Pandemic Vacation

Outdoor dining in a driveway, how inviting!

Like we could forget!

T-shirt and Face Mask Shop

Until when?

The lost face mask has replaced the lost glove.

Inflatable movie screen at outdoor theater/pizza parlor.

The Liberal Thought Police

First published in 1981, the "For Dummies" series of instructional and reference  books present simple-to-understand guides for readers new to the various topics covered. The series has been a worldwide success with editions in numerous languages. There's likely at least one of the books on your bookshelves.

Besides Math for Dummies, there's Football, Auto Repair, The Internet, French, Parenting, PCs, Investing, U.S. History, Cooking, Cloud Computing and Marketing For Dummies, and far too many more to list here. There's also a competing series called Complete Idiot's Guides, also quite popular.

So imagine my surprise, dismay, disgust and chagrin when my innocuous comment on an AOL chat board citing the person as a "dummy" for their antagonistic and clearly false, ignorant comment following an anti-Trump article was REJECTED by AOL for going against their so-called Community Guidelines.

Watch out if Joe Biden and his pack of puppeteers win the election in November. And if you can before you vote, read George Orwell's dystopian novel 1984, which could aptly be titled 2021, and get ready to have every one of your original thoughts silenced for the good of the community.

Trashing Tiffany Trump

Yesterday's post, which "trashed" Kimberly Guilfoyle, was wildly popular with readers. Apparently everyone loves a hater, which explains the success of legendary comics Joan Rivers and Don Rickles, both of whom relied solely on criticizing famous people to rake in the dough. (Sadly Joan went too far when she called President Obama "gay" and Michelle "a tranny" and thus found herself dead soon after, but that's another post.)

Tiffany Trump at last night's RNC convention.

Clearly most humans are mean-spirited at heart, even if they keep it to themselves. In fact, especially when they keep it to themselves, which is why they thrill to see someone say out loud what they secretly think. Saying what you really think is just not done in polite society, everyone knows that. So then, what are we supposed to say? These days it's pretty clear, thanks to the guard dogs of "cancel culture" ripping into anyone who dares go off the reservation.

And just saying "go off the reservation" is going off the reservation, if you get what I mean, because that's offensive to Indians. And calling them "Indians" instead of Native Americans is also bad. And saying "them" when referring to a minority is not allowed either, because somehow grouping people with similar traits together is insulting.

Barbie

Just about the only thing that is allowed is the bitterly acerbic trashing of Donald Trump and his family. (I for one look forward to trashing his daughter Tiffany, the human Barbie doll, one of these days. I mean, come on -- is she serious? Who wants to look like that? What is this, 1960?) You can do it in print, online, on CNN and MSNBC and just about every other media outlet. Say he's a buffoon, a moron, a nitwit, a whatever, and you will be applauded! Call him Orange Man without fear of retribution! Say he's a racist and nobody will blink an eye, even though plenty of black people support him but somehow they are not the "right kind" of black people, i.e. Van Jones, so they don't count. It's all so confusing....

The only sure way to know what's acceptable is to watch CNN every night and read The New York Times every day. If you do this consistently you don't have to use your noodle to figure out anything for yourself, earning you the respect of all the non-deplorables and leaving you lots of time, depending on your age, to play video games, binge-watch your favorite TV shows or play with your grandchildren.

Trashing Kimberly Guilfoyle

Oh my God! If you caught Kimberly Guilfoyle's rant of a speech during last night's Republican Convention on TV, chances are you still have a headache. I know I do. What the heck is wrong with that woman? Is she on some sort of weird medication? Too much caffeine? Is she deaf?

Besides all the screaming, there's her eye makeup to discuss. Does she even have any eyeballs? Her false eyelashes were apparently so heavy they forced her lids closed, so it was hard to tell exactly what was in there. They looked like black, fluffy slits at the top of her face.

The hair: ridiculous. Hey, Lady Godiva -- it's 2020, wake up and smell the scissors. And how about that dress: What is she, a mermaid? Besides, with that caboose I'd have chosen something a bit less form-fitting. In fact, the woman did nothing right. If I were Trump, I'd say, "You're fired!" And if I were Kim I would stay in bed all week, under the covers, and pray for a huge crisis to hit the country so people will forget what a fool I am.

