Are We Trying To Find Heaven?

 

At the age of those in the obits who have passed or gone home to meet their maker or entered eternal rest or departed this life or left this world or went to join the preceded spouse or ushered into heaven or deceased or died or croaked or kicked the bucket wonders what are we looking for in the ‘after life’?

If, for some unknown reason, think that all our sins were not recorded in St. Peter’s book at the pearly gates and we are mistakenly given our harps and wings, what are we going to be looking for?

“Hi Grandma!” Oh, you don’t know me because you died before I was born. “Hi ex-girlfriend!” Can’t remember my name and walks away with one of the guys she loved after you. “Hi boss!” Oh, that’s right, you fired me.

Are the streets paved with gold? What do you need to walk for?? You’ve got wings. You can just fly about bumping into everyone then crashing into the clouds where the children are running about. Can you act up in heaven? Do you get called to the principle office?

Will heaven have your pets that passed? Do you have to take them for a walk everyday? What is a day in heaven? Do you have to poop in heaven? If this is heaven, can you eat whatever you want at any amount and never get fat? I bet you can’t fart in heaven.

Is there a black heaven? All the paintings in the Sistine Chapel only have white people? Is there another neighborhood like down on Earth? Do all the bigotry and bias disappear in heaven? Is heaven divided up into religious denominations?  Catholic Farms? Methodist Meadows? Baptist Bayou? Then there are the Muslins, Hindus, Sunni, Shia, Orthodox, Conservative Reform, and Reconstructionist? Do the Popes get a VIP suite?

If everyone believes there is a great band up there somewhere, maybe you forgot why they all died early. You’ll have to take the down lift to hear the good stuff. Besides you got a harp and can write some new stuff never heard before. Its heaven so you never need to tune up and everyone sings on pitch.

You’ll have lots of time on your hands in eternity and you don’t need to have sex. You can’t give birth in heaven so genitals won’t be needed. Maybe this isn’t heaven after all?

Do you talk in heaven or just read each other’s thoughts. Imagine what that would sound like in a cocktail party or a family dinner? Might need an extra glass of wine. Do you get a hangover in heaven?

So what is on the tele in heaven? Are there news and sports or just evangelists’ shows? Do they play games in heaven? If you play a game there is a winner and a loser and the loser will be mad at the winner unless ever game is a tie and where is the fun in that? Maybe they have Christians eating lions? What do you do for fun in heaven?

Where would you go shopping in heaven? If everyone is wearing a white KKK sheet hoodies and the temperature is perfectly suited for everyone to be comfortable then you don’t need any coats or sweaters or slippers?

Do you sleep in heaven? Do they have nice soft cloud beds so you can close you eyes and rest after all that flying around? Do they have rocking chairs where us ole geezers can take a nap in the sunshine?

Speaking of age, how old are you in heaven? Are you the age you passed over or transitioned or are you whatever age you were when you meet someone else? How old will that person be? How do you want to remember your mother? How old will she want to remember you?

As us leftover Geezers grow closer to the finish line, we wonder of such things. What is the next step? There are no instructions that clearly explain what happens next, but then again we never read about puberty or adultery or parentry or masculinity or femininity or philosophy or any other meaning of ‘life’. We have already experienced enough to mold who we present to our current surroundings with enough wonder and confusion as before.

If we are looking for answers, there may not be any. Like science and fact is true today, until tomorrow when something else is discovered. This game has no rules.

As we get closer, we may ask more questions hoping to slide into the darkness with a fantasy of wonder. Maybe as I lay in state I’ll get a text message from the half dozen who left this year?

