Move over Miss Manners. It has come to my attention that in all the hubbub of the Internet, iPods and iPads, Androids and Blackberries, Tea Parties and Blue Dogs— plus for most people, lack of growing up in a small community—people have forgotten their damned manners. Like swearing in public, goddamn it! Oh. Sorry. Anyway, here are some helpful tips on dealing with modern society.

Tip Number One: Screaming is not an effective method of communication. Unless you’re talking to a half-deaf person. Or you’re at a rock concert. Seriously, who decided screaming was a way to get your point across? Other than my family? It never works. Especially in my family. The din gets progressively louder until no one can hear a word anyone says. Oh. I just had an epiphany. Okay, in the case of Periats, it’s probably a hard-wired self-defense mechanism. However, in public, screaming is completely unnecessary unless a building is on fire. All screaming does is make the screamer look like an idiot and make all their points suspect. The more calm you are, the more you focus on the logic of your points rather than the raw emotion behind them, the greater the likelihood you will be heard. But today Town Hall Meetings have become Town Hall Shout Fests and nothing will be accomplished unless WE ALL CALM DOWN!!! Oh. Sorry.

Tip Number Two: Calling people names is not an effective method of persuasion. When debating subjects like immigration, taxation and health care, one should avoid bellowing things like: “Commie pinko fags, burn in hell!*” Instead try: “Commie pinko fags, burn in heck!” Remember, you’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Tip Number Three: Say “thank you” when someone opens a door for you. There’s a Princess Manufacturing Plant somewhere nearby that spits out little girls (between eighteen and twenty-six years of age) who think they are entitled to EVERYTHING. I can’t tell you how many young women I’ve opened doors for who proudly shove their nose high in the air and walk by me without deigning to acknowledge my kindness. I always want to run after them and go “Can we do that again? So this time I can slam that door on your stupid Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses?” I don’t understand the Pouty Posing Precious Princess Phenomenon. Why would you raise your daughter to treat the public like they’re her subjects? This is bound to end in disaster for the girl. Because while I get a bit testy when a Princess strides by me like they’re on a red carpet instead of walking into Barnes and Nobel, I worry more about them. With their expectations, they are doomed to a life of disappointment. Bitter little girls turn into bitter old women. A writer friend of mine, Ann Fischer, put it perfectly: spoiled Princesses grow up to be Evil Queens.

Tip Number Four: Say hi when you catch someone’s eyes. Unless he’s wearing a trenchcoat and is carrying a forty-ounce beer in a paper sack. Or is your ex-husband. Or you’re an eye surgeon and the nurse just tossed you an organ transplant (apologies, couldn’t resist). Saying hi is not a lifetime commitment. It’s merely acknowledging that a fellow human has crossed your path. I say hi to nearly everyone I pass on my walks. This has made me umpteen friends and got me lots of free zucchini (Thanks to Frank on Shafter). But don’t be hurt if people don’t say hi back. Count yourself lucky. These are the people you want culled from your herd. It’s nice that they identify themselves so early in the game. Potential Downside: you may make the mistake of saying hi to a crazy person. Like I did to the Crazy Hat Lady who wanders my neighborhood. But she’s another column. And she’s mostly harmless. Unless she’s carrying her umbrella…

Tip Number Five: People in person take precedent over people on the phone. I had a friend over for dinner a while back. I’d just laid out some appetizers and the person’s phone rang. “Oh, I have to get this.” Stood up, answered the cell. “Hey, how are you? Oh, not much.” Then they wandered outside and talked for a half an hour. I stood there with my mouth hanging open. Not much? Aside from being upset that I’d wasted time cooking dinner for the boor, I was worried I’d suddenly become boring. My self-image is this: I’m a one-woman entertainment factory that cooks. I’m funny. I’m vivacious. I’m charming. I’m delusional about how funny, vivacious and charming I am. What’s not to like? I finally realized that the problem was not me (there goes that delusional stuff again), the issue was my idiot of a friend who has no sense of priorities.

