Author: Lorraine Devon Wilke

An accomplished writer in several genres of the medium, Lorraine Devon Wilke has built an eclectic library of expertly crafted work: launching her “arts + politics” blog, Rock+Paper+Music in 2010, she became a popular contributor to HuffPost and other media sites, she currently maintains a column at Medium and a popular Substack (Musings of a Creative Loudmouth). Her award-winning novels include Chick Singer (Sibylline Press, 2025), The Alchemy of Noise (She Writes Press, 2019), Hysterical Love (2015), and After the Sucker Punch (2014). Her fifth, The Weight of Fables, will publish in 2027. Landing in Los Angeles with an early band, Devon Wilke lives with her husband, attorney/writer, Pete Wilke, where she continues to sing rock & roll with her band, Sixth & Third, take photos, and ponder the state of the world.

The Politics of Political Harassment: Might It Need a Law Too?

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts8 Comments

He walked into the lunchroom like he was walking onto a campaign bus; poster of “his” presidential candidate in hand, he marched to the community bulletin board, tacked it up, and announced loudly, “This is the next president of the United States. Anyone who doesn’t think so probably shouldn’t be eating at my tables.” Yep. He was the boss. He quickly laughed and said “Relax, I’m just kidding!” before making his exit but the point had been made. Everyone looked silently at each other before getting back to their soup and turkey wraps.

A new young employee finds herself in benign conversation with a supervisor about the Vice Presidential debate, all very generic and anecdotal, when the supervisor leans in with a paternal arm around her shoulder and says, “Can’t be undecided now, right? Who are you voting for, by the way?” Before new young employee can answer, he quickly responds, “Because everyone here is pretty much for _____________.” He squeezes her shoulder, gives her a wink, and walks off. She gulps and shuffles back to her cubicle.

A group of department heads with varying degrees of seniority are gathered for a human resources seminar. Before long, and before the official meeting starts, the conversation steers to politics and, without subtlety or discretion, five out of the seven begin discussing what “an idiot” the President is; laughing about his name, his “lack of religion,” and his “dubious” birth certificate. The other three? Two are relatively new to the company and the third is departing shortly on maternity leave. Speak up? What do you think?

And lastly, this past Monday the CEO of Westgate Resorts, David Siegel, sent out a company-wide email detailing why he was voting for Mitt Romney and what would happen to his employees if they didn’t. According to CNBC’s Robert Frank:

“Siegel stressed that he wasn’t out to intimidate his workers into voting for Romney. ‘I can’t tell anyone to vote,’ he said. But he wants to make sure his workers made an informed choice. ‘I want my employees to be educated on what could happen to their future if the wrong person is elected.’”

The story and Siegel’s full email can be found here: CEO to Workers: I May Fire You If Obama Wins. Important to read, I think.

In case the thought struck you too, here’s the legal definition of another kind of harassment:

Sexual harassment is a form of sex discrimination. The legal definition of sexual harassment is “unwelcome verbal, visual, or physical conduct of a sexual nature that is severe or pervasive and affects working conditions or creates a hostile work environment.”

Now let’s add in the paragraph about how this harassment affects working conditions:

Affects Working Conditions or Creates a Hostile Work Environment: If you are fired, refused a promotion, demoted, given a poor performance evaluation, or reassigned to a less desirable position because you reject a sexual advance, that almost certainly is sexual harassment. Even if the conduct does not result in economic injury or change of status to your job, it may be sexual harassment if the conduct unreasonably interferes with your work performance or creates an “intimidating, hostile, or offensive work environment.” For example, it may be illegal sexual harassment if repeated sexual comments make you so uncomfortable at work that your performance suffers or if you decline professional opportunities because it will put you in contact with the harasser.

Seems pretty clear. Now, just as an exercise, let’s replace all the “sex” words in both paragraphs with words related to “politics”:

Political harassment is a form of civic discrimination. The legal definition of political harassment is “unwelcome verbal, visual, or physical conduct of a political nature that is severe or pervasive and affects working conditions or creates a hostile work environment.”

Affects Working Conditions or Creates a Hostile Work Environment: If you are fired, refused a promotion, demoted, given a poor performance evaluation, or reassigned to a less desirable position because you reject a political suggestion, inference, or demand, that almost certainly is political harassment. Even if the conduct does not result in economic injury or change of status to your job, it may be political harassment if the conduct unreasonably interferes with your work performance or creates an “intimidating, hostile, or offensive work environment.” For example, it may be illegal political harassment if repeated political comments make you so uncomfortable at work that your performance suffers or if you decline professional opportunities because it will put you in contact with the harasser.

See how easily all the same verbiage applies to the scenarios detailed above? The intimidation, the presumption of agreement, the implication of negative consequences, etc.? How is political harassment in the workplace any less oppressive, offensive, or objectionable than sexual harassment? For the person being harassed, it likely isn’t.

I was listening to a debate about this exact topic on NPR the other day, an AirTalk segment titled: Talking politics: is it taboo in the workplace? Host Larry Mantle was discussing the parameters in which employees and employers are within – or without – their First Amendment rights in discussing political beliefs in the workplace. It was very illuminating to hear the feedback of his guest, Steve Kaplan, a Labor Employment Lawyer in practice in Los Angeles and former chair of LA County Bar’s labor and employment section.  Click the title link above to hear the interview; it’s only 16 minutes long and it’s worth a listen.

family-gathering

As everyone who reads anything I write knows, I love talking politics and I’m happy to do so with any willing, relatively intelligent person with a cogent viewpoint. I figure if I write something that is published in a public forum like Facebook, Huffington Post, Twitter, here at Rock+Paper+Music, wherever, and someone actively chooses to engage me based on that public contribution, great; let’s talk turkey. No one has to read what I write, no one has to ponder my points, and no one has to respond (and given the nature of online media, unless you voluntarily join in, I won’t have a clue what you think!). But beyond those mutually chosen online exchanges is the world outside the internet: family gatherings, friend get-togethers, intimate dinner parties, large occasions, etc. And there, in those settings?

Unless I’m invited into a conversation of a political nature that I choose to join, don’t expect to hear me chattering away about who I think should be doing what in what office of the land. As good manners dictates on any topic of substance and potential controversy, I don’t believe I – or anyone – should spout off about personal political beliefs without first ascertaining the listening party’s level of agreement or interest. Cuz lots of the time, THERE ISN’T ANY. They just want to eat dinner, talk about a movie, catch up on the family, or get some work done. Once you launch into politics there’s nowhere to hide. Unless you’re in a group that’s politically in alignment with each other and with you, and everyone agrees, “Hey, let’s talk politics,” the verbal blathering and subsequent imposition of one’s political beliefs is just plain rude, even offensive, depending on the situation. And nothing has the potential to ruin a good gathering more; once it’s starts, it’s all about pushback, lecturing, arguing, debating, pontificating, yelling, and who knows what else, and only after the evening’s been blown all to hell do you realize all anyone wanted to do was eat pizza and discuss Homeland!

