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The Meaningful Lessons I’m Not Learning

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Department Of I Moiself  Apparently Have A Very Different Standard
For Usage Of The Word, “Meaningful”

Copy from an ad in Thursday’s  New York Times Arts section,  [1] by Penguin Publishing, to promote their new book, Lessons: My Path to a Meaningful Life :

“Meaningful lessons from supermodel and philanthropist Gisele Bündchen.”

 

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Department Of Answering Your Most Pressing Questions About
Post-Thanksgiving Dinner Personal Hygiene…    [2]

As the holiday season continues, many people would like to find an easy way to remove the noxious body odor which seems to linger after Thanksgiving. This tang du corpus can best be described as the effluence of a combination of bitter disappointments stemming from:

(a) the invading caravan of potato rolls lined up on your dinner plate, which you meant to stop at the border of your mouth when you realized it was headed for your waist line,

(b) despite having promised not to get into “such subjects” at the holiday dinner table, both your grandfather and uncle derided your political beliefs, then asked when you were going to get a real job…

 

 

 

 

…and you feel if you could just rest in the stress-soothing, steamy torrent of a hot shower, all would be well.

Think again.

Long, hot showers can combat the skin’s natural functions as a protective barrier and deplete natural oils from the surface while also stripping hair of its own protective oils and weaken your complexion altogether. Hot showers adversely affect the skin’s most outer layer, the epidermis, full of substances that provide a tough defense against outside conditions while retaining moisture.
Heat from hot water combined with soap will soften your skin and slowly strip away its natural, oily protective barriers. Some of this can good like removing dirt, sweat, or body odor. However, we want to keep in the skin’s natural moisture where possible and prevent dry or irritated, itchy skin.
Basically, the longer and hotter the shower, the worse it is for your skin’s health.
(“Why Long Hot Showers Are Bad For Your Skin,” metrin.com

 

 

“And I need to know this because…?”

 

 

 

Most dermatologists caution that even shorter daily showers are not only unnecessary but “bad” for you, in that daily bathing recudes skin hydration and strips the skin of its natural oils, which can disrupt the ‘good’ bacteria that supports people’s immune systems. According to infectious-disease expert Dr Elaine Larson from Columbia University, “most people bathe in the belief it will reduce their risk of illness, however, it actually does little more than remove body odor.”

But there is that pesky odor issue, which we (read: Americans) tend to be overconcerned with. Chill out; if it’s been a day since you showered, even if you’ve done a moderate aerobic workout you probably don’t smell as badly as you think you do  (unless the workout included doing your triathalon training lap swimming in a pool of dead herring).

 

 

 

So, what to do if you’re concerned about body odor (as young adults especially tend to be) after, say, a trip to the gym, and you don’t like the thought of skipping your shower? You need to learn how to give yourself a mini-sponge bath. If the term sponge-bath stirs up too much semi-comatose-person-in-a-convalescent-hospital imagery for you, just think of it as what I have for many years, after having being introduced to the term by an elderly friend: a whore bath.

 

This image may seem like a non sequitur, but do you really a want a picture illustrating the previous paragraph?

 

 

How to give yourself a whore mini-sponge bath: you need one clean towel for drying and three clean washcloths. Moisten each washcloth with warm water and use them to wipe down three key body areas, using a clean washcloth for each area. You’ll sponge-wash the three parts of the body that have the highest concentration of sweat glands per surface area:

(1) the under arms, (2) the chest, (3), and the groin.

Hmmm, now what was it that I was supposed to wash? Make it easy to remember by using the following jingle, which immediately came to moiself’s mind when I first read the whore mini-sponge bath instructions  [3]  :

“Pits, tits, and naughty bits.“

 

 

“Can you say that, boys and girls? I knew you could.”

 

 

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Department Of My Nominee For The Nobel Peace Prize

Once again, the folks at Poo-pourri have outdone themselves with their new product advertisement, this time for what they call the “Assistant“.

Not only do I think Poo-pourri should win the Nobel Peace Prize,  [4] I also and hereby nominate them for a Clio Award for Best Advertisement Ever – in a tie, with their original product ad:

 

 

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Department Of I’m Still Shaking My Head Over The Sublime Juxtaposition

Supermodel and philanthropist

 

 

 

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Department Of A You Know What In A You Know What

A neighbor out for a walk, stopping on our sidewalk, pointing at the laminated picture hanging, along with colored lights, from the fruit tree in our front yard:

“Is that who I think it is, and is this tree…oh, please tell me it’s a pear tree?!?!”

After a hiatus of a couple of years, MH and I decided it was time to return to putting up outdoor Christmas lights, and the “bonus” hidden within, to our pear tree.  MH surprised me by going four better than my original setup: he returned from a trip to Office Depot depot with five laminated pictures of The Partridge Family members: Mom Partridge, plus all the kids except for the little drummer boy (there were two actors who played the part, and nobody really liked them, so, meh).  We decided Laurie could start out the week.

