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The Local Newspaper I’m Not Supporting

May 22, 2026

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, current events, freethought/humanism, friends, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), Oregon, politics, science, sports, The Write Stuff (literary life), Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

That (the blog title) is only partly accurate.

I do support The Oregonian,  [1]  but since we subscribe online only now, I rarely see any of it stories. That’s because, although I have not surveyed the websites of every newspaper in the country, I will nonetheless and confidently assert that The Oregonian has the Worst. Website. Ever.

Listen up, The Oregonian media poobah or whomever is in charge of such things:  your Oregon Live website sucks.  And it’s not merely because seemingly 50% of the “news” coverage is devoted to local sports national sports international sports interplanetary sports (although that does frost my butt).    [2]

 

 

It’s because moiself   can only see three or four (or sometimes even only two) story headline links before I am assaulted by headline after headline of advertisements for prescription meds, OTC anti-aging products, or other Things You MUST Buy Now ® to treat a plethora of conditions (real and/or manufactured/imaginary) related to aging.  These ad teasers are accompanied by extreme, exaggerated, AI-generated   [3]  pictures of older people – not the Senior Super Models walking hand in hand along the seashore while a robust male voice talks about erectile dysfunction.   These oldsters are scared, confused, cranky, incredibly (almost comically) wrinkled, and yikes, do they look unhappy.

 

We’re so miserable – if only there were products to help us oldsters separate our foreheads when our wrinkles get tangled up at night….

 

All together now:  Times-are-the-worst-ever-for-newspapers-they-need-whatever-revenue-streams-they-can-get….  Yeah yeah yeah.

But, is this what they think I am?  Is this what they think I, their reader, wants, and/or what concerns me?  This culture is laden with negative images of aging – and therefore negative images of life, for what else is aging?  These ads try to frighten/horrify/embarrass you into purchasing  anti-aging products.  With every monthly subscription charge I feel as if I’m paying to be insulted.  I keep threatening to cancel our Oregonian subscription; when I do so, MH  reminds moiself (a writer, of all people who shouldn’t need such a reminder…yeah yeah yeah) of the importance of supporting local/independent journalism.  But I don’t see how “independence” fits with being dependent upon scare tactic ad revenues.  And when I click on a story, thinking I am clicking *through* to a story (as in, past the ads), I get maybe three short paragraphs of the story before I have to scroll past more – sometimes six or more – ads to see if the story does in fact continue.

Just a sampling of the lovely images and copy assaulting my eyeballs:

* ALZHEIMER’S  BEGINS  WHEN  YOU  CAN’T  SAY  THIS  WORD…

* THIS DRUGSTORE  ITEM  IS  ALL  YOU  NEED  TO  TIGHTEN  WRINKLES…

* 63-YEAR-OLD  SWAPPED  A  $18,000  FACELIFT FOR THIS  DRUGSTORE FIND…

* CARDIOLOGISTS  SAY  THIS  ONE  HABIT IS  WHY  SENIORS  KEEP….

* CHICAGO  DOCTOR WARNS: STOP  USING  YOUR  NON-STICK  PAN  IF  IT….

* RETIRED  MAN  GOT  88  SCAM  CALLS…

* MEMORY  LOSS  HAD  BEEN  TIED  TO  THIS  COMMON  BREAKFAST  ITEM…

“I’m so old and forgetful I can’t even remember what breakfast is.”

*   *   *

Department Of While We’re On The Subject

Dateline:  Wednesday afternoon; in the checkout line at my favorite local grocery store.   [4]  As I unload my cart items I peruse the magazines in the racks to the left of the checkout belt.  The cover of the current issue of  Harper’s Magazine gets my attention.  Translation:  it makes me stifle a shriek, pick up the issue and wave it to the checker and the one person ahead of my in line.  Moiself  sputters indignantly as I point to the photo of an older man, which comprises almost the entire magazine cover:  “I want to show you something that really gets me – not your fault, of course” (I nod at the cashier, with whom I am on a first name basis), “but, look at this?!?!

The checker and customer wrinkle their respective noses.  Harpers Mag,  y’all gave three technically-senior-but-definitely-not-ruling-class women some moments of umbrage and laughter…and you have also inspired me to give you an award I haven’t bestowed in some time:  The Golden Turd Trophy ®.

 

 

Moiself:
 “The cover story headline is, ‘How Seniors Became America’s Ruling Class.’   Did they tell the model what he was posing for? Is this even a real person, a model, or is the image AI generated or ‘enhanced’ to make him look as old and wrinkled and cranky as possible?Seniors are soon to be the largest demographic –what is Harper’s thinking?  ‘Let’s show them the worst stereotype ever – that’ll get ’em to buy a copy!’
And what’s he supposed to be so angry about (  ‘Dagnabbit, everyone is younger and has smoother skin than I do!’ ).  If he’s truly part of the ‘ruling class,” what’s he so upset about… This cover photo should be illustrating an article about the negative images of aging in our society….”

The checker and the other customer are both women who, like moiself, qualify for the store’s Senior discount day.   [5]   They each express their respective surprise and disgust re the magazine’s cover photo, and the three of us trade stories about how everyone tries to sell us “anti-aging” products.  Then the other customer, a beautiful woman with black-and-silver streaked, straight, shoulder-length hair and perfect posture (I’m thinking, *she* should be on a magazine cover), laughs and says, in a melodious, lightly-accented (Italian?) voice, “It gets worse.”

 Signora continues:
“I’m telling you this so you won’t be surprised.  Deodorant.”

Checker, and Moiself:
“Deodorant?”

Signora:
“Deodorant, for seniors.”

Moiself:
“Seriously?”

 Signora, nodding gravely:
“I saw it.  Last week.”

Checker:
“What could possibly….

Moiself:
“Oh, so you don’t smell…old?!”

 

“You’d be cranky too if some young whippersnapper stole your senior deodorant and now you smell geezer-ripe.”

 

*   *   *

Department Of Please, Someone Else Write This Story

After recently listening to a  Curiosity Weekly podcast on the gut biome, which focused on the fecal transplants that are used now in curing  C. Diff.  and are being explored for other uses diseases across the board (   Why are people getting poop transplants? ) a story premise dropped anchor (sorry) in a little recess of my mind.

Story premise:
A new disease, merdemortel ( aka  M&M ), is threatening to wipe out humanity.  M&M spreads easily and rapidly, infects *everyone* who comes within casual contact of victims, but produces no symptoms after infection for its 7-10 days of incubation, during which time the disease carriers infect everyone they come in contact with.  M&M kills 87% of its hosts within two weeks of the onset of symptoms, and it does not respond to any of the conventional ( or “alternative”) drugs or treatments.

Scientists have discovered 17 people worldwide who have not contracted M&M after having verifiably been exposed to it.  These 17 people have a very specific gut biome which not only makes them immune to M&M but also cures those infected if this gut biome is transplanted to M&M  victims. While scientist rush to synthesize a form of this super gut biome, these 17 people are forced into being super poopers:  they are secreted away to an underground, sterile holding area, fed a high fiber diet  [6]  where their feces are collected, processed into capsules (  aka, crapsules ) and used to treat humanity….

Calling all would-be novelists and screenwriters: this premise is yours for the taking.   [7]

Everyone’s a critic.

*   *   *

Department Of Asking The Same Question, But For Different Reasons
Sub Department Of Still Asking The Same Questions(s), Six Years Later
( this rant originally ran 4-1-20 )  

 “What is wrong with people?”

The photo, which you can see here if you are so perversely inclined, was of the decapitated head of an enormous bull elk. The head rested atop a bloodied blanket in the bed of a pickup truck. The post asked for help in returning this pathetic souvenir of macho death lust trophy to the hunter who’d killed the elk:

 “These antlers were stolen from a man in his 70’s who has never killed a bull this big with a bow.  It was taken from his property….”

These antlers.

No mention of the rest of the animal; no mention of the head to which those antlers were attached – the head which showed the elk’s tongue protruding from its mouth, a mute testimony to the elk’s agonizing death throes;   [9]   no mention of concern for the remaining 600 lbs of the animal. A magnificent creature was slaughtered, not for sustenance or in self-defense, but so that some old dude could hang a part of that creature’s body on his wall as a testimony to the fact that he’d previously “never killed a bull this big.”

 

 

What is wrong with people?

As posed by the FB poster(s), the question speculates as to what kind of person would steal an elderly hunter’s booty.  As posed by moiself, the question wonders what kind of person of any age enjoys killing any creature for “sport.”

*   *   *

And One More Thing    [10]

If you consider trophy hunting to be a legitimate sport, I obviously disagree with your assessment, although I respect our difference of opinion on this matter.

And by I respect our difference of opinion on this matter  I sincerely mean,
Go fuck yourself.

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [11]

 “My hunter buddy tells me, ‘Don’t worry, when I hunt I use every part of the animal.’
You know who also uses every part of the animal? THE  ANIMAL.”
–Deepak Sethi, writer/comedian

*   *   *

May you be free from any affliction which is cured by ingesting crapsules;
May you (still) support your local independent newspapers;
May you never hear from me that
I respect our difference of opinion on this matter;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] And a few other “local” newspapers

[2] But, come the Olympic Games, my butt is defrosted and glued to the comfy chair in front of the tv.

[3] Moiself  is assuming.

[4] New Seasons Market.

[5] Which, in another nod to aging hassles, the store changed to, “wisdom discount day,” as per complaints of a few customers who didn’t like being asked about their age and/or assuming they qualified to be…gasp…seniors). 

[6] Specifically formulated to increase their gut biome production without altering its microbial composition.

[7] But have some self-respect and give attribution, please.

[8] Rather than wimpy, anti-hunting target shooters like moiself.

[9] Death by arrow is not instantaneous, not matter how expert the marksman.

[10] There should be at least one more footnote.

[11] “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 Genetic Lottery I’m Not Counting On

May 8, 2026

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), current events, family life, freethought/humanism, friends, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, science, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Genetic Lottery I’m Not Counting On

Department Of How To Take Advantage Of The Something Else

So much in life we feel is out of our control, and certainly a lot of it is.  But a recent TED Talk podcast shares the good news that your fate is not sealed by your genetic lottery.

If you’re lucky enough, i.e. if you don’t die before age 65, you will become part of a demographic often referred to as the elderly.  The good news is that you have options and choices when it comes to whether you will be part of the ill-derly or the well-derly.

Doctors and scientists investigating so-called Super Agers   [1]  (those who at age 80 were on no medication, had never had cancer or dementia-related issues) studied genomes of Super agers, and noted that it was lifestyle choices and preventive measures that extended the Super Agers  wellspan (aka healthspan    [2] ). 

 

 

“Eric (Topol, Cardiologist and professor and executive vice president at Scripps Research)  and the Scripps Research team looked for the longevity secrets in the DNA of wellderly Super Agers. And what they found changed everything they thought they knew about how humans age.

Eric Topol:
The stunning result was…there was not much to be able to say, ‘this was a genetic story’. So, this was either due to luck, which seems that’s farfetched to say all these people were so lucky, or something else. And I think that something else is what we’ve learned so much about in the last couple of years…”

( excerpts, my emphases, How to be a “Super Ager” (it’s not your genes);
5-1-26, TED Radio Hour )

Translation: There ain’t no, TPAGTLLAHL ( These People Are Guaranteed To Live Long And Healthy Lives ) genes.

Lifespan refers to the quantity of years a person lives; wellspan refers to the quality of those years; i.e.,  the number of years a person lives in good health, free from chronic disease and cognitive and physical disability.  You want a long wellspan, right (no use in having a lengthy lifespan if you’re sick and miserable)?

Listen to the talk/read the transcript for some good tips.  (Spoiler alert: ignore the Increase your protein!  Inject Peptides!  And Plasma!  …and other snake oil hypes, and get the shingles vaccination.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of The Good Advice I’m Currently Pondering

*Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.  [3]

* Accepting reality is not the same thing as endorsing reality.

* We are born on one day. We die on one day. We can change on one day.
We can fall in love on one day. Anything can happen in one day. [4]

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of After All These Years, There IS Still
Room For Improvement In My Social Skills

Dateline: several days ago. This (imaginary) exchange takes place on social media:

FB Reminder:
” _____(name of FB friend) has a birthday today.
Let him know you are thinking of him.”

Moiself :
“But, I’m not….”

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of A Blast From The Past

Dateline: January 2025.  A new year; a new project: taking an excerpt from a past blog, from the same time frame (the second Friday of whatever month).  My thought at the time: Perhaps moiself  will like this enough that it will turn out to be a regular blog feature.  So far it has, but time, and my capacity for reruns, will tell.

This journey down memory lane is related to the most convincing reason a  YOU-of-all-people-should-write-a-blog-why-aren’t-you-writing-a-blog?!?!?!  [5]   friend gave me, all those years ago,   [6]   as to why I should be writing a blog: a blog would serve as a journal of sorts for my life.  Thus, journal/diary-resistant moiself  would have some sort of a record, or at least a random sampling, of what was on my mind – and possibly what was on the nation’s mind – during a certain period of time.

Now I can, for example, look back to the second Friday of a years-ago May to see what I was thinking. (or as MH put it, What was I thinking!?!? )

 

 

Here is an excerpt from my blog of May 12, 2017 (  The Phone Call I’m Not Returning ).

