Mmmmmm. Toe Jam

I’ve been thinking about the Brit Hume proselytizing to Tiger Woods on national TV ever since it happened. And I think I’ve finally pinned down why it bugged me. It’s not that he was stumping for his religion. He’s become a “commentator” rather than a “journalist” and that allows him to float his own opinions without worrying about showing bias. And you know that you should keep your grains of salt at the ready whenever he opens his yapper. And freedom of religion and freedom of speech are among the greatest things that make this country great.

My problem is that for a guy who represents himself as knowledgeable enough to offer an informed opinion in his commentating, he showed a really fundamental lack of understanding about a world religion practiced by millions of people. What he said was "I don't think that faith offers the kind of forgiveness and redemption that is offered by the Christian faith." As Mr. Burr might say to Perry Mason “irrelevant and immaterial.” One of the basic tenets of Buddhism is to avoid causing suffering. And Mr. Woods actions almost certainly will cause ongoing suffering to his wife, his children, anyone else who genuinely cares about him, the PGA and his sponsors. All to varying degrees. If Tiger had considered this principle before acting, all of this could have been avoided. It’s not that Tiger Woods is a Buddhist. The problem is that he’s not a very good Buddhist.

I’m an agnostic. But I take a healthy interest in the religions of the world because they effect the world view of many of those who are near and dear to me. And are a large factor in many of the major issues of our world today. Here's the thing, I’m just a blogger. I don’t have millions of people listening to my opinions (thankfully). And whileI may float some commentary every once in awhile, I’m no commentator. But I will offer someone else’s sage advice to Brit Hume - “It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.”

Run away! Run away!

Okay, I love vampires. And I'm no Twi-hard come lately. I've been on the vampire bandwagon for years. I've read and watched the good, the bad and the middling. I saw the ORIGINAL Buffy, people. I give huge passes to movies that are only so-so just because there's a vampire present. Even bad vampires are better than no vampires.

So, when I saw the commercials for Daybreakers, I have to admit, I twinkled a little bit. Oh, reeeaaallyy? Don't min' if I do. And Sam Neil as our baddy? Num-num-num. Tasty. Okay, they're putting it out in the middle of the January dead zone, when only the mushiest and moistest of the mediocre get flopped out on the table for people who are still suffering from holiday blockbuster syndrome. [I'm looking at you Leap Year. Don't try to act like you don't know me. I knew you back when you were called The Matchmaker.] January-shmanuary. It's got vampires! How bad can it be?

And I quote directly from the Entertainment Weekly review - "when Edward joins a roving band of human renegades, led by Willem Dafoe as a guy named Elvis." Ooooohhhh. Dear. I see. That bad. That's got to be a description second only to "John Wayne as Genghis Khan" in it's lack of propitiousness. I've still got the shakes from what a close call that was. Thanks, EW. I owe you. Big.
http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20334755,00.html

The Notorious Betty Page Boy

Okay. I had a thought about my widow’s peak issue. I could start wearing a lady-comb-over.

Here me out. For the most part, the hair behind the WP is fairly stable. A few stray grays, but nothing too obvious. So what I start to do is move the top of my bangs further and further back. Just have a thicker and thicker fringe, and comb it all forward to create a protective layer over the top of the gray shock in front.

And the minute anyone mentions that I look like Moe from the 3 Stooges, I know it’s time to shave my head and be done with it.

NG

Okay, here’s something I’m not thrilled about – I think my widow’s peak is turning gray. Like faster than the rest of my hair. Like I may have a white stripe down the middle of my forehead. Greaaaaat. Just super.

Not that I’ve ever been fond of my little genetic anomaly. I think I was about six when the comparisons between my hairline and a certain famous Transylvanian started coming up. And having a five-head even as a child did not help. Plus, having a noble brow has necessitated bangs as a precaution against people projecting movies on my head. Try keeping bangs straight with a crotchety cowlick on top of a widow’s peak. Not easy.

And now this. I am not happy. Dye does not seem to be covering this little problem. If this keeps up, I’m going to look like Vampira, or like the evil girlfriend of the Alan Rickman part in the next Die Hard movie. Or worse, like the Sandra Bernhard part in the Hudson Hawk sequel.

A 2010 Serenity Prayer

Maybe it’s the New Year. Maybe it’s that New Year’s Day and the 2nd, I had two of the worst migraines I’ve had in months. Maybe it’s finally sunk in that I’m 40, and will be in my 40s for the next decade.

But over the last weekend, I just became really interested in what to do to make my body run better. My energy has been way off for awhile. The headaches aren’t as frequent as they used to be, but when they come, they’re real headbangers. I don’t know for sure or anything, but statistically, I’m peri-menopausal. This whole mid-life thing is kind of looking like a ball of suck, physical-wise.

I’m also genetically pre-disposed to not take anything lying down. People in my family just have an overwhelming urge to fix things. So I just can’t take the feeling crappy lying down anymore.

So. Off to the bookstore.

I bought a couple of books and a magazine about fixing my diet. One of them is malady directed (Back pain? Do this. Eczema? Do that. Though the author, Gillian McKeith, has obviously not found a dietary solution for being a bossy harridan), and has all the fervor and conviction of an Old Testament prophet – thou SHALT. The other is that book by Jessica Seinfeld about sneaking vegetables into your kid’s diet. And since it’s my inner child that I’m battling about getting veggies in, I figured this might be a good way to fake the little runt out. The magazine is just healthy food porn. You know, pictures of the lovely food that you’ll be eating that will taste soooo good you won’t even notice that it’s all natural, fat-free, salt-free, sugar-free, blah-blah-free. And I’m just going to choose to believe that, in spite of all the evidence of everything that I’ve ever eaten.

Right now, I’m humbled enough that I’ll take sage advice. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I suppose, in the fullness of time, I’ll have to add some exercise in there too. If I must. Sigh. One thing at a time. At the moment, I’m feeling that brand-new-day willingness to reform. But I don’t really think I can be good all at once. Just add it to the list. I’ll get to it. Sometime this year. . .