The Bar Harbor Plantation

Last week my husband and I spent a few days with visiting out-of-town friends in Bar Harbor, Maine, the largest town near Acadia National Park. With all the trees dressed in their autumn finery, the glowing colors and natural beauty of the area did not disappoint, despite a soggy end to our trip. What did disappoint was our two-night stay at the fancy-shmancy Bar Harbor Inn.

Beautifully located right on the harbor, the Inn commands fabulous views of Frenchman's Bay, a large body of water off the Atlantic Ocean. Our room was priced higher than some others on the property because it faced that view, and I took full advantage of it on our first morning by taking about a thousand pictures of the sunrise over the water. But that was the only good thing abut it.

The hotel itself, while acceptably pretty in its common areas, leaves a lot to be desired in the pricy guest rooms. Torn upholstery, chipped furniture, hideous art, rubber foam pillows, no extra blankets and an outdated climate control system left us pretty miserable at night. (Great shower pressure, however.) But the worst thing about our stay was the blatant feeling of racism that permeates the place.

All the guests were white, at least while we were there. And all the servers were black. I mean ALL the servers, and the desk clerks and the cleaning staff. Apparently help is hard to come by these days due to COVID and the college students going back to school, so the hotel took action and recruited workers from Jamaica. Okay, I guess you can't blame them for that. But didn't they consider how that would come across? 

At dinner the large, formal dining room, with its gold chandeliers, white linen tablecloths, white walls, and white guests were punctuated by the black servers, each one dressed in all black and of course wearing black face masks! It was like being on a southern plantation back in the day. And while they must have been pleased to be employed, none of the staff seemed any too happy about being there. Friendly chit-chat was nowhere in evidence. The same was true at the Continental breakfast, where the black staff members stuck to themselves and avoided any interaction with the guests unless they were asked for help.

Bottom line: The owners of the Bar Harbor Inn need to rethink their staffing protocol and give the place a thorough update. (The food wasn't that good either.)

Wokeism 101

I thought I was done with institutionalized learning, but I recently was schooled by a self-described woke person that saying, "My best friend is gay and his husband is black and we shared a house for 14 years," in response to someone calling me a racist who doesn't know anything about me actually makes me even more of a racist just by saying it! Huh! Imagine that. 

Well, I learn pretty quick. Here are some things you won't catch me ever saying:

Some of my best friends are morbidly obese.

Some of my best friends are Muslim. 

Some of my best friends are transgender.

See, I'm not a racist after all. At least not towards those folks.

Beware the Metaverse

Mark Zuckerberg thinks if he changes the name of his company from Facebook to Meta people will not hold him responsible for the dastardly results of his invention. Poor Mark. Well, not poor Mark but actually very, very rich Mark -- he is sadly mistaken. His new company, which promises to make a whole new virtual world where humans can interact with others as avatars, will likely cause even more psychological harm to future generations of children who will grow up living in his "metaverse" and never feel the wind on their faces or walk in the woods or do anything in the real, old-fashioned world.

Life is getting stranger every day here on Earth. The best you can do is eat your fruits and veggies, drink plenty of  water and get outside as much as you can while there still is an outside to get to.

Two Sad Questions

What is it about politics that brings out the worst in people? 

America is in trouble on many fronts and Joe Biden has only exacerbated things since he took office. Not only has he gradually destroyed the economy and worsened the chaotic immigration situation, but the already huge chasm between the Left and the Right has gotten far wider and more vicious under his shaky reign.

I've been seeing the truth of the latter in an all-too-personal way ever since my husband decided to run for a seat on our Town Council, a volunteer position that promises to bring him continued heartache if you ask me, but that's just my opinion, certainly not his. Locally, hideous creatures have been crawling out from under various rocks and saying terrible, untrue things about Mitch on Facebook and in personal messages to him. It's truly shocking, reminiscent of the low bar set by the liberals during the Trump administration.

We can only wonder: Can things get any worse?

