formenseyesonly

What Planet are you From?

2012-02-12T17:03:00.000+01:00

A story for St. Valentine

My wife noted that I was reading "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus." She said I thought you read that book years ago. I replied that I did, but I thought I would re-read it to refresh the subject in my mind. She replied that it was good that I was doing that, because I sure didn't get anything from it the first time. "You think?" I replied.

The author of this work is John Gray, Ph.D. It was many years ago that I first took to reading it, and the first thing that astonished me was how different men and women see the same thing. We are so different in our outlook that it is amazing that we can collaborate on anything so complicated as going to bed to have the necessary sex that produces offspring. I am convinced that were it not for such strong and instinctual feelings, it just would not happen.

I was quite frankly, flabbergasted at just how wrong we, as individuals get things, if we even think about it. We naturally think that the person of the opposite sex thinks in the same manner as ourselves, but nothing could be farther from the truth. The book points out the wide divide that exists with something as simple as a couple dealing with the problems of the day. A woman needs to talk about her problems with a sympathetic listener. That is usually not her male partner, because we think that if she is complaining to us she needs us to offer a solution. Wrong!

Firstly, I find that my woman wants to talk when I am in the midst of concentrating on something that really interests me, such as the news. What she really needs for me to do is turn off the television and pay attention to her. Since she won't want a solution from me, can I read the paper while listening, or work on a project if I'm quiet? The answer is no. She wants my undivided attention as she gets the problems off her chest, and all she wants from me is the occasional response to confirm that I am listening. If I interject with words like "really?", or "that doesn't sound very nice," or, the best one of all, "what do you think should be done about it?", then I am being there for her and I am her hero. I get the Brownie Points, and she wants to be in love with me.

What I got from Dr. Gray was that by doing these things, which don't cost me a thing, I am giving her respect and my time and attention, and that plays very well with her. At the least I am not ignoring her as though she were part of the furniture. She is the one person I am supposed to love more than any other, and let's face it, I would get twisted out of shape were she not to show me attention when I need it. That would not be when I have a problem arising out of my day.

For those who are not well informed, a man's method of dealing with his problems is the opposite to a woman's. She will realise that there is something really bothering him, and she will ask, "what's troubling you, Dear?" He will then make his problems a thousand times worse by replying, "Nothing, Dear!" Talk about adding fuel to the fire! What he means is, "Nothing that you can help me with. I will go to my cave, as men have always done, since time began, and I will think about what I need to do to solve my problems. No, I don't want to talk to you about it , Dear, because you will try to impose your solutions, which will most likely be of an emotional nature, while I am looking for pragmatic resolutions."

It is very peculiar that the last thing a woman wants from a man is a suggestion of how to solve her problem, but it is the first thing she offers to him. Mostly, she wants to talk about it, and that is the last thing a man wants to do, with her. If he finds that he really does need to talk with someone, he will select a professional and sit down and have a business-like discussion about things. Those professionals are called consultants, and they cost a lot of money. It is ironic that at the end of the day, the advice he gets at a cost is most likely the same as he would have got for free from his wife. But, that's life! So, as we celebrate another day in honour of St. Valentine there are some things to bear in mind:

Men and women are different, perhaps totally so, and our challenge is to maintain an ongoing successful and happy relationship in spite of our differences.

To be able to give and to receive love is more valuable than all the money in the world. Whether your love partner is someone of the opposite sex or the same sex, makes no difference. I believe that a person who lives a life without the warmth of love, lives an empty life, no matter how much material things he accumulates.

If your life is full with love and good health, you are a very, very, VERY lucky person, Indeed!

Happy St. Valentine's Day!

Honour Murder!

2012-02-05T14:46:00.000+01:00

I watched the news report that in Canada, an Afghan family consisting of father, mother and son were convicted of killing the couple's three teenage daughters and an adult woman, because, according to the prosecution, the girls insisted on following a Westernized lifestyle.

My immediate reaction was, if the man didn't want his daughters to be influenced by the West, why did he bring them to the West? That made me so furious because it seemed to me to be the height of stupidity, and in stupidity there is not even a scintilla of honour to be found.

As I calmed down I went on the Internet to research the subject, and what I found has left me gobsmacked. So much so, I don't even know where to begin. I suppose I could say that it amazes me that people leave their own country to go and live in another, only to then reject the culture of their adopted homeland. However, those countries that colonized other people's countries did it, as do people from the colonies who choose to live in the homeland of their occupiers. Stupidity!

I left my native Bermuda to live in Spain for the change. Here, we live in and amongst the Spanish, and we explore their customs, some of which we adopt, others, like bullfighting we stay away from. We use the Spanish language as much as we can, and generally it can be said that we have thoroughly integrated. We are happy and comfortable with our choice. Should that change we will simply leave.

All around us we can see evidence of people who live only on the fringe of Spanish society, but on the face of things they seem to be living their lives in peace. Beyond that I cannot say, but from what I have now discovered through my reasearch I should not be surprised when some family feel they have to murder their own children.

In the West the concept of killing your children to try and redeem the honour you think has been lost through your children's ideas and behaviour, is something quite shocking. In our eyes, the effect is the complete opposite. You are a murderer and you belong alongside our own loathsome criminals who murdered their own children for no reason at all, other than the children got on their nerves.

It is very disturbing to realise that the practise is on the increase in the West, but, as terrible a thing it may be to say, these families are eradicating their own kind who will not bring into the world even more of their own to perpetuate this odious theme that says to the children, you must OBEY absolutely or we will stamp you out. When they do this they cut off their own noses to spite their own faces.

Nothing anybody else has to say will have any impact on these people. Only education can turn things around. We in the West have finally learned that our children are not really ours, in the sense that they are not our property. They must live their own lives, we can only tell them the way we think they should go, then we let them go to sink or swim.

The sooner the families who are afflicted with the insane notion of what constitutes honour, learn this lesson, the better.

Driving over Oranges

2012-01-29T12:45:00.001+01:00

Oranges everywhere, but don't drive over them.

My family and I came to Spain in 1999, the same year that Chris Stewart published his book, "Driving over Lemons." This became required reading, but we read the book before actually arriving in Spain, and it made me feel like changing my mind. It is a wonderful story of a young English family who move to Spain and choose to live in the mountains and go back to nature. The Spanish, who have had quite enough of nature, are only too eager to sell their little plot to these crazy foreigners.

Reading the story from outside the country was a little terrifying, but I was assured it was not all like what was described in the book. When we arrived we looked for a home that was near to a town and a train and civilization, because the hardships suffered by the intrepid Stewart family was something we wanted to avoid at all costs.

One of the wonderful things the author describes was buying the house from Pepe, but Pepe doesn't actually leave. He just moves into the shed with his beasts, the name he gives to his dogs.

The book gets its name from the fact that driving in the dirt road to and from the house, which has no electricity nor indoor plumbing, lemons are everywhere, and trying to drive around them is impossible.

It is not in the DNA of an Englishman to disrespect food to the extent of allowing lemons and oranges to fall from the tree, and rot, and then to drive over them, and that brings us to where I am today.

Spain to day, is a country of great contrasts. On the upper end some Spanish have turned their orange, lemons, and olive groves into massive housing estates, and in the process they have reaped so much riches that they never even dreamed it was possible. The country has fabulous ribbons of road, great mansions and skyscrapers, wonderful public parks and buildings and theme parks to rival the most progressive nations. It also has homes in the interior without basic services, and people who live strictly from the land, and, of course everything in between.

We moved from our comfortable suburban house to the mountains amid a forest of orange trees. At the base of the mountain is the village of Pedralba, with the river Turia, an ancient town where everyone knows everyone else, and their business. Our home is well served by amenities, but we do have neighbours from hell, as well as those who are angels.

We also have a friend who's name is Pepe, and his wife Amparo. They adopted us when we first arrived, and Pepe has taught me how to be a Spainard. It has been thirteen years since we came here. Our Spanish experience has been entirely satisfactory, however, there have been two wars that have impacted upon the United States that have weakened the U.S. Dollar, and that has badly affected us as I earn my pension in that currency. Now, the Euro itself is on very shaky ground and we may all be about to go down the drain together, but as I write this, it is the 29th of January and the sun is shining brilliantly as though it were a Summer's day. Life is good!

For the past couple of months we have been living through harvest time of the oranges, a magical time of year. As far as the eye can see there are green trees with what seems like golden orbs hanging from branches simply waiting to be picked. I find it very difficult to come to grips with the fact that so many oranges simply fall to the ground and rot. It is such a shame that the hungry and starving cannot have access to so much wastage. During this past week I experienced my own eye watering moment of wastage when driving down the estate road I encountered a spillage of oranges from the farmer's truck. He was busily picking them up, but he ordered me to simply drive on, to drive over the oranges that were in my path.

I should have stopped and helped, but unfortunately I was in a hurry, so, with eyes closed I did as I was commanded. Now, I have my very own Driving over Oranges story to tell. I feel terrible!

Spain is a wonderful country with equally wonderful Spanish people. I came here because a Spanaird discovered my country, Bermuda, but the Spanish Crown decided it had no interest in such a small island and they walked away from it. I always wondered how different my life might have been had I grown up Spanish. Now I know!

I would have been very happy!

STEPHEN LAWRENCE

2012-01-22T14:40:00.007+01:00

Stephen Lawrence: Martyr for British Justice

Stephen Lawrence is dead: Long Live Stephen Lawrence

The name Stephen Lawrence is probably known around the world, but for all the wrong reasons. Stephen was a young black man who was waiting for the bus to go home. He was spotted by five white thugs, and like a pack of feral dogs they set upon him and plunged a butchers knife into him and then ran away.

I was close to his age one night while I was on my way to catch the bus in Watford, London. A gang of five white thugs spotted me and screamed "Get Him!" I ran as fast as I could go, and up ahead I saw the bus just starting to pull away from the stop. I put on a burst of speed , caught up with the bus, thereby saving my life.

Stephen was buried in his parent's homeland of Jamaica where his burial place is lovingly cared for, while his parents returned to England to see justice done for him. As horrible as was his death, what came next was a permanent stain on Great Britain, and rendered a lie that British Justice was the greatest in the world. From the moment the first policeperson arrived on the scene things went wrong, and for the next 18 years one disgraceful and unfortunate thing followed another.

The story is very long and convoluted. I'm sure it will be told in the form of a book and if anyone has the guts to do it, a film would be appropriate. The BBC program "Panorama" devoted one hour to tell the story in abridged version, but if not for the determination of the strongest woman in the world, Stephen's mother, even partial justice that was won by sending two of the five bastards to jail would not have happened. The other three are on notice, that the Law, and Doreen Lawrence, are coming to get you.

To reach the point at which the system has arrived at required a wholesale shake up within The Metropolitan Police /Scotland Yard. and the Justice System. The Service admits that nothing else has had such an impact on its thinking, but for one citizen to have to take on the role of conscience of Britain's Justice institutions is far too much to expect. But, Stephen's mother achieved that in the name of her son by not taking no for an answer. She was determined that his very premature death was not going to be in vain, and in fact it is not. The Hon. Jack Straw, former Home Secretary has said that in ordering an Inquiry was the single most Important Thing that he ever did. All of British society are better served because at the time of his death there was not even the Will to bring to justice white murderers of black and Asian people.

When a loved one dies under any other circumstance than natural causes we have the right to expect that the appropriate response be forthcoming. I lost someone and had to fight the government and medical establishment of my country to get justice. In that, I empathize with Stephen's parents, Neville and Doreen Lawrence, particularly with his mother, and with his whole story.

The Four-Year old Prostitute

2012-01-15T16:04:00.008+01:00

This is what Four-year Old girls should be doing...simply being kids.

You won't like what I have to tell you in this blog. I make no apologies for that. This is real life!

From what we understand from crime writers, police stories, and real life, we know enough to realise that the underworld life of drug dealing and drug consumption is a nasty world indeed. When the man at the top tells an underling that should he disappoint, he will be killed, along with his family, that is taken seriously, and followed up on if necessary. However, sometimes when the killers come in they don't actually kill small children. They do something worse, and that is they abduct the children and feed them drugs, and they are offered to the drug lord's best customers for the purpose of entertainment.

Some of these children are very young, and anything that you or I would dare imagine is surely what takes place. But, that is different than being a young girl who is sold into sexual slavery at any age by your own mother, but especially when very young.

The director of the documentary, "Not My Life" was being interviewed on CNN about his film, and he mentioned the four-year old prostitute. That mention made me sit bolt upright, as though it were a strike of lightning. I had never heard of such a thing. The context in which she appears was when, in Cambodia a police raid was taking place, in front of the cameras, on a brothel that housed all young girls. They had to go up into the ceiling and under the stairs and from every nook and cranny to bring them out. They were a multitude of children, who were waiting for the customers who come every day.

Sick males who take the guise of being men, come to take children away with them for as long as they wish to treat them worse than if they were animals. My opinion of any and everybody who is found to be guilty of even thinking of doing these things is such that I cannot even find the words to express myself. They certainly embarrass me because they seem to have the same gender as mine.

A girl who is four won't even know that she is a prostitute, or even what that means. She will simply be used as though she were a toilet. Many respectable white males, who are businessmen from the West are seen entering Cambodia and making their way to the brothels where they turn into werewolves. So, why are they not simply stopped at the border? That would be simple enough, the authorities know why they are there, but the fact is that they represent foreign exchange income, so the Will is not there to stop them. Even if the foreigners were stopped, the trade would still take place because of the local desire for young girls. We are made to understand that to be able to deflower of child men pay high premiums, so the girls are deflowered over and over again by stitching them up again and again.

Life is one giant act of delicate balance, so as we know there to be acts of extreme kindness and generosity, on the other end there is undescribeable evil, such as that which we are talking about here. I would have liked to have done more in-depth research, but delving into this subject matter and calling it "research" might earn me suspicion of the sort that I am now condemming.

The subject of international slavery is so overwhelming it is difficult to know where to start in making a contribution to its downfall. We have to take little steps and focus on little things at a time. When we are offered a Rolex watch for $19.99, we know that it is not a Rolex. We also know that it was manufactured by slave labour. If we don't buy it, or any of the brand-name knockoffs, then, in the fullness of time those workers will be let go. They are only kept in bondage because there are customers willing to buy their products.

For me, I think of the Four-Year Old Prostitute everyday. I will always think of her as I consider my actions and ask myself the question: Am I helping the traffickers if I do this thing or that? The answers will continue to shape me as a moral person.

One day, I hope to have the opportunity of coming to the rescue of very young children who are kept in captivity and made to perform actions that would make decent people vomit.

Copyright (c) 2012 Eugene Carmichael

A Very Funny Spanish Night!

2012-01-08T14:45:00.007+01:00

Humour. A Great way to start the year!

I had planned all week to write a very serious piece today entitled "The Four-Year old Prostitute", but I experienced something on Saturday night that has put me in a good mood. I shall have to leave the serious piece until next week when I can do it justice.

My wife urged me to experience something that is truly Spanish, an evening of humour and comedy monologues. This took place in the town of L'Eliana, and was presented in four acts and called 100% Cadiz. The standup comedians were Ismael Beiro, an ex-Big Brother winner; Vincente Ruidos; Toni Rodriguez, and three friends who presented comedy in music who call themselves "Coplas de Mostrador."

I was reluctant to go because as an English person studying Spanish I knew my command was insufficient to appreciate fully the humour, but I went anyway. To really appreciate this you have to be Spanish because the material is presented at full speed, and is a mix of political and daily life experiences, using colloquialisms and street smart talk. At one point, one of the comedians asked, "are there any English people here?" That was met with a laugh. When my wife piped up, "Sí!" the people next to us said, " Joder!" We were the only English people there.

As is the custom here in Spain, whereever the parents go, so go their children. That put a bit of a damper on some of the material we might have heard, but I pride myself on having picked up on some of the jokes. For the student of Spanish the two last areas to conquer are the telephone and jokes.

It helped that this group's reputation preceeded them, because the audience was pumped up for a good evening. the only time that things got a little quiet was when reference was made to the two political parties, the PP and the PSOE, but the comedian made it clear he was only messing with us and the moment passed.

First up was Ismael who did a great job in opening the show, and he was followed by Los Coplas de Mostrador, who included a somewhat serious song to a Hambone. Only in Spain, where Jamon de Serrano is worshipped as a diety would that have happened. Then, after a half-hour break came Vicente Ruidos, who I credited with being a total professional. He was able to include his own created voice sound effects, delivered a great monologue complete with sound to underscore the point he was making, and he never laughed at any of his own jokes. That, I think is the hallmark of the true professional.

Toni Rodriguez, who calls himself "El Gaditano" acted as M.C. and after Vicente concluded his bit and Toni returned to the stage I thought it was to wrap up for the night. After all, it was one am
in the morning. No! Toni was there to entertain us in a 45 minute monologue that had the audience laughing continuously as he rapid-fired one joke after another. I have never seen that happen before, and most comedians would give their eye teeth for the ability to do that.

When finally it was over, I saw a group of very weary people whose face muscles were just to exhausted to even smile. I missed most of the actual material but I certainly appreciated the stagecraft and the oportunity to see a side of Spanish life that can only be understood with an adequate command of the language.

It wasn't supposed to be an incentive to spur me on to learn the language, but I can't wait to go back to class.

Copyright (c) 2012 Eugene Carmichael

Have a Happy and Healthy 2012 !

2012-01-01T14:23:00.006+01:00

Have a Happy and Prosperous New Year

As usual it is wonderful to watch countries around the world welcome in the new year. Australia leads the way with the most consistently superb display of fireworks. It is an exercise in pure optimism because no-one can foretell what the year will bring. If we knew, maybe we would be reluctant to step over the line into a new year that may hold in store even more and greater problems than we left behind.

I am an optimist! My hope for 2012 is that it will bring my family and myself good health, and more than a little wealth. These things I wish for you and your family as well. I'm certain that we will have to face challenges along the way. We will be tested and sometimes we will find that life appears not to be fair. However, I intend to continue my work helping other people because from these activities I find supreme satisfaction in knowing that from my actions today, (and the rest of the team) people who will be born 50 years from now will have the opportunity to
live their lives with dignity and grace.

To each and everyone, I sincerely wish that in 2012 you will find happiness and contentment.

I leave you with one question to ponder as the year begins: My wife entered our bathroom in the year 2011. When she came out it was the year 2012. Was this the longest time spent in a bathroom in recorded history?

Happy New Year !!!!!

Copyright (c) 2012 Eugene Carmichael

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM EL GORDO

2011-12-25T13:47:00.005+01:00

A Fistfull of Euros

As usual following a visit from El Gordo, a great many people are very happy, some completely out of their minds with overwhelming joy. Throughout the broadcast when the numbers were being called, the station received tweets from all around the world. The Far East, the South Pacific, Australia, South America, all across Europe, America and Canada, and all points in between. Hopes were high that El Gordo would save the day.

Here in Spain, if you were out of work you found a little money to participate in the lottery in the hope that your number would drag you up out of your misery. So many people who did win tell the same story of being at the end of their tether, and now they had a fistfull of euros, but were not able to believe it.

For me, the best story that I heard was that of an immigrant lady from Africa. A few days before El Gordo she and her family had been evicted from their modest apartment and were living at the backend of the hallway with instructions to be out of the building the day after Christmas day. She bought a décimo for El Gordo, the number came up, and now she has enough money to buy the building.

She was asked whether she intended to do that and to move back in. Her reply was no, that she hoped she would never have to ever again live in such a dump. Her husband and children were at that moment in an hotel, and her furniture had been taken away to be burnt. Wonderful!

My numbers didn't win anything significant and while I am somewhat disappointed I can wait until another day. When we hear how so many people who did win have received such magnificent help, we can only feel happy for them.

I hope your Christmas was really good for you and your family, and that 2012 will be kind to you all.

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

In Spain, when you are wished a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year you might just get the means by which to make that concrete.

El Gordo is here Again

2011-12-18T13:24:00.005+01:00

The Great One Cometh!

If you live in Spain, you may look forward to celebrating Christmas or Hanakuh, but not as much as the coming of December 22nd, the day when the El Gordo lottery is called. If the Spanish never got anything else right, they certainly have this absolutely spot on. As lotteries go, for good reason El Gordo, The Fat One, is the biggest lottery in the world, paying out more than two and a half billion euros. The interesting thing is that it is based on the premise that nobody needs to win the jackpot for their own exclusive use. To suddenly win 200 million euros is to make terrible problems for a person who was near broke before.

The way the system works is that any one person can only buy a ten percent value of a prize. So, this year the first prize is four million euros. A ten percent share would return four hundred thousand euros. However, there is virtually no limit to the number of such chances that you can buy. If you want to buy ten tickets and the number wins, you will win ten times four hundred thousand amounting to four million euros, and so will anybody else who did the same thing. It is a little complicated to understand but El Gordo will positively impact upon the lives of so many people here in Spain, and throughout the world that it is not possible to calculate.

I would agree that this is a Socialist idea, but what a beauty. It is one in which approximately 99% of Spanish inhabitants believe in, and a whole lot of people from around the world. Let's hope for good luck for all who hold an El Gordo ticket, especially to myself and my syndicate. We hold 721 tickets. That's right, 721 ten percent shares. It's a big syndicate, but that would be a big cash prize.

You might get to know if we win. If I don't say anything it might be because we didn't win, or we did win and in that case discretion might be the better part of valor.

Happy Holiday to each and everyone, and a Happy and Healthy New Year!

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Excitement of Herman Cain

2011-12-11T14:41:00.005+01:00

Herman Cain - Eternal Optimist

The hopeful candidate for the presidency of The United States, Herman Cain, has put his campaign on suspension. He has not cancelled it, he has placed it on suspension. Until when? we might ask. Probably until after the November elections in 2012. That would be a very good idea.

In America, before anybody takes the decision to enter into public life they had better examine their own life's history and take a very long look at all their skeletons. They should know by now that the rabid American press will find these things and they will get a full airing before the American public. The American press are very good at mercilessly tearing a person apart like so many pitbulls out of their minds. Even where you don't have anything salacious, they will invent things, or blow small things way out of proportion.

I'm not saying that this is necessarily wrong for them to expose past mistakes or outright criminal or morally wrong actions, because the leadership of a country should have clean hands. I'm simply saying that anyone intending to run for public office should disqualify themselves and save everyone else the bother if they have such embarrassing secrets.

Clearly, Herman Cain had some skeletons in his closet, and he should never have popped his head above the parapet. His fall has been an awful embarrassment, especially, I assume to black Americans. I think that his supporters had hoped to put one black man up against another, but Herman Cain is no Barack Obama, and that's for certain.

However, American politics has taken another major move forward and that is noteworthy. It was not such a long time ago when if you were black and you wanted to become a member of The Republican Party, you might have been asked to re-think your position. Now, not only is it O.K. to belong to the party, a black man is/was chairman and Herman Cain managed to be taken so seriously that he moved up to become the front runner, even if only for a short time.

That is how party politics should work. A person has the right to support any party he/she chooses, without respect to color or creed or religion. Personally, I hate the party political system, but that's something for another time. For now I have to say that I'm glad that Herman is out of the race, and I wouldn't be too distressed for President Obama to serve one term either. I am pleased with his performance so far. He undertook an impossible task and he has managed to keep the country afloat, but America is headed into very rough waters indeed and I don't want people conveniently blaming such tough times on The Black Guy.

Just as the Communist experiment has failed, so too is the Capitalist experiment in its death throes. That is not anyone's fault. It is especially not Barack Obama's fault, but if he get stuck holding the bucket he will be blamed and black forward motion will be seriously affected into the foreseeable future.

In so far as Herman Cain is concerned, the deepest cut of all must surely have been Ginger White. When your secret lover feels she should emerge into the sunshine of day and tell all your bizness, that must surely hurt. Badly!

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

I Love You

2011-12-04T13:32:00.004+01:00

That Love Thing

It has taken me 72 years to figure this out, so if young guys don't know better, who can blame them.

When a woman tell us that she love us, we believe her. Especially if she shares her sweetness with us, and perhaps throws in a meal or two. No problema! However, when a man tells a woman he loves her that apparently sets off a whole chain reaction of doubt and suspicion within her mind and her heart.

"He is only saying that because he wants something from me." That may be the thought that goes through her head, and of course she's right. We always want that something from her, but as part of a whole love package. In a world where women will sell a man anything he wants, any way he wants it, any time he wants it without hassle, why do men still cling to a woman who can make most of his wakening hours a misery? It's because she can wrap her arms around him, give him a little sweetness, together with genuine warmth and love, things that no hooker can offer, and these things we long for and need even more so than food and water.

Women are so paranoid when it comes to men that when we try to convince them that we really do love them they go seeking proof, on a daily basis. Some of the tests that they put us through are bizarre, to say the least. I don't think a woman sits down and draws up a master plan that says if you pas a certain number of tests, then you probably do love them, but nonetheless, that is how it turns out.

So, young guys, the worst thing you can do for yourself is actually tell the woman you love that you are in love with her.Perhaps you should only go as far as admitting that you really do like her. She will still put you through the tests, but at least it won't be because of something you said.

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Orange Picking Season

2011-11-27T20:49:00.005+01:00

Don't these lemons look just like oranges. I have no pictures of oranges.

I do love this time of year in Valencia, especially as we live within a forest of orange trees. We have had a period of rain that has brought the orange trees into full bloom, and the whole countryside looks just delicious. I'm sure you have heard of Valencian oranges, everyone on the planet has, and they have also heard about our competitor, Seville oranges.

First we are enchanted by orange blossom time in March/April when the smell is the best perfume there is, and that is followed by a whole lot of work on the part of the farmers for several months. The farmers really don't mind if you pick one or two while out walking, but if you go with shopping bags then they can rely on an ancient law that will suport them should they decide to shoot you. When taking into account the painstaking work to bring their orchards to market, I wouldn't blame them.

Anyway, I went orange picking today to assist the owners. It is hard work, made the more difficult by the fact that I had injured my shoulder on Friday. However, it is wonderful to be surrounded by all these gold coloured, well, orange coloured things that are there for the taking. Even our own trees are loaded this year. Last year was a bad year for a harvest, but this year could not be more perfect. Unfortunately, for the farmers that translates into lower prices at market because everybody has such a bumper crop.

I hope I don't see a repeat of the year when farmers brought their truck fulls of oranges back from the market and dumped them in the fields and sprayed them with poison because prices offered were so low.

When I came to Spain in 1999 I mentioned to my friends, the orange tree owners, without knowing that they had fields, that I was looking forward to trying my hand at picking. So, they took me to their fields with what appeared to be about five thousand trees, and said, "so, pick!"

My custom had always been to eat one orange a week, but here, during the season, dessert is always fruit, including mandarins, and every other type of this fruit. We stuff ourselves to the point that no-one should be vitamin C deficient.

This may not be the official definition of Heaven, but it is very close to the ideal thing.

See you out in the orange fields!

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichae

The Fly!

2011-11-20T14:16:00.005+01:00

Nature's First and most efficient Drone

It happens every time I sit down to write up a blog. The Fly appears first in a pass over head; then it buzzes around my head, followed by a touch down on my bald spot. Then it goes into its "really piss him off" mode by landing on my hands, my ears, and anything else to get my attention.

