‘Vaginasplaining’

Have you ever coined a word?  I’ve never coined a word… until now.  Or, at least I thought I had.  When I first conceived of this topic a few months ago I did a Google search for ‘vaginasplaining’ and came up with nothing.  Zero.  Nada.  Zilch.  I was excited.  I had never coined a word, and here I now had.  Sorta, but not really, though there is precious little examples or definitions available.  Primarily, people just seem to use it as a clever Twitter hashtag with no actual definition.

‘Vaginasplaining’… some call it ‘womansplaining’… is, of course, similar to ‘mansplaining’.  According to the Urban Dictionary, ‘mansplaining’ is defined as…

When a woman is not smart enough to understand something, so a man explains it to her.

Woman: The wage gap shows that females are being payed less for the same job.
Man: The wage gap is only showing the average pay of man and woman, it does not count for hours worked or different jobs.
Woman: STOP MANSPLANING!!!

I’m pretty sure that that’s just what people do.  Men do it to women, yes.  Men also do it to men.  Women do it to women, and women do it to men.  Especially in relationships where the two people will often snipe at each other in this manner trying to establish some sort of subconscious emotional dominance.  It could also simply be an insecure person trying to fit in to the group and/or show that they are indeed intelligent, too.  It’s nothing special or uncommon, but trying to shame one select group for it is nothing short of insidiously hypocritical.  It’s actually a form of ‘*-splaining’, itself.

Warning, serious political example to follow:  We here at The Grump generally try to avoid political topics, but sometimes politics invades daily life… even curmudgeonly life… so much that it cannot be avoided.  The recent public debate about sexual assault and rape during the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation hearing where women told men that false accusation was simply not an issue because it’s “so rare”, was an absolutely perfect example of ‘vaginasplaining’.

Ok, back to curmudgeonism:  Anytime a woman suggests she can do something better, or knows more about a topic, simply because of traditional gender roles and she’s a woman, that’s ‘vaginasplaining’.  Anytime that a woman belittles a man (or anyone, really) because she’s knows better based on generic factors, that’s ‘vaginasplaining’ (differing body parts excepted).  Anything from a woman directed at a man intending to be dismissive or belittling, where the implication is because she’s a she and he’s a he, is ‘vaginasplaining’.

This word, ‘vaginasplaining’, needs to be adopted and used more frequently.  Orrrrrr, ya know, we could just get off each other’s backs and start treating each other better, and stop being so uptight.

Naaaaaah!

Look, a squirrel!… and other annoyances

Is it bad to be so annoyed all the time? I mean, c’mon, is everybody else really that… brain dead? Well, yes, many are. Around me, it seems. But not all, let’s be curmudgeonly fair. I have even had my own moments of dumbness, though only a couple, and mine were completely justifiable. No jury would ever convict me.

Be that as it may, there are some irritating things in the world that need to be discussed and dealt with.

Example: Road construction. A couple things here. First, back in my day… get off my lawn!… they’d put some cones and a couple signs out, and everybody knew where to drive to stay out of causing a wreck. It wasn’t a big deal. Today, apparently we have enough non-drivers that they have to completely repaint all the lines and arrows, just to take them out later, which scars the pavement, so they can repaint them again, rinse-and-repeat, lest Goober lose his way and ram someone who did know what to do. This is not a good sign of where society is going, no pun intended.

Second, you remember my previous post where I mention the Facebook page for my hometown where all people do is complain? Basically, whenever the city does anything new and/or different, the wailing and gnashing of teeth begins. Wasting money on pet projects for friends (read: developers), blah, blah, blah. We have lots of roads that need work so spend money there (there’s one guy that I think would prefer gravel roads, he wants no money spent at all). Yet when there is construction to fix or rehabilitate a road, they complain about that, too. It’s not being managed right (as if they’re in this industry and know what they’re talking about), why did they choose that spot when this other road right in front of my house needs it more?, and my personal favorite… I had to wait. 😐 and *facepalm*. What the deuce, people, do you want the roads fixed, or not? I mean, really!

Then there’s my memory, of late. This point was going to be something completely different just 45 seconds ago, and it was going to be so poignant and cool as to be mind blowing, so much so that you’d have had an urge to give me a fist bump, and now it’s this as a back up…

Oh, wait, now I remember… why is good food labeled as bad? Don’t know what I’m talking about? Treats like chocolates and candies and the such are often labeled as “sinful”. Why is that? Are we saying that good tasting food is from the devil and that good-for-you food sucks in taste, but is righteous? Phfft, that’s no fun. Oh my God, pun intended, we might be a bad person if we actually enjoy something. (throws up hands in futility of trying to be a good person)

It should be the other way around, the good people should get the good tasting stuff AND have it be good for you. “Sinful” food should be, oh, I don’t know… castor oil. Or liver & onions. This dichotomy fits with my historical perception of the Catholic church, whose motto should be, “Life is pain. Deal with it.”

