Wednesday, January 9, 2013

A Tale of Old Wives

Sadly, the title for this post has little to do with the actual content. I just liked it, and didn't know if there would ever be an opportunity to use it in a relevant manner. And so I decided to throw caution to the wind, and here we are. 

I've recently been diagnosed with, what I fear could be, a self-perpetuating affliction of my health. For several weeks now, I've experienced some discomfort in my abdominal region. It's been persistent enough that, after two months, I finally decided to see a doctor. His diagnosis: gastritis, or possibly an early ulcer. His treatment: medicine, which, I discovered sometime later, costs over $200 for a 30 day supply. 

I'm not sure if you're aware, but gastritis (and ulcers, for that matter) are largely caused by stress. That's no old wives' tale (see how I tied that in there?), it's true; I looked it up on the internet. Stress, often times, on the other hand, is money-related. In other words, spending $200 on the aforementioned medication could be a source of stress. Gastritis, once more, is caused by stress, which brings me full circle. 

I'm beginning to think the makers of Nexium are onto something. 

I've said too much. 

Sunday, January 6, 2013

You're Welcome

For shame! If you've ever been slighted a proper thank you card from me, I would like to take this opportunity to extend my sincerest apologies. It's not at all that I didn't appreciate the gift, or the generous notion behind it. It's just that...well, you see...I'm lazy. And, sadly, I never learned to read. Everything I've told you up to this point is absolutely true (except for the reading part). 

Before you go on with your reproach and your furrowed brow of indignation, please take a moment to consider the burden I must carry knowing the hundreds of people I've never thanked in a card. It's always this time of year, after all the Christmas gifts and kind gestures, when the weight of this shortcoming seems most unbearable. 

The smiling faces of the people haunt my dreams. 

In light of my plight, I'm urging people to consider a new tradition: You're Welcome Cards. Show a little sympathy to the slouches of the world like me, and don't wait for them to send a thank you card (because it probably isn't coming). Just go ahead and let them know you know they're thankful with a heartfelt You're Welcome Card.

"You're welcome for the wonderful gifts we gave you. God bless!"

"I can't imagine how much our gift must have meant to you. You're welcome."

"We always know the right things to give you. We're wonderful friends, we know. You're welcome, and we love you too."

"Though we didn't give you anything, we felt your gratitude for our presence at the Christmas party. You're so very welcome."

"While we don't think very highly of you, it shouldn't stop you from knowing that, in spite of our differences, you're welcome."

"Mom, it was I who used the last k-cup and 'accidentally' killed your cat. You're welcome."

The important thing here is to let people know how much you care, by letting them off the hook. Now stop reading this blog...I think you have some cards to send!

Of course, I've said too much.

...and you're welcome.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

The Art of Dismantling a Dream

I recently developed a whole new respect for critics (or those who fancy themselves such) shortly after watching what I can only describe as pure-100-proof-face-melting-teeth-gnashing-tear-inducing-I-believe-in-unicorns-magical-awesomeness. The movie of which I speak is, of course, Les Miserables, which loosely translated means, "come and see how good your life really is, and don't you feel petty for complaining, so shut up and go be a better person" in French. The movie, in my opinion, was a masterpiece on every level.

But, of course, I'm no critic. 

What do I know?

After reading a few reviews in which the critics -- aka experts (or those who fancy themselves such) -- complained that the singers weren't to their liking, or the camera angles were too close, or the CG was "cheesy," or there was too much singing, or that the approach of having actors sing live while filming "didn't work," I realized how little I must know about movie-making and what truly defines a masterpiece. And then it occurred to me the vast capacity of cinematic prowess possessed by these fine folks must be such as the world has never seen. They know so much about movies, and what makes them so good (or so bad), and they speak (or write) so freely with such eloquence against the artists behind such films, that they themselves must have made dozens of perfect movies that were loved by billions. Thus my newfound respect for critics.

And to think a hack like Tom Hooper had the audacity to muster all the artistic and creative passion within him to produce a work of such epic proportions. Clearly, such endeavors should be left to those who would rather dismantle a work of art than actually make one.

Now I've said too much.