Don't Say "Don't Say Gay" (unless you're stupid)

Last year Florida passed the "Parental Rights in Education Law" spearheaded by Governor Ron DeSantis. The bill prohibits instruction on sexual orientation or gender identity in kindergarten through grade 3 or in a manner that is not age-appropriate or developmentally appropriate for students. That means kids aged 5 or 6 until ages 7 or 8 won't be hearing about things they care nothing about. Instead they want to play games, have snacks and read stories about princesses and dragons and dinosaurs, not drag queens, dildos and bottom surgery. 

Seems reasonable and quite sane, most people would agree. However, many people don't agree. Woke Democrats and/or those with confused gender identities wasted no time denigrating the law, calling it "Don't Say Gay." In fact, an advertising campaign launched by the Human Rights Campaign (HRC), the nation’s largest LGBTQ+ civil rights organization, featured "Don't Say Gay" billboards, placing them in key areas across Florida with high visitor traffic and visibility, including near airports and along large interstate highways.

Meanwhile, the word "gay" does not appear even once in the 7-page law. So calling it that is stupid, ignorant and irresponsible. Joe Biden loves to call it that. So does Kamala Harris. Don't be stupid like them.

Septum Rings Are Uglier Than Crocs

Dear Gen Xers, Gen Zers and Millennials:

I gotta say, I'm getting pretty sick of all your putdowns of baby boomers online. Let's try to remember that our generation brought you all the music of every TV car commercial, and most of the other ones too. We brought you marijuana. Hey, we invented long hair on men! (Okay so maybe Jesus did but I'm not sure there even was a Jesus so I'm sticking with Gregg Allman.) We gave you the Beatles, whose music you've been stealing ever since. And let's face it, we made vegetarianism cool and elevated the lowly avocado to near godlike status, enabling your lemming-like addiction to "avocado toast," now available at Dunkin' and just about everywhere else.

Which is why I was annoyed by an article I read listing the "Top 40 Worst Things Baby Boomers Still Do," or something like that. First up was Crocs. Supposedly they are so ugly and offensive to the eye that no amount of comfort they afford is worth it.

As the owner of three pairs of Crocs -- one original, one fleece-lined and one leopard-print flats that don't look like Crocs but are -- I take this insult personally. And I'd like to respond by saying that no pair of shoes could ever match the ugliness and nauseating quality of those snot-like septum rings you people wear hanging out of your noses, usually with little balls at the end of them. They are so gross, how can you ever look in the mirror? I feel sorry for your parents and thank God every day that my beautiful son has not desecrated his handsome face with such hideousness. (And he's 35.)

Then there are the giant holes in the knees of your jeans that you actually pay extra for! They are ridiculous, especially here in Maine where it gets to be minus 7 degrees. Oh yeah, the trendy types -- and aren't they all -- walk around in those and you can actually see the snow falling inside the pants! Frostbitten knees, how cozy.

Don't get me started on the whole gender, transgender, fluid gender thing. Just shut up about the Crocs.

Oprah Goes Shopping

Today the AOL landing page where I go to retrieve my email had a promo entitled, "Oprah's Favorite Crossbody Available at Amazon for $45." 

Okay, let's unpack this claim slowly. First of all, Oprah is one of the richest women on the planet with a net worth of 2.5 billion dollars. I would bet all four of my limbs, my firstborn and all my earthly possessions that she does not own anything that cost $45, let alone a handbag. And this one is not even leather but "100% vegan," which means plastic. (Try to imagine Oprah using a plastic handbag.) 

Also, would Oprah even use a "crossbody"? When, and under what circumstances? On the Red Carpet at some awards ceremony? Perhaps on her private, 16-passenger, $75 million Gulfstream jet? Or maybe on a fabulous yacht belonging to one of her billionaire friends? Besides, being such a big girl, a crossbody might not even fit her.

Anyway, I didn't click.

Biden Declares Run (with a little help)

"I'm announcing my candidacy* for president in 2024. While I may face some stiff competition, I believe my plan for the country is strong. America is facing troubled times. The country is divided and we must work together to overcome our differences and unite. I pledge to work hard to overcome our differences. Oh, I said that last time? Well it's even truer today.  

I believe we can succeed in fulfilling the dream of our Founding Fathers if we all unite and look past the issues that divide us and concentrate on the things we have in common: We all love ice cream, baseball and barbecue. Elect me again and I promise every American will have access to those things on an as-needed basis.

