With all this in mind, get out there and let the people you care about most (or whose names you drew in the Secret Santa gift exchange at work) know exactly how much you’re thinking of them this holiday season by picking out fun, useful, and exciting gifts.
Then, after you’ve been shopping for two hours and you realize you don’t know what your father’s interests are, give up and go to the bulletproof option: the gift certificate.
Silence Is Golden
I think people talk too much.
Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. Sometimes, when people are talking, in my mind all I’m saying is shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah….
People are scared of silence. If you find silence, people always have to fill it with something. The world is so full of noise, it’s nearly impossible to find silence. I happen to believe that silence is golden. In life, it’s one small thing I can hold onto. Silence is where all of our answers are. It’s where our truth is. Our passion, our path, our everything…All the answers are in silence, if you can find it.
I was outside not too long ago and I tried to meditate. I closed my eyes and I got to that still place that everybody talks about—just for a moment, but I was there. And the first message that I got, so strongly and so clearly, was that we are all one. Every living thing, we are all connected. And the next thing I felt was this little tiny thing in the palm of my hand, and I opened one eye. I saw this little mosquito sitting there, this little prehistoric-looking creature—this strange bug. And I was thinking about how we are all connected and I looked at this thing and then I just…killed it. Then I went back to my loving state of being.
And the next thing I heard was, “Would you like anything else or will that be all?” I told the waiter, “I was meditating, idiot. Thanks a lot for interrupting!” He wasn’t getting a tip anyway. It had taken forever to get the veal. So I decided an outdoor café was not the best place to be spiritual. People are too rude and stupid. So I left and started walking to my car, which was about three blocks away. The parking situation is crazy because the world is overpopulated with the wrong kinds of people.
So, back to the loving place. I was walking and I saw my car and I saw a meter maid standing at my car writing a ticket. “Oh please, wait…stop. Please don’t write the ticket, I’m here,” I said.
And she said, “Oh, I’m sorry, but you’re parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant.”
“Oh! Illegally in front of a fire hydrant,” I said, mocking her.
“Please stop talking to me that way,” she said.
So I took a different approach. “Please be compassionate, don’t give me the ticket, I’m here.”
And she said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve already started writing, I can’t stop.”
“Oh, that’s how it works? You’ve already started writing, so you can’t stop? Okay, well I would like to not hit you but my fist is already in the air, okay?”
And…back to the loving place.
I got into my car and lit a cigarette and prayed to be led where I should be, and I heard, “Drive!” (It was the meter maid.)
So I started driving and it’s so hard to drive and be compassionate and loving because of the way people drive. I was behind someone and they were going so slow I could have gotten out of my car and walked around and said, “Sorry I have to pass you but you’re going a little too slow.” Anyway, so I pulled around to give them that “I hate you” look. (How else are they going to learn, right? It’s up to us.) And it turns out it was a nun. Can you believe that? I said, “Why don’t you take a vow not to drive! Drop it like a bad habit!”
And…back to the loving place.
Again I found myself praying to be led where I should be. And then I saw a health food store, just right there. It appeared right before my eyes, and I thought, Well, that seems spiritual. I’ve never been in a health food store before. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a health food store but if that’s healthy, sorry—don’t want to be it.
The people who work at these places are so proud of themselves. “Guess how old I am?” they say.
“I don’t know.”
“Guess, guess.”
“Thirty?”
“I’m sixteen, but the point is, I’ve never had dairy!”
So I go into this health food store and the person at the counter says, “Let me see your tongue.”
“What?”
“Let me see your tongue…. Oh, you’re full of toxins!”
“You’re full of toxins. What a stupid thing to say to me.”
It turns out I needed an herb for something inside me—like the spleen or something else that’s inside—because something needed something because of something that happened. I learned this because the health food person practices this thing called kinesiology. They put herbs in your hand and if your arm goes down you need those herbs. This sounds stupid, but actually it’s not—it works. I’ll tell you, last week I was at Gucci and I had a sweater in my hand and it went right down. A couple of minutes earlier I had a dress in my hand and it didn’t go down at all! See? It works.
So, he/she gave me his/her recommendation. (I don’t know what he/she was. The name was Earthspirit. What’s that? A boy’s name?) Earthspirit said, “You need some wheatgrass juice.”
“Wheatgrass juice! Do I need a sprout wrap too?”
And Earthspirit said, “Your aura’s brown.” And I said, “Your aura’s brown! What a stupid thing to say to me!”
“Oh, we’re going to have to call the security guard.”
“The health food security guard? What’s his name, Whispering Pine? Why, is my meat breath offending you?”
Anyway, they kicked me out.
So I was driving again…back to the loving place…praying I’d be led to where I was supposed to be, and suddenly a wave of energy hit me. You’re out of rum. If you’re quiet, it will come.
So I went to the liquor store and there was no parking. I had to park across the street in some stupid parking lot (because again, you know, the wrong kind of people…). And so I went into the liquor store to get my rum and a pack of smokes and some rolling papers. (Right on! Peace!) I came out, and a parking attendant was standing right next to my car. He hadn’t been there when I’d gone into the liquor store but he said, “Oh, you can’t park here for that establishment. To park here you have to go into this establishment and purchase something and get validated.”
