On the Cutting Edge

My second cataract surgery took place earlier today. It was quite similar to the first, wherein many little people clad in blue pajamas, paper hats, slippers and face masks fussed all around me, slowly injecting various cold liquids into my body that made me think it was all an episode of "Grey's Anatomy." I laughed out loud and jokes were told, some by me I learned later. Now back home, my eye is slammed shut and will remain so for several hours, so I am still one-eyed and have no idea how it will all turn out. I assume my vision will be improved and I will not go blind, which was the reason I opted to go this route.

Normally I avoid surgery unless they say I will die without it. But lately just about everyone I know is being cut open or otherwise under treatment for one debilitating ailment or other. One dear friend had back surgery just yesterday and another is scheduled for the same thing a month from now. Yet a third is in the hospital following her surgery as part of her cancer treatment. Still another of the fallen is my very own husband, who came down with shingles over the weekend, and I don't mean the kind on our roof although that would not surprise me one bit, seeing as how there are ice dams all over it. He is expected to survive, but painfully, and since the outbreak of blisters is on his normally beautiful bald head, he will have to cancel all modeling assignments for the next few weeks.

If we baby boomers persist in getting older and not dying, we'd better come up with some coping strategies for all our upcoming surgeries. I find a combination of meditation and Lorazepam the night before works nicely. And propofol, the drug that killed Michael Jackson (although not so much of it), is absolutely fabulous during. They gave me some today and I found the whole ordeal to be a boatload of fun. I just couldn't understand how all those people got into my bedroom.

The New F-Word

New emoticon for "I feel piggy."

It's only a matter of time. Soon, uttering the word "fat" will be considered more heinous than saying that other F-word, which is already so common it barely registers anymore. The latest controversy involves a Facebook emoticon of a chubby-cheeked happy face meaning "I feel fat." This silly little bit of nonsense has the denizens of social media outraged, calling it "insensitive" and "body shaming." There is even a petition afoot to have the offensive image removed from the site, but Facebook is standing firm.

So now you can't say "I'm feeling fat" after downing three slices of pizza and a large Coke without hurting some fat person's feelings. Not sure whether you can say it if you actually are fat or if there are no fat people within earshot. Too bad nobody has come up with a petition against being fat.

FILM REVIEW: "The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel"

Judi Dench and Bill Nighy on a date in India.

The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is aptly named. You'll wish you were watching the first, but this will do in a pinch. Like the sequel to the best one released in 2012, it's a sometimes happy, sometimes sappy take on getting old without giving up. The plot revolves around the opening of another hotel, since business is booming at the first Marigold. Indian actor Dev Patel is back again as the young hotelier Sonny Kapoor, and he's as ditzy and endearing as ever. He is also getting married, and his wedding plans are woven throughout the other 15 or 20 subplots involving everyone else. Imagine a year of daytime soap opera stories -- think The Old and the Restless -- packed into two hours.

The cast, most of whom were in the first film, is full of frankly old actors (although oddly enough, not one of them wears glasses). Some of them make aging look like fun and others make it seem scary. On the fun side is Evelyn (Judi Dench), who at 79 has started a whole new life in India. She has just landed an exciting job that requires frequent travel around the country, and is involved with Douglas (Bill Nighy) who, besides being sexy, handsome, funny, sensitive and available, has a motorcycle. Beat that for an old lady's fantasy!

Those two are still in the hand-holding stage, but the rest of the gang is horny as hell. (Perhaps it's the hot climate or the spicy food.) One who's not is British transplant Mrs. Donnelly (Maggie Smith), who instead of a love interest has been given all the best lines, which she delivers with a tart tongue and imperious expression. But hers is a sad tale sounding the film's only sour note. (Poor Maggie was chosen to play the one character who really does act her age.)

The best part is the setting: India sparkles, and there is not a beggar to be seen anywhere. Ditto anyone getting diarrhea from the food, which was at least touched on in the first film. In this version, India looks more like Miami Beach, all bright lights and glittering restaurants. Except for the occasional elephant on the street you can hardly tell it's all taking place in one of the worlds poorest nations.

Richard Gere has been added to the cast, but not so's you'd notice.

The Worst Human?

