Category Archives: Uncategorized

May 17, 2013 · 6:14 pm

Weeping Angels and Modern Maladies

canstockphoto8252258The creepiest antagonists in the newer Dr. Who series are the Weeping Angels, an alien race that appear as statues. If you blink, they move and feed upon the energy you give off while they hurl you back in time. The constant warning is “Don’t Blink!” If you blink, they are there, bare-teethed and horrifying and then you are gone.

My Weeping Angel is a computer monitor. It saps my energy by holding me captive to its unending stream of information and word processing capabilities. I get my news, entertainment and friendly communication from it. I manage accounting records, shop and listen to music on it. I churn out blog posts, clean up photos and write short stories and even a novel while staring at it.  I do not blink, but I’m still going to be sent back in time – to a time when a writer used pens and paper and not a keyboard.

I have just been diagnosed with recurrent corneal erosion syndrome. Yes, it’s a thing. If you just snorted in derision, well, I did too. No visit to a doctor goes without exit baggage of a syndrome or disorder or complex. I tend to avoid those trips at all costs. But I woke up this morning, as I have numerous mornings over the last few weeks, with blinding, stinging eyeball pain. I could wait no longer.

What I had assumed was eye strain was an actual injury caused by an abrasion and dry, old eyes. Opening my eyes from a deep night’s sleep meant ripping off layers of corneal cells, exposing nerves and causing severe pain and light sensitivity.  I have a treatment plan prescribed by the optometrist. I will follow it – goop in my eyes at night, drops 3-4 times a day, and fish oil supplements (blech).

Whenever a physical malady hits me, I turn it into a statement about myself as a person. Intellectually I know it’s wrong. The optometrist was kind and non-judgmental, but all I could think was “that’s what you get for being on the computer all the time, you slob”. When you are looking at a monitor, you blink 4 times less than you normally would, which is why so many people get dry eyes. On top of that, I apparently don’t blink fully. Ever. More weird shit I didn’t need to know about myself.

So, I must spend the weekend coming up with a new plan for writing, blogging and everything in between. I have to transition to doing most of my initial drafts off line, rearrange my office so that my monitor is not situated against a wall – allowing my eyes to frequently change focal points.

I felt pretty depressed coming out of the eye doctor’s office, but my brain usually can rewrite the code and come up with a better perspective. I’ll take this as an opportunity to realign my priorities, figure out what I must do online and what can be done without being plugged in. It’s a decluttering to clear my vision in more than one way. While I’m resting my eyes and getting all this sorted, whatever you do, make sure you blink.

27 Comments

Filed under Personal, Uncategorized

Tagged as , , ,

May 13, 2013 · 8:32 am

Cutting a Wide Swathe Through Sentimentality

canstockphoto2478108Yesterday was Mother’s Day and I am a mother. In honor of such an illustrious day, I’ve decided to throw a mother of a hissy fit. It’s an unburdening for myself and I fear, a bit on the negative side. Generally, I strive for balance, for equity, for fairness. But it’s hard work to maintain some semblance of maturity and circumspection in the face of fatigue. So I’m loosening the controls and letting some of this out. Welcome to some things that have been bugging me lately.

I don’t like hugs as a form of greeting. There. I said it. I hug and snuggle with my daughter. I hug my husband daily. I am physically affectionate with my immediate family. I have relatives and friends who laugh and say “I know you don’t like hugs, but hahaha” before engulfing me in corporeal suffocation. Okay. Now, not only do I not like hugs, but I also don’t like you, jackass. I’m a direct person. If I say I don’t like something, trust me – I’m being sincere.

I’ve been asked why I have such an aversion to this form of affection. They suspect I have been abused. I have not – at least not in any way that makes me jump at human touch. My sense of smell is intense. Perfumes, deodorants, hairspray, facial makeup, fabric softener – these things bother me. Walking around the rest of the day with Eau de Alcohol on me serves as a constant irritant. I also don’t need to know your cup size. I do not need your breasts smashed up against me. I’m not a mammographer – I’m sure you can see your own doctor.

