It’s time to move on and grow up.
I am no longer a mature PR student – I am a mature PR practitioner. Yes, I write, plan and practice what I’ve learned in my Communications and PR course. Thus, I have created a brand new blog – Bons Mots. Yes, it’s the same name, but the domain is new – and all mine.
Follow me at http://bonniedean.ca/. Fancy, eh? I have transferred all my archived posts there.
Stay tuned for more shenanigans.
Ellie Greenwich, songwriter, singer and record producer of some of the most wonderful and indelible pop songs of all time, died today. The music world has lost another genius.
Meet Lizzie Miller.
Lizzie is a 20-year-old model who appears in the current September issue of Glamour magazine. Lizzie has created a buzzstorm on the Interweb because she LOOKS LIKE EVERY WOMAN YOU KNOW. A size 12-14, she is described in the accompanying article as “curvy”, “plus-size” and “normal”.
The mag’s website has been inundated with readers’ comments praising Glamour for (briefly) veering away from the supermodels that usually grace their pages. I, myself, posted a Jezebel.com article about this rare occurance on Facebook and Twitter and the reaction was pretty huge.
It was all great – the sun was shining, the weekend is near and there is a beautiful woman with a belly in the pages of a lady mag.
I wanted to show my support and buy the issue, breaking my two-years-and-counting moratorium on lady mags. I wanted to help boost Glamour’s revenue for the issue to reinforce the notion that real women like seeing other real women in print.
When I went to the local newsstand and picked up the issue, to what did my disbelieving eyes should appear?
It wasn’t Jessica Simpson on the cover, the former pop/reality star who has her own weight issues to contend with and seems to be in her “photoshopped skinny” phase.
It was the headline on the right: 3 FLAT BELLY SECRETS.
I didn’t buy the magazine. I put it back on the rack and walked away, slowly shaking my head.
Fuck you, Glamour.
A friend recently sent me an article called “Why I’m Alone”. It is a response by Huffington Post columnist Lea Lane to the question she is often asked in the years following the death of her husband: Why is she still alone? Why doesn’t she date much?
While I’ve never loved and lost like Ms. Lane, I can certainly relate to the question, “Why are you alone?” In my case, it’s rephrased as “Why are you single?”
“I guess I’m just lucky,” I smirk.
Like most smartass responses, mine comes across as defensive, and I make no apologies for it. I am a strong and confident woman who owns her own condo, is making inroads into a new career and has a stellar credit history. Yet all that I achieve and accomplish tends to be overshadowed by my marital status.
“Why are you single?”
I could say that I choose to be single but that would be a lie. Take our biological disposition to mate and procreate, add centuries of social conditioning and stir in the fear of growing old alone. Is it any wonder that women get panic attacks when they’re not married by the time they’re 30?
I don’t choose to be single – I’ve just made my peace with it. If it really bothered me, I’d be more diligent in my pursuit of the opposite sex (my recent attempt at speed-dating notwithstanding, which is a separate blog post altogether). As it stands, I’m not in a particular hurry to get hitched. Marriage is not a goal of mine. I just want to find someone who I connect with, can tolerate my need for alone time and recognizes the genius of Tex Avery, Jon Stewart and Neil Gaiman. And I want to take my time finding him.
“Why are you single?”
My friend Catherine put it succinctly: “I sincerely believe that if I’m meant to meet someone, I will. I’m not going to moan about it if I don’t.” Amen, sister.
Until I meet my Mr. Right-For-Me, I’m enjoying my life. Here are my reasons why I’m okay with being single (with gratitude to Ms. Lane).
· I’m never lonely – I have a wealth of friends who I can see more often than I could if I was in a relationship.
· Dating provides so much interesting material for anecdotes and blog posts.
· On weekends, I can wake up late or stay in bed all day.
· I don’t have to answer to someone else.
· I can take off for the weekend on the spur of the moment.
· I have more time to spend with my family.
· I can watch any movie I want to, even if it’s a weepy chick flick.
· I look way younger than my years and I chalk that up to carefree living.
· I don’t have to cook.
· I don’t have to be disappointed and hurt when a man no longer likes me.