For millions and millions of Americans, the dream with which I grew up has been shattered. The ideal that if you work hard and play by the rules you'll be rewarded, you'll do a little better next year than you did last year, your kids will do better than you. But that idea has been devastated for millions of Americans. 

In my opinion, the root of these problems lies right here—in Washington, D.C.  Our nation’s capital has become the seat of a “buddy” system that functions for its own benefit—increasingly insensitive to the needs of the American worker who supports it with his taxes. It's those damn Republicans too.

All of us know what our challenges are today: a war with no end, a dependence on oil that threatens our future, schools where too many children aren't learning, and families struggling paycheck to paycheck despite working as hard as they can. We know the challenges. We've heard them. We've talked about them for years.

What's stopped us from meeting these challenges is the failure of leadership, the the ease with which we're distracted by the petty and trivial, our chronic avoidance of tough decisions, our preference for scoring cheap political points instead of rolling up our sleeves and building a working consensus to tackle the big problems of America. 

I have an image of America as fulfilling a noble and historic role as the defender of freedom in a time of maximum peril--and of the American people as confident, courageous and persevering. A vote for me is a vote for change. Oh right, I'm the president now. Well then, anyway, I'll be better next time, I promise."

* Apologies to Barack Obama, Bill Clinton, Ronald Reagan, JFK and Nikki Haley for directly quoting pieces of their speeches declaring their candidacy for president.

Forget Podcasts, Read A Book

Podcasts are all the rage, which is why I don't listen to any. Perfect for low-IQ types who lack the discipline to read a book, which requires one's full attention, a podcast lets you listen to someone spouting off while you get to do other things, like eat your lunch or clean the bathroom or go for a run. Handy yes, but ineffective if you're hoping to increase your IQ.

Indian philosopher Eknath Easwaren, whose many books are a blueprint for reaping the most rewards from the one life we've been given, stresses the importance of what he calls "one-pointed attention." Easwaren insists, after years of experimenting on himself with positive results, that to do two things at once is to dilute, and thus, downgrade both experiences.

Reading requires one's full attention. If you're out of practice, start with a short novel. I recommend Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton, a mere 76 pages. This haunting novel will shut out the world the first time you read it, and the many times that will follow.

Film Review: YOU PEOPLE

An uncomfortable family meeting.

I am writing this as a public service: Do NOT waste five minutes on this movie, currently streaming on Netflix and somehow earning positive reviews from critics at The New York Times, Variety and several other outlets. Starring Eddie Murphy, Jonah Hill and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, you'd think it would be funny or at least worthwhile; after all, those are some pretty big names and they wouldn't appear in a dog, would they? Well, you'd be wrong. 

The subject is race relations, and that's woke enough to get people interested. The plot is Guess Who's Coming to Dinner updated, but terrible. Maybe back in 1967 a white girl bringing home a black boyfriend was shocking, but today mixed couples are commonplace, seen virtually everywhere, especially in TV commercials where nobody raises an eyebrow. Oddly enough, they do in You People, making the whole thing from start to finish totally unbelievable and often downright cringey.

Hill stars as Ezra, a 35-year-old mama's boy who wants a relationship but keeps striking out, mostly because he's a big baby. His overbearing mother Shelley (Louis-Dreyfus), a rich, phony liberal who just loooooves black people but not necessarily as the mother of her grandchildren, fawns all over Ezra's girlfriend Amira (Lauren London) at their first meeting, making inappropriate comments searching for conversation, like complimenting Lauren's braids and bling and bemoaning the treatment of black cops or the treatment by black cops, or something like that. It's too awful to watch.

Even worse, Amira's father Akbar (Murphy) is a militant Muslim who apparently hates all white people. His first meeting with Ezra goes badly as well, perpetuating stereotypical racial differences. 

I felt like just watching this film, all alone and in the privacy of my own home, was setting back race relations hundreds of years and so turned it off in the middle. Instead I read the summation online and learned that they get married and live happily ever after. Look for them today in every TV commercial.

Enough With Ukraine Already

Joe Biden visiting his emotional support animal, the president of Ukraine.

I suppose we keep giving money and weapons to Ukraine because we are afraid Vladimir Putin will nuke the world so we want to help the war come to an end, and by "we" I mean Joe Biden and his behind-the-scenes handlers. I am not included in that "we." I am part of the "we" that wants the aid to stop and to tell Ukraine to go fight their own war and leave us alone, we've got our own problems. 

