Friday, July 08, 2005
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Who's afraid of turning 30?
Leah McLaren
Globe and Mail
A 29-year-old male friend recently e-mailed me an irritating article with the subject heading, "Time's a wasting, toots." The story was entitled, "Eureka! Why 29-year-olds are poised for greatness" and forwarded from The Times of London.
It reported that a team of U.S. researchers, after studying thousands of innovators and creative geniuses, had concluded that 29 is the age at which a person is most likely to have her first big, original idea.
"The age represents the optimum combination of education and energy levels required for great ideas to emerge," the researchers said.
It went on to cite recent examples of 29-year-old fabulousness in the form of Stella McCartney, who launched her own label at Gucci at that age, and Quentin Tarantino, who wrote and directed his breakout film, Reservoir Dogs, just before turning 30.
I turned 30 this year, and while I once wrote a libretto for a musical based on the greatest hits of ABBA (it was called Take A Chance; I did nothing about it), I can't lay claim to any bona fide moments of genius since.
I don't see much evidence of this supposed brilliance in the rest of my age group, either. Most of my contemporaries are just now starting to figure out their careers and/or their personal lives. Truth be told, it's usually one or the other, rarely both.
The 20s are not the decade for having it all, but for wanting it all and being disappointed when the world fails to live up to your outrageous expectations. Half the people I know from school are barely able to conceal their shock that, at the age of 29, they are not
a) famous,
b) wildly successful,
c) homeowners,
d) happy and
e) at the very least sleeping with someone who is all of the above.
When you're in your 20s, everybody makes a big deal about how great your life is. When you mention your age, senior colleagues get all gooey-eyed and say, "Oooh. Wow, I remember that." You can almost hear the Fleetwood Mac cranking up on their internal soundtrack.
Your 20s, so the theory goes, are the time for the perks of adult life (job, independence, travel, parties) with none of the drawbacks (mortgages, marital woes, stretch marks). You're supposed to enjoy the years while they last for, soon enough, the implication goes, you will end up bored, encumbered, overworked and overtiered like everyone else.
All this possibility and sense of potential is starting to wear me down. It must be taking a toll because people don't even believe me when I tell them my age any more.
Just a few weeks ago at a party, someone asked how old I was. When I told him I was 29, he smiled conspiratorially and gave me a gentle punch on the shoulder. "Sure y'are," he said.
It was at that moment I realized, I'am so over my 20s.
Most middle-aged people I know are functioning in a state of suspended adolescence anyway, so turning 30 doesn't seem half bad. Second careers, like second marriages, have a better statistical chance of working out, so why not dispense with the disappointing preliminaries and move on to the meaningful stuff? Goofing around can be fun, but sometimes it leaves you feeling, well, goofy. I welcome 30 and all the expectations and pressures it supposedly brings - not that I'm ready for responsibility, but who ever is?
I am sick of spending my evenings sitting on my deck, ordering sushi, talking on the phone and reading books like the recently published 20 Something 20 Everything: A Quarter-Life Women's Guide to Balance and Direction. In it, author Christine Hassler outlines the criteria for deciding whether you are in the throes of a quarter-life crisis. Red flags include "a need to have it all," "being stressed out by choices that seemingly affect the rest of your life," "over-analyzing yourself and your decisions" and a nagging feeling "that time is running out."
According to this list, every mentally healthy adult I know, including my eightysomething grandmother, is suffering from a quarter-life crisis. Some worries are universal and ageless it seems; I guess the difference is that eventually you get used to them.
Carol Burnett said the irony of turning 40 is that just as you get your head together, your butt falls apart. In their 20s, most people have their heads so far up their butts they barely notice when things fall apart.
I'm done with my quarter-life. Let the real crisis begin.
lmclaren@globeandmail.ca
Globe and Mail
A 29-year-old male friend recently e-mailed me an irritating article with the subject heading, "Time's a wasting, toots." The story was entitled, "Eureka! Why 29-year-olds are poised for greatness" and forwarded from The Times of London.
It reported that a team of U.S. researchers, after studying thousands of innovators and creative geniuses, had concluded that 29 is the age at which a person is most likely to have her first big, original idea.
"The age represents the optimum combination of education and energy levels required for great ideas to emerge," the researchers said.
It went on to cite recent examples of 29-year-old fabulousness in the form of Stella McCartney, who launched her own label at Gucci at that age, and Quentin Tarantino, who wrote and directed his breakout film, Reservoir Dogs, just before turning 30.
