. They both knocked me out.

Here are five titles I’m barreling through:

Limitless by Jim Kwik. This is about upgrading your brain, learning faster and unlocking your potential. It has a surprisingly large amount of mathematical equations in it, but there’s some good advice on how to use a larger percentage of your brain. If you’re getting only trash sleep, this book could help. Oh, and he’s Will Smith’s guru.

Waiter Rant by Steve Dublanica. Dublanica adapted his hysterically funny blog into this book. He’s so, so good, and this book deserves more publicity than it gets. Maybe if Barnes and Noble would take moronic vapid celebrity tomes off the shelves, there would be room for more genius like this gem.

TED Talks by Chris Anderson. I’ll be giving a TED talk in 2022, and when it’s time, I’ll post details. Anderson, HEAD of TED, gives the best line of the book at the end of the introduction: “Are you ready? Let’s go light a fire.” Just wait, ya’ll.

The Marshmallow Test by Walter Mischel. Sociology is my thing, and this book posits the following theory: A child is given a marshmallow and two choices: Eat this one now, or wait and enjoy two later. What will she do? And what are the implications for her behavior later in life? The ability to delay gratification is critical for a successful life. But is willpower prewired, or can it be taught? Mischel knows.

The Road to Character by David Brooks. Just how it sounds. How strength of character is often abandoned in exchange for wealth, greed, and desire. Trust me when I say there’s a scarcity of such people. This book shows great portraits of great people who managed to be successful without abandoning their ideals.

There you have it, a brief, boring and banal glimpse into my literary soul. Hope you didn’t fall asleep.

Mangiari

Some of my favorite family memories deal with my Italian heritage. Long Sunday dinners at the Esposito’s, expansive gastronomical eating extravaganzas that started with nuts and ended with homemade cheesecake and Italian cookies. Big jugs of homemade wine omnipresent on the kitchen counter. Big Italian family reunions. Stories about the Dispoto and Corolla families living in one building in Jersey City and about my paternal grandmother Rose, who I never got to meet but who cooked huge family meals for her family all day every single day, and never complained.

And the eternal argument between gravy and sauce. In my household, it was “gravy.” Get over it.

I just read a fabulous article in Travel and Leisure magazine about eating and drinking rules in Italy. I can’t wait to go back to Italy (more on my quick trip to Italy another time). If you’d prefer to read Paul Feinstein’s take in T&L, fine, be that way: here’s the link to the article. If you want mine, read on. It’s not much different from Paul’s, just with extra personal perspective and how I try to keep my Italian upbringing in my family as much as I can.

Keep it fresh. Like shoppers in Italy, every week or so I make my trip to various food specialty stores to get my breads, my pastas, my cheeses, my meats, and vegetables for two weeks or so. Every store specializes in something, and I find it delightful to patronize these Mom and Pop businesses over an hour away to purchase items that I know are fresh and ripe. I barely go to big supermarkets anymore.

Seasons for a reason. We know this in Jersey. We know when peaches are good, when asparagus is good, and when tomatoes are good. We shop when things are in season for peak flavor. Makes all the difference.

Coffee rules. Italians don’t do big breakfasts like Americans do. If you’ve been to Italy, you know the drill- you order breakfast, you stand at a bar, down an espresso, and shove a croissant into your face. Delizioso. I love luxuriating in a hot cup of coffee on my patio as much as the next guy, but in Italy, when in Rome.

Olive oil. Period. No other oil allowed. And try using olive oil to bake cookies in place of butter, yummo. I sometimes use it in my Easter biscotti, just to mix things up. The jury is still out on which is better.

Courses matter and pasta isn’t a main course. This is directly quoted from the article: “First, there’s lunch. A typical Italian lunch consists of a primo, usually a pasta dish; a secondo, which is usually a protein; and a contorno, which is a vegetable or salad dish. For dinner, there’s an antipasto, where you’ll find cured meats, olives, artichokes, and more followed by a pasta (primo), a protein (secondo), a side dish (contorno), and a dessert (dolce). Hungry yet?”

