Crawling Down Memory Lane

The worst thing about Facebook, besides the obvious, is how often older people -- okay, old people -- post pictures from their youth and everyone who knew them back in high school comments on how great they looked in the good old days. It's downright depressing.

Hardly anyone (except one person I know who does and he is to be congratulated) posts pictures of themselves right now, today, in 2022. I certainly don't and would never. (I can't even look at those.)

The great actress Bette Davis was right when she famously said in her later years, "Getting old ain't for sissies." But I would add, "It ain't for Facebook either."

The Other Pandemic

Here's what I don't get: Exactly what was wrong with Trump as president? Things were fine in almost every area. I say "almost" because along came COVID in his last term, but that was beyond his control and besides he handled it, making the discovery of a vaccine after nine months a reality.

But the economy was humming along, the stock market was happy, there was no inflation, things were affordable (like gas and strawberries), all the stores had baby formula, there was no ongoing war with Russia destroying the innards of Ukraine, and our southern border was not overflowing with illegal aliens, many of whom bring lethal drugs or are sex traffickers. Things were being taken care of, and most people were doing well. Still, the Democrats were busy trying to get rid of him from Day 1. Why?

Because he dyed his hair a funny color? His wife was foreign? He was rich? Were those the issues that drove the Democrats out of their minds? Because they don't call it Trump Derangement Syndrome for nothing. And they all still have it. In fact, it's reached pandemic proportions among liberals.

Someone should work on a vaccine for that.

What I Heard Could Fill a Bookl

In 1979 I was living in Washington, DC and accepted a job with the Democratic National Committee as Art Director for the 1980 Convention. In that capacity I moved to Manhattan for six weeks and lived at the now defunct Statler Hotel across the street from Madison Square Garden, the site of the Convention.

During that time I witnessed many shenanigans, and participated in a few myself. Most of the higher-ups in the organization snorted cocaine constantly, which was the drug of the moment back then. I did too, and it was lots of fun, although illegal. 

Had I the killer instinct I might have gotten my 15 minutes of fame by spilling my guts to the news organizations. Who knows, I might have even been on TV, like that Cassidy Hutchinson who told Congress yesterday that she heard that Trump said something about wanting to go to the Capitol on January 6, and about his grabbing the wheel of the automobile he was in. Of course she wasn't present but she heard about it from someone who was, and that's enough (these days) to land you on the front page of every newspaper in America.

Anyway, back at the 1980 Convention, I knew for a fact that Teddy Kennedy's people wanted more floor access because he made us print more passes even though that was specifically forbidden by the Convention bylaws. And I heard he that he was coming on to everyone in a dress (back then that was only women) and drunk most of the time. And that Senator Joe Biden was there and he did this and that to this woman and that woman. Of course, I didn't see any of that so it's just hearsay.

I didn't call the media, especially since I was having an affair with the married Convention Director. Instead I left the bacchanalian scene several days early and had an emergency session with my shrink who, wise in the ways of politics and politicians, told me to quit my job, which I did. 

But I still imagine that if I had gone to the media with all the hearsay I had on so many famous people, I could be Judy Woodruff today. Or at the very least, Maureen Dowd.

Have an Abortion, but Don't Kill A Pregnant Woman!

The Unborn Victims of Violence Act of 2004 

Public Law 108-212 is a United States law that recognizes an embryo or fetus in utero as a legal victim, if they are injured or killed during the commission of any of over 60 listed federal crimes of violence. The law defines "child in utero" as "a member of the species Homo sapiens, at any stage of development, who is carried in the womb."

About That Abortion Thing

Everyone should quit their bellyaching and take a look at the facts. I'm not suggesting that women (whatever they are) give up sex entirely. But there are times during the menstrual cycle when pregnancy is more likely to occur and other times when it isn't.  

There are also many products available, called birth control, that will prevent pregnancy. I suggest getting some of those.

