Time Off For Bad Behavior

I heard that the federal government might shut down. What does that mean, exactly? I had to Google it. Not the federal government, just the shut down part. Turns out, my life probably won’t be drastically affected. As one of my insightful friends pointed out on Facebook yesterday, Netflix will still be up and running, and that’s a little more essential than being able to visit the Washington Monument. Apparently, probation officers won’t be working, so that will free up some time for me that I won’t have to meet with mine.

There’s this “National Reconnaissance Office” that for the record I’ve never even heard of, but they’ll be shutting down, because “there will be no support services – no cafeteria, no cleaning crews, and minimal heating and lighting”. Yeah, how can we expect them to go to work with no cafeteria and only sixty-watt bulbs? And who doesn’t refuse to clock in when it’s chilly? I mean, I don’t know what these people do, but National Reconnaissance sounds kind of important. Can’t they just brown bag it?

Congress will obviously be closed, but I’m betting they get just as little done as when they’re in session. Lest you lie awake at night and wonder about the livelihood of your elected representatives, they would still be getting paid. Hmmm. . .a paid vacation. . .I wonder why they aren’t in a hurry to patch things up and fix this mess?

The IRS would shut down, and isn’t that convenient since they owe me lots of money! I bet they’d find a way to accept my check, but it’s just out of their control that they can’t cut me one. This official site I was looking at also said that “Personnel who normally answer Social Security questions will likely not report to work.” Shouldn’t we add EVER AGAIN, because there is no Social Security left for any of us? And maybe they’re just grateful to shut the phones off because they didn’t have any answers anyway.

All of this I could possibly withstand, but it was the last “closure” that nearly crippled me. The White House Visitor Center AND gift shop would close to the public. The gift shop? Say it ain’t so! I mean, how could my family survive without the White House gift shop? Are we supposed to just build our own replicas of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?

But all sarcasm aside, which I’m sure you know is difficult for me, our military better get their paychecks on time! Because not paying the brave men and women who protect us all would be despicable. And in what universe would it be okay to pay slacking Congressmen who are acting like three year olds, during a shut down, but not the soldiers risking their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan? If they want to hang on to my tax refund for a while, fine, but they better not let down our military.

Now, if the NFL really shuts down, then you’ll see a nation that’s hurting. I’m not sure if I could live through a football-less fall. I’d be willing to donate my tax refund to the New York Giants in return for season tickets if that would help.

Those Tempting Toaster Pastries

I was just cutting out the coupons from the Sunday paper, when I came across one for Pop-Tarts. We don’t eat Pop-Tarts. We love them, but we don’t eat them. My kids have, of course, sampled them a time or two in their limited existences, but I can’t rationalize making them a staple of our diets. There’s too much research about the benefits of eating healthy, not to mention too much evidence of the results of eating junk food. (I have pictures of me in sixth grade if you need to see some evidence.) And it’s too bad that there’s so much press on good nutrition, because even when I was a kid this whole health movement was in its infancy and nobody judged you for Pop-Tarts in your shopping cart. In fact, I remember how we sprinkled straight sugar on top of our Frosted Flakes. Guiltlessly! Though not without waistline consequences. But, lay people weren’t supposed to consider nutrition back then.

For an example of how far we’ve come, last week, when my son was in summer camp, a friend of mine was talking about how crazy things were by Friday. She said that she had to wake up her boys, rush them out the door, and let them eat Pop-Tarts on the way to camp. And bananas. It was important to mention those lest the child welfare department launch an investigation into the unhealthy eating practices of her family. And the way she told the story was in the everything-is-so-chaotic-I’ve-had-to-resort-to-Pop-Tarts kind of way. Isn’t strange how much guilt and shame we feel over feeding them Pop-Tarts for breakfast, when back in the day the only discussion would have been over flavor varieties?

This brings me to my next Pop-Tart point. Have you seen the flavors they have now? My choices were strawberry, blueberry, or brown-sugar cinnamon. (A disadvantaged friend of mine had parents who only bought the unfrosted variety. She liked to sleep over at my house.) Now they have, S’mores, Hot Fudge Sundae, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Strawberry Milkshake, and many more dream concoctions. I mean, there’s a virtual Baskin-Robbins of breakfast options. It just goes to show how divided our country has become. The FDA powers that be come out and indoctrinate us with all of these food pyramid, whole grain, low-fat, low-carb, sugar is the great satan messages, then the drug pushers over at Kellogg’s, Frito-Lay, Nabisco, etc. develop more provocative products to seduce us. The naughtiness of blueberry toaster pastries wasn’t enough, we became immune to that, now they’re selling us dessert in a pouch and suggesting we start our day with it. Like everything else, it’s taking more and more to shock us.

