Perseverance, Inc.

If you can't laugh at yourself, you miss out on the best jokes in life. This is another one of my sayings that my kids are sick of hearing. But if you're reading it for the first time, maybe you won't roll your eyes. At least I can't see you roll them. Sometimes when the joke's on us, it hurts, too. Case in point: this t-shirt I found online. Here I am starting a blog, hoping to find zillions of readers. But the truth is closer to what it says on this shirt: MORE PEOPLE HAVE READ THIS SHIRT THAN YOUR BLOG. The "hit" counter under the words reads 00002. Ouch! But it's so funny, I might even buy the shirt! (Maybe I'll custom print thecatalogdiva on the back.) More about where I found this shirt later.

We teeter constantly on the cliff of joy and sorrow; fortune and misfortune. I try to lean towards the sunny side so that when the winds of fate blow, they might push me in that direction. Americans are taught to be optimistic. We learn early. In school teachers stamp smiley faces next to an "F" on a math test. They don't want to discourage us, even if we are not the Einsteins the DVD's promised we'd be. Whole industries have arisen to sell us inspiring and uplifting messages.

Accessories.com is one of the many catalogs that feature gizmos with encouraging messages. If I had a million dollars and needed another desk ornament, I would pick their shiny black Desktop Talker which speaks to you every day. It holds recordings of 365 "inspiring quotes...one for each day of the year." They include words from Abraham Lincoln, Helen Keller, Thomas Jefferson, Martin Luther King. Jr. and more. (I assume the celebrity voices are impersonated.)

Ah, but for a change of pace and a real howl, go to Despair.com or Despair, Inc. That's where I found the blog shirt above. You know those motivational posters with a big key word illustrated with breathtaking photos of people climbing mountains or soaring birds? This company takes that concept and turns it upside down. They call their products "demotivators." Here is a sample poster. One lone car heads straight into the awesome fury of a ginormous funnel cloud. Perseverance: The courage to ignore the obvious wisdom of turning back.

This one had me wetting my pants. Okay, I do that when I sneeze, but this was because I was hysterical. Notice the men running in front of the bulls at Pamplona. Tradition: Just because you've always done it that way doesn't mean it's not incredibly stupid.

Despair.com's tag line says that their products are designed for "the person who has everything but still isn't very happy about it." You can get hilarious graphics and blurbs on shirts, mugs, little desktop frames, big posters, and my personal favorite: a calendar that you can customize, choosing the posters you want for each month. You can even add your own remarks for special dates. Yeah, I bought one. (So those of you who voted in my last poll might want to vote again and up your estimate of what I am going to spend.) Most of all, please keep sending my blog to friends and family so more people will read my blog than read the t-shirt!

Catalogs Anonymous

So here I stand (sit, actually). I have confessed to my somewhat addictive behavior of browsing through catalogs. I had hoped that by writing about the stuff instead of buying it, I could be redeemed from the sin of excessive consumerism. Herein lies the rub. It is difficult for me to gaze upon this endless parade of goodies and not buy. Like any addict, I slip. I need a 12-step program for catalogaholics! This blog is meant to push me to write philosophical and/or witty musings inspired by the products; not to plug (or unplug) the products. But I guess that's like writing about love when you've never been kissed.

Last week I bought something from Carol Wright Gifts because, well, even my skeptical and frugal husband said, "Hey, that would be great for my ride to school!" I wish I could tell you that the fact that we agree on decaf has kept our marriage together, but all I can say with honesty is that it looks like a great gadget: a stainless steel car mug that plugs into the car cigarette lighter to keep your drink hot while your drive. $5.99! Will it work for more than a day, a week, a month or even last a year? If anybody asked you that when you got married, you wouldn't buy into that either. The mug hasn't arrived yet, but I'll let you know when it does and if it works.

Last year I bought an Absorbent Soap Dish from the Vermont Country Store. This soap dish "absorbs excess moisture and soap residue so the soap remains clean, dry, and lasts longer. No more gooey bars of soap." And guess what? It works! I am a bar soap person, but surely I could live with some gooey-ness in my life. Nevertheless I bought it for $7.99, and I mention it so you have some idea of the depth of my "catalog problem."

The question is this: do you think I will be able to write this blog without going broke? Being optimistic, let's say I am still writing several times a week for six months. In that much time, how much money do you think I will spend? I include a poll to check your opinions. My intention is to spend less than zero, but signs are not good. That's what it says on the Magic Eight Ball, which is available in several catalogs featuring classic toys...

