Today I’m over there…

The very talented Renee of Life in the Boomer Lane started a wonderful new blog called, Guerrilla Aging. When I first learned about it, I was thrilled. And I still am. It’s a forum for us more “seasoned” people to share thoughts, advice, memories, and humor about what it means to grow older gracefully and with spirit. I’ve been searching for a blog like hers for a long, long time. Thank you, Renee!

Today, my post, titled, “Invisible Woman,” is there on her blog. Please stop by and take a look. And check out the other posts from some other writers as well.

I’m going to enjoy visiting Guerrilla Aging through the new year. I know I’ll learn much, laugh a lot, and better appreciate what it means to be older in a young world.

 

Tying Up Loose Ends, Tripping Over Some

I’m not going into 2013 without tying up some loose ends. I have enough trouble navigating the hallways and rooms in this house what with all the dog toys strewn throughout the place.

Loose End #1
Many of you know about my ongoing summer battles with voles. Well, it turns out that I didn’t have a vole problem. Forgive me my ignorance of yard rodents. It is the industrious little pocket gopher that has been tearing up my yard, digging trenches and destroying plants. This misidentification of my yard varmint was unfortunate—no, it was more than that—it was tragic. My pocket gopher problem ended one afternoon this past summer after the 8^th or 9^th toxic fumigation of one of its tunnels.

My sister came across the dead gopher one evening on her way to my back door. She placed it on my porch railing so the dogs couldn’t get it and so I could witness the fruits of my successful battle.

But I don’t feel good about killing that gopher, especially after reading that they’re actually beneficial to the environment and they’re close to extinction in some places. So, this coming summer, instead of poisoning the earth, I’ll trap and release them. I’ll be more patient and understanding in between cursing them. They were here first. I’m the intruder.

The Vole. Cute. Not found in my backyard.

Pocket gopher. Ugly. Found in my backyard.

Loose End #2
I’ve decided to try to like more people in 2013. No, not on Facebook. In real life.

It’s always been the case—as a category, I prefer dogs to humans. They’ve been good to me, dogs have. They see me in the morning and rarely flinch. They greet me when I return to work as though I’ve been away for a year AND wrapped in a bacon suit.

What I look like to my dogs.

Not so much with people. But, then again, I really don’t try that hard to endear myself to people. You could call me a curmudgeon. You could, but then I’d probably snap at you. When it comes to warming up to a human, it’s a matter of comfort level and trust. If I see a dog approaching, the thoughts percolating to the surface are positive ones. I see a person approaching and I avert my eyes. If someone’s dog greets me, I reach out and pet their dog. If a human greets me, I wonder how long it will take before I can gracefully excuse myself.

Perhaps I should carry human treats in my pocket and, along with a cheery “Hello!” offer them a goodie. Or wear a bacon suit. It works with dogs.

Loose End #3
It’s past time to thank some blogger friends here. You’ve made my years as a blogger so worthwhile. I have more to read, yes, and not more time, but it’s worth it.

Mostly Bright Ideas: Thank you, Charles, for being one of the funniest humans I know. You have a marvelous way with words. You’ve heard that before but it needs repeating. We can see ourselves in the hilarious descriptions you offer about yourself and, through that, you help us laugh at our own faults and quirks. Even your comments are bits of brilliance, and more often than not, they are the kindest words I’ve ever heard. I love your blog. I recently received your book, “Writing Rules” and I adore it because it’s not your typical grammar guide, the kind containing examples that bore you into a coma.

Say you’re trying to learn the Present Perfect tense. Most grammar guides would include an example like this:

She has not returned the book to the library yet.

Snore.

Charles gives us this:

Have you ever worn a gorilla costume?

Despite his well-groomed appearance, Dan has never taken a bath.

Here’s his example for showing us the difference between “pore” and “pour”:

We pored over his letters, hoping to understand his sudden obsession with wool slippers.

As she poured the milk over her corn flakes, she also poured out her heart to me. It was pretty messy.

His blog is a literary delight. Please read it.

Okjimm: You’re off and on with your blog, Jim, but you’re always there with a funny and brilliant comment on my posts. You’re a keen observer of humans and you do it through eyes that see the profound, the sublime and the silly. I’ve appreciated the postcards and vintage ephemera that you send out of the blue. Mostly, I’m just proud to be your friend.

Lame Adventures: V, my New York girl, for years you’ve given me the insider’s tour of your city and not charged me a single cent. I live through your adventures as though I were there, next to you, wandering the streets of that fabulous town. I’ve realized that a person can have fun just staring up at a tennis shoe tree or wandering the five subway stops in Manhattan between West 57th and West 157th Streets to look at sculptures. And you’re defying the stereotype of the typical New Yorker, too. I wish I could join you and your friend, Milton, on one of your adventures.

She’s A Maineiac: Darla, you forever crack me up. You’ve got the marvelous facial expressions to go along with your goofy outlook on life. I adore your vlogs. You’re going to make a fantastic nurse and if “laughter is the best medicine,” you’re bound to cure thousands of patients. I wish I could visit you just once. I’d find a place for those shoes you keep leaving in the hallway. Please don’t stop writing. It’s my cure for a lousy morning.

A Voice From the Foothills: Sherry, you’re hardly adrift. You’re spot on in your posts. How you can continue to report the insanity in politics and society and still be funny about it, is a gift. You help remind me that I can never be complacent and stand by while injustice and stupidity affects our lives.

Blurt’s Blog: Thank you so much, Oma, for your hilarious takes on the typical, the usual, and the not-so-typical in life. You have the amazing ability to write for your readers in a way that makes us want to get involved in your shenanigans. You keep reminding me that life is going on all around us, in the tiniest of scenes, in the most mundane activities and experiences. We all need to be reminded that the big things aren’t what really matter; it’s when we look more closely at the day-to-day that we feel more a part of this life.

Woodgate’s View: Larry, you’re a sensitive, new-newer age kind of guy. You’re also deeply thoughtful, passionate about your views, and you explore each topic with a thorough understanding of the issues. Along with great information I get from your posts, is the sense that you sincerely want to make this world a better place for all of us. It’s wonderful to have someone like you on my side.

Please check my blogroll for more wonderful bloggers who enrich my life. It’s been a great year with all of them.

Thank you all who stop and take a break here!

The Squirrel: Garden Menace, Military Strategist

We now know what we’ve suspected all along: We humans are no match for our garden foe, the squirrel.

The squirrel is wily, devious, clever and fast on its paws. This creature is also a master of deceptive tactics. The brainiacs at Georgia Institute of Technology made this discovery and are busy analyzing squirrels with the intent of using certain aspects of their behavior in the design of military robots. Good for them. It’s about time someone stopped throwing sticks and rocks at squirrels, shrieking and cursing at them, and devising ways to trap and kill them. Squirrels are finally getting the recognition and respect they deserve.

Professor Ronald Arkin and his team at Georgia Tech’s school of interactive computing identified particular squirrel behaviors that are singularly useful in the strategic art of deception. One of these behaviors involves the squirrel’s habit of hiding their nut supplies.

What do squirrels do to prevent other squirrels from stealing their nut stash? Well, according to Arkin, they dig a hundred little holes in your vegetable and flower garden to distract other squirrels from finding the real nut stash. You’ve seen those empty depressions in your yard next to the bulbs and seeds you planted, right? You know that squirrels watch you while you stand there and curse, don’t you?

Anyway, Arkin and his team decided to build this technique into their robot. They’ll create a ‘predator’ robot that will visit fake ammunition locations, thereby protecting the actual stores. Brilliant.

You think I’m hiding a nut here, don’t you?

The article I read didn’t mention other instances of borrowing squirrel behaviors in the design of their robots. So, I’ll provide a few others.

