November 24, 2013
Several years ago, I thought of a description of male reactions to things that men encounter in life. It was "If they can't f--- it, fight it, or eat it, they don't know what to do with it."
I thought it was funny but not really true and much too cynical for me even to tell another person about it.
I never thought that, years later, world forces would conspire and cause that description to seem not only obsolete but quaint in its failure to encapsulate an epidemic scourge of anti-intellectualism, rape culture, and generalized brutality.
Copyright L. Kochman, November 24, 2013 @ 11:58 a.m./copyright notice edited @ 12:00 p.m.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Friday, November 8, 2013
Cheap Shots Show The Worth Of The People Who Send Them
I once saw a man who had only one arm. He was with a woman. She wasn't sorry for him, and nobody who was paying attention would have felt sorry for her.
If you are old enough to think about the things that happen to you and to other people, and have had enough things happen to you and seen enough things happen to other people, sometimes you'll know when you've seen someone who has refused to let life's vicissitudes and seemingly indiscriminately distributed injuries be the final answer.
Adversity doesn't always build character, and lack of adversity doesn't always prevent character from being built. That's why it's always disheartening to meet people who think their success is entirely of their own doing when it isn't, and inspiring to meet people who ignored life's invitation to fail.
Copyright L. Kochman, November 8, 2013 @ 4:50 a.m.
If you are old enough to think about the things that happen to you and to other people, and have had enough things happen to you and seen enough things happen to other people, sometimes you'll know when you've seen someone who has refused to let life's vicissitudes and seemingly indiscriminately distributed injuries be the final answer.
Adversity doesn't always build character, and lack of adversity doesn't always prevent character from being built. That's why it's always disheartening to meet people who think their success is entirely of their own doing when it isn't, and inspiring to meet people who ignored life's invitation to fail.
Copyright L. Kochman, November 8, 2013 @ 4:50 a.m.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Food and Faults
The conglomerate likes to pervert things, which is why I'm starting this page by saying "NO CODE." I shouldn't have to say that, because I've said it for years.
The Internet frequently puts me in a bad mood. This afternoon, before I got to the Internet, I started thinking about my parents.
There are reasons why I should never speak to my parents again. However, that doesn't mean that I have to hate everything about what it was like to be their daughter.
My father once gave my mother and me something to laugh about for years when he told us the results of thinking he'd done about what it would be like to be a single man instead of married for decades. During his recitation he said, emphatically, "My wife can cook."
It was a true statement, the proof of which he has ruefully carried about with him since before I was born.
My father says funny things about a lot of subjects. Some of his funny pronouncements about food over the years were his declaration that he liked "everything about eggplant except the taste and the texture," and about his dislike of tofu and what he considered its tendency to skulk in otherwise appetizing dishes. He utilized the adage "De gustibus non est disputandum" about things other than food, and he also seemed to have that attitude toward the women in his immediate family and their liking of things such as eggplant and tofu. He did defend, with some derision, our right to like those things.
My mother was never a bad cook. I think it was when I started to leave for significant amounts of time, for educational purposes, that she decided that she wanted to be even better than she already was. She began to buy and study gourmet food magazines, and that worked.
My father didn't cook often because he didn't have to; he could cook when he felt like it. La cuisine de l'homme de la maison tended to be:
--steak
--potatoes
--eggs
At times when my mother had other things to do at night, or was traveling, there was usually a night of said cuisine, which was good, and then my father's car got to mingle with other cars in the parking lot of a restaurant.
Food doesn't solve every problem. There are certainly things in many people's lives that would cause anyone to despair. Although my own life has, at times, seemed as if it wasn't worth living, I've never thought that life was bad, just that the things preventing me from really living my life couldn't be stopped.
My parents valued a lot of things about life, food among them. This afternoon, it occurred to me that, although I get discouraged by the sheer number of horrible things in the world, not least of which is the deliberate infliction of pain on me and other people, it might be that my mostly perpetually cheerful attitude toward life is shared by others who Had At Least One Parent Who Was A Good Cook.
Copyright L. Kochman, November 4, 2013 @ 7:30 p.m./addition @ 7:37 p.m./addition @ 11:15 p.m.
The Internet frequently puts me in a bad mood. This afternoon, before I got to the Internet, I started thinking about my parents.
There are reasons why I should never speak to my parents again. However, that doesn't mean that I have to hate everything about what it was like to be their daughter.
My father once gave my mother and me something to laugh about for years when he told us the results of thinking he'd done about what it would be like to be a single man instead of married for decades. During his recitation he said, emphatically, "My wife can cook."
It was a true statement, the proof of which he has ruefully carried about with him since before I was born.
My father says funny things about a lot of subjects. Some of his funny pronouncements about food over the years were his declaration that he liked "everything about eggplant except the taste and the texture," and about his dislike of tofu and what he considered its tendency to skulk in otherwise appetizing dishes. He utilized the adage "De gustibus non est disputandum" about things other than food, and he also seemed to have that attitude toward the women in his immediate family and their liking of things such as eggplant and tofu. He did defend, with some derision, our right to like those things.
My mother was never a bad cook. I think it was when I started to leave for significant amounts of time, for educational purposes, that she decided that she wanted to be even better than she already was. She began to buy and study gourmet food magazines, and that worked.
My father didn't cook often because he didn't have to; he could cook when he felt like it. La cuisine de l'homme de la maison tended to be:
--steak
--potatoes
--eggs
At times when my mother had other things to do at night, or was traveling, there was usually a night of said cuisine, which was good, and then my father's car got to mingle with other cars in the parking lot of a restaurant.
Food doesn't solve every problem. There are certainly things in many people's lives that would cause anyone to despair. Although my own life has, at times, seemed as if it wasn't worth living, I've never thought that life was bad, just that the things preventing me from really living my life couldn't be stopped.
My parents valued a lot of things about life, food among them. This afternoon, it occurred to me that, although I get discouraged by the sheer number of horrible things in the world, not least of which is the deliberate infliction of pain on me and other people, it might be that my mostly perpetually cheerful attitude toward life is shared by others who Had At Least One Parent Who Was A Good Cook.
Copyright L. Kochman, November 4, 2013 @ 7:30 p.m./addition @ 7:37 p.m./addition @ 11:15 p.m.
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