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I was writing a whole other essay on a completely different topic when my husband walked by and said he was surprise that I wasn’t writing about Trayvon Martin. I had mentioned to him the other night that another innocent black teenager had been killed in cold blood.

I hate the phrase, “everything in moderation.” I can think of lots of things not good in moderation: Slavery, not so good in moderation; War, not so good in moderation; Arsenic, not good in moderation, either.

I have one of those phone messages people complain about. I tell callers what number they have dialed and kindly ask them to leave a message if they are so inclined. My mother hates my message. She asks how people will know whom they’ve reached. I figure you either know me and will leave a message or you hope you know me, leave a message and take your chances. The last thing I want to do is give someone from whom I may not want to hear more information about me. I don’t want to validate telemarketers or let the robocallers know that they’ve reached a live one.

I’ve got to stop reading the “mommy blogs.” The internet thrives on manufactured controversy. There have always been the standbys of politics, religion and the latest celebrity brouhaha – courtesy of Lindsay Lohan.

Three days after my grandmother died, I bought a brand new luxury SUV. It turns out shopping, and I mean dig-in-your-heels research, and negotiate as if your life depends on it shopping, work excellently at keeping the grief at bay. I got a great deal on that and a few other completely unnecessary but coveted items during the week between her death and the funeral.

A broken Ramones CD was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was probably the last living fan of the U.S. Post Office. After all, my father worked there most of his life, and I had a soft spot in my heart for that bastard step-child of government agencies. Alas, that love lives no more.

Two hundred dollars for a kitchen floor mat – for something made in China? Really. How much profit do you think that is for the retailer and marketer?

I’ve been keeping a cursory eye on the Occupy Wall Street and Occupy everywhere else movements. The main gripe, I gather, is that a lot of folks are upset that corporations, financial titans and their lobbyists only are looking out for the wealthiest one percent. Everyone else in the remaining ninety-nine percent be damned.

Have you heard of pine mouth? No? Didn’t think so. Google it. I dare you. I hadn’t heard of it until a couple of days ago. Picked some fresh basil from my garden, got out the garlic, the aged parmesan, and pine nuts from the pantry. Did I read the label on those pine nuts? I sure didn’t, but I wish I had. Turns out they were from China. It’s apparently widely, if not well known, that Chinese importers have been mixing the regular old pine nuts with some other species of pine nuts, indigestible by humans (but not deadly, I’m promised), but indistinguishable on sight from the regular old kind. The result – a bitter metallic taste in the mouth that will last from days to weeks.

Dear American Businesses,

You continue to disappoint me. Instead of continued innovation, creativity and choice, it seems you have nothing to offer but stuff I don’t want at prices I don’t want to pay. Last week’s dilemma illustrates one of my problems by your kind.