100 MOST INFLUENTIAL PEOPLE IN THE WORLD -- according to "TIME"

No, I didn't count them.  (Image from Muy Interesante, 1993)

Yeah I got my TIME the other day. I have listed the names that I recognized without any prodding.
I don't know why I know some of the names, but because I decided to be honest I listed them.
I am still trying to figure out why Secretariat hasn't ever been listed.
Anyway, here are the names I recognized out of 100:
Charles and David Koch
Scott Kelly
Tim McGraw
Angela Merkel
Bob Corker
Elizabeth Warren
Xi Jinping
Jeb Bush
Raul Castro
Kim Jong Un
Benjamin Netanyahu
Hillary Clinton
Barack Obama
Mitch McConnell
Ruth Bader Ginsberg
Jerry Brown
Malala Yusafzai
Pope Francis

That's 18.  With Man 'O War and Jackie Robinson, I get 20.

I remember growing up and thinking the world of certain people.  It was really uplifting to be able to know a fact or two about Bobby Doerr, for example.  Fortunately for me, EFR Dion thought highly of Bobby Doerr too.  I could go through a list of names that mean nothing to anyone at this time, but I won't because I have learned my lesson about this influential people myth.

Early in my life I came to know that one of the people whom I admire the most could not even pronounce the words Bobby Doerr, and wouldn't have recognized them had they been before his very eyes in the English language newspaper of the day.  Here was this hulk of an old man who was living a wonderful life, surrounded by loving children and grandchildren and he did not even know Bobby Doerr whom I idolized.  It was OK for him to not know Ted Williams.  EFR Dion and I both knew that he was a bum anyhow.  The fact that my Grandfather didn't know these people but still led a productive life did teach me a lot.  It did not keep me away from him.  Oh, no.  I couldn't get enough of him.  I still enjoy his spiritual company every day of my life.
So, what's with this influence philosophy?  Am I missing something because I only recognize 18 names out of the 100 that I suppose I am expected to not just recognize, but feel their influence?  I looked at the cover of the magazine and I asked myself whose face that is.  I read down the list and I was lost.  Not a single name jumped out at me from the "cowboy song" singers; not a single name jumped out at me from the French national soccer team; doesn't Michael Jackson play basketball any more?  Oh, and Cousy?  I really miss Maurice Richard too.
According to this list, I am not being influenced by anyone important.  To that, I said, YYEESSSS!
Obama?  Netanyahu? Kim Jong Un?  Bob Corker?  Hillary Clinton?  Hell's bells!  My life sure is a mess.  The only powerful vibes I get from anyone on the list is the Italian Catholic guy from Argentina and the teen ager from Pakistan.  Why do I like them?  Why do I know who they are?
Easy:  They speak truth to power.  Plain and simple.

Yes, my friends, the Time 100 and the Time Person of the Year don't move me any more.  What moves me now is my self determination, my unwaverably positive self-esteem and my unshakable faith in the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Everything else is pure dust and ashes.

So that's my thought for the day.  

SEXUAL HARASSMENT TRAINING IN CALIFORNIA

Skillpath.com

I had an interesting experience today.  After ten years of significant activity on the campus of our local parish church, I went to the diocesan headquarters for a training session regarding sexual harassment.  It was rather somewhat disorienting being in the audience rather than at the front of the room.  I have done this type of training many, many times along the path of my work history.  

But, and get this, I never presented this training in a room where there were nuns and priests sitting around the same tables. I don't know why, but that was somewhat disconcerting.  I can't help but wonder if Sister Mary of the Holy Archangel Michael ever did accuse Father Noah of the Leaky Ark of creating a hostile workplace environment for the good sister because of his over-use of the scatological expletive common on many church campuses.  I certainly hope not.

These days a full day training seminar on sexual harassment is a piece of cake.  The topic that really keeps things hot, I think, is child molestation.  I say that "I think" because I have been absent for any and all of those for eons of being around the Church.  I have had my fingers printed, my pulse taken, my blood pressure verified, my BMI statistically analyzed, my DNA distilled and filtered and my name analyzed on Google, all to no avail when it came to finding me with my hand in the child molestation cookie jar.  

So there!  

Oh, by the way, I do have a wonderfully kind and loving cookie jar right here at home.  Ol' Grace, the famous Vox Cucinae.  

PSSST! DO YOU KNOW ANY BAD WORDS?

Hey, know what?  Ol' potty mouth here has in the history of these scratchings broached the daring topic/thought of bad words twice before.  Once here and another time here.
I admit that it was a long time ago and I also admit that I had forgotten about my forays into the foul words jungle.  The thought of discussing them (again?) came to me when I happened to see a question on a social network site that asked if there are any bad words.  Predictably, the answers came back with all the philosophical Sophistry that words are not bad or good since they are nothing but noise.  That got me to thinking about my "Bad  Word Autobiography."  It so happens that it does have stages in it.  Some predictable and others just slightly slipping into consideration.

The first stage is the one where you get caught by your mother at a moment when you thought that you were SAFE. It was on the sidewalk near the house.  I was sitting in the little red wagon that we had received for Christmas.  It was now Spring and we were playing horse and buggy.  It was my turn to be in the buggy and my brother's turn to be the horse. Of course I was unhappy with the gait of the "horse" and I was particularly short of a whip.  You know, the leather kind that you can snap across the horse's stern when things aren't exactly going to your liking.  But I did have the one in my mouth (still do) so I let the "horse" know in no uncertain, loudly shouted terms that I want him to move his *&^)$#@@ stern.
You know, "stern" spelled "A..:  Brit style, as in "Move yer bloomin' a...e" (My Fair Lady)
Well, this was at least two decades before Julie Andrews and My Mum happened to be near a window and just the right side of the house.  

The whole neighborhood reverberated with the screeching thunder of my mother's pet name for me, punctuated by the order, "Get in here."  The rest of the story can be handily wrapped up in the simple averrance that I developed an immediate distaste for Camay handsoap on that very day.  I know that the mental allergy to it is still sitting heavily on my being when I walk into a rest room in a family home where Camay is the bar soap of choice.  I find myself tasting my punishment all over again.  Imagine a lifetime of punishment for three words that were overheard by a foul mouthed parent (yeah, she had a vocabulary, especially in French).

For the rest of my young life I was a rather smooth talker.  I used to occasionally slip into fecal phonemes, but not too often.  So from about 10 to 40 I was pretty wimpy in my speech. Not my opinions, but my speech.

I had a bad moment for a few years, but not any more.  

Back to the "Bad Word" question.  I happen to agree that there are bad words.  Words are not just "noise."  They are also thoughts and a bunch of other things.  They also have a social dimension that can't be denied.  So yeah, I think that there actually are "bad words."
Take it from me, that Camay taste that I now have in my mouth is presently underlining the truth of that statement.

IS THERE A "WRONG SIDE" OF THE BED?

  Do some people subconsciously pick a side of the bed? 

Here I present to you a question that I ran across while surfing the Internet rather than dedicating myself to my work.  It made me laugh because it didn't ask the question in relation to the questioner's fixed vantage point.  Was she at the head?  At the Foot? Was the question posed from the sunrise side of the house or the sunset side?  Maybe it was from the North looking South or vice versa?  Was the question regarding whether or not one would prefer the topside or the underside?  Was it asked about the human side of the person with whom I share the bed?  Finally, why a side?  What do I answer if I personally insist on the middle?  I suppose that would leave me with other options, v.g. The topside or the underside.

Actually, I did get a kick out of this question.  I actually dodged the bedside part of the question and answered it to myself in relation to a decision  that the Voice from the Kitchen and I made many years ago.  She would occupy the available space to my right as I lay on my back and I would be at her left as she lay on her back.  As it turned out this contributed to the longevity of our conjugal union.  Neither one of us could get up on the wrong side of the bed because the body of the other half of the union prevents it.  Plus, we chose the right side by default when we chose the human side of our nocturnal sojourn.

So, there you go.  Just another of the "365 Thoughts" that have appeared here through the years.  This one is not native to me, but I got a kick out of playing with it anyway.  I have some more, so hang in there.  Some of them may even make more sense than this one.

ANONYMITY?

I have a few thoughts about Anonymity.




















Something struck me the other day.  It twanged my High "C" string because it is something that rarely goes out of tune in me.  I have oft repeated this conviction of mine, "Anonymity if the greatest obstacle on the road to progress."
I do not live the larger part of my life in anonymity.  I do try to protect my online banking account, but even that is not 100% sure.  

What usually happens in life is that an event tweaks your inner Ukelele and you get the vibes rubbing up against your tender queevates and you just have to get a laugh out if it because that's what keeps you sane.  Well, let me tell you a story.

I was cruising along in the "social media ocean" on a site that I have come to enjoy.  It is called "Quora", a plural form of "Quorum" and I find it interesting.  It is a question and answer format a little bit in the style of Wikipedia.  Many of the questions come under the shade of anonymity.  I don't ask questions.  I answer them when I see that I am competent to do so.  I have been doing this for about two months now.  I have also come to know that I have garnered a small following of "regulars."  
This participatory activity and the four active blogs that I manage have pretty much wiped out any hope (if any) that I ever had for anonymity.

Here is the "Tweaker":  I am looking to start Angel Investing. How can I get a deal flow, and get my name out there?  Asked by "Anonymous."
How is "anonymous" going to get his/her name "out there?" Sure has me beat!   I am sure that the angel investors are scrambling around in their offices with their checkbook in hand wondering where they should send their money in response to this dynamic individual's anonymous query on the World Wide Web.

I have long ago succeeded in getting anonymous email forwarders off my electronic door stoop by responding to all and daring them to sign their stercus taurorum before sending it to me.  

It used to be a little more difficult to be anonymous.  You had to write things down in your own hand; you had to mail it and the post office would have the origination point clearly stamped so as to cancel the postage; if you were lucky enough to have a telephone, that wouldn't help because your voice would be a give-away.  
Speaking of telephones and anonymity.  Did you every try to see if you could really disguise your voice if you spoke through a towel while on the 'phone?  I did.  I tested it by calling my friend at an off hour.  I was glad to hear that it had been his mother to answer.  Surely she had been fooled.  My joy was short.  I heard her say, "Donald, Paul is on the 'phone."
So friends and neighbors, boys and girls, "ladies and gentlemen and all ships at sea," tell the truth and sign your name to it.  It is the guarantee that those who come to your funeral will not be crying.  Come to mine first and you'll know that I am right.