Say "cheese" - or not

Tip #1 – Look above the lens of the camera.  “Keep in mind that looking straight into the camera can make all your imperfections, such as big nose or broad forehead, come out.”

Ekaterina, whose online article entitled, “7 Tips and Tricks for Looking Great in Photographs,” in the magazine Amerikanki, offers well-intentioned instruction and at the same time inadvertently reveals that English is her second language.  But it’s endearing, right?  Your big nose will come out?!  Who says that? 

With her profile icon thumbnail of Andy Warhol’s “Marilyn,” Ekaterina is my kind of mentor:  She blends cheerful encouragement with a bludgeoning reality, as in her Tip #5 – Natural Make-Up.  Here she cautions us that “when your make-up is bright…you may end up looking like a clown in the photo.”  Thank you so much, Ekaterina!  I won’t make that mistake again!

Thus Miss Ekaterina, whom I picture to be a luscious 22-year-old Russian model with pouty lips and a fur-lined hoodie, cheerfully swings her helpful how-to hatchet.

Oh I know, she doesn’t mean to make me - not a luscious, pouty-lipped model - feel bad about my appearance!  Just the opposite!  She’s here to help.

If only I had stumbled upon Ekaterina sooner!  Too bad for me that I came across her pointers after my visit to the DMV.  By that time, I had already broken her cardinal rule and stared into the lens.  When that civil servant directed me to “Look right here,” I looked right there. 

So what did I get?  Big nose and broad forehead!  And I don’t even have a broad forehead!

And evidently, in the nano-second between that clerk’s commandment and the click of the shutter, I unwittingly but efficiently contradicted each and every item on Ekaterina’s friendly list of things that one must do if one wants to look good in a photo. 

For example, I didn’t turn my face a little bit to the right – Tip #2.  The rankest amateurs know to turn their faces to the right!  A little bit.  How hard is that? 

You want to turn to the right especially if you’re posing for the photo that you will show to more people over the next decade than any other photo you possess. 

You don’t want to have to think about that big honker every time you hand your driver’s license over to an innocent clerk in the grocery store or the earnest young trainee at the car rental agency when you’re on vacation and trying to forget your troubles and have a good time.  For God’s sake!  Just turn your head!

Ekaterina explains it with the best grammar and punctuation she can muster:  “Research claims that we tend to show more emotion on the face’s left side, so when being photographed, turn your head a little bit to the right to look more appropriate for the occasion.  This will leave you looking more natural and happier.” 

What could be more nearly perfect for the occasion of the DMV than a right turn? 

But Miss E fails to stop.  “In addition,” she says, “this trick will help you to set off the coquettish curve of your eyebrow and the apple of your cheekbone.”

Right. 

It’s too late for Mr. Plath too.  His new driver’s license photo just arrived in the mail, confirming that the “straight look is more aggressive, especially if you don’t smile.” 

In fact, being entirely without vanity, Mr. Plath made no advance preparations whatsoever for his pilgrimage to the DMV.  He even forgot that they won’t let you wear that hat you slap on first thing in the morning to avoid the tedious rigors of hair brushing. 

I mean, I love the guy, but in his latest photo he looks like a feral and defeated felon taken back into custody after seventeen days on the lam.

He should have turned his body sideways and popped his knee a little bit to create a slimmer silhouette (Tip #5).  But when I offer these suggestions, I get only that icy criminal stare.

What about that, Ekaterina?  And by the way, where’s YOUR photo, Miss-Marilyn- thumbnail-instead-of-practicing-what-you-preach?

I smell a Russian rat.  You can’t trust everything you find on the internet and I’m beginning to wonder about you!

What’s the matter?  Camera got your nose?

Something for which to strive

I could be a cliché.

I mean if I really worked at it.  I could.

But I don’t want to be just any cliché.  For example, I don’t want to be an “aging hippy.”  You don’t have to work for that.  All you have to do is stand still and chant, “Throwback!  Throwback!”

No, I’m thinking of a hard-earned meritorious sort of bona fide cliché – like “trophy wife.” 

Hey!  Don’t roll your eyes!  I could be a trophy wife!  Although I would probably have to get rid of my current loving husband and find one much older, less competent, more grasping and desperate.  A billionaire who doesn’t see very well and is impulsively clinging to anything not yet pruned up. 

So.  There’s that.

