How to Amp Up Your Decision Making: The Regular Person Draft & Upfronts

A common question you might be hearing from sports enthusiast friends or cohabitants over the last couple of days might be  “who’s on the clock?” Or, maybe you’re wondering about the outcome of that petition you and seven like-minded enthusiasts signed to save that critically acclaimed and brilliant but under-appreciated TV show. (Not nerds… enthusiasts!)

Amidst the flurry of the overlapping NFL Draft, and the television Network Upfonts that have kept me on the edge of my narrow seat, there are currently anonymous people making very public decisions about things that I perceive to have a bigger impact on me than they actually do. You know what? We all make decisions every single day that impact more parts of our lives, than whether or not The Goldbergs got renewed (which, thank God, it did. That show is genius.). Perhaps, we just need to look at how our typical days unfold with a new dynamic perspective – one that adds the excitement and suspense our days so richly deserve.

I present the “Regular Person Activity Draft & Upfronts” based on the big decisions I, a regular person, had to make on a regular day.

A coffee stop after dropping the boys at school?

Cancelled. I did not adequately prepare, and could not be seen in a San Francisco coffee shop in my morning commute pajamas clothes.

 What’s for lunch? Soup? Or a hodgepodge of weird things from the fridge?

I think we all saw where this was going. With the second pick on this typical 2014 day, Colleen selects…. The Hodgepodge of mis-matched finger foods. I was able to create my own KFC Double Down with just sliced salami and swiss cheese. I found half an iced tea I didn’t finish last night. There was exactly one scoop left of peanut butter in the jar anyway, and that banana had about 45 more minutes left before it would have to go into the freezer bag of “smoothie bananas.” (A Pinterest idea I actually use.)

Take a walk or do the laundry?

Coming as a complete shock to everybody, Colleen selects….. Take a Walk. I have new Nikes, and if that’s what it takes me to get to want to take a walk, so be it. Also, my walk takes me here:

walk

 

Let the teenager take the bus with his friends after school? Or pick him up?

Again, in a surprise turn, Colleen…….. provides the .75 fare and the kid takes the bus. I would have had him live Tweet his ride home for me if I didn’t want his phone stowed for the duration of the ride – as the recorded bus guy wisely reminds riders, “keep your eyes up and your phone down.”

Cleaning the closets?

Cancelled. This process is more effective when the kids are around so they can tell me which pants they outgrew overnight.

Sorting recipes?

Cleaning the desk?

Taking care of overdue calls and emails?

Cancelled! Axed from the lineup, all of them!

Sitting in front of the computer and glumly staring at pages and pages of false starts of writing projects?

Renewed.  It had been a while since I’ve done this soul crushing activity, and I was just starting to feel too good about myself anyway.

Nail color: Berry Naughty? A list? Right Said Red?

Colleen selects…… Berry Naughty. Despite the dumb name that was almost too embarrassing to type here, the beautiful color is just dark enough. Too early to tell if I’ll make a strategic trade for Right Said Red.

reds

 

Fifteen minutes to kill: Magazine or Book?

Colleen selects….. Magazine – New York Magazine, the December 2, 2013 Gift List issue, to be exact. This is the year I WILL get caught up on the magazine basket. Two days ago I finished the 2013 Time 100 issue, shortly after the 2014 Time 100 issue arrived, so I’m well on my way.

The day’s terrible distraction – Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, or Twitter?

All outstanding choices, but Colleen selects……… Twitter, to fill the need for real-time updates about the fate “on the bubble” comedies and dramas that have spots reserved on the DVR.

T-shirt or sweater

Colleen selects……..with sad face and a sigh…….sweater, almost always sweater.

(For those of you who have better stuff to do, which is just about anything, the Upfronts are when the networks present their fall lineups to advertisers, often canceling beloved shows, infuriating rabid fans everywhere. And just in case you have all the stuff in the world to do and you didn’t know, the NFL draft is when football teams select new players, and then you furiously Google the kids your team picks. Welcome to San Francisco Jimmie Ward!)

