tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70068872224639377722023-11-15T08:07:18.604-08:00the Angry Old ManThe old man's view of the world and other thingsThe Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-12111330032089838842013-01-26T19:20:00.004-08:002013-01-26T19:20:34.650-08:00Going Out in a Rented Coffin ... a poem<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I were a poet, this
is what I’d write as a way to explain my exit....</span></i></div>
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<span lang="en-AU">This
was drafted after investigating the business of cremation. Apparently
part of the usual practice is for the funeral/cremation service to
include a dressy, temporary coffin. No reason to purchase such an
item only to then supply the heat. Typically, one merely 'rents' the
coffin, which, following any memorial service, is set aside for the
next 'guest'. With that in mind, this bit of doggerel was created. </span>
</div>
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<span lang="en-AU"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">(this is not a true statement ... there are laws in place limiting any coffin or casket to being used once and one time only. However that fact doesn't fit my idea of 'going out in a rented coffin.' So, understand, like so much of my scribbling, I'm just having fun here.)</span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="en-AU"><i>(Key:
</i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i><u>McGuffi</u></i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>n </i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>⃰ </i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>
</i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>⃰ </i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>:
an event in a film that drives the plot (coined by Alfred Hitchcock)</i></span></div>
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<span lang="en-AU"><i><u>Tiffin</u> </i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>⃰ </i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>:
(in India) a light meal</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Now,
on with the show!</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-AU"><i><b>G</b></i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: MV Boli;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="en-AU"><b>oing
out in a rented coffin...</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Some
say death is just another part of living, a part of nature,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Others
are sure it’s a necessary step toward heaven.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">I’ve
long thought it was likely to be the fires of Hell in my future.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">And
now I’m headed into the fiery blaze in a rented coffin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">They
tried to sell me on the solid wood, silver handled box</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">All I
wanted was to make the trip without puffin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Not
dressed in a suit and tie, shoes not needed, not even sox.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Just
lay me out, comb my beard, looking good in a rented coffin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">A
wonderful life does come to an end, no complaints, oh, my friends</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;"><span lang="en-AU">The
years went by, not staying too tight to the McGuffin </span></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>⃰ </i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i> </i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>⃰ </i></span><span style="font-family: 'MV Boli';">,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">I did
things happily, knowing it all, sooner or later, would come to an
end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Keeping
it simple, no fuss and no stress, going out in a rented coffin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">The
bestest part, of all those years, that which made me oh, so proud,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Was,
my daughter, so grown up after the good years as an elfin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">The
family she brought, Peter and Becky so cute; Ryan at times, loud,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Now
all gathered round, to see me go out, there in my rented coffin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">T’was
a good life, no question about that, wouldn’t change a thing,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;"><span lang="en-AU">Lots
of good times, many a good meal, even when it was but a tiffin </span></span><span lang="en-AU"><i>⃰ </i></span><span lang="en-AU"><i> </i></span><span style="font-family: 'MV Boli';">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Looking
back, remembering with a smile, makes me want to sing,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">But
no, that joy is no longer mine, not now, not in my rented coffin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">So
take the ashes, once the fire is done</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Down
to the water, spread me out, and be laughin’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">Know
it was a full life, full of love and fun.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: MV Boli;">I
made my escape just as I wanted, there in my rented coffin.</span></div>
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<i>--------------</i></div>
The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-76054694185090621522012-09-03T19:51:00.001-07:002012-09-03T19:51:38.578-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">It's been a while since I visited this blog ... but that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about a few things. Take for instance, flies...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></span></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive; font-size: large;"><i><b>Do
you think a housefly </b></i></span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive; font-size: large;"><i><b>can have a personality?</b></i></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">I
was just wondering, do you think a housefly can have a personality?
Is that at least likely? </span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">Well,
I can almost hear you chuckling and asking what I’ve been drinking,
but think about it. Let me explain. There I was, standing at the
kitchen sink washing up the breakfast dishes, my hands in water that
was a tad bit too hot to be comfortable, when the carrying on of a
couple flies caught my attention.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span lang="en-AU">My
view</span> <span lang="en-AU">when standing at the sink is of the
back paddock. Back in the old country we’d call it a pasture but
down here it’s called a paddock. I don’t know why. The ewe owned
by my next door neighbours, Robert and Megan, lambed a while back and
the little woolly fur ball wasn’t giving up on suckling. Robert
said it would naturally, as the mama sheep’s milk dried up. Well
that didn’t happen. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span lang="en-AU">Megan
had named the lamb, calling it Molly, I think, and Molly couldn’t
get enough of Mama’s milk. Poor old Mama didn’t seem to care but
as Molly grew it got too big to fit under Mama to get at the teat.
Soon the knees of Molly’s front legs showed signs of wear as the
little idiot would kneel to get under Mama’s udder. Something had
to be done to help with the weaning. That’s where my back paddock
came into play.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">Robert
asked if he fenced off a section of that area he could put Molly back
there, separating the getting-bigger every day beast from Mama Sheep.
That sounded good to me. Molly could eat down the grass, saving me
from having to run the mower over it so often. So one fine morning it
was done. And the separation lasted about three hours.</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">It
was the bleating going on by both Mama and Molly that got to Megan. I
ignored it thinking that sooner or later they’d both get over it
and that would be it. Well, Megan said something to Robert and an
opening was cut in the wire fence between the two pastures. Uh,
paddocks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span lang="en-AU">Even
that was alright as far as I was concerned. Whenever I was standing
at the sink doing up the dishes I could watch mother and child as
they chewed up the grass. They didn’t bother the chickens and it
gave me some entertainment while having my hands in water that was
too hot. A bad habit of mine, using water that is just off the boil.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">Watching
the sheeps and the chickens I discovered that both had their own
personality. I had noticed early on that the hens each went about
doing their scratching and pecking in their own way. The white hen
would scratch here and there a while, then run like mad over to
another spot to take it up again. One of the brownies didn’t pay
much attention but the light brown one would be right behind the
white one. Silly birds.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span lang="en-AU">The
sheep was Robert’s part of the deal, he had butchering plans for
Molly. Megan, on the other hand took care of the chickens and turkeys
that were being raised on their property. My hens were a gift from
Megan. It was the brown one that attracted one of Megan’s roosters.
For a few days the long-tailed crowing bird would hang around
Brownie. I only saw him mount the hen once and then it happened so
fast I almost missed it. Brownie didn’t pay any attention. Not
really. Just waited out the five second attack on her virtue and then
went back to scratching and pecking. Being a male he just puffed up
his chest and crowed, letting the world know how great he was. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">For
the next week or so the rooster stayed close to his lady love, kind
of overly protective. The other hens didn’t pay any attention to
him nor did he to them. Then one day he didn’t show up and I heard
him over across the way crowing his head off.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">Probably back servicing his harem
over there.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">Now
I’m explaining all this to show why I think it is possible that
even a common fly could have a personality. If sheep can, as dumb as
they are, and chickens do, why not flies?</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-AU" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;">Doing
the dishes and watching two of these beasties flit around, buzzing
and going from one side of the window to the other, I noticed a
difference in them. Now these aren’t really your common housefly.
