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The Government Department I’m Not Hating On

January 31, 2025

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, current events, family life, foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, general ruminations, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), Oregon, politics, science, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Government Department I’m Not Hating On

Department Of Realization/Appreciation Of The Day
Sub-Department Of The Calm Before The Complaints

The juices from a roasting butternut squash, when they spill onto the roasting tray and caramelize, produce an absolutely, mouth-liquidingly, soothing, delicious aroma.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Phrases Religious And/Or
Other Well-Meaning People ® Folks Need To Retire

Dateline:  last Thursday; sushi lunch with friend CC.

After discussing and solving the problems of the universe (which we are wont to do   [1]  ), CC and moiself  shared Going To The DMV After Not Having Had To Do So In Ages stories.  My sojourn to the infamous Department Most Vilified  was to get my Real ID driver’s license; hers was to have the name of her recently deceased husband, SC, removed from the title to her car.  Her story won.   [2]

The DMV clerk asked CC why she was having SC’s name removed from her car’s title.  CC told her that SC had died, and the clerk replied,

 “Oh, I’m so sorry – there but for the grace of god go I.”

 

 

Oh my, Ms. Clerky McClerkface. Your reaction to someone telling you her husband is dead is, essentially, expressing relief that it wasn’t your husband who had died? 

Yeah, sure – the difference between your two circumstances is “grace” – i.e., the benevolence (or..er…not) of a capricious god. That’s probably it: an all-powerful, all-knowing   [3] deity said to its deity self, back in November, “Hmm, whose husband shall I kill today – the DMV clerk’s, or CC’s?”

There but for the grace of god go I.   How was CC – how is anyone –  supposed to respond to crap  a-perhaps-well-intended-but-still-ham-fisted-banality  like that?. 

 Yeah…that must be it…um…thanks.?

My friend appended her story with the strong suggestion that  “Christians need to retire” those tone-deaf aphorisms.  Yep.

There but for the grace of god go I.  That trite, emotionally lame proverb is likely meant, by its utterer, to express humility and gratitude, and acknowledgment that one’s circumstances could be different and that outside factors –  like a god’s “grace” ( ?!?!?! ) – play a role in one’s successes and losses.

Achtung, religious believers and/or anyone who’s ever slung  There but for the grace of god go I  to a fellow human being:  Is that how you respond to and/or think about tragedies and misfortunes – that shit falls on some people and not on others due to the whims (“grace”) of a deity?  And if you *don’t* mean that, please stop saying, There but for the grace of god go I  and other, equally so-not-comforting “comfort phrases” without thinking about the meanings and implications behind those clichés. 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Speaking Of The DMV….

When speaking of the DMV most people add a bit of cursing, as well.  It’s an easy gripe – a cheap dig – really, to rag on the DMV, which frequently tops the list of American’s most vilified government services.  But there is a case made for us to chill out regarding (at least some of) our complaints, via recognizing the egalitarianism of DMV inconveniences.

 

 

Think about it, Mr. Spock.  In nearly every other aspect of life the wheels of bureaucracy can be greased – or bypassed altogether for a sci-fi worthy transporter – if you have enough money and/or status and/or connections.  Food, housing, education, entertainment, defense attorneys – the more $$ you have, the better ___ (y’all name it) you get.  The DMV is a shining (if admittedly, sloth-like    [4]  )  exception.

“We are living in one of the most unequal periods in modern history…. Wealthy interests have an outsize influence on our politics and our lawmaking. Corporations can buy more political influence than voters can demand for regular people. Whenever you see a radically unfit candidate running for office, you can usually find a wealthy donor making that person’s campaign viable….

This stratification is everywhere — fast passes on toll roads, exclusive access at amusement parks, so-called black car premiums on ride-share apps, private dining clubs, fast lanes for loyal customers. Americans increasingly act like public spaces are for suckers because they can pay for exclusivity instead.

The D.M.V. is so hated because it does not make status distinctions. You can’t pay to separate yourself from the masses.  Everyone has to search the same cumbersome websites for the right forms. You have to compete for an appointment or show up early, whether you have a high net worth or a negative bank balance.  Best of all, everybody has to wait her turn.  It is inconvenient, but everyone is equally inconvenienced….

Hating on the D.M.V. is also socially acceptable because of who often works at the D.M.V.  Women and people of color disproportionately work in the public sector. The D.M.V. is one of the few places where privileged people — especially privileged white people — will ever encounter a woman of color with unquestionable authority.

The D.M.V. is a beacon of equality in this country.  Celebrate the place where you can watch a celebrity fill out the same forms that you do.  We should revel in the fact that there is no express lane for beautiful, rich people to renew their licenses.  When you sit in those hard chairs waiting for your number to appear on a screen, you should be delighted that no one else is sitting in a cushier chair.”

( excerpts, my emphases, from UNC professor and New York Times columnist Tressie McMillan Cottom’s article,
People Hate on the DMV.  But It’s Great.  [5] )

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Musings While Taking The Train Up To Seattle
To Visit My Swenadian Friends   [6] 

My reflections had nothing to do with either my Swenadian friends or Seattle, but were sparked by the sight of a train employee in his Amtrak uniform, walking down the aisle of the train car, escorting a man in a suit and tie to his seat in another train car.  This was not long after I had visited the Seattle Asian Art Museum, where I enjoyed, among many other exhibits, the paintings of the regalia of ancient emperors and soldiers.

For some reason moiself  began thinking about how our clothing (including footwear and hats) simultaneously covers what we are, yet also displays who we are…or, often, rather, indicates who we seem to be or aspire to be, including what cultural groups (cultural, religious, political, professional) we wish to be identified with.

Uniforms are not worn only by those in the military, or in certain occupations where attire is specified, e.g., hospital workers; restaurant waitstaff, Mormon missionaries …

 

 “Even if our skin isn’t ‘white and delightsome’     [7]
we can still wear these delightsome white shirts!”    [8]

 

We civilians often have our own uniforms of choice, but because we (think we) have a choice of what we wear we don’t consider what we wear to be our uniform, or costume.  Some of us pay more attention to being put together, whether for work or play; others do the humble brag of ,  “I don’t care about what I wear. I just throw on the nearest clean jeans and T-shirt,” discounting the fact that the white lie claim of nonchalantly donning jeans and tees is just as much our own uniform as that of our coworker who wears the designer outfit with meticulously matched accessories.

 

“This old thang?  Somethin’ I jes threw on.”

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thoughts Of The Week     [9]

“Atheism     [10]   offers us the comfort of knowing that we can shape our own lives, and don’t have to rest our fate in the hands of a god whose ways can at best be described as ‘mysterious.’  It offers the comfort of not having to wonder what we did wrong, or why we’re being punished or tested, every time something bad happens.  It offers the comfort of experiencing the world as shaped by a stable and potentially comprehensible set of physical laws, rather than by the capricious whim of a creator who’s theoretically loving but in practice is moody, short-tempered, and wildly unpredictable.”
( American author, blogger, speaker Greta Christina,
Comforting Thoughts About Death That Have Nothing to Do with God )

“You have two lives – the second begins when you realize you only have one.”
(Attributed to Confucius)

“What happens when you die?  I believe in Frisbeetarianism –
your soul flies up on the roof and gets stuck there.”
( Anonymous)

 

Another flying disc on its way to the afterlife.

 

*   *   *

May you remember that There without the grace of god goes…nothing;
May you appreciate the ultimate equality of your DMV inconveniences;
May you begin living your second life;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] If only the universe would listen.

[2] It wasn’t a competition, but had it been, hands down, she wins.

[3] By deity definition.

[4] But then, so are the lines at any store’s or business’s customer service/complaint/return centers.

[5] From the Don’t Tell My Friends, But…  series, in which the NYT asked their columnists to write about what everyone else is wrong about.

[6] My Canadian-Swedish friends had traveled from Sweden to Seattle to see their daughter and SIL and their first grandbaby.

[7] “ As of Friday, Dec. 6, the Mormon Church has officially renounced the doctrine that brown skin is a punishment from God.  In the Book of Mormon, (not the musical but the actual sacred text) dark skin is a sign of God’s curse, while white skin is a sign of his blessing. The book tells of a conflict between two lost tribes of Israel, the Lamanites and Nephites, who journeyed to the New World and made their home in Mesoamerica. The Lamanites sinned against God, and “because of their iniquity. …the Lord God did cause a skin of blackness to come upon them” (2 Nephi 5:21). Later, when Lamanites became Christians, “their curse was taken from them, and their skin became white like unto the Nephites” (3 Nephi 2:15)….  Over the years, ordinary Mormons and church leaders have struggled with their (scripture’s) racist heritage. One racist passage in the scripture—2 Nephi 30:6 —has simply been fixed by Mormon authorities. Originally reading that conversion to Christianity creates a “white and delightsome people,” in 1981 the Church adopted a variant that now reads, “a pure and delightsome people.”   (  “Mormon Church finally says dark skin is not a sign of God’s curse “  12-12-13 Valeria Terico, alternet )

[8] Righteous Black people will become white (excerpts, my emphases “Black People and Mormonism, Wikipedia)

Early church leaders taught that after death and resurrection everyone in the celestial kingdom (the highest tier of heaven) would be “white in eternity.”[42][43] They often equated whiteness with righteousness, and taught that God made his children white in his own image.[44]: 231 [45][43] Smith reported that in his vision, Jesus had a “white complexion” and “blue eyes” – a description confirmed in another reported vision by follower Anson Call.[46][47] A 1959 report by the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights found that most Utah Mormons believed that “by righteous living, the dark-skinned races may again become white and delightsome.”[48] The church also taught that the skin of white apostates would darken, and in the temple endowment ceremony (until at least the 1960s) Satan was said to have black skin.[17]: 28 [49]

Several Black Mormons were told that they would become white. Hyrum Smith told Jane Manning James that God could give her a new lineage, and promised her in his patriarchal blessing that she would become “white and delightsome”.[38]: 148  In 1836, Elijah Abel was similarly promised that he would “be made … white in eternity”.[2]: 38  Darius Gray, a prominent Black Mormon, was told that his skin color would lighten.[50] In 1978, apostle LeGrand Richards said that the curse of dark skin for wickedness and the promise of white skin through righteousness applied only to Native Americans, and not to Black people.[1]: 115 

[9] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[10] I like GC’s sentiments, but differ re the use of atheist with the ism.  There is no ism, as in, a distinctive doctrine, cause, or theory, in being identified as an atheist.  There are no atheist creeds or tenets or rites. Atheists may be conservative and liberal and progressive and socialists; they may be peaceniks or war hawks, love/hate sports, the arts….  All atheists have in common is a lack of belief in theism, which is “belief in the existence of a god or gods, especially belief in one god as creator of the universe, intervening in it and sustaining a personal relation to his creatures.” (Oxford Languages dictionary). 

The Guest Blog I’m Not De-Publishing

January 3, 2025

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, current events, foodie, freethought/humanism, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), politics, school, science, TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Guest Blog I’m Not De-Publishing

It’s that time of the year again. As has become a tradition much maligned anticipated in our neighborhood, moiself   is hosting a different Partridge, every week, in my front yard’s pear tree.   [1]

This will be the last week, until late November, when the next solstice season begins.  Can you identify this week’s guest Partridge?

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of New Year, New Questions

Is it doofuses, or doofi?

 

*   *   *

Department Of New Year’s Day Menu

* Black-eyed peas
* Cornbread
* Collard greens

My New Year’s Day menu once again included a dish featuring black-eyed peas. I have done this for…decades, now.  I do this in honor of my father and his heritage: specifically, his family’s tradition of eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day –  an act of culinary optimism which was supposed to bring good luck and prosperity in the coming year.

 

It’s all a lie.

 

Despite consuming black-eyed peas every New Year’s day, my father’s family remained dirt-poor sharecroppers.    [2]   Every year, as I bring whatever black-eyed pea dish I’m making to my family table, I can’t help but wonder: just once, did a brave soul in my father’s family (possibly his adored, spunky younger sister, Lucile), when presented with yet another bowl of black-eyed peas and the directive to, Eat up, y’all, it’ll bring us good luck in the coming year!, look around at the ramshackle farmhouse and her barefooted siblings  [3]  and mutter,  It still ain’t workin.’

