On Nature, Instincts, Aspirations and Incentives of Doings

We meet every second Tuesday of the month at El Chaveta on Olive to discuss, debate and declare on subjects of common and general interest.

The other day, our subject was "Boyfriend v. Husband"*, which dealt with females in a committed relationship having an external liaison (commonly known as cheating). Before the debate we had a show of hands to "I've cheated" and were satisfied that we have an expert panel. Most of us were familiar with the groundbreaking Sonntag, Cappellacci et al. research that found that about two thirds (sometimes as high as three quarters) of relationships have had cheating and that it is the leading cause  of breakdowns (or breakups). 

We all agreed that males cheat more and are more likely to be repeat, frequent or chronic cheaters while females are more likely to "know" (as they possess female intuition and males are less careful, women are also more likely to go through the pockets, wallets, phones of partners and less likely to accept a perfectly logical and innocent explanation of "lipstick on shirt collar" instead jumping to conclusions, even confronted with the "but I can explain" or "it's not what you think"). We also conceded that males often feel less guilty (as they easier construct justifications and rationalizations) but females are more prone to forgive (as they are naturally wiser and kinder). Everybody concurred that sneaking around and the constant fear of  being found out is stressful and, in time, becomes a burden. It was agreed that there is no such thing as a "first offence pardon", once caught it is either curtains or radical acceptance. We could not agree if cheating weakens or strengthens the relationship, couldn't say if the boyfriend is entitled to be jealous of the husband, nor were we unanimous that a "voluntary reveal" is ever a good idea.

After a spirited deliberation, argumentation and cogitation, we still were at a loss to explain why, if logistics are horrendous and consequences disastrous, so we still do it? Probably closest to an answer is what Ivan Krylov, La Fontaine (and before them Aesop) told us about "The scorpion and the frog" yeah?
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* a  previous session's topic was "Wives v. Girlfriends?"

Of How the Roads lead North (or East)

Walking briskly, she caught up to me on that lovely early morning just outside Salamanca on the road to Zamora. I looked at her and thought I saw true Thracian traits*. 

I had my backpack and she had a bag slung over one shoulder.  I asked: "What's in the bag?" she smiled and said "Binoculars and jewels" so I asked: "And your name is Johanna, right?" She smiled and replied "No, I'm Kalina", that's when I knew she knew I knew. So, as confirmed hard-core Dylan fans, we walked on and talked about subjects of general interest: Chemistry, Physics, and, inevitably, Math. Eventually, we arrived at the controversial topic of the Nabla Operator and it quickly became apparent that we were on opposite sides of the dispute. Kalina firmly believed in the Arrosto-Zwiebelburg solution whereas I trusted the Jackson Lamb interpretation. We took turns quoting arguments that favored only our side, knowing fully well that we wouldn't change each other's minds. It was a friendly debate and we savored it. By this time the sun was quite high in the sky and we started looking for a suitable place for the midday break. We just passed Santiz and there was a huge black oak just at the fork in the road: ideal. I took from my backpack bread, some Manchego, and half a bottle of Rioja. Kalina contributed two great-looking apples. We had a very pleasant lunch. We were commenting on how, these days, so very few people embrace and enjoy our way of traveling per pedes apostolorum. Kalina was just saying she was planning to take the road to the right towards Zamora, I would continue left towards Miranda do Duoro to reach Santiago in a little over a week, when I wondered aloud if we would ever meet again. She said that it depends. "What does it depend on?" She replied, "I'll ask you a question. If you answered 'Yes' we'll meet one more time, if you said 'No' we'll meet twice more". We both laughed and rested a bit longer after which we packed up our stuff, said our goodbyes and went our ways waving at each other until out of sight. 

Suddenly I remembered that Kalina never got around to asking me her question ...  so I guess I'll never know!

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* The author uses the tr-tr-tr construction to create the impression of a trepidation movement (n. ed.) 