“Overnight success” would be nice.  Maybe I’ll just shoot into the stratosphere!  Out of nowhere as they say.  Clear blue.  Syndicated in 900 newspapers!  Everyone’s darling.  I’ll be the golden one sitting next to JimmyFallon sharing my dry and pithy wit with the cool late night crowd. 

Or “breath of fresh air.”  I would love being a breath of fresh air! 

Aaahhh!  Yes.  A cool breeze!  Gently on the face.  So, so, so very pleasant.  Everyone loves a cool breeze!

I confess, clichés have been on my mind because of Justin Bieber’s recent escapades.  Darn it.  I had hopes for that kid.  What a talented little sweet face. 

But alas.  He may just devolve into a sad cliché.  A cautionary tale.  A Lindsay Lohan.  Too, too bad.  That’s what a bazillion bucks’ll do for ya.

But we shan’t let that get us down!

No!  And you know why?  Because WE can handle it.  Our skills for coping with a lot o’ dough are fully developed.  All that fortune would not cause us to digress from our intended trajectory:  An overnight sort of shooting breath of fresh air!

Honestly though, I’m not sure I could do any better with fame than the Biebs.  Everyone looking all the time? I’m already prone to the faux pas.  I’m a blurter under the calmest of conditions.  Just the other day I mistook a young man for his mother…out loud.  I don’t see how a spotlight would improve that propensity.  

If I were famous – if everyone were watching me all the time?  Anticipating?  Eagerly enquiring, “What’s she going to do next?”  The pressure!  OMG.  I just could not guarantee a happy outcome. 

I’d probably crater just like Lindsay and Justin.  I’d buy too many villas and marry Kanye West.  I’d egg my neighbors’ mansion (or at least their barking dog) and drag race down the alley in my yellow Lamborghini.

Who knows?  I might even act belligerent with the authorities and resist containment.  Because somewhere in the latent depths of my clichéd self, I’ve always wanted to do those things anyway.  And everyone keeps looking!  What am I gonna do?  Behave myself now?  Surrender?  Go calmly?!!  I don’t think so.  Pretty sure I’d be thrashing around and shoutin’ “Yo mama!” or some such thing.

But my evil alter ego would not surface because of my nouveau riches, you understand.  No.  It’s not the money; it’s the magnifying glass. 

That’s it!  I could be that other caricature – the wealthy well-bred classy sort of predictably shy and demure kind of cliché.  I could be Kate Middleton, say.  Or Gwyneth Paltrow.

I have good cheekbones…

Oh well.  Let’s face it; I could do it until I blew it.  We already know the ending:  I’d drop an earring into the Queen’s consommé.  Or take the mike on karaoke night and embarrass Coldplay with my channeling of Heartbreak Hotel.

That’s the beauty of being a writer.  Wherever I go, people look me blankly in the face and figure I’m just another boomer on the downhill side of the crest.  “Can I interest you in a Pier 1 charge account, ma’am?  Thank you and have a nice day.”

Ah.  Anonymity!  No fame…No bazillions either.  Sigh.

So I may have to settle for the reclusive writer cliché.  You know, the writer whose depth and versatility are only recognized 50 years after her death when her unpublished volumes come to light and dazzle the literary world. 


Yeah.  That’s it.  They’ll be calling J. D. Salinger a “Carolyn Plath.”

Wisdom or bliss? That is the question!

I have just been reading about wisdom:  The acquisition of wisdom, its attributes and the benefits of its application.

Not sure if that a was wise thing to do – I feel stupider than ever.  Probably should have been grocery shopping, or dusting or something with more tangible rewards.

A word to the wise:  Don’t bother with all that “evolving” rigmarole.  Read a good Sherlock Holmes story instead.  Then you can go around deducing and annoying your friends.  From what I’ve learned, that’ll work just as well as so-called “wisdom.”

Of course there are studies of wisdom.  Research on the concept.  Somebody thought it would be fun and somebody else funded it.

White-coated lab geeks have furrowed their brows and made notes on their clipboards over who is the most sage, how s/he got that way and if there’s a convincing method of faking it.  (No, not really.  I was just hoping, that’s all.)

They came to some noteworthy conclusions:

First and perhaps most irritating of all, there is no correlation between age and wisdom. 

If that doesn’t make an old person feel foolish, well…

I mean, having paced myself all these years, waiting for wisdom to catch up with me, I’m more than a little miffed to learn that instead of settling around me, bestowing an aura of ascendency, wisdom apparently zoomed past me quite a while ago, most likely during my tie-dye stage.

And what?  We’re supposed to listen to young people now?! 

