Please, Make it Stop

If you just landed here from Mars, woke up from a coma or simply started paying attention, hold onto your hats, because following is a no-holds-barred explanation of how our political system works here in these severely un-united states of America:

The #1 Republican candidate (Donald Trump) is a childish narcissist that most people despise, except for his cracked-in-the-head supporters who love him to death. In fact, the leaders of his own political party are conspiring how to kick him out of first place instead of embracing him and helping him win the coveted prize, which is at the very least counter-productive.

The #2 guy (Ted Cruz) is a despicable sleazeball said to be "the most hated man in Washington," yet compared to the front-runner he is suddenly akin to "The Flying Nun." The party leaders want him to be the front-runner, and so to that end they are hoping the #3 guy (John Kasich), who is all sweetness and light and the closest to actually being "The Flying Nun," will drop out of the race entirely so Sleazeball can get his votes.

Here's the rub: In national poll after national poll, both the Narcissist and the Sleazeball lose miserably in a match-up with the Democratic front-runner (Shrillary Clinton), while the Flying Nun totally knocks her out of the ring, soaring straight into the Oval Office.

Just think: it's March. Only eight more months to go.....

Things I Can't Say

A face only a mother could love.

"Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?"

If I commit myself to the preceding litmus test for discourse as decreed by my guru, Eknath Easwaran, I may not be able to write this blog anymore, or at least it won't be very funny or compelling. For example, I wanted to say that, after seeing him on TV just now, I must conclude that Ted Cruz is simply too damn ugly to become president. I mean really, do we want to look at that mug constantly for the next four years? But saying that is not at all kind, so I won't say it.

That's our girl....

As for Hillary, let's face it she is a lesbian. And while there's certainly nothing wrong with that, out of all of the women in the United States who could be our first female president, does it have to be one of those? I mean, she exhibits no female qualities, what with the screaming and the pointing and the pantsuits. But then, that's not really true, it's just what I happen to think, so I won't say that either, since I'm kind of hoping for a decent afterlife.

"Oy, give me a minute...."

And Bernie Sanders, who I love and sent money to for his campaign, might just be a tad too old to do a great job. I mean, he's five years older than I and in the morning it takes me a good while to get going. I need my fish oil and some warm lemon juice and of course a couple of cups of coffee before I can really think straight, so what about him? What if there's a crisis first thing in the morning? Would Bernie be able to jump out of bed and act, or even just jump out of bed? But saying that isn't necessary, so forget you saw this.

Words to Live By

My current guru is an Indian scholar named Eknath Easwaran (1910-1990). Even though he has been dead for 26 years, he is now my closest friend and strongest ally. I turn to him in dark moments and always find solace in his wisdom. Most recently I read his prescription for interpersonal communication and realized that almost no conversation occurring among the blabbering politicians vying for the Oval Office passes his test of worthy discourse. Put another way, Eknath would surely say that all of the candidates are pretty much full of shit. Sadly, the same might be said of much of the clucking that goes on all day and night between everyone on the planet.

To avoid meaningless chatter, Easwaran suggests that we ask these three questions about the words we are about to speak to another:
1. Are they true?
2. Are they kind?
3. Are they necessary?

By that measure, it's obvious that talking is way overdone in our culture. From now on I shall rely on grunting and nodding whenever possible.

A Trump Alternative!

The Republicans are desperately seeking a candidate to replace Donald Trump as the likely nominee at their upcoming convention. For some reason they have not noticed that Governor of Ohio John Kasich, a seasoned politician with a fabulous record of accomplishment is right under their noses, so they are casting about wildly, picking through past losers like Rick Perry and former senators with cancer like Tom Coburn.  They need a fresh face, but whose?

Despite my reticence, my desire for seclusion, my occasional marijuana use and my dislike of politics, I have decided to offer myself as that candidate, seeing as how I have the perfect plan to save our country. My slogan will be "Make America Greater Than Ever Before," which I will have printed on baseball caps and dropped from blimps fling above all the major US cities. Following are the key pieces of my platform:

1. My running mate will be that black guy in the Liberty Mutual car insurance commercial, the one with the perfect driving record until he "clipped a food truck and ruined his perfect record." I love that guy.

The new VP, and she could be something too.

2. There will be jobs for everyone at the minimum wage of $20.00 an hour, not including freelance writers who will still earn between $.04 and $.07 cents per word.

3. Everyone who wants it will have as much health care as they can stand, at no charge.

4. College will be free for everyone. All students will have to pay for their own beer unless it causes undue hardship, then they can apply for Alcohol Assistance during finals week.

5. All teachers, including the incompetent, will have their jobs for life.

6. I will appoint Oprah Winfrey as the next Supreme Court justice, making history as she will be the first one to also act as spokesperson for a popular weight-loss program.

7. The evil banks on Wall Street and all the rich people who live in Palm Beach and New York City will pay for a giant wall surrounding the entire nation. (After all, you can't be too careful.) The wall will be built by the artist Christo, made out of whatever materials he deems appropriate.

