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TWILIGHT TIMES

Twilight Times, an award winning magazine of speculative fiction, poetry and artwork.

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TALES FROM DEATH ROW by Cheryl Gray

GOOD JOB! ...to infinity and beyond….

I was visiting a local attraction up in the Rockies [okay, so it was a Steam Engine train, which I’m crazy about] on Saturday with my husband and had to use the 'facilities'. Okay, so the stage for our little drama is set.

From the stall next to me, came “Good Job!”

Then no more than five seconds later, “Good Job!”

When it happened for the third time, I have to admit, I was thinking, WTF?

Surely she’s not doing that to a child, about a simple bodily function.

Well…… maybe she has a shy bladder and she’s just encouraging herself….Yeah, okay, that’s probably it; a bit weird, but okay…

Then I heard the stall door open, the faucet turn on, then off and the sound of paper towels dispensing. Each task was followed by “Good Job!”

I just stood in my stall waiting for them to leave, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide the look or horror I had on my face.

Oh, shut up! I know it’s not any of my business, but I suddenly had a strong regret for not going into psychology for the millions of kids who would grow up to need therapy because of this kind of bullshit.

I get the whole building Self Esteem thing, but does an empty parroted phrase ‘good job’ actually do that? No, I do not believe it does and/or ever will. This is building unrealistic expectations for adult life.

How about simply NOT judging. I not advocating to never reprimand your spawn, you certainly should. My dad just had to give me ‘the look’ and I stopped cold in my tracks, yet I hear mothers say over and over again, ‘We don’t do that’. Well, mom, one of YOU is doing that.

I’ve seen kids bite and slap their moms with the same, ‘stop that’ crap. I cannot imagine what kind of adult these moms think they are raising.

Instead, lead by example, and teach your children one of the truest statements ever uttered: Some you win, some you lose and some are rained out. I’d have that tattooed on my chest, but there’s no room with the battleship and all……

As some ad I heard on television said: ‘When do you earn a trophy just for showing up?’ I don’t know what they were selling, but the thought is valid [except for T-ball]. Babies all deserve trophies, and to wear baseball hats backwards.

You know what makes a child feel like a failure? It’s not the losing, it’s been told your whole life that you can do anything you set your mind to, and THEN failing.

Would that destroy the child? Probably not, but they sure as hell would wonder about YOU and their bogus value structure.

But, if you reeeally want it more than anyone else, and you reeeally  try….. you say.

No. No, no, no, no! A one legged man will NEVER win an ass kicking contest and the Octomom will NEVER marry Prince Harry.

It’s a fact. Believe it.

Your child IS a very special, one-of-a-kind personage; just like everyone else.

And that’s not a bad thing.

I HAVE NEW NEIGHBORS!

A couple of months ago [about 7:00pm], the sound of bass came pounding through the air with the force of the Bay of Fundy. I shrugged and gave it thirty minutes or so, then walked next door.

I explained to the young woman (in a sari) that her bass was rattling my dishware. She said she would turn it down, and I left. She did turn the music down, but the bass was still pounding.

Okay, they just moved in— so I thought I’d give them a break. After several hours, I realized that no one could have the bass that loud and not know it, so when the clock struck ten, I called the police. Actually, I believe I showed great restraint. Hooray for me.

The police did their duty and the music stopped. Ah, sweet bliss! Then much to my surprise, five minutes later, there cam a loud knock on my door.

“I am your new neighbor, Doctor…. (let’s call him Dick). I understand my music is bothering you,” he frowned with his chin held high.

“It’s not the music; it’s the bone-pounding bass. I thought head-bangers had moved in.” A little levity should relieve the uncomfortable situation, I thought.

“I have a new stereo system and I have to get used to it.”

“Cool, just turn down the bass,” I said figuring we were through, but nooooooo.

“If it’s too loud, just come over and tell me. No, isn’t that easy?”

“Apparently not. I asked your wife to turn it down and three hours later I had to call the police.”

“It’s a new system. It took me a half a day just to figure out how to turn on the television,” he said in a weirdly smarmy manner.

“Really? It took my lab puppy about three second to learn how to turn on the television, by accidentally stepping on the remote.” Well, I thought it was funny.