In the event of pregnancy resulting from rape, go to your local pharmacy and get one of those "morning after" pills ASAP. Even if you aren't pregnant, it couldn't hurt. As for incest, you've got far bigger problems than being pregnant. Leave the home, call the police or get some family counseling.

If you must have sex constantly, like my old friend Joyce who often had dates involving intercourse with three different men in the same night at different times (and had six abortions over the years), just go to Maine or Vermont where abortion is legal. New England is lovely in the fall, and I hear the Disney Corporation will pay all travel and medical expenses for anyone in that predicament. 

Politics, Picasso and Me

Painting by Pablo Picasso

We used to have a lot of friends in our neighborhood. We'd have couples over for dinner and they reciprocated. Or I'd meet one of the other women for lunch in Portland. We threw holiday parties or attended them. It was all quite fun and 1950s.

That's all over now. Hardly anyone speaks to us since a couple of years ago when we put a sign in support of Senator Susan Collins out on our front lawn. Immediately a neighbor who always invited us to his annual 4th of July, SuperBowl and New Year's Eve parties drove by, stopped in front of our house while I was outside doing yard work, and said, "So -- you're a Trumpie?" I wasn't, I was a "Collinsie," but no matter -- Republican was all he needed to know. No more party invitations.

Same with a woman who I considered a good friend. We'd have dinner out with the husbands or lunch together in town. That all stopped when the Collins sign went up. And then there's this blog, which continually outs me, to anyone who reads it, as anti-Democrat and unawake. Recently it caused a rift between us and our very best friends here.

So now that politics has poisoned all my neighborhood friendships with hard-core, rigid, immovable Democrats, and my closest friends all live in distant states, I'm pretty much alone most of the time. I have a cat but that hardly counts in the togetherness department, as any cat owner will tell you. I'd love to get a dog but I simply can't stand the heartbreak involved.

So I paint. Since the friend blackout, my work has really improved. I wonder, did Picasso ever talk politics? Did he have any friends?

A False Sense of Security

Seaside Pavilion

Last night my husband and I attended an outdoor concert held in a popular Maine beach town. The promotional material promised we would be "thrilled by the music while enjoying cool ocean breezes." 

That sounded nice, and worth the 45-minute drive to get there. Turns out the place was nowhere near the ocean, although we knew for a fact that the ocean was a couple of miles away, or twice as far as it is from our own home. So much for the breezes....

Anyway, there we were and it was a lovely night. The parking lot was a considerable distance away and so a shuttle bus, quaintly called a "trolley" by all staff members, was required to get us to the venue. As we neared the trolley, a woman stationed by the door stopped us and asked, "Are you carrying any pocket knives?" 

"Certainly not," we replied, somewhat surprised by the question. Did that mean that if we had a box cutter or a pistol we were good to go? As she waved us aboard I asked, "What if people lie and say they don't have a pocket knife, or something worse?" 

"No worries," she said, "the metal detector you'll have to pass through will sort all that out." Only there never was any metal detector. You just showed your ticket to a little old lady and walked on through. In fact there was no form of security anywhere in or near the open-air theater, which was smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood with no barriers surrounding it of any kind. 

Happily the great state of Maine has never had a mass shooting event, but if it ever did, the Seaside Pavilion in Old Orchard Beach is a sitting duck.

Rita Moreno on Roe v. Wade

Actress Rita Moreno was fabulous as Anita in the original 1961 version of "West Side Story." She was a great dancer and read her lines well. Good thing she had lines, though, because her own words might have tanked the whole movie.

She's 90 now, and recently spoke to a reporter from Variety about the Supreme Court's ruling on abortion: 

"I'm depressed, but not completely surprised. I'm not shocked because I saw it coming, but I'm stunned. Unfair isn't a strong enough word, but it's unfair."

"I'm sorry, but I'm just shocked."

Film Review: LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

The Miserable Hoover Family, locked together in a VW bus.