Live Free, Play Hard, Die Young

 

Election deniers, Miss-Information, Foreign Invasion, Mass Killings, Migration, Homelessness, Enslaved, Drying Rivers, Bomb cyclone, Pandemic, Identify gender, Democracy, Climate change, Old age, Anti-Semitic, Inflation, Supply constipation, Pay raises, Jobs wanted, Remote working, Pill obsession, Lower emissions, Ghost guns, Online bullets, Alternate electricity, Social media, Pop culture, Gentrification, Reparation, Computer chips, Train strikes, Teacher strikes, Nurses strikes, Pickle ball, Video games, Movie sequels, Banning books, Resiliencies, Icebergs melt, Pipes leak, Flooding kitchen #2, Remembering, Monument removal, Woodle, Trafficking, Infrastructure, Round-A-Bouts, Swatting, Regulation, Congressional investigations, College loan forgiveness, Tax- break-for-the-rich, Morality police, Abortion, King Charlie #3, Cyber safety, Quiet quitting, Zoom classes, Ticky-Tocky, Tick-Tock, T-T…

Daily news (true or make believe) greets everyday for the readers to make up their own decision. Weather is a guessing game. Sports are reviews of what happened yesterday. Financial advice helps the banks play with your money. Obits are for those who want (and can pay fore) someone’s passing. Best and worst of are marketing schemes. Merchandise (yard sale) is selling your junk for someone else’s treasure.

Been an expensive year

First, the IRS wanted a bunch of money for taxes from when I closed my IRA several years ago. I checked my taxes and did pay, but not what they were asking for. Pay the bill and move on.

Second, inflation hit. Whatever the matter, pandemic, supply backup, Russian invasion, employment shortage, oil prices, climate change…. doesn’t matter. Not spending too much money (except for food) the daily trip to the Tummy Temple went from $20 a day to $50+ a day.

Luckily, another turn of the calendar and still eating, sleeping, walking, talking, thinking and breathing every day. Some of the chores can wait for another while others are bypassed by routine.

The more time of Geezerhood allows more time to think, remember and ponder when will I join the 6 (that I know of) who left the world this year? With time comes more contemplation of health, wealth and relationships with those you used to know.

Still being of sane mind (?) everyday is a notice that the body you inhabit is slowing down and breaking down.

My “Just Another Life” Blog continues to be my eternal voice of ideas and events and thoughts including hoarding, relationships, age, conversations, safety, family, cultural highlights, but even that is slowing down. Drawing materials wait for inspiration. Song list wait to be recorded.

Some are dressing up to attend a party and ask as foolish in costumes after the practice rounds of Halloween and Christmas. Some will drive when they should avoid the roads and revel to big screen TVs and more than enough libations, only to regret it the next day but will remind everyone for years. Some will stay at home cuddling together and struggling to stay awake to midnight by binging on old movies. Some will only know the difference when the clock changes and it will take months to write 2023 in the checkbook.

Live Free, Play Hard, Die Young has been my mantra for many years. I’ve tried #1 and attempted #2 but failed #3. How will the NEW year present itself to me?

There are several limbs down from the trees that are also failing. Suppose to be sunny and warm so I can drag all them back to the trash area before the trucks that sound like dinosaurs come by. Have black-eyed peas and ham for the New Year traditional meal with apple pie and ice cream for dessert. I should probably make my ride to the Tummy Temple for the exercise and restock.

New Year resolutions?

Eat better? Lose weight? Grow taller? Sing on pitch?

Vacuum the floors? Rake the leaves? Make-up the bed? Clean the toilet and bathtub?

Very doable task without much mustard and I’ll let you know next year how it happened.

So for now…

Open the bubbly, put on some music and say ‘Goodbye’ to an expensive 2022 and see what the next year brings.

The Day the World Stops

 

So here it is again today. Christmas Day. The one-day the world stops.

Well the world doesn’t actually stop because without spinning we’d all fall off. That would not be very jolly.

Back in the day, the world would stop on Sunday. There were no 24/7 convenience stores. You couldn’t buy a jacket on Sunday. Fast food was a Jetson idea at the time. Sunday was a day of rest (which meant going to church and cooking all day). With the invention of television, there was football.

Then the business community they were missing out on another day of financial opportunity. Still there were laws to bar selling alcohol, appeasing the religious community.

Slowly but Shirley, more and more businesses were open 7-days a week and we all got accustomed to it. Some organizations would still close for the weekend but then the Internet hit and everyone worked on Sunday at home.

