Social Offensive

I always say that real life is much more interesting than fiction. You can't make this stuff up. 

So it's only logical that we could live in a world where we debate whether a woman punched in the head so hard it knocks her unconscious "deserved it," and still throw a temper tantrum about a work of fiction that shows a female abuse victim exacting revenge. 

But I digress. This post isn't about the continued imbalance in the battle of the sexes. It's about the rise of "social media me." 

At what point did your opinion become something I have to care about? Or mine to you for that matter? 

As someone who operates in the social media realm daily for work, I am often overwhelmed by opinions. Facebook, twitter, instagram have become platforms to spew hate for politics, parenting, television, movies, novels and ESPECIALLY, the actions of others. 

Thanks in no small part to social media, society has become so self-obsessed with sharing their every thought that it's become a constant noise of negative complaint and criticism for every single thing. 

It's amazing how often someone tweets or messages my company to outline all the ways in which we are clearly morons. Thanks to this dear soul who is obviously superior and willing to take the time to outline our many offenses and idiocy. Oh praise be and bless you for fixing our errant ways. (Is there a sarcasm font, I wonder?)

It has become so pervasive, it's now a regular skit on late-night television to have actors or athletes read aloud the tweets of the horrible things people say about them. Inane. (And secretly funny.)

Now I pause to recognize the irony of the fact that I'm blogging my negative opinion. But as this IS my blog, I

let my rant stand.

Obviously there is really only one solution for this. Leave social media behind. So began my slow retreat earlier this year. 

Again, as this is my business, I have to stay somewhat involved, but I have stripped away those that leave that negative swirl in their wake. Re-tooled my twitter to become a news RSS feed. Unfollowed most people on Facebook, picked up more food, drinks, art and fashion. 

I'm happy to say my experiment in social media regression has been more positive. I imagine the refinement will be more extreme during election year but for now I get guitars, and Pink Floyd and Mary Cassatt. I can live with that. 

Life’s little listy

I’ve been a list maker all my life. Grocery list, honey-do list, what-to-pack-on-my-trip list, birthday-party list, hell I even make errands-to-run lists. A former partner called them my “little listies.”

My list is purposeful, meant to keep me on track. It delivers a clear outline of what I need

and what to do, with a glance. It is NOT a primer for journalism.

Hold on, what? Yes, journalism. 

Lately I’m overwhelmed but the number of articles I read that are actually a regurgitated, or worse, opinion-based list. 

• “13 Signs the Person You are With Gets You.” 
• “5 Ways the Highway Crisis Could Affect You”
• “Best Hammocks for Summer Reading”
• “5 Healthy Habits that Regulate Your Appetite”
• “How to Beat the NRA in 7 Not So Easy Steps”

Even my beloved NPR has fallen into the pseudo list category, theirs with a fancy video and infographic, of course.

When I discuss with my journalist friends the state of the current media (abysmal!) we tend to agree that the 24/7 news cycle may be one of the worst thing that has ever happened to news. We simply cannot fill the need to consume. So the industry has resorted to the most base, useless writing tactic: the little listy.

Gone is research, investigation, interviewing, craft and editing. Instead you have a list that when put into practical use means you spend most of your day making a list, exercising, getting good sleep, meditating, shopping at the farmers market, clipping coupons, surrounding yourself with POSITIVE people ONLY and staring deeply in your children’s eyes so they can see you hear their needs.

Another triumph for shitty journalism.

That’s not to say that I don’t read anything meaningful any more. I do. The interview with Gary Oldman in Playboy magazine was great! But it was because of Gary Oldman, not the interviewer.

This article on the state of Israel and Palestinian relations was enlightening. But is really just excerpts from another interview.

  

And I continue my love affair with Pope Francis.

Oh and yes, there is a list for him also. “10 Things to Remember When Pope Francis Upsets You.” 

I’ve dedicated to two things in my life recently: less social media and more personal engagement. I’m adding to that list, "don’t read stories that are just lists."

I’ve read that one of the habits of highly successful people is that they make lists. Know where I read that? Yep, on a list. 

Here’s a list of some of the traits of successful people, just in case you were wondering.

Or just in case, try this one.

