Lennon/No. 9: Nostalgia for the 'dirty' Price Chopper
DIRTY: Price Chopper in Dunmore is closing.
By BRIAN LENNON
When people ask me where I’m from, there is always a hesitation to answer. I was born in Connecticut, grew-up on Long Island, and have lived more than once in Florida, Virginia, and Pennsylvania.
While I’ve lived in Pennsylvania for the better part of the last 17 years, I don’t really consider myself from Scranton. One likely reason is the fact there’s very little personal nostalgia associated with the area. Yes, there are memories from my senior year of high school and the early days of college, meeting my wife, raising our three children, but no real sense of “the good old days.”
That all changed this morning when I opened up The Times-Tribune, and found that the Price Chopper supermarket on Monroe Ave. in Dunmore will close next month.
Since 1995, when a new, modern, 24-hour Price Chopper opened on the O’Neill Highway in Dunmore, locals have called the Monroe Ave. location the ‘dirty’ Price Chopper. Just say, “The dirty Price Chopper,” and everyone knew exactly which store you were talking about.
When I originally moved to Scranton, Pennsylvania, in August of 1993, my aunt who I lived with did the family’s weekly shopping at the Monroe Ave. store. I would tag along and would always leave with a Snapple Iced Tea, a box of Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies and a TV Guide, back when it was the size of an 8”x5” picture.
One of the funniest events that ever happened to me, and subsequently my friend Gary, involved one of my usual late-night stops at the Price Chopper for a box of Entenmann’s.
At the time I was driving a 1980 Oldsmobile Omega. It was a two-door, bench seat, power-everything, with a V-6 engine that ran rather quietly. The engine must have really been humming that night because I got out of the car, locked the door and slammed it shut, forgetting that the keys were still in the car’s ignition and that the car was still running. Add to that the fact it was after 2 o’clock in the morning.
I immediately went to the pay phones (no cell phones in those days) outside of the Chopper and called Gary’s house, which I had just left a few minutes before. Gary, always there for a friend in need, especially when it comes to car troubles, got out of bed and drove to Dunmore to pick me up to take me back to my aunt and uncle’s house for the spare key and back to Price Chopper to my car.
Stopping for that box of cookies may not have been worth it that night, but for me, the memories are priceless.
#30
When people ask me where I’m from, there is always a hesitation to answer. I was born in Connecticut, grew-up on Long Island, and have lived more than once in Florida, Virginia, and Pennsylvania.
While I’ve lived in Pennsylvania for the better part of the last 17 years, I don’t really consider myself from Scranton. One likely reason is the fact there’s very little personal nostalgia associated with the area. Yes, there are memories from my senior year of high school and the early days of college, meeting my wife, raising our three children, but no real sense of “the good old days.”
That all changed this morning when I opened up The Times-Tribune, and found that the Price Chopper supermarket on Monroe Ave. in Dunmore will close next month.
Since 1995, when a new, modern, 24-hour Price Chopper opened on the O’Neill Highway in Dunmore, locals have called the Monroe Ave. location the ‘dirty’ Price Chopper. Just say, “The dirty Price Chopper,” and everyone knew exactly which store you were talking about.
When I originally moved to Scranton, Pennsylvania, in August of 1993, my aunt who I lived with did the family’s weekly shopping at the Monroe Ave. store. I would tag along and would always leave with a Snapple Iced Tea, a box of Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies and a TV Guide, back when it was the size of an 8”x5” picture.
One of the funniest events that ever happened to me, and subsequently my friend Gary, involved one of my usual late-night stops at the Price Chopper for a box of Entenmann’s.
At the time I was driving a 1980 Oldsmobile Omega. It was a two-door, bench seat, power-everything, with a V-6 engine that ran rather quietly. The engine must have really been humming that night because I got out of the car, locked the door and slammed it shut, forgetting that the keys were still in the car’s ignition and that the car was still running. Add to that the fact it was after 2 o’clock in the morning.
I immediately went to the pay phones (no cell phones in those days) outside of the Chopper and called Gary’s house, which I had just left a few minutes before. Gary, always there for a friend in need, especially when it comes to car troubles, got out of bed and drove to Dunmore to pick me up to take me back to my aunt and uncle’s house for the spare key and back to Price Chopper to my car.
Stopping for that box of cookies may not have been worth it that night, but for me, the memories are priceless.
#30
Tart/No. 3: Nothing Like It
THINKER: Not all Penn State coaches are JoePa.
By DANIEL M. TART
It's about that time again.
Time for 32-year-old men like myself to look for any reason to get out of work on a Thursday and Friday, just to sit at a sports bar and watch college basketball.
With March Madness right around the corner, I cannot help but get giddy like a Penn State fan over a Joe Paterno sighting in April.
Time for four games to tip-off within six, eight, and 11 minutes of each other.
Time for me to get highly irate at CBS when they turn my alma mater's game off and only because they are getting crushed by the No. 2 seed.
Time for me to stay at the table instead of running to the little boy's room to do something I should’ve done two hours ago because of those damn jalapeno cheddar/blue cheese combo wings I devoured.
Wait, what's that you say? You say I won't get those tips so close together anymore. You say I won't have to pray to the TV gods not to turn my game. You say there will be one game every 30 minutes on four different channels!!!!
Not sure how I'm going to like this new setup. They have just made it too easy for me to get lazier I believe. However, I do think the one plus in all this is that we won't have so much time IN BETWEEN the day games and the night games! Hallelujah, Amen, and God Bless Ed DeChellis!
It's about that time again.
Time for 32-year-old men like myself to look for any reason to get out of work on a Thursday and Friday, just to sit at a sports bar and watch college basketball.
With March Madness right around the corner, I cannot help but get giddy like a Penn State fan over a Joe Paterno sighting in April.
Time for four games to tip-off within six, eight, and 11 minutes of each other.
Time for me to get highly irate at CBS when they turn my alma mater's game off and only because they are getting crushed by the No. 2 seed.
Time for me to stay at the table instead of running to the little boy's room to do something I should’ve done two hours ago because of those damn jalapeno cheddar/blue cheese combo wings I devoured.
Wait, what's that you say? You say I won't get those tips so close together anymore. You say I won't have to pray to the TV gods not to turn my game. You say there will be one game every 30 minutes on four different channels!!!!
Not sure how I'm going to like this new setup. They have just made it too easy for me to get lazier I believe. However, I do think the one plus in all this is that we won't have so much time IN BETWEEN the day games and the night games! Hallelujah, Amen, and God Bless Ed DeChellis!
Lennon/No. 8: Bieber Fever
GIVE ME FEVER: It's more than the hair.
By BRIAN LENNON
Hello. My name is Brian, and I have Bieber fever.
How bad is the fever? you ask.
Well, I dragged my seven-year-old daughter to the movie theatre last night to see, Justin Bieber: Never Say Never, the 3-D motion picture featuring the teen idol, pop sensation, Justin Bieber.
Wait. You meant to say, she dragged you, right?
Nope. You heard me right. I dragged her. Well, I didn’t actually drag her. She kept saying she didn’t want to go, but it wasn’t like I was pulling her by the hair. Let me just say, she went easier than she does going to church on Sunday mornings.
Hold on a minute. Let me see if I have this straight. You, a thirtysomething man, dragged your seven-year-old daughter to see a teenage boy dance and sing in 3-D? It just doesn’t make sense.
Well, if you let me explain, it might not seem so weird.
It all started with Justin’s “Baby.” It’s nothing but a catchy little pop song, I realize. But you know what, it seems like they don’t write catchy little pop songs anymore. The song felt fresh, yet filled me with nostalgia.
The video was cute. The dancing. The innocent back-and-forth play between Justin and the girl. The hair.
The fever grew however on my morning drives to school.
During ESPN radio’s Mike and Mike in the Morning, ex-footballer Mark Schlereth, an offensive linemen who went under the knife 15 times during his 12-year playing career, a man they call “Stink” because he would relieve himself in his uniform during games, roundly praised the movie and the man.
He did this despite the serious ribbing he took from Mike Greenburg, an admitted metrosexual who had a nose job in order to move from radio in to television.
The next day, Mike Golic, another former football player, was back in his usual chair hosting the show when he admitted he would be taking his daughter to see, Never Say Never that evening. The next morning, he too was full of praise for the movie, as well as for Justin.
For the better part of two weeks now I’ve been serenading family members with renditions of “Baby.” It’s gotten to the point where my son, Joey, has asked me repeatedly to stop singing, while my daughter, Lucy, flatly tells me, “Ugh! I just can’t stand you!”
Sorry, kids. But words alone cannot get rid of this fever.
My sister, who hasn’t fallen for a teen idol since Jack Wagner during his General Hospital heyday, and typically shows her excitement by uncrossing and re-crossing her arms, even has the fever.
She took my nine-year-old niece to see Never Say Never this week.
“I think I just became a Justin Bieber fan,” she posted as her Facebook status. “The movie was really good,” she wrote later in response to some good-humored teasing by her friends.
By Monday afternoon, after threatening the kids all President’s Day weekend, I informed Lucy we were going to the 7 o’clock show. (There may or may not have been promises of popcorn and soda.)
“I can’t believe I have to go see stinkin’ Justin Bieber,” she complained.
On our way to the theatre I promised her she’d gain a new appreciation for Justin and see him for more than just a teen heartthrob, but as a true artist.
Lucy is a Gemini and unsentimental and gets great joy out of seeing misfortune, such as falling down stairs, slipping on ice, etc., befall others. For her, attending a Justin Bieber movie with her father, because of her father, may be the most traumatic event in her life yet.
I asked if any of her friends had gone to see the movie yet. None of them, she answered. I asked if anyone from her class had seen the movie yet. Just one, and the girl’s name came out of my daughter’s mouth with such disdain that I dared not ask any more questions.
We were the first ones in the theatre and we were nearly half way through our bag of popcorn when Lucy threateningly said, “We better not be the only ones in here.”
