No News is Good News

Another teenage shooting that leaves me bewildered. An explanation of the super-delegate system set up by the Democratic Party in 1982 that makes me mad. An air quality alert for people still living in FEMA trailers after Katrina that embarrasses me (not for the reason you might think, though).

So, I’ve decided to disconnect. I’m going to try a week with no news.

No local news.
No national news.
No Internet news.
Not even NPR.
Nothing.

       Ignorance.

                 Bliss.

For a whole week.

I know Rod Stewart’s Reason to Believe isn’t related to politics, but as soon as I made my decision, this was the first song I heard on the radio. “Political 2008” in a nutshell:

If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe

Update: It's now Day 3 of my 7-day detox and all is well. And much hopeful! 

you probably didn't know

(I saw this posted on a blog I regularly visit and thought it was cute. The idea is to pass it on to other bloggers to learn something about each other.)

I am addicted to I Love Lucy reruns. I still watch the Real World/Road Rules Challenges. I did not enjoy the original “An Affair to Remember”. I like Joyce Meyer.

I try not to, but I still get jealous of the successes of others. I think I could stay in the house for weeks at a time. I could eat my weight in peanut M&Ms. I have never not had a perplexing neighbor. I believe greed is the deadliest of the sins.

I often feel guilty for no reason (leftover from Catholic school days). I can be too righteous for my own good. I don’t let go easily. I’m a loyal friend and a good listener. I have good instincts about people, but sometimes don’t react accordingly. I procrastinate in dangerous proportions.

I have a consuming crush on the man in the Kleenex commercials. I google people I have known. A whole lot of people baffle me. Judaism fascinates me. Volunteering disappoints me. Love eludes me. I lock my doors at certain red lights. I fear for this country, mostly because of the alarming reproductive rates of people who should not reproduce at all.

I check my horoscope every day and my numeroscope every month. I am insanely overdue for an annual physical, but the thought of making an appointment gives me hives. I don’t feel like I deserve to get professional pedicures, so I never do.

I love not being an employee. I love not knowing where I’ll be in five years. I am perpetually grateful.

Low Expectations

Too few years ago, I learned about laws of attraction, high expectations, and daily affirmations for positive outcomes. My chemical makeup seems to reject these things, so it’s an almost daily internal struggle to remember.

Yesterday morning, I had to pick up a new remote at the cable company office. I arrived early in an attempt to be first in line, because I had a class in thirty minutes. The doors didn’t open until 9am and it was cold, so I waited in the car. One by one, cars began filling the parking lot. Like vultures, all of us sitting in our cars eyeing each other and our prey, planning our attacks on the Comcast door.

Knowing that being the first car there didn’t necessarily mean I’d be first in line – especially with these people, I had surmised - I got my coat and headed toward the door at 8:57. Typical. The man in the car next to me immediately copied me and got to the door first. I’m sure my expression (evil eye) was transparent.

I have tried to make sure I don’t scowl in public ever since my first ex-husband told me I looked angry and ugly all the time. Allen - or Alan, I can’t remember which and to find out, I’d have to dig up old papers and really shouldn’t have even spent this typing time on him - told me many hateful things, all of which I have no problem remembering. He voiced this revelation after watching me walk from the store to the car, where he had waited in the passenger seat. I thought he was in love and was happy to see me return.

Anyway, I’ve been fairly successful in my attempt not to look visibly ticked-off for no reason until the hormonal years of late.

“You were here first,” he said with a smile as he motioned for me to get in front of him at the door.

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” being the passive-aggressive that I am.

“No, seriously, please.”

“Alright, then. Thank you.” I physically felt the dam of low expectations break and the heat of guilt and embarrassment course through me.

And we made nice little small talk for the next two minutes.

(I wish I had told him about the previous five minutes I had with myself in the car. It might have been the right thing to do in return. But it felt a little too personal.)

