220th Good Thing about Unemployment

 Buddy, Snott and Daisy at work

You practice Total Quality Management (TQM) with your dogs. You are Executive Management. They are the Quality Control Circle (QCC) unable to make decisions affecting Executive Management, but assisted with these Quality Control (QC) tools:

• the cause and effect diagram revealing key relationships with respect to products like poop,
• check sheets available for collecting real-time data on tasks such as chasing the annoying guy who zooms down our dirt road in the golf cart and swings the stick (even though there is no golf course remotely close and there is several feet of snow on the ground),  
• the scatter diagram to determine the relationship between water intake and lifting one’s leg,
• control charts used when trapped inside overnight,
• Pareto diagrams for charting the relative frequency of reasons why we can’t catch every chipmunk,   
• histograms useful when measuring a particularly perfect distribution of dog doo, and, of course,
• graphs to help identify the annoying characteristics of Executive Management.

There is the appropriate amount of lag time between when the QCC's recommendations have been submitted and when nothing is done. But, the dogs continue to Circle and occasionally sleep on the job. You offer biscuits to them at regular intervals.

For Good Things numbered 151 through 200

For Good Things numbered 101 through 150

For Good Things numbered 1 through 100

200 Good Things about Unemployment

151. There are no complaints unless you forget to feed the dogs. Then, there may be some impatience.

152. When you have a big zit, no one at the office stares at it.

153. When the Generals change, you don't have to salute the new one.

154. You become known for animal excretions. Your friend tells you she thinks of you when she cleans up her cat’s vomit. Last night, a bat thanks you by fluttering back and forth above your head at 3:30 a.m.  Today, you find bat guano deposited in your guest bedroom. Why is there a special word for bat poop?

155. You hear of job openings for Russian Secret Agents. According to a NY Times article, a neighbor to the alleged New Jersey spies who were arrested yesterday said, “They couldn’t have been spies. Look what she did with the hydrangeas.”  Come see my garden. My neighbors will attest that I can dig. Is there a Russian employment office nearby? Hire me. (NY Times article is at http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/30/world/europe/30spy.html?hp)

156. You eat potato chips and ice cream for breakfast. Eight months of unemployment deserves some sort of recognition. No one is watching. Splurge.

157. You go without underwear. We unemployed should try this. As we walk out of each interview, we will show our moon. What do you think? Shall we start a national trend that can be reported by Brad Tuttle in the TIME blog? Not wearing underwear is a cheapskate strategy recommended in the new book, The Ultimate Cheapskate, and reported by Tuttle, “one way to save, recommended by a female cheapskate, is to go without underwear (at least when the weather's warm).” http://money.blogs.time.com/2010/07/01/qa-with-jeff-yeager-author-of-the-cheapskate-next-door/comment-page-1/#comment-3562#ixzz0sRS6Wahe

158. Somebody always thinks you can be useful around the house. That's me on the ladder. I'd rather be loafing.

159. Happy Independence Day! Enjoy the free fireworks. They are not the ones at your former workplace. My 4th of July photo essay made the cover of Open Salon today: http://open.salon.com/blog/unemployedmarx/2010/06/28/life_liberty_the_pursuit_of_happiness_photo_gallery

160. The toilets don’t automatically flush. You can wash your own behind.

161. Heat and humidity are high here. No air conditioning at home. The nuns at my grade school would say that suffering is a good thing.

162. At least the deer flies love you. The females even suck your blood through fresh bug spray. Where do I apply for Buffy's old job?

163. You can poop in privacy. Have you ever been making number two when your boss walks into the restroom? Do you hold it? Do you let it go? Do you hope that she doesn’t inhale? All of us know that everybody poops. But, no one wants to be caught doing it. Even guys. I can’t figure that out.

164. When you visit friends, you look so pitiful they provide you with a free meal. The trick is employing this tactic over and over again.

165. You realize that shopping is not a patriotic act. I just returned from a trip to my home town visiting family and friends. Although it was tempting to shop there, I stayed away. My time was better spent talking about old times and new while sharing meals and laughs. When Dick Cheney and George Bush urged citizens to shop after 9/11, Robert Reich said, "We don't live to support an economy. The economy exists to support us." So, why doesn't the U.S. Senate support us with passage of the unemployment extension? Seems patriotic to me.

