Happy Birthday!

No, mine came and went on December 27. But here's this week's offering (better late than never...)
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When it comes to children’s birthday parties, the mantra of today’s parents might as well be “spare no expense, spoil the child.”

In the olden days (also known as my childhood), I got to invite a handful of friends over on my birthday to eat burgers and homemade birthday cake, open a few presents, and play a game of hide and seek or two.

Good old-fashioned fun, without a lot of planning, stress and effort. Just how a birthday celebration should be, for all parties involved.

But the olden days have long ago passed, and in today’s “gimme, gimme, gimme” world, both parents and children are being socialized to believe that nothing less than a full-fledged birthday extravaganza will do.

So a handful of friends has been replaced by a guest list rivalling that of a small wedding reception, burgers and cake have been replaced by catered buffets, and hide and seek has been replaced by outlandish field trips that resemble mini-holiday getaways.

In fact, children’s birthday parties are quickly becoming one of the most ridiculous forms of the popularity contest and, in our culture of excess, some “image is everything” parents are taking that competition to the extreme.

The website of the Minnesota-based parents’ group Birthdays Without Pressure, which advocates against out-of-control party planning, cites the following examples of kids‚ birthday parties gone haywire:

• A one-year-old’s party in a Minnesota community had 60 guests. The gift opening took two hours; the birthday infant slept through most of it.
• A six-year-old girl and her friends in St. Paul got makeovers and danced in public as part of a “starlet” package at a party business.
• A six-year-old guest, who was disappointed by a St. Paul party without gift bags, declared, “This is a ripoff!”
• Seven-year-olds in rural Minnesota got picked up by stretch limos to transport them to a friend’s party.
• A Minneapolis mother switched away from a pirate theme for her nine-year-old’s party because another parent recently used the same theme.
• A New York dad threw a $10-million party for his 13-year-old daughter’s birthday that included the band Aerosmith and $10,000 gift bags.

These parents were likely the heroes of the neighbourhood (until they were one-upped at the next birthday party, that is).

But they also made a negative contribution to the materialistic culture being instilled in today’s youngsters at every turn, and set themselves up for a great deal of stress and anxiety when the day comes that they are finally unable to out-do the Joneses.

No parent wants spoiled, demanding children. And no parent wants to focus on fulfilling their child’s material desires at the expense of their emotional needs.

So parents should take a page from the Birthdays Without Pressure philosophy and return to the basic notion that a child’s birthday party is to celebrate the wonderful occasion of the birth of the child.

Good times with family and friends should come first, extravagant presents and theme-related entertainment should come a distant second.

After all, the lion tamer and trapeze artist will be forgotten in a heartbeat. But relationships with friends and family members will last forever.

What's In a Name?

Today's offering...
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It's the age-old question ... what's in a surname?

In not-so-ancient times, the practice of a bride taking the surname of her husband upon marriage represented her status as his property.

But the offensive and antiquated concept of wives as chattels has gone the way of the dodo in North America, and increasingly more soon-to-be-married women are fighting hard to retain their independence and preserve the pre-marriage identity they worked since birth to build.

A 2003 survey conducted by Wedding Bells magazine found that 18% of Canadian brides and 6% of American brides had chosen to proudly keep their maiden names, and there wasn't a darn thing their new hubbies could do about it.

In fact, while some insecure lunkheads may view their lady's choice as a personal slight to their manhood, others are not only willing to embrace their wives' quest for independence but are even willing to reverse roles for the sake of family harmony.

Though not the traditional path chosen by most soon-to-be married couples, California native Michael Buday's fiancee, Diana Bijon, asked the groom to take the bride's last name when the pair eventually married.

Given that Bijon had no brothers, and the non-traditional name change would allow the Bijon family name to be carried on, Buday agreed it would be a fitting tribute to his future wife's family.

Had he been a woman, Buday would merely have checked the appropriate box on the marriage licence application, paid the maximum $100 county application fee, and become Mrs. Diana Bijon.

But Buday quickly found out that California's marriage licence application, like that of 43 other U.S. states, is so out of date that it has no box to check for a groom who wants to take his bride's name.

Instead Buday, or any poor emasculated California man whose wife has actually talked him into giving up a key part of his identity as a male, must first pay a $320 court fee, advertise his intentions in a newspaper for four weeks, and obtain a judge's consent.

