Tag: Reclaiming the Family

Wheelbarrows and Ogres

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We had Princess Sack of Potatoes over today.  She’s finishing off her Spring vacation from school.  And we haven’t had much of her time in a while.  Sure, she was here for Easter but her cousins were also here so I didn’t get much chance to spend time.  But today we had fun.  I’m installing a 270-gallon pond liner for Camera Girl, so I’m digging a big hole in the ground and working with a shovel, rake, pitch fork and a wheelbarrow so it’s like incredibly exciting for a little kid.  She wants to help and I have to find something that isn’t dangerous or too hard for a little girl but seems useful to her.  So, I told her to rescue earthworms from the pile of grass turf that I stacked up.  Perfect!  She can get her hands covered with dirt and give Camera Girl some worms for her hideous African Clawed Frog and I’m free to move some rocks and dirt.  After about an hour she had enough and went inside to bake chocolate chip cookies with Camera Girl and I continued on until lunchtime when I finished for the day and took a shower.  So, after lunch she wanted to watch the “Minions” movie which I’ve had enough of.  So, we went our separate ways.  But after that she wanted more movie time so Camera Girl suggested “The Princess Bride.”  The little girl agreed to watch it and I decided to join her to see how she reacted to this time capsule of a movie.

And it was pretty funny how her initial reaction to the movie resembled the behavior of the “grandson” played by Fred Savage when his grandfather (Peter Falk) began narrating the story.  Both the real and fictitious grandchildren were annoyed by the story beginning with a love story introduction.  And her reaction also resembled the child character whenever it seemed that the “heroes” of the story were losing to the bad guys.  There was a sense of outrage and the desire to quit the story.  It was only with great persuasion that I convinced her to hang in there after Wesley had been killed by “the Machine.”  And so, I was immensely pleased when by the end of the movie she was very satisfied with the happily ever after ending.

And after the movie I discussed her opinions about the film and she declared that her favorite character was the “Ogre.”  I corrected her by saying that Fezzik wasn’t an ogre but a giant.  And that André the Giant who played the part was a professional wrestler.  She was very interested in how he did some of the stunts.  I explained to her that the “holocaust cloak” wasn’t real and he was never on fire.  And I said he didn’t really have to climb “The Cliffs of Insanity.”  And the reason she liked him best was because he seemed very jolly.

After that she joined her grandmother in several very competitive games of checkers and then it was time for her to go home with her mom.  After she left, I inspected several of the historical photos of the Princess festooning our refrigerator and looking at a noticeably younger me and a tiny little girl in one picture reminded me very powerfully that the clock is ticking at an alarming rate.  But it was a good day to be a grandfather.

Are We Up to the Challenge

photog Current Events, photog's Corner, Reclaiming the Family

With all the strange things going on in our world it’s pretty easy to throw your hands up and say that there’s no hope for things to get better.  You hear about the decline in education and the challenge for young people to find jobs when corporations are using artificial intelligence (AI) to replace most of the work that entry level employees used to do.  And that doesn’t even include all the other madness that’s engulfed our society lately.  I mean, the litany of dystopian phenomena is staggering so I won’t just list them again.  Should we just give up?

No, we must do the opposite.  We must return to basics and approach life by concentrating on the essential aspects of life and avoid as much as possible the “noise.”  So, if all you hear about is kids degenerating into uneducated, psychologically unbalanced basket cases who lay around all day immersed in their cyber-world, then the thing to do is get involved in helping the kids discover what’s “real” in the world.  Teach them real skills; how to work with tools, how to maintain their cars, how to repair things around the house, how to prepare for a job interview, how to talk to a girl in real life.  Stuff like that.

There is no doubt that forces are at work that threaten the stability of our society.  DEI and other identity obsessed programs have done terrible damage to the work place but bewailing this situation isn’t an adequate response.  Young people have to be informed that “giving up” on life is not an option.  Every avenue for advancement must be explored in this most prosperous country in the world.  If only women and foreigners are allowed to be doctors and engineers then become car mechanics or carpenters or buy a small business and build it up yourself.  But whatever it takes young men have to show initiative and the willingness to struggle to survive.  Blaming “boomers” or global warming are just excuses and more needs to be done.  And the way to show the young that there’s hope is by encouraging them and helping them with their struggles.  Share whatever skills or expertise you have and help them discover how to persevere in a challenging environment.

I remember a movie where one of the main characters had a mantra, “Struggle and survive.”  Well, that’s very good advice for our present day.  Giving up seems to be what everyone says is the way forward.  The answer to AI is a universal basic income (UBI) where the government pays you just for breathing and no work is required.  Of course it will have to be the most marginal of existences.  You’ll probably have to live in a closet and eat whatever crap they want to feed you.  But the fact that this is being pushed by the Left shows that it’s a sign that they just want you to lay down and die.  And that is exactly the philosophy (nihilism) that we must eliminate from the young it is basically a death cult and it has infected our society.  And each of us involved in keeping our families alive will have to fight it.

Pass the Paschal Lamb

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Well, Easter has arrived and Camera Girl is killing the fatted calf (well, she’s serving beef anyway).  She’s going all out and in addition to the roast beast there will be lamb and a pasta course with the requisite meatballs and sausage, and various other paschal delicacies like stuffed mushrooms, rice balls and so forth.  So that means we’ll be stuffed to the gills by the time dessert is served.  She’s serving four different homemade cakes and various ice cream flavors along with Klondike Bars which are an especial favorite of several individuals (including me!).

All of this food will incapacitate some of the attendees (including me!).  Probably the girls will avoid the worst ravages as they are more moderate in their grazing and sluicing habits.  Whereas all three generations of men will be fighting over possession of the recliners in the living room to better accommodate their bulging stomachs and comatose brains.  I don’t assume there will be any great demand for movies from this tranquilized crowd but just in case I’m trying to decide what classic cinema I should have queued up for their viewing pleasure.  I think when I was a kid the choices were “The Ten Commandments,” “Ben Hur” or “The Wizard of Oz.”  Now “Ben Hur” is easily lined up with Easter.  “The Ten Commandments” also is linked since the Last Supper occurred on Passover and the movie chronicles the occasion of the first Passover.

But exactly what is the link between Easter and “The Wizard of Oz?”  I guess back in the 1960s the television networks must have had to pay top dollar to air that children’s favorite and they must have thought it would seem even more special if it happened when families gathered for a holiday.  I guess I can continue the tradition this year.  Well, unless the kids stage an insurrection and demand some vapid modern show.

Of course I could go another direction altogether.  A double feature of mid-century science fiction (let’s say “Them!” and “The Thing from Another World”) or W. C. Fields’ “It’s a Gift” and “The Man on the Flying Trapeze.”  Both of these options would provide entertainment that greatly exceeds what would typically be found on the cable channels today.

But maybe what we should do instead is even more revolutionary.  Maybe we should sit around and talk.  After all, how often does the family all get together in one place and find out how we’re all doing?  There’s a lot going on in the family.  Businesses are being started, students are entering the work force.  There’s even a romance that will be represented at the table I believe.  That’s a lot to discuss.  Maybe that’s what we should do.  After all, pretty soon those finishing school will start dispersing far and wide and since I’m getting up there who knows how many more times, we’ll meet face to face.  So, I should take the opportunity to spend some time talking to them while I can.  I think that’s what I’ll do.  Let’s see how that works out.

The American Path

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I was thinking about some of the comments on yesterday’s post “Persistence of Memory.”  It was about detachment, “… it’s the consequence of the rootless existence that has evolved to be the American path.”

And I replied, “You are correct about the path. We’ve atomized our existence. We’ve monetized our lives to such an extent that we almost don’t exist except as consumers. We’re just cogs in the machine. It’s inhuman.”  And that stuck in my mind.

And today I got a call from a friend whom I knew from high school.  He lives in Hawaii and only comes home to Brooklyn once a year at Christmas.  And we talked about meeting up next Christmas.  Now I haven’t seen him in thirty years.  I wonder if he would even recognize me.  And we’ve managed to speak on the phone every Christmas but we haven’t interacted other than that.  Well, I sent him a copy of my book and he called me up today and it was like a time machine.  He was laughing and saying how he always thought one day I’d write a science fiction story.  He was very complimentary and said he really liked the story and of course that was very gratifying.  But in the back of my mind, I was thinking what a strange world we live in.  Here was one of my best friends in the world and I hadn’t seen him for almost half a lifetime.