Find me on Instagram @ColleenWeems, and on Twitter @FulcrumChron

Hey Internet, what have you got against my heartstrings?

heartsrings

What are you trying to do to me America?

Facebook turned 10 this week, and I spent a good part of the big day watching the Look Back videos Facebook created for us, their begrudgingly loyal users, highlighting years’ worth of our photos and status updates. There, set to the most perfectly inspirational, emotionally manipulative-but-I-like-it, nostalgic-though-I’ve-never-heard-it, instrumental piece of music, was a peek into my near seven years on Facebook.

I cried at the pictures of my kids from when they were little. I cried at the wedding photo I posted for our 17th anniversary, and at pictures from Disneyland and Christmas and our friends’ Nicaragua wedding and my dining room table.

Then, I cried at Melissa’s, Jill’s, and Pam’s Look Back videos too. I got emotional with Katharine’s, Tricia’s, Kirsten’s, Tim’s and Sheila’s – and that was in the first two hours.

We’ve read the cautionary tales about social media – linger there too long and you can be left feeling empty and depressed because your friends seem like they are having a better time than you, and to add insult to injury, you weren’t invited to their good time. You were already well aware that your own life wasn’t perfect, but then, blammo, there’s your life, set against that perfect piece of music – and you realize, it’s pretty magical after all.

I needed a break from all the Looking Back and turned my attention to what my 13-year-old was watching on ESPN – Super Bowl winners through the years, searching for their family members after the game, desperate to share their joyful elation with the ones they love.

“Who’s that?” I asked Jacob, already starting to tear up.

“That’s Jason Pierre-Paul. He plays for the New York Giants, and his dad is blind.”

Tom Brady looked for and hugged his sisters (I guess before he married the supermodel?). Dick Vermeil loves his wife AND his grandkids. Ray Lewis loves everybody. Big muscley guys hug their moms and dads, kiss their stunning wives, and cradle their babies, after a win OR a loss.  And it is beautiful.

“You are why they make these videos,” my husband tells me at the end of every one of these sports specials.  If I watch the pre-game show of a game I otherwise could not give two hoots about, I am suddenly pulling for the guy who overcame something terrible to get where he is today. I am now his number one fan, and anybody who roots against him has no soul. (Full disclosure – I may have also once cried while watching the ESPY’s.)

I left Jacob to his stats and analysis of a game that was two days in the books and retreated online only to find stories of a good Samaritan handing out $5000 checks to waitresses struggling to pay for their educations; a school custodian who completed his own higher education during his few off-hours, only to work his way up to teacher, and finally principal overlooking the same classrooms he had once cleaned. There was the 13-year-old with strong pipes and a dream crushing a Nina Simone song; a philanthropic couple picking up the cost of San Francisco going all out to celebrate Bat Kid; a dog and a cat being best friends; and God knows how many people saving other people from train tracks.

Thanks to the Superbowl, this week I’ve already watched, re-watched and re-wept at the (somehow controversial) Coca-Cola ad during which “America the Beautiful” is sung in different languages and the sweet Cheerios ad with the (somehow controversial) biracial family. Don’t even get me started on the puppy and the Clydesdale.

My heartstrings are all stretched out and exhausted…exhausted, but happy. Which reminds me that Pharrell’s appropriately named anthem for happiness, “Happy,” is practically guaranteed to play on the car radio at some point of your commute.

Goodness isn’t new, but I pray to God it’s just extra noticeable this week, and not simply trending.

Maybe we all just need a healthy dose of nice. Perhaps there is something in our DNA that seeks out good when overwhelmed by the icky, the bleak and the #RichKidsofBeverlyHills. Maybe we are all just collectively looking for the anecdote for the snarkiness, cynicism, grumpiness, injustice, and sadness we see in real life and whenever we turn on anything with a screen.  I don’t know, maybe we all just have a bad feeling about these Olympics.