For example, Nike pays basketball players millions of dollars to wear their shoes during games. They also give money to the schools where the games are played. But nobody is giving any money to the residents of East Palestine, Ohio who have nowhere to live, no water to drink, etc., etc., since a train derailed outside their town a few weeks ago and a resulting fire released toxic chemicals into the surrounding area. Fast forward five years when all the residents will have cancer, since none of them can move away because nobody will buy their homes, ever. (Biden went to Ukraine but still has not gone to East Palestine, Ohio.)

But 5'10" tall college freshman Flau'jae Johnson, who is a guard on the basketball team of Louisiana State University (LSU), is very, very rich today because she wears Pumas on her two gigantic feet. So you see, we've got our own problems. Enough with Ukraine already.

The Vitriol of Strangers

People online are so mean! I can hardly believe the hateful comments posted following news stories about celebrities. You just know that the people writing them are fat, ugly, unemployed and with nothing else to do. What I don't understand is why such a thing as commenting on news stories is permitted. What's it for? Who needs to know the opinions of anonymous losers about anything?

I have still not succeeded in breaking myself of the habit of reading that kind of vitriol. It poisons me from head to toe, yet I still do it. I guess it's not as bad as being addicted to drugs or alcohol, but the result is almost the same: stealing moments of my life for nothing of value. And the older we get, the fewer moments we have remaining.

I better get outside and go for a walk.

Old Ladies On Capitol Hill

Barbara Lee, a 76-year-old Democratic Congresswoman from California, has announced her intention to run for the seat vacated by retiring Senator Dianne Feinstein, 89. CNN anchor Don Lemon would surely have something to say about this, since both old dames are certainly no longer "in their prime." (Google it.)

Being an old dame myself (76), I'm guessing that Ms. Lee must be crazy. There is no amount of fame, fortune or glory that could get me to rise early every day, fix my face and hair, don hard shoes and some sort of professional attire and hop into a waiting Uber, only to sit inside all day listening to the drivel coming out of most of the mouths on Capitol Hill, not to mention dodging reporters and lunching with a gaggle of arrogant lobbyists at some pretentious D.C. watering hole. 

And that's just Washington life. The rest of the time, back home among my constituents, there'd be all sorts of meetings with the locals to get through, county fairs to traipse around and rubber chicken dinners at which to speechify. I couldn't have done it at any age but at 76 it's simply out of the question, especially since I sleep with a cat on my lap and can't even get out of bed until he does. 

I pray for Ms. Lee to come to her senses and get a cat so she can properly enjoy her golden years. (See photo.)

Don't Say Fat, Say This

The classic children's book by Roald Dahl, "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," twice made into a hit movie -- the first starring Gene Wilder and then Johnny Depp -- has been heavily edited, or more accurately censored by its British publisher, Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Random House. 

Among the changes, the gluttonous boy Augustus Gloop is no longer described as "enormously fat." He is now just "enormous." And a "fat little brown mouse" is now a "little brown mouse."

So if you know someone who is a big fat fatty but you can't say so, just call them enormous. Apparently that word is still allowed. Also, move to another planet since the whole world is now engaging in rampant censorship. What's next?

Swindle at the Supermarket

My husband and I just returned from the market, where we purchased a whole chicken to roast for dinner. It cost $22.45 and it wasn't very big, maybe five pounds. The thing is, Mitch  grabbed it without studying the label and when we got home it turned out that we paid for a Bell & Evans organic chicken, which is to say the fancy-schmancy expensive kind that snooty people insist on, but what we got was a lesser, store-brand chicken. Some deli guy had slapped on the wrong label and we weren't paying attention.

This kind of thing happens too many times to recount. I'm always getting home and finding out that the yogurt expired last week or the bread has obvious mold or the strawberries on top rest on fuzzy rotten ones. Or the milk is sour or the pickles are mushy because the jar lid was loose or the inner seal on the orange juice is missing. Usually I just throw the stuff down the garbage disposal, too peevish to get back in the car and drive the three-plus miles to the store to make it right, get a refund, or whatever.

My question is: why are there so many mistakes these days? Could it be that the dumbing down of Americans, the subject of my last post, is taking hold? I'm guessing yes. Anyway, today Mitch was pissed enough to take the chicken back and came home with the $7.50 extra we paid for our middle-class chicken. Factoring in $1.20 for gas, it wasn't a win but still worth the drive. (Sort of; nobody at the store apologized.)

I May Be Dumb But I'm Not A Racist

Transportation Secretary Pete

A front-page article in today's Wall Street Journal details how a high school in Culver City, California has opted to end its honors English classes because they didn't enroll enough black or Hispanic students.  So to keep the playing field "equitable," there will simply be no options for kids who are ready for tougher work. Similar situations have arisen in Wisconsin, Rhode Island and elsewhere. 

