Program note: This blog is shutting down

Last week's post was the last for this blog. When it started, blogs were the best way we had to take reader comments. But this was never the best use of a blog.

The feature is continuing in the print edition and each new one will be available at this link (it redirects you to the most recent one). Comments will be collected in our new discussion forums.

Thanks for all your participation here over the years. We hope the new format will promote an even better discussion.

- Jon Berndt, CiN Weekly's Internet coordinator

Names have not been changed to protect the innocent

For as long as I can remember, my nemeses have always been Steves.

Well, not just Steves; this also includes Stevens and Stevies of the world, but not Stephens. Only the ones with a 'V' in their name qualify. I don't know what I could've done to peeve the Steves of the world, but whenever I find myself on the cusp of success, there's always a Steve waiting to thwart it.

The kid in fourth grade who bested me in the class spelling bee? Steve. My freshman year college roommate who had the personality of cheese and the hygiene to match? Steve. The co-worker I shared a workspace with for five years who created more work for me than he managed to complete on his own? Steve. The police officer who pulled me over and probably should've let me off with a warning but gave me a ticket anyway? You guessed it. Officer Steve something. I could go on, but these examples clearly demonstrate a pattern of Steve-induced woe.

So why have the Steves of the world aligned against me? I haven't knowingly acted in ways that would be exclusively offensive to Steves. After all, as a humorist it's not practical for me to be at odds with all of the Steves in the world. I'd be much better off feuding with the Shermans or the Jethros because there are fewer of them and their names are much funnier. (Not that Steve is an unfunny name; please don't take that as a slight.)

Even if I don't know why it began, at the very least I want to end this Steve-specific grudge. I've considered hiring an arbitrator to broker a peace agreement between me and the legions of Steves who are waiting to take my parking space at the mall or refuse my expired coupon at the grocery store. The only problem is I don't know who the ringleader of the Steve army is to invite to the negotiating table. Well, that and everyone I've mentioned this Steve nemesis problem to keeps using phrases like "paranoid schizophrenia" and recommends that I undergo psychiatric evaluation, as if there's something wrong with me. Look at the evidence, I'm the victim here. The victim of a global Steve conspiracy.

Probably the quickest resolution to this Steve-induced misery is to just apologize for whatever I may have done to provoke them. Granted, this means admitting guilt to an offense I may not have perpetrated, but I figure it's better than worrying about having a roommate in the nursing home named Steve who hogs the remote. So if you know any Steves, please assist me by passing along the following apology:

Steves of the world, I am sorry for anything I may have done which either directly or indirectly has caused you harm or irritation. Although I am unable to recall what I may have done to draw your anger, believe me when I say it wasn't my intent to provoke you to the point that you felt it necessary to mobilize your Steve army to wreak havoc on my day-to-day life. I am truly sorry.

It feels good to get this off my chest. Now the healing can begin.

Chris Carlisle is a humor columnist living in the Cincinnati area. You can find his weekly syndicated humor column at www.chriscarlisle.net/ds

The experience that is Ikea

My feet hurt and I'm tired. I have earned the right to use multiple run-on sentences and to insert many unnecessary commas in my writing. I stayed awake for 30 hours and then slept for 15 hours. Why? To go to Ikea.

You will never understand until you experience it. You will never understand until the first time you speak with another person who has heard of that strange way of shopping and starts naming items in their apartment that they too drove to Chicago to buy.

It was fun to rendezvous before 4 a.m. It was fun to dance to live music in the dark of the morning smack-dab in front of the bright stage. It was fun to give "Girl Number 165" in line before me my purple ponytail holder because hers had just broken and she was going on camera for an interview with a local news channel. It was fun to hold the 10-foot tall girl on stilts' hand so she could get over the rope to roam the crowd, searching for little kids to "high-five." It was fun to watch the log sawing, since I had never witnessed a good-luck ceremony quite like that. It was fun to hear the Team Cincinnati choir sing in English followed by the Children's Swedish Choir and some milkmaids singing in Swedish. It was fun to eat the doughnuts and meatballs they were giving to those of us waiting in line. It was fun to get free coffee for life - since I now own a travel mug with the Ikea logo on it and print that clearly states I am to receive free coffee for the rest of my life. It was fun to get the free Frisbees, water bottles, pens, bookbags and tiny Swedish flags.

