When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

How’s that for an old adage. And it’s useful, certainly, when your mail gets lost or when your dog eats a bad bit of shoe and ends up projectile vomiting all over your room.  It reminds you to make the best of a bad situation.  If your cable bill doesn’t come, how can you pay it?  And I bet you always wanted to repaint your entire room…and replace the carpet…and buy all new furniture, right?

My problem is that life rarely seems to just hand me lemons. I produce lemons all on my own. They spring from my headaches like Zues and the whole Athena thing. So I can’t just make lemonade with all the lemons because then I’ll have to drink the lemonade, and I’ll drink so much of it that I’ll probably die from whatever the opposite of scurvy is. I have to cut off the source, but that’s difficult when I have such a talent for causing my own headaches.

One of my main resolutions for 2012 was to write in this blog more often (or ever) and another was to be a little more personable and open up in it, although I do love a good quote-inspired rant. Because my life seems like a comedy of errors sometimes, and if nothing else, it makes for a good story. Like the time that my mom wrapped a scorpion into my 22^nd birthday present. Or when I managed to get my car towed in Beverly Hills with my cell phone securely locked inside it. But those stories are the past, this is 2012 and it’s time for some changes.

Yeah, probably not. Because when I get so many lemons out of life (not major lemons, just annoying little stupidity lemons) it’s not even so much about making something good out of it, like lemonade, or lemon meringue pie! It’s mostly about the story. Fortunately in this, the digital age, there is an outlet where I can whine/entertain the anonymous masses of the internet to deal with the sting of lemon juice.  And thus a new adage:

When life gives you lemons, blog about it!

My story begins on a lazy Saturday night. There I was, hanging out in my condo slogging through Season 2 of Friday Night Lights and looking forward to the Lewis Black comedy show that my boyfriend got me for Christmas. The show was the following night (Sunday). At ten minutes to midnight, I turned to my boyfriend, insisting that we solidify our plans for tomorrow. Most importantly, what was for dinner?

Would we eat dinner in LA, where we were, or in Lancaster, where the show was? Though not really the point, no, I don’t know why Lewis Black was performing in one of the rocket scientist capitals of the world. Naturally, while trying to figure it out, I asked, “Well what time is the show?” To which my boyfriend replied, “I don’t know, I gave you the tickets.” And that’s when my heart died a little. Because even though I did the dance of checking my closets and my cabinets and my car, I knew in the pit of my stomach that those tickets were sitting in the pretty little green box that they came in back at my parents house in Vegas. That is where I was given the gift, and that’s where it was still. I could picture that damn sparkly box taunting me from atop my childhood dresser four hours away. It was like the showgirl of boxes. So polished and attention grabbing, it was just jeering at me with, “how could you possibly miss me when you remembered to grab your Wii controller from underneath the couch downstairs?”

Have you ever wanted to punch yourself really hard in the face? Just to see if you could actually knock some sense into yourself?

Naturally, I was ready to cry and give up because he bought the tickets on StubHub, and there was no finagling a new set. But the boyfriend was determined. “We’ll drive to get them.” I’m sure the blank stare and eye roll weren’t entirely necessary, but I can’t help it. It was midnight and I was trying to go to bed.

BUT at his urging, I called my parents (who are a little cranky but endlessly entertaining at midnight). My dad woke up groggily and by the tremor in my voice assumed I had crashed my car…again (thanks dad), which is unfortunately a lemon I have given myself too many times (three to be exact). After we cleared up that little misunderstanding, he reluctantly plodded upstairs to check for the sparkly green box. After a minute or so of radio silence, he returned, “it’s a pretty box.” And with that, the last modicum of hope that the tickets weren’t sitting 269 miles away was dashed.

But this was where the midnight call with my parents started to become interesting – they started offering suggestions. My dad began by trying to decide if they could ship it same day somehow, which I already know is exorbitantly expensive. His next plan was to make a very accurate copy of both sides and have me print the tickets out and pass them off as real tickets. “I can describe the paper to you so you can go buy the same paper. And glue the two sides together.” So what he was actually telling me was that he would somehow describe the paper so accurately, that I could go out and buy exactly HALF the thickness of the tickets so that I could glue two halves together to reach the proper thickness. What can I say? No one is a genius at midnight.

