Monkeyspheres and astroturf

SockMonkeyAngel on Etsy
Seattle Seahawk Monkey

Lately I've been following football.

This isn't something that I undertake lightly. My whole city is swept up into it. My whole city is rallying behind the Seahawks in a way that I've not ever witnessed. Not even when the Seahawks were in Superbowl 40 in 2005 did the city have this fever. There is something about this iteration of guys under Carrol and Schneider that has the region buzzing. 

I like to say that I watched football with my brothers and my father most of the years of my childhood. That isn't false. But during those times, all I could really understand about the games being played is that there was a football that needed to go to one side or the other. The men in my house had little patience to explain the intricacies of the game to a little girl. Let me write that again. Not to a little girl. So while I tried to understand, all I could glean was that my father would be rooting for the guys wearing red and gold. My brothers would be rooting for other colors that went against red and gold. Sometimes my father would yell at the television a lot. For years, I didn't pay attention. I simply didn't want to invest. Did I really want to have yet another facet of my life over which I truly had no control? When people would ask me which team I supported, I told them it was the red and gold one because it was my father's team. While I could probably name the cities and appropriate team names, my knowledge of the game was limited to that.

But then there was the 2012 season. I make no apologies about sitting up and taking notice for the first time really. My husband isn't a big watch-on-the-television sports kind of guy. Nor am I, if I'm being honest. The story of these players being from the island of misfit toys resonated with me. They were a team of late round draft picks and un-drafted players. The quarterback was shorter than most in that position and was a rookie to boot. But from that, they had progressed into a force. When they fell short to the Atlanta Falcons despite that soaring 4th quarter, despite that 2 point lead with 30 seconds left on the clock... Ah, the hubris of believing that they had it in the bag and had pulled off the greatest comeback of all time. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on Russell Wilson's face after that game. It broke my heart.

But this post isn't about that. It's more about what I've observed with being a fan. It all comes down to monkeyspheres. If that concept and the attached article are too much to take in, it is the idea that we as primates are only able to keep about 150 people within our radius of caring.  We are designed to think in terms of us & them.  It is part of being a social animal. Something primal within us makes us want to quickly categorize people. Stereotyping people is normal. Categorizing people is normal. Comparing our social group to other social groups is normal. Being part of a larger group is part of being human -- it is how we identify ourselves.

This is at the root of all conflict. All.

So I've started really paying attention to football in a way I never have before. I've been reading analysis. Learning about the different positions. Learning some history. Attempting to understand the rules. And feeling like I'm having to catch up. But that was fine. There was depth to this sport that was fascinating. Seeing the intricacies of how these teams function with each play was something I had never noticed before. It was like I had only ever watched a swarm of bees and never noticed that each bee had a job.

And here is where we get to the crazy. I've been a fool to think that this was all kind of fun. That becoming a fan of a football team was fun. That starting to watch and take part in this national obsession was like joining a huge club into which any American was gladly offered admittance! What I found was that I would not be welcomed into this monkeysphere easily.

With the recent success of the Seahawks, my friends and most notedly one of my brothers, have been scoffing at my interest. That my cheers and hopes and even clothing were not worthy of the franchise upon which I place my honor. But I'm not alone. A recent study from Nielsen Scarborough showed that NFL fandom is up by 27% in the Seattle area. While a bump is usual when there is a championship, this is interesting because NFL fandoms don't change numbers -- they remain stagnant.

There is a reason for that.

Within the monkeysphere of NFL fans, there are the monkeyspheres of the two conferences, and within that, there are the monkeyspheres of the 4 regions of the two conferences, and then within that are the individual teams. What you might not expect is the monkeyspheres within the monkeyspheres of the fans of the individual teams. That is an s-ton of monkeyspheres. How does one keep it straight?

There is a kind of boastful pride that people use to talk about how long they have been a fan. They say they've been fans since the Seahawk's inception -- nearly 40 years ago already -- they founded in 1976. There's talk of fans who have weathered the times when the Seahawks were super crappy. Fans even pride themselves on wearing the old jersies -- Hasselbeck, Largent, or other luminaries we've had on the gridiron. The old colors and old Seahawk logos are a kind of badge of honor. That if you have not been through the rough times when the Seahawks sucked, you don't belong in this monkeysphere. That's the reason NFL fandom has been stagnant. One does not take up a banner because those who were there before will not give you berth.