When you hear the term "The Worst Human" several names may come to mind, but really there is only one alive at the moment. This guy is really bad news. Wherever there is a small brush fire, count on him to fan the flames into a huge conflagration. He makes everyone feel worse, even the people he is supposedly trying to help. He screams about atrocities that often do not even exist. Who is he? It's Al! Al Sharpton, you know, that skinny old guy who is black for a living.

Now he's all pissed off because some of "the Republican leadership" did not schlep down to Selma, Alabama to celebrate what happened there 50 years ago. Fifty. Count 'em. We've got ISIS on the loose and Iran threatening to make nukes and all sorts of trouble all over the world, but according to Al, those darned Republicans suck because none of the important ones got down to Selma to speechify last week.

Somebody needs to tell Al that the current President of the United States of America is a black man who was elected and then re-elected, so he should really just ease up about the whole issue. Instead, his one and only goal in life is to make everyone believe that racial bias is just as bad as ever here, if not worse, and it's all thanks to the lousy GOP. How does that help anyone?

Call 1-800-KIL-LFLO

That Flo is out of control. She is now everywhere. Worst of all, she has invaded my only sanctuary from real life, Words With Friends on Facebook. That is a low blow. There is her stupid ugly face, next to the "word of the day." Like I need Flo to tell me what "glee" means. And those horrid TV ads have expanded into mini-dramas, where Flo plays all sorts of other characters dressed in crazy outfits.

Somehow this idiotic spokeswoman is employed to sell car insurance for the Progressive insurance people. Instead it makes me hope the company goes bankrupt and that someone with guts and drive, possibly a newly-impoverished stockholder, takes out a contract on Flo, since I could never personally be involved in anything violent, besides screaming and throwing dishes.

But hear this: If that dumb bitch comes anywhere near me, I will finally get some use out of all those fancy Dresden china Passover dishes -- service for eight -- my parents left to me, one dinner plate, salad plate, dessert plate, soup bowl, tea cup, saucer, soup tureen, gravy bowl, meat serving platter, smaller serving platter and covered vegetable dish at at a time.

Finding Perspective

Today was going to be a banner day for me. I was looking forward to it because finally I will only have to put one drop a day in my recently operated-on eye instead of the three different drops, three times a day I've been using for the last ten days. This lovely state of affairs will be short-lived, as starting on Sunday I will begin putting five drops a day in my soon-to-be-operated-on other eye, plus continuing the one in the first eye. (Boo-hoo, my life is horrible.)

Then last night I learned that an old friend of mine, recently diagnosed with breast cancer, is having a double mastectomy today. This loveliest of all women has already been through Hell: Shortly after losing her loving husband to cancer early in their marriage, and while caring for their two young children, her own health became an issue and necessitated a liver transplant. Since then she has endured illness heaped upon illness, surviving with grace and a smile and maintaining her career along the way. The two boys grew into wonderful young men. She was through the rapids and into still water at last. And now this.

What a jerk I am for complaining about cataracts. Maybe things in your life aren't really so bad either.

Who's Afraid of Hillary Clinton?

Reese Witherspoon, scary in "Election"

Not long ago, a raging snowstorm rattling the windows and my husband out of town again, two common situations around here, I watched the old movie "Election" to keep my mind off the possibility of the roof flying off or the power going out. I remembered it as being a comedy and thought it was just what I needed to deflect my anxiety. Well, too bad for me, I remembered wrong.

Released in 1999 and starring Reese Witherspoon and Matthew Broderick, the film is concerned with a small town high-school teacher's growing involvement with the election of the senior class president. Like in all elections there are dirty doings afoot, and Ms. Witherspoon as the leading candidate reminded me of nobody more than Hillary Clinton. A cute little blond with a ready smile and a heart of steel who is not above buying votes by any means possible, she scares the daylights out of everyone in her path and inspires hatred in more than a few poor souls caught up in her whirlwind. Ultimately she is victorious, and despite ruining several lives to achieve her goal she comes  out smelling like a rose. In the end she goes to Washington, D.C. to pursue a career in politics.

Hillary Clinton, scarier in real life.

This seems to be the real-life trajectory of Hillary as well. Despite all her dastardly doings, and there have been many, a huge faction of the American public seems not to care that she has lied her way to the top. Her latest fumble, just uncovered, regarding her using a personal email account for government business during her tenure as Secretary of State -- which besides being sneaky is flat-out against the law -- is further proof that she makes her own rules. (How very Clinton of her.) God help us all if she is our next president.

