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Some statements tickle our funny bones and are unforgettable, like the church notice I just quoted. People are always saying and writing dumb statements that make for good comedy. For example, late night comedian Jay Leno has a section of his show devoted to “Headlines.” He recounts, among other bits of news, the combined last names of couples who have just married. I can’t think of any hilarious combinations at the moment, but I remember laughing heartily at some of them.

Laughing is good for us. It lightens our mood and actually, can lower blood pressure. The world will always be full of tragedy. Often, we don’t have to look beyond our own families and friends to see trouble. However, if you look for humor in unexpected places, you will surely find it. Those are my grandmotherly words for today. Smile, laugh, be happy!

It’s a Dog’s Life.

I am contacted online daily by face-less, sometimes, name-less people. They could be martians, for all I know. Some of the letters are asking for favors, some are issuing demands, some are chatty and congratulatory, some are terse, and some ask the impossible. All of the people writing them are invisible.

I spend my days, looking at a computer screen, answering questions, responding to a myriad of queries, for people I don’t know, will never meet, and for some who live a world away, in places I will never visit or don’t even know the location.

These connections are made possible, via the Internet. Sometimes, people find us whom we didn’t like in the first place, and whom we wish would just go away. I speak for myself. Other times, links are discovered between family members in distant places of whom we have never even heard their names before, but they are second cousins, etc., and knowing of them makes us feel part of something bigger than ourselves.

The Internet is like dealing with Lilliputians, you know … those little people who tied down the giant? In this case, they are not in our sight. We just know they are there – those “imaginary people who live in this machine.” (very big grin)

I don’t know what happened to person-to-person contact. People dash off missives and mandates by e-mail, when picking up the phone would provide a real point of contact, and an opportunity for “give and take,” not just a “this is how it is going to be” attitude.

On the other hand, I pretty much avoid the phone these days. Who wants to talk to telemarketers who are merely trying to make your wallet a little lighter? There are too many “good causes” out there, and once you’ve contributed, you will be hounded for more money, forever, by mail, e-mail, and phone.

No, it is getting to the point that if anyone wants to reach me, they may have to enlist the services of a passenger pigeon. Of course, I am safe in saying that, inasmuch as the bird is extinct.

For now, I am “hanging in there,” still reading e-mails and responding. The phone is another matter – depending on my mood and convenience, I answer it or not. Sometimes, to confuse the enemy, I answer the phone in another language. The world won’t come to an end if I don’t pick it up at all, and there is always the trusty answering machine.

The strange thought occurs to me that I could be dead, and someone else could be writing these posts in a pseudo-Pat fashion. Who would know? I don’t want to test out the theory … yet. At least my demise would give all the other little imaginary, name-less, face-less folks in the machine, something more to do.

Those are my strange ramblings for the day. Ciao.

Pat

Since time began, that is human time, man has discovered new things, and upon some survival depends. We have learned how to make fires; we have learned how to fight forest fires. We have learned to communicate with each other, and with future generations, by using animal blood to make cave paintings. Those who have not been damaged by vandalism still survive. We have developed sequences of sounds that we call “languages.” These words strung together, have sometimes meant survival or a call to arms, as in, “The Redcoats are coming!”

We have created sublime works of ceramic arts, fine art paintings, and other artistic renderings. At the same time, we have painted ugly graffiti, full of hateful, and confused images. Most art work is meant to be expressive. I suppose any art work phentermine side effectshas to mean something to its maker. Take Picasso. Yes, I mean … take Picasso … please. His famous painting, “Guernica” that depicts the Spanish Civil War, is not my cup of tea.

I can see the idea of war. Some kid gets smashed to the ground in the playground and his glasses get stolen. Well, he is going to want retribution, not to mention his personal property back.

For the life of me, I cannot understand thousands of men, fighting with each other, to the death, when they are not personally acquainted and have no personal quarrel. Yet, this has happened time and again. What gives? I can’t see myself marching up to someone I never knew before, and say, shooting that person in the head. Maybe I’m naive. I don’t understand violence, but I do “get it” a little better, if there is a cause.

I started out by asking “Why Be Neanderthals?” Can I rephrase that question? Why NOT Be Neanderthals? I mean I didn’t see their daily “rag” or anything, but I have to think and to hope that they were too preoccupied with trying to start a fire to cook something tasty, and that random casualties were rare.

I’ll have to revisit my Art History books. I am probably all wrong in mentioning “Neanderthals.” It was most likely some other group who made the paintings in places like the Caves of Altamira. Neanderthals were simply the earliest group of humans who come to mind. The name wreaks of a certain primitivism that is appealing. I’m merely trying to make a point. If I have to explain it to you, then I’ve already failed.

Live free and enjoy peace, and if you see a Neanderthal running toward you with a stone axe raised high, head in the other direction … fast. I’m sure I’ll be sharing more of my silly wanderings with you on another day. For now, I must turn to more serious matters.

Patricia Cummings