Nope. We’re in farm country. These are the big, black and dark
green monster flies. The kind you’d find around cows and sheeps and
other farm animals. But they didn’t do their buzzing the same way.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span lang="en-AU">One
was staying higher, flying first to one glass pane then walking along
the </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: #ffffff;">mullions
like it was a sidewalk. The other bugger was working an area lower
down. At first I thought they might be territorial but then, thinking
about it as I rinsed the soap off the plates, it dawned on me; one
had been in the house longer than the other. The newbie fly was still
stronger and could maintain the height while the other fly was
getting tired; he spent more time walking than flying.</span></span></span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span style="background: #ffffff;">It
wouldn’t be long, I knew, before they both turned up dead. Flies
don’t last long inside and finding little black cadavers lying
around was a typical spring occurrence. Too bad but the buzzing does
get bothersome.</span></span></span></div>
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<br />
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS, cursive;"><span style="background: #ffffff;">So
I guess that’s the answer to my question. Flies may have individual
personalities but they don’t live long enough inside for anyone but
another fly to notice. Now that spider over there, working on
building a web in hopes of catching a flying dinner, he looks like he
plans on being around a bit. Maybe he has some personal traits I can
observe while doing the supper dishes.</span></span></span></div>
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<br />
</div>
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</div>
The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-90821418192269744532011-07-10T21:18:00.000-07:002011-07-10T21:20:41.664-07:00The Myth of Love for Older Folks.....This can't be the end of it ... can it?<br /><br />I am a man lucky enough to have reached 70 years. Now we don’t like to hear the complaints that someone, especially a man, can find to talk about so I limit myself to only one complaint per day. The following is today’s effort. <br /><br />The subject is sex for men who have reached their seventh decade. The complaint focuses on the apparent fact that it just doesn’t happen, at least not often enough. I am beginning to believe this is part of a world-wide conspiracy. It is accepted as fact and I’m certain that fact is based on a myth.<br /><br />The myth is that love among older people is wise, mature, asexual — that all the wild oats of youth eventually get boiled down into some bland porridge called “companionship’’. This, I firmly believe, is the epitome of idiocy. People at any age, from very young to very old are capable of love. Of course it seems to happen that these affairs of the heart for the very young and very old often have a shorter lifespan than for those pesky middle years when binding commitments so easily occur. <br /><br />Let me set the stage: reaching the grand old age of 70, a man enters into a world of limitations. He may be hale and hearty, healthy and vigorous, fit and full of fun, but he is finished. He might as well have his age branded on his forehead in burning numbers – he has passed his use by date.<br /><br />I doubt that I’m alone with finding fault with this but nobody wants to hear a man complain so nothing is said. This is my turn to complain, though, so listen up.<br /><br />For some time, and I can only speak for myself, I’ve noticed a particular form of discrimination. You can check this out for yourself by simply taking a look through the pages and pages of women seeking men on any of the popular internet dating sites. The list of available women thins out when getting close to my age group. Women about 65 and up have given up the search. They seem to have closed the doors and their minds on anything other than gardening or knitting. Is it any wonder that older men lust after younger women? Do you notice how, if an older man has an attractive, lusty, lovable woman on his arm she is of another nationality? Women from Bangkok, Bali or the Philippines don’t seem to have anti-old feelings.<br /><br />You want more proof? This information comes in a study where the sexual habits and desires of people in the 75 to 85 age group were questioned. The result that I found interesting was that only 17% of those women interviewed considered themselves to be sexually active or wanting to be sexually active. With men in that group, 40% were or had the desire to be. That imbalance, in my view, doesn’t bode well for the more mature male.<br /><br />Another study talked about the suspected increase of MSM relationships. MSM is in the popular vernacular simply men who have sex with males but do not regard themselves as gay. <br /><br />A New York City survey that appeared in the September 19, 2006, issue of the Annals of Internal Medicine reported growing evidence that many men who have sex with men aren’t all gay or bisexual. A more recent study conducted by the US Centers for Disease Control upheld this assertion. In both cases the comment was made that such activity was more common in older men, those in the 70 to 80 age group. <br /><br />So where does that leave us ‘oldies’? Without. Women I might want to get to know are over it, don’t want it or simply put, can’t be bothered. I look around the tennis court at my male competitors and I can see why. However when Mother Nature created all the parts that go into what makes up a man and woman, she was definitely on the female side of things; she overlooked including the same “I’m over it now” switch in men that was supplied to women. <br /><br />If the ratio is 40% to 17% against me now, what the hell have I got to look forward to when I get into the next age group? <br /><br />Here, Fido, come here, boy.The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-81169207936708179172011-07-10T21:14:00.000-07:002011-07-10T21:16:12.201-07:00My new hero ...I have a new hero ... Sir Terry Prachett. <br /><br />Sir Terry is a gray-bearded elderly man with a soft British accent who is a very successful author of science fiction/fantasy. The reason this man has become my leader is his calling for euthanasia tribunals to give sufferers from incurable diseases the right to medical help to end their lives. Sir Terry is suffering the early stages of Alzheimer's disease.<br /><br />In a recent interview Sir Terry made a number of statements I appreciated. For one, he blames today’s accepted vision of death and the treatment of palliative care on what he labels “curdled Christianity”. It is the belief that a person’s life is sacrosanct and only God should be the final arbitrator of when it ends is, in his words, inhuman. Especially, he points out, when one is suffering an incurable diseased, pain-filled life. That, he says is the fullness of inhumanity.<br /><br />Of his own Alzheimer’s, he is quoted as saying, "It is not nice and I do not wish to be there for the endgame." Sir Terry is a patron of the UK’s Alzheimer's Research Trust, and has donated £500,000 of his own money for research.<br /><br />Another quote from the interview I watched on ABC1 (that’s Australia’s ABC, not the one in the US) explained: "I don't think people are particularly bothered about death, it's the life before death that worries us. <br /><br />The fear that euthanasia would open the door for someone from the younger generation hurrying an elderly relative’s death for personal gain is, Sir Terry says, is bunk. He said there was no evidence from countries where assisted dying is allowed of granny being coerced into dying so relatives could get their hands on her money.<br />It is a matter of personal choice, he stated. "Choice is very important in this matter. But there will be some probably older, probably wiser GPs, who will understand. The tribunal would be acting for the good of society as well as that of the applicant – and ensure they are of sound and informed mind, firm in their purpose, suffering from a life-threatening and incurable disease and not under the influence of a third party.<br /><br />One aspect of allowing such an act would, he believes, open the door for the person to put off taking the final action. When the decision is theirs it is likely to be delayed. “Ah, yes today would be a good day to die,” he visualizes someone saying, “except it’s also a good day to visit with my friends so I’ll do it tomorrow.”<br />It gives a person a different set of values when he or she has that choice. "If I knew that I could die, I would live. My life, my death, my choice."<br /><br />Euthanasia isn’t the only topic for which Sir Terry is known to hold strong opinions on that find agreement with me; there is also religion. I won’t go into it here, but will simply add a youtube conversation with Sir Terry which I applaud.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/belief/video/2009/dec/19/terry-pratchett-religion">www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/belief/video/2009/dehttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifc/19/terry-pratchett-religion<br /></a><br />Sit through this mini-lecture and get a feel for this man’s thinking and he just might become your hero too.<br /><br />Now I’ve got a lawn that needs mowing. Who in hell ever decided it was cool to grow grass for no other reason than to have something to mow?The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-33372527698719521692011-07-10T21:12:00.000-07:002011-07-10T21:13:37.990-07:00There’s no such thing as freedomFirst thing to remember is I was born, raised and educated in the United States. Up there in the left hand corner, in Oregon. A smallish town of about 8,000 when I was growing up named Grants Pass. Look it up on Google Earth if you want. I can’t tell you how this community came by its name. The only Grant I ever heard of was Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, Civil War hero and one time president. Historically speaking, he never passed through that little valley. Guess it doesn’t matter. But this really has nothing to do with this grumble other than the fact that I was brought up to think in a certain way. North Americans do, you know. <br /><br />People outside the US shouldn’t hold that against them but they do, and it’s understandable. Norte Americanos don’t have a clue. Anyone of them who have never travelled outside the boundaries believes they live in the center of the universe. Actually they think they ARE the universe ... every other place is there to serve them, make their shoes, cars, shirts and kung fu movies. Oh, and pick the beans and peaches out in the fields. Mustn’t forget that.<br /><br />It’s interesting to hear Australians who have travelled to the US talk about Yanks. Why, I’m asked quite frequently, don’t Americans understand the rest of the world? Of course this question only comes up after the Aussie asking it finds out I too am an Australian. Dual citizenship, you know. Other than giving me the right (duty?) to vote in both countries, it gives me the insight on how those crazy Americans think. Yeah, right.