high drama in the low country

So mje has a lazy kidney, much like the rest of my body. It’s in there somewhere but not doing much of anything. I know this because I have had a cough, courtesy of our grandson jesus who brought rsv home from camp lo these many summers ago and the CT scan of my lungs caught sight of my lazy ass kidney. So on to a sonogram and, yessiree bob that kid is def not pulling her weight.

So my doc has heard tell of the new scalpel in town and referred me to him. I arrive at my appointment and am, as per usual, sent to sit in an empty room on a hard plastic chair to ponder what’s to come. In swans the gentleman doctor, clad not in a white coat but a rumpled suit and weirdly pointed, definitely not american, shoes. Now mje wouldn’t know an armani from a pastrami, but I do know polyester when I see it. Decidedly unimpressed, sartorially speaking.

But, hey he’s new in town, unaware that synthetic fabrics trap the heat and humidity and are eschewed by the local mens ware cognoscenti, so mje decides to cut him some slack in return for his cutting out my kidney. So he stands, leaning against the far wall on which hangs a poster showing the pertinent body parts, and explains in his fetchingly accented english why I really need him to put some distance between me and my negligent kidney. He doesn’t show me my ultrasound, he doesn’t do any examination, he’s as smooth as a used car salesman and I am all in. I’ll take the edsel.

Ooops. turns out his magic robot has yet to arrive (probably stuck in the strait of hormuz) so I will need to wait until it arrives. A month, maybe two. So much for the urgency of the situation. So I posit, if this is as crucial as you say, why not kick it old school and forget the robot…too slow billy joe, he’s out de do’ and on to his next prospect.

So a week later I go back to my doc with a laundry list of problems, real and imagined that need attention. First thing out of this mild mannered southern gent of a doc’s mouth is, do not let that man, meaning the smooth talking, robot toting doc, anywhere near you. Mmmmmmm, the plot thickens. But doc, you referred me to him. An uncomfortable pause. I did, he said, based on his credentials, however since then I attended a talk he gave on the prostate and I realized that he was more of a salesman sent out to drum up business to pay for the very expensive robot than he was a superior surgeon. Good to know. Even better before he starts slicing and dicing.

Now, you say prostate and I say sold out house of anxious self-absorbed men. Women have the equivalent of prostates, skene’s glands, and I have never heard any woman froth at the mouth over their condition. But men are drawn like moths to the flame of the eternal prostate. They compare psa test results like their golf scores, hyperventilating over anything above a 4.0. Sheesh, most of the geezers who might have elevated psa scores probably haven’t used their operative organs in years anyway. Women don’t whine and cry about their uteri, it’s just one more goddam thing to lug around.

So, now I am stuck between a huckster with a robot and an indefinite waitlist for one of the old fart docs. And that kidney was just the third thing on my list, at this rate I’ll never get to those weight loss shots.

Sometimes life is so unfair.

on the road again

Sorry for the loooong delay since my last post. I am having a bit of mid-life crisis (well, mid-life if I live to be 150 years old). Frankly the political situation in what used to be known as the United States of America is so abominable that I dread getting out of bed in the morning, or afternoon, whatever. I have never been one of those glass half full people, but now I feel more like glass half empty of what was apparently jones town grape koolaid.

The OB&C and I are just back from 2 weeks in the big sleazy. We were joined by grand daughter bandoliera-saturnalia , age 33 and great grandson henri, age 18 mos., from NY, also teenage grandson jesus from oakland. You might think that an age range spanning seven decades might be difficult to plan for, and you would be absolutely goddam right. One end wakes up at 5:30am, the other goes to sleep at 5:30pm. One contingent wants to go to bourbon street, the other to storyland and the merry go round.

But believe it or not, we are all still speaking and all had a great time. At least I guess we are as we have yet to receive any thank you feedback. I am sure it’s just a matter of the incompetence of the USPS, possible inability to find a cell or land line phone number for us or more likely, as much as I hate to think it, the sense of entitlement that precludes the need to show appreciation for 2 weeks of wonderful restaurants, activities, lodging, airline tickets, etc. I want to be upset but I cannot recall thanking my mother for one damned thing. Karma.

