Humor

HOW TO TAKE A CASUAL PORTRAIT YOU WON’T HATE

The proliferation of cell phones and high-end, point and shoot cameras has made everyone think they take great pictures. For some people, it’s true or close enough for folk music. Others, not so much. Facebook is the place where I am constantly reminded of how many people take awful pictures.

Kaity portrait

This is aimed at the photographically challenged. You know who you are.

First, let’s discuss equipment. No matter what you are using — cell phone or camera — it needs to be in working order. Clean lens, not scratched. If it’s an old cell you have dropped and doused, I feel safe saying it won’t take great pictures.

Ditto that old point and shoot camera that’s been kicking around your basement for years. Probably not going to give you the quality you seek.

If, on the other hand, you have a relatively new cell phone, maybe an iPhone 4 or better? Or by some miracle you have a real camera in working order? Or someone in your family has a camera you can borrow for a few hours?

If none of this works for you, consider giving up photography.

Okay. Moving on. You need light to take a picture. Flash is unflattering and cheap cameras need more light than expensive ones. You don’t need to know why, just take my word for it.

ghoul in gettysburg

This means you should take your pictures outside in natural light. During the day. But not bright sunlight or in drenching rain. You knew that, right?

Rain is bad for cameras and cell phones. It’s the whole electronics versus water thing.

Bright sunlight creates unattractive sharp shadows and burns out highlights. It means you won’t be able to see anything in the bright or in shaded parts of the picture. Nor will there be much to see in the middle. Also, it makes people look all squinty.

Bright shade or a cloudy day will do the job.

Don’t pose yourself (or anyone) staring straight into a lens close up. Shot that way, everyone looks like a criminal. Just put a number under their face and you’re in an episode of Law & Order.

Have your subject turn slightly right or left. That includes you if you’re taking a selfie. Look at the screen and see if it’s an attractive picture. If not, keep moving the subject around until you like what you see.

Marilyn Herself 9

Take a lot of pictures from different angles. Let your subject move around. You can move too. If you take two dozen shots and get one you truly like, you’re doing well. The more pictures you take, the more likely you are to get a few excellent ones.

When you look in the viewfinder or screen, don’t just look at your subject. Look at the background. No trash cans. No piles of rubble. You want a neutral, pleasant backdrop. Leaves, trees, grass. A wall is good too. Mostly, you want the background to not distract from the subject.

Avoid flash for portraits. It is unflattering, like full sun and for the same reasons.

If all the pictures are unflattering, unfocused, off-color, do the right thing. Delete them. No one will thank you for making them look bad. You don’t need to be a photographer to know the most important rule of people pictures:

Everyone wants to look good.

Avoid trash cans in the background. Please!

Week 27 — STILL SHARING MY WORLD

Share Your World – 2014 Week 27

If you were the architect of one existing building, which building would you select?

carnegie-hall

I’d sign up for Carnegie Hall. It’s got superb acoustics. It was built more than 100 years ago (opened in 1891) and remains one of the premier concert halls in the world. carnegiehall-inside

What is one of your favorite quotes?

“If you don’t know history, then you don’t know anything. You are a leaf that doesn’t know it is part of a tree. ”
― Michael Crichton

What color do you feel most comfortable wearing?

Black. It’s not a statement. I like the way it looks and it’s sort of a New York thing. I’m from New York. Did I ever mention that?

What is something you learned in the last week?

I learned I am an expert, a referenced source. On stuff about which I know next to nothing. This comes as a complete and peculiar surprise.

facts expert

A COLD DISH

Roaring Laughter — What was the last thing that gave you a real, authentic, tearful, hearty belly laugh? Why was it so funny?


One Sunday, Pastor’s sermon was about forgiveness. About letting go of old anger and resentment and handing that burden to God. At the end of his sermon, he asked the congregation to rise.

“Now,” he said, “Anyone who has an enemy at work, please sit down.” About half the congregation sat. “Will those who are estranged from one or more members of their family please sit.” Many more sat.

steeple light 3Finally, everyone was seated except for one old woman.

“You have no enemies at all? No one is harboring ill will towards you? Or is the object of your anger?” asked Pastor.

“Not a single one,” she answered, nodding her head.

“Please, come up here and tell everyone how you reached such a great age without having enemies,” said Pastor, greatly impressed. As a deacon escorted the elderly matron to the pulpit, everyone applauded.

She slowly made her way up the steps while Pastor adjusted the microphone.

