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Patrice, Aleda, and two cousins – summer 1955

Some cool Gift Ideas images:

Patrice, Aleda, and two cousins – summer 1955
Gift Ideas
Image by Ed Yourdon
The back of this print is stamped "week ending Sep 10, 1955" — but I think it was taken a week or two earlier than that, probably when cousins Sherry and Ricky were visiting Omaha before the beginning of their school year back in the Washington, DC area…

**********************************

Some of the photos in this album are “originals” from the year that my family spent in Omaha in 1955-56. But the final 10 color photos were taken nearly 40 years later, as part of some research that I was doing for a novel called Do-Overs, the beginning of which can be found here on my website

www.yourdon.com/personal/fiction/doovers/index.html

and the relevant chapter (concerning Omaha) can be found here:

www.yourdon.com/personal/fiction/doovers/chapters/ch9.html

Before I get into the details, let me make a strong request — if you’re looking at these photos, and if you are getting any enjoyment at all of this brief look at some mundane Americana from 60+ years ago: find a similar episode in your own life, and write it down. Gather the pictures, clean them up, and upload them somewhere on the Internet where they can be found. Trust me: there will come a day when the only person on the planet who actually experienced those events is you. Your own memories may be fuzzy and incomplete; but they will be invaluable to your friends and family members, and to many generations of your descendants.

So, what do I remember about the year that I spent in Omaha? Not much at the moment, though I’m sure more details will occur to me in the days to come — and I’ll add them to these notes, along with additional photos that I’m tweaking and editing now.

For now, here is a random list of things I remember:

1. I attended the last couple months of 6th grade, and all of 7th grade, in one school. My parents moved from Omaha to Long Island, NY in the spring of my 7th grade school year; but unlike previous years, they made arrangements for me to stay with a neighbor’s family, so that I could finish the school year before joining them in New York.

2. Our dog, Blackie, traveled with us from our previous home in Riverside, and was with us until my parents left Omaha for New York; at that point, they gave him to some other family. For some reason, this had almost no impact on me. It was a case of “out of sight, out of mind” — when Blackie was gone, I spent my final three months in Omaha without ever thinking about him again.

3. Most days, I rode my bike to school; but Omaha was the place where one of my sisters first started attending first grade — in the same school where I was attending 6th grade. I remember walking her to school along Bellevue Avenue on the first morning, which seemed to take forever: it was about a mile away.

4. As noted in a previous Flickr album about my year in Riverside, I was a year younger than my classmates; but I was tall for my age, and thus looked “normal” at a quick glance. But because I was a year younger, I was incredibly shy and awkward in the presence of girls. Omaha was certainly not “sin city,” but by 6th grade and 7th grade, puberty was beginning to hit, and the girls had grown to the point where they were occasionally interested in boys. The school tried to accommodate this social development by teaching us the square dance (and forbidding the playing of songs by Elvis Presley, whose music was just beginning to be heard on the radio). I was an awful dancer, and even more of a shy misfit than my classmates; I continue to be an awful dancer today.

5. My bike ride to school was uneventful most days; but the final part of the ride was a steep downhill stretch on Avery Road, lasting three or four blocks. My friends and I usually raced downhill as fast as we could; but one day, my front bicycle wheel began to wobble on the downhill run, and my bike drifted uncontrollably to the side of the road and then off into a ditch. I got banged up pretty badly.

6. But this accident was nothing compared to my worst mishap: a neighborhood friend and I enjoyed playing “cowboys and Indians” in the woods near his home (and his younger brother usually tagged along). I had a bow and a few arrows for our adventure, and we often shot at trees a hundred feet away. Unfortunately, the arrows often disappeared into the underbrush (because we were lousy shots) and were difficult to find. Consequently, one of us came up with the clever idea of standing behind the “target” tree, so that we could see where the randomly-shot arrows landed. Through a series of miscommunications, I poked my head out from behind the tree just as my friend shot one of the arrows … and it skipped off the side of the tree and into my face, impaling itself into my cheek bone about an inch below my eye. An inch higher, and I would not be typing these words … (meanwhile, my friend’s younger brother grew up to be an officer in the U.S. Air Force, and he tracked me down on the Internet, decades later).