Officials say the move will "ensure students of all races receive an equal, rigorous education." Just not too rigorous for any dummies. Naturally the parents of the white and Asian students who usually fill those advanced class rosters are pissed. 

Basically this kind of attitude means that people of higher intelligence must dumb down to avoid causing hurt feelings among the less capable members of our society, whatever their skin color. This is akin to ending sporting events that require legs because amputees can't participate. Or outlawing gourmet restaurants because the many lousy cooks out there would suffer knowing that some people eat delicious meals all the time. 

Scott Peters, a scientist who studies equity in gifted and talented programs at NWEA, an educational research nonprofit, said, "I just don't see how removing something from some kids helps other kids learn faster."

It doesn't, Scott. It's just plain dumb. But that's America's goal these days: getting dumber. And based on the current Secretary of Transportation, it's obviously working.

To Be Black in America

Oprah Winfrey, Denzel Washington, Gregory Hines, Ruby Dee, Idris Elba, Diana Ross, Michael Jackson, Colin Powell, Morgan Freeman, Sam Cooke, Jesse Jackson, Sidney Poitier, Martin Luther King, Chris Rock, Dave Chapelle, Barack Obama, Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis, Cory Booker, Arthur Ashe, Magic Johnson, Aretha Franklin, Tiger Woods, Sammy Davis Jr., Spike Lee and many more are icons in the entertainment and political arenas and role models for the black community, proving skin color is no detriment to success. Then there's Kamala Harris, Karine Jean-Pierre and Don Lemon, three fools who have risen to fame and acquired fortune based on their skin color and nothing else. 

Harris, appointed as VP because she is female and sort of black, giggles and cackles at everything, especially yellow school buses because she loves them so much. Jean-Pierre, gay and black and thus the woke choice as the spokesperson for our feeble-minded president, never knows anything and calls the country to our north "Canadia." Lemon most recently insulted Nikki Haley, the former ambassador to the U.N. and Governor of South Carolina who just announced her candidacy for president as being "not in her prime" at age 51. Lemon publicly bemoaned this development on TV, explaining that women are in their prime in their 20's, 30's and 40's. (Kamala Harris is 58.)

Lemon is truly a lemon. He got his job as a talking head at CNN because he is gay and black, two things that are very "in" these days with the Democrats. He's as dumb as a rock, or maybe Chris Cuomo. He is 56 years old.

Helping Others

More than 42,000 people died in an instant in Turkey and Syria in last week's earthquake, and over 2 million people there are now homeless. One woman went into labor under the rubble and gave birth; somehow her baby lived while she, her husband and their other children all died. Two teenage brothers survived for 200 hours eating protein powder. The stories of death and suffering surpass anything I have ever heard.

Have you done anything to help? Donate today to www.rescue.org. It's easy, and you can feel better about yourself, and who doesn't need that?

Huge Erection

Yesterday's post contained the phrase "Huge Erection." It wasn't meant to be pornographic, I was simply reporting a prank and that's what somebody's name supposedly was. My blog statistics went sky-high, much higher for a post that did not have the name Trump in the title, which usually gets a lot of clicks also.

So I must assume that many people like the idea of a huge erection and want to read all about it, or want to learn something new about huge erections or see grotesque photos of huge erections.

People are simply pathetic. I feel sorry for all of us.

A Very Special Delivery

I usually don't answer the phone when the caller I.D. is unknown to me, but this time it said "U.S. Postal Service" so I did, thinking it might have something to do with an order I am expecting. But no, it wasn't that, although it really was an employee calling from a local post office. It seems they had received a very large delivery of flat cardboard boxes addressed to my house. There were 250 of them, the kind you use for Priority Mail, and he was calling to make sure we wanted them before they drove over with them.

Clueless about the whole thing, I said that no, we hadn't ordered any flat boxes marked Priority Mail or anything else -- who would and what for -- and was this a joke? The man assured me it was no joke, and explained that he was calling because it seemed odd to everyone down at the post office too. I asked who had sent them, and he hemmed and hawed before saying, "Well, that's another thing -- the sender's name is kind of, well, inappropriate language."

After assuring him I was no delicate flower and could handle it, he told me the sender was named Huge Erection. That was the name on the order. And somehow it had gone through with that name, and 250 boxes in bundles of 25 had made their way to the Freeport Post Office for delivery to my home.

