You Can't Make This Stuff Up

I've been feeling sad these past few weeks, my cells apparently infused with the rampant hatred permeating the highways and byways, the airwaves and cyberwaves, and almost the very air we all breathe since November's election of Not Hillary.

My husband said I should lighten up, not let it get to me, and instead find my "inner laughter." So I started looking for it, and today I struck pay dirt. In the midst of all the misinformation being thrown around online I stumbled across one woman, a friend of a friend, who, after marching around with a sign all day yesterday to clarify just how much she hates Donald Trump and that he is not her president and never will be, avowed her undying allegiance to women's rights, adding, "Besides, everyone knows that Planned Parenthood DOES NOT perform abortions."

All I can say is, "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" (Thanks lady, that felt good.)

Check Your Trump Status

Seeking to understand the intense level of hatred so many Americans feel for Donald Trump, a man they have never met in person and never will, and about whom they know nothing for sure and instead believe whatever trash they read in the slanted press, my morning perusal of Facebook finally opened my eyes, leading me to say, "I get it!" And here it is: The worse your own life is going, the more you hate Trump. And the better your life is going, the more you hate Trump. It's that simple. Two distinct things led to this "Eureka!" moment.

The first was the action of a physically sick and increasingly bitter man I know who posted the entire, sexually-debasing screed about women that Donald Trump recorded in an interview on shock-jock Howard Stern's radio show more than a decade ago as his own status on Facebook! No matter that Trump, older and wiser, was sworn in as POTUS yesterday; this guy is stuck in the past, probably back when he was healthy and more optimistic about life.

The second was the action of one of my dearest friends who is happy almost all the time, has a contagiously cheerful outlook on life, has been in a solid relationship for over a decade and loves his job. He probably wants things to stay just as they are, and I can't blame him. He has been devoted to our outgoing president for the last eight years and yesterday replaced his own Facebook profile photo with one of Barack Obama.

So I guess I'm somewhere in the middle, since I couldn't care less about the whole damn thing. Whatever happens happens. Trump is my president now, and yours, like it or not. More importantly, for the third morning in a row my left hand hurts like hell when I wake up. This lasts for a couple of hours, and it's got me worried. My husband thinks I must have pulled a muscle at the gym in the last week and I think he's right. I'm alternating ice and heat to calm it down.

That's my status. What's yours?

Passing the Baton

Today, January 20, 2017, at exactly twelve noon, I will start my one-hour workout with my personal trainer, as I have done three times each week for many months now. I will do the same things I always do, except maybe he will add something to the mix to make me work harder. It will make absolutely no difference in my workout who is the president of the United States, or who is being sworn in as the new one, or who sings at the Inauguration or what the wives are wearing or how sad Hillary Clinton looks. I don't need to see any of that, I need to do more lunges and squats and work on strengthening my core so I don't fall apart. What goes on at noon in another city will make little difference in anyone's lives except of course those of the actual incoming and outgoing Presidents of the United States, their family members and all those people who work for our government.

I really miss Michael!

Thus, I am totally, utterly and sincerely confused as to why people are crying over the passing of the baton, saying they will "miss" the Obamas. Have they ever met any of them? Did even one member of the Obama family ever call them at home, or have them over for dinner, or pick them up at the airport or make them tea when they were sick or visit them after surgery or help jump-start their car or drive them to the ER or bake them a birthday cake or do even the slightest thing for them, ever?

So what's up with the whole "missing" thing? That's like saying you "miss" Elvis Presley or Frank Sinatra or Freddie Mercury or John Lennon or Michael Jackson (moonwalking!) or Paul Newman or Phillip Seymour Hoffman or JFK or Princess Diana or James Gandolfini or Robin Williams or Andy Warhol or George Harrison or the entire cast of Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm and Frasier and Will & Grace, although I hear they are coming back for ten new episodes. That should be fun no matter who lives in the White House.

The End of Funny

One of my dearest friends gives me almost daily feedback on this blog. I value her opinion enormously. She said she found yesterday's post "very distressing." Not just distressing, but very distressing. I found that very alarming. (Not just alarming.) And not simply because I had written something that upset her, which I was sad to learn, but because she was right.

A long time ago I wrote a weekly humor column for a newspaper in Salt Lake City. I had to come up with funny stuff every week, and I always did. My goal was at least one laugh-out-loud line. When I started this blog ten years ago I had the same goal. But those days are gone; now I can barely come up with a wry grin. And it's not because I'm not funny anymore: I still crack myself up all the time. (Besides my son I'm the funniest person I know personally.) It's just that the world is no longer funny, which explains how someone like that piggish Amy Schumer, whose comedy consists of describing sex acts and spewing dirty words about genitalia, has become such a huge star. That's funny?