“I’m a doctor!” he said in a huff.

“And your point, is?” I was growing weary his attitude by then.

“I’m a doctor and I work much longer hours than you do….”

“Oh, don’t even go there,” I said as I felt my blood pressure rising. “You have no idea of what hours I work.”

“Ten o’clock is very early for a weekend party, and we have a lot of parties, you’ll just have to…..”

“I don’t give a shit if you party like its 1980 seven by twenty-four, as long as I don’t have to hear it. What part of this is not clear to you?”

“I’m a doctor and I’ve worked with old people like you, and I…” he began in a high-pitched voice.

“Well, I work with several pompous Brahmans like you and the only reason they’re even in this country, is that they work cheap.” I know, I know, it was a cheap shot, but he deserved it for the 'old' crack.

“I have the right to enjoy my music!”

“Agreed, but your rights end where mine begin. Dude, just keep your damned bass down or I’ll have to call the police. It’s as easy as that!”

With that, I closed the door on Dr. Dick.

Apparently, he finally read his stereo instructions, because I haven't had to 'make the call' again, and he's had several cars in front of his house almost every weekend. 

After writing this, I do feel a bit had about the whole situation, but more than the music, it was the man's undeserved air of superiority that really pissed me off. I don't care if you are a butcher, baker,  candle maker or doctor, we're all on this ride together, so let's give each other a little consideration.

Now, I feel better. 

PEACE!

The Dark Side of BLOGS...

If you follow and contribute to any blog, eventually you will find that there’s always a pompous ass in the mix; a know-it all, a troll who thinks they are the smartest one on the web… period.

How can we make them play nice, or if necessary, shut them up?  Okay, so I say them, but usually it’s a him. Don’t know why, I’m just reporting the facts as I see them. And, yes, I am painting with a very wide brush.

But you have to be careful lest you become just another pompous ass. Just for clarification, I AM NOT a pompous ass - I am a pundit. See the difference? Yes, I know you would. Okay, back to the topic.

Once on a writer’s blog, it seems that I offended a cockney head-banger, and he kept after me, one insult after another. Then he made the mistake of referring to me as a tart [and not the yummy, pastry kind].

Rather than get in to a battle of insults, I played the ultimate STFU card with:

“Oh, Lambchop, don’t judge all women by your wife.” He stopped and never bothered me again.

Now, before I hear how mean I was… many writers thanked me for shutting him up. I know, I could have just called him a ‘Poo-poo head’, but he was escalating, and I was pissed. Actually, I consider my response quiet constrained and clever.

So, maybe I am a little pompous; such is the personality of a writer.

He was a cyber-bully, and as with all bullies, you have to make them stop, and not take the abuse. Is it really that easy? [still painting with a wide brush]; YES.

Peace, and if that doesn’t work; get ‘em!

When you travel outside the US… DON’T BE THE UGLY AMERICAN

Strive to be a ‘local’ everywhere you go. I’m serious; you’ll have a much better trip, better memories and a hell of a lot more fun. I know it’s hard for some to understand that most parts of the world aren’t very fond of us, but it’s true. So no chanting, “We’re number one”, because I doubt that we are anymore.

Make eye contact, smile and say ‘hello’ in whatever language that’s proper. I know, I know… we speak English, so everyone should. Fact: some don’t, some don’t want to, and some do, but won’t admit it. Get over it. Let’s try to change the world’s perception of us, one tourist at a time.

Yes, it will freak some people out, but I found out early on that you just DO NOT SPEAK to anyone when visiting Manhattan. God, don’t smile or even make eye contact, or you’ll probably be met with a string of swear words worthy of a dockworker.

True story! We were in South America and a small child was selling sodas, and an old man from the mid west (US) was trying to barter with a five year old. I butted in (before my husband could stop me) and asked what he expected to accomplish by his behavior. He said, “They won’t respect you if you don’t barter.” She could not have been more than five years old, for Gods sake.

I turned to his wife and said, “You know your husband is an idiot, right?” And she said, “I know, God, how I know.”  The whole thing was lost on him.

