12 Days of Christmas—Cats’ Version

On the first day of Christmas, King Clayton gave to me

A photo of him under the tree.

On the second day of Christmas, Stella Periwinkle gave to me

Two stuffed toys and Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the third day of Christmas, Kallie Jasmine gave to me

Three hairball blobs, Stella’s stuffed toys

And Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my family gave to me

Four purrs and snores (that was Jagdish), three hairball blobs,

More stuffed toys and Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my children gave to me

Five “tootsie rolls”,

Four purrs and snores, three hairballs (blech!), still more stuffed toys

And Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my children gave to me

Six sets of whiskers,

Five “tootsie rolls”,

Four purrs and snores, three hairy blobs,

A few more stuffed toys and Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my kiddies gave to me

A week’s worth of pee plops, six sets of whiskers,

Five fragrant rolls,

Four purrs and snores, three hairy blobs, still more stuffed toys

And Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my children gave to me

Eight paws for clawing, seven days of peeing, six whiskers tickling,

Five fragrant rolls,

Four purring snoring, three hairy blobs,

More and more stuffed toys and Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my kitty kats gave to me

Nine lives for living, eight paws clawing couches,

Seven days of peeing, six whiskers tickling,

Five ripening rolls,

Four purring snoring, three hairballs tossed, yes more trophy toys

And Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my children gave to me

A 10-pound bag of litter, nine lives they’re living,

Eight paws for shredding, seven days of peeing, six whiskers tickling,

Five smelly rolls,

Four purring snoring, three hairballs tossed, a few more stuffed toys

And Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my family gave to me

Eleventh hour cleaning, ten pounds of litter, nine joyful lives,

Eight clawful paws, seven days of pee plops, six tickling whiskers,

Five stinky rolls,

Four purring snoring, three upchucked blobs, another hunting trophy

And Clayton’s photo under the tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my family gave to me

Twelve months of loving, eleventh hour cleaning,

Ten pounds of litter, nine precious lives, eight kneading paws,

Seven peeful days, six tickling whiskers,

Five mellow rolls,

Four purring snoring, three tossed up blobs, one more furry trophy

And Clayton’s photo under the tree.

Copyright 2018 Elaine M. Decker

Fall Potpourri—Reporting on the Sexes

When my husband was home recuperating from his second knee surgery, I was mostly housebound. I took the time to dig through the piles of magazines that are one of the sources for my blogs. Herewith a Fall potpourri. These are always fun to do, but this one has a special twist. I’ve collected several tidbits about men and others about women. They make for interesting comparisons.

Our first two snippets have to do with the effect of certain colors on each sex. Time carried an ad in November 2017 with the headline: “Famous Volcano Has Strange Effect on Women.” That immediately brought to mind the movie scene where the blonde bombshell is being sacrificed to King Kong, which turned out to be a step up from earlier movies, where she would have been thrown into a volcano.

The ad’s subhead quickly brought me back to reality. “Man and nature collaborate to create a glamorous green ring guaranteed to rock her world.” The stone is Helenite, formed from the Mount St. Helen eruption. The ad doesn’t explain exactly what the “strange effect” is, but they’re touting that “once you slide this gorgeous green beauty on your finger, it will take a force of nature to get you two apart!” We think they meant “her finger,” not your own finger. Then again, they are claiming it has a strange effect.

The other color story (in the same mag, same month) was titled: “Why America isn’t as pink as it used to be.” A 1979 study determined that a bright pink color (think Pepto-Bismol) weakened men when they looked at the sickly color. Some commanding officers at a U.S. Naval Correctional Center used the color in holding cells and it reduced violence in the prison. As might be expected, soon after there was a pink wave in prisons, public housing, and buses. Also in visiting football teams’ locker rooms, because, well… boys will be boys.

Going backward a few months to August 28, 2017, but staying with Time magazine, we were informed that more men are using condoms (33.7% vs. 29.5% over a decade long period). No explanation was given, unless you consider the very next tidbit under “This Just In.” American women are drinking more alcohol. Data collected across about the same decade showed that alcohol-use disorder went up almost 84% for women vs. 35% for men. We don’t exactly know how these two factoids are connected; we just know that they are. Ditto for this third piece of information from the same issue: baseball player Aaron Judge’s shoe size is 17. Again, we have no idea how this connects to condoms and women drinking more, but use your imagination. You know what they say about big feet.

In other random (and more recent) news, five women on an inflatable unicorn float were stranded in the weeds on a Minnesota lake. Seriously. A unicorn float? Talk about inflated expectations. And a Frenchwoman visiting her mother in British Columbia spent 14 days in a U.S. detention center. She had jogged across the U.S.-Canada border accidentally. Saying it was accidental was a given. No one crosses that border in that direction on purpose anymore.

