Fashion Victims...

I woke up the other day with one furry body curled up in the small of my back, and yet another curled up on my chest 'neath the blankets, her head alongside my own resting on the pillow (for a chihuahua she seems to take up more space on my bed than I do), both were attempting to keep themselves away from the arctic chill filtering through my bedroom window.
 I groggily leaped to my knees and crawled to the window and bundled the pair in my comforter-- I knew things were bad when my Klee-Kai, Marley was shivering under her two heavy, natural coats.
I dragged myself to the bathroom and closed my bedroom door behind me, turning up the heat for the pair as I brushed my teeth.  I could hear my chihuahua screaming through my morning routine, she hates to be more than two-steps away from me (it's simultaneously flattering and annoying, to be honest).
Since this is their first year here (well, I purchased Marley in Minnesota when I lived here years ago, but we didn't last long-- returning to Colorado perhaps a year thereafter)-- braving the tundra is already proving to be difficult, for my chihuahua (Brodie), especially (I bought her in Colorado, but she has spent the majority of her five-years in Las Vegas).  There's been nary a flake on the ground and getting her outside is something of a process:
First, I have to funnel her into a turtle-neck looking thing. Then, I have to wrap her in a heavier velcro-style jacket, and thread her leash through a microscopic hole-- lastly I am charged with the task of pulling a hood about her Yoda-sized ears.  Throughout the process she goes limp, like a toddler in the mall.
As I gaze down at my handiwork each day I shake my head, annoyed at the hideous ensemble that functions less as a jacket than a vest, and is covered in ridiculous bones.  I suppose it acts as a windbreaker and keeps her dry, but not much else.
 I've spent countless hours attempting to find more functional "dog-clothes" in a less hideous style, for a reasonable price.  But, ha!  It'd be easier to find the proverbial "needle in the haystack" and sew her an outfit with the surrounding straw.

My simultaneous guilt and disgust that day gave me an epiphany:  "Doggy-Couture" that suits an area like Minnesota, that would donate (in large) the proceeds to a plethora of animal charities!!
After initially relocating to a more rural area of Minnesota, I remember being appalled at the amount of farmers that would leave their dogs outside, tied to a stake year-round, despite blistering heat and sub-zero temperatures.     (Not that the likes of Las Vegas is immune-- they were rife with dog-fighters and elderly pet-hoarders.)  Not to mention, I have always wanted to be able to do something that would tie me to some of the larger organizations that aid in ceasing some of the more desperate situations our four-legged friends find themselves trapped in...without my dogs, I don't know where I'd be?  Less fulfilled, certainly, and there's always a market in the world of puppy-fashions.
(Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those ladies that dresses my pets 365-days a year-- when it's warranted, Brodie wears clothing-- she is one built for warmer climates-- a chihuahua is at least 50% exposed, bare skin.  But, there are those that do-- thus, there is a market-- and the funds are sorely needed.)
My company could tie itself to both local and international organizations-- even creating fashions to be used in and given out by shelters when sending critters to their happy homes.  And it would be less "clown-apparel"-- more inspired by current designers of our time.  There's no reason for Fido to look more ridiculous than he has to.

I became more steadfast in my resolve after viewing a clip on YouTube.  It was graphic and heart-wrenching, and it spoke precisely to what I aim to halt.  After viewing this piece I held my babies a little tighter, dreaming of a day when their "brothers" would become free from their perpetual bondage-- suffering at the hands of those I regrettably must call my own kind.

I am including the clip, if for nothing else, to bring awareness to that which I aim to help...if not eradicate,at least alter.  But I urge you-- it is graphic, as I mentioned-- it had me in tears.  Don't watch the clip if you have a soft heart or a weak stomach.
Here's to beginning the great fight, this is for the voiceless-- (I'd rather they be "fashion victims", than the victims they are--in the truest sense):

Time Management (A Technological Problem)

“Nowadays, we never allow ourselves the convenience of being temporarily unavailable, even to strangers. With telephone and beeper, people subject themselves to being instantly accessible to everyone at all times, and it is the person who refuses to be on call, rather than the importunate caller, who is considered rude.”
― Judith Martin, Common Courtesy: In Which Miss Manners Solves the Problem That Baffled Mr. Jefferson 

Ms. Martin raises a very valid point-- it seems that all of society is somehow obligated by their technologies-- held captive by the rules of etiquette.  
How many times have you been mid-project or mired in something of significance when the familiar buzz, hum, vibration, or musical-introduction trumpets from your purse or pocket?  And how often do you find yourself unearthing the piece of plasticine technology from its resting-place in order to learn something of little significance (like the most recent "precious" activities of a distant friend's child, or someone's new-found adoration for their Subway-sandwich, or (God forbid) some "stupid pet trick" (for those of you that recall the reference, I salute you) in the form of the newest YouTube video from CuteCat.com, or the like).

