Pardon My French

I saw them as ordinary words. The kind that didn’t belong to anyone in particular, used by everyone, every single day in all languages across the globe.

The words “Beautiful Stranger” were unwanted stand-bys, too cliche’ and tired to hold any kind of deep meaning. And yet, somehow, when paired with my work they took on an entirely different meaning, perfectly conveying the tone of what my journalism project is all about–a passionate person’s inside look at the real people wandering the streets of Los Angeles. That’s why I decided to adopt them as my own.

My sources expressed a fondness for the title and I grew even more attached.

That’s why I was so frustrated and disappointed when I recently had to change it.

I received an email earlier this week from a woman named Abby Wallach, the owner and founder of a website called BeautifulStranger.TV, in which she respectfully requested that I change the name of my blog and URL address.

Apparently, she owns the legal right and trademark to the full name and all variations of “Beautiful Stranger” worldwide.

I consulted with Media Law Professor in the Journalism Department at CMU, Timothy Boudreau, who told me that Wallach does have me–on a technicality. The terms of the trademark revolve around commerce–and while I am not selling anything–my website ends in dotcom. These days, anyone can have a dotcom site, whether they are a business or not, but the written rules aren’t quite caught up, yet.

I did some research and learned that the grounds for a trademark lawsuit are based on the fear of an ordinary person confusing the two websites or thinking that one is associated with the other.

Because our websites are so different (hers is a video fashion site that pushes the sales of the clothing, accessories and beauty products) and because an ordinary person would never just stumble upon my website if they didn’t already know where to look, I know there’s no way anyone could ever confuse the two.

My project is based on my passion for journalism writing and story telling. I don’t get paid in any way and I’m not attempting to sell anything.

I couldn’t help but feel that her ordering a name change was unjust and it was a bit cruel of her to single out the little guy who clearly is not in direct competition with her in any way.

I have a Google alert on the words “Beautiful Stranger”, which means that every time someone out in the blogosphere used those words, I received an email notification of the occurrence. This means tons of links were brought to my attention every single day.

This trademark happens to be the name of a popular pop song (by Madonna), is used every other day in the headlines of web news articles and is in the URL of probably 15 percent of the iGeneration’s old Myspace accounts.

The example I used with friends and family to express my frustration and confusion was that I felt that this incident is like someone naming their newborn baby daughter Tiffany and then stating that no one else on Earth can call their child by the same name.

It’s been a very challenging week for my nerves.

I’ve had to change my domain and remodify my page, changes that took weeks to get exactly how I wanted them. I again had to call on my friend, web designer Erol Ahmed to help me get everything straightened out.

Phil installed a redirect on my site so that anyone who tries to visit BeautifulStrangerLA.com will be rerouted to http://PerfectStrangerLA.com. I’ve ordered new business cards and changed my Twitter account–neither of which was a challenge. But my Facebook Fan Page was definitely a test from God.

It turns out that the Facebook Page technology isn’t advanced enough to make simple edits to the name of the page or to change the category that it falls into.

I had to remake the entire page and start my fan following over from scratch just because I needed to rename it.

After I remade it the first time, including all of the data about my project, I realized that the category the page was filed under was not correct and I had to scrap it and begin again.

When I wanted to message all friends of the “Beautiful Stranger” page, I couldn’t find the option to message all followers and so I contacted all 133 people individually. Later, when I discovered that there was such an option, my head nearly exploded.

The more I think about it, the more I feel that the name change to “Perfect Stranger L.A.” is more fitting for the project. I’ve checked online registries for Trademarks online and haven’t come upon anything with the name. I’m looking at it as though this is a fresh start with a new name and I’m excited by all of the possibilities.

I’ve vented out all of my frustration, I’ve picked up the pieces and I’m moving on. I just hope that I never have to go through anything like this ever again, as this was not only a huge inconvenience, but it also meant I lost something that I consider to be part of my identity.

Go ahead and call me a music elitist.
Because honestly, that’s probably what I’m going to sound like to everyone as I attempt to explain why I feel that this new biopic about The Runaways isn’t a great idea.

The Runaways, a “queens of noise” 1970’s glam rock band that began Joan Jett’s rise to fame is one of those bands whose vinyl is lost in the generation gap that divides us from our parents–Vinyl that most of us (young 20-somethings) never heard, never knew anything about and realistically never were expected to discover (Because they were buried in some stack behind the sticker covered door of a downtown record store or perhaps somewhere inside of a cob web covered box in the attic.)

