Make A New Friend: You

She is really annoyed at having to stay home and not see any of her friends.

The major thing wrong with this pandemic, besides all the deaths and horrible suffering, is being stuck at home with your inner child. Oh relax, I'm not making light of a dire situation, it's just that after all is taken from you, funny is what's left.

Anyway, for me, the major thing wrong, besides the death and suffering, is being stuck alone with the brat who shares my body. Sure, my husband is at home but he's working all day and I hardly see him more than I saw him when he was traveling around the country. And I see my friends who live locally not at all, and the ones who live far away are out of my reach until God knows when, Zoomtinis notwithstanding. So all day it's just me and my cat, and to be honest he's not much of a conversationalist. Besides, Lurch only wants me for what I can do for him: Brush his fur, feed him, clean his litter box, give him treats and be his comfy bed, and I do mean be the bed, which for me is not comfy at all. (If you have a cat you can relate.)

So I'm here with her all day and I'm not liking it. Mostly because she has stopped going to the gym and started eating out of control. And once again I must say that being fat, or at least feeling fat, sucks. Am I right? (God knows those Fat Acceptance people must suffer as much as we do with a tight waistband on a pair of jeans.) She has also stopped getting professional haircuts and so every day chops off a little more, at random and without benefit of a rear view mirror. We now have what I call the Convicted Felon Bob.

I keep telling myself: Make friends with all your parts since we have no idea how long this will last. Stop smoking, lose the weight, don't be a drunk, etc., etc. It's much more fun being in solitary confinement with someone you actually like.

Finding Meaning

I once read a quote from somebody famous who said, "Life is lived in the coincidences." (I already Googled it and couldn't find who said it so don't bother.) If that's true, I experienced one early today so I guess I'm alive.

I was out for my daily (unless it's raining or snowing) almost-three-miles walk. This being allergy season in Maine, I was extremely  sniffly the whole time. In fact, the feeling that I was about to sneeze all but ruined my ability to quiet my mind and enjoy the beautiful day. My nose itched -- a lot. I'd be sure the sneeze was coming, waited for it, and then it didn't.

I tried to ignore the feeling and pay full attention to the music coming through my headphones. Today, as always, it was the 1966 Beach Boys album, Pet Sounds. According to Wikipedia, despite its cool reception here in the U.S., in Great Britain the album soared to the top of the charts and stayed there for six months. "Pet Sounds attracted recognition for its ambitious recording and sophisticated music. It is widely considered to be among the most influential albums in the history of music."

Despite the distraction of the music, that annoying need-to-sneeze stayed with me until my walk was nearly over. Finally it came out, and it was a big one. With the sound of it still ringing in my ears, a car passed by slowly bearing the vanity plate "ACHOO."

Finding Solace with Zen

Hey, I'm as mindful as the next person. And I am also sick and tired of this Covid-19 lockdown, making me wide open to suggestions as to how to ease the pain of forced home detention. Still I found the article in today's Wall Street Journal completely insulting. "Find Your Zen in Household Chores" was obviously written either by or for morons, or possibly idiots. The graphic shown above which accompanies the article is a perfect example. Let's take a couple of their suggestions and look at them closely.

Notice your breathing while you wash the dishes. What they don't say is try not to think abut how when you're in the hospital on a ventilator your breathing will be almost nil which is why they have to hook you up to a machine in order to continue living, and that 80% of the people on ventilators will die.

While sweeping the floor, be curious about the different spots on the floor. Like hey, is that cat throw-up or is it dirt brought in from the garden? Or is it dried Chianti I spilled while swigging a bottle after hearing Dr. Anthony Fauci say the next wave of the virus coming this fall could be much worse and a vaccine will not happen, if ever, until 2021?

Wonder at how wet clothes will change in color and weight as they air dry. Hmmm -- that makes me think of how my body will turn a deadly pale and shrivel in size as I succumb to the coronavirus. (Finally I'll hit my goal weight!)