While my ignorant friend was an extreme case, I can’t tell you how many of my family members spend time at a family event talking on their cells and text messaging their friends instead of talking to one another. Why would they come all that way and not want to talk to…Oh. Wait.  I’m having another epiphany. Bad example. Let’s go back to my “friend.” The questions that come to mind are: Why did you bother coming? Why aren’t you hanging out with the people you’re talking to instead of me? And when you are hanging out with your phone buddy, do you call other people?

In the future there will be no face-to-face contact between humans. We’ll all be staring at our iPads, talking via videophone to the person sitting next to us.

©2010, Janet Periat

*Actual quote shouted at my friend during a health care demonstration.

Note To Laws I’d Like To See Contest Entrants: your addresses were eaten by a terrible monster that briefly rampaged through the offices of CoastViews. Please resend your addresses so the winners may receive their rewards. Winners will be announced here on www.janetperiat.com on August 31, 2010.

Here we are again. Brave soldiers facing yet another holiday battle ground for yet another year. They give prisoners time off for good behavior, why not us poor beleaguered holiday-haters? But no. Time, taxes and the holiday season wait for no man or woman. And like all unpleasant and unavoidable events—dental cleanings, mammograms, septic tank pumpings—I await the holidays with a mixture of dread and loathing. A couple years ago I wrote a column about the holidays—Christmas specifically—that included some uplifting thoughts about the holiday. Things about the holiday I actually enjoyed. I realize now in my older age that I was simply in denial when I wrote that article. Now I am only left with the truth. I hate the holidays. All of them. A lot.

So for those like-minded souls out there (and I know I’m not alone in this) I have written the following survival guide with you in mind. Several ways to avoid and/or lessen the blow of the holidays. In this article I will focus on Thanksgiving. For my December column, I will continue my survival guide, which will focus on avoiding Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanzaa. So here’s how to survive the celebration I call “The Holiday That’s For The Birds.”

Survival Tip Number One: Faking your own death. Okay, so this is a bit drastic. But it will work. All you have to do is to leave this message on your answering machine: I’m sorry I’m not here to answer your call, but I have been unavoidably killed. Services will be held the week after Thanksgiving. Thank you for calling. Beep.

Your only slight problem may arise when you show up for work on Monday. Just tell ‘em that your answering machine isn’t working properly and it changed your outgoing message all on it’s own. People expect technology to screw up. Hint: never admit you did it. People forgive technology much faster than their relatives.

Survival Tip Number Two: Run away from home. This is easier than faking your own death. It is important when you run away that you don’t tell anyone where you went. Guilt knows no distances. Mom can make you feel bad from halfway around the globe.

Survival Tip Number Three: Serve a tofu “turkey” instead of the real bird. This is guaranteed to get you removed from the host list forever. Tofu is not turkey, no matter how you shape it or flavor it. It is soy bean curd. Period. Yet many of my vegetarian friends insist on sculpting the tofu to look like a bird. I don’t know why they don’t just use clay. Tastes about the same. Bonus: your family will never forgive you for serving tofu. Hint: don’t let anyone know you’re serving the tofu until it’s on the table. It’s an unwelcome surprise they will never forget nor forgive. Extra Bonus: you may get taken off the Thanksgiving invitee list for years to come.

Survival Tip Number Four: Serve drinks early and dinner late. After generations of research, our family has found the only way to make our holiday events tolerable is to add liberal amounts of alcohol. Because half of us are prompt and the other half are terminally late, one half of the family starts drinking before the late half arrives. Dinner is always held for the late half. Which means half of us don’t remember Thanksgiving and the other half considers the rest of the family alcoholics. I have no idea why we bother.

Survival Tip Number Five: Call in sick. This one only works if you are not playing host. Hint: the illness must be bad enough to keep you home, not bad enough to miss work three days later. Contagious diseases are good choices, that way no one will feel compelled to stop by and give you sympathy. Try the 24 hour stomach flu. No one wants to risk getting that. Just make sure to avoid bike riding or rollerskating near where the celebrations are being held. Remember, playing the sick card means you cannot be seen.

Survival Tip Number Six: Spread misinformation about where Thanksgiving will be held. If you’ve got a big family, this one is easy. Simply tell one third of the family that it will be held at one person’s house, tell the second third that it will be held at a different person’s house, do the same with the last third. Pick three people that are difficult to reach. Hopefully, by the time everyone figures it out, the confusion will be so massive that the entire holiday will end up being canceled.

Survival Tip Number Seven: Lie about prior Thanksgiving commitments. This one is easy. Simply tell your family that you already have plans for the holiday. Here’s some handy lies: you are serving meals to the homeless on Thanksgiving. Or you’re flying back east to have Thanksgiving with your spouse’s relatives. (Just make sure to hide the car and turn out the lights if you use this one.) Or you’re having Thanksgiving at a friend’s house. Hint: the friend must have a terminal illness or some such drastic condition. This way Mom and Dad won’t beat you with the Guilt Stick.

Survival Tip Number Eight: Convert to a religion that holds turkeys sacred. Everyone knows that cows are sacred to Hindus. If you live in California, you probably don’t even have to look far to find a fringe religion that celebrates turkeys. Just make sure to inform your relatives that your religion doesn’t even allow gatherings on Thanksgiving in deference to the number of turkeys slaughtered for the holiday. If you are forced to attend, wear black and carry a fake gravestone that says: Thanksgiving: The Holiday Of Death or One Million Died For Your Meal. Make sure to cry when the turkey is set on the table. Better yet, throw yourself on top of the turkey to avoid it’s being carved. You will not be invited back next year. Cool, huh?

I hope my helpful hints have saved you from a world of pain. If you find yourself chickening out and attending the Thanksgiving celebration, remember, there’s always time to get out of participating in Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanzaa. Check out my December column for help on avoiding The Big One.

©2009, Janet Periat

Frank and I believe in the Green Movement. We recycle, walk when we can, and have put fluorescent bulbs in all of our light fixtures. The change from incandescent bulbs to fluorescent bulbs has cut our electricity bill by about a third (the fluorescents save three-quarters of the electricity of incandescents). But today, we lost four months of savings in the span of one second when Frank accidentally broke a fluorescent bulb while changing it.

It all started when I hopped into the shower this morning. The bathroom light started flickering. So I called Mr. Fix-It. Frank appeared, armed with a new fluorescent. Still bleary-eyed from waking up, he took out the old bulb. The bulb slipped from his hand, crashed onto the tile floor and shattered. “Okay, that’s bad. Real bad,” he said, seeming stunned. “Why?” I asked. “It’s just a bulb.” I envisioned picking up the pieces and vacuuming up the rest. “Uh…” he replied, “it’s a fluorescent. This is bad. Uh. Don’t breathe.” I’ve heard this phrase many times from him while in the bathroom, but apparently there was real danger here other than a bad attack of nausea. “I’m stuck here,” I replied. He said, “You need to get out of there, don’t breathe, don’t step in any of this and get out of here.” I complied, but breathed anyway, figuring passing out on top of the broken bulb would be a worse fate.

When I finally escaped from the bathroom, Frank closed the door and turned off the heat. He looked very upset. “I just read about this. This is bad. Mercury vapor and powder are in fluorescent bulbs and are super toxic.” I suggested he look online for directions on how to clean up the mess. He found instructions on the EPA website. What a shocker. (http://www.epa.gov/mercury/spills/index.htm#fluorescent)

If you break a fluorescent bulb, basically, you’re screwed. Your household becomes a temporary Super Fund toxic waste dump. Here’s a Readers’ Digest version of the six-step procedure to clean up a broken fluorescent bulb. First, you open a window and evacuate the room. Turn off the heating system, make sure no one walks through the glass and powder. Let the room air out for at least fifteen minutes. (We didn’t do this. I stood there, dripping wet, and breathed in all the fumes, thereby saving Frank and the cat…) Put on rubber gloves, use cardboard to scoop up the fragments. Throw fragments into a glass jar or plastic bag that can be sealed. Use tape to pick up any remaining fragments or powder. Wipe the area clean with disposable wet wipes, discard into the glass jar or plastic bag.

You can’t use a vacuum cleaner or you’ll contaminate not only the vacuum cleaner, but the entire air supply of the household. Forever. Nor can you use a broom. If the powder or fragments land on a rug or clothing or bedding, you have to seal the bedding and garments and rugs in a plastic bag and throw them away. If you’re in the room when the bulb breaks, you have to wash the clothes you were wearing during the exposure to the mercury vapor. If powder and fragments land on carpet, you use tape to get as much up as you can, then vacuum up the rest. (This is the only instance where vacuuming is recommended.) Then you must discard the vacuum bag in a sealed plastic bag. Then, get this, for the next “several times” you use the vacuum you have to turn off the forced air heat or air conditioning, open a window, then vacuum, then wait fifteen minutes, then you can close the window and turn back on the heat.

Have you followed all this? Is this insane? I read online where a woman busted a bulb in her kid’s room (http://tinyurl.com/d8cfah). She had the room tested for mercury and the place where she dropped the bulb was highly contaminated. She was told to tear out the carpets and throw away all the contaminated objects in the room. She was so freaked out, she sealed off the room and they don’t use it anymore. All these contaminants? From one bulb breaking?

These stupid pieces of crap are supposed to be “saving the environment.” By poisoning it? The bulbs carry a only small warning label on them. They don’t list the procedure for disposal. The label only states that if a bulb breaks, follow proper disposal procedures. For the normal person this means picking up the pieces and vacuuming up the rest. But this will completely poison your household.

How many bloody people know this? And how many people are going to remember to go through this lockdown procedure every time they use the vacuum cleaner after they clean up a broken bulb? Uh, no one. Who is going to throw out the clothes they wore when the bulb broke? No one, except for Frank and I. I also threw out two new bathroom rugs. Frank and I spent an hour cleaning the stupid bathroom. I tracked mercury powder all over my house before Frank read the clean-up procedures online. And these clean-up recommendations were from the EPA, an organization that denied global warming until last year. The most toothless, bought-by-the-chemical-companies, useless public agency in existence. I shudder to think how poisoned my house really is. How much I just shortened my lifespan by being stuck in a room when a stupid fluorescent bulb broke.

After our morning fun, I wanted to banish the bulbs from our house. Frank refused, citing the (same) EPA website that shows how much mercury gets into the air by coal-burning plants and how much mercury pollution is saved by fluorescent bulbs. I reluctantly agreed. Lesser of two evils and all that. But my last question to him was: “Why is any mercury getting into the environment? Why can’t we find clean energy that’s actually CLEAN?” Frank replied, “Money.”

Like I needed another lesson in that.

©2009, Janet Periat

I am physically unable to pass by an arcade claw machine without sticking some money inside and trying to rescue the animals within. Success depends on many factors: the lay of the animal, obstructions, but most importantly, the strength of the claw. I have yanked many buried animals out of machines by the sheer clamping power of the claw. But that is rare. Mainly, the search is for animals that are laying on top of others, unobstructed. I have spent hours and hours and many dollars rescuing animals from machines.

Which means I have been the temporary owner of some of the most hideous, mangled, freakish and downright disturbing stuffed animals created. Claw machines are Purgatory for ugly stuffed animals. A sad, lonely, horrible existence.

Which is why it has become my mission to rescue them and send them off to Toys for Tots. Which inevitably makes me feel guilty. Dad doesn’t have a job, we’re losing our house and all I have to show for it is a deformed giraffe. Oh, well, such is life.

Soon, I will be featuring pictures of the creme de la creme of the hideous creatures I have “won” along with stories about them.

Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.