One Takes Advice from Anywhere of Anything

This is Aina Rakotomanga, the sweetest kid you'll ever want to know. We met, went for coffee, and I asked her if she’d like to be featured in my blog. She said yes and shared her story with me. Her mom was pregnant when they came to Toronto from Madagascar and gave birth to Aina at Mount Sinai Hospital. They rented an apartment in St. Jamestown, where Aina's mom, Linah, cleaned and cooked for people.

More than 95% of women born in Madagascar and their direct female descendants share a curious physical trait: their hips are twice as wide as their shoulders. It’s an unexplained "gene thing." For as long as she can remember, Aina's nickname, was "Hips" and she didn’t mind. She did well in school, went on to study Social Sciences, graduated with a major in Communications, and found a job managing the busy office of a downtown software company.

 

I asked her what skill, talent, or quirky hobby she has that might make for an interesting blog entry, and her answer was intriguing: she can find a downtown public parking spot in under three minutes—every time. It’s uncanny! A TV producer, a sister of a friend, did a segment on Aina, taking her on the Channel 6 camera truck for a few days during peak hours. Following her instructions and directions, they found a public parking spot every time. It was nothing short of a miracle. When the segment aired, the TV station’s switchboard lit up as people called in for details, advice, and to ask for more drives.

Aina went on to create a booklet and a YouTube channel, both called Tips from Hips, and they were both huge successes.

On the Cessation of the Perpetual Toaster

His name was Curtis Loew, but everybody called him Rats. He was born in Famagusta to a local teenage prostitute and a captain in the Soviet Army. He was of medium height and slim build, with a round head and a pointed nose; his hair and sparse mustache were an undefined sandy color. He used to hang out with us at the coffee shop and tell stories of his many girlfriends, how much money he won at www.betterbets.com, and his various schemes (all of them unethical, some of them illegal). Rats was mostly ignored.

One day, he told us that he bought a toaster that stopped working after about two months. When he went back to the store, they told him that Walmart was happy to refund or exchange within thirty days with the original sales bill, but since it was past the date, he could call the 1-800 number on the product box for the one year manufacturer's warranty. There was nothing he could do, so he bought another toaster of the same make and model (on sale for $19.99). He got home, inserted two slices of bread into the new toaster, and another of his schemes suddenly coagulated in his devious mind. He put the old toaster in the new box, taped the sale bill to the box, and marked the calendar three weeks from the current date.

Three weeks later Rats went to customer service and said that the toaster stopped working. The agent checked the bill, looked into the box, and asked if he wanted another toaster or a cash refund. Rats took the money. In the next year and a half, due to the dubious quality of toasters made in that large, industrialized, far-away republic where most toasters come from these days Rats repeated the scheme three times: free toasters, yey! He looked to us for comments. Only George reacted: “They'll catch you, Rats, and they'll punish you bad.”

Rats stopped coming to the coffee shop—not that anybody missed him much. One day, George found a news item on the back pages of The Star and read it to us: “Police were called to 313 Duckworth to find the body of Curtis Loew, 48. The cause of death was determined to be strangulation. It appeared that the power cord of a cheap toaster was used as a weapon. Anybody with information is asked to contact 52 Division.” George said “Didn’t I tell you? They always catch the Rats.”

Mary-Jo Vollrath

This is Mary-Jo Vollrath from Sheboygan, Wisconsin (pop. 49,929), she is 5'11" and weighs 120 pounds. As a young child, her grandfather taught her to work with tools and fix stuff, her grandmother taught her to knit and sew. When she finished high-school she realized that small town USA wasn't for her and she's ready for big city, Canada, so she moved to Toronto. She loved the city and made an OK living running a bike repair shop, working as a part time model and, at nights, as a bouncer in a downtown gay bar. All was fine until it wasn't and the thing what was going to happen, happened. Mary-Jo was in hospital for weeks and, when she was released, learned that she had irreparable damage to her neck and can only look downwards (some type of bad-ass stenosis). Nowadays she rarely leaves her studio and survives on Momofuku noodles (https://momofuku.com/toronto/) and Chablis. I go to see her about once a month and bring the "Extra Spicy Chili" flavor, family size and a bottle of Chablis. She doesn't let me take her picture, so here is a sketch I made.