And lest you think only women do stupid things: Time 8/27/18 reported that Paris now has outdoor urinals, because, as an activist at Femme Solidaires put it: “Men cannot control themselves… so all of society has to adapt.” And speaking of lack of control, there’s a $75 burger available at the Arizona Cardinals’ stadium. It weighs 7 pounds. Its toppings: 5 beef patties, an equal number of hot dogs and bratwursts, 20 cheese slices, 8 bacon slices, 8 chicken tenders and a pile of French fries. Lord, we hope it’s only men eating that.

Men should also not get smug over that jogger’s directional confusion. For the first time in 22 years, an Italian runner won the Venice marathon last Fall. The reason? A motorcycle guide led the frontrunners in the wrong direction for several hundred meters. No one asked for directions. They just followed along like lemmings. Men!

Our final two gems are not really surprising. We spend more on our mothers than we do on our fathers. According to several retail sources, in 2017 $23.6 billion was spent on Mother’s Day, with about 113 million cards sent, versus $15.5 billion spent on Father’s Day and 72 million cards sent. Either way, it’s billions and millions. That’s either a lot of love, or a lot of guilt.

Lastly, we found the dream job for every crazy cat lady: the caretaker for the 55 felines that live on the Greek island of Syros. It comes with great views of the Aegean Sea and an enormous pooper scooper. And no, yours truly did not apply for it.

Copyright 2018 Business Theatre Unlimited

Forget Masculine Toilets and Wonderbras. Get Your Balls-Up!

In a recent monologue, Stephen Colbert took aim at interim Attorney General Matt Whitaker’s business dealings. The target of his humor was the masculine toilet, a product of World Patent Marketing, on whose advisory board Whitaker sits. (No word on whether he also sits on their product.) The bowl of this loo is extra deep, so that a well-endowed man doesn’t have to worry about dipping his junk into the water.

Colbert took an added swipe at Whitaker, claiming he also has a product called Snowballs. This underwear was purportedly designed to keep the family jewels cool, thereby improving potency. All of this reminded me of an article I wrote in 1994. It was the height of the Wonderbra™ craze, long before #metoo and #timesup. Undergarments were marketed very differently for women than they were for men (plus ça change…)

It’s time to take a look back at my masterpiece. It was never published. Once you read it, you’ll understand why. Warning: whether you’re a woman or a man, pee before reading. Sit, stand or straddle; I don’t care. On that note…

I’m weary of this media fuss over the Wonderbra et al. I can’t keep up with it. It’s not that I disapprove of women who want to appear sexy. It’s just that I’ve reached that stage in my life when I don’t want parts of my anatomy thrust under the nose of anyone who wouldn’t recognize them in the dark, bereft of their accouterments.

I don’t think the media would be so obsessed over structural enhancements to parts of men’s anatomy. Sisters (I said to myself), it’s time to fight fire with fire. Which naturally brought to mind Jerry Lee Lewis and his “Great Balls of…” Which in turn inspired my new product—an engineering marvel to rival the most wondrous of bras. I challenge the media to give this product the same attention it has afforded the Wonderbra and all its clones.

Introducing Balls-Up, for great balls! (Play it again, Jerry Lee.) This uplifting piece of gear is made of 100% natural fibers and is guaranteed hypoallergenic. It consists of 69 separate pieces, all carefully French-seamed for durability. Balls-Up comes in four sizes—M, L, XL and Oh, Really? (Size S was dropped after test-market research showed no one would buy it.)

This is not just another athletic supporter, although that same test-market research did show that jocks are just itching to get their Balls-Up. By a 2-to-1 margin, they favor the Lap Cat model, which is extra-durable to protect from claws, spikes, fingernails and other penetrating objects.

We at Balls-Up are more sensitive to the variety of men’s needs than the makers of Wonderbra are to women’s. Our motto: If you’ve got the balls, we’ll get them up right.

Are you part of that 6% of the population who have only one testicle? You’ll be glad to learn about our Uniball model, available in both “dress right” and “dress left” versions. This streamlined Balls-Up has an invisible counter-weight and an attractive racing stripe. The design is under consideration for a pending exhibit at the MOMA.

Worried about static electricity in winter with your Balls-Up against the metal parts of your zipper? No problem! We have seasonally available an anti-stat model, which uses no elastic at all and has a built-in fabric softener dispenser with variable time-release. (Think about that a minute...)

Are your testicles oversized relative to your penis? Check out our Glider model, with its unique Frank Lloyd Wright construction featuring cantilevered cups. It’s showcased in the December issue of Architectural Digest. The patented anti-chafing design comes in two materials—ultra-gel (coolant) for summer wear and lamb’s wool for winter.

No matter what your body type or lifestyle, there’s a Balls-Up that’s perfect for you. With our money-back guarantee, you can try the model of your choice RISK-FREE for ten days. If you don’t enjoy having your Balls-Up, just wrap it up and send it back to us. We’ll return your payment, no questions asked. No snide comments on Post-it notes. No presumptions about your sexual orientation. No inclusion of your name on any mailing list of those who have opted for droopy balls. Just your money back, plain and simple.

Brothers of America, be as bold as the sisters who are flaunting their endowment mercilessly and ubiquitously. Show that sexy Creative Director in the Wonder bra that you’re a real man. Get your Balls-Up! Challenge her to “Look me in the fly and tell me you love me.”

Ed Note: One of the original Wonderbra ads showed a man mesmerized by a babe’s boobs. It had the tag line: “Look me in the eye and tell me you love me.”

Copyright 1994 and 2018 Elaine M. Decker

Retirement Update - Potpourri of Thoughts

Full disclosure up front: this post has no central theme. It’s a potpourri of thoughts gathered at the end of my first month of retirement. Just to pique your interest, topics range from termites to adultery.

First a report on the last few weeks. I’m no longer going into my former office. I still occasionally help out from home, but no more than most volunteers do for the organizations they support. I seem to be getting up a bit earlier than I did the first few weeks off. I guess I’ve finally caught up on my sleep.

More importantly, I have far more energy now than I did those first weeks. I think it’s because I’ve been getting exercise and aerating my blood. (This reminds me that I need to aerate the lawn.) With my focus on clearing out the house, I’m up and down multiple flights of stairs all day. While I’m disappointed that I haven’t been out walking now that the weather is nice, I feel I’m meeting my health needs with my built-in Stairmaster.

Most trips, I’m carrying something, usually in the down direction, since the basement is where I’m organizing items to sell. The boxes of books are hernia-makers, and the days when I’ve carried a few of those, my right knee bothers me at night. Mercifully, that’s why God invented ibuprofen, so I’m able to power through the discomfort.

I can feel that my body is more fit, too. This is a good thing, since at my annual checkup just before I started packing in earnest, my weight was the highest it’s ever been. I expect a dramatic downturn at my next weigh in. (Stay tuned…)

Although I’m spending most of my time on the house, I still pay attention to the important developments in the world around me. Here are some news items I’d like to share, along with my spin on them as I continue to adjust to retirement.

At a bank in northern India, termites ate $225,000 worth of banknotes. This was blamed on lax staffers. Less widely reported is that they were sitting around telling sardarji jokes. I think it's more likely that the termite control wala was transferred to the customer service phones in the south.

I’ve not uncovered any damage of this nature in my archaeological digs throughout my house. The worst thing I’ve found is a carton of packing paper that one of my cats seems to have made into a nesting place. The box has been in the basement since 1992 (recycled from my move here from New Jersey,) so any one of five felines could have been the culprit.

I can tell you are shaking your head that I’d still have packing material from the move to Rhode Island almost twenty years ago. Actually, it’s come in handy in my decluttering process, and I’ve saved some serious cash. Have you priced bubble wrap lately? It must be a petroleum by-product. I'm thinking it could replace the dollar as the international unit of currency.

If you really want to scratch your head, consider this. Some of the things I’ve packed up went back into the same cartons in which they made the trip up here. (They were all carefully labeled.) Remember: I was a Virgo before they concocted that new Zodiac.

Another news tidbit is one you may have heard. A conservative religious newspaper removed Hilary Clinton from the photo where the national security team was watching the bin Laden raid. They believe any photos of women can stir sexual desires. Seriously. Have they ever actually seen a woman in a pantsuit? They give men credit for way too much imagination.

And finally, going from the ridiculous to the sublime… A Time magazine article on the 400th birthday of the King James Bible shared the following piece of arcane trivia. Apparently there was a typo in the 1631 edition. As a result, the seventh commandment instructed: “Thou shalt commit adultery.” For those who are so inclined, from KJB’s mouth to God’s ear, so go for it.

For my part, I’m hoping someone unearths a version that dictates: “Thou shat imbibe freely of Barolo wine and indulge heavily in Godiva chocolates.” Amen to that.

In Praise of Politics-Free Zones

I was one of the organizers for my recent 55^th high school reunion in New Jersey. Just 40% of our class went on to college back then. In addition to college prep, the school provided vocational and skill-oriented tracks such as auto mechanics, shop, industrial design, beauty culture, secretarial and home economics. The committee members knew that the political leanings of our class range from far right to far left, even just among the six of us. We agreed to declare the event a “Politics-Free Zone.” We posted notices and made an announcement at the beginning of the Saturday night dinner.

I’ve spent much of the past two years alternating between semi-depression and extreme stress. The last thing I wanted to do at my high school reunion was get into arguments about politics. My best friend from grade school (also on the committee) is one of those who hold views one hundred eighty degrees opposite from mine. We’ve managed to stay civil on our Facebook posts and not let these differences affect our friendship—an increasingly rare accomplishment. The fact that we see each other only every few years probably helps, but still…

So it was with some trepidation and a higher than normal stress level that I reached this milestone event after a four hour drive that should have taken two and a half hours. The committee had a brief confab about whether we needed to publicly state no politics, since that was posted on two of the information boards in the room. We decided to do so, but low key, emphasizing that we’re all adults.

Now that the weekend is in my rear-view, I’m happy to report that there was no shouting, no physical violence and no sniping as far as we could tell. Everyone seemed to have an enjoyable time. We shared stories of various trips from one end of the globe to another. Some folks focused on their grandchildren, with photos to support their pride-worthy accomplishments.