The two day drive back was the usual bitch. Having to traverse florida feels like walking on hot coals. The moment we crossed the state line gas prices shot up 50c a gallon. We have stayed in tallahassee midway the last couple of trips, at the best western, and it is a vivid flashback. When the OB&C changed jobs from harvard to oregon state we literally didn’t know which state was on top oregon or washington. Well, let me tell you, we sure as hell know now. We drove from cambridge in a rental truck, into which we had driven our VW bug and packed it full of stuff and filled the truck around it. Our merry band included a 9 mo old baby, knut, who was in an untethered bouncy seat on the floor of the truck (a car seat strapped up like an astronaut , really?, give me a break, it was 1976) and on the bench seat the OB&C, MJE and our 5 year old daughter, albatross, sans seat belts.

It took us about ten days to cross the country in our uhaul conestoga wagon, but man we were going to live large on the way. Best westerns every night! As soon as we checked in, albatross hit the swimming pool and I probably just threw knut in and told here to make sure he didn’t sink while I went back to the room to pour myself a glass of chablis from the chateau gallo gallon jug. We ate in the “dining room” every night, cleaned out the free breakfast every morning and ate waffles, biscuits and sausage all day until the next night of fine dining.

When we crossed the state line in the dalles, oregon on the columbia river I felt like the isrealites did when they finally crossed the desert, admittedly it took them forty days but they didn’t have a nine month old baby and a five year old curmudgeon to deal with, so I am giving both journeys equal weight.

After a swim and a plastic cup of that chateau gallo chablis, we cleaned up, dressed up and went into what was actually a semi-legit “dining room.” I suspect the ob&c and I ordered steak, baked potato in tin foil and maybe a glass of house wine, honey we were on top of the world. We had made the journey! We were all still alive, estranged for life, but alive.

When we called the waitress to settle up she said that a gentleman at another table had paid our bill, because he said we looked like a nice family. Boy can looks be deceiving, but we took it, for sure. We tried to locate him but he was in the “nightclub” next door shaking a tail feather and we couldn’t locate him among the writhing oregonians.

On to corvallis, our new home town, where we checked into a motel and were promptly visited by the “welcome wagon” (remember them?) laden with a basket of summer sausage and smoked gouda. Sadly this was twenty years before willamette valley even had a glimmer in its eye about pinot noir. It was old timey, the parking meters cost a penny and people routinely paid other people’s meters as a courtesy. 😁

Now, 50 years later, we have more stuff than we ever imagined, most of which we don’t need or want. But I miss the excitement and anticipation of starting out with everything we owned in a uhaul truck.

geezercise

“Experts” are constantly telling us how vital exercise is to maintaining good health into one’s golden years. They also say that stress is a killer, therefore mje has successfully and blissfully ignored repeated encouragement to engage in group exercise classes, because mje has found that even without a set exercise regimen one can incorporate a number of healthy exercises into one’s daily routine without too much effort.

Steps: Whatever moron came up with the idea that people must complete a certain number of “steps” in order to be healthy should be strapped to a treadmill until death.. If one more obnox accosts me with the number of steps they have completed or need to complete, I’m gonna pull a tanya harding on them. Mje has found that that you do not have to have an unattractive device strapped to your wrist to track your movement, I have instead been relying upon the “why am I in this room” technique for years. I decide that I need to go to the laundry room for instance, but upon arrival I have no recollection of why I am there. So I return to my barcolounger and remember what it was I wanted to go to the laundry room for, I get up, walk there and either retrieve the object or simply say screw it. Either way I have walked to and fro twice. I repeat this throughout the day and voila, a whole lotta steps have been taken. Sometimes I actually remember why I went into a particular part of the house in which case I kill two birds with one stone, I unload the dryer, find my keys or glasses, and I step my way to a healthy lifestyle.

Stretching: These same self described “experts” tell us that stretching is crucial. Could not agree more. Mje utilizes a number of stretches throughout my daily routine. One I call the “reach the ravioli.” I have found that I am becoming smaller, laterally and literally, as I age and that objects that I had stored on the top shelves of the pantry are now not easily accessed without a good long stretch. It often takes me several attempts to get a grip on the item and each of these is a winner. If I want to stretch my obliques I simply use the other arm. It’s a no brainer.

