More is Less

Imagine living your entire life in a monastery on a mountain top in Tibet. You have a bed, a small table and some sort of stove for cooking. You eat, sleep, dream, exercise, have aches and pains and wonder about the nature of existence, but you have no idea what Bloomingdale's is. That must be nice.

I try to approximate that life on the days when my husband is away, which are numerous, and when I don't have any appointments with anyone, which are also numerous. If I don't turn on the TV or look at my computer and if nobody ever calls, I can come close. But still, I remember Bloomingdale's, back when it was a big deal. Their flagship store on Lexington Avenue seemed like heaven to me during my New York City college days. Riding up there on the subway from my studio apartment in Soho -- in those days it was called Little Italy -- was a special occasion. So many pretty things to desire and someday attain!

Now I have more clothes than I need or even wear, and far too many dishes, especially considering we never have anyone for dinner, and way too many pairs of shoes. Besides all the sandals and loafers and high heels and clogs I have seven pairs of boots, despite having only two feet. I have earrings out the yin-yang, but I wear the same pair every day and have for the last four years. I have ten fingers but twice that number of gold and silver rings. If I walked around and put price tags on everything in my house, it could be another Bloomingdale's. 

At this point in my life I need nothing, except of course the direct experience of knowing I have everything I need. I wonder where they sell that.

Phoney Baloney Barbie

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, today's average American woman weighs 166.2 pounds, which is almost exactly what the average American man weighed in the early 1960s. So Mattel, Inc., maker of the famous Barbie doll, has decided to be politically correct in these days of political correctness. To that end, they have released three new Barbies that more closely represent what real women look like. They describe these dolls as Tall, Petite and Curvy. The "curvy" one is supposed to make fat girls feel better about themselves, despite the fact that they did not name it Fatty. 

Below is a photo of the new dolls showing how much more realistic they are.  In case you can't tell, there are two "curvy" models pictured: the one in the black dress and the other in the yellow skirt. Below that is another photo showing actual "curvy" women.  Mattel should get real: if you're gonna do something, don't pretend, just do it!

The New Barbies

Here are some real life "curvy" women.

Film Review: TRUMBO

The fiasco currently underway aimed at electing our next president is enough to make any American blush. The debates, the silly candidates, the lack of substance: it's downright embarrassing. Another particularly blush-inducing era is the subject of Trumbo, which tells the shameful story of the witch hunt that overtook Hollywood in the 1950s when many members of the Communist Party were blacklisted by the movie industry. Dalton Trumbo, the leading screenwriter of the day, was one of those. This film recounts the slow but steady destruction of his life and the lives of his friends and colleagues, all for what turned out to be pretty much no reason. They committed no crime other than having thoughts that ran counter to "the American ideal." Sound familiar?

Helen Mirren spewing hatred at Bryan Cranston.

Bryan Cranston plays the title character, and he does so with gusto, causing a lump in the throat and a well of tears ready to spill over, at least among people given to that sort of thing, like me. We feel his pain as he faces the Feds at one of those congressional hearings, interspersed with authentic footage from the time. Sentenced to eleven months in a federal penitentiary for his independent thinking, he leaves behind his loving wife, played blandly by Diane Lane, and his three young children to fend for themselves.

Other big names lending their talents are Louis CK as a fellow writer targeted by The House Committee on Un-American Activities (a.k.a. Big Brother), riotous John Goodman as a B-movie producer who hires Trumbo after he leaves prison, and Helen Mirren as the heinous bitch-on-wheels gossip columnist leading the witch hunt on the home front. (It is a testament to her talent that I hated her so much, as she is my favorite actress and usually inspires love and admiration. In her role here as Hedda Hopper I wanted to see her mauled by a pack of pit bulls, at the very least.)

Big names aside, the real star of the movie is Fear. Back then it was the Red Scare, today it's The Muslims. Trumbo is a timely reminder of how Groupthink destroys individual lives and entire societies. Despite some dull stretches in a seriously drab script, the film is an intense and worthy effort, valuable above all else as an instruction manual on how a free society must not behave.