I have tried opening the window in the hope that it will just leave. That results in more flies coming in. No, it is not the same fly every time. I don't have a friendly fly as I did have a friendly Bee. I know this for a fact because before I can concentrate and begin to write I have to kill the fly(s).

You may be like me in that we wonder what other use are flies except to aggravate humans. They are such pests and are the most invasive of all of Nature's creepy crawlies. They land on your food, in your drink, and when they are thirsty they will go for the moisture in your eyes and your mouth. I was going to mention those pictures from Africa and the children, but enough said.

Mother Nature is not really inclined to place on Earth species that have only nuisance value. Everything has its place and its purpose. The fly is the one who starts the clean up once anything living drops dead. The fly will land on the dead creature and plant the eggs from which come the maggots that set the decomposition process in motion. So, what the fly is doing when it touches living matter is testing to determine if we are dead or alive. If we swat at it, you would think that would be evidence of proof of life, but no, they have to test and test and test again. I wonder whether flies are like scientists?

Those flies that bug me and keep me from my blogs all have the same final last word. The word is: "Oh shit!"

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

I'm Back!

2011-11-13T15:24:00.004+01:00

We need these to navigate our life

Last week I signed on to write my blog, but I was met with a notice that advised me that my blogs had been eliminated. If there were eyes on the other side of my screen they may have had a conversation that went something like this: "It's been a half hour. Is he still staring at our notice."

When something like this happens the mind finds it impossible to take it in. This can't be happening is all that goes through your mind. I surely haven't lost years of blogs in one flash. Evidently my blogs were not eliminated, but simply blocked. The only suggestion I have is that of technology working against itself. Fortunately, my friends at GoogleTeam got it sorted very quickly, and I heaved a great sigh of relief.

Modern technology is both wonderful and hell at the same time. It is wonderful because of all the amazing things that we can do, but it is hellish because we become dependent. When I was working there would be times when the office computer system would crash, and that left 160 people wandering around asking, "Now what?"

It's no good saying find something else to do, because we have all forgotten what that something else is, and everything that we need to do is on the computer. Recently the Blackberry system went down, and users around the world were left in stunned shock, walking around with their Blackberries in hand, but quite speechless. There was even one man who admitted that he got lost on the way to work because he could not rely on the GPS in his phone. I can only hope that he works in a different location every day.

At the age of 72, I have lived through the inception of the computer. It was even suggested to me that I buy as many shares of IBM when the company was in its infancy. I didn't do that, but that's another story. Now, I own a simple mobile phone that has about 90% more capability than I am aware of, but we are into the age of Steve Jobs iPhone, iPad, Smart phones everywhere. This generation of technology was recently described very enthusiasticlly to me, and it seemed to me that the man was speaking in double Dutch. I got tired of just saying Wow!

So, I have my blog site back and I am very grateful for that. Life goes on around me but I can be myself in my own quiet corner. There is just one thing that really disturbs me, and it is this: For us elderly people it is expected that one of the first things to go is our memories. However, with users ID and passwords to remember and protect we are not being allowed to grow old gracefully. I don't dare let my guard down, and so I don't.

Ain't it wonderful!

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Cataract Surgery

2011-10-30T14:12:00.004+01:00

Removing Cataracts without Pain

We live in a world of rising expectations because of technology advances in the operating theatre. The world has come a long way from the days when whisky served as anaesthesia and your friends, if that was what they were, held you down. I have just had surgery for cataracts that is so routine it's hardly worth mentioning. However, that is not to say that extremely refined skills are not involved, because they are.

Cataract surgery involves the removal of the lens that you were born with, and the replacement by a plastic or silicone one. Information concerning such surgeries are available on the internet, including taped narratives of the operation in action.

I had mine performed at the Hospital Casa de Salud in Valencia, which has a fine reputation for all mod cons when it comes to equipment. My procedure went without a hitch, and now I am recuperating, sitting here at my computer wearing Ray Charles-like sunglasses because I am light sensitive at the moment.

It is a very good thing when all aspects of the operation goes well, especially since I will have to return to have the same thing done for my right eye at some time in the future. It is a really amazing thing when we consider that they do the following to your eye without the patient suffering any pain whatsoever:

Your eye is anaesthetized by drops, then a drape is placed over your face with an opening through which the surgeon will work on the applicable eye. By having the drape I was not able to see any movement from my other eye, which helped my anxiety.

They then broke up my existing lens using sound waves and then removed it through a small cut that had been made. It was interesting in that I could see it go, and from that eye I could still see light and very cloudy movement. A surprising amount of liquid is doused in my eye during the surgery, but I suppose that since I am able to open my eyes under water that is not so unusual.

There was only one time that I felt some pressure. I suppose that was when they were inserting the new lens in place. I have to admit that I was far more stressed than I thought I would be. Mainly this was because I knew that I had to remain absolutely still. My head was not restrained in straps, so it was all up to me. I thought I might feel an unexpected prick that would make me shake my head, and that kept me on edge.

Before long the surgeon said, "That's it!" My relief was wonderful. In total I was in the operating room for about 20 minutes, much of that time was spent in pre-op and post-op. The procedure went quickly, so quick I thought it only took about 5 to seven minutes, but it probably was a bit longer.

I went into hospital without the slightest worry about what was to come. I went alone, leaving my wife to remain at her work. I actually took the Metro to the hospital and checked myself in. Everyone I dealt with was superbly professional, yet warm and friendly. Valencia, in general is a wonderful place for health treatment where some of the most advanced procedures have been carried out.

If you are scheduled to have this surgery it is probably a good idea to read about it beforehand. Just Google Cataract surgery. That should give you confidence. The only thing I advise is that you take a pair of sunglasses with you because after the process is over and you are released from hospital you will find the glare from light to be difficult to handle for a little while without your sunglasses.

Copyright (c) 2011 Eugene Carmichael

African Women, European Women

2011-10-22T12:30:00.006+01:00

African Women, Western Women

As I was relaxing on the beach in Valencia, all around me there were topless women, and that got me to thinking about the village of Gouria, located high in the mountains of The Extreme North of Cameroon, West Africa. Myself, together with six other volunteers adopted this village in 1999, and we are lending support and guidance to bring the citizens of this remote area into the 21st century. I should add that this is at the request of the people themselves.

When we first encountered the village life progressed largely as it did at least one thousand years ago, with the exception that the motorbike had become a form of transport that was owned and used by some of the young men of the village. There was also a dirt road that carried trucks and a few cars past the village, and as a result some visitors from far off places came into contact with the people.

Their life style was very simple, and was ordered by the break of day and the setting of the sun. The daily routine was unrelenting, in that there was always the search for wood and water, and herding of the cows and goats, and working in the fields to grow crops. Most of this work was done by the women and children as the men concerned themselves in meetings to discuss the present and future of the area.

The village had many customs and traditions that have existed since time immemorial, many of which our little solidarity group still don't understand. As a people, our tribal group are known as The Kapisiki, and are as pure an ethnic specimen as can be found. Their culture is somewhat complex for the foreigner to understand, but it has worked for them. We do not agree with everything that we have learnt, but we first and foremost respect what they have.

We entered the picture at their invitation because they were concerned that their boys were not being educated, and the request was made of us to help. We, of course had to insist that if they wanted our help they would have to agree to educate both boys and girls. They were simple people but they were not stupid. I want to focus on the attitude of the women, and to a certain extent, the men.

We have all seen those National Geographic films depicting Africans in their native dress. The women of our village dressed in like manner in that they covered up their lower body but went about bare chested, the same as the men. The men likewise covered their torsos, but they did not seem to notice the female's exposed breasts.

Over the years we have brought education to the children, and their parents of Gouria. We have also introduced certain other social benefits, including providing the children with shoes. The change of attitude was electric upon putting on shoes for the first time. We were astonished to observe how the children held themselves erect, and their sense of pride was palpable.

As the children progressed in their education , and as they carried themselves with more pride and respect, so too did the mothers start to wrap their upper halfs in cloth. Our teachers are native locals, who are helped by the occasional visitor from abroad, but it was not a part of our philosphy to have women cover their breasts. There are Christian churches in the area who might have had something to do with the change, but the end result is that most of our women are now covered up.

Switch now to Europe, where for many years European women have reserved to themselves the right to sun themselves on the beach topless. The beach, and on the water are the only places where this is done in public, but there are also nudist beaches to worship the sun completely naked. The European attitude to full frontal nudity has always been healthy as we are all constructed in the same manner, so it's no big surprise to anyone. However, it's curious that in Africa where women have always been completely un-selfconcious, that practice there is going in one direction while in Europe and The United States the trend is in the opposite direction.

For the record, I note that exposed women's breasts in public are not sexy. The woman who wears a fashionable bra is sexy, until she takes it off. Sexy is in the imagination, or in my bedroom. I, together with my companion, once wandereed into a nudist hotel late at night in France because we were desperate for a bed for the night. Breakfast was taken while nude, which excited us, but our fellow diners were not impressed with us sexually, but they sure were impressed how smooth our skin was. (They were all senior citizens.)

A while ago there was a boatlod of Africans who had been at sea for far too long. They were in dire straits with some of those on board who had died. The boat drifted ashore on a nudist's beach, and I hate to seem to be making light of such a serious situation, but surely for the survivors encountering a whole beach full of naked white people must have been quite a shock for them

What is your tribe, and take me to your leader!

BIG, MEDIUM, SMALL

2011-10-11T19:09:00.005+01:00

The Beloved Austin Mini

I noticed something quite interesting about the size of vehicles that we drive or ride. Try to follow me in this thesis:

Drivers of large trucks, buses, JCBs, Mega earth moving equipment, etc all have something in common, in that they are generally very careful while in motion. They have to be due to the sheer size of the equipment under their control. There is no room for mistakes, but mistakes do happen and when they do the results are jaw dropping.

If the driver of an artuculated truck with eighteen wheels turns a corner just a little too fast, over goes the truck with the potential for killing others on the road, and spilling the cargo. If the driver of a bus with a full load does something silly he risks killing his entire cargo of passengers. Large earth moving vehicles operate on terain that is not firm to begin with, so it is in their own personal interest to be very, very careful.

However, truck drivers learnt a valuable lesson from a calamity that occurred because of the habit of driving in convoy, nose-to-tail. When the lead vehicle got into trouble that trouble resulted in closing the A7 for many hours, such was the mess. The message is clear: Keep your distance!

Moving now to the Medium size vehicle, the family saloon, here is where we find, on a numerical basis the class of vehicle that produces the most road fatalities. This is because of the variety of drivers behind the wheel and the potential to do some stupid things. However, within this group there are some exceptions when it comes to the cause of accidents. I don't think that I have ever heard of the driver of a Rolls Royce being the cause of an accident, period! Volvos, Mercedes, Range Rovers, Jaguars, and a few other car brands are conspicious by their absence in being the cause of accidents.

However, there is a class of vehicle that is very suspect for its potential to be involved in the cause of car crashes because they almost beg to be driven too fast. At the top of my list is the beloved Austin Mini. The sensation to me of driving a Mini is that of driving a Go-Cart. It is so small and compact, and so quick that it takes a very responsible person to go lightly on the gas pedal. This car, and the group of Seat cars and others of a similar size are classed in the Small size. They all are a big tease to their drivers and unfortunately not all drivers are sufficiently mature enough to handle the provocation. There is one insurance company that will offer cover only if you are 50 years or older.

Motorcycles are a special study unto themselv,es. It is no wonder that medical staffs call them donor cycles. Something to keep in mind when strapping on a helmet. If you are going to ride a motorcycle, at least wear a reflective vest so that you can be seen to be safe.

My Bed, My Real Estate!

2011-10-09T18:46:00.007+01:00

My Space!

There are many things that we, as people all over the world have in common, but perhaps the most significant of all is our beds. The way I see it, "My bed is my Real Estate and my castle." In our case our bed is 150 centimetres wide and 190 centimetres long. Therefore, my bit is 75 centimetres by 95.

I am fortunate in that I get to share my bit of real estate with my wife.

From the moment we are born we are placed in a bed, but we are just passing through at the time. When we get home we are placed in our very own bed, which some people call a crib. Even if we are born of poor parents and they place us in a drawer of the bureau, it's still our very own space. We spend most of our days in that place so it is the most important place in the world to us.

If we are lucky, as we grow we get our own theme style bed. As teenagers the very lucky get not only their own bed, but they get their own room, which they promptly proceed to maintain in the most messy state possible. You can compare what you have with others, but the real choice situation is to have your own room. That is like having your own home.

The curious thing is that many times it is the privileged person who has everything who is in fact unhappy. That may be a good opportunity for that person to help someone less fortunate. I can guarantee them that they will obtain a measure of happiness unlike any other from doing so.

Sailors often have to time-share their bunks. I suppose you get used to it, but there is nothing like going to bed and knowing that no one else has used my space.

When we have been off travelling and sleeping in many strange beds, the experience accentuates the feeling of coming home all the more so. We all say that there is no place like home, and that combines many aspects, not the least of which is that first night's sleep back in your bed, in your very own piece of real estate.

Pity the homeless person who sleeps rough on a park bench or covered over in cardboard. If that is where he normally sleeps, I'll bet it's as sweet as my own bed.

Dominique Strauss-Kahn Interview

2011-10-02T13:07:00.005+01:00

A question of credibility?

On the 18th September, 2011, DSK gave an interview to French television regarding his New York troubles, in which he described having sex with Nafissatou Diallo as having been a moral fault on his part. He maintains that it was consenual, without any force whatsoever, or payment.

She, on the other hand alleges that she entered the room to clean it, and found him coming out of the bath. She says he briskly approached her, closed the door and grabbed her breasts and her crotch, causing soreness, then dragged her to her knees whereupon he stuck his dick in her mouth and ejaculated, leaving her to run from the room.

Who do you believe? Which version is more credible?

It has been written that the Late Rev. Martin Luther King loved to play with the ladies.

It has been written that the Late President John F. Kennedy absolutely had to have sex every day, and took steps to make that happen.

Famously, former President Bill Clinton seemed to think that as President of The U.S. he must have been entitled to use a bright eyed intern as he saw fit.

Male rock stars, movie actors, and sports legends are famous for their womanizing.

What do all these men have in common? These are men of wealth, fame and power, which is a very heady cocktail. It is some form of human nature that if you have all of these things you tend to get carried away with your own sense of importance. At the very least you seem to feel that your reward should be to have any woman, and as many as you want, but you would have to be very responsible indeed to push back against such an impulse.

When the man thinks "I am who I am little girl, and you have no right to resist me" then things have gotten way out of hand. Such a man should be locked away from decent society as he is a danger.

Guys, this is a very serious character fault on our part, and is something that we have to robustly work to correct. It is a false friend that leads to all manner of problems for those too weak to control themselves. If we think we have a right to access any woman we fancy, then sorry guys, life just doesn't work like that. Not in the civilized society in which we live.

The era of The Cave Man ended eons ago.

We owe women a much better form of behaviour.

An Actuarial Death Notice

2011-09-18T14:31:00.002+01:00

An Actuarial Death Notice
Life should be lived to the fullest!

Every new-born baby is given an Actuarial Probability of Death which depends, among many other things, on where the baby was born and the access she/he will have to health care throughout life.

I was born in Bermuda in 1939, and my Actuarial Maximum Life Expectancy was given as 47 years. When we think about it, this is a hell of a thing, although I concede that it is absolutely necessary for such a study from many angles. But still, this is not some soothsayer or some person reading tea leaves, but rather some pretty serious folks issued this somewhat dire statement.

How accurate are they in their predictions? Far too many of my contemporaries died before the age of 50, including my first wife who died at age 42. What cannot be foretold is who among us will buck the trend and go on to live very long lives indeed. For those of us who do so, it perhaps may be because we took really good care of ourselves, but also it will be the luck of the draw to have avoided sudden and violent death.

I came upon this information when I was about eight or nine. One of the kids overheard their parents talking and he thought it a good idea to spread the word. I took it very personal and tailored my life to fit the prediction, especially as I came to realise that it was serious.

Provided we don’t know when we are likely to die, we are free to live each day as it comes. But I had my 47th birthday as a date that loomed very large the closer I came to it. As I saw friends dying my own mortality began to overwhelm me. I felt a need to do everything I needed to get done, in a hurry. I entered school when I was four years and eleven months, as I was born in October. So, I questioned whether I should stay in school as I was required to do until I was sixteen, or should I do as many of my friends did and get a job when I turned ten years and eleven months.

I decided to remain in school until I was sixteen, the legal leaving age, but then I had to get a job, get married, start a family all at once if I wanted to ever meet any of my grandchildren. The clock ticked on relentlessly. I was keenly aware that I could not waste any time by spending it in jail, so I was careful to keep myself out of trouble.

As it turned out, my wife did get to meet one of our three grandchildren, so all that concern was not for nothing.

I don’t recall being constantly occupied by a sense of urgency. I met the woman who would become my wife and I truly adored her, but it is true that we did not waste any time. We produced two of the loveliest daughters we could have asked for, but at the time that we married something else had begun to take place as a quiet form of revolution in the community, and that flew in the face of the predictions for a short life.

People began to send their children overseas for further education. Early marriage years were sacrificed for career learning, as though those people were going to live forever. These were the years following the end of the Second World War. Bermuda was experiencing a rising level of expectation and it was felt that a more substantial educational base was needed to cope. Both the government and private companies started to mention the “P” word. There seemed to be some sort of an epiphany sweeping the country in that we all felt that we could very possibly live longer than age 47, to the extent that we would need proper pension planning.

People continued to die off at fairly young ages but more and more were living well beyond age 50. The new exit age was about 60, so I reset my 47 to 60, then to 70, and now there have been such advancements in care, and I am no longer living in my former environment, but am now in the heartland of amazing medical knowledge and capability that there is a real likelihood that I will live to celebrate my 100th birthday. Our son could possibly choose whether he wants to live to be 130.

There are now more people aged 65 and over than there are children aged under 5 years. By 1960 men were expected to only have one year in retirement, but in 2011 that has risen to more than twelve years.(I have been retired for twelve years.) The actuarial prediction of Maximum Life expectancy for a male child born in Bermuda today is to age 77.49, and females to age 84. That ranks Bermuda number 30 on the table below.

How quickly and completely things change. What will the future bring? What do the Actuarial fortune-tellers have to say now in 2011?

The country of Tokelau, at number 228, is last with an age of minus 9. Tokelau is 10 square kilometres of islands that are New Zealand territory, with a declining population of about 1400 people. (Hence, presumably the minus rating.) However, in reality they have a life expectancy of 69 years.
Nigeria is today where Bermuda was when I was born with an age of 46.76. That places Nigeria at number 225
The United States, at number 46 has an age of 75.92.
The U.K. comes in at number 26 with an age of 77.95.
Spain, where I live now is number 22 with an age of 78.16
Number one is Monaco with an age of 85.77. (It seems Monaco wins the gamble.)
These are ages for males, but women live longer.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Even in Death

2011-09-11T14:40:00.003+01:00

Even in Death life can be funny.

Something recently happened that made me remember the following story, and on thinking about it I have decided that I should commit it to written form.

Many years ago a certain elderly gentleman died in my native country. He was a well known womaniser. He was about seventy years old at the time of his death, but he stood tall and elegant. I attended his viewing and it was immediately obvious that there were far more women there than men. As my buddy and I approached the coffin there were two mature women in front of us. They paused at the coffin and immediately became a little emotional.

The woman next to me said, “ He looks good!” I thought, “good, but he’s dead!” Then she started speaking directly to him and this is exactly what she said: “Oh! X., you wonderful, sexy man. I loved you with all my heart. You gave me such good times and such pleasure. You’re a rascal but a beautiful man. Oh! That wonderful tongue of yours, you made me climax so many times in one night that I was dizzy. I miss you my darling and I miss that great …..”

Her friend noticed that I was standing there with my mouth hanging wide open so she disturbed her friend, just when things were getting interesting, saying come along dear.

This guy was not my friend because he was my senior, but his two sons were friends of mine, and they followed in his footsteps. I simply worshipped him for his lifestyle. The last time I saw him alive he walked into a high-class restaurant with three beautiful young women on each arm. That was a sight that stopped every diner with fork in mid air. All this happened about 20 years ago, and the fact that I remember it so clearly is testament to the fact that as strange as it may seem, the incorrigible playboy does command the respect of the community, as well as envy of the men.

We speak of such players as though they are bad persons but women seem to be only to willing to see what all the fuss is about for themselves, and men admire the lifestyle of such bad boys.

As for the great thing she was speaking of when she was interrrupted, I'm not sure of what she was speaking, but I did know him to have a great sense of humour. Could that have been it?
Life is funny! Death is probably even more so.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Quiet Revolution

2011-09-04T14:01:00.005+01:00

The Quiet Revolution - Major change is in the Air.

There is a revolution that is under way, and it is happening under the radar. Seemingly, it is obvious to everyone, while at the same time to no one. It is a change in the way that the world does its business that is no less important than a sea change, yet no-one is talking about it. What is it? It is the attitude that young people have towards marriage and/or the size of their families.
Simply put, young men are passing the age 40 mark without having been married even once, and young women in their thirties seem to be quite content with their single status. As always, celebrities have led the way in this change. They have realised that marriage is mostly incompatible with their careers. The process was: fall in love with another star, get married, have children, get divorced, live separately with the children spending time at one parents and then the other.

They simply decided to cut out the middle part and live separately, have their children and their careers and housekeepers. Now, ordinary people are following that same path, as much a part of the economic crisis as pure choice.

In my thinking the contrast is with my days as a young person. Having been born in Bermuda in 1939, the actuarial tables declared that my maximum life expectancy would be to age 47. Given that short span I had to finish my primary education, and at age 11 I had to decide whether I would get a job, as many of my class mates did, or stay in school until age 16 doing secondary education.

Those four or five years might have made all the difference as to whether you would get to meet any of your grandchildren. The legal age of consent was 16, so you had to wait until the girl was that age before you could make her pregnant, but once she attained that magic age it was full speed ahead. I got married at age 17.

Many people had large families, and they hoped for as many boys as possible. The reason for that was so they could take care of you in your old age.

What old age?

You expected to die before your 47th birthday. The way the prediction turned out for far too many of my contemporaries was all too accurate. My wife died at the tender age of 42, having only known one of the three of our grandchildren.

Here in Spain, and in Bermuda, and apparently in many other countries around the world young people are giving marriage and a family a pass. At first we saw women putting off childbearing till the last year possible, in favour of growing a career. Now the careers have gone along with the jobs and people are simply not getting married because they cannot afford to do so.

If you are a person who is trapped in a nightmare marriage you will not agree with me, but the fact is that the framework of marriage is both good and necessary. It provides the couple, whether heterosexual or same sex, with a plan for life that incorporates stability. A single person does not have that same stability and the probability of straying into dangerous waters is ever present.

Of course, when things go wrong in a marriage they can go very, very wrong indeed!

Finally, here in Catholic Spain, families are satisfying themselves with the modern family size of 2.2 children, so it is clear that the faithful are practising something more than the rhythm method of birth control.

The stage is set for a very peculiar future where there will be a large segment of the population that will live beyond 100 years, and a shrinking population of locally grown young people. Obviously the country will have to import a growing labour force over the coming forty years and that will give the populations of poorer nations a chance at a more normal livelihood.

So, all change to remain the same? Stay tuned!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Diana , Queen of Hearts Forever!

2011-08-28T13:23:00.004+01:00

A Time of Rememberance!

The marriage of Prince William to Kate Middleton earlier this year was for many people another opportunity to cherish the memory of his mother, Lady Di. on August 31, 2011 in the commemoration of the 14th anniversary of her premature death. That event unleashed such a torrent of speculation of every description that it stands out as a unique happening in the annals of history.

I hereby commemorate the anniversary with my own look at history, filling in the gaps with my own respectful guesswork.

I believe that Diana’s life was sculpted for her to become what she was, wife to a prince, and mother to a future king or queen. I think, that as a young girl she might have had an idealistic and romantic view of that role, and it would not have been out of place for her to have seen herself as a person deserving of prestige and respect for her opinion.

Certainly the beginning was letter perfect, but when she found to her horror that her role as wife to a royal was in fact a job, as baby maker, and that her opinion was not sought or particularly appreciated, she must have been very hurt indeed. When she later discovered that there were three people in her marriage she must have become a woman scorned; and as the well-known adage goes, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.!”

Her idealistic image of life as an important member of The Royal Family presumably soured, while she found herself surrounded by grey minders in their grey suits, telling her how to behave in her gilded cage.

Diana pushed back by having a man to call upon her in the middle of the night. After all, her husband was not there. That must surely have set The Palace all a twitter, but at least he was a WASP, the same as Diana.

She will have done that presumably because she was lonely, as well as a way of getting her own back, but it didn’t make much of a public stir. She allegedly then decidedly focused on an Indian doctor, who in his wisdom reportedly told her to piss off as she was too high a maintenance and too much trouble; and that leads us to Dodi Fayed, a Muslim.

If, as a scorned woman, she wanted to get under the skin of her former husband and his family, she could not have chosen a more effective way to achieve that result. Firstly, Dodi’s father was in tense relations with the Palace over his efforts to become a British citizen, and secondly the family are mega-rich. So she could be maintained in the comforts to which she had become accustomed.

However, looking back with 20-20 vision it can be seen that it was an impossible situation, one that was completely untenable. Diana, mistress of the hunt, was the most hunted woman ever by photographers, to the extent that she could never leave the protection of her four walls without people with cameras recording her every move. It is impossible to live like that for anybody. I saw a news clip of Diana who was chased by photographers, who ran her down and trapped her against a wall where she remained frozen in the lights like a fox or rabbit. I was outraged and the thought crossed my mind at that time that those bastards would not be happy until they caused her death.

I believe that the Fayed family never realised what they had in Diana until it was too late. Had she married Dodi, a link would have been established between The Church of England and Islam, one that would have become perhaps more troublesome when William succeeds to the throne. Was that acceptable, either to Islam or Anglican England? There arose many assassination theories, and I can see where the sense of conspiracy would have gained ground, although I don’t agree with any of them.

Here was the most sought after woman in the world by photographers, in the act of doing something that was immensely controversial, that made her all the more newsworthy. The need to protect her security had increased by a quantum leap, but no-one seemed to have realised that.

I believe that all that happened was that a simple, and completely avoidable car crash, brought on by a certifiably drunk driver, speeding and being chased by a pack of wolves, ended the life and future of one of the most beautiful women in the world. I also believe that her security should have consisted of a small platoon of agents, and her movements carefully worked out in advance because she required protection not only from photographers, but also from criminal minds.

At least when she was the good wife of Prince Charles she had the full protection of Scotland Yard, and provided that she followed protocol she would likely still be alive today. A person doesn’t have to be a staunch monarchist to feel the loss of Diana, or to even feel her outrage at finding herself in such a situation that she was faced with. You only have to see life from the viewpoint of a naive young woman who only wanted to be loved, and to give love.

