Presidential Smackdown 2012

Alright, everyone. It’s here. The moment we have all been waiting for. The final event in Presidential Smackdown 2012: Wonder Bread vs. Hawaiian Punch.

Yes, there are still two weeks left in the campaigns that just won’t die, but tonight is your last opportunity to watch these two candidates duke it out on national TV. And afterward we get to see the impact of their rhetoric play out on Facebook and Twitter as voters turn to social media to berate their friends’ opinions and belittle their self-worth.

It’s awesome.

Well, in a fit of frustration at the conclusion of the first debate, a friend and I decided to have ourselves a little post-debate rant. I found it extremely cathartic, so I thought I’d pass it along to the rest of you.

You’ll notice I identify the players in the script as “Naïve” and “Evian,” because no matter how I write it, everyone is spewing the same crap at this point.

Happy Bitching!

Initial status update/tweet from Naïve: My candidate clearly won the debate. People who agree with me are awesome, people who disagree with me are wrong. Go America!

Evian: Your candidate is an embarrassment. How can you believe what he says? Rant rant. Rant rant rant. Rant.

Naïve: Oh yeah? Well you know what? I see your rant, and raise you two completely irrelevant rants and one character attack. Bitch.

Evian: Ugh, Naive, your rant was entirely inaccurate regarding the conclusion of my rant. You’re clearly failing to understand the key points of my rant. Here’s a link to a partisan op-ed piece I am passing off as fact to prove my point.

Naïve: I think your rant is just being patronizing, Evian. It's not that I failed to understand your rant, it's simply that I'm right and you're wrong. And also, opinion is not fact. Here are some numbers that support my point, because numbers can never be skewed. Fact. Rant.

Evian: How am I friends with you? Rant rant. You’re what’s wrong with this country, stop blaming it all on Honey Boo Boo and the economy. Rant. Cross the line. Rant.

Naïve: Yeah, well, more blatant character attacks. I’m right, you’re wrong. America. Freedom. RANT.

Evian: Seriously? That’s all you’ve got, Naïve? War on drugs/terror/fast food/Edward v Jacob, RANT!!!!
Uh huh, what now? [Drop mic in victory]

Naïve: [You have selected to de-friend Evian. Do you wish to proceed? Yes] Game over, Evian.

In the NFL, Sins Have Been Committed, But Who Needs to Atone?

During a period of such economic uncertainty and political hostility, should football fans really be up in arms over the referee situation in the NFL?

In a word, yes.

In times of hardship, a person’s sanity often depends upon his/her ability to escape reality, even if just for a few hours. It’s why there’s an influx of movie patrons during recessions. It’s why cultural phenomena like the 50 Shades trilogy and Twilight saga dominate the NY Times Best Sellers list. It’s why reality shows like Jersey Shore, absent seemingly redeemable qualities, are wildly successful.

Like every nation, America has its own unique culture. And while these pop culture trends (like it or not) have become part of our culture, they are not its foundation. Football, however, is a sustaining force. A staple of American culture.

Team allegiances are passed down from generation to generation. Traditions unify a team and a city. Games make friends out of strangers, and turn friends into temporary rivals. But at the end of it all, win or lose, it’s just a game and it’s supposed to be fun.

Football is no longer fun. The game tarnished.

Admittedly, I initially didn’t care how the lockout was resolved, just so long as there was a resolution. Between the teachers’ strikes, the NHL strike, and the NFL refs’ lockout, my only opinion was that, like the election, these contests had run their course, and it was time for one side – either side – to admit defeat. It’s a complacency that is personally troubling to my once bleeding heart.

Then I watched last night’s Packers-Seahawks game.

As someone who has been paid in the currency of a byline more than I have in the form of a paycheck, I understand the frustration associated with the feeling of being undervalued. Sometimes it’s an inflation of one’s ego, other times it’s completely justified. Last night, the professional referees proved they belong in the latter category.

Given the state of the economy, it is still a seller’s job market. The NFL referees took a major gamble with their salary demands. The league bet replacement refs would be adequate substitutes, the real refs bet their absence would solidify the vital role they play in the success of the multi-billion dollar professional football industry.  So the league called the union's bluff and played the replacement refs.

The result: Players are getting injured at an alarming rate. Games are being won not by talent, but by luck of the call. Frustrations among the coaches and players are leading to physical altercations.

What we’re watching on Sundays and Monday nights is not football. It’s the scene inside of an Apple store during the launch of a new iPhone. On Black Friday. And someone just yelled, “Fire!”

The debate about whether or not the referees are adequately compensated is a moot point. Overpaid or not, they are uniquely qualified to perform a job, and their value has been proven in their absence.

It’s time for the commissioner’s office to fold.

And in the spirit of Yom Kippur, I’d say there is some atoning to be done in the NFL.

When I started writing this post, I was hell-bent on blaming the replacement refs for last night’s debacle. And, yes, everyone who watched the game and has since seen the replay can agree that the ruling on the field should have been overturned following review.

But, the refs are not really the ones who should be atoning.

No, Roger Goodell is the one who should repent for his sins.

For the sin he has committed in jeopardizing the football season.
For the sin he has committed out of greed.
For the sin he has committed forsaking the players’ safety.
For the sin has committed in betrayal of the fans.
For the sin he has committed in compromising the integrity of the game.
For all these sins, Goodell, ask to be pardoned and forgiven.

And then, for the love of G-d, bring back the real refs.

Goodbye, Blogger. Hello, Justmymazel.com

Greetings Family, Friends, and Complete Strangers,

It's official: I made the switch over from Blogger to JustMyMazel.com. (You can access the blog directly at http://justmymazel.com/blogger/.) Update your bookmarks accordingly!

Just My Mazel's new site is nothing fancy, it required just enough effort so that I can now tell hiring managers I have "some" experience with HTML.

