Citizen Mom

Can A "Broad Street Stomp" Version Of "The Bristol Stomp" Be Far Behind?

Today's entry in the white-hot musical subgenre one likes to call Phillies 2009 World Series Rally Tunes is "Parading Down Broad Street," a Phils-centric homage to the 1967 hit "Boogaloo Down Broadway" by The Fantastic Johnny C. The new version is by a West Chester-based band Lost In Paris, and I can dig it. Funky Broad Street!

Hat tip to Cheryl!

PS: I wasn't kidding about the "Broad Street Stomp." Somebody get The Dovells on the phone.

Enough, or, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Enough of parents using their kids as foils for their reality-TV moneymaking schemes.

Enough of parents who treat their kids, and their home life, as revenue streams.

It's bad enough that most TV networks are so willing to serve us up the "drama" of reality TV when others are still spending money on good writing and acting. It's craven enough in these Depression-esque times, becoming famous for nothing more than how much humiliation you're willing to take, or how tacky you can be, or who you're knocked up by, is a career aspiration. But enough with the kids.

And we watch these shows why? Is it really entertaining to watch people fuck up their lives, to gasp in horror at secrets laid bare? I wonder, sometimes even as I'm watching. It's fine, I guess, among consenting adults.

But enough of the Falcon Heenes, the Kylie Kardashians, the Plus Eight, those innumerable Duggars, all those children skittering around in front of the cameras as their childhoods erode before our eyes. Reality TV is obviously the most significant recent alteration of the TV landscape, and the best shows are entertaining and enlightening. Some even manage to be silly and educational. The lesser ones are nothing more than televised freak shows. Worst of all are the ones in which kids are the freaks.

I mentioned this on Twitter and Facebook, but I'm saying it again here: I will boycott any producer who works with the Heenes on a reality TV show and any network that would air it.

Stop turning me into Helen Lovejoy, dammit.

'I would bang him like a screendoor in a tornado.'

via www.youtube.com

Jayson Werth + Exercise ball + Porn-tastic soundtrack

Thank you, Internets.

Phils-Dodgers, 8 p.m.
Enjoy the game, ladies.

No Wonder My Happy Heart Sings

via www.youtube.com

Look at that jacket. That's class, baby.

Alfred Cini, aka Al Martino, died Tuesday -- just hours after having dinner with the Geator Monday night in South Phils! The hand of God, people.

Patrick Swayze Caps Summer Of Celeb Death

Before he was ever Johnny Castle in Dirty Dancing, or whatever his name was in Ghost, Patrick Swayze was Darrell, big brother to Ponyboy and Sodapop in The Outsiders. He died Monday at age 57.

Film Shooting In Wildwood, We Have No Reason To Believe Robert Hays Will Star

Via the Twitter: Morey's Piers will host an independent film crew this weekend and they're looking for extras willing to ride the tram car for food. (Here, twist my arm.) Morey's won't reveal the name of the film yet but "We can tell you that it involves a tram car being driven by a well known female actor..." and that the piers themselves "will have a starring role!"

For details about the shoot, scheduled for Saturday, Sept. 19, email Lindsey.Young@moreyspiers.com and tell 'em Citizen Mom sentcha.

[MoreysPiers]

Prospect Park West: Sex in the City + Stroller

Sohn's novel lampoons a specific neighborhood - the ultra-yuppie, ultra-P.C, ultra-stroller-mobbed-out, beyond-parody Brooklyn neighborhood that's a byword for "smugness" and nice houses in the tri-State area. But she could just as easily be talking about parent populations all across the country - and online. These are the women who populate the "momopshere," those fabled helicopter parents who assume everyone shares the same level of fascination with their children's diets and can afford to worry about the provenance of a cloth diaper.

via jezebel.com[

I'm using this as a way to test the remote posting device on my TypePad blog, so forgive me if this comes out looking crappy.

OK here's the thing about this book: It's readable, and funny in spots, yet awful in that way a book so clearly written to be picked up for a TV show can be. This is what I imagine a Jennifer Weiner TV show would be like, except there'd be a fat chick whereas in this book there's one chubby woman, who also happens to be a complete psychotic freak. If you ever wondered whether the Sex and the City ladies would be as annoying as at-home moms as they are as singletons, the answer is yes. Also, at this point in 2009, the lux goods worship and obsessive wealth seems dated.

When I finished Prospect Park West, I gave it to my mom to read last Saturday at the Shore. "You can probably get through this tonight," I said. "Tell me if it's my imagination."

