I’m a big fan of walking. In fact, I should really do it more.
It’s so simple, really. You just put one foot in front of the other and you keep going. Whether your destination is around the block, around the building or around the corner, walking is the simplest, least expensive way to get wherever you want to go. You don’t have to drive. You don’t have to sit in traffic (other than foot traffic, I guess…) and you don’t have to pay for gas.
Walking (I’ve found) is also a great stress reducer—especially around the holidays. Once you get going, your heart beats faster, the endorphins start pumping and you start to feel better. Whatever was bothering you before, is not that big of a deal until well … you walk back home.
But hopefully by then, those endorphins are still pumping through your blood and whatever—or whomever—was stressing you out, no longer is a big deal (well, not as big as before). This is why I highly recommend going for a walk during the holidays.
We all know that the holidays can be stressful. Whether you’re travelling or having family stay with you—you’re completely out of your element. Your routines are thrown off. Your children are over-excited (and probably not behaving well because of it) everyone’s sleep cycles are way off or even non-existent.
Why?
Because whether your happy to see your family or not—there they are! And there is no escaping them … unless you go for a walk.
When family comes to town (or on the flip side, you have to stay with them for a few days) you are face to face with those people’s habits, idiosyncrasies’ and political, social and moral opinions that you probably don’t agree with or frankly, want to hear about during the extended stay.
And, no matter how much you love those people—you’re trapped.
Just this morning, I was thinking about all of the walks I’ve had during the holidays and how cathartic they’ve been. One year, we lost my mother around Thanksgiving. The day she died the kids all went for a walk on the beach. Hours earlier, we were screaming at each other, blaming each other and basically hating each other. After my mom passed—we didn’t know what to do with each other. So we went for a walk.
We walked two miles down the beach and two miles back. We didn’t talk—we just walked. I look back and think that walk was a life saver. It made life at that time as I knew it more manageable (for everyone involved) including my Father who probably needed to have us out of the house for a few hours to get some peace.
This year, when things get stressful in your house (or in the house you’re staying in) just go for a walk. Trust me, you’ll be glad you did.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
"Gratitude, Schmatitude?" I Completely Agree.
I do want to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. I do.
And yes, this day is about expressing gratitude. However...I read this blog yesterday while I was having an especially bad day and completely agreed with it, which is why I'm reposting it today, on Thanksgiving.
Whether you agree with it or not, the author makes a point. Life if not always easy. And gratitude is not something that should be handed out every day like Halloween candy.
"Gratitude, Schmatitude"
Some years ago, I asked my children what they wanted for Christmas. Actually, I ask them what they want for Christmas every year, but I’m talking about a specific year. Money was tight, tighter than it had been in years just prior. The children asked for myriad things that we couldn’t afford. I used their lists for inspiration but bought things I could afford. So, instead of the My Little Pony Magical Castle with running water and a hot tub, I got my daughter a smaller MLP play set and some MLP bubble bath.
Christmas morning came and the children woke early, begging to go downstairs. I went with them, anticipating their whoops of joy and excitement. When she got to the tree and saw her gifts arrayed under it, my daughter said, “I didn’t ask for these things. These must be someone else’s toys.” Then she started crying, wondering where Santa had left the things she ordered.
My children have since been instructed in the ways of Santa. Even when they still believed that their stuff came down the chimney, they knew that Mom and Dad had to pay Santa for the toys.
“Why?” they wanted to know. “Because the world is over-populated,” I told them, “and Santa couldn’t possibly make all the toys for all the children in the world.” I think I fed them a line about the elves only making wooden toys; “Santa has to buy all the branded stuff,” I explained.
My son has graduated from wanting really expensive game systems to wanting really expensive musical instruments. We’ve taken to giving him money or gift cards that he can combine with gift cards from family to purchase what he desires. Giving cash and gift cards is so boring, though.
One Christmas, my mother gave my siblings and me really nice fleece sweaters from Land’s End. Each sweater had a surprise in the pocket…a crisp large denomination bill. I decided to use my mom’s idea for my son. I found a cozy shearling-lined hoodie that I knew he’d like. I put a large denomination gift card in the pocket. I put it under the tree. He loved it. He looked for other presents. There were none. “That’s it?” he asked, “a hoodie?”
“It’s nice hoodie,” I said.
“It’s a hoodie,” he said. “I got a hoodie.”
“Put it on,” I said.
“Mom, it’s a hoodie. It’ll fit.”
“Just put it on. It was expensive. I want to see if it looks good on you.”
“Fine,” he said. I figured he’d put his hands in the pockets, the way everyone does when they try on a hoodie. He stood in front of me, arms limp at his sides, disappointment draining from his pores.
“There,” he said. “It’s on. It’s a hoodie.”
“Look in the freaking pockets,” I said.
He looked in the pockets, pulled out the gift card and looked sheepish. But did he say thank you?
No.
I’m not freaking out about his apparent lack of gratitude, though. Frankly, I’m a little burnt out on gratitude. There are gratitude societies, gratitude experiments and any number of gratitude websites. Gratitude has replaced grace as the favored state.
