Proceeded by…

I try not to read obituaries but a friend of mine recently died and I just check it out to see if it was a spoof on the social media or true. It was true.

Reading the list of names of family I notice there is a format to these obituaries. Name, rank and serial number followed by accolades and social standing then when the remains will be interred.

There is this separate list of people with some sort of relationship to the deceased who preceded him or her in the ascent to the great beyond. It is usually a parent or spouse or maybe a child. What about a pet? How about grandparents? What about their parents? If you want to follow the ancestry line the obituary could be several pages long.

If that is not enough follow list the survivors? These people with close ties to the dearly departed that are waiting in line until their number is called. This list could contain relatives, work associates, neighbors, merchants, cellmates, lovers, ex-partners, bosses, priest, doctors, etc. Why hasn’t the newspapers pushed for these lines of type that increases revenue? The newspaper would weight 40 lbs and have to be delivered with a forklift.

Sure all the phrases of ‘went to be with the Lord’ or ‘called to eternal rest’ or ‘departed this life’ are all swell but I fear the one that say “Were surrounded by family”.

Maybe you do ascend up into the clouds with wings, but do you really want all those folks around you while you take you last breathe? Where were all these folks two months ago? Just like the ones in white, they are there for the money.

How many will come to visit your gravestone?

Take my drugs Tummy Temple

For the past decade I’ve been storing vales of drugs trying to find a place to dispose of them. These were leftover prescriptions that my wife used.

I’d read some of these recovery sessions before but they were unattainable. So they sat in a bag with her keys and ID waiting to be disposed of.

The pharmacy would not take them back. I tried the local hospital but they were confused about where a blue box was.

I had no desire to try them since I can’t swallow pills. Even tiny tablets have to be chewed up to enter my body. Capsules had to be taken apart and the powder inside placed on my tongue. It was not very tasty.

Through the years I’d either get a shot or some sort of dissolving liquid.

My medicine cabinet has chewable stomach relaxers for those overdone meals and tabloids that fizz for the one-too-many. Even the aspirin has dust on the lid.

It may be a good thing I can’t swallow pills avoiding the opioid crisis. Also staying away from the easily available concoctions either legally prescribed or street purchased may sustain life.

So “Thank You” Tummy Temple for providing another check-off list.

Addiction

Addiction is a brain disorder characterized by compulsive engagement in rewarding stimuli despite adverse consequences.

Despite the involvement of a number of psycho-social factors, a biological process – one, which is induced by repeated exposure to an addictive stimulus – is the core pathology that drives the development and maintenance of an addiction. The two properties that characterize all addictive stimuli is that they are reinforcing and intrinsically rewarding.

What is your addiction?

Food? Drugs? Coffee? Shoes? Television? Music? Sex? Clothing? Cars? Sports? Books? Porn? Internet? Travel? Children? Guns? Hair? Decorating? Art? Exercise? The list goes on and on.

What do you do everyday? What do you think about more than anything else? What do you crave?

Some addictions can be helpful like being a first responder or a medical caretaker. Some addictions can be harmful release of emotional expression or anger. There is always some rationale to explain why you want what you don’t need.

Personally I’ve had many of the aforementioned addictions. Some took a great deal of money and all took way too much time.

My addiction today is taking a daily ride to the Tummy Temple. I’ve convinced myself I must leave the warmth and shelter to follow a regular trail to the designated spot to lock up my pony and venture into humanity. Like so many other addictions I’ve forgiven, I could stop and go maybe once a week. I do have limited storage capabilities and weight requirements, but that is no excuse.

Could the daily 12-pack of beer be the addiction? Many other bad habits can be avoided by limited contact with suppliers, but obtaining food for maintenance is fairly essential. Could I do without?

Some days (very few due to inclement weather) I am stuck at home. Do I desire the beer? Did I foresee the weather reports and stock up to relieve the wanton stress of being captured? Could I stop tomorrow?

Money is not the problem (thought the prices keep going up and the beverage is thinning out to mostly water… which is also expensive) and availability is endless. My addiction is more of a habit than a desire to get buzzed. Like so many addictions, the refrain of “May I have another?” goes unheard thus causing the pain.

I do have another addiction. Breathing.

