Youth Culture Killed my Dog

Every few years the youth create and recreate the way our culture expresses itself verbally by creating new slang and phrases. Sometimes these words and phrases really catch on like "bling" or "p.h.a.t.". Well I say that you are never to old to impact pop culture, so today I created a new catch phrase. This phrase is "Hey, who peed in your Kool-Aid?". It is useful when someone is acting mean and crabby and taking out their bad mood on you for no good reason. If we all start using it right away it is sure to catch on! I, myself, expect to hear this phrase directed at me by my friends and family since I tend be a little dramatic with the mood swings. I would like to thank you in advance for your support.

A New Reason to Wine in Pennsyvania

I don’t know if it is an attempt to remove the messy human element from the liquor buying process or a novel way to fight unemployment by creating more useless government jobs, but Pennsylvania installed the country’s first wine kiosks in two supermarkets at the end of June. The kiosks will be open from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. Monday thru Saturday. They will scan the customers ID and take a Breathalyzer reading. The photo on the ID will be matched with a video image of the customer at the kiosk. If the customer has a breath alcohol level of .02 or higher or the ID does not match the video image, they will be unable to by a bottle of wine. The best part is that the transaction will be monitored by a Liquor Control Board employee from a remote location. This employee will be tasked with confirming that the video matches the ID. The whole process is supposed to take twenty seconds.

My first question is why? Why does Pennsylvania need what essentially amounts to a very complicated vending machine to buy wine? Are Pennsylvanians tired of snooty wine stewards recommending fancy vintages? Do they just want to be able to buy their Ripple and TJ Swan’s in peace? Bob Marcus of the PLCB said, “We happen to be the first because we have the need. As a board, we really wanted to make this much more convenient for people.” So a giant machine that scans your ID and gives you a Breathalyzer while some nameless, faceless government employee watches you on video is more convenient? How do people in Pennsylvania buy wine normally? Where I come from, you walk into the liquor store/department and select a bottle of wine from a shelf/display. Then you walk over to the register and pay for it. Does wine buying in Pennsylvania involve some long, complicated and arcane ritual that takes days to complete?

My next question to the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board is does this means they are hiring? Wisconsin is a very remote location from Pennsylvania and you are going to need a staff to monitor those video images. At least two people would be required to monitor the kiosks for 72 hours a week. I am sure that we could set up some sort of secure video feed to my home computer. I don’t want to move to Pennsylvania because apparently buying wine there is just too complicated.

A small town Independence Day

Another Independence Day has come and gone, and sparked in me the urge to write about why I love my small town existence.  Yes, the town in which I live has very few retail establishments and a whole lot of taverns.  Yes, I grocery shop at a store named "Piggly Wiggly."  And yes, the coffee shop would not exist were it not paired with the tanning salon.  (Guess which gets more business?)

And yet, there's no place I'd rather raise my family, and the 4th of July just underscores this fact. 

Despite the somewhat suffocating feeling that growing up in a tiny, hopelessly pedestrian community gave me, I'm choosing the same formative experience for my kids.  Partly because my job, as a parent, is to ensure that they want to get the hell out when they are old enough.  But more importantly, because having a real sense of place - - even a grudging one - - is critical to developing, in turn, a sense of self. 

I'm not suffering from the delusion that small town life has any fewer risks than life in the city.  We have drugs, bullies, and plenty of opportunity to screw up your life as a young person here in the sticks.  But there are also plenty of opportunities to do good, neat, inspired things here: like play football or star in the school play or take art classes.  And in a small town, I know from experience, you don't have to be particularly genius at any of these things in order to participate.  Frankly, there's nothing wrong with mediocrity in your youth... I'd rather have my kids take a swing at whatever appeals to them and not have to worry about being great in order to be on the starting team.

Now that I am older and have lived in a (somewhat) larger city for many years, and attended a big university, and traveled pretty extensively, I think having small-town roots served me well.  No matter where I go, I have a place that I definitely come from.  Being from a small town has not hindered my ability to appreciate the finer things in life, to mix and mingle with my sophisticated "betters," or to explore the world. 

While my small town seemed incredibly lame at 15, 16, 17, I'm now almost fiercely prideful of the things I once thought embarrassing. 

I like my 4th of July parade to feature primarily old tractors and dumpy floats cobbled together by a bunch of semi-enthusiastic 4-H'ers. I like my convertible-riding royalty to be a bit plump and pimply. And I really like that the sweaty, uninspired kids in the marching band are wearing the same polyester uniforms I remember donning a generation ago.

