My mom's greater caliber of cool than the average Suzie Homemaker Soccer Mom has always been a topic of discussion amongst friends and I. But it hasn’t been until recently that friends go on to say that my Mom’s cool factor undoubtedly goes on to outweigh my own. I’ve been perfectly okay with this and have humbly agreed because well, if my mom’s cool doesn’t that automatically make me pretty cool by default? You know, genetics. No? Okay, well whatever the case, I’ve always taken her cool as a compliment to my own, hoping to someday be ½ the amazing powerhouse of a woman she is.
And it’s not just because of this super cool photo I found of her as a super cool 70’s chick with a super cool camera, it’s other stuff too. I see her cool as deriving from both the tangible and intangible assets that go along with meeting her, getting to know her and then basically falling in love with her. The tangible encompass a wide range of hard facts and physical attributes such as: her longstanding eminence in the Phoenix art scene, her undying obsession with Eddie Vedder, her laissez-faire attitude and worldly wisdom, her adored husband and my step father-- a cool looking, Vintage Moto Guzzi driving, leather jacket wearing, intellectually elite Professor of Art, their matching black framed glasses and their even closer matching vision regarding art and love-- and these are just a few.
But the cold hard facts of cool are nothing compared to what cool really is, an indescribable energy that can never be learned or imitated. The people who try to emulate cool are never really fooling anyone. You either gots it or you don’t, and she’s gots it.
Why is this important? Yeah I know I’m getting there. Because it hasn’t been until very recently, when my mom’s cool took a certain shape, the shape of a blog, that I found myself a bit uneasy about her prevailing coolness. Why? Because of my own procrastination to do the same—start an effing blog. It’s been the task that has haunted my To Do list ever since I decided I kinda sorta maybe wanted to be a writer and now that I have a bachelors degree in English and way too much effing time on my hands, there is no excuse other than my own crippling juvenile insecurity to why my 50something year old mother has a blog (itisanditisn't.blogspot.com) and her 20something, pop culture- obsessed, “aspiring writer” daughter does not. So here I am, finally staring my first blog because my mom has yet again done what she does best—Inspire my cool.