Diana Spencer, in spite of her elevated status, was as solid a human being as you could find anywhere, because she really did care for the poor, the oppressed, suffering children, people struggling with AIDS, and from the dread of landmines. She deserved a longer life, and a happier life. Perhaps she might have found those things had she married Joe, the plumber. She certainly had my respect and admiration, but now she is dead, Long Live Lady Diana, the people’s Princess, and Queen of Hearts, Forever.

William has the chance to treat Kate in the manner his mother would have liked to have been treated.

I hope he will, and I wish them well!!!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

A 20 Piano Concert

2011-08-21T14:07:00.003+01:00

Lang Lang-Coming!

A 20 Piano Concert - A 200 per cent experience

Clemente Pianos of Spain celebrated their 20th Anniversary on the evening of July the 2nd by giving a concert using twenty pianos. The last time we saw such a performance was during an event in Hollywood that used nineteen pianos to present The Hungarian Rhapsody, many years ago.

Clemente Pianos presented their concert at the Palau de la Musica in Valencia, in collaboration with the music academy, Musikeon, who provided 35 of their students, and ex-students, some of whom had to travel to Spain from all around the world.

To describe the event as being superb, and outstanding is to tragically use understatements. There were some aspects that were trying on one’s patience, such as the fact that the concert started at 7:30 pm, but we only got to hear the first note of music at 8:05, due to so much lead-in discussion. Considering that the standing-room only audience were so thrilled by the concept, and very anxious to hear the music, we were very impatient. As the radio dj¡s are fond of saying, “More music, less talk” was what we wanted.

The programme consisted of three pieces: First, there was “In C,” by Terry Riley, that really disappointed me, because it did nothing to bring out the power of the pianos, and just seemed to ramble along without any direction whatsoever. As a work it also left me completely cold, and I thought, it made a very poor choice as the first work to be performed. However, as the program progressed I came to the conclusion that they were just toying with us.

The second work was by Ludwig Van Beethoven, called Wellington’s Siege (1813). The announcer described this work as one that is so seldom heard that it is as though the music world wished that he had never written it. However, in my own opinion this is a wonderful piece that describes the war between Napolean and England, in which pieces that are very familiar describes the momentum as the battle progresses. In case you are wondering, England won.

The third piece was specifically written for the twenty pianos on hand by one of the alumni who was there to take the lead. It was a curious piece that was written about the life of an insect that is born to procreate once, and then it dies. It worked exceptionally well between the entire twenty pianos. The piece was called “Efimeras,” by David Ortolá.

There followed several minutes of applause, during which a number of people left. Then came the (programmed) encore, Ravel’s “Bolero.” For me, and apparently most of the audience, it was the best piece of the evening, and was what we came for, all twenty pianos playing in harmony with all thirty-five pianists at the keyboards. Even as I write this I have goose bumps.

As I stated at the beginning, this was in celebration of the 20th anniversary of a company’s business. The fact that the company went to such extraordinary lengths and expense to stage such an event that will stand out in the annals of show business is wonderful. The fact that it was also a concert given to the public completely without charge; that’s right, absolutely gratis, was a fabulous gift to the people of Valencia.

Thank you Clemente Pianos, and thank you Musikeon.

Coming to Palua de la Musica, Valencia, April 19th, 2012: Lang Lang! In my eyes he is simply the most fabulous pianist in the world. I can’t wait!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Pain of Sexual Harassment

2011-08-14T15:32:00.003+01:00

The Pain of Sexual Harassment in the modern Office

I have just read a book by Michael Crichton called “Disclosure” which was released in 1994, and I saw the movie of the same name that was made in 1995, starring Michael Douglas and Demi Moore. The theme is one that deals with a boss who used power to demand sexual favours from the employee. What made this such a staggering hit at the time was that the boss was a woman. In America, at that time, people were in denial that a woman could actually enjoy sex , and to the extent that she would demand it.

This is 2011, and as we now know, women enjoy sex as much as men and they do not regard themselves as simple sex objects for men’s pleasure. It has to be good for them too. Well, Good!

What exactly is sexual harassment?

Harassment is any practise that is known to deliberately generate annoyance in a person. If the harassment is of a sexual nature, either in spoken form, or especially in the form of touching and demanding or pleading, then it becomes an act that is possibly criminal.

The person who considers that they are being harassed has to let the other person know that their actions are unwelcome, and they have to demand that the action cease.

Who can be guilty of harassment?

Fundamentally, anyone can create such a nuisance of themselves in this regard, including persons of equal footing who have frequent contact. However, when one person has power over another and they use that power to demand sexual services it becomes very serious indeed. In fact, that is not so much an act of sex as it is of power.

There was a time when men ruled the world and they did exactly as they pleased. It was commonplace for bosses to have sexual affairs with their secretaries. Now it emerges that perhaps most of those relations were not mutually consenting, but in fact were coerced by the boss. The girls kept mum and simply went along to hold on to their jobs. Now, women have moved on up and many have revenge in mind. Perhaps they themselves have got to their present position by playing the game and they see that it is time to get their own back.

Just as in the bad old days not much was heard about the practise, and I believe that these days men who are used by their female bosses to give service are even more tight lipped. To begin with they have a career with pussy and a paycheck. On the face of things this would not seem like something to complain about, especially if promotions come along with performance. However, as always the devil is in the detail

Imagine yourself as only one of the bosses’ favourites, and you are not able to make any kind of private life for yourself, such as with wife and family. When the boss calls you have to be available and ready to perform, even if the boss is as ugly as sin, and stinks. Of course, other employees will talk and you will be the butt of jokes. You have to be prepared to work in an environment that is poisoned with the scandal of you being the boss’s toyboy. This seems like a situation in which your job would eventually become untenable.

As some wise person said a very long time ago, that if a man marries a woman for her wealth, for every penny he takes off her, he will pay ten times as much in one way or the other. Is that true of a woman who marries a rich man?

Sexual harassment is not a nice thing, and it has never, ever been so. My conscience is clear in that I have never been such a nuisance to any woman. Although I have been an administrator I never inflicted such discomfort upon a woman. At the time that the film (Disclosure) was released it brought the subject out into the open and changed behaviours throughout society. In that regard it was one of the most important films of our times. I supervised a couple of women and I found myself very self-conscious of my behaviour.

Throughout our office the jokes and banter stopped, as we eyed one another suspiciously. All it would take is an accusation of sexual harassment and a man’s career would be ruined. It was an awful time, although I believe that now things have moved back toward the centre, but it is the women who have led the way. However, it is very much an environment in which the lowest common denominator rules. If one women objects, all must play by her rules.

The workplace is where people go because they have to be there. It should not be like prison camp, nor should anyone have to suffer indignities.

Let common sense and decency rule!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Why is this Cat Laughing?

2011-08-07T12:40:00.004+01:00

Who said cats don't have a sense of humour?

In many ways a cat is the ideal low-maintenance pet. This cat in our picture evidently has a great sense of humour when it sees something funny. Its owner has been told that he has to give pills to its mother. It is so amused because it has been watching the show. Here’s how to give a pill to a cat:

Pick up the cat and gently cradle it in your arms as you would a baby.
Position your right forefinger and thumb on either side of the cat’s mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding the pill in the other hand. As the cat opens its mouth insert the pill. Allow the cat to close its mouth and swallow. Simple!
Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw away soggy pill.
Take new pill, cradle cat in left arm and firmly hold rear paws in right hand. Get someone else to help. Force open jaws and push pill to back of mouth with forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from wardrobe. Employ additional manpower. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between your knees, holding both front and rear paws. Ignore low growls from cat and have helpers vigoursly get the damn pill down the friggin cat’s throat.
Apply iodine to scratches to your balls and retrieve cat from curtain rail.
Put pill in one end of a drinking straw, force mouth open of cat and blow hard on the straw. Check label on pillbox to make sure that pills are not harmful to humans, and have a beer to remove awful taste of pill. Apply band aids to spouses’ arms and remove bloodstains from carpet with cold soapy water.
Find cat and remove from neighbour’s shed. Get another pill, and another beer. Place cat’s head between door and doorjamb. Gently close door leaving cat’s head exposed. Open cat’s mouth with a dessertspoon and flick pill into cat’s mouth with an elastic band.
Get screwdriver from garage and put door back on its hinges. Drink beer and open bottle of scotch. Drink heartily. Apply cold compress to cheek and check date of last tetanus shot. Have another beer, throw away tee-shirt and get another from bedroom.
Call fire department to retrieve the damned cat from the electrical pole from across the street. Apologize to neighbour who crashed into hedge while avoiding the cat. Take the very last pill from packet.
Use your heavy-duty pruning gloves for roses and tape the bloody cat to the leg of the dining room table. Take a piece of cooked steak and shove that in mouth of cat with pill alongside it. Be quite rough about it. Pour two pints of water down throat of cat. Have wife take you to the Emergency Department and drink remainder of scotch on the way there. Sit quietly while doctors suture gashes to your fingers and arms. Stop on the way home to order new dining room table.
Have SPCA come to take away goddamned mutant cat.

In the event the vet says that failure to give cat pills will result in cat’s death, consult the very popular book, “How to arrange for a cat funeral.”

And that is why the above cat is having such a good laugh.
How to give your dog a pill: Wrap it in any kind of meat handy and flip it in the air. Case Closed!

Many thanks to whomever put this together for the internet.

Bonny, Warm, Scotland!

2011-07-31T15:26:00.003+01:00

Bonny, Warm, Scotland!

Scotland: A Super Civil Society

My wife and I have just done something that on the face of things was not very rational: we left the warmth of Spain to travel to the very last point of the Scottish mainland, John O’Groats, which was very chilly, wet and miserable. There was a method to our madness, and the plane going over was carrying Scots returning from Benidorm, and the
plane that brought us back to Spain was filled with more Scots going to Benidorm.

We travelled to the town of Helmsdale on the East coast of Scotland to visit our son who works there at a hotel. Without that motivation we would not have ever found ourselves at the end of the mainland and we might never have had such a wonderful adventure. Scotland is a very special treat on the eyes, and as proof of that is the sheer number of native Scots people who tour around the Highlands in their motor homes.

Our journey took us from Edinburgh to Tomintoul, that is in the heart of the Cairngorms in the vicinity of Inverness; then on to that town itself. A trip to Loch Ness was in order, although I’m not sure why. There is no Loch Ness monster, and there never has been, although by now they could have built one to make scheduled appearances. Then on to spend the night in a town called Beauly that reminds me of certain Southern towns in America that are home to citizens of a Red Neck persuasion. The landlord of our Bed and Breakfast could not have been more pleasant and hospitable.

The next day we arrived at our destination, The Bridge Hotel in Helmsdale. Our son had only commenced his employment there the week before we arrived. The town is a very small fishing village, and the pace of life is slow. Our son will have to be creative in filling his spare time, but the people with whom he is working are a good group, and the hotel is wonderful.

Although it was getting towards the end of the day we all drove up to John O’ Groats, called the most Northerly point of the mainland. As mentioned it presented unpleasant weather conditions, and I could only wonder what life must be like for the residents of the Shetland and Orkney islands further North in the cold North Sea.

Our trip back down to Edinburgh was via the West Coast. In my opinion this is the best face of Scotland, presenting scenes of such incredible beauty that the mind needs time to fully take it all in. We needed to have stopped and had a picnic while saturating our senses. Even seen from a picture would not be sufficient to adequately tell the tale. There are unlimited lakes and rivers and mountains and valleys and forests and picture-postcard harbours and castles that you might get the impression that this is a grand park created for the tourists by the Scottish tourist Board.

The principal reason why the beauty of it all is so significant is that it is just how Mother Nature made it. If you turn your head away from the road that you are on you will see a kaleidoscope of terrain never ever touched by man. That is pretty special!

In recommending her homeland, a Scottish friend of ours promised that we would find Scots people more friendly than most. When we returned from our holiday I asked her if she meant that we would find some people friendly, or that we would find absolutely everyone, without exception so disposed? It was our experience that we did not find even one person having a bad hair day. How can this be?
I cannot leave this subject without a comment on the weather in Scotland in the Summer. The day we arrived there were thunderous rain showers that caused severe flooding. Throughout our sojourn we had high, freezing winds, dark clouds, the afore-mentioned rain, periods of bright sunshine and sometimes we had all those things in one day. You can only do this type of journey in the Summer. During the Winter snow would make it impossible. Lots of remote villages have snow gates that when closed, effectively shut all residents within the village. I imagine that to be caught on the road in certain areas when a blizzard starts would probably mean certain death.

Last thought: On our journey we came across a place called Nigg, in the county of Aberdeen. As best I can tell, a person would be called a Nigg; or multiple persons are Niggs. To be even more politically correct, they are all simply Aberdonions. (Just a bit of useless information.)

This journey was one of the things on my “Bucket” list that I am now able to cross off, and I am very glad that we had such a sensational experience. I would definitely pay a return visit to Bonny, Warm Scotland.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

What does it profit a man?

2011-07-24T17:42:00.002+01:00

What does it profit a man?
Money, money, money!

The complete question is: “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world if he loses his soul?” I also add, “and if he loses his life.”

I watched a documentary recently about the career of a woman from Colombia named Griselda who ran a drug empire under the name of “The GodMother.” Her former lover and henchman told the story. It was a fascinating account of real life on the streets, and the action that takes place behind the scenes. The main problem is that such a lifestyle is infecting just about every corner of the world.

Allegedly, she ran her empire with brutal violence, supposedly being responsible for numerous murders and terrible injuries.

The possibly attractive part of the story is the quantity of money that changes hands and the lifestyle that that buys a person. The cash is usually held outside banks, sometimes filling a whole room in large bundles. Sellers of drugs on the street have been known to realise sales of $10,000 per day. Men dress themselves in gold chains and dazzling rings and surround themselves with equally dazzling women. All that makes slogging away at a day job with a salary seem like an uphill battle for seemingly silly men.

The reality is that life expectancy is very short indeed in the world of drug dealing. One member of the group might enter into such dealing that could lead to his entire family being killed should he fail.

Tales of torture are hard to bear as “the bizness” seems to bring out the very worst of behaviour. In my own country, which is world known as a paradise, our local lads are involved in an ongoing war to kill one another until the last man who survives will inherit the right to carry on “the bizness.” Even then, he will be challenged by the young wanna-be’s who will want his head.

Normally, when considering working for some company we take into account things like salary and benefits, but if our potential employer suggested that our term of employment with him might be very short because we most probably will be killed, and even tortured before that, we would walk away from the “opportunity”, but in these times of economic crisis people are standing in line to take the place of the previous person who has left his employment, because he’s dead.

Unfortunately, these soldiers are mostly young men who seem to be willing to just taste the good life; to live well, live hard, and die young. So, what is the point? There is no point. If there were some sense in it we would all be doing it. It is all simply madness. These young guys who say they are prepared to die horrible and painful deaths must have some misgivings when the time comes. Being this type of soldier is nothing like defending your country. In that, there is honour, but in pushing drugs there can be no honour at all.

However, let us be clear about this, the source of the problem is the drug user. The drug seller is simply a businessman bringing the product to the market. However, when things go wrong they go very wrong indeed.

This is a business you would be well advised to stay well away from for you gain nothing in the end. You also hurt far too many people to have any claim to dignity.

In Mexico, the present death toll from gang wars is over 40,000 people. Let me spell that out: that’s forty-thousand people. That makes the point most succinctly, I think.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

A Hotel Maid’s Nightmare

2011-07-15T09:09:00.002+01:00

A Hotel Maid’s Nightmare - They work too hard to suffer such stress!

Following on from the previous story about a hotel maid’s trouble, I relate here how easy it is for a maid to find herself facing a serious and overwhelming situation.

I was the night manager at the time when a wealthy, high society New York couple checked into the hotel. They spent their first night without incident, but at dinner time the next day they stormed into my office yelling at the top of their voices: “We’ve been robbed!” They went on at great length about the disappearance of a Cartier diamond necklace worth $30,000.

The hotel was accused of not having safes in the rooms. The fact was that valuables, such as this "missing" piece was clearly supposed to be recorded and placed in the hotel’s principal safe. “Your maid has stolen my necklace. Call the police!” I called the general manager who hot-footed it to the hotel, and we called the maid and the police. The maid was a long-term employee, and thankfully a professional who had heard it all before.

This situation took up all our time that night, and in the morning the hotel received a call from a local law firm to advise that they were being retained to represent a big deal New York law firm who were the rich couple’s lawyers. They insisted that the police should charge our maid with theft because the rich and powerful couple were insisting on it. “That woman should be in jail!” That was how they put it. Also, they wanted the lawyers to promptly start a civil lawsuit against the hotel.

The next thing we heard was a call from the Minister of Tourism himself. What are you people doing down there at your hotel? People were sent out from his office to visit with the couple, and everyone was duly concerned. Then the local bloody newspaper got hold of the story, and in short order the New York talk shows ran with the story, with interviews by telephone with the distraught couple. “Bloody bunch of thieves on this island” said the woman. “We’re coming home tomorrow, and good riddance to this island!”

On the fifth day, the local lawyer asked for an urgent meeting with The Minister of Tourism, The Chief of Police, the hotel chambermaid and her lawyer; with the lawyer for the hotel and management, and with media representatives. He said, more or less the following: The couple had returned to their home in New York, and while putting away her other jewellery in their safe she found her “missing” Cartier diamond necklace sitting where she had left it. The lawyer was being instructed to offer to all concerned the profound apologies of the complainants, and in particular their heartfelt concern for the stress they must have caused the maid.

They promised that they would take immediate action to recant to the media, both on island and in New York their previous story, and they suggested that the maid must receive immediate compensation from them. They said that the local law firm was empowered to enter into negotiations to reach a legal settlement with her attorneys.

Within a short period of time that smiling hotel maid retired, having received a confidential, and apparently substantial apology. We had had complaints before about missing things from rooms, and all had been resolved because the items had been found. We even suggested to this lady that perhaps she had not actually brought the item with her in the first place, but that was met with outrage. What impressed me most about this case was that the couple had reversed themselves so publicly. The embarrassment for them must have been tremendous, but they were a very special couple who were highly principled. They were wrong and faced the situation straight on, regardless of the consequences Good on them! To the best of my knowledge, they were not sued by anybody for slander.

In the hotel business “the guest” could be anybody. The next person to check in could be your best, or your worst advertisement.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Dominique Strauss-Kahn case.

2011-07-10T12:49:00.004+01:00

The Dominique Strauss-Kahn case.

I hope he is guilty because he has already paid the penalty!

In case you are the only person on the planet who doesn’t know, Mr. Strauss-Kahn is the former head of the International Monetary Fund, (IMF) who now faces charges of sexual assault on a maid from the Sofitel hotel, in New York. He was arrested, handcuffed, charged, and he did the “Perp Walk” in front of the cameras for all to see. He has since resigned his position as head of the IMF, and he may have relinquished his political future as well, that included the possibility of becoming the president of France.

In the minds of many people he was convicted, and all that was to come was the sentence. But wait, now it emerges that his accuser has a serious case of credibility. She lied to the Grand Jury, has allegedly filed tax returns with serious errors, as well as having possible other serious credibility flaws. So serious is this development that Mr. Strauss-Kahn has been released from his bail detention. I suspect that the case against him may have to dropped, but his life is in tatters and his reputation is ruined.

What happened to cause this disaster? We would all certainly like to know the answer to that question. Whatever it was appears to have begun by the maid entering his room. If you have travelled at all and have stayed in hotel rooms, you may have experienced that knock on the door and before you can say: “Do Not Enter!” the maid is in the room. They have seen people undressed, doing all manner of exciting sexual things to one another, and all manner of other things that would make a maid’s diary a best seller.

What, and who is a Hotel Maid:

Ideally, the maid should be invisible. When you arrive she has already prepared your room. She may roll down the bed cover at night and leave you a little chocolate on your pillow. You usually leave a card on the door telling her do not disturb, so there is really no reason for the guest to know who is the maid for his room.

I am a person who has worked in many hotels over a period of more than 25 years, so I have a fairly good idea of what maids do, and don’t do. All maids are drawn from modest backgrounds and are usually interested in making as much money as they can, but I have never known a maid to steal from a guest’s room, or to do sexual favours.

When the maid is in the room the door must be propped open and no other person may enter while she is cleaning except her supervisor. Maids are intensely protective of the guest’s property because if it goes missing the blame automatically falls on her. I have an interesting story to tell about a maid who found herself in very serious trouble, but it requires a column all its own, that will follow this column.

Sometimes, young male travellers will brag about having had sex with the waitress, or the entertainer, or some stranger who was a one-night stand, but I have never heard anyone ever brag about how they did the maid, at least not while they were in the hotel. Like I said, maids are invisible, which is one reason why they can be so aggressive when barging into your room. It’s kind of a statement that says: Do not ignore me!

Something apparently happened in Mr. Strauss-Kahn’s room between himself and the maid. He strongly denies having assaulted or raped the woman. The problem is that if you are a rich and powerful man you probably have made enemies along the way, or if someone wants what you have you are an easy target, simply because you are a man.

As professional men we can cultivate a hard shell and we can be tough as nails in the boardroom, but we have a soft under belly. That is where our small head is, and the way to that is through a beautiful woman, or handsome man, if that is how you swing. So while you are enjoying screwing that person, you may be, in fact screwing yourself.

Hope it was good for you!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

My Own Private Airforce

2011-07-03T16:16:00.003+01:00

The Greatest Flying Show on Earth

As I have already reported, my Swallows have returned, they have put four eggs in their house that I sublet to them, and the eggs have hatched and the family has grown.

I spend hours just laying back on the terrace and studying the birds in action. We tend to take birds for granted, that is if you live in the country. It’s not enough for us to live in this orange-tree forest, but we are entertained by our own airforce. The more I watch the more I realise that there is method at work. Firstly, this year our own family have a lot more friends who stay with them. Every night they sleep above the window arches, and at first light they wake up the morning with very animated chit chat and songs.

Their typical sentence runs “twitter….twitter…..twitter..soooo loooong” repeated many times over. It is such happy chatter, then they fly off to capture dinner on the wing. During the incubation period one of the parents were always with the nest, then the chicks were born and that started an intense period of feeding.

Finally came the day when the chicks took their first flight. Blanca, our cat was on standby just waiting for the chicks to make a mistake. However, the wonderful thing to see was the support they got from a whole host of visitors. There was so much activity and encouragement as one by one each of the chicks took to the air and made flying look so easy. It was definitely fiesta day at my house.

I am also very impressed by one other thing that cannot be a coincidence. When the weather is not good to hang our clothes on the line we use the lines under the terrace. I have been fearful that the birds will soil the clothing, but it hasn’t happened yet. Given the number of birds flying around and landing where they can, high enough not to get caught by Blanca, their cleanliness is amazing.

I have two neighbours who keep birds in captivity. What a shame, because my own airforce fly high, wide and deep, and when they want to they come back.

Nature is grand, and when we take the time to observe it closely it is truly a wonderful world.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Oldest Profession?

2011-06-26T11:20:00.003+01:00

The Oldest Profession?

Do you hate your job?

When we think of the oldest profession in the world we normally direct our thoughts to prostitution, however, before that there must surely have come a profession that dealt with our more urgent fundamental needs of food, water, and lodging. However, we are talking about men’s needs, so that might not necessarily be so.

We could say with reasonable certainty that prostitution, in one form or another is universal.

v Greece, in the 6th Century, State-funded brothels were established.
v Spain, in AD590, the Visigoth King banned prostitution.
v England, under rule of King Henry II, in 1161 regulated prostitution.
v Italy, in 1358 embraced prostitution declaring that the profession was indispensable to the world.
v Italy, 1586, Pope Sixtus V declared that all prostitutes be put to death.
v France, 1802, abolished it laws that banned prostitution.
v Japan, in 1932 forced women into sexual service in so-called “comfort stations.” Women are still trying to receive compensation, or at least an apology.
v India, 1956 banns sex trafficking, but tolerates red light districts.
v The United States, 1971 in the State of Nevada licensed its first brothel.
v Spain, 1995, decriminalized prostitution per se, but imposed rules on the practise. Today, 39% of all males in Spain freely admit to using the services of a hooker.
v Sweden 1999 made it legal to sell sex, but illegal to buy sex.
v Holland, in the year 2000 legalized and regulated prostitution. Sex workers are unionised and pay taxes, and the industry is respected and controlled. There is active police vigilance against trafficking, and control by gangs and pimps. In Amsterdam, the famous practise of women who wait do so behind windows, and not on the street, giving an element of dignity. In 1989 13.5% of men in Holland admitted they sought service from the country’s 30,000 prostitutes, compared to 39% of men in Spain who have approximately 300,000 prostitutes to choose from.

Recently I found myself driving along a darkened street near one of the industrial estates around Valencia. There were so many girls lining the street revealing practical everything they had that I have re-named the street “Vagina Avenue.”

However, in The Netherlands they go one better than that. There is a brothel at Amsterdam airport, which gives new meaning to the phrase “having a layover.”

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

One Swallow does not a Summer Make!

2011-06-19T12:11:00.002+01:00

One Swallow does not a Summer make, But…….

Two Swallows who, several years ago built a little house for themselves under my terrace roof, and return to it each year to augment their family, makes for a fascinating study. In my native Bermuda it’s the Longtail, the national beautiful bird that occupies so much of the time and attention of the population, but here in the mountains of Spain our annual visitor is the Swallow.

Firstly, we as humans say that we are the superior of God’s creatures, but just because we say so doesn’t actually make it so. When we sit and study some of the other creatures around us we should start to feel our own limitations.

We have two of everything essential, (two eyes, hands, legs, etc) plus we have managed to emulate birds by flying, sort of, but still these miniature, wonderful flying world inhabitants possess such incredible capabilities that they are true models for a number of things. Take communications, as an example: I sat and watched the parents of chicks in the nest take turns in feeding them. One parent would leave the nest just as the other arrived with split nano-second timing, and off they went dipping and diving, catching insects in flight that were far too small for the human eye to see. Somehow they communicate the fact, with a mouth full, that they are coming in and again, with split precise timing one leaves as the other lands.

Then there is the amazing spectacle of flocks of birds in flight in perfect sync, twisting and turning like some well-rehearsed ballet. How do they do that? What very advanced system of communication is involved whereby not even one makes a mistake by turning the wrong way? Fighter pilots spend hours studying birds fighting one another while the birds are in flight to learn something new.

I spend hours just watching them perform delicate balancing manoeuvres and simply going through their paces. They make it all seem so easy by using their tail feathers for support when necessary. And to top off their performance, if I’m lucky I may even get a song. I am tempted to say that it is amazing what joy we can get from the simple things in life, but these birds are more complex that I can imagine.

My only complaint is that their favourite perch is directly over my hammock, so with them above and me below, that could be a problem. I guess I will just have to consider any fall-out a blessing.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Street Prostitution

2011-06-12T13:06:00.003+01:00

Street Prostitution -The lowest of the Low

“It shall be unlawful to copulate in the streets, or to solicit the sale of sexual acts to passing members of the public.”

Valencia has passed a law to the effect that it is unlawful for people to screw one another in the streets, because people have been screwing one another in the streets. You might think that this is such common sense that it would not be necessary to actually have a law on the books that speaks directly to the practise, but there you are.

