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Wouldn't be nice if life were like Internet Explorer?

I don't mean by that that we should all be products of a grossly over-rated corporate capitalist maniac, or that we should allow viruses and other insecurities into our existence on a daily basis. What I mean is that charming little window that pops up and reads:

"Internet Explorer has encountered an error and needs to close."

See, when I encounter errors, I have to push through them. Overslept and am now 20 minutes late for class? That's an error, but I still have to go to class or risk not knowing stuff for the final exam. Backed into another car in the parking lot? Also an error, but I still have to fix the scratches. I can't just go into hibernation and tell someone to try me again later when I feel better.

Though I wish I could, at times.

Diners, Drive-Ins, and Death by Heart Disease.

I think the reason so many other countries disdain us can be summed up in one Food Network show: Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. For those of you who don't watch the Food Network, this is a show that travels America and raises lofty paeans to greasy spoons. And boy, are they greasy.

One of the main difficulties I see with American culture is reflected in this show. It's not about concern for health; it's about the Horseshoe, a 6-egg omelet topped with cheese sauce (oh, yes, my friends, Velveeta cheese sauce), sausage, ham, and not one, not two, but three different kinds of potatoes (all fried, of course). This show praises the fact that you can get a "regular" order of corned beef hash that's three huge handfuls of meat and potatoes. Or deep-fried macaroni and cheese. Or deep-fried cinnamon rolls. It's not about getting enough to eat; it's about getting enough food to feed two or three on one "regular" plate. And we wonder why we have more obesity than (almost) any other country in the world?

The problem is that bigger isn't always better, but I think we've lost track of that in a sea of Baconators, Horseshoes, and Super-Size fries. We see nothing wrong with artery-clogging "comfort food," even though tying emotions to food is a dangerous thing. We think the bigger the portion, the bigger the love. We think it's better to get a heaping plateful of decent food than a bit of the truly tasty. We associate grease with good; grease is American; grease, my friends, works.

I want one of these!

There is a Hobbit moped for sale on eBay. How perfect is that? You can go There and Back Again at an approximate speed of 30 mph.

It's not just a pony any more.

According to this story, the new trend is spending upwards of $5,000 on a birthday party. For a three year old. To put this in context, this is twice what I'm spending on my wedding, and I have a chocolate fountain and a very pretty dress. Why should I expect to pay more for my child's birthday cake than I do for my wedding cake?

According to one party planner in California (of course, where else?), "We really promote a healthy balance of living year round, but it's OK to indulge your child once a year, because it's about making a memory."

My question is, is it really a "balance" if your bat mitzvah includes performances by Aerosmith, 50 Cent, and Don Henley? Aren't your standards going to be impossibly high for the rest of your guaranteed-to-be-less-interesting life? How will your future husband/employer/best friend compete with expectations like this? "Mummy, I want u2 for my wedding! Buy me a band now! Why don't you love me like you did when I was a kid?"

Perhaps the most troubling element of this article came at the end, though, in its attempt to rebutt this idea of the necessity of "excessive" spending. They quoted one mother of a six-year-old as saying "A $500 party doesn't mean I love them any less than if they had a $5,000 party, as long as they have a good time. And that's what it's all about." Five hundred dollars. This was their idea of budget.

I suddenly feel way poorer than I did before I read this.

I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys-R-Us kid.

I never understood Peter Pan, nor the appeal of that Toys-R-Us ad campaign, till now. The fact is, growing up is scary. Paying bills is depressing. The thought that even when I finish the next six or seven years of school ahead of me I have a 40% employment rate staring me in the face is terrifying. I like some of the things that come with growing up, like respect and autonomy, but I sure as hell miss the days when the only thing I had to worry about was finishing my homework. I think I wanna be a hobo.

On a better note, it was homecoming weekend at school this weekend, and I got to see many of my dear friends. I always get a little nostalgic after I've spent time with this great group, which could explain my anxiety. Right now, I'm just focusing on breathing, and watching Iron Chef.

Oh, guilty pleasures.

Stuck in the middle with you.

