Archive for May, 2012


Definitely submitted for your approval, here’s Indian Actress Nayantara:


Another question from Gregory Stock’s book is this:

What is the most planning and energy you have ever put into a romantic event?  Was the planning worth it, or might everything have gone as well without it?

I can’t think of a particular situation, but I’ve learned from experience that the more planning and energy I put into a romantic event, the more likely it will fail miserably.  When I was in my teens, twenties, and even thirties, I would wear myself out preparing for a date.  I’d wash my car, and vacuum the interior.  I’d pick out my nicest shirt and trousers, and iron them.  I’d shower as if removing hazardous chemicals, shave when I didn’t really need to shave, brush my teeth till my gums bled.  Typical OCD preparation.  Then I’d sit around worrying, until it was time to leave the house.  And throughout the planned romantic event, I’d be tense, nervous–of course.  The woman would sense this, and she’d never see me again. 

I’ve learned that spontaneity is the key to a truly romantic event–the less planning, the less effort, the less worrying the better.  (And alcohol certainly helps.)  No one is worth stressing myself out over–if she’s compatible, she’ll show it.  Romance is like humor for me, it has to be spontaneous.  I can’t come up with a joke on cue, though I can be hilarious if I’m not trying to be.  Same with romance–the more I try, the more likely I’ll fail.  The less planning and energy I put into a romantic event–the more I simply live in the moment–the better it will go, if it goes at all.


It’s interesting how another blogger’s post can inspire a post for one’s own blog.  Such is the case here.  I was reading this post from Gimcrack Hospital, when I was reminded of another item from More of Paul Harvey’s The Rest of The Story (1980) by Paul Aurandt–that seems appropriate for this U.S. holiday.

Search Me–I Dare You

     In the July 19, 1948, edition of Time magazine, under the heading of “National Affairs,” under the subheading of “Heroes”–a heroine.

     A young woman newly awarded the Medal of Freedom.  A lady called Joey.

     Joey was, in fact, Mrs. Josefina Guerrero from Manila, a society figure in her native country.

     During World War II, Joey was a spy.  Our side.  And she was the best.  For all the secret maps and messages she carried back and forth across enemy lines, she was never apprehended, never searched once.

     How Joey was able to to achieve her remarkable wartime record is THE REST OF THE STORY.

     Josefina Guerrero was the toast of Manila.

     She was young, pretty, vivacious; her husband was a wealthy medical student at Santo Tomas University.  Everything was going her way.

     That was before the war.

     After the Japanese invaded the Phillipines, Josefina joined her friends–the other young matrons of Manila–and together they worked to help the internees and the U.S. prisoners of war, bringing them food, clothing, medicine, messages.

     When the Americans landed on Leyte, Josefina offered to become a spy.

     She had already gained valuable experience in the Manilan underground; she would be the best spy the Americans ever had, she said.  And we, smiling at her youthful enthusiasm, agreed.

     On her first mission, she mapped the waterfront fortifications of the Japanese and the locations of enemy anti-aircraft batteries.  Armed with nothing more than a sketchbook and a pencil, she prowled the restricted areas, recording all that she saw.

     From Josefina’s drawings, American planes were able to pinpoint their targets.

     The success of this and of subsequent missions earned Josefina the respect of her allies and it brought her an affectionate nickname, Joey.

     Joey, it seemed, could do no wrong in the pursuit of espionage.  Because of her conspicuous bravery, many near-impossible tasks were accomplished in the line of duty.

     One mission took her through fifty-six miles of Japanese encampments and checkpoints and freshly sown minefields.  With a top-secret map taped to her back, she trudged those fifty-six miles on foot.

     For three years, Joey continued her cloak-and-dagger career.  Then one day the war was over, and with it ended Joey’s job as a spy.

     A grateful U.S. War Department awarded her the Medal of Freedom with silver palm for having saved “untold” American lives.  Visiting the United States, Joey was presented with a Catholic medallion by Francis Cardinal Spellman for her “valorous and heroic actions.”

     But if there was one testimony to her ultimate success in espionage, it was that she lived to tell about it.  Joey–Josefina Guerrero–was never caught.  Stopped many times by suspicious Japanese, she was never apprehended, never even searched.

     For Joey had a secret weapon, an unconditional insurance policy to which any other spy would be unlikely to subscribe.  An impenetrable barrier, if you will.

     Her unfailing deterrent to those who would detain her was an authentic disease . . . called leprosy!


My dad has skin cancer lesions (from sunlight exposure) which he often has to have removed.  Most recently, one of his earlobes had to be removed because of this–he’s planning to get some plastic surgery for it.  My maternal grandfather also had this problem in his later years.  And in her later years, my maternal grandmother had to have a breast removed due to breast cancer.  I don’t know of anyone who has no history of cancer in his or her family.

Bearman has come up with a cartoon that really says it all.  It may be considered coarse, by some–but I’m sure everyone will agree with its message.  Here is the link, followed by the image:


While searching for a photo to accompany my previous post, I stumbled upon this map mentioned in this post:



As mentioned, I receive some funny emails, especially from my Singletons acquaintances.  Most of them I don’t post on my blog, but this one’s too good not to post (author unknown):

Forward of the day:

An attractive blonde from Cork, Ireland, arrived at a casino.  She seemed a little intoxicated and bet twenty thousand dollars in a single roll of the dice.

She said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel much luckier when I’m completely nude.”  With that, she stripped from the neck down, rolled the dice and with an Irish brogue yelled, “Come on, baby, Mama needs new clothes!”

As the dice came to a stop, she jumped up and down and squealed, “Yes!  Yes!  I won, I won!”  She hugged each of the dealers, picked up her winnings and her clothes and quickly departed.

The dealers stared at each other dumbfounded.  Finally, one of them asked, “What did she roll?”

The other answered, “I don’t know–I thought you were watching.”


Not all Irish are drunks, not all blondes are dumb, … but all men … are men!


Another question from Gregory Stock’s book is this:

If you were confident that their choice would be a good one, would you be willing to have your parents select your spouse?  If not, why not?

My parents have been married since 1951.  Yet I wouldn’t want a marriage like theirs.  They are too similar, so much that they can hardly make any decisions independent of one another.  They’re so alike that they’re practically one person–of a single identity.  This is very unusual–the only well-known marriage similar to my parents’ was that of Ronald and Nancy Reagan.

Still, if I were confident their choice would be a good one, I’d be willing to have them select my bride (with her consent, of course).  Dating (courtship) is frustrating at best.  I’d much rather have a compatible wife than continue the process of mate selection indefinitely.


No.  Yet somehow I see a resemblance between Classic Actresses Barbara Babcock and Joanna Moore.


Another question from Gregory Stock’s book is this:

What one thing do you think would most draw the opposite sex to you: better looks, more education, more money, more confidence, or something else?

Indifference.  Nice guys do finish last, but so do mean guys.  It’s indifferent guys who finish first.  Nothing is more attractive to the opposite sex–male or female–than indifference. 

The problem is that indifference cannot be faked.  If I’m attracted to someone, she’s going to know it no matter how much I try to hide it.  Women like a challenge, just as men do.  But the female sex is the more intuitive sex.  So men like me, who fall in love too quickly, don’t stand a chance.

Cynical?  Perhaps.  But it’s true.  The way to attract someone is to be genuinely disinterested.  Yet if you’re genuinely disinterested, you cannot appreciate her attraction to you.  It’s a paradox.

This is one reason my television idol has always been Mr. Spock.  Because he is indifferent toward every woman, every woman desires him.


Madeleine Stowe appears again and again among my search engine terms.  I can certainly understand why.  Here are two websites devoted to the lovely actress: