SECRETS – nearly impossible to keep

If I have a secret and decide to tell you what it is, what I’m concerned, it is not a secret anymore. But the official definition of secret is hiding information from certain individuals or groups, so my much more logical philosophy doesn’t hold water – but it should, don’t you think?

When looking up the word secret in books that explain words like that, you are quickly guided to secrecy, which fans out to clandestinely and furtiveness, both challenging tongue-twisters; say each word six times really fast and you might never be able to untangle your tongue.

 Clandestinely is an adjective invented back in the days (1528) and explains “marked by, held in or conducted in secrecy”; like love affairs, and stuff like that – not something everyone should know about, huh? Furtiveness is from around 1612 and means “done by stealth / obtained underhandedly”. What I’m concerned, nobody got it right - well, except me; but you decide, of course.

We all have secrets; some are juicy (my favorites) and others are just utterly boring. Our secrets are about things we do not want to share with anybody, not even Fluffy, the family bunny, because you never know, do you? It’s stuff about ourselves, stuff about people around us, things we do, have done and might want to do, very personal opinions, thoughts and so forth – all sensitive stuff. 

Sharing any little bit of this with others, could be embarrassing, devastating for us and/or the person/people around us. These are secrets we must hold on to and definitely want to keep to ourselves – if we want to keep the peace.

Do I have secrets like that? Of course. Would I share them with you? Are you mad? Besides, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore if I did, would it? But my secrets are not really juicy, mystical or very exciting; they are more so opinions and thoughts I prefer to keep to myself, stuff that wouldn’t improve anything if revealed or make things bad. Yeah, not very exciting, huh? It’s just stuff that I believe we all carry around, and for the most part, keeping these secrets to ourselves is the ticket.

We keep secrets for many reasons. It could be based on shame, on fears, on hurtfulness, acceptance or just common sense. Some things are better not said, I truly believe in that. This should not be misconstrued as being fake, dishonest or cowardly holding back information; the term diplomacy comes to mind.

As mentioned above, the official explanation of secret/secrecy is when we hide information from certain individuals or groups. Family secrets can cover many issues, but that Uncle Ed is a jerk is hard to keep secret. Governments are hiding all kinds of stuff from us, at times stuff we wonder why it was hidden in the first place, why it was packed in secrecy. Corporate secrecy can be rather extensive and of course there are a lot of secrets the corporate world do not want consumers to know about – a huge lot, which is very scary. 

Technology secrets are massive and very much in demand, with corporate spying and worldwide networks of groups doing their very best getting/stealing any of these secrets, at any cost. Military secrets are so vast an area and pretty much every single nation are trying to extract these secrets from each other, even from the ones they call their friends and allied (please remember: these are all adults, which is even more scary). 

But what’s up with Top Secret? Now, if I’m not totally dizzy, when a secret is already a secret, how much more secret can it be? Is Top Secret more secret then a basic secret? Does it mean that I should keep my mouth totally shut trying desperately to keep a Top Secret and perhaps it’s okay to let my mouth run a bit concerning a basic secret? Does Top Secret mean that we also have a Bottom Secret? I didn’t think so; I’m convinced Top Secret was only invented to make movies and spy-novels more exciting.

Officially secrets and secrecy mean sharing information only with certain individuals and groups. So if you are an official secret-holder, not following my interpretation (which of course you should, duh), I hereby officially warn you to always be utterly careful with whom you share your secrets with. Be extremely cautious, especially if it’s a secret that you do NOT want to go any further.  Remember, that since you couldn’t keep this secret to yourself, the person you pass it on to cannot either. 

Confession: on the keeping secrets scale, I am as way down below the bottom-line as you can get. So many times (as in ‘all the time’) I plan something exciting or bought stuff or done stuff for my wife that was supposed to be a secret (as in: surprise) for 30+ years of blissful marriage, I have not been able to keep it to myself – always exposing the (secrets) surprises way ahead of time. Oh well, if nothing else, do I get points for consistency?