Since the eat-these-things-every-year-for-prosperity thing didn’t do diddly squat, I feel free to mess with the menu.  This year my black-eyed peas were blinged with curry-ish spices, the collards tarted up with with golden raisins/cider vinegar, and instead of cornbread there was a freshly baked sourdough boule (courtesy of MH), the latter pictured in larval form below.

 

 

Oh yeah, and as for the accompanying beverage: go big or go home, before observing Dry January.    [4]

*   *   *

Department Of The Last Great Disappointment For The Old Year…

…which I hope does not turn out to be an ongoing disappointment in the new year…except that it already has.

Moiself  wears her big girl pants most days; I understand that even though organizations are not people   [5]   they *are* composed of people –  human beings who are flawed and make mistakes.  Still, I cringe to think that one of my favorite organizations – one that gets a weekly shout-out from moiself ( in my Freethinkers Thought of the Week ) – has fallen down the you-must-tow-this-ideological-line-or-be-cancelled  rabbit hole…

This ideology-eclipses-all mentality is one of the reasons, in my strong opinion, that otherwise trying-to-be-decent political fence-sitting folk opted for the dark side in the 2024 presidential election.  As I wrote in a previous, post-election keen of anguish blog, ( The Country I’m Not Loving ):

I loathe the use of wedge issues and exploitation of those on the lower end of the power totem to provoke the fear response.   I despise the fact that such tactics are often effective, which is why the ethically-deficient Right uses them.  And as I watched that MAGA ad which ran during the World Series,  [6]   thinking of the wide audience it was playing to, I thought to moiself, re the election:  if Harris (and therefore the USA)  loses, it will be because of things like this.

Things as in, not necessarily that particular issue, but because too many of my well-meaning liberal brethren and sisterthren have shot themselves in the foot with their psychological tone-deafness…and Those People ® who feel lectured to and put upon are exacting some kind of social revenge….

How many times have people felt silenced or intimidated because they didn’t toe the “progressive” political and cultural lines?  Maybe they have questions on certain social issues; maybe there are things they just don’t understand and therefore, instinctively, tend to fear.

Maybe they don’t actually *hate* people of different genders and sexual orientations and ethnicities and religions and social classes and political opinions.  But that’s what they get labeled as ( haters; ____ -phobics ), and then they don’t feel as if they can even voice their questions and concerns in certain situations and when speaking with certain people, because if they don’t use the *correct* terminology of the moment, the focus will be on *how* they asked their questions/offered their opinions, rather than on the content of those questions and opinions.  They will be shamed and lectured to if they “misgender” or “dead-name” or “mis-pronoun”….

And if the actions and attitudes of aggressive Lefties pushes some centrists or moderates more to the Right, then those Lefties dismiss the migration with their purity-testing mantra:  “Well, it’s no loss, they weren’t really allies in the first place.”….

 

 

Dateline:12-27-24.  The day started on an upbeat note: my email inbox contained one of the most thoughtful and well-reasoned guest blog posts from the FFRF (Freedom from Religion Foundation) I’ve recently read.  The article, “Biology is Not Bigotry,” was by evolutionary biologist, pseudoscience critic and FFRF Honorary Board Member Jerry Coyne.  After reading Coyne’s article,  I posted a link to it on FB.

Coyne’s “Biology is Not Bigoty,”,as per his intro which I’ve excerpted here, was written in part to address issues raised and opinions expressed in a previous FFRF Freethought Now article: 

“In the Freethought Now article ‘What is a woman?’, author Kat Grant struggles at length to define the word, rejecting one definition after another as flawed or incomplete. Grant finally settles on a definition based on self-identity: ‘A woman is whoever she says she is. This of course is a tautology….” [7]

Several hours later, my email inbox contained another FFRF blog post, this one attributed to the co-presidents of the FFRF and titled, “Freedom From Religion Foundation supports LGBTQIA-plus rights.”  And gawd-dammit, I hate to say it, but the woke shit hit the fan.

Yep.  Apparently, someone(s) got offended…

…and Coyne’s article was removed from the FFRF site.   Within a few hours on the same day, Coyne’s article was posted, then removed, then the “apology” response was posted.  It seems that the FFRF, or at least the co-presidents (their bylines are on the apology) fell into the social media trap of instant panic/instant response, instead of taking time for reflection and…consultation (as in, who made the decision to de-publish Coyne’s article?  Was the FFRF Board consulted, and if not, why not?  If the co-presidents unilaterally made the decision, can the Board reverse the decision?).   [8]

I fear the FFRF is sliding down the path which makes it impossible to dialog on controversial issues such as “gender identity,” wherein one side claims there is only one correct position to hold, and that all others who question them – not even oppose, but just have questions – are bigots or ____ (insert the ad hominin attack of the moment).  Ironically, that tactic, which used to be the prime province of religion   [9] – blasphemy! – is now being refined by the Left, to the point of it now is being used by an organization that claims it is  free from religion.  It is batshit crazy makes no sense that the FFRF, whose main mission is fighting to reduce the intrusion into/influence of religion in government, is now censoring science and scientists.  And three scientists  (Coyne, Richard Dawkins, and Steven Pinker) have already resigned as FFRF Honorary Board Members. 

The fucked-up regretful decision to pull Coyne’s article (which was done without notifying him!     [10]  ) and then publish the apology is having WTF ?!?!?! repercussions among freethinkers and humanists.  Moiself  can’t put it better than this freethinker did in her letter to Barker & Gaylor (full text of letter can be found here, in the comments section;  my emphases):

“I’m not sure which disheartens me more: your treatment of Jerry Coyne or your indulgence in religious theatrics. By retracting Coyne’s rebuttal and issuing a public mea culpa embracing trans ideology, you modeled confession and repentance, signaling your virtue at his expense. You also prioritized subjective experience over objective reality—the very problem with religion itself.  This undermines your mission to uphold the separation of church and state.”

 

 

Here is my email response to the FFRF, re their “apology” post:

I had a bad feeling when I saw, in my email inbox, that the second FFRF blog post (first of all, two is unusual; one per day seems to be the norm) was titled, “Freedom From Religion Foundation supports LGBTQIA-plus rights.”   Ummm, yeah?  As if that was ever in question?  Why the need to repeat the obvious?

Then I read the almost desperate-sounding post.  Oh, dear.

“Publishing this post was an error of judgment, and we have decided to remove it as it does not reflect our values or principles.”

Wait, seriously?  Since when are your values – since when are *our values* (I’m a “lifetime” FFRF member) – not evidence- and science-based?

I take it you refer to Jerry Coyne’s “Biology is Not Bigotry” post?  If so, this action (removing an FFRF Guest Blog from the FFRF site) is highly disappointing, to say the least, and makes me wonder what kind of pressure was exerted to get Coyne’s post “cancelled.”

I am familiar with Coyne’s work, and find it refreshing to have the science behind such a controversial issue addressed, for laypersons, from a rational (as opposed to religious/hysterical) POV – particularly Coyne’s elucidation of gametes and the repeated conflation of sex and gender.   Why was it necessary to remove his post, after you’d posted it with a disclaimer – which, BTW, I’ve always assumed holds true for any guest post- namely, that any one FFRF member does not speak, or think, for all FFRF members?

This makes me fear that the FFRF is letting ideology and politics trump science (and as one of those liberal feminist atheists, I hate to have a reason to use the word “trump” in any form), or will censor any presentation on science on issues that do not toe the line with some activists’ misguided notions of ideological purity.   I too am now concerned about the FFRF diluting its “…its historically twofold mission: educating the public about nontheism and keeping religion out of government and social policies,” and straying into “mission creep.”

Sincerely (and sadly),  Robyn Parnell

 

 

Department Of Make Up Your Own Mind

Here is a link to Coyne’s post, reprinted on the weekly publication Reality’s Last Stand,   [11] with this intro/summary of the brouhaha:

At Reality’s Last Stand, we are deeply committed to fostering free speech, scientific discourse, and intellectual courage—values that are increasingly under siege in today’s polarized climate. It is in this spirit that we are republishing Jerry Coyne’s essay, “Biology is Not Bigotry,” which was originally published on the Freedom From Religion Foundation’s (FFRF) website before being abruptly unpublished.

Coyne, an emeritus professor of Ecology and Evolution at the University of Chicago, critically responded to an article by an FFRF intern that argued, “A woman is whoever she says she is.” Despite receiving approval for publication, Coyne’s scientifically grounded critique was unpublished after the FFRF deemed it inconsistent with their values and worried it may cause readers “distress.” Following this decision, both Harvard psychologist Steven Pinker and evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins also resigned  [12]   from the FFRF’s Honorary Board in protest.

By republishing this essay (with the author’s permission), Reality’s Last Stand reaffirms our commitment to upholding rigorous science, free inquiry, and respectful dialogue. Coyne’s essay stands as a critical defense of biology against pseudoscience and as a reminder of the dangers posed by ideological gatekeeping in science and public discourse.
 (Colin Wright, CEO/Editor-in-Chief, Reality’s Last Stand )

And here is the link to the FFRF’s misguided, IMO, excuse article as to why they de-published Coyne’s article:
(“Freedom From Religion Foundation supports LGBTQIA-plus rights.”). 

 

 

*   *   *  

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [13]

It’s now very common to hear people say, “I’m rather offended by that.”
As if that gives them certain rights. It’s simply a whine,
just no more than a whine. “I find that offensive”: it has no meaning;
it has no purpose; it has no reason to be respected as a phrase.
( Stephen Fry, British comedian, actor, writer, humanist activist )

 

 

*   *   *

May you look forward to new questions in the new year;
May you use caution when judging what does – or doesn’t –
reflect your “values and principles;”
May you be mindful of “the dangers posed by ideological gatekeeping
in science and public discourse;”
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Specifically, in the pear tree daughter Belle purchased and (with the help of MH) planted many years ago

[2] They did not use that term; sharecroppers was considered pejorative.  They were “tenant farmers.”

[3]   My father’s parents couldn’t afford shoes for all six of their children, so as the elder kids got shoes, then outgrew them, they handed them down to the younger siblings. You got to wear shoes if there were a pair that happened to fit you. My father went to his proverbial grave not knowing that my mother had shared that story, with my sisters and I, of how our dad was embarrassed as a child when he showed up barefoot at school and was teased by the townie kids, who called him a dumb barefoot farm boy.

[4] Or “Damp January,” if you still have things to toast now and then.

[5] No matter what the SCOTUS rules.

[6] The ad showed an edited interview between Harris and…(?), with Harris explaining an answer re whether a prisoner, while imprisoned, could have sex change/affirming surgery, which would of course be at taxpayer expense.  Harris seemed to be fumbling – I have no idea of the context of the interview, and of course it was edited by and for the MAGA ad – but she answered yes)  The ad’s voiceover went on to say how Harris “…is for they/them, while tR___ is for *you.*

[7]   A tautology is a rhetorical repetition, as in phrase or expression in which the same thing is said twice using different words (e.g., ‘always and forever;” “a beginner who has just started”),

[8] …or fire the co-presidents, like a “real” organization’s board can do?  Does the FFRF Board actually have any power, or is the FFRF essentially a family organization? For as long as I can remember, Dan Barker and Annie Laurie Gaylor (who are also husband and wife) have been FFRF’s co-presidents.

[9] “Those who question our beliefs are tools of the devil; heretics; apostates, blasphemers….”

[10]  From Coyne’s site(whyevolutionistrue) :  “When some readers pointed out…that Biology is not bigotry was no longer online, I had no idea what happened, and assumed they had relocated the post. I was unable to believe that they would actually remove my post, especially because FFRF co-President Annie Laurie Gaylor had given me permission to write it and approved the final published version.  I emailed Annie Laurie inquiring what had happened to my piece. I never got a response—or rather, they didn’t have the human decency to write me back personally.”  Instead Coyne received what I and apparently all FFRF members received: Barker & Gaylor’s “apology blog.”  In which, as he noted, “… they refer to my piece, they mention neither who wrote the piece or what it was about. If I’m to be cancelled for what I wrote, dammit, I want my NAME and TOPIC mentioned!”

[11] “Reality’s Last Stand is a publication by evolutionary biologist Dr. Colin Wright dedicated to providing weekly news, analysis, and opinion on topics related to free speech, science, and reality.” (from the site).

[12] Dawkin’s “very civil” resignation letter can be read here.