“You must have done a lot of forgiving,” said Pastor. “Please, tell us your secret.”

The old lady smiled beatifically.

“I outlived the bitches,” she said.


Talk about an oldie but a goodie. The horrible truth is, you can forgive until you are blue in the face. You can work at forgetting until you overdose on whatever drugs are supposed to wipe your memory clean of the burning anger you’ve been harboring for years. In the end, nothing can come near the pure, delicious satisfaction of outliving the bitches.

This final story is  from my mother. She told it as an anecdote, a true story, but you are welcome to judge for yourself.


A friend of my mom’s was married for many years to a real bastard. Mean as a junkyard dog and so tight with his money (of which there was quite a bit) that the family lived in poverty while his bank accounts grew. One day the guy up and died of a heart attack.

The next day (Jews believe in rapid burial), there was a funeral. When the widow went up to the casket, she just stood there and looked at it. Nudged to say something, she thought for a long time. And then she said:

Good. Very good. Very, very good.” And that was all.


If you can’t see why that’s funny, I’m afraid I can’t help you.

TERTIARY SOURCES. LIKE ME.

facts

Garry and I watched “Paris When It Sizzles” on Netflix last night. Universally panned, it is generally regarded as awful. Except among movie buffs — like us — for whom it is an officially designated guilty pleasure. We laughed all the way through it.

It got us talking about other movies we’ve seen that were panned, but which we liked.

The one that came immediately to my mind was “Flypaper,” starring Ashley Judd and Patrick (“McDreamy”) Dempsey. It opened and closed without a single good review and made less money in its American release than I made on my last freelance job. But it cost $4,000,000 to produce.

On February 27, 2013, I reviewed it on Serendipity — FLYPAPER (2011): A PLEASANT SURPRISE. It’s been getting a slow but steady stream of hits ever since. When I looked in my stats, I saw I’d gotten a hit on that review, the source for which was Wikipedia.

Wikipedia? How could that be? I clicked. There was my review, referenced by Wikipedia. Flypaper (2011 film) has two numbered references in the reference section. Number 1 is my review. What are they referencing? The grosses.

That Flypaper made a pathetic $1100 and opened on just two screens in one theater during a single weekend. Serendipity is their source for this data.

facts expert

Where did I get my information? I looked it up on IMDB (International Movie Database). Not the professional version. Just the free area anyone can access.

IMDB is, to the best of my knowledge, an accurate source. But it’s not a primary source. Clearly the financial data had to have come from somewhere else. Maybe the distributor? IMDB got the info from elsewhere, I got it from them, then Wikipedia got it from me. The beat goes on.

How in the world did I become a source? If you have ever wondered how bad information gets disseminated, this is the answer. I don’t think this information is wrong. If it is, it’s harmless.

But a lot of other stuff proffered as “fact” is gathered the same way. Supposed news outlets get information from the Internet. They access secondary, tertiary and even more unreliable sources. They assume it’s true. By proliferation, misinformation takes on a life of its own and becomes “established” fact.

Scholars, journalists, historians and others for whom truth is important should feel obliged to dig out information from primary — original — sources. A blogger, like me, who gets information from who-knows-where shouldn’t be anyone’s source for “facts” unless you’ve confirmed the information and know it’s correct.

For me to be a source for Wikipedia is kind of funny … but it’s also troubling. How much of what we know to be true … isn’t?

OY VAY! GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER?

Marilyn Armstrong:

Because there is no Daily Prompt today (or if there is, I can’t find it!), I thought I’d rerun my favorite recent entry. I don’t usually think it’s good form to admire ones own cleverness, but by golly, this one makes me laugh every time I read it. Maybe you have to be Jewish … or some other ethnicity with this special kind of family member. Welcome back, Shmuel.

Originally posted on SERENDIPITY:

Modern Families


300-shmuel my uncle “So,” says Uncle Shmuel, who having appeared out of nowhere, now miraculously speaks vernacular American English — albeit with a heavy Yiddish accent, “Nice place you got here. I see you keep your animals in your house. That one there sounds like a pig but looks like a dog.”

“They are our pets, Uncle Shmuel. The oinker is Nan. She just makes that sound. She’s kind of old. I think that’s the dog equivalent of ‘oy’.”

“Pets, shmets. Animals. In the house. What’s next? Toilets? Never mind, your life, your choice. Oy.”

“Can I give you something to eat? Tea? Coffee? Cake? If we don’t have it, I can go out and buy some.”

