Wacky Whataboutism

The dumbest thing to come from the Democrats is the word "whataboutism." My husband's nephews, two raging leftists suffering from Trump Derangement Syndrome who never met a conservative they didn't wish dead resort to it whenever a Democrat is accused of something egregious and is called out for it. 

Today it's the fact that while Dems are still foaming at the mouth over the former president dining with rapper Kanye West and another guy who is allegedly anti-semitic, Republicans have brought up several instances when Democrats got cozy with admitted racists. Instead of saying, "Ah, you caught us, I guess lots of people have made that mistake," they cry, "That's whataboutism!" As if that makes the whole thing go away.

In response to any Republican wrongdoing when a Democrat has clearly done worse in the past, my husband avoids whataboutism by saying, "Two wrongs don't make a right." That's true, because two wrongs make two wrongs. Joe Biden really did eulogize -- i.e. praise highly in speech -- Sen. Robert Byrd of West Virginia, a former organizer and member of the KKK. That's a lot worse than ingesting food at the same table as a 24-year-old nobody who knows nothing about anything yet.

Who Is Nick Fuentes?

My husband and I read the Wall Street Journal every morning. He augments this practice by reading the New York Times online; I do the same at BBC.com. At night we flip back and forth from FOX News to CNN to MSNBC during the prime-time news hour, hoping to hear a shred of truth somewhere.

Neither of us had ever heard of Nick Fuentes until the now-famous dinner he had at Mar-A- Lago with President Trump and Kanye West. Apparently he is a 24-year-old Holocaust denier and "white nationalist," whatever that means, and the fact that Trump dined with him means that Trump shares his beliefs, according to the mainstream media.

Two thoughts come to mind: First, for many years I had a close friend who grew up in a very rich family, had a very famous and successful father, and held a high government job with much responsibility, who repeatedly told me she had serious doubts that the Holocaust ever took place. ("Oh come on, Andrea, you don't really believe that crap, do you?")  Second, according to psychologists and other experts, the human brain is not fully formed until about the age of 30. 

If sharing a meal with someone you disagree with politically, or otherwise, makes you one of them (as if it rubs off), then I am a Holocaust-denying, sheeplike Democrat who never read a book, despises all Republicans and believes whatever I hear on CNN. Which, by the way, is not the case.

Mustn't Offend the Monkeys!

The WHO, or World Health Organization, has just announced a big decision: they renamed monkeypox (now it's mpox) because the name is racist, or has racist overtones. I wonder what they mean? Are they afraid the monkeys will be offended? Is there another group they fear offending? 

The way I see it, just thinking that the name "monkeypox" could be seen as racist is actually racist  in the extreme.

The Other N-Word

This morning, as I do most mornings, I was playing Words With Friends and made the word "noose" on a triple. I was quite pleased as it was near the end of the game and this would give me a solid 18 points and put me well in the lead. But it was rejected by the game as "not a valid word." I was confused and so looked it up in the standard dictionary and learned it was just what I thought it was, a knot at the end of a rope. But this is now a forbidden word.

Oddly enough, the word "sheeny" is perfectly acceptable on Words With Friends, despite its meaning as a derogatory slur for a Jewish person. Oh yes, it also means "having a sheen, shiny," just like noose means a knot.

I'm surprised we can all still say "black." Probably not for long....

Gluttony is Not Your Fault!

This lady must be watching MTV!

No wonder people love the New York Times -- it prints hogwash that makes their readers feel good, like Trump is pure evil and Joe Biden is fit as a fiddle. In today's paper an article goes to great lengths explaining how being fat is not your fault, it's the fault of society! Wow, that's a load off -- I thought it was from my eating all that pumpkin pie with whipped cream and those chocolate chip cookies that were too good to pass up, and of course all that stuffing with gravy. But nope, it's not me -- it's them.

What the author posits is that being fat is the result of societal changes, like the introduction of MTV back in the eighties. "When people can't control their body weight, they often blame themselves," she writes. (I know I do.) But no, she goes on, obesity is really "something that's been imposed on societies, not something individuals choose." The real culprits are "environments and systems."  

So what about all those thin people who eat salads and lean protein instead of stuffed pasta shells and garlic bread? Who order black coffee and green tea instead of Mocha Frappuccinos and milk shakes? No mention of them in this article that takes the responsibility of your girth away from you and places it onto the government where it rightly belongs. Oh yes, and fat shaming causes weight gain, so stop doing that.  

