Curdling the milk of human kindness

I need a vacation from facebook.  I was surprised by my reaction.  I felt sick from all the hatred spewed by normally inteligent people.  The rancor against Trump could not be worse if he had been seen pulling the trigger dressed up in a Hitler uniform.  People want to remove him at once, throwing 200 plus years of orderly government in the dumper without reflection.   If such a thing took place, we could not get our system back.  Because we are pygmies.  We are not worthy of the government bequeathed to us by the founders.

  How did these people get the impression, no really the unshakable conviction, that Trump was a racist?  He is crude for sure.  He is not one to take an insult without fighting back.  His Tweets are apparently not dignified nor fitting for a statesman and the leader of the free world.  He should be above reacting to insults. So say his opponents.

  Then I remember George W Bush, a gentleman, who took the high road, affeciing not to notice the slanders hurled at him every day .He never defended himself.   It did not stop his opponents from calling him Bushitler among other nasty things.  Trump must have taken note of what happened to his aristocratic predecessor and refused to play the same game. 

  I hope the election results will discourage the democrats' rage and show them the way to improve their methods.  It would be nice to have a two-party system.

   

A tale of two Weiners

Believe it or not, there are two candidates named Weiner on the ballot in Delaware.  One is a boy and the other is a girl.  The girl spells her name differently.I thought the name was out of style.  After all, how many guys named Adolph do you know?

  I'm not comparing Anthony W with Hitler.  He was just a sex offender and ugly to boot.  Another mystery: How did he attract the lovely Huma?

  I guess they were both passionate about politics.

Senate bullfight

I was in New York City during the hearings, and everyone had their televisions blaring.  All New Yorkers, aka Democrats, were prejudiced against Trump's choice before they knew who wound be chosen.   Because Trump, you know.

  A standout in the crowd of picadors was Cory Booker.  Booker obviously sees himself as a sort of Obama manque, which is odd as no-one could be more manque than Obama.  He is so full of hot air that I expect to see him  floating toward the ceiling.  A few hat tricks, a baritone voice,  a censorious rhetorical style, and  a  Chicago-style way of dealing with opponents were all he had.  But they were enough to derail the country for eight full years.  

The stuff that's in the car @ the wreckers

You could probably reconstruct my life by analyzing the stuff that's left in my car, a car that's at the body shop waiting for the insurance company to approve its repair for $9,000.

  There's my handicap plates, and the handicap placard, and the cane I use from time to time to make everybody feel sorry for me, or to not fall down, whichever comes first.  I'm not allowed to fall downuntil I retreive these items. Of course I have a brush, comb and mirror, doesn't everyone?  in the console.  Also multiple lipsticks and a small bottle of hand cream, in case I have to wash my hands.  My electronic thingy that gets me into the Jewish Community Center and the bag containing my swimming stuff, including a clean towel, a bathing cap, and spare underwear.

  Another electronic gizmo that allows me to sign up at the gym and the gym bag, also with clean underwear and a towel.  And earphones, with wires to plug them in.  Then there's the cell phone charger that's always plugged into the car.  The EZ-Pass in case I want to drive somewhere.

  A couple of umbrellas and a sunshade for the car, also a snow shovel and a brush to clean off the windshield in case it snows.  I don't need that immediately, but will soon, because my scheme to open a GoFundMe account to buy a condo  in Florida hasn't had many takers.  I guess thee money is more urgently needed to pay the legal fees of crooked FBI officials.  Their GoFundMe accounts are flourishing.   Maps.  Coupons from Bed Bath and Beyond and many other retail establishments.

The Runaway countertop

The kitchen countertop is self-destructing.  It is made of some composite material and its day--maybe its era--is done.  So I have been saving money for a new countertop.  It seems to cost $3,000-4,000.  I actually had over $2,000  saved up for it but I happened to get into a car accident that was my fault and I have an insurance policy with a $1,000 deductible, which makes sense when you don't have any accidents that are your fault, but if you do, it doesn't.  I hope I have explained this properly.


  Originally I planned to get the countertop at Home Depot.  I approached a man who was ostentatiously busy on the phone and tried to geet his attention.  I said I wanted a countertop.  He told me he was  frightfully busy and told me to make an appointment.  Apparently he had never heard of the philiosophy that the customer is always right.  I didn't feel that I wanted to make an appointment to give someone who was too busy to see me my money.  I decided to go elsewhere.

  This house could easily use $12,000 worth of work.  A paint job.  New kitchen floor.  New bathroom floor.  But I thought a new countertop was doable.  A good start.  Maybe not.

 I can see the countertop receding into the future--a very distant future. 

The homeless are back, and better than ever

It's a Republican thing.  Whenever a republican occupies the White House, the homeless spring up like flowers in May.

   So naturally now that Trump is President, they are all over the place.  Particularly in California.

 
They  had existed, no proliferated, during George W Bush's presidency, no doubt as a direct result of his Hitlerian tendencies and his cruelty and unfeelingness. What a relief it was, that during Obama's tenure, we heard nothing about them.  We had eight long years of not having to worry about the homeless.  Where they went is anybody's guess. No doubt at least some of them managed to buy those expensive comdominiums advertised in the Sunday New York Times. 

They are back, big time! pooping it up in San Francisco, building tent cities, living under bridges, and panhandling from tourists.  Now that Trump has taken over the Hitler position, for the time being, until the Democrats manage to dislodge him, by fair means or foul.

Was anybody else revolted by the McCain funeral games? I assume that he has at last been placed in his final resting place., after dragging his body all over the Mid-Atlantic States and orating over it.  The fervor of the obsequies led me to believe that perhaps he would rise from the dead.

a long thirty minutes

I generally do 30 minutes of walking on the treadmill, while watching something on  television.  Today, I started my stint just as Joe Biden began his eulogy of the sainted John McCain.  To hear him tell it, they were like brothers or even more so.  Soulmates would be more like it.  Used each other's toothbrushes, practically.

  He managed to drag himself into the discussion, speaking---at length--of the tragedies he had suffered in his life.

  I always thought that McCain was a testy sort of fellow, stubborn and opinionated and not too easy to get along with.  Biden disabused me of that notion.  McCain was apparently a saint who had walked among us unawares, on water when necessary.  Biden took plenty of time to reiterate his virtues.  And to inform us that someday the sun would shine again, after we had suffered sufficient grief over the loss of the holy man.

  My thirty minutes were up but Biden was still going strong. . I tore myself away.

Honors student

When I learned that Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was near the top of her graduating class, I was not surprised.  She is a fine example of what we are buying with our education dollars: an empty-headed post adolescent who has never thought straight in her life, but echoes the garbage fed to her by her lefty professors.

  Our institutions of higher education are a disgrace.  Everyone gets good grades no matter what they have actually learned.  Most students learn nothing and are as empty headed when they graduate as they were when they entered. Judging from newspaper accounts, all college students do nowadays is demonstrate against those who think differently from them,destroy ststues, nourish their hurt feelings, drink, have sex, seek revenge against their sexual partners, and complain to the bevy of administrators who are paid to validate their idiocy.

  Unless they have figured out a way to get more than 24 hours in a day, when do they have time to attend classes, much less study?

I find myself totally baffled by the ongoing investigation of Russian meddling in the 2016 election.  None of it seems to make sense.  The British statesman Lord Palmerston is reported to have said: “Only three people have ever really understood the Schleswig-Holstein business—the Prince Consort, who is dead—a German professor, who has gone mad—and I, who have forgotten all about it.^{"  The stuff that is coming out is so beside the point--prostitutes, ostrich coats.  So what ?  The government is making an ass of itself I assumed people who worked for the government were operating in good faith.  I was so wrong..} The whole country has turned into Chicago, writ large.




 ^{Now I hate everybody: the FBI, Homeland Security, Congress (both parties), the IRS.  The list is endless.   All crooks and traitors.} 

 

I plan to come up with an incisive solution to the Russia meddling thing...

as soon as I complete my analysis of fhe Watergate affair.

Continuing my last post

I forgot to mention my new bete noir, E-Z Pass.

  I like gadgets, or used to, so I was an early adopter of E=Z Pass.  We were living in New Jersey at the time, and you know what hell the New Jersey roads are. ( If you don't know, you haven't missed a thing.  But I digress.)  At any rate, The late Mr Charm detested traffic.  He took it as a personal affront that anyone else wanted to use the roads at the same time he did.  He particularly hated being stuck in a line waiting to pay a toll, along with his objection to paying for tolls at all, since he already paid taxes.

  Anyway, my E Z Pass payments were supposed to come out of a credit card.  Unfortunately, the card had an expiration date, and duly expired.  So I was in arrears  on the bloody thing, and Delaware sent me a nasty note.  They wanted $4 for the toll, plus $25 administrative fee, plus $10 for some worthy cause and another $15 for another worthy cause.  The total amounted to $54, for a $4 toll.  A whole new definition of highway robbery.

  EZ Pass was supposed to make my life easier, not more complicated.  So I called New York, snd told them my tale of woe.  They promised to send me another E Z  Pass transponder, but wanted to know the license number of my car.  I can never remember what the license plate is, so they asked if I still was driving the 2011 Nissan Sentra, which they apparently considered the license  number of record,  I agreed, although I am actually driving a 2017 Nissan Sentra.  They don't need to know that, though, so I'll keep it a secret.