Two recent widows who were there had been reluctant to come. I told each of them that she wouldn’t be the only one having had a recent loss. (We had a recent widower, too.) They were able to share their struggles over what to do after so many years with one spouse, and how they were finally emerging from the fog of grief. They were glad they decided to make the trip. The class had invited a handful of our teachers who were still around to be our guests. The event offered the chance for everyone to meet on more level ground at this point in our lives.

I arrived home after a stress-free two and a half hour drive, feeling as though I’d had a mini-vacation. As I thought about the weekend, I realized that a big part of my upbeat mindset was that I hadn’t turned on a TV for three days. I had no conversations about politics or the upcoming election. There were plenty of other things to discuss. Who was still playing in a band or had recently taken up an instrument again. Who had retired but was brought back by her company as a consultant, making more than when she was on staff and with dental benefits, too. Who recently became a vegetarian or is trying that Paleo diet.

There was a lot of talk about joint replacement surgeries. My husband (who had his second knee done three days after the reunion) found someone to chat with through most of Saturday dinner—the husband of one of my classmates. I think they discussed the economy and world trade—perilously close to politics in my opinion, but apparently not in theirs. Everyone agreed that the “no politics” rule made it safer to approach old friends to ask where life had taken them.

As you enter into what is often the most stressful season of the year, I urge you to declare your holiday "politics free". You can make a lovely little sign with holly and berries on it. And if Uncle Biff insists on getting into it with Aunt Edna, tell them politely to take it outside. You’ll thank me by the time you’re doing the dishes.

Copyright 2018 Business Theatre Unlimited

Protest vs. Respect—A #TakeAKnee Compromise

Football season is now in full swing and the controversy surrounding players who #TakeAKnee during the playing of the #Star-Spangled Banner, our #nationalanthem, shows no sign of abating. There’s little agreement among players, coaches, managers, team owners, media pundits and politicians on who is “right.” There’s even less agreement on how these protests (and protestors) should be handled.

I’m suggesting a compromise that might help bring closure to the discussion. Or at least reduce the volume. Maybe I’ve watched too many of the memorials following John McCain’s death, with their messages of hope. As #SenatorMcCain wrote, let’s not “despair of our present difficulties”. Let’s celebrate “the promise and greatness of America” by meeting in the middle.

The players insist that they are not taking a knee out of disrespect to our flag. They’re doing it to protest “systemic oppression”—the unfair treatment of minorities, especially in our criminal justice system. Taking a knee during the anthem turned out to be an effective way to bring attention to this issue, if not a resolution to the underlying problems.

In addition to standing for the Star-Spangled Banner, many Americans place their right hand over their heart as they face the flag. That gesture is considered a further sign of respect. What if a football player placed his right hand over his heart as he knelt while facing the flag? This combination of gestures would signal that he was still respecting our flag while protesting oppression and injustice. It might even earn him respect for doing so.

Copyright 2018 Business Theatre Unlimited

Missing Blogger Comes Up for Air

Recently several friends who are not on Facebook reached out to me asking if I’m OK. They wondered why I haven’t blogged in months. Four months, to be exact. Today I received a message from the blogging platform I use, asking if I still want to receive comments left on my posts. Since I rarely received comments when I was actively blogging, I took this message as their way to ask: Are you still blogging?

I decided to write a post explaining where I’ve been and letting folks know that yes, I’m still among the living, if just barely. Without getting too deep into the weeds, here’s why I stopped blogging.

My style is primarily social satire. There’s a person in the public eye who is an obvious target for this type of humor. He had been a rich source of material for my blogs for over a year. I always put a link to my blog posts on my Facebook page. I learned that many of my Facebook friends either don’t understand or don’t appreciate satire. Especially if it’s directed at said focus of my writing. The resulting vitriol in the comments on my posts led me to discontinue sharing my opinions.

For awhile, I still wrote for pleasure, but published in other outlets where the readers appreciate my style and mindset. The more the behavior of our national leaders descended into policies and language that I found alarming and offensive, the darker my world became. Simply put, I lost interest in writing just about anything. I spent many afternoons sprawled on the couch watching Hallmark channel romcom movies. Some of them for the third time.

For the past month, my days were more consumed helping my husband recover from his first knee replacement surgery. Everything went far better than anticipated, but the household schedule changed dramatically. Instead of being here for 2 ½ days a week, he was here full time. Meaning more grocery shopping and meal preparation, and multiple drug store runs. Since he was on the couch in the family room, I began working again on a book that I started about six years ago that’s been on the back burner.

I took my husband back to his store in Providence yesterday. So it’s a good time to decide whether to crawl back into my dark hole or come up for air. The recent passing of Senator John McCain provided more incentive to get on with my life. He was a decent man and true hero, no matter what you might have thought of his politics. I reflected on McCain’s exhortation in his final letter to all of us: “Do not despair of our present difficulties. We believe always in the promise and greatness of America because nothing is inevitable here.”

