Recommending Another Blog

Have I ever recommended someone else's blog? I don't think I have, and perhaps that's a mistake. I read several that are very good. I'm going to highlight two this week that are particularly wonderful for people who love to read. Sounds like me. I'll begin with the one I found first, and let you enjoy that for a couple of days before pointing you toward the next one. They're very different, and each has its own strong points.

Thoughts in Progress is a reader's blog I should have mentioned months ago. Mason Canyon is the blogger's pen name, and while she's giving writing tips and holding great contests and give-aways on books and audio books, she's also hosting guest authors. They talk about their latest books, writing methods, inspirations and more. It's a very inventive way to learn about what's happening in a broad spectrum of the publishing world.

I realized a long time ago that no one was going to just let me read all day, and that even if it were possible, there are simply too many great authors for me to be up to date on all the really worthy ones. My tastes are too eclectic to keep up with all the genre fiction I love as well as all the great literature that is being written in so many styles. Besides, if all I did was read, when would I write?

Give Mason's blog some time. Enter her contests. I've won books or audio books twice now, so I know it can be done. It's really exciting, too, to get that email in your inbox telling you your name was drawn. I'll admit, though, that even if I was never one of the book winners, this is still a site I would go to regularly to see who is writing what that I might want to put on my reading wish list.

Haircuts and a New Chinese Proverb

Many people make up statistics. I tend to make up Chinese proverbs. It's far more fun. Tonight I was discussing my friend Ambrosia with her sister. I've met her sister, but just in passing. Unfortunately, Ambrosia, who does my hair, hasn't joined the technology generation. She doesn't own a computer, and although she belongs to Facebook and has an email address, she never logs on.

I leave her messages she doesn't get. We laugh about it when I finally catch up with her. It doesn't change anything, but I tease her about it all the same. Tonight I went to her Facebook page and noticed that her sister was listed as a friend. Since I'd met her, I went to her page, figuring I'd send her a message asking her to rattle Ambrosia's cage for me. What followed was about an hour of back and forth messages—more fun than I've had online in quite a while.

The summary conclusion her sister made was that Ambrosia was underpaid at her present salon, and that she should leave for a better place where she would get more money. (Perhaps she was thinking that Ambrosia would buy herself a computer then?)

I wrote on her message board, "If she leaves, I go with her. She knows that. I was one of her first customers. I belong to her now. It's a Chinese proverb, you know. If you save someone's hair, they belong to you for life."

You Tell Him, Simon Cowell

Just a few after words, following up on last night's post... In tonight's American Idol elimination show, Simon Cowell actually used two words to describe what Ryan Seacrest did last night. He really hit the right tone, saying first that Seacrest had been aggressive, which is correct. He was. Then he said he made everyone uncomfortable, which is just how my reader Pat described her reaction in the comment section.

It's always nice to feel like I'm on the cutting edge of something beside's my husband's dinner.

The Mosh Pit Is Back—And Other Idol Complaints

Every year I think the producers of American Idol are going to start actually reading the blogs and posts online and get rid of the mosh pit. Don't know what a mosh pit is? It's the annoying group of people standing at the edge of the stage waving their arms in front of the camera. They have no sense of rhythm, and do nothing productive. Their sole purpose seems to be irritating viewers. Well, they're absolutely successful at that.

At least this year we're not hearing the annual phrase, "This is the best group of singers we've ever had on American Idol." They seem to say it each year, and I've often wondered how it makes past contestants feel. Yeah, you won, but you wouldn't have this year. Or you made it last year, but wouldn't even have been on the show this year. Thanks a lot.

I have to ask. What is up with the host? Ryan Seacrest has gotten so pushy and rude, especially to Simon. That's not his place. There's an air of egotism that clings to him, and I can't see beyond it. He's rather like a rash—not quite painful, but you just can't seem to get rid of it. He's one of the reasons I'm so glad I have a DVR with a fast forward button. I let the program get a half hour ahead of me and fast forward through most of his blathering. I've just really gotten to resent his attitude and his air time.

Go ahead and tell me to stop watching the show. Simon and I will quit together. In case you're wondering, though... this year I'll continue to watch as long as Crystal Bowersox continues to be so unexpected. I don't like her hair. I'm not crazy about the way she dresses, either. But when she sings, it makes me feel good.

Political Correctness

I'd like to thank my sister-in-law, Betty, for the following information. It was too good not to share.

There is an annual contest at Texas A&M University, she tells me, calling for the most appropriate new definition of a contemporary term. 2009's winning term was Political Correctness, which was defined as follows:

"Political correctness is a doctrine fostered by a delusional, illogical minority and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end."