For stretching the hamstrings I use the “pick up the pill” technique. As you all know, when you drop a pill it inevitably rolls into the deepest darkest corner of the room. Leaning down to search for it is an excellent way to stretch the hamstrings and lower back. Once you have found it you may incorporate a version of the plank, engaging your core, to reach behind the bath tub to retrieve it. MJE downs a number of pharmaceuticals everyday and my technique is to pour the required meds into my hand and down them all at once, usually with a light rose. Inevitably a couple of the little bastards escape and so I stretch my hams and lower back quite a lot. Plus at bedtime I also require a rather vast collection of sleep meds, usually washed down with a nice french bourgogne, and I again engage in the p.u.p. stretch. No yoga required.

Strength training: Again “they” say that strength training is essential to maintain strong bones. My bones have the tensile strength of angel hair pasta so I incorporate weight bearing exercises daily. Again, no need for expensive weights or bungee cords, just switch out your crap aluminum pans for cast iron and heavy old timey stainless steel. My skillets weigh on average seven pounds, throw in a couple of pounds of edible stuff, lug that to and fro from counter or cutting board to stove to plate to sink, wash and dry it and rehang it on the pot rack and you are done. Bon appetit!

For a more intense weight workout I hoist bags of groceries, cases of wine or loads of linen sheets up a few set of stairs. Or, under duress, I haul out the vacuum cleaner and lug it around, which is a great combo stretch and weight training exercise. Bonus, clean floors!

Cool down: It is essential to cool down after every workout, although I recommend several cool downs a day. Mine usually involve a slow shuffle to the fridge, opening the door (which on a sub zero is not all that easy, but again a good upper body workout) and pulling down a cool bottle of wine. I give my hand and wrist muscles a bit of a workout to uncork or unscrew the bottle, then another soft stretch to reach the wine glass cupboard, pour the wine, reopen the fridge, using my other hand to balance the workout, then slowly shuffle back to my lounger. Yet even then I am maintaining a healthy routine as I sit down very slowly which is essentially a squat. I repeat this routine many times a day and aside from a fatty liver I am the picture of health.

deep dish piazza

Well, the entire christian world can now exhale. There is a new pope, leo. Mje is not a christian, nor anything else, deity-wise, but I am sure it was really important to christians to know there’s a new sheriff in the vatican who’s going to oversee all the pedophilia lawsuits against the catholic church. I’m not surprised it was quick, the rest of the cardinals, if not actually implicated, were probably praying to god they wouldn’t get put in the papal hot seat.

So bob of chicago is now leo of the vatican. He was a pretty safe choice as he’s spent most of his career in the jungles of peru indoctrinating indigenous people in the catholic catechism. Teaching them that the many water, earth and sky gods that have served them pretty well for as long as any of them can remember are now irrelevant and they have to abandon them and worship christ, the one true god, who frankly had never done one damned thing for them as far as they knew. But with christianity comes the bounty of the catholic church, giving up their au natural sartorial lifestyle and learning to be ashamed of their bodies, keeping track of the abstract notion of time and remembering to be somewhere at a seemingly random moment in order to kneel down and recite meaningless words, and most importantly, to be made to understand that if they didn’t do what the great white “padre” told them that they would suffer for eternity, whatever that was.

More importantly, bobdapope was tucked far far away from any possible pedophelia induced lawsuits. Heaven is the amazon jungle without lawyers.

But mje says, hey, let’s give leo a chance. Rumor has it that he, like his predecessor, is a “progressive.” Finally, a pope that realizes that women are just as capable of being as blindly devout as men and should have the right to an equal status in the catholic church. Well perhaps that is a bridge too far right out of the gate, or that men (and women) are not by nature celibate, and perhaps giving priests and nuns the right to marry might cut down on that pesky pedophilia problem. Or maybe reversing the whole tithing racket and instead giving everyone in their congregations ten percent of the luchre of the diocese, to be used in any way they feel supports the needy in their communities, catholic or not.

But what do I know, I am a simple human being who can recognize good or evil when I see it. I don’t need a supernatural being to give me a set of instructions. I don’t think any less of people who kneel on the putting green on sundays instead of in a church pew, or who hold hands and thank some invisible (at least in the supermarket, farm fields or kitchen) deity for the meals they are about to eat.

I understand that sentient beings are filled with fears and anxieties and need something, anything, that can provide them with a sense of security. For some it’s a supernatural being, for others it’s a circle of friends, or in my case a double makers on the rocks.