And at work? Are you kidding me? Can you think of any environment more fraught with potential peril when it comes to the discussion of politics? You mention liking the First Lady’s latest J. Crew ensemble and your cubicle partner suddenly won’t turn their chair around, their Romney sticker prominently slapped to their computer cover. Or your immediate supervisor, a rabid Liberal, sees your Facebook pics from a Romney rally and before you know it you’re no longer needed on that new project. And, of course, if you work for David Siegel, your participation in a “get out the vote” effort for the DNC will likely result in “your department being downsized.”

It ain’t a slippery slope, it’s a goddamn landslide.

There are right places to discuss politics and wrong ones. Work is a “wrong one.” A job should never be place where you worry about being outed for your political beliefs, nor is it a place where you should be forced to listen to anyone else’s; certainly it’s not a place where you should be browbeaten into political submission in order to maintain your employment. There are enough reasons to sweat your job these days; politics shouldn’t be one of them.

Harassment is harassment is harassment. Like porn, we know it when we see it. And as sexual harassment is illegal, so should political harassment be. Let’s get on that before 2016, could we?

LDW w glasses

Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

The Very Masterful Master

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts16 Comments

When you’ve been in a cult and then left, you are in the unique position of viewing it with both an insider’s knowledge and the distance of objectivity. Once you’ve stepped away long enough to reclaim your thinking, reject the jargon, and consider things without the fuzzy filter of “true believer,” you realize, amongst many other things, that you now have the inside skinny on how one ends up in a cult. At least your skinny; sometimes that of others with whom you shared the tent for a while, and that’s good to know, how and why you were enraptured, enticed, ensnared in some cases. Hindsight is always instructive.

Because it’s a mystery to most everyone else, how a seemingly smart, thoughtful, independent person – even a young one – can buy into the hype of what looks to be crazy; what with the horror stories, tabloid press, negative media, couch-jumping characters; quirks, foibles, and idiosyncrasies, right down to the by-the-book crazy/scary but charismatic leader who inexplicably elicits adoration and loyalty from those heretofore logical people. Yep, a mystery.

I got into Scientology when I was nineteen. I was a good believer. Not a zealot one, just a good one (couldn’t afford to be a zealot one!). By my mid-twenties I’d evolved into a confused and deeply questioning one, and by my late-twenties, when I realized it was all much darker and less spiritual than I’d originally believed, slipped away with little notice and no sirens or barking dogs in chase. Not so with some of my friends who were accosted and harassed, sometimes for years, but I escaped with little more than a recurring stream of phone calls, reams of unwanted mail, at least one uninvited visit, and still more phone calls as recently as last year. I wish I had agents as persistent!

The skinny on how I ended up there? A guy I was dating worked for Scientology and, like that girl who takes up surfing because her boyfriend surfs, gets a tattoo because he likes ink, or starts wearing thongs because he says “they’re sexy,” I got into Scientology because my boyfriend was a recruiter and said it would offer me eternal life. I was all about eternal life and he was damn cute…boom, I was in.

In all fairness to myself, I was between religions at the time, having shaken off the stern Catholicism I grew up with and found so counter to my evolving worldview and, despite my youth and somewhat shallow criteria, I held a depth of spiritual longing that was honest and real. I was in the market for a belief system that made sense, one that offered a more compassionate and less fearful philosophy of life, eternal or otherwise. So the enthusiastic and open arms of my boyfriend’s “mission” in Illinois seemed to make sense: lots of shiny happy people welcoming me into the fold, a learning system and “technology” that seemed fresh and intriguing, and, of course, the nobility of “clearing the planet.” At that point, there was little bad media stacked up; no Internet, no Tom Cruise or David Miscavige; no weird stories of glassy-eyed pontificants spouting about intergalactic wars, evil gods, exploding volcanoes, or billion year contracts. That came later. By then I was sidling on out.

I mention this background because I spent an enlightening morning last week with three long-time friends, all former Scientologists, watching Paul Thomas Anderson’s new movie, The Master, at the Cinerama Dome in Hollywood. It was opening day and the place was packed; a palpable buzz could be felt, lots of anxious jostling in seats as if everyone was waiting for something huge and explosive. I have no doubt many there, like us, were former Scientologists wildly anticipatory of this big artistic take on L. Ron Hubbard and the beginnings of Scientology. Because, despite protestations to the contrary, that is the underlying inspiration for this movie.

I’ve seen most of Paul Thomas Anderson‘s films and have not liked them all equally. Magnolia was mad and maddening, Punch Drunk Love a warm, touching departure; There Will Be Blood just a big, ponderous mess to my way of thinking and it won Oscars, so what do I know?

The Master, while also ponderous, complex, intriguing and likely to win Oscars, stands out, however; a profound, artistic saga brought to seething life by performances so startling they stayed with me for days afterwards. Joaquin Phoenix creates a singularly stunning portrait of a mentally ill, violence and sex fixated World War 2 vet who stumbles upon the cult while escaping his inescapably troubled life, and that performance propels everything else forward with a fierceness and intensity that’s almost hard to watch at times. Meeting him on the playing field with an equally powerful performance is Philip Seymour Hoffman, whose depiction of the cult leader is not only chilling and many-layered, it’s a dead-on take of Mr. Hubbard, right down to the wide-collared shirts, Kool cigarettes, grinning arrogance, suggestions of seediness, and inviting yet manipulative certainty of his purpose and philosophy. These two actors, as well as the others involved, most notably Amy Adams and Laura Dern, create an insular, claustrophobic world of spiritual earnestness mixed with steely-eyed control, clear elitism, and certainly delusional thinking…just the sort of fucked up craziness known to anyone who’s ever been under that kind of tent at one point or another.

Is this the story of Scientology and L.Ron Hubbard? Not in name or detail, no. But in broad strokes, intention, in laying out the nascent, seedling efforts that grew into the billion dollar, billion year mega-theocracy it is today, yes. We recognized it. We recognized the jargon, the theories, the science fiction of it all. We remembered the drills and exercises, the “TRs” and “locationals.” We’d heard the speeches, some participated in the highly anticipated and often disappointing book launches. And while most of us never met L.Ron Hubbard in person, we all watched endless tapes of his smiling, jovial visage as he pontificated on his theories, philosophies, and dictates. Seymour Hoffman’s got him down, to an eerie similarity that was undeniable to those in the know. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Beyond its artistry – which is estimable – and its storytelling – which, though masterful, will likely be found by some to be long, puzzling, even boring at times – well dissects the anatomy of cults and how they succeed. Every cult taps into something being sought. Something longed for, wanted, desired; something that’s not being addressed or provided elsewhere. For some it’s desire for a spiritual path they have not yet found. For others, it’s to be saved, either physically, mentally, or spiritually. Many are looking for community and family, a sense of belonging. For most it’s about philosophy, the greater good, saving the world. Some are just seduced by someone else – the leader they saw on film, the speaker at a seminar, the friend who seems better than they were before, a recruiter who says all the right things; a boyfriend who’s racking up “stats.” Many are simply swept up in something they deem new and exciting, unaware of the nuances and underbelly that, later, they’ll find troubling. This was all well illustrated in the film; that sly identifying of those who will be vulnerable, receptive, and willing, followed by the slow, almost imperceptible capturing of their minds, hearts, and thoughts. By the time the crazy stuff comes around, they’re already in, deep enough to keep them there. Until they slip away barely noticed, leave with a big bang in a publicized letter, or ride off on a motorcycle into the sunset, as Joaquin’s character does.