But for those of you who are creatures of habit and resistant to change, don't worry, I'm not going to setup a redirect and force the new site on you. I'll do my best to remember to continue uploading new posts here, as well. After all, without a steady readership on Blogger I never would have needed to teach myself basic HTML. 

Thanks for reading!

Lauren

Suburban Girl Goes Rural: A Comedy of Errors

“I give up.”

It was the only thing left to say. Defeated, I looked toward my friends; they stared back at me – eyes wide, jaws dropped.

This was supposed to be a tranquil day in the country. A day so quintessentially American that Norman Rockwell, himself, could have been there to capture us enjoying our sandwiches and fresh lemonade amidst the rolling rural landscape.

This portrait of a perfect Saturday afternoon lasted about 30 minutes. Then my mazel kicked in.

The story begins the same way it ends: with an amorous llama named Chewie.

Chewie, I was forewarned, greets most visitors with a kiss on the cheek.  I am not most people. Chewie walked over to greet me, but there was no kiss. At least, no kiss on the cheek.

“Did a llama just motorboat me…?” I asked my friends in disbelief.

Their mouths were agape in a nonverbal yes. I took that as my cue to exit the enclosure.

It was a beautiful day, so I grabbed a seat and bathed in the sunlight, attempting to burn away the memories of a llama nuzzling my chest. I simply succeeded in searing the tops of my shoulders.

As I sat there debating how to break the news to my parents that my only potential suitor is a llama named Chewie, someone suggested we take the horses out for a ride.

I jumped at the opportunity, hoping the therapeutic powers of horseback riding could somehow change my mazel.

Except for the occasional slap in the face by a branch of leaves, the ride was uneventful, serene even. We returned to the farm, emerging from the narrow, wooded path into a vast, open field. Both horse and rider were ready to break free.

As I rode in rhythm with the gaited horse, I was in heaven. My mazel had changed, I could feel it.

And then I felt something else – the shifting weight of the horse beneath my legs as he got tangled in the loose hay.

I braced myself, clutching his mane as the horse reared back.

Two thoughts entered my mind:

1. Well, shit. This is going to hurt.

2. Add this to the list of reasons not to ride a mechanical bull in a bar.

But within a matter of seconds, the horse calmed and, triumphantly, I cantered back to the stable.

So what if my mazel hadn’t completely changed? I was unharmed and the day made for a good story. I joked that if anything else happened, it would simply provide me with more material.

I said this without knocking on wood or uttering “Kenahora.” I basically dared the universe to screw with me. With my mazel, what was I thinking?

After all, we hadn’t left the farm yet, and my boyfriend, Chewie, and his harem of goats still needed to be fed one last time before our departure.

I trudged toward them through the tall, streaming grass when I felt something graze the outside of my right calf.

I looked down. My heart stopped.

The serpentine body of a long, black snake was caressing my leg as it slithered past me.

I have no memory of the seconds which immediately followed. All I know is my body instinctively found the one patch completely absent grass in the entirety of the enclosure.

My friends looked at me quizzically. My heart was pounding so fast I could vocalize only one word: snake.

I said it just in time for a friend to evade the snake as it slinked toward her. Calmly, we were reminded black snakes are harmless. That it could have been much worse – it could have been a Copperhead.

I was having a hard time seeing the silver lining as tears welled in my eyes. I was not mentally prepared to confront my irrational fear of snakes that day. I was ready to get back to the safety of the car and to a suburban environment inhospitable to these formidable reptiles.

There was only one problem: Chewie still needed to be fed, and I was in charge of securing a secondary gate so the goats couldn’t pounce and steal his food.

Admittedly, after my encounter with the snake, I was paying closer attention to the surrounding grass than I was to the goats sticking their noses through the fence, vying for their protector’s meal.

Sensing my ambivalence, the goats jumped on the gate, forcing it open, at which point I became acutely aware that I was on a hill. Sliding backwards, digging my heels in, a friend soon came to my rescue. The absurdity of this comedy of errors day was not lost on us, as we struggled to close the gate amidst fits of laughter. Eventually we succeeded and Chewie finished his meal in peace.

At least I thought he was finished. It turns out Chewie may have been thirsty, because moments later he walked up to me and bit me right on the milk makers.

A ring of food - evidence of Chewie's impropriety - clung to my shirt. I looked down, trying to wrap my mind around the events which transpired that day, and marveled.

To think, after all that, Chewie didn't even have the decency to buy me a drink.

What Doesn't Kill You...

As the sun set on day 1 of the DIY Wellness Retreat, I was already mourning the impending loss of my muscles.

24 hours later, my pride would be the only thing preventing me from using the elevator to access my room, a meager one level below.

But, as Friedrich Nietzsche said, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” 

Well, after completing three days of wellness retreat workouts and living to write about it, I should be freaking superwoman. 

But, I’m not.  

Apparently superhuman powers aren’t generated by one day of boot camp hell.

“Boot camp” is basically code for forcing your body to do things it doesn’t want to do, so Lani and I decided to begin the day with an early morning run. 

It sounds easy enough, but there are two important things to note: 

1. I do not jog. 
2. I do not wake up early.

The good news is, when you fall asleep at 4:00am, an early morning jog doesn’t roll around until about 10:00.

The bad news is my idea of a good run is a 200m all out sprint, and Lani’s idea is a long, consistent jog.

And yet, Lani and I were surprisingly good running partners. I encouraged her to push her speed, and she forced me to ignore the expletives running through my head as my body begged me to stop.

As a result, that morning I ran a full mile for the first time in years.

Although it does not sound like an impressive feat, sometimes it’s the little victories that count the most, like making it home without passing out because I neglected to eat breakfast or drink water before we left the house. Victory.

After taking some time to eat and recover from my sheer stupidity, we threw on Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred, an amazing, but incredibly intense circuit workout.  

