Being Ugly Is Finally Cool

You've got to hand it to the younger generation. They are very accepting. Besides thinking it's okay to be fat, they also think being ugly is cool, in fact they try to make themselves as ugly as possible. I suppose this is a good thing since not that many people are beautiful. Still, there are limits, don't you think?

This meme showed up on my Facebook page and I am still trying to figure out if this is a real person or a computer-generated horror. If she/he/it/they is real then the human race is in bigger trouble than I thought.

Be Nice? Ha!

These are popping up everywhere.

I think most people would agree that these days, niceness is not all that common. Take those five black cops in Memphis who beat another black man to death for driving recklessly. I'm not suggesting that only black people are not nice; people of all colors are not nice, and by "all colors" I include whites because contrary to today's woke rules, white is definitely a color. Take it from a painter, white is a very important color; when I run out of white I basically have to stop working and drive to the art store to get more. Which is kind of funny, since black and brown people are always referred to as "POC" while whites are not.  

Anyway, about being nice: Too many people are not even a little bit nice. This explains all those mass shootings and random attacks on the streets of big cities and the guy who hit Paul Pelosi in the head with a hammer. A few weeks ago a six-year-old kid shot his teacher. That wasn't very nice, was it? 

Our politicians are horrible, saying all sorts of insulting things about one another to the press. And members of the press are surely not nice, writing despicable, incendiary headlines and fake stories about people, usually celebrities, in order to sell more papers. Hence the crazy amount of lawsuits we hear about all the time.

Having lived there I can say for a fact that Utahns and New Yorkers are almost universally nice while Mainers are generally not. They won't acknowledge you unless you have been formally introduced, forget smiling or waving at a stranger when you're out for a run. And even when they are supposedly a friend, they still behave badly. I won't name names but trust me, it's quite common around these parts to be treated like garbage by someone you have known for 13 years. Like last week when a "friend" called (for a favor) and in passing asked how I was feeling since she knew I had Covid. When I started to answer she cut me off and said, "Don't be a Debby Downer, just say you're fine." 

My point is this: here in Maine, Black Lives Matter signs have been replaced with signs that say Be Nice. They are everywhere, on lawns and city streetcorners and on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere. It's as if people think sticking up one of those signs is all they have to do; automatically they are nice in God's eyes. Believe me, it doesn't work that way. 

I try to be consistently nice to others -- certainly anyone going through a hard time. I usually send flowers or call or bring food. But I would never, ever put up one of those signs. I'm nice incognito.

TV Series Review: THE DROPOUT

Amanda Seyfried and Naveen Andrews

A riveting account of disgraced CEO Elizabeth Holmes and her doomed company Theranos, The Dropout is just short of impossible to stop watching. And when it ends after eight episodes, you'll still want more. 

Starring so many familiar actors it's hard to name them all, the obvious standout is Amanda Seyfried who deserves an Oscar, an Emmy, a Golden Globe and whatever other awards exist for her no-holds-barred performance as the charming, duplicitous, sociopathic Holmes. 

In case you've been on another planet for the last few years, the true story concerns a young, brilliant Stanford University student with a burning ambition to make her mark on the world. She does it by inventing a new blood-typing system that promises to revolutionize the medical industry. Somehow, at the age of 19, Holmes convinces lots of very rich people to back her start-up venture. (For example, Rupert Murdoch gives her $165 million.)

Finding success quickly, she leaves college before graduating -- hence the title -- and soon enough has hundreds of employees. Sadly, it's all a sham. The idea doesn't work but she keeps up the charade by lying and cheating, aided by her business partner/lover Sunny Balwani (Naveen Andrews), all the while imperiling the lives of patients whose doctors used her product for incorrect diagnoses. 

Along the way we are treated to an inside look at the lives of the very rich, very selfish and very impressionable young people who worshipped at the twin altars of money and green kale smoothies. Holmes's ultimate downfall, many years in the making, is delicious. (Those smoothies apparently are not, but everyone drinks them anyway.)

See it on HULU.