I’ll see this film again; I want to view it unencumbered from the gasp-factor of every recognized element of Scientology and L.Ron Hubbard that crossed the screen. I do wonder how it hits people without some experience with Scientology. Will they find it so perplexing as to be incomprehensible, too arcane to make any sense? The reviews are a mixed bag and likely there is some of that confusion going on. But it is truly worthy of viewing, with a focused, open mind and a willingness to view something great in terms of its art and craft. And, beyond anything else, it is a master class from two of the finest actors in America today. They’ll be on the list of every award show coming up so you may as well bone up and get yourself educated before the opening number starts and the Oscar ballots are passed around!

LDW w glasses

Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

9/11…That Moment of Extremes

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts

Hard to quip much today. Get all hot and bothered about the latest political reports or that slew of responses to an incendiary Blogher piece from days ago. Hard to crank up enthusiasm for the usual rounds of clicks, tweets, forwards, likes, and comments. Oh, I will; it’s such a part of the day-to-maintenance of projects – yours, mine, and others – that there’s no point in dropping every ball. But still, as I sit here, looking out at the blue sky, embarking upon my day just as I did those eleven years ago, I’m drawn back to those feelings, that sense of horror and sorrow, and it still feels raw, still so bloody sad.

Particularly when whatever solidarity and coming together we experienced those few weeks, maybe months, afterwards, appears to have slipped away, under the rug thrown over open-heartedness and compassion in lieu of continuing fear. So here we are, right back at it; right back to that pugilistic, teeth-baring, adversarial stance we let go of for a while during that time. That was the one bright, gleaming spot in a whole shit-pile of horrible. Tragedy has a way of rising us up beyond our more base instincts and I’ve always believed that place we rise to is the truer form of self. The one free from the narrower, less loving, less compassionate concerns that sweep us away the rest of the time.

Mostly I think back on that day as one in which the entire world changed. Not just us, not just them, everyone. Here, it brought us the Patriot Act, airport restrictions, smaller shampoo bottles,  metastasizing religious fundamentalism, deepening bigotry, political lies leading to war, bizarre color codes alerts, fear of men in beards, fear of women in hijabs, fear of each other, fear of…fear. And as the years have gone by and no greater attacks have happened, as the misguided war in Iraq ended, as we buried Osama bin Laden in the sea, and a new administration steered us away from cowboy posturing toward a more nuanced relationship with the world, there has been a relaxing of shoulders to some extent. As least regarding the fear of terrorism.

Now we focus on more local, more mundane, terrors: fear of gun deaths, loss of civil liberties, panic in the economy, sexism in social politics, the ramping up of conservative theocracy, and the deepening sense that while we may all be in it together, we’re so fearful of collaboration, compromise and conciliation that we’d rather push each other away, push each other into walls, push each other out the doors than find a way to coexist with any workable combination of our varying viewpoints. That’s the greatest destruction we can wreak upon each other at this point and yet…we continue.

So today I think about that day when my 8 year-old-son wondered what on earth was happening but went to school anyway and the rest of us sat around the TV for days with tears and without interruption, making calls, sending emails, talking to neighbors; sharing our horror and sadness in all the ways we could. I find myself this week compulsively watching any documentary or show about that day (The Falling Man based on Tom Junod’s incredible piece in Esquire was particularly poignant and heartbreaking), climbing inside the thoughts and emotions, as much as possible, of the people caught in those buildings and those waiting for them at home, so many, as we know, whose vigils were for naught.

That event reduced our petty concerns to their proper level of pettiness and we got BIG for a while; able to empathize and embrace our fellow man as just that: our fellow man. It was an excruciatingly horrible time that also revealed the very best of us.

18-flag-waver

I won’t even try to extrapolate any comparisons to now, to this moment in time. I won’t attempt to draw parallels or excoriate anyone for their continued embrace of fear and bigotry. I’m just remembering the day. The people. The sorrow. The falling man. The heroes. The coming together. It will never stop being a moment of extremes. And I’ll likely feel them every anniversary…

LDW w glasses

Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Some Thoughts About How We Use Facebook

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts7 Comments

Over the last few days I’ve come upon posts on my Facebook Home page written by people who think Facebook has an obligation in terms of what’s expected, what should be posted there, presented along the lines of “I thought Facebook was supposed to be a place to _______!”

At least two commenters complained about political comments, links to related issues; the starting and maintaining of political threads. Someone said said she wanted everyone to shut up about politics and just post “nice stuff,” family pictures, etc. Another even went so far as to denigrate those who discuss and debate cultural issues (referring to the mention of defriending due to racist comments), claiming that Facebook should only be a place for empowering missives, uplifting text, good thoughts, happy, life-affirming links and pictures, etc.

Hmmmmm.

Listen, like anyone else I sometimes get weary of the repetitive political rhetoric, the posting of what feels to be redundant material, screeds that scream across the aisle at each other. (I think I even mentioned stepping out of the arena in terms of this interminable Presidential campaign!) I don’t support calling each other names or baiting, shoving, pushing in that bullyish way that incites rather than inspires (in-your-face anti-Republican, anti-Liberal, anti-fill-in-the-blank sort of stuff fits the category!). There are a few of my friends who could stand to “mix it up” in terms of the tone and subject matter of what they post, certainly, but….

One of the things I LOVE about Facebook – beyond anything Twitter, Pinterest or any other social media has to offer – is the sense of community; the coffee house, the salon, the gathering place for people to get together, share ideas, debate issues; show each other pictures of kids and vacations; spread the word about great shows and art exhibits; argue about politics and culture; encourage each other during illness and sit shiva together; just generally share conversation (longer than 140 characters!), SHARE LIFE. Yes, even sometimes rant about politics! In small towns and neighborhoods this is actually done in person, but in the big, huge neighborhood of the World In Which We Live, Facebook has become that gathering place.

Given that, I, personally, would hate a Facebook filled only with fluff and flowers, just as I would a Facebook co-opted entirely by spouting radicals. I WANT the mix. I want a “coffee house” where I can CHOOSE whether to sit at the table where they’re talking about fabric for quilts, catching us up on the kids, or getting into it over cultural and political issues.

And as it is, Facebook gives us that choice, all of us. We can hides stories we don’t want to read, unsubscribe from posters we don’t appreciate, or – God forbid – defriend those who cross far too many lines to stay. We can write about empowerment or politics and find the crowd that responds to such things. NO ONE is obligated to join – even read – a thread that doesn’t appeal to them, and that’s the beauty of it. We each get to come to this coffee house and experience it as we choose.

I, personally, wouldn’t want it any other way.

LDW w glasses

Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

I’m Not Hip Enough

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts20 Comments

ldw-pondersI finally figured it out.

I’m not hip enough.

Oh, I’m good enough – and I say that with complete humility because “good enough” by today’s standards is completely relative. And by that I do not mean your relatives think you’re good enough – that’s a given – I mean that in the world of instant reality show stardom, digitally perfected perfection, inexplicable and arbitrary fame, self published/self promoted… well… everything, what, really, is good enough? I have no idea. But I’m pretty sure I’m at least it.

