Simple Pleasures Sunday: Cluster Balloonists
05/30/2010
Is it just me, or did this “American adventurer” steal his idea from the 2009 Pixar flick Up?
At any rate, if crossing the English Channel via a bunch of gum ball-colored helium balloons is your life’s dream, and you accomplish it, well go you! Who am I to judge? To each his own! (Insert every other cliché here.) Read about it here.
Turns out, this thirtysomething daredevil is the first cluster-balloonist to cross the Channel. Cluster balloonist. There’s a term you don’t hear every day. Have cluster balloonists crossed other bodies of water? Is there a cluster balloonist club? Do these dudes get endorsement deals? Will a cluster balloonist appear on my next box of Wheaties?
This Simple Pleasures Sunday, I’m finding pleasure in the wide variety of simple pleasures out there. Me, I’m simple. I’ll take my Sunday coffee, a muffin and something quirky to research on Google – cluster balloonists.
Have a fabulous Sunday!
Lose 35 Pounds by Memorial Day (guaranteed!)
05/28/2010
Your garden variety piece of printer paper weighs .16 ounces. Filing a bank statement here, a power bill there seems inconsequential, until a decade passes and you find yourself the proud owner of a steel filing cabinet that outweighs your vehicle. Your Suburban.
Purging the filing cabinet was just one more “to do” on my list toward a minimalist home, yet it seemed so daunting. Tossing sentimental items? No prob. Reducing my wardrobe by 50 percent? Cake. Going through 10 years of important documents and shredding those that didn’t make the cut? May I climb Mt. Everest instead, pretty please?
Rather than sift through papers willy nilly, shred a few dozen and fool myself into thinking I’d done a good job, I made an attack plan. This meant calling in the pros. I consulted bankrate.com and CNN Money to see how long I really need to keep documents. Here’s a helpful financial records timeline if you’re considering making kindling out of your Kindle receipts.
I was thrilled to learn that I don’t need to keep credit card statements and paycheck stubs until they disintegrate. And duh, now that our lives and paper trails are online, who needs a bulky .16 ounce of paper weighing her down!
Armed with my new knowledge, I shredded until snow flurries of paper dust turned my hair white. I got into my zone just as I finished the filing cabinet, which led me to 10 years of receipts – for everything from bagels to handbags – that I kept neatly organized by year. (You never know when Uncle Sam is going request your toilet paper receipts, right?)
Two full days, 35 pounds of paper, one killer workout for my shredder, and three paper cuts later, I had climbed my Mt. Everest. I had a roomier file cabinet to show for it and 10 bags of shreds (or celebration confetti for another purge well done!).
Splitsville!
05/25/2010
Don’t you just hate it when this happens?
(The photo of my own ripped shorts wasn’t nearly as entertaining as this found pic. Couldn’t resist going for shock value!)
The point is, ripping your pants can be a real…bummer. It can sneak up on you from…behind. Okay, okay, I’ll stop already!
I experienced it firsthand last week, as I waltzed out of my bedroom in the oh-so-comfy pair of cargo shorts that I’ve had since Clinton was in office. They’re nothing special, just a pair of khaki drawstring shorts from Old Navy that are the perfect length, perfect size and perfect in every possible way that shorts can be perfect. No wonder I’ve been wearing them around the house for a decade. They’ve seen the inside of a washing machine more times than the Maytag Man.
So back to the waltzing. As I waltzed out of my bedroom and knelt down to put on some jazz, I suddenly felt exposed. What the bleep?! My favorite no-ironing-needed shorts had ripped north to south, not on the seam, just in the worn fabric. I guess a pair of $12 cotton shorts can only take so many Vegas summers, so many tumbles in the washer.
As I stuffed them in the garbage can, I got to thinking.
- Other than socks and one painting t-shirt I’ve had since 1988, none of my clothes are on the brink of ripping.
- If I wore all my clothes until they ripped or showed obvious wear, I’d only have to shop once a decade.
- If I mended or patched, I’d have to shop once every 15 years.
- If I bought higher quality clothes, I’d have to shop once a generation.
- If we all did this, Goodwill would go belly up, the economy would crumble and our fat wallets would wear holes in our pockets.
I’m not suggesting we should boycott clothing stores and stockpile denim patches. We should; however, be more conscious of how, when and why we shop. If it’s to replace last season’s shorts that we don’t want to be seen sporting this year, that’s not okay. If it’s to replace 2001′s shorts that have disintegrated, that’s definitely encouraged.
Do you wear clothes until they rip? They’re unwearable? They’re stretched beyond recognition? Or do you get bored with your wardrobe and replace for the sport of it?
Yesterday morning, as I pinned my race bib, mouthed “Just Do It” to myself and stepped to the start line at the Runnin’ For the House 5K, for Ronald McDonald House Charities, these thoughts flew through my hat head.
- What if I get trampled by all these runners?
- What if I get a cramp?
- Will I finish at my goal time of 28 minutes?
- Did I put on enough sunscreen?
- Did I stretch my calves enough?
- What if I have to blow my nose?
- Is Ronald McDonald running?
- And Grimace? What if big furry purple Grimace beats me?
The gun sounded. My worries disappeared. I sang along to “Beautiful Day,” “Born to Run,” “Celebration” and “It’s Raining Men” in my mind while my running tunes kept me focused: Pace yourself. Run hard. Be smart. Do your best. Have fun.
I did all those things.
I clocked in with the 25-minute finishers, among the top 20 female runners in a field of 1,000+ participants.
Today’s simple pleasure…knowing I Just Did It.
Wanted: Suckers who like eggs
05/22/2010
I don’t know about you, but cracking an egg does not cause me stress, hives or sleepless nights.
In all my years of egg cracking, I’ve had to fish a stray shell out of the bowl, oh, maybe twice. No therapy sessions required.
It’s why I won’t be buying this anytime soon. Okay, in this lifetime. Or the next.
The EZ Cracker (As Seen on TV!) intrigued me for its ridiculousness, not its usefulness, when I caught the infomercial. All infomercials are insulting, but this one wins the prize. This contraption, in all of its plastic, multi-part, cumbersome silliness…cracks eggs! separates egg whites! strips shells from hard-boiled eggs in seconds! no mess, no fuss!
Eureka! Where’s my credit card? I need three! But wait, it comes with the piece-o-junk-clutter-the-kitchen-more EZ Scrambler, so I can scramble an egg in its shell. My life is complete! In fact, I’m ordering one for everyone on my Christmas list.
Who buys this garbage? Who is so happy to never have to use the side of a bowl to crack an egg again that she’ll agree to two easy payments of $10, plus S&H? Whose mornings are so fraught with egg scrambling frustration that scrambling it in the shell with a device that looks like a dental instrument seems like a worthy option?
To maintain an effective, efficient clutter-free kitchen, I’ve bought into the “no item should have just one function” rule. It’s why I no longer own a strawberry huller, garlic press, melon baller, egg slicer or apple corer. I’ve learned that “gadget” is code for “expensive novelty junk you really don’t need, but think you do.”
That is, until you give it away.
Then you realize what a remarkable invention we have in the simple knife, invented by…cavemen.
I’m pretty sure they didn’t store their knives next to the their EZ Crackers. Unga Bunga.
