Help--My Husband's Been Brainwashed

So very long ago I can't remember exactly when, my husband joined a fitness cult called CrossFit. I call it a cult because that's what it is. I am just thankful that the leader has not had them drink the Kool-Aid yet, although if he does it will surely be mixed into a whey protein shake.

I don't have the time right now to explain what he goes through on a daily basis as a member of this cult because he's in the next room and I want to finish this post before he asks what I'm writing about. Anyway, what I want to share is the latest challenge Mitch has been given, and how if he does it he'll earn an extra five points, which for a CrossFitter is like 72 virgins when he gets to Heaven. Here it is: He wants to carry me on his back for seven minutes. Somehow if he does that he will meet the requirements of carrying the heaviest thing he can find that he can actually pick up. Plus, if I hold on it will be easier for him because he won't have to grip the load.

I said no. Repeatedly. Now he is sulking and sort of angry, but mostly worried that he will have disappointed his teammates. I ask why he must do this, and he says, "Life as prescribed." Like that's good or something. Uh oh, he's coming...

Why Do YOU Hate Ann Coulter?

The other day I happened to hear Ann Coulter, the conservative political pundit and bestselling author, hawking her new book, "Mugged," on the radio. Since I was stuck in a line of cars waiting to get past a tree-trimming truck that took up the whole road and had only to sit there for God knows how long, I kept listening, wanting to hear how dumb and stupid she is, since I had always heard that she is dumb and stupid. In fact, I have often wondered if she acquired her fame and fortune just by being a pretty blonde with long hair, even longer legs, and those false eyelashes.

Imagine my surprise when she turned out to be quite intelligent and a fount of information on the history of racism in American politics. Say what you will about Ann's tendency towards speaking her mind, which we all know is frowned upon in a society where the truth, if damaging to one's agenda, is to be hidden at all costs, she is one smart cookie. At least she backs up her vitriol with facts, which is more than I can say about those holier-than-thou liberals over at MSNBC who spin their insane hatred for conservatives into fairy tales. But their lesbian cheerleader, Rachel Maddow, belongs to a vocal minority and thus trumps Ann, a heterosexual Caucasian lacking visible handicaps. Like Mitt Romney--and Wonder Bread--plain white just doesn't cut it these days.

Who's Better Looking: Republicans or Democrats? (An Unbiased Pictorial Review)

Republican Paul Ryan

Democrat Joe Biden

Democrat Alan Colmes

Republican Sean Hannity

Republican Ann Coulter

Democrat Rachel Maddow

Democrat Bill Maher

Republican Clint Eastwood

Republican Ann Romney

Democrat Michelle Obama

Republican Mitt Romney

Democrat Barack Obama

Confessions of An Undecided Voter

I'd like to come clean about something: I have absolutely no insider knowledge concerning politics. The closest I have ever come to power is when I was dating the DNC convention chairman in 1980 and one time Jimmy Carter called him at home when I was there. Oh yeah--then I lived three houses away from Carol Browner when she was head of the EPA during the Clinton years, and her son named Zach was best friends with my son named Zack, which everyone found quite adorable. I did go to the White House Press Photographers dinner once as somebody's date, but I have never met any sitting president, unless you count JFK when he was out campaigning and he blew through our little town on a bus and shook my mother's hand, and of course I touched her hand all the time so I guess you can say that Kevin Bacon-wise, I was only one degree away from JFK.  Anyway, I have never been included in any meetings on policy, and have no idea about what's really happening anywhere in the world. All I know is what I read in the paper, hear on the radio or see on TV.

Yesterday morning I began the day by reading several editorials in the New York Times--my husband buys it when he's out of town-- and concluded that Romney is nothing more than pond scum. Then I read Karl Rove's op-ed piece in the Wall Street Journal and realized that Obama is a total liar, and that he lies about everything! Around lunchtime I ran a few errands and listened to Rush Limbaugh on my car radio, who opened my eyes to the fact that the Liberals are a bunch of frothing lunatics who fabricate all those political polls to sway an unsuspecting, moronic public, and that no incumbent has ever been re-elected without more than 50 percent in September and Obama is only at 47 percent. (Percent of what I'm not sure since right then I drove through a construction area and couldn't hear it very well.)

Preparing dinner later that evening, I turned on the TV and heard that some polls show Romney is ahead in some important places but behind in Ohio, and that no incumbent has ever won a second term without winning in Ohio. By nightfall my head was swimming. On FOX, Bill O'Reilly said Obama is an ineffectual fool, while Rachel Maddow over at MSNBC has undeniable proof that Mitt hates all women, minorities and the poor. I must be a real lame-brain, because a lot of my Facebook friends know exactly what's going on, and have no doubt whatsoever that their facts are 100% accurate. I wonder how.

Morning in America

A new day has dawned and here I am, still alive. One more night has passed without me dying in my sleep, for which I am grateful. If you think that's a gruesome thought and that I'm so screwed up to think such things, consider this:
     
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep, 
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Ha! That's an 18th century children's bedtime prayer I learned as a toddler, and it has totally fucked me up for life. There is hardly a night that I don't think of that as I'm climbing into bed. (Thanks for that, Mom and Dad.)

Moving on, I'm back at my blog today, even though yesterday I had a failure of the spirit and felt it was a meaningless pursuit and nobody cared anyway and it was a total waste of time, blah, blah, blah. But then I heard from a few folks that it was something they actually looked forward to reading every day, and that cheered me up enormously. I also heard from my other self, loud and clear, and she said that it's just about the best thing she does every day. So here's another one.

After all, if I'm not going to make myself happy, what the heck am I doing here? If each of us worked hard at satisfying our core needs instead of doing what is expected, what other people want us to do, or what we think we should do in order to live well, there would be less strife, no war, and certainly none of those crazies you see on the news in those Middle Eastern countries, running around in flip-flops throwing rocks and bottles and bombs at embassies or setting fire to themselves. (There would also be no interior decorators, but that's another blog post entirely.)

So Legalize Pot Already!

If one arrived here moments ago from Mars, two articles printed side by side in today's Wall Street Journal would tell you all you need to know about the folly of modern man and the foibles of American medicine. The headlines-- "Rise in Knee Replacements Boosts Federal Health Costs" and "FDA Urged to Speed Approval of Drugs"--say it all.

