Lift up Rick Warren and his family.
And Marie Osmond. And Danielle Steel. And Mary Kennedy's family and Trey Pennington's family.
And my family.
All impacted by fatal brain diseases that led to suicide.
This shit has to stop. Depression, bipolar and other broken brain chemistry disorders are fixable. But the treatment protocol is different from cancer or heart disease.
With cancer or heart disease, you want a cure. Big time.
With broken brains, you resist a cure. Big time. You don't think you need it.Getting help to people who need it is very difficult.
The meds are nasty for mental illness. They cause weight gain. They cause blandness. People stop taking them.
There is a soothing rhythm to self-starvation and other compulsive addictions, as odd as that seems to non-impacted civilians. There is joy in mania's energy and depression's artful creativity. Alcohol and drugs take the edge off.
If your brain is broken, you have no incentive to change, unless there is a major investment in intervention and habit-changing. Which costs a bundle per person. We're talking rehab for more than 30 days. Maybe more like 365 days to really change the way your brain processing things.
Ouch, that's expensive. Think of the tax dollars. Ew! So much cheaper to just blame that person for not taking "personal responsibility."
Let's fix this one, people.
Maybe We Do Have Too Much Stuff
As far as conspicuous consumption goes, I'm far from being a material girl. Which is not to say I don't practice at least some retail therapy.
I'm just so old now, I'm apparently forgetting what I buy.
Which apparently leads to excess glassware.
By the way, there are just two of us in our house.
I'm just so old now, I'm apparently forgetting what I buy.
Which apparently leads to excess glassware.
By the way, there are just two of us in our house.
Remembering Two Great Teachers
When I was 14, the completely un-athletic me followed some friends onto the girls
track team. Our coach, Mr. Cahill, tried me out in various track and
field events from hurdles (let's not go there) to the high jump (who
even bends that way?) to sprinting. After watching me sprint, Mr, Cahill said,
"Let's try distance running."
It was reminiscent of when my parents watched me in my first ballet recital and said, "Let's try piano."
Distance running did it. I loved it. I still love it. Mr. Cahill said distance running was his event as well, since he said he looked like "an arthritic turtle" in the other events. That gave me confidence. Mr. Cahill taught me to use my arms to drive forward, not to clench them up high or swing them side to side. He paid me the ultimate compliment, "When I saw you running on the other side of the track, I thought you were one of the boys." To this day, making me feel like one of the boys is the highest compliment you can give me (in most instances).
Mr. Cahill would always make me smile wearing his white sports socks with a shamrock that he said were Irish luck for me. As Irish luck would have it, soft cartilage in my knees killed off my burgeoning track career in less than a year. But the power of fitness caught on with me. I liked feeling powerful.
************
That same year as a freshman in high school, my English teacher was fresh out of school and in his first year of teaching. Not all that much older than us, Mr. Gorney was funny, strict and inspiring all at once. I can still see him in the home ec room we were crammed into for linguistics in our overcrowded school, diagramming sentences around ironing boards. Occasionally, he'd give us a break and we'd talk movies or current events.
He had a great laugh.
I started to love words and language, seeing possibilities for my hyper-active imagination I never saw before.
It was reminiscent of when my parents watched me in my first ballet recital and said, "Let's try piano."
Distance running did it. I loved it. I still love it. Mr. Cahill said distance running was his event as well, since he said he looked like "an arthritic turtle" in the other events. That gave me confidence. Mr. Cahill taught me to use my arms to drive forward, not to clench them up high or swing them side to side. He paid me the ultimate compliment, "When I saw you running on the other side of the track, I thought you were one of the boys." To this day, making me feel like one of the boys is the highest compliment you can give me (in most instances).
 |
| Mr. Cahill, my HS track coach, surrounded by his team, 1975. |
Mr. Cahill would always make me smile wearing his white sports socks with a shamrock that he said were Irish luck for me. As Irish luck would have it, soft cartilage in my knees killed off my burgeoning track career in less than a year. But the power of fitness caught on with me. I liked feeling powerful.
************
That same year as a freshman in high school, my English teacher was fresh out of school and in his first year of teaching. Not all that much older than us, Mr. Gorney was funny, strict and inspiring all at once. I can still see him in the home ec room we were crammed into for linguistics in our overcrowded school, diagramming sentences around ironing boards. Occasionally, he'd give us a break and we'd talk movies or current events.