Driving Your Enemy Insane
Squirrels, of course, are the experts of this technique. If you have dogs (if you don’t, get some), you’ve most likely watched them race up and down the fence in your yard chasing a squirrel who seems to have unlimited energy and time to do the same. Or, you’ve seen the squirrels who manage to stay just out of jaw reach, chittering and chattering at the poor, stupid beast who keeps throwing itself at the tree trunk.

Yoohoo! Hey, there, you mangy cur!

It’s a small leap from there to design a robot that races up and down the terrain while the enemy’s vehicles burn up a full tank of gas. Meanwhile, the real robot is somewhere else, blowing up their headquarters. But I guarantee you, the enemy’s soldiers, sitting in that vehicle, will have been driven insane long before then.

Stealth Nut Bombing
You’ve experienced this; I know you have. You’re walking along the sidewalk, minding your own business and, BAM! An acorn pierces your noggin. You look up and see nothing. Nothing.

Stop attributing the incident to gravity, folks. Don’t be so trusting. Somewhere in that tree you just passed under, perches a squirrel, camouflaged by the branches. And it knows exactly when to hurl the nut at your head.

Gravity? I spit on gravity!

So, think about it. Camouflaged robots, perched in trees… well, you know the rest. This military tactic is even more effective in that the offended troops will stand there, for a good 15-20 minutes trying to locate the robot/squirrel in the tree. They will be driven mad when they can’t find it.

Evasive Maneuvers
Nine times out of ten, a squirrel can safely make it to the other side of a heavily trafficked street. And this is in spite of the multiple changes in direction the creature makes—back and forth, darting, stopping, turning on a dime, and befuddling the driver. You, the driver, however, now has whiplash from repeatedly slamming on the brakes (You BETTER BE slamming on the brakes!) You’re cursing. All of the crap you’ve placed on the seat next to you has catapulted to the floor. Your latte now coats the inside of your gear box. You will arrive at work in a very cranky mood.

Your car got a boo boo. Boohoo.

Now imagine the usefulness of this evasive maneuver on the battlefield. Picture their tanks or planes zigzagging wildly while our troop robot zigzags twice as fast in a completely random fashion. I’ll bet severe whiplash could get a soldier kicked out of combat. Hundreds of troops walking around in neck braces wouldn’t inspire confidence. The chiropractor bills alone would decimate a country’s defense budget.

This post is meant to be a lighthearted look at the strategy and tactics of war. Frankly, I’d much prefer that every country’s troops learn a different behavior from squirrels: The ability to play with each other in that jubilant, joyous way they do, with no one getting hurt, ever.

Play to live. Live to play.

Squirrel photos: Courtesy of the talented photographers uploading to the free image library at Morguefile.com

Social Media: Where Everyone Gets To Be A Comedian

Many of the laughs I get these days come out of reading posts on Facebook and tweets on Twitter. There’s a lot of funny out there. I’ve friended Stephen Colbert’s fan page, BadBanana, and a few others that rarely fail to get a chuckle. They’re professionals. They’ve got years of being funny behind them.

But social media, along with sucking up an enormous amount of our time, has also allowed a majority of us to exercise our comedic tendencies. Sometimes that’s successful, but most times, not so much. Personally, I think that quite a few would-be comedians on social media sites just aren’t funny.

And when it doesn’t work, it’s painful. Of course, you can say that humor is in the eye or ear of the beholder. You can say that. But then I’ll disagree with you, because I’ve got my Humor Rules.

Here’s how I see it:

1. Humor is all about context. It’s about the right time and the right place. If someone has just made a serious statement, and, perhaps, is wiping away real tears of pain, that’s not the time to make a joke, no matter how desperately you want a laugh. If you walk into the house immediately after wrecking your father’s new car, and you make a joke about it, don’t expect good old dad to laugh with you. You might want to wait on the humor—say for about 10 years or so.

If the context doesn’t warrant a joke, refrain. Otherwise, you’ve become the equivalent of the person who walks into a formal get together wearing a ratty t-shirt, sweatpants and dirty sneakers. You’re out of place. Get your hands off the hors d’oeuvres, put down the champagne glass, and leave.