And so that conversation reinforced the statement, “… it’s the consequence of the rootless existence that has evolved to be the American path.”  Our way of life is somewhat related to the nomadic existence of herders.  They move to follow the grazing grounds of their herds.  There is no one home.  But our way is even worse.  Because the herders live in tribes or at least extended families that move together from place to place.  But we separate into at most nuclear families and often just single individuals, moving from job to job and city to city without anyone permanently included in their “tribe.”

I’m pretty sure that none of this is sustainable.  And maybe that’s why corporate America is backing a policy of wholesale immigration to provide a steady supply of new workers that Americans are no longer providing from their own descendants.  After all, how do you produce a family when all you are is a nomad living from job to job without a family to prop you up and give you help when things get tough or you need the resources to get married or buy a house or pay for expenses associated with children?

And this gave me an idea for my next book after “The Sniper.”  It should have to do with the smartest and richest guy in the world trying to fix “the American path.”  If someone powerful enough wanted to restore our country to viability, what would he think to do?  Maybe he’d redefine the partnership between communities and corporations.  Would it be a feudal system or a socialism?  Or neither.  I haven’t figured out what my “utopia” will be based on.  Maybe I’ll wave “artificial intelligence” around as my deus ex machina.  But I do want to think about it a little.  How do you go about fixing the world?

We’ve Got to Have Priorities

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Christmas Cooking, Sony A7 III, Sony 90mm f\2.8 macro lens

Well, Christmas has arrived.  No not the Day or the Eve.  We’re still four or five days away but the reality has landed.  On Sunday, Camera Girl and her daughters and granddaughter will be making Christmas cookies all day.  Now this is a major event in the holiday.  When it happens, I can grab a cookie or two with every cup of coffee she serves between now and Christmas (and even a while after).  So, this ushers in the end of reasonable eating habits until the end of the holiday.  I approximate I’ll put on five pounds between now and then.  And at my age that’s a burden because losing five pounds is painful.  It’ll take three or four weeks to shed it.

But I have to admit it’s worth it.  Christmas dinner will include both roast beef and home-made lasagna.  And I have already seen the ingredients for ricotta cheese cake and several half gallons of very good ice cream.  I even complained bitterly until she stocked up on some Klondike Bars.  I know for a fact that several of the grandchildren love them and I refused to miss out on a chance to spoil the little guys.  As I’ve stated before, I believe my chance at immortality depends on their good opinion of me after I go to that big website in the sky.  So, I groused about the ice cream and voila!  I saw them in the groceries yesterday.

So yeah, I’ll eat too much rich food and will be pretty groggy by December 26th.

But it’s worth it.  After all, the next real holiday after this is Valentine’s Day and that’s a month and a half away.  Plus, that’s just one small meal.  The next respectable eating marathon is Easter.  And whether that’s the end of March or the beginning of April that’s an eternity away.  We’ll even be close to the end of winter and that’s an eternity away from right now.  So, I’ll begin enjoying myself with those cookies and I’ll continue with my holiday movie viewing ritual and that should insulate me from whatever insanity is breaking loose in the “so-called” real world.  And it’s working I’ve skipped right over the psychopaths shooting up innocent people at colleges and on beaches and wherever else they want to target humanity.  I’ll just let the other pundits address these depressing abominations.

I’ll concentrate on coming up with a decent line of conversation with my grandchildren and providing a chance for my children and their spouses to relax for a few hours while I distract their children with desserts and black and white movies.  That seems like a worthwhile endeavor in this crazy world we inhabit.  I won’t think about the plans at the state capitol to raise our taxes to make up for the Biden dollars that aren’t flowing in any more.  I won’t worry about the attempts to make homeless encampments permanent all over the state.  Instead, I’ll compare the relative merits of the various cinematic portrayals of Bob Cratchit over the years.  Yeah, Cratchit should be next.

Thanksgiving 2025

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Tomorrow is Camera Girl’s D-Day.  The family comes over for a twenty-six-pound turkey and all the trimmings.  I counted up the individual food courses and it came close to thirty.  So, this is ridiculous and I asked her if she wants to start cutting back on all this preparation or get the daughters to help and she shook off the suggestion as heresy.  Apparently, she lives for this.  And I’m glad.  I think we all would miss something if she didn’t put this particular menu together in the traditional way that everyone in the family now looks at as the only way to have dinner on Thanksgiving.  The grandkids have never known a different menu at Thanksgiving and that’s going back over twenty years for some of them.  All in all, that’s an amazing track record.

Of course, one day things will change.  One day the grandkids will start families of their own.  And they won’t be able to come to our house every year.  Or maybe we’ll just get too old to run Thanksgiving.  But for now, we live in that golden era where all the grandkids think this regime is eternal.  And I’ll let that be the party line.

Tomorrow we’ll gather for the feast and sit down at 2pm.  I’ll have the honor (!?!) of carving the turkey and sitting at the head of the table as pater familias but all the power is vested in Camera Girl as boss of the kitchen.  She will be scurrying around making sure that the various dishes are available to people at all sections of the table (or tables, the crowd spills over onto a couple of smaller tables added onto the main table) and truth be told I don’t think she even eats a mouthful of food for the first forty minutes of the campaign.  But once the table is completely stocked and everyone has filled their plates for the first time she will settle into her seat and stay there until dessert is needed.  And this will be an assortment of home-made pies and other desserts.  The only thing I always insist on is the availability of several gallons of good quality vanilla ice cream.  Inevitably there will be several other flavors represented; chocolate chip, strawberry, even heretical flavors like cookies and cream.  But for me the gold standard is vanilla.  It is a pure element, possibly the quintessence of the Thanksgiving dessert.  And my grandchildren agree with me vehemently.  There was an open revolt one year when vanilla ice cream wasn’t clearly visible on the dessert table.  I joined in their cries of protest and Camera Girl was forced to head into the basement to the back of the freezer where the vanilla was hiding.  Since then, there’s been no more nonsense about it.

And after we’ve stuffed ourselves with turkey and fixings and dessert, the grandsons and I will head into the living room to watch our holiday movies.  Typically, we’ll bust out the Laurel and Hardy version of “March of the Wooden Soldiers.”  Afterwards I’ll try to put on one of the versions of “A Christmas Carol.”  I think they feel that the Alistair Sim version is definitive.  But we’ll see.

So, the site may be kind of quiet tomorrow but it’s for a good cause.  Happy Thanksgiving to all you folks out there.  Enjoy the day.

Bullet Ants Won

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Today Camera Girl put me in charge of two of my grandsons one nine and one twelve, for one hour.  She had fed them twice and occupied them all morning with games and movies.  She just needed enough time to start up her dinner and clean up after their plates and bowls.  So, I said, “Sure, no problem, we’ll go shoot some pool.”

So down to the first floor and the pool table.  After they fought for five minutes about who would break, we began the game.  But apparently watching each other (and me) take our turns was too infinitely boring.  I attribute this time dilation to the bowls of ice cream they had just inhaled.  Glucose, sucrose, lactose and galactose were coursing through their blood streams at concentrations that reduced their attention spans to milliseconds at most.

So, they started wandering around looking for something to fiddle with.  First, they found the lat-machine.  I only had a hundred pounds on the cable but neither of them weighs close to that much.  So, I see them suspending themselves from the bar.  And then I notice they’re swinging from it and I have to step in, “Hey, hey cut that out you’re gonna get hurt!”  Finally, they listen and move on to the weight bench so I have to start yelling again.  That’s all I need is for one of them dropping the bar on a foot or something.

So, we compromise and they start taking turns on the rowing machine.  At first, they’re still taking a turn at the pool table but soon enough they’re just cycling back and forth between them doing a couple of hundred meters each on the machine.  Having been completely abandoned at this point I cleared the table and came over to where they were rowing and watched as they amused themselves with something that I considered tedious exercise.

Mercifully, after a half hour, they wore off their sugar high and we went back for another game of pool before starting back upstairs.  With twenty minutes left I convinced them to take a walk around the yard.  They put on their rain boots and we walked around in the soggy air.  It was gray and humid but walking is always good therapy for kids.  It engages their muscles and makes them receptive to speech.  I asked them about their plans for the summer.  They had none.  I asked them what they were doing tomorrow.  They said swimming in my pool.  This was news!  I said, “Okay, let’s just check with your mom.”

Then they found a small rubber ball and began an impromptu game of soccer.  It quickly became animated and eventually spirited (violent and combative).  Then the ball ended up in the pond (swamp) and that was that.  By that point, Camera Girl came looking for us.  My hour was up.  I had fulfilled my responsibility honorably and she released me from bondage.  Now they would spend another two hours watching a movie about dragons and warriors and then head home for dinner.

But the movie ended about a half hour earlier than their departure time so they began to get antsy.  Camera Girl was trying to stop them from playing soccer in the living room so I tried an experiment.  I turned on the movie “Them!”  Well, it was like hypnotism.  As soon as the black and white image of the New Mexican desert appeared on the screen, they became catatonic.  They sat down and didn’t make a sound.  I knew there wasn’t enough time to reach the good stuff so I advanced the DVD to the first ant attack.  Adolescent boys and giant ants.  Magic.

It is remarkable how much mental energy is expended herding adolescent boys.  They have an amazing propensity for changing gears and battling each other.  But herd them we must.  Letting them get bored is a big mistake.  Their ability to get into trouble is remarkable.  Without supervision and organized activity, the number of broken windows and smashed electronic equipment would become prohibitively expensive.

On the drive home, we spent the time discussing whether giant carpenter ants were less deadly than giant army ants or giant bullet ants.  Bullet ants won.

Escape from New York 2025

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Three down, four to go.

So, yesterday I went to Brooklyn for a family reunion.  Driving through the Bronx and Queens I could see the Manhattan skyline and as much as the city has become a cesspool, that skyline is beautiful and impressive.  It’s a bittersweet sight.  My family has lived in New York City for a hundred and forty years.  We loved it and were proud of its grandeur and dynamism.  And now?  Well, pride is impossible.  Just within the time we were travelling down the streets of Brooklyn I could see thuggery and depravity on display.  A city of eight million people that used to be a showcase of culture, business and the Arts reduced to third world barbarity.

Now it’s a dysfunctional space where crime, poverty, homelessness and drug-use dominate the landscape.  It infects everyone who lives there.  It degrades all the magnificent monuments of the past and makes a mockery of their former achievements.  And it makes travelling into its bowels dangerous, frightening and infinitely difficult.  Where can and can’t you drive?  Where can you park your car and find it in one piece when you return?  Where can you walk in the day but not at night?  All the fun questions of NYC urban life.

But ultimately it was worth it all.  For the second time in a few months, I saw members of my extended family that I haven’t otherwise seen in decades.  I met the second and third generations on these branches of the family tree and saw the family resemblances and the new additions to the stock.  Charming.

Ultimately America is convulsing under the forces that the elites can bring to bear.  How we react and compensate for these disturbances is all we have any power over.  My family, for the most part, has abandoned the cities and looked for opportunities and safer surroundings where we could find them.  And that process continues.  Those that stay in these dangerous areas tend to pay a heavy price.  There are physical and mental health consequences to trying to raise children in a hellscape.  Premature death is not unheard of.  And it’s sad to see this reality.  But it’s inspiring when you see someone who has struggled with the traps of that world overcoming the problems and succeeding.

And when it’s over we always have the epic, “Escape from New York!”  I was riding shotgun and the death-defying feats of my driver were truly inspiring.  You haven’t experienced real terror until you’ve cut across five lanes of traffic to make an exit on the BQE.  But we got out and then my drive home from the suburbs was uneventful.

When I reached home Camera Girl was entertaining grandsons Tertius and Quartus with a hockey game on television.  Apparently, this New England sport has caught on with this generation of my descendants.  And I have no objections although I myself have never been able to see the puck on television.  I have to go by the noise of the crowd to know when the puck has actually ended up in the net.  Mostly I just watch the players assaulting each other around the periphery of the rink.  Which is entertaining in its own right.  By the time the boys left it was after midnight and I crashed into the blessed oblivion of sleep.

Well, this was late for obvious reasons.  And the next few days will be equally sketchy because of my slightly punchy condition and the length of my workdays tomorrow and Tuesday but I will attempt to produce some kind of content.  Adios.

All the World’s a Stage

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The Bible (Psalms 90:10) says, “The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.”

So, seventy years are a little less than 25,000 days.  That seems like a big number.  But at the end looking back, it’s the blink of an eye.  That time is swallowed up in sleeping and commuting to work and drinking bad coffee and keeping your boss from firing you and fighting with vendors and trying to satisfy clients and paying the bills.  Hopefully you spent enough time with your wife and kids so that they had some inkling of who you really are.

The best days are carrying the babies home from a family party where everyone was glad to see each other and there was something to celebrate; a holiday or an occasion.  Or taking the kids to the seashore for a week or two in the heat of July.  Or maybe taking your wife out someplace special for a big anniversary.

And then the kids get married and then the grandchildren come along.  So, there’s a progression.  The cycle comes around again.  Only now you’re on the other side of the wheel.  Way out there on the far side.  You recognize the program but now you’re seeing it from far away.

So, the thing to do is try to make yourself useful and try to add a little something to the plot of the story.  You’re no longer the lead.  You’re not even near the center of the stage.  You’re kind of the guy in the wings with a copy of the script ready to whisper the lines to the actors if they forget their lines.  Well, it’s still useful and who knows maybe there’s a non-speaking role for you as a spear carrier.  That’s when you get to be backup driver for soccer games or band practice.  After all it’s honorable service.

But it is weird how life works.  You really can’t delay gratification.  You can’t work for forty years to make enough money to make the last years worth having missed what came before.  You have to figure out how to squeeze the joy out of the process of living.  You have to enjoy being a kid and a young man and your prime and what comes after that.  You have to find some friends along the way, go on those coffee walks at break time and go to your kids’ soccer games and their kids’ baseball games and volunteer around town and even do really annoying stuff like getting involved in local politics.

Like I said, it’s the blink of an eye.  Twenty-five or thirty thousand days is a short span when so much is eaten up by routine that is almost unavoidable.  I guess if you’re a billionaire it’s a little different but I’ll bet it’s still the same tradeoffs, responsibilities versus joy.

Of course I haven’t seen the last page.  As Shakespeare said,

“Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

Well, I better hurry up and get my ducks in a row.

Trad-Wife Boot Camp

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I wonder if Camera Girl knows that if she were a zoomer she’d be considered a “trad wife.”  I’m actually afraid to tell her what that is.  She’d shake her head and tell me that people today are ridiculous and I shouldn’t waste my time talking about ridiculous things.  But she’s so far out of the mainstream that she might as well be from another planet.

And that brings me to the topic of today.  How to find trad wives for my grandsons.  It’s a complicated question.  I wonder if Google Ads has a category for it?  I’m sure there are dating sites that categorize people by the lifestyle they align with.  But I don’t trust my grandsons to handle an assignment this important.  I’m not even sure if their parents are up to the challenge.  I think this requires Camera Girl to handle the interviews.

I don’t expect her to have the final say over the bride but I think she should be given a veto over the candidates that are obviously flawed.  Now of course the heart wants what the heart wants.  But I think it would make good sense to have some oversight of the matrimonial process.  Let’s face it, men are not very savvy when it comes to women.  In fact, the zoomers may actually be responsible for this whole kerfuffle about the question of, “What is a woman?”  Maybe they honestly don’t know.  Sure, they’ve seen them online but have they ever spoken with a live woman since graduating college?

What would make sense would be some kind of practical exam.  Let’s see:

  • Make spaghetti and meatballs from scratch.
  • Make decent coffee.
  • Make pancakes.
  • Figure out the menu for the week.
  • Bake an apple pie.
  • Entertain your prospective in-laws without saying the word “cringe” once.
  • Show that you like kids.
  • Tell a joke.
  • Go shopping with your prospective mother-in-law.
  • Don’t look at your phone once during dinner.

Now I know this is a stone-age list.  Women nowadays can’t cook, don’t want kids and have no interpersonal skills except in the office or on-line.  But that’s the point.  Men should be trying to find a way out of the awful world that girl-bosses and feminism has created.  If they marry, they need to find a woman that they’ll be able to stay married to for more than a month.  And if a woman doesn’t intend to have children, then there’s no imaginable reason to marry her in the first place.  If she wants companionship, she should save time and money and buy a cat or two or three.

Now it’s entirely possible that there are no more wifeable women left.  Maybe the whole western world of women is composed of girls who want to work in middle management and eventually end up as middle-aged, Botox-shooting, cat-keeping, barren girl-bosses spitting venom at the whole male sex for not wanting to serve as their place-holder partner at the corporate parties and gatherings.

If that’s the case my recommendation is for my grandsons to go marry a girl from a traditional country where women still give birth to children and think of house-wife as a pretty nice career.  But we’ll have to see how my talk with Camera Girl goes.  She’s ornery and may not agree right away.  But she’ll come around.  She likes to help young people.  And she can give remedial classes in the spaghetti and meatballs exam question if it’s a problem.  After all nobody is perfect.