Department Of Things That Frost My Butt
Installment 621 in a series

(Pre-rant background information: I volunteer for a feline-specific animal adoption organization, at one of their offsite locations. The majority of the cats and kittens are housed at the mother ship, aka the main shelter in south Washington County city. Kittys are also housed at several offsite adoption centers – generally, pet supplies stores which have special cat kennel section which they lease to the shelter.)

To the Guy (and it’s always a guy) who walks his dog (it can be any breed, from the 5 lb yippies to the 80 lb Dobermans) up and down the aisles of the PetOpia store:  Dude, you hold your dog up to the glass wall of an animal’s kennel/habitat and encourage your canine to bark/growl/otherwise harass the animal (usually a cat, but I’ve seen it happen to rabbits, gerbils and other rodents, reptiles, birds, other/smaller dogs) housed on the other side of the glass.  Anyway, you know who you are…

On second thought, you probably don’t. Your actions indicate that there is nary an introspective bone in your body, only a thick mass of bone-like tissue where your brain should be housed.

Every time it happens, a part of me is surprised as well as disgusted. Apparently, because you have an animal with you and you are in a pet supplies store, I hold the (obviously mistaken) assumption that you are fond of animals.  And yet you engage in this behavior as if it were playful, and persist in encouraging your dog to bark at the other animal despite   [9]  seeing obvious signs of distress in that animal.

And I, a volunteer for an organization which depends upon the goodwill of the pet supplies store in order to have that adoption space at the store, have been explicitly instructed that I am forbidden from confronting you. I can only “redirect” your behavior and attempt to educate you; I can’t kick your sorry sadistic ass to the curb.

If only for a taser gun with a heat-seeking, genital-specific probe….

 

*   *   *

*   *   *

 

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [10]

 

” ‘The original sin was eating from the tree of knowledge.’ That line, whether read as theology or metaphor, contains a quiet irony: the foundational story of much of Western religion begins with a punishment for seeking knowledge. Not violence. Not theft. Curiosity.

That narrative sets a tone that echoes through history. When church signs declare that education distances people from God, or that faith thrives where common sense falters, they are not anomalies—they are symptoms. They reflect a long-standing tension between authority and inquiry, between certainty and doubt….

… The pattern is not anti-knowledge per se; it is selective acceptance of knowledge that does not destabilize belief systems.

That selectivity matters.

Modern research consistently shows a measurable—though nuanced—negative correlation between religiosity and scientific literacy…. This does not mean religious individuals are unintelligent….  It means that when beliefs are tied to identity, community, and perceived moral order, contradictory evidence is often filtered or resisted.

So the issue is not stupidity. It is insulation….

…the sharper question is not, “Does religion need people to be stupid?” That framing misses the mark.

A better question is:
Does religion function best when people stop asking certain questions?

Another:
If a belief is true, why should it fear scrutiny?

And another:
What kind of truth requires protection from education?…

Religion does not require stupidity. It often thrives on something more subtle: the prioritization of belief over verification.

That distinction matters, because it shifts responsibility. The problem is not that people are incapable of thinking critically—it is that many are taught, explicitly or implicitly, that certain ideas should not be critically examined….”

 (excerpts;  my emphases; Religion:  The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, 5-4-26 )

*   *   *

May you never be One Of Those People whose ass other people want to kick to the curb;
May you take advantage of the Something Else;
May you eat from the tree of knowledge at every opportunity;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] A Super Ager is someone age 80 or older who exhibits cognitive function that is comparable to an average person who is middle-aged and/or who has never had cancer nor is on medication for chronic conditions (heart disease, Type 2 diabetes….)

[2] Referring to increasing lifespan, people are trying to add years to life, vs. wellspan or healthspan,where the emphasis is “adding life to your years.”

[3] Attributed to US tennis star Arthur Ashe.

[4] From a Calm daily meditation.

[5] I was adamant about not writing a blog…thus, the title of the blog I eventually decided to write.

[6] Was it really over twelve years ago?

[7] I was adamant about not writing a blog…thus, the title of the blog I eventually decided to write.

[8] Was it really over twelve years ago?

[9] Or because of…bullies apparently do not limit their torments to their own species.

[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 Popovers I’m Not Baking

May 1, 2026

Robyn Parnell foodie, friends, general ruminations, health & wellness, Holidays, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, music, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, The Write Stuff (literary life), TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Popovers I’m Not Baking

Department Of Not One Damn Popover Was Ever Baked In Our Home

Moiself  has nothing against popovers.  I didn’t really know what they were before I got married, then had little interest afterward when someone described them to me as dinner rolls on steroids.  Perhaps I had a lingering case of PPA (Premarital Popover Aversion)…?

 

 

MH’s and my wedding anniversary was this past week.  Somehow, this memory popped (sorry)    [1]   to mind:

Dateline:  However many years ago; some place in Palo Alto, CA; wedding reception of MH and moiself.  I have been roped into small talk with a large man, one of the many  Perfectly Nice People Whom I’ve Never Met Before And Whom MH Knows Only Vaguely Because They Are Relatives/Friends Of His Parents ® .

This PNPWINMBAWMKOVBTAR/FOHP is an older man who decides to engage me in conversation (translation: I listen to him talk about) the wedding present he and his wife got us: a popover pan.

 

Popover pan, sans popovers

 

A popover pan.  This is the first time I’ve heard of such a specific piece of baking equipment (the Parnells were not a popover-consuming family).   “I said, ‘Let’s get them a popover pan,’ “ this man tells me, recreating the pivotal gift-giving conversation he had with his wife.  He also tells me, with evident pride in overturning the stereotypical, who-buys-the-wedding gift assumptions, that *he himself* volunteered to purchase and wrap the pan!  And that he was happy to do so!  Because,  “I always loved it when my wife made me popovers, and I hope that MH will have the same experience.”   [2]

I thank him, drain my glass of champagne in two gulps, and say, (while beaming the most oblivious-to-sexist-expectations smile that I can muster)   [3]  “I’m looking forward to MH learning to bake us popovers!”

 

Another happy couple looks forward to consecrating their marriage with the popover experience.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Not What We Were Looking For, But A Fun Surprise

Dateline:  last week; MH and I searching closets, file cabinets, the attic, the We-never-would-have-moved-them-here drawers….   When we had the house interior painted many months back, MH cleared out the room where our treasured LPs and cassettes were kept.  [4].  And now we can’t find them.

Moiself  is seeking one tape in particular, which has to do with our “date night.”  When we’re in town, we go to Mcmenamin’s Rock Creek Tavern, which has Irish Music night every Sunday.

 

 

We’ve become friendly with several of the Rock Creek staff.  There are two newer servers – a brother and sister,   [5]  both of whom are into (what they call) “retro” music.  I asked the young woman, “Nellie,” for examples of what she considered retro she mentioned several singers/bands (which I recognized as the soundtrack from my retro youth).  When Nellie said that she really liked Joan Jett, I said, “I’m going to impress you, then.”

I told Nellie about having seen JJ twice in concert – once when Jett was with The Runaways,    [6]    and once with her band Joan Jett and The Blackhearts.  And as if that wasn’t impressive enough…

 

 

…many years ago my grooviest friend in the world, former WWDC 101 disc jockey EDK, met Ms. Jett when she was in DC for a concert.  Jett visited the radio station, as bands often do when they’re on tour.  While she was there EDK asked her to record some station promos, AND wish me a happy birthday, which he recorded and sent to me on tape.

Nellie’s eyes widened with delight; she begged me to bring in the tape and play it for her.

We.  Cannot.  Find.  That.  Tape.   [7]

But here’s something MH did find, in a file of old tax returns.  He took pictures of the letter I’d written to the IRS (after our first filing as a married couple), and sent the pictures to our offspring:   “While searching for other archived items, I came across this.  Thought you might enjoy reading some nonfiction writing by your mother.”  Transcript (with address/personal details redacted) below.

I have only the barest memory of writing the letter, and of the bureaucratic injustice which spurred me to do so.  But after reading it I told MH, “Yep; sounds like me.”  What’s nice is that I got the unexpected: a personal response, from a government bureaucrat!  And it was a good one (I’ll spare you that transcript) …although, as MH noted, you can consider it ironic or fitting, given the subject, that the IRS’ response letter is signed with a woman’s name, signing for the (male) IRS Director of Returns.

 

You may want to sit down; lest you be overcome with excitement.

 

Internal Revenue Service; Attn:  IRS Reports Clearance Officer

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to you regarding an inaccuracy on my Federal Income Tax refund check.

My husband and I filed joint returns for ____ (year). I have attached a copy of our Federal Income Tax refund check, which, as you can see, is made payable to “____  (  MH’s first name and middle initial and surname)  and “Roby _____ (MH’s surname).  While my husband’s name is indeed ____ (MH’s first name and middle initial and surname), my last name is Parnell.  I am not Robyn _____ (MH’s surname) (and I am most certainly not “Roby MH’s surname”); there is no Robyn ____ ( MH’s surname) that I am aware of who is married to my husband and who has my Social Security number.

Two areas of interest regarding this matter:

  1. a space for Spouse’s Signature (“if joint return BOTH must sign”) is provided on the 1040 form, yet there is no space, at the beginning of the form, for spouse’s name to be printed, although there is a space for spouse’s SSN.
  2. despite not having a space to record my name, my Social Security number was provided, as was my signature, which, while admittedly not renowned for its legibility, is obviously not of someone whose last name begins with the letter “W.” I kept my birthname at marriage, as did my husband.  I have never been “Robyn ____ (MH’s surname”) – the name is not mine, nor does it appear on any of my legal or personal records, nor is it associated with ____ (my SSN).

Taking all of this in to account – and not for one moment daring to assume that a governmental agency would change my name without my knowledge, consent or request to perhaps follow a sexist, outdated assumption of what happens to the surname of a woman when she marries – I am at a loss to figure out how that name got on our check.  Perhaps someone at the IRS can enlighten me?

(Don’t be too hard on yourselves – the state of California didn’t do any better. We also filed a joint state income tax return, with my name listed as filer and my husband’s SS# listed as “Spouse.”  Our state refund check was made payable to two different versions of my name, neither of which even remotely resembled my husband’s name).

A friend of mine encountered a similar situation last year:  her federal refund check was made payable to her and her husband, each listed as having her husband’s surname, which is not her surname, professionally, personally or otherwise.  Both endorsed the check as it was written, per their banker’s instructions.  A few weeks after depositing the check they received letters from the IRS inquiring as to who the second payee was who endorsed the check, as they have no records of any such person – the name they erroneously put on the check – having my friend’s Social Security number!

If this seems like small potatoes to you – “What’s a few letters changed here and there” – consider what would happen if I or any taxpayer had such a cavalier attitude toward listing and recording our expenses and deductions (“What’s a few numbers or decimal points changed or eliminated”)…we’d be in holy hot water (bureaucratically speaking, of course) quicker than you could say, “Subtract line 30 from line 23.”

IRS Commissioner Gibbs writes “…working together with you, I believe we jointly (my emphasis) can find ways to make taxes less taxing for all of us.” *   By bringing this matter to your attention, I am trying to do my part.

Thank you for your consideration.  I look forward to your reply.

Sincerely, your “valued customer,” *

Robyn Parnell

cc: – Office of Management and Budget, Paperwork Reduction Project
-Lawrence B. Gibbs, IRS Commissioner

* quotes taken from the From the Commissioner letter in the 1040 forms and instructions booklet.

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [8]

“New rule: If churches don’t have to pay taxes, they also can’t call the fire department when they catch fire. Sorry reverend, that’s one of those services that goes along with paying in.  I’ll use the fire department I pay for. You can pray for rain.”
(  Bill Maher, “Real Time,” 2-17-2006 )

 

 

*   *   *

May you have your own version of a popover experience;
May you have a memorable communiqué with a bureaucrat;
May you get the services you pay (not pray) for;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Not sorry.

[2] I still remember his odd (to me) choice of words…but then, a popover ignoramus such as moiself  might not know that having popovers is an experience.

[3] And that was my second of what would be many glasses of bubbly that night, so there was mustering to be done.

[4] After doing a major culling of them

[5] They are so adorable, I can’t stand it…and I almost wrote that in all caps

[6] The opening band was Cheap Trick!

[7] Nor can we find a lot of others, and some really cool LPs…but, as my father used to say, “It’ll turn up.”

[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

The Breath I’m Not Holding

April 17, 2026

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, community, current events, freethought/humanism, general ruminations, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), making fun of lawyers and/or doctors, nature, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, reproductive rights, school, science, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Breath I’m Not Holding

Department Of Reasons For That Take A Deep Breath Truism

“The way we breathe has a direct and immediate impact on the state of our mind, emotions, and nervous system.  When we’re agitated or anxious, our breath is often quick and shallow.  When we’re calm, and grounded, it tends to be long and deep.  So, it’s helpful to remember that we can deliberately alter our breath when we want to soften stress or anxiety.…
we can always call on this tool, lengthening our inhales and exhales, in order to regulate our stress response, and gain a sense of calm.”
(   Calm meditation, app, “Breath in Three Acts,” 4-6-26 )

*   *   * 

Department Of Powerful People Have The Privilege Of Ignorance
Sub-Department Of Reasons To Use The Calming Breath Tools

“It is an old truism that knowledge is power. The inverse — that power is often ignorance — is rarely discussed.
The powerful swathe themselves in obliviousness in order to avoid the pain of others and their own relationship to that pain. There’s a large category of acts hidden from people with standing: the more you are, the less you know….”
( excerpt, Rebecca Solnit, “Nobody Knows,” Harpers Magazine )

 

 

A few days ago, when moiself  ran across Rebecca Solnit‘s above cited article, I was reminded of SCOTUS Justice Sotomayor’s recent and right-on critique of her colleagues’ obliviousness to the realities in daily lives of non-one-percenters such as themselves.

