BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Nope, not the pizza. They make okay pizza, I guess, but the truth is I got kind of burned out on them quite a few years back. You see, during my college years I had friends who worked at Dominos and we were all the time ending up with pizzas that hadn’t been picked up, or pranked deliveries, or simply an employee discounted “pie” as they called them. We were eating Dominos pizza all the time, so I pretty much had my fill. I mean, I’ll eat it if it’s there, but given my druthers, I’d rather have a Saint Louis Style (thin, crispy crust with provel cheese) from Imo’s or one of the local mom ‘n pop pizzerias.

But, like my usual self, I’m off on yet another tangent. I didn’t come here to talk to you about pizza today. I also didn’t come here to talk to you about the little rectangular tiles with the dots all over them either.

Well, yeah, I guess actually I did plan to talk about the dotted rectangles, but only metaphorically, and just at the beginning. Are you following that? Good, because someone has to. I’m starting to get lost…

Anyway, on with the metaphor. You know how when you’re a kid – or even an adult – you tend not to actually play dominos the way the game is meant to be played? Instead, you spend hours painstakingly lining them all up in intricate patterns, with specifically prescribed distances between each, and then after all that hard work you knock the first one over and watch the 30 second (if you’re lucky and have A LOT of dominos) chain reaction. Go on, admit it. We’ve all done it. Sometimes we even do it with boxes of Hamburger Helper and crap like that you find in the cupboard. Well, at least I do… But I guess we won’t go there…

So anyhow, memories are like that too. You knock one over and the next thing you know there is this whole cascade of memories rattling around in your brainpan. Some good. Some bad. Some funny. Some, not so much. Well, that’s what happened this morning. I was sitting here, minding my own business, taking care of the morning email – well, the night’s email that I was just then seeing in the morning, but…yeah…digressing again – So…There I was… Minding biz… Doing email thing…

That’s when it happened. A particular email from a friend sparked a memory about my wife’s maternal grandfather (now long deceased). It’s kind of a cute memory, and a story I’ve told to many folks to illustrate a point about aging and reality. But, as with Dominos the pizza, and dominos the game, it’s not the actual memory I intend to share today. Yeah, it basically went clack, knocked over another memory, then another, and the next thing I knew there was this other memory left standing – improper spacing of the dominos, I assume, which means I must be having gaps in my memory…but, we won’t go there either…

So… I have absolutely no clue if I have told this story here before or not, but I’m going to tell it again anyway. Why? Because it’s funny and besides, this is my blog so I get to run off at the mouth in it all I want. So there. (hmmmm…wonder why they don’t have just a plain old “sticking tongue out smiley” on this blog interface…)

Okay… On with the tale.

Now, this is a true story. I am telling you that because as you read it and visualize it, you are going to be imagining an episode of The Benny Hill Show or Monty Python going through your head. But, I’m here to tell you this really happened, and there were a whole host of witnesses.

Back when EK’s grandparents were still alive, but most definitely in their waning years, they resided at a very nice assisted living facility. On holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc – the family would gather out there for a big dinner in the dining room, then retire to their apartment for visiting, etc. This all went on early in our marriage, so EK and I were young and spry back then (trust me, that factoid comes into play later)… Anyway, time marches on and eventually folks pass away, cross over, kick the bucket, expire, or whatever euphemism you wish to apply. In the case of EK’s grandparents, her grandmother went first. Now, as one would expect, and as statistically happens, her grandfather began a steady decline following her loss. After all, his wife of almost 75 years was gone. He ended up moving out of the apartment proper, and into the attached nursing facility. He didn’t last terribly long after that.

Yeah, I know, I said this was a funny story and the above is not funny at all. I realize that. But, we are getting to the funny part and it has nothing to do with death. Well, maybe a little… It actually has to do with life in the face of impending death.

Right around 1 year before EK’s grandfather simply gave up altogether and allowed himself to die, we gathered out at the assisted living facility for Thanksgiving dinner. What with grandma being gone it was a much more somber celebration than it had been in the past, but it was still very nice. At this point, grandpa didn’t move around so good. He could walk, but not a great distance by any means. So, since it was a nice day, as is often the case with Saint Louis around Thanksgiving – fairly cool, but with the sun shining and not bitterly cold – the family decided a nice walk around the “lake” in front of the facility would be in order (actually, where I come from it would be called a pond, but here in Saint Louis they think it is a lake, so I just go along with them). So, with grandpa loaded up in his wheelchair, we set off for a liesurely afternoon stroll.

