Tag: mores

Thirstdaz Wandering Thoughts

I’m in the coffee shop this week. Conversations swirl like loose leaves on an autumn breeze. I zone in and out. That’s guided by the Writing Neurons. Sometimes, they fuse a solid grip on my focus, and I notice nothing outside of the scenes in my head and the words on the screen. When they let go, I generally look up to breathe, blink, take in some water and coffee.

Lo, I hear words then. “Bro’, are you going to blah blah blah?” This is one young female talking to another. I suspect they’re high schoolers. We’re two blocks from the high school and youth is oozing out of them.

“No, bro, I can’t, got to blah blah blah.”

I’m taken by how “bro'” has evolved in use. I’ve used bro’ for decades with males of all colors, ages, positions, and relationships. Never, though, never, with a woman. Took a while for me to accept hearing and calling females ‘guys’. Guys was always…um, a guy thing…to me.

“Bro’,” a young female says to her young male companion. Appearing to be about fifteen, sixteen, they speak and move with BF/GF intimacy. She goes on to talk to him about tonight’s dinner. Later, I hear him say, “Bro’, I gotta fly.”

They rise together and hold hands, two bros moving into the world, progressing in life, changing languages, changing expectations.

I think to them, good luck, bro’.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

It was a weird juxtaposition.

I parked in the coffee shop’s lot. A silver SUV battle scar from its travels had the front passenger door open. I glanced that way. It seemed like the SUV was someone’s home. A woman was in the seat, her foot sticking out the open door, as she painted her toenails pink.

I thought of multiple things associated with painting nails. To feel and look attractive. Or maybe to fit in. To seem normal to others. You know, norms, values, mores, judgements. Or carrying forward from the past, trying to remain that person they were.

Then again, I could be all wrong. Might be that they’re not living in their car. They could just be a traveler, pausing to get coffee, taking advantage of a break in their schedule to do their nails.

It’s the kind of scene that inspires questions and thinking about our life and society.

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

When I returned from the coffee shop writing session yesterday, my wife related a story she’d read.

A man began a new habit of going to the coffee shop every Saturday morning. He enjoyed the atmosphere and would surf the net on his phone and text friends while nursing a coffee drink and nibbling a pastry. After a few weeks of this, he discovered he and the owner had once been friends. Then, life happened. This disconnected but now reconnected in a casual way.

One day the guy received an email from the coffee shop owner. The owner said that the barista complained that the man was ogling her on Saturday mornings and that the owner was going to have to bar him. The man refuted what was happening. Through a back and forth series, he convinced the owner that wasn’t the case.

Meanwhile, the barista was moved off Saturday morning to another schedule. Therefore, the owner said, the man would be welcomed back.

Fuck you, the man wrote back.

I wholly understood and agreed. That place would never be the same for him, and other coffee shops would probably be tainted for him as well.

Sad that it came to that. Made me wonder, as I sit in the coffee shop and people watch, what did that barista think she saw?

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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

I saw it in their body language and shaded eyes: what does this guy want? Can he be trusted?

Three women, three places, three weeks. I was being friendly. Thought I was charming, as I’ve done all my life. Maybe I was wrong all those years. Now, addressing these women in public places, catching their reactions, I have to re-think matters.

First, it’s their right to not be bothered by others, just as it’s mine. I thought that asking what someone was reading was safe and innocuous as we crossed paths at the coffee shop. She’d previously asked me to watch her purse for her. As a writer and reader, I’m often trying to learn what others are reading. It interests me. But asking this sixty-ish woman clearly disturbed her. Haven’t seen her since when she was a coffee shop regular. I hope I haven’t driven her away. I’m sorry.

I sincerely believed I knew the second woman from another place. I judged her to be in her sixties. She indulged me and responded but clearly thought I was up to something, maybe hitting on her. Sorry, ma’am. I won’t do it again.

I’m used to being flirty. I always thought I was charming. My wife and sisters always told me I was charming. Maybe they were being nice. Polite. Maybe I used to be charming but, older now, it’s no longer charming. Perhaps, because I’m older, it’s perceived as creepy.

Could be that it’s not me at all, but other matters, a product of our times. Women have endured unwanted male attention and assumptions and decided, enough. I’ll note, I do the same with males, chatting with them sometimes about what they’re reading, their accent, or talking to them because I think I might know them.