166. You can finally clean the refrigerator.
     Yesterday, I used all of our dying vegetables in a sauce over rice. This is a good meal for us unemployed as rice is cheap and the vegetables are from my garden and the farmers market. These fresh veggies are a good thing because they also take a long time to die. The ones from the store have been traveling a week or two before you buy them so they are good at wilting as soon as you store them. These can take weeks to brown and I always take advantage of that attribute.
     Anyway, removing all the vegetable remnants from the bin, I realized that I may not have ever cleaned the refrigerator. You say that you can’t believe that.     
     Well, there was a fair depth of dirt in the two bins and I could not remove one of bins because the door cannot go back far enough to remove it as we’ve wedged the refrigerator under our stairway and built a countertop preventing the refrigerator from coming out of the corner. In retrospect, this design was probably not a good idea.
     I could try removing the refrigerator door to take out the bin. This seems like way too much work for cleanliness. So, I quit. The “white” space under that stuck bin remains littered with food bits but no one can see that, so who cares. There is only so much an unemployed person should do with her time.
     Do employed persons have time to clean the refrigerator? No way. But, now, one side of my refrigerator is clean and you have a good view here of my rear.

167. When it is hot and humid and you are sweating just fine, you hang out in the woods all day picking wild blueberries. They are free and so are you.

168. You crave ice cream but all you have is cheese and crackers. So, you imagine and it almost tastes like moca almond fudge, my favorite.

169. You call up someone occupying a job you’d like and ask him if he plans to leave it. I just did that. I think I creeped-out the guy. He asked me if he needed to check his car before he started it this afternoon.

170. Your time card is not overdue.

171. You understand the worth of old customs, such as hanging clothes outside to dry. We installed this clothesline last weekend. Essentially, it is a 100-foot rope, with a few feet cut off, hooked from the house to the barn. In between the hooks, there is a piece of waste wood that my partner kept because he knew sometime in his lifetime he would use it. Our yard is littered with similar valuable items including this broken upside-down toilet now joined by Oxeye Daisies and other discarded goods, and a cast iron bathtub that isn’t going anywhere unless hernia surgery is already scheduled. The clothesline cost $4, which was returned by not using the dryer the last time I washed towels. And when I’m bored, I watch the wash flap in the breeze. Cheap entertainment for the rural unemployed: me.

172. You eat homegrown tomatoes, reflect and genuflect. A story.

My tomato ate the Principal: A sad story of taste and Sacrifice

I have a terrible memory. It is the reason I didn't reach beyond a BA in English. I never remember the particulars of a book. In fact, most of the time, I don't remember that I've even read the book or watched the movie. I can view a work of art 27 times before it seems redundant. And if I’ve got a free pass to a museum, I can see the same exhibit over and over again without complaint.

My memory functions fine, unfortunately, surrounding traumatic events. And I remember vividly my tragic grade school encounter with a sliced tomato.

I attended a cruel Catholic school with a policy that students eat everything on their lunch plates. This, of course, was because there were starving children who would be grateful for canned white grapefruit and canned spinach—regulars that made me gag. This was also true of the raw tomato.

Students could not engage in conversation while eating lunch. If you were caught talking, you ate your lunch against the wall for a week or more. This gag order (no pun intended) limited our ability to trade food we did not like. No one would take canned spinach off your tray, but the fate of a sliced tomato wasn’t that limited. Until the day I still have trouble talking about.

No one would take my tomato. I was a cute girl, even a teacher’s pet in first grade, with bangs my mother must have cut with a knife. And I sat through my lunch period not lifting a bite of that tomato to my mouth. All of my classmates were dismissed from the table. School Principal Sister Mary Sacrifice would not let me leave until I ate my tomato. So I sat and stared at the thing.

The tomato began to grow. Soon, it had not only taken over the table, it was nearly as big as the cafeteria, which was the size of a basketball gymnasium. In fact, it was our gym. I began to cry knowing my colleagues were outside enjoying their long 30-minute recess. I cried. And I cried.

As the older kids began to stream in for their lunch period, I sat alone in the cafeteria except for my tomato, which slowly consumed Sister Mary Sacrifice. This was my first experience with Transcendental Meditation.