Punctuate that with the not-surprising debacle around the White House flag. The inquiry from my blogging platform was the final push. While I still “despair of our present difficulties,” I’ve decided it’s time to get back to the writing I enjoy most. That means I’ll come down off the “high road” some of the time. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of company down there in the muck and the mire. If I offend some of you, if you have strong opinions that differ from mine, save your vitriol for your own blog or Facebook posts. Stop reading mine. We’ll both be happier.

Health Tidbits: Hearts, Brains, Stress and More

It’s been awhile since I’ve done a potpourri post, but I’ve been collecting health tidbits for months. I’m now sharing these for your enlightenment, in case you missed them.

In the general health category: drinking can reduce the risk of death. This was reported in the September 4, 2017 issue of Time magazine. The snippet cited the finding in the Journal of the American College of Cardiology. Light to moderate drinking correlated to a 20% reduced risk of death (vs. no drinking at all). “Light to moderate” was defined as 14 or fewer drinks per week for men and 7 or fewer for women. Looks like I need to uncork a bottle of vino more often. There goes that diet where I count calories…

About a month later another report in Time informed us that the American Heart Association found evidence that meditation lowers blood pressure or stress hormones. The net takeaway? Lowered risk factors for heart disease. I’m a big believer in meditation. But now I’m stressed because when I’ve had a glass or two of wine, I have difficulty focusing well enough to meditate. Choices, choices.

This same issue promised that just an hour or two of exercise each week could prevent depression. Based on my experience, so can a few glasses of Chianti Classico. The American Journal of Psychiatry studied 33,000 people for this report. Those who didn’t exercise were 44% more likely to develop depression during the 11-year follow-up phase. No guidance was provided on what constituted “exercise,” but I doubt that it was lifting a wine glass every evening.

This next tidbit from a double issue of Time in July 2017 came as no surprise to me: “Forgetting things can make you smarter.” I did a blog post on a related topic in July 2013—“Why We Forget More As We Age.” Time reported an item in Neuron that claimed forgetting the old stuff “clears out details that don’t matter,” making room for newer (and presumably more useful) info. My post provided a scientific basis for this. For starters: Similar to the way that a woman is born with a finite number of eggs in her ovaries, our brains have a finite capacity for the number of things we can remember.

My explanation continued. Once our hippocampus is full (usually as we approach retirement age), there’s no more room for new stuff. Depending on your sentiments and the type of brain you have, you either fail to store any new information, or the new information bumps out something older that’s already in there. I then launched into an explanation of the accounting methods LIFO (Last In, First Out) and FIFO (First In, First Out) and how to control your brain type. I won’t bore you with where this went. If you want to know, read the 2013 post: https://retirementsparks.blogspot.com/2013/07/why-we-forget-more-as-we-age.html.

I will, however, share this suggestion that I made: Scientific advancements enable a woman to use a donor egg to create a baby. We need to co-opt that science for gray matter in order to counteract the forgetfulness that comes with aging. We donate blood. We donate bone marrow. Is it too much to ask to be able to donate a few cells from one hippocampus to another?

Finally, the Healthy You column in the August-September 2017 AARP Magazine was titled: “When Your Brain Has A Mind of Its Own.” In it, Stanford neurobiologist Robert Sapolsky provided some insight into how our previous experiences can influence the way we interpret current life situations. He contends, “Our most impulsive actions aren’t always determined by the moments when they happen.”

He further explained why some people feel more stress than other folks. His most useful (but not earth shattering) observations: If you have no control over what’s going on, you’ll be stressed. Ditto if you don’t have any outlets for your frustration and you lack social support. I think Sapolsky is missing a significant causal factor for stress in our lives: the absence of a fine glass of wine when we really need one. He also missed one foolproof way to reduce stress.

Here’s my quartet of anti-stress advice: get a hobby, cultivate a few good friends, and stock up on fine wine or a nice IPA craft beer. Then grab one of the cats that you adopted form the local shelter for a relaxing, purr-filled nap.

Countering Facebook Trolls

By now you’ve heard that Cambridge Analytica hacked into the Facebook accounts of some 50 million Americans. After gaining access to their private information, Cambridge profiled them using advanced data mining techniques. Then they manipulated them with propaganda disguised as social messages and trending topics. The essence of this manipulation is not new; only the scope and sophistication are notable. Nielsen has been segmenting target audiences based on lifestyles for decades using its Prizm software.

What I found particularly disturbing is this. Even if you didn’t take the bait of their free personality tests (or whatever, and I never did), you were at risk. If anyone of your FB friends took the tests (and some did), they provided the trolls with access to your FB account via their friends network. Good news for all of us. I have a way for Facebook users to fight back against this profiling.