2. The best humor is not obvious (Unless you’re Chevy Chase tripping over a podium.)  Sight gags are fine, but aren’t easy to carry off well. And too much is annoying and tiresome. I think Mr. Chase is now suffering from chronic back pain, by the way.

Chevy Chase

3. Making jokes about death and injury should generally be off limits. Be very, very cautious when confronted with a tragic situation involving death or serious injury. A long time ago I was working in an office with a fellow who fancied himself quite a jokester. When another coworker’s parent died, Shecky (we’ll call him Shecky) made a joke about it. And try as I might, I could not convince him that his joke was inappropriate. I got the standard response of the humorless boor, “You have no sense of humor.” No, I do have a sense of humor and some respect and compassion to go along with it.

I want to point out one instance involving a person’s death that did garner a tremendous amount of joking and laughter. And I joined in. The joke was directed at Generalissimo Francisco Franco and originated in 1975 during the first season of NBC’s Saturday Night. For many interminable weeks, the news reported the Spanish dictator’s impending death, thereby chiseling into the lexicon of humor the famous phrase: “Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead.”

He is still dead.

4. Know when to not try so hard. It’s the inappropriate and sophomoric use of humor that annoys me almost the most. I wish some people weren’t so desperate to be the funniest person in the room.

Oddly, this CAN be funny.

It seems to me that we’re living in a nation where we’ve all become so desperate for the “like” or for a “retweet.” We’re the kid in the back of the class who desperately wants to be known as the class clown. But we can’t function in a society full of class clowns, or full of people striving to be the class clown. That world would be annoying, wouldn’t it? And, think about it—we’d not make one bit of progress in solving our nation’s problems.

In social media and elsewhere, communication relies on an audience. Many of us seem to be uncomfortable with the notion of sitting in the audience. We want the stage and the spotlight. Is it so very awful to be considered the one who laughs rather than who gets the laughs?

Lastly, if someone doesn’t appreciate your sense of humor, there’s no reason to feel slighted. You don’t have to get angry. Telling that individual to “lighten up” is simply code for, “I’m mad at you for not thinking I’m funny.”

Yes, I realize that humor is a very subjective thing. That’s why I called these my “Humor Rules”, which isn’t to say that my humor rules or rocks. Once in a while, I admit, I laugh at my own jokes. Often, I’m usually the only one in the room laughing. But I’m okay with not being funny all of the time. It’s too much work and sometimes it gives me a cramp.

The Cause of Your Stress? Your Younger Brother

How Having A Little Brother May Affect Your Heart

Health News on Huffingtonpost.com|Amanda L. Chan

A new study of Bolivian villagers shows a link between having a younger brother and slightly increased blood pressure levels later on in adulthood, though the Brandeis University researchers did note that the effect seemed to diminish with age.

They found that the study participants who reported having a younger brother had as much as 5.9 percent higher systolic and diastolic blood pressure levels, than those who didn’t have a younger brother.

Therefore, “in a large family, the number of younger brothers may exert an impact on an individual’s blood pressure,” the researchers wrote in the Economics and Human Biology study.

Dear Youngest Brother,

Well, it turns out that it wasn’t the salt in my diet. It’s not the extra pounds I’ve got hovering around my waist. It’s not my job, my bank account or my extra gray hairs. It’s you, all YOU.

When you forced me to lower the amount of salt I consume in foods, I complied. I did! Gawd almighty, does food taste like crap now! That change alone has kicked up my stress level. I can no longer look at a potato chip without weeping.

They Make Me Happy

This summer, before I insulated my home to R54,006, you “recommended” that I record the temperature of every wall and floor in my home and compare it with the outside temperature. I agreed to the task. Your detailed explanation on thermal imbalances was instructive. I tried to concentrate and listen, but all I could do was fret over the millions of molecules of expensively cooled air escaping to the outside. Just the mere act of walking around with you while you pointed your Fluke 561 Infrared Thermometer at each wall and floor in my home elevated my blood pressure.

