Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
  • Monthly Archives: September 2023

    • A Collection of Random Thoughts

      Posted at 5:12 pm by kayewer, on September 30, 2023

      I have offered some random thought blog posts in the past. Here is a list of some of the latest. See what you think about them.

      -For the fourth time in about ten years, I’ve gotten metal embedded in my tire. Our streets used to be free of such nuisances, but it seems that metal objects are on the loose out there. To my way of thinking, this could happen in only a few different ways: one is that construction vehicles and job sites, and the people working at them, inadvertently bring loose metal away with them, either rolling and sliding about their pickups’ beds or left by accident on any flat surface, and they’re forgotten. Workers may have nails in their pockets which can fall out. This is something which should be checked before leaving the work site. It might also be helpful if our municipal vehicles contained some type of magnetic device which could be used to pick up loose metal from the streets. I know that some construction jobs utilize a roller magnet to pick up debris, such as after installing roofing or siding. A thinner version could be mounted on the front of a truck or van much like a snow plow and simply be kept close enough to the ground to do the work. I’ll leave the invention of such an item to the pros.

      -It’s a general consensus that something which is created should also have a method of being destroyed. Normally this duty falls to the creator of the thing. So why aren’t we holding the plastics industry responsible for coming up with ways to eliminate the growing mountain of waste which will soon overwhelm us all, including their own future generations? Politicians are not scientists, after all. The inventors of plastic may go down in history as blameless nihilists who ruined Earth if they don’t take up the task and start doing something. The next time I throw out a container, I want to know it will be part of a wall for a temporary shelter when storm damage levels entire villages. I want to see laundry detergent bottles being refilled at the grocer via large tanks provided by the manufacturers; a QR or barcode would determine the amount of liquid to fill the bottle, and multiple refills, at reduced cost, are possible. A second Earth is not possible.

      -I’m waiting to see which side will win the water wars: the “I’ll put water in an insulated bottle” people or the “I’ll buy a case and bring a bottle with me.” I don’t know how people survived without constantly carrying water with them all these years. And now you need to add flavor because water tastes like. . .well, water. Oh yeah, that’s right: we had water fountains, often in public parks with plaques of dedication on them, and offices had water coolers and cone-shaped paper cups. We didn’t gulp 32 ounces, and we were still a healthy generation. When did that change?

      -America is ranked last in many aspects of education. This means we’re cranking out young citizens who actually know nothing. They can’t make change, read an analog clock or understand package directions. They don’t know who fought in the Civil War (the North/Union and South/Confederacy); even Black Americans aren’t learning this, which is flummoxing. Our teachers don’t make enough money to support their own children. Parents are fighting the system and actually advocating for just pushing those kids who fall behind through the system for the sake of vanity. Our school system should be year-round (with breaks in winter and summer and holidays, of course), should not simply mass promote anybody, and include remediation and alternative paths to learning, so that every child has learned the most they can from twelve years to find productive futures in society.

      -I haven’t gone to Target in a while, because over the summer a store near me fired an employee who tried to get some bike-riding kids out of the store and was assaulted. If a good deed is punished, and bad deed-doers are not, I can’t support a place that practices such backward philosophy.

      -I ordered a house number from the “sells everything website.” You know the one. I thought I was buying a single number, because the other numbers I had bought at deep discount were cleared out at the local hardware store and I was just missing the fourth. Heck, some numbers are more common and go out of stock faster, meaning the availability and price goes up, right? The quantity said just one, but had I clicked on the “More” carat, I would have seen that it was one set of five. Anybody want some numbers?

      -It was announced on social media that meatloaf will be going out of favor and probably won’t be seen at restaurants in the future, along with ambrosia salad and baked Alaska. Meatloaf is one of those polarizing foods which you either enjoy because you like the way it’s prepared, or loathed because you prefer your ground meats in buns with fries. My mother made a great meatloaf using onions, eggs, bread crumbs, and tomato sauce on top. That loaf went into Sunday dinner, then leftovers and at least one sandwich between two slices of bread with horseradish. I never had either of the desserts, but I will make meatloaf until I can no longer cook.

      -The weather is changing, and with it, the pajama wars are on. This week it may be heavy long sleeves, and next week it’s shorts and tank tops. So do we call this Indian Summer or early Autumn? Whatever it is, it’s hard to get good sleep when you sweat one night and freeze the next. The prepared sleeper carries two types of bedding and changes them as the need arises. I did find a nice cooling blanket that really works, and the warm quilts are on standby. Mother Nature, let me know when you break out your parka.

