At fifty you can no longer bear the constraints. You can't stand the too-tight bra, the forced dinners with the sister-in-law who checks your dust in the corners, high heels and circumcising smiles.
At fifty you have no desire to prove anything. You are what you are: the things you've done and the things you still want to do. If others like it, fine, otherwise, it's the same.
At fifty it doesn't matter if you had children or not. You will be the mother anyway: of your mother, of your father, of an aunt left alone, of your dog or of a stray cat that you picked up from the street. And if all this is not there, you will be your own mother.
Because over the years you will be taught to take care of a body that you finally love, becoming more and more imperfect only in the eyes of others. Who cares if half the closet is the wrong size? The important thing is that your back does not creak too much when you stand up.
At fifty you want freedom. Free to say no, free to stay in your pajamas all Sunday, free to feel beautiful for yourself and not for others. Free to go it alone: those who love you will stay at your pace, those who don't care about others, at theirs. You are free to sing loudly in the car even if people glare at you at traffic lights.
You will have dreams like when you were in your twenties and you will ask every god for time to make them come true again. And now, just when you have eaten half of your life, in the hustle and bustle, you will find the desire to slowly taste the sugar and salt of the days that await you.
-Irene Renei
going thru phone pics and found this thing that was tacked up next to the toaster at my old job, if anyone needs some light toast eating reading material
Major Matt Mason, Mattel’s Man in Space. This is an original 1966 release, as the straps on his space suit are blue. All subsequent versions of the figures had black straps.
Mattel took full advantage of young Americans’ fascination with the space program by releasing the Major Matt Mason line of astronaut action figures in 1966.
Sgt. Storm on the Space Sled, a flying jet ski-like personal transport.
There were initially three color-coded 6-inch astronaut figures in the line: Major Matt Mason was in a white space suit, Sgt. Storm was in a red space suit, and Mason’s civilian scientist buddy, Doug Davis, wore a yellow suit. In 1968 a fourth astronaut, African-American Jeff Long, made the scene in a blue spacesuit.
Long’s addition to the line was a bold move on Mattel’s part, as the astronaut program at NASA during that time was lily white.
Astronaut Jeff Long, who appeared nearly 20 years before Guion Bluford became the first black American to orbit Earth.
The figures were a rubber-like body over a thin wire armature - similar to the Gumby and Pokey toys - with molded plastic heads. The wire armatures and pliable bodies made the figures extremely posable.
All four astronauts lived and worked on the Moon, which was pretty darn cool. The coolest thing about the Major and his crew, though, was that - initially, at least - all their equipment was based on actual designs and prototypes developed for the space program.
Doug Davis, first civilian on the Moon.
And boy, was there a LOT of equipment and accessories: a flying Space Sled, a Cat Trac one-man tractor, a moon suit, a Space Crawler that used rotating “legs” instead of wheels, and a whole bunch more up to and included a multi-storey Space Station play set (although it really was a Moon Base).
The Space Station play set in all its glory.
The Space Station was modular, and you could make it taller or shorter by adding or subtracting pieces of the red pylons. The idea was for kids to have several Space Stations of varying heights, because Major Matt Mason had a ziipline accessory that enabled him to travel between them.
The Moon Crew in their color-coded spacesuits.
In fact, there were so many gadgets and accessories that, even with mid-1960s prices, I’m sure many parents would have had to take out a second mortgage in order to afford them all.
Doug Davis wearing a specialized back pack while riding his Space Sled.
Unfortunately for me, the only accessory I ever received was the rather prosaic Cat Trac. It wasn’t as exciting as the Space Sled, or as zippy as the Jet Pack (there were a few different versions), or battery-powered like the Space Crawler. Nevertheless, I used my imagination to make the most of it.
The Cat Trac: looked cool at first glance, but it was only a hollow piece of molded plastic. Would’ve scored much higher on the coolness scale if the tracks at least moved.