Lyrical Note Poetry

When I was in high school, then later college, I learned the lost art of shorthand. It’s a skill I used to take notes in class, during my time as a reporter and has followed me to every communications job thereafter.

While I rarely use the technique any more, I’m a still a prodigious note taker. All meetings, events, training, parent-teach conferences -- even church – will find me with a notebook, back of a flyer or spare grocery receipt taking my notes.

I also listen to music when I write, which is pretty much all day long. Combine those two and I will regularly jot down song lyrics as they strike me.

This week I went through my notebook sorting notes and adding them to the various project folders. As I went I transcribed every song lyric. The result is a very loving, pseudo-stalker-but-with-loving-intentions poem.

  

Love, love is something I believe in

I’ve seen her walking home alone,

Get back temptation

Do you know who you really are, are you sure it’s really you?

Come away little lamb come away to the slaughter,
To the ones appointed to see this through.
Lay me down, let me go
I'm feeling heavy, the ground is cold
Pardon me for being so cruel,

But the general consensus, you see, is that I fucking rule

I’m looking right at the other half of me

The vacancy that sat in my heart

Is a space that now you hold

She got that good love, she give it just to me

Oh what a lovely day, breaking the chains of love

Hoping you won’t find a new love

Cause I know baby, you’re mine

In addition I also found some very unprofessional comments I made to myself. I’m sure myself agreed with them all.

• “This looks really basic and a waste of time for us."
•  “Why no water on the table? Lame!”
•  “I hate her.”
• “Why does she wear so much make up?”

Live like the Pope, and other resolutions for 2014

Yes, this is a little behind. I have been happily jumping into 2014 and not thinking much about resolving to do anything other than embrace it with both arms. But since I have thought a lot about this post already, might as well crack on with it.

Historically my resolutions focus less on “stop” and more on “do.” In the past I’ve resolved to read all the Pulitzer Prize winners, in which I learned I loathe the works of William Faulkner with a passion. I vowed to write more fiction, write more on this blog (yeah about that..), I volunteered, learned to salsa, took a burlesque class, aerial acrobatics class, ran a 5k and found a fond joy for running. You get the gist.

The past year was full of some amazing emotional ups and downs. I went into December with little desire to write any resolutions. Then I saw this little list of the Pope Francis's New Year’s resolutions.

I am not Catholic, but I have to admit that I dig this Pope like crazy. He is what I imagined Jesus meant for his followers: a kind, considerate, loving human being. He doesn’t position himself as infallible. But a man who embraces his fallacies and looks for ways to be a better human being to all the other fucked up human beings who live on this planet.

Since I read that list, I’ve also seen his comments on breastfeeding babies in public. I’ve been to the Sistine Chapel. I would applaud a few more lactating mommies in that beautiful room.

  

Then there are his thoughts on gays and women in the church. There still much, much more room for progress, but rock on.

So this year I resolved to adopt the Pope’s resolutions. Less malice, more love. Less things, more thought. Less anxiety, more thankful. And above all more happy. Those seem like damn good resolutions to me.

I’m happy to say the year ended on such a high note, it still takes my breath away. But more about that later. Until then, Live Like the Pope (LLP) is a pretty good mantra for 2014. 

I am gonna LOL the shit out of you

I’m not one to mince words, as a rule. If I don’t like something, chances are I will tell you, along with exactly why I hate said thing, and subsequently you for doing said thing. I may have been called blunt a time a two.

For example, I really don’t like air quotes when used in the wrong context. If it’s LITERALLY on fire, don’t air quote it. If his dance moves are FIGURATIVELY “on fire” then I wish your fingers well as they flail through the air like some kind of physical Tourette’s.

Unfortunately, when on a date for the very first time, I've tried to temper my bluntness. I opt for biting my tongue or the inside of my mouth until it bleeds because I want to verbally throttle this person so badly -- but hey, we’re on a date. (whee)

So I find myself exchanging e-mail with a grown man who is an LOLer. Yes, this is on my list. You are not a 13-year old girl. And if you are laughing out loud that often, then you probably have the real Tourette’s and we aren’t going to work out any way.

After I stewed over the first few LOLs in my e-mail, I decided to let it go because I was

“trying to date people.”

Fail.

When we finally met in person, he actually used the acronym LOL in a conversation. Really?? Because just laughing would have been misconstrued?

