It Keeps My Head From Exploding

Every so often I need to write just because my head is so full of thoughts that I need to expel them or take the risk of going nuts.  My brain begins to twitch, and my fingers begin to stretch looking for a keyboard to express myself on.  I often don’t understand what it is I have to say until it’s been said.  Then I can look at it and relate it to something that has either been bothering or inspiring me.  But sometimes it is neither.  Sometimes it’s just to satisfy my need to not be tormented.  Kind of like why an addict needs a fix.  It is also a means of circumventing complacency.  For me, writing can often be comparable to stretching my body before a hike so that I don’t pull a hamstring.  I suppose the expression of my thoughts is the mental equivalent of that body stretch. 

Keeps my head from exploding.

When I know that I do have something specific to say I’ll say it the best I can, but it seems my fingers are never really able to keep up with my thoughts.  I’m always a few sentences behind what I’m thinking as I’m racing on the keyboard to not let my thoughts get too far out ahead of my fingers.  When they do I begin to not make any sense.  But many of you already think that of anything I might have to say anyway, so no real worries there. 

I’ll just continue to plow the fallow ground in my head, and you can continue to feel like it doesn’t make any sense. 

Works for all of us,

Don’t ya think?

Playing Together Goes A Long Way

No one needs me to point out how difficult it is for people to get along these days.  If you’re living in a cocoon you don’t notice it, but if you’re an active participant in life, which most of us are, then you can’t help but be conscious of it.  Black people and white people don’t seem to get along any more.  Christians and Muslims don’t get along.  Democrats and Republicans don’t get along.  The rich and poor don’t, the urbanites and the country folk don’t, and men and women don’t seem to get along too well these days either. What has happened to our species?  It’s as if we’ve been infected by the notorious and deadly Me virus.  Nothing matters but me; what I want, and what I believe.  ‘I, Me, Mine’, as it were (a phrase that was coined by the late George Harrison in a song of the same name).

I was watching an Animal Planet program on television the other day.  It was called, ‘The Worlds Oddest Animal Couples’.  It was about different species of animals thriving together.  Not just getting along with one another, but thriving.  The emphasis of the show was that play seems to be the common element among divergent species, enabling them to overlook their natural inclination to fight with, kill, flee from, or just to simply avoid one another.  Play was the magic potion, the primary ingredient.  It is what enabled them to accept one another as friends, and as equals.  It is what would break down the hard-wired instincts of fear, caution, or mistrust.  The program illustrated the friendship and trust that one species would have for another even though, historically, they may have always been enemies; the predator and the prey.

Believe it or not the documentary highlighted the relationships between a group of wild polar bears and a pack of husky sled-dogs.  Typically a polar bear would kill and eat a dog in a minute, and without even giving it a second thought.  But this film showed them romping around together, wrestling, licking each other, and even cuddling.  Absolutely remarkable.  The show depicted a threesome also; a friendly and loving relationship between a black bear, a lion and a tiger.  Even more remarkable.  Never has there been a more unlikely relationship.  There was a jaguar and a Jack Russell terrier, a lion and an impala, a chimp and a leopard, a Great Dane and a deer, a rhino and a sheep, a cat and a group of ducklings, a bulldog and a lion, a chimp and a hyena, a lion and an impala, and a rhino and a lamb.

Now, in the interest of accuracy I must point out that some of these animals had been raised together since they were pups or cubs.  But many of them were not.  The Great Dane and the fawn got together when the fawn wandered into the dogs yard.  They became friends on their own, and remained friends throughout their lives, even sleeping and cuddling together.  The bears and the dogs found each other on the Alaskan ice fields and became friends the same way.  The polar bears were wild as the hair on my electrified head.  The huskies were raised and trained as sled-dogs.  Polar bears have always been their mortal enemies.  Their newfound relationships were of nobody’s making but their own.

I don’t have the inclination to describe all of the relationships to you, only to say that if you get a chance to see this program be sure and take the time to enjoy it. 

Play, being the primary element in the unique connection between the species, has caused me to look a little closer at group sports, the most obvious arena where adults play with each other regardless of their ethnicity, political persuasion or religion.  And it seems to be one of the few places where people do seem to set aside differences and support one another.  I can think back on many of the positive associations I’ve had with people who were not necessarily ‘like me’, and realize that it was usually around sports or music.  Competing with or against one another, it just didn’t seem to matter.  It was play.  There was an acceptance, a mutual support, even a common sense of humor accompanying the playing of the game, or the music.  We were playing together.  Of course, some took things a little too seriously, but that was more about their own ego than any ethnic or cultural differences a player might have brought to the event.  Play.  That’s what it was.  It was PLAY.  Play is a good equalizer for people.  It’s good for knocking down barriers, building friendships, and accepting differences regardless of previously held biases.

