No. Your Fault

 There is some kind of odd fiction happening these days. It's about people with sad lifestyles that point, not to their own actions or choices, but to those of everyone else they  encounter or in whose environment they happened to be. The bad part, is that the general population is forced to pay for these mistakes. The excuses by the afflicted are as follows: it was my bad background, I was dared to do it, everyone else was doing it, my sick body made me do it. The age-old excuses are rampant but they don't fix problems no matter what or who is imagined to be blamed. Life is about overcoming adversity, not about pointing fingers at others. We make our own choices and some end up as tragic mistakes. It's a sort of banana peel fall as being the fault of the one who dropped the banana skin or the banana itself that is to blame, and not about the one who stepped on it and fell. I have every sympathy for persons who are  in uncomfortable or tragic situations. At the same time, I don't like to pay for mistakes that I haven't made. Our society is one that requiries we  pay for victims and that makes sense to a point. But where does it end?  To avoid having to pay huge amounts for the bad choices some people make, we form bodies that try to educate them on how to avoid bad choices. These are well-known lessons, well presented to everyone, therefore, no one can say, they haven't been warned. Everyone has been duly warned, but they have chosen to set aside the advice. They are free to make their own choices, but we are not freed to stop paying for the mistakes. The tax burden for working people who make the good choices, is becoming overwhelming.  Life is not equal even though we all try hard, very hard, to make it equal.  But we are not all the same, and sometimes some folks have to fight harder to become equal. It's an up-hill, but well-worth-it battle. And if we can, we need to find a reasonable way to help others because in the long run, it helps us all.

Ad Too Much

 What is happening with the inundation of advertising into what we once thought should be a nice clear viewing of online television movies or series? On some of the sites I visit daily, including the "national" news stations online, ads cover the entire top of the photograph for a few maddening seconds.  I make sure, yes, that I learn the name of the advertiser because that is one site I won't be signing onto. Some of the ads stay at the side but are disgusting. Some ad hiree human thinks that it doesn't matter how disgusting, as long as it captures your attention. Well, sorry advert "expert", I'm not one of those sorts and I can't think of anyone else who would continue to suffer through them. My defense, other than never buying online from an advertiser who does such idiotic tactics, is to cover the side ads with a piece of yellow pad paper folded neatly to reach from top to bottom of my computer screen. The ads in my news reports, I dodge by not watching that channel and search for one that doesn't do it. As a consumer, I refuse to go lightly into that good night. I love fighting this sort of advertising including the ones that interrupt my movie watching. Most sites disallow fast forwarding an ad,  but I silence the ads and refuse to look at them. I use the ad time to pick up a snack or read a page or two of my favorite mystery. The old tactics to use are to avoid ad bullies by ignoring them completely. Other ads that come to my mail box these days are for hearing aids. What? Why? How did they get my name? You can be sure that any hearing test will push you into spending thousands of dollars for something that will simply annoy you. Apparently, it's like plugging a loudspeaker into your ear, one that yells every sound here and a block away at the same huge volume. The best advertisers of any product, need only  provide information that tells what it's about and gives the actual cost. I don't need a little family scene with appropriate inclusive actors in it to find out about a product. I want information and a price tag and then perhaps I might consider the item. And Ad Folks, I expect delivery to be free and to my door with more than one try,  thank you very much. 

Beautiful Dreamers

 Long ago when I visited my mother who lived in a home, I met The Dreamers. I didn't know, at the time what I know now about Dreamers. They were, in this lovely "home", lined up in  wheelchairs in the hall that had a doorway to a ward reserved for those who needed help eating meals. They were served in spaces that other home residents couldn't see or have access to. These dear, quiet Dreamers, had no interest in doing anything for themselves, but did need to eat and didn't mind that the food was pureed or fed to them. They were "away".  Even though they were not  present, they were aware of the need for nutrition. All the other bodily necessities were of no interest to them. They had dreams and that attracted all of their attention. To others looking on, those called "normal", they were too sick and not truly present.  Now that I am old, even though I am not yet, a dreame, I understand who and what and where they are. When you live a long, long time, you have an encyclopedia of memories. I know that one day, I may join them and it doesn't fill me with fear. It is a comfort to me because I do want to have a time and place to remember all that went before. I will, as a Dreamer, be reviewing my entire time on earth: all of its parts and of he fascination of having lived a life. My care givers will do all the rest for me and my "work" will be merely to dream on and on. My eyes will seem blank, but behind them, I will re-live all the beauties of my former times: the people, the travels, the  the homes, and the natural experiences I was so fortunate to have. They are ones that no one else had.  At last,then as a Dreamer, I will have time and opportunity to go back and live those years over again. No one else can come with me. It's my journey and mind alone. Nothing else will matter but my dreams. Once, my mother joined the other Dreamers. We went to see her and hold her hand and sit next to her and surround her with ourselves. She smiled being far away and did not speak or nod. We thought she had forgotten us. But she hadn't. She was a Dreamer and was remembering us in her mine. We talked to her and laughed and said good-bye and she did not look sad. She waved as the aide directed, and then went back to her beautiful dreams smiling. 