Cheek bleed.

I couldn’t stand it, so I made a smart ass quip. Coffee didn’t last much longer past that.

When I left I felt bad. I should watch my mouth. I should not be so blunt. I should allow people their quirks.

Or, I should … just be myself.

Here is a personality trait of mine. I mask some of who I really am at first and set an expectation that is unrealistic. It’s happened before. I promised myself it would not happen this time. So I’m not sorry I busted his chops. I should have a partner who can roll with the real Michele, not the introductory nice one.

Because “Michele” and “nice” are not always “synonymous.” (This is where you would LOL.)

An Alias is Born

Sometimes people struggle with my name. In sixth grade my art teacher mistakenly put me down as a Michael and I had a wonderful year sitting with the boys on the wrong side of the room. Had I been just a few years older, this could potentially have changed my dating experience. But alas, 12 was too young to understand the boon I’d been given. My uncle called me Mike forever after that.

In high school, at 5’ in bare feet, I was a Russell Sprout.

As an adult, I often sign my email with a simple MC which earned me the nickname Hammer. That one I like.

I’ve been called other names also but my mom reads this blog sometimes so we’ll leave those alone.

This weekend I went to see a friend out of town and booked a room at a mid-priced hotel. When I arrived they could not find my name: reservation lost, hotel fully booked. I was distraught. Where would I stay? Another hotel close by? But I KNEW I had made this reservation. So I made them look again. Finally using my zip code they found my reservation under the name Michael Cotton. Really?

As long as I had a room, I guess it didn’t matter.

But then I started thinking about this high-rolling Mr. Cotton. What was he like? Creative writing brain clicks in gear.

He likes the close cut to his suit; his shoes will be Italian, polished and expensive. Sharp

haircut, no facial hair, always smells good. A penchant for scotch, but when alone will drink a PBR. He loves the ladies and when he talks about himself on dates, he sometimes slips into third person dialogue. They don’t know why, he doesn’t try to explain. Cotton to his friends, Mikey to his momma, Mr. Cotton in the bedroom.

And when he leaves in the middle of the night, they always knew that “Mike Cotton was here.”

(P.S. Not a picture of Mr. Cotton. He does not have boobs.)

I like my news like I like my coffee

For a while I dated a guy who was a coffee snob. At first it was exciting. I learned about single origin, bean washing, organic blends, French presses, V-60 (not a venereal disease as originally suspected), espresso vs. expresso and why the water temperature has to be just so to extract the full flavor from every possible angle of a coffee ground.

Eventually his snobbery made it impossible to drink coffee from any shop EXCEPT those he deemed worthy, of which Starbucks was not on the list, and they were all at least 30 minutes from my house. So I stopped being excited.

Here’s the truth: I like my Mr. Coffee. I buy good beans, I grind enough for just one cup so it’s fresh and flavorful. But I’ll be damned if it takes me 20 minutes to get a cup of coffee ever again.

 

Lately I’ve noticed this is how I feel about my news.

Writers like to read and critique other writers. We gain immense satisfaction in pulling apart crappy reporting. Sadly, in the past 5 years, there has emerged a trend that crap wins. It’s all crappy reporting. It’s stupid, overdramatic, un-researched drivel.

I used to troll my favorite online sites, read magazines -- hell I even read the paper. And then I stopped. It was exciting for the first 15 years of my career. Now it just makes me sad.

I used to say, “When I was in journalism school, I learned how to research and fact check.” Now my expectations are that there is NO research or fact checking in the mainstream media. Any sign of a legitimate, fact-checked, well-researched article is like finding that whole bean that when ground and brewed has the perfect caramel/chocolate/nut taste with no bitterness, that when sipped makes you sigh and think, “damn that is good.”

This week I notice I read the way I like my coffee: I want a round story, a fluid tone with a hint of meaty reporting. NPR tells me stories. The Atlantic gives me that bold research. Gluten Free Girl steams with the best recipes. Bookslut delivers smart, tart book reviews. Rolling Stone grinds down the music. And there’s music. And music. And so much more music. 

My source for all of this, I’m not ashamed to say, is Twitter. As a writer, I should feel some contrition for using social media as a news feed. I should value my industry more and spend the time reading long articles about the failure of the Affordable Care Act website. But I don't. 

So I can sip, while I sip and Mr. Coffee percolates and my mornings are so much better now.

Aye, Aye Alec

I am not a follower of the stars. I care not that Bragelina is breeding again, or how often Brittney Spears flashes her panties. It's information that I inadvertantly absorb while standing in line at the grocery but not sought on purpose.

However, I do love those Baldwin boys. I like to think I am special and can pick up charisma through the veneer. It maybe obtuse, but I always felt Alec Baldwin in particular was a little something special. The movie that did it for me ... "Hunt for Red October."

I know, I know. It's ridiculous. I also care not for you opinion. I was smitten with Alec from that moment forward. His voice has a melody. His dark eyes, that thick dark hair. That smile. And the chunkier he got, the more I loved him. Nothing better than a little meat on a man. Throw in the fabulous sense of humor (see Saturday Night Live, Shweddy Balls) and I was a goner.

I know he's had his emotional drama, but haven't we all.

The reason I feel the need to explain my Baldwin fetish is the recent article in the Vanity Fair about said Alec. Not only is it about the brooding beauty, it is fabulously written. And in a manner that resembles my own.

Baldwin plays rogue operatives with so many hidden compartments that even they seem unprepared for the jack-in-the-box surprises that pop out of them under duress. They’re so deep into intrigue that their identity is in flux, a series of impersonations with Camp intonations. The speedy dexterity with which Baldwin’s Jack Donaghy embroiders bizarre conceits on 30 Rock is the stuff of foppish, Restoration comedy, if Restoration comedy came out of a cocktail shaker. Even in blocky repose, using his hands with dainty finesse and making kissy lips as he plays crafty mind games with a never-ending ammo clip of non sequiturs and off-the-wall observations, Baldwin projects potent energy in reserve, the power to tear somebody in two as if they were a croissant. Burly, hirsute, and self-parodyingly butch, Baldwin has carved out his own wild kingdom of macho-effeminate; in gay parlance, he’s a straight “bear,” a chewy chunk of beefsteak.

Now my balls are Schweddy...

Semi-colon, open parentheses

I miss my blogging. I have notes of weird and quirky things that I wanted to write about. Such is WHY we are still discussing the birth certificate of the current president? Are you kidding me?

But they remain notes, stuck to the bottom of my purse, tethered by a piece of gum the ball-of-fire started to chew and then changed his mind. Little lost bits of journalistic effort that are unceremoniously dumped into the trash when I clean out my handbag.

Ok, feeling maudlin. I will write again. It's a new goal!

MTV killed the radio star -- kinda

I love social media. Blogging, twitter, Facebook, fun stuff. But the problem I have lately is that now that social media is part and parcel of my job, I don't do it at home. Frustrating. I find the lack of creative outlet can actually hinder my creativity. That kinda sucks.

So I have made a mid-year resolution to resume a semi-regular blog and try to write at least three short stories this summer.

Short stories are my perfect genre -- just enough juice to get your going but no lag in the middle. I am percolating one right now about a woman who kills her lovers by snapping their neck with her legs right at the apex of sexual climax.

Yea, I'm fucked up but I was inspired, and so the creative process goes.

Soupy sales

You know that saying, "when it rains...it pours?" Hmmm...

I have a new job. I applied for it last Fall and never thought about it again. In January I went for an interview. I was pretty sure I was in top form and apparently I was right because they called back a few days later and offered me the gig. It's permanent part-time, with benefits and paid time off. Hello! It's also blocks from my house. And, wait there's more, it's a Web writing job -- my all-time favorite. It's a creamy dreamy lovey dovey kind of job. Of course I accepted.

At the same time, I mentioned to the hubby that I wanted to look inside this house that has been sitting empty for more than a year. I drive by. Wonder about the interior. Why won't someone buy this house? So we looked. And we bought.

Ok, we offered and now we have to sell our house. In two weeks we have a new job, with new benefits, a new house in the future and a brand-new for sale sign in the yard.

Does that count as pouring?

A rose by any other name

I'm a known link hopper. Anytime I'm online, if I see a link to something that interests me, I hit it. It's compulsory. I cannot stop myself. It's my (other) sickness. It's often led to hitting something inapprorpriate -- which I will later research at home.

