Chrismukkah

Continuing the current trend of large-scale mergers and acquisitions, it was announced today at a press conference that Christmas and Hanukkah will merge. An industry source said that the deal had been in the works for about 1300 years.

While details were not available at press time, it is believed that the overhead cost of having twelve days of Christmas and eight days of Hanukkah was becoming prohibitive for both sides. By combining forces, we're told, the world will be able to enjoy consistently high-quality service during the Fifteen Days of Chrismukkah, as the new holiday is being called.

Massive layoffs are expected, with lords a-leaping and maids a-milking being the hardest hit. As part of the conditions of the agreement, the letters on the dreydl, currently in Hebrew, will be replaced by Latin, thus becoming unintelligible to a wider audience.

Also, instead of translating to "A great miracle happened there," the message on the dreydl will be the more generic "Miraculous stuff happens." In exchange, it is believed that Jews will be allowed to use Santa Claus and his vast merchandising resources for buying and delivering their gifts.

One of the sticking points holding up the agreement for at least three hundred years was the question of whether Jewish children could leave milk and cookies for Santa even after having eaten meat for dinner. A breakthrough came last year, when Oreos were finally declared to be Kosher. All sides appeared happy about this.

A spokesman for Christmas, Inc., declined to say whether a takeover of Kwanzaa might not be in the works as well. He merely pointed out that, were it not for the independent existence of Kwanzaa, the merger between Christmas and Hanukkah might indeed be seen as an unfair cornering of the holiday market. Fortunately for all concerned, he said, Kwanzaa will help to maintain the competitive balance. He then closed the press conference by leading all present in a rousing rendition of "Oy Vey, All Ye Faithful."

Silence

Last night I was up late reading this beautiful piece of fiction in which the protagonist was called Silence, and eventually ended up pondering silence itself - about how scared we are of it, about how deafening it can be if we don't know how to recognize its true value.

We are so used to noise that silence has started to mean that you don't have anything valuable to say. People feel the need to fill the gap, and if someone becomes quiet while talking to us we become nervous and start filling the blanks with jargon. I've noticed, especially in a group, that if everyone suddenly becomes silent someone will always begin talking, even if it has nothing to do with the conversation. In fact, in our hurry to fill the silence we start thinking of topics beforehand in our head so that we'll have a fallback plan if the situation comes to that.

We feel that until we call attention to ourselves through our words, we won't have a chance to be noticed or a chance to contribute. This happens the most in interpersonal relationships, with your boyfriend or friend or family member. If they unburden themselves to you and tell you of some problem they might be having, you immediately start thinking of the solution you need to offer and imparting your advice - when maybe sometimes all they really want you to do is listen. To be able to have something 'insightful' to say, sometimes we forget to even listen.

This extends to inner silence as well; we are afraid that if we let our mind achieve stillness, we'll be forced to look into issues that we don't want to deal with. So we fill our head with a million thoughts that continually chase each other resulting in a cacophony of sound... but we forget that a symphony needs rest, patches of silence to accentuate the notes in between to elevate them, to let them shine.

The simple fact is that silence troubles us and we simply don't know how to deal with it (me being one such person).

Strangely enough, it is actually the testament to the strongest of relationships. If you can share silence with someone, it means you are so close that you don't need words to bridge the distance.

A Vote for Change

Video Game Violence

At a certain time in the development of any new entertainment industry, Puritanical reactionaries can be counted on to come out of the woodwork and wag the finger of blame, transforming the next evolution in performing art into the latest pre-packaged excuse for the decline of Western Civilization. In Shakespeare's time, actors were barely tolerated, and before that were considered no better than prostitutes. When Elvis Presley began to appear on late night television, "concerned" citizens assumed that wantonness and debauchery would follow thanks to The King's reckless pelvic thrusting. Among the first initiatives of the Nazis, as they began to seize power in 1920s Germany, was to stamp out a thriving and energetic stage culture, ostensibly because of its bizarre jazz sounds.

Now that rock music and movies have become acceptable mainstays of popular culture, the self-appointed guardians of morality step into the breach once again to take aim at the latest easy answer for all society's ills: video games. Figures such as Florida lawyer Jack Thompson, who has led several widely unsuccessful anti-video game campaigns, are the screeching, spitting, fist-pounding demagogues who demand that society compensate them for their lack of modern understanding by indulging them in their petty contests against video games and the creative, talented individuals who produce and play them.

Thompson and his irrational posse conflate video games and violence with the same shallow ignorance that once caused people to connect masturbation and blindness. Any art historian will tell you that the images created by any society are a reflection of that society's values and norms, and do not come into being in a vacuum. Clearly, unexamined social forces are in play; the nature of video games is merely a reflection, not a causal agent.

Now, if we were to take a glance at video game history, you'd notice a distinct lack of major protests against video gaming's influence before the production of Mortal Kombat (1992) or The House of the Dead (1996). No one ever led a crusade to prevent Super Mario from jumping on turtles, or Link from slaying a dragon. It's wrong to assert that before this time, video games did not depict violence between human characters: this has been going on since at least the mid-1980s, with titles like Bad Street Brawler or Urban Champion, (both released for the Nintendo Entertainment System in 1986).

Knowing these two things, we can reduce the major assumptions of video gaming's foes to two possibilities: Either a) video games do not reflect the norms of society and are unreasonably violent, gruesome, and so on or b) semi-realistic visual depictions of totally unrealistic acts cause people to completely lose their ability to tell fantasy from reality.

It is intellectually untenable for anyone to state that the video games of today do not reflect western cultural norms. Foundational literature shows countless depictions of gratuitous violence against humans across every gradiation of the moral spectrum: Beowulf. The Odyssey. The Bible. Even today, war is a continuous social fact that claims thousands of lives every year.

Despite this, organized violence is still accepted by the majority as both heroic and necessary; at the very least inevitable. War is considered an essential method of problem solving.The U.S. Army has recently released a computer video game aimed at recruiting youth into the military, and not the providence of any feature of gaming itself. Anyone who claims that you can learn to fire a rifle by pressing a button has obviously done neither.

So this means that the average game player can't be trusted to distinguish reality from falsehood, right? Absolutely not. We trust people at 18 - my own age, perhaps the age of your children - to fight in wars, to consume poisonous substances at will, to operate dangerous equipment and vehicles. The assumption, therefore, is generally made that their psyche is in good enough shape to not be irreparably damaged by an encounter with fiction, no matter what form it may take. Clearly, these aren't the people for whom most of those who would see video games abolished cry so loudly... though I suspect some of them would take video games (among other things) out of the hands of grown adults if they could.

This leaves children as the benefactors of Jack Thompson's righteous outrage, and to that idea I direct a simple question: who is buying games for these children? Who's letting them spend time in front of a TV when they should be developing skills to cope with life as a human being? Only mature, involved, caring adults can impress essential facts of co-existence upon the young mind, and among the first is this: what goes on in your head is not the same as what goes on in the world around you. In times of regular anger or distress, there should be no question of violence. In cases where young minds are disturbed, it is the responsibility of elders to notice the signs.

Video games are rated for content in a manner very similar to movies, allowing parents to take a proactive role. To claim that a well-adjusted, well-rounded and well-balanced young person can be incited to violence by a video game is utterly incredible. Such a superficial argument is tempting only because it shifts the blame away from countless complex social and psychological factors. These produce changes in a person's behavior any reasonably involved parent should be expected to notice. Even in the worst case scenario, when violence does occur, blaming a video game is not any more sensible than blaming a book, a fortune cookie, or the victim. The core skills of understanding what fiction is and what our relationship to it should be are the responsibility of the parent to provide, not that of teachers or any government agency.

The idea that video games cause violence is as hollow and dogmatic as a fire and brimstone sermon, couched in illogical beliefs and promoted as the centerpiece of a retrogressive agenda. Those who decry video games as the next great evil should focus their feverish energies on addressing the attitudes and afflictions that contribute to violence of every kind, especially among the young: the aggrandizement of the physically strong and attractive, issues of inequality based on race, wealth, and social class, and much, much more. Mature, responsible people do not recourse to violence in the real world, and when violence occurs, placing the blame on an inanimate object is an injustice to all concerned. Don't let the Jack Thompsons of the world convince you otherwise.

Strange Satellite Movies

Ever bother to press the 'info' button on your remote to check out the program descriptions? We did at my friend Rachel's last night... and the experience was somewhere in between kind of funny and slightly creepy.

Here's a sample of what I'm talking about:


An enraged one-legged Scottish janitor shoots his wealthy employer in the leg and kidnaps his grandmother at gunpoint.

A samurai who can turn into a shape-shifting creature enters a town that holds a strange and deadly secret.


A gay waterfowl and his longtime companion split up due to an unexpected love interest. Animated.


A teenager undergoes a personality change while trying to free himself of the need to suck his thumb.


Valley girls cruise Southern California with Mac, Wiploc and Zebo from the planet Jhazzala.


Gangsters, dissatisfied customers and the FBI pursue two Los Angeles punks selling cellular phones from their van.

Super Mario Bros. Flute-a-tized

I thought this was a cool take on the theme of one of my favorite video games:

Criminals of the Writing World Unleashed

Every student unleashes the writer in their own writing that sucks from time to time. It's that writer that we've spent years tying up and gagging and locking away in a forgotten corner of our mind. Often more than one must be captured. They try to corrupt us with their mediocrity and platitudes, yet we resist and round them back into their cells.

