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Sunday, August 30, 2009

The Perfect way to Relax




Ibiza & Formentara

Two columns ago I explained that my wife was about to take me on a magical mystery tour, which was a vacation that I had no prior information about at all. I didn’t know that we were planning on going some place; I didn’t know where we were going; whether it would be one place or more; how we were going to travel; or what we would do once we arrived at our destination. She was keen that it should be a complete surprise, but if I insisted that she give me the details, then she would. I didn’t insist, because I like nice surprises.

These are some of the games that partners play that give spice to life, and I highly recommend them.

A friend who knew the story let slip that we would be travelling by airplane, so that was the first clue, plus I was told to pack for Summer time. We drove to the airport and went through security and took a seat in the waiting lounge. At that point I could have been going almost anywhere. I was relaxed and chose something to read. There were a few announcements regarding boarding for planes flying to various destinations, but we didn’t move.

Finally the announcer said that the plane flying to Ibiza was boarding, and after the line dwindled down to a few remaining passengers I was informed that we should join the line. Wonderful! We have been living here in Valencia, Spain for ten years and we have talked about one day going over to the islands, and now that day had arrived. This was a very delightful surprise indeed.

My next surprise came when Lorna said that I might see a familiar face at the airport. I could not even begin to guess, so I gave up and waited to see who would meet us. Suddenly, the lady was in front of us, and to say that I was surprised doesn’t even begin to adequately cover the situation. I really don’t want to print too much about her, but I will say that life had handed she and her family a devastating disappointment and she was crippled by the weight of just trying to understand what had happened.

Now, here she was, still under immense pressure but she was smiling and dealing with life on a daily basis, and she was surviving. Having come face to face with that realization my trip had spiked to its highest point.

She then drove us to our apartment that had been loaned to us by a very good person, and the apartment could not have been better situated. It was a small self-catering unit that was located on the seventh (top) floor with views out over the harbour. It had a small television and a radio, neither of which were plugged in, and we decided to leave them as they were. During the first day I decided to turn off my mobile phone, and I avoided going to an Internet café, so for five glorious days we had no TV, radio, Internet, or phone. We did buy local newspapers not for news of the world, but just to gain some idea of life on the islands.

We did some sightseeing on Ibiza, as well on the sister island of Formentera. Both islands reminded me so much of my own island home of Bermuda. They cater to tourists, as does Bermuda, and there were so many things that are similar. However, in one major way Bermuda is very different in that the island closely controls development, and consequently Bermuda does not allow the high density crowding along the waterfront that these two islands permit. Such closeness devalues the product and does not add anything of value.

We spent one day with our lady friend and her family at her vacation home, and that was super special. Other than that we either did sightseeing or we spent our days on the beach. I should explain that I really do not like the beach and its sand, nor do I need a suntan, but I went along and took a very good book written by John Grisham called “The Appeal” One day we went to the Reggae Beach and I spent time in the Reggae Bar drinking a concoction called a “Jamaican me Crazy” that was served up by this white rasta man. He was super cool.

If you didn’t already know that I am not European, just by mentioning the fact that I am still astounded how free women feel about going topless on the beach would concrete the fact. No European man would even mention it, as it is so commonplace, and has been for a very long time. It’s only us guys from the other side of the Atlantic, plus the Brits, of course who find the freedom so bewildering. I think that a grandmother who can feel so liberated to unwrap her breasts in public is a wonderful thing, and long may it continue. It certainly made me feel more comfortable about exposing my own not so perfect frame.

We men are allowed to look, and we have to look as there are no beautiful trees to gaze upon instead, however; we are not allowed to stare. It would be most ungentlemanly to stare. Anyway, there is absolutely nothing sexual about so many uncovered boobs. I just wonder whether there is pain in burnt nipples.