To see a link with the title, "Behold the Power of Michelle," well, that's just a no brainer! This quick story on Slate is about the powerful Michelles in D.C., of which Michelle Obama is set to join.

What I don't get is why is this an article? I know it's interesting. I personally find it amusing. But newsworthy? Again, the pitfall of 24-7 media. When you have nothing left to write, you make it up!

When meeting another Michelle, Bernard always asks whether it's two L's or one. Over the years, she has noticed that Michelles tend to be taller, like herself and Obama, while Micheles tend to be shorter.

Contemplating naval lint

I must admit, I like therapy. It's nice to have someone totally unjudgemental hear all your deepest worries and concerns. Someone who doesn't laugh when you mention your anxiety attack caused by a skirt that is a tad too tight.

It's hard to figure out what I'm riddled. I have no new stress. The part-time gig is great. My freelance gig is swinging. My health is actually top notch. The family is well-balanced and generally happy. What the hell is my problem?

My last attack was Friday when I woke in the middle of the night, frantic that my bottom lip was swelling in reaction to .... air? Who knows? It's not like I'd been eating at 2:30 a.m.

So I undertook a new, ridiculous, just-for-the-joy of it project.

As you may recall, I went through a post-adolescent love fest with the "Twilight" books. Last week, our local hometown newspaper launched a writing contest to continue the Twilight story. It's a 400 word job, it has to center around two characters and take place soon after the conclusion of the final book. Oh my mind, she is a-racing.

I've chosen Jasper and Alice. If you haven't read the books, please stop reading this post. I don't want you nay-saying to ruin my buzz.

I'd like to do something that centers on Alice's past, specifically her time in the assylum. Us crazies like to stick together.

I think I have the concept and storyline in place. I just need to add the pretty part. I'm still ambivilent about submitting. I'm afraid I'll be competing with a bunch of 16-year-olds, and will feel ashamed, but I should do things I enjoy, yes?

Yes! So I push forward, tap into my inner teen angst and see what comes out.

I might just need to see High School Musical 3 to help with the project. Teen drama research is required!

A slice above the rest

Why have you people not told me about the Other Boleyn Girl? I made an impulse purchase at the book store a few weeks ago and picked it up. I had heard it was good, a tad trashy. I know there was a movie in the making.

But I also felt it might be a moot point. Everyone knows what happened to Anne Boleyn: declared a treasonous adulterer and lost her head at the Tower green in the Tower of London.

I must say, well done to Philippa Gregory. She took a very well-known story and added in layers of intrigue marked with desire, deception and the ultimate quest for power and wrapped it into a delicious novel that took me a day to devour.

While I know it is a work of fiction, and the lives of these girls is lost into the swiss cheese accounts of history, but she did a damn fine job of using her reserach and her imagination.

I was caught up, to say the least. And the characters were so richly drawn that at one point, I railled at Anne's cutthroat, tireless quest for the throne that betrayed not only her sister but her own soul.

There is not much better than a magnificent book. I plan on renting the movie although I already expect disappointment. Only a handful of movies have ever matched the passion I felt for the books. But I crave just a few more hours of the beautiful Boleyn girls.

Word of the day

Circumlocution (sir-kuhm-loh-KYOO-shuhn) noun -- The use of many words to express an idea that might be expressed by few; indirect or roundabout language.

When used, it sounds like this: Because you will be offering products, it is important that you and your associates have awareness and understanding of how these laws and regulations affect you.

Ummm...

See also: Presidential debate.

Bailing, and more bailing

Is anyone else obsessed with the financial bailout or is it just me? Following this story has taken up a large chunk of my time for the past week and a half. I find it fascinating. And not from the financial standpoint.

Obviously as a writer, I'm not well-versed enough to understand how the lending squeeze has pressured the T-Bill which results in the Dow dropping and so on and so forth. I don't know and I'm not so inclined to figure it out. Instead, I have a friend who is in the financial sector and when he starts pulling money from the bank to stuff in his mattress, then I'll be worried.

I'm more intriguied by the incendiary language in the media. Last week, Bush was asking for a bailout to re-establish a struggling market that was entering a recession. It was sweeping language, positive about how it would "rescue" us all from this crisis.