I don’t like the cult of motherhood. Save your holiday, I expect to get treated kindly and with respect year round. And I am, so let’s not mess up my day with false sentimentality. I could have spent yesterday gardening and lounging around in yoga pants, but instead I had to get dressed up to go to an overpriced restaurant to dine while surrounded by complete strangers. It’s not like I would have cooked anything at home anyway. My family knows their way around peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and they’ve yet to pass out without me feeding them regularly. I’ve tested this repeatedly.

My family would have preferred low-key as well, but they caved into the pressure to make the day special. My dear family, if you want to make my day special, pick up your dirty dishes, don’t ask me 50 times where things are and hey, when I ask you for a pressure washer, I mean it. That fence isn’t cleaning itself and I have some deck staining to do.

I’m sick of extremists.  Of any ilk. If you cannot see the world in gray scale or rainbows or differences, if everything has to be black and white, then you are a simpleton. Continue commenting on CNN articles and calling into talk radio shows, Facebooking your tired, trite opinions. If you have to tag your opposition with cutesy labels, it is likely you are just repeating shit you’ve heard elsewhere. No one is mistaking your parroting for critical thinking.

And finally, would somebody stop those e card creators with the Victorian silhouettes and that poorly drawn yelling character? Holy shit, I’ve already seen them in one form or another – you are not discovering anything new. If you have nothing to say, then feel free to stop forwarding me crap and just sit there quietly.

In case you think I’m a cold, heartless harpy, it’s quite possible. Normally, I believe I’m generous, respectful, hardworking and thoughtful. Some days, though, I’d just like to tap out. I’ve had a month that has smashed me flat. I’m tired. I’m scattered in my thinking. I feel like I could nap endlessly and eat my body weight in Cherry Garcia.

I haven’t been writing. I’m barely blogging – both things that give me genuine pleasure. I’ve been dealing with sick cats, funerals, volunteer work, paid work, some personal low points and a sense that I’m barely keeping my head above water. Things that I shrug off are now getting shrieked off. Hugs make me want to back fist faces and holidays make me want to pretend I’m really, really sick and can somebody just get me more ice cream?

I am no longer burning the candle at both ends. I’m just stuck in a puddle of cooled wax, wickless and dull. A friend mentioned that a recurring theme of my blog was balance and she’s right. I’m either regaining, losing, searching for or maintaining some degree of balance – like most people, I imagine. Now that I’ve gotten this irritable post out of my system, I’m going to gather my senses, take a hot shower and get on with life.

58 Comments

Filed under Personal, Uncategorized

Tagged as

April 15, 2013 · 10:35 pm

The Nature of Doves

canstockphoto4611554

I stand for life in the face of death.

I stand for peace in the face of war.

Pablo Picasso

I love the doves we hear and see in our yard when the weather is nice enough to have the windows open. Their gentle cooing speaks to cool spring mornings, when a slight breeze blows across my face – the smell foretelling of rain. Their presence is familiar and comforting. Those mornings seem far off now. There is snow, covered in frozen rain, that is crunchy and the days are cold and blustery. I cannot yet hear the doves calling to one another.

I saw the stories from Boston and felt bone-weary. We’ve been here before – the random unfocused fear, the tip of the iceberg of grief – we touch it with our minds briefly and pull back in discomfort. To feel so much at a distance only gives a hint of what people at its vortex must be suffering. We retreat into our own fears, our daily lives that pull us along, past bomb wreckage and bullet casings. We turn off the TV and turn our attention to the minutiae, momentary distractions from a trip to the mall that might go wrong, a family event destroyed, a bus ride disrupted. Wrong place. Wrong time.

Our intellectual selves run through all the editorials, the spins, the need for comprehension and we come up empty-handed. All these years and we know little and understand even less. We forget and push aside the randomness of our existence. We don’t think about the anger and discontent that swirls around us. We can’t. We’re not experts. Or superheroes. Or even all that observant at times. Some turn inward to prayer or meditation. Some coil up with fear or spring forward in rage. It’s all just the pointless flapping of wings. Until we wear ourselves out and settle down.

I don’t think I’ll flap my wings. Maybe I will skip all of that and start from a place of calm. Knowing my limitations, maybe I’ll donate to the Red Cross in Boston. Maybe I’ll hold my own 8 year old a few moments longer tonight, letting the soft skin of her cheek brush against the middle-aged, winter dried of my own. Maybe I’ll drift off into a dreamless sleep, knowing that each moment is borrowed time. And tomorrow, the comfortable, familiar presence of friends and family will remind me of the curious willingness to embrace renewal and life – no matter how many times predators strike.

15 Comments

Filed under In the News, Personal, Uncategorized

Tagged as , , ,

April 14, 2013 · 9:25 am

The Artifice of Intelligence

canstockphoto8101605In 1983, Howard Gardner proposed the idea of multiple intelligences, which had been traditionally called aptitudes. He divided intelligence into 9 categories: logical-mathematical, spatial, linguistic, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal, intrapersonal, naturalistic and later, he tacked on existential. He was widely criticized for creating subjective categories, but it opened up discussion about the narrow definition of intelligence used by science and culture up to that point.

I’ve spent a lifetime concerned about sounding, looking and being stupid. The definition of stupid means something different to practically everyone. We teach youngsters not to use the word, since, if you’re 5, it gets used to describe everything. To me, as an adult, calling anything stupid smacks of arrogance and simplistic thinking. Please, explain. What is it about the situation that defies intelligence? What is it about that person that suggests they know nothing? Use your words. There is a tinge of political correctness in all of this, since so often “stupid” was used to describe people with neurological and biochemical challenges.

If the popularity of “The Big Bang Theory” is any indicator, being smart comes with unintended side effects – which, in many cases, lands almost all of these characters on the Autism spectrum. I have friends who are diehard fans of the show, but I find stereotypes unappealing. I know traditionally smart people – scientists, computer programmers, mathematicians. They’re also great friends, parents, writers, volunteers – warm and socially engaging people. When I hear the tired nerd, geek and Trekkie jokes, I cringe.

I’m a relatively intelligent person, but I’m not a genius in any sense of the word. I’ve done well in school, but I was an awful student. I have classroom narcolepsy, procrastination of any kind of test prep and a patent disinterest in getting academic information from other humans. I retain what I read, so if I see something written, I can generally recall it. Tell me your name at a party, I’ll forget it two minutes later. Wear a name tag and I’ll know you for life. Except now, as middle age is creeping in, my skills are getting fuzzier. Maybe my brain has figured out that there’s no point in retaining information I’m unlikely to use again (a child’s justification for not doing algebra – I’m so mature!).

School is one of our first personal indicators of intelligence. Grades, stickers, praise or the red pen. We start forming ideas about whether we are smart. At home, depending on what our parents or guardians value, we get messages that we might be a little genius or the dullest knife in the drawer. Intelligence gets cited more often if we show up, participate, turn in our work on time and don’t try to shove our pencils in little Billy’s ear.

I grew up believing I was smart, because I was an early reader. Reading is highly valued in my family.  It protected me for awhile from social interaction, which I found quite painful. In 4th grade, I was sent to a speech therapist, because I did not speak correctly – likely from not speaking much at all. Even as an adult, I’ve pronounced words incorrectly because I’ve never heard some of them spoken – having only read them in books.

As I got older, reading intelligence was not enough. I longed for friends and to stop being picked last for the team. I longed not to be this four-eyed shadow in the corner hoping simultaneously to be noticed and ignored. I stepped out of the corner. I tried everything – especially things that terrified me.

If I were ever to use the word hate in real context, it is to say I hate fear. If I am afraid of doing something, I will find the most extreme example and make myself do it. Scared to talk to people? High school speech club. Scared of losing in front of people? Joined the track team (I am a sloooow runner!). Scared of heights? Rock climbing. I am not fearless – I’m chock full of fears, but I find pleasure in setting ‘em up and knocking ‘em down.

I joined the Army as a linguist, having tested very high on the basic entrance exam and the language aptitude tests. Relative intelligence. It’s ironic to be told you’re smart when you have very little in the way of life experience. I was SO smart that I became a binge drinker with a penchant for dating loose cannons. I made incredibly poor decisions in practically every area of my life, but I tested well as a linguist.

So when I consider my unscientific intelligence, I value what works for me, what has contributed to my survival and my growth. I’ll never be an Ivy Leaguer or cure cancer or write literature that will withstand the test of time. Statistically speaking, most of us won’t. I will address my daughter’s entire elementary school assembly while having an anxiety attack. I will write out loud and publicly. I will seize opportunities, talk to strangers, make commitments, learn new hobbies, challenge myself at every opportunity. I don’t plan on being comfortable…ever.