Then, a miracle happened. Carla Rodriguez, a 6th grader, appeared from nowhere and took the tomato off my plate. For the last 48 years, I have nominated her for canonization due to her heroic virtue.

It took almost that long before I would eat a raw tomato. I could stomach spaghetti and pizza sauce, but no fresh tomato was ever contemplated. And if I accidently got a piece of tomato from a salad in my mouth, I casually spit it out without any concern for good manners.

So my path toward tomato reverence was long and not particularly graceful. Now, however, I grow tomatoes in my garden and eat them from the vine. I’m not sure when the transition took place, but it is over. After planting eight tomato plants in May, I anxiously waited until last week when I ceremoniously plucked the first ripe tomato from a vine. Then, I marched into the kitchen to continue the ritual of slicing, salting and stuffing it in my mouth. After all, there is nothing better than a homegrown tomato.

Here is my favorite way of eating a raw tomato. I do so each summer, sometimes twice a day, in honor of Saint Carla Rodriguez.

Tragic Tomato No More: A summer recipe & ritual
Cut a homegrown tomato into big chunks and put it in a salad bowl. Add sliced homegrown basil. Use a fork to scrape out some Chevre from the container. (I buy Chevre--soft cheese made from goat milk, enzymes and salt--from our Farmers Market. Mine comes from the Polymeadows Farm in Shaftsbury, VT, and I adore it.) Add some sliced raw almonds, which I roast lightly in a skillet and store in the refrigerator. Sometimes I add fresh corn off the cob or wild blueberries from our yard, but these are extra and not necessary. Put a smidgen of olive oil on top, salt and pepper. Chew. Savor. Genuflect.

173.  You play with snake skins. Somebody said there was a job in it for you. So where is that somebody?  For free entertainment, here is a video of a snake shedding its skin. He is quite the performer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmCflSFk4t0&feature=player_embedded  I easily amuse myself.

174. You wait all day for someone from the electric company to show up and when the someone finally arrives, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Here is the story.

When we received our last electricity bill, I was concerned that the electric company (We will call them NYE) hadn’t read our meter since December so had estimated charges for the last six months. Bill, my partner, asked why I should be concerned about this. I reminded him that I am unemployed and prone to worry about incidentals including why he cannot handle plastic wrap. I patiently explained that NYE’s estimated readings are always low. He argued that missed readings would then be a good thing. I reminded him that women think ahead, contrary to the script that most men follow, and when NYE finally reads the meter, we may owe them considerably more than one employed person (him) could afford to pay. Fearing an untimely disconnect, I figured having electricity this winter would be a better thing.

So, I called NYE and, as you might expect, was transferred numerous times. I ended up with a young woman who sounded concerned. She agreed six months is a long time not to have our meter read and did I have dogs? Yes, I said, but the dogs cannot be the problem. She did not believe me. Maybe there is a new worker, she said, and the dogs bother her. The only way to find out, she continued, would be to talk with the meter reader. So, she scheduled an appointment for the two of us to meet when the worker would be in the neighborhood--between 8:00 and 10:00 yesterday. I put the date on my calendar, which, of course, is crowded with job interviews. Okay, the last clause is an exaggeration.

I was dressed by 8:00 a.m. and told the dogs we’d take our walk after NYE left. They accepted that, along with breakfast served at their feet. At 10:30, I called NYE. Again transferred a few times, I explained to the young man what wasn’t happening. He confirmed that my address was on the schedule and said the worker had to be on his way.

At 1:30 p.m., I called again and explained to a third person that NYE was supposed to have visited me this morning in order to tell me why there was a problem visiting me. The woman I got this time said she was sorry but I was not on the schedule and that this was her fault. She could have been crying. Would I still like someone to come out today? I had already been confined for five and half hours, so what were a few more hours? I said yes. I could tell she was drying her eyes.

At 2:30 p.m., as rain came from nowhere to flatten most living things, a guy in a NYE truck appeared saying he was there to turn on my electricity. The dogs and I, on the porch and wet, were perplexed but we patiently explained the situation again.

The NYE visitor said, “Let me call in to see what is going on.”

“Believe me,” I said, “I’m the only person who knows what is going on.”

