Tuesday, July 3

My Mother, The Videographer



Two weird things happened on Friday night: I got shitty off of beer for the first time since Sigma Alpha Mu frat parties, and received three empty e-mails while I was diving nose-first into my third glass jug of Spritzenhaus' draft special, each containing a blurry, faded clip of — whattaya know — baby videos.

I chalked it up to Friday night empty-nested loneliness as my brother just moved to San Francisco and my parents now have to "deal" with the idea of "air travel" as a means to visiting "their babies" (he's nearing 30 and is a doctor, just providing context), but the e-mails keep coming. Almost every night since then, another set of two or three 20-second movie snippets plops into the top of my inbox, like fuzzy playtime snuff films of my curly-haired childhood. There's no joke one of me naked on a bathroom counter, getting my hair blow-dried while I show such early, undetected signs of ADHD that I don't know how I made it through New Trier High School without popping pills Jessie Spano-style.

While this recent influx of attention means I'm definitely going to get tricked into holding my mom's hand on the streets of SoHo this wekeend because she misses me so much and other daughters who love their mothers don't mind doing it, I will give her this — I was a lot more adorable of a human back then:



I've come to accept that my potential beauty peaked at age three* and has been steadily rolling downhill since then. (There's a reason no one has seen photos of me between the ages of 9 and 16.)

Oh, and for those of you who are wondering what that blob on my head is, it's a creation from the dope homemade hair scrunchie-and-'80s-jewelry business my mom used to run. Looks like the "I'm sorry, what is that you're wearing??" entrepreneurial accessories gene runs in the thinamajig-making family.

(*Something about playing old videos with horrible quality feels very post-mortem Law and Order, like Ice T should pop up behind me in my apartment and go, "What. A. Shaaaame, what happened to that lil' gurl." Or, you know, something like that.)

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