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Shiny and Spanglered

~ Maybe a laugh can illuminate life.

Shiny and Spanglered

Monthly Archives: March 2019

Haikus for Uncertain Times

28 Thursday Mar 2019

Posted by Shiny and Spanglered in American Life, Humor, Poems

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

ailments, ambiguities, haikus, intrusions, Poems, small blessings, the seasons

THE SEASONS

Winter.  Blizzard time.
I go out and walk in it.
Don’t bother to ask. 

Spring and gentle rain
Bring forth new life, with pollen.
There’s always something!

My tiny garden
Never gets the Summer sun.
Even weeds die young.

And then there’s Autumn.
Really, what is it good for
But kicking dead leaves? 

AILMENTS

In the waiting room,
Only People magazine.
Quick, call the doctor!

A constant buzzing.
Help me, Doc!  What could it be?
Cellphone … On silent.

Waiting for flu-shot.
Will it hurt? I ask the nurse.
Yes, he says, a lot.

INTRUSIONS

His car is silent
But for its booming stereo.
Pass the dynamite.

5 A.M.  Dog barks.
Should I put poison in his
Owner’s Cheerios?

AMBIGUITIES

Quel grande aventure!
Two wheels, a pedal, a chain,
And no tire-patch kit!

Outside my window,
A hawk has caught a squirrel.
Beauty and the Beast.

Just in time, I caught
A film they’re all abuzz for.
What were they thinking?

A tasteless dinner,
Equally tasteless speeches.
But the rolls were good.

SMALL BLESSINGS

A distant anthem
Coming near.  Be still, my heart.
It’s THE ICE-CREAM MAN!

A guy … Somali? …
Knocks and hands a box to me.
What wall did he breach?

Quel grande aventure!
Two wheels, a pedal, a chain.
In the road, no nails!

Genesis and Re-Genesis

23 Saturday Mar 2019

Posted by Shiny and Spanglered in Political commentary, Satire, Science and Society, Social Commentary

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

animals, birds, climate change, day of rest, desertification, dogs, Earth, Genesis, God, humans, pollution, the creation, wildfires

imagesOn a recent Sunday, God rested, just as he had when he created the universe.  He recalled his very first day of rest when the universe was new and Earth, his special project, was teeming with light and life and promise.  He smiled at the excitement, the optimism, he had felt then. 

But, as his reverie carried him across the intervening eons, his smile began to fade.

There had been worrisome times before, when war and hatred prevailed.  But the world seemed to progress, as diseases were conquered, growing populations fed, and other living things, and the land and waters they depended on, protected.

Now, however, the very conditions that had sustained life were threatening it.  Humans, to whom he had entrusted Earth’s future, were imperiled by their own greed and blindness.

God did not want his wonderful experiment to end, but he was uncertain what to do.

He thought of sending a messenger who could persuade humans to right these wrongs.  But, considering the mixed success of previous efforts — Christians hating Muslims hating Jews — he rejected the idea.

At the other extreme, he thought about abandoning his Earth experiment entirely and trying his luck elsewhere in the universe.  But he saw that, if he were to create new beings and endow a select group with rational thought, as he felt he must, that paradise, too, might turn to hell.

In a most un-God-like moment, he even thought of killing off the human race, and leaving the Earth to its inanimate resources and those life-forms that had not yet died off.  But a loving Father does not kill his children, at least not until he has exhaustedUnknown-4 all other options.

Instead, he saw that he must send humankind a warning or, if necessary, a series of warnings.  He would not destroy anyone or anything to make his point.  He would simply suspend humans’ perception of an element of his creation, one at a time, as if he had actually destroyed it.

To drive home the point, he would choose six items and, on the same day of the week he had created it, he would remove it from human perception.  Humans needed to understand that what was made in six days could be unmade in six days.

Thus, on the first day, he made the darkness of night seem to disappear.  But, since most humans lived in brightly-lit cities and suburbs, and seldom ventured out into the dangers of the night, they did not notice.

Then, on the second day, he made the distinction between the water and the sky seem to vanish.  But, since water and sky were mostly bluish, that change, too, was lost on them.

On the third day, he made the trees seem to disappear.  But, except for those few humans who lived where deforestation, wildfire, desertification, and/or Dutch elm disease had not wrought their havoc, no one perceived the difference.

On the fourth day, he made the stars seem no longer to shine.  But no one had seen a star since a couple days ago, when God made the darkness seem to disappear, so they perceived no change.  (God later acknowledged his timing error.)

On the fifth day, he made the birds seem to disappear.  But, with pollution obscuring people’s vision, almost no one had seen a bird in ages, and that move, too, fell flat.

Tired and discouraged, God faced the sixth-and-final day reluctantly.  Nonetheless, he summoned enough energy to bethink himself of that without which humankind would be utterly devastated and, he hoped, susceptible to his message of repentance and reform.

He recalled that, on the sixth day of creation, he had given life to the animals of the land.  The temptation was great, but he could not bring himself to remove all animals from human perception.  After all, the cow produced important sustenance (especially ice cream) and the horse and the ox were still vital to agriculture in many places.

