Silliness

On a Saturday.

I’m instituting Silly Saturdays. I do not promise, however, to find enough silliness to manage a Silly Saturday every Saturday. Sometimes, this new feature of the blog will alternate with a Serious Saturday. Or—you know—just a Same Old Saturday.

Today, however, thanks to the folks over at Ohgizmo.com, where I originally found these things, I can safely say that this is a Silly Saturday.

First up, check out the USB Toast Hand Warmers.

Now, this product strikes me as being a good idea. Speaking as a person who has nearly perpetually cold hands, I like the idea of a USB-powered hand warmer that leaves my fingers free to type. But. . .they look too silly to use. I don’t think I’m going to be rushing out to buy them. On the other hand, let the temperature drop far enough, and then, we’ll see. Along about January, anything could happen. (I wonder if they heat up too much to allow for quick disconnect and stashing in a drawer—without setting the house on fire? If you’re ever in my office in the winter and you smell smoke, you’ll know what happened.)

Secondly, there’s a bit of brilliant silliness to show you. The only thing that stops me from putting in my order for the Baby Mop is the fact that I don’t actually have a baby. I could borrow one, I suppose, but I’m not sure the parents of any available babies would approve. Also, I suspect it might be a grey area under current child labor law—although, really, you’re just leveraging a baby’s natural activities, aren’t you? The Baby Mop is a onesie (those one-piece jumpsuits that look far more stylish on Catwoman or Mrs. Peel than on the average baby), with mop-like fringe along the forearms and the shins. Baby crawls. Hardwood floor gets dry-mopped. It’s one of those things where you think, Oh, no! And then you think, Hmmmm.

Pesky child labor laws. Those dang unions! Always getting in the way.

Why else?

“What we’re really talking about is a wonderful day set aside on the fourth Thursday of November when no one diets. I mean, why else would they call it Thanksgiving?”
~ Erma Bombeck

Why else, indeed?

This is the official Thankful Thursday.

We’re all thankful for health, wealth, love and friendship, roofs over our heads, food on our tables, peace in our time. (Well, maybe not today. It is the day we spend with family, after all. Somebody’s bound to have a fight.)

My official Thanksgiving gratitude list probably looks a lot like yours. I don’t have kids—and you may. You might not have a new sofa—and I do. Our different jobs are at different stages of success. Our bones are creaking more or less loudly depending on our different ages. Some of us live in colder states than others. Some of us even live under various different systems of government in different countries.

Some of us have had wonderful luck this year, and some of us have faced hardship and sadness. Some of us might even have trouble thinking of something for which to be thankful today.

So, let’s take a moment, just a moment, to remember this.

Now.

In this moment.

If you are reading this.

You are one of the luckiest people on earth.

870 million people in the world do not have enough to eat. *

780 million people lack access to fresh water.**

Almost half the world, over 3 billion people, live on less than $2.50 a day.***

More than 34 million people worldwide are living with HIV.****

There have been bombs dropping in Israel and Gaza for over a week.

Let’s not even talk about the Sudan.

Just, in general, the mere fact of having a computer, electricity, running water, something for dinner, puts us way ahead of far too many people.

Sure, we’ve all got problems and things that make us unhappy.

Let us be thankful, however, that so many of them are First World problems.

Enjoy the food, the family and the fights.

Enjoy your luck.

Happy Thanksgiving. (Someday, for everybody.)

* World Food Project

** Global Issues

*** Water

**** UNAIDS

Roses in December

“God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.”
~J. M. Barrie

Today, I am wondering where my mind went.

I nearly forgot to do this blog post. How is that possible? I know I have to do a daily blog post. I’ve done one, day after day, for months. Nearly six months now. And, today, it is only by accident, it seems, that there will be something appearing.

I thought of it several times yesterday. I had a couple of topics in mind.

And then. . .I forgot.

This is a somewhat disturbing trend.