Have you ever noticed that many improvements become burdens?

E-mail, for instance.  I welcomed e-mail for a variety of reasons.  I could get in touch with my friends.  I could order things online.  I could complain quickly and painlessly with providers such as Comcast.

  Now I dread it.  I get around 200 e-mails a day.  The only reason I look at them is to avoid a pile-up of epic proportions.  So I have to keep up with them in order to avoid being inundated by unwanted and unsolicited messages and missing the few--very few--from people I actually want to hear from.  When I miss a week I have so many messages that I just delete them all.

  The people I have financial accounts with want to send me e-mail bills.  Its cheaper and more convenient for them.  But not for me.  I prefer to get my bills from the post office.  In that way I can look at the charges and see if they really are something I charged or some kind of hack.  Ditto for bank statements.  More than once I have been charged two or even three times for something I only ordered once.  I was charged four times for "audible," which I never used and particularly loathe as I don't like books read to me.  The only thing I want to hear broadcast is music. 

 Another irksome feature of modern life is voicemail,  I long ago gave up answering my landline because of all the unwanted solicitations.  Now I am getting them on my cell phone.  So I never answer the cell phone unless the number is known to me.  But it's still annoying to hear it ring at inappropriate times.

  I'm not a hater of modernity, nor do I long for a simple life.Modern life is great.  I love air conditioning, ice makers, and Japanese cars, among other things too numerous to mention.
Including blogging.  And I appreciate those few, those happy few, who read my blogs.

Praying for unbelievers

Some of my Facebook friends who are in distress ask for prayers from their friends.  I'm willing to comply, but frankly I'm not sure if my prayers are answered or even heard.  I'm rather dubious about the whole thing.

Not to say that I am not a believer,  or even a non-believer.  I am in the position of whoever said:  "Lord I believe--help thou my unbelief."  I have friends who are deeply religious and who derive comfort from their beliefs.  I cannot say the same of myself.  I can only say that I hope to believe, but have serious doubts.

Why would I want to believe?  I would like to believe that those  I lost will be restored to me, that I will some day see my mother, my father, my dearest cousins whose departure has left such a hole in my life.  I would like to believe that there is a realm where those who suffered will be free of pain, that sinners will suffer., that the good and virtuous will get their reward. 

I cannot understand  ardent atheists, especially those who proselytize, and take joy in converting others to their ardent hopes that this life is all there is.  Those who nourish such hatred of God that they must proclaim their disbelief from the rooftops.

I remember the late Christopher Hitchens, when he was dying of lung cancer, telling those who said they were praying for him that that was fine if it made them feel better.  Well, I was one of those who prayed for him, which in my case meant that I was sad for him, thought of him often and ardently wished he would be spared.  Or if not spared, that his suffering would be lessened.

  I never believed that my prayers or ardent wishes would be efficacious. They were not.  He subsequently suffered greatly and then died.  Would I like to believe that his witty spirit somehow survived him and still exists in some other realm?  Of course.

FBI agent escorted from FBI building.

I'm just going to call him Peter S.  His name is too hard for me--he is seriously deficient in vowels; also in morals.   Apparently he spent his time at work texting his inamorata, the lazy bum, and conspiring against the president.  I hope he does serious jail time.  Not that he will.  None of them do.

I'm  seriously pissed at Laura Bush.  She sounded off about these immigrant children being separated from their parents.  It was okay to separate these children in her husband's administration, as well as under Obama.  It only became heartless and wrong when Trump did it.  I liked the Bush family, because they kept their mouths shut unlike that whited sepulcher Jimmy Carter.  They have spoiled their record now.

Last on my shit list is Netflix, who hired the Obamas. I canceled my subscription.  That'l learn them!

Losing friends permanently

Some of the people I've been following on Facebook are taking drastic steps to sever relationships with friends and even family because these individuals voted for or even defended Trump (also known as the President of the United States). They are even unfriending people who by not enthusastically agreeing or  offering no opinion on the topic  appear to offer tacit support.  Off with their heads!

Friends come and go, and Trump has come and will eventually go. Someone more to your liking will be President eventually.  What will not come back, if they have any sense, are the former friends.  People who used to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner or come and see you when you were in the hospital or just wish you a happy birthday are gone forever.  Your former colleagues, second cousins, neighbors who used to babysit for your kids.  Those who you rejected can now reject you.

How painful it is to read the screeds of the Trump haters1  They act as if the secret police have invaded their homes in the middle of the night.  Their whole way of life has been destroyed.  The ideals of the founders (all racists anyway and all dead white males) have been betrayed!  The whole country is pervaded by racism!  Everyone who did not vote for Hillary is anti-woman!

Unpleasant evening at the Kimmel Center

I had tickets for Tosca, supposedly the hottest ticket in Philadelphia, for me and my daughter. It was a special occasion, a birthday celebration for her.   As we approached the Kimmel Center, we saw a group of activists blocking Broad Street.  The police were monitoring the situation--I think.  Not very well, it turned out.  These activists were all over the place, like ants at a picnic.  At least two of them approached me and more would have. They were in the street, in the lobby, everywhere.

What was it all about?  These mostly middle aged white women were protesting the orchestra's plan to perform in Israel.

The Kimmel Center was showing signs of age, or perhaps of deferred maintenance.  There were buckets here and there set to catch leaks from the roof, fallen plaster was all over the place and one of the water fountains was out of order.

There was a full house. We took our seats, the concert master came out, then the conductor,   Yannick Nézet-Séguin, . He bowed and tapped his baton on the lectern, and...a female voice erupted over the speaker system, shouting about justice for Palestine.  The conductor left the stage, and some of  the musicians also started to leave.  The woman continued shouting.  We could not see what was going on, but the disturbance lasted maybe ten minutes. Ten minutes is a long time when you are waiting for a musical performance.  Then order was restored, Yannick and the musicians returned and the concert commenced.  It was handled clumsily.

It was a sort of semi-staged version of Tosca.  I did not enjoy myself very much.  Trying to follow the action of the opera distracted me from enjoying the music, and the music distracted me from following the plot. I blame the Palestinians. They and their supporters have a lot to answer for.

It was a very long opera, made longer by an interval toward  the end when the action was interrupted while a couple of stage hands moved some furniture, without musical accompaniment.  The audience stirred, ready to leave, but a supertitle warned us the opera was not over.  That was awkward, not to say weird.

All in all, not what I expected when I plunked down $158 for two seats in the third tier.

I am sorry to hear that Melania Trump now has a "cause."

I liked her just as she was, heart-stoppingly beautiful.  Silent was good too.  A nice change from the noisy, opinionated Michele, who I don't miss..

To my readers, and maybe to myself

I know very few people read this stuff, but that's okay.  I write these blog posts as a discipline, and to reveal my real feelings.  For all practical purposes it's almost anonymous, which means freedom for me.

  I have a Facebook page, but I use it to display my artwork and post photographs.  Sometimes I mention Memorial Day or something, or talk about my relatives.  The only reason I don't post cat pictures is that I don't have a cat.  Mention my political views?  Not on your life.

  Back in the day, my stepmother was notorious enough to be on a file of Communist sympathizers. And that was before the Internet.

 I am nostalgic for the old days when bloggers with interesting or amusing ideas used to post a lot.  those days are gone.  Now they post amusing things on Twitter, and I am not on Twitter.  That is intentional.

Is there anything so small and insignificant that environmentalists won't make a cause.of it?

First they came for the  showerheads; then they came for the light bulbs.  Plastic bags.  Nothing is so insignificant that they can't make a cudgel out of it,  controlling people's lives, but not enough to make anyone really mad. enough to do anything.   It's like a series of little tick bites; they don't kill you but they annoy you 24/7.

I could go on.  Did I mention top loading washing machines?  Detergents that don't deter anything? CAFE standards for cars to save fuel so that there is more for Al Gore and Leo diCaprio to circumnavigate the globe, hectoring everyone from the comfort of their air-conditioned palatial mansions? This is a partial list, I'm sure.  So what's next?

  The latest is straws.  Drinking straws. In London, they are making them illegal.  They are trying to do the same in California.  Never mind that the State has super-high taxes, unfunded pensions, and people living in the streets because they can't afford housing. Straws are destroying the
Environment--it's an emergency!

  What's next?  Toothpicks, which are destroying the redwood trees?  Never mind, I'm sure they can come up with more.  It's what they do.

Leaning on something

You all know I broke my foot.  This led the doctors to give me various assistive devices, including a cane and a walker--not simultaneously, the walker came first.

  I can now report that walking with a cane makes you look ten years older.  Instantly, even if you have just undergone a facelift.  A walker adds another  ten years, plus the suspicion that you are either deaf or senile.  So people enunciate carefully, making sure you are looking them straight in the face.  Ugh!

What makes activists tick

I can remember protests in the late sixties--we were protesting the Vietnam War then.  Lo and behold, the war ended, not necessarily because  of the protests.  But the protestors thought it was caused by them.  By God, it felt good.