Effed-Up Modern Life

Every day at roughly the same time I receive a phone call from a robot. According to caller ID, the call originates in Buffalo. Every day I answer the phone and there is nobody there, just dead silence followed by a dial tone. Today I took the bull by the horns and called back, planning to unleash some nasty invectives if you must know. I learned the robot is employed by COMCAST, the company that provides our TV and Internet service.

A recording states that if I want to be put on their "Do Not Call" list I should enter my 10-digit phone number, starting with the Area Code. You'd think they'd know it by now, but anyway, I did. A new robot then informed me that the "do not call" service would only apply to one of their services, something called Contact America. I don't know what that is. I couldn't ask since it was a robot on the other end.

If you have nothing to do and want to be annoying to a robot, call COMCAST at (716)796-6406. I suggest repeated callings, like every day for two or three months or so. Tell them Andrea sent you.

People of the Lie

Over the past few weeks, every single time I mentioned my impending cataract surgery the response was the same: "Oh, my sister (best friend, mother, grandmother, husband) just had it and it was nothing! It doesn't hurt at all. It's no big deal." All I have to say about that is "Hah!"

Here are the facts: Yes, the actual surgery, which takes about 15 minutes, is no big deal because you are knocked out during it. It's when you wake up that the actual deal starts, and let me tell you, it is not only big, it is giant, especially (and perhaps only) if you have a vision problem in addition to the cataracts. In my case I have always been very nearsighted, and so now the one eye that was "fixed" can see perfectly while the other "old eye" is still myopic. There is a mandatory waiting period of two or three weeks between surgeries, during which you can not see much of anything. There are no glasses that work. You just wait.

And while you wait you can't really read or watch TV, unless you cover one eye or close it since a patch is forbidden on the eye that had surgery. During this hazy, crazy, blurry period you must also apply medicinal drops to your eye: three different kinds, three times a day, for five weeks. Some of them sting. All of them are annoying. Sometimes your eye itches, but whatever you do, DON'T RUB IT!!!!!!

The whole lousy, stinking ball of wax results in headaches, confusion and general crankiness. It also causes a decreased appetite, so count on losing five pounds or more during the process, the only silver lining in this very cloudy experience. That and not going blind someday.

Just wanted you to know: cataract surgery is not nothing. It is something. Be ready.

Film Review: STILL ALICE

Julianne Moore earning her Oscar.

If you are brave enough to face a possibly bleak future, you might be able to sit through Still Alice without becoming deeply disturbed or downright depressed. Concerned with the ravages of Alzheimer's, in this case the early-onset variety, it offers little else besides watching actress Julianne Moore win her well-deserved Oscar for this year's Best Actress.

A sappy musical soundtrack and intermittent flashes of gauzy old home movies accompany Julianne's seemingly quick slide from a beautiful, articulate and brilliant Columbia University professor into a non-functioning, pants-wetting amoeba who can barely form words. Her husband, played by Alec Baldwin in a virtually non-speaking role, is around, but just barely. He seems quite unconcerned with her illness and is instead focused on his own career, spending most of his time answering e-mails on his computer. Young actress Kristen Stewart of vampire fame plays one of their three children and turns in the film's only other worthy performance.

Unless you are Julianne's mommy, or maybe Kristen's, there is little to recommend this movie other than personal reasons. I chose to see it because my own mother had this very disease and died at age 62. According to the film, there is a 50% chance of it being passed on to the children of those who have it. Thankfully I am already way too old to have early-onset anything.

I Hope I'm Not Beheaded

The continuing rise of ISIS has me worried, possibly even more than President Obama who seems only nonplussed. I guess that's because he knows something I don't, being an insider. Anyway, I am concerned that someday I might be in a shopping mall, which I am only rarely but in fact was just yesterday afternoon, and a religious zealot brandishing a scythe will come running by and chop off my head. While this fear does not yet limit my activities, I'm guessing that if the random deaths and atrocities at the hands of these folks continues, it will rise.

If only I had faith that our government will protect us instead of doing what it does really well which is piss us off by squandering our tax money. Forget all the new roads and free health care for illegal immigrants and fancy champagne glasses for state dinners at the White House -- just provide every citizen with a protective neck scarf. These might be made of some sort of metal-infused material. Someone should get on this right away: hopefully Jeb is already working on it.