I will no longer be posting...
... to this blog.
I have a brand spanking new blog, and the theory is that it will be more interesting than this one. Watch out for my first post! But first, you can find out what it's all about at www.annabeeblogged.com.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
My Mother Wore Boxing Gloves
My mother, 53 years old in 2004, told me in a long-distance phone call that she had joined a boxing class. This was not simply Tae Bo, this was boxing class with gloves, punching bags, and—apparently, speed skipping.
I was aghast—shocked, really, not because she was boxing, but because she had taken on this ultimate carb-workout and I couldn’t even be bothered to haul my (then) 26-year-old self onto the elliptical trainer we had in our home.
Reminded of my un-renewed Balley’s membership and my subsequent weight-gain, I had, of course, resorted to sarcasm. “Do you run into freezers and beat the living daylights out of slabs of meat, as well?” which was wholly undeserved on my mother’s part.
Naturally, she was unconcerned by my petty insecurities and continued to regale the benefits of eating and living healthy. In later phone conversations, she would move on to tell me about rock climbing, yoga, facial treatments, hair and nail salons, and the inevitable wardrobe update to show off her perfectly toned arms. All this, she did, while running the family business, which was to apply the finishes on buildings, homes, and offices--as if being physically fit and beautiful at 54 weren’t impressive enough, she capped all of it off with a hard-hat when she walked through construction sites. Now at 57, she hasn’t come close to mentioning the word “retirement.” I suspect she never will, whether or not she decides to remove her hard-hat permanently.
As bionic as my mother seems, I’ve found that this is not a virtue attributed exclusively to her. Though she is special in her own way, she, like many baby boomers in America and across the globe, had chosen to break the pre-conceived notions their parents and their parent’s parents (and their parent’s parent’s parents) seemed to have established for them—that being 50 was the beginning of the end.
Baby boomers knew, long before Hollywood made it trendy—even while Hollywood called it a “crisis” in midlife--, that 50 was the beginning of a new phase in life, where they can begin to look forward to the possibilities that their hard-earned financial freedom had in store for them.
A “baby boomer” or “boomer” is a term used to describe a person born post-World War II, between the years 1946 and the 1965. Following World War II, countries experienced an unusual spike in birth rates, a phenomenon commonly referred to as the “baby boom.” The term “boomer” is also used in countries with demographics that did not necessarily mirror the sustained growth in American families over the same interval.
During the years of the baby boom, 76 million Americans were born—17 million more than the average birth rate. The sheer probability of at least half this number asking questions, and wanting answers in some form or another—books, radio, television, print media, the internet—is, as the newly official word goes, ginormous.
The thriving boomer community online should be proof enough. Boomer sites like Eons.com, LifeTwo.com, ReZoom.com, and Wowowow.com are constantly updated with articles ranging from headlines to health, activities and aging, money and media. Boomers are interested in the same things kids in their 20s, 30s, and 40s are, except that they’re interested in a way that only their generation could describe. They address needs that their parents dared not address before above the decibel of a whisper—sex, sex in marriage, sex out of marriage, making marriage work, acknowledging failed marriages, wrinkles, white hair, wardrobe malfunctions, health, cosmetic surgery…botox—is suddenly open to mature, occasionally hilarious, discussion.
Boomer books, which happens to comprise most Springboard Press titles—The Marriage Benefit, Smart Women Don’t Retire, How Not to Look Old, Beyond Botox, The Sex Lives of Wives, among others—delve even deeper into relevant issues of men and women seeking practical answers to questions that should have been answered—so to speak—eons ago.
Being a boomer is all about pioneering and there are enough notable boomers to prove it: Michael Jordan (Feb. 2, 1963), Steve Jobs (Feb. 24, 1955), Stephen King (Sept. 21, 1847), Hillary Clinton (Oct. 26, 2947), Bruce Springsteen (Sept. 23, 1949), John McEnroe (Feb. 16, 1959)—even Ted Bundy (Nov. 24, 1946)—few among many famous boomers who showed the world that the boomer generation never do anything half-way.
Is it any wonder that the world and media has taken notice and acknowledged the impact boomers have on every facet of today’s society? Boomers are an entire generation of men and women who went ahead and figuratively—in my mother’s case literally—donned those boxing gloves and had the work-out of their lives.
I was aghast—shocked, really, not because she was boxing, but because she had taken on this ultimate carb-workout and I couldn’t even be bothered to haul my (then) 26-year-old self onto the elliptical trainer we had in our home.
