My philosophy of life can be summed up like so: Some days you're the pigeon and some days you're the statue.
It's those "statue" days when we need to wind down, decompress, chill out, tune out -- fill in additional synonyms here. Everyone has their own way of achieving that goal: yoga, meditation, snacking, hot baths, watching a mindless TV program (is that redundant?).
For me there's nothing like a little bibliotherapy. Give me a well-written book and I'll forget about the blasted pigeons before the first chapter ends. Even a poorly-written one can do the trick since it triggers my inner critic and allows me to mentally trash the moron who wrote it. There's undoubtedly some psychological term for this transference of anger but let's not get too Dr. Phil here.
Top of the list? Hands down, any chapter in which Elizabeth Bennett is vexed by Mr. Darcy. Ahh, the cure for even the worst caca day.
It doesn't matter whether you use your finger to turn the page or touch the screen on your e-reader, reading is your ticket out of what ails you. Pleasant journey.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Lefties -- Penmanship Not Politics
August 13 marked the 19th Annual Left Handers Day Celebration.
What's that? You missed it? Figures. We lefties -- I'm talking penmanship here, not politics -- are used to being forgotten. After all, only 13% of us belong to this elite group and we long ago conceded that this is a right-handed world.
Surely you've watched a leftie attempt to cut with a scissors. Maybe even laughed at what you saw. No arguing that it is indeed awkward. That innocent little tool has contributed to the plight of we lefties since pre-school. Everyone's Valentine showed neat, rounded edges -- yes, even with those ridiculous blunted scissors. Mine looked like the class gerbil gnawed his way around the outside. Scissors are definitely made for right-handers.
Personally, I'm ladle-phobic. I'd feel more comfortable in a tutu en pointe with the Bolshoi than scooping liquid out of a soup tureen. I have no proof that the ladle favors the right-handed majority, but it saps what little dexterity I have remaining using either hand. I've offered guests my first born child if only they'd fill my punch glass.
Remember elementary school desks? Obviously designed by a right-hander. The desktops were shaped similar to an artist's palette but they were always attached to the right side of the desk. In order to apply pen to paper, we lefties were forced to contort our little bodies, thus making future chiropractic patients of us all.
As payback for sticking us with the root word "sinistra" in Latin and "gauche" in French, we were compelled to excel and become creative geniuses like Leonardo or over-achievers like President Obama -- both of whom would be installed in the Left Handers Hall of Fame if anyone should decide to establish one. The left bank of Paris would be an excellent site.
What's that? You missed it? Figures. We lefties -- I'm talking penmanship here, not politics -- are used to being forgotten. After all, only 13% of us belong to this elite group and we long ago conceded that this is a right-handed world.
Surely you've watched a leftie attempt to cut with a scissors. Maybe even laughed at what you saw. No arguing that it is indeed awkward. That innocent little tool has contributed to the plight of we lefties since pre-school. Everyone's Valentine showed neat, rounded edges -- yes, even with those ridiculous blunted scissors. Mine looked like the class gerbil gnawed his way around the outside. Scissors are definitely made for right-handers.
Personally, I'm ladle-phobic. I'd feel more comfortable in a tutu en pointe with the Bolshoi than scooping liquid out of a soup tureen. I have no proof that the ladle favors the right-handed majority, but it saps what little dexterity I have remaining using either hand. I've offered guests my first born child if only they'd fill my punch glass.
Remember elementary school desks? Obviously designed by a right-hander. The desktops were shaped similar to an artist's palette but they were always attached to the right side of the desk. In order to apply pen to paper, we lefties were forced to contort our little bodies, thus making future chiropractic patients of us all.
As payback for sticking us with the root word "sinistra" in Latin and "gauche" in French, we were compelled to excel and become creative geniuses like Leonardo or over-achievers like President Obama -- both of whom would be installed in the Left Handers Hall of Fame if anyone should decide to establish one. The left bank of Paris would be an excellent site.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
C-SPAN - The Site for Congressional Drama
All right America. Breathe in...2-3-4...breathe out...2-3-4. Again. Breathe in...2-3-4...breathe out...2-3-4. Again......