The California process is currently being challenged by the ACLU on the basis of gender discrimination.

On a more basic level, however, in a world where men are taking their female partner's surname, family members are hyphenating the father's and mother's names, or families are inventing completely unique new surnames, has the pendulum swung too far away from tradition in favour of individual rights?

Personally, I'm all for a wife taking her husband's surname. Especially when that wife has a long, convoluted maiden name that earned her the high school nickname "Boiled Cabbage."

Ever since preschool, when I struggled to learn how to spell BORYSKAVICH and my playmates struggled to pronounce it, I knew that the one quality my future groom must have was a simple, straightforward last name.

Indeed, I used to base my whole dating strategy around it.

The question was not whether I would change my surname when I got married, it was what easily-pronounceable moniker I would change it to.

I'm a traditionalist. Michael Buday and Diana Bijon are not. But we each have the free will to make our own decisions regarding our family surname and that's what really counts.

After all, once the groom has determined that his rose would smell as sweet under any other name, no other person should have the ability to be a thorn in his side.

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday

In response to a question in the comments section, I wanted to let you all know that as of this week/next week my column is moving to a new regular day, Tuesday.

As usual, I'm always interested in reader thoughts as to topics that interest them, so if there are any suggestions, please feel free to let me know!

Three Thoughts for Today

(1) Winnipeg was mentioned not once, not twice, but thrice in Desperate Housewives this week(apparently, Orson Hodge's supposedly dead ex-wife was hiding out in Winnipeg in an attempt to frame Orson for her alleged murder). So cool!

(2) Speaking of Orson Hodge, I've gained a new appreciation for Kyle McLachlan as an actor of late. In the past couple of months, we've watched the first season of Twin Peaks (where he played the quirky agent Cooper), re-runs of Sex and the City (where he played Charlotte's quirky husband Trey) and current episodes of Desperate Housewives (where he plays Bree's quirky husband Orson). I've enjoyed every performance. McLachlan does quirky like no other.

(3) Sticking with the TV theme, we also picked up seasons 1 and 2 of The Office (the American version). Great cast, funny show, but Michael Scott (the Steve Carrell character) was so over-the-top annoying that I barely made it past the first two episodes. Thankfully, the show did get a second chance to make a first impression - in more recent episodies, they toned 'Michael' down a little so he complements the rest of the cast (rather than overshadowing them in a negative way). Now, the series is now not only watchable, but must-watch. For those of you who've seen both, I'm curious - would you rather watch the British or the American version??

Confessions of a Shopaholic

Today's offering...I'm considering attempting 'the Compact' myself for a couple of months (after I finish spending my holiday gift cards, that is!)
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Could you give up shopping for an entire year?

To most women, it sounds like an incredibly sick joke.

But for the 2006 calendar year, a group of 10 San Francisco residents, all middle-class professionals, decided to drastically alter their lifestyles by making a pledge (called "the Compact") to do just that.

Translation?

No malls, no boutiques, no rock bottom sales. No new purses, skirts, CDs, shoes ... in fact, no new luxury items at all.

For those women whose sole goal in life is to own a different pair of Manolo Blahniks for every day of the week, a shopping boycott in the nature of "the Compact" would certainly be a hardship.

But rest assured, the San Francisco experiment was not nearly as drastic as it sounds.

Unlike some "freegan" communities, where even the basic necessities of life are gleaned by rummaging through dumpsters, parties to "the Compact" were permitted to purchase essential items such as food, toiletries and other "health and safety"-related products.

"Compact" member John Perry says the goal of the San Francisco experiment was to make its participants "aware of the excesses of consumer culture and the fact we are drawing down our resources and making people miserable around the world."

While not everyone has Perry's social conscience or shares his world view, it's important to be cognizant of the personal consequences of our consumer choices and the very real pitfalls today's "status means everything" society can present.

When my sister moved to a northern Alberta oil community two years ago, she was astounded by the nonchalant manner in which some of the area residents threw their money around.

Purchasing rounds of drinks at the local watering hole for friends and strangers alike, buying big-screen television sets that covered entire walls of their brand new homes and driving the biggest and shiniest trucks that Ford or GM had to offer was the norm, not the exception.

