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The Cozy Spot

45 posts categorized "Journal"

July 12, 2008

The Balancing Act

I'm not disappointed being a female but it can be disappointing on certain occasions.  I know I'm not alone in experiencing irritating moments. The thing that peeves me off the most is the victim mentality, and while I'm quite guilty of denying my own tendency to step into the fresh pile of crap, it does happen and it has happened. I've often returned to the question that has dogged me for many years:

What is a victim? Is a victim self-created or does a person need other external forces to be completely sidetracked – and find themselves in Dead End Avenue. I kind of thing it's like a tango. Everything is like a tango. Everything requires a force. The force pushes and pulls, altering the path from time to time, and sometimes the force can be exaggerated and an individual tends to either exaggerate it or deny it until it becomes a formidable snowball. Thing is this: do you accept being snowballed from time to time – the unavoidable – and dust yourself off or do you stew about it? I've done both: steward and finally pushed myself up off my ass, but it can take time.

One of the most difficult things this year has been making a complaint about work victimization because it ultimately confirms me as a victim of sorts. The trouble with this is that I've never seen myself as a victim. The time away from work has allowed me to stew it over some more and arrive to the conclusion of simply ignoring the flotsam and jetsam, intentionally or accidentally, and finding myself in the craphole. Actually, I'll remove accidentally because some things aren't accidental. Is anything accidental in life? Probability tends to stand in the background and if I'm really honest with myself, I can't deny taking a more submissive stance on things that I thought were overwhelming for me to handle. I see the problem as me placing a higher value on things that aren't significant on their own.

I arrived at another question: how much hurt is appropriate? Personal hurt or people being slightly irritated 'hurt?' It all falls back to the issue of power: how one regards power. Does one regard oneself as having any legitimate power or does one relegate power to others or things?

I've conquered the relationships issue. I took myself out of the game quite some time ago and have constructed a hard outer shell, so I'm unfazed by the game playing and I'm quite comfortable to verbally express myself in that regard but take me to the workplace and it is something else, something that is foreign to me or may as well be alien to me. One thing that astounds me is the way people can treat each other in the workplace and how certain people within a workplace use their supposed power over time to whittle away someone else's sense of power or confidence. When I'm bogged down in a job and doing my best to learn more and get ahead, I tend to ignore the other things that are significant. I don't think it is difficult to develop foresight or to acknowledge one's intuition from time to time, but I'm certainly guilty of denying both.

Whether a job, relationship or sexual autonomy, power is a significant and recurring subject.

Now the only thing remaining is to figure out a way to balance it all.

May 03, 2008


When the one that got away emerges from the time’s woodwork the brain experiences a tumultuous ride. I prefer the brain freeze that arises after wolfing down chocolate ice cream. But my brain, strictly under the influence of an SSRI, can’t reconcile the past with the present. The link is broken. The distant past is there, like blurry cadaver in a river. All the eye strain in the world can’t revitalize the images of warm naked bodies, rigorous panting and macro-tongue-whirling kisses that undid the buttons of my inner self.

Logic rears like a stuck pig or horse. Perhaps the drugs bring one closer to logic. After all, what is the purpose of the unexpected visit? The pragmatic, drug induced me is still searching for a vocal outlet. Sometimes she is shy to come out and play with the big guns, lest she appear crazy or rude, but there she is, raging in the background with thoughts such as, Why the fuck are you calling me out of nowhere, you selfish cunt?

In the world of Anglo words, cunt and pussy take many meanings. Being immersed in my first and second languages offers additional hues one can play with. Pussy isn’t as insulting as the Greek variant; call a man a cunt in my language, and it’s lower than a rat inhabited sewer. The word transplants them from the comfort of their fancy car, or plush living room, and injects them into the abyss of my heart and mind. I don’t hate them. I hate the moment. I hate me during that moment long ago: me with a heart like a sieve. Starry eyed and cock-struck.

What he and I did, way back when, or during the time my mind was gripped with the together-forever possibilities and optimism, has become an artifact. If I agitate the faded images with the spoon of quiet anger, perplexity and resentment, the reality of then morphs and enters unreality. As for the surreal? That only exists during the moment, or during the rollicking fuck ride that is, which also fades against the black screen like a film credit.