Best of all, I spent hours doing absolutely nothing at all. Whether on the beach or at the apartment, I would sit on the bench in the corner on the terrace and look out over the activities taking place in the harbour with a totally vacant mind. No worries or concerns about anything at all. I didn’t even realize what was happening to me and to us. We let the everyday cares of the world drift away; we didn’t even have to do any driving so we let our guard down to a minimum.

I think this must be what every individual needs and must surely be good for one’s mental health. Trying to cope with the stresses and strains of living in our modern society does take its toll. A week of what we have completed must have added ten years to each of our lives.

As a final thrill we cruised back to the mainland and landed in Valencia’s ports just as the Formula One races got under way. We then had to make our way out of the port area via a complicated route, sometimes driving alongside the races. Now that’s the way to have a vacation with pizzazz!

Copyright © 2009 Eugene Carmichael

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Sex Sells Everything




Sex Sells Everything

Did the lady in the picture sell you your car? If she did, did you buy a car that you really and truly want, or was it one that you are kind of happy with. It’s a man thing. We are the subjects to whom things are sold when they are not strictly what we want because a beautiful salesperson helped us with our decision.

Beautiful women sell us cars and motorcycles, and sports stuff, and even hardware. We men thought for many years that women were the weaker sex, but no, it’s us guys. Show us just a little fringe of Chantilly Lace and our mind departs us leaving us on our own. Sorry guys, it’s just the way we’re wired.

We see certain guys driving along in some makes of cars and you have to wonder, “How did you make that decision mate?” Something else had to be at work the day he made that purchase, other than just being plain and simply drunk. I don’t think they allow us to actually buy a car if we’re full drunk, so what was it that made some crazy decision possible.

There is something called Post Buyer’s Blues, which most people experience at one time, or another. That occurs when we take the thing home and then decide we don’t like it after all. Perhaps we bought it for $100 and walked next door where the identical item is on sale for $80. Post Buyer’s Blues! But when you are being drawn along to buy something that you really don’t want, but she is so persuasive, but you want to object and put your foot down and just say no, but the words don’t come out as you wish. She takes your money and gives you your change and says, “Have a Nice Day!”

You take three steps outside the shop and start swearing at yourself, and then you go looking for a shop with an ugly male salesman so that you can take home exactly what you want. Ain’t life a bitch?

A beautiful scantily clad woman can sell us men just about anything, but there is one area where women work wonders and they aren’t even talking to us men. That is when they are selling to other women. Naturally as shop assistants they excel, and if I owned a fashion store I would certainly employ intelligent and nice looking women. However, if I owned a Real Estate business my preference would be to hire women because now we’re talking big tickets items, and no matter what you guys have always believed about buying a house, you are not the decision maker. Your woman is. It’s the woman who chooses the house.

So you and your lady go along to view the house but the play is between the two ladies. They talk about the kitchen and the curtains and the this and that and you are along for company. Ask any man who has been there and he will agree with this statement.

So, it’s a truism that Sex Sells, and it sells absolutely everything. And life is grand!

Copyright © 2009 Eugene Carmichael

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Lazy Hazy Days of August


Dreaming of a Beach Somewhere



This past week I have been suffering from Writer’s Block in that I just haven’t been able to decide on a topic to write about. Try as I have I just haven’t been able to think of something that appeals to me. There are normally all manner of things that jump out at me, but all I have wanted to do is sleep. The great Spanish siesta has reached out and enveloped me in its arms. It has just been so very hot. Whenever I found a cool spot I simply put down and stayed there.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that the subject is that I’m simply being bone-lazy. After all, it’s August, for many people that means vacation month. The mere fact that I’m retired hasn’t stopped my internal system from shutting down in August, as it has always done.

Last night I got animated and thought that I would have a good session on my laptop, but instead I made a right turn on the way and sat and watched a movie instead. What a luxury to be able to do that.

I watched a film named “Jagged Edge” that is a 1985 murder mystery starring Glenn Close and Jeff Bridges. Both of these actors are very good at their craft, but Glenn Close, who is a woman in spite of the name, is a particular favourite of mine. She has completed many and varied film credits, (not all have been brilliant) but in my mind her most enduring work came in a 1987 work entitled “Fatal Attraction” with Michael Douglas. The plot for that film was that a married man’s one nightstand came back to haunt him over and over again.