The corn and strawberries we eat were grown up the road.  Our politicians walk (democrats) or ride (republicans) down Main Street, waving and shaking hands with constituents who are probably mostly relatives.  We hang out our flags with unabashed sentimentality.

Our fireworks are not fancy, but the whole town comes out anyway.  And sprinkled in with the "ooohs" and "ahhhs" are a few drunken "yee-haws!" that remind me, like almost nothing else, of who I am and where I come from.

I'm Too Sexy for my Diapers...

Maybe it’s because I am an Aunt and not a mother. Maybe it’s because I am not pumped full of mommy hormones, but I find the new limited edition Jean Huggies weird and a little disturbing. The website uses the tag line “The coolest you will ever look pooping your pants.” They don’t look cool because a diaper is essentially puffy, unattractive underwear, and it does not matter what design you print on them, they look stupid. The disturbing part is the ad campaign. A baby strutting down the street with a shirt tucked into his diapers while people stare and sexy runway music plays. It borders on kiddie porn. Who is the demographic for this product anyway?

Cat Tales

There has been a great disturbance in my household resulting in icy looks and tension. I didn’t mean it to happen, but I’ve strayed and my cat knows it. One sniff of my clothes and she knew I had been unfaithful.

Yes, it’s true, when I was at my parents’ farm I snuggled Mittens the Kitten and now my cat is afraid that I’m thinking of trading her in for a younger model. Not that Mittens isn't terribly cute, and goodness knows she is, but to be honest I'm not looking to replace my cat, just give her a playmate.

My attention span for "chase the string" is just not that long and I've been thinking that if she had someone to play with who was willing to spend hours playing that she would be happier. As an oldest child, I fully understand that gaining a sibling means redistribution of toys (i.e. sharing) and other such joys, but there are upsides as well. Perhaps she isn't ready yet.

Apocalyptic grooming

Of the many changes I expect to be wrought by the apocalypse, I believe perhaps the most profound will be in the area of personal grooming. I'm not implying that radioactive wildlife or roaming bands of flesh-eating zombies (depending upon how exactly the horsemen ride in) are not profound changes. But I think, for those of us who plan on surviving the ordeal and building a successful new world order, it is perhaps the little things that will ultimately drive home how truly our lives have changed.

Grooming trends anticipated to drastically change.

1. Shaving. This tradition will clearly become arcane once no one has a boss to impress and mating prospects can be taken more or less for granted. Men can hack off their facial hair when it becomes cumbersome. Women will have no problem sporting short-shorts... and lush pelts.

2. Mani-pedis. The terms "cuticle," "French manicure" and "ped-egg" will quickly become obsolete and replaced by new trends, such as gnawing all fingernails to the quick with the exception of the "pointer" or "eviscerator" finger.

3. Bikini waxes. See the reference to pelts, above. And thongs? One day, we will look back at that trend with the same amazement we now reserve for great-great-grandma's bloomers. With barely-suppressed grins, we will shake our practical heads in amazement at a society that found this type of undergarment acceptable!

4. Styling products. I'm pretty sure no one is going to care if our hair is frizzy, or lank, or dull in the post-apocalyptic period.

5. Eyebrow waxing. In the new era, our eyebrows will cease being merely decorative and return to their original function: keeping sweat out of our eyes. The bushier the better.

Grooming needs that we should begin detailed manufacturing/stockpiling plans for immediately.

1. Deodorant. Just because the world as we know it has come to an end does not mean we can lower our standards in this arena and become dirty hippies who rely on the magical power of underarm "crystals" to cure our stink.

2. Feminine hygiene products. We all love to poke fun at their commercials, but these are an absolutely non-negotiable necessity. First person to develop a post-apocalyptic replacement product (because I'm assuming the run on drugstores is going to be fierce), wins the Nobel Prize.

3. Dental hygiene products. It is likely that sufficient substitutes can be created using available ingredients. Given all we know about proper dental care and the painful problems caused by lack of it, this is one grooming trend we cannot afford to let fall by the wayside.

4. Toilet paper. Is this technically a grooming product? We do not today think of it in those terms. However, I would argue that a lack of adequate, effective toilet paper would grow into a significant grooming issue rather quickly. Let's not trot down that path people. Add toilet paper (or an easily accessible substitute) to your personal list of apocalypse essentials.

These two lists are by no means comprehensive, and I welcome additions as we continue to formalize our comprehensive guide to planning for and ultimately embracing the apocalypse.

