Sunday 6 May 2018

Face my Feet on Hatebook



            On Friday I spent a lot of the day getting caught up on my journal but also arguing with people online. I didn’t get around to taking a siesta until later than usual and so when I got up to get ready to take a bike ride I didn’t get going until almost half an hour behind schedule. If I’d taken my usual ride I wouldn’t have gotten home with as much time to write as I wanted so I decided to only ride to Bloor and Dovercourt, head south to Queen, stop at Freshco and then come home.
            It was extremely windy as I travelled north and since it was coming from the west it was throwing off my balance a bit. The rushing air had knocked lots of twigs and a few limbs off of the trees and onto the street. On a couple of occasions I had to ride with my eyes closed for a second or two to avoid getting my eyes peppered with blowing dirt.
            The eastward one-way sign at the corner of Muir and Brock Avenues was pointing south. I assume it had been bent by the breeze.
            Dovercourt was also littered with broken twigs. Just south of Bloor there was a large pile of collapsed large cardboard boxes on the curb waiting to be picked up for recycling. In front of the pile was one assembled box of the same size. I wouldn’t have paid I much attention except for the fact that while I was a passing a mother walking with her daughter glanced down into the carton as she passed, which gave me the impression there might be something of interest inside. I stopped and walked back. Inside were two small, feminine looking mirrors, a white candleholder and a couple of other decorative items. What stood out though were a pair of Doc Martin sandals that looked like they might be my size, so I took them. I wore sandals for a while when I was in my teens because my mother had bought me a pair, but the straps irritated my feet so I never got into them. Now I don’t know if I want to subject people to seeing my ugly toenails in public, but maybe I’ll change my mind when it gets hot.
            I tried them on and they fit but the ankle strap is too loose so I will have to poke new notches to keep the Jesus boots from flopping around when I walk.
            That night I watched an Alfred Hitchcock Hour teleplay about a young couple, Dexter and Joyce that hire a German nanny named Frieda, who had been Dexter’s nanny when he was a child. We learn early on that there is a German nanny on the loose who is being sought by the police for the poisoning murder of another baby. Even though Frieda turns off the radio when reports about the murderous nanny are broadcast and also hides the newspaper from the couple, it seems obvious early on that Frieda is not the killer because then there would be no surprise twist at the end. But Joyce finally does hear about the nasty nanny and begins to worry. Frieda doesn’t make things any easier when Joyce wants to take down Frieda’s information for tax purposes and hears that she doesn’t have a social security card and she doesn’t remember the address of her previous employer. The baby has been getting a stomachache ever since Frieda arrived but when the doctor comes he declares that Frieda has been doing everything right and that she’s an excellent nurse.  Frieda has been giving the baby a special mixture of her own for his stomach but when Joyce catches her doing so she gets angry and tells her not to give the baby anything without her permission.
            The names of the couple whose baby the German nanny had killed are published in the newspaper and so Joyce gets their number from the operator and calls them. The husband’s sister, Christine answers the phone and says the couple have gone away for a rest after their ordeal. Joyce tells Christine that she is worried that her nanny is the same one that killed Christine’s brother’s baby. Christine says she can send Joyce a picture of the nanny. We see the photo and it is of Frieda. Not long after that Christine shows up at Joyce’s door and shows her the photo. Joyce sees that it is the same picture that Frieda has in her drawer and she runs to the nursery where she finds Frieda giving the baby a bottle. She grabs Frieda and pushes her into a closet, which she immediately locks. Joyce comes back out to Christine and says she’s going to call the police. Christine says she’ll do that for her, but she only pretends to be making the call, as her finger is pressed down on the plunger. Afterward, as Christine begins to relate the situation that led to the poisoning of her brother’s baby, it becomes more and more clear that there is something wrong with Christine. She had been attached to her brother and had lived with him and his wife, but all of his love was doted on the baby and she began to resent it. She reveals that she is the one that poisoned the baby and planted the evidence among Frieda’s belongings. Christine then pulls a small pistol from her purse and says that she has to stop Frieda from telling terrible stories about her. She goes to the closet and lets her out but she points the gun at her. Frieda calms her down and convinces her that she loves her and Christine comes to her arms, as Joyce takes the gun away.
            I was up late arguing with people online. Over the last year or so I have been looking at and reacting to my friend Cad’s posts on his Facebook page. The things he posts or reposts are usually hateful, bigoted, racist, asinine, humourless, ill informed and boring. I tend to do research before I respond in hopes that I can get through and I also respond to the source of his post whenever that’s possible, which often leads to long arguments. Rarely does anything result from these arguments other than people responding to rational arguments with name-calling and vitriol. I will be 63 years old this year and I don’t want one of the last things I do to be wasting my time in an argument with people that are immune to facts. I like Cad and still consider myself to be his friend but when he’s on social media he loses touch with his social responsibilities to an extreme degree. I’ve got lots of things I want to accomplish in the years that are left in my life and so that night when I went to bed I made a decision to stop reading and responding to Cad’s posts.

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