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... I think that Canada is wise never to have created a stamp with the head of an editor on it; editors at best are disagreeable fellows, professional contradicters and sassers back. An editor of any degree of experience becomes incapable of complete agreement with anyone, and he reads the dictionary so much that he always knows more nasty names for any particular offence than the man who has committed it. Whatever an editor may be in his private life, he is professionally ferocious, and he can turn on his tap of belligerence at a moment's notice. There was a time when the horsewhipping of editors was a common sport, and shooting their hats off in the street was regarded as mere pleasantry. Now the law forbids both of these manly pastimes... But glorifying an editor by putting him on a stamp is as inexplicable to other nations as is our Canadian custom of worshipping the beaver, that other unattractive, gnawing, surly mammal. To be obliged to lick even the back of an editor's picture would be intolerable to a free man, though, an instant later, he could punch the picture in the face with his thumb. (From The Table Talk of Samuel Marchbanks, p. 294)
Frontpage banner on the latest Banton Record hot off the press and spread across editor Patterson's cluttered desk, which is as you might expect surrounded by warmly admiring newshounds:
Banton Construction Company Graft Scandal Indicated.
Frank Ross (James Cagney): The fact that they can't produce the books is the fact that supports my testimony.
Jerry, a fellow reporter: The cement company is just the start - the bomb that may blow up the whole rotten mess.
Secretary: Mr. Hanley's office - telephone, sir.
Hanley: Listen, you tell that spot reporter of yours, Ross, that he's digging himself a hole it'll be awfully tough to get out of.
Editor Patterson: (scoffs) I'll give him the message. Is that all?
Hanley: No. I just want to warn you against going completely crazy. You've given me a million-dollar libel suit and, Patterson, I know how to use a libel suit. If you don't print a retraction of this graft story, I'll break you. Make no mistake about it - I can do it!
Editor: Thanks for your warning, Jesse. I'm still running my own paper.
The limit of photographic knowledge of the world is that, while it can goad conscience, it can, finally, never be ethical or political knowledge. The knowledge gained through still photographs will always be some kind of sentimentalism, whether cynical or humanist. It will be a knowledge at bargain prices - a semblance of knowledge, a semblance of wisdom; as the act of taking pictures is a semblance of appropriation, a semblance of rape. The very muteness of what is, hypothetically, comprehensible in photographs is what constitutes their attraction and provocativeness. The omnipresence of photographs has an incalculable effect on our ethical sensibility. By furnishing this already crowded world with a duplicate one of images, photography makes us feel that the world is more available than it really is.
Needing to have reality confirmed and experience enhanced by photographs is an aesthetic consumerism to which everyone is now addicted. Industrial societies turn their citizens into image-junkies; it is the most irresistible form of mental pollution. Poignant longings for beauty, for an end to probing below the surface, for a redemption and celebration of the body of the world - all these elements of erotic feeling are affirmed in the pleasure we take in photographs. But other, less liberating feelings are expressed as well. It would not be wrong to speak of people having a comnpulsion to photograph: to turn experience itself into a way of seeing. Ultimately, having an experience becomes identical with taking a photograph of it, and participating in a public event comes more and more to be equivalent to looking at it in photographic form. That most logical of nineteenth-century aesthetes, Mallarmé, said that everything in the world exists in order to end in a book. Today everything exists to end in a photograph. (-- pgs. 23-24)
Editor Biblitz took second place in the Valentine's Day, 2009 Love Contest on CBC Radio One's Earlier program with host Lee Rosevere, Evil Genius, for correctly guessing most of the mystery bands singing the awful Bacharach schlock, What the World Needs Now Is Love. Alas, the New Christie Minstrels eluded him.
The Irish Times
English-language cage liner still worth reading
Who's Godot? The complete text of Bono's homage to Samuel Beckett at the launch of the Beckett Centenary Festival this week
Un homage du Bono au maestro
Samuel Beckett, starring un homage du Mannix Flynn
a Barry McGovern - or a piece what I wrote called
Waiting for Colgan
I'm so tired, I'm so tired of the telephone...
The telephone rings...
