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The Discount I’m Not Taking

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Dateline:  Monday mid-morning, shopping at a local thrift store. After ringing up the items (the total comes to all of four dollars), the store’s clerk glances tentatively at moiself.

Clerk: “Do you…qualify…for any of our discounts?”
Moiself: “Uh, I don’t know what any of your discounts would be.”
Clerk (even more hesitantly, and without making eye contact): “Discounts…do you get discounts…anywhere else?”
Moiself: “Anywhere else?”
Clerk: “Because…it varies….”

Suddenly, I realize what she’s asking.

 

 

lightbulb

 

 

 

 

Moiself: “You mean, do I get a senior discount anywhere?”
Clerk (nodding sheepishly): “Uh huh.”
Moiself (attempting my best, As-a-matter-of-fact-I-do-not-qualify-for-senior-discounts-but-thanks-the-fuck-a-lot-for-asking smile):  “Not yet.”

 

I leave the store thinking, I know I’m didn’t sleep well last night, but these are not the under eye bags of someone who qualifies for a senior discount and geez, lady, you’re at least 15 years older than me and do you really think I look like…

And then my irkiness  [1]  morphed into amusement.  I walked to my car, smiling to myself as I considered both  my petty reaction and recalled a story my FIL  [2] told me, over twenty years ago – about his reaction the first time someone offered him a senior discount.   He said he was taken aback when a movie clerk assumed he qualified and gave him the senior discount, a discount which, as per that particular theatre’s guidelines, my FIL did qualify for (but his wife, my MIL, did not, as she was five years younger than my FIL). He then, like moiself now, was subsequently bemused by his own reaction, and pondered why it bothered him.  After all, as a good business man, and “If someone is going to offer me a discount, for any reason, I’m going to take it…”

Was it that simple, he wondered? Was he was reluctant to admit that he had joined the ranks of “that demographic?”

 

 

 

 

angry clint

Not my monkeys, not my circus, not my senior discount.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of I May Get Into Trouble For This, But…

A Modest Proposal

When I am working out in my bedroom to an exercise DVD  [3]  and the program ends, my little old TV reverts to television mode. That is, it tunes in to whatever broadcast channel was last watched.  This quaint feature has given me the opportunity to see snippets of shows I’d otherwise never/rarely choose to watch.  My viewing of these shows has been sporadic, but tantalizing enough to cause me to tune in, occasionally, to test a theory about a “pattern” I’ve noticed. This pattern involves talk shows hosted by a panel of women, [4]  shows which are seemingly targeted at or presume a predominantly female audience:  

There is a spot on the panel reserved for, and which must be occupied by,
the Sassy, Black, Come-To-Jesus-Woman ® .

The SBCTJW, who is usually/currently unmarried, manages (inexplicably, to moiself) to placate conservatives by preaching about Jayyyysus every chance she gets, even as she also frequently comments about her very active sex life.  Her applications of Iron Age philosophy (read: Christian scriptures) to contemporary political and social issues of the day always seem to be welcomed, or at least tolerated, by her fellow/sister hosts.  And therein lies the problem.

Any crazy-ass or just plain non sequitur comment SBCTJW makes, when cosseted within the preamble, As y’all know, I’m a woman of faith, is neither questioned nor refuted by the other hosts. The panel will openly argue about politics and current events and the implications of celebrity gossip [5]  –  they frequently and freely disagree  about those issues, but when SBCTJW spews nonsense (read: quotes her bible), it’s all somber and respectful,  “Mmm-hmms.”

I call foul, as well as bullshit.  It frosts my butt to see that drivel go out unchallenged, and “respectful silence” (read: non-refutation) implies acquiescence.

Yeah, it’s daytime commercial TV – I realize that there are limiting audience and sponsor considerations. Still, this is 2017. Is there a producer out there, somewhere, with the cojones to reserve a spot on the panel for the Sassy Black (or Brown or Pink or Tan or….) Articulate Atheist?

I respectfully submit just a few nominees for consideration: Feminist/author Sikivu Hutchinson, Mandisa Thomas, president of Black Nonbelievers; journalist Jamila Bey, Debbie Goddard, Director of African Americans for Humanism; community organizer Diane Burkholder, political activist Jimmie Luthuli; Liz Ross (Black Skeptics Los Angeles & Coalition of Vegan Activists of Color); feminist writer/professor Roxanne Gay….

I also realize there is a subject here within a subject (one deserving of far more consideration than moiself can and will handle in this venue): the presumption of religiosity for and among African-Americans is such that African-American atheists, often referred to as a minority within a minority , face additional prejudice both within and outside of their “community” when they are upfront/open about their views. And, frankly, what freethinkers of quality – of any ethnicities or cultures – have the time (or interest) to put up with the constraints that come with such a forum as a daytime TV talk show?

 (“We’ll be right back to continue our discussion on the latest recording of a police shooting an unarmed teenager, followed by guest Gwyneth Paltrow demonstrating her crystal energy bladder sling. But first, this word from Coxphase Pharmecuticals about gynecomastia…” )

 

 

 

 

black atheistjpg

*   *   *

Department Of Me, Too…But Me Later

 

If you haven’t heard about the Me, Too movement[6]   stop reading right now and go commit an act of humanist reparation.

Moiself, too intends to share my stories, or at least one of them, even as I hold reservations about doing so.  [7]   I understand why others whose experiences have been So. Much. Worse.  might – despite their fervent hope for the cessation of this dishearteningly widespread sexist abuse and their realization that the cockroaches only scatter when you turn on the light – have no wish to go public, due to the terrible memories and feeling which might be triggered.

 

 

Trigger

Hey Roy, why do they always drag me into this?

