Men and Women

A Beautiful Life.

“Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.” Charles Baudelaire

President Obama was taken to task and the “liberal” woodshed for his recent comments concerning California’s female Attorney General. An old friend and political supporter, Obama said that Kamala Harris is “brilliant and she is dedicated and she is tough,” as well as “she also happens to be, by far, the best looking attorney general in the country.”

It was that last observation, on her looks, that brought down the wrath of liberal women, that to comment on a woman’s physicality (appearance), in the context of her work, was inappropriate, sexist and demeaning of women. Being a feminist and a consumer of history, I am sensitive to any practice (speech in this case) that in any way demeans, limits or restricts a woman’s freedom, independence or opportunity.

Aside from beauty pageants, the consideration of a woman’s physical appearance is irrelevant to any “job” she pursues. Period. End of story. If laws (regulations) are required to eliminate job preference (promotions, wages, etc.) based on physical appearance, so be it. That said.

You’re beginning to see more “commentary” on how we, in the West, have placed too much coin on the pursuit of individual freedom at the expense of community. A favorite philosopher of mine Richard Rorty thought we need to pursue/balance both virtues. Both individuality (in its infinite expressions) and the commonweal.

One of the things that I love about America is that America’s women can freely walk around looking like goddesses. Not necessarily at 2:00 AM in rough neighborhoods (although I would like my America to facilitate just that, that no woman was ever in harm’s way, anywhere/anytime). But in much of our nation, there are beautiful women everywhere. They are ubiquitous as flowers. That America’s women—the goddesses among us—who publicly appear so, this represents a national value—individual expression’s of personal freedom. That said.

I objectify women. I have all my life. For whatever the reason, when I was in kindergarten I became enchanted by a classmate who broke my heart when she moved away that year. I couldn’t tell you what she looked like (although her joie de vivre comes to mind), but I remember her as beautiful. Where does that come from? As has been observed the heart knows what it knows and each sex objectifies the other. We do. Each sex appreciates beauty, both similarly and differently. That said.

Is there too much emphasis in America on beauty? Perhaps. Arguably. Has its consideration any place when hiring and promoting America’s workforce? We can all agree, absolutely not. To the degree that Obama’s comments undermines the commonweal (by undermining the status of women) he should be called out. All men need to hear from the women in their lives when their actions/comments cross the line. That said.

“Some guys say beauty is only skin deep. But when you walk into a party, you don’t see somebody’s brain. The initial contact has to be the sniffing.” James Caan

Know what? I wouldn’t limit “the sniffing” to just the guys. Slice it/dice it. Gals have preferences, too. Some seek the big brains. Others gravitate to big wallets. But if the brains and/or the bucks come in a handsome package, too, well, isn’t that just the beautiful life? It happens. Sometimes.

He’s Not Dead . . . He’s Married.

Marriage means commitment. Of course, so does insanity. Author Unknown

For some inexplicable reason Hugh Hefner’s name (of Playboy fame) came up in a recent group conversation and someone wondered if he was still living and I laughing suggested, “He’s not dead, he’s married.” Many yucks followed.

Hefner, 86, married 26-year-old Crystal Harris, a former Playmate. This was Hefner’s third marriage and her first. They were married last December. These sorts of “arrangements” are a bit baffling to me. Hefner obviously does not need to “get” married to have sex with Playboy centerfolds. He’s had multiple long-term relationships (relatively speaking) with “Bunnies” he’s featured in Playboy. One can hardly fault him for that. The question arises as to the motivation for the young Ms. Harris. Two reasons come to mind. She’s not particularly bright. Or, it’s that sexy bulge in Hefner’s . . . um. . . back pocket.

I’m inclined to think it’s a combination of both. She may not be the brightest bulb in the pack (although she certainly does light-up the page), but she is brilliant enough to grab the “golden” ring. A marital pre-nup was probably Hefner’s dowry (ah, the price one pays for youth), so regardless of the outcome of this, uh, union, Ms. Harris will be well compensated. As well she should be. This marriage was a transaction. As are all marriages.

One of the funniest things I regularly witness on Park Avenue is the gray-haired lad (in his 50s or early 60s) with a young, snot-nosed child in tow, walking slightly behind his pram-pushing “trophy wife.” She’s maybe 33 and is invariably yacking away on a cell phone. The child in the stroller is crying and our “lad” has the deer-in-the-headlights look of “My gawd, what have I done?” Cruelly, I inwardly laugh.