It was fun to rendezvous before 4 a.m. It was fun to dance to live music in the dark of the morning smack-dab in front of the bright stage. It was fun to give "Girl Number 165" in line before me my purple ponytail holder because hers had just broken and she was going on camera for an interview with a local news channel. It was fun to hold the 10-foot tall girl on stilts' hand so she could get over the rope to roam the crowd, searching for little kids to "high-five." It was fun to watch the log sawing, since I had never witnessed a good-luck ceremony quite like that. It was fun to hear the Team Cincinnati choir sing in English followed by the Children's Swedish Choir and some milkmaids singing in Swedish. It was fun to eat the doughnuts and meatballs they were giving to those of us waiting in line. It was fun to get free coffee for life - since I now own a travel mug with the Ikea logo on it and print that clearly states I am to receive free coffee for the rest of my life. It was fun to get the free Frisbees, water bottles, pens, bookbags and tiny Swedish flags.

It was highly amusing for someone with my sense of humor to be greeted at the door by 400 employees in yellow shirts waving and banging inflatable yellow bats. They were yelling, cheering and clapping (just for me!) as I rode the escalator to enter a store. I really don't suppose that I need that much congratulations for deciding to leave my house to go shop at a store, but boy oh boy, did that amuse me after the hideous amounts of coffee I consumed after no sleep ... nada!

We didn't even really notice the cold. It was all about hanging out with a friend who you get too busy to see and meeting new like-minded people - and by that, I mean other people just like me who find doing something like this downright knee-slapping funny!

I have realized over time that one of the most important things that I can do for myself is to make me laugh, because even if you don't think I am funny, I crack myself up. I learned yesterday that doing "uncommon" and even downright strange things can take my self-amusement to another level of existence.

Next time you try out for something, wait in a long line for something just to meet new people and have a few laughs, or take a road trip to somewhere off the beaten path, (I have already been to the Colonel Sanders Museum so you can skip me on that one), make sure you invite me along. We can take my car.

Melissa Apple is from West Chester Township.

Do something about it

We all get to that point in our lives where we realize this is not where we pictured ourselves. This happened to me about two months ago. I was 100 pounds heavier than ever before and had a job that required me to work long hours and paid little. Even though I had a fabulous husband and two wonderful little boys, I still felt unfulfilled.

This had been going on for a while but I was convinced this was just my lot in life. I had never graduated from college and was unsure of what field I could even try other than retail management.

Sixty days ago, everything came to the boiling point. I was ranting and raving to my husband about my frustration. I had entered my thirties with a groan, not a bang. I missed the thin, confident me. I wanted to be proud of my job, not ashamed and miserable. He's heard it all before but said something he never has: "Do something about it."

Simplistic, yes, but the person who knew me better than anyone had basically told me to get off my butt and change. Instead of being passive and allowing me to wallow in self pity, he actually challenged me.

My initial reaction was outrage. Obviously, if it were that easy I would've already done it. Right? I went to bed that night but didn't sleep. I had to be honest with myself - I hadn't really tried to change or improve. I only made half-hearted attempts and quit when it became inconvenient. Every day you hear stories of average people doing extraordinary things with their lives. Could I be one of those people?

The next day I searched every diet and exercise program out there, and after two days picked one that seemed to fit into my lifestyle the best. It wasn't easy, but after two weeks of effort I decided to then focus on my career. I knew this was going to be more of a challenge. I thought about going back to school, but I really couldn't decide what I wanted to take.

I had almost faced defeat when a lady from church suggested starting a cleaning company. I had been cleaning for her on the side for a few years at a third of what the larger chains charge. At first I scoffed at the idea, but really, there wasn't an affordable company out there for everyone. Could I change the industry? I did research on top of research, and everything told me this was right.