The next afternoon when we returned from the beach, she said "Yeah, I finished this one. The bit with her burning her hair off was good but it reads like it's a TV script or something."

Like I said, it'll make for pretty TV and cast properly it could be a "thirtysomething"-like phenomenon. But dropping lots of pop cultural and brand references (and there are too many in this book to count) into a book is not exactly the same as writing one. Or is it (see Mad Men)? 

And while there certainly are women who inhabit the same demographic and political structure as these women -- except perhaps Melora Leigh, an Oscar-winning actress married to a philandering Australian hottie -- none of them seem even vaguely real. There's plenty of internal dialogue and glances toward the usual parenting neuroses, but nothing that feels genuine.

UPDATE: Author Amy Sohn has a beef with anonymous, mean-spirited bloggers, even the ones who don't write anonymously and who actually read their entire book before writing a review. Sometimes the book just isn't very good, hon.

Thought Bubble

Let's decode:

BIDEN: Who is that? Wilson? Dumbass. If not for the Botox you could see me making a really ugly face at you right now.

PELOSI: <gasp!> Joseph Wilson, don't make me pull this joint session over and smack the crap out of you! Don't test me.

OBAMA: See? This is what I'm talking about.

I also love the sign holding, it was equal parts kindergarten and Latrice Bryant. Rep. Wilson has apologized, but his website is still down, and he remains the highest trending topic on Twitter, though I'm not sure how much that actually means these days, with spammers running rampant there.

Go Fourth

 

A little Independence Day tale: Above is my bike, a vintage Schwinn Breeze, half of a matched his-hers set procured a few summers ago from the St. Anthony's Tag Sale shop on Bayshore Road. It is, as they say, a beaut -- great condition, no rust, made in Chicago decades ago for some girl whose parents probably bought the bikes from the Liberty Bell Bicycle shop on Frankford Avenue. (Both bikes have intact stickers from the shop.) I don't know the exact year of its manufacture, nor how the bikes made their way to the Villas and into my favorite junque shop.

What I did know is that my beloved ride had one major flaw, a bent spring in the saddle that made it feel like one of your cheeks was perpetually sliding off to the left. Easy enough to fix, so off to Target we go for a new seat (pictured). It's a fancy one, too, a nice cushy Schwinn with two pillows right under your butt bones for maximum Mom-ass comfort.

Made in China, of course.

Anyway, before I go all Lou Dobbs on you, go out and have a great holiday. Make it a Fourth of July worth of a bike parade.

Love,

Yr Mom

Tanned, Rested and Ready

Oh hello, poopies!
No, Citizen Mom hasn't abandoned you, in fact I'm just back from a few days at the Shore and ready to settle into the summer. Too much news has happened to try to re-cap or snark on it all, but if you've been following my Twitter stream you know where my head's been at, as it were. If it seemed, for a while, that Twitter was killing my blog, it was half my own doing. The instant gratification of social media is addicting in its convenience. And it's been fascinating to watch the hemorrhagic growth of Twitter in the two years I've been using it. 
I'm also fascinated by social media's impact on journalism, though I'm one of those people who thinks it's still way too early to do anything but observe, participate and make reasoned guesses. All these pronouncements make my head hurt.
Right now, I'm lining up things to write about this week (got an idea, suggestion, invitation? citizenmom (at) gmail.com), wondering what to cook for dinner and warming up my blogging muscles with some good old-fashioned blogbuzzdancepop. Mangia!

Passion Pit, "The Reeling." They're at the Sweat Lodge, er, First Unitarian Church on Aug. 15.

A.M. Paper, 'Afternoon Delight'

"Afternoon Delight with John Thornton," in which a dude with seriously hairy back doffs his bathrobe and gets cozy with the Sunday Philadelphia Inquirer. Perhaps too cozy. I'll never hear the words "Trudy Rubin" in quite the same way again.
What, no Santorum?

Hat tip to @ckrewson

YOUTUBE: "Afternoon Delight with John Thornton."

Because The Only Thing Better Than A Sweaty Beard Is A Sandy, Sweaty Beard

As if you even needed one, here's another good reason to spend this coming July 4 in Cape May: As part of celebrations marking the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson's sail up the Delaware Bay, the city is holding a beard-growing contest. For "The Frolic Of The Beards," men will be judged in four categories: Most Authentic Henry Hudson Style (pictured, left), Longest, Scraggliest and Best Overall Beard.

It's a throwback to the 350th anniversary to-do; the hirsute fellas pictured above are the 1959 contestants. These guys were all probably locals, but the rules don't specify who can enter, only "males, 18 and over, goatees and full beards." I'm thinking a team of Fishtowners with a summer house could pull off an upset if everybody stops shaving now.