Segregation

So we think we have solved this problem?

Don’t fool yourself.

Next time you have a barbecue, check out whom you invited. If you go into a meeting who do you sit with. Check your Facebook friend’s list.

The same is true for people who are of different religious beliefs or sexual preferences.

Does it make you uncomfortable?

Where do you live? Where do you children go to school? Who attends your religious congregation? Who do you vote for?

Not saying we are not trying. The oversight of the government is trying to force the diversities together. There have been popular changes in sports and music but what about our personal association?

I refer to my Tummy Temple. It has become integrated due to being one of the closest groceries on a bus line. There are still not as many people of color attending the shelves and those who are employed still view customers in silence.

Now and again a person in a burka or a dashiki will walk the aisles to the stares of others.

Legally people are allowed to attend but do we intermingle?

Not yet.

We still have a long way to go before we can truly accept each other than admire our gladiators. My generation will go to the grave with our bias but the next generation will become more accustomed to people of different beliefs and appearance and start learning their customs and habits and foods and music. Hopefully the generation after that and the generation after that will continue to integrate rather than build a wall.

Donation

A donation is a gift for charity, humanitarian aid, or to benefit a cause. A donation may take various forms, including money, alms, services, or goods such as clothing, toys, food, or vehicles. A donation may satisfy medical needs such as blood or organs for transplant.

Political party funding are the methods that a political party uses to raise money for campaign and routine activities. This subject is also called political finance. In the US, campaign finance is the more frequently used term.

Political parties are funded by contributions from party members and individual supporters (via membership fees/ dues/ subscriptions and/ or small donations), organizations, which share their political views (e.g. by trade union affiliation fees) or which can benefit from their activities (e.g. by corporate donations) or taxpayers respectively the general revenue fund (by grants that are called state aid, government or public funding).

Funds for party activity (be it campaigning or routine operations) can be solicited via “grassroots fundraising” as party membership dues or other voluntary contributions from individuals (e.g. direct mail fundraising) or as “plutocratic funding” from wealthy people and/ or the business community as corporate donations.

Since the 1960s an additional source of political revenue, public subsidies, is spreading among the democracies. Despite such multitude of promising options, political fundraising via political corruption (e.g. influence peddling, graft, extortion, kickbacks, embezzlement) is still around.

Beside posting memes on the social media and embellishing your opinions or bias on comments, do you add the inhabitants of your wallet?

Remember throwing cash at your favorite candidate or whoever is available might get you an ambassador nomination to say, Hawaii or the Key West.

If you give enough dough for a bit of prid–pro-quo of you accept my money and you will be persuaded to persuade others to follow my agenda.

Money pays for power. Pay up.

Alert!

The lights were out and climbing into the bed for a snooze when suddenly the room was filled with a banshee scream like a smoke alarm on steroids. Legs stumbling as blankets scattered trying to find and eliminate the annoying blast. Since it wasn’t coming from the radio, the only other electronic item that was on in the room was the cell phone.

Flipping up the lid, the scream was quickly cancelled to the relief of all in the neighborhood.

“What the heck was that all about?”

Seems I (and I suppose millions of others) were sent an ‘Amber Alert’ about some teen girl from Bumpass who may be missing with some old guy in some a possible devious manner and demented agenda.

Checking social media, everyone is posting the same message about this missing teen. Yes, the message got out.

I don’t know this girl or the guy whose faces were posted all over the place. Still I could pass them on the street and not make the connection.

I wonder how many teens or tweens or women or men are missing and not alerted to the public, so I checked.

There are all sorts of colors for alerts. There are alerts for dementia folks out for a wander, there are alerts for senior citizens who could find their way, there are alerts for missing pets, there are alerts for traffic backups, there are alerts for bad weather, there are alerts of wildfire evacuations, there are alerts from the President who will warn us against nuclear annihilation (like there is something you can do about it).

There are alerts on your computer when the battery is low. There are alerts on your car when the oil is low. Alerts from your school when there is a lock down or when they will be closing early can also be a game changer. The alert on the microwave tells your food is cooked and it reminds you over and over and over again to open the door.

The problem is the annoying wake-up alert cannot be deleted. Will it just sit in the message list until someone finds this couple? They may have left the country. They might be married and have a baby by now. He may have killed her and dumped the body in the woods. She may have realized he was a no-good and left, dying her hair and running off with some other guy.

OK, I’ve been alerted to whoever they are. Now back to the silly news of the entertainment network.

Our Gunslingers

You remember those western movies where a bunch of dusty guys came riding in getting everyone’s attention. The strangers attracted the women, drank our booze and if anyone declared them obnoxious only to be stunned by their fast draw. The gunslingers would leave town with folk impressed and relieved to see them go.

Today our gunslingers come to town in bands. They even promote they are coming and sell tickets. Their entourage brings in cases and boxes and requires a bunch of electricity before the gunslingers arrive. When the gunslingers hit the stage under bright lights and smoke they turn up the noise and grimly yell at each other and the townsfolk with unlistenable speak and snarly faces.

They will still defile our women and drink our booze but they sign autographs and pay for all repairs before leaving.

There was Jimi and Eric and Pete and Keef. For an hour or so of ear splitting deafness, we’d buy mugs and t-shirts to remember our time among them.

They will be coming to a town near you.

Subsidy

A subsidy or ‘government incentive’ is a form of financial aid or support extended to an economic sector (business, or individual) generally with the aim of promoting economic and social policy.

Although commonly extended from government, the term subsidy can relate to any type of support – for example from NGOs or as implicit subsidies. Subsidies come in various forms including: direct (cash grants, interest-free loans) and indirect (tax breaks, insurance, low-interest loans, accelerated depreciation, rent rebates).

Furthermore, they can be broad or narrow, legal or illegal, ethical or unethical.

The most common forms of subsidies are those to the producer or the consumer. Producer/production subsidies ensure producers are better off by supplying market price support, direct support, or payments to factors of production. Consumer/consumption subsidies commonly reduce the price of goods and services to the consumer.

Along with promotional advertising luring in vacationers; to entice business relocation to an area subsidies will be offered to seal the deal.

My parents subsidized me.

They paid for my clothing and meals so I would attend school. They gave me shelter and medical care so I had time to learn a trade and move out.

The payback was I was to take care of them in their old age. I paid my taxes.

Holy Guacamole Captain Underpants

Who would believe it? Stay up late and click a few keys and the next day your underpants are delivered to your door. Ain’t life grand?

At the change of seasons, realizing that the few undergarments that were purchased a decade ago are become relics of another time, the decision was made to renew the underpants.

I’ve always been taught about underpants. I wore them when I sleep. I wore them when I went swimming. I only took them off in the shower. Tighty-whities were the only choice or at least my only reference under trousers. Would usually get a pack during the unwrapping of Christmas presents. What a swell gift in front of the family.

Boxers were never the option because everything had to be firmly in place. The washing was almost daily due to the grey fabric and the yellow stains. There was a drawer dedicated to replacements next to the socks and the handkerchiefs.

Imagine my dilemma when I realized there were only four choices in the underpants drawer. After a decade I was running low. Half were dilapidated with holes and smells the dryer sheets could not conquer.

There was the option to climb on the pony as I had done ten years previous and ride to the local Target (since that is the only place near by that I can purchase clothing) and push a big cart around through the mass of consumerism to look at the selections without the correct sizes or limited choices. Asking one of the red shirt associates or staff or whatever they are called would do no good for they were disinterested in customer service.

The other option (this is 2019) is to go online.

Being an Amazon Prime member (though I’ve not ordered anything in over a year) I do a search for ‘underpants’ and BINGO! Look at the selection in all the colors and sizes and shapes and holy guacamole Captain Underpants.

Now remember I’m not much of a fan of getting fitted. Years ago my mother would take me downtown to the department stores to get sized and groped by some little guy with a pencil behind his ear and a measuring tape around his neck rubbing his hands up and down my legs touch my junk.

When I started purchasing my own clothing, I’d find something that looked cool whether it was my size or not and figure it out. It was the same with shoes.

So here I was with all these options online in sizes that I thought would fit and added to my cart.

Just like in the department store, I thought about other items that could need replacement. Socks, long sleeve t-shirts, sweat resistant t-shirts were added before I knew what was happening.