 

 

 

 

 

 

So. Maybe…next week.

*   *   *

May you never be challenged by a Footnote Insurrection Licentiousness;
May you be brave enough to listen to, sans the urge to give advice or commentary,
the me too stories of others;
May you claim the discounts for which you qualify;

…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

 

[1] Yes, irkiness is a word…at least here. You know exactly what it means in this context.

[2] FIL as in Father-in-law, the acronym not to be confused with Famously Indulgent Libertarian, Faintly Illuminated Licorice; Frumpy  Inebriated Lutheran; Five Ill-tempered Leopards….

[3] Or FIL as in Frequently Inky Legumes; Freshly Iced Lemonade; First Imitative Liberace – yo, FIL! Stop that, RIGHT NOW. Your footnote relevance has passed.

[4] Such as The View and The Talk.

[5] Hey, you’ve come a long way, baby!

[6] A term in use by social activists for some time which has recently (in the wake of the Hollywood and other sexual assault scandals…please don’t make me type the name Harvey Weinsten) been revitalized by celebrities and others, to encourage  women to share their own experiences with sexual harassment and misogyny in the workplace and in other realms both public and private.

[7] Or as in Festive Imperial Linguini; Feisty Italian Lesbians; Frothy indigent lepers – I MEAN IT, GO AWAY. WHO’S IN CHARGE HERE, ANYWAY?!?!?

The Seasonal Spice I’m Not Appreciating

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Departments of Heroes and Villains

First, the good guys:

Goodbye to one of Oregon’s – and the nation’s – finest.  Donald G. Malarkey, a WWII paratrooper and NCO with the 101st Airborne Division’s legendary Easy Company, died on September 30, at age 96.

Malarkey’s story, and those of his fellow Easy Company paratroopers, is told in the finest historical miniseries of all time (IMHO, but don’t even attempt to argue with me), based on the book of the same name, Stephen Ambrose’s Band of Brothers.

Several times in this space  [1] have I mentioned my fondness for the series, and how much the series meant to my father (also a WWII paratrooper).  Like everyone I’ve spoken with who’s watched the HBO series, I became absorbed in some way with each of the very different soldiers’ very different stories. That said, Malarkey (portrayed by the terrific actor, Scott Grimes  [2] ) stood out in many ways. It was engrossing and heart-tugging to watch him transform from the wise-cracking, amiable, optimistically brash private in paratrooper training to the haunted lieutenant, a veteran of some of the most bloody and decisive battles of the ETO. In the series’ interviews with the surviving members of Easy Company, the real (i.e. non actor) Malarkey evinced the survivor’s pain and humility (Why am I here and my buddies are not?), decades after the incidents portrayed in the series, that came from seeing his good friends blown to bits and/or severely maimed.

A far better tribute to your country than standing and saluting a damn piece of cloth “the flag” would be to educate yourself about The Big War, which continues to affect politics and policies, for good and ill, to this day. Band of Brothers offers a slim time portal…a window through which to look back at what so many of our fellow citizens – our friends and family – endured (and sacrificed) during those times.

 

 

 

Malarkey

 

*   *   *

 

different

 

 

Department Of Good Riddance To Bad Rubbish… And One Regressive Sexist Pig

The good riddance news: Hugh Hefner is (finally!) dead.

The bad news: people keep eulogizing him as if he were some kind of progressive pioneer and/or First Amendment activist.

 

 

REALLY

 

 

Yeah, really.

Hugh Hefner was a First Amendment activist the in the same way that my cousins who used the N-word were free speech advocates.

As an op-ed piece in The Independent put it,

To claim that Hefner was a sexual liberationist or free speech idol is like suggesting that Roman Polanski has contributed to child protection.
( “Hugh Hefner was the ultimate enemy of women – no feminist anywhere will shed a tear at his death” Julie Bindel, The Independent )

Friend RE noted with disgust on Facebook that people are “…holding Hugh Hefner up as some sort of humanitarian, or even making jokes that indirectly show admiration for this absolute scum of a person.”

Just the idea of using those three H words – Hugh and Hefner and humanitarian – in the same sentence is ludicrous.  If you were to publish a book about Hugh Hefner’s “humanitarianism” it would be one of the smallest books every printed, vying for that claim with Saudi Arabian Sports Legends, The Wit and Wisdom of Dick Cheney, and Authentic French Vegan Cookery.

Some feminists felt they had to make an uneasy alliance with HH, due to his financial support for abortion rights when times were tough in the pro choice movement. [3] But HH, a profiteer of mid-twentieth century/post-WWII prudery, [4] didn’t give a lecherous rat’s ass about women’s right to self-determination and bodily integrity. Rather, his support for abortion rights fit into his philosophy of as much sex as possible with as many women as possible…and some of them are going to get pregnant, and if you can convince them to have an abortion you don’t have to marry them and/or pay child support.

I even ran across a blurb lauding HH for supporting “feminist causes.” That would be news to the Predator-in-Chief, himself, who in an infamous 1970’s memo (leaked by secretaries at Playboy) lambasted a reporter, who thought she’d been assigned to do an objective story on the Women’s Movement for Playboy magazine, for not doing a hatchet job on feminists:

“These chicks [feminists] are our natural enemy,” wrote Hefner. “It is time we do battle with them… What I want is a devastating piece that takes the militant feminists apart.”

Finally, some harsh reflections and truth-telling have been getting through (Speaking Ill of Hugh Hefner, and How Hugh Hefner’s Incredibly Complicated Legacy Got Cast as Female Sexual Liberation, and this piece in Salon,  among others)…which, apparently, is upsetting to some HH fans.