My friends -- Seahawk and other monkeysphere team fans -- take great pleasure on quizzing me about the Seahawks. Recently, I texted a Niner fan friend of mine to wish him a happy new year. And he came back with pictures of himself and his family in full Niner regalia. I sent him a picture of myself in my Seahawk gear. He proceeded to quiz me on Seahawk history and I predictably failed. Told me that I wasn't a "true," fan. My brother and I have had what I thought was a friendly back and forth. However, it seems that was not the case. He's a Viking fan. At every turn he reminds me about how I'm not a "true," fan most recently because I do not own a jersey. The words bandwagon and fair weather are bandied about like racial epithets. But this kind of labeling comes also from my friends who are long time Seahawks fans. A "there, there, don't worry your pretty little head," kind of mentality when I talk about the game and its dynamics.

Is this to be yet another area in which I need to guard my views; religion, politics, and feminism need to make room for NFL fandom?

I am a TRUE fan because I say I am a TRUE fan. Just like in religion, politics, and feminism, you don't get to check my bonafides, you don't get to police or decide if I'm a TRUE fan based on how long I've followed the game, cared about the game, purchased the merchandise, or even had it register on my radar. You don't get to tell me how to be a fan simply because you don't think I belong in this monkeysphere. This is not something that gets passed down from father to son anymore. I don't have to prove anything to you so stop assuming that I do. I've been wrong to engage in it myself -- I flatly do not accept the premise of your position, that there is such a thing as a true fan versus a fake one. I know this, I'm real.

And for the record, I think the pink jerseys are stupid, too. They're reductive and sexist. But whatever. Women are increasing NFL fandom and the pink jerseys are not the reason.

My new toy

I have always fought my hair. When I was little, I had my Lil'T's hair. It was straight, silky smooth, and I wore it long. But this was in the age of Farrah Fawcett. I wanted hair that was wavy and feathered. Growing up in Hawaii, if I attempted to curl this stick straight hair, the curls would fall instantly. Add to that the fact that my mother had no idea how to style hair. She had a curling iron but had no concept of hair product aside from Johnson's Baby Shampoo which I probably used until I was in high school.

Puberty had changed my hair only to add waves but did not implant any knowledge of how to deal with them. My father suggested I use his VO5 pomade. I refused as I didn't want to smell like an old man. Luckily, it was the age of Footloose and short spiky hair. I was able to simply avoid figuring out how to style that wavy mess and got a short spiky cut. The bonus was that it drove my mother crazy. She loved my long hair.

I've done crazy things to my hair. I did the spiral perm. I've bobbed and braided. I've lived with bangs and I've lived without. I've even done the Rachel cut (which I did rock back in the day).

Now I've got myself a flat iron with which I've achieved hairvana, but it's been tough. My hair doesn't seem to like the daily flat ironing. Can't imagine why not. I was finding that I was doing a lot of damage. I did try to embrace my waves, but no matter what product I tried, it looked like frizz to me. My only hope was to figure out a way to get the straight hair I was jonesing for without the harshness of using a ceramic flat iron 7 days a week.

This is my new toy.

 

It is the Revlon Ionic Hot Air brush. 

When I moved up to Seattle for school all those years ago, I brought with me a Conair travel hair dryer. It's travel "feature" was that you could fold the handle up against the barrel of the hairdryer and make it take up less space. It was a pos, truth be told. It didn't make it through my sophomore year. Knowing that I needed a new hair dryer, my dear friend Jenny got me one for Christmas. That was in 1988. That thing has been kicking around my bathrooms most of my adult life. 

My friend Susan came for a visit and showed me her hot air brush. She got great results and didn't need to flat iron her hair. I got hair tool envy. 

A few weeks ago, my husband borrowed my 1988 hair dryer. Not for his hair, mind you. He had spilled something on his pants and didn't want to change. It's been missing since. It's not in the bathroom anymore. That was its last known use. 

But I never forgot Susan's hot air brush. On a whim, I bought one last week. 

Being a good consumer, I actually did read the safety instructions that came with the tool. It is a good thing I did. For example, I now know that I should never use this appliance while I'm taking a shower or bath. I mean, how effective can it be as a hair dryer if I'm just going to get my hair all wet with the water in the bath tub? Duh. Also, I now know that I should not use this appliance while I'm sleeping. Probably because I would not get good results as I'd be fighting against bed head the whole time.

