Reconsidering Parenthood

Apparently my husband and I really lucked out as parents. We had one child, now an adult, who has not slit our throats, shot us while we were sleeping, trashed our home or robbed us. Instead he is consistently loving and kind, calls and visits often, brings us gifts and wishes us only well.

Killing one's parents is called parricide, a crime that occurs approximately 20 times every year in America. Experts who study such things have concluded that the typical offender is an unmarried white male in his 20s or 30s, unemployed and living with his parents at the time of the offense. 

Besides that heinous outcome of parenthood (recently suffered by entertainment icon Rob Reiner and his wife Michele), there is a growing presence of mothers online who are estranged from their adult children. Several of these women are profiled in today's Wall Street Journal, all claiming that despite having been perfect mothers their children despise them. More and more of them are coming out, posting videos on TikTok and even writing books on the subject.

Cats are nice. Or maybe get a puppy.

Brian Wilson, From the Great Beyond

With apologies to Shakespeare, I must say that the Internet is full of tales told by idiots, often signifying nothing. For example, Brian Wilson died on June 11, 2025, yet he's alive and well online six months later. 

You'd think AOL would have heard that he died, being one of the first American web portals and online service providers based in New York City, and a brand marketed by Yahoo! Inc. What started out as an email provider has morphed into a trash collector where you can still get mail and where I do still get my mail because A, who cares where you get your mail and B, I never get any mail anyway. So I see their trash stories frequently, and they are more laughable every day.

Like today's, about how famous musicians stay fit well into their later years, including Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney and Tony Bennett. And, believe it or not, Brian Wilson, about whom they write: 

"Brian Wilson, the creative force behind The Beach Boys, has openly faced significant mental health challenges throughout his life. His ability to sustain his musical output and creativity relies heavily on proactive psychological care, incorporating regular therapy, structured routines, and personal practices (including specific types of meditation or calming activities) designed to manage anxiety and depression."

"Proactive attention to psychological well-being has fostered the emotional stability necessary to sustain his creative output and productivity over decades. His journey proves that addressing mental health is a foundational requirement for long-term artistic and personal endurance."

It must work for him since he's dead yet is still doing interviews from the Great Beyond. Talk about personal endurance!

Not Exactly Joy to the World

Suddenly there is very bad news everywhere you look. Not that there has been such good news anywhere of late, but in the past couple of days society seems to be exploding, with shrapnel impaling all of us.

The recent shootings at Brown University in Providence, RI, and the terrorist-style antisemitic massacre on Australia's Bondi Beach were enough to make anyone fearful of setting foot outside. But then today we woke up to the news that a beloved Hollywood actor, director and comic genius was murdered, along with his wife, by their own son in their own home, pointing out that staying in isn't always safe either.

Making matters worse, those horrific slayings of Rob and Michele Reiner have brought to the forefront the possibility that our President is losing his mind, as Democrats have been saying about him for years. Being a Republican who has voted for Trump and agreed with his policies, I have often excused his bad behavior as typical political mudslinging. But Rob Reiner wasn't a politician, and thus Trump's heinous tweets on X about his death (Google it) seem cold-hearted and highly inappropriate for anyone to say, most of all a world leader. 

Despite this being the season of Hanukah and Christmas, a time of happiness, joy and peace on Earth, much of humanity is spinning out of control. All we can do as individuals is find something that makes us feel better -- be it faith in God, a gym workout or an Entenmann's chocolate cake -- and hope that cooler heads will ultimately prevail.

He Said, She Said

Regardless of what anyone may think, I work hard to make these blog posts interesting, accurate, fun to read and most importantly, grammatically correct and free of typos. I do it because I love to write and for ten years worked under a diligent Washington Post editor who didn't miss a trick. Then I moved to Maine and found nothing of the sort, so now I write for my own pleasure and act as my own editor.

Thus I was dismayed, disheartened and distraught when The Powers That Be at Google opted to "unpublish" yesterday's post entitled "Transgenderism Explained," for reasons I can only guess. 

Naturally I'm pissed! But lesson learned: Never mock people who change their sex because you never know who's really who.

Stretching the Truth

A news story about a fatal car accident made headlines today because the deceased had acted in a few minor roles on television. Apparently if you are in show business your life is seen as notable regardless of what else you may ever have done.

Sad but true, a 60-year-old customs agent at JFK International Airport was killed in Manhattan last night as she was crossing Broadway at 53rd Street. The 61-year-old male driver who was making a left turn remained on the scene but was not charged in her death. We learned from news reports that he was driving a Cadillac, as if that meant he was rich, careless and with money to burn. Would they have mentioned the make of the car had it been a Toyota Corolla?