The Tyranny of Small Minds

According to a certain group of howler monkeys dead-set on derailing my husband's campaign for a seat on the Freeport Town Council, I am a racist because I stated, in one post, that America does not suffer from systemic racism. This very denial makes me a racist, shout these small-minded people unable to comprehend any but the most childish concepts.

I will not bore you or myself with a detailed list naming names of African Americans who have achieved success in this country as jurists, legislators, doctors, lawyers, teachers, musicians, business executives,  actors, sports figures, scientists, journalists, artists, and TV personalities. I will merely point out that they exist in high numbers, each earning millions of dollars in income, enjoying fabulous lifestyles with multiple homes and ridiculous yachts. Would this be the case if America were systemically racist?

So George Floyd, a petty criminal with a long record of jail time and drug addiction, was wrongly and mercilessly killed by a white cop with obvious mental problems, and suddenly all whites have hate in their hearts for all blacks? That conclusion is misguided, stupid and downright silly. 

Still, the so called "woke" people who are actually sound asleep believe this claptrap and register their HORROR by doing what? By tearing down ancient statues of historical miscreants or sticking lawn signs outside their homes declaring Black Lives Matter. Sorry but that won't fix it.

So go ahead, ladies -- continue to cast aspersions on my husband because of what I write here, if that makes you feel better about yourselves and your own past misdeeds. (Methinks they doth protest too much.) I agree that racism thrives in the hearts of some Americans, but certainly not in most and certainly not in mine.

Coming Out

Reading the daily newspaper from cover to cover clarifies the inescapable fact that humans are devolving and soon enough will be crawling on all fours. They are also incredibly mean-spirited, taking any opportunity to discredit those with differing values or opinions. This has become tragically evident as my husband seeks a seat on our local Town Council, a position which in importance is a mere drop in the pond scum called politics. Mitch's sterling reputation, fair-mindedness and unassailable intelligence is being denigrated by a howling bunch of moronic "woke" banshees who don't like my blog, as if what I write has anything to do with him!

So for those reasons and more, starting today I will lead the trend and identify as a cat. My pronouns are "kitty" and "it." I will spend my days in the woods, batting at flying insects and chasing little critters, then come inside for a bite to eat, a snort of catnip and a nap on the couch. No handshakes or fist bumps for me, instead I expect tummy rubs from my housemate and all visitors to our home. Anything less will simply not be tolerated. (A few shredded curtains and the occasional hairball should make that clear.)

I will not be having any surgery. Instead I'll just grow my nails really long and wear one of those discarded knit pink pussy hats from the old days you can find in thrift shops and on eBay. 

Naturally I will expect my decision to be respected by everyone. I will also be pressing for more of my kind, both natural and trans-feline, to be admitted to the hallowed halls of universities and the highest echelons of major corporations. My dream is to see a Domestic Shorthair as President. That shouldn't be hard -- after all there's a pussy in the Oval Office right now.

Better Not Say What You Think!

This poor guy found out too late.

Cancel culture has completely destroyed the brains of many Americans, who no longer even try to have their own thoughts or opinions on almost everything for fear of reprisals. God forbid they say something that isn't approved by the Mob and the Government! Instead, they look to Twitter and Facebook to see what's trending and adopt those ideals as their own.

A particularly telling example of this craziness is the 2022 Fiscal Budget of the Biden Administration, which replaces the word "mothers" with "birthing persons." This is to make transgendered men who have a uterus and get pregnant (because they are actually women) feel okay about their decisions and continue to vote Democratic. Soon enough the powers that be will get their hands on the Bible and eradicate Adam and Eve by saying, "God spent six days making humans of various genders, all capable of bearing fruit from their loins." (One can assume that on the seventh day He curled up in a fetal position and wept.)

