Tagged: men

On Cold Showers

It’s been a year and a half and only lately have I not held myself to perfection. I have to admit that I lost a little motivation when Wim made the news for allegedly disturbing behavior vis-a-vis his first marriage. But I still enjoy the challenge.

In the end, if I’m feeling like a warm shower, I take one. But if I am feeling like “not a cold shower!”, then I force myself to take a cold one. And cold showers all other days too.

Oh, the dread.

At the “work house” I have pleasantly avoided the dread twice now, in two distinct ways. The first time was like this. I didn’t check the faucet selector valve and so was shocked that the water came from overhead immediately. Normally there is a slight delay from “cold water – on” to “feet cold – confirm” to “here goes” to “water traveling up” to “AAAAHHHHH! FREEZING!” And this is followed by a song, often a broadway hit. So the day of this first dreadless experience, I skipped all the middle steps and went directly from “cold water – on” to “AAAAHHHH! FREEZING!” and song.

The second time happened just tonight. While I had learned a valuable lesson from that first mistake, I apparently have not worked out all possible kinks—again the work house with its rotating occupants is tricky. Tonight I didn’t think to check where the shower head was pointed and so in the aforementioned sequence went from “feet cold – confirm” to “GAPING CHEST WOUND! FREEZING” as I immediately and simultaneously shrank down to take the brunt of the impact on my skull (the preferred option) as I reached to adjust the angle of the cold demon’s barrel.

Crisis averted.

And a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS! to you, faithful reader.

God Bless the Master of this House

And Its Good Mistress too

And All the Little Children who round the table goo

And all your Kin and Kindred who dwell both far and near

We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

The Drones Are Operated By Trolls

Sometimes my wife doesn’t even have to say a word to “warm me” in the 19th century adventures-for-boys books’ sense. Anyone know what I mean?

The other night I came home from my week at work as a professional pilot and found her watching news clips on the drones. Now, any mortal’s wife who watches news clips on drones is just behaving like a woman. But a pilot’s wife who gets caught up in the story without asking her divine husband about it? That’s worse than calling a fella a liar to his face.

As I said, it warms me. No words necessary. No tumbling around necessary.

It isn’t just the disrespect which accompanies the fact that I would have some insight because it’s my job, that gets me going. It isn’t just that the people talking to the news reporters she is watching are less qualified to know anything about aviation in 2024 than I am. It isn’t just that she is the same woman who would blame my job’s schedule for most of the current and constant marital discord and yet cannot seem to piece together that “I have someone I can ask”, no. It’s that even after all the fake news and bad reporting of the last, I don’t know, 10 years, she is still willing to consider that “they don’t know what they are.”

Well, honey, they’re drones operated by trolls. And at this point I would drive out there and have a little fun with the morons, if only I had a drone.

As far as national security is related, I will tell you confidently, and not confidentially, that the only threat to national security these drones possess is revealing to the occupants of the universe that the USA is populated by morons. Unfortunately, or fortunately, we’re tops at the moment. So the threat isn’t grave. Carry on.

“Comedy in the Old Sense”, A Review of Joker: Folie à Deux, Directed by Todd Phillips

Everyone knows what a tragedy is. The word has kept its meaning through the years. The meaning of comedy, however, has not held constant. In a sense, this change is no different from how the concept of heat as substance was discarded in favor of heat as motion upon experimental data which confirmed there was a difference between temperature (strength) and heat (quantity).

Anyone know in what sense comedy was used in the past, say for such a work as Dante’s Divine Comedy? That’s right, “a happy ending.” That story has a happy ending. (Spoiler: It ends in Heaven.)

That is the sense that I mean when I chose to title this review, “Comedy in the Old Sense.” I do not mean that the film is funny.

As a family man, I do not get to the movie theater much these days, so I had to wait, like the rest of you, to watch the movie on a streaming service (co-worker’s account). So I was more than well-versed in the terrible reception of the highly anticipated film. While I would like to believe my critical eye is objective, I offer some backstory to the tardy review because I cannot deny that I came into the movie with a different mindset and much lower expectations than the World before me. Truth be told, by the time I watched it, I needed to prove everyone wrong. I needed to see the genius.

And so here it is.

