'Applesauce to you, Dwayne Pendleton...'

Why is there an "appointment time" AND an "arrival time" column when you check in at a doctor's office? Because you definitely don't get preference if you show up early. 

Does the staff bad-mouth people whose columns are vastly different? Like, unbeknownst to us, they're all behind the scenes--shaking their fists at the heavens-- and cursing the person who had the first appointment of the day:

 "Applesauce to you, Dwayne Pendleton; you're the reason these good people have had to wait a minimum of 45 minutes to see the doctor! How dare you, sir? How dare you?" 

Or is it more nefarious than that? Are all the columns just to cover their own butts? I've been the first appointment of the day, arrived 15 minutes early, and still had to wait half an hour to be seen. Maybe everyone on staff at the doctor's office just shows up whenever they feel like it every morning. 

"We have been here for an hour, and all I see when I look around is people drinking coffee and shooting the bull."

And then they just pretend like the first appointment was late--curse them!-- doctoring the records to reflect the misinformation they're disseminating to the rest of us patients, patiently waiting our respective turns; our turns to be told we're in perfect health and then charged $400 for the privilege.

That's the trouble with trust; it can be misplaced.

One thing is certain: if you have a doctor's appointment, you should just clear your schedule for the day. Just take a day.

Congratulations! You have AIDS!

(NOTE: This is what it's like inside my mind. I am about to describe three different threads of thought. Eventually, they will merge beautifully, just give it a minute.)

Thread 1: I've been thinking about my Granny lately. I love my Granny. She lived in a house with four dead-bolts on its front door, each having a different key. She was also always concerned that someone would put a potato in the tail-pipe of her car and would check, or have someone else check in later days, for such obstructions before putting her key in the ignition. 

The whole of our family is prone to paranoia, partly because we come from hill people (meaning, our ancestors married their cousins, which combination of close-set DNA manifests itself in either mental/emotional instability and/or physical deformities--i.e. sixth toes; thankfully, it appears to only be the former which is the case in our family); also, partly because the world is full of sick, sick people. It's probably more due to the latter that any terrifying story we hear or read via chain-letter-type e-mail is taken--if not seriously--under advisement. Because folks are crazy and I wouldn't put much past them. Also, 'cause better safe than a sorry chump.

I remember when I was in elementary school, Granny (or maybe it was my favorite Aunt Sandy who reads this blog) told my Mom about how some people were putting AIDS-infected needles in movie theater seats with notes that said something like, "Congratulations! You have AIDS!". Read more about that here.

Thread 2: For a long time I've had this dream. A dream where I would master the art of pick-pocketing--MASTER IT--and then become a pick-pocketing agent for good. Until this guy stole my idea.

But that's how it would've gone down, see? I would have targeted people who looked down-on-their-luck, though, using my superior deductive reasoning skills. But I guess it was not to be; 'cause this dude had to go and steal my purloining thunder.

Thread 3: I've also been thinking about this whole anti-vaccine thing that's become a veritable pandemic in our country as of late. In case you were raised by wolves under a rock and have just emerged for your Rumspringa here amongst humanity, educate yourself with this video:

Anyways, there's this whole thing about anti-vaccine parents wanting schools to let their children enroll without the proper immunizations. I will say this: while it is your right to decide whether or not to vaccinate your child--no one else, especially the government, should have any say in the matter whatsoever--it should be a school's right to refuse to let you enroll your child. It's just negligence, I feel; but if you want to go that route, go for it. Just don't try to force the possible dangers (for lack of a better word) onto the rest of us who have to have contact with your kids.

This is where all the worlds collide:

It occurred to me this morning that I should put syringes filled with vaccines in movie theater seats, accompanied by notes that say, "Congratulations! You're immune to MEASLES!"

Of course now that I'm posting this on the interweb, the initiative is not quite as untraceable as I would like; but it would combine my need to enforce vigilante justice with my desire to do good anonymously by means originally intended for harm.