I’m just not hip enough.

I was thinking about Rock+Paper+Music. Ever since I started writing for Huff Po, this blog here, my very own lovingly created, carefully managed and artistically designed forum for “sass and sensibility,” has become the slightly ugly stepsister overshadowed by the behemoth that is Huff Po. I try to find the balance: I keep my Huff Po stuff what is is – analysis and commentary on political, cultural, religious, and artistic issues –  sometimes articles overlap, but this blog is more personal, with more pictures, a warmer tone at times, often about non-famous people I know who should be famous, what my latest familial challenge is, that sorta thing. And despite the fact that I don’t obligate myself to write in just one genre (parenting, writing, photography, etc.), I do create a through-line with my brand of commentary, my voice, so to speak, so it is thematic enough…right?

Oh, hell, it probably isn’t buttonholed enough and that’s probably as unhip as all get-out and the very reason why Rock+Paper+Music remains a smart, thoughtful, but unviraled and slightly flatlined creative endeavor. I want it to be bigger, better, more OUT THERE, but either I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing in terms of proper 2.0 Internet promotion (likely), the title is too benign (I thought it was clever…what do I know?), or it’s too hard to…well…buttonhole. I insisted on taking liberties with the “blogging mandate of buttonholing” and look where it got me: writing about how I’m not hip enough. And saying buttonhole a lot.

This whole stew session was set off by a blog I was made aware of today. People I Want to Punch In the Throat. It was implied by the poster of this blog link that it’s really funny. Or at least the posted article was. I immediately swallowed (with some difficulty) and clicked the link. I will refrain from commenting on the visual (there is none) and only read a bit, trying mostly to find out who “Jen” is (suggested by her bio, which is aptly named “Who is Jen?”), and it turns out the person who came up with this rather aggressive title, Jen, also writes for Huff Po (but, really, there are thousands of us, how hip can that be??), has been interviewed by NPR (shoot…I hardly even listen!), she’s witty, snarky, funny, and says things like, “All of a sudden I’ve got lots of people who want to know who I am.” and “I think the title sums it up. If you can’t figure it out, then go away before I punch you in the throat.” Sheesh. So I did go away…but not because I couldn’t figure it out, more because my visceral reaction to the literary violence of her title made me dizzy with hip-envy, which is really the downfall of a person like me. Because even after exhaustively social-media’ing, cyber bush-beating, virtual stone-unturning, and all my other various marketing ministrations, I lack Jen-like “virality” (I made that up…a play on virility and viral…come ON, that’s kind of hip!!).

Nah. Not really.

I’m so unhip, in fact, that I had an old friend – one I hadn’t spoken to in years but who’s on my mailing list – send me an email in response to a new blog notice with one line: “Please remove me from your mailing list.” No signature; no, “hey, how you doing?” Just that one line. Stunned, I wrote back, “We haven’t spoken in years, odd that your one communication in all that time would be this request.” He wrote back chiding me for “taking it personally,” adding the supposedly assuaging explanation that he “just doesn’t like blogs.” I took him off the list. He’s a pretty hip guy. You do the math.

But let me make this clear right now: I’m not a slacker. I know what’s what and I’ve got myself social media’d all over the place (personal page, Pinterest, LinkedIn, and Twitter) and I work those puppies like nobody’s business (just look at how I active-linked them all!). Maybe that’s the problem…nobody’s making it their business. Well, not nobody, but it can get bleak out there. Let’s take Twitter, for example. Despite my rather articulate, occasionally thought-provoking, sometimes self-promoting, but always 140-character Tweets of substantial pith, I’m pretty much ignored. While everyone’s tripping all over themselves to get “followed” by Benicio del Toro (who was officially on Twitter for all of two or three days) or retweeting some disgusting genital/masturbation reference by one famous actor or another, I’m clearly not high-profile enough for consideration by the Twit-verse. Frankly, they’re a hardy bunch and it’s likely I just can’t keep up. That feed scrolls off the page so fast that I can only presume the people who are constantly present, wit and parrying away, are sitting at a computer 24/7 with nothing better to do than desperately attempt to one-up each other or incite conversation with a Tweeting celebrity. Though Roseanne Barr did retweet one of my tweets once, I can only ride that train for so long. And I’ve now just said “tweet” or “Twitter” more in one paragraph than anyone should.

It could be my age. I don’t make a point of throwing actual numbers around but it’s not hard to extrapolate. In any circle of contemporary hipsters I’d be considered seriously OLD and being considered OLD in the world of the considerably YOUNG is about as effing unhip as you can get. You don’t even have to do stupid shit like wear white stretch pants, say “anywho,” or keep complaining about Facebook Timeline. Despite the inroads made by Betty White and Cher, and despite the fact that we’re all sort of grossed out by the epic damage being wrought on older faces by cosmetic surgery, the fact is, if you don’t know why Kelly Osbourne is feuding with Xtina (or even who Xtina is), who/what is trending on Twitter, or how Vodka and feminine products have become linked (sorry…it is viral), you’re not only OLD, you’re terminally unhip. Which might mean I’m slightly hip for being able to reference any of those things. Probably not.

Basically you’re unhip just by virtue of having lived longer than the much hipper younger people who are now running the world on the sheer heft of their buying, downloading, clicking, viewing, sharing, texting, tweeting, stumbling, or YouTubing. Any hip quotient I could ever possibly muster pales in comparison. Though I have a smart phone and still wear black jeans. Not enough. Not near.

But I get the young thing. I do. It’s a great time of life. I had an amazing experience as a young artist. I did have all that stuff – the slavishly devoted managers and producers, the band members who happily hitched on my ride; good Variety reviews, people who said they’d make me a star, backers and financiers and agents and publicists and fans and all that head-swirling stuff, some version of which our girl Jen is probably reveling in when she isn’t punching someone in the throat. But, truth be told, even when I was young I wasn’t so hip. When an unknown Madonna and I met with the same manager at the same time (she and I didn’t meet at the same time, he was considering us both at the same time…and I was the one there on a recommendation from the legendary Kim Fowley of Runaways fame…how hip was that?!), that manager passed on me, took Madonna, and while I kept singing and writing songs about interracial relationships and the meaning of life, she was dry humping gay dancers and making millions (and, yes, admittedly, recording some great pop songs I dance to even to this day!). She was hip. I was not. Dammit all to hell.

Here’s the thing: when you do what I do – freelance writing, photography, music – and you’re not hip enough – as we’ve established I’m not –  the burden of wrangling all that creative output falls squarely on YOU. You don’t get a manager drooling over your “potential.” People don’t rush the door to get you viral and trending. No one’s setting up conference calls to “discuss the trajectory of your articles.” NPR ignores you. We’ve discussed the Tweeting. Basically you’re on your own. You market and media and bush beat and try not to annoy the shit out of the few people who actually respond to those mass mailings or Facebook links, and hold tight to the notion that you remain worthy despite it all. You write a few articles that do go (sorta) viral and that ticks up your hip quotient for a second, but it’s a “what have you done for me lately?” world out there and you’re Sisyphus; every single article, query letter, photography posting, and attempt to put a band together is a new effort that requires rolling that rock up the hill each and every day.