<br /><br />Australians travel, that’s a fact. Probably not as much as in other places but on a per capital basis a helluva lot more than folks living in the US. That’s a big part of the reason Yanks have such a myopic view of the world. If it doesn’t happen in the US it isn’t important. I believe that type of thinking, just like the North Americans view on gun control, begins at birth. Nowhere else in this world do people love their guns as much. Well, you might want to argue that people living in places like Afghanistan or Columbia are as gun happy but I don’t think the common man on the street in either is likely to be packing a S&W .38 in a hip pocket. The drug lords or insurgents in those countries might, but not Joe or Josephine Q. Public.<br />Another thing that is totally different for people growing up in the US is their belief in freedom. That’s what I’m talking about today. Freedom.<br /><br />What do you think it is? What comes to mind when you say or hear the word? Well, since moving to Tasmania I’ve come to realize it ain’t what I thought it was. <br />One of the reasons I gave when someone asked why I’d want to leave the subtropics for the colder climate of Tassie was the trout fishing. The world class trout streams and rivers down here on the Emerald Island. Another reason is fewer people. Queensland, unless you’re living somewhere out in the bush, is filling up. Folks are all the time moving north from Melbourne and Sydney to get away from crowds and cold. That means that the best living areas along the Sunshine Coast is changing. Prices going up, housing difficult to find, and what there is becomes more and more expensive. But one of the main reasons I’d be quick to explain for my relocating is freedom. <br /><br />Why do you live where you do? Because of family? Employment? Thinking back over my life I realized every move I ever made was for one or the other of these reasons. Don’t get me wrong, that isn’t all bad. Just once, though, I wanted to go live where I wanted to live. I wanted the freedom to choose exactly where. So it was off to Tasmania. <br /><br />It only took a week or two before I made my discovery about how erroneous my vision of freedom really is. I had given it a lot of thought on what exactly I was looking for. My list wasn’t long, a two or three bedroom house in a small community, somewhat close to amenities such as a super market, library, good internet access and most importantly, a tennis club. Oh, and within an hours’ drive or so to the Mersy River. A fly fisherman’s dream. Okay, go back to that Google map and check it out; there are dozens, maybe even a dozen dozen smallish communities that fit that list. So which one?<br /><br />Well, having the freedom to choose, I took a road trip. Town after town I drove into, looked over, checked out and in a number of them even stayed the night. Town after town, village after village, I somehow wasn’t satisfied. Some were old and looked older, others old and proud, and still others ... well, not one of them made me feel at home.<br /><br />So where am I going with this you ask? The thing we all forget, that is those of us who always felt that “freedom” meant being able to do what you want with no boundaries as long as it doesn’t adversely impact anyone else, is that there is no such thing. The lesson I’m learning is that all those times I moved for other reasons, other than simply saying I want to choose, is that one needs limitations. One needs to have more than “just because I want to”.<br /><br />Yes, within the criteria I laid out I could live in almost any place I want. BUT without a better reason none of those places appeal to me. Or to put it another way, anyone of them would make me happy after I’ve lived there a while. Think about it. Every time I moved to a new town for a new job, or moved to a new country to be close to my daughter and her family, I was neither uncomfortable nor comfortable with the area. It just didn’t matter. Plus once I was there and settled the place became ‘home’.<br /><br />There you have it ... my frustration on learning there is no such thing as absolute freedom, not of choice nor do I expect of much else. A decision is always easier made if the choices are limited.<br /><br />I think I’ll move once every six months for the rest of my life and not worry about making a decision. Now that would be a different color of freedom, wouldn’t it?The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-862737082884273222011-07-10T21:10:00.000-07:002011-07-10T21:11:21.297-07:00The War on Drugs is a Bust!It is official after 40 Years: <br />War on Drugs is a Bust!<br /><br />Let me begin by reminding everyone that while I am a resident of Australia I continue to hold US citizenship and have great interest in what happens up in “my “old country.” That being said, maybe it can be understood why the the anniversary to this foolishness caught my attention.<br /><br />Forty years ago, President Richard Nixon declared drug abuse the No. 1 enemy of the United States and launched the war on drugs. As the 40th anniversary is here one thing is clear and even blue-ribbon groups are conceding what the street already knows: the War on Drugs is a Bust!<br /><br />Last week, the Report of the Global Commission on Drug Policy, a 19-member commission that included Kofi Annan, a former U.N. secretary general; George Shultz, President Ronald Reagan's secretary of state; and Paul Volcker, a former chairman of the Federal Reserve, declared that: "The global war on drugs has failed, with devastating consequences for individuals and societies around the world. Fifty years after the initiation of the U.N. Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs, and 40 years after President Nixon launched the U.S. government's war on drugs; fundamental reforms in national and global drug control policies are urgently needed." <br />The White House immediately shot back: no dice. <br /><br />Let’s take a moment to think rationally about this.<br /><br />Prohibition didn't work before and it's not working now. We obviously have not learned anything from history. Alcohol took less than 20. As long as there is a demand there will be a supply. Business 101.<br /><br />The US is in a unique position in the world. Stop engaging in overseas wars, and end the war on drugs, and your economy will once again skyrocket to the top of the pack. No more deficits, federal or state. More people productive in the work force instead of languishing in prison. Less social cost. Less money going to make things that blow up overseas, and more available for improving education and health. A lot of countries have systemic problems that can't be overcome with a simple change of a law, and a simple 'okay, bring the troops home'. Your country has everything an economy needs, resources, oil, an educated workforce, a good mix of ages, a good mix of ethnicities, a relatively uncorrupt system, and so on. Eventually enough people will get the message, and the war on drugs will end. So many lives lost though in the meantime.<br /><br />In the US the "War on Drugs" has become a massive business and as such ending it is no longer a social issue. It, like most things in the US, comes down to money and the people raking in the money do not want it to end. Stop and consider how many DEA, ICE, local cops, parole/probation officers as well as the entire prison complex depend upon this so called war to keep them employed. Consider the explosion of private prisons in the US. These folks do NOT want to see the gravy train come to an end. <br /><br />Forty years! Two generations as we used to count it. The chances this program will meet the death it deserves are just as great as a paper shirt in a bear fight. <br /> <br />How much wiser to abandon the "war" on marijuana, legalize it, and tax it. How much tax money would that bring in? As to the other drugs, under Obamacare those using them could be forced to add a rider to their insurance to cover the cost of treatment, should they seek it. That way they wouldn't be a burden on the taxpayers beyond the supplement they'd no doubt get for premiums they otherwise couldn't afford. <br />Since under Obamacare an insurance company cannot deny a policy for a pre-existing condition, this appears to be a possible answer to the "war" issue. <br /><br />What are the chances that someone in a leadership role will step up to the plate and say enough is enough? Slim. It doesn’t take a genius to count the number of members of Congress that have the back bone to stand up and say the war on drugs is a complete failure. Most remain out of fear of being labeled "soft on crime" even though they know with a total certainty the entire thing is a massive failure. <br /><br />But possibly the people themselves will make the war reach a logical conclusion. Recently the governor of the state of Connecticut presented a bill to that state’s legislature that would legalize the medical use of marijuana. If adopted Connecticut would join the other 16 legal medical marijuana states. At the present time nine more states have legalization pending for this. With a total of 26 states making it legal, can the federal government be far behind? <br /><br />Now let me bring this home to Australia; specifically to Tasmania. Field trials are being conducted here as well as in South Australia, and a two-year study is under way at the University of Tasmania to see whether low-THC hemp cultivation would be viable under local conditions. Two major paper companies are conducting their own laboratory pulping trials using materials from the experimental fields with a view to utilizing hemp as a strengthening supplement to wood and straw based paper. <br /><br />Of course the both state and country officials are adamantly opposed to this, a fact that I personally find humorous. Think about Tasmania where one of the largest agricultural crops produces opium alkaloids for the pharmaceutical market. Yes, tens of thousands of hectares are planted each year in poppies. Did you know that Tasmania produces about 50% of the world’s concentrated poppy straw (CPS) for morphine? It provides 40% of the US market's legal opiate supply in the form of codeine, thebaine and other variants. Other pharmaceutical chemicals are derived and sent to other countries like United Kingdom. And this has been going on since the 1960s.<br /><br />But to make it legal to grow non-THC hemp, the source of more than 5,000 products is, thanks to the American’s war on drugs, forbidden. <br /><br />Possibly this is a topic for another day. But I have to ask, isn’t it about time that the war on drugs is declared over?The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-1375559257470344922011-07-10T21:08:00.001-07:002011-07-10T21:08:48.391-07:00Some thoughts and memories of deathI’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. Not as a morbid thing to ponder, just as a fact of life. <br /><br />It all started running through my mind, I suppose, right after Oscar died. He is, or was, my next door neighbour. A likeable man, he died just a few months shy of his 90th birthday. Just as everyone who has lived that long, he had a lifetime of stories that might have been just life to him but are unique to the rest of us. For example, he had flown Spitfires in WWII and was quite proud of it. Not that he’d merely flown the airplane but that he’d done it and lived. Thousands of Spitfire pilots didn’t. For you flatlanders, that airplane and the pilots were what saved the British in WWII. An interesting man who, like so many that fought on the winning side during those war years, talked as if that period was the fulcrum of their lives. I guess maybe it was.