Spam

One of the things I really like about Google Mail is that it is very effective in filtering out spam and depositing it into this technological sink hole that I view rarely. When I do, I might scan through to see what’s there. But I would never click on one of these links! Ever! Well, hardly ever. So I went through my spam today and thought to myself, “I ought to blog about my spam list one day,” and, having nothing else going on, thought, “Why not today?”

So here are a few of the spam I thought to be noteworthy of mention:

♦Congratulations♦ (I had to scroll all the way down the special characters passed Basic Hebrew and Greek to find the ♦) ♦♦Confirm your 100 – 1000 Usd Delivery in 2minutes!!

Did they leave out the “e” in Usd? If so, why would I ever want something that has been USED? Well, maybe on eBay or Amazon.

__________________________________

(Mrs) SURAT SHINAWATRA (2 RE: MAY GOD BLESS YOU !!!!!!!!!! – A CONTRIBUTION FOR THE WORK OF GOD.

Okay, He’s the Lord. He’s got sheep on a thousand hills, for Chrissakes! And He’s begging?

Surat, continued . . . Greetings in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Memo: Remember to check with LJC if Shinawatra got permission to speak for him.

_________________________________

Moving on . . .

OurTime Dating. Want to meet singles over 50? See photos? Please click “Not Spam” above if this message is delivered to your spam folder.

Right. I want to meet singles well UNDER 50! And, sure, I’ll click “Not Spam” in a few. If I remember.

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►►Congratulations Our Records Indicate You {insert your name here} Have Cash Loan Available!

YAY! I can’t wait! And I have 50 acres of drained swamp land in Florida to sell!

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►Instant Checkmate◄ {my name here}; Your Background check is available Online!

Already know my background.

_________________________________

Honest Family Products . . .

Okay, I don’t even think I need to make a comment here, do I?

_________________________________

*Stay Hard*

Frankly, that would not be very comfortable.

_________________________________

Rachel Ray Free Trial sa.

Didn’t know she was arrested and charged with anything.

_________________________________

Bosley-Hair-Restoration

Happy Days! (Those under 40 won’t get this)

_________________________________

Z≡≡sk Start browing funny singles on Zoosk today!

Which is it? Z≡≡sk or Zoosk?

_________________________________

Vin DiCarlo 3 questions that get all women excited

1. You want me to guess how old I think you are?
2. Do I think that dress looks good on you?
3. Do I remember what day it is?

_________________________________

+Married But’Lonely+ Neglected and Lonely Housewives searching for love

Right. That’s what I’m talkin’ about!

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Urgent Notification (2) Your Cash Transfer Request Was Received! – You’ve received $100 – $1000 Cash

You know, there actually are people to get sucked into this kind of email? Probably the same people who have the Honey Boo-Boo app on their cell phones.

_________________________________

These two should go together:
Dunkin’ Donuts Survey – Complete this survey and get a $25 Dunkin Donuts Gift Card;
Belly Fat Blast Fat Now – ‘Kill’-er 7 foo chemicals that CAUSE Flab!

_________________________________

Raspberry Ketone Start Melting Your Fat Away Naturally

Sulfuric Acid in a bottle, probably.

_________________________________

There are more. Sadly, they hit the same themes: instant money, instant sex, and instant weight loss — everything a guy in my marketing profile needs, I suppose. But then at my age, the word “instant” has been ignorable for quite some time.

So, with one click, I instantly rid my self of 506 unwanted, unsolicited and unbelievable spam messages.

Thank you, Google Mail!

Oh, I forgot. Not ALL spam is bad.

 

Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it. Saute onions and green and red peppers, garlic, pimento, celery soup and sliced Spam and serve over cooked rice or noodles. Mmmmmmmmmmmm!

NC Attorney General’s top consumer complaint: Do Not Call Violations

 

 

“A total of 6,126 North Carolina consumers filed complaints about unwanted calls from telemarketers last year. The majority of complaints came from consumers who had listed their telephone number on the Do Not Call Registry but still received unwanted calls,” according to MyFox8.com.

So, in celebration of that number, and because it’s the first day of Daylight Savings Time, click below for my poem:

DO NOT CALL REGISTRY!

Chick-fil-A: Or, Just Why Did That Chicken Cross the Road?