She would have been embarrassed if we were, she would be embarrassed if we weren’t. In the end, just three other people, a young couple with their daughter, no older than five, walked in.
The movie begins by showing home movies of the young Justin, beating rythums out on kitchen chairs, then a bongo, followed by him playing a jazz set on a drum kit. That is followed by early YouTube clips of Justin, performing R&B hits, competing in talent shows, and singing and playing acoustic guitar.
The YouTube clips, which were only originally meant for family members, gained huge audiences and the attention of Scooter Braun, a young talent manager from Atlanta, Ga.
Scooter has an undying, uncompromising faith in the young Justin and it becomes manifested hundred-fold in the adoration and shrieking delight of hundreds and thousands of young female fans.
While we learn a lot about Justin Bieber, including what a down-home dude he really is during a visit back the neighborhood in his native Canada, we learn little about who Justin Bieber really is. The Justin Bieber story is told through Scooter; his mother, Pattie Mallette; his bodyguard, Kenny Hamilton; his vocal coach, Jan Smith; and his personal stylist/swagger coach, Ryan Good, a mix between Bradley Cooper and Carson Kressley.
We learn that not only can Justin sing and play the drums, but he also plays piano and the trumpet. We also learn that he’s not divine, but truly human as the movie inches along closer to the MSG show, concern over Justin’s vocal chords takes center stage, similar to the drama of whether the room will be decorated in time on Trading Spaces or Extreme Home Makeover.
Justin’s story is truly the story of an underdog, a theme that is mentioned many times throughout Never Say Never.
In many ways, Justin is the first social media superstar, going from a YouTube sensation to selling out Madison Square Garden in just a matter of a few years. A modern day fairy tale of Vaudeville to Broadway.
That Justin’s concert/movie has beaten recently similar offerings from acts like Miley Cyrus (who sings a duet with Justin in Never Say Never), Michael Jackson and the Jonas Brothers, with more than $30 million on its opening weekend alone, may not leave him as the underdog for very long.
And who knows, he may even be gaining ground with new fans, including one seven-year-old girl.
#30
Hello. My name is Brian, and I have Bieber fever.
How bad is the fever? you ask.
Well, I dragged my seven-year-old daughter to the movie theatre last night to see, Justin Bieber: Never Say Never, the 3-D motion picture featuring the teen idol, pop sensation, Justin Bieber.
Wait. You meant to say, she dragged you, right?
Nope. You heard me right. I dragged her. Well, I didn’t actually drag her. She kept saying she didn’t want to go, but it wasn’t like I was pulling her by the hair. Let me just say, she went easier than she does going to church on Sunday mornings.
Hold on a minute. Let me see if I have this straight. You, a thirtysomething man, dragged your seven-year-old daughter to see a teenage boy dance and sing in 3-D? It just doesn’t make sense.
Well, if you let me explain, it might not seem so weird.
It all started with Justin’s “Baby.” It’s nothing but a catchy little pop song, I realize. But you know what, it seems like they don’t write catchy little pop songs anymore. The song felt fresh, yet filled me with nostalgia.
The video was cute. The dancing. The innocent back-and-forth play between Justin and the girl. The hair.
The fever grew however on my morning drives to school.
During ESPN radio’s Mike and Mike in the Morning, ex-footballer Mark Schlereth, an offensive linemen who went under the knife 15 times during his 12-year playing career, a man they call “Stink” because he would relieve himself in his uniform during games, roundly praised the movie and the man.
He did this despite the serious ribbing he took from Mike Greenburg, an admitted metrosexual who had a nose job in order to move from radio in to television.
The next day, Mike Golic, another former football player, was back in his usual chair hosting the show when he admitted he would be taking his daughter to see, Never Say Never that evening. The next morning, he too was full of praise for the movie, as well as for Justin.
For the better part of two weeks now I’ve been serenading family members with renditions of “Baby.” It’s gotten to the point where my son, Joey, has asked me repeatedly to stop singing, while my daughter, Lucy, flatly tells me, “Ugh! I just can’t stand you!”
Sorry, kids. But words alone cannot get rid of this fever.
My sister, who hasn’t fallen for a teen idol since Jack Wagner during his General Hospital heyday, and typically shows her excitement by uncrossing and re-crossing her arms, even has the fever.
She took my nine-year-old niece to see Never Say Never this week.
“I think I just became a Justin Bieber fan,” she posted as her Facebook status. “The movie was really good,” she wrote later in response to some good-humored teasing by her friends.
By Monday afternoon, after threatening the kids all President’s Day weekend, I informed Lucy we were going to the 7 o’clock show. (There may or may not have been promises of popcorn and soda.)
“I can’t believe I have to go see stinkin’ Justin Bieber,” she complained.
On our way to the theatre I promised her she’d gain a new appreciation for Justin and see him for more than just a teen heartthrob, but as a true artist.
Lucy is a Gemini and unsentimental and gets great joy out of seeing misfortune, such as falling down stairs, slipping on ice, etc., befall others. For her, attending a Justin Bieber movie with her father, because of her father, may be the most traumatic event in her life yet.
I asked if any of her friends had gone to see the movie yet. None of them, she answered. I asked if anyone from her class had seen the movie yet. Just one, and the girl’s name came out of my daughter’s mouth with such disdain that I dared not ask any more questions.
We were the first ones in the theatre and we were nearly half way through our bag of popcorn when Lucy threateningly said, “We better not be the only ones in here.”
She would have been embarrassed if we were, she would be embarrassed if we weren’t. In the end, just three other people, a young couple with their daughter, no older than five, walked in.
The movie begins by showing home movies of the young Justin, beating rythums out on kitchen chairs, then a bongo, followed by him playing a jazz set on a drum kit. That is followed by early YouTube clips of Justin, performing R&B hits, competing in talent shows, and singing and playing acoustic guitar.
The YouTube clips, which were only originally meant for family members, gained huge audiences and the attention of Scooter Braun, a young talent manager from Atlanta, Ga.
Scooter has an undying, uncompromising faith in the young Justin and it becomes manifested hundred-fold in the adoration and shrieking delight of hundreds and thousands of young female fans.
While we learn a lot about Justin Bieber, including what a down-home dude he really is during a visit back the neighborhood in his native Canada, we learn little about who Justin Bieber really is. The Justin Bieber story is told through Scooter; his mother, Pattie Mallette; his bodyguard, Kenny Hamilton; his vocal coach, Jan Smith; and his personal stylist/swagger coach, Ryan Good, a mix between Bradley Cooper and Carson Kressley.
We learn that not only can Justin sing and play the drums, but he also plays piano and the trumpet. We also learn that he’s not divine, but truly human as the movie inches along closer to the MSG show, concern over Justin’s vocal chords takes center stage, similar to the drama of whether the room will be decorated in time on Trading Spaces or Extreme Home Makeover.
Justin’s story is truly the story of an underdog, a theme that is mentioned many times throughout Never Say Never.
In many ways, Justin is the first social media superstar, going from a YouTube sensation to selling out Madison Square Garden in just a matter of a few years. A modern day fairy tale of Vaudeville to Broadway.
That Justin’s concert/movie has beaten recently similar offerings from acts like Miley Cyrus (who sings a duet with Justin in Never Say Never), Michael Jackson and the Jonas Brothers, with more than $30 million on its opening weekend alone, may not leave him as the underdog for very long.
And who knows, he may even be gaining ground with new fans, including one seven-year-old girl.
#30
Davies/Nos. 1-10: Imagine A World
CARING: Even Congress deserves healthcare.
By SHAUNA MARIE DAVIES
Idea No. 1: All people in this country (congress included) should have the same level of health and dental coverage.
Idea No. 2: I believe in President Franklin Roosevelt’s second bill of rights.
Idea No. 3: Socialism can be a good thing and bring communities together.
Idea No. 4: No pay/metered parking on the weekends.
Idea No. 5: Abolish social fraternities, and sororities should not exist.
Works in Canada. Scholastic sororities are O.K.
Idea No. 6: All drugs should be "legal", prescribed by a doctor, and addicts should be able to get medical help to get off them, not criminalized for possession, just illegal or criminal behavior.
Idea No. 7: Companies should not be allowed to continue with wage disparities of more than 200 percent from top to bottom.
Idea No. 8: Executive pay needs regulation - no more robber barons.
Abolish inheritance. Level the playing field for all. It might encourage people not to encourage the Paris Hiltons of the world.
Idea No. 9: Fight gender inequality all over the world. Unleash the other half, stop sex slaves and honor killings!
Idea No. 10: Empower woman through education and opportunity. Please visit: www.Kiva.org
#30
Idea No. 1: All people in this country (congress included) should have the same level of health and dental coverage.
Idea No. 2: I believe in President Franklin Roosevelt’s second bill of rights.
Idea No. 3: Socialism can be a good thing and bring communities together.
Idea No. 4: No pay/metered parking on the weekends.
Idea No. 5: Abolish social fraternities, and sororities should not exist.
Works in Canada. Scholastic sororities are O.K.
Idea No. 6: All drugs should be "legal", prescribed by a doctor, and addicts should be able to get medical help to get off them, not criminalized for possession, just illegal or criminal behavior.
Idea No. 7: Companies should not be allowed to continue with wage disparities of more than 200 percent from top to bottom.
Idea No. 8: Executive pay needs regulation - no more robber barons.
Abolish inheritance. Level the playing field for all. It might encourage people not to encourage the Paris Hiltons of the world.
Idea No. 9: Fight gender inequality all over the world. Unleash the other half, stop sex slaves and honor killings!
Idea No. 10: Empower woman through education and opportunity. Please visit: www.Kiva.org
#30
Holly/No. 4: Happy Valentine's Day!...Oops...er, um, not you
OOPS: Texts can lead to mixed messages.
By HOLLY SEBASTIANELLI-PETROCHKO
Technology is a wonderful thing.
I love new gadgets. I love that my generation saw the tide of change.
From college on, we were the test subjects in the change of communication, the change of getting information, the change of media. It’s amazing to me that we existed in the simple world before this and were able to adapt and conform to the new world.
