Clearing Out My Cranial Clutter: Drugs For The Elderly, The Dress, And Marcel's Philosophy On Blog Comments

 Let's start right in, shall we?

After three days of suffering a vicious migraine that my meds would not even touch, I called my neurologist for a cycle breaker. This is a steroid med pack (6 the first day, 5 the next, and so on). I put on my sunglasses and drove the short distance to CVS to pick it up and gobbled the first 6 in the parking lot like an addict needing her fix. It was only when I got home that I looked at the attached paperwork and saw this very Disheartening missive:

I am the Older Adult In The Combination

Because I have reached The Magic Number, I'm now asked a bunch of questions I never got a year ago. Like Do you feel safe at home? (Honestly, I think every patient in the ER should be asked if they feel safe at home, don't you?) Anyway, so much for the whole Age is just a number philosophy.

 
Some of you asked to see my dress for Jared and Jordan's wedding. The photo isn't very good, but here it is:

Just imagine my head, arms, and legs poking out, and my feet wearing great shoes

What you can't see is that the skirt is split at the side wrap with cascading ruffles, and the front is shorter than the back, like a cutaway. Here is a link to the actual dress online, but it's not that great of a photo, either. Regardless, there it is. 

One more note about the wedding. Last weekend, Rick and I hosted the family along with Jared and Jordan's parents at the lakehouse before they had to fly back to Colorado. We talked more about the wedding, and I said I realized I didn't cry a single tear during the whole thing. Not one (and I had even bought waterproof mascara). Jordan said, "I know. I was watching you. You were so incredibly calm. But you were radiating Joy." I agreed. I said that I simply felt complete--contented and complete. I knew that everything was right and perfect about their marriage. I felt like I was watching the natural next step, the culminating event. I was just so happy.

Finally, during my Migraine Days this week, I was edgy and restless. I couldn't do much, but I didn't want to just sit in a darkened, silent room. I could read on and off, or watch television if it was something quiet. I found the movie Marcel The Shell With Shoes On, a film which had intrigued me a while ago, but I had forgotten about.

image credit

 It's a lovely little film with an endearing protagonist and a dear, yet important, message that resonated with me. And it expresses my philosophy about blogging, specifically the Comments section.

Over at Kyria's place, several bloggers spoke about not answering Comments at all, and others spoke about not checking back to even see if their Comments had been answered. To be blunt, I find that dismissive and rude.

In the film, Marcel reluctantly goes online to find his family. Instead of receiving help, he gets fans and followers. At one point, he says something like, "This is an audience, not a community." And that's what those kinds of blogs are to me. People who don't engage with their commenters are just looking for an audience, not a community. Wouldn't a Like button serve the same purpose for them? I don't know. I know that I choose carefully who I read and want to spend time with.

Thank you for spending time with this broken down, yet joyful, old lady who feels quite safe in her home (both of them). 

Have you reached a Milestone Birthday, and did it come with some unexpected baggage? Have you seen Marcel The Shell With Shoes On? Do you cry at weddings? Chat with me (and everyone else!) in Comments. 

A Is For Alphabet...

In 2016 I'm going to try to Write More Often, and to that end, several things have occurred. One of those Things is that Rick got me a new Desk for Christmas, one at which I can actually sit and write and not feel encroached upon by Lots Of Clutter. Another Thing is that I have stolen an Idea from another writer (The Bug, I think), one which is so simple that even I, in my Sloth and Disinclination, can lean upon to yank up a blogpost from the depths of my Inertia.

I'm simply going to start alphabetically and grab a word--either from the News or my Life or Whatever--and write a weekly blogpost using that word as my subject. If more than one word comes to mind for that letter, then a List Post it shall be. (Rather than zip off the whole alphabetical list of topics at once ahead of time, though, I'll wait each day and see what comes to mind for that day's letter.) Let's On, then, shall we?

A Is For Anger: I overheard one of Sunday's talking heads chatting about this NBC poll in which they teamed up with Esquire magazine to gauge just how angry Americans are and how it breaks along gender, racial, and political lines. "American women are really angry!" one commentator observed with real surprise. According to the survey, women report a greater rise in anger than men over the past year. No one could get over it. I looked up from my newspaper, already simmering because of the eleventy billion times I had heard Trump's name on the two "news/politics" shows Rick had already watched. They were surprised that women were angry?

Every single Intelligent Woman should be Angry. I have my Anger on Emotional Speed-Dial when it comes to The Politics and The General State Of Things. I am Angry about men (and some women, to be fair) in government using Planned Parenthood funding as a whipping boy and bargaining chip when so many women rely on its services for health care (and, yes, pregnancy services including terminations, the latter being a legal and personal decision of the woman's, however unfortunate).  I am Angry that women still earn 78 cents on the dollar in relation to men among full-time workers in the U.S., and that this inequity in pay still exists, no matter how you sort the data. I am angry about the non-existent Equal Rights Amendment, introduced almost one hundred years ago and allowed to die a slow and humiliating death in 1982, thanks to political wrangling.

Those are just the Big Angries. Smaller Angries include the restrictions on liquids for air travel are more of a hassle for women than men; cash incentives for perfect attendance at a job automatically penalize women with kids; alterations cost extra for women, not for men; women are held to a higher standard of beauty more often than men; school dress codes target girls more than boys; that working women are still responsible for the lion's share of child-rearing and housework...oh, too many to enumerate without completely frosting my cupcakes and destroying my Zen.

(Oh, and may we add anyone--men especially--saying condescendingly, "Um, wow. Why don't you tell us how you really feel?" any time we express our anger about anything?)

So, yes, American women are angry. They have been for a long time; it's just that no one ever bothered to ask them until now.

image

Money Isn't Everything, And We're Worth Way More Than Twenty Bucks

Forgive me, Dear Readers, for this is certainly Old News to all of you, but I am only now hearing of the Campaign To Put A Woman On The Twenty-Dollar Bill. (I know; nothing gets past me for long.) Certainly this is something we need to talk about, and I haven't even sorted my own feelings about this yet. It's all terribly Grace Bedell-esque, isn't it?

In case anyone else has been similarly Out Of It, a little girl wrote to President Obama last year after doing a report on Anne Hutchinson, a Puritan woman who audaciously believed that God could speak to individuals, not just ministers, and who was termed a Jezebel by the local clergy for holding prayer services in her home. When this nine-year old student, Sofia, was watching other students give their reports, some of the others used paper money or coins as illustrations of their historical (male) figures. Sofia could not; neither could any of the other students who chose women. (Apparently no one chose Susan B. Anthony or Sacajawea.) She decided to write to the President and see if he could do something about this.

President Obama wrote back, albeit rather belatedly, and the Interwebs are now all aflutter with a campaign. Replacing President Andrew Jackson was the easy choice because of his tarnished reputation with Native Americans. ( The fact that he adopted two American Indian sons is not enough of a neutralizing factor.)  I'd rather we replace Benjamin Franklin because of his reputation as a known plagiarist and terrific bore, but no one asked me. (His reputation as a Big Deal among the French, especially their women, still amazes me, but then the French are quite fond of Jerry Lewis, too, so I have to say that they have historically Bad Taste In Men. Only their cuisine and wine save them. But I digress.)