In spite of a vigorous attempt to crack down on street prostitution there are thousands of women who wear next to nothing and make it abundantly clear what they have to sell. This practise degrades all women and is a terrible embarrassment.

I came across three or four girls at a roundabout wearing what seemed to be only panties, and they showed large mounds of pubic hair. “Christ!” said I. Because I couldn’t believe my eyes I joined the line of cars going round and round. The girls were being very clever. They were wearing pantyhose and thongs and a patch of fake hair to represent their own pubic hair. It was very effective in getting our attention and gave me quite a laugh.

I have to imagine that a street hustler is engaged in one of the most dangerous occupations of all, because they have no way of knowing who they are going off with, or what the man might want to do to them. Just this week the body of a prostitute was found on the street, having been killed, presumably by a “John”. These are the lowest of the low; the poorest of the poor, and the most unprotected. They will almost all be controlled by pimps, and many will be hooked on drugs, and diseased.

There is no attempt to monitor their health, not even when the police sweep them up and throw them in prison. I must wonder how a woman comes to fall so low in the world. Earlier in this series I told of finding myself involved with a group of six Nigerian women who had been beaten and robbed. They were grateful to me for taking them home, and I was invited to attend a party celebrating one of the girl’s birthdays. I was somewhat reluctant, but I was intrigued by the question: Are whores people too?

In the atmosphere of the party I noticed a circle of friends who it seemed were not in the game, and there was a mature woman who was evidently their controller. A couple of the girls had boyfriends, but this was a group of people from Nigeria, so I think it’s fair to say that the men were probably living off the earnings of the girls. However, if I did not know better, on the face of things they all seemed to be a perfectly normal group of people having a good time.

They came to be on the street because they came to Spain with nothing, and it was desperation that drove them to try and raise some money. They would have also been in the game back home, and coming to Spain was in search of a better life. How very sad to have to continue in the same life here.

The police operate a vice squad in an attempt to clean up the streets. I was walking with my wife when we came across a hooker. I made it a point to pass very close to her so that I could say, in a whisper, that whoever tried to take her home would be in for quite a surprise. She was a he policeman, and not very convincing, but I suppose a man who was drunk wouldn’t know the difference.

I stumbled on the saddest sight of all late one night when my wife and I were driving home from an event in the city. The route we took was through an area close to the port. The traffic slowed down to a crawl because there were a lot of people in the street. The area was dark and grubby, and as we got into the thick of the people we realised it was a sex supermarket. In my headlights I saw an attractive girl take the hand of a handsome middle-aged man, and together they walked toward an abandoned building for a rendezvous. In that situation no-one had any dignity, but those two in particular stood out as a really sad case of a lonely man who was being given a little human warmth in the act of the holding of hands. I have never forgotten that sight.

If a man is looking for love or human warmth from a hooker he is looking in the wrong place. I even think that to expect to take off his clothes as though he were making love would be a mistake. Taking your problem to a whore is like going to the toilet. You are looking for relief, and as soon as you climax, in the mind of the girl it’s done, and who’s next is the question.

I make no judgement over prostitution as a profession. It has been around since time began, and will continue long after I have departed. Of course, for those people who are forced into the game, and who are abused and used by other people, they have my concern and sympathy. Many will require help and understanding, and I hope that they get assistance. I am a happy and content man in my marriage, and I hope that I never have to feel so desperate that I need the services of a hooker. For those who do I don’t think there should be a stigma attached, except that you may be furthering the exploitation of a helpless girl.

For those involved in this kind of life I cannot see anything at all for them to be happy about. As “Jennifer”, one of the prostitutes from Nigeria said to me, she hates the life and she hates the men who use her.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Middle Class Prostitution

2011-06-05T13:12:00.002+01:00

Middle Class Prostitution

Continuing the series: So you think you hate your job!

Prostitution is a democratic institution, in that there are service levels to fit all types and status of clients. We have spoken of high-class hookers, and the fact that they form a very small part of the pyramid at the very top. The next step down is the middle-class crowd, and here is where things start to go kind of strange. There are problems in the higher echelon as well, because when we consider the basics, this is an industry that panders to people’s most fundamental needs, and what some people need is off the chart.

In Spain, we have a very healthy attitude towards sexual intercourse. Everybody should do it because it releases tension, reduces madness caused by a lack of getting some, and it usually feels good. Sometimes, it feels downright great! However, the government do not like to have people doing it in the street, or soliciting in public.

If prostitution is not outright illegal in Spain, it is a permitted activity, but families should not have to observe working girls in action. Therefore, it is urged to take place indoors. Consequently, there is a whole industry that covers glamorous, aggressively advertised leisure clubs that promise the client that his fantasies will be met in comfort, discretion and healthy surroundings. Just bring money; lots of money.

There are also less classy clubs in the country that even look forbidding from the outside. They usually call themselves “Night Clubs” and where I come from such places that are known as Night Clubs would be perfectly respectable. They might feature a show and dancing. Not so in these clubs. I frankly don’t know what goes on within, and I’m never going to be stupid enough to go and find out, research, notwithstanding.

However, a buddy of mine told me that he ventured into a bar with a name that said “topless” out front. He said that the two female bartenders were indeed topless, but he got the shock of his life when one of them came round and offered to let him massage her breasts, and she offered to do him a blowjob. That might be a bit much if all you wanted was a beer.

There are the bars with “Go-Go” or Pole dancers, but I haven’t heard of any bars in Spain where the girl will pick up your 100-euro note with her vagina. There are plenty of those in the good ole U.S.A.

From the working girl’s point of view it must surely be better to work inside out of the weather, and in relative security. Some men have very low opinions of whores, as though they are not people. They take it as their right to be abusive, and some men even think that whores should be killed. A woman needs protection from such perverted thinking. Consequently, here in Spain if you are lonesome and you have a sexual itch that needs someone to massage it, all you have to do is pick up a copy of the daily newspaper to see what is on offer.

It boggles the mind to look over the menu of the things that people are prepared to do for money. Simple sex seems to be the least of it, and services are available to men by women; to women by men; to either sex by same sex members; to couples by other couples, or either a man or a woman. One of the most startling adverts came from a grandmother who offered to lick the client from top to bottom. I wondered whether the client would shower before, after, or just not bother. Oh dear!

To indicate just how serious the leisure business is, take for example the largest brothel in Spain is a 3000 square metre complex that features a restaurant, two showrooms, 80 working bedrooms, a pool and garden area, and has 150 hookers on duty at all times.

Where all this goes so very wrong is when we consider that some of the girls are not there of their own free will. Any club that has to traffic in humans to keep a sufficient stock of staff to run their business immediately loses any credibility they might have had. Trafficking in humans is a very serious crime and is not to be encouraged at all.

Forced prostitution is the same as slavery, and slavery is the very worst crime of all. Always has been, and always will be!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

High Priced Prostitution

2011-05-29T14:40:00.004+01:00

Continuing the series: Do you hate your job?

High Priced Prostitution

The sex workers who probably have every reason to be happy in their work are La Crème de La Crème of the trade, the high priced women, and men, who are called the High Priced Call Girl, and also they might be Escorts, but not necessarily so. This business might work something like this:

Assuming a wealthy man wants to visit a city while travelling alone. Perhaps he has business, and after that he wants to spend some time enjoying the area, and he wants someone to share the experience with. He contacts an agency and arranges with them to have the company of an agreed escort for a certain period of time on the agency’s account. Perhaps he will want her to dress smart casual during the day, and to change for evening wear for dinner and dancing.

The couple will have time to chat and get to know each other and have a few laughs. She may decide that she actually does like this man, and he may decide that she is a person worth knowing and spending some intimate time with. They would work out the agreed agency time and she will sign off by phone with her office.

He might suggest to her that he would really like to spend some time with her in bed exploring one another, and if the idea is a pleasant one to her she will be free to say yes, or no. In this scenario the set-up almost approximates real life. Of course, she is a business lady and such time is commercial time for her, so they need to agree a price for her, but she need not reserve her feelings as strictly professional. She will be able to let her hair down and enjoy herself.

Of course, the same situation is open to the professional woman traveller too. These days there are quite a number of woman who might fall int this category, and it completely open to them to hire a male escort with whom she might like to indulge herself.

This is as good as it gets and the escot need not feel that there is some form of stigma attached to their activities, as some other people share their bodies for much less. Such women, and men escorts, can possibly make a lot of money in this activity, earning from $200 to $1,500 per hour, plus whatever they charge for their actual sex work.

Throughout this series I will refrain from making my own judgements because we are talking about adults making their own decisions, and no one has made me moral king of the world.

The clients for this class of transaction will have to be successful and wealthy, and probably famous. If these sex workers are happy in their profession, I can certainly see why.

Later, we'll look at the not-so-good side of "the life."

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Election Day

2011-05-22T10:55:00.003+01:00

Election Day -Spanish Style

Today, the twenty-second day of May, 2011, is election day across Spain when voters are going to the polls to vote in Municipal elections. The cynical will say that on this day those who have been busy robbing the public are asking for forgiveness, and to be given the chance to continue their activities that they so much enjoy.

I have never liked political parties. As a young man, when I first became aware of politics, in my country we voted for individuals from our neighbourhood who wanted to be sent to parliament to represent our interests. They discussed matters with their constituents and they voted according to how the majority felt.

If a member from some other district came up with an idea that was clearly in the interests of the island, it was debated and approval would be given, based simply on its merits.

Then came party politics and all that changed. Everything is in the interest of party domination and party re-election. So what if the other side has an award-winning idea, the party in power would argue it into the ground lest the electorate saw value in the opposition.

I also don’t like politics in general because cash tempts the most honest and moral person. Everybody seems to have an agenda, and when you are the person in the middle the pressure must be awesome. Added to that is the general impression of the public who believe that all politicians are corrupt.

I have known persons who entered politics full of courage and moral rage against corruption. They were slowly worn down by the weight of public opinion, and the expectation of the public that ultimately some fell in line and fed happily at the public trough together with their colleagues, or they quit politics altogether.

Here in Spain the attitude to corruption is really quite amazing. If you are a politician and you are not putting money in your own pocket, why not? Some of those at the very top are in the courts charged with doing this or that, but they are also hoping to be re-elected today. I am outraged that these bastards have so little regard for my intelligence that they expect me to vote for them, or at least for sections of their party.

People have taken to the street to protest the behaviour of such scum but they are so arrogant that they take no notice. We people will vote anyway, and we really don’t have much in the way of choice between either major party, so who cares?

Well, I wasn’t going to vote at all, so disgusted am I, but then I thought what if I cast my vote for the lone Independent candidate? What if all the people who feel like me did the same thing, and what if this became a trend in future elections, might we go back to the future?

That is what I shall do. I shall go now and vote “Independentista!” Boy, will he be surprised.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Perfect First Black US President

2011-05-15T14:31:00.003+01:00

The Perfect First Black US President: President Barak Obama

Much has been written about President Obama since he authorised the take down of Osama bin Laden, but trust me, this essay will be the most unusual angle you have ever seen.

First, a little something about me: I am a black man, but I am neither a Democrat nor a Republican. I‘m not even an American, but I have a lot in common with President Obama.

I was born in Bermuda, a close neighbour of Washington D.C. and as such what happened there was reflected where I grew up. I am in my seventy-second year, so in my lifetime I have seen a whole lot of things, and there have been even more things that have changed. During my early to middle years I have lived through legalised discrimination in a country that practised apartheid as much as though we were in South Africa. Of course, my ancestors came to the west as chattel where they were bought and sold in the fashion of animals.

From such humble beginnings, through the help of white men who laid down their lives partly over the principle of whether it was right or not to treat human beings as black people were treated, creeping gains have been made over many years. I relished every improvement, and no life adjustment went unnoticed, but “America will still have a very long way to go after I die,” or so went my thinking. “There will probably never be an elected US black president, or for that mater, a woman president in that country.”

When Shirley Chisholm, a black woman ran for president, I thought: Wow! Now wouldn’t that be something if somehow she got elected. Jesse Jackson made a grand run, and he gave one of the very best speeches at the Democratic National Convention that I have ever heard, but somehow, in my mind Jessie wasn’t quite the right candidate. He was carrying a little too much baggage.

Then, a Republican black member, Colin Powell, was thought to be thinking about making a run for the Oval Office, and this was something that caught all of America off guard. For so many years we had talked about a black president in the United States. Hollywood had treated the fantasy with Morgan Freeman, and the black actor who played the president in the series “24”. With Colin Powell, all he had to do was say the word and I am sure that he would have been assured of election with the pride and confidence of his Republican party, because very seldom there comes someone so obviously presidential material.

Of course, we all know that he went on to be George W. Bush’s Foreign Secretary and dispatched his duties with more of a presidential air than George Bush himself. It is a mark of the man’s intelligence that he had the great sense to say no to the opportunity, if it was an opportunity. Frankly, the position is so fraught with stress and challenge that I wonder at the mentality of all those who actually want to hold the office.

Black people have been told for so long that we were incapable of doing anything significant. We knew better, and in many ways where we got the opportunity we have been proving our capability, so we knew that we could do as well or make as much of a mess as any white man.
With that in mind it gave every black person in the world a great sense of satisfaction when the Democratic Party confirmed Barak Obama as its Nominee. Many of us might have been wanting for Hilary Clinton to get the selection as she would have made history as well as the first woman president, and she may still do so, but Barak Obama was the choice, and history was made. Finally, in America, black people were being taken seriously, but more important America had grown up and the paradigm shifted.

Previously, in order to occupy the Oval Office you had to be a white male. Anytime artificial criteria are set, that automatically means that real talent possibly will be overlooked. America had finally decided to choose on the basis on who they thought might be best for the job without regard to sex or colour, and that was a sea change.

America was at a place in its history that was so bad that the only thing that seemed left to be done was to push the “flush” button. The last thing that we really wanted to happen was that a black person be appointed to such an impossible job. If he fails that would likely set people’s impressions back centuries and confirm what the nay -sayers had been saying all along. We have seen how the American people can trash a president they don’t like, and my friends and I did not want to wish that on Mr. Obama, simply to make the point that America had a black president.

Barak Obama has come to the world stage with a clean background and he has conducted himself with dignity and with confidence. He has made very few mistakes along the way, and he has played the political game with shrewdness and aplomb. He has achieved certain things, in the words of former President John F. Kennedy, not because they were easy, but because they were difficult, such as health care reform.

He is a joy to listen to as a speaker, and now, he has pulled off the ultimate success in taking down Osama bin Laden, America’s most wanted man, dead or alive. He is only a politician, not God, but he acts very much like the ideal President, and whether one agrees with his political views or not, he is a credit to black people and he is setting the stage for other black candidates, and also women candidates. Hilary Clinton could possibly sail into office in 2016, partly on the basis of his continued success, and the stage might be set for a candidate whose name absolutely warms my heart: Condoleezza Rice.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Osama Bin Laden

2011-05-08T14:48:00.002+01:00

The Late Mr. Osama Bin Laden

The end of Osama Bin Laden is one of those stories that is so juicy that if you are a blogger and you don’t treat it, people will ask what’s wrong with you. I am moved to write because I have long felt that he was not living in a cave, nor was he living a solitary deprived sort of life.

I was fairly certain that he was living in a place with electricity that allowed him acess to a television, and to be able to record his messages. I also thought that he had the comforts of home. However, in my thinking, I was sure that some powerful war lord had put him up in his compound in Afganistan, and that he probably had the comfort of women as well.

The foundation for such thinking was that the hunt for him had gone on far too long, and to envision anybody so committed that they would live like a hermit in a cave, especially as he was a rich man, for all these past years simply goes against the grain of human nature.

Now, he is no more! He may have been directing Al Quedea all these years from his comfortable hideout, although they didn’t seem to place too high a priority on cleanliness, but we have to be amazed by how determined the U.S. was in getting their man. No matter that he was holed up inside another country. Just go right on in an get him. The U.S. might makes it right.

I recall President Obama saying early in his administration that if he had actionable intelligence inside Pakistan he would follow that through. People are slowly coming to realise that although he might be a very moral man, he does mean what he says, most of the time.

America is very indignant about the fact that it was attacked on its own soil. Some people came into the country and carried out some outrageous actions that killed a number of its residents. Presumably those were people who felt that they were morally right to take the actions they did, just as America probably feels the same way when it invades someone else's territory. America always feels that it acts by taking the high road, and that history will judge it to have always have been morally justified.

I’m certain that it does try to be on the side of right, but it’s all in the eye of the beholder whether that’s correct or not. In the case of Bin Laden the SEALS went in to kill him. Period! Two taps to the head and American’s Most Wanted man got an X across his picture. Spare the paperwork.

My, how the world has changed!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Royal Wedding

2011-05-02T20:14:00.001+01:00

The Royal Wedding of a Happy Couple

Topic “A” this past week has been the wedding of Prince William of the British Royal Family to Catherine (Kate) Middleton, and as weddings go, every wedding is as important to each couple as all others. Consequently, the wedding of William and Kate was just a wedding. However, because of who he is that generated a whole lot of pomp and circumstance, so, I as a man actually watched the event because of the environment in which I was, and because when so much is scripted, there is so much that can go wrong.

I held my breath as people walked alongside of women with long dresses, hoping that they didn’t step on the dresses. I also hoped that both men and especially women didn’t misstep and fall down. I even worried that the weather might spoil the event, but at the end of the day all went well, proving that once again the British are masters of the rehearsed and superbly orchestrated spectacle.

My favourite moment came when the couple left Buckingham Palace in a convertible and drove around the corner to Clarence House with balloons trailing and a sign that said, “Just Wed”, as if anyone in the world was not aware. I’ve decided that I want to write a couple of paragraphs not to add even more redundant information, but to focus on something that I thought quite strange.

The guest list read like a who’s who of people from around the world. There were the couple’s own friends and work mates and former school chums, but then came world leaders, and the rich and famous, basically people who have outrageous egos. Seating was arranged giving family and British royalty select vantage points, but over 1,000 people were considered the general congregation and they were sat in a place where they could not see a thing, except if it was televised, in which case they might just as well have stayed at home.

With people suffering from such inflated egos, to be called “The General Congregation” might have been just too much. To add injury to insult they had to arrive at the church at about 8am and sit there until 11am when the service got underway. What about bathroom breaks? Perhaps that’s what all those trees were for. Even the minor royals were not spared as they arrived at the church in rented mini-buses.

Back at Buckingham Palace, after the service some of the guests had to enter the Palace from a side door. Probably the same side door I used when I visited the Palace as a paying visitor. I just hope that they also didn’t have to leave through the gift shop.

I presume they considered it all worthwhile, but I’m sure we all have one thing in common in that we wish the newlyweds a happy life together.

Now, come on Harry, we need to start planning a future happy event. You’re having far too much fun as a single man.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Road Trip

2011-04-24T19:18:00.003+01:00

Good Friday

It’s Easter, 2011, and we are doing something I thought we would never do. We have set out on a road trip to visit a friend who has moved from Spain to France, and the only time we can find to make a visit is during the Easter school break. Normally, when all the world, and his brothers and sisters take to the road I stay at home. That is because over holiday times like these there is usually a spike in deaths on the road. As a compromise we gave them all a head start and we waited until Good Friday to set out. Good move, as the roads were practically empty.

We left Valencia on the way to Zaragoza as a first stage, with a stop in Teruel for coffee and to stretch our legs. We arrived at noonday when the drums broke their Good Friday silence in a roar. The tradition is for drummers to commemorate the Crucifixion and burial of Christ starting at noon. It also made for a very nice welcome to us. In all, there were about 50 drummers, and that for us was quite impressive. Little did we know!

We carried on our travels arriving in Zaragoza about 3pm, and we found our hotel easily because it was situated on the Plaza Pilar, one of the main centres with a massive open space, fronted on one side by the great Basilica and church, and on the other by hotels and restaurants. At the moment that we arrived there was one of the Brotherhoods on parade with drums and wearing the pointy-headed costumes that is normal for Semana Santa festivities.

After a nice lunch we wondered around for a little while, and very rapidly it was time for the great processions commemorating the burial of Christ. This is done by parading Christ in various stages of the taking down from the cross, to the final depiction being Mary, the Mother of Christ being portrayed in all her pain and sorrow.

We had read somewhere that this would involve a total of about 10,000 drummers, but we assumed that to be a typo. There were many Brotherhoods participating, each one from a different church, and consisting of about 200 drummers in each group, some of them were very little children whose drums were bigger than they were. The processions went on for about three hours and were very colourful, so I suppose that in the end there were about 10,000 drummers, or so it seemed. The noise was deafening and was not to be ignored.

I’m not a very religious person, but I did have empathy with the believers on that day. One point of interest was that we had asked a policeman about the route of the parade beforehand, and whether the procession would pass our hotel. He said that they never passed that way, however; the parade has finished about an hour ago and we are now back at our hotel. Probably most of the groups are not yet prepared to call it a day, so they are parading around and around the plaza in front of our hotel.

That’s all well and good, but when are these people going to go home?

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Do you really hate your job?

2011-04-17T14:19:00.002+01:00

A job worth hating.

A teacher thought she was writing to two of her best friends when she complained that she hated her job, the students, the parents and the school. She said that thanks to Facebook , she inadvertantly broadcast that information around the world, and was fired. That started me in thinking about the worst kind of job; one that would likely be hated by almost all of the workers. I considered the very worst sounding jobs, and I rejected them all in favour of this one: Sex worker.

In Spain, it is estimated that there are about 300,000 prostitutes of one kind or another. That may be a conservative estimate, but except for the very few high-priced call girls who serve big spenders, there is no reason why any of the others should love their work. Once before I wrote about an experience I had with a group of Nigerian prostitutes who had been attacked by some men, and robbed. They pleaded with me to drive them home and I reluctantly agreed. One of them, who called herself Jennifer, invited me to give her some business. When I told her that I could never take advantage of her in that way because I respected her as a human being, she broke down and cried, because I was the very first person in her entire life who had said anything like that to her.

It was her family who sent her out at the age of 12 to earn some money for the family by prostituting herself. It is a very sad thing when a man seeks satisfaction from a prostitute. If you are very lucky you will experience perfection in lovemaking at least one time in your life. I will use the model of a man and a woman for this example, but there is no reason why other combinations cannot have the joyful experience as well. Firstly, the environment must be right. No stress, lots of time, and a very willing woman and man, who both are acting from the heart. As the action of lovemaking builds in intensity both will feel it with every fibre of their body, and when climax comes they will both go over the top together. She will entwine him, and she will feel him deep within her. Love will rule them both. She will feel loved and needed, and he will feel the same coming back from her.

Now, consider what it is like between a man and a prostitute. A best case might involve the high priced hooker, who might treat her customer delicately and with respect. I’m sure that there are many men who think they are impressing the girl, but according to Jennifer, she hates the sexual act, and she absolutely hates the men who take advantage of her. The only thing she enjoys is being paid. The experience a man feels when he is sexually climaxing is the best feeling of all. He has to give all his love because he is wired that way.

However, the prostitute doesn’t want love from him. She has no feeling for him except possibly hatred, so for the man it must be the loneliest feeling of all. Far from being a joyful and satisfactory time he must really hate himself for being so vulnerable in the face of someone who could hardly care less. Of course, the same can be said for having sex with any woman who doesn’t really want him. If we ask prostitutes whether they enjoy their work, they will likely reply: “what’s to like?” There are varying levels of prostitution, and each country treats the practice differently, but it exists in every country in the world in one form or another. I will take a look at “The world’s oldest profession” that is as old as hunting and gathering to see whether we can find anyone who really enjoys the work.

To be continued………………

Strange Dreams

2011-04-10T19:46:00.003+01:00

Wille and the Monster Hand

Everyone and his brother and sister has at one time or another done what I did last night. I had a very strange dream, in colour, complete with smells. It was something right out of Stephen King, and the thing that is most peculiar of all is that I cannot find any hint of what might have brought this type of dream on, in such exquisite detail.

The Setting:

My dream involved a cast of characters of a single parent, poor black family living on the Louisiana Bayou. There was a mother, two boys and a girl. They lived in a wooden rundown shack with a porch, and they were surrounded by water with alligators. The principal character was the youngest boy, about 10 years old. His name was Willie who had several problems that made him a little strange. He was constantly picked on by his mother and by both his siblings, so Willie became a loner He had a mutt for a friend and he wandered around poking into this and that. In my dream I could hear the dialogue and the bullying of this little boy. The one thing that hurt him the most was his mother saying, “Willie, you’re just like your daddy, good for nothing!”

Whenever there were other people about the claw disappeared. The claw had an obsession with cats. Whenever a cat came into view the claw would drag Willie after it at incredible speed, and it would eat the cat. Other than that the claw was harmless. However, it was aware of the bad treatment that Willie was suffering from his family. On one such example of abuse from his brother the hand/claw struck his brother really hard, against Willie’s will. But the blow so stunned the brother that he backed off.

One day Willie was in his room talking to his claw when his mother heard something and went into the room surprising Willie. He immediately hid his hand/claw behind his back, but his mother insisted that he show her what he was hiding. Of course, Willie said he didn’t have anything, but his mother became violent with him. Let me see what you have behind you, Willie! We could see that the claw was making angry gestures, so we thought that the worst would happen. Willie! Show me what you have, Now!

And I woke up. The only thing that I had seen during the day was an advertisement for “Saw III, 3D” Of course, this is a terror film but I haven’t seen any of the Saw series, so that may have triggered the thought in my mind to create a horror story, but I can’t think of anything that would have directed my thoughts that way. Dreams are wonderful ways to escape, and they can be so vivid and detailed. I know there are people who try to make some sort of science about interpreting dreams, but frankly, I think dreams are usually just the entertainment during the sleep trip. They provide a means to fantasize and even to get the girl that is otherwise unattainable. That’s all, and nothing more.

The thing that is unusual about this dream is that I remembered it long enough to write it down.

Strange Dreams

2011-04-03T13:21:00.002+01:00

Wille and the Monster Hand

The Setting: My dream involved a cast of characters of a single parent, poor black family living on the Louisiana Bayou. There was a mother, two boys and a girl. They lived in a wooden rundown shack with a porch, and they were surrounded by water with alligators. The principal character was the youngest boy, about 10 years old. His name was Willie who had several problems that made him a little strange. He was constantly picked on by his mother and by both his siblings, so Willie became a loner He had a mutt for a friend and he wandered around poking into this and that. In my dream I could hear the dialogue and the bullying of this little boy. The one thing that hurt him the most was his mother saying, “Willie, you’re just like your daddy, good for nothing!”