But, the unspoken code of conduct linked to our various devices compels us to respond-- or at the very least "like"-- what a fellow compatriot took the time to forward.
In some instances (when there is time), I appreciate random cutesy artifacts from a miscellaneous web-page, but much of the time I end up perturbed and generally annoyed-- bound by some unwritten code of ethics that flows freely through our society that forces response.
It maximizes at least half of my day...
What can we do about this epidemic of polite (yet oblidged) communication that seemingly sucks our day further and further down the proverbial drain? When one video sent morphs into two, three, ten (damn you suggested videos via YouTube!!) and before you know it your day is M.I.A?  
How do we disconnect ourselves from the lengthy series of texts sent from our "legions" of fans and escape the umbilical-tether of our droids, smartphones, iPhones, iPads, tablets, laptops, home-computers, and the like?

The sad fact remains that disconnection likely isn't going to happen anytime soon.  An inescapable inevitability is more likely that life will mire itself further in its technological muck...and the requisite responses seemingly abound.  We appear tacit to continue pouring our lives into message after message-- fed via a multitude of social-networking, blogging, and communication venues.  After reviewing some recent stats I was in a state of utter shock, they state:

• 18-24 year olds send or receive an average of 109.5 text messages per day—that works out to more than 3,200 messages per month. The median 18-24 year old texter sends or receives 50 texts per day (or around 1,500 messages per month).
• One quarter of 18-24 year old text messaging users (23%) report sending or receiving more than 100 texts per day.

• Just over one in ten (12%) say that they send or receive more than 200 messages on an average day—that equals 6,000 or more messages per month.

Looking at these figures I contend that this is truly where we collectively whittle and chip away at those much needed avenues throughout our lives.  As a result, I think that a different code of conduct should be settled upon... something rather than sending a message, waiting a few minutes for your intended reader to reply, bombarding them with ever increasing numbers of insulted and dejected texts thereafter... and perpetually until the desired response is thus achieved.  Should immediate reaction not take place the gentle prodding eventually gives way to concern; concern melts and resolve hardens, then (depending on the person) hurt, rejection, annoyance, and perhaps anger rears its ugly head.  From there it all has a tendency to break down and go to hell, so in an attempt to maintain peace we pull ourselves from our miscellaneous activities-- briefly feigning interest in the YouTube-clip or the story about some random workplace or baby that (which may perhaps be cute or entertaining)seemingly wrenches one away from more pressing matters.
According to yet another recent study (whose figures are slightly higher than aforementioned-- coming to an average of 15,000 texts per month for the average teen-25 year-old):

"...(Sorry to bore you with math, but this is the critical point): 30 texts is a small number for a single hour, but with 60 minutes in 1 hour, that's a text every 2 minutes, consistently, every hour of every day, for a month..."

Which again, is mind-blowing.  After reading these statistics I felt a little more assured in my annoyance.  It is likely that I could be receiving a message (roughly, and perhaps likely with the company I keep.  It's a side-effect from being from a latin familia... we are traditionally wordy people, ha-ha) every two minutes throughout my day.  

I find myself wondering what I could do if I were to end up with that much available time at my fingertips once more?  I mean, is it truly neccesscary for me to know that little Suzie said "baa-baa" to the cat, or that my mother enjoyed today's episode of Dr. Phil, in real time-- with an unwritten contractual agreement to answer within a certain period of time?  How much time is robbed of me then, as I react to an inbound message??

I know that all these concerns that have come to plague me of recent are somewhat innocuous and perhaps meaningless-- but it's somewhat gratifying to know that I do not stand alone in this.  Perhaps it is evidence of my age, considering I could spend an entire night (dusk to dawn) wrapped about the cord of my grandmother's house-phone and still yearn for yet another hour.  But at this stage in my development the endless noise emitting from my tiny tether seems less like a blessing and more like an agreement made under duress. Though I love the conveinience of it all, I despise the pressures of the manditorily instantaneous answer.   Were the contractual agreement somehow altered I may be a little less in the know, slightly less entertained, but perhaps more productive.  Until I can figure a better way to tactfully reconstruct the perameters, my phone may simply remain randomly (accidentally) in the off-position from here on.



http://blog.knowledgeinfusion.com/2012/05/deploying-technology-in-2012-know-your-audience/

http://orangekid.hubpages.com/hub/Texting-A-Virulent-Disease