Time for some TIME

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I like the Time newsfeed. Today’s menu:

  1. Restaurant Gets Negative Review Before it Even Opens
  2. My students would love this. Thing is, they’d have to be the ones to teach the class.
  3. Oh dear. This reminds me of the Thriller’s inexplicable attraction to ridiculous ghostie shows. In fact, credit them in large part with the creation of the Boot to the Head category.
  4. This is your absolutely no way! article for the day.
  5. Note to self for next choir tour:  Choose Diet Pepsi instead.
  6. Roger Federer is awesome. And so is the opening line of this article, admittedly. HA

And that’s all I had time to read this morning. Now it’s off to the school house, where life is beautiful all the time, and I’ll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean, white coats.

TTI IV

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Sometimes, you’re just grumpy. But I say that’s all right, because I have a theory (and because I am feeling a mite tetchy this morning meself).

It’s the yin-and-yang thing. Balance. The black with the white; the rain with the sun. Inner feng shui. But is it fair to share it with others? Do your colleagues and family need to be mandatory cast members in your grumptacular fussfest?

The Truth Is: maybe.

I think a bad mood needs to be shared occasionally with trusted friends/family. I never underestimate the necessity of commiseration. However, being humans, we struggle to avoid routinely mucking things up, and the result is often *two* crabby people. I try to put my best face forward in the classroom every day, regardless of my mood. Ninety-nine percent of the time, my students never know I’m having a meltdown or that I’m in a black mood. The other one percent…well, there’s that whole struggling to not muck things up thing.

The other angle I thought of has to do with just wanting to be mad about something. It’s the ultimate personal change of pace. I can’t say I know anyone who is constantly chirpy. I know people who fake it, but eventually the real color bleeds through.

So I say we look at it as a pressure valve, and it’s OK to hold it down once in awhile and release all the pent-up steam. Besides, it’ll make the bright side look that much better when you actually get back to normal. But of course, that presupposes you know what normal is, and that just doesn’t happen in my neighborhood…

Sadness

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Disclaimer: I am neither a PETA enthusiast nor a Ted Nugent drone. I eat meat, and have done so all my life. I have been to a slaughterhouse and seen how cows are euthanized. And let me tell you, I’d prefer death by a quick shot to the brain to living the life of an egg chicken. The recent discoveries linked with the salmonella outbreak have once again brought to the forefront the horrifying cruelty of people who view animals as only the bottom line. So goes the demise of a real hen house where chickens lay eggs, scratch dirt, peck at feed, walk around and cluck, and sleep in a comfy nest. We can’t produce a half a million eggs a day like that, now can we?

Without opening up a huge, protracted discussion on food ethics or government policy (because, as I am wont to say, harsh words are often spoken with no minds being changed), something must be done about the deplorable conditions surrounding egg production in this country. Why are these egg “farms” even allowed to exist? They should be closed down for the simple reason that it is unconscionable to put an animal in an eight-and-a-half by eleven-inch space and never allow it to move.

If someone did this to a dog or cat, he would be fined and perhaps jailed. But the torture of these poor hens is allowed to go on with impunity. (I won’t provide links to the hidden-camera revelations — it’s too sickening.)  Makes about as much sense as television commercials showing almost-naked women in Victoria’s Secret commercials, but never showing a single person take a drink in a beer ad. Ridiculous and stupid.

It’s likely useless to argue the point, and I know there are thousands of atrocities (against animals AND humans) being perpetrated every day. Choose your cause, and there’ll be evidence to support you. I’m just zeroing in on this particular travesty this day. It’s a shameful testimony to the greed for which our country and its industries are becoming infamous. Blah.

Fink, having fruit and yogurt for breakfast

And Emmy makes three

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For the third straight year, my favorite TV show (and one of exactly two that I watch with any regularity at all) won the Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series. Not surprising. What was surprising was the baffling ridiculousness of January Jones’s dress. Yipes.

Christina Hendricks (on the left, in the gorgeous taupe gown) was lovely, as usual. I for one recognize her acting talent as well as the fact that she is a great physical role model for “regular” women. No worries, Chrissy.

My other favorite series (HBO’s True Blood) was nominated but didn’t win. It’s a rather goofy show, but cool that a saga about vampires and werewolves and other silly creatures has captured the entertainment world’s attention. I also like nominee Breaking Bad, but I never get to watch it for some reason. I’ve settled for the cheapskate recap vids on AMC’s site.

Most deserving was Al Pacino, for his role as Jack Kevorkian. It was by far his creepiest  (I’ve seen every Pacino movie since Panic in Needle Park and Serpico), and right up there with Michael Corleone on the believability scale. Home run.

Then there’s Glee. We won’t talk about that this morning — I’m in a hurry. :-)

RF, still looking for the happy in Mondays

Image credit: Reuters

Oh, no. The parents joined Facebook.

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I’m sure that phrase has crossed the brains and lips of many horrified teenagers over the last five years. And although my children are no longer teenagers, I try to make sure to not embarrass them on Facebook. Since my children, step-children and daughters-in-law are also my friends in “real life,” I think we’ve all done a pretty good job. Lars does not do the Facebook thing, but I love him anyway because he is my baby boy.

Notice I didn’t say anything about not embarrassing my children in blog posts.

I read an article yesterday about people over 50 getting into the whole social networking scene. This is news? I guess I’m among the exceptions: the people who’ve “been on the Internet” since around 1993-94, when brands like Mosaic, Netscape and Usenet were cutting-edge. When nearly *everyone’s* connection to the Internet sounded like this. So I take exception to the over-50 crowd’s techno savvy being viewed as such an anomaly. Dang kids anyhow.

Somebody’s car alarm is going off. Eight thirty on a Sunday morning, and there’s a car alarm going off at a house down the street. I hope it isn’t Lars and Helen’s…haha

Anyway, I saw a funny feature on Time‘s site. Why Facebook Is For Old Fogies lists ten reasons. Among them:

We’re not bitter about high school anymore. You’re probably still hung up on any number of petty slights, but when that person who used to call us that thing we’re not going to mention here, because it really stuck, asks us to be friends on Facebook, we happily friend that person. Because we’re all grown up now. We’re bigger than that. Or some of us are, anyway. We’re in therapy, and it’s going really well. These are just broad generalizations.

How true, heh. Some of the reasons don’t apply, but others hit home. Speaking of hitting home, I wonder how many teenage readers identify with this website. I thought it was funny, but I wouldn’t have 35 years ago, you know? Then again, I’m an old fogie who’s just now discovered she can “get on that Facebook page.”

:-)

There goes that car alarm for the third time. I’ll be back later. Must go find the Louisville Slugger and take a walk.