What would you do for $33,000

Ms. Hawkenson, proudly showing her ASU student ID card.

Granted, nobody wants their 18 year old daughter having live sex on camera in exchange for $2000. But, honestly, is it that big a deal?

The news sources have landed on this loopy tale about Elizabeth Hawkenson, the ASU geology student, who appeared in a video for the porn Web site Backroom Casting Couch and allegedly lost her $33,000 ASU scholarship.

Well, first of all, the whole kerfuffle about the scholarship is a hoax. Apparently there was no irate alumnus who wrote to the board of regents insisting the scholarship be revoked. The video itself; however, does exist. Ms. Hawkenson, finding herself a few thousand dollars short of tuition, (and apparently a few cards short of a full deck), made the unwise decision to appear in a “reality porn” video about a young student who innocently ends up copulating for a promise of 5 grand that never materializes. The “reality” is that Ms. Hawkenson knew exactly what she was doing and chose to have sex on camera supposedly believing that the tape’s distribution would be limited to pay per view websites.

Okay, naivete is one thing. But let’s examine the idiocy of this young woman’s choices. First of all, no matter what part of Texas you’re from, you ought to know that sex videos go viral. And if not right away, 20 years later when you actually have a family, career or husband who might really be humiliated by them. Sex on camera, nude photos, and compromising voice-mail messages all fall into the category of idiotic mistakes that even a country rube just off the turnip truck shouldn’t make. Can you say “Dr. Laura?” But there’s an even more asinine choice that Ms. Hawkenson made and that one really baffles me. At one point in the video, she proudly displays her drivers license and ASU student ID card. I’m sorry. But that takes the cake for stupidity. I mean, if you’re gonna have sex with strangers for money, at least pretend you’re from U of A, or Oregon, or USC for that matter.

Now I actually get that people sometimes do foolish things when finances are waining. I, for one, remember a time, eons ago, when a starving actor in Chicago, posed nude for a high class shoe advertisement that turned out, luckily enough, to only expose the scaly skin of a pair of crocodile leather Jimmy Choo stilettos. I was fortunate. A lot of young women aren’t.

Ms. Hawkenson is quoted in several articles saying that her dorm life has become treacherous since the viral video hit the web. No kidding. It’s gotta be rough fielding all those late night “study” invitations she’s no doubt been receiving. But what did she expect? If you’re gonna have sex on camera, you need to realize that someone is going to see that. That’s the whole bloody point of it, you dodo. I mean, they’re not capturing the act on film in order to bury it in the backyard.

I’m glad Ms. Hawkenson didn’t lose her ASU scholarship on account of her poor choices. I can even argue that it’s partly her parents fault for not finding the cash to fund tuition. She did what she had to do to make some much needed dinero. If she’d founded an internet start-up, we’d all be praising her independence and entrepreneurial spirit.

But instead, she used her God given gifts to up her bottom line (if you’ll excuse the expression). And that, my friends, is considered a no-no in our culture. But perhaps we all ought to just drop the “holier than thou” attitude and look within to see how we may have contributed to this sad scene of juvenile delinquency

Maybe there aren’t enough legitimate work-study options at ASU. Maybe sky-rocketing tuition costs for out-of-staters need to be re-evaluated. Or maybe, we all need to step back and stop reveling in the juicy details of this poor woman’s misfortune and focus on earning a few extra bucks ourselves, so that by the time our kids need to pay tuition, we’ll actually be able to cover it. I mean, given the choice, wouldn’t you rather spend a few extra years with your nose to the grindstone, so that your poverty stricken youth don’t end up hocking their wares in today’s equivalent of the world’s oldest profession?

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Up up and away (from the movie theatre as fast as our little legs could take us).

Like many of you, I couldn’t wait to take my kids to see the movie “Up” last weekend. We rarely go to the movies as a family. Eli, my 5 year old, has sort of a movie phobia. (I think it’s the noise and darkness that freaks him out), and Levi, my 8 year old, couldn’t possibly be less interested in sitting in one place for 120 minutes watching a stagnant video screen. But, is as usually the case, I forget who we are and imagine that we’re an ordinary American family who loves the cinema and I cart us all out on opening day of a hot new movie only to be reminded that this is a totally futile exercise.

It started out kind of weird. This large short man in a too-tight jacket that wouldn’t quite button, got up on the stage at Cine Capri and welcomed us to the theatre. He made it a point to introduce the film and let us know that he was there for us should we have any issues or grievances during our time in the theatre. Then the half hour of previews began. The sound was so out of control loud that my kids started to freak out and rock catatonically as they covered their ears and screamed. Yikes. I immediately approached the large short man and insisted they lower the volume, which they did which kind of surprised me and shocked my friend completely. “Are you ever embarrassed to say anything?” she asked me. “No.” I casually replied. “And anyway, he invited me to share my opinion.”