Drinks are paired with foods. Italians don’t drink wine until their food comes. They’re supposed to complement each other.

More drinking and eating. The whole Italian day revolves around food. What a great country. Merenda. Gelateria. Aperitivo. And my favorite? Digestivi.

Bread. Fare la scarpetta means “make the little shoe.” You know why. To scoop. If you don’t scoop your bread into your gravy, what good are you to me?

Table wine is more than fine. Table wine is not only great, but cheap in Italy. Don’t be pretentious, please.

Food is for family. Breaking bread with people is communion, so you should always love the people you eat with. “Eat well. Drink well. Enjoy life. These are rules worth living by.”

Funny How?

When you walk into my house, there is a small little red sign that announces, “Bless This Home With Love and Laughter.” It’s been there for so long that I don’t even remember where I got it, or…why. I love neutral furnishings with pops of red, so I’m sure I bought it because of the color. Regardless, I leave it there. It’s cute, and true of my household.

Many years ago, a female acquaintance stopped over. I remember her glancing at my little red sign and laughing. I looked at it, then at her, and asked her what she was laughing at.

“What?”

She gestured to the sign.

“Cute, Mary. You crack me up.”

Ummmmm, ok.

I get prickly when someone accuses me of being funny when I’m not trying to be funny. Think of the famous “Funny Like a Clown” scene featuring Joe Pesci’s Tommy to Ray Liotta’s Henry in “Goodfellas”:

Tommy gets done telling a funny story, and while everyone laughs, Henry says to Tommy:

“Really funny. You’re really funny.”

Tommy, looking at Henry: Waddya mean I’m funny?

Henry: It’s funny, y’know, the…the story. It’s funny. You’re a funny guy.”

Tommy: Waddya mean? You mean the way I talk? What?

Henry (getting nervous): It’s just, y’know, it’s…you’re just funny. It’s…you know, the way you tell the story and everything…

Tommy: Funny how? I mean, what’s funny about it?

Henry: (worried now) Tommy, no, you got it all wrong…

Tommy: Funny how? What?

Henry: Just, you know, you’re funny.

Tommy: You mean, let me understand this…cuz I…maybe it’s me? Maybe I’m a little fucked up, maybe? I’m funny how, I mean funny like I’m a clown? I amuse you? I make you laugh? I’m here to fuckin’ amuse you? Waddya mean, funny? Funny how? How am I funny?

This scene, which has aged into cinematic lore, just gets more and more uncomfortable and oozes with boiling tension, ending with Tommy breaking a glass over Sonny’s head, then kicking him.

On that day, I looked at my cute sign again, and back at her, and then realized what she meant. She had a big, fancy house, the kind that no one is ever allowed in. She was a domestication queen, the type who spends hours looking at, what, swatches? Who the hell knows, it’s not up my alley. Maybe she expected a Renoir there? Maybe she thought it was crass? Silly? Low budget? I questioned her lightly.

I crack you up? Why?

No, your sign. It’s funny.

It is? How?

No, I didn’t mean anything.

I know, it’s ok, but why is it funny?

Because it’s you, you know, you’re funny.

I’m funny? Like, how? Like a clown? Does my house amuse you?

No, seriously, forget it.

I intend to.

(It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. It was a medium-to-light moment, but these women with these big fancy houses that they never leave, I don’t understand them. They don’t like our signs, I guess)

Why the sudden teasing backlash on social media over these cute house signs? I like mine.

Near my coffee station is a wooden placard that states, “Coffee served hot.” It’s super cute, and of course people know the coffee machine is there, and that it will come out hot, that’s not the point.

In my downstairs bathroom, a sign states that our family is loud and messy, but that we love a lot and apologize when we’re wrong. On top of it is a little wooden sign, “Life is Good.” And it is. So would everyone know that our life is good without that sign? Yes, but that’s not the point.