I said in no uncertain terms that I do not know anyone named Huge Erection, in fact have never known anyone with that name, and in all honesty I hadn't ever really seen what I thought was a huge erection in my whole life. Some had been larger than others, to be sure, but none had ever seemed downright huge. We both had a good laugh over that one and he said he understood, and was sorry to bother me, and confessed that despite it being some sort of a prank, nevertheless he would have to spend the next several hours "processing" the return of the boxes. 

Super Bowl vs. Suicide

Owing to my refusal to hurt myself, be it removing a splinter, getting a tattoo or just drinking some foul medicine, I am a poor candidate for suicide. There is simply no foolproof, painless way to exit this world, especially if you are set on doing it gracefully which I would be. (Also it's dumb, since everyone dies anyway so why not wait your turn and try out life for as long as you can.) So here I am and here I'll stay until God works his, her or its mysterious magic and takes me, either by disease or a speeding Freightliner. 

The thing is, since I'm stuck here, I wish I could understand the appeal of football since the whole world finds it so damn interesting. For example, right now my husband is in the next room watching the Super Bowl with his dinner on his lap. I'm in the kitchen, dining solo and writing this post. I am through pretending, not that I ever fooled anyone. For years I have attended those odd gatherings dubbed "Super Bowl parties," where beer, nachos and chicken wings abound and people scream between bites when something happens on the screen that I don't understand; usually it's a pile of men on top of each other on the ground. 

It must be nice to care about such things and be at one with your Fellow Man. Alas, that is not the hand I was dealt. FYI, I also think Valentine's Day is moronic. 

People judge me harshly for my rejection of such things, yet they show compassion for the 32-year-old woman in Duxbury, Massachusetts who strangled her three young children with an exercise band two weeks ago. (The baby lived for three days before succumbing to his injuries). She then jumped out a second-story window, ostensibly to kill herself but all that happened is she broke her spine and she's now paralyzed from the waist down, and a murderer to boot. There's a GoFundMe page on Facebook for her legal fees. Many, many people sympathize with her, saying things like, "She's mentally ill, she couldn't help it," and "The medical community failed her." Heck, even her husband has forgiven her.

Nobody sympathizes with me for not liking football. In fact, I daresay I am looked on with greater disdain than that woman, and I doubt that my husband forgives me for it. Anyway, it's hard to believe she thought she could die by jumping from the second floor. I suppose she does deserve sympathy after all.

There's No Vacation from Life

"Chilling at the Beach" by Parvez Taj

About a week ago the temperature dipped to minus 18 degrees at our house. And not just at our house but in our whole neighborhood, in the surrounding towns and pretty much the whole state of Maine, staying that way for a few days. Finding the situation untenable, my husband and I flew to Florida for a week.

It was indeed warmer there, but the news of the 7.5 earthquake that hit Turkey and Syria, killing 25,000 people in one fell swoop, reached us there as well. The fact that we could lie on a beach in bathing suits and play outside in shorts and needed to apply sunblock every few hours didn't change how many people lay trapped under the rubble of collapsed buildings in another part of the world. 

In fact, it didn't change anything. We watched Joe Biden shout his State of the Union speech in our hotel room with the roar of the surf right outside, but his blatant lies were no different than if we were hearing them back home with snow three feet deep in our backyard. Now we are back home where it's still cold outside, and reports of the latest "high-altitude object" that entered our airspace over Alaska and downed by the U.S. military is just as unsettling as if we were learning of it while working on a tan and sipping a frosty iced drink with a little paper umbrella in it.

What vacations actually do change is the amount of money in your bank account. And of course you have all those photos to post on Instagram.

Kamala Trumps Hunter Any Day

Honestly, I don't care one bit about Hunter Biden or his laptop. He seems to me like a drugged-out spoiled brat and whatever skullduggery he's been up to during his pampered life does not impact me at all. Yet the little-brains who toil in the media love the laptop story almost as much as they do any scrap of information about Donald Trump, however inconsequential it may be.

What does bother me quite a bit -- something that you almost never hear about except maybe on SNL or The Onion -- is the alarming fact that we have an idiot for Vice President, chosen not for any sterling qualifications she may have (which she doesn't) but for her skin color and gender. Joe Biden, admittedly a nitwit himself, promised during his campaign that he would choose "a woman of color" as his running mate, to hell with her fitness for the job of President should he suddenly drop dead or pass away peacefully in his sleep, or maybe hit his head and suffer a traumatic brain injury on one of his typical stairway stumbles.

