Evel Knievel Needs a Spanking!

I watched the spry, diminutive daredevil, as he zipped fearlessly in and out of traffic on his little pre-school sized BMX bicycle, barefooted and dirty….

He rode his little bike with a form of street savvy that I envied…and somewhat feared. Where was he going? Where was he coming from? Was he accountable to someone?

He stopped at the traffic light ahead of me with a dirty little foot well placed on the ground for balance, impatiently awaiting his turn to join the free flowing traffic, when apparently, frustrated by the wait and feeling that he was not subject to traffic laws, he darted across the road, arrogantly popping a wheelie as he joined the flow of cars.

He executed the wheelie with daring precision, and I could not help but admire its longevity and the seeming casualness of his cycling maneuvers, which indicated that he was a veteran of the streets. He owned the road. All vehicles were subject to his will.

Then, as one disgruntled driver sat aggressively on his horn, having had to swerve in order to miss hitting little Evel Knievel, I watched in awe as he raised a grubby little middle figure in the general direction of the driver, all executed with a sneer of the upper lip.

My first inclination on seeing this act of defiance was to snicker...and then, I wanted to cry…What is to become of our children?

On that depressed note, I shall now exit.

'Fro.

Birthday Diva: The Aftermath

Scene: My yaad, somewhere in the Cayman Islands. Morning time. Sun bright. Birds chirping…

’Fro awakes…Opens blurry, red rimmed eyes and screeches…

‘Fro: Oh Lawd Gad! I am dying! [Nudges DV] DV!! I am dying! Oh, dear Lord!
DV: [Grunts, rolls over, snuffles…resumes sleep]
‘Fro: [Hissing] Star, I am deadin’! My head is going to explode.

DV: Hush.

'Fro: Call an ambulance. I ain't know what is wrong with me!
DV: It’s called a hangover honey. Go back to sleep.

Sigh…the dangers of excess.

And on that philosophical note, I shall now exit.

Toodles....

'Fro.

Discarded Divas

So, I went to a wedding the other day, and I watched as the geriatric father of the bride pranced around with his sullen, young second wife, whilst the still single, fabulous looking mother of the bride, pranced around with her best friend, no male escort in sight. She was a beautiful, tall, stately woman, obviously in her prime. I could recount the story of how Pops left her years ago for the young hussy, but, I will not bother. You get the gist.

This then got me to thinking about the number of women that are in the Diva's particular position. Women, who have built lives with men like Pops from the ground up, elevate these men to their current status, and at the end of the day, are cast aside when they get a little bit of rust on their mufflers. My mother also falls into what I call the “Discarded Diva” category.

This adds a new element to the so-called dating scene in the Cayman Islands, for, if you break down the dynamics, men of the same age and stature as the Discarded Divas are either related, married; separated; divorcing, or are just like Pops, and looking for a newer rust-free model. The men that are 'available' may also come with a cargo load of baggage that no sane human should ever claim. Should a Discarded Diva turn a blind eye to these matters, strictly to find someone with whom to grow old, regardless of the stress and strife that they may bring into the Diva's life? Me thinkest not!

Another option for the Discarded Divas would be to pull a Demi / Ashton scenario, but, alas, exactly how is this conceivable? Personally, I, my brothers and sisters would have a fit should some young stalwart stallion attempt to court our fabulous matriarch. Visions of disease, money grubbing and other Lifetime network movie-ending nefarious scenarios would soil any romanticised notions of a happily n-ever after.

And then, there is the social scene for these Divas, or lack thereof. I, personally, have lamented in the past about feeling old in the club, and the Islands' social scene in general, so exactly how would the Discarded Divas feel? It is just not feasible for a Discarded Diva to prance around in the club, going down low-low-low and showing her “Apple Bottom Jeans”. The whole club would be looking at her all right, then I would be barraged with hundreds of text messages regaling me with how mi mudda brukkin' out in the club. Lawd, mi heart jus' doh beat right when mi t'ink 'bout the notion. That just nah right, on any level.

