Hidden Figures Is A Must See

Went with my friend Lisa yesterday to see “Hidden Figures. “If you haven’t seen it go see it. It is an eye opener. I was amazed to see the IBM Selectric being used and told Lisa I didn’t think that was around until the 1970s. Came home and looked it up and it actually was launched in 1961. I loved typing on the Selectric and miss the sound it made when you were typing. Now I want to buy one.

Back to the movie … it was an eye opener. What those women put up with to have a job was beyond the pale which, by definition, means outside the bounds of acceptable behavior, but in this case it has a double meaning because it was beyond what the pale (aka white) people had to put up with or probably would put up with. At the end of the movie when they show real pictures of the women who were depicted in the movie I started to cry — it was as if the movie morphed from “entertainment” to “reality.” I admire those women more than I can say — well I can say it but I don’t know how.

On a lighter side (again literally and skin tone wise) — at one point in the movie — during a scene much like the one in the photo below — I turned to Lisa and said “It looks like the cast of The Book of Mormon.” And it did.

Here is a video of Katherine Johnson receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom.



A Woman Is Not A Host Unless She’s Throwing A Party

An idiot in the Oklahoma senate said that women’s bodies are “hosts.” If this is true than a penis is an intruder and can be shot based on the stand your ground mentality.

But, of course, it is not true and this “man” is trying to control something that men have tried to control since the dawn of time. In the words of Obi-Wan Kenobi


The harder you try to control us, the more powerful we have become.

To call a woman a embryo host is not only stupid, but it degrades the bond between a child and a mother and then a family. I think a child senses the difference between being born into a place of welcome as opposed to being the product of a host — a parasite of sorts.

Some people like to throw around the words “Life begins at conception.” I believe life begins at connection. When the parent(s) and the family feel that immediate connection to this child. I like to think that a baby can feel that connection — that he or she knows the joy of being wanted and loved the moment of birth, or even before.

I remember seeing a big billboard many years ago proclaiming life begins at conception. My immediate thought became part of my stand-up routine:



Sensible Shoes Rock

I wear sensible shoes. I’ve worn sensible shoes for most of my life with the exception of those horrible patent leather shoes that were forced on me to wear to church. If it wasn’t for the fact that I could rub the heels together and make one of the most irritating sounds you’ve ever heard, they would have gone missing along with a bottle of bad tasting cough syrup and a note from my teacher about my inability to concentrate.

Part of the reason I wore sensible shoes is I inherited my dad’s wide feet and the fancy shoes were not made for wide feet; apparently they weren’t dainty enough. But I did try to squeeze my feet into more stylish shoes but they hurt and I don’t care how nice they looked, I prefer to not have my feet hurt to wearing shoes that are like small torture machines.

The other reason is I just didn’t want to wear the shoes with heels that a klutz like myself could and would easily fall off of and break some bones. They were also way too expensive. When I see shoes that cost hundreds of dollars I can’t imagine buying them. I spend a lot for a good pair of shoes but not hundreds of dollars. If I want to fall and break something it would be cheaper to just throw myself down the steps.

So the “Sex in the City’ gang can have their designer shoes and gigantic shoe closets — I’ll take my sensible shoes and one of those shoe bags that is hanging on my closet door. Now if we are talking about sensible socks vs. funky socks I am definitely on the side of funky.

There Is No “U” In Single

fish-in-the-seaI was divorced in February of 1980. It was a rough couple of weeks. Two weeks before my divorce my dad died. There was a lot of loneliness going around back then.

But years later I would start having parties and bringing cake to work for my “divorcaversary.” My favorite was the cake that said “Love Stinks.” Since my divorcaversary is on February 11th it was a nice touch to have the cake right around Valentine’s Day.

I have had relationships since my divorce but nothing that stuck, and more than a few that stank. It’s part of the charm of life.

I tried eHarmony and Our Time dating services but for me it was more off key than harmony and definitely not my time.

But I really don’t care — there are a few times when I think it would be nice to be part of a couple but in general it’s not a big deal. And now that I’m retired the pickings are slim and the desire is anorexic. Don’t get me wrong, I would never say no to love but I’m just not stepexpecting it to show up. Of course I didn’t expect arthritis to show up and here it is.

You just never know what life will bring your way so be ready for adventure, but watch where you are walking.

A Salute to Baby Carrots

pseudo-baby-carrotsJanuary 1st is the beginning of the end for thousands of bags of baby carrots. Everyone who has started their diet today will buy a bag of baby carrots with the intention of eating them instead of a bag of chips or a bar of chocolate or a box of cookies. And eventually they will be pushed towards the back of the fridge behind the bowls of whatever until one day they are discovered and discarded.
So here is a salute to the baby carrots who have given their lives to support the dreams and illusions of the world dieters.

It Seems Insurmountable

up the stepsThis is a picture of my great-niece Vicky in Paris or Spain (I’m not sure where she is) but she loves to climb steps so she is off again. I’m pretty sure she’s not thinking well that building is way too far away I’ll never get there — she is probably thinking one more step and then one more step etc.  Actually I don’t have any idea what she is thinking but I do know she is brighter than most of us … just keep going until you get to where you want to go (unless some adult comes along and scoops you up and keeps you from your destination). Of course if some adult comes along and tries to scoop us up we can kick them in the balls or knees if they are testicle-impaired people. Either way we can fight the scooper.

I don’t know what this suppose to mean but when I saw this picture this is what I thought about and I decided to share it. Of course it is another chance to show off Vicky too.

Here Comes The Train

crossingToday as I was driving home, trying to avoid the 85 areas around me of road construction, I got to one of my best shortcuts home and there was a train going down the track I had to cross.

When I was growing up we had to cross this track on the way to and from my grandma and grandpa’s house. I used to silently pray for a train to go by because I loved to watch them and usually the guy in the caboose would wave at you if you hung out the window and waved at him. It was one of my favorite things.

When I said I would “silently pray” it wasn’t because I was a quiet and shy child — it watrains because my parents didn’t share my joy when there was a train. They thought of it was just a delay.

Today I thought of that and I wondered at what point did I change from the kid who loved to see a train go by — to watch in awe at one train car after another that passed by and wonder what was in those cars — to an “adult” who saw them as an impediment to my progress to wherever I was going.

Today I was in no hurry — I didn’t have to get home to do anything in particular; there were no frozen foods melting in the backseat; there was no job timing my arrival; Keifer Sutherland wasn’t waiting for me to arrive — with the exception of Daisy wanted to get out of her crate there was no rush. But there I was annoyed like the people in front and behind me. I even turned off my car since I had no idea how long I’d be there.caboose Then as I saw the final cars approaching I started my engine, looked up, and saw the guy in the caboose waving at us. I waved back and was suddenly that kid again; at least until the car behind me honked.

The Day The Music Died (Well A Wonderful Funky Chunk Of It)

onstage during The 57th Annual GRAMMY Awards at the at the STAPLES Center on February 8, 2015 in Los Angeles, California.

Yes, it’s another Prince tribute. I’m still trying to grasp the news of Prince’s death. It amazes me how people (because I know I’m not the only one) can feel so much grief for a person they “didn’t know.” And, like so many people from Minneapolis I had my Prince sighting. When the movie “Purple Rain” came out I went to see it with a friend at the Skyway Theater. When it was over we stood up and saw Prince sitting about two rows behind us — apparently he liked to go to see how people reacted to the movie.

But that’s the cool thing about Prince and other people I mourned for when they passed that were not part of my life in the way that we hung out together or talked on the phone or emailed pictures of cute dogs and cats — they were part of my life in a totally different way.

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