It’s ok to admit that sometimes we want a good cry for a good reason. Being touched so deeply by something we simply see reminds us that we are capable of all kinds of feelings – not just anger, amusement, or “meh,” – but also forward-looking hope and backward-looking gratitude. There is still a lot of love out there floating around, and it’s ours to take, and share.

the 20 best lists you’ll need for 2014

20 best lists

We love our lists. I’ve written about my long-time love of a good list; To-Do, To-Read, To-Think-About, To-Call, To-Email. You can think about stuff once, write it all down, then methodically complete your tasks, check them off, and pat yourself on the back, ultimately freeing your mind to drift off to sleep thinking about ponies and ice cream instead of all of the crucial things you need to remember to do the next day. You are free! Free!

The rest of the world is onto us. If you’ve been anywhere near the Internet lately, you’ve probably found yourself clicking into one of these handy lists that will solve your problems, give you all the tools you need for a better metabolism/stylish wardrobe/perfect resume, or at the very least, a pre-determined amount of mild info-tainment.

The length of the list is incredibly important – the number allows you to know what you are getting yourself into. There are just 4 Habits That Will Change Your Life Forever? I can do 4. But 833 of the Most Depressing Scenes in the History of Film? No, sorry, I’ve got stuff to do, like read far more reasonable 7 Surprising Uses for Yogurt.

After conducting the 87 Most Lazy Seconds of Internet Research, I’ve found for you just a sampling of REAL headlines that have popped up on “news” and news sites today.

The 5 Most Offensive Apps for Women

8 Tricks to Spend Less on the Perfect Salad

The 10 Most Popular Workout Songs in the US

Michelle Obama’s 19 Best Hugs

The 7 Lessons Life Will Teach You (There’s only 7? Not to brag, but I’ve learned at least 11)

7 Superfoods From Peru

17 Best Bromances in Literature

The 19 Most Interesting Colleges (I stopped and read this one, and with a swell of pride and minor spoiler alert, I’m happy to report USC made the list)

11 Things Atheists Couldn’t Do Because They Didn’t Believe in God

8 Things Every Woman Should Know About IUD’s

10 Messiest Dog Breeds

9 Amazing Military Gadgets

18 Incredibly Simple Things Any Man Can Do To Look Better

Let’s be honest; nobody knows what YOU need, but you.  So, since we are lingering in the season of New Year’s Resolution-making, here are the top 20 lists that you should make for yourself to ensure that 2014 is the very best year it can be.

4 Ways I Will Be Harder on Myself

5 Ways I Will Be Easier on Myself

12 New Kinda Scary Social/Athletic/Intellectual Experiences I Will Try

10 Things I Haven’t Been Able to Bring Myself to Get Rid of, But Will

88 Ways I will be a Better Friend/Neighbor/Parent/Child/Sibling/Citizen

5 Habits I’m Going to Start/Change/Quit

9 Books I Will Read  — Really Read – Not Skim

20 Books I Will Forgive Myself for Never Reading and For Never Wanting To Read

3 Foods I Thought I Hated, But Will Try Again, With Bacon, Butter, and Salt

6 Words I Will Learn to Spell Correctly, Once and For All

4 Phone Calls I’ve Been Dreading, But Will Feel So Much Better Once I Make Them

7 Ways I Will Trim the Budget

3 Little Treats That Are Worth A Splurge Once In a While

4 Bad Childhood/Teenage Memories I Will Work Through, Come to Peace With, and Let Go

10 Amazing Childhood/Teenage Memories I will Write Down

3 Parts of My Body That I will Stop Feeling So Self-Conscious About, and Just accept Them/Fix Them Already.

539 Things I Will Stop Complaining About

38,003 I Will Be Consciously Thankful for

51 Songs That Put Me In the Mood to Clean the House/Lift Weights/Take a Walk/Try on Everything in My Closet

5 Strongly Worded letters I Will Write Demanding the Return of My Favorite Things (for example, “Alias,” “30Rock,” and Jell-O Pudding Pops. No pressure for YOU to write letters about those things, but if the Jell-O people got letters from both of us, then we might really get somewhere)

And…The Four Best Ways to End This Post

Thanking you for reading.