7. In the summer of 1956, my parents decided to spend their summer vacation prospecting for uranium (seriously!) in the remote hills of eastern Utah, where my dad had grown up on the Utah-Colorado border. This entailed a long, long drive from Omaha; and it involved leaving me and my two sisters with my grandparents near Vernal, UT. My grandparents lived in a very small mining village outside of Vernal; and while they had electricity and various other modern conveniences, they also had an outhouse in the back yard. Trips to the “bathroom” in the middle of the night were quite an adventure. On the way back to Omaha at the end of this vacation trip (with no uranium ore having been found), we stopped for a couple of days of camping somewhere in the mountains of Colorado; you’ll see a couple of photos from that camping trip in this album.

8. There were no lizards in Omaha, and thus no opportunity for lizard-hunting with my slingshot—which had been a significant hobby in my previous homes in Riverside and Roswell. Indeed, there was almost nothing to shoot at … and I couldn’t find anyone with whom I could play (and hopefully win) marbles, to use as slingshot ammunition. But for reasons I never questioned or investigated (but about which I’m very curious now), there was a small vineyard in the field behind our house, and I was able to climb over the fence and retrieve dozens of small, hard, green grapes. They turned out to be excellent ammunition … but I never did find any lizards.

9. A few months before my parents left for New York, I told them about the latest craze sweeping the neighborhood: “English bikes,” with three speeds, thin tires, and hand-brakes. I desperately wanted one, but Dad said it was far too expensive for him to buy as a frivolous gift for me: at the time, English bikes had an outrageous price tag of . I was told that I would have to earn the money myself if I wanted one … and the going rate for young, scrawny kids who shoveled sidewalks, pulled weeds from gardens, and did babysitting chores, was 25 cents per hour. That works out to 100 hours of work … but I did it, over the course of the next few months, and when I got to New York, the first thing I did was buy my English bike.

10. Toward the end of my 7th-grade school year, everyone in my class was subjected to a vision test: we were lined up in alphabetical order, and one-by-one read off a series of letters that we could barely see on a large placard taped onto the classroom blackboard. Because my surname starts with a “Y,” I was usually near the end of the line … and by the time I got to the front, I had usually memorized the letters (because they never bothered to change them, from one student to the next) without even realizing it consciously. But on this particular occasion in 7th grade, for some reason, they decided to line us up in reverse alphabetical order … and I was the first in line. For the first time in my life, I realized that I could not see anything of the letters, and that I was woefully near-sighted.

11. When I got to New York, my parents took me to an optometrist to get my first set of glasses (and, yes, all of the neighborhood kids did begin taunting me immediately: “Four eyes! Four eyes!”) … and I’ve worn glasses ever since.
Three years after I arrived in New York, the glasses saved my vision when a home-brewed mix of gunpowder and powdered aluminum blew up in my face in the school chemistry lab (where I had an after-school volunteer job as a “lab assistant”). I suffered 2nd-degree burns on my face from the explosion, but the glasses protected my eyes. That, however, is a different story for a different time.

Gift idea: hanging test tube vases
Gift Ideas
Image by apairandaspare
© Geneva Vanderzeil, A Pair & A Spare, www.apairandasparediy.com

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a summer day at dore alley 2018, scott richard

A few nice Unique Gift Ideas images I found:

a summer day at dore alley 2018, scott richard
Unique Gift Ideas
Image by torbakhopper
PRESS PLAY

samm henshaw
the world is mine

**************
one of the strange things to me that i’ve been hearing all my life is how “straight” people are heterosexuals.

REALLY??

isn’t this like saying HARVEY MILK is a HERO?
doesn’t it just SMACK of bad grammar and stupidity?
what a DITCH!!!! smear his name like dog crp everywhere you go. PLEASE don’t let that LOSER become a gay icon!!!!!!

i beg of you!!!!!!!

and who are these STRAIGHT people anyway and how did they come up with this IDEA about heterosexuality?

methinks IT’S FKING GAY!!!!

but that’s just me.
i kind of think that the REPRESSION of NATURAL SEX leads to fkt up social orders that, as a result of BAD GRAMMAR and the sickening side effects of using BAD GRAMMAR as a social code for behavior, end up kicking the sht out of themselves until someone is brave enough to MURDER the collective.

ah, history is so full of this sickness.

so i’m here to help. i know this in my “heart”.
even if it’s just fake and i’m only these words…

okay, CROSS SEXUALITY is when a man and a woman engage in any form of SEXUAL INTERCOURSE.

