The Bigger They Get

From MSNBC in February: Can a shiny lip gloss slim your hips? Turns out it probably can’t (damn…), but that headline was a clever way to get people to read the article.

Personally, I prefer straightforward, unclever news and would have been much happier if the headline had simply stated SHINY LIP GLOSS CANNOT SLIM YOUR HIPS. If it had, I’d have thought, Okay, no need to read further and I’d have saved that five minutes for something more productive like laughing myself silly at pictures of Chuck on Dooce’s blog or watching the FillupMunkee show or cleaning the dryer vent. Of course, it would have been even better if they hadn’t published the story at all because it isn’t a story. It is a non-story.

But perhaps there were some who read that piece and thought, What the heck, there MIGHT be something to this lip gloss thing, why not give it a try? For those people, MSNBC followed up today with the following “above the fold” headline: Lip gloss ups cancer risk Many dermatologists say that slathering on shiny lip glosses can increase UV ray power — and your risk of developing a melanoma. Full story

And then they had the nerve to ask us to Vote: Are you worried?

HELL YES, I’M WORRIED! What are all of the people who’ve been slathering lip gloss on their hips supposed to do now? It’s no wonder Half of Americans struggle to stay happy (another MSNBC headline this week). This willy-nilly health reporting is giving me and, evidently, half of America palpitations!

Fortunately, MSNBC anticipated our agitation with this story: In search of the good old nervous breakdown.

I don’t think I’ll have to look far.

When Son Two comes home from a concert talking about a guy dressed in a shark suit, stuffed fish decorating the stage and people carrying boogie boards around, my first thought is, naturally, How’d that little weasel score Jimmy Buffett tickets?

Heh. Nope.

Turns out the band is Municipal Waste, a thrash/punk/metal band from Richmond, VA., and the song that prompts the Parrothead style goings-on is one called “Terror Shark” from their Hazardous Mutation album.

Of course.

What was my first clue? Maybe it was the CD with the grisly cover art. Or it might just have been the SHOE PRINT ON HIS FACE.

Mosh pit, 1

Son Two, 0.

I was an overprotected Yankee child raised by an anxiety-prone mother who saw monsters around every corner. Yes,Dear was a barefoot North Carolina boy who played outside in the dirt from dawn to dusk, unsupervised, from the day he cut his first tooth. Wearing nothing but a diaper. That’s right. Not even sunscreen.

Needless to say, our parenting styles are different.

So years ago we came up with a compromise. It’s called the THERE ARE SOME THINGS YOU JUST DON’T TELL YOUR MOTHER COMPROMISE ^TM and it works like this:

The kids know I am free to be an overprotective, nagging, worrywart martyr about things I know or find out about. I don’t miss much. At least I hope I don’t miss much.

And the things I don’t know about? So long as no one gets hurt, there’s no blood or fire, and I’m not going to hear from another parent or, God Forbid, a pregnant teenager, a hospital or the police, the kids remain silent and I remain blissful in my ignorance and save a fortune on Xanax.

That’s the kind of mother I am – feet planted firmly on the ground, head buried firmly in the sand.

With that in mind, would someone please remind the boys to clear browser history and not download stuff to my desktop when they use my computer? Too much information…