03/26/11 continued....
Dear Readers ( should there actually be any ! ),
Having failed at a number of prescribed goals, such as succinctness and brevity, we must stagger on, pretending to dance as if the orchestra were still playing.
In trying to conclude 'Part One', I will mention only in passing, that, perhaps the very nadir of TeeVee had been reached on a program on MTV, in which a clothed, jock-strapped man sat against a wall while grapefruits, softballs, and other objects were as missiles thrown to hit his testicles; upon being hit, the man would yell in pain, and then laugh like a maniac. Later, during the closing credits, he chased the 'throwers' as if to attack them; That I watched this farrago for--perhaps--five minutes, can only be attributed to my complete disbelief that, a) it was actually happening, and, b) that anyone could possibly find it entertaining.
Mere TeeVee is not the culprit, for as Edward Murrow once said during a filmed documentary of the poor in America, " The fault, dear Brutus, is not in the stars, but in ourselves ".
Endless chatter by 'talking heads' abounds; and bad news is everywhere. Shocking news. Horrible news.
Is it any wonder--then--that any reasonably sane person would want to run from this onslaught? And to try to create for themselves some sort of hiding place, outfitted for comfort and designed to be reassuringly the 'same'.?
Those who drag home at days' end from jobs they too often find repellent, are too tired, too used up, too consumed to do more than pop a beer, and flop down on the sofa, kicking their shoes off at the door. They want a little comfort, a little quiet, a little pampering, and a LOT of peace and detachment from the world.
I once recall a time when there were only three channels, and all went off the air at 11:00PM. Nobody complained. Or, really cared.
Now there is--besides the computer, and the 'wild west web'--cable with 900 channels. And there's still nothing to watch.
And so, after supper has plopped out of the microwave, and the children dispensed with and the dogs let out to pee, the evening is wasted in the constant channel surfing up and down the dial.
Though they relax in it, unknowingly, they do not consider for one moment, and, as such, do not revel in it, that, in entering and shutting the front door, they are drawing a palpable line in the sand, intentionally separating themselves from the world outside; it is a retreat to the warmth of the fire in the cave at night, however dearly this 'cave' is costing them.
And so, at this post's end, I wish you all a quiet night, an untroubled sleep, and strength to face tomorrow. Goodnight all, Charles
Saturday, March 26, 2011
'The Postern Of Fate...':' The introduction that should have come first'
03/26/11
This--alas--is the long-awaited introduction to my blog ( what an odd name ! ), which should have been written first. I have, at once, in candor, rather than coyness revealed a true lack of understanding of computers in general, and this forum, in particular.
I was strongly advised to keep my entries short, and to the point; I was to eshew fancy language ( such as 'eshew' ), and--above all--to try to be interesting, so that once you found me, you would come back, dragging friends, relatives, and co-workers with you, to hark upon my every, ruby-throated word. And, to--upon occasion--offer up your own impressions/suggestions/and criticisms that might, in all kindness, change incontestably both the tone and direction of this enterprise.
I purposely went overboard on the biography so that I wouldn't have to trot it out here, boring you twice.
There are countless blogs out there already, each with its own voice, its own interests, and its own agenda(s). What have I to say?
"What shall we give the infant King?"
I have changed the font size so that I could read it better; for you out there in blog-land, it should--at worst--limit the length of my entries, but not the tone of them.
Though I am, at present safely tucked away in my own little world, as I had mentioned in the bio, 'The Postern Of Fate...' refers to all that lies on the other side of your own front door; all the marvels, the mysteries, and the unspeakable terrors, the former of which simply makes us want to stay in bed, covers over the head.
We all try to insulate ourselves, our families, and our friends from the utter madness that waits for us there; for there be monsters run amok that we cannot control, nor hide from, nor escape from, really.
Our homes have become our fortresses, our redoubts, our caves which we leave grudgingly, and return to most gratefully.
Try as we might, the outside world still touches us, as well-evidenced by the schlock and shock offered up nightly on TeeVee, and in the newspapers ( does anyone subscribe to them anymore? ).
After a year or so of dwindling interest, when much of broadcast 'entertainment' devolved into torture of the most hideous kind, I simply stopped watching TeeVee, and, in time, gave away the two sets I had in the house. And, while I freely admit that it is now with greater slowness that I am informed of events both here and abroad, I could find nothing but distaste at any of the, 'What would you do for $50,000.00 USD ? shows. Eat worms ? Share a glass coffin teeming with roaches?
First, it beggared the self-answering fact that, 'hell yeah, I could use $50,000.00 !' We all could. In point of fact, there have been too many occasions when $500.00 would look good, and would help carry us to the end of the month.
