Screaming kids

Most of the time my cup runneth over with thoughts and opinions, but once in a while I hit a dry spell and reach for ideas about my next rant.

When consulted, my muses urge me to go a public place for inspiration.
When such is the case, I proceed to a coffee shop (preferably alone) and while pretending to read tea leaves, I furtively observe people and pass judgment.
Some people claim to never pass judgment. To this I say phooey!
Consciously or subconsciously you always form an opinion about people or events, and I think it is healthier to acknowledge your emotions rather than trying to suppress them.
Let’s call a spade a spade and stop this neutral baloney.

The human fauna comes in all sizes and shapes and offer plenty of fodder for my observations.
Some people are tall, fat, skinny, good looking and not so good looking.
I look and make mental notes.

Adults generally don’t disturb me as long as they keep their voices down, but screaming kids get my goat. Their high-pitched and piercing voices are extremely disturbing and set me (and probably everybody else) on edge.
The obnoxious little buggers shriek and imperatively demand to be obeyed.

Some parents look conditioned and meekly submit to these outbursts.
It doesn’t seem to cross their mind, that the little monsters are rude and disruptive and that they (the parents) could put an end to this rioting it by reaffirming their authority.
They prefer to quietly submit to the diktats of a two-year-old tyrant to keep the peace. Like Chamberlain in Munich!

I hate to think of what kind of teenagers and adults these pre-delinquents will become.

Some parents though fight back and come up with interesting counter-insurgency measures.
The other day, while shopping at a supermarket, I came across a young mother carrying a young child in a sling.
For some reason or the other, the kid started screaming.
The young woman immediately neutralized her kid shrieking’s by shoving a tit in his mouth.
The kid, totally taken aback, grabbed what offered and stopped fussing.
The woman, with her kid glued to her bare tit, continued her shopping undisturbed and for the edification of everybody around.

I am not suggesting that this is the only way to neutralize your kid, but this is a step in the right direction.

Don’t submit to kids’ bullying. You are still bigger and stronger than they are but it won’t last.

Nip the kids screaming in the bud before they become another Stalin or Pol Pot, because the unruly kids of today will be the tyrants of tomorrow.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Alain

 

A day at the museum

Last week my wife coerced me into going to San Francisco to view an art exhibit. She used the usual veiled threats (booze, food, sex) to bring me to surrender.

Our midweek excursion day took place on a drizzly Wednesday and I never expected finding such a high number of art groupies at the same time.
Like hungry blackbirds, they flocked to the de Young Museum to peck at the “Girl with a Pearl Earring” exhibition.
I could not help but notice that men were outnumbered by women fifty to one.

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Inside the museum we were immediately surrounded by a sea of very determined looking amazons. Many were carrying a water canteen (and various combat items) on their bulging clothes and they looked like battle-hardened veterans ready to storm a well-defended bunker.

If a man were looking for a place to meet a woman, this would be the spot but unfortunately attractive women were few in number. I gather that they have better things to do than watch Flemish art.

To be honest, museums are not my cup of tea. They attract too many people at the same time and I just happen to be allergic to crowds.
When it comes to art, I aim (like a good brandy) to take it in small doses and quietly savor the moment.
I don’t like to be crowded by pushy gawkers.

Museumgoers tend to be broad-butted individuals who are prone to hogging well-known pieces. They camp (for a long time) in front of a painting and are not inclined to share.
I also noticed that they are impervious to nasty stares.

Personally, when I go to an art exhibition, I don’t want to look at a lot of stuff and I definitely don’t want to share my feelings with anybody else.
I want a private moment with a few pieces and I aspire to leave almost immediately after that.
I am definitely not a serial art watcher.
After an hour of continuous art watching I tend to get a rash.

Around noon, by general consensus, we decided that we had had our fill of art and left the building.
I decided to take my fellow adventurers to a little restaurant called “Chez Maman”.
I didn’t know much about it but I liked the name. With a name like this, could the food be bad?

This place is located in the Hayes Valley, at the intersection of Gough and Hayes.
It is small and we had to wait for about fifteen minutes before being seated.

The menu showed “Escargots de Bourgogne” and we all spontaneously went for it.
I also noticed that the word Escargot was erroneously spelled as “Escarcot” but I decided to overlook this.
Then both of my guests ordered grilled Mahi-Mahi and I chose “Mussels Poulette” for myself.

It must have been Maman’s day off, and a Mexican cousin must have filled in for her, because once more the Escargots were tasteless. Alas, alas, alas!

When we brought our concern to the host’s attention he looked surprised (don’t they all) and offered to bring us a fresh batch.
We declined and ordered instead some “soupe a l’onion” and “une assiette de merguez” also misspelled as “meguez”.
(I have noticed that when people misspell the word of a foreign dish, they rarely know much about it.)

The onion soup proved satisfying and so was the Mahi-Mahi.
The mussels “sauce poulette” were OK. Not great, just OK.

At the end of the meal, the host (probably to atone for the kitchen’s sins) offered us a glass of very good Muscat.
Smart fellow.

Would I return to Chez Maman?
Maybe, making sure first that Maman is in the kitchen, and second that she boned up on her “escargot” recipe.
Just to remind you Maman: the ingredients are butter, garlic, parsley and salt. That’s all.

All together, I dare say that our lunch was a tad more fulfilling than the “Girl with the Pearl Earring” exhibit.

Alain

 

Definitions

AUTOBUS : Véhicule qui roule deux fois plus vite quand on court après que lorsqu’on est dedans.

BANQUIER : Personne qui serait d’accord pour vous consentir un prêt a la condition que vous lui apportiez la preuve que vous n’en avez pas besoin.

CHANDAIL : Vêtement que doit porter un enfant lorsque sa mère a froid.

CONSULTANT : Se dit de celui qui consulte ta montre, te dit l’heure et te fait payer la prestation.

ECONOMISTE : Expert qui saura demain pourquoi ce qu’il a prédit hier n’est pas arrivé aujourd’hui.

FACILE : Se dit d’une femme qui a la moralité sexuelle d’un homme.

GYNECOLOGUE : personne qui travaille la ou les autres s’amusent.

INTELLECTUEL : se dit d’un individu capable de penser pendant plus de deux heures à autre chose qu’au sexe.

MAL DE TÊTE : contraceptif le plus utilisé par les femmes.

MARIAGE : Union qui permet à deux personnes de supporter des ennuis qu’ils n’auraient pas eut, s’ils étaient restés seuls.

NYMPHOMANE : terme utilisé par certains hommes pour designer une femme qui a envie de faire l’amour plus souvent qu’eux.

ORTHODONTISTE : Magicien qui vous met dans la bouche, une partie de ce qu’il vous retire des poches.

PARLEMENT : Mot étrange formé des verbes “parler” et “mentir”.

PESSIMISTE : optimiste qui a l’expérience.

PROGRES : Doctrine qui consiste a compliquer ce qui est simple.

RÉVEILLE-MATIN : Instrument inventé pour réveiller les gens qui n’ont pas de jeunes enfants.

SARDINE : Petit poisson sans tête qui vit dans l’huile.

SECRET : Information que l’on ne communique qu’a une seule personne a la fois.

SNOBISME : Action de s’acheter des choses qu’on n’aime pas avec de l’argent qu’on n’a pas dans Ie but d’impressionner des gens qu’on n’aime pas.

SYNONYME : Mot a écrire a la place de celui dont on n’est pas certain de l’orthographe.

VEDETTE : Personne qui travaille dur toute sa vie pour être connue, et qui porte ensuite de grosses lunettes noires pour ne pas être reconnue.