The victim had a bit part in one episode of a hit TV series and some appearances in a few others, but had not had an acting job since 2023. Yet the headlines described her as "an actress who starred in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel", most likely to earn clicks from the show's fans and somehow translate into more money for someone. 

I wish journalists would stick to the truth without stretching it to fit a particular narrative.

Film Review: JAY KELLY

George Clooney and Adam Sandler

I was really looking forward to seeing the new Netflix film Jay Kelly, mostly because I love Adam Sandler in almost everything he has done and he's already received critical acclaim for his role in this one. Once again I learned that professional critics can be wrong, or else they can be bought, I'm not sure which applies in this case.

Full disclosure: I had to shut it off a little more than halfway through. My decision was based on several things: First, George Clooney, the star portraying the fading star of the movie's title, was totally unconvincing, mostly because he can't really act, he just looks the part. 

Next, even the ones who can act, like Billy Crudup as an old friend with a grudge from Jay's past, are awful, because the script is awful. Written by Noah Baumbach (and his wife), it's as usual overloaded with the AUTHOR'S MESSAGE throughout. Okay, we get it -- actors aren't around for their kids when they are little. And yes, they live pretend lives and thus miss out on their own. 

Okay, anything else to tell us? That Hollywood is full of preening vapid people more concerned with making deals on their phones than living real life in the moment? Check. That people in Hollywood live in luxurious homes and fly in private jets? Check. That Laura Dern is very unappealing as whoever she was supposed to be? (It was not made clear.) Poor Adam Sandler as Jay's agent was lost in this mess. 

So was I, so I turned it off.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, people answered their phones without knowing who was calling. Now it's considered rude to call someone without texting them first, since calling is seen as too invasive.

Once upon a time, Americans dressed up to travel, go out to dinner and attend the symphony or theater. Now they wear bedroom slippers and pajamas anywhere and look like total slobs most of the time.

Once upon a time, people accepted themselves the way they were born without a second thought. Now they go to doctors who will cut off their healthy body parts that they think don't fit the way they feel inside.

Once upon a time, there were institutions, or hospitals, where mentally ill people could live safely in a community, getting medical care, hot meals and a bed to sleep in. Now they roam the streets of big cities alone, sleeping in parks or doorways and stabbing strangers in the neck for no reason.

Once upon a time, family physicians wore special white coats to telegraph they knew more than their patients. Now they wear jeans and plaid shirts and don't know as much as A.I. 

Once upon a time, people took responsibility for their actions. Now they just take Ozempic.

Once upon a time, Dinosaurs ruled the Earth. Now it's Man, but for how much longer?

Modern Medical Malpratice

Dear: Andrea This is a courtesy reminder that you have an up coming appointment at Dermatology Associates on 12​/11/2025 at 11:00 AM EST in our PORTLAND office. Please log on to the patient portal for more details. If you need to cancel or reschedule your appointment, please call our office at 207-775-2527. I received the message shown above in my email this morning. Okay, fine , it's two days from now and they want to make sure I'm coming. That's reasonable. But wait -- it's not really fine, since just yesterday I got a phone call from the very same doctor's office reminding me of the very same appointment.  That call came a few days after I received a text reminding me of that appointment. Which followed a text I received about three weeks ago reminding me of the same appointment. A similar onslaught of reminders comes to me from every one of my doctors and my dentist. It's annoying as hell and I believe it to be a form of medical malpractice. So why do they do it? Are more people forgetting to cancel their appointments more often these days or have physicians hired staff to handle their "social media" and this is it? I always confirm when asked to confirm for fear that my appointment will be given away to someone worthier who will confirm. But one of these days when I'm feeling particularly healthy, I might just confirm and confirm again and confirm for a third and fourth time and then just not show up.  That'll fix their wagon.

Can This Marriage Be Saved?

When I first met my husband he drove a motorcycle and I was a motorcycle freak, hopping on one at every opportunity even if I barely knew the driver. (It's a miracle I'm still alive.) He was the Editor-in-Chief of an architecture magazine for which I was the Art Director, which made him my boss. And he was a muscular body-builder with obvious pecs and abs and all the rest. We were both native New Yorkers who loved the city. We also both loved playing Scrabble. And we were both Jewish, meaning funny, smart and into Seinfeld.

That was all 40 years ago, and things have changed. Most notably, we got married. Then we had a baby, resulting in no more motorcycle. (After our son was born I refused to get on one, since finally I had a reason  to live.) No more architecture magazine -- in fact we are both retired and now I'm his boss. As for the pecs and the abs, I know they are in there somewhere but I have not seen them in years, if you follow me.

In many ways, we have grown apart. I refuse to go to New York City for fear of being set on fire or stabbed in the neck or pushed in front of a subway by an angry Palestinian. Mitch still loves New York and wishes I'd accompany him there. Or anywhere, since he lives to travel and I hate flying -- and packing and unpacking and visiting ruins.

Mitch is now heavy into his Jewish roots, even taking a weekly class on the wisdom of the Torah taught by an ultra-Orthodox rabbi. I don't do ultra-Orthodox Jews; any cult where the men dance with the men and the women dance with the women at weddings is too weird for me. Throw in the curly-haired sideburns and the little boxes they tie on themselves and count me out. Anyway, I don't take that class. And lately he's been playing bridge once a week with a group of senior citizens, about which I can say nothing that is not snarky so I'll leave it at that.

Mitch loves politics and thus participates in our local Freeport government, attending many meetings about traffic lights and building setbacks and how tall new construction should be. I do not care about any of that, and in fact avoid going into Freeport at all costs except for sushi.

What I am into is painting. That's it. So I guess you could say I am the most boring one of us. Still, that's the way it is. Notice I did not say "It is what it is." I would never say that. But Mitch says it often and it drives me nuts.

Our one common interest, besides sushi, is our son, for whom we each have undying devotion and adoration. He is now 38 years old and becomes more interesting every day.

So, waddya think--- do we have a chance?

This Year's Role Model?

Is this how young women should look these days?

The cost of a full-page color advertisement in the Wall Street Journal is approximately $327,000. Today the marketing team at the prestigious Gucci design house opted to print the photo above, showing a dazed-looking, anorexic woman, seemingly drunk or stoned and with clothes asunder, perhaps stumbling out of an all-night rave at some hot New York City club, to promote a pantsuit that likely costs almost as much.

Brain Rot

"The Scream" by Edvard Munch

Quick, what day is this? If you said Tuesday, you're wrong. It's Giving Tuesday, the day after Cyber Monday, which came after Small Business Saturday and Black Friday. I am not ashamed to admit that I have not partaken of any of these subliminally implanted "holidays."

More and more, life feels like a "Black Mirror" version of George Orwell's 1984. The Powers That Be, whoever they be, are always conspiring to make us do things, feel things, or see things, for reasons having to do with feeding their needs, not ours. 

For example, in last Sunday's Arts & Leisure section of the New York Slimes, there were full-page ads for five movies cited as "THE BEST!" by someone important, or at least self-important. Of course it follows that they are all also "Must-See!"

Well, I already saw one of those "must-sees" and although it was a successful diversion from real life for a couple of hours, seeing it was not essential to my health or happiness in any way, and in fact I already forgot most of it. But now I'm actually thinking I should see it again it it's so damn good -- maybe I missed something.

Not A Joke

It's not your imagination: Americans really are getting dumber every day. In fact, some teachers are as dumb as their students.

According to an article in today's Wall Street Journal, the one newspaper that still has a modicum of my respect, many teachers are hired despite having had only a C+ average while they were in college. Here are a few more grim facts to consider:

One in eight college freshmen lacks rudimentary math skills, including algebra and geometry. Many incoming students cannot do higher than 8th-grade math, like adding fractions and rounding numbers.

National teaching credential programs require only a C+ average in undergraduate studies. One result of this is that many teachers cannot do higher than 8th-grade math, and instead "rely on calculators and the internet."

Many colleges, like the University of California at San Diego (ranked sixth in the nation by U.S. News & World Report) have lowered their admissions standards to attract more students and thus make more money.

Last year, the College Board shortened their SAT exam to two hours from three to encourage more participation. It also eliminated "long reading passages that might strain TikTok attention spans."

Mediocre students regularly graduate high school with all As, making their parents "feel better about a public school education and easing political pressure for education reforms."

Don't wait for it. There is no punchline because this is not a joke.

Fat Acceptance is Unacceptable

The Fat Acceptance movement is little more than an excuse for obese people who have given up on themselves. That explains the insane success of weight-loss drugs that promise a better body without requiring a change in diet and exercise.

Actress Melissa McCarthy, posing fat and less fat.

One thing I don't understand about America's love affair with obesity is this: If it's okay to be fat, and if it's wrong to fat-shame or judge someone by their size, then how come when famous fatties finally slim down they make such a big fuss about it, posting photos of themselves online which people ooh and ahh over, commenting things like "You go girl!" and "You got this!"?

Why is passing judgement on someone's newly-svelte body  perfectly okay, if not downright expected, while doing the same about that person's body when it was obese a forbidden act worthy of censure? 

If weight loss is so inspiring, then what is fat acceptance all about?

The Gall of Celebrity

Actress Nicole Kidman is planning to bare her soul in an "explosive, no-holds-barred, tell-all memoir" detailing the inside story of her marriage, now over, to Keith Urban, someone famous but I don't know for what.

I can't wait to read it. Finally I'll be able to get some sleep.

Wow Them At the End

Hoping to go out for Chinese food today, I was dismayed to learn that the only two viable options will be closed. Still, as the matriarch of our tiny family I am committed to making the day a pleasant one for my only child, who will remember all my faults after my death;  not having a Thanksgiving dinner will surely be on the list, right after my being kidnapped at the age of four and thus ruining his life because he had to hear about it.

As is advised in the great film Adaptation,

Robert McKee instructs the writer Charlie Kaufman

(played by Nicholas Cage), 

"Wow them in the end and you've got a hit!"

Still, I just can't make the prescribed meal like a rat in a laboratory so I'm cooking whatever the heck I want. Today it's pot roast but there will be apple pie and pumpkin pie for dessert, naturally with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream as options. And really, isn't that all that matters?

 

Top 10 Most Vile Celebrities

Jennifer Lopez: Missed her calling as a pole dancer

Whoopie Goldberg: Fake name, false persona in a garbage bag

Robert DeNiro: Former actor turned lunatic loudmouth 

Kim Kardashian: Human version of Mr. Potato Head

Rachel Maddox: Man trapped inside a female asshole 

Chris Hayes: Icky vermin that speaks

Nancy Pelosi: Millionaire pretending to be a commoner

Ilhan Omar: Hates America and Americans

Kamala Harris: Brown-skinned clown in a DEI-world gone mad

Hillary Clinton: Outdated old bag of evil tricks

Christmas Confusion

Christmas is so two-faced. As a Jew, it's hard to know which is the most important one to most celebrants. There's the whole Jesus-virgin-Mary-born-in-a-manger-son-of-God thing, with people going to mass on Christmas morning or Christmas Eve. And then there's this:

Note to Internet: TMI

Some people believe the birth of the Internet was a good thing. I am not one of those people. If you ask me, the Internet talks too much, telling us way more than we need to know or even want to know, and often without even asking for it. 

Like those Chatty Cathies who describe their painful periods or tell you details about their unhappy childhoods, all over crudités and hummus at an office party, the Internet springs difficult information when all you wanted was the name of a nearby Chinese restaurant open on Thanksgiving.

Today, while searching for the name of a Chinese restaurant nearby that's open on Thanksgiving I stumbled upon a story about a medical condition commonly referred to as "no-burp syndrome." It has a medical name which thankfully I have already forgotten, but I was compelled to read about it because I'm pretty sure I have it!

I never burp. Not now, or anytime in the past. Turns out this is not so good and leads to several quasi-serious and some totally unfortunate health issues, which as luck would have it I do experience on occasion. Am I supposed to call my doctor and ask about treatment for this?

It's not fatal and I've got bigger fish to fry. I just hope I can forget it. Maybe I'll just ask my doctor friend Robert about it when he finishes with his bone marrow transplant. And believe me, if you want to know the details of that brutal procedure, just Google it. You'll find out way more than you wanted to know.

What's In A Name?

While working at the polls last Election Day, I realized something that might actually fix what's wrong in my life. No, it's not my gender -- I actually welcome sitting down to pee. Rather, it's my name. 

What happened was this. A woman came in to vote and identified herself as, "Lynda Doyle. Lynda with a Y." (Like there was gonna be a Linda Doyle, Linda with an I, coming in to vote after her? Whatever, it made me realize that she felt her name was special enough to mention its spelling. Maybe I should do that and feel more special too.

My name is Andrea. It's ordinary, although not all that common -- for example, there's never been a Hurricane Andrea. Anyway, it reeks of yesterday when names were normal and not just a bunch of letters strung together. But hey -- I want to be with it, now and somewhat funky, despite being as old as the hills. 

Just yesterday I got a funky, spiky haircut suitable for a teenager. So my name should reflect who I am, which is a young person trapped in an old person's body. To that end, I'm testing out the following: 

'Nd-raya, Awndray'A, Raya, Rea, A+Ndrea An/Dreee'A, and Rhoda.

I think Rhoda Rouda has a nice ring to it.  Anyway, hopefully someone reading this will weigh in.

Is It Something In the Water?

Is this the best they've got?

Seriously, what is wrong with the Democrats? 

Once again they are rallying the troops behind Cackles Harris, former Veep laughingstock and subject of late-night comedy upgraded to presidential candidate after the Loser-in-Chief was exposed on national TV to be a bumbling dunce in need of a nap. 

Is it solely because Harris is half-Jamaican, half-Indian and thus has brown skin? What else does she offer the American people? I am honestly confused.

Even worse -- not that anything could be worse -- if Harris chooses not to run, the next two clowns poised for the nomination are Governor Hair Gel of California and Pete Buttsex, former mayor of a small town in middle America.

According to recent polls and telephone surveys, half the country is brain-dead. I wonder how they got that way. Is there not one decent, smart, non-bizarre Democrat willing or able to serve? Why not? Is it genetic? Are they doomed from birth? 

#1 Worst Career Decision

Quick -- what do Jennifer Aniston, Kevin Bacon, Ice-T, Vince Vaughn, Owen Wilson, Ted Danson, Jeff Goldblum, Jane Seymour and Julia Roberts all have in common? They are all super-rich actors who drive luxury automobiles, fly in private jets, live in Hollywood mansions with homes in other cities as well and can afford private security, yet they lower themselves to hawk goods in TV commercials. 

Not only are they taking lucrative
work away from struggling actors who need the money to pay rent and eat, they cheapen their own reputations. Apparently being wealthy means never having enough money. I say boycott whatever it is they are selling, including their movies and TV shows.

Dumb and Dumber, Black Version

You can't call a black person "low IQ" even if they have a low IQ without incurring the wrath of the Woke People. So what I'm about to write could get me in a heap of trouble, but here goes: Democratic Texas Rep. Jasmine Crockett is stupid. 

She recently claimed on the House floor that Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) Administrator Lee Zeldin took $750 in donations to his campaign for Governor of New York State from none other than the infamous Jeffrey Epstein. However, public records show the donations came from a completely different person, a doctor named Jeffrey Epstein, and that the donations were made a year after the pervy Epstein died in prison.

Crockett said her "team" did "a lot of digging" to find out that bit about the donations to Zeldin. So she also hires stupid people. Hilariously, I recently heard a journalist on CNN say that Crockett is the current "head of the Democratic party" and plans to run for president in 2028. 

Oh my God, LOL and give me a break. That makes as much sense as Whoopie Goldberg announcing she would "like a job in government" after she leaves The View and hopes to be appointed as a United States Ambassador. 

Hey Whoopie, I think there's an open slot in Haiti.

The Box is Nice, But How's the Pizza?

Corporate America must have a really low opinion of the typical American consumer. I can't say I blame them, but still it's insulting. For example, an article in the Business & Finance section of today's Wall Street Journal reports on how Domino's Pizza aims to lure new customers with its first rebrand in 13 years. 

Before I go further, let me say that I asked my focus group of Domino pizza-haters, a.k.a. my husband, what it would take for him to change his opinion. Mitch was ready with quick answers: "Free delivery. Two-dollar pizzas. Better pizzas. And meatballs."

"You mean a meatball pizza?" I asked in order to clarify. "No, just meatballs. I like meatballs," he replied. With the exception of the last one, his answers made perfect sense. But that's nothing at all like what Domino's is planning. 

Their rebranding will consist of brighter colors on the pizza box, a new jingle in their ads featuring country music star Shaboozey, and a thicker font in their logo. And if you order a pizza with a stuffed crust, it will arrive in an "upgraded, elegant black and gold box" instead of the ordinary red, white and blue they've used until now. 

Anyway, as I said at the beginning, it's insulting. Like they think we care what color those used pizza boxes encrusted with melted cheese and grease are for storing our family heirlooms and important papers. Also, I hate thick fonts and I never heard of Shaboozey.

TV Series Review: THE MORNING SHOW

When it premiered in 2019, The Morning Show was a fun series that mimicked the fallout surrounding TV's favorite morning show anchor, Matt Lauer, who was discovered to be a sexual predator while on the job. Starring Jennifer Aniston, Reese Witherspoon and Steve Carrell, it had a lot going for it and kept my attention throughout the first two seasons. After that it got sort of crazy, as if the writers were making it up on the set, possibly while sniffing cocaine.

Now into Season Four, the plot is meandering but still totally off the wall. The writers may now be tripping on acid. Steve Carrell is long gone, as is any semblance of reality. I doubt anyone involved can explain what's happening, but working as a journalist at a TV station has very little to do with it. 

We watched one episode last night, and all I can say for sure is that Jennifer Aniston, once considered one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood, if not the world, is slowly morphing into Andy Rooney. I wonder, did she ask her plastic surgeon for that result? (See photos below.)

Andy

Jennifer

One Less Turkey

After countless years of getting out of bed early to stuff a turkey and bake two kinds of pie and fix cranberry sauce and green beans and stuffing and mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes and eating the same thing as everyone else for dinner for some reason I don't understand and which isn't even based on reality -- apparently the Pilgrims did not have turkey when they feasted on Plymouth Rock or wherever they feasted -- I am not doing Thanksgiving this year. It's enough already.

I am happy and sad about this simultaneously. Happy because I'm free at last, but sad because I only do it for my son to give him memories of a happy family dinner after I'm gone, but it's never happy. In fact, our biggest blowouts have often happened over this meal. So he'll have to content himself with memories of all the other Thanksgivings I've made since his birth 38 years ago.

Besides, my own mother never made a Thanksgiving meal, not once. She was a terrible cook and would not even know which end of the turkey to stuff and I still loved her anyway. (Fortunately my grandmother could whip up that meal in her sleep, so I was not deprived of this ritual as a child.)

Perhaps if we lived somewhere other than Maine we would be invited to dinner at a friend's house. Alas, that has not happened in 15 years here, where family is all that matters and strangers are considered strange. Anyway, one less turkey will be eaten this year. At least that's something.

Some People Never Die

On the porch at The Island Inn, Monhegan ME, 1970

Today is my dead ex-mother-in-law's birthday. Why I remember the date confounds me, especially when I cannot remember what I had for dinner last night. But then, she was an exceptional person who left a mark. Most people do not.

To begin, Francis Swett Whiting was a fabulous cook. Her idea of a tuna salad sandwich involved first grilling a filet of fresh tuna, then whisking up some homemade mayonnaise and serving it on melba toast she baked from a loaf of extra-thin Pepperidge Farm white bread. 

With that in mind, you can imagine what Christmas was like at her beautiful home in Bedford Village, NY. She got started in mid-September, beginning the long process of making hard sauce for the plum pudding and hand-stringing garlands of popcorn and cranberries for the tree. Fran loved to knit, so each year she created fabulous gifts for her entire family. One year she made cable-knit fisherman's sweaters for five people, myself included.

Besides being very beautiful until the day she died at age 64, Fran was super-smart. Her Smith College education benefitted all who knew her, although she never had a paying job. She won every Scrabble game and finished the daily New York Times crossword puzzle in record time.

She was hysterically funny, with a dry sense of humor that was lost on many. I visited with her a few days before she died of stomach cancer, and she gave me the following instructions: "The day after I die, Lucia Faithfull (widow of her husband's deceased law partner) will come to the door with a casserole for Dick, to console him. She's been hoping for years that I would go first so she could snag him. Don't let her in. And whatever you do, certainly don't eat that casserole -- she's a terrible cook!" Sure enough, Lucia showed up around noon the day after Fran died, casserole in hand. I politely took it from her and said that Dick was resting and not seeing anyone. She left unhappy.

Happy Birthday Fran, wherever you are! I still miss you.

Tell Me Something I Need to Know

I'm so confused. I need answers to the following questions: 

Why should I care about the habits of Jeffrey Epstein, a man who died in prison six years ago and never even held public office? 

Why should we all fret over his private island, his private jet, his sexual deviance, or his friends, whoever they may be? 

Why does a sexually twisted dead man dominate the news, on TV and in print, when so much unrest roils the globe? 

Who cares if anyone at all had sex with underage girls, yesterday or decades ago, besides the parents of those girls? 

How does this story impact the world or our country's national and international policies? 

How does knowing the names of Epstein's associates feed America's starving families, pay their rent and medical bills or further their education?

Looking On the Bright Side

For the past couple of days my husband and I have been moving things out of our bedroom in order to have new wall-to-wall carpeting installed. Included are two large closets full of our clothes and shoes and other stuff we didn't know what to do with. Our son helped us move a queen-sized oak bed, two heavy wooden dressers, two wooden end tables, a large easy chair with ottoman, a TV and a bench. And of course all the art on the walls, not only in the bedroom but up the stairs and along the hallway to our bedroom -- perhaps 50 pieces in all, plus a few mirrors. (We're into decorating.)

This all took a heavy toll on us, specifically our arms, legs and backs. But hey, the old carpeting was stained and starting to buckle, and the new one would be much nicer.

This morning at eight the carpet people arrived to start what was sold as a job that would end tomorrow morning. We planned to sleep in our small guest room, along with clothes and pillows and lamps, etc., just for tonight. But no. What happened instead was the carpet guy, who looked old enough to be somebody's great-grandpa, causing me to question his suitability for carpet-laying, worked for 90 minutes laying down the soft pad that goes under the carpet before going outside, getting in his truck and driving off without a word, never to return. 

We received no phone calls explaining his mysterious departure, but through our constant calls to the Paul White Company in Portland, Maine, we finally learned that the installer left because he had or was having or was about to have a heart attack and is now in the hospital.

Apparently Paul White had no backup plan so there's no telling when we'll ever get back to our regular life. Until then we'll be in the guest room on a smaller, full-sized bed with Mitch's feet hanging off the end. It's not fun and we are pissed about it. Looking on the bright side, I went for a chest x-ray two days ago and learned that I do not have lung cancer, or even pneumonia -- just a lingering cough from the bad cold I had about six weeks ago. 

The Little POS Called Mamdani

Zohran Kwame Mamdani was born into a $28 million trust fund, grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and attended high school at the fancy preparatory Dalton School, which has a tuition of ranging from $61,000  to $64,000 per year. He then got a free ride at Bowdoin College in Maine because of his ethnicity. 

His rent is free as his rich mother pays for the $14,000/month Tribeca loft. His private security is provided by two off-duty NYPD police officers-- the same ones he wants abolished -- who stand sentry outside his door 24/7.

In 2024 he flew in private jets 47 times while lecturing subway riders about climate change. Just last week he said, "No one should own a second home," in a video filmed inside his third Hamptons property.

Film Review: PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK

What they wore to school in 1900 in Australia.

Quite possibly the absolute worst movie I have ever slept through, Picnic At Hanging Rock defies further description other than the words I just wrote, except that the music is so horrible you've got to keep the sound down low. Or better yet, just shut the damn thing off. There is no reason at all to see it, yet it has been named the best film of all time in Australia where it was made by director Peter Weir and released in 1975, winning all sorts of awards at the time. 

Australia is now off my bucket list.

New York, New York, A Helluva Town

Well, it's official: New York City is now Hell on Earth populated by at least 2 million miscreants, morons and malevolent Mamdani-loving mental midgets who voted for him. The city of my birth, once so glamorous and glittery, has fallen to a pack of snarling dogs bent on its deconstruction. I for one shall never set foot in it again until the newly-elected Muslim mayor leaves office, whether it be by the vote of the people or an act of God or someone who thinks they are God.

What I find most amusing is that the Democrats who elected him are the same ones wailing that President Trump is a "threat to Democracy," yet they have anointed an avowed, unabashed and untested Socialist. Following are two definitions to consider:

Democracy: A form of government in which political power is vested in the people or the population of a state. In a representative democracy, the people cede the authority to deliberate and decide legislation to governing officials. 

Socialism: A theory or system of social reform which contemplates a complete reconstruction of society, with a more just and equitable distribution of property and labor. In popular usage, the term is often employed to indicate any lawless, revolutionary social scheme.

Loners Anonymous Meeting 2025

Our Leader Tom Hanks in "Castaway"

We have not met for quite some time but I know you are all out there -- or rather in there -- and I salute you. While being a loner in today's world has a negative connotation, we all know that it's the only proper way to live. As William Shakespeare said, "To thine own self be true," and blah blah blah. Trying to please others is a losing game. So continue doing your own thing, and above all avoid reading the news, it will only bring you down.

For example, a letter to the editor in today's Wall Street Journal about the White House ballroom now under construction that is getting lots of negative press contains the following sentence: "I don't suppose a President AOC will complain about hosting galas in the new digs next store." It's very frightening to consider that scenario. Hopefully, should that come to pass I will be dead by then. 

Anyway, stay strong, stay home, don't answer the phone and especially the door, and Happy Holidays!

Ballroom, Shmallroom -- What About Mamdani?

The charred remains of the World Trade Center, September 1, 2001

I lived in Washington DC for 30 years. During that time I worked as a graphic designer and had many government agencies as clients. I dated a Secret Service agent for a brief period and a White House press photographer who took me as his date to the annual White House Press Photographer's Dinner. I also was employed by the Democratic National Committee for over a year and attended a barbecue at the official home of the Vice President at that time, Walter Mondale. 

Many of my daily interactions were with government employees. I often went to the Executive Office Building a few blocks from the White House for business meetings. My best friend worked at the Department of Health and Human Services, another one at the Department of Education. We would meet for lunch at their offices quite often.

I went to the Washington Monument, The Lincoln Memorial, The Jefferson Memorial, The Capitol, all the Smithsonian museums, the State Department and the Library of Congress countless times. Not once in 30 years did I enter the East Wing of the White House. I couldn't care less about the East Wing. It makes no difference to me what the heck happens to it. Surely all Americans who never even visited Washington, DC, who never had any doings with that building, feel the same way. 

The only people who care about Trump tearing down the East Wing to make much needed improvements to the White House are Democrats, especially those who work in journalism and in Congress, who spend every waking minute trying to invent ways to smear our President.

Ballroom, shmallroom -- who cares? All the Democrats who are currently wringing their hands over this apparently have forgotten a really bad demolition of a building, that of the World Trade Center in 2001 by Muslim terrorists, and are voting right now for another one to run their city as Mayor. Go figure.

What's Wrong With the Democrats?

I heard on the news today that the Democratic frontrunners for the presidency in 2028 are The Dumbest Loser, Governor Hair Gel and The Bartender From Queens. I'm sure everyone knows who those people are, but just in case I have included photos. (See photos.)

Please excuse me for saying this if you are not an idiot but still vote Democrat in this day and age -- and I know several who are quite intelligent otherwise. Holdovers from better days, they are mostly older folks who stopped paying attention to politics a while back and still think their party has some merit. To all of them I ask: Are you kidding? Do you know about nuclear weapons and that the President has the power to release them? What's wrong with you?

Loser

Hair Gel

Bartender

Staying Home

Before the Internet existed I had no idea how many stupid people there are in the world. Now it is all too obvious, and it's very depressing. Just stepping outside your home is opening yourself up to an encounter with a moron, or worse. 

If you have a home, you are a winner. Fix it up nice.

Potholes

Ira and me in the good old days, circa 1995.

The world today is so screwed up, it's hard to think of anything to write about that is not fraught with division. Apparently humor was banned long ago. (Although Mike Birbiglia is hysterical, check him out -- he has four specials on Netflix.)

 I recently lost a longtime, very close friend. When I say recently I mean on October 15 and this is October 23, so that's eight days ago. And when I say longtime, very close, I mean Ira and I met in 1986. The memories of all the fun times we shared since then are suddenly jarring potholes in the long and winding road of my past. 

I am waiting to "get over it" and will certainly find something amusing, or interesting, or stupid to write about soon. Like how everyone is up in arms because Trump is building a ballroom at the White House, when they should be considering the fact that everyone dies and their time will come, so don't sweat the small stuff. And if you ask me, ongoing construction at the White House is small stuff. 

I would like them to repave my road, however. I do care about that and it's really bad, with actual potholes, and frost heaves and the like.

Film Review: BAD SHABBOS

New on Netflix, Bad Shabbos is a witty and decidedly dark story about an interfaith engaged couple whose parents meet for the first time at the special Friday night sabbath (shabbos) dinner hosted by the Jewish groom-to-be's parents. Time flies by in this 84-minute farcical tale involving the accidental and somewhat gross death of one of the guests.

As a Jew myself I can say the depiction of the Gelfand family is right on the money. The passive-aggressive mother (Kyra Sedgwick) and her wishy-washy husband (David Paymer) typify so many of the Jewish, definitely Democratic, denizens of Manhattan's Upper West Side living in luxury within a stone's throw of Zabar's. Even the perfect challah on the table looks straight from Central Casting. 

I won't spoil things by relating the plot in detail like every other film critic does. Just know that hiding a dead man in the bathroom during dinner will certainly put a damper on your evening, as will emptying the contents of a soup bowl on a future in-law. Everyone except the goyish Catholic visitors from Wisconsin is culpable, including the old faithful Magical Negro* (Method Man) who saves the day. And while they all avoid prison, I'm thinking none of them are going to Heaven.

*The old-fashioned word "Negro" is used to imply that a "magical Black character" who devotes himself to selflessly helping whites is a throwback to racist stereotypes such as the "Sambo" or "noble savage".

Some People Crack Me Up

Honestly, you have to wonder about some people. Like what the heck happened in their life to make them the way they are. 

For example, I was just scrolling through some photos of Diane Keaton on Facebook. She was such a beauty throughout her entire life, yet in the comments section below one photo someone had written, "Whatever could Al Pacino have been thinking?" 

For those who are not slaves to Hollywood gossip, Pacino and Keaton were romantically linked for a while, back in the days when they played a married couple in "The Godfather." But I guess this lady thought that Keaton was not worthy of him. So I checked out the commenter's page and her photo showed an old lady who never could have ever been at all attractive, even in the glow of youth on her best day, yet she's writing trash about Diane Keaton! WTF?

I wish I could understand what makes some people tick.