Today I got rather excited by a video on youtube that shows a rat riding on a cat riding on a dog with a final message of, “If they can do it, why can’t we?” One presumes the “it” refers to “get along peaceably together.” Then the video points you to this Humanity Ascending website. I thought, “Alright! This is right up my alley!” You see, I assumed the site was going to be about steps we can take to bring about peace and help our cultural evolution catch up with our technological evolution. Then I watched the trailer and I think I can see where this one is going. What a disappointment.

If there were one thing I could say to the world it would be this, “Stop thinking you’re bringing about world peace because you think gooey happy thoughts, and get off your ass and do something!” Change happens through action. The world could use a lot of Big Brothers and Big Sisters. Microloans are good. There are a lot of lonely seniors in homes who would like a visit. There’s a practically infinite list of things we can do locally, let alone globally to make the world better for other people. Funny thing, if I had “The Secret” I wouldn’t be charging people for it. If I was that enlightened, I would see how important it was to share and put aside my own profit motives for the greater good.

So what do I do to make the world a better place? Nothing because I suck. I made a resolution this year (and last year and failed at it) to volunteer for at least three charity events. How pathetic that three is my stretch goal, but at least I don’t kid myself that the world is a better place because I plunked my hiney on the sofa and thought a couple of kind things about the Ys. I’m just saying. Anyway, this isn’t about me. Isn’t this the part where our mothers would say, “Do as I say, not as I do?” or the ever popular, “Because I said so!!”

If anyone ever joins my Orioles meetup group, could that count?

Oh, who am I kidding. That’s a bigger fantasy than me volunteering.

And Habitat for Humanity is definitely out of the question. I can’t think of a more miserable way to spend a day than building a house. I’d rather give someone my spare bedroom than ever go near a construction site again. Perhaps I’d feel differently if I hadn’t tried to amputate my own thumb that time when I stood around in twenty degree temperatures for so long that I went numb and lost all motor control before anyone ever handed me what became an expedient digit remover and asked, “how about you nail in the siding.” Within two minutes, I was writhing in pain like the Grape Lady as my thumb barely still dangled on my hand, profuse quantities of blood forming pools in the dirt, and on me, and in the car, while I waited for two hours for my ex-husband to have enough compassion to drive me home, nice guy that he was. I’m not exaggerating one bit of that. I’ve always wondered if the new homeowners spotted the red puddles, exchanged looks with each other, and asked in horror what had happened on the construction site.

The second Habitat experience left me mostly unscathed, though it took years to work up the courage and a fair bit of coercion to try again, but left me feeling overwhelming pity for the homeowners who were the unfortunate recipients of my shoddy drywall hanging skills. I still feel bad for them. Me and construction just don’t mix.

As a feminist, I have a motto, “Hammers are meant for husbands.” And let us say, “Amen.”

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