For more helpful suggestions like these we are supposed to visit mindful minutes.com, a website written by someone named Melissa Eisler. I think I won't. Instead I will watch another episode of "Bojack Horseman" on Netflix and eat a bag of potato chips. And where is that bottle of Chianti? That seems to do the trick.

Death Comes Knocking

My birthday is in a week. I hope I make it. (I don't want this cake.) 

When It Comes to Trump, Spare Me the Details

Mine is not a popular blog. It earns no money and few comments, and has but a relative handful of readers. This is because I report the truth about people -- their foibles, inconsistencies and weaknesses -- and who the heck wants to hear that, especially since you might see yourself in what I write half the time?

Those people who do make money and "go viral" or become influencers, a concept I hardly grasp  since nobody influences me but me, are the ones telling people what they want to hear. This includes two new female comics who specialize in mocking President Trump on Youtube by lip-synching his voice and making him look silly or drunk. How they find that to be a satisfying occupation is a mystery, since I work hard at never thinking about the man. I mean really, you don't have to pay the slightest attention to him, or to that moronic Twitter; it's not illegal, at least not yet.

Our current society seems to be built on mockery, especially of our leaders, and with good reason: they are a bunch of loonies. If I changed the name of this blog to "Donald Trump Sucks," chances are I'd get lots more readers and maybe even a spot on The View or CNN.

This is a sad reality for my generation since we can remember a time when, aside from Lyndon Johnson's gallbladder surgery scar, (see photo), we actually respected them. In reality, the press kept their secrets so we could go on respecting them. It was only many years after his death that I learned John F. Kennedy, my one-time hero, was a total scumbag, screwing women in the White House while telling everyone he was going to "take a nap."

Dummies at The New YorkTimes

Definition of incalculable: not able to be calculated or estimated.

The Army of the Self-Righteous

I recently wrote a blog post about how my husband takes his temperature a lot and checks his oxygen levels to make sure he doesn't have Covid-19. I titled that post "Pandemic Playthings." And would't you know it, somebody left a comment saying that  I wasn't taking the whole pandemic thing--my words -- seriously enough. That it was not a "thing" but an event of a serious nature! All I can say about that woman who I have never met is the following:

She is a Democrat
She hates Donald Trump and FOX News 
She loves CNN and Rachel Maddow
She might have a summer house in Sag Harbor
She abhors racism but has no black friends 
She gets manis and pedis from Asian girls
She supports Joe Biden for president 

I know all these things because they are the requirements for induction into The Army of the Self-Righteous, which is growing by leaps and bounds and threatens to take over our once free country. Be on the lookout for them. They don't wear uniforms, but one sure way to spot them besides a big red nose is their complete lack of a sense of humor. (Some people believe the leader of their army ordered the 2014 death of comedienne Joan Rivers, who died seven weeks after she called Obama "gay" and Michelle "a tranny.")

Loons and Lunatics

The morning paper did not arrive in time for my breakfast, so I turned to my computer for news of the day since eating with no other distraction, while healthy and advocated as the best way to achieve weight loss and avoid mindless stuffing of one's face, bores me. Focusing on the local news since I already know that the left hates Trump, a lying, psychopathic buffoon, and the right hates Biden, an aging, addled moron, I came across two local stories that elicited vastly different emotions in me.

Momma Loon takes Junior out for a swim.

The first article told of a Black Hawk eagle that was found dead with a puncture wound in its heart. Ornithologists brought in on the case determined that the bird had been killed by the beak of a Black Loon. According to a wildlife biologist at the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, "Fights between eagles and loons are becoming increasingly common as the eagle population continues to grow, with eagles attacking baby, and sometimes adult loons."  My eyes filled with tears as I reflected on the random cruelty of Mother Nature.