All this emphasis on gratitude leaves me feeling like an ingrate. It’s not that I’m not grateful for the good things in my life. I’m just getting really tired of apologizing for expressing disappointment, frustration, anger, sadness, grief, resentment and the range of other emotions we’re told are negative and will eat our souls if we let them.
My sister is an artist and teacher. She’s tenured and has two advanced degrees in her field. Until this year, she had a job she loved teaching the art topics she loves to students who loved them. That’s all changed because of budgeting concerns in her district. She now splits her time between two campuses, traveling between them daily. Her student and class loads have been changed so that she’s teaching students who don’t want to be in school, let alone art.
She’s angry, frustrated and sad. She’s embarrassed to talk to me about it because I don’t have a teaching job. She’s in a crappy situation. Even though I’ve told her it’s more than ok to complain to me about it, I can tell she thinks she doesn’t have that right. At least she has a job, she reasons.
My mother died three years ago. Hers was a long, slowly-progressing illness that every year took more and more of her freedom. At the end, she was on just about every kind of support a life can need and it still wasn’t enough. We chose to end it. Her suffering ended and, for that, we are all grateful. But she’s still dead and it still sucks. And every day that I remember she’s dead, it sucks all over again.
I’ve been a runner long enough now to know it is in repairing the tiny tears running creates that my muscles grow. I am grateful that there is benefit in the training I’m doing. But, I’ve got to do the damage first. Ice and ibuprofen help ease the pain, but only time makes the permanent changes possible.
Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh instructs his followers to be where they are. If you are happy, be happy. If you are angry, be angry. If you are frustrated, be frustrated. If you are sad, be sad. Tell yourself, “This is me being sad.”
When my mother died, there were days I could hardly tell you who I was. There were days I expected to be swallowed whole by sadness. I told myself, “This is me afraid I will be swallowed by sadness.” When I missed her terribly? “This is me missing my mother.”
I will not rush to gratitude through the challenges in my life. I will sit with them; I will honor them.
Then I can give myself completely to thanks.
And yes, this day is about expressing gratitude. However...I read this blog yesterday while I was having an especially bad day and completely agreed with it, which is why I'm reposting it today, on Thanksgiving.
Whether you agree with it or not, the author makes a point. Life if not always easy. And gratitude is not something that should be handed out every day like Halloween candy.
"Gratitude, Schmatitude"
Some years ago, I asked my children what they wanted for Christmas. Actually, I ask them what they want for Christmas every year, but I’m talking about a specific year. Money was tight, tighter than it had been in years just prior. The children asked for myriad things that we couldn’t afford. I used their lists for inspiration but bought things I could afford. So, instead of the My Little Pony Magical Castle with running water and a hot tub, I got my daughter a smaller MLP play set and some MLP bubble bath.
Christmas morning came and the children woke early, begging to go downstairs. I went with them, anticipating their whoops of joy and excitement. When she got to the tree and saw her gifts arrayed under it, my daughter said, “I didn’t ask for these things. These must be someone else’s toys.” Then she started crying, wondering where Santa had left the things she ordered.
My children have since been instructed in the ways of Santa. Even when they still believed that their stuff came down the chimney, they knew that Mom and Dad had to pay Santa for the toys.
“Why?” they wanted to know. “Because the world is over-populated,” I told them, “and Santa couldn’t possibly make all the toys for all the children in the world.” I think I fed them a line about the elves only making wooden toys; “Santa has to buy all the branded stuff,” I explained.
My son has graduated from wanting really expensive game systems to wanting really expensive musical instruments. We’ve taken to giving him money or gift cards that he can combine with gift cards from family to purchase what he desires. Giving cash and gift cards is so boring, though.
One Christmas, my mother gave my siblings and me really nice fleece sweaters from Land’s End. Each sweater had a surprise in the pocket…a crisp large denomination bill. I decided to use my mom’s idea for my son. I found a cozy shearling-lined hoodie that I knew he’d like. I put a large denomination gift card in the pocket. I put it under the tree. He loved it. He looked for other presents. There were none. “That’s it?” he asked, “a hoodie?”
“It’s nice hoodie,” I said.
“It’s a hoodie,” he said. “I got a hoodie.”
“Put it on,” I said.
“Mom, it’s a hoodie. It’ll fit.”
“Just put it on. It was expensive. I want to see if it looks good on you.”
“Fine,” he said. I figured he’d put his hands in the pockets, the way everyone does when they try on a hoodie. He stood in front of me, arms limp at his sides, disappointment draining from his pores.
“There,” he said. “It’s on. It’s a hoodie.”
“Look in the freaking pockets,” I said.
He looked in the pockets, pulled out the gift card and looked sheepish. But did he say thank you?
No.
I’m not freaking out about his apparent lack of gratitude, though. Frankly, I’m a little burnt out on gratitude. There are gratitude societies, gratitude experiments and any number of gratitude websites. Gratitude has replaced grace as the favored state.
All this emphasis on gratitude leaves me feeling like an ingrate. It’s not that I’m not grateful for the good things in my life. I’m just getting really tired of apologizing for expressing disappointment, frustration, anger, sadness, grief, resentment and the range of other emotions we’re told are negative and will eat our souls if we let them.
My sister is an artist and teacher. She’s tenured and has two advanced degrees in her field. Until this year, she had a job she loved teaching the art topics she loves to students who loved them. That’s all changed because of budgeting concerns in her district. She now splits her time between two campuses, traveling between them daily. Her student and class loads have been changed so that she’s teaching students who don’t want to be in school, let alone art.
She’s angry, frustrated and sad. She’s embarrassed to talk to me about it because I don’t have a teaching job. She’s in a crappy situation. Even though I’ve told her it’s more than ok to complain to me about it, I can tell she thinks she doesn’t have that right. At least she has a job, she reasons.
My mother died three years ago. Hers was a long, slowly-progressing illness that every year took more and more of her freedom. At the end, she was on just about every kind of support a life can need and it still wasn’t enough. We chose to end it. Her suffering ended and, for that, we are all grateful. But she’s still dead and it still sucks. And every day that I remember she’s dead, it sucks all over again.
I’ve been a runner long enough now to know it is in repairing the tiny tears running creates that my muscles grow. I am grateful that there is benefit in the training I’m doing. But, I’ve got to do the damage first. Ice and ibuprofen help ease the pain, but only time makes the permanent changes possible.
Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh instructs his followers to be where they are. If you are happy, be happy. If you are angry, be angry. If you are frustrated, be frustrated. If you are sad, be sad. Tell yourself, “This is me being sad.”
When my mother died, there were days I could hardly tell you who I was. There were days I expected to be swallowed whole by sadness. I told myself, “This is me afraid I will be swallowed by sadness.” When I missed her terribly? “This is me missing my mother.”
I will not rush to gratitude through the challenges in my life. I will sit with them; I will honor them.
Then I can give myself completely to thanks.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Twenty Kids and Counting...Why is This News?
So Michelle Duggar, mom on “19 Kids and Counting” is pregnant again. And this is news. I don’t understand it.
There they are on the cover of all the gossip magazines, not to mention celebrity and pop culture websites and even CNN! The Today Show “unveiled” her latest “surprise” just the other morning.
A “surprise”? Seriously folks?
And now twitter is all a blaze over whether this pregnancy is “safe” or not.
Who are we to judge?
Having twenty kids on the Irish-Catholic block I grew up on was the norm (ok, maybe not 20…) but having ten kids running around was normal. My mother, who only chose to have three was seen as a slacker. And I’m eight years younger than my sister (so we all know she really only wanted two)! Growing up, we were surrounded by Finnegans, Flanagans, Simons, Toolans all with 5-10 kids… and usually one or two would end up eating at our house.
If this is her choice, then more power to her. It’s not like she’s the “Octo-Mom” who needs to be in jail for child endangerment in my humble opinion… for those jacked up lips!
Michelle Dugger just might be smarter than most eternally-pregnant woman—she’s got a show that people like to watch. A show that pays the bills and pays for the addition(s) to their home and gas for their bus and allows the whole fam-damily to now travel to Europe.
While I’m personally not a viewer, I could care less how many kids this woman chooses to have—God knows she has the help! And the money…which many large families in this economy these days do not have.
Good for her. Now if she’d only fix that hair…
There they are on the cover of all the gossip magazines, not to mention celebrity and pop culture websites and even CNN! The Today Show “unveiled” her latest “surprise” just the other morning.
A “surprise”? Seriously folks?
And now twitter is all a blaze over whether this pregnancy is “safe” or not.
Who are we to judge?
Having twenty kids on the Irish-Catholic block I grew up on was the norm (ok, maybe not 20…) but having ten kids running around was normal. My mother, who only chose to have three was seen as a slacker. And I’m eight years younger than my sister (so we all know she really only wanted two)! Growing up, we were surrounded by Finnegans, Flanagans, Simons, Toolans all with 5-10 kids… and usually one or two would end up eating at our house.
If this is her choice, then more power to her. It’s not like she’s the “Octo-Mom” who needs to be in jail for child endangerment in my humble opinion… for those jacked up lips!
Michelle Dugger just might be smarter than most eternally-pregnant woman—she’s got a show that people like to watch. A show that pays the bills and pays for the addition(s) to their home and gas for their bus and allows the whole fam-damily to now travel to Europe.
While I’m personally not a viewer, I could care less how many kids this woman chooses to have—God knows she has the help! And the money…which many large families in this economy these days do not have.
Good for her. Now if she’d only fix that hair…
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Zip It Up Rep. Weiner
So a U.S. congressman with the last name “Weiner” exposed himself and tweeted pictures of his “Weiner” to the world.
Then of course, he denied he ever did it—until a blogger exposed the truth (pardon the bad pun but I just couldn’t resist…)
Why are we all surprised?
I mean, the guy’s name is “Weiner.” If I had a penis, I’d whip it out frequently too to take photos of it too—just because my last name was “Weiner!”
But what really disturbs me is the media scrutiny his wife of only 11 months now has to endure, not to mention the irony of whom she currently works for—Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Mrs. “Weiner” (a.k.a. Human Abedin) has worked for the former N.Y Senator for 14 years and has since followed her to the State Department, where she works a senior aide.
I wonder how that conversation between the long-term employer and employee went after that story broke? What, did the two women compare notes on how to survive yet another male politician behaving badly?
