Susan's Scribblings the Blog

Hollywood is over 100 years old, but sometimes it feels as if we are living in a limited world with few choices because there aren’t enough to go around. While temporarily imprisoned at home recently, I found myself unable to use the DVD player and, since I don’t have the TV hooked up to online streaming, I was left with the choice of looking at entertainment on network TV or on my computer.

I could almost make a bet that, if I turned on Paramount network, I would see an Indiana Jones movie; TNT would have something directed by either George Lucas or Peter Jackson; SciFy might have something either Harry Potter or Twilight and at least one network would make a run at Pretty Woman.

Sure, that’s a good 21 movies right there, but not when you’ve already screened them 21 times yourself and you’re seeking something a bit more exciting.

I ended up selecting the music channel and enjoyed Eighties tunes while I sorted my wool and yarn.

Meanwhile the industry is mulling over what to do about movies which contain references to historically valid content which is frowned upon today, including slavery in Gone With the Wind and perceived stereotypes in shows or adapted movies such as South Pacific (particularly now that a gunman has killed several Asian women and the focus of inclusion has turned to Asians and Pacific Islanders). A high school canceled the musical because of the depiction of an Asian character as a huckster speaking broken English. Nobody, however, ever notes that we Americans often learn to speak poorly in most other international languages, but natives appreciate the effort when somebody tries their language, as should we when they do the same. After all, we went there first (in terms of colonizing Hawaii), not they here.

After going over what has been going on lately with stale movie marathons and inclusion issues, I have come to the conclusion that my best bet is to go with TCM. That network does an intro for every movie, and explains things to the viewer to give them a sense of what they are about to experience. Why can’t networks do that to other movies and programs? It takes airtime (networks must end on the hour or half hour, while TCM has fillers for space past a film’s true running time) and money to research and find a narrator (TCM has Ben Mankiewicz).

Recently the amorous skunk Pepe LePew was booted from WB cartoons and an upcoming cameo in a feature film because his advances are shown to be unwanted from his love interests and is alleged to resemble stalking or predatory behavior. The generations that grew up with this culture, however, do not appear to be the ones perpetrating the offenses: it’s a much younger line-up of questionable characters, deprived of satirical education in how not to behave, who seem to be the cause of all the uproar.

When I was growing up, we had lots of old educational films about dating, hygiene, safety and general knowledge issues. They never got remade. Maybe a few marathons of those would help straighten a few generations out.

Ask yourself questions. It’s important to do this whenever you are faced with conflict or a change or an issue to resolve. The media tend to give us plenty of reasons to examine ourselves lately, and I’ve done it, too.

This past week I read about more cancel culture and scandal about what is okay if you’re not caught doing it when people are hyper aware of what is being morally challenged at present. Once it’s a hot topic, you are doomed. We tend to light the torches and storm the castle long after much damage has already been done. Naturally what was accepted in the past may not be accepted today, but now the prevailing solution is to find, microscopically dissect, judge and then banish the people and things, rather than logically examine and settle the issues so they serve as our history before progress. That is to say, one cannot change without having had a reason to do so, and that reason is as important to display as how we achieved the improvements which made them no longer relevant. That is how we keep statues to flawed historical figures: put the good and bad on the brass plaque.

I asked myself if I should judge people like the current New York governor who is developing an accusatory queue of women saying he was acting in an inappropriate manner with them. One noted, however, that he asked her if he could kiss her: that does not appear on the surface to make him, by definition, a full-fledged jerk. Most of the men with groping on their minds simply zero in on their target and ask no permission. That doesn’t mean he is not guilty there or elsewhere, but it does possibly indicate his character may not be without redemptive qualities. I was always taught to expect men to treat me with respect, but that was decades ago, and I’m not so sure that such advice is offered to young women now (and who knows what guidance young men get these days). Our world still has a wink-wink-nudge-nudge attitude about relationships, but we only know the attitude goes astray when we read that something has gone wrong.

