advice from Beulah

The year is 1933 -- my grandmother Ruth is about 19 years old and she's at the movies with three of her best friends (who I believe she met at college).

The movie is "I'm No Angel" by Mae West* and Ruthie and her three friends are giggling through the beginning, middle, and end of the movie, I'm sure -- they were gigglers.

* (the pseudonym I'd use all through my 20s as my bowling ID, the name I'd sign affectionately to friends in letters, and a name I'd occasionally tell a drunk frat guy at the bar to get him off my case--not realizing the connection between Mae, my grandmother and me)

But it was these lines between Mae and her maid that would stay with her forever, passed down to me through laughter for many years:
Mae West: Oh, Beulah
Beulah: Yes, ma'am?
Mae West: Beulah, darling, peel me a grape.

Ruthie and her friends thought this line was so hysterical that for the next seventy years, they would all refer to each other solely as "Beulah." There are at least two living Beulah's today-- my grandmother passed away in her early 90s, and my second favorite Beulah is 95 and just told my mom on the phone that she finds it odd how hard of hearing and "noisy" the "elderly people at her retirement are." She says that eating dinner with them is like watching the "who's on first?" routine and she finds it so amusing that she has to eat with a straight face and then go back to her small apartment to dissolve into giggles at the absurdity and redundancy of senile conversations.
My mother asked if Beulah had a kitchen in her apartment.
"No," she replied, "and I like eating with others, anyway. I do have a mini-fridge but it's not much."
Mom asked, "is that just for your little snacks?"
Beulah, totally seriously, replied "no dear, it's for my vodka tonics."

Beulah, when I knew her, had a cone-shaped perm of red hair and wore a slightly mis-matched but radiantly Tim Burton red lipstick. She's probably all of 4'7" tall, at the most, with a petite but fiercely funny and alive personality. I barely know her, but I love her dearly.

My mom was amazed by how coherent and sharp Beulah was on the phone-- she's 95 and hasn't skipped a beat. Apparently she only paused momentarily to think of a couple words, one being "transcript" and the other was something like "happenstance."

Beulah said she was sad that she had to live in a retirement community and that she would prefer to still be at home, but her neices and nephews were concerned and wanted her there. Mom asked what it was like now that she had moved.
Beulah's answer touched me-- she said that although it wasn't her first choice, she was very happy. She thinks it's important to be happy with what you're doing, and see it with eyes that that's where you are, and it's meaningful. Find meaning where you are...

"the true voyage of discovery..."

Beulah really means it, and although I learned of her philosophy indirectly through my mom, the romantic in me feels like it was a small gift from Beulah and my grandmother to me.

I've been having a really hard time with anxiety and "big picture" thinking lately... while I feel happy, and am trying very, very hard to "do the right thing" with who and where I am, there is no subtlety to the feelings I have and the overt statements from some of my extended family and friends that "I should be elsewhere... doing something more with my life."

My philosophy so far has been to accept that thought, feel it, consider it, and store it away. I'm trying to accept where I am and what I do. I'm repeating to myself that the grass is always greener and if I leave, it's purely for cerebral reasons and visions of grandeur more than a palpable dream. But every time I drive through the roads of my childhood to see my family or friends... every time I see an old peer at a restaurant or show... it's a small sting that I haven't left the place that I so desperately wanted to leave from childhood through my high school graduation.

Beulah's advice makes me want to cry. I can't remember the exact way she put it, but just her firm emphasis that she's not wallowing-- she's LIVING damnit, and we should be, too -- is one I need to learn from. Especially considering how much more she's experienced and loved and lost and learned on this earth than me.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and feel like my face is aging more than it should be. Partially because the media tells me I'm supposed to have the complexion of a fetus, but also because it's changing in some ways. Sometimes I feel like the stress I feel inside is inevitably hurting my body, and the stress that I have because I'm feeling stress is just pathetically adding on to that. And I want to have radiant skin, healthy organs, and a heart that will beat away until my healthy mid 90s.

I want to live a life that's as happy as the happiness I experience every day, whether it's for an hour or 12 hours. I'm a sensitive and anxious but deeply happy and appreciative person, which is a weird and almost impossible combination.

There's something so magical to me about the 95 Mae West impersonator finding humor in "those old people" in her building. And accepting her situation with a full and sincere heart. No matter where we are, we can choose to live our lives consciously, or begrudgingly.