Hillary managed to keep her head up high during the whole Monica Lewinsky fiansco and she stood by her man (and still does). But back then when she was calling the whole affair a “right wing conspiracy” we didn’t have cell phones with cameras. We didn’t have a society built on social media. And many of us couldn’t even fathom a world where we would be blogging and posting and politicians would be tweeting pictures of their “Weiners” to the world because they well, could.
Do you see Mrs. Weiner popping a boob and taking a photo of it for the world? No. Why? Because she’s a little busy ummm…doing her job. A lesson these men need to start learning.
Then of course, he denied he ever did it—until a blogger exposed the truth (pardon the bad pun but I just couldn’t resist…)
Why are we all surprised?
I mean, the guy’s name is “Weiner.” If I had a penis, I’d whip it out frequently too to take photos of it too—just because my last name was “Weiner!”
But what really disturbs me is the media scrutiny his wife of only 11 months now has to endure, not to mention the irony of whom she currently works for—Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Mrs. “Weiner” (a.k.a. Human Abedin) has worked for the former N.Y Senator for 14 years and has since followed her to the State Department, where she works a senior aide.
I wonder how that conversation between the long-term employer and employee went after that story broke? What, did the two women compare notes on how to survive yet another male politician behaving badly?
Hillary managed to keep her head up high during the whole Monica Lewinsky fiansco and she stood by her man (and still does). But back then when she was calling the whole affair a “right wing conspiracy” we didn’t have cell phones with cameras. We didn’t have a society built on social media. And many of us couldn’t even fathom a world where we would be blogging and posting and politicians would be tweeting pictures of their “Weiners” to the world because they well, could.
Do you see Mrs. Weiner popping a boob and taking a photo of it for the world? No. Why? Because she’s a little busy ummm…doing her job. A lesson these men need to start learning.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Maid in Manhattan
A few people have asked me what I thought of the whole “Aaarnold” infidelity story. Honestly, I don’t care.
Did it surprise me? Not really.
Do I think it’s sad? Yes, I do.
Do I feel bad for his kids? Sure. (How he can look his teenage girls in the eye is just way beyond anything I can comprehend.) But then again, I’m not an actor.
At least he didn’t rape anyone and get away with it (like his cousin). Well, not that we know of…given his past of groping women and paying them off—nothing would surprise me.
Speaking of rape and not getting away with it—I couldn’t be more proud of the maid who called the cops on the head of the International Monetary Fund, Dominique Strauss-Kahn.
There she is, an immigrate from West Africa, trying to raise her daughter here in the states by cleaning $3,000-a night hotel rooms for minimum wage. Like her life isn’t hard enough.
Then one day, she enters a room to clean it and gets attacked by this little old, rich, white guy who simply thought he’d hop on a plane after and get away with it.
Not so fast you creepy, old bastard.
I am so proud of this woman. She had no idea that this man was so powerful, so rich and so connected. She just knew that she was being attacked—and she defended herself. She spoke up and told the world.
The ironic thing about the whole situation is that now he's on a suicide watch in Rikers. You know why he’s on a suicide watch? Not because he attacked a maid and felt bad about hurting another human being. No, no. no.
He doesn’t want to live—because he didn’t get away with it.
At least she can look her fifteen year old daughter in the eye and tell her that there’s no shame in what happened and that there’s no shame in confronting your attacker—no matter who he (and the rest of the world) thinks he is.
Frankly, that’s something Arnold, will never be able to do.
Did it surprise me? Not really.
Do I think it’s sad? Yes, I do.
Do I feel bad for his kids? Sure. (How he can look his teenage girls in the eye is just way beyond anything I can comprehend.) But then again, I’m not an actor.
At least he didn’t rape anyone and get away with it (like his cousin). Well, not that we know of…given his past of groping women and paying them off—nothing would surprise me.
Speaking of rape and not getting away with it—I couldn’t be more proud of the maid who called the cops on the head of the International Monetary Fund, Dominique Strauss-Kahn.
There she is, an immigrate from West Africa, trying to raise her daughter here in the states by cleaning $3,000-a night hotel rooms for minimum wage. Like her life isn’t hard enough.
Then one day, she enters a room to clean it and gets attacked by this little old, rich, white guy who simply thought he’d hop on a plane after and get away with it.
Not so fast you creepy, old bastard.
I am so proud of this woman. She had no idea that this man was so powerful, so rich and so connected. She just knew that she was being attacked—and she defended herself. She spoke up and told the world.
The ironic thing about the whole situation is that now he's on a suicide watch in Rikers. You know why he’s on a suicide watch? Not because he attacked a maid and felt bad about hurting another human being. No, no. no.
He doesn’t want to live—because he didn’t get away with it.
At least she can look her fifteen year old daughter in the eye and tell her that there’s no shame in what happened and that there’s no shame in confronting your attacker—no matter who he (and the rest of the world) thinks he is.
Frankly, that’s something Arnold, will never be able to do.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Lucy and the Chocolate Factory
I wish I had a simple job. Like Lucy in the chocolate factory.
Whenever I see that episode of “I Love Lucy” it makes me laugh out loud. Not because she’s one of the best comediennes of all time (which she is) but because that episode is symbolic of my life and many others who navigate the white-washed walls of corporate America.