But, some of us did discover it. Some of us were even lucky enough to be raised on the stuff. It’s a feeling and a movement that all can relate to: the homemade fashion, vamp make-up, smoking, swearing, spitting, guitar thrashing angry rebellion–raw Rock ‘N Roll speaks to every angsty teenager, no matter the decade.

That’s why you must understand that Rock for all mankind is not the movement that I have the issue with. It’s the exploitation of it all that bothers me.

The film “The Runaways” based on the autobiography of singer Cherie Currie, received Joan Jett’s stamp of approval, who even went on to produce it. But, don’t let that fool you. This film isn’t some kind of recommendation for a full band revival.

It’s just one big commercial.

The billboards and posters seemed to pop up overnight in Los Angeles, and the more I found myself staring at them, the more clear it became.

For starters, the film has cast tween idols Dakota Fanning as Cherie Currie and Kristen Stewart as Joan Jett–Clearly, the movie isn’t made for the real fans of the music. It’s only about selling tickets.

The emphasis is on their clothing, rather than on the story of the musical experience or a chronicling of what these woman accomplished. It’s the thrift store treasures, homemade 70s Glam Rock fashion– leather leggings, ripped tees, combat boots, light denim, big aviator sunglasses—stuff that’s now being sold for top dollar in hipster chic clothing stores like American Apparel and Urban Outfitters. Stuff that people may magically be inspired to go buy after watching the movie.

(Mark my words: every 13-year-old girl in America will have a shag hair cut by summer time.)

It’s not just this movie that I have an issue with. It’s the million variations of the Rock Band and Guitar Hero video games and the store Hot Topic.

In the last few years, there boomed this movement to sort of “educate” the younger generations about Rock ‘n Roll for the small fee of $140 for the rock band set (drums, microphone, guitar, etc), $1.99 per iTunes download or $25 for every Ramones/Rolling Stones/Led Zeppelin/Etc. T-shirt.

My theory? In the time of internet radio and MP3’s, there’s so many different genres and artists, so much information on the web that it’s pretty much guaranteed that we’re all listening to different things. We’re not united by sharing these bits of culture, by “owning them.” Generation Y is a nostalgic group, buying our “My Little Pony” and Back to “The Future T-shirts”, Nintendo controller belt buckles and “Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles” on DVD– I can see how it would be possible to look to another time to find some overall identity.

I get that making money is at the core of everything. Even the music itself is about making money, selling albums, booking tours–for the record companies, anyway. But, what about that experience of the music–How it makes you feel? What it inspires? And what of the songs that never die? The vinyl you spin even years after everyone and their grandma owns an iPod? You can’t put a price tag on that.

These movies and video games make the whole rock experience feel programmed and plastic, a means for the big guy to make a buck–and that’s kind of ruining it for me.

I’ll want kids when I’m older.
They always insist it, each time I make it clear that it’s something that I never see myself doing.
“I never wanted any,” my Aunt Jenny admitted to me during one family Christmas party a few years ago. “But, someday, you most certainly will.”
Then she rested her hand on my shoulder, smiled strangely at me, as though I was a child myself, and then seem pleased with herself for blessing me with her infinite wisdom.

Looking at me like I’m a crazy person and then patronizing me is the common reaction to my telling people I am not interested in children. (Believe me, I have this conversation more often than I would like.) I’m “not mature enough” or “smart enough” to know what I want and as a result, I’m patted gently on the head and told I’m wrong. That’s the same kind of reaction I received at work yesterday when I said I felt encouraging kids to believe in Santa Claus doesn’t exactly seem like a humane thing to do. But, I have my reasons. I don’t buy that kids should be encouraged to believe just because it’s a tradition.

For starters, parents are lying to their kids. From this, the myth messes with children’s perceptions of reality and discourages healthy skepticism. Kids recognize when Mom and Santa have the same wrapping paper, but because it was insisted that there is a Santa Claus, kids ignore tend to initially ignore this fact. Feelings of betrayal and distrust shouldn’t be unexpected upon their learning the harsh reality.

