Mystery of the Universe

Every now and then, I notice something about society for which I'm not sure there is a definitive explanation. I came across one the other day.

Why do elderly women like to do all their shopping at Walgreens? Is it the small, manageable shopping carts that are the perfect size to hold one's cane? The in-house pharmacy? Are their ads exceptionally eyecatching to one whose eyesight might be failing? Maybe it's because there is a Walgreens on every corner, so for those who can no longer drive at night, it's the only place they can walk to that accepts Medicare and sells the National Enquirer.

Whatever the reason, I don't believe I have ever been in a Walgreen's without seeing an 87-year-old woman rifling through that week's "circular," bent over her cart handle because her cane is in the basket. And I'm sure one day I will be that woman, and then I will have my answer.

An open letter to Gwyneth Paltrow

Dear G,

Stop. Just, please, stop. I turned on the TV the other night and saw you plugging yet another project -- a cookbook. We, the public, had such a nice little break from you when you married and had kids and gave them unusual names.

But then you befriended Madonna. Then you launched a Web site which I've heard is irritating. Then, you made a PBS series about Spain with Mario Batali, Mark Bittman and some Spanish actress, in which Bittman and the Spanish actress's segments were far more entertaining, except for the episode where you ate tapas with Michael Stipe. Then you decided to befriend Jay-Z and Faith Hill in the same couple of years and record a country song and show up onstage at every awards show and "Glee" (which, okay, I don't watch but I heard you were on), where you did a cover of that Cee Lo Green song that always gets stuck in my head, alternating from your version to the original version and I can't remember the words, so the same line about "change in my pocket" keeps replaying...aaah! And now, the cookbook.

Gwyneth, stop with the projects. We get it - you are afraid we will forget you. You've done enough in the last six weeks to ensure we never will. Now it's time to go into hiding. Move over and let someone else take the stage, the space in the recording studio, the makeup chair at the photo session, the spot on the red carpet.

Gratefully,

Me

P.S.: Is that belt made of bungee cord?

Why do I punish myself?

In case anyone was wondering, here is some breaking news from People.com:

Hilary Duff cites reason for constant hair changes: Boredom!

Presumably (hopefully) the same can be said for the "reporter" at People.com whose beat is Hilary Duff's hair. His/her parents must be so proud of their J-school graduate!

...Where the Air is Sweet

I'm trying to comply with the "no TV for kids under 2" policy the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends. Sometimes, though, I am checking something online and Eamon wants to sit on my lap. I resisted any and all screen time at first, but after awhile I thought, eh, what's the big deal? I met a mom recently who plops her 22-month-old down in front of entire Pixar movies. I'm practically home schooling my son compared to her.

Anyway, my first instinct was to check Sesame Street's Web site, and sure enough they have 1-3 minute videos of Elmo, Ernie and Bert, and the rest that are just long enough to not make me feel guilty but enough to appease a 17-month-old. There are also some classic sketches on there, such as Ernie and Bert's "banana in my ear" scene, that I remember finding funny as a kid just for the exasperated look on Bert's face.

And of course, I have noticed a few things:

1) For a place of learning, Sesame Street's characters sometimes have a problem with their pronouns. Cookie Monster says "me" instead of "I," and Elmo refers to himself in the third person.

2) Oscar the Grouch is one of the few characters who doesn't have a nose. This explains so much.

3) If I try too hard, I can't understand what Elmo is saying. It reminds me of my Philosophy 050 professor, Dr. Vande Velde. He was Belgian, and he often put the accent on the wrong syllable and messed up his vowels. He pronounced consequently as con-SEE-kwent-lee. All semester I struggled not to correct it in my head during his lectures. I had to just go with it or I'd lose my train of thought.

Other than these minor gripes, I do love that Sesame Street is still around. And I'm looking forward to Eamon turning two so I can introduce him to a full episode.

Election Day

When I was a kid, my parents would sometimes stop by their polling place with me in tow. I always thought it was kind of fun to go into the little booth and see them cast their vote. Since I'm home with Eamon, I have the luxury of being able to bring him with me when I vote in the hopes that it will stick in his head that he should do his civic duty.

So this morning, I loaded him into the stroller and we entered the very quiet park district building, where we were greeted by four eager volunteers who all, judging by their reaction when they saw us, recognized Eamon from last November's election.

We were greeted as if we were old friends who'd moved out of town, each election worker taking turns with their comments, like, "Look how big he's gotten!" and "Hi cutie! How old is he now?" I prompted Eamon to smile, which he did, and I was admittedly proud that they remembered him from last fall.

After we walked out, I wondered, am I either a) one of the only people in my precinct who brings their kid with them to vote or b) one of the only people who votes? I hope to God it's the former.