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Some Call It Dancing – Part Three

July 15, 2017 Leave a comment

“Ready”, Sylvia said.  She hung up the phone, stood and waited at the stage door.  The Red Foxx recording stopped abruptly in the middle of a dirty joke and Tony’s voice echoed flatly in the auditorium.

“Now ladies and gentlemen, the always exciting, sweet and slender ‘Angel”.  A ripple of applause was drowned out by the opening strains of Rod Stewart’s version of ‘Tonight’s The Night’.  Sylvia pushed the stage door open and strode proudly into the red spotlight, which followed her to centre stage.  She swung into her improvised routine, moving with slow, gentle grace to the sensual music.

The audience applauded appreciatively.  Sylvia, whose appearance fitted well with her stage name ‘Angel’, was a favourite with the ‘regulars’ at Paris Paradise.  Unlike any of the other girls, Sylvia looked into the faces of her audience during her performances.  The audiences were accustomed to the sulky, resentful expressions usually shown by the dancers.  But Sylvia liked showing herself, and she liked the easy money that stripping brought her.  The lonely, rejected men in the audience were made to feel warm toward Sylvia.  They saw her as a real person who existed in places not connected with her nude dancing in Paris Paradise.

Not until the song ended did Sylvia remove the outer layer of her costume.  The audience didn’t object.  She danced beautifully, and her warm, friendly personality extended out of the red spotlight, over the footlights, and into the hearts of the men in the audience.

The second song came on, and offered a change of pace.  Frank Sinatra’s voice filled the room with ‘You Make Me Feel So Young’, and Sylvia swung and spun as if the lyrics were guiding her.  Her long, well-shaped legs swept her from one side of the stage to the other, affording all members of the audience a close look at her muscled body.  This, too, endeared her to the audience.  Most often, the dancers kept to the centre of the stage, robbing those on the extreme left and right sides of the audience of a clear view of what they’d paid to see.

Sylvia’s routine unfolded like a flower, shedding petals.  Songs by Neil Diamond and Lou Rawls provided the balance of her music.  The audience applauded enthusiastically, whistled, and called for more… more… as Sylvia gathered up her costume and ducked backstage and into the dressing room.

After she showered in the small stall at the back of the dressing room, Sylvia came out to her place in front of the mirror.  She relaxed for a few minutes before dressing in her street clothes.  Marisa, a tall, lean black girl sucked on a joint and handed it to Sylvia.  Marisa was a transsexual in her twenties.  She was born male, and by the time she had turned nineteen, she’d had several operations to become the woman she always felt she should have been.  Her own father was the surgeon who helped her make the transition because he couldn’t bear to see her suffering as she did when she wore the male body that felt to her like a prison.  She had been a female in every way but physically and never knew a happy moment until she became a woman.  Finally, she took great joy and satisfaction in earning her living exhibiting her altered body.

“Ready”, Sylvia said.  She hung up the phone, stood and waited at the stage door.  The Red Foxx recording stopped abruptly in the middle of a dirty joke and Tony’s voice echoed flatly in the auditorium.

“Now ladies and gentlemen, the always exciting, sweet and slender ‘Angel”.  A ripple of applause was drowned out by the opening strains of Rod Stewart’s version of ‘Tonight’s The Night’.  Sylvia pushed the stage door open and strode proudly into the red spotlight, which followed her to centre stage.  She swung into her improvised routine, moving with slow, gentle grace to the sensual music.

The audience applauded appreciatively.  Sylvia, whose appearance fitted well with her stage name ‘Angel’, was a favourite with the ‘regulars’ at Paris Paradise.  Unlike any of the other girls, Sylvia looked into the faces of her audience during her performances.  The audiences were accustomed to the sulky, resentful expressions usually shown by the dancers.  But Sylvia liked showing herself, and she liked the easy money that stripping brought her.  The lonely, rejected men in the audience were made to feel warm toward Sylvia.  They saw her as a real person who existed in places not connected with her nude dancing in Paris Paradise.

Not until the song ended did Sylvia remove the outer layer of her costume.  The audience didn’t object.  She danced beautifully, and her warm, friendly personality extended out of the red spotlight, over the footlights, and into the hearts of the men in the audience.

The second song came on, and offered a change of pace.  Frank Sinatra’s voice filled the room with ‘You Make Me Feel So Young’, and Sylvia swung and spun as if the lyrics were guiding her.  Her long, well-shaped legs swept her from one side of the stage to the other, affording all members of the audience a close look at her muscled body.  This, too, endeared her to the audience.  Most often, the dancers kept to the centre of the stage, robbing those on the extreme left and right sides of the audience of a clear view of what they’d paid to see.