Yet, despite the statistics and evidence that convince us to buy Special K, or take the time to prepare an egg-white omelet with bell peppers and low-fat cheese, America still turns to Pop-Tarts. And Kellogg’s Pop-Tart business clearly isn’t suffering either, because they have enough money to hire those genius marketing people who keep coming up with exciting, dare I say dangerous, flavors, and art directors who make the box look so appealing it practically jumps off the shelf at us. And so that we don’t feel too bad about buying dessert pouches for breakfast, they advertise (on the page with the coupon) that Pop-Tarts have 25% less sugar than leading toaster pastries. I have two reactions to this claim. 1. Pop-Tarts isn’t the leading toaster pastry? Isn’t that a bit like saying Jell-O isn’t the leading gelatin? And reaction # 2. I could be feeding them something worse, so I shouldn’t feel too bad about the Hot Fudge Sundae Pop-Tarts. Actually, when you think about it, I could be making them an actual hot fudge sundae for breakfast, though that would be hard to feed them in the van when we’re running late and in a hurry to get somewhere. And, surely that would qualify me for some kind of child endangerment investigation. My kids, however, might nominate me for mother of the year.

But, before you start thinking I’m judging you, or that I’m the “Carrot-Stick Mom” that is ever-mindful of my kids nutritional needs, I should say that this morning my daughter had to use a snow shovel to dig out her chocolate chip pancake from the Everest-size mountain of Redi-Whip I let her pile on top of it. I make observations, people, not good decisions.

The War On Mosquitos . . . We're Losing!

If terrorists ever successfully weaponize mosquitos, I’m in trouble. (Ditto white chocolate covered pretzels.) Because, for whatever reason, I’m a mosquito’s favorite dish. My scent is so preferential to them that the White House should consider having me travel alongside President Obama, just in case. But, until they call on me to serve my country, I’ll be managing all outdoor evening activities by perfuming myself up like a Chemistry lab. My only other option to smelling so artificially toxic (we’ve established I must smell naturally sweet) is to risk being feasted on by enough mosquitos to ensure a subsequent Benadryl induced coma. And while I could use the rest, I really don’t have time for a coma.

Why are mosquitos so viciously angry anyway? Are they still holding a grudge because we nearly annihilated them in the 40s and 50s in the heyday of DDT? DDT being the thing I missed out on most by being born in the late seventies after bird-loving environmentalists convinced weak-minded elected government officials to ban its use because it may cause cancer (and definitely makes birds sick). Um, excuse me, but is there anything out there that doesn’t cause cancer? We live in a world where preservatives in our food, compounds in our shampoo, and invisible beams from our microwaves all threaten us daily. So, why can’t we risk sitting outside comfortably at dusk? I argue that the insecticidal DDT got a bad rap and people spent too much time speculating about its potential harm to bio-ecosystems (this may or may not be a real word), and too easily discounted how it saved millions of lives by reducing malaria and typhus, subsequently diminishing their mortality rates. And, DDT is only classified as “moderately toxic” by the U.S. National Toxicology Program, whereas mosquito bites are classified as “severely annoying” by anyone who’s ever been plagued by them. And, for the record, there are McDonald’s menu items that have been classified as “extremely toxic” by the same U.S. National Toxicology Program and no one’s banned the Big Mac.

When I was sixteen, I spent two weeks on Merritt Island, off the coast of Florida, where mosquitos are bred, indoctrinated, and then sent forth into the continental United States to bleed us dry. Had I known in advance that I would be given over as an offering to the irate throng of bloodsuckers, in order to spare the lives of fellow teenagers, I certainly would have chosen a different summer adventure. Because there, at Mosquito Central Command, over-the-counter bug repellents and home remedies were scoffed at. These mosquitos had evolved and mutated to be resistant. I would have given my right arm for some DDT that summer. Though no one would have taken it because it was mutilated by the mosquitos.

And now mosquitos have the greater threat of West Nile Virus, a disease that claimed the lives of thirty people last year. And yeah, thirty isn’t a lot. Not even close to the mortality rate that can be attributed to McDonald’s. But if you’re as sought after by mosquitos as me, it’s cause for concern. The CDC assures us that most people infected by West Nile Virus only suffer a fever or possibly a coma and convalescence. Yeah, that sounds great, sign me up for that. On second thought, maybe I’ll just stay indoors.

Worst Case Scenario?