And last, but certainly not least, “Look, a squirrel!”, the phrase. Such an awesomely descriptive phrase. It explains mindless distraction perfectly. I want to reference that, along with “first world problem(s)”, all the time, but just look at it. “Look, a squirrel!” I mean, to be done properly, an exclamation point is a must, but the exclamation point gets lost next to the ‘l’. No impact. Just a plain sentence. A perfect phrase thwarted by similarities in character.

So annoyi… oh, what a cute basset meme.

Work Breaks!

Ken The Grump fancies himself an observer. A person who notices and notes behaviors of people around him, especially patterns in groups of people. Things that most people don’t notice, or when you point it out to them they say, “Oh yeah, now that you mention it…”

Either that, or, “I don’t do that!!!”

Our theme today is inconsistencies, or double-standards, or hypocrisies, in break time at work. Please note that Ken makes it a personal policy to not talk about work or his employer on social media. This is unwise. So also note that these two things are commend everywhere, and in no way apply narrowly to my current employer or any past employers. How’s that for a disclaimer? So let’s jump in…

Coffee

Coffee is the life blood of corporate America. Ken does not drink coffee, and he perceives his lack of inclusion in “the coffee clique” thwarts him in his career. Ken is not trendy enough. Many office don’t like it when you take too long (in their minds) of a break. A coffee drinker can wander to the kitchen, pour a pot of coffee, even make a new pot if necessary (they love you when you do that, seriously), shoot some BS for a few minutes, then mosey back to their desk, and everything is fine.

A non-coffee drinker, on the other hand, does not have this luxury. If Ken wants to get a some water or a soda, Ken better get in, get his drink, and get back to his desk. How dare Ken want to heat a snack in the microwave on company time… even though that time is the same as the coffee ritual. Unfortunately, non-coffee drinkers are not a protected class, so we get the short end of the stick.

Cigarettes

This one is not as prevalent in today’s world as it was 30 years ago, but it still exists. You want a cigarette, sure go ahead and do your thing. See ya in a bit. Anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes.

You the non-smokers wants a break?!? Don’t be so selfish. Get back to work.

I will give a specific real-life example: When Ken was in the Army in basic training in 1982, we’d pretty much everyday be outside doing various things and training. About three to four times a day smokers would get a smoke break. Non-smokers got no break. Non-smokers were expected to keep working. I am not kidding and I am not exaggerating.

Ken is always one to work the edges of the system, so Ken came up with a solution. Ken… the non-smoking Ken, mind you… bought cigarettes. When smoke breaks came up, Ken would take a break, light a cigarette, and sit there relaxing while the cigarette burned down by itself. Ken got his breaks!

Then there’s the time where, during one of these smoke breaks in a forested area, one guy fell asleep. A bunch of other guys covered him in pine needles. Then a drill sergeant came over and woke him up… rather harshly. But that’s a different story for another time. Ken did not partake, but did sit against a tree and watched and laughed.

In conclusion:  is it really that bad to give everybody the same consideration for breaks?

Happy Happy Joy Joy: Things I Learned from My Mother (in the Kitchen)

A new feature here at kurmudgeon.net, something positive and happy. Contrarian? Yeah, that’s me. Granted, it seems like the life of a grump is nothing but sorrow and disappointment… at my fellow humans, just to be clear… it is not. We do have our moments of happiness. So here we go, things I learned from my Mother in the kitchen…

Toast Your Buns: That’s right, whenever you are eating a hot dog or a hamburger, or something else similar, toasting of the buns is mandatory. It makes all the difference in the world, really it does. An untoasted bun is a drag on the otherwise goodness of your lovingly prepared meal. It’s like putting cold syrup on pancakes (we’ll get to that in a minute)… why would any sane person do that? Do you not love your spouse and kids and friends?

Now, I *can* eat a burger or a hot dog on an untoasted bun, and I will when visiting others, and I will be polite and smile and not say a word, but I will also consider you to be an unwashed heathen for being so gauche. And to subject your guests to that level of atrocity?!? You might as well have horns and hooves, you have slighted my existence that much.

Which brings us to…

Heat Your Syrup: Putting cold (room temperature equals cold in this situation) on pancakes or waffles or french toast is simply an abomination. As with toasted buns, warm syrup makes all the difference. The two go together like, well, peas and carrots.

Think about this. You cook waffles. Cooked, they’re hot. Duh! They’re intended to be hot. Hot is good. Then you slather it in a cold sticky substance that brings the hot food down to some middling barely warm room temperature that is now unappealing and unsatisfying. Congratulations, you have now created a sweet semi-solid version of gruel. (Or grits, po-tay-to, po-tah-to.)

The importance of both of these were taught to me by my mother, and has been reinforced by experiencing the dreary and unappetizing versions of people who are too lazy to do these added little, yet tremendously significant, “extras”.

A third thing taught to me by my step-mother when I was a teen…

An appreciation for mushrooms: I never had a mushroom until I was 14 years old. They simply were not served in our home. Never experienced garlic, either, my Mother would simply leave them out of a recipe if she did not like them. Anyways, a mushroom is a wonderful thing, to be sauteed, or roasted, with some garlic and butter, or whatever. Truly a food from the Heavens.

Some people don’t like mushrooms, though. I often ask people why. If your answer is that you don’t like the consistency and or taste, that’s cool, I can accept that. But some people respond with, “It’s a fungus!”, to which my response is: 😐

Yes, it’s a fungus. Sooooooooo?

As we conclude, let’s reiterate that shortcuts in food preparation is for the uncouth. Be couth.

Buttons, and Zippers, and Snaps… Oh My!

Forgive me if I’m being sexist, or misogynist, or some other gender-related *ist, but I can’t help but notice differences between the sexes.  I’m sorry… not really, just being polite… but there ARE difference between the sexes.  It just is.

Younger women don’t do this, so there must be some chemical imbalance that kicks in in women at roughly the age of 35.  Maybe some sudden draining of estrogen, or something.  Beats me, I don’t always get women to begin with… and from what I’m told, neither do other women.  But I digress…

They start becoming obsessed with their pocketbooks.

I don’t mean about the pocketbook itself, necessarily, though they do fawn all over how cute it is.  No, I’m talking about the organizational aspect of the pocketbook.  Their favorites seem to be the pocketbooks with 75 little parallel compartments sized just right for cash, credit cards, and so on.  And it’s not simple like a man’s wallet.  No.  It’s all safely secured behind a mind-boggling series of buttons and zippers and snaps.  Carefully designed to thwart even the most tenacious thief, I’m thinking.  That has to be the mindset in even designing something like this.  Here’s what I observed just a few days ago…

…A 45-ish year old lady is at the checkout in front of me.  She waits until all her items are rung up and is told the total, THEN she decides to pull her pocketbook from her purse.  This delay in starting the process of paying is inconsiderate and bad enough, but then begins the money extracting ritual.  Just shoot me now, it’s gonna be a long one.

She pulls the pocketbook from her purse… she lays it on the counter… she flips it over to the correct side… she unsnaps the little buckle-like snap on the outside… she opens the pocketbook… she flips the pocketbook over to the correct side (again)… she unzips a compartment, which exposes several smaller compartments… she fiddles and thumbs through what must have been ten little pockets… she extracts $10 from the cash compartment… the total is $10.72… she flips the pocketbook around… she unsnaps the coin area… she carefully counts out exactly 75 cents and hands it to the cashier… she then closes the pocketbook and pushed it away from her… (I’m watching all this in awe of the mind-numbing process that I’m sure happens in her life several times a day)… the cashier hands her 3 cents in change… she flips the pocketbook over to access it (at least she did reseal it)… she carefully puts the 3 cents in the coin area… she snaps the coin area shut… the cashier hands her the receipt…. she browses for another as yet untouched compartment… she carefully and precisely folds the receipt and places it in the new compartment… she then proceeds to do most of the same thing to close it all up (I’ll spare you the play-by-play on this one)… ALL WHILE STILL STANDING THERE WITH BOTH ME AND THE CASHIER STARING AT HER IN DISBELIEF!!!  And of course the pocketbook must be replaced in just the right place in the purse.

😐  I can’t.  I just can’t.  The cashier gives me an “I’m sorry.” look, but it’s not her fault.

And God forbid writing a check is involved.  It is also my observations in life that habitual check writing starts for women around age 35.  Not younger women.  Almost never men.  And generation seems to make no difference.  When younger women of any generation who never did this before reach a certain age, it kicks in, out comes the pocketbook and the checkbook.  Now, about a week ago, I did see an older man do something similar with his wallet and cash, but that was a an anomaly.  He was also looking around 70-ish.

It’s got to be a chemical imbalance, or something.

Ten Things That Should Be Against The Law

There’s not much to start with, because, well, the title kind of says it all.  So, here we go.

1) Auto-renew:  I can manage my payments quite nicely, thank you very much.  I don’t need your convenience, which is really you hoping I’ll forget and keep paying for your service long after I’ve stopped using it.

2) Terms of Service (TOS) without ways to negotiate or discuss:  You’re either with us or you’re against us.  That’s the attitude.  Accept our terms, or go away.  Raise your hand if you read the TOS on anything.  Yeah, I thought so.  I don’t either.  I already know pretty much what it’ll be… anything that could possibly go wrong will be in their favor, never mine.

3) Double standards in law enforcement: In some states police are allowed to use radar, but you’re not allowed to use a radar detector.  Should you ever find yourself in a police interrogation room… er, excuse me, interview room… the police and prosecutors are legally allowed to lie to you, but you are not legally allowed to lie to them.  No, fair is fair, level playing field and all that.

4) Credit reports and criteria about YOU that you are not allowed to see:  Your credit report virtually rules your life.  But do you know how it’s determined?  I bet ya don’t.  Oh, you have some vague idea, and of course if you pay your bills it’ll be better, but deep down hidden in the shadows you don’t know.  And you should.  Anything about you should be available to you.

A person should be able to copyright them self so that if anyone wants to do anything at all with your information they have to get your permission, agree to your TOS, and pay you a fee.

5) Buy 2 for $2.00, or 1 at regular price ($1.69):  I don’t want two hamburgers.  I’m only hungry for one hamburger.  I’m in a no-win situation with these “deals”.  I feel like I’m being screwed either way.  If I get two, I feel guilty for wasting food.  If I get one, I’m being price gouged.  They’ve already stated they’re willing to take a dollar for their burger, so just sell me one for a buck and otherwise leave me alone.

6) “Convenience” fees:  It’s bad enough that you have to pay a fee to your financial institution to pay online, like you’re getting a mother’s note for permission to give them money, but we’ll go for the big enchilada here… concert tickets.  Ticketmaster seems to be the worst.  They keep adding them on.  “Convenience fee”, “facility fee”, “service fee”, fees to print your own tickets, or a fee to have it mailed to you via snail mail.  These fees tend to be so overtly bogus that they can’t even think up good names to justify them.

And for your continued entertainment pleasure, here’s a couple blog posts by others specifically about this topic: How do I avoid TicketMaster fees? and Ticketmaster’s new blog: ‘We get it — you don’t like service fees’

7) Celebrating “firsts”:  Ok, we get it, something “historical” has happened that we will all promptly forget because it’s really not important.  All the truly historical “first” have already happened.  Let it go.

8) Companies having websites then making it virtually impossible to contact them or cancel:  You get suckered into violating rule #1 above, you agree to auto-deduction from your account.  Time passes and you decide you want to cancel, or maybe you just want to give them some feedback, so you go to their website, the same place you signed up, and… wait, where do I find the cancel button?  Oh, they hid it from you.

9) Not answering the question:  I don’t know what’s worse, the person who won’t answer the question, or the reporter who lets them get away with it by not pressing the issue.  Example…

Reporter:  “Senator Blowmoney, was that you we saw driving 90 mph on the freeway last night?”

Senator Blowmoney:  “Let me reiterate my full admiration and support for our fine law enforcement officers.  Theirs is a very difficult job, and I know that each and every one enforces the law fairly and with integrity.

Reporter:  <goes onto another topic>

😐

Is it just me?  Senator Blowmoney didn’t answer the question.  And not only didn’t you press the issue, you completely ignored that he didn’t answer the question.  What kind of a reporter are you anyway?

10) Thoughts and prayers:  Oh do shut up!  We get it, you got nothin’ in the way of actual help or solutions or even meaningful sympathy.  Spare me.

Now, of course, I am speaking tongue-in cheek. Maybe.  As a more-or-less free market advocate, I do not believe these things should literally be against the law, but they are bogus in concept and should end. I live strongly by the “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” ideal.

The Secret to Living to a Ripe Old Age

Bacon.

That goes without saying.  Oh, and being a jerk.  Yes, that’s right, be a jerk.  In a curmudgeonly way, of course.  That’s the secret.