Shortly after I retired, I blogged about the ads that appeared in browser windows and emails. I was on the Internet more often and that behavior apparently was driving the ad content. Over time, companies seemed to refine their algorithms to better target my surfing. (Maybe they started using Prizm.) In an effort to take control of my browser screens, I Googled things that I would enjoy looking at and bookmarked those pages. I visited each of the sites I marked just before I shut down my browser each day, moving them up in the ad hierarchy. In short, I controlled many of my ads.

This concept can easily be modified to confuse the trolls snooping through our Facebook pages. Here’s how it will work. For every post you make or meme you share that skews liberal or conservative, make an equally strong post that skews the other way. “I love Hillary (still)!” but “Hillary really is crooked.” “Trump is the best thing since sliced bread!” except that “Trump is a moron (still).”

Apply this same technique to any posts about food. “Just found a yummy gluten-free recipe for muffins!” followed by “Try this easy-to-bake whole wheat bread from my mother’s recipe box.” “I’m having great success with the paleo diet.” And then “To hell with those cavemen; give me death-by-chocolate cake any day.” You get the idea.

This can even work to confuse shopping bots. Post photos of petite, size 4, figure-hugging styles side by side with plus size tunics and caftans. Drive the software really crazy by giving a phony birthdate and then celebrating it with a birthstone ring from an entirely different month. Here’s your chance to pick the horoscope sign you wish you were born under.

I encourage you to get really creative with your posts. Have fun with them. Share a diagnosis from your psychotherapist about your supposed schizophrenia. “Dr. Splitzenmensa identified yet another personality in our last session. He said that makes seven now. Can’t wait to see who I’ll be at next week’s appointment.”

Just imagine how frustrated the analysts will be trying to figure out what’s going on with you. Are you an outlier? Or did their programmers make a fatal miscalculation in their code? Is your FB-sourced record the only one that’s so messed up? Or are they at risk of providing flawed recommendations to their most lucrative clients?

I wish I could be a fly on the wall while the tech geniuses behind the Facebook manipulation try to debug their software. Revenge is sweet. Or it’s sour. And it’s best served cold. Or hot.

Copyright 2018 Elaine M. Decker

Assault Rifle Regulations—A Modest Proposal

In an effort to find middle ground, I facilitated a discussion about gun control, with the suggestion that we no longer say “gun control,” but rather “assault rifle regulations.” Gun enthusiasts worry that those who favor “gun control” want to take away all their firearms. I focused on assault rifles. It was a challenge to keep the dialogue civil, but I learned a lot about gun enthusiasts and even more about rifles. I’ve done so much on-line research that I’m sure I’m now on a government watch list.

I admit to having liberal views, but I’ve put together a proposal that lands somewhere in the middle. I expect that it will be disliked equally by those on the left and on the right. If so, I’ve found that middle ground. I’ll get to my proposal after some context that informs this debate.

The first issue is Communications. People are using “guns” and “rifles” without regard to how they differ. To a certain extent, “semi-automatic” and “automatic” are also misused. In the center of all of this is the AR-15, in which the AR actually stands for ArmaLite Rifle, after the original manufacturer. It has become a generic for assault rifle, but we need to look beyond that.

I suggest defining an “assault rifle” as one that enables the shooter to kill or injure scores of people in minutes. It likewise prevents most people who have just a handgun from disabling the shooter easily. More on this later.

The second issue is our culture, especially a Culture of Violence. Our passion for guns probably began with the wild American West. Gun owners are generally hunters or sportsmen or they have them for self defense—all uses that my proposal seeks to preserve. The violence has crept into our culture for who-knows-how-many reasons. Video games and violent movies have certainly played a role. However we arrived here, there’s a romantic allure to “bad boys” that contributes to the problem. That helps explain why it’s only boys who perpetrate these crimes. Well, that and testosterone. “Bad girls” conjures up easy sex, not weapons.

I won’t attempt to address the need for a culture shift away from violence. It’s a mistake to try to fix 100% of the causes in one attempt at compromise. If we can reduce a major contributor to this problem, that should be celebrated. If we can chip away at multiple causes—there are many—achieving modest progress on each, they’ll add up to a significant reduction in deaths.

The third background piece has to do with Statistics. The U.S. has far more civilian ownership of firearms per capita than other developed countries. According to one study, in the U.S. it’s 88.8 per 100; Canada, France and Germany each have around 30. Ditto for data on mass shootings and firearm-related homicides—3.5 per 100,000 in the U.S.; Canada is 0.38; France 0.21; Germany 0.07. Mental health issues, while important, are not commensurately more prevalent per capita in the U.S. with 26.4% (vs. France at 18.4% and Germany at 9.1%.) Another study pegged both Norway and Switzerland at 27%.

Countries and states that have implemented stricter weapon regulations have seen a reduction in horrific events. In Connecticut, the “permit-to-purchase” law was passed in 1995, and gun homicides were reduced by 40 percent between 1996 and 2005. For now, I leave to others how to learn from this and to set goals to improve the U.S. statistics for firearm-related deaths per capita.