Peace.✌🏻

gravity of the situation

Devoted mje followers will surely remember a prior post titled “things I hate,” a list which seems to grow longer by the day. I really have nothing to complain about, which I hate, but the #1 thing I hate is gravity. Not to rehash the whys and wherefores of my antipathy towards ole Isaac’s big ass law, but folks, gravity is what makes your scale read at least five lbs. more than you actually weigh. Hate that.

Gravity, I guess, is kinda fundamental. Everyone understands it, even babies who sit in their highchairs, stare you right in the face and slowly and deliberately slide their bowls of mashed carrots off the edge of the tray. Or drop their favorite toy, knowing you are going to sprint over and put it back in their tiny grimy hands before they blow a gasket, and then wait until you are settled back down again to complete their elder siblings’ science projects, to drop it again. And laugh. It really never gets old.

So the other night mje was vegetating in front of the idiot box and was intrigued by a program about a guy who buys old buildings around charleston sc that are dilapidated, derelict, condemned, and restores them. It’s an incredibly noble cause, reclaiming long abandoned architectural gems that display beautiful features seldom used in contemporary buildings. On the episode I watched, he had bought an abandoned “queen anne craftsman style” house that was originally built in about 1890 and had been uninhabited for 60 years.

It was exciting to see him pulling down the plywood from the windows, discovering the unusual interior spaces, uncovering long hidden bead board or flooring, etc. But if the televised version of events is correct then this guy don’t know shit from shinola. Look, mje does not claim to be a master builder, although I did construct a fabulous “camp kitchen” out of half inch ply back when I was a girl scout leader (yeah, I know, hard to believe that anyone would want mje to be responsible for their gaggle of tweens and more confounding still, that I would ever volunteer to do such a thing) which was a marvel of carpentry, however it weighed in at about 75 lbs and took up almost the entire back of the car so we used it once and left it on the sidewalk.

But I digress, this guy shows off re-staining wainscoting (way too dark, in my opinion), painstakingly piecing together old beadboard, subdividing rooms into walk in closets, yada, yada. So he’s about halfway into restoring the interior when he and his pal start to pull up some linoleum flooring and discover water damage and rot. Only then idoes it occur to them that there just might be termites lurking within the structure. As mje has stated, I ain’t no builder, but I ain’t no dope neither, if you live in the south where termites (and roaches) rule the roost, you’d probably have a notion that an abandoned wooden house with a leaky roof would be party central to both of them. And sure as shootin’, they called the termite guy and the little buggers are all over the place. Pause for extermination.

Bugs gone (but ARE they really?) time to install a contemporary kitchen, complete with a cement countertop which weighs in at 150 lbs per square foot (keep this in mind for later on). Done, looks great!!! Then onto finishing out the master bedroom and bath, putting pretty tchotchkes all over the place, you know feathering the nest.

So the renovation is complete on the interior when the builder finally decides he might have a look see at the brick piers holding the whole shebang off the ground. Surprise, surprise, surprise the century old bricks are crumbling. oh no. So NOW the guy realizes he needs to jack the house up and replace the piers. Crank, crank crank…..alarm, alarm, alarm!!!! Everybody out of the house!!!!! Like cockroaches (or as they are colloquially, and totally adorably called in south carolina, “palmetto bugs”) fleeing under the counters when you turn on the kitchen lights, workers are blasting out of there like they’d been shot out of cannons.

And not a moment too soon. A terrific cracking sound starts, builds to a crescendo and godamn if the whole freaking front porch slowly peels away from the house and collapses in a massive cloud of dust. The guys stand there stock still, mouths agape until a piercing, profanity laced scream comes out of the builder’s mouth. WTF??????

Gee, wonder if all of that meticulous interior work could have miraculously remained intact. All the delicate piecing together of bits of beadboard and wainscoting, the patched and refinished floors, the meticulously reconstructed chimneys, the expensive and extremely weighty cement countertops….the months and months of slaving away in the charleston summer heat in an old dusty house only to have it literally brought down by gravity, oh and stupidity.

So what have we learned?

1. Termites and roaches will outlive everything else on the planet.

2. Nothing can escape the pull of gravity.

3. Before you pound the first nail, you dumb ass, you forking call a structural engineer and terminix.

sheesh

Trump’s hole in one…hundred days

My fellow americans…are you tired of winning yet?

I know mje is, in fact if we win anymore I am going to lose my ever loving shit.