Still this one day a year, everything shuts down. It is the one-day that you can drive around and it looks like a ghost town. There are empty parking lots. There are no cars on the streets. Everyone is at home celebrating however or whatever he or she believes Christmas is all about. An occasional bundled person will hastily walk their dog too cold to wave or stop for conversation. Some Christmas days have children playing with their new sleds if it is a white Christmas (though you can’t say that anymore).

As I return feeding the yard buddies on this bright sunny, yet cold day, all is quiet. No traffic sounds. No construction sounds. No tree cutting or leaf blowing sounds. All is calm.

I declare it is too cold to travel for there is nowhere to go and even the Tummy Temple is closed on this one-day a year. Plenty of food, electricity, water, heat and Internet with the one-day I play Christmas guitar music will fulfill my gifts of the day. I will occupy my time with thoughts of what the day the world stops meant and means today.

Though you can’t buy a loaf of bread or return the gifts you didn’t want on Christmas, not everyone has the day off. If you set your tree on fire, you are glad the firemen aren’t on holiday. If Santa isn’t the only one trying to come down your chimney, you are glad the police aren’t taking a holiday. If you drink too much eggnog, you are glad those who wear scrubs are waiting for you. If you want to read the Sunday comics, the newspaper will be on your doorstep because some people do work on Christmas (I know… I was one of them). If you are linked into the cloud (as you are now) you are glad there is someone in the computer room making sure you get a steady streaming adventure.

Christmas Day. The one-day the world stops.

Stuff Left Behind

 

Do you stop and look around you?

The jeans are hanging on the door. The socks are lying on the floor. That book you haven’t finished reading. The half filled coffee cup.

These are all elements of your environment. They are motion obstacles, familiar callings for attention. They are all where you placed them or moved them or dropped them to pick up later.

What if there is no later?

What if you were suddenly beamed into outer space or dropped through a hole in the earth or become one of those people who can’t remember what headphones are for and have to be removed by others?

When those who are the chosen ones come back everything will be in the same old place. Just as it was when you left, they sit like your toys you didn’t put away. Each piece has a story.

If a close family member or friend picks up an item they might understand the meaning of why it is hear and what it meant to you. If not, everything might be shuffled into a box for a yard sale or shipped to Goodwill to become someone else’s treasure.

Why is that lamp broken? Why is there a towel on the chair? Why are there no covers on the mattress? Why are all the radios tuned to the same station? Why are all the rugs rolled up? Where is the television?

Stop and take a look around before you go. There is a story there.

Groundhog Day

 

Opened my eyes and it is dark. The radio is telling me the day is still going from the night before. Take a moment and listen to whether the news is British or American. Tumble back the fitted sheet that is a great cocoon and swing the legs over the side. Take a breath before putting the feet on the floor in case they don’t hold up. Stand tall and rub the cobwebs from the eyes. The weird Technicolor dream is over with no screenwriters list. Follow the routine of walking down the hall to the loo to empty whatever liquid has compiled in the belly. Wash the fingertips and look at the old man in the mirror. Shuffle into the kitchen while checking the outside world of who is parked here and who is not, then fill the little pot of water and flip the knob to heat it up. Bump around and put on your eyes and press the button to connect with the world. The viewing machines don’t focus as well but it might be the dust on the screen or the age of the viewer. Click the automated connection links, and then wander back to the kitchen to fill porcelain with powders than combine is called ‘coffee’. Settle back down and scroll what has been reported as information I might need to know from last we visited. There is no conversation. There are fewer notifications. It will be the same routine tomorrow.

This is Groundhog Day.

The next decision is to check the weather and figure a time to put on clothing that is acceptable to the world and wander outside. Stop and look up. Breath in the morning air and listen. What is the yard telling you?

Step into the sunshine and pause. Feel what the day can present before you continue with your daily chore.

Bring your pony out and then go back inside to put on dirty shades and lip gloss before a last view of where to spend the afternoon. Look up to the tall pines while putting on gloves and helmet then turn to leave, but wait. Take another look around to where you live as it maybe the last time.

Depending on the traffic, the coast to my destination can be almost enjoyable or anxiety avoidance. Lock up the pony at the available hitching post and gather my mask and bag before entering the Tummy Temple.

Move right pass the Chinese through the ‘prepared’ food then the bakery and sweet cakes. Bypass the dead meat and turn at the third aisle for a can of unsalted cocktail peanuts (only the best).

If the need for seed is necessary, turn left at the light bulbs.

Then it is a wander about to comprehend what will the meal-of-the-day be? Contemplate the weather for the next few days. Soups? Pasta? Pizza? Salad? Eggs? Just wander about flavoring all the options in your mouth without loading the cart. Sometimes the cart is filled. Sometimes the cart is empty.

After a brief conversation with a blue apron to release me with adult beverages, leave society and proceed back to the isolation of the forest.

Relieved to return, the yard is fed and enjoyed while hydrating.

This is Groundhog Day.

There is nothing else that needs my attention. There is nowhere else that needs to be visited. There is nowhere else that provides excitement. There is nowhere else that will entertain me.

So the routine happens everyday. This is the routine I’m satisfied with. This is probably my last routine.

This is Groundhog Day.

Watch the geezers. After the motor skills start slowing there are routines that are settled for. Your grandmother does not want to go dancing. Your grandfather will nap during a movie.

There is only time. Time to think. Time to remember. The old becomes new again and the new is forgettable. Current cultural interests seem uninteresting. Books, movies, television, music all seem to repeat a time before. No one has created a new denomination or written a new version of The book. We elect these folks who argue over how to spend our money by the billions only to ask for more the next year.

This is Groundhog Day.

Think about the chores that should be done but can wait. Think about the possible anxiety no one else will know. Think about what to eat tomorrow and wonder what you ate yesterday. Think about times gone by and the possibilities that never happened.

Once the midnight hour strikes the brain is empty and ready to rest awaiting the next dream.

This is Groundhog Day.

Hiring

 

I’m not doing this anymore and am thankful for it, but I do notice who is being hired and who no longer work at establishments I attend.

I do remember being hired and the application I had to fill out. It was pretty much name, rank and serial number and some school stuff and references. After an interview I was sent to a doctor who just checked if I was breathing and didn’t have any rashes.

As time went on, as time does, requirements for hiring changed. No discrimination due to sex, color, height (unless working on a roller coaster) or weight. Employers had to accommodate the disabled. I would think today’s application are several pages long. Wonder if they still ask your religion?

After you sign on the dotted line of the contract, you expect to be shown where you sit, what your particular duties are, how long the lunchtime is and what is your pay. From that you ask your fellow workers where the bathrooms are, how many vacations can you take, is there any sick days and what is the hubbub at the water cooler? Then you try to find a spot to fit in.

People like to talk. You can soon learn what to say around people you share the space with and who to suck up to. Some get along and become family. You join a company softball team. Some come with agendas and work becomes Thanksgiving dinner everyday.

What do the managers really know about you?

If you perform your task on time and correctly, you are possible for a yearly review and a raise in pay. If you over achieve you may be up for a promotion.  

My question is how much do you relate to your health?

If you tell your employer you have epilepsy or need to take daily medications for any number of ailments, how will the manager treat you? If you are pregnant everyone will treat you with kid gloves because you are carrying around another person. If you have an addiction how will management handle it?

At my workplace we had classes in mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and defibrillation but we were no emergency medical practitioners. The lawyers of the company had to decide how much to let their managers know about possible health matters in the workplace or call 911 and wait for the professionals?

In today’s world, people are suing companies because the popular trend of bring a weapon to work and shooting up people (for whatever reason) should have be aware by management and taken care of before the bullets started flying.

Again, I say, I am glad that I don’t have to deal with that anymore. I do feel for the managers who must adjust their daily charges with sensitivity while not being evasive.

Humanity

 

The word humanity is from the Latin humanitas for “human nature, kindness.” Humanity includes all the humans, but it can also refer to the kind feelings humans often have for each other.

Have we lost our humanity?

Reading the daily news, it makes me wonder? Did we ever have humanity? We fill our medical establishments with abuse we perform on ourselves. Our faith organizations preach caring for one another and then have wars in the name of their God. We continue to produce weapons to kill and maim each other. We continue to tear up our home planet to provide us with energy that is destroying our possibly for survival.