I turned 30 this year, and while I once wrote a libretto for a musical based on the greatest hits of ABBA (it was called Take A Chance; I did nothing about it), I can't lay claim to any bona fide moments of genius since.
I don't see much evidence of this supposed brilliance in the rest of my age group, either. Most of my contemporaries are just now starting to figure out their careers and/or their personal lives. Truth be told, it's usually one or the other, rarely both.
The 20s are not the decade for having it all, but for wanting it all and being disappointed when the world fails to live up to your outrageous expectations. Half the people I know from school are barely able to conceal their shock that, at the age of 29, they are not
a) famous,
b) wildly successful,
c) homeowners,
d) happy and
e) at the very least sleeping with someone who is all of the above.
When you're in your 20s, everybody makes a big deal about how great your life is. When you mention your age, senior colleagues get all gooey-eyed and say, "Oooh. Wow, I remember that." You can almost hear the Fleetwood Mac cranking up on their internal soundtrack.
Your 20s, so the theory goes, are the time for the perks of adult life (job, independence, travel, parties) with none of the drawbacks (mortgages, marital woes, stretch marks). You're supposed to enjoy the years while they last for, soon enough, the implication goes, you will end up bored, encumbered, overworked and overtiered like everyone else.
All this possibility and sense of potential is starting to wear me down. It must be taking a toll because people don't even believe me when I tell them my age any more.
Just a few weeks ago at a party, someone asked how old I was. When I told him I was 29, he smiled conspiratorially and gave me a gentle punch on the shoulder. "Sure y'are," he said.
It was at that moment I realized, I'am so over my 20s.
Most middle-aged people I know are functioning in a state of suspended adolescence anyway, so turning 30 doesn't seem half bad. Second careers, like second marriages, have a better statistical chance of working out, so why not dispense with the disappointing preliminaries and move on to the meaningful stuff? Goofing around can be fun, but sometimes it leaves you feeling, well, goofy. I welcome 30 and all the expectations and pressures it supposedly brings - not that I'm ready for responsibility, but who ever is?
I am sick of spending my evenings sitting on my deck, ordering sushi, talking on the phone and reading books like the recently published 20 Something 20 Everything: A Quarter-Life Women's Guide to Balance and Direction. In it, author Christine Hassler outlines the criteria for deciding whether you are in the throes of a quarter-life crisis. Red flags include "a need to have it all," "being stressed out by choices that seemingly affect the rest of your life," "over-analyzing yourself and your decisions" and a nagging feeling "that time is running out."
According to this list, every mentally healthy adult I know, including my eightysomething grandmother, is suffering from a quarter-life crisis. Some worries are universal and ageless it seems; I guess the difference is that eventually you get used to them.
Carol Burnett said the irony of turning 40 is that just as you get your head together, your butt falls apart. In their 20s, most people have their heads so far up their butts they barely notice when things fall apart.
I'm done with my quarter-life. Let the real crisis begin.
lmclaren@globeandmail.ca
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Brunch is the new bar scene for some
Raju Mudhar
Toronto Star
There comes a time sometime in your twenties when, instead of lining up for clubs, you start lining up in the morning for brunch spots. Oh sure, there are plenty of folks that tend to do both, but depending on what time you wake up (probably hungover) to make it out to breakfast, you best be ready to wait.
Aunties and Uncles, Boom Breakfast Co., Le Petit Dejeuner, Mildred Pierce and the Hot House are just some of the hot brunch spots downtown.
Some spots, like the first two, make breakfast and lunch their raison d'être, so it's understandable people are chomping at the bit. But what is surprising is peopole are willing to wait, although there are plenty of other brunch spots around.
I personally know the bane of waiting with a growling stomach on a weekend morning, but I know the Breakfast Pocket at Aunties and Uncles is definitely workth it. Thankfully, they've reopened their patio for the summer, which almost doubles capacity. They used to also have a clipboard for people to sign up to secure their spot in the queue, but it seems to have disappeared.
"Today, the wait was okay," says Kevin Lee, 28, at Le Petit Dejeuner. "It was only 20 minutes, so that wasn't that bad."
Of course, sometimes waiting just won't do.
"I looked, and they told my friend 15 minutes, but I figure we can just find another place and be eating by that time," says Steve Sapoulos, 26, standing with some friends outside Boom.
