The first page at the New York Times online posts the headline New York Council Approves Congestion Pricing Measure on 30-20 Vote.
I just don't believe this! It's bad enough that I have congestion ... but now NY is going to tax me on my Vick's VapoRub!
It's snowing in DC. Finally.
We had ONE
snowstorm in November, and after that, the weather was trying to be
winter. Today, a beautiful white blanket is covering the undead grass
and trees with leaves. You know what means? It means I have about one
more hour to finish this blog before some branch lands on a power line
and leaves me with an afternoon of writing via old school – you know,
pen on paper.
I have to say, I have been enjoying the warm
weather this winter. But, those moments are quickly quelled by
Eco-guilt. The devil on my shoulder says, "Ain't this great." But, the
angel on my other shoulder, clad in an organic dress with eco-friendly
wings says, "It's supposed to be cold. What are you doing to save the
Earth?" At which point, I get up and walk through the house, turning
out every light, including the night lights, gather empty soda cans for
the recycle bin and stack all the paper printed on one side into a pile
for re-use on the other side.
Ah,
I feel better. OK, not really. The earth is heating up. I shouldn't
feel good about this at all. To make it worse, even Weather.com, in
some ignorant way, is teaching us to feel good about the Earth heating
up. The next time you visit the site, pull up a ten-day report for your
zip code. The drop down menu allows you to see your "fitness comfort"
as it relates to the weather.
Since
when should we be concerned about "fitness comfort?" Excuse me, but I
seem to recall in the olden days (is "olden" a word?), when it actually
snowed outside during the winter season, that people used to go to the
gym, run on a treadmill while watching Gilligan's Island reruns, or
even, if they had enough over-head space, jump with a jumping rope. WTF
is up with this comfort level? 
Global
warming is not something that we have conveniently created so that we
can be comfortable. We just can't take comfort to this level of
eco-destruction. Because, believe me, this "comfort level" will be
temporary. After that, it will major shifts in temperatures, the end of
rain forests, deaths of habitats and endangered animals, the rising of
oceans, and the end of Florida (see Scientific American February 2008 –
On News Stands Now!).
I can't believe, in my lifetime, that
I'm watching the northern ice caps dwindle into a place where people
can go boating for fun. This is not fun. This is not even cool, pardon
the pun.
So,
before I get off my soapbox, I just want to challenge you today to step
out of your "comfort level" and pick one, two, or maybe even 12 things
you can do to slow down our Peri-menopausal Planet.
Then, take
it one-step further. I challenge you. Practice sustainability. Don't
buy useless junk. Purchase products you can trade-up. For instance,
Sony allows you to return their broken products to trade-up for a
working item. Sony then takes those items and utilizes the parts, so
that fewer items go into our landfills, which ultimately destroy our
ozone. Here is more info: Sony Recycle
Finally,
one more challenge, if you have the means to do so. Make your home
eco-friendly. Install solar-powered panels, don't waste water, purchase
eco-friendly water heaters . Oh, the list is endless.
Here are some simple things to do that helps. And believe me, every little bit DOES help!
I found this online:
1. Turn off lights.
2. Turn off other electric things, like TVs, stereos, and radios when not in use.
3. Use rechargeable batteries.
4. Do things manually instead of electrically, like open cans by hand.
5. Use fans instead of air conditioners.
6. In winter, wear a sweater instead of turning up your thermostat.
7. Insulate your home so you won't be cold in winter.
8. Use less hot water.
9. Whenever possible, use a bus or subway, or ride your bike or walk.
10.
Try to buy organic fruits and vegetables if you're concerned about
pesticides. (Organic food is grown without manufactured fertilizers
and/or pesticides).
11. Don't waste products made from forest materials.
12. Use recycled paper and/or recycle it. Reuse old papers.
13. Don't buy products that may have been made at the expense of the rainforest.
14. Support products that are harvested from the rainforest but have not cut down trees to get it.
15. Plant trees, especially if you have cut one down.
16. Get other people to help you in your cause. Make and/or join an organization.
17. Avoid products that are used once, then thrown away.
18. Buy products with little or no packaging (I know, it's hard to do when you have kids!)
19.