CROSS SEXUAL “INTERCOURSE” is a euphemism. no one is really sure what it actually means. it can mean a number of things and have regional flavors.

BUT CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING is not a euphemism. IT is very specific.

CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING is when a man ejaculates inside a woman with the possibility of CONCEPTION taking place. THAT IS >>> cross sexual UNIONIZING can "force" a REPRODUCTION. the REPRODUCTION becomes "property" in most societies.

and SEXUAL UNIONIZING is only “physically” attached to RECREATIONAL SEX because CONCEPTION can occur during RECREATIONAL SEX if prohibitions or alternate activities besides CROSS “PENIS2VAGINA" FUCKING (which is also not a euphemism, but is when cross sexuals get busy with it using a DCK and a VAGINA as INTERSECTIONALIZING UNITS — that is, like a vehicle making a delivery to a warehouse receiving that delivery). so SEXUAL UNIONIZING has a POINT or PURPOSE that is dangerous and devastating if you’re not ready to pay the price of reproducing and keeping the REPRODUCTION alive.

so stop being fking uptight.
that is CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING.
and some of you are like, “it’s the miracle of life!!!”
and comedians were like, “so is sht coming out your AS…HLE”

and i was like, can’t we protect children from all this HATE and HATEFUL grammar that has embedded itself so deeply into our ACTIONS and our BEHAVIOR and our UNSPOKEN TRUTHS???!? why must sex be so MESSY when there are so MANY ways of generating a delightful sex life for all humans.

anyway, it’s pretty simple, kids. here’s the list for CROSS SEXUAL behavior, that is when one representative of the “male” sex interacts sexually with a member of the “female” sex:

FIRSTLY:

DCK INTO VAGINA = CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING.

THIS IS WHERE YOU CAN MAKE A BABY, which is the EUPHEMISM for the terminology UNION. it is PROCREATIVE and should RARELY happen.

this is historically the highest form of human sex VALUE because of its punishing outcomes — UNIONIZING changed the history of dynasties, houses, empires at all levels within society by LITERALLY forming UNIONS.

BAD BREEDING destroys societies. so CROSS SEXUAL UNIONS have been forged in the fires of USURY and TRADE AGREEMENTS and DOWRIES and land exchange and all manner of GILDED and GOLDEN payoff strategies. indeed, this form of UNIONIZING isn’t almost not so much about the sex at all, is it?

it’s about the OFFSPRING and property rights.
but we all secretly know this…

okay, the list of SEX BEHAVIOR that is NOT UNIONIZING!!!

CROSS SEXUAL NON-UNIONIZING BEHAVIOR DEFINED

DCK into MOUTH = CROSS SEXUAL behavior (you can’t form a UNIONIZATION from ORAL SEX, dummies!!!)
MOUTH into VAGINA = CROSS SEXUAL behavior (copy/paste: you can’t form a UNIONIZATION from ORAL SEX, dummies!!!)
MOUTH to BTT = CROSS SEXUAL BEHAVIOR (you can’t form a UNIONIZATION from this kind of ORAL SEX, dummies!!! but you can get hepatitis!!! so beware!!!! you can get vaccinated for this as well in many countries)
DCK into ANUS = CROSS SEXUAL BEHAVIOR (you can’t form a UNIONIZATION from BTT SEX, dummies!!!

you see, all of these behaviors GO EASILY ACROSS the sexes. it is ONE sex, recreationalizing with the other sex. there are no UNIONIZING ISSUES. and modern humanity has all manner of DISRUPTERS that reduce the risk of DCK2VAGINA sex being UNIONIZING and much more rewardingly RECREATIONAL.

AND, just for the record, there really is a BETWEEN SEXES category of sexuality. just because you don’t know about it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist"

and FURTHER for this imaginary "record", this BETWEEN SEXES category — i refer to this amazing human as TRANSFORMATIONAL and i don’t limit their ability to transform based on the HYPER DISTINGUISHED models — is as ancient as all records of CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING. it is an ambiguous element (like SAME SEX FCKING that is ALWAYS and ETERNALLY born out of ordinary CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZATION!!)