Chocolate Factory Work
Awhile back I was joking (with a former boss actually) that I just wanted a factory job. One where I turned a switch, assembled a part, watched what I made go by on the belt. One where you didn’t have office politics. You didn’t have to sit in meetings. You didn’t have to become a mind-reader in order to write copy.
I want my life to be simple. Like Lucy in the chocolate factory … before she gets behind and has to shove chocolates in her dress.
Bittersweet Reality Check
Then the other morning I was out walking my little white dog and I saw the recycling truck pull up. These guys hopped out, ran into my building and came out with the 40-gallon garbage cans on their back. One guy looked like he was sixty years old.
How do they do it--day in and day out?
They come to rich, white Montgomery County and pick up after us corporate crusaders each and every week.
Could I do it? Absolutely not. And every morning they make eye contact with me and say “Hello.” And “Have a nice day.” That’s more than I get from the corporate crusaders I sit next to everyday from 9 to 5.
So what is the answer? I can’t lug recycling and I can’t wrap chocolates. I simply don't know. Like Lucy, maybe I’ll try stomping grapes.
Whenever I see that episode of “I Love Lucy” it makes me laugh out loud. Not because she’s one of the best comediennes of all time (which she is) but because that episode is symbolic of my life and many others who navigate the white-washed walls of corporate America.
Chocolate Factory Work
Awhile back I was joking (with a former boss actually) that I just wanted a factory job. One where I turned a switch, assembled a part, watched what I made go by on the belt. One where you didn’t have office politics. You didn’t have to sit in meetings. You didn’t have to become a mind-reader in order to write copy.
I want my life to be simple. Like Lucy in the chocolate factory … before she gets behind and has to shove chocolates in her dress.
Bittersweet Reality Check
Then the other morning I was out walking my little white dog and I saw the recycling truck pull up. These guys hopped out, ran into my building and came out with the 40-gallon garbage cans on their back. One guy looked like he was sixty years old.
How do they do it--day in and day out?
They come to rich, white Montgomery County and pick up after us corporate crusaders each and every week.
Could I do it? Absolutely not. And every morning they make eye contact with me and say “Hello.” And “Have a nice day.” That’s more than I get from the corporate crusaders I sit next to everyday from 9 to 5.
So what is the answer? I can’t lug recycling and I can’t wrap chocolates. I simply don't know. Like Lucy, maybe I’ll try stomping grapes.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
I've Become a Digital Hoarder
I just spent hours cleaning up my desktop.
I couldn’t stand looking at it anymore.
From books to read, to writing samples, to resumes—I filed. I deleted. I let go.
You see, I never delete anything. Ever. I always think I’ll need it—maybe tomorrow, maybe two years down the road, or maybe even in the after-life. And I never do.
But I keep it—nonetheless. And I’m admitting right here that I’ve become a digital hoarder!
Time to Move On
If anyone ever stole my laptop they would probably hand it right back. That’s how bad it was.
There were things on my desktop that I know I thought were very important when I saved them there—and now, for the life of me, I can’t remember why I even bothered. Like a book review—of a book I hated. A copy of my resume from 2008. Directions, vet bills, recipes (like I cook) food lists, to-do lists, and of course a whole file on cover letters that were never answered.
Why do I do this to myself?
More importantly, when did my desktop become analogous with my busy life?
In fact, my desk top had become a digital history of the past two years of my life. And apparently they’ve been pretty chaotic. Yes, I’ve always known this, but to see it online brings a whole new perspective. So I spent the morning filing, deleting and not worrying that an apocalyptic virus will wipe out my digital life. And if it did happen, I’d survive.
This digital hoarder has cleaned up her act!
I couldn’t stand looking at it anymore.
From books to read, to writing samples, to resumes—I filed. I deleted. I let go.
You see, I never delete anything. Ever. I always think I’ll need it—maybe tomorrow, maybe two years down the road, or maybe even in the after-life. And I never do.
But I keep it—nonetheless. And I’m admitting right here that I’ve become a digital hoarder!
Time to Move On
If anyone ever stole my laptop they would probably hand it right back. That’s how bad it was.
There were things on my desktop that I know I thought were very important when I saved them there—and now, for the life of me, I can’t remember why I even bothered. Like a book review—of a book I hated. A copy of my resume from 2008. Directions, vet bills, recipes (like I cook) food lists, to-do lists, and of course a whole file on cover letters that were never answered.
Why do I do this to myself?
More importantly, when did my desktop become analogous with my busy life?
In fact, my desk top had become a digital history of the past two years of my life. And apparently they’ve been pretty chaotic. Yes, I’ve always known this, but to see it online brings a whole new perspective. So I spent the morning filing, deleting and not worrying that an apocalyptic virus will wipe out my digital life. And if it did happen, I’d survive.
This digital hoarder has cleaned up her act!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Tuning in to the Charlie Sheen Show
I really don’t want to add fuel to the fire of this latest celebrity meltdown, but ... the other day a good friend of mine stated that she thought Charlie Sheen is simply acting—and that the media—and all of us who watch it—are taking the bait hook, line and sinker.
I couldn’t help but think, maybe this is true.