Encourage your grocery store sell environmentally friendly cloth bags
for people to use when they shop, or bring your own. (My local Trader
Joe allows people who do this to enter a contest for free groceries for
a month!)
20. REDUCE, REUSE, & RECYCLE.
21. Compost.
22. Buy recycled products.
23. Don't buy pets taken from the wild.
24. Clean up dog poop with biodegradable poop bags.
25.
If you have a good zoo nearby, (if the animals are healthy and the zoo
takes care of them), support it! Especially if they help breed
endangered animals.
26. Don't buy products if animals were killed to make it.
To Recycle your appliances if you are in Minneapolis or Los Angeles
For activists
Thanks for reading!
Warning: The Earth is Dying.
Meanwhile: Britney Spears drives through a red light.
Here we go again: Another oil spill. First San Francisco, then the Black Sea. Billions of sea life dead. Don't eat the crab!
On the flip side: Alicia Keys' MySpace sight is hacked.
Oh,
but wait: Bush supports his relationship with Musharraf and calls him
an ally, because he doesn't want to look like the fool spending $10
million on protecting Pakistan's nuclear warheads. That one doesn't
make sense – considering Musharraf just released 28 Taliban soldiers
from prison this week, put Bhutto under house arrest and imprisoned
lawyers in Pakistan who support democracy. This is Bush's ally? This
scares me. 
Important!
Norman Mailer, a man who stabbed number two wife (out of six) and
believed that women should be kept in cages, died. Great writer …
greater prick.
As a side note: Over one million people have died due to the Iraq war and 500,000 war veterans are homeless.
Hold
the press! Stagehands blame Theater Management for the strike. Theater
Management blames the Iraq war. Hey, the blame has to go somewhere!
Oh
no! Date rape drug inside recalled toy Aqua Dots. I have to throw my
son's toy out. He put those beads in his mouth. I know! Let's make the
Chinese toy manufacturers eat the Aqua Dots, and then we'll prick them
all!
But, wait: Jerry Seinfeld's Bee Movie
brings in $26M over the Weekend. Meanwhile, Seinfeld promotes his
wife's cookbook. I saw him on Letterman. It was a lot like watching
QVC, "Now I'm selling this … now I'm doing that … go see my movie!" Ugh.
Meanwhile:
South Africa displaces poverty-stricken post-apartheid residents in
order to create soccer camps for the 2010 World Cup. Disgusting.
BREAKING
NEWS! Victoria Beckham has a 23-inch waist. Who gives a f***.
Apparently Barbara Walters does. Maybe Dan Rather should teach that old
bag a few lessons on valuable journalism.
Today in the news: More children are left behind from the No Child Left Behind program. We're screwed.
Interesting! Giuliani, the cross-dressing ex-mayor of New York, gets evangelical support from Fat Pat Robertson. Eeeewwww!
Finally, we must not forget:
To
thank our WWII veterans, who fought a war against a man who believed
that his race and religion was superior to the rest of the world. At
Hitler's command, thousands upon thousands of innocent people died.
Hitler created a senseless war, to govern more countries, to own more
resources, to boost Germany's defense spending, and to inflict his
belief system on the rest of the world. The similarities are
frightening, aren't they?
Maybe she thought he was protecting the donuts. Or maybe it was a twitch.
Breaking News!
Jamison Stone killed a 1,000 pound, 10’7” pig! I am not talking about Rosie O’Donnell here. This boar roamed wild in Alabama. Yes, I am certain we are not talking about Rosie O’Donnell. I had my fact-checker, Tad Twang, make sure of that.
Stone is an 11-year-old boy who claims that he, single-handedly, did the deed of killing this boar with a Smith and Wesson 500. According to some, this would be the largest boar ever killed. (For the record, a third party has not corroborated Stone’s claims.) It took eight shots to kill Wilbur. Interesting, considering that the Model 500 only carries five rounds. What a precocious boy Stone is, that he can load a Model 500 with such speed. Dad must be proud!
All here who think this story is true, raise your right hand, and repeat after me, “I will not believe everything I read. I’m going to learn to think for myself.”