But these shows, for amusement's sake took these hapless contestants and humiliated them; they not only went home penniless, but did so after sharing the glass coffin teeming with roaches.
When the stately, and posing rectitude of 'Jeopardy', was overrun by 'Weakest Link', the boxer's gloves came off to fully reveal the greed and conniving of the contestants, and the unutterable snottiness of the Host. That its tag line, 'You are the weakest link', was later used as a catch phrase across the nation, culminating in an homicide, shows only too well how cruel, selfish, and mindless such shows can be.
Thankfully, such productions soon--though, often, not quickly enough--burn themselves out, others race to fill the void.
Part One Of Two.
This--alas--is the long-awaited introduction to my blog ( what an odd name ! ), which should have been written first. I have, at once, in candor, rather than coyness revealed a true lack of understanding of computers in general, and this forum, in particular.
I was strongly advised to keep my entries short, and to the point; I was to eshew fancy language ( such as 'eshew' ), and--above all--to try to be interesting, so that once you found me, you would come back, dragging friends, relatives, and co-workers with you, to hark upon my every, ruby-throated word. And, to--upon occasion--offer up your own impressions/suggestions/and criticisms that might, in all kindness, change incontestably both the tone and direction of this enterprise.
I purposely went overboard on the biography so that I wouldn't have to trot it out here, boring you twice.
There are countless blogs out there already, each with its own voice, its own interests, and its own agenda(s). What have I to say?
"What shall we give the infant King?"
I have changed the font size so that I could read it better; for you out there in blog-land, it should--at worst--limit the length of my entries, but not the tone of them.
Though I am, at present safely tucked away in my own little world, as I had mentioned in the bio, 'The Postern Of Fate...' refers to all that lies on the other side of your own front door; all the marvels, the mysteries, and the unspeakable terrors, the former of which simply makes us want to stay in bed, covers over the head.
We all try to insulate ourselves, our families, and our friends from the utter madness that waits for us there; for there be monsters run amok that we cannot control, nor hide from, nor escape from, really.
Our homes have become our fortresses, our redoubts, our caves which we leave grudgingly, and return to most gratefully.
Try as we might, the outside world still touches us, as well-evidenced by the schlock and shock offered up nightly on TeeVee, and in the newspapers ( does anyone subscribe to them anymore? ).
After a year or so of dwindling interest, when much of broadcast 'entertainment' devolved into torture of the most hideous kind, I simply stopped watching TeeVee, and, in time, gave away the two sets I had in the house. And, while I freely admit that it is now with greater slowness that I am informed of events both here and abroad, I could find nothing but distaste at any of the, 'What would you do for $50,000.00 USD ? shows. Eat worms ? Share a glass coffin teeming with roaches?
First, it beggared the self-answering fact that, 'hell yeah, I could use $50,000.00 !' We all could. In point of fact, there have been too many occasions when $500.00 would look good, and would help carry us to the end of the month.
But these shows, for amusement's sake took these hapless contestants and humiliated them; they not only went home penniless, but did so after sharing the glass coffin teeming with roaches.
When the stately, and posing rectitude of 'Jeopardy', was overrun by 'Weakest Link', the boxer's gloves came off to fully reveal the greed and conniving of the contestants, and the unutterable snottiness of the Host. That its tag line, 'You are the weakest link', was later used as a catch phrase across the nation, culminating in an homicide, shows only too well how cruel, selfish, and mindless such shows can be.
Thankfully, such productions soon--though, often, not quickly enough--burn themselves out, others race to fill the void.
Part One Of Two.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
'Home is hardly where the heart is'
03/23/11
What does the term 'home' mean to you ? Is it a house, a condo, an R.V., a log cabin ( midst the pines ), an apartment, or a piece of tarp hastily lashed with rope to nearby trees ? Or, does the abstraction of 'home' extend to a couple of shopping carts full of collected dreck, doggedly dragged along the roadside, with newspapers and plastic bags to ward off inclement weather ?
Far distant memories of the fundamental nature of 'home' revealed that the modern home as we know it gathered impetus shortly after WWII, with scores of G.I.'s returning--at last--to their parent's home, though, such compact living arrangements seemed poor payment for four, long years of combat.
Suddenly, nearly every service person wanted a scrap of land to call his own, and an home to put on it; a quiet refuge for newlyweds, and a place to have children, one car, and a dog.
This was their interpretation of the Constitution's mandate of, 'Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness; nothing less, really, than a completely justifiable flight from the horrors of war.
