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Archive for the ‘Seychelles’ Category

Julian Assange Makes Me Go Wiki in the Knees … leaks not up for discussion

Posted in Men, News, Sex, Seychelles, tagged , on November 29, 2010| 20 Comments »

Wiki Image

Yeah, yeah … I know hearts are all a pitty-pat and thighs a’quaking for the new Hawaii Five-0 guys, and that Daniel Radcliffe has grown up enough to be considered luscious these days … but REALLY! … is anyone in today’s world anywhere near as flat-out hot, as sweat-inducingly titillating, as compellingly arousing as Julian Assange?

Not in my book, Babes! And not in yours, either, if your gauge of wanna-slather-him-in-custard-and-slurp-up-sumdat-spotted-dick runs anywhere near where mine takes its turn around the dial.

Okay, he doesn’t have Jason Statham’s body and I’m pretty sure he can’t pitch like Brian Wiison. He’s got no full dark mane, but is rather sparsely coiffed and gray in that premature-cute-as-a-bug sort of way, looks like he’d lobster up after fifteen minutes on my beach, isn’t particularly tall and probably can’t play a mean guitar, but … ooooooooh! does he do it for me!

Assange advocates a “transparent” and “scientific” approach to journalism, saying that “you can’t publish a paper on physics without the full experimental data and results; that should be the standard in journalism.” In 2006, CounterPunch called him Australia’s most infamous former computer hacker. The Age has called him “one of the most intriguing people in the world” and “internet’s freedom fighter.” Assange has called himself “extremely cynical.” The Personal Democracy Forum said that as a teenager he was “Australia’s most famous ethical computer hacker.” He has been described as thriving on intellectual battle.

Pant. Pant.

That he’s smart certainly appeals, and he is whiplash smart. An international man of mystery? Well, duh! The guy is harder to nail down than the Scarlet Pimpernel, a reluctant star, a man long disinclined to step into the slimelight he would rather focus than hog. He is also brave, irreverent, cocky, demanding, uncompromising … and looks enough like Bill Maher to set me aching down under. (Yeah … right … that’s a reference to him being Australian … )

The fact that he is all about transparency ups my longing exponentially, as susceptibility for bullshit doing any sweeping off the feet has ebbed while fondness for exposure, and exposure of stuff that’s hard to come by — as opposed to easy (sure … that’s what I meant) — can set me to sway in breeze factor zero.

Although some accuse Julian of over-exaggeration when it comes to threats and dangers to his adorable person, the idea there could very well be a “manhunt” on for him fits and brings out the come-Sweetie-I’ll-take-care womanly stuff in me that wants to hold him to my breast and soothe his worried brow.

Whew … pass that towel over, will ya, please …

So … Mr. Assange … Julian … Jules …

If some time on a tropical island where no one … but me … will have the foggiest who the hell you are appeals, there’s an amazing view from my bed.

Oh … and bring wine.

One more thing … I don’t cook, so you’ll be doing that, too.

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“Sisterhood is powerful.” ~Robin Morgan

Posted in Friends, love, Men, Sex, Women's rights on November 20, 2010| 4 Comments »

I’ve spent no little time taking on men in a WTF-is-with-them-anywhoo? sort of way over the past months, so it’s time I set my blaster on stun and turned it toward my own gender.

As this article suggests, as it is, “Holding Up a Mirror Along with the Bullhorn: Why Women Can’t Lay All the Blame Elsewhere”.

When we consider issues of gender in this country, we tend to assess the progress and prospects of the American woman through an amorphous sort of “look how far we’ve come” or “look how far we haven’t come” analysis, eyes trained on the Man and related cultural influences that have historically beaten us back. It’s a legitimate exercise. And yet, as we do this, I think it’s also valid to consider a related, if more elusive and controversial, component to the contemporary female experience, one we’d much prefer to sweep under the rug. And that’s the degree to which girls and women are — or are not — nurturing each other’s ascent.

To be fair, it’s not a one-side thing, this accusing.

In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on woman. ~Nancy Astor

But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t rise above, does it, Girls?

Yes, Madeleine Albright got it right when she said, “There is a special place in hell for women who do not help other women”, but another woman who made it big in the man’s world that is politics, Bella Abzug, references another issue …

I prefer the word homemaker, because housewife always implies that there may be a wife someplace else.

