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Women are not Ornaments

February 6, 2018 Leave a comment

pri_68161917      Many fans of Formula One auto racing are upset that the iconic ‘grid girls’ are to be discontinued. I am pleased that the girls will be gone, because they should not stand in rows, dressed in identical, sexy outfits. I raced sports cars when I was younger, and I always felt that it was not a good idea to have women in the pit areas unless they were part of a team, working with the crew in a real job.

The grid girls are just a distraction for fans of the sport. Race time is a time of intense focus and concentration, and women in the pits for the sake of ornamentation are clearly out of place. When watching a Formula One event, I have always wondered why the pretty ladies demeaned themselves in that way. They are doing nothing other than perhaps holding a sign with a number on it, or some such thing. They are superfluous.

The smiles are pretty, the legs are lovely, but neither has anything to do with the very serious and expensive event that is a Formula One race. The women are obviously instructed to smile prettily and applaud vigorously as the sweating drivers hurry past them to the cool down rooms. I have never seen any driver even notice the girls. They know that the smiles and applause are just set up for the viewing audience, and have no real meaning to the participants in the event.

I am pleased that I will no longer feel sorry for the girls that were positioned on the grid and in the entrance hall to the cool down room. I am sorry that they are losing whatever small pay they received for that humble occupation. The truth is that only women who are either driving the car or working as part of the crew should be in the pits of any motor race. Just the same as men are not a good fit in a crocheting group. Men should be there if they are fans of crocheting and participating in the craft, but not to be stand-by ornaments.

In this modern age, no job need be gender-specific, but being good looking and standing holding a number sign is not a worthy career goal. Ladies are welders and builders and lawyers and doctors as good as any man can be. They are well-advised to build careers rather than be pretty and hold signs. Any job that can be replaced by a post on a base is not a job for an intelligent person, male or female.

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To Shame the FBI

February 2, 2018 Leave a comment

If it is not already obvious to you, the so called President of the USA is mentally unbalanced. Have faith that the FBI is doing its proper job in the proper way. The so called president, on the other hand, has done nothing proper. Not only has he done no proper act as so called president, he’s been a lying thief all his life. I suspect that his parents and grandparents were similarly corrupt, as are his children.

It’s sad that people can only revel in the increase in the new jobs and pay scale. The reason for the improvements is the desecration of ecological priorities. Trump believes it’s okay to filth the waters and poison the earth as part of his money grab for himself and his disgusting cohorts.

It has always been a problem when good people associate with bad people. The bad people never rise toward the good people. Instead, the good people sink to the depth of the low, greedy, selfish, dishonest bad people.

The obvious reason the executive branch needs to discredit the FBI is to set up a fake reason why Trump should not be arrested. The documentation will show that Trump’s evil deeds are provable, and the FBI’s deeds are proven proper deeds. Be prepared, when charges are laid at last, for loud declarations that the FBI is corrupt. They’ll claim the FBI has been against Trump from the outset. Maybe they have been, because Trump’s been breaking the law and ignoring the constitution from day one.

We’ve all seen Trump’s uncouth, loutish behavior for more than a year. His actions can be compared to that of Adolf Hitler as he rose to seize power illegally. Trump and company denials that will come when the FBI finally strikes are to be ignored. We’ve all seen the ease with which Trump et al can lie. Remember the rare truth in the interview in which Trump said that he fired Comey to interfere with the Russian collusion investigation.

If I was a praying man, I’d pray for the sight of Trump doing the ‘perp walk’ from courthouse to jailhouse. I’m not a praying man, so I just want to see justice done. I’m a Canadian in Canada, so I have no connection to the USA government, not even a vote. I just hope the deluded USA citizens that favor Trump wake up to the truth very soon.

    Sight; Sound; Scent; Touch

January 31, 2018 Leave a comment

(SESTINA) A form in which the last word of each verse must be the last word of the first line in the next verse.  Also, all the other lines must end in the same words as the ends of lines in all the verses, in a predetermined sequence.

 

Beauty can be found in a million forms

Throughout nature, in all things seen and heard.

A lazy lagoon, still water, sun’s warmth

On tan sand is inviting to the eye.

Forest surrounds the lagoon, deep and lush,

Filling the day with fragrance and bird songs.

 

Anchor the boat and be still.  Hear the songs

Of the forest dwellers, sung in all forms:

Call of cricket, twitter of finch add warmth

To the day.  Strip down – I’ll avert my eye –

Dive in, swim to shore.  Cool water feels lush

As you pass through it.  Another splash is heard.

 

I, too, dive from the deck.  My splash is heard

In the quiet cove, arresting the songs

For but a moment, ‘till they well up lush

Again in the fragrant air.  Supple forms

Glide through the clear water beneath us.  Warmth

Awaits us on the sandy beach we eye.

 

You slip into shallows and stand.  My eye

Feasts on your glistening flesh, wet and lush

As you dance, dripping, up the beach.  While songs

Of birds and bugs celebrate, they are heard

From every side as you lay down on sand’s warmth

To dry.  The beach displays our footprint forms.

 

While you lay on the soft sand, your shape forms

A fitted nest in the beach.  The sand’s warmth

Comforts you until you open an eye

To watch me approach, dripping, while the lush

Foliage emits bird and insect songs

To envelop us, the only sounds heard.

 

Alone here, now, our breathing can be heard

Rising and falling, while affection forms

Between us.  Oblivious to the songs

Now, we are lost together in the warmth

Of the place and time.  I don’t see the lush

Surroundings now.  Only you fill my eye.

 

Beauty is born in the beholder’s eye,

While in the ear, great beauty can be heard.

Share these moments and life becomes more lush.

                                       ~o~

You Don’t Know Their Burdens

January 26, 2018 Leave a comment

It’s rare to see a person on the street or on public transportation with a pleased or contented expression on his or her face. While observing people personally, we might wonder what our own facial expression is as we look around ourselves. It seems that people in public often do not look at each other.

We move among each other, but we do not encounter each other. I expect that our primitive primate senses govern our behavior. Perhaps eye to eye contact invites conflict, as it might among chimpanzees. Smiling at a person might be seen as a threat if one’s teeth are displayed. Sometimes, a smile at a person in a library or a restaurant can lead to verbal communication. That could lead to almost anything.

The hundreds of faces one might see in a single week are most likely to be sad or blank. We overlook the unwelcoming atmosphere because we know that each individual is carrying the facts of their lives with them. One might be planning what to make for dinner. Another might be concerned about a meeting coming up at their office. Others worry about sick friends, lost dogs, rent increases and anything else.

We move through our days, our faces showing our feelings. When it’s a lovely day and all is well in our own little world, there is peacefulness in our expression. When our own relationship with the significant other is in jeopardy, stress or concern is shown.

If we could master the art of compartmentalizing the matters in our lives, we might be able to always wear a peaceful expression by dwelling on the sweet parts of life.

An Unnecessary War

December 4, 2017 Leave a comment

It is so often referred to as ‘the war between the sexes’ and there is really such a war going on all the time. Women and men are so vastly different from each other, a great deal of understanding and cooperation is required, for us to get through life. I don’t mean within a relationship like marriage. I mean just living, going to the bank, grocery shopping, taking a walk or a bicycle ride. And all of the strife is purely natural. That’s what’s so distressing about it. Society has put many things in their proper order so we can survive as a species of mammal. It seems to be more difficult to put sexual matters into an acceptable orderly form.

There is a vast number of differences between women and men, and they are not stationary. As society rolls on through time, men are changing and women are changing. Changes of any kind, positive or negative, are traumatic for the average human. One wonders if violence by men against women is because women are not the traditional female that many men think they should be.

It’s an insoluble problem. I wondered why female television journalists most often wear garments that show chest and cleavage. It seemed out of place on someone delivering hard news, so I asked my knowledgeable daughter about it. She said it’s for style, and in that moment I understood why women show various parts of themselves. They are not expecting to attract lovers… they are expecting to look nice – and they do.

Men should see the women as pretty, well turned out, self-assured. On the other hand, if a man wants to look good, he should dress to look good to the kind of company he hopes to keep. There are myriad styles for both genders to appeal to the great variety of groups that are available to all and any.

I must admit, however, I cannot see the reasons why some people find low, baggy shorts with underwear sticking out the top attractive. I am beginning to understand the look of not shaved yet not a full beard. It’s interesting how values change over time.

When I was a kid, if I’d showed up in the schoolyard with loose baggy shorts and underwear sticking out the top, I’d have got the shit kicked out of me. For sure the shorts would be taken off me and thrown into a tree. Now, it’s cool? And shaving was promoted by vilifying “the four o’clock shadow” on a man’s face.

