Sometimes It's All About Me

If I may take just a moment of your time here to clarify something: This is my blog and it is all about me. In case you wondered, or thought maybe it was all about you, or politics or Donald Trump or Mahatma Gandhi. Nope, it's all about me. In fact, right here is the only place in the entire world where it's actually "all about me." I have no client to please, and reading this is optional so there's no audience to please; if someone reads it that's great, and if nobody reads it that's fine too. I read it, and I write it, and I like it, which is good enough for me, especially since it's free.

Illustration by Roz Chast

I say this because just today I was told by someone who had read one of my posts written a few weeks back about an experience I had that involved her, "It's not all about you," adding that it actually was all about her since the experience took place in her house. She got it wrong, since it's "all about me" for most of us, most of the time. We each have the starring role in our own life, a fact quite evident on Facebook when someone announces they are going on a trip. Ever notice the comments? Instead of "Have a great time," people write things like, "I had such fun when I was there," "Be sure to go to this fabulous restaurant I loved, "We go there every year," and more like that -- just in case you think you're something special. (You're not.)

So everyone's a star, surrounded by supporting players. For most of us our children have the lead roles when they are small and unable to care for themselves, but in the adult world it's about each one of us trying to be the best "Me" we can be, striving to live the best way we know how, and hopefully not hurting anyone else in the process.

What Cynthia Nixon Doesn't Know

What's with the nose?

Here in Maine there are many wonderful things which account for the state's motto, "The Way Life Should Be." But there are no bagels, which makes me think the motto should be amended to, "The Way Life Should Be for the Goyim." Yes, sure -- there are bagel shops and supermarkets that sell bagels, or what they think are bagels, or what look like bagels to Mainers. There is even a ubiquitous chain here called Mister Bagel which I have never patronized because their logo is so ugly, it offends me both as a graphic designer and a Jew. (Not only is the typeface hideously outdated, but the depiction of the baker with his big nose is almost a cultural slur. And look at those bagels! They're all puffy, like Krispy Kreme donuts, and a true bagel should not be at all fluffy but instead dense, chewy and almost flat.)

This is on my mind because I was in New York earlier this week and had the delightful experience of dining at a place called Goldberg's Bagel Company & Deli. It was heaven. Entering the store I was immediately in a trance, my whole body aquiver over the sights and smells of the place. I asked the manager why bagels can't ever be found outside of New York and he explained, "It's the water." I understood immediately, since I learned early on that bagels are boiled in water before they are baked, and if the water is wrong then the bagel can't be right.

Now that's a logo!

Another thing that got me going was an article in today's Wall Street Journal about Cynthia Nixon, she of Sex and the City fame who is now running for Governor of New York, caught on camera ordering a cinnamon-raisin bagel, loaded (meaning with lox, cream cheese, capers, onion and tomato), at Zabar's, Manhattan's Upper West Side temple of specialty foods. Putting it plainly, this is simply not done -- certainly not by anyone sane.

Apparently her culinary and religious faux pas ignited a storm of controversy online, causing many New Yorkers to vow right then and there not to vote for her even though she is a lesbian TV actress and who's more qualified to run our nation's fourth-largest state with the third-largest economy and a population of almost 20 million citizens than that? Of course she is a shiksa, so what does she know about bagels? (Probably as much as she knows about governing.)

Bob Woodward, Naked

By this time in the proceedings I don't give a hoot about President Trump. I also never gave a hoot about Bob Woodward, and would certainly not add to his riches by buying FEAR: Trump in the White House, his new tell-all book that takes advantage of the salivating public clamoring for new dirt on Public Enemy #1.

Now he's an old coot, but I met Woodward back in the early 1970s when he was at the height of his power and considered to be somewhat of a stud. (Remember, he was played by Robert Redford in the movie about Watergate.) He was naked at the time.

He was dating the woman who lived in the apartment right next door to mine in the Georgetown neighborhood of DC. It was two in the morning and they were blasting music and making a ton of noise. Because he had to get up early for work the next day, David, my boyfriend at the time, rapped on the wall a few times and shouted, "Hey, keep it down in there! Some people are trying to sleep!"

The noise continued unabated. Finally David lost it and went into the hall and pounded on their apartment door. Woodward answered, in the altogether, and yelled, "Do you know who I am?" This was during the media frenzy of the Watergate scandal and his daily reporting in the Washington Post, so we were supposed to be in awe of the great Bob Woodward. David responded with, "I don't care if you're the Holy Father himself, shut the fuck up!"

I went out in the hallway to see if I could help, just in time to see Woodward take a boxer's stance and put up his dukes, and hear David say, "I don't fight naked people. Go put some clothes on." Then we both returned to my apartment, laughing hysterically over Woodward's teeny-weeny peeny. 