I remember that it was a much talked about film, and I think it may have given pause to men who thought about a one night-stand of their own. The thought that you might have gone to bed with a woman who would stalk you and do nasty things to your family somehow takes the sheen off the experience.

One of the things she did to Michael Douglas was to pour acid over his car that he loved, and she took his daughter’s favourite rabbit and boiled it and brought it back to them.

Anyway, “Jagged Edge” is a movie made in the old way: a darn good story told in a way that simply has the audience sitting on the edge of our seats. It starts with a murder that has an element of pure and simple Satanism, and the story takes many twists and turns. Most of the action takes place in the courtroom, and even after allowing for some improbabilities, it’s still a very good film.

I reflected on it after it was over, and it occurred to me that there was not one incident of special effects in the entire film. The other thing that I reflected on was the industry of filmmaking itself. It’s a wonderful way to be told a story, and if the craftsmanship is superb we may want to let ourselves go and enter the story and the place as spectators, and for the duration of the storytelling we leave our own lives behind. There is also the added benefit with DVD that we can replay the escape as often as we like.

So, yes, I’m being lazy and I’m enjoying it. I will very shortly leave our home with my wife and we shall go some place for a change of scenery. I don’t know how we are travelling, or where we are going. I don’t know if it will be one place or more. The only things that I do know is how long we will be away from home, and that I should pack for summer. I’ll report when we get back.

I do love pleasant surprises!

Copyright © 2009 Eugene Carmichael

Sunday, August 9, 2009

The Professor and the Police II


Four Men on a Mission


A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the Harvard professor and the Cambridge, Mass. police. There were two aspects to an incident that involved them both that was newsworthy. One was the way that the professor over-reacted when all that the police were doing was trying to protect his property. The background to that was the professor, a black senior member of Harvard’s Business School was observed by a (black) member of the public trying to force entry into his own house at night. She thought she was seeing a break-in in progress, which is what it was, but when you have to break into your own home, then that’s legal.

She called the police who came running, although the professor was unaware that a call had been made. When they arrived and found he had entered the house, in the eyes of the police he was a suspect. To make matters worse, the cop who confronted him was white. When the cop ordered him (in his own house) to “Hands Up!” the professor became outraged and replied “I’ll put my hands up yer Mamma!” or something like that.

The professor is a man of my generation who has lived through all the bad shit that America could throw at him, but has nonetheless risen to the exalted position of tenured professor at one of the country’s most prestigious schools. He knows all about Freedom Marches, and may have been right alongside Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He certainly knows about police harassment of black men. It is still happening as we speak But America has a black president and it’s about time this shit stops once and for all.

The second aspect is, to very nicely complicate matters, that black president is a personal friend of the professor, so I imagine it may have occurred to the professor that he was sick and tired of these things happening and he was not about to take it anymore.
And Houston, we have lift off!
The professor went straight up like the space shuttle. He was simply not going to have some white policeman come into his house pointing a gun in his face and ordering him about, when he was simply going about his lawful business.

Things were said and both men became ever more upset. It is a miracle that the policeman did not shoot the professor, but instead he arrested him, put him in handcuffs and took him downtown. There, someone with a much cooler head explained to the policeman that the professor had broken into his own home; and the professor was informed that the poor policeman was trying to do his job under the most trying of circumstances, namely, by trying to protect the professor’s own property.

I imagine that it was at this stage that both men went to their own respective corners and had a good cry, while the rest of the precinct had a good laugh. However, while this was happening the plot thickened very badly because a lopsided version of events reached President Obama about his friend’s predicament, and while holding a press conference he let slip that he thought that the Cambridge police had acted “stupidly”.
Open mouth and insert both feet!

