May 23, 2011 § Leave a Comment
January 3, 2011 § 1 Comment
This Christmas I thought I would be spending enough time in the car to get through a stack of magazines. I always think this when I go on trips. Once, in the O’Hare airport I spent $30 on magazines, thinking the 6 hour flight I was about to embark upon would be enough time to make my way thorough People, US Weekly, Marie Claire and Cosmo. Though, I didn’t buy the Cosmo, because I had a middle seat and knew that I couldn’t possibly read an article about “60 Sex Tips” or “Orgasm Virgins” with two strangers sitting so close to me that I know what pages of Sky Mall they dog-eared. The last thing I wanted them to think was that I needed to brush up on “Hand Job Basics.” But, the trip didn’t go as planned and I returned home this holiday with a stack of unread magazines.
Maybe it is because I have watched too much television and look to something else to occupy my time, or maybe it is because I’ve never read 3 magazines with as much attention to detail, but I’ve recently determined that all magazines are the exact same. Each has a story about how to look better naked, how to lose 5 lbs. from (enter hated body part here), how to get a man to love you or fall back in love with you or love you the way you wanted to be loved. They’re all the same except with a different coiffed actress on the cover wearing a, “women I know you wished you looked like me,” and “men I know you wish you could eff me,” stare. I have invested a great deal of $3.99 on many magazines in my time, and no matter what the headline or the promise they made to me on the cover, they are all the same…empty. But I keep buying them, hoping that something will stick but the only thing that ever seems to jump out at me are those stupid cardboard postcards, that for some reason, are inside every magazine, yet I fail to understand their importance.
I don’t know why I buy magazines, it’s an exercise that seems as futile as the Greenpeace guys who stand outside of Whole Foods asking me if I love whales. To which I always think, “of course I love whales, I shop at Whole Foods!” Isn’t this where all whale lovers shop? I buy organic, I cut those little plastic things that hold soda cans together so little seal flippers won’t get stuck inside them and I recycle (most of the time). Trust me, I love whales!!! Wouldn’t it make more sense for Greenpeace to go where minds are reluctant to change? Shouldn’t they seek out those who aren’t as like-minded, at Costco or Wal-Mart, and leave the low-hanging well-meaning organic fruit, like myself, alone!? But they never seem to move from their Whole Foods post. Even the time when one Greenpeace guy wouldn’t leave me alone and after reiterating that I was in a hurry and reassuring him that my love for whales had never been deeper, he continued to harass me and challenge my love. So, I told him that though I loved the whales, he made me want to club a baby seal. For the record, I would never club a baby seal. Even if, in the rare circumstance, the baby seal was rabid and found devouring another baby seal, I would have a difficult time clubbing either baby seal. They are cute, those huge brown eyes are adorable and they are two of my favorite things; part baby and part seal. The only way I could love them more is if they pooped cupcakes.
But I say this because time and time again we exercise futility. We become so reluctant to change that we fail to recognize that we are given the same information over and over and over again, yet still search for a magic solution, even though we have never really tried the solution presented to us in the first place. We want the easy way out and even though I want to (and have tried) to look better naked according to SELF, Cosmo and Shape. Essentially, they all tell me the same thing: eat more chicken and egg whites and to eat less frosting and Skittles. But, instead of following their plan, I read their article and pretend I will buy everything on their shopping list but fail to ever make it past the “Day One Breakfast”. And we try to take the easy way out, by standing in front of Whole Foods, convincing the already convinced because we find it is much easier to do that, than to have our views challenged. So, as you make your resolutions and as you embark upon a New Year, if you really want to change, stop reading the same articles expecting a different result, otherwise you are just some idiot standing in front of Whole Foods.
December 20, 2010 § Leave a Comment
When I was 16, my dad gave me a cell phone. One that under his direct orders, was to be kept in my glove compartment and only to be used in case of an emergency. In case you were wondering, emergencies included; flat tires, rape or assault, car wrecks, seizures and other abstract situations that were so horrific, the last thing I would want to do after them is have a conversation on the telephone with someone. I kept the cell phone in my glove compartment for months, with little cause or reason to ever think twice about its presence. After driving my car for a year, it caught on fire on the freeway and, as luck would have it, the cell phone wasn’t charged, so instead of calling for help, I stood by the side of the unlit road at midnight waiting for a stranger to either help or rape me.
This morning I was at an early work breakfast and realized, that while I dressed myself half awake in the dark and still managed to get a, “you look cute today” from someone, I also managed to forget my phone on the bathroom counter. When I realized this my heart stopped. It was 7:30 a.m. and I was convinced that I’d missed a handful of calls alerting me that someone had died, someone was in the hospital and that my bank account had been drained overnight by Nigerians. While I am only 33, and while cell phones became mainstream a year or two after graduating from high school, I have fully assimilated to being useless without one. Before I go to bed, I check email. When I wake up first thing in the morning, I check Facebook. When I am waiting in line at the DMV and trying to forget about the crazy lady gnawing on her gum, I look at Twitter. My cell phone has alerted me when my dad was found wandering the streets of Santa Ana. My cell phone was the first to tell me that I got the job interview which would ultimately lead me back to Orange County. My cell phone is my lifeline to breaking news. News, that when I was a kid, waited for me to get home to hear. But these days, news has no patience. After a long communication-less day, I got home and immediately checked my phone. No bank phone calls, no hospital phone calls, no urgent calls from family members, only a text from my friend alerting me that she was cold. Oh dear God, she may never forgive me for my delayed response to her admission of personal temperature. For shame!!!