As time passes our guard goes down, or perhaps was never on duty to begin with, and the prisoners run amuck and infect our poetry or our prose. In an effort to subdue them, we have to be vigilant and know what they look like.

I give you, the ten writers that suck:

1. The Egoist: This writer's motto is: I write for myself. This lexical masturbator never realizes that writing is communication, a method of conveyance. Without an audience, there is no point, and writing becomes a complete waste of time.The Egoist never gets that his time would be better spent doing something else. Grammar is oppressive and rules don't apply to me. He never learns to first communicate, but instead is only interested in emptying his own thoughts on paper regardless if anyone else can understand them.Rules are often avoided to such an extreme that he needs to create new rules to make sure he avoids the establishment's. Reading the Egoist's work is like listening to a speech given by someone without any lips.

2. The Grammar Nazi: She believes in a perfect grammar, and will go out of her way to destroy those she feels are imperfect. Or she may only believe in one grammar and may not even realize that many exist. Her bigotry is ruthless and often makes her work rigid and stoic. Her words are cold, distant, and sterile; and she will eventually have to resort to writing instruction manuals to supplement her income.

3. The Transcendentalist: He can be identified by his lifetime commitment to his masterpiece, even though a good year's honest hard work would have produced better results. For him, writing is art (said with an ethereal voice). But he never goes on to define art. The Transcendentalist can never exactly tell you where words come from, because he is a conduit, an empty vessel. At least his head is. The Transcendentalist waits around for something to happen and invented the superstition of writer's block.

4. The Artist: She's more interested in being a writer than actually doing any writing. She talks a good talk, but put a pencil in her hand and all she can do is break the lead.The Artist is more fun at parties than a real writer because she frequents them so much she never gets anything done. The only downside of her writing career is that she cannot tolerate those hours where she must be alone with herself and write.

5. The Expositionist: He starts, interludes, and ends by describing every minute detail in his work. Most of what he writes has little to no relevance to the story or the theme, but he judges quality by detail. He's the guy at the party nobody wants to talk to because he has a talent for saying so little with a great many words.

6. The Diarrhetic Writer: Sister to the Expositionist, she is a mindless spout of diarrhetic verbosity. While the Expositionist is compelled by detail, the Diarrhetic Writer is compelled only by words. Her parents call her prolific, but her writing is inane and nonsensical and delivered in mass quantity. She's the author of the never-ending story.

7. The Premature Ejaculator: This over-eager author finishes too quick. Perhaps the polar opposite of the Expositionist, he lacks any setup whatsoever. The audience gets a finish, but no satisfaction. If his problem stems from ignorance, then his conclusion lacks motive. If his problem stems from delusion, then his conclusion is a gimmick. In either case the reader feels cheated.

8. The Moralist: She has lots of time to write because nobody invites her to parties. She writes with a mission and only tells one side of the story. She makes the improbable probable in order to support her sermon. She's often the most important character in her stories.

9. What's-His-Name: He loves pronouns and hates antecedents. He calls his abstractness post-modern rather than admit it's lazy, vague, and tedious. His reader must often invent the parts he leaves out.

10. The Writer with Tourette's: If she's lucky, then her words are plagued with profanity. Overly indulgent fuck's, pussy's, and cocksucker's can sometimes pass off as in vogue. The most damning are the banal really's, so's, and there's; the words that don't even insult.

Getting High on Life

I've been thinking a lot about Kierkegaard and Kafka these last few weeks (think philosophy)and that, among other more troublesome things, has gotten me distracted from typing away on this blog. You'll find that I'm like that sometimes. A thing crawls into my brain, not something tangible, but the intangible, and it plants a seed and starts to grow. It takes hold of me, screwing with me a while before becoming a part of me... or is it that I become a part of it?

Most of us out here in Americaland are Platonic, with the obvious exception of me of course (when am I ever normal?). So you all believe in something big. You think that there are right answers and there are wrong answers. This might not apply to all of you, but it does to most of you. And that's what separates you from people in other cool places like Europe. They tend to be Kierkegaardian in nature - Existential is the word. They, like I, like B-ridget Harman, wake up each morning and discover we have become big giant bugs.

While all you Platonists are "finding yourselves", discovering what you already know, all the rest of us are discovering we are something new each day, something different... which is kind of where I've been lately. I've become a bigger bug than usual and have been getting to know me again. It's like waking up and trying to figure out where you are, only you know exactly where you are, you just have to figure out who you are.

But oddly enough, there's a liking part that comes with it - you actually kind of like being the bug. You realize that you are something new. You are different than you were yesterday, than last year, than you were as a child. There's a high that come with this sort of feeling, a freedom, a power. So I've been riding that high. And it just so happens that this is keeping me just intrigued enough, even if only momentarily, to keep my mind from falling victim to insanity.

The Wrath of the Indian Monkeys

Tonight (since my insomnia has taken over yet again) I would like to talk about something that threatens, well, none of us... unless you are reading this blog in Delhi.

Apparently, there is a massive monkey menace in Delhi, India, where they are being overrun with evil monkeys. Sure, you might read that and think, “What, are they throwing crap and doing things that crazy little monkeys do?”

Nope. They threw the deputy mayor of Delhi from his terrace, giving him a serious head injury that led to his death. I shit you not, this is totally real. In India it is forbidden to kill monkeys for religious purposes. This. coupled with the fact that people have been feeding monkeys in order to obtain divine rewards, has led to a rise of unruly monkeys. How out of control have these monkeys been?

"Monkeys have invaded government ministries in New Delhi, ridden elevators andclimbed along windowsills. Monkeys slapped students inside a girls school in asouth Bengal suburb. A gang of monkeys in the city of Chandigarh ripped uplawns, broke flowerpots and yanked sheets off beds. Some monkeys, mostly loners, have bitten people, injuring and even killing small children."

Wait. Read that over - they went into a school and slapped the students around? Is that not the funniest thing you've ever read??

Teacher: Jane, why were you late for class?
Jane: A monkey just kicked the shit out of me.
Teacher: Sure Jane, sure...

So what do you do with unruly monkeys that you can't kill? Send them to monkey jail, of course! But none of this has really worked and Delhi is losing its battle against the rouge monkeys. You know what, I don't even have a solution to offer up. I was going to say that I could create a band of freedom fighters that would come and take care of the monkey problem. Maybe I could even wear a cool eye patch and have the latest in military technology to fight the monkeys. But, after thinking about it, why the hell would I want to do that? I am waiting for the inevitable monkey car theft or perhaps even plane theft. Or the story about how someone went to buy an ice cream and the only people working were monkeys, which of course would only dish out banana ice cream.

So India, I beg you: continue your no killing of monkey policies. You can learn to co-exist with them, and and they can continue to be productive members of society. Woo-hoo.

Procrastination & Satisfaction

I catch myself frequently assigning a date other than the present for whenever I’ll feel satisfied with my daily life. Some of it’s procrastination; I tend to put off today what (I convince myself) can be done tomorrow. I dread the hours a 20-page research paper will require so I put it off hoping that in another day I actually want to sit at my computer for hours on end. My quality of life, I tell myself, will improve exponentially when it’s done. I’ll be able to get up in the early morning and sip coffee by the window while reading the news, workout and run before noon, taking the rest of the day to do any number of unproductive tasks I see fit… whenever the paper’s done.

I can’t mentally dismiss assigned academic work, as some apparently can, and blissfully watch movies or hang out. Whether it’s a lengthy paper or impending exam, it sticks in the back of my mind and follows me around constantly announcing its presence like the kid-sister that insisted upon torturing you throughout your childhood. Required work and tasks that must be done occupy my mind, at least on some subterranean level, and lead me to assume that I would be much happier if those things weren’t there.

Life generally strikes me in a similar way. I barely make enough to sustain my frugal lifestyle and wish that I had more leisure time to pursue my interests independent of work and school. I’ve been pegging October as the period when these dreams would be actualized but now with the unrelenting business of my schedule it may not be until December. There’s so much which has to be done which gets in the way of the friends with whom I’d like to hang out, the books I’d like to read, and the time when I’d like to relax, etc., that I long for the day when those obligations and necessities aren’t there. I’m beginning to suspect that this will be how life always falls, unless I turn to monasticism, which would probably eliminate a lot of those extracurricular activities I miss.

Hopefully the future involves financial stability without requiring all of those painstaking hours of weekly slave labor as a teenage maid. However, I wonder if I'm naively concluding that satisfaction is contingent upon situational factors rather than a personal choice to make the most of what one has. What if there are always things which we wish weren't part of our lives... does this necessitate discontentment? I'm leaning towards no.

Self-Improvement

"I think, therefore I am," Descartes claimed, summarizing in one simple, five-word sentence the very essence of Rationalism. But Descartes didn't realize how close he was to penning an equally insightful quip, one that is the beginning point of all self-improvement programs: "I am, therefore I stink." The wise Proverbs claim that fear is the beginning of wisdom, but I say that it is rather a well-working nose that is not afraid to report the truth that its owner is foul.