Now, as much as the family tried to lighten the mood, the tone was still very somber. After all, grandma hadn’t been gone all that long, and holidays were kind of her thing. In fact, she used to “save up” their dining room “meal tickets” so that the family could gather with them. And, from the stories I have heard, grandma used to cook up a storm and put on a hell of spread during the holidays. I met and married EK a bit too late in life to have enjoyed those particular family gatherings, but the get-togethers at the facility were still wonderful.

So anyway, back to the story… We made our way down the hill on one side of the small “lake” then came around the end, and started up the hill that banked the other side. The path itself was a concrete sidewalk so the going was smooth, and the direction we were heading would take us right back to the nursing center, and grandpa’s room. All good. Well, we made it about halfway up this side when everyone decided to stop for a bit to “smell the roses”. Admittedly, the scenery was nice and serene, and we all thought it might be nice to just rest a moment and look out over the “lake”.

We all turned to face the tableau and drink in the splendor of nature. Some geese were flying overhead making geese noises, there were a few wispy clouds in the blue sky…the crisp autumn air was filled with the loamy smells from the carpet of leaves that had fallen off the trees in the small, urban wooded areas at our backs. We were all gathered together, enjoying it as a close knit family unit. It was pretty much “Norman Rockwell Family Postcard Perfect” as we stared out across the glassy water at the bottom of the somewhat steep, grassy incline before us.

It stayed perfect for about 5 seconds, because then I heard the screaming…

Yes, screaming. Well, maybe more like a yell than a scream. In any event is was somewhat weak, but still quite audible and filled with maybe a bit of fear, but mostly what sounded to be complete surprise. And, it seemed to have started nearby, but was now moving away from us…

Wondering what was going on I brought my gaze quickly downward and saw, much to my horror, grandpa, still seated in his wheelchair, arms flailing as he rolled ever faster down the bumpy, grassy hill toward the lake. You see, it seems that my brother-in-law (who shall remain nameless, and I have several so it will be easy for him to remain anonymous) had neglected to set the brake on the wheelchair. Due to our position on the rise, and the fact that he had turned grandpa toward the lake so that he could see what everyone else was enjoying…well, to put it simply when he let go of the handles to point at something, gravity took over, as it tends to do.

Here is where the young and spry comes into play… Quite obviously we were all terrified. Here we have a somewhat frail, 90 year old man, hurtling toward a “lake” in a wheelchair, down an incline, on a crisp autumn day. The water in the “lake” wasn’t exactly warm as you can guess. So, while some gasped and screamed, others of us sprang into action, running headlong down the hill after the wheelchair.

Well, as it turns out, grandpa had way too much of a head start on us, so, weak cry, arms flailing, and everything you can imagine from an episode of one of the aforementioned comedy shows later, he hit the water. Now, grandpa was a very practical and intelligent man, so rather than allow himself to be catapulted across the “lake” when the front wheels of the chair struck the muddy edge, he stuck his feet straight out in front of himself and held on. This manuever saved him from taking a chilly swim, however, he still ended up “wading” so to speak as he slipped down in the chair. When all was said and done, the water ended up at about his knees as I recall.

So, as one could expect, a bit of minor panic ensued. My mother-in-law was extremely concerned for her father, my brother-in-law was concerned – and completely mortified, EK wasn’t far behind me coming down the hill, and my father-in-law and one of my other brothers-in-law who was there that year were neck and neck with me in our race to save gramps.

Arriving at the edge of the “lake” and trying to avoid falling in ourselves, we dragged grandpa out of the water. My father-in-law and brother-in-law got on either side of him and more or less carried him back up the hill as I raced ahead with the wheelchair and soaking wet blankets. When we all reached the top of the hill they deposited gramps back into the chair and he assured us that he wasn’t hurt, but that he was getting cold from being wet, naturally. So, while the rest of the family straightened themselves out and started regaining composure, I lit a fire under my own ass and pushed gramps in his wheelchair as fast as I could up the sidewalk and into the nursing center where we could get him changed and warmed up.

Now, at this point, my own heart was racing and I was deeply concerned. I mean, after all, the man was 90 years old, he was soaking wet up to his kees and damp elsewhere because of the water splashing all over him. It was 45 degrees outside, his blankets were pretty much useless since they were cold and wet, and we were still about 100 yards from the nursing center at the top of the hill.