March 28, 2008


Sex scandals, or the most remote thing close to a sex scandal adds salacious spice to everyday life; there is a voyeuristic compulsion to know who has been caught with their pants down. Why? I don't know exactly. It can be any one, because sex scandals reveal that those people in the media, or public life, are real people with the same urges as everyone else.

All sex scandals provide juicy details, and like it or not, it's one of those guilty pleasures that mostChristinekeeler people read. Why? The supposed naughtiness. Clinton, Spitzer, Bakker, Profumo, Orkopoulos, JFK, Heather Mills, it goes on and on (and on)…In fact, there is a sex scandal on every part of the globe.

At the shrink, I discussed my irate reaction to the rumor at work that concerned myself and another male.

"If it happened, all right, I can deal with it. But there is no foundation," I said.
"And the associations angered you?"
"Angered is a mild way of putting it. Sticking souvlaki skewers in their orbits is more like it. Why can't they create a good scandal? I got one of those second hand scandals. It was like being slapped in the face with a soiled pair of undies," I said.
"What do you mean?"
"Where was the creativity in it?" And then the serious bit entered, my ultimate confession.
"You know, I haven't had sex in almost three years, and it doesn't bother me, but for others to say stuff. I couldn't care if it happened elsewhere, but at my workplace?"
He silently nodded.
Despite my irritation (it's no fun working in a company for how long, putting so much effort in learning things, and being proactive, to have all those efforts dissolve due to baseless gossip), it was unimaginative gossip. Compliment a male on what they're wearing, or if they are handsome, and bang, you're having an affair with them: oh, Ana bought a new business shirt to impress a guy. That is now imaginative it was. I colored my hair – for a guy. Um, hello, I’m 36 and I do have a few grays that stick up, that annoy the hell out of me and dyeing them actually makes them stay down so I don't look like Albert Einstein with his hand in a 240 Volt electric socket.

What really got me about the futile scandal? The motivation, and the way two people above me, who are supposed to be motivating their staff, doing it for the hell of doing it in the presence of their peers. It also illuminated other things, like them being unable to get a scandal right. Besides, there is no such thing as top-secret gossip, things are bound to escape, and did, for me to find out. All this aside though, people shouldn't be overshadowed by their sexual orientation, sexuality, sex lives (activity or non-active), or nude photographs, but they are and quite often, the women within the scandal (make believe or true) are given grief over it.

My little work episode isn't as exciting Christine Keeler's encounters with politicians, or Monica's brief relationship with Clinton. Ah but what can I expect. I'm a mere pauper.

For a list of the top 53 Political scandals, check out this PDF. I couldn't find it on Politicker's website.

Image: Christine Keeler by Lewis Morley

March 27, 2008

Being Screwed

This afternoon I counted the weeks, or months, but it was all laid out for me by two friends over coffee. There were no denials on my part. I was surprised how zoned out I was. I sat, listened and agreed with everything, but I didn’t open my mouth. Everything felt smooth, at least on the outside, and within -on some level - but I noticed the frequency of lighting up.

This past fortnight, I have been trying to put a list of all the possible things to raise at a shrink session, and I’ve come up with zilch.

My coffee tasted like crap, a side effect from medication, and I couldn’t taste my smoke but I kept at it. There, within the pleasant ambiance of the suburban café, it came out.

“They’re screwing you.”
“I know they’re screwing me,” I said.
Both gaped at me, perplexed at my quietude.
“And? What? You couldn’t believe how tired I am.” And I am. I have written countless letters to various places regarding the job limbo.
“Then push it.”
“I’ve pushed it, and I’m not quitting or resigning because I’ve given them so much of my time.” It is much like a terrible relationship; you’re there for how many hours a day, you comply to every whim, if you make a mistake, no matter how small, you have to own that mistake, and relating to a narcissist is virtually impossible. For every one reason you give, they come back with a hundred justifications for their erratic behavior: policy, processes, inability to recall, and the usual, “we don’t have a problem, you have the problem.”

I am being screwed by my company. The time I have been at home is considerable, even to my standards, and throughout all this I have no income, and have relied on whatever savings I’ve had. At this point I can’t apply for new jobs because I’m still technically employed, and it’s a matter of principle. If I resign or quit, it clears their slate. It was when I returned, after yet another coffee, that I mulled over it. For a few months, I haven’t been able to even claim any social security because of their dilly-dallying. Yes, these people who were supposed to resolve my work issues are card carrying university graduates, not that I really care, but I have many moments where I think, “Well, fuck me, how absurd!”