It isn't as if I am on to something new. Indeed, Freud likened psychoanalysis to catharsis. Have you ever looked up the word catharsis? It means to have a bowel movement. In that case, we might modify our self-improvement quip to be "I am in therapy; therefore I stink," in which case "stink" changes from being an adjective (a quality that is descriptive of our being) to a verb (an action that we impel upon others). To clarify this ambiguity, I propose adding "up," so that our proverb reads "I am; therefore I stink up."

So, we agree then that the process of self-improvement not only begins with our stinking, but in our producing stench. This is a good starting point because a person who believes him or herself to be of good essence must also believe he or she has a good essence, when in reality any "good" essence is only a veneer, a bait and switch as it were. And there is nothing worse than being one of those people who stinks though everyone around that person is afraid to say something because, as if the person is freely whiffing the "essence" of self, he or she has the nose stuck straight up in the air. I believe this is why the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous came up with the Twelve Steps and agreed to get together in meetings where members state, "I am Frank and I'm an Alcoholic." When we begin the process of admitting our lack of control over our addiction, affliction, or stench, it isn't far down the road that we recognize our need for a higher power. Indeed, "I am Frank, and I stink. God help me."

When the ancients equated the soul of man to his breath, they were close to finding the truths we are discovering ourselves. A woman who has eaten garlic takes aims to cover her sin with a mint before talking with others, because one's breath is in one's soul, and if your breath stinks, you stink. It is curious to me that the ancients dismissed the relevance of flatulence, another wind (pneuma) that proceeds from within. But flatulence always stinks and there is nothing you can do to cover it. Unlike breath, which can be freshened, flatulence is suppressed until you are in private, thus continuing the facade that you do not stink, when in fact you do - profusely. In that sense, we ought to equate the soul with flatulence because, like flatulence, everybody has a soul that stinks and we try to hide its reality from others. I am, I have a soul, and therefore I stink. "Can you smell that?" A certain infamous family member from my childhood would ask after emitting flatulance. He, I declare, was an honest man. He was not afraid to bear his soul, and he lived a long and happy life, never married, knew his limitations, and left a legacy of health and joy.

I am, therefore I stink. Stench is the beginning of wisdom. Remember this acumen and you are on the path to health, of knowing that it all begins with an honest appraisal and a bold step forward to confidently go where most humans will not admit they have been.

The Attack on Classic Literature

As someone who aspires to become an English teacher, I sometimes find myself debating inwardly on what exactly I would have my students read. Scores of educational theorists and our good friend common sense tell us that the best way to get kids to learn is to present them with something interesting, something relevant to their daily lives.

Unfortunately, many students are turned off by the classic examples of Western Literature. They deride Dickens, hate Homer, and shun Shakespeare. And honestly, I can't blame them. Even though I devour that sort of thing, I freely admit that I am obviously in the minority; I know of no other classmate who toted an unabridged version of The Iliad to middle school.

The problem is actually a relatively easy one to diagnose. A lot of it, not surprisingly, stems from the language used in such titles. Although everything on an American high school reading list is in English (either originally or via translation), not all of it is what students today recognize as modern English. That seemingly small barrier quickly leads to disapproval, as many students, even those in honors and AP classes, find it difficult to identify with the characters and care about the story. Reading literature, after all, should never be work!

I've found that this is the idea behind the current trend in secondary education, the movement to find and employ literature that meets students halfway - well-written prose that still manages to be relevant to the average teenager's life and culture. Many of these works are written in the past few decades, and most deal with some easily-recognizable issue with which students can identify.

Does this mean that we should ignore the classics? Hardly! For one, those stories are called "classic" for a reason; that means they've withstood the scrutiny of countless generations. They also give us a window to the past, a chance to see what life was like in older societies.

The trick, then, is to find the link. There are certain universal issues and concerns that pervade every society, and it is the teacher's job to help students establish those themes. Hamlet, for instance, deals greatly with the themes of betrayal and depression, motifs that are certainly relevant to the average high-school student. I would know - I am one!

To me, teaching is an art. It may not always be easy, but it has certainly got to be rewarding, particularly when you accomplish something with your students that they never realized was possible. So don't shy away from those classics simply because the connections aren't always immediately obvious. After all, everyone benefits more when the teacher puts more effort into the lesson.

Ninja Strategery

I just had a stunning revelation. At first I thought myself stupid for not thinking of this earlier. But then I realized that I must be the first person to have thought of this, because obviously if someone else had it would already have happened.

The thought I had was this: Why isn't the Army using more ninjas? Just think about it: the Army is presently involved in a war that was scheduled to end several years ago, one that wasn't even originally billed as a war. They are apparently struggling with an insurgency and a nation in danger of destabilization. You see, Iraqis have a different definition of "greeting as liberators" than Americans do. In their culture this term means fire-bombing, flag burning, and rocket launching. This is merely a cultural difference, and one that our traditional Army may not be trained or equipped to handle.

But the problem does not lie with the U.S. soldiers in Iraq; in fact, they are very talented men and women who perform their jobs very well. I have watched quite a few documentaries on the Marines and the Navy SEALS (The Rock, The Marine, G.I. Jane) and they share many similar traits with ninjas. The one quality that our Marines and SEALS possess that a ninja does not, however, is sympathy. As the Iraqi insurgents place bombs under our soldiers' trucks, our men are taken aback by their sweet gestures. They think "Oh look, how thoughtful. He is greeting me as a liberator by killing my friends." And then instead of stopping the bomber by putting one swift bullet into his head, he merely takes him captive and tortures him. If ninjas were in Iraq, that son of bitch would have been dead before he woke up that morning.

Which then brings up another issue that would be cleared up if the Army relied soley on ninjas: torture. Ninjas don't torture. Perhaps they might if they had time, but unfortunately their victim was dead after the very first blow. In fact, by ninja standards, "torture" is when it takes two shots to kill a man instead of one.


Another benefit to adding ninjas to the U.S. Army is that the Draft would no longer be necessary. For a war like the one we are having in Iraq, you'd need like 5, maybe 6 ninjas at most. This would allow Cindy Sheehan to cool her jets and enjoy some much needed family time (at home).


Having ninjas as our only soldiers would also make the President's job significantly easier and less stressful. If the American people demanded to know what the troops were doing, the President could hold a press conference and the only reply he'd have to offer would be, "I don't have a clue as to what they're doing. They're ninjas, you know? They're very secretive. Hard to keep track of. They're strategery is beyond me!" And everyone would be like, "Oh, yeah... that's a good point."


In addition, ninjas are extremely effective nation builders. One night the people of Iraq would go to sleep, and the next morning they'd wake up, look out their windows (or bomb holes) and... DEMOCRACY!


Admittedly, I'm not exactly sure what it's going to take to round up the ninjas we are looking for. Maybe Chuck Norris has some sort of special Ninja whistle that only ninjas can hear. I don't know. All I'm saying is let's stop wasting our time looking for alternative fuels, and see if we can't find an alternative soldier.

Semi-Homemade Stupidity

Yesterday whilst channel surfing, I stopped on a cooking show on the Food Network called "Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee." The woman, through the act of enunciating of her words, indicated she was suffering from a major bout of Fucking Retardosis that made Rachel Ray look like the president of MENSA, but that wasn't really the point. She was making oven-baked hot dogs wrapped in bacon.

Now, I know that some of you are going "Holy sodium nitrites, Batman!" or "Holy Mother of Mohammed, where can I get some of that??" (For the record, I was thinking both.) As a gluttonous American, I love hot dogs and I love bacon, but I make no notions at all that either thing is actually healthy. Putting the two together just sounds, well, awesome. In that ass-fattening kind of way.

But leave it to our creative hostess, Sandra Lee, to actually spin the bacon-wrapped hot dog entree as something worth eating for NUTRITIONAL reasons! "Oh, the kids are gonna just eat this up! And it's a GREAT way to get some protein into them!" Wow. You know, if I was concerned about a kid's protein intake, I could think of about a dozen healthier alternatives to bacon-wrapped hot dogs. Listen, Sandra: the average hot dog has about 20 grams of fat. Wrapping a piece of bacon adds about four or five more, and we won't even discuss the sodium content, which is nothing short of egregious.

There is no need to sell these gorgeous meaty concoctions as something with any kind of redeeming nutritional value. When we encounter these foods that are good for nothing more than soothing the demons in our souls, we call them "treats." Now stop being an idiot before you burn yourself.

p.s. I turned 18 today and am going to get a tattoo soon. Yay me!

The Problem With Mother Nature

While scientists continue to pour on irrefutable evidence that Global Warming is indeed a reality and something that we as a society need to fix, politicians and religious leaders just don't want to give in. For every logical and rational argument that science puts out there, politics lashes back with a crazy and unfounded counter-point. But the facts are adding up and the politicians are running out of crappy excuses for the sudden rise in temperature. So I came up with a new one that just might work.

Consider this: perhaps Mother Earth is simply having hot flashes. Put into the perspective of the timeline of the entire Universe, Mother Earth is at about that age where she should be experiencing Menopause. Her bodies of water are going through some changes, but this is totally normal; lots of women go through this natural change everyday. And Nature is prepared for this shift. In fact, this isn't the first time Mother Earth has experienced this sort of thing. Think back to when the ice ages ended and the polar caps all melted and flooded the Earth. That was Mother Earth getting her first period!

This excuse will work like a charm. Anytime a guy hears that a girl is going through her "lady times," he shuts up right away, no questions asked. In fact, most guys have no idea what "lady times" really entail, and are willing to assume anything that happens during those times is perfectly normal.

