Ignorance Is Bliss

If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I hope I come back a lot dumber. 

I'll watch all the popular TV game shows and get upset when the longtime host dies or quits, and get hooked on Dancing With the Stars and talk about it the next day at my job at a big tech company. 

I'll frequent chain restaurants like The Olive Garden and eat lobster rolls and drink specialty cocktails like Cosmos.

I'll attend Super Bowl tailgate parties and be in a weekly bowling league.

I'll do karaoke and get manis and pedis.

I will have tons of friends who think just like me. (We will all be Democrats.)

I won't be Jewish and I'll never worry. 

I will definitely wear flip-flops, at least in summer and maybe even into late fall.

Best of all, I will get fatter and fatter every year and not care.

I can't wait.

A Racist on the Supreme Court

Besides being slightly dimwitted, saying she couldn't define what is a woman because she is "not a biologist" (when asked during her senate confirmation hearing,) Jackson now has come out as a racist* with her dissenting statement on yesterday's SCOTUS decision to eliminate affirmative action by institutes of higher learning when choosing applicants for admission:

"Although formal race-linked legal barriers are gone, race still matters to the lived experiences of all Americans in ways, and today's ruling makes things worse, not better."  

It might make it worse for black students who would be accepted with mediocre grades and lower aptitude simply because of their skin color, but it makes it better for the many Asians, and other ethnic groups, who have consistently been rejected by Harvard and Yale for being too smart. (FYI, Jackson graduated from Harvard.)

* Racism is discrimination and prejudice towards people based on their race or ethnicity. Racism can be present in social actions, practices, or political systems that support the expression of prejudice or aversion in discriminatory practices.

Everyone's A Racist

Obama's $12 million mansion on Martha's Vineyard.

Today everyone is a racist, even if they aren't. Take my cousin Brian, for example, who is possibly the least racist person ever born (except for my own son). All through his teen years and into adulthood, Brian has had close friends of many races. His best friend since high school is black. Okay, so Brian is still white -- he has not changed his skin tone or had any other work done to actually become black, although he does have very curly hair -- nevertheless he's an exceptionally fair-minded guy.

Last week he was driving along in his very fabulous new used car when the car in the lane next to him swerved too close, almost hitting him. Brian saw that the driver was texting, or at least holding his phone close up to his face. Naturally, as many people might, Brian swerved away and shouted through his open window, "You're an asshole!"

The guy in the other car got in front of him on the exit ramp, essentially cutting Brian off, stopped his car and walked over to confront him. "Well, you're a racist!" was his angry declaration. At this time I must mention that the guy was Asian.

Brian rightly pointed out that if he were a racist he would never have called him an asshole. Only when you are free from considerations of race, creed and color can you treat people equally, and anyone who texts and drives is an asshole, as we all agree. But if you're black, a racist would never call you that for fear of the dreaded R label. 

This explains why hardly anyone ever criticized Obama when he was president, even though he did such a sucky job and then bought a mansion in DC's richest (white) neighborhood and another mansion on (super-rich white folks) Martha's Vineyard instead of moving back to Chicago to help poor people of color. See, I can say Obama is a huge asshole because I am not a racist.

Mean Mainers

Maine's #1 sport: Boiling live lobsters.

This morning I made the mistake of joining a local Facebook group called Freeport Notes. Fool that I am, I ventured an opinion there that proved blasphemous with the townies, and in usual Maine fashion was told bluntly to "go somewhere else" where my heretical views might be acceptable. In other words, get the hell outta here.

Mind you, I was not advocating for banning lobster fishing or outlawing whoopee pies. I simply said that I was sorry the plans for a proposed new building had been shot down by anti-growth types, insuring that Freeport stays small and insignificant. 

For that unthinkable statement I was immediately excoriated. One man wrote "the success of LLBean must be prioritized over the comfort of any of Freeport's citizens." WTF? What's Bean's got to do with it? Naturally I left the group and will keep my mouth shut about things of that nature.

Maine sure is pretty and there's no traffic, but the natives are not friendly. 

Smart Guys On Drugs

Karl Goldfield, former sales consultant and now "microdoser" to the  elite.

I'm just a lowly worm with no aspirations of anything higher so what do I know? A few things from experience and that's about it. One of those things is how LSD turns your brain into a giant, dark and jumbled cesspool of thoughts, some of which are incredibly frightening and others that might have seemed deeply enlightening at the time but after the drug wore off proved totally inane and laughable.

So I was surprised to read a long article in today's Wall Street Journal about the growing and lauded use of the drugs LSD, ketamine and "magic" mushrooms that are now commonplace in the boardrooms and backrooms of many of our largest, most successful tech companies. Elon Musk, for example, uses ketamine to think deep thoughts and come up with new ideas. He also attends psychedelic parties in Miami and Mexico, along with many other tech company execs looking for their next big thing.

To be fair, Musk and some of the others are microdosing in search of brilliance. I must have macrodosed that time back in the 70's when I thought the walls in my apartment's bathroom were covered with black widow spiders and that the neighbors were all foreign spies bent on kidnapping me. I had no deep thoughts; my one insight was if this drug ever wears off I will never, ever, ever do this to myself again.

It's no wonder I'm not the head of any fabulous tech company: I hate vomiting. And lots of these top guys attend "ayahuasca retreats in Costa Rica geared to tech entrepreneurs and CEOS," that last for days. Drinking the stuff at first induces violent vomiting but "can also open the mind," said one leader who attends regularly. Former sales consultant Karl Goldfield (see photo) is now a consultant to the rich and famous, helping them determine the correct dosage to avoid becoming addicted or dead.

Hey, I don't care how smart anything might make me, I am not vomiting, no way no how -- it just seems wrong, and certainly counter-productive. I am also never buying a Tesla.

TV Series Review: THE BEAR

Jamie Lee Curtis and her fingernails having a smoke.

So, a few years ago it was Ted Lasso and today the hot show everyone who's anyone watches is The Bear. What a difference! Lasso, its third and final season recently airing, was fun, upbeat and basically a laugh-riot, with some poignant moments sprinkled in. The Bear, its second season just dropped a week ago, is chaotic, depressing and not a bit funny -- full of abject loneliness, a dying parent on life support, chain smoking, suicidal behavior and disturbingly dysfunctional relationships. 

Last night my husband and I squirmed through Episode 6 of Season 2 of The Bear, armed with a few Keebler Fudge Stripes to keep us grounded in reality. I could barely watch much of it, choosing instead to concentrate on my cookie, yet several online reviews I read this morning deem the episode "perfect" and praise it to the skies, one calling it the "single best episode ever seen on television." Honestly, this hourlong film makes the miserable family in August: Osage County look like the Brady Bunch.

Basically we are forced to watch the ruthless warring of a family and their hangers-on who have come together, as they do every Christmas Eve, for a big Italian feast. Instead of glad tidings, egg nog and presents tied with pretty red bows there is crying, fighting and literally unbelievable over-the-top chaos, with different family members having either heart-to-heart talks on the side or hysterical screaming matches out in the open, complete with fork-throwing at the dinner table like a bunch of toddlers high on too much sugar. 

Jamie Lee Curtis gives a great performance as the manic, alcoholic matriarch, looking old, ugly and psychopathic as she flings tomato sauce all over her tiny kitchen, her claw-like red fingernails dominating every scene. I sincerely hope she was wearing lots of makeup, or else something very bad has happened to her.

Anyway, it was completely ridiculous but we couldn't look away. You know, like at a car wreck, which by the way happens at the very end.

Whose Life Matters?

Last week five billionaires died when their carnival ride -- oops, I mean exploratory submarine -- imploded underwater, keeping them from seeing the rusted hulk of a luxury liner that sank over 100 years ago, just for giggles. 

The media went nuts, devoting all their TV coverage -- daytime and prime time -- to this disaster for days, as if it had meaning to the world and as if the dead were heroes to be lauded for their bravery. Leading newspapers also devoted many column inches and most front pages to the story.

Yet there was just a tiny, two-paragraph mention -- not an article at all --  in today's Wall Street Journal about 350 Pakistani migrants who perished when their overcrowded fishing boat sank off the coast of Greece last week.

Discuss.

A Fool and His Money ...

Here it is, for free.

Five extremely wealthy people who each paid $250,000 to join an underwater expedition bound for the rusted hulk of the Titanic are now dead. Their vessel, a submarine-like thing called a submersible, had been missing since last Sunday. With no food, limited water, and even more limited oxygen to breathe, it all sounds like a bad dream with a tragic ending. Still, I can't feel sorry for them. 

Lest you think I am cold-hearted, you're wrong. When 12 little boys and their soccer coach were trapped in that Thai cave in 2018, I could hardly sleep at night and worried about them constantly, feeling as if each one were my own son. I cry seeing those ASPCA commercials showing abandoned dogs. Every news report involving a horrific death of a child sends me to bed to hide under the covers. This is because of a condition called "hyper-empathy," which means I feel the pain of others as if it's my own.

But not this time. If a group of insanely rich people can't think of anything better to do with their money than sink it to the bottom of the ocean, it's not sad, it's sick. What's worse, unlike our brave astronauts who risk their lives for the future benefit of mankind, these five went only to gawk at a wrecked ship that sank in 1912, peeping at it through the one tiny porthole in their tiny submersible shaped like a tin can and just as comfortable.

Just imagine what you could do with an extra $250,000.

What Lies Ahead in Biden's America

Being a baby boomer, I am relieved that I won't be around to experience the grim future that lies ahead. We've all had a pretty good run, able to say what we think and get away with it. That privilege will soon end, coming to a stunning halt if Joe Biden or someone like him is elected in 2024.

The current regime's policy of outlawing personal opinions is underway and growing daily. It's common knowledge that the media is an arm of the Democratic party, and today YouTube removed a video interview in which Robert Kennedy Jr., a 2024 presidential candidate and a Democrat to boot, suggested that the Covid vaccine was responsible for several more dire side effects beyond the usual ones. His statement was ruled to be "disinformation," meaning anything that makes the public mistrust the government or reject its rules. (This is not the first example of YouTube's censorship; see illustration.)

I personally know two people who became severely ill after their first shot of the Covid vaccine; one of them remains sick while the other slowly improved over two years of doctor visits, various treatments including acupuncture and pharmaceuticals, weight gain, tremors, vision problems, night sweats and unrelenting fatigue.

Robert Kennedy Jr. is one of the rebels running for office. Look beyond the negative sloganeering about him to find out what he stands for, while you still have the luxury of having an opinion.  

Experts Guess Our Next President

This morning I amused myself by reading a dozen or more recent articles written by egotistical "experts" predicting, explaining and placing their bets on who will win the 2024 election. These articles appeared in New York Magazine, The New York Post, on CNN and FOX  websites, in Politico and The Hill online, the New York Times, The Washington Times and more like those. Everyone who wrote an article got paid for it, some quite handsomely I expect. 

If you were to read just one of these articles you might give it some credence, but taken as a whole you can see how ridiculous they all are, despite any individual author's political prowess. Basically, this is what I learned:

Trump will keep his base and win the Republican nomination but lose the general election.

Trump should never be underestimated -- he will win the nomination and win the general election.

Trump will not be the Republican nominee and Biden will win re-election in 2024.

A dark horse will show up late in the game on one side or the other and win the election.

With the exception of Stephen Hawking and Albert Einstein, both deceased and so unable to weigh in on this election, "experts" are just regular people who think very highly of themselves. Take, for example, a woman named Elaine Kamarck, the Founding Director for the Center for Effective Public Management. (What?) On this subject Elaine sings her own praises loud and clear, writing for the Brookings Institution, a D.C think tank: 

"A few months ago, I helped create the now conventional wisdom which says that a large field of challengers will help Trump because the Republican winner-take-all or winner-take-most delegate selection rules are tailor made for a candidate who holds a solid base among primary voters and who can wrack up a series of plurality wins."

That's funny, since I thought my husband posited that one during dinner with friends one night, and everyone agreed. (Elaine was not present.) Oh well, she says she helped create it so let her think that, what does it hurt. After all she's in charge of public management, whatever that is.

My new title, self-bestowed, is CEO at Clarifying Ridiculous Accumulated Pablum (CRAP). My first proclamation is: Ignore All Experts. We will discuss this further at the next meeting of Loners Anonymous to be held in my living room and attended by nobody.

Big Brother is Listening, and Possibly Vacuuming

More and more we are learning how AI robs us of our individuality and virtually handcuffs mankind, yet its purveyors continue to soldier on with nary a backwards glance at the destruction it causes.

After watching the episode entitled "Joan is Awful" on Black Mirror streaming on Netflix last night (as many people did), with any sense I'd smash my computer and my iPhone with an axe and hope I can get away with living out my life sans AI interference. It may be too late, though, since all my personal info is already stored in a giant cloud overhead, making me nothing but an insignificant pixel in the movie called "People, Ha!" 

A few nights ago during dinner in our kitchen, my husband and I were alarmed when a loud female voice  advised that she "couldn't really do that," whatever it was, further explaining it was outside her bailiwick, at least for now. The thing is, we don't have any of those Siri-listening things, like Alexa and Echo -- not even a Roomba which I totally do not trust -- so who or what was that? Apparently the voice came from our TV, two rooms away and turned off at the time.

You better watch your microaggressions, bro, that's all I'm saying.

Living On the Edge

If Humpty hadn't fallen.....

Hoping to cheer me up after a hard day dealing with many of my life's stressors, my husband reminded me that I was going to die soon. Then I saw a meme on Instagram saying that with any luck we can all live to be 75. Next, I saw a picture on Facebook of one of my old high school chums after her facelift, wrinkle-free and smiling at 77, same age as me. 