The New Mister Rogers

Brenda, gussied up, with her grandchildren.

My new anti-anxiety drug is a woman named Brenda Gantt. I have mentioned her before as the star of her own online cooking videos. A southern lady with a thick accent which is 85% of her charm, she has an amateur camera set-up in her Alabama kitchen that doesn't always show what she's doing, but no matter. Still you get a good look at her environment: The giant RC Cola thermometer hanging on the wall, the milkglass-shade lamps seemingly everywhere, the pots and pans and aprons and rows of canisters holding flour and sugar and who knows what else, just like your momma had when you were little only in my case, she didn't. My mom was strictly a glamour queen; instead she had rows of face creams and eye shadow and couldn't cook her way out of a paper bag, as they say.

Anyway, Brenda is also a magician. Sometimes she appears without any makeup looking as old as Methusala, her hair a mess and her face creased, and other times she's gussied up real pretty with her hair fixed and lipstick and sparkly earrings, looking as good as any professional TV chef would.

Brenda's food is also spotty. Some of it looks mouth-watering delicious, other times it's grossly unhealthy, and still other times you want to run out and get all the ingredients and fix it right then and there. I never do. I just watch for the sound of her twang and a glimpse of a peaceful world where there's no internet, even though she starts out each video saying, "Good morning Facebook friends!" But there's no mention of Trump, or the election or Jeffrey Epstein or the college scandal or the damn coronavirus. There's just the sound of frying bacon and making biscuits with tomato gravy and pear preserves and smothered potatoes and all that "Y'all" talk that's so comforting during this unhappy time.  (As one Yankee friend of mine said, we should all talk that way.)

I used to turn to Tara Brach, a Jewish Buddhist guru who lives in Bethesda, Maryland and offers guided meditations and stories about overcoming anxiety and quieting the voices in your head telling you to kill yourself, or others -- or Donald Trump and all the people who want to kill him, especially Rachel Maddow and that slimy Chris Hayes.

But no more. Now it's Cooking with Brenda Gantt that chases away my bad moods, like the old Mister Rogers Neighborhood did for children years ago. And with Brenda you get a dollop of God-loving religion along with useful cooking tips, like yesterday when she made buttermilk biscuits in a big bowl of flour just using one hand. It was like watching a magic act!  Really, check it out; she's on Facebook. As Brenda says, "This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice in it." So go ahead and rejoice.

Trump and I Are Twins

Donald Trump and I are similar in several ways. First of all, we are both the same age, almost exactly: born just nine days after me he is also a Gemini, no small thing. It means we have two separate personalities, one better than the other but both quite dependable, although one of them lies like a dog when necessary. ("Sorry we can't make it, my aunt died." "This brisket is cooked to perfection." "The crowds at my Inauguration were bigger than Obama's.") Secondly, we both color our hair so as not to go grey and thus appear younger. And third, we are both very smart and capable yet deemed to be idiots by the very people who allow us to make all kinds of important decisions for them. (So who's stupid?)

For example, I pay all our bills. (Yeah, yeah -- with the money he earns.) This includes the mortgage, both cars, heat, water, garbage pick-up, credit cards, doctors, dentists, insurance, internet, cell phones, cable, lawn service and plowing. I also make our charitable donations. Mitch never checks my work; he just assumes it's all been done correctly, which it has.

Last week I reserved a property on Airbnb for an October weekend with dear friends. I did it all by myself, like a big girl. In fact, like the same big girl who has arranged almost all of our accommodations for trips to Europe, Canada and here in the US for the past 33 years, which is many. Yet today, when I mentioned that a confirmation of our upcoming Airbnb stay had not arrived, despite my clicking RESERVE NOW, Mitch immediately concluded I "must have done it wrong."

Wasting no time to take charge, he insisted he should make the reservation properly since I had fucked it up. This offended me on several fronts: as a woman, as a Jew, and as the one who pays for every frickin' thing we do, buy or use. Anyway, after much ado about nothing it all got fixed, and without his help. But still -- it wasn't until Mitch got an email from Airbnb saying the trip was BOOKED that he believed I did it right.

I may be obnoxious but I'm not stupid, addled or evil. This is yet another way that I am like Donald Trump, and perhaps the most important thing for voters to keep in mind.