  

If you are near exploding concerning a secret you have, I suggest you take a deep breath and reconsider the damage it might cause, before you let it out. Remember that everybody around you has the same darn problem concerning leaking secrets – especially if the secret is not their own. Also remember that the secret you tell somebody will no doubt be retold very differently and so forth. An ongoing retold secret can go from Uncle Ed being a jerk to Aunt Winnie winning the Nobel Peace Prize (which still leaves Uncle Ed a jerk – because that has never been a secret).

I trust we all have some secrets we are not comfortable to share for good reasons; personal stuff, thoughts about, opinions and what-not. And I am fine with people around me not sharing these secrets with me; and perhaps lucky?

I don’t have many secrets as I am a fairly straight-forward and out-spoken person; at times too out-spoken, I’m told. So keeping secrets is not my strongest side – at all. I don’t think my wife has any secrets, if so only very few; she is utterly honest and most people are like that – I believe.

If you have any secrets you can’t keep to yourself anymore, this is your chance to get them out worldwide as this blog has over 26,000 readers from 122 countries – so feel free to place those dark, deep and juicy secrets as a comment, and let’m rip, okay? (I can’t wait). And of course you don’t have to use your real name – as that would be utterly stupid - duh…

DISCLAIMER: If any of you have an Uncle Ed in your family, I’m sorry I made him a jerk, especially if he is not – but remember, to me he is just a person I made up. I’m sure there are a lot of nice Uncle Ed’s out there.

MAD MAGAZINE – my visit in 1974

If you never experienced the comic MAD Magazine during the time it was directed and controlled by William Gaines, the publisher and founder from 1952 till 1992, you have really missed out. This great publication was utterly hilariously funny, in an intelligent, sarcastic and smart-ass weird kind of way. As I was determined to learn English really fast as a boy growing up in Denmark, I found great help reading MAD, as well as looking at the pictures in Playboy Magazine – MAD was a lot funnier.

I was about 11 or 12 years old when I ran into the first copy of MAD – in English, of course. I recall that the humor was extreme, even for a Dane. The cartoon drawings were fantastic and so funny. I was a big fan immediately, even though there were a lot of words and phrases that I didn’t get, as the punchlines were American and referring to people and situations going on in – well, America. So the English dictionary was solicited extensively – a lot.

As time rolled by and my English vocabulary grew; the enjoyment of reading MAD reached new levels. I used the term “What – me worry” – a lot, which was used by MAD mascot Alfred E. Newman, gap-toothed and all. I would have liked to show a picture of him to those deprived of never have seen Alfred, but the thought of being sued, jail-time on water and bread, refrain me to do so. So Google him…

Years later I found that MAD was now translated into Danish; not a good idea. MAD Magazine had agreed to distribution in several countries, published in the respective languages, adding some local stuff ‘in the spirit’ of the original MAD. Though I am a grand fan of Danish humor – as Danish humor is quick, intelligent, intriguing and above all, extremely funny, the Danish rendition of MAD Magazine was flat and utterly helpless; I was extremely disappointed – as well as utterly embarrassed – a lot.

So I decided to send a letter to William Gaines and the ‘usual gang of idiots’ as the magazine described its own contributors. In the letter I stated my confusion with respect to the lack of humor in the Danish MAD and how the so-called translators totally screwed up the American MAD – successfully translating really funny lines into duds, totally misunderstanding the intentions of the sarcasm, etc.; it was an angry letter (with tongue-in-cheek).

As I had planned a trip to the USA (my first ever – 1974), I informed William Gaines that I would be in New York that summer, and perhaps we should get together and talk about this fouled-up atrocity. The letter got mailed and then I pretty much forgot all about it.

Many weeks went by and then a letter arrived from America – the sender: MAD Magazine. It was a copy of the letter I had sent to them (typewriter written – remember them things?) All over that copy were rubber-stamping stamps, most of which were ‘cartoon’ like. Next to my comment about stopping the Danish MAD publications immediately, the red ink showed a drawing of a mad-looking Gaines, long hair, beard and all, with the word NO.  By the “I’ll be in New York…” was a happy faced Gaines and YES. “Let us know the dates…” was handwritten.