With my husband's support, I quit my job and started the Fuzzy Slipper Cleaning Company. It was scary, but I wanted to be scared for once. I was tired of being comfortable. My first week was a booming success, with more and more clients every day.

I am now 40 pounds lighter and the happiest I have been in years. Some days I work four hours and some days I work 10, but it's all for me. I finally have the sense of accomplishment I was missing.

It's OK to complain about things - that's life - but if you are truly unhappy, then do something about it.

Jennifer Bunning of Burlington is the owner of Fuzzy Slipper Cleaning Company (www.fuzzyslippercleaningcompany.com).

Everyone's feelings are valid

Driving up I-71 the other day, my eye fell on a plaque, of sorts, pasted on the sooty panel of an 18-wheeler. It was a few printed words broadcasting a message of peace and love. It was, as I recall, credited to biblical scripture. The words themselves described a positive sentiment; don't get me wrong, but it made me think of something other than peace.

Every day we are bombarded with messages. I'm not counting advertisements here; that's a whole different topic. What I'm thinking of are the myriad declarations of peace and love and understanding, or individual betterment, or positivity, spiritual growth, etc. We see them on TV, in newspapers and car bumpers, billboards and, of course, the backs of semis transporting wondrous goodies along the arteries of our land. Wedged in between sales pitches for male enhancement creams and hassle-free car insurance, these desperate pleas for peace are found.

What, you might ask, could possibly be wrong with such messages?! What sort of unhappy cynic could find fault with a spontaneous exclamation of love in these dark days?

My answer is none, with one caveat: There seems to be a commanding force behind these declarations that forces a necessity of substantiation. That is, a message of peace and love is only acceptable for public consumption if it comes from scripture, or from a famous wit whose very name brings tailor-made credibility. Those of us who would speak of love and spiritual strength without pasting a god or specific creed behind it must therefore belong to that lunatic fringe who can be found muttering in the gun aisle at Wal-Mart or wearing six pairs of socks and a crash helmet.

I'm not attacking people who want to share the Word of God here - that's their business. Nor am I trying to say any sentiment derived thereby is not valid, or I would be more of a hypocrite than I suspect myself to be (even in my darkest moments).

Maybe, and this is far worse, it's that messages expressed purely from the heart, without attribution, are simply ignored or considered not worth pondering. Only because we haven't made sure to display a source outside ourselves who thought of it first, I suppose.

No, it's not everyone who disdains the wisdom of "normal" individuals - not everyone is ready to disregard your sentiments or mine, merely because they're from the heart and not borrowed from literature of one sort of another.

But there is, in my opinion, a strong undercurrent in public life that persuades us to ignore anyone who makes statements about the human condition who isn't a prophet, or a famous author, a politician or a religious leader. Therein is a powerful message of its own that tells us, however subtly, that we alone are not worth much, unless we act as a mouthpiece for a codified set of natural laws or popular religious beliefs.

I don't advocate the censorship of religious quotations. I'm only suggesting that if one's own feelings are shared publicly, without direct attribution, they can still be valid. That's my message.

Jeremy Simmons is a writer and graphic designer (only one of these pays anything ... guess which one!) last seen lurking on the mean streets of Hyde Park.

This problem needs fixing

Yet another school shooting has rocked the country, this time in Illinois. What is wrong with us?

I still remember where I was when I heard about Columbine and watched the drama unfold on a TV at the Northern Kentucky Convention Center. We were all in shock and completely baffled as to how two teenagers could or would plan such an elaborate mass execution.

Since then, how many school shootings, copy cats, and other horrors have taken place, and what have we done to stop it? I'm a liberal and open-minded person but am starting to wonder if our current gun laws need to be revisited - or on the flip side - if every single person in the country needs to start packing some heat for protection.

Or is it a larger societal issue that needs to be addressed? I honestly don't know and this is not an attempt to solve it, but rather to question out loud and to wait for answers.

I do know that this generation is much different than mine, and the biggest difference is the technology.