Then, to back up their claim, adults often stage elaborate deceptions. Someone at work mentioned that recently on 95.5 FM during the morning show, people were calling in to talk about the Santa Claus stunts they pulled to get their children to behave. One father said he put his home phone number into his cell phone as “SANTA” so he could fake a call when his child misbehaved. “Look! Santa is calling! You’d better be good!”

I see it everyday at my grocery store retail job. The whole Santa Claus myth encourages lazy parenting by promoting an unhealthy fear. Instead of using real world tactics to snap their kids in gear, I hear misbehaving children hushed with threats about Santa Claus watching them.

Teaching kids to “just believe”, instead of encouraging kids to think critically and look for evidence isn’t smart. TV is covered with crap products and quick-fix alternative medicine and someone is always trying to make a buck off of you. Making children vulnerable to this kind of thing is exactly what parents are doing.

Christmas is supposed to be about the spirit of generosity, but the Santa Claus myth encourages materialism and greed. The emphasis is on asking and receiving and not on the child being the giver. The motive for being a good person changes, too. They’re in it for lots of presents on Christmas morning.

Because being a good kid is how you get those gifts, it becomes problematic when money enters the equation. The economy’s rough, people all over the country are being laid off everyday. Obviously, Christmas isn’t the same huge, glamorous happening that it used to be and there are fewer gifts under the tree.
Kids no doubt talk about what they got for Christmas with their friends at school–we always did when I was younger–So what is Johnny to make of it when he or she realizes that Timmy, the rich kid in school, got three times as many gifts as he did?
It’s a message that rich kids are better kids by this concept of Santa and his naughty or nice list. It can and does encourage animosity for the rich by the poor and encourages children of more affluent families to look down on the poor kids.

I always felt that Christmas was magical when I was little and the joyful spirit of the time of year was enough. Yes, I enjoyed the myths surrounding Christmas, but I wish they hadn’t been promoted as a reality.

On a side note, I am glad that my culture doesn’t encourage the belief in Krampus, a demon-like creature who throws bad children into the flames of hell, like they do in Austria. As a kid, I would have been RELIEVED to learn that that thing wasn’t real.

Monday, October 19, exactly a week from today, looms like a credit card payment. I just don’t feel for my birthday the way I used to.

When I turned 6, I felt like Princess Cinderalla in my brand new party dress, blindfolded and waving a long stick at a paper mache’ Dalmation, my entire first grade class behind me. A few Barbie dolls following a harmonized round of the Happy Birthday song over an inflamed ice cream cake and I was the happiest little girl you’ve ever seen. Those first ten years of life were so simple and every Oct. 19 was magical. Unfortunately, like most things related to childhood, birthdays after the age of 10 just lost their sparkle.

Birthdays are put on a pedestal in our culture. You must remember every single person’s special day, wish them well by phone or interwebs and if they’re a close friend or relative, present them with a gift to commemorate the occasion of growing older. If you don’t, at a minimum: feelings will be hurt. People are sometimes resentful and hold a grudge for mere absentmindedness. You are a terrible human being if you forget a birthday. This makes the whole ritual of a birthday mandatory, repetitive to a point where some participants just seem to be programmed autopilot. It all just feels so forced sometimes. It sometimes feels impersonal, too. People on Facebook, dangling somewhere between stranger and friend, send their congratulatory greetings for your existence even if they rarely talk to you at any other point in the year.

I know I sound like an ungrateful ingrate. I promise, I’m not ungrateful. I’m so happy that I have people who love me enough to remember the anniversary that mom popped me out. And really, I don’t mind helping other people celebrate THEIR special days. All of this is more about disliking being the center of attention and maybe I’m finally over hearing the same tired birthday song.

Every year, as the day fast approaches, I start to feel anxious and this year, it’s especially bad. I feel like a timer has been set and I have to hurry up and accomplish something profound in my life. “It’s Oct. 19 again, Caitlin. Get livin’ or get dyin’.”
These feelings are probably the of my graduation in May combined with recent life changes– I’ve been asked a lot of questions about myself lately. Almost all of them relate to what I’m doing with my life.

I started two new jobs recently: general crew member at Trader Joe’s on Walton in Rochester Hills and barista at Biggby Coffee and 21 & Hayes in Shelby Township. Both jobs are a lot of fun and I work with a lot of really nice people who already seem to care a lot about me. I’m a little sad, though, because I already know what kind of lifelong work I’d like to commit myself to and even have the credentials to do so– I just haven’t found a place to go. It’s not necessarily the same kind of labor of love I’ve always dreamt of, but I do need some money if I’d like to move out West with Phil.

