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Sex Ed? Pshaw!

Disclaimer: for mature readers, references to sex and its existence may offend some blog-readers. Clutching of pearls may occur.

I remember this scene quite vividly, as certain events seem to impress themselves into the clay of my brain.

It was recess, and some kids were gathered around in a group looking at something. This would usually indicate that someone had brought an article from home that all the kids would marvel over as one would an early period Rembrandt. There was a strange gravity to the huddled group that day.

Such was the stagnancy of our recesses, I had brought a pair of sunglasses the other day from home (my mum’s) that I had worn and earned myself a meteoric rise to cooldom. This was a necessary boost since I still wore what my mother bought for me and I had a haircut that resembled Dee Dee Ramone’s.
Regarding ‘sex ed’, there was only a dim knowledge, as of a distant country that only existed in atlases. At that point (grade 4 or 5), sex was as remote and unknowable as those tropical islands that had ancient skirmishes that wiped out their entire civilization.

What we had found, were some torn up ‘gentlemen’s magazines’, some of which contained confusing and disturbing images. All the kids were perusing them with interest, turning them around in their hands, as if looking for imperfections.

I distinctly remember one child (a girl in a higher grade, and therefore was secretly in love with) who said in a high piping voice: ‘They’re xxxxing!’ (rhymes with clucking). I felt a weird thrill that was a strange amalgam of fear, shame, and excitement. The word alone (which we saved for special occasions) and its association with these images made its existence all the more unspeakably powerful.

Like pieces of the True Cross, we pocketed these magazine fragments to inspect privately. I did likewise, and they were later turned to mush as they became victims of the washing machine. If my mother found them, she made no indication. Perhaps the trajectory of my life might have changed had she discovered it.

 

People Watching

Who doesn’t enjoy people watching? It is relaxing, without the pressure of engagement.

For introverts, like myself, it is an excellent way of picking up social cues, and perhaps giving them a try at some theoretical future social occasion. I may be out of practice, thanks to all that screen time. Is eye contact still a thing? How much is too much? What do I do with my hands?

I ate a lemon meringue pie while talking, the other day. A remarkable feat of multitasking, and I kept my end of the conversation up. The trick is to engage yourself in some manner, then one can be as erudite and conversant as Jimmy Kimmel or Jello Biafra. Now I just keep pieces of cake on my person.

There are more ways to avoid social interaction than to engage in it. There’s the old standby of sitting in a motorized wheelchair. Try it! It’s like you’re invisible! Pretending to be talking on your phone is one method I use occasionally, especially when I see that guy walking around with the rapturous smile on his face. He’s likely secreting a clipboard that will become instrumental in our ‘engagement’. In all likelihood however, he will be stoned, thanks to the extraordinary availability of cannabis product in our city. He will gaze at me with benevolence, tell me that ‘we’re all the same inside’ and patiently wait for an affirmation.

Sticking your tongue out of the corner of your mouth indicates that you are concentrating, and therefore do not wish to be bothered. I employ this method but I find that it works better when holding a copy of The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. Another good method is to marry someone who is an extrovert and will pull all conversation into their vortex, like one of those neutron stars that suck everything in their vicinity, like a rude guest at a dinner party. This is my method of choice. My wife is an excellent conversationalist. I am just an expert at steering the conversation into my narrow area of expertise. It takes a while sometimes!

Thanks for reading.

 

 

Indian Scout

My brother in law opened his garage recently and showed me this! Sort of a gift for himself, for living half a century or so.  Even in my profound ignorance of all things mechanical recognized that this was something cool.

He needed lessons since he’d never driven anything with less than 4 wheels! (Bicycles don’t count.) After the crash course, he is out on the road with this machine, but only if there is no sign of rain in the five-day outlook. Given that we live in Vancouver, he will have a very small window of riding indeed!

I’m so proud of my brother in law, who suffered a mild heart attack earlier this year. He decided not to let it define him and indulged a long standing desire: Way to go, Ken!

One Day Watching YouTube

High Pool Confidential

Here is a nice little luxury at one of the apartments in downtown Vancouver.  This is an area of real estate for anyone who has their own personal shower in a plane. It is a pool that extends into thin air, giving the public at large a sight of your ballooning swim trunks and un-Phelps-like doggy paddle.

I imagine, of course, a strict dress code would be in place so as not to offend looky-loos (with their telephoto lenses) – bathing attire from the 1890s, or those full body sunscreen suits that make you look like you just fell in the pool, would be acceptable.

A better idea would be to make it into an aquarium. I don’t mean with a shark and periodic kitten feedings but a genuine world class tropical fish tank where they are fed with a t-shirt gun.

Hey, just running stuff up a flagpole, seeing who salutes. One thing for sure, there will not be any cetaceans. Our local aquarium has been banned from having any in captivity. Thx for reading! Hope you are enjoying your summer!

The Polite Prepress