Category: Commentary

To Xfinity and, well, not Beyond

Lately the speed of our internet connection at Doright Manor has been less than stellar causing me to grumble when playing my favorite online game, Design Home. Who knows how many perfect scores I’ve missed out on just because I couldn’t style a room quickly enough? The answer to that is none, by the way. Speed has nothing to do with how scores are tallied in this game, but still, it’s hard to keep up one’s inspiration when the right furniture refuses to load.

Studly Doright heard my grumbling from across the den last night and said he’d gotten an email from our internet service provider, Xfinity, saying that we were due for a modem upgrade. “Why don’t you head over there tomorrow and pick up a new modem?” he suggested.

So, here I am. Sitting in Xfinity hell with at least two dozen other people. The lines aren’t moving, and it seems that no one responds when their names are called. Buehler? Buehler?

https://goo.gl/images/AQUg11

At least the place has great WiFi.

Peace, people.

Forgetful

Have you ever had the feeling that you’ve forgotten to do something, but you can’t remember what it is you’ve forgotten, so you stumble through your morning with that little nagging thought tugging at the back of your mind?

Now, if you made it through that mess of a sentence/paragraph above you might be thinking, “Hell, I know what she forgot. It’s the punctuation mark known as a period. That woman forgot how to use a period to end a sentence.”

You could be right. That sentence definitely could’ve used a period, but what I remembered as I was writing it was that I had forgotten to write anything at all for the blog today, and while this blog post was meant for tomorrow it now has to be pressed into duty for today, and yes, I still need to remember to use a period every now and then. Kind of like breathing.

Now I just need to remember that I haven’t already written something for tomorrow. Oh! Will it never end?

Peace, people!

Pumpkin Jumpsuit vs. Risqué Shirtwaist: There are no Winners

Yesterday I shared my tale of shopping angst. I’ve been in search of a cocktail or after 5 dress for an upcoming soirée, and so far I have found nothing. The dresses that fit my 5’8″, size 12, slightly past middle-aged frame, are few and far between. And ugly. I might be nearing the age of 62, but I refuse to dress like my obituary is going into tomorrow’s newspaper.

At one point yesterday I decided to think outside the box in my pursuit of the elusive not-so-matronly dress, so I went to a local store in Tallahassee that always has a mix of new and vintage clothing displayed in their windows. It’s a nice shop, with friendly staff, and a variety of casual and dressier items in stock.

After walking around the store with me and asking about my style and color preferences one of the sales ladies opened a dressing room and began bringing different pieces for me to try on. I was seriously stoked to see just what she might find!

The first outfit was a light green floral jumpsuit. It didn’t scream “COCKTAILS” at me, but I was keeping an open mind. This isn’t it, but it was similar:

On me, the pants ended around mid-calf and the waist hit about two inches north of where my actual waist resides. And the floral pattern just made me look like I needed a good weeding.

Next she brought me another jumpsuit. I wish with all my heart that I’d had the presence of mind to take a photo of me wearing it. First off, it was orange. Not a pretty orange, but a washed out, 70’s shag carpet orange. In fact, I’d swear Studly and I lived in a rental that had the exact same color carpet during our poverty period.

The jumpsuit was crafted from chenille, so I looked like a pumpkin, freshly picked. And again, the waist was too high and the legs too short. Stifling a bout of giggles, I politely asked the sales lady to refrain from bringing any more jumpsuits to the dressing room.

So she brought me an adorable dress. It was simple and sweet on the hanger, but on me? Fugedaboutit. My bosom could not be contained by this little slip of a dress. Indeed, parts of me better left hidden made mad attempts to escape if I even dared to breathe in the gown. It was a Jekyll and Hyde affair, to be sure. All meek and mild on display, while determined to ruin my reputation whilst being worn. Be very glad that I didn’t take photos of this dress. That’s not it below, but you get the picture, right!

My little experiment in thinking outside the box was unproductive; however, I left the store with a badly damaged self-image, and that’s what really counts.

Peace, people.

A Fashion Fine Line

My clothing needs are simple most of the time. If I have a couple of pairs of jeans and/or capris that fit me, enough shirts to get me through a week without having to do laundry, and appropriate footwear for the season, I’m good to go. Occasionally, though, like now, I require something for a special occasion.

When I was younger, it was easy to find a cocktail dress for an evening out. The problem then was finding the money to buy it. Now that I have the money, my body nixes just about any dress that I find appealing, and every outfit I’ve tried on is either too hoochie coochie-ish or too funereal. I look like I’m either trying to get picked up or have already been put down.

I’m not panicking yet. The upcoming event is still several weeks away. And I did find one outfit I really liked. What do y’all think?

Peace, people.

Meme-Free Pledge

One of my long-time real life friends wrote this piece and posted it on Facebook. I took the pledge and hope that you will, as well. Thanks, Jim for making a difference. Here’s the pledge:

This political season, I am taking the Meme-Free Pledge, abstaining from sharing any political meme on social media. Like if you approve, Share and substitute your name for mine if you wish to join me!

WHEREAS: There is broad agreement that American democracy is under attack by foreign adversaries by means of spreading misinformation (propaganda) in order to create anger, fear, and mistrust, and

WHEREAS: Some of the adversaries’ most effective weapons in this effort to spread misinformation are memes shared through social media, and

WHEREAS: It is often difficult to know the source of these memes,

I HEREBY PLEDGE to assume that any political meme I see has been planted by America’s adversaries, and therefore, I will not share them, neither in public social media, nor private. This includes secret groups to which I belong and private messages.

I FURTHER PLEDGE to push back against these attacks on American democracy by exposing the misinformation, and if the misinformation is especially egregious, I will report it to Facebook or other social media formats.

I ALSO HUMBLY PLEDGE (this is the hard one for me) in my clarification of misinformation, I will do so with only sourced facts, without emotion, doing my best to avoid insulting or demeaning the poster, using language to the best of my ability that will not sound like a sneer or put down. (This is the hardest part, but the most important.)

Respectfully,

Leslie Noyes with thanks to my friend, Jim Lovell, whose post I’ve borrowed.

The Meg

Sometimes one needs a bit of mindless fun, at least I do on occasion. The summer movie, The Meg seemed perfect for that, and since Studly Doright had no interest in seeing it, I went by myself on a Wednesday afternoon while he was in Orlando for meetings.

Sure, there were other, more cerebral movies I could’ve spent the afternoon watching, but I was in the mood for a no-brainer. I certainly chose well.

First off, there will be no Oscars awarded for The Meg, unless perhaps it earns a nod for “Best Film Featuring a Gigantic, Vengeful Shark in the Tradition of Jaws.” The shark, or rather, Megalodon, is fearsome, and for such a large creature he sure could sneak up on people. I jumped and giggled every time it happened.

Jason Statham played second fiddle to the Meg, as Jonas, a diver with deep sea experience and a troubled past. Of course. Isn’t a troubled past de rigueur for a hero in a disaster-type film?

Rainn Wilson portrayed the stereotypical billionaire with a heart of lead who funded the deep sea expedition that unleashed the Meg on an unsuspecting world.

The remainder of the cast performed admirably, joking in the face of danger, recovering at a remarkable pace in the face of the deaths of their co-workers and loved ones: “Too bad about your dad. Hey, you wanna go grab dinner? I’m starving.”

I left the film totally unchanged. I’d gained no new insights into the human condition. Made no new vows to be a better person. But, I now know that one motivated, plucky dog can out swim a giant, prehistoric fish, thus bringing about a fairy tale ending. All is well.

Peace, people.

How I Spent My Week

  • Around 8:30 on Thursday night I realized I had written nothing for the blog for Friday. There wasn’t even a decent draft to polish up for my readers. So, I’m taking the easy way out and giving a recap of my week.
    • Sunday afternoon Studly Doright and I went to see Alpha. We both enjoyed it, but had a lengthy discussion about whether the characters were computer generated or not. We refuse to google it.
    • Monday was a beach day since Studly had to travel for work. It was wonderful day, and I returned to Doright Manor refreshed and slightly sunburned. I also slept well even though Studly was gone.
    • On Tuesday I went to see Crazy Rich Asians at at a theater in Tallahassee. It’s a fun romantic comedy that made me desperately long for a trip to Singapore.
    • Wednesday was spent doing household chores and followed by shopping for an after five dress for an upcoming special occasion. I was unsuccessful, so the search will continue.
    • On Thursday I made a second foray into Tallahassee. I stopped by the Aveda Institute and took advantage of their customer appreciation day, booking several spa appointments for future dates. I ate lunch at Newk’s and then in the evening I hosted a Meetup group at the Wine Loft in Tallahasse. It was fun! Now that I’ve gotten to know some of these ladies better we’ve begun letting our hair down a bit. We got a little silly.
    • Tomorrow (Friday) I’m having a facial at Aveda, and who knows what’ll happen next? Maybe a nap….

    I might be a bit spoiled, but I am worth it.

    Peace, people

    Breaking News!

    On Tuesday while all major mainstream news outlets were carrying word of guilty verdicts for Trump cronies, Paul Manafort and Michael Cohen, the ultra conservative media was singing a different song. Here’s what the Western Journal ran as “Breaking News”:

    Wow! They really did a killer job of distracting readers, right? This site’s normal fare includes scathing articles about Hillary’s emails along with high praise for trump.

    I subscribe to the WJ (whose name is so similar to the Wall Street Journal’s that one might believe it was titled in such a way as to mislead readers) in order to keep up with what far right conservatives are reading.

    The Wall Street Journal, which also tends toward the conservative viewpoint, didn’t mess around with animal cracker stories yesterday.

    I watched FOX news on Wednesday afternoon. Yes, I took one for the blog. It may require a year of counseling to shake off the nightmares that watching FOX brings on, but a girl has to make sacrifices.