No, unfortunately I did not keep this letter and a lot of other letters and stuff from those years. In retrospect, and I’m good at that, it has always been a thorn in my eye. I used to have a lot of Beatles stuff that today would have been worth some serious money, but such is life, my life, also. So on that happy note, I’ll take a deep breath and on with the story.

My girlfriend at the time (Californian, who I’d met in Copenhagen a few years earlier) and I started our USA-visit in New York. The morning after we arrived, it was time to visit MAD Magazine. If my memory doesn’t totally blank out, the number was 485 (not that it matters at all – just trying to impress you…), but I know for sure that it was on MADison Avenue – of course. We took the elevator several floors up and found ourselves in a small enclosed entry area, no windows and only two doors, the one we entered through and then – could it be?

I knocked a bit hesitantly – nothing. Then I knocked somewhat harder – nothing. “Was the appointment today?” I asked Andee; she nodded (I think). The third time the knocking no doubt startled most of Manhattan and finally the door opened slowly. “Yes?” a female voice asked. “We have an appointment with Mr. Gaines…” I cracked in my still heavy Danish accent. The door closed immediately and then nothing.

The door finally opened again and I recognized the face of Dave Berg, cartoonist of “The Lighter Side of Life”. He asked in a really slow and loud voice: “Who are you?” “I’m Peter from Denmark”… The door blew open and Dave smiled and showed us in. “We can never be too careful” he said. We all shook hands and some of the other MAD artists who worked in the office that day came by and introduced themselves. You can understand how blown away I was – here were my heroes (dare I say: role-models?) and I got to chat with them for the longest time.

We were offered a glass of water and Dave Berg informed us, that it might taste a bit strange as William Gaines one morning had filled the water-coolers with white-wine; it was gone within a day; I wish I had been there.

Then Jerry DeFuccio who I knew as one of the editors came out of his office. The nicest man you could ever meet. He also had the role of ‘entertaining’ visitors, kind of a Walmart greeter – but a lot better and more personal. After the introductions Jerry immediately started talking about his Danish girlfriend – small world, huh?

I remember Dave Berg approaching me soon after we arrived; he looked a bit uncomfortable, but finally said: “Can I give you a hug as thanks for what the Danes did for the Danish Jews during the German occupation?” I said “of course”, though I had nothing to do with it. For those of you who do not know (and that would be most of you), when the Germans finally decided, during the occupation of Denmark (1940-1945) to round up the Danish Jews and put them in concentration camps, a large group of your average Danish citizens helped hide the Danish Jews and then helped them escape to Sweden. Only a few hundred Jews was captured (still too many, of course) out of 7-8,000. So Dave Berg wanted to hug me as thanks – he was a good hugger, as far as I recall.

And then it was time to visit the Holy Grail, AKA: Publisher William Gaines. We entered his office and that was an experience all by itself. His large desk, with hundreds of rubber stamps, was to the left – and there he was in all his might, long hair, large beard and a big smile.

On the end wall, towards Madison Avenue, were three big floor-to-ceiling windows. Filling out the middle window was a three dimensional face of King Kong, huge fangs and vicious looking eyes. In the windows to the left and right were the biggest King Kong paws gripping on, like he wanted to enter the building – really cool and so funny.

We spent over 2 hours with ‘Bill’ in the office and later went out to a late lunch with him, Jerry and Dave Berg. It was so unreal – and a once in a lifetime experience, for sure. (Danish MAD was hibernating at the time we visited New York, but later on popped up for a few years, disappeared and popped up again, etc.) Obviously nobody followed my advice - duh...

I kept in contact with Jerry DeFuccio for many years after that visit. When we got back from the America trip, there were about 15 boxes filled with hundreds of MAD books, 3-4 copies of each that Jerry had mailed to us – I never figured out why – he was just such a nice person, and funny, too.