This brings me to the Technical side of my education on regulating assault rifles. Here’s what I’ve learned, and if not 100% accurate, I’m confident I have the essence. The AR-15 is the sportsman’s semi-automatic equivalent of the M16 military rifle. The M16 is fully-automatic; it won’t stop shooting until the trigger is released or it runs out of ammunition. It has a lever that allows the shooter to set it to a semi-automatic mode. That means the trigger must be pulled for each shot to be fired. The U.S. Army has determined that firing accuracy is better on semi-automatic. It therefore trains soldiers to use the M16 in that mode rather than fully automatic.

I’m using AR-15 here as a generic for any similar rifle. With a high capacity magazine, an adept shooter can pull the trigger rapidly enough to get off hundreds of rounds in just minutes. After-market devices, like bump stocks, can turn an AR-15 into a virtually automatic rifle.

You’ll notice that thus far, I’ve covered rifles with trigger mechanisms. There are also ones with lever (or pump) actions and bolt actions to engage a round of ammunition. As I understand it, these take longer to reload and therefore cannot be fired as quickly as trigger-driven rifles. Even if not, my proposal will address these products as well. Also worth noting: most experts say that a handgun is a better weapon for protection inside a home or shop than any type of rifle.

Let’s get back to those high (or large) capacity magazines. The expired federal Assault Weapons Ban and several state laws define these as ones that hold more than 10 rounds. Magazines are available with 40, 60 and even 100 rounds. A shooter can do a lot of damage in a short timespan with one of those.

I’m putting on my liberal cap now. I can understand that a hunter would prefer a lightweight rifle such as the AR-15 that can shoot more than one round at a time. But if he can’t take down an animal in the woods with ten shots, he needs to spend more time at a rifle range. Spraying Bambi with 40 bullets is hardly sportsmanlike.

Speaking of sportsmanship and rifle ranges, this is one place that higher capacity magazines might be acceptable. Many gun/rifle owners enjoy going to a range to test and improve their skill. With my liberal headgear off, I accept this as a legitimate argument for large capacity magazines. I’d allow them subject to specific regulations.

Those regulations are part of my Modest Proposal. It assumes there’s universal agreement that preventing mass shootings is an important goal. The use of high capacity magazines is something that virtually all those shootings had in common.

I propose a ban on magazines that hold more than ten rounds, the rifles that can use them and any after-market modifications that get around the ban. An exception would allow those items to be owned by and kept locked and used at licensed firing ranges or gun clubs. The right will protest: gun owners want their weapons in their own possession. They can still have them, but only if those weapons aren’t capable of using large capacity magazines. That’s part of meeting in the middle.

What do we do about all those assault rifles out there now that can accommodate larger magazines? The existing weapons will be sold to the shooting ranges and gun clubs or bartered for access/membership. There could also be a government buyback or trade-in. We can look into what Australia did after their 1996 ban.

How do owners get a rifle that conforms to these new regulations? Here’s what my proposal predicts. Gun manufacturers will design the new rifles and new magazines to fit them. They present an entirely new market for those companies. Every existing owner will need to buy new weapons and the ammunition they use. That’s millions of sales and a profit bonanza.

Commerce drives a lot of the gun control debate. If manufacturers see the opportunity to make money off new regulations, they’ll support them. Businesses are already paying attention to this issue. DICK’S Sporting Goods no longer sells assault style rifles and high-capacity magazines in any of its stores, including Field and Stream. Walmart soon followed suit re the rifles. Both companies raised the minimum age for all gun sales to 21.

I’m not naïve enough to think my proposal will be foolproof or easy to implement. But it provides a way for rifle owners to maintain access to weapons without their being mayhem-enabled. Enthusiasts can use the same weapons they have today by going to a licensed shooting range or gun club (safer than firing at tin cans in a suburban back yard). They can still hunt with something similar to their favorite rifle, but more fairly for Bambi, with an incentive to improve their skill. Surely that will be more satisfying.

Gun control activists will feel this doesn’t go far enough and will take too long to implement. But it will make a dent in the problem if we can get all parties to agree. Can we at least get a dialogue going?

Copyright 2018 Elaine M. Decker

Smarter Glasses

The other night I dreamed that I was walking thru a mall when a woman came up and gave me a big “hello.” Though she called me by my name, I had no idea who she was. I mumbled something about not being able to see who she was because I didn’t have on my “facial recognition” glasses. We chatted a bit and went on our separate ways. I still had no clue who she was or how I knew her.

This dream was odd for several reasons. For one thing, I’m almost never in a mall. More likely we would have met in a supermarket, but you can’t control your dreams. And I’ve never heard of those glasses (which I doubt even exist). Even stranger, in the dream I thought: “This could make a good blog post,” and I actually remembered that when I woke up.

So here it is. I have reading glasses (aka “cheaters”) and driving glasses. But there are other uses for which neither of these is quite right.

Take watching TV for instance. The TV is too close to be in driving range. But some of the type that sometimes crawls along the bottom is too far away for cheaters. Glasses tailored specifically for TV would be a godsend.

