Last week, on April 15, Starbucks offered all of its customers a cup of free coffee if they brought in a reusable tumbler in which to pour said coffee. I would say that this is a significant step in the right direction in helping lower our recycling trash cost. We are imprisoning ourselves in mounds of landfill trash. Soon there will no escape from our toss-away lifestyle. While Starbucks still has a long way to go to being completely environmentally friendly, it was good to see that they are making improvements.
Who decided newly elected presidents have only one year of “blaming their predecessor” for the failures of the country and then, after a 12-month grace period, they “own” everything that’s on fire around them? That’s a ridiculous notion based in fantasy and not hardened by reality.
President Obama stepped forward yesterday and took personal responsibility for the failure to stop the “underwear bomber” from getting on the plane.
The following image is making the internets rounds. If you don’t have an iPhone, you might need some help sussing out what’s happening here. A young woman named Lizzy mistakenly sends an SMS to her Dad. Dad replies she sent the SMS to the wrong person. Then, realizing what “1st time on the beach” really means, Dad sends Lizzy a second SMS ordering her home the next day.
In a previous article — Take Your Children Offline NOW — we discussed low-self esteem parents that publish images of their children on their blogs and websites in order to feel better about their station in the world. Those parents value the self-promotion of — “Look What I Made!” — over the need to protect the privacy of their underage offspring. Today, there’s a next cowardly wave of parental privacy trumping childhood innocence indicated in parents that actively choose to hide behind their children online.
When I was growing up in Nebraska, my family was famous for always telling its young, “Never write something you don’t want read out loud to the rest of the world.”
That sort of advice, bundled in a warning, and wrapped in a grin and punctuated by a pointing finger, was daunting for a group of nine-year-old cousins to comprehend as we scrawled our names in crayon on a Big Chief pencil tablet.