Being old is by all accounts a drag. Yet our current president is 80 and his major opponent is also 77. What do they know that I don't?

Happy Gender Confusion Month

According to the updated LGBTQ Glossary on the Johns Hopkins University website, a lesbian is a "non-man" who is attracted to other "non-men." In the past those people have been referred to as "women," but the new definition includes non-binary people who may also identify with the label and thus is so much more inclusive. Inclusivity is very important these days. God forbid anyone feels left out -- except for Donald Trump, Melania Trump, all Trump offspring, all Republicans, anyone who owns a MAGA hat or a pickup truck or a gun, Elon Musk, anyone who watches FOX News or Tucker Carlson on Twitter, and certainly Tucker Carlson himself. But I digress. 

It's all so confusing: Are only lesbians "non-men"? Since I am only attracted to men, can I still be called a woman? But then, who knows what a woman is -- certainly not Ketanji Brown Jackson, our first black female Supreme Court Justice who could not define the word during her senate hearing in March of 2022, citing the fact that she's "not a biologist." (Sadly she was confirmed despite her apparent derangement.)

Today's LGBTQ-ers are celebrating Pride Month in a miasma of confusion and nonsense, where men have babies and women are non-men and there are 72 genders and dumb doctors constantly assign genders incorrectly at birth and Caitlyn Bruce Jenner is considered to be a lady. Still they remain proud, and really what else matters?

God only knows what goes on when one of those "non-men" gives birth to a baby. Do all of her non-men friends throw her a non-gender reveal party?

What To Do With A Dead Beatle

Back when they were both alive.

Not wanting to write another silly love song, and who could blame him, ex-Beatle Paul McCartney is instead acting the gravedigger through the use of AI, the modern-age technology that threatens to eradicate all that was once good and pure about being alive. He is doing this by using the voice of John Lennon, his former bandmate now dead for 43 years, and applying it to a new song, either with McCartney or without him, it's not yet known. Who knows, he might get Ringo in on it, which would be easy since he is still alive. (George is dead so he is definitely out.)

Lennon's voice was extricated from an old cassette by Hollywood director Peter Jackson during his making of the 2021 documentary, "The Beatles: Get Back." Paul is calling this bit of technological chicanery "the last Beatles record," to be released later this year. Tentative title: "Now and Then," as in now I'm dead and then I was alive.

I wonder who will reap the profits, if any, from the music. Is Yoko in on the deal? And more to the point, why do it at all? As a former Beatlemaniac, I'm appalled. Surely Paul has enough money already.

Sick of Transgenders and People Who Write tRump

Yeah, that's right-- I'm sick of transgenders. Well, to be accurate I'm sick of hearing about them, reading about them and thinking about them, since I don't know any personally. Why should I care? Your life isn't perfect?  Either is mine.  But I don't blame it on my vagina, or having breasts or lacking a penis. That makes as much sense as saying I only have one head and everyone knows two heads are better than one.

Yes, life is hard. We are all going to die, we just don't know when, and that's a bitter pill to swallow. Some people simply can't, so they become drug addicts or alcoholics or push strangers onto train tracks or shoot up schools and try to forget about it.  

The terms suck for all of us, but please don't blame your "wrong gender" for your unhappiness. And remember --there's just a tiny minority who do, less than 1% of the population, and we are all supposed to worry about them. Well, I don't. At all.  I will not be flying a gay pride flag at my house, or any flag for that matter -- I'm sick of the whole lot of you (except Melva and Ted). 

And how about those silly sheep who write Trump as "tRump" as if they are so damn clever, like they thought of it themselves and like it means anything. Like what? That Trump is a Rump? What does that even mean? 

Most people are not clever, like those who actually believe that drinking through a plastic straw in your own home will somehow kill the planet. I had a friend like that once and she was dumb as a stone. (Naturally she was allergic to gluten and also lactose-intolerant, two "things" people glom onto in order to feel special and get attention.)

And another thing: Giving every black (Black) person in California a million dollars in "reparations" will just make California poorer and the drug lords richer. Gavin Newsom is surely a moron. (Nice teeth, though.)

Keeping Treat Alive

Treat Williams in "Hair"

This morning I was saddened to learn that actor Treat Williams was killed in an accident yesterday, not far from his Vermont home. His motorcycle was hit by an SUV making a left turn directly into his path. This made me cry, not just for Treat, who at 71 was still a vital and handsome working actor of considerable talent, but for my friend Debra who died similarly last July 22 when her car was struck by a speeding semi as she was making a left turn. 

Cars and trucks kill people every day, that's a fact. These deaths come out of the blue and thus are the most shocking, unlike the long, slow, painful buildup of cancer and chemo and hospitalizations and hospice with other, more ghastly passings. (Face it, there's no good way to die, except maybe in a vet's office in the loving arms of your owner where first you drift off to sleep.)