Trump’s Hole in One hundred days is so big that it can accommodate almost everything.

Contents of trump’s hole (so far) in no particular order:

Rule of law

Due process

Illegal detention and deportation of american citizen and legal residents

Right to free speech

Thousands of federal workers’ jobs and the services they provided

Most of NIH, EPA, NSF, NOAA

USAID

Paris accords

Healthy economy

Booming stock market

Value of US dollar

Respect for america worldwide

Trump’s hole is so big, so vast, so impossibly expandable that there is only one thing that will sadly not fit into it.

Trump.

toys r ca-razy

The OB&C and MJE await the imminent arrival of grand daughter bandoleira-saturnalia, her parter, adamame and crown prince henny-penny for a two week visit. In advance of their arrival, bandoliera has requested a few items we must have on hand: a portable crib, which is understandable and (mje is not making this up) a fisher-price baby bouncer palm paradise jumperoo activity center with music lights, sound and developmental toys. Available at amazon for $79.99. How in the world did we ever raise children without a fisher-price baby bouncer palm paradise jumperoo activity center with music lights, sound and developmental toys???? Back in the cave we had to make do with some bones and rocks, which must be the reason our children are so maladjusted and needy adults. At least ours are. If only we had had the fisher-price baby bouncer palm paradise jumperoo activity center with music lights, sound and developmental toys, the world, and our family would be a whole lot happier.

Of course as any great grandmother would do, I frantically rushed to purchase this incredible gizmo (delivered overnight just to be safe), because god knows I don’t want to screw up another generation! Imagine if our little prince didn’t have the fisher-price baby bouncer palm paradise jumperoo activity center with music lights, sound and developmental toys, when all of his entitled brethren did? I hate to even entertain the thought of how he’d always be the last one to get picked for the dodgeball team, get a date for the prom or get into to a second, or even third rate college.

Mje tried to point out to bandoliera that it’s a miracle that our children somehow managed to get by with some wooden blocks, a few squeeky toys and an open drawer of pots and pans. Or maybe that was just us, and everyone else had earlier iterations of the fisher-price baby bouncer palm paradise jumperoo activity center with music lights, sound and developmental toys and we didn’t know it. We had no idea that we were depriving our offspring of exactly what they needed to develop into thoughtful, caring, open minded, intellectually curious, fully functioning adults instead of the self absorbed, whiney, angry people they are. Well too late now.

But boy oh boy, mje won’t make that mistake again! Especially after I pointed out to bandoliera that neither she nor her mother or uncle ever had the fisher-price baby bouncer palm paradise jumperoo activity center with music lights, sound and developmental toys, to which she responded with 35 emojis whose meaning I don’t know, but can guess, and a terse “Don’t test me, I am stressed enough as it is.”

It’s gonna be a hallmark holiday, I can just feel it.

roger doger

Well four weeks in and duo-ego is well on its way toward the goal of putting more people out of work than the great depression. It took a world war to get us out of that one and the rate at which we are pissing off our allies I wouldn’t rule out a repeat. Go big or go home. The mind boggling thing is that the mess we are in, if you think mass unemployment is less than optimal, is that it’s entirely self-inflicted. I guess nobody clued the brainiacs in the white house to the fact that a democracy is, by design, unmanageable and inefficient because everyone who chooses to participate is welcome to throw in their two cents worth. Technically we are all equal, but as the george orwell said, some of us are more equal than others. And that, my fellow americans, is why you are standing on the corner with a cardboard box of desk clutter and a WTF expression on your face.

However, in their mania to cut waste, fraud and abuse in the government duo-ego may have been a bit hasty. Turns out that you really need do need a few people in say the national nuclear security administration where 350 employees were fired without notice and do not appear to be interested in rejoining the ranks of the reich. And not to make light of a situation involving nuclear weapons, but the fact that the crack team of tween age roger dogers cannot seem to locate them does seem hilarious.

A transcript of a conversation recorded by a nanny cam in nuclear weapon silo 0317-BFYIn-691206581b last week…”Hey Bill, do you remember how in orientation they yammered on about what all these buttons and switches are for, well I was sorta stoned and now I can’t remember which is the one we definitely shouldn’t touch. Why don’t they just label them clearly instead of stringing a bunch of rando numbers and letters on them, which don’t give anyone a clue about how to not start a nuclear war.There used to be a bunch of manuals around here but, what, I guess they cost too much to keep updating so everything’s online. Does anyone know the password?”