Fag is a Real Word

Excuse me homosexuals but the word fag is an authentic word with other meanings, it does not belong to you. Just like the word gay does not belong to you. You can't just take words from the English and British lexicon and call the your own, then freak out when someone uses them.

Tony Soprano for President

He's got my vote, and he's dead.

Clearly Barack Obama and Kamala Harris are both mentally ill. Each has stated that President Trump is responsible for every death from Covid-19 in the United States. This goes well beyond faulty thinking and into the realm of fantasy. As columnist Kimberly Strassel asks in today's Wall Street Journal, "Is it reasonable to blame a single politician for the spread of a highly infectious virus, especially in a free country with 50 states and 330 million people?"

No, it is not reasonable. Yet Harris stated that, "Donald Trump's failure of leadership has cost lives." Going deeper, Obama said that Trump has failed as a leader and that, "the consequences of that failure are severe: 170,000 Americans dead."

Come on people -- wake up and smell the bullshit! The Democrats are so desperate to dump Trump that they will say anything to light a fire under their catatonic, brainwashed followers. Like, for example, that Joe Biden would make a great leader. That's a good one. Or that the protesters in Portland, Oregon are "peaceful." Yeah, ha ha -- tell that to the two men who just had their heads bashed in on the streets of that city by a few of those who were protesting peacefully.

The sad reality is that it's all a crock. Two sides pitted against one another, willing to say and do anything to win the prize, is the best way to describe our election process these days. I plan to write in Tony Soprano. I know he's dead, and he wasn't even a real person when he was alive, but despite all that he's better than anyone else vying for the job.

Mask Misery and Mischief

* Yesterday I stopped for gas. The guy at the pump in front of me was maskless. No problem, as he wasn't within six feet of me or anyone else. But still, he lingered, cleaning his windshield and his side mirrors and preventing me from leaving after I had filled my tank. Finally he got back in his car -- there were no passengers -- and put on a face mask and drove off. What's the story with those lone masked drivers?

* According to several news sources, a woman traveling back to Boston from Orlando with her six children in tow was kicked off an airplane because her 2-year-old would not wear a face mask. "He's got to have his mouth and nose covered," the flight attendant insisted. Easier said than done, as any parent of a 2-year-old knows.

                                                                                                                            Wall Street Journal photograph

* Meanwhile, some adults in Florida remain confused on the subject. The two women shown above -- one a teacher and the other a parent -- photographed at a Tampa elementary school apparently weren't clued in to the whole covered-nose thing. Could this be why African Americans are contracting the coronavirus at higher rates?

Who's Uglier?

Remember when you're about to cast your ballot, you'll be seeing this mug constantly 

for the next four years, Joe Biden should live so long. 

Whose mug sickens you the least?

Why Listen to Trump?

New York Governor Andrew Cuomo: "Who, me?"

According to the Democrats, who hired actress Eva Longoria (even though she struggles with big words in those L'Oreal commercials: hy-a-lu-ro-nic acid is simply too hard for her) to host last night's televised, taped awards show, oops, I mean National Convention, the global pandemic is all Trump's fault. Yup, he mishandled it and thousands have died, needlessly. At least that's what Michelle Obama said in her gloom and doom speech. And by the way, doesn't she know that straightening her hair is outright cultural appropriation from White People?

Anyway, about Trump: I find this odd. First of all, he is only the President of the United States, not the entire world, so there's that. Secondly, for the past four years the Democrats have been drilling into our heads the message that Trump is an idiot! A complete buffoon! Unfit to rule, poop for brains, stupid, a nitwit and a moron! So why is it that when a highly contagious and unknown virus shows up, the one person everyone listens to, takes advice from and refuses to challenge is that dummy? Why follow his lead if he's a know-nothing? How about, instead, listening to all the scientists, medical professionals, governors, and other smarties in the know? Why put your eggs in one basket if the basket has a hole in the bottom?

It's hard to believe that so many people could have done that. Hmm, maybe some others are also culpable. Perhaps the deaths in New York aren't all Trump's fault after all. Waddya think Governor Cuomo, Mayor DeBlasio and Michelle?

Stop Aging Today!

Note to self: Buy anti-aging pillowcase before next birthday. Apparently there is now one on the market, and thank God I won't have to actually look my age anymore.