The Moon Suit, based on an actual prototype developed by Grumman.
The Space Bubble was essentially a rickshaw on the Moon: One man did all the work while another just relaxed in the back.
The Space Crawler, the creme de la creme of the Major Matt Mason transport toys. This guy crawled along at a pretty decent clip, and due to its “legs” it could cover some rugged terrain.
It wasn’t long, however, before someone at Mattel became bored with the relatively realistic theme of the Major Matt Mason line. Their solution: introduce science fiction elements to make things more exciting.
Captain Lazer, mysterious alien friend to Major Matt Mason and crew.
The first was the introduction in 1967 of Captain Lazer, who was so different from the rest of the line that there is speculation that he was intended for another line of figures entirely, or acquired from a Japanese company (his helmet reminds me of the Toei tokusatsu hero Captain Ultra, which was airing in Japan at the time).
Captain Lazer was 12 - almost 13 - inches tall, towering over Mason and the other astronauts. His body was made of hard plastic The head rotated at the neck, the arms rotated at the shoulders, and the legs rotated at the hips, but that was the extent of his articulation. He had battery powered glowing red eyes and chest plate, as well as the laser pistol that was attached permanently to his hand. There were attachments that connected to the pistol to change its appearance. All in all, he looks like a pulp magazine or Golden Age comic book version of a space hero.
Good guy alien Callisto.
Evil alien Scorpio.
Then there were the aliens Callisto and Scorpio. These were both in scale with the astronaut figures, and came with various gimmicks and accessories. Callisto, listed as Mason’s friend from Jupiter, had a rubber and wire armature body. Scorpio was an evil alien had battery-powered glowing eyes.
A first edition version of the good Major.
The astronauts’ equipment became typical science fiction props, like the Firebolt Space Cannon, assorted hand-held weapons, the Super Power Set (think Ripley’s exosuit cargo loader from Aliens), and the Gamma Ray-Gard (a projectile firing toy).
Major Matt Mason even got his own Big Little Book. This is the only surviving piece of my MMM collection.
I had a lot of fun with the few Major Matt Mason toys I had, as did everyone I knew who had some. There were, unfortunately, two major problems with the figures that reduced their enjoyment and playability factors.
First, the wire armatures were extremely thin and broke within a matter of days. The wire would then stick out through the rubber body, poking you in the hand every time you picked the figure up. Meanwhile, the limb the wire was attached to would flop around uselessly.
Second, the paint on the rubber bodies began to flake off almost immediately, exposing the black base. I remember finding paint flecks all over my hands and clothes each time I played with the figures. At a price in 1966 of around $2.37 (approximately $22.00 today), the figures weren’t inexpensive, and I know my folks couldn’t afford to replace them.
Sadly, just as America lost its interest in the space program due to severe problems at home (the Vietnam War, Watergate, the oil crisis, rampant inflation), so did kids lose interest in Major Matt Mason. Mattel cancelled the line abruptly in 1972 and never looked back.
Nevertheless, the Major and his crew have remained favorites of that generation. Tom Hanks has been trying to get a Major Matt Mason film made for years.
And the Major was a big hit with NASA. He reportedly been to space as a crew member on several missions of the space shuttle, including Senator John Glenn’s shuttle mission in 1998. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if you found him somewhere on the International Space Station.
By Bud Koenemund
(Written: January 2014)
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine mentioned she was about to begin her last year as a twenty-something; 30 would be upon her before she knew it. She went on to list 50 things she wants to accomplish in the coming year – many of which involve money and her art (she is a wonderful actress). It is an ambitious list. I wished her luck, and gave her a few words of advice. Since then I’ve been thinking about what I said, and realized I needed to add some more – both for her and for my other young friends, many of whom are artists of one type or another.
If I can give you one piece of advice: DO IT! Do everything on your list! Don’t wait around thinking there will be a better time to start. There won’t be. There is only time, and it goes a lot faster than you realize. Before you know it, you’ll be 30. You’ll go from 30 to 40 in about 10 minutes. And, from 40 to 50 even faster. Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking, or Neil deGrasse Tyson might argue with me, but time really does speed up as you get older.
When I was your age, I thought 30 was old, and that I’d never get there. Hell, there were a few days when I was in the Army, I didn’t think I’d make it to 22. Now, I’m 45 and there’s very little I wouldn’t trade to go back to 25 knowing what I know now.
I wish I could make you understand me. I know you don’t. You can’t. This is not an insult. It’s just the way life works. You don’t know what you don’t know until years down the road. I was young. I had plans, and I didn’t want to listen to “old” people. I had all the answers. I know so much more now.
One of the most important things I’ve learned about life is that it doesn’t mean shit. In a hundred years, you’ll be dead, and very little of this will matter. What people think of you now or then won’t mean a damned thing. Sure, you might change the world; bring about peace in the Middle East; cure cancer; win a dozen awards – but it won’t affect how your private life is judged.
Whether you graduated first in your class at Harvard, or at the bottom of a community college; if you’re buttoned-down and conservative, or you get caught running naked through Times Square; even if your ex- posts your “No, Baby, I swear I’m the only one who’ll ever see it” sex tape on-line; it might rate a line or two in your Wikipedia entry, and that’s it. And, if you’re dead – and if everyone you know, and who judged you, is dead too – what will you care?
Too many people in this world give a shit about things that don’t matter a bit, especially other people’s business. I figure, if you’re not hurting someone else, and what you’re doing works for you, fuck what other people think. It took me a long time to develop that attitude.
You have to do what makes you happy. Do it your way, but do it. Sing your song. If people don’t like it, fuck ‘em. You’re on your journey, not theirs. You have to do what you can with the time you’ve got.
But, remember, it’s also important to stop and look at the world around you once in a while, to sit down and relax; take your bearings, and make sure you’re on the right path. I should say, make sure you’re on the right path for you!
It’s OK to be a waitress, or a tire salesman, or a security guard, as long as you’re also working toward what you love. If you have five minutes, sit down and read the trade papers, or scribble down the words banging around in your head.
Wayne Gretzky says, “You miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take.” That applies to everything in life. 100 percent of the sonnets you don’t submit get rejected. You’re passed over for 100 percent of the parts you don’t audition for. You don’t get 100 percent of the raises you don’t ask for. The worst anybody can say is no.
Now, I’m not saying you’re automatically entitled to anything. This is life. It’s not fair. The world doesn’t owe you shit; not money, not love, not happiness, not success. You have to work for what you want, and keep at it. And, in the end, it may get you nowhere. But, if you don’t go after what you want, you’ll end up nowhere anyway. You pays your dollar, and you takes your chances!
Oh, and one more thing: Don’t spend too much time sitting around, listening to old men – like me – spout off about what you should be doing. There is no instruction book for life, and most people who claim to have things figured out are faking it, just like the rest of us.
A panoramic view of Mars made by Curiosity
Explains a lot...
The fact that this is 80 fucking years ago but still just as relevant is terrifying.
“We have many times more empty houses and apartments than we do homeless people, but America can’t have laws limiting investments in single-family residences (which are being snapped up as passive investments by foreigners and Wall Street) because the industry owns so many politicians. Investment companies own about a quarter of all American single-family homes: last year, investors bought 22% of all American homes sold and “donated” millions to politicians. Many were purchased specifically to leave them sitting empty, because real estate goes up in value faster than even the stock market. By pulling all these houses out of the housing market, these investors and speculators are driving up — intentionally — the price of housing. And as the price of housing goes up, so does homelessness: there’s a linear relationship between the two when the price of housing in a community exceeds one-third of the community’s median income. So why can’t we regulate that? Why can’t there be at least some disincentive, some penalty, for this destructive form of investing? Citizens United.”
— This Supreme Court decision is destroying America — and no one is talking about it
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