Help Us, Jesus!

It's a wonder I haven't picked up some terrible gangrenous disease that will cause me to lose all four limbs and then die of sepsis, considering how much time I spend swimming in a cesspool. It's called the Internet and it's everywhere, all over the world. In fact, you're in it right now.

Today I heard a dastardly rumor swirling around in the darkest reaches of said pool claiming that Senator Lindsey Graham was having sex with a transgender prostitute when he suffered his heart attack. That really irks me. I was deeply saddened to hear of Graham's death over the weekend. One of our finest Senators of all time, his fatal condition was unknown and yet not all that uncommon. Actor John Ritter died of the same thing -- aortic dissection -- in 2003.

Graham had just returned from a trip to Ukraine and had spoken with President Trump two hours before his heart attack. He was scheduled to appear on "Meet the Press" the following morning. If he was consorting with some skanky underworld character, it seems highly unlikely that he would have done so under those trying circumstances. 

The Internet is a sickness we all have, spreading lies, stupidity and misinformation everywhere. The galloping growth of AI has only made it worse. Nothing is real, no place is safe and nobody is held accountable. Someone should pull the plug on the whole damn thing. If Jesus Christ really is coming back, now would be a good time.

Finding My Niche

I read a newspaper profile of a young woman described as a "content creator." Wondering just what that is, I did some research -- i.e. Googled it -- and learned that it's someone who creates content on social media, like with a blog. OMG, I've been one since 2007 and didn't even know it! The only thing is, you're supposed to make money doing it, whereas I definitely do not.

The ways to make money are through advertising and finding a niche, the article went on. Since I find advertising morally reprehensible, that's out. As for finding a niche -- mine used to be Humor, but these days being funny can get you sued, or worse, cancelled, and nobody wants that. 

Next. I'm supposed to charge money for reading my blog. That's insane. How much could I possibly ask? And how would I ask it? Should I just post a photo of me holding a cardboard sign scrawled with, "Anything helps"?

So while my blog continues to create content, I remain niche-less and penniless, except for all the dough my husband has and is kind enough to share with me. And of course all my past earnings before I became a social media content creator and only made content for stone and mortar businesses, for a fee. As for finding a niche, I'm considering one of these:

1. Crimes against humanity, who's committing them, and how to stop it

2. Abuse of the English language by almost everyone, led by people who say,
"At the end of the day" when they mean "ultimately" or "when it's over"

3. Dumb Hollywood movies that get huge audiences because the audiences are themselves dumb

4. Things that are wrong with living in Maine and how they get worse over time

5. How anyone with a head can find Timothy Chalemet sexy, or even male

6. What foods will help you live longer and not get cancer, as opposed to what foods won't

7. Lists of things. (Apparently they get more clicks.)

Headlines I Didn't Click On

Go ahead and make fun of me but I still get my email at AOL. It's been like 20 years and it's too much trouble to change it now. Anyway, the only bad thing about it is seeing the stupid news stories they post when I go to my home page. I try to look away but they seep in somehow.

Following are just a few headlines for the trashy, dumb and possibly untrue stories they print. While I didn't click on any of them, some of them made me laugh.

Indiana Man Accused of Cutting Off His Genitals And Lighting Them On Fire Charged With Arson 

"Little House on the Prairie" Star Melissa Gilbert Discovers She Has 3 Older Brothers 

Bear Feasting On Salmon Surprised As Another Fish Leaps Into Its Mouth

Inside Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce's Ultra-private Honeymoon

Ice Spice Shows Off World's Biggest Tongue Ring 

Violent Abuser Who Made Victim Bark Like A Dog Found Hiding In Fridge

What Your Favorite Nail Color Says About Your Personality

Dad Fights Back Tears While Watching His Daughter, 25, Perform for the First Time 

Only You Can Be You

Obviously nobody besides saints and surgeons knows what to do with themself every day. How else to explain the universal obsession with the lives of celebrities that results in nothing of value for anyone? The recent marriage of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, a singer and a football player of all things, is a perfect example. It has dominated the news as if it matters to everyone else as much as to the couple. I wonder, will their eventual divorce also be seen as interesting?

Comparing our lives with those of famous people makes as much sense as comparing our lives to those of squirrels and ants. More sensible is comparing our present lives to our past lives. If there's been no progress, perhaps it's because you've wasted so much time voyeuristically envying other people's lives that you forgot to live yours.

Who Left The Door Open?

My friend Ron, who is 90 but looks and acts 70, said when I bemoaned turning 80, "Don't worry, the eighties are a piece of cake!" Well I don't know what kind of cake he meant, but for me it's been a total drag since that milestone birthday one month ago. My back constantly hurts, I pulled my shoulder somehow, and I'm more fatigued than ever despite getting to bed earlier and earlier. But what happened today was the worst so far.

I had gone out to do some errands which took me about 45 minutes. Arriving back home, I was stunned to see my front door wide open. It wasn't just ajar -- it was as wide open as it could be, letting in a parade of moths and mosquitos. WTF? I was 100% certain I had shut it hard when I left, still paranoid about break-ins from 30 years of living in crime-ridden Washington, D.C.

After checking with my husband and son to see if either one had come in  during my absence and left the door open -- they hadn't -- I undertook a full-scale search of the premises, fearing I was about to be murdered by some intruder hiding in a closet. I found none, but the call to my son was disheartening. 

He recounted an article he recently read suggesting that aging does not happen gradually, but at three distinct times in life: at about age 34, then at age 60, and finally at age 78. So apparently I am now an old coot who leaves doors open without knowing it. I wonder, does plastic surgery help with that or is Jane Fonda, looking fabulous and spry at age 88, also wondering who left the door open, or who went and closed it, or why did I come in here anyway?

Off The Rails Online

Yesterday the picture shown here appeared on my Facebook page. It was posted by a relief organization in Venezuela that was distributing food to the survivors of last week's massive back-to-back earthquakes which killed thousands, leaving thousands more missing and presumed buried under the rubble. 

I found it odd that, amidst the death and destruction, the little boy had a cellphone on his lap, and commented, "at least he has his cell phone." The following response to my bland observation came from a woman named Claudette Veitia: 

"Andrea Rouda he can’t hear you but US VENEZUELANS CAN! Shame on you! What kind of evil lives inside you? It’s disgusting to even read your IGNORANT AND EVIL comment! I am going to be much kinder to you than you were to this little boy in wishing you that you never see what he has seen as a young little boy and I wish you never live what he is living and all Venezuelans are living since the devastating earthquakes. I am sorry life or someone in it has put that much hate inside you, my last wish is for you to heal from whatever it is that fudged you over this bad, but you probably won’t, because only damaged goods would make a comment like that about other human being’s suffering!"

Thank God I hadn't written anything incendiary.

Happy Hot Holiday

Tomorrow is supposed to be a day to celebrate the birth of America 250 years ago. But it's just too damn hot. If it's outdoors and 90 degrees, count me out. That includes tomorrow's 4th of July Parade in our little town. 

Instead of standing on a street corner watching retro cars and fire trucks filled with waving people who somehow were convinced to participate, I will be at home in my air-conditioning. Is that wrong? Remember, heat waves kill. 

In fact, yesterday's Wall Street Journal had an article about that very subject, which asserted that in Europe, heat waves have "often caused tens of thousands of deaths." That was a hard fact to swallow so I did some fact-checking, and so far in Europe 1,000 people have died in France, another 1,000 in Spain and 25 in England during this current hot spell. I also looked up the meaning of "tens and thousands" and it means between 20,000 and 99,000, so I guess their AI bot/writer got that wrong.

Anyway, stay cool and Happy Fourth!

Alone In A Crowd

Do you prefer having just one or two friends and eschew group think? You might be an otrovert!

I just found out I'm an otrovert. I've always known I'm not an introvert or an extrovert, so after living with no label for my entire life it's exciting to be considered something other than "a kook" by at least one New York psychiatrist, who coined the term in 2025. 

Since then it has taken hold in the wider psychological community, earning a Wikipedia page wherein it is described as, "A persistent sense of being an outsider in group settings, even when the person is socially included, and a preference for selective, one-to-one connections over group affiliation."

That's me to a tee. I'm not shy and can easily hang out within a large group of people, be they strangers or friends, without anxiety. It's just that I never enjoy it. So for me it's ixnay to book clubs, volleyball games, yacht clubs, bowling leagues, group exercise classes, parades, parties and political functions.

However, I do enjoy my Loners Anonymous club, which meets only in my mind and on this blog. 

Harry Potter Is A Jew

It's laughable that antisemitism is on the rise in America today, or so it is said. So many actors, movie producers, inventors, business leaders, scientists, biologists and writers are Jewish, it's hard to imagine what life would be like today without all their efforts. And of course, no bagels. Everyone would be eating what for breakfast? Crumpets and plum pudding?

Instead, people should start hating that one ethnic group that has contributed nothing to society -- there must be one. (Google it.) That would at least make some sense.