The phone then passed to my mom, who suggested that I use her free flights (she flies once or twice a week on Southwest and is therefore some kind of Gold-Encrusted Platinum Member). She broke out what I presume was her iPad, and started looking up flights. Nothing from LAX. Nothing from Burbank. When she had me driving my boyfriend down to John Wayne for flights that were almost too close together for him to successfully deplane, get the tickets from them at passenger pickup, and re-board, I made her stop.

That’s when my father came up with his best idea yet: “I could just go to the airport security line, and yell out to find out if anyone was going to LA and give them $10 to take these tickets with them.”

To which I responded: “Yeah, I’m pretty sure TSA will tackle you before you can hand the tickets off.” And because I’m such a loving daughter: “But if mom goes with and records it, at least it’ll be a great YouTube video.”

So with no other options available, I packed up a pillow and some magazines to amuse myself while I accompanied my boyfriend on the 4 hour drive to Vegas. At 12:30 we got in the car, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was in the middle of the plot of a sitcom. No one ACTUALLY drives 8 hours to retrieve Lewis Black tickets. They only do that in heartfelt family sitcoms, where the road trip teaches the two characters to love and respect one another again. Or somehow reveals the meaning of life scribbled into the lane lines. But there we were, out on the open road. By 3AM I was starting to get delirious and I’m pretty sure I saw an elephant. But do note that I wasn’t even driving. I’m just a wimp.

At 4:30AM, we made it to my parents’ house, where we had decided to get a much-needed 2 hours of sleep. When we walked in the door, I heard my mom, “Who could be at the door?” Yes, apparently being woken up in the middle of the night also does a number on short-term memory.

Though we slept for 2 ½ hours, I slept for barely any of that. Initially our plan was to wake up at 6AM, so when my 6AM alarm went off, I sprung up like I’d had way more than 1 ½ hours of sleep and raced into the other room to wake the boyfriend. Yeah, that wasn’t happening. I turned off his alarm that was so loud it probably could’ve woken him up back in LA. At 6:05AM I ran in and turned off his second, equally deafening alarm, and the 8 other alarms he had set to go off. Talk about alarm overkill.

At 6:30AM, I leapt up again, and he at least responded, but certainly wasn’t getting up. At 7AM, he rolled out of bed. We made a bit of small talk with my parents as they all had a good laugh at me and my stupidity.

The drive back was reasonably uneventful except that I was slowly slipping into madness. After returning to my apartment and slipping into another nap during which I still didn’t sleep well (I don’t sleep well when it’s not nighttime), we headed out to Lancaster. I have to agree with both Lewis Black and his opening comic, Lancaster, just because you emblazon “The Blvd” on a quarter mile of street with a few shops (which were all closed) doesn’t make you hip. But Lewis Black was wonderfully hilarious, as expected, and we had a fantastic time. He’s just so angry. It’s palpable. He almost broke his toe when he lifted the mic stand and slammed it down to make a point.

When I got back to my apartment, I immediately passed out until 10AM Monday (thank you MLK day). And thus ends the saga of my idiocy/forgetfulness that inspired my shortest trip to Vegas ever.

But I couldn’t stop thinking, “WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?!?!?!” Stupid lemons. Anyone for lemonade?

“It feels like silk and it doesn’t smell — you can wash it just like anything else.”

What could that be about? Some kind of fancy plastic? A new cleaning product? Maybe some kind of face lotion?

What you wouldn’t expect me to tell you is that when Anke Domaske said that, she was describing fabric – a new freak fabric made out of milk. Yep, moo cow milk. Reuters magazine reports that Anke has developed this new fabric – called QMilch – for her high fashion clothing line. She brags that the fabric is all-natural, can be antibacterial, regulate your body, and prevent aging.  She also brags that it can be washed normally and won’t expire. It also costs about 6 liters of milk to make one dress, and it costs about $200 to produce.

Now, I’m a girl, I like clothes. I like to look pretty. And I like high fashion – the thought of it, the innovation, not the actual price tags. But what I don’t like is the idea that I need to be reassured in the press that the fabric I’m wearing won’t smell bad or start to rot over time. I ask very little of my clothes, but I’d prefer that they not start to melt on a hot day in the sun. That tends to create a problem when out in public.

I would support milk fabric. I would. If I couldn’t think of another 100% natural fabric made out of an easily accessible material, like I don’t know, COTTON!!! Leather (hey, if you’re vegan, you can’t wear milk fabric or leather)? Even silk. Silk is spun from the cocoons of genetically altered worms, and yet it’s less weird than cooking milk into fabric.