Anyway.

The Interwebs got up a bigass poll as to which Historically Notable woman we want passed around by consumers in exchange for goods and services instead of President Andrew Jackson, and therein lies my Big Issue.

Obviously, I'm overthinking this. But the Principle Symbolism of passing around Eleanor Roosevelt, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, or Chief Wilma Mankiller in exchange for stuff is ... icky to me. I feel as if it defeats the Purpose of the thing. These women didn't traffic in a currency as low and mean as money. They stood for principles much more meaningful, much more important. They worked for Freedom, Equality, Rights, Dignity. I hate the idea of putting any of them on money.

Yes, I'm aware that my own Personal and Revered Hero, President Abraham Lincoln, is on two kinds of currency, coin and paper money, and for the most part, I've never given that much thought. But I do cringe at the commercials that use his likeness to trump sales for insurance in an undignified way, and caricatures or other likenesses on Presidents' Day. I hate it. It's sad when historical figures have no control over their names or likenesses (Don't get me started on the TV show "Salem." They should be ashamed and in court.) If I had my way, President Lincoln wouldn't be on money either. No one would be. Put the flag, the eagle, the purple mountains majesty on there. It's more dignified all the way around. (Look what happened in Canada with Spocking Fives.)

It's not that I'm against money. I like it, and I hope to see a lot more of it. But money should not be a monument. (To some people and political parties, it already is.) Money doesn't increase awareness of the people whose image it bears. That's easy enough to prove. Grab ten people off the street and ask them if they know whether Hamilton or Franklin was a president of the United States. (For the record, neither one was.)

Sofia, the letter-writer herself, seems to be unaware that we already have two women on currency. How much awareness of Susan B. Anthony and Sacajawea did those coins raise? And while a good argument can be made that the dollar coin is an unfamiliar and rarely used form of American currency, is a twenty-dollar bill really a teaching tool? Ask any nine-year old like Sofia to name who is on the nickel and who is on the quarter and see if she or he knows that they are two different presidents.

President Obama's response to Sofia is lovely and encouraging in just the right way. The response of the Interwebs is, in the words of William Shakespeare (not Benjamin Franklin, although he would steal them outright for his "Almanack"), "full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing."

Speaking for myself, I'd rather not have my life commemorated by appearing on currency. Its value goes up and down; it is passed around to hands of varying repute. It is used for things that I may never have foreseen or sanctioned. I would rather, if a person of note, leave my life in the hands of careful and kind teachers and historians.

Sofia can learn more from her report on Anne Hutchinson by following the example of Anne Hutchinson than she can from envying the lazy posters of her classmates. Become a keeper of the flame by teaching about notable women and become a Notable Woman herself. She has a lot of examples already to follow.

image

What Do Catholics, republicans, And Chicken Pot Pie All Have In Common?

Fountainhead by Seyed Alavi

It's been a perfectly ghastly week, and I need to write to Feel Human again. All I have been able to do since Friday night is whimper, take drugs, lie down, and wonder for the eleventy hundredth time Why It Is That I Live Here in this godforsaken weather corridor. And why it is that Weather People cannot tell me what is coming, when, and for how long with any sort of reliability whatsoever. It all conspires to be mighty enough to make me say The Eff Word, almost, and I have been trying So Hard To Quit.

In case you wanted to know what it is like to rise from a Days-Long Migraine Process and try to re-enter Real Life, I have found something that is a little bit similar. Here; try to read this:

“Things must change for our government. Look at it. It isn’t too big to fail. It’s too big to succeed! It’s too big to succeed, so we can afford no retreads or nothing will change with the same people and same policies that got us into the status quo. Another Latin word, status quo, and it stands for, ‘Man, the middle-class everyday Americans are really gettin’ taken for a ride.’ That’s status quo, and GOP leaders, by the way, y’know the man can only ride ya when your back is bent. So strengthen it. Then the man can’t ride ya, America won’t be taken for a ride, because so much is at stake and we can’t afford politicians playing games like nothing more is at stake than, oh, maybe just the next standing of theirs in the next election.”

I'd like to echo DNC Communications Director Mo Elleithee and simply say, "Thank you." But of course, I can't. This speech by 2008 Presidential candidate John McCain's selection for his Vice President is beyond bizarre, even for her. As she continues to struggle for relevance in any avenue of American life, let's hope that it's not only the Democrats who sympathetically shake their heads and back away, whispering sadly. (Can we talk about it later over cocktails and nibblies, having a guilty laugh or two? Heavens, yes.)  And no, I won't mention her name and dignify her.

You know, here's another shitful thing about Migraineus Interruptus. I was being Such A Good Girl about my exercise regimen, plodding away on my Dreadmill of Punishment and even switching it up by shovelling the driveway (I know!), and then, Migraine. Down for the count. Thank goodness I don't have one of those Jawbone or FitBit thingies that would beep or vibrate or nag at me to Get Up. Like I need that. I bet you anything a Catholic invented those damn things. "Don't you feel guilty for not getting up and getting moving? Did you do your 10K steps today? CHRIST DIED ON THE CROSS FOR YOU AND YOU CAN'T EVEN MANAGE TEN THOUSAND STEPS?!?!?!" I'm getting a Monday 5PM Headache just thinking about it.

I think we all Want To Do Better. I really do. Okay, well, maybe not a Certain Bob Evans Restaurant. My friends Leanne and Jim, who live in Southern Maryland, each got sick with a terrible cold. They merely wanted some nice comfort food and were too tired and ill to cook for themselves. They went to a nearby Bob Evans restaurant--slogan, "Down On The Farm"--and ordered right off the menu, nothing fancy. Leanne ordered the Chicken Pot Pie, described as "Slow-roasted chicken, carrots, peas, celery and onions in a rich cream sauce covered with a flaky crust." Here is the teensy picture from the menu:

www.bobevans.com

Doesn't that look good, even though it's pixellated?  I can see why she ordered it.  Sadly, that is not what she got.  Here is what she got:

www.tf?

I think that, after this, they are Down On The Farm all right.

It's snowing here again, despite the odds being 40%.  The forecast changes hourly.  I'm tired of hearing all the new terms for Winter Weather--Snowmageddon, Polar Vortex, Bombogenesis.  I'm starting to think that, here in NEO anyway, if it weren't for Sports or Weather, there would be no "News."

What a lot of Effing Bullshit.  (Strangely, that did not make me feel better.)  Do let's chat in Comments.

In Which I Catch You Up On All Sorts Of Things And Offer The Afflicted A Freebie (With A Side Of Salinger)

Welcome to December, Dearest Readers, a month for which I have the Highest Hopes. Before I begin with the actual Innards of this post, let me remind you that, Officially, you may set out your Christmas Mugs, put up your Christmas Trees and Other Yuletide Decor, and listen to all the Christmas Music your merry heart desires. Now that November has cleared out, it is Perfectly Acceptable and sanctioned by the Dept. of Nance.