                                                     Illustration by Mark Lynch

Who knew that buying the wrong silk pillowcase, which is very easy to do I might add, can actually cause wrinkles? The one I saw advertised is made of mulberry silk, which as you know is the key to not growing older. I did not know and have been sleeping on cotton pillowcases my whole life and consequently I kept aging and got to be 74, which sucks. I am also going to invest in one of those anti-aging exercise videos I saw advertised on Instagram this morning. Both of those things together should certainly stop the clock.

Aren't modern-day scientists amazing? Okay, so they haven't found a cure for coronavirus and can't agree if the wearing of masks actually does more harm than good, but they can keep you from getting wrinkles, or at least diminish the look of the wrinkles you already have is what the fine print says, so when you actually contract the virus and die you will look fabulous in that casket. (For a dead person.)

Skeletons in Their Closets

Today I actually saw and heard Cory Booker state on national TV that, "Joe Biden and Kamala Harris will bring back decency, kindness and honor to the White House." All I can say about that is, "Ha!" and "Ha, ha!"

It's not their fault, really, since they are all politicians and everyone knows that most politicians, at least the Democratic ones, are lying, cheating megalomaniacs. (Former Congressman from South Carolina Trey Gowdy and current Ohio Congressman Jim Jordan are exempt, but that's another blog post.) Following are just a few examples of the decency, kindness and honor attributed to Biden and Harris.

Joe Biden is a known, and repeating, plagiarist. This habit of "borrowing" words and ideas from others started when he was back in law school and showed up again when he was running for president in 1987. It resurfaced last year when his campaign "acknowledged that it had lifted phrases, without attribution, from various nonprofit publications, in its climate and education plans." 

Kamala Harris had an affair with a married man 30 years her senior back when she was just getting started in her career as a prosecutor. (Hey, I also slept with married men in my younger days, which is one really big reason I have never run for office. That and the marijuana.)

Joe Biden arranged a high-paying job for his son in the Ukraine when he was Vice-President under Obama and responsible for foreign policy matters in that country. 

Kamala Harris was the attack dog during the grilling of Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh. 

Joe Biden has been accused of sexual assault by eight women.

During the first televised Democratic debate of this election cycle, Kamala Harris accused Joe Biden of blatant racism dating back to the early days of his political career. 

Joe Biden has always spun a sweet a tale of meeting his wife Jill after the death of his first wife. However, it has now been revealed (by Jill's ex-husband) that they were having an affair while both were still married to other people. Liar and cheater!

Kamala Harris kept innocent people on death row by blocking evidence that could have helped them, back when she was a prosecutor in California. 

And that's all the stuff that is common knowledge. Just imagine what skeletons are rattling around in their closets.

Another Reason to Hate the Rich

Wedding in the Hamptons this summer, no masks or social distancing required.

Recently I wrote about the folly of testing for the coronavirus. Every single doctor interviewed by anyone has said the tests currently in use are often wrong. Negatives can be "false negatives" and positives can be "false positives." In addition, even if you are negative at the time of the test there's no way of knowing if you contract the virus hours, days or weeks later, possibly even at the testing site. What's the poin

So it's amusing to read the lead article in the Sunday Styles section of yesterday's New York Times that describes in nauseating detail the current practice among the wealthy to have their guests take a "rapid test" for the virus (at the cost of $500 a pop) to gain entry into an event in the Hamptons, that enclave of monied morons on the water at the tip of Long Island, NY. Coronavirus or not, "This is still a party town."

The testee arrives, all gussied up for a night of drinking, dancing and elbow-rubbing at the home of some bigwig, or maybe it's a child's sleepover or simply an intimate dinner for four, and is met by Dr. Asma Rashid, "who runs a members-only medical concierge service in the Hamptons." She sticks a swab up the nose or does a finger prick that will give a result in 30 minutes. Until then, the persons tested wait outside, in their limo or Ferrari or whatever, until given the all-clear to enter.

Dr. Rashid is very busy doing these quick-result tests, tripling her staff and opening up a second office in nearby Bridgehampton. She describes her growth as "exponential." Many clients book her in advance when they anticipate hosting guests for a sleepover, a barbecue or a wedding. "But some summon her at 2 a.m. for a last-minute test or stop by her office in a panic after attending a crowded gathering."