Catalogs That Give Away Your Age

Nothing makes you feel older than other people's children. This is one of my favorite sayings, because it's true and because I'm the one who said it. I have a friend who had a precocious three-year-old the last time we got together. This week she emailed me to tell me her kid is now a proctologist. All I could do was picture a tow-headed toddler sticking a finger up someone's rear. He couldn't possibly be that old. When did that happen? And how old does that make me? Sure my kids grew up, but that was a day by day process. They didn't hatch into adults in one email. It's unnerving.

Sometimes catalogs make me feel old, too. Lately I pause way too long looking at certain items I never noticed before. Not only did I not notice them previously; I didn't even know what they were! For example, The Vermont Country Store is one of my all time faves. It is a virtual shrine to nostalgia. I can relive my whole life through its pages. But yesterday my latest issue of VCS came, and I stopped to linger on Page 51: a section called "Discreet Solutions for Private Problems." Among the items were two FDA-approved screening kits. These $24.95 kits are for early screening of colorectal cancer and urinary tract infections. I guess that's the game of life. Move right past ovulation and pregnancy kits, pass GO, and collect poop samples.

Also featured in this section was the HealthStep, a toilet foot stool (no pun intended; well, it wasn't intended, but it is good, isn't it?) that will "align the digestive tract for easier, more complete elimination of waste." The copy claims that squatting is the best position for the human body to completely eliminate all waste. To make this preferred position possible, the HealthStep fits under your feet to allow "...a thorough evacuation of waste, helping prevent such common conditions as hemorrhoids, bladder incontinence, constipation, diverticulitus, and IBS." The HealthStep "fits neatly around the base of the toilet when not in use." For $72.95, it is (and it oughta be at that price) a "durable" plastic doo-dad. (No pun intended. But it's still pretty good, isn't it?) At least it took me about ten minutes to figure out what IBS stood for.

I'm not buying any of this, but I did loiter too long on this page. Furthermore, I turned down the corner of the page to keep the place--just in case someday my friend's toddler, the proctologist, recommends these items. I'll know just where to find them.

Halloween for Big People

Years ago it was strictly for kids, but in recent years Halloween has expanded into adult territory. Although the economy will scare off some people, it is still estimated that 47 million adults plan to dress up this year.

I have never felt comfortable about this grown-up costume thing. And carving pumpkins is such a mess. One year when the kids were little, I was struck by a diabolical alternative to carving a smiling jack-o-lantern. I took the pumpkin and stabbed it with a large carving knife which I left sticking out of the side. Then I added gooey fake blood dripping down. Hah! Take that, you treat-or-treaters! A few hours later an adorable three-year-old  dressed as a glittering Tinker Bell came to the door and stood there, staring at the mortally wounded pumpkin. After a few moments, she clenched her mother's hand, looked up at me with moist wide eyes and said, "You killed it." Ohmygod. I was the Halloween Grinch.

I wish adult Halloween costumes had been more popular when I was younger and thinner. I might have liked the sexy buccaneer thing. But Halloween switches my brain's SUGAR button to high power. It starts with the mini Mr. Goodbars on October 31 and doesn't stop till I polish off an entire egg nog cake on New Year's Eve. Not surprisingly, each year, like many Americans, my weight goes up.

This brings me to a scary thought about this Halloween. I rank it about a 5 on my scary scale. A 10 would be the end of the 1958 movie The Fly--when Vincent Price hears a high-pitched sound and turns to see a fly trapped in a spider's web. The fly has David Hedison's tiny head screaming, "Helllp me!" What could be that trippy? Well, it may not be that scary, but it is strange that Halloween is now a big thing for big people in more ways than one. This year catalogs offer a full range of PLUS SIZE HALLOWEEN COSTUMES. Lions and tigers and bears in plus sizes--oh, my!

I was sorely tempted by the large size poodle skirt outfit for only $19.95 at purecostumes.com. I think my sister still has her original poodle skirt from 1954. The waist would now fit around her wrist. She is saving it for the time she fits into it again. The plus size Elvis makes some sense, since he was a plus size at the end!

I do need something, because we are going to a Halloween party this year. So I went to Big Lots and purchased t-shirts for me and my husband, $5 each. One says, "This is my Halloween costume" and the other: "I'm haunted by the voices in my head." Yep. Both in extra large.