Definitely something to wonder about—where my mind went.

On the other hand, one could wonder about the equally amazing phenomenon that nearly the first thing I thought of when I awoke—far too early this morning—was OMG! I never did my blog post.

Memory is a strange thing.

An odd tightrope.

Sometimes, it seems like the more you put into it the more it can hold. When I am very, very busy with multiple projects and hundreds of details, I can often track them like a bloodhound. When I have less to do, it’s like the old brain goes on a slow boat to Bermuda.

Sometimes, though, when I am very, very busy with multiple projects and hundreds of details, the whole thing springs a leak. Multiple leaks. Things start slipping through the cracks, and the cracks—well, they start to resemble the proverbial sieve. Then, when I have less to do, a single-minded purpose, that one thing can become nearly an obsession.

An odd tightrope.

Some days, you over-balance in one direction; some days, it’s the other.

I’ve always had a really good memory. It’s a bit disconcerting when this kind of thing happens. As I get older, too, the occasional missed connection gets more worrying. Is this a trend? I wonder.

I think I’ll spend part of today learning a poem or something.

Memory is a muscle, too.

And I like roses. . .December or otherwise.

(But first, I’m going back to bed. Later, ‘gators.)

The sun’ll come out. . .

Tomorrow.

I’ve been singing that for about a week.

Unfortunately.

It sticks in your head. Along with visions of little red-headed orphan girls.

It’s a horrible song—of immense popular appeal.

(It should be noted that its horribleness is not due to any intrinsic compositional or lyrical flaws. It’s just that it will not go away!)

The thing is. . .the sun may or may not come out tomorrow. I don’t know.

I do know that it came out yesterday. And it’s out today. And. . .yay!

Because it was getting very, very depressing.

It is truly fine for it to be gray and gloomy in the north. It’s the paradigm for the fall. But this is the Sunshine State. Got that? Sunshine. It’s in all the ads. So I expect. . .you know. . .sunshine.

Not only do I expect it, but I need it. We have to decorate the dock. The Boat Parade is coming. Not for about a month, but still. When the boats come by, we have to have the lights up. And I need sunshine for that. Not warmth, necessarily, but sunshine. It’s very difficult to get in the holiday mood when it’s all foggy and misty.

Dock decorations are hard enough. One year we tried for a New York skyline, but you can’t make a good corner with a rope light. It put a damper on our creativity (to say nothing of a vaguely pornographic twist on our Empire State Building), so we’ve given up murals. Now, we just try not to fall in the water as we’re stringing the lights up along the roof and around the pilings. We have acquired a nice lighted peacock lawn decoration this year—although possibly not for the dock.

Peacocks are big in my family. My grandparents used to have a bunch of them hanging around the farm. In fact, their descendants are still over there yelling away, wandering the highways and byways. And all of us have various vases and umbrella stands full of feathers.

That’s another little miracle.

You can just walk around behind a peacock in the late spring, early summer, and pick up those beautiful works of art.

So, I’m delighted to have this light-up bird. I look forward to seeing him twinkle away.

But, I’m more delighted to have some sunshine. . .and I definitely look forward to the voice of Li’l Orphan Annie fading off my internal audio track!

Bet your bottom dollar.

Over thinking it

Is that even possible?

In general, I suppose I would lean towards a “no.” Thinking is almost always a good thing. I think, however, if you’ll take a look at this Friday’s Find, you will probably agree that over thinking is possible. (Over rehearsing is not. That’s a myth. We’ll take that up at another time.)

In some instances—like this Friday Find—we might all agree about over thinking.

Take a look at OverThinkingIt.com. Their descriptive line says the site ‘subjects popular culture to a level of scrutiny it probably doesn’t deserve.’

This is true.

But it’s great geeky fun when they happen to subject any of your personal favorites to analysis. I found them because a post analyzing the Law & Order verdicts of the past 20 years popped up on Digg, and, of course, I had to take a look.

