I'm So Happy, I'm Gonna Kill Myself

Apparently these days suicidal people are not always down in the dumps before they end their lives. This surprising fact is evident in the recent death of a 27-year-old Wisconsin news anchor at an ABC affiliate who died by suicide four days ago. Everyone who knew Neena Pacholke said she was the most upbeat person they knew! Following are some quotes from people close to her:

Her sister: "She was by far the happiest person I thought I knew. She was loved by everybody. She was so good at her job. She just radiated love and positivity."

Her boss: "She loved this community and the people who lived here. She was a kind person with a big heart and a contagious smile."

Her co-anchor: "The brightest light in the room, the biggest smile and the funniest laugh."

Besides being quite beautiful and talented, the happy young woman described by everyone as a selfless saint who lived to help others was also engaged to be married. (You can't make this stuff up.)

It's hard to believe there was not one person in this woman's life perceptive enough or caring enough to notice she was deeply troubled. If that's true, then overt happiness and personal fulfillment are, in today's crazy world, clear signs of distress and mental illness. Better take a closer look at someone you know who seems to "have it all" -- they could be dead by morning.

Or else, make time for a friend, happy or not, who wants to talk.

A Tale Told By An Idiot

What I did today.

I hear from so many people,"What should I do with my life?" Every once in awhile I wonder the same thing, although to be honest, not that often. I don't think it much matters, as long as you do no harm and even help other people when you can. But beyond that, how you spend your time matters about as much as how a blade of grass spends its time.

Today, to compensate for yesterday when I did nothing but workout at the gym for an hour and then have my teeth cleaned, which was really not me doing anything but my hygienist doing something to me, I decided to DO THINGS. So far I have made applesauce and baked a dozen blueberry muffins. Later I will make some tomato sauce. This is because we had tons of apples, blueberries and tomatoes hanging around not getting any younger, just like me.

What I do mostly is paint pictures. If I were to become wildly successful like Van Gogh, Vermeer or Picasso, that might make my painting a valid activity. I could earn lots of money and give it to charity, which would be a good thing. But aside from money, being a famous painter is meaningless and fleeting. When was the last time you heard anyone discussing Vermeer, Picasso or Van Gogh? Not likely ever. More likely it was Taylor Swift, J. Lo or Donald Trump.

So what should you do with your life? Try to enjoy it while you've got it is the only advice I have. You can pay a shrink good money to get more, but trust me, it will boil down to the same thing. As Shakespeare famously wrote, in the end it signifies nothing.

Whatever Happened to Opinions?

The first definition of the word opinion is, "A view or judgment formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge." Okay? Are we agreed? Following are some examples of opinions:

1. Anchovy pizza is the best kind.

2. Anchovy pizza is gross.

3. Yellow is the safest color for fire engines.

4. Red is the safest color for fire engines.

5. Playing violent video games eventually harms children.

6. Violent video games do not lead to violent behavior in adults.

7. Smoking marijuana is no big deal.

8. Marijuana is a gateway drug leading to more dangerous drugs.

9. Abortion is a medical procedure that is personal to the mother.

10. Abortion is murder and thus impacts all of society. 

11. Dogs are more loyal than cats.

12. Cats are more loyal than dogs.

13. The Godfather is the best movie in the trilogy.

14. The Godfather, Part II is the best movie in the trilogy.

All of the above opinions are held by many people, and none of them cause any trouble except for #9 and #10, which for some reason have divided America into two dangerously warring camps. Nevertheless, many, if not most, of the people who hold either of these opinions are convinced they are 100% right! (Like an opinion can be right or wrong!)

Several examples of this bizarre trend come to mind. First, about a year ago an old, now former, friend of mine named Janice M.P., who I had worked with for years and liked very much and enjoyed good times with, told me online that she was quite concerned because I had written publicly that I loved George W. Bush. "Andrea, I am becoming very worried about you," she wrote in a private message (which I am now making public because who the hell cares; I haven't spoken with her since). As if voting Republican and/or thinking Bush was a great guy was a clear indication of declining mental health.