In his 2006 review when this film was released, my favorite movie critic Roger Ebert, now deceased, called Little Miss Sunshine, "a gentle family satire and a classic American road movie." Really?  

Here's the Hoover family: A depressed, gay college professor (Steve Carrell) who has just lost his job and slit his wrists but survived, his middle-aged married sister (Toni Colette) who hates her life, her failed motivational speaker husband (Greg Kennear) who can't pay the bills, his foul-mouthed father (Alan Arkin) who locks himself in the bathroom to snort heroin, their miserable teenage son (Paul Dano) who has taken a vow of silence and writes notes saying "I Hate Everyone," and their pre-teen daughter (Abigail Breslin) who wants only to be in a beauty pageant, despite her lack of talent and beauty. 

Their usual nightly repast is a bucket of take-out fried chicken and a can of Fresca for each of them. Mom makes a salad that nobody eats that ends up in the garbage disposal. This is no family I want to be in, and not just because I never liked Fresca. 

This pathetic group embarks on a road trip so the daughter can compete in a beauty pageant 700 miles away, but have only two days to get there. The car breaks down immediately so they all have to push it to get it started and then jump in while it's moving every time they stop. (This happens repeatedly and gets old fast.) The grumpy grandfather OD's on the trip and ends up wrapped in a sheet in the trunk. The teen has a total meltdown telling them all how much they suck, the married couple has a huge fight in a seedy motel room, and the daughter does a striptease as her talent for the pageant -- taught by her porn-loving grandfather before his death -- getting the whole family on the stage fighting with pageant officials. The local police are called.

It's billed as a comedy. Have fun.

Racism Under Every Rock

The sign shown above was posted on the door of an insurance agency in a small town in Maine. The poster said she meant no harm and was just being "snarky," apologizing that it might have been insensitive towards black people. Nevertheless the photo has "sparked outrage" online and brought much woe to that company, despite it hurting nobody and amounting to not much. 

But not a peep from anyone about the earthquake in Afghanistan yesterday that killed 1,000 people. Of course, if they had all been black people the earthquake would have been deemed racist.

Just Say No to Nude Pickleball

"At the Beach Playa" by Fernando Botero

There's a heated controversy afoot on Nantucket Island concerning whether or not that ritzy town should permit nude beaches. While I haven't been there in more than 40 years, I remember it as a place with a bustling town center full of shops and restaurants and outlying beaches of exquisite serenity hidden from view by towering sand dunes. Of course, everyone there was insanely rich with a few exceptions, me being one of them. But thankfully, everyone was fully clothed.

Nudity is nice for marble statues in the Met, paintings by Fernando Botero (see above), newborn babies and children under the age of five. After that it's questionable. Certainly by the time one has the money to visit Nantucket or live there, nudity among the aging millionaires seems somewhat nauseating. Thus, my vote would be a no.

Similarly, playing pickleball in the nude, something I read about recently that is actually being done somewhere in Florida, should be firmly outlawed, and I use the word "firmly" to remind everyone how unfirm most of the players of that less-strenuous-than-tennis game surely are. Hey, I can hardly stand to see myself naked, and I work out.

Film Review: PEGGY SUE GOT MARRIED

Peggy Sue accepting her crown, right before she konks out.

For anyone like me who missed this magical film when it was released in 1986, fire up the Hulu and see it now. Directed by Francis Ford Coppola, how could it not be fabulous? Peggy Sue Got Married is a poignant tale of lost youth and second chances, reminiscent in some ways of Thornton Wilder's timeless play, "Our Town." If only we could go back in time and do it right! 

The quasi-fantasy tells the story of  Peggy Sue, a middle-aged woman (Kathleen Turner) who married her high-school sweetheart (Nicolas Cage), only to have things sour after 25 years and two children together. Estranged from her husband and in the process of divorcing him, she attends her high-school reunion with her grown daughter (Helen Hunt) and is happily reunited with her best friends from her teenage years. While accepting the crown as  Queen of her class, Peggy Sue faints and the movie takes flight. 