  The cessation of the war made people hungry for more..  It was like a drug,  It gave them a sense of control.   People missed the excitement, the crowds, the festive air, the fresh air.  So everybody started protesting something, or everything, or nothing.

  The environment was the next Good Thing.  And, boy, did everybody crumble.  Nobody stood up for pollution.  It was a heady success.  We were reminded of that success every time we went to the store and nobody gave us a plastic bag.

  Lately, there has been some pushback, but the protesters chose their targets carefully.  If anyone protested the efforts for gun control, you could shut them up by telling them they had the blood of children on their hands.  It turned out, no-one wanted to kill a child.  Of course not!  But some people still wanted to keep their guns, the murderers!   Not that they had killed any children with them, or even any adults; they just refused to give up guns no matter how passionately the protesters argued. 

 

It's poetry month

I've always liked this one.  I like gloomy poems.

Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame

Is lust in action; and till action, lust

Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame,

Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,

Enjoyed no sooner but despisèd straight,

Past reason hunted; and, no sooner had

Past reason hated as a swallowed bait

On purpose laid to make the taker mad;

Mad in pursuit and in possession so,

Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;

A bliss in proof and proved, a very woe;

Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.

    All this the world well knows; yet none knows well

    To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

My gofundme project

The news of Andrew McCabe's Gofundme project upset me until I came to my senses.  The man is, like me, a retired civil servant who has only his pension to rely on.  How can he afford legal fees?  True, his wife has money, and they live in a multi-million dollar home, but the man says he needs money for legal fees and who am I, whose relative had to pay a lawyer $50,000 to get out of a contract, to doubt him.  Andy--if I may take the liberty of calling him that--is a good example of a retired civil servant making lemonade out of lemons.  He has inspired me to start my own gofundme scheme.

  Naturally, I want the money for a worthwhile cause.  I don't want diamonds or European travel or anything like that.  But, looking through the New York Times magazine, I came upon a project which would certainly improve my mental health--a luxury condo in Florida.  You see, it really snows very hard up here in Delaware, and my doctor has forbidden  me to shovel snow.  So far, my neighbors have helped me with this, but it is really not fair to them to have this extra burden.

  So it would improve the morale of the whole neighborhood if I were to spend the winter in Florida, leaving the snow to pile up in my driveway until the crocuses and daffodils come out.

  I know asking people for a luxury condo is a bit much.  The optics, you know.  So I wont ask for a luxury condo in Fort Lauderdale, which is what was advertised in the Times.  I'd be satisfied with a modest--but not too modest--little pied a terre on the West Coast, even as far north as the panhandle.  I think I will ask for $400,000 , $350,000 for the condo itself and $50,000 to furnish it. That seems eminently reasonable.  I will even pay the monthly fees and airfare to get from here to there.  I could raise a little money from airbnb to supplement my very modest  income.

You go, Pennsylvania!

A Pennsylvania law that gives tax breaks to farms--and also golf courses and lavish private homes--is being criticized by the people who actually pay taxes.

Supporters say Clean and Green has helped shield millions of acres of farms and other pristine lands from being turned into strip malls, warehouses and Levittowns. The lowered assessments, they say, are a bargain compared to the expense of development and the strains it places on schools, roads and public services. Backers also insist that any problematic properties represent a tiny portion of the lands enrolled.

{snip)

Under the program, qualifying properties — those with at least 10 contiguous acres or that generate $2,000 in farm sales annually — are assessed on what the land is worth as a working farm or woodlot, and not its value on the real estate market. State officials estimate that on average, that works out to a 50 percent reduction in assessment, though the numbers can be as dramatic as pennies on the dollar.

The hardest hit communities were in rural school districts such as Northwestern Lehigh and Bangor Area. Last week, the presidents of each school board said they support the tax breaks for farmers, but feel it is unfair to the average taxpayer to provide them to mansion owners with large estates.
“Somebody has found a loophole in my humble opinion,” said Bangor Area’s Michael Goffredo. “You just got a bargain somebody else isn’t getting.”
Like others, Northwestern Lehigh’s Willard Dellicker called Clean and Green a well-intentioned law producing unintended results.
“Some leniency is needed for farmers, but I don’t believe that we should be giving millionaires property tax reductions because they own 10 acres to get into Clean and Green,” Dellicker said.

Why do they want to prevent development of land that would lead to more young couples owning their own homes  and raising children who would attend local schools?  There's an erroneous belief in this country that the population is too large and that people should avoid having children.  In fact, the population is becoming grayer.  We need children and young people to support us old people who are on social security.  Also to power the factories, to invent and create and think new things.
  Look at Delaware--a potentially nice area of the country which is covered with hospitals, nursing homes, and senior living facilities.  Is that what we want?

  Nursing homes or schools, which do you prefer?  Because you can't have both.

•  

Summer soldiers and sunshine patriots

It was a fine day for a parade Saturday, and the summer soldiers and their buddies the sunshine patriots made a fine display all over the country.

  I wonder how big the turnout would have been if we had been experiencing some of the weather we have been getting lately: snow, high winds, hail, and power outages?  But none of these happened, and if they had, the turnout would have been close to zero.  There was no price to be paid for protesting in the fine weather, aided by some  corporations who, as Kruschev said, would sell us the rope to hang ourselves.  Evil, evil corporations!  Or maybe just stupid, or cowardly like the Broward Cowards who didn't want to enter the school while the shooting was going on--man, you could have got killed out there! Better to hang out behind your cars until the danger has passed.  First responders, indeed!

Advice you can use: How to get anemic

When I was a kid I always fantasized about being able to eat anything I wanted to, whenever I wanted to.  My fantasies in those days ran to Wonder Bread--which my family would never buy, preferring challah or rye--non-Kosher lunch meats, and Heath bars.  I offer these memories to those who think that kids would eat healthy if you just let them choose what they would like to eat.

  However, in the middle of my journey, I found myself alone.  No one to cook for.  No one to share meals with, unless I wanted to.  So I started eating anything.  Or everything.  If I had a pound of macaroni salad, I would eat as much of it as I chose, maybe the whole thing.  Or Brussels sprouts with chestnuts and lots of butter.  Hard boiled eggs.  A baked potato, or two.  Yogurt with fruit.  Fruit alone, some days, in the summer when fruit was bountiful and available.  Meat was a great nuisance to make, the stove got dirty, and I had to turn on the oven fan.

  I don't want to exaggerate, I sometimes but not too often, made myself a nourishing soup or stew, generally in the crockpot.  I figured it would even out, somehow. 

  Then I found out I was anemic.  Now I have to take iron pills, which you can't take with meals or with other medications.  This means I pop one in my mouth when I think of it.  Or whenever.  This averages out to three iron pills a week, because I am usually either eating or taking pills, instead of the two a day I am supposed to take.

  Instead, I make healthy meals and have to clean the stove frequently, like a normal person.

Short memory

The Florida school shooting has raised everyone's consciousness about gun control.  That's because school kids are appealing victims.  It's great theater when kids walk out of school for 17 (get the symbolism?) minutes all over the country.  These appealing youngsters are featured on television news, looking young, vulnerable, and as if they know what they are talking about.  Which they don't.

Much is made of the police officers' caution, or cowardice, in staying in the safe haven of the parking lot, hiding behind cars for good measure.  I, too deplore it.  I mean, what are we paying them for?  They are supposed to keep the children safe.

But did anyone notice that when a gunman shot up a gay nightclub, with the shooter actually on the phone to authorities, that it took them almost three hours to arrive? Perhaps  they thought that by then the gunman might be out of bullets?  I guess these gay men and their friends and families were not as cute as the Parkland high schoolers, although they were just as dead.

There was the usual formulaic handwringing, but nobody's heart was really in it, and it blew over quickly.

  I guess it's really about the children.

Eating for beginners

My mother liked to make an opera--soap or grand, as the occasion demanded--out of little things.  For instance, she thought my brother was in imminent danger of starving because he had skinny arms and legs.  So she fed him at every opportunity.  After he had eaten dinner, if he left so much as a pea on his plate, she would take him to the drive-in and stuff him with French fries like someone stuffing a Strasburg goose.  This continued until the kid weighed 200 pounds, at 5'7".  She then started harping at him for being too fat.

 I was a fussy eater.  I liked hot chocolate, but if there was a layer of skim on the top of the cup, I not only would not eat it, I  ran out of the room screaming.  I wouldn't eat anything made with mayonnaise, because I couldn't identify the ingredients.  My father believed in stern discipline on the food front.  He made me sit at the table until I had consumed enough to satisfy him, or until bedtime, whichever came first.  Long dreary hours (probably only minutes, but they seemed like hours) passed as I stared at the congealed fat on my now tepid plate, without eating it of course. Mercifully, bedtime freed me.

  Then there was the morning milk.  Dad believed that milk was good for children, particularly at breakfast.  I could not, or would not, drink cold milk in the morning.  If I was made to drink it, I usually threw up.  Mealtimes were full of drama at our house.