 Details and  contest application are here.

Nobody Puts Dora In A Corner

A big tip o' the tam today to Good Day Philadelphia on this one:

Nickelodeon has released this image of Tween Dora to soothe the fears of parents like me, who were worried our beloved Latina explorer girl was being sexed up too much. The fears were based, in part, on the unfortunate silhouette the network released, which was supposed to keep the mystery alive until the toy's launch later this year, but instead made Boots' best friend look like something on the back of a mudflap. 

So OK, she doesn't look sexy per se, but I'm still unhappy about the message this whole situation sends to little girls. Little-girl Dora is smart, courageous, ambitious, focused on teaching kids about problem-solving. Tween Dora's most important feature seems to be that you can plug her into the computer and change her eye color and jewelry. Oh, and take her shopping!

Yet another reminder to our girls that it's great to be smart and clever when you're a kid, but "growing up" means forgetting all that and becoming just another Barbie.

I'm still hoping for the best from this -- after all, it's important our girls know it's OK to be smart and pretty, and that life isn't all about following Maps and watching out for Swiper. But I am not confident.

PREVIOUSLY: 'Tween Dora: All She Needs Is A Mudflap

REUTERS: Tween "Dora" Won't Be A Bad Girl

YAHOO! NEWS: Soothing Dora

BAD NEWS: It's Like Magic!

Somebody owes the Inquirer's Bob Moran an apology.
No, not somebody: Steve Keeley owes Bob Moran an apology.

For nearly a half-hour, as the verdicts in the Vince Fumo corruption trial rolled in earlier, the Fox29 reporter stood on the street in front of the courthouse reading Moran's liveblog from inside the courtroom, which was streaming on philly.com. Without ever actually attributing his "source," Keeley repeatedly leaned over for a closer look at his laptop, which was perched on the hood of a car to his left, reading details word-for-word on the air. The words popped up on screen, then *poof*! popped right out of Keeley's mouth, just like magic.

Twice, anchor Sheinelle Jones -- possibly hearing me screeching straight across the Twitterverse about the plagiarism-in-progress that was happening -- did try to clarify that the station was getting information from Philly.com. But only once once did Keeley haltingly point out he was reading from philly.com and he couldn't be bothered to say it was Moran's work, despite the fact that every update on the liveblog started with the words "Robert Moran:" That kind of obfuscation takes work, people.

Now that we're all finished debating whether Jon Stewart's a journalist, how about we start asking whether our journalists are journalists. It shouldn't be for me to defend the Inquirer's honor, but the paper pays my husband's salary so one could say it's out of sheer self-interest that I'm picking this bone. Then again, you could say it's because I'm a blogger who's frankly sick of hearing how bloggers are ripping off the newspapers. At least bloggers give the courtesy of a link. Or if you like, say I'm angry as someone who's trying to teach journalism students that they're committing their lives to a worthy profession, one with, y'know, rules and ethics and whatnot.

Does belated, half-assed attribution excuse Fox29 from ripping off the newspaper's reporting even as it was happening? And why have an anchor then keep going back to Keeley asking for more info when she could have been checking the liveblog herself right from the desk?

I know, I know, you're wondering why I'm getting all bothered by the quality of local TV news -- what am I expecting, right? Simple: I actually like Fox29's news operation and appreciate especially how they've embraced Twitter and used it to connect with their audience. They asked for feedback, and to their credit, they paid attention. Well, Sheinelle did, anyway.

Remember "Don't Stand So Close To Me '86"?

No? Perhaps you wisely blocked it out. Seems Bono has, too.

I love U2 and all but I'm pretty sure that when you start talking seriously about wanting to go back and re-work the albums that made you the world's biggest rock band, it means you're officially out of new ideas. From Reuters, via Washington Post:

SOMERVILLE, Massachusetts - Irish band U2 gave a prelude to its upcoming world tour with a brief private show on Wednesday for just 950 fans who got a chance to make news by asking the band some tough questions.

Among the revelations from the banter with the crowd: U2 is considering reworking and re-releasing some early work including its debut album "Boy" released in 1980 that included U2's first big hit "I Will Follow."

"I would love to sing that album again and finish that," said lead singer Bono. He said they were rushed from the studio producing "Boy" because they "couldn't afford another hour."

"The early records, there's some beautiful songs that feel a little bit unfinished to us," he said.

Pressed on what he'd like to change, the Irish rocker singled out his "phony English accent" on "Boy."