Sleepless in Sarasota

My current week-long Florida vacation would make a good slapstick comedy, at least so far. Or else a Shakespearean tragedy, depending on how much wine I've had to drink.

My husband and I arrived on Thursday afternoon. We hadn't been at our hotel but fifteen or twenty minutes before I got stung by a Man-O-War tentacle from one of the dire, dead creatures that washed up in a bit of sea foam and caressed my bare feet as we walked along the shore. (Interesting fact: They can still sting you several days after their death, and even if it's just part of one.) There were plenty of people out swimming and surfing who were not getting stung, but I, dressed in long jeans with just the barest amount of flesh available, did. Let me tell you, it hurt like all get-out, and for hours and hours, turning my middle toe on one foot and the sole of the other a deep scarlet and ruining my dinner, my sleep and part of breakfast the next day. Then it stopped and I was fine.

"Dried Seaweed and Dead Men-O-War"

For my first day on the beach I swathed myself in sunscreen, SPF 70, just to be sure. And sat under an umbrella except when I went swimming in the pool; there was no way I was going back to that ocean, which was still chock full of the sea pests that sting. I was sure I was safe from sunburn, except as I found out later -- much later -- I had missed a huge swath of my neck and shoulder area, the skin of which became blood-red by nightfall and resulted in a second night of tossing and turning.

Then last night, I all but lost my mind when the left-wing media concocted a complete non-story over the fact that Donald Trump cancelled an appearance in Chicago because of safety concerns. Next thing you know it was blown all out of proportion, mostly by one Mr. Rachel Maddow who surely should have that transgender surgery since she doesn't have a female cell in her body. I can't even call her a bitch, so I guess she's a prick. Anyway, watching all that pompous political punditry full of lies and innuendo right before bed kept me up half the night.

I am hoping to get very drunk at dinner and sleep like a baby tonight. (FYI, we are actually in Deerfield Beach but the title worked so much better with Sarasota.)

Getting Unstuck

It's a big world out there; why stay stuck where you landed by chance?

Born in Brooklyn, I moved to Long Island and then Manhattan, next to Washington, D.C., then California, Maryland, Utah, back to D.C. and now I live in Maine. If I were an ant, that would mean I stayed in the same ant hill all my life. That's just plain dumb. But based on the reactions of several of my friends to my intention to move to Israel next year, I can conclude that the thought of pulling up stakes and moving your tent to new territory is too wild and crazy for most people to consider. On the other hand, some brave souls find the courage to change things up and live several lives during this one we have been given for who knows how long.

There's always travel, which a lot of people enjoy despite all the hassles involved. Sure, you get a taste of another culture, but just a taste and not the whole meal. I want soup to nuts somewhere else before this life ends and I come back as a cat or maybe a centipede, or, worse, Marie Osmond, stuck losing those same fifty pounds over and over again until someone can't stand hearing about it anymore and kills me.

Of course then I'd come back as something else, proving once again that every cloud has a silver lining.

My Last Act

If I were a tree and you sliced me in half and counted my rings you would learn that I am 69 years old. Of course it's much easier -- and far less bloody, since I am actually not a tree -- to go online and learn that information in a heartbeat. To put my age in perspective, Cher, Laura Bush, Sally Field, Candice Bergen, Liza Minelli, Susan Sarandon, Patty Duke, Suzanne Somers, Hayley Mills, Andrea Mitchell, Patti Smith and Lesley Ann Warren are also 69. Goldie Hawn, Diane Keaton and Bette Midler are already 70. Ridiculously, Tina Turner is 76.

I am in reasonable shape, acceptable health, and of incredibly sound mind. That last attribute has contributed most heavily to my decision to move to Israel in my 70th year. From time to time over the coming months I will write about how I am preparing for this life-changing event scheduled for next March, I should live so long. The stodgier among you may wonder, why Israel? In fact, why move at all at this late date?

First of all, I'm a Jew, and proud of it. In fact, I love Jews. They are smart, funny, insightful and warm. It seems like a good time to live surrounded by them instead of by tight-lipped, cold-hearted Mainers who couldn't pick a decent bagel out of a lineup. Couple that with the current state of America's diminishing core values,  aided and abetted by the rise of the media class with its unceasing barrage of insidious, slanted and embarrassing self-aggrandizement rather than honest reportage of things we need to know, and I'm ready to go. And let's face it, getting old in the US is not all that attractive an idea.

All my art is for sale, cheap. I will be posting one painting a day in all future posts, with sizes and prices. Let me know if you want anything. As for today, I present a picture of what 76 years old looks like in the year 2016.