Rocking and frikkin’ rolling.

Did you ever see The Flight of the Conchords, that hilarious 2007 HBO show with the New Zealand music/comedy duo, Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie? One of the funniest bits on the show was the ubiquitous appearances of their “one fan” (played by the very funny Kristen Schaal), who made it her business to be the very best fan she could be and, since she was their only one, they were grateful for her (most of the time!). Sometimes I feel that way about my small but very loyal group of friends and fans who always take the time to click, leave comments, re-post, pass on, and generally show a little love on a regular basis. Hipness notwithstanding, they are there, a small but mighty group, and what I lack in “virality,” I have – in spades – in some very appreciated loyalty from them. They’re like my “one fan,” though happily more than one. But just a little more! I’m grateful for them.

The truth is, I love what I do…my creativity lends tremendous purpose to my life. It always has, even when I was younger and hipper and not writing about either. But if it appears I’m now too sincere, too earnest; if I’m not snarky enough or funny enough for the times; if I lack cutting enough edge or just the right touch of verbal violence, so be it. I discovered long ago that you not-hip-enoughhave to be who you are, who you truly are, and if that doesn’t bring them to their feet, again, so be it. To feign something or attempt to be someone else just to match the zeitgeist in hopes of greater acceptance or more success is pure folly. It never works. You always get found out. Look at Milli Vanilli.

So as Popeye would say, I am what I am. Thank you to those who get me. I love you guys, I really do. Which is a long way from wanting to punch someone in the throat.

Yep…definitely not hip enough.

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Rape Jokes. Yeah…Hilarious.

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts10 Comments

I didn’t see or hear about it until Martha Plimpton’s Tweets in response to the story made news. Apparently shock comedian and Comedy Central golden boy, Daniel Tosh, went on a tear about rape at a live show and a woman in the audience took offense. After she made comment from the audience, Tosh went on, no doubt with his ever-present smug grin, to respond: “Wouldn’t it be funny if that girl got raped by, like, 5 guys right now? Like right now? What if a bunch of guys just raped her?”

Hilarious, right?

As you can imagine, a few took offense.

But as culture is wont to do, righteous offense is followed by justifications and pontifications and a follow-up opinion piece in the Huffington Post by blogger and media mogul, Chez Pazienza, Daniel Tosh vs. The Age of Outrage, took up Tosh’s cause, shaking a finger not only at the offended woman (who had a writer compadre take to the Net to express her outrage), but at the panty-waisted Culture At Large which is clearly too thin-skinned and pussified to get the importance and hilarity of this cutting edge humor:

“Comics stand as the vanguard of our right to free speech — the canary in the coal mine, so to speak. They’re the ones we count on to be able to push the envelope, challenge our sensibilities, even offend us occasionally because it’s necessary for us as a culture.”

Right.

Chez, this may have been true in the days of Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, and Sinbad, to name just a few of our best comedic canaries, but in 2012, when anyone with a mouth, a keyboard, and a video camera can blather any sort of “humor” online or cable, the noble duty of which you speak has long since been washed away in the tsunami of cultural evolution (devolution?).

Comedians are not only NOT necessary to “challenge our sensibilities,” they, in fact, rarely do these days. Anyone who’s been around smart-ass teenage boys has heard it all already. Instead of cutting satire and true wit, now we get Jackass movies, endless vagina and/or penis chatter, lots of trash talk about smacking bitches, and, of course, the always “sensibility-challenging” rape jokes.

Too many comedians, male and a few females, are caught in the over-saturation found in every form of art these days and, as a result, are frantically treading water to stay anywhere near the top. With the interminable competition of Twitter, YouTube, Facebook, StumbleUpon, etc., they appear desperate to one-up themselves, other comedians, and anyone else in view, by raising (lowering?) the bar on sophomoric potty-mouthing and “look at me I’m being offensive” kind of humor. Just check out any number of well-known comics on Twitter who can’t wait to regale us with discussions of bodily fluids, masturbation techniques, and perceptions of known or unknown genitals…always hilarious. The overreaching has become banal and predictable; the transparency in their effort to be the grossest, most scatological, most disgusting and, certainly, most offensive, has set up a race to…what? What finish line are we going for these days? What will be outrageous enough? Comedy porn? Hilarious snuff films? Reenactments of actual rapes?

Daniel Tosh, like many other contemporary comedians, has built his style to appeal to sniggering teenage boys and men young enough to have missed the heyday of Howard Stern. His humor is goofy, in-your-face, and over-the-top, delivered with an imperturbable smirk and knowing wink. Sometimes he’s truly funny, sometimes he’s not; often he’s intentionally offensive and the boys and their preening girlfriends guffaw and giggle regardless. It’s the mode of the day. We’re in the Age of Shock and Snark.

But despite Mr. Pazienza’s delusional assertion that all this offensiveness is good for the cultural soul, it’s more likely contributing to its coarsening; scraping off layers of social decorum, societal empathy, and even a higher standard of humor and intellect, leaving raw the rankest, most loathsome elements of humanity easily found in the humor-couched hate-speak and verbal violence spewed by commenters everywhere.

Good humor does and always has played a vital role in pricking consciousness, picking scabs, and shining light in darker corners of humanity, but gleefully poking sticks at the snakes of offense for no reason other than the satisfaction of a bite back takes no great wit or wisdom. Hollering from the stage about how funny it would be for an offended audience member to get raped by five guys may be a knee-jerk reaction to heckling or a calculated move to get lots of buzzy attention but, either way, it’s unimpressive humor. You can get anyone’s attention by smacking them across the face; that doesn’t mean you’re clever, cutting edge or, God forbid, funny. It means you’re a lazy comedian.

Rape. Yeah. Hilarious.

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

The Art of Art Discussion: Just Quiet Down and Go Create

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts24 Comments

We all need a break now and again from the day-to-day work that holds our focus. Like the vaunted “15-minutes” regular office workers get to stroll into the cafeteria for java and a Danish, we freelancers take our moments, too; often to hop online for a little social media refreshment. I’m as guilty as anyone; there are days when serious-conversation_smmeeting a deadline, finishing a project, getting errands done, or managing my ever-growing list of marketing tasks all require the interruption of some light trolling on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Huff Po, Fine Art America or any of the groups and discussions one might find here or there. And when I do, I’m typically compelled, by virtue of senses stirred, to jump in. Sometimes it’s just clicks on photos and links I enjoy but, equally as often, the urge for rejoinder is strong. It’s hard for me to read inane chatter, mean-spirited comments, or truly debatable topics without wanting to throw in my two cents!

Certainly political postings corral the lion’s share of this type of response, but more recently I’ve read or partaken in “art discussions” — analysis and deconstruction of style and technique, contest decorum, commerce demands, etc. —  and, much like politics, the tendency for some to veer into cynicism, negativity, and arrogance is apparent. And disappointing.

Like anything else on the Internet, Art is a big topic. Go to any art-oriented site – photography, painting, jewelry design, graphic art, whatever –  and you’ll find opinions on every aspect and angle. And in those discussions, you’ll meet as many wonderful artists as you will curmudgeons, which, frankly, I find surprising. I don’t know why, but I always expect artists to be more uplifting and good-spirited than they often are.

See, I was lucky to have been given a constructive and very positive foundation in my training. My experiences in a wide variety of “the arts” included an overriding message of support, assistance, camaraderie, and the sheer joy of the craft. Certainly there were those who took opportunity for snarky critique, behind-the-back denigrations, sniffing arrogance, or bashing disguised as instruction, but I was fortunate that most of the teachers, professors, mentors, and fellow artists involved in my impressionable youth exuded their own joy in the craft and that imprinted upon me a higher-toned mission statement; one of constructive input, positive output, and personal and communal artistic integrity. Or, as is suggested in this age of The Secret and The Power of Positive Thinking, a “half-full perspective bereft of the toxic effect of negativity.”

talking

“Either love it or do something else,” I was advised. I was also reminded of the old adage, “If you haven’t got something nice to say, don’t say anything.” Which, unless you’re a bona fide reviewer, opinion writer, or comedian, applies to pretty much everyone else.

So it’s jarring for me to read threads in which artists snipe at each other, knock down the work of others; become “authorities” about what is or isn’t Art (as if they, in particular, know!), criticize and demean the marketing choices of fellow artists, or denigrate any aspect of the industry – art or commerce –  that they, personally, don’t appreciate or wish to partake of. These are the kind of people who find fault and spew criticism, whose toxic brew of negativity was what a mentor of mine used to call “sour-pussing.” Glass half-empty. Discordant. Contrary.

For example; at Fine Art America, the very well managed site that provides hosting, printing and delivery of fine art photography and paintings – and a place where I’ve met a slew of very talented, supportive artists who are smart, enjoyable people – there is a contingent (likely too large a one) that “sour-pusses” on a regular basis. A discussion thread commenced recently regarding the winner of a now-concluded “Times Square Art Contest.” The woman who started the thread posited her prompt with a tsunami of criticism; of the winning piece, the artist, the contest, the overall marketing demands of the art world, concluding with a cranky assessment of “the whole thing.” (Frankly, I wanted to get her a juice box and tell her to take a nap!) But, more disappointingly, what followed this diatribe was a slew of commiserating comments, supporting her thesis to some degree or another. Lots of judgment of other artists’ work, denunciations of the overall state of the industry, snarky rejoinders about contests that “demean” artists into “begging” for votes, right down to a nihilistic grump-fest that included the statements, “There will be artists as long as there is society, but that too is coming to an abrupt halt. America is going under as we speak, and the rest will follow in quick order,” and the exceedingly grim “THERE IS NO FUTURE to ART. Humanity is much more interested in Ipods and marching blindfolded into the future. We are the last artists on this planet.”

All I could think was…WTF?!?

I shook my head as I read this manifesto of negativity, wondering how these people got out of bed, much less found the energy and inspiration necessary to create art. Luckily there were a few bright individuals who spoke up to shoot down the negative trend and did so with enough intelligence, optimism, and artistic good-will to offset, to the degree they could, the snarling hordes but, I have to say, I was disappointed that so many seemed hell-bent on ripping Art, and its artists, a new one! I was tempted to leap in and make my points, but realized, with some weariness, that the thread leader was jumping on every response with her continuing brand of snark and snarl and it was just too nice a day to get involved in that level of crankiness…though I did send an email to the most cogent and wise of her debaters, thanking him for his insight!

While I agree that we all have “the right to our opinions,” as Debbie Downer repeatedly pointed out, too many seem to have missed the lessons of integrity, constructive thinking, artistic magnanimity, and a positive, supportive outlook. Clearly Art has long had a history of creative personalities who were churlish and mean-spirited; many who were (are?) burdened with insecurities, jealousies, schadenfreude, and plain old nastiness, but in the communal world of online art exchange and discussion, there really is no room or reason for all that.

But people are who they are; I can’t change them. The woman running that thread is clearly a person with many other issues in her life that contribute to the attitudes she exudes online. But while I feel sorry for her (and certainly anyone in her near circle!), I ain’t gonna debate her. Because I reserve my perspective, my thoughtfulness; my contribution, for conversations that are constructive and focused on offering views and opinions that transmit something positive and helpful, rather than the banal, deflating, blather-fest of negativity I found on that thread.

stepping-into-the-plaza

My suggestion to that crowd? Stop talking and go create. If you have that much time to spend tearing down others in a community setting, go make another piece of art instead. Rather than getting some kind of buzz out of stirring up mutual frustration to feed your own, shut off your computer and pick up a brush or a camera. Don’t worry about what others are creating, just create. Quit expounding on what you think is stupid and create. Don’t announce what you won’t do, just do what you will do. If you don’t have the desire to be in a contest, don’t; but don’t cut down others who do. Don’t want to ask people to vote for your work? Again, don’t. But quit yacking about others who have no problem garnering support for theirs. And if someone wins a damn prize, offer congratulations and accept that even if “it’s not really creative” to you, it clearly is to someone else…enough that they won! And if you don’t have it in you to congratulate them…

Just quiet down.

Stop talking.

And go create.

All photographs by Lorraine Devon Wilke

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

In the Image of a Father

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts6 Comments

  Noble fathers have noble children. ~ Euripides

I was not initially hitched to the Mad Men bandwagon as it hurled its way to phenomenon status; I missed the kick-off and never jumped on. But once the media analyses and water-cooler accolades became so hyperbolic as to raise the show to “Breathlessly Zeitgeisty Must-See TV,” I knew I had to get with the program; it’s bad enough I never watched an episode of Survivor!

So I’ve been Netflixing the series and, I have to say, it is a fascinating snapshot of a historical time teetering on the brink of explosion. It well depicts the era’s style and panache (now called “mid century”), and paints a clever and sometimes unsettling anthropological thumbnail of human nature at a point when society was remarkably different. While it focuses mainly on only one or two class sub-sets, it does a good job of breathing life into the anachronistic “swells” and “dolls” of the jargon, the girdles and slicked back hair, and the propensity for unrestrained smoking and drinking (after watching several episodes I felt both asthmatic and buzzed!). But what it illustrates most pointedly is the distance we’ve come in our gender politics.

my-boys

I was a child during those years and though aware of the more superficial elements, was clueless to the nuances and expectations in the roles of men and women in how they related to each other and certainly as parents. It’s one of the truer clichés of the time that “women’s work” was mostly defined as homemaker, house cleaner (unless affluent enough to afford “help”), and primary parent. Despite the Madison Avenue secretaries and the exceptional women who worked their way up toward the glass ceiling (ala Mad Men’s Peggy Olson), most women carried the weight of child raising and Dads would show up after cocktails to give big hugs, have dinner, then go off to do “man” things while Mom put the kids to bed. Fathers were loving and involved in their way, but the extent to which they were hands-on was minimal. And while certainly there are still fathers operating from the antiquated paradigm of Don Draper, they’re a different breed these days, the product of an evolving and equalizing culture.