Then a supposed Christian with sexuality issues suddenly targeted several businesses where he had received massages from women, opened fire and killed eight people, six of whom were of Asian descent. The developing story is that he felt addicted to sex, being in his twenties, and an official speculated that he had a “bad day.” His church is appalled, the Asian community is aghast, and the society of white people–in which I include myself–sit and read what is provided to us about how this accused killer may have taken a wrong turn at a fork in the road we all seem to know exists but do nothing about. Becoming a man (or woman)* is part of our biology, but at that point the when and how become a gray area. Here seems to be a man at the start of his adult life, who apparently feared his sexuality more than his creator who gave it to him. Being a sexual human became a problem for which nobody may have offered a solution. He may have decided to remove the problem by getting rid of what made him feel good and guilty at the same time. The women provided a service he did not have to use, but what were his other choices?

I asked myself if I have an issue with Asian women offering massage services, and the answer was no; if they didn’t offer it, somebody else would. Massage is not an exclusive Asian specialty any more than Chinese takeout is (the takeout concept was domestically developed, but we expect the restaurants to be run by who we want to assume prepares the food: if a German man in lederhosen was cooking at a pizzeria, would you do a double-take?)

Just as genocides have happened, so did Dr. Seuss, whose books sometimes contained drawings which, at the time they were written, were interpreting culturally familiar figures which today would be considered stereotypes, and so did cigarette machines in restaurants and hotel lobbies. The Pep Boys no longer smoke in their corporate logo, but not because there are no cigarette machines: people still smoke.

A television news reporter named Jonathan Pie lost his cool back in 2018 while reading copy concerning issues with the “Little House” stories of Laura Ingalls Wilder. He went on a tear because the idea was to not continue publishing works referencing slavery, while he stressed that slavery happened and we abolished it but don’t want to remember that testaments to our history help us not repeat the same mistakes in the future (the video is called “Oppression Obsession,” and though it is laden with colorful language matching his ire, it is just as relevant now as then).

So I did ask myself who I am, and the answer was a living person still learning. We should all keep remembering what we can improve, but remember where the improvements came from. Church groups may be where the subject of sexuality should be a topic in some way. young men and women* should still get the sex education films as soon as possible. We should review when to keep our hands to ourselves. And a guy in lederhosen should make my next Kung Pao chicken.

*(For purposes of clarity, my posts will refer to the two basic biological genders of male and female, but you should not feel that I have excluded you if your identity is not of these two choices: it’s just that we have not improved that terminology beyond “non-binary” yet.)

Daylight Saving bugs me. You lose a whole hour of your life in the spring because 2:00 AM becomes 3:00 AM as we “spring ahead.” Most of us aren’t even awake for it, and when we do finally awaken we don’t want to get out of bed because we’re still tired.

The concept is an anachronism, and I hope to write to our new leader and ask him to do the country a favor and abolish it during his term in office. I plan to wait, though, until he gets us back to something like the new normal. This year DST will enable longer daylight hours to get everybody inoculated, but all bets are off after that. Also, unfortunately, last year many people worldwide who were under the thumb of DST did not live to get their hour back in November so we need to remedy that for the rest of us now. Calendar and programmed alarm clock companies will need time to update their layouts. 2022 sounds like a good year to start forgetting about the whole thing.

That extra hour of daylight means that most of us rise because the sun has gotten into our eyes and we can’t turn over and go back to sleep. Trying to get kids to go to bed when it’s still light out is a challenge, too. The natural order of our days have been in an upheaval for generations, and it’s time to stop the madness.

When I (finally) get to go on my trip to Hawaii, they don’t observe DST, so I get to add the time zones up and subtract one hour. Imagine that! Of course, they have island time, which is no time at all when you’re under a tree sipping a cool drink by the ocean. It will feel good to have a good time without having to watch time.

Some folks may ask about the companion reminders to replace batteries in smoke detectors, which seems, like a padded senate bill, to be written in like a package deal. My advice is to simply write it into the block in your calendar which will have an open space where “Daylight Saving Time Begins” used to be.

Gender problems spiked recently when Hasbro and Playskool, the company behind the building toy Mr. Potato Head, announced that their titular character would be rebranded as a non-gender-based toy. This means that future packaging will not use identifying terms such as Mr. or Mrs. and instead focus on allowing the user to create any Potato Head character with the supplied parts.