The problem with the politicians' current tactic is that they are using arguments that the scientists are comfortable talking about. Nothing, however, makes a nerd more uncomfortable than a hot girl... and that's exactly what Mother Earth is right now.

Looking Back, Moving Forward

Often in our lives we reach a state of emptiness. We become weary and discontent with our life, with our world. It's as if we're in a lazy state of boredom, needing something, yet not motivated to identify it, let alone acquire it. This is when the dark nostalgia kicks in, the longing for things past. The devaluing of what you have now compared to what was once yours.

In many blogs I've lurked in the past few months, I recognized that dark nostalgia—the ennui, enough where any one blogger shouldn't feel I'm talking about him or her. There are a bunch of you out there, and I recognize that torture we put ourselves through, whether it's searching for someone to love, moving someplace new, or just not knowing what to do next.

All of us have gotten or will get into that state of immersive reclusion, the feeling that we are surrounded and alone. I remember those times personally, but they themselves are nostalgia for me. My life is often difficult and challenging, probably much like your own, yet I've come to own it and savor it and am fascinated by it. My life has times of happiness and sadness, and I relish them both.

I haven't had those moments of dark nostalgia for a while now. Writing, especially blogging, is one of the few times I actually spend thinking about the past. And I think I understand why. Our past, especially a fond memory, is defined by two specifics: the people involved and the novelty of the moment.

The first item, "the people," I didn't understand for a very long time. I spent much of my life trying to get away from people, away from crowds. Yet when I think about any fond memory I have, it is the people that made it special. I don't think I've ever started a story with, "There was this one time when I sat around my house all day by myself and ..." But we talk about situations like they have a life of their own. Metaphors are nice, but they can obscure reality; the life isn't in the event, it's in the people, and more specifically, the people that were special to you in that moment.

Just try to recall any significant event in your life and think about what was special about it; you'll find that in each case it was the people with you or around you that made it special. All of our "favorites" in life will most likely have people associated with them - your favorite food. Your favorite game. Your favorite movie. People define life and give it meaning, and our memories are special because of them.

The second item, "novelty," is easily forgotten. While not as strong as the people factor, novelty is still powerful in affecting our memories. Simply put, something new is memorable. We remember that date with the person that was different, that lunch at the new restaurant, and how wonderful that new movie was.

We often forget how special much of our daily lives are simply because it isn't new. We've seen the movie over a dozen times so it has lost some of its original appeal. But does it stop being great just because we are intimate with the film? With our boyfriend? With our food? We over-sensualize the things in our daily lives to the point where they bore us and we then find ourselves craving the novelty.

So what have I learned? For one, we need each other to give our lives meaning. I still like to go off into my own little world, but now I can stare at you in the eyes without blinking. I've learned not to eat Asian seven nights a week, to keep my sensuality fresh, to look at different pictures, to listen to different music, to taste different food. It is this variety that brings a freshness and comfort to the mundane.

You can return to that town you used to live in but the people are different and the novelty is gone. It wasn't the town, the movie theater, or the high school, it was the right people and the freshness that made it special. Fulfillment isn't found looking back and longing, it is in accepting new people and new situations. We grow old and die because otherwise, life would be a dull sensation that drives us all mad.

If Star-crossed Lovers Lived

Do you think Romeo and Juliet would have been as immortal in life as they were in death? I mean, had they lived and had little Romeo Jr. (technically they were already married) would they be as famous and as oft-quoted as they are now? Would their love story still be deemed the greatest love story of all time - a perfect ode to love?

Yeah right! Romeo never had to see Juliet first thing in the morning, and Juliet never heard Romeo snoring. Tragedy is what lends so much allure to love stories, what allows them to play out, reach their natural life cycle and, like everything else, eventually reach the maturity stage. At this point dying for one another might appear to be slightly foolish, if not downright ridiculous.

Love changes over time. It grows deeper, and the thumping heart and jelly knees turn into a different kind of emotion; it becomes real, and like everything real, it stops being a perfect little fairy tale.

It becomes more meaningful because it is accepted with all of its flaws and imperfections; it turns into acceptance and respect and the desire to make things work even when the going gets a bit rough.

It's a strange kind of friendship, a paradox of sorts - someone capable of hurting you worse than anyone ever could, but at the same time someone who can make you the happiest you've ever been.

It is being accepted even after you've made a complete ass of yourself at times. It is making room for another in your precious space, allowing the heart to open up a little more every day to accommodate each others' insecurities and ego, unspoken fears and vanities.

It's doing little things for one another. It is unconsciously turning in the night and feeling thankful for the person next to you, feeling content at knowing there is someone out there who knows you better than you think they know you; someone who you may fight with and exchange cruel words with, but someone who will still be there in the morning.

Someone you may walk away mentally from once in a while... but someone you return to each time. Someone tied to you with the most fragile of bonds, yet often the one most difficult to break.

Recipe For Disaster, Er, Democracy

After arriving home last night I made it a point to watch General Patraeus's speech to Congress and President Bush's address to the nation (had to Tivo both). Hmmm. I feel this is an appropriate response.

From the Less With More Global Politics Cookbook:

Ingredients:

1 pre-emptive military strike…

1 prolonged occupation…

Mix together with de-stabilizing forces such as sectarian extremist groups…

Let bake ____ years

Instructions:

Don’t ask any questions about the recipe. Once you have begun this recipe, don’t try other recipes. When it looks like the recipe isn’t going to turn out, add another ingredient (surge).

Here is an insider perspective on the situation in Baghdad. I wonder if we can hear the truth in the voice of this 24 year-old dentist (Iraqi) who speaks of the current state of affairs and the effectiveness of the American military/political strategy.

Customer Service (or lack thereof)

Customer Service? What the hell is that? The rules have changed. Customer service is out - "we don't give a bleep!" is in. Nice people are shooting strangers, polite people are becoming rude. As feelings of frustration intensify from indifference from those providing products and services, tempers flare and normally docile people are being reduced to raging maniacs.

Customer service assistance used to be the answer when you had a problem. If a problem could not be resolved, a supervisor could often make things right. Many businesses had local offices where customer service problems could be resolved in person. Deregulation, voicemail, the Internet, outsourcing of employment, and devaluation of customers not only took away authority from those able to rectify problems, but it also removed places you could go to file a complaint in person.

Just try resolving a problem or dispute with any large corporation these days. Today, dialing a customer service number starts a predictable chain of events:

First comes the procrastination; I dread making the call because I can already predict the end result pretty darn accurately. But being one who dislikes continually being taken advantage of by corporations, I just have to make an effort, hoping that maybe customer service is coming back into vogue.

When dialing the telephone number, my defenses begin raising up like concrete walls to protect me from them, and them from me. As the phone rings my heart rate increases as I am already anticipating the confusing voicemail options and the game of trying to guess which number will get a real person to answer. And then it starts. "That number is not an option", or even better, "We are experiencing a high volume of calls so please call back later", and then... click! The friggin' phone is dead.

When someone finally does answer with the standard "How can I provide you with excellent customer service?" I am distracted from the paperwork I worked on while waiting on hold for an hour. With my neck now in a kink, I would just love to reply with "It would be the first time", but I'm still in "Bridget, be nice" mode, so I proceed to again repeat my problem.

Somehow, all of my previous calls that I thought were documented in the computer have now disappeared. Asked to repeat all the same information yet again, I begin to feel the ugly rage monster roaming around inside my chest. My voice starts getting louder as it becomes increasingly difficult to keep my sarcasm out of the conversation.

I again hear the clicking of a keyboard while I am talking to the customer service person, while I envision all those previously lost keystrokes floating around somewhere in outer space. I'm beginning to believe my conversations are being deleted upon completion just to test my endurance. How many times can we lose her before we force her to call the crisis clinic to deflate her frazzled emotional state?

If you really want to amuse yourself, try to convince a company they owe you money for lost time, wages, and therapy appointments. Most of us have spent too many long hours waiting for something to be delivered that arrived late, defective, or not at all. Then there is the time spent calling repeatedly about a problem. I have yet to be compensated other than a small credit on my bill for my lost time and nothing for my insanity issues.

What finally unleashes the rage monster is when I have done nothing wrong and I have to pay the price for a company's incompetence. Unfortunately, the only one available to take the wrath is some poor soul who needs a job and ends up working for a company that doesn't give two shits about their customers.

To add insult to injury and due to outsourcing of jobs to other countries, often the customer service clerks do not have the English speaking skills to be understood. Although difficult on those of us who have good hearing, broken accents are even more difficult on someone who has hearing problems.

So, after running through the maze, being left on hold (haven't even mentioned that horrible elevator music) and being told there is nothing that can be done, I once again give up any hope of resolving the problem and the company once again wins. Damn. I guess I'll just have to take comfort in something a very wise woman once said: "Karma's a bitch." They'll get theirs.

***Blog topic compliments of Cingular Wireless, HP, & DishNetwork (in case you were wondering).

Dependence Day

The curse of youth is believing that we thirst for independence; in reality, however, our dependence on others is often what we value the most. As my 18th birthday is fast approaching, I am just now realizing how guilty I've been of this over the past few years. In two weeks I will have every right in the world to pack up my stuff, leave my father's house, move into an apartment with some roomies, and even buy a box of cigars to celebrate. And I always thought that the only flaw in this age-old teenage fantasy had to do with the financial aspects of it. This is shocking, I know, but guess what? I was wrong. Not only that, but I was so wrong that I am admitting it to you now.