He didn’t believe me. He took out his cell phone. I told him his cellphone probably wouldn’t work out here (we live in a rural area known as the boonies) and he could come in to use our land line. Of course, his cellphone worked, but the dispatcher didn’t answer her phone. I told him I thought she ran to the store for more tissues.

He said he had no idea why someone wasn’t reading my meter. I convinced him to put in a good word about our dogs. He asked for their names, but he seemed to lose interest when I told him one of the dogs was named Snot. He left after reading the meter.

About 3:30 p.m., the dispatcher called me. She had done some research. It turns out that the meter reader hadn’t finished our route since December and about 70 homes were affected. All my neighbors were paying estimated bills and our dogs had been wrongly accused. I told her I didn’t know whether Snot and Buddy would get over it, but I’d help them work through it.

You may think this is the end of the story but our real meter reader returned today to read the meter. I ran out to say hello. The young man said he went home sick last time and didn’t finish the route. I told him I was sorry I ever inquired about the issue. Sometime before the last phone call yesterday, I no longer cared that our bill was estimated. I just wanted NYE to get out of my life.

Now, I debate whether to tell Bill the saga of this unemployed day because he will say, “I told you not dealing with NYE was a good thing.” And I will have to agree.

175. Your weekly activity report to the boss is not due. Oh, good news, I actually got a call for a job interview today. Of course, I missed the call but it is captured on my answering machine so I can play it over and over. I'm on a roll.

176.  You can ponder the real mysteries of life, like why do shoes squeak and is it the right shoe or the left? How can you sneak with sneakers that squeak?

 
177. Recalling today's job interview:
"Can you tell me about a time when you were employed?"
"Well, that's a tough one..."
Let's just say the interview could have gone better.

178. Your best friend tries to tell you something when you ask, “How was your morning?  Did you sleep well?  How do I look for this interview?”

179. Another job, another interview: Congratulations to you. How many hip words can you use in your half-hour interview?  Benchmark, outcome measure, work plan, interactive tools, effectiveness, quality, core principals, strategic plan, performance management, linkage, culture of excellence, overarching framework, indicators, implementation mechanism, objectives, strategies, activities, assessment rating… I am smart. I am cool. I can play the game. Just give me the frickin’ job. Smile. Handshake. Thank you for this opportunity.  

180. When it is too hot to do squat, you sit in front of a fan all day and envision working. But not too hard. 

181. You don't have to wear a bra.

182. You are ordained as a monk after your thousands of hours of isolation, contemplation and desperate prayer, and invited to ride in the Popemobile.

183. You take up a hobby while you’re waiting to be offered the job after your interview. You knit a potholder. You knit a scarf. You knit a tree jacket.

184. You take up another hobby while you’re waiting to be offered the job after your interview. In your first lesson, you draw this tennis shoe.

In lesson two, you draw these apples.

In lesson 743, you are mistaken for Picasso.

185. Your invention to teach men to replace the toilet paper roll makes a fortune from irritated wives. You no longer need a job. Patent Pending.

186. As the autumn leaves fall, you can watch every damn one of them hit the ground.

187. You can carve every damn one of these pumpkins.

188. You can smash every one of these damn pumpkins. And enjoy it. Does that pumpkin head remind you of anyone? Go for it.

189. You answer that perennial interview question: If you were an animal, which one would you be? Hmmmm. I said, "My dog. He lays around all day, but gets scratched when the boss comes around." Wrong answer.

190. You learn to juggle apples. Sometimes you miss. Depression runs in the family, not talent.

191. When the dogs bring home dessert, you are there to smile and nod, and be grateful that most of the flies froze last week in the first frost.

192. You try to sell your furniture, your dishes, your laundry and your husband. Nobody wants your husband, but your dirty underwear goes for big bucks so you are dirtying more.

193. You celebrate your one-year anniversary of unemployment by not working.

194. You redecorate your living room by vacuuming.

195. To avoid the icy streets of the first snow storm of the season, you sit in a Barnes & Noble Cafe not drinking.

196. The fog settles and you don’t have to drive.

197. You cannot afford to go to the dentist. No drilling, no scraping, and no "can you feel that?"

198. You have nothing to do, so everyone is coming to your house on Thanksgiving. Planning for days, you clean the bathrooms, mop the floors, suck up spider webs with your vacuum, and burn every candle you own as there is an unfortunate smell of a composting critter you cannot find.