More than ten months have passed and I still think of Debra every day, so she's not all the way dead -- at least not yet. Thinking about the deceased is the only way to keep them with us. Today I changed my Facebook cover photo to one of Debra that I took a few years ago. She's with me now whenever I look at Facebook!

As for Treat, he's gone but his movies are still available to see on many platforms. A few weeks ago I saw "The Deep End of the Ocean," a real tear-jerker for sure but still a fine example of his outstanding acting ability. Watch a movie starring Treat Williams today and keep him alive. ("Hair" is priceless.)

Shout Out to My Singapore Fans

According to my analytical statistics, this blog is insanely popular in the island nation of Singapore, attracting hundreds of readers daily. I have never been to Singapore, nor have I ever written one word about it. In fact I know nothing of the country except that it is very clean, that littering is outlawed, and that chewing gum in public can land you in prison.

Or at least it could have in the past. There used to be stories about people being flogged for the slightest infraction, but those stories seem to have gone away. 

Lately you hear that Singapore is very beautiful, quite wealthy -- one out of six households earn a million dollars or more -- and with many government benefits for its citizens, among them a monthly gym stipend to encourage exercise.

All I know for sure is that they have some wild architecture (see photo) and very good taste in blogs.

Looking for Conspiracies and Coming Up Empty

Yesterday I received the comment concerning a recent post: "Conspiracy blog." The post in question said that the World Health Organization (WHO) decrees what is or is not a mental illness. I believe this is a true fact and not one that is made up, concocted by a special interest group or specious, so where's the conspiracy? In fact, what is a conspiracy? The definition is "a secret plan by a group to do something unlawful or harmful." 

Have I ever believed in a conspiracy? Not really. However, some things have happened during my lifetime that do seem odd and/or suspicious, but not all the way to conspiratorial. I did wonder who was behind the murder of JFK but I had no reason to suspect our government. Of course I was 16 at the time and so was pretty much focused on which one was my favorite Beatle. 

I have questioned how Vince Foster found Fort Marcy Park (where he allegedly shot himself but had no gunpowder on his hands and in fact was still holding the supposedly fired gun), after being in D.C. only six months and working "12-hour days, six or seven days a week," when I never found it after living there 30 years and and hiking with friends on many weekends. 

I am not convinced that our current befuddled president makes any decisions at all. It seems more plausible (to me) that a team of politicos, all younger and more able than Biden, work behind-the-scenes on policy and send Joe out to deliver the results.

I honestly believe the lion's share of the media work hard to downplay any wrongdoing of the Democratic Party and to inflate the missteps of the Republican Party unfairly to make them seem evil.

That's it. Nothing about WHO. I have never thought about WHO until I learned that they decree what is and what is not a mental illness, which I found out yesterday while doing research for the post that inspired someone to call this "a conspiracy blog."

WHO Decides Who's Crazy

Mattel is ready with Wheelchair Barbie.

If you hate your penis and want it gone -- that's fine, and even commendable. Alternatively, you could be at war with your breasts and have them surgically removed and everyone will applaud your self-actualization. 

You may even bombard your body with hormones to stop menstruation or grow hair on your face and chest and there will be flags in your honor. But don't you dare dream about being an amputee or being partially paralyzed, even if that's how you wish you could live, because you'll be seen as insane. 

BIID stands for body integrity identity disorder, a rare condition experienced by people who desire the amputation of one or more healthy limbs or who desire a paralysis. Some of these persons mutilate themselves; others ask surgeons for an amputation, or for the transection of their spinal cord. (These people have in the past also been called "amputee wannabes.")

There are doctors, usually in other countries, who will perform these surgeries for people who desperately want them and claim to be happier afterwards. Today BIID (or BID) is classified as a mental illness -- but so was transgenderism until 2019, when WHO ( World Health Organization) stopped listing it as such.

So go ahead and have your penis removed, or cut off your two healthy breasts and look like a hero, but if you want one less arm or leg or desire to live in a wheelchair in order to feel like your "true self," you're considered nuts. Go figure.

They Won't Stop Until He's Dead

The lottery "winner" surrounded by townsfolk bent on his murder. 

Once again I implore you to read "The Lottery," Shirley Jackson's chilling short story that was published in 1948 yet explains exactly what has been going on with Donald Trump since 2016 and continues today. You will understand that the Democrats will not stop haranguing, harassing, and hectoring the man -- and yes, he is simply a man -- not the Devil, not a God -- until he is stone cold dead.

