Real advice for camping with a toddler

This past weekend I had the privilege of taking my 21-month-old son camping for the first time. I'm happy to say it was a complete success. Robby slept and napped in the tent, stayed a comfortable distance away from the fire pit and was just a generally happy kid. The fresh air definitely agreed with him!

As our departure date approached, I started to worry about what we were in for. So I naturally did what all parents do nowadays -- I Googled it. I found plenty of posts about camping with a toddler, but I have to say that most of the advice was pretty useless. One common tip was, "Be cheerful." I don't know about you, but I think that's about the dumbest piece of advice you could ever give someone. Of course you should be cheerful. Having a positive attitude is helpful in life all the time -- not just when you're camping. I was looking for practical answers about camping with an almost-2-year-old, such as: Do I need to bring a pack-and-play? Will my son nap? Will he put his hand in the fire? Am I totally crazy to even try this? Since I had those questions, I figured others might as well. So below are my 15 practical tips for camping with a toddler:

1. Skip the pack-and-play. Everyone that I talked to about camping with a toddler asked me if I was going to bring a pack-and-play. My instinct told me my son would sleep in the tent with us, but because so many people mentioned the baby cage, I felt swayed. In the end the pack-and-play didn't fit in our car (it's a Honda Fit), so we skipped it. And I'm glad we did. Robby slept fine in the tent, which is just big enough for two adults and a toddler. We did get Robby a youth sleeping bag, which should last him until he's 6 or 7, but he just slept on top of it and generally flopped around during the night.

2. Pick the right location. We camped at a campground in Stowe, Vt., which is remote, but not too remote. We had access to hot-water showers, but still had plenty of privacy at our campsite. We also were in driving distance of great hiking and civilization, like family-friendly restaurants. Having the ability to be on our own in the wilderness, while still not totally roughing it was a good choice for us.

Robby stays dry in the leanto during an afternoon rain storm.

3. Plan for rain. I've been camping enough times to know that no matter how good your tent is, it will leak in the rain. So this time I wised up and opted for the campsite with a leanto, or a wooden structure with a raised floor and roof that kept us high and dry. We had a very rainy Saturday afternoon/evening and without that leanto we would have been driving home in a miserable panic. If the campsite you're staying at doesn't offer leantos (or Yurts), there are ways to set up a pretty rainproof set of tarps over your tent. Just make sure you have a boyscout with you. Also, pick a campground that has access to rainy-day activities. We took a tour of the local Ben & Jerry's factory and did a wine tasting. Robby enjoyed the former and not the latter, of course.

4. Bring just three. I hate bringing lots of toys to places. So I brought three toys, three stuffed animals and three books for Robby. That was plenty. In fact, I could probably cut the toys down to one: Bubbles. Boy did that come in handy on the rainy day. We hung out in the leanto and blew bubbles. It was great fun.

5. Introduce the tent early. One of the reasons I think Robby successfully slept in the tent is that we set it up a few days in advance and let him scope it out. By the time we got to the campsite it was old hat.

6. Rent a bike. Stowe has a wonderful bike path along the river. We were able to rent a bike with a trailer for Robby and had a merry time cruising along. It was one of the highlights of our trip. We have bikes at home, but strapping them to the car would have added extra stress. If you can afford the extra cash to rent, do it. It's one less thing to worry about.

7. Bring a hiking backpack. This one's pretty obvious. For as long as physically possible, hike with your child in a backpack/carrier. That way there's less crankiness and tired legs on the little one.

8. Bring peanut butter and jelly for lunch. It's not fancy, but if fills you up and gives you the energy to go on with your day. It also travels very well.

9. Put boots on over footed pjs at night. This way your kid's pjs don't get ruined by all the dirt.

10. Give it time. It took Robby an extra 30 minutes to settle down for nap/bed. We did our normal routine of books and songs in the tent and then it took him that extra time to actually close his eyes.

11. Bring a battery-powered sound machine. This is one thing I didn't think of, but wished I had. Campgrounds are loud! I didn't realize this pre-baby, probably because I was the loud one whooping it up at 10:30 at night. That wind down time probably would have been cut in half had we had a sound machine to drown out the din of the people around us.

12. Pancake mix in a jug. My husband and I discovered this trick on our last camping trip. Buy Bisquick Shake 'n Pour pancake mix. You add water directly to the jug, shake it up, and pour. The alternative is bringing the mix and a bowl to mix it in. That's a lot of stuff to clean. The jug is so much more convenient!

13. Wipes. Every parent know this, but wipes are amazing. I don't know how I camped without wipes before.

The family gathers around the fire.