It’s OK though.  Really.  It’s perfect.  I’ll just plod along in my humdrum way with all the other Slowskis, oblivious, but full of opinions and ready to share.

No worries, right? 

Which brings us to a second conclusion reached by our intrepid researchers:  Wisdom does not necessarily lead to happiness.


So I say why bother?  It must be depressing for a preeminently learned person to confront all the witlessness s/he encounters each day!  I mean, what’re you going to do?  If you keep setting people straight, imparting your knowledge all over town, it won’t be long before you have no one to play with.

I mean, to paraphrase my grandpa, nobody likes a “smart donkey,” right?

And here’s the clincher, research says that the wise person seeks to understand other people and their behavior rather than judging them.

Well where’s the fun in that?  The way I see it, God wouldn’t have given us Toronto Mayor Rob Ford if He didn’t want us to feel superior to SOMEONE. 

For Pete’s sake!  If we can’t look down on Lindsay Lohan from a lofty position of self-righteousness, then…then…

Or Miley Cyrus or Charlie Sheen!  Come on!

What are we normal schmos supposed to do when our egos need a little boost?  Analyze?  Show compassion?  Empathize?  Intone, “There but for fortune go I?” 

Well I refuse!  I always hated that uppity grammar anyway.

Nope.  If I can’t have wisdom I’m going to make the most of my lack.  I’m going to work my obtuse angle.  I’ll be the best ignoramus you can find! 

Oh.  Wait a minute.  That didn’t come out like I thought it would.

What I meant to say is, I don’t want to live on the mountain top or in the ivory tower or wherever all those wise guys hang out anyway.  I’ve heard it’s lonely up there.  And all that serenity!  It’s not my style.


I’ll just be here at home, watching TMZ.

Don't Worry! Gotcha covered!

Here it is, a public service round up of current news items for your edification and financial benefit: 

In the category labeled “Neener!  Neener!  Neener!” more commonly referred to as “I Told You So,” we find today’s headline from the Associated Press:  “Pentagon project aims to strip satellites for their spare parts” or as the AP dubs it: ‘space grave robbery for a cause.’ 

That’s right.  The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), that quirky, fun-loving exploratory wing of the Pentagon, is about to spend $180 million to test technologies that will soar into space and scavenge valuable parts from the orbiting junk yard above our heads.   

(In their kinder, gentler Pentagon vernacular, those inoperable clunkers are denoted by a politically correct euphemism – “retired satellites.”  Being retired myself, I now feel compelled to watch my back, as it were.) 

Here’s the plan:  First, they’ll identify a functional antenna or solar panel from the revolving rubbish overhead and send a robotic mechanic with a toolkit to salvage it.  Then, they’ll launch a bunch of mini-satellites.  THEN, the robot will string together the mini-satellites and hook them up with the old, but perfectly good satellite parts, thereby creating a new communication system right there!  In space!   

It’s recycling!  It’s a time saver!  It’s a money saver!  What could possibly go wrong? 

Here’s the part where I gloat and rub it in:  If you had only listened to me you would already have known this.  You could have invested a wad o’ cash in the project two years ago and be poised right now to rake in the dough.  Oh yeah.  I told you so ‘way back in September, 2011, in my column titled “Your mother doesn’t live in outer space.”   

OK.  Mostly I ranted about the folks at NASA who, like a bunch of sullen teenagers, have to go back into space to clean up after themselves.  But no matter!  DARPA awarded contracts to several companies to develop these new technologies.  And, it is seeking fresh proposals from interested parties now.  Eh?  Eh?!!  

So what do you say?  We could get everyone together, buy a bunch of intergalactic lotto tickets, and chant:  DARPA!  DARPA!!  until our numbers pay off. 

All right.  In other news, Beyonce` lip-synced the national anthem.  

I’ll give you a moment.  I know.  There, there.  

Evidently it was a conspiracy.  She moved her lips and emoted without having to draw a breath (I thought it looked effortless!)  AND the Marine Corps band members pretended to blow into their instruments while the director waved his arms in an impressive display of faux conducting.  

Wow.  They can assemble a transistor radio in outer space, but they can’t master the acoustics on the steps of the Capitol.   

What else?  Lindsay Lohan declined multiple offers topping out at $550,000 to appear on the next season of Dancing with the Stars.  Me too.  Like Lindsay, I like to be selective in my career and lifestyle choices.  Wouldn’t want to lose my credibility. 