Stone’s dad posted viewer comments on monsterpig.com, which are quite fun to read. It just reaffirms my view that guns and religion do go together. For the record, I don’t own a gun. Pray for my soul.
Rhonda Shearer of StinkyJournalism.org has done some fact checking of her own. 
Through her own resources and the resources of StinkyJ, they believe that Stone’s father doctored the photos to garner media attention. Jeremy J. Miller says, “It must also be said that Rhonda Shearer, our publisher and director of ASRL who reported this story, appealed to the Stones before our report ran (and before their appearances on several national television programs) to talk openly about the case. She was very clear about the intent of her inquiries and asked for more evidence by which to evaluate their claim. Mr. Stone told her that other photos at the scene had been destroyed because they were “unflattering” to him.”
Unflattering? You think so? Well, the site was painful on the eyes. No, it wasn’t because I was appalled at the mindless slaughtering of a pig that was minding his own business in his own “home.” Nor was Mr. Stone’s Web site difficult to view because of the disturbing images of a dad so proud of his gun-totin’ son. No, the most difficult part of the Web site was looking at an 11-year-old with a DOUBLE CHIN!
Ya know, instead of pork tonight, maybe the family should opt for the all-you-can-eat salad bar at Sizzler. I hear on Saturdays, they have entertainment. That’s right! It’s called Miss Sizzler Saturday Night. While you eat, you can watch the lovely, large ladies walk back and forth to the salad bar. And back and forth. And back and forth.
Now, how can I garner this kind of media attention?
I’m moving to the U.K. In Norwich, several insurance claims have made news by declaring that numerous people are at the mercy of the animal kingdom: deer smashing kitchen windows, horses chewing cars, etc. My favorite is the woman who filed an insurance claim because her beloved hamster became so fraught with the idea of visiting the vet that he chewed through her handbag. It goes to show you that just like dogs know the word “walk,” hamsters clearly understand the word “vet” and will take any means necessary to circumvent the pending horror. The part that gets me is that the woman put the hamster in her handbag. That is as practical as putting your parakeet in a golf bag and covering it with plastic wrap. (By the way, this might work as an insurance claim. If you try it, let me know.)
I could use a few bucks (pun intended), being a semi-penniless writer. Insurance claims based on animal negligence seem to be my ticket out of poor writerdom. Just thinking about all the opportunities gets me excited. Let’s start with my basement carpeting. Every day, when I walk in the front door, an odorous smell of dog pee wafts up the stairwell, welcoming me daily while my dog rests contentedly in MY bed, waiting for me to come greet her. I want to get rid of the carpeting, because, well, I’m just not attached to the aroma of canine urine. How can I go about paying for this? I know! I will file a homeowner’s insurance claim. First, I will blame my dog for peeing on the carpet. Second, I will blame the carpet company for not inventing an odor guard. Third, I will blame the makers of the flimsy baby gate because my dog can knock it down with a simple swipe of the paw. Finally, I will blame the makers of my sliding glass door for not creating an invisible doggy door that blends in with the Feng Shui of my living room.
My next insurance claim will be for damages made to my warm, comfy, fluffy down filled comforter. I could probably get an easy $100 for this one. See, Einstein, my cat, is old and has digestive issues. Every night, I am woken by the deep cries of my feline gurgling, moaning, hacking and heaving as his dinner makes its way to my comforter. My true desire to get up and move the cat to a non-carpeted floor is won out by my veritable need to keep my eyes closed and pretend that I can’t hear the gagging, hoping that my husband will jump to the comforter’s rescue. Alas, I nod off to sleep, dreaming that the maid is cleaning it up (in my dreams I have a maid), only to wake the next morning to find a now-solid form of feline projectile encrusted to my comforter. After years of this, my comforter now has permanent yellow markings proudly left by Einstein the Cat. Thus, I will first file a claim blaming the makers of my comforter. They should have considered a resilient scotch guard that could literally repel cat vomit. Second, I will file an insurance claim blaming my husband’s company for overworking him to the point that he can’t exuberantly jump out of bed to willingly clean up feline puke.