ALL HUMAN DEVIANCE is literally born from CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING if you’re going to create blame.

ah, irony and hate are so conjoined.

and the gift of hermaphroditism is so underrated!!! we are such BAD RECEIVERS of the divine!!!!!

sadly, these "differences" are just so rare that it scares the CRP out of the majority of humans because it LITERALLY PROVES and DEMONSTRATES that there is a MAGICAL range to our PEOPLE!!!! that we are bigger and better and more mysterious than the STANDARD.

in the film FELLINI’S SATYRICON, the original "university spring-break vacation" story ever written (no, seriously, and so damn funny, too!!! petronius was a fking hoot!!), there is a hermaphrodite that is worshipped for being an oracle.

and the idiot college kids kidnap this amazing human and end up accidentally killing “THEM”. which is devastating.

and at the same time, i have MAJOR issues with co-opting PREVIOUS ESTABLISHED pronouns for the transformational.

this was done by the FAKE gay community which repurposed PRIDE and the RAINBOW as a direct assault on the western CHRISTIAN CHURCHES. way to go!!!! let’s bring everyone together for a FIGHT!!!!

not this time, kids. we are here to have FUN, FUN NOW!!!!
this is the new mantra of the liberated human.
and it’s not about IRRESPONSIBILITY.
fun isn’t responsibility-free. that’s DISASSOCIATION, the high you get from being too drunk, too much on medz, too much on drugs, too much ESCAPISM.

no, FUN NOW requires 100% awareness (or a bare minimum of 92%).

anyway, in the FUN NOW crowd, there is a belief that UNIQUE sexes 100% deserve a special place where they are valued and cherished. not deified, but humanified further in our ability to see US in them, not them in us.

FUN NOW says HELL YEAH!!!
and we will back you up if you need presence and support.
it’s not, per say, our life, but it is our LIVES that matter.

OUR LIVES MATTER.
and in my opinion, these people, and any who are persecuted for being born outside the STANDARD (sometimes called the mean) fking DESERVE a special and beautiful set of “pronouns” in grammar.

in my opinion, "US" and "WE" is so much better than the divisive and hateful choice of THEM and THEY, which is separatist and SELF EXCLUSIONARY.

currently those choices are operating like a weird denial, an uncomfortable BANDAID over a wounded and confused pronoun that will cause untold damage in the same way that ALLOWING harvery milk to represent ANYBODY or ANYTHING is stupid and only TRUE IDIOTS who can’t do any research and just adopt the ACLU hysteria and LIES about people. it’s so gross how UNWILLING people are to do ANY GD research about anything!!!!

and this MATTERS!!!!

much care and thought should be given. and the REACTIONARY vocabulary and grammar WILL NOT HOLD UP in history. it will fall in on its own shaky foundations.

instead, there needs to be GROUNDING and INTENTION that isn’t just RESPONSIVE and DAMAGED and PILLAGED and FILLED with the SHAME of others and their violence.

there needs to be LEGITIMACY and an ARGUMENT that DESTROYS the weaker minds’ power to hold the truth back.

anyway, CROSS SEXUALS need to realize that they FCK ACROSS the imaginary and REAL line between the sexes.
calling yourself HETEROSEXUAL is bullSHT.
get over it.

and calling yourself STRIAGHT is a fking lie. you CROSS the sexes.
YOU’RE ANYTHING BUT STRAIGHT!!!!!

in fact, the STRAIGHTS in true grammar are HOMOSEXUALS of either sex.
i get it, your mind is doing the tv thing where a hired talking mouth uses their jazz hands to mime an explosion…

fk that.

pick up the pieces of your mind and stick with me, because it’s HATEFUL to think of yourself as STRAIGHT if you’re a cross sexual.

why?

because you call HOMOSEXUAL MEN things like:

BENDERS
BENT
can you imagine what it would be like if us "benders" played twenty seconds on the clock BACK at you?!?! i’ll give you three seconds off the top of my head…

lazy fish!
cockNOTsuckers
mommy’s little deer
reproduction slot users (RSUs)
etc.

