Un/Covered

A Mennonite bonnet, a Muslim hijab: Why do many of us feel differently about them?

A Toronto, Muslim, assimilation-assisting group recently brought an assortment of hijabs, niqabs, and burkas, and installed them beside bonnets, caps and snoods, in the local Mennonite Museum, as a prompt for debate and discussion, with the above question.

As with so many other things, each of these sets is far more than what it merely appears to be, women’s head-coverings.  Each of them is representative – a sort of visual shorthand – of an entire subculture.  Here in Canada, we have had 200 years to accustom ourselves to what Mennonites are, peaceful, law-abiding and reserved.

Sadly, after 50 years of immigration, the same cannot be said of all Muslims.  There is no Mennonite jihad – a drive to force the world to obey its tenets.  There is no published agenda to establish a Mennonite Caliphate.  Mennonites don’t put people in cages and drown them, or throw them off tall buildings, or burn them alive, or blow their heads off with explosive cord.

In many people’s minds, these actions and attitudes are represented – at least condoned – by these head coverings.  If you come to Canada to be Canadian, don’t continue to wave the bullfighter’s red cape that reinforces the Us and Them stance, and expect to be accepted.

Like many Muslim women, Conservative Amish and Mennonite women wear an bonnet in obedience to the Biblical commands given in 1 Tim. 2:9-15, 1 Peter 3:1-6, and Titus 2:3-5 that a Christian woman should be discreet, chaste, modest, sober-minded, in subjection, (Emphasis mine) meek and quiet, and shamefaced.

A local Mennonite lady took offence at the printed statement that such headwear was a symbol of oppression.  Her Op-Ed letter read, “I read with interest the article by the female columnist.  I am a Mennonite woman who wears a head covering, and I was disappointed the real reason we wear them was not explained.  Mennonites are Bible-believing Christians, and we believe the head-covering is a God-ordained requirement for a Christian woman.

I find it offensive that the Mennonite head covering is seen as a symbol of oppression.  There may be some such cases, but I am convinced that the majority of Mennonite women feel very secure and protected, and not oppressed.

In society, it is perfectly acceptable for businesses to have people with different levels of authority, from CEOs, down to janitors.  A business functions best this way and we believe that a marriage also functions best when we follow God’s pattern for it.  This is for the man to have the leadership role, and the woman to be his helpmeet.  My head covering is a symbol of that headship order.  I find it unfortunate that the Mennonite woman’s head covering is so misunderstood.”

I don’t think that there’s much misunderstanding.  This just an updated version of The Scarlet Letter.  I feel badly for her.  I respect her – just not her beliefs.  From an objective, external viewpoint, this has all the hallmarks of an abusive relationship.  She might be accepting, even happy, with the order of things in her (religious) life, but probably because she’s undergone the Stockholm Syndrome conditioning..  She may have been convinced, or convinced herself, that this mind-set is valid.

Only children’s bonnets may be bright and gay.
Those of mature women must be plain and drab.

Even if it were, like the displays of burkas, etc. just flaunt the I’m-better-than-you, Holier-Than-Thou belief, she’s setting up another Us vs. Them situation, and doing neither group much good.

***

Tex-Mex One-Liners

To me, essential oils are….
….what drips out of tacos.  *

You smell great!….
….What hand sanitizer are you wearing?

Walking back to your car because you forgot your mask….
….is the new kind of pissed off.

Does it bother anyone else that the guy in the Operation game….
….was clearly awake?

I never realize how much I swear….
….until I’m in a situation where I can’t.

You’re only as pretty as….
….how you treat other people.

I have feelings for you….
….I’m not telling you which ones.

The worst part of kissing a perfect 10….
….is the cold feeling your lips get from the mirror.

Drinking coffee in the morning….
….helps others live longer.

I never finish anything….
….I have a black belt in partial arts.

I ran out of coffee this morning, so I used tequila….
….eVerYbody iS so pRetty toDay.

The only thing that is ever in bed with me….
….is crumbs.

I don’t have exes….
….I have ‘whys.’

The first five days after the weekend….
….are the hardest.

I wish I had a pair of….
….skinny genes.

If you don’t remember their name….
….take them to Starbucks.

I can’t decide if I want to go off the grid….
….or off the rails.

What I if told you….
….you read the top line wrong?

Don’t give up on your dreams….
….Keep sleeping.

Adam – to God – after seeing Eve….
….I love what you do with ribs.

When I was on the computer….
….I couldn’t find ESC, and I lost CTRL.

Where America Went Wrong

I’m pretty sure it happened somewhere between Plymouth harbor, and Plymouth Rock.

Great leaders have great ideas, and make great plans…. and then their selfish and moronic followers mutate them into something against their own best interests – and everyone else’s.

The Pilgrim Fathers (because they listened to the Pilgrim Mothers about as much as Arabs listen to Muslim mothers) sailed their flocks across the Atlantic to obtain freedom from religious harassment.

The Pilgrim rank and file, many of whom were quite rank, and abrasive, found a wide-open land with no controlling central government – a place where might was right, and inter-racial policy was established at the point of a flintlock.

These greedy idiots set a pattern of confusing freedom with rebellion.  Their descendants mistake liberty with licence.  They seize all their ‘rights,’ but refuse to accept responsibility.  They have turned independence into anarchy.

They care only about themselves, and not the country, or their fellow-citizens.  I ain’t getting’ no dang COVID shot, an’ I ain’t wearin’ no faggy mask.  40,000 folks was killed by firearms last year.  I got no gun trainin’, and I stick my loaded Glock under my pillow, where the kids can find it, but you can take my gun away from me when you can pry it outta my cold, dead hand.

There are several thousand middle-school graduate, ego receptacles, who call themselves Sovereign Citizens.   They claim that they are not part of the country, and are not subject to the rule of government.  They hold jobs in ‘the country,’ and accept payment in coin (bills) of the realm, but refuse to buy the land that they occupy, or pay taxes to fund the roads and infrastructure that they get to use.

Politics and religion are the two arenas where this problem is most noticeable.  #MeToo has become me only.  Red States vs. Blue States….  😯  Co-operation and compromise have become four-letter words. Freedom has become something that is not applicable to the whole, but rather, something that has been appropriated by the most vocal fraction.  ‘Woke’ is no longer a joke.  It is a tsunami of ego-trips that is washing away all care and consideration for others.  If only these arrogant assholes could be taught some good manners.

The problem isn’t that Johnny can’t read.  The problem isn’t even that Johnny can’t think.  The problem is that Johnny doesn’t know what thinking is.  He confuses it with feeling.  Once upon a time, schools used to teach students how to think.  More recently, they’ve been teaching students what to think.  Many of them have finally reached the point of teaching students not to think.

Is there a solution to this situation??  I fear not.  Perhaps it is just best to stand well back from the imminent, inevitable explosion.  Make friends with a ‘prepper,’ hope for the best, and ride it out.

If we’re all still here, I’ll see you again in a couple of days.  Keep your powder dry.   😳

WOW #73

Oops! This is the wrong catchpole.

I’d like to introduce you to a fine, upstanding pair of brother-words.  They don’t get out much anymore.  They’ve gone into semi-retirement because of the constant suffusion into everyday English usage, of valley-girl-speak, obvs.

Our protective pair for this week are

CATCHPOLE

and

TIPSTAFF

Catchpole: (formerly) a petty officer of justice, especially one arresting persons for debt.
Tipstaff: a staff tipped with metal, formerly carried as a badge of office, as by a constable.
any official who carried such a staff.

Gone are the days when these boys, and their Italian cousin, Fasces, could implement some social wellbeing by applying a few stripes across a few backs and butts, and some knots on some heads.  (Therefore, knotheads.)

I was gratified by the recent decisions to use riot-geared police, complete with two-foot truncheons, to finally bring an end to both the Ottawa Freedom Convoy, and the Windsor/Detroit bridge blockade.  Police showed remarkable restraint.  They barely had to use their billy-clubs.  I thought that a few more heads could have been cracked, to engender some good manners and social responsibility.

Society is a constant pendulum – from too restrictive, to too lenient.  This current Woke/cancel culture/snowflake – nobody even gets their feelings hurt, much less their ass, or their head – has swung too far into permissive.   I don’t want police beatings in the street, any more than I don’t want guys being shot for driving while black.  But there’s gotta be some workable middle ground.

If I set up a Patreon account, Tipstaff is what you could do.  Until then, I’ll just be happy if you have Uber-Eats deliver another helping of my rants in a couple of days.  😀

WOW #32

Disneyfy

Definitions for Disneyfy              

to create or alter in a simplified, sentimentalized, or contrived form or manner: museums that have become Disneyfied to attract more visitors.