Indy Arts Council

I love this place: http://www.indyarts.org/

I got my IndyArts card in the mail today, too. Now, not only can I find a database of artists (of all kinds), search calendars, apply for Arts Council grants, find out about the hundreds of FREE events at the ArtsGarden (an incredible seven-story glass enclosure connecting hotels, shops, restaurants and the convention center), I can also get discounts and e-mail newsletters.

One thing you cannot complain about in Indianapolis is the city's dedication to its artists and art organizations. The Council has a new site as well: PAL or Public Art Locator, which pinpoints public art exhibitions on a map of the city.

I feel so artsy.

The State of the Union

I started in position #84 and waited three months for Rosie O’Donnell’s book, Celebrity Detox (which barely qualified as a book, in my opinion).

There was no waiting time for Lou Dobbs’ Independents Day and I was able to renew it today with no problem.

I hate it. I understand it, but I hate it.

Annual Gratitude Exercise 2007

When my son was little, we did everything holiday-ish that I could find to do - from visiting Santa at every kid-related event in town to driving for hours looking at neighborhood lights. One tradition was the viewing of the million-lights display that the owners of a huge car dealership in Powder Springs put up every year. We would sit and sit in the miles long traffic just to drive through their cul-de-sac for what couldn’t have been more than 45 seconds.

My son has returned to Powder Springs, to his father’s family celebrations, for about four years now. I imagine he always will and for the same reason I feel a pull to Memphis: the early years.

My mother expected perfection in so many things, and the holidays were no exception. After she died, each year became more and more of a disappointment. I was never able to recreate the memories, but, while Austin was small, I enjoyed every minute of the lights, the colors, the music, the mall decorations, the wrapping of the presents, the putting up of the tree, and even the trips as an adult to what were just scraps of home.

Now that he’s pretty much baked, I still love this time of year, just for different reasons.

I have two traditions now. An annual gratitude exercise (I keep a daily gratitude journal, but this is more general) and a goal setting worksheet. Both make me think about the past year and the possibilities of a new year.

My homemade goal setting spreadsheet (derived from Dan Miller’s 48 Days workbook) is over in my Freelancing Journal.

My 2007 tribute to my tiny corner of the Universe is here:

• In 2007, I lost two more friends, not to death, but to the death of the friendships. The intentional loss of family a few years back will probably remain raw for years to come. But, I have connected more with the friends I still have and found that this tiny, eclectic group has something that I am most grateful for: positive, happy, supportive, kind, spiritual, intellectual, and independent lives to share.
• Discovering an online community of bloggers, writers, readers, artists
• Every book I read, even the bad ones
• Clients
• The times in which I live
• TCM, NPR and PBS
• People who give of themselves, while I temporarily can’t seem to
• An uncanny birthday connection with a kindred spirit
• Doing what I know is the right thing
• Teachers like Dave Ramsey, Lou Dobbs, Joyce Meyer....
• The comfort of an old lap dog
• Health, medicines and the income to contribute to both
• Impeccable timing during stressful times
• A good friend with a good accountant
• Reflecting on the last 17 years with the love of my life
• College acceptance letters
• Rare moments of teen emotion and excitement (A’s in Biology)
• Finding local political homes
• Associations with passionate people
• God’s Law of Attraction
• An Allstate Customer Service rep
• Colored walls
• Surprises
• Unwavering dreams
• Austin’s ability to do handyman things
• Being needed for another year

• And to the Universe’s biggest gift to me this year: The lovingly and delicately timed releases of responsibility, which have allowed me to maintain a smidge of grace and dignity through each loss.
  

Christmas 2007

It sure didn’t feel like Christmas this year. I never did put up a tree. A wreath did make it to the door and a sad little plastic waving Santa did make it to the front porch. I say sad, because, he never got plugged in and he kept falling over in the wind, so most of the time he just looked like he needed a chalk outline drawn around him. Hell, I never even watched Rudolph or Frosty this year, completely missing the meaning of Christmas this year!!