Occasionally, on the weekends, I will stumble across an opportunity to get caught up on the news. The things I don’t hear about during the week watching Dora the Explorer and Sid the Science Kid. Though, in Sid’s defense, he is pretty in the know. Today, I saw a lot of coverage on the oil spill. And I know what you’re thinking, c’mon Heather, there’s nothing funny about an oil spill. And I wish you were right, but you’re not. For starters, there were some suits sitting around in one of CNN’s mission control centers discussing the effects of this “catastrophe”. And one heavily titled and credentialed expert said, “Worst case scenario we won’t have any shrimp.” Really? Shrimp? Because even just hearing about the oil spill, I was thinking that gas prices may climb up near that travel-inhibiting four dollars a gallon mark. Don’t get me wrong, I like shrimp. I can’t remember the last time I had shrimp because they don’t really go with Kraft macaroni and cheese, but I do enjoy them. Still, I’m not quite as concerned about what I’ll have to dip in my cocktail sauce as with what I’ll have to fill my minivan tank with once it becomes a decision between filling up or paying the electric bill.

And who spilled the oil? BP. The British. Don’t get me wrong, I like the Brits. But if this is a stunt to pay us back for throwing their stupid tea in the water a long time ago, I’ll be upset. And guess who’s down there cleaning up this mess? The U.S. Coast Guard. Not the Brits. I mean, I’m sure they’ll be right over, as soon as they finish their tea.

In light of our overdependence on oil, which is akin to a crackhead’s overdependence on cocaine, maybe we should be a little more careful about spilling the oil. If we’re going to mishandle something, it should be a resource we could do without for a bit, like cauliflower. Because I fear limited choices at Red Lobster may not be the only consequence we face for this snafu. I’m wondering about the beaches on the Gulf Coast and how they’ll look with a fresh shellacking of oil and decomposing sealife.

And some seaweed hugger, on another news program today, was warning of how this would affect turtles and manatees. Manatees, for those who don’t know, have already had a rough go of it. They’re endangered, or at least an alternate on the endangered list, because they’re a little bit like the drunk uncle of the deep seas. Always swimming along, having a great time, but never seeing straight enough to notice all those boats on the surface, which they frequently “bump” into, causing everything from a bad hangover to a trip to that big old aquarium in the sky. And this isn’t even their only problem. They’ve also earned the nickname Sea Cow, which even though they play it off like it’s funny, really hurts their feelings. And now they have to be worried about oil in their water? I’m not sure the manatee is intellectually equipped to prevent its own oil poisoning. Manatees may not be able to read the “No Bathing” signs the British are coloring and planning to put up. First of all, these are American manatees and they call it swimming. But have no fear, Dora’s cousin Diego is an animal rescuer and I’m sure he’d be happy to pitch in with the relief effort.

In the Spirit of Innovation

Economic Downturn Suggestion Number Two: The ten percent of unemployed Americans should work on new inventions. Something that would revolutionize our world like the automobile, the phone, chocolate, or Friends. I mean how did we ever get by without Ross and Rachel?

I suggest inventing not only because it could be lucrative, but because I can't remember the last significant contribution to society. Was it the internet? Cell phones? And after the invention of computers and cell phones, hasn't every successive advancement been about one of those two things? Now our cell phones can play music, movies, and chess; they can take pictures, videos, and your temperature; they give you directions, suggestions, and haircuts. Cell phones are so capable that I'm not sure why we aren't electing them to congress. You know, like the Nokia N900 Smartphone from the eleventh district of Ohio proposes we take the next exit to Afghanistan, then a right onto Sandstorm Street.

But our inventors have been distracted by phones and computers and still haven't gotten around to getting us those flying cars that seemed like such a sure thing in every old movie that flashed forward into the twenty-first century. And what about teleportation? Have we made any progress there? I just think that while so many folks are at home, waiting for Obama to create a job stimulus that actually works, someone could come up with a washing machine that will go into your room and sort the clothes in your hamper and then start itself up. Needless to say, if it could do that, it could also put the clothes in the dryer. At which point, why not get the dryer to fold them and put them away? And can someone please invent a space-calorie continuum that allows a person to eat at the Cheesecake Factory without gaining five pounds?

Despite what you see on QVC, not everyone is cut out to be an inventor. If your ideas are of the okra storage or upside down rotating clock varieties, better keep job hunting and leave the inventing to the Thomas Edison types. But if you have an idea for, say, a swimsuit that makes us all look like Gisele, go for it!