How the Anglo-Saxons saved my life, with the help of the Bexley, OH library

Of course I'm an Anglophile, and have been since the age of 13.  That was how old I was when I read my first book by P G Wodehouse and discovered the wonderful world of country estates, servants, and the Drones Club.  What a great place to live!  Even at that age, I knew it was too good to be true, but that in no way detracted from its charm.  Fortunately, that was in the old days, when the Bexley  Library had not discarded any books, so I was able to read a dozen volumes by the Master.

  And then I discovered Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, to be exact.  I loved that book so much that when I first finished reading it I went back to the opening and read it again.  Country houses!  Balls!   Gossip!   But it wasn't just the setting, I loved Jane Austen's style.  These two authors taught me to write, taught me what a great writing style could bring to a book, and got me on the road to being a lifelong Anglophile and a prodigious reader.   

  I'm not kidding when I said they saved my life, either.  I was a miserable kid, attending a new school, and two years younger than my classmates.  My parents were getting divorced, not that either of them mentioned the topic, but my father's total absence from our new house was noticeable even to an unobservant child.  I also didn't have the clothes the popular girls wore.  Even my shoes were not quite right. 

  In addition to this, I was so shy that I dreaded anyone even looking at me.  Needless to say, I had no friends.  My classmates scared me.  I hated that school with an intensity that frightens me to this day.  Once I went away to college, I never walked down the street where the high school was located.  I never wanted to be in Central Ohio again, and mostly I haven't been.

  I buried my head in P G Wodehouse and Jane Austen.  When I was in their world I was released from the realities of my own.  I don't know how I would have gotten through high school without them.  But I am eternally grateful to the library for making my continued existence possible.

   

I knew the Jewish Conspiracy would come up...

and by god, it has.   The left, of course, has given Israel the back of its hand for years, yammering on about the poor Palestinians.  But now anti-semitism has cropped up on what can be described as the nutter right.  Apparently, my people are big-time plutocrats, controlling banks and newspapers and generally telling others what to think while themselves rolling in money.  A nice lifestyle, I think, particularly the financial part.  So where's my cut?

  I have been left out of this Vast Jewish Conspiracy and forced to work for local government.  and not even the political part, where I understand bribes are an honored tradition, but in the library.  It is well known that when politicians want to cut spending, they cut back on funding the library. Politicians don't read anyway, so no-one is harmed.

  

A fortuitous find

I am always one book short of clinical depression without a book to look forward to. Sometimes I feel that I have read everything worth reading by my crochety tastes, andf will be stuck re-reading "When Patty Went to College" for the rest of my life.

  Then I get lucky.  On a pile of discards at the Good Will, I discovered "All Our Worldly Goods" by Irene Nemirovsky.  I almost skipped it because I noted that the author had been killed in the Holocaust and I thought her work might be gloomy and depressing. Au contraire!


I find it difficult to express  anything positive or approving about a book or movie.  Dislike is so much easier to articulate.  Nemirov, though, delighted me.  I think you will like her work if you like Tolstoy, or maybe Balzac.   The milieu is bourgeous France between the wars, and she is a keen observer of manners and mores, with a dazzling lightness of touch. 

  I downloaded another of her books to my Kindle, "Suite Francaise," which is even better, also taking place just before the German defeat, a period of great despair, confusion, and hysteria in France.  The advancing German troops disrupt everyone's lives and turn everyone into a refugee.  The fabric of society is torn and can never be reclaimed.  Except it is, after a fashion.

  Read the damn book!

I gave up on trying to understand politics a long time ago

I can't understand the brouhaha about President Trump.  He's probablly not the most charming man in the world but.  what has he done that's so awful?  Has he sent the secret police to your house at 3 a m to drag you away to prison in chains?  Stolen your bank account?  Kidnapped your children?

  I would prefer Winston Churchill, but that's just me.  He was not on offer.  And Trump has done some stuff I really like, like beat ISIS.  Increased employment.  And my personal favorite, caused, or permitted, the stock market to rise spectacularly, making my small savings, which could be accurately described as the widow's mite, a bit more mighty.  So he has orange hair and tweets a lot.   Compared  to Caligula, he's not so bad.  And he will serve for a minimum of 4 years and a maximum of 8, and will be gone.

  I long ago gave up trying to understand politics. I remember the exact moment when this happened..  It was when the Watergate break-in occurred.  I read the newspapers, listened to the news, and read the books ghost-written by the participants, but was still baffled.  And I am still in that state, but I don't try to understand it any more.  I felt a flicker of interest when Scooter Libby was jailed for spitting on the sidewalk or something, but it soon subsided, and I resumed my customary calm, not to be confused with torpor.

  I've got my own troubles.

Allowing three people a day to be jerks

I used to get excited over every little thing, particularly when I was behind the wheel of a car, so I adopted a philosophy that stood me in good stead for years:  allow three people a day to be jerks before you take anything too seriously.

  I don't know if I can keep it up much longer, though.  A philosophical question:  do the three people have to include Chuck Shumer?  Or can I make an exception and get my blood pressure up every time I see him on television without abandoning my convictions?

  I'm not extra fussy.  I can take Maxine Walters in my stride any day of the week, as when she announces that 600 million people will lose their health insurance or something like that.  Nancy Pelosi doesn't bother me, I know she's a big liar; Al Franken doesn't get my goat, neither does that old blowhard, Joe Biden.  But Shumer gets to me every day that Congress is in session.

  Thank God Congress is taking a vacation soon, so I can take a vacation from them.  It does wonders for my blood pressure.

Denunciation as a form of punishment

My father, who was a lawyer, had a conversation with me when I was a teenager on the subject of rape.  I can't remember how it started, but ultimately he told me that allegations of rape were hard to defend against, and that angry women might seek revenge against an innocent person by alleging rape falsely.  Therefore the authorities were hesitant to prosecute such accusations because they could destroy reputations and even lives of innocent men.

  Of course, that was before rape kits and DNA and such.  But he had a point. 

  Now this Me too business has gone too far.  Mere assertions of rape or even loutish behavior are enough to destroy lives. No proof is necessary.  After the first accusation, more complaints pile up.  The accused grovel in public statements and lose their jobs immediately. Their wives leave them.  I wouldn't be surprised to hear that the family dog has bitten the offender. 

  Take Al Franken.  I never thought the day would come when I would defend Franken.  But mere accusations of boorish behavior--which is all that has been alleged--should not have destroyed his career and his livelihood.  And that photograph of him leering over that unconscious woman clearly is not harassment.  Rather, it is sophomoric showing off.  If every man who behaved clownishly were deprived of his job, there would be far less employment in this country.

  Being a nasty person is not a criminal offense.  If a man behaves boorishly, a woman should have enough self-respect to defend herself, not to accuse him of harassment years later, when nothing can be proved and all witnesses have forgotten the circumstances.

  There are other ways of being boorish.  Of being a lousy employer, of picking on subordinates.  If your boss behaves criminally, report him to the authorities.  If he's just a mean son-of-a-bitch, suck it up or look for another job.  Behave  like a grown-up. 

  My fear is that men will be reluctant to hire women.  Hiring a woman would be like giving someone a loaded gun.  It's likely to go off unexpectedly. 

  No one gets a chance to defend himself.  No one gets to confront his accusers. The press acts a judge and jury and the public buys it.  It's not a good way to run a country.

The Trump presidency--how can we stand it?

Sarcasm alert, of course.  Trump has been president for almost a year, and the secret police have not visited me even once  The stock market is up  I am still as free as I ever was.  So are my friends and relations.I can live with this distressing situation indefinitely., but apparently they can't.  They are more delicate, I guess.

  What has he done?  A lot of this and that, none of it affecting me.  He made anti-semitic remarks.  Except that he didn't.  He's racist, so they say.  Apparently they can sense this through the air, they know it in their bones.  Except their bones are wrong.

  The last I heard this kind of talk, it was about Reagan.  That damn fool made a speech asking Gorbachev to tear down the Berlin Wall.  .  It was awful. The man didn't have a lick of sense. All his advisors warned him not to do it.  But he did it, and shortly thereafter the Berlin Wall was torn down, by a coincidence, no doubt.

  Trump haters, get a grip.

About Roy Moore and guys in their thirties attracted to teenagers

I am finally giving this my full attention.  -Not that I care who wins the election in Alabama.  They both seem like dopes, as do most of those already serving in the Senate.  So who cares who wins?

  By the way, how can any body that includes Alcee Hastings object to anyone joining their ranks?  He's already been impeached, convicted, and removed from the judgeship.  Good lord, if he can serve in Congress, so could Bugs Bunny.  So, for that matter, could Caligula's horse.  The horse, at least, could not preen himself about his high moral standards.

  Back to Roy Moore, now an old guy but once a thirty-something who was interested in teen age girls.   Let me cite my uncle.  My uncle, an unmarried physician in his thirties, met my aunt at a social event, and asked her out.  I don't remember her exact age at the time, but she must have been a teenager, because they got married when she was 20.  No one considered this scandalous.  They had three children and lived together for at least fifty years.  So it's not exactly unheard of for a man in his thirties to be interested in a younger woman.