He had a great laugh.
I started to love words and language, seeing possibilities for my hyper-active imagination I never saw before.
I Had a Miserable Week. Can I Sue Someone?
The first lawsuit has been filed in last week's Carnival Cruise Lines disaster.
Really?
Here's what happened: a bunch of people on a cruise ship had a really shitty week. I mean literally shitty. The toilets backed up and overflowed among other miseries. It took hours to disembark with one working elevator. One of the buses bringing people home stalled.
But suing Carnival Cruise Lines because you had a shitty week? REALLY?
The first suit was reportedly filed by a 25-year-old who is quoted as saying the cruise was "a floating hell," according to ABC News.
Because no one knows the hell that life can bring like...a 25 year old.
Really?
 |
| I've had a miserable week. Isn't there someone I can sue about it? |
Here's what happened: a bunch of people on a cruise ship had a really shitty week. I mean literally shitty. The toilets backed up and overflowed among other miseries. It took hours to disembark with one working elevator. One of the buses bringing people home stalled.
But suing Carnival Cruise Lines because you had a shitty week? REALLY?
The first suit was reportedly filed by a 25-year-old who is quoted as saying the cruise was "a floating hell," according to ABC News.
Because no one knows the hell that life can bring like...a 25 year old.
Southernisms This Yankee Likes
I've been a Yankee in the South for 14 years. Do you know the difference is between a Yankee and a Damn Yankee?
Answer: A Yankee goes home.
We didn't go home. Which is New Jersey (insert joke here). We stayed in the South. For 14 years. As a consequence--or a benefit--I must admit to adopting some Southernisms. It's just true that Southerners express some things better than us Yankees. Such as:
1. Y'all. I know. As cliche'd as they come. But let's be honest. Y'all is a lot nice than You guys or Hey, you guys.
2. Bless Your Heart. You gotta give it to the Southerners on this one. "Bless Your Heart" can be used in a heartfelt, soulful manner. The nurses in GA said this to my Mom all the time, while the nurses in New Jersey referred to her as a "poor thing."
Yet Bless Your Heart can also be used with the deepest cynicism, an ironic curve ball to the head, the likes of which New Yorkers can only dream, let alone Jersey Girls. It requires good manners to pull off for maximum effect. "He's as dumb as a rock, bless his heart," is poetry. He's as dumb as a rock, the big s***head is simply Snooki. This isn't even a close call.
3. Fixin' to. This is the one I dreaded the most, ever since a wonderful pastor told me this is the mark of a Yankee who has been swallowed by Southern culture. Let me tell you, I fought that s***. I was worried I'd never get Springsteen tickets again.
Fixin' to isn't poetry, and nor even a really good step up. It does seem to soften the inherent stridentness of a Jersey Girl's tone, however. I'm using Fixin' to when I need to not have the listener be terrified of me because I sound like Tony Soprano.
Answer: A Yankee goes home.
We didn't go home. Which is New Jersey (insert joke here). We stayed in the South. For 14 years. As a consequence--or a benefit--I must admit to adopting some Southernisms. It's just true that Southerners express some things better than us Yankees. Such as:
1. Y'all. I know. As cliche'd as they come. But let's be honest. Y'all is a lot nice than You guys or Hey, you guys.
2. Bless Your Heart. You gotta give it to the Southerners on this one. "Bless Your Heart" can be used in a heartfelt, soulful manner. The nurses in GA said this to my Mom all the time, while the nurses in New Jersey referred to her as a "poor thing."
Yet Bless Your Heart can also be used with the deepest cynicism, an ironic curve ball to the head, the likes of which New Yorkers can only dream, let alone Jersey Girls. It requires good manners to pull off for maximum effect. "He's as dumb as a rock, bless his heart," is poetry. He's as dumb as a rock, the big s***head is simply Snooki. This isn't even a close call.
3. Fixin' to. This is the one I dreaded the most, ever since a wonderful pastor told me this is the mark of a Yankee who has been swallowed by Southern culture. Let me tell you, I fought that s***. I was worried I'd never get Springsteen tickets again.
