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The Inspiration I’m Not Becoming

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Department Of With Friends Like These Who Needs Haldol

I recently received this email from my observant, always-pointing-me-toward-a-good-deal friend, SCM:

I’m just immature enough to giggle and consider buying these (I normally use .38 mm point pens and am convinced smaller is better—but perhaps not when the product is called Dong):

Being the more mature partner in our friendship, I of course had to make the purchase, sans giggling. I can honestly report that life is now…just… enhanced, in some incalculable way, when I whip out my Dong at lunch to do my crossword puzzle or KenKen puzzle.

 

dongpen

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Speaking Of Other Pastimes That Mitigate The Need For Antipsychotic Medication

While you’re reading this, it is possible I am attending the Oregon Potters Association’s annual whoopdedoo.[1] The Ceramic Showcase, which is “the nations’ largest show and sale of handmade pottery, sculpture, garden art, home accessories and other creative clay work,” is running through the weekend at the Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Portland.   If you are a budding or veteran potter, or a collector of ceramics in particular or an admirer of art in general, or if you just need a new scrambled egg bowl, you owe it to yourself to see this show.

And sometimes, as what happened to MH and I two years ago, you find out you really need a bird-headed zipper face objet d’art to add some mojo to your hallway.

 

zip

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Department Of Apropos Of Nothing

Have y’all heard the phrase, inspiration porn?

The term, coined by the late [2] journalist, standup comedian [3]  and disability rights activist Stella Young, describes the patronizing experience common to many disabled people who hear themselves called “inspirational” when they accomplish things able-bodies people take for granted; thus, they are or have become inspirational mainly or solely due to their disability.

Young writes, “Let me be clear about the intent of this inspiration porn. It’s there so that non-disabled people can put their worries into perspective…It’s there so that non-disabled people can look at us and think ‘well, it could be worse… I could be that person.’”

In other words, inspiration porn paints people with disabilities as nothing more than modern-day Tiny Tims—pitiable people who help us put our own problems into perspective while making us smile with their courageous outlook on life. The problem with this is twofold: It not only assumes that disability automatically equals hardship, a tragedy that must be overcome, but it also incorrectly assumes that disability can actually be overcome with a smile and a little bit of determination.
(from Salon. Com, 2-2-15, “Inspiration porn is not ok: disability activists are not impressed with feel-good Superbowl ads“)

 

The first time I listened to Young’s TED talk on the subject, I’m Not Your Inspiration Thank You Very Much, I was, well, dammit, inspired…which of course immediately made me feel guilty. [4]

One of the reasons for my guilt was that Young’s talk reminded me of the time, many years ago, when someone asked me to name my biggest fear. My truthful answer was, [5] I fear being someone who inspires people.

Translation: I have never been praised for/accused of being an inspiration to others; therefore, if someone says that I have become “an inspiration” to them or others it likely means I have met with a devastating accident/injury/illness. As in,

“Robyn is such an inspiration. If she can ____
 (recite the alphabet;
tie her shoelaces without passing gas;
string three multisyllabic words together without aspirating her drool…)
then anyone can! 

 

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Department Of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not

Our dryer plays the harmonica.

That is, when it is in use, our clothes dryer sometimes produces a noise as if it were a harmonica player doing a sound check before a concert…if said harmonica player were a novice and the sound check consisted of the same note, blown at irregular intervals. [6]

International Person of Mystery ® that I am, I find this intriguing…or I used to, until I googled the phenomenon. Instead of what (in my mind) would be a logical response to my search (along the lines of, what a stupid question-have-you-tried-thinking-about-string-theory-or-something-more-profound?) I found…links.

It seem ours is not the only clothes dryer [7] with this talent. And I do consider it a talent.

Although I think it needs…something more. More cowbell?!

 

 

 

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In last week’s post I mentioned my son K’s trip to Iceland. As of Monday eve K is back to the States safe and sound, and survived his partaking of the putrid slop that puts the concept of national culinary pride to shame country’s national delicacy, Hákarl.