  It was not unheard of, back in the unenlightened years of the twentieth century, for a woman to get married in her teens.  Both Elizabeth Taylor and Shirley Temple got married at 17.  No eyebrows were raised in either case.  And very pretty brides they were, too.

Bad courtship

I am gripped by the revelations pouring forth about all these esteemed entertainers and sages.  Aren't these fellows married?  How did they court their wives?  Did they show up for the first date and remove all their clothes?  As a chaser, did they feel her up?  Or rape her?

  Lots of married men have extramarital affairs, but they are usually the result of mutual consent. .Alexander Hamilton comes to mind, and crossing the pond there is the example of David Lloyd George.  JFK is an outstanding candidate--no complaints from his many girlfriends.

 The usual courtship template went like this in the 20th century:  call the woman up; ASK HER OUT, take her to a movie or  to dinner or to a ball game; start seeing her regularly, buy her flowers or candy for Valentine's Day.  Many of us followed this procedure and ended up in bed, married or not. You could even be single.  If you had a wife and family, you could work around this.  Malcolm Muggeridge was fascinated by what he called the Administrative Side of Love, involving logistics for the inconveniently married.

  There are plenty of ladies out there who go for married men with their eyes wide open.  Go find one of those,, and stop hitting on interns and teenagers.  Isn't life complicated enough without adding charges of rape to your resume?

A ragbag of ideas

1.   My internet was down for a week.  I couldn't get anything on my computer or my two Kindles  (Don't ask.)  I could get Internet on my phone, but I don't like doing it on such a small screen.  Therefore I was incommunicado.  Not a place I like to be.

I signed up for personal training in August and paid $320 that month.  For some reason, the credit card company thought this was a recurring item, and took out $320 in September and October.  If they hadn't written me a stiff note about the November payment, I might have been paying it still.

I went to the emergency treatment center Tuesday and they found several things wrong with me which I hadn't even thought of.  That's good, I guess.  I hope this does not mean that I'm dying of some mysterious disease.

My family was here for a week, during which time they misplaced the downstairs broom and the downstairs mop.  (I keep duplicates of these things as I don't like to carry them up (or down) stairs.  My daughter is famous for putting things where she believes they should logically be placed.  Therefore I can't find them.  Anyway, I brought the upstairs mop downstairs and mopped the kitchen floor.

Someone commented that I read so many books I should have a book blog.  I don't seriously want to do that.  I don't like reading most books, particularly those highly esteemed by the critics.  For instance, if you put lighted matches under my fingernails I would read the work or Margaret Atwood.  And if I could get to a sink or other source of water, I would put out the flames posthaste so i could stop reading her work as soon as possible.

Not good enough for the New York Times

A relative has kindly given me a subscription to the Sunday New York Times.  I enjoyed it for a while, then I didn't.

  Why?  Looking at the advertisements--expensive new New York apartments, jewelry, fashion--I realize that I am not a member of the demographic being sought by the New York Times.  I don't have enough money to buy any of the stuff they are selling.  So my readership is not valuable to the newspaper.  Also, I don't agree with the editorial policies of the paper. Only people who can buy expensive apartments overlooking the Hudson are in sympathy with these policies.  They don't fly with paupers like me.

  I also don't like to see President Trump brought into every issue discussed.  No issue can be mentioned without a disdainful mention of Trump being dragged in needlessly.  Just to show that the author of the piece exhibits and is shown to exhibit the proper disdain for Trump and the Americans who voted him into office.

  Endless publicity is given to Congressmen who draw up articles of impeachment of Trump.  The fact that these are unlikely to succeed and are not intended to go anywhere is not mentioned.  They are simply instances of cheap politicians showing off.  Trump is as likely to be impeached as I am to be named Miss America in 2018.

Ulysses wins another one

That's Ulysses S Grant, not the Ulysses of Homer.  He won the war with me because the book by Ron Chernow  is just to heavy for me to hold.  I will have to get the Audible version from Amazon.  I already know how it ends, but I have tremendous admiration for Grant and want to know more about him.

  Why can't they publish books in two volumes any more?  It worked for Dickens.  It worked for Trollope.It would work for me, too.  Even three volumes would be fine.

  Only don't make a musical out of this one.  Grant was not a music lover.  He is rumored to have said that he only recognized  two tunes:  "One was Yankee Doodle, and the other wasn't."

What's with this Russia thing? And Mueller, and other related bafflling topics

I have never understood politics--not since the Watergate break-in.  What was the brlght idea of breaking in to Dem headquarters?  The Republicans were a shoo-in to win anyway.  They actually won about 45 states, and would have won more if there had been  57 as  Obama seemed to believe. 

  So I can't quite understand what the Mueller investigation is about.  Wasn't it about Russia influencing the 2016 election? .  It's like you call an exterminator to get rid of the ants and he shows up and confiscates your car.  Is Mueller crazy?  Or is everybody in Washington crazy?

  Then there's the problem, greatly exaggerated, of delicate individuals getting sick or resisting Trump's election.   All they are doing is trying to undermine public confidence in  the election system which has served us pretty well for 200 years.  They should all go stand in a corner and repeat "res ipsa loquitor" over and over until they get it, which will probably take three and a half to seven years.  Or you can give them coloring books  Lots and lots of coloring books.  And don't forget the crayons.

  Meanwhile, perhaps we could dig up a few politicians under the age of  eighty to run for office.  An ability to walk up (or down) stairs unassisted would be a nice quality in a person running for office.  It would also be nice if they stayed sober a good part of the time. 

New biography of Ulysses Grant

I actually ponied up $24--a record for me-- for this new book by Ron Chernow and temporarily sidelined John Quincy Adams.  Grant is even heavier than JQ was, but he's always been a favorite of mine.  The book leaves a lot to be desired, physically.  The typeface is small and fiddly, and has a grey texture, not quite black but off-black.  The margins are too small, and so is the type.

  Whatever happened to books being published in two volumes?

 Let me give a shout out for the Library of America editions.   They are printed on thin but very good paper, with legible type, and are a pleasure to read.  I read Grant's autobiography in a Llbrary of America edition and did not get a hernia from lifting it.

  About that $24:  every once in a while I buy something at the local Barnes and Noble, in the desperate hope that they will not go out of business.  Perhaps if they tried publishing books in two or three volumes?  On nice preservation paper, with legible type?

I feel slighted

I've never been sexually harassed.  Oh, I've been harassed plenty on the job,  not because I am a woman, but because most local politicians are scum of the earth. I only know about New Jersey, but my husband informed me the New York variety  were the same, or even worse.  It really makes you wonder about democracy.  Could these pinheads be what the founders envisioned?  Did John Quincy Adams stay up nights to set our nation on the right course so these guys could play grab-ass-- or worse?

  When one woman complained about her butt being felt up by an ancient George H W Bush, I started to feel that I'm lacking on the sexual harassment front.  Even the choir director of a local church, who was known far and wide as a sexual harasser, left me alone.

  Am I missing something?  or have I just lived too long to be part of this nationwide trend?

  I dragged John Quincy Adams into this conversation because I am reading a biography of him, page by agonizing page.  It's interesting, all right, but the book is so heavy I have to read it sitting up or it falls out of my hands.  I'm thinking of bequeathing it to my heirs.  (Note to heirs:  you can start on page 307, if you want to skip his formative years.)

Met opera broadcasts

I'm very grateful to the Metropolitan Opera for these live broadcasts, since I could never afford a ticket to actual performances at Lincoln Center.

  I have seen two of these broadcasts over the last two weeks of two very different operas.  Let me mention at the start that the singing is superb in both.  No complaints there.  The orchestra, which was conducted on both occasions by James Levine, is one of the best there is.

  The two productions I saw could not be more different otherwise.  Norma, by Bellini, was unrelieved gloom.  Much care was taken to build authentic sets depicting the lifestyle of the Druids.  A great deal of money was spent building a realistic set, with the result that the entire opera looked like a black and white television show from the fifties.  Ralph Kramden would not have appeared out of place on this set, nor would I Love Lucy.  The only thing different was the lack of jokes.  Ayatollah Khomeini stated that there is no fun in Islam, and apparently there was not much fun in Druidic Gael.  

  The Druids worshipped Nature.   Apparently, if this depiction is accurate, they dressed in burlap.  Both men and women wore droopy burlap robes tied carelessly around the waist with something or other that might have been a vine.  Norma,the high priestess, however, had other problems.  Her lover, and father of her two children, was no longer interested in her, having transferred his affections to her second in command.  Then on top of that, the Romans were threatening the tribe.
 
  After much gloom and doom, the lovers were defeated by those pesky Romans but reunited in their love.  They agreed to be burned alive on a pyre together, which is as close to  a happy ending as it ever gets in Druidland.

  On the other hand, the Magic Flute sparkled.  Stars twinkled, fireworks went off, dancers danced.  The costumes were lavish and colorful.  The players had a wonderful time, and so did the audience.  All were excellent. Markus Werba as Papageno was a delightful clown, and the rest of the cast were uniformly excellent.  Especially notable was Golda Schultz--not the Golda who payed mah jong with your grandma, but a young, vivacious black woman from South Africa who played Pamina.