My wife has spoken of being approached by men in public. For example, she’s working out and a man walking by will tell her with a grin, “Smile.” Pisses her off. She’s exercising and sweating. It’s work. She’s focusing. Smiling is not part of her agenda, and she resents him telling her that because men are always saying things like to women.

I thought what I was doing was different. I guess I was rationalizing it as different and okay.

I quit, though. I’ll keep to my private circle, drop a cone of secrecy around it, only speak when addressed, and keep myself to myself.

This all probably reads like self-pitying whining. That’s not my intention but you’ll reach your own conclusion. I like to write to think through my thoughts. Doesn’t mean I need to post it for the public, but I often find that things which confuse me also confuses others. Or maybe I’m fishing for sympathy and just rationalizing that I’m searching for understanding. It’s a challenge for me because this is how I learned to be from Mom and my wife, polite and friendly. It’s inculcated in me.

I guess this is the new world, at least in progressive Ashlandia, for a sixty-seven-year-old white male. I just need to learn, accept, and adjust.

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Public Service Announcement

Hear ye, hear ye, attend all ye interested in this news.

Anal bleach is now available at Walmart.

I find this news amazing for two reasons: one, who wants to bleach their a-hole? How do you reach that point, when you wake up one morning and think, time to bleach my a-hole? I can’t ever imagining awakening to that morning.

Then, they probably think, well, where do I get a-hole bleach?

Mind, I don’t know if that’s what it’s called. I don’t know what you say when you’re in Walmart and can’t find the a-hole bleach. What do you ask an associate? “Excuse me, can you tell me where the a-hole bleach would be?” Or do they already have them up on the little signs that tell you what’s in the aisle?

My number two to all of this is, a-hole bleaching is now so mainstream that Walmart is selling it.

Of course, I remember the ruckus raised when women modeled brassieres in the Sears catalog. It made the news!

A-hole bleach at Walmart didn’t make the news. Guess it wasn’t newsworthy. My wife read about it on some post. She shares my shock that people are bleaching their a-holes and the stuff to do it is sold at Walmart’s. It’s all about our age, culture, mores, and norms. Somehow, we just don’t think a-hole bleaching is going to turn out to be a good thing, but that circles back to our A-C-M-N, doesn’t it? I guess it’ll be real news when you can buy it at your local grocery store.

I think I’m going to go vape some green and think about what it all means.

 

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“This coffee tastes like piss.”

I wonder, as many probably do, how my piss tastes. I also pondered whether I’d ever eaten my boogers as a child. Mom has never mentioned it, but many children do, and I was a child who did a lot of things because I was curious.

I’m not sure how I feel about eating baby feces.

This isn’t a gross-out post. Honestly. Perhaps it is, from your point of view. That’s why I bring it up, not to gross you out, but to bring the subjects into the light.

The three subjects, tasting urine, eating boogers, and eating baby poop, are part of a larger subject, the human body, and trends. Thinking about them came from conversations and reading. I finished reading An Instance of the Fingerpost this week. Book One is about a doctor. He mentions tasting people’s urine as part of the examination process in the sixteen hundreds. Yes, I remember from other reading, doctors tasted urine when they were examining patients long before the sixteen hundreds.

I don’t think many doctors do that these days. Most people are probably horrified about it, but I dipped my finger into my stream this morning and gave it a lick. I thought, why not? I’ve tasted my blood, sweat, and tears before, because I wanted to know how they tasted, so why not my pee?

I have ideas about how urine should taste, based on statements like, “This coffee tastes like piss.” I’ve read a few things about it, and we’d discussed it once while talking about survival training. Today’s piss reminded me of a bitters beer. I don’t know if that’s normal. An ongoing cold and head congestion are sabotaging my taste experience this week.

That done, I turned to the question of eating boogers. A friend, talking about his grand-daughter, mentioned that she often picked her nose and not infrequently ingested her boogers. Another friend present, a retired doctor, talked about that and said that some booger eating can be beneficial.

That second person is also the one that talked about eating baby feces. He and I had read about probiotics in infants’ fecal matter, and he’d read other periodicals about how a small amount of baby poop could be therapeutic restoring digestive systems. I pondered what kind of beer or wine would go with baby poop.

Well, I didn’t eat a booger, and I haven’t sampled baby feces yet, that I know. Tasting my piss was my step forward today.

 

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