Various government programs made housing and education well within the reach of these returning Veterans. All to fuel and provide a deep yearning which demanded answers.
For the next ten years or so, 'slipper' communities such as the famous Levittown(s), sprang from the soil as if from sown dragon's teeth.
Whenever there is a need, and available housing was but one, and a great need it was, too, the Military and Industrial machines were more than happy to retool from a war economy to a peacetime one.
These--mostly young--returning Veterans wanted everything at once, and it was given to them at once, which--for industry--made for enormous profits.
In photographs taken of the period, the homes were like little doll houses: two bedrooms, one bath, and a carport or a garage. I once read that in these little houses, the flushing of the toilet could be heard 'all over the house'.
But, many featured hardwood floors, over a grid of piped in hot water, which kept the homes cozy and warm.
'Had to have necessities' included new cars ( whose style had remained unchanged during the war years, from 1939-1945), modern furniture, appliances to an extent unimaginable.
These young men and women had had four+ years of war, during which to think and mold a new, 'American Dream', also--by default--launching the new installment payment plan.
Photographs of the time not only show proud mommy with proud baby, but often included the entire front of the house, making the home a more than integral part of the new family; further, should you care to notice, while many of these tract homes had garages, you find the family car parked in the driveway, so that the viewer could not miss it; it was never meant to be missed; even when the photographs taken reduced the human subjects so they were often unrecognizable, the point--however--was clear: these men, weary of war, were--like their ancestors before them--valiantly striking out to make a new and better life for themselves, and for their families.
Part II to follow in due time. All regards, Charles
What does the term 'home' mean to you ? Is it a house, a condo, an R.V., a log cabin ( midst the pines ), an apartment, or a piece of tarp hastily lashed with rope to nearby trees ? Or, does the abstraction of 'home' extend to a couple of shopping carts full of collected dreck, doggedly dragged along the roadside, with newspapers and plastic bags to ward off inclement weather ?
Far distant memories of the fundamental nature of 'home' revealed that the modern home as we know it gathered impetus shortly after WWII, with scores of G.I.'s returning--at last--to their parent's home, though, such compact living arrangements seemed poor payment for four, long years of combat.
Suddenly, nearly every service person wanted a scrap of land to call his own, and an home to put on it; a quiet refuge for newlyweds, and a place to have children, one car, and a dog.
This was their interpretation of the Constitution's mandate of, 'Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness; nothing less, really, than a completely justifiable flight from the horrors of war.
Various government programs made housing and education well within the reach of these returning Veterans. All to fuel and provide a deep yearning which demanded answers.
For the next ten years or so, 'slipper' communities such as the famous Levittown(s), sprang from the soil as if from sown dragon's teeth.
Whenever there is a need, and available housing was but one, and a great need it was, too, the Military and Industrial machines were more than happy to retool from a war economy to a peacetime one.
These--mostly young--returning Veterans wanted everything at once, and it was given to them at once, which--for industry--made for enormous profits.
In photographs taken of the period, the homes were like little doll houses: two bedrooms, one bath, and a carport or a garage. I once read that in these little houses, the flushing of the toilet could be heard 'all over the house'.
But, many featured hardwood floors, over a grid of piped in hot water, which kept the homes cozy and warm.
'Had to have necessities' included new cars ( whose style had remained unchanged during the war years, from 1939-1945), modern furniture, appliances to an extent unimaginable.
These young men and women had had four+ years of war, during which to think and mold a new, 'American Dream', also--by default--launching the new installment payment plan.
Photographs of the time not only show proud mommy with proud baby, but often included the entire front of the house, making the home a more than integral part of the new family; further, should you care to notice, while many of these tract homes had garages, you find the family car parked in the driveway, so that the viewer could not miss it; it was never meant to be missed; even when the photographs taken reduced the human subjects so they were often unrecognizable, the point--however--was clear: these men, weary of war, were--like their ancestors before them--valiantly striking out to make a new and better life for themselves, and for their families.
Part II to follow in due time. All regards, Charles
Hello all...guess what now ?
Why, my dear readers...what in the world; now, I cannot access any of the personal, or bio information that I labored long and hard at. Where has it gone? Klingon Space? Next door ? The 'Pilars Of Hercules' ? And...can it be retrieved so I won't have to write it all down again ?
Being temperamental ( ninety percent temper, and ten percent mental ), I chafe at the thought of having to again begin at the beginning, as I was s-o-o-o-o clever, butter wouldn't melt in my exposition.
Granted, many blogs are edifying and educational; some--like mine--are strictly ego and desperation both in thought, and in content, but then...aren't they both the same ?
Everyone has--or should have--a life, filled chock-a-block with children, spouses, mortgages, debts, pets, and 'forgets', dinner times and bedtimes, utility bills, and jobs which slowly strangle the soul and paralyze the mind, for ****wages, lousy health care, and no benefits. It is--in fine--the 'American Way'.
Add to that stultifyingly mindless programs on TeeVee, reprehensible relatives, lunatic neighbors, a Legislature that has always lined their own pockets and interests, quite contrary, Mary, with no regard for the common weal.
For those who have to work ( think indentured servitude rather than career ), and purchase food and gasoline, whatever are they to do for 'fun', or has that word gone out of the English language ? Dining out means sitting at a picnic table in your backyard. And movies have of late seemed to become just 'odd'.
What is left, when both parents and children sit in grumpy silence at the dinner table; secretly, I think they loath each other, covered with a fine veneer of love, because--dammit--you're supposed to love each other. That's what Hallmark cards say, and, who can argue with them ?
That leaves the computer, with all its Hydra heads of locked-out sites so the kiddies can't look at porn ( though the parents can ). Hours of after school homework with 'spell check', so the teachers can read it.
I did forget most egregiously to mention the cell phone, which, while it can serve a useful purpose, just makes one too available..no mystery here. Perhaps I shall speak upon that subject another time.
Meanwhile, I have problems of my own.
Are my entries overlong? You betcha. If you cannot bear to scroll down to the next page ( or two ), lighten up on the caffeine ( do you hear that, Starbucks ?), and/or seek sedation. Besides...wait until you see my poetry, or other expositions, or, play-lets, only the brave deserve the fair. Call it a caveat, if you will; I do not whistle as I walk by a graveyard. I scare myself aplenty whenever I make a mistake, and look at myself in any mirror. If that sight doesn't scare children and make dogs bark, nothing will.
If anyone out there can find this dratted blog--and--read it, please let me know.
Only, please be gentle as I bruise as does the peach. Though it is--in the most possible, far outist, abstract concept--still a 'free' country. Or, should I start learning to speak Chinese ?
Regards to all. Please rest easy and well; today is another day already. Thanks, Charles
Being temperamental ( ninety percent temper, and ten percent mental ), I chafe at the thought of having to again begin at the beginning, as I was s-o-o-o-o clever, butter wouldn't melt in my exposition.
Granted, many blogs are edifying and educational; some--like mine--are strictly ego and desperation both in thought, and in content, but then...aren't they both the same ?
Everyone has--or should have--a life, filled chock-a-block with children, spouses, mortgages, debts, pets, and 'forgets', dinner times and bedtimes, utility bills, and jobs which slowly strangle the soul and paralyze the mind, for ****wages, lousy health care, and no benefits. It is--in fine--the 'American Way'.
Add to that stultifyingly mindless programs on TeeVee, reprehensible relatives, lunatic neighbors, a Legislature that has always lined their own pockets and interests, quite contrary, Mary, with no regard for the common weal.
For those who have to work ( think indentured servitude rather than career ), and purchase food and gasoline, whatever are they to do for 'fun', or has that word gone out of the English language ? Dining out means sitting at a picnic table in your backyard. And movies have of late seemed to become just 'odd'.
What is left, when both parents and children sit in grumpy silence at the dinner table; secretly, I think they loath each other, covered with a fine veneer of love, because--dammit--you're supposed to love each other. That's what Hallmark cards say, and, who can argue with them ?
That leaves the computer, with all its Hydra heads of locked-out sites so the kiddies can't look at porn ( though the parents can ). Hours of after school homework with 'spell check', so the teachers can read it.
I did forget most egregiously to mention the cell phone, which, while it can serve a useful purpose, just makes one too available..no mystery here. Perhaps I shall speak upon that subject another time.
Meanwhile, I have problems of my own.
Are my entries overlong? You betcha. If you cannot bear to scroll down to the next page ( or two ), lighten up on the caffeine ( do you hear that, Starbucks ?), and/or seek sedation. Besides...wait until you see my poetry, or other expositions, or, play-lets, only the brave deserve the fair. Call it a caveat, if you will; I do not whistle as I walk by a graveyard. I scare myself aplenty whenever I make a mistake, and look at myself in any mirror. If that sight doesn't scare children and make dogs bark, nothing will.
If anyone out there can find this dratted blog--and--read it, please let me know.
Only, please be gentle as I bruise as does the peach. Though it is--in the most possible, far outist, abstract concept--still a 'free' country. Or, should I start learning to speak Chinese ?
Regards to all. Please rest easy and well; today is another day already. Thanks, Charles
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)