The sound of cigar...a booming voice in a booming town
Shattering the glasses of the drinking classes
1995 Puligny Montrachet, 400 quid a bottle...glug glug glug...
Good buy...good boy
One hundred years, one hundred bum steers, one hundred and
seventeen thousand black beers before your peers
One hundred ears flappy happy happy clappy ears
It's hard not to be happy when you feel the sappy in someone
As they kick a banana ball through the splits
On your birthday
Wins the triple crown on your birthday
It's your birthday, it's your birthday
I've been waiting
Waiting a long time
One hundred years
It gets tiring all this velvety blackness
that's what Le Brocquy calls it...
Velvety blackness but there's no nothingness
Oh no, just everythingness and judgment
The judgment of your peers...
Where's Gaybo? Who's Ryanair? W
here are the trolley dollies?
It's not dollys on the trolleys now
It's the living and the dead clogging up the arteries of the
oh yest late to the late...late to the Late Late Show
Isn't Brendan Gleeson the business
Waiting, waiting for the tiger to catch its tail,
I'm waiting for the phone to ring
The sound of cigar
Booming town, booming voice, shattering the glasses of the
Puligny Montrachet 1995
400 quid a bottle
Glug glug glug
One hundred years
I'm so tired
Louis and Anne, remember you gave me a signed copy of the
I told you I loved it? I lied. I never listened to it.
Waiting for language to turn to liquid
Waiting for language to be our own again
Oh, Joyce had his revenge on they that put it in our mouth
Was to chew it, bite into it, masticate and masterbate it
Make chewing gum of it
Spit it into hand and stick it on the bottom of a schoolboy's
Me...I shrank it, swallowed it, made a fart out of it, made a fart
out of everyone who didn't like the smell of it
Such confusion caused by ignoring the obvious
Metaphor...I only met her for a drink...ha ha that's what Simon
Black Bush. George Bush the da says
The bombs are dropping closer, the Brudder Nikki Sudden
Shattering the glasses of the drinking classes
Puligny Montrachet 1995 glug glug glug
I never had the mother tongue...
Just the father's cranky aloof and lofty voice
That language was always there growing like teeth in the gum,
like Chomsky says
I got closer to the brain than anyone before or after
I could hear you thinking,
I can hear you thinking now
Blinkin' phone rings...sound of cigards
Michael Colgan birthday parties
Puligny Montrachet, 1995, 400 quid a bottle
glug glug glug
I'm so tired
All those PhDs
All those questions
Everyone knows that
phone rings, sound of cigars
Table at the Unicorn
Glug glug glug
Big smoky voice shattering the glasses of the drinking classes
Birthday party sort it out...
Tell them death isn't funny but eternity is a laugh
Tell the tiger not to eat its tale
Ah to win the triple crown on your birthday
Parties, it's great to have them and not be there...
But don't leave people waiting for too long
One hundred years, it's a long time
The table is set, it looks great Michael
The sound of cigar, booming town, booming voice
Shattering the glasses of the drinking classes
Puligny Montrachet, glug glug glug
Waiting, waiting, waiting...to be fuckin' understood
Wating, waiting, waiting...for Colgan
Good boy, goodbye.'
(From News Features, p. 5)
One tough critic at Irish Examiner.com had this to say about the piece on April 5/06:
When we, as a country, finally have the chance to pay some hugely overdue respect to Samuel Beckett, arguably the most important modernist of the 20th century, who do we choose to open his centenary celebrations? Bono. Obviously. Who else would we ask? Not an infinitely more suitable literary figure. In our scrabbling attempts to claim back our national writers whom we now recognise as marketable commodities, we once again drag this narcissistic, glorified pop star back into the limelight.
Why could the Arts Minister not have taken this opportunity to offer recognition and support to the future legends - contemporary Irish writers like Heaney, Banville, Doyle and others - by offering this honour to an Irish writer?
As I read the stomach-churningly awful 'Un homage du Bono au maestro Samuel Beckett', written and performed by Bono at Dublin Castle, and reproduced in the Irish Examiner on March 31, I could not help laughing, as I'm sure Beckett would have, at yet another example of misguided Irish self-importance at its parochial best.
No wonder he left.