I said, “Oh, please, be compassionate, idiot.”
“No, you have to go in here.”
So anyway, it looked like a spiritual-type place that I was being led to. It was called the Pleasure Chest or something like that. Some type of toy store, it seemed. Unsafe toys, though, ’cause I’ve been playing with some of them and I’ll tell you, this pogo stick is going to hurt somebody. It’s bad on your back and it’s not sturdy! So, in order to get my car out from the parking lot, I had to buy something. It was getting late and I didn’t want to deal with the traffic and I wanted to get into the carpool lane, so I bought a blow-up doll.
I don’t know if I didn’t blow it up properly or what, but after a little while it started to deflate. So I had to pull over to the side of the road to inflate it again. (Why they put the valve in the crotch area I don’t know. It’s silly is what it is. Just silly.)
So there I was on the side of the road, blowin’ up “Linda”—I named her—and that’s when there was a knock on the window. It was a cop, of course. I thought, This does not look good at all, you know? It did not help matters any that I was naked.
Okay, so I’ll tell you why I was naked. If you’re going to buy a blow-up doll, be forewarned. These dolls do not come with clothes. I don’t know what that’s about, but there are no clothes—at all! You can’t even dress them up. So I thought, I’m not going to look like a crazy person driving around with a naked passenger. I’m not stupid! So there I was, naked except for the harness. (I had also bought a harness and a captain’s hat and a
paddle.) I was standing on the side of the road, getting handcuffed in my harness and captain’s hat and paddle, holding Linda, and the cop said, “You have the right to remain silent.”
And I said, “Finally, that’s what I’ve been looking for all along.”
Making Your Life Count
(and Other Fun Things to
Do with Your Time!)
The day started like any other day. My alarm rang at 8 A.M. I hit the SNOOZE for roughly four hours until it was noon. Time to rise and shine! Bleary-eyed, I searched my nightstand for my list of things to do that day. Immediately I checked off “get up” and proceeded to read through the rest of my tasks:
• Pick up socks at dry cleaners.
• Measure dental floss to determine how much is left on the roll.
• Mail ketchup rebate form.
• Special-order James Lipton bobblehead.
• Buy more paper to write lists on.
As I finished reading my list I suddenly felt sad and empty. Maybe it’s because you’re hungry, I told myself, but there was no response. (I’m not what you’d call a “morning person,” so I don’t always “answer” my own questions.) So I made my way down to the kitchen and whipped up some French toast and pancakes with a side of waffles. Nope, I thought after I’d finished eating, I still feel empty. The truth was I just couldn’t stop thinking about my list and how all my daily errands only revolved around me.
I’d written nothing about saving the pygmy possum from extinction or setting up a feng shui institute for needy children in Suriname. It seemed I had completely forgotten to put “save the world” at the top of my list. And I didn’t know if I still had time to do it.
Life is short. If you doubt me, ask a butterfly. Their average life span is a mere five to fourteen days. I headed out to my backyard in search of a butterfly who would have special insight into making the most of a short existence. I spotted a bright yellow variety that had alighted on my bougainvillea bush and introduced myself. “Hi, I’m Ellen DeGeneres. I live in the house back there. Boy, you sure are pretty. Could I ask you a few questions?”
“Yes,” said the butterfly, nervously checking her watch, “but make it quick. There’s a PBS documentary on water conservation that I want to catch.” (It was a Swatch, by the way. A really teeny tiny Swatch. Those Swiss are design geniuses.)
“I’ve been thinking,” I said hurriedly, “life goes by so fast. I feel like I haven’t really contributed. How can life be made worthwhile in such a short amount of time?”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said the butterfly impatiently. “I’m only three and a half days old and I’ve already volunteered my time to help a village in Bhutan increase its crop productivity by 80 percent. But you look like you’ve got a lot of life left in you. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m forty-five.” (Note to reader: As you read this I might be younger or older than this, depending on whether you’ve recently traveled in a time machine.)
“That’s nothing,” she said, preening. “Look at me! I’m middle-aged and I’ve never felt better. My doctor says if I keep eating right and cut down on my smoking I’ll live for another four days! He’s a great guy, met him when I was a day trader for three minutes last Tuesday.”
“You were a day trader?” I asked in amazement.
“Oh, I’ve had many careers. Yesterday for about sixty seconds, I gave acting a try, but my agent barely sent me out on anything. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about the rampant ageism in Hollywood—”
“Uh, yeah, tough business,” I interrupted, trying to get her back on track. “Please, tell me, what can I do to make my life count?”
She thought for a second—which for her must have been an eternity—and finally said, “Don’t put off till tomorrow what you can do today.” Then she took a peek at her wrist again (well, not actually her wrist, I guess, but I’m not up on my butterfly anatomy).
“Thanks for the great advice. I’ll start tomorrow. Can I stop by and tell you how it’s going?”
“I might not be here,” she said, fluttering away. “Tomorrow I teach English as a second language in the Valley from 1:00:25 to 1:00:28.”
“For only three seconds?!” I yelled up to the sky. But by that time she was gone.
Now, I don’t want you to think that this butterfly in fact spoke with me. That would just be plain silly. Butterflies can’t talk. (I’m not Dr. Ellen Doolittle, I’m Ellen DeGeneres.) The previous conversation was what I thought the butterfly might say if blessed with the power of speech. I say this because if I ever invite you to a dinner party, I wouldn’t want you to bring your cat along as a date, thinking Snuffles might be a witty conversationalist. Just so we’re all clear.
The next morning I got up early, grabbed my new list of five selfless tasks, and headed out to accomplish item number one: Walk an old lady across the street.
I live in L.A., where “old” means the wrong side of twenty-four, so I knew this one would be easy. I spotted an oldster listening to her iPod, waiting on a corner for the light to change. “Hello, ma’am, do you need help across the street?” I asked. For a moment the glare of her belly ring blinded me. I repeated the question and made an attempt to link her arm in mine. I must say, she seemed pretty agile for someone of advanced years—she ran very fast, skillfully dodging cars across all four lanes, and she kept on running when she reached the other side. Well, she was across the street, and whether directly or indirectly, I had helped. One down, four more to go.
Next on the agenda: Plant a tree. Frankly, I didn’t have time to get a tree and plant it in some remote spot. Instead, I bought a few apples, took out the seeds, and scattered them in a Target parking lot à la Johnny Appleseed. One day, I hoped, the entire area would become the only apple orchard in the world with ample parking. With a flourish I checked off number two.
It was almost time for breakfast. A perfect time to “Conserve energy,” which was number three on the list. It was about 100 degrees in incessantly sunny L.A. that day, “hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk,” as my mother used to mutter under her breath, almost accusatorily. Of all the things she could “get on my case” about, as we used to say, I still can’t believe she picked the weather, as opposed to, say, my huge bell-bottoms or my continual use of the phrase, “You’re not the boss of me.”
So, in order to get that pesky number three out of the way, I decided the best way to conserve was to harness the energy of the sun. If a bunch of drug-addled hippies could do it, why couldn’t I? I cracked two eggs on the sidewalk and covered them in a light but tangy hollandaise sauce, then I waited. Hmm. Maybe it wasn’t hot enough to use concrete as a stove top, as my mother had always led me to believe, but it was hot enough to jump in my car, turn on the air conditioner, and head over to Denny’s.
Sitting in a cozy booth, I dug into my eggs Benedict and revised my goals. After deep contemplation, I came to the conclusion that using alternative energy in place of fossil-fuel energy was still, technically, using energy, not conserving it. So, to stay true to old “number three,” I decided I would sit motionless in Denny’s until they stopped refilling my root beer. After four hours (and thirty-seven trips to the bathroom), I realized that no energy conservation was taking place. I paid the bill (Two dollars and fourteen cents! How do those people stay open?!) and felt justified checking off number three. At least I hadn’t mentioned anything about water conservation.
“Volunteer as a Big Sister” was item number four. Unfortunately, the day was almost over, so calling the Big Brothers Big Sisters of America was out of the question. Thinking quickly, I called up my ten-year-old neighbor, Abigail Van Splinter. Within minutes she knocked on the door, and I invited her in.
“Hi Abigail, I’m your big sister.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. Hey Abigail, do you want a ‘Hertz Donut’?”
“Okay.”
“I gave her a playfully hard punch on the
arm. Hurts, don’t it?”
“You’re mean.”
“I know you are, but what am I?”
“You’re picking on me just like my real big sister. I don’t need this. I’m going home!”
Man, that one was easy! Four down, only one to go.
Number five was a real doozy. To be honest, since I wasn’t even quite sure where the Amazon rain forest was, singlehandedly revitalizing it was going to be a challenge. My knowledge of geography is limited primarily to where I’ve gone on tour. I couldn’t recall performing stand-up in a rain forest, Amazonian or otherwise. Thinking quickly and quite geniusly, I turned number five into a big fat one. Then I put it on the top of my list for the next day.
I stopped to think about the things that I had accomplished and how much they would mean to the world. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I knew that my medium-size contributions would really have an impact in the not-so-distant future. My ripple could already be felt as close as next door, with little Abigail waking up tomorrow morning with a sore arm and stronger resilience, and soon, as far away as however far away that rain forest on my list is.
That night I went to bed early, my list for the next day poised on my nightstand. But first, I made an important addition. Number two: Buy an atlas.
This Is How We Live
Everyone likes to talk about how advancements in technology will change the way we live forever. Frankly, I think modern technology is hurting us. I really do.
If you want to know the truth, I blame the microwave for most of our problems. Anything that gets food that hot without fire is from the devil. If you don’t believe me, put a Hot Pocket in your microwave for three or four minutes, then pop that thing in your mouth. If that’s not Hell, my friend, I don’t know what is.
Modern life requires hardly any physical activity. We just push a button and stand there. Take the car window. Someone decided that having to crank the window down yourself was too hard. “I don’t want to churn butter, I just want fresh air!” So we got a button to do it.