Waking up in 1960, to Peggy Sue it seems like a dream that just goes on and on and on. As in Back To the Future, we are treated to the vintage cars, fashions, music and mores of a simpler time. Peggy Sue gets a chance to do it right this time, including going after that one boy who got away and befriending an overlooked nerd who she knows will become a brilliant inventor and millionaire. She gets to see her parents and grandparents again, appreciating their youth this time, and be nicer to her little sister (Sofia Coppola), and who doesn't wish for all that later in life?

With a soundtrack of 60's hits and an early slapstick performance by Jim Carrey, there's a lot to like. And while there are funny moments, for some reason I ended up in tears, but that might just be me.

The Worst Thing About Marriage

Monogamy aside, the worst thing about marriage is how it drags you through life shackled to another person, your own desires held hostage by the relationship. Sometimes it doesn't matter, like when your mate is a clone and feels similarly about most things. But often the bonds that tether both of you limit the life experiences each might otherwise enjoy.

My husband loves to travel and is happiest on an airplane or in a foreign country. He even likes airports! I hate the whole business and start worrying about an upcoming trip many months in advance. This translates into Mitch seeing far less of the world than he might with a woman who shares his passion for adventure. (I feel guilty about it, but hey, I'm Jewish so it just adds to the mix.)

One particularly toxic result of togetherness at all costs is when one partner decides to end a friendship with another couple -- usually it's the female -- and the men stop talking too. Sadly, most husbands ascribe to the saying among seasoned real estate agents who have learned over the years, "Happy wife, happy life." 

I have witnessed this situation twice in my own marriage and it sucks. Mitch doesn't warm up to that many men, so when one goes it leaves a hole. Bottom line: I wish more men would grow a pair.

It's Father's Dayteenth!

In our house we are celebrating Father's Day, even though it is suddenly "Juneteenth" today and tomorrow is a day off for everyone, even white folks. It means nothing to me except that the post office will be closed, which is a bummer since I'm waiting for some shoes I ordered from Zappos. 

I looked it up and learned that we are supposed to read poems by Maya Angelou and sing songs like "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" to celebrate Juneteenth. I am definitely not doing that, at least not until everyone in America sings "Had Gadya" on Passover.

Call me racist if you must, but I was never a slave, never owned slaves, never knew any slaves and never even knew anyone who knew any slaves, so it's really not much of anything for me.  My ancestors arrived here long after the practice was abolished. 

Jesus, we never even had a cleaning lady when I was growing up except for that one year when my mother hired Gertrude, a nice lady who never did any cleaning but sat around complaining about her deadbeat husband and drinking coffee with my Mom. 

Apparently the holiday is all about how the news about the slaves being freed was late getting to Texas. I have never even been to Texas. So I say Happy Father's Day! Oddly enough it's not a national holiday, since it applies to everyone who is alive or dead. Go figure.

Taking It to the Streets

Our little town of Freeport may have more than its share of unsophisticated folks who have never been out of the state of Maine, but it's certainly not short on political correctness. The Town Council recently voted to paint one of the downtown crosswalks in rainbow squares of color. That should certainly make it clear to gays, queers, lesbians and transgenders, and all those who are unsure of their sexuality, that they can feel welcome here, wouldn't you agree? I mean nothing says, "We love and respect you" more than paint on asphalt.

To that end, I look forward to the day when giant Jewish stars decorate one of our local intersections, and I won't feel comfortable here until then. Ditto shamrocks for the Irish, and a giant BLACK LIVES MATTER somewhere. After all, fair is fair.

Call Me Neurodivergent

Finally I found a diagnosis for what's wrong with me! I can't believe it's taken so long but at least I have it now, and it explains so much. I cannot be held responsible for my erratic behavior (which is a load off let me tell you) as it turns out I am neurodivergent. I have been this way since birth but the term was only invented five years ago and somehow nobody told me. Or maybe I was depressed that day, hiding under the bedcovers and refusing to answer the phone, so I missed it. If only I knew, so many regrets and apologies would have been moot.