seriously!!!
being mean is fking easy.
and do we need more of this moral FKING hate and criticism?

or shouldn’t we rather being teaching good hygiene and sex lessons and techniques to bring people together?

isn’t the truth this simple?
methinks it is.

lastly, CROSS SEXUALITY is over-rooted in CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING philosophies.

it’s a TRANSACTIONAL philosophy/social construct where the body and the baby are the currency/threat/debt/fear. so much uncertainty and immediate dependency dreads rise immediately when UNIONIZING is EVERYTHING but the skin of most CROSS SEXUALS???

SEX FORCES UNIONS is the grammar code in play.
and we don’t really agree with this, so it gives lawyers a lot of room to MAKE DIVORCE into a trillion dollar fall-out industry with shrinks and hand holders…

and the rest of us are supposed to take advice from this kind of FKT UP cross sexual who thinks that sex is about UNIONIZING even though i still wake up everyday with a giant “WOOD morning to you too!!!” and i’ve never once CROSS SEXUALLY UNIONIZED?!??!! please don’t tell me that MY FKING BODY was only made for CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING. that makes me feel terribly lonely and does NADA for my BHONER.

so who’s really insane? my dck or people who are so uptight they won’t even acknowledge their own right to an erection being satisfied by all manner of alternate methods than having to FK my PROPERTY WIFE.

especially since we ALL FKING KNOW that UNIONIZATION accounts for less than .00000000000000001% of all SEXUAL concourse.
oh sht!!!!
burn!!!! such a burn!!!

right?
think how many FKING BABIES there would be if everytime a cross sexual had sex it was UNIONIZING!?!?!??!!

hly FK!!!!!
we’d eat babies instead of cows!!!!

but i think you’re starting to see that even in this REORDERING of the grammatical DEFINITIONS, that sex between men is not only natural, but it’s also a benefit to the structure. i constantly hear HOLLYWOOD and MALE WRITERS creating this fake woman who loves sex and just doesn’t get enough. and then in real life, the vast majority of cross sexual men that i know complain endlessly about how their cross sexual life died after UNIONIZING.

boo hoo. one guy even went on about what he called "gay entitlement" as if it was a FUN CARD EASY PASS to unlimited and uncomplicated sex play if you’re gay. whaaaaaaaat???!!

so now, instead, these men cheat.
and this can start to take a toll if they cheat cross sexually.
cheating cross sexually is like a ship that’s been riveted with metal on metal. there’s a lot of bylaws that must go into place to get that metal to lock down. you gotta pay for it mentally, financially and spiritually.
so soon, many of these men start to know somehow innately that cheating with men has its benefits because it’s STRAIGHT ahead instead of CROSSING sexual — there is a SIMILARITY of need for the actually STRAIGHT male. (not the gay-reactionary FAKE straight male as currently defined)

for example, cheating man-on-man can be more:

** satisfying
** easier to access
** free from harassment & emotionalism of cross sexual sex
** it’s often over almost as soon as it’s started (yay!! on with the day free from sex anxiety issues!!!! the pump and dump agenda which is a MALE agenda, heheheh, not a gay agenda lol)
** more friendly and easy going
** repeatable without threats

and lastly, the number one reason

it’s COST EFFECTIVE (and again, this is the #1 reason for the new "STRAIGHT sex", hehehehhe between men)

consider it co-opted. we assimilate you back, 🙂

but seriously, you know i’m crazy and like to make good fun out of the things people take so wrongly for granted.

and don’t forget, ken wilbur used to claim that people could only take in 5% of what they heard.
that makes me laugh. he was so optimistic.

a summer day at dore alley 2018, scott richard
Unique Gift Ideas
Image by torbakhopper
PRESS PLAY

samm henshaw
the world is mine

**************
one of the strange things to me that i’ve been hearing all my life is how “straight” people are heterosexuals.