The first time I butted heads with political correctness, my oldest son was somewhere around the third grade. He's 36 now, so it's been around awhile. We got a letter from his teacher regarding library privileges. I had the family in stitches by reading it aloud at the table, word for word. I wish I had saved it. It was hysterical. I'll paraphrase.

"If your son/daughter fails to bring his/her library book back to school during the day that he/she has library period, resulting in his/her library book being overdue, he/she will no longer be allowed to check out library books when his/her class makes their weekly trip to the the library. He/she will still accompany his/her class to the library, but must read ..."

You get the point. Suddenly the male pronoun, which all of my life we had been taught was for either male or unknown gender was suddenly not good enough. Then we no longer had a mailman. Or a chairman. Suddenly men were afraid to hold open a door for me. Well, if you see me coming, go ahead and hold the door. I don't particularly want to be equal. I'm not as strong physically. I have other talents. We don't need to be the same. I don't plan to be politically correct. I'd rather be appreciated for who I am and what I think. I won't pretend for you. Please don't pretend for me.

Hypnosis and Smoking

Every single time I've quit smoking, even when it lasted over six years, which I considered quite successful for me, rarely would a day go by that the craving didn't sneak in on me a time or two. It might be caused by stress or worry, excitement or boredom. Someone might yell at me and I'll feel the need. Something bad happens in the family or our country...

I'd heard on television that hypnosis can make all the difference in the world, as long as you really don't want to be a smoker. Hypnosis, of course, can't make you do anything you don't want to do. Therefore, they can't make you stop something you don't want to stop, like smoking. But I figured if I'm already not smoking, and I just want to make it easier to stay that way, this should be a great way to make the unconscious stop nagging me to fail. It's not the nicotine. It's not the habit. It's the emotional binding that's never been cut.

The clinic I went to has a 90% success rate, and that's with people who walk in the door still smoking. They're so sure they're going to change this habit for you that if you go back to smoking, they'll give you a second session free of charge. Well, I'm still not smoking, but it's no easier than it was the day I walked in there.

So what does that tell me? Other than I had a very bad day today and I feel like complaining to the world. I feel like failing. I feel like smoking. It's a good thing, right now, that I live way up here in the foothills where I'm a long way from a convenience store.

I'll admit one thing about hypnosis, though. Because of the expense (and don't ask—I'm not going to admit how much I spent) I'm too cheap to fail now. So maybe it'll work in a round-about fashion. Over-all, though? I'm not impressed. I was looking for a magic bullet to make me stop wanting. My will power is fine. It's the won't power that lets me down.

Missing the Olympics

I remember having skates just like the ones shown above. I sat like a little snowball in my parka, strapping them on my shoes and then shuffled off onto the ice. I was about four years old, and very proud of myself. It was my turn on the ice. I wasn't good enough to play with the real hockey players, but we had our own plastic pucks and sticks and we sure thought we were playing. The fact that our skates had four blades on the bottom didn't bother me a bit. In fact, I believe I was in third grade before I actually got my first pair of real figure skates.

Watching hockey during the Olympics this year, I realized how much things have changed. Aging has certainly changed me. My eyesight has probably been the most obvious change, other than size. Now I can actually follow the puck better when I watch the game on the radio. Think about it. The radio announcers know how much you can see on the airwaves. The television commentators assume you can see just fine. If given a choice between being given back my high school figure or my high school eyesight, I'd be throwing away my glasses. (Could we toss in that sharp hearing, too, please? No? I didn't think so...)

I got used to staying up late, watching the Olympics. I'd sit here and think, "I can do that...in my dreams." Of course, I can also fly in my dreams. I've been doing that since I was tiny. I always figured that most people have flying dreams. Maybe you don't. I always have. To me, it's more like swimming through air than what a bird does. I don't flap my arms or anything. I glide. People below me don't know I'm there. I'm fast. I'm silent. I hear things. Keep an eye on your ceilings. I'm not sure it's not actually happening. It's not an Olympic event, though.

But the skating. I always knew it took somebody a whole lot more coordinated than I've ever been to manage what they do. By the time they're done with their three or four minute programs, I'm practically hyperventilating. And I rarely agree with the judges. Was there anyone who thought that the Phantom of the Opera skate routine wasn't going to win? Just me? Well, maybe that's why they didn't ask me to judge this year. I'm available for 2014.

So I sit here, four hours after John went to bed, wondering why I didn't save some of the Olympics to watch later. Even with as bad a job as NBC did televising them (sometimes an hour between skaters, which was really a sad way to run things) I still enjoyed watching them. Too bad they didn't organize them better for the viewer. Why did I have to watch them all during the two weeks they were on? I could have just left them on the DVR and watched them slowly over a month, made them last.

Maybe in two years, when the Summer Olympics are on, I'll try that, because almost any book I own is better than almost anything else that's on television...