National Doughnut Day? Huh?

Homer Simpson: America's Most Famous Doughnut Fan!Wow. We Americans live in the world’s most obese nation–but we’re inventing holidays like “National Doughnut Day”?!

Can you imagine if they had “National Diabetes Day”, or “National Coronary Artery Disease Day”? Might as well…NDD ain’t much different.

Now I can appreciate an occasional doughnut with the best of them…and seeing a food channel on a place in the North West that has *bacon* doughnuts just slayed me!

(No food on Earth could not be improved by the addition of bacon, with the possible exception of Jell-O.)

Anyway, I have to say “Wow”; we may not lead the world in exports, or per capita income any more–but we sure know how to commit a slow, decadent suicide better than any group of people on the planet!

I’m going home to cook a sirloin strip with a coffee roll on top tonight! In the meantime, check out this “NDD” page with free recipies on making your own heart-attack-on-a-plate!

Bon appetit!

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OMG…I Am Responsible for Shaping a Successful Adult!?

For all the Moms out there with teens: do you find yourself occasionally looking across the dinner table at your child and thinking “Oh my God…when did you get to be so big?!”

I was reflecting on this and thinking back to the day when I brought my son home from the hospital.

He was a gorgeous baby, but he cried all the way home.

We arrived back at our apartment and I settled into the rocker in our bedroom while my husband went to bring in the bags.

As soon as he left I looked down at my little cherub it hit me like a brick in the head: “OMG…I am not qualified to be someone’s mother…how did they let me take him home??? I have no clue about what to do!  AEWRGGH$#^$#&%”

My poor husband chose that very moment to walk into the bedroom and practically wet himself thinking that I had dropped the baby on his head, given all the screaming and whatnot…

Fifteen years later and I am still pretty sure that I have no clue, but my son is still here, a strapping young thing and not suffering from rickets, so far as I can tell…I guess something went right along the way.

Even if I do feel like I am faking it much of the time.

In thinking about the next couple of years, and the task at hand (e.g. ensure that he becomes a functional, independent adult,) I realized a few things that scare the bejesus out of me:

  1. If I weren’t running in there with a bullwhip and hollering every morning there would be zero chance that he would get up, dressed, eat breakfast and be somewhere before 2PM. Not the most encouraging sign if he ever expects to be anything but the night janitor at the Community Hospital.
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  3. Were I not to peel back his lips and recoil in horror–and then insist that he “go back and actually CLEAN his teeth”–my son would have a mouth that resembled our dog’s. I have tried to combat this tendency by pointing out that girls do not like kissing men with green smiles, but I am not sure it’s really sunk in yet.
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  5. My son attacks food like it was alive and attempting to escape from the plate. While I’m pretty sure that his 15 year old female peers don’t have high standards when it comes to table manners, I do find meals pretty horrifying. (And tiring; how often can one say “Chew with your mouth closed” before it’s not even worth trying to have a meal with someone?”)
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I suppose if those are the worst things I have to worry about, life is pretty good. I’ve seen the ads for that show where they have sort of a “Super Nanny” for teens who seem to scare the crap out of their parents…puts it all in perspective. He may be taller than me, but I can still make him back up with “the look”.

Ha, I may be an old dog, but I know what tricks work!

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Oprah, We Hardly Knew Ye…

Boy, I’d like to give America a collective hug…I’ve never seen such angst in my life.

Oprah Winfrey Leaves DaytimeYou would have thought that we’d lost a world war, or missed a football season, from the way that folks seem to be pining…And it’s all because Oprah has vacated her daytime throne.

As someone who works during “Oprah Hour”, I have to say that I have no idea what has folks so upset. (That is, apart from: 1) knowing that they could see that even celebrities struggled with weight by turning on her show, and 2) by accepting the likelihood that they’d never again be able to score tickets to a show where you could look under your seat for the keys to a car.)

And while I was not an Oprah-watcher, I do have admiration for a woman–an African-American woman at that–who has fashioned one of the most successful business empires on the face of the planet.

I have no idea who middle America will be watching in the afternoon next week…I just know that I’ll be busting my ass at work while they are doing so.

Enjoy the chat, and good luck filling those shoes!

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Five Ways to Tell If You’re An Old Fart

Have you ever wondered if you are an old fart? Or when you may have turned into an old fart?

There are subtle signs that can be a tip off, long before you find yourself at the “Early Bird Special” eating dinner at 3PM (while decked out in high waters and/or polyester pants).

As a public service let me outline five sure-fire methods for determining whether or not you have “crossed over” into “O.F.” territory:

  1. You have said “When I was your age…” at least once in the past seven days
  2. Given the choice between afternoon delights and a nap, you choose the nap
  3. You can’t believe that 80′s music is on the “oldies” station
  4. You spent at least half of the last “girls’/guys’ night out” discussing health conditions
  5. For women: you owned something made out of quiana; for men, you had a mullet at some point

God help you if you have crossed over. The saving grace: now you are too old to worry about being “cool”. And, more importantly, you realize that you’d trade your body–but not your mind–for a newer model.

Old Farts Unite!

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Who In The Hell Thought of That?!

I consider myself a creative person, but there are times when I wonder how people really “go off the reservation” when it comes to inventions…Sometimes the results are amazing; other times, not so much.

This thought occurred to me as I was drinking my coffee this morning. Java is really kind of a strange thing, when you think about it.

Have you ever wondered who it was that first walked up to a coffee tree, saw the berries, decided to dry, then roast them and–after all that–to grind them up and steep them in hot water?

I’ve seen a coffee tree in person. And that never would have occurred to me.

This lead me to reflect on what other odd inventions might be out there, when I came across this visual compendium by the NY Daily News that includes:

  • Paprazzi Shades — “Pre-edit” yourself out of photos and maintain that low profile!  Unless you’re Paris Hilton or a sex offender, chances are: you don’t really need these.
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  • A Toilet Mug– Hmmm…not much to say here except “eeeeeewww”  I can see giving this as a going away present to the person who ran off with your spouse, maybe–but actually drinking from it?  Ugh.
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  • A Wine Bra — 25 oz. and two cup sizes later you’re ready for the big game! Of course, I don’t know many people who enjoy drinking wine that is warmed to a temperature of 98.6. Nor can I imagine strapping on a bra with that much cold liquid, even in August. But then I guess I am just the “party pooper” type that actually settles for drinking out of a cup!
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  • Potty Putter–For the guy who just has to keep occupied but isn’t big on reading…you guessed it: an astroturf putting mat that wraps around the john; comes complete with a cup and mini-club
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  • Hubbard Electrometer–L. Ron Hubbard was a busy guy: he did more than invent a religion, he actually invented a tool that allowed him to determine whether or not tomatoes feel pain. He determined that they do, in fact, “scream when sliced”. I’ll never look at pizza the same way again…

If you’ve ever thought about setting up a workbench in your basement and shooting for the “next big thing”, take a quick moment to learn a cautionary lesson from these “most inane inventions.”

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Gossip Mongering Biological Imperative, Say Scientists…

Just heard on NPR during this morning’s commute that there’s supposedly a biological basis for our fascination with gossip.

So all of you E! fans out there, you can hold your heads high again!

It’s not that you’re addicted to trash; your obsession with the sex lives of total strangers is the result of  millennia of natural selection!

Apparently the Neanderthal Mary Harts of the world knew who was out to get them, who had the inside scoop on mammoth meat, and such. They used that dish to ensure that their neolithic competitors got shut out. The earliest known example of Machiavellian-ism ever.

I have an alternate theory: maybe the nosy, petty cave people spent much of their time sitting on their asses by the fire being catty, while the brave, serious-minded cave people were out hunting mammoths and getting eaten by lions…

I think that we can safely say that the attrition rate for the brave cave folk was high.

(After all, when you think about it: hunting a 20 ton mammoth with a stick is really as sensible as sky diving with a Ziploc bag as a parachute.)

The slaughter of the honorable presumably left the catty dumb-dumbs behind to breed.

A few thousand years of that and Voila! — a nation of National Enquirer addicts.

So much for reading Scientific American and watching FrontLine…apparently I’d do better reading Perez Hilton!

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Eenie…Meenie…Minee…Ohhh!

Okay, so I know I just wrote something lamenting the loss of tails–but I just looked down at my feet and OMG–why are feet so ugly????

I just looked at my footsmart.com catalog and the feet there are only marginally less ugly.

It’s not just me.

This begs the question: why would anyone want a pedicure to draw attention to their feet? And why, on Earth, would Rex Ryan be making foot fetish videos?

I know that evolution is a pretty amazing thing, though I cannot help but wonder why we haven’t come up with a more compelling means of propulsion than feet after a few million years?

The subject of feet reminds me of the time that the girls from the office talked me into going for a pedicure at the local nail salon.

The soaking was great, but as soon as the pedicurist went to touch my feet–BAM!–I hit the ceiling and exploded in the most manic fit of laughter.

She looked at me like I was completely insane and began vociferously complaining to her fellow employee in Vietnamese, who, at the time, was wrestling an only marginally less touch-phobic colleague.

I would have given anything to know what they were saying about us…scathing as it probably was.  (If I could have ONE magic power it would be the ability to understand, speak and cuss people out in any language!)

While a nice soak was great, I was very dubious about the concept of pampering and nail polish and the like…Why draw attention to what, in my humble opinion, is one of the ugliest parts of the human body?

This whole train of thought has lead me to a broader conclusion: there is much about biology that makes absolutely no sense.

For example: having had two children by c-section I can tell you that there is an issue of “scale” with human heads.

And that’s not the only part of human evolution that calls into question a grand design.

Take sinuses, if I were grading those as a homework project: *Fail*  I live with a family of allergy-prone people. Didn’t anyone figure in the runny noses?

My family are a veritable herd of Snuffleupagouses…(no idea if that’s how you spell it, haven’t watched Sesame Street lately).

And they all have relatively unattractive feet, too.

It makes you wonder if there were any qualified engineers in heaven during the whole design process?

In God’s image? I find it hard to believe that God is prone to back problems, hemorrhoids and sinus infections.

Or does God just have a really twisted sense of humor?

I’ll be thinking about that next time I put on my socks.

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Eating Toilet Paper? Boy, Reality TV Makes Me Feel SANE!

I don’t have time to watch a lot of television, but I have seen promos for some things that I find, well, disturbing.

Like the ones about folks with odd obsessions.

The woman who eats toilet paper, for example.

The promo that I’ve seen shows her driving along pulling wads off a roll she keeps in the glove compartment; presumably in case she gets peckish while on a road trip.

Another woman eats the stuffing in her couch cushions.

At what point do your innards simply explode when doing this stuff?

I am no nutritionist, but I imagine that the fiber content of the average two-ply roll, or Lazy-Boy cushion would be enough to gum up a garbage disposal, never mind the human intestine.

I also found myself asking: “wasn’t anybody else sitting on the couch”? And didn’t they find it hard to watch television with somebody eating the cushion out from under them?

There’s one promo I’ve seen that is even more disturbing than either of those.

You guessed it’s about A WOMAN; and her…wait for it…munchie of choice is: detergent.

Holy hell batman?!  How do you get past the first teaspoon with that one?  Did she come home drunk one day, mistake the Calgon for a pint of chocolate chunk and just start digging in?

By the way: to date all of the promos that I’ve seen for these sorts of programs all focus on women with icky habits.

What–so MEN don’t have disturbing obsessions?

Or are they all just about sex, so not suitable for cable in prime time?

As I have not actually watched any of these shows, I cannot comment much further on the specifics of each case.

I can just say “what the $%&#&^@$” and wonder why these women are allowed to wander around the house, apparently unsupervised, eating furniture and cleaning products?!

Isn’t anybody there anyone else HOME who could say “Hey–let me make you a grilled cheese, instead”?

On the other hand, seeing these spots does highlight one thing for me: I’m not as bat-shit crazy as I thought I was. I haven’t chewed a single piece of furniture in my house!

Honest…those tooth marks are from the dog!!!

 

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Attack of the Lawn Nazis!

Yikes, I looked out the window on Saturday morning and realized that the “Lawn Nazis” are back in full force…Every year, as soon as the tulips come up, garage doors around the neighborhood fly open to reveal a veritable armory of mowers, hedge trimmers, tree loppers, edgers and the like.

The guys in my neighborhood are better equipped than the Libyan resistance.

Now I have to say that I’ve been hyper conscious about “curb appeal” lately. I’ve refocused my energies on the home front this year, and recommitted to my inner Martha Stewart. (Okay, “recommitted” is not accurate–aspired to find an inner Martha might be more accurate.)

Maybe it’s too much time spent watching HGTV? They make everything look so easy.

So, I am on a mission. I intend to lop, trim, mow and edge with the best of them this year.

And I’m thinking that I might even shoot to outdo them all. Some contractor down the street is selling a Bobcat. I acquire that, and I think that this would totally rock the Lawn Nazis back on their veritable suburban behinds!

Red and power equipment! Ha!

I don’t know why, but I’ve harbored a secret hankering for years: some women want diamonds–I want a Bobcat.

The attraction isn’t even limited to Bobcats, actually. If I could also buy one of those cherry pickers, or scissor lifts I’d be in hog heaven.

I have no idea what I would do with a scissor lift, (I am not fond of heights,) but it might be fun to spy on the neighbors–or at the very least, make them paranoid.

All this reflection on power equipment leaves me delirious with visions of koi ponds, outdoor kitchens, terraced gardens and cedar hot tubs dancing in my head! (All built in my copious spare time using only yard sale finds and recycled plastic bottles, of course!)

In any case, I am just hoping that it stops raining sometime in the next three weeks.

Or, I might shoot for a set of woodworking tools, instead.

Move over Noah, Red’s building an ark!

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Simply Inspired…

Wow, I know that this is a departure from my usual quibbling about life’s minor annoyances and questions–but I simply must share.

Just finished doing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen; daughter in bed, son settled in doing homework–and I turned on NPR to find a program about Homeboy Industries and Father Greg Boyle’s efforts to help at-risk youth transition from gang life.

Now I am not generally big on organized religion, but I have to give props to “Father Greg”. He is the founder of Homeboy Industries and has been an inner city priest since the ’80′s. This guy founded a program to help would-be-ex-gang members find a way out of “The Life”.

And he sounds like the most genuine, grounded, decent person…it’s nice to be reminded that there are people who are pure of spirit left in this world.

Homeboy Industries includes a number of businesses including custom apparel, bakeries and cafes. I am going online tonight to order a sweatshirt, or two.

Nice to know that there are folks in the world who have the ability, the heart, and the commitment to make a difference.

God love you Father Greg–and best of luck to all of those who have found a path to a new life through Homeboy!

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