Ditto for using the computer. My eye doctor suggested using cheaters that are slightly weaker than my reading ones when I’m on the computer. That helps, but I’m sure there’s a way to improve on this.

How about the mice type on medicine bottles and the RDA panels on groceries? My cheaters need to click into overdrive for me to read those and I’m still left squinting.

And of course, there’s the “facial recognition” ones that started all of this. Someone needs to miniaturize the smart phone technology and pair it with eyeglasses. These "smart glasses" would “talk” to a database of faces, names, and the context of how you know the person. The deluxe model could include names of their family members and pets, birthdays and such. A lot of sales people would pay a bundle for those. They’ be the ultimate “cheaters.”

No one wants to have a half-dozen specialized eyeglasses hanging around their neck. That means the ideal glasses will have all of this technology merged into one pair. It could have a menu that could “drop down” inside your eyelids. You’d blink at the functionality desired and voilà! Customized vision enhancement.

The final feature I’d like to see would be a self-tracking beacon, so I could find where I left the glasses. Or maybe they could walk on their “arms” and find me.

I’m not holding my breath for any of these to become available. So if I don’t recognize you the next time our paths cross in the mall or market, please forgive me. My eyesight and my memory are both on that downward trajectory that comes with age. If you delicately slip into our conversation your name and how I know you, I’ll be glad to tell you all about my idea for smarter glasses.

Therapy Pets

In case you missed it, a peacock named Dexter was not allowed to board a United Airlines flight with his owner, who claimed he was her emotional-support companion. Over the past few years, passengers have discovered this fine print as a way to avoid paying to have their pets travel with them. Businesses have popped up on-line where for just $30 you can purchase a psychological diagnosis. Present this at check-in and save the $100-plus fee ($200-plus RT) for your Dexter. Or Fido or Fluffy.

The idea of using pets for emotional support is not new and recent studies have confirmed that owning a cat can reduce your risk of heart failure. Earlier studies found the same for dogs, though in that case, the frequent dog walking was a contributing factor. This is no surprise to me; I’ve found that the more cats I have, the more relaxed I feel (except when it comes time to change the litter pans).

Unfortunately for animal lovers, many landlords and condo associations limit the number of pets to two per household. I sometimes point out that if my parents had only two children, I wouldn’t be here. Some of my friends have noted that this could be an argument in favor of limiting a household to two pets.

In any event, Dexter has inspired a way around this restriction. Have a “psychiatrist” prescribe emotional-support animals for each of your psychological issues. Normally, you’d get a diagnosis and choose a companion to match it. For this purpose, you first decide what type of pet you want. Then you search out a diagnosis to support that. Let’s look at examples of how some of these would match up.

If you claim to be bipolar, you’ll need a companion to lift you out of your depression. Kittens are particularly useful for this. Who can stay sad while watching a little, fluffy creature chasing a laser light, batting at a bird that's dancing on a wand, or mauling a fuzzy catnip mouse? Want a kitten? Get diagnosed as bipolar.

Being bipolar will also help you justify a different feline to bring you down from your manic high. If you love a lap cat, this diagnosis is for you. It’s important to “test drive” a cat to make sure that it fits on your lap and that your cushioning syncs up with their preferred lap positioning. Ideally, look for one with a loud purr, a bonus in helping you calm down. This second one will also serve as a companion to the first when it runs out of steam.

Chances are you also suffer from ADHD. It seems like everyone does these days. So you’ll need a third pet to keep you focused. Cats are generally better at distracting their owners than in helping them focus. A dog, on the other hand, will often sit patiently, leash in mouth, waiting for you to pay attention, thus teaching you by example. If you’re a dog person, ADHD is the disorder you’ll want.

Speaking of dogs, what better reason why you’d “need” a French Poodle than being neurotic? Your (hypothetical) neurosis will pale in comparison to that of your fluffy companion. It’s why I stand next to folks who are heavier than I am so I’ll look thinner in photos.

Are you paranoid? (If your landlord or association “police” are snooping around your home, you should be.) This definitely justifies adding a very large (and loud) dog to your brood. Your “doctor” can point out how having such a guard animal in the household will mitigate your “illness.”

Once you’ve adopted several therapy animals, you’ll need yet an additional one to deal with the legitimate PTSD caused by the others. No matter how careful you are in your adoption process, having multiple four-legged creatures in one household will certainly result in some dust ups. You’ll want to add a senior addition to the pack to keep the rest of them in line. Or you might consider a different species altogether for this. A militaristic parrot perhaps?

The crazier you claim to be, the more pets you can justify. Those who know me will not be surprised that I could qualify for an entire cat colony. Please visit your local shelter to find your emotional-support pets. They should have one for each of your psychological needs and it will be a win-win situation.

Be assured that this essay is social satire. It is in no way meant to demean those who suffer from actual psychological problems. As someone pointed out: Many people need their emotional support animals. The presence of some abuse does not mean the system should be dismissed entirely.  I do seriously suggest trying at least one therapy cat or dog. They really can work wonders. Just look at what they’ve done for me. Or maybe don’t…