Also not funny anymore, and this is truly a great loss, is Saturday Night Live. It's over for them. Like Ringling's circus elephants, the show should just retire and go to Florida. Seeing Alec Baldwin in a blond wig, waving his hands and pursing his lips a la Donald Trump has already gotten stale, and Trump isn't even in office yet! Just imagine the boredom to come if either of them lasts four more years.

See, this post wasn't funny at all. Global chaos does that to a genre. In fact, even one of the funniest jokes I've heard is no longer funny:  *A black man walks into a bar. The bartender sees him and yells, "Get out!" 

*(No, you are not a racist if you laughed. It's the shock value.)

Death By Blabbing

If you want clarity on what is going on these days here in the United States, read Shirley Jackson's short story, "The Lottery." It sounds like science fiction but it's actually a realistic depiction of how our society works: Once a year an ordinary citizen is randomly chosen for slaughter. In Jackson's haunting story, the victim is stoned to death by a crowd of perfectly normal people who are just following orders. Each one in turn picks up a rock and throws it onto the growing pile, feeling nothing less than patriotic.

But that's so barbaric; we are, after all, a civilized people! We would never do such a thing! So instead, we do it with words. This year's loser is Donald Trump, and the ceaseless piling on by almost everyone is simply appalling to witness. It matters not what the man says; he got the losing ticket -- ironically, by winning -- and that's that.

Just following orders, thousands of average, know-nothing townsmen and women are jumping on the anti-Trump bandwagon, repeating and even manufacturing wrong information simply to be on the "right side." Daily, the rocks pile higher and higher.

What's In a Name?

Funny, isn't it, about Donald Trump.  I mean Donald Trump. He trumped everyone, all those other Republicans who started out running and those three Democrats too, and for no damn good reason apparently, at least based on what's gone on since he won. So I looked up the word "trump."  It means "To have superior power over. To surpass or outdo." Obviously names have inherent power. And don't get me started on Anthony Weiner...

I'm on this subject because my son has been toying with changing his last name, believing it to be a handicap: "Rouda makes me sound rude," he lamented. And maybe it sets up that expectation, poisoning the well, so to speak. My husband, born with the name, says that back in high school many of his teachers chided him with, "How do you spell your name: R-U-D-E?" (I'm guessing he was pretty rude back then.)

So then I started thinking, what with Trump trumping everyone, what if people are finding me rude just because of my name? Is that why they didn't hire me to sell duck boots to tourists at L. L. Bean? Because they worried I would be rude to the customers? So if my name were Andrea Kneiss, would I have gotten the job? Or perhaps Andrea Sweet? Heck, why beat around the bush, how about Andrea Goode? Who knows, maybe that one would help me sell paintings. 

So now I'm thinking of changing my name. It seems silly since I've had this one for 30 years, but hey, better late than never. And the best part is I can still be rude whenever I want, but it will come as a real surprise. (That could be fun to watch.)

Boo Hoo Democrats

That senator or congressman or representative or whatever he is, John Lewis, the one who looks exactly like a bulldog, is all over the place these days saying that Trump is not "legitimate" because the Russians did something or other and so he is not going to attend the Inauguration. Oh well, that will really put a damper on the proceedings, which I heard will cost upwards of 200 million bucks, some of which comes straight from MY TAXES!!!! (And yours, of course.) Now that's just plain silly, if you ask me. Why not just have the new president swear on a bible in some office inside the Capitol and then everyone go have lunch someplace nice?

Anyway, when I voted last November here in Freeport there was not a Russian in sight. In fact I worked at my local polling station for seven or eight hours and I never saw anybody who could even be mistaken for a Russian by someone with bad eyesight. I cast my vote and nobody stopped me or made any suggestions I do anything, so who knows what that's all about. And let's face it: people have hated Hillary Clinton for years, at least eight which is why she did not get the nomination last time.

It's so annoying. Come on Dems, man up. Trump won, Hillary lost. It may suck or it may not suck, but it's a done deal. Staying away from the Inauguration won't change a thing.

Truly Childhood's End

Face it: Life is hard. And these days that's true even for the kids, who grow up much faster than they did back in my youth. (I can still hear Lynn Rosenblatt asking in 8th grade Health class if it were true that you got pregnant when a boy and a girl both took a bite from the opposite ends of the same banana at the same time.) So it seems to me that every bit of respite from the anxieties of modern life is to be treasured, making the announcement by Ringling Bros. to shut down their circus in May, after 146 years of delighting families, a total and complete bummer.

Even though I haven't attended the circus in years, during my childhood it was a much-anticipated  annual event not to be missed. I have so many circus memories from so many years, starting at about age four. One special memory was my very first fainting experience, which happened inside the side show (a.k.a. "freak show") full of oddities where patrons wandered before entering the Big Top for the "Greatest Show on Earth." I passed out right in front of the Elephant Lady, finding the grey, wrinkled skin on her enormous body a tad too freaky, and hoping I hadn't hurt her feelings on my way down.

And speaking of elephants, they pretty much brought about the demise of the circus after animal rights activists sued over alleged mistreatment by their handlers. Hey, I am a huge proponent of not hurting or abusing or exploiting animals, but still, was it really so terrible to have them walk in a parade with pretty girls sitting on top of them, wearing fancy hats (the girls and the elephants), or balance themselves on those little striped stands and twirl around gracefully, or maybe link trunks in a line  Rockette-style and curtsy towards their adoring fans? It's not like they were getting whipped or beaten or starved, unless of course that's what they did to make them do all those things....

Anyway, all the elephants left in May of last year and retired to Florida. (No kidding.) Kenneth Feld, the owner of Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, explained in a recent interview that their longest act is currently twelve minutes, and you can't get kids to sit through a 12-minute act, even if it is performing tigers. Funny, isn't it, how they can sit for hours watching virtual creatures on those dumb video games.

So now the real circus is gone, and the only one left is in Washington, D.C., and that's no fun at all. God help the children.

Sick of Winter

The definition of unconsciousness is "processes in the mind which occur automatically and are not available to introspection, and include thought processes, memories, interests, and motivations." So  shouldn't it be called "stream of unconsciousness?"

Anyway, yesterday's post got tons of clicks, probably because it had the word racism in the title. Racism is very big these days. If you want to really cut someone down, you call them a racist. Or a hater, same thing. Like hating is so bad? Personally, I hate a lot of things, including but not limited to spiders, rare diseases, cancer in children (not that I love it in adults but in kids it is especially heinous), calamari, jellyfish, getting stung by jellyfish, sunburn, being constipated, scotch, bourbon, in fact all whiskey of any sort, men in Speedos, fat women in bikinis, thin towels, rubber flip-flops like they sell at Target, and Target.

I guess people were hoping they would find some really juicy stuff they could get worked up about, like I hate blacks or all Jews are pushy or I voted for Trump and I think the wall is a great idea. But none of those things are true and if they were I would surely not admit to them. That's what's so great about lying, you can just say anything you want! I read somewhere last week that the average adult lies about twenty times a day or more, who knows, I might be lying about that.

This morning when I woke up there were just seven degrees here in Freeport. I imagine them floating around the town, darting here and there, hovering above people's houses for just a second before moving on, trying to be fair and heat everyone up. No wonder it's so cold. It's a little better now, there are fourteen of them.

Call Me Racist

Right now, here in Maine, a mini-controversy is brewing over the name of a major boulevard leading into the city of Portland's downtown area, the part where all the tourists go. It is being suggested that the current Franklin Street be changed to Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, just like all those other Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevards in all those other cities that did it. Today, despite the more than 900 streets in America named after Dr. King, blacks still get pulled over for little provocation by police officers and are incarcerated more often than white law-breakers, so perhaps that whole street-naming thing might be falling short of the mark.

Oy, there's even one in Jerusalem!

I guess I could be called "a racist." I know these days we are all supposed to be "color blind," but I am not -- I actually see the color of people's skin. I try hard not to, but it keeps happening.  Further proof that I am a racist is that I don't automatically drop to the ground and kiss the feet of every person of color for no reason beyond skin tone. I actually wait to see if they are kind, or smart or have good qualities of any sort before I draw any conclusions about their character. This is apparently wrong behavior.

True, Maine has an inferiority complex about this whole subject since African-Americans make up about 0.7% of its population, making it our country's "whitest state." But does anyone (besides those die-hard, non-thinking, knee-jerking liberals) really believe that naming a big street after a dead black leader will fix anything?

Doctors Say the Darndest Things

I think we can all agree that fainting in public, which I happened to do last week, is not to be taken lightly. (Heck, fainting in private isn't all that great either.) So being proactive, which is very in these days, I decided to seek the cause. The day after it happened I went to see my regular doctor, the one with all the diplomas on the wall and the stethoscope around his neck and the huge malpractice insurance policy. After careful consideration and an EKG he said, "People faint all the time, it's nothing to worry about." I left feeling about 1% better.

Upon further reflection once I got home and poured myself a stiff drink (not really but it seemed to fit nicely right there), I realized that his statement rivaled my orthopedic surgeon's declaration last June: Closely examining the X-ray of my deteriorating hip, he turned to me and said, "Someone would have to be retarded not to get this fixed." Not being retarded, at least at the time, I opted to fix it, simultaneously forgiving the surgeon for his political incorrectness, and all is well. But still, since you rarely see people dropping like flies in the streets, I decided to look elsewhere for an explanation of my recent fainting spell and made an appointment with my acupuncturist.

I hadn't seen him in months, what with being so busy getting a new hip, and in all that time a lot could happen."Maybe my Qi is clogged," I suggested to my husband. His thoughtful reply, "You never know, could be," sealed the deal, and so I went in earlier today to get needles stuck all over my body in hopes of releasing the stalled "energy flow" and "life force" that might be gumming up the works. It's too early to tell if it worked, but at least the guy didn't say anything stupid.