Film Review: THE LAND OF STEADY HABITS

This great movie is currently streaming on Netflix. It features outstanding acting and witty, authentic dialog, meaning the characters all sound real. There's no silly Hollywood fluff; instead it's a snapshot of real life set in a rich Connecticut town. (The title has something to do with that but nothing to do with the story so stop wondering.)

Ben Mendelsohn as Anders, couch-surfing in his condo.

Starring an Australian actor named Ben Mendelsohn, who deserves an Oscar just for his spot-on facial expressions, The Land of Steady Habits is by turns funny, sad and downright depressing, yet somehow uplifting when the tale is all told. 

He plays Anders, a 50-ish divorced man in the midst of a messy mid-life crisis complicated by quitting his job where he made lots of money and divorcing his wife Helene (Edie Falco) of many years for reasons we don't understand until the end. Lonely and looking for love, he finds it easily enough -- apparently every woman he meets finds him instantly irresistible -- but his poor performance in the bedroom sends them packing. 

Strong sub-plots involve Anders' 27-year-old son fresh from rehab for drugs and alcohol who is lost and unready for adulthood, and the family's best friends with a same-age son who is headed to rehab for the same issues.

Nothing very out of the ordinary happens, which is why Anders is so blue most of the time: He sees a therapist, but when the shrink takes a phone call during one of their sessions, Anders is pissed off and walks out, taking an armload of expensive art books with him. A strained relationship with his son causes him angst, but he kicks the kid out of his rented condo anyway, hoping tough love works. Helene's planned remarriage to an old friend of theirs makes him angry. A visit to a strip club with a friend (Josh Pais) barely registers as he shoos away a naked babe who wants to give him a lap dance. 

It might all be boring in the hands of another director, but Nicole Holofcener makes it worthy of a re-watch, which I plan to do as soon as possible.

What to Feed A Starving Brain

Years ago when my son was in high school, one of his classmates said something that I laughed at back then but have since come to understand is the truth: Sam said he was "sick of reading books because he had plenty of his own thoughts."  At 16 that's a silly statement, since one virtually knows nothing, but as I grew older, the more I agreed with it. Soon enough I stopped reading novels altogether, except old favorites, because I understood they were just someone else's thoughts and I had my own!

But now, so many years later, I have grown tired of my own thoughts. They are used and stale and ceased being constructive long ago, yet they still run rampant through my brain. I'm ready for some new ones yet unsure of how to get any. I've tried surfing the internet but that's all just trash and lies. TV is of course a vast wasteland, and that's not something I thought up myself: Newton Minow, an American attorney who served as chairman of the Federal Communications Commission, is famous for his 1961 speech referring to television as a "vast wasteland," and he surely would know. As for podcasts, the cool new word for radio shows, they are just vehicles for egoists espousing their opinions in hopes of becoming rich and graduating to an "influencer," God help us please.

I might have to take a college course in something strange and unusual. Not sure what subject, but it definitely won't be The Music of Taylor Swift or The History of The Third Reich, two subjects that have lots of fans but turn me off. Until I find one I'm stuck inside my own head, which these days is not a pleasant place to be, crowded as it is with thoughts of Israeli hostages and Hamas terrorists and obese Americans having heart attacks and diabetes and Trump-haters whining and getting on everyone's nerves. 

Despite young Sam's declaration, I might have to rely on one of my favorite novels until I figure it out. Following is a list of books that never fail to spark and sparkle my brain, and possibly would do the same for yours.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Sweet Hereafter by Russell Banks

The Plague by Albert Camus

White Noise by Don DeLillo

Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton

A Shaggy Doc Story

If you need surgery and you live in Maine, get outta town! That's my advice after hearing what just happened to one of my closest friends. I'm not naming names, except for the hospital where this sordid story occurred, and that was at Maine Med as the locals call it, or Maine Medical Center if we are being formal. 

Three days ago my friend, let's call her Jane Doe, went there at five in the morning for surgery to remove a cancerous tumor in her abdomen. She underwent the surgery and woke up in severe pain. Despite the boatload of pain meds she was given, Jane distinctly heard her surgeon say, "We got it" before drifting happily back to la-la land.

The following morning the same doc showed up with bad news: "Actually, we didn't get it." She said, you mean you didn't get it all? He said, "We didn't get any of it. We missed it. We removed a cyst that was benign. We'll have to go back in." 