Previous attempts on the island to establish ‘mature’ clubs have been unsuccessful, for the Discarded Divas do not stay out until all hours, nor do they drink themselves into the ground in order to allow a club owner to make a profit, and to keep their establishments thriving. Eventually, profitability being the key, the age requirement is always lifted to grant entrance to the young, nubile ‘gents’ and ‘ladies’.

Not everything has a happy ending, like the First Wives Club, so, I ponder, where exactly does this leave the Discarded Divas? To stay home and mull about as my Discarded Diva currently does?

On that contemplative note, I shall now exit.

Ta ta...

'Fro.

Sex, Lies, Videotape...and Email

So, I received a scandalous and scintillating email the other day, which contained pictures of a loving group of people, possibly resident on Island, engaged in lewd and licentious acts that are illegal in most countries.

The pics featured girl on girl action; guy on girls; guy on girl; girls on girls, and randomly sprawled body parts prominently featured as head-liners for the circus presentation (pun intended!).

I viewed the pics with curious objectivity whilst trying to get an accurate account of the parties involved in the ménage-ten, as well as to try to figure out the hows and whereforths of the camera operation. Who took the pics? Did they draw straws? Did each volunteer to take a turn as photographer out of a sense of fair play? Kudos to them! What team spirit!

I eventually gave up, for the time and effort that it was taking to figure out the fornicating human puzzle was actually making me cross eyed.

An acquaintance of mine was recently caught up in this new sex-pic hoopla, when she and she fellow decided to take some pics to commemorate a sexual interlude. Turns out that she was a good girl who made very poor decisions in her choice of men and artistic medium, for the fellow then turn ‘round and uploaded the pics to the internet in a fit of spite. Reminds me of that age old adage: “…when your friends become your foe, out into the world your secrets go…”

When she and I now cross paths, the conversation is…awkward. She thinking: “Does she know?” Me thinking: “Yeah, I know. Do I acknowledge, and say that it’s okay?” Feet scuffling awkwardly, smiles and conversation stilted, we are both very glad to part ways.

This entire trend has gots me pondering as to why in this technological and scandalous age, people involved in bedroom peccadilloes feel the need to document the process. Scintillating thrill? Not only must this require a great deal of trust (or stupidity), but are there not other factors to consider, such as a lost or stolen phone, camera or computer? Circumstances could allow strangers to be all up in your business, circulating intimate pics, intended to be private.

Lawd, suppose you dead and gone, and yu’ fambily sorting out yu belongings, and come across yu scandalous sex pics? I can see it now, Sonny looking at his mommy nekkid, and getting a bird’s eye view as to how he was possibly conceived. Lawd, I would be responsible for pushin’ mi pickney into an early grave, whilst turnin’ over in mine!

That being said, due to the proliferation of this particular trend, I have done some research, and collated the following tips (in no particular order) for anyone who should decide to engage:

One: Do not show your face

Two: Do not show any distinguishing features, or marks, such as tattoos, scars, tooth decay, piercings, moles… remember, the mole issue worked out in R. Kelly’s favour.

Three: After the scintillating thrill has passed, whilst ruminating in post-coital bliss, sit together and delete the photos. Delete the SIM card if necessary. Mash up the phone/camera as well, if this will give you further comfort. I could even take this further to suggest death and dismemberment, but, I will leave this here.

Four: Make sure that the picture-taking is reciprocal. He and she, not just of 'she' or vice versa. (If the parties involved are 'he and he', or 'she and she', that’s all ya' business, but, you get the gist.)

Five: Women, further to point four, in the event that he does betray you, please note that you are now in a position to air brush the pics in your possession, diminishing his girth and width, and forwarding to relevant parties as desired, with the title “Pee Wee”. You could even superimpose a sheep or other farm animal into the picture if need be. (Please note that this is just a suggestion. The author does not condone such behaviour.)

Six: In the event that you should get caught up with the bedroom paparazzo, and chose to discard points 1 through 5, please ensure that you suck in your stomach, and that your ‘sex face’ does not look like Leona Helmsley or Tammy Fay Baker. This would not photograph well. In the event that your sex pics does circulate whether by accident or design, you do not want to be made to look like a laughing stock.

