I blog, therefore I am.
Or, I am as I blog.
Pedantic philosophy or narrative theory,
take your pick.
Pick as well from a plethora of topics, since my curiosity--
and my opinions—are endless.
I’d have this tattooed on my inner arm…or maybe my wrist.
If I was the 22 year old today that I was back in the day, I absolutely would have tattoos. Not sleeves or twee ones like flowers and angels. Being that words are my métier, I would have sayings and quotes and hyroglyphic symbols. Because that’s the kind of 22 year old I was back in the day.
I had the shortest skirts, the wildest shoes and I brought Carnaby Street, or at least my vision of it, to the much more prosaic streets of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. I thrived on pushing the envelope–and got in trouble a lot for doing so.
In college, I was on academic probation a lot (again). My idea of studying for an exam was to take uppers and pull an all-nighter memorizing someone else’s notes. It had to be someone else’s notes because even when I was in class, I was somewhere else in my mind.
Was I a bad kid? No.
I didn’t do drugs (okay, there was that brief experimentation with marijuana which ended badly). I always threw up before I got too drunk (someone named me the IBM machine because I would drink beer until I couldn’t drink anymore, go to the ladies room, throw up, and return to drink some more). And I lost my virginity at 18 to the boy I then married at 23.
Still, I was often the bane of my mother’s existence. Her first daughter had been mild and shy and obedient so she wasn’t prepared for the likes of outspoken, adventurous, don’t-tell-me-I-can’t-unless-you-want-to-insure-I-will me.
I think of all the trouble I could get into today if I was 22, and I wonder if I would push the envelope as much, seeing as that envelope is so much larger. I probably would, but maybe the inherently nice girl my mother raised would protect me from a Lindsay Lohan life. Even at 22, there were certain avenues I didn’t venture down. I had a friend called Ricka, an artist, who was maybe a year older than I and light years more experienced. When I was with Ricka, I got a taste of the wild Bohemian life and, frankly, it scared me.
Thinking about that now, knowing what I do about myself, I see that my wild acts were born of curiosity and daring, not of an urge for self-destruction. I never wanted to go too far over the edge to where I couldn’t get back. I wanted to be bad-ish, but not dead.
Jane Gassner authors Beyond MidLifeBloggers: The Other Side of Sixty, where she connects to all parts of herself: writer, editor, teacher, curator, innovator.
Top 10 Differences between Men and Women
Women mature much faster than men. Most 17-year old females can function as adults. Most 17-year old males are still trading baseball cards and giving each other wedgies after gym class. This is why high school romances rarely work out.
To their credit, men do not decorate their penmanship. They just chicken scratch. Women use scented, colored stationary and they dot their “i’s” with circles and hearts. Women use ridiculously large loops in their “p’s” and “g’s”. It is a royal pain to read a note from a woman. Even when she’s dumping you, she’ll put a smiley face at the end of the note.
A man has six items in his bathroom–a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, a bar of Dial soap, and a towel from a Holiday Inn. The average number of items in the typical woman’s bathroom is 437. A man would not be able to identify most of these items.
Men use rest rooms for purely biological reasons. Women use rest rooms as social lounges. Men in a rest room will never speak a word to each other. Never in the history of the world has a man excused himself from a restaurant table by saying, “Hey Tom, I was just about to take a leak. Do you want to join me?
A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and soccer games and romances and best friends and favorite foods and secret fears and hopes and dreams. A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.
Women prefer 30-40 minutes of foreplay. Men prefer 30-40 seconds of foreplay. Men consider driving back to her place as part of the foreplay. Women like to have sex when they’re in the mood. Men like to have sex when they’re in the room.
Women do laundry every couple of days. A man will wear every article of clothing he owns, including his surgical pants , before he will do his laundry. When he is finally out of clothes, he will wear a dirty sweat shirt inside out, rent a U-Haul, and take his mountain of clothes to the Laundromat. Men always expect to meet beautiful women at the Laundromat. This is a myth perpetuated by reruns of old episodes of “Love, American Style.”
Men see the telephone as a communication tool. They use the telephone to send short messages to other people. A woman can visit her girlfriend for two weeks, and upon returning home, she will call the same friend and they will talk for three hours.
If Laura, Suzanne, Debra and Rose go out for lunch, they will call each other Laura, Suzanne, Debra and Rose.
If Mike, Charlie, Bob and John go out, they will affectionately refer to each other as Fat Boy, Godzilla, Peanut-Head and Stinky.
A woman has the last word in any argument.
Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.
Jack Goldenberg is a prolific Copywriter, innovative Creative Director and consummate, strategic marketer. Read his blog at 10 minutes of brilliance. With all he’s done, he still believes his best efforts are ahead of him.