Proceed to the checkout. Just like at the Tummy Temple, Amazon remembers my credit card number and me and approves my online request sending me an e-mail of my purchase and time for delivery the next day.

The next day was to be a rainy day and me thought there was no way a cardboard box with a smiley face would appear on my porch, but I waited.

The few things I’ve ordered online have mysteriously shown up without announcement. A guitar case and a pair of jeans that all fit. This shopping thing is getting easy.

Tomorrow I’ll shift from summer to winter attire putting away some of the clothing to wait until the heat comes back. I’ll also discard some museum elements that should have gone many years ago. The torn and sweat stained t-shirts can be replaced with the sparkling newbie’s waiting to be worn. Some will be cut up and go into the ragbag while others should be marked hazardous waste.

The cardboard box will be trimmed up and the plastic bags will be put in the recycle bin.

Now I just wait for the bill.

You’re Not My Boss!

Have you ever wondered who the ‘alpha’ figure is? There is always a ‘alpha’ figure.

Alpha refers to a dominant person or their behavior, especially with respect to socially aggressive, hyper-masculine men. ... Others people see right into the small, sad, insecure hearts of the trying-too-hard alpha.

I won’t get into the alpha, beta; omega at this point for my vision is on realization of who is the boss?

There has to be a boss.

The CEO of a company, the general leading the army, a doctor cracking open a chest, a teacher grading test, a police traffic stop, a tax collector, a drug dealer, a banker, a bully, a cook, an auto mechanic and many others are all ‘alpha’ at some point.

Go into a evaluation of job performance hoping for a raise and who is the ‘alpha’?

My question (or observation) is about relationships.

People gather together and one (and only one) establishes the ‘alpha’ position. The silverback gorilla that is stronger and bigger and more furious than all others takes the position until another comes along. The quarterback forms the plays until another generation replaces the failing team.

After some time I’ve observed many couples have ‘alpha’. These couples might not recognize it or agree with my assessment of ‘who’s the boss’ but there is one.

Someone has to make the final decision. Like a referee who makes the call, there is only one who can be the ‘alpha’.

Sorry fellas but I’m afraid we fail the test.

We can pound our chest and try to dominate with power over the ‘weaker’ gender, but we don’t have a chance. We (and I include myself) can hold the purse strings and intimidate emotional influence, but people are individuals with their ever-changing ideas and concepts and reactions to their personal lives.

What I find interesting is we silverbacks don’t understand how relationships work. The title ‘mother’ calms prestige that ‘father’ will never equal. A father might show pride in the results of a line of copulations, but his participation only took minutes while the ‘mother’ had to carry the burden for years to come.

Domestic violence is sometimes about money or jealousy, but even beaten the woman comes away stronger. She controls the sex.

 Don’t know if you ladies understand your power over us silverbacks but we buy you rings and attend weddings and put up lace drapes and shave and even us deodorant for you. We may say we ‘wear the pants’ in the family, but you hold the belt.

The ‘alpha’ isn’t about physical dominance but wildly persuasion. Why would we give up our letter sweater for a smile and a giggle? Oh you are witches with powers taught to you while we silverbacks were slugging down brews watching others bump into each other. You raise your eyebrow and we come running begging for more.

Personally I didn’t have a girlfriend growing up. A wink could get me interested but it never lasted long to bond. My first marriage I believe I was the ‘alpha’ because I made the money and she just didn’t care. I still tried please her unsuccessfully.

My second marriage was more interesting. We were both Scorpios. Strong wills and I would like to say we were both ‘alphas’ but I know my place. I look back at memories and understand I didn’t have a chance.

It’s Behind You

Since it is getting into that spooky season, it’s time to curl up, dim the lights and get scared. At the end of the evening, the lights can brighten and you can laugh it all off (unless you have a heart attack and die).

So what is the scariest? Monsters? Vampires? Zombies? Ballerinas? What about Dentist? Taxman? Mother-in-law?

Stand and talk to someone when all of a sudden their eyes get wide seeing something that is behind you that you can’t see until you stop and turn around.

What goes on behind us is our vulnerable place. Our heads only swivel 90 degrees, so to see what is behind us, we have to turn our body around.

If you get a tattoo on your back you will never see it except in a photograph. If you have a scratch you can’t reach it. If you have a pain in your back only someone else can rub it.