I wish I had read this article before I went to Walt Disney World many years ago and saw a huge woman sitting on the toilet -- I looked through the crack in the bathroom stall because I really had to go and wondered if someone was dead in there -- eating a double cheeseburger and mounds of French fries. Turns out it wasn't her fault, the poor dear. Damn the environment!

RIP Irene Cara, and Everyone Else

Since my best friend met her untimely end under the wheels of a semi four months ago, I have reflected on the many ways people die. It's very different for each of us, and explains why so many choose to take the guesswork out of it by handling it themselves.

In my own life I have been unfortunate in several ways, among them never meeting Tommy Lee Jones, never learning how to properly ice skate, and being forced to sit through the Broadway show "Cats" by a frugal date. Another way is that I have lost many friends in a variety of unsettling ways:

1. Eric L., age 6, hanged himself from the bathroom shower rod with his bathrobe belt. Sadly, a precocious 9-year-old, I defied adult warnings and ran in and saw him still hanging there. (His face was blue, as was his bathrobe.)

2. My 15-year-old babysitter Sis -- not her real name but that's what everyone called her-- was accidentally shot dead in her garage (which was right next door to our house) by her brother Billy who was cleaning his rifle. This also happened in my ninth year.

3. Marianne C., 34, stepped out of the 4-seat prop plane she was traveling in with her pilot boyfriend and her mother in the back seat when they stopped to refuel. Quite myopic, for some reason she was not wearing her glasses and walked into the still-rotating propellor. (Use your imagination.)

4. Susan D., an artist like myself with whom I shared many enjoyable escapades in my mid-twenties and thirties, was diagnosed with a brain tumor and died at age 50. Along the way she lost the ability to see, speak, walk or do anything.

5. BethAnn T., another artist, got lung cancer. It was fairly quick. She was about 50.

6. Noreen W., a close friend and longtime confidante, lived for 13 months after being diagnosed with multiple myeloma and died at 53.

7. Bruce G., a co-worker I loved dearly and with whom I shared anchovy pizzas since nobody else in the office wanted them, was shot in the head entering his own front door while robbers were inside the house.

8. Sharon R., another co-worker at the same company, died at age 50 of Type 1 diabetes.

9. Rick W., my first husband and oldest friend, died alone in a hospital at age 72 of COPD after years of smoking.

10. David P., a beautiful and talented gay man who worked alongside me as a graphic designer in the art department of The Washington Times, died of AIDS at 33. It was early, before treatments had been found.

11. Debra S., 68, drove into the path of an 18-wheeled Freightliner in the mountains of Wyoming on a sunny summer day.

Excuse me if I'm feeling a bit down after reading about the death of Irene Cara, the beautiful young star of Fame who died today at age 63. I still remember her singing the words to the show's hit song: "I'm gonna live forever....."

Things I Can't Believe

I guess I had too much pie....

Just started watching Mad Men and I can't believe this is supposedly the "best thing ever on TV," as one critic said. Oh please. Peggy got pregnant and never realized it but goes to the doctor for abdominal pain and gives birth to a viable baby? Is she a moron? 

A high-school quarterback lost his scholarship to the University of Florida because he uttered the word nigger while rapping to a song in which the word was sung, then posted a video of himself rapping. WTF? Are they joking? The term "woke" should be changed to "brain dead."

Yesterday at dinner, even though there was plenty of turkey and green beans and carrot salad, I ate mostly stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy, then apple and pumpkin pie with whipped cream and felt sick all night. What was I thinking?

Holidays for Meanies

Family is everything, we are told more often than not. It's the most important connection we have to other people. Blood is thicker than water and all that. And the holidays are the time to travel long distances, get stuck in airports and traffic jams, and spend lots of money just to be with those very special and precious people, supposedly. So I was surprised to find the following advice in an article online entitled "How to Survive Thanksgiving With Your Family": 

"Remember, there’s no reason for you to go visit your family for Thanksgiving if that’s not what you want to do. The decision to stay away might make your mom angry — but that doesn’t mean you should be sad, too. 'It’s a radical thought that someone else could be upset and you can be as happy as you were before they got upset,' psychologist Dr. Lindsay Gibson told British newspaper The Guardian in 2021."

I wonder if Dr. Gibson has any friends.