And all this from a letter of complaint – perhaps you should try it sometime; you never know what can happen, huh?

RIP, please: Al Feldstein was one of the editors that we also met. He reigned during MAD’s most popular times in the 1960’s and 1970’s, for 29 years. Al was the driving force of getting the ‘usual gang of idiots’ together: Don Martin, Sergio Aragones, Dave Berg and Al Jaffee – to me, the REAL MAD men, by far…

Al died at the age of 88, April 29^th, 2014

MOTHER’S DAY – should be every day, huh?

Mother’s Day is big business and not just here in the USA. In every country where this holiday is celebrated, noisy cash-registers and large profits go hand-in-hand. Rolling out raw cynicism, no problem in this case, I am appalled because as consumers, we are ‘advised’ that this is for our mothers, so how dare we not spend billions in any currency to celebrate her? There is nothing like guilt to get us going, unfortunately. But of course, you and I are not tricked so easily - are you?

Anna Jarvis started a campaign back in the days (that would be 1905) to make Mother’s Day a recognized holiday here in the USA. Persistent Anna succeeded and the first Mother’s Day holiday was in 1908. With a slogan like: “The person who has done more for you than anyone else in the world”, you would run out and get a huge bunch of overpriced roses immediately - wouldn’t you?

I’m okay with ‘holidays’ or more so ‘days of remembrance’; for the most part they have a sincere importance and a true purpose historically – something we must not forget, a time, a place or a person of the past we should keep honoring and truly remember for various reasons; but shouldn't we 'remember' mom every day?

The commercialization of Mother’s Day and the like (Valentine’s Day, Father’s Day and so forth) is so out of hand. Sure none of those mothers (or fathers or those involved on Valentine’s Day) has anything against the attention, the chocolate or the flowery arrangements, so I’m fine with that. But seriously to me, the other 364 days of the year are also Mother’s Days – or at least they should be; don’t you think?

I have been fortunate to have had and still have a good relationship with my Mother. It sounds blasé when I tell you that we are more-so friends than we are parent/child, but that is the truth and how it has felt for so long. We have always had great respect for each other and have never even tried to interfere in each others lives. Perhaps my Mother communicated more specific issues when I was a kid, but I cannot remember that. As I grew up and out of school and into the world of labor and career, I cannot recall a single time my Mother questioned what I was doing or that she ever came up with ‘career’ suggestions about this or that – not a single time.

I always found that my Mother approved of what I was involved with, and who I personally connected to. I cannot recall a single incident where my Mother tried to correct my choices – not a single time. Okay, so now she sounds like Mother Theresa’s twin-sister; and that just makes me smile – and perhaps agree?

My Mother lives in a nice elder-care facility in Denmark. She was diagnosed with dementia some years back. She cannot remember what you just told her or what she did a minute ago, but she does have some long-term memory intact. It was her birthday a few days back and she figured out that she is 94 because she can remember she was born in 1920. 

I call my Mother 3-4 times every week (you chat with your mother often? The ‘guilt’ thing, huh?) Before the dementia diagnoses, we would chat about 20-30 minutes on an average; opinions, stories and updates flying back and forth. I still call my Mother 3-4 times every week, but our calls are more like 5-10 minutes; I learned quickly not to challenge her memory, but more-so tell her how we are doing here, around the house, trips, travel and trivial things; about the boys, the pets, what we experience, etc. She likes that; but the very moment she hangs up, she cannot remember a thing.

MY MOTHER

I love my Mother – a lot. There are a lot of her character, her values and her decency that I see in myself. No, giggling reader, I’m not Mother Theresa’s brother to any extent, but when I look at where more of ME came from, it’s from my Mother, not from my Father. 

