Blue-Footed Musings

People piss me off. Past acquaintances, complete strangers, close friends, it could be anyone at any moment. Here is a small sampling of the people who have pissed me off in recent weeks.

To my ex-boyfriend: You’re an idiot. You are doomed to live in financial Hell for your entire life because you just can’t resist any little toy that strikes your fancy, whether it’s a Star Wars figurine or an electronic gadget. Have you already forgotten that you’re unemployed and that you have had to stoop to the level of selling your personal possessions on Ebay to make some needed cash? So what possible justification could you have for buying a brand-new Droid X? Sure it looks cool and does fun things, but you don’t need one, and you can’t afford one, so what makes you think you should have one?

Why does this piss me off? Because it’s people like you that default on loans, that file bankruptcy, and that live on the dole whenever they can. You take advantage of the hardworking people in this country that scrimp and save, pay their debts, and most importantly, pay their taxes. How could I have dated someone like you? I get mad at myself just thinking about it.

To the twenty-something that I read about in a recent article: you’re just out of college, looking for a job in an economy with a stunningly high unemployment rate, and you’re living off your parents. You were offered a job for $40,000, but you didn’t take it because you thought that the salary was too low and it would somehow ruin your career path. Sure, it wasn’t what you wanted, but no one said you had to stay forever, and have you heard of these things called “networking,” “working your way up the corporate ladder,” and “supporting yourself?” But heaven forbid you should have to work at a job you don’t like, because geez, no one ever does that! It’s no surprise that you’d rather sit around eating snacks and watching TV all day while your parents work their butts off. Well, maybe when you get off your proud, entitled ass, that job or another similar one will be waiting for you. Or perhaps you’ll have to work at Burger King. I can only hope.

Why does this piss me off? I graduated from college at a time when there were few jobs available, and so I took the first one that was offered to me. It didn’t pay well, and no, it didn’t lead to an awesome career. But you know what it has done for 15 years? It has paid for my food, shelter, clothing, cars, and everything else I’ve needed or wanted, including a beautiful house, a grand piano, and an adorable son. Without that job, I wouldn’t be where I am today, and where I am is very good. I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the perfect job, and it’s a good thing that I didn’t. Doing something is almost always better than doing nothing, and you’re not going to be much of a person if you don’t figure that out and get moving. And really, why should you get a free ride when the rest of us have to work?

To my gluten-free friend: if I have to hear you say one more time that a gluten-free diet is “nutritionally void,” I am going to have a fit. All of the fruits and veggies are gluten-free. All of them! Eat enough of them and you will have good nutrition. But the problem is, you want to eat wheat products, so you buy things that are like them, such as rice waffles. Then you complain because there are no vitamins and minerals in them. First of all, a waffle is essentially a cake, and to expect good nutrition from cake is asking too much. Second, the only reason wheat waffles have vitamins and minerals is probably because they were fortified (i.e., someone sprinkled magic vitamin dust on them). Third, one main purpose of food is to provide energy for your body. Even a rice waffle provides that, so to call it “nutritionally void” is to completely misunderstand the purpose of food. Seriously, eat some fruits and veggies, take a multivitamin with your rice waffle, and give it a rest.

Why does this piss me off? In effect, you’re saying, “I am on a gluten-free diet, and since it’s not nutritional, I shall never be well! Woe is me!” Bullshit. Not that a gluten-free diet is easy. It’s not, and if you want my sympathy for that, you have it. But don’t give me this garbage about how you can’t eat well, because it just isn’t true, not by a long shot. There are people all over the world living healthy AND gluten-free.

Tonight I am exhausted. I like the word “exhausted,” because it doesn’t just mean “tired.” It means that you’ve used up all your energy. That’s me, energy-free. Though I was able to keep the boy up until 7:45, by the time I stuck him in his crib, I was barely able to function. Now I’m going to sit back and relax with a really bad book.

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Grade: A+

We were assigned this book way back in high-school French class, but then we were supposed to read it in the original French. I did not finish it. I probably didn’t get past the first few pages. The truth is, I never could read French comfortably. I was very good at picking up the grammar, the basic vocabulary, and even (I like to think) the accent, but for some reason I could never quite remember all the joining words that go between the nouns, verbs, and adjectives. The durings, befores, and betweens eluded me. Consequently, when I try to read French, I get the gist, but often miss the exact meaning.

This time, when I tackled The Little Prince, it was in my own native tongue (ah, English, how I love you!).  It was so much easier. And I’m glad that I read it, because it is a charming story, though a bit sad. It’s about a little prince who comes from an asteroid. On his tiny planet, the flowers can talk, volcanoes can be kept from erupting by cleaning them out periodically, and the biggest threat is the baobab tree, which must be uprooted immediately lest it grow too big and tear apart the planet with its roots. But there is a special flower there, a proud one who irritates him, and so he leaves his little planet and travels to earth, but once away from his flower, he begins to worry about her.

I recommend The Little Prince highly and wonder why it’s not on the top 100 list of children’s books.

The Twilight of Magic by Hugh Lofting
Grade: B+

Hugh Lofting is best known for his series of books about Dr. Dolittle. Those stories have always been favorites of mine, though the original versions are mostly out of print due to racist undertones. While censored editions of many of the books are available, I cannot bring myself to purchase them. I think it’s wrong to censor books, even when they may contain racist ideas. I think it’s better to let the kids read the books and then discuss the questionable parts with them. So when I’m at used book sales, I keep a lookout for old editions of Lofting’s work. I spotted this one at the most recent Westerly book sale. I had no idea he had ever published anything non-Dolittlish.

In the foreword of The Twilight of Magic, his son wrote, “Exactly why my father decided to interrupt the flow of the Doctor Dolittle series to write The Twilight of Magic in 1930 is not quite clear.” I don’t get it either. He had a good thing going with Dr. Dolittle, and this book is a completely different animal. It’s a sort of fairy tale. Two children, hoping to save their family from financial ruin, ask the Applewoman (a.k.a. Scragga the Witch) for help. She finds a magic shell for them. One hears in this shell not the roaring of the sea, but the comments that others are making behind one’s back. All that the children must do is give the shell to the one person who will be most helped by it, and they will find their fortune.

Overall I’d say it’s a cute book with some truly magical moments, but Lofting’s tell-it-don’t-show-it style of writing can be a drag at times. I want to keep it, thinking that perhaps it would be a good story to read to youngsters, but the whole point of grading these books is to decide which ones stay and which ones go. B+ is not good enough to warrant keeping the book.

The Secret of Father Brown by G.K. Chesterton
Grade: A

I love G.K. Chesterton’s style. And I love that he’s not afraid to repeat a word. In the first chapter, Father Brown was asked to talk about the cases he had solved.

Father Brown also lifted his glass, and the glow of the fire turned the red wine transparent, like the glorious blood-red glass of a martyr’s window. The red flame seemed to hold his eyes and absorb his gaze that sank deeper and deeper into it, as if that single cup held a red sea of the blood of all men, and his soul were a diver, ever plunging in dark humility and inverted imagination, lower than its lowest monsters and its most ancient slime. In that cup, as in a red mirror, he saw many things; the doings of his last days moved in crimson shadows; the examples that his companions demanded danced in symbolic shapes; and there passed before him all the stories that are told here. Now, the luminous wine was like a vast red sunset upon dark red sands, where stood dark figures of men; one was fallen and another running towards him. Then the sunset seemed to break up into patches: red lanterns swinging from garden trees and a pond gleaming red with reflection; and then all the colour seemed to cluster again into a great rose of red crystal, a jewel that irradiated the world like a red sun, save for the shadow of a tall figure with a high head-dress as of some prehistoric priest; and then faded again till nothing was left but a flame of wild red beard blowing in the wind upon a wild grey moor. All these things, which may be seen later from other angles and in other moods than his own, rose up in his memory at the challenge and began to form themselves into anecdotes and arguments.

A lesser author would have ruined the flow with a dozen pathetic attempts to vary the language, using any and every synonym of “red” in order to avoid repeating it too many times. Chesterton knew that sometimes only one word would do, and he wasn’t afraid to use it as many times as was necessary.

I think I enjoyed this collection of stories more for the author’s style than for the character of Father Brown. Not that there’s anything horribly wrong with Chesterton’s “detective,” but he’s a Catholic priest, and religion is not my cup of tea. Still, at times Father Brown’s religion allows the author the opportunity to discuss matters of morality and forgiveness, and that doesn’t bother me at all. I recommend this book, even for theophobes. I will definitely make it a point to track down copies of the other three Father Brown collections.

The Well-Wishers by Edward Eager
Grade: A

Is a well wisher someone who wishes well to another, or is it someone who wishes on a wishing well, or is it both? That is the idea behind this wonderful book. The children in the story make wishes on their “magic” wishing well and then wait for opportunities for doing good to “magically” arise. It’s so sweet and “aw-shucks-y” that it might not appeal to all tastes, but I adore it. The Well-Wishers is one of Eager’s best.

Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
Grade: A

Me Talk Pretty One Day is another collection of essays by David Sedaris. If I wanted to learn how to write the perfect modern, humorous, American essay, this is the book I would use as my guide. Bravo!

I write genius blog posts all the time. In my head. Usually I’m too tired to type them into the computer. And on those rare occasions when I find the energy, the translation from my brain to the computer screen somehow eliminates most of the genius.

🙁

I preferred it when all I had to worry about was paying my bills, and not my carbon footprint or the nebulously dangerous Global Warming. These days, we’re told to go green, but the American way of life is against us. Our world is made of plastic and it runs on electricity. It gives us giant carbon feet.

There was one thing that Gretchen Rubin said in her happiness project book that really hit home. She said,

The days are long but the years are short.

It was not until I became a mother that I understood that. Taking care of a baby is a full-time job, one that takes just about every ounce of energy you have. During Marshall’s newborn months, it sometimes felt like the day would never come to an end. The days are long…

Now, somehow a whole year has gone by and all those days that seemed so long then, they’re almost insubstantial in my memory. Where did the time go? …but the years are short.