An Inconvenient Marriage

Aw, I know lots of folks like him.  And in a wonky, frumpy, muppet sort of way, he might just be loveable.  But no one gets to declare a divorce after 40 years and THAT KISS without a slight scalding from the snarks of the universe.

I liken Al Gore to many of the Hollywood starlets who seem to have it all, and yet are unlucky in love.  Or at least marriage.  (Just think of the beautiful Halle Berry, the likeable Sandra Bullock, the successful Jennifer Aniston.)  What does a guy have to do to hang on to his wife?  Win a Nobel Prize?  (Check.)  An Oscar?  (Check.)  Score the Vice Presidency?  (Check.)  The Presidency?  (Debatable Check.)  Be a kazillionaire?  (Check.)  Look good in flannel?  (Really Debatable Check.)

His kissing skills look like they could be on a long list of gripes that Tipper Gore has no doubt accumulated over the years.  ("It's like mashing my lips up against a bowling ball of lust," I can hear her muttering disdainfully to a girlfriend.)  But my real guess is that, despite her Mennonite-like love of censorship, at heart Tipper is a girl who just wants to have fun.

And being Al Gore's wife, let's face it, doesn't have "fun" written all over it.  I mean, she endured decades of elections, politics and living in the Washington fishbowl.  To be followed by that most harrowing of experiences: Running for the Presidency.  And losing in a horrible, controversial, drawn-out Supreme Court battle.  And instead of throwing in the towel and retiring to a life of golf and jet skis and whatever else the fabulously wealthy do once their political capital wears thin... Al decided to lick his wounds for a couple years and then start building up a whole new pile of political capital. 

Tipper had to have been, like, "Whoa.  I've been down this road.  For several hundred miles.  With very few pit stops.  Explain to me again exactly why you care what any of those jackasses thinks about you anymore?" 

And what was the answer?  I'm bored?  I've discovered I just don't like fun and leisure very much?  I've decided we need more money?

So The Inconvenient Truth and all the glory that went with it was spawned (actually, "stumbled onto" is my theory).  And Al launched himself into the stratosphere as an environmental icon for the ages. 

I can only imagine that the break was confirmed when it became clear that even this was not enough for the quiet egomaniac.

At this point, Tipper is tapping her foot impatiently, growling, "OK my dear.  You did it.  We have, like, three giant Oprah-sized mansions and a lot of fame and everybody thinks you are a rock star.  Can we please resume real life now?"

But real life, for Al, had become a blur of fast cars, California girls, and lines of ... er, well.  Maybe it wasn't that sordid.  But real life - - a marriage, family, jet skis, whatever - - clearly can't compete with the siren call of fame and accomplishment.  For Al, the inconvenient truth is that life, the quiet stuff that happens in between movie premieres and Supreme Court decisions, is no longer enough to hold his interest for long.

I never expected to like someone named Tipper, even a little bit.  But I'm with her on this one.  It would have been nice to see Al put her desires ahead of his own for a decade or two, instead of continually reinventing himself - - at the cost of his marriage - - on the world stage.   

A little support here?

Now that summer has arrived, I find myself daydreaming about the BP oil spill, and wondering what it would take to initiate a similar disaster here on the Great Lakes.  And the smaller lakes.  And the city pool... OK, pretty much anywhere I might be required to don a bathing suit in public. Would a manmade ecological nightmare consisting of giant globules of tar floating in the water and washing ashore be excuse enough to tell my kids, "Sorry, no swimming this summer"?

And speaking of giant globules, let me rant a while about swimsuit manufacturers and their oh-so-flawed understanding of the female breast.  At least said breast(s) after the age of 20.  For the shrinking percentage of us who haven't had implants, that is. 

Breasts (mature, unenhanced, natural breasts), need support.

There, I have stated the obvious.  Now let me delve a little deeper.  (Stay with me swimsuit designers, here's where it gets interesting.)  Adequate support does not consist of a so-called "shelf bra," or an "extra panel," or even a flimsy underwire, especially when said underwire attaches to nothing more than a couple of ties that (is this a joke?) are supposed to tie around your neck.  Do you, swimsuit fashion elites, really expect me to lug a my breasts around for an entire day on a shoestring that is attached to my neck? 