( excerpts, my emphases/additions, “Supreme Court’s Sotomayor slams colleague Kavanaugh for ICE ruling,”  USA Today, 4-9-26 ):

“Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor took a swipe at fellow Justice Brett Kavanaugh… for his recent opinion in an immigration case….

Sotomayor spoke about the court’s divided decision in September 2025 that allowed the Trump administration to resume indiscriminate immigration-related stops….

Over the objections of the court’s three liberal justices, including Sotomayor’s, the court blocked a lower court ruling that said federal agents need to have reasonable suspicion that the person they’re questioning is in the country illegally….   [1]

‘I had a colleague in that case who wrote, you know, these are only temporary stops,’ Sotomayor said, referencing Kavanaugh’s concurring opinion…. “This is from a man whose parents were professionals. And probably doesn’t really know any person who works by the hour.’

Sotomayor added, ‘Those hours that they took you away, nobody’s paying that person,’ she said of those detained. ‘And that makes a difference between a meal for him and his kids that night and maybe just cold supper.’ ….

In his opinion for the court, Kavanaugh lied  blew smoke out of his prep school Ivy League ass  made up crap about something he knows nothing about said that legal residents’ encounters with immigration agents are ‘typically brief,’ and impacted individuals ‘promptly go free.’

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of New Great Term From A Book I Might Read

*Might read,* as in, Get in line with the 158 books ahead of you on my list.  But, as is often the case with my reading list, the lastest, newest/shiny entry kicks the others to the rear.  Sigh.  There’s no fighting evolution.

 

 

Oh yes the term:  safetyism.  Before I even read the definition I suspected what it was;…moiself  knew it was a name for something I’d previously had no name for – a phenomenon that both alarmed and infuriated me when I saw it creeping into my children’s college experiences.    [2]

This term came from a book review of The Coddling of the American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas Are Setting Up a Generation for Failure.  I’ll post my favorite excerpts of the review, with moiself’s  sincere apology for my boneheaded neglect to note where I saw the review and thus give proper attribution.   [3]

The Coddling of the … reviewer admitted being skeptical about a book whose title could have heralded a tirade from middle-aged professors about how “today’s students are too soft and whiny.”   Instead, the reviewer noted, the book’s authors point out the disturbing data of what is happening on college campuses:  the rise of trigger warnings, safe spaces, disinvited speakers, student protests shutting down debate – linked with the dramatic and documented rise in anxiety and depression among young people. The book does not blame young people for these particular problems; rather, it lays responsibility on the bad ideas that youth are being taught by well-meaning adults.

 

 

As someone even wiser than moiself    [4]  wrote,

“…despite their theoretical benefits, protected educational experiences [safe spaces]  often fail to instill the most important attributes of a liberal education: critical thinking, persuasive argumentation, close reading, and cultural understanding. Indeed, students’ desire for safe spaces can limit their ability to traverse the real world—where strong disagreements and challenging experiences are part of life….  I know my campus is not a protective bubble that can shield students from reality. Rather, it’s a microcosm of the real world—and I’m not doing my job as an educator if I perpetuate the illusion of safety at the expense of challenging students’ ideas and beliefs.

As a Black man who teaches Shakespeare at a predominantly white institution, I realized years ago that the classroom can never be a safe space. When I teach Othello, a tragedy replete with anti-Black racism and misogyny, am I safe from silent criticisms that I’m an assimilated Black person with a ‘white voice’ teaching a white author? If there is only one Black female student in the class, is she safe? Rather than asking a non-Black colleague to teach the play for me, I lean into discomfort and use it to my pedagogical advantage. I carefully address whatever arises from the class’s collective exposure to the text and its racist moments, because that is my job as a professor.

In my classroom, I eschew safe space rhetoric—such as the truism that all opinions are equally valid—in favor of a pedagogical practice I call ‘productive discomfort.’ This practice leans into difficult discourses on a variety of contentious topics and fearlessly engages students’ personal backgrounds, identities, and experiences. It uses the learning process to expand the boundaries of students’ comfort zones by challenging their existing assumptions and biases.”

(  excerpt, “Discomfort Is the Point: Why ‘safe spaces’ do a disservice to students,” by David Sterling Brown, AAC&U, Winter 2024 )

 

“Education should disrupt the status quo and promote critical thinking.”

 

Yet again, I digress.

What follows are excerpts from the The Coddling of the American Mind review, with my emphases. I have not yet read the book; thus, my emphases of the reviewer’s statements mark *my* concerns – ones I’ve amassed over the past decade, from my offsprings’ experiences as well as from my own readings and observations.  One example: although content/trigger warnings and attempts to establish colleges as safe spaces where students are promised refuge from being “offended” may feel like a kindness in the moment, IMO these policies impinge on free speech, suppress open discussion of complex issues, throttle academic and intellectual diversity, and ultimately (and perhaps most importantly) hinder young people in building resilience.

“Lukianoff and Haidt [the books’ two authors] are not conservatives….both lean left politically. That matters, because this book is not a right-wing attack on campus culture. It’s a liberal critique of things that have gone wrong inside liberal spaces….

The central argument is simple: three bad ideas have spread through American universities (and increasingly through K-12 schools, workplaces, and families). These ideas sound good on the surface. But they are toxic. They make students more anxious, more depressed, and less prepared for adult life.

The three bad ideas are:

  1. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you weaker.’  This is the opposite of the old saying. It teaches that discomfort, emotional pain, and offense are dangerous. So, we must protect people from them. The problem is that avoidance makes anxiety worse, not better. Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), one of the most evidence-based treatments for anxiety, teaches the exact opposite: you have to face your fears to overcome them.

  2. ‘Always trust your feelings.’  This sounds empowering. But your feelings are not always reliable guides to reality. Anxiety tells you there’s a threat when there isn’t. Anger can be based on a misinterpretation. If you always trust your feelings without questioning them, you become a prisoner of your own emotional reactions.
  1. ‘Life is a battle between good people and evil people.’  This is the us-versus-them mindset. It divides the world into oppressors and victims. It leaves no room for nuance, context, or good-faith disagreement. And it makes every conflict into a moral crusade where compromise is betrayal….

Here are four things the reviewer learned from the book ( again, excerpts from the review, my emphases ):

“1. Safetyism is not the same as safety.

The authors coin the term “safetyism” to describe a culture where emotional safety is treated as more important than intellectual freedom. Actual safety protects you from physical harm. Safetyism protects you from ideas that might make you uncomfortable. The problem is that you can’t learn in a discomfort-free environment. Learning requires challenge.

2. The rise in anxiety and depression is real and alarming.   [5]

3. Antifragility is a real thing.

The book borrows Nassim Taleb’s concept of ‘antifragile’ things    [6]  that get stronger when they’re stressed (e.g. bones, muscles, immune systems) Minds can be antifragile too. But only if they’re exposed to manageable challenges. Protecting kids from every stressor makes them fragile, not safe.

 

 

4. You can be compassionate and still allow discomfort.

One of the book’s most important distinctions. Compassion does not mean removing every obstacle. Sometimes compassion means letting someone struggle, fail, and figure it out.

The book ends with a line that has stuck with me:
‘Prepare the child for the road, not the road for the child.’

That’s it. That’s the whole argument. We have been so focused on smoothing the road, removing every bump, every uncomfortable idea, every moment of potential distress, that we forgot to prepare the child. And now we have a generation that is more anxious, more depressed, and less resilient than any in recent memory.”

 

I’ll drink to that.

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [7]

 

 

*   *   *

May you remember that discomfort is the point of learning;
May you call out mind-coddling when you see it;
May you always have room for nuance, context, and good-faith disagreement;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Other than what they’re doing now, which is blatant racial profiling.

[2] I don’t know if it went as far back as high school – I don’t recall K or Belle mentioning “safe spaces” or “trigger/content warnings” then –  but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was already there.

[3] I copied/wrote down portions, so it must have been online…Facebook?  One of my many newspaper online subscriptions? ACVATTWAFNB  (All Cat Videos All The Time With A Few News Breaks)?

[4] Gasp – they exist.  By the thousands…..

[5] Most of us have heard about the skyrocketing rates of anxiety and depression; the book presents data linking this to social media, the decline of free play, and the rise of safetyism.

[6] Nassim Taleb is a Lebanese-American author, professor, mathematician.  His book cited here is  Antifragile: Things That Gain from Disorder,

[7] “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 Healthy Skepticism I’m Not Having Trouble Applying

April 10, 2026

Robyn Parnell are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, community, current events, extended family, family life, freethought/humanism, friends, Holidays, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), making fun of Norwegians and/or the Irish, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, The Write Stuff (literary life) , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Healthy Skepticism I’m Not Having Trouble Applying

Department Of But First, Set Aside The Skepticism For:
More Proof That Everything Circles Around

Dateline: Tuesday 4:29p, reading a blurb in The Week magazine’s “guide to what’s worth watching.” I come upon a blurb that makes me shriek with joy, and search my blog history for the story I know is there.  Here, from 10-27-17 (   The Studio I’m Not Touring ), is an excerpt of my relating a Parnell family story to my family

Remember the story I’ve told you, when I was in grade school, and one night at the dinner table my dad was teasing my mom about her name….

For the benefit of those not related to me or who haven’t heard the story,   [1]  a wee bit o’ background info: my mother’s birth surname was Hole.   [2]  Yes,  Hole.  I sometimes teased her, about why her own mother didn’t keep her surname Moran but instead was willing to take on her husband’s…unique…family name: It really must have been love, or desperation….

Yeah, so, the story.  At the family dinner table, occupied as per usual by my parents and their four children (on this particular night oh-so-many years ago, my older sister, younger sister and I were all in grade school, and our brother was an infant):

After my father’s customary  So, tell me about your day? query, we dove into yet another round of thematic banter. Our family dinner table dialogues tended to focus on one subject, which was never (or rarely) intentional or pre-planned, but rather tangential from something which had happened to one of the Parnell siblings  [3]   at school. On that evening, I shared a story about a kid who had been teased on the playground about his name: the combination of his first name and last name made for some tease-worthy rhyme schemes.   [4]

Marion Parnell said she felt sorry for the poor boy. Growing up with her particular last name, she knew exactly how he felt:

“My father was always telling my sisters and I how, in Norway, Hole was a respectable, upper class, landowners’ name. I lost track of how many times he told us we should be proud of our name. He just couldn’t understand how it was for us, because in America, it was just HOLE.  Oh, I heard it all the time, the jokes: ‘Look, here comes Marion Hole, hole-in-the-ground…don’t fall into a hole!’ “

(I had also lost count of how many times I’d heard about Hole-is-a-proud-Norwegian-name assurances, and had come to think that our maternal grandfather had made that up to make our mother feel better.  I’d never heard of anyone, of any ethnic background, with that name.)

 

Still with me? You deserve The Order of the Pretty Purple Toe ® award.

 

My mother took little comfort from me telling her that her peers had been pretty lame in the joke department:  ” ‘Marion Hole-in-the-ground’? I can think of a lot worse things to do with a name like…”

Chester Parnell jumped in, to save me from embarrassing my mother. Or so I thought.

“Well, Robbie Doll, you know what your mom’s middle name is?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “Alberta?”

“That’s right,” Chet nodded enthusiastically. “But you know, she was so beautiful, I never had any second thoughts about marrying an  A. Hole.”

This produced shrieks of delight from the three Parnell daughters – first from me (my shriek decibel count was boosted by my pride in being the first one to “get it”), followed a few seconds later by my older sister, and then by my younger sister, who probably didn’t get the reference but knew something hilarious must have been said by the way her older sisters and father were reacting.

Mom had that tense/amused, try-to-be-a-good-sport look on her face.  Dad gazed across the table at her with impish affection – I knew something even better was coming up.

Chester B. Parnell: “Tell them about your cousin.”

Marion A. Hole Parnell (baring her teeth): “I don’t want to tell them about my cousin.”

Chet:  “Tell them about your cousin. What was his name?”

Marion: (muttering) “His name was Harry.”

Chet: “And it wasn’t a nickname – his real name wasn’t Harold? And he didn’t have a middle name – just a first and last name?”

Marion: “That’s right.”

Mom, of course, knew where this was heading. She tried to act as if she were miffed, but I could see the corners of her mouth beginning to twitch.

Chet: “And so his name was…?”

Marion (deep breath): “Harry Hole.”

Professional stand-up comics would kill to get an audience response akin to that which erupted that evening, in the smallest of venues, the Parnell kitchen dining nook.

*   *   *

Back to the present; specifically, Tuesday, when moiself  comes across the blurb in The Week magazine and shrieks aloud, My mom’s cousin!!

