We've all been told never to discuss religion or politics...and yet these two topics are arguably the most influential on our lives, families and actions. Take for example any country who's political world is in turmoil. There are huge ramifications not only on the business lives of the people but often on basic human rights. Religion is much the same. Those who practice any form of belief will tell you that the results of their practice stretch from their daily lives into eternity. If these things are true then there must be an appropriate time to discuss these topics. So here's my question:
When is it appropriate to discuss religion or politics? Are there "rules of engagement"? Can these things be discussed in an appropriate way and by ordinary people?
Let me know what you think!
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Quotes from Erma Bombeck
Quotes from Erma Bombeck
Here's another of my favorite comedy writers. The quotes aren't nearly as funny out of context but still....It's worth while!
Here's another of my favorite comedy writers. The quotes aren't nearly as funny out of context but still....It's worth while!
Dave Barry Official Website
Dave Barry Official Website
Hello everyone! I'm sure most of you have heard of this very funny man but for those of you who haven't here's his website. I must say the columns are poorly copied out of the paper but some of his other things are worth while. Including just his homepage and his lists on what to buy people for Christmas. Have Fun!
Hello everyone! I'm sure most of you have heard of this very funny man but for those of you who haven't here's his website. I must say the columns are poorly copied out of the paper but some of his other things are worth while. Including just his homepage and his lists on what to buy people for Christmas. Have Fun!
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Wednesday Stories: Explaination
Every Wednesday I hope to post a story. Either something I am currently working on or from another source. All stories (unless they are incredibly short) will be run as a serial, every Wednesday. Enjoy!
Crossing the Strenburger Line
Abigail Strenburger, with her glossy fake nails and arching eyebrows, was the toast of the over seventy set. Every week at her coffee “clutch” Abigail held forth on her favorite subject, Barney. “Works at the DVD club, in management” she would say ominously. As Barney’s closest neighbor Abigail was the undisputed expert. “Harvey bought a subscription once and you’ll never guess what they were selling, stuffed in with the classics...” her eyes twinkling deliciously she scanned the ceiling as if for bugs and whispered, "They sell porn you know!” The ladies giggled into their coffee mugs and exchanged knowing glances. Yes, they seemed to say, Abigail’s wit was only outdone by her keen eye for other people’s dark side. One could say that buried deep in the giggling coffee was the intense relief that her gaze was firmly pointed in another direction!
“Did Harvey buy any?” I asked wryly, leaning on the door frame. A tolerated youngster with, as Abigail’s eyes quickly pointed out, a brain full of jell-O. There were a few twitters but Abigail barely needed to raise her eyebrow to hush her followers.
“His lights are on until twelve o’clock at night...in his kitchen!” Her delighted listeners leaned closer, “I mean, what does a man do in his kitchen that late at night?” They all nodded their heads in scandalized excitement.
“Oh, I know,” giggled Betsy, who had, in her high school year, received A’s for posture and punctuality, “Maybe he’s cooking?”
“Betsy, he’s alone. He most certainly isn’t perfecting his soufflé.” The ladies giggled with delight as they speared their quivering no-carb mousse. How delightful, a double header!
Poor Barney. I couldn’t help but listen in, after all he was the topic every Wednesday, and as I was reminded, several times, my housecleaning and food preparation activities mysteriously extended to serving the every whim of the Wednesday Waggery. Not that I wasn’t grateful for Barney’s sudden appearance at 911 Westford St., oh no, I certainly wasn’t complaining. Between the hours of 7-8:30 am and 5:30-12:00pm, all thanks to Barney, the magnificent Abigail Beatrice Strenburger worked those manicured nails to the bone opening the curtains and fluttering her weary eyes through the lens of her binoculars, all for a glimpse of the mysterious Barney Bean, a rather unfortunate name that she discovered on his mail last spring. Those sweet hours were heaven. Not one single “Elisabeth!” to be heard. Not one mention of my “questionable” family who had the nerve to live far, far away, or my existence as an ineligible spinster who threw away all bachelors, and therefore my life, before thirty five. Not even a whisper of the running dialogue on the depravity of my household skills. Barney’s sacrifice was small.
The question of Barney had now been thrown open to the floor. Nancy Balriff, a former lawyer and successful business woman, was by general acclamation believed to be the most highly educated and knowledgeable of the group, and as such was, of course, the first to weigh in. “An individual working in such an ill-reputed profession would surely demonstrate the according compensation.”
This met with the appropriate reverent silence.
“Oh, that’s too bad he’s constipated. How can you tell? Did he miss work?” Betsy whispered. Abigail roundly elbowed her.
“Ah hem” squeaked Prunella Pawson, “My son in law says management pays very well these days.” Prunella’s son in law always had something to say on the topic at hand.
“Exactly!” cheered Abigail, “He’s doing something with all that money and it certainly isn’t his house...”
“Or his shoes” Betsy shivered. She had of course received and A in hygiene as well.
“His shoes!” Abigail hissed in full wind up,” who wears running shoes with a suit? Even if it is a two piece! And dirty! I’ve seen him walk to that bus stop wearing the same shoes...even in the rain. Ooh, they must reek to high heaven!” The air filled with cackles.