Wishing you a very Happy 2014.

Glibly Encouraging You to “Make it a Great One.”

Reminding you, while implying that you might read again, that I’ll see you next time.

Amelia Earhart: a girl and her freckles

ImageAfter an un-fun cycle of disheartening political news, economic news, and more cannibal news than there should be in a week, I was happy to see a very timely Amelia Earheart headline. Just like I will always read a story about Kate & Wills, or the year’s most popular baby names, I will always read about Amelia.

I’ve been keeping up enough to know an unfailingly patient/obsessed team of folks have been getting closer to solving the 75-year-old mystery of her disappearance. The headline teased that they’d made a new discovery on the remote island where they’d been focusing their search; the team unearthed something that surely belonged to Amelia.

By golly, this just finally might be it!

What did they find? Her flight log? Her signature cap? A diary full of her hopes and dreams?

The amazing clue? A jar of anti-freckle cream.

C’mon Amelia, not you! World-renowned aviator, off on your historic around-the-world flight, and what did you make sure to pack? Dr. C.H. Berry’s Freckle Ointment.

Something I did not know about Amelia – she hated her freckles and desperately wanted them to fade.  She had fame, glory and the adoration of the world, but those freckles just had to go.

I would not deny a lady the little luxuries that lift the spirit, especially on a desert island – a moisturizer, some sunscreen, a honey-infused lip balm – but when you are a modern day heroine with stuff to do, it’s time to own your freckles.

OK, so it’s no secret I have freckles. The spaces in between my freckles are not so much “alabaster” or “ivory” as much as they are, “see-through.” I wasted many years of my youth apologizing for it and covering it up with pants. Even with 100% percent humidity on an 8th grade summer trip to Washington DC, I was the one kid in pants, sweating profusely but pretending I wasn’t even hot, like, at all.

As an adult, it’s still not ideal –self-tanner continues to be a requirement as a public service – nobody needs to see my veins.

But I had Seventeen Magazine and MTV and modern day middle school to blame for my insecurities. I guess I just assumed Amelia would have been thinking about loftier things – I mean, she had known a time when women didn’t have the right to vote, for pete’s sake. But maybe  how American women think about themselves through the decades has not changed as much as we’d thought – for the better or worse.  Maybe we all at some level dream about the big, and fret about the small.

Sure, I might be a little bummed that someone like Amelia Earheart was hung up on her freckles, because freckles are great  (I tell myself and that charlatan Dr. C.H. Berry); but in one little discovery on one little island – I realized that Amelia is as much a modern woman as can be found today – gutsy and delicate,  brave and insecure, all at the same time.

Those aren’t qualities women aspire to, it’s just what we are, and what we’ve been throughout all of history. Maybe we can get rid of the “insecure” part when all of the girls of the world collectively decide that they’re tired of striving for the perfection that is always out of reach – whether by a lot or a little – and think about trailblazing, instead. One can blaze trails while still having freckles.

The beautiful pic of Amelia is from: http://www.americaslibrary.gov/assets/aa/earhart/aa_earhart_learns_2_e.jpg, and happily in the public domain.

further thoughts on robots

Image

Other than the self-diagnosed situational agoraphobia, I think I would do ok in space.

Not a spaceship as much as a space colony, after they’ve had a chance to work out the kinks. If it’s a space colony, I suppose we’re thinking about the future. And not a dystopian Hunger Games future where we’d all have to work together to snare rabbits for survival and overthrow an oppressive and evil government with nothing but our wits and a map. I was thinking more of a Jetsons set-up — pellet food, space mall, low-profile furniture – pretty much anywhere there’s a robot lady who can help me navigate the day.