14. Have a fire. I was so nervous about having a fire at our campsite. I assumed toddler + fire = disaster. But it wasn't a disaster at all. My son sat and stared at the fire just like my husband and I. There is just something primal about a fire that even toddlers understand.

15. Nap as a family. I don't know about you, but in my house, when it's nap time, it's time for mommy and daddy to get stuff done. But when we camped, we all napped together in the tent. It was great because we were all actually rested and happy at the same time when we woke up. As I said to my husband, "This nap was worth this entire trip."

Things we all know

1. Women who have babies love to talk about baby carriers. “What one do you use?” “Oh, I used that one, but then I bought this other one second hand and I tried that for a while.” “What did you think?” “Well, it was okay, so then I ordered this other one, which has pockets, and a little key chain, and I liked that one, but then I went back to the original one.” In the end, everyone agrees that the Ergo is the best one to get, but we wasted 30 minutes talking about it. Again.

2. When a kid acts like a shit head, it’s usually because their parents are shit heads.

3. Can we all stop giving a crap about how others feed their babies? Give ‘em formula, give ‘em breast milk. Feed ‘em soy. Feed ‘em cow’s milk heavily laced with hormones. Whatever. It’s your choice. *Side note: Cow's milk with hormones is actually delicious!

4. Going to the doctor with a sick child is pretty useless. Here’s what will happen: Your child will scream as soon as she sees the scale. She’ll whip her head back and forth rapidly, preventing the nurse from getting the ear thermometer reading. She’ll start tearing the paper off the exam table. The doctor will take one look at the child and declare that she has a virus and there’s nothing to be done. You ask how you can avoid viruses in the future, and the doctor says good hand washing. You nod your head and wonder what toddler has ever been good at hand washing.

5. People love to say, “It’s good for kids to get sick.” Really? Who has this ever been good for? Maybe the species as a whole, yes. The species wants to see the strongest survive. But you know what’s on the other end of that little argument? For the strongest to survive some have to die. That’s pretty awful isn’t it? So let’s not say that anymore. Let’s hope for children to stay healthy.

6. Mommy discussion boards are full of complete and total idiots. Reading them makes you depressed about the human race, just like watching most reality television, cable news and The Today Show.

7. Nothing you do has anything to do with how your child does or does not sleep. Stuff him full of solid foods at 8 weeks. It won’t make a difference. Pump him full of iron-fortified formula. Get the sound machine. Co-sleep. Cry-it-out. Baby whisper. Do all of it, all the time, consistently and perfectly. None of it will make a darn bit of difference. Children sleep when they want to sleep. Just try to stay out of their way when they are ready. And stop blaming yourself. And throw away those awful books.

8. Speaking of sleep, some people are way too uptight about naps. You know, those people who run their lives and consequently the lives of anyone who happens to intersect with them around their precious bundle’s nap schedule. Lighten up. Let a nap run late. Put the kid down early. Be flexible. And stop talking about it all the time. No one cares.

9. If you don’t trust your husband to watch your child because he texts all the time, don’t tell anyone. Or get a divorce. Or maybe go back in time and don’t have the child to begin with.

10. The phrase “screen time” is obnoxious. And TV won’t kill your baby.

Ruminations on pregnany and delivery

This is a pretty important blog post because it's my first since giving birth to my son, Robert James (man that still sounds weird). It's been more than two weeks and I'm not sure it's completely sunk in that this kid is mine and that he's going to be around me like all the time, for like, forever. Well, that may be an overstatement. But you know what I mean.

In any case, bringing Robby into this world has been an amazing, scarey, painful, joyous experience. Through the nine months (41 weeks and two days, but who's counting) until today, his 19th as an ex-utero being, I've learned a lot. Here are some of the highlights:

Our health care system stinks. I've written about this before, but here it is again in a nutshell: Insurance companies have painted doctors into a corner so that they are forced to play medical defense as opposed to really caring for patients. The result is that most of us patients are left with competent, but less than compassionate care. What a bummer.

Too much of having a baby is political. Do you use a pacifier or not? Do you have your son circumcised or not? Do you breastfeed or not? Every professional involved with helping you have a baby clearly has an opinion on these topics, but they've been brow-beaten by the PC club so much that they feel obligated to play it completely neutral, giving you the pros and cons of every little decision. The result is that no one with a degree experience in childbirth actually tells you their honest advice. They give you both sides of every debate and allow you, the one with absolutely no experience, to make ill informed decisions. I wish we could live in a world where a doctor or a nurse could just say, "In my opinion, you should do X, and this is why..." Wouldn't that be nice?