8. I will finally bring peace to the the Middle East with a bold move. Arabs and Israelis alike will be invited to a State Dinner every Friday night. The menu will alternate: one week brisket, challah, roast potatoes and chocolate babka, the next lamb curry, naan, rice and baklava, and so on. Entertainment will be provided by Bernie Sanders doing stand-up.

9. In an end to blatant racism, during my administration the mansion at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue will be re-painted and called the Black House.

The Black House will show less dirt, that's for sure.

10. On my first day in office I promise to make all abortions free, as well as all transgender surgeries, plastic surgeries and teeth whitening.

11. Donald Trump and his family, the Clintons including Chelsea, the entire FOX News team and everyone employed by CNN and MSNBC will be forever exiled to the Hamptons where they will be free to hob-nob to their heart's content and interview each other. Who knows, maybe someone can find out what happened to reporter John King's arm.

12. The war on drugs will end after all addicts are forced to watch non-stop re-runs of Gilligan's Island, Mr. Ed, The Beverly Hillbillies and The Andy Griffith Show until they quit.

13. Nobody will pay any taxes except rich people. (They know who they are.)

Silly String doesn't kill, although it will embarrass.

 14. No guns allowed anywhere. The police will be armed with cans of Silly String and learn how to use it to stop criminals in their tracks.

A Medical Emergency

Recently I received two marketing calls from vendors seeking my business. While certainly annoying this is nothing extraordinary, except for the fact that both calls came from the offices of medical doctors.

The first was from a woman representing our family physician, wondering why my adult son had not yet made an appointment since signing on with the practice over a year ago, shortly after he moved to Maine. She pointed out that "Now would be a great time for him to come in for a thorough checkup, as the doctor has a lot of flexibility in his schedule." I said that knowing Zack as well as I do I'm pretty sure he would not see a doctor unless he was sick, and even then he'd have to be really sick. She began a prepared spiel stressing the importance of regular checkups but I stopped her and said my son has his own home and phone number and maybe she should call him.

The next call came from my dermatologist's office. I had cancelled a follow-up appointment after a minor procedure  several months ago because I went to Florida, and never rescheduled. "The doctor really wants to see you," she intoned, sounding quite stern. Thinking it's supposed to be the other way around, I assured her that I'm fine and have no problems whatsoever, at least none requiring a dermatologist. She countered by saying the doctor was now booking out "as far as September," and so if I anticipated having any problems by then I should schedule an appointment now. "You never know when something will pop up," she added helpfully. I told her I would be happy to just be alive by September, and completely agreed that "you never know." She said that was all the more reason to make an appointment now. I promised to call back soon.

Either fewer people are getting sick these days or they're finding other ways to fix themselves when they do. I'd say this is a good trend, except for all the poor doctors struggling to pay their malpractice insurance. Thank goodness for new illnesses like the Zika virus or all those doctors would face financial ruin.

Film Review: 10 CLOVERFIELD LANE

The leading lady looking scared.

If we were friends I'd just tell you what happens in 10 Cloverfield Lane and say don't bother, it's dumb. But since many of my readers are strangers to me, I feel a responsibility to do more. So I'll say, okay, see it if you enjoy jumping out of your skin or at least thinking you might any minute, or if you like movies about psychopaths. In the interest of giving nothing away, since this is one of those movies where all the separate, silly parts coalesce in the last fifteen minutes into a gigantic, stupid and disappointing ending, I'll just list the good things about it, which will be a lot quicker than listing the bad things:

1. It stars John Goodman, who is convincingly scary, creepy and not even a teeny bit likable, which is sad if you have liked him up until now. (This is both a good and bad thing.)

2. The music is a fun mix of high-pitched instrumentals (common to Alfred Hitchcock movies) alerting you to be terrified, and popular oldies.

3. If you're into the acting, the performance to watch comes from a young actor named John Gallagher, Jr. Since there are just three people in the film you will spot him immediately for being not John Goodman and not the girl (Mary Elizabeth Winstead).

4. Scenes were openly plagiarized from TV's Lost, the first Jurassic Park, Independence Day and Mel Gibson's Signs, with a dash of Silence of the Lambs, so obviously this is no comedy.

5. The very best scene in the movie -- and it's a doozy -- will convince you to never even glance at your phone while driving, thus potentially saving a life and making it a good PSA.

6. The credits at the end were really great typographically, so if you are a graphic designer and are tempted to walk out halfway, hang in there.

Washington's Coming Attractions

Imagine a Trump presidency: The lies. The yelling, the mocking, the protests, the endless bloviating. A do-nothing Congress intent on blocking his every move. His detractors angry and hostile towards his fervent followers. Families ripped asunder. His hair getting weirder and weirder. His vacations with the rich and famous at Mar-a-Lago and Seven Springs. The fawning photo spreads in Vogue showing the many moods of the beautiful First Lady.

Now imagine a Clinton presidency: The lies. The yelling, the mocking, the protests, the endless bloviating. A do-nothing Congress intent on blocking her every move. Her dectractors angry and hostile towards her fervent followers. Her pantsuits getting wider and wider. Her vacations with the rich and famous in Hollywood and the Hamptons. The withering presence and steady decline of the formerly fabulous and galvanizing First Husband.