And when you hooked up your MURATA – ACM20-2-AC1-R-C – AC POWER METER, 85VAC to 264VAC  to every electrical device in my home to measure the power drain produced by each, I gritted my teeth and steeled myself against the stress of finding out that along with the billions of ions being sucked out of my electrical outlets, dollar bills were floating out of my bank account like a major butterfly migration. Al right. I suppose I don’t need to leave NPR on for my two dogs to listen to while I’m gone during the day.

I bought my freezer without having you there to check the kilowatts used per hour per year. But then I was so worried that the one I purchased wasn’t energy efficient enough, I was prepared to create and then paste a fake energy usage label over the one it came with.  Look, little brother, my freezer uses .0000000000000000000001 kWh/year! Hey, I’m producing energy for the nation!

Why do I still tell people that gardening is relaxing? It was once long ago, when you lived full time in that desolate and desiccated area of Texas, unable to grow anything but cacti, rocks and scorpions. But after you moved a few blocks away and began to plant your own Gloating Victory Garden, things changed. I can’t possibly compete with someone who lovingly repositions his tomato plants every half hour to give them the full advantage of the sun’s rays. And who actually assists in the pollinating process. Telling me that your plant, which was potted just two days ago, now has 88 tomatoes on it sends my blood pressure up the giant’s beanstalk. Yes, of course, little brother, your beanstalk is much taller.

Not Actual Size.

I can’t put plastic in the microwave anymore. I’ve been robbed of that convenience. Your admonishments about cancer causing agents leaching from the plastic has added significant seconds to my mealtimes. And now I have to wash an extra dish. Geez. If we’re going to go all formal like that, I might as well sit down at the table to eat instead of standing at the sink.

Thanks to you, younger brother, recycling is now my new religion, the altar, my recycling bin. Watch me dive into the trashcan to fish out a 1 cm x 1 cm piece of cardboard that accidentally fell into it. Watch the grocery store clerk glare at me when I toss a dozen apples onto the conveyer belt because I can’t bring myself to use the store’s plastic bags. Look at my collection of furniture and trinkets I made out of Styrofoam because I can’t bear to throw it in the regular trash.

Ignorance was bliss. And, it was less stressful. Now that you’ve helped convince me that global climate change is here, I cannot touch the thermostat, the light switch, any power-on button, or drive somewhere in my car without hearing that little brotherly voice of reason and reproach. I sweat in the summer, freeze in the winter, squint my eyes in a dimly lit home, and I walk everywhere. It could be worse. I could be living in a yurt in the middle of Idaho’s hinterlands.

OF COURSE our little sister has the blood pressure of a reptile sleeping in the shade. Or of a pillow. She doesn’t have a younger brother. She can compete with you, argue with you, get peeved with you, but HER stress level remains subterranean. I’m her stress bag. You, younger brother, are the lightning, sister is the kite string, and I am the metal key and Mr. Ben Franklin.

But let me say this last thing: Everyone, EVERYONE, would benefit from having a younger brother. The benefits far outweigh any disadvantages. I can do without the salt, the AC, the illumination and all the rest. I can’t do without a younger brother.

Styrofoam Crafts!
Stryofoam Crafts (Yes! It’s a website!)
Make the Owls!
1-800-Recycling.Com
Curbly
Pinterest ”Bonka Perry Crafts”

The Myth of Older and Wiser

Well known and cherished couplings that seem to last the test of time: Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, bacon and eggs, snow on Christmas morning, Willie Nelson and country music, and so on.

Older and wiser? Not so much.

The world presents us with enough evidence to confirm that few of us, very few, become wiser as we age. If I wanted to use data here, I’d make a case that at least 96% of the older among us are clearly not wiser.

I bet you that nearly every one of us older folks have said things like, “I’m sure glad I know what I know now.” And then we proceed to do the most foolish and hapless things—as though we’re suffering from amnesia and cannot rely on the memory of our youthful indiscretions to guide our behavior. It’s not as though examples of older NOT wiser behavior hide from view. The media, after all, thrives on them; frequent and blatant examples of careless acts are the Vitamin D of network news.

Something false resonates in Sinatra’s words, “Regrets, I’ve had a few. But I did it my way.” Because “my way” frequently includes a trip to the emergency room, unemployment, bankruptcy, jail time, divorce, or adulterous liaisons. Frankly, “my way” doesn’t exist. There is no “my way” when it comes to foolish behavior, rash encounters, and general imprudence. Because, in fact, my way too often resembles the way of so many older and NOT wiser characters. The my way is a road paved with embarrassing and painful examples of reckless behavior. We have plenty of examples around us—we have a veritable GPS of examples, yet we don’t use it.

Incapable of older and wiser

Older, NOT Wiser, and a Name to Go With It

A bit of anecdotal evidence: My father, who used to be a dentist before he retired, now behaves as though an all chocolate diet is healthy. My mother, who used to be a nurse, supports this practice. Older, not wiser.

Do this quick exercise: Make a list of all the older and wiser things you’ve done. Next to it, make a list of all the older and NOT wiser things you’ve done. Which list is longer?

The photocopy will live on

Of course, that probably wouldn’t be an accurate test because, remarkably, our memories don’t hold onto all of the unwise, irrational, thoughtless and reckless things we’ve done in our older years. Mercifully so.

In my case, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve done something older and wiser. For example, I got rid of my snowboard last month because the image of damaging my veneers and breaking a hip had come into clearer focus as time went by. Perhaps we all need to play a video in our heads of the most likely outcome of our idiotic behavior—in full color with Surround Sound. Bring popcorn and a large soda.

Grays on Trays: Recipe for Disaster

A lot of us are expressing shock and awe over the Petraeus love quadrangle. Our reaction tells others that we believe the older, more celebrated, and most powerful among us are immune to poor judgment in some areas of their lives. Why should they be?

What does this all mean?

1. Perhaps we should be less hasty in condemning others for stupid behavior.

2. It would behoove us to use the examples of the older and NOT wiser to guide our behavior. Oddly, we rarely do.

3. Most of us seem to love a gloriously colossal fall from grace. What does that say about us?

4. Humans appear to be just as reflexive in the presence of temptation as a hungry mutt. Perhaps we’re all doomed to repeat mistakes and do stupid things.

5. Don’t wait for the news to print evidence of your less wise moments to become older and wiser.

Honestly, we will NEVER learn. Stop scolding the younger generation for being irresponsible, rash and immature. Instead, repeat and repeat often, “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Dogs, Cats and Demons

Spelled backwards, “God” is “doG.” Obvious, yet filled with meaning and possibility. Personally, I believe that dogs are, in fact, the most godly of all creatures. Dogs. Not cats. Cats are servants of the devil. They’d be more than happy to escort their owners to the gates of Hell. Oh, yes, they’d look cute while doing so, but nonetheless, you’d watch as they trotted away, their tails twitching back and forth as Hell’s greeter shoved you through the gates into a fiery pit.

You see what I just did? I demonized cats. It was easy. All it involved was typing a few words.

Throughout this recent election season, I found it impossible to avoid demonizing my opponents. I couldn’t seem to stop. I used it as the only way to manage my anger over the intolerance, bigotry and racism that kept spewing forth. I think I also used it to gird myself from the uneasiness I felt, and still feel, knowing that people with so much hatred and fear are living among us.

If I can think of them as being filled with an evil spirit, then, the next act is to write them off, to write them out of my life. They are, after all, beyond redemption. Or are they?

Do you wonder that the dire employment situation has led a large portion of the U.S. to believe that President Obama is their enemy, a demon in disguise? Strong emotion and the agony of not knowing when one might ever work again or be able to afford a home again, could drive people to need some outlet for their fears. Irrational, yes, but necessary to hang onto until things get better. That might explain some of the reaction to our President, but others, the ones who voted for him, clearly see him as a way out of this mess.

