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Author Archives: kayewer

• Hollow Brains for Halloween

  Posted at 1:36 am by kayewer, on October 26, 2014

  Who in the heck dresses their infant in a marijuana leaf costume  (http://www.breitbart.com/Breitbart-California/2014/10/23/Company-Offers-Marijuana-Leaf-Ebola-Hazmat-Halloween-Costumes-for-Children)? Perhaps the same people who turn their children into sandwich boards for their own agenda. I don’t like it. If you take a toke, you’re taking your own risk, but don’t advertise on your children.

  The same mentality that produced such antiquated ideas as the segregated South and modern terrorist splinter groups might well be designing costumes for your children to wear this Halloween. They may also be encouraging you to make bad choices for yourself, like “hoochie mama” outfits or Ebola protective gear. Come on, folks. Are we having fun or letting people make fun of us?

  The idea of Halloween is to disguise in a manner to fool the dead–who are supposedly capable of returning to seek us out, or something like that–so they would not recognize us. If you have ever had a relative you hoped you would not have to meet again in the afterlife, you can see how this can be convenient. The costume market today is ridiculously overdone and overpriced. Whole stores spring up to sell outfits and yard decorations: eventually they become Christmas stores (with a corner or two reserved for Hanukkah).

  Costumes can be dangerous, full of tripping hazards and vision-obscuring masks. Candy is also problematic for those with allergies, which is why a “teal pumpkin” campaign is on to advertise if your home is providing safe toys or non-allergenic foods for trick-or-treaters. Your neighborhood can be tough to navigate if your streets department hasn’t been diligent with repairs. Curfews to keep children from trolling for goodies after dark helps, as do the in-school parties with plenty of supervision and guidelines to keep the parents from spoiling it all.

  Getting back to dressing anybody under one year old as a cigarette or joint: I would rather see an infant Freddy Krueger than that. Also, any costume which portrays a youngster as anything well beyond their maturity (like a short-skirted floozy) is, to put it in British vernacular, right out for me as well. Kids need that cushion of appropriate restraint to know they are protected and that one’s outerwear can tell a story that is read the wrong way. And to end that argument that “all the girls are wearing one,” get some quick pics posted on the parental social media circle and get on the same page before you plunk down a lot of money on the wrong costume.

  I miss the days of ghosts, witches, hobos and animals.

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• Multi-Topic Rant

  Posted at 2:19 am by kayewer, on October 19, 2014

  There was too much to talk about this past week. A deadly disease is visiting the United States: one man is dead, and two nurses who treated him are hospitalized. A cop murderer in PA has spent weeks on the lam and the local town is postponing Halloween to protect its citizenry. Joan Rivers’ death appears to be related to propofol, the same anesthetic medication which killed Michael Jackson.

  But a few stronger news stories stood out this week.

  A woman named Brittany Maynard has terminal brain cancer, and her doctors have been frank with her about the kind of death she will face: she has decided instead to end her life her own way, using assisted suicide laws in her current resident state. With her family by her side, on November 1st she will take a combination of drugs which will shut down her body and prematurely end the vicious assault of the tumors which are torturing her. When you think about cancer, it is a kamikaze disease, killing itself in the process of killing its host. Both are a waste. I recall an interesting scene in the film Soylent Green, in which Edward G. Robinson’s aging character “goes home” to a spa-like building in which he is given a drink which will end his life in 20 minutes, and he relaxes while movies of things and places he loved are shown around him and, essentially, has a peaceful ending his way. What happened after that is for you to find out if you’ve never seen the movie, but it involves Charlton Heston and food alternatives in a post-modern wasteland Earth. What it comes to is this: when we die, it’s not always the most pleasant way, but we are so stubbornly tethered to ideas about sustaining and prolonging life at any cost ,which hold us prisoner to our fears about the end of mortality, we can’t find it within us to offer the options of peaceful passing. We often treat our beloved pets better than we treat our elderly and terminally ill. May Brittany find the journey out of here a good one.

  A Philadelphia charter school had some difficulty this past week, when their enrolled students exceeded the caps established by agreement when the school opened. The school’s founder lost an appeal in court and must now hold a lottery to determine which students can stay at the facility. The student population must be cut from 1300 to 675. It is hurtful to the students, who are only weeks into the school year, and parents must find alternative education options quickly if their children don’t make the cut, but the most disturbing aspect has to be the inabilities of the parents to communicate their frustration at the situation. On camera it was obvious that education has failed multiple generations, and schools which are struggling to find funding to teach the language of the world and obliterate the language of the street are losing the battle. It is because the parents were not educated properly that Philadelphia owes it to their children to break the cycle of poor education. All the schools are being affected, but the college campuses and job markets will feel the aftereffects years from now. How will children learn STEM (science, technology, engineering and math) if they can’t even spell “stem?”

   

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• Media Phobia

  Posted at 1:31 am by kayewer, on October 12, 2014

  Some of my coworkers have really surprised me lately, because some of them don’t think that books are a viable part of our culture, and some watch no television. Some others don’t read newspapers at all.

  If I wore pearls, I’d be clutching them now. I read six magazines, two newspapers and watch the evening news and Jeopardy!

  I’m clutching my pearls of wisdom: my books, newspapers, magazines and Alex Trebek (symbolically).

  A society in which communication is whittled down to a select few bits of information often becomes repressed. Think of what the world was like before the scriptures were translated and people who were taught no Latin suddenly achieved a new understanding of their faith. They may not have been able to actually read it, but it made sense to them spoken in their own tongue.

  I have found that online information comes through homepage sources like MSN, AOL and Yahoo, or in a post somebody felt was important enough to put in Facebook®. An actual newscast or newspaper, however, has a wealth of information in tangible form. It won’t get lost in your spam box or disappear into your timeline. It is seen in a way in which we don’t often connect on a computer screen.

  I look at news anchors like Scott Pelley from CBS and admire their capacity for making news human. The days of the town crier are over, but a person delivering news vocally will likely never go away.

  As for books, I keep them, and sometimes I also keep one on my Nook® to carry with me. It’s like an oversized paperback, plus I can get my email without toting a laptop or tablet around.

  I hope reading and speaking do not become obsolete. Human contact is essential to our health and that of the planet.

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• Reunion Dues

  Posted at 2:14 am by kayewer, on October 5, 2014

  It’s high school class reunion time again: when I see the invitation, the emotions start to get the better of me. I have never gone to the reunions. My mother went to her own just once.

  There seems to be two types of people when it comes to high school reunions: those who always go, and those who never go until everybody is too old to really remember anything about what happened before they graduated in the first place.

  Those who go regularly may well have been in touch over the years, or else they find reconnecting every five years less unpleasant. They mingle and talk, and cloud it all over with generous libations from the cash bar.

  Those who don’t go have a variety of reasons, I’m sure. Some simply disconnect from the awkwardness of childhood and teen memories. Others never felt a part of the ritual of school loyalty and, as such, never joined a “cool” club or activity, but merely studied, went home after last period and collected the diploma on graduation day. Their loyalties have shifted to colleges, family, or turned within to their own peace of mind.

  In our class of over 200, it has been hard to find some people. The invitation went on Facebook ®, and hopefully everybody will see it. However, I know of at least one person who told the alumni committee years ago not to ever contact them again. It’s understandable that, for some, high school sucked bad enough that they graduated and hit the erase button in their minds. In some cases, though, one would think that our school was so bad, people moved to Abu Dhabi or New Zealand or Antarctica to get away from it all. Some may have died, changed their names or gone into witness protection.

  The devoted alumni like I have stayed in town. Some have thriving businesses, good jobs or other ties to the community. While we do stay close to the native soil of our alma mater, we don’t often see each other. My mother has seen more classmates than I these past decades.

  When I think about what high school meant to me, I feel it would be improper to whine or embellish, so I just don’t bother. My education did help me find a good job, and I did finish college and get my BA. Enough said.

  It will take some thought before I commit to going to a reunion. I will think about it, but the big question is whether I want to pay for memories I may not want to have, or get back.

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• Mee-Wow!

  Posted at 2:07 am by kayewer, on September 28, 2014

  The cyber café where I do these posts has four cats; two kittens, a “tween” and an older cat. They enjoy all the comforts of domestic life, including kitty condos, hiding places, warm beds and clean litter boxes.

  Of course, there are also toys. Things like shiny bat-about toys and balls hold a cat’s interest for a minute or two. I think about three is a world record. Cats don’t want to lose their dignity. I brought in a pack of toys once, and one particular orange-ish toy was shredded and chewed to death. The others disappeared. Mostly cat toys disappear until they’re found, years later, behind the garage or under the clothes dryer.

  I can recommend a toy called “Cat’s Meow,” a genuine “as seen on TV” product. It is simply an electronic gizmo that randomly rotates a red plastic wand which peeks out from underneath a circular canopy. It stimulates a cat’s desire to pounce and chase. It’s battery operated, so get some rechargeable versions and keep spares on hand.

  Each time one of the cats was introduced to the product, it took less than ten minutes for them to become totally engaged. Usually they will stand back and stare for a bit. They might crouch and stalk, then take a paw to the mouse-like tail as it circles and teases; finally they will chase it in all directions, pouncing and pawing it endlessly. It’s great exercise for indoor cats.