In the upstairs’ bathroom you’ll find “The ABC’s of Being a Good Human.” Without those ABC’s, would I still have raised good humans? Of course. But that’s not the point.

What’s the point?

These little affirmations we put in our homes remind us that it’s our space to do with what we wish. So the next time a pretentious domestic goddesses walks into your home and laugh at your signs, just tell her:

You ain’t clownin’ around.

Joyspotting

(Tough long week- thanks for hanging in there, I know my posts haven’t been too interesting. Good stuff coming up next week)

I recently saw an Instagram ad for technology where your children can wear this headset and see virtual bears and tigers, etc. Of course I offered my opinion on the matter.

How ’bout taking your damn kids to see animals in person? What the hell is happening in this world?

So to finish up the week, here are five things you can do to get off the tech and connect with joy.

Take your kid to breakfast or lunch. While it’s tough to get all of my boys out at the same time, I can usually get at least one out a week. One-on-one conversation is unrivaled.

Walk around a city. Make sure you go to the good parts, I know some cities are sketchy right now. Take in the culture and restaurants.

Take a class. I’m signed up for burlesque dance classes, but I’m going to wait until I don’t have to wear a mask.

Detail your car. Don’t pay someone else. Go to the local auto store and get some supplies and put some manual labor into your vehicle. This is the kind of manual labor I love, because it’s aesthetic.

Cook something complex. This makes it necessary to shop for obscure ingredients, and then put time and effort into the actual creation. Nothing will ever taste so good.

Hasta la vista baby.

Cranky Pants

I write so much about positivity, that readers forget I get cranky too. Just because someone is self-actualized and free of societal toxicity doesn’t mean they don’t still occasionally get annoyed. Here are five things I recently pulled on my cranky pants for:

HUMIDITY. I had an actual temper tantrum the other day because the air was 99% humidity as I plodded across campus to my class. I wondered where the 1% was, and how hard it would be to get to it, stand in it, and revel in it. By the time you read this, the humidity has probably broken, but I was really mad that day as I could actually watch my blown-out hair crinkle up.

PATIO CUSHIONS. I think they’ve had it. For the tenth consecutive early fall, my gorgeous crepe myrtle tree has deposited leaves and buds onto the cushions. Then when it rains or is very humid, the foliage sort of, like, melts onto the cushions. No matter how vigilant I am about sweeping them off and wiping them down, I’m not willing to quit my job in order to protect them, which is what I would have to do. I’ll store them neatly again in a few weeks, but I don’t know if they can withstand anymore abuse.

AT&T. I’m not quite distanced enough from what happened last week to tell the story objectively and coherently, but I promise to regale you with it soon. Abominable.

JACKSON HOLE, WYOMING. I cannot spend my fall there, not this fall, at least. I’m grounded, for the time being. But next fall I’ll be there, and my friend from Wyoming had better stop sending me pictures of lakes and mountains, or I’m going to kick his ass. He knows how jealous I am, and does it on purpose.

MY SONS. I’m joking, they rarely get me cranky, I just wanted to mention three of the best-looking, smart, accomplished, funny human beings on Earth who bang in and out of the house to-and-from their busy lives, reminding me that no matter what I do for the rest of my life, they are and will always be MY GREATEST WORK. Love you guys.

Target Fall Refresh

(Two notes: One, I was emailed not-so-politely that I forgot one reason why a wealthy woman would take up with a not-so-wealthy man: love. Point noted. And two, sorry for the pop-up ads on my site now- it’s a necessary evil right now, so if it discourages you from reading my daily posts, it’s your loss. Har har).

I got to Target the other day without my wallet, and only $100 in cash. I was bummed, because it was my “Fall Home Refresh” trip, and I had been looking forward to it. I considered going home to fetch my wallet and returning later, or leaving and coming back another day.

Then I turned off my car.