The second story recounted an ATV accident involving a 26-year old woman riding with her 6-year-old son strapped onto the back seat. She lost control of the vehicle as she approached a bridge and slid 23 feet down into Hardy Brook in Farmington, Maine. They are both being treated at different area hospitals, with the child's injuries more serious than the mother's. This article angered me greatly, causing me to wonder how people are permitted to have children when they are clearly idiots. (I wonder who she'll vote for, if she lives. )

What to Watch (Instead of News)

By now it should be pretty clear to anyone paying close attention: The experts know nothing about Covid-19. They've studied it for months, looked at it this way and that way, and have come up with the following:

1. Wearing a face mask either prevents the spread of the disease or makes it worse.

2. Staying at home either works or doesn't work. Returning to normalcy will help our mental attitude, thus prevent more deaths such as suicides, drug ODs and heart attacks, or it will increase the spread of the coronavirus and kill more people.

3. Covid-19 enters your body mainly through your eyes, so wearing a mask that covers your nose and mouth is pointless. (See #1)

Because of all that I have given up following the news, both in print and on TV. Instead, for a little distraction I've started watching dramatic shows on Netflix, AppleTV and Amazon Prime, and my mood is greatly improved. Following are brief reviews of some I can tell you about, should you be so inclined.

Laura Linney: Not your typical mom.

Ozark
This very popular show is extremely violent, gruesome and depraved. (Also dumb and unbelievable, according to my husband.) In the opening episode, four people are shot at close range, their bodies then stuffed into oil drums full of acid for later disposal. A man is pushed from a high floor of a building and we see/hear his body hit the pavement with a loud splat. The wife (Laura Linney) is cheating on the husband (Jason Bateman), a money-launderer mixed up with evil drug lords. Their two kids -- a surly teenage daughter and a clueless 10-year-old son -- are savvy enough to hate their parents and each other. Hey, what a good time!

The Morning Show
Jennifer Aniston, Reese Witherspoon and Steve Carrell act out what happened a few years ago when it was discovered that Matt Lauer, the star of morning news on TV, was a sexual predator. An inside look at the way TV works, a dog-eat-dog world where everyone is nasty and anger rules the day. (You can tell by how many times everyone says "Fuck this" and "Fuck that" and "Fuck you.") Great visuals of New York City and ultra-fabulous homes inhabited by the extremely rich news anchors make it fun to watch. Also, Aniston gives a great performance wherein she is finally not just a pretty face, and Witherspoon shows off her new one that she got from a plastic surgeon.

Killing Eve
The fabulous Sandra Oh could just sit and stare at the camera for an hour and it would be mesmerizing. Here she does a lot more as a secret agent hunting down an assassin who works for a hidden international organization. While there is always one death per episode, it is accomplished with such style and flair by the beautiful psychopathic killer (Jodie Comer) that you don't mind it too much. There is also an undertone of sexual tension between those two women, making it appealing to sex fiends and the LGBTQ community.

Bojack Horseman

Bojack Horseman: Not your typical guy.

While I have yet to see one episode, my son, who is very smart and has a great sense of humor, tells me in no uncertain terms that this is the best series now on TV. The critics seem to agree, so it is next in my lineup. The main character is a cartoon horse who lives his life as a man. (Don't ask me.)

Grace and Frankie
Funny, funny, funny, and fun. How can you go wrong with Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin as best friends whose longtime husbands (Martin Sheen, Sam Waterston) left them for each other? Featuring extremely rich people living on the beach in California, it's always nice to look at. And it's very racially diverse, with black adopted children and mixed marriages and love relationships all over the place.

Pandemic Playthings

Mitch's favorite new toys.

When this whole pandemic thing started, my husband began walking around with a thermometer in his pocket, enabling him to check his temperature whenever he was feeling "covish." I found this behavior neurotic, but since I've (rightfully) earned the title of "Most Neurotic" in our marriage I conceded that Mitch was just being cautious. I've gotten used to his random announcements of "98.6" and "97.8" -- in these troubled times, what makes him happy makes me happy.

But now things are worse, since he got something called a Pulse Oximeter -- not to be confused with a Flux Capacitor -- thanks to the suggestion of our dear friend Teresa, a nurse practitioner who I love madly but wish she had kept her mouth shut. That little thing they stick on your finger at the doctor's office measures how much oxygen you are getting, or something like that. ("Measure your SpO2 and pulse right in the privacy of your own home!")