Continue reading "Being Screwed" »

March 20, 2008

The Devil & Miss Prim

I’m not known to be a domestic goddess, or haven’t been for the past twenty-four months. Something was out of kilter, or pear shaped, but today, after a cool change bathed my face on the balcony, I re-entered the kitchen and gazed at my handiwork and felt…


I have to confess that I felt much better after I got through another work hurdle yesterday, basically telling Miss Prim - in a polite but curt manner - that she could shove her disclosure forms where the sun didn’t shine, and that if my company couldn’t deal with a transfer, or didn’t feel bothered, then they could process a redundancy - or prepare for me seeking legal advice. With the company I work for, any legal anything ultimately winds up with some media attention, and there have been many interesting ‘bad’ management issues over the passing year, that have seen a few tragic outcomes. I’ve noticed, each time I respond to Miss Prim, she takes forty-eight hours on average to return with a clean corporate standard response, and I can’t help but think about masochism - hers. Sure, it’s a job she has to do - a spin doctor with training wheels. I type a response, maintaining my position, and feel like commencing the e-mail with, ‘Dear Miss Masochist or Dear Miss Gray,” and sometimes I feel like saying, “Dear Miss Dumb,” because one would have to be an idiot to return to the very place work harassment originated.  I’m a devil that way, or a devil each time these prim corporate suits try to deflect an issue. Then again, it is weird to see a female dressed in head-to-toe gray. It’s drab, uninteresting, and reminds me of Maoist uniforms, even if the said uniforms are a different color - but that is what sums up feminine corporate fashion in Sydney. Gray, more gray, and we’re not restricted to pantsuits, but skirts. I still have difficulty erasing the image of my manager in a gray pinafore, and three-day leg growth perforating her nylon pantyhose.

Anyway, I settled on the sofa with my notepad and a copy of H P Lovecraft’s Dreams in the Witch House and Other Weird Tales, and began jotting down everything I did today - so much more than I’ve done around the house for months. Then I wrote: tomorrow is the first day…and I had to cross that out, because that was today. Today was the first day. I also had a brainstorm about this blog, and decided that the name of this blog will change on its third anniversary. The very name of this blog was a last minute ‘thing’ and  change is the next best thing to a holiday.

PS: From the "Where do they get their sex studies from?" is an article about depression and sexual frequency. It essentially says that depression is linked to a higher sexual frequency, which seems really weird. Then again, maybe I am weird. Then again, it's an Australian sex study.

The Bureaucunt

I don't get the high-powered feminine need to prove things in the office, corporation or whatever else. The ''I'm going to bite your head off if you don't get this done,'' mentality annoys me, only because I think "what the fuck are you trying to prove?". I have a low tolerance for this femme-horsepower attitude, and it generally proves that the concept of a 'sisterhood' is about as real as a unicorn. I have such a low tolerance, that it's easier for me to swallow a gallon of semen than swallow the bureaucratic excuses, roadblocks and procedures that people cough up.

We spent the afternoon in the city; looking at pretty things takes my mind away from the current muck that is my supposed 'job' (read: pending futile negotiations following a series of observations I've made: discrimination, bullying, etc, etc), where requesting a transfer is synonymous to requesting a million dollar bank draft. At the conclusion of our shop and browse fest, we visited a friend's restaurant. This journey daunted me, as it meant walking through streets near my work, and possibly bumping into people from said workplace.

I was asked about the status of my job shortly after our arrival; there, in the post-lunch quietude of the restaurant, we all lit up (with the exception of house mate, he doesn't smoke), and the blitzkrieg ensued. I offered the brief summary. On the way to the restaurant, I did voice my concern to housemate, that of me not feeling like bumping into certain co-workers. He was of the attitude, "fuck them.''