“Are you Kosher?”

“Uh, no. Not Kosher,” and I shiver, remembering the many pork chops that have passed across our dishes. “Oh, wait, here’s my husband. Uncle Shmuel, I’d like you to meet my husband Garry.”

View original 136 more words

THE CAT CAME BACK

An Odd Trio – Today, you can write about whatever you what — but your post must include, in whatever role you see fit, a cat, a bowl of soup, and a beach towel.


My bowl of chicken soup was sitting on the kitchen table. It had been quite a while since I nuked it and it was probably barely tepid at this point.

72-cropped-cheshire cat grin

Probably I should nuke it again, though if it had ever contained anything other than artificial flavoring and salt, nuking it again would surely finish it off.

Except I was disinclined to touch my soup. To so much as approach it. A little bit left of the bowl from where I was standing, still wrapped in a damp beach towel — my sandy, wet bathing suit was on the bathroom floor and I promised myself I’d go wash it out soon — a toothy cat’s grin hung in the air.

Cheshire Cat was back. In my kitchen. And he wanted my soup.

DON’T PRESS THERE. IT WON’T OPEN.

We watch a lot of cop shows. Murders. Forensics. NCIS, Law & Order reruns, CSI, and so many more. Everyday, right in my living room, someone is convicted on blood evidence. That’s why I know how incriminating traces of a victim’s blood can make someone look.

This evening I nicked myself with a paring knife. Not so unusual. I should be more careful. I work too fast. I’m easily distracted by conversation, dogs, ringing phones, whatever is on TV. The result? I slice off fingertips, though I’ve also stabbed myself in other ways. Other places. After which I bleed copiously. 

Morning light in my kitchen as coffee brews ...If I didn’t bleed so much, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem … but I bleed like mad.

Ironic because when I go for blood tests, no one can find a vein or get any blood out of me. I have suggested bringing a knife and slicing open a finger for them. They’d have more than enough blood. For some reason, they don’t find my suggestion nearly as funny as I do. I think it’s hilarious.

Today I cut myself slicing onions.

This is twice as painful as any other cut because it hurts when the knife cuts me. And when onion juice gets in the wound, it stings something fierce. 

blood evidenceIt wasn’t a terrible cut. Just a band-aid sized wound. I should have stuck a band-aid on the finger immediately because it wasn’t a gusher. Merely a dribbler. Not life threatening.

But instead, I finished chopping onions then went to the cupboard, found bandages and stopped the bleeding. There was blood everywhere. 

I’ve left a trail of blood with every slice, nick, or stab. My blood is between the tiles, in the drain. In every nook and cranny of the kitchen. Not only in the kitchen. Gory accidents are part of my lifelong battle with packaging … and packages have been opened in every room.  

blister packBe honest. Haven’t you ever found yourself stabbing at a blister pack of pills in the middle of the night with whatever pointed object you can find? In the bathroom, it’s usually a tweezers … the only sharp object I can grab without going to another room. Which would wake the dogs. I don’t want to do that.

You know what I mean. It says “press here,” but if you press there, the pill gets crushed and you still have to stab it to get it open. 

So that’s how come you can find my blood on keyboards, furniture, medicine cabinet, tweezers. Headboard, night table. Rugs, desk chair. You name it, I’ve bled there. 

CSI would have a field day. If anything were to happen and my poor guiltless husband were accused of killing me, they’ll find my blood everywhere. The poor guy would look guilty as hell. So, if the cops come to get Garry, please show them this post. Thanks. I appreciate your coöperation.

AMERICAN HISTORY FOR NON-AMERICANS

The Revolutionary War was about money — like every war. Mostly taxes (especially on tea, which was very big until America discovered coffee) and who should pay what to whom.

The Colonists (us) felt we should keep all our money for ourselves.

King George disagreed.

We offered to split the difference.

George said “Hell NO!” So we had a war.

France was pissed at England anyway, so they came here with warships and troops and beat up the British. But we helped. Then everyone went home and despite a minor skirmish called “The War of 1812″ when the British came back and burned down Washington DC, we survived.

AP Photo/FS

AP Photo/FS

100 years later (give or take a few decades), we had a lot of money, an economy, had finished killing each other off in our own Civil War (about which there was nothing civil) and had become a real country.

The rest is history.

Yay US!