A while ago, a friend went to a really fancy party and asked Mary-Jo to make her a dress. She killed! Everybody at the party asked "Girl, who you wearing?" and they beat a path to Mary-Jo's door. She  now makes 40 - 50 very expensive dresses a year, all hand made, all from high quality materials and has an order book extending months. A fashion writer for the "New York Thursday Supplement" gave her a fabulous review, here is a quote: "When you see a really beautiful dress floating rather than walking down the street, it must be a Mary-Jo Vee. Often, there is a gorgeous girl inside".

When I visit, I sit on a rug drinking her wine, biding my time and often talk turns to her life before and after. Mary-Jo shrugs and says "I am lucky to look down on the sky above"

As Many as it Takes

Of the mother and her child

Upon whom she warmly smiled

The child will truly need a hand

To walk a life that's straight, not bent

A mother's hand, may need one each

To teach them speech and and help them reach

So what's the mother then to do

When her duty's clear and true?

With mother's magic, shakes and bakes

She grows hands, as many as it takes 

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* original art (16X13, Oil on board) sold recently at a charity auction in Toronto

Dorothea Grainne Georgette (Geta) O'Clarcke

My friend Grainne (everybody called her Geta) died last week in circumstances currently unclear. She was a remarkable person of great talent, profound intellect, and incontrollable wit. She was born and grew up in Letterkenny, County Donegal, Ireland. After high school, she enrolled in the Atlantic Technological University earning an MSc. in General Technology. At the 2002 Irish Open, she met and fell in love with the Italian player Adriano Ferroferma. 

They were married in his hometown of  Rovigo. Her parents didn't like Adriano but were glad that Geta picked a Catholic. In Italy Geta observed women making tortellini and designed and built an AI tortellini maker that turned them out in mere minutes, always perfect. When she demonstrated it to her mother-in-law and all her neighbors there was a huge scandal and Adriano was told "Prendi la tua sporca puttana e vattene!". They moved back to Ireland, opened a tortellini shop, and built tortellini makers. Both sold extremely well, and they became rich. I kept in touch with Geta on video sessions and she used to tell me about her adventures with the three-and-a-half-minute egg. She was very particular about her breakfast egg,(see here how it is done properly:

Three and a half minute egg

Geta documented the outcome and comments. After her passing, Adriano sent me her notes to publish as an homage. Here are some of them:

"It is generally accepted that humans possess intelligence, the folks in your kitchen must be the exception if they cannot properly boil a three-and-a-half-minute egg"

"How stupid must you be to screw up a three-and-a-half-minute egg? THREE TIMES"

"Do they have a functioning brain? Maybe they can  then make a three-and-a-half-minute egg!"

"Can I see the chef? And ask him to bring his knife, I will teach him about a three-and-a-half-minute egg"

"What part of three and half minutes you don't get? Jump in the lake with this egg and take whoever made it with you"

"I hope whoever screwed up my egg has other redeeming qualities like a nice singing voice or is good in bed, otherwise I cannot see how they were hired in the kitchen"

"Whatever gave you the idea that I enjoy being the innocent victim of an incompetent kitchen that cannot even boil an egg?"

"Of course, I didn't eat it. I threw it on the floor to let everybody see the mess YOU made"

"Tell the imbecile who couldn't make a three-and-a-half minute egg that they are an imbecile who cannot make a three-and-a-half minute egg"

"I wonder if the person who cannot boil a decent egg was born a cretin or his mental state deteriorated due to repeated blows to the head?"   

"I have nerves of steel and an inexhaustible supply of sarcasm. I will send this abomination back and heap verbal vitriol on you until you get the egg boiled right. I just need more coffee.