“No,” I thought, “I can do this. I can give my home a perky fall refresh for $100.”

So here are a few things I got from Target that for only $100 bucks injected a refreshing shot of fall into my home:

Pumpkin Brulee candle. $10.00. Smells heavenly and small enough to fit on the windowsill of my powder room.

Pumpkin-themed bath rugs. $10.00. I purchased 2, one for each bathroom. They are so sweet and pretty, and plush underfoot.

That takes me to $30.00, for the mathematically-impaired. JK!

Faux-Bleached Wheat Grass Plant Wreath. This is $34.99, but I rationalized it because I had a $20 Target gift card. So it was only $14.99.

At $45.00 now.

Autumn Harvest in Rustic Wooden-Box Centerpiece. The most expensive piece in my trip at $43.74, on sale from $49.99. Really perks up my mantel.

Now I’m at $88.74.

Plush Owl Figurine. I mean, how cute is he for $5? He’s sitting near my stack of books and research, because he looks so darn smart in his glasses.

$93.74. I can afford one more thing.

Mrs. Meyers Clean Day Acorn Scented Hand Soap. YUM, for $3.99.

There you have it. Didn’t think I could do it, did ja? Ye of little faith.

Little But Fierce

Yesterday, in a heated discussion with my class about a non-fiction essay on the Pied Piper of Tucson, I posted this question:

“But have you acknowledged the counter-argument?”

Then a voice in my head piped up.

“Bitch, have YOU?”

Yikes. Fine. So it turns out that some wealthy women who date “hobosexuals” go into the relationships with their eyes and hearts open. I mean, the most famous hobosexual in the world is MacKenzie Scott’s new husband, Dan Jewett. MacKenzie is worth what, 58 billion?

And he’s a high school science teacher. WAS a high school science teacher.

But who cares, right? MacKenzie is happy, Dan is happy. She has money, he doesn’t, and they’re fine with that. Dan is a “great guy,” and he’s “going to work tirelessly with MacKenzie to give away most of that money to philanthropic agencies.”

How generous of him to work so hard to spend Jeff’s money.

Kidding aside, the selfie I found of them is cute. They look like a couple who shop at Trader Joe’s on Sundays, spend hours in REI looking for the perfect hiking poles, and carve decoy ducks in log cabins.

The strange sociological phenomenon of “Hobosexuals and the Women Who Love Them” fascinates me almost as much as that of older men dating super young girls. So I decided to contact an editor at Pop Sugar, and ask her what in the world these women could be thinking.

“Is it me?” I asked her. “What wealthy woman with high self-esteem would keep a man?”

It’s you, she said. But I get your reservations. Let’s brainstorm.

So here are the top five reasons we came up with why a wealthy woman would hook up with a man of limited means:

  1. Money is not an issue to her. Like MacKenzie probably figures, who really cares? She has money, he doesn’t, and since she ain’t gonna find anyone with more money than she has, anyone is fair game. She was already married to the richest man in the world, so she’s already experienced that type of power.
  2. She’s lonely. Loneliness is a bitch, especially for women who are afraid to be alone. Oftentimes women settle for less than they think they deserve, because it’s better than spending national holidays alone.
  3. She has low self-esteem. She’s tired of her friends and family flaunting their boyfriends and husbands in her face on Facebook and at parties, and wants someone to flaunt, too. Who cares if he’s broke?
  4. She doesn’t equate male power with financial success. Tough nut to crack, and good for her. Some of us do.
  5. She likes the power. She likes being in charge of finances, calling the shots, wielding the power of her bank book. She certainly doesn’t like being submissive to men.

Again, good for her. Some of us do. You know, in the fun way.

Nurse or a Purse

I received an inquiry from a news outlet last week to write a blurb using this title:

“How to Know If the Man You Met Online is Looking for a Nurse or a Purse”

No kidding, this is a real thing. They’re called “hobosexuals,” men either looking for a woman to take care of them in their advancing years, or for a “sugar momma.”