Fortunately there are some holdouts among the younger generation, so perhaps there is still hope for this insanity to peter out. In today's Wall Street Journal, college students were asked their opinions on cancel culture. Following is one response from a student at the University of Pennsylvania:

"Make no mistake: Cancel culture is censorship disguised as justice. It is the brainchild of radical groups that supposedly champion tolerance yet vilify anyone who resists their increasingly farcical demands. At best, cancel culture is a kind of petulance. At worst, it is the antithesis of free speech." 

The Power of the Blob Mob

I'm surprised this hasn't made the national news, but in the last two days a slew of women have been having cows all over town. Apparently it's because of this blog and all the "hateful things" I have written here! For example, I once called a local woman "snooty." This is another word for snobby, and is used to describe a person who believes they have better taste or higher standards than other people and treats them in a condescending way because of it.

The woman, who has since passed on, actually did have better taste and higher standards, and many people feared her for that reason. I liked her: An art lover, she had great clothes, a dramatic sense of style and a terrific personality. One of the times I had lunch with her I brought along an artist friend who wanted to meet this woman. My friend was terrified all during the meal that she would do or say something wrong because she found Mabel so intimidating. "You mean sort of snooty?" I asked her afterwards. "Yes, that's it," my friend answered.

In another post, actually several posts, I criticized fat people, mocking the concept of "fat acceptance." They are also unhealthy and poor role models for their kids, who end up fat themselves and with diabetes by age 11. Obesity kills, costing the health and insurance industries tons (haha) of money every year. I understand food addiction, believe me, as I have battled it myself. But it is an addiction and should be regarded as such -- with disdain, certainly not acceptance.

Another faux pas of mine was mocking all those Black Lives Matter signs on front lawns, especially when  the people proclaiming such have no black friends, which is often the case here in Maine. They just stick up that sign and figure they've done their part to end discrimination as well as protect themselves from possible harm, sort of like wearing a necklace of garlic to ward off Death.

None of this has ever mattered to anyone but a handful of loyal readers who have enjoyed my daily musings. But suddenly, with my husband running for a seat on the local Town Council, the hatemongers on the other side are hoping to discredit him by spreading the word that his wife is Evil. Usually I have between 100 to 200 daily readers. So far today that number is 3,077.

Never underestimate the power of a fat, unhappy Democrat.

 

Marriage Has Its Limits

It's been brought to my attention that certain readers of this blog find it offensive and are trashing it on Facebook. This is odd since reading it is completely optional. I have also learned that the aforementioned readers/trashers live in my town, a teeny-tiny speck on the map called Freeport (pop. 8,737 at last count) in the state of Maine (population 1.3 million). So we are not talking a major metropolis, just a cluster of humanoids in a somewhat dull and insignificant part of the country. Heck, Maine isn't even mentioned on The Weather Channel (which pisses me off by the way)!

Anyway, the reason these people are reading my blog has nothing at all to do with me, it's just that my husband is running for a seat on the Town Council and so politics rears its ugly head, even in the shallowest end of a kiddie pool. The shocking things I have written here -- you can decide what's shocking -- are being attributed to him, even though I wrote them.

So for those self-righteous fat ladies reading this post -- I can't help thinking they are self-righteous and fat and ladies -- try to understand that when two people marry they might share a name, a bed and a bank account but they almost always maintain separate brains. I say "almost" because of my old friend Nancy who said she never read the paper or watched the news because her husband did and, "Marty tells me what to think!"

Brought Down by Morgan Freeman

Gregory Hines

According to AOL and Instagram and Facebook I am armed and dangerous. Armed not with guns but with a brain and the guts to speak what I see as the truth. Because of that I cannot promise how long this blog will be allowed to publish on this platform, what with me saying outrageous things like I'm sick of Morgan Freeman, which I did yesterday. This morning I received a notice that my "hate speech" is under review because it does not meet community standards, meaning hate speech is only appropriate when aimed at Donald Trump.  