Seeing instances of outright racism displayed throughout the last four years, coming from intelligent people as well as the ignorant, made it feel as though I were living in a different U.S. I’ve seen even more of it now in the last few days since President Obama has been elected to another term.

If I consider the source of these fears and paranoia to be ignorance, is it at all possible to reach them through education? I don’t think so. When one is in the midst of a fight and flight response, there’s no way for information to find its way in.

Through these last few years, I’ve unfriended a few people on Facebook and hid the posts of others whose remarks were strident, negative and biased. Yet my posts were just as loudly expressed and condemning of the views of the opposite side.

Well, no one is perfect. But most of us can learn. This doesn’t mean that I’d welcome the angry and partisan back to my Facebook page. But, perhaps, if I can take the volume down and soften the tone, it might just influence others to do the same.

Here’s a simple example showing how I’m putting tolerance into action. Remember: Baby steps. It’s a small start but it’s in the right direction. One of my Facebook friends regularly and frequently posts those photos of cats doing and saying funny things. I’ve found myself clicking “Like” on almost all of them.

Cats stand a chance with me. Perhaps my opponents will, too.

Boston Terrier Attacks Demon Broom

Bullying: What Tyra Banks Is and Isn’t Teaching Us

I’ll confess this today, but please promise you won’t hold it against me. It’s not something I’m proud of at all. I’m working on ridding myself of this habit. It might take an intervention.

I watch America’s Next Top Model. Ugh. It hurt to type that. I need an antacid. But, let me say this: It’s the last season I’m going to watch.

I used to admire Tyra Banks, the creator and host of the show. After all, she was one of the first and most notable in her industry to endorse and even celebrate women who come in larger sizes. She should be commended for her work in encouraging women and young girls to accept their bodies and in not allowing unhealthily skinny girls to appear on her show.

Unfortunately, where she falls down in holding to a higher standard lies with the issue of bullying. In each of ANTM’s episodes you’re privy to sizable segments featuring “off camera” moments when the girls aren’t competing in a structured event. And what we see in those moments are countless, disturbing instances of bullying among the contestants.

At some point in the de-evolution of television, the competition reality show became standard fare. Each station now delivers up an unending variety of shows in which the “stars” compete with each other. By no means is it friendly competition, though. It wasn’t enough for contestants on Survivor to win the challenges; they had to engage in vicious exchanges, backbiting and ganging up against others. Big Brother trapped all of us between four walls, making those of us who couldn’t escape endure constant malicious and venomous exchanges between members of the house. Even the Biggest Loser, attempting worthwhile goals, subjects us to scenes of contestants disparaging other contestants, as if each of them didn’t have enough of an emotional and physical burden to bear. No pun intended.

But we demand it, don’t we? Would we watch if we couldn’t be voyeurs to the bullying and nastiness? Don’t a lot of us get a private thrill when someone shouts down someone else, gets the last word or threatens another into silence? We don’t care about substance; we want winners at all costs. And we want a loser.

The other morning I heard an alarming statistic about the rise of young women being placed in juvenile correction facilities. I may be overreaching here, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to find a correlation between the increase in females to juvenile correction and shows like Jersey Shore and its various odious spawn—shows that feature young women “getting all up in someone’s grille” and generally behaving like thugs. Young girls are learning to glorify girl-on-girl combat. They give a hearty fist pump to the girl who has the fiercest head wag, the loudest comeback, and who makes her opponent back down.

Research on the effects of TV violence have been summarized by the National Institute of Mental Health: ” . . . violence on television does lead to aggressive behavior by children and teenagers who watch the programs. This conclusion is based on laboratory experiments and on field studies. Not all children become aggressive, of course, but the correlations between violence and aggression are positive.”

In the case of ANTM, in every season, at least one contestant is singled out for derision and humiliation. And when she’s kicked off, a replacement for the bullying is found.

The worst part is this: These young wannabe models aren’t judged on their respectful demeanor, teamwork, civility and fair play. Hardly. Tyra Banks and the other judges shower compliments on the contestants’ beauty and ability to master a mean runway walk, while allowing reprehensible behavior to go on in the background. What do you think that’s teaching young girls? Beauty only needs to lie at the surface? That true beauty is just foundation and mascara, which can be washed off each night?