Meanwhile, most of the country waits seven to fourteen days for tests results.

I'm Bloody Pissed

Some newspaper cartoonist in Australia got in a whole lot of trouble for labeling Kamala Harris, in his cartoon, a "little brown girl" even though Joe Biden said something quite similar in a speech he made. And what's the big deal? Isn't that exactly why she was chosen as the Democratic candidate for VP?

Go figure. Political correctness is sometimes just too hard to second-guess. Same goes for which words are okay to say and which are not. Today, while chatting with my opponent on the Words With Friends app, I wrote that I was "pissed" after he beat me four times in a row. He answered it must be that second martini he had, and I responded that to keep up I was gonna fix myself a Bloody Mary. Only my words came out like this: "I'm p****d! I need a B****y  Mary."

I tried typing it several times but each time it came out the same way. To the censors over at Words With Friends, you simply can be neither pissed nor bloody, while here at Blogger it's perfectly fine, as you can see by the title of this post. I wonder, who decides?

The Folly of Testing

YEARS AGO I HAD A FRIEND WHO WENT FOR HER ANNUAL MAMMOGRAM, as did most women back then. This was in the early 1990s when a yearly mammogram was advised. Her results were normal, so, confident that she was healthy, Terry slacked off on breast self-exams and went about her busy life caring for her three kids. What she couldn't know was that soon after, a tumor took root inside her breast. By the time she had the next mammogram, her Stage-4 cancer  required a double mastectomy, a bone marrow transplant and two months of hospitalization. Fortunately, she survived.

I think of her whenever I hear people clamoring for more Covid testing. Why?

Joe, Shoveling the Shit

Joe getting ready to meet with  the climate.

I just turned on the TV for a few minutes looking for the afternoon news but instead saw Joe Biden, a dead-ringer for his wax statue at Madame Tussaud's except less lifelike, saying what he and Kamala Harris, his newly-appointed second banana, have in store for us. It's pretty exciting stuff, I must say.

For starters, the two of them are going to "meet the climate crisis." Not sure how, when or where that meeting will take place or who will be in attendance. The wind? The sun? The mind boggles. Anyway, I'm stoked.

He also said that he and Kamala will "deliver millions of jobs to those currently unemployed." So I guess that means they will end Covid-19 so everyone can go back to all those shuttered workplaces. Very cool! And best of all, they will "restore the soul of the country so we can all move forward." I for one desperately need some soul restoration, and I'm hoping that "moving forward" means I will finally lose those stubborn ten pounds and fit into my skinny pants. 

Poor Kamala

Yesterday Kamala Harris was named as the Democrat's choice for VP on the ticket headed by Joe Biden. All the pictures in the news show her smiling from ear to ear, like she's just won the lottery or something. That's just one way I'm different from her. I'd be wondering what's to be happy about.

Here's Kamala before she didn't have to look happy all the time.

Thanks to our 24-hour news cycle, Kamala's life is about to turn really bad. Her personal history will be picked apart like a turkey carcass the day after Thanksgiving. Pictures of her will appear worldwide, in every newspaper and on the internet. TV's talking heads and late-night comics will gleefully distort her every move; some will be flattering, others not. Soon enough her worst facial features will be exaggerated to portray her in political cartoons. She will become fodder for Twitter, Facebook, Tik-Tok, Instagram and every other crummy website and blog (like this one) where the masses, including those clueless unemployed basement-dwellers, will chew her up and spit her out.

No more late night partying for her! She'll have to wake up early every day, schlep out of bed and then sit still while someone does her hair and makeup, then dress up nice to attend meetings with stuffy old men like Joe Biden, who she will have to let smell her hair and squeeze her shoulders. Her DNC handlers will tell her what to say and how to say it, reminding her to smile, smile, smile, even when she doesn't feel well, like if her bunions hurt or she's battling symptoms of menopause -- she is after all 55. And of course she'll have to lie like a dog; that's a given.

All for what? Remind me. Oh right, if the Democrats win she can be trotted around the country like a prize show horse, attending county fairs and funerals of dignitaries, and fly off to long meetings with world leaders who are mostly other stodgy old men like Joe, but with accents. Worst of all, she'll have to live in Washington, D.C. where it's a long, hot summer for months on end and those daily afternoon thunderstorms are wicked. Plus the humidity makes your hair very frizzy.