I tried to inspire myself during the workout by running a loop of the chorus to Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You)” through my head. Unfortunately, this was drowned out by the rhythmic cracking and popping of my joints, a less than motivating soundtrack.

My body later performed the full Rice Krispies’ ballad, complete with snap, crackle, and pop, when the sound of the snapping of a metronome entered my head during our afternoon run on the beach.

Normally I’m an online dating profile cliché – I love movies and long walks on the beach. But a beach walk is not exactly a boot camp caliber workout, so Lani and I attempted a first for both of us: a barefoot beach run.

My attempt at forefoot striking

It took a minute to adjust to forefoot striking so as not to injure ourselves, but it quickly became my favorite workout of the week. We even went on a second beach run on spa day. After all, the sand is nature’s pedicure.

All in all, the boot camp workouts were my favorite of the week. On the one hand, it was a painful reminder of just how out of shape I am. On the other, it was promising to realize that we’re generally capable of more than we give ourselves credit for.

Often times, when your health and body frequently betray you, it’s easy to make up excuses, and justify not pushing yourself to the limit. At least I’ve found that to be true in my case.

So when I was faced with my greatest challenge of the day, I did not back down.

I grabbed that handrail, and, one step at a time, I coaxed my legs down that single flight of stairs. It was not pretty, but I persevered.

It’s truly amazing what you can accomplish when you set your mind to it.

Why I Don’t Dance Sober

Some people are naturally graceful. When they move, they do so with the power and elegance of a thoroughbred racehorse. I, on the other hand, move with the balance and coordination of a newborn giraffe – I have legs, I’m just not quite sure how to use them.

Suffice it to say, I’ve never been one who enjoys dancing. I skipped my senior prom. I despise going to clubs. I refuse to be dragged onto the dance floor at weddings until the champagne has had time to work its magic. 

So, naturally, Lani and I decided that an entire wellness day should be devoted to workouts inspired by different types of dance. I blame the hype associated with workouts like Zumba and pole dancing for this.

Our plan for day one, dubbed the “artsy” wellness day, was to complete workouts and wellness activities which are artsy in nature (and by artsy, I mean anything that didn’t fit into the “spa” or “boot camp” categories).

Lani and I began the day with our workouts. As I am much too cheap to invest in a product I may never again use (i.e. Zumba or Wii Fit), we, instead, pulled from our personal DVD collections.

Together we had four dance workouts: aerobic striptease, ballet, salsa, and belly dancing.

I will say that any of these DVDs, in and of itself, is a decent workout.  Doing all four in one day was truly exhausting.

I believe the above picture was taken after the NYC Ballet workout, which was by far the best, most challenging of the four. For those of you wondering, it is also the DVD I would be most likely to incorporate into a regular workout regimen.

Aerobic striptease was, without question, the best for cardio. Although, after struggling to complete the 20 minute workout, I have a hard time imagining how any stripper could be overweight. I must say, if I had to do that workout night after night, I’d be in pretty fantastic shape.

The salsa DVD takes the award for “most likely to collect dust.”  I’m not sure which was worse, the instructor insisting on telling us, “You look AMAZING!” as Lani and I tripped over our feet and slammed our hands into each other, or the ridiculous grin plastered on her face throughout the entire workout. I’m going with the grin.

Belly dancing is a fantastic overall toning workout, and one I would absolutely try again. My only issue with belly dancing is the misleading name. I think a more apropos title would be “Arm and Ab Toning: We Look Sexy, You Will Cry.”

But in all seriousness, I took away two very important lessons from the day 1 workouts:  

1. I will never, ever mess with my friend who is a trained ballet dancer. She may be half my size, but after doing the NYC ballet workout, there is no doubt in my mind that she would level me in a fight.
2. I have avoided dancing all these years for a very good reason. No one needs to see this… 

*To read about Lani and her chachaphobia, check out her latest post, "Chachaphobia and the Dance of Wellness" on Disaster with a Passport.

Green Juice: When Leprechauns Poop in a Glass

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I rarely buy into hype.  I’m not sure when exactly I developed this mindset, but I am inclined to blame it on the demise of beanie babies.

The DIY wellness retreat, however, is all about hype.

Obviously, Lani and I are just testing these trends, not to see if they will be life changing the one time we try them, but to determine whether there is any merit to the hype that precedes a trend, and, if so, possibly incorporate it into our normal routines.

So far we have successfully completed artsy wellness and boot camp days, and will commence spa day as soon as I finish writing, but more on that later.

Right now there is a more pressing issue that needs to be discussed, and that is the matter of the elusive “green juice.”

Below is the video evidence that highlights our efforts to ingest the green juice.  (Spoiler alert: in the battle of Lauren vs. Hype, I take this round, hands down.)  Sincere apologies for our appearance – we shot this video following a morning jog, a circuit workout, and a barefoot beach jog, and opted for authenticity over vanity. Also, disclaimer, please pardon the language midway through the video, it couldn’t be helped.

Our green juice concoction was comprised of apples, pears, celery, wheat grass, kale, and cucumber. I assure you I tasted neither apple nor pear.

As I mentioned on Twitter, green juice is by far one of the worst things I have ever tried to force myself to drink, second only to the jug of hell I was prescribed before a colonoscopy.

Sure I’ve heard the health benefits argument used to promote the consumption of green juice.

To that I say, good riddance!

Cut up some apples and pears, put them in a bowl. In a separate bowl, mix up a salad with some celery, cucumber, and maybe even kale and wheat grass, and throw on a light, natural dressing. Voila! a palatable alternative to green juice.

Healthy living shouldn’t make you miserable. Maybe that’s why we have such an obesity problem, because trends like green juice are being shoved down our throats, when really, a balanced diet and exercise is all we really need.

It seems like every week some medical health professional is announcing new health benefits discovered in foods we eat every day.