It’s a shame that Ms. Banks doesn’t see her role as also creating responsible, respectful, compassionate and considerate women. But that would make her show entirely too dull, wouldn’t it?

Bullying is a serious issue in our country. Any child who’s been through it can be scarred for life. Any child who’s been through it can end his or her life because of it. Any parent that stands by, knowing that it’s going on, will reap the consequences of their lack of concern. And powerful, notable celebrities could make such a difference if they cared to. I wish Tyra had learned that at Harvard.

You Don’t Know Me (Well Enough to Hurt Me)

Read:
StopBullying.gov

American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry – Facts for Families

National Bullying Prevention Center

Cartoon Networks Stop Bullying Campaign

 

Baking for Your Dogs: Expecting Ingratitude in a World Full of It

As if my word hasn’t been sufficient to convince you that China is trying to kill our pets, check out this news: October Update: List of Dog Product Recalls: Keep Your Canine Safe From Dangerous Products.

This link also lists umpteen varieties of dog treats, many of which are made in China, that have been recalled this past year.

That’s a reason, though for me not the only one, that I’ve begun making my own dog treats. My sister gave me a cookbook for Christmas, titled, “Baking for Your Dog.”

Isn’t that a sweet cover photo? The only problem is that it’s total fiction. At least in my home it is.

The author of this cookbook would have us believe that dogs across the nation appreciate the efforts their owners go through to provide homemade goodies. A multitude of dog kisses for slavish indulgence. But, whoa! Parents: How many times have your children begged, “Please, Mom, can’t we just buy the Oreos?” (You can substitute Chips Ahoy, Twinkies, etc. for Oreos.) Children tend to believe that store bought is better. Perhaps that fiasco with your healthier version of chocolate chip cookies convinced them. Whatever the case, my dogs share that belief to an extent.

I spent several hours recently making homemade dog treats only to have my ungrateful little wretches turn up their wet noses at them. On several occasions, they’ve actually spit them out. And then they look toward the pantry, where I keep the store-bought dog treats.

She’d rather eat a tennis ball.

I gave up an hour on a lovely afternoon baking tuna treats for Stella and Sally only to suffer blatant disdain for my efforts. They both sniffed the treats, but upon finding out I had used the cheap, mushy tuna in a can, they walked away. Even Carmella, my sister’s dog, who will eat everything without smelling it first, turned them down. Eventually, I hid them underneath a pile of cooked chicken and kibble. And, yes, fed it to them.

On another occasion, I purposely saved two bananas out of a bunch so that I could make the Banana Cookies recipe. In addition to the banana, the recipe called for carrots, oats and a little bit of flour and oil. The result? No takers for this one, either. And this from pooches who’ll eat goose poop with fervor. Not willing to toss them in the trash, the treats ended up in a crockpot breakfast dish for me.  It was quite delicious, thank you.

My favorite saying is, “Expect Ingratitude.” I’ve thought about this much more lately because of the upcoming election and certain circumstances taking place at my job. I’ve experienced days of feeling beaten down, unappreciated, and taken for granted. But this past week, events took place at work that made me realize how many of my coworkers feel the same way. I’m not alone. A lot of us feel at least a bit entitled to more than what we’ve gotten from the hours we spend at work. Some days, I want to stand up in my cubicle and scream, “Why can’t you see the genius that I bring to this Tower of Tears?”

I would be shushed, however.

But I think a lot of us are feeling underappreciated—this scream lies festering underneath the surface of us all. And perhaps the answer is not to commiserate, but to offer praise to someone else, to acknowledge the genius—or at least, the hard work they do.

So, this coming week, I will put that into practice at work and try to turn it into a routine—nothing disingenuous, just well-timed.

As for my dogs? I’m preparing a cheese plate for them right now.

The grapes are for me, not the dogs.