Does the mayor of San Juan speak Spanish?

I watched her interview and read the comments, which found it incredible that she could have found a shop which would print a T-shirt for her on an island that has no electricity.  That didn;t bother me.  I remember having to print silk screen items on a huge hand-cranked machine.

  What seemed out of kilter to me did not enter my consciousness until later.  (I've never claimed to be a fast thinker.)  Why in the world did she have her anguish printed on a T-shirt in the English language?  If I were crying for immediate help I would do it in my native tongue, which is English.  In my desperation I probably would not even remember the word ayuda, or aidez moi or even aiuto, or if I could I would not remember how to pronounce it.  No, help is the mot juste in this case.

  When I visited Puerto Rico seven or eight years ago, the people spoke Spanish.  Have they all gone to Berlitz since then?  Unlikely.

Myzled

I admit I was mysled (Debbie Wasserman Schulz and I know what this means) by the brouhaha about the kneeling of Football players during the national anthem.  (That would be the Star Spangled Banner, in case you've been living in a lead-lined cave.)

  Apparently the American public cares deeply what millionaire football players do prior to game time.  It has been suggested that there is no reason to play the song before a game.  It's not in the Constitution, is it? Does it cost anyone money? But that does not matter.  What's important is what is usual and customary, which has been honored for such a long time that it seems a necessary part of the game.

  I'm not interested in football myself.  Or in any activity which involves a ball.  I remember my complete astonishment and indignation when someone threw a ball at me for the first time
 in volleyball.  I was very nearsighted and almost fell over when the ball hit me. That was my introduction to ball sports, and it confirmed my suspicion that the universe was not designed for me.  Annoying, but there it is.

   








 


 

Cheap thrills

The people of this nation like to take an idea and run with it.  There's lots of comment, resentment  and nastiness on all sides, then the whole thing is completely forgotten.  It changes nothing.  As if it never had been.

The football players who protested the national anthem is an example of this.  What could be easier than to go down on one knee--unless you have arthritis--for the duration of a song.  Real easy virtue signaling.  Almost costfree and doesn't take much time either.  And how satisfying the response! You get people all riled up; it's wonderful fun.

Nothing makes a permanent impression on the American mind.  Scandals come and go, they disappear as though they had never occured.  Remember Russia interfering with our last election?  Me neither.  Hillary's e-mail scandal?  It's as dead as Betsy Ross.  Vallerie Plame?  Don't be ridiculous.

So you might as well get down on one knee to protest the national anthem.  Next season  it will be forgotten, replaced by unisex bathrooms or nutritious school lunches.

I'm reading a new book how.  It's one I read as a student but I don't recall it very well--Daniel Deronda.  I love it.

  I don't mind long books.  In fact I like them.  My favorite books are Middlemarch and Anna Karenina.  Once you become immersed in a book. you are transported to a new world where Melania's shoes are of no consequence.  Or Trump wishing the Harvey survivors to have a good time.

  One of my Facebook "friends" wondered whether Trump will pay for damages if his Florida property is destroyed by the hurricane.  Why wouldn't he have insurance, even as you and I do?  The comment dripped with motiveless malignancy.  Why so much vitriol?  Did Trump steal something from you personally?

  It will be 2020 before you know it.  If Trump is not re-elected, who will you take it out on?

The art business

I have relatives in the wine business, and it has been a revelation to me to discover how difficult a business it is.

  I thought you planted grapes, harvested them, made the wine, bottled it, and a truck backed up to your loading dock to deliver the wine to eagerly waiting customers.  I thought, in short, that after making the wine your work was done.  You might want to pour yourself a glass and sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor.

  Wrong!  wrong, wrong , wrong!  It is at this point that your troubles begin. You have to stir up interest in the bloody wine and persuade customers  to actually buy the stuff.  That's the hard part.

  I find the same problems in the art business.  I have exhibited in juried shows and actually have won prizes and received accolades from those who should know.

  I still find myself with quite a bit of inventory.  My walls are full.  My children and friends already have some of my artwork.  A couple of people have actually bought paintings almost by happenstance

  So now what?

Sleepless nights

I appear to have lost the ability to go to sleep.  It's like losing a key; I have no idea where it is.  I rack my brain but can't find it. 

  I go to bed, but sleep does not happen.  I feel like Macbeth, or is it Lady Macbeth,  but without the guilty conscience.  On some occasions, I do finally nod off, waking in the morning to find I have migrated to some hitherto unvisited part of the bed with sheets and blankets tangled around me.  But lately, even this has eluded me.

  So I lie there, trying to think of something, anything, to divert my mind and coax it to release me.

  Sometimes I get up and have breakfast and then sneak back to bed.  This sometimes fools my sub  conscious for a time, not always. Or I move to another bed.  I open the window.  I close the window.  I turn on the ceiling fan; it get too cold; I turn it off.  I turn on the electric blanket.  Then I turn it off again. I go downstairs, lie on the couch, and turn on the television.  My feet get cold.  Alternatively, I feel hot all over.  Neither condition lasts.

  I am wide awake, and alert enough to do my income tax.  But I don't want to do my income tax.  I want to sleep.  I want to knit  up the ragged sleave of care.

Evil machines

It is an established fact that mechanical devices are malevolent; I have proved that electronic devices are also imbued with evil intent.

Take, for instance, my GPS.  It was working okay, until Thursday night, when it was invaded by an evil spirit.  I had found my way to an area I was not familiar with, and was now headed home.  I turned on the GPS and programmed it to go home.  It led me out to the wilds of Pennsylvania, places which have never heard of street signs or lights.  From there it led me to Winterthur, three times.
Needless to say, I do not live at Winterthur.  Yet I went around Winterthur three times.

  It then directed me down a one-way lane, unlighted and creepy, and from there ordered me to turn at Dairy Barn Rd.  I refused to do so.

  I finally recognized my surroundings and found my way home without help from the GPS.  No one can ever persuade me that that device did not intend to do me harm.  Once lured down Dairy Barn Rd I most likely would never be seen again!  I'm sure of it!

Customer service

There isn't any.

Try calling Verizon, with which I have a hideously expensive account, to ask them to move the cable from one location to another in your house, and see where it gets you.  Clearly, the company has never heard of such a ridiculous request.  Verizon customers should leave their equipment where it was originally installed..  Or move to another house, if necessary.  End of discussion.

  Now suppose you are an. airbnb host.  Someone has sent you a message requesting the use of your house for a certain date.  You reply with an enthusiastic afirmative message.  Airbnb cannot forward your message except on their app, which has no link for sending messages.  Try the website.  It will notify you of wonderful venues where you can stay.  Anywhere in the world.  You could probably book a room on top of an active volcano in the remotest Godforsaken venue.  But there is no way to send a message to a potential guest.  Call the phone number provided for customer service.  Leave your number and they promise to call you back.  That is a lie.  They won't.

  End of rant.

Advice to mystery writers

In many mysteries I have read over the years, the villain makes a fatal mistake.  Having captured the hero (or heroine) and rendered him or her defenseless, he (or she) takes a much needed respite.  He decides to leave the victim where he is for the time being and go get some food, or take the dog for a walk, or any of a number of things that need doing.  He can always come back and murder her later.

  This is foolhardy.  The victim is bound to find a coat hanger or something and free herself.  You can make book on it.  In any room, no matter how little furnished, there is something that can be fashioned into a weapon in less than 10 minutes.

  In your absence, he (or she) will take a curtain rod from the window and fashion a lethal weapon out of it, a weapon with which she (say a 130 lb woman,) will subdue you, even though you're a 250 lb football player.  She will then take the discarded curtain and tear it in strips, which she will bind you with, before calling the police with your mobile phone.

The moral of this story is, Don't procrastinate.  Or as Lady Macbeth put "If 'twere done ,when 'twere done, 'tis best done quickly."  Or words to that effect.

What's the name of the new Communications director who just got fired?

This new guy, the new communications director who came and went like Haley's comet, is it worth my time for me to figure out his name?  He came on like someone from the Sopranos, only lower class.  What was his starting salary anyway?

  I'm  jealous.  In a just world, I too would get hired for a job I'm incompetent to fill, but with an inflated salary. I'm open to any reasonable offer.  An unreasonable one would also find me willing if the money was enough.

  During my last session of gainful employment, I had to cope with the public, politicians, and vicious Board members.  (You know who you are, Ed R, you slimeball.)  And all this for a meager paycheck.  Unfair..

What's wrong about being Myzled?

People have been having great fun at the expense of Debbie Wasserman Schulz because she mispronounced the word misled--pronounced misled.  Like this; miss led.  Just think of it as one of the contestants in Donald Trump's beauty pageants, like Miss Hospitality.  If there were a venue called Led, she would be Miss Led.  (It's in the Balkans, perhaps.)

  She actually pronounced it Myzled, with a long I in the first syllable.  Like this;  My- zled.  I totally sympathize.  Having read the word in books, but never heard it in conversation, I too was myzled.  I've been myzled  for a whole year, not to mention bewitched, bothered and bewildered.