This year, I want to learn how to breathe more deeply-- how to let things roll off my back more easily. I want to adopt more grace and inner strength. I want to continue to feel overwhelmed by the happy moments I have with Tom, my family, my friends, and no matter how sappy it's made me this year, I want to keep experiencing this level of intensely happy and grateful love that I've finally found.
Looking back, it's clear to me how deeply unhappy and claustrophobic I get when I'm unable to vent my worries, especially the deep-down frightening ones... and when I'm unable to express, feel, or receive the heart-tugging joy that really emerges when you love something with your whole heart.

The shmaltz has been turned on. Uhgain.

I'm so appreciative for Beulah's words, and for her spirit. I so hope to be like her, my grandmother, and my mother when I am older.

ugh. at the beach.

the email I wrote, 4/07/09 at 7:57am

To whom it may concern,

I'm writing in hopes of reaching your customer service and/or advertising departments.

I have never written an email or letter complaining to a company before, but your current (animated) commercials are so problematic that I feel very strongly about reaching someone at At the Beach Tanning to voice my concerns.

As a video producer and advertising copywriter, I understand the gimmicks in the television business very well, and it's obvious why your company chose to have an animated woman with a thick, strange voice describing your tanning services. This isn't a case of someone writing to you who 'just doesn't get advertising'. But your commercials are so offensive that my skin crawls when they come on.

My first concern is the volume of your commercials. They are so loud that I have actually had to change the volume of my television in the morning-- I keep the volume moderately low to begin with, but loud enough that I can hear it when I'm in the next room getting ready for work in the morning. Because of your commercials, and your commercials alone, I can no longer listen to shows while I'm in the next room because your volume is SO much louder than the rest of
commercials and TV shows that it will bother my neighbors in my apartment building. It's absurdly loud. I've never had this problem, but thanks to At the Beach, I can't even watch television before work now.

Also, the 'gimmick' of having your animated character swear so much that her words have to be censored-- well, I'd rather watch someone having a root canal trying to sell me their services. It's so annoying that I've had friends leap up from my couch in the middle of our conversation in an attempt to find the remote control or get to the television to turn it off because it's the most annoying commercial we've ever heard.

I volunteer with young foster children, and if one of them was at my home when this commercial came on, I would not only find this idiotic, bronzed, swearing cartoon character too embarrassing to let the kids watch, but I would also feel deeply disappointed that they had to see
a cartoon character act like this. Children shouldn't have to see animated characters dropping words that are so offensive, they have to be censored... especially kids whose only escape from the harsh language they get at home is often through things like animated shows on television. I've honestly heard other people complaining about this commercial, too-- co-workers
have even brought it up on more than one occasion during our lunch break because they saw it before work, and at 1pm, they're still annoyed enough to remember it. This isn't a way to generate business-- it's just a way to link your company name with mediocrity.

I hope that you will add these concerns to the other negative feedback you've collected about this e-mail campaign, because your commercial isn't just something that I don't care for-- it literally raises my blood pressure from how annoying and moronic it is. I'm sure that At the Beach can come up with a campaign that increases your client base without making the rest of us
have to get ready for work in silence every morning. I don't like writing a negative email, but I'm sure you can come up with a campaign that promotes your services and touts the talents of your hard-working employees... I'm writing to ask you to please withdraw the loud, language-bleeped series that you currently have running on television.
And please, please, TURN DOWN THE VOLUME. No one likes to be yelled at.

Thank you,

Jane Simmons


The response:

from At The Beach, Inc. to Jane date Tue, Apr 7, 2009 at 8:52 AM subject Re: current At The Beach commercials

Ms. Simmons,

I would fist like to say Thank You for your email. Although it definitely was to point, it was also constructive instead of nasty and argumentative. I have received numerous emails about this particular commercial because of what seems to be censored profanity. This commercial is currently under review by our marketing team. This commercial is not censored in Oklahoma because it does not contain profanity or at least the commercial played in Oklahoma does not. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you and anyone else who is dipleased by the content. I would like to further note that because your email is very professional I will be forwarding a copy to our President and Vice President as well as other corporate employees that have the power to remedy the situation. I have notified them of the numerous emails I have received in the past due to this commercial but never received one I could forward with confidence.

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xxxx xxxxxxx
Customer Servce
At The Beach Inc. - Corporate Headquarters


the amazing update:
I never, ever heard that commercial again.

Even tonight, as I'm wrapped in blankets trying to finish some work with some left-over sleepy crankiness from only getting a couple hours of sleep on Friday... when an At The Beach commercial just started playing on whatever station is playing in the background, it was so much quieter than the show & other commercials that I thought my set had turned itself off.