This explains everything. Like how yesterday in this same spot I swore that I was ending this blog, and here I am today writing a post! Sounds nutty I know, but it's just that I'm so damn neurodivergent. I'm not like other people. Apparently my brain processes things differently from what is considered to be normal. This causes mood swings, anxiety, personality defects and occasional eating disorders. 

Like just a few days ago I decided to start intermittent fasting to lose weight and did it for four days, eating only between the hours of noon and eight PM, but then this morning I woke up hungry, said the heck with it, and ate breakfast at 7:45 in the morning! 

Another hallmark of my condition is impulsivity, causing me to say things that other people are reluctant or unwilling to say. I used to attribute this trait to "being truthful" or "direct," explaining my childlike honesty by saying, "Call me madcap!" But starting today I can proudly say, "Sorry, I'm neurodivergent." As for the personality defects, I've battled them for years to no avail. Now I see why. It has nothing to do with my traumatic childhood, it's genetic. I can't help it!

It's so much better when we can label our atrocious behavior and actually get sympathy for it. Now I can't wait for Neurodivergency Pride Day, which reminds me, this coming Saturday is Autistic Pride Day so make your plans now. It comes smack dab in the middle of Pride Month, so any LGBTQ people who are also autistic will hit the jackpot this weekend.

The Last Blog Post

I can't write this blog anymore because humor died along with Joan Rivers in 2014. 

I began this as a humor blog in 2007 and slowly it has morphed into a complaint department about the abysmally low quality of life in America, which gets worse every day. To be fair to everyone, humor has been outlawed. That's because you might offend someone, and God knows you don't want to do that. 

Take drag queens. In these crazy times, exemplified by our idiot president and even dumber idiot -- but she's black -- Vice President, they are supposed to be treated with enough respect, for some reason beyond my ability to fathom, to allow them to read stories to pre-school age children in public schools. For what reason?

My husband says this is so drag queens will become "normalized" in society, explaining that many men enjoy dressing in high heels and fishnet stockings, with fake breasts stuffed into push-up bras, wearing lots of outlandish makeup and big wigs, and they should be made to feel welcome in our midst. To which I say, why? And if so, why not serial murders? 

There are tons of them -- look it up, you'll be stunned-- and they can't help themselves -- they have this undeniable compulsion to kill and rape many people in succession. But it's not their fault! They have an illness! Poor Jeffrey Dahmer! Poor Ted Bundy! Poor John Wayne Gacy! We must stop making people like them feel bad about themselves and welcome them into society!

Yes, you got that right: I am equating drag queens with serial murderers. And I'm not kidding.

Pre-School Drag Queen Story Hour

 SAN LORENZO, Calif. (AP) — Authorities were investigating a possible hate crime after a group of men allegedly shouted homophobic and anti-LGBTQ slurs during a Drag Queen Story Hour at a San Francisco Bay Area library, a sheriff's official said.

Deputies responded to the San Lorenzo Library Saturday afternoon following reports of a disturbance during the reading for preschool-aged children in celebration of Pride Month, said Lt. Ray Kelly with the Alameda County Sheriff’s Office.

The host of the children’s story program, Bay Area drag queen Panda Dulce (see photo), said that the group disrupted the event, shouting “tranny” and “pedophile." The disruption “totally freaked out all of the kids.” 

The above news story appeared on my AOL home page today. Honest. I am not making this up. Who could even come up with something like this?

My favorite part is the last line, which says that the disruption "totally freaked out all of the kids." Unlike all the men dressed in heavy makeup, outlandish women's clothing and wild wigs who did not freak them out?

Heaven On Earth at the Audi Dealership

Four days ago a UPS delivery guy alerted us to a flat tire on my car parked in our driveway. I was glad it hadn't happened while I was driving, but I wasn't glad it had happened. Being an old-fashioned female (afraid of bugs, can't change a flat tire), I relied on my husband to fix it. But he was powerless since my 2022 Audi A4 came equipped with a spare "donut" tire, but no tools with which to change it. 

We called AAA and an hour later the technician arrived. This being 2022, she was a female! Or at least she looked like one, who knows, I did not inspect her or ask her pronouns. She worked hard for an hour or more and finally put the silly temporary tire on, warning me not to drive over 50 MPH or over 50 miles until it was replaced with a real tire.

Today I drove, with trepidation, to the Audi dealership to have a replacement tire put on. The job took about an hour. I sat in the service area waiting room reading a book and eating some Planter's peanuts from the complimentary snack basket. It was pleasant enough, with floor to ceiling glass windows all around, comfortable leather furniture and a fridge full of bottled water, but still after about 45 minutes I was anxious to get the heck out of there already!

A middle-aged woman sitting across from me who was there when I arrived seemed quite content. She sipped a cup of coffee, munched on some cookies and read a book or scrolled through her cell phone. Finally, hearing me sigh audibly while I checked my watch, she caught my eye and said, "I love it here! I've been here since 8:30 this morning." (It was then about 3 pm.)

"You love being here? Why is that?"

"Because none of my kids are pestering me and my husband has to stay at home while they put on a new roof instead of me. It's like I died and went to Heaven."

I'm not even sure if she had a car in the repair shop.

 

Celebrating Pride Month

Many if not all of the LGBTQ folks have their panties in a knot because Governor Ron DeSantis, a.k.a. our next president, is planning to speak at a Jewish Leadership Conference in New York City during their Pride Month. And if that's not bad enough, he will be at a venue not far from the birthplace of the gay rights movement in the West Village. Imagine that -- ordinary people going about their ordinary lives despite it being Pride Month for those super-extraordinary gays. 

Personally, not being gay, this seems like any old month to me except for it being the month when summer officially begins and my birthday month and also the month during which we celebrate all fathers on Father's Day. I had a father and I have a husband who is a father, so that sort of matters to me. Whereas Pride Month, not so much. 

What am I supposed to do to celebrate? Stay out of the West Village? Paint my house in rainbow colors? Invite a gay to dinner? Listen to "YMCA"? If only I knew how, I'd do it.

Democrats: Stuck in a Rut

Pity the poor Democrats. They are stuck in a rut and can't get out of it no matter how hard they try, maybe because they never try. The rut is named Donald Trump, and they hate his guts now even more than when he was president.

When Trump was running things, America was humming along nicely. Unemployment was low, the economy was in great shape, there was no inflation or recession, our borders were secure and gas prices were low. Through his determination and immediate allotment of money for research, his administration came up with a vaccine for Covid in just nine months. Before he left office, a million doses had been dispensed to the public.

Then came Biden and it all began to unravel. Fentanyl overdoses skyrocketed as illegal aliens swarmed our southern border, many of them drug runners who preyed on our young people. Gas prices started rising almost immediately as Biden's hidden handlers hacked away at any plan already in motion to produce our own oil. (During Trump's presidency we were actually exporting oil to other countries!)

Racism has never been worse, despite, or maybe because of, Biden's insistence that every open position in government -- or anywhere -- be filled with "a person of color," no matter that person's lack of skills or qualifications. Two current examples are the Vice President and the current White House Press Secretary, neither of whom have exhibited any shred of talent for their given jobs.

And now, to keep us all from ruminating on how bad a job the current administration is doing, the Democrats have orchestrated a new prime-time TV extravaganza, airing on all channels except for FOX News, called the JANUARY 6th INSURRECTION! This charade is being mounted specifically to remind people that Trump is a very bad dude so please don't vote for him if he runs again because he would surely win. 