OK.  Let’s see.  What’s this?  “Good-cop” brain cells are turning bad and causing Alzheimer’s disease.  Seems these microglia go rogue and prune away necessary synapses causing the cognitive decline so evident in Alzheimer’s patients.  That sucks. Who can you trust anymore if not your own brain cells?   

“Fear of estrogen is needless.”  That’s a relief.  “Ducks and geese can find their own chow.”  Again, relieved. 

Oh, here’s a good one:  “Facebook sparks envy and misery, researchers say.”  OMG!  

According to two studies to be reported at a February conference on information systems, one in three Facebook users reports feeling worse about themselves after viewing vacation photos of their friends on the social networking site.  With its 1 billion users, the researchers characterize Facebook as the largest social comparison site.   

Miserable users also reported feeling envy when they didn’t get as many birthday wishes as others.  That’s right.  Facebook has created one billion 12-year-olds.  Or, I guess technically, it’s only 300 million. 

So what do these envious adolescents do to assuage their jealousy?  They exaggerate their own achievements and post more self-promotional content to make themselves look and feel better.  Of course!  That’s what I do. 

That about sums it up for the week.  Rest easy.  I’m on it!  And, as always: you’re welcome!

Post-Retirement Bank Account Blues

When a person retires, she might feel a little guilty about her dearth of contributions to the joint bank account.  These days it’s essentially withdrawals. 

Therefore, always in search of a quick buck, I scan the papers for work - things I could do without exerting myself too much.  I’m guilty but not stupid.  I look for the easy money. 

In one such idle investigation I ran across a couple of opportunities that seem tailor made for a lay-about like me:   

I could be an overpaid actor.  Like Drew Barrymore, who has the dubious distinction of topping Forbes’ list, I could star in your multi-million dollar movie claiming my usual exorbitant salary, and return 40 cents for each dollar you invest in me. 

I like this option as I’ve always wanted to hang out with that funky film crowd.  Others on the overpaid list include Nicholas Cage, Vince Vaughn, even Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.  Now that’s a party. 

That in itself could assuage my guilt.  But option two is equally intriguing:  Celebrity tweets. 

At as much as $10,000 per tweet – which comes to $71 per character in the 140-character world of the Twitter-sphere – I could hold my head up quite nicely. 

That’s right; celebs sell their endorsements online the same as they do on air.  For example, charging only $8000, Khloe Kardashian tweeted about jeans that make “your butt look scary good.”  It’s an ad.  It’s a paid endorsement.  Doubtful that Khloe ever sailed into Old Navy.  She just lends her name to their product and collects the dough. 

Now I don’t shop at Old Navy either and my jeans do only half that job.  But it doesn’t matter.  I could tweet about my Calvin Klein’s and their 2% spandex.  “They give when your butt demands it!  #ad.”  

That last - the # symbol, known by tweeters as a hashtag - and the word “ad” are an addition suggested by the Federal Trade Commission to clarify that the tweet is sponsored by commercial interests.  How gentle of the FTC.  Folks on the internet are sure to follow a suggestion. 

Rapper Snoop Dogg gave his cool nod to the Toyota Sienna minivan, dispelling the myth that credibility presents an issue.  Of all the rides in all the rap joints in the hood, the Dogg’s props went to a minivan.  Here’s lookin’ at you, Snoop. 

Speaking of credibility, in the bargain basement of endorsers, Lindsay Lohan pulled in $3500 a pop for tweets indicating she participated in on-line challenges for college kids saying, “[they] are SO addictive!”  This on #CampusLIVE, a website dedicated to connecting advertisers with college students.  In other logic-bending agreements, Ms. Lohan endorses wind energy, “While saving the world, save money!  I love it!” as well as a gold mining company, of all things: “R ur savings safe?  Think again!” 

Now the Queen of Community Service has 2.6 million followers, many of whom could be high school aged with undeveloped skills in discriminatory thinking.  Perhaps they are likely targets for advertisers with money to blow.  But wind energy?  Really?  Lindsay Lohan.  And to whose ears were her insights about commodity investments directed? 

When Charlie Sheen tweeted for Internships.com at the same time he was running amok and getting fired from his job on “Two and a Half Men,” 95,000 clicks went to that site within an hour.  What’s wrong in America? 

But hey, if they can do it, I can do it.  At $8K a peep, er tweet, my believability and trustworthiness are indeed for sale.    