Still, I dislike Freeman, not only in every role he has played but in all his sanctimonious commercial spots done in that smug, somber tone of voice we are supposed to consider Shakespearean. I stand by my dislike of Freeman even though he's black and you're not supposed to say bad things about black people unless you are a black rapper and then anything goes, even murder (see Da Baby). An icon of the entertainment world, Freeman is not only black but articulate and (I'm assuming) clean, like Obama was when Joe Biden cited him for being just that.

To plead my case and thus not get kicked off the Internet I will remind the censors that I have written here before of my devotion to Dave Chappelle, Denzel Washington, Stanley on The Office, Idris Elba and the late Gregory Hines, who was my all-time heartthrob until he tragically died at age 57 in 2003. We must never forget him -- the greatest tap dancer ever, IMHO.

Life Could Be A Dream

I recently came across a question running around the Internet that was fairly interesting: What one thing on Earth would you delete? My mind was instantly flooded with so many things, it was hard to pick just one. Some things go without saying, like childhood cancer and tailgaters. Other things are a bit less in-your-face on a daily basis, but still, if they were gone, imagine how great life would be. Following are some of those: 

Mosquitos 

Laugh tracks (What are we, morons? We can't tell what's funny?)

MS-13 (and more like them)

Cancel culture

Spam

Poisonous snakes

Ticks

Political parties

Obesity 

Robocalls

Cigarettes

Flo (although she falls under Advertising, really she's become more than that.)

I'm Straight and Queer

  

Interchangeable parts are so Mr. Potato Head.

Hey, all you LGBTQ people, leave the English language alone already, wouldja? You already took away "gay," which used to mean happy and now it means having sex with someone with the same genitalia as you, a far different meaning you would have to agree. 

Then you took away "queer," meaning strange or odd, which is how I feel every day of my life when I wake up and look at the world now. So I'm queer but straight. I only have sex with men -- real men, not ones manufactured through hormones and surgery. And being married I only have sex with one man, but he's got the right stuff, if you know what I mean.

Next, and most baffling, "they" now can mean one person, even though we were all taught that "they" always refers to more than one. But I guess there are some people who think there are more than one of themselves since they have both a beard and a vagina, or whatever parts they have chosen. A whole class of people are now self-created, like Mr. Potato Heads.

I feel empowered to write this because last night I watched the latest Dave Chappelle special on Netflix, called The Closer. It's a riot, unless you have decided to become transgender and then you might be offended. Dave lets it rip on the whole God-got-it-wrong-so-change-your-gender movement, and the live audience he's performing in front of laps it up. Dave gets away with saying things that many other people are thinking but would get beat up for saying out loud. 

All of the aforementioned makes me feel queer. Like I need a dose of Pesto-Bismol just to read the paper or watch the news. Whatever happened to Normal America?

The Poison of Politics

This blog began as a way for me to keep writing after losing my Washington Post gig when we moved from D.C. to Maine a dozen years ago. I had caught the 750-word column bug in the late 1990s writing for a Salt Lake City newspaper, and it stuck. So that's my mission statement.

At first it was just funny, Seinfeld sort of  stuff, and a movie review every so often. But then politics started creeping in. And then cancel culture. And before I knew it I was writing about the Dreadful Democrats, even though most of my friends vote Democrat and I don't consider any of them dreadful. 

Still, I hope my friends understand that I'm not talking about them, but about Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer and Maxine Waters and Richard Blumenthal and our President and Veep and all the other elected leaders who spew lies and vitriol and blame the Republicans for anything bad that comes along.

But I guess that some readers who have found their way here have taken offense. Most recently I lost a dear friend who holds fast to her Democratic ideals. We used to get together for lunch every couple of months and had a rousing good time together, but now she claims she's "too busy" and doesn't foresee a time when she won't be. (Too busy to eat?)

This is sad, but not sad enough for me to put a sock in it and stop writing what I think. I will do so until the Nazis, I mean the Democrats, come pounding on my door in the middle of the night to cart me away, which I'm sure is not too far off, considering. Bottom line: Losing friends is not as bad as losing yourself.