November was a Massive Disappointment for me, and while it's a little early for Festivus and The Airing Of Grievances, I have a little bit of Random Business to attend to in this post. I know you'll indulge me.

1. The Medical. Yesterday was the first day I actually felt Well. My cold developed into sinus and ear infections, and I became so very weak and sad. Complicating matters was the fact that I am presently without a general practitioner, and I was in no shape to sit in a waiting room, alone, trying to fill out forms when I could barely sit up. My situation was dire, so I resorted to technology and downloaded the app Doctor On Demand. Within twenty minutes I:   had a private consultation with a doctor, was prescribed medications which were called in to a local pharmacy, and had a comprehensive write-up of my session to refer to any time I wanted. All for $40. All while I sat in my chair in my jammies and blanket. As much as I hate going to the doctor and sitting and waiting, this was worth it. And I was given a code to share with anyone I wanted, which offers patients a discount. Here it is if you're ever in a similar, non-emergency situation: ac68f0se . (No, this isn't a sponsored post.)

2. The Holiday. As you might imagine, being so ill made Thanksgiving difficult. Luckily, I live with a Superhero. Rick made everything except the dressing/stuffing, and that included the two pumpkin pies. The boys (and Zydrunas) came over early in the day to help out with things, too, so all I had to do was check on the turkey and eat. My oven soldiered through it all, which is good because when I called to get service, I was told that it would be Impossible--Frigidaire (aka The Great Satan) no longer makes any parts for that appliance. Just so you know, That Appliance is less than ten years old. I want to say Terrible Things about Frigidaire, but I have used them all up already. Since so many of you Gracious Living-ers are dying to know, we did not have a centerpiece on the table; I served an oaked Chardonnay and a Rosé, and no silver-polishing was necessary because we didn't use anything which required it. Zydrunas was angelic until Marlowe suddenly made an appearance, and then all bets were off for approximately the four seconds it took for the chase which ensued. (I didn't see Marlowe again until approximately 11 PM.)

3. The Government. I've kept calm and quiet here regarding all of the governmental bullshit over the past months because A) I'm trying to maintain my Zen, and B) it's pointless to get my undies in a bunch, but honestly, it's crap like this quote from Sen. Harry Reid--yes, a Democrat--that makes me want to zip down there and smack the entire Congress: “We have a lot to do. And there isn’t much time to accomplish it. I urge all senators to work hard to complete our work in a timely and efficient fashion. We may have to be here the week before Christmas." Can I see a show of hands from Every Single Person Out There who has/had a Lot To Do and had/has to work the week before Christmas all of the time? I'd like to quote the nitrous-addled kid from the YouTube video when I say, "Is this real life?!" If you want to make yourselves sick, go here and look at how little your Congress is working for you. These goldbrickers are rarely in session, ever. And many of these blowhards are the same snots who want to cut teacher pay because, according to them, teachers only work nine months a year. So when these Congresspersons tell you that many of the days that they are not In Session, they are still, in fact, Working, tell them THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT TEACHERS DO TOO! And teachers don't have paid staffers to help them. Not even ONE.

4. The Paid Cyberbully. Speaking of a paid staffer, let me say this about republican EX-staffer Elizabeth Lautner, the congressional aide who took to her TwitPinFace account to bully the President's teenaged daughters. It's the ugliest thing in the world to use kids for your own adult agenda. Why in the world would you ever, ever be mean and nasty to a kid simply because you didn't like his or her parents? It's hard enough in the world to be a kid in the public eye, and someone like Elizabeth Lautner just made it ten times harder. I'm not going to parse her objectionable comments because we all know what she said and what it meant. But picking on teenaged girls via social media is, to me, the equivalent of beating a toddler at Candyland. And I'm still waiting for a true apology because the one Lauten provided--after several hours of intense prayer, supposedly--was a non-starter, and every sincere person in the world knows it.

5. The American People. You know, I've covered this territory before, but holy crap, how pathetic are They? And don't say, "Nance, you are an American Person, you know!" Honestly, I am seriously starting to wonder. I really, truly am. Because It's scary. Look at the results of the newest CNN/ORC poll:

50% of Americans believe the GOP taking control of the House and the Senate next year will be bad for America
52% expect it to lead to more gridlock

68% Americans polled say the GOP isn't cooperating enough with President Obama
57% say it's Obama who's not cooperating enough with the GOP

44% of Americans view the Democratic Party favorably
50% view it unfavorably

41% of Americans view the republican party favorably
52% view the republican party negatively

Who voted in this last election?  Did they bus in a bunch of idiots who think that the earth is flat and that spray cheese is all the science they ever need?  I know I voted.  I voted SO HARD.  But thanks to careful gerrymandering, it's not going to matter much anymore. Take a look at Ohio's district map.

6. The Theory. As I've mentioned before, both of my sons have a Twitter account, and occasionally I stalk them (purely for amusement). I've often felt that Jared has a little Holden Caulfield in him, and that quality twinkled at me when I read this particular tweet:

Women always show up to a place like they're going to be there for a couple weeks.

(Oh my, Chapter Eight; Ernest Morrow's mother who leaves her goddamn bags in the middle of the aisle and her hands lousy with rocks! Sigh.)

******************

It's good to be Alive again.

image

Rally For Thanksgiving: The Dept. Of Nance Thanksgiving FAQ

Whether you like it or not, turkey is synonymous with Thanksgiving, and so much so that Butterball, Foremost Turkey Purveyor, has had a Turkey Hotline for more than thirty years. They have even taken to the Interwebs with this service, and in addition to calling their team of Turkey Experts at 1-800-BUTTERBALL, you can now live chat with them or email them via their website, here.

Not to be outdone, The Washington Post, journalistic bastion of all Beltway News and winner of forty-seven Pulitzer Prizes, has announced that, from now until Thanksgiving, it will be answering "some of the most commonly asked holiday meal questions." You can "E-mail [them]or join [their] weekly live Web chat on Wednesdays from noon to 1 p.m. For complete Turkey Day coverage, visit [their] Thanksgiving Central page."

Well, hell. I feel as if I have a ton of Thanksgiving Expertise to offer, but I don't have an 800 number or a newspaper. I do have this website; however, I don't want to wait around for people to submit questions or possibly ask things I don't want to talk about. So, I'm going to do it the Nance Way. Here, then, is

The Dept. Of Nanceswers, Thanksgiving Edition

Question: Must I serve an organic turkey at my Thanksgiving meal?
Nanceswer: Of course not. If you have a guest who insists upon a free-range, organic, fresh, or bilingual turkey, then politely request that he or she bring it so that it is correctly purchased, stored, and prepared. The same goes for any other special dietary request. Cheerily offer to provide the necessary serving pieces, and say that you look forward to tasting such a wonderful treat.

Q: Is it okay not to include kale, quinoa, or chia seeds in my Thanksgiving menu?
N: Absolutely. These trendy foods will welcome the respite, and butter will be glad for the work.

Q: How long do we have to wait for late guests? Is there a fifteen-minute rule, like for professors?
N: Just as no Fifteen Minute Rule For A Full Professor actually exists, no hard and fast rule for tardy dinner guests does either. But perpetually late guests are always Rude, and this behaviour should not be rewarded year after year. Call their bluff and sit down to a hot dinner. They will catch up and, hopefully, catch on. After all, microwaves were invented so that we could warm plates of food quickly and efficiently. Late guests can do this when they arrive. Greet them warmly, but without fanfare and judgment.

Q: How do you feel about The Kids' Table?
N: I am largely against it. Children should sit at the table with adults and learn about conversation; they should try new foods, observe and practice table manners, and be supervised by their parents. Thanksgiving is a great time for kids to sit down and learn how to eat a full meal in a relaxed setting and enjoy company.

Q: What wine do you suggest for Thanksgiving?
N: I've had lots of different wines with turkey, from a dry rose to Beaujolais Nouveau to a rich, oaky Chardonnay. All of them have been lovely. I think you should open a couple of wines that you truly enjoy and do just that, enjoy them. I would stay away from any sweet wine, like a riesling or the simply terrible white zinfandel or the dessert-y moscato. On principle, I'd stay away from those last two entirely, forever. But that's just me.

Q: Should I brine, deep fry, or otherwise do something worky to my turkey?
N: Only if you have nothing else to keep you busy and active. Have you tried crossword puzzles, knitting, or building low-cost housing for feral cats in your area? How about reformatting your laptop? Did you ever put all of your old super8 movies into a digital format? Just checking.

Q: How have you decorated your home for Thanksgiving?
N: I have two bags of cranberries in my freezer.

Q: Can you suggest some creative alternatives for pumpkin pie?
N: Listen. If you don't want pumpkin flavour, then make anything else you want. Make a chocolate cake. Make a pecan pie. Make a huge trifle with raspberries and hunks of pound cake. But if you like pumpkin spice flavour, stick with the pumpkin pie. Why mess with it? Let's face it: pumpkin roll, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins--all that stuff tastes like pumpkin pie and that's why people love it. So, either do the pie or do a 180 and make something else.

Q: Are you a Brussels Sprout Person?
N: Oh, my, yes. I am crazy about them. One of the finest drinks nibblies ever is an appetizer made by the chef at Nemo's restaurant in Avon, a little town near me here in NEO. It's sliced, fried Brussels sprouts with a little bit of bacon, balsamic reduction, and toasted pistachios. Those with a dirty vodka martini...perfection. But I'll take them straight up, steamed with a little butter and salt and pepper, too, and have them fresh on Thanksgiving.

Q: Is it acceptable to have plain vegetables rather than candied, casseroled, au gratined, escalloped or the like?
N: Yes, and I always do. With the abundance of food and gravy and starch like dressing, mashed potatoes, and rolls, I like to have plain vegetables with real butter, seasoned with salt and pepper only.

Q: What should be done regarding cell phones at the Thanksgiving table?
N: Unless someone is a medical doctor, has an aged parent in a Home or hospital, or will be Skyping in a distant relative (such as a member of the armed services overseas or a married child who is giving the in-laws their turn), the cell phones should be put away and silenced. This may be akin to Social Suicide for some tweens and stunted adults, but they will get over it. Slapping offenders is, of course, forbidden; instead, fix them with a stern yet sad look and say, "Why don't you go ahead and take care of your very important business in the other room? We'll make sure that a nice plate is left for you in the fridge." It does no good to force anyone to be someplace he does not want to be. But the rest of the table should not have to be subjected to someone's bowed head attending to an absent third party all during dinner.

Q: What about the crushing guilt if I don't use real whipped cream?
N: Get over it. I know that Cool Whip is a whole bunch of chemicals and grease. I also know that I use it only about twice a year and that it's way easier than making and storing real whipped cream. If your guilt is so strong, buy ReddiWip. It's made with real cream. Wow. Are you Catholic?

Q: What do you suggest regarding the attire for Thanksgiving?
N: Some families like to dress in their Sunday Best for this holiday and make it a very festive, special event. It makes for a lovely scene and, if you are This Type Of Family, some pretty photos. For the Dept., we dress quite casually, and I often consider having Jammies Thanksgiving. For us, it is a holiday of extreme relaxation and togetherness and joy. I think it's a matter of family style and preference. Ideally, generous and stretchy waistbands would be a given.

Q: Do you have any suggestions for all the leftover turkey?
N: Is this really a problem, honestly? Do people A) not know how to figure out how big of a turkey to buy; B) not have a love of turkey sandwiches; C) not have the Interwebs? I rarely have any leftover turkey, and it's a little irritating. When I have a little leftover turkey (or chicken), I like to make a big pot pie, which also uses up any other leftovers like potatoes, veg, and even dressing, which can be cubed up or sliced up and put on the bottom. It all gets mixed up with the leftover gravy, which can be supplemented with some good jarred or canned gravy. I use the turkey carcass and wings for soup, or at least stock.

Q: What about leftover cranberry sauce?
N: Why don't we make this terrific condiment more often? It's delicious with roasted pork, and it's wonderful on buttered toast or a bagel. You can use it with apples in a crisp. Warm it and spoon it over brie, then serve it with baguette or apple and pear slices. If you want to get terrifically worky, buy those little phyllo cups and spoon a little bit of the cranberry sauce in the bottom of each one; add a chunk of brie or a white farmer's cheese, then a walnut half; bake in a 350 oven for about 8 minutes, til the cup is golden, and the cheese is melty. Lovely!

Q: What should we do if we have any more questions?
N: Ask them in Comments.

image

In Which I Am Tired Of Being Inundated By Pharmaceuticals Which Want Me To Ask My Doctor About Them

For quite some time now, the Dept. has been without cable television. Aside from the occasional jonesing for MSNBC or CNN every now and then, (and okay, maybe some Top Chef or Project Runway, but only if it's Old School), we honestly Do Not Miss It. We are very content Cord Cutters, the growing breed without cable and satellite television services who watch network TV, stream select shows from our computers using an HDMI hookup, and, in our case, have a Roku box and Jared's Netflix password.

One of the things I'm continually amused by is the carefully selected advertising on some of the over-the-air networks. It's clear that they have studied their audience demographics, and that they are targeting them like the bullseye on a dart board. My favourite example of this is a network called MeTV, one which shows reruns of old popular shows that were huge faves in their day. Here's a typical lineup of their primetime: MASH, The Andy Griffith Show, Hogan's Heroes, Gilligan's Island, Welcome Back Kotter, Perry Mason. (Rick and I watch MASH during dinner every night. It replaces Seinfeld, which was our choice during the Heydays Of Cable.)

During MASH Rick and I are offered a variety of medications, information on life insurance and reverse mortgages, and several medical devices including catheters, back braces, and of course the medical alert system for when we've fallen and can't get up. Oh, and the walk-in bathtub. But the amount of prescription medications we are urged to "talk to (y)our doctor about" is ridiculous. And lately, I've noticed that it's not just on The Old People's Network. It's all over the networks, and it's all over primetime.

Obviously, the pharmaceutical companies wouldn't advertise on television unless such advertising worked. It's like negative political campaign ads: people say they hate them, but their effectiveness is undeniable; they work. And so do prescription drug ads. That's why they are so ubiquitous. The US federal ban on direct to consumer (DTC) advertising for prescription medications was lifted in 1997. But do you remember there being so many ads on television in, say, 2005 as there are now for medicines?

And the names of these meds are fascinating. Januvia, Latuda--I think I may have had them in class. Eliquis--wasn't that the name of a car not too terribly long ago, maybe the Mercury Eliquis? And Linzess--sounds more like a chocolate or maybe a fabric, or even a feminine hygiene product. But I digress.

I'm irritated by so many facets of this: Advertising, in many ways, creates demand. One health writer noted in her article this February that "70 percent of adults and 25 percent of children are on at least one prescription drug" in this country. For adults the most-prescribed medication is an antidepressant. For children, an ADHD med. (It's noteworthy--and a relief--that I've yet to see any adverts for ADHD meds on TV, at least in my area; the vast majority of commercials seem to be for male sexual performance drugs. I'm struggling to think of any ads for children's prescription medications at all.)

A second feature that irritates me is that we, the health consumers, end up paying in time and money for these slick little commercials in which men sidle up to their wives and get feely, or the grey-faced woman looks disinterested and hopeless. It drives up the cost of a pill which the drug companies are already providing samples of--along with free lunches, doodads, and other perks--to our doctors while we sit idly out in the waiting rooms as the reps take up a patient time slot. And I'm sure I'm not alone in having had to wait as long as an hour to see one of my doctors. (Back when I used to go and see them. Don't start.)

Oh, and one more: stop telling me to "ask my doctor about" this pill when I don't have Erectile Dysfunction, Low Testosterone, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Clinical Depression, or Overactive Bladder, or really, any of the conditions treated by the medicines being hawked at me. So much of this advertising has absolutely nothing to do with me, period.  It's interesting that there are few to no commercials for drugs that battle hypertension, diabetes, or heart-related conditions. (I don't have those, either, but I'm willing to bet that more people do.) Probably the majority of those drugs are now available in generic form, and don't generate much profit for drug companies anymore.

Pharmaceutical companies spend good money in Research and Development, and I've benefited immensely in the area of migraine therapies. I don't expect any business to do business for free. I know it costs a staggering amount to get a new drug to market: according to Forbes, it's 5 billion dollars. It's hardly a dilemma--cut the advertising budget and save a bit by not putting the commercials on television, but sacrifice that revenue stream (Every $1.00 spent advertising prescription drugs is estimated to increase their retail sales by $4.20.). It is, however, quite telling that the US and only one other country--New Zealand--allow DTC pharmaceutical advertising.  Are we getting it wrong?

Geeze. I sound old and curmudgeonly talking about this, don't I? Am I going to start bitching about Kids Today or That Rap Music or Being On A Fixed Income? Should I take back the cute new boots I just got?

(I don't think so either. There's a zipper.  In the back.)

Do let's chat all this up in Comments.  Am I just having an Old Lady Moment?

post header image

Having A Reverend Dimmesdale Moment. Back To Poetry Soon. But, Did You Know Miss Indiana Was The New Normal For America's Women?

It's a terrible thing to get up a Good Head Of Steam--and Self-Righteous Steam at that--and run smack up against a Huge Wall Of Startling Self-Realization. It's a humbling thing, too. But because it helps to illustrate my point all that much more, I'm going to Embrace it and lay it all out there, my own cracked armour on display for all to see.

For some reason, in this Day And Age, we still have women who agree to participate in so-called beauty pageants. I am not going to present nor argue their reasons, nor am I going to entertain the discussions regarding whether or not it is Feminist to be the one deciding to put your own body on display for whatever purpose or reward. None of that is my point, and I can end most of the discussions by asking where the Male Counterpart for these beauty pageants is.

My purpose for raising the topic is due to the uproar on social media following the appearance of Miss Indiana in a bikini during the Miss USA pageant televised 8 June 2014.  Here she is.

To quote one news outlet: "Nia Sanchez, aka Miss Nevada, may have won Miss USA this week, but it was Mekayla Diehl, 25-year-old Miss Indiana, that grabbed Twitter's attention. Why?...Diehl, who is also the first registered Native American to represent Indiana in the pageant, stood out during the bikini portion of the two-hour-long competition for the fact that she had 'womanly curves'."

Here also is Miss Indiana's Facebook page, where it is revealed that she is 5' 8", 137 pounds, and a size 4. She has also inspired a teeshirt that reads I'm The New Normal. People from all over the country have posted positive messages, thanking her for being a role model for normal women everywhere. One woman enthused, "God picked YOU to travel this road and speak for others! You are so poised and a true inspiration."

I have no problem with Miss Indiana, aside from the fact that she makes the egregious lose/loose error in spelling.  She is lovely and seems to be sincere about her Platform for her pageant issue.  (Her shoes in this photo are absolutely unforgivable, but maybe they were not her choice.)

No, Miss Indiana is fine.  But can someone, anyone out there, please tell me how a Size 4 is curvy and The New Normal?  Are American Women so incredibly brainwashed by airbrushed magazine advertisements and anorexic fashion models and wispy, starving film actresses that a Size 4 looks chubbily robust to us?  Was there really someone out there--or several Someones--watching that night saying, "Whoa!  Get a load of Miss Indiana!  Bet her car knows the way to all the buffets in Muncie!"?

That was the gist of my Rant to my husband after I read a few blurbs about the Voluptuously Curvaceous And Womanly Miss Indiana.  I had just gotten into my Zone, using a ton of SAT Words and Emphatic Gestures (for lack of Pretentious Capitalization), when suddenly, I stopped and fell silent.  Shocked, I looked up at Rick.

"Oh my god.  Oh. My. God," I said, as the realization struck.  "I'm no better than any of them. What have I been crabbing about for weeks now?  Why have I been so down lately?  Because I have gained weight. Because I'm not a Size 2 anymore like when I was working.  Because now, thanks to my new migraine meds and menopause and a lack of killer stress, I'm never seeing a Size 2 again. And Size 4 is looking iffy. Because I'm Huge.  Holy Effing Crap.  Do you know how, even when I was twenty, I would have killed to be this size?  What is wrong with me?  I am so much smarter than that, but...apparently not.  Even I have fallen for the years and years of marketing and airbrushing and false representation of the Ideal Woman.  I'm fifty-five years old, educated, well-read, a Feminist, and the most pressing issue on my mind right now is that I hate my body because I can't fit into certain clothes like I used to and that they aren't labeled with a certain number which I find desirable or acceptable."

And at that moment, what made me really, really sick and disgusted was that I knew, deep down inside, if my neurologist told me that I could either be a Size 2 again or have no migraines ever again, at that precise moment, I would have chosen being a Size 2.

