While the continuing Covid pandemic should be more than enough to provoke me into a pendemic/pundemic of writing or at least typing, I’ve paradoxically been panicked into silence lately by the plethora of other hair-raising events in recent times.
The most mysterious of these in a personal sense has been Facebook’s sending some people an alert that I’ve posted a new piece of writing, when in plain fact I haven’t.
To my surprise few days ago, new comments started coming in about “Thank goodness it’s Freeday”, a trifle that I published way back on May 15, 2020.
Then my wife informed that, as others apparently had, she’d received notice that it had just recently appeared, or rather re-appeared.
“What fresh hell is this,” I asked myself, thus quoting the late, great wit Dorothy Parker, as I am often wont to do. Is there some glitch or ghost in the Facebook machine, I wonder, that’s taken to sending my past back to haunt me?
Or has some hacker or other such jerk-off hi-jacked my site and taken to plaguing me and my readers with what he or she considers to be jolly practical jokes?
Speaking of which, I’m also totally mystified by the small but steady stream of comments and friend requests I’ve long become accustomed to receiving from jokers of both/all genders who somehow manage to look at my Facebook pic and misjudge me to be female.
And, wouldn’t you know it, a typical case of this has occurred on the recent re-post that has me tearing my hair out. Apparently totally misled by the sight of my 1960s-style and thus unfashionably-long blond hair, a muddled but well-meaning gentleman has made the comment: “Hi how are you doing, wow am amazed by your beauty and Breathe taking smile, i really would Love to know you better , you so cool and i can imagine a woman with a beautiful heart of gold in you, Please Kindly send me a message or preferable a friend request lets get to know ourselves better, i hope to hear from you soon..”
Not, as I hasten to assure you, that I mind being mistaken for a miss, ms, mrs or even for a mr/miss/ms/mrs mixture. Bisexuality, as Woody Allen has so truly remarked, doubles your chances of a date on Saturday night.
And also, I might add, makes you highly desirable as a key member of those most delectable of sexual groupings, MMF or FFM threesomes, or even of outright orgies.
But despite the thankfully small minority that so misconstrue my hairdo and general appearance as to convince themselves that I’m female or even, for all I know, shemale, I remain totally heterosexually male.
Incurably so, in fact, as I discovered some years back when extreme poverty inspired me to try a part-time gig as a paid ‘male escort’ or, in other words, as I headed the unpublished and probably unpublishable account I wrote of this experience, ‘geriatric gigolo’.
A female phoned and booked my services for a romp with her and her ‘boyfriend’, but when I showed-up at the appointed time and place I was met by a lone guy who alleged that his female partner had decided to leave him alone with me so he could discover whether, as he suspected, he was gay or bi.
As things turned out, he managed to not only convince both himself and me that he was most certainly either one or the other, but also that I was definitely neither, so utterly did I fail to rise to his most determined challenges.
But enough of sexual confusions, ghost posts and other such concerns, as they’re absolutely trivial, indeed hare-brained compared with all the truly hair-raisingly scary situations facing us all these days.
Most top-of-mind among them, of course, is the ongoing Covid catastrophe in India, Brazil and countless other locations, which should but probably won’t serve as an object lesson to citizens of these and countless other countries to stop repeatedly electing corrupt and incompetent governments.
Like the current one in Australia which, while greatly assisted by this country’s geographic isolation in keeping Covid at bay, has so long neglected the need to invest in purpose-built mass-quarantine facilities that its Border Force, which farcically facilitated a dangerous outbreak of the virus last year by permitting infected passengers to disembark from the cruise ship Ruby Princess. And now it is threatening the thousands of Australian citizens desperate to return home from India and elsewhere with massive fines and/or jail terms if they do so.
There are lots of other decidedly hairy situations to worry our heads about too. Like the murderous military coup against the democratically-elected government for Myanmar, for example.
I can’t help feeling that this is a bit on the karmic side, however, as Prime Minister-elect Aung San Suu Kyi and a great many of her supporters have long been far more badist than Buddhist in their attitudes to their country’s persecution of its population of Rohingya refugees.
I think I’ll call it quits here for now, before I totally depress myself and everybody else. But just a quick note before I go to the effect that even as I’ve been writing this that another old post of mine has made its appearance on Facebook.
And, as it’s clearly identified as a repeat, I have to assume that there’s nothing mysterious, let alone hair-raising, about this at all. Probably just another feature of the FB algorithm, about which I made some hot-headed remarks a month or two ago in a post entitled “Algrrrrithms”, and thus not really worth having another bad-hair day about.