The department of the interior has laid off 2300 employees, including smokey the bear. MJE always thought that smokey was a slacker and publicity whore that never took his job seriously. All he ever said was “only you can prevent forest fires.” If that isn’t passing the buck then I don’t know what is. Ranger Rick, who technically is not a federal employee, but a creation of the national wildlife federation, an independent nonprofit organization, unfortunately was also swept up in the purge and is currently unemployed and rummaging through your garbage.

Uncle Sam was spared, but lady liberty and rosie the riveter were both considered too woke and were given the heave ho. Open the door to women and the next thing you know they’ll want to join the military, go on combat missions, tell us to pick up our own coffee and goddam dry cleaning and generally being a pain in the ass. The entire american family structure will eventually collapse, women will want to be men, men will want to be women and no one will know which bathroom to use.

More than 1300 workers at the CDC were canned. Probably just as well, no one needs that many people monitoring things like bird flu since most of the chickens are dead now anyway. It’s just like you don’t pay the babysitter for the hours when your kids are asleep. Duh. Sadly those chickens may come home to roost when the bird flu inevitably hops onto humans. But hey, on the bright side egg prices may go down cause there will be fewer people alive to eat them. Another promise kept!

But all is not lost, trump has established a NEW department: the white house faith office, thus eliminating his need to continually trek to the nearest god spot to pray for guidance. Talk about streamlining! The faith office, will be led by none other than paula white-can. A native of tupelo, mississippi,  white-can, 58, is a pastor, motivational speaker, author, and personal minister to celebrities such as michael Jackson, former baseball star daryl strawberry and donald trump, paragons of virtue all. The god squad will work alongside attorney general pam bondo to combat the blatant discrimination against christians that is so pervasive in federal institutions. Finally, someone has the balls to say that separation of church and state in america is ridiculous. It’s written right there on the dollar bill “In God We Trust.” Thanks paula!

double trouble

People stop me in the street, well at the canasta table, and ask MJE why aren’t you writing about the politics of the country, surely there is more than enough juicy material to satirize. I couldn’t agree more, but if you have a fire hose aimed at your face, it’s hard to take a swallow. It’s just too much, and most of it is so incredibly stupid and nonsensical that it’s self satirizing. It does not need any help from mje.

I feel like mje needs a “breaking news” segment. By the time I go for the throat of some totally dumb ass move but before I can wring its neck it’s been reversed or “walked back.” I could get whiplash trying to keep up with the comings and goings of governmental pronouncements. (note to self: order neck collar on amazon) Tariffs on mexico and canada, blink and you miss it. Mass deportations of “millions of violent illegal aliens,” well not so much. However I do have a bone to pick with use of the word “aliens,” it seems sort of outdated. I’m pretty sure it has been established beyond a doubt that the people that are to be deported are earthlings.

Just a thought: What if trump and kristi “puppy killer” gnome, our esteemed head of homeland security, want to erect facilities to hold illegal immigrants but discover that they can’t do it because there’s no one left to build them…🥸.

Trump has neither the bandwidth nor the attention span to dismantle the federal government so now he’s brought in a maxi-me, et voila….the truskox is born and settling nicely into the lincoln bedroom! He and his muskrats (god I wish I’d thought of that one…) have burrowed into the treasury department, the usaid offices, the governmental payroll offices, the department of education, the cia, fbi, and any other intelligence divisions, cutting and slashing (which seems decidedly short sighted as the one thing we could really use about now is some intelligence), and gods know what else. I for one believe in working from the top down to address waste fraud and abuse in government, do that and in this case your job is virtually complete. Leave the 20 year veteran bean counter in treasury alone, (exception*: mje is being audited so if one specific irs agent might be furloughed indefinitely go for it ) because, trust me, he or she could spend eight hours a day, seven days a week 365 days a year trying to noodle out ways to gyp the government and never come even close what the one person sitting behind the resolute desk does in a day.