“Do you have Siri?” I ask anyone with a new phone, hopeful I can have a chat with the intriguing electronic personal assistant.

“Naaaah,” some say.

Or “I do, but I don’t use it,” which is worse.

How are you not using it? Have you SEEN those commercials?

Many mornings I wake and grab my non-Siri phone and talk into it without lifting my head from my pillow.

“What’s my day look like?” I say to the phone.

“Pre-tty cra-ppy…you have ele-ven mee-tings,” I say back to myself in my best robot voice.

John laughed the first few times.

Today, I had a few minutes with Siri’s electronic sister when I called the bank. Because I had forgotten my password, we got to spend  a few minutes chatting. She’d ask me something, and I would slowly reply. She’d tell that was wrong, and to try again.

When she mis-heard me and I had to repeat myself, she said “Sor-ry, my fault,” and I felt bad. I wanted to tell her that it was indeed my fault because I mumbled, but that’s too many words and I didn’t want to blow her robot lady mind, and be forced to start over.

I know technically, it’s more accurate and PC (ba-dum-dum) to say “computer lady,” but my imagination always puts a robot with the disembodied voice. Keep in mind, I still do not understand the technology that makes a fax machine work.

Just like when Morgan Freeman is the spokesperson for anything, I find I accept what the robot lady says without question. Not every robot lady, but most. Our GPS offered us two voice options when we set it up. The first was a little too breathy and adult. I felt uncomfortable having her talk in front of the children. So we went with the English accent. Sure, she gets annoyed when I miss a turn, but with an implied sage wisdom, she redirects me just like Mary Poppins would, and we are on our way.

The reigning queen of the robot ladies though, is the one who’s in charge of the airport.

If one were actually flying to space, there is no way that it could feel as much like going to space, as Terminal 2 of San Francisco International Airport. The robot lady tells you which shuttle to board, reminds you to hold on, carefully disembark, and not to forget your belongings.

I think she’s the one who talked me into the tofu and shitake spring roll (basically a tofu-packed space food pellet), with a coconut water. I found myself sitting in an egg shaped chair at an egg shaped table, eating it out of a plastic box, when there was a perfectly good cheeseburger available 7 feet away.

Female robots have been an integral part of our cultural landscape for decades. Kudos to my personal favorites, Rosie the Robot (so full of sass!) and  The Bionic Woman, Jaime Sommers (full disclosure, she was like, half robot). I was a proud owner of the Bionic Woman doll, with the roll up arm skin and removable face that revealed her circuitry. Don’t even get me started on what would happen if Barbie and Jaime were to get in a street fight. But sadly, more often than not, female robots are depicted negatively – from the Stepford Wives (spoiler alert!) to the Fembots, whose you-know-whats double as machine guns.

We’re looking to you Siri, to turn this around, and when I finally get you, maybe you also can remind me to hold on, grab my suitcase, get to my meeting, and hydrate.

How I’m ok with the robot lady when mannequins give me the uber creeps, I shall never know.

*The photo above is another favorite robot, R2-D2. Is a Droid a robot? Am I going to hear from all the Star Wars fanatics that an R2 unit is NOT a robot? He IS s guarding the LEGO White House, so relax, he’s a hero. I have plenty of Transformers, and Star Wars guys in my house of boys, but no lady robots, so R2 will have to do as my visual aid.

it’s not you, mtv…it’s me

MTV is 30 now. 

Awww, MTV, Happy Birthday! To celebrate, I think I might try watching the ol’ network; it’s  been a while, and it might be fun to catch up.

I realize just how long it’s been when I can’t find MTV in my channel guide. We have about 900 channels, and I can tell you where to find Hoarders, Mickey Mouse Club House, Barefoot Contessa and Barefoot Contessa in HD.

I scroll through the channel guide at least twice, getting distracted by the fact that the Giants game is still on, and that movie Zodiac is about to start on IFC.