WHY YOU HAVEN’T BEEN FRESHLY PRESSED (MAYBE)

freshly-pressed-circle3x3I got Freshly Pressed last January. Since then, I’ve put some time into figuring out why I didn’t get it earlier — and why I finally got it after all. And why I’m unlikely to get it again.

1. Freshly Pressed is not an award for general excellence. It’s not an award for your blog. It is an individual award for a specific post. The posts that win are almost always in response to a Weekly Challenge — and happen to grab the attention of one or more editors.

2. You can write superb content every day, year after year. But if you don’t respond to the weekly challenges and/or don’t write something that makes an editor’s brain go jingle-jangle, you will never be Freshly Pressed. Think of it this way: WordPress supports millions of bloggers. The editors can’t scan them all. The challenges give them a manageable number of posts to consider. If you don’t participate, you are unlikely to get noticed. It really isn’t personal.

3. What the editors think is special will probably not be what you consider your best work. I’m embarrassed at the post that got me Freshly Pressed. It isn’t — in my opinion — my finest work, nor is it representative of my writing in general. I don’t even like it. That’s why I haven’t linked it to my Freshly Pressed badge. Many other awardees feel the same way. What inspires an editor versus what inspires you can be very different.

4. Alternate theories: You don’t write as well as you think you do. You use a lot of texting abbreviations (WTF, LOL, IMHO etc.) instead of real words. You don’t understand grammar, don’t use the spell-checker, and don’t punctuate sentences. You write to a very narrow audience and your high school classmates are probably the only people who know what you are talking about. Sometimes, the problem is you, but no one wants to hurt your feelings by telling you.


Before I got Freshly Pressed, I had no idea why a blogger did or didn’t win. It has taken me all the time between getting the nod and now to figure it out.

Why I Doubt I’ll Get It Again

These days, I rarely like the weekly writing challenges, so I usually don’t participate. I check them out, but if the prompt leaves me underwhelmed or uninspired, I don’t do it.

It’s Nice To Be Recognized, But It Doesn’t Change Anything

I got my badge and rather than making me feel rewarded for my best work, I realized it was totally random. My best work is never going to be recognized because it isn’t written in response to the weekly challenge. It won’t make some editors brain go BING!

If You Really, Really Want To Be Freshly Pressed

For those of you who wonder how come you write so much and so well — yet never get the editors to notice you, this is the answer. Stop writing what you feel like writing and start writing what they want to read. It’s also possible that your style is just not what they’re looking for. It isn’t a judgment of your writing and again — it isn’t personal. Consider that William Faulkner and Thomas Wolfe would probably not have made an editor’s brain tingle. Blogging is what it is and has its own parameters.

Afterglow

The best part of winning is having the badge to display on your site. It’s like getting into an exclusive country club, then realizing you don’t play tennis, don’t like the food and have little use for the other members. You can brag about membership, but you don’t really want to go there and hang out.

OUR FINAL DESINATION

Wrong Turns – When was the last time you got lost? Was it an enjoyable experience, or a stressful one? Tell us all about it.


It was late in the day when we rolled into Gettysburg. Tired, ready for a shower and a meal, we asked Richard our faithful GPS to take us to the nearest motel. We followed his directions carefully.

main street Gettysburg

It was our first visit to the area. Road-weary, we were too exhausted to deal with getting lost and we were (are) often lost. Diligently, we followed Richard’s directions.

After a few turns and one long straightaway, Richard announced in his loud, clear voice: “You have reached your destination!” Indeed we had, though it was not the one we had it mind.

As far as we could see lay miles of tombstones. Richard had brought us to our ultimate destination, what must have been Gettysburg’s largest modern cemetery. It stretched for miles.

Who knew our GPS had a sense of humor? We didn’t stop laughing until we finally found the EconoLodge.

FEAR OF FLYING (UMBRELLAS)

75-BroadBoardwalkHP-1

Once upon a time, my father had a business partner. I don’t remember his name, but he was a big, bluff Russian who used to come over the house and make gallons of cabbage soup.

He must have thought there were a lot more kids than there were because my mother couldn’t figure out how to store so much soup, even though we had a 24 cubit food standing deep freeze in the basement as well as a huge fridge in the kitchen.

Bob and my father would go into the kitchen and produce these gallons of soup and laugh a lot. We all had to eat it for weeks until we were sure we were turning into little cabbages.

Bob (or whatever his name was because actually, I’ve forgotten) was accident prone and an enthusiastic teller of stories, most of them about his own misadventures.