Back in the Saddle

It's been months since my last post. The main reason I started this blog was to start writing regularly again; hence the fact that the number one item on my imaginary Manifesto is that I was going to write at least one post every week. That was before two months ago. Before my Mac battery finally decided to go belly-up. Before I bought a new battery and took my laptop apart to replace the old one. Before I realized that it wasn't that the battery had given up on itself, but that my charger was no longer willing to live. Before I realized that a replacement cable would cost at least $70. Which all occurred before I remembered-- I'm poor. I'm determined to resurrect the thing at some point because the first few chapters of my unfinished novel are still on the hard-drive, along with some patterns for my old lady pastimes. 

Meanwhile, as Lazarus keeps, it is nigh impossible to get the use of a laptop around here. Though, now that my brother is home from his mission, my mother doesn't need to monopolize the Dell writing him an e-mail every Sunday night so he'll have something to read on his P-day.

During the past couple of months, I have continued to jot down my thoughts as I always do; thoughts that I might be able to turn into entire blog posts. These are the rejects-- not because of their not being compelling, thought-provoking ideas; but because they are perfectly pithy and I would be hard-pressed to milk an entire post out of them singly. So here they are compiled into a delightful list, for your perusing pleasure.


1. Everything that has ever purported to be red velvet has invariably ended up being a farce. You know what I'm talkin' about: doughnuts, pancakes, milkshakes, Rice Krispies™ treats, soap--it all ends in heartbreak. Why do I keep getting reeled in?!

2. I have a hard time laughing out loud at something when I'm alone. In my mind, you laugh to let other people know you're amused.



3. I've heard Style at least three times today. Also, there's all this buzz about Taylor Swift's newest album and how it's such a departure from her flavor heretofore. I just want to state, for the record, that Taylor Swift was never country. Ever. When she first started out, the music she sang to was slightly more country-esque in that it had twangy guitars; now her music is more pop-y, dancing-at-the-club sounding. The music in her songs is really just a background to a narrative of her latest failed relationship anyways. But you know I crank that biz up when it comes on the radio, just like any normal person.



4. I like Peggy Carter; she's smart, capable, strong, and she doesn't need to burn her bra to be good at her job. But the harsh reality of the matter is that Steve Rogers would've been friend-zoned forever if he hadn't gotten hot as a result of the super soldier serum. A kind, decent 5'1" man is still a 5'1" man. Call me shallow if you like, but physical appearance does play a fairly prominent role in attractiveness.

5. I love the smell of new leather and how it spreads itself ubiquitously throughout whatever space it finds itself in.


6.Those friends you follow on Facebook and Instagram who instantaneously have a bazillion likes right after they post ANYTHING-- my like is insignificant. I refuse. Would you even notice? This is obviously at least somewhat rooted in my latent inferiority complex.


7. Baths make me feel dirty. Like, grimy, disgusting, hanging-out-in-my-own-filth-liquified.



8. I thought Sam Smith was black for the longest time. 

      

   He's just so soulful. Then again, so is Michael Bolton...

9. As a frequent (read "compulsive") online shopper, this scenario plays out dozens of times a month for me: UPS tracking says my package has been in Orlando since 6:30 AM; but won't be delivered to me until tomorrow. Is there any legal  issue preventing me from driving to the company's distribution center, a mere hour away, to get my package? I mean, technically, it is my property. I feel that the law would be on my side in this instance. You know, if I decided to do it.



10. I am a lover of orange Tic Tacs. They do absolutely nothing to freshen your breath, but are quite tasty.



11. To wear a bow tie without looking like Peewee Herman presents a high degree of difficulty.

Can you imagine being a hipster and getting that chestnut in your fortune cookie? Debilitating.

12. When I eat waffles, each square must be filled with syrup, especially if they are Belgian.


13. Mounted weapons are never loaded, and very hard to remove from their mountings. Murders/defenses with mounted swords or guns are just a whimsical farce promulgated and perpetuated by movies and television at least as far back as the 1930's.