Chick-fil-A: Or, Just Why Did That Chicken Cross the Road?
by L. Stewart Marsden

I don’t pretend to have an answer to the controversy over Chick-fil-A’s president, Dan Cathy, and his statements regarding same-sex marriage. Initially I wasn’t sure whether or not the heated headlines reflected him correctly, and were inferring far more. But, after reading a few articles, no — pretty much accurate.

The issue for me is what I believe and my rights to express those beliefs.

My dad and I once had a discussion about burning the American flag in protest. Surprisingly, we were on opposite sides of the issue. Dad, who had earned his law degree at George Washington University after the war, held that while he might not agree with the expression and the sentiment, he would ultimately uphold a person’s right to burn the flag in protest. First Amendment. Me? I was more like the Queen of Hearts: “Off with their heads!”

You may not agree with me, nor I with you, but we each should agree to our right to express those sentiments.

I think that’s a big pill to swallow.

And by expression, I mean written, verbally, or through peaceful demonstration.

I believe in Dan Cathy’s view on marriage. I suppose it’s what I do with that belief that can land me in a hotbed of controversy, or in an intelligent exchange of beliefs. I prefer the latter. My belief, expressed or not, still puts me in uncomfortable situations.

For example, my wife’s cousin is married, and the two women recently became parents through artificial insemination. I wonder about a host of questions regarding not only the couple, but their child. Do I think they are incapable of raising a child? No. How should I behave towards them and their child? With animosity?

In North Carolina, the state recently voted on Amendment One — regarding same-sex marriage. Uncomfortably, I voted against the amendment, because I felt that a host of legal expectations were going to be denied same-sex couples.

Again, I do not believe that the Bible supports same-sex couples.

So, here was a quandary that put me at odds with the majority of Christians in my community. Even with Billy Graham!

WWJD? Well, I’m not really sure. I think He would deal with the human issues, not the political. The woman at the well was clearly in violation of marriage by having many husbands, and by sleeping with someone who was not her husband. Yet, his approach was to offer her living water. No, not bottled in a plastic bottle.

His final instructions? Go and sin no more.

Perhaps we should each take that instruction to heart for ourselves, regardless of our deeply-rooted beliefs or positions.

This is a hard thing, wouldn’t you agree?

I’m sixty-two, and one year older at the end of this November. As I grow older, I realize just how much I don’t know. It’s massive. Colossal. Gargantuan. In the movie “Rudy” a priest who counsels the main character after a set-back, has this to offer in response to the question why God does what He does:

“There are two things I know. One, there is a God. Two, I’m not Him.”

So, I agree with Mr. Cathy’s right to express his beliefs. And, I support your right to either agree or disagree with his position, including not eating those delicious chicken fillet sandwiches.

Bon, or Non Appetite!

Innocence Lost

Innocence Lost

by L. Stewart Marsden

I caught myself today reminiscing about childhood days long past — well, relatively speaking, that is. The Parthenon is long past.

I’m a part of that glut of baby-boomers who, when we grew up, had the world by the tail (see, even the expression is pretty telling). We could bike anywhere in town without our parents worrying. We played outside from dawn to dusk. We greased our peroxided hair into ducktails, and Converse high tops were $8 a pair. We flocked to the Paramount downtown for hours of big screen entertainment — cartoons, news reels, adventure series, and a swell grade B movie about blobs or Godzilla or maybe Gene Autry, the singing cowboy.

The edge of living was rounded and smooth — not cutting and dangerous.

Forty-fives ruled the teen tune appetite, with The Platters and Pat Boone and The Kingston Trio.

McDonald’s arches were new. And the sign read “Over 100,000 hamburgers served” at its beginning.

Radio was AM, crackling in and out as we drove along. And, speaking of driving — four and forty air conditioning: roll down four windows and go forty miles an hour. Seats were vinyl — cold in the winter, skin searing in the hot summer.

Baseball. Barbie Dolls. Mickey Mouse Club. The Captain and Mr. Green Jeans. Howdy-Doody.

The good old days.

So, I rue the passing of time in terms of the loss of innocence. It’s a rather boring theme, I know, to those who didn’t experience that innocence.

The past was not without its deep and dark drawbacks. Segregation. I remember the evidences of that, too, but more as a wonderment than as something that impacted me on a daily basis.

