Ready for his closeup...

I'm sure we've all been frustrated by government bureaucracy at some point. How can we be (arguably) the most powerful nation on earth, yet have our entire presidential election process yield a questionable result because of sloppy hole punching and antiquated voting machines? Why is filing tax returns so difficult that most people have to hire a professional to have confidence that a mistake hasn't been made? Making sickly and elderly folks navigate medicare? Don't get me started.

So here's one that cracks me up. Why are photos required for infant passports? Brendan will no longer look like his photo even by the time the booklet arrives in the mail. I'm all for airport security, but this passport will be valid for five years. He'll still be sporting this document through kindergarten. Am I the only one who thinks this is silly?

Going postal

Am I so impressionable?

Did you know that advertising is one of the most reviled professions in the world? Right behind lawyers? Are you pretending to be surprised? It's ok. I don't take it personally. We are, after all, the people trying to convince your children that they need sugar cereal. And the little snipets of film that show you the softer side of Philip Morris? Yep. That's us.

I am here to tell you, however, that we do not use subliminal messaging to brain wash you. I'm always asked if we do. Perhaps people are ashamed to admit they are indeed persuaded by the shamefully blatant pleas we bombard you with. They wish to believe there is a greater force at work. One against which they are powerless. Sorry, dude. You plunked down 60 Gs for that Hummer because the ad said it might make you appear more powerful. By the way, feeling powerful at $4+ a gallon?*

Anyway, I've never believed in the effectiveness of subliminal messaging or brainwashing, until I pondered the potential connectedness of recent events through the rear view mirror.

Event One:
As you all know, we embarked on a kitchen renovation toward the end of the third trimester of my pregnancy. It turned our apartment upside down and left us largely confined to our bedroom. We watched a lot of Law & Order SVU marathons.

Event Two:
I don't believe in revealing names under consideration for unborn children. It invites unwanted opinions on an entirely subjective topic. The only votes that count are the mom and dad's (well, let's face it - really only mom's counts). Once you announce the name, no one is going to tell you they don't like it. But now I can tell you, after reading through the entire "100,000 Baby Names" book and months of consideration with a painstaking process involving post it notes, we narrowed girl names down to Alexandra and Olivia. (In case there is another Baby Voltz someday, no negative comments please).

Subliminal Connection?
Only later did I realize the names of the two lead females on SVU...

Detective Olivia Benson

Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot

Also note, I did buy the stick up bulb.




* By the way, I don't mean to sound entirely cynical about advertising. I think it also does plenty of public good. Like the Dove work I've written about which challenged beauty norms. Or like the Mac work which opened up people's options. Or like the mini work, which made small cars cool. Or like the Target work that made affordable fashionable. I could go on...

Fighting the tedium of victory

Tiger won another major. It's almost as though they don't need to play these things anymore. Just give the trophy to Mr. Woods.

Except that this one was interesting.

The 108th US Open should have ended yesterday, but Tiger and Rocco Mediate shared a score at the end of the day. So they met this morning for another go around the field. Lo and behold, another 18 holes later: still tied. Mediate finally yielded after the first sudden death hole, and Tiger was hoisting that gleaming cup just a few minutes later. I admit, I was rooting for the other guy. I had several reasons:

1. Rooting against Tiger is a family tradition
2. I really wanted the US Open to be won by a guy named Rocco
3. Had he won, Mediate would have been the oldest guy to ever win the US Open (have to root for the geezer since my husband and I just had our first child at nearly 47 and 37, respectively)
4. Had Mediate won he also would have been the first guy to beat Tiger when Woods came into the Final in the lead
   

Having said all that, Tiger was greeted by his almost one year old daughter, Sam, before accepting the trophy, and that little girl is absolutely gorgeous. She was dressed in finals red, just like her dad.

If you harbor fantasies of winning a tournament yourself, reserve a spot in The Bud Traynor Classic. It's being played on July 21st at Bethpage - home of the 2002 and 2009 US Open. Click here for a peak at last year's event.

Brendan watching his first Major (he slept through The Masters)

If it's Sunday...

...it's Meet the Press.

I have been watching Meet the Press every Sunday for about 15 years. I loved almost nothing better than sipping a cup of coffee while watching Tim Russert methodically chip away at whomever he had on the hot seat that week. He was always unbelievably prepared and would never let his guests off the hook. Yet civility was always preserved. In a world of 24/7 cable news, Russert's style utterly lacked sensation in a way that made the truth more clear.

Aside from his masterful ability as an interviewer, he always came across as a genuinely good guy. Someone who loved his family fiercely and remained true to his humble beginnings despite the awesome power he had earned. It sounds strange, but I feel like I knew him (not to mention Big Russ and Luke). So I was so stunned today when I heard of his death at the age of 58. I immediately turned on MSNBC and literally wept as I listened to coverage of today's sad events.

Sunday mornings are feeling less engaging already. How can we possibly hold this election without him...

I would keep that in mind if I didn't think you were crazy...

I can't believe it's been so long since I wrote. I have serious writer's block. I never did manage to write up those last few Bachelor episodes. It's so after the fact at this point that it hardly seems relevant (not that it was ever relevant, but that wasn't the point, was it?).

Don't worry - motherhood hasn't cured me of my love for vapid, trashy TV. In fact, I have been watching The Bachelorette, although, its utter lack of catty psycho drama makes it a much more boring version of this genre. For example, a would-be husband recently told DeAnna that he wanted her to know he was "very engaged in this process." This as opposed to that crazy pyscho Kelly who revealed her feelings for Matt The Bach by flashing him Mardi Gras style. I ask you, which is more entertaining?

Anyway, I think I can attribute my lack of writing inspiration to living the tedious life of a new mother. I don't think posting the fact that my kid pooped two more times today than he did yesterday would be interesting to anyone. Not even to me. But I've got nothing else goin' on. Hence, the writer's block.

The only remotely noteworthy interaction I've had occurred recently in, where else, a Starbucks. I was confronted with the reminder that New Yorkers will butt into anyone's business. I usually appreciate the bluntness and interpret it as a form of affection - just imparting friendly advice. This time, I was less than receptive.

Random woman in Starbucks upon peering into Brendan's stroller: "When was he born?"

Feeling like a proud momma: "Six weeks ago."

With an air of certainty: "Oh. He was premature."

Not appreciating the woman's know-it-all tone: "No, he wasn't."

Condescendingly: "Well, he's very tiny..." [no, actually, he's completely within normal parameters according to my pediatrician's ridiculously detailed growth charts.] I see a raised eyebrow cast my way and I know this conversation is about to take an even more unwelcome turn. "...Are you breastfeeding?"

How did this conversation devolve so quickly? Is this even remotely her business? Grande iced latte now in hand, I quickly start to wheel toward the door. As I retreat, I smile and cheerily reply, "Yes I am. Have a good day!"

Not willing to let me off the hook, the random woman actually attempted to summon me back: "Come here. I want to tell you something."

Is she kidding? I cut this off at the pass and bolted: "No, thanks. I'm good. Enjoy the afternoon."

Can't a girl just get a latte in peace?