How Old Is Over?

Helen Mirren is 77.

I have never forgotten the words of a fat comedienne I saw perform stand-up several years ago at an open-mic night in the next town over. Talking about her grandmother who had just turned 90, she laughingly said, "She still has a goal weight. I mean really, why? Who's looking at her?" The audience of mostly young people howled.

I thought of her because I just went to mail some letters at our little post office and there was a bowl of leftover Halloween candy in the lobby and I took two Reese's and ate them on the way home, and as the saying goes, "Not sorry." Only now I am sorry, and feel like it was stupid and unhealthy, and besides I do have a goal weight even though I am 76. And maybe nobody is looking except my husband who always tells me he loves my body the way it is, but I am looking and I don't like it. 

That 90-year-old granny was likely keeping trim for herself and nobody else, and that's why she reached the age of 90 by the way. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that her very obese 35-ish granddaughter is already dead. (I didn't say I'd like it or that I hoped so, just that I wouldn't be surprised.)

Is there an age when we are supposed to give up on ourselves and not try to look our best, feel our best, and be our best? What is that age? I guess I'm not there yet. The stunning actress Helen Mirren hasn't gotten there yet either, and she's even older than I am! (See photo.)

November 22, What a Day!

Today is National Cranberry Relish Day, which is odd since it is two days before Thanksgiving when a lot of people will be making and eating cranberry relish so you'd think that would be its day. But no, it's actually today, and I have no intention of making any or eating any so I guess I won't be celebrating it until two days from now.

The other thing today is is the day President John F. Kennedy was murdered in 1963, or as I like to think of it, My Senior Year of High School. It was the day I gave up on politics, figuring if someone killed JFK nobody was safe, although oddly enough nobody has killed any president since and there have been so many worse ones whose deaths would not have caused me to shed a tear. 

That night I went to the movies with my two best friends, Judy and Sherry, neither of whom I know today, although I did have a brief reprise with Judy about ten years ago that lasted until it became clear she was incapable of sustaining a friendship. Plus she always dressed all in black which I found disconcerting. 

Anyway, that night long ago we went to see Lord of the Flies. The theater was packed, and when the film got out at just before midnight there was a line of people stretching around the block waiting for the next show. There were also newspaper vendors out and about hawking special editions with the headline "PRESIDENT KILLED."

Nobody mentions November 22 anymore. It may have been a very dark day in history, but now it's Cranberry Relish Day! Time marches on, things change. 

A Reluctant Thanksgiver

Politics is a game that is played the world over. If you don't play you are left out of a lot of very grown-up sounding conversations, but you also have a lot more time to do other things. I choose to not play, so I am forced to find some of those other things to do. Lately, I seem to be running out of alternatives and so am considering running for office. (Just kidding.)

I used to spend my days making art, but as people do not seem interested in buying my art I have lost interest in it. I mean how many paintings can you have in your home? 

For none of the above am I thankful. But I better think of something, because this week has a big "thing" in the middle of it called Thanksgiving, and it's right there in the name what's expected of you. I have no idea what it's for ever since I saw Dances With Wolves recently. Those Indians did not like us, nor we them, at least at first. Exactly what is the feast all about? This is the one with the Pilgrims? Are there any Pilgrims left today?

Anyway, I have resisted doing this turkey holiday thing as it's pretty well played if you ask me. I was hoping instead to go out for sushi. But as part of a married couple, well let's just say that greater minds prevailed. Last year I made something else, I think it was brisket, and the guests complained, actually they whined miserably about my culinary decision. ("What, no turkey? Are you kidding? How is this even Thanksgiving?")  Still I stood my ground, toying with other menu options, until today when I went and brought a turkey that now sits in the fridge, dominating everything else in there. 

So it looks like T-day is a go. Which means I have to come up with some things I am thankful for since that's one of the things you do besides eat, say what you're thankful for. (If I could say what I'm not thankful for I could go on for much longer, but that's not in the job description.) Anyway, here they are:

1. Taking Miralax every night has fixed my IBS-C problem, without the $500/month pill my doctor prescribed. 

2. Bibi is back. I love that.

3. I only have to bake a pumpkin pie this Thanksgiving because someone else is bringing an apple pie. That's a load off.

4. I don't have COVID, and I have never had COVID.

5. The usual: Roof over my head, bed to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat, healthy son, and all that kind of thing.