You hear about people who live to be 104 and they credit a whiskey a day, biscuits and gravy, smoking, nitrate-laden meats, and on and on.  All that is just coincidence.  The part that no one talks about is that all these people were jerks.  Mean, nasty, stubborn, difficult, obstinate… jerks.  Allow me to present my case…

I watch a lot of true crime documentaries.  Shows like Forensic Files,etc.  I find them fascinating.  Quite often a murder victim is a young person.  Usually a girl, but not always.  And the one thing they ALL seem to have in common is that they were such sweet great wonderful people.  I’ve lost count at how many of these people would “light up a room” as soon as they walked in, how they all were “full of life”, and “had the world by the tail”.

Really?  Maybe this is why the world is so screwed up.  All the good people die young.  Perkiness attracts bad people, apparently.  Bad people leave other bad people alone.  There must be no satisfaction in harming another person like yourself.

So that’s it.  Be a jerk and you’ll live to over a hundred years.  I rest my case.

p.s.:  I wonder if having crass and insensitive taste adds a few years?

No, I am not a Luddite!

Part of me wants technological advance to… not stop, per se… but slow down a bit.  Maybe it’s me, but I would like to, you know, spend some time just doing things and getting things done without having to spend time keeping up with and learning something new every time I turn around.  Is that too much to ask?

Yes.  Yes, it is.

Anyway, let’s track the “progress” of human communication, shall we?  It all started with grunts.  (See my first post for where grunts fit into current society.)  Pre-cave men without a clear and defined language deficiency.  Then humans moved to painting pictures on cave walls, ala the cave men.  Eventually coherent spoken language evolved, and we held with that for awhile.  Then came the written word.  People could record ideas and convey them to others in places far away, either in distance or in time.  There were some sporadic changes in terms of technology, i.e. movable type, etc., but for the most part this stayed pretty constant for a long time.

Then, the game changer:  the telephone.  Communication over long distances was instantaneous.  People could talk and share important information immediately and pretty much at any time day or night.  And really, who doesn’t need to know about Aunt Erma’s gout right now?  Yes, important information was easily shared, and the world rejoiced.

Technology started advancing more quickly.  The next big technological advancement on our communication ride was email.  Sort of an updated merging of letters and telephone, only now we could send written correspondence instantaneously.  This was wonderful.  This is what I latched onto and what I personally prefer.  I will always prefer email.  It’s quick.  It’s easy.  It’s archival… and for that reason I will defend the “bcc”, aka “the CYA” of office communication.

Next up was Twitter.  Ugh, Twitter.  I will never, ever, understand the attraction of Twitter.  And now, as I understand it, the maximum length of characters has increased from 140 to 280.  In other words, it’s now twice as bad and twice as annoying as it used to be.  I once heard a baseball broadcast where Vin Scully referred to “tweets” on Twitter as “twits”.  Heehee.  I think Vin was onto something.

Now we have texts.  Ostensibly short messages for quick unimportant communication.  I proudly had never sent a text in my life until about four yeas ago, but they have a place.  Not as lengthy communication, though, and some people treat it as such.  No, just for short stuff that only needs to be said, like “Pick you up in 20 minutes.”  And don’t even get me started on “textspeak”.  Are you educated?  Good, act like it.  “r u 2 l8” is NOT an acceptable abbreviation of “Are you too late?”  I will pretty much shut you off in my mind if you do that… immediately… especially if you do it outside of texts and in public and other forms of writing and social media.  We as a species already suffer from too much dumbing down, don’t accelerate it.

As mentioned before, the advancement of technology keep increasing at a faster and faster pace.  Major communication revolutions that once took decades or even centuries, now happens in just a couple years.  I once thought, “Could we all agree to get together and just ignore the ‘next big thing’?”  That would be lovely.  Won’t happen, but that’d be awesome.  Instead, just slow down.  Let me enjoy what I have for awhile.  Being the first and most innovative does not impress me, it annoys me.  I don’t admire you for making my life more hectic, I curse you.

What’s next?  Going back to grunts with some mental telepathy mixed in?

Disclaimer:  Don’t mistake this as a historically accurate portrayal.  It’s just entertainment.  In other words, I don’t give a rat’s arse if you find something inaccurate herein.  Concept, not history lesson.  Go away!

Rant: Is there a market for pre-stained shirts?

I give up.

I dress reasonably nice. I prefer clean clothes. I dress somewhat conservatively. I have very vanilla tastes in clothing, so I prefer solid single-color shirts, muted colors, most of the time. I got that part down.