If they could just get over their insane hatred for Donald Trump and tackle the job at hand, which is cleaning up the mess they've made, firing Janet Yellen, arresting the protesters outside the home of Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh, fixing the gas crisis, stemming the flow of illegal aliens at our southern border, stop worrying about abortion and make college kids repay their own student loans instead of the taxpayers bearing that cost, maybe -- just maybe -- they could move on and actually achieve something for the good of the nation.

Choosing Abortion

It recently occurred to me that the popular euphemism for ending a pregnancy -- "a woman's right to choose"-- is actually incomplete. It should be "a woman's right to choose abortion," since no other options are ever put forth by those who protest overturning Roe v. Wade, a move that would not end abortion but simply put the states in charge of the rules rather than the federal government.

Believe it or not there are other options, none of which are ever mentioned by the pro-abortion crowd. It would be so much clearer if they would just call a spade a spade and say what they mean.

A Bad Night Out

Last evening my husband and I went to a nearby restaurant to attend a political function. The place was one of those new craft breweries that are popping up everywhere -- here in our little Maine town there are already five, with a new one under construction-- making me think that many young people are alcoholics-in-training.  

It was a new experience for me as I am not a beer drinker and so have little reason to go to a brewery, crafty or not. But I tagged along and found the experience quite eye-opening.

It was very loud. I mean very loud, making conversation all but impossible. The food was mediocre at best. There was a DJ shouting random questions into a microphone, upping the noise level to utterly ridiculous. (Turns out Wednesday is Trivia Night.) Our event was held on the outdoor patio, which might have been pleasant except for the mosquitos and the view of the Interstate.

While the attendees at our event were mostly seniors, all of the brewery patrons appeared to be in their twenties. Everyone was heavily tattooed. Most were dressed as homeless people in tattered clothing and looking like extras from Shaun of the Dead.

Beer was everywhere. Craft or not, it's not wine, despite my husband's insistence that I should pretend I was at a Napa Valley winery. (Ha!) I tasted a few with names like Beachfront Property, Pantless Thunder Goose and General's Daughter. There were maybe 50 different kinds, none of them as good as Rolling Rock in my worthless opinion. Apparently they spend more time coming up with the names than making the beer.

I hated the whole experience and went home with a bad mosquito bite on my cheek. 

It's Pretty Funny.....Not

It's pretty funny that the bunch of lunatic protesters waving signs and chanting outside the home of Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh early this morning and calling him a "murderer" for possibly overturning Roe v. Wade and causing women to undergo unsafe procedures to end their pregnancies, which by the way he has not done, don't see that the abortions they euphemistically call "a woman's right to choose" are actually murder.

It's pretty funny that the White House, via their brand new Black, Lesbian, ineffective press secretary, holds fast to the claim that this is "the best economy we have had in all of history."

It's pretty funny that Joe Biden keeps repeating that the huge hike in gas prices is due to Russia's war in Ukraine, despite the fact that they began to climb the day after he was inaugurated.

It's pretty funny that everything in America was so much better under Donald Trump than under this pathetic, loser administration.

So if it's all so funny, how come nobody is laughing?

Can We Be Friends?

Friendship is a funny thing. While all relationships go through some rough patches occasionally, a friendship is optional and should enhance your life rather than be a pain in the ass you have to worry about. At the very least a friend should let you be yourself and not who they want you to be. If not, what's it for?

When an argument with a friend leaves both parties angry, you can call it quits or take a break. But what if the friend says those slings and arrows should not get in the way of the friendship? It's a nice thought, but it doesn't always work. As the old saying goes, you can't unring a bell.

A dead friendship is sad, but not all that sad. If political beliefs or societal norms destroy the ability to actually enjoy one another's company, you weren't really friends at all.

Birthdays When You're Over 70

The card I got from my husband this morning says it all!

 

Film Review: MINORITY REPORT

Tom Cruise in a scary eyeball moment.

Since I missed it when it was released in 2002 I figured I'd play catch-up and boost my movie creds by watching Minority Report. Starring Tom Cruise and directed by Steven Spielberg, what's not to like? Surprisingly, plenty. 