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am fiercely independent - or at least I try to be. I've always preferred to deal with situations personally, to not let others know what troubles I am burdened with, to do all that I can to avoid asking for help with a problem that is mine to solve. So maybe I've always felt that doing everything on my own will one day reap me the reward of getting to do everything that I want to as well. It is now that I've just had the EUREKA! moment I needed to realize that no matter how old we get, freedom is never really the answer. (Though it is nice. And very convenient.)

Think about it: when we are young, we are restrained; our parents control virtually every aspect of our lives, and many times are the final authority on decisions that are actually ours to make. Naturally, we rebel. We go through years of teenage resentment and upon graduation day can think of no better idea than to get as far away from our parents and their judgments as is possible. Although this "being your own boss" thing and getting to live for yourself may come with a few perks, it's definitely not what it's cracked up to be. Furthermore, it doesn't last; there will inevitably come a day when we choose to live our lives with and for someone else, when suddenly the idea of not getting our way all of the time will be reintroduced into our lives. I am finding that the more prepared I am for such a thing, the less and less my inner-self struggles for independence.

The thing is, it's so easy to feel being that way is okay when the people surrounding you would still be there if you weren't that way. Translation: if I one day fall flat on my ass because I never asked you for help, you will still be willing to give it to me. People like that are a very rare gift in our lives; God blesses us with one set of those at birth, and we even find a few ourselves before leaving the nest. But what happens when we reach a point when we have to say goodbye to both of them in search of a new life with new people? How do we make the transition from being able to count on those familiar faces we have come to know and love to having no choice but to survive without their help?

There is a Brad Pitt movie quote that goes "I guess in the end you start thinking about the beginning." Reflecting on this statement, I can't help but think about the beginnings of so many things that will soon come to an end... and perhaps things that already have. As a result, I've decided that I'm still going to pack up my stuff. I'm still going to move out of my father's house. I'm still going to buy that box of cigars. Only now, I do these things not from a motivation of freedom or stubborn independence, but with the knowledge that relying on those you care for when you really need to is something to embrace, something to offer in return, something to feel good about. Something that lets you know when life's a bitch (as it frequently can be) you'll pull through a little less scarred because there were people by your side willing to fight the fight with you.

For those of you who have fit that description in my life, I thank you from the depths of my very heart and soul; I love you with every ounce of my being. I would be lost without you.

Rocket Science

I recently heard about this movie from my friend Chris, and I've decided that it is an absolute must-see. What can I say? It appeals to my inner-nerd.

100 Things

I've seen these lists on a lot of other sites and, seeing as how they're becoming quite common, thought it was time for me to make one as well. So here it is - 100 completely random things you may or may not know about me. (I'm still trying to figure out how my attention span of about zero allowed me to get this done!)


1. I believe in fate/divine intervention/whatever you want to call it. All I know is I am where I am because it is exactly where I am supposed to be right now.

2. Because of that faith, I can get through just about anything.

3. I was brought up as a Roman Catholic.

4. I left the church at 15. My mother has never forgiven me.

5. I've made it a point to go to other houses of worship and to study other faiths. I even went through a brief agnostic phase.

6. Speaking of faith, I am more spiritual than secular. Therein lies my problem with the Catholic church. Oh, that and original sin. And purgatory.

7. I know we are not alone. There is no possible way that humans are the most intelligent life form. If so, we have wasted a golden opportunity by being so egoistic.

8. I frequently think about the tenuousness of life, of how random and delicate the balance is. And it frightens me, sometimes to the point of panic. We are surviving because a star is burning at the perfect temperature the perfect distance away from this perfectly chemically balanced blue marble… yet we continue to pump chemicals into our atmosphere and our water and destroy rainforests and obliterate whole species. Who’s to say we aren’t next?

9. If we were next, I don’t think it would bother me very much. Except for that whole dying thing, I would say we deserve what we get.

10. I think too much.

11. I don’t tell people what I’m thinking very often.

12. I get the feeling I’ve done this before quite a lot. Yup, déjà vu. A LOT.

13. I am allergic to idiots.

14. I am a clean freak because I have to be, but there is actually nothing I hate more.

15. If I could afford it, I would have a housekeeper. Like that's ever going to happen!

16. I hate going to the doctor.

17. I hate going to the dentist even more.

18. If I make more than one dentist appointment in a six-month span, someone has held a gun to my head.

19. Because of the above, I’m pretty good at self-diagnosis.

20. I’m happily involved in a wonderful relationship. It’s not perfect (the distance sucks right now) but it’s better than I ever thought I deserved. Yup, I'm in lurve.

21. I am, by nature, a jealous person. This comes from being cheated on and blindsided with it. Trust is tough for me... I'm working on it.

22. I am also, by nature, a loyal person. I have a select bunch of close friends and only one love. Just the way I am.

23. My family tree is full of alcoholics. Don't worry, I'm nothing like them.

24. I don’t lose my temper very often. I tend to simmer. When I do lose it, however, watch out.

25. I am passive-aggressive. I don’t always tell you when something is bothering me but you will know.

26. I don’t like conflict, but will always stand up for myself or others if necessary.

27. I love to sing along with loud music… loudly.

28. I even sing in the shower.

29. I hate Hate HATE being late.

30. I don’t like fast food much… unless you call hole-in-the-wall Chinese fast food.

31. I love daisies. They have a fresh, clean grass smell, unlike other stinkier flowers like lilies (funeral) and lilacs (old ladies). Not yellow ones (though I wouldn’t object to a thousand yellow daisies someday).

32. I love to move. Not just dancing, but looking in someone’s eyes and just moving together, as if there is no one else watching.

33. Hoping to get a tattoo next month. They don't hurt as much as people say they do.

34. I have three sisters.

35. I love to hold hands.

36. I love to be held, too.

37. I don’t like wearing makeup. Oddly, this doesn't stop me from doing so.

38. I love getting manicures and pedicures, but don't regularly. Not good at caring for my nails.

39. I hate glitter… and sequins… and ribbons and lace and other embellishments.

40. I’m not high maintenance.

41. I wish I was taller. It's a disappointment to stop growing at 5'3".

42. I hate my hair. It's thin and loves to fall flat.

43. I have hazel eyes.

44. My eyes are my worst feature… they show every flicker of emotion, every flinch, every wince. Damn them.

45. I don’t like to try clothes on before I buy them. Dressing rooms are evil black holes of destroyed self-esteem.

46. I don’t wear perfume very often. Too many of them smell like "old lady."

47. I do use body wash and body spray from Bath & Body works. It’s one indulgence I enjoy.

48. Coffee… nectar of the gods.

49. I love to read.

50. I hate romance novels. These people wouldn’t know romance if it hit them on the head.

51. I hate stereotypes, bigotry, ignorance and small-mindedness.

52. I also don’t see how people can put so much stock in the color of someone’s skin. It’s just SKIN, people. A bag that keeps your insides in. People of different colors don’t act differently… I do think people of different cultures act differently, but colors? I don’t see it. I don’t think it should be so emphasized with kids, either. You are raising a generation of bigots by living as if its all Us vs. Them.

53. I like Spring. Rebirth, a new chance. Watching buds unfold and eggs hatch gives me hope.

54. I like Fall better. Perfect temperature outside, the leaves are beautiful, and there's just something about Autumn air that smells good.

55. I don’t feel 18.

56. I live with my father; it's just us.

57. Sometimes I feel like I'm the parent. I just don't pay the bills he does.

58. I have an I.Q. of 139. Not the best, but not too shabby either.

59. Everything having to do with computers interest me. My laptop is my baby.

60. I love to travel. London this past summer was amazing.

61. Camping trips are the best with the right people by your side.

62. The only way to shut me up short of duct-taping my mouth is to take me fishing.

63. Once upon a time I was very athletic, as in "best on the team" status. I still miss softball and basketball very much.

64. Debate & Forensics have replaced those two things. Last year, my debate partner and I took 8th at the state championship.

65. I am the proud owner of an Olympus E-510 digital SLR camera. Photography intrigues me.

66. I recently quit smoking. I miss it.

67. More exercise is being forced on me as a result, which I hated to begin with. But I need to.

68. Politically speaking, I am slightly left-of-center. Barack Obama is currently my candidate for President in 2008.

69. Someday I hope to become an English/Debate/Amer. History/Amer. Gov. high school teacher.

70. Getting married and having 2-3 kids is the thing I want most in life.

71. My astrological sign is Libra, and it describes me to a T. This doesn't mean I read those day-to-day horoscope things like a crazy person, though.

72. I am a grammar nazi.

73. I have 2 boxers (Frazier & Sasha) and two cats (Mango & Baby Kitty).

74. If I had to choose, I would be a dog person.

75. In the Star Wars movies, the Jedi way of life always bothered me a bit (this especially pertains to Anakin Skywalker in Episode III). Minus the whole being evil thing, the Sith dudes are pretty cool.