Fixin' to isn't poetry, and nor even a really good step up. It does seem to soften the inherent stridentness of a Jersey Girl's tone, however. I'm using Fixin' to when I need to not have the listener be terrified of me because I sound like Tony Soprano.
How I Learned the Truth About Capitalism at 7
I learned at 7 that playing by the rules is not be the main idea of capitalism.
It was annual Girl Scout Cookie Time, and all of us Girl Scouts were given sales territories and a sales incentive. Don't think for even a minute that I'm kidding about that. We're 7 and the Girl Scouts have us on sales incentives.
The top seller in the troop would earn the gold (plated) bracelet with the Girl Scouts logo. As soon as that bright shiny bauble crossed my line of vision, I was fired up with a sense of purpose. I wanted to earn that damn bracelet. I would earn that damn bracelet.
It was annual Girl Scout Cookie Time, and all of us Girl Scouts were given sales territories and a sales incentive. Don't think for even a minute that I'm kidding about that. We're 7 and the Girl Scouts have us on sales incentives.
 | ||
| Me at age 7. No way Margaret could have outsold me in Thin Mints. I worked my ass off. And people just weren't that fat in the 60s. |
It's Inauguration Day! Who's Ready for Reasonable Dialogue?
As previously noted, your humble correspondent voted for Barack Obama, and attempted a respectful explanation to my many friends and family who continually soak in the Investors Business Daily editorial product.
As it happens, respect is in the eye of the beholder. At least according to the responses I received on the Life Lessons Facebook Page last November:
Others expressed concern for my well-being.
I guess you could say it was a mixed bag. Sort of.
Note that my fellow Americans never answer my question about the possibility of people with different opinions not actually being idiots.
I think we know their answer.
Good luck, Mr. President.
As it happens, respect is in the eye of the beholder. At least according to the responses I received on the Life Lessons Facebook Page last November:
Note that my fellow Americans never answer my question about the possibility of people with different opinions not actually being idiots.
I think we know their answer.
Good luck, Mr. President.
Gun Appreciation Day and Martin Luther King, Jr
Larry Ward, bless his heart, gives new meaning to the phrase "gun nut."
I actually thought I was reading an Onion headline this week when I saw Gun Appreciation Day being scheduled for the weekend of the Martin Luther King Day observances.
But no! It's not an Onion headline, and not, apparently, even a case where Ward, chairman of Gun Appreciation Day, forgot to check the calendar.
According to Charles Blow in today's New York Times, Ward, bless his heart, said on CNN that "Gun Appreciation Day honors the legacy of Dr. King."
I'll stop here to let you absorb that.
Still standing? OK, good. Here's more of Ward's quote::
Let me stop again before your blood pressure explodes your head.
There's crazy and there's batshit crazy, the latter defined by actual news that out-Onions The Onion.
Also defined by the likes of Larry Ward. Bless his heart. Except it's not immediately apparent that he has a heart. Or a brain.
But he sure does have a lot of nerve.
I actually thought I was reading an Onion headline this week when I saw Gun Appreciation Day being scheduled for the weekend of the Martin Luther King Day observances.
But no! It's not an Onion headline, and not, apparently, even a case where Ward, chairman of Gun Appreciation Day, forgot to check the calendar.
According to Charles Blow in today's New York Times, Ward, bless his heart, said on CNN that "Gun Appreciation Day honors the legacy of Dr. King."
I'll stop here to let you absorb that.
 |
| Y'all know the words "well regulated" are part of the Second Amendment, right? |
Still standing? OK, good. Here's more of Ward's quote::
"..Martin Luther King would agree with me if he were alive today that if African-Americans had been given the right to keep and bear arms from Day 1 of the country’s founding, perhaps slavery might not have been a chapter in our history."
Let me stop again before your blood pressure explodes your head.
Like if Martin Luther King, Jr. were alive today instead of, um, murdered by a guy with a gun?
Like if Martin Luther King, Jr wasn't all about that peaceable resistance stuff?
Like if slaves had been given gun rights instead of, oh, I don't know, maybe FULL FREAKIN' PERSONHOOD from Day 1 of the country's founding?
There's crazy and there's batshit crazy, the latter defined by actual news that out-Onions The Onion.
Also defined by the likes of Larry Ward. Bless his heart. Except it's not immediately apparent that he has a heart. Or a brain.
But he sure does have a lot of nerve.
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