Think Globally, Act Locally

"It ain't much I'm asking if you want the truth. Heres to the future; hear the cry of youth. I want it all, I want it all, I want it all, and I want it now." Queen

My first real dose of responsibility came in the form of a key chain--a Digital Doggie Giga Pet, to be exact. Called Isis by me (and I'm sure much more unpleasant names by others, as the clear plastic toy managed to make noise constantly), the digital pet definitely taught me a thing or two about taking care of others.

I remember sitting in Mrs. Orr's third grade class, making plans for our upcoming restaurant day, when out of the locker came an odd noise. Like a true mother to her child, I knew it was my baby's cry.

Luckily, there were a number of other mothers and fathers among this group of ten year olds and quite a few of us darted to the lockers and dug into the realms of our backpacks. The interruption caused pure pandemonium in the once peaceful classroom.

...And that was the day Giga Pets (and Tamagotchi's!) were banned from Mrs. Orr's classroom.

The thing about Isis, though, was that I loved to play with her when she was fun. I loved feeding her and "walking" her, but once things started to go a wry, I wasn't quite as interested- thus she was banned to my backpack.

In a sense, this is the American way. We want the fun of it all and the fruit of the labor, but we don't actually want to do the work.

Instead of buckling down and persevering through the hard times, though, we've made alternative options.

For example, kids (well, mostly kids) want to play video games, however they don't want to be overweight and out of shape. So, instead of creating an incentive and telling the children that if they ride their bikes for an hour they can play video games for an hour too, we give them Wii. Because I am somewhat of a Wii virgin, I don't want to speak poorly of the invention. From what I can tell, it seems much more promising than Mario Kart or '007. However, the toy does seem to fit right into the American lifestyle.

Eating locally is another societal trend. Nothing is cooler than wearing Tory Burch flats while carrying an eco-friendly Anya Hindmarch tote full of avocados and rhubarb from your own backyard, apparently.

However, while we all want the benefits of the local produce, we don't want to put the work into a garden. And so, people like Trevor Paque are willing to lend a hand. He probably had no idea that his green thumb would one day turn into green in his bank account (And that right there is the beauty of doing what you love).

Some people claim that they want the health benefits but just don't have the time to grow a garden. (While this may be true, I think it's also because they want to be able to joke with their neighbors about sweet Trevor and his carrots- you've got to keep up with the times!) In the chaos of it all, though, maybe it turns out that you don't really reap what you sow. Perhaps, in the end, you reap what you can afford.

In these troubled times, though, we should all take a moment to look at Berea College. While I personally am not quite ready to sacrifice IU's athletics and accommodations, you can't help but be impressed by their work ethic. I'm not sure if raw manual labor will ever be as trendy as raw Mange-Tout, but it's worth a shot. Before we know it, we might be calling farmers kings and iBankers paupers.

Married couple caught: husband with mustache kissing wife in high heels

When Indianapolis was first transformed from small farming communities into the bustling city it is today, the women ran into some trouble.

Those urban-chic ladies were struggling because they were not used to the cracks and holes in the grates of the new streets. Their city-styling high heels were getting stuck in the gaps and they were breaking their ankles.

Out of anger (I'd be mad if my high-heeled Oxfords broke too) they decided they'd sue the city of Indianapolis for damage.

In an act of self-defense, Indianapolis decided to outlaw high heels. Therefore, it is technically illegal to wear high heels in the street in Indianapolis.

Thank goodness New York City does not have the same law, or Kelly Ripa might have thrown a fit. The recent Regis and Kelly High Heel-A-Thon would have been far less successful had police officers been trying to cuff the stilettoed athletes.

High heels are not the only offensive fashion piece in Indy. Men face a restrictive law as well: mustaches are illegal if the bearer has a tendency to habitually kiss other humans.

You might think these laws seem a little ridiculous, but, I certainly wouldn't say that. Not because I hate 'staches and shoes, but because it goes against my principles. One of my strictest rules is that I never speak poorly of where I'm from.

I just always feel so sad for those people that hate their hometowns or states. It makes me wonder what kind of horrible upbringing they had.

Being from Indiana, it's especially important to hold steadfast to my rule. People are always eager to call it a fly-by state or make a joke about cornfields. (How quickly they forget the Colts...!) But, I know there really is more than corn in Indiana and I'm proud to be a Hoosier.

After the most recent issue of Indianapolis Monthly hit the stands, I was proud not only to be from Indiana, but from Zionsville as well. Some may call it a sleepy and sheltered bubble, but it's part of who I am, and I'm happy to call it my home. Besides, we may have an early town curfew, but we're allowed to wear high heels all we want.

I like mine with lettuce and tomato...they like their's with cornichons, fleur de sel and fresh thyme?


After nine years of French classes I could say that I am fluent.

Yes, I could say I am fluent...but it would be a lie.

However, after all those years of French professors and speakers and films, I never had to step foot in Paris to understand the attitude of those Frenchies. To be honest, most people probably don't have to step foot in a French classroom to understand their take on Americans- it's common knowledge.

Their feelings towards us aren't necessarily those of love and they have a tendency to think they're somewhat superior.

Which is why I wasn't shocked when I discovered that although they're succumbing to the American way on a whole new level (with burgers!), they felt the need to make their burgers a little fancier, a little more gourmet. This is no Big Mac.

It is funny, though, that something the French once considered too greasy, unrefined and American, is now in high demand from Monaco to Brest.

It seems that although they might feel their government is better than ours and their lifestyles are healthier, maybe they shouldn't hate on loud American tourists quite so much.

I mean, the first time I saw Finding Nemo, it was in French. And I've been told that when you walk around Paris, 90% of the music is American...

So maybe, the French should send a little love our way. And if they're lucky, maybe we'll send a little love (and American culture) right back to them. Before we know it, they're going to be putting a Waffle House in the basement of the Louvre.

Play with caution.

When you're little, there are three steps to playing:

1. Set-up
2. Play
3. Put away

For most kids, step number two, the playing portion of the process is the most appealing. However, my favorite step was the set-up.

The toy with the best set-up process was without a doubt Playmobil.

Within that miniature mansion there were so many possibilities. How would you decorate the kitchen? Which bedroom was for the parents and which was for the kids? Where would Elsa, the maid, sleep? What food was on the table? Should the bookshelf go in the hearth room or the library? Should the flowers be arranged with pink in one box and white in another, or should they be mixed? (...!)

Absolutely endless hours of fun, all wrapped up in the preparation to play.

I tried to be compliant when the set-up was finished and my friends actually wanted to play with the toys. I just didn't like it, though.

What if someone messed up the bedroom? Or what if, when trying to reach to the stove in the back of the kitchen, someone knocked over the tiny (but perfectly set) kitchen table?

These were just a few of my many fears. With all of the careful preparation and hard work, why take the risk of messing it up?

Miss USA is probably still asking herself that very question. She'd made it so far. She looked beautiful. Everything was perfect and just right.

And then, she fell.

(My Playmobil kitchen table falling to the ground doesn't look so bad compared to Miss USA falling to the ground.)

I'm impressed, though, with her endurance. She popped right back up, clapping and smiling all the way.

While she did not appear to be fazed by the long journey she took falling from those high heels, I bet now she is wishing she had stuck with the set-up portion of the show, and steered clear of the playing part. I can only imagine how messy the clean-up portion of her evening was.