I was having a really bad day today, and then I got a text from my mom that said “I am going to get a chef job at Disney World”, with the following photo attached.
Guess what! I’m not dead! I know you were all really concerned. Since the last time
we I spoke, I ran Broad Street (1 hour, 45 minutes, didn’t die), officially lost 20 pounds (yay for having clothes that fit!), went to Hershey Park, and have had quite a lovely summer start. In the midst of it, I developed a sudden aversion to talking about myself (yes, I do realize this is a blog where mostly I talk about myself. I have issues, we can explore those at a later date). I think it was because I actually accomplished something I set out to do, and talking about it feels like bragging (when usually I just complain and rant around these parts). ANYWAY, moving on.
Remember when I said I hate the news? In light of the recent Casey Anthony trial verdict, that feeling has grown much stronger. A few years back, my mom gave me “The World According to Mr. Rodgers” for Christmas. Yes, the Mr. Rodgers. I just watched a clip of him and let me just say, I would wear his house sweaters, they are vintage at their finest. I’d update the look with a large belt, of course. This little book is full of quotes and blurbs from him, and he totally knew what he was talking about when it came to the quiet moments of life and the heart of people. I came upon it the other day, and I want to share the following, because I find it incredibly uplifting.
— Fred Rogers
I have a confession to make: I do not watch the news. I do not read the news, I do not seek it out on the internet, and usually if it’s on nearby I will play on my cell phone or hum to myself, as not to be sucked into it.
Want to know why? Cause I’m a huge scaredy cat, that’s why. The news, without fail, makes me think the world is ending, my whole family is going to be murdered in their beds and I’m going to get HPV from Splenda. I am also overly empathetic, and would spend the entire news hour crying over other peoples losses. Who has time for that many feelings? No one, that’s who.
A couple weeks ago, a girl was raped in the bathroom at a coffee shop 6 blocks from my house. I live in a nice neighborhood and have never ever felt unsafe, even at night. For my own safety, should I know about a rape when the perpetrator is still at large and I walk the dog by myself at night? Yep, probably. Am I content to be blissfully unaware and walk about my neighborhood as if it is Oz and I am Dorothy after the Wizard grants her wish? Yes, yes I am. (Note to self, buy a rape whistle).
As you know, politics are a major news topic every single day. This means that I have little to no idea why everyone hates, loves, or thinks Obama is cute, ever. I also have no idea what is going on with the war or who China is about to blow up (do they even do that? See! I don’t even know!). While I am sure you are shaking your head at my self imposed ignorance, rest assured that I am just fine in my little bubble.
I bring this all up to state the following: I firmly believe that politics have no place on facebook. I will look at your pictures of your kids, I will read your status about how you had the best iced coffee from dunkin donuts today (I will probably even like it, cause who doesn’t love dunkin donuts iced coffee?), I may even play a round of jeopardy for you if you seem desperate, but I.do.not.care. (you should be hearing Denzel’s Washington’s daughter when young Hayden Panettiere tries to explain football to her in Remember the Titans when you read that) if you love/hate/think Obama is cute today. Go ahead and invite me to fishville even, I’ll take that over listening to your half cocked political diatribes.*
My political stance is as follows – no man is an island, especially not men in power. If the president/king/emperor does something really stupid, than I equate it to the terrible singers on American Idol whose family and friends and multiple rounds of preliminary judges assured that they were very good and would be successful, only to be lambasted in front of America.
P.S. Did you know I’m not allowed to be President? Maybe I’m just subconsciously bitter, yo.
*I realize that not every opinion is half cocked – there are many in my circle who are quite well informed and whose opinion I trust greatly. I have found, however, that those who choose to use facebook as a political soap box often have no idea wtf they’re talking about. If you are one of those well informed people, this is not aimed at you.
Bekka: Did I tell you we’re getting a new apartment? It has a bedroom just for you and Maggie.
Muffy: Oh! Can we have bunk beds?
Does anyone else remember Under the Umbrella Tree? It was one of my favorite Disney Channel shows as a child, and I still sing one of the songs from it to my dog every time I come home.
The show was about a girl named Holly, who lived with three roommates – a blue jay, a gopher and an iguana. It was awesome, even though I knew as a child it was totally improbable. The gopher slept in a potted tree, the iguana slept on a shelf, and the blue jay had a bird house outside. Can you imagine how much poop poor Holly must have had to clean up?
Some other things that I think about all the time that no one else remembers are:
- Rice Krispies with Marshmallows – they came in a green box, and tasted like heaven. They were real, I know they were!
- In the realm of TV shows – Noozles, Ocean Girl and Ghostwriter. Sigh, Ghostwriter, how I still wish you were real.
- Quints! (Which were later followed by Quints cousins – I will sing you the commercial if you want, and yes, I did have the white ones).
What did people do before google? I guess they just went on thinking that they did, in fact, make up all their memories.
In other, totally unrelated news – Broad Street happens next week and I’ve now run enough miles to say with certainty that I probably won’t die. I will be in the slow section (my run is basically a brisk walk for most people), but I will be alive at the end. After which, I plan on eating copious amounts of Mexican food. Join me?