Bartering with a baby. Really?   When you travel, please don’t be a dick!

Love, Peace and RESPECT!

JUST GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS, WAITING TO DIE....…

A dear friend sent me a joke with a picture of a woman about 60+, holding a cell phone, looking very confused, followed by texting codes with their meanings. Things like:

                

           ATD:    At The Doctor's

           BFF:    Best Friend Fainted

           BTW:   Bring the Wheelchair

           BYOT: Bring Your Own Teeth

           LMDO: Laughing My Dentures Out

           LOL:     Living On Lipitor

           LWO:    Lawrence Welk's On

           WTFA:  Wet the Furniture Again

           WTP:    Where's The Prunes?

I fail to see the humor in assuming that people over… say 55 are non-technical, confused and/or useless.

Old farts are 'old' mainly because they accept being old. They're over medicated, standing in line to get their 10% off that crappy cup of coffee, or just sit around waiting to die. Is it inevitable? Oh hell, no!

We are doing some of it to ourselves. And from my observations, it is definitely regional - just a few examples:

Omaha, and the entire mid-west:

Women ~ wash/wear perms, house-dresses and rocking chairs on the front porch.

Men ~ suspenders with belts, overalls, plaid shirts buttoned all the way up. [Lord have mercy!]

Any place called SUN CITY, WEST of Kansas:

Women ~ bluish hair and brown nails, teased/lacquered hair.

Men ~ poofed/lacquered hair. [androgyny makes me nervous]

Any place EAST of Kansas:

Women ~ Same hair color as in high school, teased/lacquered;    the further east you go, the darker the hair. Way too heavy makeup, jewelry, perfume. Kinda’ of a Jersey Shore retirement snapshot. [Ewww - just puked a little!]

Men ~ hair dyed dark, along with mustache and eyebrows; everything except the prominent nose hair. Sox of any kind with sandals, or dark dress sox with white tennis shoes.

Yes, I am painting with a very wide brush, and there are always exceptions, but these are my perceptions.

Personally, I prefer the European elderly; aging gracefully, walking everywhere and being useful until the day they die.

We cannot refrain from dying, but we can resist decrepitude!

Love, Smile, Dance!

IT HAPPENED AGAIN!

 … some mook on television said: ‘hamburger meat’.

WTF?

Yes, you’re right, that’s just one more thing that pisses me off, unless you are under 5 years old, and then your parents and grandparents have done a miserable job in your upbringing.

But wait! There’s more, and I know for a certainty that you also have some, so confess and get them out in the open. Maybe we, as a country can eliminate this kind stupidity. I will post more as I hear them, and go off once again.

Hamburger Meat

Are there hamburger cars, or hamburger clouds, boogers, arms, shoes or hair conditioner?

Tuna Fish              

Don’t even get me started. However, some of these can be very funny; funny but lewd.

“I’m about to lose it!”      

Hold on a minute, I want to get some popcorn so I can watch.

“Don’t be a hater!”          

Either you are 10 years old or you watch Jersey Shore [which is even worse].

“Failure is not an option”          

PULEASE stop quoting movies and especially Forrest Gump and/or Yoda. Those ships sailed, long ago.

And by the way, of course it’s an option! At times, it’s even a certainty.

Not that you’d deliberately take it but sometimes, as hard as it is to accept, you are NOT the center of the universe with all control over everything.

That’s why the phrase, “Ah, crap!” was invented. [yes, I cleaned it up]

“Anything is possible!    

No its not. Even if I take a job as a lab assistant in a nuclear lab, and poke the radioactive spider long enough that he bites me, I will NOT become SPIDER WOMAN [do-do-do-doooooooo!]

Well, yeah, but anything is possible within reason. Yeah? What is the criteria for ‘within reason’? Queen of Canada? Gold medal in the Olympics at 70 years old and decrepit?  Oh, so all of those are NOT within reason.

Wow, this is harder than I thought. Okay, so how about, I’m a really good actress, all my teachers said so, yet I’m not in the movies. That sounds do-able doesn’t it? AND my whole family worked in Hollywood. Still ‘not within reason?’

Now I get it! Anything THAT IS EASY is possible; finally something we can all agree on.