Many spots don't take reservations ("I'd like it if you could make them a half hour before, like right when you wake up," jokes Lee), because they say it's too much of a hassle.
"Well, we choose not to do it because of the high volume and people tend to cancel or change the number of the party, so it gets hard to keep track," says Tanya Brazil, assistant manager of Boom.
"But the lineup only looks intimidating. It's continuous, but it's fast moving."
The Hot House has gone the other way, and only takes reservations for their Sunday brunch.
"Without reservations, we don't how long it will be. Sometimes it would be an hour. And a lot of people still wait," says Andrew Laffy, the restaurant's owner.
"I mean, we feel badly for them and I know I wouldn't wait. Some Sundays, we turn away hundreds of people who call to try to get a reservation."
To handle the demand, the Hot House now opens earlier, at 9:30, and serves until 3 p.m.
The thing is, at the spots that don't take reservations, there's usually only a small window you need to wait.
By my judgment, it's somewhere around the 11:30-ish time frame, usually between the first seating of patrons and the second.
But brunch is very similar to bars: If you want to avoid the rush, your best bets are to go early or pretty late.
Toronto Star
There comes a time sometime in your twenties when, instead of lining up for clubs, you start lining up in the morning for brunch spots. Oh sure, there are plenty of folks that tend to do both, but depending on what time you wake up (probably hungover) to make it out to breakfast, you best be ready to wait.
Aunties and Uncles, Boom Breakfast Co., Le Petit Dejeuner, Mildred Pierce and the Hot House are just some of the hot brunch spots downtown.
Some spots, like the first two, make breakfast and lunch their raison d'être, so it's understandable people are chomping at the bit. But what is surprising is peopole are willing to wait, although there are plenty of other brunch spots around.
I personally know the bane of waiting with a growling stomach on a weekend morning, but I know the Breakfast Pocket at Aunties and Uncles is definitely workth it. Thankfully, they've reopened their patio for the summer, which almost doubles capacity. They used to also have a clipboard for people to sign up to secure their spot in the queue, but it seems to have disappeared.
"Today, the wait was okay," says Kevin Lee, 28, at Le Petit Dejeuner. "It was only 20 minutes, so that wasn't that bad."
Of course, sometimes waiting just won't do.
"I looked, and they told my friend 15 minutes, but I figure we can just find another place and be eating by that time," says Steve Sapoulos, 26, standing with some friends outside Boom.
Many spots don't take reservations ("I'd like it if you could make them a half hour before, like right when you wake up," jokes Lee), because they say it's too much of a hassle.
"Well, we choose not to do it because of the high volume and people tend to cancel or change the number of the party, so it gets hard to keep track," says Tanya Brazil, assistant manager of Boom.
"But the lineup only looks intimidating. It's continuous, but it's fast moving."
The Hot House has gone the other way, and only takes reservations for their Sunday brunch.
"Without reservations, we don't how long it will be. Sometimes it would be an hour. And a lot of people still wait," says Andrew Laffy, the restaurant's owner.
"I mean, we feel badly for them and I know I wouldn't wait. Some Sundays, we turn away hundreds of people who call to try to get a reservation."
To handle the demand, the Hot House now opens earlier, at 9:30, and serves until 3 p.m.
The thing is, at the spots that don't take reservations, there's usually only a small window you need to wait.
By my judgment, it's somewhere around the 11:30-ish time frame, usually between the first seating of patrons and the second.
But brunch is very similar to bars: If you want to avoid the rush, your best bets are to go early or pretty late.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
You're either gay, straight or lying
Study casts doubt on bisexuality in men
`You're either gay, straight or lying' as some put it
Research looked at genital arousal patterns in men
BENEDICT CAREY
NEW YORK TIMES
Some people are attracted to women; some are attracted to men. And some, if Sigmund Freud, Dr. Alfred Kinsey and millions of self-described bisexuals are to be believed, are drawn to both sexes.
But a new study casts doubt on whether true bisexuality exists, at least in men.
The study, by a team of psychologists in Chicago and Toronto, lends support to those who have long been skeptical that bisexuality is a distinct and stable sexual orientation.
People who claim bisexuality, according to these critics, are usually homosexual, but are ambivalent about their homosexuality or simply closeted. "You're either gay, straight or lying," as some gay men have put it.
In the new study, a team of psychologists directly measured genital arousal patterns in response to images of men and women.
The psychologists found that men who identified themselves as bisexual were in fact exclusively aroused by either one sex or the other, usually by other men.
The study is the largest of several small reports suggesting that the estimated 1.7 per cent of men who identify themselves as bisexual show physical attraction patterns that differ substantially from their professed desires.
"Research on sexual orientation has been based almost entirely on self-reports, and this is one of the few good studies using physiological measures," said Dr. Lisa Diamond, an associate professor of psychology and gender identity at the University of Utah, who was not involved in the study.
Several other researchers who have seen the study, scheduled to be published in the journal Psychological Science, said it would need to be repeated with larger numbers of bisexual men before clear conclusions could be drawn.
In the experiment, psychologists at Northwestern University in Chicago and the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health in Toronto used advertisements in gay and alternative newspapers to recruit 101 young adult men. Thirty-three of them identified themselves as bisexual, 30 as straight and 38 as homosexual.
The researchers asked the men about their sexual desires and rated them on a scale from 0 to 6 on sexual orientation, with 0 to 1 indicating heterosexuality, and 5 to 6 indicating homosexuality. Bisexuality was measured by scores in the middle range.
But the men in the study who described themselves as bisexual did not have patterns of arousal that were consistent with their stated attraction to men and to women.
Instead, about three-quarters of the group had arousal patterns identical to those of gay men; the rest were indistinguishable from heterosexuals.
Since at least the middle of the 19th century, behavioural scientists have noted bisexual attraction in men and women and debated its place in the development of sexual identity.
Some experts, like Freud, concluded that humans are naturally bisexual.
In his landmark sex surveys of the 1940s, Kinsey found many married, publicly heterosexual men who reported having had sex with other men.
"Males do not represent two discrete populations, heterosexual and homosexual," Kinsey wrote. "The world is not to be divided into sheep and goats."
`You're either gay, straight or lying' as some put it
Research looked at genital arousal patterns in men
BENEDICT CAREY
NEW YORK TIMES
Some people are attracted to women; some are attracted to men. And some, if Sigmund Freud, Dr. Alfred Kinsey and millions of self-described bisexuals are to be believed, are drawn to both sexes.
But a new study casts doubt on whether true bisexuality exists, at least in men.
The study, by a team of psychologists in Chicago and Toronto, lends support to those who have long been skeptical that bisexuality is a distinct and stable sexual orientation.
People who claim bisexuality, according to these critics, are usually homosexual, but are ambivalent about their homosexuality or simply closeted. "You're either gay, straight or lying," as some gay men have put it.
In the new study, a team of psychologists directly measured genital arousal patterns in response to images of men and women.
The psychologists found that men who identified themselves as bisexual were in fact exclusively aroused by either one sex or the other, usually by other men.
The study is the largest of several small reports suggesting that the estimated 1.7 per cent of men who identify themselves as bisexual show physical attraction patterns that differ substantially from their professed desires.
"Research on sexual orientation has been based almost entirely on self-reports, and this is one of the few good studies using physiological measures," said Dr. Lisa Diamond, an associate professor of psychology and gender identity at the University of Utah, who was not involved in the study.
Several other researchers who have seen the study, scheduled to be published in the journal Psychological Science, said it would need to be repeated with larger numbers of bisexual men before clear conclusions could be drawn.
In the experiment, psychologists at Northwestern University in Chicago and the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health in Toronto used advertisements in gay and alternative newspapers to recruit 101 young adult men. Thirty-three of them identified themselves as bisexual, 30 as straight and 38 as homosexual.
The researchers asked the men about their sexual desires and rated them on a scale from 0 to 6 on sexual orientation, with 0 to 1 indicating heterosexuality, and 5 to 6 indicating homosexuality. Bisexuality was measured by scores in the middle range.
But the men in the study who described themselves as bisexual did not have patterns of arousal that were consistent with their stated attraction to men and to women.
Instead, about three-quarters of the group had arousal patterns identical to those of gay men; the rest were indistinguishable from heterosexuals.
Since at least the middle of the 19th century, behavioural scientists have noted bisexual attraction in men and women and debated its place in the development of sexual identity.
Some experts, like Freud, concluded that humans are naturally bisexual.
In his landmark sex surveys of the 1940s, Kinsey found many married, publicly heterosexual men who reported having had sex with other men.
"Males do not represent two discrete populations, heterosexual and homosexual," Kinsey wrote. "The world is not to be divided into sheep and goats."
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