The reason why I watch Jon Stewart

Dan Rather wrote a book entitled, “The Camera Never Blinks”.  Now, with the Internet, nothing is ever lost.

Last night, Jon Stewart showed Glenn Beck railing against the health care system when he was a CNN host and now saying that health care is awesome as a FOX News host.  During Glenn’s time at CNN, he experienced the health care system first hand, with a botched hemorrhoid procedure.  Hypocrisy revealed.

Jon Stewart took aim at Hillary Clinton’s outburst and Blagojevich’s downfall, so he is not a Democratic partisan hack.  In fact, I understand that he would have voted for McCain in 2000.  But let’s face it, Republicans are doing such stupid things these days that dumb Democrats rarely get any coverage.

I know, I know, Jon Stewart is just a comedian.  A political satirist.  And so funny.

Laughing is the best antidote

After a fitful night’s sleep, my son wanted to pretend we were trains this morning before he scampered off to camp.  After going to Penn Station to watch all of the trains recently (like one big electric train set), he wanted me to call out the Ronkonkoma, Long Island train station, in that sing-song way that the conductors do, while stressing the Ks:   “RON KONKKK KOMA!! RON KONKKK KOMA!!”  I am half asleep and yelling “RON KONKKK KOMA!” RON KONKKK KOMA!”  It makes my head pound but my son’s delight makes it worthwhile.

No turning over and napping after this day’s version of morning cuddle.  Coffee and aspirin.  Antacids (for the burning caused by the coffee and aspirin).  Repeat until fully conscious.

Once fully conscious, I turn on the TV to have, as Jon Stewart has said, my morning cup of sadness.  Today, RAGE accompanies sadness.  I blog my rant against Glenn Beck.  I feel better.

I shower and dress.  I even pack gym clothes.  Wow, amazing what a morning’s expiation will do.

I eat lunch with an old friend with whom I have recently reconnected.  We laugh all through lunch about everything and nothing and I feel like a weight is lifted.  Laughter is the best antidote to life’s sadnesses and ills.

Drink a cup of laughter next time you have the opportunity.

The Fat Pictures

I was a skinny, athletic kid, until 16.  From 16 to 22, I was hefty (a term I find preferable to chunky, heavy or the big “O” word).  Since 22, I have slimmed down and, while not so athletic anymore at 45, I am fit.  Every now and again, when I recount my years of being “two tons of fun”, people are often disbelieving and want to see the fat pictures. 

Well they surfaced on Facebook, courtesy of a college friend to whom I haven’t spoken in years and years and, after this, may not for many years to come.  Ok, I am exaggerating.  I’ll talk to him at our 60th college reunion because we will both be senile.

I can honestly say I have been the trifecta of fat, dumb and happy — all at once and at different times.

Ah, the joys and perils of connectivity.

How many people care why Kate Gosselin still wears her wedding ring?

This is a serious poll.  Please respond.  I cannot understand why it is “newsworthy” enough to appear in print on the top stories of Yahoo.  Please help me understand.  I NEED TO KNOW.

Cypriots seeking love potions wear away saints’ tomb —– Reuters

NICOSIA (Reuters) – Unhappy lovers in Cyprus have been taking so much stone from the tomb of Saint Agapitikos to use in love potions that soon there won’t be anything left.

Dust from the grave in the courtyard of the church in the village of Arodes in Paphos district has been used for centuries by the lovelorn, who are supposed to slip it into the drink of their objet d’amour.

But in recent years so many have been filching shards of stone that a quarter of the tomb has disappeared.

Mayor of Arodes Matthaios Stefanou is unclear whether Cypriots’ love lives are becoming more troubled.

“A lot of people have said it works,” he said. “In the last few years I don’t know what’s come over people, but they are flocking to the tomb for the stuff.

“Just the other day locals saw some people visiting the tomb, and they were there for a very long time, in the end they walked off with a huge chunk of stone, maybe even half a kilo of it!”

The island’s antiquities department has been called in to help. “The only thing we can do is examine the damage and try to prevent any further damage,” said Maria Hadjicosti, the acting director. Saint Agapitikos — whose name means “lover” — is believed to have served in the German army of the Crusaders before settling as a hermit in the area.

“You’re very welcome to come and see the tomb, but please don’t go taking any of it with you now,” Stefanou said.

(Reporting by Sarah Ktisti; editing by Andrew Roche)

2FortySomethingChicksinVegas

I have asked two of my college friends to blog about their weekend in Vegas in two weeks.  Their “handle” is “2FortySomethingChicksinVegas”.

The rest of us college friends will live the trip vicariously and then remember all of the events as if we were there.  That’s how we all live such rich, varied lives — we have each other’s memories.

So, when the entries get a little racy and drunken-sounding, those are my beloved friends slurgging — blogging while drinking.

I can’t wait.  And, I’m afraid.  Very afraid.

Uh oh

My 7 year-old wants to read my blog.  Is there a V-chip for blogs?

There is also the old-fashioned answer: No, dear, you can’t.  Sometimes old-style parenting does the trick.

Thought for the not-so-new media

Too much information is available on Facebook.  And available for everyone to see.

If we could put a man on the Moon, someone techie can figure out how to devise a nuclear-proof fire-walls between parents’ and their children’s Facebook pages.  If you want to know the threat to family values, finding out too much about your parents or your kids can really cause embarrassing (or worse) moments.

For example, how does a father explain to his daughter that his nickname in college was Spanky, or The Fiend?  How does a daughter explain those inappropriate pictures at a party where there are social lubricants in evidence.

I hope that Facebook and its progeny don’t exist when my son is old enough to have a page.  I know I won’t want that information.

Repeat after me

I ran into my sister at the gym.  She and I spoke during the day, so she asked, “how was the rest of your afternoon?” I started to tell her about my son’s day at camp (see other blog entry) and she said, “Yeah, I know, I read your blog.”  I am repeating myself before I open my mouth.  Then, I looked around the locker room and she asked, “are you feeling a bloggable moment?” She was reading my mind.  I didn’t have to utter a word.  Hmmm, eerie.

She  finished her work-out and I was just starting, so we kissed good-bye and I left the locker room.  After one second outside, I ran back in and caught her as she was about to go into the shower.  She said, “the guy in the midriff and the nylon short running shorts who smells?  Yeah, I smelled him on my way in.” I opened my mouth. I closed my mouth.  I opened my mouth.  I closed it.  Struck dumb.

I decided not to blog about this.  Nope I am not blogging about my slow metamorphosis into a bloggy-eyed, crazed, typing, mute.

Wait.  What am I doing?  Uh oh.  Uh oh.  Uh oh.

Sigh.