76. Sometimes I have a hard time accepting things (and people) for what they really are.

77. I love to laugh.

78. My favorite show is Grey's Anatomy. I don't get to watch much TV these days, though.

79. My favorite color is green.

80. I would do almost anything to own a Mini-Cooper, Z3 Coupe Bimmer, and/or a Nissan Xterra.

81. I will never, I repeat NEVER, drive a mini-van.

82. I love the city of Chicago.

83. Procrastination is one of my worst habits.

84. My favorite snack as of late has been sunflower seeds. That'll probably change pretty soon.

85. If it were even remotely possible, I'd have a chimp as a pet. But it definitely isn't.

86. I have freckles.

87. I am very white.

88. I tend to be slightly shy when meeting someone for the first time.

89. Though I've doubted it in the past, I am a strong believer in Karma.

90. I act differently around fellow high school students for some reason than I do with other people. It's like I feel the need to "immaturize" myself in order to fit in sometimes. I feel most like myself when I'm in the company of my close friends outside school.

91. This, by no means, is to say that I'm the most mature person out there. In fact, that's laughable. I'm laughing right now just thinking about it.

92. After a highly stressful event I usually have a migraine the next day. They're REALLY bad.

93. I would love to someday renovate a colonial-style home to my liking. One with a big front porch.

94. Three things that I always seem to lose are my keys, glasses, and cell phone.

95. My favorite holiday is Christmas. I love the Christmas season.

96. Heritage-wise, I am almost entirely Irish. I love Irish accents, too.

97. The one thing I can draw well is a caricature.

98. I go to the movies more than any person has any business to.

99. Though nowhere near "Feminazi" status, I am a strong believer in equality.

100. I’ve never finished one of these before. *gasp!*

Writer's Block

As you may have noticed, I have not published a blog post in nearly a month now. For most people this is not out of the ordinary in the least... then again, I am not exactly "most people." Thinking about why I have been unable to write these past few weeks has had a peculiar effect on my writing.

I have begun to pay too much attention to my form, to my ability not just to write my thoughts but to write them down well, and I've stopped just writing and am beginning to feel this self-induced pressure to produce polished pieces to my readers which, let's face it, are a select bunch. The day I felt overwhelmed by that pressure was the day I lost my freedom to just write. Knowing I have a limited emotional wellspring from which to draw has made me stingy with my words. While writing was my emancipation months ago, expecting myself to be good at it has slapped on a new type of fetter, one whose key I have not yet found... I can't even tell you how many times I've clicked the "new post" button only to discard it minutes later. It's like I've transformed from Emma Thompson's character in "Nanny McPhee" to the author she plays in "Stranger Than Fiction." Sweet Jesus.

This is where I blame my OCD tendencies coupled with an insistence on perfection (my all-purpose excuse) but I do feel that I have transferred them to my writing, where each word must be the perfect choice for the moment. Each word must be precise, not be repetitive, mundane, or, God forbid, average. If I'm not careful, I'll begin counting my words, sorting them into neat little piles of nouns, verbs and dangling participles and storing them in jars in my closet.

Beyond this increasingly disturbing resemblance to Melvin Udall (I relate to many characters in movies) I've also found that the harder I strive to make my thoughts clear, to try to explain my thought process to others that don't know me, the harder it has become for me to actually make a point. Because I am so afraid that I will face scrutiny and be found lacking, I am not able to write anything indisputable enough.

Are these just old insecurities rearing their ugly heads (my personal emotional Chimera) or have I, accustomed to being argued with and constantly frustrated by my own inadequacies, grown an entirely new, all-purpose one? Am I over-analyzing again, or is this a necessary thought process? Is it just the mechanical efficiency expert in me wishing I could parse my thought process down to a concrete algorithm, one that could be applied to anything I am trying to say? If only I could use it as a litmus test before even trying so that I don't feel like I have to try so damn hard explaining.

As usual, I end up with more questions than I began with, compliments of the complicated brain of Bridget Harman. All I really was trying to do was to explain myself and instead ended up creating a little job security for my inner shrink.

The Gap

I've wanted to bitch about the Gap for a long time now. I just never thought that this company would get to me so much.

See, this whole 21st century thing - it’s about identity and individuality, right? Or at least on the surface. At first glance, we all try to be different by identifying ourselves with certain groups, music, and, yes, brands - not blend in. And companies try to stand out too, spending millions of dollars to craft unique images through their branding ad agencies. What the hell is Gap though? I have never seen a company without any definite identity, and sort of “me” in it. One month I can walk into the Gap and think that I’m at an Urban Outfitters store. The next month, I feel like I’m at H&M, yet the next time I pop into that store, I feel like Abercrombie & Fitch just moved in and the sign was not yet replaced.

Last time I visited the place I walked in and honestly, I thought I was at an Old Navy liquidation sale. Bland clothing lying all over the floor, with customers not giving two shits that they were standing on clothes that they had the intention of buying. It was the epitome of what Gap is all about (if that can be said about a company that lacks definition). I'm getting the feeling they just don’t seem to care about themselves. It’s not even really about customer care; they're pretty much on par with other stores. What it's about is caring for who they are, for their brand, for their employees. Why can’t they take a cue from their other sister companies Banana Republic and Old Navy? Those stores seem to know how things should be run. But Gap is like a boring mixture of Eddie Bauer, grits, and an empty canvas.

Why is it that when I buy something at the Gap and I like it, I can never know for sure that I can come back there in a few months and find that item again? It seems like the company’s management is on an acid-induced menopause and every time they get an uncontrollable hot flash, they change their stores. No wonder their CEO got canned. No wonder their profits are tanking. No wonder that budget designers don’t want to offer their stuff at the Gap and instead go to Target and H&M.

Hell, even their much touted Product (Red) line sucks. If you are going to overcharge for a t-shirt made in Lesotho, at least make sure that it’s stitched together by something more than a piece of pubic hair and gum. Make it look like something I would actually want to wear. The message is good, the idea is great (though it can’t be credited to the Gap - thanks Bono!), but the implementation is horrible. Or what about the Product (Red) bracelets? They cost $10. TEN DOLLARS. That would be called highway robbery, ladies and gentleman. Speaking of which, why is it that the Gap is charging $50 for a shirt that has been pre-worn, pre-crumbled and pre-destroyed for me when I can just go to Brooks Brothers or even an Armani outlet and get a better shirt for the same price?

Case in point: I wanted jeans, and was hoping that Gap miraculously got with the program and cared enough to finally make their store “shoppable.” Oh, how wrong I was. They had this jeans sale going on, where for $60 I could pick up a pair and then save something like 50% off of a shirt. I found some jeans that I liked and decided to look for a shirt, but after spending close to 30 minutes, I gave up, returned the jeans and left. Their designs were boring, their pricing model outrageous, and the cluttered shelves unpleasant to look at while struggling with the tremendous difficulty of trying to find something that I liked.

I am not a person who cares deeply about shopping. I usually just want to get in, find what I like, pay a fair price (or score a deal) and leave. I don’t take joy in window shopping. Gap, seemingly, could easily fit the bill but they don’t because they try to be something that they aren't and it just doesn't work. From Madonna to Audrey Hepburn to Common, I don’t even know who to identify the brand with and it just gets old and annoying. And I'm annoyed.

Asked Too Many Times

The other day I decided to take the little munchkins up to the Legends shopping center for lunch, ice cream, and the apparently highly amusing giant fountain in front of the movie theater. We did this in the reverse order that we probably should have, and so our last stop before home was to be Chipotle.

If you've ever been in this particular Chipotle, you'd know that the dining area where you enter in line is a pretty confined space (walk around the corner and you can breathe a bit). On this day it was even more packed than usual - a wonderful thing for the embarassing fate I would soon face.

All seemed to be going well. The kids had that satisfied look on their faces that seemed to say "Haha silly girl, we've milked ya' for all that you're worth - ice cream and something other than McDonald's fast food for lunch!" (Little do they know the same folks own/operate both.) I myself was enjoying my very tasty burrito when I smelled the faint stench of soiled undies. Immediately I rushed to 3 year-old Abbey's side to check her, but she was perfectly clean. Then it hit me that Jake hadn't gone potty all day long.

So I asked him. He said no. But the stench of the soiled undies did not disappear, and I was beginning to worry that this smell would pervade the surrounding area and attract a bit of negative attention. I thought to myself: "Sweet Jesus, the child pooped his pants..." Continuing to dread that this was actually what had occured, I asked again; his reply was the same as before. "He just had to have, it's getting worse!" So, with my best effort of a stern expression on a less-than-serious topic, I asked one more time.

This time, he jumped up, yanked down his pants, bent over, spread his cheeks and yelled, "See Bridget, IT'S JUST FARTS!" While a dozen people nearly choked on their tacos, Jacob calmly pulled up his pants and sat down to eat his food as though nothing happened. I was so mortified I was left utterly speechless, unable to react to the public devastation I had just suffered in any way.

On the way out some elderly people tried to make me feel better when they thanked me for the best laugh they had ever had... and oh, what could I say? Putting laughter back into the world through my personal humiliation is what I do best.

Nanny McBridgee

Last night as I tossed and turned and realized just how much of an insomniac I am, I did what anyone would do in this predicament; turned on the TV in hopes that the lullaby of infommercials might put me back to sleep again. Only instead of infommercials, I watched "Nanny McPhee." And it startled my half-conscious self by the end of this particular movie that I saw much of me in Nanny Mcphee herself. Yes, I know, a wart-faced, nappy-haired Emma Thompson in a frumpy housedress is just the spitting image of Bridget Harman, right? Yet with all seriousness, it made me think about the differentiation between a "babysitter" and a "nanny," and the unique role I play in the lives of the children I look after on a daily basis.