<br /><br />Each morning at 8 sharp he’d come out the front door, get into his two-year old Honda and drive off returning either an hour or an hour and a half later. The hour trips were spent having breakfast with his daughter and son-in-law on the other side of town, the longer absences could be accounted for by the one or two grocery bags he’d take out of the back of the Honda when he got home. That was what got my attention, the morning I didn’t hear him drive off.<br /><br />Oscar wasn’t the first dead man I’d ever found lying peacefully in his bed. The first time was in about 1959 or 60. Maybe 61, I’m not sure. My wife and I had taken an apartment on Van Buren Street in Monterey, California. The apartment was one of two above four garages. The other two garages were for the residents of two small cottages, one on either side of the taller building making it all a U shaped bunch. As I recall, all the structures were in the typical Spanish design. The exterior walls had been stuccoed and looked just like the adobe of early California history. Fronting the high, long pair of apartments over the garages, with the cottages making the short legs of the “U”, was landscaped garden. At least that’s how I remember it. I could be wrong.<br /><br />That was where we lived when our daughter was born. I’d have been about 23 or 24 years old, my wife about two years younger. It’s funny how that works out. There are huge segments of my life that seems in retrospect to be compressed in time. There are a lot of memories I have of the time we lived in Monterey, actually more than could have happened in those few years. That makes me wonder. At the time I was employed briefly as a liquor salesman/truck driver. Each day I’d take the orders for the sales I’d made the day before, go out to the warehouse and load up my truck and make my rounds. The company sold a variety of liquor and beer. The beer was Olympia, a brew from Oregon with the slogan, “It’s the water.” The brewery supposedly used artesian waters which made it special. To my taste I thought the special water only made me want to pee a lot more.<br /><br />The practice for the driver’s was to deliver the couple dozen cases of beer and all the whiskeys, pick up the empty beer bottles and return them to the warehouse. Often when a bottle or two in a case was broken it would damage the case and the store owner or bartender would want it returned. As I lived at the end of my route, often I’d drive my trunk home in the evening and then go over to the warehouse in the morning. This was good because it allowed me to make up full cases of beer from those damaged and leave them in my garage. This wasn’t stealing exactly and as I remember not liking the beer I can’t recall why I did it. But I did.<br /><br />When we moved from Van Buren Street I can remember filling the rental truck with our furniture and all those boxes of stuff we’d accumulated in our young marriage and then looking at all those cases of beer. I was driving a small English car at that time, or maybe it was the Volkswagen, the one with the bullet hole in the door on the driver’s side, I don’t recall. But I do know there wasn’t enough room in the garage for my car. Just stacks of beer cases. The smell of stale beer must have made the air thick. I know I had to park out in the street. <br /><br />Actually the garages opened up on a dead-end street, a block up from Van Buren. Well, moving I knew I couldn’t leave all that beer there. To top it off not only was there no room in the truck but I certainly didn’t want to take it with me. The best thing I could think of was to open up the garage door, invite all the neighbours over for a street party. Things were really starting to get going when I got in the rental truck and drove off. I’ve often wondered how long it took for them to empty the garage. Couldn’t do something like that today, I suppose.<br /><br />But to get back to it ... the couple living in the cottage next to our apartment were old. Remember I was only 23 or so that might be a judgement call. One Sunday morning, as I remember it, I heard the old woman calling me and went out on the porch to see what she wanted. Will you help me a moment? she called up and naturally I went down. It turned out that when she woke up her husband hadn’t and she didn’t know what to do. I didn’t either and for the life of me I can’t remember what I did. But while she made us a cup of coffee, I did whatever it was. I do remember the coffee as being weak.<br /><br />I didn’t get a cup of coffee when I found Oscar dead in his bed. I called his daughter and then the police. All these people came and I went back to my place to make my own coffee.<br /><br />Death is an interesting thing to contemplate. I’m not sure if finding Oscar dead in bed got me thinking or noticing how the skin on the back of my hands had become all crinkly and thin looking or not. It must have happened in the last few weeks because I hadn’t noticed it before. Again it might be that I’ve got another birthday coming and I’m just starting to see things like that. The number keeps growing. <br /><br />Now I’m not worried about my own death, it’ll happen when it happens and I don’t think it’s likely right now. That statement is based on two things; first I found a website that asked a lot of questions and then told me how old I’m liable to be when my body gives it up. The second thing is the ages of my grandfather, my mother and others in my family. My father went at the age of 27, killed in an industrial accident, so that lets him out. I was only two at the time and never knew him. My step-father, a wonderful man who made my mother very happy for a helluva lot of years, was 85 or so when he died, so I threw that into the mix too. Mom was 86 when she died. They had been married about 60 years. Wow!<br /><br />I remember one day she and I were sitting at a picnic table in a park along the river, enjoying the sunshine, sharing a bottle of beer, just visiting. It must have been close to her birthday, I don’t know, but I asked her if she was happy with her life. She thought about it and said yes. All her kids, she pointed out, had turned out good and things were looking alright for their families. Yeah, she said, she was satisfied. There was one thing though, she said would be nice. She would like to live long enough to see the new century come in. I don’t remember what year that was but it must have been in the late 1990s. Mom wanted to see the calendar turn over into the 21st century. Well, she did and about all she ever said about it was that it didn’t seem to matter much. Of course she would also snicker over the foolishness of the so-called Y2K bug. <br /><br />Her father, my maternal grandfather, was in his mid-eighties when he died. My father’s father, another man I never met, reportedly died at about that same age too. <br /><br />So, if the ages of my family members have any bearing on things it fits in with what the internet website result was; I should have another ten years or so to enjoy things. The only downside that I can see is those wrinkles on the backs of my hands. If all that started showing up in just the past few weeks or so, what will the next ten years bring? Guess I’ll have to stick around to find out. I’ll keep you posted.The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-89530969536523543732011-07-10T20:40:00.000-07:002011-07-10T20:43:03.855-07:00Hey, I'm part of the Silent Generation!I come across a couple interesting items recently that kind of explains a lot of things I’ve wondered about. First off, we’re all familiar with the so-called “Boomer” Generation. Those were the people born right after the end of WWII. That was followed by Generation X, according to the media. And then Generation Y, also known as the Millennial Generation, those folks born in the mid-1970s to the early 2000s. <br /><br />Now that’s all well and good, but how about me? Don’t us oldies who had the good luck to be born in the mid- to late-1930s get a title? A name? A designation that tells the world who we are? Well, according to Frank Kaiser we do. We are the <span style="font-style:italic;">Silent Generation</span>. <br /><br />Frank has a website that is “A place for everyone who became a senior before their time”—it is <span style="font-style:italic;">www.forum.suddenlysenior.com/</span> and a good place indeed. In an article I found on that site he explained all about the Silent Generation. <br /><br />Apparently the term was coined in an article in the Nov. 5, 1951 edition of Time Magazine. Sometime later, Frank writes, Life Magazine picked up the idiom and then the president of IBM used it in a speech admonishing the DePauw University graduating class of 1957 to “speak out… take chances.” <br /><br />Well, that wasn’t the way we were brought up.<br /><br />Frank reports that today there are 49 million of us, born too young to have struggled through the Depression or fight in World War II. “Sandwiched,” he says, “as we were between the much larger, but quickly diminishing GI Generation (63 million) and the Boomers (79 million), neither politicians nor advertisers pay much heed to us,” he writes. (if you go to the Suddenly Senior Forum you can probably find the column. There are a lot of good ‘stuff’ to be found on that forum.<br /><br />You have to remember, this was the generation who wouldn’t think of not following the rules. Probably the last group who can say that with any honesty. It just came natural to us. We’d been brought up by parents and teachers who had lived through the Depression. That ugly event formed their lives and that is what they based things on when shaping their children. <br /><br />Part of it was economic fear. The taste of financial hardship still lingered from Dad and Mom’s Depression-era childhoods. The majority of us went directly from school to work, to jobs that gave us such things as annual pay raises, job security and retirement plans. To conform to this meant success.<br /><br />Rebellion was far in the future, but the seeds were being sown. And that is the second part of things I recently concluded; music can be the lubricant for change. The fact is music is the triggers that can make memories come alive. Music is also a good way to mark events.<br /><br />I wasn’t aware of it but thinking back I have to believe for me it started the first time I heard of Elvis Presley. I had joined the US Navy in December 1955 and was at boot camp at the Naval Base, San Diego, California at the time. Someone had a radio on tuned to XERB radio, out of Tijuana, Mexico. This was pure country music, my friends, not the Bing Crosby or Perry Como ballads that I’d grown up with.<br />One of the songs was a bit more than the usual Eddy Arnold or Hank Williams type western singing. A guy in the barracks said something like, “Oh, yeah, I know him. That’s Elvis Presley. I knew him down in Texarkana where I grew up. He was driving a big pink Cadillac the last I heard of him.”<br /><br />Well, as any Elvis fan knows, the King was born and raised in or around Tupelo, Mississippi. He played in Texarkana in about 1953 but he didn’t live there. And the pink Cadillac, shoot, everyone knows he bought a couple of them. The first one was a 1954 model and it caught fire and burned on the road between Hope and Texarkana, Ark. on June 5, 1955. Everyone knows that. <br /><br />When I was home on leave early in 1956 I heard Elvis singing something on the radio and asked my mother what she thought of it. Mom said she’d stay with Frank Sinatra and Nat ‘King’ Cole. Well, I didn’t argue. Old Blue Eyes was good, but Elvis was different.