Now Mitch does it all the time, and by that I mean all the time, despite the instructions advising not to repeat a reading within two hours. The number on the screen should flash between 95 and 100 in a healthy person. Yesterday Mitch got a 94 which immediately dropped precipitously to a 93. By 91 he was ready to call an ambulance. This morning, thank God, he was happy with a solid 98. But he checked it again and it started to slip downward, causing him some amount of consternation. Now I'm thinking of calling an ambulance for myself, just to get out of here.

Buy American!

Almost a month ago I ordered 50 medical masks listed on Amazon.com from a company called Drtpi that I believed to be legitimate, even though they were not operating here in America. ("Drtpi is committed to providing each customer with the highest standard of customer service.") Hey, I'm no racist! I love immigrants! I trust immigrants! All four of my grandparents were immigrants! Anyway, I entered my credit card information and address and waited ... and waited. In fact, I'm still waiting.

Good thing I wasn't holding my breath. My order never arrived, and according to Amazon, I cannot get a refund until I contact the seller. But when I tried to do just that, online of course, my query went into the ether, or whatever it's called. Meanwhile, my husband ordered masks (and gloves and hand sanitizer and some other stuff) from a seller in Florida just three days ago and it all arrived today.

Discuss.

Watch Out, Here I Come

I stayed home all day yesterday and allegedly saved quite a few lives by doing so. (You're welcome.) Today's a different story: I'm going out to get some haddock for dinner.

Hopefully my bold foray into the world won't end up killing someone, and if it does I am truly sorry. Really, I don't even kill ants. Still, this particular fish market -- Day's on Route 1 just south of Freeport, in case you're ever allowed back in to Maine -- definitely has the best fish around, and so fresh! I'm going for it, deadly as my errand may be. (It's only two miles from my house; how many people could I kill? I have a friend who is flying from Colorado to Florida this week, that's like mass murder.)

Admit it: whoever is marketing Covid-19, The Disease needs some help. Their slogan is, "Stay Home, Save Lives." Really? How believable is that? And why this particular disease so much more than others before it that I never gave a hoot about? In August of 1969 I attended the Woodstock music festival without a care in the world except how soon could I get out of there. Meanwhile, the Hong Kong flu of 1968-69 had killed an estimated one million people all over the world. My parents never said a word to me about the flu, all they said was, "Don't smoke any of that marijuana!"

There was AIDS, and SARS, and a few others. In fact, many terrible diseases have surfaced during my lifetime but I was never forced to stay at home lest I kill people. That's harsh.

Toxic People

Rachel Maddow, the King/Queen of Toxicity

There are two kinds of people in the world. I know, you've heard that before and I've said it before, but this time I MEAN IT! The first kind has a unique life, complete with friends, family, maybe a pet or even two, an occupation or a hobby that interests them, and a set of 100% functioning brain cells. The second kind spends every waking minute (and possibly sleeping too) thinking about, obsessing over and writing hateful comments pertaining to President Donald Trump and his extended family.

The first kind of person is usually pretty average, and perhaps someone you'd like to befriend. The second kind is a complete and total lunatic, with no redeeming qualities. They can only talk about Donald Trump and how horrible he is. And of course Ivanka and Jared and Melania, etc. That's all they think about! They lay the blame for all their own problems and the problems of the entire world at his feet, which is funny since they also believe he is a moron, so how could he possibly impact so much of importance that goes on in the world?

If you know that second kind of person but are not one yourself, run from them. They are toxic. They are easy to spot since they start almost all of their sentences with, "Last night on Rachel," or, "An article in the New York Times....."

Light Reading

These days, stuck at home as most of us are, we gotta keep busy. Currently I am re-reading The Plague by Albert Camus. It seemed timely, for obvious reasons, and I hadn't read it in at least 30 years. In case you are not familiar with the book, it's about a plague epidemic that breaks out in a small French town in Algeria during the 1940s. A horrible disease that had supposedly been eradicated years before, the new outbreak is fatal for everyone it touches.