14. Bangers and mash sounds like the names of a couple of Bond girl villains (in the tradition of Bambi and Thumper); but could also, possibly, be the names of  a tag-team wrestling duo.

15. Unnecessary things: Ovaltine hot instructions; complicated e-mail addresses (I'm lookin' at you, ckriystallelipz4871@sky.net (she says her name is pronounced "Crystal")); Obama in the public sphere. Or making decisions that affect anybody at all. If, in the name of protecting children, CPA can take someone's kids just because they let them play outside, they should've already confiscated that man's kids. Just sayin'.

16. I forget that New Hampshire is a state. Until a SNHU commercial comes on t.v.

Cinderella: The Underlying Cause of All Our Society's Woes

I've had plans to write this for almost two weeks but haven't set pen to paper, so to speak. Not because it's so hard-hitting or because it's a difficult topic, but because this is the first chance I've really had. But it's been good, because I've also wanted to mull things over, too.

Ten days ago, as I signed out of my e-mail, a Yahoo! news story title caught my eye: "New 'Cinderella' Film Sparks Backlash". Having a desire to see the movie, I was curious, so I clicked on the link and began to read. Apparently, there is real danger in exposing your children, particularly your female children, to fairy tales. There's even a parody of the movie trailer online that's already had--roughly-- a billion views. 

From the trailer:  “Revisit the animated classic that will cancel out all of the empowering things your daughter learned from Frozen, where girls are taught to be pushovers, do all the housework and that their problems will disappear if they’re hot enough to land a rich husband.”

"Depicting a female who appears utterly helpless until a male swoops in and rescues her from all of her troubles sends a troubling message,” psychotherapist Amy Morin told Yahoo Parenting. “Girls may learn, ‘I can’t solve my problems, but a boy could.’ It’s much healthier for girls to recognize their own problem-solving skills, rather than look to boys as the solution."

Naturally, all of this new information quashed any and all desires I had to see this trash. 

Psych. 

I just saw it on Wednesday; it was pretty great. The writing was really good-- it drew from the source material faithfully with just the right amount of "new". I mean, you know that she's going to eventually try on the slipper, but there are enough twists that you're not quite sure how they're going to pull it out. Likewise where the performances were concerned. The costuming was incredible; I spent most of the movie ogling Kate Blanchet's gorgeous gowns.

This goes beyond a cinematic critique for me, though.

According to the aforementioned article, Cinderella depicts "sexism and abuse."

Okay, definitely abuse; but sexism? When is Cinderella treated differently because of her gender in this movie? Because she's forced to cook and clean for her step family? I bet that was because she was a girl and NOT because her step-mother and -sisters were a-holes. If she had been a boy, that never would've happened. 

Or maybe it's sexist because the heroine--gasp!-- gets married?! The Prince gets married, too, and nobody is raising a cry of alarm over that. Maybe because there's no Mr. Foundation for Men. Someone should really do something about that. (Side-note: Why is there no male equivalent to feminism? Shouldn't the human rights activists be all over this?)

My major beef --okay, honestly, I have multiple major beefs with this outcry; but the beefiest of all is this: the claim that Cinderella teaches little girls to "be pushovers, and do all the housework, and that all their problems will disappear if they're hot enough to land a rich husband."

First of all, Cinderella is not a pushover. Just because she didn't lash out at her step-family for making her their servant doesn't mean that she's weak. On the contrary. She has a strength and a level of self-control that is praiseworthy; that most of us will (given the recent backlash) clearly never attain. What would a suitable reaction to mistreatment look like? One the femi-Nazis would approve of? Anger? Unmitigated rage? Retaliation? Vindictiveness? Because, to me, those are all really horrible attributes that I never want to be perpetuated. Those are also all easy responses. 

But we, as human beings, don't need the easy reactions; we need the right ones. And oftentimes those are the hardest. They're hardest because, as a human being, your knee-jerk reaction when someone is mean to you is to be mean right back.