<br /><br />Life for me went along its way; I married and became the father of a beautiful baby girl. Working at my chosen field of endeavor I was happy with the way things were going. At least I thought I was. Looking back, weren’t things a little, mmmm, boring?<br />In her early teen years my daughter was growing into being her own person and I was no longer married. Slowly but surely I was growing too. It was a slow but steady movement away from the safe, silent and boring life that marked what I now know was the bane of the Silent Generation.<br /><br />My awareness of this came clear recently when I recently discovered a mystery novel called White Rabbit. It had been written by David Daniel. Actually I don’t think the novel was all that much, but the word pictures Mr. Daniel draws in the story of the ‘happenings’ in Golden Gate Park are superb. And disturbing.<br /><br />From Lefty Frizzell and Hank Williams to Elvis, popular music had changed and now it was Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead and the Beatle’s. It was about this time that their wonderful album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, came out and got a lot of radio play.<br /><br />Reading Daniel’s book and remembering the music of that era made me wonder, am I the only member of the Silent Generation who feels he has missed out? The music of the late 1960s and early ‘70s filled our house, my teen-aged daughter and her friends saw to that. What that music brought to them, I as a father probably didn’t want to know. But I can recall what happened to me during the days of Eric Clapton and Cream, The Mama’s and the Papas and groups like The Doors and Daltry and The Who. <br />The generation my daughter was part of seemed to be having all the fun. The kind of fun my generation hadn’t been allowed to have. But then, thinking about it further, I have to admit that thought doesn’t hold water. <br /><br />We were the last generation that grew up not worrying about AIDS or getting busted for smoking dope. A few bottles of beer was all it took to make a party when I was a teen-ager. What am I thinking I missed out on? Old Hank Williams made pretty good music and I can remember dancing cheek to cheek to Joni James or Teresa Brewer or some of the big band music; slow and up close, what my mother called, ‘dirty boogie’ dancing.<br /><br />Before rock ‘n roll we had the jitterbug, and yes that dance came out of the generation before us but we enjoyed it too. And that brings me to the answer; we may be of the Silent Generation but we’ve also got a bit of the ‘Boomer’ mindset as well as some of the Gen X attitude. I suppose the dividing line between generations is thin if non-existing, the boundary is self-imposed. In living our life we take and use what makes us happy. It’s only when we need to describe something in the larger sense do we need to put a name to it. Names can be limiting if we let them.<br /><br />Wow, and all this philosophizing because I just learned about what Frank said my label is. Guess I'm not to old to learn new things.The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-37518828629936517652011-03-19T19:16:00.000-07:002011-03-19T19:19:59.713-07:00Once again, I'm moving ... this is the last time, I swear!I’m moving. This time next week I’ll be unpacking, unloading and probably upchucking. Moving, as you know if you’ve done it recently, can be stressful. As many times as I’ve relocated this past couple years you’d think I would be used to it. Think again.<br /><br />As a side note I googled the Holmes and Rahe stress scale, that famous list of “stressful life events that can cause illness”. There are 43 of them on the list to be exact. I figured moving, or “change in residence” as it’s listed, would be up there with the worst of them. Look it up; losing one’s spouse is at the top of the heap, we can all understand that. Retirement isn’t as high up as I figured it should be. Obviously old Holmes and Rahe had yet to retire.<br /><br />Death of a close friend? Yep, it’s pretty high too. Moving is way down toward the bottom … it’s not even as high as “sexual difficulties”. Go figure that one out. At my age I seem to be losing friends at a sickening pace but I’ve almost gotten used to having difficulties with my lack of sex. Again, the list that Holmes and Rahe developed isn’t age specific.<br /><br />There are two such lists you know. One for adults and the other for the so-called non-adults. The juvenile list involves things not on the one for us grown-up people. Things such as “fathering an unwed pregnancy”, “failure of a grade in school” and “becoming a full-fledged member of a church”, important things like that are on the juvie list. Ah, well, I suppose I’m showing my age by not seeing the stress found in going to church. <br /><br />I got kicked out of a church one time. Yep, true story. It happened when I was about 14 or so. There was a girl I liked as only a budding young male can like. Her name, as I remember, was Violet. <br /><br />Violet attended church with her family every Sunday and I thought it would help my love-life to attend too. I sat as close to Violet as I could and I’ll admit it, I paid more attention to her than to anything else. My thought was to become friendly enough with Violet and her folks so when I asked her to go to the movies with me it would be a slam-dunk. After a few Sundays, as I was following Violet and her family out of the church the preacher stopped me and took me aside. Their religion, he explained oh, so seriously, did not hold with going to movies and I had been seen going to the movies last Friday evening. The onus was on me; do I give up movies and remain a loyal church-goer just to get near Violet or give it all up as a bad idea? That, I have to admit, is as close to Violet as I ever got.<br /><br />My family wasn’t very religious but don’t get me wrong, were not anti-church. Actually in hindsight I’d say deep, serious discussions about politics, baseball, God, the weather or sometimes the best bait to use when fishing were that group’s religion. Especially during family gatherings which always involved large quantities of beer and a never-ending pinochle game. Of course I’m using the word religion in its truest sense: “a specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons” according to one of my internet dictionaries.<br />My family didn’t disallow for there being a God, you understand, or, for that matter, I suppose goddesses either. As the pinochle cards were dealt out and bid on, the talk always ranged on a never-ending ever-changing array of topics. My grandfather was good to listen to, he would start arguing one side of a given subject and before you knew it he had worked you around so you were agreeing with him only to realize he had taken the other side. A lovely man.<br /> <br />I wasn’t allowed to play pinochle you understand. It was adult’s only, children had to find their own entertainment. As there were a number of girl cousins I have memories of not having much of a problem with that. But we don’t need to discuss that, do we.<br /><br />Where was I … oh, yeah, the stress of moving house. <br /><br />Part of it comes from having to deal with the telephone people or the electric power company. I called the power company to let them know I was leaving this place and giving them my new address so they could have the meters read and make the switch over. With the telephone this can’t be no more than simply unplugging the link to one phone number and swapping it for a new one, can it? As simple as that. The power company has it tough though. <br /><br />First the previous tenant of my new address has to schedule the meter reading before my request can be accepted. Then, before the change-over can be done, the meter has to be read as the place I’m leaving. The previous tenant, not being able to get into the place they are moving to, were in no hurry to have their electricity turned off and waited until the last moment to make their call. That last moment, wouldn’t you know, was too late in the week for any readers of the meter to make the effort. Plus meters can’t be read on a weekend. Stressful? Naw, just get a box of candles.<br />I’m very happy in finding the place I’ll soon call home. When I relocated to Tasmania, I had no idea where I wanted to end up. (For you Yanks and other flatlanders, Tasmania is one of Australia’s five states. The smallest one, it is an island down at the bottom of the contentment and is known as the state down under the Land DownUnder. Ha ha. I add that because the man I talked to at my US bank when I called to change the address on my account, had no idea where Tasmania is.)<br /><br />Face it, when most moves are made it is because of school or work or to be near family, right? This time I was going where I wanted to go for no reason other than that was where I wanted to live. All that means I had nothing to say this place rather than that place. For the past six months I’ve lived in a small cottage while I searched here and there, high and low, hither and yon for the place I wanted. <br />I knew the cottage wasn’t that place. It’s in amongst a number of similar cottages all owned by or leased to senior citizens. I didn’t know that coming in but it wouldn’t have mattered. The plan was to stay here only while I made my search for home.<br /><br />Now being a senior citizen myself I have no problem with the oldies but I don’t want to live close to them. Take the guy next door. Martin is his name and he’s a nice enough guy. He’s a little older than me and he likes to share that information every time we talk. The problem is not his age but the fact that he has simply stopped. Ever notice how some, no, most oldies give it up? I mentioned to someone while having coffee down town the other day, where I lived. Oh, he said, you’re out in God’s waiting room. Yep, that’s what it is. People who for one reason or another just stop. Satisfied to sit back and wait for things to come to an end.<br /><br />Martin gets up in the morning, gets in his little red Honda and drives off. I know because I hear him. An hour or two he returns. And that’s it. He’s never outside again until the next morning. So many of these oldies are like that; television and the couch.<br /><br />Not all. I play tennis three times a week with an over-70s group. Two of the players running around the court have celebrated their 90th birthday. The group had a party for them recently and had to get taxi’s to take most of us home afterward. The drink driving law in Tasmania is strict. These oldies have one thing different that the Martins of the world … they don’t know they are old.