Boiling it down, in 2010, Medicare paid for 243,802 new knees for people 65 and over. (The number is surely higher today.) Many of those knees belonged to overweight people who wore them out just by dragging their fat around. Either they experienced pain or they just wanted new ones so they could run another 10K race. But folks in their 40s and 50s trade in body parts too, accounting for the estimated 600,000 knee replacements performed each year. The surgeries cost our health care system $9 billion annually. Ha! Meanwhile, over at the FDA/White House drug dispensary, a plan was unveiled to "cut red tape for drug approvals." The President's Council of Advisors on Science and Technology is pushing for shorter approval times for a wider range of diseases for "special uses" such as obesity, which is on the rise and shows no signs of slowing down, despite Michelle Obama doing those push-ups on the Ellen DeGeneres Show.

There is no mention anywhere of marijuana being one of the drugs slated for approval. Instead, it's likely a whole new crop of manufactured chemicals that will flood the market, each carrying the usual risks of shortness of breath, insomnia, anxiety and thoughts of suicide, whereas marijuana makes you breathe easier, fall asleep quickly, feel quite relaxed and love life. It's also great for pain reduction, and is already prescribed for many people suffering from debilitating diseases. I'm no pothead--in fact I barely touch the stuff anymore--but I'd rather see a natural herb that one can grow for free get the green light from our debt-ridden government and save those Medicare dollars for serious illnesses.

Windbags of Change

My predictions have not always been right, and I'm not suggesting you run out and bet the farm on this one, but I think Obama is toast. (That's not my prediction.) I truly believe that he is a one-termer, and that even some of the Kool-Aid drinking Democrats are sick and tired of his soaring rhetoric comprised of empty promises and wind-baggy speechifying. (That's not my prediction either.) After he loses, what will he do? Who cares. But I do think someone besides Barack will be bigger than ever after the election, and I don't just mean Mitt Romney. Here's my prediction: Michelle Obama will be the new Oprah.

Think about it. After Oprah left daytime TV, that huge void--and I do mean huge--was never filled. All those stay-at-home moms are still desperately seeking a new Life Guru, someone to tell them what to eat, how to dress, who to read and when to think. Marie Osmond is set to premier her new daytime talk show, but you better tune in quick because that should be gone pronto. Yes, she lost a lot of weight after calling Jenny, but she's still a Mormon and her son committed suicide with a drug overdose, two things that undercut her credibility. But Michelle---who's better than Michelle?

Nobody, that's who. Listen: Like Oprah, she's black. Like Oprah, she's outgoing with a sunny disposition and a deep well of compassion for the little guy, the underdog, the loser. And like Oprah, she loves celebrities and chitchat and can talk a blue streak, shoveling BS down the throats of the willing masses who all think she's Cleopatra. Plus, let's not forget that Michelle was the First Lady! And she can tell you how to lose weight and get more exercise, and even better than Oprah, she's thin! And she has those toned arms! And she's married to Barack, who will be way cooler once he's freed from the restraints of the Oval Office! And her mother lives with her so she's got the seniors on her side, and her two teenage daughters will win her the younger generation. Imagine who she can get to come on her show: okay, maybe not Bibi Netanyahu, but Beyonce and Jay-Z for sure! Heck, she's already been on The View and Letterman and Leno--she is so couch-ready, it's not funny!

Admit it, it's a great idea. Just remember--you read it here first.

Some People!

Some people have all the luck. I am not one of some people.

My left slipper.

This morning's Wall Street Journal contains an article on the Opinion page that one can only hope is supposed to be funny, even though it isn't. But the author got himself in there somehow, a feat I have yet to accomplish. San Francisco writer Gerald Nachman's essay on his fruitless quest for a pair of bedroom slippers was deemed worthy by the editors, although God knows why. In fact, after reading his recounting of how he can't find a decent pair of bedroom slippers, I am wondering two things: A, how does he dress himself every day and B, why do I still read the Wall Street Journal?

For starters, Gerald admits that his old pair had "fallen apart at the seams" after just one year. What kind of crummy slippers were they anyway? I too am a writer who pads around the house in slippers--although not all day as Gerald admits to doing--but my boiled wool Haflingers purchased five years ago still look new. Secondly, he whines that he ordered a pair from Craigslist and they took two weeks to arrive, offering further evidence of a decline in customer service "and everything else in the U.S." Good grief, has the man never heard of Zappos? If you place your order by four in the afternoon, you'll be holding it in your hot little hands by brunch the following day, probably just about the time Gerry is waking up.

Lastly, he says he is doomed to "shuffling around the house in his stocking feet" until December 25, when he may get a pair as a gift. I say, any writer who can manage to get an article published in the Wall Street Journal but can't find himself a decent pair of bedroom slippers deserves to find a few lumps of coal on Christmas morning, and nothing else.

What's Happening in Maine

Today we went to the Common Ground Fair, an annual event in its 36th year that is quite a big deal around these parts. A state fair on steroids, it is sponsored by and aimed at Maine's organic farmers. It took us an hour and a half to drive there, and that's not counting the time we spent getting lost on the way. Happily the weather was perfect, which was fortunate since the parking lot was a big open field about a mile from the fairgrounds, and it would have been a muddy walk in the rain.

Just about everything was for sale at this fair....

On the way in, and while we were there, every person we met who was associated with the fair in any way told us to "Have a nice fair!" On the way out, those very same people told us to "Enjoy the rest of your day." I found that odd, and wondered how they could tell we were leaving for good and weren't just going to get something from our car.

Besides the usual pottery, jewelry, furniture and kids for sale (see photo), there were sheep being sheared and ladies spinning yarn and cows and pigs and ducks and several buildings full of caged bunnies and chickens being judged. One cute little chicken had a sign on his cage that read: Pale Lobes. I was not sure where his lobes were so I couldn't agree or disagree, but apparently pale lobes in a chicken are bad, since he had not won any ribbons. He seemed depressed about it, too. Not far from him, another perfectly sized chicken, at least to my eye, had a note on his cage declaring he was "Nice, But Large." (Those chicken judges are brutal.)

There was a lot of information being handed out on composting and pump toilets and solar panels and survival skills and shelters and green living. One could learn how to make a teepee. In one tent there was a fiddling workshop and in another a man was demonstrating Rekei, whatever that is. Nearby there was a psychic who claimed to have strong crystals that could fix what ails you.

Among the foods being sold was that old fair standby, fried dough, which I have never tasted. I just cannot figure out the appeal of that item, but it seemed to be quite popular. I did have a slice of kale pizza and some butternut squash soup, and part of a grass-fed cheeseburger. Every item seemed to have cost five dollars no matter what it was. As we were leaving we bought two cloves of garlic which came to $2.75. That seemed expensive, but it was after all organic garlic, and it was a beautiful day.

Deadly Nightshades

For the past few years arthritis has been my bugaboo, with joint pain seeming to increase daily. I've assumed the only antidote was more Advil and another soak in the hot tub, until I chanced upon this advice in "Secrets of Longevity," by Dr. Mao Shing Ni, a 38th-generation Chinese physician specializing in anti-aging medicine: "Some people may find it helpful to avoid foods from the nightshade family, which contain a plant alkaloid called solanine. These include tomatoes, potatoes, eggplants and bell peppers." 

 Intrigued, I did some research and found a Pandora's Box of information on the subject. Turns out that I was the last to know that nightshades are not just what you hang on your windows.

After reading many testimonials from people who swore it worked I figured it was worth a try, and so one week ago I stopped eating those vegetables cold turkey, although I do still eat cold turkey. This was no small feat around our house, and almost grounds for divorce since this summer my husband's garden has yielded copious amounts of the offending veggies. Many--no, most--no, all of our meals have included tomatoes, eggplants and peppers, either raw, cooked, baked or stir-fried. What with eating organic and getting back to the land and local is better being all the rage, I have surely ingested more than my fair share, while filling the freezer with buckets of tomato sauce and foisting the rest on the neighbors.

But pain trumps hurting your husband's feelings, and so what if a few of them rot on the vine? Since quitting, I have been 100% pain-free. Do with this information what you will. You can learn more at www.askdrmao.com.

Playing to Lose

Last night, seeking an after-dinner activity that didn't involve arguing, our visiting son suggested a game of Monopoly. After hunting around in several closets, the game was located under a stack of jigsaw puzzles. Although  rusty, we got the hang of it pretty soon: toss the dice, move around the board, pass GO, etc. It wasn't long before all of society's ills showed up on the game board.

Doomed from the get-go, I chose the lowly iron as my game piece, laughingly saying that it was fitting since, "I'm basically a cleaning lady around here." (Ha ha.) My husband chose the mid-life crisis convertible race car, and my son went with the noisy locomotive. And so we began, each with $1,500 of play money.

On my very first move I threw a five and landed on Income Tax, so right away I was down $150. Mitch and Zack took their turns and each had the opportunity to buy something. They did. On my next turn I landed on Chance and was ordered to "Go directly to jail. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200." While I rotted in my cell, the others zipped around purchasing more properties. When I was finally sprung, after trying and failing to throw doubles and then paying the $50 bail, I promptly landed on one of Zack's railroads and had to fork over a hundred bucks. Mitch landed on Community Chest and learned he had won $50 in a beauty contest. Zack bought the rest of the railroads. I paid medical bills. At every turn I was squashed like a bug, and spent most of the game in jail or in hock. Eventually Mitch, busy building housing developments on several of his high-end lots as I mortgaged my few pathetic slums to pay luxury taxes and utility bills, not to mention being on a first-name basis with the prison warden, dropped a hundred dollar bill under the dining room table on purpose, trying to help me feed my family. This made me feel even worse; I didn't want a handout, I wanted a decent chance--or at least a decent Chance.

Nearing midnight, Zack was rolling in "old railroad money," Mitch owned the Boardwalk and Park Place as well as more than half the board, and I was down to fives and tens and a wad of singles. Naturally, we couldn't help but notice that some people have all the luck while others have none. Then again, I was nice enough to alert Mitch that rent was due him when he didn't notice-- let's face it, the poor guy has ADD--but somebody, and I am not mentioning any names, stiffed his mother on a paltry $18.00 one time when I was distracted. Obviously, respect-wise, I was the Rodney Dangerfield of the game. Mitch says my fatal error was hoping that things would change while doing nothing to bring change about. I say choosing the iron was my first mistake; if you aim low, you'll end up in the gutter.

Keeping Us Safe

The Secretary of State is forming a panel to investigate the recent attacks on the U. S. embassy in Libya. The panel, the formation of which is required by law and must consist of five people--four are too few and six are too many to do the job with precision and accuracy--will of course write a report on its findings. Most likely the report will be read by a task force empowered to do so. After that, several committees will naturally be created to interpret the findings of the panel, which is not to be confused with a plank, a platform, a board, a bunk bed or a 2 x 4. Thus our government works to protect us. (It's just too bad they didn't do some investigating before those pre-planned terrorist attacks killed our Ambassador, who by all reports was a heck of a nice guy.)

Post-Erection

In Obama's second term we'll finally see some of those changes he promised us four years ago. Among them:

1. Money will be evenly divided among all citizens.
2. Happily, you will be able to have your cake and eat it too.
3. Contrary to the old adage, there will be a free lunch--and breakfast and dinner too, if you play your cards right.
4. Your neighbor's success will be your success--after all, you helped.
5. The Rich will pay all the taxes and the Poor, pretty much everyone, will live like kings, as is their Allah-given right.
6. Every child will go to college and everyone will have a job and all the roads will be fixed and cars will be all plugged in and ready to go and houses and unlimited medical care will be available to all, regardless of income or employment status.

In fact, things will be great! The only teeny, tiny thing is that unless Obama can come up with about 13 trillion dollars, the name of our country will be changed to "China." And we'll be eating a lot more rice. And we'll all have to leave our shoes at the door--or is that Japan? I'm not sure, but I damn well better be come next January...

Talk Like Me Day

Today is "International Talk Like A Pirate Day." I wanted to learn all about its origins, but each timeI tried to get on the official website, I got a notice saying it was either broken or too busy. Arrrgggh, I guess.