If I Were President

I decided early on not to enter politics. This pleased my mother, who wanted me to follow in her footsteps and become a Rockette. My father didn't much care what I did, as long as I went bowling with him once a week. The truth is, had I entered politics I would only want the top job, but I couldn't be president because I'm not much of a morning person, preferring to hang around in my PJs playing Words With Friends before I interact with anyone. Besides, if I ever were elected I would surely be assassinated almost immediately, and who needs that?

Admittedly it would be gratifying to break the glass ceiling and be the first female president, and also the first Jew. But I'm pretty sure my core policies would be too forward-thinking for most people to appreciate. Hence, there would be lots of protests. Following are my key platform items that would likely be cause for general alarm :

1. Trucks would be banned from the roads every day except Sunday, which is the day all cars would be banned from driving. This would be nice for everyone, since who likes driving with trucks on the road? Nobody, that's who. Motorcyclists could do whatever they want.

2. All snack foods packaged in boxes and with silly names would be outlawed.

3. Mandatory weight loss programs would put an end to obesity, thus lowering healthcare costs, relieving crowded emergency rooms, opening up hospital beds for the truly sick and increasing the average life span.

4. Anything having to do with the military, trade with foreign countries, taxes and immigration would be handled by my Vice President, Condoleeza Rice, freeing me up to devote most of my time to redecorating the White House.

Why I Hate You

Politics

Religion

Sexual preference

Age
Gender

Nationality

Race 

Tattoos

Oh No, Not Again

These two were keepers.

A new arrival from a galaxy far, far away would conclude after just a few days here that the only things American humans care deeply about are killing unborn babies and eating pizza. Of course this is silly: many people care about eating Mexican food, and Chinese is still quite popular, certainly among Jews. (I don't eat it because of the high salt content, but I would if I could, believe me.) As for the murder of babies, that's still numero uno, evidenced in the current hearings being held on Capitol Hill pertaining to the most recent nominee to our country's highest court. Does he or doesn't he support abortion is the question on the lips and minds of every dinosaur -- oops, I mean senator -- grilling Judge Brett Kavanaugh, Trump's pick for the Supreme Court.

Seriously, are there not other issue to worry about? And the dinosaurs aren't the only ones who are worried. A group of alumni of Yale Law School (which Kavanaugh attended) wrote a public letter to the school saying, "People will die if Brett Kavanaugh is confirmed." The "people" they mean are the pregnant women denied the procedure if it becomes illegal, forcing them to undergo an illegal one which will kill them. (Something about coat hangers.) Of course, other "people" will surely die if abortion continues to be legal: There were 926,190 abortions performed in the US from 2015 to 2017, each one resulting in a death.

As Kavanuagh himself has said several times, abortion is a done deal, so let's move on. (I think he used the term "settled law.") Happily my opinion doesn't matter. All I know for sure is that I prefer pizza to Chinese, and actively dislike Mexican.

Still Crazy After All These Years

Twenty-four years ago, my husband played a practical joke on me that I never forgot. Today I finally got him back. It feels good.

I had gone on a much needed vacation from motherhood, my first since the birth of my son who was by then six years old. Leaving him with his father, the world's worst driver -- he's gotten better since then -- for more than a week caused me much trepidation, but I did it anyway. The "joke" was an alleged car accident. I returned home to find the two of them greeting me on our front porch:

It was all fake but fairly convincing, wouldn't you say? I certainly thought so, and didn't sleep well for the next ten years. So earlier today when I went for a facial and the esthetician applied something she called an astringent "sheet masque," I asked her to take a photo of me, seen here. Then I sent it to my husband who is out of town at a business conference, with a note saying I was in the ICU Burn Unit at the local hospital.
 
It worked! He fell for it and freaked! The only thing I did wrong was answer the phone when he called. But then, he's in Kansas City and he would have called the hospital and tried to get home and, well... I'm obviously a nicer person than he is and I wimped out. But still, I thought it was pretty, pretty, pretty good!

How to Live

An op-ed piece in yesterday's Wall Street Journal entitled "Ten Things They Didn't Tell You at Freshman Orientation" was written by a Yale physics professor and has me worried. He wrote that to be considered "educated" you must learn French, and if you want to be "cultured" you must "know Shakespeare and the Bible." I took four years of French in high school and survived reading all of Shakespeare for a college course so that's a load off. But I've never read one page, one paragraph or even one sentence of the Bible.

The French comes in handy whenever I'm in Europe, which has averaged out to about ten days every every three years, and for doing crossword puzzles. The Shakespeare has mercifully been forgotten, except for the stuff everyone knows like, "To be or not to be" or, "What light through yonder window shines," etc. As for the Bible, nobody ever made me read it, a fact that my husband finds incredible. But honestly, I can't imagine how knowing those stories could help me deal with any of my problems. I've heard vague rumblings about a man who was swallowed by a whale, and of course Adam and Eve and the talking serpent and a guy named Daniel who spent some time in a lion's den, but nothing about taming sky-high blood pressure or overcoming anxiety.

Anyway, it's too late for me now: My nightstand is piled high with books I want to read, and none of them are the Bible. (Also, none of them are in French.) Besides, I've met a lot of of Bible-thumpers over the years, and the last word that comes to mind about most of them is "cultured." My own list of advice for college freshman is short and sweet:
1. Don't smoke.
2. Don't do drugs.
3. Don't believe everything your teachers tell you.
4. Read "White Noise" by Don DeLillo and "Ethan Frome" by Edith Wharton. Then read them again.

20 Things You'd Rather

Would you rather be itchy or nauseous?
Would you rather live happily until 20 or miserably to 85?
Would you rather have no hands or no feet?
Would you rather have a pet pit bull or a pet tarantula?
Would you rather have been a passenger on the Hindenburg or the Titanic?
Would you rather get food poisoning or shingles? 
Would you rather die in a plane crash or be the lone survivor? 
Would you rather eat brains from a cow or a squirrel?
Would you rather have moderate to severe colitis or the heartbreak of psoriasis? 
Would you rather work 8 hours a day cleaning sewers or washing dishes?
Would you rather be unhappily married or be always alone?
Would you rather go bald or get fat?
Would you rather fly first class to Ethiopia or coach to Hawaii?
Would you rather be too hot or too cold?
Would you rather have quintuplets or remain childless? 
Would you rather read the entire works of Shakespeare or of Danielle Steele?
Would you rather be blind or deaf?
Would you rather serve in Heaven or reign in Hell?
Would you rather get lost at sea or in a forest?
Would you rather hang out with Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton?

Losing the Lottery

"Perhaps the high-water mark in contemporary morality tales, “The Lottery” marries the twin conundrums of democracy and decency to superstition, group think, public action, crime, punishment, judges, juries, victims, and human nature and make this one of the most potent (and remembered) works of fiction–even if the lessons are lost, or misconstrued."

People are so mean. I've said that before and I'm pretty sure I'll say it again. Another thing I've stated, repeatedly, is that the human condition is perfectly explained and described in a 1948 short story written by Shirley Jackson entitled The Lottery, which is required reading for anyone who plans to remain living among the species known as human beings.

Our latest lottery winner is Donald Trump. If he had any sense he would blow his brains out inside the Oval Office, but since he hasn't he will likely remain the punching bag of the world for the next two to six years, depending. This week he is being pummeled for playing golf on the same day as John McCain's funeral, even though he was told to stay away. And besides, McCain is dead and nothing will bring him back, so what's the difference?

Here is my dirty little secret: I never liked John McCain. First of all, as everyone knows he was captured by the VietCong and held prisoner for five years, then exploited his imprisonment for the rest of his life. He chose Sarah Palin as his presidential running mate because she was a hot chick who might inject his campaign with a little life, and he had a history of liking hot chicks. (He cheated on his first wife with multiple women, then divorced her after he began an affair with his second wife, Cindy.) When things with Palin didn't pan out he turned against her, going so far as not allowing her to attend his funeral either. He was mean until his last breath.

After Trump leaves office, someone else will be stoned to death in the public square. I wonder who it will be.

Death Comes to All, But Louder for Some

Last week was a busy one for a couple of dead people. Both Aretha Franklin and John McCain attended their own over-the-top funerals, each having lain in state for several days while the mourning masses trudged by their caskets to say goodbye, even though most of them had never even said hello to either one of them while they were alive. 

Former president Bill Clinton and presidential loser Hillary were at Aretha's funeral, hanging out with their fellow African-Americans. (Remember, Bill was deemed our "first black president" and Hillary confessed to always carrying hot sauce in her purse.) Barack Obama, Joe Biden and every other person in politics who wasn't Sarah Palin or Donald Trump were at McCain's funeral, which was surely a much less exciting event even though he was a True Military Hero. Joe Biden, a Democrat who is considering running for president in 2020, said that he loved McCain (a Republican) and trusted him with his life. (Surely that got him a few votes from both sides of the aisle.

Aretha's funeral came off like a full-blown TV special only without any commercials, with stars like Jennifer Hudson, Smokey Robinson, Ariana Grande and  Stevie Wonder belting out tunes to honor the deceased Queen of Soul. I know this for a fact since one of my dearest friends was also a friend of Aretha's and he was in attendance, posting many of the musical numbers live on his Instagram account. It was quite a scene. Personally I thought it was a bit too much, but my husband reminded me that she was, after all, a Queen.

It's funny how we all come into the world the same way but leave it so differently. I'm hoping to sneak out a side entrance with nobody noticing.