“So I was at the beach, at Coney Island” he says, almost shouting because he never said anything except very loud. “Very sunny. Blue sky. A nice day to take my mother to the beach, let her relax in the sun by the water. She is just settling down with her chair. And she asks me if I’ll set up the umbrella for her. I mean, she didn’t have to ask. I always do it, but she always asks anyway, like if she doesn’t ask I won’t do it. I took her to Coney Island, what did she think, I’m going to leave her to cook in the sun?”

75-BeachAtConeyIsland-707

We all nodded dutifully. Because he was my father’s partner and we were kids, so what else was there to do?

“It’s a big umbrella. With stripes. Red and yellow. I got it myself, on sale. Umbrellas are expensive and this was a good sturdy one and I paid bupkas for it. If you ever need an umbrella …” and he paused to remember what he was going to say. “Anyway, this was one of the good ones, with a heavy pole so it would stay put.”

We nodded some more. Our job. To nod. Look very interested.

“I opened the umbrella and had to find the right place to put it because, you know, if it’s in the wrong place, the shade isn’t going to be where you want it. So I walked around a bit until I found just the right place. Then I took the pole and a jammed it into the sand as hard as I could and it went pretty deep. Seemed good and solid.”

We were still nodding. I must have been — maybe 10? — and had been taught to be polite, no matter what, to grown-ups. We did not call adults by their first name. I think my teeth would have cracked if I had tried or my tongue would have stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“What with everything looking okay and my mother settling down in her chair with a book, she looked happy. So I figured it would be a good time to get something to eat and I told her I would go get us some hot dogs — and something to drink. She said that was good, tell them to leave the mustard off because — she’s always reminding me but I know, I know — she doesn’t like mustard.

“I walked all the way over to Nathan’s — pretty long walk, all the way at the end of the boardwalk — because they have the best hot dogs” at which I was nodding with enthusiasm because Nathan’s does have the best hot dogs, “And fries. I got five, two for her — no mustard — and three for me. I was hungry,” and he paused to pat his substantial belly, “I started walking back. I could see where to go — I could see our striped umbrella all the way from the boardwalk.”

Nod, nod, nod.Nathans at Coney Island

“The weather began to change.  Suddenly. Big clouds coming from the ocean. And getting windy. This was all happening fast while I was out getting the dogs. Funny how weather changes so fast at the beach, you know? So now, I’m almost there when up comes a big puff of wind. That umbrella pulls right out of the sand and flies at me. Whacks me over the head. Boom. I thought my head was gonna come off.

“I dropped the food and fell over. Like a rock I fell and just lay there. My whole brain was like scrambled eggs. They had to come and take me to the hospital. I was completely compost for TWO DAYS! Two days! Compost!”

Be careful of flying umbrellas. They can turn you into compost, especially when your hands are full of hot dogs.

A KITCHEN-CENTRIC SHARING OF MY WORLD

Share Your World – 2014 Week 26

Is your refrigerator, organized or a mess inside? 

Our refrigerator is an organized mess. Organized loosely, mostly by the height of the shelves. Tall stuff (mostly liquid) on top. Short stuff in the middle. Tallish stuff, veggies, fish, cold-cuts, whatever on the bottom shelf and in the pullout baskets.

Sometimes, what’s in those pullout baskets has been there too long. Forgotten veggies have morphed into pulpy messes. Meanwhile, leftovers from who-knows-when lurk in the back, covered with strange fuzzy fungi and now beyond identification. Yoicks.

If you could be famous for one thing, what would it be?

It certainly wouldn’t be my housekeeping, athletic prowess, or skill with arts and crafts.

marilyn selfie

So let me suggest, as a writer and photographer, that I’d like to be known as a pretty good writer who also took some nice pictures. That would do it for me.

What one thing have you not done that you really want to do?

You mean — ever? Or recently? Because I’ve done most of the things I wanted to do. Some of them I wish I had the wherewithal to do again … but my life has been full and interesting. Looking back, I don’t feel deprived. Poor, yes. Deprived, no.

Where do you eat breakfast?

A better question would be “Do you eat breakfast?”

To which I would have to reply “Define breakfast.”

I definitely drink coffee. With fervor and great enthusiasm. I don’t drink coffee all day, but first thing in the morning, coffee makes the wheels go round. The smell of it, the taste of it. The heat of it. Ah coffee.

And I eat something with my coffee. A protein bar. A small piece of pastry or a cookie. I don’t get serious about real food until lunch. Before then, I’m in coffee mode.