No matter how prepared you are for delivery, you'll never be prepared. I'd like to think I had some sense of what I was in for, but boy was I wrong. And my guess is that every delivery is so different that it's virtually impossible to be prepared for what faces you once the labor process begins. My labor came on a lot faster than I expected. And that delivery playlist that I slaved over creating? Well, it never got used. The only thing you can count on is that the baby will come out, one way or another.

Nurses rock. I was blown away by the nurses at Windham Hospital. I wish I could have visited them once a month for my prenatal checkups rather than my doctor's office. They actually took the time to educate me and my husband about this new life form that was now our responsibility. The labor and delivery nurse who coached me through active labor was amazing. I don't know how she does that job day in and day out. It's like going to war every day. Truly incredible. The doctor arrived for the last two pushes and got to collect her fat paycheck without even breaking sweat. Meanwhile the nurse coached me through delivery like a pro and stuck around to help me afterward.

Babies smell good. I could sniff my son's head all day long.

iPhones make 4 a.m. feedings bearable. I don't know how parents of newborns survived pre-iPhones. I have an app that tells me when to feed my son and I can keep myself entertained (as long as my eyes are open) at all hours of the day while I'm nursing. God bless the iPhone.

Hormones are crazy. I have never felt the level of emotion that I felt in the days following the birth of my son. It was pretty wild. I've since come back down to earth, but boy, hormones sure are powerful.

I have the world's greatest husband and my son has the world's greatest dad. All throughout my pregnancy I was struck by how special it was to share the experience with my husband, Bobby. But I wasn't prepared for the joy I felt in caring for our newborn son as a couple. I'm lucky to have someone like Bobby to be by my side through this journey and Robby's lucky to have him for a dad.

An impressive lack of will power

I heard a story on NPR’s “On Point” about the science of willpower. Interestingly, I heard it while I was driving home from Buell’s Orchard in Eastford with a half peck each of honey crisp apples and peaches in my back seat. In the front seat next to me was the opened carton of apple cider doughnuts. I would have let out a grown of dismay over my own lack of willpower, but I had a delicious sugary piece of baked goodness shoved in my gob. And despite my efforts to portion out the doughnuts, I managed to polish off all eight (well, seven - I let Bobby eat one) before the sun went down.

The premise of the NPR show was that willpower and self control are important traits that help people succeed in life. In theory it makes perfect sense. People who act irrationally or with no regard for the future are likely to get themselves into trouble. People who can exert a little self control are more likely to be level headed and make sacrifices in the near term for the promise of spoils in the long term.

And I’d put myself in the category of having great willpower. As long as a box of cider doughnuts aren’t within reach.

A trip to the country

Yee haw! Here are the sights and sounds of the Woodstock Fair:

Worst delivery room playlist ever

So NPR did a story (don't ask me why) on delivery room playlists. Shockingly the song, "Push it" of Salt-n-Pepa (yes, that's Pepa) fame made the cut.

Of course, as everything with pregnancy, this story immediately made me think, "Oh, crap. Here's another thing I need to worry about. I don't have a playlist. Do I need a playlist?" Then, I thought, "What kind of moron would want 'Push it' played while they were giving birth? That's just gross."

So here's my take on the top 10 worst songs for the delivery room ever:
1. Push it, Salt & Pepa
2. Waterfalls, TLC
3. One, Metallica
4. I'll make love to you, Boyz II Men
5. Anything by Barry White
6. That Dawson's Creek song by Paula Cole
7. Bridge over troubled water, Simon & Garfunkel
8. Janie's got a gun, Aerosmith
9. Jeremy, Pearl Jam
10. Mother, Danzig

My screed on the health care system

I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time in doctors' offices lately. Luckily, it’s for a good reason, but my monthly visits to the OBGYN to get my blood pressure checked and weight documented has brought to the foreground my seething distaste for the health care system. So here’s my rant about it:

Why do doctors' offices refuse to act like normal businesses? Why is it okay for a doctor’s office to say, “Sorry. You can’t call us between noon and 1. That’s our lunch break.” What other business does that? None. Because any business that did that would be closed after a week when their customers stopped showing up and paying money.

And why do they all have to take lunch together anyway? Can’t one person cover the phones while the rest go eat? Aren’t they all getting free meals from pharmaceutical reps anyway? It’s not that hard to have a staggered lunch schedule people. Give me 15 minutes and I’ll have it all plotted out.

But the lunch break isn’t the only thing that gets on my nerves. There’s the whole appointment scheduling thing. I have yet to find a doctor or dentist’s office that actually offers reasonable hours. God forbid anyone with letters after their name work past 4:15 or before 9 a.m. Why is it that offices that treat our pets have better hours than offices that treat humans?