There are two interesting things to note about this. First, the original concept for the toy was that Hasbro supplied the parts and the users broke out their own potatoes to festoon with feet, hands, eyes, etc. The whole idea behind building as play is to allow children in particular to explore their understanding of how the world works and see what new things they can discover. I have not recalled ever seeing a study in which scientists were worried if children put hands where legs should be, or gave Mrs. Potato Head a pipe to smoke. Nobody rolled out a tape measure to see if the eyes were inserted levelly. It was play building, for heaven’s sake!

The second thing about removing the names of things is that nouns are a necessity, and children who are learning about the world need solid parameters by which they can identify that world, and the toy company seems to want to remove those definitions in favor of appealing to an audience that should not have cause to fret about such things. Not everything is tailor made for individuals. Except for men’s clothing, which requires a tailor.

Let’s go out on a limb and say, for sake of argument, that there is a sect out there that eschews shoes; when they visit the department store, do they avoid the shoe department like vampires avoid the garlic in the produce aisle? They probably just don’t venture down that aisle. In the same manner, if a child wants to build Sam and Marsha Potato Head, and not have them be Mr. and Mrs., what harm does that do?

This news came along with the bombshell dropped on readers of Theodore Geissel/Dr. Seuss’s classic books, announcing that several of his tales will no longer be published because they depict racial stereotypes. One example was of Asians with pointed hats. Folks, hate to point this out, but those hats were worn by farmers for generations (and, I’ve read, even by Samurai); it’s not a stereotype, but a historical reference. Some people wince when reading how Dr. Seuss referred to a “china man,” but we’re looking at old things with eyes directed by a brain from another era. Another example was of African natives hauling things strung on poles; that too has historical basis of fact. Natives didn’t have Jeeps or flatbed trucks. Check out any old (and I mean before WWII) National Geographic and you’ll see actual photos of these.

Maybe our problem is that everybody wants to be included, but on their own terms. Being white is problematic because we don’t often become a party to observations about what makes us the subject of study or jokes. However, I remember Eddie Murphy doing a damn good stint in full white person makeup a few years ago, and he used white humor in his comedy routines, and I laughed until my tummy hurt. It was refreshing to take a ribbing about being. . . .how do I say this? . . . .the broth in the soup pot. Think about what goes into a soup; the broth is the major component, and then other things are added to bring individual character to the whole concoction. Nobody would pick on half a chunk of carrot; it’s a carrot and it’s in the soup. We should be more diligent in defining our own history, rather than trying to conceal it or change how we categorize it. What is, is. What was, was. What our future is, will be built on what we learned then and do now.

Like poking features into a potato.

Ethnic violence has taken an unusual turn since the presidential administration turnover, and it’s uncertain if the issue is slowly going away and a few stubborn people don’t want that, or it’s still the same but we’re not being reminded of it daily like we used to. Since it’s the end of Black History Month for another year, the media have been focusing on how the Black population struggled to be recognized as human in an inhumane world, but next to those historical informational snippets were news articles about random attacks on Asians. It seems our former president’s words about the origins of the current pestilence* have implanted a mental seed of fear and loathing among the misinformed and ignorant, and these folks seem to have taken to handling their frustration by proxy, assaulting random persons to make their point.

Their point appears to be, “I’m not happy about the disease, and somebody who may not even remotely be related to you may have been responsible, so you take this punch in the face or chair smashed onto your torso and tell them I sent you, so maybe they will just go off and die somewhere and pay the price for all this death and suffering.”

Life doesn’t work that way for anybody, so nobody has a right to act this way. It may not have been a person who started the disease, for all we know: it’s possible that an animal had something that caused the disease in a random person by accident. Biological anomalies frequently start because some organism, somewhere, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately radical scared people don’t stop to think about possibilities or chaos or randomness; they’re just primed to react strongly to any disruption in their perceived utopian routine.

I’m glad they weren’t around in the time of the dinosaurs: they would’ve been trying to punch out comets because they were coming around to wipe out the lifeforms on our infant Earth. They would have been beating up anybody of Spanish origin back in 1918, when the so-called “Spanish Flu” came around.

Funny thing is, we people who don’t believe in beating up people don’t go looking for these folks to beat them up. In fact, it would be hard to figure out who to look for. They have eyes and ears, limbs and joints, they wear clothes. . . .how scary is that? They look like us, but we are not them! Maybe that’s the problem: on the outside maybe it’s hard to tell who is who. A radical could be beating the whoopie out of somebody who is not at all part of the group on whom they are directing their anger, so we could make the same mistake while seeking them out.