When one is habitually restricting themselves to their own familiar group, whether it be a church, a shared ethnicity, a shared political perspective, or a social commonality, it is very easy to cultivate, and engage in ‘Group Think’.  Once cultivated it becomes very difficult to think for one’s self.  Group Think is never a good thing to practice, and never a path to peace.  It will most often result in further division, stunted growth, and personal unhappiness.  I know that everyone is entitled to, and likes to be around, people with whom they are comfortable.  There’s nothing the matter with that, but if we never stretch, or step outside of our own boundaries then it is foreseeable that the proverbial lion will, most assuredly, never be inclined to lay down with the lamb.

It’s incredible, the things we can learn from animals.

How about we focus on our similarities for a change, rather than our divergence?

How about a little more play with one another to help us forget about our friggin’ differences?   

Have some fun with someone. 

Playing together goes a long way.

You’ll see for yourself.

Shoes

I’m old enough to remember when shoes used to be worn primarily as protection for your feet.  Regular guys had two pair of shoes.  One for everyday to wear to school, or work, or play, and another pair for what used to be called ‘dress up’.

I still consider myself a regular guy even though I’m much older than I used to be.  I don’t really even know how a regular guy would become not so regular of a guy.  I must have missed that class when I was in school.

The main difference between then and now, however, is that I have a couple of dozen pair of shoes now, rather than the two pair I had for so many years.  I’m kind of ashamed to know that I have as many as I do. 

What I want to know is, “How’d I get all these shoes?”  I never went on a shoe binge.  I’m not the kind of guy who picks up a pair of shoes as an impulse buy.

And I’ve never bought a particular pair of shoes just because someone I’ve admired had them.  All I can figure is that I acquired them ‘as needed’ along the way.  I am an ‘as needed’ kind of guy, I guess.  

As a boy, when I’d wear holes through the soles of my shoes my mom would cut cardboard inserts to slip inside the shoes to protect my socks from getting holes worn in them.  We were not really poor.  I mean we had money for food and gas, and a roof over our heads most of the time, but we didn’t often have extra money for shoes.  I wore them as long as possible.  Actually wore them until I’d outgrow them.  By the time I would outgrow them the soles would be worn down to nothing.  I’d actually be walking around on cardboard. 

Today shoes seem to be symbols of one thing or another.  Many people have dozens of pairs of shoes.  Some people have dozens of pairs of the same shoe even, and in several different colors.  I don’t know what that’s a symbol of, but it does seem to indicate a desire to never again have to wear cardboard in their shoes.  After all, I’d like to believe I’m not the only one whose mother put cardboard inserts in their shoes. 

Some women, celebrities, and athletes, have hundreds of pairs of shoes.  I suppose shoe-fetish aficionados might also.  I shouldn’t be one to talk though because, as I’ve said, I’ve got a couple of dozen pairs myself.  But what I know as well as I know my own name is that a person can only wear one pair of shoes at a time.  I imagine that some of those people with hundreds of them never even get to wear half of them.  That’s kind of sad, to have all those shoes and not be able to wear them.  I suppose the unworn ones would tend to feel neglected, or relieved, depending on whether or not their owner is someone who is particularly hard on shoes.

I must admit that out of the couple dozen pairs of shoes that I own, I have three pair of the same kind.  Years ago I found a particular tennis shoe that I really liked for about twenty bucks.  That’s pretty cheap for a good tennis shoe.  And there are not many that I really like, so when the shoes I was wearing wore out I looked to get another pair of them.  I wear a size 13, and the store I bought them at didn’t have any more 13’s in stock for about a year.  I couldn’t find them at any other outlet either.  So, long story short, when they finally got three pair of my size in I bought all three of them.  I was afraid I’d never find the shoes again.  But now I should be fixed for the rest of my life.

My wife and I have a couple of dogs.  We love them, and care for them the best that we know how.  We’ve been taking them on long hikes just about every day.  Shoes are one of the ways that indicate to me how smart these dogs really are.  When they see me put my hiking shoes on they get as excited as is possible for a dog to get over a pair of shoes.  As you know, dogs don’t wear shoes.  I’ve often wondered what they must think about humans wearing shoes.  I wonder if they think we’re a little odd for doing so, or if they think we might just be a little smarter than the average dog.  I don’t know that they’d ever admit that if it were true, particularly because I’m pretty sure they know it’s not. 