Actually, I know very little about pirates. I never saw any of those Johnny Depp movies where he's got a babushka on his head and a big gold earring because I didn't want to ruin my memories of all those great movies he made back when he had scruples, so I'm clueless there. Then Linda Ronstadt made a movie--or was it an opera?-- about the Pirates of Penzance, and again, I didn't see it. So I'm dumb on the subject, and have no idea how they really talk. In fact, most of my knowledge comes from seeing "Peter Pan" as a youngster, and since all those pirates were fairly mean, especially Captain Hook, naturally as I grew I steered clear of all pirate communities, not that I ever saw any. Then, starting about ten years ago, real modern-day pirates started boarding rich people's yachts and holding them for ransom off the African coast and other parts of the world where I never go, being yachtless.

It all sounds dreadful, if you ask me, and yet somehow they warrant their own "special day." Hey--I want a day! How about "National Talk Like Andrea Rouda Day"? Following are key phrases one should know in order to participate:

1. Oy vay.
2. Sue me.
3. Anyway,
4. Give me a break.
5. Boo-fucking-hoo!
6. I have no idea.
7. Oh please.

Clowns on Parade

What do Anderson Cooper, David Gergen, Gloria Borger, Chris Matthews, John Stewart, Rachel Maddow, Ed Schultz, Andrea Mitchell, James Carville, Wolf Blitzer, Fareed Zakaria, Steven Colbert and John King have in common?

They all hate Mitt Romney and devote their professional lives, from the minute they wake up in the morning until the moment they go to sleep at night, to tearing him down, making him look stupid, unearthing negative sound bites and old videos, all with the common goal of preventing him from becoming the President of the United States.

And why do they do it? For the fame, the glory, the personal satisfaction of a job well done? Nope. To protect the citizenry from an evil dictator? Don't think so. Then it must be because Barack Obama has been such a dynamite president? Hardly. They do it for the money, money, money, money, money! (Their parents must be so proud.)

A New Twist on an Old Problem

Finally, there's a good reason to be fat. Seems a condemned murderer in Ohio scheduled to die by lethal injection is too big to kill--at least that way. At 480 pounds, his veins and scar tissue, along with related medical problems, will likely interfere with a smooth procedure. Also, the man's sheer size makes him too large for the execution gurney, and surely one cannot be properly executed without a gurney. Currently his lawyers are seeking a stay of execution, making one worry about the intelligence of our penal system; hasn't anyone thought of a gun, which is how the felon did in his own victim 30 years ago? And of course, in one of those Arab countries where they just run over you with a car when you do a bad thing, this would all be so simple, although certainly an SUV would be required to do the job well. I am not condoning capital punishment, but I simply raise the question: Is lethal injection somehow a more palatable method by which to seek justice? Personally, I'm of the "eye for an eye" school of thought, which makes a gun so appropriate in this case.

Montgomery Clift: Skinny enough to die?

Anyway, what with the average human getting fatter every year, the folks who ponder these things had better figure it out, since fat criminals will likely become commonplace in the not-too-distant future. And for anyone who is still unsure about the morality of the death penalty, I recommend reading Theodore Dreiser's classic novel, "An American Tragedy." Not only is it one of the most beautifully gripping novels ever written, with thought-provoking tangents on love, religion, work, money and family, but it will ultimately lead you to see the 1951 cinematic version, "A Place in the Sun," which is surely one of the greatest movies ever made. It stars the incredible Montgomery Clift, without an ounce of body fat keeping him from meeting his maker.

A Teachable Moment

At least those striking teachers are getting enough to eat!

Not to denigrate teachers too much, but they suck. Currently a posse of these glorified baby-sitters are entering their second week of a strike in Chicago. What's all the fuss about? They are outraged that they might have to be held accountable for their teaching skills. With American students placing 25th in math, 17th in science and 14th in reading as compared with students around the world, no wonder they are freaked out. The rap is that teachers are so overworked, so underpaid and so important. None of that is true, if you ask me. I've been employed as a teacher twice in my life, and both times I was dismayed, disappointed and depressed to see what really goes on--or doesn't go on--in our classrooms.

 The first was a year-long stint as an adult education teacher of graphic design at a prestigious art college in Washington, D. C. Even though many of the students were years older than I, that didn't stop them from being big crybabies. It was then that I realized that anyone who wanted to learn did, and the rest were just there for the credits. The next time was years later in Salt Lake City, where I attempted to teach sixth-graders the fundamentals of art. Working at a school one block from my home allowed me to go home for lunch every day and down a glass of red wine to get through the afternoon. Those kids drove me to it--them and that horrid Amy Wadsworth, the school's tight-ass principal.

Schools in America are daycare centers, plain and simple. Kids naturally have tons of energy and all they want to do is run around, play outside and make spitballs. They don't want to learn just because someone says it's now time to learn, they learn when and where they want and in unexpected places. Teachers are simply the hired thugs who keep them in line. And that bunch in Chicago, the birthplace of thuggery, are the worst of the lot. God forbid they should have to prove that they are worth their pay by having their students pass a knowledge test! Obviously, the very fact that their students are now on the streets for a second week, or home alone because their parents work, is proof that the striking teachers care little for their charges and only for themselves.

The Future Queen's Breasts

I have never understood the fixation regarding breasts. Seems to me, as someone who has had two of them for like 50 years already, that they are pretty run-of-the-mill body parts, with not much more going for them than other body parts, yet apparently everyone is wild for them. Sparking my interest in the subject is the recent news that Britain's royal family is considering a law suit against a French magazine for printing a blurry photo of a topless Princess Kate, caught sunbathing with one of those zoom lenses. Imagine--the future Queen of England has breasts; oy, gut in himmel!

Naturally this shocking disclosure caught the attention of the mindless monkeys over at CNN, who responded with a televised round-table discussion of journalists yammering about whether Kate should ever be topless anywhere, and that as a Royal, she has the responsibility to maintain an image of propriety, and this is just like when Princess Di was photographed by the paparazzi and we all know how badly that ended, and blah, blah, fucking blah! What's worse, this dire development comes somewhat on the heels of Prince Harry, the Royal Brother, being photographed nude in Las Vegas, which proves not only that underneath his royal clothing Prince Harry is naked, but that what happens in Vegas does not always stay in Vegas.

As for the breast thing: What's the big deal? It seems to me that if you've seen one, you've seen them all. They are almost always round, with a nipple in the middle, and come in various sizes. Fleshy milk glands comprised of connective tissue containing collagen, elastin and fat, with a few Cooper's ligaments thrown in for good measure, they have all but overtaken our society.  A naked breast drives people nuts! Anyway, what I consider shocking is the news that Kate is pregnant, which means she also must have a vagina, not to mention a uterus. Now that's nasty. I sure hope we don't ever see pictures of those.

You Better Watch Out!

Chicken Little was right all along!

This blog is set to explode in 15 minutes, so you better run as fast and as far as you can!!!

Just kidding. What I meant to say was that there are explosives hidden all around your home and your office, and especially your home office, put there by members of Al-Qaida or however it's spelled, so gather up all your valuables and find the nearest exit and get the hell out of there ASAP!!!!!!

Not really. But what is true is that there is anthrax in that white envelope in today's mail, so look out!!!!!!! (Lol.)

With parts of the world in flames, and other parts in rubble, somehow I managed to have a lovely morning walk through the quiet village of South Freeport. Not one violent thing happened. Then I came home and found out that everywhere else but where I am, the sky is falling. One cannot read the news anymore--most certainly not for the next few days. Excuse my mixed metaphor, but the media has a fresh kill and they are milking it for all it's worth. The worst part is, they get paid not just oodles, but oodles and oodles, to do that, and the more scared you get, the richer they get. When will the rest of society (besides me and my wise pal WTC) realize that the journalists are the true monsters of our society?

Cookies or Pie?

I was fine when I woke up about an hour ago, but since then I have looked at the news on the Internet and made the awful mistake of perusing today's paper. Things are bad all over, and now I am paranoid as hell. Right now I am sitting in my dining room and I'd like more coffee, but Homeland Security has issued new warnings about possible terrorist attacks and I am leery of going into my kitchen. Is it safe in there?

Things are so shaky that New York City is already buttoning up their New Year's Eve security in case of a terrorist attack: They are planning to weld shut all manhole covers in Times Square. (Yeah, that should do it.) The world is a mess, that's for sure. Thank god I have no power whatsoever and nobody wants my opinion on anything. I may bake. In fact, following is a recipe for an incredible cake my dear neighbor back in Salt Lake City, Sophia Alcott, baked every fall. It's really good!

SOPHIE'S RAW APPLE CAKE
2 Cups chopped apples
1 Cup sugar
1 and 1/2 Cups flour
1/2 Cup margarine
1 Egg
1 Teaspoon baking soda
1/2 Teaspoon salt

Topping: Brown sugar, chopped walnuts and cinnamon. 

Grease and flour a 9" pan. Mix all ingredients, sprinkle generously with Topping and bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex

Somebody recently posted a video of a "TED talk" on my Facebook page that depicts an older woman with a haughty British accent wearing very high spiked heels, black tights and a wrinkled black tunic hiding her body, trying and failing to look like a younger woman, saying she habitually has sex with younger men, and she's here to tell us they are doing it wrong. Apparently today's young men watch a lot of hard-core porn, as does this woman, and she suspects they are imitating what they see in those films. Alas, she knows for certain that many women don't really like to do those things. She's here to help.

Several thing come to mind. First, before this I always though that TED talks were worthwhile, and were given by intelligent experts in their field. I no longer think that, so another icon is struck down for me which is a damn shame, since I have so few. Next, how many adults need instructions as to how to have sex? I figure that's under the heading of "Instinct," or else how do you explain the global population explosion? In fact, many truly stupid people not only engage in sex but apparently engage in it constantly, hence the brouhaha over abortion. I am pretty sure there is a lot of sex going on out there. Lastly, if I were having a lot of sex with young men and also were watching a lot of hard-core porn, I would keep it on the down-low if you know what I mean. I would not make a video talking about it and have it all over YouTube and Facebook, unless I were a total narcissist or psychopath.

If you have any questions about how to have sex with a younger man, just ask me; my husband used to be one when we first got married. Naturally, he has aged in 25 years, so if you want to know how to have sex with an older man, I can help there too. But email me in private, please.

Stuff Nobody Needs

I thought I had everything I needed to live an extraordinary, unusual life, since who among us wants to be ordinary, but then I went to the post office to pick up my mail, and Angie said, "I think you got something good in there." Amidst the detritus of junk mail and charity letters and credit card offers and political propaganda was a catalog called uncommongoods. Right away the lower case lettering signified it was something special. Turns out there are tons of things I don't need but could have that are truly uncommon.

Perfect for the seagoing vegetarian on your Christmas list!

For example, I could have a handmade, wooden side table with solid oak legs, in the shape of the state of Maine, or any state I want for that matter--I don't think they care where you actually live--although Alaska, Florida, Hawaii and Maryland are currently unavailable, which sucks for them. (It's only $200, plus shipping and handling, some assembly required.) Or I could have a Rowboat Salad Bowl, which is a salad bowl in the shape of a rowboat, that comes with "oars" to serve the salad with, and is "guaranteed to make a splash." (Also available in a Wheel Barrow.) I could have a set of four china Pizza Plates that are shaped like pieces of pizza, on which to serve pieces of pizza. Why? Just 'cause.

There is a lot more, but none of it makes me happy--not the Mushroom Kit, or the Musical Wine Glasses, or the Baseball Bat Bottle Openers. In fact, it's all depressing, and I remind myself to tell Angie. However, inside the catalog, on the page that tells you that the Director of Product Development graduated from Cornell but knew she wasn't meant to have a conventional career so she went to work at UncommonGoods because they value non-conformity, we learn that "everything we sell is made without harm to animals." At least that.

Too Sexy for Words

Now that is what I would call a "sexy" martini glass.

Yesterday I read a restaurant review written by one of those new Internet writers who accept 1/7th of a penny per word for their work. It mentioned that the restaurant under discussion serves "martinis in sexy glasses." I read that line many times, trying to figure out its meaning and intent. First off, can glasses that you drink from actually be sexy, as in concerned predominantly or excessively with sex? Can they be related to sexual intercourse, or amorous behavior, or even--going to the secondary meaning of the word-- glamorous and exciting? What the heck kind of glasses were they? Did they have condoms attached, or perhaps prescriptions for birth control taped to the bottoms? Was the reviewer implying that if you went to that restaurant and ordered one of those drinks, that you would pretty soon be having sex yourself? I could go on.....