My final homeowner’s insurance claim will be for the damages made to my once-beautiful wooden back patio by my candy-ass dog, Bella. Bella earnestly believes that ten more steps out to the back yard equates to a temperature drop of at least 15 degrees. Thus, on those cold Virginia winter nights when Mother Nature calls, Bella takes five steps out on to my patio and relieves herself. It’s just gross. My husband just looks at it and says, “Hey, it’s a Poop Deck!” I ask, is it so hard to step out there and clean it? Therefore, I will be filing another claim. First I will blame the wood company for not making self-cleaning wood. Second, I will blame my husband’s company for making him too lethargic to lift a shovel. Three, I will blame the makers of my shoes because my feet stick every time I remotely consider the idea of exerting myself to “untaint” my patio.
This is a completely new opportunity for me! The idea of absolving myself from responsibility and making money in the process could change my life. I could put my kids in private school, buy that villa in Italy and live off the fat of my insurance claims for the rest of my life. Of course, I can only accomplish this freewheeling, freeloading life by incessantly blaming the rest of the world for all the wrong done to me by my chowderhead pets. Yes, the UK is the place for me!
Here is the article: http://www.metro.co.uk/news/article.html?in_article_id=35468&in_page_id=34
C’mon ladies, admit it, there are days when you want to shave it all off. Of course, it’s usually on those days when you are running late for work. You’ve blow dried your bangs a million times, but you’ve got that one piece that still flips straight out, insisting that you look like a creature from Narnia. You know it’s really bad when you hear “check out the avenging unicorn in collections” whispered around the water cooler. You hear the snickers and the chuckles, so you sulk behind your desk muttering, “I’m going to shave it off.”
But, you don’t.
Then you have those times when your hair gets to “that length” and it’s the primary obsession of your boyfriend. You are trying to have a nice romantic evening watching American Idol (it doesn’t get any more romantic than Larry, Curly and Mr. Cranky) and all your significant other can say is, “I love your hair. You should dye it blonde.” Then he runs his strong fingers through your hair. Yeah, it feels good. Until he hits a knot and yanks out a chunk of hair. Of course, that doesn’t stop him. He tries it again. There goes another chunk of hair. You tell him to forget it. While Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell are busy making googly eyes at each other, you wander off to comb out the tangles. After you’ve filled your trashcan with enough hair to make a small dog, you realize you missed AI’s denigration for the week. You think to yourself, “I’m going to shave it off.”
But, you don’t.
My favorite bad hair days are those days when it's so windy that I can see the neighbor’s dog hovering above the six-foot-high backyard fence. On these days, you actually have time to fix your hair. You have finished your make-up and it’s perfect! You are a pop princess; sans the attitude, (no attitude because no one ever got more than a merit raise impressing the boss while dancing around and singing, “Oops I did it again”– unless you’re a Mark Foley intern.) Yes, pop princess, sans the attitude, you go! You step out of your car, and BLAM, you have hair all over your face. You brush it away, while it glides across the perfect lipstick job, smearing red lipstick all over your cheeks. Of course, you don’t notice it until AFTER a conference meeting, when your secretary asks, “Are you bleeding?” You rush to a mirror, and you are shocked at the image before you. Instead of looking like the go-getting professional that you are, you look like a back-up singer for KISS. You think to yourself, “I’m going to shave it off.”
But, you don’t.
Yes, hair can suck, on so many different levels. The long locks dictate that we are beautiful. The magazines and advertisements say so, so it must be true. If it’s not long, then, well, it’s just frumpy. This is what many men say, so that must be true as well. Oh, let us not forget, it must be blonde, because, well, blondes have more fun. Marilyn Monroe sang it, so it must be true.
So, if we conform to the long, blonde or highlighted locks, does that make us sane and strong? Likewise, if we shave our heads, does that make us weak and insane? I say no. On the contrary, conformity is an indication of weakness, and divergence from the social norms of conformity, well, that is strength. Maybe some young tress-obsessed tween out there is paying attention to Miss Spears and realizing that, well, we are not our hair and that there are more important things in the world to tend to than the fur on our head.
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