199. You boycott Black Friday, but participate fully in Stay-at-Home-Saturday.

200. You don't have to pack your lunch.

For Good Things numbered 101 through 150, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/06/150-good-things-about-unemployment.html

For Good Things numbered 1 through 100, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/04/1.html

191st Good Thing about Unemployment

When the dogs bring home dessert, you are there to smile and nod, and be grateful that most of the flies froze last week in the first frost. 

///  For Good Things numbered 181 through 190, see
http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/10/190-good-things-about-unemployment.htmlFor Good Things numbered 171 through 180, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/09/180-good-things-about-unemployment.html 
For Good Things numbered 161 through 170, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/07/170-good-things-about-unemployment.html
For Good Things numbered 151 through 160, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/07/160-good-things-about-unemployment.html

For Good Things numbered 101 through 150, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/06/150-good-things-about-unemployment.html

For Good Things numbered 1 through 100, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/04/1.html ///

190 Good Things about Unemployment

181. You don't have to wear a bra.

182. You are ordained as a monk after your thousands of hours of isolation, contemplation and desperate prayer, and invited to ride in the Popemobile.


183. You take up a hobby while you’re waiting to be offered the job after your interview. You knit a potholder. You knit a scarf. You knit a tree jacket.

184. You take up another hobby while you’re waiting to be offered the job after your interview. In your first lesson, you draw this tennis shoe. In lesson two, you draw these apples. In lesson 743, you are mistaken for Picasso.

185. Your invention to teach men to replace the toilet paper roll makes a fortune from irritated wives. You no longer need a job. Patent Pending.


186. As the autumn leaves fall, you can watch every damn one of them hit the ground.


187. You can carve every damn one of these pumpkins.

188. You can smash every one of these damn pumpkins. And enjoy it.

189. You answer that perennial interview question: If you were an animal, which one would you be? Hmmmm.

I said, "My dog. He lays around all day, but gets scratched when the boss comes around."

Wrong answer.

190. You learn to juggle apples. Sometimes you miss. Depression runs in the family, not talent.

/// For Good Things numbered 171 through 180, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/09/180-good-things-about-unemployment.html
For Good Things numbered 161 through 170, see
http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/07/170-good-things-about-unemployment.html
For Good Things numbered 151 through 160, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/07/160-good-things-about-unemployment.html

For Good Things numbered 101 through 150, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/06/150-good-things-about-unemployment.html

For Good Things numbered 1 through 100, see http://unemployedmarx.blogspot.com/2010/04/1.html ///

All rights reserved Sheba Marx

150 Good Things about Unemployment

101. You watch your two-year-old pup carry a tree branch ten times her size until she breaks it into a manageable size and then it becomes uninteresting and is dropped.

102. Although it may not seem like it some days, you are luckier than this tree.

103. You are home to stop one of your dogs from bringing in a coveted dead squirrel, bloody and mangled. He reluctantly left it at the door to come in and eat. When I let him out, it was gone. A neighbor dog was sneaking away with it. Even the unemployed dogs in this rural area are wandering. For a laugh, here is an illustrated version of The Wanderer by Dion and The Belmonts including John Glenn, The Three Stooges and a floating newborn. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBtmaq0J2kU

104. You watch two water striders get it on, while taking everything in stride.

105. You apply for a Guinness World Record for most job application rejections. Today, I got a rejection letter for a job I didn’t even apply for. No kidding. I should get some kind of prize for that.

106. A sweet poem for the season, after a walk in the woods finding tiny spring flowers like this Round-lobed Hepatica a.k.a. Anemone americana. Aren't you impressed with my knowledge of the Buttercup Family? I own a wildflower book.

A Variation of Spring Has Sprung
Spring Has Sprung, the grass his ris’,
I wonder where the birdie is?
There he is up in the sky,
He dropped some doodoo in my eye!
I’m alright, I won’t cry,
I’m unemployed and used to that shit.

107. You laugh at other unemployed persons' blogs. Check out the video at http://unemploymentality.com/ showing the travails of an unemployed Imperial Stormtrooper named TK822.

108. On your walk today, you see a critter that reminds you of your old boss. In metaphor only, though. This guy here is harmless. You sure don't miss the other one.