December 22nd: It took me all day to calculate that the best time for me to go to the mailbox and get Santa (who had blown into the yard this time) would be after dark. I didn’t want to get in the way of all the holiday comings and goings in the subdivision. Plus, there’s the whole hideous monster thing, best for another time.

December 23rd: I decided to actually leave the house to pick up something to eat. Driving back home, my impeccable timing put me in front of a family pulling out from a nearby church’s Sunday service. The driver – the father, all dressed in his Sunday before Christmas best - tailgated me and swerved from side to side to supposedly make his inconvenience even more visible to me. When I braked and put on my blinker to turn into my subdivision, he nearly hit me. Looking back at him in my mirror, I saw him yelling in my direction and giving me the finger.

December 24th: I went to the post office and re-routed (there was NO parking at Target) to Wal-Mart for two space heaters. I normally don’t shop on Christmas Eve day, but I really had to. The check out girl looked me in the eye, smiled and said, “Merry Christmas” when she handed me the receipt. As I left, the Salvation Army bell ringer man looked me in the eye, smiled and said, “Merry Christmas. You stay warm now. And keep that smile.” It was the most live human contact I’ve had in over a week. And it would be counted among one of my few, but precious Christmas gifts this year.

December 25th: I watched the National Cathedral Service this morning. One of the sermons was ever so Christianly called, “I want what you have”. Of course, what was meant was that the light and peace within we Christians should make others want to ask us what brings us such joy, which in turn, provides us with the opportunity to witness. Or flip birds in traffic. Or say we have four children who need donated coats when we only have one child. Or thank Jesus for “blessing” us with a new car. Or preach to our congregation in the morning, and leave our wife and kids for our mistress's house in the evening. Or ungratefully gripe about our Christmas holidays. I called Austin to wish him Merry Christmas. He got mad at me, because I couldn’t hear him above all the talking in the background. He had to go after exactly 47 seconds because his problem-child cousin showed up and started messing with his game controller. The worst Lifetime movie I have ever seen was just interrupted by a commercial for two interlocking metal sticks that can be squeezed together to build bigger breasts and purchased for only $19.95.

I realize I could and probably should have spread some Christmas cheer by going to a church service or volunteering at a downtown mission, but given my recent experiences with both of these, I know when to leave well enough alone and stay away from others. Christmas 2006 felt better. Christmas 2008 will too.

A Very Phoenix Xmas!

I attended A Very Phoenix Xmas at the Phoenix Theatre with some new friends last night. I had not heard of the theatre, but I was so glad for the invitation and the experience. The show was a series of somewhat irreverent holiday plays written by local playwrights and starring a handful of players who could do it all: dance, sing, act, play instruments, and deliver lines with believable accents. They call their performance edgy and that it was. One play that cracked me up was based on the munchkins who Dorothy left behind to clean up the dead witch mess (who they discover wasn’t undeniably and reliably dead like the coroner – who blames her error on all the dancing and singing at the time - said).

The Phoenix Theatre is housed in a renovated turn-of-the-century church in the heart of the historic Chatham Arch residential district of downtown Indianapolis. The theatre mission was to fill a niche in the Indianapolis theatre community with issue-oriented plays and professional production values in an intimate setting.

I’m an “indie-wanna-be”.  I admire unique thought, music, movies, books, you name it. And now I can add the Phoenix Theatre to my list of things to appreciate.

And some new friends to enjoy getting to know.

PBS for the Holidays, too!!

I’m a huge fan of Independent Lens series on PBS. The airings are a little unpredictable here in Indianapolis, so I recently signed up for the series newsletter here: http://www.pbs.org/independentlens/newsletter.html

And today’s newsletter announced the second annual Independent Lens Online Shorts Festival!!!

We can watch the 11 award-winning films and vote for the Audience Award at:
http://www.pbs.org/independentlens/insideindies/shortsfest/

I can't wait to watch every last one tonight!