Sylvia’s routine unfolded like a flower, shedding petals.  Songs by Neil Diamond and Lou Rawls provided the balance of her music.  The audience applauded enthusiastically, whistled, and called for more… more… as Sylvia gathered up her costume and ducked backstage and into the dressing room.

After she showered in the small stall at the back of the dressing room, Sylvia came out to her place in front of the mirror.  She relaxed for a few minutes before dressing in her street clothes.  Marisa, a tall, lean black girl sucked on a joint and handed it to Sylvia.  Marisa was a transsexual in her twenties.  She was born male, and by the time she had turned nineteen, she’d had several operations to become the woman she always felt she should have been.  Her own father was the surgeon who helped her make the transition because he couldn’t bear to see her suffering as she did when she wore the male body that felt to her like a prison.  She had been a female in every way but physically and never knew a happy moment until she became a woman.  Finally, she took great joy and satisfaction in earning her living exhibiting her altered body.

This is not Bigotry

July 14, 2017 Leave a comment

I am going to avoid forming friendships with two groups in the future. One group is the Jewish cult of Hassidic people. The other group is black people. I know how it can look like bigotry, but I am not against any kind of people in general. Let me explain.

I have had friendly relationships with three black people; two women and a man. All three disappointed me. They took advantage of my sincerity, my ability, and in general, they each, in separate friendships, disappointed me. Of course I will meet with and talk with other black people, but I will shy away from forming any kind of friendship or relationship. I have befriended three different black people in three different environments. They did not know each other. Each one, in ways similar to the others, betrayed my affection.

Similarly, I am never going to form a friendship with a Hassidic person. I have done business, and formed friendships with three Hassidic families. We enjoyed many conversations, teaching each other things from our separate societies. Each was a separate relationship, in business and in friendship. Of course, they knew each other, because they are all connected within their division of the cult.

In spite of very comfortable relationships, each of the Hassidic businesses cheated me. They refused to pay bills, even bills that I had to pay to my suppliers. They would pretend the colour was wrong, or the type was wrong, and used that to justify their thievery.

I did some research into how orthodox people can be crooked. What I learned is this; they have a connection with god, and their allegiance is to god. That’s why they pray 4 or 5 times a day. Their connection with society, however, is unimportant. It doesn’t count, as long as they’re in god’s good books. If one is not a practicing orthodox Jew, one does not qualify for honesty.

All religions, in one way or another, are built with the same self-importance.

It’s Good To Be A Canadian

July 1, 2017 Leave a comment

My parents were born in Canada, and my grandparents were born in Europe. They were driven from their homes late in the 19th century, and through much hardship and deprivation, started over in Canada.

red leaves

I’m happy and proud to be Canadian, and I enjoy the friendly encounters one has in Europe, when one wears the Canadian flag or Maple Leaf symbol. It should be a sign to the Usas (we don’t allow the name ‘America’, so it’s now Usa. Canada is much more of North America than is Usa) that their flag elicits animosity while ours elicits warmth.

Canada is 150 years old today, and celebrations are rampant throughout the land. Laughter and happiness among all the people, comprised of families from throughout the world. They are not segregated, no matter who or from where.

 

Two People are Questioned…

June 27, 2017 3 comments

First to face the inquisitors is a mature person, basically intelligent and well educated in top quality schools. The inquisitors lay out a conundrum for the wise, mature, intelligent person to consider for one calm, thoughtful hour.

The conundrum is this: The leader of a nation lies steadily and obviously, while the truth is evident to all. The leader fails to deliver, or attempt to deliver the promised needs of the general population. He tramples the nation’s laws, rules, and constitution and steers wealth to oligarchs while wreaking hardship and health hazards on the average citizens.

The question to the intelligent person is this; can you find reason and justification to believe in and support such a national leader? Consider carefully for one hour.

The hour passes quietly as the educated person analyses the conundrum. At the hour’s end, the person admits that there is no way to not hate and reject that leader.

The second person to be faced with the conundrum is a handyman that lives in government subsidized housing. He said he didn’t “need no stinkin’ hour. It’s obviously Trump, and Trump is the best, straightest president ever, and the media is all lies and fake news.”

And so falls the hard-earned dominance of the USA. They’ve got it coming to them.

Changing The Lives Of Others

June 19, 2017 Leave a comment

I’ve blogged in the past about being blamed for ruining some peoples’ lives. I debunked the accusations by pointing out that they were getting a free ride from me, while they had little to offer in return. Therefore, when I moved on, and spent less and less time with them, they blamed me for ruining their lives. I guess they were pissed off that they were going to have to get their own cars, boats, cottages, and all. Tough!

I might be able to claim some positive points because I’ve changed some lives for the better. A family was fragmented, there was an ocean between some of them, and when I was attracted into it, several benefits ensued.