Origin of Disneyfy

Disneyfy is an Americanism formed from the name of Walt Disney, the cartoonist and moviemaker (1901-66), and the familiar verb suffix -fy. Disneyfy entered English in the second half of the 20th century.

In every aspect of human interaction, the social pendulum swings from too much of one thing, to too much of its opposite.  It was not long ago (historically) that those who deviated, even slightly, from the social norm, were punished with pain, imprisonment, and forced attitude re-adjustment.

It was good for society to move away from these cruel actions and attitudes.  Sadly though, the pendulum has now swung into the realm of unicorns, rainbows, Hello Kitty, and My Little Pony.  The Thought Police now insist that we cannot even have negative opinions and attitudes, especially toward Special Interest Groups like blacks, LGBTs, or illegal immigrants, much less express them, lest someone get their precious feelings hurt.

I believe that America has been Disnefied enough quite enough, thank you.  Within each of the special ‘protected species groups,’ and outside them, there are plenty of assholes who need to be called out.  I am still willing to call a spade a fucking shovel, to dig us out of this great pile of Politically Correct bullshit that’s been heaped on us.  Remember, Disney was the guy who gave us Fantasyland.

I’ll be back in a couple of days with some sensitive thoughts.  I expect to see you here, or I’ll unfriend you.  So there!  That’ll teach you.  😛

Cat Blog – AKA: Views And Likes, Come To Daddy

They say that, after a while, people and their pets begin to look alike. I don’t know about looking like my pets, but I know that I/we have begun to act like our cats, and the cats, sadly, have become like humans.

Experts say that cats don’t talk to each other the way people do. They have many different meows and other sounds to express wants, needs and feelings.  Two or more cats may make sequential sounds, but it’s not conversation.

I can make a low-pitched rumble in the back of my throat that sounds very much like purring. For reasons not known to me, it is called ‘vocal fry.’  About 30% of people do it at the end of words in normal speech.  The Kardashian females are especially noted for it.  When a cat purrs at me, I can purr back, and we’re both contented.

When the son comes home in the morning, Mica jumps into his lap, digs his claws into tough denim pants, and demands his whapping and scratching. If son is distracted by food, drink or newspaper, Mica soon yowls to remind him that attention is missing.  The son says he’s learned to read and time these outbursts.  Just as the cat opens his mouth, the son meows loudly at him.  He says the look of confusion is precious.  Wait, what??! I was gonna say that.

I have some mild allergies that sometimes make me sneeze – never once, always at least twice, usually three, occasionally four, at least twice, five in a row. If Mica is in the room, or awake and able to hear me, after each and every sneeze, he lightly meows.  The recovering Catholic wife insists that he is blessing me.  As if I needed blessing, or the cat is authorized to do it.  I think he’s just telling me to keep the noise down, to protect his sensitive ears.

Each of our cats has a different time and place where they demand attention. With Tonka, it’s often as I recline my easy chair for my afternoon nap.  Suddenly I have the equivalent of an 18-pound building block on my chest, wanting to snuggle in – try to breathe, try to breathe.  No wonder superstitious mediaeval peasants thought that cats ‘sucked the life out of babies.’  It’s known as positional asphyxia.

In the winter, the air in the house is so dry that we got half-inch-long sparks off doorknobs, so we installed a humidifier in the hall, outside the bedrooms. It had push-button controls on the upper surface.

As we accumulated cats, we found that they will jump up, and pad around on a humidifier, even when it’s running.  Waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of a cat-induced, speed #10, oncoming tornado is a real adventure.

We eventually bought a new humidifier, with touch-screen controls at a 45° angle on the front edge. When cats jump down from something, they slide their front paws over the front edge….  And here comes the tornado again!  We’ve gone two winters now without running it.  A few electric sparks are not as much of a shock as that.

All of my cats demand attention at certain times, but Contessa (my little ‘Missy’), is the one who hangs out in the computer room with me while I’m working, or trying to.  She’s also the one with the sharpest claws.  My arms finally reached the point shown above, before I learned to use peripheral vision to notice her coming.  I saw a blog-post the other day.  All it was, was a photo of an arm, scratched worse than mine, with the caption, “Why yes, I do own a cat.  Why do you ask?”