And what products would I endorse?  I’d sign off on almost anything from peanut butter to Porsche.  But realistically, if credibility were an issue, I’d be lending the weight of my cache to Olay Regenerist Age Defying Eye Roller, and that “Lose 10 pounds in 10 minutes!” swimsuit into which I will never squeeze.   

All right.  I’m exaggerating.  I don’t really have any cache.  And my placement of prepositions doesn’t appeal to the average tweeter, though some might say that’s a point in my favor. 

Nor do I have millions of followers.  Only my husband hangs on my words and even his dedication is dubious.  That’s the snag in this scenario.  If I endorsed a minivan, it wouldn’t generate much more than a shrug.  Which is what I do when I balance our checking account. 

Sorry Honey.                  

2012 Risk - Reward Analysis

Maybe you saw this one:  A botched marriage proposal on the jumbotron at a recent UCLA basketball game.  Cameras zoom in on a section of the seats.  A UCLA promotions person in a tight T-shirt with microphone in hand stands by, grinning.  An earnest young man produces a velvet-covered box with a diamond ring.  He mumbles something romantic.  He wobbles onto a knee, opening the box for his best girl. 

But, but…the expected outcome, the one we’ve seen played out so often that we’ve begun to relegate it to the corny and redundant, is upended:  Our surprised and overwhelmed intended bride-to-be hesitated, then stood, put her head down, and ran.  She left her (former) man to face the mortifying facts:  He put himself out there, laid himself bare, and lost, in public.  Now he endures hi-def humiliation not to mention the restocking fee at his jewelers.

Right after thinking how awful it must be for him, the next logical thought among the risk-averse is why’d he do that in the first place?
Why would he take that chance?

Maybe he’s among those unfortunate ones who never learned to read the signals, the word choice, body language, and eye contact of those they pursue.  His sweet but bumbling naïveté let him down.
 
Therefore he felt certain of the outcome.  It wasn’t risky in his mind, only showy.  “We’ll be on the jumbotron,” he thought with the purest of delusions.  “It will be our 15 seconds of fame.  I’ll be the envy of my friends!  It’ll be fun!” 

Or maybe he thought, no matter the outcome, it would be worth it.  I mean, you’ve gotta give it to the guy, right?  God love him for taking the risk.  What would the rest of us do without risk takers?  The world would be Twilight Zone bland if populated solely with thrill observers.

What would we do without Extreme Sports, or Dancing with the Stars?  We get our kicks gripping the arms of our recliners when the stunt pilot swoops toward the ground.  We admire those who actually take risks to get their kicks.  We’re dazzled when someone else skis down that slope or rides that bull.
  
A quick review of my life reveals some risk taking:  I was a high school principal, after all.  That’s pretty risky.  I left the relative safety of the classroom to face the daily prospect of rejection by hundreds of adolescents, not to mention their parents, and the teachers on staff.  My daily strolls around campus were made more or less secure based on any unpopular decision I might have rendered.

Of course, the payoffs were tremendous.  I knew that going in.  I’d already spent many years as a classroom teacher and counselor.  Few professions offer the guaranteed rewards of working with young people.  Just spending my time with them was so edifying as to offset any ugliness that might have come my way.  So maybe it wasn’t that much of a risk.  True risk taking requires danger of losing sufficient to counter the possibility of gain.

Maybe our aversion to loss keeps us on the straight and narrow.  That’s a good thing.  We don’t go around accepting bribes or practicing corrupt business for our own personal gain because of the risks.  We elect our representatives and hire bankers for that.  We sidestep illegal drug use and reckless sex because of the hazards they bring.  Lindsay Lohan and Charlie Sheen are our surrogates for that kind of risky business.  Better safe than pathetic.
 
Yet, there’s something vaguely dissatisfying about safety.  Constant circumspection becomes claustrophobic.  The mild and middle road lulls.  A tiny rogue chromosome wants to break free.  And 15 items in the 10-item line won’t suffice. 

This year, 2012, beckons us past the breakwater and onto the open sea.  Maybe just once, we’ll grab the mike at the karaoke bar and belt one out like Ethel Merman.  Spike our hair.  Buy a convertible or a Mini Cooper…or a convertible Mini Cooper. 

Maybe we’ll risk rejection:  Greet every person we pass in produce aisle!  Try to make every cashier smile.  Dance all by ourselves, barefoot, on the front lawn.  Climb into a raft and shoot the rapids.  Try what scares us.  That thing we’ve always wanted to do, but…

Maybe we’ll turn on the cameras.  Take the risk.  Get onto one knee.  Gamble on a happy outcome.  Double down.