109. You could be in the midst of Iceland’s volcanic ash or stuck in a European airport, but you are at home, free and clear of everything including employment.

110. You begin to relate to your shoulder companion, the camera. This porcupine was yesterday’s highlight. How about their mating ritual? Males fight over the females, which is how it should be. Then the males dance and spray urine over the head of the female. Now, that is courtship.

111. You spend yesterday ferreting out a disagreeable smell, sniffing like a dog under cabinets, pulling junk out of closets and finally finding the source first thing this morning. Yes, you set that mouse trap awhile back and forgot about it. Don’t do that again. And especially before breakfast.

112. When five airlines say they won’t charge for carryon baggage, you devise a scheme with your girlfriend to bring you on her next business trip. You just have to lose a few pounds.

113. You visit the Village Beautiful and take photos. Walden and Spring streets cross at a parking lot. Something seems amiss.

114. Nobody can beat you at Solitaire. All 1,723 versions of it, including Premier Super Precision High-Tech Grand Prix Turbo with Wicked Performance Solitaire.

115. You may have your doubts some days, but deep down you know you can withstand this ordeal, not unlike these quarters that have been standing for the last 200 years. Well, maybe leaning.

116. Your dog won’t be wearing Sexy Beast cologne. On April 23, the Huffington Post published a hysterical photo collage by Katla McGlynn featuring The Stupidest Pet Products Ever Invented. I won’t be purchasing Sexy Beast for $65 or the Hot Doll Sex Toy for Dogs no matter what it costs. Scan the reader notes too; lots of defensive comments from people who actually have purchased the products for their pets. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/04/23/the-stupidest-pet-product_n_548146.html

117. You cancel your trash service that costs $22/month. You load your garbage and recycling into your Smart Car. Although you are sitting on your wine bottles and some jerk in the family didn’t compost a not-so-recent meal forcing you to stuff newspaper up your nostrils, you manage the 17-mile drive to the transfer station. As you sort everything into the bins (cardboard, green glass, brown glass, clear glass, metal, plastic, paper and garbage), the genial old-timer who works there stares at your behind and asks if you’re okay. You notice that several cars are waiting for you to finish, you’ve mixed your brown and green glass, and your butt is soaked in Merlot.

118. We bee happy. Here’s the buzz: Career Cast has rated the most stressful jobs, while saying that workplace stress damages productivity, mental well-being and physical health. The senior corporate executive is one of the top five most stressful jobs. No sympathy here. http://www.careercast.com/jobs/jobsRated And for Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t Worry, Be Happy including Robin Williams: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9K4BKkLaCI

119. When it snows like crazy on April 28, you are at home to curse and moan and take photos. I am not in a good mood.

120. You follow New York State politics and wish you were related to Senate Majority Leader Pedro Espada, Jr, who seems to hire his family and pay them generously. According to the NY Attorney General, the Senator employed his son to run a janitorial service company that cleaned his health clinic. The janitors were paid $1.70/hour. Minimum wage is $7.25/hour. His son earned $150,000/year. They did not pay taxes. We elect such honorable folks in New York. The whole nation knows this.

121. May Day. When I was a kid, we made baskets from construction paper, filled them with lawn flowers and bush blooms, and brought them to neighbors. May Day is celebrated as International Workers Day or Labor Day in many countries. Today in the U.S., Mayday is a distress call from the unemployed. According to the Pew Fiscal Analysis Initiative, 23% of the 15 million unemployed Americans have been jobless for a year or more. That is 3.4 million people, about the population of Connecticut, Oregon or Oklahoma. According to that great resource Wikipedia, students at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland celebrate today by running naked into the North Sea at sunrise. Sounds good to me, as long as there is some snuggling after that cold plunge.

122. Laughter. Happy World Laughter Day! According to the Laughter Yoga folks, laughter will promote world peace. I agree. If we are all laughing, it seems unlikely we will kill each other. Here is a video I guarantee will make you laugh: http://www.youtube.com/v/UjXi6X-moxE&hl=en  I found it on their website.

123. It makes you feel good to read books that feature characters with worse luck than you have. I read The Natural Laws of Good Luck: A Memoir of an Unlikely Marriage by Ellen Graf. The story includes fire, unemployment, loneliness, betrayal, isolation, car accidents, financial strain, disappointment and serious illness. And it is all true. I feel better already.

