Sweetening the Democratic Pot

The Democratic presidential hopefuls are ratcheting up their promises, and it's working. Businessman Andrew Yang is resonating with younger voters and has pulled ahead in recent polls after announcing his plan to give every American $1,000 a month to vote for him. (He doesn't come right out and say that, but that's what he means.) And Bernie Sanders has promised free health care and free college tuition if you vote for him, while Elizabeth Warren echoes that, plus will pay off your student loan and throw in an Indian headdress if you vote for her.

The problem is they're all so cookie-cutter. What I'm waiting for is someone who stands out from the crowd, someone who addresses the issues of special interest groups. What about free boxes of Depends for women of a certain age? How about unlimited Botox injections for anyone over 60? Or home-delivered (in a brown wrapper) Viagra for men with flagging libidos? Free dildos, condoms, wigs and duct tape for the LGBT crowd?  Now that would be a candidate I could get behind.

Bill Gates Is Innocent

The truth is so elusive. In fact, these days it is seen or heard so little we should all just forget about it. The word should be dropped from dictionaries. The very concept itself is outdated, like reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, uttering the words "Merry Christmas" and dressing for the theater. I say this because of an article on the front page of today's New York Times about how Bill Gates, the second wealthiest person in the world, doesn't want anything to do with Jeffrey Epstein (and never did). Luckily for Bill, Jeffrey is dead so that won't be an issue.

The article recounts how the two billionaires first met, which was after Epstein had been convicted of child molestation and forced to register as a sex offender. Apparently none of that troubled Gates, who over the following years visited Epstein in his lavish Manhattan penthouse several times, dined with him publicly in other locales and flew on his private plane more than once. (His spokeswoman refused to say how many times.) And despite an email Gates wrote to a colleague citing Epstein's lifestyle as "intriguing," that same spokeswoman said that did not mean Gates found him interesting, but rather was referring to Epstein's apartment's decor.  (Oy.)

Gates claims the relationship with Epstein, which he now "regrets," was neither a friendship nor a business association. You're left to wonder just what it was. Or you could just guess, or make it up, or draw your own conclusion, since the truth is surely nowhere to be found, certainly not in that article and maybe not even in Bill Gates' own head.

Everyone Gets Old

I don't get it. For some reason, pictures of celebrities who have done the unspeakable and gotten old are all the rage on the Internet, usually accompanied by nasty headlines like, "You'll Never Believe How Such and Such Looks Today!" or, "These Shocking Photos of Such and Such Will Make Your Jaw Drop!"

On the other hand, when Such and Such has plastic surgery to avoid looking her rightful age, the headlines scream about the hideous damage the former beauty inflicted upon herself.

Doesn't everyone, even stupid writers at Internet websites, know that we all will get old and then die? That nobody can escape this fate? That aging is as natural as breathing? What's the big deal?

You Can't Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

Modern Life, a.k.a. The End Days

As I sat down to lunch at a Thai restaurant with a friend the other day, she told me about her son's recent wedding, adding that the newlyweds had already bought a house together. I said that any minute she might be a grandma. Scanning the menu, she responded with, "If it happens that's fine, if not, even better. I don't think it's fair to bring a child into the world now." She expanded, citing her concerns over climate change, political turmoil, terrorism and growing violence around the globe which could erupt into nuclear war at any time. "It's basically over for the human race," she declared. Then we ordered.

Surely we would all agree that things are bad in just about every area of modern life. War, mass shootings, rioting in the streets, social injustice and melting polar ice caps all suck. But that's all "out there." What also sucks is closer to home: The complete and total lack of customer service.

I experienced this most recently when I opened the door to my nearly-new $6,000 refrigerator and was met with a loud beeping and a flashing digital sign that spelled out "Over Temp" in angry red letters. That could not be good, I thought, and hastily searched for the booklet our Kitchen Aid appliance had come with. No luck, I called the appliance store where we purchased it and a recording directed me to describe my problem, with a promise that someone would get back to me "soon."

The old-fashioned way.

Not soon enough, as the beeping continued. So I logged on to KitchenAid.com and found "Troubleshooting." By entering my credit card information I could text my problem to a "live agent." An initial fee of five dollars would enroll me in a club that would cost $28 per month after a month's free trial, but I could cancel at any time. I proceeded.

Pearl, the so-called live agent, turned out to be an idiot. She asked for my problem and I described it in detail. Then she asked for my problem again, and I described it again. Then she asked for my problem again, and I realized she was a robot with a few screws loose. So then I looked around and found something that said I could talk on the phone with a real person, perhaps that would suit me better. I said yes! Oh, but that would cost another $25 on top of the initial five dollars. WTF?

I decided to cancel my membership immediately and write off the five dollars to my being stupid. But first I had to figure out how. The "Cancel my subscription" button was hidden deep within the website. I finally found it and clicked it, which triggered a series of messages begging me to stay, promising they would solve my problem, and then audaciously asking me what they could do to convince me not to leave. "Cancel at any time" my eye!

Next I got an email from the company manager asking me to reconsider my cancellation. Enraged, I responded with a string of curse words in all caps. Fortunately my husband came home before I could fire up my AK-47 and hunt the man down. Mitch started punching random buttons on the fridge and eventually the beeping and flashing stopped. (He is a mechanical genius.)

Anyway, that's what I call bad customer service. Not as bad as war, agreed, but still a major pain in the ass, and certainly nothing I'd want my grandchildren to suffer through. So I guess my luncheon companion was right.

We Love Our Abortions

Roughly one million induced abortions are performed each year in the United States alone. Although deemed safe, "therapeutic abortions, as well as spontaneous miscarriages, can lead to a variety of complications."

So say a couple of experts in the field you never heard of (Karima R. Sajadi-Ernazarova, Christopher L. Martinez) I found on the Internet. They go on: "If uterine perforation, bladder or bowel injury are suspected, patients need hemodynamic resuscitation and expedited transfer to the operating room. If a septic abortion is suspected, sepsis treatment must be instituted according to institutional guidelines, broad-spectrum antibiotics must be initiated as early as the diagnosis is considered, and arrangements need to be made to transfer the patient to the operating room."

So if you ask me, it's best to have an abortion done in a hospital setting, or at least near a hospital, or at least by a doctor who can get you into a hospital, right? Apparently not all women give a hoot about this and will have the procedure done anywhere they can. A case currently being considered by the Supreme Court (Gee vs. June Medical Services) is about this very thing. At issue is a law on the books in Louisiana saying an abortion can only be performed by a doctor who has privileges at a nearby hospital, and there are hardly any of those around there, making many women unable to get an abortion, at least not within the law. The plaintiff in the case (June Medical Services) is seeking to have that overturned.

Naturally, abortion rights activists in their pink pussy hats are enraged and fighting this change. I guess lots of women would rather be dead than have a baby.

Krazy Kat Lady

I might be losing my mind. Not sure, but it's a distinct possibility. The main symptom is not knowing whether my cat is inside or outside. That might sound like no big deal in terms of mental illnesses, but believe me it's a bummer.

For example, when I am 100% certain he is inside, I look everywhere: under beds, inside all closets, in the basement, behind the dryer, and anyplace he might have gotten stuck. This procedure takes a long time, and naturally I worry that he's suffocating somewhere all the while. Eventually I start to panic, and may or may not take an anti-anxiety pill or a few drops of CBD tincture. It's about then that he saunters into view, strolling across the lawn on his way back from the woods behind our house, and presses his nose up to the glass back door, meowing for entry. Offering no apologies or explanation whatsoever, he finds a cozy spot and promptly falls asleep.

It's almost worse when I'm sure he's outside, especially when it starts to rain or snow. Then I go from the front door to the side door to the back door and then the front door again, and of course the back door, frantic that he must have been hit by a car or caught in an animal trap somewhere since he doesn't like getting wet and usually comes home right away when the weather turns bad. So I call his name and walk the property and shake the treat can, having stopped whatever I was doing that might actually need to be done in a timely fashion in order to look for him. Out of ideas and fighting back tears, I finally head home and find him in the middle of the living room, sitting and staring at me like I've lost my mind. Which is why I think I might be losing my mind, like I said at the start.

I thought of all this because earlier today I asked a neighbor to make a small adjustment on my propane stove, something I knew he could do, while I was at his house visiting with his wife and he was running out to do an errand. Giving him my house key, I assured him that the cat was outside and nobody was home, so he would be undisturbed. About an hour later he returned and said the job was done, although he was surprised by the cat who hissed angrily at him. "But Lurch was outside when I left," I said. "Well, maybe you've got another cat you don't know about," he replied.

That might explain all of this. Yes, it would be weird, but at least I wouldn't be nuts.

Everyone's Crazy Sometimes

Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with several old friends from my youth, and for the most part it's been a positive experience. That's the good news.  The bad news is that a few of those old friends are completely bonkers today, destroying treasured memories of our fun times together as kids with our whole lives ahead of us. This has led me to believe that some stones are better left un-turned. 

I also wonder if people might consider me to be one of those stones since depending on when you checked in on my life, I may or may not have been considered to be off my rocker. Like in my early 30s, there was that trip I took across Canada with a virtual stranger, based on knowing him for a few weeks and finding him handsome and dashing. Off we went in the dead of winter with many feet of snow on the ground and blizzards in the forecast, barely passing another vehicle for weeks, just the two of us and his dog. It was true love, I thought, until we reached our final destination and I met his fiancee. 

Then there was the time in my early 40s when, my husband out of town and me feeling lonely, I impulsively bought an adorable German shepherd puppy at a street fair. But once I got him home,  and especially after seeing the size of his poop at only ten weeks old, I remembered that I despised German shepherds and hated the dog after only a few hours. Fortunately when my husband got back he quickly tired of my incessant sobbing and agreed to return the pup. Explaining that his wife, that was me, was completely insane and had been released from a mental institution just a day before she bought the dog, he was able to secure a full refund.

There was that car I bought and didn't want by the time I drove it home from the dealership. (Thankfully I was dating a lawyer at the time.) And the poor guy I left at Madison Square Garden after the Janis Joplin concert, telling him I was going to the bathroom but really I got on the subway and went home. In fact, there were so many times when my behavior was certifiable, I'm shocked I'm still at large. 

In my own defense I'll say at least I never posted any of that stuff on Facebook. Until now. Uh oh....

Some Helpful Spam

I received this comment on my last few blog posts and decided to share it with all of you before deleting it, just to keep you current in the world of spam. I have changed nothing, so please excuse the typos and grammatical errors.
  
''Hello everyone i Am williams pater and i am from USA i am here to give my testimony about an herbal doctor called Dr,olu I was heartbroken because i had very small penis,not nice to satisfy a woman, i have been in so many relationship, but cut off because of my situation, i have used so many product which doctors prescribe for me, but could not offer me the help i searched for. i saw some few comments on the internet about this specialist called Dr,OLU and decided to email him on his email i saw on the internet,(drolusolutionhome@gmail.com ) so I decided to give his herbal product a try. i emailed him and he got back to me, he gave me some comforting words with his herbal product for Penis Enlargement, Within three weeks of me use it, i began to feel the enlargement, " and now it just 4 weeks of using his products my penis is about 8 inches longer, and i had to settle thing out with my ex girlfriend , i was surprised when she said that she is satisfied with my performance in bed and i on.''

So for all of my male readers and females in transition, you might want to email this dr,OLU. Just send him an email on your email and one momth your penis can be 8 inches longer too1

The Pelosi Mask

Stores across the country are already reporting heavy sales of what promises to be this year's top Halloween costume. Shown above is a child wearing the popular Nancy Pelosi mask, notable for its crazy eyebrows and lifelike appearance. Earrings not included.

Kicking Off October

In my book, any day that doesn't include time spent in a hospital Emergency Room is a good day. Today is such a day for me, despite the bleak rain and my lingering malady which may or may not have been exacerbated by yesterday's dawn visit to the ER at Maine Medical Center.  I might have gotten worse anyway, but I did leave there sneezing and coughing more than before I entered that facility. Still, the team of professionals I saw clearly ruled out a heart attack as the cause of the alarming symptoms that had sent me there, and for that I was grateful.

Either these signs were ignored or I was an IV cart.

If you  think America's health care system rocks, a visit to the ER may change that view. My time there, while ultimately positive, was fraught with stressors. I won't bore you by listing them all, but instead focus on the biggest one: The orange-jumpsuit-clad prisoner bleeding profusely from his bald head who occupied the adjacent cot. When they wheeled him in I wondered about the sudden appearance of two armed guards, thinking maybe he was somebody important. Then I overheard him tell the attending physician that the injury happened while he was "sitting on a bench right outside my cell." Aha! It was then that I realized the orange suit was not simply a seasonal fashion choice.

Not that I'm against prisoners getting medical treatment, but really -- did I need to be close enough to hear (and see) all the gory details?  Apparently the ER was full up and this busy hallway, although dotted with taped-up signs clearly stating it should remain empty, was the best they could do to accommodate us. Still, a divider of some sort between patients would have been nice. Jeesh -- hang up a sheet or something; even in the morgue you get your own private drawer.

A technician performed an EKG. Then my blood was drawn by a nurse who had trouble finding the vein -- not sure why as it was in the usual place -- and thus today I have a big purple bruise marking the spot on my arm where she eventually hit pay dirt. Finally I was seen by three doctors, all females under the age of thirty, two with nose rings. They were nice enough and inspired confidence, although none was all the way to a Cristina Yang. They concurred that I was still alive and would continue to be so for the foreseeable future, but that if I felt that way again I should come back immediately.

So far, today has been much nicer. I haven't seen the hospital bill yet but I'm sure it was hundreds and hundreds of dollars. Happily it won't show up for awhile since it has to first be submitted and rejected by my insurance carrier.