I guess at dinner I'll just expound on #5.          

Small Town Theater

Homespun fun is celebrated by the cast of "Carousel."

Last night we attended a performance of "Carousel," the highly-acclaimed musical play by Rodgers and Hammerstein that dominated Broadway for 890 performances back in 1945. One thing is for sure: it was a simpler time then, which the songs and dialog made all too clear. To say the story is dated is an understatement, what with a man losing his job as a carousel barker, whatever that was, because he put his arm around a girl's waist in public.

But here in Maine, we'll take what we can get. It's often slim pickings, at least if you were raised on NYC's Broadway shows and operas at the Met. Still, as season subscribers my husband and I ardently support small town theater, and eagerly attend their offerings with an open mind. Some efforts are more rewarding than others.

Happily, surprises do happen. Like last night, with the enormously obese performer with a knockout voice owning the stage and winning you over despite her distracting size. (She got the most applause at the end.) And the leading man, a commanding tenor with a voice that could rival Pavarotti, blowing everyone away and making the two-plus hours of the mostly forgettable libretto worthwhile. 

All in all, it was pretty good theater at the aptly named Good Theater, and as usual we got a parking space right out front, something that definitely could never happen on Broadway.

Where Are the Grownups?

Where are the grownups? Who's in charge here? These days things that matter go unaddressed, while stupid things become all everyone talks about, or is supposed to talk about.

For example, I don't care about a massacre of black people that happened in Tulsa, Oklahoma back in 1921. (That's more than 100 years ago in case you can't do math, which you likely can't if you are under the age of 40.) If you are woke, you are supposed to care and we are supposed to give black people more reparations for the horror that took place then. But does anyone care about the weekly massacre of black people that takes place in Chicago, Illinois this very year? Statistics for last weekend:

 According to the Chicago Police Department, 28 people were shot in 26 separate shootings between 6 p.m. Friday and 11:59 p.m. Sunday. Six were fatalities. 

FYI, it's way cooler to care about Tulsa than about Chicago. In fact if you don't you are probably a racist. And really, who cares about Twitter and whether celebrities are leaving it in droves because a Republican bought it, when thousands of illegals cross our southern border daily, bringing dangerous drugs into the country but you only hear about it on FOX News? 

Twitter is nothing. It does nothing -- it's not food or shelter or clothing or medicine. It's simply entertainment for the masses of youngsters who worship celebrity. I have never had a Twitter account and guess what, I am still alive, there is nothing I need, it has not impacted my life in any way. What is it, you ask? 

Twitter is an online news and social networking site where people communicate in short messages called tweets. Tweeting is posting short messages for anyone who follows you on Twitter, with the hope that your words are useful and interesting to someone in your audience.

What will happen to America after the Baby Boomers are gone? 

Love Yourself, or Else

The worst feeling in the world is self-hatred, something with which I am all too familiar. It comes in waves, and suddenly you see clearly how you have allowed people to demean you and you have not defended yourself, dodging an ugly scene by telling yourself, "It just isn't worth it." But it turns out it is worth it because years later, whatever it was still haunts you.

For example, for eight years I continued a friendship with a woman who despised all Republicans, but somehow was not sharp enough to realize I was one, or at least I was on the verge of becoming one for some of that time. To avoid confrontation, I endured countless lunches listening to her rant about the worthless scum who voted for Donald Trump, never letting on that I was one of them and I am not worthless scum, whereas she might have been. 

Yes, a Democrat can be worthless scum too. Born in Maine, by the age of 63 she had never been outside the country, and hardly out of Maine for that matter, unless you count just over the border in Canada. She lived a small life and had a small mind, but still I liked her, mostly because she was a great veterinarian who virtually saved the life of one of my cats shortly after we moved here. I was forever grateful, and I had three cats and a dog, all of whom needed care from time to time, so finding a skilled vet was a very big deal. Besides, she had a decent sense of humor and that's a rare thing in these times and in these environs. 

Still, those dastardly lunches! (We never did dinner because her husband is agoraphobic and so it was always just the two of us.) Thai food and how much the Republicans suck. Craft beer, pizza and how much the Republicans suck. Caesar salad, burgers and how much the Republicans suck! And all the time there I was, nodding in agreement rather than have a scene. Finally, when I was down to just one cat -- by then Daisy, Gizmo and Rufus had all been euthanized by her -- I finally had enough and hit on the solution: Change vets, and possibly gain back my self-respect. 

But I feel sad that it took me so long. At the time, my need for friendship was stronger than my need for self-love. Now I know, it's all that matters. You are stuck with yourself, after everyone is gone. The death of my closest friend four months ago brought that into sharp focus and allowed me to finally stand up for myself and tell those other people, including a friend/lunatic who waltzed into my house last May to declare she didn't approve of my thoughts and so I'd better change them, to fuck off. (I only said that in my mind, I don't speak to people that way.)

If you have any friends who do not like "who you are," dump them. If you have friends who are critical of your politics and shove you in with the masses they read about in the paper, dump them. Because in the end, you are all you've got. And most of all, be proud of yourself because it's hard to find someone to sing your praises if you don't.

He's Baaaack!

Apparently Donald Trump did not read my post yesterday imploring him to announce he would not be a presidential candidate in 2024. Instead he spoke for over an hour about his past successes -- which were many, let's face it -- and how he will achieve even greater things in his next term. Oy.

On the plus side, he appeared to be quite sensible and dare I say more mature, healthier-looking and a tad slimmed down. I wondered what he was on: lorazepam, Valium, some other sedative? If only Trump could maintain that low-key demeanor all the time he might do great things. But surely we will see him unravel over the coming months, and one can only imagine the horror of a debate between him and his Democrat rival should he win the nomination. 

The only bright spot in our increasingly dark political future is the possibility that the Democrats will nominate Hillary Clinton and the two of them can go at it again. That would be great fun to watch, especially if their debate takes place in a barnyard and they let them use real mud.

Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr.Trump:

You don't know me but I am a former fan. Yes, I voted for you in the past, but that won't happen again. Should you choose to run, I will simply not vote in the 2024 election, since no amount of pot, cocaine or even magic mushrooms could get me to vote for Joe Biden in his sunset years, or even his sunrise years. 

Still, my point is this: DO NOT RUN IN 2024!!!!! You will lose badly, and then you'll look even worse than you already do. And consider poor Melania -- hasn't she suffered enough? Do you think she wants to move back to that hell-hole known as "inside the beltway"?

Instead, just play golf and eat well and enjoy your grandchildren. Stop reading the papers, unplug from the Internet and rest in the knowledge that you did great things as president. And one more thing -- and this could really get a lot of folks to be on your side: throw all your support behind Ron DeSantis, who will surely be a great president. Be his friend and he will be yours! 

So come out tonight and shock everyone and be nice and say how much you love America and want the Republicans to win in 2024, and to that end you will not be a candidate. 

Sincere thanks from the whole world,

Andrea

Help Me Rhonda*

The worst part about death is that it comes to everyone, but not usually in the order you wish. I'm still angry, despondent, depressed and annoyed that God took my best friend, a woman in the prime of life adored by hundreds who actually may have been a saint, while leaving on Earth so many ignorant, greedy, worthless nitwits who add little to the common good -- a fact to which even their closest family members would concede.

That sounds nasty but face it, some people are simply better than others. I don't just mean the severely broken Jeffrey Dahmers and Ted Bundys, but ordinary people who never lift a finger to help a friend, who don't give to charity, who fail to better themselves in any way, instead using their allotted time here partying, decorating their homes, eating in fancy restaurants, getting mani-pedis and binge-watching Game of Thrones or whatever it's called these days. Plus, the least considerate among them are always late! (If they say, "I'll be there at six," and they are not there at six, why did they say it? And if they're not there by six, just when are they going to arrive? How long must one wait?)

Sadly, those of us now alive are responsible for the fate of mankind, and today's living are not doing such a great job. Take, for example, the rise of TikTok, a perfect example of the worst behaviors currently running rampant in society. (See photo.) No wonder 13% of us suffer from anthropophobia. 

* The title of this post refers to a song by The Beach Boys often used as an expression of disbelief or frustration.

The New Civil War

It's already here but it's likely going to get worse the closer we get to the next presidential election. Still, normal conversation between members of opposing sides is all but impossible these days. Which is why the guest list for our holiday Open House includes only people who agree with us politically. It's not just to ensure there will be no hateful sparring, but also because we don't really enjoy those "other people" anymore.

There are some exceptions of course. A few of my good friends are aligned with the other side, but we are all mature enough to disregard politics and focus on our commonalities. Fortunately they live far away so are not on the guest list. (Phew!)

