Politically correct. What outrage that term produces! How dare anyone tell me how to behave, how to speak? I can say anything I want. I mean … look at our president!
Yeah. Look at our president. Take a good look.
To be politically correct means to tread carefully on other people’s feelings and sensibilities. I’m for that.
Around here, “P.C,” means you can’t go around spewing racist epithets thinly disguised as humor or these days, as pure hatred. PC is designed for all the morons, bigots, racists and the socially challenged. It is a simple rule: “DON’T SAY THAT,” works much better than sensitivity training.
So many amongst us have no sensitivity to train.
Even if the morons who insist they don’t mean it — in which case why are they saying it? — I feel any rule or law that protects me from having to listen to hate is political capital well spent.
I would not call it political correctness.
I would call it civility.
If anyone feels that not calling other people insulting names is cramping their style, these are the exact people for whom these rules were intended. These are precisely the folks who most need them. Normal people have enough intelligence and good manners to know when to shut up without being told. They don’t need those rules. They already “get it.”
For everyone else, we have rules. Call it whatever you want. PC, good manners, civility, sensitivity, or politeness. It’s the same thing.
When we are amongst friends and we know each other well, we relax, let out guards down. Especially when we are a minority among others like us with similar culture and history, it’s all good. We are family, we act silly like family. But if you are not one of us, leave your mouth outside. I don’t need to be insulted. I don’t want to be made to feel uncomfortable or unsafe.
Many people still think racism is sort of cute. I think they should be eliminated from the gene pool.
Notre Dame de Paris. The three images of the Cathedral are photographs of postcards in my Parisian diaries.
The white dome of the Sacré-Cœur, floating like some fairy tale castle against the blackness was my very first glimpse of Paris. It was a school trip, we were no more than children… and I fell in love with the city there and then. My eyes filled with tears, my heart with memories and emotions that should not have been mine, I felt that I had come home.
We stayed at the Lycée Henri-IV, just behind the Pantheon. Sneaking out, illicitly, before breakfast, very early next morning, I found myself wandering down the Rue Mouffetard. A tramp was curled around his wine bottle in a doorway. Market stalls were being set up. Everything smelled of coffee and new bread… and I determined that one day, when I was old enough, I would…
There is no doubt in my cluttered mind that 1969 was the most memorable year of my life. None. Of all of the events that have happened through the years, I can not say that any other years stands out like this one.
When you are a Senior in high school and people tell you to enjoy it because these late high school, early college (if you go to college) years are the best years of your life, it is hard for you to believe.
Surely better times will come along, you think. You cling to that belief for many years. Then you realize something.
The years around your high school graduation may, in fact, have been the best years of your life. They are the touchstone. They are the yardstick by which all future events are measured. They contain the moments you treasure, and they are locked away in your memory vault for all time. They are the springboard that launched you into adulthood.
My first high school closed and I went to another for one year. Our class play is the extracurricular activity that introduced me to many of my classmates. Most seniors joined the spring musical which was South Pacific. It was a great experience as a large cast worked together at a common goal. It turned out well.
Meanwhile, a series of astounding events filled the spring and summer of ’69. In April the convicted assassin of Senator Robert Kennedy, Sirhan Sirhan, was sentenced to the death penalty in California, but the state would eliminate the death penalty and he would never be executed. He is still incarcerated and is now 75 years old.
In May Apollo 10 took off for the moon. It was just a dress rehearsal for Apollo 11. On July 20th the world watched in wonder as Neil Armstrong stepped onto the surface of the moon. President Kennedy had promised the nation in May of 1961 we could accomplish this by the end of the 1960s, although he did not live to see it himself.
Also in May, The Who introduced their”rock opera,” Tommy. It was an album of rock songs that told the story of that “deaf, dumb. and blind kid” who “plays a mean pinball.” The “Pinball Wizard” may not have been the first rock opera, but it was the first album to call itself that. Others have followed to varying degrees of success.
The Beatles were still hitting the top of the charts. In May “Get Back” would reach number one. The song would later turn up on the “Let It Be” album. Who knew we were nearing the end of an era that in many ways never ended? In September The Beatles released Abbey Road.
In ’69 I went to the movies a little more often than I do now. Midnight Cowboy came out in May and I recall seeing it in the theater. It was likely then that I first took notice of the Harry Nilsson song, “Everybody’s Talkin’.” It became a favorite. After the movie came out, the song received a lot of radio play.