Trump and musk are truly a match made in the fifth circle of hell. Neither of them seems wholly human. They both have distinctively non-humanoid physical characteristics. Musk has a decidedly reptilian visage. The pallor, the slit eyes and mouth and his general demeanor are so suggestive of a snake (definitely venomous) that I half expect him to display a forked tongue when he hisses out some garbled pronouncement in that weird accent. Snakes move quickly and stealthily, strike with little warning and are capable of overtaking and consuming prey ten times their size (see: donald trump.) Competitors beware. Snakes also have an attitude, think they are above others in their class and give off a “don’t tread on me” vibe. Never turn your back on a snake, they are unpredictable and dangerous.

Trump presents more of an aged sea turtle demeanor, what with the folds of leathery neck skin, the sluggish movement and beady eyes. Turtles move slowly, but they never lose sight of where they want to go, so you can pick one up and put it down miles away and it will return to the spot where its journey was interrupted. However, turtles, unlike trump are deliberate in their actions and do not act rashly or impulsively because it takes so damned long to correct their errors. Trump never acknowledges his mistakes so he has no need to change a thing, but like a turtle he just keeps moving shambolicly on toward his desired intent, unless he forgets what it is and wanders off towards the next shiny thing he catches sight of.

It hasn’t even been a month and the muskrats have weaseled their way throughout the federal government kicking ass and taking names. One might ask, where the hell are our duly elected government representatives? The capitol is silent as a grave. Where are all those “strict constitutionalists” when you could really use them. They can’t get to a microphone fast enough when someone from the other side tries to pull a fast one. They get their knickers in a twist over dei, which to me is simply an abbreviation for being fair, but are mute when thousands of vitally important but low level government employees (who are also their constituents) are given the boot without notice or due process.

Mje doesn’t think this particular bromance will survive the test of time. Two of the biggest egos on the planet cannot occupy the same space together for long. Already fine lines of fracture are beginning to surface, musk on the cover of time? dum de dum dum But trump may not be able to flick musk off like the do do birds in his last administration. The richest man in the world surely won’t go gentle into that good night. But when the inevitable break up happens, it’s sure to be a barn burner. So pull up your lawn chairs kids, grab a drink, and watch the fireworks.

In the meantime, buckle up, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.

what ales you?

The OB&C and MJE ventured out to dine this week. We drove to a nearby town and pulled into “Ye Olde Ale house.” If you think that we were transported to a cozy public house in jolly olde england you would be severely disappointed. We entered a cavernous room with a bar along the far wall populated exclusively with a dizzying array of inked flesh, which put in my mind an iceberg (it’s just the way my twisted brain functions) that what you see is a fraction of the actual berg, the great volume of it of it is below water. And if this much ink is visible, god only knows what’s going on under those wife beater undershirts. The bar sported the usual mind boggling number of television sets, and shockingly not a one of them was streaming masterpiece theatre. Gadzooks!

Well, Ye Olde Ale house is hard by the gated entry of the walmart of elder adult communities, Sun City and apparently serves as this one’s “neighborhood pub.” When we walked in I was stunned, it was like walking into a bizarre kingdom of the heavily bronzed, not a head would have turned if a gaggle of oompah loompas had sauntered in and bellied up to the bar. I haven’t seen that much orange since I accidentally opened my eyes during an eclipse.

Golf fashion is de rigueur, to a man, the tan hairless legs sported the state sock of florida, the short crew. Nowhere did I see the former old man standard, white crew socks pulled up as high on the shin as possible. Also brightly colored shorts and quick dri polyester shirts bearing the logos of various golf clubs, and baseball hats emblazoned with the logos of their home courses. The old white guy’s equivalent of a gang tatoo. To sport a generic unadorned hat or shirt would be unthinkable, a man without a tribe, total loser. These guys have a stricter dress code than the mean girl cliques in eighth grade. And frankly, at this point in their lives, it is just not worth the risk of committing a fashion faux pas that may well knock you right out of the 19th hole.

The women of adult retirement communities also have their own fashion statements to make. Most prevalent is the clam digger pant. I am not sure who may have thought that this style might in any way be flattering to elderly women but to be blunt, he should be shot. If you have lousy looking legs it makes them look worse and if you have good legs, well dammit, show em off, girlfriend! Sadly these pants are often paired with short sleeved “roomy” tops. Look, I hate to sound judgmental, but seriously, floppy, crepey skin is just not something that anyone wants to have to look at. If you are just not up for long sleeved shirts or tops, for god’s sake go 3/4, the world will thank you.

However, in defense of ye olde ale house, it was a welcome break from ye new white house.