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Author: Starshine Roshell

Don't Say 'Gay'

Published by Starshine Roshell on June 2, 2011

It’s the love that dare not speak its name — especially if you’re in Tennessee, where it could land you in jail.

The state’s Senate just passed a bill that would make it illegal to teach about homosexuality in public schools from kindergarten through 8th grade. No gay-marriage chatter. No gay-rights banter. No gay gayness of any gay sort.

Dubbed the “Don’t Say ‘Gay’ Bill” by opponents, the measure insists that any instruction or materials provided to students on the subject of sexuality must be “limited exclusively to natural reproductive science.” Teachers who violate the rule could be fined up to $50 and sentenced to as many as 30 days behind bars.

Supporters say the bill allows parents, rather than teachers, to decide when and what (and, er, if?) their children learn about homosexuality. As if they didn’t actually learn all they need to know from watching Modern Family.

But to me, the whole gay gag just looks like a bunch of uptight Republicans trying to squash a squirrelly little slice of reality that makes them terribly uncomfortable. And maybe just the slightest bit tingly.

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Let's Get Small

I Want Camp

Published by Starshine Roshell on May 26, 2011

Considering the mess on my desk, and the muddle in my head, you’d think we were applying to college. My checkbook cowers beneath too many glossy brochures. My brain stews in conflicting data: dates, deadlines, and deposits, reputations and recommendations …

But it’s not college-application time — it’s summer-camp scheduling season. When I was a kid, that meant two choices: cot-sleeping at overnight camp or handball-playing at day camp. The most I learned at either was how to treat sunburn and skeeter bites.

Starshine Roshell

Times have changed. The summer-camp industry has exploded like a red ant hill under the trouncing cleats of World Cup Soccer Camp. Or like a failed soufflé at Kids Cook! Culinary Camp. Or like a rocket ship at Destination Science Camp.

These days you need a spreadsheet to sort out your kids’ endless options. Summer camps are a $12-billion-per-year industry, according to the American Camp Association (ACA), and there are more than 12,000 camps in the U.S. Unlike the offerings of my youth, today’s camps seem exceedingly specialized and impossibly — even unreasonably — fun.

Determined to cultivate kids’ hard-won confidence and spark their blossoming imaginations (or at least hell-bent on convincing the paying parents that’s what they’re doing), camps cover every conceivable interest under the searing summer sun. The ACA boasts camps for caving and clowning, fencing and farming, rafting and riflery. There’s rock rappelling, tap dancing, and “lamp working” (really?). There’s even a Secret Agent Camp, where mini wanna-Bonds learn stealth tactics, martial arts, and code-deciphering. All of which are invaluable in middle school.

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Men Who Stare at Melons

Published by Starshine Roshell on May 4, 2011

Call it the hooter hoax. There’s a story going around the Internet — and even on TV news stations, though not good ones — that staring at women’s breasts is beneficial to men’s health.

Yeah. Take a minute to chuckle. It’s worth it.

My husband sent me an article claiming that scientists instructed 500 men to ogle women’s chests daily, and found these fellas had lower blood pressure and healthier hearts than those who were asked to refrain from gazonga-gazing. The pretense of his sending this article: “It might inspire a fun column!” The subtext: “Don’t interrupt me the next time I’m fixated on another female’s funbags. Your passive reproach is slowly killing me.”

Naturally, I called hooey. When a legit study can prove that sucking chilled Duncan Hines frosting from a tablespoon prevents cellulite, then I’ll believe that nature wants us to be happy. Until then, guys can keep denying their shameful urges like the rest of us. Or at least satisfying them on the sly.

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I'm Raising an Addict

Published by Starshine Roshell on April 28, 2011

Sonic the Hedgehog.” This is the scenario I imagine every time I hear my son grunting and growling from the family room, where he’s playing Wii. See, the kid is strung out on video games. When he’s not playing them, he’s plotting to play them. When he is playing them, he’s praying to keep playing them. The particular monkeys on his back are Lego Star Wars and something called Super Monkey Ball Banana Blitz. Don’t be fooled by the whimsical name; this thing’ll eat your kid’s brain. My boy is in kindergarten (don’t judge me; you’re judging me), and he needs his gaming fix like Charlie Sheen needs … attention. He doesn’t crave video games the way children plead for a cookie, or a trip to Disneyland, or the rare opportunity to stay up late. It’s not harmless treat-seeking. “I’m addicted,” he tells me. And he’s right.

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Buy Yourself a Date

Published by Starshine Roshell on April 21, 2011

“Everyone has a price. What’s your price?” That’s the provocative question posed by a new dating site that allows users to bid on dates with good-looking people.

WhatsYourPrice.com is divided into two types of members: “generous” (people willing to pay for companionship) and “attractive” (people who want $20-$200 to go on a date). There’s an implied third category, of course: “possessed of appallingly low self-esteem.”

Members can browse each other’s photos and profiles, including their stated income and net worth. An introductory video has a woman purring, “If a guy is willing to pay me for a first date, he’s going to be much more serious than all the others who are just looking for a hook-up.”

Which leads me to believe the definition of “serious” has changed since I was boyfriend shopping. Also the word “generous” — as evidenced by a second intro video: “Instead of paying a dating Web site for the chance to go on a date,” argues a “generous” dude, “why not just pay for the date itself? When you find the person you like, just send them an offer.”

The offer isn’t, “I promise to make you laugh,” or, “I’ll open doors for you and refrain from belching in your presence.” It’s more, “I’ve got 100 bucks says you’ll show me your panties.”

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Text Offender

Published by Starshine Roshell on April 14, 2011

It was a powerful moment in a gripping live show, and the theater glowed with two lights: a spotlight on the stage’s lone singer, and a bright square beaming from an iPhone in the lap of the teenage girl sitting — and texting — beside me.

Really?

I glanced at the stranger disapprovingly. No reaction. I turned and glared at her. Nothing. When I finally leaned over and whispered, “You need to turn that off now,” she flipped her hair (no, really, she did), emitted an irritated “pssh” sound, and begrudgingly shut it off. Which meant that I could now focus on the show.

Only I didn’t. I spent the third act wondering, as the parent of a soon-to-be-texting tween, how cell phone etiquette is established. Surely there’s a way to teach kids how to use the things for good and not evil … right?

When it comes to setting rules about household chores and thank-you notes, parents have two handy sets of guidelines we can follow: 1) Do what our parents did, or 2) Do the opposite of what our parents did.

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