Sure there are a few who try to help us stay on the straight and narrow and most of us get along, as long as we play by the rules. Then we find our elected officials can be bought, our do-gooders are sexual pedophiles and the less fortunate are shoved into the shadows and forgotten.

We can point fingers and blame on the other guys, but it is worldwide. Humanity hasn’t read the instructions on how to get along. There are over 9 billion of us, more on the way. We are struggling on places to live, food to eat, creating power (that is our life blood as much as the air we breathe) so we can consume constant fictional entertainment, all the while trying to wipe each other off the face of the earth.

I don’t have the answer.

I avoid the contentious struggles online. I avoid crowds due to bad behavior. I don’t join, donate or participate any organizations that vow to ‘Save The World’.

I do say “Thank You” everyday to anyone who assists me to live another day.

In a few days, behind all the lights and music, humanity will gather to celebrate the possible birth of a savoir and gift each other to show our wealth while consuming more than we should eat or drink. Would we stop to shake hands or give hugs to strangers for one day?

“Good Luck” fellow citizens of the third rock from the sun. I’ll be gone soon enough but what I’ve seen in my life here is we are scared of each other and then find a reason for the fear.

Maybe the description of ‘humanity’ needs to be rewritten?

Nostalgia

 

A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations is nostalgia.

There is a group on Facebook that is Ole Images of my hometown. Every image gets comments of nostalgia. “My mother worked there…” or “Would go there and…” or “I remember that place…” Most of these images are no longer there or have been transformed into something different. A few have been preserved and under constant restoration but it’s history has changed along with its surroundings. They are the remaining monuments to the past.

The food wasn’t as good as we remember. The stores became dilapidated and succumbed to cultures moods.

Our memories of what these images show are not about the physical building but the people we were with. Where was your high school graduation? Where did you meet your sweetheart? Where you shopped or lived at a certain time of life?

Going back home after long time, you notice the places that are no longer and have a nostalgia rush of fond memories and those who were there at the time.

Recently I lost part of my nostalgia.

 

I really didn’t know him very well, but we stayed in contact to the end. He was a funky guy with a different take on life and enjoyed the communication from afar.

Think I met him from his first wife. She had dated another friend of mine and after they got married we made a connection. There was a lot of wine back then.

I do remember going to his brother’s apartment to move an upright piano up three stories in the fan. Weak minds and strong backs for a wall of rolling rock pony bottles.

Went to his house to be introduced to tool techniques that he was learning at the time and play with his daughter. Went out to eat at a Latino restaurant, had too much sangria and had to stay overnight at his apartment while listening as my wife barfed and he and his wife were going at it like drunken monkeys.

I remember one of my birthday parties and he was climbing up the front steps with this cute blonde. “Wow! What a friend. He’s bringing me a girl!” Turned out to be is second wife.

He did not attend my high school and was a couple years older. He grew up in a suburban neighborhood I never traveled through. He did not attend my wedding and I did not attend his. We both went to the same college but he didn’t graduate. He went into the army because his Draft Lottery number was #1. He was also a French military reeactor. Our paths would rarely cross.

I later found out he had worked at an wood crafting shop then working for the public school system (where he met the cute blonde). He told me of the restaurants we ate in but they are all closed now.

Then they left town.

We would send Christmas cards and some brief handwritten notes. He moved a couple of times and I lost contact with him. Years later I got a phone call that he was in town and at a nearby hotel. He and a partner were running cable for a communication company. I took him to a BBQ place just down the block. Both the hotel and the BBQ place are closed now.

Found him again through Facebook and we started emailing each other. That is where I learned more about him.

I found out he had a son. I found out they were living in a condo outside of the capitol of the commonwealth and not far from Three Mile Island. I convinced him into writing a Blog because he had some interesting and unique readings and quirky ideas. I would have conversations with him about de-hoarding after he went to Florida to clean out his father’s house. We’d communicate about philosophical thoughts rather than current television or popular culture. We didn’t speak of religion or politics. Then his wife informed me of his health conditions.