Behold. The power of a well-timed rant. (Or at least the power of wanting to believe you had anything to do with something that turned out nicely)

mmm.

and I hear in my mind, all this music...

...and it breaks my heart
and it breaks my heart

Last night, Tom, Thad, Josh & I went to see Regina Spektor at the Fillmore. I got tix about 3 months ago, so it had sort of been in the back of my mind since then, and with all the turmoil I've been feeling this month I hadn't really been thinking about the show.

And then Regina blew into our lives and unexpectedly transformed my night into something that felt like solid joy.

To me, Regina is the musician equivalent of Meryl Streep as an actress-- in an industry that tends to lean toward vanity and self-consciousness, Regina's genuine qualities shine in a way that is rare. She lives and breathes music, and her gift is rare and magical. As Tom once read in an interview, when someone asked why she makes strange vocal sounds in a song, she seemed perplexed-- "that's because it's how the song goes". She isn't afraid to leap up an octave and then down two; to use her voice to emulate a drum snare; to end a note with the snap of a whip. She immerses herself in the music and the delicious experiment of making music with her voice, her hands; with pianos and guitars and a drumstick against the seat of the chair, and even holding a microphone and singing a capella jazz without a pindrop of sound anywhere else except her voice as a white spotlight floods light from above and clouds her in glitter.

Her performance was amazing. She's one of the few artists whose show not only reminds you why you love that artist, but she takes what you love about her music and turns the volume up full-blast. She gives you new takes on the tracks you've memorized and reminds you that music is an organic medium-- the song is as unique as the night, the audience, and the whims of the musician.

The music was great enough on its own, but what was even better was being there with Tom-- even just being out on the town made everything fresh and awake and aware. Hearing an artist that we love so much together, especially one he loves so much, was really special to me. I felt so close to him and happy. When the show started, Tom wrapped his arms around me and let me rest my head on his chest, and we stayed like that until the last note of the encore. It was one of the sweetest moments I've experienced since my birthday when we curled up in his chair together and listened to Neil Young's live sessions by the light of a tea candle, silently acknowledging the fact that somehow, maybe even that night-- surrounded by mp3 files and sleeping bassets and carrot cake with "extra ingredients"-- we had just started a relationship.

It was everything that a weekend should be-- it was wonderful. She sang with her heart and I listened with mine.

And as all weekends usually end, now I'm home,writing incredibly nauseating and sappy thoughts, unable to even think straight because of the profoundly loud bass that's been booming out of my neighbor's apartment for more than 5 hours, curled on the couch feeling anxious about work and bittersweet that the magical moments on Saturday nights have to meld into Reality by Sunday afternoon.

It's the peaks that make the pits bearable. Said the blue-eyed girl..



*Silly Eye Color Generalizations*

There are those boys with earthly eyes
Their eyes are like the ground
You walk and walk
Kicking up dirt
But they don't make a sound

And when they kiss you, they sometimes leave 'em open
Just to make sure you don't drown
Yeah, the sweetest eyes
The truest eyes are
Probably dark brown

There are those boys with golden hazel eyes
The color of weak tea
They spend their nights howlin' at the moon
To let go of the sea

The scope of their depth is terrifying, thrilling
You think you're finally free
When they capture you
'Cause golden eyes are as sticky as
Honey from a bee
I'm drownin'

But those with blue
I shouldn't trust
'Cause I myself have blue
You fall for them so easy
You think you see right through

You take a leap, thinking blue water is deep
When suddenly it's just grey rain
Then puddles at your feet
They freeze to dirty ice
But somehow they'll melt back to clean blue water once again
Confusing.

Blue eyes, they change like the weather
Blue sea, blue sky, blue pain
I wouldn't trust my own blue-eyed reflection
As far as I can throw that mirror
Bum bum bum

But these are just silly eye color generalizations
You shouldn't believe a word I've said
'Cause when you're lying in your bed
Darkness 'round your head
Your eyes might as well be polka-dotted or plaid
Polka-dotted
Or
Plaid

the rescuers

exhibit (a): one of my all-time favorite movies. my favorite couple, tied with Cliff & Clair Huxtable. these two have inspired me from as far back as I have memories.


exhibit (b): my favorite Halloween date ever. adventurers for life.

exhibit (c): my sweet Bernard.

I'm not sure if a girl should be allowed to have her favorite movie and her favorite boyfriend combine forces on one of her favorite days of the year, but somehow I got away with it!

I dearly love this mouse. He is the Bernard to my Bianca, and I have never treasured anything more.