Ay, there’s the rub.

So much of my yammering on the duplicitous nature of men has rather ignored the huge part played in those dramas by women only too happy to bounce on someone else’s trampoline.

Although it’s sometimes merely circumstance that leads women into a dally with another’s dolly, there are those who prefer to play with a Ken who has a Barbie:

The hooked and booked man is like a forbidden temptation. That’s what makes him irresistibly attractive to a woman. He stirs a challenge in her. She feels a sense of power in attracting a man who is already taken. What makes him the catch for her is his confidence, experience and authority. The excitement stems from the fact that he’s already taken.

Having seen infidelity from every angle … yes, I admit to taking a wander over posted ground where “No Trespassing” was writ large a few times … I have first-hand experience on both sides of the fence. Although I never set out with an intention to encroach, it happens, and since the end results vary between a shrug, a sly and secret smile and nuclear holocaust I’m not recommending a hop into that pasture to anyone.

Of course, an intentional invasion is a declaration of war and there are none-to-few who quite happily lob a grenade into a mine field, sit back and wait for the massive explosions one would expect from such a provocative act. Sometimes the earth settles and they plow it for a while, but they’re always on the lookout for new incoming that can rip apart their tidy furrows.

Truth be told, women don’t like women much, and trust them even less. Sure, we have girlfriends … and FFS! we do need and treasure them … but women in general? Not so much. If to men we are the sugar and spice of life, to each other we are arsenic; in controlled amounts helpful and healing, but otherwise poison.

Divide et impera, hey, Ladies? That is the result the lack of sisterhood leaves us with. Playing into the hands of men … in any old way … has done us little good as a gender, and it’s only when we make the effort to join hands and hearts and minds that we have any luck at all in climbing ladders or breaking ceilings or gaining control of such basics as our own bodies.

So … Girls … maybe it’s time we developed a new perspective. I suggest this thought: You wouldn’t think of using another woman’s douche bag, so why in hell would you use another woman’s douche bag?

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Serendipitous DooDoo … or is it VooDoo?

Posted in Friends, Loss, love, Men, Music I like, Poetry on November 11, 2010| 8 Comments »

Funny how that happens, the serendipity thing, but some friends are so close … even from 10,000 miles away … they know without knowing how things need to fit.

What am I on about?

Last night, just before turning out the lights — at about quarter after one — the following verse spilled from my fingers … heart … whatever … because that’s the way my heart and fingers cope.

He Calls

He calls
he says, Please …
don’t tell
Don’t tell about the history
Don’t tell about the future
promises
lies
compromise

He calls
he pleads, Please,
don’t let them know
the truth in the history
the vision of the future
promises
lies
compromise

He calls
we laugh, Please!
don’t forget
Don’t need to hear the history
Don’t need to know the future
promises
lies
compromise

He calls
we fight, Please!
don’t cry
Forget about the history
ponder on a future
promises
lies
compromise

He calls
we kiss, Please …
don’t judge
Glorious was the history
nebulous is future
promises
lies
compromise

Waking up this morning, what waits is music from Robbie, my cosmic twin, who has a keen grasp of my heart and often knows my mind before I do. (He’s a bit spooky, he is.) …

Now, I write a lot of poetry, and most is for therapeutic purposes, very little seeing the light of day, but on this bright, sunny morning in Seychelles, it seems this must.

Serendipty do … or something …

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Deepavali Nal Vazhthukal … Happy Diwali …

Posted in History, Island life, News, Religion, Seychelles, tagged , , , , on November 5, 2010| Leave a Comment »

The Rangoli of Lights

‘Tis the season to be jolly over a wide range of holidays celebrated by loads of people in various points on the globe and things brighten up considerably after the ghoulish glee of Halloween in the US and Dia de los Muertos in Mexico as the lights go on in India.

Yes, it’s Diwali, दीपावली in Sanskrit, and also known as Deepavali, the Festival of Lights.

The name Diwali is itself a contraction of the word “Deepavali”, which translates into row of lamps. Diwali involves the lighting of small clay lamps (diyas) (or Deep in Sanskrit: दीप) filled with oil to signify the triumph of good over evil. During Diwali, all the celebrants wear new clothes and share sweets and snacks with family members and friends.

I did my bit today by stopping into the Indian-owned shops I frequent with wishes for a Happy Diwali and was treated to big smiles, lovely whiffs of incense and a gander at more-than-usually elaborate alter offerings. The Hindu temple in town will be hoppin’ tonight!

Unlike in the Christian world where only one version of any given holiday is deemed acceptable and all those pagan vestiges like putting trees in houses and hunting for colored eggs are considered mere fluff, those of various beliefs embrace Diwali for a host of different reasons.

Where the Hindus in some regions spend their holiday worshipping Lord Ganesha and mark the marriage of Lakshmi to Vishnu, those in Bengal dedicate the festival to Mother Kali, their goddess of strength.

The Jains use the occasion to celebrate the moment Mahavira attained Nirvana:

Diwali has a very special significance in Jainism, just like Buddha Purnima, the date of Buddha’s Nirvana, is for Buddhists as Easter is for Christians. Lord Mahavira, the last of the Jain Tirthankaras, attained Nirvana or Moksha on this day at Pavapuri on Oct. 15, 527 BC, on Chaturdashi of Kartika, as Tilyapannatti of Yativrashaba from the sixth century states:

Mahavira is responsible for establishing the Dharma followed by Jains even today. According to tradition, the chief disciple of Mahavira, Ganadhara Gautam Swami also attained complete knowledge (Kevalgyana) on this day, thus making Diwali one of the most important Jain festivals.

For the Sikhs, the lights have a glow all their own:

Diwali is a Hindu festival of lights that was appropriated by the Sikhs to celebrate the release from prison of Guru Hargobind, the sixth Guru, from prison in 1619. The Golden Temple was illuminated with lights to welcome the Guru home, and Sikhs continue this tradition by lighting lamps on Diwali each year. The Golden Temple is illuminated with thousands of lights.

There are, of course, roots trailing all the way back to the earth, as all religions to if you follow the path far enough:

Deepavali marks the end of the harvest season in most of India. Farmers give thanks for the bounty of the year gone by, and pray for a good harvest for the year to come. Traditionally this marked the closing of accounts for businesses dependent on the agrarian cycle, and is the last major celebration before winter. Lakshmi symbolizes wealth and prosperity, and her blessings are invoked for a good year ahead.

No matter what the specific focus of worship, there’s a shared perception of Diwali that I find … well … illuminating:

In each legend, myth and story of Deepawali lies the significance of the victory of good over evil; and it is with each Deepawali and the lights that illuminate our homes and hearts, that this simple truth finds new reason and hope. From darkness unto light — the light that empowers us to commit ourselves to good deeds, that which brings us closer to divinity. During Diwali, lights illuminate every corner of India and the scent of incense sticks hangs in the air, mingled with the sounds of fire-crackers, joy, togetherness and hope. Diwali is celebrated around the globe.

So, Happy Diwali to all! No matter what your belief may be, light and good deeds deserve celebrating!

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Line in the sand …

Posted in Entitled to opinions, Friends, Gay rights, News, Religion, Sex, Smarten up on October 10, 2010| 6 Comments »

Tolerance. I’m all for it, or was. Embracing diversity, respecting the views and beliefs of others, giving plenty of room for different strokes, live-and-let-live and all that hooey.

Yep. No expectation that folks should think like I do just because I’m right, now is there?

I’ve managed a lot of years on this attitude, but I’m just about done with it and feeling a need to start drawing lines in the sand; un-crossable, non-neogtialble lines dividing me from them.

What’s brought on this uncharacteristic lean toward leaning away? Short answer: I’m reacting to reactionaries. I’ve had it with different strokes reining down on heads, arms, legs, and those who limit “let live” to only their own ilk.

A far too steady diet of news stories like this has strained all limits of forbearance.

The attackers forced the man to strip to his underwear and tied him to a chair, the police said. One of the teenage victims was still there, and the “Goonies” ordered him to attack the man. The teenager hit him in the face and burned him with a cigarette on his nipple and penis as the others jeered and shouted gay slurs, the police said. Then the attackers whipped the man with a chain and sodomized him with a small baseball bat.

This, of course, following right on the heels of the deaths of Alec Henrison and Tyler Clementi, Asher Brown, Seth Walsh, Justin Aaberg, Raymond Chase, Billy Lucas … and on and on.

