I'm Ancient But Educational
It was an annoying weekend long before the zombies showed up (more about the zombies in my next blog). The kids and I, who never learn, decided to head to Steeple House early Halloween weekend. On the way, we were listening to the remake of "Fame". Yeah. You heard me, boys and girls, and you've not fooling me. You know the words: "I'm gonna make it to heaven, light up the sky like a flame. Fame! I'm gonna live forever, baby, remember my name." And if you're between 20 and 50 and claimed you haven't listened to the original or the cover, tell this song you're a liar! Don't make me sic King Al on you, liar. He'll stomp you like a grape, then drive you to the E.R., pay all your medical bills...like that. He won't even tease you too much about wheelchair. But once you're outta that chair, things might change.
Back to FAME: My little boy is his father's son, and rarely asks easy questions. So I embraced the terror when he asked: "Is God a Police Chief?
Hmm, good one. I figured an old stand-by was best, and went for it: "Everyone believes different, hon, so it's up to you."
"What do you feel?"
Good question. I wasn't ready for the whole murky religion thing with my kid, but I mused aloud what I'd like to see: "God is a cop. An old one and very, very street smart. Like Sean Connery in THE UNTOUCHABLES, without the bigotry. He'd kick your ass if you said something mean to his wife, then apologize. He wouldn't put up with any bullying...not from kids, not from abusive asshats, not from weird dogs or cats. He'd be tough but also super nice. You'd feel safe if you were lost and saw him, you'd feel safe going up to him and asking for help. He'd know if you were telling a lie. He'd know when you were sleeping and he'd know when you're awa--wait, that's Santa."
Fortunately my son shares my attention span: "Why do they say in the song that she'll live forever, but also be in heaven?"
Woo-hoo, we were off religion and back to pop music! "Okay, for example, you know who Marilyn Monroe is, right?"
"No."
Nuts. Luckily, my daughter came to my rescue. "See?" she said, showing him my iPod. She then began a twenty-minute play list of MM. "Marilyn Monroe's the tall skinny guy with the big giant blue eyeball, the guy who did The Beautiful People, and Tainted Love and the cover for Personal Jesus...you know."
I groaned. "That's not Marilyn Monroe!" After reminding myself not to drive off a cliff in sheer stupefied rage, I elaborated: Marilyn Monroe was the most sought after actress on the planet in her time. Girls wanted to be her, guys wanted to bang her, politicians thought she was catnip. But if you took her measurements today, Hollywood would decree her fat and only let her do plus-size modeling (at the most), because Hollywood is run by stupid asshats.
At least part of my rant got through to my son, who was surprised to find someone so beautiful (I'd shown him a picture once we'd reached our destination) could be considered fat and/or unattractive. Then I showed him a pic of Christina Hendricks, also considered by the Hollywood Elite (I can almost type that without spitting) to be obese. "Yeah," he agreed, goggling. "Total asshats."
So, officially, what with dropping pop culture references my kids have never heard of, I'm a fuddy-duddy. I knew about the duddy, but the fuddy was a cruel surprise. On the other hand, how often do I get to explain about Hollywood asshatery to my kids and think about God being a cool small-town sheriff?
Right: we'll call it a draw.
Back to FAME: My little boy is his father's son, and rarely asks easy questions. So I embraced the terror when he asked: "Is God a Police Chief?
Hmm, good one. I figured an old stand-by was best, and went for it: "Everyone believes different, hon, so it's up to you."
"What do you feel?"
Good question. I wasn't ready for the whole murky religion thing with my kid, but I mused aloud what I'd like to see: "God is a cop. An old one and very, very street smart. Like Sean Connery in THE UNTOUCHABLES, without the bigotry. He'd kick your ass if you said something mean to his wife, then apologize. He wouldn't put up with any bullying...not from kids, not from abusive asshats, not from weird dogs or cats. He'd be tough but also super nice. You'd feel safe if you were lost and saw him, you'd feel safe going up to him and asking for help. He'd know if you were telling a lie. He'd know when you were sleeping and he'd know when you're awa--wait, that's Santa."
Fortunately my son shares my attention span: "Why do they say in the song that she'll live forever, but also be in heaven?"
Woo-hoo, we were off religion and back to pop music! "Okay, for example, you know who Marilyn Monroe is, right?"
"No."
Nuts. Luckily, my daughter came to my rescue. "See?" she said, showing him my iPod. She then began a twenty-minute play list of MM. "Marilyn Monroe's the tall skinny guy with the big giant blue eyeball, the guy who did The Beautiful People, and Tainted Love and the cover for Personal Jesus...you know."
I groaned. "That's not Marilyn Monroe!" After reminding myself not to drive off a cliff in sheer stupefied rage, I elaborated: Marilyn Monroe was the most sought after actress on the planet in her time. Girls wanted to be her, guys wanted to bang her, politicians thought she was catnip. But if you took her measurements today, Hollywood would decree her fat and only let her do plus-size modeling (at the most), because Hollywood is run by stupid asshats.
At least part of my rant got through to my son, who was surprised to find someone so beautiful (I'd shown him a picture once we'd reached our destination) could be considered fat and/or unattractive. Then I showed him a pic of Christina Hendricks, also considered by the Hollywood Elite (I can almost type that without spitting) to be obese. "Yeah," he agreed, goggling. "Total asshats."
So, officially, what with dropping pop culture references my kids have never heard of, I'm a fuddy-duddy. I knew about the duddy, but the fuddy was a cruel surprise. On the other hand, how often do I get to explain about Hollywood asshatery to my kids and think about God being a cool small-town sheriff?
Right: we'll call it a draw.
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