Editor's Note: Further proof, if more was required, of just how tough it is to please the home crowd. Not long after Frank McCourt's second blockbuster memoir, T'is, was published, a review in the Irish Times appeared below the banner headline, T'isn't.
Sing along with Larry Saturday mornings, 9 a.m. - 12 noon Eastern Time (ET) - fiddley-diddley Funky Céilí!
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'On the strength of your promise to employ me to write scenarios, I gave up my position. I resigned from the Admiralty.'
'Well, go back to the Admiralty.'
'But ... I can't.'
It was precisely this fact that had caused Reggie to fee so disturbed. Right from the start he had spotted this snag and recognized it for the Class A snag it was.
Reggie's views on jobs were peculiar, but definite. There were some men - he himself was one of them - who, he considered, had no need for a job. A fair knowledge of racing form, a natural gift for bridge and poker, an ability to borrow money with an easy charm which made the operation a positive pleasure to the victim - these endowments, he held, were all that a chap like himself required, and it was with a deep sense of injury that he had allowed his loved ones to jockey him into the loathsome commercial enterprise to which he was now on his way. A little patience on their part, a little of the purse-strings to help him over a bad patch, and he could have carried on in such perfect comfort. For Reggie Tennyson was one of those young men whom the ravens feed.
But - and this was the point - the ravens do not feed the Ambroses of this world. The Ambroses need their steady job. And if they lose it they find it dashed hard to get another. (-- pgs. 164-165)
Just how appallingly bad does Hollywood treat writers, you ask?
Words failed Reggie. He could but gurgle. The monstrous unfairness of it all robbed him of speech. For years now, the family, so prone to view him with concern, had been pointing at Ambrose with pride. To Ambrose and himself had been specifically allotted the roles of the Good Brother and the Bad Brother - the Diligent Apprentice, so to speak, and the Idle Apprentice. 'If only you could be sensible and steady like Ambrose!' had been the family slogan. If he'd heard them say that once, he had heard them say it a hundred times. "Sensible and steady, like Ambrose.' And all the while the man had been saving this up for them!
Then there came a more brotherly and creditable emotion - that of compassion for this poor ass who was heading straight for the soup. Speech returned to him like a tidal wave.
'He's cuckoo! The man's absolutely cuckoo. He hasn't a notion what he's letting himself in for. I know all about Hollywood. I saw a lot at one time of a girl who's in the pictures, and she told me what things were like there. The outsider hasn't a dog's chance. The place is simply congested with people trying to break in. Authors especially. They starve in their thousands. They're dying off like flies all the time. This girl said that if you make a noise like a mutton chop anywhere within a radius of ten miles of Hollywood Boulevard, authors come bounding out of every nook and cranny, howling like wolves. My gosh, that poor boob has dished himself properly. Is it too late for him to ring up the Admiralty blokes and thell them that he was only kidding when he sent in that resignation?' (-- pgs. 18-19)
On the romantic prowess of editors (and not just those fat-headed musicians):
Jeeves in the Offing
By P.G. Wodehouse
Strange, I was feeling, this strong pro-Kipper sentiment in the Wickham bosom. I mean, consider the facts. What with that espièglerie of hers, which was tops, she had been pretty extensively wooed in one quarter and another for years, and no business had resulted, so that it was generally assumed that only something extra special in the way of suitors would meet her specifications and that whoever eventually got his nose under the wire would be a king among men and pretty warm stuff. And she had gone and signed up with Kipper Herring.
Mind you, I'm not saying a word against old Kipper. The salt of the earth. But nobody could have called him a knock-out in the way of looks. Having gone in a lot for boxing from his earliest years, he had the cauliflower ear of which I had spoken to Aunt Dahlia and in addition to this a nose which some hidden hand had knocked slightly out of the straight. He would, in short, have been an unsafe entrant to have backed in a beauty contest, even if the only other competitors had been Boris Karloff, King Kong and Oofy Prosser of the Drones.