On that very helpful note, I shall now exit.

Ta ta...

'Fro.

Once A (Wo)Man...Twice a Child...

So, my sister and her mate are currently faced with the issue of dealing with an octogenarian god-mother, who is apparently senile, with traces of what I can only conclude is undiagnosed Alzheimer’s disease.

Love, appreciation, (guilt?) and respect for the Lady has made them reluctant to admit her to a senior care facility, but the alternative is to deal with issues which could possibly have far reaching repercussions on their relationship, social life, and finances.

Having witnessed their situation, it just makes me….sad, as it is very depressing. Lady has now reverted to the mental faculties of a child. She is prone to depression, fits of crying, which I deem to be her frustration manifesting itself; and has to be scolded for actions that are possibly detrimental to her health, and the health and welfare of those around her. She wears adult diapers that must be monitored and changed She wants to engage in her regular day to day activities, and after over seventy years of cooking, how do you tell the home maker within her that she can no longer operate the stove, for fear that she will cause a fire? Or the fact that she no longer knows how to dress herself properly, and could possibly walk out of the house wearing only a hat?

I just find it…awkward. It is strange to be in a position to scold a grown woman and knowing that the she will not learn from the lessons imparted, tapered with the need to maintain that level of respect for the socialite, and loving mother figure that she once was….

Which leaves one to wonder…what of the required care for my parents when they in turn must revert to their childhood? Recently, I can see the gradual effects of age, wearing on my parent’s – new ailments, mellower dispositions, and the need to defer to the children for important decisions that will impact the family as a whole. But, alas, plans will have to be put in place for the folks when their second childhood approaches, and as I get older, and the old bones creak from wear and tear, it is a topic that seems to hit me in the face constantly.

In my regard, I need to start working on my Sonny, to make sure that he will in turn care for his dear ol’ Mama when plastic surgery and medical miracles can no longer disguise the effects of her age. I just hope that he and his wife (the harlot!) will love me enough to change my Depends.

On that depressing note, I shall now exit.

Ta ta…

L, M, N, O, Pee...!

So, during my recent sojourn to the Club with DV, whilst sipping elegantly on the aforementioned Cosmo (my 3rd) and ruing my pending bathroom break, I was disgusted by the fact that the seemingly dainty, well clad, sweet young ‘ladies’ were in reality, a herd of nasty heifers! It was astounding! They were perfumed, made up and elegantly garbed, and yet, they left fecal matter in toilets, stuffed sanitary napkins in the toilets, did not flush, randomly dropped tissue on the floor, and left faucets running until water overflowed! Backside (pun intended)! You leave your yaad for a couple of hours and you have to dump, so???

Sadly, this issue is not limited to the female restroom at this particular club, but the sad fact is that this is often the scenario with female restrooms in general. Even at my place of employ, so called professional women must be reminded via signage, not to flush sanitary napkins, a lesson that was imparted from grade school. This is the norm, and not the exception, as these signs are evident in restrooms in bars, malls, restaurants, and other office buildings.

I was once asked what I would do if I could spend one day as a man. My sophisticated response:

1) I would be the recipient of fellatio 2) I would pee standing up.

I would pee in corners. I would pee in bushes. I would pee on light poles. I would pee out my car window. I would loosen my wanker (and I am positive that I would be well endowed) and piss all over the place, STANDING! I would have conversations while I peed. I would water gardens with my pee, all for the glory of peeing where and when I wanted to, and not being relegated to the prison of a nasty public toilet, and needing to wipe when I was through. Shake and go. Sigh. The scars that live with me from playing mass during Carnival, and no toilets were in sight! The scars that live with me after being at a concert or fete, and having to use a a public restroom or, God forbid, a port-a-loo! I need therapy!!