To ease his strain, God took a short break.  He pictured a lovely park with verdant lawns and gently curving paths.  As, in his mind’s eye, he looked more closely, he noticed that every lawn and every path was filled with dogs — chasing tennis balls, playing with children, tugging at leashes.

At last, he had his answer and, on that sixth day, he made all dogs seem to disappear.  Where, once, there were Pugs sitting on laps, Yorkies yapping incessantly, Border Collies herding small children, there was now, as far as people could apprehend, nothing.

The outcry was instantaneous and universal.  God saw people weeping, he heard them wailing.  Listening carefully, he also heard the quiet gnashing of teeth. 

Nonetheless, he held off until he could see that mankind understood his message, that they regretted their misdeeds, and that they were committed to reversing the suicidal choices that spelled their own, and their beloved planet’s, doom.

God understood and he acted.  He returned to them the darkness of night, the distinction between water and sky.  He allowed them again to see the trees, the stars, the birds (at least insofar as any could be seen through the pollution), and, finally, he reunited them with their beloved dogs.

imagesCheering — and barking — resounded throughout the world.  

God was pleased and, once again, on the seventh day, he rested.

School for Scandal

18 Monday Mar 2019

Posted by Shiny and Spanglered in American Life, Justice and Injustice, Social Commentary

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

admissions scandal, bribery, college, Columbia, ethics, morality, New York City, SATs

images-2I want to be clear at the outset.  I cheated to get my son into a prestigious university.  This was years ago, so you might say I was a pioneer in that game, though instigator may be more accurate.  I certainly don’t boast about what I did.

Without my son’s knowledge, I paid someone to take his SAT exam.  Whether it was, or is, a violation of the law I’m not certain, but I do know it was a violation of the most fundamental principles of honesty and fair-dealing. 

Lest you think I am about to throw myself at the mercy of the legal system or public opinion, I am not.  I believe that my misdeed (or crime, if you wish) is now beyond the statute of limitations.  But, even if it weren’t, it has, by chance, produced some good that I would not wish to destroy.  I’ll try to explain:

My son was an amiable, but feckless, kid.  He slid through junior high and high school with grades just good enough to keep him from being held back.  His real passion was sports, but as a fan, not an athlete (you could say this assured he would escape at least that particular college admissions scandal).

It was clear he was not headed for college, and I wasn’t going to push him.  But I didn’t want him hanging uselessly around the house or the town.  A chance to live in a different environment might be the spur he needed.

We talked about it, and he admitted that his dream was to go, every day if possible, to a game — baseball, hockey, basketball, football, it didn’t matter.  I didn’t see any particular benefit, but I didn’t see any harm, and we considered how, and where, he could do that.

He was unequivocal:  New York City, with the Yankees and the Mets, the Rangers and the Islanders, the Knicks, the Giants.

I didn’t disagree, but, when I looked at New York housing costs, it was quite a bite, even for a rich man.  But more serious was the thought of his being alone in what could be a pretty tough, unforgiving city.

As I wondered what arrangement would give him social contacts, it hit me: Columbia University!  If he could stay in a dorm, he’d have a roommate and scores of dorm-mates, even a Resident Assistant or two to check on him, plus a college cafeteria (nutritious if not exactly tasty) and an infirmary.  I didn’t rule out the possibility that he’d notice there was a library there that might have biographies of Gehrig or Ruth or Jackie Robinson.

I didn’t mention my idea to him, but went ahead and made the SAT arrangements (make it solid, I instructed, but not so brilliant they’ll smell a rat).  I did the application, including the essay (same principle), and sent it in.  A few months and, voila! he was accepted.

It wasn’t easy explaining all this to my son, but I managed, without giving anything away.  I persuaded him that Columbia was big, and nobody would notice he wasn’t going to classes.  The prospect of going to a game every day made it easy to gloss over questions like tests and papers or, more serious, what if offcialdom found out.  We both understood that, at most, this would be a one-year proposition.

In late August, off he went.  He dutifully reported on baseball and football games, and the beginning of basketball and hockey seasons.  At first, he was rapturous, but around November, and then especially after Christmas break, there was a change.  It was a game every other day, then every third day, and he no longer seemed quite as excited about home runs and hat-tricks.

Worried, I phoned him.  He said he was great.  It was just that his roommate and his new friends had gotten him interested in a few classes and, the more he went to, the more he wanted to go to.

I think you see where this is headed.  He finished the year with reasonable grades, did better each successive year, graduated with honors, went to law school and, in time, became a successful, respected, and quite well-known judge.  And, by the way, he still loves sports.

I have never told him what I did.  

I know two wrongs don’t make a right.  But what if it’s only one rather insignificant wrong?  I ask myself what are the odds that the person who might have been in his place at Columbia would have produced the good he has.  I ask what his life would have been like if he had continued to bumble around and hadn’t had that fire lit under him or how he would have responded if I’d pushed him to do what he seemed unprepared for.

Does a very positive end justify a negative (but not so terribly negative) means?

All I can conclude is that the results of my misdeed are probably more positive than theUnknown-3 results of my inaction would have been.  But then, no matter what the outcome, I violated a sensible code that would be destroyed if everybody did what I did.

Oy, what a muddle that I guess I’ll have to leave to others to sort out.

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