I cannot attest to the “nurse” half of it. I mean, how do these men make their intentions known? Is the first date a request to drive him to his colonoscopy? Does he ask her to change his Depends, or check his blood pressure before nookie? When they go out to dinner, does he ask her to ask the chef to blend his steak?

Allow me some teasing room here. You’re probably married, whether happily or unhappily, so you have no idea what it’s like out there.

I gave up “out there.”

Personally, I don’t know what’s more disturbing: knowing that these kind of men are out there, or knowing that there are gullible women who fall for it. So here, for your use, are six ways to know if a guy wants to jiggle your pursestrings. Pass this along to your dating friends, mothers, aunts, daughters, whoever. I’ve done the research, so what you’re about to read is pretty accurate.

He’s too good-looking. I’m talking the kind of model good-looking that makes you stop at his picture and say, “Wow, he is REALLY good-looking.” DANGER DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!!! There is no reason that a seriously good-looking man is hanging out on dating sites unless there is something seriously wrong.

He is over-eager to get your phone number. After a few hours of conversation, he will say, “Give me your number so we can get off this site.” He wants to research you and pull your credit report so he can find your net worth. And if you have money, you will be shocked how fast he “falls in love” with you. Within one week he’ll tell you he’s dreaming about you, is ready to introduce you to his friends, and hopes to meet your family. If he lives far away from you, he’ll be “more than happy to make the drive,” or the flight, or the walk. To these guys, it’s worth the initial time and gas investment.

He has impeccable manners. By the time he’s done with you, you’ll feel like Queen Elizabeth. He’ll hold the door for you, pull out your chair for you, help you with your coat, tell you your company is just delightful. He will not make unwonted physical advances, and treat you like a real lady.

He wants to meet you at dinner, and if he gets a second date, asks if you’d prefer to drive. He doesn’t want to show you his car. Oh, and they LOVE being driven around, like they’re Miss Daisy to your Hoke.

He acts weird when you don’t offer to pay for anything. Maybe he doesn’t reach for his wallet right away when the dinner bill arrives. Maybe he doesn’t put down cash on the bar when you have drinks with him. Maybe when you half-heartedly say, just to be polite, “Oh, can I put something toward the bill?” he reacts with emphatic enthusiasm.

Take it from me: Run for your life.

After the first date, he hems, haws, and waits for you to make plans. He wants you to take charge, to make the reservations, to put the down-payment on the room, on the show, whatever. This is a huge signal of a a guy who wants to be “kept.”

Some of these gentlemen have fancy leather wallets, some don’t make that pretense. Some dress really well, some don’t. Some flash big stacks of cash while not offering it up, and some have only a crumpled one-dollar bill in their wallet alongside a beat-up old faded credit card from an old bank that doesn’t exist anymore. Some want to talk about money and real estate, some avoid the subject entirely to keep you off the scent.

Laugh if you will but they’re out there. Heed my warnings.

In Praise of Work

Next week’s blog posts will all be “Top Five” lists. In preparation, here is my “Top Five Things In Praise of Work.”

5. Getting Ready. I love getting ready for work. Putting on lingerie and earrings, choosing an outfit and dabbing on red lipstick and spraying on the perfume that suits my mood for the day. It’s lovely being a woman.

4. Coffee and its haunting aroma.

3. Quiet offices in which to wear my outfits and sip my coffee. I love sitting in the quiet faculty offices of teaching campuses, sipping my coffee and hearing the muffled quiet hum of the hallways.

2. Colleagues. Brief professional dalliances in the hallways, stolen laughs between classes, dashed-off emails to check-in.

1. Work. Because how privileged am I to live in a country that allows me to do what I love, to reside in a body that has the strength to propel me through a work day, and a profession that humbles me on a daily basis.

Value your ability to work. Here’s Hozier’s video “Work Song” which has nothing to do with work, but it’s super sexy. Have a weekend to brag about.