The second example can be found in today's New York Times Magazine, in the column entitled "The Ethicist." A letter to the columnist from a reader expresses worry about someone she likes and respects but who thinks abortion is murder, saying, "I struggle with having a friend who supports what I think is a restriction of my rights to make my own choices about my body. Is it OK if people do not want to be friends with someone who has views like hers?"  The columnist -- who let's remember gets a paycheck from the Times -- concludes, after much wordy bullshit, that it's okay to be her friend, even though the friend is mistaken about abortion, a position held, he adds, often incoherently by many.

Uh-oh, are opinions contagious? Like is having a friend who voted for a Republican the same as getting exposed to Covid? Is consorting with someone who sees things a little differently a death wish or just a source of discomfort? (As one friend, now downgraded to an acquaintance, told me a few months ago, "I don't like the way you think.") If this is true and becoming truer in our society, then seriously Scotty, "Beam me up."

Hollywood Goes Superwoke

Last night my husband and I watched The Godfather, a film released in 1972 that is still considered by many critics to be the best movie ever made. But by today's standards, it might not have been nominated  as Best Picture, which it won that year, because of how un-woke it was by our modern slobbering standards.

If you think movies are bad now, just wait. The folks who make up the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences, home of the revered Oscar, are going to be even woker in 2024. (Superwoke? Megawoke?) Starting then, for a movie to be nominated in the Best Picture category it must be diverse in all facets of employment, and not just among the lead actors, producers and directors. A certain percentage of the entire crew -- staff, extras in crowd scenes, and all those hundreds of names that scroll by at the end of the film that most people ignore -- must include members of currently under-represented groups. (Or else the story line must deal with members of those groups.)

It's not just women and blacks who must be represented -- Asians, Latinx and all or some of the letters of the LGBTQ community must be included. You'll have to hire some deaf people and physically disabled people too, or else your film can't be nominated for Best Picture. But I wondered: why stop there when there are so many other disenfranchised groups left out?

What about the morbidly obese? They could be the ones who arrange for all the catering. The hideously ugly could work behind the scenes and move furniture around the set after hours. Then there's seniors, who could dispense wisdom about the early days of film. Illegal immigrants could handle all the drug needs on set, and you know that would be a full-time job. And don't overlook low-IQ idiots, stroke victims and the homeless, after all fair is fair.  

So what if none of them have any talent; if Kamala Harris can do it, anyone can.

I Might Be A Semi-Fascist

Yesterday afternoon Joe Biden, renowned plagiarist and record-setting Amtrak rider (see photo) now acting as the president, read a speech written by his handlers in which he proclaimed all Trump supporters to be "semi-fascists." Since I was a Trump supporter at one time I guess that includes me, even though I have never owned a truck, a gun or a Confederate flag and have whole-heartedly supported abortion rights since my first one. 

After sleeping through History class in high school and majoring in Fine Arts in college, I had to look up the term and found this at encyclopedia.com: "Fascism is a twentieth-century political ideology and movement based on nationalism and militarism, which emphasizes the importance of the state and the individual's overriding duty to it. It opposes communism and liberalism, and seeks to regenerate the social, cultural, and economic life of its country by instilling its citizens with a powerful sense of national identity and an unquestioning loyalty to the state and its leader."

So I guess I'm half one of those. Who knew? 

I Might Be A Selfish Asshole

I finally understand why the recent death of my closest friend has hit me so hard. She left me without an insurance policy, nakedly exposed to whatever horrors that may come my way, with nowhere to turn for solace and comfort. 

I have come to see this over the past month when something of import has happened, be it good or bad, and my first thought has been to call Debra. But I can't! She no longer exists! She disappeared -- just like that! -- obliterated by a magical 18-wheeler on a lonely road in the middle of Wyoming, just a little past noon. Now I'm stuck here and have to deal with whatever it is all by myself. 

So in the end, is my grief all about me? Could my friend Jim be right? A few months ago he noisily, and I thought obnoxiously, asserted during dinner at a lovely restaurant in Quebec City, that "Everyone is a selfish asshole" -- and I'm quoting him directly. At the time I vehemently disagreed, thinking to myself, "Well you sure are." Now it turns out he's right. 

I guess I owe Jim an apology.