Our views of motherhood have remained fairly constant; it’s the role of “father” that has fluctuated and changed with the times. Men’s life expectancy is still up to six years shorter than women’s so, to put it bluntly, Daddies die sooner. While more women work outside the home than ever before, men still rely on them to take the larger role in parenting, meaning Dad’s intimacy and influence with his children is commensurately less. Some family compositions simply transcend without a traditional father: post-divorce custodial mothers, families with deceased fathers, single mothers who never married, same sex mothers, etc. Statistics show that these families can thrive and be remarkably “whole” and functioning without a male figure, so the question remains: How essential is a father these days?

tom-benIn families that have them? Very essential. It’s not whether a family can survive without a father – it can, that is well documented. It’s whether a family that has a father has one that is fully present, involved, and contributing in the most effective ways possible for a child’s best shot at success.

Scores of books and studies have dissected, analyzed and deconstructed the role and there is likely not one man on this earth who doesn’t have at least some notion of the task based on his own experience as a child. Typically a man either admires the parenting he received and mimics it, or abhors his father’s choices and becomes determined to make better ones. Which gets right to the point.

Modeling. A father is the first male role model a child has. In most families the father is the BIGGEST, most influential authority figure to first set boundaries, examples, and expectations. Through him a boy conjures his first idea of a man, picking up the nuances, proclivities and emotional expressions he will emulate in his own version of the role. In a father, a girl sees All Men – at least in the early years. She learns what to expect from other men by virtue of how her father treats her (and her mother). Through him, she sets her bar for the level of respect she’ll require, the honor she’ll demand, the self-confidence she’ll exude, and the aspirations she’ll pursue.

It’s a big responsibility, no doubt about it. We have come a long way from the Mad Men who saw their children as so many props, but new eras bring new problems and in a world where too many young men advance into adulthood needing anger management skills, a better understanding of how to be strong without being a bully, and a clearer sense of the purpose of honor and integrity, a father’s work is cut out for him. When a daughter sublimates herself in her relationships with men, loses her sense of confidence in the face of career adversity, or can’t determine how strong a woman to be without losing appeal, she clearly needs wise fathering to help reconstruct her perspective.

There are as many ways to be a good father as there are fathers and this is not to say a mother is any less important to the outcome of a child. I used to find it difficult to find father themed gift but thanks to the internet and sites like gearhungry.com, father’s day is no sweat! But a father’s role is unique, specific, and very powerful. As we celebrate Father’s Day, it merits mention, as Euripides stated, that “noble fathers have noble children.” So wear that well, Dad, celebrate your nobility. Embrace your role and never forget you hold center stage – and always will – in the eyes of the children celebrating this day with you.

A very Happy Father’s Day to all the “noble fathers” in my life.

fatherdaughter

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

The Real Healthcare Reform is YOU

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts14 Comments

I was happily ensconced at a local dog park, frolicking with my Golden while chatting with a fellow dog owner about the joys of off-leash play, when somehow the conversation veered perilously into politics (some linkage between off-leash and government intervention perhaps?), and before I could scream “Switzerland!” and run, I was regaled with the horrors of “socialistic” healthcare reforms and how truly heinous it was for the government “to demand we pay for freeloaders who won’t take responsibility for their damn selves!”

walking-in-the-wind

Walking in the Wind…urban exercise.

Deep sigh.

I make it a policy to never ruin a perfectly good afternoon arguing very imperfect politics (I also avoid sex and religion…not the act – well, at least with sex – but the conversations…oh, you know what I mean!) so I made some benign comment about “yep, it’s a big topic” and hightailed it out of there, wondering why it’s not more obvious that we already are paying for the uninsured when they end up in county hospitals and ERs. And, frankly, I doubt if most uninsureds actually won’t take responsibility for themselves; likely it’s a matter of not being able to afford to. And while we’re at it, what’s with the “socialistic” slam? When Mutual Of Omaha Medicare, one of the biggest and most beloved government insurance programs, and Social Security – the other one – are entitlements as ingrained as life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, let’s not pretend this other form of government insurance deserves that incendiary and misguided label.

Well now, look at me; I’m arguing with the guy anyway!

But as the Supreme Court ponders, politicians debate, pundits scream and yell as they are wont to do, let’s us little folk do some thinking about Healthcare Reform ourselves (oh, calm down, this won’t hurt). And I don’t mean the pros and cons of what should be covered, who should provide coverage, and how much the government should be involved. That would take far longer than I’ve got here and it’s not my point anyway. What I want to talk about is healthcare reform as it relates to how we take care of our own health.

As I’ve gotten older and, like everyone else on this earth, have had to adjust to a changing body, new issues that come with new decades, and the general reinvention of how I continue to be me while making those adjustments, I’ve noticed many in my circle, male and female alike, dropping ever so slowly out of vibrant life. Many are overweight, quite a few are plagued with chronic pain issues (arthritis, old injuries, etc.), some have developed drinking and/or drug problems (typically more pharmaceutical, at this point, than recreational), and most defer to these physical limitations to avoid the gym, a good hike, or even a walk if it involves more than a few blocks. Bad eating habits are rampant (and suggestions for better ones ignored or dismissed), the smokers have all but abandoned the idea of quitting (“I’ve lived this long as a smoker, what’s the point now?”), and the acceptance of age-related meds (blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes, etc.) is unquestioned. I actually had a friend explain to me his recipe for aging: “I just tell myself: I’m getting older, nothin’ I can do about it, I am going to get sick and fall apart, so I just expect it and then it doesn’t bother me when it happens.” Now there’s an interesting twist on “positive thinking.”

Don’t get me wrong; there’s no health smugness here. I understand that some issues are unavoidable by virtue of DNA, random illness, and immune system quirks. We are human, after all, and no matter how stoic or proactive, we’re going to sick from time to time, have accidents, get older (which usually does involve more option for infirmity), and, yes, dammit, even die some day (I know, good morning to you too!). But how about we do everything that is in our control to be as fit and healthy as possible until we get to that inevitable end?

There is so much information out there about how to hedge your health bets that no one can honestly cry ignorance. And let’s not forget the value of mindset; the way we frame our view of health, our own in particular. A suggestion? Don’t accept that by virtue of age you just have to be on every med known to man. Don’t accept that you will get what everyone else is getting when “something’s going around.” Don’t buy into the notion that you can’t improve habits, get fit, lower your blood pressure, or rebuild your stamina. Much of this is in your control. I’ve watched it happen, many times. Most recently a neighbor of mine (a man in his 60s) who was teetering towards diabetes, medicated for chronic high blood pressure, and significantly overweight, took his health into his own hands and lost the weight, upped his regular exercise, changed his eating habits, and succeeded in getting himself off all meds and the list of diabetes candidates.

That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is healthcare reform!

But back to medical insurance for a moment: When I turned 50 my One Sure Insurance premium skyrocketed beyond belief because, my insurance representative explained, most people in my decade begin tapping into the pool in greater and more expensive numbers for a variety of reasons. She mentioned obesity as a national epidemic, one that’s costing insurers even more than smoking related illnesses and, more ominously, in increasing numbers as smoking statistics decrease (Obese Workers vs Smokers – Who Costs Your Healthplan More?). And beyond the big ticket items of obesity and smoking, she listed significant increases in other “lifestyle” illnesses past 50; those brought on by “bad habits” such as lack of exercise, alcoholism, unhealthful eating, and general health apathy. I shook my head and thought, WTF, at 50??! We abdicate our involvement in our own good health that early in life? And to add insult to gloomy injury, it appears it doesn’t matter how proactive, preventive, or healthy I may be, I’m stuck paying more for my insurance and healthcare because others in my age bracket – insured others, mind you – DO NOT TAKE BETTER CARE OF THEMSELVES.