 Anybody can be kind when they're being treated well. The real test of how kind you are comes when you meet someone who isn't kind back. If you're not nice to people who aren't nice to you, you're not very kind, are you? If your being your best possible self is predicated entirely upon it being a reciprocal set-up, you will never reach your full potential because, guess what? A lot of the people you run across are not so great. There are a lot of selfish, vindictive, hateful people out there. Does that mean that I should spend the majority of my time being selfish, cruel, and vindictive? I hope not. That sounds like a miserable way to live. 

Our ability to choose who we will be is what separates us from dumb beasts. With patience and self-control, we can overcome our knee-jerk reactions--all of them-- and become (naturally and without even having to think about it) kind, compassionate, loving beings rather than allowing ourselves to be ruled by base instinct.

Maybe that's not what the haters had in mind. Maybe they think Cinderella should have run away. I submit that that would have been the easy way out. Let me be clear: I am not advocating staying in abusive relationships. But I think the detractors are being allegorical in their interpretation of the story, and so am I. If the offending interpretation of the story is that Cinderella solved all her problems by marrying the prince, would leaving her family's home be any less of an evasive maneuver?

The harsh reality is that you can't run away from your problems. I'm no statistician, but I would say that in my experience, 99% of the time, your problems in life are such that you can't just pick up and leave them behind. They come at you full force and, most times, there's nothing you can do but face them head-on. Are you going to let your struggles crush you to a fine powder or are you going to let them smooth out the rough spots of your character? 

I submit again that Cinderella is strong and admirable when she chooses to be kind in the face of abuse and discouragement at the hands of her family members, those who should have treated her with love and respect.

If the problem with Cinderella is that she ends up married to the prince at the end... I really don't know why that would be a problem. She happened to fall in love with someone who turned out to be a prince. If you're objecting to him on the grounds of his wealth, I feel inclined to tell you that he is only the prince of a very small kingdom and so cannot possibly be too terribly rich. Kate Middleton married a prince and no one accuses her of being a victim. So the girl in our story falls in love quickly; some people do. Others don't. Some people fall in love when they're young, others when they're a bit older. Some never do in this life. Such is the nature of human relations. Maybe it's just marriage in general that everybody is not so keen on. Why? Criticism of marriage always smacks heavily of bitterness to me. I don't think we need to make a whole big talking point out of it like we do in our society.

None of the points from this article resonate with me.

What was so great and empowering about Frozen? I mean, don't get me wrong; it was a good movie and I enjoy watching it. The music is fantastic. But it's no Tangled (in case you're interested, the writing and characterization were so much better).

It must be that whole "Let it Go" part that everyone has reference to. The part where Elsa decides that what she does doesn't need to have an impact on anyone but her; except that that's completely ridiculous because everything that any of us do has an effect on someone in some way; none of us has any control over that.  In essence the song tells our little girls, in desperate need of role models, "Screw y'all; Imma do whatever I want." Empowering. 

When it comes on the radio, I crank that biz like anybody; but if you're going to over-analyze a children's movie to oust any troubling messages it might send to the little pitchers, you should at least be thorough in your disapproval. I happen to be an equal-opportunity critic.

I also happen to be a fairly intelligent, strong, capable, independent woman. Who happened to love watching and reading fairy tales as a child. You know why I never internalized all the "harmful","degrading" messages in any of them? Because my parents didn't rely on childrens movies and stories to teach me what was important. They were responsible for that. 

From the time that I was a small girl, I knew what my values were; I knew what my parents expected of me, I knew what I expected of me; and everything that I came into contact with was sifted through those all-important internal sieves that I believe are starting to sorely lack in our culture-- and interpreted and applied according to those standards. 

I'm not saying that you should let children watch or read or listen to everything; some things are not age appropriate and others are completely inappropriate. What I am saying is that, coupled with the active supervision of adult guardians, we should rely on our childrens' internal filters to make sure they aren't getting any hurtful messages from the things that they encounter. And their internal filters should rely on our teaching and examples for their substance, not what they see in movies or on television. Because, despite our best efforts, they will come into contact with hurtful things in their lives. Our job, as adults, is to make sure that the children in our spheres of influence are equipped to deal with those things on their own, because we can't protect them from everything and we can't always be there to mitigate damage. We have to feed them a steady diet of truth, moral values, and encouragement. 