Granted, I don't exactly live with my 30 year-old cousin and her children; by the same tolken, however, I've noticed that I have the opportunity to do more for these kids than simply make sure they don't burn the house down. In everyday situations in which multiple conflicts tend to arise, I suddenly feel an obligation not only to end each dispute on an individual basis, but to resolve them entirely through understandable versions of life lessons. Nanny McPhee has five of them:

1) They will learn how to say "please" and "thank you."
2) They will do as they are told.
3) They will learn to dress on their own.
4) They will learn to listen.
5) They will be prepared to face the consequences of one's actions.

By pointing out what they did wrong, explaining why it is not acceptable, identifying with how they feel to let them know you understand, showing them how to handle it correctly the next time around, and providing firm consequences that will be enforced if they fail to do so, steady progress can be seen. Trust me, there are some days that will make you wonder, but once you witness them actually learn from past mistakes and show you they are capable of even the tiniest thing on their own, pride swells inside you so much you think your ego's going to burst - because you taught them something that will play a part, however small, in making them a better person. And the thank-you that kids give is worth all the words in the world... because it's the kind that you can see in their smile. (Though I must admit that the victory dances and piggy-back ride rewards are pretty fun too.)

Just like that, the little goobers aren't the enemy anymore; our immaturity was. By realizing that, I've been able to turn a pathetic rivalry for power into a relationship governed by respect and maintained by affection and laughter. It is now that we have finally reached this point that the days before my job is done seem to draw closer at an increasingly alarming rate. Like Nanny McPhee would say: "I come when I am needed but not wanted, and leave when I am wanted but no longer needed." Take that, Dr. Phil!

I might just make a good mother yet... someday. Lord knows a blog entry reflection isn't enough to make that any time soon.

As We Grow Older

What happens to us as we grow older? Ask my kid sister this and she'd probably offer a response along the lines of "Stuff stops being cool." If that is what is meant by learning life's lessons the hard way, however, I suppose Kathryn is much wiser than I give her credit for.

But I think that's really what it's all about: how we deal with the lessons we learn in our ever-increasingly confusing lives. I mean, let's face it - life's one long journey, and we don't know where the hell we're going, or how we're going to get there for that matter. We can map out our destination and make all the detailed plans we want, but there's no insurance plan for those detours and bumps in the road that we all inevitably face. What we eventually end up with is never what we expected in the first place; sometimes for the better, many times for the worse. Realizing what reality truly is and learning how to adapt to it is a dire necessity in surviving adulthood. It is now that I see the truth in the words of my mildly hickish Kansas family: "Shit happens."

Those same words now echoing in my mind, I reflect upon the meaning of adaptation. We learn how to make mistakes, how to learn from those mistakes, and how to avoid them as best we can. We learn to pick ourselves up after what has seemed like our world crashing into pieces before our very eyes. We learn that, yes, it's okay to shed some tears over the loss of something we trusted, cherished, and held close to our hearts; yet every ending brings with it a new beginning, a second chance, a new opportunity to give your life the meaning you've always envisioned for it. We learn how to stand on our own two feet, let go of blame, embrace forgiveness, and rediscover happiness. We learn how to show our appreciation and dedication for those we love, because without them you wouldn't be who you are today.

It is now that you glance in the mirror, realizing the person you are today isn't the person you were yesterday. Something has changed... if only you could put your finger on just what that was. I wish I could.

Upside Down Internet

Wireless internet hacking. You may be tempted to laugh this off, but rest assured that it is alive and well in a suburban community near you. Why not just solve the problem by encryption, you say? Well, because letting the thieves off that easy teaches them nothing. And it's kind of lame. So, alternatively, why not have fun with the situation and play a practical joke? That's what I did for my bud Rachel, and it turned out quite well if I do say so myself; looking through her kitchen window and seeing her neighbor's befuddled expression as he sat in his living room was priceless. And pretty darn funny.

Find out how here.

The Stupid iPhone Lady

$16,000 worth of iPhones to sell on eBay: $16,000

First place spot in line: $800

Lesson on greed: priceless

The Seven Deadly Sins: One Removed

Whew... it's been a long day. Somehow (miraculously and only by the grace of God) I have managed to avoid most all that I discussed in my last post. Nope, today those handful of little goobers did not drench me with giant "Super Soaker" waterguns; they just held me at gunpoint until I finally agreed to armwrestle all of them. At first I thought to myself, Ya' know, Bridge, you should probably take it easy on them. After all, they're only kids... Seeing the maliciously onry glint that only little boys are truly adept at using, however, soon snapped me back to reality. And it is because of that glorious judgment call that they quietly marched up to Jake's room to play Xbox, realizing their shameful defeat to a girl. It is also the reason why I could successfully put Abbey down for a nap, get all housecleaning done early, and manage to have some computer time. Ah, sweet silence.

So here I am, and I've just read one of my friend's blog posts. She posed this simple question to her readers: if you were a god, which of the seven deadly sins would you remove? After much deliberation over what my choice would be (a whole two minutes worth!) I decided that if I were God (which I might actually be, after all if I were an all-powerful being I might choose to live a normal life as a human being and deny myself the ability to realize it, in essence giving my all-powerfulness an original take on things) the deadly sin I would remove from the list would be lust. My reason for removing lust would simply be because I feel lust recognized can be used for one's positive progression through life. Sure, lust in the negative can have damning ramifications, but lust in a positive, open forum can help add zest to life.

For instance, if my boyfriend were to come home from work and share with me how some big-boobed leggy ho-bag really got his lusty juices flowing, as long as I could keep my ego in check that lust gets directed at me. And since I know that he will truly only ever be in love with me, it sounds like a "win-win" situation; I see nothing wrong with taking motivation from an outside source and applying it to help strengthen my bonds. Lust gets messy only when ego and jealousy are not in check. Let's face it - lust is an ancient sin, devised to help lesser evolved beings protect themselves from their own egos. Now that the human race is reaching a state of higher elevation and thinking we can now embrace lust and use it as a tool. Yay.

But you know, one deadly sin removed would mean that a substitute would have to take its place; such things are necessary to maintain a sense of balance in the world. And since we have established that I am quite possibly a divine being, I hereby name the new seventh deadly sin... BRATTINESS! That's right - and don't think I don't reserve the right to define what that entails!

Teenage Day-Care Service Provider

Every morning I stumble out of bed at roughly 5:00 am, allowing just enough time to go for a morning jog, get ready, feed the animals, watch the news, and grab the daily cup of coffee so essential to being awake (or as far away from zombie as is possible), perceptive, responsive, and prepared for whatever my job will throw at me. I mean that quite literally.

You see, I'm a teenage day-care service provider; I refuse to use the word "babysitter" because 1) I don't sit on babies, and 2) If my duties were limited to changing diapers and feeding a precious little newborn milk while rocking it to sleep, I wouldn't be nearly as excited to escape from kiddie Hell to my second job at Applebees.

The reality of the situation is that a 3 year-old girl plus a handful of kindergarten-aged boys are placed under my watchful eye Monday through Friday, 6:30 am to 4:30 pm and the latter drive me absolutely nuts. There's just something that must occur post-preschool to bring about the whiny, selfish, defiant, demanding, stubborn, "I think I know it all at five and if I don't get my way I'm going to tell my mommy and it'll be the end of you, lady" behavior. All cuteness or sweetness that was once theirs disappears, lost in what has now become a child overtaken with brattiness. They've turned to the dark side. Probably for the cookies.

As a "teenage day-care service provider" this is an especially difficult role for one to play. You must demand respect and authority, but the tools with which to enforce these things are at times extremely limited; at the end of the day, I'm still not the kid's parent (oh I can't even tell you how lucky they are). Consequently, each day this ridiculous battle must be waged as the punks bombard me with their infinite arsenal of terror - chasing after me with cheap cologne, setting "trip traps," placing bugs on my back, drenching my face with a "Super Soaker" watergun and laughing as a river of mascara runs down my face... the torment never ends. And yet, calling their mom is completely out of the question. Because to do that would be to admit defeat, which would only diminish the adult cred I've already established in dealing with the monsters all on my own. So I'll pick myself up and carry on with this character-building experience with a smile on my face, but inside I'm sticking my tongue out at you too you little asswipes!

p.s. Would it be too much to ask for Oprah to show the same appreciation for people like me that she does for stay-at-home moms? Supposedly they have the hardest job in the world.

Nazi-Ho Dora

At this very moment I am watching two young children watching Dora the Explorer. As I sit here I notice eerily zombie-like behavior; their eyes are glued to the television screen, and they recite every word that Dora instructs without question. It is now that I come to the realization that not only are shows like these a complete waste of time (come on, you didn't really think your kid was going to learn Spanish from Nick Jr. did you?) but they stand a good chance of misleading our youngsters. It's Nazi Dora.

For example, what's this "Swiper no swiping" business? Our children are being taught that telling someone to do what you want them to is 100% foolproof! Sooner or later life's going to give them one harsh dose of reality. Not only that, but these kids are also being led into believing that monkeys, maps, backpacks, and all sorts of inanimate objects can talk to them. People, do you want your children to grow up and get thrown in the looney bin with a schizophrenic diagnosis? Geez.