After all, Charlie Sheen is an actor—it’s part of his psyche—it’s in his blood and his blood line. Yes, a growing part of me thinks that we’re all getting “punk’d” —that this a massive social networking experiment to prove what we already know about ourselves but will never admit to: That 99% of the time we’ll slow down to rubber-neck at a bad car accident—then drive on and hope that someone else calls the police.
“Winning” at “Loosing”
The other half of me is horrified at the obvious decline of someone who is in need of some big-time help. Where is the man’s family? If I were his mother, sister, aunt, ex-wife or even distant cousin, I’d be horrified and ready with the straight jacket and a one-way ticket to a lock down rehab regardless of whether he thought of himself as a “winner” or not.
Or would I?
I watch shows like A&E’s “Intervention” and cringe as these ordinary families go through the hell of a family member’s addiction, then sit down and beg for them to get help—even when the help is free. There I am—glued to the T.V. watching someone else’s problems—serious problems I frankly wouldn’t trade for one day of f Charlie Sheen’s Two and a Half Men salary.
But the question still remains:
Why do I come back week after week to watch?
Is this my own version of a really bad car wreck?
A prime example of hoping someone else calls the cops?
Celebrity Docu-Dramas Gone Bad
I don't have to state the obvious here, but I will: It’s been a bad week for celebrities. First this Charlie Sheen show, then Mike Star the former bassist for Alice in Chains is found dead from an apparent drug over-dose, and now I come to find out that Demi Lovato was just released from rehab and that she is rebounding from one of the “darkest periods of her life.”
O-M-G!
Wait a second, who the hell is Demi Lovato?
There I am—glued to the latest entertainment headlines for any up-to-the-second update on whatever manic malcontent unfolding in Hollywood, only to find out that I have missed Demi Lovato’s talent all of these years!
(Ok, I use the word “talent” loosely here—and when I refer to “years” —I really mean “minutes” because this Disney Darling looks like she’s only about ten.)
Time to Tune Out?
I’m starting to think it’s time for me to just tune out. You know—turn off twitter, log out of Facebook and power down the laptop. Frankly, I’m starting to think that it’s time for me to get a life—-me and the more than 2 million fans following Charlie Sheen on Twitter.
I couldn’t help but think, maybe this is true.
After all, Charlie Sheen is an actor—it’s part of his psyche—it’s in his blood and his blood line. Yes, a growing part of me thinks that we’re all getting “punk’d” —that this a massive social networking experiment to prove what we already know about ourselves but will never admit to: That 99% of the time we’ll slow down to rubber-neck at a bad car accident—then drive on and hope that someone else calls the police.
“Winning” at “Loosing”
The other half of me is horrified at the obvious decline of someone who is in need of some big-time help. Where is the man’s family? If I were his mother, sister, aunt, ex-wife or even distant cousin, I’d be horrified and ready with the straight jacket and a one-way ticket to a lock down rehab regardless of whether he thought of himself as a “winner” or not.
Or would I?
I watch shows like A&E’s “Intervention” and cringe as these ordinary families go through the hell of a family member’s addiction, then sit down and beg for them to get help—even when the help is free. There I am—glued to the T.V. watching someone else’s problems—serious problems I frankly wouldn’t trade for one day of f Charlie Sheen’s Two and a Half Men salary.
But the question still remains:
Why do I come back week after week to watch?
Is this my own version of a really bad car wreck?
A prime example of hoping someone else calls the cops?
Celebrity Docu-Dramas Gone Bad
I don't have to state the obvious here, but I will: It’s been a bad week for celebrities. First this Charlie Sheen show, then Mike Star the former bassist for Alice in Chains is found dead from an apparent drug over-dose, and now I come to find out that Demi Lovato was just released from rehab and that she is rebounding from one of the “darkest periods of her life.”
O-M-G!
Wait a second, who the hell is Demi Lovato?
There I am—glued to the latest entertainment headlines for any up-to-the-second update on whatever manic malcontent unfolding in Hollywood, only to find out that I have missed Demi Lovato’s talent all of these years!
(Ok, I use the word “talent” loosely here—and when I refer to “years” —I really mean “minutes” because this Disney Darling looks like she’s only about ten.)
Time to Tune Out?
I’m starting to think it’s time for me to just tune out. You know—turn off twitter, log out of Facebook and power down the laptop. Frankly, I’m starting to think that it’s time for me to get a life—-me and the more than 2 million fans following Charlie Sheen on Twitter.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The Cost of Free Speech
Yesterday the Supreme Court upheld the right of Westboro Baptist Church to protest at military funerals with violent anti-gay messages that has provoked outrage across the country. In this free-speech ruling, the court ruled that the first amendment even protects messages like:
“Thank God for Dead Soldiers”
“God Hates Fags”
“God is Your Enemy”
The Right to Free Speech Doesn’t Always Make it Right
The court’s 8-1 decision in Snyder v. Phelps shields the Topeka, Kan.-based Westboro church from being sued for intentional infliction of emotional distress despite speech that Roberts called “hurtful.” The ruling didn’t reverse the myriad of funeral-protest restrictions that states have imposed, and it still permits governments to reasonable regulate the time, place and manner of public speech.