All I know for sure is that Kamala loves yellow school buses! They make her giggle like a little girl. (See photo.) She must have plotzed (her husband is Jewish so she knows such words) over that Chinese weather/spy balloon floating in U.S. airspace; it was reported to be the size of two, or possibly three school buses. How fun! 

Take a moment to imagine President Harris dealing with the leader of the Chinese Communist Party. Go ahead, I dare you. Now pray for Biden to continue breathing. 

The Racist Republican Diet

Hi. I see you came looking for the Racist Republican Diet. I don't blame you, since the words racist, Republican and diet are all dog whistles to every red-blooded American who's at least five pounds overweight and either is a Republican or a Democrat who hates Republicans, and of course everyone hates racists except for the racists themselves, who still may want to lose weight.

Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you but there is no such diet. However, since you're here I'll tell you from many years of experience that in order to lose weight you have to take in fewer calories than you expend, which means get more exercise and eat less. No secrets and no magic -- that's how it's done.

As for the rest, these days everything is an example of racism. If a white person does something bad it's an example of white supremacy. If a black person does something bad it's because they are victims of racism, possibly even systemic racism which is the worst kind. If a white Republican does something, either bad or good, it's because of Donald Trump, or possibly Ron DeSantis. If a black Republican merely exists they are simply crazy and should be ignored. 

Oddly enough, even when a gang of black cops murder a lone black man, it's because white supremacists made them do it. Anyway, good luck with the diet.

The Leading Killer of Women

"Feb. 3 is National Wear Red Day, a day when the eye-catching color can be used to increase awareness of heart disease in women."

The above suggestion was the opening statement of an email I received from the Mayo Clinic. I know, I was surprised too. I always thought the Mayo Clinic was the epitome of reason and sanity when it comes to health, but I guess not. The message went on to say that heart disease is the number one killer of women, which is why it's so important to wear red tomorrow.

As someone who had a heart attack five years ago I guess I should comply. But it doesn't imply that wearing red will keep you or anyone else from having a heart attack, just that it will increase awareness of the disease in women. And how is that good? Like we all don't have enough to worry about?

I personally am worried about Rep. Ilhan Omar who was just kicked off the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee for having said several pretty obnoxious anti-Israel and anti-Jews-in-general remarks in the past. Rather than saying, "I get it, okay, my bad," her bratty response was, "My voice will get louder and stronger." Oy, just what we need.

Maybe we should all wear turbans to increase our awareness of anti-Semites working on Capitol Hill, participating in our government and getting paid by our tax dollars. Okay, so tomorrow maybe wear a red turban.

Ax Me A Question

I'm pretty sure that by now most people are aware that many black people are prone to saying "ax" instead of "ask." I have never understood this verbal tic and have chalked it up to churlishness on their part, like creating names that are vastly different from traditional names. In my younger years I had black friends named Mike, Margaret, Floyd, Anne and Charles. Today they would likely be named La'Twanda, Mos, Tan'isha, Mo-Kamby and Jonsheeka. I've often wondered why.

Well, here's a hint. Today's Wall Street Journal contains an excerpt from "Against Copyediting" by Helen Betya Rubinstein writing at Literary Hub on January 26, which states the following: "It's clear that copyediting as it's practiced is a white supremacist project, not only for the particular linguistic forms it favors and upholds, which belong to the cultures of whiteness and power, but for how it excludes or erases the voices and styles of those who don't or won't perform this culture."

Hey, I aint no white supremacist so starting now my words will fly high. from now on anything goes, and if you ax me a question I might or might not answer in a way you can understand, you read? Shit's goin down, baby, so get off my back.

That's Entertainment!

Robert Loggia and Tom Hanks in a famous scene from "Big."

We can't control who we like and who we don't like; it just happens. The people who become our closest friends give us comfort that defies understanding.

My closest friends right now are all dealing with monumental problems, adding to my distress by proxy, while others who offer little emotional satisfaction are happy-go-lucky types who, by luck or determination, can deny all problems, sailing along despite the sadness around them. (I find them somewhat nauseating.)

My habitual preference for darkness over light may reflect a relentless need for chaos stemming from a chaotic childhood. Fortunately there is relief available besides that destructive trio of antidepressants, drugs and alcohol. The following books and movies are the best methods of relieving anxiety I have found over the years, and I turn to them again and again. 

"The Sweet Hereafter" by Russell Banks

"Ethan Frome" by Edith Wharton

"White Noise" by Don DeLillo

"Passage Meditation" by Eknath Easwaren

"The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson

Jaws 

Groundhog Day

Apollo 13

Big

Tootsie