After we had traveled maybe twenty yards, I started hearing this odd noise coming from gramps. I dug in and pushed faster as I asked, “Are you okay, grandpa?”… I was CPR certified at the time, but really wasn’t in a hurry to put it into practice if you know what I mean. At this point, instead of getting an answer, I noticed that the noise was just getting louder and the wheelchair was starting to vibrate. It was then I realized that grandpa was laughing his ass off. Downright belly laugh guffawing…Almost to the point where he was going to risk not being able to catch his breath… I couldn’t help but start to laugh too. When he was finally able to stifle the laughing for a few seconds he said, “That was fun. Can we do it again?”

With that, we both burst into laughter yet again. We were still chuckling like a couple of wingnuts when I got him into his room and the nurse on duty starting helping him change into some dry clothes.

When the rest of the family arrived only a minute or so behind us, they were still in the concerned mode, and rightfully so. I think perhaps grandpa and I must have appeared to be total idiots to the rest of them because we were still grinning ear to ear, and whenever we looked at each other – or at the brother-in-law who let go of the handles – the chuckling would start all over again. But, he and I knew the reality… In that moment, he felt alive.

It might have been brief and I’m sure it was scary. I know I would have been a bit terrified if it was me in that chair, even at 30 instead of 90, but it still made him feel alive.

That was the one and only time I had seen the man laugh, or even really genuinely smile, since his wife had died. And, the memory of it seemed to be the only thing that made him smile for the year he lived aftwards.

Well, that and a glass of smuggled in Port Wine, but I’ll save that for a different blog, because we have now come back around to the beginning of our chain reaction – a joke about “smuggled booze” is the original domino that sparked my telling of this whole story…

More to come…

Murv

So, here I go with one of those probably not so popular opinions again, but you know how I am, so there you have it…

On with the show…

There I was this morning, working on cup ‘o java number 3 and watching the news. Well, not the news exactly because the local broadcast had officially handed off to the network, so I was watching The Early Show. For me, that particular bit of news/feature programming is preferred over any of the others. It’s really all a matter of personal taste, I suppose, but I happen to think Harry Smith is a real kick in the ass as well as a good reporter. Dave Price is downright funny, and probably the most honest nationally broadcast meteorologist out there. Russ Mitchell is a hell of a newsman too, and on top of that I used to rent movies to him when he was a local anchor and I managed a Video Concepts store at Northwest Plaza, so I also happen to know he’s a hell of a nice guy – or he was back then, anyway. If that weren’t enough, there’s Maggie Rodriguez and Julie Chen. Very good interviewers who also happen to be a visual bright spot in my day, if you get my meaning… But, that’s another story I suppose.

Anyway, back to the impending opinion. As I sat watching this chosen bit of media, I was greeted with a story about Facebook. Yes, I realize that is probably a dirty word around here, what with this being my Myspace blog and all, but hey, they exist. No two ways about it. And, as it happens my publicists insist that I have a page there too, so I do. But, I digress. You see, it seems that Facebook has had the unmitigated gall (in some folks opinions) to remove from their site, pictures of women breastfeeding. Not ALL of the pictures mind you. Just the pictures that show an entire breast being bared.

Now, if you look at the terms of use agreement – that’s the little thing you are supposed to actually READ before clicking “yes I agree” – it would appear that legally, Facebook has every right to remove these pictures as they are, in point of fact, a violation of their content policy. So, no harm done. No foul. It should be all good.

But no, apparently there are a bunch of people up in arms about it. All good too. Disagree if you want, just remember that it doesn’t mean Facebook has to listen.

So anyway, The Early Show had a couple of folks on this morning to “debate” this issue. Well, I’m all for healthy debate so I watched. Unfortunately, I was disappointed. You see, it seems that the debate was really no more than a couple of folks with some creds (the kind which would mean virtually nothing to your average Joe on the street under any other circumstances) spouting why Facebook is “wrong” by removing these images. Okay, so not much of a debate where debates are concerned…(as we know, an actual debate requires that both sides of an issue be represented) But, that really isn’t my point here. (Yeah, you know me and my tangents…) What is my point, however, is the fact that these “debaters” seemed to be missing the overall picture here. Kind of a “can’t see the forest for the trees” thing. Move that big rock sticking out of the ground so I can see the mountain. Can’t see the sunset because of that big ball of fire in the sky.