This is still not Dora's most agregious offense; I honestly believe she is a two-bit hussy whose videos are chock full of poorly veiled references to bestiality, exhibitionism and other extremely questionable sexual perversions. Throughout this particular episode, Dora and her little traveling band of perverts – which includes HER COUSIN – are traveling toward something called THE GOOEY GEYSER. Geysers are many things, but they are definitely not gooey. I assume that you’re a smart bunch of readers, so I genuinely don’t think I need to spell out for you what I think the gooey geyser is an analogy for.

On their trip to the gooey geyser, Dora and her friends must take an inflatable raft over a body of water. While instructing them to inflate the raft, Dora says this: "Take a deep breath and blow, blow, blow, BLOW!" No explanation needed.

In the second episode on the DVD, Dora’s arch nemesis, Swiper The Fox, is wearing what can only be described as a pimp hat: a fedora with a yellow feather sticking out of it. The only thing that would make him look more like a pimp is a Cadillac, although I don’t believe foxes can drive. The M.O. of Swiper The Fox is to take things from Dora (e.g., her virginity) that she must then spend the remainder of the episode recovering. If Dora and her traveling gang of pervs spot Swiper before he strikes, they say this: “Swiper, no swiping!” In the episode where he’s dressed as a pimp, they say, “Yo, Swiper. What’s crack-a-lackin’? Keep your paws off my shit, yo.”

In the Super Babies video, Swiper steals the banana baby food from Dora’s baby brother and sister. Something about the color and consistency of banana baby food strikes me as perverse. I'm no conspiracy theorist, but I may be onto something here... just listen to her theme song backwards below (I did not make it & are therefore not responsible for the grammatical mistakes, by the way).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGoeHsK8lUg

The Ten Commandments of Driving

I grew up Catholic, and it has never ceased to amaze me how this particular religion just loves to make up new rules whenever it wants to. As you have probably heard by now, the Vatican has issued its own "Ten Commandments" of driving. Driving! Are they seriously going to try to convince us that God admitted holes in the original Ten and came to the Pope in a vision with this instruction because he feared we didn't realize his law applies to automobiles too?! Well, in any case, they didn't seem too bad to me:

1. You shall not kill.
2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.
3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.
4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.
5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.
6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.
7. Support the families of accident victims.
8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.
9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.
10. Feel responsible toward others.

That was until I read further into the matter, however. The following is an excerpt from a Reuters article:

A 36-page document called "Guidelines for the Pastoral Care of the Road" contains 10 Commandments covering everything from road rage, respecting pedestrians, keeping a car in good shape and avoiding rude gestures while behind the wheel.

"Cars tend to bring out the 'primitive' side of human beings, thereby producing rather unpleasant results," the document said.

It appealed to what it called the "noble tendencies" of the human spirit, urging responsibility and self-control to prevent the "psychological regression" often associated with driving.

The document's Fifth Commandment reads: "Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin."

Asked at a news conference when a car became an occasion of sin, Cardinal Renato Martino said "when a car is used as a place for sin."

One part of the document, under the section "Vanity and personal glorification," will not go down well with owners of Ferraris in motor-mad Italy.

"Cars particularly lend themselves to being used by their owners to show off, and as a means for outshining other people and arousing a feeling of envy," it said.

Listen people, I'm going to be deprived of the showing off privilege for long enough - I own a Ford FOCUS for crying out loud. So if I one day become the proud owner of my dream Bimmer or a souped up Mini-Coop, you're damn right I want to "arouse a feeling of envy"!

My 1986 BMW M3 (E30)

I have kind of fallen in love with the BMW E30 series, particularly when one of its members is accompanied with a shiny jet black coat of new paint. I'm no BMW fanatic, but it would make me just about the happiest woman in the world to be the owner of a few of these and that Mini-cooper I never shut up about... yes people, that was a hint. I know you know my birthday's coming up, so chop-chop; the parts I'm going to be wanting for Christmas are kind of expensive. Realistically, though, I could see myself purchasing a 1986 BMW M3 in a couple of years. (Despite the similarity I don't like the '87 as well.)

Four Crimes That Should Be Legalized

We have a lot of arbitrary rules in the United States. It’s bound to happen when you’ve been a country for 200-some years, but there are some rules and bans I think we can do without. Here are four such things.

Marijuana

I tried it one time and probably wouldn't be a user, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think other people should be able to. The United States is already legally doped up on TV, caffeine, sugar, nicotine, fast food, and alcohol. Marijuana would not be the worst drug in that list by far.

Some people who go on and on about the pitfalls of marijuana probably don’t tell you about their 5-soda-a-day (diet) Coke habit, or the fact that smoking a carton of cigarettes a week is about one of the worst habits you can have.

A drug as common as caffeine would be considered just as controversial as marijuana if we weren’t socially conditioned to think otherwise. Caffeine has health benefits and pitfalls, just like marijuana - and none of the benefits or pitfalls are overwhelmingly dangerous. Definitely not as dangerous as nicotine.

Another argument is that smoking marijuana can lead to harder drug use. That’s a constructed argument. You don’t think alcohol or nicotine leads to those same places?

But that’s fine. In America, Diet Coke, Cigarettes, McDonald’s, Ho-Ho’s, and Starbucks are all legal. As they should be. Why draw an arbitrary line before marijuana? There are more worthwhile people to arrest than potheads.

Upsides: Legalizing marijuana would theoretically give our law enforcement the resources to better spend their time elsewhere. Another relatively undangerous opiate would be supplied to the masses. Some college students will start becoming less motivated to do something with their lives, leaving less competition for the rest of us.

Downsides: Marijuana’s downsides would be the same as any of the legal drugs. Marijuana can lead to bad behavior that people otherwise wouldn’t do (again, so would alcohol). Mostly I think it’s harmless on the rest of us.

Gambling and Online Poker

This might be the most enraging ban of them all, and even if I was old enough to I probably wouldn't. But what kind of “greatest nation of all time” doesn’t let citizens spend their own earned money the way they please? If I want to waste it, I’ll waste it. It’s my responsibility, not yours, Uncle Sam.

Las Vegas is a hub of culture, entertainment, and tourism mainly because of gambling. Have you seen the place lately? It’s becoming more than a tourist attraction - people are actually moving there to live there.

Gambling might be worse than the ‘legal drugs’ I wrote about above, however. Go to any relatively large casino and you’ll see approximately eleven billion old, unhealthy smokers playing bingo or tugging at the slot machines like a zombie. It can be a brutal habit.

Do I have a problem with people making money from gambling? Of course not. Despite the zombie-ness of their behavior, any person is perfectly able to ride their wheelchair home and never gamble again, even if it’s a tough habit to kick.

Online, poker can be a fun way to win a little cash, and for some, maybe even earn an income. The fact that the government says you can’t do this should enrage you. What’s the point of earning money if you can’t blow it on trivial games? Even just having the OPTION to do it makes having money that much cooler.

Upsides: Gambling would become an insane industry, and, properly handled, could pump lots of money into the economy.

Downsides: Its legalization will cause a 5000% increase in bums. Las Vegas will lose its edge, and the World Series of Poker might last year-round on ESPN.

Cuban Products

I’m getting more enraged as I write this, even though I knew what I’d write about ahead of time. Cuban products? Are you kidding me? Fidel Castro has been around since ancient Rome, and it’s clear our Cold War-relic embargo against Cuba isn’t helping anyone anymore. Let’s get out of the 20th Century.

If anything, lifting the embargo might encourage democracy there. A nice influx of American money for Cuban goods could help them see what they’ve been missing out on.

You’ll also drive down prices for their goods once they're available. Cuban cigars won’t cost you $300 for a box anymore (or whatever they cost - I’ve never bought them. In fact, I don’t do a lot of what I’ve written about in this article). Instead you can get them at a convenience store in a little bag that says “Smokin’ Stogeys Cuban Cigars” for $8.99.

Upsides: Decrease in what you have to pay for Cuban products. Money will help Cubans see the light of Democracy.

Downsides: Cuban cigars won’t be nearly as cool.

Speed Limits

Okay, this one I’ve actually done (40 in a 30, thank you very much!). I’m not really for the abolishment of all speed limit laws, except the arbitrary “65″ limit on highways.

We need to establish the American Autobahn, an artery going across the country where you can show off your coolest car’s abilities as you zoom toward Spring Break at 110 miles an hour. Every lane will be the fast lane. The only dangerous drivers will be the slow ones.

When I got my speeding ticket, I had lost all sense of speed because the road was empty and I was listening to music in my car. Was I a danger to others? Maybe, if you count the people who weren’t anywhere near me. Did I really need to pay as much as I did? Probably not.

Traffic laws are difficult to enforce because about 99% of people are bad drivers. I know because they piss me off every day, and I feel like I know the laws better than most.

Keep speed limits and most of your traffic laws - they can protect us. But let us stretch our legs on the Ameribahn.

Upsides: If you own a fast car, you can show it off. You’ll get places faster, and we’ll burn away our fossil fuels faster. That’s an upside because we’ll burn them away anyway, so we’d better get started on the future.

Downsides: There are no downsides. This one is ironclad.