124. You photograph wildflowers in the woods. Open Salon editors feature your photos: http://open.salon.com/blog/unemployedmarx/2010/05/03/beauty_in_the_woods_wildflowers_of_ny
You are hot, well, maybe warm, well, maybe cool.

125. Spring cleaning is sweet. After a week of scrubbing, you tell your family they can no longer wear shoes in the house, they can only eat over the table, and they cannot poop in the toilets.

126. You capture a wasp dancing on Garlic Mustard. Although I hate this invasive plant and spend some of each day pulling it up, even in our 80 acres of woods, this wasp was having a good time. I watched him dance and dip, asked him what he was doing on Garlic Mustard when the lilacs are blooming (he said he preferred sour, not sweet, and it was none of my business anyway--a rather haughty guy), and then I grabbed that Garlic Mustard and yanked it until the roots let go. It was an ugly scene.

127. On Mother’s Day, you looked beautiful in your ski mask and parka at the Peace Pagoda’s Flower Festival eating picnic food around a blazing fire with your back to the bitter wind. Yes, it is upstate New York on May 9. You wouldn’t be anywhere else, unless it is someplace warmer.

128. You use an interview strategy like this one:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKV0QuQsonk&feature=player_embedded
Since I don’t have television service, I don’t know if this commercial is shown regularly. It was referenced in an employment service e-mail. I think it is hysterical. Now, I need a partner to implement this sophisticated approach.

129. Although the Huffington Post’s Real Misery Index is up due to lingering high unemployment, your load is lessened after talking to this lower tree who said you have nothing to complain about. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/05/12/the-real-misery-index-apr_n_572076.html

130. After a hard day in your pajamas in front of the computer after getting up at noon, you watch the Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night and laugh. And what does John Lennon say to the question, “How did you find America?” “Turn left at Greenland.”

131. You meet your match at a roller derby game.


132. You can spend the whole day chasing your dog. This photo of our dog captures the yesterday's scene for me. Buddy, our 85-pound mutt, was due at the veterinarian at noon for shots. The vet’s office is a half-hour drive. At 11:15 a.m., Buddy was not on the porch. It was raining. I yelled for him every five minutes until 11:35 when I called the vet. The receptionist said I had until 1:00 p.m. to get him there. At 12:20, I gave up looking for him. Soaked and cold, I’d fallen after being snagged by a tree and tore out the rear of my favorite jeans. I lit a fire in the stove and sat down. Buddy showed up, muddy and wet. After I tried to cover the seats of my car with a sheet and blanket, we left. We pulled up to the vet’s office and I opened the door for him. He leaped out before I could grab the leash and took off. Two employees of the vet’s office helped me chase him down. The visit was short and I put Buddy back in the car before I paid the bill so he wouldn’t eat the miniature Terrier yipping at him. On the way home, I stopped at our auto repair shop to see when I could get an appointment. As I was talking to our mechanic, Buddy leaped from the car. I have no explanation other than I must not have shut the car door all the way and somehow he got it open. On went the chase again: In the rain and mud, by the river and on Highway 22. I went home without him, leaving my phone number with folks I talked with along the way. Checking the phone at home, there was a message; Buddy was back with our mechanic. Although I felt like leaving him there, our mechanic is too valuable to irritate. I retrieved the muddy mutt and drove home again. Buddy was lucky he got dinner last night. Today, I’ve got to get the dirty dog smell out of my car. The sun is shining and that darn dog ain’t going nowhere.
P.S. LATER: I just finished cleaning the mud and gold dog hair from the black interior of my Corolla while it sat on our gravel driveway. Buddy kept circling the car becoming increasingly excited that he was going somewhere. You don't want to know where I told him to go. I was nice and polite, but direct.
P.S. LATER STILL: Bill, my partner, told me where to go too when I bitched at him all night to compensate for how Buddy treated me all day. And my car still smells like wet dog. I suppose things could be worse. It could smell like dead dog or would that be a good thing?

133. You welcome your new neighbors with a handful of grubs.

134. Although this poppy will not bring you sleep, you can stop and enjoy its intricate beauty.

135. You sing Wild Thing while photographing one of your favorite new blooms: Orange Hawkweed. As The Troggs sang…Wild thing you make my heart sing. You make everything groooovy.