A Rude Awakening

You know those TV commercials for sleep aids and pillows that show people waking up with a smile, stretching happily and jumping out of bed, then rushing to the window to gaze out at a brand new beautiful day? That was not the scene at my house this morning. 

No, it wasn't. Instead, I was rudely awakened by a tick burrowing its way into my head. It was still dark at five in the morning, and while I did jump out of bed, that's where the similarity to those commercials ended. 

My shrieks of horror woke my husband. He was not happy either, since his ominous task was obvious to both of us. Digging around my scalp with a pair of tweezers (mercilessly I might add, despite the fact that yesterday he was all sweetness and light on our 35th anniversary), Mitch successfully removed the disgusting little creature in its entirety, but not very easily and with much cursing from both of us. 

It was nothing at all like those commercials. You never see stuff like that on TV, even though it is a far more likely occurrence than the smiling, stretching pillow people, at least here in Maine during deer tick season, which is basically all the time except when there is snow on the ground, and then you have to deal with all that snow on the ground. Anyway, remind me never to go outside again.

Gabby Petito, Clickbait

Makeshift memorial for Gabby in Florida.

After just two days of posting about Gabby Petito, I fully understand how the news business works. You go with a story and if it gets clicks, you go with it the next day too, and the next and the next, until people lose interest. Until then, you grab their attention and all the advertisers along with it.

I don't have any advertisers and I don't want any attention, but it is satisfying to see the numbers of readers I've gotten for a particular post. Putting it more plainly, it's fun. And fun is hard to come by these days, what with a global pandemic holding us hostage for almost two years. Then along comes Gabby and Brian, and we can forget ourselves for awhile and focus on the pretty angel girl and her devil boyfriend.

Amazingly, there are all kinds of memorials to this 22-year-old high school graduate who we never heard of while she was alive. But somehow in death she's the new Joan of Arc. "She touched the world," says a sign at one location, adding, "Justice for Gabby." And exactly what would that justice be? Find Brian and nail him to a cross in the town square? Forbid men to kill their girlfriends from this day forward, starting now?

The truth is, if you meet an untimely end like they do on Law & Order: SVU, you're clickbait until the next pretty young thing, usually white, outdies you.

Enough Gabby Talk

The body of a young white woman who had been missing was discovered in a wooded area. That's not too unusual since there were at least four black women and girls murdered per day in the United States in 2020, according to statistics released by the FBI last week, a sharp increase compared with the year before.

But for some reason this particular murder of this particular girl has become big news, with newspaper and magazine stories written daily and constant TV coverage of "the details" night and day. Why is that? 

She was pretty, she was blonde and her boyfriend did it. Sounds like a made-for-TV movie on Lifetime, right? And everyone knows those are quite popular. So, chasing ratings, the executives at various news organizations have continued to plug the Gabby Petito murder, milking it for all it's worth. 

This is insulting to the families of every other murder victim. The Petito Family should shut it down. Instead they have started a GoFundMe page and some sort of memorial fund to Gabby so this will "never happen again." Yeah, right, like they can stop human nature.

Turn the page already.

Gabby Petito, Dead TV Star

The Petito Family on Dr. Phil's TV show.

Young Gabby Petito's family has been doing the TV interview circuit since her lifeless body was discovered two weeks ago. This makes me crazy. I mean crazier than I already am. Just now I saw them on the news -- the mom, the dad, the step-dad and the sister -- all quite composed and ready for their 15 minutes of fame. They answered questions  like, "When did you realize that Gabby wasn't coming home?" The mom actually laughed a few times.

I can hardly allow myself to think of something as horrible as my grown son being murdered by his significant other and having his body found in a wooded area and his face plastered on TV and on magazine covers everywhere, day in and day out, but if I try hard I come up with the following most likely scenarios:

1. I would kill myself immediately.

2. Lacking the nerve to do that, and not wanting to hurt my husband any further, I would stay in bed all the time, stop eating, and cry constantly.