Good luck Kamala! You're gonna need it.

Free Advice for Doctors

Earlier today I had foot surgery. Well, more like a procedure on my foot that involved it being cut with a sharp tool and bandaged to stop the bleeding afterward. It was a biopsy for a suspicious mole, and you know those are not to be trusted. The whole thing took maybe three minutes, but I have worried about it for the past five weeks. This is just plain stupid. So yes, I am calling myself stupid.

It's just that when I went to the dermatologist last time and he spotted the thing, nestled cosily between two toes to avoid being seen, he set up today's appointment and added, "It's probably nothing but we need to check it out. It might hurt a little." So of course my brain filtered out the part about it probably being nothing and went with the fact that it would hurt. Maybe. A little. Still, whenever I flashed on the upcoming appointment, that's what I thought of.

So here's my advice to doctors: Don't say scary shit! Just say, "It's nothing, don't give it another thought." Jeeze, what do they teach these kids in med school anyway?

How to Save Your Life

It's best to stay indoors these days since the world outside has gone nuts.

So now the "peaceful protesters" are destroying good neighborhoods, not just their own crappy ones. Recent incidents in Chicago saw throngs of looters causing huge amounts of damage to many high-end structures, crashing cars into the glass fronts of fancy department stores, then running inside and coming out with armloads of merchandise. In the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, D.C., groups of "peaceful protesters" marched through the lovely, manicured streets late at night, shouting obscenities and freaking out residents. And for what? Oh right, because black lives matter.

Here in Maine, those Black Lives Matter signs are springing up like weeds. The nicer the neighborhood, the more signs you see. The funny part is that they are prevalent in areas where one has never even seen a black person with a life that matters or not, since our black population is only 1.7%. So exactly what is the homeowner saying? Whenever I see one of those signs I mentally translate it to, "Please Don't Hurt Me."

Political Pussy-grabbing

I am old enough to remember when the President of the United States was chosen based on merit. What mattered was the candidate's political experience, innate leadership capabilities, accumulated knowledge of world affairs and ability to connect with the people.

Those days are long gone. Now we have candidate Joe Biden, who has clearly exhibited signs of senile dementia and surely, if elected, will not serve a whole term, choosing a running mate who will likely succeed him to the Oval Office based on two factors and two factors only: genitals and skin color.

Poor Joe, who is being led around by the Democratic machine, is being forced to name a running mate who is black and female. That's it. The only requirements. As the also-senile black California Congresswoman Maxine Waters, age 81, put it two days ago, "He can't go home without a black woman being VP." Seems like the Democrats, who call Trump a "pussy-grabbing racist" every chance they get, plan on doing just that themselves. 

Film Review: DALLAS BUYERS CLUB

If you think the Covid-19 pandemic is bad, it may help to recall when AIDS first hit the streets. To refresh your memory, the 2013 based-on-a-true-story Dallas Buyers Club brings it all back with a wallop. I passed on this film when it played in theaters because it seemed too depressing, and it turns out it is. But the fact that both lead actors, Matthew McConaughey and Jared Leto, won well-deserved Oscars for their performances (Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor) softens the blow of the film's dire plot.

McConaughey is especially memorable in his role as Ron Woodroof, a Texas electrician and part-time cowboy who loves the ladies and thus is shocked by an AIDS diagnosis giving him just 30 days to live. He rejects this outright and storms out of the doctor's office, intent on proving him wrong. And he does.

Instead of dying, Ron sets about finding a cure for himself and others like him, eventually setting up a "club" for selling unapproved drugs he obtains in Mexico and other foreign countries, thereby extending the lives of hundreds of gay men who would otherwise die from the FDA-approved drugs that weren't working. One of those poor souls is Rayon (Jared Leto), a trans-woman Ron meets in the hospital who is a drug addict dying of AIDS. They eventually become close friends despite Ron's initial disgust and repulsion of Rayon's female lifestyle, he/she all gussied up in nail polish, makeup, high heels, flowing dresses and long hair.