In June the Stonewall riots took place outside a Greenwich Village, New York City gay bar. A confrontation between police and activists turned ugly over a few days period. Many say it led to the modern gay rights movements. The following year the first gay pride parades were held in several cities, including Chicago. I can not say that I was aware of any of this at the time. However, Stonewall marked an important moment in LGBT history in this country.
On two days in August, The Charles Manson “Family” killed 8 people in murders that would shock the nation. The gruesome details that came out over time were almost too horrifying to be believed. Manson was sentenced to death for his role in the killings, but, like Sirhan Sirhan, his sentence was changed to life in prison when California did away with the death penalty. Manson died in prison in 2017 at the age of 83.
By the time we got to Woodstock We were half a million strong And everywhere there was song and celebration
In August it may not have been a half million people who went down to Max Yasgur’s dairy farm 43 miles from Woodstock, New York, but the crowd was certainly in the hundreds of thousands for the “3 days of peace and music.” Perhaps a half million said they were there. Over the festival, 32 acts performed, sometimes in the rain, while organizers proved rather unprepared for the massive event.
I can not say I knew much about Woodstock in 1969. The film, the music and the many videos that have turned up taught us about the event. It meant little to some of us back home in the Midwest at the time it was happening. The 1970 documentary of the festival won an Academy Award. Joni Mitchell wrote a popular song that was a big hit for Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young who played at the festival. Mitchell had turned it down.
The big news in Chicago that summer for baseball fans was the miracle collapse of the Chicago Cubs. On August 14th the Mets were nine games behind the Cubs in the standings and it looked like the long pennant drought for the northsiders was about to end. Then September happened. The Cubs lost 17 of 25 and the Mets got hot. They went on to win the World Series and the Cubs did not make it to the Fall Classic until 2016.
A couple of days ago, I commented, “They say that Boston now has America’s worst traffic.” Personally, I bet New York is much worse, no matter what “they” say.
That got me to thinking about who “they” are?
Is there a special group dedicated to calculating how bad traffic is in every city in the U.S.? How often do they check? Do they check all the inbound road as well as the in-town roads? Do they check every city in every state? What about people who tell us about our manners. Like, “They say it’s okay to not change hands and only American eat that anyway.”
Who are they?
Weddings. “They” say you don’t really need a veil, just the ‘idea’ of a veil. WHO ARE THEY?
They say more American are Democrats than Republicans. If that’s true, how did we elect you-know-who?
Whoever they are, they have a lot to say.
I think when “they” get quoted, we should establish who they are. Are they an official government group? Just a bunch of people who got together and decided to write a blog or a tweet? A bunch of college kids? Or maybe — third graders?
MAN SMART, WOMEN SMARTER
I say let us put man and a woman together
To find out which one is smarter.
Some say man but I say no.
The woman got the man de day should know.
Chorus: And not me but the people they say That de man are leading de women astray But I say, that the women of today Smarter than the man in every way
That’s right de woman is, uh, smarter That’s right de woman is, uh, smarter That’s right de woman is, uh, smarter, that’s right, that’s right!
Ever since the world began
Woman was always teaching man.
And I tell you, listen to my bid attentively
I goin’ tell you how she smarter than me.
Samson was the strongest man long ago
No one could beat him, as we all know
Until he clash with Deliah on top of the bed
She told them all the strength was in the hair of his head.
You meet a girl at a pretty dance
Thinking that you would stand a chance.
Take her home, thinking she’s alone
Open de door you find her husband home.
I was treating a girl independently
She was making baby for me
When de baby born and I went to see
Eyes was blue — it was not by me.
Garden of Eden was very nice
Adam never work in Paradise.
Eve meet snake, Paradise gone
She make Adam work from that day on.
Methuselah spent all his life in tears
Lived without a woman for 900 years.
One day he decided to have some fun
The poor man never lived to see 900 and one.
Frankfurt , Germany, or Frankfurt am Main (Frank ford at the Main), is the fifth largest city, but home to the busiest airport in the country. This is not only because it is home to Lufthansa airline, but also because many other airlines have major presence there. Almost 65 million passengers pass through the airport each year, making it the busiest airport in Germany and the fourth busiest in Europe.
There are many direct flights to Frankfurt from major US cities, so finding a flight at good price and transit time is possible through most of the year. If you are visiting Germany or a neighboring country, you will want to consider this airport. Bus and train travel around the region is quick and economical.
In the past when we have headed to Strasbourg, France, we have used the Frankfurt airport for its proximity to our destination. Only once did we stay overnight near the airport with a brief stop in the city. We had considered the city to be just a financial center, which it is, and an industrial center. This time we stayed longer to explore the city.