REALLY??

isn’t this like saying HARVEY MILK is a HERO?
doesn’t it just SMACK of bad grammar and stupidity?
what a DITCH!!!! smear his name like dog crp everywhere you go. PLEASE don’t let that LOSER become a gay icon!!!!!!

i beg of you!!!!!!!

and who are these STRAIGHT people anyway and how did they come up with this IDEA about heterosexuality?

methinks IT’S FKING GAY!!!!

but that’s just me.
i kind of think that the REPRESSION of NATURAL SEX leads to fkt up social orders that, as a result of BAD GRAMMAR and the sickening side effects of using BAD GRAMMAR as a social code for behavior, end up kicking the sht out of themselves until someone is brave enough to MURDER the collective.

ah, history is so full of this sickness.

so i’m here to help. i know this in my “heart”.
even if it’s just fake and i’m only these words…

okay, CROSS SEXUALITY is when a man and a woman engage in any form of SEXUAL INTERCOURSE.

CROSS SEXUAL “INTERCOURSE” is a euphemism. no one is really sure what it actually means. it can mean a number of things and have regional flavors.

BUT CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING is not a euphemism. IT is very specific.

CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING is when a man ejaculates inside a woman with the possibility of CONCEPTION taking place. THAT IS >>> cross sexual UNIONIZING can "force" a REPRODUCTION. the REPRODUCTION becomes "property" in most societies.

and SEXUAL UNIONIZING is only “physically” attached to RECREATIONAL SEX because CONCEPTION can occur during RECREATIONAL SEX if prohibitions or alternate activities besides CROSS “PENIS2VAGINA" FUCKING (which is also not a euphemism, but is when cross sexuals get busy with it using a DCK and a VAGINA as INTERSECTIONALIZING UNITS — that is, like a vehicle making a delivery to a warehouse receiving that delivery). so SEXUAL UNIONIZING has a POINT or PURPOSE that is dangerous and devastating if you’re not ready to pay the price of reproducing and keeping the REPRODUCTION alive.

so stop being fking uptight.
that is CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING.
and some of you are like, “it’s the miracle of life!!!”
and comedians were like, “so is sht coming out your AS…HLE”

and i was like, can’t we protect children from all this HATE and HATEFUL grammar that has embedded itself so deeply into our ACTIONS and our BEHAVIOR and our UNSPOKEN TRUTHS???!? why must sex be so MESSY when there are so MANY ways of generating a delightful sex life for all humans.

anyway, it’s pretty simple, kids. here’s the list for CROSS SEXUAL behavior, that is when one representative of the “male” sex interacts sexually with a member of the “female” sex:

FIRSTLY:

DCK INTO VAGINA = CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING.

THIS IS WHERE YOU CAN MAKE A BABY, which is the EUPHEMISM for the terminology UNION. it is PROCREATIVE and should RARELY happen.

this is historically the highest form of human sex VALUE because of its punishing outcomes — UNIONIZING changed the history of dynasties, houses, empires at all levels within society by LITERALLY forming UNIONS.

BAD BREEDING destroys societies. so CROSS SEXUAL UNIONS have been forged in the fires of USURY and TRADE AGREEMENTS and DOWRIES and land exchange and all manner of GILDED and GOLDEN payoff strategies. indeed, this form of UNIONIZING isn’t almost not so much about the sex at all, is it?

it’s about the OFFSPRING and property rights.
but we all secretly know this…

okay, the list of SEX BEHAVIOR that is NOT UNIONIZING!!!

CROSS SEXUAL NON-UNIONIZING BEHAVIOR DEFINED

DCK into MOUTH = CROSS SEXUAL behavior (you can’t form a UNIONIZATION from ORAL SEX, dummies!!!)
MOUTH into VAGINA = CROSS SEXUAL behavior (copy/paste: you can’t form a UNIONIZATION from ORAL SEX, dummies!!!)
MOUTH to BTT = CROSS SEXUAL BEHAVIOR (you can’t form a UNIONIZATION from this kind of ORAL SEX, dummies!!! but you can get hepatitis!!! so beware!!!! you can get vaccinated for this as well in many countries)
DCK into ANUS = CROSS SEXUAL BEHAVIOR (you can’t form a UNIONIZATION from BTT SEX, dummies!!!

you see, all of these behaviors GO EASILY ACROSS the sexes. it is ONE sex, recreationalizing with the other sex. there are no UNIONIZING ISSUES. and modern humanity has all manner of DISRUPTERS that reduce the risk of DCK2VAGINA sex being UNIONIZING and much more rewardingly RECREATIONAL.

