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I'm sorry, but it's true: Too many runners are snobs. This is why I once had a T-shirt made that said "Yeah, You're Faster Than Me, But Have You Had Four C-sections?" I can identify my tribe in a race by how they respond to my shirt. But here I make the case that runners deserve pity, not awe. After all, we're pathetically addicted.
There are well-meaning people who believe that we should never make fun of the Nazis, that doing so belittles the horrors of the Holocaust. I'm not one of them. I think we should make fun of them as often as possible, and as loudly as possible; ridicule is an underused weapon. And regardless, there is just something inherently funny about hearing "All Nazis report to the gym for your waltz lessons" on the morning announcements. I wish I could be that funny.
The grim tweeter is here! Since newspapers are disappearing, we can no longer count on a print obituary to announce our demise to the world. Exit me; enter capitalism. Is this a great country, or what?
Many thanks to the Catholic Education Resource Center (www.catholiceducation.org) for reprinting this essay. And, for the record: chocolate. I gave up chocolate. How many more days until Easter?
If we modeled our schools after ancient Greece, with gymnastics and wrestling and other strenuous pursuits interspersed throughout the school day, then weighing our kids might make sense. But some schools don't even allow recess anymore. And anyone who feeds my kids chicken nuggets for lunch shouldn't chastise me about their weight.
Am I more, or less, qualified to write about marriage now that I am divorced? My marriage of 18 years ended about the same time that Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins announced their break-up. It is a raw and ugly business, the tearing-down of shared lives, more so when there are children involved.
How much do I hate Valentine's Day? So much that I once purchased the domain name "slaycupid.com." I'm not the only one who wants to wing that
pasty-faced cherub.
I really don't want the Boomers to die. I am one, after all. But we probably could spare a few million. Much credit and love to my best friend of 20 years, Diane Lore, whose brilliant ruminating inspired both her business (deepsouthdigital.biz) and this essay.
A few people asked whether I was offended by the headline. Actually, I wrote it. It was amusing to see this piece dissected across the
Internet; in one chat room, there was a lively discussion of whether I was "fat enough" to call myself "fat." Well, I don't shop at Lane
Bryant, but my high-tech bathroom scale gasps when it displays my body-fat percentage.
Nearly 2,000 years ago, Marcus Aurelius said the same thing, in fewer words: "For most of what we say and do is unnecessary, and if a man
leaves them out, he will have more leisure and less trouble." The guy had 13 children; I don't know how much leisure Mrs. Aurelius had.
It's frowned upon by the Vatican, but to me, church shopping is no
greater an offense than playing a Game Boy in church. When there's
Yu-Gi-Oh! in the next pew, it's time to worship elsewhere.
Nancy Drew in the movie bears no resemblance to the Nancy Drew in
the books. Save your money buy some books.
Three of my four kids were breastfed; one I abused with formula. Check back in 30 years, and I'll let you know where I stand on this.
Flanagan is the common ground that stay-at-homes and working moms have sought for so long. No matter how moms spend their days,
they all can hate her!
I am, admittedly, just a slaughterhouse-visit away from descending
into total animal-rights whackdom. I scoop box turtles out of roads. In
any case that pits man versus beast, I am usually going to side with
the beast. But come on... are the descendents of the brave men who signed the
Declaration now afraid of ... turkeys?
I spent the first 30 years of my life in the Deep South; I think
everyone should rush home when it snows. But if garbage men and
hotel maids have to get to work in lousy weather, everyone else
should, too. And no one should get to stay home simply because it's cold.
My life is not so vacant that I spend the year planning for Christmas
... but I did once spend two days stripping wallpaper from a
rental-house living room so that it wouldn't clash with the Christmas tree. We all have our weaknesses.
When I lived on the beach in South Carolina, I expected hurricanes occasionally to disrupt my life.
But in Richmond? Who knew?
This piece is a study in perseverance. It was written five years before it was finally published, and I still have two rejection
letters from early queries. But everything's in the timing. NRO ran it on the 15th anniversary of the Rush Limbaugh Program, and Mr.
Limbaugh wrote me a gracious thank-you note that my grandmother will treasure forever.
From 1990 to 1995, I covered religion and ethics for a daily newspaper in
South Carolina. The editors occasionally fielded complaints that I wasn't serious enough; imagine that. But I loved being the lone
Catholic at gatherings of the Southern Baptist Convention.
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©2003-2010 Jennifer
Nicholson Graham |
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