What kills me is when I have to talk with people about this temporary lapse. Strangers in line while I’m working cash register will ask me “Where do you go to school?” Other times, I’ll run into people I haven’t seen in a long time, many who seem to be doing well for themselves. I automatically feel that I have to explain myself and this is wearing on me a bit. Between jobs, I’m just trying to write when I can.

We’ve all seen them.
Photo essays of some of Detroit’s “best” shit holes in America’s most well known and respected news publications: the ruins of the vacant Packard Auto Plant and Michigan Central Station, the rotting skeletons of abandoned homes that were long ago burnt to the ground, the urban prairies–”wildlife” that’s slowly taking back the city and urban farming.
These are supposed to be the representation of what Detroit is like.

As Vice Magazine’s Thomas Morton so wisely noted earlier this summer in his article “Something, something, something Detroit: Lazy journalists love pictures of abandoned stuff”, because depicting a city that appears to be decaying from the inside out, from the local government to the face of the rubbled landscape, that get all the hits on news websites, these sensationalistic stories therefore prioritize those that have actual newsworthiness.
“There’s a total gold-rush mentality about the D right now,” Morton writes. “And all the excitement has led to some real lapses in basic journalistic ethics and judgment.”

To create some relevance here, what got me all fired up about this subject was my discovery of a TIME article called “Detroit: The Death — and Possible Life — of a Great City” earlier this afternoon.
“So, is this your thing now TIME?” I thought to myself, half kidding, as I scrolled past a photo captioned ‘abandoned homes in Detroit.’ “Write that same old Detroit stereotypes story every couple of months?” My jaw dropped when I realized that this was EXACTLY what the magazine is doing.

Without commentary from any locals, historical experts or city leaders, and using exclusively demographic information that appear to be lifted from a Wikipedialike source, TIME writer Daniel Okrent blogs from the first person perspective, as though he were an expert on the historical timeline and current state of the city. But, he’s certainly no expert.

While he claims to be a “Detroit native”, Okrent moved out of the city for an education at The University of Michigan and from there moved out of state the first chance he got, in the 70s– it’s pretty safe to say that he didn’t experience the ups and downs of living in Detroit duringthe last 40 years. His recent return to Detroit to pose the hypothetical question “Could we regenerate a city, and regain a sense of who we are as Americans?” is like a slap in the face to the people who actually live here.

He’s not actually writing from the perspective of a true native. He’s focused on fulfilling his own agenda, keeping people across the country comfortable through maintaining their ideas of what Detroit is like. While his voice is that of a martyr, he’s not actually doing anything to help rebuild the city. There’s no suggested plan of action to clean up or rebuild the city– there’s not even any words of encouragement. He just wants to retell the same story that’s been told a thousand times before.

What continues to frustrate me is that there’s not even a place on TIME’s website for me to comment on why this is unfair and unethical journalism.

In an AutoMK article called “TIME comes back to Detroit”, it’s reported that there’s a whole team of TIME reporters and photographers actually stationed within the city. Because it’s en vogue, TIME Magazine decided to buy a house in an old-money neighborhood to serve as their Detroit Bureau during this “Assignment Detroit Project” for the next year. Interestingly enough, this isn’t the first time TIME has had employees in Michigan and for similar reasons.
“Until about ten years ago, they had a whole editorial and advertising team in the cushy Detroit suburb of Bloomfield Hills. Then, a decade ago, they left, tail between their legs, afraid of sinking auto advertising revenues and lonely for their even-more-cushy Manhattan high-rise,” the article reads.

It continues: Rampant gang and crime that was prevalent through the 80s and 90s has dramatically decreased, the murder rate has dropped below the average of most major U.S. cities and there has been a rebirth in business entertainment.
“However, for someone just coming back to the city, it’s hard to see the improvement, so, like TIME Magazine, it’s much easier to apply a story line to a situation rather than put things into context,” it reads.

TIME is in The Motor City “because Detroit affects all of us”, they claim, while all the while The Detroit Free Press has been doing a stand up job with it’s coverage in the last couple of years. What this TIME in Detroit business is really about roots back to the fact that the national media loves to dump on this city from the safe sidelines. It’s like they’re fascinated with the city collapsing in on itself, but don’t want it to actually involve them.