Thanks for the Memory

I just love this girl: This Fish Needs a Bicycle.

She takes me back to days loooong gone. She makes me think of ADP days and Studebaker’s on Windy Hill nights.

Of a bar behind Fuddrucker’s on the corner of Windy Hill and Powers Ferry Roads that meant so much to me at the time but the name of which I can’t remember now. Of Benson and Hedges Ultra Lights. Of red Pontiac Fieros. Of New Jersey’s Patty Rypkema.

Of Judd Nelson phone calls.

Of Iris Best and our mission to get her some action (*gasp* - it was the 80’s - at least we had a goal). Of leaving work to play drunk putt-putt golf. Of deck parties. Of the determination of a guy named Mark.

Of a real dinner and dancing date with Bryan Franz.

And of my swan song (and nose dive) in New York City with a poor man who liked me under a couple of false pretenses, but without which I never would have had the once-in-a-lifetime chance for so many things female.

Two tears - one sad, one happy - slowly roll down the same face of a different woman.

So, thanks for the memory
And strictly entre-nous, darling how are you?
And how are all the little dreams that never did come true?
Aw'flly glad I met you, cheerio, and toodle-oo

And thank you so much.

“Thanks for the Memory”
Written by Ralph Rainger and Leo Robin
(c) 1937 (renewed 1964) Paramount Music Corporation

A new TV low

Well, I hate myself. I just cast my 5 online votes for my favorite Dancing with the Stars contestant. Can I sink any lower? Apparently so, because I don’t want to divulge my choice, just to be all mysterious about it.

I do have a semblance of a line, though, thank gawd. I saw a commercial last night for Big Brother casting. Never again will I watch that show. Even I don’t have that kind of time (or tolerance).

I need to do a TBS search for the Rudolph and Frosty and Grinch shows to come so I can work my schedule around them. Oh, a shiny holiday star amidst the gray skies of writers’ strikes.

It was Helio. I voted for Helio.

Twas the Night Before the Return to Work

The dryer is making soft tumbling noises, the rain is steadily trickling from the roof onto the front porch, Austin is laughing like he did when he was a baby at some television show in his room, I just found video of an X-Factor (first I’ve heard of it) contestant singing a touching rendition of Somewhere on the Internet (*update: the link to the YouTube video has been removed, but this site still has a video.), and I’m re-reading Cynthia’s response to my post to her about how scared I was to stop watching TV (a seemingly impossible dream).

**I have a fantastic story about the wonder of Cynthia Morris’ coaching. Someday, when I’m through raising what looks like a perfectly grown man, I’m going to pay her to lead me where she’s always sure I can go. Anyway, two years ago, I won a summer contest and got a few free sessions with her. We talked about dreams and obstacles, imaginary and real. The most real being fear and money, which boiled down to fear of money, which boiled down to fear of no money. I needed a magical number to live on and not worry every month and to concentrate and be able to think about other things like pursuing writing dreams. A month later, I was earning that magical number, allowing us to become debt-free and create an emergency fund. Absolutely by the grace of God, His Laws of Attraction, and the Muse that is Cynthia Morris.

Her original post is here: http://vivelaslink.typepad.com/vive_la_slink/2007/11/what-to-do-when.html

I'd love to stop watching television and I agree so much. I know it's key to fulfilling my life's purpose, but I also think I'd die from the silence and loneliness after just one day! :)
Posted by: Karen | November 21, 2007 at 01:39 PM

No, you would not die from the loneliness, but I understand. When I stopped reading while eating, I felt a pool of loneliness waiting to take me over. But then after a day or two, it went away and I was able to enjoy my food. I lost two pounds in two weeks just from stopping reading while eating.
In the silence without TV, you'll be able to better hear your Muse.
Posted by: Cynthia Morris | November 22, 2007 at 07:28 AM

Karen,
Wait a minute. You have the key to fulfilling your life's purpose and you're not using it to open the door? What are you waiting for? Many people wander around not having the key.
Come on! Your adventure is waiting for you!
no...more...T...V....
Posted by: Cynthia Morris | November 22, 2007 at 07:29 AM

**This just in: Austin was giggling at Kenny and Spenny – a new to Comedy Central show about disgusting and inappropriate boy things.

David Dwiggins and the Manila American Cemetery

Some years ago, a Hoosier named David Dwiggins moved to the Philippines. And some years ago, he visited the Manila American Cemetery and took a picture of the grave of an Ohio serviceman.

Most of the American servicemen buried there are still listed as Missing in Action. He researched and sent the picture of the grave and a letter to the family in Ohio.

He repeated the process again and again, mostly targeting Indiana graves, and now spends most of his time gathering information, udpating his website, and contacting the families of the men who have been lost for over 50 years.

From the Indiana Soldiers and Sailors video archive.
(The song choice of Dixie is few hundred miles off, but the sentiment is perfect.)

Some other articles about Dwiggins' work:

WTHR: Hoosire Makes WWII Connection Overseas, November 2007

AP: Man Searches for Indiana Families of Soldiers Buried in Philippines, January 2005

Dave's Own Story

**David Dwiggins passed away August 13, 2016, at the too-young age of 66. His work was a blessing to so many families. You can read his memorial on Find A Grave's website here. 

Driving off cliffs

I wonder how old I’ll be when I'm comfortable standing up for myself. Last night, I woke up three times from dreams of driving off a cliff or a winding road or a dead-end road. When I looked up the meaning to see if there was something I should know, I found out two things:

Driving indicates being on a life/purpose journey and making progress. Driving off a cliff indicates being frustrated because of loss of recognition or rewards or personal power.

Dead-on.

The contract company for which I work right now professes to be the number one IT consulting firm in North America but seems to thrive on hiring unqualified and unintelligible people from India. I thought these times had passed, but apparently they haven’t yet learned that it costs more, in the long run, to hire an Indian than it does to hire an American.

People were moved around last week and three Indians were moved into the 15 X 15 lab I’ve been in. No problem under normal circumstances, but there are no windows and no air circulation, just body odors and HEAT.

I’ve learned that they like the heat set to at least 80 degrees, because they’re not used to the cold. “Allergic to the cold” is the phrase that was used. THAT they could express in understandable English.

Driving off a cliff.

It’s not politically correct, I know. I’m intelligent and have been exposed to a lot in my day, so I know my civilized reaction should be to accept cultural differences and celebrate and learn from them.

But working for this number one IT consulting firm has become a little like working the McDonalds drive-thru. Although, there, I’d at least get some fresh air.

So, I voiced my opinion; I asked to be moved; I asked to turn down the air (which they conveniently didn’t understand no matter how enthusiastically I pointed to the thermostat and acted out my discomfort); and then I asked to at least move next to the door where they had set up shop. (I should have just turned the air down, but it wouldn’t have solved anything. The especially stinky boy with the sweater draped across his chair constantly complained of being cold.)

In return, I got pitiful looks and hushed conversations in their native tongues about (I have no doubt) how miserable I must be to be the meanest, most horrible person in the world.

Driving off a cliff again.

No control, no power. And the queasy feeling that I’ve asked for too much, that I’ve expressed too much opinion.

I feel the doom of this project that started out so well. And I’m driving off cliffs in my sleep because of yet another impossible office space/cubicle/payroll FREAK situation, ignoring God and knowing I’m not where I belong.

Although, each FREAK does end up in my Freakish Magnetism chronicle. Not exactly power, but internal passive-agressive progress.

Lasts and Firsts

Yesterday, Austin had senior pictures taken and we went to dinner and Blockbuster. It was the first four hours we’ve spent together outside of the house in months. Austin was damn near pleasant to me (he’s always pleasant to everyone else). Another last and first.