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Post Easter Reflections

It’s the week after the weekend of the most holy Christian festival that ironically   [5]  has the most un-Christian name.  What we call Easter, as with most Christian holidays, consists in large part of the ancient rites and myths of paganism and other spiritualities which were incorporated into the Christian myths  (see this Longest Blog Footnote So Far ® for details, should that float your boat.  [6]  )

Three years ago, around this time of year, this was included in my blog:

Department Of Uh, Since You’ve Asked, That Would Be, “No”

Last Sunday a FBF (Facebook Friend) began her post thusly:

Happy Easter, everyone! Can I share what it means to me?

FBF went on to – surprise! – offer her testimony for Jesus, without waiting for an answer to her question.

 

 

Moiself   remembered that post on Monday, when I saw a different post on social media – a post which, if I had a different relationship with that FBF, I would forward to her, and possibly even ask for her reaction/opinion.   

For my Christian readers, family and friends – and yessirreeebobsurprise! I do have them –  I assume they call themselves Christian because they go to a Christian church and/or believe they have committed to “follow Jesus.”

Having been raised in that background, it has always – and especially around this time of year – been a source of forehead-bonking wonder to moiself  that there seems to be little understanding by Christians that their Jesus is never quoted in their scriptures as saying,  “Oh, yeah, along with the teachings and good deed admonitions I’m leaving y’all with, here’s the most important thing: please remember to start a new religion, and name it after me.”

Former Christian evangelical divinity student Jim Palmer’s new ministry seems to be to “minister” to former literalists such as himself ( from Palmer’s  writings moiself  has seen so far, I gather Palmer would still claim to follow [some]  words/example of Jesus, but not Christianity).  For the sake of relative brevity, moiself  will assume that most Christians accept their Biblical scriptures as reliable.  [7]  It is to those Christians that I’d like to direct to one of Palmer’s writings, which contain some abundant food for thought (an entire life’s rations, I’d say) about how Christianity ≠ Jesus ≠  Christianity:   

It still surprises people who haven’t looked closely that Jesus and Christianity are not the same thing. Not even close. Jesus was not a Christian. He didn’t start Christianity. He didn’t write a creed, build an institution, or outline a belief system that would later dominate empires. You can’t blame Christian nationalism on Jesus. You can’t even cleanly blame Christianity on him. What exists today under his name is something that formed after him, around him, and in many ways, in spite of him.

What we call Christianity is largely shaped by the Apostle Paul and later by the political machinery of the early church. Most of the New Testament isn’t Jesus talking, it’s Paul interpreting. Then you have centuries of councils, debates, and power plays where theology gets hammered into place by people trying to stabilize a movement that was never meant to be stabilized. Read the creeds. They are packed with metaphysical claims about Jesus, yet strangely quiet about the actual things he taught. It’s a lot of doctrine, very little Jesus.

Then Constantine shows up and everything shifts. After the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, Christianity goes from a grassroots, disruptive movement to a state-sanctioned tool. Legalized, institutionalized, and eventually weaponized. What began as something subversive becomes something that props up empires. By the time you get to Nicaea, Jesus is being defined in ways that would likely leave him scratching his head. The question isn’t just who Jesus was. It’s who needed him to be what they said he was.

Christianity didn’t just elevate Jesus. It insulated people from him. Turning him into God conveniently removes the pressure of actually following him. If he’s divine in a way you can never be, then you don’t have to wrestle with his humanity or your own. You can worship instead of embody. You can believe instead of live. It’s a brilliant move if your goal is control. Not so great if your goal is transformation.

Strip away the layers of theology, politics, and institutional spin, and you find something far more dangerous than what Christianity preserved. Jesus wasn’t executed for starting a religion. He was executed for disrupting one. He challenged the alliance between religious authority and political power, and he did it without holding any official position himself. That’s what made him dangerous. He didn’t oppose the system by building a rival system. He made the existing one look unnecessary.

The Romans didn’t crucify nobodies. Jesus mattered. Not because he held power, but because he exposed it. His message stirred hope, and hope is not harmless. Hope destabilizes systems that rely on resignation. It wakes people up. It makes them harder to control. Jesus told people to stop outsourcing their authority, to stop deferring to religious gatekeepers, and to trust what was alive and true within themselves. That’s not religion. That’s a direct threat to anyone who benefits from people staying dependent.

Every time Jesus spoke, he was pulling another block out of the structure holding everything in place. He didn’t need an army. He didn’t need a platform. His clarity did the damage. He revealed that the system people thought they needed wasn’t necessary in the way they had been told. And once people start to see that, the whole thing begins to wobble.

What’s ironic is that the religion built in his name ended up doing the opposite of what he did. It rebuilt the very structures he exposed. It reintroduced authority, hierarchy, and dependency, then stamped his name on it for legitimacy. And now, two thousand years later, Jesus is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Talked about endlessly, but rarely recognized.

Jesus might be the most famous missing person in history. Not because he disappeared, but because the institution built around him made sure you wouldn’t find him.

(excerpts, my emphases, Jim Palmer, Inner Anarchy  )

 

*   *   *

Department Of A Blast From The Past

Dateline: January 2025.  A new year; a new project: taking an excerpt from a past blog, from the same time frame (the second Friday of whatever month).  My thought at the time: Perhaps moiself  will like this enough that it will turn out to be a regular blog feature.  So far it has, but time, and my capacity for reruns, will tell.

This journey down memory lane is related to the most convincing reason a YOU-of-all-people-should-write-a-blog-why-aren’t-you-writing-a-blog?!?!?!  [8]   friend gave me, all those years ago,   [9]   as to why I should be writing a blog: a blog would serve as a journal of sorts for my life.  Thus, journal/diary-resistant moiself  would have some sort of a record, or at least a random sampling, of what was on my mind – and possibly what was on the nation’s mind – during a certain period of time.

Now I can, for example, look back to the second Friday of a years-ago April to see what I was thinking. (or as MH put it, WHAT was I thinking!?!? )

 

 

Here is an excerpt from my blog of 4-10-25 ( The Bird I’m Not Calling  ).

Department of Seasonal Poor Taste

Content warning:  Well, duh.

My (belated) Easter sex joke:

He is risen!
He is risen, indeed!  [10]

 

*   *   *

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [11]

“I HAVE AN EASTER challenge for Christians. My challenge is simply this: tell me what happened on Easter. I am not asking for proof. My straightforward request is merely that Christians tell me exactly what happened on the day that their most important doctrine was born.

Believers should eagerly take up this challenge, since without the resurrection, there is no Christianity. Paul wrote, ‘And if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and your faith is also vain…. ‘ (I Corinthians 15:14-15)

The conditions of the challenge are simple and reasonable. In each of the four Gospels, begin at Easter morning and read to the end of the book: Matthew 28, Mark 16, Luke 24, and John 20-21. Also read Acts 1:3-12 and Paul’s tiny version of the story in I Corinthians 15:3-8. These 165 verses can be read in a few moments. Then, without omitting a single detail from these separate accounts, write a simple, chronological narrative of the events between the resurrection and the ascension: what happened first, second, and so on; who said what, when; and where these things happened….”

 

 

Protestants and Catholics seem to have no trouble applying healthy skepticism to the miracles of Islam, or to the ‘historical’ visit between Joseph Smith and the angel Moroni. Why should Christians treat their own outrageous claims any differently?…

[Thomas] Paine points out that everything in the bible is hearsay. For example, the message at the tomb (if it happened at all) took this path, at minimum, before it got to our eyes: God, angel(s), Mary, disciples, Gospel writers, copyists, translators. (The Gospels are all anonymous and we have no original versions.)

But first things first: Christians, either tell me exactly what happened on Easter Sunday, or let’s leave the Jesus myth buried next to Eastre (Ishtar, Astarte), the pagan Goddess of Spring after whom your holiday was named.

( Excerpts, Leave No Stone Unturned: an Easter Challenge for Christians
Freethought Today, by Dan Barker )

 

Then, like now, you’d think somebody at the time would have noticed zombies walking around….

*   *   *

May you enjoy the rites of spring, no matter what natural processes and/or mythical beings you attribute them to;
May you apply a healthy skepticism to all supernatural claims;
May you always notice when zombies are walking around;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] The latter group would not include anyone within a twenty mile radius of my dining table.

[2] Which is why, once my feminist worldview began to develop, I told her it was completely understandable that she never even considering retaining her birth name upon marriage

[3] Which translates into, usually moiself . Things were always happening to moiself .

[4] And although I remember with vivid clarity the conversation that ensued from me sharing that story about the kid being teased re his name, to this day I cannot recall what the kid’s name was – something along the lines of Bart Katz, which of course got turned into Barfing Cats or Fart Cats or the like.

[5] Or fittingly, according to your POV.

[6] When early Christian missionaries encountered the tribes of the north, they attempted to convert them to Christianity and, of course, alter their existing religious observations.  They did so in a clandestine manner, as suggested by church authorities and finally “officialized” in 601 A.D., when Pope Gregory I issued an edict to his missionaries regarding the customs of peoples they wanted to convert. Rather than banish native customs and beliefs, the pope had his missionaries incorporate them (e.g., if people worshipped a tree, rather than cut it down, Greg I advised missionaries to consecrate the tree to Christ).

 

Early Christians holy day observances coincided with celebrations that already existed.  And as with almost all “Christian” holidays, Easter was originally a festival of another religion, and derives from a variety of pagan celebrations.  It made sense to Christians to alter the festival itself, to make it a Christian celebration.   Still, every Easter, many Christian parents are put in the uncomfortable position of having to explain to the kiddies why the torture, execution, and supposed resurrection of Jesus is celebrated with colored eggs and cute widdle bunnies.  Uncomfortable, in that most adult Christians have only a vague clue about the connection.  Some grant that Easter is linked to the Jewish Passover celebration.  However, seeing as how Yahweh didn’t send a plague of egg-hiding rabbits into Egypt, the link seems rather feeble.

 

The name of the holiday, “Easter,” is the name of a pagan goddess, and was identified as the source of the holiday’s name by “The Venerable Bede” (672-735 CE), a Christian theologian (in his book De Ratione Temporum.) The name “Easter” has many variations (Ostare, Ostara, Ostern, Eostra, Eostre, Ester, Eastra, Eastur, Austron, etc.) but all of these come from the same Roman deity, the goddess of the dawn, named “Eos” or “Easter.”

 

[7]  The refutations of that assumption, along with the problems which come from assuming such veracity and/or the reliability of scriptural sources, are just a google search away.

[8] I was adamant about not writing a blog…thus, the title of the blog I eventually decided to write.

[9] Was it really over twelve years ago?

[10] For those not familiar with churchy stuff, this is the traditional Paschal greeting.

[11] “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 Picture Award I’m Not Voting For

March 13, 2026

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, Holidays, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), making fun of lawyers and/or doctors, movies, music, nature, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, reproductive rights, school, science, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Best Picture Award I’m Not Voting For

The only reason I’m not casting my vote for the 2026 Best Picture Oscar is because moiself  is not a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences…either that, or the Academy misplaced my ballot.  Not that it would matter, because I’d do a write-in; that is, I’d vote for a movie that didn’t win last year, because it was egregiously mistakenly not on the ballot: 2024’s The Life of Chuck.

If you hold as truth, as I do, the idea that  we all contain multitudes,   [1]   then all of the movies which existentially and ultimately mean more than diddly-squat   [2]   can be contained in The Life of Chuck.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Helpful Reminders

Tomorrow is Pi Day.  Do you have your recipes ready?  Seeing as how it’s AEDD   [3]   month, y’all can guess what my entrée will feature.

 

“I think she means us!”

*   *   *

Department Of Tomorrow Is Pi Day And Today…

…is a significant day for my circle of loved ones.  Moiself  wasn’t going to mention the significance until I made a…perceptive  typo, if there is such a thing.   [4]

Background info:  every Friday I write and send two letters ( yep, “snail,” in the mail), one to each of my offspring.  I begin each letter with either a haiku or limerick, rotating every week.  This week is a haiku week. The two letters I sent today began by noting the birthday of someone dear to us, who was taken from us way, way, way too soon.  [5]

A Haiku For SEH
A wise life guide is
to “Love ’em while you got ’em.”
And she was so loved….

I can’t write about anything else today, which is SEH’s birthday.  She would have turned 35 today.  She’d have had finished her residency; I like to imagine her working…in one of her several specialties: family medicine; wilderness medicine; reproductive medicine?  She loved the outdoors so much, and was concerned about this country’s eroding reproductive rights and access to medical care in underserved communities….  I like to think she might have stayed in Utah to provide women’s health care there, or in other more restrictive states.  She shone bright in her brief but significant life, and her fabsence is keenly felt.

Yikes, did you see what I just did typed? I decided to let the typo stand; certainly her absence is keenly felt, but IMO she also had a keen  fab sense.

 

“Sarah Elizabeth” English tea rose

 

*   *   *

Department Of I Guess I’ll Never Know The Answer
If I Never Ask The Question

Dateline:  Sunday, ~1p.m., returning from lunch with MH.  As MH steers our car into our driveway an oldie begins playing on the car radio.  I recognize Jimmy Soul’s bouncy 1962 hit,  If You Want To Be Happy.  The song begins with its chorus:

“If you want to be happy for the rest of your life/
Never make a pretty woman your wife/
So for my personal point of view:
Get an ugly girl to marry you…“

The song goes on to extol the virtues of marrying an unattractive woman.  The singer proclaims that, among other plusses, an ugly woman won’t ever leave you ( as per the stereotype, she’ll be grateful for any attention she receives, ’cause no one else would want her ).  Oh, and she’ll be a great cook.