Useless Information

The brain is a funny thing. At least mine is. I can walk from the bedroom to the bathroom intent on getting something and forget what I wanted by the time I get there. Yet I remember quite clearly that today is my father-in-law's birthday. So what, you ask? Well, the father-in-law in question died 30 years ago, and at the time of his death I had been divorced from his son, also now deceased, for 20 years. So, doing the math, the last time I needed to know his birthday was a really long time ago. Still, every January 26th it pops up, clear as day.

I also remember, many years ago, having a one-night stand with a guy named Jerry in Vancouver, although I don't know who he was or how I came to meet him in Vancouver when I went there on a trip with a guy named Michael. It's not like Jerry and I had a big romance to last the ages; that one night was it. (It also pretty much ended things with Michael.)

Why we forget important things and remember trivial ones is a mystery. I am constantly amazed that my husband, at age 65, has total recall of every kid from his third-grade class, knows with whom and when and where he had his first kiss, first date and first sexual encounter, can remember which license plates he has seen and which are missing out of all 50 when we take a road trip and he plays that game in his head, and still leave his briefcase with all his work papers and his computer sitting at home this morning when he left the house for a business trip to Philly. And hey, that's not the first time. (One guess who noticed and then had to drive halfway to the airport, still in her PJs and having had only one cup of coffee and also having to pee but there wasn't time, to get it to him in time to make the flight.)

Anyway, what was I talking about?

Laughing Is So Old-fashioned

Sometimes, like when I am confined to my home with a contagious disease, I read my old blog posts just for a laugh. And I've noticed that the older they are, the louder I laugh. Which leads me to conclude that A, I was funnier when I was younger or B, life in general is worse nowadays. (I think both are true.)

Anyway, in order to restore some depleted self-esteem, I will try to write a post that is actually funny right here and now. All I need is a subject. But that's the tough part, since you're hardly allowed to make fun of anyone or anything in today's woke, pronoun-conscious-world. Like you can't mock fat people ("I'm not saying she's big, but her last picture had to be taken by satellite"), dumb people ("He's so slow, it takes him an hour and a half to watch 60 Minutes"), or anyone with a handicap ("My uncle has a glass eye." "Did he tell you that?" "No, it just came out in conversation").

As I'll sometimes do in such situations, I'll pull a Joe Biden and use someone else's material. Only I say outright that I'm stealing, which is what makes me different from Joe. Anyway, following are some jokes other people made up that might make you smile.

The doctor says, "You'll live to be 60!" "I am 60!" "See, what did I tell you?"

Death is just another way of saying, "Yesterday was the last day of your life."

It took a lot of will-power but I finally managed to give up dieting.

When he was born he was so ugly that the doctor slapped his mother.

That beach is so exclusive even the tide can't come in.

Raise your hand if you miss the days when girls were girls, men were men and Joan Rivers got away with murder.

The Oscars and Me

Something I have long suspected is now an inescapable fact: I am no longer part of society. For the first time in my life I have not seen even one of the movies nominated for this year's Oscars. This is odd since I do watch movies quite often, but I guess I'm watching ones that don't make big money and thus don't really matter.

The good news is that decent films are still being made that do not involve Hollywood. The bad news is that Hollywood still exists.

Life Before the Internet

Before the Internet I never saw really fat people. I'm talking really fat people -- the grotesque ones who can barely move. Now photographs of them spring up in my face without warning, alarming and disgusting me, while "woke" people comment about the horrors of fat-shaming and how they are beautiful just as they are, which lets me know that besides the morbidly obese there are the morbidly insane or, at the very least, the morbidly misguided.

Before the Internet I wouldn't have known that many Americans, certainly half of them, don't consider Kamala Harris and Joe Biden to be nincompoops. I also would never have heard a lot of the dumb things those two say, as the newspapers and TV new shows clean that stuff up. Sadly, now I know that our VP is an idiot who really loves yellow school buses and POTUS is markedly feeble-minded. 