Cluck, Cluck

Often when I go out to dinner in a busy restaurant I am struck by how much the cacophony of all the other patrons sounds like hundreds of chickens clucking. What could everyone possibly be saying to one another while their food is getting cold? I wonder that too when I see people walking out in public with cell phones held to their ears.  Sometimes I hear a snatch of their conversations as I pass by, and it's often something like, "Where should we eat?" or "Okay, I'll call you later," promising even more talk about nothing very important.

Cartoon by Doug Savage

Which is funny, because the older I get, the less I have to say. Out loud, that is. So I am tempted to sign up for a week-long silent retreat to be held at a Buddhist conference center in the Maryland woods in a few months. You arrive and check in -- I guess talking is allowed for that part -- and then just don't talk for the next seven days. There are meals taken in a big dining hall but eaten in silence and daily classes where I assume the teacher speaks, but I am just assuming. Maybe the teacher just sits up on the podium and thinks deep thoughts and you get them because your senses are so refined at that point, from all the not talking.

Anyway, this silent retreat business has always had an appeal for me. (My husband often suggests we take a cruise somewhere, but the thought of all the constant clucking turns me off to the idea. If I could find a silent cruise through the Greek Islands, I'd definitely go.) But the price tag for the Maryland woods, room-with-a-stranger-and-shared-bath experience is nearly $2,000, and I started thinking of all the other things I could do with that money and just be silent all by myself, so I decided against it. In fact, if anyone wants to come and stay at my house for a week and not say anything and pay me, just let me know.  

Tough Love

You never know where your next life lesson awaits. For me, today, it was at the dental office where I went to have the stitches removed after a tooth extraction last week. The hygienist who did the deed was quite nice and very helpful, open to all my questions concerning how to treat the now gaping hole in my gum until it gets filled with whatever I decide to fill it with three months from now.

Afraid I might do some lasting damage if I go at it with a toothbrush, yet worried that steering clear of it altogether would be even worse for the health of the tissue, I sought her advice. Her answer was stunningly simple: Brush the entire area and don't worry if it hurts or even bleeds a little. "Remember," she explained, "there's a difference between hurting and harming. Don't worry if it hurts a little; be assured, you won't be harming anything."

I suddenly realized that bit of advice for post-surgical care is applicable to a host of human interactions. And so easy to remember.

Questions to Ponder

If ignorance is bliss, why aren't there more happy people?

What does anyone see to admire in Hillary Clinton?

Why do gays even want to get married?

How does having fake bigger boobs make a woman feel better about herself?

How are the Oscars racist when the president of the Academy is 

black and comedian Chris Rock was hired to host the Awards ceremony?

Why did Ben & Jerry decide that eating what Bernie Sanders desires 

would be appealing? (Their new flavor: Bernie's Yearnings)

 

Why don't they sell Girl Scout cookies all year and make more money?

If everyone grows from the union of an egg and a sperm, 

how could anyone not agree that abortion is murder? 

Why is binge-drinking, binge-spending and binge-eating bad, 

but binge-watching TV shows is considered cool and trendy?

My Podcast and Me

I am given to tremendous fluctuations in my blood pressure; it's just one of the things in my particular sack of rocks. These episodes descend upon me with no warning or discernible trigger. They just happen, like an avalanche or tornado or volcanic eruption. The difference is you can at least try to run from those disastrous natural events and seek shelter, whereas these blood pressure attacks occur inside the human body and so you're stuck in the middle of them. To call them "alarming" is to call Donald Trump "undiplomatic."

This morning I had one out of the blue, with numbers reaching 206/140. Accompanied by headache, dizziness, heart palpitations and intense fear and loathing, they are completely debilitating in the short term; an hour later my reading was 130/70. During these awful times, only three things help: drinking water, swallowing more of my BP meds and listening to any podcast by Tara Brach, Ph.D. A psychologist, author and teacher of meditation, emotional healing and spiritual awakening, she spouts wisdom to soothe the savage beast, at least it works on the one lurking inside me.