In my dream I was seeing this story unfold as part of a movie audience. We, the audience were certain that Willie would be taken by an alligator, and several times he had very narrow escapes that gave us a real shock. One day while Willie was playing in the water, something, that we never got to see, bit him on his right hand. His hand instantly became swollen and took the shape of a giant lobster claw. The claw had a mouth and a stomach, and it could talk. The claw became Willie’s best friend and his secret. Whenever there were other people about the claw disappeared. The claw had an obsession with cats. Whenever a cat came into view the claw would drag Willie after it at incredible speed, and it would eat the cat. Other than that the claw was harmless. However, it was aware of the bad treatment that Willie was suffering from his family. On one such example of abuse from his brother the hand/claw struck his brother really hard, against Willie’s will. But the blow so stunned the brother that he backed off. One day Willie was in his room talking to his claw when his mother heard something and went into the room surprising Willie. He immediately hid his hand/claw behind his back, but his mother insisted that he show her what he was hiding. Of course, Willie said he didn’t have anything, but his mother became violent with him. Let me see what you have behind you, Willie! We could see that the claw was making angry gestures, so we thought that the worst would happen. Willie! Show me what you have, Now! And I woke up.

The only thing that I had seen during the day was an advertisement for “Saw III, 3D” Of course, this is a terror film but I haven’t seen any of the Saw series, so that may have triggered the thought in my mind to create a horror story, but I can’t think of anything that would have directed my thoughts that way. Dreams are wonderful ways to escape, and they can be so vivid and detailed. I know there are people who try to make some sort of science about interpreting dreams, but frankly, I think dreams are usually just the entertainment during the sleep trip. They provide a means to fantasize and even get the girl that is otherwise unattainable. That’s all, and nothing more. The thing that is unusual about this dream is that I remembered it long enough to write it down.

Libya

2011-03-27T14:37:00.004+01:00

Would you buy a used car from this man?

I have always thought that Muamar Quaddafi was quite mad. Just the look of him and his actions suggested that he was not playing with a full deck The one thing that is for certain is that Quaddafi is no Mubarak. His people know him better than I do, so they would have known that they were playing with explosive material when they decided he had to go.

I can unerstand how frustrating living under his rule must have been, and seeing the results next door in Tunisa and Egypt must have been tempting. " The time is right," would have gone the thinking, but when you are dealing with a perceived madman with tremendous resources you have to know that the odds are not on your side. And so it is being proved correct. It was a grave mistake for the people of Libya to attempt to get rid of The Colonel in this manner, and they must now pay the price of their ill-conceived actions. In spite of a no-fly zone and attacks on tanks from the air, Quaddafi has the upper hand with arms and fools who will use them against themselves, in the end. This is very sad as I can understand the urge for freedom. They cannot win, and when it is clear that he has put down the rebellion he will turn on the very people who helped kill the uprising. Meanwhile, a very dangerous precedent has been created. The U.S. and others have attacked Libya for doing the very same thing that Bahrain and Saudi Arabia will likely do in the future. Those countries will not suffer the same fate. They are too important as producers of oil. What a mess!

The Deadly Duo

2011-03-20T12:46:00.004+01:00

Earthquake and Tsunami

I believe it may be correct to say that everyone in the world, who has access to a television, is in shock over images of the massive power of Mother Nature. The earthquake and tsunami in Japan is the very best documented by cameras of any major disaster, thanks to the Japanese obsession of recording everything on camera.

What I have seen is so overwhelming that it is impossible to find words to explain my reaction. However, I’m fairly certain that my response was universal, as I watched in horror, with mouth open, occasionally muttering “Oh….. My……. God!”

We have had two major events of a similar nature, one in Haiti, which was completely unprepared, and the other in Japan where earthquake readiness has been refined to a fine art. However, no-one can be prepared for a tsunami of the size and power of the one that rolled over Japan.

Tsunami: a Japanese word, literally meaning, “harbour wave” but in practise is a large destructive ocean wave caused by an underwater earthquake.

Recently, I watched a documentary of the history of the world that was presented, I think, by National Geographic. It was truly interesting and very well done. It covered the various changes that the world has undergone since time began. The history of the world reflects the fact that there have been periods when The Sahara Desert was under water; of when mountains were under water, and flatlands became mountains through eruptions.

In the beginning all of the land mass was joined, and since then, through violent eruptions and movement the land was torn apart and moved thousands upon thousands of kilometres apart. Climate has gone through several cycles from ice age and heat. Whole species have been wiped out. From time to time certain species need to be culled as they place an over-bearing strain upon the earth’s resources. Mankind is doing just that as we speak.

What is clear is that Mother Nature decides to periodically change things around, as any good Administrator is inclined to do. In the early years the world was not very developed by man’s hand, and the changes that happened affected relatively few people. But, look at the world now. An earthquake of minimum proportions, or a hurricane impacts a lot of people. However, these changes are part of the constant evolution of the world. At the moment the cycle is Global Warming that many refuse to believe is happening.

The Japanese tragedy is a Triple disaster consisting of three principal earthquakes that happened simultaneously, followed by a catastrophic tsunami, and the icing on the cake: a full-scale nuclear meltdown. One day the people were celebrating life, and the next, without warning they were dead. My thoughts are with them and their survivors.

Warning! There is more to come at a location near you and me.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

A Wonderful Cat Story

2011-03-13T15:12:00.002+01:00

Anyone know how to administer a pill to this wonderful creature?

A family of four, Mother and Father, son and 14 year-old daughter were in the process of relocating from one country to another. They were at the airport securing their dog and cat for the flight, when an accident happened in the airline office. A worker accidentally knocked the cat carrier to the floor, and that caused the carrier door to spring open, and the cat sprang out.

“Close all doors and windows!” went the cry. “Don’t let that cat out!” Just then, someone walked in and the cat was gone in a flash, which was the cat’s name. Given that this was in an airport there are “no-go” areas, and “absolutely no-go” areas. However, airport staff, Customs officers, Police, and travellers all ended up chasing the cat all over the building. “Dear God, please don’t let him get on the runway!”

The plane was ready to leave, so father and son left with the dog, and mother and daughter, whose cat it was, stayed to try and corral Flash. Fortunately, when the cat left the building he was on the public side and running for the sea, followed by mother and daughter. A man was passing in his car, having just collected his young son from a flight. He followed the women where they were peering down a very deep drop at the sea. They could hear the cat at the bottom in a crevice, with the sea lapping at the shore.

The man was an off-duty Customs Officer. “Wait here”, he commanded. A very short time later he reappeared with a very long rope. He said to the daughter that he would make her a harness and lower her down, and hopefully the cat would come to her. He was amazed how readily she agreed. So, carefully he lowered her where she got soaking wet, but a terrified Flash came shaking to her. Now that she was holding him and crying she couldn’t get back up because she didn’t dare let the cat go.

As there was more rope left, her mother said I will go down and together we will get the cat back. Unfortunately, the airport had gone back to business as usual and no-one else had come after them, because the man could have really used the help of several strong fellows. That notwithstanding, he somehow managed to pull both of the women up, and the cat, with the help of his young son.

A substitute cat carrier was found and they all left on the next flight. Their adventure had begun!

The world seems to be crumbling around our ears and we are besieged by bad news. In the midst of all that negative stuff this story happened. It was a chance for one very unassuming man to become a full fledged hero; a young girl’s heart was broken and very quickly mended; a lot of people got a chance to try to do something very positive; and the story ended happily.

It simply doesn’t get any better than that!

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Playboy, Penthouse, et. al.

2011-03-06T15:03:00.004+01:00

Too much of a Good Thing?

I recently watched a television presentation about the rise and fall of Playboy, and that reminded me that I bought the first edition of the magazine, and many, many editions after that. Playboy consumed my imagination and changed my outlook on life. I bought not only the magazine but the whole concept. I was a Playboy Man, and I tried to embody the total lifestyle.

I took up smoking and I smoked Cool cigarettes, because that was the brand that Playboy pushed. Later, when the magazine changed to Benson & Hedges, I changed too. Then, when they said that the real Playboy man would smoke only Benson & Hedges Gold, and would carry his cigarettes in a gold case, and use a gold lighter, I went right along with all of that.

It seemed that girls were reading Playboy as well, as they seemed to know exactly what was expected from the modern woman. Life for me, at least for a time was one big party. However, if you are hearing a tinge of regret in all of this, you are right.

These were times of sexual freedom and people did some things in those days that you would have to be absolutely mad to do today. Remember, these were the days before AIDS. Herpes was something we didn’t like to think about and we played Russian roulette with our bodies. Then came AIDS, but the problem was exclusively one for the gay society, so we partied on. Then it found its way into the hetero-sexual society and that took the smile of confidence from our faces. As we came to understand more about the incubation period we became downright worried, and I turned my back on all those monthly men’s magazines.

Personally, I came to realise that something had not been added to life, but rather we were, and are suffering a sense of loss of magic. In the relationships between men and women it is not in my opinion a healthy thing that there is so much openness. We wear clothes for many very good reasons, and one of them is the guarding of the mystery of each other.

I admit that to begin with I bought and kept the magazines for the pictures of naked women. The pictures grew more explicit until I could tell what the girl had had for breakfast. There was nothing more I needed to know about her, especially as a picture on a page. That same attitude carried over into my private life and my inter-action with women. Unfortunately, women became as expendable as the magazines, and that was really the whole sadness of it all.

By comparison, we see how Islamic men and women inter-act. The woman is covered up in public, and in some cases to ridiculous extremes, but her beauty is reserved for her husband and her family. He is presumably constantly stimulated by what he only feels but does not actually see, but Western man has no need for his imagination, and consequently, without the aid of the mysterious his interest quite naturally wanes far too soon.

I recall the moment the light went on in my head. I had spent an evening out with a new woman, and at the end of the evening when I took her back home I was invited in for a “nightcap.” Generally that meant sex. However, I really liked this woman and it didn’t seem right, so I asked her to be patient with me for not asking for sex on our first date.

She broke down and cried, and spent the next hour trying to make me realize how difficult life as a woman was. We men, it seemed expected her to pay with her body for any time we spent with her. She had to decide that she would go to bed with me when I asked, before saying yes to a date. For that reason she hardly ever went out.

I felt, on behalf of all my fellow men, like a real shit!

For the publishers of men’s monthly magazines, they might have realized that a case of less would have been more, but I don’t expect that any of the people who took the money would ever see that. As time moved on, I found myself far more interested in the very excellent articles in the magazines than the girls. I started to question my sexual being, but the fact of the matter is that you can only serve up cheesecake so many ways to make it interesting. After that, I need to move on. I no longer buy the magazines, and nude pictures of women do nothing for me. Even the topless girls on the beaches of Spain leave me cold, and apparently most of the other men feel the same way. One day a woman and a man went walking along the beach, both of them topless. I doubt if much more attention was paid to her than to him. What a sorry thing to have to say.

Hugh Hefner is now about 85, and for him, in his words “it’s been a hell of a ride, and it’s not over yet.” Even if we look at his life we see a man who has seemingly grown sick and tired, or at least blasé of too much of a very good thing.

For me, looking back if I had it to do all over again I like to think I would have done many things differently, especially succumbing to the Playboy lifestyle. I gave up quality for quantity, and that is never a good thing.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Capitalist America with a Social Conscience

2011-02-27T15:28:00.003+01:00

Open to New Ideas

It has been ingrained into every American child that the American systems of capitalism and democracy are the only correct systems for the world, and that it is very difficult to think beyond those teachings when your country is as big and powerful as the U.S. However, the world is not a place like that where only one way is true and acceptable. The world is a diverse globe with many systems in which people believe. Others may criticize, and indeed there will always be room for improvements in all systems, but the challenge is to keep an open mind that can lead to a better style of living in each country.

I was one of the people who looked on with amazement over the battle to expand health care reform in the U.S. to ensure that citizens were not dying in the streets due to inaccessible health care. I could not see why there was even an argument at all over the basic philosophy.

America is a country that believes in the value of personal meritocracy. Study hard; work hard; gain the promotions and work your way to the very top and you will be revered and entitled to all the respect and reward that is a part of your position. There is fundamentally not too much that is wrong with that in theory, except that there is very little room at the top. Every society should have a healthy middle class, and even the lower class should be entitled to a respectable standard of living.

The rich take care of themselves, and they are very choosy about whom to invite within their ranks. The meritocracy about which we speak is usually the path forward that is lubricated through who one knows, rather than what knowledge is actually possessed. How a society takes care of its middle and lower class is the standard by which it is judged. The so-called trickle-down system can only work if there is enough to trickle-down. In these very difficult times it is somewhat debateable whether that theory is of any use.

These times call for more flexible thinking, the so-called “out-of-the box” creative thinking, and that means prejudice against other ideas will serve to defeat one even before starting. I’m not putting forward any particular ideas for acceptance by the panel of U.S. scholars who must resolve their country’s problems, but one idea that Spain has used as a form of financial stimulus program for several hundred years is a national lottery, the purpose of which is to put as much money as possible in the hands of as many people as possible.

These lotteries take place around Christmas and the beginning of the year, and winnings are tax-free and paid in one lump sum. The tens of thousands of winners use their new found wealth to pay off debts, buy new houses, cars, and generally to share it into the community.

The point I’m trying to make here is that such a lottery system as socialist as this will probably never get consideration within the U.S. simply because it is socialist. It certainly has far more merit than the one-person wins all type of lottery.

More information on this idea can be found at wikipedia.com/elgordo. In the meantime, keeping an open mind to new ideas can be one of the most positive things one can do.

My Once-in-a-Lifetime act of Violence

2011-02-20T13:18:00.005+01:00

My Once-in-a-Lifetime act of Violence

The results were at least constructive

In one of my previous blogs I wrote about bullying, and the fact that anyone is a bully if he or she seeks to put another person down in order to "big up" their own self. Having talked to a couple of people it seems that life is constructed of the bullied and the bullies. This is a very serious problem, and a flaw in human nature.

It will come as no surprise that I confess to having at one time played the role of both.

As a young child I found it easier to hang out with the losers. At that time I was not a good student and this greatly troubled one of my teachers, who I will call Mr. Sweeting, because that was his name. I had failed to complete my homework assignment for him, again, and he said that I would have to stay after class to complete the work. I was not a happy chappy.

After the other children had left he told me that he wanted me to stay because he wanted to say that he thought I was throwing away my opportunities. He could tell I could do so much more with my studies, and that by hanging out with a group of boys who obviously would not achieve much in life I was hurting myself.

That message was received by me as him disrespecting my homies. How dare he! I wanted to hear no more and began to leave. I bullied him, and there was a little scuffle, he stepped back and I was gone. I was fuming on the way home when I got an idea. I would tell my father that he had slapped me around without provocation on my part, and my father would go to the school and sort him out.

When my father came home I put on my sad face and told him my story. I said I just didn’t think it was right that an adult should be treating a child in such a manner. My father immediately became genuinely angry, to my complete satisfaction. My father was a big man, and a person who was strictly uncomplicated. Trouble between a teacher and his son! He wasn’t having it. How did he hit you? Was it an open-handed slap, LIKE THIS!!! SLAP!

The slap knocked me off my feet and sent me sailing through the screen door that was left hanging on one hinge. Now my father was really pissed because I had broken the door and he would have to fix it. I lay in the dirt wondering what the hell went wrong when he came out and scooped me up. He said, did he hit you with a closed fist, like this? I will tell you that I screamed a scream unlike you have ever heard:” No! It never happened!” My scream must have been heard halfway around the world.

He said, “ I send you to school to get an education. I don’t care if the teachers have to pound it into your head with a mallet. Don’t you ever bring such nonsensical stories home, and do not make it necessary for a teacher to complain about you. Now, get an education!”

I sat outdoors for hours asking myself what the hell did I just do? Who did I prefer to lock horns with, my father or the gang?

The trouble started right away as soon as the gang sensed a change in my attitude. The bullying was intense as I tried to settle down to study. It all came to a head during one lunch hour when I went to the boy’s toilets. The gang followed me in and harassed me relentlessly, culminating in hanging me head down into the hole in a bench with the latrine below. My terror was so complete that someone went to call a teacher. That teacher was Mr. Sweeting who came to my rescue, just as the bell rang. He was also the teacher who took my next class, which was gardening.

My crying was unstoppable, so he placed me on my own in one corner of the garden and gave me a pitchfork to turn over the ground, and the rest of the boys were allocated the opposite corner. He then briefly left to inform the head teacher of what was going on. In that short space of time the gang leader, and bully-in-chief, came over to me. I didn’t even know he was there until I saw his shoes and heard him say, “so, you love me, huh!”

I don´t know where it came from. I didn´t think about it, I just picked up the pitchfork and slammed it through his shoe and foot until it would not go any further. He was pinned to the ground and his whole frame shook like jelly as he swayed like a giant tree. His blood seemed to spray from his foot like a watering hose.

The entire school went mad, and I was sent home. It was customary for me to walk the seven miles to school, so I set off to walk home. However, I did not go home, instead I waited on the shortcut where I knew the second in command would pass as he was my neighbour, separated by two houses. As he came into view the branch of the tree that I had in my hand crushed his nose like an over-ripe tomato. “Leave me alone!” That was my demand.

A policeman came to our house that evening to inform my parents of what had taken place. That was the first they knew that something had happened. The officer said that I had been under extreme harassment and bullying, and in all good conscious they could not bring charges against me, provided I took no further action.

My father looked at me in complete amazement, and I told him I was trying to get an education. He never moved, and his mouth just hung open.

The incident happened on a Friday, and on Monday morning I arrived at school early and took up a position at the flagpole. The children sensed that something would happen and began to gather around. I was waiting to sort out the leader of the girl gang who had also been a thorn in my side, but when she came up the steps and saw me she dropped her books and ran back the way she had come, and was absent from school for a week.

During that week a group of the boys came up to me to apologise for their behaviour, and because I was the one who took their leader down they wanted to pledge their loyalty to me. What did I want them to do?

My reply was as follows: “You come to school to get an education, so get an education! Secondly, leave me the hell alone!!”

I went on to become a grade-A student, normally graduating each class in first or second place.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

To Topple a Giant-Hosni Mubarak

2011-02-13T13:17:00.002+01:00

To Topple a Giant-Hosni Mubarak

Over an eighteen-day period, starting in late January and ending on February 11th, 2011, the world watched as the Egyptian people wrote the manual on “How to Topple a Dictator.” Their methodology was perfect and efficient. Of course, their inspiration came from Tunisia where the people there were even more ruthless and successful, although their task was not as great as that in Egypt.

It all goes to prove once again that every great change starts with the power of one. On a day in Tunisia the police took away a young man’s food items that he was trying to sell. With that he became so despondent that he decided that he might just as well kill himself, and this he did by setting fire to himself. Those flames translated into the fire of discontent with the government and its leader who had ruled comfortably for 23 years. Within a week he and his family were fleeing for their lives.

Meanwhile, the people in Egypt took note and decided that what they had seen was a very good idea indeed. What the world has witnessed in both situations is nothing less than a sea change in the Arab world, and quite possibly in the Western world as well. People power, when properly harnessed can be awesome.

Egypt, a land of Pharaohs, Mummies, Great Pyramids, and The Sphinx has always been central to the rest of the world. The Egyptians have given so much learning to the world, and much mystery as well. It should not be too surprising that this most populist country of the Arabic world would lead the way in effecting such extraordinary change. Arab dictators and kings are now on notice that life and power can never be taken for granted.

Politics in Egypt has moved slowly and along the path of Dynasties. For Hosni Mubarak, who ruled for 30 years, this would have been an expected length of time to rule. I feel certain that he was intending to rule until the day he died. After all, The Pharaoh Ramesses II ruled for 67 years.

However, one thing is becoming clear in politics, and it is this: The patience of the people will allow for a maximum period of leadership of 12 years. That is three terms of four years each, enough time to implement changes and see them through to fruition. Beyond that the public start to grow restless and they crave change. Savvy politicians even run on a platform that calls for a change of political party to rule the country, simply because it is time.

Whether you are a King or Queen who directly rules your country, or a dictator or political party, you need to take account of the fact that after 12 years your time is up. Should you stay beyond that period of time you will outstay your welcome. We can only try to understand the shock and awe that deposed rulers are trying to cope with today after having been fired by their subjects.

What we have seen in Tunisia and Egypt are only the first steps in their change. What the future will bring for them is unclear. The United States hopes that U.S. style democracy will be the accepted form of life in these countries, but that form of governance has its own drawbacks in that party comes first before country.

We should avoid thinking that these historic events only affect the subject countries. In fact, they have a worldwide impact in ways that we are not able to comprehend at this moment, but your life and mind will be influenced as well.

P.S. The thought crossed my mind that if such an incredible action happened in Egypt, it could surely happen anywhere. I turned on the television the day after the president resigned and found myself watching pictures of people scuffling with police and being arrested. I thought that was all over with and I was very confused, until I discovered I was looking at live pictures from Algeria.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Suspending Disbelief

2011-02-06T14:09:00.003+01:00

Suspending Disbelief-Hiking in Iran?

Apparently three young American hikers were out for a stroll in Iraq one day when they made a wrong turn and crossed into Iran. Oops! The Iranian authorities picked them up and charged them with being on a spy mission. Now, that government is under pressure to let them all go. They have already released the woman, who became engaged to one of the young men while in detention. (How did that happen?)

The trial has begun in Iran, in which the two men are in custody and the woman has been released back to the United States, but is being charged in absentia.

That is the public story, and the “hikers” have declared that they are simply adventurous and innocent young people. They apologised for trespassing, and the young woman has thanked the rich man who posted bail for her, which is an outright gift because she won’t be going back Now they all want the same thing to happen for the two remaining detainees, and that is supposed to be that.

The last time I looked Iraq was a country engrossed in war and internal strife, so why on earth would three innocent young Americans find themselves going walkabout there as though they were in Kansas? Did they miss the fact that thousands of people were dying while the bombs and IED’s were going off? Are we supposed to believe that they simply walked into a travel agency and asked to be booked to fly into Iraq? How the hell did they get into the country in the first place?

The Iranians think that they were in their country to spy. What would be so interesting in Iran to collect information about? Well, there’s just a little matter of the Iranians developing nuclear weapons that is of paramount interest to the U.S. So, sure, is there a case to answer? I think so, and I also resent being fed the line of bullshit that they want me to accept.

I have no way of knowing who the three people really are, but the one thing is for sure, and that is, I don’t buy their story. Do you?

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Former President George H. Bush

2011-01-30T14:50:00.003+01:00

Former President George H. Bush - An American Icon

I watched an interesting interview between the former president, his wife Barbara and Larry King recently. I was delighted to see that both the President and Mrs. Bush seemed to have their health and were in full control of their faculties, and in particular they retain their sense of humour.

This was a president that I liked a lot. I should qualify that by saying that I am not a republican, nor am I a Democrat, for I am not even an American. These are important qualifications because when it comes to American political commentary you can never get a straight answer. It all depends on who you talk to. This is just to let you know that my comments will be as centre of the road as they can be.

George the father Bush always came over as a very likeable guy, although a little goofy at times, but I never had an issue with any of his policies as president. He was vice –president to Ronald Reagan, the man Republicans just loved, except of course the man who shot him, and I’m not so sure that he was a Democrat. I’m not entirely certain why Ronnie was so loved, except that the one thing he was good at was communicating.

He was a Hollywood actor turned politician who ended up playing the most important role of his life as President of The United States of America. His training in acting came in very handy, and if it were possible for him to have been elected for a third term the voters would have done so.

In a sense that is just what they did by electing his vice-president, and in his term in office George H. Bush gave the country a clear win in a war over Saddamn Hussein. Why the electorate then chose to throw him out of office is hard to fathom.

The last time that I saw him was at the commencement of Barak Obama’s presidency. He was not looking all that well, and I understand that Mrs. Bush has not been well either, so to see them both looking well and sounding feisty and funny was wonderful.

During the interview they covered a lot of ground, including their son’s presidency and some of the things that he did. Quite naturally they defended his time in office and the decisions that were taken, and there were comments from their other children and grandchildren as well.

I’m writing this not so much because of the President, but particularly because of Barbara Bush. I feel we should pay a lot more attention to this most amazing of women who was at the head of a household that produced a president in her husband, and a president in one of her sons; and a governor of the State of Texas in one son, and the governor of The State of Florida in another son.

I’m not sure of the accomplishments of her other children, and I was thinking of doing research to find out, but I have decided that’s enough already. What a lady! We need to know a lot more about her and how she turned her family into an authentic American Dynasty.

Stay tuned for the Barbara Bush story.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Footnote of the Father of The Girl next Door

2011-01-23T10:24:00.002+01:00

Footnote of the Father of The Girl next Door

In a startling development during this past week, the father of the girl at the centre of my last blog collapsed in the bar that he spent every day, and all day at. He was rushed by ambulance to hospital, and as I write this the prognosis is very grim indeed. He is not expected to recover.

I do not know what the problem is exactly, but I’m betting that it has something to do with his liver

In spite of his maltreatment of his daughter I had hoped for a turn around of fortunes for him. He was a man who was suddenly faced with the sole responsibility of something that overwhelmed him, and he simply was not able to cope adequately. Sure, we can judge him harshly, but if we were in his situation could we have done any better.

It may be difficult to feel sorry for this man, but I can only hope that Heaven will be kind to him.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

The Girl Next Door -Final Chapter

2011-01-16T11:48:00.002+01:00

The Girl Next Door -Final Chapter

I predicted that it would end in tears, and it did end that way, but that does not make me any kind of genius. Most people would have called it the same way. If you are just tuning in, here’s a little background:

The girl next door was one of my neighbours who is about 34 years old, but has the understanding of a person aged about seven. She has a number of problems and her mother was her greatest supporter, but the mother died about three or four years ago. What made the girl her own worst enemy was that she had a tendency of breaking out into a prolonged crying state during which she would vomit. It certainly sounded awful and nothing that anyone tried could help her.

I often thought that she was crying for the loss of a normal life that was being denied her. After all, she was a woman on the outside, but a little girl trapped in a woman’s body.

She was a very difficult person to manage, but her mother was always there for her with patience and understanding. Once the mother died she was left in the care of her father who had limited intelligence and was completely out of his depth with her. The rest of the family decided to get on with their lives and leave it to daddy, but he was so frustrated that he took it out on her. The abuse was horrible and the crying more frequent and intense.

None of the family came to her help, nor any of the other neighbours would step forward. It fell on me, the foreigner to report the matter to the police and the City Hall. Investigations were held and everyone agreed that the situation was just not right and that something had to be done. Time went on, and the abuse continued through the first anniversary of the initial intervention; and the second anniversary came and went, and I was certain that he would strike her and kill her in a drunken rage.

If that happened there would be tears all around, and much shaking of heads and shrugging of shoulders, and then everybody would go back to their lives except the girl next door. She would simply be gone, failed by the system and everyone within it.

And then, out of the blue the Nuns came for her. They took her to their Convent and introduced her to other young people with similar living problems. She cried copious tears in separating from her father as they spent every minute of every day together, most of that time living in terror for her. At least she knew her life with her father, and all these people were strangers to her. This was even more terrifying, but with the help of her new friends she quickly settled down and came to realise that she was making a quantum leap forward.

Now, she is a completely new person. She no longer cries, and she has proven that she can learn. She can reach out to her relatives; she can make decisions on her own, and she can complete ordinary living tasks and be responsible for herself to a certain extent. She has put on weight as she is eating properly and has found a new sense of self worth.