Before the Internet many of the people presently deceased would be alive instead of having fallen to their deaths while taking mountaintop selfies in order to post them online. In the old days there were no selfies; the word didn't even exist. Instead photos of us were taken by others and seen only by people we knew personally.

Before the Internet, total strangers we will never meet including many who live far away, sometimes in other countries, would never gain access to our home addresses, our phone numbers, our ages, the names and ages and addresses of our spouses and children and entire families, as well as where we work, where we have worked in the past and what other people may think of us.

Before the Internet, we took our chances when we went out to dinner and expected the best instead of knowing the worst about every restaurant, cafe, ice cream shop and pizza parlor. We had our cars serviced and teeth cleaned and heads examined by people our friends told us were good at it, and shopped at establishments nearby or those that were highly praised by friends and family. 

Life was better then.

Even Worse Covid Confusion

Now that I've had Covid for almost five days, my brain is definitely showing the effects. Called "brain fog" by some, it's a top symptom. But surely the biggest symptom is fatigue, exhaustion and every other word you can think of meaning no energy.

I'm pissed because after dodging the disease for almost three years, I'm pretty sure I contracted it last week at a lunch I wrote about with the horrible woman (and her horrible husband) who never STFU for a second and so her germs were being propelled all over me for almost two hours. My only consolation is that she has it now too.

Covid Confusion

Well, I've had a pretty good run since it first showed up in 2020, avoiding it even when my husband contracted it, but Covid finally got me yesterday in the middle of my afternoon walk. My symptoms were mild enough to confuse them with just a cold, but severe enough this morning to warrant taking a test that turned out to be positive. 

Since I am in the group considered to be "high risk," owing to my age (over 65) and comorbidity (heart disease), I called my doctor looking for some sound advice as to how to proceed. I didn't get any. Or rather, I got some but it might have been from his lawyer.

A chatty nurse I spoke with at length stressed the need for me to wear a mask at all times in my home as I isolate for the next five days. This seemed to be of utmost importance. But as to whether or not I should take an antiviral medication, something I would like to avoid because of its unpleasant side effects, and which must be started within five days of the onset of symptoms, the advice was murky at best. She said she would contact my doctor and get back to me with his decision. Several hours later his word came back: "Okay."

Okay what? Okay, take an antiviral medication? Okay, don't take it and wait to see if my symptoms worsen? Okay, I tested positive and have Covid? Could she clarify, I asked the nurse. She said, "He literally said "Okay." 

Okay then.

How to Have A Conversation

Maybe it's because I earned a living as a reporter for many years, but I approach new people as an opportunity to learn. Not just about them, but about the places they have lived, the jobs they have held, and insights they may have about life in general. To that end, even though my reporting days are over I still ask a lot of questions, often coming away smarter or at least more informed. 

This seems to me a decent way to go about living and growing, and also telegraphs my interest in the other person, something that is invaluable in building a new friendship.

Sadly, this is not how most people comport themselves. It's shocking how many people don't give a rat's ass about the person they have right in front of them, instead talking only about themselves and their accomplishments. I'm used to this behavior by now and expect little else, which is why I avoid parties. But sometimes you meet someone who defies all reasonable expectations of pomposity, selfishness and self-aggrandizement. I recently met such a person, and I'm still getting over it.

The woman in question claims to have been (and still be) a psychologist, of all things, which is mind-blowing. At a casual lunch arranged by a mutual friend who thought she and I would "hit it off," mostly because we are both Jewish and the same age, it was all I could do to keep from dumping my Caesar salad upside down on her head, anchovies and all. 

Really, I thought of doing that for almost the whole time we were together, as she nattered on unceasingly about how she was "a very successful and well-known psychologist" and she had written a "very successful best-seller" (nobody ever heard of) and she has a very unique personality --"I'm very different" -- and so doesn't like most people -- who does? -- and how she had a "very successful career as a psychologist" and was "very well-known." (That's not a mistake, I repeated it to give you the flavor of our conversation. Multiply that by ten.)