The latest in a trail of indignities is his indictment yesterday for the very same crime committed by Hillary Clinton in 2016, when FBI director James Comey said that she and her colleagues "were extremely careless in their handling of very sensitive, highly classified information." But he declared her "free and clear," adding that "no reasonable prosecutor would bring such a case."

Nevertheless, relentlessly dogging Trump for something many other presidents -- including Obama, George W. Bush and Biden-- have also done is par for the course. It's all about keeping Trump from re-gaining the presidency while allowing Democrats to continue to "fundamentally change America," as Obama famously boasted he would do. And after all, Trump did pick the short straw back in 2016, so he deserves to die.

Old Habits Die Hard

Today I drove to the Maine Department of Motor Vehicles to renew my driver's license. Wanting to avoid a wasted trip since the website instructions were confusing, I called ahead to find out exactly what documents were needed to complete the task. An earnest-sounding young man answered the phone and told me to bring the following: Birth certificate or passport, proof of insurance, existing driver's license and proof of residency (utility bill or mortgage statement).

I dutifully rounded up the required documents, which took some doing since I had to rummage through several wastebaskets to find the remnants of a paid utility bill, and off I went. When it was my turn I handed all my papers to the clerk, who said she only needed my driver's license. "No need to see those other things," she explained, waving them away.

This bummed me out so much that when I got home I polished off the peanut butter cookies my son made me for my birthday, despite promising myself that today would be the start of a diet. Such is the life of a reformed compulsive eater.

Slanted News Hurts Everyone

It's become almost impossible to find out what's really going on in the world. Every article or oral report reeks of bias, sometimes in very subtle ways that are barely noticeable and sometimes blatantly so. A repeated example of this trend are recent headlines about Robert Kennedy Jr. doing well in the polls despite his being an "anti-vax activist" or an "anti-vax Democratic candidate" or an "anti-vax conspiracy theorist." I wondered, does the man have any other interests or is he just blindly focused on not liking vaccinations? Turns out he does. 

A quick look at Kennedy's Wikipedia entry tells a broader story about this environmental lawyer and champion of just about every liberal cause that ever came down the pike. Over the years of his career he has advocated for the protection of waterways, indigenous rights and renewable energy. In 1999 he founded the Waterkeeper Alliance, a non-profit environmental group. This excerpt from Town & Country magazine shows another side of the man:

"Today, as the Waterkeeper Alliance—of which Kennedy remains president—the organization has more than 350 waterkeepers in 45 countries, patrolling and protecting nearly 3 million square miles of waterways. 'Bobby’s the kind of guy who walks over to the creek and goes and talks to the first fisherman he can,” says Gary Wockner, the Waterkeeper on the Cache la Poudre River in Colorado. 'He gets into long conversations about the health of the creek, what kind of fish are biting.'"  

Lest we forget, Kennedy saw his uncle Jack (JFK) killed on TV when he was nine years old. When he was 14, he saw his father murdered, also while watching him on TV. Despite that, he remains committed to entering politics and do what he considers to be the best for his country. Being against forced vaccinations should not make him a pariah.

Flags Are Not Enough! What Is?

Maine's 1901 state flag recently updated with rainbow stripes.

In a rare moment of relevancy, the current issue of The Northern Forecaster, our bi-weekly local paper -- 20 pages filled with news of interest to almost nobody but the people written about -- contains an article of national interest. Under the headline, "Yarmouth to celebrate its first LGBTQ Pride Month," the author celebrates the fact that "the Yarmouth Town Council unanimously passed a resolution declaring June as Pride Month and residents have backed it as well. " Some local businesses started showing their support by flying Pride flags this month.

The article goes on about how great this development is, and how it's about time, and how Yarmouth is influential and special and solidarity and awareness and feeling safe and being supportive and more like that. But at the very end, Town Councilor Heather Abbott is quoted as saying, "There is so much more that can and should be done, but this is one way that Yarmouth can make it clear that we are proud to have a vibrant LGBTQ community here."

This got me wondering about just what more can and should be done. Should all local residents have sex with someone of their own gender to show their support? Should everyone host a gay or lesbian or bisexual or transgender person for dinner? Just once or on a weekly basis? Should we have Drag Shows in the elementary schools? How about in churches and synagogues? Perhaps an annual LGBTQ Festival to replace the popular Yarmouth Clam Festival? 

What, exactly, can and should be done? What will be enough to stop the deafening cacophony of gay pride and parades and pronouns and drag queens and transgender surgery and which bathroom and what sports team we now all contend with already to placate this small segment  -- estimated %7.2 -- of society? 

Just tell us and we'll do it. Anything to quiet the noise.