"Sexy" is somehow supposed to be a good thing, making the dullest item appealing. A sexy car, a sexy toothbrush, a sexy home mortgage. The fact is, that adjective in front of whatever it is does not always make it all that appealing. For example, a sexy orthopedic surgeon is scheduled to perform my hip replacement surgery, but I still don't want to have it done and I may yet cancel--after a couple more pre-op visits. (He is cute.)

The much-abused English language has been pushed and pulled in all directions to meet the needs of today's newest generation, one that is fixated on sex, sex and more sex. No wonder they are clamoring for abortions, abortions and more abortions. Well, speaking from personal experience, I gotta say that having an abortion is not all that sexy, even when the doctor performing it is.

Shut Up, It's 9/11

Last year, on the 10th anniversary of the destruction of the World Trade Center, there was all manner of hoopla. This year it's less of a big deal, except on TV of course, where no tragedy goes unexploited. I had the news on earlier, and the announcer said to stay tuned for their coverage of "four moments of silence" scheduled to take place at the exact times the planes crashed, and that President Obama was going to be quiet at the White House and then again at the Pentagon and Joe Biden would finally shut up in Shanksville, PA. I have to assume that somewhere, Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan will also stop talking for a moment; they'd better if they know what's good for them. Anyway, in case you are unable to witness those nationally-televised moments of silence, you can use this one:

It's a Wonderful Life

If you want to win friends and influence people--and why would you, but apparently it's quite popular--you've got to have a spring in your step, a smile on your face and a song in your heart. For some folks--myself included--that's a tall order, and so they end up with few friends and little influence, not to mention a low Klout score. Turns out mine is 19, which is like half of 34, a number considered "abysmal" and low enough to have kept some guy from getting hired for a job for which he was otherwise quite well-suited--or so I heard. As for the spring, the smile and the song, I ask you: Is anybody happy--and if so, how do they do it? Who could be, except perhaps the deaf, dumb and blind--with war and destruction and disease and depression ravaging the pathetically striving occupants of a dying planet that is quickly running out of air, water and various species of animals you never even heard of but will surely miss once they are extinct. (I think I hear my Klout score dropping.)

Now try this: Is everybody happy? You sure should be, for who wouldn't smile on a day like today? All's right with the world, the sun is shining in a glorious blue sky, the birds are singing and God in Heaven is smiling down on the Earth, offering his children another wondrous day in Paradise. (This bromide does not work if you have read the news lately.)

I suppose the right way to feel is somewhere in the middle: Things are bad all over, and they might be even worse for me some of the time, but they aren't really terrible today so I guess I'm fine. It's a little long, but I think that's my new mantra. I will certainly use it if I ever decide to meditate, which up until now I have not done successfully because I always think of something.

Oy, Playing the Race Card

An interesting article in today's New York Times explains that Obama has the edge over Romney because of, among other attributes, connecting with minority voters through his chameleon-like ability to change his linguistic style to suit the audience, while Romney talks like a white guy regardless of who's listening. If you read between the lines--always the most interesting place to read--what that tells us is that Obama is a master of deceit and Romney is just plain honest. Anyway, the article infers that if one wants sympathy from one's listeners, one should mimic their speech patterns, or at least show them that you understand them and that you "get it."

Armed with that insight, I have decided that I will now aim to entice more Jews to my blog, since I can't successfully attract anyone else through my speech patterns. But oy, the Jews I know. I should live so long, if Mitt Romney--such a doll--wins the election, I will be kvelling. Not my mishpucka, but they should all just drop dead if they want that no-goodnik Obama to win. God forbid a million times, the economy will just get worse. (Oy, gut in himmel.)

Under the Influence

I just received an invitation on my Facebook page to something called Klout. It is an "app," which is short for application, because after all, few of us in today's busy world have the time to sound out the entire word. Supposedly, Klout "measures our influence on the social web" by assigning us a Klout Score on a scale of 1 to 100. I was informed that two of my friends and 1.7 million people already use it.

The funny thing is, the invitation came from a Facebook "friend" who has never before contacted me in any way, ever--no comments or "Likes" or phone calls or texts or notes or anything-- yet here is this "invitation" from him. (I guess he's trying to improve his own Klout score.) Here's what I think: I can barely influence myself, forget other people. I can't lose weight or stick with an exercise regime or get myself into my art studio every day. There are oily paint brushes soaking in turpentine in the garage that I do nothing about, and a bag full of clothes in the front hall I've been meaning to take to the thrift shop for like three weeks. Some days I don't floss. Is there an app for that?

Except when we're deciding where to go for dinner, influencing others has never been my thing. I used to try with my son when he was little, but I was supposed to, being his mother. That worked to a degree during his teen years, and I credit myself with his lack of tattoos and piercings today. Other than that, don't ask me what to do or think or wear or eat or read--what the heck do I know? As for who influences me, the list is short and includes mostly dead people, so I'm not getting much that's new. I am open to influencers, believe me, but I doubt they will come my way via Facebook. Or Klout.

Whipped Into a Frenzy

Today my husband had a colonoscopy and boy was it annoying for me. The worst thing is that when I have my own colonoscopy, which I have to do every four years, it is also annoying for me. Yesterday was the prep day, more commonly known as the Night of Horrors, so I ran out in the morning to get the ice pops and the Gatorade and the Dulcolax and the Miralax and the Jello and the apple juice and the bouillon. Last night seemed less horrible than usual because the Democratic National Convention was on TV, with Joe Biden and the rest of the bunch offering substantial amounts of hysteria to drown out Mitch's groans. This morning I drove the cranky patient to his procedure and opted to wait there, since I was told it would take about an hour.

Suddenly there I was in the dreaded Waiting Room. Magazines were arrayed on a low coffee table, but none of them were to my liking. I finally caved in and opted for WebMD to see if there were any diseases I might have that I don't know about. Then I perused TIME and read about how the Orthodox Jews and the plain Jews hate one another and are warring over control of an Israeli suburb. Then there were only a few minutes left, or so I thought until a nurse came to tell me that they were "running late" and actually were just starting, and it would be an hour from right then, in case I wanted to go run an errand or something. Another hour? Why didn't anyone tell me? Anyway, it was now just an hour and not enough time to do anything so again I waited, and then after an hour I went to the desk and asked if Mitch were finished yet and they said, no it would be another 45 minutes, and then it was really much more than that because we had to wait for the doctor to talk to us and he was busy with another procedure that was also--big surprise-- running late.

Although I am not the type to buy a gun or hold a gun or even look at a gun--in fact, if I were in the same room with a gun, which has never happened, I would leave immediately--I am definitely the type to get royally pissed off in certain situations. I might even become "disgruntled" enough to go on one of those rampages that are so popular lately, and I might start at the Portland Gastroenterology Center. Only instead of a gun I would go over there with some of those cans of string from ToysRUs, or, even better, a case of Reddi-Wip canisters, and spray them all until I felt better. Is that wrong?

Osama Bin Laden is Dead!

Let us never forget that Obama single-handedly killed Osama!

Joe Biden's speech: "My wife is the love of my life and the life of my love." Barf. Anyway, according to Joe, we Americans have grit and determination. He and Barack plan to "move this nation forward to promise and prosperity." And make no mistake about it: this is one mission they will complete--so shut up about all the others they have not completed over the last four years. (I'm paraphrasing.)

Uh-oh, look out--now he's going to tell us about "his" Barack.  He says he knows him. He says he is "a leader who has what it takes to lead us over the next four years." Well, I for one definitely want a leader who can lead. After all, if you have a leader who can't lead then you might just as well not have a leader at all, wouldn't you agree? But I digress.

One question: Does Joe Biden think that if he YELLS REALLY LOUD, we will believe him more? And does he himself really believe the hollow praise he is heaping on Obama? "But most of all, I got to see first-hand what drove this man: his profound........blah, blah...families all over America sitting at their kitchen tables----blah, blah-- Barack and I have been through a lot....I have seen the enormity of his heart...and he learned the depths of my loyalty. (A little too close?) Bound us together these past four years. That Barack, He never wavers! That's what makes him tick! That's who He is! America has turned the corner!!!!!!!!!!! Conviction! Resolve! Barack Obama saved the automobile industry!" (Who knew?)

Having drunk the Kool-Aid being served throughout the hall, the crowd roars. This is now embarrassing. (Not Joe-- the loony crowd roaring.) "The finest warriors in the history of the world," says Joe about our military. "Admiral McCraven looked him in the eye. I knew at that moment he had made a decision to do it. Obama made the call, and justice was done!" Much roaring. Oy vay. Who are these people?

Uh-oh, he's yelling again, I gotta go....

Tell Me No Lies

If you're anything like me, tonight is one night when you definitely want to have plans. You do not want to be sitting around with nothing to do when the Liar in Chief gets on TV and starts spinning yarns about how his second term will be so much better because he had to spend the first one undoing all the damage left by his terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad predecessor. And then out will stroll a waving Michelle Obama, playing the Miss America song in her head, wearing one of those $900-but-still-somewhow-trampy dresses and a toothy grin, and Gramps Biden and his wife the Doctor, all of them millionaires but yet "they feel for you," each spewing the convoluted half-truths concocted by consultants, strategists and speechwriters, hitting all the high notes except for the highest one about how he's already the president and guess what? It's not good...

This morning I went for a haircut and asked my Latvian stylist if she has been watching the political conventions. (She came here from Russia about ten years ago, is an American citizen and plans to vote in our upcoming election.) She shook her head adamantly and said, "No, I don't watch any of that. They all lie."

My Fellow Americans! (Bill Clinton Speaks)

Bill Clinton demonstrates just how much bigger Obama is than Romney.

Bill Clinton is definitely the head cheerleader. He is speaking right now on TV, in the other room. The loony crowd went wild when he came out, with Fleetwood Mac beseeching everyone in the hall to not stop thinking about tomorrow. Besides being as inspirational as Reverend Wright, he sure can twist the facts around. And despite his well-known disdain for President Obama, he is praising him to the skies. The American Dream! Leadership! Highly competitive world! You have to vote for Barack Obama! I love our country! We're coming back! But Obama has been the president for the last four years, so one wonders just what we are "coming back" from?

Hey guess what-- if you vote for Obama, the future debts of college students will not even have to be paid back in full! The taxpayers will pay it! (That's you and me.) So now everyone can go to college and not worry about paying for it---ever! Yaaaaaaaaaaay! Is this a great country or what? And then there's health care! The Democrats are the best! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Millions of seniors are receiving preventive care! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!!!!! For the last two years, health care costs have gone down for the first time in 50 years!!!!!! Are we better off? You betcha!

In case you don't already know, Romney and Ryan suck. They lied in Tampa last week. A lot of people believe this stuff! BOOOOOOOOOOO! It is so clear cut. Romney wants to make Medicare go broke! Folks, this is serious and it gets worse, and you won't be laughing when I tell you this....they want to end Medicaid....that's gonna hurt a lot of little kids. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!  I mean BOOOOOOOOO! They want to hurt people with disabilities! Down's Syndrome! Autism! What are those families going to do? We can't let it happen! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Think about it! Obama brightens our future! My fellow Americans....if you want to live your own life, vote for Romney. But if you want the government to take care of you, vote for Obama!

(I am not sure why they are even holding the election, they should just anoint Obama right now.)

Time Off for Bad Behavior

Growing up in New York, people like me were a dime a dozen. They still are. Funny, irreverent, sophisticated, sarcastic and skeptical are common words used to define New Yorkers. I embody those traits and exhibit them proudly and would not want to be otherwise.  However, my edgy personality does not play well in Maine, and thus my employment record since moving here is anything but stellar. I could not get hired to sell duck boots to tourists at L. L. Bean, could not snag a volunteer position teaching amateurs how to hold a paint brush at the Y and could not even land a freelance writing gig from Portland Magazine, which is admittedly a piece of trash but the only piece of trash around. My art gallery was a flop and while my consignment shop was not, who wants to spend their time selling used furniture to old ladies? (Not me.)

This might be a good time to read "War and Peace."

Battle of the Wives

Well, Michelle Obama does indeed have very toned arms--I guess she spends a lot of time working out. And her hair, straightened and pulled and styled to within an inch of her life, looked quite perky and bouncy last night at the Democratic Convention, although that wave on the one side was a tad distracting if you ask me. But that dress! Oy, was she going to an after-Oscars party later on? Did any of her handlers see it before she walked on stage looking like a combination call girl/wedding-cake-topper? Ann Romney at least had the decency to dress for the occasion in a patriotic color. Besides, she has MS and had breast cancer, and as far as I know Michelle has no terrible disease, so what the heck does she know about suffering? And Romney's wife is much better-looking anyway--Michelle has that overbite thing going on-- so I guess I'll vote for him.

