Posted on 01/16/2018 9:41:49 PM PST by mairdie
Searching for beauty, (of which I found none) I checked the redhead for, at least, something subtle, like a "Mona Lisa-esque" smile. Instead, I found -- and was put-off by -- the disdainful implication conveyed by the upper lip...
In dismissing the expected beauty as non-existent, I failed to comprehend that I had subconsciously categorized the subject as male -- or, at best, androgynous.
My guess is that the judges who found that mediocre caricature to be attractive are, themselves, "gender-confused" or, more likely , singlemindedly homosexual...
And, the absolutely mediocre shirtless male selection raises that probability to at least 98%...
~~~~~~~~~
BTW, the B&W building, and, even the umbrellas, remind me of my own "high contrast patterns" period... '-)
So it wasn’t just me!!!!!!!!!!! And I’m willing to bet you’re right that it was the androgynous character of the model that appealed.
She wasn’t one of the choices I made for showing off in our thread. Nor the umbrellas. Nor the building. So it looks like you and I have fairly similar concepts of beauty.
Most of my ancestors don’t have headstones with inscriptions.
They’re literally just rocks propped up and we have to remember which rock belongs to who.
Some of them, we had to walk into fields in WV to get to the family graveyards.
Not much to see but more rocks.
The more recent departed are all up in the Parkhead cemetery, not far from me.
That photo was taken in Hancock MD, up on the hill where all the old historic churches share a common land.
Catholic, Protestant, they’re all cheek-to-jowl on one ridge.
Lots of very old graves, many Confederate.
It’s a great and spooky place to go.
:)
What struck me was the pattern of weathering on some of the stones.
The light areas appeared as though the inhabitants were rising up to join the mist.
Once, while visiting 1700s kin, with my gramma, I did what was I told never to do...I stepped on a grave.
The soil gave way and I was knee-deep in someone.
Never stepped on another grave, again.
That is the same cemetery that a distant cousin, back in the 30s, set down his rifle to climb a fence and accidentally shot himself.
He laid there in that remote and terrifying place, all night and bled out.
That was back when we still had a Mc in front of the family name.
:)
Wow.
Just wow.
Yeah, it’s one creepy place.
Once, I fell through an Indian mound, too.
The same grandaddy who told me to not step on the graves also warned me of the mounds.
I was one contrary little girl.
:)
Was genealogy your grandfather’s passion?
My mother’s nickname for me - into adulthood - was Contrary Mary.
I should have been Contrary Shari, then.
:D
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