Reminded of my un-renewed Balley’s membership and my subsequent weight-gain, I had, of course, resorted to sarcasm. “Do you run into freezers and beat the living daylights out of slabs of meat, as well?” which was wholly undeserved on my mother’s part.
Naturally, she was unconcerned by my petty insecurities and continued to regale the benefits of eating and living healthy. In later phone conversations, she would move on to tell me about rock climbing, yoga, facial treatments, hair and nail salons, and the inevitable wardrobe update to show off her perfectly toned arms. All this, she did, while running the family business, which was to apply the finishes on buildings, homes, and offices--as if being physically fit and beautiful at 54 weren’t impressive enough, she capped all of it off with a hard-hat when she walked through construction sites. Now at 57, she hasn’t come close to mentioning the word “retirement.” I suspect she never will, whether or not she decides to remove her hard-hat permanently.
As bionic as my mother seems, I’ve found that this is not a virtue attributed exclusively to her. Though she is special in her own way, she, like many baby boomers in America and across the globe, had chosen to break the pre-conceived notions their parents and their parent’s parents (and their parent’s parent’s parents) seemed to have established for them—that being 50 was the beginning of the end.
Baby boomers knew, long before Hollywood made it trendy—even while Hollywood called it a “crisis” in midlife--, that 50 was the beginning of a new phase in life, where they can begin to look forward to the possibilities that their hard-earned financial freedom had in store for them.
A “baby boomer” or “boomer” is a term used to describe a person born post-World War II, between the years 1946 and the 1965. Following World War II, countries experienced an unusual spike in birth rates, a phenomenon commonly referred to as the “baby boom.” The term “boomer” is also used in countries with demographics that did not necessarily mirror the sustained growth in American families over the same interval.
During the years of the baby boom, 76 million Americans were born—17 million more than the average birth rate. The sheer probability of at least half this number asking questions, and wanting answers in some form or another—books, radio, television, print media, the internet—is, as the newly official word goes, ginormous.
The thriving boomer community online should be proof enough. Boomer sites like Eons.com, LifeTwo.com, ReZoom.com, and Wowowow.com are constantly updated with articles ranging from headlines to health, activities and aging, money and media. Boomers are interested in the same things kids in their 20s, 30s, and 40s are, except that they’re interested in a way that only their generation could describe. They address needs that their parents dared not address before above the decibel of a whisper—sex, sex in marriage, sex out of marriage, making marriage work, acknowledging failed marriages, wrinkles, white hair, wardrobe malfunctions, health, cosmetic surgery…botox—is suddenly open to mature, occasionally hilarious, discussion.
Boomer books, which happens to comprise most Springboard Press titles—The Marriage Benefit, Smart Women Don’t Retire, How Not to Look Old, Beyond Botox, The Sex Lives of Wives, among others—delve even deeper into relevant issues of men and women seeking practical answers to questions that should have been answered—so to speak—eons ago.
Being a boomer is all about pioneering and there are enough notable boomers to prove it: Michael Jordan (Feb. 2, 1963), Steve Jobs (Feb. 24, 1955), Stephen King (Sept. 21, 1847), Hillary Clinton (Oct. 26, 2947), Bruce Springsteen (Sept. 23, 1949), John McEnroe (Feb. 16, 1959)—even Ted Bundy (Nov. 24, 1946)—few among many famous boomers who showed the world that the boomer generation never do anything half-way.
Is it any wonder that the world and media has taken notice and acknowledged the impact boomers have on every facet of today’s society? Boomers are an entire generation of men and women who went ahead and figuratively—in my mother’s case literally—donned those boxing gloves and had the work-out of their lives.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
The (Social) Net
The internet is a virtual digi-cosm of human behavior and relationships. It is a web-verse, a world parallel to our own, mimicking the habits and perversions of what users call RL, as if the emotional experiences we have staring at a monitor impact us any less than being in a physical setting, such as the highschool lunchroom, where the cool kids sit at one table while the geeks sit at another.
I remember a time when the only means of connecting by internet was by email. It was astounding, back then, to be able to send correspondence in a matter of seconds, when the only thing standing between a letter and its recipient was the time it took for a user to find a computer, log on, and click. Then email became a place where groups can meet and exchange ideas. Mailing lists and "Yahoogroups" seemed so amazingly simple. To be able to create a virtual club with a simple click of the mouse and an easy-to-answer registration form, it seemed almost anti-social not to create a community or join one.