Don’t even think about telling me I should cut out caffeine. Not a word.

Mr. Coffee

THE MEANING OF EVERYTHING

We spend too much time trying to figure out what life means and too little time doing the stuff we enjoy. I suppose it’s normal to wonder if the reason you are sick, broke, or miserable is the result of something you did or failed to do. Normal, but a waste of time and energy because I’m going to explain everything and you’ll never have to wonder again.

Meaning of life

Learning to accept the total randomness of stuff that happens is difficult. We want it to make sense. We want order. We want this mess we call life to mean something important.

I’ve put a good bit of thought into why my life keeps falling apart. I know I’m not perfect, but whatever I’ve done wrong, it’s pretty small potatoes in the scheme of things. It’s hard for me to believe, even in my darkest moments I’m so wicked that The Big Guy has in for me.

One day, I had an epiphany. I got it! I knew The Truth.

meaning-of-life2

Revelation #1: The bottom line? Shit happens. It doesn’t mean anything.

I felt like I was 12 again. I considered founding a church to spread my word. My church would require no faith in anything. No deity will get pissed off if you disobey some arbitrary rule. Contributions would be welcome, however. We all need to pay the rent. It would suit our modern lifestyle, don’t you think?

Revelation #2: Faith is not proof. Faith is opinion in fancy clothing.

You can believe what you want, but you can’t know any more than I do. You take the same leap of faith by believing in God or if you declare yourself an atheist. Both positions require you take as absolute something for which you have no direct proof and for which you will never have proof.

If believing in a loving God makes you feel good, believe it. It could be true. If it turns out you’re right, you’ll have backed a winner. If believing there is no God, and science is the path to Truth, go with that. Regardless, you’re  making a faith-based choice because there’s no proof God exists or doesn’t exist.

As for me, I don’t know. Really. I don’t know and what makes me smarter than you is I know I don’t know.

Revelation #2: You know nothing. Neither does anyone else.

Accepting you know nothing is a big step, so take a deep breath. Your next challenge will be how you can cash in on this new knowledge. What’s the point in knowing the meaning of life unless you can awe people with your brilliance — and make a few bucks?

Revelation #3: It’s all in the wording.

You need the right lingo to dazzle your audience. Big words (4 or more syllables) used in the right context can showcase your education and intelligence. People will make little cooing sounds to show their admiration.

meaning-of-life3

Big words enhance your likelihood of getting a management position. You can write important books. Have a blog like me (and I know you want to be just like me). Big words can take you a long way if you are skilled at deploying them.

Note: Make sure you know how to pronounce them. Mispronouncing big words will cause unexpected laughter … not good unless you are aiming for a stand-up comedy career.

Epistemology

Let’s start with epistemology. This is an excellent catch-all word you can drop into any conversation. Most people will have no idea what you are talking about but will be too embarrassed to admit it. On the off-chance you encounter someone who actually recognizes the word, you can use this handy-dandy definition from the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, the philosopher’s convenient source for everything:

Defined narrowly, epistemology is the study of knowledge and justified belief. As the study of knowledge, epistemology is concerned with the following questions: What are the necessary and sufficient conditions of knowledge? What are its sources? What is its structure, and what are its limits? 

I bet you still have no idea what it means. The awesome truth is that epistemology doesn’t mean anything because it means everything.

Anything that means everything means nothing. Equally, when something claims to do everything, it has no actual use. This applies to people, concepts, and kitchen appliances. In practical terms, everything and nothing are identical. (Remember infinite sets from college math? It’s like that.)

Phenomenology

On to phenomenology. When I was studying religion in college, phenomenology was a way to prove the existence of God. Phenomenologically speaking, all human experience is proof of God. Except the same reasoning can prove there is no God. This is the joy of phenomenology.

Phenomenology can help you prove all things are one thing, all things are God. You are God. I am God. I am a warm cup of tea and you are a daffodil. If this doesn’t clarify it for you, the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy offers further elucidation:

Phenomenology is the study of structures of consciousness as experienced from the first-person point of view. The central structure of an experience is its intentionality, its being directed toward something, as it is an experience of or about some object.

In other words, you can use any and all human experience, your experience and anyone else’s, to prove whatever you want. Phenomenology is fundamental to all belief systems: religion, politics, and Fox News. Lots of people believe in religion, politics and Fox News, so maybe they will believe in you too.