A few times they would come to town. He reconnected with his daughter. He brought his old bicycle down (that I had refurbished and donated to Goodwill). He gave me his father’s cassette player (that I wore out digitizing old cassettes). We went to a local show where his buddy from high school played drums. He regal tales of his world wide traveling while fussing about plane delays.

He enjoyed music and like one of my guitars, so I gave it to him. He had it tweaked but not sure he kept up the effort. He had a rock and roll history with a local band but he was a roadie instead of a performer. We jammed once doing ole instrumental surf music. His latest hobby was bookbinding.

I took a daylong train ride up to their place to attend an art exhibition the next day. They live in a clean suburban decor with two cats and a love tub. While his wife went off to work, we walked downtown to New Cumberland while picking up trash along the way. I was fascinated about the rural feel. That may have been nostalgia from a past life.

He was fairly quiet and unobtrusive. He was a wealth of rare knowledge of history. He was the mixologist of the family and the grill master. He spoke of the finer points of ingredients and techniques of fine dining, yet if he didn’t start the chili on time was continuously scolded. He was fairly quiet and unobtrusive.

One of the last times he was in town, we walked down to one of those old school family restaurants and talked about nostalgia. On the way home, I thought about if this was a bad idea for a long walk with his health situation and I didn’t have his wife’s number on my phone.

If I ever did one of my caricatures, I’d have to use both of their faces. They were rarely apart. They were still dating.

Recently his wife posted Triple G had left us.

Gathering

 

We gather together to…

We seem to like to gather for whatever reason.

I understand. If we group together we are less likely to be eaten by beast.

We gather to attend worship services. We feel safe to sit quietly being reaffirmed of our faith. We listen and quietly agree. We pay to be part of this club.

We gather to listen to music. Whether it is a quiet dressed up group to listen to a symphony or opera or a wild packing of drunken dancers listening to ear blasting festivals.

We gather together attend events from holiday celebrations to dog shows. We celebrate in gatherings to watch animal events from the Kentucky Derby to greyhound racing.

We gather to watch sports. We find our special fandom and take our sides to cheer whatever the game is, then celebrate our win or lost as if we had been in the mix.

We gather together for family events. A holiday or a birthday or a marriage is good excuses to gather people who have the same name.

Whenever we gather together, we eat. If in a formal dinner at a great hall or an outdoor celebration, food will be available. Do we gather at home to devour our dinner with other family members anymore?

I, for one, am not a fan of crowds. I find being amassed in a crowd of strangers uncomfortable. People smell. People get in the way. People are loud and basically disgusting.

In this day of gathering and sharing food and (if of legal age) adult libations until the arguments get excessive or the body gives out, we are thankful for one another.

Tomorrow we will gather to shop for what we don’t need and complain about the traffic and get home exhausted and ready to be alone. 

FAN

 

What are you a fan of?

Are you a fan of a team? Home team? College team? Sports team you’ve participated in or just watch? Do you go to the games? Do you wear the jerseys?

Are you a fan of movies? Do you buy the tickets before the reviews? Can you quote the lines? Do you have the posters?

Are you a fan of a band? Do you hop up and down with piles of others to listen to a few old ants reproducing songs you’ve heard years ago? Do you buy the tee shirts and records and then go home and tell all your friends the experience? Are you a fan of your local symphony?

Are you a fan of food? Do you read recipes or watch the cooking shows to prepare in your own kitchen? Do you follow certain chefs? Do you buy all the utensils? Do you enjoy eating?

Are you a fan of transportation? Do you have a shiny car? Do you enjoy getting out on the highway for ventures? Do you tinker under the hood? Do you read the magazines and hope someday you can afford that new speedster? Do you complain when your machine breaks down?

Are you a fan of religion? Does your faith reflect who you are? Do you wear your faith on your sleeve? Does your title contradict your religious teachings?

Are you a fan of your family? Do you have antiques and boxes of photos of your ancestry? Do you teach your offspring’s about your forefathers?

Are you a fan of yourself? Are you proud of what you do or what you’ve done? Have you abused yourself? Are you glad to see yourself in the mirror?