The way I see it, who needs green juice when you can end the night with some heart-healthy red wine and dark chocolate?

In fact, I think I just decided how I’m going to conclude spa day.

(For Lani's take on the green juice and her hatred of celery, here's her post, http://disasterwithapassport.blogspot.com/2012/04/green-juice-or-when-leprechauns-poop-in.html)

DIY Wellness, i.e. What I'll Do for a Laugh

At the beginning of 2012, I kept very odd hours. I was usually awake past 5am, and often slept until 2pm.

During the wee hours of the morning, I came across a lot of advertisements and infomercials for the latest health and beauty trends, as companies tried to capitalize on people’s ultimately doomed New Year’s resolutions.

I started thinking about the personality types behind a lot of the fad diets that have come and gone over the years.

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Low-Carb diets: I don’t want to work hard to see results.  I want them fast, and handed to me on a silver platter in the form a 32-oz ribeye.

Weight Watchers: I’ll pay for a glorified dieting babysitter. At least it works.

Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem, and other prepackaged meal plans: I'm so gullible I bet I'll look like this newly thin paid celebrity spokesperson in no time!

“Vegetarian:” I don’t eat meat or fish. Well, I will eat some fish. I occasionally eat chicken, but that’s where I draw the line. I don’t eat red meat. Well, sometimes I’ll eat red meat.

Vegan: In case you’re wondering if I judge you, I do.

Acai, pomegranate, etc:, This is amazing, you have to try it! No, seriously. This stuff will change your life. At least until the next life-changing fad comes along.

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It’s the latter craze that prompted Lani and me to start brainstorming this DIY wellness retreat.  It is not to say I never partake in a craze. In fact, in my morning routine, pomegranate Greek yogurt has replaced Wheaties as the breakfast of champions (it pains me that some of you may be too young to appreciate that reference).

And while some of these trends may be delicious and/or nutritious, I do not believe that any of these fads holds the key to unlock some mystical health and weight loss secret.

Naturally, Lani and I felt inclined to test that theory.

Originally we considered a juice cleanse. However, when I did some research, I discovered that combining a juice cleanse with one of my medical conditions was basically met with a skull and crossbones warning. 

This sort of defeated the purpose of the “health” in “health and wellness.”

So instead of tackling this latest fad, we opted to experiment with as many health, beauty, and fitness trends as we could fit into a 3-day window. Before long, each day had a theme: artsy wellness, boot camp, and spa.

Thus the DIY wellness retreat was born.

Wish us luck! I'm going to need it. Desperately.

(Lani and I are live tweeting - @JustMyMazel and @CarolynLani - and you can check out her blog here!).

Thank You, Captain Obvious

*Disclaimer: I am neither a mental health professional nor a scientific researcher, I am merely a person who likes to say “I told you so.”

Western Illinois University recently released the findings of a research study linking excessive Facebook activity to narcissism.

To this I say, “Thank You, Captain Obvious.”

After all, do we really need a study to tell us that the people who post updates on every aspect of their lives – seeking “likes” and comments from their 1,000+ close personal friends – are narcissists? No more so than we need a study examining the presence of sarcasm in my personality. Although, I think we can all agree that such an experiment, like the Facebook study, would be an invaluable use of time and resources.

Well, in honor of Western Illinois University’s groundbreaking research, I decided to conduct a Facebook experiment of my own.

The question: Does excessive Facebook PDA predict problems in a relationship? (For the purposes of this study, excessive shall be defined as an average of at least one status update or wall post per day.)

Hypothesis: With the exceptions of significant life events (i.e. deployment, cohabitation, anniversary, engagement, wedding, or baby), excessive Facebook PDA does predict underlying problems in a relationship.

Experiment: I will look at the Facebook profiles of friends who fill(ed) my news feed with frequent public declarations of adoration and love, and analyze the current status of said relationships.

Conclusion: So, does excessive Facebook PDA spell trouble in paradise…? Yes, yes it does.

Comments and unsolicited advice from an individual who is in no way qualified to offer such advice: Based on my extensive and incontrovertibly accurate research, Facebook PDA is a symptom of a larger problem. If engaged in a relationship that is chronicled on Facebook, you are advised to evaluate the underlying issues behind the compulsion to frequently and publicly acknowledge the relationship.

Aside from typical trust and jealousy issues that plague many Facebook PDA couples, humans have an animalistic need to mark one’s territory.

Legend has it that once upon a time, a man would signify a pre-engagement commitment to his girlfriend by giving her his letter jacket in high school, or pinning her in college. The guys at my high school were not quite as romantic, opting, instead, to mark their territory with a hickey.

Classy? No.

Effective? Absolutely.

In the recent social media frenzy, Facebook has become the Web 2.0 equivalent of the hickey. On Facebook, you can flaunt your relationship for all to see – friends, jealous exes, or skeptics who doubted your ability to ever find a significant other (who isn’t inflatable).

It should come as no surprise that I subscribe to the theory that the more public the relationship, the less stable it actually is.

As stated in my hypothesis, I concede that there are exceptions to the rule. However, the general rule for a correlation between excessive Facebook PDA and relationship longevity is that a relationship played out on 

Facebook is unlikely to succeed behind closed doors.

Proponents of Facebook PDA will likely accuse me, and rightfully so, of being cynical and unromantic. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong.

They call themselves hopelessly in love. 

I call them soon-to-be single.

Interpreting Interpretations: It's the American Way

I have been noticeably (or not so noticeably) absent from this blog of late. This is not for a lack of material. Rather, with all the hateful speech in the media, I reverted to the old practice of, “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

Well, I’m over it.

In recent months, politicians and pundits have mercilessly and unapologetically attacked not just politicians, but private citizens, as well. These diatribes are being splashed across the news, polarizing the nation.

More often than not, justification for these verbal attacks ultimately boils down to an individual belief about what is associated with being a “true” American, or the proclaimed desire to return America to what the founders had intended.

But, since it’s safe to say those embroiled in recent debates were not present at the Constitutional Convention 236 years ago, everything is left up to interpretation.

And I do mean everything.

Take, for instance, the preamble to the Constitution. The preamble is one sentence which defines the purpose of the Constitution and establishes the inalienable rights of the American people; yet even this simple and straightforward sentence can be interpreted and contorted to fit one’s personal beliefs.

I took the liberty of rewriting the preamble as interpreted by the far right, left, and moderates, respectively, to illustrate this point:

We the [conservative] people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union [free of homosexuality], establish justice [except for those who can afford a high-powered attorney], insure domestic tranquility [except when we are right and our opponents are wrong, which, we do decree, is always], provide for the common defense [at the expense of all else], promote the general welfare [of men], and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves [but not to women and other specified minorities] and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

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We the [liberal] people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union [until we make good on our threat to move to Canada], establish justice [in order to prove a point, any point, it doesn’t really matter], insure domestic tranquility [until we find a reason to protest], [reluctantly] provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty [through means which alienate the rest of the country] to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

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We the [moderate] people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect [tolerant] union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility [until our life choices are attacked on a daily basis], provide for the common defense [and support the troops regardless of our opinions on the war], promote the general welfare [and tolerance of others], and secure the blessings of liberty [regardless of race, religion, or sexual orientation] to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Of course the above is just conjecture. It is my perceived interpretation of how certain outspoken, extreme politicians may interpret the preamble. Really, my obnoxious interpretation of their unknown thoughts is no different than politicians interpreting any article of or amendment to the Constitution to fit their own convictions, and spouting that interpretation as constitutional gospel. As such, I feel perfectly justified in interpreting their interpretations.

Confused? Good. That’s politics for you.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

In light of some recent headlines, I decided to create a matching game.  Each quote in the list below relates to one of three organizations: Planned Parenthood, Susan G. Komen for the Cure, or Girl Scouts of the USA (GSUSA).  Certain key words have been removed, so see if you can correctly match the quotes and the organizations to which they refer (answers are at the bottom of the post - let me know how you do!).

      A. Planned Parenthood            B. Susan G. Komen            C. Girl Scouts

1.       A website criticizing this organization claims the website’s supporters “…are concerned with the alarming choices [BLANK] has been making (using the money we have paid and raised for them)…”

2.       In a recent interview, the head of this organization stated, “Our support actually grew over the past year, not only in terms of activists and particularly a lot of young people who had never been active on issues related to [BLANK]…”

3.       In a statement issued by this organization, “Throughout our [BLANK-year] history, our priority has always been and will continue to be the [women/girls] we serve.”

4.       An executive in this organization said, “The scurrilous accusations being hurled at this organization are profoundly hurtful to so many of us.”

5.       In response to the feud, New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg stated, "Politics have no place in health care. Breast cancer screening saves lives and hundreds of thousands of women rely on [BLANK] for access to care…" 

6.       In response to recent controversy, a leader in this organization was quoted as saying, “[BLANK] does not take a position on abortion or birth control, and these topics are not part of [BLANK] or our materials...”

7.       This organization asserted that, “[BLANK] will always fight for and serve the people who need us the most. We won't rest until every woman — rich, poor, insured or uninsured — can face a life without [BLANK].”

Unless cut off from news sources and social media sites, by now most people have heard about the controversy surrounding the Komen Foundation and their decision to cut Planned Parenthood funding.

However, before this story broke, there was another popular organization facing scrutiny over alleged ties to Planned Parenthood: the Girl Scouts.

In my experience, Girl Scouts were known for two things: the motto, "be prepared," and, more importantly, delicious cookies.

I should know, I was a Girl Scout. In fact, it was recently brought to my attention that I still am a Girl Scout.

So imagine my surprise when I saw that a local church kicked out a number of Girl Scout troops, no long permitting them to use the church as a meeting space.  Reports assert this is a result of GSUSA connections to Planned Parenthood, allegations which leaders in the organization vehemently deny.

Let’s be honest here. As much as I wish being a Girl Scout was badass, it’s not. GSUSA is an organization that helps girls garner self-esteem and develop skills, social and otherwise.  It is a great way to make friends and enhance your college application.  It is not a front for socialists to brainwash the next generation, or push a liberal agenda. 

I assure you, Girl Scouts didn’t corrupt us.  High school did.

Sometimes I wonder what politicians were like in high school. Were they the ones picked on, or the ones putting others down to always gain the upper hand?

Based on recent actions, I’m guessing the latter.  The problem is politicians' behavior has had a Reaganomic effect; their divisiveness and unwillingness to compromise has trickled down to the rest of society.

The decision made by Komen executives to revoke funding is a prime example of this behavior. It is becoming all too common for people to ignore the end goal in order to promote their own self interests, regardless of the cost to others.

Komen is the foremost breast cancer research foundation, and Planned Parenthood is highly regarded for its preventative care measures.

It seems logical that these two organizations on the forefront of women’s health would band together, uniting for the cause.  Of course, as with most good things, politics interfered and mucked it up.

In addition to providing services, such as breast screenings, to women who may not have access to such care otherwise, Planned Parenthood also offers services relating to sexual education and reproductive choice. As a result, it is often under scrutiny from pro-life advocates and the religious right.

Rep. Cliff Stearns (R-Fla.), who arguably fits into the aforementioned category, launched an investigation into Planned Parenthood last September, citing allegations that it was misappropriating federal funds.  Komen cited this investigation as the reason for eliminating their Planned Parenthood grants.

However, critics of Komen’s decision believe the foundation, under the helm of Karen Handel, a self-proclaimed conservative who was recently appointed as Komen’s senior vice president of public policy, finally succumbed to political pressure from the right.