Costa Rican Shoe Tips
Crocs for gardening, hiking boots to fend off snakes, rain boots for you know what, cowboy boots for horseback riding, water shoes for the beach, wedgies for height, running shoes for exercise, and flip flops for any other time. But the number one type of shoes to bring to Costa Rica: Stilettos! Huh? Really? And to think, I gave away dozens before moving to Costa Rica. I didn’t know. Before moving to Costa Rica as a full-time expat, I spent most of my time at the beach community of Nosara. The beach lifestyle is mostly barefoot; flip-flops are the shoe of choice, with the occasional donning of running shoes if you are going running on roads instead of barefoot at the beach.
My husband and I moved to Atenas, a Central Valley community not far from San Jose. On my first outing to the town, I saw women in dresses or nice jeans with blouses and on their feet – stilettos! My jaw dropped as I watched them maneuver the uneven sidewalks and streets riddled with potholes, cracked cement, tree roots, uneven brickwork, crazy staircases, wooden ramps, and the occasional horse-dung pile.
Determined to re-build my stiletto stash, I found a shoe boutique in town, purchased a modest pair, and made a dinner reservation at the nicest place in town. The gravel road leading to the restaurant was hazardous, so we made a plan: I carried a large purse which housed my lipstick and the shoes. I wore flip-flops to the edge of the smooth walkway leading to the restaurant. My husband, Don, promised to be Prince Charming and place the shoes on my feet before entering the restaurant. We entered the dining room of what we were told was a five star restaurant, and saw that we were the only guests, other than the huge dog sleeping in the corner.
I proudly strutted to the table in my new shoes, crossed my legs with my foot sticking into the aisle to show off the ‘choos’, ordered a martini, and enjoyed the moment to the fullest. The dog perked up when he heard the “click-clack” coming across the tile floor; I‘m not sure he had heard that sound before. This was mostly a gringo place; most gringo expats do not wear stilettos. I have since discovered the tico places where my shoes and I fit right in.
Next thing you know, I’ll be zip-lining in stilettos!
Carole Connolly is an American expat living in Costa Rica. She makes an adventure out of anything and find humor in everything. Her blog, Carole Jean's Capers covers expat life as well as stories from her former lives as an international flight attendant, real estate agent, and dancer.
A Movie Odyssey
It broke all the molds.
Until Stanley Kubrick’s mind-bending 1968 movie, baby boomers and their parents were fed a sci-fi diet of funk and fear: a 50-foot woman rampaging through town exacting revenge on all who wronged her when normal (a harbinger of women’s liberation?), or huge mutant ants crawling up sky scrappers in search of tasty human prey, especially young ladies in flimsy nightgowns. A thinking man’s science fiction movie was an oxymoron.
Now considered a brilliant classic, A Space Odyssey met with less than instant and unanimous approval. Although Kubrick was nominated for Best Director, the movie was not among those considered for Best Film. The plot was obtuse, the pace glacial, the ending incomprehensible, not a word uttered for almost half an hour and then only 40 minutes of dialog throughout.
There was a generational rift over the movie, a younger boomer audience more receptive to the innovations and enigmas. Many of the favorable reviews appeared in college newspapers. In a 1972 re-release, the movie attracted a pop culture cult following among baby boomers attracted to its new age mysticism and surrealism.
On a secret mission to uncover a mystery artifact buried millions of years ago by intelligent extraterrestrial life, the story is perhaps best remembered by the human interaction with HAL, the supercomputer designed to run the ship. HAL attempts to take over from its handlers only to be defeated and disconnected. Kubrick was one of the first to focus on a theme that has come to fascinate the boomer generation and dominate contemporary science: are we on the verge of creating computers with the ability to control us against our will?
Kubrick is rightly credited with designing the model for “sophisticated” science fiction, such as baby boomer favorites Blade Runner, Encounters of the Third Kind, Silent Running, ET, and Star Wars.
A conversation between the main character and HAL:
Dave Bowman: Hello, HAL. Do you read me, HAL?
HAL: Affirmative, Dave. I read you.
Dave Bowman: Open the pod bay doors, HAL.
HAL: I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.
Dave Bowman: What’s the problem?
HAL: I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do.
Dave Bowman: What are you talking about, HAL?
HAL: This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it.
Dave Bowman: I don’t know what you’re talking about, HAL.
HAL: I know that you and Frank were planning to disconnect me, and I’m afraid that’s something I cannot allow to happen.
Dave Bowman: Where the hell’d you get that idea, HAL?
HAL: Dave, although you took very thorough precautions in the pod against my hearing you, I could see your lips move.
Dave Bowman: Alright, HAL. I’ll go in through the emergency airlock.
HAL: Without your space helmet, Dave, you’re going to find that rather difficult.
Dave Bowman: HAL, I won’t argue with you anymore. Open the doors.
HAL: Dave, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.
Terry Hamburg writes the Baby Boomer Daily about the exciting and revolutionary baby boomer years.
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