The next day Jane was wheeled into the OR for another opportunity to have her abdomen ripped open. This time they were going to "really get it!" and would use some sort of sonar equipment to be extra-sure. After recovering from a five-hour surgery, Jane woke up to good news: "Guess what, we never found any cancer. There was no tumor after all." But, but, but....

What about the biopsy? What about the Pet Scan? What made you think there was a tumor in the first place? Oh, they took pictures and a biopsy at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute, Brigham Center, the leading cancer center in New England and ranked #5 in the country, and they figured they knew what they were talking about.  

The end? Maybe not.

How to Avoid Cancer

For several reasons, this morning I did not click on the following headline on my computer: "THIS COMMON VITAMIN CAUSES CANCER." First of all, I don't take any vitamins. Secondly, with so many people I know having cancer right now or having had it in the past, I'm wondering what doesn't cause cancer. Maybe someone should list those things and we could do more/eat more of those. I'll start:

Belly dancing

Popcorn

Sleeping, napping

Toast

Playing with kitties

Chicken soup

Clementines, oranges

Reading

Board games, jigsaw puzzles

None of the things listed above have been cited as carcinogenic, so go ahead and enjoy them without fear.

Not All Cousins Are the Kissin' Kind

That adorable little Caroline Kennedy is all grown up now and has turned into quite a meanie. This week she came out with a statement to the press condemning her cousin Robert F. Kennedy Jr. as "a predator," and certainly "the worst fit for the job" he has been nominated for by President Trump, which is the Secretary of Health and Human Services. She issued this bitchy statement shortly before his scheduled Congressional confirmation hearings, adding for emphasis that, "we grew up together, so I know him."

When I read what Caroline said, I was taken aback -- at first. Then I remembered that cousins come in all shapes and sizes, and degrees of closeness. Even first cousins can be so distant as to know nothing about one another. In my own family I have, or had, eight first cousins. We could all say that we "grew up together," sharing family holiday celebrations, weddings and funerals at the very least. But today our relationships are vastly different.

One of these cousins is like a brother to me. We lived under the same roof for three years as kids, were close as young adults, and are now even closer as older adults. While we live in distant states, we communicate often on the phone and online. If he were nominated for a cabinet position for anything at all I would praise him to the skies. Meanwhile, his sister is another story. Though she and I were close in our younger years, we stopped all communication 15 years ago when her father died and I didn't have to pretend anymore. Basically, she is an evil witch. If she were nominated for a cabinet position I would phone the New York Times, The Boston Globe, CNN and FOX News and tell all of them that she is a predator. (Let's say we had our issues.)

About those other six of my cousins, I have no idea if they are dead or alive. Actually the only one I loved died years ago, and the rest never mattered. My husband also has eight first cousins. Of those, at least two of them would call him a predator if he didn't beat them to it. He has not spoken to four of them in 40 years. The other two have become really close and dear friends of his.

The point is, what Caroline says about Bobby doesn't matter a whit. They obviously had issues too, and her spiteful words today are not only tainted but slanderous.

How Very Queer

Recently while driving through Portland, Maine's largest city, a stop at a red light gave me time to read a poster tacked up on a telephone pole advertising "Queer Climbing Night" at a local climbing venue.  

At first I wondered how climbing queerly could ever be something people wanted to learn how to do. But then I saw that it meant it was a special night at the gym when all the participants would be queer and they could climb together, without any of those nasty straight people nearby.

Imagine the outrage if the poster said "Straights Climbing Night." How about Christian Climbing Night, or Black Climbing Night? Or Men Only or Women Only. And what about the poor Transgenders? 

Somehow, members of the LGBTQ+ community have snagged the right to exclude everyone else from their  activities, with events like Pride Parades in every city across America and Drag Queen Bingo invading schools and businesses. How come? 

And what's the difference if you're climbing with other people who only have sex with a person of the same gender? Or no sex at all? Or maybe someone who likes both men and women -- are they queer enough for Queer Climbing Night? Do you climb higher, faster, better when surrounded by others who share your particular fetish?  

I hope someone in the Trump administration takes a look at this.

Facebook Fizzles & Instagram Insults

Yesterday, for like the umpteenth time, I deleted the Instagram app on my phone. What began as a way to share my favorite photographs and latest paintings with friends has morphed into a cesspool of morbidly obese women, rolls of fat and cellulite bursting out of their teeny bikinis, asking if men would still like to "munch my carpet." Really. This vile detritus is permitted, yet when I respond with, "This is gross" or "You should not appear half-naked," I immediately get a note saying my "words might hurt" and I must edit my comment for it to appear.

Another fad that has overtaken Instagram, and Facebook as well, shows videos of amateur cooks preparing food I wouldn't give to my dog, who is dead, and certainly not my living cat. The one I saw today that made me pull the plug showed the following:

Halve 10 hard-boiled eggs. Place in a casserole dish. In a blender, combine cottage cheese, heavy cream, paprika and boiled potatoes until soupy. Pour mixture over the eggs and top with more sliced hard-boiled eggs "to make it look appetizing."  Smother the whole mess with shredded mozzarella and bake in the oven. 

Why? What is the purpose? Is this used instead of Ipecac to induce vomiting? 

Starting now I will post my blog on Facebook and immediately get off it. For fun and distraction there's nowhere left to turn except to meditation, reading, and watching Sleepless in Seattle again. And again. Just to see beautiful Meg Ryan before she went under the knife and Rosie O'Donnell in an adorable scene-stealing performance before she morphed into a rabid, foul-mouthed dyke. Those were the good old days.

Film Review: A REAL PAIN

Jesse Eisenberg and Kieran Culkin looking as bored as the audience.

For the sake of accuracy this movie, currently streaming on Hulu, should have been titled A Real Pain in the Ass. The "pain" is played annoyingly by Kieran Culkin, a nominee for Best Supporting Actor in this year's Oscar race. All I can say about that is, "Oh, please." His older brother Macaulay, of Home Alone fame, was much more believable at the age of 10 than he is here. 

Written and directed by Jesse Eisenberg who also stars, this instantly forgettable tale about Jewish cousins David (Eisenberg) and Benjy (Culkin) visiting Poland to see the home of their recently deceased grandmother offers little besides a pleasing travelogue of Warsaw and its surrounding countryside. It's pretty. We are supposed to find their strained love/hate relationship -- some of the titular pain -- fascinating. It isn't.

A group visit to a concentration camp -- more pain -- is the only memorable scene, although not nearly as compelling as others depicted in past films about the Holocaust. (An empty gas chamber pales when compared to one filled with naked victims about to die, as seen in Schindler's List.) Otherwise it's just David being nerdy and uptight and Benjy being outrageous and depressed. Along for the ride are four fellow tour members and their guide, none of whom add much to the proceedings. 

Benjy alternately sulks and rants. David frets and frowns constantly. Everyone else watches them. The end.

 

Netflix Does Transgenders

The new, diminished Oscar statuette

I was surprised when this year's Oscar nominations were announced yesterday and I hadn't seen even one of the ten films nominated in the Best Picture category -- a shocking fact, even for me who eschews most of mass media. But then today I read that the film that swept the awards with 13 nominations, more than any other film, is a musical drama about a transgender drug lord and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

My life, or what's left of it, is just too damn short to waste on such nonsense. While I am still healthy and energetic, working out at a CrossFit gym twice a week and in control of all my bodily functions, at the age of 78 I suppose many people see me as having one foot in the grave. If it means I don't have to watch transgenders in fancy costumes singing about drug lords, I'm okay with that.

Stupid Rules Ruin Everyday Life

Recently my husband and I each received our own letter in the mail confirming an address change made to our shared health care policy. The problem was that the new address it was confirming was incorrect, and the only reason we got the letters was because the postmistress in our tiny hamlet knows us and put them in our box despite the error.

So I called to fix the problem. A man with a virtually unintelligible Indian accent answered and possibly asked how he could help, I think. Hoping I was right, I explained the problem, which was that they had our address wrong. Admittedly not a huge problem but who knows what they might try to send us someday. 

The man confirmed the account number, then said he had to speak to my husband because I had given his account number, having grabbed the letter I saw first; apparently mine was different. I explained that Mitchell was currently sitting on the toilet and thus was unavailable. He said he could not make the change unless he spoke to Mitchell. 

I reiterated that we live in the same house and both have accounts with Cigna so what's the difference? He insisted, saying it had to do with the government's rules regarding privacy. I told him to fuck off and hung up. I mean really, that seemed like the only appropriate response.