Komen’s founder and CEO, Nancy Brinker, dismissed these allegations, stating “We will never bow down to political pressure.”

Whether that’s true or not, Komen was quick to fold under the pressure from the criticism they received following yesterday’s announcement.  Today they released a statement reversing that decision, saying Komen, “will amend the criteria to make clear that disqualifying investigations must be criminal and conclusive in nature and not political. That is what is right and fair.”

While the reversal is being applauded, it remains to be seen if Komen will suffer any long-term impact from their initial decision to rescind Planned Parenthood grants.

The organization was naïve not to anticipate a heated response to a decision that would negatively impact thousands of women.  Besides, I would think an organization led by women would understand the phrase, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Live and learn, Komen.  Live and learn.

Answers:

1. C     2. A     3. B     4. B     5. A     6. C     7. B

Full quotes:

A website criticizing this organization [GIRL SCOUTS] claims supporters “…are concerned with the alarming choices [GSUSA] has been making (using the money we have paid and raised for them)…”

In a recent interview, the head of this organization stated, “Our support actually grew over the past year, not only in terms of activists and particularly a lot of young people who had never been active on issues related to [PLANNED PARENTHOOD]…”

In a statement issued by this organization, “Throughout our [30 YEAR] history, our priority has always been and will continue to be the [WOMEN] we serve.”

An executive in this organization [KOMEN] said, “The scurrilous accusations being hurled at this organization are profoundly hurtful to so many of us.” 

In response to the feud, New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg stated, "Politics have no place in health care. Breast cancer screening saves lives and hundreds of thousands of women rely on [PLANNED PARENTHOOD] for access to care…" 

In response to recent controversy, a leader in this organization was quoted as saying, “[THE GIRL SCOUT ORGANIZATION] does not take a position on abortion or birth control, and these topics are not part of [THE GIRL SCOUT PROGRAM] or our materials...”

This organization asserted that, “[SUSAN G. KOMEN] will always fight for and serve the people who need us the most. We won't rest until every woman — rich, poor, insured or uninsured — can face a life without [BREAST CANCER].”

The Power of the Four-Letter Word

Moist. Smock. Panties. Nourish. Supper. Panties. Womb. Aspic. Panties.

All of these words are seemingly harmless.  Neither do they contain profanity nor do they have an unsavory connotation. Yet, when asked which words make their skin crawl, my friends promptly identified the above. (Please note the frequency in which “panties” appears.  Much appreciated.)

There doesn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to a person’s reaction to such words. The response is visceral.

But society often plays a role in shaping our response to other words, namely those of the four-letter variety.

Words with four letters have a power all their own.  In their most basic form, they encompass the polar opposite of raw human emotion: love and hate.

“Hate” is one of those few G-rated movie words that, with the right delivery, can crush someone. 

“Love,” when not reduced to “<3,” “luv,” or worse yet, “wuv,” is still one of the most powerful words in the English language.  It is one of those rare words where the silence in its absence can be as strong as the power of its verbalization.

Of course, “four-letter words” in their best and truest form are those words that were forbidden fruit to us as kids.

In our infinite childhood wisdom, my friends and I replaced such words with alternatives, like “fudge,” “h-e-double hockey sticks,” “shit-ake mushrooms,” etc.  (This also serves as further proof that hindsight reveals we’re never as cool as we thought we were at the time.)

Considering most of us didn’t know how to construct a poignant insult with four-letter words at a relatively young age, their impact was lost on us.

However, many of us have experienced the painful power of other four-letter words - ugly, dumb, slut, fatt (it got so big it needed another letter) - at a vulnerable age.  Such physically, intellectually, and socially degrading descriptors can leave a lasting scar, whether or not we’re aware of it.

Let’s face it, there’s a reason comedians are overwhelmingly less attractive than the rest of the entertainment industry.  Childhood torment is comedy’s breeding ground.

While we may grow a thicker skin as we get older, based on conversations with friends this past year, I realize how much we’re all still deeply affected by other’s words.

Regardless of age or maturity, there will always be certain people who build themselves up by taking others down.

Whether it’s the guy who thinks he’s still on the playground, and insults a woman to get her attention. Or the person who always gives backhanded compliments to his/her friends. Perhaps it’s the person who seeks to establish their intellectual superiority over others by constantly incorporating in everyday conversation those words that should be exclusively reserved for the NY Times Sunday Crossword. 

Whatever their quirk, most of us have someone like that in our lives.  We all have choice words we like to call these individuals in private, but luckily our generation (building on that word creativity we developed as kids) has adopted a publicly appropriate four-letter word to describe said individuals: tool. 

So rather than declare some cliché or snarky New Year’s resolution, my hope is to stop letting the tools of the world affect how we see ourselves.  Let this be the year we all see ourselves the way our friends and loved ones see us.

Alternatively, you can screw the highroad in 2012, and just tell any tool you come across to fudge off and go to h-e-double hockey sticks before you kick the shitake mushrooms out of him/her.

It’s win-win.

Mastering the Art of the Holiday Greeting Letter

The 2011 holiday season is upon us.

Christmas decorations light up the streets as neighbors try to prove who among them has the most holiday cheer. Phones ring off the hook as charities try to milk holiday goodwill for as much as they can. Mailboxes fill with holiday cards and letters, most of which are from people whom you haven’t heard from since last year’s holiday greeting.

Given my own absence this past year, I thought I’d come back to this blog with a holiday letter of my own.  Then I realized anyone who is reading this is probably one of the few people with whom I’ve actually spoken these past several months.  So, instead, I decided to create a template for any procrastinators out there still trying to send out a holiday letter by year end. 