Be forewarned, between Ron and Rayon there's a lot of coughing up of blood. There are also many scenes of nude dancing at topless bars featuring closeups of various bodily orifices, and three-way sex between unwholesome characters, so if you are prudish or sensitive about that sort of thing, stay away. Otherwise the film is a powerful reminder that pandemics come and pandemics go. Also, it's a chance to see McConaughey, a former sex symbol, looking rail-skinny after losing almost fifty pounds for the role (see photo). He is stunningly convincing as someone hanging out at death's door.

Unlock Your Imagination

Now that's using your head!

Does everything always have to be a fight? It seems like no matter what the issue regarding public policy, two sides emerge that are pitted viciously against each other. People either think Dr. Anthony Fauci is a saint or the devil. They either fear the virus or else they think it's a concocted conspiracy and nothing to worry about.

Lately the battles have been about the wearing of face masks to prevent the spread of coronavirus and whether or not public schools should open. Soon enough, and with any luck, it will be about whether or not to get the vaccine to prevent it; surely a group of clamorous naysayers will declare that it's a government plot to control them.

It's so tiring. Wouldn't it be nice to just all agree on something besides French fries, pizza and ice cream? Imagine how nice things would be if we all liked and respected our elected leaders, whatever party they happen to represent. While we're at it, imagine how nice summer would be without mosquitos.

And the Crazies Shall Lead Us

Bipolar, possibly schizophrenic rapper Kanye West is running for president as a third party candidate.  He's already collected signatures to get on the ballot in several states. His pick for VP is a white female "spiritual coach," and his campaign motto is "Yes!"

West says his goal is to funnel votes away from Joe Biden, the demented 77-year-old running on the Democratic ticket, and help re-elect Donald Trump, the possibly sociopathic 74-year-old incumbent. Okay, sure, the sky is falling -- but at least the mentally ill are finally being recognized as having value in our society.

Fear Wins This Round

I may have enemies, but if so they have not shown themselves. Except for one, and it's a big one, and so far unconquerable. It's not a being, human or otherwise, but a feeling. It's Fear. As we all know, Fear is quite popular. Most people have cowered beneath it -- or him or her, not sure what pronouns it goes by -- at one time or another. Usually it just makes me uncomfortable in certain situations, like on an airplane, or keeps me from getting a good night's sleep. But this time it has greatly altered plans I was excited about.

My husband and I were to spend a week on Monhegan Island, 12 miles off the coast of Maine in the Atlantic Ocean, at the end of August. We rented a tiny two-room cabin atop the highest point of the island, affording spectacular views and a strenuous hike up and down into town. We were looking forward to it until a friend of mine, who happens to be a medical professional, reminded me that there are no doctors or nurses on the island, in fact no medical care of any kind. What would I do if I felt sick, like when I had my heart attack three years ago, or if my blood pressure spiked in the middle of the night?

I shrugged off her comments, but they invaded my dreams that night and have been rattling around my brain ever since. A little research revealed that A, an artist exactly my age died there of a heart attack two years ago and B, in the event of an emergency a Life Flight helicopter would be summoned and I would be flown to the closest hospital on the mainland. Hey, what fun! (No.)

So Fear won out and I canceled the reservation and instead we are going somewhere equally beautiful on the mainland within a reasonable ambulance drive to a hospital. I'm not proud, but I am relieved. Maybe in my next life I will conquer that particular enemy, but for now I am relatively confident that my next life won't start while I'm on vacation at the end of this month.

On Being Bug Food

Today, like every weekday when my husband comes home from his office, he goes out to check on his garden, or as he says, "water my vegetables." This cracks me up as that's exactly what my now-deceased uncle, Chief of Anesthesia and the ICU at his  Baltimore hospital, always said before leaving for work in the morning.

Anyway, that's beside the point.

So Mitch goes out to see his garden, and it's usually about 6:30 in the evening, and as he walks out the door he mentions, as always, that he hopes he doesn't get any mosquito bites. Dusk being dinnertime for mosquitos, I always suggest that he apply bug spray. But he hates the stuff and replies, without fail, that he'll "take his chances." Five minutes later he returns moaning that he got six or seven new bites.

This is a man that graduated sixth out of 700 in his high school class, and he was a year younger than everyone else. Then he attended and graduated from a very good college, Carnegie-Mellon University in Pittsburgh. So you can just imagine how many mosquito bites dumb people get each summer.

Life's Lessons

Crazed man attempting suicide by hot dog ingestion.