And considering in 2001, 47% of Canadian households were spending more than they earned, having eyes bigger than our wallets is not a problem limited to oil country.

No matter where one resides, the pressure to keep up with the Joneses is intense and, driven by "status symbol" competition more intense than any playground rivalry, the fine line between "want" and "need" has become increasingly blurred.

These days, not only do children "need" the same designer labels that their friends are sporting, their parents "need" to demonstrate their place in the adult hierarchy by taking the same vacations and playing with the same adult toys of which their grown-up buddies brag.

It's an expensive (not to mention dangerous) game.

Not many folks have the cash to live the high life of the Joneses. But it's easy to get credit ... and even easier to max it out. Not so easy to claw one's way back from the precipice of bankruptcy, though.

While "the Compact" may not be for everyone, it does force those who subscribe to its philosophy to determine which consumer items are essential for them to live a simplistic, happy life within their financial means and which are merely excess.

And if, as the Rolling Stones say, we can't always get what we want, then it's important to define the full extent of our genuine needs.

My Age is Showing

Okay, so I took a one-day course in website design about a decade ago, and thought I could use some of my 'skills' to revamp the blog. Needless to say (given that the site hasn't changed one bit) that didn't work so well, as I can no longer decipher what inputting the codes on the sheets of paper I retained will result in. So bear with me, the website upgrade may require some third party assistance.

On another note, does 'party' for the over 30 crowd actually mean book club or games night? I realized last weekend that those two events are the closest I've been to a really good shaker in awhile...not sure whether that makes me old, or just lame, but either way, it made me think of this column of mine that ran on December 8, 2005.
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They say 30 is the new 20, but these days, this 30 year old is starting to relate more to her mother’s generation.

I’ve been trying to pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but I still haven’t managed to figure out when I suddenly got old.

The first real indication that something had changed was a frightening moment either at the mall, or perhaps dropping my sister off at university, when I heard myself utter words that had previously only come out of my mother’s mouth – “I just don’t understand kids these days”.

Yes, I said it. And once the proverbial cat was out of the bag, the remaining remnants of my youth began to quickly slip away, one by one.

When I was in university and working a part time job on weekends, I used to pride myself in the fact that I could go out with my friends on a Friday night until 5 or 6 am, and then be up bright-eyed for an 8:30 work shift on Saturday morning. But alas, my stamina was the first thing to go.

While in Osaka this spring, some fellow foreigners and I decided to pull an all-nighter in the clubs. Sounded like great fun, until we hit midnight, and I hit a wall. While I managed to drag myself through the evening, it took the entire next day of all-out napping to recuperate.

And though I’d like to chalk that experience up to being slightly under the weather, recent weekends have proven that the pressures of adulthood really do take their toll on an aging body.

Just this past Friday, in fact, one of my best girlfriends and I yawned our way through dinner, then scrapped plans to sit around and chat over a bottle of wine, in favour of “getting to bed at a decent hour”.

Next to disappear was my patience. Admittedly, I didn’t receive much to start out with, but my limited supply appears to be dwindling with each passing year. Two of my most common hot button issues in this regard are line-ups and crowds – just ask my sister how much fun I am to shop with at Wal-Mart or Superstore. And really, what part of the 15 item limit in express lines do people not get? But I digress…

I no longer feel the need to wear short skirts and high heels when I am headed out for a night on the town in minus 40 degree weather – I’m not really sure who I used to think I was impressing with such foolhardy behaviour. Heck, these days I don’t even feel the need to leave my house in minus 40 degree weather, other than to go to work.

And when I recently uttered the phrase “I think I’m too old for this” following the second spilled drink (one on my coffee table, one on my carpet) by a party guest at my home, I realized that my days of hosting anything other than the occasional BBQ or holiday bash are likely drawing to a close.

So does this mean that I’m boring, or that I’ve lost my sense of fun now that the first number in my age begins with a “3”?

I suppose it’s all subjective, but in my opinion, I’m every bit as interesting as every other thirty-something I know. It’s just that one’s definition of “fun” changes as we age – keg parties are replaced by dinner parties, loud music is replaced by intimate conversation, a night on the town is replaced by a night at the movies.

Boring? Maybe. But despite the occasional wistful memory of good times had during the last decade, I wouldn’t relive my 20’s for all the money in the world.