Hysterical Women On the March

Reading the news online this morning I came upon the death notice of a famous French chef and immediately scanned the article to see how old he was. 91. Okay, so a lot older than me. I breathed a sigh of relief. Which is really dumb since I know that people of all ages die every minute; in fact I have already outlived both my parents. I could die before I finish writing this post. I probably won't but I could, and so could you, and that's the important part.

Silly protestor knitting another silly pink pussy hat.

Anyway, it's a beautiful day here in Freeport, Maine, which reminds me of how Garrison Keillor, my favorite storyteller of all time whose tales from Lake Woebegone accompanied me on many long walks and otherwise boring road trips, would often begin his immensely entertaining podcasts. Which are now gone. Banned forever from the Internet. Stripped from radio. Erased from society. All because some girl said he put his hand on her bare back during a photo shoot. Sorry, but what does that have to do with me? And another thing: Louis C.K. stills cracks me up. The fact that he masturbated in front of women, while sad, does not diminish his comic brilliance even a little.

It's odd that when President Bill Clinton was brandishing a cigar in the area of his employee Monica Lewinsky's vagina in the Oval Office, all the liberals said so what, no big deal, his sex life is his business, but now we all must be denied the one-of-a-kind brilliance of Garrison Keillor. For me he was better than a lorazepam when I started feeling anxious.

So no, I won't be attending any of those hysterical women's marches, or should I say Hysterical Women's Marches, that are going on somewhere else today. Fortunately not here in downtown Freeport, where all the men are strong, the women are smart and the children are adorable.