I'm not saying there is anything morally wrong about being  fat, er, chunky. The trend is alarming, though, and I hate to admit that I am part of it. I hope we don't see too many children's plus size costumes, although we probably will. Since I am a "petite" plus, I am thinking next year (if I don't lose that 25 pounds) I could go as a "Jumbo Shrimp." If you are pudgy and still want to be in vogue for Halloween, by all means, don't be afraid. Get a plus size costume, have fun...and maybe I'll see you at Weight Watchers on January 2.

PEZ for Pooches

I never had a dog that ate my homework, because I never had a dog till I was 40. When my boys were eight, I went to a shelter and fell in love with what appeared to be a miniature sheep dog with curly gray and black hair hanging to the floor. In this "no-kill" shelter with over 200 dogs, he was the only calm and quiet one. The others were barking at me as if I were the UPS guy. (What do they expect when they have trucks and uniforms the color of steak?) But "Barney," as his name card said, was silent. He slipped his tongue through the cage and licked my face. Sold! I plopped down my $100. The volunteers, who were the real shaggy dogs of the place, said he would be bathed and beautiful by the next day.

When I returned, Barney the Sheep Dog was gone. He had morphed into a mottled, bald, alien creature. The hair had been too matted, they told me, and thus the clean shave. Don't worry, they said. It will grow back. Poodle hair always does. Poodle? I picked a poodle? I wanted a little "Benji" mix, and I got a poodle? Too late now. Eventually, the hair did grow back, and Barney proved the perfect blend of poodle and something else. Turned out the something else was a Schnauzer, which officially made him a "Schnoodle." Barney Schnoodle was a great dog. He loved the kids and would play basketball with them, bouncing the ball off his nose.

The only trouble was his appetite. He never ate homework, but he ate anything else. I tried to brush his teeth and left the toothpaste tube too close to the edge of the counter. Later that night Barney consumed the entire 10-ounce tube of Petrodex, which at the time came in a metal tube. The vet said the metal should have killed him, but it didn't. Another day we came home, and it looked as if there had been a blizzard inside the house. We walked through a six-inch high layer of "fluff" until we located the source of the storm: Barney had eaten the sofa.

Nevertheless, we loved him unconditionally and cried inconsolably when he died at age 12. By then the boys were off to college. Like a widow who immediately wants to close up the hole in her heart, I sat up calling the shelters and trolling the Internet, looking for another "Schnoodle." To my dismay, Schnoodles had become a highly desirable "designer" mixed breed and were selling for two to four thousand schnoodleroonies! Eventually, we did adopt another dog. This was a blind Scottie mix that we literally scooped off the trolley at the pound on her way to the "goodbye room." We called her DD (DeDe) for Dead Dog Walking.

Obviously, if I can't resist a blind dog, I can't resist dog product catalogs. Again, I almost never buy. (Okay, I do have a doggie "stroller" in my garage. I bought it but was too embarrassed to use it. If you're interested, let me know. Pay the shipping and it's yours.) When you peruse pet product catalogs, you quickly realize that 99% of the items are for people. Why buy a heated velour monogrammed deluxe bed for a pooch that prefers napping on a pile of dirty underwear? Yes, you should be a responsible pet owner and keep your pet healthy, clean and safe, but let's face it: your dog doesn't care if his treats look like peppermint candy brittle, Wolfgang Puck pizzas or Hannukah gelt.

Speaking of pet treats, this catalog is always a treat for me: DOCTORS FOSTER and SMITH QUALITY PRODUCTS FOR DOGS & CATS. It's as much fun as a barrel of Schnoodles. There are many practical things: electric fences, crates, collars, pet doors, and so on. But here's the one that caught my fancy, on Page 6: PEZ for your Pooch. That's right. It holds 6 bone-shaped treats and is touted as a "fun, nostalgic way to reward your dog." Since Dog Whisperer and guru Cesar Milan insists that dogs live only in the present moment, I am not sure they get the nostalgia angle. But you do. And if PEZ pet treats keep your dog from devouring your sofa, that's a good thing.

Dinner Games with Toddlers

Ah, dining out with toddlers. I remember it well. I had twin boys, so this was always risky business. In the 80's we were lucky if the waitress gave us placemats to color and slapped down a cup of used crayons. If they had grilled cheese sandwiches on the menu, we were golden. Then an agent of the devil invented Chuck E. Cheese. I am certain someday they will have a study linking visits to Chuck E. Cheese to eventual deafness, dementia, or erectile dysfunction. Hopefully the latter, for that will certainly pull the plug once and for all. And for the generation raised on Chuck E. there is now an adult version, Dave and Buster's. I suppose the primal need for entertainment while eating dates back to the invention of TV dinners in the 50's. Blame it on Swanson.