I have tennis shoes, dress shoes, river shoes, hiking shoes, hiking boots, work shoes, work boots, cowboy boots, motorcycle boots, ugh boots, moccasins, flip-flops, slippers, slip-ons, lace-ups, buckle-ups and sandals.  I’m quite aware that there are indigenous cultures in the world that only wear sandals, and it looks like most of them do alright with it.  Maybe I don’t really need all of these different shoes.  Maybe I can get by with one pair of all-purpose shoes, or go real organic with just a pair of sandals.  Works for some of those societies we see on Animal Planet, or the National Geographic channel. 

Some of the most important and influential people in human history have been partial to sandals.  Look it up.  Jesus comes to mind, but of course they killed him.  I don’t think it was because he had ugly sandals.  It probably had more to do with his disinclination to walk a mile in Pontius Pilate’s political shoes.

I’ve often wondered what must have become of his sandals.  I wonder if he wore a size 13.  I’d sure like to get my feet in them.

Seriously.

A Friend of Mine Said . . . . .

I heard a friend of mine say on her radio show, “I feel sorry for anyone who is not me today.”

Well now, that can certainly be construed as an egocentric, vain, and self-righteous statement if one were looking to criticize my friend.  It can be translated as, “I’m better than you.  I’m more privileged than you are, and I’m more certain of myself than you could ever be of yourself.”

But I’m not here to criticize my friend.  I’m here to illuminate her words so that they are understood in the context of how they might have been meant.  She does not consider herself better than everybody else, she is not privileged, and is no more certain of herself than you or I might be.  I believe her words were intended to convey to the listener an appreciation she has for her life, and in particular for the day ahead of her.  Her life is not without pain, and it is not without struggle.  She wakes up every day with her own doubts, with her own uncertainties, and with her own inadequacy and insecurity.  Although she is unique as an individual, she is also just like the rest of us.  Like you and me.

Our days consist of the up and down, the push and pull, the ebb and flow, if you will.  The days are actually pretty accurate microcosms of our lives.  Being that our bodies are made up of 60 to 75% water, is it any wonder we are affected in much the same way that the ocean is by its own gravitational pull?  No one is high on life all the time, and no one gets through life without the down periods.  For some those periods come daily, for some several times a day, for some much more infrequently, but we all experience them.  It is a part of life.  It is a part of our psychic, spiritual, physical and emotional experience.  The same can be said of the high times.

The point I’m getting at is that in our culture today we are encouraged to reject the down times as if they were in opposition to the human condition, as if they were fattening, or poison.  Some people use the down times to gripe and complain, to explain to whoever will listen how much life sucks.  Some will feel sorry for themselves when they enter a down cycle, and some will hunker down alone to indulge themselves in the misery.

 

The pharmaceutical industry, psychiatrists, and many MD’s even, would convince us that we must medicate in order to escape the down times, or to moderate the up times, to even out our internal tide as if everyone is manic depressive.  Well, I’ve got news for you, everybody is manic depressive just like that ebb and flow.  But we need not be subject to depression any more than we are subject to feeling good. 

We all go up and down with time and circumstance, with good news and bad, with loneliness and friendship, with life and death, with joy and sorrow, with love and indifference.  It is the human condition.  There are external and internal forces that affect us.  Things affect us.  That’s just how we are.  But an attitude of gratitude, an appreciation for the blessings we’ve been given in life and the pitfalls we’ve been able to avoid, just might enable one to pronounce something as seemingly simple and silly as, “I feel sorry for anyone who is not me today.”

Thanks Cathy, for that thought.

A Lack of Common Decency

What has been getting my attention lately is an amalgamation of thoughts related to the callousness with which people, and men in particular, tend to treat each other these days. Men have always killed other men, women, and children, but there are more killers (men and women) today than ever before.  There is no doubt about that.  With men the violence can be traced back to the beginning of recorded history (I’m not sure about women).  But anyway, today it seems as if killers are not satisfied with just killing someone.  They need to torture and maim them as well.  They need to inflict unspeakable pain upon them.  Women are not just raped and murdered these days, but brutalized beyond recognition and discarded in a dumpster or dumped in the woods like the proverbial pile of garbage, as if life were nothing more than that.

  

Where does such unspeakable callousness come from?  How has it come to be born in the souls of men (and women) to the degree that it has today? 