And I’m going to say it was a perfect evening. Even an encounter with a stupid girl didn't taint the festivities, because the conversation was so entertaining that I had to write it down. Good times and material.

Prestige Portrait Studio hires professional photographers, but the people who work in the customer service area are apparently high school kids. They hum and sing and pull each other’s hair and giggle and generally behave like children attempting unsuccessfully to be grown.

Barbie-Adult-Wanna-Be: Name.

Me: Karen Rutherford

BAWB: Phone number.

Me:  317-410-3599.

BAWB: Really? That’s the number we’ve been calling all week to remind you of the appointment. Each time we call, someone tells us it’s the wrong number.

Me: Well, that's really odd because I haven’t received any calls. I have my phone right here. Do you want to try dialing it?

She does. It rings.

BAWB: I guess you need to find out who’s been answering your phone then.

Me: Huh?

BAWB: Someone keeps answering and telling us that we have the wrong number. You need to find out who’s doing that.

Me: Huh?

She started to repeat it. But the thought of that gave me those chills I get at the thought of fingernails scratching a chalkboard.

Me: I really don’t think that makes sense. It sounds like whoever called was just misdialing.

BAWB: We have 317-410-3599, like you told us. That’s the number we’ve been calling.

No matter how many times we did this, there was never going to be a happy ending. Even Austin was shaking his head at me in his familiar and unspoken “just let it go” affirmation.

So, I went to my happy place of looking forward to dinner at KJ’s (practicing to sound like a regular) in less than an hour.

I could eat every meal (if not for the awkward explanation I'd have to provide the loan officer) for the rest of my life at Kona Jack’s in Indianapolis. Last night was Sesame-seared Scallops, and Spider Rolls, and Mona Kona Miso soup. Oh My!

It’ll take me a week to get over it. And lucky for me, that’s exactly the amount of time I’ll need, too, because Lisa Munniksma and I have an appointment for dinner there on our way to a Spirit and Place Festival event on the 16th.

Reading

I love reading weekends and this one was tailor-made for it. Not quite cold, but close enough. Yellow and red leaves floating to the ground outside the picture window. A clean (enough) house. A comfy, over-stuffed chair. Two-sizes-too-big pajamas. A lap dog. And a big cup of hot chocolate. All boring and cliche, I know.

The first book I read was fiction: Feast of Love by Charles Baxter. The premise was brilliant: a man and a woman telling their very different accounts of a specific event in their relationship. But then new characters came into play and I can’t even explain what happened. What a chore. It was confusing in the worst way. Nothing felt connected. I lost the point, the purpose, the meaning. I kept thinking everything would come together and make sense in the end, but 300 pages later, it never did. I did enjoy crossing it off my to-read list and putting it in my “take to Half Price books to trade” bag, though.

The second book I read was non-fiction: A Book by Desi Arnaz. It was fascinating and surprisingly well written. It was factual and chronological to a fault, yet human, and, at times, funny. He was really just giving an account of his life and all I wanted was a different ending: Lucy and Desi together till the end just like I know Lucy and Ricky were. I wish he’d lived to write his sequel (which he was going to call Another Book).

I finished the weekend watching The Letter, a movie with Bette Davis. Over-acting and dramatization at its 1940s finest. I loved every minute of it.

It is weekends like this I know I’ll miss when I’m dead.

Run Granny Run

Run Granny Run airs on HBO this Thursday, October 18th, 9pm.

http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/rungrannyrun/index.html

I recently had my own personal “run”-in with Granny D. She was the keynote speaker at our Citizens’ Summit last month and I had the pleasure of driving her to her hotel for a rest after her speech.

During our entirely too short car ride, I learned that our organization’s fearless leaders had taken her to a restaurant where belly dancers entertained at the table.

She said, “It was certainly something to see!”

