Will Smith Makes Me Sick

Taking a page from Scarlett O'Hara's playbook.

I read this morning that actor Will Smith slapped comedian Chris Rock during the televised Oscar ceremony for making a joke about Smith's bald wife, like that's such a big deal. At least Rock didn't mention Smith's conspiracy theorist son who wears dresses and high-heels. The bald wife is nothing compared to him/her/whatever.

I missed the slap because I did not watch the Oscars. I would have only I had to do the dinner dishes and vacuum all the rugs and change the litter boxes and clean the garage.

Modern Politics for Dinner

DeMillo's On the Water, a bad restaurant inside an old boat.

Last night my husband and I attended a fundraising dinner for a congressional candidate here in Maine. The man, running as a Republican, does not stand a chance against the incumbent millionaire Democrat who, although she sucks, will surely retain her title even after seven terms (14 years).

The cost of the dinner for two was $500. Yikes -- that's enough to feed a family of four for a month! Oh well, said Mitch, anything for the cause, adding that at that price the food will be super. But the food was not super. It was abysmal, as one could expect since the event was held at a huge, tourist-trap restaurant that is actually a giant boat, once a car ferry and now permanently anchored in the Portland Harbor (see photo). So naturally there were water views, which is really no big deal here in Maine since there's water everywhere. 

Served buffet-style, everything that should have been hot was cold and everything that should have been cold was room temperature. You could eat all you wanted of many high-fat choices including cheesy mashed potatoes, shrimp and cheesy grits, cheesy lobster rigatoni, chicken pieces smothered in Havarti cheese, limp broccoli swimming in butter and scallops downright drowned in cheese sauce. The salad option was a gigantic bowl of lettuce with a smaller bowl next to it of crumbled feta cheese and another of Mandarin orange sections. Dessert was a selection of tiny, cheesy cannolis, some with chocolate chips on top. And coffee, thank God. Despite the high price of entry to the event there was a cash bar with beer for $10 and liquor drinks costing more.

The candidate spoke for about half an hour and said absolutely nothing of value, injecting phrases like "We can do this!" and "Now is the time!" repeatedly. He urged all of us -- now officially his "team" -- to get out there and knock on doors. During the question-answer period I asked him a question which he did not answer, not even a little, alerting me to the fact that he would fit right in with most of the other politicians in Congress. (Too bad he won't get the chance.)

Driving home I chewed two Pepto-Bismol tablets and felt sorry for the guy, and for myself.

Fat People Trump Ketanji

In my own little blogosphere, titles mean everything. I have come to the conclusion that people click on the title that is most compelling, and for all I know they don't even bother to read the post. Since 2007 this blog has appeared under one name or another, and I have been able to analyze the reading habits of a small group of people. My sampling makes it clear: if the word "fat" it in the title, it gets the most attention. 

After that, any mention of Donald Trump gets readers. And much to my surprise, almost nobody cared about my recent post concerning Ketanji Brown Jackson, the African American woman (whatever that means) currently up for a SCOTUS appointment.

Just a small but telling look at what Americans care about: being fat, getting fat, and getting fatter. I guess if I wrote a title implying that Donald Trump got really fat I'd score a lot of readers. Maybe next time.

Poor Ketanji Brown

The current person under scrutiny for the next appointment to the Supreme Court is a woman named Ketanji Brown. It is noteworthy that she would be the first African American woman to sit on the bench.

Others of her gender have served and are currently serving on the Court. Sandra Day O'Connor was the first woman to hold the prestigious position. And of course there was Saint Ginsberg, a woman, who passed away not long ago. Currently there are three women on the Court.

The funny thing is, I can tell immediately a woman from a man even if they are both fully clothed and I only can see their heads, and I am not a jurist, I am not a biologist, I am an artist and artists are known to be zany, nutty and sometimes hearing voices. Yet Ketanji Brown, a woman herself, cannot give a definition of a woman, the reason being that she lacks a degree in science. 

The poor girl needs our help. Hey Ketanji, here's a hint: Study the illustration shown above, then strip down, grab a mirror and look between your legs.

Waiting for the Wabanaki

This morning my son, who sadly is knee-deep in such things as this, alerted me to something I find to be quite disturbing, very alarming, and a huge crock of bullshit. It's called the Landback Movement. It supposedly has a long legacy (even though I never heard of it before today) of "organizing and sacrifice to get indigenous lands back into indigenous hands."

My husband and I moved to Maine 13 years ago this month. We bought a house on three acres of land, or maybe it's two -- I'm not sure since most of it is covered with woods and giant boulders, so it's not like we're actually using the entire property. 

We purchased the house from a couple named Mr. and Mrs. Tate and hired an agent of Keller-Williams Realty to facilitate the deal. Not once did anyone say we were colonizers! Nevertheless I learned just today that we suck because we have usurped land that once belonged to the Wabanaki Indians, or people like them. (There is some dispute as to which particular tribe actually owned our neighborhood.) 

According to the Landback people, the right thing to do is to return our land back and go back to whence we came. All I can say about this is "Fat chance!" We moved here from Washington, D.C. but I think they mean we should go back to our ancestral home, which for Mitch and me would be Poland and Russia. 

Seriously, I am not going to Poland or Russia at this time -- can you blame me? And honestly, you couldn't pay me to spend even an afternoon in D.C. these days. So I guess if any of those Wabanakis want my land they'll have to come and get it. I'll be in my studio, painting.

Ron DeSantis, Mensch

Ron DeSantis, the Governor of Florida, is unique in many ways for a politician. First and most obvious, he tells the truth and speaks his mind, not soaring gibberish written by speechwriters like Obama loved to spout.  His recent declaration making the female swimmer who came in second after the transgender male walked off with the NCAA trophy and all the glory the true winner is commendable.

That very act likely pisses off the Democrats, who despise DeSantis for his honest and down to earth qualities. Soaring rhetoric, a.k.a.bullshit, is very popular with the Dems. 

Do me a favor. Just listen to Ron the next time he speaks somewhere. You'll see what I mean.

Come and Get Us, China

When I graduated from New York University in 1969, I felt proud. I also felt smarter, having studied hard and learned so much about a wide variety of subjects. Although I was a fine arts major with an emphasis on painting, I still was required to take many non-art courses to earn my degree. I had to read all the works of Shakespeare. I studied World Wars I and II. And I was forced to choose what was then called an elective: either physics or chemistry.

NYU has changed a lot since then, as has the student body. Now a popular class offered is called "Taylor Swift." It's hard to get into it since just about every student goes for it. Participants of the weekly two and a half hour class study not only the young singer's music but also her personal life. Like her feud with rapper Kanye West (who knew?) and who was the mystery man in her song about a scarf he had given her, or maybe it was her scarf that he kept or some such rot, I don't know her music or her dating history. (It's rumored to be Jake Gyllenhaal, but if I had taken that class I would know for sure and have a lot more self-confidence.)

Similar classes at NYU focus on Aretha Franklin, James Brown and Nirvana. I weep every day for the citizens of Ukraine. But I also weep for our perpetually misguided and deeply dumb  younger generations who emerge from their coddled four (or five or six)-year educations knowing little more than they did when they started. The Chinese should just come and get us right now -- we're easy pickins.

Taking A Look Inside

I have to undergo an MRI to find out what's going on inside my knee since my knee can't talk and tell me and none of the doctors I have gone to have any idea. So today they called from the radiology place to schedule my appointment and to ask me some questions to make sure I can have the procedure without dying. The questions took a lot longer than I was told ("Just a few questions"), and some of them were completely incomprehensible to me. They follow.

The usual Covid stuff: Have you had a fever, a sore throat, loss of taste or smell, blah blah blah?

Do you have a pacemaker?

Do you have any wires in your ears?

Do you have a pessary? (I have no idea what that is so I said no.)

Do you have any artificial limbs?

Do you have breast implants?

Do you have any body piercing or tattoos?

Have you ever had surgery on your eyes?

Do you have any facial implants?

Do you hear voices in your head? If so, in what language?

Do you have metal implants in your body?

Have you had cancer or diabetes, now or ever before?

Are you claustrophobic?

Have you ever laughed during a movie starring The Three Stooges?

How well do you tolerate loud noises?

Can you understand why anyone likes Morgan Freeman?

Do you believe the Russians will nuke us all?

Can you believe that Joe Biden is president?

Why do Dems hate Clarence Thomas despite his being black?