Get what I’m saying? Good.

To boil it down, they more or less based their case on a few convoluted points, which on the surface were sound, but in the grand scheme of things left out the real questions behind the issue. And, in one instance, the “point” didn’t even make sense (at least to me it didn’t).

In short, here is what they had to say, and more importantly, where it got kind of weird – in my eyes, anyway:

1) Apparently the estimated 1.4 million folks who have Facebook pages “feel” that they OWN Facebook.

2) We cannot allow the opinions of a few to dictate the morals of the masses.

and

3) Breastfeeding is a natural act.

Yo’kay…

Number One: Let’s start with the fact that they might want to make that estimate 1.4 million MINUS one, because I know for a fact that I do NOT own Facebook. I have never paid their light bill. I have never maintained one of their servers. I haven’t swept their floors. In fact, I have never even been to their offices. All I have is a page on their server. That’s it. What’s more is that it is a page – storage space and bandwidth – they provide to me, free of charge. Free. I don’t pay anything for it. Nada. Nothing. I am getting to play in THEIR sandbox on a complimentary ticket. Sure, they make money by tossing web ads at me, but hey, they have to make money somehow… If they didn’t there wouldn’t be a sandbox for me to play in… for free. By the way, Myspace does the same thing – free page, toss ads at you. Oh, and just so everyone is aware, I don’t own them either. I’m also pretty sure that unless you own stock in the parent company, those of you with a page here are in the same boat with me. We use their service. We don’t own it. It ain’t rocket science.

Now, I will give you that these 1.4 million deluded souls may think they “own” Facebook because they feel they created the content. But, here is the fundamental flaw in that thinking – your content doesn’t appeal to the masses. Just to your little social clique, and not even all of them. This is also not to mention that just because you have eleventybillion friends on Facebook or Myspace, doesn’t mean they look at your page on a regular basis. Here’s a newsflash and y’all may hate me for this but guess what? Of my “Myspace Friends” there are only around a dozen whose pages I have visited more than once. You see, I actually have a life and stuff, as I am sure 99.9% of the rest of you do… So, give me a break. The folks who created, finance, and maintain Facebook own Facebook. Not 1.4 million souls using it as free hosting for their personal webpage.

Hence, Facebook makes the rules, you follow them when you are there. That simple.

Number Two: Anyone reading this ever hear of the FCC? We are already letting a handful of folks dictate morals to the masses – but, be that as it may, let’s get real – Facebook isn’t dictating any morals. They are saying, “my sandbox, my rules.” It’s really that simple. I know… Friggin’ amazing, isn’t it?

The “debater” bringing up this particular point went on to say something about Facebook being caught in the middle between the few people who complained about the images and the gazillion people who protested them being removed. He said that if anyone can complain about anything, then everything becomes taboo. Well, not really. That only happens if you listen to the complaint and act on it. He may have a PhD that I don’t, but hey, sometimes you need to cut the crap with the Piled High & Deep and just use a bit of common sense.

Now, yes, I will admit that the listening to and acting on the complaint of a small group was probably the point he was trying to make about Facebook, but honestly, it doesn’t look like that is what happened to me. It looks like someone violated the rules and someone pointed it out. Kind of like, “Hello, police department? There’s someone cooking up meth in the garage across the street.” Yeah, I know, that example is a bit extreme, but you get the idea.

Let’s look at this logically – If I have 5 people complaining about something, and 100 people complaining about the folks who are complaining, and I am trying to run a business, I am going to make the 100 people happy. The five people aren’t paying my bills. The 100 people are. There is a rule in the business world of which some folks are not aware and it is this – sometimes your best course of action is to not try to please a customer who is costing you money. You cut them loose. Send them somewhere else. So, why would Facebook kowtow to a small group? It’s not really likely that they would. They are simply enforcing rules that were already in place to begin with… Were they maybe a bit lacking in enforcing them before the issue was called to their attention. Who knows? With 1.4 million pages, that’s a lot of real estate to police. Perhaps they just hadn’t gotten to it yet, but eventually would have. That is why, just like our local police, they depend on the citizens of the community be vigilant.

Now, do I think the people reporting this infraction are a bunch of idiots who have nothing better to do than screw with other folks? Yeah, pretty much. But, that’s not the point. Whether we like tattletales or not, the rules were broken and action was taken. ‘Nuff said.

