If you're looking for a cheap bottle of wine, or perhaps some candy or flowers, the easiest way to get some is to invite me over to your house. Mom (and Gram) beat it into my head that you never go to someone's house empty handed.
Don't believe my relatives? Then listen to Deepak Chopra, who, in his Seven Laws of Spiritual Success discusses this very principle. Even if you don't have disposable cash, Chopra says, you can write a simple card, telling your host how much you appreciate him/her, or pay your host a simple compliment (free!) when you walk into the house. Example: "It's so nice to see you; I really enjoy visiting with you. Thank you for inviting me over."
But never, ever go empty-handed. I'm so into this, that even when I'm told, "bring nothing," I still have to bring some wine, chocolate, or flowers. Or a compliment.
It's the right thing to do, and it's gracious. Feel free to invite me over. I may just bring you a compliment.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
When did rudeness become acceptable?
I'm really pissed off at businesses and marketers who think that rudeness is "okay" or "funny."
There's an ad on TV right now for some Orwellian-like telephone that has a TV screen and internet connection built right in. (Shoot me before I ever have 1984 in my own kitchen.)
In this pathetic ad, a mom reads a recipe from her 1984-device, works hard in the kitchen to make paella for her family, then sends a mass text to tell them, "Paella tonight!" Her asshole of a son, then, video-texts her back saying, "I have no idea what puh-ella is, but I'm NEVER eating it!" (I imagine if the FCC weren't monitoring our every word and wardrobe malfunction, said asshole son would've concluded with, "How dare you make me dinner, You fucking bitch! ")
Crestfallen by her asshole son, Commercial Mom then tosses the paella and orders a pizza. Um, doormat much?
When someone makes you dinner, especially your MOM, you say "thank you" and you eat it, barring life-threatening food allergies. I'm reminded of how I was raised. My gram, ever the devout Catholic, only served fish on Fridays. I've never liked fish. When Fridays rolled around at Gram's, I'd carp (ha! pun intended) and whine, "I don't like fish."
Mom's wise response? "Then don't eat it. Go hungry."
And I did.
Thanks, mom.
There's an ad on TV right now for some Orwellian-like telephone that has a TV screen and internet connection built right in. (Shoot me before I ever have 1984 in my own kitchen.)
In this pathetic ad, a mom reads a recipe from her 1984-device, works hard in the kitchen to make paella for her family, then sends a mass text to tell them, "Paella tonight!" Her asshole of a son, then, video-texts her back saying, "I have no idea what puh-ella is, but I'm NEVER eating it!" (I imagine if the FCC weren't monitoring our every word and wardrobe malfunction, said asshole son would've concluded with, "How dare you make me dinner, You fucking bitch! ")
Crestfallen by her asshole son, Commercial Mom then tosses the paella and orders a pizza. Um, doormat much?
When someone makes you dinner, especially your MOM, you say "thank you" and you eat it, barring life-threatening food allergies. I'm reminded of how I was raised. My gram, ever the devout Catholic, only served fish on Fridays. I've never liked fish. When Fridays rolled around at Gram's, I'd carp (ha! pun intended) and whine, "I don't like fish."
Mom's wise response? "Then don't eat it. Go hungry."
And I did.
Thanks, mom.
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