Are there just too many movies, video games and TV shows depicting such mayhem?  I don’t know, but it begs again the age-old question, Does art imitate life, or does life imitate art?  My question, however, is How can anybody mistake butchery for art?

Love, it has been said, is the answer.  Love conquers all.  All you need is love.  We’ve all heard the biblical commands to love your neighbor as yourself, and to love your enemies.  Greater love hath no man, the bible also says, than to lay down his life for a friend.  And, of course, the Good Book’s description of love that we hear at so many weddings, Love is patient, love is kind etc. . . . . . . .

There is a lack of love in the lives of people today. And I mean a lack of authentic love, not the kind that is sold wholesale by Hollywood.  I’m talking about love that impacts and endures rather than the pretend love that serves only as instant, but temporary, gratification.

But this hate and mayhem goes way beyond a lack of love.  There is a lack of common decency as well.  Even if you do not love someone you can still find it within yourself to relate to them with decency.  In fact, even if you hate someone you can still treat them with a measure of decency.  Decency is a choice that every one of us make every time we choose to interact with another individual.  The problem is that in our increasingly impersonal culture we make fewer and fewer choices to engage with dignity.  Is it any big surprise that those among us who are inclined towards violence would ramp it up as well, to the point of ferocity and brutality even, just as they would ramp up a verbal interaction with someone they might encounter along the way?

Something’s wrong with this picture.  Something’s terribly wrong. 

Now I’m not one to subscribe to the thinking that if someone watches violent movies, or plays violent video games that he’s necessarily going to become violent himself.  Some will, and some won’t.  Some people never would under any circumstances.  But others would even under the most innocuous of circumstances.  For many it is a matter of becoming what you are inundated with, whether you are fed this trash by others or choose to feed it to yourself.  People tend to become what they indulge in.  It becomes what they identify with.  I don’t really want to identify with killing, with depravity, debauchery, or wickedness of any kind.  I’m sorry, but y’know it just makes me feel kind of . . . . . . . . . . . . oh, I don’t know. . . . . . . . . . . . . . kind of. . . . . . . . kind of. . . . . . . . . uh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . DIRTY!

Greatness

Success is relative.  It depends entirely on ones definition of the term.  One man’s success is another man’s sell-out.  One mans fortune is another man’s ticket to ruin. 

Living in a culture that values wealth above all else, it is no surprise that success has come to be measured by dollar signs, or fame; not necessarily to people of depth and substance, but to the culture in general.  Personal success has taken a back seat to financial achievement.  Sure, they can go hand in hand, but the likelihood that both will come to fruition is minimal at best.  Those seeking wealth and status above all else most often do so on the backs of those less driven, to the detriment of their own families, and to the compromise of themselves.  It is the rare individual who accomplishes both successfully.

What has long been lacking in our culture, and particularly in the last twenty years, is the quest for greatness, replaced, as it were, by the quest for success (fame, notoriety, and wealth).  And in today’s world it is actually fame and notoriety that are most sought after, knowing that wealth will most likely follow.  It seems that for those who achieve fame wealth does not even need to be earned.  It just comes to them with the branding, the use of name and likeness, and the media deals that are thrown at their swollen feet like rice at a wedding. Everyone, it seems, wants to be connected to fame.  It is a sad state of affairs, but, nevertheless, a universal and all-too-familiar indulgence.

Greatness, however, is much different.  It is a goal achieved quietly, and with a measure of humility.  It is not about fortune or fame.  It’s more about doing something, and doing it well; taking pride in what you’re doing whether it brings you riches or not.  In a perfect world it would be something you love to do.  But if not, you would still do it to the best of your ability.  You would want to be good at it.  It’s where greatness begins in the material world. 

Greatness, however, is also about the character of a man.  It is about his intentions, and his efforts; efforts to love, the unlovely as well as those who are more easily embraced.  It is about doing unto others as you would have them do unto you.  It is about compassion, and forgiveness.  It is about acceptance of others.  Greatness is unattainable to those whose only concerns are for themselves, and their own interests.  They are flawed people, no matter how much accomplishment and notoriety they may have attained, or how much money they might have accumulated.

As has been written by someone much smarter than me; “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”

To Begin Again

The season is changing here in California from winter to spring, and it’s only the middle of March.  We’re on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada mountains, and spring has sprung like a lion.  It came so fast this year.  The fruit trees are well past budding, and are already fully flowered.  It feels like we’ll have fresh fruit in just a matter of weeks.  The wood stove has been shut down for some time now, and the coats have all found their way back into the closets.

I am stirred to begin again.  It happens every spring.  Time for cleaning out the emotional closets, seeing family and friends, initiating new projects, and getting the fishing gear back in order.  People are out looking for homes to buy, or dropping in at garage sales to pick up things they’ll eventually sell at their own garage sales.  The boys are out looking for girls again, the girls looking for boys, and the animals are out looking for food.  Everybody, and every thing, is hungry for something or other.  A mountain lion has been working the area recently as evidenced by deer and skunk carcasses we found yesterday in the woods.  Got to be aware of that.  It’s spring for them around here too.

We’re finishing up the last of the winter soup and getting the grill ready for chicken, burgers, and dogs.  Our dogs are running wild every day on the hikes we’ve been enjoying.  Although three, and five-years-old, they’re like a couple of puppies on steroids tearing up the side of a hill, across a meadow, or down a steep embankment to get a drink of water from the creek.  They’re wearing down their nails again as well, and working up a lather for an eventual splash in the lake to cool down those over-heated motors.  It’s good to see them so energetic.  It’s fun to watch, but better yet, it’s fun for them.

The cycle of life.  Living in the mountains enables us to participate in it fully, rather than simply understanding that it happens.  Everything does change from season to season.  The change is in us and around us.  There can be no denial of its magnificence, its significance, or even of its consequences.  They are each interwoven into the fabric of life; the turnover of the weather, the emotional temperament of people and animals, the reaching for dreams, or settling for the dreams already achieved.  It is all affected by the natural seasons, by the birth or departure of those seasons within us.  I am affected.  We are all affected, whether we realize it or not. 

You Have to Wear the Bell

 Traveling through Europe in the early eighties I spent some time in Switzerland.  I remember it fondly.  A very proper land.  A very clean land.  Cream land.  Chocolate land.  Cheese land. 

Ducks on every lake.  They put them there so you'll know it's water and not glass.  Cows on every hill, and in every field.  Swiss cows.  Happy cows.  Very sanitary and self-confident cows.  The kind you see on milk cartons.  Every cow has a bell.  They wear them so they won't get lost.  Or so they'll know they're cows.  Cows live on the fat of the land . . . . . .  and the benevolence of farmers.  I lived on cheese and chocolate milk.  Both are made from cows.  I remember that whenever I was hungry I wanted to eat some meat.  I just never had the heart to kill the cow.

            Besides, in Switzerland if you kill a cow you have to wear the bell. 

Stupid White Men

--> I’m about to say what many of you have been thinking, but have been afraid to express because the racist label is hanging over us like a scarlet letter to shame and silence us.  Personally, I don’t care about repercussions.  I care about truth.

It’s no big secret that men have taken the brunt of ridicule for many years now, and white men in particular.  Not that men do not deserve ridicule at times, individuals, sure, but white men in general, no.  I’m sorry if you feel differently.  Men, collectively, are today what the male gender has evolved to become.  One cannot argue that animals have evolved to survive in a hostile world, and not also agree that men recently have had to do the same.  To separate evolution simply into what species might suit one’s agenda is dishonest at best, and disingenuous at the very least.

There are forces in the world today that seek to tear white men down to accommodate a socio-political agenda, the social engineering of our entire culture; to diminish the stature of white men in order to raise the stature of ethnic men, women, gays and lesbians.  But I’ve got news for you.  You don’t tear down one group of people in order to raise up another.  That just makes the devalued group angry.  Very angry. 

We’ve been seeing this assault on white men for years now, particularly in the products that the entertainment industry has been foisting upon us.  We can deny it if we want, but Hollywood has become the primary shaper of image and identity in our society today.  Some believe that religion is, and some believe it’s the family, but still our culture conforms to, and follows, the trends that Hollywood sets.  It makes us feel better to believe that we do not succumb to its influence, but it influences us, nevertheless.  

One does not need me to point out the idiocy, the cluelesness, or the ineptitude with which white men are portrayed in television shows, in commercials, in the movies, and on the internet.  You can see it for yourself if you watch with any degree of consciousness.  There has been a steady diet of it for about fifteen or twenty years now; ignorant, inane, weasily, wimpy little white men that they put in our faces in every commercial that television has to offer.  Seldom, if ever, does one see a strong white male in the media anymore.

The Writers Guild, a preponderance of which is now made up of lesbian feminists, and gay white men, is behind much of the cultural indoctrination and transformation.  It’s a ‘get back at’ mentality, a chance to redefine genders, and gender roles, to their own liking.  It’s an opportunity for gay men to diminish the straight male, and a chance for women to usurp the positions that men once held.

