HAPPINESS

"HAPPY ON $75,000!"
" ...People's emotional well-being, their happiness — increases along with their income up to about $75,000," researchers say.

That's the big news today, yesterday, and probably tomorrow -- the very latest news fad, news trend, hottest hot news!

Huh? Your happiness depends on money?

It does and the figure is $75,000 says the Associated Press report on research by the National Academy of Sciences.
ALSO an economist at Princeton's Center for Health and Wellbeing; ALSO surveys of 450,000 Americans conducted in 2008 and 2009 for the Gallup-Healthways Well-Being Index.

Gallup's survey included questions on people's day-to-day happiness and their overall life satisfaction.

Ergo: We are being told a $75,000 income means happy times.

"Pooh," I say. In New York City, you can maybe get by as a single person on 75 K, but if you're a two-person household and wish to live moderately well -- moderately relaxed, moderately indulgently -- 100,000 K is probably your happiness number.

My figure is based on my being a practical, clever, not indulgent, not penny-pinching, world-traveler-observer of many different types, races, employers, employees, retirees, rich, and poor people.

But, actually it doesn't matter if I am right or wrong.

Isn't happiness a feeling of contentment, love, satisfaction, pleasure, or joy? The dictionary says a variety of biological, psychological, religious, and philosophical approaches have striven to define happiness and identify its sources.

I say happiness is based on what you are doing, be it work, play, rest, or vacation. If it's physical -- painting a picture, planting a garden, writing a story, shopping, clerking/typing/bookkeeping (as an employee or a self-employed person), -- all work has a progression. And whatever it is -- starting, developing, expanding, refining , doing it -- is happiness.

ALSO I am saying , unequivocally, I don't trust the latest hot news. I don't trust the researchers with their questionnaires. I am agin surveys, opinion statistics, and polls. It's temperature-taking when your temperature is 98.6 normal. IF you happen to be ONE point lower, or ONE point higher than normal, this fact affects how you feel.

Are you thinking pooh, Em is wrong?

Well, you're wrong! I am very happy doing my work, being able to write this and spread the word, I am not making a penny from my writing.

Forget 75,000 K -- and DO things

CRITICS (Video)

John Cullum and Emily discuss critics -- how rave reviews inhibit you, how bad reviews stay in your head.

John describes how a panning (a long time ago), seriously bothered him but a rave continued to haunt him for years.

They recall an embarrassing but amusing social occasion with Clive Barnes. When Frank Rich was the drama critic for the "NY Times," John remembers the opening night terror in the hearts of cast and producer, because Rich often "killed" plays.

It's not surprising that Emily, J.C. and their actor son, JD, have developed "The Cullum Family way" of handling all reviews.

ELIZABETH TAYLOR AND MY SOCKS

June 10th, last year, at the Gershwin Theater rotunda, JC was inducted into the actors' Hall of Fame. The ceremony was supposed to start promptly at 8 p.m. After working on his speech, he'd rushed off to check the microphone, calling, "Don't be late, Em!"

I fingered through the hangers in my closet, finally picked a black simple something, and elegant boots. It took an hour to dress, do hair and makeup. Then I took out the 5 white cotton socks in which I keep my jewelry. The gems on the rings are real, the cotton protects them from getting scratched or dusty.

I picked the Amethyst for my left hand, Emerald on the right. What does this have to do with Elizabeth Taylor? Well ... I'll explain later. It had been a chilly day. I slipped on my red-orange-yellow knitted coat -- it wasn't a warm coat ... gee, where was the event?

Only then, did I realize no limousine had been arranged, and I wasn't sure of the address.

Off with the rings, back into the sock, socks back in the drawer! Our top floor loft (where we live in Manhattan), is reasonably safe. The fact is, I'd let the insurance policy lapse when we were living in our Malibu log cabin.

We loved living on top of a winding hill, with a driveway you couldn't find unless we faxed you a map. That's why I put jewelry in socks. I had an abundance of socks -- writing and my daily excursions to the gym were my full-time job.

When I finally got to the theater for the award ceremony, there were no seats left. With a "shh," the usher opened the door and pointed. JC was on the stage in a spotlight. I heard applause, as I edged my way in -- JC was introducing the next honoree.

Whoops! Oops! About a week later, his manager told me that his speech, thanking producers, directors, agents, and managers, had started with a long, detailed, touching tribute to me.

Wow ... Will I ever learn that the fuss you make over how you look is not as important as the moment -- being there -- on -- in -- at the moment itself?

Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you about me and my Elizabeth Taylor syndrome. Yes, I replayed the tape of JC's tribute -- yes --I think he loves me! So why have I mentioned Liz?

Click and you'll get my "Syndrome" blog.

OBAMA

I was stunned when I saw this on the cover of Newsweek!

THE MAKING OF A
terrorist-coddling
war-mongering
wall street-loving
socialistic
Godless
Muslim
PRESIDENT

After I opened the magazine, I saw that it was a well-written, supportive article by Jonathan Alter. I looked at the cover again, I saw in very tiny print under the word president -- "who isn't any of these things."

That awful moment is gone but those words on the magazine's cover -- I keep hearing them on TV, seeing them in magazines and newspapers.

Every time I hear variations on those themes -- war-monger/Muslim/socialist/ etc. -- I find myself screaming oh my God, not another attack -- leave him alone, support him, who cares what you think, shut up!!!

The wrongness, the stupidity of those words paralyzes, infuriates me.

The counterattacking words on the tip of my tongue -- dammit -- the people who loved and voted for Obama, won't hear -- the media moguls won't hear nor will their experts. No, the opinionated experts (guys who crave attention), won't hear, don't hear because they've got a toe in the door of "now" and now is the time for them to become a name.

We, who voted for Obama, don't use newspapers for wrapping fish -- we've got plastic bags. We can email, vomit out tweets, vote yes/no/maybe in polls, sign petitions, text, chat online, or zip up our mouths, and just nod, shrug, and change the subject.

Oh please, c'mon -- why can't you voters hold onto what you felt, believed and already know about the man we elected? Why can't you continue to sense from his words, the look in his eyes, what he expresses about his wife, his daughters, their vacations, the games he plays, the clothes he wears, the look of him hurrying to a meeting in the morning, the look of him when he's relaxing -- (all those personal things that you check out before you fall in love, or decide NOT to) -- why oh why can't you hold on to what you feel?

Trust yourself, you know who Barack Obama is.

Trust yourself.

He's a good man, a born leader -- he knows what's going on. He's trying to fix what needs to be fixed in America and the rest of world.