When everyone had calmed down the President realised he had made his first real faux pas. He could not take back his words nor apologise for them, so what he did was invite both men to The White House for a beer summit with himself, the Vice-President and about four million journalists, where actions were explained and recognition was given to a good officer who was acting in the execution of his difficult job. Astonishingly, none of these proud men could find the words to say “I’m sorry that I made things worse then they need have been”. But, they did find the funny side of the incident, and they found respect for one another.

I’m sure that profiling of certain members of the public continues to be a problem. A white officer of another police department made a comment on the incident that was racially inappropriate. There were calls for him to lose his job, which I hope didn’t happen, especially in these difficult times. However, he definitely needed to be referred to sensitivity training.

All in all, a very interesting incident and a test of where America is on race relations. There are so many lessons to be learned from this incident, including lessons for the President of the United States. I thought the President recovered from the situation well by using a little ingenuity. We really must take our hats off to him.

As for the professor and the policeman, they have stayed in touch and it would appear that a genuine friendship is building. I wish them well for the future.

Copyright © 2009 Eugene Carmichael

Sunday, August 2, 2009

The Science of Shopping


It's a Girl Thing!

As a man this title will probably confuse you. In the world of shopping men and women display attitudes from different planets, as suggested by the popular book.

I have spent three weeks surrounded by four women as they went shopping and I have had my awareness sharpened. Let me tell you how I shop and you will get a fairly good idea from that, especially if you are a woman, of how we men deal with the task when it is absolutely necessary.

Say, I need a new suit. For me this would equate to buying a house, so some time must be spent on the details. Because I’m not a rich man my suits will come from off the rack. Before arriving at the shop I will decide on the colour and style, so when I get to the shop I go directly to that rack and find my size. All that is left is for me to have the leg size taken and to pay for it. If I’m in the shop for more than ten minutes it’s because the salesman was busy with another customer when I went in.

The experience of shopping for a woman is different to that. No matter whether they are shopping for something small, or, heaven forbid, something major, they put the same effort into the process. On one day we went into a shopping mall and the ladies all went into a particular shop. They were in there for the best part of an hour and came out with a very small inconsequential package. In the history of men that has never happened.

When shopping for Spanish style fans it was fascinating to observe how every fan displayed was touched, opened, waved a few times, looked over on both sides, fondly caressed, held up to the face, and looked at in the mirror.

I once bought a dozen fans to take as gifts. I went into the store and said I’ll take one of each, (which is how I know they had a dozen different styles), paid for them and left. Whole thing took a little less than two minutes.

Can someone please tell me what is it about women and shoes? We tried to walk down a street and they spotted every shoe store, whether it was on the side that we were walking or the other side. I would continue on walking, totally oblivious and when I looked they were like deer caught in the glow of my headlights.

Imelda Marcos, the wife of a dictator was discovered to have a closet with so many pairs of shoes that all we men scoffed, and every woman said “lucky bitch!” I should be careful how I touch on this subject however, because I have managed to build up a collection myself of far too many shoes. My excuse is that I am looking for a pair of shoes that don’t make my feet hurt, when the problem all along is my feet.

I like the company of women, but I have discovered that if I’m in their company whether they are on a shopping trip or not, I need to have plenty of patience. In case you didn’t know, shopkeepers, if they are wise, will provide comfortable chairs placed throughout their stores. Those are man-chairs where us guys get to sit down and shut up.




The other thing you might not have noticed is that each mall has 99% shops where women are the target customers, and even if they have a men’s department it will be tiny by comparison. However, hardware stores are an entirely different concept and don’t count in this study.

Finally, there was the time when my wife and I were looking to buy a house. I had more time to scout around, but every suggestion I came up with was rejected. One of the objections was that we were too far removed from the metro station. So, I got fed up and gave my wife my power of attorney and told her to but us a house. I didn’t want to be consulted, nor did I want to see it before she had signed the papers.

Is the house that she bought perfect in every way. Yes, and No! Am I content with it? Yes, actually!



Copyright © 2009 Eugene Carmichael