In this troubled era of political upheaval, global warming and transsexual quoits players, the population is divided between the Chicken Littles whose skies are always falling and the Trumpian fibbers who have a false solution for everything. Where are the true Solomons, the Wise Men, the tribal elders of the past who emerged from their tents and provided actual solutions? Albert Einstein, who was known to solve a conundrum or two in his day, said “We cannot solve problems at the same level of thinking that we were at when we created those problems. So let’s ask The Flying Pie.”
The Flash Mob Blight
Want a new Apple phone, some duds from Yves St. Laurent or a few extra tubes of Colgate? Just get all your friends together, drive over to Main Street with implements of destruction like crowbars and hammers and hit the stores. Literally. In a minute or two, you can have all your heart’s desires, no fuss, no muss. Brianna and her girls are waiting outside with their motors running, just grab the swag and go. The security guards, if there are any, are slow and wheezy, the cops are busy down at Dunkin’ and witnesses are hard to find, it’s a cinch. And if you do get caught, what’s the penalty? A pat on the back from your friends and sixty days in County. Meanwhile, hundreds of stores have closed in California alone due to rampant theft.
Now we may not be as smart as those people at Apple but we know one thing; the technology is available to include some tiny, inexpensive tracking mechanism in or on virtually any costly merchandise. One minute you’re living it up back in the crib, next minute Officer Unfriendly is banging on your door with a baton and rapping something like this:
Don’t offer no resistance, just toss it in this bag.
Put your hands behind your back and keep your mouth shut, Dude.
The Repo Squad is coming and we’d rather not be rude.”
Now, we know what you’re thinking. Who wants to purchase stuff that will allow someone to monitor the movements of an innocent buyer? No problem. The tracker will run out of juice in 72 hours, just behave yourselves in the meantime. Oh, and by the way, a few stiff sentences wouldn’t hurt, either.
A cross between Godzilla and nasty old Roy Bean.
He’ll give you twenty years for kicking your Chihuahua,
He measures time in annums and never by the hour.”
Boys Will Be Boys. Most Of The Time.
Back in the 1970s, when men were men and women wore transparent angel dresses, all was right with the sports world. The previously neglected women of the country finally saw Title IX enacted into law in 1972, thus prohibiting sex-based discrimination in any school or educational program receiving money from the federal government. Women’s sports teams popped up everywhere, the girls received equality in scholarships, and sports like softball, lacrosse, volleyball and gymnastics took off across the land. Here and there, a woman candidate tried out as a kicker for the school football team but for the most part east was east and west was west and ne’er the twain shall meet.
It was patently obvious that women should have their own sports category due to the discrepancies in weight, speed and muscle mass between the two sexes, and the high risk of injury to women inherent in contact sports vs. men. By the same token, few men would be caught dead competing in the female domain, even if it was legal. “Oh, lookin’ good out there, Georgie, all you need is a tutu!” Then, along came Renee Richards and nobody knew what to do.
Richards began life as Richard Raskin, the child of two physicians, did well in school and excelled in sports, particularly tennis. But from age nine, she felt she was different, struggling with her sexual identity and privately adopting the name Renee, meaning rebirth. Eventually, still as Raskin, she enlisted in the Navy and won the All-Navy Championship in men’s singles and doubles while in the service. After leaving the military, Raskin/Richards could no longer tolerate the closet. She began receiving hormone injections and lived as a woman in Europe, making plans for gender reassignment surgery in Morocco, which turned out to be very scary. Richards retreated to New York, married a woman named Barbara Mole and underwent multiple surgeries to complete her transition. After moving to California, Renee Richards began competing in women’s tennis tournaments, receiving angry protests, barbs and boycotts playing competitive tennis on the women’s circuit. The United States Tennis Association took action, instituting a chromosome test to qualify participants by their gender at birth. Richards refused to take the test, disqualifying her from play. Instead, she sued the USTA for gender discrimination and won. But to most people, that didn’t mean she and the other men turned women who followed her were right. Any objective person could see the unfairness inherent in matching men and women against one another in virtually any sport.
One day, Ricky Childs, a gay Silver City employee, raced next door to the Subterranean Circus to announce that Renee Richards had arrived. Not being boors, we didn’t rush over to watch her shop. She came back several more times and struck up a friendship with Ricky, who adored her. We spoke with her several times, once about her quandary. “I understand the other girls’ position,” she conceded, “and I don’t blame them. But what am I to do---it’s offensive for me to compete as a man and there is no transsexual category.” Richards went on to compete in the 1977 U.S. Open, and though losing the competition she obviously broke new ground for transgender rights, the reverberations of which can be felt to this day.