I find myself celebrating my Mother a lot. From our conversations, no matter how limited they have been in substance the last many years, through the weekly letter I write and mail her, but also from all the other chats, from so many calls and visits through our life together – going on nearly 68 years (OMG what the heck happened?) So in a way, and trying desperately not to sound fluffy, there is a bit of Mother’s Day in every day – for me and her; and then I tell her – because I also love her all those other 364 days; sounds familiar?

Mother’s Day has been ‘adopted’ by nations all over the world. Though the countries of Scandinavia are pretty good pals and work together on many issues, streamlining that part of the world, I’m sorry to say that synchronizing the time for Mother’s Day has failed. This year Denmark is doing the USA thing by announcing Mother’s Day on May 11. Sweden is doing it a tad later on May 25 and Norway decided that Mother’s Day should be in the armpit of winter, so why not February 9.

And back to Anna Jarvis. It didn’t take long from the installation of Mother’s Day, for business’ to see the huge possibilities and profits, so they quickly started the (non-romantic) commercialization of this day, which happened about 9 to 10 years after 1908. As the initial idea Anna had concerning celebrating mothers drowned in commercialism, she got in a crappy mood and spent a lot of time fighting to get the profiteers off the streets. She was so angry, that just shortly before she died at the age of 84, she got herself arrested for disturbing the peace, while demonstrating against Mother’s Day’s commercialism – way to go, Anna.

We have all been connected to a mother at some point. Some mothers vanished on the way; some didn’t make good parents and perhaps other issues that doesn’t cause for celebration. But to all you good mothers out there, you have been and you are doing terrific jobs. Motherhood is not a piece of cake to any extent, as so much is involved, too much to even touch here. The proverbial hundreds of hats you are wearing is a book all by itself.

Parenthood by itself is not easy when you want to do a good job. Motherhood is not easy at all – no matter what. I have the greatest respect for any mother; I am in awe as to how they make it work, as so much is involved on so many levels. I see pregnant women and how they glow expectations and how utterly beautiful they are. And then I see the feeling of trust and utter commitment in their faces, that no matter what, they will work hard to become the best caring mother ever. 

The nurturing, the caring and care, the love and the respect coming from our mothers, has been and is so essential for all of us. So only one day of acknowledgement? Let's make it 365, shall we?

So to all you great mothers:

HAPPY MOTHER’S 365-DAYS A YEAR DAY

A BETTER LIFE – only you decide

Advertising sell promises of longer lives, total elimination of any wrinkles, and firm up those droopy thighs by using magic lotions, etc. It’s a multi-billion dollar sucker-business. Why would I call it that? Because we have no chance to compare the difference between using these products with not using them. But we make those sucker-bets anyway, no matter how pathetic we must realize they are. Will those Spring-of-Youth pills actually make you look and feel younger, live longer? We’ll never know and only you can decide.

I often think about my life in the big picture. It makes me acknowledge where I come from, where I have been, where I am, while promoting chances as to how I can keep improving now and my future. I think that if I did not look back once in a while, my present life would go stagnant, repetitive, boring and would certainly limit the elbow room needed to move forward.

Of course the "what if?" question pops up: I think about all the “stuff” I have gone through, contemplating some of the decisions I made through the years and what those decisions created, where they got me. The choices I made when I got to the proverbial forks-in-the-roads, and of course wondering (fantasizing?) what would have happened if I had gone left instead of right. At times it’s a real cool trip through that big-picture thing; and often it’s confusing, as I missed opportunities on the way – of course; we all have.

I strongly believe that we for the most part are very much in control of our lives, what we want to do, where we want to go, what we feel we want to accomplish on so many levels. Sure it takes discipline, courage, assertiveness and a bunch of other things to guide us to the goals we set, but I am convinced that when we want something bad enough and accept the work it takes to achieve any of these goals, we can really get there.

We can’t go back and make changes; what’s done is done – and then we move on. Trying not to sound fluffy (too late, Peter) I decided many years ago that if I actually could go back, I would not make many changes; the reason being that I would probably not have met my wife – as simple (and fluffy) as that.

