Taking a Stance on Stance Underwear

Tags

Stance Underwear, writers, writing

 

Those of you who know me, know that I am not one to wax poetic about men’s underwear.

Will whoever just snorted kindly leave the premises?

Back to the topic of men’s underwear . . .

My husband and I were in Huntington Beach, CA recently and stopped in Jack’s Surfboards on the prowl for cute surfers, er, um, ahem, cough, I mean, cute board shorts. Jack’s is a mecca for all things beach and surfing.

A display for Stance underwear caught my eye. Not that I was in the market for men’s underwear, but the packaging and cool-surfer-dude-ness of it made me stop to look. Stance also makes jazzy socks.

I said to my husband, “Honey, this looks like incredibly comfy underwear,” which was code for, “Isn’t it time you threw out those ratty boxers you have been wearing?”

He naively took that bait and bought several pairs of said underwear. Mission accomplished.

The next morning, he opened his new box of Stance undergarments-for-males. Lo and behold, in addition to a pair of hip-and-happening boxers, a nine-inch plastic ruler was included in the box just like the prize inside of Cracker Jacks.

I kid you not.

My husband said, “Why in the world would they put such a small ruler in this box of underwear?”

Thanks to my uncanny ability to maintain a sense to decorum and composure at all times, after a mere five minutes, I was able to pick myself off the floor and wipe the tears o’laughter off my face.

It wasn’t what my husband said or how he said it. (But what he said was pretty darn funny.) What cracked me up was the thought that in the Stance corporate boardroom, someone in a suit and tie brought up the idea of including a ruler in their boxes of men’s underwear. And then the motion passed. It could be that the motion-maker had his hat on backwards and was sporting underwear-revealing saggy pants. That is probably more like it. Only in America, folks.

I have not been paid to tout the company Stance (they owe me one), but you gotta hand it to them. Putting a ruler in a package of men’s underwear is a pretty darn clever gimmick. And funny. And kinda gross.

No, I am not airing my husband’s dirty laundry. 

 

 

 

 

Moms are the Original Google

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Google, Human Google, Mom's are the original Google, New York Public Library Ask Desk, writers, writing

I recently did a mild rant HERE on how the Internet has taken over the world. I am grateful for the ability to instantly order an anti-wrinkle cream, learn about hair loss, and find out why my knee makes that weird clicking noise. I am frankly relieved I can instantly remove my crows feet with the click of a cheery “Order Here” link.

Can’t figure out how to spell the word “nausea?” Google it! Have a mysterious fungus on your hydrangea or whatever? Google it! Need to remove hard water stains on your bathroom faucet? Google it! (Or as my beloved uncle would say, “Google that up!”)

There was a lovely story on CBS This Morning about the New York City Public Library’s “Human Google.” There are real people sitting behind real desks who field real questions at the library’s “Ask Desk.” You can click here or call 917-ASK-NYPL and ask a live human being (as opposed to a dead human being) anything your little heart desires. I imagine they try to keep questions they field in the realm of PG-13 topics.

With access to tomes, research, and all things smarty-pants, the Human Google person will get you your answer! They may even consult the Internet in their quest to do your bidding. But one can assume that the person who resorts to calling Mr. or Ms. Human Google has already exhausted Mr. or Ms. Robot Google as reliable informant.

Those Human Google folks admit it might take them a tad longer than Robot Google on finding the more obscure tid-bits of information. But heck, the wait is worth it because if you have a burning need to know about monkey solicitation, wait no more!

“I am looking for a New York City law that prohibits solicitation by monkeys.”

Human Google will tell you the law dates back to 1887.

I can sleep at night now that I know that nugget of information.

In all seriousness, I think it is really cool that there is an information desk that isn’t in cyberspace.

Speaking of an information desk that is not in cyberspace (well, sorta), witness this recent text exchange with my daughter:

Daughter: “Mom, I’m going to the grocery store. What is your recipe for baked brie?”

Me: “I’m at the cabin and don’t have the baked brie recipe on me. Google it!”

Daughter: “Isn’t texting your mom the same thing as going on Google?”

So, moms are the original Human Google. Okay, dads might be too.

This post is for you, Audra, my Human Google friend!

This is Patience. Or he could be Fortitude. I always get them confused. New York Public Library needs to get them dog tags. Er, lion tags.

Boring Details

Tags

editing, editing tips, Self-editing, Show Don't Tell, writers, writing, Writing Advice, writing tips

I’ve written about this before, as have many of you writers.

When you write a manuscript for a novel, short story, poem, or whatever, you look at your words with a critical (aka incredibly harsh) eye.

Do the words say what you mean to say?

Do the words move the story along?

Are the words worthy of a reader’s time?

Are the words complete and utter drivel?

As a result of such scrutiny of my own words, I inadvertently do the same review of the words in the books I read. It has rather spoiled the pleasure of a quiet afternoon with a book (or Kindle) on my lap.

Let me give you an example of what I mean. I am reading a book with an interesting storyline, good character development, and moves along nicely. Except, and this is a big except, the author spends way too much time and ink on mundane details.

We find ourselves with our protagonist at a pivotal moment in her life. Her husband cheated on her and she learned that the man she knows as her father might not be her father. She needs to clear her head and think about the implications of these revelations. The author writes of the momentous moment as such:

“I pulled into the parking lot of Glacier Point, put the car in park, turned off the ignition, took off my seatbelt, opened the door, and walked to look at the view. I felt more calm with Half Dome before me.”

Really? Your husband cheated on you and I should care that you parked your car and took off your seatbelt? Honey, what you need is a shot of Jack Daniels.