I chose an airport hotel because we could easily take the shuttle back to the airport where you can catch the train into the city. Looking back on this choice, however, you can pick a spot in the city for the very same reason. Transportation by train to the airport is simple because of the major train station right across from the airline terminals. If we would do it again, I would try to stay near Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof station.
The main station in the city is a mix of old world charm and modern efficiency. Upgrades to the rail system in recent years have upset the reputation of the German railroads always being on time, or “you can set your watch by them,” but they are still reliable and we encountered no delays.
You can stop at McDonald’s in the train station if you like, but we did not come all the way to Germany to eat in an American fast food restaurant. Our motto for travel has been “eat local, drink local” so of course that is what we did.
My travel companion on this trip, who is always hungry, needed a food stop when we arrived in the city. We chose a restaurant right alongside the station for convenience. We ordered Wiener Schnitzel. My friend is from Colombia so he has never eaten food like this. He found it goes well with the local beverage.
Fortunately, the old world train station survives and is a good spot for pictures before you head off on your exploration of the city. Plenty of tourists were busy taking pictures of the station and surrounding areas. I took a picture of my friend getting a picture of himself. “Selfies” are popular at all the tourist stops.
Frankfurt is a unique blend of old and new. I suppose that World War II is partly a reason for that. Some areas of the city were heavily damaged. Somethings were restored, other areas were rebuilt. This allowed for modernization and planning that would improve the quality of life for residents and eventually tourists.
There are many good shopping districts and we made our way to one of them to see what bargains we could find. The outdoor malls our popular and we picked up some items I probably did not need.
We also stopped by the Alte Oper (Old opera) to see the lovely old building. It was heavily damaged in the war and carefully rebuilt through the 1970’s. It opened again in 1981 as a concert hall. The opera was already in a new building nearby.
The large plaza in front and along side is a nice stop for locals and tourists. We took the necessary pictures before stopping inside.
Following our walk around the Opernplatz, my hungry friend needed food so we made our way to the cafe inside the opera house. It was ornate as expected. Aside from the modern elevator in the building, it was hard to determine which parts were damaged and restored and which parts of the building were original.
Berlin, Hamburg, Munich and Cologne are all larger and may hold more appeal for various reasons, but Frankfurt has a charm all its own. With the Main River running through it and a large city forest, it is beautiful tourist stop. If your flight takes you to Frankfurt, it would be wise to spend a night or two to see the culture and entertainment offered here.
For more pictures from our Frankfurt Adventure, jump over to Sunday Night Blog, here.
Back in the 1970s, some clown decided that men were overdressed and need stretchy, comfortable clothing. And thus they invented the polyester leisure suit and to his immense embarrassment, Garry had one. I never saw it, but I know he bought it because he said so and what man would lie about a thing like that? He wore it to work, but I never saw it.
Maybe that is just a well.
Except Garry is such a clothes horse, he rarely admits it.
Leisure suits came in slightly stretchy polyester (throw in the wash, hang it and wear it) fabric. Light blue was very popular and some were truly indescribable.
I owned some clothing that was more than a little embarrassing, but I can honestly say I didn’t buy it. My mother made it for me. It was exceptionally well-made clothing, elegant clothing, but when I wore it I looked like I came from another planet. It didn’t improve my fragile popularity in high school, though it had a certain something by the time I got into college.
I never owned a leisure suit because, for me, a leisure suit means a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. That’s what I’m wearing now. It’s what I wear. Most importantly, it’s virtually immune to dog hair.
You could see where the temple had been. The ground was slightly raised forming what appeared to be a circle. If you looked carefully, you could see the tip of a pillar poking out of the ground. Not full evidence of what lay beneath the ground, but certainly some strong hints.
Every time I pass that place along that old road, I wondered what lay beneath the soil.
Then, one summer, a group descended on the area and began to very carefully dig. They found the pillars of a church, but when they dug further, they discovered the pillars of the church stood on the pillars of a Roman temple. Not merely pillars, but statues and a mosaic floor that was nearly perfect.
There was more.
The deeper they dug, the more they found. The Roman temple rested on pillars of something so ancient, no one was quite sure what it was and below that, what appeared to be tombs, possibly neolithic.
The ground was clearly regarded as sacred to every people who had lived here. Now, of course, it was an archaeological park with a small fee required to enter the area.
It was seeing history reveal itself in layers, and as each layer was lifted, it was taken to a museum. When finally, the reached bedrock, they brought back a couple of pillars and a covering so that this special, sacred space, could be remembered.
What memories were part of the ground, the air, the stones? Why this spot? Many guesses, but no answers. The ones who knew were long-buried.
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