Testicle

 

Balls, nuts, gonads, rocks, marbles….

There are many names.

Testicles are two oval organs that produce sperm in men and other male mammals, enclosed in the scrotum behind the penis.

No one pays any attention to them until puberty. Then all efforts are taken to note show them.

Special plastic protection cups are worn to keep them away from injury while playing sports where bodies crash into each other.

Many jokes are made of a quick kick between the legs will bring down the angriest of enemies.

Every effort of manhood proves oneself if he has the balls to accomplish the task.

To make the mighty fall, pull down his pants.

He will run and shelter rather than show his mighty jewels. 

Senior Class

 

At a certain age, you are in the senior class.

You have a sweater with a letter. You have a swagger of what you have accomplished. You enjoy the title without worrying about graduation.

Graduation from this class will be your last.

The freshman class is a wonder. Everyone tells you what to do. You don’t know where the bathrooms are. You don’t know where your next class is. You don’t know whether to bring a lunchbox or a paper bag for lunch. You are working hard to fit in and none of the upper classmate will help.

Sophomore class is better. You are on your feet. You are finding groups to be with. You are seeking love. You are full of ideas. You are experimenting. You are transporting away from home. You are realizing failure.

Junior class is where you excel. You know your stuff. You make your mark. You struggle. You get a pet and it dies. You make a human. You find out what money means. You become opinionated. You get a second (third..) partner. You get accolades. You win disappointments.

Yet senior year is when you should have time to relax. You have made your story and don’t need to study. If you fail, you can’t go back. Some don’t make it to senior year.

Respect your senior class. They have a wealth of knowledge to share with you if you have time to listen.

Once they are graduated, they are gone.

How will (do) they talk about you?

 

You have friends and family and associates that you share casual communication everyday. You might get a call or a text or even some FaceTime on your electronic devices. You might even meet at some location to share a libation while sharing your recent experiences. It may seem very culpable, but what happens when you walk away?

What did the conversation leave behind? How were the thoughts conceived? Did the other person evaluate your meaning or need assistance from other?

You might dress well and have professional presentation manner, but there maybe a profile performance you don’t know about.

Others may have taken their observations and interactions with you to form their own opinions of your values and worth at the next appearance. One who thought you were entertaining or a good conversationalist may now have a difference to your previous experiences.

Some may call it gossip? Some may call it judgmental evaluation? Some may call it boring nonsense of limited personalities?

Remember when you meet someone you have not seen in some time, how will you appear to them? How do they appear to you?

Your hairstyle may have changed or you maybe wearing a different style of shoes? Then again you may have another person on your arm or in your arms?

So much could have changed that was never communicated directly. So much could have changed by other’s opinions.

We all constantly change our opinions by personal experiences, intellectually studies and knowledgeable presentations of thought worthy and vilified reports of events.

Or we can all meet without pre-established evaluations and begin anew?

Whatever you think, they will talk about you when you are gone.

Paying for Your Time

 

It seems to me, if you want to talk to someone, you’ve got to pay for it.

The recent news on Twitter (which I do not use) to tell users to pay a monthly charge to use the application caught my eye. https://www.reuters.com/technology/musk-says-twitter-will-charge-8-blue-tick-2022-11-01/

Since the “social media” proposition is to communicate, giving your opinions and thoughts to strangers without picking up the phone, has always been a draw. All the software had to be compatible with whatever operating system and hardware is available and there were ‘terms and conditions’ for the applicant to agree to, but it was FREE!

‘Facebook’, ‘YouTube’, ‘Wikipedia’, ‘Google’, ‘Yahoo’… all FREE!

Other than messenger or e-mail (which were also FREE!) there were programs defining groups who wanted to communicate person-to-person for romance, politics, religion, recipes, travel, and sports…

Some of these had fees, payments, subscriptions, and donations to pay for what advertising couldn’t cover. Sounds like newspapers?

So now the ‘new’ Twitter wants to charge a user a monthly fee to verify they are who they logged on with a secure password and a agreement to terms and conditions, to be.

We do pay for face-to-face communication. We gather at a dining establishment to eat and drink and converse. We tithe at our houses of worship to partake in social conversation of like beliefs. We pay our dues just to have a partner to share breakfast with.