Keep Your Eye On the Ball

Today I drove two miles to the nearest supermarket for dishwasher detergent. I ran out of it yesterday and thus my dishwasher spent the night full of dirty dishes, including some from last night's dinner. Thinking about all the food stuck on all the dishes for hours and hours makes me crazy, but fortunately it's a rare occurrence, happening only once before about 25 years ago. Anyway, I arrived at Shaw's and headed straight for the stuff, then meandered around picking up this and that so as not to make the trip just for one thing.

After placing all the items onto the conveyor belt, I glanced outside to see if it had started to rain yet. That's where I made my mistake. I looked away, making the reckless assumption that the check-out lady would scan all the items in my order and that everything would end up in my shopping bag. I paid with confidence and left.

Once home I unpacked everything in the shopping bag but found no dishwasher detergent, the one item I had gone out to buy. This realization made me burst into tears, not only because people are all assholes but because my friend Debra is dead and has been for the past month and always will be. So I got back in my car, drove back to the store, and brought the same damn package of dishwasher detergent once again to a checkout lady. But this time I watched the whole procedure, from beginning to end.

You just can't trust anyone to do anything right these days. Like Debra, who went through a stop sign.

Thin-skinned Mainers vs. Nasty New Yorkers

Why is it so important to so many people to be "right"? What is gained by winning an argument, especially a petty one concerning nothing important?

An article in The New York Post by Cindy Adams, a 92-year-old gossip columnist who never even graduated high school and who has lived her life as a holier-than-thou New Yorker believing she knows everything, has sparked the usual online vitriol among offended Mainers on Facebook. In it, Adams harshly excoriates the state of Maine after a recent visit here. She criticizes the natives for almost everything, from lacking a sense of fashion to being fat, unfriendly and boring.

Here's what I think: Cindy is 92 and as the saying goes, correctly, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." Fine Cindy. Stay in New York. Get all dressed up for no reason. Waste money in fancy restaurants if that's your thing. What do I care? 

As a native New Yorker who has lived in Maine for the last 13 years, I feel my opinion has more merit than Cindy's, and I did graduate high school and even college. But it's my opinion and matters not a whit to anyone, and shouldn't. All I have to say is that here in Maine, nobody can push me in front of an oncoming subway because there is no subway. And that's a good thing. I'm staying.

Comedy Review: LOUIS C.K.

Last night the comic Louis C.K. took to the stage at the Merrill Auditorium in downtown Portland and was as offensive as he could be while remaining within the confines of the woke rules. He didn't make fun of anyone except old people, the one remaining demographic it's okay to put down. Louis chose his own father, currently in hospice, to mock mercilessly, imploring him to, "Die already, you're so old!" The mostly post-adolescent crowd lapped it up.

Not funny.

There was a time that I revered Louis C.K. and thought he was brilliant and the funniest comic currently in the business. That was back when he was thin and had red hair. Now he is paunchy and all grey, and I no longer think he's funny, not because of his weight or hair color but rather his questionable material. He opened last night's show talking about his chronic diarrhea, like that's funny or we care. He went on about it for quite awhile, and people actually laughed. (How sad.)

As his act wore on Louis touched on several subjects that were downright sickening. One was having sex with babies (although he put it more crudely using the F-word) which he claims to enjoy, explaining it's because his own father did that to him when he was young. "Daddy f---ed me real good." Ha, ha.

Other topics that went on far too long and got the crowd howling included the difference between vaginas and penises, and a girl who makes horizontal cuts on her thighs to create more vaginas, and how Louis explained to his daughters, ages three and five at the time, why he was divorcing their mother: "Mommy and I love each other a lot but we hate both of you so much, we each want to be with you only half the time." Yuk, yuk.

Then there was a very long, very unfunny bit on "fart porn." Louis claimed to enjoy watching all kinds of porn, but fart porn is definitely his favorite. He described in detail one particular film featuring "a really nice girl who farted right in my face" that he enjoyed the most. 

And more like that. Suffice it to say he's no Jerry Seinfeld or Anthony Jeselnik.