Firstly, having worked with statistics for more years than I care to remember, I find statistical analysis of TV shows that I have viewed to be oddly fascinating. Secondly, I was an extra on a Law & Order episode once. I feel a proprietary interest. (My episode was called Bait, and I am briefly visible when the camera pans the grand jury. Don’t worry if you can’t find me. My own parents didn’t recognize me. I am also briefly visible as a lawyer at the end of a hallway in another courthouse scene. I’m so out of focus in that shot, I wouldn’t have recognized me.)

Anyway, I’ve watched a lot of L&O over the years. Part of it is for the fun of seeing friends—since practically every New York actor worked the show at some point in some fashion. Part of it is the scripts are smart enough to hold your attention while you’re watching and not memorable enough for your brain to recognize that you’ve seen them before while you’re watching them again. So, they’re a reliable temporary distraction.

Which is sort of the point of the OverThinkingIt website. Another excellent distraction.

Like we need one of those, right?

Have fun!

Time passes

And that’s a good thing.

I’m thankful this Thursday for the passage of time. For the wisdom that comes with experience.

Such gloomy days we’ve been having this week. Wind and rain. A slight chill.

It’s all very depressing, and I’ve been feeling a little depressed. That old “what’s the use?” feeling. A little bit of “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, gonna go eat some worms.”

But, the thing is, I recognize this place. I’ve been here before. And the recognition is something for which to be thankful.

I know that I do not like gloomy days. I like them less now that I live in a house with lots of windows—and, it must be confessed, as yet inadequate lighting. (Lamps. Must put lamps on the shopping list.)

I have a cousin who says she is solar-powered, and I’m thinking, perhaps, it runs in the family. Not that I’m a sun worshipper. I can imagine few things more unpleasant than an afternoon broiling on a beach towel. But I do like the world to look cheerful.

So, it is nice that I have reached a stage in my life when I can feel this way and recognize that it’s because of the recent time change and two days without sunlight and my thermostat set a hair too low—and, probably, because my To Do list bores me and I haven’t anything terribly interesting on the horizon just now. I recognize that the sun will come out, I will get lamps eventually, and something new and good is probably just around the corner.

I know that later tonight my husband will say something funny, or I will have a surprisingly delicious meal, or an old friend will call tomorrow, or I’ll have a sudden idea for a new play, or my new neighbors, when I get them, will be the most awesome people in the world.

See, time passes. And we learn things. And it’s all good.

Why?

I’m just asking.

Why do men—and it must be said—men of a certain age begin to yell at the TV during news broadcasts?

I know no women who do this. (Not saying that there aren’t any—just that I don’t know them.)

Is it, perhaps, because their early spectator training is ball games? Where yelling at the ref is part of the experience?

It just seems a singularly futile thing to do. To say nothing of clearly being bad for one’s blood pressure.

Can’t we all agree that the pundits are going to talk over each other? That they are going to focus on domestic politics when you want to know about the Middle East? Or spend all their time on the Middle East when you want to know what happened with that hurricane? That the ones with whom you don’t agree are going to say utterly ridiculous and stupid things—while interrupting the ones with whom you do agree in a singularly crass and boorish manner?

And can’t we further agree that all those people in the little box? They can’t hear you.

I know when you were children—or, in some cases, when your children were children—that Miss Sally may have looked through her magic mirror and read off your name. And, yes, you could draw a bridge that helped Winky Dink cross the river. But, generally speaking, you really have no capacity to affect the behavior of those on the goggle box.

(The Kool-Aid Bunny Man did come to our house once. But that is another story, and nothing to do with yelling at the television set. In fact, I’m pretty sure the Bunny Man would have frowned on that. )

I’m sure the men I’ve heard yelling at the TV don’t think they’re really making a difference. I’m sure they are just blowing off steam. I just wonder where the dividing line comes between the point where you observe television quietly and the point where you launch into diatribes.