“Given that Westboro’s speech was at a public place on a matter of public concern, that speech is entitled to special protection under the First Amendment,” Chief Justice John Robert Jr. wrote for the majority.
“Westboro’s funeral picketing is certainly hurtful and its contribution to public discourse may be negligible,” Roberts acknowledged in his 15-page majority opinion. “But…speech cannot be restricted simply because it is upsetting or arouses contempt.”
The Cost of Free Speech
When I first read the article I was outraged like many people.
It’s just sick.
Seriously? These assholes can’t find anything better to do with their lives? Like, oh—I don’t know—maybe…give food to the hungry? Provide shelter to the homeless?
But as I read more about the ruling and the people behind it, I began to see a glimmer of hope. The family in this case, were not left to deal with these “crazies” (as I call them) alone while they face one of the darkest periods of their life. People in their military community, people in their neighboring community, and people in their church community stepped up to protect this family and fight against these protestors who apparently have nothing better to do with their lives but picket a military funeral.
I can’t image what my family would do if this happened at one of our funerals. Actually, I know what would happen—and one of my family members (probably a few of them, in fact) would undoubtedly end up in jail. I actually have two uncles buried in Arlington National Cemetery and if this happened when they were put to rest, one of my family members would have issued the “call.” And it only takes one call to alert the men and women who fought alongside them to “deal” with the situation.
Meet the Patriot Guard
In this particular case, this family did not see the protest at his funeral because of the makeshift shield of American flags, motorcycles and people that the Patriot Guard established between the church and the protestors. The Guard, founded in 2005, provides shields at the invitation of soldier’s families. Needless to say, Patriot Guard co-founded Terry Houck was not pleased by the court’s ruling.
“I do understand their decision on our First Amendment rights; however, it is morally wrong and it is spirituality wrong, and all of us who stand together at these funerals disagree that a small group of fanatics can hide behind a false religion and continue to inflict emotional abuse as those families bury their loved ones.”
Speaking of it being spiritually and morally wrong, Pastor John Henry of Central Community Church in west Wichita, the site of the funeral for Spc. Tom Moffitt, a Wichita soldier who was killed Oct. 23 in southeastern Afghanistan, said that although the Supreme Court may have ruled correctly on the freedom-of-speech issue, the biggest problem with the protestors is the way they misrepresent Jesus Christ.
‘Ya think?
"For people who claim Christianity and anything to do with Christ to be so mean is out of character for who he was and what he stood for," Henry said. The Phelpses’ have picketed at the church during Sunday morning services because they think Henry isn't hard enough on homosexuals, he said. They come out screaming obscenities and flashing obscene signs.
This is What We Fight For
Veterans find it hard to square the ruling with the constitutional right that they swore to protect.
"We fought for the right to freedom of speech, but we need to strike a balance between protecting free speech and protecting grieving families," said Paul Rieckhoff, executive director of the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, a nonpartisan support group.
I think everyone should be thankful that we live in a country that will protect even the most misguided of all Americans. This is a right not every country has and one that needs to be carefully upheld in our courts and protected each and every day.
“Thank God for Dead Soldiers”
“God Hates Fags”
“God is Your Enemy”
The Right to Free Speech Doesn’t Always Make it Right
The court’s 8-1 decision in Snyder v. Phelps shields the Topeka, Kan.-based Westboro church from being sued for intentional infliction of emotional distress despite speech that Roberts called “hurtful.” The ruling didn’t reverse the myriad of funeral-protest restrictions that states have imposed, and it still permits governments to reasonable regulate the time, place and manner of public speech.
“Given that Westboro’s speech was at a public place on a matter of public concern, that speech is entitled to special protection under the First Amendment,” Chief Justice John Robert Jr. wrote for the majority.
“Westboro’s funeral picketing is certainly hurtful and its contribution to public discourse may be negligible,” Roberts acknowledged in his 15-page majority opinion. “But…speech cannot be restricted simply because it is upsetting or arouses contempt.”
The Cost of Free Speech
When I first read the article I was outraged like many people.
It’s just sick.
Seriously? These assholes can’t find anything better to do with their lives? Like, oh—I don’t know—maybe…give food to the hungry? Provide shelter to the homeless?
But as I read more about the ruling and the people behind it, I began to see a glimmer of hope. The family in this case, were not left to deal with these “crazies” (as I call them) alone while they face one of the darkest periods of their life. People in their military community, people in their neighboring community, and people in their church community stepped up to protect this family and fight against these protestors who apparently have nothing better to do with their lives but picket a military funeral.
I can’t image what my family would do if this happened at one of our funerals. Actually, I know what would happen—and one of my family members (probably a few of them, in fact) would undoubtedly end up in jail. I actually have two uncles buried in Arlington National Cemetery and if this happened when they were put to rest, one of my family members would have issued the “call.” And it only takes one call to alert the men and women who fought alongside them to “deal” with the situation.
Meet the Patriot Guard
In this particular case, this family did not see the protest at his funeral because of the makeshift shield of American flags, motorcycles and people that the Patriot Guard established between the church and the protestors. The Guard, founded in 2005, provides shields at the invitation of soldier’s families. Needless to say, Patriot Guard co-founded Terry Houck was not pleased by the court’s ruling.