Who benefits in either case? The frenzied media, the late-night comics, and the writers at Saturday Night Live.

Next, imagine a Kasich presidency: Reason and sound judgment become the rule of the day. America's tarnished image begins to regain its former shine. People of all parties revere our leader and enjoy his homespun homilies. His lovely wife and attractive teen-age daughters become role models for women everywhere. There is little political fighting in Washington as both sides work together for the good of the nation. Old friends and families reunite.

Blitzer: Now what?

Finally, imagine poor Wolf Blitzer, Megyn Kelly, Rachel Maddow, Chris Matthews, Sean Hannity, Anderson Cooper, Bill O'Reilly, Jimmy Fallon and the rest of the media vultures, groping around for their next big story. Whatever will they talk about?

Stuck With a Problem

Someone should tell this guy how his hat works.

It's almost impossible to get through an entire day without noticing something really stupid. I am hoping for an intellectual revolution, forget about the Mexicans and the border and the Muslims and all the rest. When will the few remaining smart people rise up and demand less stupidity?

There is a new prescription drug being advertised quite vigorously that is expressly for people who suffer from constipation that is caused by taking prescription drugs. Apparently this is a different kind of constipation; one wonders just how it differs. I mean really, if you can't go, how different can it be? And who cares what caused it? Anyway, the normal kind of constipation already has remedies available, but for some reason they won't work for the new kind of constipation.

So I'm wondering: are they kidding? Just what drugs are those pill-makers taking anyway? How dumb are humans going to get, and will there be a pill for that? Or at the very least, a baseball cap?

Korean Meanies

"How can people be so heartless
How can people be so cruel
Easy to be hard
Easy to be cold"

Those lyrics (from the song Easy to Be Hard) have stuck in my head ever since I first saw "Hair" on Broadway in 1968. That's a long time ago, and sadly, people haven't changed a whit since then. In fact, they've gotten harder.
Whether it's ranting about Trump and his stupid supporters or making fun of some dorky kid in junior high with thick glasses and acne, young and old people alike are often just plain mean.

But they're even meaner in North Korea, where a 21-year-old American undergraduate at the University of Virginia has just been sentenced to fifteen years of hard labor for attempting to steal a propaganda banner "as a trophy for an acquaintance who wanted to hang it in her church." In North Korea, the prank is considered grounds for a subversion charge. Videos of the young man tearfully pleading for his freedom are all over the Internet.

My heart goes out to his parents, who must also be suffering terribly. But hey, who goes to North Korea on Spring Break? Hasn't the kid ever heard of Ft. Lauderdale?

Florida is Not for Sissies

If you want to avoid thinking about Death, the inevitable end of this circus called Life, Florida is perhaps not the best place to visit.

Out for my daily morning walk back home in Maine I might see a handful of people. But here in Florida I see dozens, if not hundreds, of like-minded people who are out fighting the good fight, getting their hearts pumping and blood flowing, hoping to extend their good health. Most of them are senior citizens. And despite their valiant efforts, colorful spandex tights and day-glo running shoes, the lion's share of them seem to be losing the battle.

Since all of the aging walkers are my peers, I notice I feel older here. Out on the beach or around the hotel pool, the sagging skin and assertive paunches are much more visible in skimpy bathing suits than the more forgiving L.L. Bean attire I'm used to. Meanwhile, all the young people playing volleyball on the beach in skimpy bikinis look even younger here than they do in Maine.

To be honest, a Florida vacation is not for sissies.

Kodachrome

Photo by Heidi Ayala

For the first time in many years I am on a vacation and have little desire to take pictures. After four days, my brand new Nikon remains packed in my suitcase, right next to my blood pressure monitor; so far I haven't needed either one. Okay, so I've snapped some shots of the ocean outside my hotel room window with my iPhone, who wouldn't? Beyond that, taking pictures seems like an intrusion on my limited time in a new environment and a stunning conceit to think people even give a damn.

I've come up with three reasons for this. First is my desire to actually be in the moment where I am right now and not miss it while I'm busy miniaturizing my surroundings inside a camera frame. Second is that whole posting-photos-on-Facebook thing, wherein people put up countless uninspired and uninspiring pictures of themselves and/or places they've been or are right now, to what end I am not sure. (Are we supposed to feel jealous? 'Cause I don't.) So spare us those drab snapshots of backyard barbecues or adorable (to you) grandchildren making cupcakes or your precious kitties (I am so guilty of that one!) or doggies or your kid's graduation -- Mom, Dad and offspring in cap and awkwardly grinning into the camera -- or even you zip-lining across a blurry gorge in fabulous Costa Rica. Believe me, plenty of travel websites do it better.

Which brings me to my third reason for ignoring my Nikon this trip: Photos as fine art are another thing altogether, and lots of people do it way better than I can. To see some spectacular images by an unknown artist who deserves wide recognition, bypass the mundane and visit Instagram.com/sunlit_whispers, where Floridian Heidi Ayala sees the world in a truly unique way.