The stocks bounced.

Over the weekend, as Congress worked feverisly, the language changed again. By the time Bush was addressing the nation, this $700 billion dollar fuck up was shoring us up against "economic catastrophe."

Catastrophe? Really? Maybe he wasn't getting the appropriate amount of freaking out that he thought was necessary.

Despite the ensuing catastrophe, the bailout obviously failed and the language changes yet again. We're in a financial "meltdown" that requires a financial plan to rescue us from "severe consequences."

I love that words can be so powerful but is that kind of dire verbiage necessary? Yes, the markets are tight, but not tighter than after 9/11 and surprisingly, we survived. Remember Enron? The APR on a money market account went from 5 percent to .8 over night. Anyone recall the dot.com bubble? When that bubble burst, more than $5 trillion when flying out the door.

So it makes me wonder, who is this inciting who? And more importantly, for what purpose?

Wiki-Wiki-Wow-Wow

I crammed and jammed on a quickie wiki today at the part-time writing gig.

Normally I enjoy a good quickie, but this one was particularly stressful. Yet, I was so proud of myself for pulling something together on short notice, and I was very careful to comply with Wikipedia's strict standards.

Yes, my friends, Wikipedia has standards. I know it seems hard to believe but they won't let any old trash post on this site. It is user driven but informational, verging on educational, in nature.

When I was finished, I was pretty pleased with my final product. It was informational, not advetorial and complied with all of our brand standards.

So imagine my surprise when I hit the page this evening only to find it FLAGGED for speedy deletion. Holy shit. I expected some concerns because the information was pulled directly from our site. Possible copyright infringement if we didn't own the data.

But what ticked me off was the addition of a peacock flag: This article or section may contain peacock terms: wording that promotes the subject in a subjective manner without imparting real information.

Real information? Other than our own Web site, there is very little about our association in the e-world. So adding a Wikipedia will further encourage proliferation. Yes, all the facts in my little entry are ours, but damnit, they are real.

Viva La Wiki!

Post Script: Bastards deleted it. Back to the pen.

Post Post Script: And blocked my username so I can't add anything again. Great. This is shaping up to be a real pain.

It’s easy to be green

My green story progresses. In the meantime, I'm sourcing the "expert" to lend some authority. A co-worker says, "Hey, what about Ed Begley?" Why not? So I e-mail his Web site. Dude, he e-mailed me back! Nice!

In the meantime, here's the lovely little sidebar that will eventually appear, not yet property of the part-time gig, but will be soon. Please note that I said taking care of the environment is a GLOBAL responsiblity... stole that from Barack Obama. With love, of course.

Going green is doable. There are small steps that every individual can take. Caring for the planet is a global responsibility, but here are few things you can do in your own space.

Reduce, reuse, recycle: Most garbage collection companies offer an additional recycling option. For as little as a few dollars a month, they provide recycling containers and take most paper, cardboard and plastic products. According to National Geographic, simple recycling cuts up to 1,000 pounds of annual carbon dioxide emissions.

Be green, buy green: In addition to recycling, buy products with that are easily recycled, such as paper or glass. For example, when you buy juice, choose the paper carton instead of the plastic jug.

See the light: Replacing just one 75-watt incandescent bulb with a 19-watt CFL cuts 75 pounds of carbon dioxide emissions per year and up to 750 for the life of the bulb.

Take it to the tap: According to National Geographic, “only 10 percent of plastic water bottles that make it into the recycling bin. If you must have them, recycle the empties. If you can live without, that’s even better. Tap water meets stricter federal and local standards for chemical contaminants, and drinking tap water helps eliminate the waste associated with single-use plastic bottles.”

Drink on the go: Still want to take your drink in the car? A reusable #2, #4 or #5 plastic or stainless steel water bottle is a worthy, earth-easy replacement for that single-serve plastic bottle of water or juice.

Wishy-washy: Appliances are energy suckers, but in some cases, they are the better alternative. A great example is dishwasher versus hand washing. Hand washing dishes can actually use up to 50 percent more water than a water-saving, energy-efficient dishwasher. Make sure you’re using an Energy Star-rated model, which is 41 percent more efficient than the federal standard. And only run full loads, and don’t waste time and water pre-rinsing dishes.