Theoretically, when you go to a "kid-friendly" place, you don't have to worry about icy stares from people when your children start acting like, well, children. But if you want to take them to a place where you can order arugula and butternut squash with ahi on the side, you had better be prepared. You can bring portable DVD players, iPods and hand-held computer games, but those are not in the spirit of "family dining." And certainly you have read that the family that eats together has smarter kids. You don't want your child's college essay to read that he/she grew up in a home with emotionally absent parents, as exempfied by their dependence on digital diversions rather than face-to-face conversation.

That brings me to today's catalog pick, Beginner Dinner Games for Ages 3 and up, which I found in Young Explorers, page 30E. "Play with Your Family...Not with your food!" For only $18.95 (plus shipping and tax) you are promised a box of cards containing over 50 games that "...encourage quality time spent talking and interacting. Short and easy-to-play games like, Pass the Pepper, Get to Know Ya Trivia and so much more..." It comes with a tin carrying box "perfect for toting to restaurants." I like the concept a lot. If you have kids (and there is another version for ages 5 and up) maybe you can try it out and let me know how it works. When I think of family "get to know ya" trivia, I can't help but jump to gems like, "Which uncle always smells like Manischevitz Concord Grape?" or "Which grandma's teeth flew into the cranberry sauce last Thanksgiving?" or "Which cousin always goes to the bathroom when the check arrives?" But that would be a do-it-yourself family trivia game. Maybe they can throw in some extra cards for those.

This Dinner Games Box sounds as if it should keep the kidlets involved and out of trouble. I am by nature an optimist, but my experience makes me skeptical. I am haunted by bad memories, such as the time I took my five-year-old twins on a cross-country flight to visit my sister in Baltimore. I was an educational writer, so I was PREPARED. I had brought a 50-pound backback full of Mad Libs, Transformers, He-Man action figures, coloring books, paint-with-water books, dot-to-dot books, Scratch and Sniff stickers, magnetic checkers...you get the picture. My boys went through the entire contents in about six minutes. For the rest of the flight, they kept pressing the flight attendant button and going to the bathroom every 15 minutes. I had to smile and try to keep the flight attendants from killing my kids by sticking them with those little "aviator pins." (Do they give those out anymore? Probably not.) They also brought lots of peanuts, probably hoping the boys had an undetected nut allergy.

But what I recall most from this flight was a little girl sitting in the row across from us. She was about six. Her father was sitting next to her, and he didn't have a backback. "He didn't even bring her a coloring book," I thought smugly when the flight began. But did you ever hear a peep out of her? No. She spent the five-hour trip reading and re-reading the safety information card.


So let me know if the Dinner Games work for you. Personally, when I was a kid my relatives had low-tech tricks that kept me mesmerized. Do you know how to slide your thumb so it looks like it was just amputated? Can you take a cloth napkin and fold it into a bra? If the box of Dinner Games don't work, you can try these. Or just stay home with grilled cheese sandwiches.

Baby, I Married An Einstein!

To my chagrin, Disney does not have a
print catalog. Probably because you would need a separate wing on your house to hold it. I love Disney. That little mouse has been very good to me. Once upon a time Mickey moved me from Baltimore to Burbank to manage a line of classroom materials called Disney Schoolhouse. Remember the smell of ditto pages in the morning? That's how long ago our fairy tale relationship began. I continue working happily with the famous rodent to this very day. I write lots of books for Disney Press. Why I even wrote the Little Einsteins First Picture Dictionary. You can probably find it in bookstores, on Amazon and if you go to Disney's online catalog: the Disney Store. (Check out Handy Manny and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I write for those guys, too.) Disney rarely gives writers royalties, but when it comes to Einsteins, I always harbor a secret wish. They do pay something to the Einstein trust for that name. And I did marry an Einstein.