A Digressing Diatribe on a Great Discovery

A few weeks ago, I found an old friend from college using that most powerful of investigative tools: Facebook. It’s more than a small wonder that I did that, because when these social networking sites first started cropping up and catching on, I was an outspoken detractor of them. A hater, if you will. My thinking was that those sites were for tweens and teens (and adults that wished they still were one of those), and that communicating via internet was handicapping people’s true social skills. Like maybe someone is all outgoing and chatty, making friends easily on Facebook, but run into that same person at the theater and they can’t even piece together a full sentence or hold eye contact! And then there are those out there “reconnecting” with people that they never even spoke to in school and wouldn’t have even recognized if they sat by them on an airplane. My feeling is if we didn’t have anything to say to each other sixteen years ago, when we saw each other in study hall every day, we probably don’t now either. And I also firmly believe there is something to be said for not being able to revisit past mistakes in the form of ex-boyfriends and old frenemies.

But, after countless adult friends touted the wonders of Facebook, I eventually caved in. It’s no secret that I’ve never been one to resist peer pressure. And it’s no secret that I’ve often been the one doing the pressuring. (See Heather 1990-1999, for the best examples) And while I still believe some people abuse Facebook and it does lead to social retardation in others, I can admit when I’m wrong about something. I like that I can keep track of friends and more distant family members that I don’t live very close to and haven’t seen very often in the last decade, but still care about. I enjoy hearing about their adventures, seeing pictures of their children, and learning about their careers. I don’t need to know what they had for breakfast every day, but you have to take the good with the bad. And, I appreciate its usefulness in finding someone like my friend, who I hadn’t talked to in over ten years, but was very close to in college. Getting married, moving from state to state, and all around different directions of our lives led to us losing touch, but we shouldn’t have let that happen. I shouldn’t have let that happen with a lot of friends. And ten years ago, regretting we lost touch would have been the end of the story, but now it doesn’t have to be and I guess I have Facebook to thank for that. And it’s been helpful in directing people to this blog.

So, all that to say, I think Facebook was a great invention. It would help if people obeyed some basic rules, like don’t tell us what you ate for lunch unless it was something exciting like the ear off a live pig, married people shouldn’t friend anyone who has had their tongue in your mouth, you have to have one actual friend for every fifty you have on Facebook, and we could dial it back on the descriptions of your child’s vomit. I’m okay with knowing they did it; I just don’t want to know what menu items from their lunch were in there. Unless it was the pig’s ear.

A Dose of Reality

Is there a way out of this “reality” mess we’ve gotten ourselves into? Not real reality. Not the reality of high unemployment rates, or the reality of the ongoing “war on terror”, or even the reality our collapsing social security and health care systems. I mean the Reality TV mess. The reality of Dancing With The Stars. Are so many stars forced into dancing because we no longer tune in to see them act? And I’m not anti-Reality TV, just wondering if maybe we’ve let things go too far when there’s a reality show of Tommy Lee Goes To College!

I think we can all agree on how this started. It started with the Mother of American Reality TV – Survivor. And just so you can see me straddling the fence (not barbed-wire, I hope) I will admit that I love Survivor. Sometimes. I can’t handle twenty straight seasons of anything, not even my own life. I didn’t watch Survivor from the beginning. I was skeptical. Not because I knew it would lead to Pimp My Ride and The Simple Life, but because I thought the casts of Friends and Everybody Loves Raymond were doing a great job. Why would I want to watch regular guys get progressively filthier while risking their lives when I could watch Dr. John Carter, played by the clean and handsome Noah Wyle, saving others’ lives? But at some point, feeling unfulfilled after Dr. Doug Ross’ disappearance from ER, I gave it a shot. And along with a few other Americans, I liked it.

But it didn’t stop there, did it? Suddenly, guys like Frasier and Ed had to call it a night because the world would rather watch carefully chosen idiots eat cockroaches, trade spaces, live in a house with a bunch of strangers, and not parent their own children. And maybe there was a need in American culture not being met before American Idol, but what was lacking that we needed full access to Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica or Ice Road Truckers? And why do housewives in Cleveland, Ohio need to watch housewives in New Jersey? ABC is already paying the ones on Wisteria Lane to entertain them.

The problem is more and more shows seem to be catering to niche markets, like Project Runway, Ghost Hunters, 19 and Counting! Let’s hope 19 and Counting is a niche market. And then there are reality shows that could help Americans, like The Biggest Loser or What Not to Wear. But I’m afraid that the majority of Americans aren’t watching for inspiration. They’re watching for entertainment, clothed in Wal-Mart tracksuits, and eating a sleeve of chocolate chips cookies as they do so.