I appreciate that fashion is always looking to innovate and do something different. I admit it, I’m a Project Runway fan. I love when they send them to a grocery store to weave a dress out of dry spaghetti. Doesn’t everyone remember the red licorice dress? It was amazing. But if I saw that hanging in a store, would I buy it? No, because I don’t want to wear an outfit that could potentially cause a hungry child to start nibbling on my shoulder. (This is also one in the list of very long reasons as to why those candy underwear in the adult shop are funny in theory but a no no in reality.)

But seriously, we’ve got a worldwide hunger crisis upon us, and milk is a cheap, abundant source of calcium and protein. Unless in return for turning valuable milk into uselessly expensive fabric, you can figure out a way for people to consume cotton, we should probably stick to the fabrics that we’ve used for hundreds of years. And keep the food innovations on Project Runway, where they belong. And while we’re abolishing milk fabric, can we also talk about harem pants?

And with that, I give you the Top 5 Oscar Wilde Love Quotes for this lovely Valentines Day:

#5 – “To give and not expect return, that is what lies at the heart of love.”

Pretty basic, I know, but it’s sweet and to the point. And it might grant Oscar some forgiveness for the cynicism of his other thoughts on love.

#4 – “Music makes one feel so romantic – at least it always gets on one’s nerves – which is the same thing nowadays.”

Now, I know romance isn’t supposed to get on your nerves, but isn’t he right? It is annoying sometimes isn’t it. And I’m not talking real romance, when something is really romantic, it can be amazing, but that canned romance? The kind that a day like Valentine’s Day preys upon? I’m with Oscar on this one – kind of irritating.

#3 – “Men always want to be a woman’s first love; women have a more subtle instinct: what they like is to be a man’s last romance.”

This is probably my favorite Wilde sentiment for the differences between men and women.

#2 – “A kiss may ruin a human life.”

Don’t go getting all judgmental on me now. Just think on it for a minute. The original Dandy himself is commenting on the power of that one kiss, of that one moment, to change the course of a person’s life – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. And if you know anything about Oscar Wilde, you know that he knew the dangerous power of love from experience.

#1 -“Life is one fool thing after another whereas love is two fool things after each other.”

This is the playfulness of Oscar at his best. And with that, you have, the top five quotes to steal from Oscar Wilde on Valentine’s Day. Now go do something foolish.

And the pressures we put on our idols to win – the athletes, the actors, the writers, the coaches – mirror the pressures we put on ourselves to be winners. If we’re not in the right place in our careers, our education, our relationships, we count it as a loss. And we don’t want to end up a loser, with so many winners around. But whether you’re starting to get down because our team lost or because the neighbor beat you in the Christmas lighting competition, we should look at the immutable words of Goethe. Really for anything regarding a Christmas lighting competition, you should turn to Goethe.

He says:

Continue to make the demands of the day your immediate concern, and take occasion to test the purity of your hearts and the steadfastness of your spirits. When you then take a deep breath and rise above the cares of this world and in an hour of leisure, you will surely win the proper frame of mind to face devoutly what is above us, with reverence, seeing in all events the manifestation of a higher guidance. – Goethe

I know, I know, it’s long, it’s wordy. What can I say, it’s Goethe for crying out loud. He was German and he lived in the 18th century. I think that explains it all.

But back to the quote. Essentially, this is Goethe’s way of saying – Shit happens. Yep, that’s right. Years of ADD, mind-numbing entertainment and a culture of prolific cursing has really boiled that sentiment down to something a little more manageable. Basically, Goethe wants us to realize that no matter how hard you train, how well you prepare, how long you work, or how many Christmas lights you hang – sometimes shit happens. And there’s nothing you can do.

Let’s break it down. First off, he says, “Continue to make the demands of the day your immediate concern.” This is yet another way to bring round the grand ‘ol cliche – live in the moment, carpe diem, etc. Don’t let your goals overshadow the enjoyment of what you’re doing right now.  So as you’re getting those Christmas lights ready (or writing a blog you hope that someone will actually want to read) if you focus too much on where it’s going to get you, you’ll miss out on most of the fun. So put those lights wherever you damn well please (and I will continue typing until I’m good and ready to shut up, which is usually a few days past never).