<br /><br />That’s where I am. Too damn stubborn to admit that being 70-plus means it’s time to slow down. How many times have you heard someone say that being around their kids or grandkids is what keeps them young? It’s true but so is the opposite. Being around Martin has the potential of bringing me down to his age. So I’m moving. <br /><br />My new home is out the road some 15km from the main highway. You know those narrow lanes that show up in the old movies set in Great Britain? Narrow strips of pavement often with tall hedges on either side and no shoulders to duck onto when traffic comes the other way? Tasmania has a lot of those. <br /><br />My new house is just on the other side of a little village. There’s not much in the village; the fire station at one end, a combined petrol station/grocery store/newsagent in the middle and a pub at the other. <br /><br />The pub, I was told by the estate agent, serves good food and he says there is a dance every other Friday evening. My place is about half a kilometer up the road from the pub. Now, don’t you think a short stroll home after a glass or two and a dance would be the perfect way to relieve any of the day’s stresses?The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-56650194927189839002010-10-05T18:22:00.000-07:002010-10-05T18:24:33.110-07:00A thoughtful look at how things could be/should be ....I’m in a philosophical mood today. It’s overcast and a tad bit rainy so maybe that’s the reason. My thoughts on things started, I do believe, when I woke up. There were snippets of a dream floating around my mind. Lying there, trying to decide whether it was worthwhile getting up or not, I started thinking about the world as it will be when I take over. Do you think the fact that I marked my absentee ballot for the US by-election had something to do with it?<br /><br />Well, here is what I came up with:<br /><br />Laws that one could expect in Sheehy’s ‘perfect world’ (these, if you think about them, would cover nearly every situation – no further need for lawyers!):<br />* Every citizen must be free to perform any act that does not interfere with the same freedom of another.<br />* No law shall prohibit the performance of any act, which does not damage the physical or economic welfare of another.<br />* No act shall constitute a violation of a valid law unless there is such damage or immediate present danger of damage resulting from the act.<br /><br />An explanation of the thought behind the last one: This prohibits any all-encompassing law or ‘the state’ from being above the law. In its fullest sense, this law does away with the old belief that claims the majority is always right. And, most importantly, it identifies any corporate person and gives them no rights other than the rights of any other person. In accordance with this provision, any law that allows corporations to be recognized as a legal entity must be repealed. To this end the primary focus of any corporation must be on benefiting the people it serves, protecting the environment and only then bringing profit to its shareholders.<br /><br />While on the subject of laws, in this ‘perfect world’ every law/rule/regulation adopted by the governing body must contain a 10-year sunset clause and to be continued must be readopted. Plus, to the end confusion, all laws must be stated in simple language, avoiding all abstractions.<br /><br />And on the subject things we think we understand:<br /><br />Ethics is custom not natural law.<br /><br />Morals are societal approvals not natural law.<br /><br />Religion and life’s moral and ethical foundation: There are two ways to work toward the development of a practical custom or theory of human relations; work out observed and practical values and philosophies contained within that which is known as the real world, or ‘divine revelation.’ Divine revelation is problematic; no matter which organized religion one follows is it is questionable as each organized religion claims to have the sole truth, the final authority on all ethical questions. Equally questionable is that each claims to the absolute divine right to shape the moral life of the citizenry. A major issue is how the Christian belief system holds that the earth belongs to humans. For Christians, humans are unique among animals because they alone were created in the image of God. It follows, then, that humanity can behave as the lords of creation, treating the earth’s natural wealth and all other animals, as tools put there for the higher achievement of humankind. This simple belief could be the undoing of life on earth as we know it.<br /><br />While I’m sitting here using up words, let me get onto the subject of how war fits in my perfect world. <br /><br />War, except when a direct attack on a country, would only be approved by qualified voters. Those qualified to vote are those who would be directly involved in the war and by voting would be automatically registered for the draft.<br /><br />In my perfect world things would be decidedly different. We live in a democracy, well, yes. But it’s a ‘kind’ of democracy. Like freedom, I doubt there is such a thing as a true democracy. Let’s not go there today. How about a brief discussion on our financial world as I would have it? Okay. Students take out your notebooks and learn how capitalism would work in my world.<br /><br />I mention this because of a couple quotes I like:<br /><br />“Capitalism is not a philosophy, it is a mathematical concept. Unrestrained, it is a system where the needs of capital drive government policy, business and society. Consequently, government creates laws to defend the rights of capital before those of social or environmental.”<br /> Darryl Fry<br /><br />And … <br /><br />“Capitalism is the astounding belief that the most wickedest of men will do the most wickedest of things for the greatest good of everyone.”<br /> John Maynard Keyes<br /> British economist<br /><br /><br />It’s been said that for poor people money is what’s in their pocket at any given time and for the truly wealthy, money is a way of keeping score. My discussion on money begins with the question; who really has the right to create money. According to the law of most developed countries, only the government has that power, but in the real world others have abrogated that right. For example, think about your favorite mortgage company.<br /><br />You find the home of your dreams and talk to your friendly mortgage company. After filling out all the paperwork, you are given the keys to your new home. The seller’s bank account is accredited with an agreed amount of money and goes on his merry way, while you begin to save for next month’s mortgage payment. Where did the money come from for the seller? Actually, in today’s world, no money physically changed hands. You, the new owner, agreeing to repay the loan, signed the papers. The mortgage company notified the bank to credit the seller’s account for the correct amount. The property changed hands, with the realtor and everybody collecting their payment, as deposits to their individual accounts, along the way. All completed by way of the paperwork and interbank transactions. No actual money … bills and coins, changing hands.<br /><br />Now, didn’t someone create money in that transaction? If any actual cash money changed hands, it was the small percentage taken from the buyer’s savings account. The remaining part of the loan came from the bank. Did that institution take cash money from its vaults or simply accredit the seller’s account. <br /><br />At this point the question of what is money must be answered. My proposal believes that money is “anything given as payment for something of preserved equal value?” <br /><br />If banks and banking institutions have the power to create money, then where are the controls to protect the economy? Without certain controls, the result is inflation, over-production and unemployment. Governments, to control inflation use the interest rates their money-creating process charges to banks, which uses that to adjust interest rates they charge their customers, which slows or speeds up the flow of cash. It is the interest rate fluctuation that causes market oscillations.<br /><br />So, in our capitalistic society, is this the only way to make the economy work? I have read of another viewpoint that I will take up and expand upon, as is my habit.<br /><br />What would our society be like if a bank operated by the government was the only bank? This bank could lend money at interest rates set at levels that automatically adjust to the marketplace. With this power there would no longer be inflation. Each year, the balance of production and purchasing would be brought level. The government would then have complete control of the creation of money and in a very short time interest rates could drop to only a percentage point or two. As the need for money to create an industry and thereby making jobs came up, the government could create the necessary funds. Conversely, as an industry began to exceed its productivity, instead of flooding the market, the bank could, by controlling the money factor, slow production down. The end result of this is as near total employment as is necessary in a world where the benefit of it’s people is paramount, not the growth and advantage of the corporations and other parts of the business community.<br /><br />One other item in the mix would make employment as drudgery-free as is humanly possible – this is to give every person a guaranteed income from birth. No more homelessness, unemployment, welfare or other such societal blight. If one wanted to work, that person could and thereby earn extra money. Under this plan, the economy would become constant, the population would stabilize and, as the banks continued to control the creation of money, international trade would also level out at a rate fair to everyone. No one country could produce more than it could use or sell to its neighbor.<br /><br />Money is the key factor holding our present society together, the glue. Until that part of society changes, and a dramatical change it would take, it will continue to be as unwieldily as it is today. If the government had total management of money, all major aspects of commerce would be controllable.<br /><br />What? You ask about taxes? Not necessary. The people are the government and when the government is able to control money, creating when needed or withholding as necessary to keep the economy stable, there would be no call for the people to shore up the amount of money their government used. The government would be able to simply start up the printing presses.<br /> <br />I am a non-economic minded person and will agree this proposal needs a lot to make it work. To be successful the idea would call for major changes in the thinking of our economists as well as changes in the way politicians did their job. The banking industry would not be very acceptable to this kind of change. Neither would the political world as it is now practiced. <br /> <br />Speaking of politicians, in my “perfect world” these folks, who often claim they are in that business in order to help the world, would only ever benefit from their work to the extent of the average benefit of that of their constituency. This does away with huge salaries, special medical and health benefits, free travel budgets and all other ‘perks’ that go along with the office.<br /><br />Okay, so to sum up (is that a pun?) Money is anything given as payment for something of preserved equal value. And value is that which is accepted by all parties as being worth a given price. Time for another quote:<br /><br />“To expose a 4.2 trillion dollar rip-off of the American people by the stockholders of the 1,000 largest corporations over the last 100 years will be a tall order of business.”<br /> Richard Buckminister Fuller<br /><br />And on the subject of greed: “It has been said that the most important evil is the evil of greed. When all other sins are old, the strongest motive of all, greed, will remain young.”<br /><br />And that’s it... my perfect world: a society driven by capitalism in its pure form, based on sound philosophical principles and guarded by laws based on accepted moral and ethical standards. Simple and all encompassing; Sheehy’s view of as close to a “perfect world” that man can conceive.