By now (age 74) I should have learned a lot of useful information about how to live a successful life. I could die at any moment, and so the wisdom I have will die with me unless I write it down and offer it to my readers, most especially my own son who never reads this blog but surely will after I'm dead, and feel sorry he didn't when I was alive. Oh well, can't change that. Anyway, as I have done before, I will now list the things that are essential to enjoying this precious and fleeting time we have each been given here on Earth.

1. Take care of your body as it is the vehicle you wake up in every day and spend all your time inside. If you ruin it by making it sick, you will suffer greatly and miss out on much of the good stuff in life. This means eat well, exercise often and never knowingly ingest poisons. (For a list of poisons, see below.)

2. Avoid toxic relationships. It's so much better to go through life alone than stuck with people who drain your spirit by constantly criticizing your every move, denigrating your ideas and generally making you feel like an idiot, although I do maintain that nobody can make you feel like an idiot except yourself.

3. Learn how to control your thoughts. As thoughts are mere fantasy, they often run amok and destroy that desired state of grace called "peace of mind." Controlling them can be achieved in many ways, although I have found that having a mantra and repeating it when your thoughts turn negative does the trick.

4. Drink your coffee black. If not you will waste valuable time, adding up to days or even weeks over the course of your lifetime, running out of cream, or when dining out trying to find cream that isn't spoiled, or having to use that powdered coffee "whitener" or who knows what else. This is especially true for foreign travel. Just drink the damn coffee as God intended!

5. And speaking of God, belief in a Higher Power makes the whole thing so much easier to bear.

Poisons:

Killer Cheeto.

cotton candy
funnel cake
blueberry bagels
cyanide tablets
deep-fried chocolate covered Oreos
laundry pods
candy apples
Windex
caramel apples
peanut brittle
toilet bowl cleaner
Ben & Jerry's ice cream
cinnamon buns
white bread
Cheetos
bleach
hot dogs
formaldehyde
lead paint
cigarettes

Buy American

The older I get, the less I care about trivia. And what I have come to understand is that most of what occupies most of us, most of the time, is trivia. Take, for example, getting a flat tire. Usually it's a royal pain in the ass but one that is fleeting and requires little beyond elbow grease or, lacking that, membership in AAA. The spare gets installed and you are on your way.

Not when you own a BMW. An expensive BMW that's got all the bells and whistles. Like it senses when you drift over the painted yellow line and gives you a little buzz in your seat. And the speed you're driving is digitally projected onto the windshield, alongside the speed limit for whatever road you are currently on. Cool, right? But God forbid you get a flat tire, like my husband did last Friday. That's right, today is Monday and he got a flat last Friday and his fancy-schmancy car will be ready tomorrow.

In the interim I had to go rescue him after he had his car towed (there's that AAA membership) to a Ford dealership two miles from our home, where they ultimately could not fix it because A, there was no spare tire and B, there's some kind of special tool required, made in Germany so you know it's authentic.

So today my husband, who I had to drive to work this morning and then pick up later to get his car from the Ford dealership, drove his BMW, flat tire and all, the twenty or so miles to the BMW dealership, after which he had to procure a rental car to drive himself home and then back there tomorrow to pick up his car with its flat tire fixed.

Those Germans. Somehow they managed to design and build complicated train lines leading to death chambers where they gassed millions of people, but changing a flat tire is a whole big deal.

I Am A Racist

"Racist" has become a label that implies you are worse than a murderer, a rapist, a kidnapper or a sexual predator. It is now hurled about like a Molotov cocktail to destroy your worst enemy. It's the most heinous crime in America. This is crazy. And worst of all, I've grown tired of hearing about it and so has everyone else, except maybe for Al Sharpton since it's how he earns a living.

If blacks in America want the same considerations granted to all Americans, then why do they label themselves as African Americans? And why have they chosen to adopt fantastical, foreign and nonsense-sounding names instead of the names everyone but them uses, and in fact they themselves used for many years?

I know these very questions will make some people think I am a racist, but guess what: I might be one. Of course I notice race. I can see, can't I? I can tell immediately if someone has black or brown skin. Am I supposed to not see? While a person's skin color does not tell me much else about them, I for sure know when they are not white. So alright already, I guess I'm a racist. Okay, fine. Sue me.