What about you? Did you grow up with one idea about your intelligence and discover something else entirely as an adult? What do you value in terms of intelligence and how have institutional definitions of intelligence affected your opinions of yourself?

32 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

Tagged as , , , ,

March 8, 2013 · 6:13 am

The Green Study “Worst Job I Ever Had” Contest: 1st Place

canstockphoto45980501st Prize goes to The Wisdom of Life, for the job you’d least like to have. There were some great entries, but this one struck me viscerally and reminded me of the one and only job I ever got sick on (that’s a story for another day).

They will be sent one Green Study Coffee Mug or Pen, a postcard from Minneapolis and I will make a $100 online donation to the American Red Cross on their behalf of their local Red Cross Chapter or International Disaster Response fund.

“Discovering Chicken”

by Wisdom of Life

Chicken gumbo, chicken salad, fried chicken… the list goes on. At the tail end of the moment that a delightful morsel of savory indulgence enters our welcoming palate, we might forget the long trek on which this bite has come. One such step in this journey from egg to forked bit of delicious pleasure is the chicken house. In my late teens catching chickens paid very well and didn’t require the glistening charade of resume props other jobs of that pay scale demanded. The task was simple enough, gather chickens, hand them off to be placed in crates to be transported to the processing plant.

At the time I was on the verge of homelessness. Having searched for work in a tough market I was getting desperate and needed the money. I wasn’t unaware the job would be stinky and hard on the back. I prepared myself by chanting my new mantra; “you need the money, and you can do this”. We traveled by van that night to a huge chicken coop. It was better to do the job in the dark. Chickens can’t see in blue and red light, so they were effectively blind. We corralled and grabbed them, 4 in each hand, to heave up to the waiting crater.

Most of the crew was well seasoned. In retrospect, I could see they were battle hardened to persevere what was to come. I was just another face that might or might not be able to join that band of brothers – if I had what it took to cross over from wannabe to warrior. The wind was strong and the screeching chickens flapped and cackled as they passed from my hands to the waiting crater. My mantra grew stronger and stronger as the hours wore on. Chicken feces and urine frothed out from the terrified brood and showered me with its reminder that foul isn’t just a polite fiction attributed to these creatures.

In my blissful delight of childhood ignorance I remember asking my mother one time how chicken was made. When she matter of factly told me that it was made of chickens, I remember being mortified. I asked again assuming she didn’t understand the question. When she reasserted the ugly facts to my unaccepting mind it took me quite a while to absorb the complacent monstrosity about myself that came sauntering out of her mouth. It seared my mind like the grill lines burnt on to those poor creatures I flung on a leg of their deathward journey.

I did battle with my growing inclination to stop this madness of torture and injustice to myself and these creatures. As a teen, I had the common affliction of delusional immortality and thought that if I determined to do something that I would just behaviorally follow through. I didn’t want to face my own shortcomings nor did I want to deny myself the much needed infusion of cash. Spectacularly, I discovered I was not up to the task. 4 hours into the shift I worked up enough courage to tell the leader that I could no longer do it. I expected wrath. I remembered his look of understanding, or perhaps complacency as he probably witnessed my brand of surrender so many times before. He simply said without malice that I could wait in the van.

I sat there waiting for the end of the shift now diverting the divided energy I was applying partly to the torture of those chickens and myself to my own self alone, and I was… alone. I was so embarrassed about the whole experience that I went home and showered for what seemed like a week to get the smell out. It didn’t occur to me even to ask to be paid for the few short hours I had worked because I had let everyone down in that field of wood chips and hell. A couple weeks later I received a check to my surprise.

In some ways it seems life is a confluence of contrasts. In that time of doing my worst I learned one of the most valuable lessons of all in life… that I do have limits.

Congratulations, Wisdom of Life! Be sure to check out their blog.