Perhaps that was what she had been crying for all those many years. I am so very happy for her. This story could not have a happier ending, even for her father who could possibly meet a widow and have something of a life for himself.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Smokers, and smoking in Spain

2011-01-10T15:22:00.003+01:00

Smokers, and smoking in Spain

New Year’s Resolution for smokers in Spain:
“ I will not smoke in my workplace nor in bars and restaurants, etc in Spain from January 1, 2011.”

When I came to Spain eleven years ago, I had come from a country that had already turned its back on smoking in public and at work. One of the first things I noticed here was a young mother nursing her baby while smoking and I concluded that people here must be rabid smokers, and that Spain would never change its smoking habits.

From the beginning of 2011 smoking has been banned in all places serving the public; in places of employment, as well as certain outdoors areas. That order replaces the failed attempt that made a fool of the government by simply allowing owners of certain establishments to choose to allow smoking. That was what they did in the first place. This is an amazing turnabout, and one I am personally happy to see.

However, I must say that I have sympathy with addicted smokers, and that means about 99% of them. I am a recovering smoker, having given up the habit 48 years ago. After all this time the best I can say is that I’m still recovering. I am one cigarette away from starting again, and there are times when if my companion lights up I lean a little closer to the action. My position as an ex-smoker is: love the smoker; hate the habit.

Consider the poor person who is a committed smoker. When his body yearns for nicotine he simply lights up a cigarette. Because of weather complications, some smokers entered an airport, and didn’t exit until 12 hours later. All that time he is not allowed to smoke. That must really be difficult.

I take serious issue with the CEOs of the tobacco companies who took an oath to tell the truth, then stated that they did not believe that cigarette smoking was addictive.

Lying, dishonest bastards!

I believe, as all smokers do that cigarette smoking is addictive and that those Chief Executive Officers of their cigarette producing companies lead the charge to make them more or less addictive. If they really do not believe smoking is addictive then we have the situation that they don’t know what they are doing, and that is really, really scary.

The things that smokers do to non-smokers are truly horrible, and most seem to have no remorse. Have you ever dressed up in your finest clothing and found yourself in the midst of a gang of smokers. You have to smoke whether you want to or not. It’s called passive smoking. Passive, my ass! They force you to do so. They also make you stink, and your nice expensive clothes are ready to be thrown in the trash bin when you get home. I have heard of people who actually undress outside where they leave their clothes for days to lose the smell.

When you have smokers to your house they leave their tell-tale foul aroma. Because our house is a non-smoking area, our smoker visitors go outside to have a fag. They crunch out the butts in the ashtray (which I later handle like a stool sample) and come inside, where they exude the smell of tar through their veins. It’s a smell uncomfortably close to vomit.

I smoked during a period when smoking was Cooooool! It was advertised especially during PrimeTime television, but then The Marlboro Man died of cancer. Ooops! Back then we considered it was our right to smoke and we gave it no more thought than that. If somebody said yea, but what about my right not to have to smoke your second hand discharge; and my right to work in a smokeless environment; and all my other rights that you smokers trample on? I’m fairly sure our response as smokers would not have been very kind.

So, what can we non-smokers do to get even with smokers? To copy the disagreeable smell we could belch the used smell of garlic, or fart the smell of day old boiled eggs.
To copy the crunched up cigarette butts that smokers don’t seem to think is litter, I could drop chewing gum on your patio or carpet. (If I let you smoke in my house, then I’m the dummy.) I could do those things, but they are so disgusting that I simply would not. (At least not in the company of someone.)

Instead, you are now simply being thrown out, exiled to the great outdoors to form a ghetto. I’m sorry for you because you probably got started because the cigarette pushers gave you freebies when you were in college, or you thought the adverts were so wonderful, or like so many you simply carried on the great family tradition because your mom and dad smoked. Now that you are beginning to feel like a leper you are simply unable to stop.

But, the people who make the products say they are not addictive. What would you like to say to them?

Footnote: Now that the law has been in place for about a week and that compliance is ruthless, it is beginning to become apparent that life-long smokers are making a determined effort to quit by any means possible. Some are even admitting that this is probably the move they needed. While cigarette smoking does not kill all smokers, smoking is definitely not a healthy option. Any practice that adds costs to the medical health bill eventually is a cost to us all.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Not a Perfect Ten , But…..

2011-01-01T13:46:00.002+01:00

Not a Perfect Ten , But…..

Adiós 2010..Bienvenido 2011

As the year 2010 has come to an end I take a personal look back and give the year a grade. It was not a perfect 10, but it was not a year that for my family and myself was one that we are glad to see the back of. In my opinion there were two events that come at the top for inspiration. They were FIFA’s World Football Cup that was hosted by South Africa. This was the first time an African country had the opportunity to act as host and they seemed to have satisfied those attending and proved their capabilities. I must also mention that Spain won the cup, as though there is even one person on the planet who does not already know that.

Secondly, the successful rescue of 33 miners from the depths of hell in Chile was nothing short of a miracle. Not such a long time ago the lives of those men would have been lost to a very slow death due to a lack of facilities to get them out. It was a textbook case of everybody involved doing the exact correct thing when required that led to ultimate success. What we saw as each man was brought up into the fresh air was a person being born again, quite literally.

There were no shortages of things to choose from on the downside, but my number one sad occurrence was the loss of the 29 miners in the blow-out of the New Zealand mine in November. I choose this event because it is in such stark contrast with the Chile rescue. The circumstances were so different as to disallow a duplicate of the successful event, and it would not appear that anyone made a bad judgement. What it does highlight is the incredibly dangerous circumstance in which people work on a daily basis to bring energy to you and to me. We really should be aware of such efforts and not take things so much for granted.

Another downside event is the actions of North Korea in their provocations against South Korea. These two countries have existed in a state of suspended war since their cease-fire more than fifty years ago. They have admirably held their fire, even going so far as to find areas of mutual cooperation. Now, it seems that the North are hell-bent on resuming war against the South, and by implication this could be the start of World War Three. What the hell is going through the mind of the dictator?

I must also mention the very sad case of Haiti, an island that has never experienced good luck in its existence. Every bad thing that could happen will have as its destination Haiti. Why Haiti?

What is 2011 likely to bring to the world? I fear that we will see matters go from bad to worse regarding most things. The U.S. Dollar will likely suffer a great setback, and that will have a very serious impact on the economy of that country. The euro also will be greatly affected by certain of its member states and that will severely test the virtue of the concept upon which it is based.

Unfortunately, unemployment will likely get worse, rather than better, and that may lead to more militancy among labour unions. Unfortunately, I just don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel; in fact I cannot even see the end of the tunnel. The capitalist system, like the Communist system is broke, and what is needed are new systems to replace the old.

These are very trying times, but if we take the optimist view it is also a time for opportunity. Necessity is usually the Mother of Invention so hopefully this will bring forth exciting new ways of doing things.

I wish us all positive experiences during this year. I may not be able to see how such positive things will come about, but if we all think positively that will be a start.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

CNN Heros

2010-12-26T14:03:00.002+01:00

CNN Heros -Presented by Anderson Cooper

The time has come and gone for the presentation of CNN Heroes. I do hope you saw the show. This year I watched it twice, and I confess I had wet eyes. What an amazing program that is only surpassed by the work that so many people are doing everyday.

For anyone who is not familiar, let me explain the basic concept: CNN has invited the world to submit nominations for their favourite charity program to be included in the American Thanksgiving Day program. For the 2010 program there were 10,000 nominations, from which were short-listed ten charities that were chosen for the program. On the day of the program one was chosen as CNN Hero of the Year. Each of those charities received $25,000 for being on the show, and the winner received an additional $100,000.

All of that is well and good, but in spite of the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed the show I think that the very concept is well and truly flawed. In order for CNN to feature ten charities they had to reject 999, 990 others as being what? Not good enough? The work that they do is not important enough? The Mission was not dramatic enough? Whatever the reasoning I can’t help feel that to put down a hard working charity is the ultimate act of arrogance. Good and wholesome work is just that, and it is done because it needs to be done. It cannot be reasonably judged otherwise.

Having said that, judged they were, and a winner was chosen by a panel from around the world. I cannot imagine how that made the others feel.

The show is a real tearjerker as emotions run very high for people who are directly involved, and for viewers. The mix of work that was represented was just amazing. Here is the line-up:

First we had Susan Barton who lost her very young son to death by car crash. She went to pieces and spent several turns in prison until she had an epiphany and straightened up and decided to work to help women leaving prison reintegrate into society. In the midst of her presentation she introduced us to her hero, her long-suffering husband who stood by her throughout her dark days.

Magnus McFarlane- Barrow was watching war stories from Bosnia one day when he saw children scavenging through the trash for food. He decided to feed them, and now, all these years later he is leading an organisation called Mary’s Meals that feeds 460,000 children around the world, every day. How mind-boggling is that?

Linda Fondren was distressed by two things: That the town in which she lived was voted America’s Most Obsese for three years in a row; and her sister died due to complications from being obese. Linda decided that things just had to change, as she set about shaping up the townsfolk. The town has lost 75,000 pounds, and counting, and they are living longer. She is saving lives!

Harmon Parker came to realise that people in the countryside in Africa frequently suffer the loss of life just trying to cross waterways. They are taken by crocodiles and Hippos and flash floods. What they need are footbridges high above the water, and Harmon has dedicated his life to building bridges them for the villagers, who must think of him in terms of God. A bridge is a simple thing, once you have one. Without it life is a matter of pure chance.

Guadalupe Arizpe De la Vega is an enormously determined woman who operates right in the heart of the drug war where gangs are killing one another in Juarez, Mexico. Guadalupe saw the need for clinics and serves her community in the face of constant danger. She refuses to be cowed by the marauding gangs and she seems to have been sent by God, in the eyes of the people. She is inspired and inspiring.

Evans Wadongo is a young African man who lived firsthand without light in a traditional village where he had to study by kerosene wicks that gay him grave eye problems. So, he figured out how to make solar lamps from cast off materials, and to date he had given away more than 14,000. He is a man who makes and brings light, one of the most precious gifts there can be to a country where people live mostly in the dark.

Narayanan Krishnan feeds the homeless and destitute in India, and he takes care of their other needs like giving them a bath and a haircut. What makes his actions so remarkable is that he is from a privileged class, and the people who he is involved with, to the extent that they are his friends are The Untouchables. He has had to overcome a major taboo in order to even get near them. How can we say, yes, but!

Dan Wallrath is a Texan home builder who is so impressed by what disabled veterans have sacrificed in the name of freedom, that he builds houses for them and their families and turns over the keys to them free of further charge. That’s right, he gives away beautiful, built –with-love houses for free.

Anaradha Koirala is a very petite woman who seems to be frail. This woman is passionate against human trafficking and has the courage of her convictions. She raids brothels; takes young girls off buses that are on their way to promised super jobs that are in reality indentured slavery in whore houses, and she has turned around the lives of more than 12,000 women.

The subject of human trafficking is at the top of the agenda at the moment. It involves the selling of people, which means slavery, something the world thought was the evil past. It is alive and flourishing and needs a whole world of people like this wonderful lady.

Lastly, there was Aki Ra from Cambodia. As a young child the Khmer Rouge killed his parents and put him to work laying mines. He is now a man and has come to realise how evil a thing that was, so he now dedicates his life to clearing the fields of the same mines. With every step he takes he places his life and limbs in harm’s way. He, and his team have now deactivated or blown up more than 50,000 mines. It was for these reasons that I voted for Aki Ra as 2010, Hero of the Year.

Voters disagreed with me and voted for Anaradha Koirala, and they gave her the extra $100,000 to continue with her work. I simply wish that they could have all received an extra $100,000 or more as the things that they are doing are just stupendous.

I still say that the program concept is basically flawed, notwithstanding that it is well presented.

I wish you my readers a Very Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays, and that 2011 will bring you all the very best things in life, including good health as priority number one.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Office Christmas Party

2010-12-19T08:48:00.004+01:00

The Office Christmas Party-Nothing happens. Honest!

For twenty years I worked for an international insurance broker that employed about 150 people. Each year preceding Christmas the company held a party to thank the staff for our productivity and to wish us well. For most of those twenty years it was the most stressful time of the year that caused more problems between spouses than was necessary.

Firstly there is the cost of entertaining 150 people at a fairly high-class venue in an expensive place like Bermuda. The cost is staggering and the company has to take a big hit against its bottom line. Secondly, there is the perception of what goes on at the party between work colleagues that worries the spouse left at home. Hollywood has done a wonderful job of suggesting all sorts of funny business that people might get up to. The other spouse never buys the argument about cost, and the whole thing becomes one giant conspiracy.

During my time, especially in the early years my solution was to accept the company’s invitation and stay for the cocktails and dinner, and immediately after I would leave to meet with my partner and go on to another venue. Some people could not even get an agreement with their other halves to do that, so they didn’t attend. That was not politically correct either, and absences were noted.

What did happen at the party? Well, we all got dressed up, and in particular the women went to great lengths to look their very best. For them it was like Oscar night, and I think they saw themselves doing some kind of red carpet walk. The men also generally made a bit of an effort, and when we all met there was much kidding about how well we “cleaned up.”

At first conversation would be a little strained, and old cliques had to be broken up. We were made to sit next to someone we would never associate with during the normal course of working, and that could lead to some interesting discoveries over dinner.

The company had a policy of non-fraternization that discouraged office romances. Generally, if one of these got started one of the people would have to leave. I’m sorry to say it was usually the female. Fortunately it didn’t happen very often.

Following dinner there was dancing. I only stayed around for that a few times, but it was fun. By then the cocktails were working and people began to let their hair down. Before we knew it the end of the night had arrived, and the hardy souls went on to after- hours places. It was possible that some people got laid that night, but if so it never became a matter for office gossip, and there was lots of that the following Monday. The topics centred around how this person or that person dressed, and how wonderful the meal was, but the fact of the matter was that we were all so aware that our behaviour was under the microscope that we behaved like real angels.

Whatever we did that night we would have to live with for the next 12 months, so everyone was on their very best manners. Meanwhile, the other spouse at home were royally pissed off and worrying themselves sick. When the employee got home he/she didn’t dare admit that they had a good time.

Finally, our company gave in to suggestions that these awful problems could be overcome by simply allowing the employee to bring a guest and to pay for that person. The problems went away when the home spouse could see what a tight-ass event it was.

Which all to goes to show that the best laid intentions can always go astray.

Merry Christmas everyone, and Happy Office Party.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

El Gordo (The Big One)

2010-12-12T12:21:00.004+01:00

El Gordo (The Big One)

If it’s almost Christmas that means that it’s time, once again for El Gordo. This is that wonderful Spanish Lottery the whole world knows about, and it seems plays. The Spanish lotteries are the most wonderful in the world as they are unabashedly socialist. Previously, I didn’t understand the concept, but I did notice that the lotteries are played regularly by a great number of people. There are a number of lotteries that are played weekly, most of them I do not even pretend to understand.

I shall content myself for the moment with El Gordo, which takes place over Christmas.

Firstly, unlike most lotteries this does not pay prizes on a “single winner takes all” basis. This is designed so that as many people as possible can share in the winnings, consequently the socialist angle.

The cost to buy a full single number is 200 euros. However, you would not hold that number exclusively, and unless you knew something the rest of us didn’t, you probably wouldn’t spend that much on one number, when the strategy is usually to collect as many different numbers as possible. So, it is possible to buy only one tenth of a number (un décimo) for twenty euros.

To add further participation, on behalf of The Lottery Commission, charity groups can sell papeletas (little papers, or tickets) for small amounts of money that gives them a commission to help fund their own projects, while at the same time buying a part of a décimo for about 5 euros.

The prizes go from first, at 3,000,000 euros; second at 1,000,000 euros, third at 500,000; fourth prize has two numbers called for 200,000 euros; and fifth prize at 50,000 euros has eight numbers called. There are also 1774 consolation prize numbers of 1,000 euros. These numbers are the formula on which actual winnings are based.

The catch is that if you hold a décimo and your number won on three million euros, that doesn’t mean that you win that amount, nor does it mean that the amount of 3,000,000 euros is all that is paid out. You will win one tenth of three million for every décimo you hold. That’s 300,000 euros for every ticket that is held.

I feared that the more people held my number the less there would be for me to share, but no, my share is fixed regardless of how many others there are.

My syndicate expects to hold 600 décimos this year, and that would bring in 180,000,000 euros to us, that’s right, that’s millions if we win on the first prize, to be divided among each ticket, which in our case would be 3,000 tickets at 60,000 euros per ticket. Many thousands of people would benefit, in fact so many people benefit annually in total from El Gordo I doubt if the number is known. What is known is that El Gordo pays out about 70% of what it takes in, and should this year be like last year, more than 2.5 billion euros will be paid. The remainder goes into the government’s account as a form of passive tax.

It’s a very small wonder that about 98% of all people in Spain will buy into El Gordo, and only God, in His Wisdom can know how many people from the rest of the world will be hoping upon hope that this is the year their number is called.

D-Day, being Draw Day is the morning of December 22nd. Have you ever seen an entire country hold its breath?

(It actually did happen this year here in Spain and in Holland during the football World Cup.)

Now, all that we need to do is win. Wish me good luck! I certainly wish you the best of luck!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

WikiLeaks !!!!!!

2010-12-05T16:24:00.002+01:00

WikiLeaks !!!!!!

THINK FIRST

Heaven help us! What has our world come to?

It started with Mr. Napster who seems to have thought that the creators of intellectual properties, such as song writes, singers and musicians should be happy to use their talents, and pay all that money to record albums just to donate the finished work to the rest of the world free of charge

Now comes WikiLeaks that has been finding and releasing information that really does not belong in the public domain. Proof of that has been the tepid welcome by the public that has largely ignored the information. So, as a real kick up the ass to the public, WikiLeaks has now spilled 250,000 documents, many of which are classified, and that expose the workings and thought processes of the diplomatic world for all and sundry to see.

Granted, an American service person somehow got this information and now seems to be overjoyed that the information is being streamlined to the public. This is just not funny!

We are finding out that our diplomats are human after all, but there is a reason why they present such stony faces and careful language in their negotiations when dealing with one another, but when reporting back to home office it is customary, and probably necessary to be more forthcoming over the impressions and the outcome of their meeting. Now, bloody WikiLeaks has stripped that all away. The long-term effects of what is being openly revealed cannot be even guessed at.

In the political game it may be useful to know what your opposite number thinks of you, or it may be the most hurtful nugget of information to come your way. But, what possible need have I, as an ordinary member of the public, for this information is way beyond my imagination. Sometimes a bit of information truly is a dangerous thing.

For instance: Consider for a moment that you are on a flight that lands on time, thereby allowing you to carry on with your business. Do you really need to know that during the flight something went wrong that the crew dealt with, even though it came perilously close to crashing the plane? What could you have done that was any different to the way in which you had behaved? Nothing! But, you got to where you were going without the stress of knowing what was happening?

It is not correct for world leaders to withhold vital information that society needs and can work with, but WikiLeaks, this time you have been irresponsible and have proved that you are not trustworthy.

Shut the site down forever!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Bullying!

2010-11-28T13:48:00.002+01:00

Bullying is criminal

This is a very serious matter that has always been understated, and has always been with us. Mainly it is thought of as a young person’s problem and it tends to be fobbed off as "kids will be kids." Lately there has been a rash of teenage suicides due to bullying, therefore it can no longer be ignored.

I recently viewed a programme on Larry King Live that focused on the bullying syndrome. Larry King asked the question: Why do people bully, and what do they get out of it? The answer from his panel was that nobody knew the answer.

Fundamentally, when one person puts another person down it is done for the purpose of enlarging his own image of himself in his own mind. That seems to be the classic definition of racism, prejudice, and discrimination, no matter who is victim and who is perpetrator. In Nazi Germany the Jews were the ones who were the underdog and they paid a terrible cost that allowed the Nazis to believe that they were superior to everybody else. History has certainly confirmed that those “superior” people were only so in terms of the evil that they did.

Bullying in schools has been always a part of the society and it was never funny. It is both unacceptable and ingrained as it is a part of human nature. One step at a time ,bullying, in its various forms are under constant attack and we are seeing success in one sector followed by a rise in unsocial activity in another.

Once women in America could not own land nor vote, but that prejudice was swept away and discrimination against blacks rose to a national level. Grown men were referred to as boys, but now, even if the child is a boy you take your life in your hands if you call him that. As blacks continue on the journey to full respect another group is targeted, and so forth and so on.

This is even practised by countries that went around the world colonizing other nations. Britain once boasted that the sun never set on its colonies. How a country could think that there was anything right with invading another person’s country for the purpose of simply calling it their own completely escapes me.

The aggressor, or bully is never right! This is borne out by the fact that intelligent people will almost always distance themselves from “those people.” In the United States white people didn’t want to be associated with white power supremacists, calling them Rednecks, white trash, and trailer trash. Even within the oppressed groups discrimination is practised against one another. Light skinned blacks are seen to be of more value than a midnight-blue coloured person.

Clearly, at the base of it all is stupidity. The solution is always education. Have I ever suffered with any stupid conceptions about other people? Yes I have. Do I still have any issues to be resolved? Yes I do. At least I have the mechanisms in place to help me through my problems.

Fundamentally, the answer is the same in every case. Whether it is a nationality, a group, a political ideology, sexual orientation, a religion, etc, it is a matter of live and let live. The line is drawn when people start to hurt others to establish their own points of view. That is an intolerable state of affairs that is beyond acceptance. Bullying of any kind falls under this heading and we must appeal to those who are bullies to stop the practise……..or else!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Military Family

2010-11-21T15:21:00.002+01:00

The Military Family

War, and the military family are topics that have come to the fore in my mind lately. These are such huge subjects they are like standing in front of massive mountains wondering how to climb them. I think I prefer to deal with the human aspect first, the military family.

Who and what is a soldier?
A soldier is a combatant who is on the front line between freedom to live life according to the philosophy of a particular country, and those who would seek to take away those freedoms.

The foregoing description includes both men and women who place themselves in harm’s way, and they are routinely injured, sometimes for life, and they are killed in ever growing numbers. Sometimes harm comes through accidents while not on the arena of battle, but in training or maintenance. The end result is the same, another life lost and another family greatly affected.

War is becoming ever more sophisticated with some fighting being done by soldiers in one country sending over drones to another country to kill. The casualties will be one sided, so if you are on the side with the drones this is good news. The important point is that a soldier’s life is no less valuable than that of a civilian, but that life is subject to far greater peril.

I have been close to a mother whose son was at war in Afghanistan, and every time the telephone rang she would jump. The toll that takes on the folks back home is terrible, and it really is unfair that the general public go about our business getting only soundbites as to what is really going on along the front line. After all, it is being done for our benefit.

One part of that whole terrible drama that receives practically no coverage at all is the family that waits back home. Why a woman would agree to marry a soldier about to be shipped overseas is hard to fathom. I’m very glad that they do because it offers the combatant a scintilla of a real life, but it is always done in the full knowledge that he may not return alive.

The couple frequently will try for pregnancy so that a part of him will live on should he lose his life. We also have mothers going into active war zones and they lose their lives as well, and that for the children they leave behind must be even more difficult to accept.

The military family is a very special unit that outsiders simply cannot understand. Their contribution to the freedom of their nation is as great as that of the combat member who serves in war.

I once was close to a Navy family consisting of a young wife and two children. Her husband, my very good friend asked me to be her best friend while he was away. She treated me as her confidant and she told me bluntly of her pain of not knowing; of expecting any minute of a visit from the Navy with bad news; of her loneliness. She would cry for long periods of time after the children were put to bed and I would just hold her. She would tell me that she wanted sex with her husband so badly it ached, but I couldn’t touch her.

Throughout all those times the thought of she and I having sex never even entered either her mind, nor mine. When he asked me to be her best friend I think that he had such trust in me, or at least in her, that it never even entered his mind that we would betray him. It was a matter of such great moral importance, and the unspoken rule was expected to be upheld; that no spouse with an iota of decency and honour would betray a serving soldier while life was at stake for one’s own sexual gratification. To do so would be considered as treason. On the other hand, if the combatant had an opportunity for sex they would not be blamed for taking it as it might be the last in their life.

When he came home for rest and relaxation she would be so happy to see him, but then her happiness would give way to depression because the end of his leave was in sight and she had to prepare to go through the same thing all over again. Such a rollercoaster experience is really too much for humans to endure. This is all part of the “war is hell” aspect.

Life for the military family is one of service in support of the country, and they deserve the respect and admiration of the nation. Unfortunately the families do not receive medals for enduring, but they should.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Michael Jackson Autopsy Report

2010-11-14T11:44:00.003+01:00

The Michael Jackson Autopsy Report

The United States is a country that believes in the freedom of information, when it suits it, but sometimes I think that freedom is carried way too far. If you are interested in The Michael Jackson Autopsy Report, all that you have to do is Google it, and you will get all twenty-three pages in detail.

What possible need do we, members of the general public have to this information? We will learn that he died as a partial result of propofol, a powerful drug that is usually used in producing general anaesthesia under very controlled circumstances. It is not for use in the case of simple insomnia. We will learn that anyway when the trial of the attending doctor is held. We already know that something went horribly wrong that led to his death. We also learn that Michael was practically bald, but we kind of guessed that he was wearing a wig for some reason.

We also learn that he was uncircumcised, presumably something that most people will find earth shattering. Or will they? Most importantly, we learn that Michael Jackson was suffering from the disease of Vitiligo that leads to the loss of skin pigmentation. He told us that himself but we didn’t want to believe it. Instead we wanted to believe that he hated being black, and so he took steps to bleach himself.

Few of the media reporting on this fact gave it any prominence, nor did they give him any redemption.

It seems to me that releasing this record is all about pandering to the public’s idle curiosity. We learn the above noted facts, and we shrug our shoulders and go about our business. It means nothing to us, except that the man’s privacy is further violated when he is in no condition to do anything about it. This seems all wrong to me. I feel that the autopsy report is none of the public’s damn business.

What does mean something to me is the whole process of an autopsy. I understand that no one can sit through one of these procedures for the first time as a witness without feeling very sick, throwing up or fainting, or all of the above. I suppose for the people who perform the procedures it must become routine, but the steps are very graphic.

The professionals who prepare our meat undertake similar processes in cutting through skin and bone and sorting the parts of what was once a living creature, but we are talking about a person who was once an energetic and talented individual. However, for the purposes of the autopsy all that must be set aside and the subject is treated as simply a body that is there to be examined in depth.

It is disturbing for me to picture in my mind’s eye any dead person having the top of his skull taken off and his brain lifted out and placed in a bowl. Then we see a Y cut being made on the chest area extending all the way down to the genitals. One by one all our working parts are disassembled and taken out of our body to be thoroughly examined and weighed. Perhaps they will be placed back in the body cavity to be buried, or they may simply be taken off to be burned in the furnace. I know that the autopsy can be a very necessary step, but dignified it is not.

After we have lived our lives to the full, and the end comes the least we can hope for is death with dignity. That also pertains to the “after death” part as well.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The American Mid-term Elections

2010-11-07T17:13:00.004+01:00

The American Mid-term Elections- Time for more change.

The American voters have spoken, and the message they have sent to Washington is not pleasing to President Obama. They have said that the government needs to do a far better job in their interests, in particular the issue to be focused on is jobs, jobs, and jobs.