Number Three: You are correct. Breastfeeding is, in point of fact, a natural act. It is healthy for the baby, healthy for the momma, and an all around great idea. Hell, my wife breastfed our daughter for the first 18 months. I highly recommend it (no dads, it won’t get you out of those midnight feedings – they have these pump things and human breast milk refrigerates and even freezes just fine… But, you want a healthy kid, right?)

But, guess what? Taking a big ol’ nasty crap is a natural act too. Bowel movements happen. Poop there it is. Everybody poops. I could go on, but I won’t…

Now, I am sure that at least one person is out there saying, “But, Murv, you’re comparing apples to oranges.”

Am I?

Granted, taking a dump isn’t quite the same as breastfeeding a baby, but using the argument, “it’s a natural act” doesn’t fly. Just because it is a “natural act” doesn’t mean it is necessary to display it.

That particular debater also went on to ADAMANTLY qualify her statement with,. “It’s a natural act. It’s not sexual.”

Did I miss a memo? Last time I checked sex was considered a natural act too. So how does that play into this whole equation?

Okay… So before anyone gets up in arms about anything, let me just say this – Y’all know me – or at least my blogs. You know that I am all about free speech. I will defend to the death a persons right to free speech. I have already made it clear that I have absolutely NO PROBLEM whatsoever seeing images of a woman breastfeeding. Sex is good too. I’m not really all about the images of someone taking a dump, but hey, if that’s your thing more power to you.

But, here’s the thing… Freedom of speech is NOT what most people seem to think it is. It does NOT mean that you get to say whatever you want, to whomever you want, whenever you want. It does NOT mean that you get to display whatever you want, to whomever you want, wherever you want.

Freedom of speech protects your right to believe what you want to believe, and to disagree with others, AND more importantly disagree with your government.

It does NOT guarantee you that anyone has to listen, or that you don’t have to obey the rules. It simply means that you cannot be punished (i.e. incarcerated, beaten, tortured, or otherwise jailed) for dissenting in an orderly and peaceful fashion. By that same token, it also does NOT guarantee you that if you call someone a big doody head that they won’t punch you in the nose. Yeah, punching you in the nose was wrong, but guess what? Freedom of speech cannot protect you from an individual you just insulted. To put it simply, the first amendment does NOT grant anyone the right to be an asshole.

Okay, back to the boob thing…

Facebook made some rules. You had to agree with them in order to set up your page. If you didn’t bother to read them before clicking the “I agree” button, well bad on YOU, not them.

Now, they are enforcing those rules. So what?

Buy a vowel. They have every right to do so. If you are so dead set on displaying pictures of you breastfeeding your kid, no one said you couldn’t. They just said that you couldn’t in THEIR SANDBOX. You are NOT entitled to make them bend to your will. If they were in some way truly discriminating against you, adversely affecting you, creating undue hardship on you, or even making funny faces at you and saying nanny-nanny-boo-boo, I would have a different take on the whole situation. But they aren’t. This is NOT the federal government – or anyone else for that matter – restricting your freedoms. This is a private company with rules telling you that you can’t break them while you are using their service (for FREE mind you).

It’s no different than going to grandma’s house and not putting your feet on the furniture. Her house. Her rules. You follow them.

Oh, and by the way… To the debater who said breastfeeding isn’t sexual – basically you are correct from a purely clinical standpoint. But, you are dealing with individuals here and not everyone shares that opinion. You might try looking up galactophilia – it is a fetish centering on lactating women. All of a sudden, for a particular segment of the population who harbor this paraphilia, the images DO become sexual.

But, as can often happen, even I have gone a bit off track… The real question in my mind is this:

Why is it so important that you display to the world a picture of your bare breast with a baby attached to it? Once you are done breastfeeding do you plan to show us pictures of your breasts just for the hell of it? I mean, we’d get a clearer look at them if the baby wasn’t in the way. Or, if you are just trying to show us the baby then don’t you think we’d get a better look if the boob wasn’t obscuring his/her face? Do you plan to show us 57 pictures of junior having strained peas shoved into his face? How about when he/she pukes up the mashed banana all over the dog?

Again, I want to reiterate, I don’t find pictures of women breastfeeding to be offensive at all. I don’t find them embarrassing. And, I don’t find them to be a turn on either. But, I think this whole “you have to let me do what I want even though it violates your rules” thing is all a bit silly.

In my mind, the fact that boobs are at the center of it could be said even if it wasn’t…well…all about boobs.

More to come…

Murv