Here’s a little wisdom to attain:

Intentional Life is Serious Business: Of Wasps and Stings

A Trail of Ideas

The Value of Understanding the Whole Context

27 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

March 4, 2013 · 9:23 am

Saying Good-Bye to Parenting Advice

canstockphoto11601244There is some information that worms its way inside your head and grows, like a lab culture, into self-doubt and judgment. For me, it ranges from blogging advice to how I’m supposed to give a rat’s ass about fashion (that advice dies a quick death, but it’s there). Parenting advice is the absolute worst, though. It made me feel both ineffectual and incompetent, doubting even the most minor lapses.

I commented on someone’s blog post yesterday regarding kids and food. I immediately wanted to delete it, because it felt wrong. Apparently, I was the milder of pompously commenting parents, who were both defensive and right. Any parent worth their salt knows that kids have a way of turning us into know-it-alls or angrily sensitive about our parenting choices (two sides of the insecurity coin, methinks).

When I started out as a parent, I was hungry for advice. I wanted to get it right. I went to classes, I talked enthusiastically with other mothers. I read books. I watched videos. I listened to CDs. I familiarized myself with Ferber, Sears, Faber & Mazlish and the five million other parenting advice gurus.  I researched best methods for potty training and eating and even, I am embarrassed to say, how to play. My daughter had Baby Einstein playing when her biggest interest was waving her fingers in front of her face.

Getting it right had little or nothing to do with my actual child. It was a fear that I would be a bad parent. It was a fear that I would be an inconsistent misery to live with and that my child would be a reflection of that chaos. I put into practice all kinds of advice, 90% of which did nothing but make more work for me and I think, slightly bemuse her. Reward charts, potty celebrations, signing up for classes, reading yet more books and on and on and on.

About three years in, I stopped reading advice books. Incentive systems got tossed out the window. I was too tired. She was growing up in spite of my best efforts to turn her into a baby genius, super athlete and much better version of me. I started to just be amazed and curious about the person she was actually becoming.

Fortunately, once kids get older, people stop offering arbitrary advice. Old ladies stop telling you how all their children were potty-trained straight out of the womb and how a good swat will set the little miscreants right. Other parents learn to bite their tongues – in front of you – but you’re on trial when you’re out of earshot. I’m just as guilty of this – watching from afar and feeling smug that my child doesn’t like Cheetos or eat dirt. Until she does.

The things that I look back on, which were most valuable to our experience as a family, may be utterly different than someone else’s experience and yet our kids will be just as well-adjusted and happy. I ignored a lot of advice in favor of intuition about my child. I slept with her the first year, my arm outstretched above my head to avoid rolling over on her. I gave up trying to potty train her. A mere few months later (it felt like forever), she decided to do it on her own.

We are strict parents in some ways. Manners are always enforced. Fruits and vegetables required. School is first priority. TV watching is limited. But also lax in others. Mud is good. Hair combing is optional. Farts are funny. How she looks is her choice.

I am firmly against corporal punishment. I grew up with it and while many people like to say “I got hit as a kid and I grew up fine”, I didn’t grow up fine. I grew up struggling and fearful. I grew up wishing for nothing more than the power to strike back. She’s never been hit, but has occasionally gotten a retributive face lick or noogie. We’re barbarians.

We don’t insist on the best for her, but she is adept at making the best of every situation. We say no a lot, but are learning to pick our battles.  We admit when we’re wrong and rarely use “because I said so” as a reason.

Parental self-righteousness is shaky at best and in its place, a truism remains strong. Just when you think you’ve got it right, you’ll be wrong. Nothing seems to put people up on their high horses faster than parenting advice. Enjoy your 8 seconds of “I would never…” because you will and then you will completely forget what a judgmental prick you were before you did.

There is no doubt that parenting advice has value when it leads you out of the tall grass. When it is about the best footwear or which path to take or what snacks to take along, sometimes it’s best to ignore advice and just enjoy the journey.

25 Comments

Filed under Parenting, Personal, Uncategorized

Tagged as , , ,

February 28, 2013 · 7:12 am

The Shoulder Shrug of Forgiveness

canstockphoto0610991

This post is my monthly contribution to Bloggers for Peace.

The assignment for the month of February has been to write a post in regards to forgiveness. Like any homework that I have ever been assigned in my life, I’m writing it at the very last minute. Update:  Kozo at everyday gurus, let me know I was mistaken and that the Forgiveness assignment was for March. I started the day being late and now I’m early!

Forgiveness is a tough topic for me to write about for a whole myriad of reasons. Mostly because I don’t know what it really means and have never given it a name in my life. When I read stories about families of victims forgiving the murderer, I appreciate the vast gulf those families must have traversed to get to that point. I think that it must have required time, diligence, patience and a bigger view than I could possibly ever have.

In writing about growing up with domestic violence, a commenter once praised me for my ability to forgive. I wanted to respond that they were mistaken. I hadn’t consciously forgiven anyone. I just stopped being angry all the time, stopped seeking to blame and began to see the players in the drama for the small, weak people that they were. On occasion I feel compassion for them. In rare instances, when a memory has been triggered, I hate them all over again. How do you find forgiveness in all that?

For me, therein lies the crux of the problem. Forgiveness sounds like this all-encompassing, perpetual emotion that continues on ad infinitum. We’re complicated. I’m complicated. I don’t feel the same way for more than a few days, a few hours, even a few moments at a time. Things are always shifting. My brain is a kaleidoscope – a changing perspective each and every day.

In my daily life, I don’t stay angry for very long. It takes far too much energy to maintain and I am quick to realize the futility of it. It’s one of those emotions, like guilt, that should drive a person towards change or action, but not be held onto. It is corrosive. But the absence of anger is not really forgiveness, is it?

People always talk about the power of forgiveness, piously saying “I forgave him or her for this or that”. Unfortunately, statements like that always put me on alert. Sometimes the naming or announcing of a thing immediately gets tagged in my skeptical head as suspect. Telling someone you forgive them seems weird, too. Has someone ever told you that you’re forgiven? It’s like being given reprieve from execution by the person who ordered it in the first place. You feel grateful, but you’d like to punch them for having that kind of power over you. Maybe that’s just me.

If I’ve started doing things that require a grandiose announcement that I’m forgiven, something has already gone very wrong in the relationship. I apologize when I’ve realized I’ve done something wrong or hurtful and the person I’ve hurt says something to lessen the intensity and vice versa. We shrug it off and move on. Forgiveness is then not holding a grudge and being willing to accept an apology. It is part of the connective tissue of our relationship. A condition upon which we have tacitly agreed.

Of all the types of forgiveness, I find self-forgiveness the most challenging. My catalog of misdeeds and small cruelties is fully collated and recorded and dredged up on occasion when I start feeling a might too good about myself. I will easily shrug off the actions or words of someone else while castigating myself for doing or saying the exact same thing. As I get older, I realize the importance of giving myself a mental flick in the ear to say “That was a dumb thing to do, move on, don’t do it again.” My version of forgiveness is less about the warm fuzzies and more pragmatic. Get on with things, don’t wallow.

Often, when I’ve finished writing about a subject, I have a reasonable perspective, I’ve learned something or I’ve reaffirmed something I already knew. I don’t know anything more except to say forgiveness is a concept of which I do not have a good grasp. Perhaps I cannot name that which can only be felt deep in the bones, sincerely and utterly. Perhaps it is a mental obstacle that erodes only slightly, moment by moment, until one day you can clearly see an uncluttered landscape of compassion.

More Bloggers for Peace:

A Gift from a Telephone Solicitor from Authentic Talk

Friends and Enemies: The Malleable Keys to Peace at everyday gurus

The Inertia of Our Forever War at Peace Garret

Kozo & Cheri asks that you…at Bloggers for Peace

Administrative Note: The Green Study “Worst Job I’ve Ever Had” Contest is coming to life with some very funny/ horrific entries! You have until Sunday, March 3rd 2013, 12:00 pm (US Standard Central Time) to get your entry submitted.

43 Comments

Filed under Personal, Uncategorized

Tagged as , ,

February 26, 2013 · 9:48 am

I Know You Are, but What Am I?

canstockphoto2506265

Over the last couple of days, I’ve seen the use of the term “politically correct” numerous times in regards to the recent hosting of the Oscars. The phrase is both pejorative and overused in the sense that it is being applied against the most common of courtesies these days. I have rarely watched the Oscars, because I find them as interesting as a middle school end-of-season sports banquet. If you’re related to the recipients, I’m sure it’s delightful.

I love humor and on occasion, well done raunchy humor. But that’s subjective. What I find hilarious, someone else might find appalling. I understand that and don’t feel compelled to shout down everyone who expresses offense. I have enough common sense to understand why someone would find something offensive.

People start shrieking about 1st Amendment rights and political correctness and don’t even know what those things actually mean. First of all, it is a misconception to think that the 1st Amendment protects citizens against the consequences of their words beyond not being arrested by the government (except in cases which incite or threaten violence).

The government cannot abridge your right to free speech. But I can. I can turn you off, stop buying your products, shun those that would associate with you, respond with critical commentary. Bravo for your rights. And bravo for mine. So viewers, stop whining because I don’t think your favorite comedian is funny. Unless he’s paying some of your bills or showing you his breasts, why do you feel the need to defend him? Stop living vicariously and go develop your own sense of humor.

Learning to be respectful and courteous has a bit of a curve to it. I’ve been guilty countless times of saying offensive things. I was raised to use words like “retarded” and “midget” and “lard ass”.  As an adult, I’ve met enough kinds of people in my life to know how hurtful words can be. As an adult, I can learn to be kinder and more respectful of others’ life experiences. It turns out, I still find a lot of things funny and enjoyable that don’t suck the wind out of another person’s sails.

I think boobs are funny, but not in the way, apparently, that America does. I find it bizarre in a National Geographic sort of way – that people obsess about fleshy growths that are essentially udders. It’s weird. We’re weird. But then, I also think it’s strange that we all walk around looking like Cyborgs with our Bluetooths. Weird and a little creepy. Throw on some Google Goggles and we’re downright freaks.

There is plenty to laugh at and make fun of in the human world. Should it be the groups that have already been tromped on and kicked around and oppressed? Should it be tired booby humor and worn out stereotypes? Creatively speaking, I would beg of entertainers that it not be, but that is out of my control. What is in my control is my remote, my money, my time and my interest. It may not impact the quality of the entertainment, since there are droves of people who love shock and awe humor, but it will impact the quality of my time and life.

Just because I don’t think someone is funny, it doesn’t mean I’m a humorless git. It just means I don’t think someone is funny. If you want to take it personally, please do. As I said, there’s plenty to laugh at and make fun of in the human world. Let’s start with this compulsion to idolize and defend complete strangers. And then we can move on to the hobby of watching things just to feed a sense of outrage. Entertainment by any other name…

Administrative Note: The Green Study “Worst Job I’ve Ever Had” Contest is coming to life with some very funny/ horrific entries! You have until Sunday, March 3rd 2013, 12:00 pm (US Standard Central Time) to get your entry submitted.

44 Comments

Filed under Humor, In the News, Personal, Uncategorized

Tagged as , , ,

February 25, 2013 · 5:43 am

The Green Study “Worst Job I Ever Had” Contest

canstockphoto4598050It’s Monday and the perfect day to announce The Green Study “Worst Job I Ever Had” contest. After writing my post yesterday regarding various jobs and exchanging comments with readers about their jobs, I thought this might be a nice way to kill off some winter blahs (mine, to be specific). Please note that if I publish your post and it results in you being fired from your current job, I accept no liability. Blog responsibly.

Guidelines:

Write a previously unpublished blog post (with title) 200-700 words long about the worst job you’ve ever had. Submit it through my Contact page by Sunday, March 3rd 2013, 12:00 pm (US Standard Central Time). Please note that your formatting is retained when I receive it – the Contact page makes it look like it has disappeared.

One entry per person please. The contest begins as soon as this post goes public.

The winners will be notified on Wednesday, March 6th 2013 by 12:00 pm (US Standard Central Time).

Guest blog posting, shipping of the prizes and donations will take place by March 31st, 2013.

All entries will be judged by me, myself and I. It’s entirely subjective.

1st Prize: Your entry will be posted as a guest post to my blog, you will be sent one The Green Study Coffee Mug or Pen (depending on your preference and shipping restrictions) and I will make a $100 donation to the American Red Cross on your behalf to your local Red Cross Chapter or their International Disaster Response fund.

2nd Prize: Your entry will be posted as a guest post to my blog, you will be sent one The Green Study Coffee Mug or Pen (depending on your preference and shipping restrictions) and I will make a $75 donation to the American Red Cross on your behalf to your local Red Cross Chapter or their International Disaster Response fund.

3rd Prize: Your entry will be posted as a guest post to my blog, you will be sent one The Green Study Coffee Mug or Pen (depending on your preference and shipping restrictions) and I will make a $50 donation to the American Red Cross on your behalf to your local Red Cross Chapter or their International Disaster Response fund.

All participants will receive a priceless, irreplaceable postcard from Minneapolis (although it actually cost $1.00 and can be bought at the airport, in large quantities).

I will ship prize winners’ mugs or pens internationally (with no guarantee that it will arrive or that it will arrive in one piece, but the same caveat applies stateside).

Let’s shake off the winter blahs

& have some fun!

33 Comments

Filed under Blogging, Personal, Uncategorized, Writing

Tagged as , , , , ,

February 23, 2013 · 11:51 am

A Change in Enthalpy…Good to See You

canstockphoto0201754I inexplicably dropped out of the blogosphere this week. Apparently, it only takes 5 days to destroy a habit of writing and exercise and you know, getting dressed for life. I’m constantly juggling priorities and this week I just lay down on the floor and let them pummel the hell out of me. Entropy has settled in and for any consistent reader of this blog, it’s obviously a constant battle to pull myself out of it.

Enthalpy is the sum of energy in a thermodynamic process. It is described as useful energy. My scientist friends will have to forgive me my liberal education, as I inexpertly adopt this for a metaphor. A change in enthalpy signals a change in one’s state of being. And I need a truckload of it now.

I frequently hit a point where I’ve given into the chaos of life and am just riding it out. I have no sense of control – just letting life happen until I end up very tired, extremely depressed or feeling like I’m having an out-of-body experience in my daily life. Like most people, I have a lot of external responsibilities, so it becomes very easy to neglect my inner life.

I’ve read all the self-care articles. I know that I’m supposed to put my own oxygen mask on before I put it on others, but it doesn’t come naturally. I’m not some self-sacrificing prig, but I believe in doing what needs to be done. It’s my radar readings that are off – what constitutes need? Did I need to take my bosses’ call on Friday night at 5:05pm? Does my daughter really need to have PB & J sandwiches with the crusts cut off? Do I really need to answer phone calls, emails or texts right away?

I grew up the oldest of four kids. Like the stereotypical first born, I was responsible, take charge and a problem solver. On top of that, I learned to read people. It was necessary in a household with alcoholism and domestic violence, to sense a shift in the wind, to understand what the buttons were, to know when to take cover.

In many ways, this skill benefited me in accurately navigating the world as an adult. The downside is that I have this childlike sense that I know more than I do. I have often attributed need where there is none and taken even the slightest negative emotion as a cry for me, Super Problem Solver, to swoosh in and save the day. People have been startled by my generosity, not realizing that expression of even the most trivial needs will have me bringing in the troops.

This last week, I wanted to solve problems for a lot of people, but part of me knew that I needed to tap out, cry “uncle” or handcuff myself to a fence in passive resistance. What I did, instead, was go through the motions. I did work that needed to be done, all the while thinking dully :”‘When this is over, I’m going to do XYZ…”

Last September, I made the enthusiastic announcement that I was leaving a job of 12 years to dedicate my time to writing. That morphed into a six-month delay in conjunction with the company’s fiscal year, so I’m still in transition. I promised myself that I’d scale back a bit on volunteering, only to find myself sitting for 2 hours straight, doing nothing but feeling slightly resentful at a school event this week.

canstockphoto9355218Entropy got me here, to this state of disordered chaos, but my holy grail is balance. It’s an unending, constantly shifting quest. I wonder, at times, that my expectations are unrealistic. I imagine balance to be this serene, meditative handling of life’s daily trials and tribulations. Maybe balance is more like being adept at juggling on a unicycle, constantly in motion, shifting this way or that, sometimes frantically, sometimes rhythmically. Is balance a Buddhist nuns’ retreat or a circus?

What does balance look like to you?

37 Comments

Filed under Humor, Personal, Uncategorized

Tagged as , , , , ,