Nude Bathroom Selfie

My nude bathroom selfie.

In my effort to remain above the fray, outside the box, and beyond the pale, I try to steer clear of trending topics that are insanely popular with the public. This explains why my books don't sell, my blog makes no money, and my paintings adorn my own walls. I do not claim to "be the change you want to see in the world," but I can claim to wanting to be a teeny part of it. To that end, I try in earnest to ignore the detritus of our society, but it's hard.

For example, I just now read that the famous-for-nothing celebrity Kim Kardashian has today posted "nude bathroom selfies" online. This news is of course in no way related to my life or in fact anyone's life except maybe Kim's mommy, who surely must weep silently into her pillow every morning when she awakens about how her daughters turned out and that her former husband of fourteen years now has bigger boobs than her.

But back to that selfie: Nude I understand, but bathroom? Is she sitting on the toilet? Soaping in the shower? Or just standing in the middle of the bathroom?  I'll never know since I want to be part of that change I mentioned. Still, one wonders just how low a Kardashian can go.

Caucus Carb-loading

This morning I attended my first political caucus, or any kind of caucus for that matter, and I foolishly ate breakfast beforehand, thinking I'd be starving if the whole thing really did last four hours, which is what we'd heard. So I was surprised when I arrived at the Greeley Middle School where the event was held for our district and found a cornucopia of food.  Being a newbie, I mistakenly wandered into the Yarmouth room even though I live in Freeport, and found a virtual sea of huge boxes of Dunkin' Donuts, more than you'd find in any Dunkin' Donuts shop. There was every variety of donut and many, many boxes of donut holes. People were wolfing them down like they hadn't eaten in weeks. There was also coffee, of course, and bottles of water.  Despite usually frowning on such empty calories I opted for a plain "old-fashioned" (my go-to donut) and coffee, and once again learned that Dunkin' Donuts donuts are not very good and their coffee is worse.

Fortunately, the lady who was running our town's caucus ferried us to her classroom, where there was a considerable spread laid out including bananas, grapes, three kinds of mini-muffins (blueberry, chocolate-chip bran and corn), several varieties of homemade fruit breads, coffee, teas, orange juice and bottled water. I peeked into the Falmouth room later on and saw those same pink and white Dunkin' Donuts boxes, so I'd vote for Freeport in terms of best food choices. We all descended upon these goodies like locusts as the town's business was reported and delegates to the state convention were chosen. The combustion of caffeine and carbohydrates igniting feelings of civic duty, Mitch signed on as a delegate and I agreed to be an Election Day worker come November. (Apparently I will get paid $60 for my services.)

As for the political process, the general mood was nothing like the raucous rodeos we see on TV. People quietly found seats on bleachers inside the school gymnasium, everyone still munching on those damn donuts. (It seemed like wherever you looked, there was a donut hanging out of someone's mouth.) Each of the four remaining Republican presidential candidates had a bridge table stacked with brochures, bumper stickers and signs. Some local politician running for something or other and seeking signatures on a petition had put out a tray of miniature York Peppermint Patties that were going fast. The table for Donald Trump was completely bare, and I learned that all his materials had been grabbed early on. As the guy in charge of the Trump table put it, "it was a feeding frenzy."(He was certainly right about that.)

Eventually, a representative approached the podium and gave a boring rather than impassioned speech on behalf of each candidate. (In all fairness, the speech made by a 23-year-old college senior touting John Kasich came closest to fervor.) Then we all filed into the lunchroom, dropped our ballots into a cardboard box and exited out a back door into the parking lot. All in all I'd say the event offered too many empty calories and not enough red meat.

Nuts in the Oval Office

Obviously ordinary Americans are becoming insane. One way to tell is when you have to repeat something to them over and over (and over) because they didn't hear you the first few times, so distracted were they by all the shiny objects, like those dangling earrings the news ladies wear on TV. (What are those for anyway? Why would someone who is discussing politics or war or the killing of innocents need flashy jewelry?) 

Anyway, that's just one distraction; there are so many more. Constant advertising, booming music, blaring sirens, honking horns, flashing lights, the sound of gunshots, barking dogs and wailing babies form the backdrop of modern life. Naturally a few brain cells are bound to be lost every time you set foot outside your door.

Another sign of rampant insanity among the population is the total lack of interest in the only candidate still running for president who has no baggage, no scandals, in fact no negatives whatsoever, and that is JOHN KASICH, who has apparently been deemed "too boring" and thus receives not one bit of attention from the media, they of the broad shoulders and aforementioned dangling earrings. 

Do we really want a complete nut or a screaming banshee in the White House, or just someone who will keep us safe? After all, that Kim Jong-Un is pretty wild, maybe we should elect him! I bet he'd give Trump and Hillary a run for their money.

Lifesaving To-Do List

try to be loving
avoid news
take deep breaths
drink water
ignore bullshit
let nothing upset me
eat well
stay hungry
don't be mean
play with the cat
send positive vibes
go for a walk
repeat the mantra
forget politics
brush and floss
be here now

What Might Have Been

While the Liar, the Homophobe, the Charlatan and the Snake Oil Salesman continue to fight to the death, good guys Bernie Sanders, John Kasich and Ben Carson will go quietly into the night. It's shocking that these three fine men, each one potentially a wonderful president capable of closing the widening partisan gap destroying our nation, have fallen short of the support required to reach that dubious high office. Instead, an insatiable media hungry for personality and pizzazz continues to inflate the already inflated egos of the remaining crass and cringe-inducing front-runners.

It's a sad truth we see enacted far too often: Nice guys finish last.

John Kasich

Ben Carson

Bernie Sanders

Poor Chris

Despite our best efforts and most careful planning, things fall apart. Life takes the wheel, pushing us into the passenger seat where all we can do is hold on and hope we survive. Just ask Chris Christie. I'm sure this morning he is wondering how he got where he is, or rather where he was last night, standing on a stage behind Donald Trump as he dug a hole for them both to jump into and wait for their caskets to be lowered into the ground.

Despite its obvious entertainment value, I couldn't watch the sorry spectacle for more than a few minutes; it was too painful. But the moment held valuable lessons for us all. Here are just a few:

1. Stick to your core values. For example, if you start out wanting to become the President of the United States, becoming the Vice-President or a cabinet member or maybe just a frequent dinner guest at the White House instead is not worth selling your soul to the Donald, oops, I mean the Devil.

2. Be vigilant. Whether you're trying to lose weight, stop drinking or kick heroin, having "just one" potato chip, Vodka Collins or snort will ultimately bring about the destruction of your goals, making you fatter, drunker or more of a pathetic loser than ever.

3. Consider the source. When the great, unwashed masses embrace someone or something, it can't be good.

4. Do your own thing. Fame is almost always a one-way ticket to humiliation. It's best to stay home, lay low, or at the very least look away when pictures are being taken.

Childhood's End

As a small child, I lived in a bubble. The people I knew were all pretty much sane. My parents had normal people as friends, and then, following their example, I chose normal people to be my friends. By "normal" I mean people who could read and write and speak and understand English, who slept in beds at night and not under a bridge, who showered daily and brushed their teeth, and who respected authority. There were three TV stations and the shows were all very similar and informative and sometimes made me laugh.

Then I got older and took LSD and smoked pot and tried some other things. This was still "normal" behavior, at least for members of my generation. I went to college and Woodstock and met people just like me. I knew there were crazies "out there" but never had to confront their craziness. I fell asleep easily at night. I never watched TV.

Eventually the Internet was created and crazy people started coming right into my house. Now it is commonplace for stupid people, morons even, to be in my face every day. They've taken over all the TV stations and are seeping into politics. People who can't speak plain English -- forget the complicated kind -- or spell the word CAT without help. They rant and rave and rage and complain about everything. They eat bacon-wrapped-double-cheese-stuffed-crust pizzas and drink cherry soda and hang out in shopping malls, sometimes even shooting people there.

My bubble has burst. No wonder I cry for no reason.

The Upside of Trump

If Whoopi and Al were aboard, I'd vote for Trump.

Whoopi Goldberg and Al Sharpton, two celebrities who add nothing of value to our society and yet stick their ugly pusses into everything, have announced that if Donald Trump wins the presidency they will move to Canada. This is really bad news, since Canada is so damn close to America. I would feel better if they were going further, like to Singapore, or perhaps Mars.

Yes, the Trump phenomenon is odd. His incredible popularity has surprised just about everyone, no doubt even him. But you must admit that in a country where someone like Whopper, oops I mean Whoppeee, dammit, I mean Whoopi -- she of the outlandish hair, silly glasses and blobby body covered with baggy clothes snatched from a dumpster -- and Al, who creates racial hatred out of thin air and consistently fans the embers of prejudice into a destructive inferno, can earn tons of money just for breathing, anything is possible.