Bill Maher's Nose

I am elated that we have said goodbye to Biden, Harris and most of all, press secretary Raggedy Ann, a.k.a. Karine-Abdul-Jeanne-Pierre-Trudeau or whatever the heck her name was -- the ultimate poster child for DEI hires if ever there was one. 

President Trump has come out swinging, making many executive orders with the sweep of his black Sharpie. But there's one more he must make to satisfy the American people and get things back on the right track. That is to abolish, once and for all, that televised cesspool known as The View. Imagine how great life could be without those ignorant harridans spreading their childish hate. 

And while Trump is busy issuing pardons, he could help restore civility by pardoning Bill Maher from the airwaves. That so-called comic is not only never funny but his giant nose looks like it's made of Silly Putty and thus is quite disturbing whenever it pops up on television, bringing his face along with it. 

Of course, ending the wars in Ukraine and Gaza would be terrific, we can all agree. But banning angry, ill-informed celebrities who get paid enormous salaries to twist the truth would sure help all of us here at home to rest easier.

Trump Is No Normal Man

In one day we have all gone from being blindfolded in the cargo section, with no idea who was flying the plane, to sitting next to the pilot in the cockpit. Donald Trump's candor is truly a breath of fresh air as he speaks openly to the press and does it with a smile, replacing that mean gasbag Joe Biden who flatly refused to answer any questions, even those shouted at him by desperate reporters hoping for a few crumbs to take back tho their editors.

Despite the fact that he has been in office for just 24 hours, Donald Trump has done more to make Americans safe than Biden did in four years. And still the doofus Democrats insist on denigrating him, despite his apparent superiority to the two howler monkeys who just vacated the White House.

So far today I have seen many comments online calling him "Orange Man." I'm confused -- are we back in grade school? Is this the best they can do? Joy Behar, that talentless beast who yammers on The View along with the rest of the farm animals sitting beside her, said yesterday, "This was not a normal inauguration because he's not a normal person." She certainly meant it as an insult, but finally she got something right. Trump is not a normal person, and we can all thank God he is running the country after a "normal" man all but ruined it forever.

Good Luck Donald!

Love him or hate him, you've got to admit that the return of Donald Trump to the White House is pretty amazing, all the more so because of the relentless blockades put before him and around him over the past few years by deranged prosecutors bent on revenge. He's probably spent more time sitting inside courtrooms on trial for fantasy crimes than Joe Biden spent in the Oval Office in his four years as president. 

It's the stuff of fairy tales, really. Sadly, the Democrats cannot share the joy inherent in one man's journey back from the deepest hell to the epitome of power. Hopefully they will give their pesky vendetta a rest and let the man govern without constantly nipping at his toes and hindering his success, which seems to be their stock in trade.

Everyone, regardless of their political leanings, should wish our 47th president good luck.

Schadenfreude for Breakfast

Did anyone remember to bring marshmallows?

The definition of schadenfreude is, "the experience of pleasure, joy, or self-satisfaction that comes from learning of or witnessing the troubles, failures, pain, suffering, or humiliation of another." I had a big bowl of it for breakfast this morning and I must say it was even more filling than my usual oatmeal.

To be honest I only experienced the pleasure, eschewing the joy and self-satisfaction as too decadent, at least so early in the morning. But pleasure seemed appropriate while reading today's MANSION section of the Wall Street Journal, a part of the paper that reports on the outrageous homes of the uber-wealthy every Friday. Giving ample evidence that, with the exception of Keanu Reeves, one's moral compass wanes the richer one gets, it never fails to make me miserable. 

One house that cost $50 million and five years to build, yet burned to the ground in less than an hour in last week's Pacific Palisades fire, was described thusly: "There was a 20-seat theater, a temperature-controlled wine lounge, and a retractable roof in the primary suite for stargazing. There was a ballistic safe room where the owner could retreat in a crisis." Not so good in a fire, I guess. The owner was "literally in tears over the loss of antiques and art pieces that he had sourced from his travels around the world." No tears for the loss of hundreds of homes and businesses and thousands of displaced Californians? 

I'll bet many of the local homeless citizens are also feeling a bit of schadenfreude these days. After all, if their park bench gets destroyed they can just move their shopping cart with all their belongings over to another one in the very same neighborhood, no biggie. 

Medical Marvels

I received an electronic message from my doctor's office today, alerting me to the fact that I will likely never see him in person ever again, unless I am at death's door. The email detailed all the new and exciting ways I can connect with my doctor if I'm feeling poorly, which clearly is a condition frowned upon according to said note.