AND, just for the record, there really is a BETWEEN SEXES category of sexuality. just because you don’t know about it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist"

and FURTHER for this imaginary "record", this BETWEEN SEXES category — i refer to this amazing human as TRANSFORMATIONAL and i don’t limit their ability to transform based on the HYPER DISTINGUISHED models — is as ancient as all records of CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING. it is an ambiguous element (like SAME SEX FCKING that is ALWAYS and ETERNALLY born out of ordinary CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZATION!!)

ALL HUMAN DEVIANCE is literally born from CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING if you’re going to create blame.

ah, irony and hate are so conjoined.

and the gift of hermaphroditism is so underrated!!! we are such BAD RECEIVERS of the divine!!!!!

sadly, these "differences" are just so rare that it scares the CRP out of the majority of humans because it LITERALLY PROVES and DEMONSTRATES that there is a MAGICAL range to our PEOPLE!!!! that we are bigger and better and more mysterious than the STANDARD.

in the film FELLINI’S SATYRICON, the original "university spring-break vacation" story ever written (no, seriously, and so damn funny, too!!! petronius was a fking hoot!!), there is a hermaphrodite that is worshipped for being an oracle.

and the idiot college kids kidnap this amazing human and end up accidentally killing “THEM”. which is devastating.

and at the same time, i have MAJOR issues with co-opting PREVIOUS ESTABLISHED pronouns for the transformational.

this was done by the FAKE gay community which repurposed PRIDE and the RAINBOW as a direct assault on the western CHRISTIAN CHURCHES. way to go!!!! let’s bring everyone together for a FIGHT!!!!

not this time, kids. we are here to have FUN, FUN NOW!!!!
this is the new mantra of the liberated human.
and it’s not about IRRESPONSIBILITY.
fun isn’t responsibility-free. that’s DISASSOCIATION, the high you get from being too drunk, too much on medz, too much on drugs, too much ESCAPISM.

no, FUN NOW requires 100% awareness (or a bare minimum of 92%).

anyway, in the FUN NOW crowd, there is a belief that UNIQUE sexes 100% deserve a special place where they are valued and cherished. not deified, but humanified further in our ability to see US in them, not them in us.

FUN NOW says HELL YEAH!!!
and we will back you up if you need presence and support.
it’s not, per say, our life, but it is our LIVES that matter.

OUR LIVES MATTER.
and in my opinion, these people, and any who are persecuted for being born outside the STANDARD (sometimes called the mean) fking DESERVE a special and beautiful set of “pronouns” in grammar.

in my opinion, "US" and "WE" is so much better than the divisive and hateful choice of THEM and THEY, which is separatist and SELF EXCLUSIONARY.

currently those choices are operating like a weird denial, an uncomfortable BANDAID over a wounded and confused pronoun that will cause untold damage in the same way that ALLOWING harvery milk to represent ANYBODY or ANYTHING is stupid and only TRUE IDIOTS who can’t do any research and just adopt the ACLU hysteria and LIES about people. it’s so gross how UNWILLING people are to do ANY GD research about anything!!!!

and this MATTERS!!!!

much care and thought should be given. and the REACTIONARY vocabulary and grammar WILL NOT HOLD UP in history. it will fall in on its own shaky foundations.

instead, there needs to be GROUNDING and INTENTION that isn’t just RESPONSIVE and DAMAGED and PILLAGED and FILLED with the SHAME of others and their violence.

there needs to be LEGITIMACY and an ARGUMENT that DESTROYS the weaker minds’ power to hold the truth back.

anyway, CROSS SEXUALS need to realize that they FCK ACROSS the imaginary and REAL line between the sexes.
calling yourself HETEROSEXUAL is bullSHT.
get over it.

and calling yourself STRIAGHT is a fking lie. you CROSS the sexes.
YOU’RE ANYTHING BUT STRAIGHT!!!!!

in fact, the STRAIGHTS in true grammar are HOMOSEXUALS of either sex.
i get it, your mind is doing the tv thing where a hired talking mouth uses their jazz hands to mime an explosion…

fk that.