<br /><br /><br />And that just about covers the Sheehy philosophy. You’re welcome.The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-24385629885930353842010-08-11T17:21:00.000-07:002010-08-11T17:29:13.053-07:00Comments on becoming invisibleLet’s talk a bit about becoming invisible, shall we?<br /><br />I don’t know about you way back then but there was a time, probably when the first stages of puberty start kicking in, I found myself wishing, dreaming about things that would make my life wonderful. Two things; 1) finding a pair of glasses that would let me see through everything. You know, like Mary Lou’s Angora sweater. And 2) being able to become invisible. What better way could there be to be able to walk unobtrusively into the girls locker room at the gym and see everything I had questions about? Now remember, this was long before the internet. It was, I hate to admit it, even before Playboy and Penthouse. Yes, there was once a time before all that.<br /><br />It dawned on me the other day that I had finally reached one of these two goals and I don’t like it. It might have happened when I was getting new glasses but it didn’t. Actually I hadn’t realized it but I have been invisible for some time now. It happens to nearly every man when he reaches a certain age.<br /> <br />It doesn’t seem to happen to men like Paul Newman or Michael Douglas and it probably won’t happen to Tiger Woods either. But to the rest of us, somewhere along about our sixtieth or sixty-fifth birthday we somehow became transparent. Think about it men, except for the cute young woman who cuts our hair or the lovely lass trying to sell us insurance, how long has it been since any female under the age of old has really looked at you and actually seen you? Not just a customer with an open wallet but a man who might be able to fulfill her dreams?<br /><br />Somehow I have the feeling even the middle aged matron who plays better tennis than I do doesn’t really seen me as a man when we’re across the net from each other. Face it, when a man reaches this age, if a woman is not trying to get into your pocket you don’t exist. <br /><br />I suppose we can blame Mother Nature for this happening. Oh, not the fact that we male people get to that stage when whatever money we got is more important than anything else we have to offer. No, I’m blaming Ma Nature for making us become ghost-like. It’s one of her great inventions; menopause. Yes, menopause. That time in most womens aging process when they reach that certain age and don’t need or want the favors they teased us men with the previous five decades, more or less. From that event on most, not all I’ll admit, but most find the non-sexual company of their female friends more invigorating than anything thing a man might stand for. So there’s this old man, after all those years of sharing the physical, emotional, mental and, well, physical, aspects of true love all of a sudden shut out.<br /><br />It's too messy. I’m too hot. Is that all you think about? I doubt there isn’t a man out there in my age group who hasn’t heard those complaints more than a few times.<br /><br />Well, that is what the good Mother has left us; becoming redundant, unnecessary and almost useless. I know why it happens and men, there isn’t anything that can be done about it. Proof? You want proof? It’s a scientific fact. Scientists have long demonstrated that a species, any species, has one main reason for being; to reproduce. Okay. So our main goal in life is to make sure there will be a few sons, daughters and such to come after us. That’s nice. But what happens after the breeding season/years are over? Isn’t there time then for us? It seems to me that that is when we should be able to have the time and opportunity for us oldies to enjoy what’s left of our years in carnal bliss. But it doesn’t happen that way, does it? A time without one of the little darlings waking up and crying for a glass of water at just the wrong moment or having one of the kids busting in the bedroom door just as the earth is about to move. All during the child rearing years, isn’t that what we dreamed of? To have a time just for us.<br /><br />Well, it doesn’t seem to happen that way. The kids are gone, the house is quiet and there’s just the two of you. Open that bottle of red, put on the soft music, something by Tom Jones or Frankie, say. And whisper those loving words; “lover, come sit on the couch next to me.” Hah! The timing is perfect; she has started the first stage of the ‘I’m too hot’ period. Don’t tell me Mother Nature didn’t plan it that way. <br /><br />‘Too messy.’ A good excuse and, considerate me, I can understand it. Well, not really, but ...<br /><br />‘I have a headache.’ Yeah, but you said that last night and again this morning.<br /><br />At that point we men are sure to ask ourselves, is that all there is? No more lick and tickle? No more tease and ... well, whatever your idea of fun is? Is that all? It’s over? <br /><br />Dear friends, that is when we men become invisible. The females walk on by; they pay no attention to us. We are no longer eligible as mates. We no longer have a value. If they do happen to see us it’s only because they need something, a refill of their drink or to fix the funny sound the car is making. No longer as someone to spend a few hours of “slap and tickle” with.<br /><br />Here I am, slightly past the big 7-0 in numerical age. Do you think I can interest any female in my age group in sharing a long dreamed of experience? Nope. What, you don’t believe me? Go ahead; try to open an account at one of the many internet dating sites. Put in your correct birth year and see how many women respond. 65? Maybe one or two ... and they are not looking for sex, just “companionship” ... whatever that means. 70? You’ll not get one response.<br /><br />At my advanced years I still like sex ... or at least I think I do. I still have desires ...unfulfilled desires. There are things I’d like to experience that I couldn’t in the earlier years. Okay, so where are the women with the same searching needs? Mother Nature has taken all that away from them. There ain’t gonna be no more kids, not from these kinds of bedroom fun and games so there is no need for any of that kind of messy stuff.<br /><br />Thank you, Mother Nature, I really, really appreciate it. Really I do.The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-8625416310458065132010-07-28T23:26:00.000-07:002010-07-28T23:36:03.136-07:00Tired of paradise, so what do I do?Now I ask you ... what the hell would you do?<br /><br />Another day, another dollar ... and the rate exchange hasn't worked in my favor for a loooooooong time. Probably because of sunspots.<br /><br />So what does one do when he lives in paradise and is tired of the place? Well mostly it's that I've had enough of it, but there is also a smidgen of I simply can't afford it anymore. But I don't want to admit that, so I'll just say I've outgrown paradise. That's what everyone around this part of Queensland claims: well, just another day in paradise, they'll say. Shall we go to the beach today, or just sit around the riverside watching the girls walk by.<br /><br />Everybody girl watches ... guys do for lustful reasons and other girls do so they can compare. I was told that once and of course I believe it. Personally, I like to watch people and can I help it if half of them are women? <br /><br />To be honest, I really don't watch men unless they are on the other side of the net and I'm in some kind of competition. Tennis, you know. The sport of gentle people. We smile, we say sorry when we don't mean it and we always shake hands after a set.<br />You know why we shake hands, don't you? So all the players know the set is over. Finally. But I like tennis ... play social tennis three or four times a week. Used to play competitively with the Over 70s crowd but I've always disliked being that tightly scheduled. Have a match tonight? Oh, damn and I wanted to go down to the beach and girl watch.<br /><br />So I live near the beach. On the fly leaf of my latest novel I claim living in a cottage near the beaches of Queensland. Well, I'll be honest with you ... I live in a small two-bedroom shack a couple miles from the surf. And that's close enough. Is that a lie, saying that on the fly leaf? If so, so what? I'm of the school that says that all books are fiction. Well, there is one exception that I've come up with and that's the dictionary. Every other book ever published, in my view, is fiction. And what is fiction? A tale of entertaining lies that the author made up. <br /><br />But I'm serious about being tired of living in paradise. Can you believe it? Tired of living in almost perpetual sunshine, blue skies, lots of bright colored birds, the warm Pacific Ocean to swim in and lots of girls wearing only the bottom half of their bikinis. Oh, woe is me. Must be something wrong.<br /><br />But the point of all this is to let you know, I'm going to move.<br /><br />Yeah, soon, too. Once this real estate deal goes through, I'm packing everything in a rented truck and driving south. Gonna get some use out of those long-sleeved shirts and Levi's I brought with me when I moved down here ten years ago. No more shorts, sandals and T-shirts. Back to having four distinct seasons and a woodbox filled with firewood next to the fireplace. Yeah.<br /><br />So I ask you ... what would you do?The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-55092253284398507992010-07-27T17:25:00.000-07:002010-07-27T17:35:45.932-07:00The novelist's lament, Chapter OneOkay, now I understand ...<br /><br />Yeah, like most great discoveries, it has taken some time but I finally figured it out. The only requirement for someone to become a literary agent or even a publisher is total ignorance. <br /><br />Haven't we all heard ... those who can do, those who can't teach. Well, those who can't write good crime novels become publishers. Or agents. Why? So they can reject the work of others, of those who can.<br /><br />Now let's be clear on this. I have been able to get a number of my stories published. Actually I'm well past the point of getting tickled when I see someone check out one of my books from the library. <br /><br />There are a number of high points in being a writer. One is in creating the characters and bringing them to life. Those folk can then do all the things the writer never was able to. With crime, for example, I can kill those that need killing. All I have to do is give my protagonist reason for doing it. And then, of course, it's up to me to figure out a way for him to get away with it. But that's part of the fun, too. <br /><br />Coming up with the characters, giving them problems to solve, getting them into dire danger and then saving them, and all the time writing the story so the readers will enjoy it. Great fun!<br /><br />And, looking back, I have given talks on writing fiction and how to get things published. So you could say I have taught. But I haven't stooped so low as to become a publisher. Or an agent. So very low.