“I’m an American, and I believe in God.”

Recently, ABC News ran a nice clip about a gentle, quiet man who works hard for a living and has peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and coffee for dinner. Trouble is, for the first time in his life, he can’t pay his bills, and has applied for food stamps. (Which ABC News says now 1 in 10 Americans collect. 1 in 10?!) He gave a tour of his apartment—the empty freezer and fridge, his outdated and temperamental appliances, and minimal possessions. More doom and gloom: this man is a trained pilot and Air Force veteran who now mops floors overnight at a hospital to make ends meet. These days, the story is norm.

But by golly, the man still has his pride. And his faith in Uncle Sam and the Big Man Upstairs.

Reporter: “What do you think about all this? About how your life has changed?”
Penniless man: “I’ll be fine. I’m an American and I believe in God.”

Huh?
Time for some tough love folks. Yes, faith (the religious kind) gets people through some desolate times. But faith in the Red, White and Blue? Just because you’re an American you will prevail? I don’t know about you, but this is the first time in my short history of being alive where it’s proven—day after day—that working hard and livin’ simple just ain’t enough. The essential American Dream is coming up a Wee. Bit. Short. Success is out the window. A more appropriate term? Survival. Last I checked, that’s not in the Great Dictionary of Patriotism.

Chubs’ Snip N’ Store

I’ve decided to venture into my newest business—Chubs’ Snip N’ Store! Unbeknownst to many, the leftover “snippings” (for lack of a better word) after circumcision have amazing medical benefits! I will store your frozen snippets for a small upfront fee of $1,500, and a yearly fee of $500. Who knows what secrets the snips may hold, but, with science these days, it’s worth a save, eh?

Is Chubs getting cooky? No, I’m just citing a similar program that you’ve likely heard of—storing umbilical cord blood. It’s got loads and loads cells, the good kind! Embryonic! In this week’s Newsweek, a lengthy article stated that although one child was miraculously saved from Ceberal Palsy after a cord blood transfusion (his parents are now spokespeople for Cord Blood Registry), science has yet to prove the cells will be useful later in life. And by later in life, I mean less than 12 years of age, because there’s only enough blood cells in a cord to fully help a child, not an adult. Has the phrase “for a limited time only!” ever been so literal? Plus, Bush has placed so many restrictions on stem cell research, the little bloody buddies in the freezer—and all their fantastic uses—will be left undiscovered.

So, is it worth the cash? The Cord Blood Registry seems to think so. Just think. The chance of a baby falling out of a crib and damaging, oh, say, their lungs, is high enough that without precious stem cells, they could die!!!!

Did I mention there’s public medical banks for this all this shiz anyway? Oh, to make a buck…

The Voluntary Pink Slip. A New Trend?

According to Home Media Magazine, Best Buy is offering its corporate employees a “voluntary separation plan.” Some 4,000 employees are receiving an offer to leave—on their own terms. The package includes higher pay and enticing benefits for those willing to take the plunge. Best Buy touts its treatment of employees as the best in the industry, so is this another employee-friendly move? Or an awkward, “We’re cutting jobs. Please leave so we don’t have to make the decision on who does.”

Now, if I were employed there, I’d feel almost pressured to leave. I’m sure rumors are swirling and co-workers are thinking about each other, “My my, Sally would be a good candidate for this…too bad she’s completely ignorant that she sucks at her job.” A big pink slip would be looming over me everywhere I go, and I’d begin to question my allegiance to the company, how valuable I really am to my co-workers, and so on and so forth. Talk about an unsettling situation—I’d almost rather get the axe! Then there’s the situation of not taking the package, only to be laid off later. It’s like a biting, “You didn’t get the hint—see ya later.” Youch! And of course, there’s the people that shouldn’t leave. You know, upper-level execs and stuff. Do they get special emails? “Hey. That package thing? Not intended for you…fyi. ;)” HR has quite the situation on their hands…and I wonder, will this be a growing trend in today’s garbage pit of an economy?