Rush to Judgement Is Often Wrong

Today I read a disturbing chapter in Malcolm Gladwell's 2019, "Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know About the People We Don't Know." Actually every chapter is disturbing, as the author explains how and why so many bad outcomes result from a simple miscommunication between strangers. For example, back in 2015, 28-year-old African-American Sandra Bland ended up dead in a jail cell three days after being stopped for a missing blinker light by a white traffic cop who made wrong assumptions about her, and she about him. 

But the one I found most upsetting was about 35-year-old Amanda Knox, then a young college student studying abroad when her roommate was found dead in their apartment in Perugia, Italy in 2007. Despite absolutely no evidence whatsoever connecting Knox to the crime, she was tried and convicted and spent four years of her young life in an Italian prison before DNA evidence set her free and the real killer was arrested.

According to Gladwell, Knox was guilty of not behaving in a way that was expected of most people in her situation. That's it. Police found her facial expressions "inappropriate" during questioning. She was seen buying "red underwear" the day after the murder was discovered. She didn't seem "remorseful enough," according to several of the investigators. Of course she had nothing to be remorseful about since she was innocent, and she was buying underwear because her apartment was a crime scene and all her clothes were locked up inside and beyond her reach. But no matter -- people saw what they wanted to see and the truth be damned. 

Sadly this happens quite often, and I know firsthand how a "bad resting face" can be interpreted incorrectly. It's possible that if everyone stopped thinking of themselves for just one minute when they encounter someone they don't know they'll stop coming to the wrong conclusions and the world will be a far better, and safer, place. And Sandra Bland would be alive today.

Improving Your Experience

A few days ago I went to the drive-thru lane at my bank to deposit a check. A cheerful young man behind the window greeted me and slid open the drawer into which I inserted the check and went off to do his job. About a minute later he returned with the deposit slip and told me to "have a good one!" I thanked him and drove off.

By the time I arrived home there was an email from the bank asking me to fill out a short survey rating my recent experience with them. Really, that was an experience? I ignored it. But the next day I got the following email:

"We recently sent you an invitation to provide feedback on your experience and we'd love to hear from you. We want to ensure we are meeting your expectations and providing you with exceptional solutions and service at KeyBank. Please take this short online survey to tell us how your visit was. It should take less than 4 minutes. Your feedback will help us improve the experience we offer our clients."

What I found annoying had actually been an invitation! And to provide feedback! I wondered, what could I possibly say that would improve someone else's experience at the bank drive-thru? As for providing me with exceptional solutions and service, they closed that branch of the bank which is two miles from my house the very day I was there, and now everyone in Freeport will have to drive seven miles to the nearest branch. Should I mention that? 

It's everywhere: Rate me, rate me, help me do better. I made a dinner reservation and the app asked me to rate the ease with which I was able to do so. Then the next day the app asked me to rate my dinner experience. The only person I never heard from was the chef, the one person to whom I had plenty to say.

You'd think with all this rating business going on things would be a lot better in this country. Too bad the White House doesn't send out those surveys. I'd fill that one out in a heartbeat.

The All Style, No Substance Generation

Last night I dined out with my husband and another couple at a new restaurant a few towns over. It's gotten lots of hype and despite knowing it's very expensive we decided to check it out since it would be my "birthday" dinner, even though my birthday is days away. Anyway, there we were at the Sicilian Table in affluent Falmouth, Maine, hoping for the best. Instead we got the worst.

I knew right away we were headed for trouble the minute I entered and saw the over-the-top decor. (See photo.) The place looks like a Cirque d' Soleil nightmare, or possibly the set of a Fellini movie. Giant fish sculptures hang from the ceiling, and weird string lights spanning over the crazy mix and match furnishings and wall coverings make for a stunning but almost blinding ambiance. Sadly they left the windows uncovered, exposing a bleak view of a parking lot and strip mall lined with neon-lit store signs and a gas station across the street. (Really guys, I hope the window shades are back-ordered.)

The food, in a word, sucked. I can and do make much better myself, and it doesn't cost a fortune. The prices at the Sicilian Table are ridiculously high, I assume to pay for the outrageous Vegas-style interior. I could describe what we all ate but I won't bother. Suffice it to say that today's young people love this sort of thing: a fun atmosphere for a date night where the food is secondary to the possibility of hooking up.

For a consistently great meal in down-to-earth surroundings, go to Buck's Naked Barbecue in Freeport instead. The simple food is always excellent, and their Caesar salad is fabulous, with crisp lettuce and a great dressing, unlike the limp greens I picked over last night at the Ritzy Millennial Palace. 