 

 

We’ve decided to do a rotation – a different Partridge, every week. Pictures will be posted here, for your viewing enjoyment.

 

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Department Of Wishing I’d Been Kinder To A Partridge

The anecdote I am going to relate took place in the summer of (most likely) either 1971-1972, when The Partridge Family was new enough that its cast members were doing promotional appearances during the show’s summer hiatus.

For many years, my family’s summer vacation followed the same pattern: my father took no vacation days until summer, and then took ’em all at once: we hitched up our trailer  [5]   to our station wagon and headed north from SoCal.  Sequoia; Yosemite; The Redwoods; Crater Lake; Bryce; Zion; Yellowstone; The Grand Tetons – depending on the year, we alternated between visiting many of the West’s National Parks or just going up through Oregon and Washington, staying for a week or so at favorite campsites along the Rogue River, etc., on our way to visit to my mother’s older sister and her husband, who lived in Spokane (WA).

On one of the latter such itineraries we stopped in Seattle, because my parents wanted to see the Space Needle. Their kids, not so much…but we weren’t the ones setting the itinerary. It was a slow day; not many visitors, and the Space Needle employee who boarded us onto the elevator announced that the top deck (of the SN) was closed due to a private event. After the elevator door shut I think I pressed the button for that floor anyway – somehow, we ended up being able to go to that floor.

When we got off the elevator the floor was empty of tourists or other people, except for three adults and one adolescent who were milling about in the center of the floor, near a counter-bar setup of some sort. My parents and siblings wandered about the perimeter, trying to find a way to get out to the SN’s observation deck, while I sulked as only a 13 year old can (this is boring…can we go now).  I wasn’t interested in any stupid Space Needle, wanted to get back on the road, and besides, it was foggy – in Seattle! Imagine that – and you couldn’t see anything from the observation deck anyway.

I turned my attention to the other four people near that bar/counter. Two of the adults were just old men in suits, but why did the other adult and the kid look familiar? I quickly figured it out – the kid’s flaming red hair and freckles were a giveaway.  The adult was the actor who played Reuben Kincaid, the Partridge Family manager (the actor’s name was Dave Madden,) and the kid was Danny Partridge, the precocious/smart ass middle brother and bassist (played by Danny Bonaduce).

 

 

 

 

 

(The private event the elevator operator had told us about was a promotional tour for those two TPF actors; later on, when my family was exiting the Space Needle, I saw a black stretch limousine, parked at the curb by the SN’s front entrance, sporting a banner stretching across the driver’s side which read something like, “Meet Reuben Kincaid and Danny from the Partridge Family”).

The three adults (the Two Suite Men and “Reuben”) talked shop, while Danny, obviously bored out of his gourd, looked for ways to entertain himself. He hung upside down from a velvet rope barrier that snaked around the bar/counter area, then gradually made his way to where I stood, and attempted to engage me in conversation.  We were close in age – I later found out the age difference was about 2 ½ years although of course I considered myself much older than this…this what? Who was this jerk, trying to impress me because he had a role on a cheesy sitcom?  Puh-leaze…

I was determined to maintain my facade of jaded nonchalance. Although I didn’t turn my back on him I crossed my arms, grunted a few unintelligible responses, and generally made my body language as unwelcoming as possible until I found an excuse to rejoin my family.

These many decades later, I see the encounter for what it likely was: he was just a kid, stuck on a trip he probably didn’t want to go on, looking to relieve the tedium with…perhaps another bored kid around his age who was also stuck with uncomprehending adults (in his case, booking agents, in my case, parents).

And, so what if he had been trying to impress me? Would it have hurt me to humor him, to have joined in some banter…or simply to have been kind?

Decades later, after TPF was cancelled, Bonaduce became notorious for running afoul of the law due to various drug and alcohol problems. Yeah, it was probably my fault.

 

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May you settle for philanthropy if supermodel just isn’t in the cards for you;
May you be kind o Partridges in and out of pear trees;
May you enjoy the bath that fits your pits tits and naughty bits;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

 

 

 

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

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[1] The placement of which ruined the crossword puzzle for me, gawddammit.

[2] Which you haven’t (yet) asked, but you know you want to.

[3] In a dermatology magzine, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, when I worked in the medical field.

[4] As well as being considered for the Nobel Prize in Chemistry and/or Physiology and Medicine.

[5] Looking back, especially in comparison with today’s rigs, it was amazingly small,  for a family of six.

THE POMP I’M NOT CIRCUMCISING

Comments Off on THE POMP I’M NOT CIRCUMCISING

Pomp and Circumcision

Or whatever that graduation song is

Was it only…or already…four years ago that I was feeling a wee bit teary-eyed at the opening strains of that classic commencement chorus [1], watching K in his ill-fitting blue cap and gown descend the stairway in the high school gym?  And there it was again, last Sunday. On a cloudy/sunny afternoon in Tacoma, K’s sister Belle, his father MH and I watched him graduate from the University of Puget Sound.