Oh and don’t get me started about doctors cancelling appointments. In my line of work if I called someone five minutes before an appointment to cancel it, I’d be in big trouble. If I did it more than once, I’d likely be out of a job. But for some reason, doctors pull that charming maneuver all the time. And they don’t have the nerve to call you themselves. No, sir. They make their dim-witted front desk person call you and do their bidding. And then they offer you the least convenient time to reschedule.

I ask all these questions even though I know the answer. The problem with doctors’ offices is that they are built around serving the insurance companies and the bureaucracy of the system and the needs of the doctors/staff. They aren’t built around the patient.

I’ve written about health care and I’ve read enough hospital mission statements to know that they all claim to be “delivering patient-centered health care.” But in reality there’s nothing patient-centered about the majority of our health care system.

And I really think this feeds into our society’s general avoidance of preventative health care. I am loathe to make a routine physical appointment because it’s such a giant hassle, even though I have health insurance. I bet there are plenty of people just like me. And that’s bad. Because I get intellectually that annual physicals are where you find problems when they are small and before they get big. But emotionally I can’t get over the hurdle that I’m going to have to settle for a 1:15 appointment on a Tuesday when I have a big project at work and then I’ll have to thumb through a six-month-old issue of Car & Driver in an uncomfortable waiting-room chair for 30 minutes and then sit in the boring exam room just to get five minutes with a nurse practitioner who has the bedside manner of a household mop.

What’s the solution? First, doctors offices need to start behaving like businesses. And to get them to do that, I think you have to rework how doctors are paid. The whole insurance/Medicaid/Medicare system really incentivizes doctors to put their focus in the wrong direction – away from patients – and towards paperwork and red tape. In some ways you can’t blame them. The system grew into an angry beast and it’s hard to fight it. But it’s time to take our health care system back. And that process starts with the patients and the docs.

Don't mind the mosquitos

We made it to a scenic vista at Wells State Park in Sturbridge, Mass. Here's a panoramic shot of the view, taken with our new camera:


And here's some perspective on my growing belly:

It would have been a lovely easy hike except for the mosquitos that swarmed us on the way up. Luckily they left us alone on the way down.

Here's one last photo for the road:

Complexions Contemporary Ballet: After ‘Mercy’ Comes Sweet Relief

Author's Note: I attended a performance of Complexions Contemporary Ballet in Boston and decided to try my hand at a review. The result is below:

Everything about “Mercy” – the opening number of Complexions Contemporary Ballet’s performance at the Cutler Majestic Theatre in Boston – was big: the skirts, the extensions, the lifts, the lighting and the anguish.

It’s easy to see the connection between a powerful, and sometimes disturbing, piece like “Mercy” and the work of Alvin Ailey. After all, Complexions’ artistic directors – Dwight Rhoden and Desmond Richardson -- were former Ailey dancers. They founded the company in 1994 and have taken their Ailey roots to a supped up, angular level. Where Ailey movements are liquid and fluid, the movements of a Complexion dancer are sharp – all elbows and dagger-like legs. The company members – who come in all shapes, sizes and yes, complexions – are some of the most physically fit athletes to leap across an American stage.

The kickoff number also seems an extension of Ailey, particularly the “Sinnerman” piece within the seminal “Revelations,” which celebrated its 50^th anniversary last year. The dancers in “Mercy,” accompanied by a range of aggressively religious musical interludes, writhe across the stage, clearly imploring relief from some oppression.

While the movement and execution is beautiful, the dance is far from such. But beauty was clearly not choreographer Rhoden’s goal. With the heavy religious overtones, he’s driving at some deeper point about the human condition. The performers’ struggle reaches a crescendo at the end, with members of the company shoving their faces into buckets -- a gut-wrenching mime of vomiting. While visually striking, “Mercy” is far from a feel-good piece. Witnessing its performance is more like donning a hair shirt that leaves the audience member nearly as anxious for relief as the dancers.

Thankfully, things got easier for the Boston crowd. The nearly two-and-a-half hour performance became increasingly cheerful, moving next to the sensual, “Moody Booty Blues,” where five dancers (two women and three men) flirt across the stage, exemplifying youthful exuberance and energy. Next up was “Moonlight,” a solo by the Richardson, who is accompanied only by a simple red chair and bouquet of red houses, and “On Holiday,” where three couples act out the ups and downs of love and infatuation.

Rhoden and Richardson save the best for last in “Rise,” which is set to favorites from U2 including, “Where the Streets Have No Name” and “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” While the opening number, “Mercy,” was all angst and anxiety, “Rise” was all energy and exaltation. The dancers – who had run several marathons by this point in the show – looked no worse for wear as the soared to the vocals of Bono and the guitar riffs of The Edge. And the audience was buoyed as well, brought to their feet, hands clapping and eyes shining. While the show began with a bit of medicine, it ended with a bit of candy that left anyone who witnessed ready to bop out of the theater and onto Tremont Street.