Next, our quote takes us to the part where you “take occasion to test the purity of your hearts and the steadfastness of your spirits”. This is the nose to the grindstone part, where you just have to duck your head and work. This is not the fun part of winning. It’s probably not even part of the “enjoying the journey” nonsense that Goethe started this quote with. But it’s there, and we know we have to do it. So we’re working our asses off, trying to be great at something and then….”When you then take a deep breath and rise above the cares of this world and in an hour of leisure, you will surely win the proper frame of mind to face devoutly what is above us, with reverence, seeing in all events the manifestation of a higher guidance.”

This is the part that really gets you. Because he’s basically telling us that you need to breath so that you don’t freak out when you realize that all that hard work – all the sweat, the tears, the mild electrical burns – it was all for nothing. Because really, everything is a “manifestation of a higher guidance”. So it’s all just fate, or God, or whatever you believe in. No matter how hard you work, and how much you plan, sometimes, shit just happens.

So remember that, while you’re watching the game, or the awards show, or rooting for your painting in the local art show (you thought I was going to circle back to the Christmas light reference, didn’t you?), sometimes, shit happens. And it’s not always bad shit. Sometimes shit happens and it turns things into a win. But the times we really remember are the times when the shit screwed us over and left us losers. And sometimes we let it get us down. Sometimes we even quit. Or worse, we give up on our favorite team. But just remember what Goethe said. Or if you can’t remember because that is a really long quote, and rote memorization hasn’t really been considered a useful skill since the early 1900s, then maybe just takeaway the short version: Shit Happens. Deal with it.

Don’t go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first. - Mark Twain

You can’t just wait for some wayward reality show producer to walk up to you, dump $1 million in your lap and make you famous for just living your life. You’re not going to be “discovered” at the Smoothie Hut in a shopping mall and have all your dreams handed to you. We’ve all gotta put a little effort in…as much as that hurts.

And thus, our (NOW) 2011 Quickquote Translation: Stop playing Angry birds, get up off your a**, and do something with your life. Because it’s the one’s who do that get there.

But watching Jon Stewart’s poignant reaction (watch it HERE) to the Arizona shootings improved my mood exponentially. Not just one of his many great one-liners:

“It would be really nice if the ramblings of crazy people didn’t in any way resemble how we actually talk to each other on TV.” (The Daily Show)

But also his much more serious analysis of everyone’s attempt to lay blame on this person or that person for the violence:

“Boy would that be nice. Boy would it be nice to be able to draw a straight line of causation from this horror to something tangible because then we could convince ourselves that if we just stopped ‘this’ the horrors will end. To have the feeling, however fleeting, that this type of event can be prevented forever. It’s hard not to feel like it can.” (The Daily Show)

I’m not sure there is much more to add to that, but I wanted to repost because I think that it’s important in this online landscape where we can post and comment and constantly contribute our opinion to the world about why this happened and virtually point our finger at the culprit – it’s important to realize the moments where we need to accept our helplessness. Accept the things we can’t change and couldn’t have prevented.

Jon Stewart’s speech got right what so many people have probably been trying to put into words. I hope everyone watches it…it will definitely give you hope in times like this. (Watch it HERE)

And to read more from the article and partial transcript from Examiner.com: Jon Stewart on Arizona shootings: ‘you can’t outsmart crazy’ – National Celebrity | Examiner.com http://www.examiner.com/celebrity-in-national/jon-stewart-speaks-on-arizona-shootings-you-can-t-outsmart-crazy#ixzz1AljrWvPK

From Howard Gensler – the Philadelphia Daily News’ Tattle Columnist:

“Twitter really is a death knell for grammar and spelling. Tattle needs the makers of Scrabble to come out with a Twitter version of the game – except in this version numerals can sub for letters and nothing can be challenged.”

Gensler says this in response to Snoop Dogg’s Twitter post:

“Made tha anthem 4 Prince William’s bachelor party n all bachelor parties round tha wrld.”

I think my favorite part is the fact that he can’t be bothered to spell “the” correctly, but he does manage to capitalize Prince William and spell out “bachelor” fully and correctly not once, but TWICE in one Tweet.

But I stand behind Gensler and his suggestion for Twitter Scrabble! My new favorite word: XQJYWZ – how’s that for a triple word score?

Read more of Gensler’s article HERE

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet.” ~William Shakespeare “Romeo and Juliet”

2010 Translation

“What’s in a brand? Would that which we call a Gucci still look as stylish?”