Something is terribly wrong.  With me, yes.  I'm admitting that, owning it, and without delving any further into my personal trove of the wherefores behind it, putting it here for the Interwebs to see.  Beyond my faults, however, are those of the Others.

It's Terribly Wrong that, despite the public health campaigns regarding eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia, the bulk of advertising continues to promote only one body type, a sylph-like, slender, and angular female with jutting hipbones and no discernible padding underneath her skin unless it is zeppelin-like breasts for a bra manufacturer.

It's Terribly Wrong that, when Mattel redesigned Barbie's body, it was not so that it was a more realistic reflection of what a young woman's body really looked like. It was in order "for her to have more of a teenage physique," says Mattel spokesperson Lisa McKendall. "In order for [the new doll's debut outfit] to look right, Barbie needs to be more like a teen's body. The fashions teens wear now don't fit properly on our current sculpting."  It's also Terribly Wrong that this occurred in 1997, and almost twenty years ago, the writer of the article observed, "Barbie may not be the cause of eating disorders and body hatred, but her universally recognizable profile makes her a flashpoint, an image of female perfection, a symbol of the drawbacks of any such images, and a convenient scapegoat for our cultural troubles with them."

Pageants are part of the problem.  Miss Indiana is being lauded by many for things like "starting the discussion" and "raising awareness" and "being a role model."  I have to disagree.  Until there is an identical pageant for men in which they are walked in front of a judging panel in various outfits, asked questions, required to showcase their talent, and perform some hokey song and dance in a state costume along with a host of other inane activities, I can't see a true and meaningful purpose for any pageant.  For anyone.  Hasn't anyone--any woman--ever asked herself why there hasn't been a male pageant like the Miss USA, Miss Universe, or Miss America pageant?

What sponsors would pay for time on that?  What network would want that ratings dog?  Who would watch it (besides Mumsy and Popsy of each contestant)?  And let me tell you why it is a ratings dog.  This.  The summary is all you need to read.

But there I go, preaching again.  There's nothing worse than the sinful preacher preaching against Sin.  (Ask Hester Prynne.)

I'm currently on a jaunt in Maryland.  While I'm here, I plan on doing a great deal of deep breathing and re-centering.  It's obvious that I need some Redemption.  And a helluva lot of New Normal.

image

If Your Brown-Eyed Husband Wants More Sex, Do The Laundry and Look At Your Facebook Profile

My crossword puzzle this morning was a themed one, and its theme was Sigmund Freud.  I used to delve into Freud and his theories quite a lot when I was teaching The Catcher in the Rye because, well, holy crap.  There is a ton of Freudian reference in there.  Beyond that, I, like most thinking people, have little use for the rest of Dr. Freud's musings.  While I do see "talking therapy" as generally a good thing overall, I don't see The Mother as the root of all psychoses, to be admittedly simplistic.  Or sex.  And, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. 

But all that thinking about Freud was evidently simmering on my brain's back burner, for when a psychology story popped up on my Google News Page, I kept clicking and clicking and, before I knew it, I had found several fascinating studies that I just have to share with you here.  It's kind of a Pop Psychology Potpourri!

1.  The Facebook.  Here's a study that seems obvious.  Facebook May Boost Self-Esteem But Reduce Motivation.  "This is one of the first studies of its kind to use (the Implicit Association Test) psychology research tool to evaluate whether there are any psychological effects associated with using the online networking site....The Implicit Association Test involved asking the participants to associate positive or negative adjectives with words such as 'me' and 'myself'."  Basically, a bunch of people gazed at their FB profiles for 5 minutes.  Then they were given the IAT, which showed a marked increase in self-esteem.  After that, they were given a task, to count down from a large number by intervals of seven, then answer some general questions.  The FB people performed more poorly with relation to accuracy and speed.  "Who needs this crap?" the FBers seemed to indicate, "when I'm already so awesome and have 670 friends?"  Or, to put it in more scientificky terms, "The researchers believe that after spending time on Facebook people generally feel good about themselves, so there isn't as much motivation to increase self-worth by trying hard in the lab task compared to those in the control group." 

2.  Brown VS. Blue.  This particular study, Why Do We Trust Brown-Eyed People More? really caught my attention.  I have brown eyes, as do Rick and Jared.  Sam's eyes are changeable, but are usually green.  I first started thinking about the people whom I do not trust, and I could not really come up with anyone right off the bat except George W. Bush and Congress, and the latter has too many people to have this theory apply.  Then I started thinking of any blue-eyed people I know, and I couldn't come up with any.  Then I stopped hurting myself and just read the damn study.  Anyway, this study ends up saying that it isn't really the eye color that determines trust; in the final analysis, it is the shape of the person's face that goes along with the eye color, and in that case, it seems to be that only in men is it the deciding factor.  Women of blue eyes and brown eyes are judged almost equally trustworthy.  The study ultimately found that "brown eyed men generally have wider mouths with upward-pointing corners, wider chins, bigger eyes and eyebrows closer to each other, characteristics considered masculine and more trustworthy. On the other hand, men with blue eyes tend to make them seem more shifty, sporting smaller eyes and narrow mouths with downward-pointing corners."  For the record--Sam has large, round eyes, and his mouth is not narrow or downward-pointing.  He can, however, at times, be shifty.

3.  The Honey-Do List.  Ladies, this study could be a bitch if The Wrong People read it.  Husbands Who Share Housework Have Less Sex sounds like something commissioned by the GOP or the NFL or Budweiser or someone like that.  You and I both know that this whole study is bullshit, and let me list just some of the reasons why:

1.  The data is from 1992-1994
2.  It defines a traditional marriage as one where housework is done exclusively by the wife.
3.  It mentions a previous study whose research implied that "married men generally have more sex in exchange for doing housework."
4.  It found that sex "is associated with the kinds of chores each partner completes."
5.  This:  The researcher "does not believe that the division of household chores - which in this study did not include child care - and sex have changed much since 1994."

Please do not point out to me that a woman authored this study.  I hope she has already gotten the call to Turn In Her Card at an authorized center.  Her face will be added to the Woman Wall Of Shame, along with, well, you all know who They are.

I have just completed my own Psychological Study titled The Longer You Stay In Your Jammies The Less Likely You Are To Accomplish Anything Beyond The Virtual World.  It's taken almost two full years of intensive research.  When I get around to writing it up, I'll be sure to let you know.  In the meantime, do catch me up or sound off in Comments.

It's Like Festivus In June

Scores of people have told me that, since My Retirement, I have become a Changed Person.  My family tell me things like "Welcome back" or "It's nice to have you back to your old self."  Other people who have not known me for eleventy thousand years say things like, "You are so much more relaxed" or "I've never seen you so happy."
Rick says I am more "serene."

On Saturday, my friend Butch, who has not seen me since about January, said, "Wow.  You're catching up to Rick in the grey hair department." 

Chivalry.  Dead as a flat skunk on the turnpike.

Anyway. 