The movie, unlike its predecessor, is pure comedy. As no one wanted to see that, because no one expected that, everyone missed it. Regardless of its initial reception, like the Divine Comedy, literally for the exact same reasons, I offer that this comedic work is an instant classic and will stand the test of time even more-so than Joker. Because we do like our happy endings.

Time for a proper [SPOILER ALERT]. (But I’d keep reading because the movie is better when not a mystery.)

Joker is the bad guy. And the bad guy dies.

That’s right. Good guys win; bad guys lose. That’s a happy ending, right? Well, the final scene in Joker is that a fanboy fellow asylum-mate unexpectedly (perhaps only to Arthur Fleck) kills Arthur.

Get it? From this old perspective, the first movie is a tragedy, because Joker, while arrested, clearly wins. But in the sequel, the continuation of the story, he dies. The bad guy loses—which is what happy endings require. So it’s a comedy.

If the film misses any mark, it is that the “good guy” remains nebulous. Is it Batman (meaning merely our awareness of the character since he is not in the film)? Is it rule of law in general? A jury trial in particular? Is it truth-telling in the face of fear? Is it truth in general? We aren’t really told, so it’s anyone’s guess.

That’s the broad strokes. But I want to hit some minutia for posterity’s sake.

Hollywood is messing up on casting right now (GLADIIATOR being the other major instance). Certain actors are too talented for small roles. In Joker: Folie à Deux, the problem is Gleeson. His character was fairly important to the story, but his past credits are too distinguished. The polish he brought resulted in him standing out like a sore thumb. It was all tease, no climax. Let’s not do that again.

In America’s on-going battle of the blondes, Hollywood thinks Margot Robbie could only be topped by Lady Gaga. (This isn’t criticism, just acknowledging who’s hot and who’s not—according to our betters.) This is interesting. Gaga did a perfectly fine job in the film. We probably can just admit she did a perfect job. But I’d say she risked more than she needed to on this role—even as she should be flattered beyond belief.

I recently watched Alien: Romulus as well. I am not sure why I didn’t review it—it is good. But I am very sure that the first time I saw the xenomorph appear I thought, “Man. That is so beautiful. Probably the best looking bad guy ever.” Update: after watching Joaquin Phoenix with the makeup on and hair green and charisma maxed out, I’d say it’s a tie. Joker is just beautiful. I’m telling you, keep an eye on how this movie is received down the years. We like beauty, as a species.

Let’s end on a philosophical note.

In the film Red Belt, the martial art’s instructor goes through a list of, “If you stand here, can I strike you? If you stand here, can I strike you?” Etc. This continues, of course, until he positions his student outside of striking distance and concludes, “So don’t stand here (anywhere close).”

Joker is killed by the nicest-to-him inmate (not Batman or the police or the law), precisely when/because his guard is down. I just can’t help but wonder, “WTF, over?”

Why do we hurt each other?

Been Reading Some Einstein (and Infeld)

Until you do too, or until you read Newton himself, you just need to trust me. Any chance you get, any time you hear someone associate Newton with an apple falling from a tree, stamp it out—fiercely, ferociously if necessary, but effectively in any case. Newton should be forever tied to a David-esque slingshot. In all honesty, Newton’s influence on life on Earth is probably more profound than the “man after God’s own heart.” But however your rank order of the two concludes, they are both whirling a rock around on a rope—no apples in sight. Just stop it!

On the Obvious

I want to start with, “Well, I’ve officially learned…” But the information is so patently obvious that it is more like, “Well, I have to admit you were right.”

Two cultures just cannot mix.

Don’t hear me say that a man and woman can’t fall in love and decide to marry etc. But don’t for a second let that man already have a child and that woman already have a child. Or, more pointedly, don’t let the non-dominant culture’s representative bring in a child. Does this sound mean? Or even tough? It’s not. Or maybe it is. But that assessment puts it squarely in the realm of truth. Truth, it seems, by popular definition is painful.

Truth is painful. Just look at what people don’t want to say. Just list a few things people don’t want to believe. Here’s maybe the deepest, darkest secret we keep in our land of self-delusion: “My kid is a moron.”

Nobody wants to concede this one. And when it becomes known to the parent(s), they do some magic act of retreating socially and investing their time otherwise. “My hands are clean.” “What can I do?”