 Har de har har!

The first time I heard that song ( Junior high?  It was already an oldie) moiself  was appalled.  When I expressed my distaste for the lyrics, a guy friend accused me of being a Women’s Libber With No Sense Of Humor® ( “Oh c’mon, it’s an old song; a light-hearted joke of the times… “ ).

Skip to decades later, to the day when daughter Belle came home from high school in a grumpy mood.  She told me about a boy who’d been sent home to get a change of clothing because he’d shown up to school wearing a t-shirt with a slogan on it that another boy objected to as being racist.  What gave Belle the grumpies was that the previous week, when she and another girl had gone to the administration to complain about a couple of troglodytes male students who harassed female students and wore t-shirts with misogynistic slogans (e.g., with a drawing of a boy ordering a girl to “Shut up and make me a sandwich”   [6]  ), they were told by said administrative spineless lackies personnel that what those boys were doing wasn’t “illegal” and that there was nothing the school could ( read: would ) do about that.

 

 

I sadly confirmed to my daughter what experience was already teaching her.  Yep, you are not imagining things: there’s a hierarchy of political and cultural concern with discriminatory  isms and ists.  Something deemed as racist is seen as worse than something deemed as sexist.  It’s not (or shouldn’t be) a contest; still, isms/ists are often pitted against one another, as many a Black feminist has attested.

“As a black woman I’ve been told that…I’m supposed to be black first and stand in solidarity with black men. Focus on the impact of racism, specifically on racism that negatively impacts black men. Stop bringing up sexism so much.”   [7]

If the student at Belle’s school had worn a short with a drawing of a white boy ordering a black boy to Shut Up And Go Pick Me Some Cotton, he’d be sent home/ordered to change his shirt and possibly even suspended.  But wearing a shirt with a slogan meant to put a female in/remind her of “her place” – somehow, that was acceptable, or at least tolerable.

On the rare occasions when I hear that Jimmy Soul song – which still receives airplay on Oldies stations – I think of what moiself  has long wanted to ask someone who whistles along to the up-tempo ditty:  What if, instead of referencing a sexist stereotype of the early 60s, the If You Want To Be Happy song contained a 1962-ish, “light-hearted” reference to racism?  Would the song have even gotten airplay, then or now?  If it got airplay today, would its dodgy lyrics be excused as a relic of the times? Ala….

“If you want to be happy for the rest of your life,
Never make a light-skinned woman your wife,
So for my personal point of view,
Get a colored girl to marry you…”

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of A Blast From The Past

Dateline: January 2025.  A new year; a new project: taking an excerpt from a past blog, from the same time frame (the second Friday of whatever month).  My thought at the time: Perhaps moiself  will like this enough that it will turn out to be a regular blog feature.  So far it has, but time, and my capacity for reruns, will tell.

This journey down memory lane is related to the most convincing reason a YOU-of-all-people-should-write-a-blog-why-aren’t-you-writing-a-blog?!?!?!  [8]   friend gave me, all those years ago,   [9]   as to why I should be writing a blog: a blog would serve as a journal of sorts for my life.  Thus, journal/diary-resistant moiself  would have some sort of a record, or at least a random sampling, of what was on my mind – and possibly what was on the nation’s mind – during a certain period of time.

Now I can, for example, look back to the second Friday of a years-ago March to see what I was thinking. (or as MH put it,  WHAT was I thinking!?!? )

 


Here is an excerpt from my blog of 3-14-14 (  The Book I’m Not Stealing ) – two excerpts, actually, both of them book-related:

“The first duty of a revolutionary is to get away with it.”
― Abbie Hoffman, Steal This Book

A long long time ago in a galaxy far far away….

Okay, it was 1971.  American anti-war activist Abbie Hoffman wrote and published Steal This Book.  As intrigued as I was at the time – by the “counter culture” and social activism of the late 60-s–mid 70’s in general and by Hoffman’s cheeky chutzpah in particular – I declined to pilfer Hoffman’s prose.  Stealing anything was not something I was inclined to do.  I also did not buy his book because how in good conscience could I lawfully purchase a book that was, essentially if puckishly, advising me not to do so?

Thirty-three years later I find myself wondering: who, if anyone, bought that book?

 

*   *   *
(  second excerpt   [10]  )

Belle leaned against the doorway to my office, respectfully but insistently reminding me that I’d agreed to donate copies of two of my books (my short fiction collection This Here and Now and my juvenile novel, The Mighty Quinn) to her friend A’s senior project…and…uh… A needs those books, now.  Up in the attic, searching for a box to put the books in, I remembered I had copies of another book of mine – “mine” in the sense that my writing was in it, even if my name wasn’t on the cover – to donate.

 

 

Feminist Parenting: Struggles, Triumphs and Comic Interludes (The Crossing Press, 1994) – has it really been twenty years since its publication?  My contribution to the anthology was an essay  [11]  wherein I juxtaposed the naming of my soon-to-be firstborn, K, with how I chose names for my fictional characters.  I was honored to have my contribution included along with a variety of essays, stories, and poems – selections from literary luminaries like Robin Morgan and Anna Quindlen, [12] and literary ordinaries like…well, like me.

The publisher-arranged publicity for the book consisted of readings by the anthology’s contributing writers, held at select locations throughout the country.  There were enough contributors from the Pacific Northwest to do a reading in Oregon, which took place one stormy January evening in Eugene, at the erstwhile vanguard of independent feminist bookstores, Mother Kali’s.  [13]

 

May Mother Kali recommend some light reading-perhaps a political satire or a wacky historical romance?

 

MH, sitting in the in audience with our son K on his lap, later noted that I was the only one of the speakers F-parenting in what (used to be) the normative child producing/rearing relationship:  I was a woman married to a man with whom I was raising our child.  There were four of the anthology’s contributors present: One lesbian mom, two divorced/single moms, and moiself -mom.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

*   *   *



 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [14]

 

 

*   *   *

May you find a way to use diddly-squat in conversation today;
May you know what it feels like to be the least normative in a crowd;
May you remember to love ’em while you got ’em;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] As per the movie’s “I contain multitudes” reference, from the Walt Whitman poem, “Song of Myself“.

[2] Sorry to get with all the graduate-level philosophy concepts.

[3] Asparagus Every Damn Day, as noted in the previous week’s blog.

[4] And now, I think there is.

[5] She was murdered, seven years ago.  I wrote about it here: “The Life I’m Not Mourning”  and here: The Speculation I’m Not Endorsing; and here: The Reality I’m Not Denying.

[6] The phrase has various attributed origins ( including a 1995 SNL skit ); whether it is aimed at feminists in particular or women in general, it plays off the sexist idea that it’s a woman’s place to be in the kitchen serving her husband or boyfriend.

[7] ( [Why] Do you think Black Men aren’t trusting of Feminists or on-board with Feminism as a movement?  Reddit.com/r/AskFeminists )

[8] I was adamant about not writing a blog…thus, the title of the blog I eventually decided to write.

[9] Was it really over twelve years ago?

[10] I wasn’t (consistently) using the Department Of format then)

[11] “What’s in a Name?  Ask My Pal, Barry.”

[12]  I particularly enjoyed Quindlen’s essay, “What About the Boys?”

[13] I know, I know.  The bookstore was named in the 70’s, okay?

[14] “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 Hidden Power I’m Not Doubting

February 6, 2026

Robyn Parnell family life, freethought/humanism, friends, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), making fun of Norwegians and/or the Irish, Me so happy, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, travel, TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

Department Of First Things First

One of my favorite dates is today.  Happy Birthday, She-Who-Was-Not-Intimidated-By-The-Rope-Swing-On-The-Treehouse-Deck.   [1]

 

 

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Department Of Why I Will Be A Couch Potato (Luger?) For The Next Three Weeks

The Winter Olympics begin today.

 

Bring on the Norwegians!

 

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Department Of Human Interaction Is Sometimes Disguised As
– or Enhanced By – a Non Sequitur

Dateline:  Tuesday morning; circa 10 am; The Dollar Tree Store‘s Birthday greeting cards section.  [2]   Moiself  is picking out birthday cards, a lot of ’em. To an uninformed observer it might seem that I am choosing them at random, dumping them in my handbasket…but this is not so.  There is method to my madness.  As I grab one card two envelopes come with it, and the extra envelope flutters to the floor.  Only when I reach down to retrieve it do I realize that a woman is standing next to me, in front of the Valentine’s Day card section.

“Excuse me,” I say, as I lean over to pick up the miscreant envelope, which has landed just to the right of her right foot.  “I didn’t mean to fling an empty envelope in your direction.”

She smiles, looks at my handbasket, and I expect her to remark on the number of cards in it (which will eventually total 30).  Instead, she replies, “My daughter was unable to have children, so she adopted four dogs.  I get them all cards for every holiday and special occasion.”

 

 

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Department Of Few People Say It Better Than Greta Christina   [3]

“Dear Republicans,

Apparently some of you are having second thoughts. Recent events have led you to question your commitment to Trumpism, and even move away from it. A line has been crossed for you, and you can no longer accept the direction the country is going in.

Am I glad about this? Yes. Do I want you to step away from Trump and the Republican Party, to rethink the path you’ve been on and walk it back? Yes….

But as you walk back this path, you need to realize that it’s not going to be covered with rose petals. A lot of people are extremely angry with you, and we have every right to be. You have done a great deal of harm. The Republican Party has done a great deal of harm — not just in the last month, it’s been doing great harm for a long time — and you’ve been part of that. When you’ve hurt people badly, you need to do more than just say “Oops” and expect to be forgiven. You need to work to fix the harm you’ve done. And the greater the harm, the more work you have to do….

 

 

We warned you this was coming. Even the Republican Party warned you this was coming: the Project 2025 document spelled out their plans in detail. You chose not to listen. Moving forward, you need to be willing to listen. You need to do the kind of listening that involves not talking. You need to not get defensive, not try to justify your actions. You need to stop saying, ‘I didn’t vote for this!’  You absolutely voted for this.”

( excerpts from author, activist, blogger Greta Christina’s
Dear Republicans 1-28-26, my emphases )

*   *   *

Department Of The Hidden Power Of Doubt

“What do you do when you’re not sure?”
( from opening monologue, Doubt:  A Parable, a play by John Patrick Shanley )

 

Last week the podcast Hidden Brain concluded their You 2.0 series   [4]  with, as per the podcast website’s intro,  “…a look at the hidden power of doubt — not as weakness or indecision, but as a tool that helps us make better choices and navigate an uncertain world.”

The episode opens with the story of the little known letter General Eisenhower wrote on the eve of the allied invasion of Normandy, Operation Overlord, aka, D-Day. There were so many factors at play – including the weather – and an allied victory was far from certain.  Eisenhower drafted what he dreaded, should he have to announce that the mission had failed.  When it became apparent that Operation Overlord was succeeding, Eisenhower crumpled the letter and tossed it in his office trash can.  His military secretary retrieved the letter and kept it, allowing history to see what (IMO) was the true leadership of the man.

“Our landings in the Cherbourg-Havre area have failed to gain a satisfactory foothold and I have withdrawn the troops. My decision to attack at this time and place was based on the best information available. The troops, the air and the Navy did all that bravery and devotion to duty could do. If any blame or fault attaches to the attempt it is mine alone.”   [5]

 

 

Time machine to the present:  can you imagine the so-called leader we have today ( The Tantrum-Throwing-Toddler-in-Chief ) writing something like that – taking responsibility so succinctly and directly?  #47 will go to his corpulent casket carping and whining and kicking, blaming others for the political, moral, financial and cultural devastation he leaves in his wake.

Yet again, I digress.

HB podcast host Shankar Vedantam and his guest go on to talk about the power of doubt, which is something we tend not to associate with the stereotype of leadership (confident; decisive; never wavering; unwilling to back down).

“We don’t think of strong leaders as hesitant, doubtful, or unsure of the right answers.   Confidence and determination are admirable traits.  But they also have drawbacks.  Confidence can lead to overconfidence; decisiveness can make leaders less likely to be tolerant of dissent; determination can blind us to risks.
At the University of Virginia’s Darden College of Business, [Bobby] Parmar studies the value of doubt.  He says that by avoiding uncertainty, we miss out on opportunities for growth.”
(excerpts, You 2.0: Trusting Your Doubt,  Hidden Brain Staff / January 26, 2026  )

It’s a thought-provoking presentation of a compelling subject.  Two thumbs up for podcast listeners.

 

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Department Of Learning To Lie In Another Language

 Ég  skil  íslensku.

Funny how one of the first phrases I learned in my Plimsleur language app, which I’ve been struggling through like a stuttering pig using daily since last Wednesday, is a total lie:   I understand Icelandic.

 

Yeah, fluency is just around the corner.

 

Adding to the hoax is that five minutes after learning how to say,  I do not understand Icelandic, I have forgotten how to say, I do not understand Icelandic.