Personally, I find vast enjoyment in being able to send a text immediately, look up the name of an actor I recognize in a movie I’m watching but cannot place, or have my phone assist me in finding a song that I cannot name just by simply singing a few off-key notes.
There is also the fear of access people have to me, or more importantly, the ability I have to make a fool of myself in front of everyone out there on the World Wide Web.
Initially I took a stand against Facebook when it first exploded. I found it eerily invasive. It seemed to me in the beginning, when the majority of people’s pages were open, that everyone was indiscriminately sharing everything with everyone in the world - where they lived, where they worked, where their kids go to school, when they would be on vacation.
It just seemed so unsafe.
Fortunately, since I have joined, most pages seem locked to only friends and controlling one’s own personal information is easy. I have grown rather comfortable posting and enjoy in using all that Facebook has to offer.
Alas, my fears rang true. Technology came back to bite me.
Granted it was a small faux pas, but much to my chagrin, I inadvertently sent a personal Facebook message wishing a Happy Valentine’s Day to someone I dated years and years ago, a message that was supposed to be a text (my technologically favorite way to communicate with the one that I love) to my husband’s phone.
Fortunately I did not send anything else too personal, no “I love you,” or something even more risqué, but I’m sure it caught him off guard.
It made me wonder how easy it would be to cause an embarrassment on a larger scale.
While the world may be easier to communicate with, you need to make sure you’re aware of exactly where your communications are going.
#30
Technology is a wonderful thing.
I love new gadgets. I love that my generation saw the tide of change.
From college on, we were the test subjects in the change of communication, the change of getting information, the change of media. It’s amazing to me that we existed in the simple world before this and were able to adapt and conform to the new world.
Personally, I find vast enjoyment in being able to send a text immediately, look up the name of an actor I recognize in a movie I’m watching but cannot place, or have my phone assist me in finding a song that I cannot name just by simply singing a few off-key notes.
There is also the fear of access people have to me, or more importantly, the ability I have to make a fool of myself in front of everyone out there on the World Wide Web.
Initially I took a stand against Facebook when it first exploded. I found it eerily invasive. It seemed to me in the beginning, when the majority of people’s pages were open, that everyone was indiscriminately sharing everything with everyone in the world - where they lived, where they worked, where their kids go to school, when they would be on vacation.
It just seemed so unsafe.
Fortunately, since I have joined, most pages seem locked to only friends and controlling one’s own personal information is easy. I have grown rather comfortable posting and enjoy in using all that Facebook has to offer.
Alas, my fears rang true. Technology came back to bite me.
Granted it was a small faux pas, but much to my chagrin, I inadvertently sent a personal Facebook message wishing a Happy Valentine’s Day to someone I dated years and years ago, a message that was supposed to be a text (my technologically favorite way to communicate with the one that I love) to my husband’s phone.
Fortunately I did not send anything else too personal, no “I love you,” or something even more risqué, but I’m sure it caught him off guard.
It made me wonder how easy it would be to cause an embarrassment on a larger scale.
While the world may be easier to communicate with, you need to make sure you’re aware of exactly where your communications are going.
#30
Lennon/No. 7: Parents Just Don't Understand
HOSED: New parents just don't understand.
By BRIAN LENNON
“Take it from me, parents just don’t understand.”
- Will Smith, 1988
Far be it for me to take Will Smith as sole parental role model, especially the 20-year-old version of Smith (a.k.a. The Fresh Prince) who sang the above line in his 1988 hit, but I really think he may have been on to something.
Since having children and becoming immersed in their life, as well as the life of other children, I’ve grown to notice a huge gap between the behavior, as well as the intelligence of different children, and most times I can trace it right back to the child’s parents.
In my study of education and the practice of teaching I’ve learned that the role of the parent(s) is by far the biggest indicator of a child’s eventual success or subsequent failure. Yes, mom and dad, I’m talking about you.
Children who receive a parent’s attention, is read to, spoken to, and played with, are much more likely to be successful than those children who are largely ignored, not read to, have little verbal interaction and are left to fend for themselves. There is research to prove this.
My wife is a labor and delivery nurse, so every day at work she meets new parents. For many, it’s their first day on the job.
As you would imagine, she meets very successful parents, some of who are lawyers, doctors, teachers, etc. She also meets a number of parents who are poor and uneducated. Obviously, babies that are born in to families with a higher socioeconomic status (SES), that is their parents level of income, occupation and highest degree of education attained, have a jump-start on babies born in to families from lower a lower SES.
What my wife contends, and I agree with, is that both sets of parents (or families) would be greatly helped with a simple health and human development class to introduce them to the proven methods of successful parents as listed above.
Remember what Big Willie said – parents just don’t understand. If you’re a parent, you’re likely nodding your head. You recognize the prescient knowledge in young Mr. Smith’s words. You don’t understand, or know the right thing to do. What do we do for a child that is teething? How do we get rid of a stomachache? How do we get them to lie down for an afternoon nap?
Of course if and when they grow up to be teenagers we will tell them and make it clear in no uncertain terms that we do know everything and always have the right answer. That is a certain level of parenting and one that I personally haven’t reached yet. (I’ll let you know if I ever do reach that threshold, however it seems unlikely since my wife and I couldn’t even come to an agreement about whether we’d let our 14-year-old daughter attend the prom with her senior date during a recent hypothetical conversation. Fortunately for us, said daughter is just eight and still in the second grade.)
Wouldn’t you, or any new parent, be lucky and fortunate to learn some basic guidelines for the successful care and nurturing of a child? I whole-heartedly believe so. That is why the government should look in to creating such a system.
Just recently in Northeastern Pennsylvania, a woman along with her boyfriend, were found guilty for killing the woman’s three-year-old daughter. I’m not contending that a class, or a series of classes, could have saved this child’s life, just as courses in gun safety doesn’t prevent all shooting accidents or killings, but if this woman had been given a chance to learn, to meet professionals who could have helped her in a time of need, or even been given the opportunity to meet other new mothers and fathers, cultivating a support system around her, maybe this child is still alive.
If we don’t make classes required for new parents I believe they should be mandatory for new families that accept public assistance. The feeding, clothing, and medical expenses of poor families is already enough of a burden for the taxpayer. We shouldn’t then ignore the fact these parents are in dire need of more education.
Any expense for these classes will manifest itself in a huge savings over the long term. Properly nourished children will have less long-term medical problems, decreasing costs for medical expenses. Children will get the benefit and use of the public education system, creating fewer dropouts and more qualified workers to contribute to society. Less cost and less of a burden for our prison and judicial systems will result too.
Now there’s just one thing for us to do, and quoting the famous Mr. Smith yet again, “Get jiggy with it.”
#30
“Take it from me, parents just don’t understand.”
- Will Smith, 1988
Far be it for me to take Will Smith as sole parental role model, especially the 20-year-old version of Smith (a.k.a. The Fresh Prince) who sang the above line in his 1988 hit, but I really think he may have been on to something.
Since having children and becoming immersed in their life, as well as the life of other children, I’ve grown to notice a huge gap between the behavior, as well as the intelligence of different children, and most times I can trace it right back to the child’s parents.
In my study of education and the practice of teaching I’ve learned that the role of the parent(s) is by far the biggest indicator of a child’s eventual success or subsequent failure. Yes, mom and dad, I’m talking about you.
Children who receive a parent’s attention, is read to, spoken to, and played with, are much more likely to be successful than those children who are largely ignored, not read to, have little verbal interaction and are left to fend for themselves. There is research to prove this.
My wife is a labor and delivery nurse, so every day at work she meets new parents. For many, it’s their first day on the job.
As you would imagine, she meets very successful parents, some of who are lawyers, doctors, teachers, etc. She also meets a number of parents who are poor and uneducated. Obviously, babies that are born in to families with a higher socioeconomic status (SES), that is their parents level of income, occupation and highest degree of education attained, have a jump-start on babies born in to families from lower a lower SES.
What my wife contends, and I agree with, is that both sets of parents (or families) would be greatly helped with a simple health and human development class to introduce them to the proven methods of successful parents as listed above.
Remember what Big Willie said – parents just don’t understand. If you’re a parent, you’re likely nodding your head. You recognize the prescient knowledge in young Mr. Smith’s words. You don’t understand, or know the right thing to do. What do we do for a child that is teething? How do we get rid of a stomachache? How do we get them to lie down for an afternoon nap?
Of course if and when they grow up to be teenagers we will tell them and make it clear in no uncertain terms that we do know everything and always have the right answer. That is a certain level of parenting and one that I personally haven’t reached yet. (I’ll let you know if I ever do reach that threshold, however it seems unlikely since my wife and I couldn’t even come to an agreement about whether we’d let our 14-year-old daughter attend the prom with her senior date during a recent hypothetical conversation. Fortunately for us, said daughter is just eight and still in the second grade.)
Wouldn’t you, or any new parent, be lucky and fortunate to learn some basic guidelines for the successful care and nurturing of a child? I whole-heartedly believe so. That is why the government should look in to creating such a system.
Just recently in Northeastern Pennsylvania, a woman along with her boyfriend, were found guilty for killing the woman’s three-year-old daughter. I’m not contending that a class, or a series of classes, could have saved this child’s life, just as courses in gun safety doesn’t prevent all shooting accidents or killings, but if this woman had been given a chance to learn, to meet professionals who could have helped her in a time of need, or even been given the opportunity to meet other new mothers and fathers, cultivating a support system around her, maybe this child is still alive.
If we don’t make classes required for new parents I believe they should be mandatory for new families that accept public assistance. The feeding, clothing, and medical expenses of poor families is already enough of a burden for the taxpayer. We shouldn’t then ignore the fact these parents are in dire need of more education.
Any expense for these classes will manifest itself in a huge savings over the long term. Properly nourished children will have less long-term medical problems, decreasing costs for medical expenses. Children will get the benefit and use of the public education system, creating fewer dropouts and more qualified workers to contribute to society. Less cost and less of a burden for our prison and judicial systems will result too.