Then… I eat. Invariably, I spill something on my shirt. Seldom fails to happen. Bet your mortgage on it. Doesn’t seem to matter if I’m eating a burger, or if I’m eating a meal that requires a knife and fork. Chicken wings?  Forget it!  A whole wing is being dropped at some point.  If I’m sitting at a table, it doesn’t matter how close I lean over the table, or how small my bites are, or how conscientious I am, it still happens. And the fact that I wear plain solid-color shirts just makes it all the more obvious to the world.

It’s common for me to come home, strip my shirt off, and immediately apply stain-remover for the next load of laundry. Hell, what don’t they make laundry detergent out of stain remover? That would be awesome, but I digress.

Anyway, here’s the kicker, it’s almost always either the first bite or the last bite. Seldom in between. Makes me think I have invoked the wrath of the fashion gods, or something. Seriously, why do I even try?

So, since eating like a normal cultured person seems to be beyond my abilities, I’m thinking these are my most realistic options…

1. Wear loud shirts that will hide the stains.

I already annoy people with my irreverent sense of humor, I don’t need to look like a schlep, too. I mean, if you’re 50 years old, and you routinely wear loud animated NASCAR shirts in public, you’re still trying to be 12. The stains will be hidden, I suppose, but no.

2. Wear a bib 24/7.

Might seem like a realistic option, but how big does the bib need to be? Seems that when I put a napkin on my chest at home, the aforementioned fashions gods direct the offending food matter to an area juuuuuust outside the bib/napkin. Maybe a poncho?  Kudos for trying, but no participation trophy.

3. Wear pre-stained shirts and stop worrying about it.

Just accept reality and move on. I often see people buy a new car then obsess over it and get so upset when it gets its first door ding. OMG, you’d think the rapture had just occurred and they weren’t included. C’mon, people, it was inevitable. And the second door ding is met with a shrug because they’re over it by then. This is why I believe that ALL vehicles should leave the assembly line with a “pre-ding” somewhere on the side. (Hell, I’d like to apply for that job, just give me a hammer!) You buy a car, it already has a ding, your life has just been eased of an unnecessary first-world stress. Problem solved.

In that same spirit, I think it’d be best that I purchase pre-stained shirts. I would no longer have to worry. It is what it is. Any new stain I contribute simply won’t matter in the same way the second door ding on a car doesn’t matter. Problem solved. I wonder if there’d be a market for that? Similar to pre-ripped jeans that sell for more than new unripped jeans. (I will never understand fashion.)

Given those three options, I know what you’re thinking, “But Ken, just be more careful.” <insert blank stare here> Oh, do shut up. As if that never occurred to me. Retraining the world to view stains as a positive thing would be more practical.

Note:  Beginning a third special category, The Rant.

Time

…or the lack thereof.

There’s a Twilight Zone episode, titled “Time Enough At Last”, where Henry Bemis never has time to do the thing he wants to do most… read. Long story short, the gist of the story is that he sneaks away to a basement to read, and when he emerges there has been a nuclear holocaust and he’s left with plenty of books and no one to tell him no. Paradise, at last!

It seems to never end, does it? There never seems to be enough time, does there? Too many things to do, not enough time. It doesn’t help that we consciously add things to do when we know we don’t have enough time already. Yeah, like I need something else to do. I let some things go unattended too much as it is.

Here’s what I want to happen: I want time and the world to STOP! No time progression for a set period of time. A month would be good. Yeah, a month. I could catch up on things, tackle my ‘to do’ list, do all those little nagging things that I have been neglecting… and start fresh.  Since time would be suspended I wouldn’t have all those other outside commitments getting in the way. The calendar is idle. The month wouldn’t disappear, the calendar would pick right up where it left off, and nothing would be lost. That sounds wonderful.

*sigh*… but who am I kidding? The procrastinator in me would take it as an opportunity to do nothing. I’d probably do a lot of napping, playing with the dog, and cruising the internet. I could catch up on all that other stuff later. After all, I wouldn’t be “wasting” any time, right?

Oh, and what happened to Henry Bemis? He immediately broke his glasses, and with no one left to fix them or get new ones, and virtually blind without them, he was left with all the time he wanted and still unable to do what he wanted. The final scene shows him weeping at his situation, and exclaiming, “That’s not fair. That’s not fair at all. There was time now. There was—was all the time I needed…! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” as he was surrounded by books he now can never read.