Sure I have past issues of embarrassments, pathetic behavior and several individuals I really wish I could go back and explain things to – then profusely apologize while begging for forgiveness. These issues might not have any concern to these people, things long forgotten and perhaps never remembered (Peter who?) but for me it was not cool – and for that I am sorry, and (pathetically) wish I could go back and repair.

I am convinced that the road we travel must be, should be and ought to be based on decisions we make and implement; it’s about being in control of our lives and therefore our future - it takes work, it really does.

But we also look at easy ways out. We substantiate not to do something, though we know it would be good for us if we did. Let’s say exercise; buying that hot new spandex exercise outfit is not making us fitter, no matter the exciting feeling of wearing tight-fitting spandex all over my body gives me on so many exciting (disturbing?) levels – oops, sorry got carried away a bit. But at least buying that spandex thing is a first step, part of being assertive. To get fitter we must of course exercise, which can actually be done without tight-fitting spandex; but trust me, it’s not as exciting… sorry, I did it again!

We wrinkle as we get older. For some, as in George Clooney and I, wrinkles look fabulously handsome, but most people resent this “cruel wrinkle joke” of nature (except George and I, of course). So there is a vast array of products, machines and things of all kinds and colors out there to “help” us. You are asked to apply this (wrinkle) creme 4 times daily, at $175 an ounce, of course. It will make your skin look smoother, younger and soft like a baby’s butt (I’m not sure about you, but is that the image you are going for? A baby’s butt - in your face?) Didn't think so...

So we smear this creme on any part of our bodies, spending hundreds of dollars or whatever currency; but we will NEVER know if it actually makes our skin feel and look younger if we DIDN’T use this product. How about washing that face with regular soap, massaging it a bit with a soft sponge? I bet you’ll get the same feeling – I do.

We pop pills that promises this and that, and we must be buying this stuff, because it’s really big business, profiting on vanity and our insecurities; to some extent I find it okay - and then I don’t.

I take daily vitamins, some supplements, extra C, D, B-complex, and the list is long. But I take this tongue-in-cheek, because I feel rather silly inhaling all this stuff. Now, if I had a split personality, I could feed all this (good!) stuff to one of me and nothing to the other me, this way I could compare notes, as in: does it really make a difference? So you see, it is with closed eyes and only bits of common sense that we rely on what the label is promising us, that the fountain of youth ‘really’ is in this bottle, at only $175 an ounce (cash, please).

I have met people who truly believe in some of these advertised powers and I can see how their trust (naive hope) is embedded to the point of making them feel good – or better? And I am all for that – okay, to a certain extent only. I have always believed that if we are strongly convinced about something, it does have a stronger effect on us, and for the most part in a positive manner – underlining: for the most part.

We make so many choices in our lives, especially early on, that will follow us till the very end. We consciously and/or unconsciously make utterly important life-style choices at an age where we should not have to make those important decisions; we are neither experienced nor mature enough to do so – another cruel side of nature, don’t you think? 

Early on we are relying on the planning of our life-model solely by the help of the people around us, from parents, peers, leaders, coaches and teachers, role-models, idols and heroes. The sad thing is that we ‘don’t get it’ at that early time in our life. Imagine if we had actually listened to some of the excellent advice our parents gave us – imagine if we had just listened to them, huh? And now we can’t go back and rewind, give it one more go – for real. And the circle keeps turning and now we are desperately trying to teach our own kids – and good luck with that, really…

A longer, better looking life does not come from inside a bottle, no matter what the label promises us. The longer, better quality and healthier life is the one created from inside ourselves – solely depending on how much we really want it and especially how much we really want to work for it to happen. 

Remember that nothing, absolutely nothing comes from inactivity or from just wanting it – no matter how bad we wish for it. Progress takes a lot of work, but that is the most fascinating part of life; it's not just getting there, but enjoying those tremendous and exciting travels it takes to get us there – every single step on the way

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So in that spirit, here is to your health, your happiness and an even better / longer life – really,

Peter