Just about every Icelander speaks English ( Ninety-eight plus %! English is a compulsory subject in Icelandic schools ), but still, I want to be a gracious visitor when we go there this summer.  I think this trying-to-learn-some-conversational-Icelandic is going to be one of those things where I have to repeat lesson one seven times before moving on. 

About speaking Icelandic. Knowing that fact (that Icelanders speak English), then bothering to learn to say in Icelandic, Excuse me, do you speak English?  while perhaps respectful in intent, could easily come off as, to an Icelander, Why is this doofus butchering my language when it is totally unnessary to do so?  Obviously, if I’ve bothered to learn anything about the country (including from when MH and I were there three summers ago), I should know that any Icelander whom I address will speak far better English than I speak Icelandic. 

I wish the language course would start off by teaching Icelandic cusswords.  That would be more inspiring.  Of course, there is the internet, where I discovered, farðu í rassgat, which you would hurl as an insult when you are in the kind of situation where you want to advise someone to crawl up your own asshole.  Perhaps I’ll save that one for the United States customs agents.

 

“May your urine burn, you cowardly goat,” will be my backup curse.

*   *   *

Department Of Cool Story, Bro…    [6]

When I recently saw this spot-on summation of Christian theology I was reminded of an acquaintance who, when I came out decades ago as religion-free, resorted to the believers’ last tactic:  when you can’t counter facts and logic and rationality, use fear ( of something only the religious believe in – hellfire/damnation  [7]  ).  He was not amused when moiself, using the following synopsis to do so, laughingly confirmed that I was indeed rejecting his god’s plan for “salvation.”

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [8]

“Is man one of God’s blunders? Or is God one of man’s blunders?   [9]
Faith: not wanting to know what is true.
The Christian resolution to find the world ugly and bad
has made the world ugly and bad.
God is a thought who makes crooked all that is straight.”

(  Friedrich Nietzsche , as quoted in  The Very Best of Friedrich Nietzsche: Quotes from a Great Thinker, by David Graham,)

 

 

*   *   *

May you remember to fix the harm you’ve done when you realize you’ve done harm;
May you, as much as possible, not find yourself in farðu í rassgat situations;
May you resolve not to find the world ugly and bad;
…and may the hijinks ensue.    [10]

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Belle can still give you the badass, stinkeye look, should the occasion call for it.

[2] Two for $1!

[3] GC is an author, blogger, speaker, LGBTQ and atheist activist.

[4] The podcast does an annual series, at the end of the old/beginning of the new year, exploring the latest in evidence-based understandings offered by behavioral scientists – understandings which may help people improve their lives via establishing good habits/getting rid of bad habits, overcoming emotional, romantic, career-related, and cognitive challenges, etc.

[5] Note that the draft was dated July 5th. In 1966, when the question about this date was put to him, Einsenhower indicated that it was a minor mistake on his part and that he had actually written it on June 5, 1944.  (from D-Day Overlord, Encyclopaedia of the D-Day landings and the Battle of Normandy )

[6] Not.

[7] It’s a knee slapper, when you think about it:  they try to make *you* afraid of something  that is in fact *their* greatest fear, something which you don’t thing about at all, like pissing off Santa claus.

[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 serious stuff; no need for a footnote.

[10] See previous footnote.

The Movie I’m Not Casting

January 23, 2026

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, current events, freethought/humanism, friends, general ruminations, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, music, nature, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, The Write Stuff (literary life), TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Movie I’m Not Casting

Department Of Movie Directors Looking For Their Next Project

“I worked for somebody that is probably borderline clinical psychopath.  Definitely a narcissist,” said Tony Nissen, a former engineering director at OceanGate.  “How do you manage a person like that who owns the company?”

( excerpt, , The New OceanGate Documentary Dives into the Depths of the Titan Submersible Tragedy.  And it points a finger at CEO Stockton Rush.
Esquire, 6-11-25, by  Eric Francisco )

 

 

Dateline:  I’ve been getting reacquainted with last year’s riveting Netflix documentary, Titan: The OceanGate Submersible Disaster, ten to fifteen minutes at a time, while working out on the elliptical the past few mornings.  [1]  Monday circa 11-11:30 am, I get an AHA flash:  This has to be done.

This being, making a theatrical movie based on the documentary.

Maybe it’s already on some producer’s proverbial drawing board; moiself  thought it ( the first time I saw it, and even more so, as I’m rewatching it.  The story – of the foreseeable and even inevitable implosion of a submersible designed and operated by the American  company OceanGate during a 2023 expedition to view the wreck of the Titanic –  is a Shakespearean fairy tale in scope, with its themes of ambition, ego, hubris, obstinance, punitive pettiness.  OceanGate founder and CEO Stockton Rush was the emperor who wouldn’t listen to his dressers despite desperately needing new clothes for his submersible ride.

Perhaps Kathleen Kennedy, Steven Spielberg’s longtime production partner ( Amblin Entertainment ), and Lucasfilm director would consider coming out of her newly-announced-retirement to oversee this project?

Kathleen, call me.  Let’s do lunch and discuss the details.

 

 

First things first, Kathleen ( do you prefer Kath, or Kathy? ):  nail down the director.  Who can handle the technical aspects of filming given the difficult set” (the deep ocean) without sacrificing the primacy of storyline and character; who has a proven record of maintaining that level of tension and interest while telling a “true” story, despite the audience already knowing the ending?  Why, it’s your sister in K, Kathryn Bigelow.

I also have a few casting suggestions:

* Sign Josh Brolin for the lead role.  With his hair dyed white, I can totally envision Brolin channeling Rush’s primal arrogance and aspirations to be a BSD ( “Big Swingin’ Dick” ) like the billionaires Rush admired ( read: Elon Musk; Jeff Bezos );

* Zoe Kazan would be heart-tuggingly excellent as Emily Hammermeister, OceanGate’s assistant to the lead engineer, whose growing concerns about the viability of the submersible were ignored and suppressed, leading to her resignation; 

* Palestinian-American actor and standup comedian Mo Amer would nail it as Joseph Assi, a videographer hired by Rush to film OceanGate’s expeditions; 

* either Simon Pegg or Chris Pine would bring different but equally compelling portrayals of Tony OceanGate engineer Tony Nissen, who was fired by Rush after questioning him about the submersible’s defects;   [2]

* English actor Stephen Graham to play the Scottish engineer David Lochridge , OceanGate’s Director of Marine Operations submersible pilot, who was fired by Rush after warning questioning him about design and safety features.

 

Given the proven track record of both Ks, I’ll let them handle the rest.

 

“…and I owe these awards to Robyn Parnell, who insisted I take on this project and who refused to take screen writing credit despite her many helpful edits to the script….”

*   *   *

Department Of About All Those Uncured Cancers – My Bad

 

 

Moiself  recently reposted this on FB.  I thought of prefacing it with,“Had I written this I would have added the modifier intercessory before prayer,” but you know how that goes (I went on to watch some dancing kitten reel).

 

 

Some FB friends thought I was being rather harsh, including one who wrote, “Prayer may not be for everyone but if a person thinks it help (sic) them, who am I to say ‘no.’ ”  Moiself  is not advocating that we all break into little old lady’s homes and take away their prayer shawls.  As I assured my friend, moiself  simply reminds folks that seemingly benign beliefs practices, such as intercessory prayer, have unintentional but harmful consequences.

“…had I written that, I would’ve modified prayers by adding  intercessory. Prayers for one’s own personal… Enjoyment? Enhancement? Meditative purposes? Fine; whatever floats your boat. But for intercessory purposes, and public announcements of concern ( “I’m praying for the victims of the school, shooting” ), offering prayers is ineffective (and therefore insulting, IMO) and dangerous in that “praying for…” whatever fools people into believing constructive action has been taken when nothing of substance has been done.”

Confession:  back in the day, I was asked to be on my church’s prayer chain.  The workings of such vary from church to church, but in general, a prayer chain or group or committee is a group of people in a church who take prayers requests (via telephone or text, e.g. ) and share them with others in the group, starting with the primary contact who  then shares the request with, creating an unbroken link (“chain”) chain” where each person in the supposedly prays for the request and then passes on the information in a prearranged ( Leader of the group passes on the info to person A, who contacts person B, who contacts….)

 

 

Moiself  accepted the invitation, even as I told the person who invited me (the pastor of my very liberal UCC church, who knew I was a troublemaker freethinker/skeptic)  that I viewed prayer chains as being, essentially, a neighborhood news site for religious folk, who can’t seem to justify action unless there’s some god connection (I left out that second part).

The prayer chain served as a bulletin board/clearing house for news & needs of members and friends of the congregation, from “Alex and Jenny have become first time grandparents!”  to “Bill has just received a cancer diagnosis,” to “Mary’s had knee replacement surgery,” and all the  “joys and sorrows.” in between.

I never – nope, not once  – stopped to pray for the particular need shared when it was passed along to me.    [3]  [4]   Before passing on the information to the next person on the chain I used the tidbit of information I‘d received to brainstorm whether or not there was something I, or someone I knew, could do to help:

* I’ll send a card to Alex & Jenny, or bring them a batch of their favorite cookies to celebrate their good news…

* MH and I can check and see if Bill is going to need a ride to and from his radiation therapy treatments, or if he’d like a friend to play cards with him in the waiting room, or have some meals brought in…

* Mary might need someone to take the cans out to the curb for her on recycling day, or do her grocery shopping while she recovers, or mow her lawn…

It is the knowledge of a situation, of a need, that spurs the reaction which is needed, which is action – not sitting on one’s arse (or groveling on one’s knees), beseeching a nonexistent at best ( or if existent, indifferent, as per all available evidence ), supernatural/sky wizard.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Random Thoughts On Yet Another Reason Why
Not Only Prayer But Religious Belief Itself Is Not Benign

Some critics of religion (or even mildly religious folk themselves) say, What’s the harm in religion, as long as people keep it to themselves and don’t try to have their religious beliefs influence science education, or public policy or whatever?

 

“Hey, good point!”

 

The thing is, any belief in an omniscient/all-powerful deity carries an inherent, ineffective counter to despotism.  After all, if you believe your god is all-powerful and ultimately in charge, the rising fascist in your government…well , he can reasonably claim to be part of your god’s plan…or at least, he is able to be “used” by your god for reasons that might not seem clear at the time.  Throughout history, kings and tyrants have appealed to that reasoning:  “I am here because your god wants (or at least allows) it.  Therefore, to oppose me is to oppose your god.”

 

 

No; seriously.  I’ve heard and read Christians using that “reasoning” to justify the Orange Turdfurher.  They bolster their claim with biblical stories of supremely flawed kings; e.g.,

* King David, who arranged for the husband of a married woman he desired to be killed in battle after he summoned, bedded, and impregnated her  [5]

* King Solomon, who along with his three hundred (300) concubines married seven hundred ( yep, 700 ) wives from the nations his god warned the Israelites never to enter into marriages with, lest they turn away their hearts after their gods (guess what?  they did) , and who used forced labor to build the temple and his own palace, ad nauseum….    [6]

The justification goes,  …”if god was able to use them, he is able to use #47.”

 

 

I so wish I was making this up.

*   *   *

Department Of My Reactions Which Reveal To Moiself  My Low Opinion Of Many Of My Fellow Earthlings

Dateline:  last week watching an episode of Love On The Spectrum.  LOTS, as per its Netflix description is about, “Young adults on the autism spectrum look for true love in this documentary series that ‘revels in the plain, beautiful truths of courtship.’  ” I’d seen LOTS a year or so ago, but didn’t remember all the details. Considering what was in the news I wanted a pick-me-up and I’ve found a series to be…sweet, and good hearted, in many ways.

There was a moment when a couple, both on the autism spectrum, were having a dinner date which was going well, and they decided to extend their time together by going for a walk along the waterfront.  They were both being exuberant and happy and quirky, and overly loud, at least according to most neurodivergent folks’ standards…  I began to get a fearful (but sadly realistic) feeling in the pit of my stomach, centered around the nasty reality of The World We Live In ®:

If those two cheerfully boisterous young people were out on their own, on this date, in public, without a camera crew to protect them, they could be a target for some cretinous person or persons who, for their own cretinous reasons, would the couples’ differences upsetting or offensive.
In plain speak:  the autistic lovebirds would be at risk for assault.

And by persons, I mean, a man, or most likely, two or more men.

 

 

Think about the reports when something like this happens. It’s not a woman, or a group of women friends, who, while out for a stroll along the waterfront or downtown, see another single person or a couple and decide that they are somehow different or offensive or whatever and hassles and/or even beats them up.

And yeah, sorry guys:   it’s not all men ®…but it’s always a man.

 

Some of the LOTS participants.

 

*   *   *

Department Of How Do You Say The Orange Turdführer Venezuelan Spanish?

Haven’t written about this because there are no words.

Oh, wait, of course there are words.  And Congress needs to enforce them unless they lose whatever remaining power they have.

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [7]

 

 

*   *   *

May you get out ASAP when you realize your boss is a psychopath;
May you examine whether or not your beliefs are benign;
May you encourage your congressfolk to use their words;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

*   *   *

[1] Trying to get my foot back in shape post-foot surgery.