The Avid Exerciser

I am not an avid exerciser. I exercise just enough to break a sweat, feel good about myself, and call it a wrap. This is a mile running (tops), 10 or so minutes on the elliptical, and an occasional spinning class (these count for 3 "regular" workouts). I go to the local YMCA (aka souped-up hyperkid central), and, it sports some impressive facilities...which is why I'm willing to put up with some annoyances to get in a "hefty" workout. Now, I'm an avid observer of human nature, kind of like a bird watcher, only I watch you, and observe, in probably a slightly-creepy way. And my favorite observation post? The YMCA Fitness center!

After months of research, I have confounded these avid-exerciser species:

• The ADD multitasker. Usually a woman, 30s to 40s, who, on the elliptical, boasts many forms of distraction, anything to get her mind off the fact she is exercising. She has a towel over the mile counter/calorie-burner counter, a magazine, a beverage, an iPod, and is watching the TV...all while carefully balancing arms and legs on the machine. Have yet to see an extreme version--coffee drinker, nail painter, cell phone talker, etc.
• The Buff guy. Tattoos and extremely large biceps paired with normal size rest-of-body muscles. Rarely does cardio workout, but grunts, sweats, and towel-dries his way through an impressive bicep-only workout of free weights and bench presses. Too manly for the treadmill and/or elliptical.
• The Sweet Little Old Retired Lady. Exercises between the hours of 11 am and 3 pm, early enough for a 4 pm dinner. Makes you think, "If I'm that old someday and can still run like her, I've led a good life." Likes to walk with an incline or bike on the sit-down kind in front of soap operas on TV.
• The Triathlete. Dressed skimpier than most, but doesn't matter because they're ripped as hell anyway. Sets treadmill for a good 10 mph and runs a minimum of 75 minutes, making everyone else look like a fat, lazy lard. Armed with a high-tec watch, an impressive iPod holder, shiny/silver sneakers, and spandex shorts. This type wears gloves to spinning class.
• The Weight Loser. Usually middle aged, has fallen off the wagon and determined to get back on the treadmill. Very friendly and enthusiastic, loves group classes. Always asking staff for tips and tricks. Proudly sports YMCA shirts/shorts/sweatpants.
  
• The Anti-Exerciser. I have saved the best for last; my favorite species of all. If a woman, has long hair down. Wears pants. Walks at 2.4 mph for 20 minutes, gets some water, and heads home. Rarely sweats and puts no viable effort into breaking one. Makes you wonder why they're there in the first place. Can't they just walk laps around the yard/house? I suspect this species has a child/children in jazz class and is burning time.

I've cleverly disguised myself to fit snugly between the anti-exerciser and triathlete, which is where most people fall anyway. Just there to de-stress in a positive way.

The Chicken Coop that is Christmas Season

Abandoned carts in the middle of aisles. Screaming/wandering toddlers. "Multitasking" (oblivious) shoppers on cell phones clogging up foot traffic. Lines. Lines. More Lines. Overflowing parking lots.

Ah, the chaos of the Christmas season is here. Yesterday, armed with my mom, her minivan, and a credit card, I braved the elements and went Christmas shopping. After a stop at Toys 'R Us and Wal-Mart, I was ready to swear off having children and celebrating Christmas in general. Nowhere in sight were signs of a slowing economy. Store after store, packed to the brim with bargain-hungry shoppers, had me feeling a bit like a chicken in a coop. Not a nice one with a wire mesh cage in a yard, where I'm free to roam. One of those coops that are tiny, stacked, noisy, smelly, and an overall disgrace to the Chicken breed. Where every chicken has the same purpose (laying eggs/snatching up gifts) and nowhere to go but on top of each other.

Chaos, paired with my indecisiveness, is disaster. I end up crawling over others, through aisle after aisle. "What about this?" "Would he/she use it?" "Don't they have one of these already? I swear I saw one the last time I was there..." And so on and so forth. Hence, I turn into my fellow shoppers, the ones I secretly despise for taking up too much room, checking out too many items, or asking the check out attendant too many questions. It's inevitable...one way or another, we all morph into a brainless, noisy chicken in these Saturdays preceding Christmas.