Marriage is a human construct. It’s not a gift from god, unless, of course, your god has a wicked sense of humor.

My 42-year-old, once married daughter thinks marriage 50 years from now will be a dramatically different institution. That, yes, marriages will occur; folks will legally “hook-up” to have children but expecting two people to be contracted to one another “for life” is untenable and presumptuous. You never really know the person you are marrying and people inevitably change. My daughter speculates that in fifty years, folks will be married (or attached) a number of times, reflecting how we change as we mature, just as our expectations (needs & wants) revise as we grow as individuals.

My sister (Saint Sandra of Socorro) has often remarked that marriage is the most difficult “thing” we humans do. It begs the question, why is that? Mythologist Joseph Campbell talked at length about the Golden marriage and what it takes to achieve its rewards. Campbell advocates the surrender of self to marriage. Talk about a difficult concept. Biblical scholar Jerry McCant observed that, “You can never be happily married to another until you get a divorce from yourself. Successful marriage demands a certain death to self.”

Euphemistically speaking, the death of “ones” offers the possibility of a life for two. Sublimating one’s ego poses the question, to what end? That is a conundrum all of us—at one time or another—confront.

Robert Anderson, author of Solitaire & Double Solitaire said, “In every marriage more than a week old, there are grounds for divorce. The trick is to find, and continue to find, grounds for marriage.”

Many tire of the game.

I Can Take No From
Anyone But You.

Ah, love. Is it like pornography? You’ll know it when you see it?

I marvel at human beings. We’re this complex soup of chemicals that one moment we’re higher than a kite on adrenaline, dopamine and serotonin, such, we’re “riding high in April.” Only, to be (at times), “Shot down in May.” Sing it, Frank!

I confess to thinking babies are cute. I don’t think that necessarily makes me a girly-man (although I do like fabrics, too); I imagine our species is chemically induced to think as much. Consider the alternative. That we (men & women) didn’t go “Aw-shucks” at the sight of the newborn. Young love, however, is much more interesting to observe than the immediate byproducts of our, hmmm, unions. Young adults (so beautiful and physically lean)—all ga-ga in love—are such a hopeful expression of what it means to be human. Being in love puts a kick in your step, is inherently hopeful and, I think, makes you more generous toward your fellow man.

That you are in this chemically-induced state of euphoria and that it is attributable—directly linked—to your being enthralled with another person is a fairly predictable (regular) human experience. I read a study suggesting that it takes oh, about 90 seconds to determine if you “fancy” someone. And it’s based on body language and the “speed and tone of their voice.” Not so much on what you say as how you say it. It’s initially all about how you look and how you talk. Not to rain on anyone’s parade but what’s the definition of superficial?

And why is that? It’s the lament women worldwide wail. That, that . . . MEN! . . . are all about the physical. I hate to disabuse my feminine friends but that GONE IN 90 SECONDS phenomena mentioned earlier applies to both sexes. And I again ask, “Why is that?”

Why would the human species place such a premium on what we today determine to be superficial, all surface—substance to be determined later?

Because, contrary to what anyone might suggest, there is no more meaning to/in life than the perpetuation of the (a) species. Arguably, pursuing the meaning—any meaning—in life is an individual trek (and expression). But from the perspective of our species, making babies (and having them live) is it.

We are hardwired, chemically induced to copulate. At some core, primitive level of our being (if you will), our attraction to one another (male/female) is predicated on perpetuating the species. All those wondrous chemicals that our bodies so eagerly produce when we first encounter “our desired” are created so we will “create” the next generation. It’s all about sex. In the beginning.

Actually, I am not convinced it isn’t the underlining impetus for all human encounters/ unions/bondings (at any age, even in your 80s). These chemicals (Better Living Through Chemistry, for sure) we so willingly manufacture are with us, to varying degrees, all our lives. We may have sex in our 80s with no chance of a baby outcome but how we came to be in the sack (so to speak) may be the result of the same driver that has us making love in our 20s. It’s really not so mysterious after all. Perhaps.

I am reminded of that famous—so hauntingly melodic—country-western classic, I Can Take No From Anyone But You, that this Valentines Day, a hot “Yes!” be on your lips. Go ahead, blame it on the drugs. You’d be justified.

