Why don’t we poke anymore?

 

A Facebook poke is a feature on the social media platform that lets users send a single virtual notification to a friend. No more, no less. Despite the feature’s name, the purpose of a ‘poke’ has never been entirely clear.

 

People can poke their friends or friends of friends on Facebook. When you poke someone, they'll get a notification. To see and send pokes, visit your pokes page. If you don't want someone to poke you, you can block him or her or they.

 

Facebook hasn’t changed the Poke button since it first launched. The point of it was never really clear, although one could argue it was there to exhibit a friendly, fun college environment. If you poke someone, all you're really doing is giving your friend a notification that tells him or her they have been poked.

 

We have poked each other since we began interacting. We make fun of names, haircuts, clothing of others. We make fun how we run or play ball or show emotion. We make fun of the other sex. This is the method of forming groups of likes and dislikes. We hang out with those whose ‘pokes’ we can tolerate while making fun of others.

 

Some of our pokes are made to be hurtful or to demend or racist or harassment. Sport coaches poke athletes to try harder. Military uses harassment to break down personal identities to form a coherent unit that follows orders.

 

We poke each other in sports bars when our team wins and poke each other’s attire at the formal dance. We poke each other over food preparation then poke it in our face. We poke each other about our transportation, housing and even children (and pets).

 

Sometimes our pokes can result in fistfights. Some times our pokes can get us elected. Even after we are dead, our legacy will be poked.

 

The nicest conversations and greetings are being poked behind your back. Whatever the subject there is someone who will take a poke at it.

 

Maybe our ‘pokes’ have turned into comments? Instead of just saying “Hi!” we leave snide or snarky comments.

 

Maybe we should leave our poking to the bedroom?

New Carts

 

With all the news of Russia invasion vs climate change vs wildfires vs drought vs mass shootings vs homelessness vs immigration vs drug overdose vs supply constipation vs congress investigation vs inflation vs reparation vs pandemic vs… You get the idea.

That’s right, the Tummy Temple got some new carts. (I am easily entertained).

The vacant room is now full of these sleek shiny black wire carts replacing the limited choice of broken down versions that were becoming scarce to find. There is even a new selection of zip carts that I like.

There are still the cowboys in their reflective vest who wander out into the parking lot and round up the used carts to bring them back into the corral, but it is nice to see the new rides.

Now to have a selection rather than the leftovers is a simple joy. The wheels roll without a wobble. Finding sustenance is an adventure again. They are new dancing partners.

Into the door and over to the prepared food section to browse the leftover chicken, unless it is time for the ‘Come To Jesus’ meeting. Got to get more blueberries. Always have to get more blueberries. Avoid the dead animals to the treats aisle to get a can of unsalted unshelled peanuts and a bag of popcorn (both very popular).

Might see Pat along the way. She doesn’t mind to chant about subjects I’d never thought of but I’m polite. Might pass Kandi who is doing the basic task of mopping or moving product or something that requires no intuitive thought but only direction.

Now I’ve got these little zip carts that can weave around the convoys of ‘Call-in-your-order-and-we-will-pick-your-selection-out-and-deliver-it-to-your-car’ drive-in. This seems to be popular for they have their own room now (where the bathroom was).

After collecting whatever I felt might be appetizing or at least fulfilling for the day, I by pass the empty aisles of the checkout counters to the crowded ‘Grab, Scan and Go’ do-it-yourself area.

Repeating the process every day, I’ve learned how to quickly and easily scan my grocery card (that would give the corporation the information of what I am purchasing but not allow an old man to purchase alcohol under the ABC laws). I can scan the items as quickly as Katy but when I get to the end of the chain I have to wait for Hillary to swipe her magic card and plug in the numbers that tell the computer I’m old enough to drink 3.2 beer.

It is the same routine everyday. A bit earlier in the heat but with other little variation this is the daily routine. So the introduction of new shiny carts is a big thrill. Time will tell how long before the herd thins to the old folks home on the corner or the bus stop or the homeless or wherever old grocery shopping carts go to die.

Gotta go and restock the blueberries. The neighbors love their blueberries.

Misogyny

 

After being born, the blue blankets looked around at how they were to behave. Sports. Drinking. Rude jokes. Belching. Crotch grabbing. Goggling over naked women.

Not sure where this was written, but it was the way ‘we’ were all brought up at a certain time.

Just like wearing pants instead of dresses and having short haircuts, ‘we’ were taught (and observed) that the females of our species were just second-class citizens for ‘our’ amusement.

Mothers were always reveled for they fed us and took care of our messes while our fathers were off at work. Better than that was the grandmother who would make cookies and sing old songs. These females were never considered as a sexual fascination even though without them ‘we’ wouldn’t be here.

Masculinity was shown to be bare-chested men fighting apes or CGI animated cartoon monsters with a vague religious story plot. The women that appeared on screen were scantly clad dancers tempting ‘our’ heroes to sweep them away into the shadows. There were never pregnant women. There were never fat women. There were never ugly women.

Machismo was ordering the drink for the lady (whether she asked for it or not). It was wearing the gold chain and driving the muscle car and having a posse until they were dismissed. This was usually an Italian or Greek image.

Macho was the fist bump chest bump action that was supposed to attract the ladies. The Macho man was a cowboy or a motorcycle rider or an Indian warrior or a military guy or a plumber. Well, maybe the plumber was quite as attractive but you get the idea.

Being the best baseball player or the high school quarterback is what manhood strived for. Why? These were the qualities that attracted the girls who appeared in our movie fantasy dreams.

As wimpy as James Anderson or Steven Douglas or Ward Cleaver or Andy Taylor seemed, they all showed misogyny. Their wives and all the females in the family never showed any cleavage until the commercials.

In elementary school I went to a friends house to their wreck-room in the basement and his father had a bar setup and on the wall was the Playboy foldout pin-up of Marilyn Monroe. Before our teen eyes was a picture of a naked lady.

Advertisements showed scantly clad women selling everything from auto to washing machines. There were movies with girls in bikinis or some foreign costume gyrating for ‘our’ arousal.

Today, after our ‘Me’ 2 movement and Women’s Liberation (shoot they can even vote) and these images and training and testosterone feelings are to be restrained and controlled and other genders should be understood and appreciated. Equal pay, advancement opportunity, diversity appreciation and maternity leave.

Not to judge how the genders relate to each other, but if these images are disturbing or offensive, why is social media full of celebrity posting their abs or contest of women wrestling each other or sex scenes in movies?

Why do we need a pope?

 

I’m not Catholic but I keep seeing this old white guy dressed in white speaking in Latin and have a massive following. He (it is always a he) is not a rock star or a movie celebrity. He is not a writer or journalist but he has opinions and his opinions matter.

I know the history of religion moving politics and even with two Popes, he could convince his following to gather up their serfdom and go battle the infidels in the name of the Lord.

Today he is a little short fat guy who rides around his own city in his Pope-mobile. He’s got his own army. He steps out on a balcony and expounds his words to his followers and then goes and watch daytime television.

When he dies (he is not eternal) the cardinals and bishops and knights and pawns all get around and shuffle the cards to the next Pope. When they finally decide they sit back and have a smoke.

There are many different religion variations in the world (though the Catholics probably have the best pomp and circumstance) but no one else has a ‘Pope’. There are Priest and Preachers and Ayatollahs and even a Dali Lama (but he doesn’t even have a country) but there is no supreme leader of a religion except the Pope. Billy Graham got close. Healing people sidetracked Oral Roberts and Jim Bakker and Tammy Faye were a good show until he cried.

Still there is only ONE Pope. Whether it is John, George, Paul or Ringo, everyone stops to hear what he says.

He can’t change laws. He can’t change the weather. He can’t stop killings. He can’t stop his priest from sin after the confessional.  

The Pope normally presides over religious celebrations of all the major church festivals of the year inside Saint Peter’s, including Christmas and Easter, when he also appears on the same balcony where he was proclaimed pope after his election to deliver his “Urbi Et Orbi” message to the city of Rome and to the world.

The papacy is an additional source of authority for Catholics. While many Catholics often turn to the Bible for guidance, they are also able to turn to the teachings of The Pope. The Pope is important as he represents a direct line back to Jesus. In this sense, Catholics see Jesus as being present in the papacy.

So if the “church” did without the Pope, would the readings of the good book be less revealing? Do the words need interpretations?

I guess we need a Pope just like we need the monarchy as a leftover hierarchy.

We also saved Santa Clause.

Symptoms

 

Do you have a pain in the neck? Do you have a pain in your back? Does your knee hurt when you walk upstairs? Does your elbow hurt? Do you have headaches?

Well just read on and there is a possible solution.

This is how Big Pharm draws you in to purchasing pills and potions to cure your everyday aches and pains. It is called advertising.

If you saw an ad for something that sounded like a star system or a Greek mythology you’d probably pass by the small print that it has ingredients to solve your woes and pains.

If you do search the pharmacy section for a relief you will find a variety of pills and potions that promise relief to you physical problems in a choice of color and prices. Do the more expensive work better?

If you ask your health professional there maybe required more testing to narrow the diagnosis of your problem to then get a prescription of what is also on the shelf.

We all have ailments. As we grow older we get a few more.

A handful of pills may make our pains less noticeable until the next day for another refill.

At a point in time the email if filled with promises to relieve back pain, clear blurry eyes, get rid of that ringing in your ear and grow your hair back or you can explore the Internet for possible cures from acupuncture to rubbing bee sweat on your body.

In the end game, the innards will slowly quit and it will be over. There is no way around it.

If a few pills will satisfy you to live another day, so be it.

If not every morning is a blessing to get another chance.