She proceeded, in stunning detail, to list every place she had ever lived, where she is planning to live in both the immediate and distant future, and how her way of life as a "nomad" is the only way to live. Married for the first time at 48 and childless, she laughingly mocked those people who "actually choose a place to live just to be near their grandchildren," as if they are lunatics.

There was more... so much more. If only I had been getting paid to interview her, it would have been great. Alas, I was not and it was not. Anyway, in order to avoid being immediately despised by other people, just stop talking about yourself for like five minutes and ask them a few questions, like where are you from and what have you done in your life and how do you spend your days, and more like that.

Just a tip.

Happy MLK Day!

Today was one of those days when the banks are closed and you don't get mail and are annoyed and confused about it until you remember: It's Martin Luther King Jr. Day! 

First thing I did that took me out of the house this morning was go to my gym to work out with a personal trainer. There were several other people there and nobody said anything to me, or each other, about the holiday. There were no refreshments or decorations of any kind. Everything was business as usual.

Later my husband and I met up with some friends for lunch at a local restaurant. Two of the people, both of whom claim to be psychologists, were from out of town and the other one owns a successful local business. None of them said one word, even the psychologists who said (repeatedly) that they are "very spiritual" and "progressive libertarians," about the holiday or Dr. King, and we all spent almost two hours together.

Next, we came home and there were no messages about the holiday on our answering machine. (Yes, we still have a landline.) A long phone call with a good friend who is a nurse in Charlottesville also lacked any mention of the holiday, even though she lived through all that hullabaloo in the last couple of years concerning the removal of a Robert E. Lee statue from a downtown square, so you'd think she would be more sensitive.

Where is Maya Angelou when we need her? Oh right, she died in 2014. Apparently she took the holiday with her.

Democrats in Disarray

The front page of today's New York Times Opinion section fairly shouts, "The G.O.P. appears to be falling apart," and poses the question, "What Is A Republican To Do?" The accompanying illustration shows a paper elephant held together with tape and rubber bands. 

As I see it, they've got this horribly wrong. For example, following are some of the  Republican presidential candidates whose names are already being floated for 2024. Each one is young, brilliant and brimming with new ideas: Sen. Ron DeSantis, Gov. Glen Youngkin, Sen. Ted Cruz, Rep. Jim Jordan, Sen. Marco Rubio, former U.N. Ambassador Nikki Haley, Rep. Tim Scott (extra points for being black) and Sen. Rand Paul. Former president Donald Trump (admittedly tainted, but with a big following).

Here are the Democrats whose names have been floated thus far: (By then even older, more decrepit, more senile) Joe Biden and/or (the moronic and universally hated) Kamala Harris. 

Now you tell me who's falling apart.

Politicians Lie. So What Else Is New?

George Santos, hoping God isn't listening......

Poor George Santos. He was just doing what so many others before him have done, and with not so much as a slap on the wrist. Heck, Senator Ted Kennedy killed a woman and was re-elected in his district two months later, going on to serve until his death and earning the nickname "The Lion of the Senate." So George Santos, a freshman congressman from New York and one of 435 serving in the House of Representatives, exaggerated his resume -- a lot. Big deal. Okay, so maybe he didn't really graduate from where he said he graduated, and maybe he didn't graduate from anywhere. Must he resign?

At the very least he is in good company. Our current POTUS, a recognized plagiarist throughout his college years and beyond, including his acceptance speech as president just two years ago, famously claimed that he "graduated in the top half of my law school class." Except he didn't. Actually, he was #75 out of a class of 86. That's downright abysmal. 

My personal favorite, Connecticut's Sen. Dick Blumenthal -- his first name is Richard but I always think of him as a Dick -- often referred in speeches to his constituency to his wartime experiences in Vietnam. He talked of "people dying left and right, but my platoon kept marching forward." But there were no dead soldiers on his right or his left because there was no platoon because he never served in Vietnam. Yet he has served in the Senate since 2011 and somehow has a net worth of over $100 million.