pick up the pieces of your mind and stick with me, because it’s HATEFUL to think of yourself as STRAIGHT if you’re a cross sexual.

why?

because you call HOMOSEXUAL MEN things like:

BENDERS
BENT
can you imagine what it would be like if us "benders" played twenty seconds on the clock BACK at you?!?! i’ll give you three seconds off the top of my head…

lazy fish!
cockNOTsuckers
mommy’s little deer
reproduction slot users (RSUs)
etc.

seriously!!!
being mean is fking easy.
and do we need more of this moral FKING hate and criticism?

or shouldn’t we rather being teaching good hygiene and sex lessons and techniques to bring people together?

isn’t the truth this simple?
methinks it is.

lastly, CROSS SEXUALITY is over-rooted in CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING philosophies.

it’s a TRANSACTIONAL philosophy/social construct where the body and the baby are the currency/threat/debt/fear. so much uncertainty and immediate dependency dreads rise immediately when UNIONIZING is EVERYTHING but the skin of most CROSS SEXUALS???

SEX FORCES UNIONS is the grammar code in play.
and we don’t really agree with this, so it gives lawyers a lot of room to MAKE DIVORCE into a trillion dollar fall-out industry with shrinks and hand holders…

and the rest of us are supposed to take advice from this kind of FKT UP cross sexual who thinks that sex is about UNIONIZING even though i still wake up everyday with a giant “WOOD morning to you too!!!” and i’ve never once CROSS SEXUALLY UNIONIZED?!??!! please don’t tell me that MY FKING BODY was only made for CROSS SEXUAL UNIONIZING. that makes me feel terribly lonely and does NADA for my BHONER.

so who’s really insane? my dck or people who are so uptight they won’t even acknowledge their own right to an erection being satisfied by all manner of alternate methods than having to FK my PROPERTY WIFE.

especially since we ALL FKING KNOW that UNIONIZATION accounts for less than .00000000000000001% of all SEXUAL concourse.
oh sht!!!!
burn!!!! such a burn!!!

right?
think how many FKING BABIES there would be if everytime a cross sexual had sex it was UNIONIZING!?!?!??!!

hly FK!!!!!
we’d eat babies instead of cows!!!!

but i think you’re starting to see that even in this REORDERING of the grammatical DEFINITIONS, that sex between men is not only natural, but it’s also a benefit to the structure. i constantly hear HOLLYWOOD and MALE WRITERS creating this fake woman who loves sex and just doesn’t get enough. and then in real life, the vast majority of cross sexual men that i know complain endlessly about how their cross sexual life died after UNIONIZING.

boo hoo. one guy even went on about what he called "gay entitlement" as if it was a FUN CARD EASY PASS to unlimited and uncomplicated sex play if you’re gay. whaaaaaaaat???!!

so now, instead, these men cheat.
and this can start to take a toll if they cheat cross sexually.
cheating cross sexually is like a ship that’s been riveted with metal on metal. there’s a lot of bylaws that must go into place to get that metal to lock down. you gotta pay for it mentally, financially and spiritually.
so soon, many of these men start to know somehow innately that cheating with men has its benefits because it’s STRAIGHT ahead instead of CROSSING sexual — there is a SIMILARITY of need for the actually STRAIGHT male. (not the gay-reactionary FAKE straight male as currently defined)

for example, cheating man-on-man can be more:

** satisfying
** easier to access
** free from harassment & emotionalism of cross sexual sex
** it’s often over almost as soon as it’s started (yay!! on with the day free from sex anxiety issues!!!! the pump and dump agenda which is a MALE agenda, heheheh, not a gay agenda lol)
** more friendly and easy going
** repeatable without threats

and lastly, the number one reason

it’s COST EFFECTIVE (and again, this is the #1 reason for the new "STRAIGHT sex", hehehehhe between men)

consider it co-opted. we assimilate you back, 🙂

but seriously, you know i’m crazy and like to make good fun out of the things people take so wrongly for granted.

and don’t forget, ken wilbur used to claim that people could only take in 5% of what they heard.
that makes me laugh. he was so optimistic.

A Virgin Train
Unique Gift Ideas
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80’s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.

I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.

13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.

I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!

15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

That’s all for England!