 

Eligrad

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These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Wasp nests on car doors and….

waspnest

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Department of Nuance Comprehension

While the smoke is still clearing from the next religiously-motivated suicide bombing, there will be some blithering apologists well-meaning but naive PC advocates who’ll whine that the terrorists aren’t “true” believers, and that “Islam is a peaceful religion – in fact, Islam means ‘peace’…”.  Then, when Bill Maher (or someone else with a public forum) points out  

* the numerous passages in the Koran and the Hadith that call for violence against infidels and heretics
* that “Islam,” in fact, translates as “submission”

he will be pelted with pejoratives, ala “Intolerance! Islamophobe!”

REALLY

Children, use your words, and use them appropriately.

Correcting misinformation is not intolerance. Stating a fact, even an opinion, is not intolerance nor evidence of _____- phobia.

I was on the receiving end of similar [2] accusations of censorship and intolerance when I posted a picture, taken during the afore-mentioned graduation trip, of stickers I placed on the inside cover pages of the religious book I found in my hotel room.

 

gideon

 

Whenever I travel I carry a supply of “warning stickers.” [3] These stickers may be placed on the inside covers of the religious books (mainly Gideon Bibles [4] ) that often infest are found in hotel and motel rooms. The book remains in its entirety; the sticker(s) “censor” nothing, but merely serve as a playful prank to (hopefully) tweak the curiosity of those who might not know much about the inappropriately-nicknamed good book and who the heck that Gideon character was.

The warning labels on cigarette packs are just that – warning labels. They neither censor nor destroy the pack, and the cigarettes contained therein are still widely available for purchase. The labels simply warn that cigarette smoking causes pulmonary and heart disease and is linked to a variety of other morbidities.

So. Back to nuance comprehension. All together now. This:

 

warning

 

Is not this:

bookkburn

 

Who does not understand the difference?

Some well-meaning users of social media (and other venues), apparently.

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Department of What Goes Around Comes Around
(or so I can dream)

Dateline: last week, a sporting goods store. As I stood in line to check out after using the venue’s indoor archery range, a large, bear-shaped man reeking of cigarette smoke passed by.  On one of his massive forearms he had a tattoo, in that faux-Asian bamboo font

bamboo font

which read, in all caps:

GO  FUCK  YOURSELF

Charming.

Friends, family, readers of this blog, religious conservative batshit crazy wing nuts, people with differing political and religious viewpoints – y’all know I am not averse to the shrewd application of 80 Proof Language ® . And, there do seem to be times and places and people for which GFY is the only rational reaction.

But, really. Of all the ways to present yourself to anyone…to the world….  Is this really how you want to “introduce” yourself to people who have given you no insult or caused you no harm – people whom you’ve never even met but who, due to proximity, find themselves confronted and affronted by the brusque directive on your hairy forearm?

 

braying ass

 

Dude?  You extend your arm for a handshake with the boss – e wraps  GO FUCK YOURSELF. You reach down to pet your niece’s new puppy – GO FUCK YOURSELF. You return the good morning wave of your elderly next-door neighbor – GO FUCK YOURSELF. You raise your hand to salute a disabled veteran marching in the July 4th parade – GO FUCK YOURSELF.

From the looks of him, there’s a good chance Mr. GFY is going to need emergency medical care in the near future. Petty person that I am, I find it fitting to contemplate a certain scenario: one EMT rolls up the guy’s sleeve to start an IV, pauses, then tells her fellow paramedic not to bother attaching the cardiac monitor: “This guy has a DNR order and is refusing treatment.” They pack up their equipment and leave Mr. GFY…well, totally fucked, himself.

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In the garage pantry I beheld the result of MH’s Costco trip, and asked him:

If we left the garage door open, do you think our Great Wall of Cheerios could be viewed from the space station?

cheerios

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Department of Ecumenical Ignorance Enhancement

Aka, my contribution to world peace.

I propose the establishment of Rosh Ramada Yo Mama, an interfaith observance combining aspects of  Rosh Hoshanna, and Ramadan, wherein Jews and Muslims set aside their differences and acknowledging their mutual suffering as they convene in substandard motels where they are served nothing but decaf instant Sanka between dawn and dusk.

ramada

Attention, Norwegian Nobel Committee members reading this blog: please send my Nobel Peace Prize award nomination notification via my snail mail address.

 

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May your vehicles be wasp nest-free; may your observances be tolerantly subversive and fully caffeinated, 

and may the hijinks ensue.

 

 

 

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

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[1] Altogether: always avoid alliteration.

[2] If much milder

[3] which interested freethinkers may acquire at the Freedom From Religion Foundation’s website store.

[4] Placed in hotel rooms by The Gideon Society, the Mormon church and other religious groups – the lodging venues do not pay for them.