Sen. Elizabeth Warren, a.k.a. Pocahontas, lied about being "part Native American" in order to get into law school. She claims it was being told as a child about her ancestor's "high cheekbones" that convinced her. Turns out she's just a normal American with high cheekbones. There are many of those. Warren has served in the Senate since 2012, winning re-election each time her term is up for grabs.

And who could forget Hillary Clinton claiming she was under sniper fire when she landed in Bosnia in 1996, but it turned out it was just some young girls greeting her with flowers. (I often confuse those two things, don't you?) No wonder poor George Santos thought he could get away with it; he was just doing what all those others did. Of course, they are all Democrats and he is a Republican. If he would just change parties they would likely welcome him with open arms and forget all those silly, petty lies. After all, as Hillary asked long ago, what difference does it make?

Planning Ahead On "The View"

My sister, whom I have not seen in 29 years and who lives in a nursing home seven hours and 42 minutes away by car in a place to which I will not go, has lately exhibited increasing and considerable signs of dementia, a disease that claimed our mother's life at age 62.

She called me earlier today to say that she was watching The View -- right away you know she's mental --and the great minds that comprise their panel, among them the moronic Joy Behar and the arrogant, overbearing, haughty and self-important Whoopie Goldberg, were discussing what music they want played at their funerals and so she called to tell me what her pick is for when she dies, an event she assured me would not happen "for a very long time from now." (She's 82, has a colostomy bag, is confined to a wheelchair and is in very poor health.) It was very important to her that I know this since I am her only living next of kin and supposedly will make sure her final wishes are carried out.

Unfortunately she forgot the name of the song and so I hung on the phone while she searched her mind, such as it is, for that information. The process took long enough for me to dry my hair, having just gotten out of the shower when she called. Finally she remembered. It was "Another One Bites the Dust," her choice because "it would be funny." I didn't tell her that should the situation arise there would be no music involved, and also I am pretty sure she will outlive me as my life has played out under her dark and imposing shadow since Day One and God is perverted enough to make it my whole entire life.

It got me thinking and I decided I couldn't care less about what music, if any, is played at whatever sort of ritual or ceremony takes place when I die. Who cares? This is just one reason I never watch The View.

FILM REVIEW: You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger

Josh Brolin as a down-on-his-luck writer out looking for his Muse.

Released in 2010, years after director Woody Allen's sterling reputation was sullied by an accusation of child molestation concocted by his spurned ex-lover and certified whacko Mia Farrow, this gem got short shrift from the public and the critics. It's now streaming on Netflix where I may have to watch it a second time, it's that good.

Starring Naomi Watts, Anthony Hopkins, Antonio Banderas and Josh Brolin, you know immediately that the acting will be outstanding. The plot is almost a typical Woody Allen story, this time  involving several married couples: she loves him but he's having an affair, and those two get divorced and then he wants her back again, and more like that. This time it's set in London just to make it interesting.

In the middle of everything is a somewhat sketchy fortune teller who brings in a bit of the occult, with much talk of the afterlife, the before life and a seance to contact someone's deceased wife added for good measure. It's all great fun and at the same time dead serious, what with rampant fears of a lonely old age and the bold theft of a dead man's artistic work turning a light-hearted comedy with some (not many) belly laughs into a dark tragedy. But that's what Woody does best, and his tried-and-true formula works well in this film.

Life Without Friends Isn't Half Bad

Coming out as a Republican in a very Democratic part of the country has changed my life in one big way: I no longer have any friends. Well, I have distant friends who I stay in contact with via Zoom and texts, but I lack friends to "hang out" with in the flesh, except for one in particular who is more of an angel than a human and does not let politics run her life. But others -- women I'd meet up with for walks or lunches or dinner with our spouses -- have all run for cover.

Since the death of my closest confidante six months ago, I have slowly come to terms with the reality of life without friends. Except for going to the gym several times a week and meeting with my angel friend a couple of times a month when she's not taking care of her two grandchildren, I'm pretty much with me all the time. Spending most days alone while my husband is away at work was hard at first, but now that I'm used to it, it isn't half bad. 

