Crawling Down Memory Lane

The worst thing about Facebook, besides the obvious, is how often older people -- okay, old people -- post pictures from their youth and everyone who knew them back in high school comments on how great they looked in the good old days. It's downright depressing.

Hardly anyone (except one person I know who does and he is to be congratulated) posts pictures of themselves right now, today, in 2022. I certainly don't and would never. (I can't even look at those.)

The great actress Bette Davis was right when she famously said in her later years, "Getting old ain't for sissies." But I would add, "It ain't for Facebook either."

The Other Pandemic

Here's what I don't get: Exactly what was wrong with Trump as president? Things were fine in almost every area. I say "almost" because along came COVID in his last term, but that was beyond his control and besides he handled it, making the discovery of a vaccine after nine months a reality.

But the economy was humming along, the stock market was happy, there was no inflation, things were affordable (like gas and strawberries), all the stores had baby formula, there was no ongoing war with Russia destroying the innards of Ukraine, and our southern border was not overflowing with illegal aliens, many of whom bring lethal drugs or are sex traffickers. Things were being taken care of, and most people were doing well. Still, the Democrats were busy trying to get rid of him from Day 1. Why?

Because he dyed his hair a funny color? His wife was foreign? He was rich? Were those the issues that drove the Democrats out of their minds? Because they don't call it Trump Derangement Syndrome for nothing. And they all still have it. In fact, it's reached pandemic proportions among liberals.

Someone should work on a vaccine for that.

What I Heard Could Fill a Bookl

In 1979 I was living in Washington, DC and accepted a job with the Democratic National Committee as Art Director for the 1980 Convention. In that capacity I moved to Manhattan for six weeks and lived at the now defunct Statler Hotel across the street from Madison Square Garden, the site of the Convention.

During that time I witnessed many shenanigans, and participated in a few myself. Most of the higher-ups in the organization snorted cocaine constantly, which was the drug of the moment back then. I did too, and it was lots of fun, although illegal. 

Had I the killer instinct I might have gotten my 15 minutes of fame by spilling my guts to the news organizations. Who knows, I might have even been on TV, like that Cassidy Hutchinson who told Congress yesterday that she heard that Trump said something about wanting to go to the Capitol on January 6, and about his grabbing the wheel of the automobile he was in. Of course she wasn't present but she heard about it from someone who was, and that's enough (these days) to land you on the front page of every newspaper in America.

Anyway, back at the 1980 Convention, I knew for a fact that Teddy Kennedy's people wanted more floor access because he made us print more passes even though that was specifically forbidden by the Convention bylaws. And I heard he that he was coming on to everyone in a dress (back then that was only women) and drunk most of the time. And that Senator Joe Biden was there and he did this and that to this woman and that woman. Of course, I didn't see any of that so it's just hearsay.

I didn't call the media, especially since I was having an affair with the married Convention Director. Instead I left the bacchanalian scene several days early and had an emergency session with my shrink who, wise in the ways of politics and politicians, told me to quit my job, which I did. 

But I still imagine that if I had gone to the media with all the hearsay I had on so many famous people, I could be Judy Woodruff today. Or at the very least, Maureen Dowd.

Have an Abortion, but Don't Kill A Pregnant Woman!

The Unborn Victims of Violence Act of 2004 

Public Law 108-212 is a United States law that recognizes an embryo or fetus in utero as a legal victim, if they are injured or killed during the commission of any of over 60 listed federal crimes of violence. The law defines "child in utero" as "a member of the species Homo sapiens, at any stage of development, who is carried in the womb."

About That Abortion Thing

Everyone should quit their bellyaching and take a look at the facts. I'm not suggesting that women (whatever they are) give up sex entirely. But there are times during the menstrual cycle when pregnancy is more likely to occur and other times when it isn't.  

There are also many products available, called birth control, that will prevent pregnancy. I suggest getting some of those.

In the event of pregnancy resulting from rape, go to your local pharmacy and get one of those "morning after" pills ASAP. Even if you aren't pregnant, it couldn't hurt. As for incest, you've got far bigger problems than being pregnant. Leave the home, call the police or get some family counseling.

If you must have sex constantly, like my old friend Joyce who often had dates involving intercourse with three different men in the same night at different times (and had six abortions over the years), just go to Maine or Vermont where abortion is legal. New England is lovely in the fall, and I hear the Disney Corporation will pay all travel and medical expenses for anyone in that predicament. 

Politics, Picasso and Me

Painting by Pablo Picasso

We used to have a lot of friends in our neighborhood. We'd have couples over for dinner and they reciprocated. Or I'd meet one of the other women for lunch in Portland. We threw holiday parties or attended them. It was all quite fun and 1950s.

That's all over now. Hardly anyone speaks to us since a couple of years ago when we put a sign in support of Senator Susan Collins out on our front lawn. Immediately a neighbor who always invited us to his annual 4th of July, SuperBowl and New Year's Eve parties drove by, stopped in front of our house while I was outside doing yard work, and said, "So -- you're a Trumpie?" I wasn't, I was a "Collinsie," but no matter -- Republican was all he needed to know. No more party invitations.

Same with a woman who I considered a good friend. We'd have dinner out with the husbands or lunch together in town. That all stopped when the Collins sign went up. And then there's this blog, which continually outs me, to anyone who reads it, as anti-Democrat and unawake. Recently it caused a rift between us and our very best friends here.