Maybe I'm not shopping the right stores or catalogs.  Maybe I'm just not spending enough money.  (But $80 seems a ridiculous amount to spend on an "outfit" I detest.)  The only bathing suits that seem like they would do the trick up top are the skimpy two-pieces that look almost exactly like a colorful bra-and-panty set from Ms. Secret's.  Oh, they're cute.  But in providing reasonable bosom support, they overlook the fact that the rest of my body needs, shall we call it "special consideration," as well?  Perhaps I could wear a bikini-coverup combo on the tacit understanding that the coverup never comes off.

Or I could dive right into the skirted, blousy numbers intended for the grandma set.  (Not that either of the grandmas in my family would be caught dead in half of them.)  Really, these are my two choices at this stage in life.  I can either put more of my jiggly bits on unsupported display than I feel remotely comfortable with... or I can gratefully sink into several yards of floral flouncing designed to disguise my every human appendage.

In summary, swimwear manufacturers, the bathing suits you design are made for teenaged water nymps or water buffalo.  (No offense to wildlife intended.)  They make manmade natural disasters like the BP oil spill seem like attractive alternatives.  Can't you come up with something supportive, modest, attractive and just a little on the sly side when it comes to my imperfections? 

The price of ethics

Now, I know I'm not the first person to ponder the question, "At what price does someone forgo their ethics?", but I recently discovered that my price is $1.70.

See I shop at a grocery store that offers "perks" if you use one of their stupid cards. I faithfully have them scan my little savers card every time I shop. This earns me points. The points are good towards cash off the price of a gallon of gas. The gas station chain my grocery store has partnered with - you guessed it; BP.

Now, I can see several sides to this whole BP debacle, really I can. But I have personally landed on the side of snearing and tsk, tsk-ing at BP for being so irresponsible even a six year old could have figured out that if you build something you should have a contingency plan for when something big (fire, force of nature, and for our six year old possibly another kid) comes along to knock it down. Duh. Yes it's their fault. Yes it's their mess. Yes they should be responsible for cleaning it up. All of it.

So, I have been purposefully avoiding getting gas at BP as much as possible. Until today.

The last time I got groceries, I again handed over my saver card. The nice little check out girl handed me my receipt and specifically circled my points total shown at the bottom, "Ooo, you're up to $1.70 off a gallon of gas."

And so this morning friends, I caved. I needed gas in my car. I kept hearing perky little high-school checker girls voice in my head "$1.70 off a gallon of gas...", and my budget was crying out for some relief.

Yes, my ethics were bought for $1.70. I begrudgingly pulled into BP, swiped my tainted savers card, and proceeded to pay a mere $.95 a gallon for gas. I filled my tank.

Am I a bad person readers? Would you have caved into the siren song of a really good discount like I did? I would like to think that money is not a motivator, but alas it sure as hell got me to change my behavior.....

Salute to Margaret Sanger

Ah yes, the Birth Control Pill.  We are hearing much about it these days because the Pill has a birthday this month.  It is 50 years old, which means I'm old enough, and my mother was old enough, to enjoy its benefits.  (How well it worked for my mother is another story altogether.)

Still, I'd like to raise my glass and toast Margaret Sanger and the other visionaries who contributed to this most useful invention. 

Without the Pill, I wonder whether I'd have an advanced college degree or an interesting career.  (Yes, feminism was already on the rise and I am certainly not implying that the Pill alone made these things possible for me as a woman.  Still, the ability of women to take charge of family planning no doubt contributed.)

I also wonder just how many kids I'd have by now, and how old they would be.  I didn't marry until my late 20's, and I didn't have my first child until I was 30.  That's not unusual for college-educated women these days, though it's still a bit older than the national average.  And gads, who would those children be with?!  I was not necessarily promiscuous, but I certainly wasn't making the best choices in the man department at 20.  If puppy love (and all that it entails) had automatically resulted in children, my life would be different indeed.

Without a doubt I'm a better mother for having been able to wait on starting my family.  This isn't a knock on women who have children young.  I know several who had kids early and they are not only great mothers, but they also have put together great educations and careers.  For me personally, maturity and selflessness (two key ingredients for good parenting) blossomed a bit late.  Could I have sucked it up and tossed aside my independence, self-centeredness and general desire for fun if I'd needed to?  Probably.  But I love the fact that I got to be a single gal and all that entails for as long as I did.  Now that my life revolves around preschool, diapers and playdates, I can look back wistfully, but without regret.

Now if they would only invent a magic pill for some of life's other challenges. 

More reasons to like gum

I, for one, would enjoy my nightly dose of television a great deal more if gum-makers would air more commercials. 