Now there’s just one thing for us to do, and quoting the famous Mr. Smith yet again, “Get jiggy with it.”
#30
Lennon/No. 6: Super Bowl Hangover
HANGOVER: Big Ben's offseason headaches.
By BRIAN LENNON
God, I’m glad the Packers won.
It’s not that I’m a Packers fan, as much as I can’t stand the Pittsburgh Steelers. And it’s not that I can’t stand the Steelers, as much as I can’t stand their fans.
Let me explain.
During the two weeks leading up to Super Bowl XLV I failed to meet one Steelers fan that could picture a scenario where the Steelers actually lost the Super Bowl. This is either being the extreme end of cocky or partly delusional.
If you listen to enough sports talk radio or watch enough ESPN, as Steelers fans obviously do, you realize the NFL is composed of three teams – the New England Patriots, the New York Jets, and the Steelers.
Lo’ and behold, what Steelers Nation came to find out is that there’s actually a whole other conference with some pretty good football teams. These teams include the Packers, the Chicago Bears, the Atlanta Falcons, and the Philadelphia Eagles. Since I’m a Giants fan, I’ll even throw in the G-Men and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, which each had a better record than the Seattle Seahawks, which made the playoffs with a losing record but still managed to beat the defending Super Bowl champions, the New Orleans Saints.
Personally, I don’t care for dismissive people, and as a whole, Steelers fans were very dismissive of any team not named Patriots or Jets, and anything coming out of the NFC.
“Big Ben is playing for redemption,” was another common theme among Steelers faithful and the media, who kept making the point the week leading up to the big game as well as during the never-ending pre-game show.
Now granted, the Super Bowl is the biggest game of the year, but winning it does not make up for an egregious lack of character, responsibility, and a chauvinistic attitude toward women.
Yes, Benjamin Roethlisburger, that’s you.
Some Steelers fans expressed outrage toward the quarterback following another off-season of questionable behavior, which included an alleged sexual assault of a college co-ed in Georgia. Particularly it was women who expressed their disgust with Big Ben.
It was many of these same Steelers fans that mocked and ridiculed Philadelphia Eagles fans just a season before for signing disgraced quarterback Michael Vick, who had been convicted and banned from football for running a dog-fighting ring.
A situation that should have been at least uncomfortable for some was brushed off as if nothing had happened. It’s as if Steelers fans have an “It’s-just-Ben-being-Ben” attitude toward the quarterback. That is, as long as they keep winning.
Well, Big Ben and the Steelers didn’t win the big one. So much for redemption, huh?
And now, the franchise is staring directly in the face of something Big Ben likely knows very well – a hangover.
The Super Bowl hangover, as it is known, regularly proves that the loser of the previous Super Bowl fails to even make the playoffs the following season. While the last two losers, the Colts and Cardinals, each made the playoffs the following season, eight of the previous 10 losers has each felt its effects.
The hardest part of a hangover is waking up and answering to your self while staring in the mirror the next morning.
This predicament is just what Steelers fans are facing after living in denial much of this season. It’s a feeling I’m glad they get to face.
Go, Pack, go.
#30
God, I’m glad the Packers won.
It’s not that I’m a Packers fan, as much as I can’t stand the Pittsburgh Steelers. And it’s not that I can’t stand the Steelers, as much as I can’t stand their fans.
Let me explain.
During the two weeks leading up to Super Bowl XLV I failed to meet one Steelers fan that could picture a scenario where the Steelers actually lost the Super Bowl. This is either being the extreme end of cocky or partly delusional.
If you listen to enough sports talk radio or watch enough ESPN, as Steelers fans obviously do, you realize the NFL is composed of three teams – the New England Patriots, the New York Jets, and the Steelers.
Lo’ and behold, what Steelers Nation came to find out is that there’s actually a whole other conference with some pretty good football teams. These teams include the Packers, the Chicago Bears, the Atlanta Falcons, and the Philadelphia Eagles. Since I’m a Giants fan, I’ll even throw in the G-Men and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, which each had a better record than the Seattle Seahawks, which made the playoffs with a losing record but still managed to beat the defending Super Bowl champions, the New Orleans Saints.
Personally, I don’t care for dismissive people, and as a whole, Steelers fans were very dismissive of any team not named Patriots or Jets, and anything coming out of the NFC.
“Big Ben is playing for redemption,” was another common theme among Steelers faithful and the media, who kept making the point the week leading up to the big game as well as during the never-ending pre-game show.
Now granted, the Super Bowl is the biggest game of the year, but winning it does not make up for an egregious lack of character, responsibility, and a chauvinistic attitude toward women.
Yes, Benjamin Roethlisburger, that’s you.
Some Steelers fans expressed outrage toward the quarterback following another off-season of questionable behavior, which included an alleged sexual assault of a college co-ed in Georgia. Particularly it was women who expressed their disgust with Big Ben.
It was many of these same Steelers fans that mocked and ridiculed Philadelphia Eagles fans just a season before for signing disgraced quarterback Michael Vick, who had been convicted and banned from football for running a dog-fighting ring.
A situation that should have been at least uncomfortable for some was brushed off as if nothing had happened. It’s as if Steelers fans have an “It’s-just-Ben-being-Ben” attitude toward the quarterback. That is, as long as they keep winning.
Well, Big Ben and the Steelers didn’t win the big one. So much for redemption, huh?
And now, the franchise is staring directly in the face of something Big Ben likely knows very well – a hangover.
The Super Bowl hangover, as it is known, regularly proves that the loser of the previous Super Bowl fails to even make the playoffs the following season. While the last two losers, the Colts and Cardinals, each made the playoffs the following season, eight of the previous 10 losers has each felt its effects.
The hardest part of a hangover is waking up and answering to your self while staring in the mirror the next morning.
This predicament is just what Steelers fans are facing after living in denial much of this season. It’s a feeling I’m glad they get to face.
Go, Pack, go.
#30
Holly/No. 3: Voices Carry
HEAR THIS: Record your voice for posterity.
By HOLLY SEBASTIANELLI-PETROCHKO
This summer I had the pleasure of running into an old childhood friend at a picnic.
The last face-to-face contact I had with him was at least seventeen years ago. He looked almost exactly the same, but then he spoke. I was quite sure aliens had invaded his body.
This was not the voice I remembered at all. In my head his voice was huskier and deeper, and this voice was definitely in a higher pitch. It was almost too distracting to have a conversation.
In the past couple of months I ran into an old co-worker that I hadn’t seen in about eight years. Her voice was altered too. Her voice had easily dropped an octave, and it didn’t have the melodic tone it once held.
Logically I know as people age they change. I also know that things that we remember can be skewed by our feelings, but I couldn’t imagine my mind completely changing a voice.
I compared it to hearing other voices from my past on a locally produced radio show that sound fairly close to how I remember them even when I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them in quite a number of years.
So I wondered how much do voices change through the years. How much did my own voice change? And why do some voices change and others don’t? Is it a conscious effort for some? Is it an effect of moving to a different region?
I have a cousin who moved to Texas in her mid-twenties for three years and in a few months her voice did have that southern drawl to it. I’ve wondered for a long time if she made the effort in order to fit in, but she has been living in a different geographic region for a couple of years now and her voice still carries that drawl.
Obviously, people who you have trudged through life with together won’t be able to perceptibly notice the change in your voice through your adult years. Aside from young men having that abrupt pitch change in their teenage years, or people who have throat surgery, voices do not have a noticeable day-to-day change. But as people age obviously voices do change. For example, when you talk to a stranger on the phone, it is fairly easy to approximate the adult age group they are in by the sound of their voice.
I have a project to offer: Record yourself reading the same passage or singing the same song every two or three years. At the end of your life take a listen. Revel in how your voice changed through the years. See if you can remember the person you were, or the one you were trying to be.
#30
This summer I had the pleasure of running into an old childhood friend at a picnic.
The last face-to-face contact I had with him was at least seventeen years ago. He looked almost exactly the same, but then he spoke. I was quite sure aliens had invaded his body.
This was not the voice I remembered at all. In my head his voice was huskier and deeper, and this voice was definitely in a higher pitch. It was almost too distracting to have a conversation.
In the past couple of months I ran into an old co-worker that I hadn’t seen in about eight years. Her voice was altered too. Her voice had easily dropped an octave, and it didn’t have the melodic tone it once held.
Logically I know as people age they change. I also know that things that we remember can be skewed by our feelings, but I couldn’t imagine my mind completely changing a voice.
I compared it to hearing other voices from my past on a locally produced radio show that sound fairly close to how I remember them even when I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them in quite a number of years.
So I wondered how much do voices change through the years. How much did my own voice change? And why do some voices change and others don’t? Is it a conscious effort for some? Is it an effect of moving to a different region?
I have a cousin who moved to Texas in her mid-twenties for three years and in a few months her voice did have that southern drawl to it. I’ve wondered for a long time if she made the effort in order to fit in, but she has been living in a different geographic region for a couple of years now and her voice still carries that drawl.
Obviously, people who you have trudged through life with together won’t be able to perceptibly notice the change in your voice through your adult years. Aside from young men having that abrupt pitch change in their teenage years, or people who have throat surgery, voices do not have a noticeable day-to-day change. But as people age obviously voices do change. For example, when you talk to a stranger on the phone, it is fairly easy to approximate the adult age group they are in by the sound of their voice.
I have a project to offer: Record yourself reading the same passage or singing the same song every two or three years. At the end of your life take a listen. Revel in how your voice changed through the years. See if you can remember the person you were, or the one you were trying to be.
#30
Lennon/No. 5: Keeping it in Perspective
PERSPECTIVE: One of the hardest skills in life.
By BRIAN LENNON
Perspective, or the ability to put things in to perspective, has been one of the most difficult things for me to learn in my life.
I don’t know if perspective is a specific skill set that you acquire in life, or if some people are just born with it while others toil away their lives looking to find or gain some sort of perspective.
If you are one of the lucky ones with a healthy perspective and want to see what someone with little to no perspective looks like, watch a head coach on the sidelines of a high school basketball game.
Maybe perspective is a nature versus nurture thing.
My mother, evidenced by her 11 moves (and that’s just in between states), fails miserably at keeping things in perspective, in my opinion. Maybe some of my own failings stems from watching her cry inconsolably for hours over a weekly work schedule.
I know there have been many instances in my own life where I’ve failed quite miserably at this perspective thing.
Failed or misidentified romances are just one example. There were instances at work, and in career decisions, that seemed at once insurmountable, but maybe given some time or a fresh perspective, would have worked out better.
One of my first healthy lessons in perspective came from my twelfth‐grade English teacher, Mr. Chapla.
The week before graduation I was sent to the principal’s office by an overzealous gym teacher for a harmless incident that occurred in class. Mr. Chapla, walking through the office, noticed me in my gym clothes and asked if everything was okay. I explained the situation, which even made him chuckle at the nonsense. Finally, before walking out the door he stopped and said, “This too shall pass.”
Four simple words, but one profound sentiment.
Unfortunately, I’ve not always remembered Mr. Chapla’s wise words in times when I could have used them.
One time in my life when I was able to use proper perspective was when I met my wife.
Unlike in previous relationships I wasn’t expecting anything. One mantra I gained from reading Tony Robbins is, the less you expect, the less you are disappointed. I guess having been disappointed numerous times, I was finally learning.
I took things “one day at a time.” A tired cliché, especially for sports fans, but it’s a cliché for a reason.
Our relationship blossomed, using that “one day at a time” perspective, and we’ve been together for nearly nine years. (Of course, nothing is always perfect, as you’ll see if you keep reading.)
Having failed at keeping things in perspective but realizing the importance perspective plays in one’s life, I’ve tried from early on to preach perspective to my children.
This includes whose important, what to get upset about, what to worry about, what to concentrate on, and what really matters in certain situations.
I’d like to think my two oldest children (my youngest isn’t yet two) have a healthy perspective. They are neither too emotional or blasé about life. If I’ve been able to teach them how to keep the corners of their world in perspective, then I think I’ve done a good job of parenting.
That, at least, is my perspective on it.
Ooops‐er Bowl:
Lying in bed on Saturday night my wife asked me whom I would take if I had just one extra ticket to the Super Bowl. She had been watching an episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond,” and Deborah had proposed to Ray with the same question.
I started kicking it around in my head. Three people immediately came to mind – my wife, my son or my best friend, Gary.
Finally, to help me narrow down to an answer I asked my wife, “What teams are playing?”
“Wrong answer,” she said, without even thinking.
I realize now that she wasn’t really asking me a question, but rather giving me a test. Theoretically, she was testing “my love.” She wanted to know if I would bring her to the Super Bowl with the extra ticket. I also now realize the only right answer would have been, “You honey, no question!”
My honest answer, which sometimes gets me in to more hot water than if I’d just simply lied, is that if the Giants were playing I’d take my son. If the Patriots were playing I’d take Gary. Any other Super Bowl, including Pittsburgh and Green Bay, I’d take my wife.
If only she’d said, “This year’s Super Bowl,” I could have totally avoided the doghouse.
#30
Perspective, or the ability to put things in to perspective, has been one of the most difficult things for me to learn in my life.
I don’t know if perspective is a specific skill set that you acquire in life, or if some people are just born with it while others toil away their lives looking to find or gain some sort of perspective.
If you are one of the lucky ones with a healthy perspective and want to see what someone with little to no perspective looks like, watch a head coach on the sidelines of a high school basketball game.
Maybe perspective is a nature versus nurture thing.
My mother, evidenced by her 11 moves (and that’s just in between states), fails miserably at keeping things in perspective, in my opinion. Maybe some of my own failings stems from watching her cry inconsolably for hours over a weekly work schedule.
I know there have been many instances in my own life where I’ve failed quite miserably at this perspective thing.
Failed or misidentified romances are just one example. There were instances at work, and in career decisions, that seemed at once insurmountable, but maybe given some time or a fresh perspective, would have worked out better.
One of my first healthy lessons in perspective came from my twelfth‐grade English teacher, Mr. Chapla.
The week before graduation I was sent to the principal’s office by an overzealous gym teacher for a harmless incident that occurred in class. Mr. Chapla, walking through the office, noticed me in my gym clothes and asked if everything was okay. I explained the situation, which even made him chuckle at the nonsense. Finally, before walking out the door he stopped and said, “This too shall pass.”
Four simple words, but one profound sentiment.
Unfortunately, I’ve not always remembered Mr. Chapla’s wise words in times when I could have used them.
One time in my life when I was able to use proper perspective was when I met my wife.
Unlike in previous relationships I wasn’t expecting anything. One mantra I gained from reading Tony Robbins is, the less you expect, the less you are disappointed. I guess having been disappointed numerous times, I was finally learning.
I took things “one day at a time.” A tired cliché, especially for sports fans, but it’s a cliché for a reason.
Our relationship blossomed, using that “one day at a time” perspective, and we’ve been together for nearly nine years. (Of course, nothing is always perfect, as you’ll see if you keep reading.)
Having failed at keeping things in perspective but realizing the importance perspective plays in one’s life, I’ve tried from early on to preach perspective to my children.
This includes whose important, what to get upset about, what to worry about, what to concentrate on, and what really matters in certain situations.
I’d like to think my two oldest children (my youngest isn’t yet two) have a healthy perspective. They are neither too emotional or blasé about life. If I’ve been able to teach them how to keep the corners of their world in perspective, then I think I’ve done a good job of parenting.
That, at least, is my perspective on it.
Ooops‐er Bowl:
Lying in bed on Saturday night my wife asked me whom I would take if I had just one extra ticket to the Super Bowl. She had been watching an episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond,” and Deborah had proposed to Ray with the same question.
I started kicking it around in my head. Three people immediately came to mind – my wife, my son or my best friend, Gary.
Finally, to help me narrow down to an answer I asked my wife, “What teams are playing?”
“Wrong answer,” she said, without even thinking.
I realize now that she wasn’t really asking me a question, but rather giving me a test. Theoretically, she was testing “my love.” She wanted to know if I would bring her to the Super Bowl with the extra ticket. I also now realize the only right answer would have been, “You honey, no question!”
My honest answer, which sometimes gets me in to more hot water than if I’d just simply lied, is that if the Giants were playing I’d take my son. If the Patriots were playing I’d take Gary. Any other Super Bowl, including Pittsburgh and Green Bay, I’d take my wife.
If only she’d said, “This year’s Super Bowl,” I could have totally avoided the doghouse.
#30
Lennon/No. 4: Told You So
DANCE: The author enjoys the ITYS dance.
By BRIAN LENNON
One of me and my wife’s favorite episodes of “Will & Grace” is when Grace Adler does her I Told You So dance.
Granted, it’s undoubtedly an immature thing to do, even bordering on the childish. However, it makes me laugh every time and I can certainly sympathize with Grace.
Honestly, which of us hasn’t had that I Told You So moment? Which of us hasn’t at least once in our life had some impulse to do a little dance, as quick and miniscule as the steps and hip shaking might be?
Recently, I find myself doing the I Told You So dance more often.
This past weekend I learned a former acquaintance was recently married. Her husband, however, was not the same man she was engaged to just a few years ago, Rich.
At the time of their newly announced engagement, it seemed everyone except her and Rich knew they were never in fact going to walk down the aisle. Maybe it’s just me, but I have a hard time believing people who enjoy spending their weekends dancing in clubs with glow sticks are serious about marriage.
I hope this friend has found true love and eternal happiness with her new man, but please excuse me while I do the I Told You So dance.
Recently I was told that two family members would be moving in together as part of a new living arrangement.
I knew instantly that the arrangement was destined to explode. In less than a week all indications are the arrangement is over.
Now, I never actually say anything to the parties involved, but I always think to myself, time for the I Told You So dance.
I’ve begun to call myself an intuitive. Okay, not really. Okay, not in public, just in front of my kids. They’re not quite certain how to take me, really.
Am I an intuitive? Does wanting to perform the I Told You So dance make me a bad person? Or are these thoughts just typical, normal behavior?
#30
One of me and my wife’s favorite episodes of “Will & Grace” is when Grace Adler does her I Told You So dance.
Granted, it’s undoubtedly an immature thing to do, even bordering on the childish. However, it makes me laugh every time and I can certainly sympathize with Grace.
Honestly, which of us hasn’t had that I Told You So moment? Which of us hasn’t at least once in our life had some impulse to do a little dance, as quick and miniscule as the steps and hip shaking might be?
Recently, I find myself doing the I Told You So dance more often.
This past weekend I learned a former acquaintance was recently married. Her husband, however, was not the same man she was engaged to just a few years ago, Rich.
At the time of their newly announced engagement, it seemed everyone except her and Rich knew they were never in fact going to walk down the aisle. Maybe it’s just me, but I have a hard time believing people who enjoy spending their weekends dancing in clubs with glow sticks are serious about marriage.
I hope this friend has found true love and eternal happiness with her new man, but please excuse me while I do the I Told You So dance.
Recently I was told that two family members would be moving in together as part of a new living arrangement.
I knew instantly that the arrangement was destined to explode. In less than a week all indications are the arrangement is over.
Now, I never actually say anything to the parties involved, but I always think to myself, time for the I Told You So dance.
I’ve begun to call myself an intuitive. Okay, not really. Okay, not in public, just in front of my kids. They’re not quite certain how to take me, really.
Am I an intuitive? Does wanting to perform the I Told You So dance make me a bad person? Or are these thoughts just typical, normal behavior?
#30
Holly/No. 2: Fresh ideas for food stamps
FRESH: Eating healthy could save money.
By HOLLY SEBASTIANELLI-PETROCHKO
This new year I have made a promise to myself to be part of a minority -- a healthy minority.
I was semi-shocked to learn that in America, 68 percent of the population, according to the Center for Disease Control, is overweight or obese. I am part of this majority.
One of the things I propose to do for my family is add more fresh fruit and vegetables to our diet. For me it’s pretty simple, I have the means to increase my grocery budget a bit and buy what I need. However, I am aware that for many other Americans in this majority this is not as simple a choice for them.
The families who rely on food stamps are left buying the most economical choices instead of the healthier option. And while I am against government intervention into the personal lives of our citizens, I am for optional incentive programs that could assist those interested in obtaining a healthier lifestyle.
One thing I propose for each food stamp recipient is to receive an additional 10 percent of aid to be used for fresh produce only. Of course, this would cause an immediate increase in government spending, but the potential to reduce costs over a generation exists.
Parents who eat healthier and teach their children to eat healthier would produce a healthier nation.
According to the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid, in 2009 the government spent $876.2 billion on healthcare for Medicare and Medicaid recipients. Giving some extra money now for a healthy diet, might have the potential to greatly reduce future health care costs considerably.
Eat healthy America.
#30
This new year I have made a promise to myself to be part of a minority -- a healthy minority.
I was semi-shocked to learn that in America, 68 percent of the population, according to the Center for Disease Control, is overweight or obese. I am part of this majority.
One of the things I propose to do for my family is add more fresh fruit and vegetables to our diet. For me it’s pretty simple, I have the means to increase my grocery budget a bit and buy what I need. However, I am aware that for many other Americans in this majority this is not as simple a choice for them.
The families who rely on food stamps are left buying the most economical choices instead of the healthier option. And while I am against government intervention into the personal lives of our citizens, I am for optional incentive programs that could assist those interested in obtaining a healthier lifestyle.
One thing I propose for each food stamp recipient is to receive an additional 10 percent of aid to be used for fresh produce only. Of course, this would cause an immediate increase in government spending, but the potential to reduce costs over a generation exists.
Parents who eat healthier and teach their children to eat healthier would produce a healthier nation.
According to the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid, in 2009 the government spent $876.2 billion on healthcare for Medicare and Medicaid recipients. Giving some extra money now for a healthy diet, might have the potential to greatly reduce future health care costs considerably.
Eat healthy America.
#30
Lennon/No. 3: About Last Night
MEMORIES: Showers were never the same.
By BRIAN LENNON
This idea is about serendipity.
Serendipity, as defined by Merriam-Webster, is “the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.” It was also voted as one of the Top 10 toughest words to translate in the English language.
But more to the point, this idea deals with “About Last Night,” the 1986 film starring Rob Lowe, Demi Moore, Jim Belushi and someone else.
While only 10-years-old when I ventured in to the movie theatre with my older sister and her friend to see this film, it has had an everlasting effect on me, as you’ll see.
Not only do I still have a crush on the ageless (Thank you, Botox) Demi, but there was also one particular shower scene that has been the highlight of hormonal fantasies not only since that night long, long ago, but continuing until this day of relative marital bliss.
Fast-forward to the late 1990s, when I’m browsing bookshelves at a Crown Bookstore in Virginia. At the time, after having been introduced to the plain, straightforward, realistic movies of Edward Burns, including “The Brothers McMullen” and “She’s The One,” I was looking for a script in which to format some perspective works I’d had in my head.
One in particular, “Sexual Diversity in Chicago,” written by David Mamet, caught my attention, if for nothing other than its outright humor. It also happened to remind me of a film I’d seen a few years earlier.
I eventually learned that “About Last Night” was based on the play, “Sexual Diversity in Chicago.”
Fast-forward to late last year. My wife and I began watching “Boardwalk Empire” on HBO. It revolves around Atlantic City, N.J. at the beginning of the Prohibition Era. Some of the story takes place in Chicago, where we’re introduced to a young, up-and-coming gangster named Alphonse Capone.
For Christmas, my wife gave me two books. One is “Mr. Capone,” written by someone. The other is “The Devil in the White City,” written by Erik Larson, which takes place in Chicago, this a few years earlier, leading up to and during the Columbian Exposition, or World’s Fair, of 1893.
Fast-forward to last Wednesday. The first meeting of my Theatre 102 class, Acting. The professor details the assignments in the syllabus, which includes a one-minute monologue and a short two-person scene we’ll be required to perform.
Immediately I think about that book I bought more than 10 years earlier, and pulling one or two scenes for my class assignments. While I never turned in to a great scriptwriter (yet), it seems like I’ll finally get my money’s worth out of that $14.95 book.
And finally, about last night, while flipping through the DirecTV, I spotted a film titled, “The Groomsmen.” I turned it on, intrigued by the title, only to find the movie was written, directed and starred one Edward Burns.
If that isn’t serendipitous, I don’t know what is.
#30
This idea is about serendipity.
Serendipity, as defined by Merriam-Webster, is “the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.” It was also voted as one of the Top 10 toughest words to translate in the English language.
But more to the point, this idea deals with “About Last Night,” the 1986 film starring Rob Lowe, Demi Moore, Jim Belushi and someone else.
While only 10-years-old when I ventured in to the movie theatre with my older sister and her friend to see this film, it has had an everlasting effect on me, as you’ll see.
Not only do I still have a crush on the ageless (Thank you, Botox) Demi, but there was also one particular shower scene that has been the highlight of hormonal fantasies not only since that night long, long ago, but continuing until this day of relative marital bliss.
Fast-forward to the late 1990s, when I’m browsing bookshelves at a Crown Bookstore in Virginia. At the time, after having been introduced to the plain, straightforward, realistic movies of Edward Burns, including “The Brothers McMullen” and “She’s The One,” I was looking for a script in which to format some perspective works I’d had in my head.
One in particular, “Sexual Diversity in Chicago,” written by David Mamet, caught my attention, if for nothing other than its outright humor. It also happened to remind me of a film I’d seen a few years earlier.
I eventually learned that “About Last Night” was based on the play, “Sexual Diversity in Chicago.”
Fast-forward to late last year. My wife and I began watching “Boardwalk Empire” on HBO. It revolves around Atlantic City, N.J. at the beginning of the Prohibition Era. Some of the story takes place in Chicago, where we’re introduced to a young, up-and-coming gangster named Alphonse Capone.
For Christmas, my wife gave me two books. One is “Mr. Capone,” written by someone. The other is “The Devil in the White City,” written by Erik Larson, which takes place in Chicago, this a few years earlier, leading up to and during the Columbian Exposition, or World’s Fair, of 1893.
Fast-forward to last Wednesday. The first meeting of my Theatre 102 class, Acting. The professor details the assignments in the syllabus, which includes a one-minute monologue and a short two-person scene we’ll be required to perform.
Immediately I think about that book I bought more than 10 years earlier, and pulling one or two scenes for my class assignments. While I never turned in to a great scriptwriter (yet), it seems like I’ll finally get my money’s worth out of that $14.95 book.
And finally, about last night, while flipping through the DirecTV, I spotted a film titled, “The Groomsmen.” I turned it on, intrigued by the title, only to find the movie was written, directed and starred one Edward Burns.
If that isn’t serendipitous, I don’t know what is.
#30
Holly/No. 1 Loss of Home Hits Hard
By HOLLY SEBASTIANELLI-PETROCHKO
(Jan. 21, 2011) – The neighborhood of my childhood was a thing of magic. I am not exaggerating.
There were endless days of playing wiffle ball in the streets, swimming in someone’s pool, or shooting hoops in someone’s driveway. There were gigantic snowball fights, late-summer rotten vegetable fights, foot races, bike races, volleyball, and weeklong games of team hide-and-seek that we called “Scatter.”
There were first kisses and broken hearts too, but overall it was absolutely picture-perfect, and there are days in my adulthood when I long to go back.
Sadly this will never be the case.
Although I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to live near my childhood neighborhood, something that has allowed me to be near the people who knew me even before I had the ability to know myself, I have also sadly watched my dear childhood neighborhood become vacant. Not only have my playmates moved out of the neighborhood and on with their lives, but also their parents have begun, slowly aging and passing on.
Through life you come to expect the loss of dear family members and friends and members of their families, which is distressing and heartbreaking. There is a different kind of sadness though, in no longer seeing the people you used to merely wave to, as you’d run past their house, trying to get home in time for supper.
This kind of loss is a loss of place, and that loss has begun to hit me hardest.
#30
(Jan. 21, 2011) – The neighborhood of my childhood was a thing of magic. I am not exaggerating.
There were endless days of playing wiffle ball in the streets, swimming in someone’s pool, or shooting hoops in someone’s driveway. There were gigantic snowball fights, late-summer rotten vegetable fights, foot races, bike races, volleyball, and weeklong games of team hide-and-seek that we called “Scatter.”
There were first kisses and broken hearts too, but overall it was absolutely picture-perfect, and there are days in my adulthood when I long to go back.
Sadly this will never be the case.
Although I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to live near my childhood neighborhood, something that has allowed me to be near the people who knew me even before I had the ability to know myself, I have also sadly watched my dear childhood neighborhood become vacant. Not only have my playmates moved out of the neighborhood and on with their lives, but also their parents have begun, slowly aging and passing on.
Through life you come to expect the loss of dear family members and friends and members of their families, which is distressing and heartbreaking. There is a different kind of sadness though, in no longer seeing the people you used to merely wave to, as you’d run past their house, trying to get home in time for supper.
This kind of loss is a loss of place, and that loss has begun to hit me hardest.
#30
Lennon/No. 2 New Year's Revolution
By BRIAN LENNON
(Jan. 18) – How’s that New Year’s resolution?
This year, I didn’t make a New Year’s resolution. In fact, for the last couple of years, I’ve purposely and deliberately not made any resolutions.
The reason for this is because for nearly thirty years, every resolution I ever made on January 1was kaput by January 31. Some of these well-meaning resolutions included: gym memberships, smoking cessation, attending church, etc.
Along the way I’ve become a realist, with the needle falling somewhere between an optimist and a fatalist.