But then, of course, one had to remind onself that looks aren't everything. A cauliflower ear can hide a heart of gold, as in Kipper's case it did, his being about as gold as they come. His brain, too, might have helped to do the trick. You can't hold down an editorial post on an important London weekly paper without being fairly well fixed with the little grey cells, and girls admire that sort of thing. And one had to remember that most of the bimbos to whom Roberta Wickham had been giving the bird through the years had been of the huntin', shootin' and fishin' type, fellows who had more or less short their bolt after saying 'Eh, what?' and slapping their leg with a hunting crop. Kipper must have come as a nice change. (-- pgs. 36-37)
I received an undergraduate magazine this morning, containing the kind of poetry which boys and girls write between eighteen and twenty-one, full of words like "harlot," "stench," "whore" and the like. The young have a passion for strong meaty words, and like to write disillusioned verses with jagged edges about the deceit and bitterness of life. I idly turned my hand to versifying, and produced this nice bit of undergraduate poetry, which I offer free to any university magazine:
Take it away!
Life - the thirty-cent breakfast
Offered to vomiting Man
In this vast Hangover -
Onward I reel
Till Fate - the old whore -
Loose or costive
Drops me in the latrine of Oblivion -
"Let's talk about your life," I said. "Readers of our selection will expect to be given some information about your life. Come on, Sam; were you really born in a place called Skunk's Misery?"
"To doubt it is to doubt geography," said he. "You will find it only on the largest maps, but if you enquire of the right people , in the right place, they will tell you where it is. The old homestead has sunk rather far into the swamp, I understand, but some relics of it are still there. The weekly paper, The Skunk's Misery Trombone, on which I learned my craft; the barbershop where as a boy I had my ten-cent haircut, with the barber's stomach, warm and maternal, lolled over me like a duvet. You behold in me the descendant - unworthy perhaps, but probably not - of pioneers and Loyalists. I am a WASP, and nothing of the derision that is nowadays directed at that ethnic group touches me."
"But a WASP is a White Anglo-Saxon; you are always blowing about the purity of your Celtic descent."
"You surely don't suggest that I describe myself as a WC, do you? That would simply by playing into the hands of my detractors. No, no; for those loose thinkers who have no conception of a Celt, I must appear as a WASP." (From the Introduction, p. XII)
I'm a Stranger Here Myself
By Ogden Nash
O, racing is a ruinous sport,
The race track is an ill resort,
My waxing poverty I owe to it,
I often wonder why I go to it;
I hate the horses I have bet on,
I hate the horses my heart is set on;
Some are outsiders, some are sure things,
But if mine own, are ever poor things.
I hate the hunches, I hate the dope,
I hate the fear, I hate the hope,
I hate the blinkers, I hate the wrappers,
I hate the trainers and handicappers,
I hate the dust, I hate the mud,
I hate the pulsation of sporting blood,
I hate the jumps, I hate the flat,
And the red-hot tips from the stable cat,
The silly saddles, the foolish stirrups,
And the hang-arounders' cheerful chirrups,
The inhuman machines and human bookies,
And the plungers with faces like man-eating cookies,
The rattle and drum of the pounding hoof,
The triumphant shout that rocks the roof.
I hate my horse to be out in front
Lest he should wilt beneath the brunt;
I hate to see my horse behind,
Let he be trapped in a pocket blind,
And when my horse is in the center,
The hooks I hang upon are tenter,
And oh, the microphones that retch
And tell you who's leading in the stretch!
Into your helpless ear they quack
Who's moving up, who's falling back,
Your fingers would find their gullets, if
From tearing up tickets they eren't so stiff.
I mean it when I feelingly state
That racing is my bitterest hate.
But of all emotions within the breast,
Hate is by far the ugli-est.
To ugly hate I will not yield,
But bet five dollars on the field.
(From stanza II of Hark! Hark! The Pari-Mutuels Bark! at pgs. 240)-241
Editor Biblitz on Nash:
A swank Yank
who drank a tank,
filled a bank then
Ask me anything! Ask away! You won't know until you ask! Imbibe freely of the Biblitz wisdom. Take it like a tonic.
* No subject too insignificant! Everything from soup to nuts - relationships, the effects of porn, children, blended families, last week's cocktail, online dating, strata, school and workplace bullying - Biblitz is ON it!
* Humor! A gentle wit! The winning way by style maven Biblitz!
* Make new friends! Meet others who share a similar mind-set!