[13] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Best Question I’m Not Asking

December 20, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, community, current events, extended family, family life, foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, Holidays, Isms (religion), movies, theatre, travel, TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , Comments Off on The Best Question I’m Not Asking

It’s that time of the year again.  As has become a tradition much maligned anticipated in our neighborhood, moiself  is hosting a different Partridge, every week, in my front yard’s pear tree.   [1]

Can you identify this week’s guest Partridge?

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Creative Metaphors I’m Going To Regret

Dateline: my birthday, earlier this week.  We did our main celebrating the previous day, inviting friends and our offspring to join us for lunch and a couple of hours perusing the Portland Art Museum’s two current, well-presented, special exhibitions:

* Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm.     [2]

* Psychedelic Rock Posters and Fashion of the 1960s   [3]

 

 

On my bday itself moiself  just wanted a quiet evening at home.  After the proverbial comedy of errors re what we would order (takeout) for my bday dinner,    [4]   MH returned from his quest with za from Pizza Schmizza;   [5]   specifically, five slices of two (of their seven available) veggie options: Margherita and Extreme Veggie.  The latter’s toppings included black olive slices, which MH loathes.    [6]

MH and I sat in our respective chairs in the family room, enjoying our za and watching a recording of the most recent SNL episode. Our elderly cat, Nova, assumed her customary, après-diner  position (on MH’s lap).

 

Keeping it warm for her favorite human.

 

I glanced over at MH, and saw Nova investigating what was left of MH’s dinner.  His plate was empty save for a pile of  ~12 olive slices (each with a smidge of cheese clinging to them) that he had meticulously removed from his Extreme Veggie slice.

For some reason (other than knowing of MH’s antipathy toward olives?), I began wondering aloud, “Hmm, what must that pile look like, to you or other olive haters?”   As soon as the answer left my mouth, I realized I was in danger of regretting it:

“Satan’s assholes?”

 

Bet ya can’t eat just one.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Only  Sometimes?

Sometimes I loathe certain members of my species.  Like the asshat driver who delayed Belle’s train this past weekend AND sent one of the train employees to the hospital.

Belle was coming down for a quick/overnight visit, via Amtrak from Washington, to join MH and I and friends in celebrating my birthday at the above-mentioned art museum.  She didn’t have much time in her weekend schedule, but went to the trouble to get train tickets, which I greatly appreciated.  Ten minutes after she boarded the train to Portland we got a text from her, alerting us that the train had stopped.  The train passengers were told at first that the delay was due to a “track obstruction,” an explanation which was later expanded into, “debris coming into contact with train equipment.”  As the time passed Belle sent further clarifications:

“Okay, apparently at a crossing someone in a car hit the railguard and broke it because  they didn’t want to wait, and then our train ran into the broken guard and it smashed out the driver/engineer’s windows.
We’re going to a rail yard about a mile away to turn the train around and use the other (unbroken) engine at the other end instead.
They said the driver is okay. The train driver that is.”   [7]

Two hours later:

“Trail stillllllll hasn’t turned around.  Waiting for freight trains to get out of the way.”

An hour after that:

“Oof, apparently it took extra long because they did actually have to
take the engineer to the hospital.”

The train arrived in Portland three hours late.   No word on the condition of the engineer.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of A Succinct Review Of A Holiday Release Movie
( Sub-Department Of:  Filler Alert )

The musical Wicked had a running time of two hours forty-five minutes (three hours total, including the 15 minute intermission between Act 1 and Act 2).    [8]

The movie Wicked has a run time of 2 hours forty minutes…three hours total, including the previews of coming attractions…and only covers Act 1 of the play ( “The adaptation was split into two parts to avoid cutting plot points and expand the characters’ journeys and relationships.” ).

 

“Remember to schedule a pee break – pass it on.”

 

*   *   *

Department Of What Is The Best Question?

The best question…to?  For?  About what?

Yep, the question itself is almost totally subjective and context dependent.  But moiself  woke up Wednesday morning with that question in mind, and I’d love to hear other’s opinions.

Here’s a sample of best questions that sprung to my mind:

* May I give you a foot rub?

* Would you like to hold your grandbaby?

* May we help you practice your acceptance speech?

* Paper or plastic?

* Where shall we take our honeymoon?

* How would you like to celebrate your promotion?

*Where shall we park the new Porsche?

* Would you like fries with that?

*  Would you like conscious sedation or general anesthesia
during your colonoscopy?

* Vaccinations are up-to-date – would you like to take your new kitten home this afternoon?

* Would you like a complimentary upgrade to first class?

* Indoor or outdoor court for your pickleball lesson with Ryan Gosling?

* May I send you a picture of a pajama-wearing baby sloth?

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [9]

 

 

*   *   *

May you never think your time is so important that you must smash through a railroad crossing guardrail;
May you have no culinary loathing equivalent to Satan’s assholes;
May someone ask you *your* best question;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

*   *   *

[1] Specifically, in the pear tree daughter Belle purchased and (with the help of MH) planted many years ago

[2] More than 250 “recently rediscovered photographs from Paul McCartney’s personal archives,” taken by McCartney during a pivotal period as The Beatles grew from British faves to international stars.

[3] Featuring more than 200 iconic rock posters, of a specific style first designed by graphic artists in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood.  The posters’ instantly recognizable patterns – a combination of seemingly pulsating neon colors, unique lettering, and witty (and sometimes sexually and/or pharmaceutically suggestive) design – quickly spread around the nation as other poster artists used this new, psychedelic graphic language to promote rock concerts.   The exhibition also showcased the eclectic fashions of the psychedelic clothing styles.

[4] Our favorite downtown pizza restaurant forgot to turn off their online ordering; they were closed for their holiday party…someone noticed our order and called MH back to say, oops.

[5] A local chain, started in Hillsboro some 20+ years ago by two expat New Yawk bros, now with 20+pub ‘n grub style places in Oregon (and one in Washington).

[6] Black; Green; Kalamata, Nicoise; Castelvetrano….you name the olive, MH dislikes it.  Which is great for me as if we’re dining out and the salad or pasta has kalamatas, as then I get his.

[7] As you might imagine, few passengers were holding charitable thoughts about the okay-ness of the car’s driver.

[8] I saw the play, when it was touring.  I highly recommend it – you’ll never look at The Wizard of Oz story in the same way.

[9] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Music Lessons I’m Not Taking

November 29, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, current events, extended family, family life, foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, health & wellness, Holidays, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, music, TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Department Of The Partridge Of The Week

It’s that time of the year again. As has become a tradition much maligned anticipated in our neighborhood, moiself  is hosting a different Partridge, every week, in my front yard’s pear tree.   [1]

Can you identify this week’s guest Partridge?

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of The Reason It’s Time For The Partridge Of The Week
Is Because It’s The Day After That Most Problematic of Holidays   [2]

That holiday would be Thanksgiving.  So, you can enjoy a heartfelt rant thoughtful narrative about how we non-indigenous Americans grew up with a preposterous narrative, as summarized by moiself  in the Department Of The Big Day Next Week, segment of this blog.  Or, take it from the professionals:

 So, what exactly is the harm in this school-sanctioned account of history? Understandably, the untrained eye may not notice the harm in such a myth, as most Americans are victim to the same whitewashed lie as the rest, and dismantling a centuries-old myth certainly does prove challenging.

But the first lesson for educators and adults to digest is the fact that this narrative is egregiously whitewashed and Eurocentric on many levels. Moreover, it is a lie, which serves to rob American children of valuable historical lessons.

Truth be told, this beloved lie was packaged solely for nationalistic consumption when, following the bloody Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863. Back then, Americans were desperately in need of unity and inspiration. Hence, the myth of the first Thanksgiving was born to inspire and unite.

Beyond the myth, and the seemingly good intentions of Abraham Lincoln (who actually despised Indians) the actual story of pilgrims and indigenous people went down much differently.

( The Thanksgiving Myth: Reflecting on Land Theft, Betrayal and Genocide
Colonialism is great for the colonizer, and disastrous for the colonized. )

 

 

*   *   *

*   *   *

Department Of ‘Tis The Season…

…to take your brain cells for granted.  Thus, moiself  has been sampling Netflix’s steaming pile of treacly feces plethora of Christmas movies, as the perfect diversion while I’m doing my morning treadmill or elliptical warmup.

I find the formula – and there is a formula, even if it isn’t a Hallmark  production – amusing in a way that’s hard to describe.

 

 

On Monday I called out to MH as he walked past my office, “The Meet Cute ® in this one is the fastest so far – in the first five minutes!”

I forget the title of whatever one I had on my computer screen; something to do with a male dance revue.    [3]     The one I’m currently…watching (I don’t know if that is the correct word, as I never seem to finish them) is titled, Christmas in Notting Hill.  In a rip-off nod to the actual movie, Notting Hill, there is a Meet Cute ® in which the has-been English soccer player bumps into the visiting American teacher, spilling her orange juice all over her blouse crushing the Christmas ornament against her chest, the ornament which reminds her of her deceased mother and which she’d just found at a Notting Hill market.  Will the perky, idealistic American, who is the kind of person who has always done the right/sane/responsible/staid thing, take the scholarship offered to her by an American college, or will she accept the offer to travel around the world teaching special ed to…special ed kids around the world?  You’d need a mosquito’s dental floss  chainsaw to slice through the plot tension!

 

 

*   *   *

The Department Of Yes, Sometimes It’s That Simple

Exhibits A through Z, of why the elected leader of the Roman Catholic Church (or any religion, for that matter) is where he is due to church traditions and theologies – read: politics – and not because of any special anointment by a deity:

The existence of the Popemobile.

 

 

If the pope truly is the representative of (someone’s) god, why does he need to ride in an armored vehicle with “…bulletproof glass windows and roof, both able to withstand explosions, and reinforced, armored side panels and undercarriage designed to resist bomb blasts…” and other security enhancements to protect him from assassination? If the pope were truly doing his god’s work, wouldn’t his god protect him?

*   *   *

Department Of Blog Title Explanation

Those music lessons I’m not taking are for learning to play the ukulele.

Moiself  has a ukulele.  Quite a nice one – a Kamaka, size 26″ (tenor), with a koa wood body and a mahogany neck.  It was a gift from my father, three decades ago.  He got it for me for my birthday, not long after we’d joked about our family’s checkered history in terms of music lessons (all of us Parnell kids had at least one session at some point; none of us stuck with it for long).

A series of school music teachers    [4]   told me I had smaller than average hands for a person my size, and due to an almost-needed-amputation accident as a child (recently blogged about here), I have a differently-abled pinkie finger on my right hand.

 

 

Maybe, my father suggested, an instrument for me should be smaller, and one that can be played with less than five fingers?

Once considered a quirky or niche instrument, the ukulele has had a surge in popularity in recent years.  But at the time my father gifted me with mine, there were no uke teachers around,   [5]    and I knew I wasn’t naturally gifted enough to have the discipline for self-taught lessons.  So I stored the instrument…and forgot about it. 

 

 

Several recent events conspired to jog my memory (including cleaning out a closet), and I found the uke.  I had it restrung by the local music shop proprietor and signed up for beginning ukulele lessons given through the Parks & Rec Department.  As the first day of the class approached, I got out my uke, practiced tuning it and attempting basic/beginning chords…then had an epiphany.

 

 

After said epiphany I phoned in my cancellation for the class.  I’d realized I had less than zero interest in wanting to practice – in wanting to devote even a mere 10 minutes per day to practicing.  I realized that I didn’t really want to take ukulele lessons, or music lessons of any kind – what I wanted was to *want to* take music lessons.

 

 

I think I wanted to *want to* take music lessons in part because playing a musical instrument is supposedly something well-rounded, intelligent, creative, cultured, curious persons should want to do.  We’ve all read that script:

“In no particular order, learning to play an instrument:
* Reduces Stress
* Produces Patience and Perseverance
* Develops Music Appreciation
* Cultivates Creativity
* Uses Almost Every Part Of The Brain
* Strengthens Your Immune System
* Increases Time-Management Skills
* Increases Memory Capability
* Allows You To Share With Others
* Increases Emotional Perception
* Increases Personal Discipline
* Enlarges The Brain
* Breeds Confidence….”
(excerpts, Sixteen Benefits of Playing an Instrument )

I’ve a lifelong love of listening to music and hearing musicians perform live.  Perhaps my role in the music world is to be that of the appreciative audience.  Perhaps someday I will feel more motivated to try music lessons again.