I Can Take No But Not From You.

I’m thinking of “I Can Take No But Not From You,” as a song title and chorus lyrics for a country western song. I think I can write a song. And to have “I Can Take No But Not From You” as a starting point well, visually, I’m already picking-up my award in Nashville. Yea Baby.

So, I could use some help. Add an idea, your “eight words” and our success will be a collaborative effort. Publish here your words.

Give it up for “I Can Take No From Anyone But You.”


I See Republicans . . .

Recall the 1999 Bruce Willis movie titled The Sixth Sense. Out of that quite good little drama came the now famous line, “I See Dead People. And They Don’t Like You.” That catchy expression morfed into many variations but my t-shirt favorite went, “I Hear Voices . . . And They Don’t Like You.”

I’ve been trying to understand what is going on in the Republican Party when it comes to women, their bodies, sex and fertility. It’s essentially a male run concern, the Republican Party, although you have a predictable number of Republican women serving as faithful acolytes. Outliers, if you will, at odds, in their solidarity with their American sisters at large.

American women who willingly participate in their own subjugation remind me of those unfortunate women who perform the barbaric female genital mutilations in Sudan and Somalia. No woman, free of male domination (thinking), would voluntarily oppress other women in such ways.

It is as if Republican men are ignorant of history. For past 8,000 years, the male boot has been firmly placed on the neck of females. I do not know if we’ll ever understand the historical origins of why men came to consider women as “less” than men, but it is undeniable that that is/was the case. Bigger, more ferocious, men like to dominate.

Religions, too, historically, have played a tragic role in the marginalization of women. Although, interestingly enough, it was Martin Luther who, during the 16th century Reformation, jump-started the change in the status of women. He advocated that women be taught to read (imagine that!) and he married (radical idea: a married clergy). Educating women (reading) was the game-changer, however.

Go back and examine the status of Western women even during our more enlightened times. They were hardly enlightened for women. Plato’s Greece, The Renaissance, The Age of Reason were all unquestionably oppressive for women. In 1792, Mary Wollstonecraft issued her now seminal A Vindication Of The Rights of Woman and the case for female equality was formally up for public discussion.

It took until the mid-19th century before British women could make any claim to personal property or even to her own wages. Reflect one second on this fact: the United States gave the right to vote to emancipated male slaves—SLAVES—decades before America’s daughters were afforded that right. That is how little women were considered.

There was a time in my grandmother’s adult life when she could not vote. Less than 100 years ago, American women could not vote. That is a nano-second ago, historically speaking.

The Republican Party is the party of female oppression. It revolves around who will control a woman’s sexuality and fertility. The Republican Party Platform (Mitt Romney & Paul Ryan) would have the government, for all intents and purposes, regulating and managing a woman’s uterus. Will our daughters someday—upon the onset of menses—be required to register their uteruses to ensure their compliance with state fertility laws?

Abortion, birth control, fertility, reproductive prerogatives are individual, fundamental female (human) rights. To interject the state into this dynamic is totalitarian and unacceptable.

Republicans would deny female autonomy, would continue to place the historical boot heel of oppression upon the necks of our daughters. Expect each American woman to think and act for herself.

I See Republicans . . . And They Don’t Respect Women.

Vote accordingly.

I Am A Liberal.

I am a liberal. Probably not your typical liberal as I genuinely do believe, “The cowards never started and the weak died along the way.” That’s an unattributed observation describing American pioneers who walked alongside their Conestoga wagons to Oregon in the 1840s.

I am a liberal who does not want to support other men’s children. I don’t. Do not have children you cannot afford or are unwilling to parent. That goes for the women associated with such men. Do not breed unless you have the wherewithal to support your progeny. Have the decency and self-respect to take care of you and yours.

That said I am a liberal who believes everyone who is here today is part of the Home Team. Everyone. Addled homeless war vets, too.

Children, however, do not ask to be born to mindless, irresponsible, impoverished (fiscally, emotionally, intellectually) parents. They arrive and as such it behooves us (America) as a culture to make sure that their parent’s “shortcomings” are not visited upon their progeny. To break the circle of poverty, we must invest in America’s mothers and in prenatal care. We must provide (encourage) safe, accessible and affordable birth control to limit the number born to impoverished Americans. Nutrition, housing, healthcare and education for all our children are societal obligations. Half measures, as are readily apparent, produce stunted children, ensuring that the cycle of poverty is perpetuated.