Becoming a Fount of Wisdom

You can now explain anything. Everything. You can prove things based on something a couple of friends said years ago while under the influence of powerful hallucinogenic drugs. Although others may fault your logic, in the world of academics, everyone disbelieves everyone else unless they are citing them as a source, so you might as well stick your oar in the water.

meanin-of-life-snoopy

There are people who will attack you using faith. Faith is based on itself which makes it hard to dispute. Not to worry. The only one who is ever fully convinced by faith is the one who holds it.

Nor does it really matter how many people believe or disbelieve it.

Having more believers or followers doesn’t transform faith into fact.

If it did, we could achieve some really nifty things. Like, say we all believe in magic and therefore, it exists. Cool.


Thanks for reading. I hope I’ve clarified everything. If not, feel free to have your people call my people. We’ll talk.

CATSKILL COMEDIANS

Maybe you remember the old Jewish Catskill comics. Some of them went back to the old days of Vaudeville. Others are more recent. A fair number are alive and well, and a surprisingly large number are still working. Except the center of the action is Las Vegas. Maybe the Catskills will rise again. There are people trying to create a revival, so time will tell. Meanwhile, the ghost hotels are still there. Empty of life, but packed with memories.

Red Buttons, Totie Fields, Joey Bishop,  Milton Berle, Jan Murray, Danny Kaye, Henny Youngman,  Buddy Hackett, Sid Caesar, Groucho Marx, Jackie Mason, Woody Allen, Lenny Bruce, George Burns, Allan Sherman, Jerry Lewis (mostly at Brown’s Hotel),  Carl Reiner, Shelley Berman, Gene Wilder, George Jessel, Alan King, Mel Brooks, Phil Silvers, Jack Carter, Rodney Dangerfield, Don Rickles, Jack Benny, Eddie Cantor, Mel Brooks, Mansel Rubenstein and so many others … they were all there.

Grossinger’s in the early 1970s, the end of the good old days

There was not a single swear word in the ” family” routines, but on the road, these guys were (are) as blue as any other comics. Also, when the punchline was in Yiddish, you knew it was too blue for English.

I always tried to get my mother to translate for me, but she said the lines were “earthy” in Yiddish, but disgusting in English. So mostly, I never heard the punchline.


 For your enjoyment, a few oldies but goodies:

I just got back from a pleasure trip. I took my mother-in-law to the airport.

I’ve been in love with the same woman for 49 years! If my wife ever finds out, she’ll kill me!

What are three words a woman never wants to hear when she’s making love? “Honey, I’m home!”

Someone stole all my credit cards but I won’t be reporting it. The thief spends less than my wife did.

We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.

My wife and I went back to the hotel where we spent our wedding night; only this time, I stayed in the bathroom and cried.

My wife and I went to a hotel where we got a water-bed. My wife called it the Dead Sea .

She was at the beauty shop for two hours. That was only for the estimate. She got a mudpack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.

The Doctor gave a man six months to live. The man couldn’t pay his bill so the doctor gave him another six months.

The Doctor called Mrs. Cohen saying, “Mrs. Cohen, your check came back. ”  Mrs. Cohen answered, “So did my arthritis!”

Doctor: “You’ll live to be 60!” Patient: “I am 60!” Doctor: “See! What did I tell you?”

Patient: “I have a ringing in my ears.”  Doctor: “Don’t answer!”

A drunk was in front of a judge. The judge says, “You’ve been brought here for drinking.”
The drunk says “Okay, let’s get started.”

The Harvard School of Medicine did a study of why Jewish women like Chinese food so much. The study revealed that this is because Won Ton spelled backward is Not Now.

There is a big controversy on the Jewish view of when life begins. In Jewish tradition, the fetus is not considered viable until it graduates from medical school.

Q: Why don’t Jewish mothers drink? A: Alcohol interferes with their suffering.

A man called his mother in Florida , “Mom, how are you?”  “Not too good,” said the mother. “I’ve been very weak.” The son said, “Why are you so weak?” She said, “Because I haven’t eaten in 38 days.” The son said, “That’s terrible. Why haven’t you eaten in 38 days?” The mother answered, “Because I didn’t want my mouth to be filled with food if you should call.”

A Jewish boy comes home from school and tells his mother he has a part in the play. She asks, “What part is it?” The boy says, “I play the part of the Jewish husband.”  “The mother scowls and says, “Go back and tell the teacher you want a speaking part.”

Question: How many Jewish mothers does it take to change a light bulb? Answer: (Sigh) “Don’t bother. I’ll sit in the dark. I don’t want to be a nuisance to anybody.”