* And unlike Answers, there are NO resolved questions! The community as well as Biblitz is free to keep on opining as we grow and change our minds. What was right yesterday may be wrong tomorrow! Half the world never knows how the other three-quarters is living. Life, after all, is learning.
Send your questions/answers to firstname.lastname@example.org. Do it NOW! This minute! What's eating you, friend? How might Biblitz and the community assist?
* All answers supported by authorities as required (as local libraries provide, of course).
How to sue Canadian gov't for failing to warn me against wife's Hep B?
From: Ali Baba
Sent: Monday, October 26, 2009 9:31 PM
Subject: concealment of fact
this is relating to my closet friend, he is very upset and need advice on this. He send following text to me for discussion. Due to variouse reason dont want to disclose his name:
"Last year I married a Canadian and Pakistani national girl in Pakistan and living in Pakistan. It was an arranged marriage as custom in Pakistan and marriage deed was made according to applicable law in Pakistan.
I never applied for citizenship of Canada. After two months of marriage I came across that my wife have Hepatitis B virus and according to local doctor's virus aged around 13 years and it will take years to cure. Due to contagious nature it is transmittable to others.
This fact was not disclosed at or before marriage and I live in a joint family system as we usually live in Pakistan and my whole family has an exposure of this. Actually my wife vaccinated under Ministry of Health and Long Term Care, Ontario for Hepatitis B virus in Canada in 1996 and according to her and her family it is surprising for them and they never know this fact before.
After this discovery I am living very tense life due to contagious disease, the expenses incurring and exposure to me and my other family members. Now I have a kid. Many times I discuss this situation with my in laws and they are threatening for use of illegal means against me. I am very upset and in this situation it is not possible to continue my married life. I think it is a fraud committed by my in laws and to conceal this they threatening me.
please guide me:
In light of above facts I want know who is responsible for this fraud i.e. Government of Canada for not informing its citizen about disease because my wife vaccinated under Ministry of Health and Long Term Care, Ontario for Hepatitis B virus in Canada in 1996 and some detection test before vaccination or anti body after vaccination must be performed and result was not communicated to my wife and/or my in laws or Citizen of Canada for that they are knowing the facts about disease and not informing me.
What legal re-course is available to me because I am suffering too much?
It is a near-miss and risk to me and my family health I want to know my legal rights against Government and citizen of Canada.
What legal course available for these types of threats from Canadian Citizens."
please help my freind.
To: Ali Baba
Sent: Wednesday, October 28, 2009 1:02 PM
Subject: Re: concealment of fact
Hello to you,
I would direct your attention to three links, Public Health Agency of Canada's material on Hepatitis B, which references the Canadian Guidelines on Sexually Transmitted Infections. The latter pdf comprises the rules regarding the duty of public health officials in Canada to inform partners of Hep B sufferers. From a cursory reading, I see it's an evolving duty that involves a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality allowed only in the conditions described quite loosely therein. It's not clear to me from the above whether Canada routinely screens immigrants for this illness (see Medical Exams at Citizenship and Immigration Canada) and/or whether medical information exists to prove wife had the illness prior to vaccination in '96. Cdn medical protocols suggest she would not have been vaccinated in Canada if she was already ill with Hep B. Protocols further suggest that contrary to your msg there is no cure for this illness. All three links, however, provide contact info that will allow you to pursue the matter more fully with govt authorities. So two questions for authorities:
1. When might wife have reasonably ascertained that she had the illness, and
2. Did Cdn public health/immigation officials fully discharge their obligations with respect to notifying family and partners at risk of infection according to the rules at that time?
Since you've asked, I'd like to say that one cannot help being more than a little appalled at friend's lack of concern for his wife with Hep B. His efforts to seek compensation (for what injury/harm, exactly?) from wife's family and/or Cdn health authorities will no doubt be rewarded in kind!
Partner notification may be done by the patient, health care providers or public health authorities. Often, more than one strategy may be used to notify different partners of the same infected person.
Self- or patient referral: the infected person accepts full responsibility for informing partners of the possibility of exposure to an STI and for referring them to appropriate services.
Health care provider/public health referral: with the consent of the infected person, the health care provider takes responsibility for confidentially notifying partners of the possibility of their exposure to an STI (without ever naming the index case).