Now, a gentle paw slap as she tries to grab, my attention and my arm, is enough to make her sit back on the floor. Most females don’t want my hands anywhere near them, but when she’s in a ‘pet me’ mood, she demands them all over her.  After 5 long years, she’s even finally taken to lying on her side on the floor at my feet, so that I can rub her tummy – a sign of trust.

Other trust signs are the long, slow, two-eyed blink, and lifting their tail and showing you their butt. They have to trust you enough to take their eyes off you, and the exposed rump not only means that they’re temporarily defenceless, but there are scent glands, which we can’t smell, but which they use to identify themselves to others.

catacomb – beauty salon for felines
catalyst – cat’s inclination after too much catnip
or – a feline who really makes things happen
catatonic – party fare for cats substituting milk for gin
catechism – manual for turning your doubting tomcat into a true believer
catsup – dinner party for fat cats (catered, of course)
catamaran – a cruise boat for kitties
catastrophe – four felines and a decorated Christmas tree
catapult – what felines apparently use to get into your lap….when you least expect it
Catalan – a Spanish gato
catamount – wherever your kitty climbs up, to sleep
catfish – be sure to put the lid back on the aquarium

FEELINGS

The young stay-at-home mother looked out through the front window – and was devastated. There, in the middle of the street was the dead body of the family’s adorable, much-loved (and very expensive) Scottish Terrier.  Somehow he had got out, and some unfeeling fiend had hit and run over him, and hadn’t even had the good manners to stop and report the accident.

Bad enough how bereft she felt, but her young daughter would be inconsolable. Thinking of her loss, and how she would have to explain the trauma to her child, she burst into tears.

“What’s wrong Mommy?  Whyya cryin’?”  Standing there at the window sobbing, she was suddenly aware of her daughter, who had come up from the basement playroom – followed by their Scotty.  She looked back into the street – just in time to see a crumpled black garbage bag blow on down the road.

QUESTION – Is she entitled to her feelings??

Some years ago, the wife was rebuking me for a statement I hadn’t made, about an opinion I didn’t hold. She was telling me how insulted and unsupported she felt.  Since I hadn’t said what she’d accused me of, I told her that she shouldn’t feel that way.

I suddenly found that husbands, like small children, should be seen and not heard. Now I had sinned twice.  Not only did she think I’d ‘said something’, but now I was robbing her of something that was hers, something that she’d worked for, and owned, and deserved.  “How dare you tell me not to feel like that!  Don’t I have the right to my feelings?”

QUESTION – (based on my presumed innocence) Does she have a right to her feelings?

I was discussing this and related situations with a co-worker one day. He was of Turkish descent, from Cyprus.  I brought up the fact that, if a businessman meets with an Arabic official, and sits down and crosses his left leg over his right, so that his left foot points at the Arab, it is considered an insult.

I asked, “If the American doesn’t even know of the cultural beliefs, and intends no insult, then how can it be taken as an insult?”

“Oh no”, he says, “that is an insult!”  No knowledge – no intent –HOW??!!

QUESTION – Does the Turkey (and the Emir) have the right to his feelings?

A young, New-Age Mennonite co-worker went on and on about how gay people chose to be gay, and sin.  Finally tired of this attitude, one day I asked him just how he thought that homosexuals chose to be so.

He launched into a story about, “You know when you’re 12 or 13, and you first start noticing boys and girls, and you decide who you’re most attracted to? They decide to be gay”  12 or 13??!  He must have led a sheltered life out there on the farm.  I knew I was hetero by 4, when the little girl up the street taught me to play Doctor and Nurse.  Perhaps he just stopped noticing sheep.

I objected to his use of the word ‘decide’, and suggested he replace it with ‘realize.’  “It sounds to me as if they go through exactly the same development and situation as you did, only, instead of finding that they like the opposite sex, they find that they like the same sex.”

“Oh no,” he says! “I’m normal!  They choose to sin and be gay.”

QUESTION – Does this narrow-minded little twerp and his pastor have the right to their feelings about fags?

Do the Westboro Baptists have the right to their feelings when they interrupt funerals?? Do ISIS and al Qaeda have the right to their feelings about women, gays, Christians, and Democracy?  Big or small, it’s all the same.

I would never deprive anyone of the right to express valid emotions, but they have to be BASED ON REALITY. Are any of you incensed at that statement?  Tough luck – get over it.  You shouldn’t feel that way.   😉