Perhaps every generation has its own time of innocence. I keep thinking that period of time has been accordioned down to a really short period of time, judging from the news and the culture of the day. Judging from how children are quarantined and protected against God knows what; how they spend their days, fused into various gadgets that allow them no alone time, no creative time, no boredom.

I’m still a bit biased in thinking my old days were the good old days. I morn the loss of scary movies back then that are pretty laughable today, when compared to the stark and gruesome film techniques of modern Hollywood. Very little left to the imagination.

And the accessibility via the internet of — well — pretty much anything you would want to see and a whole lot of things you should never know — in your innocence — exist.

So, here’s to Fabian and to The Day the World Ended and to Rock Hudson and Doris Day and to candy cigarettes and to National Geographic and to Norman Rockwell and to White Castle hamburgers and to roller skate keys and to penny loafers and to Greasy Kids Stuff and to a myriad of long-forgotten or fading or never experienced moments — the essence of innocence lost.

Over Easy, Please

Over Easy, Please
by L. Stewart Marsden

When my wife and I lived out in Portland, Oregon while she attended OHSU School of Midwifery (if-ery, not ife-ery), I visited her at school one day for lunch. The school cafeteria had a breakfast bar set up where a short-order cook would respond to special requests, such as soufflés and scrambled eggs, etc.

I slid my tray up to the cook and asked for “Two eggs over easy.” The cook looked at me, his head tilted askance, a quizzical expression on his face. He was from India, and so I took the hint and told him what that meant and how to cook them.

So, nervously, for the very first time in his life, this man attempted the order. Now I do most of the cooking in my house, and two eggs over easy takes, maybe, four minutes to complete. This guy was so nervous, and so intent on doing it right, that he went through six eggs before successfully completing the order.

Last year — November 11 to be exact — Armistice Day — I launched my WordPress blog and my very first post: “In Support of Public Education.” Just like that short order cook at the OHSU cafeteria, I was both nervous and intent on doing it right. I had never written a blog before, and hardly knew what a blog was.

And, just like that inexperienced short order cook, I stumbled along.

As I wrote my posts, in my imagination America held its breath for each new upload! I could hear the throngs cheering in my head — “Hurrah!” It was like Ralphie imagining his teacher’s response to his essay on “What I Want for Christmas.”

And, like that selfsame scene, the reality was far different.

So I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. My real intent was that writers who are out there in internet land would give me real comments, like, “I thought you were a little heavy-handed with the hero in that part of the book,” or, “I can say I knew you when!”

But I soon learned that the “Like” button in WordPress is sorta like the “Like” button on Facebook. It’s a sort of noncommittal committal, if you know what I mean.

And, I learned that a lot of people who “like” my writing, want me to “like” their writing. I learned to go on people’s blogs and actually make a comment about either their “About” page, or one of their posts. That way, people visiting those blogs would see my comment and, perhaps, come for a visit. Kind of a snowball effect.

I know you don’t do this, but I would toggle back and forth between my email and the stats page for my blog, watching to see how many people were viewing my blogs. That was a killer!

Is anybody out there? I would think to myself. Not think. Cry to myself.

Then, I got an email that someone wanted to link to a children’s story I had written and posted, “Stinky and the Night Mare!” Not just someone, but a real honest-to-god agent! I said yes, and over the next few days I got more than 30 views! (Now you know why I was crying to myself.)

I was on the cusp! The verge! The precipice!

Then, boom. That’s the sound of the door slamming shut. While the agent raved about the story, she then said I was an author without a voice. That I needed to focus and perfect one genre. That I was not a good risk.

Pooh.

That was around January/February of this year. I went back to the research and early drafts of my historic novel (I call it hysterical) “The Huguenots.” As a result, I took a trip to Delaware — Wilmington, to be exact — to visit and volunteer to help ready the Kalmar Nyckel, a reproduction of a 17th century tall ship. During the drive up, I decided to scrap most of what I had written so far on the novel, and take a slightly different angle. I had more than fifteen chapters written.

Also, more importantly, I threw my hat into the ring to try the National Poetry Month’s challenge: a poem a day.

I’m not a poet.