I love this tool. It straightens my hair while drying it, gives me great volume, and my hair frizz is at a minimum level -- to the point that I'm not even reaching for my flat iron. But the thing I love best about it is that it stores so much easier than a traditional hair dryer. It comes with the three attachments. The brushes and the funnel directional thing all sit with the rest of my brushes in my brush basket. The handle sits with my curling irons and flat iron. I had to keep my old dinosaur of a hair dryer underneath the sink for all these years. How nice to have all my hair tools in one organized drawer! 

I'm entering a new age of hairvana. Namaste!

Better living through plastic

When I got my first iPod, my husband suggested that I get a Zagg  to cover it. If you're not familiar with this product, basically it is a plastic scratch resistant skin that you place on it. The advantage of such a product is you don't have a case that adds to the profile of the device making it bulky for your pockets and your purse. The other thing is that a scratched up display or touch screen will simply bug the crap out of me. To the point that I will obsess on that blemish and get irritated every time that I use the device. I know. It is neurotic. What did you expect?

You have to clean the device meticulously with the enclosed lint free cloth. You mist it with water. Then you take the sheathing and carefully, not letting your fingers touch the adhesive, place it on the iPod. You take the enclosed squeegee and push out air and water bubbles. If you do it correctly, you've got a gorgeous application with a surface that keeps your electronics from getting banged up. The neurotic person within me is saved.

It took me hours to wrap my iPod in it's Zagg protective sheathing. The most challenging part was the two concentric circles for the controls. I think part of my brain went up in smoke that day.

Despite that, the results were phenomenal. The iPod still looks brand new despite being obsolete in some ways. It only has 4G of storage so I can only have about half of all the music recorded in the last century stored upon it. Unacceptable.

Anyhow, when we got our new Samsung Droid phones, I went ahead and got the Zagg screen protector for it. This time I really missed that part of my brain that went up in smoke with the iPod installation. I couldn't get it right. I kept having to reposition the thing and by the end, there were all kinds of nasty pock marks in the sheathing. It has been bugging me for the past year. Seriously, I'm a wreck of a person.

Yesterday though, I found a new kiosk in the mall. There was a young man sitting behind the counter saying that if I would like to replace my old pock marked screen protector, he'd give me it since it is a lifetime warranty. He would only charge $5 for installation unless I wanted to do it myself.

Best $5 I had spent all day!

The only distressing thing is that the company would like to see why people are returning the films so he took my used cover and stuck it on a white piece of paper. It was horrifying. It was so brown it was practically black. That I could see the screen of my phone at all is remarkable. And the thought of the microbes making their nest on my smart phone screen conjures up memories of the South Park episode where the sea monkeys became sentient beings in Cartman's room. It is a good thing that no sea men were involved with the maintenance of my phone.

My phone looks brand spanking new. I think it actually works better. No joke! And this kid installed it in less than 10 minutes. 

I can't keep myself from touching it. 

Lips

Burt's Bees. I wanted to let you know that you've won. I'm not getting paid by you. This is not an endorsement. This is surrender. I'm addicted to your lip balm. I didn't know that lip balm could be something you could get addicted to. I never put much thought to it before. But you've succeeded in giving me a completely irrational brand loyalty. You win. Uncle.

Before last Christmas, I saw your pretty yellow boxes with pseudo-Victorian era drawings of produce, bees, and the guy who looks like Santa in the off season. I always wanted to try your lip glosses. But when I looked at the price, I shied away. If I can get a Chapstick for 99 cents, why would I pay $3 for a tube of your stuff, right? Just made no sense.

But you lured me in Burt's Bees, with a cute little gift set which gave you 3 lip balms and a "keepsake tin" for only $4. What a bargain! Can we talk about that stupid keepsake tin? It was supposed to be an ornament. Maybe at your corporate offices, you might decorate your Christmas tree with ornaments emblazoned with your logo. Not my Christmas tree. Lucky for you my 4th grade daughter was thrilled to have another small box in which to put her treasures (aka rubbish).

I didn't care for the pomegranate. It was red but colorless when applied and tasted nothing like pomegranates. The honey smelled too much like... well, honey. It reminded me of old lady perfume. But then there was your plain old Cooling Soothing Beeswax Lip Balm. It makes my lips tingle. Feels so good. (Is it wrong that I'm blushing a little writing this?)

I found myself actually running out of tubes of this stuff. Nobody ever runs out of lip balm, but I did. I use it multiple times a day. I actually pay *gasp* full price. I've expanded my addiction to include multiple shimmers which feel all tingly but have a little bit of color. My fave is Fig.

Burt's Bees, I'm yours.