Videos To Die For

Fat people are helpless and pathetic addicts, no less than someone who shoots heroin. But there are no videos of anyone doing that online. I guess give it time.

I've known about mental illness since I was a very small child. My first introduction to it was seeing the classic 1948 film, The Snake Pit, starring Olivia de Havilland, who became my favorite female film star of those old black & white days. I must have been very young, having been born in 1946, and it stayed with me. There were lots of people in strait jackets, with dirty, stringy hair walking around with dazed expressions like zombies. Starring the usual manic depressives, schizophrenics, bi-polars and psychopaths, some of them were confined to cages.

Today's crazies are more fortunate. They are not only free to be their looniest selves, but they are actually online "influencers" applauded by a vast number of "followers" on TikTok and Instagram who enjoy watching their insanity. Their output is called "mukbang", wherein they eat large quantities of food and post videos of themselves doing so online. The name comes from two South Korean words and literally means "eating broadcast." 

Very obese people -- and even some who are not overweight at all -- eating unimaginably large amounts of terribly unhealthy foods is beyond disgusting. Several of these mostly young people, in their 20s and 30s, have actually died while eating online from a heart attack or some other obesity-related disease. Almost worse is the enormous cult of people, called "Feeders," who get off on watching people stuff themselves and actually send them food and money to support their addiction. 

The pro-obesity sub-culture makes me feel sorry for the entire human "race", which apparently has already been lost.

Open Letter to All Dumbocrats

Connecticut's Democrat Congresswoman, Rosa DeLaurio

Okay, come on. Maybe you don't like Donald Trump because he's a braggart who is rich and successful with bad taste in furnishings and a penchant for self-aggrandizement. I get it. But he's very smart, and very accomplished, and has great political instincts, and he's done a great job as POTUS.

Now let's look at the contenders for president on the Democrat side in 2028: Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, a goofy bartender-turned-socialist cheerleader, Pete Buttigieg, a one-time small-town mayor who's gay and that's about it, Governor Hair Gel, a good-looking jerk with a bad political record, and worst of all, loser extraordinaire Kamala Harris,who cannot even speak plain English and is clearly a mental midget of monumental proportions.

How anyone can be a Democrat anymore is simply beyond my comprehension. Really, what are you all thinking? 

Series Review: CLARKSON'S FARM SEASON FIVE

After what seemed like an eternity (but was really only 11 months), the gang at Clarkson's Farm has returned this month on Amazon Prime. I hadn't realize how empty my life has been without them until I watched the first episode of Season 5 last night. There are seven hour-long episodes left, and I'm thrilled at the prospect of watching them and already sad that they will come to an end.

If you've never seen the show you are missing out on something totally unique and exhilarating. First of all it's a documentary, so you're seeing real lives play out, not some Hollywood writer's inner, often drug-induced, fantasy world. The series is set on a thousand-acre farm in the Cotswolds, perhaps the most beautiful part of the English countryside. (You'll want to drop everything and go there immediately; we did exactly that last year, eventually making our way to the farm.) 

Just the color-drenched photography alone makes it all worthwhile. Some of the stunning images that take your breath away include drone shots of impossibly-green farmland, all species of farm animals living their best lives -- growing, having babies and running free, birds soaring in flight, darkening clouds gathering for a storm, magical sunsets and sunrises, and intense close-ups of flowers and vegetation. 

The accompanying music is great, and the characters are even better. Jeremy Clarkson, the star, is a total hoot and it's easy to see why he was, and has remained, such a fan favorite all across Great Britain. His partner Lisa is adorable and funny, adding a feminine slant to the basically all-male cast. The assorted, sometimes wacky, locals who help Jeremy make a go of his farm and the village beer pub he opened in Season 4 will soon become your favorite neighbors. 

Best of all, the show is free of evil drug lords, monstrous murderers and rapists, racism, flying wizards, international spy rings, wild car chases, political infighting and violence -- although last night's episode did show the aftermath of a wild dog attack on a poor, innocent sheep that was quite gory and all too real. But in general you can watch Clarkson's Farm with your children without worry. They'll likely want to be farmers when they grow up, which in our current economy and with AI taking everyone's jobs away, isn't such a bad idea.

Sex Is More Popular Than Death

News Flash: You will die someday. I know -- you don't like thinking about it, or talking about it, but it's true. And lately it's been on my mind more than usual because my husband has recently plunked down many thousands of dollars for a burial plot and headstone in a local cemetery, along with the promise of someone putting him into it, because he knows that if he dies first I won't do it, finding it barbaric to enclose a body inside a box and lower it six feet down under the dirt, leaving it there to rot. I prefer cremation, which seems more ethereal -- angelic, almost -- and a whole lot cheaper.

I wanted some opinions on the subject and so asked ChatGPT, "Are there any websites that discuss the subject of death?" The answer came back that yes, there are several, and it listed three, only one of which opened when I clicked on it. Then I asked ChatGPT, "Are there any websites that discuss the subject of sex?" The answer came back that yes, there are thousands of websites that discuss sex. (Big surprise.)

I was disappointed, since I don't need any advice or opinions or instructions or information about sex, but I'm clueless about death. I'd love to know if spending money that could be used for something charitable or beneficial to society or educational or just plain fun in this lifetime trumps buying a hole in the ground and some people to lower you into it sometime in the future.

Crazy Rich

Today's New York Times contains a full-page ad for an auction company claiming to be "The world's largest collectibles auctioneer." It shows a note with scribbled lettering on it, which are actually John Lennon's handwritten lyrics to the 1964 Beatles hit, "If I Fell," from the album "A Hard Day's Night." The estimated sale price for this piece of note paper is between $500,000 and $1,000,000. There are three phone numbers to call if you are interested.

Despite loving that song, if someone came to my home and presented me with that particular piece of paper, it would change my life not one bit. I would still have a terrible backache from pulling a muscle at the gym last week which kept me up all night alternately weeping and drinking Tension Tamer tea (which BTW doesn't work). I would also still be ten pounds overweight, and my dear friend Janice would still have pneumonia and my cat Lurch would still be 19 years old and skinny as a rail. 

Nothing in my life would be any different, except I'd have to figure out what to do with that silly piece of paper. Yet somebody, somewhere will likely respond to that ad and purchase that piece of scribbled-upon note paper for an unbelievable sum. 

The only possible explanation is that rich people are nuts.

The Perks of Aging

The former love of my life is back!

Getting old is not all bad. It's mostly bad, but once in a while something good comes along. For example, forgetfulness is seen by most people as a negative. Losing your memory about something that happened, or entering a certain room and having no idea what to do when you get there, is playfully dubbed a "senior moment." Ha, ha, not usually funny. But having a gigantic senior moment can be beneficial. Like watching the entire series The Sopranos for the second time and not remembering one thing about it means you get a whole new show.

My husband and I first watched The Sopranos in 2005, in its entirety. We were addicted, rushing through dinner every night to put it on. Since then we've seen hundreds of other shows, movies and documentaries. But one night we thought, hey, let's watch an episode of The Sopranos again -- it was so good. So we did, and were certain we had missed that episode since we remembered nothing about it. We tried another, and the same thing happened. So we started at the beginning and are now in Season Two, and loving it. Remembering nothing. 

It's a small thing compared with arthritis and heart attacks and hip replacements, and of course impending death, but hey -- it's something.

Seeing God: Blink And You'll Miss Him

As a child growing up in an observant Jewish family, I often found myself sitting in a synagogue for one reason or another, searching the hidden recesses for a glimpse of God. I never saw Him. My mother told me that God was not in churches or temples, He was at the ocean, and in fact, He was the ocean. 

That seemed more plausible, and she and I went to the beach often, sitting quietly on a blanket and staring at the great expanse. Since then I've witnessed the harm of tsunamis and have decided that a benificent God must reside elsewhere. Somewhere that does no harm. He's got to be in flowers. (And babies, of course.)

With that in mind, I recently went to the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens. Flowers of unimaginable shapes, colors and sizes were in full bloom. All the visitors who had ponied up the entrance fee ($31 for adults, $28 for seniors) were stunned by their beauty, leaning in close to take pictures, trying to capture the essence of God within them, whether they knew it or not.

But then I did some research and found that there are many, many toxic blooms, at least 35, that can cause serious illness, skin irritation, nausea, vomiting, paralysis and even death if touched or consumed. Lots of them are in my own backyard. Who knew?

So I guess we're down to babies. If you happen to have one right now, be grateful and treat it with reverence. They don't last long and ultimately turn into people, and a quick look at the news tells you that at some point Satan takes over, earlier than you think.

Normalizing Insanity

This woke bullshit concerning the widely accepted mental illness of transgenderism is getting so out of control. Today I searched a few medical websites for possible reasons why a friend of mine has been losing weight without trying. She's down to an alarmingly low number and her various doctors, while aware of the situation, are not doing anything except "keeping an eye on it."

In my reading I came across this sentence: "People with vulvas should pay close attention as unexplained weight loss may have to do with menopause." People with vulvas? Exactly who are people with vulvas? Could they be, um, maybe WOMEN?

Meanwhile, New York's lame Governor Kathy has decided to change all the official written crap in her state to say "gestating parent" and "non-gestating parent" instead of MOTHER and FATHER. Somebody, somewhere, with still functioning brain cells, should outlaw all this insanity before it's too late and our maternity wards turn into that scene in The Matrix with all the babies being manufactured by the state.

Film Review: DISCLOSURE DAY

Emily Blunt and Josh O'Connor star.

The latest "are we alone in the universe or not?" saga from director Steven Spielberg enticed me to a movie theater for the first time in about two years. My husband and I were expecting big things from Disclosure Day -- things that would benefit from being seen on a large screen, rather than our TV in the den. (We were wrong. You can wait til it's streaming.)

Starting out, not much that's happening is comprehensible, just a lot of sci-fi mumbo-jumbo between the good guys who want the world to know the TRUTH and the bad guys who are keeping it secret. Close attention, and possibly a copy of the script, is required to figure it all out, so I nodded off a few times. No problem  as I was awake for the parts that mattered, most of which take place in the last quarter of the two-plus hours run time.  

Suffice it to say that Spielberg is stuck back in his E.T., Close Encounters, Raiders heyday, and thus borrows heavily from himself. Some of what he chose to include is more suitable for Indiana Jones, like a car-train-crash scene that is totally off the subject of this film but is fun to watch. The final payoff is that we eventually meet "E.T." in his dotage, and not surprisingly he looks exactly the same, but older and with a bigger head. Also, the two lead actors (Josh O'Connor, Emily Blunt) are superb as strangers who share a uniquely common path that began in childhood and who finally meet as adults.

Things Nobody Needs

I wonder what themes were on their dashboards.

About my new car. It's a 2026 Audi, and while it drives great it's full of crap that nobody needs. Much of this crap surely adds to the high price tag, not to mention the waste of design talent of those responsible. In fact, there's so much of it that I had to go back to the dealership today for a tutorial on how to work all the bells and whistles -- really they are buttons, it's just an expression -- that I couldn't figure out.

For example, one of the headings on the changeable dashboard is "Themes." Hmmm, what could that mean, I wondered. Turns out it's like wallpaper on your cellphone, only for your car's "infotainment screen." You can choose from about 25 different background images to personalize your vehicle, as if your license plate isn't enough. Things like New York City, dolphins, Disney, the ocean, sports team logos, animals, favorite movies, landscapes, and blah, blah blah. Talk about distracted driving.

Technology keeps improving everything but our lives. 

The Black Sheep of Maine

Yesterday I got a new car. Gone are all my stickers: the one letting me into a local park for free because I'm old, the one advertising my son's business, the one declaring my unwavering support for Senator Susan Collins, and the one saying "I Brake for Birds." However I did keep the one that tells the world I am "From Away." God forbid anyone should think I'm a native Mainer.

Lately it's embarrassing to say I live in Maine, what with a humongous scumbag not only running for office but winning in yesterday's primary for Senator. Of course he was unopposed, but then he was nominated in the first place and that's pretty damning in itself. I'm talking about Graham Platner, the man with no good qualities. He's amoral, immoral and has PTSD to boot! And yet the Democrats of Maine love him. Or at least if they hate him they still voted for him. How cringy.

I heard one woman being interviewed on the news say the following when asked how she felt about him: "He is disgusting and has done terrible things. He has a Nazi tattoo and lies about his past. He treats women terribly and I certainly wouldn't want to be married to him. But I think he'll make an excellent Senator."

And that's why my new car has a sticker that says "From Away." 

Time Marches On

Two days ago I was 79.

Yesterday was my birthday.

Now today I am 80.

I didn't realize back then how young I was. 

Pay attention, people.

God vs. Satan

As much as I would like to, sometimes it's hard to believe in God when you take a look around. The bad certainly outweighs the good, making me think that maybe Satan is in charge. Let's do a quick tally:

Satan: Childhood cancer, serial murderers, pandemics, mental illness, floods, war, tsunamis, earthquakes, tornadoes, poisonous snakes, poisonous plants, poverty.

God: Flowers, babies.

Imagine

A few months ago I invited a friend out to lunch to celebrate her birthday. Another friend came along and we had a fun time. How nice. Now my birthday is nigh and she invited me out to lunch, to pay me back. WTF?

People lack imagination, plain and simple. Or maybe it's just that people in Maine lack imagination. It's annoying, at least to me, because I don't lack imagination. For example, I can imagine a world where everyone has a brain and uses it, instead of just getting up each day and going through the motions, following orders, and doing what they think is expected of them.

It would be glorious.

The Sick Scumbag vs.The Saintly Senator

Platner has admitted to masturbating in Port-a-Potties.

If you follow the news you have likely heard of Graham Platner, the lying sack of garbage who is hoping to unseat our longtime Senator, Susan Collins, a bipartisan saint who votes her conscience, not her party. As it happens, she is a Republican and he is a Democrat.

I won't go into all the bad behavior that has gotten Platner into hot water recently as it's been covered everywhere and it's already boring. (See photo.) What I do find interesting is that he receives a monthly disability check from our government for his PTSD, which he allegedly earned while in the military, back when he got his now-famous Nazi tattoo.

My question is this: If he's too messed-up to hold a job, then how can he be a working Senator? Do Mainers want someone representing us who has a "100% disability rating from the VA," who is possibly hearing voices or  having flashbacks or whatever the heck goes on inside his head that makes him eligible for lifelong disability payments?

Jewish Paranoia On Sale Now

I keep hearing that antisemitism is on the rise everywhere, especially in this country. 

There are videos online about it, showing lots of protests pro and con, and scary shit going down in major cities like New York and Chicago. News articles and op-eds discussing the problem show up more and more frequently. Reports about NYC's Muslim mayor dissing a pro-Israel parade recently, coupled with an alleged rise in anti-Jewish crime, have increased my worst fears about some gestapo guys barging in and taking my house. 

But the funny thing is, I have not experienced one bit of antisemitic behavior myself. In fact, not once in my entire life. So far it's all hearsay. So is it real or not? And is it really as bad as it's being portrayed by people who sell disaster for a living?

Who knows. You are what you watch.

Time For A Name Change

When he's not posting on Truth Social or running the world, President Trump keeps himself busy by re-naming things. Well, I've got a suggestion for him that I'm pretty sure everyone would accept. Instead of calling our country the United States of America, which is a complete joke since the very last thing we are is united, it should be the Divided States of America. That at least makes sense.

Everyone's An Expert

I used to think there were people who were smarter than everyone else, including me. Then somewhere in my 30s it hit me: there aren't. I came to this conclusion when my gynecologist, a man I respected who had a great reputation, told me, and I quote, "All penises are the same size when erect."  Right away I knew two things about him: First, he was not gay and second, he was an idiot.

Around that same time I started seeing a shrink. I saw him on and off for 20 years and thought he was brilliant, giving me sage advice. But then after his unseemly death -- he drowned, drunk, in a hotel swimming pool -- I learned he was a raging alcoholic who was in and out of rehab several times a year. 

That was long ago and since then I've run into lots more dumb people. The internet is rife with them, all of them "experts" at something, who make videos touting their superior knowledge. A favorite of mine is a woman whose shtick is etiquette and how to dress and behave properly. Her Reels have titles like, "Five Things To Avoid Doing That Make People Dislike You" and "Six Things Never to Wear In Public." It's wild because she is so unlikeable and her clothes are always so ugly, yet she keeps making these videos and I'm pretty sure she's not kidding.

The truth is, each one of us is an expert in one thing -- ourself. Nobody is smarter about you than you. Just listen to your inner voice, unless you are schizophrenic and it's telling you to do bizarre things, in which case you should seek professional help. But Jesus -- good luck finding any.

Not All Birthdays Are Happy

As I have mentioned in this space recently, I am about to turn 80. This fact does not make me happy, and yes, I have considered the alternative.  I don't want to be dead, I just don't want to be 80. At least not in our society, where being old is the only handicap that is still allowed to be mocked. You can't say someone is a cripple or a retard or a fat whale, but you can call anyone an old coot, a geezer, a hag, an old fogey or an old bat, or say they are "over the hill" or "ready for the glue factory" and nobody cares.

Because of that, I do not see this upcoming birthday as cause for celebration. Still, others do and thus far I have had three different friends say they want to "take me to lunch" on my birthday, and I have already agreed to "go out to dinner" with my husband on that day.

Understand, I have lunch out several times a week, often with friends. And my husband and I go out to dinner frequently, certainly once a week if not more. So these outings do not in any way seem special, or make up for the fact that I am now an old hag, old bat and old fogey who is over the hill and ready for the glue factory.

My husband keeps asking what I want for this very special birthday. All I can think of is to be younger. Certainly chowing down some random restaurant food, probably poorly prepared by some 20-something, heavily tattooed and pierced line cook, isn't it. 

Living In Maine Without A Boat

When I take a break from making art, I am not interested in doing the following things: 

Bungee jumping off a bridge

Skydiving

Mountain climbing

Fishing

Eating lobster

Clamming

Shopping 

Demonstrating against Donald Trump

Kayaking

Camping

Going to a Whoopie Pie Festival, or any sort of festival

If I were, I'd be in hog heaven living here in Maine. Alas, I was born and bred in New York and thus like to do the following:

Attend professional theater

Wander through old bookstores

Eat great pizza

See famous comedians and musicians live in concert

Since nothing on that last list is possible here in Maine, I'm sort of at a loss on cold, wet, dark days like today, when hiking in the woods -- the one thing this state is good for -- is less appealing. Also, if I had a boat I could "go down to the boat" and work on it, or just sit on it and read, which is a very popular activity with boat-owners in these parts. I don't have a boat, so one of my major weekend activities is Wondering: How to spend this most precious gift of a day when I'm not sick or in the hospital or committed to someone else's project. I am doing that today -- in fact, right now.

Planet of the Apes

Whatever happened to modesty? How about privacy? These qualities simply do not exist anymore here in America. Everyone shows everything that once was considered too personal, and not just to a few people but to the entire world, or at least anyone with a Facebook or TikTok account. This might be explain why I feel slightly nauseous all the time.

Like just now, when I logged on to my Facebook account and instantly saw a video of a skinny young woman in her underwear exhibiting the gruesome stitches on the inside of both of her thighs, explaining that "most of the swelling has gone down" from her recent surgery for God knows what -- I didn't stick around to find out. What I wondered is, who cares? Why do we, or more specifically I, need to see that? Is Facebook now also an anatomy class in med school? 

What's next? Will people start posting photos of their bowel movements floating in a toilet bowl for praise or diagnosis? When will the downward slide of humanity come to an end? And how? Will we go back to being apes, or go all the way to primordial slime?  (Personally I have met many people who I'm pretty sure are already primordial slime.)

Circling the Drain, Feline Style

Both my parents died relatively young: My mother was 62 and my father was 70. (Or 72, depending on who you ask.) While I deeply mourned their early passings, I was spared the horror of seeing them disintegrate before my very eyes, a sad situation I have watched many of my friends endure. So I guess it's fair that I now have an old cat, who at age 19 or 20 -- depending on who you ask -- is slowly dying, or as one friend said bluntly, "circling the drain."

Big Lurch, his proper name at birth, was once a fierce competitor in the feline world. A Maine Coon who in his prime topped the scales at 18 pounds, he was down to 10 at his last vet visit and grows thinner every day. I'm pretty sure he is deaf and half-blind, with a touch of arthritis.

Even worse, he has feline dementia, also known as cognitive dysfunction syndrome, which says it all. He is definitely dysfunctional to the max, and yet atop his skeletal, un-cuddly body, his face is as beautiful and adorable as ever. 

Lurch has become very demanding, like a crotchety old person in a nursing home who hates the food, is always too cold, and splits his time staring out the window for hours or complaining loudly about his current situation. He tells me minute by minute when he is unhappy, or in pain, or wants treats, or wants to go outside, or wants to come back inside. His thirst is unquenchable, causing him to pee in his two litter boxes approximately 500 times every day. If I don't empty them immediately he will pee on the floor next to the box. As a result, I have stopped accepting all invitations in order to stay home and scoop his litter, since cleaning the mess on the floor is so much worse.

My conclusion is that God makes sure everyone gets a little of everything. 

Turning 80

The cover of People jumped out at me as I was paying for a tube of Preparation H and some Miralax at the CVS and it pissed me off, seeing as how Cher is the same age as me and looks like that, and I don't. She's likely got the same things in her medicine cabinet, since internal organs can't have plastic surgery. At least not yet.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm a big Cher fan. Her voice still thrills me and I love her spunky personality. But the blond wig, cheek implants, lip filler and God only knows what else make her look years younger, and that's cheating.

BTW, you know who else would be 80 years old today? Diane Keaton and Freddie Mercury, that's who. And I look a whole lot better than them. (But then I'm still only 79.)

 

Thank You, Fatties!

We didn't get any of these.

This morning my husband and I went to a farmer's market in the next town, something we do on Saturdays in spring and summer. Held on the grounds of a local farm, it's a wholesome scene straight from a Lifetime movie set in New England. Vendors offer flats of seedlings and bags of full-grown spinach and lettuce so beautiful they look fake. Goat cheese and natural soaps and candles are showcased next to homemade pickles and bean salads. Three fiddlers sit in the middle of it all, filling the air with lively folk tunes. With lots of babies in carriers and little kids running around excitedly, it truly warms the heart. Except for the long, long bread lines.

No, not those bread lines -- the kind your parents said they had in Russia. I mean the ones you see all over America at any fair or public market: People waiting to buy scones, pies, bagels, popovers, doughnuts, biscuits, buns, cinnamon rolls, cookies, cakes, baguettes, pies, croissants and fruit tarts. Those vendors had the longest lines of all, and most of the people patiently waiting on them were, to put it bluntly, obese. I mean big.

Luckily, obese people are everywhere, showing us just how they got that way. Today I took them as a welcome warning to steer clear of those lines. Instead we left with a lovely hanging nasturtium and several cherry tomato and mini-pepper plants ready for planting, and not one unhealthy calorie-laden treat, proving that all those fatties serve a higher purpose beyond keeping sugar producers in business.

Paging Tony Soprano

It costs $30,000 annually per inmate to imprison someone in Missouri. So if someone around age 40 gets life in prison without the possibility of parole in that state and lives to be maybe 80, that's $1,200,000 of taxpayer dollars spent to allow him to keep breathing and contributing nothing to anyone.

This sentence has just been handed down to a man in Missouri who decapitated his 63-year-old mother in 2018 and has been in prison since then. At the time, he called the police and said he was "concerned about his mother," then when they arrived on the scene he wrote on a piece of paper that he had killed her, showed it to them, and then ate the piece of paper. 

Clearly our legal system is in need of some fine-tuning if that man is not worthy of the death penalty. Imagine what would happen to him if his mother had been a mob boss.

What A Way To Go

Some people die at home, surrounded by their loved ones. Others die alone, peacefully, in their sleep. And then there are those less fortunate, like the 56-year-old woman in New York City who stepped out of her car two nights ago and immediately fell 15 feet into an open manhole, its cover having been dislodged by a passing truck just minutes before. She landed sitting up and could be heard by a passer-by to cry out, "I'm dying, I'm dying," which she did shortly after at a local hospital. 

I think that's not fair and that God got that wrong. Everyone deserves a dignified death. 

War Is the Least of Our Problems

I recently read a story online about a woman who's worried about her mother because she is convinced she's in a romantic relationship with Barron Trump after meeting him online in a chat room. They are going to get married! Forget that he is 20 and she is 53 -- just forget that part. And that he is the son of the president. Forget that too. How crazy must someone be to believe that?

Then I realized that I must be crazy to believe there is such a daughter and such a mother. The whole damn story is probably made up! And yet many commenters, like hundreds of them, offered help and gave advice to the distraught daughter. Unless they were all made up too.

I become more frightened daily for the future of the human race. I tell myself to stop reading anything online because most of it is fake, but then I ask myself: Who is making all that shit up? And why? Is it a person or a machine? There's no way to be sure that these very words are not being written by a computer. Am I even real?

Decisions, Decisions....

Would you rather be raped by a dog trained to do so by an Israeli soldier or watch your baby get beheaded by a Hamas terrorist? I think most people would choose the first option, and although both are horrendous beyond anyone's imagination, they are topics we can find written about in a number of news sources these days.

Fortunately none of us have to choose between the two options cited in the opening paragraph. I mention them only to illustrate how very complicated modern life is. Like, is that person in a dress with pink hair and a beard male or female? Who would make the worse president -- Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez or Pete Buttigieg? Here in Maine, should I vote for the young Nazi sympathizer who lies about his past or the Senator who has served admirably for the past 29 years? 

Just this morning I had another tough decision to make. Needing to see my doctor, I called the practice. After holding on for about 20 minutes, a member of the "admin team" answered. I described my problem and she came back with two options: I could see the doctor I've been seeing for the past 17 years who knows all about my recent health issue at 2:15 this afternoon, or if it's an emergency, an unknown physician's assistant at 1:45.

Which would you choose?

Fantasy Type-casting

Some people in Hollywood are in a tizzy about a new movie coming to theaters this summer. In director Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey, a black actress has been cast as the historical figure Helen of Troy, who is described in Homer's written epic as "fair-skinned" and "white-armed." 

Liberals say it's racist to even notice it. I wonder, would they notice Meryl Streep playing the lead in a biopic about Rosa Parks? How about one with Timothy Chalamet as Emmet Till? 

The Odyssey is being dubbed a fantasy, and with good reason. Trans actress Ellen Page, who still looks like a pre-teen girl but wants us to believe she's a man and calls herself Elliot, is also in the film, playing a male character. 

I cannot wait to not see this movie!