But of course, an evolution was at hand, and mailing lists became newsletters, and newsletters became message boards, and message boards became forums. Suddenly, everyone can put up a website, or a "homepage," where real estate meant web space, and web space was like renting an apartment where you can use the space as you see fit within certain limitations, though the limitations were few. Site owners were able to exist within pages of their own script, creating their own worlds where their isolation was the groundwork of their social dream.
It wasn't until the creation of the Live Journal that people began to realize how much more fun it was to reach out beyond the confines of a private space to have a public platform which they can still call their own. At its conception, Live Journal seemed so exclusive and private, but once it opened to the public and everyone can register, it became a haven for sharing and--as the term was coined by Emily Gould in the New York Times, "oversharing." There were no limits to what could be posted on "LJ." From the harrowing truth to the ugliest lies, from individual creativity to community endeavors like Role Playing Games. LJ allowed virtual freedom of thought and experience.
As LJ gained popularity, the internet began to realize the potential of group and community interaction. Friendster was the first among the social networks. It was a pointless endeavor of popularity. To have more than a hundred friends on your friends folder seemed like the main goal, whereas when you reached out to your old highschool and college friends, you can proudly display your plentiful friends. It was only after MySpace, Facebook, Multiply, and Linked In came into the picture that the friends list began to gain real importance. Suddenly everyone is caught and obligated to sign up for accounts, because if you aren't, you're simply out of the loop and unprofessional. Social networking forced us all to list, categorize, and classify our lives; and it made some of us see how sadly inadequate we are in acquiring a social circle. Kind of like highschool.
Wordpress, Blogger, and LJ are the havens of written digital thought. Bloggers have found uses for the internet that used to be the realm exclusively accessed by journalists, published authors, and columnists alone. The internet has changed the scape of publishing. Writers and aspiring writers can post their work in a public venue that gives room for failure, growth, and even eventually profit.
Writers have to have blogs; they should have a web presence in MySpace, Facebook, and RedRoom; they should be in Shelfari and Twitter. It's amazing how much writing an author should do after she's finished writing her book.
I just finished reading When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris. His book, full of delightful tales of everyday embarrassments, read like the many journal entries I've read and written on Live Journal. I'm not saying anybody can write like David Sedaris can. In fact, only a hand full could be so entertaining, so truthful, and so talented as he is, but if he hadn't had the opportunity to be published, he could have been blogging at Blogger.com. He would've been hugely popular, and eventually, he would've gotten published anyway.
I remember a time when the only means of connecting by internet was by email. It was astounding, back then, to be able to send correspondence in a matter of seconds, when the only thing standing between a letter and its recipient was the time it took for a user to find a computer, log on, and click. Then email became a place where groups can meet and exchange ideas. Mailing lists and "Yahoogroups" seemed so amazingly simple. To be able to create a virtual club with a simple click of the mouse and an easy-to-answer registration form, it seemed almost anti-social not to create a community or join one.
But of course, an evolution was at hand, and mailing lists became newsletters, and newsletters became message boards, and message boards became forums. Suddenly, everyone can put up a website, or a "homepage," where real estate meant web space, and web space was like renting an apartment where you can use the space as you see fit within certain limitations, though the limitations were few. Site owners were able to exist within pages of their own script, creating their own worlds where their isolation was the groundwork of their social dream.
It wasn't until the creation of the Live Journal that people began to realize how much more fun it was to reach out beyond the confines of a private space to have a public platform which they can still call their own. At its conception, Live Journal seemed so exclusive and private, but once it opened to the public and everyone can register, it became a haven for sharing and--as the term was coined by Emily Gould in the New York Times, "oversharing." There were no limits to what could be posted on "LJ." From the harrowing truth to the ugliest lies, from individual creativity to community endeavors like Role Playing Games. LJ allowed virtual freedom of thought and experience.
As LJ gained popularity, the internet began to realize the potential of group and community interaction. Friendster was the first among the social networks. It was a pointless endeavor of popularity. To have more than a hundred friends on your friends folder seemed like the main goal, whereas when you reached out to your old highschool and college friends, you can proudly display your plentiful friends. It was only after MySpace, Facebook, Multiply, and Linked In came into the picture that the friends list began to gain real importance. Suddenly everyone is caught and obligated to sign up for accounts, because if you aren't, you're simply out of the loop and unprofessional. Social networking forced us all to list, categorize, and classify our lives; and it made some of us see how sadly inadequate we are in acquiring a social circle. Kind of like highschool.
Wordpress, Blogger, and LJ are the havens of written digital thought. Bloggers have found uses for the internet that used to be the realm exclusively accessed by journalists, published authors, and columnists alone. The internet has changed the scape of publishing. Writers and aspiring writers can post their work in a public venue that gives room for failure, growth, and even eventually profit.
Writers have to have blogs; they should have a web presence in MySpace, Facebook, and RedRoom; they should be in Shelfari and Twitter. It's amazing how much writing an author should do after she's finished writing her book.
I just finished reading When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris. His book, full of delightful tales of everyday embarrassments, read like the many journal entries I've read and written on Live Journal. I'm not saying anybody can write like David Sedaris can. In fact, only a hand full could be so entertaining, so truthful, and so talented as he is, but if he hadn't had the opportunity to be published, he could have been blogging at Blogger.com. He would've been hugely popular, and eventually, he would've gotten published anyway.
Friday, June 13, 2008
An Auspicious Time
I'm not a particularly unlucky person, and even supposing I were, I would never subscribe my bad luck to the usual superstitious juju, because I'm not afraid of walking under ladders unless there's an idiot with a bucket of paint at the top of it, I've kept black cats as pets, I think keeping a stuffed rabbit's foot is grotesque, and I think someone throwing salt over one's shoulder is a waste of good seasoning. So I think this June's Friday the 13th is the perfect time to start a MySpace blog. Call it defying superstition.
That said, I believe in the weirdest things. I believe in Ghosts, Aliens, and an All-Knowing Being, all three I've never physically seen--and I seldom believe anyone who says they have, but there's a potent feeling in my gut that tell me they exist.
What this all boils down to is that while I consider myself reasonably pragmatic in most things, I love escapism in books. I love to read stories, fiction or even non-fiction. And herein lies the essence of my blog: Books.
Many of us love it. Some of us have the pleasure of working for and with it. I work as a Web Publicist for a major publishing company and I have access to books pre-publication. That isn't to say that this blog is only going to be about pre-pub books. This blog will center around books: What I've read, what everyone else is reading, what's been turned into a movie, who wrote it, what I'm using as a door stop, what I used to hit my husband over the head with, what I'm reading to my son even if he's only five months old and doesn't understand a damn thing if has nothing to do with milk, his diaper, and his playtime, and the books I've been assigned for the month/season/divine punishment. For my innaugural book, I bring you the clever and saucy Live Alone and Like It by Marjorie Hilis.
That said, I believe in the weirdest things. I believe in Ghosts, Aliens, and an All-Knowing Being, all three I've never physically seen--and I seldom believe anyone who says they have, but there's a potent feeling in my gut that tell me they exist.
What this all boils down to is that while I consider myself reasonably pragmatic in most things, I love escapism in books. I love to read stories, fiction or even non-fiction. And herein lies the essence of my blog: Books.
Many of us love it. Some of us have the pleasure of working for and with it. I work as a Web Publicist for a major publishing company and I have access to books pre-publication. That isn't to say that this blog is only going to be about pre-pub books. This blog will center around books: What I've read, what everyone else is reading, what's been turned into a movie, who wrote it, what I'm using as a door stop, what I used to hit my husband over the head with, what I'm reading to my son even if he's only five months old and doesn't understand a damn thing if has nothing to do with milk, his diaper, and his playtime, and the books I've been assigned for the month/season/divine punishment. For my innaugural book, I bring you the clever and saucy Live Alone and Like It by Marjorie Hilis.
Let me tell you a thing or two about this book. It's pink, it's short, and it was first published in 1937. When I first began to market this book to online bloggers, mostly of the chick lit persuasion, every single one of them considered it a "hoot" to read and review this book. Everyone thought that it was fascinating that a chick from the 1930s, when the 1950s woman was the future, would write a book about a woman living alone and--heaven forbid--liking it.It's always with chagrin when I explain to them that you'd be surprised about how relevant a lot of the advice in the book is to today's "live aloner." And of course, again, they'd think what I said was a "hoot." I'm apparently very fluent in Owlese.
I couldn't blame anyone for doubting Ms. Hillis' credibility on the matter of living alone as a woman. She's not even alive anymore. That's not going to help the book's publicity, either, but the woman lived in a time when smoking women were fashionable (as in, having a cigarette was an accessory!). This counts for something, and she titled one of her chapters "The Pleasures of a Single Bed," in which she begins the chapter with,
"It is probably true that most people have more fun in bed than anywhere else,
and we are not being vulgar. Even going to bed alone can be alluring. There are
many times, in fact, when it's by far the most alluring way to go."
That's not a hoot. That's pure genius!
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