That’s enough to make a person sick…to their stomach.

So while all this yelping is going on about the “selfish folk who take no responsibility and expect government to pony up for their healthcare,” I’m a little peeved at those who actually have insurance but don’t take responsibility to do everything they can to stay as healthy as possible. The costs of their health issues brought on by those aforementioned “lifestyle choices” contributes more to rising insurance and medical costs than any current reforms on the table.

How about this: let’s put the government, partisanship, and frothing ignorance aside for a moment and put insurance in its rightful place: it’s important to have for preventive care, in case of emergencies, and certainly when we need treatment or medical intervention. But for most it’s the second line of defense. The first? A persistently healthful lifestyle on a day-to-day basis. It won’t solve or prevent every problem, and surely we can’t minimize or ignore the impact of major diseases that can afflict even the most healthy, but beyond fate and DNA…just try it. A persistently healthful lifestyle on a day-to-day basis. You will see your doctor less, I guarantee, and, as a bonus, with growing numbers of the “healthier aging,” both medical and insurance costs, your and mine, will decrease, no matter what decade we’re in.

“Healthcare reform,” in our own hands and available to EVERYONE. I, for one, would be most grateful if you’d give it a try.

Photograph by Lorraine Devon Wilke 

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Visit www.lorrainedevonwilke.com for details and links to LDW’s books, music, photography, and articles.

Is There a War on Mother’s Day?

On By Lorraine Devon WilkeIn Latest Thoughts4 Comments

Mother’s Day has long been a holiday that required no PC posturing, no concerns about what to call it, how to celebrate it, or who might get hurt or offended by it. Up till now there’s been no “war” declared, no confusion about who gets to partake; even the food shared on this day has no particular tradition or agenda. As it should be. It’s an inclusive holiday; we all have mothers, most of us hold them dear, and the notion of honoring the “one who brought us life” typically engenders some measure of warmth from everyone. Bring on the brunches! 

But as I’ve gotten older I’ve noticed a growing sensitivity toward all the unabashed “mother” hoopla. In this life and time of choice — of women putting off families while careers gestate, of couples making decisions not to procreate at all, of older women finding pregnancy more elusive or fruition sometimes impossible — the matter of celebrating motherhood necessitates some nuance. While, certainly, most of us can gather to celebrate our own mothers without concern, what about those whose perspective on being a parent is either bereft of experience or desire? Is greater sensitivity needed in those circumstances?

Let’s start with those who wanted children but couldn’t have them for one reason or another. CBCs, childless by circumstance. I have several people in my life who fall into this category and it’s a tender and sometimes sensitive one. The CBC will cheer, bring muffins to brunch, and spend oodles of time with the kids with nary a complaint, but when mimosas are mixed and glasses are raised “to motherhood,” a shadow of pain crosses those eyes and you can’t help but realize Mother’s Day has a bittersweet and confusing edge for some.

I have a friend who married in her early-thirties while building a successful career and when she crossed the mid-decade mark, decided it was time to start a family. What was expected to be a simple matter of “getting pregnant and having a baby” turned into a several year, very expensive, and emotionally draining project with fertility specialists, repeated inseminations, two miscarriages and even the temporary separation from her husband when the stress caused a wedge they couldn’t overcome. They ultimately got back together and are in the early stages of exploration with adoption but, as she wistfully stated, “We really wanted one of our own.” When Mother’s Day rolls around each year, she sends flowers to her out-of-state mom, avoids all brunch-centric restaurants, and hunkers down in a Cineplex to watch enough action-adventure movies to get through the day without bursting into tears.

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Then there’s the childless-by-choice people (CBCP), a hearty bunch with clear minds and no regrets about eschewing the parent track. They love kids, enjoy being around them; are close with nieces, nephews, Godchildren and mentored youngsters, but they had/have no desire to make any themselves. Being social people, however, they willingly spend time with family and friends who do have children and this is where things can get sticky…hands and otherwise. They’re typically outnumbered by PWK (People With Kids) and because the majority steers the theme, the theme usually comes with all manner of happy, messy, usually very loud kids, moms chirping about schools, playgrounds and the most gifted pre-schooler, and distracted parents of either gender who can’t finish a sentence for the flickering of eyes as they follow their little rambunctians (yes, I made that up) around the yard. For even the most patient, most interested CBCP, this frivolity has its limits. They’re supportive, loving, and tolerant but, frankly, they’re not in the club and the jargon and kid-centric focus can hold interest for only so long, like listening to computer geeks discuss HTML.

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But MOTHERHOOD (there’s nothing lower case about it) is all encompassing. I know. I’ve been there. And when you’re there, there’s nothing more interesting, more engaging, more emotionally fascinating than not only being a mother, but talking about it. Except to CBCPs, who can find their good sportsmanship wearing thin after the second hour of sand play and string cheese. We’ve seen the glazed eyes and restless leg tapping as childless friends edge toward the door with excuses of meeting “colleagues” at the Formosa for drinks and adult chatter. We know because we used to be them. We sometimes wish we still were. But now we’re wiping snot off the noses of children we don’t even know and, oddly, we’re always the ones with the Kleenex.

Mother’s Day was easier when we were younger; at that point our own parenthood was far enough ahead that categories weren’t yet clear. We could happily make calls and send cards to our own Moms, toast till we were tipsy, and no one had to dab eyes or prevent rolling them. We didn’t have a parental status to talk about so we didn’t have to avoid it. Mother’s Day was simply a day to celebrate our moms. As it still is, with just a little more complication.

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According to one friend and hostess, Mother’s Day has become, like so many other holidays, a confused, PC sensitive event rife with wrong turns. “There is a War on Mothers’ Day!!” she declared. “It’s gotten to the point where I want to send out surveys before I invite anyone to brunch! I mean, come on! Let’s either celebrate it or not but we can’t be held responsible for triggering CBCs (she liked my acronyms) or annoying the crap out of CBCPs. I feel for them but whatever they’re going through is their issue. Everybody had a damn mother, how about we just celebrate that?” She’s an excitable sort.

And while I reject the overused war vernacular, I agree with the notion of not losing the holiday to hyper-concern. Sensitivity, certainly, but not war. Making a Mothers’ Day toast in mixed company does require a little forethought and it can’t hurt to limit the poetry to: “Here’s to you, Mom; you’re the best!” or “To all the mothers in the room, cheers!” Probably wise, however, to avoid, “And to motherhood, which is a woman’s greatest gift and most satisfying role!” For your cousin still mourning her second miscarriage, it’s likely cutting; for your friend who decided not to have children, condescending.

So let’s make this clear: there is no war, just consideration. Celebrate the matriarchs in your circle with every bell and whistle at hand, but keep the rhetoric sensitive. We can all find reason to celebrate LIFE…and that, after all, is what motherhood is all about.

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Happy Mother’s Day!

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