One Trump fan and singer who says she’s known Hefner since she was a teenager is beseeching commentators, “Please don’t trash a man with class.” [5]

 

 

yeahright

 

 

A tRump fan who thinks HH was a man with class? What a shocker.

I don’t know what flipped my stomach more over the years – the pajama-clad pimp himself, or the fact that many people thought it “hip” or “classy” to be associated with a third rate smut peddler sporting a fourth rate dye job. Some celebs thought it was a sign of coolness to be invited to the Playboy mansion. Bill Cosby was a frequent Playboy mansion guest…yet another shocker. Perhaps it was there that Cosby learned his Quaaludes strategy for “allegedly” drugging and then raping women. Hefner was a fan of the powerful sedative, which he often pressured his girlfriends and “bunnies” to take – he referred to Quaaludes as thigh openers.

Excuse me, tRrump fan, you were saying something about a man with class?

 

*   *   *

Department Of Enough Is Enough

‘Tis the season, again. And again and again and again.

Come October, it used to be you couldn’t walk within 30 feet of a Starbucks without getting a whiff of a pumpkin spice latte or pumpkin spice chai or pumpkin spice frappuccino.  But now, in 2017: pumpkin spice – it’s not just for coffee shops anymore.

Have you noticed?  It’s everywhere. There are, of course, pumpkin spice scented candles and baked goods.  But, hey, Pumpkin Spice Industry ® , y’all be gettin’ outta hand.  I came across a pumpkin spice bathroom deodorizer. Finally, humanity has the means with which to fool guests to our homes into thinking that it was a festive autumn squash dessert which took a dump in our toilets!

 

rejoicing

And there was much rejoicing.

 

 

And the other goods…yikes. These are just some of the pumpkin spice products I’ve seen/heard of in the past week:

* pumpkin spice chutney
* pumpkin spice pasta
* pumpkin spice shampoo and conditioner
* pumpkin spice body lotion
* pumpkin spice antiperspirant
* pumpkin spice toothpaste
* pumpkin spice doggy chew toy
* pumpkin spice cough drops
* pumpkin spice vinegar

 

You can even purchase a pumpkin spray on spice, to apply to presumable anything that has somehow escaped being pumpkin-ized. (the spray’s how-to-use instructions include this evocative suggestion: Awaken your breakfast.)

 

 

 

bfast

“Yo, breakfast – wake up or I’ll use the spray…”

 

 

 

 

 

The last straw  [6] was yesterday, when I picked up our mail and saw one of those catalogs targeted towards Women of a Certain Age ®…addressed to moiself.  Y’all Lady Folks know what I’m talking about? You’ve never purchased anything from such a catalog, never even knew they existed, and then one day you start getting them in the mail.  [7] They have titles like, As We Change, Soft Surroundings, The Golden Times, and The Best is Yet To Come (which, I think, would be a slogan better suited to selling ED drugs to Men Of A Certain Age ® ).  

 

 

 

as we change

 

 

Oy vey.  I suppose it’s a better title than

As We Shrivel Up and Blow Away:
Feel Like a Nap, Look For Your Eyeglasses, Live Just To Spite Your Heirs

Yet again, I digress.

So, I get this catalog, and discover it contains a little foil sampler packet sample….of a pumpkin spice….ahem….”personal lubricant.”

I kid you not.

 

 

 

kirkscream

That’s…just…WRONG.

 

 

 

 

Okay, that was a (fragrance-free) lie. But the way things are trending, I betcha next year I won’t have to make up anything like that. Anyway, the point:  people, pleeeeeeease, stop. Pumpkin spice your pumpkin pie, and leave the rest alone.

 

 

 

pumpkin

Do I *look* like I want extra foam on my pumpkin spice latte?

 

 

 

*   *   *

May the spice in your life be anything but pumpkin;
May you feel free to trash a classless man;
May you appreciate the true heroes in life;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

 

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

 

[1] Like here, and here, and here….

[2] Currently piloting a starship in the TV sci-fi drama/comedy, The Orville.

[3] And many others thought he sought to excuse his exploitation of women by “buying” feminist sympathy, or at least toleration, by throwing money at pro choice organizations.

[4] Who profited greatly from said prudery, for if nudity and sexuality were truly considered healthy and natural, where would be the fun – and why pay for the opportunity – in sneaking behind the bushes and looking at nudie magazines?

[5] As quoted in How Hugh Hefner’s Incredibly Complicated Legacy Got Cast as Female Sexual Liberation, Slate.com

[6] Strangely enough, the straw was not pumpkin-spiced.

[7] I know the gummint is worried about an impending Social Security crisis, but is the SSA selling their data base to marketers?

The Very Specific Felony I’m Not Committing

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Department Of Weekend Updates

Inquiring minds want to know  [1] –  and several have asked me about – the situation with the ‘hood.

 

 

enquiringjpg

 

 

No, no no no –inquiring minds. Not the other kind.

Yet again, I digress.

I refer to my neighborhood’s dilemma, mentioned in the September 15 edition of this space, wherein moiself detailed how, without warning or notification,  [2]  a drug and alcohol treatment business moved into our residential cul-de-sac.  [3]  Here’s where things stand, as of this week.  [4]

We the Neighbors ® participated in a mass emailing and phone contact campaign, from each concerned household and individual, to the head of our city’s planning Department, who is supposedly in charge of Such Things ®.  The responses (as per those of us who have received and compared them) seem to be identical [5]:  a form email – from the City’s Public Affairs Manager (not the Planner, to whom we addressed our concerns). The message used 518 words to thank us for our concern, regurgitate arcane zoning info, and inform us that

“… recovering addicts are considered a protected class
pursuant to federal housing law.”