I’m still sure that tattoos are a bad idea. Piercing is too, but at least the holes will close by themselves if one should wise up and remove the trinkets. Tattoos are infinitely more expensive and more discomfort to remove than to acquire.

I hope I live to see society in general swing back toward sensible.

Never Plan Revenge

November 23, 2017 2 comments

I love revenge. I love the release of stress over what’s been done against me when I am able to get even. However, I would never plan or set up a situation to get revenge. I wait until an opportunity falls into my lap. I’m not talking about big, dangerous acts of vengeance; I’m talking about small things that cause me a loss or a humiliation. I won’t bring bad karma on myself by engineering an act of revenge.

It comes to mind a situation many years ago, when we were high school kids. There’s a neighbourhood park where we’d all gather on warm summer evenings to talk, laugh, and make dates with girls who always joined us in the park. Two girls from a wealthier neighbourhood were often there; one was named Judy and the other was Barbara.

I was hoping to date Judy, a slender blond girl. I was chatting with Judy when the rumble of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle came up the street and into the park. It was Marv Morton, who I knew from school. He was from the other side of the tracks, so to speak… the working class district. I was from the upper middle class neighbourhood, and the two girls came from the really rich neighbourhood on the other side of the main street.

Marv rolled up on the mint-green bike, and the girls left me and went to ogle the Harley. I was sitting alone then. I saw Judy climb onto the motorcycle behind Marvin and the pair rolled away to the rumble of that big engine. Barbara came over to me and we talked a while. But it was Judy that I wanted. I soon went home, as did Barbara.

About ten years later, I pulled up in front of my office building in my new, silver Oldsmobile rocket 88 hardtop. A guy in a postal uniform was on the sidewalk, emptying all the business mail out of one of those green collection boxes where mailmen pick up the mail for their route. I recognized him as I stepped out of my car.

“Hi Marv,” I said. He looked up, saw my suit, saw my big car, and with obvious embarrassment, he took his heavy, loaded mail sack and slung it onto his shoulder. He nodded at me in silence and trudged away to go door to door with the mail.

That was all I needed to get my revenge. I did nothing to set it up, but just as Marv had bested me with his motorcycle in the past, I bested him by being a business executive with a nice car while he was a basic hourly worker. I felt fine.

Abba Da Gooch

November 15, 2017 Leave a comment

I didn’t know his real name. To all the men at the club, he was Abba Da Gooch. Da Gooch was a colourful character. He’d hang around the poker table for hours until he’d decide to sit in on the game in progress. He played quietly, and sometimes won a bit, sometimes lost a bit. Nobody knew where Da Gooch got his money or what he actually did with his days.

Like a character out of a Damon Runyon novel, he slouched around in loose fitting striped trousers that were crumpled onto his well-worn penny loafers. His shirt was plaid flannel; very out of place in the poker club. His mustache was too long, and his hair was a black, greasy-looking mess under a stained, pork-pie hat.

Da Gooch was something of a mystery among the players. All of the players were what we called ‘rounders’; guys who got around the city, doing various kinds of business, usually for cash. I don’t think they were criminals, just street guys, taking care of business.

I had a job as a courier. One day I get called to a pickup from Templeton Cosmetics. At the Templeton office I am given a small, gift-wrapped box, with instructions to deliver it to Morris Gross, with an address in a very expensive part of town. It was the same as any of a hundred calls, until I got to the large, splendid home and knocked at the door.

A uniformed maid answered the door. I told her why I was there, and she asked me to step inside. She called out that it was for Mr. Gross. The maid walked away, and I stood waiting. After a minute, Mr. Gross came down the wide staircase. My eyes bugged out of my head; Mr. Gross was Abba Da Gooch. His hair was carefully combed, there was no hat, and he looked good.

It was like Da Gooch was another guy. He wore a silk robe in black, with a gold crest on the right breast. His slippers were polished black patent leather. He called me kid, said he didn’t know I was a courier, and took the box from me. He called out for Lorna. A beautiful teenaged girl in jeans and a T-shirt entered from the next room. Da Gooch handed the box to his daughter and asked her to go try it on.

I turned to leave, and Da Gooch stopped me. He said that I was the only one that knew of his double life, and his real name. I assured him it was just between him and me. He slipped me a $20 tip and ushered me out the door. I wonder which life was his real life, the character at the poker club, or the elegant man in the splendid house. And how did he earn his money? Only Mr. Gross knows.