So now that politics has poisoned all my neighborhood friendships with hard-core, rigid, immovable Democrats, and my closest friends all live in distant states, I'm pretty much alone most of the time. I have a cat but that hardly counts in the togetherness department, as any cat owner will tell you. I'd love to get a dog but I simply can't stand the heartbreak involved.

So I paint. Since the friend blackout, my work has really improved. I wonder, did Picasso ever talk politics? Did he have any friends?

A False Sense of Security

Seaside Pavilion

Last night my husband and I attended an outdoor concert held in a popular Maine beach town. The promotional material promised we would be "thrilled by the music while enjoying cool ocean breezes." 

That sounded nice, and worth the 45-minute drive to get there. Turns out the place was nowhere near the ocean, although we knew for a fact that the ocean was a couple of miles away, or twice as far as it is from our own home. So much for the breezes....

Anyway, there we were and it was a lovely night. The parking lot was a considerable distance away and so a shuttle bus, quaintly called a "trolley" by all staff members, was required to get us to the venue. As we neared the trolley, a woman stationed by the door stopped us and asked, "Are you carrying any pocket knives?" 

"Certainly not," we replied, somewhat surprised by the question. Did that mean that if we had a box cutter or a pistol we were good to go? As she waved us aboard I asked, "What if people lie and say they don't have a pocket knife, or something worse?" 

"No worries," she said, "the metal detector you'll have to pass through will sort all that out." Only there never was any metal detector. You just showed your ticket to a little old lady and walked on through. In fact there was no form of security anywhere in or near the open-air theater, which was smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood with no barriers surrounding it of any kind. 

Happily the great state of Maine has never had a mass shooting event, but if it ever did, the Seaside Pavilion in Old Orchard Beach is a sitting duck.

Rita Moreno on Roe v. Wade

Actress Rita Moreno was fabulous as Anita in the original 1961 version of "West Side Story." She was a great dancer and read her lines well. Good thing she had lines, though, because her own words might have tanked the whole movie.

She's 90 now, and recently spoke to a reporter from Variety about the Supreme Court's ruling on abortion: 

"I'm depressed, but not completely surprised. I'm not shocked because I saw it coming, but I'm stunned. Unfair isn't a strong enough word, but it's unfair."

"I'm sorry, but I'm just shocked."

Film Review: LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

The Miserable Hoover Family, locked together in a VW bus.

In his 2006 review when this film was released, my favorite movie critic Roger Ebert, now deceased, called Little Miss Sunshine, "a gentle family satire and a classic American road movie." Really?  

Here's the Hoover family: A depressed, gay college professor (Steve Carrell) who has just lost his job and slit his wrists but survived, his middle-aged married sister (Toni Colette) who hates her life, her failed motivational speaker husband (Greg Kennear) who can't pay the bills, his foul-mouthed father (Alan Arkin) who locks himself in the bathroom to snort heroin, their miserable teenage son (Paul Dano) who has taken a vow of silence and writes notes saying "I Hate Everyone," and their pre-teen daughter (Abigail Breslin) who wants only to be in a beauty pageant, despite her lack of talent and beauty. 

Their usual nightly repast is a bucket of take-out fried chicken and a can of Fresca for each of them. Mom makes a salad that nobody eats that ends up in the garbage disposal. This is no family I want to be in, and not just because I never liked Fresca. 

This pathetic group embarks on a road trip so the daughter can compete in a beauty pageant 700 miles away, but have only two days to get there. The car breaks down immediately so they all have to push it to get it started and then jump in while it's moving every time they stop. (This happens repeatedly and gets old fast.) The grumpy grandfather OD's on the trip and ends up wrapped in a sheet in the trunk. The teen has a total meltdown telling them all how much they suck, the married couple has a huge fight in a seedy motel room, and the daughter does a striptease as her talent for the pageant -- taught by her porn-loving grandfather before his death -- getting the whole family on the stage fighting with pageant officials. The local police are called.

It's billed as a comedy. Have fun.

Racism Under Every Rock

The sign shown above was posted on the door of an insurance agency in a small town in Maine. The poster said she meant no harm and was just being "snarky," apologizing that it might have been insensitive towards black people. Nevertheless the photo has "sparked outrage" online and brought much woe to that company, despite it hurting nobody and amounting to not much. 

But not a peep from anyone about the earthquake in Afghanistan yesterday that killed 1,000 people. Of course, if they had all been black people the earthquake would have been deemed racist.

Just Say No to Nude Pickleball

"At the Beach Playa" by Fernando Botero

There's a heated controversy afoot on Nantucket Island concerning whether or not that ritzy town should permit nude beaches. While I haven't been there in more than 40 years, I remember it as a place with a bustling town center full of shops and restaurants and outlying beaches of exquisite serenity hidden from view by towering sand dunes. Of course, everyone there was insanely rich with a few exceptions, me being one of them. But thankfully, everyone was fully clothed.

Nudity is nice for marble statues in the Met, paintings by Fernando Botero (see above), newborn babies and children under the age of five. After that it's questionable. Certainly by the time one has the money to visit Nantucket or live there, nudity among the aging millionaires seems somewhat nauseating. Thus, my vote would be a no.

Similarly, playing pickleball in the nude, something I read about recently that is actually being done somewhere in Florida, should be firmly outlawed, and I use the word "firmly" to remind everyone how unfirm most of the players of that less-strenuous-than-tennis game surely are. Hey, I can hardly stand to see myself naked, and I work out.