Feel more relaxed now? Less of an angry villager, torches ablaze? Good.
Now I know we've been through an ordeal and whether you agree that the opposition are Hobbits or not (frankly, I think it's a slur on the Hobbits) the ugliness is over at least til after Labor Day. Then the bickering will resume but no one will be wearing white.
They all need a massive time-out. Some of them a massive time out of office.
What's with all the drama? Monday morning: one party steps up to the microphones to say their idea is best and they won't budge. Hold that thought, because momentarily the other party does exactly the same. Tuesday morning: one party steps up the microphones to say their idea is best and they won't budge. It's like "Groundhog Day" without the levity. Fans of the soaps are lamenting their cancellation. Cheer up. All the drama has moved to C-SPAN.
Whose idea was the debt ceiling countdown clock? It felt like a game show prop. I sat waiting for a senator to buy a vowel.
Why do we vote for these morons? What do they actually do on a daily basis? Could you hem and haw, use such histrionics and be that indecisive on your job? I venture to answer for you a resounding "no".
Thank goodness for August. Things are quieter, more relaxed. It'll give me time to read up on this blasted credit downgrade and to decide for myself whether it actually does signal the end of the world as we know it.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Brunch, Lunch -- Let's Eat
I am invited to brunch Sunday at noon. There's no question in my mind that this is indeed brunch because of the arranged time. However, another guest insists that it's lunch because of the arranged time. Before we debate this any further, let's check with the authority.
According to Webster brunch is "the late first meal of the day that takes the place of both breakfast and lunch". The word, as we all know, is taken from the first letters of breakfast and the last letters of lunch. Personally, I love these coined combination words when they really are descriptive and fill a lexical gap. Smog and frenemy are two others I can think of offhand. The love dissipates though when the tabloids and entertainment TV use them to refer to the latest hot celebrity couple. If you've never heard of Brangelina you must have been residing in another galaxy.
Back to brunch. It does seem that brunch is restricted to a meal only on weekends, especially Sunday. During the work week we have lunch noonish. No one ever tells their colleagues they're off to brunch. And if we go out around eleven, we say it's an early lunch. Most offices have a lunch hour from 12 to 1 -- a mere sixty minutes to scarf down a deli sandwich, pick up a birthday card and drop off the dry cleaning.
Thus it would appear that brunch has been relegated to the more relaxing Sundays when we can sip a mimosa and calmly wait for the chef to Benedict the eggs and French the toast.
Meanwhile, I am indeed going to brunch on Sunday and I do hope the other guest comes for lunch. What we call it isn't important. Let's eat!
According to Webster brunch is "the late first meal of the day that takes the place of both breakfast and lunch". The word, as we all know, is taken from the first letters of breakfast and the last letters of lunch. Personally, I love these coined combination words when they really are descriptive and fill a lexical gap. Smog and frenemy are two others I can think of offhand. The love dissipates though when the tabloids and entertainment TV use them to refer to the latest hot celebrity couple. If you've never heard of Brangelina you must have been residing in another galaxy.
Back to brunch. It does seem that brunch is restricted to a meal only on weekends, especially Sunday. During the work week we have lunch noonish. No one ever tells their colleagues they're off to brunch. And if we go out around eleven, we say it's an early lunch. Most offices have a lunch hour from 12 to 1 -- a mere sixty minutes to scarf down a deli sandwich, pick up a birthday card and drop off the dry cleaning.
Thus it would appear that brunch has been relegated to the more relaxing Sundays when we can sip a mimosa and calmly wait for the chef to Benedict the eggs and French the toast.
Meanwhile, I am indeed going to brunch on Sunday and I do hope the other guest comes for lunch. What we call it isn't important. Let's eat!
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