Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The big movie premiere of “The Hunger Games” happened last week. And there was a ton of hype and media coverage surrounding this movie. Local TV stations sent talking heads to interview teenaged girls waiting for the midnight premiere.
This basically amounted to a reporter asking inane questions like, “How excited are you to see this movie?” And a teenager screaming into the mike, “I’m just, like, SO excited to see this movie!” Which was apparently the cue for all her teenaged friends surrounding her to start screeching incoherently and jumping up and down in unison. Yikes. I had to change the channel to a Seinfeld repeat.
Evidently I was not quite so exuberant when I was a teenager. Either that, or I have a faulty memory.
Nevertheless, at some point during the middle of all this coverage, it occurred to me that I have absolutely no clue what The Hunger Games is all about.
Sigh. You know what this means, don’t you? I’m old. Yes, it’s true. I’m no longer hip. No longer fresh. And the fact that I just used the words “hip” and “fresh” to discuss my with-it-ness clearly illustrates the point.
Up until now, I’ve been pretty good at keeping up with trends. I mean, I know who Nicki Minaj is and how to spell her name correctly. I’ve downloaded Adele’s latest single. I read the whole Twilight series to see what all the Team Edward vs. Team Jacob fuss was about. (Team Edward. I’m a sucker for true romance.) (Sucker. Ha. Get it?!)
And I even forced myself to watch an episode of Kourtney and Kim Take New York just so I could figure out if there were any redeeming qualities whatsoever to the whole Kardashian phenomenon. (There aren’t.)
So when the media frenzy started about the The Hunger Games I realized I was behind the times. I don’t even know the name of the author who wrote the book. Or is that plural and it’s a series of books? See. I simply don’t know.
True, I realize that it’s aimed at a MUCH younger audience. But so were the Twilight and Harry Potter series, and look how many “old” people read those books and flocked to see those movies.
I guess there just becomes a point in life where keeping up with current trends is no longer as important as it used to be. Probably it’s self-preservation. After all, if “mature” ladies walked around sporting the current fashions, like, say, those new sky-high bright color-blocked heels, they’d injure things and end up in traction. And it’s pretty hard to glam up a hospital gown, so then you’re back at square one and might as well have gone for the sensible shoes in the first place.
Plus, when you get old(er), there are bigger things to worry about. Like finding the right moisturizer lest you end up looking like a Shar Pei.
Or like wondering where you put your reading glasses so you can read your prescription bottle to find out if you’re supposed to take your pain medication with food or without food. Or like worrying about being able to retire before your 90th birthday. Or worrying that you might actually have to begin a second career as a WalMart greeter.
Personally, I tend to worry about facial hair. I can’t help it. Errant hairs have started popping up on my chin and other embarrassing places on my face where ladies are not supposed to sport facial growth. The only redeeming quality about them is that they’re either blond or white (probably the latter), so they aren’t quite as easy to see. On the other hand, they’re either blond or white, so I cannot see them to pull them out with the tweezers I’ve taken to carrying with me at all times.
So it pretty much comes down to this: All the time I used to spend keeping up with the latest in Hollywood and the New York Times bestsellers list has been usurped by tweezing. Sad, but true. And if you young’uns think it won’t ever happen to you, let me assure you. It will.
Back when I was a young’un myself (and had to walk 10 miles to school, uphill both ways, blah, blah), I used to marvel at some of the older ladies I worked with. I’d wonder if they knew they had a big blob of mascara on their right eyelid or if they’d done it on purpose. Now I realize it’s because of the whole Shar Pei thing that happens with aging eyelids. It’s hard to apply mascara properly when your eyelid is practically folded over your lash line.
What I didn’t realize then – but am very clear on now – is that older ladies really don’t care that they have a big blog of mascara on their eyelid. They figure they’re dressed and are relatively presentable. And they made some sort of effort with the mascara and all, so that should count for something.
So on with their day they go.
But sometimes they will surprise you. They might show up in a new fashion trend that won’t make them look ridiculous or cause serious injury. And they might actually read The Hunger Games to find out what all the hype is about.
Just please don't point out any stray facial hairs growing on an old(er) lady. After all, she is probably clutching those ever-ready tweezers and I suspect those suckers could do some damage...