a topless teaching

I’ve recently taken the major step of occasionally disrobing my torso while running. While this may be a common practice among male runners, I had formerly been disinclined to surrender to this trend for reasons ranging from modesty to a general awareness and disdain of "the jiggling factor" that often accompanies said exposure. Now please understand that my recent revealing was not brought on by a newly emerging exhibitionist proclivity, but has arisen instead from rather pragmatic and pressing contingencies. Profuse sweat proceeding from my head and into my eyes is often the catalyst for the removal of my shirt so that I may simply have a cloth with which to mop my brow. If my shirt is drenched, I’ve also been inclined as of late to remove it so as to be free from its soggy cling. Yes, this freedom was, in part, forged by the observation that the jiggling factor has decreased; however, as indicated above, vanity was not the impetus for this unveiling… experience was.

So let us ruminate on the power of expediency and how it can take precedence over even modesty. Let us also think on vanity and how, in those with depraved dispositions, it too takes priority over a diffident display. Finally, let us consider that we cannot always judge by appearances the difference between the two, since sometimes they may look alike-- bare chested.

Bad Rat or Bad Rap?

We bought a rat today. It’s quite interesting how these creatures have received such an unfair assessment over the years. You see it all the time in the cartoons. The rat is portrayed as an evil beast ready to spread disease to humans and kill and/or bully the cute little mouse who happens to be the hero of the story. This myth that rats are reprehensible rodents is so prevalent that it made its way into the ranks of our colloquial metaphors: I smell a rat! Dirty Rat! Etc. The fact is though that rats are not very smelly or dirty. Indeed, they are far less fetid than ferrets, and I've heard they are the least odorous of the other small pets as well (mice, hamsters, guinea pigs, etc). As far as their disposition goes, they are quite gentle and easy to handle. In fact, they are much less apt to bite than gerbils or hamsters, and they actually like to be held and petted. I know the pink hairless tail is a turn off for some, but it eventually grows on you. And shouldn’t the rat be allowed this one aesthetic aberration? After all, I’m acquainted with dogs (two min pins to be exact) that resemble rats, yet lack the endearing qualities of silence and sanity. Yet, nary an instance have I heard anyone say She's Crazy as a Min Pin or Shut your Min Pin mouth! I for one will take the pink hairless tail, to the cacophony those impish hounds produce on a daily basis. So can’t we let the bad press be a thing of the past for these oft misunderstood muroids? For how many more years must the medieval memoirs of the bubonic plague harangue the happy plight of the rat, I ask? Let it go already!

21st Century Iconography

It’s a fact, whether in sports, music or movies, that certain stars rise to iconic status while others do not. Certainly talent is involved in their ascent, but often there is something else that contributes to the transformation. After all, there are many actors, singers, and athletes who have great skill, yet never receive the public adoration and worship that those select few experience. Perhaps in addition to the talent factor is the issue of timing. They often arise in the midst of a transitional time period, when society and culture are dramatically changing and the icons represent that shift into the new era – e.g. the Beatles. I think tenure can also play a part in such ascensions. If you’re in the public eye and ear long enough and loud enough you become a household name an eventually an icon.

Michael Jackson attained iconic status quite some time ago and to a degree that only a few in history have. Perhaps one or all of these factors (talent, timing, and tenure) contributed to his rise, but one has to wonder if there was an additional freak factor. (*Please note: I was going to use ‘eccentric’ here in order not to deviate from decorum which dictates never speak ill of the deceased, but alas, I was bound by alliteration {and the general appropriateness of the word in this context}). Had MJ not dangled his infant out of a second story window, purchased a cryogenic coffin, sealed his face with a surgical mask, sealed his face with surgery, owned a monkey named Bubbles, built a creepy theme park for kids, committed some act with one of them that warranted a 22 million dollar pay off, and changed his race (to name a few fiascos), perhaps he would simply have gone down in history as a great 80s pop star. Instead, due to his “eccentricity”, we now need a national day of mourning for Michael, a funeral that could bankrupt California, and so many magazines, forthcoming books, “best of”/ mix albums, dolls, and toys, and underwear, and white gloves, and mounds and mounds of ridicules refuse all bearing his image. Because why?… well, he was the king of pop—talented tenured, and twisted representing a transition into a twisted era.