3. I would probably get up to feed my cat, which originally belonged to my son, but that's it.

Certainly, I would never go on TV and answer the simpering questions of the simpering reporters who only want to increase their ratings with sensational tidbits concerning my life-destroying loss. Really, Petito Family, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

Do Something Productive for a Change

Unless you are running for office, giving your attention to the daily goings-on of our elected leaders provides most of us little of use except fodder for arguments. Getting into shouting matches with people of different political leanings makes as much sense as  standing outside, shaking your fist at the sky and screaming, "Don't rain!" 

Say you hate Joe Biden. Or you love Joe Biden. Who cares? The only time it matters is in the voting booth, and we are a long way off from that. Yet many people lacking imagination continue to argue, mostly online, about what the Democrats should do or not do and what the Republicans should do or not do, and what if Trump runs again and what if Biden keels over and that idiot becomes the president.

None of that matters a whit unless you are a seated member of the government, and even then not so much. For example, Clarence Thomas is our longest-serving Justice on the Supreme Court, and a black man to boot, and nobody gives a hoot about him! So why not turn off all the arguing and do something productive for yourself and others? 

You could start with cleaning out your closet and donating the clothes you never wear anymore to a charitable organization. Or volunteer at an animal clinic or hospice or food bank. Or clean out your kitchen cabinets. Just stop wasting your dwindling time arguing politics with people who have no power to enact change. This is exactly how my husband's distant cousins and nephews spend the lion's share of their days. That, and eating. They are all very fat, further proving that they lack power even over themselves.

Wake Up While You Can

It's important to remember that there was a time not that long ago when all doctors prescribed smoking cigarettes as a good way to relax and achieve health. Then it was discovered that actually they were a good way to get sick and die.

Not all doctors are idiots (although some of them might be), but they only know what they've been taught in school and what they've experienced in their own lives. Not gurus or seers, they are often clueless about what really helps in many situations. For example, they never suggest the practice of meditation as a legitimate route to wellness.

Consequently, relatively few people engage in meditation on a regular basis. Instead they watch violent and gruesome dramas on TV or play pointless video games that mean nothing. Even reading books has fallen by the wayside for the average American, including those of us who made our way through gigantic tomes like Beowulf and Moby Dick in high school and college. 

I'm one of those average Americans who no longer reads books for an hour a day and instead plays Words With Friends on my iPhone, telling myself that it's good for my brain and since my mother died of Alzheimer's I pretty much have to do it. This is, of course, hogwash.

Fortunately I was recently introduced (thank you Deneb!) to the wisdom of Sam Harris, which he dispenses in a podcast called Making Sense and an online meditation class called Waking Up. His observations on how we squander our thoughts and thereby waste our precious time have been helpful in calming my anxiety, dissipating my anger and most importantly, relieving my pervasive sadness.  Google Sam and sign up for a free trial. 

"Squid Game" Doesn't Help

Imagine your life without news. Go ahead, close your eyes and imagine ....

Nice, isn't it? Don't you feel better? 

Personally, I am sick of hearing about Gabby Petito. She was pretty and young and now she's dead. How sad for her parents. But I don't care that her boyfriend is still at large. Shut up about it already. 

People love the murder and mayhem of "Squid Game." 

And do we all need to know that the stock market is in turmoil, having it's worst month since 2020? Or that a baby in Alabama died because the hospital she was born in had a ransomware attack and all the equipment was down that could have saved her? Or that last March a police officer in London raped and murdered a young woman, then burned her body? Do all these stories help us in any way? (Okay, that last thing is good to know if you go to London.)

I'm not saying that life should just be raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, but really --- does every little horrible thing that happens all over the world have to be spilled onto my kitchen table with my morning coffee? 

No wonder so many people are watching the scary, gruesome, terrifying Netflix show from South Korea called Squid Game, currently THE MOST POPULAR show streaming. They're hooked on daily horror.