I am a liberal who does not believe “jobs” is the answer to “all” our problems. Our environment is crumbling (melting if you will) before our eyes. The coming havoc that is on our horizon—once thought to be a century away—may yet arrive fully realized in my lifetime. Half of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef is dead or dying from acidification and rising oceanic temperatures. The Northwest Passage we all learned about in grade school will soon be a reality. Imagine the day—that will arrive—when the waters from the Himalayan glaciers no longer flow into India and China. Imagine when the Colorado watershed cannot sustain the populations of America’s West?

I am a liberal and I do not care one iota what religious beliefs you embrace in order to make sense of our world of sorrow. I laugh out loud at Christians who say Mormonism is nothing more than a bizarre sect. That getting your own planet upon death is just too far out, yet God sending Himself to be tortured, to die on a cross for our sins, only to be literally resurrected is somehow more believable.

I am a liberal who does care, however, if your religious beliefs impair the national conversation by limiting the discussion of how we rationally, reasonably address issues of climate change, environmental desecration, population control and women’s rights.

I am a liberal who feels too much humanity, too many hungry mouths at the trough is not some divine plan but a catastrophe building upon itself. Why, if America has so many impoverished—even in the best of economic times—why is another 200 million citizens acceptable population growth?

I am a liberal who believes “humans” are shortly out-of-the-trees (so to speak) and that we are quite nasty little monkeys still learning how to live harmoniously together as a species.
If we worship anything, it should be in our ability to rationally construct a better future. For all Americans.

I am a liberal and that just may not be in our cards (future).

Where I Spend My Mind.

Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. Henry David Thoreau

Some suggest that the study of philosophy is to prepare one to die. Gracefully, I might add. A rational rejoinder might be, “No, Chris, such inquiry is to facilitate the graceful life.” Ah, nuance. One and the same, perhaps, much as Thalia and Melpomene are the balancing faces of drama, of life.

I’ve concluded that what the world (life) has quite enough of is sorrow. There is pain a-plenty for all. Few walk into a bar and order a round of sorrow for the house. Yet that is what is served up “fresh” daily. Sorrow is relentless. Decay and death is the human condition and depending on the individual, at some point our mental tickers all start “tocking,” and the literal countdown is recognized for the inevitable finality it represents. Arguably, this is when grace matters most.

If you have enough (life’s necessities) and are at all reflective, at some point in your life you reasonably ask, “How do I want to spend my time?” I phrase it a little differently, “How do I want to spend my mind?” This is where the insidious nature of sorrow intervenes; it consumes your mind. You can be experiencing a most joyful moment and the smallest prompt will redirect your revelry to dark, maddening thoughts of disappointment, disheartenment or despair. Sorrow, by any other name. Oh, and as so many understand, there are much more sorrowful events in life than death.

And, who among us wants to dock their boat very long at that port? Much of life is a redirect. What’s the expression? When handed a lemon—make lemonade out of it. Vomit. My natural inclination is to slap (vigorously resisted) such simplistic sentiments out of the purveyor. But I do understand the necessity for such an outlook. I do.

Sorrow is not the only unavoidable intrusion that saps one’s time, one’s mind. Pettifogery. Banality. Insipidness. Depending on your tolerance, any number of life’s everyday experiences will and do regularly intrude upon your mind, yet as duly noted, “time is fleeting” (please read Shakespeare’s Sonnet 15).

So where shall one ultimately spend her mind? I find pleasure (diversion) in art (all forms). Beauty. And words.

Topics I will explore in upcoming columns: Are redneck zombies worse than Manhattan zombies?; Bridges I have crossed; Waiter! Waiter! I’ll have a round of apologies; Is a religion different than what is done in its name?; Dangley-Down-Parts; The “take” I took; Cloning one’s self; Prosperity gospel; My son applying to be the Nightshift Jesus; Life—it’s a receipt book that keeps getting thinner; Meet your maker party–location/time to be announced; Reason—what are you going to place above it?; Babies—better than dawgs sometimes; Life goes on while you’re dying; The double-bubbler; Schwanz & Tucker – Winter Park lawyers and, I have no schedule but I do have an agenda.

Another topic is all time great lines husbands have given wives. Remember when Homer’s Odysseus returned home after 10 years (following the fall of Troy) to his wife Penelope. He had spent seven of those 10 years on an island with the exquisite goddess Calypso. How well would that explanation go today? Is that an illustration of unfaithful but loyal?

Perhaps Odysseus merely explained he was fishing. In the stream of life.

What Do Women Want?

I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
Until someone tears it off me.

Kim Addonizio from her poem, “What Do Women Want”

Over the decades I have earnestly considered just that question. Sigmund Freud famously asked, “The great question that has never been answered, and which I have not yet been able to answer, despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is “What does a woman want?” I find Freud a stereotypical joke, rather simplistic, chauvinistic and clueless.

One might legitimately ask if women want different things than men? I raised my only daughter to feel/think that that was not the case. That anything a man aspired to, she, as a female, could also attain. That biology was not necessarily destiny. That grit, determination, intelligence and will were just as much feminine as masculine qualities. So, what does a woman want? Besides equal pay for equal work, respect, a man with a slow hand and free pedicures?

Oh, our literature abounds with what modern women want. Sleep. A break from the kids. A man who will clean the toilet. Genuine equal opportunity. A safe, nonthreatening environment (culture). The list of universal wants is not particularly surprising yet each woman’s “wants” are unique to her.

Let me relate my most recent movie experience. I saw “Magic Mike” opening night and I was one of maybe three men in a theater full of “Ooohing” and “Awwing” women who enthusiastically applauded the lean pulsating pelvises of the male strippers featured in the film. Couple (no pun intended) that with the success of the E.L. James’ book trilogy “50 Shades of Gray” which features sexuality, submissiveness and orgasms and, well, as Cindi Lauper so presciently cooed, “Girls, just wanna have fun.” Indeed.

Desire. A woman wants to be desired. Add that to the list. There is a growing field of female researchers who are exploring female sexuality, particularly from the perspective of what women want sexually. Key in that discussion is the function of desire.

Meredith Chivers is a psychology professor at Canada’s Queen’s University. She is on the editorial board of a leading journal on sexual research, the “Archives of Sexual Behavior.” She describes the male/female dynamic as “One part is pumped full of testosterone, is more interested in risk taking, is probably more aggressive, you’ve got a very strong motivational force. It wouldn’t make sense to have another similar force. You need something complementary. And I’ve often thought that there is something really powerful for women’s sexuality about being desired. That receptivity element.”

Another prominent researcher, Marta Meana, a professor of psychology at the University of Nevada said that for women, “being desired is the orgasm.” Hmmm, as a man, I wonder about that. Yet I do agree with Meana’s summation on the nature of female desire, “It is at once the thing craved and the spark of craving.”

What do women want? Oh, everything. Just like men. Yet, as has been suggested, “Didn’t a longing for erotic tenderness coexist with a yearning for alley ravishing?” What? Both ways, women want it both ways?

Indeed. And modern men please take note. By all means let the ravishing begin. But first . . .

“May I get a hanger for that dazzling red dress?”

Shame On You.

Ah, fatherhood. Granted this is from a male perspective but if I were to assess who got/gets the short end of the stick (no pun intended) I do believe it is women. I’ve taught history for years and one of my favorite “prompts” particularly for my male students is “Why have men historically treated women so poorly, held them in such low regard? Where did such ideas/feelings originate?”

You can name on one hand (counting fingers) the ancient civilizations that treated women with any semblance of equality. Interestingly, Ancient Egypt was one such culture that did “okay” by women. Ironically or tragically, as the case might be, Egypt today is not nearly so enlightened as their ancestors were, oh, about 3,000 years ago. Women have not fared well by religion. Pick any religion.

It is inexplicable to me why my/our male ancestors were such chauvinists. Why? Why treat women as inferior, secondary or incidental? Why not offer to women the same rights and privileges as those extended to men? Any number of explanations is offered. Size. Ferocity. Job/task delineation. Female sexuality. Fecundity (no man knows for sure). The time factor required for babies (to be self sustaining). Offspring require stability and protection. Regardless, once civilizations began forming (say 7,000 years ago) sexism was institutionalized for sure. Women have suffered ever since.

Imagine our world today if, for the past 10,000 years, all women had had the same opportunities as men, had been consulted and experienced comparable leadership and educational opportunities? I venture to say (speculate) that our world would be a much different place. Here is a modern day example: when you look at much of the Muslim world today, the way women are considered is how women were treated for much of history. Whenever I see a demonstration “for change” in Islamland, I seldom, if ever, see women. Those boys (indeed) have never matured as men, as civilizations.

But as immature, repressive and fearful as many Middle Eastern men appear when it comes to the female “sex,” we have—do we not—a ways to go here in 21st century America.

I recently had a repairman in my home. He commented on some additions in my backyard and I quoted him a dollar estimate on costs. He said, “Oh, I could get into that, if only I could get my child support cut.”

I’ve heard this quite a number of times in my life. Haven’t you? If only, if only I could get my child support cut. It’s a common/frequent lament of those who father but do not live with their children.

Not three minutes later I hear from the repairman that he has five, count’um, five children and one has Down Syndrome. And this father wants to cut his child support. I jokingly asked if he’d been “cut?” He laughed. Haha! No—as if I didn’t already know—was his answer.

A big gamble in life (and it has always been the case) is the bet women make with themselves that if I breed with this man, will he be “there” for the long haul (and all that that implies)?

Is it any wonder birth rates are declining? If history has taught Western women anything, it is “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.” Billions of women for thousands of years have paid the price. The real shame? That men have acted so. Abominably.

Take God Shopping

“Fasten your seatbelt, kids, it’s gonna be a rough ride.” For as long as I can remember I “thought” that the universe—after the Big Bang—would expand until it reached its absolute maximum size (billions of light years across) and then collapse back in on itself. Sigh, that isn’t the case. Not only is the universe expanding, it’s accelerating. And that’s when I came up with the child advisory about mankind’s condition, “Fasten your seatbelt, kids, it’s gonna be a rough ride.”

Remember in 7th grade science when you were first introduced to the idea that the earth rotates on its axis while revolving around the sun. And then the miles per hour figures were added. Yep, were rotating at around 1,000 mph while racing around the sun at, oh, 66,650 mph. My genuinely limited mind really could not then absorb such ideas. But practically speaking, I had enough sense to turn my back to the wind—no guy I ever saw had much success pissing against the wind.

Yet that is exactly what Republicans are doing concerning Gay marriage. Here you are a 65-year-old man, married for decades with the requisite children and you know in your heart of masculine hearts that what is normal is man on woman sex. Period. No debate. No discussion. Not only that, it is God’s will. End of story.

I am about Mitt Romney’s age and when he says that “such matters” (homosexuality) were not openly discussed in the mid-west in the early 1960s, he’s correct. That is because being Gay was such a repressed and punished life that few individuals had the courage to be out and open. Oh, I had some suspicions about certain men at the YMCA but they were so nonthreatening as to be sweet. Essentially, I had so little experience sexually, my mind so wrapped around the mystery all things feminine that I did not even remotely think about that which was “unnamed.” And if it (being “queer”) ever came up, I would knowingly laugh yet was totally clueless. Totally.

That was 50 years ago. FIFTY YEARS AGO. You think the earth is moving fast, well, we’re moving along at glacier speeds compared to the rapid turn (evolution?) in the acceptance of Gays—as human beings worthy of our respect. How far we’ve come from the 60s.

But it’s abnormal and it’s against God’s way. Abnormal? Okay, It isn’t your cup of tea, but because you don’t live that way, does that make it abnormal? No, I really don’t necessarily think so. Because it’s not right for you doesn’t mean it isn’t right for her or him.

God’s way is a trickier argument to refute. Why? Because we have so much invested in our belief in God (and “THE” way) that anything remotely challenging one’s belief, well, that is simply unacceptable.

And that is so profoundly sad. God is an evolutionary idea. He/She/”X” has changed right along with the human imagination.

It is okay every now and then to put a new suit of clothes on God. Go ahead. Take God Shopping for some new t-h-r-e-a-d-s. I’d go haute couture, for sure. Damn the cost. Some new shoes, a dress. Perhaps, an idea. Or, two. Maybe it is time God came out of the closet, too. Ya think?

If not, the ride could be unnecessarily rough. For all of us.

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