And yes, I understand you can get better at anything via persistence, and that hard work trumps innate or “natural” talent any day….  Nevertheless, you could tattoo a description of moiself’s  natural aptitude for music on the tip of my pinky finger and still have room for the Declaration of Independence. 

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [6]

 

 

*   *   *

May you find your own version of frothy, formulaic diversions
to lighten repetitive endeavors;
May you want to (and not just want to want to)
do things that are good for you….and fun;
May you have everything to live for
because you’ve nothing to die for;

…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] Specifically, in the pear tree daughter Belle purchased and (with the help of MH) planted many years ago.

[2] MH and I typically put up our Solstice/Christmas decorations on the day after Thanksgiving.

[3] *not* strippers, they’d have you know. 

[4] As well as school PE teachers and my high school volleyball coach

[5] I searched  high and low for group lessons; a few guitar teachers offered individual lessons, at exorbitant (to moiself’s  budget) fees.

[6] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.    No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The This I’m Not Better Than

November 15, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, community, current events, family life, foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, general ruminations, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), nature, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, travel , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The This I’m Not Better Than

Department Of Breaking Medical News

I’ve learned something about moiself.   Turns out what has been variously diagnosed through the years ( via certain relatives, a couple of employers, and one ex-BF ) – as simply my “bad attitude” is actually a medical condition.  It’s immune system-related: I am  craptose intolerant – i.e., unable to tolerate other people’s bullshit.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of I Know It Never Was Entirely True,
But Now, It’s Even More *Not True*

That would be the appeals to our (supposed) better natures.  There are a plethora of examples; I’ll just pick just two.  As in, when some semiautomatic-gun-fellating fella opens fire on a schoolyard, and another cretin spews sexist, racist, anti-LGBTQ screeds, which prompts another person (often but not always a politician) to say something along the lines of how those actions and/or sentiments are not indicative of Americans:

“We are not like that; we are better than that.”

 

 

Except, guess what?  Last week’s presidential election results gave a flying middle digit salute to that pathetic platitude.  We aren’t better than that; we *are* that.

The  We are not like that thing?  Yeah; maybe not me, maybe not you, but we as in we the people.  We are the selfish, shortsighted, Who-cares-about-anyone-else-as-long-as-I-got-mine-and-Jesus  people.

It sucks to observe this, to have to admit this.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Terms To Avoid Overusing

How do you identify a narcissist?  That is the tantalizing title of the latest episode of the No Stupid Questions podcast.

Narcissist, that categorization du jour which is an actual clinical psychiatric identification, has become applied to others by lay people with increasing familiarity, and often (read: almost always) absent professional diagnosis.  As in: this person seems selfish and/or self-centered; I find them cold, manipulative, and I am annoyed by them; they are a narcissist.

Any term or concept used too abundantly loses its value ( ala, the Everyone gets a trophy and other excesses of the well-meaning, but ultimately cringe-inducing and psyche-retarding , self-esteem movement ).   Also, clinical psychologists tell us that there are two forms of presentation for narcissism: grandiose and vulnerable.  Can y’all distinguish between them?

Moiself  only lurks on one social media platform; even so, it seems I can’t spit    [1]    on that platform without hitting someone’s claims that someone else is a narcissist.   [2]    A certain politician who ( absent the effects of reaping his karma, which might save us all ) will assume the presidency on January 20, is one of the public figures who has most received this label – from not only his opponents, but from those in his inner circle.  His is one case where I believe the label narcissist accurately applies, and were there to be a professional psychiatric analysis of him he would almost certainly be diagnosed as such.  But can you imagine that man – or any true narcissist for that matter – having the curiosity and/or self-awareness to seek out such an examination?

 

 

Anyway, like all diagnoses that we tend to fling with impunity, as roll call Sgt. Esterhaus on Hill Street Blues used to say,

 

 

And let’s carefully listen to this podcast, to make sure that when we use the term we actually know what we’re talking about.

 

*   *   *

Department Of An Odd Thing To Be “Proud” Of?

Dateline:  October 16; Portland Airport (PDX); notes to moiself:  I dropped MH off at the airport, to catch a ride south for his college reunion trip.  Now I’m exploring the new terminal here…and I am gob smacked. It is stunning; I haven’t been here since they’ve completed most of the remodeling.   [3]   It has a lovely flow to it – reminds me of European airports.

 

 

The gorgeous ceiling is crafted from reclaimed wood from the Columbia Gorge Fire ( aka the Eagle Creek fire ), and there are projection screens on several sides of the terminal that respond to the external weather and the amount of people in the terminal and vary the projections of scenes of the mountains and forests in our beautiful Cascades region.   There are still some areas under construction; I’ve been walking around, looking and appreciating, and talking to the workers and the people in the shops (a shout out to “Andreas” in the RX Missionary Chocolates, handcrafted vegan truffle shop), and I find out that it’s not only me – every person I speak with is delighted with their new airport space.  I tell several of them that I want to invite my friends and family from around the country to come to Portland, just to check out our beautiful airport.     [4]

I text my friend CC with pictures and my impressions.  She replies, “Such an amazing example of what we humans can do and be.”

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Missing A Lovely Man

 

 

 

Truer words were never uttered, Mr. Wilde.  The man I am missing was in the former category.   [5]

There are never enough kind, genial, loving, talented, gentle men (not gentlemen) in this world, and now there is one less.

The world’s loss in this matter is nothing compared to that experienced by his wife and sons.  Even though this was “expected,” (he had metastatic cancer; he and his family had known for over a year that he would not survive it), you still think the end is further down the road – “in the future,” as we say.  Then, one day, one moment, that future is here.

He now inhabits the only afterlife that moiself  (and his family) believes in, the only one that matters.  Because he *mattered,*  we are assured that he lives on, in the hearts and memories of those who had the privilege to know and love him – those he cared for, befriended, laughed with, mentored, inspired, helped, and adored.

 

And I’ll always remember his smile – even beats that of a sloth, if you can believe it.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Plebian Culinary Confessions

Moiself loves casseroles.

 

 

Yep, those a one-dish meal concoctions, named after the container they’re baked and served in; those exemplars of comfort food, consisting of a variety of ingredients, mixed or layered, with starchy binders and/or sauces, baked in and served from a sturdy, deep, handled dish, the exemplar of a food gift brought to celebrate birthdays, family reunion dinners and other occasions, and to support those dealing with illness and grief.   

My love extends to not just any old casserole.  For years I turned moiself’s  nose up at the Campbells-Cream-of-whatever/throw-a-bunch-of-“convenience”-food-products-together variations that defined the dish when I was a child.  And, for a time, starting in the early 1980s around the rise of foodie culture, casseroles were considered a mock-worthy dish, a vestige of 1950s – 70s kitchen kitsch.

 

 

Those concoctions have their place, and hold fond memories for many.    [6]    The casseroles I love are not the kind I grew up with, but the kind moiself  occasionally whips up.   Like the curried green tomatoes with chickpeas, hot dish thingy I devised a couple of weeks ago, when I had a bunch of green tomatoes from our  CSA     [7]    and wanted to do something other than fried green tomatoes.

Casseroles can be cool.  I think the concept just needs better, updated PR (other than calling them  rustic gratins or artisanal ragouts ).    [8]

 

Haiku in Praise of Casseroles
Embrace the mélange;
it’s not just your parent’s glop –
it’s artisanal.

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [9]

“The mere fact there is a field referred to as apologetics should be a far bigger problem for theists than it is.
Apologetics    [10]    is, in itself, a compelling case for atheism.”

( Pat Simons )

 

 

*   *   *

May you appreciate the gentle men of this world;
May you book yourself a flight to PDX;
May you appreciate whatever dish is set before you
( or make your own damn dinner );

…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Something I am often tempted to do, instead of scroll.

[2] This podcast I’m citing was, btw, recorded before the recent election.

[3] A two billion$, four year project…still in progress but mostly completed.

[4] No footnote here.  But please do come and see our airport.

[5] He was the husband of the friend I quoted above.

[6] Including moiself,  on at least one count:  my mother’s salmon loaf, made from, yep, canned salmon.

[7] A local farm where we buy into a “share” and get a weekly assortment of fresh seasonal vegetables.

[8] Which also works for moiself.

[9] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[10] Apologetics (derived from the ancient Greek apologia ) is the religious discipline of defending religious doctrines.   Although the term apologetics has Western, primarily Christian origins and is most frequently associated with the defense of Christianity, the term is sometimes used when referring to the defense of any religion, in a formal debate involving religion. (excerpts, Apologetics, Wikipedia. )

The Husband I’m Not Tempting

June 21, 2024

Robyn Parnell are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), community, current events, exercise & fitness, extended family, family life, foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, Isms (religion), movies, music, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, The Write Stuff (literary life), theatre, TV, Wow, YEE HAW!, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Husband I’m Not Tempting

Department Of Belated Summer Wishes

Happy Summer Solstice to all!  And to my fellow yogis, if this tradition is in your practice, I hope you had a memorable 108 Sun Salutations.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Get Thee Behind Me, Satan
Sub-Department Of Stop Tempting My Husband, Bitch

Dateline: Saturday morning, circa 8 am, sitting at the breakfast table with MH.  MH picks up his copy of yesterday’s (Saturday) NYT crossword puzzle, which he hasn’t yet finished; he works on it a bit, then tells me he’s stuck with the 49 across clue and the down clues which cross the answer are not helping him.

Moiself  did the puzzle yesterday but can’t remember the clue.  MH reads it to me:

” ‘Noted tempter’ …I  can’t figure out the missing vowel;
I have “S _ _ AN.  Susan?  Susan is a noted tempter?”

He’s serious, and I can’t stop laughing.

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Another Family Contemplation Of The Theory Of Relativity
Sub-Department Of My Daughter, The Content Creator

Dateline: Tuesday am.  We’ve had some home maintenance projects – new gutters and downspouts installed/exterior house painting – that are 99% completed.  MH shared pictures of the house exterior on our family’s message board, so that our offspring could see the progress.  The following hijinks exchange ensued.

MH:
All done. Except for a gutter adjustment tomorrow.

Moiself:
Actually/unfortunately, the gutter adjustment isn’t until Thursday.

MH:
I’m living in an alternate timeline.

(daughter) Belle:
If you don’t actually go to sleep tonight, then maybe Thursday is tomorrow?

Moiself:
Don’t go getting all quantum time bending on us.

Belle:
Is time a fixed variable that we have no influence over? Or is it a mutable part of the universe that we simply haven’t figured out how to manipulate yet?  Is our perception of time the definition of it?  So many things to consider.
But yeah, for now we’ll just say Thursday.

Moiself:
This conversation is so going in my blog.

 

Yeah, but what time is dinner?

*   *   *

Department Of The Best Pasta Shape Ever   [1]

That would be Sfoglini’s reginetti.  Soon I will be ordering another case of it (the whole grain, which is my fave) because I’m down to three boxes, and moiself  cannot be reginetti-less.

What is not to love about this shape – it’s like a teensy-weensy lasagna noodle.  Makes me happy just to look at it.

 

*   *   *

Department Of I Respectfully But Vehemently Disagree

Moiself  recently heard a Tony-nominated playwright interviewed on an NPR show ,   [2]  during which he talked about his years of struggle to write his play, and how he scraped by due to the kindness of friends.  He used his experience as an example of why “we need government funding” of the arts.  I guess he meant we need more funding than we already have ?  For as I heard him whine speak about the subject, I wondered if he was somehow not aware of the NEA and other state and local government grants and funds, as well as the hundreds of private individuals and organizations offering artistic grants and funding?

 

 

Dateline: Sunday evening watching the latter half of the 77th annual Toni awards. There is that same playwright – David Adjmi, accepting a Tony award his award for Best Play for Stereophonic.  In his acceptance speech, Adjmi gushed about how “this was a very hard journey, to get this play up here….” and named the friends who let him sleep on their couch for seven years so that he could write the play, and then, again:

“It’s really hard to make a career in the arts; we need to fund the arts in America – it is the hallmark of a civilized society….”

Admi brought himself to tears as he recalled his struggle.  Of course when he made the plea for funding there was the obligatory applause from Supporters Of The Arts ®, who must whoop it up reverently with their version of, say amen.  Preach, brother!

As I do with most preaching, be it religious or artistic, I’m listening, then thinking…

 

 

Adjmi decries how hard it is to earn a living in the arts. This is nothing new; it always has been hard to earn a living in the arts.  It always should be hard to earn a living in the arts.

I’m not denying his or any composer, singer, actor, writer, painter, potter or other artist’s struggle.  I *am* calling for all who have chosen to pursue their art to check their privilege – their sense of exceptionalism –  if they think, for whatever reason, that their particular job should not be a struggle, and/or is deserving of endowment.

Struggle is the common lot of most people in the working world, who do not receive any kind of artistic accolades nor have opportunites, e.g., award shows, for public forums in which they may complain about their struggles. They plow the fields, fix the cars bag the groceries manufacture the semi-conductors, empty the bedpans, collect the lab results, interpret the data, bake the bread, comfort the bereaved, put out the fires, clean the kettles, sweep the movie theaters, mend the crab pots, patrol the demilitarized zones…

Adjmi didn’t mentioned receiving financial aid or grants for Stereophonic, and his play’s success belies his plea for funding.  Somehow, he managed to produce this work of art without the government’s help – and  let us always remember that the translation of “the government,” means the tax dollars of moiself and y’all.

Save for those rare artists born to wealth (or the nepotistic receivers of artistic funding and opportunities), life in any artistic field has always been that of financial struggle before commercial success (and often afterward), usually involving multiple side jobs and other means of support.  How would the playwright who thinks there should be more public funding of the arts, and others who hold similar sentiments, define what would constitute more support of “the arts,” and who will get to define what is an art worthy of support, and which artists will get support, and for what length of time such support is given….?

There are museums and art galleries wherein I’ve lingered for hours, and others I’ve fled after15 minutes because, content, meh.  I’m a fan of performing arts and patronize live music, theater and other events.  There’ve been plays and concerts I’ve attended/movies I’ve seen where I left feeling entertained and even aesthetically transformed, and others – even a few ones which won prestigious awards and were recommended by “everyone”  [3]  –   where I left during intermission, or if I forced myself to stay to the bitter end, I left the venue thinking, Holy imaginative waste of time, how did this piece of embarrassingly trivial, reductionist, hackneyed crapola ever get produced? It’s a bad enough that I spent money on a ticket, but to subsidize this playwright’s/director’s/performer’s delusion that they are “artists” worthy of third party “support”….?

 

 

Sorry, starving artists.  Eat less, get a second job, a third job, a patron, a couch to surf on.  Struggle, like the rest of us. Government support for the arts? You take their money, you play by their rules.  In Russia during the USSR era there was little art seen by the public apart from that which was funded – or allowed – by the government.  Remember any great works of socialist realism that came out of the Soviet-sponsored art?

Socialist Realism
A form of modern realism imposed in Russia by Stalin following his rise to power after the death of Lenin in 1924, characterized in painting by rigorously optimistic pictures of Soviet life painted in a realist style

The doctrine was formally proclaimed by Maxim Gorky at the Soviet Writers Congress of 1934, although not precisely defined. In practice, in painting it meant using realist styles to create highly optimistic depictions of Soviet life. Any pessimistic or critical element was banned…. It was quite simply propaganda art, and has an ironic resemblance to the Fascist realism imposed by Hitler in Germany (see ITAL Entartete Kunst – degenerate art       [4] ).

(excerpt from the Tate Museum’s “Socialist Realism,” https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/s/socialist-realism  )

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [5]

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when I come across a new (to me) George Carlin witticism; I hate it when I remember that Carlin died years ago and isn’t here to reflect on today’s wackadoodle.

*   *   *

May you have strength when tempted by Susan;
May your art remain free of government supports and constraints;
May you decide to have a favorite pasta shape;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] As decreed by the Most Omnipotent Italian Saucy  Epicurean  Loving  Foodie,  as in, moiself.

[2] Can’t remember which program…a Fresh Air interview, most likely?

[3] for example, not to deny the creativity and hard work of Lin Manuel Miranda, but I couldn’t abide Hamilton (or In the Heights) – both of which I so wanted and expected to like (or maybe, thought I *should* like).  With the rapid-fire, rap-ish dialog, I felt like the cast was shouting at me the whole time.

[4] Degenerate art ( Entartete Kunst)  is the label the Nazis applied to art they didn’t approve of – any art which did not extol or depict “Kinder, Küche, Kirche” ( family, home and church), which was the Nazi party’s and Hitler’s view of the virtues of German life. 

[5] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Supernatural Bread Explanation I’m Not Appreciating

June 14, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, books & magazines, community, foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, nature, politics, Recreation, school, science, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Supernatural Bread Explanation I’m Not Appreciating

Department Of How Am I Just Now Seeing This Movie?

That would be A Million Ways To Die In The West. 

AMWTDITW is a takeoff of a specific genre, ala the Airplane/Police Squad/Naked Gun lampoons of, respectively, disaster/detective/mystery movies.  AMWTDITW’s writer/director/producer/lead Actor Seth MacFarlane pays respects, in a way, to that most American of movie genres, the western, and his AMWTDITW is the even more profane and scatological, red-headed stepchild of Blazing Saddles (and thus might not be everyone’s cup of whiskey). 

Just about every western cliché gets its moment, with a few contemporary updates (e.g. MacFarlane’s mild-mannered sheep farmer protagonist debates self-esteem issues and gently chastises his fellow Old West townsfolk when they use ethnic slurs).  I started watching AMWTDITW on Monday, during my morning pre-breakfast/pre-yoga, ~ 35 m elliptical warmup, and finished two days later.  Other movies and series I have watched or am watching during elliptical time include Tacoma FD and Fisk, both of which my spirit animal recommends.

 

 

Hats off to the composer of the AMWTDITW score; the opening theme in particular is a mahhhhvelous homage to the classic western movie soundtracks.  And I’ll put more hats on, just to be able to take them off to Netflix, for adding this to their streaming recommendations for moiself.

And the last hat goes off to one of the best movie sight gags I’ve seen, involving a sheep.    [1]

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Wildlife Identification

What is this?

 

Did you guess that it’s an antiskid pad that is glued to the foot of the legs of one of our kitchen table chairs – a pad   [2]   which detaches itself, and then is patiently reglued by MH, at least 10x per year for the past twenty-seven years?  You are correct.

I’ve seen it on the floor a million times….okay; more like 270 times, according to the above estimate.  So why then, last Friday afternoon, did moiself  see the pad on the floor and for the first time realize that it reminded me of the door to a trapdoor spider’s burrow?

 

 

That long time ago would be in the galaxy which contains the city of San Diego, where my family lived for two years, during what was moiself ‘s  kindergarten and first grade years.   [3]  The house we rented was on the rim of one of the many canyons winding through the city – a canyon my sisters and I and our neighbor friends considered to be an extension of our backyards.  We spent many glorious afternoons – and almost all of the summer days that we weren’t at the beach – exploring and playing down in the canyon, experiencing what now might be referred to as a “free roaming”  or “free range” childhood.  (Sadly, I have little doubt that when MH and I took the parenthood plunge in the mid-90s, were we to have let our own children have such freedoms   [4]   someone would have sicced Child Protective Services on us.)

There were all kinds of critters and trees and bushes and cacti and dirt paths in the canyon, and a small creek that somehow managed to survive even in the summer heat. My friends and my “canyon games” included Desert Scientist, Runaways In the Forest; Tracking the Wayward Outlaw, Pioneers Exploring the Prairie, and so on.  As for the latter game, I had to temper my fascination with the local flora after getting chewed out by my mother one afternoon. “How can a straight-A student be so stupid?!?!” she muttered, while she used a pair of pliers to tediously yank, one by one, the spines out of my jeans pocket – spines from the “baby cactus” knob that I thought was so cute I had to take it home to show my folks.   [5]

The canyon’s many snake holes and trapdoor spider dens were among my favorite canyon features to explore.   [6]  My friends and I sometimes played a version of Ding Dong ditch with the latter.  A trapdoor spider constructs the door to its burrow using dirt and plant material that the spider hinges on one side with its silk.  The TD spider then places twigs round the door, and weaves some of its silk as “triplines” around the twigs and down into its burrow.  When we found the telltale door to a TD spider’s burrow, we’d tap the ground around the twigs and the trapdoor (or sometimes tug on the twigs), mimicking the vibrations of passing prey, then raise our fingers as the trapdoor flew open and the spider quickly lunged out of its burrow.  The TD spider, realizing that instead of a juicy grasshopper within its reach there were just a bunch of giggling juvenile hominids, would flash its eight eyes in an expression that seven-year-old moiself  interpreted as the arachnid equivalent of, “You gawddamn kids get off my lawn!,” and just as quickly back down into its burrow and pull the door shut.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of The God That Is Not In The Gluten

Dateline:  last Saturday; 12-1:30pm; the classroom of a local gourmet grocery store/café which offers culinary classes; attending a sourdough baking class with 12 other civilians.

While chatting with the students standing on either side of me and overhearing the comments of others, moiself  surmises that the class is roughly 50% newbie sourdough bakers, and 50% experienced sourdough bakers who are interested in expanding tips and techniques.   [7]  The class teacher (whom I had met a few months ago, while buying one of the sourdough boules he makes on the weekend and sells in that store), is a fulltime middle school teacher.  He introduces himself and says a little about what got him into baking sourdough bread, which he took up as a hobby during his spare time when he was in the Middle East “…on a Christian mission.”

 

 

Yeah, I know.  Moiself  be thinking, why is this detail necessary? Is he one of *those* (Gotta take gotta make, every opportunity to witness!)?  Well, he’s a genial guy, so, let’s hope he got that out of his system and now it’s on to the bread.

Obviously, in a 1½ hour sourdough baking class there will be no start-to-finish product; rather, each student is presented with premeasured ingredients, and goes through the processes of feeding the starter and mixing the dough, gets tips on shaping and rising and scoring the loaf and baking, and gets to take home the dough they’ll mix, with instructions to bake it the next day.

 

 

Near the end of the class the teacher brings out an enormous bin of dough that he’d mixed five hours earlier, to show the class what the sourdough will look and feel like after the  recommended five-hour rest.  He will divide the dough into 12 equal portions, and each member of the class will get to practice different techniques in folding and pre-shaping the dough, reshaping the dough, transferring the dough to a rising bowl…  This ready-for final-rise dough we will also be able to take home, to bake at a later time.

As he stands at the head of class he taps his fingers against the dough peeking out around the edges of the bin, and gives a brief explanation of how flour and water combine to make bread.  Many people mistakenly think wheat flour contains gluten.  The two main components of wheat flour are starch and two proteins, glutenin and gliadin.    [8]   When wheat flour is mixed with water , this action helps combine the two proteins, which form gluten.

Correct.  But then he has to add, “And this is where, as a Christian, I see the hand of god…” and he hovers his hands over the dough.

 

 

And this is where, as a religion-free, reality-loving person, I somehow manage to prevent moiself  from doing a face palm (if only to keep my forehead flour-free).

What I want to say, but don’t:

“And this is where, as an Atheist, I see chemistry….”

…and physics, if you wanted to go even further into the explanation of the chemical bonds and structures of the proteins involved.
The point: there is nothing supernatural about how you go from flour + water + salt + leavening agent + time + heat = bread.

Again: this is where *I* see chemistry.  You know, the chemistry you just mentioned to the class.  You gave a brief, fact-based, natural world explanation of what happens when you make bread, then you introduce the supernatural?  Why?
Perhaps the bakers of ancient times raised their hands in prayer to Vesta when they put their loaves in the communal ovens, but most of us we now know that there is nothing magical/supernatural about baking….”

 

Does he also sees “the hand of god” in other natural processes?

 

Sometimes, classes for which you registered online send you a questionnaire or survey link after the class is over, so that you may offer feedback to the class’s organizers and/or teachers.  I keep checking my email, hoping to have the opportunity to offer a more abbreviated version of, “Hey, the class was mostly fun and useful, but I did not appreciate the teacher referencing his    [9]  religion in a baking class.  I found it odd that he credited an imaginary deity the supernatural within seconds of having mentioned the scientific explanation of how gluten is formed.”