But that experience of writing every day and posting resulted in two very important things: a dedication and discipline to write something, anything, every day. The second was I began to make blog friends, with whom I was able to get that much-needed feedback.

So things gradually continue on my blog. I have a boat-load of poems — some of which are ok. I have a surprising number of short stories, which have a kind of dark and macabre tone.

As a result, I’ve decided to publish my short stories in a collection I call “The Shadow Pool.”

I met a really terrific artist, Ray Ferrer, who is illustrating both my short stories and the cover for the book. His blog is urbanwallart. He’s listed under my favorite blogs and you can link to his web page there.

I have recently completed uploading a series of six articles that were written thirty years ago. I wrote them when my then two year old son, Graham, was diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. The response to those articles has been gratifying and overwhelming. Graham and I are planning to write a followup in the next few months. I’ll post it, of course.

Well, this seems to be a whole lot about me. But really, I’m wondering if you have experienced any of the above? I visit blogs where the authors say “I don’t know how to ______________ (fill in the blank)” and I think, like Nike, “Just Do It!”

Probably a mantra by which many could benefit.

And, Over Easy, Please.

Remember when?

Remember when?
by L. Stewart Marsden

There’s a Facebook fad (FF) that I’ve noticed of late. It’s the “Do you know what this is? Do you remember this? Do you remember when?” fad. You know what I’m talking about, right?

I’m not sure what’s causing it. Maybe it’s a throw-back to when we were kids and we came out of a movie and everyone started talking, “Yeah, and remember when that guy . . . ?”

Remember doing that?

Saturday Night Live’s Chris Farley (remember him?) developed a character who interviewed people, like Paul McCartney, and would ask, “Remember when you were in ‘Yellow Submarine?’” Etc.

So, there are pictures of things we no longer use, along with the question “Do you know what this is?” as if to say, “If you don’t know what this is, well — YOU”RE AN IDIOT!”

Things like:

• old vacuum tubes for radios or TVs;
• the foot button that controlled your high beams on your car;
• a hand-crank ice cream freezer;
• an old rotary dial telephone;
• an ice box;
• glass milk bottles;
• a dairy home-delivery truck;
• an engineless push mower;
• a hand-crank drill;
• and much, much more.

Why do I need to remember these things?

And then there are pictures with the question, “Do you remember . . . ?” again, as if to say, “If you don’t remember this, well — YOU’RE AN IDIOT!”

• Buffalo Bob and Howdy Doody;
• Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans;
• Beaver Cleaver;
• Rod Serling;
• The Cartwright family;
• Ozzie and Harriet;
• Perry Mason;
• Andy Griffith and Don Knotts;
• and, again, much, much more.

Again, how do I benefit remembering this stuff?

Not that these memories don’t conjure up days when life was really very different from today. You know, the “good ol’ days.”

But times change. Technology changes.

My dad was born in 1919. He lived through the advent of technology that included radio; television; nuclear energy; satellites; space exploration; computers going from multi-room configurations to the laptop; rotary dial telephones to cell phones; film cameras to digital; Model T cars to the Chevrolet Corvette. And a whole lot more! You know someone like that, chances are.

And guess what? I never remember him asking his contemporaries, “Do you know what this is?” or “Do you remember?” He simply enjoyed it all.

It’s not like any of us has much to do with all of these memories. They are part of our past. They are milestones and markers of the passage of time. None of us is any wiser, or any less of a person because of our remembering these things.

Save it for your kids. Amaze them with the hardships of your life having to live without HDTV, or texting, or microwave ovens, or tablets, or Beano.

Yes, I do remember most of the stuff. I want to shout back, “Don’t YOU?”

Okay. I feel much better. Got that off my chest.

So, whatever you do, don’t forget this post!

Graham’s Story — an invitation

Graham examines his sister, Jessica.

To those of you who have read anything on my blog in the past, I invite you to read “Graham’s Story,” a six-part reprint of articles that appeared in The Greensboro News & Record in Greensboro, NC, thirty years ago.

It is the true-life account of how my then 2+ year old son, Graham, came to be diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia, and how he and our family dealt with it.

To go to Part One of Graham’s Story, click here.

Survey: How many words in a Short Story?

I’m currently working on a story that started out as a short story. It’s to be part of my compilation of my short stories for a book I plan to self-publish in the near future.

Here’s the catch: the story seems to have a life of its own, and has just hit  9,500 words with no sign of slowing down.

When does a short story cease to be a short story? 10,000, 15,000, 20,000 words? Or does it matter?

What do YOU think? Give a word count and a reason. No fair googling.

Best answer will get a free copy of my compilation once it has been completed. Expected finish date is late summer/early fall of this year. Complete with illustrations by Ray Ferrer at urbanwallart.com. Contest ends Monday, June  23, 2012.

My two daughters (ages 13 and 9) and I will judge the entries.

L. Stewart

Happy 4th of July!

Even if you are not from/in the United States, I wish you all a happy  4th of July. Let it be a metaphor for each nation still reaching for a more democratic government.

Letting Go

Letting Go
by L. Stewart Marsden

When I was a kid, I had very little adult supervision during the day unless I was in school. With two older sisters, after the toddler years were ended, I would go outside and vanish until the sun nearly set. Anything to keep from being dressed up by them, or being forced to play with Barbie dolls!

That was an era when you could do that. And, growing up in a smallish Southern town added to the no-threat attitude of both kids and parents. In fact, Hillary’s village idea was pretty much the rule. We gangs of five and six-year-olds were welcomed into the kitchens of most who lived on our block, and were treated with Saltines smeared with Peter Pan Peanut Butter, plus a glass of lemonade or milk, to boot.

Only once can I remember my mom scolding me at coming home late for dinner, and after I had explained that I was treed up a telephone pole by a tiger and a rattlesnake, well — she had to agree I wasn’t at fault.

But that era and those neighborhoods are long gone, replaced by parental paranoia that has plenty of bases. Hallowe’en, once a great fall night activity, has diminished to Fall Festival celebrations where no one tricks or treats — except for tattooed and pierced teens.

No one can bike around town any more, or walk several blocks to the Schwinn bicycle shop, or to the Dog House for a delicious Grade C lunch.

My youngest son will turn 18 in July. Pretty much he’s been the recipient of the continued concern — some, rightfully so — of his helicopter parents.

Pretty much from the get-go he has been involved in organized activities and learning opportunities designed to keep him busy, busy, busy! From T-ball to coach pitch to youth pitched softball, to basketball, to soccer, soccer, soccer to Suzuki violin, Peter has been poured into a multitude of stuff. Each weekend for about four years family life was pretty much centered around travel soccer. And then there was tennis, and lacrosse, and even more stuff.

See, when I was his age, while I played Y basketball and Little League baseball, I had loads of time to myself. Unfortunately, at the age of about nine or ten, I could have lost my life ten times over due to my unsupervised curiosity, which I will not divulge here.

This knowledge at the back of my mind, I hovered with the best of them. Besides, my parental peers and I were armed with the absolute best of research and methodology at how to turn out the absolute best kids.

Any of you readers there with me?

So what happened? Electronic games and gadgets; cell phones; social media; easy availability of drugs; increased peer pressure with regard to sexual activity. A veritable tsunami of antihero influences designed to bend, sway, and distort what should have been the greatest years of a kid’s life.

Passé are the tenets of clean and wholesome, substituted with the moral turpitude of explicit movies and almost-so television. The assault on moral character is multi-directional, and there are no apparent rules that identify the transgressing influences because everything is now relative. There are no absolutes.

So, with the ambiguous messages out there, I come to the point where my hovering is actually counterproductive. I come to the point where my fledgling son, now seventeen-soon-to-be eighteen, must be allowed to spread his wings awkwardly and fly.

I feel like the mallard drake, who has reached the point where his ducklings need to fly off. I’m feeling like every duck hunter in a six-county perimeter is hidden in the brushes, and armed with rapid fire semiautomatics, just waiting for the flurry of adolescent feathers.

Part of my reticence is he’s already made mistakes. And but for the snatching hands of his parents and their continued scolding, holding, and hovering, those could have been much worse!

Let go.

What if he falls?

He falls. Let go.

What if he fails?

He fails. Let go.

What if he flounders?

He flounders. Let go.

Are you readers there with me?

My grip has been so strong for so long! My hand is cramped into this position! It hurts to uncurl my fingers, prying them one by one, from holding on!

Let go.