      I’ll show myself out and take the soapbox with me.

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    • Sock It to Me, Socrates

      Posted at 5:42 pm by kayewer, on September 23, 2023

      Emotions have been extremely fragile these past few years, mostly due to our endurance of endless isolation, adaptation to new norms and having to deal with the bombardment of misinformation and mental noise from the media. If we could go back to the days of the great philosophers, we might experience some true common sense.

      The world seems to have become one big junior high school locker room experience. Everybody seems to enjoy throwing insults at the “other guys,” with a variety of creative negative monikers thrown in among the half-truths and hearsay. When the second party doesn’t fight back, they’re called cowards. That’s one of the problems with hurtful language, when you’re judged not by whether the accusations mean anything or are remotely true, but by whether you have a better comeback.

      I wasn’t much for comebacks when I was hurt or insulted in high school, which was a lot. I had acne, which was treated like bubonic plague. I also preferred to smile, which many took as a challenge to beat me into subdued misery. I was despised for knowing the answer, ridiculed for being on top of the day’s events, and dismissed because I managed to find a comfort zone of dress style which walked a line between fashionable and respectable. Sometimes, decades after school ended, I can still see clearly in my memory the images of some of my tormentors as they came up with the top insults which live on a chart, like a Top 40 of hurtful phrases, rent free in my head, probably for life.

      One of my social media friends has been in and out of the “broken rules penitentiary” several times for being naughty with many posts, but a recent entry he posted actually did me a world of good, and I managed to shrug off the burden of those long-ago insults.

      It was a brief post about Socrates.

      The famous Western philosopher and teacher (circa 470-399 BC) did not write anything down himself, but his followers recorded much of his teachings. His ideas are relevant now, and we could learn a thing or two from him. He didn’t teach in schools or wear the latest fashions: the people then wore togas. They did, however, write about simple ideas in life, and some of it has made its way to social media.

      In this particular entry, somebody in Athens was insulting Socrates, who merely smiled and did not engage the person. An aristocrat asked him why he tolerated such insults, and Socrates lead him to a warehouse where he located a ragged cloak, offered it and told the aristocrat that it suited him. The man was confused and wondered if the great philosopher was mad to offer such a filthy garment. Socrates told the aristocrat that just as he would not wear the cloak, so he himself would not wear the insults because they did not suit him. He posed the question, “When someone gives you something you don’t want, and you don’t accept it, who owns the rejected gift? Being sad and angry at the insults of others is like agreeing to wear the rags they throw away.”

      Is anybody worthy of insults, such as the store clerk being berated by a Karen who unloads their negativity onto others to bear? Is anybody more or less human than somebody else? Do insults matter?

      When you examine what this world truly is, you realize that we are all “somebody else.” We all matter.

      Also, as Socrates said, our greatest gift is the knowledge that we actually know nothing. Somebody who insults us knows nothing about whom they are insulting. It does not suit the recipient, then, to be affected in any way by it. When we master our emotions, we don’t project anything onto others in a negative way. Our calm can project calm, in turn, in a positive way. We can smile and walk away, and the insult means nothing. It belongs to nobody.

      After reading this worthy post from a (I hope) reformed social media acquaintance, I managed to take a cleansing breath and shake away decades of insults living on my consciousness like cobwebs. They don’t suit me. The persons who said them knew nothing.

      I do know that this simple way of looking at life is worth our attention, especially today. If we go beyond the noise of the media, the banter of politicians and the permissiveness of misinformation, we can get back to the basics of life. We could all be like Socrates.

      Just without the togas.

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    • Final Tally

      Posted at 4:57 pm by kayewer, on September 16, 2023

      I have accumulated over 150 days without television. One morning as I prepared for my commute from the living room to my work computer yards away, I decided not to subject myself to another repeat of the select episodes the cable network deemed fit to rerun (which seems to be about fifty out of over a dozen seasons), with the same half dozen commercials from their highest-paying sponsors (the ad for constipation relief repeats in my brain rent-free as it is). With the exception of the occasional favorite movie franchise marathon and one or two beloved shows still in continuous renewal, after a lifetime of television, the flat screen has been silent.