Worried that I might be in for an earful, I treaded lightly.  “Well, it sure is a good thing you weren’t offended by it.”

To which she enthusiastically replied, “Ohhh, my dear, it was offensive, indeed. But I loved it!”

There are no words. Like everyone else, I gushed about how remarkable she was, but it really didn’t even scratch the surface of what I meant.

Precinct Inspector Rutherford

November is election time here in Indiana. I volunteered to “work the polls”. I’m a big fan of a true populist democracy and, as every year passes, am increasingly concerned about its future. So, it seemed like a perfect fit: an opportunity to help voters have a good voting experience, ensuring repeat customers, especially in light of the hulabaloo about the last election here because of botched records and polling place mayhem.

Of course, no good cause comes without a catch. I have to report downtown at 4:30 am. AM! Apres morning. I just looked it up and it’s actually Ante Meridiem (Latin for before noon, not French for after morning).

Anyway, I could not care less about democracy and its privilege to vote before sunrise.

Or do I? Maybe democracy is why I haven’t had to care about certain things, like bombs and mortar shells and police states and home invasions, in the middle of the night.

It’s the reason I get to choose my beliefs and speak publicly about them. I get to assemble and protest. I get freedoms and pursuits. I get to worship whomever I choose.

It’s the reason I don’t have to worry about it in the middle of the night. It’s like the good kid in the family.

But it desperately needs tending to. So 4:30, it is.

Besides, another checkmark in the pro column is that my job title for the day is Precinct Inspector. I wonder if I get a badge. I bet I get a clipboard. I think I get minimum wage, too.

Me, me, me. I’m democratic after all.

Those wacky Christian schools

Say what? Oral Roberts U is being sued? For questionable and outlandish personal spending habits? Say it’s not so!!! I just can’t believe that a religious school might be guilty of anything, much less exorbitant spending. That just can’t be right, can it? Not here, not in America, not by organizations working for God and creating better people and all. I mean, Holy Crap.

Mr. Oral Roberts U gave a speech about the lawsuit to the school….in the chapel. He mispronounced litigious. He concluded, “Make no mistake about it. This suit is about money.”

I wonder if he knows he’s funny. He needs to spend some of that travel and home remodeling money on a speech writer. And a dictionary.

What makes me giddy with excitement, though, is that the former professors who filed the suit have accused Mrs. Oral Roberts U of texting male students in the middle of the night. Now that I can sink my teeth into! How fun! Over-the-hill women acting caarrr-aaaaazzzz-y. I love it! You go girl. Tell me more. Tell me more.

Realistically, though, I’m pretty sure that today’s headline will be the last. Things like this have a way of disappearing. Dammit.

http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/us/2007/10/08/roberts.oral.roberts.scandal.cnn

Two posts in one day

What the f-heck is going on with Paul Newman’s Mango Salsa in this town? It’s not at Kroger, it’s not at Marsh, it’s not at Meier, it’s not at Trader Joes, it’s not at Wild Oats. Every other flavor – bean and corn, pineapple, peach, what have you – but no mango. It’s maddening. It’s discrimination. Or maybe it’s just me – sure wouldn’t be the first time.

The only place I CAN find it is Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart! I feel about Wal-Mart the way private school parents feel about public school kids: no good can come from being that close to the unwashed.

I guess I’ll buy a case this afternoon, after I drink lunch to steel myself for the trip. I must “man up”, because I could literally drink this stuff. I’d like to think it’s the good-for-me lycopene in the tomatoes and the fruity goodness of the mango bits, but I’m pretty sure it’s the high fructose corn syrup. YUM!!

So, when I get home this afternoon, first a shower to wash off the grime, of course, and then a dinner of mango salsa and chips, looking at a cartoon drawing of Paul Newman (I eat right out of the jar for this reason) and knowing that, beyond my instant gratification, my $1.96 per-jar/$23.52 per-case contribution to his causes outweighs my sacrifice.