Skeptics Anonymous

Santa taking his traditional "beach walk" before delivering all those toys...

You've got to pay attention if you want to know what's what. There's a lot of misinformation out there passing itself off as the real deal, and not just from the mouths of Democrats. In the 2013 Harris' Farmer's Almanac, which proudly states on the cover that it is "Published in the tradition of the respected almanac of the same name first published in 1692," and purports to "count an issue a success if it contains practical information to make everyday life easier," we learn the following on page 21 as it relates to the busy nature of the upcoming December 2012 holidays: "And then there is the Christmas tree to fetch and decorate or the Seder meal to prepare."

Huh? What's that? I know we Jews are confusing to some, what with our horns and circumcisions and such, but I am certain-- and you can quote me on this--that the Seder meal should never be prepared in December, lest it be cold by the time you serve it in April. I am now left wondering what other misinformation is contained in that esteemed Almanac. Should I really cover my blueberries with netting and stake my tomatoes next July, or is that totally the wrong time to do so? It's so hard to know who to believe these days.

Take Me Out to (Eat At) the Ball Game

This afternoon, to celebrate Labor Day, my husband and I went to a Sea Dogs baseball game in Portland. Somebody gave him tickets. It was perfect baseball weather, and the seats were great, right behind home plate.  Several things distracted me from the game that was being played on the field, but since it was just the Minor Leagues, hardly anyone was hitting anything so it didn't matter much. Here's what did:

     1. There are some very fat people here in the state of Maine, and apparently more than a few of them are partial to baseball. What was interesting was to see what they were eating. The true fatties were into French fries--big, overflowing buckets of them. The next popular choice seemed to be elaborate ice cream sundaes with chocolate sauce and sprinkles, served in upside-down-baseball-cap-shaped red plastic dishes. (Seemed like a distracting choice to make on a hot, sunny day when you're sitting in the bleachers supposedly watching a ball game, but that's just me.) Also available were hot dogs, beer, pizza, sodas and popcorn. The less fat but still fat folks seemed to opt for pizza, while the thin people ate--big surprise--nothing.
      2. There were actual TV commercials during the game! These appeared on a large screen whenever the teams changed who was up at bat, and of course again between innings.
      3. Each new inning was "brought to you" by a different local advertiser.
     4. A giant L. L. Bean Boot atop one wall reminded us of just where we were.
     5. The Sea Dogs lost, proving the second half of their name to be quite accurate.

It was certainly no Orioles at Camden Yards, but at least I wasn't worried the whole time that our car was being vandalized in the parking lot.

Men Are Such Boys

This morning I went into the bathroom and there was clear evidence that my husband had preceded me, and I don't mean just because the toilet seat was up. I called out to him, "Honey, do you know what that brush right next to the toilet is for?" He answered immediately, "What brush?"
     "The big, white one....."

Although many men can operate a garlic press, few--if any--can clean one. After 25 years of marriage, it is clear to me that this procedure is simply too much for Mitch, who is quite the chef and uses the garlic press daily, maybe even twice in one day if he makes himself a big breakfast and helps with dinner that night. But always the garlic press remains in the sink, full of smashed garlic drying up in all the little holes. If you do the math, with time off for vacations, that's more than 10,000 garlic-press-cleaning opportunities he passed up.

There are other things, too numerous to list here. The fact is, there really aren't any men, there are just older boys. And while many of them are indeed handsome, sexy, funny and charming, they all lack the basics of common sense. If you don't believe me, just give one of them a shopping list and send him off to the market and see what he comes home with. In most cases the list will remain on the kitchen counter, so you can sort of see why, but even armed with a list, the results can be stunning. None of this matters at all unless you consider that the race for President is always between men, and the winner is always male. That can't be good.

The bottom line: Except for the sex, most women would be gay.

About That New Yorker Cover....

Imagine if this cartoon had appeared on FOX News!

So I guess now everyone who ever liked Clint Eastwood in the past hates him because he lent his star power to the Republicans. Funny how that works. The man has brought countless hours of relaxation and entertainment to countless people the world over for countless years--okay, I could count them but I'm not gonna--with the movies in which he has starred and the movies he created as a director, producer and writer, not to mention all the fantasies he fueled back in his younger, heartthrob days. But all that is washed away because he prefers Mitt Romney to Barack Obama! It is sickening, plain and simple, how many clueless-on-the-issues voters cling to that wrecked lifeboat called the Democratic Party simply because the man at the helm is half African-American.

Loving Obama allows people to feel good about themselves--hey, I'm not a racist, I voted for Obama! It reminds me of something that happened almost 20 years ago in the small Maryland suburb where I lived, just a few miles from the shameful slums of inner-city Washington. My son had started kindergarten, along with his best friend, Richie. The two of them had been inseparable for three years, just about half their lives at that point. One day when I happened to be there helping out, the children lined up to go outside for recess. Richie caused a scene when he stubbornly refused to stand next to "that brown boy," claiming he "smelled funny." The teacher, a black woman, was about to go ballistic on him when I intervened, explaining that his mother was a close friend and I would alert her to the situation immediately. Surely they would fix the problem at home.

Later that day, Richie's mom almost fainted when I recounted the story. She was mortified, outraged, depressed and mystified that her little boy could have said something so clearly racist. "But we are so liberal," she wailed, signalling her despair with one of the most unforgettable lines I have ever heard: "This must be how Ted Bundy's mother felt." The two of us discussed the matter further and it came to light that little Richie had never actually been near a black person before, in fact the family had never invited a black person to their home, despite the fact that our friendly, small town was quite diverse and fully integrated. (Huh---imagine that.)

Now all the people who have never had a black person into their home can feel like they do it all the time whenever Obama comes on TV. "Hey, I'm no racist, I voted for Obama! And I love Michelle!" And of course, the opposite is implicit in a vote against Obama--after all, a vote for the white guy is a vote against the black guy. And now, even liking Clint Eastwood makes you a little bit racist. Funny, isn't it? Almost as funny as that New Yorker cover, which everyone accepted at the time as satire since it appeared in such a left-wing rag. Somehow when liberals say or do something blatantly racist, it's just fine.