  I also recommend plenty of treats, because you can get about a ten-second stare from a cat for every piece you dangle in front of their eyes. If your cat is not a lap lover, this is often as interpersonal as you get.

  At this moment, I am watching two new “Cat’s Meow” inductees, who have been playing with the product for the past twenty minutes. I would break out the camera, but then they would stop whatever they were doing and stare at me with bored sloe eyes. Trust me, they’re acting like kittens.

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• Cold Challenge

  Posted at 2:29 am by kayewer, on September 21, 2014

  It looks like the Ice Bucket Challenge–the concept of donating to support research for ALS or Lou Gehrig’s Disease by pouring ice water over your head and then calling out your friends to do the same–is running out of steam. Not everybody has done the challenge, of course, and some have found creative ways of doing it:  actor Verne Troyer used milk because of a water shortage, and even held a cookie in his mouth to repurpose the milk as it flowed over him. ALS has raised quite a lot of money, too, and are now working on how to distribute the funds.

  Now that the weather is turning colder and all the freedoms of summer are over, it’s tougher to get a few minutes together and douse oneself in water for a cause. Diseases like ALS, however, don’t stop their progression.

  I think it would be great if more life-altering conditions had such challenges to raise money. The question is how to do unique things for each one. There are plenty of 10K runs and bike rides and motorcycle rallies, and celebrities do whole shows to raise money to knock out cancer and MS. There has even been yarn bombing, which is a type of graffiti in the form of knit or crocheted items on statues or trees, to call attention to issues. What about other kinds of activities to raise money for causes, diseases and research?

  THAT’S IT!!!! I’ve got an idea!

  To raise awareness of colorectal cancer and support the CCAlliance (an organization researching such cancers), or the American Cancer Society, why not film yourself wearing a pair of underwear on your head or baking a cake with candles on it (to support the cancer society’s theme of saving birthdays), or donate $10. Call out your friends to do the same.

  For more information on both charities, go to http://www.ccalliance.org or http://www.cancer.org.

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• Black Big Screen of Doom

  Posted at 2:07 am by kayewer, on September 14, 2014

  I survived 85 hours without a television. I know; some of you may be thinking, “I can go 85 days without looking at a television.” You’re welcome to go back to getting your news on Facebook®, in miniature, on your small-screen phone. Television is a fully-fledged resource and no longer the “idiot box” loathed by so many critics (many of whom are also on Facebook® right now playing Candy Creamer Story or something). There is real news on television. And Jeopardy!

  Those of us who have grown up with depression-era parents know the value of something that still works, so the old television–square in height and breadth–gave us more than fifteen years of service, before dying of the infamous Black Screen of Death. It sat in state for 85 hours, then was ceremoniously carried out the door by me and Cletus the Cable Technician, and went to that great TV stand in the sky.

  It had a false alarm one morning, in a blaze of muted colors. I had called the cable company at the first sign of the TV’s distress, and a nice telephone associate walked me through some resuscitation steps, and the TV rallied. I had set up an appointment and cancelled it because the danger seemed to be over, but just as suddenly, the next night the TV passed away. Cletus the Cable Technician couldn’t come sooner than four days from then, due to my idiotic cancellation of the original appointment, so we found other ways to amuse ourselves.

  Without the usual distractions of television, we returned to simpler but effective survival skills such as card playing. I ended up with one 9 card in my hand for three consecutive rounds of gin rummy. I did some crocheting, Mother did some reading (finished a book) and gardening. I even introduced her to the joys of Windows8 tablet games. She is a mean TapTiles® board clearer. We got the news from the radio: it’s like listening to the television network news while in the other room, and just as informative if you don’t miss the visual effects most networks use on their broadcasts (like banners saying “Weather Changing,” or crawls at the bottom of the screen listing stock prices).

  I did try to hook up another TV myself to save us time and sanity, but I’m not electronically adept. Though I followed the set’s instructions, I failed to see where the hookup directions left off the fact that one must attach the cable from the box in addition to the cable from the pole. Silly me. Silly directions. When the moment of rescue finally came, Cletus the Cable Technician spent about twenty minutes hooking us up.

  After 85 hours we were back up and running, and we still had found within us the power to stay engaged and amused when there was no TV. I could do 85 days, but I’ll wait until summer reruns come on next year to try that.

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• Week Off

  Posted at 2:24 am by kayewer, on September 7, 2014

  There is nothing like the start of fall to cause so much upheaval in one’s life. I’m taking this week off from blogging and will have a new post next week. By then I will hopefully have cooled off and caught up on my sleep. Why did the end of summer and Labor Day have to come on the first of the month, anyway? Stuff must get done, so I’ll do it and get back to the fun stuff a week from today. Stay sane until then: that’s what I’ll be telling myself.