The movie finally started at a decreased decibel level and within the first three minutes I started to sob uncontrollably. This was a sad film. Never mind the fact that it was animated, Pixar and supposedly for children, it was downright depressing. And since I’m obsessed with aging, grief and loss, it hit way too close to home for me. I pretty much proceeded to weep throughout the film.

By the time the terrifying Doberman appeared, I was starting to think that maybe this excellently crafted piece of cinema was not a kid’s flick. My little guy shrieked at the sight of the menacing dogs and it all went downhill from there. Through my tears I could see my older son fidgeting and my youngest was clinging to me as Carl struggled to save the bird and avoid canine catastrophe. Finally my boys couldn’t take it any longer. The fighting was too much, too scary, too realistic? Who knows what it was that set them over the edge. But whatever it was, they wanted out. My husband was really enjoying the film. So I happily volunteered to remove myself and the boys from the theatre.

We waited outside for the last 20 minutes, them shaken and terrified, me exhausted with tear-swollen eyes and a runny nose. Finally the rest of our party emerged from the show.
“So, how’d you like it?” I asked. “It was great,” they replied. “Not much of a kid’s movie,” I added. “No. I had heard it really wasn’t.” my husband responded. “Um…why didn’t you tell me that?” I inquired peevishly. “Well,” he continued, “you really wanted to see it and I wasn’t really sure…so I figured we’d give it a shot.”

“OK, here’s the rule for next time,” I chirped with a saccharine lilt, “Anyone who knows we’re about to embark on a potentially disastrous mission with our children is hereby obligated to say something BEFORE we actually do it. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he sheepishly smiled. “Oh, and by the way, I got tickets for all of us to go see ‘Monsters Vs. Aliens’ at the IMAX this weekend, how does that sound?”

I looked at him dubiously. “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

He just smiled and waltzed away.

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Wii Are Not Fat!

Our Wii insists that we’re overweight and chastises us for eating too much. I’m not sure what to do about it. My 8-year-old son is developing a body image complex.

We got this Wii last week. We’re not typically into the whole video game thing. But this is actually a fun way for the family to spend time together. We do yoga, golf, play tennis. We even try our hands at various (mostly impossible) balancing games. But here’s the problem: At the beginning of each session the Wii asks you to take a “body test.” It weighs you and measures your ability to stay centered and calculates your “Wii age.” The first time I did it I was like 54 (which depressed the hell out of me since I’m more than a decade younger). I was only buoyed by the fact that my 42-year-old husband first ended up with a reading of 62. Ha!

Anyway, once you work out every day and get the hang of it, your age goes down rather dramatically and you feel a whole lot less defeated by the damn thing. It also weighs you and if you haven’t lost any weight since your last session, it asks you all kinds of annoying questions like, “Why do you think you’ve gained weight? Are you eating at night?” It’s irritating to say the least. But I can handle the vexing probes. It’s my 8-year-old son who is developing a body image complex.

“Mom, I haven’t lost a single pound,” he laments. “What am I going to do?”

“Levi,” I answer, trying not to sound alarmed by his anorexic demeanor. “You are 8-years-old and as skinny as a rail. You are not supposed to lose weight. In fact, your job is to eat healthy and actually gain weight as you grow.”

“But the Wii says I should watch my calories and make sure to avoid rich desserts. Mom, I am soooooo fat!”

OK, now I’m officially panicked. Visions of 8-year-old bulimia dance in my head. “Don’t act distraught,” I tell myself. Maybe he’s just trying to get attention. As a previous anorexic myself, I shudder at the thought that somehow I’ve genetically passed my fat phobia on to my son. I make a note to call the “talking doctor” and set up an appointment ASAP.

But then it hits me – like a gift from the heavens. I’ll admit it’s devious, maybe even conniving. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Well, then I guess you wont be wanting any of these,” I announce matter-of-factly, as I dangle a bag of triple chocolate Tammy Co cupcakes under his nose.

Suddenly he is my son again. The lure of decadence has freed him from his dieting frenzy. He grabs the bag and dives into the cupcakes unabashedly. Soon he is blissfully covered in velvety chocolate swirls.

“Mom,” he looks up at me with wide-eyed elation, “These are amaaaaazing!”

I smile. “So are you, my sweet. So are you.”