August 2017 – HUMOR IS NO FUN UNLESS YOU LAUGH

Eclipse

In ancient Egypt, historians say, they had a sun god named Amon, or Re. This god, they believed, was in charge of moving the sun in a barge. One beautiful day when the sun was high it suddenly disappeared from the sky. It was, we now think, an eclipse of the sun, a common event as the heavens are run. But the people on earth then were filled with fear that the sun god had left and the end was near. The Egyptians, of course, had no way to know that what actually happened was simply so: Old Re in the pilot house’s cramped condition just wanted to stretch and to change his position. So he stopped for a minute behind the moon. That’s all it was when it darkened at noon. Yet folks were in panic, kids, women and men. Tough time they had, and no CNN!

Picture credit Morguefile mensatic

The Oldest Profession

There is some paleo-anthropological evidence, I understand, that early homo sapiens used ochre as face paint a hundred thousand years ago. My guess is that they applied this pigment to ward off predators by making their eyes look scarier. The method is still in use after all these thousands of years, except that the homo sapienses of today prefer black or blue and call it eye shadow. The effect, I am afraid, is still the same. We are talking here about self-applied or, more often, self-inflicted cosmetics.

There are, of course, other ways to make eyes look scary. The Venetians are good at that. They make face masks that hide all but the pupils behind grotesque elongated noses or in folds of gruesome looking crinkled skin. The effect, of course, is temporary and reversible. Closely related is the practice of theatrical makeup. This is an art form rather than a profession. The more talented practitioners get nominated for Academy Awards.

Some facial modifications are permanent. They are not meant to look scary. Their purpose is to improve a person’s appearance. You begin with crinkled skin and, if successful, you end up with a smooth, more youthful complexion, plumper eyelids, and higher or lower brows, your choice. This is the miracle of plastic surgery. Surgeons, however, including plastic surgeons, are a relatively new profession.

But to come back to eyes, let us go fast backward three thousand years. In a museum in Berlin, my home town, I once, as a schoolboy, saw a bust of the Egyptian queen Nefertete. If one looks closely at her eyes one notices that they have been ever so carefully rimmed in black. Anyone capable of doing precise eye liner jobs so close to the lashes three thousand years ago must have been a professional makeup stylist. To me the bust in the museum suggests that cosmetology has been a human priority for many thousands of years. It still is, judging by the inordinate amount of counter space given to creams, sprays, sticks, tongs, tweezers and brushes, washes, dyes, polishes, polish removers, conditioners, shadows, fragrances and lashes to name a few categories, and not counting the innumerable brands involved — the Chanels, Balenciagas, Escadas, Bulgaris, Lauders, Guccis, Givenchys, Hermeses, Versaceses and Yves Saint Laurentses of the world — in any department store you care to mention. My point is, I have a new theory. The oldest profession, I think, really is cosmetology!

Sorry about that. I know it hurts to give up cherished beliefs.

Picture credit: CNN.com

Just Cruising

People go on cruises for several reasons. Some like to be on a ship in order to go on shore again all day and do things, see things, take pictures of things. Others, me for example, take the same cruise to relax in the comfort of their stateroom and quietly observe the world as it floats by. The black and white orca that shot out of the water right in front of our balcony would be an example. Or the compressed blue glacier ice blocks floating all around and the water falls rushing down the steep rock faces of the inner passage. My idea of the perfect cruise ship is an elegant dining room surrounded by a wood paneled library with leather chairs, table lamps, and lots of books. And it should be located not too far from the cappuccino bar.

I do not really care where the ship is going or how the weather is outside. On a recent foray into Alaskan waters we ran into a week of rain and cold winds. Some of my more active ship companions complained about our bad luck, although none of them were discouraged from traipsing through the woods, looking for salmon, bears, and bald eagles. The floating ice blocks crowded with resting seabirds were not enough for them. They wanted to see the glacier that “calved” those blocks and were sad when we could not go near enough to witness the procedure.

For me, on the other hand, this was a perfect arrangement. Thanks to the lure of the bears the dining room was not crowded and I had the library to myself. I had nothing to crab about.

Talking about crabs, we observed a fishing boat coming into the harbor at Prince Rupert in British Columbia. It was loaded with crabs. They were being hoisted onto the pier in large buckets. A work crew on shore inspected them. Those that passed muster were packed in ice. Those that failed the inspection – not very many – were unceremoniously tossed back into the water. That made me think this over: the bad ones live; the fit ones get eaten. Yes, that is how it goes with the crabs. “Survival of the what?” I heard the crabs say, “Where were you, Herbert Spencer, when we needed you?” If I were a crab I would be crabby, too.

Picture credit: morguefile.com