Hint: I think it’s around retirement age.

Maybe it comes with the gold watch?

What’s in YOUR wallet?

No, I’m not jumping on the Capital One bandwagon.

I’m asking a serious question.

If you lost your wallet today, would you know what’s in it? Would you know who to call and what to cancel?

This week’s newsletter from Cheryl Richardson had a reminder, among others, about keeping a record of the contents of your wallet. She suggested taking 5-10 minutes to make a list of card numbers and customer service phone numbers.

But I’ve got a better tip. Next time you’re in the library or the UPS store or the FedEx store or anywhere they have a copy machine, shell out fifty cents or so. Take all the credit cards and ID cards and membership cards out of your wallet, put them flat on the glass, and copy them. If they have phone numbers on the back, turn them over and copy the backs. Take the pages home and put them somewhere safe: file cabinet, desk drawer, wherever.

If and when you lose your wallet, you are going to be SO glad you did that.

I know. I got pick-pocketed once. It’s a nuisance, but nowhere near the nuisance it would be if you don’t have the list.

Think about it.

All the phone numbers to call—right there.

All the account numbers to cancel—right there.

All the stress and worry, the danger that you forgot to cancel the one card that’s now being used to buy 37 iPads—out the window.

Isn’t that worth fifty cents or so?

The eleventh hour

Happy Veterans Day!

To all the veterans of the United States Armed Forces—thank you for your service.

November 11th.

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month—when the fighting ceased in World War I.

Originally known as Armistice Day, back when the War to End All Wars looked like it might have done that, and changed to Veterans Day in 1954 when it had become abundantly clear that it hadn’t, this is our national holiday to honor the patriotism and sacrifice of our veterans.

I hope none of them will think I mean to diminish their contribution when I say I hope we are approaching a time when the world will learn to live without such sacrifice.

I’m not the first, and, unfortunately, I probably won’t be the last to say it—but wouldn’t it be nice if we could figure that out?

You know—before the eleventh hour?

To sleep,

Perchance to dream*

(Flapdoodle!)

Thankful today that, in general, I get enough sleep.

It’s on my mind, because Tuesday night, I did not get enough sleep. And I’m a little ticked off about that.

See, I started the evening with the firm intention of awaiting the outcome to the election. I was aware that meant it could be a very long night, but I was game. I wanted to know what happened. It seemed to me to be infinitely more desirable to be disappointed (assuming disappointment was the outcome—and it was 50/50, you know)—infinitely more desirable to be disappointed and then go to bed than to awake to disappointment.

There was always the chance of a joyful outcome, too. And how much better to end the day on a high note than to miss all the excitement.

Having reviewed these possibilities exhaustively (2 or 3 seconds, at least), I decided to stay up and see what happened.

All well and good, and the election was called remarkably early. At something like 11:15 pm, it looked like I would be heading off to bed.

Then there was a little problem with math over on the losing side, and we were suddenly looking at—we didn’t know what.

Now, a person cannot go to bed with the spectre of that famous photo of Truman the morning after the 1948 election hanging over her. She has to stay up to see what’s going to happen.

The result was that I didn’t get to bed until after two a.m.

You wouldn’t think that would be a big deal, but I’m neither as young as I once was nor,apparently, as resilient. I am certainly not as used to staying up late as I had been in the past. (56 hours without sleep is my limit. After that, I start to hallucinate. I know this from experience.)

Anyway, the election ended, the speeches were made, the pundits talked…and talked…and talked, and eventually, I went to bed.

I didn’t have to do anything important today, so it’s no bit deal that I’m tired and unproductive and have had a bit of a headache all day, but I do realize I need to be thankful for those days—and nights—I get enough sleep.

If you’re thinking about pulling an all-nighter sometime, I encourage you to think again. You might get more done if you take time to take a nap.

Try it. You’ll like it!

* Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act III, Sc. 1

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Category Archives: Life in General