Monty Python Got It Right

I love a slow news day. 

 Wake up.  Pour the coffee.  Turn on the TV to accompany your preparations for the day. 

And our top stories this morning: 

·         Princess Katherine’s wedding gown on display! 

·         Lindsay Lohan wears $1000 Manolo Blahnik shoes while claiming she cannot afford court-ordered psychological counseling. 

·         Do men do their share of household chores? 

·         And Donald Trump may announce, again, he’s running for president. 

Hooray!  We can exhale.  We can start the day free of new stress. 

Remember Simon & Garfunkel?  “I can gather all the news I need from the weather report.  Hey!  I’ve got nothin’ to do today but smile!” 

Yeah.  No news is most definitely good news.   

All right, you may say there is, in fact, news.  The “heated” debate over raising the debt ceiling, for example.  But this, for me, is not exactly news.  Or maybe it’s news in the same sense that professional wrestling is sport.  The players are in costume.  They’ve rehearsed their roles.  The outcome is decided.  We just watch to boo and hiss on cue.   

The oppressive heat wave dominating so much of the nation is news.  That weather report is nothing to smile about.  Unless like me, you used to live back there with thirty-one straight days of 100+ degrees and the concomitant double-digit humidity.  I try not to rub it in too much with my Okie relatives.  Poor form and all. 

The last flight of space shuttle Atlantis is sad news for the American dream.  But I heard this morning that NASA plans to put an astronaut on the surface of an asteroid by the year 2025.  Not exactly riveting in the moment, but something to look forward to in an abstract way.  

The players’ lockout is resolved for professional football.  Thank God. 

The SF Giants met President Obama to receive his personal congratulations for winning the World Series last fall.  That’s cool.  Tardy, but still cool. 

Best of all, nothing new to worry about today.  Nothing to add to the list of disquiets that we mull over a little bit each day.  Reviewing them.  Taking them through step-by-step, from the beginning.  How did it start?  How will it end? 

No new contingents of suffering in the world.  Only those already categorized and compartmentalized.  No new wars, or oil spills.  Only the wretched, distressing, but normal batch of car wrecks and shootings.  One animal attack, but everyone’s going to be OK. 

If anything’s startling, it’s what we take as routine, even expected, though not quite acceptable. 

So it’s make the bed.  Brush the teeth.  Get the husband off to work.  Read email.  Plan dinner.  Buy groceries.  Write.  Putter.  It’s all pretty darn good.  In the big picture. 

I’ll just thank God in Heaven for the incredible life I’m privileged to live, feeling especially free from the weight of a big news day.  Only the same old straws today.  Not a single new one. 

Coming up:  Four new ways to barbeque chicken!  I can deal with that.  I love barbequed chicken.  Matt, Natalie, Al, and Ann all wearing aprons.  Cute.  I miss Meredith, but network life goes on. 

Wait.  Uh oh.  Breaking news?  Oh no.  An explosion in Oslo.  Awful.  Absolutely awful.  Terrorists?  No.  One man!  One truly screwed up man.  Young people on a remote island.  Horrific. 

Damn.  I thought the world might maintain its status quo just this one day.  Maybe not an equilibrium of all good things, or even equally bad things, but a balance of sorts.  No new dreadfulness just this once. 

Alas.  

Our globe is populated by human beings after all.  Flawed.  Unenlightened.  Messed up.  Selfish.  Greedy. 

But wait.  What’s this?  The Good News Network!? 

Our Top Stories today:

·         Gates Gives $42 Million to Safe Sanitation Projects

·         Young Baseball Fan's Act of Generosity Caught on TV

·         North and South Korea Hold Constructive Talks

·         Logging Plummets in Mexico Reserve for the Monarch Butterfly

·         Terrified Kitten Rescued From Irish Freeway

·         Danish Mystery Donor Leaves $200,000 in Red Cross Bin

·         Healthy Snow Leopard Population Found in Afghanistan

·         From Down and Out to Happiness: It’s a Wonderful Life (If you let it be)

·         "Liter of Light" Brings Sun into Dim Shanties Using Only Plastic Bottles

·         Dalai Lama Offers A Roadmap to Inner Peace

·         Former Child Refugee Becomes Hero to Hundreds of Afghan Orphans

·         Teen Athlete Gives Entire $40K Scholarship Prize to Runners-up

·         U.S. Returns Recovered Artifacts Taken From Iraq  

And the best news of all:

·         Research: People Who Look on the Bright Side Age Best