Returning home, and sitting on the PC, I checked my e-mail and almost laughed at what I saw. Last week Vogon I stormed out of a futile meeting, to receive an e-mail, like nothing happened, for me to respond, and reiterate my position. Tonight I had a follow up response, once again, like nothing happened. I had a little laugh at the request. It appears that this woman doesn't understand the word 'failure', or can't accept it; she was sent in to 'clean up' the mess, to negotiate. I'd call her the negotiator, but today she'll be known as the bureaucunt – suited corporate warrior bureaucrat Vogon, armed with folders and a Blackberry. She requested me fill in another disclosure form, for her own specific usage. The previous medical disclosure form, which I signed for the company, isn't sufficient. Now she wants one. I thought, "I'll just sign off for everyone (within the company), so they too can have permission to speak to my physician because, oh, the four medical certificates (from two physicians) don't count."

I have learned one thing though. If one experiences any type of harassment in a large company, whether it is sexual or similar, one may as well start looking for a new job at the very moment this occurs, because lodging formal complaints ultimately reverses the situation, and one sits in the same plain as a rape victim, the entire process making them the culprit; it's a lot like the, 'she was wearing that dress and I couldn't help myself,' excuse that rapists give. One makes the formal complaint, and is targeted with a surprising array of subtle tactics to inspire resignation. One follows up the tactics, everything from passive aggression to ‘dumbed-down’ work, to request another transfer, based on the tactics experienced, and more hurdles follow: medical documentation detailing stress don’t count. Specialist’s findings and evaluations don’t count. I think I’ll end up having therapy to deal with the corporation. The bureaucunt isn’t getting a signed disclosure from me for her little consultancy, that, and I told her that I sent correspondence to someone higher up; my guess is that it will hit the fan in a few days.

All up? I haven’t felt so violated within a workplace. The before sucked, as does the after, or being ‘told’ to satisfy more bureaucratic requirements, just so they don’t admit fault, because if they do transfer me, then it’s the same thing - admission of fault. Having a relationship with a corporation is like dating a sociopath. The frustration is staggering, or as Gordon Ramsay would say: "Fuck me!"

March 17, 2008

Getting Dirty II

Perversion is always a hot subject, but what really constitutes a perversion? Is it simply to easy to define it as aberration, without any perspective? The definition varies from one person to the next, however one thing that remains constant, at least for myself, where perversion is concerned, is that it tends to encroach on one's privacy or invades an individual's sense of privacy without their permission. In saying the above, I'll further add that sexual obsession can border on perversion if it affects another individual's privacy or quality of life in any way – without their permission. I'll never understand the compulsion certain people have over others' private and/or intimate lives. It's one thing to read confessions, that is a different thing altogether, but when a person in your everyday waking world is obsessed with what they think your intimate life is, and is motivated by that obsession to cast a certain light on something (that doesn't exist) in order to further their imaginary fixation, it becomes nightmarish.

Today, I received the 'official' version, that of my company not being liable for any stress resulting from the behaviors of certain co-workers of mine toward me (behind their closed meetings, and so forth). I opened the envelope, expecting the standard response, and broke the vow I made on Sunday afternoon – to stop buying cigarettes. I was motivated to stop based on the futility of the pastime, which was furthered by the current medication I'm on – I haven't had any enjoyment from cigarettes or alcohol since commencing Zoloft. I'm not a regular drinker, but one social drink tastes like crap, and coffee is following suit.

Continue reading "Getting Dirty II" »

March 15, 2008

Sex & the City: Nothing to Lose

I often think there is a close correlation between conservatism and sexual frustration. The frustration tends to leak out in subtle forms, by way of asides or innuendos. The culprits tend to be outwardly conservative, or display a straight-laced aura. I came to think that the signs are always there from the beginning, and that of it being a matter of options or opting to see the signs as they are, or fading them out with the everyday logic of toil for survival.

The ideation that occurred the other day, as I sat in a meeting, wasn't a signal of any extreme thought processes on my behalf. It was more an appreciation of the world beyond the window. The sunlight coated the skyscrapers with metallic streaks of gold and silver. Immaculate glass panels conveyed streamlined beauty, architectural ingenuity and finesse. Below, on the buzzing streets, people were already out to lunch, and at that point I ceased to care. My thought, that of leaping through the window, was a metaphor or preference to be out there, rather than the confined clinical space of the conference room, listening to age-old excuses and reasoning flavored with 'business decisions' – when corporate culprits seek to cover their faults, they use 'business decision' as a concrete noun. When I stormed out, in splenetic finery, and made for the elevator, I craved fresh air and a change of scenery.

Continue reading "Sex & the City: Nothing to Lose" »

February 29, 2008

A Name Like Any Other: Pen Names, Paranoia & Life

The Richard Bachman stories created a little controversy when Stephen King was 'outed'. His outing had nothing to do with him being a blogger, or sexual subject matter. What makes his outing spectacular or interesting (no, sex bloggers aren't the first to experience 'outings') is that King wasn't writing about sex, or his personal life. He was writing mainstream fiction under another name and was found out, and journalists made 'Richard Bachman' an issue. In the 13th section of his introduction, King says:

"There is a stigma attached to the idea of a pen name. This was not so in the past; there was a time when the writing of novels was believed to be a rather low occupation, perhaps more vice than profession, and a pen name thus seemed a perfectly natural and respectable way of protecting one's self (and one's relatives) from embarrassment. As respect for the art of the novel rose, things changed. Both critics and general readers became suspicious of work done by men and women who elected to hide their identities. If it was good, the unspoken opinion seems to run, the guy would have put his real name on it. If he lied about his name, the book must suck like an Electrolux." (Stephen King, The Bachman Books)

The above statement can now apply to erotica writers. I frequently see it via submissions to Lucrezia Magazine. Sex hasn't lost its controversial hue, and while sexual articles appear in popular magazines (those that dumb down sex), writing about sex (as a real individual) presents other issues. I remember the first time (at the age of 20) when I wrote a piece for the now defunct Australian magazine, 'Australian Women's Forum'. The piece was about anal sex, and my twenty-year-old self didn't have any qualms about revealing the nature of my article. Then again, I didn't work in a regimented office environment. I worked in a restaurant, but even so, my co-workers did react to it.

"Anal sex?" they'd ask, "Why'd you write about that?"
"Because I felt like writing about it in a humorous tone."
"Oh," they said.
End of conversation, some thought me strange (for writing an article on anal sex) – but I wasn’t in danger of losing my regular job, or being viewed like a Kim Philby.

Continue reading "A Name Like Any Other: Pen Names, Paranoia & Life" »

February 17, 2008

Ride It Like You Stole It or Live to Ride

Philosophy is an interesting subject; it's like a cord that transfers messages between two spheres. It reminds me of electrostatics. Don't ask me how electrostatics enters my visualization. You have society (in general), and you have the philosopher. The philosopher makes arguments, and offers them to society, but it's usually more along the lines of the philosopher offering his/her views to his/her peer group, and for that to take off. If the philosophy is marketed well, or is picked up by a larger group, it gains popularity, and before you know it movements are created. Animal Liberation (by Peter Singer) is my best example here. This book is to vegetarians what Newtown's Principia Mathematica is to physicists and mathematicians. But there is a difference; Singer's book concerns (social) moral choices or morality, and Newtown's doesn't. Calculus proofs can be used to prove a mathematical quantity or function, but social philosophy doesn't offer real proof; it's not true, and it's not false. Which is why I'm less likely to take a social philosopher's view as 'proof'.

When Singer wrote a book discussing the morality of George W Bush, I thought it interesting, and started to read it, but I also asked myself what the point really was. No one can write a 'truth' about George W Bush because his persona is just that – a manufactured image. This president, like many before him, has teams of specialists on hand. These specialists instruct him on speeches, meetings, developments and his role isn't to please himself, or his ego; he serves to please a larger group of people (and I'm not talking about average American citizens here) that are made up of corporations, lobbyists, fellow politicians, and the list goes on. To discuss the 'morality' of George W Bush is an ambitious task, and inaccurate because there is another side to the man, and that side is the personal side that isn't shown to the public but the popular modern philosophers today aim to sell books by presenting arguments that operate on gauging an emotional response from the reader and the reason why I say this is because of the very title of the book: The President of Good and Evil: The Ethics of George W Bush. If the book was titled, 'George W Bush,' people would roll their eyes, but the assignation of 'ethics' to George W Bush, a man who has polarized the world with his administration's decisions (let's not be silly to think that he makes every decision himself), offers a carrot to the reader, and allows an ethicist/philosopher to sell books, earn royalties and increase a public profile. I wager that the mechanic at the auto shop, like any other person, is capable of creating a philosophy, but in our modern world, those who have explored the vast array of written thought through an institutionalized setting are permitted to be published via world presses, and a price is associated to their philosophy thereby attaching a value. But is it valuable or applicable in the physical world we live in, or world where your boss can turn around and tell you, "You're being retrenched?" which means, "I understand you have responsibilities and bills, but this is beyond your control." Then there's the usual romantic/relationship dilemma that makes up every romance novel, and appears in every popular trashy magazine: "I've met someone else/I want a divorce/I have herpes...etc' You can refer to all the modern philosophers you want, from Sartre to Foucault, but it's not going to make you feel better, it won't immediately put perspective on a situation - unless you're willing to put perspective and take it in your stride.