Of course, those folks who stormed Washington back in January also looked like the rest of us.

Except their curdled, evil souls were showing.

When you look into people’s eyes while they are headed out to a task related to battle or conflict, the look tends to be one of fear tempered by a resolute purpose. You’re worried about doing it, but you feel you have to. The “it’s me or them” mindset can be misdirected by the wrong information, and that is what’s going on here with Asian targeting. The current disease didn’t start with an Asian: it started with a germ that happened to be picked up and spread in Asia; it could just as easily have originated here in the United States or anyplace else on earth.

Who or what started it cannot be eradicated by assaulting somebody and saying, “There, that puts my two cents’ worth in,” but it can be a battle won by helping each other and not discounting any one person’s contribution to the good of the planet.

If you don’t want to do good, please sit down and shut up.

*(Because some online filters are sensitive to terminology, I am assuming that you know to what current disease I am referring without naming it and risking censure.)

I registered for a photography course online, but I ran into the same problem many online students face: people who are too advanced to take the course but do so to show off how advanced they are, and make the others feel bad about their lack of skill. You know the type of people I mean; the proficient folks who hang around in beginner environments because they prefer not to move onward to other pursuits in which they would be at a disadvantage.

It’s annoying to post a simple shot for critique and then see another photo which has been enhanced and corrected and given a flowery watermark signature chosen by the photographer. Fine for you, buddy, but I’m not there yet: I’m still figuring out what settings work best.

The other students have commented on this problem, but since everybody paid the same for the class, it’s unlikely anybody will be able to determine and filter out the samples of work from people who ought to be elsewhere in the online school and not wasting their money to review what they already know.

It’s been some time since I posted, and yet I still want to finish the course. Even when I followed the rules of posting–comment on others’ work and be positive, for example–sometimes it feels like the work I’ve done is for nothing. The advanced folks make the beginners feel bad, and limited feedback provides limited opportunities for growth.

A true artist knows the struggles of others and respects their efforts. It’s hard enough to lug around a heavy piece of equipment hanging from one’s neck and try to review the steps needed to compose a shot, set it up and actually take the photo. Some are more adept at this, or in the case of the usurpers, they may have much more practice.

So I’m stuck at a crossroad with my possible future hobby. I suppose it would be worthwhile to take a few days and devote them to just finishing up the assignments and letting go the reluctance. What I don’t want to do is put my camera away and not use it. A few opportunities will come up soon to go out and shoot pictures, and I want to be ready. Even if I don’t put a signature watermark on my work, I’ll enjoy seeing what comes from my efforts. And I can keep it real, with no funny stuff, because I haven’t taken editing yet, and need not be ashamed to say so.

Say cheese! The rest of you say “Cheat!”

I’m a romantic type, but it can be a lonely pursuit. Let’s face the fact that love isn’t what it used to be. Actually it’s more confusing and dangerous now than ever. In the good old days, people married for love, but some did it out of urgency (think shotgun weddings) or convenience (same, without the weaponry), and managed to tolerate the idea. Sometimes people would fall in love at last that way. How we treat each other is a big part on how we find friendship, companionship or love.

Now it can be dangerous not only to fall in love but to break up. People with more than one divorce are not a rarity, and neither are people in jail for injuring, or even killing, somebody with whom they broke up. If there are billions of people on this planet, surely there are a handful who may be a mate for somebody, so one divorce or breakup–or two– should not mean the end of the world.

Some of us out there are perpetually single, like me, with no reason or solution in sight. While watching the parade of friends who are either married for decades or going through ex-husband number whatever, I bear witness to the melodrama without the benefit of experience. On reality shows I see some people who, on a simply superficial level, might not be considered good candidates for finding love, yet they do. People who are considered beautiful have no problem.

So what’s my problem? I may never know. Even while we are integrating people on the fringes of society into the massive flock of the world population, some folks are still outliers. I’m glad to have lived to see society taking a closer look at what makes us who we are, and how silly it can be to complain about people minding their own business with whom they love, as long as it’s not truly criminal or harmful. I’m glad to see bullying being addressed and acted upon. It’s also good that we punish the behavior to get better people out of those who make mistakes. We can admit when the wrong people have been sent to prison, and stand up when somebody fails to exercise common sense, rescuing the beaten and downtrodden.

We still have miles to go on the social journey to a better understanding of love and responsibility. We are all flawed, even to a tiny degree, so we should be able to discuss the bad parts of ourselves and laud the good parts. Instead of taking down a statue, make sure the placard describes the flaws as well as the good deeds. History should tell the truth, as our present should.

When it comes to helping people find friendship, companionship or love, it helps to know where the flaws lie. Sometimes the smallest of changes can bring a lifetime of satisfaction. We tend to clam up when it comes to what is wrong with us. We would rather whisper in gossip groups than face somebody with what could help them become stronger. That’s something we could all work on. I will consider myself a work in progress until I die, no matter with whom I share it or if I go alone.

So another Valentine’s Day will go through its cycle of candy and flowers and such for a lot of people. Have some for me.

Are you humane? Calm? Balanced? When faced with any type of interruption to your life, do you take a breath and pause before you speak or act? Can you summon a calm, neutral state and not add more boiling water to the stew pot of chaos?

If so, I’d like to get to know you. When I go to work, I’d like you as a customer. Anybody who works in customer service would like to have you as a customer, or outside of work you would make a decent acquaintance. Right now pleasant people can be hard to find, because tempers are short and it seems that decision making skills are lacking. Sure there is a lot of stress out there, and it will probably be there for a while, but our behavior is still under our control even if disease and difficulties are not.

This week seemed filled with nastiness from people who could have been more mature or restrained in their behaviors but chose not to. One that really stood out was irksome from the start, because the person began the interaction by making snarky remarks about what they perceived to be shortcomings. You know the type; they begin with a “you people” speech and launch into a list of grievances about how they feel wronged, followed by how everybody else caused the problem, ending with either an amazing expectation or a threat to go to the news media or somebody of authority to destroy the perceived wrong-doers’ lives.

They tend to craft a clever phrase or two about how “yeah, you really did a great job for me,” when they really feel you did nothing. Oftentimes everything the person needed to not have to go to all that trouble is accessible, because our society has made most things more easy to locate than before.

What it boiled down to was that all this person had to do was ask.

Imagine that! They could have saved the time, effort and bile involved in preparing such a heated argument by simply asking one question. That and the fact that a negative attitude is bad for your health should be sufficient to make most people stop before they have a tantrum. Unfortunately I met more toddlers trapped in adult bodies this week than I want to deal with the rest of the year. And it’s only February.

Since I’ve been watching Cesar Milan and his incredible ability to read dogs, plus Jackson Galaxy’s methods with cats, I’ve learned that calmness is the key to resolving many issues. The best way to work with pets, it seems, is to set the example, such as showing your dog that you are calm, so they should also be calm. I have practiced Cesar’s technique on a friend’s dog; I took a moment to relax before approaching because the dog was in the passenger seat of the car and might have leapt out the window if overexcited, being prone as he is to being a bit hyper. He stayed totally chilled out and sat down in the car seat while the humans resumed talking. It does work.

Unfortunately I couldn’t tell the person with the “you people” tirade to chill out, and unfortunately there was a line of similar disgruntled people after that. Wasn’t one of my favorite weeks, but I wait patiently for the person who opens up an interaction with a greeting and a pleasant comment. It can erase a day’s worth of downers.

So take the time to chill out. Don’t waste your time with long-winded complaints and get your blood pressure up. We’ve got a right to breathe. Slowly. It’s good for all of us.

Reorganizing the pantry is a great task when you’re cooped up at home and/or a major winter storm is coming. I actually divided my project in two, because I cleaned out one portion of the kitchen last year and updated the fridge, so this time I will devote some attention to the remaining cabinets.

Who says DIY projects can’t keep you occupied for a while? Back when Carlton Cards went out of business, I bought some of their display racks which I had hoped to turn into organizers for a kitchen cabinet. Just about then came the time I found myself pulling family care duties, and the bag of organizers got lost in the shuffle. Two weeks ago I found them, so now I have no excuses for not finishing what I started.