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [10]

 

Hubert Reeves, Canadian astrophysicist

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when a religious believer who makes supernatural attributions to culinary results and a baker who is religion-free can use the same recipe and ingredients, follow the same instructions, and produce equally yummy-looking and tasting bread loaves.   [11]

*   *   *

May you raise your hands in praise of the person who gives you homemade bread;
May you be inspired to re-watch your favorite spoof movie;
May you never feel too old to play ding-dong ditch;    [12]

…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] No no no – and shame of you for even thinking that.

[2] Not to pick on that particular chair pad; none of them stay on for long.

[3] Due to my father’s temporary work transfer.  He was being groomed to be the chief of the audit division of one of the IRS’s 33 districts, a position he later turned down, as the promotion would have required permanent relocation, and his devoted wife and snippy little ungrateful bastards loving children told him they would refuse to leave So Cal!  (He was promoted to Assistant Chief of the audit division of the Los Angeles district, a title he retained until he retired).  My parents, knowing the transfer was temporary/for training purposes, rented out our Santa Ana house and in turn found a house to rent in San Diego for two years.

[4] We’ve never lived by a canyon or any large open area, but if we’d just allowed our kids to roam the neighborhood for hours, arranging play on their own with the neighbor kids without parentally supervised and/or arranged play  dates (which is how I was raised), I know someone would have called the cops on us.

[5] How I managed to get it in my pocket without sticking my fingers, I’ll never know.  Yet, that’s what I did.

[6] I discovered that western diamondbacks will give you a percussion performance with their rattles if you jab a stick down the gopher holes they are occupying.

[7] Rice flour is great for getting sticky dough off of your hands!

[8] Actually, he only mentioned the gliadin.

[9] Besides Friendly Neighborhood Atheist® moiself (and at least one other, if I gauge the eye-rolling reaction of another class participant correctly), I’m fairly certain (judging from conversations overheard/jewelry worn) there was at least one Muslim and one Jew among the other students.

[10] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[11] Which proves the religion-free person’s point. 

[12] Except that, dammit!, everyone’s porch has cameras these days, so the anonymity is gone.

The Czechoslovakian Freedom Fighter I’m Not Housing

May 3, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, Wow, YEE HAW!, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Czechoslovakian Freedom Fighter I’m Not Housing

Department Of Did I Raise My Offspring Right, Or What?

Dateline:  yesterday, noonish.  Son K, who is aware of my preference for dry, subtle humor which mines the nuances and incongruities inherent in trying to lead a life of service and reflection in these coarse and chaotic times, sends me this catchy ditty.  Moiself  hereby nominates the following for Best American Folk Song Ever.  Just try not to sing along (but be warned, definitely NSFW).

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Two Annoying Life Event Trends
I Am Looking Forward To Seeing Combined

Those would be a wedding reception which features a gender reveal, and a robot.

“After the vows, the champagne toasts, the filet mignon and the first dance between the bride and groom — after all the normal wedding stuff — came the cue. The cue for the abnormal wedding stuff.
‘Start waving those hands for the PARTY ROBOT!’
Into the candlelit banquet hall lumbered a menacing eight-foot-tall humanoid machine, pumping his metallic fists to the thumping electronic music, flanked by servers bearing sparklers and trays of dessert.”
(The Robots are coming…for your wedding,” The Washington Post 4-24-24 )

Silly moiself,  googling the idea of gender reveal/wedding, thinking I’d get nothing (but it would still be better, as in, even tackier, to combine it with a wedding reception)….

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Arguably One Of My Favorite Pieces of Jesus Art…

…is a stained glass window at Saint Ignatius College Prep, comedian John Mulaney’s high school, which he and David Letterman visited while filming Mulaney’s appearance on Letterman’s show, My Next Guest Needs No Introduction.

Moiself  can’t help but think that the stained-glass artist who created that panel was a closeted (which, until relatively recently, you had to be) atheist or at least skeptic, as the artist gave JC an eye-rolling, “Oy vey, the horseshit  people believe!?” expression.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of All-Time Great Pranks

This slice o’ life story is courtesy of the six degrees of separation principle vis-à-vis my   [1]  neurons making the connections that they…just make, sometimes.

Dateline: last Saturday 7:45 AM-ish; walking.  The podcast I was listening to reminded me of some actor,   [2]   who reminded me of another actor, which reminded me that one of those actors is either currently or formerly a Scientologist, which brought to mind one of the great pranks ever played on me, which occurred when I was in college at UC Davis.

Way back then the town of Davis had a very active Scientology Center.  I use the term Center deliberately – there was no “Church of Scientology” at that time,   [3]  a fact that Scientologists boastfully emphasized in their recruitment efforts.  When a Scientology proselytizer knocked on your door or approached you on the campus quad, and you as the average student/citizen had no interest in taking the time to challenge Scientology bullshit beliefs, it’s likely you’d use some version of the customary brushoff:

“No thanks/not interested, I have my own religion.”

The eager beaver Scientologist would scoff, “Religion?!? Scientology is *not* a religion!” The Scientology recruiter would use that as an entryway into assuring their target that there’d be no conflict in learning about Scientology – “which, *not* being a religion, would not require any renouncing of your personal religious beliefs – which is a proven/effective method/philosophy combining spirituality and Science ®, to handle stress and show pathways to healthy and successful lives….”

 

 

Moiself  could (and may, eventually) share more stories re my encounters with Scientology adherents at UCD.  Instead, the afore-mentioned prank, which discerning readers will surmise has something to do with Scientology, will now take center stage.

My college boyfriend “Scott,”  [4]   no fan of any supernatural beliefs (including the religions of the dominant culture, one of which I pretended to believe in, at the time), considered Scientology to be the most egregious example of spiritual and intellectual quackery.  As a student who would go on to get undergraduate and graduate degrees in several scientific disciplines, Scott particularly objected to the cult’s organization using the word science in any way shape or form.

I knew that Scott had visited the Scientology Center at least once, to check it out, after I’d amused him with my tales of encountering Scientology recruiters on campus.  Scott and his best friend “Bruce” returned the favor, amusing moiself  and a couple of my apartment mates one evening when they showed up at our apartment, pulled out a small tape recorder from Bruce’s book bag, and played back Scott’s session with a Scientology auditor which, unbeknownst to the auditor, they had surreptitiously recorded with the tape recorder hidden in Bruce’s book bag.

The tape’s audio wasn’t all that great, but we could hear enough to be both flabbergasted and highly entertained, as the auditor asked Scott a series of questions while Scott grasped both handholds of the infamous Scientology E-Meter.

 

 

The E-meter is (was? Are they still using that batshit crazy thang?) a crude electronic device meant to mimic a polygraph, and was used by Scientology auditors (“counselors”) to purportedly “examine a person’s mental state.”  [5]   In terms of sophisticated electronic devices, Scott described the E-Meter as perhaps one or two steps above using a “telephone” consisting of two tin cans connected by kite string.

One evening about a week after Scott entertained us with the E-meter tape, I heard a knock at my apartment door.  My three roommates and I had a lot of regular visitors to our apartment, most of whom just opened the door and announced their arrival – so, someone who actually bothered to knock was something different, maybe even special.  When I opened the door I beheld a young man standing on our welcome mat.  He was carrying some kind of satchel and a piece of paper with a name and address on it.  He looked at me, then past me to my three (all-female) roommates who were in the living room, then down at his paper, then his eyes traveled back up to our apartment door.  He asked if this was 224 A St. apartment 16?  When I replied in the affirmative, he said that he was here at the behest of a man named “Victor Lazlo, who visited the Scientology Center and expressed a desire to  ‘get clear.’ “

VICTOR LAZLO ?!?!?!   [6]

Had I been sipping a beverage there’s no way I could have avoided a classic spit take.

 

 

 

Young Scientology Man seemed undeterred by my and my roommates’ scarcely muffled guffaws.  I got rid of him by throwing him a bone, something ala, “Oh, yeah, Victor – he moved back on campus,” and giving him the dorm address of a male friend of mine.  [7]

 

 

 

*   *   *

A Haiku For Unglamorous Vegetables In Our Weekly Farm Share

Celery root, and
turnips.  I was surprised by
Their very pleasant

aroma, as they
boiled.  Meanwhile, I sauteed leeks
in (plant-based) butter.

Garlic; a pinch each
of white pepper, nutmeg, and
green salt;  [8]  a splash each

of lemon juice, and
veg broth; mashed all together; top with fresh parsley.
Yummers – who knew?

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department of Employee Of The Month

 

 

It’s that time, to bestow that prestigious award upon moiself.  Again. The need for which I wrote about here.   [9] 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [10]

“If you think it’s offensive that I call alleged biblical miracles ridiculous, you should ask yourself whether or not it’s ridiculous to insist that Muhammad flew on a winged horse. Or that the earth was hatched from a cosmic egg? Or that Xenu, the dictator of the Galactic Confederacy, brought billions of his people to earth 75 million years ago and killed them using hydrogen bombs? These are all religious beliefs of others, but that doesn’t mean calling them ridiculous is an insult – it’s an objective fact until proven otherwise.”
(David G. McAfee, journalist and author, of No Sacred Cows: Investigating Myths, Cults, and the Supernatural, and other books)

*   *   *


Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I hate it when I realize that April 1 is way done gone and past, and no one even tried to play an April Fool’s joke on moiself.

 

 

*    *    *

May homely vegetables inspire you to write haiku;
May you appreciate having a creative prank played on you;
May you avoid gluing your __ to your…..you know;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] In olden days referred to as “the six handshakes” principle, Six degrees of separation is the theory the idea that anyone can be connected to any other person via six or fewer social connections – that is, a chain of “friend of a friend” statements can connect any two people in a maximum of six steps.  For example, let’s say that, despite having never been to China or having met him, moiself  claims to have a connection to Chairman Mao Zedong, to whom I am connected, six-degrees style, via my sister-in-law who is from Canton, whose great uncle was an aide to a vice president of the Chinese communist party who served under Mao.  (BTW, my SIL is from Canton, but that’s the only part of that example that is true….I think).

[2] An actor who was not mentioned in the podcast, but, there it is.

[3] The Internal Revenue Service did not recognize Scientology as a “charitable and religious organization” until 1993, after a 37 year dispute and controversial negotiations.

[4] Not his real name.

[5] As in, if used by a properly trained (ahem) auditor, the device can allow the operator to “see a thought”  and uncover hidden lies and other thought “crimes. “

[6] A key character in the movie Casablanca, Victor Lazlo (played by Paul Heinreid) was the heroic Czechoslovakian resistance leader, and unintended rival to (Humphrey Bogart’s) Rick Blaine for the affections of Ilsa Lund, Lazlo’s wife (played by Ingrid Bergman).

[7] Damn! All these years later, I think I’d forgotten to ask them if the guy ever showed up.

[8] What I used in place of most salt, for cooking now – this may save the planet.  Check it out: https://www.trygreensalt.com/

[9] Several years ago, MH received a particularly glowing performance review from his workplace. As happy as I was for him when he shared the news, it left me with a certain melancholy I couldn’t quite peg.  Until I did.

One of the many “things” about being a writer (or any occupation working freelance at/from home) is that although you avoid the petty bureaucratic policies, bungling bosses, mean girls’ and boys’ cliques, office politics and other irritations inherent in going to a workplace, you also lack the camaraderie and other social perks that come with being surrounded by your fellow homo sapiens.  No one praises me for fixing the paper jam in the copy machine, or thanks me for staying late and helping the new guy with a special project, or otherwise says, Good on you, sister. Once I realized the source of the left-out feelings, I came up with a small way to lighten them.

[10] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The IEDs I’m Not Detecting

April 19, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, community, current events, extended family, family life, foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, politics, radio & podcasts, TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The IEDs I’m Not Detecting

 

Department Of That Which Warms The Cockles Of My Heart

The new phonebooks – I mean, cookbooks are here!  The new cookbooks are here!

 

However, years ago moiself  made a pledge about equilibrium (and not acquiring excess stuff); thus, two cookbooks from my library   [1]   will have to be rehomed.

*   *   *

Department Of War Is Hell

Dateline: last week, post dinner, watching a streaming “based-on-a-true-story” movie about a young woman who joins the US Marine Corps in 2003, as they are preparing to go to Iraq post 9-11.  Young Marine Woman gets trained as a bomb-sniffing dog handler.  MH joins the viewing about 35 minutes in; I try to get him up to speed when he expresses confusion about what one marine, recently returned from Iraq, says to the soon-to-be-departing marines.

