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!

Ignorance Is Bliss

Here's some advice you can take to the bank: Stay away from the news if you want to be happy. 

This morning I woke up, which in itself was worthy of applause, and found that my 19-year-old cat had also lived through the night and was hungry, two things that made me happy. I made a pot of coffee, another positive, and went outside to get the newspaper, drinking in the glory of the early morning dew on all the blossoming trees and shrubs. The world looked good. 

Then I read the newspaper. Big mistake. Turning the pages, my good mood evaporated in less than five minutes. Here's what I learned:

1. President Trump is apparently out of his mind, using his Truth Social platform "to spread conspiracies and attacks" while the rest of us were sleeping. 

2. Teenagers are being banned from shopping malls due to their violent "takeovers" that have "devolved into physical fights, robberies and gunfire."

3. Restaurants across the country are losing money because so many Americans are on weight-loss drugs.

4. AOC, that dummy-spinoff of Kamala Harris, is definitely considering a presidential run in 2028. Not only that, but she's a front-runner! (No, this is not a dream.)

5. Drug overdose deaths fell to a new low of 70,000 in 2025, which is considered a positive trend. 

6. Young men in their 20s and 30s are smashing their faces with hammers and other blunt instruments in order to get a stronger jawline.

7. "Jew-hatred" is on the rise in America.

8. Most students at Princeton cheat on exams using AI.

Sorry. I don't write the news, I just report it.

Long Overdue Loners Anonymous Meeting

"The Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali

To paraphrase, and at the same time completely alter the meaning of a popular saying, "We can't go on not meeting like this!" It's been seven months since our last get-together and we've likely got so much bottled up inside us to not share with anyone.  This is an especially appropriate time for me to be a Loner since my husband, who I live with, has been out of town for the past three days and will remain so for one more day. Consequently I have hardly spoken to a soul, except my trainer at the gym for an hour one day and another one tomorrow.

Since my closest local friends are still in quarantine owing to a bone marrow transplant last November, it's basically been me and my cat Lurch from dawn to dusk, and I do mean dawn. (Lurch starts meowing for breakfast before five in the morning.) Sad to say, he isn't much company these days, being 19 and suffering from feline dementia. While I find it unfair that my cat should be so afflicted after having had a mother who suffered from early-onset Alzheimer's, clearly we don't get to choose our troubles.

The truth is, being alone has its benefits. It allows us to focus on the fact that life is ticking by, minute by minute, hour by hour. (See illustration.) When we distract ourselves with meaningless activities, the days  pass quickly in a blur, and suddenly it's tomorrow, or next month, or Christmas! As we who have chosen the loner lifestyle understand, being alone allows us to savor every minute. I hope you are all doing that and not squandering it online, absorbing the crap posted by all the morons out there or trying to decipher what's real and what's AI in the news. 

Until next time, keep the faith -- and do something productive all by yourself. And if you can't think of anything, read "White Noise" by Don DeLillo, one of my all-time favorite novels which puts everything in perspective.

FILM REVIEW: Remarkably Bright Creatures

Tova and her octopus pal Marcellus share a moment.

Except for the stupid title, this film is almost perfect. Starring Sally Field, now almost 80, in what is surely the most exceptional performance of her long career, this sometimes sappy tear-jerker rises above its genre to expose raw truths about what it is to be human. It's also a fantasy about the deep love and communication capable between a human being and an octopus, the eponymous bright creature given the name Marcellus.

Based on a book of the same name, Remarkably Bright Creatures centers on Tova (Sally Field), a widow still grieving the mysterious death of her teenage son 30 years later. Her lonely life as a night-shift cleaning lady in an aquarium is brightened by the sudden appearance of a young drifter (Lewis Pullman) whose truck breaks down in her small seaside village, forcing him to stick around and eventually find work in the same aquarium. Their relationship deepens over time, and eventually blossoms into something touching and unexpected.