The 411 on falafel

Check out the latest post at Ashford Living for an update on our 60 Recipes, 60 Days challenge...

What's with all these Flash Mobs?

You've no doubt heard about or seen a Flash Mob by now. The first one I saw was on Oprah, when an entire audience learned a dance to a Black Eyed Peas song. Since then Flash Mobs seem to be popping everywhere. In fact, a co-worker of mine participated in a West Coast Swing version at a local mall.

The latest Flash Mob to catch my attention was one originating from the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts, where (spoiler alert) a couple used a singing Flash Mob as an intro to their nuptials... at a mall. Now the mall part may seem a little, well, commercial, but it's actually quite lovely. Don't take my word for it, watch for yourself (thanks Kate Longo for sharing this on Facebook):


Okay, so I've share some fun links and videos. But the reason I decided to blog about this was... I'm bored on a Friday night... No, not really. The reason is because I think there's something interesting driving the Flash Mob phenomenon. Allow me for a moment to muse.

Why would someone want to participate in a Flash Mob? Perhaps it's about getting 15 minutes of fame in a relatively painless and anonymous fashion. Or perhaps it's deeper than that. I've recently begun to appreciate the power of groups of people coming together with voices raised and limbs flailing in unison. There's something primal about it. Something central to the human condition.

Okay, so people like to get together and sing and dance. Not really a deep observation considering we've been doing that kind of stuff for centuries.

But I wonder if the popularity of Flash Mobs is a symptom of our times. It's not news that we're living through a particularly challenging era. And I'm not just talking about a terrible economy. Our lives are shifting rapidly thanks to the wonders technology. And while being able to watch movies on my iPhone while waiting in line at the DMV is a pleasure, it's also a burden. Technology is isolating. We have to work harder to have real face-to-face communications. Families are spread out. Friends are half-way around the world. Video conferencing can only do so much. So maybe the Flash Mob phenomenon is a manifestation of this need to connect, to be together with our fellow man, raise our voice to the skies and jump around like an idiot.

So in the immortal words of Lady Gaga, the true poet of the 21st Century, Just Dance...

60 Days, 60 Recipes

As some of you may know, we're a two-blog household. And over at Ashford Living, we've announced a crazy new initiative. Check it out!

What's going on over at CBS?

I just caught a special report on the CBS Evening News about the deficit. Important topic. Kudos for Katie and her team for taking it on. But why are the only people interviewed on camera news reporters? Last time I checked the job of the reporter was to find experts to interview, not to appear on camera. Here, judge for yourself:



Now you tell me. Did that make any sense? Why were all their correspondents on parade? Is this some sort of shift in news philosophy at CBS?

Do you hear what I hear?

...It's the sound of my heart breaking. Why you ask? Well, I took a tour of NBC studios at Rockefeller Center in NYC today and learned that my favorite NBC show, 30 Rock, is in fact not filmed at 30 Rock. Not anywhere near 30 Rock. It's filmed in Astoria, Queens, which let's be honest, might as well be North Dakota.

When the page (yes, they have pages give tours just like on the aforementioned show) told me that neither Tina Fey nor Alec Baldwin ever grace the hallways that we were walking as Liz Lemon or Jack Donaghy, I felt my heart shatter. Now, as I've had time to reflect, I can understand why they don't shoot the show there. The fact is that 30 Rock (the building) was never meant to be a TV studio and couldn't accommodate 30 Rock (the show). The space is limited to say the least and, along with all New York real estate, is incredibly over priced. So, I can forgive Tina Fey for moving her show out of town. But it does take the fun out of watching a little bit, right? I figured since my heart was broken I'd break all your hearts too.

So, you're probably wondering where all the photos are. Unfortunately they don't let you take photos during the tour. Something about copyright (they should ask the editor at Cooks Source for advice on how to get around that). This photo of one of the entrances to the building will have to suffice:

I can tell you that yes, it's true, TV studios really are much smaller than they look on TV. The biggest studio we saw was actually Dr. Oz's, which is kind of messed up, since his show is TERRIBLE. I was expecting that they'd give out free colorectal exams in his studio, but that wasn't the case. I guess they save those freebies for the actual audience (You get an exam and you get an exam and you...!!!).