    Their take on the whole thing is that Democrats are just itching to impeach Trump and that Trump didn’t know about anything and if he did it wasn’t important and anyway, “Look! A squirrel!” A sitting president, they said, has never been indicted, so….Oh, and anyway, no one really trusts Manafort or Cohen. In other words, it was a word soup with very little nutritional value.

    FOX was even trying to coach Sarah Huckabee Sanders on how to brief the press following Tuesday’s headlines. I wonder if she’ll address the animal crackers scandal?

    The big news on FOX, though, dealt with the case of an illegal immigrant who is being charged with the murder of a college student in Iowa. They even broke away from regular news coverage and went live to the courtroom. I wonder why? Do they go live to every courtroom in which a man has been charged with raping and murdering a woman? If so, they’re going to be doing nothing but covering such cases. According to Ms. magazine, more than 1,600 women were murdered by men in 2017. FOX had better get busy. Between that and breaking news animal cracker stories the conservative media has its hands full.

    Peace, people.

    What I Didn’t Ask

    She was sitting alone on the beach under her umbrella, this pleasant looking middle-aged woman, reading her book and looking up occasionally at the brilliant blue Gulf. I watched her surreptitiously from my own chair for many minutes, imagining the scenarios that might have led to her being there.

    I wondered if she, like me, has a husband who travels frequently leaving her to her own devices during the week. Perhaps she was a recent divorcée trying to find herself in the timeless rise and fall of the waves before moving on with her new single life. Maybe she was an international jewel thief, hiding out on Florida’s Forgotten Coast until she could find a place to offload her ill-gotten booty. Oh, the possibilities were endless.

    Then, she spoke to me, “Come, share my umbrella.”

    The temperature was 95°. I could hardly refuse an offer like that, even if she was an international jewel thief, so I picked up my chair and settled in beside her, instantly relieved to be out of the direct rays of the sun. I thanked her and for the next hour we chatted like old friends.

    She was closer to my age than I’d thought when watching her from several yards away, and attractive in a gamine sort of way. Her name was Tammy or Tammie, maybe Tammi. I didn’t ask for a spelling, and she and her husband were spending the week camping near St. George Island. Her sister and brother-in-law were planning to join them later that day.

    Tammy/Tammie/Tammi lives near Thomasville, Georgia, where they farm. They grow pecans among other crops. Her husband of 40 years had contracted skin cancer from spending many long hours working in the sun, so he stays in the camper during the day and comes to join her once the sun starts to set. It’s their routine.

    She’s one of four children, three girls and one boy, and their father died when they were all very young. Her mother was a strong woman who kept their family together and raised good kids. Her husband’s family is very big and boisterous and fun.

    I told her about Studly and me, our kids, and grandkids, and our many moves from state to state in our 42 years of marriage. How we hoped we could retire and live out the rest of our lives in Tallahassee, but how hard it is to be so far away from the rest of our family. I told her about my deceased parents and how much I miss them. I told her about my brothers and their families, and about Studly’s own boisterous family.

    Soon it came time for me to leave. I thanked her again for the shade and also for the conversation. As I walked away it occurred to me that she hadn’t mentioned children, and I hadn’t asked if she and her husband had any. Surely the existence of children would have come into the conversation at some point. Still I wish I’d asked. That, and about the jewel thief theory. That could still be a possibility.

    Peace, people.

    Handmaid’s Tale, the Series

    More than once I’ve read Margaret Atwood’s novel of the dystopian country of Gilead, formerly known as the United States of America. Each reading of The Handmaid’s Tale has caused me to see some new and horrifying aspect of a brave new world in which some women, those who are fertile, are reduced to being nothing more than brood mares, while their infertile counterparts serve men in other ways.

    When I first read the novel I was a young mom with two children underfoot, and I was devastated by the main character’s separation from her child. I couldn’t imagine anyone trying to take my babies away, and her heartache was my heartache.

    The second time I read The Handmaid’s Tale my children were teenagers, and all I could think of was that my daughter could be used in this birthing scheme, while I would be relegated to being a Martha or an Auntie–someone whose only purpose in life was to cook or clean for a commander and his family.

    When I read the book for a third time, Donald Trump had just been sworn in and I had just taken part in a women’s march to protest his misogynistic views. Now I read the book from a whole world perspective. I saw how women, with just a few winks and nods from Congress, could drop rapidly in status just because men declared us to be second class citizens.

    Friends kept urging me to watch the Hulu series based on the book, but I was afraid I’d be disappointed. Now, after spending two days binge watching the first season on dvd, I’m in awe. Not only has the series captured the book perfectly in scope and mood, but it has also brought back every one of those emotions I experienced during my past experiences with the book.

    The Handmaid’s Tale will take you by the shoulders and shake you until you’re only capable of seeing the paths that lie ahead. We really are on the cusp in this country, and this series reminds us to be wary. Keep resisting.

    Peace, people.