It is obvious that when it comes to living life we all are doing it wrong, or else why would things be in such a mess? If you are trying to find a little peace and quiet in the midst of the hurricane of horror pounding down on every one of us constantly, I suggest giving Tara a whirl. (www.tarabrach.com)

Bad Dogs

Two young boys, one seven and the other eight, were attacked by a pit bull yesterday in North Carolina. One survived; the other was already dead when help arrived. This is not unusual; just a few weeks ago a 9-year-old boy was attacked and killed by his sister's three dogs, all pit bulls.

Pit bulls kill people, plain and simple. That's what they do, and that's why they are used as protection by many unsavory characters in our nation's worst crime ghettos. And yet the myth persists that the breed is no different than any other, and that they are sweet and loving, and that it's all got to do with how they are raised. But consider this: Since 1833, when record-keeping of this occurrence began, 481 people have been killed by pit bulls. The breed should be exterminated.

Survival for Dummies

Because at the first sign of stupidity in another person I turn tail and run, I am fortunate to have only smart friends. (One time I ignored that rule and started a business with a complete moron and her equally moronic husband, but I ended the relationship after going to their home and seeing their plastic slipcovers on the furniture.) So I have never met anyone who would suffer the same fate as the dummies I saw on TV this morning. I had turned it on to track the huge snowstorm that is deliciously not coming our way. In fact, here in Maine it's quite a decent day with nary a snowflake in sight or a breeze worth mentioning. And while a tad overcast, tomorrow promises  to be full of "abundant sunshine." (I love that word, implying not just a bit of sunshine but abundant, enough for leftovers even.)

Anyway, having lived in Washington and New York for thirty years, naturally I am interested in what's going on down there and how my friends are faring. So I tuned into the Weather Channel and saw reports of people being stuck in their cars overnight for twelve hours on the Pennsylvania Turnpike and for twenty hours somewhere in Kentucky. They were interviewed on the phone, their voices panicked as they described their plight: YOUNG CHILDREN WITH THEM and NO FOOD OR WATER IN THE CAR!

The approach of Winter Storm Jonas has dominated the national news for the last three days. You'd have to have been in a coma to not know it was coming. Yet there are people, many many of them, out on the road, with no supplies, with their kids, in the storm, driving somewhere. Were they all driving to get brain transplants? Because if they were, they are excused.

Mind, Body, Spirit, Teeth

My favorite author these days is Eknath Easwaran, a spiritual teacher who wrote many books on meditation and how to lead a fulfilling life, and a translator and interpreter of Indian literature. He died in 1999 but his words live on and are even more meaningful in today's morally bankrupt society. But still, were Eknath around I'd have a few questions for him.

For example, last night, freaking out over the fact that I was having a tooth pulled first thing this morning, I scanned  one of his books hoping to calm my jittery nerves and get some sleep. I greedily found a passage claiming "We are not our individual body and we are not our individual mind. We are all part of everything we call the Universe." He explained that the body is just a casing for the spirit, and the mind is simply the engine room housing the controls  running our machinery. But through meditation you can take charge and be your larger self, transcending both the body and the mind. Never again will your body drag you down. At the same time, you can control your thoughts and stop having your thoughts run the show. Sounded good to me.

Except this morning at the dentist's office, I was directed to place my body (which I supposedly am not) into the dental chair. And meanwhile my mind (which I also am not) was freaking out as the dentist shot tons of needles into the gums that I am not, and then yanked out the tooth that I am not. Then all day the mouth of the body I am not was in pain and swallowed many different kinds of pills to calm the anxiety of the mind that I am not. During all of this, the spirit, which I supposedly am, stayed home in bed and was no help at all.

Do Something Else

So much time is wasted doing things that give us nothing and learning things we never need to know.  For example, I remember having to study calculus in high school and then in college, and now I don't have the slightest idea what it is or how it's used. Ditto algebra. What is a parabola and where might you find one? Sadly I have no idea, yet I do know what a Brazilian Butt Lift is.

It's just 7:32 in the morning of a new day. It could be my last for all I know. I used to say "I could get run over by a  bus," but where I live there are no buses. I could get hit by a car I suppose, although that seems less catastrophic and far less likely to result in death than getting run over by a bus. But the point is, this could be my last day. Yours too. We both better get off this computer and do something more meaningful, or at least more nurturing. I'm starting with breakfast. What about you?