The highlight of the tour was definitely the set for Saturday Night Live, which is very impressive. I could picture the night's host coming out of center stage to deliver the monologue and Chris Farley crashing through a backdrop. Our tour guide told us that the studio has near perfect acoustics, so perfect that big time singers like Sinatra used to come there to rehearse before their performances on the main stage at Radio City. She also told us that if your favorite band sounds terrible on SNL it's probably a sign that they're awful since the acoustics are so good in that studio. Sorry Ashlee Simpson.

Okay, wrapping up here... Before we went to tour the NBC studios, we took a quick spin through the American Girl store, where they have these bizarre doll holders in the bathroom stalls, right above the toiler paper holder:
Isn't there something disturbing about hanging your lifelike doll beside you on the wall as you go to the bathroom? What's doubly bizarre is the fact that this contraption included an inscription that read, "Patent Pending." Really? You need to patent that? Like there are so many people out there itching to copy that idea, have it cheaply produced in China, and sell it at the mall? I don't think so. But it's true. I looked it up. There is a patent pending on behalf of American Girl LLC for the "ornamental design" of a doll holder. Go figure.

What does deserve a patent is the Dyson hand dryer that was also in the bathroom. My mother kindly demonstrates the technology below. It is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest inventions of our lifetime. Congratulations creepy guy who does the Dyson vacuum cleaner TV commercials.


This is Part I of my NYC blog post. Check back for my report on the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. Hotcha!

Square plates, round tables

Dear Restaurant Owner,

I have to admit I thought square or rectangular plates were pretty cool when they first became popular a couple of years ago. But I'm over them. They may look edgy and modern, but they're just not practical. They don't fit properly on the table and you can't balance your utensils on them. The oblong rectangular ones take up so much room, you can't even rest your wrists on the table. I feel bad for the wait staff who have to try to balance them as they make their way to the table from the kitchen.

I know you're trying to be different, but it's just not working. Please throw away your rectangular plates and return to round plates.

Thank you,
Christina

My take on the Wired cover

There's been a tiny Internet storm over the November cover of Wired, which features an up-close image of a pair of digitally enhanced breasts.

One of the critics, which got the attention of Wired's editor Chris Anderson, is Cindy Royal, an assistant professor in the School of Journalism and Mass Communication at Texas State University. She announced on her blog that she was "breaking up" with Wired over the Double Ds and proceeded to point out how the monthly magazine has consistently failed to give women leaders in technology the cover treatment. She listed a variety of women who have been on the cover, but pointed out that most were "jokey" and not true leaders in the tech industry.

Anderson responded respectfully on Royal's blog with an "I know but...," explaining that it's impossible to find a female to put on the cover that will sell on the newsstands. He also points out that it's nearly impossible to put people on the cover period, since few execs in the tech industry are household names. If only Julia Roberts had created the iPhone!

The article attached to the cover in question is basically a profile of a company called Cytori Therapheutics that hopes to use stem cell technology to produce any number of things, including breasts. Interestingly, the reporter on the story was a woman, Sharon Begley, whose name is prominently featured on the cover a few inches below where the sternum branches off from the clavicle. I wonder if the editors somehow felt better about their cover choice given that it featured a woman's name, if not a high-powered female tech executive.

Once you get past the cover to read the article, the boob photos don't let up. There's also an illustration of how one grows (artificially) a pair of breasts. Sounds tasteful, right?

I first saw the article after a friend on Facebook (a woman) linked to it. The link came along with a tiny thumbnail of the cover photo, but in that size and context it didn't really faze me. After all, you can see a lot more cleavage in some profile photos.

But when the actual issue landed on my breakfast nook (yes, I'm a subscriber; and yes, I have a table in my kitchen that I call my breakfast nook) I was a little annoyed. My immediate reaction was that the Wired team had gotten a little lazy. Perhaps they had another celebrity or concept cover in mind but that story fell through. And they were left scrambling. And what could be easier than digging up some clip art of a well-endowed chest and placing the Wired logo over it?

I can sympathize with the folks at Wired. Coming up with creative covers month after month is no doubt challenging. But this boob cover really made them look like boobs. I get that the majority of Wired readers are men. But I'm pretty sure if those men (or ladies) are looking for some titillation (pun intended), there are other better magazines (or websites) out there for that. People (men and women) look to Wired for the latest in technology. God knows there's enough happening in that space to fill a daily publication, never mind a monthly. So the tissue engineering cover story ends up coming across as gimmicky - certainly not thought-provoking as Wired often aspires to be.

So, am I "breaking up" with Wired? No. But I'll be expecting better next month.

P.S.
I completely acknowledge the irony of the fact that I am giving Wired free publicity through this blog post. I've made my peace with that.

Take that Taylor Swift

Was alerted to this by the good folks over at Pop Culture Happy Hour. Enjoy!