I’m done being shocked and sad. I’m through cutting slack to those who are just too invested in whatever-it-is-stupid-agenda that makes it okay to label gay people as “less than” or “abominations”, to carry signs insisting that “god hates fags” or to judge in any way something that has NOTHING to do with them.

Although I will continue to be amused by kind-hearted and humorous get-backs like this video posted on facebook … ‘like’ them here … and I’ll wear purple on the 20th in support of efforts to raise awareness, I will no longer sit back and listen to anyone wax on about being entitled to harbor even the hint of condemnation for a segment of the population that has been segmented off because of who they choose to love.

Nope.

People like the moronic Andrew Shirvell get nothing by my wrath and “anti-gay activists” are deemed evil incarnate, especially those who who use their stance to hide behind their preference for behinds.

I won’t limit myself to simply encouraging people to support organizations like The Trevor Project, but now take to vilifying any and all who don’t.

My tolerance is gone, and I don’t give a flying fuck if someone thinks it’s within their rights to disagree over the rightness or wrongness of homosexuality … it’s NOT. Don’t like the idea of gay? No one cares. Keep it to yourself, or, better yet, get a grip, stop spending time conjuring mental images of acts that are none of your damned business and get it through your head that gay people are not only as good as you are, they are very often a whole lot better in all the ways that count on the goodness scale.

Here are some truths that might help with that:

1) Homosexuality is NOT a choice. Some people are blond, some people are Black, some people are gay. (Some are blond AND black AND gay … not always a good look, but nobody’s place to judge.) And who the fuck would choose to be gay in this world? Anyone worried that they might make that “choice” may just want to take another gander at their motivation for condemnation.

2) Gay people could give a shit whether or not you approve. What is important is whether or not you deny rights, and if you do, you’re an asshole.

3) For those who fall back on religion as an excuse to cast aspersions, keep in mind that the story goes that Jesus had two dads, and he turned out okay, and any belief that any god should care what people do with their god-given bits shortchanges that god by reducing him to pin-headed moron status.

Feel free to add to this list …

Yes … I’m pissed off today, even more than I was yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. I’m afraid for so many I love so much, terrified someone will hurt them because of who and how they love. I’m crushed with the thought that fear is growing around them, turning them into hermits when they should be flying free and joyfully. I’m furious that some are forced into hiding themselves behind a mask of heterosexuality, denying their true and lovely natures and their loves.

I’ve tried it other ways, but it’s not worked out so well, and now I’m fighting intolerance with intolerance. So, to anyone who disagrees with me … fuck you. Sandra hates self-righteous homophobes.

Line drawn. Cross over to the good side or stay well away.

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Nuts, bolts and changes …

Posted in Expat Living, Island life, Seychelles, Writing for a living on September 11, 2010| 1 Comment »

Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are. ~Bertold Brecht

An interview with me sparked by my contribution to the new book Female Nomad and Friends … “ is soon to be published.

Bestselling author Rita Golden Gelman launches Female Nomad and Friends: Tales of Breaking Free and Breaking Bread Around the World (A Three Rivers Press Original), June 1, 2010, in Seattle. Forty-one authors tell their stories of adventuring around the world; all but two of them are women.

With “adventuring around the world” as a focus, the interviewer voiced an interest in my world and the changes I’ve seen since first venturing as far as Seychelles back in 1993, prompting a casting back of my mind to early days here and a brief wander through the almost-two-decades leading to the ‘modern’ island life I live now.

I’ve seen many changes to my personal circumstances, but life boiling down, as it does, to the nuts and bolts of plodding one day to the next, it’s nuts and bolts we’re looking at this morning.

I’ll start with the nuts, admitting that my mother sends me walnuts from California, but you can now often find almonds in the shops, and hardware-ish establishments seem well stocked in screws, bolts and tacks, although most are Chinese-made and break easily. The place in town that sells underwear and children’s shoes still has car tires parked at the front door, and any search for specific items involves a hunt through retailers whose shelves seem to have been arranged by Sybil.

All those years back, a phone call to my mom in the US involved a trip to town. Cable & Wireless, the only telecommunication company at the time, offered international calling booths, and for a mere $12.00 a minute would send my voice halfway around the world. Now, almost everyone over 15 has a stylish cell phone permanently plastered to their texting fingers and queues of folks with 10 rupees in their pocket to recharge prepaids at half the top-up cost stretch around town. I not only have three phones, but also an internet connection … some of the time … that offers up a daily alternative to the one daily newspaper, Seychelles Nation, a publication that has no news on Sunday.