My Serenity and Inner Smile notwithstanding, I still have a few things to snark about.  Do you?  Howzabout we share, here, at the Dept.?  I'll go first, and you can grouse around in Comments.

1.  Brrrrrr.  It is June, and I have my heat on right now.  Allowing for the absolute fact that I Am Not Normal, it's still abusive that last night it was 49 degrees in NEO.  It got so cold in my house without the heat on that my cheapo wine fridge refused to work.  If it is exposed to temps below 61 degrees, its thermostat malfunctions. Well, guess whose reds were at a frosty 57 degrees until I unplugged it this morning to recalibrate?  Right now, it is 64 degrees outside.  On June 4th.  It was 65 inside when I came home from the afternoon movie. I do not suffer in my house, so on went the furnace.

2.  Duh.  Speaking of the movie, my "daughter" Kait and I went to the noon showing of The Great Gatsby.  Until a few teenagers showed up, Kait--at 20--was the youngest person there.  (I was the second youngest, even though I used my AARP card for $2.00 popcorn and free soda.)  At the end of the movie (possible spoiler!) the narrator Nick Carraway is shown placing a title page on the manuscript of the story he has been telling for the whole movie.  It says "Gatsby by Nick Carraway".  As he is doing this, a teenaged girl behind us said, "Wait.  Wait.  Is this a true story?"  A few moments later, she said, "Hold on.  Wait.  I thought the book was called..." (another possible spoiler detail) and then in the scene, Nick is shown writing "The Great" above the title.  The girl behind us says, "Nick Carraway?  I thought the book was written by F. Scott Um..." and then I stopped listening because I knew that if I didn't, I was going to have to go back there and teach for about an hour in order to be able to go on with my life.

3.  Hello?  The media are all exercised about this Pew Research report that says over the last 50 years, many more women are the sole or primary breadwinner for their families, a figure jumping from 11% in 1960 to 40% in 2011.  Well, holy crap, where the hell has everybody been?  How many of my readers needed the Pew Research report to tell them that?  How many of my readers have been living that stat?  How in the hell can this be News?  I guess I shouldn't be so intellectually disdainful.  After all,
Erick Erickson, Fox News contributor says it's downright anti-science:

"I'm so used to liberals telling conservatives that they're anti-science. But liberals who defend this and say it is not a bad thing are very anti-science. When you look at biology -- when you look at the natural world -- the roles of a male and a female in society and in other animals, the male typically is the dominant role. The female, it's not antithesis, or it's not competing, it's a complementary role."

Hey, so there ya go.  Ahem. 

4.  Grrrrr.  I've said it here before, and I'll say it again.  Until she said that stupid, condescending remark about the Hurricane Katrina victims, I liked Barbara Bush quite a bit.  I still do like the way she speaks her mind and seems to be realistic about her family and politics.  Everyone knew she was fully aware that the wrong son made it to the White House, and when she said there have been enough people named Bush at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, she was right.  Jebby disagrees, however, and he is already starting on the stump for 2016.  When asked about his mother's assertion that their family should end their aspirations for the Presidency of the United States, here is what Jeb said about Bar:  "What can I tell you? All I can say is we all have mothers, right? She is totally liberated, and God bless her."

What can I tell you?  If either of my sons said any of that condescending and chauvinistic bullshit, I'd call him out in the media for A) using empty, meaningless rhetoric; B) stating the obvious; C) being full of hot air; D) acting like a candyass.  Barbara Bush has more restraint than I do, so I'm sure she did all of the above, but in private.  She is totally liberated...what a perfect ass.  Hey, Jeb!  If it were up to people like Erick Erickson in your party, women would never have been liberated, such as we are.  And we liberated ourselves, no thanks to you. 

And the struggle continues.

Your turn now to unload your snark in Comments. 

Indulge Me. Remember What Mae West Said: "To Err Is Human, But It Feels Divine." The Dept. Is (Sinfully) Seven!



by Marc Petrovic and Tim Tate

 In 375 AD, Evagrius Ponticus, a teacher and writer also known as Evagrius the Solitary, decided to identify the most terrible sources of temptation for human beings.  He came up with eight and named them as the sources of all sinful behaviour.  Two hundred years later, Pope Gregory I revised the list down to seven, and we now know them more commonly as The Seven Deadly Sins:  Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Greed, and Sloth.

In August 2012 AD,  the Dept. of Nance, written by a former teacher, celebrates seven years of being a source of...well, something for human beings here on the Interwebs.  In its existence for the past seven years, no doubt it has encouraged and celebrated some sinfulness here and there.  In the spirit of Evagrius Ponticus and Sinners everywhere, I would like to 'fess up--in spirit--to seven each of the Seven Deadlies.

1.  Pride/Vanity:   I'm vain about everything, as Readers all know, but inordinately so about my shoes (which must match my outfit); my clothes (which must be impeccable ensembles); my reading glasses (which must match my shoes and outfit); my hair (which I am at war with constantly); my eyelashes (Bug, where is the Mascara Spreadsheet?); my cats, who remain overweight despite their pricey diet food (and getting no treats or table food--so embarrassing); and the appearance of each post in this blog (it's exhausting, really).

2.  Envy:  This is a tough one.  I'm not generally an envious person, although I do wish I had the blogger book deal, the wherewithal to go on a world cruise, a warm-climate winter getaway home, the ability to eat and not get fat (like Sam's girlfriend seems to be able to!)...(See?  This is turning into what I wish, and not really a list of Envies.)  I'm envious of people who have a really good sense of direction, who like to take photos and have them organized, and who don't have the Worry Gene.  Because I do.

3.  Gluttony:  I don't eat like I used to be able to, and my food cravings change.  But we all have foods we love.  Seven of mine are:  Lobster, Avocados, Fresh-cut French Fries, Duck, Asparagus, Risotto, and Nutella.  Still Nutella.

4.  Lust:  Sometimes I find myself attracted to the oddest men.  Other times, they fit My Type exactly.  Here are seven men I find attractive, and a few are just big question marks, honestly:  Daniel Day-Lewis, Rob Lowe, Pau Gasol, Hugh Laurie, Robert Herjavec (from TV's Shark Tank), Anderson Varejao, and Richard Engel.

5.  Anger:  Lots of stuff makes me mad.  You and I both know that the short answer here could be "republicans" and I'd be done.  But that wouldn't be fair.  So, without getting too peevish, I'll say the USA's poor mentality about education funding in general; the way society bashes teachers; the downward spiral of quality in journalism, especially among broadcast/television media; the glorification of bad behavior in society, namely via so-called "reality programming"; the breathtaking sense of entitlement among people in the past 20 years; the astonishing attempt by some politicians to demote women to second-class citizens by abrogating their rights; and the unreasonable and inexplicable discrimination against gay citizens of our country.