This one is probably going to get me in trouble

First, let me say that I don't begrudge the photographers. They're just trying to make a living, and it's their job to make you buy stuff that you don't need. That's how our capitalist system works.

But I really can't forgive the couples who think they are so cool, so SASSY, so hip, that they need to spend three hours wandering around a farm or old mental hospital to get TOTALLY AWESOME engagement photos... Or trash-the-dress photos... Or look-at-me,-I'm-pregnant photos... Or see-how-small-and-tiny-my-three-hour-hold-baby-is?-Let-me-put-him-under-hot-lights-for-a-few-hours photos...

If you're on Facebook, you've seen these photos. And you've probably clicked through more than a few. And maybe at first, you thought, "Gee that's kinda cool." But I ask you to really take a moment and reflect on the statement that these photos make about the couple, or the mother, or the baby. Why do we, as human beings, feel that we need this stuff? We need to eat. We need to drink, and we need something to occupy our time. But do we really need to lounge half-naked in dim light for a guy with a telephoto lens to record the blue veins of our exposed pregnant bellies?

And what do you do with these photos? Create a shrine? I'm sure there are people who will read this post who have indulged in such a photo extravaganza who say, "Christina, you've got me all wrong. The photos of me and my fiancé taken at the run down steel mill are sitting in a box gathering dust. I'm not self-absorbed. I just got a little carried away."

Just because you store away these photos doesn't mean you aren't self-absorbed. Because, be honest, you know the photos are there. And on rainy days, when you're feeling a little glum, and you glance down at your middle-aged paunch, I can guarantee you're rummaging through the attic looking for those 21st Century Glamor Shots as a mid-afternoon pick-me-up.

But what of the people who actually frame and hang these photos around their house? Have you ever visited someone who had these photos on their walls? A full-on collage of Barbie and Ken and their love, frolicking in Abercrombie & Fitch wear through a hay stack? Could you hide your snicker as you wandered past them? I mean, come on. Who does that? Who thinks, I am so cool, I just want to stare at my cool self all day long? If you're going to post these photos, you might as well go all the way and create an Andy-Warhol-esque wallpaper of your mug and hang it along an entire section of your basement. At least that would make an artistic statement.

And don't get me started on the whole trash the dress phenomenon. Just because you are standing near a pile of dirt does not mean you are trashing the dress. And if you spent four hours in hair and makeup before the trashy photo shoot, it is by definition, not trashy. If some woman decides to wear her wedding gown whilst standing in a vat of pig's blood, then that is, in fact, a trash the dress moment. And it might even be art. But donning your gown and walking on tippy toes through a horse barn does not qualify as such.

Here's the thing: Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you have to. True, no one is being hurt by a high-end photo shoot where the woman is rocking an astonishingly bright engagement ring. And I probably sound like a completely judgmental... Well you fill in the blank. But I do think it says something about our society and our priorities that we feel compelled to celebritize (I might have made up that word) every major milestone. It just feels like we're all a bit desperate. Like we can't be happy with what we have and we have to aspire to more and then show people how hard we tried to get there.

Notice I said we, because if I'm being totally honest, there's a part of me that looks with jealousy at those glitzy photos. Who doesn't want to feel like a model and have the photos to prove it? But that's just my point: We shouldn't have to feel bad that we aren't models. We are people, with cellulite and bags under our eyes and less than perfect hair. We don't need hours in a salon and hours in front of lens to feel good about ourselves. And we don't need to look like Brad and Angelina to feel fulfilled. In fact, if you asked Brad and Angelina, they'd probably tell you that being a celebrity isn't as TOTALLY AWESOME as it looks.

Being who we are should be enough.

Did this just turn into an episode of Oprah? It's probably time for me to stop typing now...

Giving credit where credit is due

I write a column for the Worcester Business Journal called Digital Diva, which focuses on new technology and how businesses can use it to make money. In my most recent contribution to the world of sparkling prose, I wrote about "chiclets," which is a term for all those tiny icons that appear on websites to link you to Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, etc. I got this column idea from Harry Gold, owner of a marketing firm called Overdrive Interactive, who spoke in Worcester about social media marketing.

Anyway, I was remiss in not mentioning in my column that one of my father's favorite words is chiclets. He uses it to describe anything that comes in a large, plentiful number. It's a fairly apt description given how chiclets are often delivered by the handful. For example, in my father's vernacular, he might describe the number of candidates for governor as being "like chiclets." Same goes for the number of Law & Order spinoffs on TV or the number of Dunkin' Donuts locations in New England.

So, it's true, my Dad invented the use of the word chiclets to refer to anything that comes in large volume. And it's also true, Dad, that everyone steals all your best ideas.