      This often means I don’t select anything on television as background, not even music stations. It also means hours of blissful quiet in which I do my daily job and enjoy my own thoughts. Despite not watching the evening news, I’ve still managed to stay ahead of the daily events with two local newspapers and an extra on the weekends. The weekend edition features a Saturday quiz which I can score nearly all correctly. The papers enable me to read the comics (which is light humor), “Dear Abby” (which is good solid modern-day advice) and possibly catch a recipe which does not require ten gadgets and ingredients which only come from specialty shops.

      Television used to be a source of joyful entertainment, except for the evening news when a correspondent would report a story from a battle’s front lines. When “reality” television began, the novelty lasted for a while, but soon it degraded into a contest to find a more shocking piece of recording to top the last one.

      The talk shows have lost their best hosts, as evidenced by how many people attempt to launch one and fail spectacularly within months. I remember Phil Donahue, Mike Douglas and Dinah Shore; those were talk show hosts who set the bar on quality.

      It seems cooking shows have apparently lost their grounding. I just watched a clip on social media in which a Filipino watched Rachael Ray in shock as she went outside the norms of his homeland’s cuisine and prepared a dish that contained elements not part of any family table. Her preparation of rice for the dish alone brought stunned indignation. If cooks can’t make a genuine dish on television, what else can’t we believe?

      Of course I have watched some Food Network, and remember when they had basic shows with such cute titles as “How to Boil Water.” Now it’s the Chef’s Battle Network interspersed with elimination competitive shows featuring a yard sale table population of unique individuals who either feel they can Beat Bobby Flay or burn down their own kitchen (Worst Cooks in America).

      Meanwhile the networks are now picking up shows from cable networks, such as CBS obtaining the Paramount hit Yellowstone. The striking writers are causing all the networks to scramble to find replacement programming, as they and the studios are engaged in their own version of Dr. Seuss’ “Butter Battle Book” standoff; each side faces the other and refuses to budge, and the world waits.

      Well, not me. Since the television has been mostly off, I have been enjoying the peace and silence. My life still causes stress, but I don’t have to go anyplace to collect my thoughts. And my aged television, which is still under warranty and received a transplanted motherboard, may last me until the networks bring me something worth watching.

      There is an actual website presenting the challenge to not watch television for a week (the next is scheduled for May 2024). That’s 168 hours. I’m over 3600 hours in.

      And I know how to cook rice.

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    • Holding On

      Posted at 4:56 pm by kayewer, on September 9, 2023

      I have gone through a good half dozen cell phones in my lifetime; my first came in 2000 and was about as useful as a fridge in the Arctic tundra. Over the years my phone has gotten better and smarter. As in smarter than its owner. Which is rather scary.

      Phones used to come with a complete, detailed instruction manual, charging hardware and a year’s supply of headache remedy. Back then, one would become acclimated to the basics of the phone and go to the manual when something difficult came up, as in how to make the darned thing ring louder, how to tell all the junk notifications to go jump in the lake, or how to make the battery last more than twenty minutes.

      More on that later.

      My old reliable phone, which turned six this year, finally became not only outdated, but incapable of supporting software I needed for work. I received sympathetic support from the IT team, but the truth was that I needed a new phone just to get updated software. Being familiar with computers going obsolete from the past, I sighed and began searching for my new ball and chain.

      The website pointed me to an authorized retailer some forty minutes from home, which was odd because I have at least four of them within a quarter hour from me. Further drilling down the rabbit hole of “availability near you” produced a hit at one of my favorite locations, so I jumped into the car and went there brimming with hope.

      When I arrived, I spoke to a pleasant team member who proceeded to tell me that the model phone I wanted actually was not in stock there. Naturally my next question was where else it might be in stock, and this is where the issues plaguing today’s life became real: for security purposes, the employees were forbidden to tell customers whether an item was in stock. This is an effort to discourage declaring open season for potential malcontents and Karens who might pay a visit to the store to wreak havoc. I was informed, however, that the store to which he was sending me was their definition of a full-service location, so they would be most likely to have something for me.

      Suddenly I had visions of the small and larger K-Mart stores dancing in my memory; the smaller places might lack certain perks like an auto shop, while the larger ones were easier to get lost in. I made a turn down an aisle once and found the entrance to the auto shop; I had been looking for the garden center.

      But I digress.

      Off to the second location–which was closer to home by miles–I drove. Yes, the new pleasant team member said, he can get that model from the back. Off he went, and came back later with what I can best describe as a Tiffany style presentation of my new phone, which came in a large, roomy box about twice its actual size, and with a case and screen protection brought over to seal the bargain.