The Outrage of Idiots

Yesterday I made the mistake of writing a letter to the editor of the Portland Press Herald, a local lefty rag of no merit that is little more than a daily compendium of articles picked up from The Washington Post and AP. (I am not a subscriber -- it comes free with our home-delivered Wall Street Journal because they are trying to get readers, I guess.)

My letter was printed today, of course, since it was written so much more articulately than most of what they get from their brain-dead readers. It was pro-Paul LePage, a Republican ex-governor who will seek reelection in 2022 and is treated with the same baseless vitriol as Donald Trump.

Today there are dozens upon dozens -- 593 so far-- of nasty, childish, moronic comments about my letter online. The idiots have even googled me and checked out my personal art website, deeming my art, which has over the past 25 years sold for many hundreds of dollars to many sophisticated art collectors, as "childish"and "NO BETTER THAN MY 6-YEAR-OLD GRANDSON'S." One genius wrote the following: "Go back to Utah." 

Unable to come up with one bad thing about LePage as Governor, or one good thing about our terrible present Democratic governor, Janet Mills, instead the irate lunatic mob has me in their sights, an ordinary  citizen who holds no office but dared to write something favorable about LePage.

People in general suck, but Mainers, being far less educated and much more sheltered, suck even more. It is pretty here, though.

What's So Funny About Being Old?

Hardy-har-har -- let's make fun of dementia!

Last night, scrolling through those crazy Reels that so many people are posting lately, I came across a stand-up comedian doing a shtick about old people. To him, 60 is old and 70 is should-be-dead. The comic told joke after joke about what it's like to be old, even though he has no idea since he's only about 30 himself, as was his appreciative audience. But here's the weird thing: the guy was FAT! A real fattie, not just slightly paunchy. And of course nobody could make fun of him for his size; those days are long gone, dying out with Joan Rivers.

Let's be clear: Aging is not a choice! Everyone will get old, and what's funny about that? Still, seniors are the one group that remains unprotected by the woke police. Think about it: You can't mock little people or handicapped people or giants or people of color, or women or dummies or anyone, really, except for old people. They are still fair game.

Meanwhile, being fat is a choice, and don't give me any of that "slow metabolism" BS. Being dumb is also a choice, since if one reads books and attends school or engages in online courses to improve the mind, instead of playing video games or watching TV shows like Jackass, one's intelligence will rise.

So can we all stop making fun of old people, please? I am one and believe me, I'd much rather be called fat. At least I could do something about that.

Film Review: THE MEYEROWITZ STORIES

Grumpy father and son: Hoffman and Sandler

The full pretentious title of this very pretentious movie is The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected). Don't ask me why. A Netflix Original with a terrific cast, it's billed as a comedy and I figured it would get me out of my recent slump. I was wrong. In fact by the end of it I was more depressed than ever.

Starring Dustin Hoffman, Adam Sandler, Ben Stiller, Emma Thompson, with small roles for Judd Hirsch and Candace Bergen, one could assume at the very least some fine acting. Wrong again. Hoffman plays the old and annoying father to Sandler and Stiller (and their sister whose name I didn't recognize and who doesn't really matter in the story anyway) and you just want to smack him in the face, he is such a pain in the ass. Plus he mumbles his dialog so half the time you don't even know what he's saying. 

This is a dysfunctional movie about a dysfunctional family, written and directed by Noah Baumbach, who once again shows us, as he has in his other films (Marriage Story, The Squid and the Whale) that he had a very messed-up childhood. There is nothing funny about it, except that it got made. Pass this one by.

Not So Fast, Says Grief

Well, I was wrong. My grief isn't over, it's just entered a new phase. Now instead of crying every day over the recent death of a friend, I am able to think of other things most of the time and then suddenly I remember and cry every second day. That's definitely a step in the right direction.

Death is certainly a permanent fixture in all of our lives and yet we hate it, try our hardest to not think about it, and consider anyone who mentions its inevitability and actually wants to talk about it to be a real downer. If that were not the case, the death of a loved one might not hit us like a bolt out of the blue. (How can we still be surprised every time?)

Maybe if we all gave more attention to the actual facts of life and death than we do to all the woke nonsense around pronouns and bathrooms and gender identity, the human race would be evolving instead of devolving into a deep sinkhole of grossly embarrassing stupidity.