The loophole-laden plot involves a trio of strange mutant children who are able to see crimes before they are committed, thus allowing the arrest of people who almost did something but were stopped in time by members of the special Precrime Unit, headed by Cruise's character. They then go to prison anyway, to a place that looks just like the one where all those babies are cooking in The Matrix.

Instead of character development we see technological advances that broadcast events that happened inside someone's brain on giant glass screens like televisions. It's all quite confusing, making you stop the movie to ask whoever's around what's going on or to rewind and see it again, hoping a second viewing might clarify things. Often, it did not. 

Good, old-fashioned car chase scenes are updated to occur with participants flying in the sky minus cars but with jetpacks on their backs instead. Despite that they are still chase scenes, and less believable than those flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz.

There is a gruesome, cover-your-eyes scene involving eye surgery, a sad flashback story of a little boy who was kidnapped, and a dismal future in which privacy is non-existent thanks to a government beyond all control that sees all and knows all based on your eyeballs. 

Based on a 1956 science fiction short story by Phillip K. Dick, which I bet you could read in less time than the two hours plus movie and is likely a lot more entertaining, I can't think of any reason to see it.

Don't Believe Everything You Read

So many things we read on the Internet are wrong. For example, the information posted in the illustration shown at left. Lies, all of them. Or if not lies then simply un-truisms, at least for me. My diet is chock full of most of the things pictured, and yet none of the resulting benefits have shown up in my body.

Take strawberries, which allegedly "fight cancer and aging." I eat them often, all year long. And while it's true that I do not have now and have never had cancer, thank God, I continue to get older every day and my body is proof, don't even ask about my face. Aging is going on as we speak, rapidly as far as I can tell, and in fact in just two days I will be even a year older than I am right now!

And cherries. They are supposed to calm your nervous system. What a laugh that is. I eat cherries daily and have never been more nervous in my life, what with the school shooting and Ukraine war and inflation and Covid and all the rest.

I rarely eat pineapples so I guess that explains the recent bout of arthritis in my knee. And I hate mangoes-- never touch them -- which bodes poorly for my chances of coming down with cancer eventually. I better go out and get a couple of watermelons right away.

No Thanks

What do you do when you send someone a gift and they don't acknowledge it? Do you ask if they received it? But what if you know they received it because you got a note from the sender (Amazon) that "Your package has been delivered"?

Okay, what do you do if you send someone a gift many times -- birthdays, Xmas or just because -- and they never reciprocate, for like two or three years? Do you stop sending things to them?

What about if the person says they got the gift but does not thank you? Is it just that etiquette has changed and sending a surprise gift is considered an unsolicited burden, like calling someone on the phone instead of texting, and a thank you is no longer warranted?

I used to be a very generous person and buying gifts for my friends was always a fun thing for me to do. But not anymore. I may be behind the times but I'm not an idiot. I guess from now on I'll just have to buy things for myself (and my son, of course, who always thanks me).

Our Hearts Go Out

"Our hearts go out to the families of the children killed in Uvalde, Texas." So says every politician, in fact every single person involved in or hearing about the debacle, from the police to the reporters to the visiting Matthew McConaughey who brought his whole family, including wife, three kids and brother, with him to grieve in his hometown. That's a whole lot of hearts. but what does that actually mean? Do you no longer have your heart because it went out to that person? And even more perplexing, how does it help?

When I have been grieving the loss of a loved one, which I have done too many times to count, I have never felt even the tiniest bit better because someone said they were sorry for my loss. Is that just me? I can't remember anyone actually saying that their "heart goes out" to me, or went out to me, or however you say it, but if they ever did, or ever do, I'm afraid it might make me laugh just thinking about the literal meaning of the words. (Look out, hearts incoming!)

If only euphemisms weren't required and people spoke plainly, we'd all be better off. Like saying to the parents of the Uvalde victims, "I know there are no words that can ease your suffering, but if you think of anything I can do to help you now, tell me."