July is National Boredom Month, and so I celebrate boredom. Come on, cultivate your ennui.
And may the force be with you.
Arrrgh!
If you are feeling bored lately, here are 7 HELPFUL SUGGESTIONS to shake ya outta that weary funk:
1. READ A BOOK. WTF why not – How ’bout a clever book about boredom?
ANATOMY OF BOREDOM – Boredom: A Lively History by Peter Toohey (via BrainPickings!)
2. PLAY OLD SCHOOL SCRABBLE – or a “bored game” of your choice – ‘TIL YOUR EYES BLEED or ‘TIL NOBODY IN YOUR FAMILY IS SPEAKING TO YOU.
3. Catch up with the 21st century. Go electronic with Scrabble Flash.
4. DRINK, preferably with friends (FB friends don’t count) and when in a jolly mood. Wine away.
5. Join a club. Hmmm, here’s one!
6. TEACH THE CAT stupid tricks and embarrass him on Facebook. Most of the time, he doesn’t particularly like you anyway.
7. HIT the “celebrity news.” Reading about how bored senseless Paris Hilton and/orLindsay Lohan are – with all their money, glam, beauty, youth, personal assistants, movie star friends, toys, talents, trainers, and resources – will help you focus on your own blessings…
like “Thank God, I can’t afford a cocaine habit,” or “Good thing I don’t have to worry about totaling my Porsche Carrera 997 S,” or “Darn, I don’t have anything to wear to my court appearance today.”
One of my favorite Nora Ephron movies… and one you may NOT have seen! This Is My Life
This is the first film directed by Nora Ephron. Based on Meg Wolitzer’s novel, it’s a sweet family comedy about a single mom from Queens who becomes a successful standup comic, but struggles to balance motherhood and career.
The screenplay is by Nora Ephron and Delia Ephron.
With Julie Kavener, Dan Akroyd, Carrie Fisher, Samantha Mathis and Gaby Hoffmann.
Some day, perhaps sooner than later, neighbors may find me buried in a morass of festering digital clutter – twitter droppings, zipper files, news video, old songs, new songs, You Tube footage of nursing puppies and stupid person pranks, piles of podcasts and miles of ezines, ebooks, PDFs, JPEGS, GIFS.
TLC’s fascinating show “Hoarding: Buried Alive” features folks suffering from various forms of compulsive-obsessive disorder, attachment disorder, addiction and/or dementia. These avid collectors seem unable to throw out anything – especially if it’s downright disgusting: old underwear, plastic snakes, used cardboard, moldy muffins, dead cats, apple cores, ex-spouses. You get the messy “Where’s Waldo?” picture.
However, with therapy and support and some serious begging from clinical psychologists, disgruntled relatives and a U-Haul Truck full of unbelievably patient professional organizers, the hoarders begin to clean up their acts.
For my part, I finally ditched my long serving desktop computer as it was becoming a data death camp. It is a tremendous step in clearing up my “over byte” problem!
Forget preservation. Reduce, reuse, recycle. Stop, drop and delete.
This review is from: Exit Laughing: How Humor Takes the Sting Out of Death (Io) (Paperback)
Exit Laughing is a fascinating anthology. It lovingly takes on the subject of death with grace, courage, and (thank God!) humor. It’s this celebration of laughter, even in dying and death, that makes the book so remarkable. The essays are poignant, funny, and memorable. They demonstrate the life-affirming power of humor. A great collection edited by Victoria Zackheim.
I am determined that a pesky little critter the size of a penis will not get the best of me.
Yes, I refer to the gopher – that infuriating, beady-eyed rodent.
My heart stopped when I spotted that first heinous dirt mound near my prize-winning Kehr Hybrid azalea bushes in
my meticulously manicured front yard. My busybody neighbor informed me the peculiar mound is due to a gopher.
“They can really destroy a lawn. Ha, Ha, Ha…” he needled me.
The stress and irritation of this creature invasion has catapulted me into a crisis:
Blood pressure higher than a kytoon, sleep tortured by ghosts of gophers past, present, and future, dirt-filled
fingernails gnawed to the bone, digestion disrupted, mental faculties in disarray, martini consumption and
general crankiness escalating off the charts.
I repeat. I am determined that a pesky little critter the size of a penis will not get the best of me.
Being a thinking person at least occasionally, I pursue sound, logical approaches to the problem:
Trapping with artisan cheese
Flooding by garden hose
Water boarding
Smoke bombs
Elaborate fencing
Sonar repeller rods (a regrettable purchase from the captivating but essentially useless Sky Mall Catalog)
Death by dog (sicking our aging beagle Flopsie on the vile little bugger)
100% Organic, gold-lined chemicals designed to euthanize the prickly pest (special precautions taken so I don’t kill my beloved cat… even though he treats me with all the respect offered a convicted sex offender)
Blasting mezzo-soprano Whitney Houston classics into the tunnel. Perhaps the piercing high notes will call him to Jesus?
Creative visualization – I imagine the gopher as road kill on my local interstate.
Nothing works. I resort to sniveling, cajoling, begging, and sobbing. However, this hurts me with the kids as they sense incompetence and despair faster than they can hit the local “all-you-can-eat buffet.”
After five weeks of soul numbing failure to exterminate the furry little Fuhrer, I succumb to a pitcher of Orange Blossom (heavy on the sweet Vermouth) for divine inspiration. Voila. I am struck with an answer so counter-intuitive yet brilliantly simple I want to scream.
Go with a Zen approach. Just “go for it.” Ohm. Peace envelops my entire being. Ohm. Ohm.
Fun in the sun isn’t always fun. A day at the beach can be more misery than merriment. And now they tell us sunscreen gives us cancer? Ain’t that sweet 🙂
My 15 summer bummers… What are yours?
1. Swimsuit wardrobe malfunction when faking bravado on the Boogie Board
2. Sunburn on private parts
3. Younger, slimmer, and obviously richer women donning floss bikinis, spray tans, and serious diamond earrings
4. Being buried in bacteria filthy, crab infested, scalding sand for the amusement and photo opp pleasure of loved ones
5. People who use “summer” as a verb, but not “budget” as a verb
6. A plethora of hideous tattoos scribbled on every hairy limb like graffiti on a sunset
7. Blowing up that darn beach ball, feeling dizzy, maybe it’s a stroke
8. That skanky fish smell that blows off the stagnant bay
9. Jellyfish who stalk just you
10. Kids who whine “I’m bored” because you’re not entertaining them 24-7
11. Dutifully applying and reapplying sunscreen only to find out it causes skin cancer – classic example of “Damn if you do, damn if you don’t!”
12. Joggers impervious to triple digit temperatures
13. Gnats in my mojito
14. Listening to perfectly nice folks mispronounce “mojito”
Great photo on the box cover. Isn’t subliminal advertising subtle?
Nonetheless, Madison Avenue knows I scream, you scream, we all holler like crazy for it! Yes. Low calorie ice cream.
One of these highly satisfying, heavenly treats is only 80 calories, can you believe it?
Why have one dark chocolate raspberry ice cream bar when you can have two?
Two bars… 2 x 80 = 160 calories. Not too bad…
But, no! The box says 1 bar = 80 calories and 2 bars = 170 calories.
Do the math, dudes at Weight Watchers. What’s with the extra 10 calories when I down two bars? Does that mean if I savor four bars (hmmm, not that I would) is it an extra 20 calories? Or is it like the Richter scale, increasing exponentially?
Is the extra 10 calories some kind of diet penalty?
I have contacted the generous and marketing savvy people at Weight Watchers regarding this error. I’m hoping they will reward me with Weight Watchers ice cream ’til death or ’til I gain 25 pounds – whichever comes first.