  I think mysled is a fine word.  It sounds more important than misled, with an extra dollop of outrage.  You keep up the good work, Debbie.  Don't be mysled by your IT guys.  Or anything else they throw at you.

Odds and ends

Who had the good idea to appoint a special prosecutor?  I can't remember.  Now he's like an advanced case of cancer--can't get rid of him.

  The idea seems to be, if enough people say mean things about Trump, his feelings will be hurt and he'll resign.  Then we will get free health care, free college, free birth control and a bunch of tee-shirts with cute sayings on them.  No more mortgage payments!  No more rent!  Free food without GMOs.  Everybody will be in a union, whether they want to or not.  Nobody's feet will hurt!  No more bad hair days!

  I'm willing to bet my feet will still hurt, whoever's president.

Believing six impossible things before breakfast

What universe am I living in, where the President appoints a special person, a Grznd Guignol kind of guy, to investigate his doings? Why doesn't he just tough it out, as Bill Clinton did when his lying caught up with him. He said he was just going to do "Ma job." and by golly they left him to it. I don't believe any of this about Russia and furthermore I don't care. It's all over my head. Who cares about this stuff? You would have to be obsessed with getting the Donald as I believe they got Al Capone. Just keep looking through his life, his history, his associates and you will be sure to find something, as Patrick Fitzgerald did with Scooter Libby. You can dig up dirt on anyone, if you dig long enough.

I have great hopes for the movie "Dunkirk"

Going to see it tomorrow God Willing and the creek don't rise. I told a friend what it was about and she said, "How do you know this?"

I thought everyone knew about Dunkirk, like everyone knows about Gettysburg. Doesn't everyone?

Anyway, I love anything about WWII. Or the Civil War. I got that way from typing Mr Charm's essays and term papers. He majored in British History, but the Civil War was his passion.

A lousy movie

I went to see "Hero" with Sam Elliot at what passes for an experimental film venue in Wilmington. I strongly recommend that everyone make a point of skipping this movie. Sam Elliot is being promoted in this film as a serious actor. The filmmaker obviously thinks he is an attractive person, and trains the camera on him for hours--well, it seems like hours--as he pensively smokes a marijuana cigarette. Or stares gloomily at the incoming waves on a beach. He does have his virtues: slim and trim, with lovely wavy grey hair, an interesting voice. He also does not mug or overact. In fact, he hardly acts at al; he is all but comatose. It is creepy to see the camera lovingly focusing on him. I don't remember seeing this sort of thing in films about men, only those featuring beautiful young women like Liz Taylor or Audrey Hepburn. Sam Elliot is neither beautiful nor young. Nor interesting. Another annoying thing about the film is that everybody speaks very slowly, all the time. The whole thing could have been completed in 45 minutes, if it had gone at a normal pace. Miss it, you'll be glad you did.

Drifting away from sanity

During the past few months I have been plagued by insomnia. I tried to ride it out, but nothing solved the problem. Even sleeping pills just made me groggy. I truly cannot sleep four or five nights out of seven. It's making me crazy.

I decided to just ride it out, I figured eventually I will get tired enough to sleep naturally. Last night was a totally sleepless one, so I got up at 5 o'clock and tried to get something done. I resisted the desire to go back to bed, but went to the gym instead, doing my usual routine, but sluggishly. I was very tired when I got home, and my feet and legs were tired, so I lay down on the couch with a book. (Sometimes when I elevate my feet it relieves the tiredness. I'm a great believer in elevating the feet.)

I could feel myself drifting off, even though the air was hot and still. I woke up completely disoriented. I only knew I had been asleep a long time. My watch told me it was 5:30, but whether in the morning or the evening I could not tell. I looked at my phone and found it was still Tuesday. I was relieved. (I think.) Maybe not.

I could not help remembering a time, long ago, when I never knew what time it was. I was maybe 13. My family had just moved into a new house, my parents were separated, the house was horribly hot. I stayed up late, very late. I would be reading. Two o'clock would come, then three, and I would tell myself to go to sleep, but I wouldn't. I was reading P G Wodehouse at the time, I remember. I would wake up at 2 or three in the afternoon, feeling completely adrift from the society around me. It was unpleasant. More than that, it was frightening. I felt so separated from everyday life, unmoored from the ordinary life of ordinary people. Nowhere to be, nowhere to go. It was like being dead, but still alive.

Computer problems

So I wanted to order my medication over the phone, using Humana's automated service. I put in the prescription number. then was asked for my birthdate. I gave them the only birthdate I have, but the computer did not recognize it. So what to do? I am stumped. I can't change my date of birth, much as I would like to.

Blogger is driving me crazy

Yes, Blogger is cheap. In fact it is free, the very best kind of cheap. Otherwise, no-one would use it. It's a very clumsy tool. For instance, since I haven't been blogging, I forgot that, even though I put page breaks in, Blogger does not recognize them. They print all my stuff in one block of text--the print equivalent of a speech by the late lamented (but not by me) Fidel Castro.

By the way, for those who want to impeach Donald Trump: Getting rid of Trump doesn't mean that Hillary would be president. That's not how it works. Mike Pence would become President. I hope you all like him. He probably would not employ his son-in-law, and it's a sure thing that Melania is prettier than Mrs Pence.

Damn upset

I was expecting my airbnb guest today, but he stood me up. Admittedly, I was of two minds about having a stranger in my house, but now that he does not want to come I am desolate. I cleaned the house as though expecting an inspection by my most censorious aunt, a woman who has been dead for 20 years. I know this attitude on my part is unreasonable. I am fully aware of the stupidity of it. The feeling is strong though.

I am trying to get back to my usually scintillating self, but it's hard to get back on track. Bear with me please.

One pleasant development--I am glad to hear from my old blogfriends. Being surrounded here by incendiary Democrats, I am afraid to open my mouth lest I become a social leper. One Facebook friend expressed her annoyance with readers who commented only on personal matters but failed to respond to her political rants. Apparently it is not enough to live and let live, to agree to disagree, to withhold commenting on matters about which we disagree; she wanted full-throated agreement or nothing. Nothing is what she got, from me. Since I refused to join the Trump Assassination Club, I was persona non grata. Tough. I can live with that. But I like to know that out there in the Internet, there are people who agree with me!.

I'm starting a new career as an airbnb host

I put up the pictures, very poor ones to be sure, but someone is already coming on Monday!

Distracted by facebook

I admit it--I was distracted by Facebook. But I got burned out. Facebook can actually be very dull. Having seen countless Facebook videos of people's cats doing clever things, I have decided to swear off them. Unless you can train your cat to cook and serve a flawless dinner for 8 and then clean up the mess, I'm not interested. Or maybe she could knit a sweater or even a scarf. I will still watch videos of small children or dogs doing something cute. But it has to be really cute. I also like to see your grandchildren. i'm tired now. More tomorrow.

Back in business

I decided that since I am never going to be free of the Mysterious Ailment, to continue with my life as if I were normal and just avoid falling down. At this point, I am more or less normal except I don't take long walks without my walker. I bring it along because I have broken my nose. The break is not visible to the outer eye, but I do have two gouges, one under each eye, which the dermatologist says he can't fix, the result of collateral damage in the form of black eyes. However, I have been tested every which way and you would be surprised at how many diseases have been ruled out. I'm feeling quite healthy. Sort of. This is a notice that I am going to be just as annoying as ever. I am going to stay away from politics, though. The stuff that goes on every day is beyond satire unless you are Jonathan Swift. And I'm not. Just a humble blogger, thank you.

Who do you think won the debate?

I only watched a little of it. The consensus seems to be that Hillary won it, according to reports from the professional thinkers on television today. Frankly, I was gobsmacked when Hillary came to the mic, wearing what at first glance appeared to be a union suit; long red underwear such as you used to see in cartoons about hicks in the sticks, with a rear seat that comes down for sanitary purposes. But it was just one of her lamentable* pantsuits, possibly picked up during her stay in Arkansas. Or maybe it belonged to Bill. The woman has no fashion sense whatever, unlike Princess Diana, who had fashion sense but no other sense to speak of. She was like a paper doll--but at least you enjoyed looking at her. I am also sick of Hillary's voice. Did she always sound like the village scold? Trump is almost unintelligible. One suspects a brain is in there somewhere. Some of the stuff he says makes sense, but you have to work hard to figure it out. We need a new amendment to the Constitution barring people over 60 from running for office. *I should have said deplorable. Sorry.

Back and better than ever

This blog was hijacked for quite a while, but my computer expert sorted it out, so I am back to expressing myself, sort of.

I have been busy trying to renegotiate my mortgage while co-signing for a new car for  a relative.  Never do these two things together--it's like mixing chlorine with ammonia, which I understand is  toxic.  Actually it's more like trying to stand on your head while painting your toenails.  It can be done, but at a great cost to sanity.

I also am coping with a super sinus infection and other major or minor infirmities.  But I've always been a person who didn't know how to quit, and that hasn't changed.

Watch this space.  I'm open for business. 