Contract referral: the health care provider negotiates a time frame with the infected person (usually 24–48 hours) to inform his or her partners of their exposure and to refer them to appropriate services. (footnotes omitted) (From Primary Care and Sexually Transmitted Infections, p. 19 of 25)
From: Peet de Hoot
Sent: Wednesday, October 28, 2009 5:41 PM
Subject: Re: Yahoo answers
How to react to this letter? clarified?
I posted this earlier but left out some major details: we do not have kids
together, his grandad just passed away, he has MS, we have talked in person, he is considering counseling, he hasn't taken down any pics of us, changed his statuses, asked for house keys back, didn't want me to take my things from his house, told me that in his heart he wants an us, has even posted to everyone that he is trying to find his way, is not talking to anyone else or emailing anyone else, so no affairs.
"Hey princess, we both know something is missing and like I have told you its from my end. Nothing that you have done or said or didn't say. I do think that going back to friends right now is the best thing. I know thats not what you wanted to hear and not something that I wanted to say but its my feelings. We both agreed that if either one of wanted this that we would do it. Easier said than done but your still my best friend and thats not going to change. I still want and need you in my life understand that please. My love for you is still there and maybe when I get what ever it is worked out we can try this again. You and the kids mean the world to me and I know this is going to hurt them too but I would rather them see us this way than not together at all. I still want you to go with me to Vegas and to Disney but if either is something you can't do just let me know and I will give you your money back on those but I want you to go. I have thought about this for the past few days and its so hard on me but I just think right now it something that I have to do. You mean the world to me my princess and you will always be my princess and no other person would ever be called that by me. I love you with all my heart and thats not going to change either. I do wish that I didn't have these missing feelings princess. Please just give me tonight and we can talk about this in person in a day or two. I love you princess, always know that."
We talked in person and cried like babies over this. He is still telling me he loves me and needs and wants me in his life. He bought rings 2 months into our relationship but never asked. He is still texting/telling me that he loves me and misses me. Still a chance for us?
We have know each other for over 20 years. We went out as friends for a year and had been together for 7 months. I have 2 daughters and he has 1 that does not live with him. He is still planning things with us as a family and we are even starting to go to church together.
We have talked about it and he cannot answer what is missing. He looks me straight in the eyes and tells me he loves me and it is not a sister/friend love, attraction is there, not bored, chemistry is there. He said he started feeling it when his granddad passed away a couple of weeks ago (he has also lost his dad and a brother early in life). He does have ALOT of stress in his life (has MS, making time with his daughter, a mom holds a house over his head, ex wife with a house still in his name, granddad passing away, complete shoulder replacement, turning 40).
To: Heep Hoop
Sent: Thursday, October 29, 2009 10:41 AM
Subject: Re: Yahoo answers
Kids must come first, and this relationship of yours, while not great for you, is about the worst thing you could do to them. Life is HELL! for kids
when custodial parent mom relinquishes control to a guy who imperils the family by placing her on an emotional roller-coaster - even when he does so for a lot of sound, understandable reasons. So listen to him! He's done his best to tell you tactfully that this is as good as it's going to get (no good at all!) probably for some time while he works out his issues as ONLY he can. Surely it's preferable that he do this stuff alone and away from kids, who would very likely catch unintended fallout. Very damaging! Very responsible of him to acknowledge this and seek to avoid it by asking for space. Give it to him! When he's completed the tremendously challenging work he needs to do to get his life with a disability in better independent working order, he may be better positioned to consider the relationship. Apparently, you've done nothing wrong; the request for space is all about him. Great! Show him you've heard his plea for privacy by quietly removing your stuff from his house. Let him know you'd like your money back on the mutual understanding and agreement that now is not a good time for such a big-deal vacation together. Take the pressure off. Forget about romance for awhile. Right now, a quiet offer of continued friendship is best. Ultimately, it's a requirement if this thing is ever to progress/mature.