Who's watching Anderson Cooper's pet children while he is in Ukraine?

How did Don Lemon ever get hired?

Artists Eat Too

Football players make a fortune. So do baseball players, hockey players, and tennis players, and boxers and wrestlers and even boring golfers. They get megabucks to play games that people -- that means you --watch. After the game is over, you have nothing. There is no "thing" you take home with you. You saw the game and that's that. Yet you, and millions of other people, think nothing about paying for the privilege of "watching." Apparently the skill of the players is so thrilling that it's worth paying just to see it.

Now let's talk about art. People hang pictures on the walls of their homes to make them look pretty. For the more sophisticated among us, art means more than just decoration. They find paintings and drawings enriching in ways that defy description. But for some reason, most people are unwilling to pay for art in the same way they will pay for watching a sporting event. 

As an artist, I spend a lot on paints, canvas, brushes and other materials related to making a professional final product. Yet people, friends included, think nothing of asking if they can have one free of charge. I have only one friend who has consistently offered to pay for my work, which I have happily granted her at a reduced rate. (Thank you Jay!) Otherwise people say how much they love my paintings and could I have that one please?

I recently spoke to another artist friend who is busy making a painting, at no cost, for one of her friends who told her, "I don't have any of your paintings!" It's a large one, so the canvas will likely cost between $25 and $40. And the oil paints, her current chosen medium,  could really add up: some small tubes of oil paint go for $15 or $20, with larger ones reaching $40.

Imagine calling up your doctor or dentist friend and asking them to "take a look at this problem I'm having" for free. Even your girlfriend who cuts hair or does nails for a living will charge you. So what about us artists? We eat too, you know. 

Fatter Americans

Runway model during Fashion Week in NYC.

To satisfy the fast food and snack food industries, the ice cream vendors and pizza sellers, and the diet industry which expands every year (no pun intended), we all keep stuffing our faces with foods that are bad for us. The result is that the average American today is much fatter than back in 1960. Both men and women are about 30 pounds heavier now than their historic counterparts. 

Being old enough to remember when most people looked a lot better, I am startled to see so many overweight models in print ads and on TV and chubby mannequins in store windows. Worst of all, the condition of being fat -- and it is a condition -- is somehow considered to be okay. Clearly it is not okay when children as young as eleven years old develop diabetes due to being overweight.

Oddly, the "woke" view of our growing national girth is a positive one, with younger generations actually applauding it. Do they mean it or are they afraid to disagree for fear they will be cancelled? At my age I'm not worried about getting cancelled by anyone but God. And really, I'd rather be thin all by myself than fat in a crowd.

Film Review: AMERICAN FACTORY

If you're looking for evidence of China's workforce superiority, the 2019 Netflix documentary American Factory delivers. The true story of how a long-defunct General Motors plant in Dayton, Ohio was revitalized by a billionaire Chinese investor to become another plant for the Fuyoa Glass Company is compelling, intense and more than a little scary. The bottom line: The Chinese people have it all over us.

Fuyoa's CEO has high hopes of making millions in America, sending Chinese workers to Ohio for a two-year stint working alongside the locals eager for employment since the closure of GM left many families in poverty. At first it seems like a promising venture full of hope and excitement, but the two cultures soon clash and things go downhill fast, with profits not forthcoming.

The Chinese workers are dedicated to their task.

The true stars of this film are the stunning, colorful photography of a gleaming state-of-the-art modern factory and a fascinating look at the process of making automobile windshields and windows from sand. Besides that, there are the different personalities of the people working there, some of whom we meet and spend a bit of time with. 

The working-class Americans barely eking out a living are mostly bitter about their low wages and uppity Chinese bosses who "control everything." The Chinese workers are surprised by the low quality work ethic of the Americans, who seem lazy and uninspired in comparison to them.  As one six-days-a-week Chinese worker says, "The point of life is to work, right?" But the Americans feel differently, caring little about what they do while seeking more days off, longer breaks, a better lunchroom facility and higher wages.

A fierce battle over whether or not to unionize the shop divides the company and adds to the tension. You'll have to watch it to find out who wins, but it's two hours very well spent that will fly by. You'll come away a lot smarter and with an understanding that the Chinese have much to teach us about how to live.