Having spent time in many countries by 1993, I was astounded to find this island the only place I was not able to buy a Coke. SeyPearl was the sole provider of soft drinks, and Seybrew was the only brand of beer. Although Pepsi is still hard to come by and I’ve yet to see a Dr. Pepper, Coca Cola has taught this part of the world to sing and some restaurants even offer Corona, lime and all.

Before cable TV was made available, and immediately became de rigueur, SBC was the only television station. With limited programming and an interesting social sense, every evening at 8:30 it would go off-air for an hour to allow people to eat dinner. 11pm saw the end of the broadcast day and came with an admonition to viewers to ‘go to bed’. Now, however, it’s 24/7 and people here fully grasp the reference when I refer to life in Seychelles being rather like “Lost” meets “Desperate Housewives”.

The number of cars on the road has increased exponentially, as traffic and number plates prove; my first car here sported S4016, meaning it was one of 4,016 vehicles registered in the country. New ones on the road now are close to hitting 30,000, and although we did get 5 kilometers of dual carriage way … two lanes of traffic in each direction for American readers … between here and Victoria, most roads keep their narrow windiness, hairpin turns and steep grades.

The world has contracted greatly and sucked Seychelles into the homogenized ball along with it. Seychelles living is not nearly the unique experience it once was … both for the good and for the not-so-good …

BUT …

The country is stunningly beautiful, the sea is as close to pristine as water that globally connects to all water can be, we locals consider beaches crowded when we have to share with more than 20 people, and we still have not one single fast food franchise.

There could come a day when my view includes oil rigs, shopping malls rise up and become teen hangouts and a McDonald’s drive-thru beckons, but that is not today. Check back in 2026 …

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Balls and Bats …

Posted in Island life, Loss, love, science, Seychelles, tagged on September 4, 2010| 5 Comments »

(Apologies to international readers unfamiliar with baseball lingo and a pledge that this post has little to do with the sport, being actually about fruit and furry flying animals, but needed a segue … or two … as I work my way back in to blogging.)

Yeah, yeah … another strike out. So goes an inning on the big diamond of life. Still have my balls, though, and am happily stepping up to the plate. I’m ready to send any curves, sliders and sinkers lobbed toward me up, up and over the fence, yet patient enough to take a walk if that’s what will score and get me home.

Yes, hope, like baseball, springs eternal, and with Spring on the way here in the Southern Hemisphere it is a perfect time to concentrate on things home, rather than away games, ignore crowds adoring the opposing team with little respect for fair territory and tag up.

Thankfully, bats are deffo not lacking.

Another ripe jack fruit in the tree at the bottom of my garden is the venue for flying fox fests that infuse the tropical night, typically tranquil, with a rollicking, rambunctious racket that have many a Seychellois thinking curry chauve-souris for dinner could kill two bats with one stone.

I am a big fan of Pteropus seychellensis … the Seychelles fruit bat … and NOT on the plate. They put on one hell of a show of aerial acrobatics on a daily basis and add an element of drama to sunsets and rainbows. They’re also so cute.

Seychelles Flying Fox

I know there are some who suffer from chiroptophobia and am guessing pointing out that fruit bats don’t fit the designation the fear of bats has in the Latin won’t make much of a dent in any phobic armour constructed over the years from bad movies and worse stereotypes. The fact that they have sweet little faces, not the monster-like visage of some of the more perfected insectivores since sonar isn’t their guidance system, does have me going all awwwwww over them, but others might be just a tad put off by the leathery wings thing.

No matter. Even the most vampire-fearing reader should appreciate how interesting these animals are.

The Seychelles is rather poor in the amount of endemic mammals. The two endemic mammals treated here are the two endemic bats of the Seychelles. Coleura seychellensis, Sheath-tailed bat. A small insectivorous bat (10g) that reside in caves. Present on mahe and Silhouette island. An extremely rare bat with possibly less than 50 individuals.

Pteropus seychellensis seychellensis, Seychelles fruit bat. Almost black with rusty brown face and ventral side, and black/brown muzzle. A fructivorous species.