Gum is one of those products where a :30 spot may actually matter.  I mean, a pack of gum costs what it costs.  (No way to battle on price.)  It all tastes about the same.  (Although they keep coming up with ridiculous flavors.  Pomegranate gum?  Blech.)  And it all performs the same basic function, although you can try to highlight different benefits to a small degree.  Like toothpaste, gum provides a perfect snapshot of why many product categories still need the added value a brand can infuse in order to differentiate themselves in the marketplace.

Plus, some of the ads are just plain entertaining. 

I like the Orbit ads with the cute British girl talking about how clean or dirty your mouth is.  ("Fabulous!")Because, hey, that's why I chew gum.  And if those scuzzy mud-wrestlers have twinkly smiles and fresh breath, then surely a piece of Orbit can help with my much-less-challenging oral hygiene.

I also like the Stride commercials where unsuspecting folks are forced in extreme ways to spit out their gum. Especially when the guy gets butted by the goat.  That's right up there with the best Superbowl ad this year in my book. 

I even like the over-engineered "5 Gum" ads, where they lower that person into a giant hair dryer, just to show you the goosebumps you'll get by chewing their minty flavor.  Now that's truly advertising the way I like it: a commercial that looks like it cost roughly the same amount of money as Ridley Scott's latest film... all to sell you a $1.29 product.  Woo hoo!

There are bad, boring gum ads.  And there are plenty of gum brands that don't even bother with television advertising.  And while a great ad will likely get me to try a new brand once... I tend to migrate back into familiar territory when grabbing a pack in the check-out aisle. 

Still, I'd like to salute the more creative chewing gum advertisers for providing more than just a useful, delicious, low-calorie product.  Thanks for going the extra mile and actually providing some entertaining advertising as well.

The Apocalyptic Economy: Investing in the Worst Case Scenario

When the sun rises on a blasted landscape teeming with disease and mutants trying to eat your brains, you are going have to decide what is really valuable to you and your survival. Sadly, it is not going to be that fancy sports car, those super sexy stilettos, or any of the toys that you own. Survival will depend upon arable land, drinkable water and the will and ability to fight for these things. The modern human all too often makes the mistake of valuing objects that are merely shiny and decorative rather than actually useful. Diamonds may be a girl's best friend, but in the event of world ending horror, they are only useful if they are a weapon. A nice sharp diamond dagger could really do some damage to a mutant's soft and dangly parts. Guns are all well and good, but you also need to stockpile ammo or have the ability to make your own. So in preparation for the worst case scenario, what is the most profitable way to spend your time and money?

The number one investments for those preparing for the collapse of society are weapons such as swords, knives, and spears and lessons on how to use them effectively. This will be essential to surviving long enough to reach a safe sanctuary and give you the ability to defend your limited resources and personal safety. For those with the ability to think on a grander scale, investing in several acres of land that is remote from major population centers and contains its own water source and fertile soil is the best investment you can make. It is a plus if the land contains natural features such as mountains that make it easily defensible.

Once you have your land you can start refining it to create your own post apocalyptic sanctuary. It would be wise to first create some sort of shelter. Either sturdy above ground dwellings or a network of underground bunkers would be good, but a mixture of both is optimal. Whatever you decide make sure it is self sustaining and completely off the grid. This includes a sanitation and water filtration system and the ability to generate your own energy through the use of solar panels or wind mills of some sort. Building a mill and a forge would also add value to your apocalyptic shangri-la.

Now that the compound is built you will need supplies. Stock up on canned food so that you give yourself time to grow crops. The apocalypse will not occur on your planting schedule. Make sure you have plenty of seed available to plant. Your next investment should be livestock of some kind. Now don't over do it on the livestock, you don't want to be struggling to feed five hundred head of cattle when supplies are scarce, but horses, cows, and chickens would be a beneficial addition to any compound. Simple medical supplies will also be useful but don't expect to be able to rely on modern medicine. It would be better to spend time and money studying natural herbal cures and obtaining as many of the necessary plants as possible. There will be no supply trucks so think self sustaining and renewable resources. Now the last and most important investment you can make for the doom of humankind may seem strange, but I urge you, nay implore you to stockpile salt. This versatile substance is necessary to preserve food and life, and in the post apocalyptic economy may become more valuable than gold. So when thinking about your future or lack thereof, I encourage you to rethink that great new IPO or ten thousand shares of Microsoft because when things get gritty those investments will make really great toilet paper.