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• The Jeans Day Rebellion

  Posted at 2:54 am by kayewer, on August 31, 2014

  My company just changed the dress code, and my wardrobe is now out of style. Maybe it was all along anyway. Office environments usually banned jeans, but since we are in a call center and do not have contact with the general public, the company listened to the suggestions of the rank and file and decided that associates working in call centers could wear jeans all the time, starting the day after Labor Day. This means that Tuesday will be considered by many to be Delivery From Office Attire Day.

  But not for me. Deliver me from denim.

  I don’t really like jeans. I was in the sixth grade before I had my first pair (Levi’s, of course), and over the years I have only had one or two pair in my closet for when I worked in the yard. For one thing, they’re stiff, and by the time you wash them enough to be soft, they’re not wearable anymore. Don’t tell me about pre-washed and “distressed” jeans which have been crushed by rocks, discolored by acids or bleaching methods or mauled by zoo tigers (they really do sell them: look it up), because if they’re that way to begin with, how many more wears can you get from them before you have to throw them out?

  For another thing, jeans have seams so thick in the crotch that, if you are skinny like Twiggy, you can teeter totter from one buttock to another when you sit down. Also, the pockets are too tight at the openings, and made of flimsy material inside. If you got a hole in the pocket, it would take five minutes to force your hand inside to find out your change was missing. If you’re lucky, the pant legs would be tight enough that you might find a dime stuck to your thigh.

  The big debate about dress codes is whether worker productivity goes up or down depending upon what they wear. We are delving into a science based upon comfort and its effect on self esteem. I’m sure the corporate idea was to let the employees know that they listen to us. They want to see happier employees so they can get good work from us. If people are comfortable in jeans, they feel, so be it.

  It’s likely that a woman in a corset from days gone by would not produce much good work sitting in a cubicle. No ergonomic chair on earth could make that torso torture device feel any more comfortable. Today, though, we have a variety of clothing options to look professional. Even in a call center, without suits or business attire, one can be comfortable and stylish and not resort to jeans attire.

  So are we truly a nation of slouchy bums, and should corporate America feel as comfortable in Bruce Springsteen style working class duds, in an office environment, as in a suit or dress? Whether we want to believe it or not, we do judge our environment by what we see in its people, and jeans don’t come off as dressy, classy or smart. Nobody wears denim at an awards ceremony, and one would not approach a monarch in distressed boot cut jeans.

  Also, wearing jeans in my company used to be a treat and privilege: we handed out coupons for the right to wear jeans as rewards and incentives, and certain post-holidays were designated as “jeans days.” Now that is gone. What shall we do for incentives that won’t cost money? The entire clothing game has now changed, and I’m stuck with a closet full of clothes in which I will now look like a rebel.

  So what do I do with my regular clothes? To play it safe when the new dress code takes effect on Tuesday, I hit up Kohl’s for two more pairs of jeans. I have a feeling that the jeans will come off when I get home. At my age, I don’t think denim will be my comfort clothes of choice. It’s an unofficial uniform I can accept, but come 5:00 I can rebel in my old standbys. And I don’t have to wear them to work in the yard.

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• Women at Twerk

  Posted at 1:44 am by kayewer, on August 24, 2014

  I can’t twerk. I found that out today while trying to illustrate the content of a video on YouTube® to my mother:

  I had seen the video about an inflatable tube guy–the type designed to draw attention at car dealers and outdoor events featuring live disc jockeys–which had become kinked and it’s “head” stuck to a telephone pole. The resulting motion created by the fan at its bottom looked like the tubular dude was twerking, but my impression looked more like a bad yoga move, or maybe a bad “my pantyhose are in a bind” move.

  So is it a sign of my age, or of my flagging sexuality, when I can’t parlay the “boo-tay” like some other women? Probably not. There are still men out there (note I say “men,” not “guys”) who look for wit, intelligence or somebody who is fun to be with, and who don’t want to be Alan Thicke if I’m going to be Miley Cyrus. So my “boo-tay” has no beauty and the junk just lies in the trunk. Tyra Banks would say I can’t “tooch” either. She’s right. We older women may well have a middle-age gut that looks more shapely than what we sit upon.

  At the midlife point in women’s lives we all have those moments of thinking about how sexy we still are or are not. I’ve never been one to plug the sexual side, and my bumps and grinds have always been more like collisions and chainsaw hamburger. Sure the men look at the twerkers, and they marry some of them (and divorce them, too), but I will just concentrate on walking tall and in a straight line. And I’ll leave the twerking to the experts, like the tube guy.

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