Being the only endemic mammal in Seychelles, you’d think bats would be held in higher regard, but currying … unfortunately not with favor, but flavoring … seems to be the top praise they garner.

The Seychelles fruit bat or Seychelles flying fox … is found on the granitic islands of Seychelles. It is a significant component of the ecosystems for the islands, dispersing the seeds of many tree species.

The huge jack fruit tree now serving as smorgasbord most likely began its germination in the gut of an ancestor of one of the cuties now scuttling across a branch, as did much of the fruit growing wild on this island. We can thank our little furry friends for making almost any hike on Mahé come complete with a snack somewhere, should one feel the need for a fructose boost.

I’ve known a couple of bats as pets, and although I far prefer to see them flying free they can be mighty cuddly and they like to lick. (Since bats can’t take off from the ground, if a young one falls from its mother, it’s doomed. Occasionally people find fallen babies and raise them up.)

In researching info on our bats this morning, I found an answer to a question friends and I have asked many times while Anse wallowing over the years: Why do these guys tempt fate in daredevil dives seaward that see them skimming the surface of the Indian Ocean so closely that one false wingbeat will trap them?

Over the past few years there have been anecdotal reports of Seychelles fruit bats flying low over the sea, apparently drinking. These reports, by a number of different observers, always describe a single bat flying down from a hill or mountain and dipping down to the surface of the sea. In none of the observations could it be determined for certain what the bat was doing and it was assumed that it must have been drinking. Observations have been made from the islands of Mahé, Silhouette and Aride in different months of the year (including January, March and October) but always when the sea was calm.

On 15th March 2002 a fruit bat was observed descending to the sea at Anse Patates, Silhouette island. The bat was observed from a boat approximately 300m off shore, and was estimated to be 150m away from the boat and an equal distance to the shore. Sea conditions were calm, with no air movement. The bat dipped down to the surface of the sea 4 times in the space of 2 minutes (13:07-9hrs). Due to the proximity to the bat it was possible to see that as the bat descended to the surface of the sea it dipped its breast into the water. The head was raised slightly, preventing the mouth contacting the sea. The behaviour was observed frequently in 2003; several times off the coast of Praslin and in March 2003 at least 8 bats were seen dipping down to the sea at Anse Mondon on the north coast of Silhouette. This included one bat making three repeat flights to the sea. All these bats were roosting in trees along the coast.

From these observations it is clear that the bats were not drinking but were deliberately immersing its fur in the sea. Salt-water immersion may be a strategy to remove parasites which would be expected to be abundant in a social mammal. Although this may be an effective way of removing parasites, bats using this behaviour may be at risk of falling in the sea, a risk which would be minimised by choosing exceptionally calm weather.


Blog and learn … unfurl the wings … turn a page …

(Photo credits: Wiki & Sam Benoiton)

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Why do I write thee? Let me count …

Posted in Entitled to opinions, Island life, Seychelles, Writers, Writing for a living, Writing for fun on September 1, 2010| 16 Comments »

Sandra, you seem to put a lot of your personal life out there for all the world to see. You publish under your real name, write about life, love, fears, kids and just about everything else in your world. Doesn’t it bother you that people have so much access to what might be better kept private?
Anonymous

True, not quite, yes, and no … reasons follow:

1. Because I don’t trust writers who refuse to put their name to their work, it’s long felt important that people know who I am. By not disguising my identity, I accept accountability, and given that so much of my work over the years has swirled around controversial, contentious issues that could have impact on lives, stepping up and stating clearly who I am and where I’m coming from has been important.

2. Contrary to some perceptions, I don’t actually write about everything in my life. There are huge swathes of living that don’t come under the pen because a) it’s not interesting, b) there’s nothing of value to share with readers, c) it’s not my story to tell, d) I’m saving it for a book, or e) I don’t bloody want to.

3. I find life as an open book rewarding, personally and financially. I’m a writer; opening books is what writing is about.

4. Writing about pain is cathartic. It’s neither fun, nor easy, but not only does it feel right at the time I’m spewing, I reap rewards of validation and compassion that would be hard to come by were I to sit on my story and stew.

5. I’m a cockeyed optimist when it comes to honesty. I actually feel that the more truth there is in the world, the more chance there is for improvement. Like putting a brick in the toilet, recycling or driving an energy-efficient car, writing the truth feels like doing my bit.