Of course, what do I know? I unabashedly listen to Frozen songs and watch G-rated retools of popular fairy tales. By choice.

I Would Get the Death Penalty For Sure

As a writer, there are very few things that don't spark my imagination. If I happen to hear something on a t.v. show or in a movie or in a class I'm taking or just in the course of normal conversation that gets my gears turning, I'll make a note of it on my phone and make plans to delve a little deeper later when I have internet access.

As a result, my computer's internet search history ranges from the innocuous to the alarming.

If I were ever suspected of murder a la The Fugitive (because of course it would be nothing more than a very convincing frame-up, probably masterminded by a pharmaceutical company and someone I had previously thought to be my friend) and my computer's search records were subpoenaed as evidence, I would get the death penalty for sure. Which is ironic because one of the offending searches is about which drugs go into a lethal injection.

I've also done a reasonable amount of research on living off the grid, guns and ammunition, body-snatching, and Leon Trotsky. Also, Doris Day. If the Unabomber hadn't already been apprehended, just based on my internet searches, I would be a primary suspect, I'm almost positive. Never mind that the first Unabomber attack happened a couple of decades before I was even born. Never mind that the authorities should be looking for a one-armed man.

I would be on death row.

Which would be a shame because then the world would be deprived of the genius of my debut novel, a work of historical fiction which revolves around body-snatching Communists who employ Doris Day to give lethal injections to all who oppose their lifestyle of living off the grid and exhibition shooting. And body-snatching.

UPDATE: PAVING

As a result of last week's post, there is actual construction happening on the road to my job. Or at least a pretty dern good front. This morning, I saw a BE PREPARED TO STOP sign and a little blobby person with a flag sign; you know, the traffic-is-being-directed-by-a-construction-worker-ahead sign and identical signs on the opposite side of the road about 300 feet later. I also saw what I can only assume were workers and a bunch of commercial trucks and stuff on the corner as I turned onto the road where the wildlife park is located.

So if I'm going to go missing, it will probably be soon. Remember that there was something fishy about this whole thing right from the start. Never stop digging. Never stop asking "Why?"; not until we unearth the truth!

PAVING

2/13-2/27

PAVING

The roadside sign flashed its all-caps warning and I groaned internally. I was already 10 minutes late for work and now I might be even more delayed because of paving. When I arrived, only three minutes late, I realized for the millionth time that I have a lead foot. I also realized that I had seen no paving, or any construction of any kind, as indicated by the messages flashing across the sign. I hadn't seen any last week either, come to think of it. And now I'm starting to think that something is going on. 

Like, maybe that sign was hacked and the person who hacked it is part of a team of criminals (ex-criminals?) with highly-specialized skills, who are trying to pull off some sort of scheme/heist a la Mission: Impossible or the A-Team. Or Leverage, which is really just a love child of the previously mentioned shows. The plans are always so convoluted and completely dependent upon the minutia of the victim's reactions that it's hard to see how they might really work to produce the desired effect. So those kinds of things probably don't happen in real life.

Or maybe it's part of a plan spear-headed by the police or the feds to flush out a kidnapper or a murderer. Because that biz happens in real life all the time. I know; I watch Forensic Files. Which, incidentally, is also the reason I'm hyper-aware of vehicles on the road that follow me for suspicious lengths of time, or people who exit buildings after me and walk in too-generally similar a direction in relation to me in parking lots. It's also the reason I always lock my car doors when driving at night. 

I will not be a 48 Hours Mystery. 

I'm a little hesitant to publish this as it would show whoever is behind all this that I'm getting wise to them. On the other hand, if I'm not dealing with benign law-breakers like Mr. T or Peter Graves, when I disappear it might make it easier for the authorities to solve this thing as they would be aware that I was on the trail of something suspicious right before I went missing.