Rather than my finding the book a depressing read, it's actually making me feel so much better about our little Covid-19 which is much more civilized most  of the time, and even in the worst cases when it kills people. The plague as described by Camus is quite messy, not to mention horrific, wherein its victims develop horribly painful sores called "buboes" on their bodies, most especially in the groin area. After just 48 hours these gradually enlarging sores burst open and disgorge blood and pus, and then you die. It's quite gross.

Since the book's plague was a real thing and not just the horrible imaginings of Camus, you've got to be thankful that all we've had to deal with is a fever, a cough, a headache, some chills, and in the worst cases, pneumonia and breathing problems. I'd much rather go out gasping for air than screaming in agony and covered in blood and pus. See, every cloud really does have a silver lining! Besides, the book contains lovely passages despite its heinous subject:

"Amongst the heaps of corpses, the clanging bells of ambulances, the warnings of what goes by the name of Fate, amongst unremitting waves of fear and agonized revolt, the horror that such things could be, always a great voice had been ringing in the ears of these forlorn, panicked people, a voice calling them back to the land of their desire, a homeland. It lay outside the walls of the stifled, strangled town, in the fragrant brushwood of the hills, in the waves of the sea, under free skies, and in the custody of love. And it was to this, their lost home, towards happiness, they longed to return."

Waiting for A Vaccine

In today's Wall Street Journal, Peggy Noonan writes, "People need hope. Americans live on it. We must return to life." Like her, many other columnists report that Americans are chomping at the bit to return to normalcy. Well guess what: not me. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, or possibly ever again. They can open up all the restaurants they want, but I won't be there.

No thanks. The idea of hearing the daily specials from a server wearing a face mask is a total turnoff. Fist of all, could I even hear them distinctly? And secondly, how appetizing is it to be served by someone wearing a face mask specifically designed to prevent spittle from flying out of his/her mouth and directly onto me and my food? In fact, how have I ever eaten in a restaurant before all this started when they weren't wearing masks?

As for "Take me out to the ball game" -- something we enjoy in the summer when the Portland Seadogs play other AA teams like the Wichita Wingnuts and the Milwaukee Milkmen -- that's not happening, and with good reason. People are packed in pretty tight in those bleachers, and everyone is eating the whole entire time. Last season I'm pretty sure I was sprayed with ketchup for an entire inning by the guy behind me eating French fries. I'll pass on that.

Sadly, attending the symphony, the theater, live concerts, and even Broadway shows are no longer on my list of things to do. This is a dreary fact of life I must accept, being in that age group deemed "most vulnerable" to the Covid-19 virus. In my search for replacement activities, the main one that works for me so far has been eating, so I may take up sewing and begin altering my entire wardrobe. That should keep me busy until a vaccine shows up.

Some Scary Shit

My husband's family must be severely lacking in some essential genetic material. How else to explain the fact that they are all morbidly obese and at the same time lack the ability to think clearly? Is there a reason they all blame every last problem they have on Donald Trump? What are the chances that so many people related to one another share those two traits? And how did Mitch, who is super-smart albeit with a slight paunch, escape this terrible fate and avoid passing it on to our son, who is certifiably brilliant and rail-thin? (All I can say is "Praise the Lord!")

A recent example of this defective DNA among the lot of them is the comment posted on Facebook made by a major big boy in the family, a guy who used to be really smart but alas, the family disease seems to worsen with age. Keith wrote that, "If you were Putin's agent you would delay the US coronavirus response for a month, weaken the healthcare system by seizing PPE, pit states against each other, encourage Americans to poison themselves, and impede testing."

I have been paying close attention to the news and I never saw or heard any of that, even though I watch all the news outlets and once in awhile even hold my nose and read the New York Times. (I must have been in a coma when Trump encouraged Americans to poison themselves.) This is why I never went to that family reunion so many years ago when Mitch and I were newlyweds; I could tell right off the bat they were all nuts.  It's truly some scary shit. Now where did I put that glass of Lysol I just poured for myself?