K hasn’t exactly been Mr. Travelogue when it comes to recounting his adventures. My favorite comment of his, in response to MH and I asking him about his impression of the country:

“The (tap) water tastes like eggs and the showers smell like omelets.”

A nano-seconds worth of double take, then, aha, of course:  Iceland is an island/country that’s basically the tip top of a volcano.

And there’s nothing like a sulfur-infused beverage to wash down a mouthful of festering fermented shark meat.

 

Another Icelandic gourmand celebrates his culinary heritage.

Another Icelandic gourmand celebrates his culinary heritage.

 

 

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Department Of Things I Missed

And she thinks of herself as a progressive!

And she thinks of herself as a progressive!

 

Earth Day! It was last Friday, and there was not one mention of it in this space.

My shame knows no bounds.  I’ll try to think of something entertaining and Earthy to make up for it.

Nope; nada.

How’s about something Eartha, instead?

 

eartha

*   *   *

May your home appliances serenade you;
May you be an inspiration…or not, as you choose;
May your showers be redolent of your favorite breakfast food;
..and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

 

[1] Not the event’s official title.

[2] Sadly, late as in recently deceased, not as in habitually tardy.

[3] Let’s just make that “comedian,” seeing as how in Ms. Young’s case, although she did perform on stage it was from a wheelchair and she wasn’t technically standing up…a joke that, I like to think, she would have appreciated.

[4] Yep, it’s all about moiself.

[5] And still is…sort of.

[6] Kind of like a less nasal version of Bob Dylan’s current vocal stylings.

[7] DAMN!! I was hoping for an American’s Got Talent gig.

The Trigger I’m Not Warning

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Trigger warning: image of child abuse:

 

From NY Times article re the Gucci Spring 2016 collection.

From NY Times article re the Gucci Spring 2016 collection.

 

Could someone please alert UNICEF?

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A Book of Oh, Barf

“It’s tough to handle this fortune and fame,
 Everybody’s so different I haven’t changed.”
(Life’s Been Good, Joe Walsh)

Trigger warning: this post contains strong opinions, vulgarities and strong language.

 

 “I have a love/hate relationship with ____________. “

That’s what I would say; that’s the standard (read: worn out) phrase I might employ, were I to describe something about which I am ambivalent. Except that when it comes to the topic of literary fame and publicity, my feelings are definitely one-sided.

My loathing for such was rekindled Monday morning, as I thumbed through The Arts section of The NY Times, looking for the crossword and KenKen puzzles. [1] A full page ad opposite the puzzles trumpeted an upcoming reception celebrating the release of a new book by what I refer to as one of those TWAB POTS (scrambled acronym for Authors Who Have Started To Believe Their Own Publicity).  Here is the ad’s description for the book of what is likely to be a slim volume, given the subject matter: [2]

“______ (TWAB POTS’ name) has inspired millions with her wisdom, courage and honesty. Now she has selected 100 of her most popular and inspirational quotes for ______ ( pretentiously terse book title), a new volume she calls a “book of yes.”

 

I keep a barf bag close at hand, because you never know.

I keep a barf bag close at hand, because you never know.

 

“A book of yes.”

REALLY

 

Really – and, dang! Yet another of my working titles stolen. So now I have to call my collection of 100 of my most obscure and disheartening quotes, A Book of, Fuck No, What The Hell Were You Thinking?!”

Yet again, I digress.

 

likethatneverhappens

 

The ad further informed me that I may “hear the NY Times best-selling author discuss the twists and trials of her remarkable life” – an offer I shall decline, given my suspicions that author’s twists and trials have been somewhat calculated so as to procure book contracts.

Okay; I could be off-base about that previous opinion. But one thing I know for sure is that it is not good for one’s sense of self to voluntarily or otherwise [3] be subject to fawning adulation – no matter what the reason and no matter what your profession.

Honestly, how truly wise and courageous is it to allow yourself to be hyped for your wisdom, courage and honesty?

Our society revels in gleefully harping on the pomposity and egomania of celebrities. I am no exception, and oft mourned in this space what I see as the celebritization of authors.  Surrounded by such public relations horse manure hyperbole, how does or can you maintain a sense of perspective and modesty re your place in the larger world?

Fortunately (and, obviously), in my case, that question has never been put to the test. Still, were I to show up at a reading of one of my books and see a larger-than-life head-shot of me [4] on a banner, accompanied by a description of how my remarkable life and writing has inspired millions, no Sharpie ®  would go uncapped in my efforts to bring the proceedings down to earth.

 

Something like this, only even less mature.

Something like this, only even less mature.

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The Return of the Asshat

Trigger warning: this post contains opinions, language and pictures that may be offensive to people who watch reruns of Hee Haw and sigh, Now, that’s entertainment!

 

Let’s say you are a corporate CEO who employs a stable of intelligent and accomplished engineers. Do you utilize their technical experience and skills to find and/or create sources of renewable energy, or upgrade devices to remove pollutants from the air we all breathe…or maybe just design a more energy efficient window defroster?

 

VW = Veracity-Free Weasels

VW = Veracity-Free Weasels

 

Nah. You use them to cheat : Volkswagen Emissions Scandal Widens

You pay them to find a way to break the law and thus facilitate even more spewage of toxins into the atmosphere. [5]

Volkswagen, this Asshat of the Week award is for you.

 

AHat

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Department of Non Sequitur Segue to a Smoky Wee-wee Anecdote

Trigger warning: smoky wee-wee anecdote.

 

Dateline: First Day of Fall, out for my morning walk. Passing through a certain neighborhood, I noticed the air smells like what I can only imagine a bucket of piss would smell like if you put in under the lid of one of those BBQ smoker contraptions.

Not the autumnal aroma I was hoping for.

 

BBQ lovers, pull up a seat, urine for a treat.

BBQ lovers, pull up a seat, urine for a treat.

 

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Trigger warning: If you think phrases like “trigger warning” should be posted before strongly worded or controversial opinions, you shouldn’t be reading any blogs and definitely should not be browsing the internet.

 

Son K is (re) taking up fencing (he and his sister, Belle, took a fencing class many, many years ago). He has signed up for a couple of trial session with a local fencing academy, wherein one can drop in on ongoing classes. He returned home Tuesday night, after the first session, and said that although the class he attended is listed as for adults, at age twenty-two he seemed to be one of the elder class members.

When I asked if that bothered him, K smiled wryly and replied that it didn’t.  At  6 ‘3″+ he was one of the taller students in the class; thus, his reach far exceeded that of his kiddie opponents, most of whom were longtime students, obviously more experienced and skilled than he. K confessed to taking petty pleasure from sparring with the younger, shorter fencers, because at some point he’s just reach his blade over the top of their heads and, to use his sound effect, bop.

 

Here come de bop.

Here come de bop.

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Trigger warning: I really like saying bop.

I wonder if Little Bunny Foo Foo can be adapted for the scenarioI have going through my head?

You’re singing it now, admit it.

 

Little bunny foo foo, fencing through the forest....

Little bunny foo foo, fencing through the forest….

 

*   *   *

Trigger warning: Giddyap, boy, head for the hills while you can – that crazy ass cowboy plans to stuff you and put you in his museum!

 

TRIGGER+DELL

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May you enjoy more than your share of petty pleasures,
may your life be trigger-warning free,
and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

 

[1] Which the NYT oh-so-conveniently prints side-by-side on the same page, for us puzzle lovers.

[2] Insert hissing sound effects.

[3] I assume an author of her ilk has some input if not total approval of her own PR.

[4] For which you will never find me posing.

[5] Is this the fifth footnote? What a letdown.