Being the editor in my head that I am, I said to myself, “So, smarty pants, since you think you are God’s gift to writing, how would you capture the moment?”

So on a lark (you know how we writers love to write on a lark), I took a stab at capturing what the woman was feeling in the face of devastating news.

“My troubled heart longed for the peace that can be found while gazing upon serenity of Yosemite Valley. I went to Glacier Point and uncorked my bottle of wine as I walked to the edge of the cliff. Without having to mediate, a blanket of calm came over me. God’s church was before me and with that, I could begin to breathe again. Faltering breaths, but they were deeper than any I had taken in days.”

Maybe not Nobel Prize winning prose, but I would say it is better than a description of how to park a car. It is the whole “show don’t tell” thing.

If you write about someone brushing their teeth because they threw up after a drinking binge, you don’t need to tell your reader that they took the cap off the tube of toothpaste, wet the toothbrush, put toothpaste on the toothbrush, brushed their teeth, spit the foam into the sink, and then dried off their mouth.

Maybe you should write:

“With three too many martinis under my belt and an unfortunate encounter with Julio, my head felt like lead and my teeth were wearing wool sweaters. After an intimate moment with my toilet while on my knees, I turned on the bathroom light. It seared my eyes like the searchlights at Alcatraz. When I groped for my toothbrush, every prescription bottle in my medicine cabinet flew like hail over my bathroom floor. I really needed to stop drinking and dump Julio, or whatever his name is.”

The point here is if your character drank too much on an evening out, we don’t need to know the color of her toothbrush. We need to know the color of Julio’s eyes. Use your words to tell us the juicy bits.

Is it just me, or do you want to know more about this Julio dude?

That is a view that can help calm a destroyed heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our Electronic Age

Tags

Brick and Mortar Ice Age, Millennials and sex, Social Media, writers, writing

Well, folks. It is official and remember, you heard it here first.

We are living in an electronic age. Shocking, right?

Smartphones, computers, tablets, and ebooks are ubiquitous. For those of you who don’t have a dictionary app on your phone, ubiquitous is a fancy-schmancy word for everywhere.

The Internet is at our fingertips and boy, do we use it. It has changed the way we go about our daily lives. We use the Internet to make airline and dinner reservations, play games, pay bills, monitor the temperature of our house, find a life-partner or even a date, look at our lab results, correspond with friends, family, and foes, and waste countless hours watching cute puppy videos on YouTube. Guilty as charged, Your Honor.

The way we communicate with others is drastically different than it was just a few years ago. We “talk” to our friends via FaceBook, Instagram, Snapchat, LinkedIn, Twitter, blog posts, email, and texting. Sure, we still pick up the phone, but now it is to get on the Internet in order to avoid having an actual conversation with an actual person.

They (I have no idea who the ‘they’ are) say we are entering the Brick and Mortar Store Ice Age. Why go to the mall when you can shop and compare prices online without having to leave the comfort of your La-Z-Boy lounger? Your purchase arrives on your doorstep practically as soon as you log-off and shipping was probably free.

I fly a great deal and I am still astonished to see that most people in the airport and on the airplane are staring at an electronic device. When I see someone reading a real book, I want to welcome them to the 21^st century.

I am not saying that all of the above is a bad thing. This electronic age has helped propel rapid technological breakthroughs, reunited family members and old friends, and with the help of WebMD, we can now all diagnose our elbow cancer without the aid of a medical professional.

But not all of it is a great thing either. With this rather faceless way to communicate, bullies can become brazen, inappropriate comments or photos can be forwarded, and terrorists can learn how to make a bomb with a few quick keystrokes. I’m sure all of you are thinking, “Yeah, and Robin can write another boring blog post.”

I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. But read on to find out something you may not know.

An article in today’s paper was about a possible unexpected outcome of the invention of the Internet. But when you really think about it, it isn’t that surprising.

The journal Archives of Sexual Behavior published a study that showed that young millennials (those born in the early 1990s) are half as sexually active in their 20s than previous generations. Yes, that means they are more sexually inactive.

Various experts weighed in on the possible causes of this dramatic decline in romantic sex and just plain hook-ups. Let’s look at a few . . .

• Women are feeling more empowered to say, “Hands off, buddy,” from all of the high-profile sexual harassment stories in the news and discussions in school and at home.
• Because people are primarily communicating with electronics, they have trouble forming person-to-person romantic connections.
• Unrealistic expectations of body image cause women to shy away from sexual experiences.
• They were the first to grow up in the era of smartphones and are leery of getting close to someone in case they become cyberbullied and sexually harassed via any number of electronic outlets.
• Drunken college hook-ups are no longer viewed as a scandalous way to rebel. It is merely a tawdry way to lose your reputation and get an STD.
• They have been pressured by helicopter-moms to excel in school and then in their careers so are unfamiliar with having the downtime it takes to get to really know someone and fall in love, or fall in bed.
• When they are alone with someone, both parties are usually looking at their smartphone or computer screen.
• Porn is quicker and accessible.
• There is an increase in the use of antidepressants, which can deaden emotions and curtail sex drive.
• Their parents are from the generation of free-love and high divorce rates. Staying away from romantic relationships is safer.

I have to say that all of that makes perfect sense, but I suspect that the biggest thing causing the drop in physical sex is the Internet and the way kids now communicate. Staring into a boy’s eyes on his FaceBook page isn’t nearly as romantic as staring into the depth of his soul on the backseat of his parents’ car.

On a semi-related side note, there is a sign in my neighborhood advertising “Social Skills Classes for High Schoolers.” That is the problem with social media . . . ironically, it is killing real social skills.

Even my dog in addicted to the Internet.