If kids ask what's happening, explain to them honestly that occasionally adults are faced with challenges that require special care and attention and that are best resolved privately, that you remain good friends while your friend attends to these challenges, reassuring them that certainly nothing they have done has in any way contributed to this vacation in the relationship. If you make the effort to make this all OK for the kids and it happens that guy works it out and next year wants to approach, they'll see that:
(a) sometimes there are problems in life, that
(b) just because you love someone it doesn't give you the right to unload all your karma on them, that
(c) problems are, in fact, solvable if you make a plan and, perhaps most importantly,
(d) romantic love, whatever that is, is far, FAR less important than doing what it takes to ensure one is able to live independently and responsibly. Business before pleasure, as it were.
How to keep the romance alive when kids are in crisis?
From: Appalloosa Jones
Sent: Tuesday, October 27, 2009 10:45 AM
Subject: Thank you
Thank you for your thorough and insightful answer to my predicament. It's absolutely what I needed to hear. I'm focusing so much on making this marriage work that I'm letting the kids' problems my second priority. I am working on help for them. My son is going to his first appointment with a specialist next week. He does contribute around the house, and he really doesn't make any messes himself, but he's pretty hands off with the kids. It's so hard when his daughter comes over, to see the love he can give her, but not show my kids. My ex-husband left when I was 2 months pregnant with my son. He was unstable and wanted me to move to Green Bay, WI with him and leave my family behind, which had been my only stable support. So he left anyway when I said I wouldn't go. Due to this, my son has had very little male influence. My husband is rough around the edges, likes to wrestle the kids and tickle. My son always cries when he tries. I try to tell my husband to bond in other ways, but I don't understand why he's having such a difficult time doing so.
I always try to tell him that I understand his need to provide, and how hard it was on him when he wasn't working. He plans to have a vasectomy very soon, as we have NO plans for more children. I have an IUD now, so it shouldn't be an issue.
He has told me that he wants me to be the strong, confident woman he met.
To: Appelloosa Jones
Sent: Tuesday, October 27, 2009 5:40 PM
Subject: Re: Thank you
Sounds like you're managing very, very well, actually. The clarity with which you identify issues suggests you're very much in control.
Can't tell you how often I've heard about wrestler/tickler dads! Most kids HATE that shit - hate it! Hell, who doesn't? It invariably ends up hurting someone, who is then angry and anxious for payback. On top of this, the hurt kid is usually verbally humiliated for 'not being able to take it.' On it goes. Ultimately, it's abusive, in my view. It's a control (bullying) tactic by someone who has no doubt learned the approach from a similarly bullying (usually male) parent. When you see specialist, ask for tips on managing the Wrestler in a way that encourages him to be tactile but only gently and in a way that allows his victims - I mean, kids - to give and receive signals indicating when he's being too rough. If this goes well, maybe ask how s/he'd advise when spouse openly and apparently remorselessly favors one child over the others. One expert may not have all the answers but s/he might know of another who might.
If Wrestler in the face of all this finds it in his heart to insult you with his childish wish that you'd become again 'the girl he met blah, blah,' look him coldly in the eye and tell him that life got a whole HELL of a lot more complicated since then and consequently requires a LOT more effort, that if he is too blind to see how magnificently you have risen to meet the challenge, he might at least acknowledge it and offer to assist. With luck, he'll ask how and then you'll be on your way, rejoicing in the sorrows and so on.
Tell me how it goes if you like. I'm curious to learn how experts/schools address ADD. Is it a diagnosis you agree with, I wonder? Some do not, I understand.
Anyway, best of luck with everything. We must live to fight another day and so on, eh?
He was not baffled, however, for long. Reason told him that where there are cabin-trunks there must be keys, and intuition led him to the dressing-table. The keys were in the first drawer he examined, and he had snatched them up and was about to slink back to the trunk when his eye fell on a photograph which stood in a silver frame against the mirror - a full-face photograph of his brother Ambrose smoking a pipe.
Novelists of the virile school ought to be prohibited by law from having themselves photographed with pipes in their mouths. It is not fair on those of the public who suddenly catch sight of them. It makes them look so strong and stern that the observer cannot but sustain a nasty shock. Reggie did. There was something horrible to him in the forceful way Ambrose was chewing that pipe. The thought that this rugged man was at large about the ship and might quite possibly pop in and catch him here chilled Reggie Tennyson, and for an instant he was incapable of movement. (-- p. 244)
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