Recently some events have made it very clear to me that some people cannot be trusted to accurately judge a situation. In particular, that narcissism can blind people to what is right in front of them, and that everything they see and experience will be filtered through a perception of the world that is sometimes shockingly inaccurate, leading them to believe that they are victimized by everyone around them, and grandly misunderstood. I understand this even more because it used to be my very own situation, and I know where it leads if it's not constantly waged war against. The end of this road is unbelievable pain and separation.

I'm in the middle of this right now. On the one hand, I feel compelled by the sheer force of gut conviction to talk with this person, to correct his incorrect notions of what I have done and thought, to make him see that I did love him once, and that despite our obviously incompatible personalities I have tried hard to have a positive relationship with him, for both our sakes and the sake of others whom I value. He's made some assertions about me that are grossly unfair, downright hurtful, and potentially damaging to other relationships that I treasure. And he's made them to other people, rather than bringing them to me first. It stings, and the J in my personality wants nothing more than to set the record straight.

On the other hand I know that I can't do that; nobody can ever make anyone understand something that they are either incapable of or unwilling to see. This person is a classic narcissist, and I know now that anything I say to him will be twisted. The last time we spoke, he insisted I had borne a "dogmatic hatred" of him since we met some years ago, which is patently untrue, and I think he'd know that if he stopped to examine our history. It's such an oversimplification of a complicated situation, and one that relieves him of all blame because if I hate him dogmatically, then I haven't reasoned out my position, and he is not in the wrong. This is all terribly frustrating. I do not hate this person. I have never hated him. His actions have caused me intense frustration and sadness, but he is still a person who holds some emotional importance to me, for many reasons. I want him to understand this. But how do you fight something that is so ingrained in another person's consciousness? The simple answer is, of course, that it's impossible, but that doesn't stop the hurt when these accusations are then reported to other people whom I love. I can't rid him of these assumptions, but is it really okay to stand by and let him spread the cancer of his self-absorption to others?

The other difficulty compounding the situation is that there are other relationships involved in this, and other people whom I adore who this person has hurt. The N in me (there I go, Myers-Brigging again) wants very much to protect these people, to stand up in their defense, but again I know that that will do no good for the situation, and could make it worse. But it hurts terribly to watch the people I love suffering because of this person's selfish assertions, and it hurts even more to feel incapable of consolation or protection of those people. I have watched as relationships of a lifetime have rapidly dissolved, leaving only the bitter foam of memories and hurts floating in their wake, and felt incapable of offering any consolation or help to the survivors. I'm a fairly empathetic person, and this kind of situation wounds me deeply.

The thing is, this person still has admirable qualities that I have always valued in him, and I see those being overshadowed by his increasingly narcissistic behavior. He believes that everyone has wronged him, that he is wise and caring and grossly misunderstood and misused. That sort of perception of the world is dangerous. I worry for him, and I grieve for him and for those he has sundered himself from through his actions. I think one day he will realize just how much of an asshole he's been, and I hope sincerely that it won't be too late for him, or for the others he's hurt. One can only play the victim for so long.

Meanwhile, I'm struggling to keep my mouth shut. For those of you who know me well, you know exactly what a struggle this is. Keep me in your thoughts, darlings.

The not-so-Happy Meal.

Did you ever wonder why we're all so fat?

I'm pretty sure it's the Happy Meal's fault.

Examine, if you will, the nutritional value of a children's cheeseburger Happy Meal:

1131 calories, 62 grams of fat (23 of those from saturated fat), 1352 milligrams of sodium, and...3 grams of fiber.

What exactly is "happy" about those numbers? The calories in this meal alone provide over half of an active adult's daily intake. It's a day's worth of fat. For fewer calories, we could buy a footlong double-meat steak sub with extra cheese at Subway, or four chargrilled chicken sandwiches from Chik-fil-A. And yet, we buy it - why?

Because it comes in a cute little box with handles. It's a promise. A promise that if you buy it, it will make the screaming kid in the backseat fat and happy (literally). That happiness can be had for $2.99. That the way to contentment is not meditation or hard work or even hanging out with friends, but a cheeseburger and bleached, deep-fried potatoes, a quick solution as easy as driving through those golden arches.

I'm not buying it. But unfortunately for our kids, other people are.