“I do understand their decision on our First Amendment rights; however, it is morally wrong and it is spirituality wrong, and all of us who stand together at these funerals disagree that a small group of fanatics can hide behind a false religion and continue to inflict emotional abuse as those families bury their loved ones.”
Speaking of it being spiritually and morally wrong, Pastor John Henry of Central Community Church in west Wichita, the site of the funeral for Spc. Tom Moffitt, a Wichita soldier who was killed Oct. 23 in southeastern Afghanistan, said that although the Supreme Court may have ruled correctly on the freedom-of-speech issue, the biggest problem with the protestors is the way they misrepresent Jesus Christ.
‘Ya think?
"For people who claim Christianity and anything to do with Christ to be so mean is out of character for who he was and what he stood for," Henry said. The Phelpses’ have picketed at the church during Sunday morning services because they think Henry isn't hard enough on homosexuals, he said. They come out screaming obscenities and flashing obscene signs.
This is What We Fight For
Veterans find it hard to square the ruling with the constitutional right that they swore to protect.
"We fought for the right to freedom of speech, but we need to strike a balance between protecting free speech and protecting grieving families," said Paul Rieckhoff, executive director of the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, a nonpartisan support group.
I think everyone should be thankful that we live in a country that will protect even the most misguided of all Americans. This is a right not every country has and one that needs to be carefully upheld in our courts and protected each and every day.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Do You Really “Tune-Out” When You “Tune-In”?
Have you ever noticed how different the same type of show can be depending on which channel you’re watching?
The other night I was glued to my T.V. watching “Hoarders” on A&E. I can’t help it—I had to watch. It’s like a car wreck (and also gives me major incentive to clean which needed to be done after the holidays). So I’m watching this woman who is clearly mentally instable, attempt to clean out her “double-wide” so that she can live in it (apparently she has relegated herself to a “single-wide” trailer on the edge of her property because of all the garbage she keeps hoarding in the “double-wide”).
The fact that the woman goes back and forth between trailers keeps me glued to my couch in my condo in suburban Washington D.C.. It’s sick, really. And the folks at A&E know this—which is why the show runs all night on Monday nights (yes, I think there’s even a special marathon of “Hoaders” if you haven’t gotten your fill…).
So I’m staring at my T.V., absolutely disgusted and start to feel guilty that I’m mocking this woman from the comfort of my couch which, essentially, is just wrong. As I start to feel guilty,I decided to turn the channel and look for more “upbeat” programming and landed on the Style network. What do I start watching? “Clean House.”
I Need a Change of Programming
See a pattern here folks?
I did.
And it really struck how “Clean House” is basically the same show as “Hoarders”—with people just as nasty as the trailer-trash on A&E, but they live in Suburbia and their mess is their “dirty little secret.” And to top it off—they get a total home make-over. Now, instead of resisting the urge to clean my condo—I feel the urge to redecorate!
All of a sudden, I find myself upbeat! I’m ready to move furniture around! I’m ready to run out to Home Depot and start painting…
It floored me how two different angles on basically the same T.V. show can have such a different impact on your psyche. Call it the tricks of the T.V.—but when was the last time you really thought about what you watched and how it made you feel afterwards?
And to think I turn to the T.V. most nights to relax. Maybe it’s time to simply tune into the Nature Channel—where’s Marty Stouffer when you need him?!
The other night I was glued to my T.V. watching “Hoarders” on A&E. I can’t help it—I had to watch. It’s like a car wreck (and also gives me major incentive to clean which needed to be done after the holidays). So I’m watching this woman who is clearly mentally instable, attempt to clean out her “double-wide” so that she can live in it (apparently she has relegated herself to a “single-wide” trailer on the edge of her property because of all the garbage she keeps hoarding in the “double-wide”).
The fact that the woman goes back and forth between trailers keeps me glued to my couch in my condo in suburban Washington D.C.. It’s sick, really. And the folks at A&E know this—which is why the show runs all night on Monday nights (yes, I think there’s even a special marathon of “Hoaders” if you haven’t gotten your fill…).
So I’m staring at my T.V., absolutely disgusted and start to feel guilty that I’m mocking this woman from the comfort of my couch which, essentially, is just wrong. As I start to feel guilty,I decided to turn the channel and look for more “upbeat” programming and landed on the Style network. What do I start watching? “Clean House.”
I Need a Change of Programming
See a pattern here folks?
I did.
And it really struck how “Clean House” is basically the same show as “Hoarders”—with people just as nasty as the trailer-trash on A&E, but they live in Suburbia and their mess is their “dirty little secret.” And to top it off—they get a total home make-over. Now, instead of resisting the urge to clean my condo—I feel the urge to redecorate!
All of a sudden, I find myself upbeat! I’m ready to move furniture around! I’m ready to run out to Home Depot and start painting…
It floored me how two different angles on basically the same T.V. show can have such a different impact on your psyche. Call it the tricks of the T.V.—but when was the last time you really thought about what you watched and how it made you feel afterwards?
And to think I turn to the T.V. most nights to relax. Maybe it’s time to simply tune into the Nature Channel—where’s Marty Stouffer when you need him?!
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