I can reach him online to set up an in-person appointment, God forbid I should be that sick. No more waiting on hold on the phone! Now you just wait for the return email telling you when to come in, you should live that long.

There was more, all about how I could use their new service wherein I don't even see a doctor or nurse in person and just have a Zoom appointment. That would be great if I have a rash or acne or something that shows, but if my problem is a tummy ache, heart attack or migraine, then what? Oh wait. Then I can book myself an emergency appointment online. Well, that's a relief.

Basically, it's over for doctors. Their heyday when they were seen as Gods walking among us has passed. So stop sending your kids to med school and send them to Computer Code University. And for God's sake, don't get sick! And if you do get sick, just Google it. That's what they do anyway.

Man's Inhumanity to Dogs

How is this legal?

A current online video features a Chihuahua named Max being let outside into a snow-covered backyard to relieve himself. The voiceover is that of the owner telling the little guy to, "Go ahead, go pee." The dog's movements are clearly encumbered by the following articles of clothing: a knitted beanie cap, a full-body waterproof coat spanning from head to tail, and four rubber rain boots. 

The dog takes a few steps, lifts one leg and pees into a snow pile, then turns around and goes back inside. The owner can be heard saying, "Good job!" Granted I'm no animal psychologist but it was pretty obvious that the dog was uncomfortable and likely humiliated to be dressed up in what looks like a Halloween costume, and all for being outdoors for less than a minute. 

What people do to their dogs is criminal. They are hardy animals, meant for working, herding sheep, hunting and guiding. The most noble among them are first responders, searching through rubble for disaster survivors and locating lost children in the woods. Admittedly, those are rare breeds. Most dogs are pampered pooches treated like babies -- sleeping in cozy beds and dressed up in ridiculous outfits. The richer ones are often wheeled around in strollers intended for human infants and toddlers.

It's sad to see how "man's best friend" is often treated like his worst enemy.

Life In The Matrix

I wonder how any work gets done at any company when so much time is being taken up with changing their prompts and training staff. These days, without exception, every call to every business establishment, doctor's office or government department is answered by a recording that welcomes you, thanks you for calling, warns you that the call is being recorded for training purposes -- and by the way, what staff are they training? -- and then cautions you to "listen carefully as our prompts have recently changed." 

Coincidentally, every single one of those places I mentioned is always "experiencing higher than usual call volumes," even if you're calling at six in the morning.

Is this real life now? If so, I don't like it. Give me whichever color pill gets me out.

Why I Hate Advertising

An ad on Facebook features a young woman staring into the camera fretfully. She says, "If you're a woman who struggles to find a t-shirt that fits well and feels great, your search is over." Immediately I was alarmed at the thought of anyone struggling to find a t-shirt. I wondered, had I been using the word correctly? Did I not know what "struggle" really means? So I looked it up and found this:

"Make forceful or violent efforts to get free of restraint or conviction; engage in conflict; strive to achieve or attain something in the face of difficulty." How that could apply to shopping for an ordinary t-shirt escaped me. Are we talking shopping in a war-torn country? 

Yes, I am guilty of misusing and abusing the English language just like everyone else. After all, language is fluid. "Chill" can mean cold or it can mean relax. When people say they are "bone tired," their bones are not really tired. I say I love cottage cheese, but surely not as much as I love my husband and son. (Although I do really love cottage cheese.)

But back to struggling. The firemen in California are struggling to put out the fires. The Democrats struggle to discredit Donald Trump every second of their lives. The hostages in Gaza are struggling to stay alive. Those struggles are real. Clearly, finding a comfy t-shirt does not measure up. Which is why I hate advertising. (Look it up.)

Beware the Devils Among Us

According to several news reports, at least 20 people have been arrested for looting in the wildfire evacuation zones in metro Los Angeles this week. Which means that not only do we need to be wary of natural disasters appearing out of nowhere, but also of our fellow human beings who take advantage of them for their own benefit.

Of course, this is nothing new: Flawed people have existed since Day One if you believe the story of Eve and the apple. But somehow this latest bit of news seems extra harsh, what with so many thousands of people losing all of their earthly possessions in a matter of hours, leaving them literally with only the clothes on their backs.

The realization that looters are roaming the devastated areas of Los Angeles and picking through the smoldering ashes for whatever could possibly remain of value is an excessively bleak one. My only explanation is that some people are in service to the Devil himself and walk among us. Sometimes you spot them before they hurt you, but many times not.