Green and clean: Green cleaners have slowly infiltrated the market in recent years. Despite the worry that the cleaning power is subpar, most cleaners are very efficient and deliver the same kind of clean but with less toxicity and harmful residue. And, according to National Geographic, “Green cleaners are also healthier; they have fewer volatile organic compounds that can trigger asthma and other respiratory problems, and rarely do they contain chemicals that can poison you or your children or cause serious skin reactions if spilled.”

Aerate to be great: Does your sink use an aerator? It’s surprisingly cheap but effective way to save water. They cost as little as $.75 and cut water consumption by up to 6 percent.

It’s in the bag: Paper or plastic? How about neither? Another growing trend, carting groceries in canvas bags is a popular option. In the U.S. alone, 12 million barrels of oil are used a year to make plastic sacks. Paper bags, while more easily recycled, generate 70 percent more air pollution during manufacturing.

Want more green ideas? Log onto http://www.earthlab.com/ to measure your carbon footprint and find out how you – and your state—rank.

Beans, beans, the musical fruit

I’m finishing up my research for my green perspective article. I still struggle with how to package the information. Green individual? Given. Green business? More difficult. Green living? Possible. Will green save the Earth? Who the hell knows. That data seems to be missing. Or I’m not performing the correct Yahoo searches.

So I try again. I type “green” in the search bar. Before I even finish the word, Yahoo is already listing possible matches. The top three: Green Day (nice!), Green Bay Packers (puke) and Green Bean Casserole. What the hell?

Now I have new questions. Are green bean casseroles that thoroughly researched? Who wants to know? And why?

Did you know that a green bean casserole is the ultimate holiday side dish? It’s one of the most requested family favorites for Thanksgiving.

In 2005, this savory dish – sometimes served with crispy onions atop – celebrated 50 years of gracing the dinner table.

The two most important ingredients: green beans, cream of mushroom soup. Some of the most common additional ingredients: rice, chicken and cheese.

One serving of green bean casserole (a mere 1/2 cup) has 7 grams of fat, 4 grams of sugar, 130 calories and 730 mg of sodium. The average casserole serves 12, but most people eat three to five servings without realizing it.

To burn the calories from one small serving of green bean casserole, you could walk for 36 minutes, jog for 15, swim for 11 minutes or ride a stationary bike for 20 minutes.

In seven minutes of yahoo searches, I have learned more about green bean casserole than a whole morning of searching for stats on how environmental measures impact the health of the planet.

In fact, the closest thing I found was a game, hosted by Starbucks ironically, that features environmental choices and how your decisions impact a fictional planet.

Our planet – on the other hand – is apparently not as important as our love for green bean casserole. Thankfully Thanksgiving is not in any danger!

Greenie weinie

One of the difficulties of being a writer is always originality. There are very few topics left undiscussed, even moreso in the age of citizen journalism and citizen reserachers.

So last December when we cobbled together our year-long editorial calender for the magazine, we opted to make the November-Decemeber issue a green issue.

Because there is a topic we haven’t discussed ad nauseum.

I started some basic research today with no idea how to present this issue any differently. The Democratic National Convention is holding a green event. I snagged a few tips from their site.

Al Gore. Yeah, he’s got a thing or two to share.

What else? How do I repackage this information to be pertinent, useful and above all, interesting to my audience?

In my own life, I can see the green message is taking root. I’ve always been a fan of recycling. Now my neighbors are as well. My Aunt Connie for years has sewn her own bags to carry groceries home from the store. Today, the grocery store will gladly sell you the canvas bag to transport your milk. Ride sharing, fuel-economy, the growth of the local produce industry, bee keeping, there are so many ways to add a little more green to your life.

What I don’t know is just how impactful these measures are. Has it really made a difference? And if so, how? What else can we add? If it’s as easy as carrying a bag or two for purchases, then we can all participate. If we have to start biking to work, I don’t see that happening. What I want to know is, how can I really, truly make a difference and by how much?

I popped over to earthlab.com and measured my carbon footprint. Overall, not too bad, I’m lower than the national average, much lower than the Missouri average.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still slowly killing the whales with my gas guzzling SUV, but that damn low-pressure shower head makes all the difference in the world.