The other thing (that gets to me) is that the bulk of society (at large) doesn't read philosophy, and I include myself in this category. Every time I've tried to stretch my patience to pick up a tome and relate to it, I've failed. Is it because I'm 'uneducated' (the standard undergrad/postgrad pedigree combo), and stop short of being classified as 'middle-class?' I don't really know the answer, but I do know that most people I know in my personal world don't live their life in accordance to what trendy philosophers say, and many will refute what modern philosophers say (won't find anything 'true' unless it is a science based philosophy, something like Democritus and his atom). The only people who agree with the modern philosopher are those who have read them, studied them or graduated with degrees. The remainder of society, those without degrees couldn't give a shit either way; they're trying to make ends meet, enjoy everyday pleasures and make the best of what life has to offer.

I have spent time this past fortnight reading bits and pieces from various sources in preparation for a panel talk on Freud, and I came across (yet again) 'The Feminine Mystique' (Betty Friedan) - something I wish I hadn't done because I've been weaning myself off feminism for a few years. I can't say I'm a fan of white middle class feminism; I could never relate to it as a 'wog girl'. In some of her writings (where Freud is concerned), she critiques Freud based on his culture and era; how could someone like Freud discuss sex when he was conservative in his own personal life, and a part of me wondered what would Friedan know? Sure, she quotes Freud's biographer, but even so, Freud must've had a decent relationship with his wife to father a large number of children. Then again no one can truly know, and Freud's purpose wasn't to talk about his personal life in detail. My beef (with Friedan's assertions, and similar assertions made today) is the notion that those saliently detailing their personal sexual laundry are the only authorities on sexual behavior and I tend to challenge that notion, because poetic license is a reality, and modern philosophers use poetic license; they remove things they don't like, focus on an isolated problem (eg Singer's treatment of George W Bush based on secondary sources, and no personal interviews with Bush), and that's why I think modern philosophers or social philosophers fail. Sure, they write books and make arguments (they don't present proofs because they can't), they gain fashionable status in universities and the media, and somewhere out there, someone still shovels shit or sifts trash to make a living in a third world 'ground zero,' and this has always been my beef with hoity-toity arguments. What type of society are they really benefiting: the society that is rife with capitalist excess?

The ultimate question:

How do modern philosophers (I'll leave out the names) help women in present day Darfur? All the philosophical arguments made by feminists from the Sixties up until the present time have not eliminated war crimes against women in the present day, and it's not limited to female issues. The rights of children as humans, especially those who are made to work like adults or resort to sex work to live? It goes on and on, so what use is it (fancy modern philosophy) and for whom? Look at what Karl Marx's philosophy did for Russia for almost nine decades, when it was interpreted the way it was by Trotsky and Lenin, and that's the problem with philosophy; it's open to interpretation, bastardized, mutated, a lot like what has happened to religious scriptures.

Philosophy is great for party conversation, useless on a first date, hopeless for post-sex conversation, and inappropriate for the average workplace/office because it eats up productivity. My next question will betray the purpose of this blog, and in case no one has guessed by now, this blog is my mental scratchpad: nothing more, nothing less, and certainly nothing fancy (in terms of popular writing, or whatever else), and I like it this way.

What's the point of it all when community planning isn't decided by philosophers, and is decided by politicians, town planners and other corporate bodies?

It’s why I can appreciate the philosophy of Marquis de Sade; his philosophy is anti-social philosophy. He may as well say, ‘you are all animals and yet you pretend otherwise; you all have primal wants that simmer beneath the surface and you dress it all up with pompous social nomenclature.’ It makes a mockery of it all, and this is why many found him abhorrent, vulgar, and shocking. The fact that he was locked up in an asylum of sorts isn’t lost on me because it reminds me of the common ‘Greek village’ vignette that my mother used:

“You only learn truth from a child or the insane.”

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