The idea of a resolution has a somewhat fatalistic feel to it. The idea of not doing something, anything, especially if it is something you’re in the habit of, kind of sets one up for disaster. The resolution, “I’ll never smoke again,” will make that one cigarette you sneek on Jan. 6th a complete failure.
The same is true for the gym memberships. One missed day at the gym eventually snowballs into a week worth of workouts, and soon you’re back where you started, sitting on the couch watching episodes of “The Jerry Springer Show,” thinking to yourself, look at these overweight losers.
Then you start to beat yourself up not only for skipping the gym, but wasting time watching TV. It becomes a vicious cycle.
My revolution for New Year’s resolutions is to stop thinking about what you can stop or lose, but rather what you can do or change.
Holly Sebastianelli-Petrochko, who has agreed to contribute to 52 Ideas, has made the revolution to be more creative in 2011. One thing that will help her do this revolution is writing a weekly idea for this web site.
For the past few years I’d been looking to get involved in a community service organization. The matter of scheduling and finding an organization that fit my own set of skills and ideas on what I wanted to contribute, we’re talking more than blood here, were just a few of the hurdles.
In August, I eventually became a volunteer with Scranton Council for Literacy Advance (SCOLA).
There was convenient at-home training, and the staff at SCOLA was friendly, grateful, encouraging and couldn’t be more helpful. I eventually began tutoring a student twice a week for an hour and a half.
Tutoring is a revolution. I didn’t stop doing something to start tutoring. (Okay, maybe I’m not watching as much of “The Jerry Springer Show.”) But it is something I’m doing, and not just for myself.
My student depends on me to be there for our sessions, as does the SCOLA staff. While it’s easy for you to decide your not going to the gym today, it’s much harder to tell someone you don’t feel like meeting that day.
People are depending on you.
And while we likely already have a number of people depending on us daily: spouses, children, parents, siblings, co-workers, employees, etc., it’s that dependence that creates a strong bond, one that is much harder to break, forget about or just kick to the side of the curb.
That is the purpose of the revolution vs. resolution idea.
So what’s your New Year’s revolution? #30
(Jan. 18) – How’s that New Year’s resolution?
This year, I didn’t make a New Year’s resolution. In fact, for the last couple of years, I’ve purposely and deliberately not made any resolutions.
The reason for this is because for nearly thirty years, every resolution I ever made on January 1was kaput by January 31. Some of these well-meaning resolutions included: gym memberships, smoking cessation, attending church, etc.
Along the way I’ve become a realist, with the needle falling somewhere between an optimist and a fatalist.
The idea of a resolution has a somewhat fatalistic feel to it. The idea of not doing something, anything, especially if it is something you’re in the habit of, kind of sets one up for disaster. The resolution, “I’ll never smoke again,” will make that one cigarette you sneek on Jan. 6th a complete failure.
The same is true for the gym memberships. One missed day at the gym eventually snowballs into a week worth of workouts, and soon you’re back where you started, sitting on the couch watching episodes of “The Jerry Springer Show,” thinking to yourself, look at these overweight losers.
Then you start to beat yourself up not only for skipping the gym, but wasting time watching TV. It becomes a vicious cycle.
My revolution for New Year’s resolutions is to stop thinking about what you can stop or lose, but rather what you can do or change.
Holly Sebastianelli-Petrochko, who has agreed to contribute to 52 Ideas, has made the revolution to be more creative in 2011. One thing that will help her do this revolution is writing a weekly idea for this web site.
For the past few years I’d been looking to get involved in a community service organization. The matter of scheduling and finding an organization that fit my own set of skills and ideas on what I wanted to contribute, we’re talking more than blood here, were just a few of the hurdles.
In August, I eventually became a volunteer with Scranton Council for Literacy Advance (SCOLA).
There was convenient at-home training, and the staff at SCOLA was friendly, grateful, encouraging and couldn’t be more helpful. I eventually began tutoring a student twice a week for an hour and a half.
Tutoring is a revolution. I didn’t stop doing something to start tutoring. (Okay, maybe I’m not watching as much of “The Jerry Springer Show.”) But it is something I’m doing, and not just for myself.
My student depends on me to be there for our sessions, as does the SCOLA staff. While it’s easy for you to decide your not going to the gym today, it’s much harder to tell someone you don’t feel like meeting that day.
People are depending on you.
And while we likely already have a number of people depending on us daily: spouses, children, parents, siblings, co-workers, employees, etc., it’s that dependence that creates a strong bond, one that is much harder to break, forget about or just kick to the side of the curb.
That is the purpose of the revolution vs. resolution idea.
So what’s your New Year’s revolution? #30
Tart/No. 2 Ready, Aim, Fire
By DANIEL M. TART
I can’t even remember a time when I couldn't pee in a toilet.
I'm sure as the years take advantage of me, there will be a time when I don't remember how to function the porcelain throne on my own. But, as a 2-year-old is now reminding me, that trick of aiming and grunting is a pretty dang important one.
So I’ve decided to re-structure the way I go about urinating throughout the day.
Every time I have a successful trip to the bathroom there will be potty dancing and even chest bumping! However, no high fives, as I've probably forgotten to wash my hands in my extreme joy.
I will text all my friends, call my Dad to let him know, and throw a shout-out to my Grandma for always having faith in me.
In this great lifetime adjustment I have even gained a new respect for the button that holds together the flap of my boxers, you know, the one that’s always been a nuisance when it comes to a 5-alarm rush to the gents’ room.
Done are the days of using too much toilet paper and trying to text, instead of aim.
It's really amazing what teaching a 2-year-old can re-teach yourself! #30
I can’t even remember a time when I couldn't pee in a toilet.
I'm sure as the years take advantage of me, there will be a time when I don't remember how to function the porcelain throne on my own. But, as a 2-year-old is now reminding me, that trick of aiming and grunting is a pretty dang important one.
So I’ve decided to re-structure the way I go about urinating throughout the day.
Every time I have a successful trip to the bathroom there will be potty dancing and even chest bumping! However, no high fives, as I've probably forgotten to wash my hands in my extreme joy.
I will text all my friends, call my Dad to let him know, and throw a shout-out to my Grandma for always having faith in me.
In this great lifetime adjustment I have even gained a new respect for the button that holds together the flap of my boxers, you know, the one that’s always been a nuisance when it comes to a 5-alarm rush to the gents’ room.
Done are the days of using too much toilet paper and trying to text, instead of aim.
It's really amazing what teaching a 2-year-old can re-teach yourself! #30
Lennon/No. 1 The Dilemma
By BRIAN LENNON
A new movie, “The Dilemma,” starring Vince Vaughn and Kevin James opened yesterday.
I didn’t see it, and there’s probably a 100 percent chance I won’t ever see it. The storyline, from what I can tell by the trailers, is that a friend, played by Vaughn, spies the wife of his best friend, James’ character, cheating on her husband.
The obvious question for Vaughn’s character is, do I tell my best friend his wife is cheating on him? This is probably the equivalent to the comfort doctors face when they have to tell a patient they only have a few months to live.
From the situations that apparently are supposed to be humorous in the trailers, Vaughn’s character goes above and beyond the call of duty in first trying to let the cheating wife know that he’s on to her unfaithfulness. Somehow, through the magic of Hollywood, the trouble in doing this includes a rash and challenged urination. (Since “There’s Something About Mary” everyone loves a penis joke.)
I think faced with such a “dilemma” as the one that faces Vaughn’s character, the majority if not most everyone would tell their friend, or drop some serious clues as to what their spouse was doing behind their back. Personally, I think that is why a comedy can be made about such a topic.
However, let’s put a small twist to this dilemma. What if you knew your friend was cheating on their spouse?
Would you notify the unsuspecting spouse then?
I faced such a dilemma a few years ago, although the circumstances, as you might imagine, were not so cut-and-dry.
My friend, let’s call him Rick, was recently married. He then met a woman named Lisa, who was a friend of my then girlfriend, Jill, who now happens to be my wife.
At first there was only harmless flirting on Rick’s part. Or at least what appeared to be harmless flirting. Any interaction the two ever had was always in front of a group of friends.
But suddenly, and as is usually the case when Captain Morgan arrives at a party, the relationship changed.
There was a stolen kiss, and differing stories about who actually kissed who. Rick came to our apartment to apologize to my girlfriend and to reiterate, and more likely in an effort to convince himself, that he was still happily married.
Eventually, Rick started calling Lisa on his cell phone, late at night. They would have late-night rendezvous’ for coffee. It was shockingly, sickeningly similar to the courtship of his wife.
Soon Rick was locked out of his bedroom, and before long, the lock on the front door was changed too. There were obviously problems in Rick’s marriage.
As a friend, I stood by him and his actions, and supported him, even though I had also become good friends with his wife and her family.
I never told his wife about Lisa. Thankfully, she never questioned me about Lisa either.
I don’t know if what I did, or didn’t do, was right. As a married man who just celebrated his eighth anniversary, I know I now have a greater understanding and appreciation for marriage.
Faced with the same situation again though, I don’t know what I’d do.
Now that’s a dilemma.#30
A new movie, “The Dilemma,” starring Vince Vaughn and Kevin James opened yesterday.
I didn’t see it, and there’s probably a 100 percent chance I won’t ever see it. The storyline, from what I can tell by the trailers, is that a friend, played by Vaughn, spies the wife of his best friend, James’ character, cheating on her husband.
The obvious question for Vaughn’s character is, do I tell my best friend his wife is cheating on him? This is probably the equivalent to the comfort doctors face when they have to tell a patient they only have a few months to live.
From the situations that apparently are supposed to be humorous in the trailers, Vaughn’s character goes above and beyond the call of duty in first trying to let the cheating wife know that he’s on to her unfaithfulness. Somehow, through the magic of Hollywood, the trouble in doing this includes a rash and challenged urination. (Since “There’s Something About Mary” everyone loves a penis joke.)
I think faced with such a “dilemma” as the one that faces Vaughn’s character, the majority if not most everyone would tell their friend, or drop some serious clues as to what their spouse was doing behind their back. Personally, I think that is why a comedy can be made about such a topic.