Zooming Into the Future

My introduction to the wildly popular app called Zoom was a sad one. I downloaded it specifically to view a memorial service for an old friend. Suddenly I was transported to a graveside somewhere in Maryland, where a rabbi and a series of family members spoke lovingly about the deceased. Lots of smaller screens showing other mourners, some crying, appeared above the main screen. I was depressed all day.

About a week later my husband and I "zoomed" with our dear friends who live in Virginia. It was great fun, although not quite the trip to Israel we had planned together. The practice of meeting online with friends has been called a "Zoomtini Hour" when you do it at the end of a day, everyone with a drink in hand. While nobody on our call was drinking much of anything, we did commiserate about Covid-19 and how it's impacting our lives. Even sober, it was a blast to see their faces up close and be reminded of our last visit to their lovely home on the James River. It was almost like being there. I say almost because their cell service was spotty, and every so often a face would freeze in a distorted expression while the voice kept on talking. It all looked and felt like an old "Twilight Zone" episode -- you know, that one where a deadly virus blankets the world and all the people are forced to stay indoors, communicating only over computer screens.

Anyway, by then we were hooked`on zooming and realized the sky's the limit! Tom and Linda in D.C. had much better cell service and came in crystal-clear. Hey, there's that painting in their dining room that I always loved! And Herrmann, their adorable schnauzer who we met when he was just a puppy, jumped onto Linda's lap and stayed for the whole conversation. We all drank heavily (not the dog), just like on so many Saturday nights when they lived around the corner from us. But this was even better since we didn't have to stumble home afterwards and could just crawl upstairs to bed.

Since then we've zoomed repeatedly, each time with greater ease and far less confusion. Last night we spent an hour-and-a-half with our best friend in New York, and even toyed with the possibility of starting a Risk game like in the old days. maybe next time. In some ways zooming is better than getting together in person, eliminating the annoyance of booking airline tickets, going through security and getting stuck in a tiny, cramped tube for hours. I'd suggest if you're looking to make up for some recent stock losses, invest in Zoom today; obviously, it's what our future looks like.

The Next Bad Thing

As if we needed another reason to stay locked in our homes, now the so-called "Murder Hornet" has been sighted in Washington State and Oregon and is projected to wing its way to the East Coast in a couple of years, just about the time we get the all-clear following the Covid-19 lockdown. They're hornets, only much bigger and a lot meaner: With a two-inch-long stinger they inject their venom and, being carnivores, proceed to rip the heads off their prey. So far the victims have been bees and the occasional baby mouse. If they ever get big enough to rip the heads off of people I'm outta here. 

Coping With Covid

Garrison Keillor, a true original.

If I could be anyone else it would be Garrison Keillor. He sings like an angel and has such a keen eye on human nature; nothing gets by him. And his storytelling is beyond compare. Listening to his soothing voice spinning tales from Lake Woebegone is just about the only thing that keeps me sane during this terrible time. I only wish he could give his take on how the citizens of that small Minnesota town would handle Covid-19, especially if the Chatterbox Cafe were closed and they were all stuck at home. As for me, I'm getting pretty damn sick of the whole thing.

Throwing caution to the wind, one of my favorite things to do these days, I actually hugged my son when he came for dinner last night. We let him in the house even though he lives in downtown Portland and is out and about, working part-time in an establishment where random clients come and go. Everyone wears masks, but as we all know they don't prevent anything but look like they do.

My coping strategies are minimal: My husband and I have taken to Zooming with friends in distant cities, which is fun but not as much as us all being together in the same room. Most days I go for long walks with the Beach Boys, listening to Pet Sounds on my headphones and reliving the good old days before an unseen enemy infiltrated society and changed everything. And when I feel really low I visit Lake Woebegone and imagine myself with a steaming cup of coffee and a slice of lemon pie, sitting at the counter in the Chatterbox Cafe. It's cold outside and all the windows are fogged over, making it even cozier inside.

Film Review: PARASITE

The title says it all. The makers of Parasite, winner of last year's coveted Oscar for Best Picture, including Bong Joon Ho who won an Academy Award for Best Director, are all parasites feeding off the stupidity of film critics and the Hollywood establishment who vote for these awards. Seeking to go on record as oh-so-sophisticated and open-minded, they deemed this preposterous, violent, garbled mess to be worthy of incredible respect, wetting themselves over awarding the first foreign-language film with their highest honor. Well guess what: it's unwatchable, unless you are a quadriplegic, the remote is out of reach and you've already seen every other movie ever made.

Covidly stuck at home for like the last million days, my husband and I checked it out recently, assuming since it won BEST PICTURE, beating out Once Upon a Time in Hollywood which I saw three times, it had to be great. But no -- it was actually the worst picture if you ask me and since you're reading my review I guess you did. In fact it was so bad I couldn't make it all the way through, and being able to move about freely I left the room when things got too bloody, awful, depressing and unbelievable.

Watching Parasite is like having a job since it's the opposite of pleasure. We are asked to swallow the silly notion that an impoverished family (Mom, Dad and two kids) living in a below-ground, bug-infested hovel, all of whom are too inept to get a decent job and thus earn their keep as pizza-box folders, a skill at which they are not very good, successfully hoodwink a super-smart, crazy rich couple into hiring them as tutor, art therapist, chauffeur and cook, with no questions asked. Chaos ensues, similar to an episode of I Love Lucy (that never happened) wherein the Mertzes take a bunch of LSD and murder the Ricardos.

The fact that the film is shot in Korean with English titles adds to the work necessary. On the up side, much of the action takes place inside a very beautiful house which is especially nice to look at (see photo), so if you're considering renovating, you'll get some great ideas. (Or else just pick up a copy of Architectural Digest -- it's much less upsetting.)

President Who?

Former President George W. Bush in his art studio.

I honestly do not care who is the president. I also never know if I should write president or President, although I am sure I could find out in a flash. Anyway, I have lived through many of them and my life has not changed a whit, a bit, or a speck depending on who was in the White House. Following is a summation of how each of the presidents I endured impacted me.

Dwight D. Eisenhower, a.k.a. Ike: I was a mere tot and barely remember anything about him. All I know is that he was bald and his wife was a drunk, and things in the country were generally good although my parents, Democrats through and through, said he was a bore.

JFK: He was handsome and like all teenage girls at the time, I had a huge crush on him. My mother worked in grass roots politics and I helped her by handing out leaflets door-to-door in our community. Somehow she managed to be somewhere he would be stopping at while he was campaigning and thus was able to shake his hand, and so was I. When I was a senior in high school he was assassinated, which I learned during 8th period art class with Mr. Dehn. I cried for weeks and lost all interest in politics after that.

LBJ: Nothing comes to mind. Vietnam made me hate him, and it also made me smoke a lot of pot, which might explain my first sentence.

Richard Nixon: Total creep who sweated a lot on TV, was ugly and his wife wore a cloth coat. He had a cute dog named Checkers, or that might have been FDR. Watergate happened and once again I thought all politicians were evil and stupid jackasses.

Jerry Ford: Who? His wife was either a drunk or a drug addict and started the Betty Ford Clinic. Chevy Chase imitated him on Saturday Night Live.

Jimmy Carter: Loved the man, in fact so much that I took a job with the Democratic National Committee and designed the graphics for their Convention in Madison Square Garden in 1980, when he lost a second term. At the Convention I saw so much bad behavior-- half the attendees were in the bathroom doing cocaine most of the time -- that I had to leave early. I got to be on the podium the first night because I was having an affair with the Convention manager at the time. That was fun. (Being on the podium.)

Ronald Reagan: Completely ignored him, and his horrible wife.

George H. W. Bush: No memory of the man, except for Dana Carvey's great impression of him on Saturday Night Live. I thought his wife Barbara was cool.

Bill Clinton: Despised him from the moment I saw him playing the trombone on a TV talk show. What an asshole. I was embarrassed that he was the first member of my generation to become president, and he acted like a moron and tainted "the Presidency" forever by sleeping with an intern while he was in office. Also, he had a long list of affairs with other women as Governor of Arkansas. I never watched one speech he ever gave, and if I heard his gravelly voice on my car radio I would change the station immediately.

George W. Bush: The first Republican I ever voted for, I found him charming, funny, honest, and real. I loved his wife Laura and the fact that he spent his vacations clearing the brush on his Texas ranch and driving his truck. I watched every speech he ever gave, and whenever he was on TV I would sit down and listen to what he had to say. He has the soul of an artist. I still love him, and his paintings.

Barack Obama: Although I sent money to his campaign thinking a black president would solve our race problems, that turned out to be wrong. The man was and still is a total phony who wishes he were all white instead of just half. I never even watched his Inaugural speech once I heard he spent $50,000 to build styrofoam Greek columns that would flank him when he accepted his party's nomination at Denver Stadium. Despised his bitchy wife, who did nothing of note but ruin everything for the potato farmers of Maine by taking French fries off all school lunch menus across America. Way to go Michelle.

Donald Trump: I watch him whenever he's on TV, either at one of his rallies or a press conference. I admire his total lack of pretension, although agree he is slightly crazy. Still, he has very good ideas about government and a great sense of humor. I don't see him as a racist in any way. His wife is beautiful and deserves better treatment from the meanie press. Did not vote for him the first time but will next time since the Democrats are offering only warmed-up leftovers.

Joe Biden, Pervert

Okay, I have held my tongue long enough but now I'm pissed. WTF is the problem with all the Democrats? Are they all brain-dead, like my husband's horrible cousins who can't complete a sentence without using the word "fucktard"? They are forgiven because they had a deeply disturbed childhood, believe me. But what about the staffs of The New York Times, The Democratic National Committee, NPR, The Boston Globe, The Los Angeles Times, The Miami Herald, The Washington Post, The Atlantic, The New Yorker, ABC, NBC, CNN, MSNBC, Politico, and every other lunatic liberal organization that is silently condoning and/or ignoring accusations that have arisen concerning Joe Biden, that sorry candidate for president, and his penchant for sticking his fingers up a woman's twat?

Excuse my vile language but it was a vile act, and yet no Democrat -- certainly not Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer or that loser Stacey Abrams, who can't even haul her fat ass (yeah, you heard me) to the dentist to fix the clownish gap between her front teeth, has considered the woman might be telling the truth, instead steadfastly defending Joe and saying "it never happened." All this comes after the despicable treatment given Brett Kavanaugh back when he was seeking a seat on the the Supreme Court owing to a murky, unproven allegation made by some nobody who claimed that when she was a drunk girl thirty years ago he pawed at the sweater covering her burgeoning teenage breasts at a party nobody remembered ever happening. No clothes were allegedly removed and no fingers were stuck into anything, yet the entire country had to endure a grueling four-day SENATE HEARING during which Mr. Kavanaugh, a respected judge, husband and and father, was raked over the coals by every Democratic senator, this after being interviewed many times by the obviously complicit FBI, and after which every last Democrat, including Joe Biden, said, "All women must be believed!" 

Except, I guess, for Juanita Broderick who years ago claimed Bill Clinton RAPED her -- oops he's a Democrat -- and this particular woman (Tara Reade) today who clearly remembers (she was not drunk at the time) Joe Biden, then a Senator and her boss, pinning her against a wall and using her body as his playground. At the time, a shaken Ms. Reade told two close friends and her brother what had happened, but still she is not believed by any Democrat! Yet when Kavanaugh, a Republican, was accused of a lapse in judgement when he was a 15-year-old child, a point made against him by Democratic Senator Amy Klobuchar was, "the fact that she (Kavanaugh's accuser) had mentioned it before means a lot."

As for that loser Stacey Abrams who in 2018 couldn't scratch together enough people in her home state of Georgia to want her as their governor, her play-by-the-book statement on CNN three days ago was, "The New York Times did a deep investigation and they found the accusation was not credible." All I can say to Ms. Abrams is call your dentist, lose 100 pounds and try reading something besides the Democratic talking points that appear in your inbox each morning.