Short summary of every Jewish holiday — They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat.

Did you hear about the bum who walked up to a Jewish mother on the street and said, “Lady, I haven’t eaten in three days.”  “Force yourself,” she replied.

Q: What’s the difference between a Rottweiler and a Jewish mother?
A: Eventually, the Rottweiler lets go.

Grossinger’s – 2008

MY NAME IS MARILYN. I AM A CONE.

Flavor #32  — A local ice cream parlor invites you to create a new wacky flavor. It needs to channel the very essence of your personality. What’s in it?


Over the many years of my mortal life, I have confessed sins, admitted faults, spoken of my darker thoughts. But never have I publicly confessed the full extent of my strangeness, this peculiar idiosyncrasy which sets me apart from humanity.

I stand before you to tell you the truth. I am not merely non-human, alien and weird. I am an ice-cream cone.

free-ice-cream-cones

You might never have guessed it just looking at me, but as I stand here before you under the hot television lights, I am melting, pooling and like my pal Frosty The Snowman, I could completely vanish before your very eyes, leaving nothing but a mess of sticky stuff on the ground where once I stood.

Although I started life as a double scoop of chocolate, I soon developed serious fruity tendencies, experimenting first with common, garden-variety strawberry, then advancing into the dangerous territories of rhubarb and gooseberry. I bottomed out with Shibui Ginger in the mid 1960s. That was when I realized I tasted less like ginger and more like Palmolive soap. I was horrified at how far I’d fallen.

After long years of therapy, I have pulled back from the dangerous and exotic world of fruits and retreated to French Vanilla. I have even abandoned true ice cream-hood for a nutritious, less rich (and lactose-free) world of frozen yogurt.

No longer a thrill seeker, I find solace in half-gallon containers bought from the grocery store without so much as a sugar cone to give me form. I urge all of you secret cones out there to join me in openly acknowledging your true nature. Don’t melt alone!

In unity, there is strength.

And now, back to my refrigerator. I’m melting … melting … melting …

 

FIVE DAYS OF BLOGGING – PROMPTS TO CHALLENGE YOU

There is a trend here on WordPress to give titles and themes to each day of the week, thus heralding the nature of that day’s post. I’m a big fan of challenges and prompts because well, they prompt and challenge me. I thought “Gee, Marilyn, why not dip your oar in those waters.”

Here are five great themes for you. Or should I call them challenges? Prompts? Challenging prompts? All to help you, my good friends, get through your blogging week without ever encountering a moment of writer’s block.

Calendar_0

Mawkish Monday – I dedicate Monday to overly sentimental remembrances of the past, especially childhood and former marriage partners. Omit anything bad that happened. Everyone, everything was perfect. It never rained on your summer picnic. Your parents were fantastic. Your relationships were stress free. You were always amazing.

Because we’ve all had that kind of life, right?

Tantrum Tuesday – Rant day! Whatever you are pissed off about, let’er rip! Don’t hold back. How do you really feel?

Whiny Wednesday – Today I encourage you to rake up all the self-pitying bullshit you suppress the rest of the week. If you suffer from baseless feelings of entitlement and believe, despite all evidence to the contrary, that life has cheated you, this is your day.

Complain how everyone else gets the good stuff while you get the dregs. Full details of any appalling thing that’s happened to you are welcome.  Let me wallow in your misery because I don’t have nearly enough angst of my own.

Thankful Thursday – Praise the Lord! Forget what you said on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Today you praise God (or whoever, whatever) for the wonderfulness of your life, friends, family, marriage, job, shrink, unemployment benefits and social security checks. And food stamps. You can get back to sniveling next week. Today, you are full of joie de vive and want everyone to be jealous of your extraordinary life.

Freak-out Friday – Whatever your mental illness, this is the day to discuss how crazy you are. The bizarre shit you do that you would never tell your closest friend, but given the anonymity of the Internet, you can tell everyone in the electronic universe everything and it won’t come back to haunt you. You can be as weird as you want. I will understand.

After the bragging you did yesterday about your terrific life — you made me feel like crap, but that’s what you had in mind, right? — today you can tell me what a load of garbage it was. Because really, you’re a sociopath, narcissist and maybe a serial killer.

Whatever secrets you’ve been hiding, this is your day to let it all hang out.


I’ll leave weekends unstructured because frankly, I’m exhausted from the last five days. Aren’t you?