mid-january and what to write about when the weather is so boring

I bet they've had to lay off some weather forecasters this year. It's been pretty boring. Mild temperatures, no snow, partly cloudy. They could have phoned it in the first of November and gone off to some more interesting weather locale.

I read an article in a magazine at the Pulse a couple weeks ago. Usually the kind of self-help article I avoid because I've gotten pretty comfortable with my neuroses thanks very much. This one affirmed a trend I have been practicing the last few years. The title is "In Praise of Rose-Colored Glasses". The gist is that the world is a hard, scary place and getting worse. Things are going to hell in a handbasket.

A poet, Jack Gilbert says, "We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of the world."

Yes. This is how I like to live. If there is some bad thing occurring to someone I know, that's different. I can help that situation. If there is a world problem I can do something about, that's different. I can help, But to pay attention to all the bad things that are way beyond my control and which will never impact me, is silly.Unless the bad guys are coming down my street, I don't want to know.

I don't think the world has gotten better or safer since we got 24 hour news. I think it adds to a sense of doom. The world would be happier all around if CNN and FOX went off the air.

So, bad things happen. For the most part, I ignore them and there is still music and dancing and good books.

I'd put the link here if I could find it...Martha Beck is the author...but it's Oprah, after all, and she probably has it locked up. It was in the September 2011 issue and if you want a copy, let me know. I'll mail it to you.

That's enough pontificating, eh?

Here's another article I enjoyed. Calvin Trillin writes about a new way to measure pretentiousness: the ACI or Asshole Correlation Index. Very funny, very true. We can't wait to try it out in a public place.

Here I am writing about rose-colored glasses and my sweet husband comes out of the bedroom to tell me about one of his post-apocalyptic alien survivalist dreams. I couldn't make that shit up when I was awake much less dream it.

I have dreams that I write books like The Party What Started Out as Jumpin' Around. I think I'll stick with that.