Are Males Doomed?

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Oh, feminists are gonna be dancing in the streets over this!

According to some scientists–and remember, Science is always right!–writing in the science journal, Conversation, the Y-chromosome, which males have and females don’t, is “rapidly disappearing” (http://www.catchnews.com/world-news/hold-your-breath-y-chromosomes-on-verge-of-getting-extinct-what-will-happen-to-men-96239.html).

At the rate it’s going, the Y-chromosome’s days are numbered. For all practical purposes, say the scientists, it will be gone, adios, goodbye… in 46 million years.

Ulp!

Gee, I guess, whatever we’re thinking about getting done, we’d better get done! Like, the clock is ticking! Oh, the scientists say life will find a way and probably generate “male fetuses without Y-chromosomes,” but how can they be sure of that? We are men, and Evolution’s gonna punch our ticket!

Probably to fix us for all that bad stuff we do.

When the initial feminist euphoria wears off, after the first 500,000 man-less years or so, that’s when the second thoughts will set in. After kajillions of years blaming men for everything, who they gonna blame now? Like, won’t it be so embarrassing if a women-only world doesn’t turn out to be paradise? What if there are still wars, still poverty and inequality, and people–well, only women and girls–being mean to each other?

Maybe feminists somehow skipped childhood. They show no sign of even suspecting what sorts of things girls in middle school get up to.  Some of them would be feeding each other ground glass if you didn’t watch them closely. Maybe the Elizabeth Bathory Chapter of NOW needs a refresher course in reality.

So us guys are going extinct and then, gals, you’ll be on your own, no one left to blame for anything that goes wrong.

What could be a more dire fate for feminists than to get what they say they want?


‘What Happened to Childhood?’ (2013)

Play before “play dates.” Imagination. Playing ball all day with trees for bases, and getting forty hits that day.

Yeah, it was better.

https://leeduigon.com/2013/06/19/what-happened-to-childhood/


Memory Lane: A Place, and Horseshoe Crabs

I couldn’t find a video that quite captures what I want to write about. So imagine these horseshoe crabs, only now it’s night-time, under a glorious full moon with no other light for miles around. And the horseshoe crabs are coming into the shallow water to mate and lay their eggs.

Years and years ago, Patty and I used to go to Long Beach Island in the spring, for weekends. We liked to fish by night, along the rim of a shallow cove in Barnegat Bay. On a few of those nights, the horseshoe crabs came in, silent and graceful, with only the faintest ripple of the water in the faintest breeze. We felt as if we were seeing something God ordained before He shaped Adam out of the dust of the earth. Something, maybe, that was old in Heaven before it was ever known on earth.

It’s all gone now. They filled in the little cove and built three-story condos on top of it, and the whole place is lit by floodlights all night long. There’s no hint that the little cove ever existed. And you can’t see the starlight on the water anymore. The floodlights drown it out. Maybe there never was any starlight, either. Maybe we dreamed it.

But if we did, the dream beats the stuffing out of condos and floodlights.


‘Gaudete’ (Maddy Prior)

You can understand the Latin lyric, if you put your mind to it: “Rejoice, rejoice! Christ is born of the Virgin Mary.” Gaudete. I hope you don’t mind another Christmas song slipping in. I wanted to hear it again. This version’s by Maddy Prior and Steeleye Span.

Personal Note: I haven’t called the hospital yet today, but they haven’t called me, either. I wonder how long I dare leave it like that.


Cat and Dog, Partners in Crime

I once lived in a house where this happened fairly often. We had a refrigerator with one of those push-down door handles. The cat would jump up and hang on the handle, pulling it down and causing the door to swing open. Then he and the dog would climb in and eat my housemates’ suppers.

Here they’re only stealing cookies, and probably confused by the patzer standing there with a camera, filming them. It would confuse me if I were stealing cookies.


‘Oy, Rodney’ Gets Mushy

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I am tempted to pass over Chapters CXX and CXXI of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney because they are intolerably mushy. Ms. Crepuscular acknowledges that. “You may find these next two chapters intolerably mushy,” she warns.

Lady Margo Cargo, the richest widow in Scurveyshire, is prepared to marry Lord Jeremy Coldsore and the American adventurer, Willis Twombley, who thinks he is Sargon of Akkad. Twombley has convinced her that he and Lord Jeremy are one and the same person.  But the wedding was disrupted and has not yet been rescheduled: Lady Margo thinks she might have a touch of leprosy.

“It’s only wind, you silly old bat,” says her crusty old butler, Crusty.

Then the mush creeps in as Lord Jeremy renews his wooing, this time in person.

“Madam, as soon as the vicar gets over his conniptions, we must be wed,” says Jeremy. They are having rock-hard biscuits baked by Lady Margo’s lunatic aunt. In the opulent comfort of Lady Margo’s parlor, her pet crayfish, Oswin, sulks in his aquarium.

“I love you so much, I could plotz,” says Jeremy. “Your ears are like prize cabbages.”

“Eh?” Those ears do not always function as they should.

“Your hair–” a wig, actually–“is as soft as yogurt,” Jeremy continues. This goes on for the whole two chapters.

Meanwhile, the whole village is startled out of sleep one midnight by horrible groans and shrieks issuing from under the wading pool in the vicar’s back yard. A crowd of peasants armed with scythes and torches descends upon the scene, but then goes home because no one dares lift up the pool and look under it. Constable Chumley reassures them: “‘Tis only yair fickling rawstie,” he explains. This gives them something to think about for the rest of the night.


For the Rest of the Day…

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All right, it’s a picture of a giraffe and it has nothing to do with the subject matter of this post. Just thought you might like it, is all.

I called the hospital this morning, but they were too busy to talk to me and so I have to wait for them to call me back with an update on Aunt Joan. The last I heard was last night, when they called to get my consent for them to give her a unit of blood. Well, maybe it’s “no news is good news.”

The sun is shining, I’m going to go outside and linger over a peaceful cigar (which will probably make the phone ring), and if nothing worse is dropped on my head, I’ll attempt to carry on business as usual. I was looking forward to doing an Oy, Rodney episode today–after all, laughter is a gift from God, and I, for one, could use some! We’ll see.

Thank you all for your prayers: we all need each other’s prayers, and that makes us a church. We belong to Jesus Christ and He will not misplace us, forget us, or ignore us.


How Big a Chump Are You?

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We received one of those “Winning America” emails today. These people, whoever they are, pretend to be a conservative website, but really it’s just a bunch of ads and get-rich-quick schemes.

Today it was a sure-fire “simple trick” to win the Powerball, guaranteed to work, everybody who tries it is going to win at least $50,000, and so on.

There’s something sleazy about that whole lottery business. Once, at a family dinner some years ago, a friend of my mother’s, a successful businesswoman, came in all breathless because her newest “system” to win the lottery had only missed by one number. She went on and on about it. She already had a rather nice life, but she still wanted a lot of something for nothing. Blinded by avarice.

The numbers racket used to be the province of organized crime, especially in the cities. Then government turned it into all kinds of lotteries and now we find it everywhere.

This is a tax on credulity and childish greed. I met a young woman once whose life plan, as she confided it to me, was to “win the lottery and then go out West to buy a horse farm!” She already had two out-of-wedlock children and was working on another. No sweat–the lottery would save her. The lottery would provide.

So just send in for your can’t-miss advice on how to win the Powerball, and look forward to a lifetime of unearned opulence. I mean, really, is this for jidrools or what? “Ooh-ooh, I could win a hundred million dollars!” Like they would even know what to do with it, other than piss it away in less time than they ever dreamed possible.

It’s so unworthy of a mature and decent mind.


‘Red Efts, Green Newts, and God’s Stuff’ (2015)

What do you say to a bonus “Mr. Nature” item? And if you click on to the original, you’ll be rewarded with a picture of a gorgeous red eft–the only land animal I can think of whose color is a bright vermilion.

https://leeduigon.com/2015/08/06/4526/


Again, Again, ‘Light of the World’

I hope you don’t mind my posting this hymn for the umpteenth time–Light of the World by Charles Wesley, performed by Maddy Prior and the Carnival Band. This hymn never fails to stir my soul.

For Jesus Christ is the light of the world, that lights everyone who comes into the world. He is the Light they can’t put out, not all their hellish legions of the ungodly: God knows who they are.

I’m waiting for the hospital to call with another update on Aunt Joan. They were too busy to talk to me when I called earlier this morning.

 


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