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Published bi-weekly, 2 or 3 times a month

Are You a Lawnmower Parent?

Published by Starshine Roshell on April 1, 2019

College Admissions Scandal Reveals Dangers of Clearing Smooth Path for Kids

You’re really not a parent of import anymore unless you’ve nabbed yourself a slick motor-vehicle label. First there were Helicopter Parents, hovering figuratively over their poor children’s heads, overseeing every miserable aspect of their orchestrated lives. I never fretted much over this classification, as it doesn’t apply to me; I lack the energy to be that controlling.

But the latest sobriquet intended to shame inept moms and dads hits a little closer to home. Like the front yard.

Have you heard of Lawnmower Parents? Known in chillier climes as Snowplow Parents and in less subtle neighborhoods as Bulldozer Parents, these are the well-meaning but misguided folks who continually clear a smooth path for their children, pre-empting any potential embarrassments, challenges and discomforts, and removing any obstacles that might impede Junior’s success. (Some call them Curling Parents, after the Olympic sport that involves shoving a toddler, sorry, a heavy stone towards a goal while someone sweeps the ice in front of it to decrease friction.)

From innocuous-sounding things like rushing to school with a forgotten lunch to more obvious line-crossing like calling in a sick day for your child so she can finish an overdue homework assignment, Lawnmower Parents think they’re being helpful. Supportive. Even loving. But the recent college admissions scandal showed us how parents can go from mowing lawns to clear-cutting entire freaking forests for their kids.

'My Parents Are Stupid'

Published by Starshine Roshell on April 1, 2019

When Kids Refuse to Be Properly Indoctrinated

If I had any doubts that Gen Y and Gen Z possess the savvy and the huevos they’ll need to lead this country out of its current muddle, those doubts were squelched last week. First, 18-year-old Ethan Lindenberger testified before the Senate about why he went and got himself vaccinated after growing up with a staunch anti-vaxxer mom.

“My parents are kind of stupid,” began Ethan’s Reddit post back in November asking for advice on where and how to get the shots as an adult. He told the Senate that as he “began to think critically for myself, I saw that the information in defense of vaccines outweighed the concerns heavily.” Can I get an “amen” for Ethan?

Then journalist Eli Saslow, author of Rising Out of Hatred, came to UCSB Arts & Lectures to talk about the miraculous transformation of Derek Black. The godson of KKK grand wizard David Duke and actual son of another grand wizard (how is that actually a grown man’s title?), Black was a prominent white supremacist in his own right until he went to college and met people who defied the stereotypes he’d been spoon-fed his whole life. They challenged him to learn more about other races and religions, which — as education is wont to do — convinced him that racism was a big steaming pile of hooey. Now, much to Daddy’s dismay, he’s an outspoken critic of the white nationalist movement.

Imagine the courage, conviction, and capability of these young men! There’s something about a kid rebelling against his lunatic parents that fills me with hope. But I was surprised to find that these stories also filled me with something else. Something less flattering: panic. If this dramatic rejection of family values can happen to deranged and misguided parents, what’s to stop it from happening to outrageously rational and astoundingly wise parents — you know, parents like me?

My Climate Just Changed

Published by Starshine Roshell on March 7, 2019

From Hormones to Ozone, Irreversible, Existential Change Is a Bitch

An iceberg twice the size of Manhattan is moments away from breaking off of Antarctica and calving into the Atlantic Ocean. A large-footed mouse from Australia, the Bramble Cay melomys, was just identified as the first mammal to go extinct from human-driven climate change. And last month’s weather broke snow, rain, and heat records from coast to coast in the United States.

So I feel I should apologize, as I may be to blame. You see, my internal climate is suddenly warming at an alarming rate. Like, a wildfire-through-drought-ravaged-chaparral rate.

A Control Freak’s Funeral

Published by Starshine Roshell on February 22, 2019

It’s My Party and You’ll Dance If I Want You To

Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to plan a funeral. But don’t worry — it’s going to be the most soul-satisfying, life-affirming, totally-not-creepy sendoff that ever consecrated a cadaver.

See, I recently attended the memorial service for a beloved family member who died suddenly — and much, much too young. None of us knew how she wanted to take her final leave (coffin? viewing? urn? ocean?) or to whom she wanted donations made in lieu of flowers (Humane Society? homeless shelter?) because these aren’t the sorts of things on which busy, prime-of-life people spend a lot of time ruminating. So we guessed, by god, because what else can you do? And we shuffled through the traditional paces prescribed for an aggrieved family: choosing a casket, ordering flowers, designating burial garments and jewelry, assembling a slide show, banging out a stark and bloodless obit, and attempting to sum up this woman’s life, character, and passions for the eulogizing pastor who never even met her. Not once.

A Drink with Dr. Chill

Published by Starshine Roshell on February 22, 2019

Taking the Stress Out of Stress Management

He promised me a beer but made me order tea instead.

“Hot tea is always nice, right?” he said.

I mean, hot tea is all right. But with a full-time job, homework due in a graduate class, a family waiting at home, a trip to pack for, flu season lurking on every dang doorknob, and this column to write … I could have used a beer, honestly.

I was meeting Dr. Jay Winner for a drink to talk about stress. Since he’s an expert on the subject, and almost supernaturally mellow — and since my mind feels like gloppy, neon-hued spin art most days — I did what I was told.

“Let’s take a smell,” he says as we both lift our steaming cups to our faces. “Feel the warmth? Kind of let go of your thoughts …”

An Interview with Our Lady of Perpetual Outrage

Published by Starshine Roshell on January 13, 2019

Lawyer Gloria Allred Talks ‘War on Women’ and ‘Age of Empowerment’

Love her or hate her, Gloria Allred is the master of her own message. So whether you’re going up against the powerhouse attorney in court — or interviewing her for a column — don’t think for a minute you’re going to control the conversation.

The auteur of the Dramatic Press Conference, Allred is best known for defending women’s rights — particularly on cases with a tabloid stench about them. She represented Nicole Brown Simpson’s family during the 1995 OJ trial, called for a child-endangerment investigation against Michael Jackson after he infamously held his baby out over a hotel balcony, and filed suit against the “Octomom” for exploiting her octuplets. Prone to perpetual outrage and red power blazers, she has represented women speaking out against Tiger Woods, Anthony Weiner, Charlie Sheen, convicted wife-killer Scott Peterson, and Princess Diana’s boyfriend Dodi Fayed. She’s been parodied on South Park, The Simpsons, and Saturday Night Live, and been labeled “the ambulance chaser of feminism” by The Atlantic.

Incredibly, when I spoke with the Los Angeles–based lawyer last week, she blamed the media for the attention it heaps upon her celebrity cases. “It’s really more a statement of the times in which we live,” said Allred, 77, who spoke at the Lobero Theatre recently. “The tabloids focus on the cult of celebrity and the victims that they hurt. Today it’s mainstream press as well.”

O Come, All Ye Frenzied

Published by Starshine Roshell on January 13, 2019

It’s Ho-Ho-Horrid When the Mind Cedes to Seasonal Bedlam

I wanted to write a column this week. I swear I did. I yearned to slowly, inconspicuously crawl away from the taxing tumult of the Most Wonderful Time of the Year™ and dive into a wistful disquisition on Oregon’s potential legalization of psychedelic mushrooms — or whether “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” is really the date-rapey jingle we’ve long suspected.

But my head was having none of it, occupied as it is with visions of sugar plums. And shipping deadlines. And parade parking. Each time I sat down to my keyboard, cracked the ole knuckles, and tried to channel witty & erudite, but what came lurching out instead was spacey & lunatic. In gushy, paroxysmal spurts and sloppy, involuntary dribbles of language. Like this:

Diving into Cuddle Parties

Published by Starshine Roshell on January 13, 2019

Is Growing Trend Truly Soothing Comfort … or Just Sanctioned Groping?

Apocalyptic fires. Mass shootings. An executive branch of government demonizing immigrants, sexual assault victims, and the press. Lately it feels like our nation gets scarier by the week.

So I wasn’t surprised to learn there’s a cuddling trend sweeping the nation; sometimes jammying up, burrowing into a blankie, and going full-frickin’-fetal is the only way to cope with reality. But some folks aren’t just curling up on the couch — they’re snuggling up to strangers at Cuddle Parties. And they’re paying for it.

Told you. Scarier, right?

Bliss by Pavement Pounding

Published by Starshine Roshell on January 13, 2019

Lessons from Door-to-Door, Get-Out-the-Vote Canvassing

For two years, I’ve been suffering from a strange, specific feeling: I’m in a hole in the ground and steamy manure is being shoveled on top of me as I lie there holding my breath.

I’d been counting on the midterm elections to offer sweet relief from this slow-death-by-dung sensation. But donating $10 to distant campaigns and sharing social media posts about voter rights weren’t helping me shake that feeling of being powerless over my own fate — of having to shut my eyes tight and just … acclimate to the aroma of excrement.

So when a friend asked if I would canvass door-to-door for a Democratic candidate in a tight congressional race two days before the election, I jumped at the chance to do something that might actually have an impact. I’ve never canvassed before, and in fact I loathe anyone coming to my door uninvited. But if I’ve learned anything since Election Day 2016, it’s that democracy is a full-contact sport. So I suited up in sunscreen and sneakers and got out the gosh-dang vote.

How Not to Raise a Sexual Assaulter

Published by Starshine Roshell on January 13, 2019

You Never Really Know If You’re Raising Good Kids … Until You’re Long Done

The political pandemonium of the past two years has left me extremely confused about a lot of things. But of one thing I’m now certain: It’s an assaulty world out there, ladies.

Since #MeToo erupted, the number of women who’ve come forward with accounts of handsy, tonguey, thrusty dates, bosses, strangers, and celebs is shocking. We saw our favorite sitcom dad and pudding peddler sent to jail over such accusations, and a volatile frat boy sent to the Supreme Court despite them.

So I wasn’t surprised when, in response to these reports, parents began expressing dire concern about the world their kids will inherit. However — I was surprised it was their sons they were worried about.