· I have the bathroom all to myself.
· I flirt to my heart’s content.
· I love experiencing the thrill of meeting someone new and imagining what they’re like in bed. I love knowing that I can find out firsthand.
· I don’t have to date a man I’m not crazy about because I’m “not getting any younger.”
· No pregnancy/STD scares.
· I don’t have to shave every day.
· No one is hogging the bed sheets but me.
· I can drink milk/juice straight from the carton.
· NO IN-LAWS.
· I have total control over the television remote.
What are your reasons?
Toasted marshmallow fudge brownie with pomegranate balsamic glaze.
Last night’s light show, captured from my balcony.
They used to have the most wonderful variety shows in the 70s. Enjoy this gem while I go out and buy “The Best of the Johnny Cash Show”.
I’ll die before the endgame, says Terry Pratchett in call for law to allow assisted suicides in UK | Mail Online
I always believed in dying with dignity. And if I leave this mortal coil with as much dignity as Terry Pratchett plans to, then I will die a happy woman.
John Hughes passed away yesterday and the news made me sad and a little melancholic. You see, I was in my teens in the 80s and watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Pretty in Pink and Sixteen Candles in the movie theatres when they were released (when admission was only $4!). Hughes’ characters became very personal to me; somehow, this 30-something adult male managed to accurately capture the angst, ennui and joy that lived in every teenager. I remember crying when Andie had her heart broken by Blaine (“Blane? His name is Blane? That’s a major appliance, that’s not a name!”). I remember how hard I laughed at Ferris Bueller, that righteous dude. And I always wanted a Jake to call my own. (Where art thou, Michael Schoeffling)?
Hughes was one of the defining filmmakers of the 80s, and I say that without a hint of sarcasm. His cinematic legacy may not stack up to that of Hitchcock, Wilder or Allen but his influence was just as large. Think about it – ask any person over 35 what their favourite John Hughes movie is and you will get a definitive answer. Hell, you can ask a 20-something the same question and they’ll tell you their favourite, too.
When I get a moment, I will watch Pretty in Pink on DVD (with the alternate ending where Andie chooses Duckie). I will also unearth the soundtrack (which I still have on vinyl) out of storage and create a little altar to pay my respects to the man. Surrounded by sixteen candles, of course.
The recent spate of celebrity deaths have taken some amazing and talented people away from us.
Ed McMahon, sidekick and Publisher’s Clearing House spokesman, was part of my parent’s Tonight Show, which I shunned because my 14-year-old, punk-ass self, completely consumed with the sardonic humour of SCTV and Saturday Night Live, thought it was passé. (It was only when I bought a DVD box set of The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson for my dad and watched it with him that I later recognized Carson’s genius as a funnyman. But that’s another story.)
Farrah Fawcett, pin up queen and television star, was the girl you wished you were – for the generation of women before me. When my friends and I role-played Charlie’s Angels, I always fought to be Kelly Garrett. For me, Jaclyn Smith was the girl I wished I was. I think it was the brunette thing.
As for Michael Jackson, well, as far as I’m concerned, he died after Thriller.
But the recent suicide of Martin Streek has affected me more deeply.
The power of radio has diminished for me in recent years, but in my teens, twenties and early thirties, my world was consumed by CFNY. The station saw me through unrequited crushes and all-night study sessions. It introduced me to bands that I never heard before and opened up within me a deep interest in music that has grown exponentially. Before iTunes and internet radio, CFNY was it. And then Martin Streek came along and it got even better.
If I wasn’t at the Phoenix dancing my ass off underneath the booth where Streek performed his magic, you would find me at home, lying on my bed, headphones on, listening to Streek’s voice as he was broadcasting “LIVE TO AIR”. I haven’t listened to the station much since it re-branded itself as “The Edge”, so I was unaware that Streek had been fired in May, which is another example of how far the station has strayed from being “the spirit of radio”. Whether his dismissal had anything to do with his death, we may never know.
The important thing for me is this: Martin Streek introduced me to a lot of great music and, for that, he will always have my deepest appreciation.
To show yours, join the Facebook group set up to honour his memory.