[2] “I told him I’m not getting in it,” former OceanGate engineering director Tony Nissen said to a panel of Coast Guard investigators, referring to a 2018 conversation in which CEO Stockton Rush allegedly asked Nissen to act as a pilot in an upcoming expedition to the Titanic.  ( ‘I Told Him I’m Not Getting in It’: Former Titan Submersible Engineer Testifies, Sep 16, 2024, Wired, Science section )

[3] I think I was third or fourth in the chain.

[4] So when bill succumbed to his tumor…yep, that was my fault.

[5] Found in 2 Samuel 11-12

[6] Stories found in 1 Kings 9:15-23, 11:1-10)

[7] “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 Name I’m Not Hyphenating

January 16, 2026

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, extended family, family life, freethought/humanism, friends, health & wellness, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), politics, reproductive rights, school, science, The Write Stuff (literary life), TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , Comments Off on The Name I’m Not Hyphenating

Department Of The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name…
If It’s Hyphenated

Dateline: Monday morning.  Starting my morning reading the she’s-brilliant-because-moiself-almost-always-approves-of-her-advice  Carolyn Hax’s WAPO column.  The first advice seeker of the morning, “Expecting,” wrote about an issue near and dear to the cockles of my heart: deciding the surname of one’s children when both married partners have “kept” their names:

 My husband and I are expecting our first baby. I didn’t change my name when we got married, so we need to decide what last name to give our child. I’m pretty adamant that we hyphenate, though I don’t really care about order. I’m also open to giving the child some new last name that combines both our names….It’s important to me that we both be identified as equal parents to our child and that there’s no subtle preference given to one parent/family or the other.

My husband thinks we’d be setting our kid up for a lifetime of confusion and challenges by hyphenating. He says when our child gets married, having a hyphen name will cause all kinds of problems. My perspective is that we don’t know that our child will get married at all, and if they do, they can figure it out then! Husband wants to give the kid his last name and have my last name as a middle name, which from my perspective perpetuates sexist ideas about male ownership and lineage…

Is there some other option we’re not thinking of? Are there really problems with hyphenating that I’m not taking seriously?

Hax, as is her wont, has some fun with her opening remarks, while laying the groundwork for addressing the issue-behind-the-issue:

 Expecting:

Hyphens do add some challenges, but it’s not exactly Everest without mittens.

I’ve known dozens of hyphenated people personally, professionally and by association, and none of them were, to my knowledge, wandering around lost in corridors due to failures of identification.

Non-facetiously, none of them to my knowledge have chosen to streamline to one name out of bureaucratic frustration. Hyphenating has been yawned at as within the range of normal naming conventions for decades. Some people and forms will get it wrong, yes. People also get my name wrong every. day. and it’s not hyphenated.   [1]    Or even long. So if your husband hits upon the Great Unscrewuppable Name, then please share. I might switch….

( excerpts, my emphases, Carolyn Hax 1-12-26,
“Husband sees hyphenating name for fairness as too much of a hassle” )

 

 

One of moiself’s many mottos is,  Who knows (or cares) what people say behind your back.   Behind-my-back- criticism of moiself  and/or my life decisions is fine.  If it’s behind my back, well then, I’m not meant to hear it, am I?  Not my chickens, not my circus.  

 

You can have monkeys in *your* circus, if you like.  Thanks to friend CC, my circus has chickens.

 

To my knowledge/memory I didn’t get any blowback from my side of the family when I kept my surname after marrying MH.  [2]   As to what was said in-front-of-my-back, it came from MH’s family.  After we married there were a couple from testy remarks from MH’s mother and maternal grandmother regarding me keeping my surname.  And both women, when they sent written correspondence to us, addressed the envelope to “Mr. and Mrs. MH” and/or “Robyn and MH.”  They used some version of what I came to think of as my  manhandle; they did this despite us telling them that my name was my name, and despite our having arranged for the officiant of our wedding to end the ceremony by introducing us, “…as wife and husband, Robyn Parnell and MH.”  There was also MH’s uncle, who introduced me to one of his children using  not-my-last-name, despite my having seem him the previous year at a family holiday gathering, where he, and my future MIL and G-MIL, introduced me to their friends and family as, “Robyn Parnell, MH’s friend….”

After a couple of months of this, MH wrote to his mother and grandmother, requesting that they grant me (and him) – the simple courtesy of referring to me by my actual name.

At the beginning of this surname silliness I told a friend how odd it was, to find out that certain people…

“…had no problem remembering my name – two words, four syllables total – when I was single. Then, I get married, and boom – their brain’s long-term memory storage capacity immediately decreased by a couple thousand neurons.  Apparently, it’s my heretofore unrealized superpower.”

My lasso of forgetfulness commands your obedience.

After MH’s request for some R-E-S-P-E-C-T for his wife, I received a three-page letter, from his mother, addressed solely to moiself.  The letter began as such letters begin, with compliments paving the way for the critique.  MIL praised my many fine and unique qualities!!!…and assured me that none of those qualities would be diminished by me showing my love for my husband by assuming a common surname.    [3]

While MH was mortified by the letter ( hellyeah, I showed it to him ), I was…thrilled …is the proper word.  His mother was bothered by this issue – so, don’t let it fester, let’s address it and be done with it.  I like This Kinda Stuff® to be out in the open and on paper.  Unlike phone or even one-on-one conversations, where one party can later deny (or honestly forget) what they said, or accuse you of putting words in their mouth, if it’s in print, there it is.   [4]  My MIL’s letter gave me the opportunity to articulately eviscerate her archaic, patriarchal, women-marginalizing judgements lovingly and firmly refute her “reasoning,” and educate her as to current and historical practices and cultural and personal assumptions behind the giving and taking of surnames.   [5]  Sure, a simple, This is so none of your beeswax  might have sufficed, but the former was so much more fun.

 

(one of the thirty-plus bumper stickers on our old Honda Odyssey)

 

I cannot find that letter to my MIL in my computer files (I save all such correspondence; however, it seems it didn’t survive a systems update from many years ago).  But the sentiments I expressed to her were similarly (if less personally) addressed in a letter I sent, many years later, to one of my favorite magazines, Brain,Child: the magazine for thinking mothers.  This was in regards to an article that appeared in Brain,Child‘s   Debate feature.  My letter    [6]   was published in their Letters to the Editor section.

Liz Breslin (Debate, Does a Family Need to Share a Surname? Winter 2009) claims she is a feminist, but that her intention to take her future husband’s surname “…is not a feminist issue for me.  It’s a family one.”

Say what?  Since when are feminism and family issues separate?

Breslin feels that a family should share a surname.  As for those who feel the same and do so by blending names she declares, “Think of the strife involved in that…it sounds fine, but it causes issues in school…at the doctor’s office…whether it’s right or not, our wider administrative world operates largely on an assumption that a family shares the same name.”

Ms. Breslin ( Mrs. Soon-to-be-His-Last-Name? ) needs to get out more.  The “administrative world” deals quite effectively, every day, with blended, step- and foster families, whose inhabitants often have three or more differing surnames.

My husband made the bold step of keeping his name when we married (Oh yeah, so did I).  Our children share a blended name, and we refer to ourselves collectively using that name, as the ___ family.  Who knows (or cares) what people say behind our backs, but we’ve had nothing but positive comments to our fronts:

“Oh, I get it!”

“How clever!”

“We’ll remember your family!”
(And guess what?  They do.).

It has caused us no trouble, nor even inconvenience.   Even if it did, how long does it take to say, “I’m Robyn Parnell, Belle _____’s mother”   [7]  when you call the doctor or meet your kid’s teacher?

Any cultural anthropologist (or weekend genealogist) can tell you that naming customs have varied, all over the world for all of recorded history, and somehow, people have always been able to keep track of who belongs with whom.

Like Breslin, I am also a writer of short stories.  I would point out to her that, more important than any alleged administrative inconvenience is the story that your choice of a surname tells, regarding to what or whom your family is and belongs.  Few things are more personal than your name; it is part of your life story.   Sure, your surname is (most likely) your father’s.  But it’s your father’s, not someone else’s father’s name.

If you take your husband’s name, some people will judge you…just as they should, because you call yourself a feminist but cling to the most personal aspect of traditionalism.   Feminism has always involved thinking outside the box re the ways people structure relationships.  “Giving away” your name makes a statement, whether you intend that or not, which is why women in many cultures and countries are not allowed to keep their surnames.

Don’t take your rights for granted; don’t say you’re a feminist when you go for the traditional, patriarchal choice.  Proclaiming feminism only to “give away” your name tells your children and the world something very basic, even Orwellian:  all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

If you really want to share the same name with your husband, both of you can change your names.  After all, it is a new family unit you’re creating, isn’t it?  You can look into your joint family histories, or favorite books or mythologies, until you find a name you both like and both change your surname (we have several friends who’ve done this; again, the “wider administrative world” has not imploded).  Many options are consistent with a feminist world view. Taking his name isn’t one of them.    [8]

BTW and FYI, re that pesky administrative world:   do you realize that if you take hubby’s name you’ll have to change or append your driver’s license, passport, bank account information, medical records, credit cards, your country’s version of a social security card, and…?

Robyn Parnell, Hillsboro, OR
( excerpt, 12-19-08 Letter to the Editor, Brain,Child magazine )

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of One More Observation

Re the letter to Carolyn Hax: the person who objects to a hyphenated or “kept” surname usually wraps their disapproval and/or digging-in-for-the-sake-of-digging-in with the excuse of concern for the future confusion of all of those anonymous, administrative hasslin’, judgmental, *other* people.  Cue the pearl-clutching, “But, what about the children??!?!?!?” …

 

 

…which thinly masquerades as a criticism of your choice to keep…your own fucking name.

If you are married or single, no matter what you did or did not or will or will not choose if you marry, let us all take a meditative millisecond to consider the breathtaking absurdity of why this should even be an issue: keeping Your. Own. Name.

 

 

When this pearl-clutching comes from the wimmenfolk in the family, it is often, IMO, because they take your decision to keep your birth name as an implied criticism of *their* decision to take their husband’s family name…as if they even had a true/no pressure option to choose, back in my MIL’s day.  Or even today, when the patriarchal norms of ownership and possession, of who “counts” in a relationship and whose relationship/family this really is, still linger like the festering odor from that July 4 BBQ when your Uncle Anuss used rancid bacon grease to fry the catfish.

 

 

One of Carolyn Hax’s readers pointed out

Re: Hyphen: I am feeling like this is just a matter of U.S. society getting used to the idea. The Brits have had names like Harumpher Stinkly-Blowhardington for centuries, and they seem to have it figured out.

I read that comment and thought, DANG, I missed the boat!  After all these years….I could’ve told MH’s family I was British and intended to honor my roots by reverting to my original family surname, Petardhoister-Snotsbury-Flapjackington. 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Welcome Mindfulness, Lovingkindness, And Compassion,
But Leave Them At The Door, Along With Your Shoes

At my recent  post-op appointment   [9]   I obtained my doctor’ ok to do some gentle yoga.  But, until my next appointment/assessment of my foot’s healing, any exercise I do – including just walking around in my own home – cannot be barefooted.

Barefoot is the norm for most yoga studios, although I’ve seen yogis wearing socks (and even what looked like ballet slippers) in the classroom during class.  Last week moiself  emailed the owner of the yoga studio where I (up until eight weeks ago) attended classes, re my intent to return to class.  I explained my limitation and asked whether my wearing light-but-supportive shoes (not street shoes) in the classroom was kosher.

I didn’t hear back from him for several days.  I’ve been a studio member since 2017; his replies to emails have always been prompt; thus, I assumed things were copacetic and signed up for the Wednesday evening class.  He got back to me Monday.  His response, after congratulating me on my healing:

“This question has come up before and we have to be consistent. There aren’t any types of shoes allowed in the classroom. Shoes and cell phones in the classroom is what we hear the most about. One time a student didn’t take their shoes off to put their mat down in the classroom. It bothered someone so much, the student followed the other student down the hallway after class to express their feelings.”

 

 

I replied that I understand, and hope to be back in class after my next month’s post-op appointment.  But… Holy Obsessively Mindful Stalker.

What I understand is that the studio has a no-shoes-in-class policy.  What I do not understand is a no-exceptions policy which cannot be modified when a student has exceptional circumstances.  What I cannot understand – what I cannot wrap my blissful brain around – is that a yoga student followed another student down the hallway after class to “express their feelings” about such a trivial matter…a matter which, if it truly was a problem (to anyone other than that one anal-retentive complaining student), should have been handled by the class’s teacher.  [10]

 


There are several reasons why yoga is traditionally practiced in bare feet, including

* to help yogis feel stability, develop balance, and feel connection with the ground/the mat under your feet;

* to keep the practice room clean (shoes track in dirt/although you can change from your street shoes to indoor only/studio shoes, like what dancers do)

* historical and cultural considerations:  in some cultures and traitions it’s considered disrespectful to walk indoors with your shoes on.  Leaving one’s street shoes at the door is a sign of respect, and in yoga it also becomes part of a pre-class ritual, as you step onto your mat and prepare for a shift in attitude and perspective.