Victoria's New Secret

The clothing company Victoria's Secret has always showcased beautiful models with incredibly toned bodies looking sexy in underwear and lingerie. The store's mannequins reflected those ideals. But alas, over the years as women have grown in girth and show no signs of stopping, the company's shares plummeted. Now it is seeking to redefine their brand in order to win back customers. 

This is being done by showing their wares on "different body types," i.e. fatties. Surveys show that customers agree: more "inclusive" marketing is a step in the right direction. Apparently Victoria's new secret is that she eats candy bars when nobody is looking.

Men Are Not Women

Call me old-fashioned -- I've been called a lot worse -- but if someone is going to stick a tiny camera into my vagina and move it around for twenty-five minutes to have a look-see, I'd prefer it be a female. Am I crazy?

I recently had an appointment for a vaginal ultrasound, which is a standard procedure used to eliminate the possibility of certain cancers and to determine the size of uterine fibroid tumors which, while fairly common, could develop into something more troubling if left unchecked. I last had this procedure done four years ago, but in preparation for an upcoming visit with my gynecologist a current one was requested.

As I sat in the waiting room playing Words With Friends on my cell phone, a bearded and tattooed young man of about 30 called my name, then approached and asked me to follow him. I assumed he was my escort to the technician who would be doing the procedure, but as we entered the examining room and he closed the door behind me, it seemed he was that technician. 

"Wait, are you doing my vaginal ultrasound?" I asked.

"Yes," he responded, "is there a problem?"

"Oh yeah. A big one. I'd like a female technician, please."

"Did you specify that when you made the appointment? What's the difference anyway?" the dumb jerk asked. "I mean, people are people."

"That may be true for your generation, but I am 76 and I can remember when there were men and women, and right now I'd like a woman to do my exam." Just to make sure he understood, things being the way they are these days, I added, "I mean someone assigned at birth as female." He sighed deeply, shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and, muttering "I don't see what's the big deal," went off in search of someone fitting my description. 

The young woman who arrived a few minutes later to do the procedure was very understanding and completely agreed with me. "I told them at the last staff meeting that having guys do it was a bad idea," she said, "but nobody listens to me."

Stop Nazi Fever!

I read this morning that scientists at Pfizer are working on a vaccine for Lyme disease. That's good, but really I think they should stop all work on everything else and put their best efforts towards a vaccine for Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS), which is fast overtaking COVID as our #1 health problem that threatens to bring about the downfall of our democracy.

The earliest known cases of TDS appeared in June of 2015 when Donald Trump announced his intention to run for the presidency. At first it was contained within the world of journalism, with news anchors at CNN and MSNBC showing signs of it. Then it quickly spread to the editors at  the New York Times and all other left-leaning media outlets, eventually taking hold in Washington D.C., with democratic members of Congress suffering the worst of the symptoms. Some even went crazy, like Senator Mazie Hirono of Hawaii who was already on shaky ground mentally, and that old war horse from California Maxine Waters, who at her advanced age simply couldn't fight it off. She got it so bad she gave speeches around the country telling people to chase down any Republican they saw in public and "get in their face."

By the time Donald Trump took office in January 2016, TDS was rampant. Just fifteen minutes after the new president was sworn in, Democratic Congressman Adam Schiff of California swore he would not rest until Trump was impeached. It soon became obvious that California was a hotbed of the disease, with Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi from San Francisco suffering terribly. (By 2020 she was so ill that she actually tore up the president's third Sate of the Union speech on national TV, while he was delivering it!)

Since then, every single Democrat in America has been infected. Not one has been spared. The worst symptoms include criticizing Trump with the phrase "orange man bad," which shows their loss of verbal acuity, the insistence that every last thing that is wrong in America is the fault of Trump, and that Joe Biden is a good president and not a frail, demented mess. In my little neighborhood in Maine, every single Democrat, which is basically the whole neighborhood except for one man who is still in the closet, has stopped speaking to me after I put a lawn sign in favor of Maine's Republican Senator Susan Collins in my yard. 

The disease has overtaken the White House, and many other branches of government and government  agencies have exhibited the frightening symptoms of TDS. The latest was just a day ago, when the FBI raided the Florida home of our former president -- yes, he was our former president -- hoping to find some piece of evidence damaging enough to put him in jail, or at least make sure he cannot run in the next election. (A huge part of TDS is the overriding fear that Trump will run and win.) 

This unprecedented act will surely go down in history as the starting point of the ultimate downfall of "America, the land of the free." TDS is just a hop, skip and a jump away from Nazi Fever. So come on Pfizer, get to work on stopping this dangerous disease before all us Jews are forced to wear yellow arm bands in public. 

Everyone Dies; Get Used to It

Sometimes reading the news can be a real eye-opener. Whether in print or online, it's full of stories about how people died. Car crashes are quite popular; just this morning I read of a family of five, all killed in one crash. Another story was about four people riding a golf cart in the city of Galveston, which allows that, who were killed when an SUV crashed into them at a busy intersection. And out in Wyoming, where my friend Debra breathed her last under an 18-wheeler that crashed straight into the driver's side of her car (she was driving, her husband severely injured in the passenger seat), there are dozens of equally horrific stories online of other fatal accidents occurring in those big, wide open spaces and on the very same road she was traveling.

Then there are the freak accidents, like what happened to the vacationing Wisconsin couple  struck by lightning across the street from the White House a few nights ago. They were in the nation's capital celebrating their 50th anniversary when a sudden, vicious storm whipped up and ended their lives. Poof -- just like that they were gone. They were 75 and 76, but another victim of the same storm standing nearby to them was just 29. Death makes no allowances for age.

And who could forget disease? Cancer, strokes, diabetes, heart attacks and other, more esoteric illnesses steal countless loved ones  every day. And mass shootings, now almost commonplace,  eradicate multiple lives at once, for no reason at all. Of course, drownings, gang wars and just plain murder occur constantly, upping the human death count daily.

So what's the big deal? Since we all know it's coming, how come when it does it's so painful for the survivors? Is there no way to accept the death of a loved one with grace and dignity instead of wailing to the high heavens, "Why God, why?" and hating life all of a sudden? Bereavement is such a downer, and in some cases it never ends. 

According to experts, this is what grief can do to you: "Grief can cause a variety of effects on the body including increased inflammation, joint pain, headaches, and digestive problems. It can also lower your immunity, making you more susceptible to illness. Grief also can contribute to cardiovascular problems, difficulty sleeping, and unhealthy coping mechanisms."

I have been suffering a lot of those effects for the last ten days and to be frank, it's getting old. At the same time, I am being given the advice by well-meaning bystanders that I must "find the joy in every day" while I'm alive. But, as you may have noticed, joy is not one of the side effects of grief, which makes it hard. And if you love a lot of people who will eventually die or have already,  that "finding joy" thing gets even harder.

If anyone knows how to circumvent grief, or even just shorten its duration, please contact me. 

Death of a Non-Celebrity

Every day for the last week I have checked the newspapers for the obituary of my friend Debra who died on July 22, to no avail. I understand that her family is bereft beyond words and can barely get through each day, yet since I live in Maine and they live in Salt Lake City I can be of no help. Still, I long to see a published record of the interesting life of this very rare individual. Her passing should have been all over the news but she was not a celebrity, except to about 1,000 ordinary people who knew and cherished her.

Even though Debra told several family members that she had written her own obituary, perhaps I should write one for her and post it here, since I wrote about her frequently while she was alive. To that end, I have perused many obituary columns to see if there is some sort of formula people use. The one constant seems to be in the opening paragraph, where it is said that the deceased is "now at peace" or "finally at peace, in the arms of God," or "resting with God," or some such rot as that. How do we know everyone who dies is at peace? And how terrible were their lives that they are finally at peace? Was everyone who ever lived completely miserable and warring with the world?

My friend Debra lived her life at peace, with a few minor exceptions of course, like when one of her pets got sick or lost, or one of her kids had a problem. But on the whole she was upbeat, able to see the good in every person and the humor in every situation. And if there is a heaven, Deb is certainly not resting in the arms of anyone, least of all God. Instead, she is likely organizing some kind of huge event, cooking a fabulous meal for thousands and setting a beautiful table complete with fancy dinner napkins, fresh-cut flowers, sparkling china and glowing candles stretching as far as the eye can see. And if there are no dishwashers up there, Deb's doing all the dishes too.

It's been a week since I got this terrible news and I am finally able to think of her without crying. I may just get busy writing that obituary.

No Cure for Grief

I guess I don't have that kind.

I have hands-on proof that ingesting any sort of food or drink does not alleviate the symptoms of grief when you are mourning the loss of a loved one, but certain drugs do. In the last four days since I learned of the death of my closest friend I have swallowed the following alcoholic beverages, to no avail: Whiskey Sour, White Russian, red wine and beer. I have tried them one at a time, so maybe if I made a concoction of all of them in a big glass I might get some better results.

Smoking a bit of marijuana and taking a small amount of lorazepam seems to help, although there's just so much of that you can do before you conk out. Plus you feel weird.

Cookies do nothing but make your stomach bloated, only adding to your misery. Ditto pasta, fried shrimp, crackers and cheese, popcorn, ice cream  and basically all foods.

I guess, like Teri Garr cried to Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie, "I just have to feel this way until I don't feel this way anymore!"

Nancy in Taiwanland

The secrets and lies of our government are so tangled and deep, we silly little mortals know nothing about what's really going on. If you think the non-stop bloviation coming from the anchors at CNN and FOX News tells us anything important, you are sadly deluded. Take, for example, the current Taiwan debacle, "Nancy in Wonderland." Despite intense warnings against it, Miss Nancy's plane touched down in Taiwan this afternoon, and since then I have run for cover anytime a plane flies overhead. 

Who is she to risk getting us into a war with China? Is she really our best representative abroad? And why is she going? Is she looking for something? And why her -- are they getting us ready for President Pelosi? Is that why the Speaker of the House went to Taiwan, expressly against the wishes of President Biden and the Chinese government?

It is with mixed emotions that I say I hope Pelosi comes back alive. 

Things I Tell Myself

Be on the lookout for one of these.

I am trying to get a grip on myself over how devastated I am by the loss of my friend who died in a car accident recently. It was shocking and sudden with no time for goodbye. And while I know that death comes to us all, still her death is so wrong since she was such a good person and loved by so many, important to so many, even more than the average person. She wasn't an average person by any means. Do you know anyone who could drive hundreds of miles, alone, with dozens of doves in cages in the back seat? I don't. (Deb was a birder and trapped hawks for scientific research; the doves were her lure birds that she cared for like they were her children.)

I cry out to God, "Why her?" And He answers back, "Why not her?" After all, last year an estimated 42,915 people died in traffic accidents in the Unites States. So really, it's pretty common. Here are some celebrities whose lives ended that way: Grace Kelly, Jerry Rubin, Wallace Stegner, Jayne Mansfield, James Dean, Princess Diana, Jackson Pollock, Albert Camus, Isadora Duncan, Duane Allman, Ernie Kovacs and Joe Biden's first wife and son.

So I tell myself that my friend Deb is in good company. And that she didn't suffer and likely did not know what hit her, literally. (It was an 18-wheeler, see photo.) I'm just being selfish because I want her and need her. I've got to grow up. Think about the parents in Uvalde, etc. etc. 

Death sucks no matter when or where or how it happens. Accept it. (I tell myself.)

How Jews Mourn

Upon the death of a mutual friend, I spoke with a non-Jew who told me, a Jew, that, "according to Jewish law, you sit shiva for a week and then it's business as usual." In case you care, this is poppycock. When it comes to mourning, nobody does it like the Jews, and believe me, it takes a lot longer than a week:

"The Mourning period is successively less intense; many Jews (and non-Jews) view the Jewish process of mourning as psychologically wise. Its traditional elements are: shiva, seven days during which mourners are visited at home by family and community, and participate in prayer services held at home; sheloshim, the first 30 days of mourning, during which mourners return to their normal routine but refrain from many customary pleasurable activities; and, for those who have lost a parent, 11 months of aveilut (mourning), during which prayers for the dead are recited daily."