6. I live on an island in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like every wacko in Waco can pop by for a stalking.

7. I live on an island in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like I can cultivate a local contingent of hundreds of brilliant conversationalists to keep me sharp and interested.

8. People who come into my world understand that parts of my life end up in print. If I were a painter, I’d paint it; as a poet I poem it. Art comes from life. Send me something profound and I’ll quote you. Impress me and I’ll publicize you. Love me and I’ll celebrate you. Hurt me and I’ll whine about you. If that wraps my accountability around others who would rather not have life repeat on them, well, they knew that on the way in the door.

Nuff said …

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Cry babies: men and tears

Posted in Friends, Men on August 1, 2010| 11 Comments »

Andy, Gay and I were on the veranda recently, talking, as we do, on the familiar topic of the differences between men and women when the issue of tears came up.

Gay’s sister had phoned from California bawling her eyes out, an immediate cause for concern right up until the time Gay realized she was crying for joy at a bit of good news; an emotional response to which Gay and I well relate, but put Andy at a bit of a loss. Having no recollection of ever shedding tears at happy moments, a revelation that had us pondering the possibility that going all weepy when all goes really right just might be a girl thing, he found the whole reaction familiar as an observer, but still odd.

Remembering moments from my daughter’s wedding, a joyful occasion, I know I was leaking like a garden hose, while her dad … having supplied me with a brand new hanky, correctly predicting precipitation … smiled broadly through the ceremony, managing to walk back down the isle sans the red nose I snuffled on my way out.

I cried more than my babies when first presented with each one, dripped my way through their graduations, dissolved when greeting people at the airport, blubbered when given wonderful gifts and dehydrated myself on many of the happier occasions life has kindly offered up. Even a story of someone else’s happiness can get me going glassy-eyed.

The thing is, I love those tears that spring from joy, and found myself feeling more than a little sorry for guys if, indeed, they miss out on this version of waterworks.

Coincidentally, a couple of things have crossed my radar this morning that give some hope … or not … that guys do go all squishy from time to time without having lost a World Cup match.

Although it seems to be sad stuff that jerks the tears when it comes to movies, at least some guys do drop immunity when sufficiently manipulated:

~Bob~
I’m a 48-year-old man, ex-rugby player and motorcycle racer and I admit that Babe did it for me. Right at the end when the farmer says “That’ll do Pig”, I start welling up at the thought of it.

There's always the butch smart ass, of course:

~David, Glasgow~
The bit in The Italian Job where the Mafia smash Michael Caine’s Aston Martin and the two E-Types had me crying like a baby.

For real proof of joy, however, a video making the rounds lets us listen in while one mountain man … well, a man in mountains, anyway … overflows.

I have some suspicion that there may have been an illegal substance or two involved in his reaction, and, given the duration of his outburst, a bit of slammin’ the salmon going on … but maybe that’s just me being hardhearted.

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Friends forever, or how not to write a news story …

Posted in Friends, Health, science, Smarten up on July 28, 2010| 6 Comments »

Tennessee Williams said, “Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose.” Apparently, he was limiting the scope of friendship …

I really, really like the idea presented in this report in the BBC today, but keep getting caught up in the language of the article.

Having a good network of friends and neighbours boosts survival chances by 50%, US researchers believe.

Okay …

Having friends … real friends, not Farmville neighbors … is a very good thing. Last I checked, though, everyone on the planet has exactly a 100% chance of not getting out of here alive, so I’m wondering what the heck those researchers actually believe.

In their study, which looked at over 300,000 people from four continents over a period of seven years, those with the strongest social networks fared best in terms of health outcomes and lifespan. They were nearly twice (1.5 times) as likely to be alive at any given age than those who were lonely.

Huh?

The article seems to indicate that folks with friends are better off, that as a species we’re designed to benefit from company and that isolation isn’t healthy, and, sure, I buy all that.

But this?

Professor Sally Macintyre, director of the Medical Research Council’s Social and Public Health Sciences Unit, said: “Policymakers and health care staff should note this important finding, and we need to build on it to find out how we can use social relationships to reduce the risk of death.”

Reduce the risk of death … hm …

Since I have the best friends in the whole world, this ‘news’ has me phoning up all my pals to announce that we’re not friends to the end … we’re immortal!

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