Like many people I sat fascinated by the President’s commencement speech, and I was equally fascinated by former President Bush’s demeanour as he too listened to Mr. Obama slam him for his failures. It occurred to me at the time that the expression on his face was one of “Mr. Obama, be careful what you wish for.” I also thought that the task that President Obama was letting himself in for was impossible.

The American system of capitalism was broken. It had been an experiment in the same sense that Communism was an experiment, and that failed. I believe that what we have seen is the failure of the capitalist system as we know it. No one, apparently other than me, is saying so, but what else shall we say about it. The system collapsed under its own weight, and the way out that is being tried, is to do more of the same.

Let me say right now that I don’t have a better idea.

The Republican Party of the United States are suggesting that they have the answers, but we have to remember that they were in power when much of the slow descent into the hell that the system is in now, took place. There are the usual talking heads that give their opinions of what needs to be done, but they are far short on details.

Nobody knows anything! What worked before will probably not work now.

The system has broken down before, of course. There have been stock market crashes and bank failures and large scale unemployment, but the country has always bounced back, and it will bounce back from this calamity, but I think the return to a more normal economy will take longer, because the problem is so much more ingrained.

This is the stuff that is better dealt with in book form, a very large book, but as succinctly as I can put it, we seem to have over-produced goods far in excess of what the market can absorb, and as a consequence companies have come to realise that it was no longer making sense to continue with production of things that people did not want, or could not afford at this time.

Car manufacturers need to have three shifts only if demand requires it. The era of building big ships is a thing of the past; construction as an employer has less need for employees, and modern technology makes building homes and offices a process that is too quick. When buildings were constructed by hand the process took longer, and consequently people were employed for longer periods.

We live in a world of cutting edge technology that allows for things to be done quicker and cheaper, that also need much less staff. Some industries that were once mega-employers of men can now produce their product using a mere fraction from their all-time payroll highs. Jobs! The country needs to produce jobs.

How astute is President Obama? Did he know on Commencement Day that putting people back to work would be Job Number One? I’m convinced that he did. Did he know that he would not be able to put people to work in the professions to which they were accustomed in only two years? Yes, I’m sure he did. So, why did he spend his political capital when he barely had the votes to focus on health care? Because, everything else is so touch and go that he took the bull by its horns and did something that no other president could have, and has given the American society a reasonably decent chance at dignified care, especially where there was nothing before. That will be his legacy.

Does President Obama see himself as a one-term president? Probably not, because he really is doing his best, and he does have the respect of most people, but it could happen.

So, now that the Republican Party have control of The House of Representatives, what will happen? President Obama will propose and they will say no! They will say, be reasonable, do it our way. On the other hand, the Republican House will have to find cooperation with the Democratic Senate.

There are many people that say that Mr. Obama is finished, and might just as well put his feet up for the next two years because he will not be able to get anything done. They are also saying that come the presidential elections in 2012 he will be voted out, but that is a very long time from now.

The thing about President Obama is that when people say No! He can’t; he has a way of answering “Oh Yes We Can!

Stay tuned.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Mr. Bee and Me.

2010-10-31T19:12:00.003+01:00

Bee Nice

The world is in the worst mess of all time. There are wars and rumours of war. The U.S. dollar is weak, and countries around the world are competing to see who can artificially make their currency even weaker to stimulate their own exports, and in the midst of all that I found something very small to bring me delight.

During the Summer we have taken our meals outside on the terrace, and that is a joy in itself. Of course, every day I found that I had uninvited guests in the form of flies and ants. That just means that it is Summer. But, one day two bees joined in the picnic. I have to say right now that the sudden and mysterious deaths of bees in many countries served to heighten my awareness of the importance of these creatures to our ecological system, so I took great care not to harm them while trying to shoo them away.

They were buzzing me like F-16 war planes trying to get at my food. Eventually I began to get the upper hand, and one of the bees went away and never returned. The other one remained dogged and determined, so I learned to relax and to share my meals with it.

The ritual went something like this: I would prepare a place and then bring my food, and within a few minutes Mr. Bee would come in to buzz the landing zone. He would buzz my head, which I learned was not a threat, but was simply his way of saying hello, and to ask what was on the menu. Then I would sit back and not move so that he had a clear visual of what we were having. He would first check out the meat selection. He always went for the edge of the meat, and he particularly liked it if there was gravy. He also liked mashed potatoes, and before leaving he would take a little sip of my juice.

He came for breakfast when I was having cereal, a muffin and coffee. He loved my Frosties, and at one time he got a little too deep in the milk, so I spooned him out and placed him on my napkin to dry off. He preened himself, and he tried out his wings without taking flight. Then he went back into my bowl for more. I had cut bananas with it and he perched on top of a piece and I thought he would never leave.

He then tried the muffin and seemed to enjoy it. He did not like my coffee at all. It was hot and the smell seemed to turn him off.

Now the weather is turning colder and that probably signals the end of dining alfresco. That is always a sad time, but this year it will be all that sadder because of the end of my association with Mr. Bee.

The lesson for me is that the most wonderful experiences may lie in the simplest of things, if we only take the time to focus and let them develop.

Meanwhile, Goodbye Mr. Bee. It was lovely to know you!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Too Ridiculous to be False

2010-10-24T15:58:00.002+01:00

Ridiculously Funny

Sometimes, if you are looking for comedy, you need look no further than the pages of your local newspaper. The news from the courts is a good source. There was one case that involved a man who was arrested for being in charge of a vehicle while under the influence of alcohol. However, he was riding a horse at the time, and much court time was taken up in argument over whether a horse is a vehicle.

Finally it was decided that as the horse was a means of transport it was deemed to be included under the heading of a vehicle. The magistrate then informed the defendant that he was satisfied with the charges, and asked whether the man had anything to say before he was sentenced. The court anticipated that he might come up with something entertaining. “Well, your honour, if you are finding me guilty then you’re gonna have to find the horse guilty too, because he was even more pissed than I was.”

Brilliant!

I read in a paper recently that on one balmy evening Tom was out walking in the neighbourhood when he saw a light from a bedroom window. He approached and on tiptoes he saw a completely naked woman watching television. The curtains were open and that allowed for a fairly good view, although a little more elevation was required to help his line of sight. So, Tom found a bucket in the yard and stepped on that, but it made a little noise so he ran for cover.

What is a woman doing lying around her house with the curtains open, and in the nude?

She heard the noise, put some clothes on and went to investigate. She found the bucket but nothing else. She decided that she should remain dressed while in her home. Days later, in spite of no apparent further problems she noticed that a concrete building block had been placed under her window, and a ladder had been moved closer to her bedroom.

She then came home shortly afterwards to find a note pinned to her front door that said: “Hi! I’m your secret admirer. I like what I see and would like to get to know you. I’m single and new to this area and I am looking for friendship.” Signed Tom, with telephone number. (I’m not making this up!)

Of course she went straight to the police who first found out what they needed to know about him, and then they called him. Duh!

In asking the magistrate for leniency Tom said that he knows that what he did was wrong and it has hurt his family, especially his wife.

Uh oh!

Talk about being dumb and dopey. Some mothers do have ‘em.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Girl Next Door

2010-10-17T15:43:00.004+01:00

The girl next door needs lots of help.

This could be a title of a story by Steven King. Certainly the circumstances are something right out of his genre of storytelling. I have written about her before, so this is an update. First, the basis of the story:

The Girl next Door is a real person, aged 34 years old. She suffers from development impairment, and as a consequence has the mental capability of a seven year old. Her mother died a few years ago, and the rest of her family, including aunts, brother and sisters, have all concluded that she must live in the family home on her own with her father.

Her father is a man of about 60 years of age with the mental capability of an eight year old.

The Girl is her own worst enemy. I’m sure that she suffers with some medical problems, and one of those problems that she labours with is that she tends to start crying frequently in a very passionate and loud manner that causes her to vomit and make retching sounds. These bouts of crying go on for hours at a time, sometimes lasting throughout a full day until she is exhausted. Quite naturally, this is very stressful on those around her. While her mother was alive she was the girl’s principal support. Her father would leave home and go to the local bar. Now he is directly responsible for her.

Now, when she starts crying he starts yelling. This reminds me of when I as a very young child and I would start up crying over something that had displeased me, my father would ask: “what you crying for boy? You want me to give you something to cry for?” At that point he would take off his belt and give me a few licks around my legs. The vocal pitch of my cries would rise dramatically so that I was then crying for real.

No surprise, she does the same and his yelling also gets more violent. He is possessed of an army drill sergeant’s voice that terrifies the girl, plus he does strike her, as can be heard clearly.

I called the police, and I directly reported the matter to the town council. I should not be getting involved in this Spanish family’s affairs, especially as her extended family all know about the abuse. No-one in her family will take her as she is simply too much for them to handle, however, everyone agrees that she should not be living with her father on her own. In fact, she really needs to be institutionalised, but under the Spanish system that would require her family having to pay for her upkeep. There is simply not any money available to do this.

We understood that an Order of Nuns have agreed to take her under their roof but they are awaiting the paperwork to be completed to allow this to happen. It has now been more than one year since that story started to circulate. Meanwhile the awful situation that exists in their house did continue to get worse.

The father drinks heavily and practically loses his mind in the face of the aggravation. I’m not so sure I would do any better. It seems that neither he nor his daughter eat healthily. The housekeeping appears to be non-existent, although I have not seen the inside of the home. If you placed a bag with a million euros in the far back room and said it was mine if I cared to go and get it, I think I would pass on the opportunity. It’s just something about all that vomiting that I hear going on in the house that would put me off.

The police have attended when some of the out of control abuse has taken place, and they have threatened the father with jail. That only serves to agitate her even more as he is all that she has. From his viewpoint he is disciplining his childish daughter and anyone who doesn’t approve of his methods is free to take her.

She is well possessed of a sense of theatre as sometimes when we have friends over for lunch on the terrace she will launch into a crying episode, complete with retching, and cries of “Mama! Mama!” I play the radio to try and drown out the sound but she raises the level of her voice, apparently happy to know that she is spoiling our lunch.

How will all this end? It will certainly end in tears. If the authorities come to take her away the separation from her father will be traumatic for her, but that will be her best chance for the future. If they don’t come soon he will probably kill her in a drunken rage. That will set off a wave of denials of responsibility, if indeed anything at all can be done for this unfortunate girl and her hapless father.

I try to imagine the angst of the father being stuck with his daughter, considering that he is entirely incapable of caring for her, and the terror of the girl when he is yelling at her. The irony of this tale is that there are times when they have weeks of peace and harmony marked by delightful laughter on her part. Her laugh is a very joyous and infectious sound. We are presently going through one of those periods. I must say that the peace does make me nervous.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Miracle at the Mine

2010-10-15T15:07:00.004+01:00

The Miracle at the Mine

The rebirth of 33 men

At a time when the world is going to hell in a handbasket, Chile is providing both light and hope in the textbook rescue of 33 of its miners(in a handbasket) who were underground when the mine collapsed. The men were all given up for dead and their families were in the midst of grieving when the news came that they were all, in fact alive.

Here I have to pause and try and put myself in the shoes of the families. How incredible must that news have been? What a rush of sheer ecstasy and joy when the message sunk in! Alive! But then, the men were trapped 700 metres underground. In the past they would have had to have been left to die, because the facilities just did not exist to rescue them, perhaps at all, or at least not in a timely fashion.

Plans were quickly drawn up to do something that was without precedent. To bring men up from three quarters of a kilometre from underground had not been done before, and because there was so much hope, no-one could be left behind. Every technical mind was bought into play, including NASA, and the effort was begun to keep the men alive, sane and healthy, and to retrieve them within a reasonable period of time.

It appears that everyone on the globe was interested and knows the story as well as I do, so I will not go into unnecessary detail. I simply want to add my congratulations to every person involved in any way to bring about a solid story of such wonderful hope, perseverance, determination, sheer doggedness, and just plain careful and precise work that the entire world can take pride and pleasure in just being alive.

What we have seen is 33 men being born again. Thirty-three men who were given a second chance at life in an atmosphere of such love and goodwill that the air was thick with it. I wonder how they will spend the remainder of their lives? I certainly wish them and their families well, as I’m sure you do.

This all comes in the midst of conflict around the world and flies in the face of those people who are so determined to kill as many strangers as possible. It is the most rare thing of all to have something that the entire world can justifiably take pride and joy in.

Thank you Chile!
Thank you Rescuers! The under-stated heroes of all time.
All who have a Supreme Being in whom they believe, say Amen!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

A Perfect Storm …Indeed!

2010-10-10T15:44:00.002+01:00

A Perfect Storm is a Killer!

I wrote about what it is like to live in a hurricane path, and before I was able to publish the piece, my island of Bermuda found itself being lashed by Hurricane Igor. I followed that up with the end result, but now I am taking a more in-depth look at what happened because it was so out of the ordinary.

Hurricane Igor, or Ogre was, in the experience of Bermuda (I borrow the name) “The Perfect Storm” from a number of points of view. A Perfect Storm is one where several elements that are dangerous in themselves all come together to make a killer event.

Firstly we start with the fact that Bermuda is a land mass only 35 kilometres long, and three kilometres wide. On the world map it only warrants a dot to show where it is, but the mass is so small that no outline is given.

Hurricane Igor made up off the coast of Africa and came across the Atlantic, and in its journey through the West Indies it left two persons dead in its wake. Then it got its act together as it moved due north and straight for Bermuda. It travelled as a Category Three hurricane, with sustained winds at its centre of in excess of 200 kilometres per hour. It moved in an achingly slow speed, meaning that it would spend lots of time over land to do the maximum damage. No matter how strong you build your house, if a storm of this magnitude sits on top of you for as much as a week, it will bring the building down.

Such a storm often spawns tornados within it that act as chain saws that cut down anything still standing. It would also create storm surges that would put all low lying areas under water, and it would dump even more water from the skies to add to the flooding. The final element was its size. It was 800 kilometres wide so that even a shift in its direction would not mean escape. Bermuda was facing an end of world scenario.

Many people simply locked up their homes and got off the island. Private estimates were that property damage would likely be total, with homes valued at upwards of 50 million dollars being wrecked and drawn into the sea. Casualties could have been in the thousands. News media became excited by the prospect and committed suicidal teams to go to collect what pictures they could of a country that is as elegant and manicured as Bermuda as it went to its death.

My wife and I had been in Bermuda barely a month before where we joined in a family reunion that saw 600 of my daughters and grandchildren; my brothers and sisters; cousins and friends gathered together in joyful comradeship, but now they were in harm’s way. Hurricane Igor was making Hurricane Katrina look like a tropical breeze.

I presume that the people of New Orleans must have anticipated the arrival of Katrina a few years ago with equal dread, and with good reason. We so seldom take a direct hit because our land mass is so small, but this time Hurricane Igor came ashore scoring a bulls-eye with its 80 kilometre centre.

No one credited “The Bermuda High” with the power to affect a Category Three storm in any meaningful way, but, the facts are that once the storm collided with the High it lost two-thirds of its strength, and it picked up speed. It did not include tornados, and was only felt for three days instead of one week. At the end there was no loss of life, nor even injuries, and property damage was minimal.

However, the stress levels of which I wrote in my first piece will be felt even more intensely as storms seem to be growing stronger and bigger. If there were a real Bermuda Triangle it would be nice if it would just swallow up the hurricanes.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Our Dog Winter

2010-10-03T11:28:00.004+01:00

Our Dog Winter - A very special friend.

I have written about Winter before, most notably “When Winter met Summer”, a love story. The sad news is that Our Dog Winter died on July 27th, 2010, and he now occupies a very special place in Dog Heaven.

Family pets have a way of becoming central to all the family and their needs affect everyone, and their loss has the same weight on each individual member.

Winter was a Golden Retriever, the poster dog for most advertisements. This type of animal generally has a wonderful temperament and attracts attention wherever they go. However, the very first time that I saw Winter I thought he was the worst animal I had ever seen. His previous master brought him into his grandmother’s beachside apartment, whereupon Winter promptly pissed on the carpet. That resulted in the grandmother going berserk and ordering him out. So his master took him down onto the beach at which point Winter crapped in the sand. The child master didn’t seem to think that it would matter when someone came along and stepped in it barefoot.

What an animal! I was glad he was not mine.

Within the year the boy’s parents had separated and the boy and his mother, had moved into an apartment in the city. Winter, who was quite young and full of energy tore up the apartment. The mother came to us to ask whether we could take him, because if we couldn’t she would have no other choice than to have him put to sleep. Oh no!

My wife and my son could not stand the chance of that happening so they overruled me and he was brought home, and until his death I found I was the one to spend most time with him.

We had another dog, named Chester who we had brought with us from Bermuda. Chester, a much older dog, was not about to share his space with Winter. We had to tie them to different trees out of one another’s sight, but my wife decided that was ridiculous and so she brought them together and made Chester understand that he would have to accept the younger Winter.

Before we knew it old man Chester was actually playing with Winter, or we think he was playing. He would drag Winter by the neck across the yard, we would yell at him and he would let Winter go, and then Winter would egg him on to do it again.

Both Chester and Winter loved their freedom and it was a real challenge to keep them inside the property. On one of their escapes, after a short while Chester came back but Winter was gone for quite some time, until we received a call to say that he was at the place where he was born, that being a breeding address that bred Golden Retrievers. How he found his way there, that included crossing a river, is anybody’s guess.

On another escape they were gone for seven weeks. During that time I was certain that I would never see them again, but one night while driving along a very dark road they popped out of the brush. Evidently they recognised the sound of the car.

In 2007 Chester died in the height of the Summer heat as he could no longer breathe. In 2008 Winter developed the same problem and the Vet said that he had an enlarged heart that was pressing against his lungs. She treated him and we barely got through the Summer of 2009, but the toll upon him was great. I was certain that he would not survive the heat of 2010, although he sensibly would find a cool spot and remain there out of the sun. His decline was steep and rapid, although he tried to maintain his regular routine.

I was leaving for Bermuda on the 25th July. I was certain that he would not survive until I came back, but my son was here so he was in charge. The thought did occur to me that before I left I should take Winter to the Vet to have him put to sleep, but I could not accept the thought that because I was going on holiday I killed my dog. It was better to let nature take its course.

Two days after I left Winter went for a walk and he simply sat down, positioned himself in a graceful pose, and died.

On his tombstone I wrote that he was “Hale, Hearty and Hairy. No dog ever gave more love, or was a better recipient for love. He occupies a very special place in Dog Heaven.
1999 – 2010”

Both he and Chester are buried in our garden so they are still near to us, but our home cannot be the same without them. They Rest in Peace.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Hurricane Igor’s Clash with Bermuda

2010-09-26T12:50:00.003+01:00

Hurricane Igor’s Clash with Bermuda
Water, water everywhere
Last week Sunday, the 19th of September, I wrote that Bermuda was being trashed by the most monstrous threat we have ever seen, so now that the storm has passed I can report that there was no loss of life, and very little major loss to property. This is the most amazing outcome, and sometimes I have to pinch myself to be sure I didn’t just dream the whole thing up.

For that proof I refer to news reports and pictures of what happened, and even then it seems that Bermuda’s guardian angels were working overtime to protect the most lucky of all islands in the world.

Hurricane Igor was a Category Three storm with sustained winds near the eye of 130 miles per hour. The storm measured some five hundred miles across, and it was travelling slowly. Island residents took this one very seriously and buttoned down everything they could. A hurricane of this magnitude travelling so slow suggested that maximum damage would be done, but in the event when the storm entered The Bermuda High it lost most of its strength, going from Cat Three to Cat One. It was so large that it was feared nothing would have any calming effect upon it at all, but not only did it calm considerably, it speeded up its forward motion.

The island was directly in its grip for twelve hours, and the eye passed right over making for a direct hit, but at the end of the day most homes didn’t even lose their roofs. Generally we would not be afraid of the winds in a Cat One, but sometimes tornados are spawned and that is what causes all the trouble.

So, a good outcome, no doubt much to the regret of the foreign press who I believe get so excited by a major disaster. Something else that was very good came out of this storm as well in that generally there is a lack of information about what is going on, but this time the social media of Facebook, Youtube, and others, as well as The Royal Gazette, the island’s daily newspaper created a live feed that streamed out constant updates; and an online Blog/news outlet called Bernews.com did a fantastic job of keeping locals and those of us around the world in the loop.

Hurricanes in Bermuda will be seen in a different light in the future, for what you know may be horrible, but what you don’t know, in your imagination can even be more so.

This Thanksgiving Day, an American observance, should be doubly celebrated in Bermuda, truly the luckiest place on earth.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Hurricanes

2010-09-19T15:11:00.003+01:00

Bermuda: Such a small target for Hurricanes

It is ironic that I wrote this piece shortly after my return from Bermuda of the 17th August, 2010. Now, as I post this, Bermuda is embroiled in one of the largest and most destructive hurricanes in many years. Hurricane Igor is trashing my country as we speak, and I am stressed, particularly as I am not there and unable to do anything to prepare or clean up. My Bermuda family are all there and I am worried for them.

Unless you are a person who lives in the path of hurricanes I don’t expect that you can have any sense of what it is like to live through one, unless you are a person who lives in the path of tornados. These things can also be a feature of a hurricane, but to live in the Midwestern United States where they spring up at a moments notice and are the cause of such total destruction is something that I cannot comprehend.

While visiting Bermuda recently a hurricane was predicted to make a very close pass at Bermuda, and possibly even a direct hit. There is something that all people experience as a group, even if we don’t realise it, but it starts with the commencement of the hurricane season. Stress! That’s what it is, and when they predict a busy season of 14 or 15 storms our stress level kicks in. The actual season might not have begun but the worry lines start to show.

Hurricanes usually create themselves off the coast of Africa and they move across the Atlantic. They are completely unpredictable, although storm trackers do a remarkable job of best guessing. A storm can change course at the last minute and fool everyone. It used to be that once a storm crossed the Atlantic and clashed with a high system coming off the great mass of the United States the storm would turn and run north, but climate change is turning out ever more powerful storms that crash right through the high and cross into the Gulf of Mexico or run right inland the U.S with devastating consequences.

As a child I lived throughout a period when we had practically no warnings at all. The U.S: Coast Guard stationed in Bermuda flew hurricane reconnaissance flights but getting the information to the public was quite difficult, since a lot of homes, ours included did not have electricity for the radio. So we would sit out a hurricane in the dark and it would cause us sheer terror.

As I grew older and became a man with direct responsibility for my family, the house, and later a boat, the coming of Summer was a time to worry. My house is situated along the water’s edge that provides a front row seat. In fact, for many years waterfront property was cheapest as people worried about being swamped during hurricanes.

From the time it was announced that a tropical depression was forming off the coast of Africa all eyes became focused on what it did next. If it came across and slammed through Florida and into the Gulf of Mexico, we in Bermuda would heave a sigh of relief. It was not our turn. However, many storms start in mid-Atlantic and run northwards. In these cases we are the only landmass to be standing in harm’s way. That includes those storms that have made up right over Bermuda. When that happens we are almost sure to lose lives that went to sea in good weather.

When a storm is a thousand miles away Bermuda starts to feel its effect by the change of the sea activity. We begin to get long pounding surf, and each thunderous crash of waves drives our stress level further because it is constantly on our minds. The closer its approach the higher our stress level until it becomes necessary to make actual preparations.

One of the most damaging storms to hit Bermuda was Hurricane Emily. It was tracking from Africa as a mere tropical depression. We knew it was headed our way when we went to bed, but overnight it powered up into a Category One Hurricane, barely enough to cause a disturbance. I awoke to the sound of the radio at 7:15am. The announcer read a few commercials and then he told us what had happened overnight and that the storm was due to make landfall at 7:15am. Like, RIGHT NOW!

I was up and out of bed and making sure that all outdoor furniture was brought into the garage, and that the storm shutters were locked. The truth is that we are not normally too spooked by a Category One, but this one was carrying tornadoes. Everywhere the tornadoes went the damage was the equivalent to nothing we had ever seen before. There were people who waited out this storm, that was a direct hit, in their cars, or in bus shelters because they had not heard the warnings.

The hurricane that was predicted when I was in Bermuda on my last visit was a classic. It was steering directly for us, then it went to the West, which means high winds on the island; but then it turned east and eventually passed far enough as to leave no effect upon the island at all. Meanwhile, all manner of life is being disrupted, but we do have to take the warnings seriously.

Finally, to give yourself stress overload you need to have a nice house and a really nice boat. Bearing in mind that you can only be in one place at a time, which one will you concentrate on saving when the hurricane comes?

There is no fury like that of Mother Nature; none whatsoever. It’s just the thing to remind man of our insignificance in the whole order of things on earth.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Thank God for Clothes!

2010-09-12T14:49:00.003+01:00

Thank God for Clothes!

The thing that brings this subject to mind is all the security processing that we have to undergo when travelling. We almost are made to get completely naked , and indeed one scanner does see you without your clothes. I asked one security officer if it would make his job any easier if we all travelled naked. He said there would still be people who would try to pass contraband.

Then I started people watching and I noted that in Bermuda and The United States there are a lot of people who are very dangerously obese to the extent of being gross. This trend started in the U.S. and has made its way to Bermuda. I’m talking about men and women whose asses are so huge that they require two chairs. Their stomachs hang so low as to nearly reach their knees thereby covering their sexual organs. Their legs are like very large tree trunks so that when they walk they have to walk both sideways and forward at the same time.

Such people have no neck and their heads are great round puffy globes, and their arms are short limbs with hanging flesh especially from the upper ends, and stubbly little hands. The most disgusting sight to see is such people seated at the dinner table just stuffing their bloated faces. At least they drink Big Gulps of diet drinks. How the hell does one allow one’s self to get to that stage?

Many years ago I stumbled into a nudist camp late at night while riding in the country of France. My girlfriend and I were young people and we were desperate for accommodation at the time. We went to bed all excited that we were in such a place, and we got into the swing of things by coming down to breakfast without our clothes.

The reality was that we were the only ones with bodies worthy of showing. Everybody else was suffering from the ravages of time and gravity, so the whole experience was a reality check to us.
I would therefore certainly not like to have to cast my eyes upon the nakedness of someone who resembles one of the blobs that I have been describing. To be clear, I am not talking about people who are simply fat. I’m talking about people who have ballooned well beyond what is normal.

I realise that it is in the natural chromosomes of some people to be overweight, no matter what they do to try to combat it. I also acknowledge that weight, whether a bit too much, or dangerously obese does not necessarily dictate personality and character. What is really disturbing me is that this is a rising trend, and that has to put these people’s lives in danger, and that is an unnecessary strain upon the health care system that I will have to share the cost of.

It seems to me that in the Middle East and Africa they have the most sensible idea to wear very loose fitting robes that hide such disgusting excesses very well. To repeat, “Thank God for Clothes!”

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Family Reunion

2010-09-05T12:20:00.003+01:00

The Super Family Reunion

We attended our family reunion on my mother's side over four days at the end of July and the beginning of August, 2010 during which about 600 family members passed through our camp. We expected a large number because when we held one in 1994 more than 1000 came to meet and greet each other; to welcome the new ones into the fold; to tell our stories so that our legends live on; to honour the most senior of our clan who are still alive; to remember those who have gone on before; and perhaps most important of all, to discover to whom we are related and to make a new book.