My seven word summation of the communiqué:  Hey neighborhood, it sucks to be you.

 

 

redtape

 

*   *   *

Department Of Taking An Ahhh Break Before Beginning Another Rant

I almost stepped on this petite creature on Wednesday afternoon, when I went to our CSA farm to pick up the weekly produce share. She was sitting on the barn floor, quiet as a…barn kitty?…and then became MOST INSISTENT about being petted.

 

 

barnkitty

 

*   *   *

 

Department of Consequences

“No one raindrop considers itself responsible for the flood.”
(Chinese proverb)

 

In my near-future dreams, I meet a very nice, personable, intelligent, levelheaded-seeming person who is running for some local (as opposed to Federal) office – let’s say a State Representative – as a member of the Republican party. We commence to talking about Things, and this person, like other Republicans I’ve read about, sincerely claims that they were horrified and disgusted by their party’s nomination of that-which-became-our-country’s #45,  and that they are frustrated and embarrassed by #45‘s petty petulance, blatant ignorance, narcissistic and racist and sexist rants and antics, and his evident lack of self-control,mental stability, gravitas, discernment, and intelligence – his lack of just about any admirable quality that befits a world leader…

As I engage this person in dialogue I discover that I could, and in fact would like to, vote for this person, as we share similar opinions on the issues at hand.  But I have a hard truth to convey, and segue into that by telling them about my voting history. I tell them about how, ever since voting in my first election at age 18, I have scorned anything resembling party loyalty (and in fact I think the concept, along with one-issue litmus tests, is harmful to democracy).  Depending on the candidates/issues, I have voted for – in the past, and had expected to do so in the future – Democrats, Republicans, Green Party members, Independents, even a Libertarian or two ( or six) and a couple of socialists.  [6]

I myself belong to no political party.  Sometimes I register one way or another for the primary election, in order to vote for (or against) a certain candidate, but immediately post-primary switch back to no party affiliation.  Were I to have kept tabs on such things, ’tis a sure bet that more commonly (but not always) the candidate on the “liberal” or “left” side of the spectrum who has received my vote.

That said, here is what I would like this Nice Reasonable Republican For Whom I Would Like To Vote to know. Sadly but sincerely, I cannot support you as long as you are registered Republican and your party allows #45 to remain in office.

 

 

siriusly

 

 

 

Yes, I am holding you, and your fellow Republicans, personally accountable.  If Republicans continue to act as if they have lost both their scruples and their cojones and do not, from the lowest city commissioner to the senior members of the US Senate, rise up and with (or without) joining with the Democrats and others, work to impeach the Cheetos Hitler and/or invoke the 25th Amendment to remove that most unfit “president” from office, you will not have my vote.

Even if as a nation we somehow manage to survive the next 3 ¼ years with that maniacally treacherous, treasonous buffoon and his minions in office, I still will not vote for someone, for anyone, who is registered with the Republican party. I will never ever again vote for a Republican candidate, and will do my best to convince others to do likewise.

That’s it.

You may protest that you didn’t vote for him, that you are nothing close to being a party bigwig and are only a lowly local office holder and have no sway with the federal wing of your party, etc….   Excuses, schmuses. You are (all) responsible. He ran as a Republican for a reason; he became one of yours, and you let him. You did not do what was necessary to put your country, your fellow Americans, above your spineless, head-in-the-sand, political expediency…or whatever. Yes, you were responsible – you are responsible – and I’m holding you to it. For. Ever.

 

 

raindrop

Who you lookin’ at – it’s not my fault!

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Abrupt Segue To Shinier, Happier Subjects

Daughter Belle is very much enjoying her Marine Biology class labs, where in the class and the professor head out on a boat in the Puget Sound and…explore.

I am almost as thrilled as she is – and I look forward to today’s vicarious enjoyment, when, like every Friday this semester, I receive pictures like this:

 

 

marinebiolabsept17

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

Department of Unexpected Stylings

 

 

scissors

“So you want a little off the top – I’ll show you a little off the top….”

 

 

 

 

Dateline: last Thursday afternoon, sitting at the chair in my hair stylist’s salon. While stylist KL fastened the hairdressing cape around my neck, I noticed an item on her station’s stand that was new to me. Next to the familiar containers of gels and sprays, and holders for combs and brushes and other styling utensils, I espied a bright orange spray can of something called Clippercide.

 

 

clipper

 

 

 

Although KL swore to me that Clippercide was merely a spray used to sterilized shears and other haircutting gear, I was suspicious. The product’s name was poorly chosen, I insisted. It sounds like a very specific felony charge filed against a haircutter who scissors someone to death.  

 

 

 

bookem

“First degree Clippercide – book ’em, Danno.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

May you never be on the receiving end of “Book ’em, Danno;”
May you never step on a barn kitty;
May you always hold the raindrop responsible for the flood;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

*   *   *

 

 

[1] Or don’t give a tinker’s fart. It’s a tossup.

[2] and with deceit and subterfuge from the business’ Executive Director.

[3] In the case of MH and I, right next door.

[4] Using the Very Much Long Story Made Short ® format.

[5] Save for the salutation, in which our first names are used. Ya gotta love the personal touch.

[6] And once even a member of the Communist party, because I wanted to see if by doing so I would get on some FBI or governmental watch list. How idealistic foolish was that? (Yep, I was in college.)

The Takedown I’m Not Quite Appreciating

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horn tooting

Dare I toot moiself’s own horn?

 

 

Silly question.

And The Emmy For Best Limited Blog Post Goes To….

 

 

 

sally

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

Dateline: last Sunday, watching (portions of) the Emmys telecast. A reunion of sorts, of the leads of the 1980’s movie 9 to 5, occurred when Lily Tomlin, Jane Fonda, and Dolly Parton walked on stage present the award for Best Supporting Actor in a Limited Series or Movie. In what was apparently/generally considered to be a moment of empowerment – i.e., a takedown of #45 without even mentioning his name – Fonda segued to the award introduction by saying, “Back in 1980, in that movie, we refused to be controlled by a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot.”  Tomlin followed with the kicker: “And in 2017, we still refuse to be controlled by a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot.”

Except…not entirely.

 

 

lion

Sorry Ladies, but I’ve a bone to pick with you.

 

 

 

 

Disclaimer: I am such a fan of Tomlin’s and Fonda’s [1]  and even (surprise!) of parts of Parton’s respective careers.

But.

Since the release of their iconic feminist comedy…well…perhaps it’s just petty moiself, but I couldn’t help but squirm when I saw them on the Emmys and thought, what exactly has changed?

Those (relatively) powerful  and privileged women can, without apparent irony, wring declarations such as ” …we refuse to be controlled by a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot” out of their unrealistically, surgically-taut mouths, while the passion and conviction and other emotions I assume they wish to convey are barely detectable from the frozen/practically immobile facial muscles beneath their Botoxed/lifted and pulled countenances.

Add up the costs of the plastic surgery and cosmetic “enhancements” the three of them have obviously had, and it could underwrite hurricane relief in the US Virgin Islands for the next three months.

 

 

emmyshot

 

 

 

Such alternations of any natural appearance of aging are, in part, a direct result of the entertainment industry’s notorious acquiescence to the male standards of female appearance. Women actors must forever attempt to look like they are desperately attempting to pass for 35, while male actors like Robert DeNiro can still get leading man roles despite having a face that increasingl resembles albino beef jerky makes him look as if he is in his seventies. Which he is.

Keep up the good work, ladies, but don’t kid yourselves that you’ve refused to be controlled by sexism and hypocrisy.

 

 

*   *   *

 

Speaking of bones to pick….

Department Of Missing The Point

In Thursday’s NY Times there appeared a full page letter, addressed to #45 and Members of Congress, from The Episcopal Church. The letter, signed by prominent Episcopal bishops, implored the addressees not to end DACA.

Being bishops and such, they had to justify their appeal on religious grounds, and began the letter with a quote from Christian scriptures:

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so, some have entertained angels unawares.” (Hebrews 13:1)

Yeah, well…Bishop Boys,  [2] that particular passage doesn’t exactly make your case in the way I think you intended.

 

 

WORD

 

 

 

It’s too bad they can’t be like Happy Heathens, Heretics and Humanists, whose motivation for helping the powerless and people in need is… because that’s the right thing to do.  We the (secular) people help one another, not at the behest of or to score brownies points with some supernatural entity, but because we recognize that we are all we have, and that we must try to overturn the divisive, provincial loyalties of the past, which are based on religion, nationality, gender, etc.,  and work together for the common good of humanity.

The quote used in the EC letter, like so many scripture passages, makes no case for treating strangers kindly because they are our fellow human beings and are in need of, are deserving of, being treated with dignity and empathy.  Nope; it takes the brownie point route: it says that you should welcome strangers because they might be your invisible friend’s special assistants.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Fun With Words

MH, shaking his head and chuckling softly after hanging up the phone after speaking with a medical billing representative about daughter Belle’s foot surgery.

“Her (the billing rep’s) word for patients’ visits is, encounters.”

Moiself, of course, immediately imagined the scenario of a doctor charting an “encounter” with a patient: I was walking down the hallway and turned the corner, and there she was!

 

 

mccoy

Dammit, I’m a doctor, not an encounter group therapist.

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

“It’s time for the human race to enter the solar system.”

“I love California. I practically grew up in Phoenix.”

The future will be better tomorrow.”

“Hawaii has always been a very pivotal role in the Pacific. It is in the Pacific. It is a part of the United States that is an island that is right here.”

“For NASA, space is still a high priority.”

“If we don’t succeed we run the risk of failure.”

“If you give a person a fish, they’ll fish for a day. But if you train a person to fish, they’ll fish for a lifetime.”

“You all look like happy campers to me. Happy campers you are, Happy campers you have been, and as far as I’m concerned, happy campers you will always be.

“I understand the importance of bondage between parent and child.”

“Verbosity leads to clear, inarticulate things.”

“I stand by all the misstatements that I have made.”

The above is  a sampling of the many mangled messages from arguably one of the 20th century’s greatest public bunglers of the English language, J. Danforth “Dan” Quayle. [3]

After watching portions of Sunday’s Emmys awards telecast –  essentially a #45 dump-a-thon  [4] which occasionally bestowed an award – I recalled what a comedy writer said, oh-so-many years ago, during the 1992 political race. The writer, along with a couple of political cartoonists, sheepishly confessed to rooting for the Bush–Quayle ticket, for what he described as purely selfish reasons:  material.  You just sat back and watched  Quayle, and the jokes and cartoons essentially wrote themselves.

Quayle, who eventually could claim the dubious honor of being featured in many a political and cultural journal’s Dumbest Vice Presidential Picks of All Time list, was described as “the handsome, blond junior senator from Indiana,” and it was rumored he had been chosen for the Republican presidential ticket in part for his looks, which some people mistakenly thought akin to a matinee idol.  [5]   Republican party analysts hoped, as reported in this LA Times article,  that Quayle’s youth, and his”…boyish handsomeness that has proven appealing to some women voters” would help Bush to close the “gender gap that makes him (Bush) less popular with women….”

 

 

quayle

 

 

 

Much to the chagrin of Republicans and the delight of everyone else, it didn’t take long for folks to realize that the GOP had put someone on their ticket who was…how you say…a shiny box of Cracker Jack with no prize inside.  For many of us, it was both amusing and frightening to think that such a person was a heartbeat (and a minus 35 IQ points) away from the presidency. Quayle gave every indication of being, politically and intellectually, the kind of person who would ask for a price check at the Dollar Tree.

It is obvious that political commentators, satirists, cartoonists, stand-up comics, the entire cast of SNL and late night TV talk shows hosts, have had an surplus of material since the Mandarin Mussolini took office.. But I don’t think any of them were rooting for that possibility (or if they were; I hope they’d be ashamed to admit it now).

 

*   *   *

Department Of Not Quite The Affirmation He Was Looking For

A conversation with a friend about ego-centrism, self -aggrandizement, false humility, and other endearing traits, was responsible for this  story coming to mind.

In the mid 1970s, (former) Beatle John Lennon and his wife, artist Yoko Ono, were separated for 18 months, at Ono’s suggestion, to relieve stress on their relationship. Ono stayed in New York while Lennon went to Los Angeles, where he engaged in a period of self-doubt and alcoholic debauchery (which he was later to call his “Lost Weekend”), hanging out with other like-minded substance abusers in the music world (e.g., singer-songwriter Harry Nilsson).

One night in March 1974, Lennon and a group of friends went to LA’s legendary Troubador nightclub.  At one point, while waiting for the headliner to come on stage, Lennon went to the restroom. He rifled through the drawers in the restroom’s cabinet, found a (clean) Kotex napkin, stuck it to his forehead, and returned to his table. He continued to wear the unique chapeau for the remainder of the evening. Because the drunker you and your friends get, the funnier is the sanitary napkin stuck to your head.

The increasingly inebriated Lennon  ordered drink after drink and reportedly behaved obnoxiously to the nightclub staff.  [6] When he left his table and headed for the exit he was confronted by a waitress, who asked him why he wasn’t leaving a tip.

“Do you know who I am?” Lennon snapped.

“Yeah,” the waitress  retorted. “You’re some asshole with a Kotex on your head.”

 

 

 

lennonhat

On the other hand, he had been photographed sporting less flattering headgear….

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

May you never be some asshole with a Kotex on your head;
May you never be referred to as a Happy Camper;
May you come to terms with your doctor viewing your visits as encounters;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

 

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

 

[1] Especially their latest venture, Grace and  Frankie. See it, it you haven’t already

[2] And girls – this is the Episcopal Church, after all. Like all Christian denominations, still peddling Iron Age mythology, but with their own 21st century, gender-inclusive twist.

[3] who – believe it or not, kiddies – was an actual Vice President of the United States of ‘Murka, during the Bush The First term.

[4] Not that there’s anything wrong with that!

[5] They compared him to Robert Redford, if you can imagine that. No need to imagine that Redford was not pleased, and fired back at Quayle and his supporters.

[6] “It was my first night on Brandy Alexanders and my last,” Lennon later said, when recalling the incident.

The Soles I’m Not Smelling

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Department Of It Took Longer Than It Should Have To Figure It Out

Dateline: last week. Early on a late August day, out for a walk. Like far too many Pacific Northwest mornings this summer, the day is already too  [1]  warm at 6:50 am, and portends to become searing.

As it is our neighborhood’s trash pickup day, residents have dutifully wheeled their green (for household garbage) and brown (for yard waste) garbage cans to the curb. I walk, and keep looking around, my nose reflexively wrinkling in disgust, thinking, who hasn’t picked up their dog’s crap?  I occasionally stop to check the bottom of my shoes and the tips of my Exerstrider ®  walking poles, hoping I didn’t step in, uh, “anything”…

….until I realize the smell is not in fact coming from the soles of my shoes (yay!), nor from the sidewalks or gutters or streets, but from every other trashcan I walk by.

My keen sense of deductive – or is it aroma-tive? – reasoning tells me I am passing the garbage cans of dog owners, who have disposed of their Fido’s waste within.

Phew ( p.u.?) – glad to have figured that one out.  I look forward to the chillier, odor-quashing mornings of autumn and winter.

 

 

 

dog

I don’t get it. Smells fine to me.

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of By The Way

If you’re still with me, here, you just read someone’s writing about festering dog turds on a hot August morning.

And you kept reading.

Just sayin.’

 

jubilantpicard

I love it when she finds an excuse to use the phrase, festering turds.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Further Information On The Eclipse I Did Not Describe

The total solar eclipse I didn’t feel capable of describing was featured in last week’s post. One aspect of the experience I can describe is how much everyone in our group [2] enjoyed the t-shirts MH made for us, to celebrate/commemorate the occasion.

This solar sartorial satisfaction was not limited to our band of eclipse groupies. At our viewing spot (overlooking the Lake Billy Chinook Gorge), which our group shared with about 20-30 other people, [3] many of the hitherto-strangers-to-us approached one or all of our group and commented on how much they *loved* the elegant simplicity of the shirts’ design – who did it, and boy-howdy could we have made some money if we’d set up a roadside stand selling them, ’cause they’d seen a variety of eclipse-related souvenirs but found none of them attractive and hadn’t been tempted to get anything, and then they saw all of us, each one sporting those Fabulous Shirts ® ….

 

 

 

eclipset

 

 

Department Of It’s A Small World In Astronomy Haute Couture

Turns out even people who weren’t even there liked the afore-mentioned shirts, thanks to social media. Our astronomer friend and trip organizer MM posted pictures of the event on his FB page, which caught the eyes of two astronomy fashion bloggers.

 

 

REALLY

 

 

Yep, you read right. There is such a thing as an astronomy fashion blogger (and it’s about time, isn’t it?).

Two New York City-based astronomers have a blog – http://www.startorialist.com – with possibly the best-ever motto:

Where science meets fashion and scientists get fabulous!

Yet again, I digress. But with good reason. You really ought to check out some of the duds on their site.  These Ladies of Luminosity are legit – they’ve been written up about their expectation-defying interest in promoting science-inspired style. There’s a whole cosmos o’ celestial chic out there apart from Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s vast vault of vogue vests.

 

 

 

MDT

 

 

 

So: MM contacted MH and let him know that the startorialist astronomers had noticed our group’s groovy shirts, and had asked MM for more photos and info on how you made them.   Generous and Humble Citizen of the World ®  that he is, MH decided to forgo the opportunity to get all exclusive-y and copyright-y and make bazillions of dollars on Etsy:  he sent the startorialists more pictures, and shared his trade secrets (i.e. provided step-by-step instructions as to how he’d made the shirts), which y’all may be able to read on one of their upcoming blog posts.

 

*   *   *

different

 

 

 

Department Of Why Aren’t You Seeing This Movie?

Wind River is starkly beautiful, foreboding, poignantly distressing, lyrically blue, with unanticipated moments of dry wit/gallows humor…not sure of an adequate term for some of its droll dialogue.  Superb writing and directing by Taylor Sheridan, who also gave us last year’s engrossing Hell or High Water.  And it’s always nice to see the underused Canadian/First Nations actor Graham Greene in action.  [4]

Just go see it, okay?

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Passing Comments

Dateline: Sunday afternoon. MH and I driving home from our errands-running. The panhandler sat on a chair in the median by the traffic light. He was puffing away on his nicotine death stick delivery system cigarette with a laconic-yet-defiant, fuck yeah I’m gonna spend your donation on my tobacco smirk on his face.

The why-you-should-give-me-money sign he held read:

Too ugly to prostitute
too honest to steal

“He forgot, Too proud to beg, ” MH muttered.

 

 

 

handsup

*   *   *

May your walks be perfumed by the sweetest scents nature can provide;
May you always keep reading past the turd stories;
May you have the opportunity to get science-fashion fabulous;   [5]
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Who gets to decide what is “too” warm for an Oregon morning? I do. You didn’t get the memo?

[2] Sixteen total: MH, K, Belle and I, plus twelve Californians – longtime friends and their families and S.O.s (plus two dogs, which, of course, didn’t want to miss out on the eclipse action)

[3] Whom, we assumed, had also previously checked out likely viewing spots and decided, “This is the one!”

[4] What happened to all the footnotes? There should be at least five.

[5] Ah, that’s better.

The Argument I’m Not Winning

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Department Of Perhaps It’s For The Best That I Am Not An Artist

 

Because, were I an artist, this is the summer squash I would paint. Over and over and over. It’s the most interestingly-shaped Romanesco zucchini I’ve ever seen.

 

 

 

pixiezuc

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

In the WTF is happening to summer time-warp I’ve been experiencing, I’m already mourning the dearth of kayaking opportunities. Correction: the opportunities are there, of course, it’s just that the pesky time-space continuum keeps getting in the way.

I’ve been out twice this summer, both times with MH: once at a new entry point along the Tualatin River, and last Sunday, when we decided to check out the hitherto-unvisited-by-us Lacamas Lake, across the Columbia River in Washington State.

 

 

 

Matlacamaslake

MH inspecting an island in the lake.

 

 

 

I was unimpressed by Sunday’s “venue” – I am a paddling snob purist and detest sharing the waters with stinky, loud, polluting boats inhabited by sedentary slobs motorized craft.  [1]  Still, I would have liked Sunday’s paddle trip to have been longer.  But when I felt that blast from the past – the long-ago-but-still-familiar sensation of tightness in my bronchial tubes, which takes me back to those dreary days of the 1970s Southern California Smog Alerts – my lungs stopped enjoying the outing.

Sure enough, both MH and I received Air Quality Alerts on our respective AccuWeather apps. The air was icky – sorry to get all science-y on y’all.  Translation: the air was brown and hazy from a combination of the record-setting heat wave we’ve been having combined with the smoke from 37 ( !!! ) wildfires burning in the Northwest U.S. and Canada.

 

 

lily

A white lily pad bloom – a pleasant if momentary distraction from the brown skies.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Early Morning Earworms

Last Sunday, as always with my early morning earworms, apropos of seemingly nothing I awoke with a Mitch Miller tune bouncing between my ears.

 

 

 

mitch

 

 

 

My parents both loved Mitch Miller’s music, and had many of his albums and watched his television show. Thus, my early childhood memories include listening to Sing Along With Mitch.  But, why now, and why Bell Bottom Trousers ?

On further reflection, the apropos of nothing was probably a big something: Tuesday, August 8, was what would have been the 93rd birthday of my father, Chester Bryan (akak “Chet the Jet”) Parnell. And Mitch Miller, or more specifically, the musical stylings of Miller’s all-male chorus, was one of the few things my father and I ever argued about.

My arguments with Chet were memorable, mostly because there were so few of them. My father adored his “Robbie Doll”   [2] –  he and I were of similar temperaments and got along famously. Thus, it took me by surprise that one night, all those years ago, when he teased me about how it wasn’t really possible for me to claim to like both Mitch Miller and The Beatles (this was after he’d run across a quote from Miller dissing rock ‘n roll music).  [3]  I responded with the righteous indignation only a grade-schooler can muster, spewing the counter charges I’d heard from Miller’s critics, who accused him of namby-pamby, gimmicky song choices and arrangements…

I can’t remember how I “won” the argument, only that it was obvious that I did. Although, it didn’t take me long to realize that it was also obvious that he’d let me win.  My father thought the sun shown out of my ass…and for a time it actually did, thanks to a tragic childhood flashlight accident, the details of which I won’t go into right now.  [4]

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

Chetdec1978

“These are the good times.” Chester Bryan Parnell

 

 

 

*   *   *

May you be free from Air Quality alerts;
May you enjoy these times, which are the good times;
May you be able to appreciate the balance of whatever in your life approximates both Mitch Miller and The Beatles;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

 

[1] Which paddlers encounter more frequently on lakes than in rivers.

[2] Chet’s childhood nickname for his second daughter, the nickname a high school friend would memorialize with a drawing of me as a doll, wearing a bank robber outfit and holding a gun. Yes, I’m talking about you, Ruth Rockliffe.

[3] “Rock’n’roll is the glorification of monotony. A certain element of juveniles accepts almost any form of it, even the lowest and the most distasteful, because everybody else in their group does.” From the UK Independent’s obituary of Miller.

[4] Which is, of course, a totally fictitious story, but one he would have loved.

The One-liners I’m Not Identifying

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Department Of Let’s Get This Out Of The Way
Adjunct To The Department Of If You Did This To A Dog
The Humane Society Would Sue Your Ass For Animal Cruelty

I refer to the heartrending case of Charlie G__, a terminally ill British baby, born with an extremely rare, incurable, genetic disorder, mitochondrial DNA depletion syndrome –  which has made the baby blind and deaf, without the ability to breathe or move on his own, brain-damaged and stricken with persistent epileptic seizures.

The distraught parents, in denial of reality and their child’s doctors’ advice, are seeking experimental treatment outside of their country. The baby’s doctors’ (and British and European courts) have held that prolonging the infant’s life – prolonging its death, in reality – would be inhumane and unreasonable, and that withdrawing medical treatment is the only justifiable option.

And into this sad mess jumps Certain So-Called World Leaders ® .

 

 

dangerousroad

 

 

These CSCWL, with no personal connection to the family, who’ve tweeted their lack of knowledge support for the parents’ misguided quest to prolong the inevitable – which of course is giving CSCWL points with the JesusLovesCharlie  [1]  mob.

I case you haven’t heard, CSCWL would be  #45, aka The Cheetos Hitler, that bastion of scientific and medical ignorance, Donald J. T—-, and His Moral Anachronisticness, aka, the pope.

“What a great team…”

 

 

saidnooneever

 

 

Given #45’s penchant for wrestling metaphors , this situation – linking his name with that of someone who has a marginally more respectable reputation – is the ultimate tag team opportunity. But truly, exploiting the tragedy of this family is mud-wrestling at its lowest.

The phrase every parent’s nightmare is used to describe the grievous suffering and/or death of a child. Another parental nightmare scenario: someone using your child’s suffering and unavoidable death (as well as your own parental despair and desperation) as a tool to promote their own political and/or religious agenda.

And, as MH pointed out, why is it that #45 can offer U.S. health care for a doomed foreign baby, but National Health Care for American infants, children and adults – no way can we use our resources for that.

 

*   *   *

Department Of The Lazy Days Of Summer,
When Thoughts Turn To Star Trek One Liners

 

Calling all Star Trek nerds fans: my eternal respect [2] shall be bestowed upon ye who can identify the source of the following one-liners (“Source” =  name the Star Trek series or film, the episode title, and the character who utters the quote  [3] )

 

 

 

astonishedspock

What do you mean, it cannot be done?!?

 

 

 

I will provide a hint: the series from whence the quote.  (TOS; TNG; STV; STE; STE; TOSM  [4]  )

 

–  You’re supposed to just sit here?  (TNG)

–  Well, double-dumb ass on you too!  (TOSM)

I am not a Merry Man!  (TNG)

Sorry; neither.  (TOS)

A warrior’s drink.  (TNG)

Nuclear Wessells. ( TOSM )

What is it with you? (TOSM)

– There is no one on deck nine, section twelve, who *doesn’t* know when you’re having intimate relations. (STV)

Why do I have to answer the poop questions?  (STE)

 

 

 

And this one, of course, holds a soft spot in my heart and head.    [5]

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Belated 4th Of July /Independence Day Wishes

Just curious – do you and yours refer to this particular national holiday as The 4th of July, or Independence Day? In my family, ’twas always the former. A long time ago in a galaxy college class far, far away, someone posited that whether or not a person referred to that holiday as The Fourth of July or Independence Day was a “test” of that person’s knowledge of U.S. political history.  [6]

Either way, although I’ve long since lost my youthful enthusiasm for fireworks (yawn), I do anticipate this holiday for the once-a-year opportunity – the guarantee – to hear a band or full orchestra perform Stars and Stripes Forever.

And so do you. Admit it.

Because…oh,. c’mon, you know:

THE AMAZING POWER OF PICCOLOS!

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

May your tragedies never be exploited by So-Called World Leaders;
May you forever appreciate the amazing power of piccolos;
May you discover or concoct your own version of a warrior’s drink;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

 

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

[1] Funny how their Jesus doesn’t love this baby enough to cure it, or not to have stricken it with such a ghastly and cruel condition in the first place.

[2] Which is worth double its weight in GOP Health Care Plan vouchers.

[3] WITHOUT Googling, ahem.

[4] The Original Series; The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager; Star Trek: Enterprise; one of The Original Series movies

[5] And is the origin of my son’s blog pseudonym .

[6] All I remember is the WTF-ness of the reaction moiself and my fellow classmates had at that rather bizarre declaration from a fellow student…and not what he said the supposed test would reveal.

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