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” – William Wordsworth

Isn’t that a romantic sentiment? Write what you feel, let your innermost impulses flow out onto the page, be free, be fluid, let your creativity seep out of your pores…Well, that’s all well and good, maybe even noble, but I’m here to tell you what Wordsworth didn’t have the balls to say – nobody cares.

That’s right, all those epic love poems written to your ex who cheated on you after three solid months of monogamy? Nobody cares. The stream of consciousness piece that you wrote on a psychedelic trip during which aardvarks were singing Christmas carols?  Nobody cares. The bitter tirade that you went on after that skank stole the last boots in your size at the sale last week? Nobody cares.

So please, for the love of God, keep it to yourself. When Willy Wordsworth wrote these words, the only thing that a would-be writer could corrupt with word vomit was a piece of paper that could only be shared with one or two people nearby – at most. He could never have guessed that soon there would be several forums – Facebook, Twitter, blogs, diggs, etc. – wherein any Average Joe (or Jane) could subject the world to even the smallest thought that tumbles out of their brain.

If I’m pissed off, I no longer have to tell my diary or my best friend or my teddy bear, I can tell THE ENTIRE INTERNET!!

But you know what you learn after reading 6 or 7 thousand of these inane rants, gushings, and general tangents? Most of it really is neither groundbreaking, earth-shattering, or in any way so important that I need to be reading about it. Why? Because nobody cares.

Only in rare instances of genius is every word that comes out of a single person’s head a masterpiece; more often, pithy sentiments and erudite prose are carefully crafted and go through several revisions before being unleashed on the masses. This is because for most of us, it takes work to find something meaningful to say. And that’s okay. But having one or two meaningful things to say rather than a thousand meaningless ones about what you ate for breakfast makes you look all the more brilliant.

If Wordsworth knew what world we would be living in today, he might’ve worded things a little differently. Perhaps something in vein of:

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart, but take a moment and think long and hard before posting tweeting and/or blogging. (Is status-ing a verb yet?)”

Before everyone gets out their hypocrite sticks and starts beating me with them (wouldn’t it be fun if there really were such a thing as hypocrite sticks? Note to self to invent them) I realize that I myself am a blogger sharing my thoughts. But I’ve read my thoughts over a deemed them worthy to publish online. I like to think I make people chuckle or think. If you disagree, we can fight about it in the comments section.

And no, I’m not sure what’s with the picture of the weird tree/bush thing. But it’s pretty cool looking, right?

Surprisingly, ole’ Elby’s words still hold a lot of truth (and humor) today. So here’s a sampling of some of his quotes that really don’t have to be translated much at all:

“Be pleasant until ten o’clock in the morning and the rest of the day will take care of itself.”
- Especially in our high speed/high pressure society, if you make it to 10AM without giving in to the urge to curse someone out, you’re doing ok. And yes, eviscerating them on Facebook (either directly or anonymously via a clever “status”) counts.

“Editor: a person employed by a newspaper, whose business it is to separate the wheat from the chaff, and to see that the chaff is printed.”
- E. Hubb is talking about newspaper editors, but it could also be extended to news broadcasters, official online posts, etc. The media “system” as it were is so anxious to dumb down their arguments that it has lead to a completely contrary phenomenon elsewhere on the web (including here) – a complete absence of editing. People can say anything from the most profound to the most insipid (if I land firmly in the middle, I’ll be happy with that). So the pros are trying to drum down the conversation and the amateurs are letting it run wild. Where does that leave things?

“Every man is a damn fool for at least five minutes every day; wisdom consists in not exceeding the limit.”
- Words to live by when you’re stressed out about forgetting to do a task from work in time for the meeting or spill the entire contents of your lunch into your lap before a major presentation.

“Never get married in college; it’s hard to get a start if a prospective employer finds you’ve already made one mistake.”
- I sort of wish this was funnier than it is, but really, it’s probably true.”

“The world is moving so fast these days that the man who says it can’t be done is generally interrupted by someone doing it.”
- Never was this truer than in the age of Internet. It seems like there’s nothing that you can’t do when you can distribute content to anyone, anytime. This has me mentally making a list of all the things I don’t think are possible – and then finding a way to do them.

“A conservative is a man who is too cowardly to fight and too fat to run.”
- Sorry, couldn’t resist.

“He has achieved success who has worked well, laughed often, and loved much.”
- This is mostly just sentimental. “Live Well, Laugh Often, Love Much has been the Schwartz family motto for years.