Trans activist Caitlan Jenner, who might be expected to argue differently, states “What’s fair is fair,” in praising a recent decision by swimming’s world governing body (FINA) to ban from women’s competition people who have gone through male puberty. “If you go through male puberty, you should not be able to take medals away from females. Period!” Seventeen states agree with Jenner, and more are on the way, citing that including performance-advantaged trans women would violate the core reason for separate women’s competitions.
Donna Lopiano, writing in Forbes magazine, has a different idea: “Trans women who transitioned before male puberty do not have a performance advantage; they should be allowed to compete on women’s teams with no restrictions. However, in individual sports, trans women who have gone through male puberty would only be allowed to practice, travel and socialize with women’s teams but they would be scored separately. For example, the University of Pennsylvania’s Lia Thomas would still swim in team meets and postseason women’s championships but her times would be recorded in a separate trans category. In team sports, trans women who possess post-puberty performance advantage could also practice, travel and socialize with their female teammates, but would compete in a separate trans category. If there are insufficient numbers of trans women to field teams at first, all-district or all-conference teams could be formed. In contact sports such as basketball and rugby, this model would prevent cisgender women from being injured by larger, denser, post-male-puberty bodies.”
We have only one question. Who would win the football game between the Portland Frail Blazers (women turned men) and the San Francisco 69ers (vice versa)? Inquiring minds want to know.
Who Wrote The Book Of Love?
That’s easy. Upton Sinclair, 1934.
Historical Posers Seldom Answered
1. Does your chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost overnight?
2. Who’ll stop the rain?
3. Who let the dogs out?
4. Do you believe in Magic?
5. Do you know the way to San Jose?
6. Why do fools fall in love?
7. How much is that doggie in the window?
8. Tommy, can you hear me?
9. Why don’t we do it in the road?
Answers:
1. Without a doubt. The gum which retains its flavor the longest, however, is Eclipse at 6 minutes and 33 seconds. The popular Orbit barely lasts half that time. And sorry, Gene Autry, but double-good Doublemint gum is no better.
2. Someone who could superheat the water vapor in the clouds, causing the dust or silica in the air that acts as the carrier for the water to come back down to earth or be vaporized. This would allow the superheated water to float higher into the atmosphere and crystallize by the time it got to the upper ionosphere. Superman comes to mind. Then, of course, you’d get snow.
3. Musician and composer Anselm Douglas, who wrote the number, revealed that his song was lashing out at men catcalling women and disrespecting them, and the women in response calling the men dogs. Fido is frowning.
4. Yes, we believe in Magic in a young girl’s heart and how Magic can free her whenever it starts. Otherwise, we believe in that old Black Magic that you weave so well, Magic Carpet rides, that Magic Touch and Magic Beans that lead to beanstalks and giants. We do not believe so much in the Orlando Magic basketball team.
5. Believe it or not, you can drive all the way from Florida to San Jose without getting off Interstate 10, though some drivers suggest picking up I-40 at Amarillo in the interests of better scenery.
6. How foolish people get is inversely proportional to how badly they want something. The more their emotions are invested, the less intelligent their actions seem. Once your desires are involved, all bets are off. Desire is not logical. Desire is not intelligent. Desire is emotional and impulsive.
7. Below are the average pet shop price for puppies in the U.S. You might also consider a bunny, a kitty, a parrot that talks or a bowl of little fishies. Much cheaper. If you’re worried about bad language, never buy a parrot from a pirate.
Boxer………………..$900
Chihuahua……….….$800
Cockapoo…………...$2000
Doberman……….….$1000
German Shepherd......$800
Giant Schnauzer…... $2500
Labrador………....…$800
Pekingese……….….$1800
Rottweiler………......$1150
8. In The Who rock opera, the doctor discovers that Tommy is physically fine but has a psychological block that makes him unresponsive. His mother calls him with a motif used throughout the album, trying to get an answer of some kind. In the U.S. Senate, Auburn ex-football coach and current senator Tommy Tuberville cannot hear a lick and nobody is singing about it.
9. How much time ya got?
That’s all, folks….
