An Actuarial Death Notice

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

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

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!

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

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

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?

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.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael

Bonny, Warm, Scotland!

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?

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

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.

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

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?

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!

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

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

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

Election Day

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

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

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

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

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

Strange Dreams

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!”

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 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.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael