Love Those Little Chocolates

My favorite candy snack? Without a doubt -- m&m's. Just a handful usually satisfies the craving for...make that the need for...okay, I'll admit it -- the obsession for chocolate. I usually keep a bag in my purse in case of emergency blood sugar dips so I guess you could say I nosh for medical reasons. Why do I feel the necessity to justify my chocolate addiction?

Unlike those who claim to have preferences, I am m&m's color blind. The greens taste no different than the reds, the yellows, the browns or the blues. But then I can't tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi either.

Some follow unusual procedures when tackling a bag of these bite-sized sweets. For example, eat all the yellows first, then the reds, then the blues etc. These rituals might come from a childhood game or memory. But it may not be a stretch to say that these same people consult a Magic 8 Ball or a Ouija Board as well.

Me? There's no method to my munching madness. Place fingers in bag. Grab handful. Move handful to mouth. Repeat process til bag is empty. The bags are small enough so you don't really overdo it. Just enough to satisfy that sweet tooth, which in my case is a molar.

However, a recent bag was seemingly bottomless. I ate a few, later another few, the next day a few more. Before thanking the heavens for a loaves and fishes miracle, I read the bag. There it was, in large colored type: Sharing Size!

Blast! As if eating chocolate wasn't guilt inducing enough. Now I need to feed the hungry as well.

Is There Armrest Etiquette?

Does anyone know the etiquette of sharing an armrest? Is there any? Here are a few techniques I've used, but I'm not endorsing any of them. You decide whether they fall into the polite category or do they broadcast some deeply rooted personality flaw.

First: the "my edge/thy edge" share. My limb rests gently on my side while thine does the same on thy side. Here's hoping that my elbow doth not touch thine.

Second: the "I'll take the front/thou takest the back" approach to sharing. It's understood that the rear position be taken by the sharer with shorter arms, thus keeping us from leaning freakishly forward to claim armrest victory.

Third: the "it's my turn to hog the entire space/when I'm done it belongs to thou" share. This is the trickiest one of all since it's instinctive. How long is too long? All of Act One? Hardly. Halfway through the flight? Probably not.

Fourth: the "let me inch my way over to thy side before thou realizes I've pushed thee out of armrest territory" strategy.

It's surprising how competitive we are for the coveted armrest. The second our seat mate reaches for a tissue, we're all over that now vacant space and the battle begins anew.

Why did I use ye olde English pronouns above? Because I think the only way to survive the battle of the armrests is to think Quaker-like thoughts. Of course they're peaceful, not necessarily saintly. Wonder what it's like to share an armrest with one of them.

So What's Your Sign? No, Seriously!

First the demotion of Pluto. Now the zodiac shake-up. Something to do with the tilting of the earth's axis over a few thousand years, mixed with the fact that the Babylonians omitted a sign from the original model.

Imagine the chaos in the minds of the true believers who rely on an accurate horoscope to plan their day -- and no reliable horoscope to turn to for guidance.

Face it -- even we non-believers check the ol' horoscope one time or another. When it's good news, we'd like to believe it. When it's bad, the pooh pooh factor kicks in.

My personal upset? Under this new system I am no longer a Gemini. I've always liked the personality traits of the twins -- creative, unpredictable, loyal, kind, logical. I like the idea of being a duo. Sometimes you need the back-up.

Should this revisionist zodiac kick in, I will be a Taurus. A bull? Pullleeze! How very unyielding. So unromantic. Far too masculine.

Once a Gemini, always a Gemini. A Taurus I will never be. Uh oh. That doesn't sound too stubborn and unyielding, does it?

The Holidays Done Come and Gone

The holidays are officially just a memory. January 6th -- the Epiphany, Twelfth Night, the Twelfth Day of Christmas, Little Christmas -- is the cut off date for most of us. Keep your tree or decorations up much longer than that and the neighbors start talking.

There isn't a remnant of Christmas anywhere in Union Square -- the major shopping area here in San Francisco. Makes you question whether it really happened or were you in some dream world since Thanksgiving? Mind you, it's a dream world in which you have your Visa card in hand ready to pounce on a good deal. And, mind you, that dream could morph into nightmare status when you get the bill later this month.

The saddest part of this post-holiday season is the trees cast out on the sidewalk -- next stop the city's mulching machine. That tree gave its life so you'd have a place to hang some cheap tinsel.
Now may it -- the tree, not the tinsel -- rest in peace.

This, of course, poses a philosophical question whether a mulched tree actually rests anywhere since it's scattered around the many parks and gardens. Perhaps the tree is just part of the cycle of life -- it grows, it gets chopped down, we decorate it, it gets chewed into a bazillion pieces, then spit out in order to help other plants live. It's an altruistic little evergreen that contains symbolism which.......

Please, someone stop me before I start singing Kumbaya.

Two Thousand Eleven or.....?

Happy New Year! I hope I'm not disturbing your resolution-making session or writing too loudly in the case of any hung over readers.

Whether you make resolutions or not, there's something special about the first day of a new year. It's just so hopeful, so full of promise. A 365-day do-over.

Unfortunately, I often dwell on the dark side -- those things I failed to complete or even start last year. But I am getting better mainly because, as I get older, I have a difficult time remembering my to-do list from last January. Three cheers for failing synapses!

The new year does pose a problem. Do I pronounce it two thousand eleven or twenty-eleven?

You'd think that after 10 years, I'd be more comfortable with the two thousands, but they still sound like a mouthful to me.