So here it is, your quick and easy guide to a holiday letter:

Begin with a salutation.  (i.e. Dear Family, Friends, and those who need the yearly reminder that my life is better than yours,)

First things first - apologize for your absence over the past year.  Work, school, break-up, death in family, and “life getting in the way” are examples of widely accepted (or at least relatable) excuses. Next, include the obligatory “I truly miss your company and will be sure to get in touch early in the New Year” statement. (Note: if you keep it vague and don’t include the actual year, you can just use this sentence verbatim for subsequent holiday letters.)

Now that you’ve made a mea culpa for your absence, it is time to move on to a description of your/your family’s wonderful year (in spite of the absence of 90% of the people receiving the letter).  The key to a good “year in review” is to mention a few specifics highlighting the good and putting a spin on the bad.

If newly single, play up the wonders of “independence” rather than turning it into an awkward tell-all about your failed relationship.  If unemployed, elaborate on the joys of taking the time to discover your passion in life, and exploring potential careers that are both personally and professionally fulfilling. If a student, just avoid the words “insurmountable debt” and “no post-grad employment prospects” and you should be fine.

Any good news you want to share is your opportunity to unapologetically brag, but it is important to do so in a tactful way. The key to successful yet modest bragging is the inclusion of pictures in your letter.  For instance, if you lost weight over the course of the year, rather than saying, “I look damn good,” a picture will say it for you.  If you got married or had a baby, show off the new addition in a family photo.  Just make sure it’s a good picture.  Never underestimate one’s ability to mercilessly judge others.

Conclude the letter with a summary of your holiday plans, and one final well-intentioned fib about getting in touch in the New Year.   Depending on the recipients, end the letter with “Love,” “Cheers,” “Happy Holidays,” or a comparable sentiment.  Then sign your name(s), and there you have it!  Your holiday letter is officially complete.

Hope this helps (and by helps, I mean amuses you while you count down the hours until your paid vacation begins).  

Wishing everyone a very Merry/Happy everything! I truly miss your company and will be sure to get in touch early in the New Year.  Honest. J

Lauren

A Weary Traveler’s Appeal to the USD

Dear U.S. Dollar,

I know you’ve had your ups and downs over the years, and the recent economic turmoil has undoubtedly taken its toll.

Given the circumstances, it’s normal to feel a bit depressed.  The problem is you’re just not bouncing back the way I would have hoped.

There’s no surefire way to immediately eradicate your depression, but you do have options.

Some people swear by therapy.  Some turn to food or alcohol.  Others simply self-medicate.

I suggest the latter for you.

Just ask your friends at the drug companies to help you out. Not only have you been quite good to them over the years, they also have a vested interest in your wellbeing, so I’m sure they’ll conjure up a cocktail to help expedite your recovery.

Perhaps a nice combination of anti-depressants and steroids would do the trick.

Bottom line: you need to get your strength back. This weakness isn’t good for you, and it certainly isn’t good for me.

When I planned my trip to Europe, you weren’t in great shape, but you at least had the Euro in your sights.

Now it isn’t even a contest.  The Euro is doing victory laps while you seem to be content celebrating with a participation trophy.  And that’s just sad.

The time has come to get off your ass and fight back.  The Euro is hurting amidst rumors (which Greece’s PM is refuting) that Greece may defect, so capitalize on the fallout of these reports before your brief window of opportunity closes. 

Who knows - if you fight hard enough (and fly some pigs) you may even beat the Euro.

…Or tie.  Really, I’d settle for a tie.

Kind Regards (sorry, not feeling the love right now),

Lauren

Touché, Body. Touché

I was feeling pretty confident during my first couple weeks in Europe.

No longer did I feel like a 24-year-old trapped in the body of an 80-year-old woman.

I was still able to function after walking 5-10 miles a day, so I was confident that I was finally ridding myself of the not so coveted "lazy ass" title.

Well here’s the problem with confidence.  It’s hard to distinguish the difference between confidence and over-confidence (or in my case, stupidity – it’s a fine line, really). 

My first reality check came during a visit to Notre Dame.

For those of you who haven’t been to Notre Dame, the trek to the top is a spiral staircase, and they warn you that visiting the top is not recommended for the elderly, people who dizzy easily, etc.

Although it doesn’t take more than a bad camera angle in a movie to make me feel dizzy, I was confident I could make it to the top.

Around the 200^th step, however, my body became acutely aware that it was walking up hundreds of steps in a very tight spiral.

I carefully put one foot in front of the other and focused solely on staying vertical and reaching the top.  Finally, I saw the light. Literally - there was an open door and the sun was shining through.

I walked out into the glorious open space, inhaled a deep breath of fresh air, and thought, “Oh crap, I’m going to pass out.”

I found myself a little step and sat down on my own accord before gravity aggressively did it for me. And for the next several minutes, there I sat, looking pathetic, yawning like an anxious dog desperate for more oxygen.

Well, after composing myself and successfully making it back down to flat ground, I vowed to always have water with me, remember to eat, and avoid spiral staircases.

Cut to four days later in the Loire Valley, when my traveling buddy and I decide to go on a leisurely 17km bike ride to Chateau de Chambord.  Now, if you’ve read my previous posts, you know that one of the last times I was on a bike I ran over a snake, traumatizing me for life.  Well, the most recent time I remember being on a bike was over a decade ago, and I fainted while riding.

Given my history, a 34km bike ride was clearly a recipe for a successful afternoon.

Well, the first 17km turned into about 25-30km, and I ran out of water within the first 15km.

There’s that stupidity I mentioned earlier.

So, after I miraculously made it to the chateau, I refueled with some water and sorbet and decided it best to take the bus back to town.

So we toured the chatueau, spiral staircases and all, and arrived at the bus stop 20 minutes early, and waited.  And waited. And waited.

Just my mazel, the bus never showed. 

So, it was back on the bike, with the mantra, “I cannot call home to say I passed out on Mother’s Day and the day of my brother’s graduation,” running through my head.

Well, somehow it worked. 20km and 1.5 hours later, the 80-year-old version of me arrived back at the hotel.