The Internet is for Dummies

Back when email first started, my husband and I both signed up with the leading purveyor of the service, which was then called AOL (it stood for America Online). In 1998, the smash hit movie starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, You've Got Mail, highlighted the web browser's growing popularity. Everyone used it.

Eventually competitors popped up, and in 2004 people started using Google's own Gmail, leaving AOL to try out the new kid on the block. Mitch and I never changed our email provider because we moved around a lot, from DC to Utah and back to DC, and then to Maine, and changing would have been a giant hassle and possibly result in the loss of valued personal and professional contacts dating back many years.

So here I am in 2022, stuck with this ridiculous mail provider that has been bought and sold to huge companies several times over the years, with each iteration becoming less reliable as a news source while still providing good mail service. So despite being seen as dinosaurs because we still use AOL, we still use AOL. (I may be a dinosaur but at least I'm not a democrat.)

But today I might have to call it quits after reading a story, in its entirety which was a real drag because it's one where they spoon-feed you a little editorial content on a page full of ads, so you have to click about a million times to get through the whole thing. Anyway, this story, with a byline of 2020 which in itself is a complete riot, is about actress Patty Duke and the many men she slept with, one of whom fathered her actor son. Here is how it looks online today:

The thing is, Patty died in 2016, a fact never mentioned in the article, which continually refers to her in the present tense. From Wikipedia:

"Duke died on the morning of March 29, 2016 in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, of sepsis from a ruptured intestine at the age of 69. Her son Sean Astin invited the public to contribute to a mental health foundation in his mother's name, the Patty Duke Mental Health Initiative. She was cremated and her ashes were interred at Forest Cemetery in Coeur d'Alene."

Just in case you think that thing you just read online is true....😜!

Guess What, Fat People Are Unhappy

Lately there's all this woke thinking about how fat people are just fine the way they are. They love being  their particular size and accept it. They are not unhappy! They do not dream of being thin -- or what they call anyone under about 200 pounds, "skinny." This is total B.S. which I know for a fact since I grew up in the very large shadow of a fat sibling and had front-row seats to the misery it engendered for her, and still does to this day. 

I have fought being fat every day since my truly fucked-up childhood experiences left me with a lasting legacy: I am a compulsive eater. This means I eat when I am not hungry. I eat not to fuel my body but fuel my anger. I eat because I am sad, or depressed or lonely or disappointed or worried or grieving or nobody likes my art or my dog died. I eat for no reason until I am so full I feel sick. I eat crap that doesn't taste good. It usually makes me feel worse, after making me feel better, but like a heroin addict I go back for more.

The thing is, I am not fat to the outside world, only to myself. This is because my bouts of compulsive eating are offset by periods of intense exercise and deliberate moderation, or else I'd be the size of a Smart Car like so many of the people you see in public.

I am sick of it. Today I threw a lot of junk, i.e. delicious snacks, down the garbage disposal instead of down my gullet (see photo). God forbid I should ever get fatter! It's bad enough that I can't fit into a lot of my clothes; I'd hate not being able to fit in an airline seat. 

Somebody Please, Free Brittney!

The worst thing about the Internet is that it gives you a glimpse into the lives of people you would never otherwise meet unless you made a terrible error like going to Walt Disney World. Yeah, I know that sounds snobby but I never claimed to not be a snob. First of all I am a native New Yorker, which automatically gives me snob rights since New Yorkers know everything by their third birthday and just keep getting smarter the longer they live there. (Those people who get pushed in front of subways are obviously not natives.)

Sadly, my intelligence has gradually eroded since moving to Maine 13 years ago so who am I to talk, but I can still recognize that humans in general are dumbing down at an alarming rate. For example, Brittney Griner, the imprisoned basketball star held in Russia for no damn good reason, is constantly referred to as "she" in the news, despite the fact that "her" Adam's apple is plainly visible in all photos. (From Wiki: When the larynx grows larger during puberty, it sticks out at the front of the throat. This is what's called an Adam's apple. Everyone's larynx grows during puberty, but a girl's larynx doesn't grow as much as a boy's does. That's why boys have Adam's apples.) "She" also sounds like a man and looks like a man. 

My point is that I am broken up over Brittney's fate, no matter his/her gender. (Standing 6 ft 9 in tall, Griner wears a men's U.S. size 17 shoe and has an arm span of 87.5 in.) She/he did nothing to hurt anyone, is not a danger to society, certainly has no beef with Russia and besides, is a fabulous basketball player whose team needs him/her. Today she/he is being sent to a penal colony for nine years of hard labor, all because a teeny little vape pipe was discovered in his/her luggage on a trip to Russia, with a smidgen of whatever in it. 

And yet not one of our fabulous, all-powerful leaders who fly around in private jets and avoid paying taxes and spend their days lunching, napping and gabbing into microphones within the halls of Congress, with aides to do all the heavy lifting, has freed Brittney, or tried half as hard as they do to smear their opponents.

Where's the chutzpah? I'd bet that if we had a New York Jew for president, Brittney would be free. Just a guess.

Kennedy to Fetterman: The Fall of the Democrats

When I was 16 I looked up to Senator John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts. He seemed like a God of some sort: Handsome to look at, always well-dressed, graceful and wise and articulate. Today I am literally appalled to see newly-elected Senator John Fetterman of Pennsylvania. He seems like an ogre of some sort: Ugly of face and form, clomping around in a sloppy hoodie like a surly teenage boy, heavily tattooed and unable to complete a sentence. As I say to myself every morning when I look in the mirror, "What a difference 60 years makes!"

Read This Before You Vote Tomorrow

Who are the sheep? Are you one of them?

Who are the shepherds misleading them? Could it be Joe Biden, who says everything is great and inflation is gone and employment is up and the economy is the best it's ever been?

Who are the lying leaders? Is it Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer, Mitch McConnell and Lindsay Graham, or really everyone in Congress and every last senator and governor? 

It's up to you to decide and kick them out of office. Tomorrow you get a shot.

 

Think Before You Vote

In case you are leaning towards voting Democratic in tomorrow's midterm elections, think again. 

Our current president, a Democrat, has shown clear evidence of increasing cognitive difficulties that imply the onset of senile dementia, or worse. The current Vice President, the first woman to hold that office, was appointed the "Border Czar" by the aforementioned confused president in March of 2021 and has not yet even visited said border where all the trouble is. And the Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services, the first transgendered person to hold public office, appears to be neither healthy nor human.

Okay, so now go vote.

Confessions of an Election Denier

I am proud to say that I am one of those election deniers you hear being denigrated on the news so often. But before you judge me harshly, let me remind you I'm in good company: sore loser Hillary Clinton, loudmouth Stacey Abrams, former president Jimmy Carter and our current president Joe Biden all vigorously state their belief that Donald Trump was an illegitimate president and that his election was "stolen" with the help of the Russians. (And Stacey still believes she is the rightful Governor of Georgia, a race she lost eons ago.)

Somehow this delusionary thinking popularized by prominent Democrats is never negated by the media and is in fact quietly condoned, as in, "Yeah, who doesn't know that?" Meanwhile, the 21 million Americans, myself among them, who sincerely believe that the 2020 election was rigged, messed with, or otherwise not kosher are regularly excoriated as "traitorous insurrectionists."

It's crazy, that's what it is. Downright nutty, especially when the ballot-counting was obviously bungled and suspiciously shut down early on election night, resulting in the next morning's revelation that Joe Biden, a mediocre hack who was never impressive even before his brain fog, received more votes than any president in history. All I can say about that is "Hahahahahahahahahaha!

So that's one confession. Another is that I plan to vote straight Republican in next week's election no matter who it is or what they are running for since I honestly think the Democrats are dangerous and scary.

A third is, should he run in 2024 I will vote for Donald Trump over any Democrat candidate they can scrape together. (Who wants Joe or Kamala or Mayor Pete or Pretty Boy Newsom or God-save-us Hillary running things?)

No, It's Not All Good

 

The author of the words in the purple box is actress Sharon Stone, who apparently has no shame and wants the whole world to know, or at least anyone with a Facebook account. But then, she's not starring in any new movies so I guess you stay current however you can in Hollywood. That's fine, and really it's her business. My beef is with her very last sentence: "It's all good."

Really -- it's all good? I mean, it's all good? These are the things that Sharon says are good:

1. She just received another misdiagnosis, so that means she has had at least one before this. And then she had an incorrect procedure, which sounds really awful. Like what did they do, fix the wrong body part? (That's not even partially good, forget "all good.")

2. She had to have  a double epidural. (Definitely bad.)

3. She experienced worsening pain and had to get a second opinion! God knows how long it took to get that appointment, this obviously had been going on for some time. (Again, all bad.)

4. She has a large fibroid tumor that must come out! That means surgery, and that's never good under any circumstances.

5. She will be "down" for 4-6 weeks to recover. (Very, very bad.)

Then she ends with, "It's all good." WTF? Either Sharon is exhibiting signs of early-onset dementia at the age of 64 and has confused the words  "good" and "bad," or she has fallen prey to the mindless use of a platitude which conveys nothing, is basically meaningless, and serves as a way to end a statement when the speaker can't think of anything real to say.

I'll bet you anything that Sharon says, "At the end of the day" even when it isn't, like in the morning or afternoon. I hate that, and lose respect for people who say that. It's all good.

Own Your Life

In the past week two different, yet oddly similar, tragedies took the lives of many people. In both instances almost the same number of lives were lost: about 150 in Seoul, Korea were crushed during a stampede at a Halloween festival and approximately 135 in India drowned or were otherwise mortally injured in a footbridge collapse. In both instances, the "authorities" on the scene are very busy trying to find who is responsible so they can punish them with lawsuits or possibly prison, even though it's clearly evident the dead people themselves made decisions that sealed their fate.

In the Halloween stampede last Saturday, thousands of people filled the tiny streets and cramped alleys of a popular neighborhood full of pubs, clubs and music venues, pushing and shoving to escape the crowds. Naturally, many people fell to the ground and were trod  upon by those who hadn't fallen down, and eventually were crushed to death by the sheer weight of them.

In the Indian disaster, the 143-year-old Morbi footbridge in the western state of Gujarat had recently reopened after months of renovations. At least 500 people were on it at the time, even though it was deemed safe for only 100 to 150 people. Since there is a fee to walk on the bridge, a popular tourist attraction, the owners and operators are being accused of greed for selling too many tickets. But hey -- would you have gotten on it just because you could have? One look at the flimsy, 754-foot long suspension bridge swaying high above a river would have dissuaded me from putting one toe on it, even if I was the only one there!

Lifelong smokers die of cancer and their families sue the cigarette makers. Fat people have fatal heart attacks and the fast-food industry is blamed. Speeding drivers crash and the auto manufacturer is seen as the culprit. People die in hurricanes after being warned for days to leave the area and the governor of the state is the bad guy. Deranged killers go on shooting sprees and the gun manufacturers are vilified. Voters install a bumbling old man and a nitwit as President and VP and then wonder why the country is a mess. (And Hillary Clinton still truly believes she lost the 2016 election because Trump somehow "stole" it from her, not because the people of American rejected her, but that's another post.)

Face it: You are the driver of your decisions, nobody else. Take a look in the mirror and you'll see who's responsible for your crummy life, if it is crummy, or your good fortune, if it is good. Instead of seeking a scapegoat for your life's misfortunes, as Joan Rivers would say, "Oh grow up!"

Halloween Report

What is there to say?

Back when our son was little, Halloween was a big deal. But now that he's grown, and we live on a semi-rural dead end street with few kids, it's more of a pain in the neck than anything else. Nobody comes, but somebody might. Still, trying to get into the spirit, the day before Halloween my husband and I carved two big pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns, mostly for the seeds which we then rinsed and roasted in the oven with olive oil, salt and pepper. We stuck candles into the pumpkins and put them outside and took pictures.

The following day, on Halloween, there was a knock at the door at about six in the evening. On my front steps stood two girls, one about 14 and the other maybe 12. Their supposed "costumes" were simple black robes, worn open over jeans and t-shirts, and horn-rimmed glasses minus the glass. What were they? Maybe Supreme Court justices? There was no way to know, but I was not impressed. 

Anyway, the two of them stood there staring at me, silently. I remained silent as well, waiting for those three magic words that would make me produce some candy. But nothing.

I remained silent. They remained silent. Finally, after almost a minute, I shrugged and said, "Well?" The older girl rolled her eyes and muttered a barely audible "trick or treat" with obvious disdain. I repaid her effort with a tiny Reese's peanut cup for each of them.

Thankfully I had no more interruptions last night. But I did wonder what had caused this lackluster performance in those girls. What is Halloween these days anyway? Maybe it's time for it to end.