136. Although there is a Sneaky Way To Leave Work Early and Arrive Late Without Getting Caught (http://www.howcast.com/en/videos/218146-How-To-Leave-Work-Early-and-Arrive-Late-Without-Getting-Caught), you don’t have that problem.

137. Memorial Day is full of flowers and you don't have to report to work tomorrow.

138. A carefree morning with mystery poop in your living room. According to the Identification Key to Scat from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and referenced on the Internet Center for Wildlife Damage Management, I've concluded that this pictured deposit is the result of a snake eating a mouse. I'm absolutely delighted. When I see my new friend, I will serve him another mouse on one of my few unchipped plates. Sorry Stuart Little, but I’ll take a snake any day over a mouse. Mice should be the Patron Saints of regularity, while snakes poop only on holidays. What a great morning! Oh, by the way, here is what to do if a snake starts to eat you according to http://discovermagazine.com/1994/apr/diningwiththesna362: The next time you find a python starting to swallow you by the arm--as happened recently to a 21-year-old woman cleaning her hungry 12- foot-long, 60-pound pet python's cage--don't pull back. You'll just get badly cut, and you won't get free. Instead remain calm, ask someone to pry the snake's jaws open, push your arm in further until the teeth disengage, and then pull your arm out.

139. You totally agree with Beth Mann: Doing stuff is overrated. http://open.salon.com/blog/beth_mann/2010/05/31/doing_stuff_is_overrated

140. You have lost your ridge of high pressure. That is a good thing.

141. Nobody cares if you lose your to-do list. And you don’t either.

142. You no longer have to nap sitting up with your eyes open, which is the only successful accommodation when attending business meetings.

143. You don’t eat Twinkies from the office vending machine. And then feel like you need to run around the block or throw-up.

144. You make a strawberry-rhubarb pie on a cool, rainy June morning. And while it is cooling, you eat an ice cream cone in anticipation.
Strawberry Rhubarb Pie
3 C rhubarb, peeled, cut in small pieces
2 C strawberries, cut in half
1/2 C flour
1+ C sugar
1 T butter
2 pie crusts
Combine rhubarb with flour and sugar and set aside while you prepare crusts. Line pie pan with crust. Put rhubarb in pie crust and top with strawberries. Dot with butter. Top with second crust. Bake at 425 degrees for 10 minutes, then reduce heat to 350 degrees. Bake until pie bubbles up, about 35-40 more minutes.

145. You watch spittle bugs. They are fascinating. The froth that looks like spit hides froghopper nymphs. But guess what? The substance is not spit. It comes from their behinds. Watch the spittle nymphs: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24Gh5dXtpBE

146. You don’t have to let your boss cut in line at the photocopy machine.

147. You decide to return as a black fly. You and your girlfriends surround the head of your former boss. Bonnie flits into his nose. He exhales forcefully, but that action just attracts more of your friends. You dive into his ear canal and buzz loudly. Barbara hits the other ear and bats her broad wings on his eardrum. Several of your hungry sisters latch onto his endless forehead. You land on his nose where you use the blade in your mouth to slash the end. The gash is gorgeous. You signal your partners to drink and depart. You arrange another attack tomorrow. After all, you know when he gets off work.

Tips for Humans from a female Black Fly:
• We find carbon dioxide appealing, so don’t exhale.
• We crawl into sleeves, shirts, boots and pants, but especially like the human head where we irritate you the most. You will not be protected by a hat. Personally, I love the forehead.
• We are attracted to perspiration, deodorant, perfume, insecticide, dark colors and humans in general. Admit it. You can’t win.

148. It is Monday and you do not have to listen to your coworker Lucifer go on about his weekend conquests.

149. No staff meetings. Quoting Fred Flintstone, Yabba, Dabba, Do!

150. No dry cleaning. At the end of the winter season, I take my wool clothing to the cleaners before I closet them for the summer. If you've ever had moths or silverfish eat your wardrobe, you know taking this precaution is worth the money. This winter, however, my attire did not require a trip to the dry cleaners. If I don’t get a job soon, I will be the one that needs drying out.

\\\ For Good Things numbered 1 through 100, see 100 Good Things about Unemployment posted April 3, 2010. ///