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Posts Tagged ‘Society’

Don’t raise your voice. Improve your argument.

— Desmond Tutu

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Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.

— Marcel Proust

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I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.

— Douglas Adams

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Those who say it can’t be done should get out of the way of those who are doing it.

— Anne Lamott

Tutu-D

Tutu

Lamott-A

Lamott

 

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Holding Up

Friends, I have made peace with the fact that I am now an old dude. The evidence is clear, even though it’s weird to think of myself as being, like, an old geezer.

In many respects, I don’t feel that old. In my head, I’m the same Rocky Smith I’ve been since about age 10. The inner me has changed very little.

On the other hand, I’m not as mentally sharp as when I was younger. Sometimes, my brain plays tricks on me, like instructing me to go to the kitchen, then making me forget why I went there. Fortunately, I’m retired and pose no real danger to anyone.

I also show plenty of signs of physical wear. Creeping arthritis, a touch of glaucoma, a balding pate. I’ve clearly lost a step, even though I’m — knock on wood — still active and in relatively good health.

But I digress. The fact is, I’m about to turn 77, and that’s old.

Which is why, when an attendant at Kroger paid me a compliment regarding my age recently, it was quite satisfying.

When I make a run to Kroger, I always use the self-checkout because it’s faster. Last week, my shopping included a bottle of Pinot Noir, which requires an ID check.

Checking my ID is ludicrous, of course. For the last half-century, my appearance has confirmed that I am over 18, but Kroger has its stupid rules.

I scanned the bottle, and the machine beeped and announced that help was on the way. I took out my wallet and waited.

A 40-ish female employee appeared. “Can I see your ID, sir?” she asked cheerily.

I held up the wallet so she could see my license.

“January 26th, 1943,” she intoned and turned to enter the date on the screen of the scanner.

“I’d rather you didn’t say that out loud,” I told her. “I’m sensitive about my age.”

She turned and looked at me, pursed her lips, and tapped her chin in thought.

“Let me tell you something,” she said with great seriousness. “I check IDs for a living. I’ve seen the IDs of half the adults in Jefferson. I know when they were born.

“I see people every day who look older than you, and act older than you, and they’re a decade younger than you. Sometimes two.”

I was appropriately speechless.

“Take it from an expert, sir,” she said, “you’re holding up nicely. Count your blessings.”

I managed to thank her in a bumbling, awkward fashion and went on my way.

I’m still aglow.

Pinot Noir

… From the compliment, not the Pinot Noir.

 

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Tune o’ the Day

Roy Orbison (1936-1988) was an unlikely guy to become a rock star. But his operatic voice was captivating — angelic, otherworldly — and he sang sad songs about unrequited love. (“Pretty Woman” being the exception because he got the girl.)

Most of Orbison’s love songs were melodramatic, sometimes cheesy, yet still beautiful and memorable. A few examples: “Only the Lonely,” “In Dreams,” “Running Scared,” “Dream Baby.”

Then there is the classic “Crying.” Orbison at the top of his game.

Orbison R

Crying

By Roy Orbison, 1962
Written by Roy Orbison

I was all right for a while.
I could smile for a while.
But I saw you last night.
You held my hand so tight
As you stopped to say hello.

Oh, you wished me well.
You couldn’t tell
That I’d been crying
Over you.
Crying
Over you.

When you said so long,
Left me standing all alone,
Alone and crying.
Crying.
Crying.
Crying.

It’s hard to understand,
But the touch of your hand
Can start me crying.

I thought that I was over you,
But it’s true, so true:
I love you even more
Than I did before,
But, darling, what can I do?


For you don’t love me,
And I’ll always be
Crying
Over you.
Crying
Over you.

Yes, now you’re gone,
And from this moment on,
I’ll be crying,
Crying,
Crying,
Crying,
Yeah, crying,
Crying
Over you.

 

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The Questions…

1. Whales are classified as either baleen whales, which feed on krill and plankton, or toothed whales, which hunt prey (orcas, dolphins, porpoises). To what land creatures are whales most closely related?

2. Which came first, the band the Rolling Stones or the magazine Rolling Stone?

3. In the mid-1600s, lemonade vendors in Venice began selling a new drink that purported to offer great medicinal benefits. What was it?

4. Which planet in the solar system is the hottest?

5. Pogonophobia is the fear of what?

The Answers…

1. Hippopotamuses.

2. The band was started in 1962, the magazine in 1967. Both are named after the 1948 song “Rollin’ Stone” by Muddy Waters.

3. Coffee, a new sensation from the Muslim world.

4. Venus. Mercury is closer to the sun and gets more direct heat, but it has no atmosphere to hold the heat. Venus has a dense atmosphere of carbon dioxide that traps heat (the greenhouse effect thing). The surface temperature on Venus is a constant 865 degrees F.

5. Beards.

Hippo

Beards

 

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Seven Rules

Well, a new year has come charging in, like it or not, ready for it or not. I say it’s a good time to take a deep breath, get a grip, and reassess — to make sure your mental health and coping skills are in proper working order.

I have a great place to start. It’s the “7 Rules of Life,written bynobody seems to know.

The Seven Rules thing has become a meme that is ubiquitous online. Some versions are called “7 Cardinal Rules for Life.

The wording of the rules varies quite a bit, but all the versions reflect the same basic sentiments: relax, don’t worry so much, be yourself, and remember that time heals.

Ordinarily, I react to stuff like this with an eyeroll, but in this case, the advice is genuinely positive and helpful.

Here’s one version out of the many.

Seven Rules

Relax, don’t worry so much, be yourself, and remember that time heals.

Wisdom you can take to the bank.

 

 

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This Just In

MENOMONIE, WISCONSIN — A BASE jumper who parachuted illegally from the top of a cellphone tower ended up calling the police for help after his parachute got caught on a guy wire, leaving him dangling 50 feet in the air.

Police said the 20-year-old man jumped from a 300-foot Charter Communications tower. After his rescue and treatment at a local clinic, he was arrested for criminal trespass.

Note: BASE is an acronym for the most common fixed objects from which the jumpers launch themselves: buildings, antennas, spans, and earth (mountains, cliffs). BASE jumping occasionally is permitted, but most jumps are done illegally by grandstanding knuckleheads.

BASE

LINCOLN, NEBRASKA A 19-year-old female set her apartment on fire while burning love letters from a former boyfriend.

Police said the woman sat on the floor of her bedroom and used a butane torch to burn the stash of letters, then went into another room to take a nap. She woke up later to find the carpet burning.

Firefighters quickly extinguished the blaze, which caused an estimated $4,000 in damage to the building. No injuries were reported.

The woman was cited for negligent burning.

Burn

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA — A woman who dreamed she swallowed her engagement ring woke up to discover it actually happened.

The newly-engaged San Diego woman said she dreamed she was aboard a train and was approached by “bad guys” attempting to steal the ring. To thwart them, she swallowed the ring with the help of a glass of water.

When she awoke the next morning and discovered that the ring was missing, she called her fiance. They went to an urgent care clinic, where an X-ray confirmed the location of the ring. An emergency endoscopy retrieved it.

Ring

 

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Stink, Stank, Stunk

I present herewith a variation of a beloved holiday classic, with apologies to Theodor Geisel.

The idea of our deplorable and, I’m pleased to say, impeached President as the Grinch is not new. Comparing Trump to the Grinch is obvious and appropriate.

Many Trump versions of the song have popped up over the years, some with updated lyrics (You’re as racist as a Klansman, etc.). That’s fine, but to me, it’s hard to improve on the gleeful sarcasm of the Dr. Seuss original.

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Trump

Trump-Grinch

You’re a mean one, Mr. Trump.
You really are a heel.
You’re as cuddly as a cactus,
You’re as charming as an eel,
Mr. Trump.

You’re a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.

You’re a monster, Mr. Trump.
Your heart’s an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders,
You’ve got garlic in your soul,
Mr. Trump.

I wouldn’t touch you
With a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole.

You’re a vile one, Mr. Trump.
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile,
Mr. Trump.

Given the choice between the two of you,
I’d take the seasick crocodile.

You’re a foul one, Mr. Trump.
You’re a nasty-wasty skunk.
Your heart is full of unwashed socks,
Your soul is full of gunk,
Mr. Trump.

The three words that best describe you
Are as follows, and I quote,
“Stink, stank, stunk.”

You’re a rotter, Mr. Trump.
You’re the king of sinful sots.
Your heart’s a dead tomato
Splotched with moldy, purple spots,
Mr. Trump.

Your soul is an appalling dump-heap,
Overflowing with the most disgraceful
assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable,
Mangled-up in tangled-up knots.

You nauseate me, Mr. Trump.
With a nauseous super-naus.
You’re a crooked jerky jockey,
And you drive a crooked horse,
Mr. Trump.

You’re a three-decker sauerkraut
And toadstool sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

Trump with Santa

 

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