 

But I’ve seen/heard of other accommodations for yogis with permanent or temporary physical limitations and disabilities.  [11]   Also, yoga teachers and studios and magazines have been fighting an uphill battle to counter the idea that yoga is for young, super-fit and flexible people who wear size 2 leotards and look like Yoga Journal®  cover models.  The yoga world emphasizes that “Yoga is for Every Body“ (space intentional, get it?), but apparently,  everybody does not include a body requiring a physical support that, the mere sight of it makes a busybody yogi lose her mindful shit and stalk you down a hallway….  [12]

 

Guess it’s back to Irish Yoga for me.

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [13]

“We don’t want a piece of the pie – it’s still a patriarchal pie.
We want to change the recipe.”
( bell hooks 1952 – 2021, American author, educator, feminist, activist )

 

 

*   *   *

May you hyphenate as many names as possible;
May you reap the benefits of yoga without acquiring a stalker;
May you find a clever (and tasty) way to change the pie’s recipe;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Ditto to the nth for my name.

[2] Knowing moiself, they expected no less. The only feedback I got was positive, specifically from my father, who confessed to me that he wished my younger sister had also kept her surname (my older sister…there was no question she’d take her husband’s name..to do otherswise would not have been an option in that relationship).

[3] Hey, I would have been happy for MH to take my surname (how’s that for commonality?), but I never asked and he never offered.  We both liked our respective names. 

[4] You can always weasel out with, “that’s not what I meant,” but it’s evident, that’s what you wrote.

[5] Yep, she had no idea what she was getting into.

[6] Which, as per the magazine’s circulation, probably got more readership than any of my published stories.

[7] As is my custom in this blog, my offspring’s first and last names are redacted, as I cling to the outdated notion that there can still be a modicum of privacy remaining in this world.

[8] Now, those last two statements…I’m not the Feminist Police (there was an election, and I lost the position by five votes). Some of my favorite, righteous right-on feminist friends have taken their husbands’ surnames.  The reasons and reasonings can be complicated, and not everyone is attached to their name of birth.

[9] I had foot surgery eight weeks ago, addressed here.

[10] Whatever happened to the yoga mantra of keeping your eyes on your own mat?

[11] Including chairs in class for elderly yogis who have balance and stamina issues.  Also, I have a couple of friends who could not do yoga, or any exercise, barefooted, due to neuropathy and other painful foot conditions.  They bring their own supportive/orthopedic house shoes when they go to other people’s homes where removing shoes is the custom and expectation.

[12]  Following someone down the hallway after a YOGA class to “express their feelings.” It both cracks me up and frosts my butt.  Once again, I may be a fiction writer, but I can’t make up this shit.

[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 Resolutions I’m Still Not Making

January 2, 2026

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, community, current events, extended family, freethought/humanism, friends, general ruminations, Holidays, Isms (religion), making fun of lawyers and/or doctors, nature, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Resolutions I’m Still Not Making

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?

 

 

*   *   *

New Year’s Reflections   [2]

I’ve come full circle, and perhaps another 45 degrees, on the whole New Year’s Resolutions Thing ®.  As an adolescent I was intrigued by the idea of making New Year’s Resolutions – or at least I was the first time I heard an adult talking about it. Then in young adulthood   [3]   I thought, oh puhleeeease, what a crock. Whenever I was asked about my NYR‘s I’d reply that I had already, several years ago, made the only resolution I’d ever kept: to never make another NYR ( moiself’s  past failed resolutions included, “Be taller,” and “Do not engage in audible eye-rolling when someone mentions their detox cleanse.” ).

 

 

Now, I think NYR are a fine idea. Yeah, resolve to “do better,” however and whenever you can and whatever that entails for you.  Of course, you don’t have to wait for the start of a new year to do so, but after all, the world is full of arbitrary limits, guidelines and restrictions,    [4]    so what the heck.

Some of my resolutions for this year are more profound than others; all shall remain private, save for this seemingly hackneyed one which, if kept, has a good chance of turning out to be the most nourishing to body and psyche:   Have more fun.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of It is Too Early To Tell, But I Still Don’t Think It’s Working.

That  it’s would be my father’s family tradition to ring in the new year.

☼  Hoppin’ John Spicy Collards and Black-eyed Peas Scramble   [5]
☼  Green Chilie Corn bread

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

 

 

Despite consuming black-eyed peas every New Year’s day, my father’s family remained dirt-poor sharecroppers.    [6]   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  [7]  and mutter, “It still ain’t workin.’ “

*   *   *

Department Of A Thing I Have Just Now Learned
Sub-Department Of WTF Is Wrong With Me,   [8]  Adjacent
To The Department Of Starting The Year With A Clean Slate

Dateline: last weekend; listening to one of Fresh Air’s year -end shows, when they replay some of their favorites of the year’s interviews/shows. This one was on the making of the now-iconic Bruce Springsteen song, “Born to Run.”

At the point in the show when FA host Terry Gross quoted some of the song’s evocative lyrics, I snickered to moiself, “That’s so funny – has Terry misheard that line, all these years, or is she being censored?”

I decided to look up the lyrics, for gloating purposes…and…

* apparently, someone was mishearing the line, all these years;
*  apparently, that someone wasn’t Terry Gross;
* apparently, the line is indeed, as TG quoted,
“…baby this town rips the bones from your back,”
and not, as moiself  has been hearing,
“…baby this town rips the balls from your back…”

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of May The New Year Educate These Abominable Twits

On 12-28 Suzanne Mathis McQueen, my right-on-sister friend who is also an author, entrepreneur, and feminist inspirational leader,  [9]    posted a most concisely articulate takedown of the right’s miseducation and hysteria re immigration.  She was moved to do so in response to recent remarks made by Vice President J.D. “Jeering Doofus” Vance and top White House aide and racist policy formatter Stephen Miller – and oh please, ye deities who do not exist, ease the pain from having  Vice President accompany the name of such a festering turd of political, spiritual, and educational fraudulence….

Once again, I digress.

 


Veep J. D. “Judgmental Dickhead” Vance, speaking at Turning Point USA’s AmericaFest 2025 in Phoenix, Arizona on 12/21, hyped up the slavering crowd of religious and racial bigots attending the event by claiming that, thanks to the current administration’s war on DEI, “You don’t have to apologize for being White anymore.”  A few days later, top White House aide Stephen Miller, after chugging too much bootleg eggnog,    [10]   posted a batshit crazy anti-immigrant rant after watching a 1967 TV ( The Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra Family Christmas ), featuring two of the USA’s favorite entertainers at the time and – heads up Miller – both sons of first generation immigrant parents.

 

 

Really.  I can’t make up this shit.

Here is SMM’s post ( my emphases ).   The fact that those whom SMM addresses evidently lack the introspection and cognitive flexibility to consider (much less understand, or agree with) her lucid presentation in no way negates the observable truths she so forthrightly states. 

Dear JD Vance:
No one’s asking you to apologize for being white.
I’m asking you to apologize for being so appallingly stupid about being white. 

Dear Stephen Miller:
My guess is that you have zero percent indigenous (to this landmass) in you
– ya know, the folks who were on this continent for 23-30 THOUSAND years –
which includes the Mexicans.

Whenever your white family came to this land, from wherever they came, they did so to find a better life, which was no more than 400-ish years ago, or less.

Which means, like me, you are a descendant of immigrants.

And…if you came from these first immigrants, your family, as part of a societal group of immigrants, did not assimilate into the local culture. They took resources, were a burden on the local society, nearly wiped them all out, and cruelly forced them out of their lush homelands onto desolate land.

And if your family doesn’t come from these first immigrants, your immigrant family benefitted from what had been set up for them by the first ones.

Stephen, again, you come from immigrants.

Perhaps this is why you’re afraid of not-white people or other immigrants. Perhaps you’re afraid they’ll take back the land of their people, or not assimilate and instead conquer – physically or intellectually. Your fear lives steeped within your cellular memory of history – of not wanting the same to happen to you.

While we can’t change that history, humans are designed to grow and learn if they want to. We can create win-win immigration standards that serve, protect, and respect all.

Repeating history that caused harm is dangerously ignorant.

Repeating history that caused harm and claiming to love Jesus
all in the same philosophy, is blasphemous.

Jesus wasn’t a bigot.  End of story.  Let’s move on.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Maybe Next Year We’ll Tweak This Holiday Tradition

Background: Over the years several of moiself’s  Jewish friends, acquaintances and/or coworkers/co-travelers, who told me that they were convinced that I was Jewish but “didn’t know it,” recommended that I go out for Chinese food on Christmas day.  I decided that this was the year…so…where to go?  When MH and I moved to Hillsboro  [11]   we were profoundly disappointed in the quality of the Chinese eateries available.   [12]  Eventually we stopped asking for recommendations from friends and neighbors, so as to not have to disappoint them later when they asked for our reviews.  We’d moved up from the San Francisco Bay Area, and had taken for granted the plethora of outstanding Chinese restaurants (not, ahem, Chinese American restaurants ) available…and in our experiences/opinions, none of what Hillsboro (or even Portland) had to offer measured up to Jing Jing.   [13]

 

 

Dateline: Christmas Day, 12:20 pm; getting ready for our 12:30p lunch reservations; donning my Yule season sock and shoe (singular this year – only my right foot can accommodate festive hosiery as the other is in a surgical boot).

 

 

My phone beeps; friend JWW texts me her season’s greetings, which I return.

Moiself:
“And Merry Christmas to you!
MH and K and I are about to celebrate our inner Jew and
go have Chinese food for lunch.”

JWW:
“Great idea.  Where are you going to eat?”

Moiself:
” ( restaurant name redacted ).  Haven’t been there in years.”

JWW:
“American Chinese.  Let me know how it is.  I miss American Chinese.”

One hour later, at the restaurant waiting for the check, I let her know.

Moiself (texting) to JWW:

“You *miss* American Chinese?  Seriously?
I could make food just as bland and never leave home….
Actually, it’s pretty funny.
I ate all of my dish ( aptly described on the menu as tofu and vegetables with brown sauce, and although there was no discernible flavor, the sauce was indeed brown) because I was very hungry…
but this is some of the most boring food I have ever had.
I guess it’s a good sign when you’re at the type of restaurant where the server never bothers to ask you how things are, because then you don’t have to lie about the food, or say something like, “Well, it’s in my stomach….”

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week    [14] 

 

 

One of the many things moiself  dares to hope that, in the new year, scientists like the late greats Rosalind Franklin and Jane Goodall will experience less of the “damage of gender harassment”  and The Matilda Effect   [15]     (note that I am not wishing for a complete elimination of the gender bias – I’m not that naïve).

*   *   *

May you decide what kind of difference you want to make;
May that difference be the “luck” you make for the New Year;
May you have good luck no matter what you ate on January 1;
…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] As in, from the beginning of my blog of seven years ago.

[3] I think that should encompass ages 20 – 56.

[4] e.g. you are no more capable of making discerning political choices the day before your 18th birthday than you are the day of your 18th birthday; still, you can’t register to vote when you are age 17 years 364 days….

[5] What made John hoppin’ was the addition of black-eyed peas.

[6] Make that, “tenant farmers,” as sharecroppers was considered a pejorative label.

[7] My father’s parents couldn’t afford shoes for all six of their children, so as the elder kids got shoes 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 the 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.  And the shack house he was raised in literally had dirt floors in some of the rooms.

[8] Don’t answer that.

[9] As per her Wikipedia page, so there!

[10] Can you think of any other reason he made the connection?

[11] Thirty five years ago as of next month.  Yikes.

[12] And not just in Hillsboro, even in Portland.

[13] Which closed after 38 years of business – they got priced out of downtown Palo Alto.  DAMN.

[14] “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

[15] “Gender harassment…defined as disrespecting, demeaning, and deprecating women and their work, abilities, and accomplishments, simply because they are women…is by far the most prevalent form of sexual harassment in academic science…. (Rosalind) Franklin…is among history’s most prominent subjects of…the Matilda Effect: the practice of ascribing women’s accomplishments to men. An expert in x-ray crystallography, Franklin led the team that created what has been called ‘arguably the most important photo ever taken,’ the celebrated Photo 51, which revealed the helical structure of DNA.  When the structure was published in 1953, however, Franklin…was not among the authors. Her crucial contribution was mentioned cursorily at the end of the article as having ‘stimulated’ the authors, James Watson and Francis Crick…who, with their paper, gained priority as discoverers…. Comments from Watson and Crick reveal the gender harassment that Franklin endured in the lab. Throughout The Double Helix, Watson’s famous 1968 book recounting the race to the famous structure, Watson condescendingly refers to Franklin as ‘Rosy,’ a nickname never used to her face. ‘There was never lipstick to contrast with her straight black hair, while at the age of thirty-one her dresses showed all the imagination of English blue-stocking adolescents,’ he writes, though neglecting to critique his male colleagues’ cosmetic or sartorial choices…. He adds that her ‘belligerent moods’ interfered with Wilkins’ ability to ‘maintain a dominant position that would allow him to think unhindered about DNA.’ For that reason, ‘[c]learly Rosy had to go or be put in her place. … The thought could not be avoided that the best home for a feminist was in another person’s lab.’ In the 1993 book Nobel Prize Women in Science, Crick was quoted as saying, ‘I’m afraid we always used to adopt—let’s say, a patronizing attitude towards her.’ ”  ( Excerpts from ITAL Rosalind Franklin and the damage of gender harassment, by Beryl Lieff Benderly,  science.org 8-1-18 )

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