6.  Greed:  This is the desire for material wealth or gain while ignoring the realm of the godly.  And while I pretty much observe the latter, I'm not the Quintessential Material Girl in that I don't wear jewelry or care about designer clothes or give a hoot about driving a Beemer and all that baloney.  Are there even seven materialistic things I want, say, before I die?  I would love a Viking range, a Kitchen Aid ice cream attachment for my mixer, a shopping spree in Sur la Table or Crate and Barrel, someone to come in and repaint the inside of my house for free, and oh hell!  While I'm at it, how about someone just gives me a summer home in Niagara-on-the-Lake? Wouldn't that be nice? Oh yeah, with a vineyard!

7.  Sloth:  According to everyone I meet, I have this one covered.  As soon as anyone hears I have Retired, the very next thing out of his or her mouth is, "Oh! And what are you doing now?"  It's become incredibly embarrassing to say "Nothing."  When did Retirement come to mean Moved On To Next Big Fucking Busy Work Thing?  Because I retired in order to Be Done Working. Here are seven things I'm NOT doing:  grading papers; calling parents of highschoolers; holding my pee for three hours because it's not my conference period or lunch period yet; having a 12-hour day because of parent conferences; buying my own supplies to the tune of a couple hundred bucks a year; pulling together a semester's worth of makeup work in one day for a kid who has been absent and failing but is entitled to his makeup work even though I know he will never turn it in; running to four different copy machines to find one that works in order to copy a test that I am giving that day since I tried to copy it all day yesterday to no avail.  Ahhh, yes.  Sloth.  I'm still, as far as Work Outside The Home Goes, diggin' the Sloth.

Now that I've suitably shocked and dishonored the memories of both Evagrius Ponticus and Gregory I, I invite you to help me celebrate my Blogiversary and do the same.  What are some of your Deadlies? (Or, if you don't want to share, you may merely comment upon mine.) And, oh, do have some cake.  But don't be Greedy and make a pig of yourself.

These People Are The Plastic Silverware Of The News Business

Probably it is A Good Thing that I have not lost my ability to be astonished at the age of almost fifty-three.  It would be mitigated considerably did I not watch quite so much News Programming.

I swear to you that I do far more talking to the people on television who irritate me than I do to those actually in my presence.  Can just anyone get an On-Air Gig these days?  It sure seems like it because some of these "on-air personalities" say such goofy stuff that, once I hear it, I sit there open-mouthed, blinking and furrow-browed, wondering if it is Bring A Bystander To Work Day.

For example:

~*~Was I the only one who heard the blurb for (I think) Inside Edition in which the personality breathlessly directed viewers to join them for their report about the Costa Concordia disaster, "a real-life Titanic!"?  Oh, help me now.  I like to call this The Disney Effect.  Just like the vast majority of America's children have no idea that there ever was a story/fairytale of Snow White or Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast first, (or that Pocahontas was a real person), some yahoo at Inside Edition honestly believes that the Titanic is simply a boat in a movie. Or just a movie. Period.

~*~A couple weekends ago, when the film The Vow went wide, some reviewer was on a morning show.  She was asked, "Who is this movie for?"  This woman went on to say this (and this is not a direct quote, but I am damn close. Seriously.): "Oh, females will definitely want to see this.  This is a film for women.  And girls will definitely want to see this, definitely.  And men.  This is a film for them as well."  Why does this female/girl/woman have this job? I definitely don't know.

~*~This week, there was a string of horrible storms in the South.  Alabama got hit with tornadoes that did terrible damage.  CNN cut live to a location where a local reporter was ready to talk to a host named Robin and give her an idea of the extent of that damage.  Here is how it went:

Robin:  Now we'll go live to H---, Alabama where a local affiliate has a reporter standing by.
Reporter:  Hi, Robin.  As you can see, residents here are coming back to little more than rubble here in H---.  The tornado destroyed homes, uprooted trees, and left massive piles of debris behind.
Robin:  Wow.  Quite a scene there.
Reporter:  It's amazing.  And here, just to show you the mighty power of that incredible storm...look up in that tree.  (camera pans up into a nearby tree)  That...is a pillow.  A pillow up in that tree.
...............................................................

Okay...what?  Listen, I am five-four and have had a shoulder surgery and I can throw a freaking pillow up into a tree.  I can also make a regulation three-point shot with a basketball and haul a 42-pound box of cat litter to and from my car, yet no one has ever described me as a "mighty power."  At least not for any of that.  My point is, that tornado levelled the entire town and you are impressed with a pillow in a tree?  If it was a tractor, then we have something to talk about.  If it was a pillow sticking through a tree, then, yeah, we can be amazed.  But come on! 

In the Age Of The 24-Hour News Cycle, it would seem "professional journalism" is on its way to becoming an oxymoron. 

The DoN Indulges In A Little Bit Of "Pop Culture" (Which Is What We Prefer To Call It In Public)

One of my little adjustments still in the works is timing dinner.  Since I often have all day to plan and make it, the whole meal can be immediately ready when Rick walks in the door at the end of his workday.  Problem is, he's not usually ready to eat it, having just had his lunch a mere four hours earlier.  Since I am not a luncher myself (and breakfast is only coffee), the schedule makes plenty of sense to me, but I'm flexible.  So we use the time to chat, cook a little together, and sometimes, as was the case a few days ago, watch a little TV.

Rick likes to watch Dr. Phil.  He finds the drama of other people's issues to be relaxing since they allow his/ours to pale by comparison.  Also, Dr. Phil is great for mocking.  His downhome Texas sayings, which he passes off as Psychology For The Masses, allow us to riff on and on.  Our favorite one to hybridize is always, "Just because the cat has her kittens in the oven, that don't make 'em biscuits."  Go ahead, try it.  Like this:  Just because the dog has her puppies in the garage, that don't make 'em Volvos. The possibilities are endless, and you can make a great game out of it.  Sometimes, we like to get a little R-rated, but you can always decide on your own rules.

But, I digress.

The other day, we tuned in well into one of Dr. Phil's earnest and sincere diatribes directed toward some blonde woman whose boyfriend was the problem. Here's an approximation of how the scene went:

Dr. Phil:  (already in mid-lecture; stern and earnestly intense)  ...but all those are relationship issues.  Those we can deal with later.  Right now, what I'm hearing you say is that he put his hands on you.  In anger.

Blonde:  Yes.  (nods; looks down)  Yes he did.  But I love him, Dr. Phil.

Dr. Phil:  I don't care about anything else right now.  I want you to hear me on this, loud and clear.  You got that?  You don't ever let a man put his hands on you in anger.

Nance:  (in Dr. Phil voice)  Now, if he's frustrated, that's different.  That's a Frustration Issue.  That we can deal with.  Let him go ahead and put his hands on you then.  Or if he's just crabby.  He can put his hands on you then, too. But not. In. Anger!

Rick:  Yeah, I don't get that.  Isn't him beating her up a relationship issue, too?

Nance:  And is it ever okay for a man to put his hands on a woman, so to speak?  (again, a Dr. Phil voice)  Now, if he puts his hands on you when he's just feelin' silly, why that's okay!  Or when he's plumb nuts!  Tell him go ahead!

Rick:  (in a Dr. Phil voice) But never on the face.  That's just Not Okay.

End Scene.