Think about walking. Our eyes are placed so we look ahead. We can tilt our head to look up or down but we can’t see behind us. If we walk through a crowd of people we cannot know what their reaction is behind us.

There are mirrors on cars to show us that tractor-trailer zooming up to our bumper or to check the kids in the back seat with limited visibility.

Maybe once we pass by, we shouldn’t care. It is history.

The same is true for our memories.

We have photos and writings and books and movies and scraps of clothing that remind us of yesterday, but that is all behind us.

We look forward to our future, like our eyes. We can’t go back.

When what is behind is more than what is ahead? Now that is scary.

Boo!

What is in your cupboard?

You know when you walk into someone else’s kitchen; you can’t resist looking into their cabinets. If you are real nosy, check out the refrigerator.

It is just curiosity of how well the cooks stock up. It is judgmental.

Just like what people hang on their walls or the type of furniture they have selected, the kitchen is where the party goes.

Is the wine cellar full or the bar? Are you offered a quality drink or something out of a box?

The same is for that trip to the toilet. While you are looking for some air freshener, you check out the medicine cabinet. Hopefully you don’t have to ask your host where the plunger is.

The bookshelf is a fine display of intelligence or taste. The choice of music also shows how hip you are, but it doesn’t detail your knowledge of classical, jazz, metal for you want pleasant music that people can talk over.

If you guest want to sneak away to the closet they can check out all your shoes and dresses and even open a bureau drawer to check out your t-shirts.

The tool shed will display all the power tools and latest batch of ladders, screwdrivers, hammers, and work space rarely used.

If there is a hobby, there are art supplies of brushes, pastels, brushes, needles, thread, yarn, paints, instruments, cameras, boats, guns, cars, etc.

This is our stuff.

Guest will compare our stuff to their stuff. The comparison values your lifestyle.

The cabinet is bare. No tarragon or basil or thyme. No flour or baking soda or garlic or even eggs. There are plenty of cooking instruments but much less than before. There are still drawers full of utensils never used.

Food is purchased by the day so there is very little cooking and few plates to wash. Summer tee shirts are replaced with long sleeve tee shirt when the heat turns on. Can’t walk the red carpet without a tux. All supplies once required have been limited and even that is too much. Tables and chairs are in storage for there are not enough places to put them and there are no televisions.

Life is simple. Don’t ask to borrow a cup of sugar because there is none here.

Geography

Beginning in elementary school, we were taught about countries around the world. On the wall was a map of the U.S.A. and there was a revolving globe with countries with names we were to memorize.

Like the presidents, we were told the different states and even the capitols of our country but forgot most of them. Figured out North Dakota was on top of South Dakota and North Carolina was on top of South Carolina but wondered about New York, New Jersey and New Hampshire wondering where Old York, Old Jersey and Old Hampshire were? There is a West Virginia but where is the East Virginia? Unless the next state over was visited it didn’t matter. Where is Utah and what is the capitol?

Flying over and looking out the window there was never that dotted line between Alabama and Georgia.

Growing up after the WWII there was always news about England and Japan but no one knew where Korea was and hadn’t heard of Vietnam yet. The Middle East was Arabs on flying carpets, camels and belly dancers. The Far East was strange little people in straw hats. The Dark Continent was where the slaves came from. The commies were on the other side of the Iron Curtain.

Newspapers and network news only reported and presented by white Anglos forgetting places like Yemen or Azerbaijan or Kyrgyzstan. With faster communications, news that happened but no one heard about started popping up at the 6 o’clock news. Social media brought in worldwide homemade journalist with opinions, bias propaganda and viral videos. Even puppies to be adopted made the evening hour between weather and sports.

With the flood of information now to try and decide does it make you wiser or just fill up your inbox? Every presentation has to appear like a Super Bowl halftime show or repetition to persuade rather than provide the facts.

Dumping television has given me comfort of visual distraction but the small screen is still addictive. The radio is stuck on NPR with it’s barrage of news and opinions from respectful sources in US and UK.

Simpler times did not worry about LGBTQ, or opioids or terrorist or climate change or traffic congestion or plastic trash or overpopulation or trade wars or nuclear waste or education cost or monetary inequality or migration or deregulation or health insurance or congressional bureaucracy or vaping or dark matter or Kardashians or nepotism or religious sexual abuse or angry tweets or dirty bare feet or wiping your seat.

Salt Lake City is the capitol of Utah. Who knew?

Dress Code

A dress code is a set of rules, often written, with regards to clothing. Dress codes are created out of social perceptions and norms, and vary based on purpose, circumstances and occasions. Different societies and cultures are likely to have different dress codes.

Dress codes are symbolic indications of different social ideas, including social class, cultural identity, and attitude towards comfort, tradition and political or religious affiliations.

Understandably the puritan laws of wearing pants and ladies not showing their ta-tas seems universally accepted now in public places. Some retail establishments post requirements for shirts and shoes to be worn. More elite events require coats and ties.

Everyone wants to fit in by the clothing they wear, but no one has a restriction on how they smell.

Uniforms help establish conformity like the armed forces and some are fashioned for safety. Office casual Fridays still have certain restrictions like wearing an AC/DC t-shirt and cut off jeans.

In school there were uniforms or self-imposed styles that labeled your popularity status. Clothing is a statement of our personality like a haircut.

Companies have come up with dress codes with detail restrictions on type of blouses or shirts and jackets that are acceptable, length of skirts above the knee or if shorts are ever worn indoors. Don’t remember anyone sent home for a fashion faux pas.

 Haircuts are another statement that when trend change, are they acceptable to the image of the company. The same questionable materials are what are on your desk or the smell from the microwave of your leftovers. Do you wear a belt or suspenders?

Not saying people come into work wearing loincloths or a burka.

Times are different.

What if Bubba comes into work wearing a dress?

Blind Ballet

Imagine if you will, you wake up one morning and you cannot see.

Don’t worry about the morning newspaper or even the text messages. You can turn off the television that has now become a radio.

What else would you be missing?

Would not be advisable to drive or try and choose some cans of soup.

Events like ballet or a football game would now just be a series of footsteps and grunting.

Imagine if you will, you suddenly cannot speak.

You know the words but there is no sound.

You can’t tell a story or a joke. If you are in trouble you can’t call for help. If asked a question, you have to write down the answer. Singing is out of the question. When the phone rings, you can’t answer.

Imagine if you will, there is no sound. 

A symphony will just be some dressed up folks sitting on folding chairs until the conductor turns around and everyone bows. The alarm clock will not wake you us. A baby crying or a dog barking does not get attention. The record spins until the needle stops.

Even the ambient noise that goes on around us is silent.

Imagine if you will, you wake up to a sunny day full of bird songs and crickets.

Be thankful for what you have.

So what did your dad do?

It used to be an evaluation of your character through your ancestry. What your family name meant might get you a job or a bank account or an invitation to an exclusive organization.

If your name was in the public registry as a ‘first family’ who came over on the Mayflower and carved out property by displacing the indigenous people and bringing in slaves for labor.

After you fill in your name, address, social security number and religion, the possible employer will try to figure you out by your demeanor, dress, and speech but want to find some reference to your soul.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) our dynasty is our luggage we can use or avoid.

Once associated with other kids (other than family) we started to compare notes. What kind of car does your dad drive? Do you wear the same kind of clothes as I do? Do you attend the same church? Does your family invite me to dinner? Do we feel good just hanging out?

My parents and my schoolmates seemed to seem similar. Everyone had a mom and dad and everyone had a house like ours and everyone attended similar places.

Then I moved into being an exploitative teen. The schoolmates changed and fitting-in became relevant to new friends. The caste of friends who I’d been growing up with were becoming distant and disinteresting. Expanding my horizons or stumble upon met new friends from parts unknown.

While I associated with the American Dream of middle class, I now was finding people who were honest, fun and without precedence.

How does this tie into my first comment of ‘what does your dad do?’ is part of our self-description.

 The kids my parents introduced me to growing up had dads who were lawyers, doctors, bankers, politicians, radio celebrities, club and restaurant owners, etc.

The kids I started to associate with who I found fascinating had dads who were in the military, mechanics, electricians, auto repair, etc. It didn’t matter that these kids didn’t have a silver service or dined at the steak house, but they introduced me to pizza and cheap beer.

It really doesn’t matter what your family ancestry was. Each of us have our own chances and decisions so it doesn’t really matter what your dad did. He had to make his own decisions and his options at the time were very different from today.

You are what you are and I am what I am.

Sophistication

Etiquette was drilled into my formal training. Which fork to use and when to talk at the table was all part of growing up? How to tie a bow tie and when to wear a cummerbund or not were lessons just like cursive writing thank you letters. The proper way to hold a wine glass and how to enjoy the aroma before enjoying the grape all had techniques like holding a fencing foil or a tennis racket. How to bow and give a lady your arm to escort her at the cotillion was engrained like Marine boot camp drills.

Though we were not First Family of Virginia (FFV) our family had contact with them. We rubbed elbows with the rich kids who wore the latest style while the second-class knockoffs were the most affordable. Still sophistication shames those who have not reach their level of the finest private schools, European cars, maids and gigantic houses.

Sophistication takes a lot of effort. It is a lot of work to put on fake persona all the time.

It does teach you some of the finer things in life that you may not be able to afford all the time but once in awhile can indulge in luxury.

Coercion

Coercion is the practice of forcing another party to act in an involuntary manner by use of threats or force. It involves a set of various types of forceful actions that violate the free will of an individual to induce a desired response. Coercion is to force a victim to act in a way contrary to his or her own interests.

Now I’m not talking about whipping or other forms of physical abuse, but the persuasion to do what you had not planned to do. It happens all the time.

Buy a pair of pants and you are coerced into buying a jacket to go with them. Looking for a television and you are coerced into buying a larger model. Checking out a travel trip you are coerced into coupons and special deals.

Emotional coercion is can be pleading, anger, and disappointment, even silence to persuade the action. In the mist of passion, normal barriers are dropped.

Coercion is how our friends coax us into trying new food or watching a movie or attending a dance. We may not fear physical threats but emotional detachment.

Read on.

Vulnerable

“Open to disclosing one’s inner thoughts and feelings, acting in spite of one’s instinct to self-preservation.”

We all are vulnerable at one time or another. Life is out of our control most of the time and we just adapt to situations and the weather.

When you are a kid you are the most vulnerable because you have no experience of reference and depend on elders to show you the way. When you go to the doctor or dentist you are vulnerable that another person will make you feel better with a potion or a shot. When you swallow a pill you are vulnerable to not knowing how your body will react to the chemistry. When you sit down in a classroom you are vulnerable to an authoritarian figure that spouts intelligence and then test you to see if you were listening and comprehending. When you go clubbing you are vulnerable to the atmosphere and all the strangers in the room. When you attain employment you are vulnerable to where to sit and where the bathroom is. When you commute you are vulnerable to the trucker who has been driving too long with out sleep or the road rage from the earlier domestic violence or the distracted phone text. When you go shopping, even in a familiar brick and mortar, you are vulnerable to the constantly changing cast of characters.

Hide under a rock but some of our vulnerability is enlightens and awe inspiring.

If you pick up a puppy or a baby, you are vulnerable. If you go to a funeral, you are vulnerable. If the IRS audits, you are vulnerable.

When you fall in love, you are the most vulnerable. There is ‘puppy love’ or a crush but it goes away like the measles, but when you fall in love you lose all rational thinking.

Love is a wonderful drug and if you have the maturity to realize what is happening, it is an experience to be cherished.

Where Is Your Book?

Seems everyone being interviewed on television or radio has written a book. Memoirs, cookbooks, kids books, novels, mysteries, history documentaries, nature photos, fashion, hobbies, personal improvement, graphic comics, instructional manuals, etc.

So where is yours?

You post lots of silly pictures of dogs and cats and drunken friends on social media. You might post instructional hobby photos on Instagram or Pintrest or even record some silly YouTube video.

Where is your book?

Wouldn’t you like to be designated as an author? Sorry, I don’t have time or interest to read every written word to get information or form an opinion.

Maybe your have unusual ideas or maybe even some outstanding graphics. Perhaps your adjustment of words and sentences become poetry or outstanding imagery.  

Writing is an artistry of assembling ideas and trying to communicate with another. A painter does this with a brush and an author does this with type.

So where is my book?

You are reading it.