<br /><br />Well, thinking back to my favorite lecture, I have to admit to having addressed the joys of writing and the chances of getting everything, or anything, accepted. As I recall it goes something like: <br /><br />Fiction in print is relatively popular, but only relatively. For every reader you might attract, TV or films or recordings attract thousands of consumers. You will work for months or years to create a product that is theoretically eternal, but in practice has a shelf life of a few weeks. Most of your readers will, two months after reading your work, be unable to recall anything about the story (including your name) — maybe not even whether they liked it or not. To add pain to this, know you will reach more readers with a punchy, witty letter to the editor of a big city daily than you're likely to reach with your novel. And the pay won’t be that much less!<br /><br />Now here is something for anyone hoping to get a literary agent to look at their work. These numbers are from a US based literary agent …<br /><br />20,800 (Estimated number of queries read and responded to)<br />54 (Number of full manuscripts requested and read)<br />8 (Number of new clients taken on this year)<br />21 (Number of books sold this year—not counting subsidiary rights stuff)<br />6 (Number of projects currently under submission)<br /><br />So, taking all that into account, I guess I'll build a bridge and get over it ... get past having a damn good story knocked back and get on with the next one.<br />Damn fool publishers, anyhow.<br /> <br /><br />Thank you for letting me blow off steam ... I have to go hang out the wash, now.The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-9352237110898402292010-07-26T22:32:00.000-07:002010-07-26T23:06:53.646-07:00Now here's a question looking for answers ...Let me ask you; are Australians so different from Americans when it comes to their sex lives?<br /><br />This question came up when I read an article on the results from a recent AARP survey about the sexual habits of Americans over the age of 50. AARP is the American Association of Retired Persons, a highly politicized organization open for a nominal annual membership fee to anyone 50 years or older. <br /><br />In the interest of fairness I’ll admit that once, a couple lifetimes ago, for a brief time I was a member. About six month, as I recall, until I found myself disagreeing with the club’s lobbying efforts on something I didn’t like in Congress. Yes, AARP is almost as powerful as the gun lobby when it comes to working on the Washington, D.C. power structure.<br /><br />But that has nothing to do with this survey, does it. With a membership base in the multi-millions such questionnaires usually get a huge response. I don’t know how many people answered the survey questions, but that doesn’t really matter either. My reason for sharing what I got from the results is to give you something to think about. Here are my comments on parts of it.<br /><br />Let me begin by saying I wasn’t able to get the entire survey although I hit the website address a couple times. No worries. I took enough from articles on the results to make this interesting. I hope.<br /><br />First off, the numbers and percentages when it came to such things as oral sex, sex for men or women over 70, and things like that, will not be part of the discussion. Even the subject of same-sex sex was reported on only briefly. However, a few things that did interest me. One of these was the point that of those responding, more than half were married and only 5% were not but were in a committed relationship. Makes me wonder, do married people like to talk about their sex lives more than others?<br /><br />Three percent of the respondents marked the single and aren’t dating box and a whopping ten percent of the singletons were actively dating. Again, maybe only married people are having sex. I could make a personal comment on that but I won’t.<br /><br />Don’t forget, these numbers and percentages are all from the US. It is possible that below the equator things are different.<br /><br />Going back to the 54% married group, more than half said their partners were “imaginative about sex.” Not having any information about oral sex, s/m, bestiality or really any kind of sex, we don’t know what that means, do we. Imaginative about sex. Maybe this is a good place to explain my belief that whatever it is, it’s only kinky the first time.<br /><br />Here’s an interesting statistic; even with 30% bragging about their partner being imaginative, 46% said they were less satisfied with their sex life that they were ten years ago. Wow. Well, that goes to prove that the young get and enjoy more sex than us oldies. Again, I won’t give a personal editorial on that fact.<br /><br />Something else that makes me wonder about those 30% people, and I have to assume they know who they are, more than twice that number said they never discussed their sexual fantasies with their partners. Again, wow. Does that mean everything in bed for these people is just guess work? Or maybe I’m the only person in the world, or the US at least, who has that type of fantasy. Oh, you did know that I am American by birth, didn’t you? Well, let me tell you, even back then, when I lived in the Pacific Northwest, I had wondrous sexual fantasies. Did I share them with my wives and/or lady friends? You bet.<br /><br />But now I am an Aussie and my passport proves it. Do I share now? Not going to say. After all, we’re talking about a survey of US people.<br />Okay, back to business. Of those taking part in the survey, eight percent of the men and two percent of the women said they have a same-sex partner. It is possibly more, in real life, I don’t know. It is also possible that gay people don’t like to talk about their sex lives.<br /><br />Anyone reading any of my earlier lectures knows I have a real interest in men, and especially women, who are in or near my age group in so far as their sex lives are concerned. In the US, between 2004 and 2009, the percentage of people in their 50s who say they have sex at least once a week dropped 10% for both sexes. For women the percentage went from 43 to 32 percent. For men it was 49 to 41. Most other age groups reportedly saw a drop in the frequency of sex too, so it wasn’t just that group. Think about it, does your sex life fit this trend?<br /><br />The AARP survey indicated that people aren’t real happy about it, either. It found that 43% of older Americans say they are satisfied with their sex lives, down 51% in 2004, while the percentage of those who are dissatisfied increased. No numbers on exactly how many, but dissatisfied is dissatisfied.<br /><br />Why, you wonder. Well, prudishness might be a factor. But then take into account that the number of Americans in the 45 age group believing only married people should have sex years old has plummeted., from 41% in 1999 to 22% in 2009. Americans are, take my word for it, a lot more prudish than Aussies … or on second thought, no they aren’t.<br /><br />Okay then, what is the root cause? Well, money worries sap sex and with the recent world financial crisis, local unemployment and growing chance of foreclosures in the US, it’s quite likely that everyone up in the big country has money worries<br /><br /> Enough of that, let’s talk a bit about everyone’s permanent sex partner, the one we’re all born with … self-love. For men it’s old Lady Palm and her five daughters. (I heard that description when I was young and naïve and never forgot it. It took a long time for me to understand it, but I still remember it.)<br /><br />Nearly a quarter of all Americans 45 years old said they engage in what was called in the survey “self-stimulation” weekly. That figure was nearly the same as compared to six years ago. It isn’t surprising, to me anyhow, that men are more devotees of this practice than women. I don’t know why I think that but I do.<br /><br />Among people in their 50s, about 42% of men and 15% of women say they indulge, whether “about once a week” or “more than once a week.” Interesting, don’t you agree? Wonder where you fit in this category.<br /><br />A little more on the sex lives of those funny Yanks – single Americans in the 45 group who are dating have more sex than their married counterparts. And from all indications, have a better love life all around.<br /><br />It was shown that 48% of singles with regular partners have sex at least once a week, compared to only 36% of married folks. It’s no surprise, I suppose, that sixty percent say they are satisfied with their sex lives while 52% of their married friends make the same claim. Nineteen percent of the single-but-not-dating crowd said they were sexually satisfied. Now that makes me wonder.<br /><br />Oh, and how about cheating on your partner. Just under a quarter of the men taking the survey admitted they cheated during a current or recent long-term relationship. For women the number was 11%. When asked about their partners, 12% of both men and women said their partners cheated. That seems to me to indicate that women are a bit more optimistic about their men’s whereabouts at times.<br /><br />So what damage did all this cheating cause to the relationship? Not much, apparently. About 40% of the respondents reported it had no effect at all while another 30% thought it caused only temporary tension. A mere handful, 6% or less, said it was a fatal blow.<br /><br />More than half of the females, 60%, said their stepping out had no effect on their relationship. Nine percent of those commented that it made their sex lives worse. Things were a little different among the men, though. Just under a quarter, 24%, say it had no impact on the relationship and 40% indicated it made their sex lives worse. I suppose there’s a lesson in that, but somehow I can’t quite see what it is. Did I ever cheat? Uhmmmm.<br /><br />So what is this all about that I’m writing about it? Go back to my opening question: are people up there in the states different than your true-blue Aussie when it comes to sex? In the years I’ve been living down here in the Land DownUnder, I have been lucky enough to share a sexual relationship of one sort or another with … well, not a large enough percentage of Australian women for me to know.<br /><br />Guess I’ll have to work on that, or wait until the AAPR, the Aussie Association of Retired People, conduct a national survey.<br /><br />Anyone would like to comment on this, or any of my rantings, are more than welcome. I'm just not sure if this is a good idea, opening that door, but let's try it.The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7006887222463937772.post-47071311034610722202010-07-26T22:20:00.000-07:002010-07-26T22:32:08.589-07:00And a good day to you, too ...Let me introduce myself, and take a moment to explain why I'm wasting my time with this.<br /><br />First off, I qualify for the grumpy old man badge of distinction. I'm a tad over 70 and tired of it. Oh, not tired to the point of wanting to change it. Hell no, there's only one way to do that and I still got a couple adventures left in me.<br /><br />That's the way I see life, as a series of adventures. But in recent times I've begun to notice things that don't please me at all. These are the bits and pieces I'm writing about in this blog. The title was, until I noticed it was too long for the good people who set it up for me, The Old Man's view of the world and other things worth complaining about. Or something like that.<br /><br />Okay. There you have it, my beginning. What's that? You want to know about me? Why? If you read any of the comments I'll be adding to this you'll find out more than you need to know. So there.The Angry Old Manhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05720029047020130720noreply@blogger.com0