Remain vigilant! Not everyone wants you to "have a nice day," even if they say so.

The Horror of Being Human

This morning I spent about four hours, as I have every Wednesday for the last six months, with a local woman who has Parkinson's disease. I met her when I responded to a call for volunteers to "keep a lovely woman company a few hours a week."

An average person

While I have come to really like this woman, her disease is so debilitating that there is little we can do together while I am visiting. We work on jigsaw puzzles when she is up to it. I fix her lunch and help her eat it. I help her in the bathroom. If she is well enough and weather permitting, we might go for a 10 minute walk outside. During the summer we sat in the sun for about half an hour or so. (Daily sunshine is beneficial for Parkinson's patients.) 

This woman is 68 years old. She led a full life as an artist before this disease robbed her of everything. Her two grown sons live in distant states and do not ever visit. She has a sister who lives nearby who does not ever visit. She has two grandchildren she has not seen in three years or more. She had a vibrant network of friends in town who never, ever visit or call.

Her husband is her caretaker. He still works, besides doing all the shopping and cooking, and so must try to cover his hours away from home somehow. I am one of those ways, but four hours a week is a spit in the ocean. Here's my point: Human beings suck. What happened to all of her friends? Where are the two children she raised to adulthood? Why don't any of the neighbors she has known for more than 20 years ever stop by to say hello?

What do you think would happen to you if you got a debilitating disease? If you are counting on human beings coming to your rescue to help you cope, cheer you up and bring you some relief, forget it. Humans don't work that way. Just pray to God every minute of your life that you don't ever need to depend on people for anything.

Staying Relevant

There's big news in the candy world

People laugh when I tell them my email address, always saying, "I didn't know anybody is still on AOL." Well I am, and it's a damn good thing. Otherwise I would know absolutely nothing about the things that matter in today's world.

For example, I learned there was recently an awards ceremony at which Golden Globes were handed out. This gala event brought together many celebrities, most of whom I've never heard of, all dressed up in wild outfits chosen for a stroll upon the famed Red Carpet. I am unclear on what the Globes actually signify, besides knowing that they are less than Oscars and not Emmys. Anyway, checking my email on AOL this morning I read that Miley Cyrus, an actress I actually have heard of -- or is she a singer? -- debuted her new tattoos at that event. They are on her wrist and hand, and are so small that many people might have missed seeing them. Thanks to AOL, now we know.

I also learned that M&M's just came out with a new flavor in time for Valentine's Day, called strawberries & creme. Not sure why they are spelling it creme instead of cream but maybe they are expecting a lot of sales in Great Britain.

It's comforting to see that despite ongoing wars in several countries, causing massive death and destruction, and the surge in violence in many of America's  biggest cities, frivolity still exists somewhere. Not here in Maine where it's currently 14 degrees outside with heavy winds threatening power outages, but somewhere. And I'm glad to be plugged in, at least in that way.

Myths of Aging

First off let me say that I do not find the above cartoon funny in the least. I dislike it on many levels, including the ugly drawing style, the stupid imagery, and certainly the dumb punchline. I show it here merely as Exhibit A of my testimony concerning the lies about aging perpetuated by young people. As a 78-year-old, I can say without flinching that the condition of my knees does not predict the weather.   

I do admit to not knowing the song "Hello" as sung by Adele, or Lionel Richie for that matter. I have never heard any song sung by Adele, at least not to my knowledge; there may have been one playing on the radio and I didn't know who it was. Anyway, if that means I am old then okay, since I am old. It's just that I don't have arthritic knees, or arthritic anything. While I do have several health problems that's not one of them.

But here's my point: Many young people have serious health problems, including arthritis. When I was 28 I dated a man who was 30 who suffered from terrible arthritis, and had since he was a teenager. Not once did we plan any outdoor activities based on how much his knees were hurting. Cartoons like the one above reinforce the myth that all old people have arthritis and eat badly. Not true, that's all I'm saying. In fact my husband, who is 11 years younger than I, is the one with bad knees, and that's from a motorcycle accident he had in his twenties. Still, they have never predicted the weather. 

Remember the Drones?

Hello, what about those drones flying over New Jersey? They seem to have completely disappeared from the news, yet we the people never got an explanation. Are they gone? Did they leave because it's now 2025 and the people who know decided to stop mentioning them? Can the current government be trusted after awarding the Presidential Medal of Freedom to 19 people including Hillary Clinton, soccer star Lionel Messi, actor Michael J. Fox and singer Bono? 

Just asking.

Modern Inconveniences

Gas station attendant of the past

Until quite recently I believed that most things would improve over time, what with modern inventions, advances in technology and Elon Musk making life so much easier for us. But a recent trip running errands made me see how wrong I've been.

I ran to the supermarket to get cat food since we were down to only about five cans and that makes my cat nervous. Actually it makes my husband nervous but that's a different story. Anyway, since this is 2025 and things are so up-to-date, I had the pleasure of checking out my own groceries at the super-duper-market since only one of the dozen checkout aisles had someone working the register. So there I was doing the job myself, and since I had amassed about 20 cans of cat food, along with a few other items for the humans, it was quite annoying and tiresome. (No wonder they can't find workers!)

Then I stopped to get gas. It's 22 degrees here in Maine right now, let me add, although according to the wind chill factor on my phone it feels like 13. Dressed inappropriately sans hat and gloves, I of course had to do the job myself. Teeth chattering, I fondly remembered the days of my youth when a nice man in a uniform would approach me, ask how much gas I wanted, and then would clean my front and rear windshields and check my oil and tires after filling the tank, all while I sat cozily inside my car listening to the radio.

I miss those people. I also miss the receptionists at all the offices who answered the phones on the first or second ring and asked how they could be of help. I miss getting a doctor's appointment for the next day, instead of being told in January that "he's booking into July."

Yeah, I'm old enough to remember those times. Thank God, because if this is all there ever was I'd be pretty damn depressed.

Film Review: OH, CANADA

Consider this less of a movie review and more of a public service announcement. The latest starring role of former cinema heartthrob Richard Gere has him dying of cancer in a most unpleasant way. Being a great actor he does it quite convincingly, making the disease look even more horrific than what you might have imagined. And if you already have cancer and are feeling optimistic, you don't want to see this version of it. But hey, maybe that's just me.

Richard Gere, Jacob Elordi

A complex and complicated film based on the novel "Foregone" by Russell Banks, Oh, Canada recounts the life of documentarian Leonard Fife, as told on camera to a former student of his and fellow documentarian played by Michael Imperioli, the actor best-remembered as Tony Soprano's bad-boy TV nephew Christopher. Featuring Uma Thurman as Fife's devoted wife in a nearly silent role -- although she plays someone else for a minute near the end, who knows why -- it's a star-studded cast gone to waste.

Slow, dark and basically boring, the film is also tricky and keeps you guessing. Over the course of it we see our hero as a teenager, then a young husband and father, and an old man, but not in that order. It jumps all over the place as Fife recounts his past, with a few delusions thrown in since he's also suffering some sort of mental decline. Sometimes he is played by Mr. Gere and sometimes not. His youngest version is played by Jacob Elordi, who I never heard of before but have since learned is a hot box-office draw with the ladies. 

The music is loud, often atonal and annoying. There is nothing pretty to look at, except for one brief scene of a car driving through a sleepy Vermont town on a rainy day; you'll know it when you see it since it's a stark contrast from the rest of the film, mostly close-ups of Fife's grizzled face -- badly in need of a shave, coughing and dying.

Just Call Her "Loser"

These days the news is full of nonsense. A perfect example involves the FBI, which last summer failed to alert President Trump that an armed man was spotted in the area of his rally in Butler, PA, allowing him to go on stage where the guy took several shots at him, grazing his ear and almost killing him. Now they are busy trying to ascertain whether or not the terrorist who rammed a truck into a crowded street in New Orleans on New Year's Eve "acted alone." 

Who cares? The guy is dead, as are 15 innocent people who were out having a good time. Certainly there are other Arab Muslims with ISIS leanings walking among us who will do the same eventually, you can bet on that. We'll find them after they do it, like always.

Offering more nonsense, TIME magazine has printed an article about the fact that Kamala Harris, our current VP, will be "forced to swear in" three new senators who have mispronounced her name in public. Are they kidding? First of all, how is this news? Secondly, what difference could it possibly make to her, or anyone, if one says KAM-ala or Ka-MAL-a or whatever-the-fuck? She should just make it simple for everyone and change her name to LOSER. It's much easier to pronounce and so very apt. Nobody would ever get it wrong.