So maybe we should be charged to have a talk?

Most of us are fairly boring and don’t have many new ideas to offer so the fee could be miniscule. Don’t know who or how a rating could be formulated if after a few minutes of shooting the breeze no interesting topics were discussed.

Then again some quiet whispers on a lonely grass knoll or total laser focused engagement in a noisy bar can be priceless.

How much would I pay for your time?

TITS

 

Tits, Boobs, Jugs, Ya-Ya’s, Melons, The Girls, Maracas, Knockers…. There are lots of terms for the female mammalian protuberances.

The breast is one of two prominence located on the upper ventral region of a primate’s torso. Both females and males develop breasts from the same embryological tissues.

In females, it serves as the mammary gland, which produces and secretes milk to feed infants. Subcutaneous fat covers and envelops a network of ducts that converge on the nipple, and these tissues give the breast its size and shape. At the ends of the ducts are lobules, or clusters of alveoli, where milk is produced and stored in response to hormonal signals. During pregnancy, the breast responds to a complex interaction of hormones, including estrogens, progesterone, and prolactin, that mediate the completion of its development, namely lobuloalveolar maturation, in preparation of lactation and breastfeeding.

Humans are the only animals with permanent breasts. At puberty, estrogens, in conjunction with growth hormone, cause permanent breast growth in female humans. This happens only to a much lesser extent in other primates—breast development in other primates generally only occurs with pregnancy. Along with their major function in providing nutrition for infants, female breasts have social and sexual characteristics.

Breasts have been featured in ancient and modern sculpture, art, and photography. They can figure prominently in the perception of a woman’s body and sexual attractiveness. A number of cultures associate breasts with sexuality and tend to regard bare breasts in public as immodest or indecent.

I grew up in the years when calendars featured topless gals for the male entertainment. These models did not show their breast in the movies or on television but came pretty close in some religious movies. Actresses who could get close to showing off their endowments became celebrities until age and gravity ended their careers. Movies even got modesty ratings for how much could be shown on the big screen and what age was socially acceptable to watch it.

Of course there were ‘blue’ movies and naughty magazines so kids already had an idea of what was going on.

Then puberty hit and my gender took an obsessive interest with the bulges in our schoolmate’s sweaters.

While we were growing hair all over the place, stuffing socks in our jock straps while our voices dropped, our wee-wee would uncontrollably become stiff at the thought of what the girls were growing. Every guy wanted to get in the backseat and find out what behind your slingshots.

The bra gained widespread adoption in the early twentieth century, when it largely replaced the corset. The first modern bra is attributed to Caresse Crosby, a New York publisher and activist who created the garment in 1910 by using two handkerchiefs and some ribbon. After patenting her design in 1914, she briefly manufactured bras at two-woman factory in Boston before selling her patent to the Warner Brothers Corset Company, which began mass-producing the garment.

Bras have gained symbolic significance beyond their mere functionality. Since training bras become standard during puberty, the garment can symbolize a rite of passage to adulthood. However, some feminists have argued that bras sexualize and objectify women’s breasts to conform to the male gaze. Surveys suggest that increasing numbers of women are going braless or adopting more comfortable wireless bras and bralettes to achieve more comfort.

Your reputations were constructed on how far you would let a fella go. Getting to second base was bragged to friends. Getting to third base was a bit more difficult. Even the casual fondle could be enjoyed or excused.

The covers of magazines showed movie stars showing off cleavage and the fashions followed. The size numbers were indications of how ‘stacked’ she was. For those who needed a silicon beef-up, there were padded bras to give the illusion.

Then the feminism revolution came along and the gals were burning their bras. The wet tee shirts were flopping and the boys couldn’t get enough, though there were some restrictions. No nipples.

Pick up any tabloid today and there are photos of side boob or under boob or bikini tops the size of postage stamps. The names may change from Marilyn Monroe to Britney Spears, but doing the shimmy still catches the headlines.

It is a wonder why women running for office or applying for a raise don’t use this mythical weapon?

Eyes up here.