I do know that my mother, who was always one to save things, left a treasure chest of kitchen and non-kitchen things sitting in the back of some of the kitchen cabinets. I spotted what looks like four different boxes of old-fashioned first-aid kits in a corner of one of them. The only reason I didn’t go through them immediately was that I was summoned to my work-from-home job, and I was already sorting through some paperwork, putting them into trash collection, shredding or archiving piles. There is also something about working around the house after daylight hours, when the workday is over, which is probably why spring cleaning has become so popular.

Nobody likes winter cleaning.

In addition to the kitchen, I have some plants which have apparently eaten their own soil and multiplied like those obnoxious creatures in Gremlins. They are indeed green, anyway. Re-potting will mean a new bag of potting soil, and no matter how big your project, it’s bound to end up with several leftover small bags of soil from each category of plant for which you had to buy one: a recent cleaning spree netted a bag of African violet soil which had dried out, and a bag of lawn filler which looks like it was from 1975. The hardest re-potting will be two crown of thorn plants with spikes that show hands no mercy. It uses cactus soil. Since soils are sold in large bags, I guess I’ll either wind up being generous with the pots so I use more soil, or I’ll have to buy more plants to use up the soil I have. It’s a wasteful society when we have to buy too much potting soil.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could buy just the portion we needed? Bring or purchase a recyclable bag and fill up on potting soil for so many pots or such-and-such a size. By extension, couldn’t our groceries come in dispenser form? Take detergent, for instance: instead of throwing out those strangely shaped jugs when they run low, simply bring them to the store and pay for a refill of the same amount, stick the pour spout under a dispensing machine and fill up. No more landfill issues. The jugs last forever in a landfill, so they should last for multiple trips for refilling.

Anyway, since a storm is threatening to shut down life for a day or two, I’ll try my best to do something constructive with my time. If I get wounded re-potting those thorny plants, at least I know there is first aid in the kitchen cabinet.

I had an MRI this week, and it has to be one of the most amazing diagnostic tests ever. Magnetic resonance imaging is a modern way to see highly detailed views inside the anatomy through radio waves and magnetic fields. Maybe the best way to describe it is using echolocation like a bat in the form of taking pictures, since the scan actually reads the details inside the body and, unlike bats, captures them in print. It’s a different kind of zap and less of a long-term health risk than x-rays.

People with claustrophobia are cautious of some model MRI machines, because they can be cylindrical and enclosed, which may give a coffin-like feel to patients, but today the devices are much less confining. The device I was exposed to was a gigantic ring resembling a science fiction time travel portal, with sounds emanating from it like some futuristic dance club.

Nothing like being diagnosed to a nice beat.

I had to be sure I had nothing metal on me, so I had to remove my watch. Many people either have no watch or a fitness tracker; mine is the dull, durable, legacy watch with twelve numbers on a round face. Shows how old I am and how long I’ve managed to go without needing a diagnostic MRI.

After getting an intravenous port (for one portion of the diagnostic process, a contrast die agent is injected to help the readings) and donning a gown, I had to lie down and be fitted with headphones into which music was provided; I also got a squeeze button in case I needed to call the technicians for any reason. Sometimes people find it hard to be still in a horizontal position for some time, but I felt I could almost fall asleep in there. The music was relaxing, with Bill Withers’ original classic “Lean on Me” and Stevie Wonder’s “Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing,” though when “Night Fever” by the Bee Gees played, I wished I could’ve gotten up and danced. I still remember the line dance from the movie, and perform it mentally in my head so as not to embarrass myself in public. Or inside an MRI. I was still as a corpse, even if the MRI didn’t look like a coffin.

The most disturbing thing about the experience for me was not the being still or being confined, but the noise. The machine puts out several different noises at any particular moment, and they’re loud, but rhythmic, and explain the reason for the headphones and music: it’s hearing protection and distraction. Some procedures take considerable time, since the readings come in individual slices of your body, in thin segments, but mine took about twenty minutes.

The technicians said I did extremely well, and I left with a gift bag as a reward. It’s nice to be at an age where one still can get free swag for lying down in a machine. Plus there was no prep, no aftereffects, and life went on as normal afterwards.

Except I still want to get down with the Bee Gees.