All I have to say is touché, body.  You win this round.  But, mark my words, by the end of these three months I will no longer be trapped in the body of an 80-year-old woman!

…More like an in-shape 50-year-old woman.

Travel Like it's 1999

3 months. 10+ countries. 3 bags. No cell phone.

Anything you may have just thought has already occurred to me, give or take a few expletives.

While it’s hard to explain the exact purpose of my travels, this is by no means an abbreviated “Eat, Pray, Love” quest.

The closest I’m getting to prayer or religion on this trip was my attempt to keep kosher for Passover while in London.  (This decision was made after my body impolitely rejected the airplane food not certified kosher for Passover.  I took it as a sign.)

But since “Eat, Pray, Love” seems to be the primary benchmark for lengthy post-college travel abroad, let’s call this an “Eat, Write, Eat Some More, Then Walk…a lot” journey.

Yes, eating does still get top billing.  What can I say, I have my priorities.

And for this trip, my priorities are simple: eat great food and try not to be an ugly American as I make my way across Europe.

I hope to entertain everyone with a few good anecdotes from each of the countries I visit. And if not, I am carrying roughly 1/3 of my body weight in luggage, and have yet to buy a cell phone, so I’m bound to make an ass of myself at least once or twice, which in and of itself should make for some good stories. 

As of  yet, I’m not sure which is going to present the bigger challenge - the luggage or lack of cell phone.  On travel days I think it’s the former, but on most days I think it may be the latter. 

It has been over a decade since I haven’t been surgically attached to a cell phone.  Although I am not experiencing separation anxiety, I am realizing that I’ve forgotten how to function without one. 

Sad, but true.

Less than 12 hours into my journey, I faced my first test sans cell phone: finding my travel partner in Heathrow. 

Long story short: Technology 1, Lauren 0.

The World According to Congress

Imagine the following scenario:

On the first day of class in January, a professor hands you a syllabus listing a March 4 due date for a group project.

January comes and goes. Every group meeting turned into a social function - little is accomplished.

February rolls around. The group spends most of the time arguing about the best way to approach the topic - still nothing gets done.

Now it’s March. The project is due in less than a week, and the group is meeting at all hours to try and come to an agreement on the direction of the project, but a few select group members will not acquiesce to ideas they do not fully support.

The night before the due date, you request more time, and the professor graciously grants a two-week extension.

The group puts the project on the backburner, and suddenly you’re in the exact same position you faced two weeks prior.  The group has made some progress, agreeing to a mutual end product, but still cannot agree on a means in which to achieve said end.

Again, you beg for an extension, and the professor grants another two weeks.

Now it’s April, and the group project has turned into Groundhog Day. The due date is looming, and no one will compromise. You find yourself staring down the due date with a mere hour and a half to go. At a stalemate, you ask for another extension – “but just one week!” - and the professor, again, agrees.

To the average person this scenario should sound absurd, even comical. Of course, this would be a lot funnier if it were not based on Congress’s actions of late.

Anyone who has dealt with deadlines in school or their workplace knows such requests for extensions are not feasible in the real world. Apparently normal rules cease to apply on Capitol Hill.

Less than an hour ago it was announced they agreed to yet another temporary extension to avoid a partial government shutdown. I believe this puts Congress at extension number 3 (just in 2011 - I won't put as much blame on the 111th Congress).

I take offense when obstinate members of Congress declare they are standing their ground to protect the interests of their constituency. No person is 100% satisfied with every law, bill, or motion supported by their elected representatives. But that’s life. The rest of us have to deal with it, why can’t Congress?

Maybe if members of Congress stop worrying about re-election backlash if they approve Planned Parenthood funding, and start worrying about the soldiers families who won’t get paid, and the negative effect on government employees and the general livelihood of the nation’s capital, which largely depends upon Federal government operations, a compromise can actually be reached.

I’m sure most of you know the phrase, “do as I say, not as I do.” Well, rather than doing as they say, maybe we should all do as they do, which will likely result in mass layoffs. Best of luck to Congress figuring out how to work those added unemployment benefits into the budget.

Mia and the Media

Recently I’ve experienced a great deal of anxiety before I turn on the news.

It is not because of the horrifying images from Cairo, or the tragic stories emerging from Libya.

It is not because of the widespread devastation caused by the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, or because of the looming government shutdown.

It is because of the snake formerly known as @BronxZoosCobra.

I’m not sure if this is a sign that I’m extremely jaded, or that my fear of snakes has reached truly ridiculous heights.

My guess – it’s a combination of the two.

To put this in context, I have had an irrational fear of snakes my entire life.  

On multiple occasions I’ve found myself scared by rubber snakes, garden hoses, and even the occasional stick.

My fear was exacerbated about 15 years ago on a family bike ride in Hilton Head, SC.  There was a snake stretched across the length of the bike path.  My mom saw it. My brother saw it.  I didn’t.

My family proceeded to torture me for the rest of the day, taunting me that the snake's family was angry, and they were coming to get me.  I’ve never found the open cracks and holes in a sofa bed as utterly terrifying as they were that restless night.

Needless to say, I make it a point to avoid situations that may result in potential encounters with snakes.

I don’t go exploring in the woods. I wait outside reptile houses at the zoo.  I avoid any Google searches that may produce images of snakes.

And then the Bronx Zoo Cobra fiasco happened.  Despite the 200 miles separating us, there was no escape from this damn snake.  

Every time I opened CNN.com, picked up a newspaper, or turned on the news, there she was.  

The media coverage was relentless from the day she went missing to the day her name, Mia (missing in action), was ultimately selected.

However, now that Mia finally has a name and is back in her home, I am optimistic that Mia will disappear from the limelight, and the media can resume reporting on other public interest stories, like the public education system’s failure to teach children how to share and compromise.

Oh wait, did I say children?  I meant Congress.