Tag Archives: rant/rave

Can we talk about…swine flu?

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pig

Can we talk about…how we’ve found “patient zero” and now need everyone to know his name, where he lives, and what he looks like?

I know that swine flu isn’t a huge deal. More people die from the regular flu every year. But it’s new, shiny, sexy for the media, and so they must cover it.

Meanwhile, they have decided to exploit this poor little boy–a mere 5 years old– by publishing his face all over the news.

Don’t people realize that some people have lost family members, relatives, etc., and that maybe they are angry? I hope to God that people realize it’s not this boy’s fault that he got the disease first, and that it spread from him, but people are irrational in times of grief, and sadness, and I cannot help but think maybe we should have let that story die before it hit CNN’s website…

Can I rant, for a moment?

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I will post for real later today–with updates on my plants, some Easter photos, and some life update.

But for now, I must rant.

I wrote an article, and my editor said it needed a lot of work, and that a lot of it had to be changed, so she took me off the writer’s list–without telling me, without responding to my email that asked why she made the changes she had, and why she hadn’t asked me to make them, instead.

The problem is that the articles are almost identitical–the one I wrote, and the one she printed. Their is one paragraph added, and some language (which means, style, which is a writer’s preference, not a sign of bad writing) that is different. That’s it.

I am so angry. But, alas, it’s the real world. I shall continue to look for other writing opportunities, because I know I am a good writer, and will find work somewhere.

Thanks for reading, more later. xo.

The hunt continues…

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We still haven’t found an apartment, and becuase of it I have spent the entire weekend eating my feelings in my weight of Milk Duds, JuJu Bees, and movie popcorn. I haven’t been able to slow myself. All I know is, this week is the week I need to find SOMETHING. ANYTHING.

I am sick of looking, but nothing we see is good enough. The location will be great, and then there is carpet. Or the floors are hardwood, but the street parking is awful. Or the street parking rocks, but I wouldn’t live in an apartment with wood-colored cabinets if my life depended on it. Etc., etc.

This is a crazy life. But I hope that something will be coming up this week–an offer, a beautiful apartment, my other roommates finally cleaning up dishes before I get to them out of anger, or magically I will come home one day to a non-sticky floor and dinner prepared for me.

Who knows? I can’t wait to see what happens…

Red Cup

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redcup

It’s that time of year. When you go into Starbucks and are greeted with a red cup. I don’t go to Starbucks that much, as I recently realized that No, I don’t actually like your coffee, and No, your $4 drinks aren’t worth it. However, I did end up in there this week after the Peet’s parking lot was closed and I was forced to go to Starbucks (thank you alarm clock, for lacking in your only job). And there it was. A red cup. I usually bring my own cup, but as I was running late, I failed to grab my cup. So there I was, with two options: no coffee, or red cup. In retrospect, I should have gotten iced coffee, since it was 80 degrees anyways, but I chose the red cup.

I don’t like red cup when I am sweating. Mainly because I don’t like Christmas when it’s not Christmas. I only like Christmas in the 1940s-approved time slot: from Thanksgiving to Christmas. That means that on Thanksgiving, I will be listening to “A Very Special Christmas” 1-5 and live. I will also be listening to Mr. James Taylor. And it will be splendid. But until then, I hold a strict “No Christmas” policy. Meanwhile, I’d like Starbucks to keep Christmas to themselves, and maybe supply some plain cups for those of us who like to enjoy the holiday when appropriate.

And that, folks, is what I think about red cup.