We've become a nation of loners, staring at a computer screen, lost in an unreal world of fantasy and anonymity ... in doing so, are we stunting the nuances of human interaction that we learned as children on the playground? ... where we learned teamwork, empathy, competition, problem-solving, social skills and the art of winning and losing gracefully?

I grew up in the '70s and '80s, and the closest I ever came to "gaming" was Atari and Ms. Pac-Man! At the risk of sounding like a grumpy old man, shaking his fists at the kids in the neighborhood, I have to wonder if we are raising a generation of sharp-shooters and desensitized children through these realistic video games where violence and killing is the goal? I simply don't understand this form of entertainment.

I used to take note of my boyfriend playing those war games for hours on end, this near trance-like look of intensity and determination on his face. The joke always was, "I'm going upstairs to kill people." We laughed. But how funny is it?

What on earth could motivate someone to walk into a college classroom and start randomly picking off other students and then have the selfish audacity to kill himself so as not to have to deal with the repercussions?

No, you can't blame a video game or that "crazy rock 'n' roll music" for creating killers, but something is happening in the evolution of our young people because this school shooting phenomenon is fairly unique to this generation, and it deserves to be scrutinized.

In video games, everyone gets a "do over" when the game ends, life goes on, and the players go back to their regular lives. Unfortunately, for the families of too many victims, this will never be the case.

So what can we do to fix it?

Kathy Ivie is a nonprofit fundraiser who lives in East Walnut Hills.

Operation Shyness: exposed

Like most college students, I'm getting more and more nervous as graduation nears. Now is the time for me to come out of my comfort zone, and for my own good, I can't be shy anymore.

Now that it's time for me to get a "big kid" job, it's time to make my move. I have accomplished many feats throughout my college career and have "stepped it up" more than I would have four years ago. When I was a senior in high school and preparing to make that next larger step into the world of college, I was afraid, but since then I've learned that growing up is about facing challenges and overcoming obstacles that will change your life forever.

I have started to make my shyness go away a little bit each year. I have become a member of a sorority and held several positions within, have become the public relations chair for an organization that raises money for the St. Jude Research Foundation, and have also been involved as a reporter for my school newspaper. I work part-time and have an internship at the Newport Aquarium.

All of these things I wouldn't have imagined I could have completed as a freshman in college. However, joining my sorority helped me become more motivated and helped me to relieve my shyness by encouraging me to break out of my shell and make friends - sisters - that I will have for a lifetime.

Without writing for the school newspaper, I would never have learned to make deadlines, work diligently and quickly, or be able to work under pressure. Before I started on my first assignment for the newspaper, I was afraid of the interview process and worried about making mistakes. Once I started interviewing subjects for the articles, I eventually crept out of my shy shell and wrote six stories, with my final story making the front page. That was the best day of my life!

Sometimes I think back to a time when I was making excuses to hide in my shyness. I began my first and only job at the Newport Aquarium four years ago, and during that time, I have learned how to associate with the public and deal with all kinds of issues. I've also learned about the different types of aquatic life and realized I had a fear of sharks. Not the big sharks that swim above guests in the tunnel; it was the little sharks that you could touch at the Shark Central exhibit. Despite the fact that they were harmless, in my mind, I was convinced they were going to bite the fingers off my hands.

I know how silly it may seem to be afraid of "touchable" sharks, but something about it made me nervous. After a year or so of enduring lots of jokes at my expense, I decided enough was enough: If hundreds of little children could touch them every day without any problems, so could I. This winter, I faced my fear: I touched a shark.

Without the experiences and life lessons I learned, I wouldn't be here today, filling out graduation forms and applications for new jobs, and watching my college career slowly fade away. I have been able to face my fears, and this reassures me that whatever I decide to do in the future, I can. And the fact that I had accomplished my goals, including getting over my shyness factor, helps me realize that I'm on the right track.

Katie Vaal is an employee of the Newport Aquarium who now touches sharks on a regular basis and a senior journalism major at Northern Kentucky University.