All posts tagged: Age Appropriate

How Flying on a Trapeze Helped Me Defy My Age

I twist and turn my way up four sets of metal stairs. Breathless, I finally reach the roof. The sun hits my eyes, obscuring the blue sky momentarily. When my eyes adjust I see a man swinging back and forth from a narrow bar, the skyline of New York in the background. Muscular legs wrap around the bar, his arms and shoulder-length blonde hair hanging free. Finally I spy the sign: Trapeze School New York. I stand next to my boyfriend. He is 29. I am turning 45. Today. When I told him I wanted to go on the trapeze for my birthday, I thought he’d pick me up afterward and take me to dinner. Instead, he wanted to come. Reluctantly, I let him. We’d already talked children (I’m too old, neither of us are interested) and managed late-night concerts (I went home at midnight, he at dawn). And yet, I was still afraid he didn’t realize what my age really meant. That I was at risk for osteoporosis and a host of older-age ailments. That …

I’m The Embarrassing Parent I Never Wanted To Be

Valerie’s dad in his finest. (Photo courtesy Valerie Medina) You know the look. The I-can’t-believe-you-just-did-that look. The one that makes you feel like no matter how tiny your infraction, your teenager will forever remember this embarrassing moment. The problem is, it’s challenging for me to refrain from breaking into song-and-car-dance when Uptown Funk (or even Funky Cold Medina) comes on the radio. It doesn’t matter if a friend of my 15-year-old daughter’s is in the car, a random cute boy is biking by, or we are at a stoplight with a car full of her peers right next to us — this type of music gets into my soul and beckons me. Yes, I have officially become the embarrassing mom. Anytime my daughter catches a glimpse of this boy on our way to or from school, she reaches over, holds my arm down so I won’t attempt a wave, and says, “Don’t even think about offering him a ride, Mom!” It’s a legacy. Growing up with my dad was like being in a room with …

40 Going on 25: Planning My Part Two

(Photo Credit: Andy Kropa) I’ve been incredibly fortunate in the world of work. I got my first “real life” gig right out of college as a publishing assistant, and every job since then has pretty much fallen into my lap. That’s not to say that I didn’t work hard to become qualified for those jobs, or that I’m not proud of all that I’ve learned and achieved along the way. It’s just that I never had to sit down and carefully plan out what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go or how I was going get there. One thing just seemed to organically lead to another, and after spending close to 15 years total at three jobs that I really, really loved, it seemed like the perfect time to embark on a freelance career. So I did. This was about four years ago. But then life threw me for a bit of a loop. I suppose that loop had actually been there for a while, curling up tighter and tighter inside …

What’s That On Your Head? A Wig

(Photo: Courtesy Margit Detweiler, Graphic: Nancy Gonzalez/TueNight ) “By the way, I have a new wig. I don’t think the reddish one will survive another concert.” Shelly called me to plan our get-ups for the next B-52s concert next Sunday night. “It’s a bob but I can tease it, cause it’s gotta be big. It can not be half-assed. It has to be awesome.” Since 1977 you could probably catch The B-52s playing somewhere in America. In the last decade or so they’ve been touring almost every year. I know, because Shelly and I go, almost every year. But when did we first put on the wigs? It’s difficult to say. In the beginning, we would fashion our real hair into sky-high beehives. She was Cindy. I was Kate. Always. I’d tease the hell out of my thick brown hair with a rat-tail comb, Shelly found either a cardboard toilet paper roll or a Styrofoam cone that she’d twirl her blonde hair around and up. One of my dearest friends, Shelly and I both of hail …

A Superstar in Hiding

(Photo: Courtesy Barbiecollector.com, Graphic: Nancy Gonzalez/TueNight) I knew it was wrong when I was doing it — it felt wrong. I was 11 years old. Ok, I was 12 and I was hiding a big secret from my school friends and my family. I kept that secret in a brown paper bag disguised as a school lunch. It wasn’t a dark Judy Blume-like secret. That would have been awesome. My secret was a pretty embarrassing one. And when I say “pretty,” I’m talking Superstar-Barbie pretty — and therein lies my secret. I was a 12-year-old girl, still obsessed with my Barbie and Ken dolls. Not to mention the Dream Townhouse and Barbie Airplane. I loved them all. It was the ‘80s — kids respected smoking cigarettes in the bathroom back then, and I knew my Barbie obsession was the equivalent of middle school social suicide. Knowing all that, I still couldn’t break-up with Barbie and Ken. They were perfect. Who wouldn’t want to be beautiful, blonde tall and skinny? The short curly girl brunette in …

Margit’s Note: Perfect At Every Age

(Photo Credit: Mac Premo/TueNight) I cringe at our theme name this week. It’s a term I’ve never liked and one that magazines and tabloids continue to foist on us. When is it still ok to wear hot pink lipstick? A mini skirt? Pigtails? Ride a skateboard? Do a cartwheel at a fancy fashion event… in your 70s? Always, dammit. As 93-year-old fashion icon Iris Apfel says in the film Iris, “I don’t have any rules because I would only be breaking them, so it’s a waste of time.” We give lip service to the idea of age-inclusivity, but we don’t always believe it or practice it. In our hearts we question, am I too old to do this? I don’t give a crap if Madonna’s arms are too veiny for that dress — and you can bet she doesn’t either. The genesis for TueNight was in part a backlash against the ageist attitude that defines a particular attitude or ideal haircut in your 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s. The most authentic way to live is to chart …