I am hereby changing the subtitle of this blog to: Before 11 p.m. I actually like the idea of changing the subtitle regularly, kind of like those updates people do on Facebook, which I am always pleased to see but am too shy to do for myself for some reason. This is the same idea--changing the subtitle--but one step removed.
Oh, what a boring, dreadful idea. Woo hoo--changing my subtitles. I bore myself. The expression "get a life" comes to mind. But I am still changing the subtitle right now because it needs to be done. I cannot do the blog writing so late at night. It would be much more useful, truly, if I were fully awake when writing. Tomorrow I will write before noon.
But a little more on birthdays. It seems as though I am becoming not just my mother but my father as well--otherwise, why the inadvertent fits of nostalgia? And actually I didn't even mean to sound nostalgic, wasn't aware of the way it was sounding until I read the comments and then the entry again. And again, I feel myself wandering down the little rocky path to Generalizationville, a writer's lazy sloppy shortcut. For what I was going to write was that kids' birthday parties seem to have spiraled out of control, become extravagant showcases for parents, have so little to do with kids enjoying themselves anymore that they might as well not even show up. The kids, I mean. But of course, I live in Manhattan. I have been invited to some pretty psychotic birthday parties that certainly cost more than my own parents' wedding. But it is equally true, that here in good old NYC, home to some of the wealthiest kids in the US of A, I have been to birthday parties in people's lovely homey homes, with cakes made in the kitchen by one or both of the parents, and decorations such as cheerful balloons. In fact, I am annoyed at myself realizing that my real friends here have never thrown ostentatious extravagant birthdays that are not about kids having fun. Sometimes birthday parties need to be held outside the home because, well, apartments are small.Or just because the parents feel like paying someone else to clean up a bowling alley or bookstore or play space instead of opening their own home to destruction.
I think what happened here is that I took a real phenomenon, here in New York and elsewhere, I am sure, of fancy, out-of-control or otherwise non kid-centered birthday parties and decided to write about the phenomenon, beginning with a false contrast (although I never got to the contrast) to the misty watercolored parties of my own childhood. And the truth (oh the truth, how it hurts and doesn't always serve one's purposes) is that as a kid I went to plenty of parties at bowling alleys and movie theaters and restaurants and even roller rinks (take that, you modern kids--roller rinks!) where the cakes were bought and the money laid out, and you know what? They were really really fun. Or some of them were, if I remember correctly. I always liked bowling.
Well, I'm taking one for the team tonight. Does that make any sense? No, I don't think it does. But I think it's good if I never get used to having to post bad entries. It will keep me honest. I promise to do better, and earlier, tomorrow.
Oh, one last thing: I think what I was starting to do with the birthday party piece is forget about the layers of tissue. In other words, I was drawing what I thought a face was supposed to look like and not the actual face. Ahh.
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It was clear where you were going in the last blog. It just touched a nostalgic place in me (aside from those potato races)...and Amy, in spite of your references to your dad, as we get older there is a real place for nostalgia. That said, are over the top birthday parties the issue here, or are they a symbol of something bigger—certain parents’ need to buy anything bigger, faster, better, stronger, more impressive for their kids—or for themselves as matter of fact? Is this “conspicuous consumption” some kind of outward evidence of their perceived success? Growing up, we had plenty of kids around who were wealthier then we were, one family in particular to whom we were close had two cars (we had one for ever so long), three (yes three) houses, and trips to Florida and the Caribbean at Christmas. But in truth, back then even though as kids we were jealous, it never felt like their parents were flaunting their wealth. Their birthday parties were the same as ours; they invited us to their vacation homes, and never treated anyone in my family differently for our lack of material wealth. Yes, we whined to my parents, and their comment was always: “There will always be people with more, so don’t try to keep up with the Jones.” These days, it seems there is an epidemic of trying to "keep up with the Jones." Are the over the top birthday parties just a part of that? Or are they just plain poor taste?
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