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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?

*   *   *

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.

*   *   *

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

*   *   *

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.

 

*   *   *

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.

*   *   *

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

*   *   *

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.

The Bass I’m Not All About

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At first the man seated behind me (@ Portland Center Stage’s auditorium) spoke in normal, muted, waiting-for-the-play-to-begin tones to the woman beside him. I caught the phrases, “attempted to,” “many months,” and then…gulp…”decided to self-publish.”

If only these were earplugs....

If only these were earplugs….

Aye yi yi.

Unfortunately, that was when he began to raise the decibel  level.

“…’Below the Surface’ – I came up with the title when I was watching sea turtles….” 

He’d figured out something so authentic, so, like, deep – as in, below the surface – he felt compelled to share it with the world:

…you know, it’s that what’s underneath a person, the part you don’t see, is your authentic self, and you must discover this before you can find your authentic self and purpose, and until you do, every part of your life cannot be authentic [1] and you are doomed to frustration and annoying strangers sitting in the theatre waiting for Dreamgirls to start….

Amazing, isn’t it, that he’s going to have to self-publish – amazing, that no established, reputable publisher jumped at the opportunity to print his shallow commentary disguised as insights cribbed from every other self-realization/actualization help book published in the last twenty years profoundly authentic revelations?

WORD

*   *   *

The Department of How Many Copies Has This Song Sold?

Yes, I know I’m late to this particular party.  But really, I hadn’t heard the song until recently.  After a late afternoon workout session, I ejected my exercise CD. The media box reverted to TV mode, and lo and behold, the host of a popular talk show was introducing a singer/songwriter. S/S proclaimed that after she’d watched a certain segment of that certain talk show, S/S had been inspired to write a song about “body image and acceptance.” [2]

I’m somewhat suspicious about any song that is marketed as any kind of anthem.  I am really suspicious when the performance of an alleged anthem about body image and acceptance – or, as per the singer/songwriter Meghan Trainor, “female body empowerment” –  is accessorized by provocatively clad and twerking dancers and backup singers.

Yeah, that seems right.

Yeah, that seems right.

Gotta admit, I thought the song’s melody was catchy.  Then I made the mistake of paying attention to the lyrics, which included the affirming, anthemic, progressive, we-shall-overcome lines:

“Yeah it’s pretty clear, I ain’t no size two
but I can shake it, shake it, like I’m supposed to do.”

‘Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
 And all the right junk in all the right places 

 Yeah, my mama she told me don’t worry about your size
 She says, “Boys like a little more booty to hold tonight.”

 You know I won’t be no stick figure silicone Barbie doll
 So if that’s what you’re into then go ahead and move along

 I’m bringing booty back
 Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches that…”

So, uh huh. Acceptance involves dissing other women – excuse me, stick figure silicone Barbie dolls & skinny bitches – while an empowering body image means thinking that shaking your ample boom boom that all the boys chase is not only what you’re supposed to do, but is a good thing because that’s what boys like….

REALLY

My junk musta been in the wrong place – ya know, me and my fellow skinny ass bitches musta been AWOL – when Gloria SteinemFlorynce Kennedy,  Letty Cotton Pogrebin, Barbara Ehrenreich, Susan FaludiPhyllis Chesler and other great minds of 21st century feminist thought collaborated on this particular Female Empowerment memo.

*   *   *

☼   Captured by the KGB   ☼

Aka, Masterpiece Theatre Presents Great Performances in Child abuse Child Management
(Setting: A Medical Practice near Stanford Hospital, circa 1988)

She was, simply and profoundly, one pest of a kid.  The girl was around eight or nine, obnoxious as hell…although her temperament should not have mattered.  A child should not brought to her mother’s medical appointments and left to fend for herself.  Woman, you either take your daughter in the exam room with you, or get a sitter. [3]

But This Particular Woman never got a sitter for her daughter. Four years in a row, TPW brought her daughter to TPW’s annual exams, each time assuring me and the rest of the OB/GYN practice’s staff that “she (daughter) is really quite mature and no trouble at all,” and each time following that patently false statement with the balls-out (so to speak) request, “If you all don’t mind watching her while I’m in with Dr. ___….”

Four years in a row, the staff told her in so many different ways, As a matter of fact yes, we do mind, and even if we didn’t mind we are WORKING and that work does not include babysitting, and this is a medical practice and there are hazardous instruments and chemicals and….

Four years in a row, TPW ignored us.