After I finally find it buried between between channels where the letters don’t mean anything to me (what is CSN+H and PLDHD?), I see that tonight’s MTV offering is Jersey Shore. What I know about this show I’ve learned from more sophisticated programming like Saturday Night Live, and The Soup. The format is instantly familiar though, and not entirely different from the first five seasons of Real World that I watched unapologetically back in the day: voice over narratives by the young cast, quick cuts and edits, and a roomful of 20-somethings arguing over whatever someone said that was like… the worst. I squirm; “What are they talking about? Why are they so mad? What’s that girl’s name? Why is she wearing that? Why am I so bored with this?”

Mercifully, a commercial comes on, and I flip to Zodiac. I shouldn’t watch this: it’s going to be scary, but I think it’s kind of a newspaper drama around the San Francisco Chronicle, and hunting for a killer they never capture (spoiler!). Intrigue, and mystery like All the President’s Men — same era, same typewriters. No Robert Redford, but there’s Robert Downey, Jr.! And Jake Gyllenhal! Mark Ruffalo! Chloe Sevigny! And an obviously nuanced and thoughtful performance by Anthony Edwards from Revenge of the NerdsTop Gun and ER.

I should really change the channel back to MTV, and finish what I set out to do tonight: watch MTV.

But I can’t. This movie has my favorite movie thing – exciting research scenes. The characters are pouring through file boxes, and the background music is pulsing, and watching these guys read is downright thrilling. (Helllloooooo, All the President’s Men!)

At the commercial break, instead of using the time to flip back to MTV, I listen to the ads for IFC’s Whisker Wars and look up facts about Zodiac’s director, David Fincher. He lived in the same little Bay Area town we did for a while, and he’s directed some of my favorites; Social Network, The Game, Se7en (could only watch that once), Fight Club, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Apparently I’m a David Fincher fan, and so I guess I’ll have to see The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, even though I was physically incapable of finishing that book.

So now, I am officially failing miserably at watching MTV. By the time I get back to it, Teen Mom is on, but that makes me a little more uncomfortable than the movie about the Zodiac Killer.

Ok, so I’ll watch this movie, and not MTV; I don’t want to miss any more critical plot points, and MTV won’t miss me. Even though my musical taste wasn’t frozen in time with A-Ha and Tears for Fears, they don’t need me anymore. I’m not their demo, though I was once.

When MTV started on basic cable, I was old enough to be very aware of its significance and also old enough to beg my parents for basic cable. I was, however, young enough for it to be a significantly formative part of my formative years. I knew that Nirvana and Pearl Jam were going to change the world.  I loved everything MTV had to offer: House of Style, Club MTV, Remote Control, Daria, 120 Minutes. John and I watched Beavis & Butthead on study breaks. My friend Liane and I went to sit in the stands at MTV Rock & Jock basketball in LA. At half-time, Tag Team performed their smash hit of which I owned the casingle,  “Whoomp! There it Is.”  Liane went so far as to go on to work for MTV, becoming the envy of us all.

So even though I’ve entered the next stage of life, the VH1 years, It’s not like I think Snookie is the 4th Horseman of the Apocalypse, I’ll  just leave her chronicles in the very capable hands of a generation who needs a study break.

Bring back Yo! MTV Raps though, and we’ll talk.

**That photo up there? That’s John and I on a study break, watching Beavis & Butthead.

giving the boot to getting the dirt

I hit rock bottom last week on something that nobody should really hit rock bottom with.

It was a Friday night, and as I was about to go to sleep I perused the entertainment headlines like I tend to do, oooohhhh…every night and every morning, every day of the week. There it was… a horrible terrible headline insinuating in a snarky tone, that I might have enjoyed under different circumstances, that my favorite celebrity couple was on the outs, and on the verge of a breakup.

I read the words over and over in disbelief. What was the feeling that was welling up? No…it couldn’t be… what is that? Panic? Sadness? Worry?

The offending “article” was not even from one of my reputable high-end elitest go-to sites like E! Online, TMZ, or US Weekly. I died a little bit of embarrassment every time I clicked on one of 30 or so related headlines, posted on sites like celebritypoppycock.com and youretoooldtobereadingthis.com, and dontyouhaveanythingbettertodo.net. I scrolled through, thumbs flying and eyes scanning back and forth across my tiny screen like I was (best show ever) Alias’ Sidney Bristow trying to memorize and decipher pages of code before being discovered in the secret offices above the party she had infiltrated in another fantastic disguise while her partner Dixon pretends to be a bartender or a DJ downstairs… but I digress.

Each story cited the last terrible story as a legitimate source. I should have shrugged, turned off my phone and read something more worthwhile, which would have been absolutely anything else in the house. But no. I read every last gossipy word, then I lay there in the dark, sad. Sad for the couple*. Sad for myself. “Well,” I thought as I lay pouting, “there goes my weekend.” There. Goes. My. Weekend. That’s when I realized, I might have a problem.

Celebrity gossip was changing the trajectory of my day.

“Tomorrow…,” I thought. “Tomorrow, I will read those something elses, and I will regain the perspective of an adult with a thoughtful and well informed world view.”

And so I tried it. I pulled out a stack of magazines from our coffee table and picked the most serious looking back issue of Time I could find…Joel Stein’s Awesome Column wasn’t even in it. And I read it cover to cover, the entire time thinking, “I’m back to being a serious adult. I’m very actively not thinking about celebrity gossip. Who cares about that drivel? Look at me reading about the 2% economy, unemployment, our failing education system, troubles in the Middle East, stalled American innovation, rising airline prices, ugly Washington politics, uglier cancer, the Miami Heat, and rhino poaching. This is fun!”

I thought I was sad when I was reading celebrity gossip…but grown up news, consumed in large intentional doses, is much worse, thus answering my long lingering question, “why did I ever start reading celebrity gossip in the first place?”

Not wanting to turn to anemic summer TV, I needed something else as a distraction. iPad Boggle. I could dedicate my pursuit of intelligent input to playing this delightfully whimsical spelling puzzle game! I would be exercising my brain, which is the exact opposite of celebrity gossip. Then I remembered my iPad Boggle thing from a few months ago when I first got the app. I’d ended up on the couch nearly getting carpal tunnel syndrome from shaking the iPad to “toss” the letters into the wee hours of the night, my fingers flying (Sidney Bristow style again, I like to think) only to end up making the same stupid 1 pt. words just about every round: eon, eons, tones, tone, tons, ton, ones, one. What really killed it was John yelling from the other room, “I can hear you Boggling from here!”

So I guess I can’t avoid them any more; I’ll go back to books. Our house and offices are strewn with (mostly) very good books on faith and theology, in varying stages of being read, or studied, or annotated. But an occupational hazard is that those can sometimes feel workish when you’re looking for a summer read. John, while out of town, sent me books from my wish list like one would send flowers: Tina Fey’s Bossypants, and my own copy of Stephen King’s On Writing (brilliant!). John sends flowers too, but books keep better.  And now, thanks to my friend Margie, I also have The Help sitting right there. No matter what room I go to, it’s there, eerily calling out…. “Read me! Hurry, before the movie comes out. Everybody else has…they are going to take your girl card if you don’t.”

Books are longer, and bigger, and heavier, and they don’t tell me what was happening 27 minutes ago, but they will certainly be a worthwhile anecdote to fretting over the economy, or the celebrities who I don’t know, and who don’t know me, and who I’m almost certain aren’t lying awake wondering what I’ll be up to tomorrow.  

*I will not name the celebrity couple because I do not want this post coming up when some poor sap like me catches word of the hopefully not true rumor, and frantically Googles additional stories. Also, you’re better than that.