I was divorced, and had put a little free ad on ‘Friend Finders’, and it was very effective. I was enjoying several dates each week, and frequent sleepovers. One day I received a response that was different from most.

“I am a doctor in Budapest,” she wrote. Obviously, she was of interest. I thought of her as exotic. In truth, I always hoped to date a doctor. I assumed she would be knowledgeable about the body and how to enjoy it. I also have always hoped I’d have a European lover. I feel that Europeans are more sensual than are North  American women. It’s just an assumption based on personal experience.

This Hungarian doctor was planning to visit a city where I’d lived. She was taking a rare trip to visit her only child, a son, during the Christmas holidays. The boy had moved with his father to my city, for a better life. The boy was just 20, and worked very hard to support himself and his father. He also educated himself and got a job. His father was a chemist, but ill health kept him from working.

The lady doctor is very intelligent, and did a lot of work to communicate with me in English. To help her understand my writing in the many emails she received, I spoke the same words as I wrote, so she could follow the meanings. We began to fall in love on line, even before we met. I was not eager to marry again, and I was having a very satisfying social life. Still, the doctor proved to be wonderful.

To be sure of our feelings, I went to Budapest when the doctor was back home, and stayed with her for six weeks. It went well. I went home to sort things out, and moved to Budapest. I was not able to diminish my love for her because she was so damn smart she was able to patch any leaks I might cause in the relationship.

There was some more flying back and forth over the Atlantic Ocean, some high drama getting Hungarian permission to marry, and finally the paperwork was done. Several more adventures took place, but I want to get to my point.

The doctor retired, she married me in a village on the banks of the Danube, we flew home the next day, and the day after that we moved into our cabin in the forest.

As a result, the loving mother who had been separated from her only child for two decades now had Mom close by. He had me, her Mom’s husband, as a helping hand when his father was unable to.

His life more stabilized, her son married. We moved to a house in the village where her son and his wife lived. They had a baby. My wife was a grandmother, living a couple of blocks from her grandchild. Her son and his wife each had important day jobs, so my wife and I got to participate in raising the child. She spent every weekday in our home, being cared for and taught every day.

After the baby started school, we still had her for about 3 hours every day after school.

So how did I make some lives better? Well a 40 year old son had his mother with him most every day, after 20 years apart. His mother has a grandchild that is with her for part of about 300 days a year. The child’s mother can pursue her goals and have some personal time.

I’m happy as hell, because I love being part of the child’s life, and being accepted as her ‘Papi’, or grandfather. Her biological grandfathers are unable to see her often. My own children elected to be childless, so the stepchild is a dream come true.

As for the marriage, we’re in the 15th year of our honeymoon.

Dr. Huxtable, Please Stop!

June 17, 2017 Leave a comment

I assume the Bill Cosby hung jury is because some jurists just didn’t want to tarnish the ‘America’s Dad’ image. I sympathize with that. I loved Cosby’s stand up acts, when he was just out of college. I guess I saw him on late night talk shows in those days.

Later, he was co-staring with Robert Culp in a mock cop show. I think it was called ‘I Spy’. I liked the show and the actors, and it hurts to think that Bill Cosby was drugging and raping women during those years. Why would he? Perhaps his personal kink is that the woman has to be inert. It’s abnormal, but it’s been heard of.

I was expecting, and hoping, that the prosecution would not retry Cosby. He’s guilty, and he’s old and somewhat blind, so what would the law do to him? If they would elect not to retry, the kids that loved the Fat Albert cartoons and other comedy things that Bill Cosby created, could continue to be cool with Dr. Huxtable.

Fear is not Respect

June 9, 2017 Leave a comment

I remember hearing the expression, “God fearing person.” I interpret that to mean that one had better toe the line on god’s rules. I’ve heard tough, muscled bikers declare that they have respect from the people. He means fear, just as does the god devoted. I suspect that dedicated Christian people sometimes attend church out of fear that they might be damned for not attending services. That’s why religion, in general, is bunk. Christians are supposed to believe in gentleness, generosity, and living simply.

There are millions of so-called Christians living high and handsomely, not simply. Why?

Through the media, most people know that gangsters, mobsters, and Mafia soldiers are very proud that they are respected by the community. That’s a lot of crap. One night they beat the crap out of a guy who owns a little restaurant. He likes his current supplier of smoked meats, but cowards pretending to be brave have to make him change suppliers, so they beat him. They threaten his family. The neighbourhood knows about it, so they act respectful to the thugs. But it’s just an act. It’s actually fear. They would rather pee on the punks’ shoes, but they’d get beaten.

Real respect is earned, not demanded. A dedicated doctor deserves – and receives – respect, with no fear involved. Clergymen, authors, artists, musicians all can earn respect in their own ways. Thugs and people with guns deserve fear, not respect.