Seriously. My mother-in-law's maiden name is Einstein. Gudula Einstein Amerikaner. Now nearing ninety, Gudula lived in Stuttgart, Germany until 1939. Is she related to the Albert Einstein? "Probably," she says. Gudula is almost 90 and sees no reason to care about this issue. She is more interested in going to the 99 Cent Store. I say: what about all those Baby Einstein royalties?! Think of all the 99 cent tzotchkes we could buy! Alas, we have no genealogy studies or DNA to prove any connection. Certainly my husband is bright and witty. Our sons agree, but they grouse that the math gene did not survive the lengthy genetic journey.

I am a descendant of Russian, Swedish and Hungarian peasants. On my side our biggest claim to fame is my Uncle Eddie Leonard who was a champion featherweight boxer and later a nightclub entrepreneur and owner of the now defunct, but formerly famous chain of Washington, D.C. "Eddie Leonard" sandwich shops. More on Uncle Eddie another time. The subs were great, by the way.

I insist there is probable cause to believe I did marry a relative of the Einstein. We have been married almost 30 years, and I did not marry my husband because of this "relativity." I was unaware of any possible connection. The name "Amerikaner" was enough for a newlywed to deal with; I never even asked his mother's maiden name. I fell in love with Erik because of chemistry; not physics. And I am still wild over his terrific sense of humor, warmth and gentle nature. (On the contrary, Gudula says that she hears the famous Albert was "not a very nice person.")

Several years ago I came upon a photo of Einstein in his 20's; about the same age as my husband when we met. I gasped. OMG! It was the same face. My husband is a high school teacher (no, not physics) and even his students remarked on the uncanny resemblance. They discovered similar photos when they were doing research on Einstein, Albert. They are here so you can judge for yourself.

My husband does collect Einstein books, pictures and even the occasional Einstein bobblehead (my personal favorite). Fame is fleeting, especially when it's not yours. How has the possibility of maybe perhaps having Einstein for a distant relative changed my life? Not much. But every time I see one of those Baby Einstein books, I rack up a psychic "Ka-ching!" You can't blame me for trying. Oh, pooh. I know how the Milne family feels.

Kitschy Christmas

I come from a shopping family. Acquisition of useless but adorable objects was our regular group activity. Alas, these days I have scruples regarding excessive consumerism. In fact I have far more scruples than dollars. The urge, however, remains. But I control it by reading catalogs. I can't get enough of them. They act like a nicotine patch for my wallet. My guilty pleasure is to lie in bed and browse them. No matter how overpriced or ridiculous the stuff is, I always seem to find at least one item that's a "keeper" - something that makes me say, "Hey, that is a good idea!" So I turn down the corner of the page, toss the catalog beside the bed and say to myself, "Tomorrow I'll go online and order that." But you know how morning afters are. What was I thinking? I almost always scoop up the catalogs and throw them in the recycling bin.

Here's an example of a typical, if temporary, keeper. Imagine a red plastic figure named Al. You put Al in a pot of spaghetti and after exactly 7 minutes, when the pasta is "Al Dente," he will play 30 seconds of an aria from Aida. "No more guessing or tasting a hot noodle!" boasts the copywriter for the "Al Dente Pasta Timer" at Solutions.com. Great idea, right? But would you pay $30 plus shipping, handling and tax for Al? Like other guys who are hot the night before, Al leaves me cold in the morning.

Sure, I read the classy catalogs like Wireless and Frontgate, but my favorites are the corny, kitschy catalogs like Miles Kimball or Harriet Carter. This week I found a Carter classic: page 70, the "Merry Christmas from Heaven Ornament." This tree ornament has a place for a photo of a departed loved one and is inscribed with this poem:

I love you all dearly.

Now don't shed a tear.

I'm spending my Christmas

with Jesus this year.

Christmas ornaments from dead people! Brilliant. This bit of holiday cheer from HarrietCarter.com started me thinking about creating ornaments or holiday cards for those we care about--but in different ways. How about one for an ex-husband? Stick in a terrible photo and engrave this verse:

Merry Christmas to my EX.

So glad that you're not here,

'Cause I've spent the alimony

On my new boyfriend this year.

What about a holiday card for that freeloading relative?

Every holiday you come knocking.

You never bring nuttin',

Not even a stocking.

You eat all the dip,

Drop your towels on the floor.

And your slutty wife is such a bore.

It's like sticking our heads inside a noose;

We've had enough of this abuse.

This year you'll find the keys beneath the mat.

We got a kennel to board the cat.

Blow up the Aero bed with your mouth.

We booked a cruise and headed south!

In the comments, please send me your own unique holiday greeting ideas. Look out, Hallmark!