Something From Nothing

 When I check out the news every morning on my computer, more and more I am seeing one individual's photo and below it, their complaint. Naturally, I am impacted emotionally by the person's or animal's plight, but on consideration, I wonder if the issue is universal or in the least, "general" enough to be published as of interest to a wide audience. Most of the time, it is not or not really.  It is a bit like pictures of disaster whether natural or manmade. Over and over an article shows one particular photo or video in area or at an event without the viewer being able to see the environment of the occasion.  What we see is the worst spot in the worst area and are, we suspect, to assume that what we see happens over the entire place. Most of the time, it's the photo that sells the event. And photography is key because it is the one thing that grabs our attention initially. The key to famous journalism is a method of grabbing the public attention and creating a fuss about a specific concern or issue in the best possible way, so to elicit fame or infamy. Crisis sells. It's all about money of course. One must eat, as they say. We readers and viewers who respond to an article or photo or report, hope that a caring human being journalist is at the bottom of it all. The truly great journalists are, indeed,  caring human beings as well as being persons of exceptional media talent. All the dire pictures and presentations that are slanted toward capturing out attention must have a general concern for humanity otherwise, what is the point of exposing the situation at all? Surely, we hope, that is the end goal. Or do we think at all about what we are exposed to daily, to our children, to our attitudes, to our futures? What comes from a small screen goes directly into our minds and lives and about it, healthy anaylsis is at best, one hopes, a duty. 

Shame On Fashion

 Oh, come on high fashion! There is no sense whatsoever in what I see in "that" fashion magazine that was once a leader in what people put on their backs. Today it is so bizarre and has been for so long, that we no longer expect it to make recommendations for what actually, we wear.  "High" fashion is so high that it doesn't make sense. It is science fiction. Gone are the designers that strove to tell us what makes our bodies appear great in the way the seam lines stream, or the patterns compliment, or the lengths enhance, or the fabrics entertain. Now we have a nudity of sad, skinny girls, yes girls, trodding the ramps in creations that only the richest individuals in the world can afford. If they wanted to. Models' feet are encased in dangerously high platform soles and heels that could be used as gardening tools. Never to meet a floor for longer than fifteen minutes at most. Why? The reason is that no one attends a fashion show to find something for wearing. Fashion shows are circus performances with music, are on sets and have literally, actors and gawking audiences fighting for the favor of a front row, so to be photographed rather than for having anything to do with clothing to don. It is all viewing silliness prancing past with the audience selfy-ing as it happens. I am not being cynical. This as it is.  The reality of pomp and fakery. Chanel, the godess of fashion once, spent her life making women look appropriate and comfortable. She was passionate about fabrics to fit on actual people. She used a stairway in her own business location to carry out her shows in a sane fashion world. But, today, I viewed on line in The Magazine and saw photos of an important fashion event that looked like a science fiction spread. One of the models wore a neck to floor plunge of feathery layers spreading out like a huge, pink Christmas tree. Another model had a screening front, back and side, of metallic gold bar patterning with extensions of ornate grids of gold bent bars, reaching out beyond her body. Her pathetically thin legs below miraculously carried this creation, from one end of the carpet to the other without becoming impaled. Still others wafted huge amounts of flounces and bounces and trains and flaps, all never dared to be worn on a busy sidewalk or party or show. Like, who is kidding who? Why call it a fashion show? It is a circus. Oh, come on high fashion!