After recovering from the shock and bitterness from being virtually ghosted for my political views, I began to notice that it actually doesn't matter at all. Sitting across a restaurant table or hiking in the woods while another person yaks incessantly about their life and how much they hate "Trumpies" never added a whole heck of a lot to mine, as it turned out. Who knew that painting alone in my studio held greater rewards?

End of A Love Affair

I need new friends so I'm moving to Portugal hoping people are nicer there. I hear they are very nice, and they are definitely not nice here in Maine. If you like lobster that's fine, we've got plenty of it, but that's about it. And lots of water, so if you love kayaking and sailing and boating of any kind, come right along. Hiking is also very big, which is basically walking on difficult terrain for hours to reach the pinnacle of a hill or mountain and take a selfie up there that you can post on Facebook and have people think you're great and hopefully be jealous of you. That's probably the number one sport here in Maine.

Well I'm sick of it. I've been here for 14 years (in March) and surely that's enough time to find at least a couple of people I can relate to. To date I have exactly one friend here who would care if I died, all the rest live far away making it hard to pal around with them or have them gather at my deathbed, should the need arise. As for neighbors, they all stopped talking to me the day I stuck that Susan Collins sign in my lawn.

Also I have had it up to here with all the business names like Mainely Hair and Mainely Custard and Mainely Tubs and Mainely Plumbing & Heating and Mainely Heating Oil and Mainely Seafood Company and Mainely Construction Rentals and Mainely Fitness and Mainely Outdoors and Mainely Murders Bookstore and Mainely SEO and Mainely Grass and Mainely Frames & Gallery and Mainely Brews and Mainely Coffee and Mainely Real Estate and Mainely Vinyl and Mainely Provisions and Mainely Sips and Mainely Burgers. That tells you something about Mainers, doesn't it?

FILM REVIEW/ The Volcano: Rescue from Whakaari

The Volcano: Rescue from Whakaari, released on Dec. 3, 2022 and directed by skilled documentarian Rory Kennedy, is surging in popularity, sliding into the number one spot of most watched movies in the U.S. with its harrowing story of the 2019 natural disaster.

If I were Joe Biden I would pretend that I had written the paragraph above, but I'm not so I will admit that it was lifted from a movie review on the Internet. It's just that it says it so succinctly I figured why bother putting it in my own words? (The rest of this is me talking.) I watched this film two nights in a row, it was that good -- and besides, I wanted my husband to see it. 

Documentaries are always incredibly interesting, even when they're bad. You always come away smarter about the subject covered, which rarely happens after sitting through the typical Hollywood blockbuster that often leaves you feeling cheated. At an hour and 40 minutes, Volcano flies by and leaves you wanting more. The story is enlightening in many ways, not the least of which is the importance of reading the small print on those release forms before undertaking any risky venture.

Stunning photography of a stunning locale -- in this case an island off the coast of New Zealand -- is bound to create a stunning final product, and that's certainly true here. Just as compelling are the intense interviews with several of the survivors who were touring the island when the volcano erupted and changed their lives forever. They share their personal horror stories in heartbreaking detail, leaving you in awe of their bravery.

Watch it on Netflix.

Kevin McCarthy is the Tip of the Iceberg

Our government at work.

Right now is the time to start looking for a new country to call home. I know I am. It's simply too embarrassing to continue living under the rule of imbeciles, morons and idiots, starting with the top guy, a cranky old liar who has still not visited our southern border (where thousands of criminals slip into America daily) because he has "more important things to do," yet has managed to vacation in Nantucket twice and St. Croix in the Virgin Islands once since taking office. 

I won't mention the Vice President because she simply does nothing of import. Oh yeah, she's black, which apparently is enough these days.

“The definition of ‘insanity’ is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

Then there are our congressmen and women, each one elected by their constituents to create and enact laws for the common good.  Instead, for the last three days they have been embroiled in the process of trying to name a leader and failing miserably because, for reasons unknown to us, the top candidate for the job has pissed off 20 of them who keep voting against him. 