“Did Harvey buy any?” I asked wryly, leaning on the door frame. A tolerated youngster with, as Abigail’s eyes quickly pointed out, a brain full of jell-O. There were a few twitters but Abigail barely needed to raise her eyebrow to hush her followers.
“His lights are on until twelve o’clock at night...in his kitchen!” Her delighted listeners leaned closer, “I mean, what does a man do in his kitchen that late at night?” They all nodded their heads in scandalized excitement.
“Oh, I know,” giggled Betsy, who had, in her high school year, received A’s for posture and punctuality, “Maybe he’s cooking?”
“Betsy, he’s alone. He most certainly isn’t perfecting his soufflé.” The ladies giggled with delight as they speared their quivering no-carb mousse. How delightful, a double header!
Poor Barney. I couldn’t help but listen in, after all he was the topic every Wednesday, and as I was reminded, several times, my housecleaning and food preparation activities mysteriously extended to serving the every whim of the Wednesday Waggery. Not that I wasn’t grateful for Barney’s sudden appearance at 911 Westford St., oh no, I certainly wasn’t complaining. Between the hours of 7-8:30 am and 5:30-12:00pm, all thanks to Barney, the magnificent Abigail Beatrice Strenburger worked those manicured nails to the bone opening the curtains and fluttering her weary eyes through the lens of her binoculars, all for a glimpse of the mysterious Barney Bean, a rather unfortunate name that she discovered on his mail last spring. Those sweet hours were heaven. Not one single “Elisabeth!” to be heard. Not one mention of my “questionable” family who had the nerve to live far, far away, or my existence as an ineligible spinster who threw away all bachelors, and therefore my life, before thirty five. Not even a whisper of the running dialogue on the depravity of my household skills. Barney’s sacrifice was small.
The question of Barney had now been thrown open to the floor. Nancy Balriff, a former lawyer and successful business woman, was by general acclamation believed to be the most highly educated and knowledgeable of the group, and as such was, of course, the first to weigh in. “An individual working in such an ill-reputed profession would surely demonstrate the according compensation.”
This met with the appropriate reverent silence.
“Oh, that’s too bad he’s constipated. How can you tell? Did he miss work?” Betsy whispered. Abigail roundly elbowed her.
“Ah hem” squeaked Prunella Pawson, “My son in law says management pays very well these days.” Prunella’s son in law always had something to say on the topic at hand.
“Exactly!” cheered Abigail, “He’s doing something with all that money and it certainly isn’t his house...”
“Or his shoes” Betsy shivered. She had of course received and A in hygiene as well.
“His shoes!” Abigail hissed in full wind up,” who wears running shoes with a suit? Even if it is a two piece! And dirty! I’ve seen him walk to that bus stop wearing the same shoes...even in the rain. Ooh, they must reek to high heaven!” The air filled with cackles.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Survival Tips for Cave Dwelling
I am stuck in a cave, a panther is at the door, and all I have is a stick, a rope, and some red dye... This could describe our last family vacation where we narrowly escaped a tornado, but the reality is this dilemma is self inflicted...a video game. I consider myself a reasonable problem solver, after all who managed to resolve the bouncy ball crisis of 2004? But a stick, some rope and red dye?
Here are some of the creative solutions I’ve come up with:
So, as you can see I am not too good at video games. After this is published the line of kindergarteners waiting to beat me will wrap around the block. Actually, I’m worse at car racing, if that’s at all possible. Most of the race consists of me weaving from one ditch to another. But I’m a pretty mean dancer, which incidentally counts as exercise. (See http://thehomefiles.blogspot.com/2006/01/baby-butt-weight-loss-plan.html for details on my weight loss plans.) So come on kindergarteners I’ll challenge you to a dance off. We all know your feet can’t reach the pads.
Here are some of the creative solutions I’ve come up with:
- Toss the stick at the panther, hope it distracts him, use the rope to swing to safety, save the red dye for a victory party
- Tie the rope to a stalagmite, wedge the stick in the ceiling, sit on it, use the red dye for decorating my new home
- use the red dye to write a message on the wall, rope and stick to make a sculpture symbolising the futility of man, hope teenagers will discover me and appreciate my artistic angst
- wrap rope around my body, paint with red dye, hold stick above my head and hope I pass for a walking tomato
- Tie rope to stick to make a plumb line, use red dye to mark out how level the cave is so I can achieve symbolic balance in my life before I die
- Cover myself in red dye, place stick so that it looks like I’ve been stabbed, use rope to make a police line and hope the panther is not a scavenger.
- Break stick in half, make fire, use rope for fuel, hope panther gets the idea and jumps on the fire for dinner, use red dye to decorate panther skin for my new coat
So, as you can see I am not too good at video games. After this is published the line of kindergarteners waiting to beat me will wrap around the block. Actually, I’m worse at car racing, if that’s at all possible. Most of the race consists of me weaving from one ditch to another. But I’m a pretty mean dancer, which incidentally counts as exercise. (See http://thehomefiles.blogspot.com/2006/01/baby-butt-weight-loss-plan.html for details on my weight loss plans.) So come on kindergarteners I’ll challenge you to a dance off. We all know your feet can’t reach the pads.
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