Being sick

I have been feeling a little down for a while, but I ignored it.  Yesterday I felt that I was in imminent danger of dying.  All systems were shutting down.  I was coughing and sneezing, my head was stuffed up, I could not remember how to add, subtract, multiply of divide.  So either the grim reaper was coming for me or I had a galloping case of Alzheimer's.  To make matters worse, I was choking on a piece of raw cauliflower.  What an ignominious death that would be!  To choke to death on a humble vegetable!

The doctor did not agree that i was dying.  He thought I had a sinus infection, and prescribed some generic antibiotic.  After one day on this medicine, I feel better, although my mathematical skills are still shaky--but that might be because I am trying to do my income tax.

What a miracle!  What did doctors do for patients before antibiotics were discovered?

About Oscar Wilde,English history, and other harrowing events.

I saw the most marvelous film tonight--"Oscar Wilde," starring Robert Morley, who was perfect for the part.  Wilde's undoing was a libel lawsuit he instigated against his lover's father.  The film was 90 percent about the trial, and brilliantly done.  Of course, British actors are the best in the world.  Now I have to look up Wilde, Carson and the rest of the principal characters and see how true to history the film was.

The Marquess of Queensbury was represented in court by Ralph Richardson, who I finally figured out was playing Sir Edward Carson, a brilliant lawyer and, I believe, member of Parliament.  Carson, born in Ireland--as was Oscar Wilde--but of Scottish descent,was a firm Unionist,  and a real pain in the neck to the Irish Parliamentary Party. How I wished Mr Charm were still around to talk about the movie with.  He could tell me all about Sir Edward Carson.

Mr Charm took his PhD in English history.  His specialty was the late 19th century and early 20th century and he loved reading and talking about Sir Edward Carson, F E Smith and other brilliant lights of the period.  He really loved his studies.  He was the first person in his family to attend college and appreciated the opportunity to do so.  How I miss him!  We always watched the Olympics together.  They were not the same without him.  We always made presidential elections a special event, staying up till all hours to watch the results.  I don't find them very interesting without him.  Funny how that works.

Mayans and Muslims

The Mayans had some really neat art forms, civilization, yada yada.  Pyramids!  They also practiced human sacrifice, but hey, that was their culture and we mustn't be judgmental.   These wonderful folks are all dead.   The Spanish took care of them.  Does anyone wonder why the other mesoamerican tribes allied themselves with the Spanish invaders?  Perhaps they didn't want to be human sacrifices--just guessing, of course.

I would suggest that today's Islam operates under the same value system as the Mayans.  Their vengeful god demands human sacrifice, only in this case the humans in question are non-muslims.  Their god is the meanest in the Pantheon.  The Greek gods were pussycats compared to him.

We are wrong in considering Islam one of the Abrahamic faiths,   a religion of peace as our leaders keep repeating ad nauseam.  They are not like the Christians or the Jews, who consider all humans made in the image of God, all worth redeeming.  They are like the Mayans, a warrior religion which wants to rid the world of non-Muslims.   If we don't get tough with them, they will outnumber us soon.

   Being sick.

For the past year I have been under the star of some malignant force that has it in for me.  I got sick last year just about about Labor Day and spent several days in the infectious disease area of a local hospital and then 21 days in a nursing home.  I had a super-duper infection that required a special antibiotic and had to be administered by infusion into a port which they installed in my upper chest.

That was just the beginning.  After that I went to California where I suffered numerous urgent health problems, which I won't go into. And it's still not over.  The worst of it is the feeling of debilitation which leaves you helpless and angry.  It's difficult to snap back after a health crisis; your first impulse is just to turn your head to the wall.

The only thing that helps when you get that sick is physical therapy.  I felt immediately stronger after every session, and almost got back to my original state of health several times, but when I got sick again I went downhill fast.  Then I came back fast, though.

I am hoping that this Labor Day will see the end of this cycle of debility and despair.

My latest painting:

Bellieving six impossible things before breakfast

I am puzzled by the events in Orlando.  Grieved, of course, but puzzled.

Three hundred people were peacefully assembled when 1 (one) lone gunman murdered 49 of them and wounded 50 more. while at the same time chatting in Arabic on his cell phone and no-one did anything?  It's hard to believe.  Nevertheless. res ipsa loquitor.  Or is it ipso?  I got a C in Latin, but you get the idea.

I'm not blaming the victims.  I just cannot believe that 300 disabled Social Security recipients  along with 100 Brownie Girl Scouts couldn't have done something.  Got behind him and kicked him in the ass, for instance.  Jumped him.  Tackled him.  But it happened, so res ipsa whatever. 

Oh yes, and where were the police for three hours?

I'm confused

Please enlighten me.  Homosexuality is a no-no, how come some muslims rape little boys?  Is there a little boy exception to that law?

Just and juster

Once a year the Athenians would meet and vote on exiling someone. If a simple majority voted yes, then they dispersed and reassembled two months later. They brought with them their ostracon (a fragment of pottery), on which they had scratched the name of the person they thought represented a threat. The man with the most votes lost. He was exiled for 10 years, They not only voted people into office, but they had a regular procedure for voting one person per year out of office. It was an option which could be exercised but did not have to be. The exile did not involve confiscation or any other punitive measures.

Aristides was known for his probity, and often called Aristides the Just.  On one occasion, a voter, who did not know him, came up to him, and giving him his shard, asked him to write upon it the name of Aristides. The latter asked if Aristides had wronged him. “No,” was the reply, “and I do not even know him, but it irritates me to hear him everywhere called the just.”

There's a moral to this story, but I don't know what it is.

Second rate movies

I love to watch old movies.  But once in a while you find yourself watching a real stinker.  How you can tell:

1.  The sets are crummy, look like they are made of cardboard, but the picture is really dark so you can't tell.

2.  All the police are old, way too old to serve on a police force.  Imagine one of these senior citizens chasing a criminal!  He would drop dead of a heart attack after the first 60 seconds.

3.Much staged business around smoking.  Like this:  "Mind if I smoke?"  "No, have one of mine."  "No thanks, I have my own.."  "Nice cigarette case."   "Got a light?"  "Thanks,"  Cigarette is lighted, and both characters inhale pensively, followed by silent contemplation as they stare at one another.  This interaction takes a minute or two, advancing the action not at all.  Unless the book of matches comes from a suspicious source, in which case the mystery is solved.  This action can be varied by offers of cigars, fussing around fiddling with pipes, or scrutiny of cigarette butts in an ashtray with lipstick on them.

4.  Similarly, but not as frequently, pouring and consumption of drinks, which are always on a handy table, complete with seltzer bottle, glassware, and a bucket of ice.  Drinks don't take as much time as smoking, so are less frequently deployed.

5.  Final scene, when the murderer is about to murder the heroine, so the police chief orders "Calling all cars," and all the elderly cops get in their cars and drive madly around, sirens screaming.

Now you know.

Hillary's wardrobe

People are saying mean things about Hillary's wardrobe, particularly the $12,000 coat she appeared in recently.  I  think that's a cheap shot.  The coat is not becoming,--she can't carry it off.   She looks like she picked it up at some store that features garments for older women.  I can just see some upper middle class woman wearing it to church or to a do at the Women's Club, and looking better in it than Hillary.

No kidding, I think I would look better in that coat than she does; she is not interested in looking attractive, and I am.  Surely the pantsuits she wore in office were dreadful, but so was everything she wore, including her ugly hairstyle, which made her look like someone who does not visit her stylist  often enough, or maybe doesn't even have a hairstylist.  She does not place a high value on her appearance, having more worthwhile things to concern herself with, like how many bombs to drop on ISIS this week or what to do about hunger.  I'm not saying she shouldn't spend a lot of money on her clothes; no-one expects a millionaire in public life to shop at JCPenney. (Sorry, JC, not criticizing you!)

Everyone was always sniping at Jacqueline Kennedy for dressing elegantly, but she was a delight to the eye, very pretty, very stylish.  She brought grace to the White House.  Michelle Obama always looks beautifully dressed, although every time she opens her mouth she utters claptrap, and aggrieved claptrap at that.  Silence would do her a world of good.

Hillary is not a good campaigner, unlike her husband, who clearly loves, loves, loves speaking to a group who adulates him.  His wife is more like Nixon; she understands that you can't get elected unless you campaign for office, so she does, but you can see it is not her metier.  Bill liked to show off, and he craved attention and admiration.  He had a raffish sort of charm.  People liked him.  If you were seated next to him at a dinner party, you would like him.  If you were seated next to Hillary, she would talk about day care or getting out the vote.  Trump is more like Bill, he glories in being the center of attention.  He takes great joy in shooting off his mouth and more, in shocking people like a kid showing off in class.

Her voice is not passionate or persuasive.  It's not even pleasant.  That midwestern croak!  Crows could take her seminar and benefit by it.  She does not love her audience and they don't love her back.  As for her ideas!  She, like Muhammed Ali, keeps talking about fighting, but unlike him, she does not put on the gloves.  Her ideas are shopworn and have no substance.  Sincerity also is not her metier, unlike Bernie Sanders, who clearly believes every crackpot idea he so passionately advocates.

What Hillary clearly believes is that it is her turn to be President.  She earned it!  She's a woman,   She was gracious about losing to Obama, so she is now entitled to the presidency for being a good sport, and  it is her turn.