I'm No Marxist, But Capitalism Is A Bummer

One of my earliest jobs out of college was working in an advertising agency. I could tell within a few weeks that my soul was dying, so I quit. Undaunted, advertising still found me: there's no way to hide and nowhere to hide. The admen will hunt you down relentlessly, demanding you spend money for products you absolutely must have in order to have a fulfilling life.

This ploy doesn't work on me. The only things I need for the rest of my life are food and drink, gas in my car, cleaning supplies for my body and my home, those little inter-dental toothbrushes -- so much better than dental floss -- and possibly surgery when required. Oh, and gifts for friends and family when appropriate. That's it. Yet everywhere I look, someone is selling me something. 

These days TV is little more than a constant parade of commercials hawking new cars, car insurance, life insurance, medication for any disease you have or might get, dog food, cat food, laundry detergent, storm windows, a car windshield, new tires, sleeping aids, bed sheets, weight-loss drugs, hair restorers, dry eye drops, toothpaste or retractable sun umbrellas and garden hoses, all of it on sale just for today and if you order two somehow it costs less than just one.

The Internet is even worse. Whatever you clicked on out of simple curiosity will come back to haunt you 100-fold for days and days. Last night I made the foolish mistake of looking at a pair of black boots online. Since then I have received no less than 30 or 40 ads for boots, all of them black, and it's just past noon.

The phone rings. It's either Spam Risk, Scam Likely or Probably Fraud, selling something, stealing something or asking for a donation. Pardon me while I sob uncontrollably.

Kids Do the Darnedest Things

"By engaging youth at an early age, Hamas establishes a pipeline for future combatants. Reports indicate that teenagers, some as young as 12 or 13, are recruited for various roles, including active combat.  

"This practice strongly suggests that the average age of Hamas fighters could be skewed downward, potentially aligning with the under-18 bracket."

Climate Change Sucks

Finally, it's October! Pumpkins, mums and the occasional stuffed scarecrow are everywhere you look. Halloween candy displays dominate all the stores, especially the CVS where two long rows are dedicated to masks, costumes and lawn decorations featuring monsters, cottony spider webs and styrofoam headstones. The leaves are on schedule,  turning red, yellow and orange. So why is it that right now, at three in the afternoon, on the coast of Maine just half a mile from the Atlantic Ocean, it's 76 degrees outside? And even worse, 73 degrees inside?

It's been autumn for more than two weeks now -- is it wrong to expect that I could wear a sweater and maybe a scarf once in a while? The mosquitoes apparently do not check the calendar. They're out there like it's July, along with the bees and the moths and the wasps, all doing their hateful buggy things. And I swear I got a sunburn while sitting outside with a friend at lunchtime earlier today. 

I have been recycling religiously ever since it became a thing to do. I bring my own cloth bags to the market, never buy food packed in boxes or plastic and walk instead of drive when it's reasonable. Despite these earnest measures, it keeps getting hotter outside and I'm pissed about it. I live in Maine for a reason and it's certainly not the people, it's the climate. Or at least the old climate. This new climate sucks. 

I'm done with it. 

Bullshit Friends

It's not too late to make changes in your life until you are no longer breathing. I am still breathing and so have decided to make some changes. For starters, I have eradicated the non-friends from my so-called "Friends" list on Facebook. The very use of the word on that app is an insult; it should be called Users.

I won't insult whoever is reading this with a textbook definition of friendship, but allow me a little reminder. If you haven't seen someone in the flesh in months, or ever, and they haven't posted recently on your Facebook page, or ever, and they haven't called you on the phone in weeks, or ever, they are not a friend. Chances are they became your Facebook friend just to increase the number of friends they have there, which is as sick and twisted as anything I have ever heard.

Right now one of my dearest friends for the last 38 years is dying of pancreatic cancer. This impending huge loss has put all of life in perspective for me and made me understand that the time I have left is not to be wasted. Not one second of it. Certainly not on listening to someone drone on about their life, their relationships, their disappointments and their health problems, without stopping to inquire about yours.

I'm done with it. And you should be too.

"Some People Did Something"

Muslim women waiting for a bus. (They can't drive.)

The world hates Jews, and I can't figure out why. The only thing I can think of is that Jews don't fight back, the Israeli army being the exception. But one-on-one, a Jew is not a fighter. 

Instead he's a thinker, a rational being, the type of person most hated by the dumb brutes of the world, i. e. Arab Muslims, who are essentially low-level primates who throw gays off rooftops, run over their own daughters for adultery and cut off the hands of petty thieves.

The latest antisemitic act to make headlines happened yesterday in Manchester, England. The attacker, named Jihad Al-Whatever, drove up to a synagogue and rammed his car into a group standing out front, then got out and stabbed someone. This occurred on Yom Kippur, a very big deal Jewish holy day, no doubt making his mother proud. The police were summoned and shot him dead, which is too bad since he deserved much worse -- perhaps a beheading after which his dripping head could be marched throughout the city streets on a spear. Now that would be something to celebrate.

Hey, I can't kill a fly -- really, one was bothering me last night and he's still here today in my kitchen -- but I might be able to kill a Muslim in order to save the world. Of course I'm sure lots of them are very nice. Like Rep. Ilhan Omar, a Muslim who has infiltrated our government and said after the airplanes crashed into the World Trade Center in 2001, "Some people did something."  

What a coincidence, all 19 of the people who did something were also Muslims. 

When Life Gets Boring

Many bored people climbing Mt. Everest.

Here's a tough question: What do you do when you're tired of living but you don't want to die? I find myself in this situation more and more lately. At the age of 79 I can honestly say "been there, done that" to so many things. And as far as the things I have not done, like changing my gender, piercing my labia or taking ayahuasca, they are not appealing. 

Something that is still appealing but is undoable is climbing Mt. Everest. It's very popular with bored people but out of the question for me, mostly because I hate to fly and the flight to Nepal from Maine is 32 hours and 23 minutes. No can do -- I still have jet lag from my seven-hour flight back from England a week ago.

One possible answer is to re-attempt some of the things I have failed at in the past, but this time succeed. So today I will once again open Virginia Woolf's 1927 novel, To The Lighthouse, and commit to finishing it this time. (I've never made it past page nine.) According to reviewers, the plot is secondary to its philosophical introspection, and I could use a little of that right now.

The Lure of Celebrity

My husband and I are great fans of the Amazon Prime series Clarkson's Farm. We watched it about a year ago and especially loved the show's setting: The Cotswolds in Great Britain. So when we made plans for a trip there, we included a few days in that rural area about two hours west of London, thinking it would be fun to stop at the Diddly Squat Farm Store. 

Assuming we would just walk right in, browse around for a few minutes and then go on with our day, we were unprepared for the wild scene we encountered. It was like Black Friday at Walmart. A never-ending stream of cars snaked onto the huge dirt parking lot staffed with men in orange vests directing traffic. A long line of people stood waiting to enter the tiny shop that was about the size of a gas station convenience store in the boonies. 

Having seen the show I knew what was for sale in there: soaps, trinkets imprinted with the show's logo, candles, and some fresh produce and meats from the farm, none of which we wanted or needed. Thus we chose to move on without waiting half an hour or so to finally get inside and buy a souvenir, especially knowing that Jeff Bezos, owner of Amazon, would get a piece of every purchase. 

Why all the commotion? Because Jeremy Clarkson (see photo above) is, or at least was, a TV star in Britain before he bought a farm and created the comic documentary series about his new life. I guess it's no surprise that people are drawn to celebrities like moths to a flame -- forgive the hackneyed expression but that's what it looked like -- even if they are fat old white men. But Jeremy wasn't even there! Still, throngs of people waited for no reason we could understand, and as we left the cars kept on coming. A few photos follow.

Most people stood in front of this sign and took selfies. 

The line of people waiting to enter the tiny farm store. 

Merry Old England

America is going to Hell in a hand basket. Silly as that sounds, since of course it would never fit, my husband says that all the time. And judging from the daily news, he is correct. 

Sign on a street in England for public restrooms.

Returning home after only 12 days in Great Britain, it hit me hard how screwed up things are here. As of August 31 there have been 309 mass shootings in the United States, resulting in 302 deaths and 1,354 injuries. And that's not even counting Charlie Kirk's assassination just three weeks ago, and the more recent shootings in Michigan, Texas and North Carolina.

It's not called "Merry Old England" for nothing -- I was noticeably happier there every day. Okay, sure, I was on vacation -- but since I don't have a steady job, that's of little relevance. What matters more is that their citizens appeared to be happier too, with punctuality and politeness seemingly built into their DNA. Plus they have only two genders, which makes life so much easier. (See photo.) 

Maybe it's all the coffee we drink, while they prefer a quiet cup of tea. In fact, the only negative during my British holiday was the inability to find a decent cup of coffee. But I'd give that up for feeling safe when I leave my home. As things are now, even a quick trip to the grocery store is cause for worry, which by the way does actually work: I recently read that 95% of the things we worry about never happen.

Goodbye

This is the end of this blog. 

Nobody reads it, nobody comments, not even any of my Facebook friends since Debra died more than three years ago. 

Unlike Kamala Harris, I can take a hint.

Eating in England

I have just returned from a vacation in England and from the internet, which is why there have been no new blog posts. To compensate, I'd like to share with my readers some of my experiences, starting with the culinary. While in London, being such an international city, we ate ethnic food daily -- Greek, Indian, Turkish -- and it was without fail fabulous. British food was less so, drab and plain, with the exception of their ubiquitous fish and chips. 

Following are photos showing (just a fraction of) how this tasty dish dominates that continent -- in London, in the rural area known as the Cotswolds and on The Isle of Wight, off England's southern coast. 

The Second Coming of Someone

The death of Charlie Kirk has exposed a deep need in America for something, or someone, to believe in. 

While Kirk was undoubtedly an outspoken advocate for truth and godliness who connected with students on college campuses across the country, the reaction since his death has been beyond any I have ever seen in my lifetime, and I'm old enough to remember what went on after the assassinations of JFK, RFK, Martin Luther King, Malcom X, Medgar Evers and John Lennon.

Wasn't Kirk just a brash podcaster with a conservative message? Considering how his influence has exploded since his murder, with thousands of new followers online and at least 18,000 new chapters of his Turning Point organization opening across the US (and requests for another 32,000), one might suspect he was more than just an outspoken conservative with a strong ego and a desire to change people's hearts and minds to his way of thinking. Much more.

Personally, I never saw or heard Kirk speak and knew almost nothing about him until his murder. So I was surprised by the outpouring of grief, the exalted testimony from lawmakers including the President, and the dramatically emotional speech made by his grieving widow praising him as the world's greatest dad and most loving husband who now "stands at the side of Jesus in Heaven."

The ongoing prayer vigils for Kirk, held in cities from coast to coast, suggest we lost not just a man but a god. But he wasn't a god, he was simply a man, albeit one with a mission. Hopefully the members of the media, always seeking to fill a 24/7 news hole, and Charlie's followers, empty inside and looking for a hero, won't turn him into the second coming of Jesus Christ -- or worse, Jim Jones.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

We've all heard the expression, "Money can't buy happiness." Apparently it can't buy smarts either. 

Recently Larry Ellison, who last week topped Elon Musk as the world's richest person due to his ownership of Oracle, a billion-dollar company that does something I don't understand (which is why I am not rich myself), said he wants to live for as long as he can. To that end, the 81-year-old has donated hundreds of millions to aging research, explaining, "Death has never made any sense to me. How can a person just be there and then vanish?"

Larry, baby, listen to yourself -- talk about not making sense! People don't vanish when they die. That would be fantastic if they did: Poof, you're gone, no cleanup necessary.

Anyway, maybe he could work on that at his big company. Or else ask Elon, they must be friends.

The Risks of Parenthood

Admit it: Having a baby is a crap shoot. You don't know what you'll get. If it's healthy at birth with all limbs and organs in the right place, you can breathe a sigh of relief -- at least for a while. Pretty soon all the other stuff shows up: can it talk, does it smile, can it see and hear? Yes? Okay, time to celebrate!

But what if 22 years later your perfect baby turns out to be the killer of Charlie Kirk? How did that happen? The young man's father is the one who turned him in, and that's understandable -- he made the creature. I cannot imagine the Hell this young man's parents now occupy and will occupy for the rest of their lives, wondering what they did wrong and when they did it. Surely there was something.

I thank God, as I have since the day he was born, that my only offspring is kind, thoughtful, intelligent and empathetic, with all his limbs and organs in the right place and with a sense of humor as a bonus. Maybe my husband and I did something right after all.

Rosie O'Donnell Killed Charlie Kirk

The level of violence in America has sent me scrambling to find a new home, no easy task at my age since very few countries allow seniors to immigrate. But I'll keep searching because these United States are far from united, and the chasm between the ideologies of our political parties widens every day.

What's worse, Hollywood's biggest stars make their feelings known. This takes a toll. For example, I can no longer see any film with Robert DeNiro, who at one time was among my favorite actors. But his vicious anti-Trump rants have turned me off completely, to the point where I can never again see him as the young Vito Corleone in The Godfather Part II. Instead, he's just a rich ass who hates Republicans.

So it is with Rosie O'Donnell, shown above. Once an endearing actress who delighted fans with her stand-up routines and adorable performances in movies like Sleepless in Seattle, A League of Their Own and The Flintstones, now she's just a grumpy dyke with a huge chip on her shoulder, which she occasionally uses to hurl at some unsuspecting Republican who did the unthinkable and voted for Trump.

But wait! I thought we were done with Rosie when she fled to Ireland in early 2025, shortly after Trump was inaugurated, and applied for Irish citizenship. But now she's busy posting videos of herself making foolish comments and riling up her base, which one assumes is other grumpy Democrat dykes. A recent one cites Trump's assassination attempt as a phony setup, based on the fact that, "His ear grew back. It miraculously regenerated!"

Okay, two things: First, Trump's earlobe was not shot off, it was grazed by a bullet which caused it to bleed profusely. And second, what about Corey Comperatore, the man who was killed during that failed assassination attempt? Was he a paid actor? Is he still really alive? (Someone should tell his grieving family it never happened, they'll be delighted.) 

Incendiary comments by the likes of Rosie O'Donnell spur insane people to commit acts of violence in the name of their supposed truths. Rosie surely had a hand, albeit remotely, on the trigger that shot the bullet that killed Charlie Kirk yesterday afternoon. 

What's Good About America?

Charlie Kirk, 1988-2025

While Chuck Schumer and his ilk worry about the sexual misbehavior of Jeffrey Epstein, a very rich and now very dead man who never held any political office and mattered only to his friends and family, a crazed gunman is on the loose in Utah after murdering Charlie Kirk, the vibrant 31-year-old father of two whose only crime was being an outspoken Republican with an affinity for Donald Trump.

America is in a rapid decline. On the same day as the heinous murder mentioned above there was a school shooting in Colorado resulting in three students injured. 

Crime is rampant and shows no signs of slowing down, yet half of Congress is going bananas over an alleged birthday card from President Trump to Epstein showing a childish drawing of a woman's body. It was created 22 years ago, long before Trump had political aspirations.

Half of our Congress is a joke and who knows how many of our citizens are mentally unstable. What's good about America? Remind me.

Living With FOBM

This morning I went out to run a few errands in town. I parked my car and was just about to hop out when I noticed a young black man walking in my direction. Making sure the doors were locked, I stayed in my car until he got into a car and drove away. I did this because I suffer from moderate to severe FOBM (Fear of Black Men), and it's getting worse.

Oddly enough, my condition is much more pronounced here in Maine than years ago when I lived in Washington, DC., a majority black city. But things have gotten much worse in society since then, with black hatred of whites currently off the charts. From what we see on the news, the feeling is mutual.

Most recently, a surveillance video that has gone viral shows a young white woman enter a subway train in Charlotte, NC, take a seat and then moments later get fatally stabbed three times in the neck from behind by a black man with long dreadlocks. This incident serves to reinforce a growing racial divide leading to new cases of FOBM among white women. It's too bad, but a gut reaction is a gut reaction.

Like all of us, I am hoping for a cure. Until then I am staying off public transportation, not going out at night, walking only on busy main roads and having a pair of eyes installed in the back of my head.

Maine's #1 Sport: Virtue Signaling

Janet Mills, the current governor of Maine,  is very concerned about gays. In fact, she's concerned about all those people in the LGBTQA+ community. She's also worried about the Wabanaki, a tribe of native Americans who were here before there was anything but rocks and trees and rivers until the white man arrived and ruined everything. 

In Maine, if you are a Wabanaki you are very special indeed; some places let you in for free, like the Coastal Botanic Gardens in Boothbay which charges between $25 to $29 for adults -- tickets for students and kids are cheaper -- but is free for the Wabanaki, and all you have to do is say you are one. (Woo woo!) 

On the other hand, Jews don't count for much here. Heck, you won't get hired by LLBean if they suspect you're a Jew. But I live here anyway, mostly because to date there have been no random stabbings on the street, no people pushed onto subway tracks --there's no subway --and no mass shootings, school or otherwise. 

While it's troubling that here in Maine, every transgender, queer person or "New Mainer" is more accepted than any intelligent and societally contributive Jew, still I must admit it's very pretty here, especially in autumn. At least there's that.

Your Best Friend is Always With You

Typical American gorging at breakfast?

The illustration above accompanied an article online about how American tourists are seen by those in other countries. But who cares? According to our country's "fat acceptance movement," we should all applaud this woman for being herself and not worrying about what other people may think of her. 

Since I am constantly berating obesity in this blog, I receive plenty of hate-filled comments saying that I suck and that I must be a very unhappy person. Why else would I be so judgmental?

I'm judgmental because I have a functioning brain. And while I may be unhappy, it's not because I can't walk up a flight of stairs (without breathing hard) or fit into an airline seat (or any seat) or buy clothes off the rack or touch my toes (or see my toes) or do 50 sit-ups (or one sit-up). Though many people may dislike me, my body remains my best friend. And in the end, that's the one I need the most to be on my side.

We all do.

Boring Never Looked So Good

I just returned to Maine after three days in New York City, city of my birth, and I'm so happy to be back. Granted, I was there for an unhappy reason: a dear friend is suffering from a terminal illness and is currently hospitalized, possibly for the last time -- it's hard to know. Thus much of my time was spent at his bedside, or in the hospital lounge when he needed a break from visiting. Not fun.

Still, there were long hours spent not at the hospital but on the streets of Manhattan, which supplied plenty of their own misery. Skyscrapers so tall you couldn't see their tops, apartment buildings that looked like beehives, graffiti everywhere. But most noticeable was the non-stop blaring of sirens: ambulances, fire trucks, cop cars -- you name it, it blared -- all day with perhaps 10 minutes between blasts. 

Not that there was ever silence. The constant mayhem of street traffic was everywhere: buses, automobiles and trucks rumbling, honking and belching fumes were just one part. Another horror was the addition of New York's relatively new bike lanes tucked between the sidewalk and the parked cars, a speedway of bikers threatening to run you down if you didn't stay back, look both ways and let them pass.

Back home in Maine, boring seems heavenly.

Friends Matter More

So far September has sucked for my husband and me, as we feel sad and depressed over our dying friend in the hospital. And it's likely that he will continue to do so until he is done, which means things won't be looking up anytime soon. In fact they may get a lot worse before they start to get better. Just this one person is leaving our world and both our lives will be diminished without him. 

Meanwhile, in the Crazy Department, the front page of today's Wall Street Journal has the headline, "Afghanistan Earthquake Kills More Than 800" across the top. Since we didn't know any of those people, we aren't upset about it. Of course it's a shame, how terrible, blah, blah, blah, but we aren't losing any sleep over it. 

Funny how those strangers we meet randomly and who become our friends matter so much more than people we don't know.

Pay Attention, It Goes By Fast

Admittedly I lead a boring life. I like it that way. Small pleasures shared with a few chosen people beat the chaotic frenzy of the Woodstock Music Festival shared with thousands of strangers, which in my youth seemed exciting, albeit wet and muddy. For me now, turning over the calendar page to the first day of September is quite possibly the most exciting thing I do all year. 

Taken on its own merits, September is nothing special: still hot and muggy, with little to celebrate except the gradual lessening of mosquitos and bees in certain parts of the country, notably mine. The month slogs along until the 22nd, when it finally delivers on the promise of cooler days and even some downright cold nights with the arrival of autumn, nature's true party season.

Sadly, it all goes by in the blink of an eye and suddenly it's winter and you're shoveling snow and losing power in ice storms and disappointed that once again, Christmas was so un-Christmasy. So pay attention to every golden moment before it's just a fading glow in the rear-view mirror.

The Trouble With Old Friends

The trouble with old friends is that even if they don't gossip about you behind your back, or abandon you for someone they like better, or ultimately bore you, but instead amuse you the longer you know them, sharing your life and helping you through the hard times, they eventually still hurt you terribly by dying, leaving you bereft in a sea of strangers with nowhere to turn in the dark times. Ironically, the darkest time of all is when they're gone, which is when you need them the most.

I'm still pissed (and sad) that one of my closest friends left this world three years and one month ago, suddenly and without warning, in a random meeting with an 18-wheeler. I hated not being able to say goodbye. Now another one is on the way out and even though I've had plenty of notice, it's no better.

Yeah yeah, I know -- that's life. Well, it sucks.

Everyone's An Artist Now

The illustration shown above was a collaboration between my friend Ted DeWeese and Google's AI. Ted is not an artist despite the evidence to the contrary as seen here. Instead he works in the field of electronics maintenance. But after reading my recent post about telling AI what to draw, he decided to try it himself and came up with this fantastic image.  Below is another of Ted's creations:

According to Ted, "Each was done with a sentence less than 10 words in length." Which means it took him less than one minute to create a complex illustration any art director would love. 

So this is life now: everyone's an artist. I remember my days as a newspaper illustrator, toiling well into the wee hours of the morning over a drawing that would garner few, if any, accolades and ultimately end up in the next day's trash. So I guess AI is a good thing, except for it being a bad thing, i.e. eliminating an entire career.

At the very least you have to marvel that someone who earns his living fixing electronic equipment has this wild and crazy imagery rattling around in his brain. Who knows -- perhaps your plumber or insurance salesman is harboring an inner Picasso. Or maybe even you.