But when the kids turn out to be contributing members of society, it’s all rainbows and unicorns. Everyone wants to know all about it in as precise detail as possible and the parents beam, “This was all Bobby (or Susie). At most we pointed them in the right direction. Ha. We. It was their mother, I was hardly around truth be told. We are truly blessed.”

So what are my demands? What do I want out of this life?

Agreement from the adult population of earth that lying is wrong. Notice I am not asking for everyone to stop lying. I couldn’t even comply with that demand. I just want everyone of age to agree that lying is wrong.

All my life I have thought it was obvious. (Thanks, mom and dad.) It is not.

An anecdote for your consideration.

I was in line at the grocery store in the small town where I work. Long story, short, I informed my bro-looking adult male line-mate that I had a wife who did not instinctively believe lying was wrong*. In a perfect display of active listening he stopped in his tracks and paused until responding, “How would you even communicate?” I said, “That is exactly the point. Thank you.”

How would you even communicate?

****

*How can someone believe lying is not wrong? It’s shockingly simple. They insert some other moral good which trumps it. Like “I just want peace.” But it could be many other ideas. That’s just the one I hear and see on the regular.

(Please keep in mind that even this peace is not defined as the only real peace that comes with virtue and morality. What these people really mean is obvious. “I just want to remain a neglected child.”)

On Culture

I used to think that culture was “you use chopsticks, I use silverware,” and a myriad of other inconsequential and oftentimes interesting differences. And in this thinking, the important, unifying fact was that the food still made it to the mouth.

This is not culture.

By analogy, culture is, “We made it one trillion years on this planet before seeing silverware! Don’t lecture me on Henry Ford or freedom!”

In short, if the people from two supposedly different cultures aren’t engaged in contentious pride fighting, they aren’t from two different cultures.

****

Why does this matter to me? Because I get tired of people who have only engaged with other people from the same culture acting like they have any idea which way is up. These uni-culture people may prove the smartest on Earth, but that doesn’t mean they know which way is up.

Three Pointed Feelings On Political Violence in the USA, 2028 POTUS and Nuclear Bombs

Still riding the high of having correctly *felt* Trump was the clear winner long before election night, I want to share three more *feelings*.

****

First, I have already mentioned that the next bout of political violence will be at the public funeral of a certain folk savior. Nothing new to say; I am just collecting it in one post.

Second, in the exact same manner and for the exact same reason as America loved itself for electing Obama (both shameless fantasy), in 2028, America will once again engage in a shameless fantasy act of self-love as it elects a woman to the office of President of the United States. I have long chuckled that the most bluntly misogynistic man defeated the first two legitimate female candidates. But fate can only laugh for so long. The mood is changing and the next president will be a woman.

Third, you, me, our children—everyone—needs to be ready for the news cycle to breeze past the first use of nuclear weapons. The “breaking news” will move on to “developing story” and finally be replaced by celebrity gossip or palace intrigue in precisely the same manner with which it breezes past every story. To be clear, someone is going to use a nuke. The fact will be hyped beyond belief with a fever pitch rarely able to be achieved, but there will be no actual mutually assured destruction or end of nations or shift in power balance. And, again, the proof in the pudding of my *feeling* (the way you know you heard it hear first) will be when the news cycle drops the story within the same time period as Oct 7, or the invasion of Ukraine etc. Nuclear war is here to stay and the idea that it was a “one off” or “we learned from the first use” is childish.

American Wives Are Humanity’s Low Pressure Systems. What Happens If Equilibrium Is Withheld?

If I was teaching meteorology to pilots, then my first lesson would include a tub of water, with a movable divider holding an amount of water at bay from filling the tub entirely. (Picture a tub half full, with an actual divider keeping the water to the left half. The right half is dry.)

I would then ask, “If we define high pressure as where the water is, then how would we label the area where the water isn’t?”

The motivated and slightly piqued students would answer, “Low pressure.”

“Good,” I would rejoin.

Then I would call the room’s attention to the tub and, with comedic flare, withdraw the divider. All would see the high pressure water rush towards the area of previously low pressure, crashing against the walls before quickly calming to a standstill.

“If you can admit that that just happened, and trust that it isn’t limited to the apparent lateral movement as this tub seemed to indicate, but vertical as well (which, if you consider what you witnessed fully, then you will be forced to conclude that water did move in the available three dimensions entirely), then you can understand every other concept of meteorology—and make sound weather calls throughout your life as a pilot.”

The high pressure seeks balance. It must find the balance it seeks. This is meteorology.

What about relationships?

“Feeling low” is probably the simplest description of “depression” (itself still in the same semantic domain as “low”). We all have experience, whether first or second-hand, with people feeling low.

What happens if the “high pressure” doesn’t rush in?

More often than not, people who demonstrate the need for help receive help. But what happens if they do not receive it?

****

I refuse to believe that life on earth is about high pressure rushing to lows. I just refuse. It especially bothers me when the lows self-declare. Contrary to the smut pushed by “mental health crisis” hypsters, there are objective markers that life is not only “okay”, but that life is so good that you have actually not one damn thing to complain about.

I feel like I can distinguish this refusal from the “Am I my brother’s keeper?” domain. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe anyone riding high owes their entire existence to coming down. “Misery loves company” is my counter. “Don’t bring me down”. “Look at the lilies of the goddamned field.”

“A Plan For What?” She Said.

“You need to tell A- that the next time he calls his dad, they need to make a plan!”

“A plan? A plan for what?”

I calmly, though unable to hide irritation, say, “My wife. His dad wants to talk to him. Well, the boy is 14, not 8. So A- can tell his dad all about how he is in school and then has basketball, and then dinner, except on days when basketball is later, and then A- and his dad can figure out when a good time to schedule phone conversations would be. This is not complicated.”

“My husband. You know all about this. Don’t you want to talk to H- and she won’t talk to you?”

“What? This is nothing like that at all. We don’t care and have never stopped or tried to stop A- from talking to his dad. And no one is trying to stop them from talking now. Again, you and I have no business being involved anymore at all. The boy is 14! Tell him to explain his schedule to his dad so they can come up with a plan. Why do you and I need to go back-and-forth about this? There is nothing complicated about it.”

****

Dear reader, can you guess what is at issue here? Can you imagine the underlying rub?

You got it. The dad, and apparently every physical and spiritual force—nearly power itself—wants my step-son to have his own phone. The dad wants to be able to text him and have him respond right away. The dad wants to be able to call him as he pleases with his son answering promptly.

It makes no difference that the dad is in a foreign land. It makes no difference that the dad has taken zero interest in the boy for pretty much his entire life, even though he had him to himself for the first eight years of that life. Nope, none of these things matter. When you’re dealing with humans, you are dealing with children or children-grown-older.

I need to be clear—mostly to my maker—the smart phone does not solve any problems!! And the smart phone creates innumerable problems for all it touches!! I would honestly rather give kids hard drug samples rather than smart phones on the off chance the kid just doesn’t like the effects. I don’t think I could be persuaded that, for example, crack hooks every human that has sampled it. But the smart phone? 100% addiction rate. No one can resist. We’re junkies one and all. It’s astounding.

Well, when it comes to kids in my “sphere of influence”, they have to wait before their first high. Step-children from the dark continent as well.

At face value the situation is so laughable it isn’t funny. It’s almost a joke with a punchline.

So, ha ha ha, here’s one. There’s this 14 yr old boy and his dad—impeded by no one—who can’t figure out how to call each other in 2024. The dad says, “Ring ring.” And the boy doesn’t answer because he’s at school. The boy says, “Ring ring.” And the dad doesn’t answer because he’s at work.”

Here’s the punchline I like best: “I guess ‘colored people time’ transcends time-zones!”

****

“A plan? A plan for what?” she said.

One last note. While hanging out at an airport the other day, a few of the super rich came strolling through, just off their private jet. The dad—keep on mind we are talking very wealthy people flying on private jets for leisure trips—the dad, I overhear, is complaining that his teenager won’t answer texts. He goes on to say it is easier to get a response if he posts in snapchat or instagram or whatever other app the kid is known to be absorbed in day-in-and-day-out.

So, no, this has nothing to do with anything but morons being morons. The international factor is irrelevant. The family history and dynamics are irrelevant. If people want to talk to each other, they can. If people aren’t talking to each other, it is because they don’t prioritize it.

Case closed.