However, let’s put a small twist to this dilemma. What if you knew your friend was cheating on their spouse?
Would you notify the unsuspecting spouse then?
I faced such a dilemma a few years ago, although the circumstances, as you might imagine, were not so cut-and-dry.
My friend, let’s call him Rick, was recently married. He then met a woman named Lisa, who was a friend of my then girlfriend, Jill, who now happens to be my wife.
At first there was only harmless flirting on Rick’s part. Or at least what appeared to be harmless flirting. Any interaction the two ever had was always in front of a group of friends.
But suddenly, and as is usually the case when Captain Morgan arrives at a party, the relationship changed.
There was a stolen kiss, and differing stories about who actually kissed who. Rick came to our apartment to apologize to my girlfriend and to reiterate, and more likely in an effort to convince himself, that he was still happily married.
Eventually, Rick started calling Lisa on his cell phone, late at night. They would have late-night rendezvous’ for coffee. It was shockingly, sickeningly similar to the courtship of his wife.
Soon Rick was locked out of his bedroom, and before long, the lock on the front door was changed too. There were obviously problems in Rick’s marriage.
As a friend, I stood by him and his actions, and supported him, even though I had also become good friends with his wife and her family.
I never told his wife about Lisa. Thankfully, she never questioned me about Lisa either.
I don’t know if what I did, or didn’t do, was right. As a married man who just celebrated his eighth anniversary, I know I now have a greater understanding and appreciation for marriage.
Faced with the same situation again though, I don’t know what I’d do.
Now that’s a dilemma.#30
Tart/No. 1 Opposites from Birth
By DANIEL M. TART
Same father, same mother - usually that means things might be the same between two brothers.
Simply not the case.
There's no bond like sibling bonds, that one thing is for sure. And there is no replacing what that bond will ever mean between them. That bond is the one true thing that they will always share, no matter what.
However, just because the genes are the same, doesn't mean the siblings have to be the same. Different actions, variances, disciplines or other environmental aspects can shape two siblings to be two vastly different people while growing up in the same house. Years spent with each other can mold the two to be what each decides is the best for them.
This is true to my story.
Having grown up the youngest of three, only one sibling ever really mattered. Big brother - the guy you look up to; the guy that protects you; the one you supposedly idolize.
Most of that was true. Even the idolizing was true to an extent. However, I learned very young I had to not be like my brother, for my own sake.
I don't know what exactly causes my brother to do what he has done or to be the person he has become. I don't know if I really want to know. I just DO know that's how I could not be.
Growing up next to someone who always needs the attention and the pity and the caring, caused me to not want any of that. Selfishness, not in a totally bad way, was not a part of who I wanted to be. Defensive behaviors emotionally, I didn't want to be a part of. Loving myself more than anything else, I couldn't see myself doing.
My brother was and is my idol, for reasons not traditionally thought of as reasons to idolize someone.
Anything my brother did, I knew I had to do the exact opposite. I knew it was not in me to be that way. Yes, big brother did protect me. Yes, I even put him in some situations where he needed to protect me. But, he protected me more from being just like him and forcing me to be my own person, and for that I am thankful.
This all being said, my brother and I are opposites. But, that does not mean he isn't the biggest part of my life, the only thing that has been there for me from day one. He is my best friend, who would go to war for me, and I for him. He is my counterpart in so many ways, but he is my heart in many more.
So, just because we were raised and "trained" in the same way for many years does not mean we have to be the same. It does, however, guarantee my brother will always be my heart. #30
Same father, same mother - usually that means things might be the same between two brothers.
Simply not the case.
There's no bond like sibling bonds, that one thing is for sure. And there is no replacing what that bond will ever mean between them. That bond is the one true thing that they will always share, no matter what.
However, just because the genes are the same, doesn't mean the siblings have to be the same. Different actions, variances, disciplines or other environmental aspects can shape two siblings to be two vastly different people while growing up in the same house. Years spent with each other can mold the two to be what each decides is the best for them.
This is true to my story.
Having grown up the youngest of three, only one sibling ever really mattered. Big brother - the guy you look up to; the guy that protects you; the one you supposedly idolize.
Most of that was true. Even the idolizing was true to an extent. However, I learned very young I had to not be like my brother, for my own sake.
I don't know what exactly causes my brother to do what he has done or to be the person he has become. I don't know if I really want to know. I just DO know that's how I could not be.
Growing up next to someone who always needs the attention and the pity and the caring, caused me to not want any of that. Selfishness, not in a totally bad way, was not a part of who I wanted to be. Defensive behaviors emotionally, I didn't want to be a part of. Loving myself more than anything else, I couldn't see myself doing.
My brother was and is my idol, for reasons not traditionally thought of as reasons to idolize someone.
Anything my brother did, I knew I had to do the exact opposite. I knew it was not in me to be that way. Yes, big brother did protect me. Yes, I even put him in some situations where he needed to protect me. But, he protected me more from being just like him and forcing me to be my own person, and for that I am thankful.
This all being said, my brother and I are opposites. But, that does not mean he isn't the biggest part of my life, the only thing that has been there for me from day one. He is my best friend, who would go to war for me, and I for him. He is my counterpart in so many ways, but he is my heart in many more.
So, just because we were raised and "trained" in the same way for many years does not mean we have to be the same. It does, however, guarantee my brother will always be my heart. #30
52 Ideas
By BRIAN LENNON
Fifty-two ideas. That’s right – 52.
That’s all I’m asking of you. Just 52 ideas.
How many ideas do you have in a day? A hundred? Maybe a thousand, if you’re really thinking that day.
Gosh, you could probably come up with 52 ideas in one hour if you really thought hard enough.
Next, once you have those 52 ideas, you need to write them down.
I’m not talking about coming up with an idea like the Iliad or a Magnus opus of any kind. What about 250 words? You can do that, right?
What’s a Twitter post, 144? And you can never get in everything you want to say, anyway. I’m giving you 106 more words – at least. I won’t cut you off. If you have 1,000 words, that’s just fine with me.
So when do I want your ideas? Once a week.
Fifty-two weeks in a year – fifty-two ideas. That works out to one idea a week. That’s pretty convenient.
I know. I planned it that way.
But what if I have an idea about how there should be a new drink that is a combination of beer and coffee, so that you could stay awake to keep drinking?
I’ll take it.
What if I have a new theory on global warming?
I’ll take that too.
What if I really hate the clicking sound one of my office mate’s shoes makes when she walks around and I just really need to get it off my chest?
I’m here for you. I’ll take it.
Why? Why do you want 52 random ideas from me? What does my opinion matter?
You’ve been on Facebook. You’ve been on Twitter. Aren’t you amazed at some of the thought-provoking ideas your friends and family post? Did you ever think, I didn’t know they felt that way, or, I never knew they were so creative and funny?
Yeah, some people still have issues with their/there/they’re and to/too/two. I’m here to help. I’ll edit what you send me. I’ll run it through Spellchecker in case you didn’t. I’ll see to it that it makes sense. It’s always good to have another set of eyes, right?
There’s got to be more to it, though, you say.
You’re right!
I’m looking to launch a new blog and I’m looking for content from thoughtful people with something to say. That’s where you come in.
All you need to do is write one idea a week for 52 weeks. Or you can write two ideas for 26 weeks. That’ll work, too.
Then you can tell your friends that you contribute to a blog and that they should check out your latest post this week, the one about the woman with the annoying high heels. Remember her? Heck, you can even tell her and laugh when she realizes you’ve written about her.
So let me know if you’re in. Remember just 52 ideas.
Thank you,
Brian Lennon
Editor,52ideas.weebly.com
(P.S. This whole letter was 493 words, including the headline and byline. See, easy.)
Fifty-two ideas. That’s right – 52.
That’s all I’m asking of you. Just 52 ideas.
How many ideas do you have in a day? A hundred? Maybe a thousand, if you’re really thinking that day.
Gosh, you could probably come up with 52 ideas in one hour if you really thought hard enough.
Next, once you have those 52 ideas, you need to write them down.
I’m not talking about coming up with an idea like the Iliad or a Magnus opus of any kind. What about 250 words? You can do that, right?
What’s a Twitter post, 144? And you can never get in everything you want to say, anyway. I’m giving you 106 more words – at least. I won’t cut you off. If you have 1,000 words, that’s just fine with me.
So when do I want your ideas? Once a week.
Fifty-two weeks in a year – fifty-two ideas. That works out to one idea a week. That’s pretty convenient.
I know. I planned it that way.
But what if I have an idea about how there should be a new drink that is a combination of beer and coffee, so that you could stay awake to keep drinking?
I’ll take it.
What if I have a new theory on global warming?
I’ll take that too.
What if I really hate the clicking sound one of my office mate’s shoes makes when she walks around and I just really need to get it off my chest?
I’m here for you. I’ll take it.
Why? Why do you want 52 random ideas from me? What does my opinion matter?
You’ve been on Facebook. You’ve been on Twitter. Aren’t you amazed at some of the thought-provoking ideas your friends and family post? Did you ever think, I didn’t know they felt that way, or, I never knew they were so creative and funny?
Yeah, some people still have issues with their/there/they’re and to/too/two. I’m here to help. I’ll edit what you send me. I’ll run it through Spellchecker in case you didn’t. I’ll see to it that it makes sense. It’s always good to have another set of eyes, right?
There’s got to be more to it, though, you say.
You’re right!
I’m looking to launch a new blog and I’m looking for content from thoughtful people with something to say. That’s where you come in.
All you need to do is write one idea a week for 52 weeks. Or you can write two ideas for 26 weeks. That’ll work, too.
Then you can tell your friends that you contribute to a blog and that they should check out your latest post this week, the one about the woman with the annoying high heels. Remember her? Heck, you can even tell her and laugh when she realizes you’ve written about her.
So let me know if you’re in. Remember just 52 ideas.
Thank you,
Brian Lennon
Editor,52ideas.weebly.com
(P.S. This whole letter was 493 words, including the headline and byline. See, easy.)