      Everything seemed ready to go until we got to the plan I was on. My plan was eligible for the phone, but not the phones they had in the store. This is where I became the subject of the “locked phone blues.” A locked device is apparently limited to certain plans. The team member then directed me to go across the street to the shopping center and buy an unlocked version of the phone from the big blue and yellow retail guys, then bring the purchase to them to have the phones switched over.

      Going to the familiar retailer, I received my new unlocked phone, in a generic tight fitting white box. Proof again that the price of freedom from restriction can sometimes be drained of joy as well. Little matter; as long as it was a new device and did what I needed, that was more important.

      I took the old and new devices back to the cellular retailer, and my third pleasant team member spent nearly half an hour–part of the time hampered by French tips which make touch screens and tiny access port holes unnavigable–transferring the data from Old Reliable to the newbie device. When it was finished, I also received advice on how to wipe the old phone and dispose of it (not there). I packed everything into my handy expandable tote (plastic bags are banned in my region, so it’s bring your own) and went home.

      That was when I found out that my device comes with a charging cable, but no adaptor and only a quick start-up guide. No manual. And no headache remedies.

      Fortunately I found that my tablet enables me to charge the phone with the cable, so I spent the evening engaged in social media with an extra cord winding its way from the output port to my new phone, while I ordered an adaptor from the big blue and yellow retail guys to pick up on a second trip.

      In all it took me five stops, two days and a few hundred dollars to put things right. The end result is that my new phone updated the work related software, and it has a charge that has lasted longer than before.

      This phone better last me another six years.

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    • Makeup

      Posted at 4:53 pm by kayewer, on September 2, 2023

      Back in the days when cartoons were simpler and yet still funny, a common trope when making fun of the entertainment industry included when a character would call for makeup; somebody would appear with a gigantic powder puff and smack it upon the individual’s face, with a cloud of billowing white resulting from the assault.

      It’s been ages since I’ve seen a powder puff in the cosmetics aisle.

      Today’s selection of tinted coverage is immense, taking up a full wall at the local pharmacy. The lineup of the popular names–Revlon, Maybelline, Covergirl, MAC, e.l.f., L’Oréal–draw the eyes and drain the wallet with a variety of designs stamped into powders, bottles brimming with every skin tint on the planet, lip options of soft colorful columns or hard shaded sticks, all designed to produce a desired look.

      The shopping list for a store cosmetics run is mindboggling. Foundation comes in powder, liquid or paste, and requires an applicator which looks like somebody dismantled the tips of a kids’ foam bow-and-arrow playset. Concealer must also accompany the foundation to hide flaws. Blush also comes in powder or cream with its own applicator. The eyes require mascara thick enough to transfer onto a paint canvas with one blink, liner to make sure people know where your eyeballs are in relation to the rest of you, and shadows in palettes that resemble a psychedelic fever dream.

      Apparently no woman should be without her makeup face in public, and it requires the skill of an artist to apply it well. One must follow the planes of the face (or determine where they should be when absent) and use the correct product to conceal, beautify or illuminate the area to the proper degree.

      If you’re unsure of how to begin this process for yourself, simply watch any dramatic social media video. It has seemingly become a requirement for those creating content to do a bonus makeup application video at the same time.

      I don’t understand how it suddenly became necessary to discuss a breakup with a cheating boyfriend while outlining one’s eyebrows (I did exclude that from the list earlier) and dabbing foundation with the arrow tip foam applicator previously mentioned. Unfortunately I cannot guarantee that watching these videos will help you with your face type, nor will it recommend what products to buy.

      These videos are seemingly designed to give the posting person something to do with their hands while revealing how they found out about the cheating boyfriend. Usually it’s by employing private detective work and receiving intel from similarly well-tinted friends. And they still managed to look good doing it.

      I don’t find the makeup techniques empowering, and I’m sure that if men watch them, they are either put off by how much work is involved or appalled by how much women hide beneath the layers of stuff. Whatever purpose it serves doesn’t seem worth the effort.

      The most interesting makeup videos I’ve seen on social media are done by drag queens. I’m sure I’ll catch flak for saying so, but a woman can only enhance her looks so much, but when you take an ordinary male and transform them into a female so stunning that no actual female could accomplish it, that’s what I call Hollywood style.

      And they don’t use powder puffs, either.

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