Besides the unique story and flawless performances, the underwater photography of stunning sea creatures makes the film special. One word of advice for the faint-hearted: Have tissues handy.

Rawdogging With Harrison Ford

Ford as Indiana Jones in "Raiders"

Recently actor Harrison Ford, who at age 83 has a self-earned net worth of $300 million, appeared on a podcast with younger actors who mocked him for not knowing the meaning of the slang term rawdogging. He jokingly pointed out that he was being made fun of for "being old." 

Ford's Wikipedia entry begins this way: 

"Regarded as a cinematic cultural icon, Ford's accolades include nominations for an Academy Award, A British Academy Film Award, an Emmy Award, five Golden Globe Awards and two Screen Actors Guild Awards. He is the recipient of the AFI Life Achievement Award, the Cecil B. DeMill Award, an Honorary Cesar, an Honors Palme d'Or and a SAG-AFTRA Life Achievement Award."  

But enough about him. I too did not know the meaning of the slang term. I figured it probably didn't mean eating uncooked hot dogs since that would have made the most sense, so I googled it and learned it means either having sex without a condom or doing an activity without any distractions, like flying without headphones or reading a book, just sitting there undistracted for the entire flight. 

Turns out I've been rawdogging -- both definitions -- for my whole life. Who knew I'm so hip?  

Almost Human

People are using AI for so much content these days, it's hard to tell what's real and what's computer-generated. Because of that, writers are deliberately messing up their original content just so readers will know they are not hiring robots, throwing in random slang, jargon and typos. There's even a new startup called Writehuman wherein the company's software "edits AI-generated text to make it sound more human."

Similarly, fake videos and altered photographs pepper the internet. Nothing is real anymore, it seems -- which means it's all sanitized and perfect. For example, I asked ChatGPT to make an image of a vase of flowers in front of an open window with a boat on the water outside. It is shown here below.

Nice. But I forgot to tell it to make it interesting, or stylized, or unique in any way. Now here's one of my own paintings that fits the same description. 

Most interior decorators would choose the AI-generated image. But I like mine better. 

I Didn't Ask, Please Don't Tell

Today I read most of an article online that originally appeared in People magazine about an actress I never heard of who just "came out" as bisexual. She finally "got up the courage" and wanted everyone to know. Now what are we all supposed to do with that information?

Why do we have to know the sexual preferences of movie stars, celebrities, royalty or anyone, in fact, other than someone we are about to have sex with? How does it impact anyone's life but their own?

If I run into you somewhere, please don't tell me who you like to sleep with, unless it's a cat or a dog.

Conspiracy Theories

A few days ago while having coffee with a friend, she mentioned something about "Pizzagate." I wasn't sure I had heard her correctly, so she went on to explain how in 2016, Hillary Clinton was part of a child sex ring based in a pizza restaurant in Washington, DC. She had few facts -- actually none -- correct. 

I rushed to tell her that when I lived in DC, which I did for 30 years, the restaurant in question, Comet Ping Pong Pizza, was a mile from our home and we ate there very often and never saw any funny business. Also, my son's best friend from high school was the manager of the place and he was a nice Jewish boy who would not engage in anything nefarious.

She remained unconvinced, still pretty sure that Hillary and some guy she couldn't name (John Podesta, Hillary's campaign chairman) were knee-deep in child trafficking in the basement of Comet. She then added her belief that it had something to do with "adrenochrome," a chemical which people harvest from the adrenal glands of children and ingest to stay young.

I still consider this woman a friend, mostly because she is decent and kind and, best of all, a Republican, which in my part of Maine is as rare as a four-leaf clover. Also, it's basically impossible to find anyone who doesn't believe in some sort of conspiracy theory. Take me, for example: I still don't believe we ever landed on the Moon. And I'm pretty sure the CIA played a part in JFK's assassination. 

Still, harvesting a chemical compound from children to reverse ageing is a bit much. Then again, Hillary herself was the one who said that when it comes to raising children, "It takes a village." Who knows -- maybe that's what the village was for.