Month: September 2013

Parodoc-X-ical Musings

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I question the concept that women are ‘less than’ if they express themselves in ways that do not include placing them on a pedestal.

It would then follow, that those who restrict themselves to behaving, thinking and acting like other suggest they are supposed to do, are ‘more than’.

Why is it that if there are any conditional perceptions directed towards women with even a hint of negative undertones, irregardless of veracity.

Words such as sexist and misogynistic are suddenly propagated like bullets from a M134 Mini-gun. Squarely aimed at any one who has the temerity to offer dissension. irregardless of the truth actually.

I stand firmly behind the idea that women – like men – are capable of feats that restore faith in the human condition. And also, like men, they are capable of feats that are considered taboo for the sake of proper societal etiquette.

Lets take a – Lay – philosophical approach to this.

Existentialists purport that existence precedes essence.

According to Jeffery M. Walkey, Jean – Paul Sartre suggests that:

” [F]irst of all man exists, turns up, appears on the scene , and, only afterwards defines himself” (THE ESSENTIAL STRUCTURE THE EXISTENTIAL CHARACTER OF BLONDELIAN PHENOMENOLOGY 105)

To avoid any confusion ‘Man’ is merely used here as a derivative of ‘Mankind’ by virtue of which means it includes women.

Therefore, to be succinct, the quote above suggests that the condition of being human is a canvas.

The things we do while in this state are the combinations of colours and tones with creates a whole painting. ie identity defining actions.

Existence ‘actions’ precedes essence ‘quality of being human – man or woman. Essentially, this presents the idea that women can define themselves by their actions as do men.

The important part to note, is that not all actions must meet the preconceived notion of society as a whole.

To be more in-depth this would be an essay, not a post. However, my point is this:

A woman can: Wear what she feels like and act the way she wants.

The perception of these – if negative – do not make her ‘less than’ to the perception of actions taken by others which would be interpreted as positive.

The idea then, is this: since we all have the capacity for good or bad, we can either choose to be good or to be bad. By having the ability to be thus.

We sculpt our identity with the chisel of actions and temper with the fire of words.




Grandmother in the Twenty First Century.

G- Son “Good evening Gran Mother. How was you day? Did anything eventful happened on your outing?”

GM  “But lawd Mi cyaa undastan di yong peopel dem. Afta mi deh pon di bus hear one likle chile bout a nuff               male deh pon har fone cauz a pure massage she ah get.

GM  ” If a Did Eva my daughta dat..a lack har inna di house to claat!”

“She no know seh too much male nuh gud fi har. One male at a time she fi accep”

G-Son “Mam.. I think she meant she had a lot of Mail on her Phone due to getting a lot of messages.”

GM    “But yuh no ez…how di rass you a go tell mi weh mi hear when you neva deh deh?”

“Look pan dah pissin tail bowy ya. Have some respeck fi you eldaz!”
G-Son :  (Awkward Silence)

GM  “As mi did a seh bifore I was so rudeily intarupted

“Di Chile need some religion inna har life.

“Chu mi neva wah bi too fass, or mi woulda go sing mi numba one gasple sang fi har: In Har Heart.

GM   “Di young peple dem now adayz need Jesas inna dem heart bad bad!
G-Son “Gran Mother. that is not a Religious song. You don’t understand the metaphor.”
GM  “Meta wah? …  Bowy a badwud yuh a u tell me?”

“Mine yuh manaz bifore a Haffi kick in yuh two front teet dem.”

“If Mi neva feel bad seh you did alredy look like di rat dem pan animal farm I wuda do jus dat.”

GM   “But my jesas seh fi be kind to di strupid

G-Son “Mam Metaphor is a literary device used to draw comparison between two things that would not

otherwise be compared ..

(Gets interrupted)

GM  “Lawd a Wah dis werl ah come to!”

“But cooya..sen you gah skool and you wah tell me weh mi can and don’t know?”

“Bowy you betta go ketch you fasty self ova de suh. ”

GM  “IF you listen to weh the song seh you know seh a gasple song. Who no know seh havin Rasta inna you           heart mean fi be full a di holy gost.”

GM  “If you know know weh you chat seh SHUT you mout!”

G-Son – (Shutting up) …..

Good day my fellow Lords and Ladies. I shan’t take much of your time. The above is written in a distinctly Island flavoured vernacular.

I assume there will be more than a few that will not understand. Regretfully, the tone would be lost had I not used colloquial Island dialogue.

For those who do understand. What can I say?

I had a long day at work.


Dance to your own Music.

I am curiously intrigued by the general outcry against a young Caucasian performer based on negative perception of oscillating hip movements.

In an industry that lives by the mantra: ‘Sex Sells’. I find it disingenuous that one female – among so many – can garner so much rancor.

With a plethora of women whose performances generally include motions – that were Darwin to see them. He

would think that Homo sapiens has now regressed to the point where we use motions to indicate periods of fertility and willingness to mate.

If you are against something because of moral implications due to its pedagogic nature on an increasingly tractable generation of youngsters. Then, the censure should be directed at all; not attenuated.

If the ‘phenomena’ of twerking is so objectionable. It should not be celebrated for some and a deprecating for a select few.

The idea that psychical attributes – or lack thereof – grants or revokes assent. Is not adding anything meaningful to “debate”.

The outcry only demonstrates how the grass of social media attracts many Sheep. Sheep without a competent Sheppard.

For those who genuinely think the risqué imagery that female performers portray is harmful to the perception of women in society. Kudos to you. I can and will respect that viewpoint.

However, for everyone else: I lack the words necessary to convey any opinion that would sway you to offer critique and not criticism.

In an age where everyone is getting fake boobs, @$$ implants and labia reductions etc. I salute any woman who is proud of her body it its natural state.

Therefore, if the imagery she projects is a Faux Pas; she is just a cacophonous entity amongst all the noise. The dissonance is then, not that hard to bear.

In Memory of Pepe Le Pew


While I am appreciative of efficient public transportation. It is – at times – very hazardous.

I have come to the conclusion that taking public transportation is like skirting the site of a nuclear fallout.

The other day I was on my way home from work. I took the Bus as per normal.

(After all, I have no choice – I ‘drive’ a ten toed Lexus.)

I am standing in the Aisle innocently.

When – Like a zombie Apocalypse – this odour suddenly hits me in the face and proceeded to eat my brain; one cell at a time.

If I had to describe it. To make it prosaic.  To gift you with a more vivid picture of what the experience was like.

It would go something like this:

The heavyweight champ sauntered onto the bus. He strolled silently into the aisle in which I now stood.

He paused a moment, and with a pungent right hook, proceeded to hit me across the face; repeatedly, and with

great verve.

In more colloquial terms. It would be like getting a Gaza box across the face and jaw. With the majority of the

force concentrated on the bridge of the nose.

Basically, the experience was such I felt I took one more step outside my mind. Since I already had one foot on

the outside, you can understand my dilemma.

The experience left me dazed and lacking the necessary equilibrium.  At one point, I struck up a conversation

with my Nose.

While standing stoically. I was mildly intrigued by the phenomena of my nose begging  and pleading  for mercy

Here is an excerpt.

Suddenly I heard (in a very high-pitched voice) :

Make it stop!! Make it stooppp!! Please, I beg of you!  Help me, help Meeeee!!!!

Usually, I try to mind my own business. However, since my nose and I are inexorably linked.

knew I had to act.  I thought about moving, but it was rush hour.

So, brilliant fellow that I am. I started talking to my nose in order to offer some sort of moral support.

Me : Breathe man!! Breatheee!!

Nose: Is that a joke? Are you really making fun of me at a time like this?

Me: Umm.. No, I’m serious. try to get some fresh air.

Nose: I don’t know If you are blind, Having a blond moment or just plain stupid.

but In case you didn’t notice it is rush hour. And while this bus isn’t a slave ship. It is sure packed liked one.

So obviously, I can’t get fresh air. In fact, I feel like my nasal septum is about to collapse

And so, with little to no options available to me. I stood there stoically. like King Leonidas and contemplated kicking whomever it was that is allergic to bathing down a well while triumphantly Yelling

Go! have! a! SHOWAAAAAAA!!!

You want to know what the worse part is?

The offending party, clearly suffering from copious amounts of denial. Had the temerity to ask,who was it that stunk so badly.

I wanted to laugh at his audaciousness . However, I thought it better not to open my mouth for extended periods of time. Lest I spontaneously combust.