God Bless My Body

Why are so many people so messed up? How can anyone not be grateful just for having a body that works? For legs and arms and internal organs that do what they're supposed to do, without intervention? Why do they have to cut it up and move things around and chop off parts and have things implanted in order to enjoy the wonders of their brief time being alive? Can you not enjoy a sunrise or walk in a forest or swim in a mountain lake if you don't like your penis or hate your breasts?

If more people would go and sit in a corner and meditate for 20 minutes every morning instead of seeking out dangerous surgeries to alter their God-given bodies, perhaps the world would be a tiny bit less screwed up. Until then, the crazies are running everything and ruining most of it.

There's No Such Thing as A Daddy Mommy

This morning I read an article about a "transgender man" who is pregnant and featured on the cover of Glamour magazine in the UK, and it made me want to throw up except I don't throw up because I find it so nauseating. 

But not as nauseating as the fact that some people are so moronic that they call themselves men after having a double mastectomy and taking male hormones and cutting their hair short and dressing like a lumberjack, but they still have ovaries and a uterus and a vagina and thus are capable of bearing a child.  

And that so many other people validate their insanity and laws are enacted to protect them and nobody just comes out and says these people are effing nuts! That really irks me.

Fact of life: If you are a Mommy you cannot be a Daddy.

Bluesky: The Latest Non-thing

Have pity for today's younger generations: they know nothing about real life and possibly never will, what with the insidious growth of AI and who knows what's next. All they know about and care about is what goes on inside their silly electronic devices, and Lord have mercy on them all when the power grid fails someday. 

The "latest thing" is a social media site -- as if that's a thing -- called Bluesky, which is the new Twitter founded by former Twitter co-founder Jack Dorsey. Everyone wants in, but this one requires special codes to join, which can only be handed out by users of the site. So if you know someone who is "in" you might have a chance. But what does being "in" Bluesky actually mean? It means you can write your little messages of a maximum of 300 characters each to other members. (Whoop-de-do.)

An article in today's Wall Street Journal states: "Stacy King, 52, a children's fantasy writer in  Toronto, said she wanted to join Bluesky after seeing others she knew sign up. 'I was starting to feel a little bit left out.'" And Alex van Possum, a 40-year-old who works in marketing, explained that the benefit of joining early was the ability to snag his preferred username, even if it's not his real name. "At least it'll be something original and not something with a bunch of numbers after it."

The article doesn't mention that Bluesky will not prevent you from getting cancer, assure you of finding love, keep you from having a child with an incurable disease, stop you from committing suicide, help you lose weight, strengthen your heart or clear up your acne, stop baldness, pay your taxes, pick you up at the airport, fix that nagging backache, teach you how to meditate, stop those annoying telemarketer calls, give you an orgasm, prevent debilitating depression or make you a better person in any way. 

Basically, joining Bluesky will do absolutely nothing to improve the quality of your life but will greatly enrich Jack Dorsey's. BTW, an early adopter is Alexandria-Ocasio Cortez, and that says it all.

What's Pride Got to Do With It?

A few of the proud in Jerusalem today.

Today an estimated 30,000 Israelis marched in the Jerusalem Gay Pride Parade. Having just returned from a week in that city I was somewhat interested and so read a few of the news articles online and watched some videos. What nobody mentioned was just what the heck they're  all so proud of.

I grew up with gays in my life and certainly am no stranger to the whole LGBT thing, with numerous friends and family members, male and female, who identify as gay. But I have never understood how pride is involved. I certainly don't feel proud that I am straight. (Should I be? Or should I be embarrassed?)

According to the dictionary definition, the very word has little to recommend it: pride n. A high, esp. an excessively high, opinion of one's own worth or importance which gives rise to a feeling or attitude of superiority over others; inordinate self-esteem.

Being gay doesn't make you better than not being gay. I wish they would all get over themselves and have sex with whomever they want and stop talking about it. Who cares?

Republican Dummies vs. Sleepy Joe

Orange Man wins against a bunch apples.

Despite Donald Trump having achieved much good during his administration, I simply can't take any more drama from Ivanka and Jared, Don Jr. and Eric, and even the beautiful but missing-in-action Melania. But with six Republicans already running for president and splitting the vote, Trump will surely win the nomination. Who among us can endure another sad contest between two seniors past their prime, if they ever even had a prime? 

The worst part is that in the coming months there will probably be more contenders announcing their intention to run, making a Trump victory even likelier. The latest to throw his hat in the ring is former New Jersey Governor Chris Christie, who is simply way too fat to win. After all, obesity is not a quality to be admired and he's morbidly so, even after his 2014 bariatric surgery for the condition. (I guess that doesn't work.)

Are there any grownups in the Republican leadership? If so, it's time they do some back-room politicking and pick one alternative to Trump who can win the nomination and put Sleepy Joe to bed for good.