So far this allegedly intelligent body we should revere has voted NINE TIMES to make Kevin McCarthy Speaker of the House and has repeatedly come up with the same result: NO. Thus, lacking a majority in the House, nothing else, i.e. any work, is getting done. But they still all get paid. (By us.)

I hear Portugal welcomes Americans, is very safe, has beautiful beaches and enjoys 300 days of sunshine every year.

Maine's Guilty (Woke) Conscience

Freddie Mercury, my pick for #1.

Maine is the second-whitest state in the U.S., with black and African Americans comprising just 1.39% of its 1,372,559 citizens. As such, it feels very guilty and tries very hard to highlight anything positive about this demographic. 

For example, an article in today's Portland Press Herald about the newly-released Rolling Stone list of the "200 greatest singers of all time" cites only these black artists: Aretha Franklin (#1), Diana Ross (#87), Martha Reeves (#151), Michael Jackson (#86) and Gladys Knight (#101). 

Full disclosure: like many others in the Portland Press Herald, that article is a pickup from the Tribune News Service and written by someone named Myesha Johnson, so we can infer it may originally have been aimed at a black audience. Yet here in Maine, the likely readers are white. They might be interested in hearing about some of the white people on that list. I know I am.

FYI, following are the top 20 from Rolling Stone's list. I had to laugh at seeing someone I never heard of named Celia Cruz besting Frank Sinatra. Was that just to elevate someone of Latino descent? How very woke of them!

1. Aretha Franklin
2. Whitney Houston
3. Sam Cooke
4. Billie Holiday
5. Mariah Carey
6. Ray Charles
7. Stevie Wonder
8. Beyonce
9. Otis Redding
10. Al Green
11. Little Richard
12. John Lennon
13. Patsy Cline
14. Freddie Mercury
15. Bob Dylan
16. Prince
17. Elvis Presley
18. Celia Cruz
19. Frank Sinatra
20. Marvin Gaye

Film Review: WHITE NOISE

Fans of Don DeLillo have been holding their breath and/or their noses in anticipation of the Netflix version of his cult classic novel, "White Noise." As one of that group I have read the book more times than I can recall, and I must say that after seeing the film I was left scratching my head. As in, WTF have they done to one of my favorite books? 

A fantasy, science fiction, real life story about a middle-aged college professor of Hitler Studies, his ditzy wife who teaches "posture" to seniors, and their four children blended from each of their three previous marriages, it's mostly about death and the fear it instills in all of us.

Starring two actors of middling appeal who sadly look their worst in this film, Adam Driver and Greta Gerwig deliver heartfelt yet disappointing performances. The children are the best part of the movie so pay attention when they're on screen. And to a fantastic explosion, which is as much fun to watch as the scene early in The Impossible where the hotel gets washed away. 

A nostalgic score of hits from the 1970s and some adept editing make for several invigorating scenes that offer a nice counterbalance to the toxic, threatening black cloud that has everyone going bonkers and running hither and yon for cover. (The cloud is from the explosion cited earlier, which, according to my husband, is the reason they made the movie.)

The film's end credits run more than seven minutes and feature ordinary-looking people dancing in the aisles of a brightly-lit supermarket. Several critics have lauded them, but we couldn't take more than a minute of director Noah Baumbach's pretentious attempt at being "groundbreaking." 

My best advice: read the book first. Or instead.

Other People

I've only been awake for two hours in this new year and I'm already pissed off and depressed over the stupidity of other people. This is because I made the mistake of logging on to the Internet, where everyone else is.

It's like merging onto a highway that allows anyone to enter regardless of their intelligence, which explains those frustrating traffic jams where you crawl for fifteen minutes or even come to a full stop, wondering what the problem could possibly be and it turns out there's never any problem -- no big accident or giant hole in the road, just some jerk going too slow in the left lane, until suddenly it all clears up and off you go.

When will I learn that "other people" are the biggest problem of all? Will it be this year? I certainly hope so.