People who come into contact with my dad for the first time are often perplexed by his vocabulary. His use of idiosyncratic phrasing is unique to say the least. I've been threatening for quite some time to put together a dictionary of all my dad's favorite bizarre sayings and there's no time like the present. Here's the beginning of the Jim Hall Dictionary (please note that all phrases should be said with a strong New York accent):

Hoople - Someone who is lazy; often broadly used to describe anyone and everything.

Slew foot - Similar definition as hoople.

Matte black is flat black - Used to say that two things of different names are basically the same, so stop worrying about it.

Get it into your head - Used to imply that the listener is in fact not listening and is being resistant to an idea that is obviously correct. Common variations include "Get it into your barantasorus" and "Get it into your barantasorus rex." Origins of the latter are unclear.

I'd take a hot stove - Another of way of saying "I'm really, really hungry."

Brown shirt - A phrase used to describe people who do basic tasks, like maintenance, waiting tables, etc.

Brain damaged - This one is fairly self-explanatory. It is used in any situation where someone (including the speaker) does something stupid. Often used as an exclamation.

Fasalines - Another word for money.

Cosmoline - A filler word used when you can't think of the correct word. "Hand me the cosmoline." Origin: The brand name of a rust preventative.

Ten-cent head give changes - A phrase used to describe someone who is not that bright. Sometimes shortened to just "Ten-cent head" or just "He gives change."

Wouldn't pay a dime for an earthquake - A phrase used to describe someone who is very cheap.

Smoking in the shower - A phrase used to deride someone for being stupid. Typical construction is, "What are you smoking in the shower?!"

Here's a dime, call someone who cares - A phrase used to minimize the importance of something. Often shortened to just "Here's a dime."

Zips - See brown shirt.

If it were easy, women and children would be doing it - This one's pretty self-explanatory.

We're going to feed you peanut butter and put in the closet - A threat used against a child stemming from the recommendation of a child psychologist popular in the 70s who claimed peanut butter and low light could calm overactive children (please note that my parents never locked me in a closet).

You'll have to live with Barnaby - Also a threat used against children referring to the movie "Babes in Toyland," in which there was an evil character called Barnaby (please note that my parents never made me live with Barnaby, although they did threaten it).

Get his money - To fire someone for incompetence.

Shit sandwich - A phrase used to describe the human condition, i.e. "Life's a shit sandwich and every day you take another bite."

Tiger meat wrapped in barb wire - A phrase used to describe a model human physique, especially that of Jim Hall Sr.

Your arms are too short to box with God - A phrase that implies that you are too small and too weak to stand up to the powerful forces around you. See shit sandwich.

Prowling the world seeking the ruin of souls - A biblical phrase used to describe the travels of a modern women who goes shopping on a Saturday afternoon.

Crying and gnashing of teeth - A biblical phrase used to describe discomfort.

Magpie - A woman who talks too much.

Tainer - A container of coffee, usually purchased and digested between 10 and 11 a.m.

Touch-it attack - A compulsion to fiddle with things that you know you should not be fiddling with.

Burnt out - Someone who is old and heart lazy (see below).

Heart lazy - A phrase to describe someone, usually the speaker, who is truly at their very core extraordinarily lazy.

Gather up ye rosebuds - A phrase often used as one is leaving the house to remind people to take their stuff with them. Sometimes is shortened to just "rosebuds," meaning "stuff."

This week's winner - When someone is a loose look-a-like.

86 - A fanny pack often employed by tourists in beach locales.

The com - The remote control device used to flip channels on a television set.

Badabing - Definition unknown.

Rattatatat - Definition unknown.

Enthalpy - A scientific term used in common speech to describe the sensation of cool air on the forehead when one props up their baseball cap allowing circulation.

-----------Newly added----------------------------------------------------

Hangers-on - Poor people that ride your coat tails.

Dishes cups bowls labashe - A phrase often called out in advance of loading the dishwasher.

It's like eating a broken cookie - Translation: Stop complaining you spoiled little brat.

It was those hot dogs you ate at Hudson Park - If you complain of an upset stomach.

Was the ground cold when you got up this morning? - When someone looks like something the cat dragged in.

Did you walk to school or take your lunch? - A test to see if someone is paying attention.

Did your mother have any kids that lived? - See above.

Pretty good Po-T-Ay - A phrase used when someone does something stupid.

Greetin' Willy - A child that's always whiney (courtesy of Grandma Hall).

Oooo-fa - Said every time one plays golf. No clear meaning, but indicates a level of fatigue.

I'm shot - Usually followed by "I'm tired."

Don't feed the Verrini - Don't get someone all jacked up.

Jacked up - Overly excited.