TPW resided in a tony Bay Area suburb. Given her address – and the vacations she bragged about taking with her husband – it was reasonable to assume she could easily have afforded to hire a sitter (hell, a 24 hour nanny service) for her daughter. [4]   But, noooooooooo.

She’d tell her daughter that if she needed anything or got bored to ask the “nice office ladies” for some help.  And while TPW was in the exam room with Dr. ___, TPW’s daughter would run around the waiting room, annoying other patients waiting for their appointments, and barge through the door to the staff area and pester the staff. [5]

Year five; TPW’s annual exam. Lather; rinse; repeat.  TPW’s daughter ignored the children’s magazines our office manager had purchased especially for the occasion, as well as the receptionist’s directive to remain in the waiting room. While the receptionist was on the phone retrieving lab results and the office manager was making a return appointment for an OB patient and I was readying an exam room for the next patient, TPW’s demon spawn bad seed daughter pushed past the waiting room door, banged on the receptionist’s typewriter, then prowled the hallway that led to the exam rooms.

bad seed

I exited the second exam room, carrying an instrument tray which had been used for an IUD insertion, and bumped into the kid, who nearly ended up with a speculum on her head.

That was that.

“Come with me,” I directed the girl. She followed me as I walked to our small lab room, dumped the instruments in the sink by the autoclave and stripped off my gloves.

“You’ve got quite an imagination, I can tell. Would you like to play a game?”  The girl beamed affirmatively.  “I gotta warn you, it’s a very special game and takes a smart, strong person to play it.  Not every kid can handle…”

“Oh-oh, I can! I can do it! Let me play!’

“All right.”  The office manager had left for her lunch break, and I pushed her empty chair to the corner of the staff work area, next to the copy machine. I instructed the girl to take a seat.  “The name of the game is, ‘Captured by the KGB.’ ”

KGB

“I am a KGB agent, and you are an American spy.  You have been blindfolded and tied to this chair, and are waiting for the head of the KGB to interrogate you.”  I showed the girl how to wrap her arms around the back of the chair, as if her wrists were tied together.

“All the other KGB agents” – I indicated myself and the receptionist, who gave me her Robyn, WTF?! look  [6] –   “are trying to get you to confess. But you are strong! You will not betray your country! And you do not say one word.”

The girl squinted shut her eyes and giggled as I pretended to fasten a blindfold around her head.  “That’s right!” she exclaimed, “I’m strong, and I…  ”

“Uh uh uh – not one word, remember?”

I returned to my work.  The girl was a brave little spy for a few minutes, then began to softly whine.

This is boring.

I reminded her that she had been captured by the KGB, and that there is nothing boring about espionage.  That bought me another two minutes.

I don’t like this game anymore. She opened her eyes, but kept her hands behind her back.

“You have been captured by the KGB.  They don’t care what you like, and they’ll gag you if you do not stay silent.”

Another minute passed.

I d-d-don’t wanna play this anymore.  I – I don’t like this game.  There was a catch in the girl’s voice, and her eyes filled with tears.

The receptionist gaped at me, her eyes widening – in astonishment or admiration, I couldn’t tell – just as we heard the distinctive squeak of exam room three’s door.

“Mommy!” The girl ran to TPW and buried her face in TPW’s skirt.

“She missed you.” I said to TPW, and flashed the most disingenuous smile ever to grace Dr. ___’s hallway.

crocsmiles

*   *   *

Epilogue:
The girl apparently said nothing to TPW (at least, not while she was in the office) about being captured by the KGB.

Epi-epilogue:
TPW did not bring her daughter  to her subsequent appointments with Dr. ___.

Epi-epi-epilogue:
The statute of limitations has passed, so don’t even think about reporting me to CPS.

*   *   *

May you be all about everything but your bass, may your behavior stand up to KGB agent scrutiny, and may the above-the-surface hijinks ensue.

 

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

 

[1] And did I mention he seemed concerned with authenticity?

[2] Shame on you, Ellen.

[3] Nope, I don’t know why she wasn’t in school. Almost no one was homeschooling back then, and certainly not the wealthy.

[4] Why is it always the ones who can afford it who try to get something for free?

[5] TPW’s and her daughter’s behaviors were noted in TPW’s chart, as a warning for future staff members. TPW was the only patient who, when she called to make her appointments, was reminded to procure child care. And yes, the practice’s staff spoke to the doctor about the situation (he was reluctant to handle “patient behavior issues.”  Read: he felt that was not his problem, it was ours.)

[6] I’d seen that look more than once.