Moiself:
“He warned the dog handlers that bomb-building materials their dogs have been
trainedto detect are”…different from the IUDs they’ll encounter in Iraq…
Uh… make that, the I  **E**  D s.”

MH:
“The IUDs are probably different as well.”

 

Can you detect the difference?

 

*   *   *

Department Of Two Obscure Words You Will Come To Know
If You Do The New York Times Crossword Puzzle

Uta  and Hagen.

Actually, the two words form a proper name.  Thespian nerds know of Uta Hagen as an influential theater actor and acting teacher.  Non-theater nerds who are budding word puzzle nerds aficionados should know that you will, eventually, encounter either Hagen’s first or last name (and sometimes both) as an answer to a crossword clue,   [2]   whereas previous to your interest in the puzzling life, upon hearing or reading Uta Hagen you may have thought that it was some kind of Teutonic greeting:

“Uta Hagen, Fraulein Schimmel.  Sprechen sie käse?”

 

Many otherwise obscure words – aka, crosswordese – are found frequently in crossword puzzles.  The phenomenon even gets its own Wikipedia entry  [3] :

“Crosswordese is the group of words frequently found in US crossword puzzles but seldom found in everyday conversation. The words are usually short, three to five letters, with letter combinations which crossword constructors find useful in the creation of crossword puzzles, such as words that start and/or end with vowels, abbreviations consisting entirely of consonants, unusual combinations of letters, and words consisting almost entirely of frequently used letters. Such words are needed in almost every puzzle to some extent. Too much crosswordese in a crossword puzzle is frowned upon by crossword-makers and crossword enthusiasts.”

 

Now you know.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Older Age Is Just A Number
(A Larger Number, but….)

The store where I do most of my grocery shopping has two days each week where shoppers in a certain life category get a 10% discount on their purchases: on Tuesdays, the discount is for active or retired military personnel; on Wednesdays, the discount is for those shoppers formerly known as Prince formerly referred to as “seniors.”  I first became aware of the latter discount ~15 years ago, when I happened to shop at that store on a Wednesday (which was not my usual grocery  shopping day).  I entered the store and went straight to the produce section, which the store was in the process of reorganizing.  After picking some lettuce and mushrooms, I paused, looking around to see where they’d moved the lemons and limes.  I got a strange feeling, and looked around some more.  Every person in sight was evidently quite older than moiself.  Every. One. It  seemed like a strange coincidence.  I pushed my cart down the refrigerated items aisle – more oldsters.  I didn’t see another person under age 50 until I’d perused two more aisles.

At the checkout stand I saw two signs by the credit card machine, signs I’d previously and apparently paid no heed to, which announced the store’s two discount days.

 

 

Flash forward:  The first time I received that store’s senior discount was not because I claimed it.  I was at the checkout counter; it was a Wednesday; the Very Young Checker ®  announced my total, then told me what the senior discount was.  “Oh, that’s nice of you,” I said, “but technically, I’m not eligible.”  She blanched, lowered her voice, and apologized so profusely (for guessing that I qualified for the discount) that I felt bad for her.  “My ‘qualifying’ birthday’s in two weeks,” I reassured her. “So, you were close.”

There were no customers in line behind me; thus, I thought it safe to take a minute to ask her about the policy.  Are checkers supposed to ask customers, or look at them and assume/estimate, or wait for the customers to ask for the discount, or….?   The checker said that she wasn’t sure, and that, in her opinion, the policy could be problematic for checkers.  She never quite knew what to do; when she asked people if they wanted to claim the senior discount, some of them got offended that she thought they looked “that old.”  I told her no harm meant/none taken; also, the age ranges I’d seen for “senior” discounts, for places that offered them, varied so much, from beginning at age 55 to beginning at age 67…and why do people get offended by someone trying to save them money?

A mere two weeks later (a day or so after my birthday), moiself  was back at the same store – this time purposefully on a Wednesday, to reap my discount reward.  When I got to the checkout counter I saw that the sign for the senior discount had been replaced:  the new sign proclaimed Wednesdays as, “Wisdom discount” days.

Moiself  (to the checker, as I gesture toward the new sign):
“Wait, ‘wisdom’ discount?  Seriously?  I mean, I qualify for it, but…seriously?”

Checker (eyes rolling in empathy):
“Yeah, I know….*someone* thought it was a more respectful term than ‘senior discount,’ which seemed to offend some…well…some seniors.”

Moiself:
  “If you’re giving a discount for wisdom I should have qualified forty years ago.
If I bring in my old receipts can I get all those missed wisdom credits?”

Checker (laughing):
“I’ll see what I can do.”

Moiself:
“This is great.  Now instead of offending people by trying to judge their age, you can offend them if you don’t think they are…
wise enough?…
to qualify for the discount?”

Checker:
“Well, yeah!  Oh, and you know, I wouldn’t have thought you were old enough — “

Moiself  (cutting her off, gently, as I cringe to think about the ageism implicit in her
intended complement, that I Do*Not* Look Old Enough To Qualify For A Senior Discount® ):
  “Trust me, I am just old enough.  And wise enough.  Or, wise-ass enough.”

 

 

When I and my siblings were younger, for some reason my parents did not want us to know their respective ages.  I knew that Dad’s birthday was August 8 and that Mom’s was June 30, and that Dad was four years older than Mom.  But I didn’t know the years of their birth dates. I asked them once – first Dad, who declined to tell me.  When I approached Mom and got the same evasion, I loudly announced, in the righteous indignation only a fists-on-hips, grade-schooler can muster, that IT’S NOT FAIR.  Grownups know how old kids are – in fact, adults ask kids about their age all the time, as if it is their right to know.  Even strangers who are introduced to you, what’s the first thing they say?   “It’s so nice to meet you, Robyn.  And how old are you?”

Yeah, my parental units agreed, it seems unfair.  But, tough toenails, what’s your point? I kept asking, every month or so. They wouldn’t budge.

One Saturday afternoon, a few months into my parental-age obsession, my father was sitting at the kitchen table, filling out a small, just larger than postcard-sized, dark pink form.  I asked him what it was; he said it was an application for a safety deposit box.  He got up from the table and left the room for some reason; I scurried over to peek at the application, looking for his birthdate.  As I heard his footsteps returning to the kitchen I backed away from the table, trying to hide my GOTCHA exultation.  I didn’t have time to see the line which asked for his birthdate, but I’d had enough time to glean the information I sought.  On the top line of the form, next to his name, was a blank for his age, which he’d filled in as “39.”

I burned that into my memory.  From that day forward, for years before I knew their actual birth years, I always remembered my parents’ ages.  But I waited for what I considered to be a safe amount of time (a few months) before finding a moment to announce one night at the dinner table, “By the way, I figured out that Dad is 39 and Mom is 35.”

 

 

Fast forward ten years.  I was in high school, accompanying my mother on an errand wherein, for some reason I cannot recall, another adult asked my mother her age, and my mother declined to answer.   When we returned home I challenged her on that.   [4]

Moiself:
“Why didn’t you answer the question?
Adults ask children their ages all the time, and…”

My Mother:
“Yes, I remember how much that used to bother you.”

Moiself:
“Still does.  The issue is still the same – what’s the big deal?  And, as I was trying to say, it’s just a fact.  Like your name.  And you told her that.  It – being asked your age – doesn’t bother children, so why should it bother you?”

My Mother:
“It’s different.  Children and teens are young; they don’t mind their age.
They’re even proud of it.”

Moiself:
“So why shouldn’t adults be as well?” 

My Mother
(she shrugged off a non-answer)

Moiself:
” ‘Children don’t mind their age’ implies that adults do.  You’re fitting into that stereotype, of  women not wanting to reveal their age.”

 

 

My Mother:
“Because you are judged by your age, especially for women.
People hear a certain number and they think, that is who you are.  Your age limits what people think you can do, or what they think you are capable of or interested in.  They treat you differently.”

Moiself:
“Well, then that’s a stereotype.”

My Mother:
“Right.”

Moiself:
“One that you apparently think is wrong, at least for you.
So, you’re never going to refute that stereotype unless you break it.”

My Mother:
(Shakes her head and smiles condescendingly)

Moiself:
“OK, so maybe some people by age 40 are more likely to…act or feel or think a certain way, while others do not, or some people act like they’re elderly when they are in their thirties but other people don’t seem like they’re old until they’re 85….
But unless everyone is open about their age, there will only be the stereotypes, and the prejudices.  And why is that the stereotype for women?”

My Mother:
” It just is.”

Moiself:
“Yes, I know there’s more prejudice against women regarding aging.
But don’t you ever think about why there is, and how we can change that?”

My Mother (starting to get cross with me):
“I don’t know.  *I* didn’t start it.”

Moiself:
“But you resent it, yet you’re not going to try to help stop it.  You’re not helping to break the stereotype.  I don’t just mean you, I mean most women.  By wearing makeup or dying their hair or other age disguising attempts alternations – by going along with it, by acting like your age is something to hide instead of just a natural part of life, you’re…aaarrrghhh.
It’s so pointless; such a waste of energy and resources.  Besides, people are not going to think you’re still in your late twenties if just decide not to tell them you’re 45….”

My Mother:
“You don’t understand.  It’s different for women.”

Moiself:
“And that’s unfair, isn’t it?”

 

I am woman; hear me roar….

 

It’s likely that, somewhere during that conversation, I assumed the fist-on-hips posture of ten years previous, my indignation and frustration growing as my feminist sensibilities ran straight into the wall that was my mother’s passivity…or whatever it was, it was the opposite of introspection and activism.  Still, I kept at it, repeating my pitch for total honesty, followed by her repeating her mantra that the standard for women and aging was indeed unfair, but that’s what it was, and that I was still too young to understand.

Looking back: the thing is, we were both right.  I was right about the necessity of challenging stereotypes and living truthfully, and about the ultimate futility of trying to hide or alter a biological reality.  Growing older is a privilege   [5]   as well as an inevitability.  The 57-year-old actor who dies her hair to the shade(s) it was when she was 35 and has the Botox and the fillers and lifts and the stitches will not look like she is forever 32, nor will she be offered the roles going to the 26 year old actors; she will look like a 57-year-old tinted, pulled and stretched, de-animated version of a picture of herself from long ago.  But by her futile and desperate “anti-aging” machinations she contributes to the prejudice against women aging naturally.

But my mother was also right, about the treat-you-differently thing.  I’ve seen it, and am experiencing it moiself.  On the few times when my age has been a relevant question and I’ve stated it, every effin’ time, the reactions have been that of receiving a reassurance I neither need nor seek (“Really?! You don’t look ______  [6]  !”).  On most occasions and encounters there isn’t any reason to state your age, but the obviousness of my presence – I don’t dye my hair, so it is slowly but indisputably going gray, and the family wrinkles which I’d hoped my elderly aunts had taken to their graves seemed to have, overnight, made themselves at home in every inch of my skin north of my shoulders   [7] – gets me the ma’am treatment from restaurant seaters, et al.

With regard to the host of workers in grocery marts, pet supply and hardware stores, cafes and other service industries – who tend to be decades younger than moiself – I, and my age-peer female friends, have reached that point of the invisibility of older women, re how we are noticed and treated (that’s if you are even noticed at all).  And it’s *not* that the Home Depot aisle wandering employee (“customer service specialist”) has an overt, rude, “I’m going to ignore this older person and help the younger one,” attitude.  It’s like they don’t even see this older person until you fling a box of drywall screws at their feet.

Not getting prompt and respectful service from a customer service specialist is one thing, but don’t think for a moment that this phenomenon – women aging into invisibility – is a matter of vanity, or that it is trivial.  This prejudice is across the board, including (and perhaps most dangerously, in terms of women’s economic security) in the workplace.

 

 

Invisible woman syndrome can make aging hard
“A not so funny thing happened to me this summer.  I turned fifty.  And unlike some of those Instagram #fitfab50 women you see, I was not feeling fit or fabulous. In fact, I was feeling pretty crappy about myself and I went into a funk, big time….

how could I be feeling so bad about something so superficial as my aging visage?  Who was this woman and what had she done to the smart, confident daughter my mother raised?  And the fact that I consider myself a feminist just added to the insult of my perceived injury. It felt wrong on so many levels….