Self-loathing is the source of much of this propaganda, but much of it is just plain old hostility.  Hollywood counts on us just watching and absorbing all of this in a relatively unconscious and vegetative state.  And, sad to say, many of us do while limp-wristed little gay white guys are shown as role models for white men and their male children.  Sitcoms show white men to be stupid, subservient idiots who shrink in the presence of their wives, or at the sight of their own shadows.  Seldom, if ever, does one see a strong white male in the media anymore.

Movies show strong, sexy, intelligent women humiliating, out thinking, out performing, and ultimately kicking the crap out of buffed, but baffled, incompetent white men.   And have you been noticing how, in most movies and TV shows they always make the black, or hispanic male, or the female of any ethnicity, the wise and compassionate one, the noble one, the ultimate physical specimen, or the spiritual standard for all to measure themselves against?  And they make the white male out to be a clueless stumble-bum, or a shallow duplicitous tool.  Seldom, if ever, does one see a strong white male in the media anymore.

If you’ve paid any attention to what goes on in the colleges and universities today you’d have noticed that they are perpetrating, and perpetuating, the same agenda as Hollywood.  The indoctrination is even leaking all the way down to the grade school level where the white male child is being made to feel inferior, ashamed even, while the girls and ethnic boys are considered to be, and are being treated as, special. 

Now, I’m not in favor of ever diminishing females or ethnic males (anyone really) in order to counter this trend, but I am in favor of letting all people, and kids in particular, compete equally, and individually, to establish themselves socially and, ultimately, economically.  I could care less about a person’s gender, ethnicity, or sexual orientation, except when a particular group is being attacked as the white male is being attacked today. Other genders and ethnicities have been the target of such attention in the past, and I have spoken out about, and stood up for, those whom society had sought to marginalize; but that dynamic has been coming full circle in the past several years with the white male now being the main object of derision, ridicule and exploitation. 

My words stand today as a warning to those of you who have eyes to see and ears to hear.  And if you think the white male deserves to be targeted because of past transgressions, then you also need to recognize the vast majority of those who were good, kind, honorable and benevolent men, who have helped women and minorities get a leg up in life.

So, get a clue before you continue to support the degradation of an entire race of people.  Speak out about this travesty, and don’t stand for it for another moment.  Take the white male, his munificence, and his myriad of accomplishments, out of this world and then take a look around and see what this world is left with.  The good life, as you know it, would be over.  Done.  Gone.  Finished.  You wouldn’t even have a computer to read these thoughts on, a car to get to work, or a phone to call your mother.

Now, about that scarlet letter that some of you would like to hang on me?

Bring it on.

Stop It, Please

Is it just me, or are you annoyed by the pretentious genteel practice of answering every question with an, ‘I would’ as well?  What ever happened to answering a question with a ‘Yes’, or a ‘No’?  A ‘Yes please’, or a ‘No thank you’?  Instead we get an ‘I wooould’, or an ‘I wooouldn’t’, spoken so slowly and with such great sensitivity that you feel like you’d damage the persons psyche if you spoke back to them with any voice other than the one they’re speaking to you with. 

Now, when I say ‘pretentious genteel practice’, let me point out that answering a question with a ‘yes’, or a ‘no’ keeps the conversation in a rather neutral, or equal place of relation and exchange.  But if I were to answer with that annoying, ‘I wooould’, it takes everything out of the equal, and puts the focus on me, which would actually be my intent in answering that way.  A simple answer of ‘yes’ does not contain an ‘I’, but if I insist on interjecting an ‘I wooould’ into the conversation it automatically becomes about me, rather than about us.  But hey, what else should we expect in an age of Iphones, Selfies, MySpace, Facebook  etc.

We all know what pretentious means, but for those of you who may not be familiar with ‘genteel’ here is the definition:  Genteel - Having or displaying refinement, especially manners that suggest, or are thought typical of an upper-class background; overdoing the refinement, delicacy of behavior, or snobbishness thought typical of the upper classes in order to create an impression of higher social status.

I wooould, I wooouldn’t, I cooould, I coooldn’t, I shooould, I shooouldn’t, I waaas, I waaasn’t, I dooo, I dooon’t, I diiid, I diiiidn’t, I aaam, I’m noaaatt.

Sound obnoxiously familiar?

Well then, stop it, please. 

It’s very unbecoming.