More creepy wallpaper

My 13-year-old read my last post and said, "That wallpaper at Mandarin Palace reminds me of an OK Go video." I hadn't seen it, so she zipped through iTunes and pulled up the "Do What You Want" (wallpaper version) video. Like everything else that I've ever seen from this band, this video looked like it belonged in the portfolio of some hip kid from Parsons. It was perfect; I had to have it.

With my daughter hovering, I looked up her favorite band's official website and emailed to them asking for permission to post. ("OMG you're writing to OK GO?!?") One of their managers responded, and said that I was free to "share it with the world." (I don't think he knows how small this site is!) Nonetheless, I am happy to provide a link to this fun video, which brings creepy, red velvet flocked wallpaper to new heights:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAQZ_uui1SY

My weirdest fortune ever

Last night, our family went out to dinner to Mandarin Palace. We like the food and the people that run the restaurant. Everyone there seems to speak in slightly hushed tones, in true Chinese restaurant form. We like the small tiki bar set into a cubbyhole by the kitchen and marvel that a bartender can fit inside it.

We are always mesmerized by the peeling, flocked red velvet wallpaper that has been there since the restaurant opened in the 1960's. My husband remembers it from when he went there as a child. Perhaps the wallpaper was unconsciously on my mind when I ordered the Chicken Velvet. It was tasty as always.

That should be enough to satisfy any diner, but there was more. After our dishes were taken away, I cracked open my fortune cookie and saw what is possibly the weirdest fortune I have ever received:

(You will read this and say "Geez!! I could come up with better fortunes than that!")

I like to imagine the bored fortune cookie factory worker who slipped that one in. I regret that he or she did not get to witness our family breaking the respectful silence as we laughed hysterically in our booth surrounded by the creepy wallpaper.

Mum's Still the Word in Texas

It's late October, and homecoming season is in full swing. "Are you going to the dance?" is what everyone wants to know. It's time for Friday night lights, and the Star Spangled Banner, and the exciting moment when football players burst through long signs held by cheerleaders. It's time for drill teams stepping in matching boots and bands waiting for their cue, polished instruments raised.

And, in Texas, it's time for the homecoming mum. I wondered if this tradition might have fallen to the wayside, but judging from the photos recently posted by my friends on Facebook, the mum is not only around, but has gotten bigger, bolder, and more pimped out than ever.

For those unaware of the phenomenon, the homecoming mum is a corsage formed around a single flower: a mega-sized chrysanthemum. To the right is a photo of a mum that I wore in 1981 to a Jersey Village High School homecoming game and dance. Hanging from the mum were floor-length ribbons, in my school's colors. My school's name and other various things were written on the ribbons in glitter. And if the visual of the mum itself did not attract enough attention, there was a dangling cowbell to announce my arrival.

The tradition was so widespread that you could actually order your mums in the cafeteria; it was a fund-raiser for the school. You would pick up your mum on Friday, and wear it to the homecoming game and dance that night. At the game, the stadium would be filled with girls picking their way up stadium steps--in high heels, of course--trying not to trip on the long ribbons.

But the mum I wore in 1981 is downright humble compared to the mums of today. Angela Perry, of Mom’s Custom Made Mums in Corpus Christi, has graciously agreed to let me post of few of her creations. The mums, which can range in price from $15.50 to $150 (for the "Cascading Heart" to the left), go a long way to proving the adage that everything's bigger in Texas.

According to Janna Lewis, of the Fort Hood (Texas) Sentinel, "They have been around as long as I can remember and the mums represent the admiration a young woman inspires in people who know her...The bigger the mum, the greater the love."

Doing a little research on the web, I found that you can show your love in a whole host of ways. You can order a single, double or triple mum. You can have a "satellite" mum connected to your main mum (as pictured to the right). You can have your name and your date's written in pre-pressed gold letters or in old-school glitter ("retro lettering"). You can accessorize with teddy bears, feathers, disco balls, battery-operated lights, or just about anything you can imagine. According to the McAdams Floral blog, "For the truly extravagant, florists in larger Texas cities provide 14-karat gold jewelry trinkets."

Trinkets, such as megaphones and musical symbols, identify your involvement in school and personal interests. And in a surprising development since 1982, the guys are now wearing smaller, matching "garter" mums.

Over-the-top? Yes. Outrageously cumbersome? Absolutely. But show up without one for your date and you're toast.

Let the Wild Rumpus Start

The much-anticipated live-action film of "Where the Wild Things Are" opens today. Many critics have already lavished praise on director Spike Jonze's interpretation of the beloved classic. Michael Phillips, of the Chicago Tribune, calls it "a nervy and breathtaking achievement."

Jonze, the director of such offbeat and edgy concoctions as Adaptation and Being John Malkovich, had to take some liberties in turning a 338-word picture book into a feature film. But the movie has earned the stamp of approval from author/illustrator Maurice Sendak, who walked down the red carpet with Jonze and child star Max Records at the film's New York premiere.

The movie has aroused controversy; some charge that it is too scary for young children. "But what if that intensity, that asymmetry, is exactly why children should see Wild Things?" ponders Newsweek critic Andrew Romano (see http://www.newsweek.com/id/217830) "The greatest children's stories are about what happens when we become untethered from authority...to be rid of rules and face a dangerous and exhilirating world alone." Parenting today seems more about structure and supervision, but "the less room we leave in real life for rebellion and abandon, the more kids need stories to make space for those very things."

*****
The Caldecott-winning book also stirred things up when it was published in 1963. "Having a story about a small child throwing a tantrum for the benefit of his mother was not a story you were going to find in children's literature before the 1960s, because children weren't supposed to yell at their mothers," said children's book author and historian Leonard S. Marcus. "The idea that children experience rage and that it's a natural part of their psyche was a new idea to children's picture books."

Then, as today, some found the "wild things" too frightening for children. But exploring childhood fears has long been a preoccupation for Sendak, who at age 13, learned that many of his relatives had perished in the Holocaust.

Sendak grew up in Brooklyn, N.Y., the son of Eastern European immigrants. His "wild things" were based on relatives who frequently visited his family on the weekends and shared meals with them. "Three aunts and three uncles who spoke no English, practically. They grabbed you and twisted your face, and they thought that was an affectionate thing to do. And I knew that my mother's cooking was pretty terrible, and it also took forever, and there was every possibility that they would eat me, or my sister or my brother," he recalled in a recent Newsweek interview.

*****
Reflecting on the Wild Things, I remembered a great story that Sendak once told in an interview, that really demonstrated his appreciation for children. With a little searching, I found the interview, which was conducted by NPR's Terry Gross a few years ago. Sendak described how he had received a card with a charming drawing on it from a little boy. "I loved it. I answer all my children's letters--sometimes very hastily--but this one I lingered over," he said. "I sent him a postcard and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, `Dear Jim, I loved your card.' Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, `Jim loved your card so much he ate it.' That to me was one of the highest compliments I've ever received. He didn't care that it was an original drawing or anything. He saw it, loved it, he ate it."

My Parents Were Awesome

A new website is looking for photos of your parents from their "Mad Men" days--when they were young, beautiful, and having the time of their lives. The website celebrates the days "before the fanny packs" when parents "were once free-wheeling, fashion-forward, and super awesome."

The photos on http://myparentswereawesome.tumblr.com/ are mainly from the 1950s to 1970s. A journey through the site confirms--yet again--that people were simply more glamorous pre-1970. The fashions of the 1970s, combined with drinking, were not a good mix. But see how the elegant mid-1960s lady pictured below deftly manages her cigarette, cocktail, AND bridal veil.

The first names of the subjects in the photos are given, but no other information is provided. We are left to imagine the stories behind them. There's "Dan," a young man from the 1950's, sitting astride his motorcycle. I think he's just gotten his diploma and he is done with his small town. "Magali," a beautiful blonde with Britt Ekland bangs and a confident smile, poses in front of a plane. She's a future Pan Am stewardess who one day just might marry that millionaire.

In the picture to the left, "Renato" holds "Isabel" in his arms and kisses her on a rooftop. I imagine they are backpacking through Europe and have stopped in Italy. They are young and just starting out. They are poor, but very, very happy.

White lace and promises. A kiss for luck and we're on our way...

As my husband looked through the photos he was charmed by them, but a little wistful. "It's such a brief time when we are young," he said.

We've got talent!

Last Wednesday, I saw someone that I knew performing on a reality t.v. show. The show was America’s Got Talent, and the performer was my stepbrother’s wife, Barbara Padilla. It was a surreal and exciting experience, to say the least, to watch Barbara sing Puccini’s “O mio babbino caro” on a show with over 10 million viewers.

On the day of the show, we learned that Barbara was going to be part of the televised Houston auditions that night. We immediately got the word out through Facebook and phone calls. My 13-year-old excitedly text messaged the news to her friends.

As the show began, we had to sit there on pins and needles, watching a mix of weird and wonderful performers step up to the mike. The first act, the charming “Texas Tenors” got the crowd warmed up. We laughed at the raunchy but surprisingly funny Grandma Lee, and were grateful that the relative we were waiting to see was not the circus dude who stapled things to his forehead.

We waited nervously for Barbara to come on, baited by the commercials that hinted at her story. Finally, it was her turn. A short bio introduced her. “Last to perform is a stay-at-home mom who’s hoping to impress the judges by dusting off her lifelong dream,” said the host in a voice-over. My girls cheered when they saw her being interviewed in the clip, along with their uncle Kyle and little cousin Elizabeth.

Then it was show time, and Barbara arrived on the stage in an elegant white dress. After a few notes, we could tell that the judges were surprised, as we had been once, that such a tiny lady could have such a big, operatic voice. Barbara gave an beautiful, moving performance and ended the song on a soaring note. The crowd roared and gave her standing ovation.

The first judge to speak, Piers Morgan, told her, “You have an amazing voice.” He asked her what it felt like to have performed like that.

Clearly touched by the response, she joked, “how long do I have to answer that question?” Then, she shared some of her story. “I’ve lived through miracles, and this is one more miracle because I’m a cancer survivor. I was sick for five years, and I’m in remission, and now I’m here. What a dream!” she said, with a big smile.

Barbara had first come to Houston from Guadalajara, Mexico for treatment for Hodgkins lymphoma at M.D. Anderson Hospital. While in Houston, she also auditioned for a spot in the master's program of the University of Houston's music school. Weakened by radiation, and weighing about 90 pounds, she tried out. The faculty, clearly impressed, awarded her a full scholarship.

The first time that I heard her sing, I was having dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Houston with Barbara and Kyle, along with my dad and stepmother. The mariachis came by, and Kyle asked if Barbara could join them in a song. When she hit her first high note, everything in the restaurant stopped. Waiters paused to listen. Afterwards, as the dining patrons cheered, one woman came over and praised her. “You made my mother cry," she said.

Whether performing before a few dozen in a restaurant, or before millions on t.v., Barbara gives an emotionally riveting performance. As judge David Hasselhoff told her, “What you did is, you showed us your heart.”

The judges voted unanimously to send her to the next round in Vegas. May Lady Luck shine on you, Barbara!

You can watch it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wDRsxMMqAEU

Surrogate Fathers

We hold our holidays to impossible standards. The right gifts must be chosen, the food must arrive on time, and everyone must get along. But celebrations like Father’s Day often fall short of our expectations. For those who are physically or emotionally separated from their families, they are often a crushing reminder of loss.

Our Sunday paper was filled with memorials to fathers and grandfathers, their pictures lovingly displayed along with special notes written by loved ones still grieving.

In our hearts your memory lingers, sweetly tender, fond and true. There is not a day, dear father that we do not think of you.

Another: Papa it's been 17 years sense (sic) you been gone. I still miss you Papa.

Some spent Father's Day coping with emotional separation from their families. Yesterday, I received an email from a friend in Los Angeles whose family cannot accept the fact that she is gay. “On a sad note," she wrote, "I was not invited today for Father's Day."

She called her dad to wish him a happy Father's Day and asked when she could see him and give him his gift. Her stepmother told her to stop by after 8 p.m., because they would be busy before then. They had already made plans to go to the beach with her brother and his family. “I said nothing and waited. I was not invited,” she said. She later left the Father's Day gift on her parents' front porch.

After talking it over with a supportive friend, "I realized my real family is all my amazing friends. I have to start making the distinction if I am ever going to get over this and be happy," she said. "The fact is, since I'm not living the life they have chosen for me, my parents are not supportive. I must let go.”

*****

On Saturday, while watching my children at the pool, I heard a relentless, high-pitched scream. I turned and saw a small crowd moving quickly from the playground. In the front, a man comforted a small boy in a towel who had received some sort of terrible injury. The boy cried as blood dripped from his mouth. He had taken a tumble off the slide and bitten through his tongue.

The man helping him began giving directions in a surprisingly calm voice. “Can someone get some ice?” he asked. "Does anyone know his mother?" To the boy he said, “it will be o.k.”

The woman from the snack bar rushed over with ice. A lifeguard ran over with his first aid kit and wrapped up the boy's tongue. Someone grabbed a pediatrician who was doing laps. Another found the boy’s mother and little sister. The little sister was so upset that she started crying and ended up biting her own tongue, which also started bleeding. Everyone was taken care of, the situation calmed, and the mother and her children headed towards the parking lot.

Over the Father’s Day weekend, I reflected upon the man who had helped the little boy. By his care and concern, I had assumed he was the father. Apparently, they didn’t even know each other. How reassuring to know that there is within us something instinctive that enables us to care for one another as a parent, when the real parents can’t be found.

*****

Over the weekend, people around the world began receiving the shocking images from Iran of a young woman shot to death at a rally. According to reports, 27-year-old student Neda Soltan had been attending a protest on Saturday when a sniper shot her in the chest. I haven’t watched them, but understand that cell phone videos capture the horrifying moments as two men gently help her lie down on the sidewalk as they try to stop the bleeding. One of the men, since identified as her music teacher, was at first believed to be her father. On one video, as she begins to lose consciousness, he is heard offering her comfort in her final moments.

"Neda, don't be afraid…"

The world grieves for this young woman, whose death has become a galvanizing force for Iranians opposed to President Ahmadinejad. Protestors around the world now hold posters with her image and name, which means “the call” or “the voice” in Farsi.

As the world watches and waits, in the White House, another father, one who seems an exceptionally moral and intelligent man, contemplates the extent to which we are our brother’s keeper.