Then this happened.  A man I had never met told me I was beautiful and congratulated my husband on marrying so well.  And for a moment that compliment made me feel good about myself again, which then made me mad. Then this happened.  I decided to stop coloring my gray hairs and aside from the horror of the women at the hair salon, the response that annoyed me the most was ‘what does your husband think about that?’  Say what?  I assure you no one has ever asked me what I thought about my husband going bald.  And just like that I was out of my funk.

Aging isn’t easy on anyone, but there is a well-known social phenomenon called Invisible Woman Syndrome that can make it particularly hard on women….  At the half century mark, men are typically viewed as being at the zenith of their professional and personal lives, often leading organizations and companies and are viewed as accomplished and experienced.  This is in contrast to women whose main stock in trade is assumed to be their physical appearance, which we’re sold and told should be youthful and appealing to the male gaze….

Be it the maturation of our physical features, an empty nest, or being ignored or overlooked in public and social settings, there is an overwhelming feeling of being invisible and irrelevant for many women over 50.  But here’s the kicker, the invisibility and irrelevance that these women feel, is actually backed up by numbers, actually one number, 49.

It turns out that lots of data, including metrics on health, employment, assets, domestic violence, and sexual abuse stop at age 49.  The explanation for this limited age framework is that it stems from a focus on women of reproductive age.

At this intersection of middle age, sexism and ageism are parallel roads that many suggest disproportionately impact women. Studies reveal that women today strive to achieve aesthetic ideals because they recognize the correlation between beauty and social standing… ‘most women agree [report] that good looks continue to be associated with respect, legitimacy, and power in their relationships.’  In the business world, hiring, evaluations and promotions based on physical appearance push women to place the importance of beauty above that of their work and skills.
In a recent study…researchers from The National Bureau of Economic Research reported that ‘physical appearance matters more for women’ since ‘age detracts more from physical appearance for women than for men.’ ”

(excerpts from “Invisible woman syndrome can make aging hard,”
By Julie Hunter , Pennsylvania coalition to advance respect )

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [8]

Pix: make it stop, no just no, etc. caption: “Women are not forgiven for aging.  Robert Redford’s lines of distinction are my old age wrinkles.”
( Jane Fonda, American actor, author, activist )

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when I get an idea for scoring the loaf of whole wheat sourdough bread I’m going to bake, but as Ithree slices in I realize that I’ve made the leg cuts of the cicada pattern I’m going for too big to add other legs, and, being an homage to a cicada,    [9]  I should add more legs because, a cicada being an insect likely has more than four legs…and then there are those dang antennas…never mind, this loaf has got to get into the oven…and it ends up looking and tasting good anyway.

 

 

But not looking as good as Belle’s cicada tattoo. 

 

*   *   *

May you become acquainted with the crosswordese list;
May our homemade breads be tastier than a cicada;
May you remain visible;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Sixty-four, at last count.

[2] This department was in spired by MH doing the Monday NYT crossword.  He was proud of himself for remembering “Uta” as an answer to a clue…but couldn’t quite recall why he should know it

[3] Big whoop, right?  One of these days, everyone and everything, including my late Aunt Erva’s Aunt Jemima toilet paper roll cover, will have its own Wikipedia entry.

[4] Although it is probably unnecessary to do so, I will note that the following conversation is reconstructed, not verbatim.

[5] One that is denied many, who die “too young.”

[6] Insert whatever euphemism for, that old.

[7] Except for my earlobes.  I assume those are next?

[8] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. 

No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[9] This is a special year for the cicada emergences, as there are cicadas with the 13 year brood cycles and 17 year brood cycles, and or the first time since 2015 a 13-year brood will emerge in the same year as a 17-year brood, and for the first time since 1998 adjacent 13-and 17-year broods will emerge in the same year.

The Acclaimed Grammy Performance I’m Not Watching

February 16, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), current events, foodie, freethought/humanism, health & wellness, Holidays, Isms (religion), making fun of lawyers and/or doctors, music, politics, reproductive rights, science, TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Acclaimed Grammy Performance I’m Not Watching

Department of Holiday Gifts

Dateline: February 13, 4 pm-ish.  Moiself  suddenly remembers what the next day will be, and that I’ve neither a gift nor a card for MH – damn!  What do you get the man who has everything?  Besides, of course, a good dose of antibiotics.   [1]

 

 

I decided instead to go for the practical, but heartfelt.  MH’s father worked for General Mills, and there is a certain cereal which MH not only loves but is the only commercial cereal MH will eat. 

 

 

*   *   *

The Fast Car I’m Not Driving

“Tracy Chapman and Luke Combs pulled out all the stops with a performance of four-time Grammy winner and 13-time nominee Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car at the 2024 Grammys.”
( Grammy Awards site )

Regarding Chapman’s performance at the Grammys, I’m sure all that or most, of “the stops” were pulled out during her performance of her masterpiece song, although I didn’t see this year’s Grammy awards telecast.  Moiself  will probably wait for a bit before finding a video of the Chapman-Combs cover of Fast Car, due to the emotions that Chapman’s staggeringly evocative song stirs up in me.

When that song first came out, I found it both memorizing and depressing. Memorizing as in it was – and still is, IMO –  one of the prime examples as how a song can be the most perfect short story.  The depressing part was how, whenever that song came on the radio, I thought to moiself,  “Ah, it’s the Planned Parenthood song.”

 

 

…in another life it sometimes seemed, I worked in women’s reproductive health care, with jobs in different Planned Parenthood clinics bracketing 5+ years in a private OB/GYN practice.  As stressful and challenging as the job could be, I mostly enjoyed my stints working at Planned Parenthood, and considered it an honor to have been able to serve their clientele.

Chapman’s song, with its skillfully sparse instrumentation and haunting narrative, reminded me of many patients I encountered at PP:  well-meaning if emotionally immature women and girls, scrapping by in poverty, hoping desperately for something more in their lives besides what they have, which is getting involved with the wrong man and being dragged down with him….

At least the protagonist in Chapman’s song finally realizes what she has to do, and tells her once beloved partner – whom she now sees as the ultimately and utterly useless baggage he has become –  to “take your fast car and keep on driving.”  All these years later, the song takes me back, and I wonder about certain patients:  What happened to her?  Whatever became of those women, and girls who grew into women?

And still, after all these years, when I hear Fast Car I ache for the protagonist’s naive humanity, for her wanting something more than a life of caretaking, first for her drunk, ill and incompetent father, and then for the family her incompetent partner saddles her with…

That break/catch in Chapman’s voice, with the lyric, “I’d always hoped for better…”   Slays me, still.  Every time.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of I Don’t Know

Is there an age after which a person should not be able to run for public office?

Moiself  doesn’t know.

Our country’s constitution has a minimum age requirement for federal office,   [2]   but no maximum.  According to the Pew Research Center, most Americans favor maximum age limits for federal elected officials and Supreme Court justices.  I have been among the plethora of Americans on all sides of the political divide who have been grumbling about the age of the two major party likely candidates for president. 

Then, after a recent conversation with a neighbor whom I’ve admired for years – a conversation wherein he revealed his age to me – I felt the surprising sting of my own ageism.

After our wide-ranging discussion I was thinking about what an asset he is, not only to his family and friends and neighborhood, but the community at large, the co-workers he served with….  And this kind, compassionate, intelligent, clear-eyed person, even at this late stage in life, felt called to enter public service, making use of his years of experience and a variety of fields, what would be the point in denying that?

I don’t know.

Then I started thinking about my other/older friends and family, colleagues and neighbors, whose exact ages I sometimes don’t know,  [3]   whose intellectual acuity is heightened by their years of experience and shows no signs of abating, and whom I’ve seen outwitting and out-reasoning people decades younger than themselves.  And yep, I’ve had/seen aging friends and family members whose decision-making facilities and memories translate into shouldn’t leave the house without an escort or intellectual guardian of some kind – but I’ve also seen that in far too many people under the age of forty.

 

 

Should there be some kind of a means test, as in cognitive function, to run for public office after say, age 70?  But why that age – why not 57, or 75?  And who will be the ones to design and test for and then implement such limits?

I don’t know.

I do know that the current presidential candidates’ ages, along with the average of a US Senator being 64   [4]    (!!)  are adding more fuel to the fire in the minds of many young voters.  Unfortunately, the fires being fueled are those of dissuasion, and not activism.   It is further proof to many young people that the country is run by and for the old (mainly white and mainly men), who know little and care less about the world that these younger voters have inherited and are navigating.

 

I do want the opportunity to vote for Dolly Parton (age 78).  For something.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Looking For A Good Article On Identity And Cultural Appropriation,
And …”Its Relationship To Concepts Of Authority And Ownership”?

 

 

If your answer is well duh yes, then Mexican-American, gender queer writer and artist John Paul Brammer has writen the story for y’all.   How’s this for a teaser:

“The rise of social media has profoundly impacted cultural identity. Optimistically, it has served as an equalizer of sorts, allowing historically marginalized voices a platform to be heard. But it has also cultivated an ecosystem where there’s incentive to gate-keep, where identity is its own form of capital. In an influencer age crowded with voices, it’s shrewd to find a lane and to thin the herd in terms of who gets to talk about certain topics.

Over the last decade or so, ethnic identity, at least among the internet literati, has been governed by a certain essentialism that holds that culture is biologically ordained by blood. It is a solemn, sacred, fragile affair that must be protected with utmost care by those qualified to handle it, by individuals appointed to this role by virtue of their birth….

The concept of cultural appropriation has been a handy tool to such ends, serving as a broad category of crime that covers everything from genuine grievances, such as the pilfering of Black American musical trends by an industry that consistently neglects and disrespects them, and truly absurd claims about who is ‘allowed’ to ‘make sushi.’….

I’m not trying to make a blanket dismissal of people’s concerns over how their cultures are handled by those unfamiliar with the nuances. But a problem I do have with ‘cultural appropriation’ as a concept is how it flattens everything down to a simple narrative of theft and is more of an end to a conversation than a springboard for one….

Culture is messy, and in an increasingly globalized world, dictating how and where it spreads is incredibly difficult, if not outright impossible….”

(  excerpts from “De Los: In defense of Vietnam’s love of pachucos,”
by JP Brammer, LA Times, 1-22-24 , emphases mine )

 

 

I didn’t know that “who is allowed to make sushi” is a thing.  Which is good, ’cause moiself  enjoys making sushi (or what passes as my version of it).  But I’ve no worries in the matter, as I’m sure if the Cultural Appropriation Police ® ever raided my kitchen while I was making sushi they would leave soon thereafter, smug in their assessment that my pathetic, non-Japanese, gaijin attempts at “cold rice dressed with vinegar, formed into any of various shapes, and garnished especially with bits of raw seafood or vegetables”    [5]    is no threat to anyone’s cultural authenticity.

Moiself  highly recommends this informative and entertaining article, especially to find out the hitherto unknown (well, to moiself ) cultural exchange between Vietnam and pachuco culture, and also between Yugoslavia and Mexico in a style called Yu-Mex.

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [6]

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when I feel a part of the totality of the human experience while surrounded by strangers, as when at 5:10pm on 2/13/2024 I found moiself  standing in one of three very long checkout lines at The Dollar Tree.  Although the lines were very long they were moving quickly because, as I saw (glancing at each person in line, ahead of/behind/beside me, to confirm my suspicious), each person in line had at most two items, one of which was the distinctive red-enveloped greeting card. “You too?” I asked knowingly of the elderly gent in front of me.   He smiled conspiratorially and whispered to me, in heavily-accented but understandable English,

“I almost forget what tomorrow is.”

 

 

*   *   *

May you always hope – and more importantly, work – for better;
May you find a way to enjoy the last minute greeting card shopping;
May you never have to defend your right to make sushi;    [7]

…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] I actually said that once, to a patient in the medical practice where I worked, when she wondered aloud about what to get for her husband for his upcoming birthday, as he had few hobbies and “…we want for nothing – what do you get the man who has everything?”  “Penicillin?”  I suggested.  She stared blankly at moiself. 

[2] Minimum age of 35 for President, 30 for the Senate, 25 for serving in the House.  No minimum or maximum specified for Supreme Court justices.

[3] Except for a certain range (“He’s in his mid-70s, I think….”  “No way – she can’t be 82?!?!” )

[4]  Yep, an *average* of 64.  Even more shocking to me, over two thirds of them – 34 out of the 50 – are aged 70 or older.

[5] Sushi, noun, as defined by Merriam- Webster dictionary.

[6] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[7] Unless, of course, your sushi really sucks.

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