These are the very best reasons of all for families to gather. Normally families come together when there is a death. No-one had to die to make this happen. It was an entirely joyful occasion. The weather was not as cooperative as we would have liked, but the camp was on the waterside so that helped the ambience.

A church service was included in the program, and that was especially appropriate, as the land upon which the church sits was given by our patriarch.

The premise for the reunion was based on the origin of one man, Prechard Sanfrancisco Bascome. We believe that he, or his father is the first person on my mother’s side to have come to Bermuda in the early to middle 1800’s.

A short history of Bermuda includes the information that the island was originally discovered by the Spanish explorer Juan de Bermudez about 1509, but the Spanish Crown had no interest in this little rock that was so remote that if your navigation was only off by the smallest degree you would sail right past it. The island was re-discovered in 1609 by Sir George Somers who was slammed ashore and claimed the island for King and country.

Population by blacks was done mainly through slavery. Prechard was born of John Newbold Bascome, Sr, and Miss Vickers. He was brought up by his father. We have started with him and drawn a family tree that is still expanding as new names become known to us as being part of the family, and of course, all those new family members freshly born.

Prechard married Eva Battersbee and there are now six generations of great grandchildren. The family branches have now spread throughout the world. The places where people reside that we know about are Switzerland, Britain, Nebraska, California, Florida, New Jersey, Virginia, Carolina, New York, New Mexico, Canada, Spain, France, Jamaica, and of course Bermuda. If we had a complete list it might include every country on earth. Our family is also a rainbow in that we count black and white and all the colours in between.

In following this exercise concerning my roots, I have been totally immersed and a little surprised at how important it has been to me. It has sparked a thought that is really a little strange, and it is this: if it has been so important to me how will it be for the children of gay and lesbian couples whose birth certificate reads for father-unknown, and for mother-unknown. Especially in the case of an unknown mother, that has to be so strange. Everybody knows who their mother is.

This is not criticizing gay and lesbian couples for wanting their own family too. They are people with the same rights and privileges, and I am not trying to enter into or start a debate. I am simply wondering what effect not knowing who one’s father or mother is could have on the individual.

Anyway, a really good time was had by all at our event, and the plan is to meet up at a cruise in two year’s time. I just hope to be around to have the option of attending.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Vacation’s End

2010-08-29T13:22:00.002+01:00

Vacation’s End

A Columnist and Blogger is never completely on vacation. In fact, when such people travel away from home we are in reality collecting more experiences and ideas to write about. I have completed a trip to my native Bermuda and the United States, and that has resulted in a head full of future titles.

One of the first things to occur to me is that I have become a reluctant traveller, especially by airplane. I admit that air travel is still the fastest and safest, but what a complete pain in the ass it is. Even before you get to the aircraft itself there is all that hullabaloo over security. We have to practically get naked before they let you into the secure zone. There is a long list of things that you must abandon at the checkpoint, only to be able to buy them at the duty-free.

Then there are the delays and lost luggage and grossly overpriced items in the airport, and the long waits between flights.

On the flight back to Spain I awoke at 6am in The United States, and we made up six hours as we flew through six time zones, and we landed at Valencia at 7:30 am the following day. Throughout that time I didn’t actually sleep, although I closed my eyes for a few hours. I got off the plane, went directly home and straight into bed. My internal system has been totally screwed up ever since.

However, these are the challenges one must endure to make personal contact with family and friends, and from that point of view it was definitely worth it. Part of the reason for going to Bermuda when I did was to be a part of my family reunion. Perhaps as many as five or six hundred members of my direct and extended family made contact under the very best of circumstances. No-one had to die to bring us together, we just got together to celebrate our being-ness over four days, and that is the best reason of all.

Now I am home and back to the reality of one day at a time. It was a wonderful experience and also one that was a little horrifying at times as the whole included discovery, joy, warmth, work, hurricane, murder and multiple shootings that were too close for comfort.

As I have said, I now have a head full of stories to share, so perhaps you might like to stay tuned.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

How Times have Changed

2010-07-24T17:03:00.005+01:00

How Times have Changed for today's Grandfathers

I am a Great Grandfather to Cherrae, the daughter of my Grandson, Ramon. He didn’t warn me that something was coming that was going to knock me off my feet, and by definition would change my status in the world forever, so when it happened it knocked me off my feet. I have not yet met my Great Granddaughter because she lives between Bermuda and America, and I live in Spain, but I will some day.

I recall how mysterious my grandparents were to me. I only got to meet two of them, my grandmother, (my father’s mother) and my mother’s father. They seemed so ancient to me, and I was so totally awed by them that absolute respect was all that I could possibly accord them.

I remember when my Grandmother died. She was lain in repose in her house, a very sombre and dark place, and she was carried off to be buried in a horse-drawn hearse that was black and high off the ground with giant feathers. I was terrified that death was a thing of punishment.

Now, I am the second oldest ranking member of our family and I am the Great Grandfather. When I do get to share some quality time with Cherrae I can only imagine that she will see me as someone who is as old as time itself, although I am the 2010 version of a 71 year old. The story I have to tell her will go something like this:

“Cherrae, how old are you? I’m five years old Great Grandpa. Well, that’s very good because you are just beginning your life. I am 71 years of age, so that means I have lived 66 more years than you. During that time a lot of things have happened that have changed my life, not always for the better, but the one thing that has been constant is change itself.

I know that you are a little young to understand fully what I am telling you, but you will come to understand better as you grow older. When I was your age I lived in a house that had no electricity, no running water, no television, no telephone, no toy computers or real ones either. We children didn’t have game boys or x-boxes to play with, nor could we send sms messages or talk on our mobiles. We didn’t even have Facebook!

The form of family transport that we had was one bicycle. That was for my father to get to and from his work. Everybody else used shank’s pony, which meant that we walked. In our case we had to walk to school along a road that was made with very hard rocks that had been broken by prisoners. During those days if you went to prison once you never went back again when your time was served because you had to work very hard every day. Now the guys, and girls seem to think that going to prison is some kind of paid vacation. In the olden days they didn’t even lock up women.

When I walked to school it was without shoes. No-one, except the rich had shoes. Can you imagine that?

Those were absolutely wonderful days in my life because we lived near the water, and we had tons of open space in which to roam and use our imagination, unlike today when everything is so crowded, and people live in apartments. Even so, people don’t know who their neighbours are.

Eventually things changed and we had better facilities. We moved to another house, and we got electricity, running water and an inside toilet. We got a telephone, but it didn’t do anything unless we called somebody. The big change was when one of the neighbours got a small black and white television. They allowed us, their neighbours to come round to watch it if we sat on the terrace and looked at it through the window. At midnight the station ceased broadcasting by playing the British national anthem, God Save the Queen.

Do any of the tv stations stop broadcasting during the day in the United States where you live?

With our telephone we got a shock one day when we called our Aunt Muriel. She said guess where I am at the moment! We guessed she was in the house answering the phone, but she said that she was answering the phone, but she was outside hanging up clothes at the same time. How could that be? She had installed an extra long wire to her phone. Wow! Now, of course we have mobile phones that allow us to talk to one another while driving our cars. That is not such a good idea, but it can be done.

Perhaps the biggest change to affect the world was when a company called International Business Machines (IBM) introduced a machine for business called a computer. I was encouraged to buy some of the company’s shares when they were very cheap, but I didn’t understand what was going on, so I didn’t buy any. That’s a shame because if I had done so, I most probably would be a trillionaire today, and I could give you a big box full of money.

The computer changed everything about how we lived our lives, and continues to do so today. There are very few things that we do in our lives that are not impacted by the computer. Your own life will have changed so often by the time you become my age. For one thing, when I was born my life expectancy was 47, but I’m now 71, and there is the possibility that I may live to be one hundred. Your life expectancy is 78, but you will probably live to be 130.

I have seen the world change from cars that went very slow to Formula One super fast racing cars. Now we have world racing yachts that zip across the Atlantic, and airplanes that got so big that they are a place unto themselves, and they fly by jets that propel them at fantastic speeds. We live in a world where you never really have to touch money, and information is within a few seconds grasp. In our choice of telephones we have the Blackberry, and something called an iPhone. I won't even go there!

All these things have happened within my life. Hardly anything took place within my parent’s life, so only Heaven can have any idea of what to expect within your life as change keeps coming ever faster.

One of the negative things that have occurred is that technology exists in which a person can always be contactable, whether it’s during meal times, or when you sleep, or are travelling, or worse, when you are on vacation. Mankind was not designed to absorb so much stress. However, if you choose you can unplug everything and feel the stress slip away.

And so, Dear Reader, that’s what I’m going to do for the next month: no internet, no mobile phone, no radio, and no weekly columns. I’m hanging out my “Gone Fishing” sign, and I wish you all a good Summer break.

To be continued in September……..

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Fabulously Beautiful Woman

2010-07-18T12:27:00.006+01:00

The Fabulously Beautiful Woman is Beautiful Inside!

There are two types of women who can de described accurately under this category. Both will probably be young-ish, but that might be the only thing they have in reality to share.

Most people, upon reading this title will think of a woman who is letter perfect. She will have stature, glorious hair, a sculpted face with doe-like eyes, a nose of perfect proportions, and lips to die for. Her colour, whatever it is will suit her perfectly and be without blemish. Her teeth will be straight and white. She will reflect such beauty in her face as to dazzle and to draw attention to herself just by being in our space.

Our eyes travel downwards, and we see that she has straight shoulders and a neck that is invitingly kissable. Her breasts need not be large, just so long as they are proportional to her frame and that they have cleavage. A trim waist would set off all of her above, and that should then flare out into hips that have form, upon which should be attached a derriere that would be accented like a Monet painting, especially if outlined in a thong.

A smooth and trim tummy would be wonderful, while it lasts, and her legs, sometimes called her pins would be like ladders to heaven, especially if they are nice and long and shapely. Such a person usually comes to mind when we mention a Fantastically, Beautiful Woman.

What are the chances of a man finding true happiness with such a woman? She’s lovely to look at and her place on the calendar in the garage is most appreciated. But as my wife or your wife, she perhaps should not be our first or even our last choice. this type of woman is known as a High Maintenance person.

In the public domain, one such woman who I consider worthy of the title of Fabulously Beautiful is really a big woman, at least five feet ten inches tall, and a really beefy person. Her face is divine, her personality is truly engaging, and added on top of all that, she has tremendous talent. I'm talking about Dana Owens, known professionaly as Queen Latifah.

I am writing about this today because I heard a couple of guys laughing about big women. They were making The Big Woman the butt of their jokes, but really, I think that if you want a wife who is most likely to love you beyond comprehension; a wife who will dedicate her life to you, and to her family; and a wife who will concentrate on her man to the extent of making him feel as though he really is something special, then I believe there is nobody more likely to be more of a wife like that than a big woman.

There are some men I know who have always drifted towards the big woman. You and I have seen big women at dances and we have been amazed at how graceful they are as dancers. They do seem to appreciate the company of other women as they gather with family in tow to chat, but first and foremost the thing they seem to care about and value is their home.

Logically, the beauty queen has herself to be concerned about. She has to spend a lot of time on making sure that all is just right before going out into the public. Little things like wrinkles and grey hairs and a little inevitable weight gain are not to be tolerated, and her man has to accept that he is second place in her life. Her beauty is first, and it is superficial and fleeting.

The beauty of the family woman gains in strength over time, so although she may weigh 100 plus kilos, she is all woman and worth her weight in gold ingots. She can also cradle her bosom in her arms and say to a man: “If these aren’t big enough for you, then I don’t know what the hell you want!”

The Big Woman is no laughing matter!

Copyright (c) 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Spain. Champions of the World!

2010-07-13T23:17:00.002+01:00

¡Celebration Time!

Although it had been predicted over and over several times that Spain would win the World Cup, there were a number of hurdles that could have made the outcome different. Holland has not lost a game for about two years, so that team are not to be toyed with. They were tough and determined. They had been to the finals twice before and consequently were under tremendous pressure to emerge victorious. Would it have been fair had they done so? I think yes. A victory for them after two failed attempts would have been super sweet indeed.

It was not to be in spite of a hard fought battle. I could not avoid sharing their pain at the loss of The Cup. In games of sport, someone wins and someone loses, except in cricket, of course, that can be played over the course of a week and end in a draw. In other games the losers get short shrift. They have to deal with their own pain of loss in their own way.

Many people have said that football is more than just a game. I think I agree, and I think that applies more to football than any other game. The effect of the Spain team’s win on national pride and sheer happiness is inestimable. This is a country in the throes of deep financial troubles, but if you didn’t watch the game you didn’t have a television, or were one of those poor essential workers who were forcefully kept at their post.

In Spain, football is sport, and it is politics. Any doubt about that can be dispelled every night by twenty minutes of news and thirty minutes of football sports. Also, only a winning footballer could hug the Queen and be hugged by the King. It is only football that can bring an entire country to a complete stop. As I write this no-one is focused on joblessness. Crime is taking a holiday as the criminals are too busy involved in the spirit.

In the old days one country entered another to rape and pillage and kill and annex the land. Did they really need the land and the women? Well, they probably didn’t really need the land, but thankfully we have advanced from that to this modern form of challenge and conquer. It is definitely tribal, and the support is intense. The tears in the eyes of men are very real. These are men who are super macho, and who simply don’t cry, except when they win or lose.

The day after July 11th, we were asking each other if it is really true that Spain has the most powerful football team in the world; and the most successful tennis player; and the most successful basketball team, and occasionally a very successful Formula One driver. I think it particularly fitting that the watchword of the campaign of the World Cup for the Spanish team was:” ¡Podemos! Translated liberally, it means “Yes! We Can!”

Well Done España!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

World Cup Finals

2010-07-11T08:50:00.004+01:00

World Cup Finals -This is The One!

As I write this, it is the morning of Sunday, July 11, 2010. Today is the finals of the Football World Cup. Holland has been here before, twice, as a bridesmaid, but never the bride. Spain has never come this far before. Paul, the octopus predicts that Spain will win. Holland has played all of its games like the champions they are, having won them all. Spain lost their very first game against Switzerland who played that one like clockwork precision. Spain has awakened and pulled their act together.

I am writing this as a person who had absolutely no interest at all in the beautiful game, with the exception of the current situation. I live in Spain. There are no persons in Spain who are not interested in how this match will end.

July is one of the months during which many fiestas take place across the country. I would like to see Spain win, if for no other reason but to experience the sheer joy and celebrations that would move the usual fiestas filled with fun, up several levels to total ecstasy. Should Spain lose, then we’ll just have to be content with ordinary fun in July.

The preparation for today has been that lots of people have bought their Spanish football shirts and bandanas, and their vuevuezelas. The expectation is that during the game the streets will be absolutely deserted; all schedules have already been realigned. Medical operations have been re-scheduled, for the benefit of both medical staff and patients; the prisons have setup large screen tv’s, as have most city centres. Movie theatres are showing the game, and the air is thick with anticipation.

There is no financial crisis that is being worried about. People who are out of work are not worrying about how they will pay their bills, or even from where their next meal will come. Thieves will take a holiday during the game, but they may have stolen your television. This will be an exercise in a whole country sucking in its breath and holding it until Spain has won the match. The exhale could be of gale force proportion.

Those of us in Spain love Holland, so it will not be a personal thing that our team is determined to win. I think we shall remain friends, but I believe Holland could live with that better than being beaten by their close neighbour.

Today, a new champion will be declared. Let it be Spain!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Michael Jackson --One Year On!

2010-07-04T11:14:00.004+01:00

Michael Jackson --A Growing Legend!

Hum a few bars of the first Michael Jackson song that comes into your mind without thinking about it. What was that song? For me the challenge would be easy because the song that is always on my mind is “The Earth Song”, a homage to Mother Earth, and a call to arms to protect and conserve nature. I regard this as the crowning glory of all MJ’s works.

I am starting to write this on June 25th, the first anniversary of the very premature death of a very special person. In his own words, “Gone, too Soon!”

The paradoxical thing is that MJ would not have wanted to have lived a long time to have grown old. He said that the process of growing old is ugly, and I cannot imagine MJ as an old man.(I’m also convinced he did nothing deliberately and intentionally to shorten his life.)

He left us on the top of his game. I have watched the rehearsal video for that gigantic round of planned London concerts. That would have been quite an undertaking, and it’s a shame that the concerts never did take place. What an EVENT that would have been! Those people attending would have left dizzy from the heights they would have travelled to. We can only but imagine. In the time-honoured tradition of show business, always leave your audience gasping for more. That was vintage Michael Jackson.

The year has flown by in the twinkling of an eye. Apparently, even in the eyes of his family time has simply vanished. The saying goes, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Time has been very kind to MJ, to the point that romanticism has taken over. We only remember the good parts, which is just as well because the so-called bad parts were probably in large measure simply misunderstandings. In that case he would not be the first famous artist who was so ahead of his time that the public at large simply could not understand him. Just ask Brando, Miles Davis, Jimi Hendricks, The Beatles, Charlie Chaplin, Janis Joplin, Bette Davis, and a thousand more pioneers who the world thought were a little weird. Of course they are weird, because they are ahead of the crowd and what we don’t understand we label as being weird.

He has left the world a huge legacy in his songs, but in particular his vision of Neverland, where children never have to grow old. By all accounts it was a fantasyland
in the style of Peter Pan, who Michael believed himself to be. In my view he should be applauded for having taken an 11 kilometre tract of land and turned it into a zone of lakes with swans and fountains, and rollercoaster rides, and castles and steam railroads, and a zoo, among a lot of other things too hard to imagine, thereby celebrating earth and children in general. Was he a danger to children? Probably not, as he was a child himself. No criminal charge ever stuck, nor did we hear any child actually say that Michael molested him. So, we can now let all that unpleasant business slide into obscurity and simply remember the music.

He left something else as part of his legacy: he left three children who are growing up, but I can’t help hearing in the background a quiet drumroll. His children will have inherited his genes, and possibly his talent. Will they begin where he left off?

Stay tuned!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Thoughts of Paul Harvey

2010-06-27T15:42:00.003+01:00

Old Time Wisdom

I have no idea who Paul Harvey is. However, he seems to have authored one of those viral e-mail things that are making its way around the cyberworld. He wants me to pass it on to ten of my friends. However, I´m not sure I have ten friends, so I thought I would share his thoughts with you in this media. Fundamentally, as you will see he expresses his philosophy on life. I am moved by his suggestions because I have been there on so many occasions.

Paul Harvey writes:

“We tried so hard to make life better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I’d like better. I’d really like for them to know about hand-me-down clothes and homemade ice cream, and leftover meatloaf sandwiches. I really would.
I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.
I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.
I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.
It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies born and your old dog put to sleep.
I hope you get a black eye fighting for something that you believe in.
I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother/sister. It’s alright if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he/she wants to crawl under the covers with you because they’re scared, I hope you will let them.
When you want to see a movie and your little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope you’ll let them.
I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do that safely.
On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don’t ask your driver to drop you off two blocks away so you won’t be seen riding with someone as un-cool as your Mom.
If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one.
I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and to read books.
When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.
I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a boy/girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.
May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I don’t care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don’t like it…..and if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.
I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your Grandma/Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle.
May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.
I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbour’s window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a plaster mould of your hand.
These things I wish for you--tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it’s the only way to appreciate life.
Written with a pen…..sealed with a kiss. I’m here for you. And if I die before you do, I’ll go to Heaven and wait for you.”

Then he asks that you pass this along to at least ten of your friends and he included a riddle that I haven’t worked out yet.

I loved this piece because it’s as though he has drawn a broad brush over my own life. I have a real zest for life today, probably because I have had to mix the good times with the hard times. My first eight years were lived without electricity or shoes. I only received one gift at Christmas, and even that was something modest that I really loved. I walked to school and took the black eye, and I was ever so proud of my parents in the company of my peers. I saw my first movie, “Johnny Belinda” in the company of my older sister. I have never forgotten the experience and am still grateful to her.

The point with which I could not agree more is: never give your sixteen year-old a brand new car. Let him or her buy their own new car. That new car smell will be sweeter, deeper, and it will lasts forever.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Advice to Newlyweds

2010-06-20T18:49:00.003+01:00

What drives a marriage forward, and what drives it into the ground.

Being a Senior Citizen, or as they say here in Spain, un Anciano, you are expected to have learned something from life along the way. I have learned that the police are not always to be trusted; that we are responsible for the decisions that we make; and ultimately we are responsible for ourselves. It is true that life is not always fair, but it is still better to treat others as we would have them treat us. Truthfulness is usually the best policy, although sometimes you have to use your common sense to decide whether it might be better to leave the truth till later.

Entering into marriage in these modern times seems like a more massive undertaking than it ever was. To begin with, the cost of getting married usually means someone goes to the poorhouse. The mountain of debt and challenge that faces a young couple today is so extraordinary as to be daunting. However, as human beings we still feel the pull of love, and the need to partner with our special someone. What have we of the older generation learned that we could pass along to help young couples to survive in their marriage?

I think that as a general rule violence and unkind behaviour in the home is a sure prescription for disaster. This is a difficult one because in some marriages the role of the man as head of household is supported in their church, and if he has to use violence to enforce his position, the church supports that too. I strongly disagree with forms of violence between any of the members, just as I condemn provocation.

My philosophy is “Don’t hit, and Don’t Provoke!” That applies equally to all members of the family.

Some advice I wish I had given to President Clinton and Tiger Woods is that no man can expect to have an extra-marital affair without his wife knowing that something is going on. Even if it’s a one-night stand that took place in a far away land, the moment you walk in the door the message crosses your forehead like the tickertape of the New York Stock Exchange. The message reads: “I have been unfaithful.”

It’s true that most wives, or husbands (if the wife is the guilty one) ignore the message as being too much information to process.

Another clear message to your wife will be to arrive home smelling of another woman. If you have showered before coming home, then why?

You are only one person (until the science of cloning is perfected), so if you are not where you are supposed to be, then where are you, and with whom are you, and what were you doing?

Finally, your wife will get to know more information than she might want because the woman with whom you have been having this secret affair will tell her all about it, just as soon as you disappoint her.

Many wives say that they had no idea that anything was going on. Yes they did, they just didn’t want to face up to it.

Life is complicated and difficult without actually making problems that are best avoided. The use of common sense needs to be re-appreciated and used every day of our lives.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

Old Fashion Romanticismo

2010-06-13T14:11:00.003+01:00

Old Fashion Romanticismo - Young love so Grand!

In May of 2010 I was fortunate to spend some quality time with a young, very much in love couple who were travelling around Europe. They were from my country of Bermuda, and so it was that I got to show them a little of Valencia. As a person of 71 years of age, and an incurable romantic myself, I really appreciated this couple’s story that was shared with me.

He is a handsome lad, and she is almost too beautiful and composed to be believed. They had been courting for a period of time when he went to her father in secret and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Both parents considered that he was a very desirable suitor for their daughter, so they consented while at the same time being especially impressed that their opinions were sought even before he had brought up the subject with his love.

Nothing was said to his princess by either parents or himself; instead he planned an European trip that included several stops, including Paris in Springtime. It was there in a crowded five-star restaurant over candlelight dinner that he completely surprised his lady love by laying a handkerchief on the floor, an act that brought a hush over the entire room, and on bended knee he proposed to the love of his life. Even the violin music stopped briefly, and as all the witnesses held their breath he promised that they would have a long and happy life together if only she would say yes.

Tears were not in short supply at that moment. There was hardly a dry eye in the room. Even without the cameras from the film studios that moment is forever etched in history. She said “Yes, I want to be your wife, your lover, your children’s mother, and your very best friend.” It was only then that the room exhaled, and champagne corks popped and the music played.

She said that she considers herself to be very lucky to have a man so romantic, and so special to be thought of so highly as to be given such royal treatment. I agreed, but also, someone who could have the imagination to plan such an impressive beginning is someone that she can trust.

I wish them a life so full of love and happiness together that they will have plenty to share with the world around them. As long as they remember to respect each other as individuals, and to consider each other’s feelings and needs I think they have a very strong chance of celebrating their 50th anniversary. I would really like to be around for that!

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael

The Blockade of The Gaza Strip

2010-06-06T17:20:00.004+01:00

The Blockade of The Gaza Strip - A very Sad Story Indeed!

You will seldom find me poking my “two cents” into the dialogue between the Israelis and Hamas in The Gaza Strip. The way I see things there will never be an end to the conflict between the Palestinian people and the Israelis – ever! The news coming out of that region is usually depressing, but even for them the news this week was extraordinary.

Israel has in place a maritime blockade that disallows most cargo from being offloaded at any port in Gaza, with the exception of humanitarian supplies. The problem here is with the definition of what constitutes such supplies. Fundamentally, Israel fears that if they allow Gaza to have certain materials, such items may be reworked into armaments and thrown back into Israel, killing Israelis.

This week, beginning the first day of June, 2010 a convoy of six ships left Turkey to try and run the blockade, while the Israelis warned that they would hold fast. In the process the Israelis confronted the ships and boarded them, but in the case of one of the ships violence broke out that resulted in several people being injured and worse still, nine people were killed.

The outcome was that Israel has been roundly castigated, but no-one has called the action by the blockade runners foolhardy; but that, in my opinion is what it was. True, it was not all for nothing in that it has heightened world awareness to the fact that there exists a blockade, and to the effects of it upon Gaza. So, now that we know, what will change? Most likely nothing.

I took the opportunity to look at what life is like living without a great many of the basics that we in the free world take for granted, and it makes grim reading. Firstly, there is no definitive list of what is allowed and what is not. Sometimes certain everyday items may be allowed, and at other times they might be refused. Items such as candles, matches, books, musical instruments, certain foods, shoes, mattresses with sheets and blankets, writing materials and light bulbs have fallen under the entry denied grouping.

Cars, refrigerators, and building materials are almost always denied entry. I take no position as to the justification or not of the Israeli position regarding the items that they blockade, I simply have difficulty in getting my head around how it is possible for a modern day people to live without such fundamental materials.

Indeed, what can it be like for any ethnic group of people to live under such control of another power? We who are free to choose our own lifestyles and to buy whatever we can afford find this concept to be so strange in this modern world as to be outlandish.

This may explain the rash moves on the part of the blockade-runners. It seems futile from the start, not to mention dangerous to try and break the blockade set by such a determined country as Israel. At the least these are desperate actions in response to what appears to be a very desperate standard of living.

The part that particularly upsets me is that people sail their ships with their restricted cargoes into the Israeli hands, whereupon all is confiscated and the personnel are promptly deported leaving their cargoes to the Israelis. The Israelis say that they will deliver the goods, but if the items are embargoed they won’t be delivered to the Palestinians, but presumably they will be used as a gift by Israel.

Having seen what happened to the first ships, that has been followed up by another ship, with more ships promised. Stop the madness! This is a going-nowhere strategy at great cost and no gains to be had. I do feel great compassion for the Palestinian disadvantaged people, in isolation without considering past history and I can only hope for a better solution between the two groups.

First, there has to be a Will.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael