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.