My Mom had always theorized that women were either divided into toilet-squatters, or toilet-sitters. I am not sure if there are associated psychological assessments to the squatter / sitter personality, but, at least she indicated that there was a division. The aforementioned toilet psychologist had always trained me to be a squatter, regaling me with tales of germs infesting my ‘poony’ or my ‘tush’. To this day, rabid fear keeps me well perched over the alien toilet, as there would be hell to pay should I ever sit (or collapse). One positive result from this has been the development of very strong leg muscles, though squatting has become very difficult with the onset of my arthritic knees. Nor did I ever believe in the sitters’ concept of lining the seat with tissue either, as 1) the tissue also has rancid public germs 2) the rancid public germs will infest the entire tissue, from the time that it is layered on the seat and seep into my backside. My mother’s lesson lives on.

So, fellas, the moral of the story is that the next time that you are out at a social event, looking for viable candidates from whom you are to obtain potential notches to your bed posts or possible wife, girlfriend or ‘other’ material, go and take a peek into the ladies’ restroom at the end of the night. Review each stall. Interview your potential candidates as to their toilet etiquette (or lack thereof). Maybe this will give you with some valuable insight as to the caliber of women that are frequenting said event, and whom you are taking to your yaad.

Though, of course, should you ever see an elegant seductress adorned with a big afro puff, elegantly sipping a Cosmo, she is, of course, excluded from this sweeping assessment .

And, on that facetious note, I shall now exit.

Toodles.

The Ten Commandments

So, I was doing my Sunday reading of Friday's Caymanian Compass, when I came across a small classified ad, listing the Ten Commandments. My initial reaction on seeing the ad was a sneer of the upper lip, and I proceeded to turn the page. Then, intrigued, I paused and made a conscious decision to read, absorb and break down the Commandments from my cynical societal perspective. I wanted to assess each Commandment symbolically, taking into account my relatively limited scope of many of the horrors and evils that pervade many societies, in addition to the positive and wonderful things that happen today that are never worthy of sensationalist press. Now, as an additional disclaimer, it should be noted that formal practiced religion and the concept of blind faith and I have a very distant and pessimistic relationship, but I have a lot of respect for biblical writings and interpretations, and am open to teachings of almost any denomination and faith. I’m just cool like that. I will also write on the premise that the Commandments are still applicable, as some denominations have deemed that they were ‘revoked’ by God, because of the murder of his son.

Now, hereby lies the Ten Commandments as broken down by ‘Fro, standard life teachings - moral and common sense - as taken from Exodus 20:1-7 (drum roll here).

1. Thou shall have no other gods before me.
Note the lower case reference to ‘gods’? This notion in itself is practically non-existent, as money, status and power appears to be the ultimate god, ruling and controlling mans interaction with man. On this note, will later reference the powerful impact that the money god, has on the practice of all other Commandments. Additionally, as we move towards globalisation and there is more interaction with other cultures and religion, societies are continually faced with conflict and confusion surrounding this Commandment. Hinduism, Sikhism, Wicca, Buddhism (some traditions), Agnosticism, Atheism, Humanism, etc. These religions worship many Gods, a different single God, two deities or no God.

2. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in the heaven above (edited for content – look it up yourself)
So, what does this say for all the posters and debates raging about the blond haired, blue eyed Jesus; black Jesus, Jim Caviezel, pictures of Jesus on the Cross, etc? What of the religious bookstores that sell and profit from these items, (tying this back to Commandment #1)?

3. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.
Scrap this one as it applies, as blasphemy is the order of the day. Society has reduced this to a ‘lesser evil’ in the grand scheme of things, something that appears to not even be noteworthy. I can remember as a child, taking the Lord’s name in vain was a HUGE playground transgression, whereby other kids would tattle or threaten to tattle on you if you did. We did not understand the origin or nature of this transgression at all times, but we knew that it was something baaadddd……

There are some things that I just do not mess with, out of some deep internal fear, and respect. I have a co-worker, that continually bellows "Jesus Christ!" each time that she is upset, and I cringe each and every time that she does.

4. Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy
Which one? Religions are in conflict if it should be Saturday or Sunday. The Cayman Islands have enforced a drinking and dancing law and a Sunday trading law that prohibits dancing on Sundays, as a measure of the powers-that-be enforcing Commandment #4 on its society. At 11:45pm each Saturday night, all clubs and bars are to cease and desist with the sale of alcoholic beverages, and all patrons must exit posthaste: Sunday is coming. Therefore, we ensure that we get as many drinks in as possible, when we hear the infamous “Last call to the bar”. Get drunk, drive home, and wake up to go to church on Sunday. On Sundays, we island natives can go to a local bar, and drink to our hearts’ content, to the tune of ‘soft’ background music, which must be played at a certain decibel, so as not to reduce the possibility of conversations while we sip or gulp on our drinks. It is illegal to dance in said establishment. Supermarkets are also closed on Sundays. Therefore, we cannot take or drunken selves to the grocery store after we leave the bar. Go figure.

5. Honor they father and thy mother
But do our fathers and our mothers honour us? Absentee fathers; microwaved babies; baby used as a baseball bat; drowning children in bathtubs; giving toddlers marijuana; murder suicides; incest…and the cycle will perpetuate itself.

6. Thou shalt not kill
Except: when fighting for oil; land; enforcement of religious doctrines; suffering from PMS; self defense; inheritance; eye for an eye. Societies have become so desensitised, that murder and death seems to be the order of the day, even manifesting itself in the games played by our children. Legislation and case law seem to be on a role for excusing every form of murder: they were abused; they are mentally incompetent; they are just children. We seldom weep and mourn, nor lobby and take to the streets for radical change and outcries against the atrocities that we commit against each other, except in the days of old when young and old, male and female used to gather in streets and yards to lynch black people for perceived wrongs, or when village inhabitants gather to stone young women for adultery or if they incited men to lust by showing their eyebrows. Sigh. Oh, for the good old days!

7. Thou shalt not commit adultery
Ha! This is the norm more than the exception! Wedding vows are transient at best, as interchangeable as our shoes or socks. I don’t even need to comment on this one anymore. Refer to Commandment #10.

8. Thou shall not steal
See comment on Commandment #6, and tie this back to Commandment #1 and the worship of money and status.

As a side note on white collar theft or embezzlement from organisations, I was also intrigued by the fact that most published convictions for embezzlement in the Cayman Islands seem to involve single mothers, between the ages of 25 and 35. I would think that this would be worthy of some form of impact study, in order to evidence the wheres and whys. This was further highlighted for me when a young lady was sentenced after embezzling funds to support her on-line gambling addiction (see commandment #10 to follow).

9. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor
Except in instances of false identification, due to the fact that all black and Asian people look alike, or if thy neighbour is taking the fall for breaking commandments #8, 7 or 6; or if you cry out that a random black man car jacked you and drove off with your kids, inciting a possible public lynching of a random black man like in the god ol’ days. Refer to commandment #6.

10. Thou shalt not covet they neighbour’s house. Thou shalt not covet they neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbour’s.
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s oil, and incite war, terrorism and famine by baring false witness against thy neighbour, in a bid to obtain said oil.

Pertaining to the above, I was recently curious as to why gambling was deemed a ‘sin’ as it seemed to be self inflicted harm to the gambler and relatively harmless. I was intrigued to note that gambling was a form of coveting. I will not even mention church raffles at this point, and will have a little talk with DV when he gets back from Vegas next week.

So, in the grand scheme of things, this one can also be tossed out the window with the baby and the bathwater, because coveting is the norm, more than the exception. Newspapers, tabloids and MTV Cribs repeatedly punch us in the face with the fact that we are unworthy and poor in comparison to superstars and mega millionaires, driving us to implants, botox, liposuction, weaves, robbery and pillaging on a daily basis. Coveting thy neighbour’s wife’s ass has led to Commandment #’s 9, 8, 7, 6, 4, 3, and 1 being broken without a second thought.

In conclusion, for those of us with non-spiritual inclinations, even if we should take the religious aspect out of these life rules, they are wonderful guidelines under which we should live our lives. Maybe we should all reassess and reconstruct these moral teachings in order to live good lives and further strive to be good, happy and content human beings.

Therein lies my Sunday sermon. I shall now step down from my soap box, and exit on that note.

Toodles.