In Defense of the Greeks

       "I would never go Greek. I'm not paying for my friends."

 

     This is the quote I heard during a recent visit to my alma mater. The beginning of both Fall and Winter semesters are big recruitment periods in universities across the country and my school was no different. Upon hearing this my head whipped around in both irritation and general surprise. I'd honestly thought that this age old stigma had gone the way of the dinosaurs. Apparently not.

 
        Being an alumnae member of a sorority myself, I took great offense to this notion. Many of my closest friends, strongest bonds, and confidants are men and women in Greek organizations. There is a tie that binds us and though we are different we still share a commonality. I have watched my sorority sisters get married, start raising families, and have even been there to comfort them during life's roughest patches. The same is true of my friends that are in fraternities. We aren't brainless drones who are members of some absurd cult. We are leaders, visionaries, and problem solvers who are ready and willing to engage in the world around us.

     Don't misunderstand me, Greeks like to have a good time. I won't pretend that I haven't been to a party or five, but to simplify Greek life to only its social calendar is biased and unfair. We are active in the communities around us by doing philanthropic works and promoting our respective universities. Even after graduation we are looking to advance ourselves and our world with new ideas. Many of my sisters and I are still active in each others lives. I am a bridesmaid in the wedding of one of my sorority sisters in August.

 

      While Animal House is hilarious to watch, it does not accurately sum up the Greek experience. It is certainly not accurate in  its depiction of the bond and interactions shared by fraternities and sororities. (My sorority was never on "double secret probation"). To be honest, me going Greek was one of the best decisions that I've made in my life. If I bought my friends, I can assure you that I didn't pay nearly enough.

To RSVP or Not to RSVP?

     Recently, my friend hosted her daughter's ninth birthday party. In theory, it should have been a piece of proverbial cake. As you might have guessed, it wasn't. Why? Simple. The age old impediment of parties: The RSVP.

     My friend sent out her invitations over a month in advance. So you'd think that all the responses would have been sent in a reasonable time frame. Apparently, parents tried to RSVP via text message. My friend doesn't have texting purposely because of how it is misused as a source of communication. When the parents were informed that she does not have texting, they were shocked. As if to ask, " Who doesn't have texting?" I counter that question with another. "Who texts an RSVP?"

 

     Anyway, her daughter's party went off without a hitch except for a few parents who RSVP the day of. However, it got me thinking, has old fashioned event planning taken a backseat to "the text generation." Will people be texting confirmations to weddings? Will funerals have invite lists on Facebook? If so, will they be "closed" or "public" events? I'm sure I am going to extremes, but once we let seemingly little things like texting an RSVP become common place , it will only be a matter of time before it leads to much larger faux pas.

 

     As far as I can tell, technology will continue to advance, which is good. How we treat these advancements are on us. No matter how advanced we become, some things are never out of date.

 

 



Better left unsaid

     In this age of social networking, mommarazzi, and general information overload, when is too much, too much? With over sharing at an all time high, it makes you wonder if privacy exists anymore. Do some of us over share to show that we have nothing to hide or out of general habit? I am reminded of a girls night out that ended with an interesting twist.

     One night about three years ago, myself and two girlfriends decided to go to a local night spot in town to catch up and dance. I walked in with my friends Liza and Lana in tow. The pub was moderately busy as it was still on the early side. When my friend, Liza, walked in behind me, a woman sitting in booth facing us stopped talking, turned ghost white, and became flustered. Lana and I had no idea what was going on. The woman and the gentleman she was with bolted towards the door right as we were seated at the bar. As it turns out, Liza knew the woman from her children's private school. They carpooled each others children to school. The woman's husband was a professor at a nearby university. My friends and I talked and thought nothing of the sudden reaction. About five minutes later, the woman re-emerged having gathered some of her composure. She spoke to Liza and introduced herself to Lana and I. She launched into a story of how the man we saw her with was her brother's friend. She couldn't stress enough that both her brother and the man we'd just seen her with were both gay. Both Lana and I exchanged amused glances. My first thought was, "If this gentleman is gay, so what?" My next thought was, "Why was your wedding ring off if this is true?" I'm not a body language expert but I know what it looks like when two people are interested in each other. When I walked into the bar she was motioning gracefully with her hands, leaning close and touching his arm (hence me noticing the missing ring). She was cramming the unwanted info down our throats while we tried to act normally. Instead of her leaving the situation alone, she pulled up a bar stool and started giving up more details about her "brother's friend". We just let the situation roll. Liza changed the subject, I think to keep her from digging herself in deeper.

     We all talked more as the pub started to fill up with patrons. A guy at a neighboring table came over and offered the four of us tequila shots. Lana and I declined on the basis that we had to work early the next morning. Liza doesn't drink and had to carpool her children as well as this woman's. This apparently freed up the woman to not only do the offered shot but three more after it. The three of us looked on and like Nick Caraway decided to reserve our judgements until the end (or at the very least until we got in the car).

     My friends and I danced to a few songs and eventually called it a night. The three of us said goodbye to the woman and went on our way. We waited until the pub's door was firmly closed behind us before unravelling the badly woven tapestry before us.

     "There is no way that was her brother's friend," Lana stated firmly.

     "Of Course not. Even if it was, we don't know her. She doesn't have to explain herself," I replied.

     "I think the explanation was more for me," Liza smiled. "It isn't my business though, so there was no need for her to feel uncomfortable."

     Lana and I nodded. Liza isn't the meddling type, but another "carpool mom" might have been. The thing that I took from this situation is less is definitely more. People can and will assume what ever they want. That doesn't mean that you have to give them the confession.

    

Friend or Faux?

     I despise knockoffs. They are cheaply made and are an absolute mockery of a designer's hard work and talent. Sadly, knockoffs are as prevalent as popcorn at the movies. I understand that every one's budget is different, but I'd rather save up or wait until I can afford something designer than buy something that is going to be beyond repair after a couple of uses. Sorry Charlie, quality is quality and crappy is crappy. Besides, in the log run you will definitely appreciate it more.
    
     As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I worked at Neiman Marcus during college. Everyday my vision was inundated with beauty. It was definitely an education both in fashion and sociology. It also sharpened my eye to high fashion couture. As a result, I can tell a knockoff a mile away. Don't misunderstand me, if you but a knockoff unknowingly that's one thing, but to be fully aware that the product is a fake is entirely different. First off, they rip or break easily because they are not made of reliable materials. Lastly, they are almost always tacky. Even the best knockoff has a tell.

 

       My friend, Liza, was once given a knockoff Tiffany bracelet by her friend, Teresa as a birthday gift. This was doubly insulting because my friend already had an authentic one. To add insult to injury, Teresa regaled her with an epic tale of how she'd gone through back doors and tunnels in Chinatown in New York to acquire not only the bracelet but also purses and other items for herself. My friend smiled politely and accepted the gift, knowing full well that it was never see its way into her jewelry box. There is no way I would ever put myself in danger in the name of fashion. There is also no way I would ever give a knockoff as a gift. What indirect message does that send about your friendship? This same "friend" has made repeated trips back to New York to score more finds. This is not only dangerous but also illegal. Knockoffs are often smuggled from other countries and made using child labor and/or often slave wages.

  
       Designers have gotten the message loud and clear that everyone wants something nice. With retailers such as Kohl's and Target serving up designer offerings at a lower price point, there is no reason that everyone can't enjoy this bounty. Everyone deserves a piece of the American Dream. Just make sure it isn't a classless mirage.

 

    

Leaving Marks

     I have a love/hate relationship with logos. To a point I think they serve a purpose. However, with hyper consumerism being king, labels and logos blare while the wearers remain silent. Don't misunderstand me, I have no problem with a small man being astride a horse on the left of my shirts (I endorse the horse), but I don't think that resembling a walking billboard is necessary.

     A few years ago when I was in college, I was at a party waiting in line for the bathroom, and three girls ahead of me were chatting. My attention was drawn to the one girl's pretty white handbag.

    "Excuse me, I like your purse," I said.

    "It's Fendi," the girl said with an annoyed eye roll and resumed her conversation.

     I was unnerved on two fronts: The first being that it was a pretty handbag. Why would the designer make a difference? Secondly, I was working Neiman Marcus at the time and was well aware of who made her handbag. As I stated earlier, I like Ralph Lauren, but I would never think to tell someone who complemented my shirt, " It's Polo."

     It just seems to me that these days the clothes wear the man more so than the other way around. What happened to the days of quiet luxury? The whisper of Gucci's horse bit, the iconic double "C" of Chanel, and the all American craftsmanship of an original Coach handbag are all luxurious, but most importantly speak to a quiet affluence and dare I say, good taste? Even Fendi's classic interlocking "F" is beautiful when done properly as is the legendary Louis Vuitton monogram when the wearer uses discretion.

     Wearing multiple contrasting logos at once, not only looks cluttered in my opinion, but makes it seem as though you are unable to dress yourself without a logo attached. Not to mention gaudy and tacky. A strategically placed logo can add spice to a well wardrobe. It's just in how it's done. An overabundance of logos is no substitute for personal style and panache.

    

You can find me at the Club

     Country Club. What is it about those two words that bring about such varied images to the American imagination. You either think of a meeting place for friends and colleagues or unrelenting snobbery.

     I can remember being a little girl visiting the country club of my grandparents friends. There was no pretentiousness, but the laughter of my grandparents and their friends reminiscing. For me, is reminds me of great meals and witty banter. It was a place where my grandparents talked warmly of memories all while being framed in oak paneled walls and beautiful etchings.

     I myself do not belong to a club as of yet. I hope to belong someday, but not for the cache. Quite the opposite actual. I want a place to eat with my friends where the staff knows us and we know them instead of a chain restaurant with 80% turnover where you are just another number. To me, a country or golf club is a place where my friends and I can golf without having to worry about people hitting balls at diagonal angles at top speed without yelling, "Fore!" as a warning. I want to belong to a place that my friends and I can laugh and look back on our college days with fondness. A place to belong while being tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world.

     A few of my friends belong to clubs already. They started out on a membership with their parents and after college now have their own. Soon it will be their turn to pass the torch. Unfortunately, many of my generation don't see the point. To them, a country club is a stodgy place with no DJ and where old men sit in leather armchairs and drink scotch talking about "the good ol' days". Hardly a place laughs and party rocking. I believe that they couldn't be more wrong. While no one will be doing shots, it is still very much a place for camaraderie and where friendships are made.

 

 

From both my own research and my estimation country/yacht/golf clubs hit a boom in popularity and membership every thirty years. It is my sincere hope that my generation will take out their ear buds long enough to hear the call.

 

Hi, Society?

    As we put away the last of the Christmas decorations and launch headfirst into our resolutions, I am reminded of a holiday party I attended two years ago. The party was given by a couple that my boyfriend at the time was close friends with. Winnie and James threw this annual holiday fete every year and it was always full of movers and shakers known statewide and locally. This particular year was no different. Some were well to do members of the community, some were politicians at one time, and all were gathered under one roof. My boyfriend, asked our friend, Richard, a university history professor, to come with us. By the time the three of us arrived at the party, it was well underway.

 

     When we walked in the smell of food and sounds of holiday cheer enveloped us immediately. I was familiar with some of the guests because they were business associates of my then boyfriend's. The party had all the elements. There was wonderful food, which was to be expected since Winnie works for a gourmet food company, beautiful surroundings, and a diverse mix of people. All that was missing was the manners of some of the guests. I sat on one of the sections of the plush cream colored leather couch that that unwound around the massive living room. I was poured a glass of wine and took in the sights. I was always the youngest person, so I had grown accustomed to honing my people watching skills until a conversation was struck. A few moments later I was in one with one of Winnie's best friends, Mirabelle. Winnie, ever the hostess, was making sure there were more than enough canapes and wine. My purse was by my feet on the floor as I felt a slight tremor. It was a man I'll call Lawrence, moving his foot to not trip on my purse's strap, or that's what I thought.

 

    "I'm sorry," I replied. "Let me move that out of your way."

  

     As I bent down to pick up my purse, he stepped on it. I tried to pull my purse strap, he stepped on it harder. This time he let out an alcohol fueled chuckle with his glass of vodka firmly placed in his hand. This got my ire up. I quickly snatched my purse before he could smash his foot on it further. I confess, I gave him a look that could have melted and iceberg. This same gentleman always acted as though I was not equal to him in social situations because of my age. He looked at me as though I was one of the help who had the night off. His wife, Nanette, often never came to functions. She was always "under the weather". Truth be told, she runs the show that is their household and he tries to not step on landmines.

 

    After the purse faux pas, I settled into another conversation with an older gentlemen named Jacob and a woman named Georgette, that I presumed to be his wife. I'd met Georgette before at Winnie's previous Memorial Day dinner party. She and Jacob were fun and their body language showed how enamored they were with each other. Jacob especially, with his arm around her lower back while Georgette looked at him lovingly.

 

     "I'm all out of wine," Georgette said looking at her glass.

    

     "I'll refill it," Jacob replied taking he glass as he got up.

 

     Without a word, Georgette got up a few moments later. Not that I blame her. Jacob was a dead ringer for John Forsythe when Dynasty was in its heyday.

   

     "Great couple aren't they?" Mirabelle said with a glint in her eye.

 

     "They are," I agreed.

 

     "Too bad his wife couldn't make it," she said mischievously before sipping her glass of wine.

 

    I have never been good at not registering sudden emotion on my face. This must have shown because Mirabelle smiled and said, " You didn't know? Jacob's been married for 32 years." Georgette has been his girlfriend for 15 of them."

 

     Not five seconds after that sentence had quietly escaped, did they come back into the room. I decided not to let the new data show.

 

    "What did we miss?" Georgette asked smiling.

 

    "Nothing much," Mirabelle said grinning subtly at me.

 

    About half an hour later, a couple comprised of a tall blond lady and her brunette husband, who turned out to be a lawyer emerged from the downstairs home theatre. She was jokingly chiding him for smoking marijuana in the basement with some of the other party guests. Most of whom never surfaced for the duration of the party.

 

     Shortly, I headed over to the hors d'oeuvres table snag a Swedish meatball or two, when I saw Richard. He asked me how I was enjoying the party. I told him I was having a good time, Which was true for the most part. Before we could talk further, I noticed an ex state representative who I will call Lyle, standing near the table eager to cut in our conversation.

 

     Very few people irk me the way that this gentleman does. He is pompous and feels that no one knows more about politics than him. This, I find interesting since he lost the last election he ran in. Anytime, my then boyfriend and I would have dinner at the Golf Club with some of his mutual friends, no one could get a word in edgewise because he is smarter than you or so he'd like you to believe.

 

     As the night drew to a close, I sat on the couch again. I enjoyed a conversation with a woman who worked for my city's chamber of commerce. We discussed the future of my city and new developments. It was wonderful to hear someone with such a positive take. A few other people sat down and joined the conversation. Sensing a chance to impart his "wisdom" Lyle sat on an ottoman nearby.

 

     "Is Crystal holding court here?"he asked.

 

     If someone else said this it might have conjured images of a parlor in Versailles. Those words passing through his lips were as pretentious as the speaker himself. To be honest, I was surprised he'd committed my name to memory. I thought for sure he didn't think I was important enough, which still might not be untrue. I believe it was more of him coming to terms with the fact that we would be in many of the same social settings.

 

     I was rescued by my boyfriend and our friend who were ready to go home. I said goodbye to the lady that I was speaking with. Thanked Winnie and James for having us and headed out of the door.

 

 

All in all, it was a great party.