my jaundiced eye

life’s $#@!!*?^& frustrations

MJE feels a certain twisted desire to burst the bubble of that small subset of humans who blithely accept life’s endless disappointments, frustrations and irritants calmly and with good humor. What gives with these insensitive pollyannas? Being a glass half empty (and would it kill you to put it in the dishwasher for god’s sake) kinda gal, I suspect MJE suffers many more irksome botherations in everyday existence than most due to an extremely low tolerance for anything annoying.

Things like the old person ahead of you in the grocery line who decides she’ll write a check (holy 1955, batman!) for her goods. It’s not bad enough that she waits until she is all rung up and bagged up to rummage around in her massive pocketbook for her checkbook and a pen, she then takes longer than Dostoevsky took writing War and Peace to fill out the damned thing in the painstakingly delicate cursive of yesteryear. That is naturally followed by the subsequent tedious search for a proof of identity etc., during which she discovers a 25 cents off coupon for that can of cocktail weenies she bought and the whole process starts all over again. I don’t know about you but after having to endure this proceeding for what feels like eons, MJE has to consciously squelch the overwhelming desire to wrench that pen out of her haggard hand, give her a goddam quarter, load her bags into the shopping cart, and shove it and the geriatric into the parking lot.

Or how about the person in the drive through lane at the bank who is jawboning on her fricking cell phone during the interminable wait then once she’s finally abeam the little pneumatic tube, decides that that’s the time to complete her deposit slip (which is usually a week’s worth of sketchy checks from her tattoo parlor business or something). At a standstill, you seethe as the other lanes move like greased lightening but are trapped because by now some low rider with its woofer at maximum decibel level has just pulled up behind you. Banking purgatory. You watch the little cylinder go up and come back down, and up and down over and over because the aforementioned cretin forgot to endorse the checks or didn’t write out the deposit slip correctly, or some other doofus blunder. This sort of thing may not infuriate you but it vexes MJE to the snapping point and I have to physically restrain myself from hopping out and grabbing that little plastic sucker when it makes its next touchdown, walking it into the bank, making the deposit and returning the receipt to the offender. I then want to warn her in the strongest possible terms that if she ever sees MJE behind her in the drive through she had better just keep on driving.

And don’t even get me started on the US postal service. First of all they are gazillion dollars in debt but have enough dough to run endless ads trying to convince the populace how terrific they are. That must be why they don’t have enough money left to pay for more than one teller at a time. And if there are two people ahead of you in line or twenty, it still takes just as long, because I can guarantee you that if you find yourself lucky enough to have even just one person in line, they will have 35 packages going to 35 countries the clerk never even heard of. They will also want all the extra time consuming bells and whistles on each one: insurance, return receipt requested, proof of delivery, etc. To be followed by a lengthy cost benefit analysis over the postage on every single box: standard delivery vs express vs 2^nd class…by the time this person finally walks away from the counter the clerk is so exhausted she puts up a “window closed” sign and disappears into the bowels of the building.

Is it any wonder that people want to crawl inside their computers and live a human interaction-free virtual life. That is until the damned thing crashes, at which point you actually do desperately want some human interaction in the form of a technical support person. So the rest of your day is frittered away on hold being told every 15 seconds how very important YOUR call is to them. Finally mike in mumbai answers and cheerfully tells you that he will absolutely figure out and solve your problem. Several clicks later, he regrets to inform you that he is so dreadfully sorry but your tech support contract just expired. But thanks you for being a valued customer.

no guns, no shame, no money

MJE has recently learned that guns will be banned from the republican national convention!! Are you seriously kidding me? That sure sounds like an infringement of my 2^nd amendment rights…if I can take my gun into an intro biology class at UT, my kid’s kindergarten class, or a booze infused tailgate party before the big game, why not into the repub confab. Where is the fricking NRA when you need them? Do the convention organizers have a beef against responsible gun owners? What happened to the old chestnut that guns don’t kill people, people kill people and its kissing cousin that if we take guns away from law-abiding people then only criminals will have them. Are they implying that republican delegates are criminals? Are they afraid that there might be a shootout between Utah and Massachusetts over whose hats are zanier? Too bad Scalia isn’t with us anymore because he’d sure as hell stand up to these lily-livered pantywaists. If I didn’t know better, I might think we were talking about those peacenik pinko democrats for god’s sake.

MJE would also like to draw attention to the fact that the convention is being held in the Quicken Loans Arena. Quicken Loans is the fifth largest subprime mortgage foreclosure inducer in Detroit. It’s a company that currently owns over 60 large real estate parcels there, which it picked up at fire sale prices after it foreclosed on them. It is accused by its own loan officers of pressuring them to falsify applicants’ incomes and helpfully coached them on how to boost their commissions by locking clients into higher interest rates even when they qualified for lower rates. Loan officers have furthermore testified that Quicken Loans management instructed them to “bruise” clients by telling them that there were red flags in their credit reports and that no other lender would work with them. In 2010 Quicken Loans was found guilty of fraud in a suit filed by a homeowner and in 2011 both Quicken Loans officers and its customers filed suits against the company. Subprime mortgages, like politics make for strange bedfellows.

The kicker is that the big corporate republican convention sponsors of yesteryear are running for the hills, afraid that they will be linked to what MJE suspects will be a food fight of epic proportions, or worse. Not anxious to see the headline “This Riot is Brought to you by Coca Cola” (which doesn’t exactly comport with their image of achieving “perfect harmony” via consumption of high fructose soft drinks) or the breaking news “Trump Supporters Shoot off More Than Their Mouths Before Being Forced to Surrender their Guns” followed by a message from the sponsor American Airlines. Even Walmart , which is known for black Friday mayhem is debating the upside to exhibiting its logo above a sea of thrashing bodies.

Boy oh boy, looks like the republicans are in a real pickle here. They are pissing on our constitutional rights in a venue named for a company that was partially to blame for the 2008 recession (for which it went unpunished) and to top it off, their once reliable money bags are staying away in droves. What’s a political pachyderm to do? Got me, but MJE can’t wait for this clown car to get to Cleveland.

god is my campaign manager

You know things are really and truly in the political dumpster when ted cruz is considered to be the great taupe hope of the republican party. The sages caution us that those who don’t study history are doomed to repeat it. MJE agrees, the careful examination of political history may well result in its repetition, which is just what cruz’s spin doctor ordered.

Back in the last golden era of Louisiana politics, before right wing dweebs like Bobby Jindal and his ilk threw a wet blanket over the electoral fun, we had Edwin Edwards. He was a rapscallion of the highest order, beloved by all who appreciated his dexterity with legal technicalities as well as the English language. He once proudly proclaimed that the only way he’d ever get thrown out of office would be if he were “caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy.” And he wasn’t far wrong.

In 1991 Edwin was running for his fourth non-consecutive term as governor. The feds had been sniffing around him for years, suspecting all manner of skullduggery. That baliwick is so common that any Louisiana politico not under investigation demonstrates a breathtaking lack of ambition. Edwin’s best hope was to compete against an opponent even more unsavory than he was. Enter stage far right david duke, a white supremacist and former KKK grand wizard. Only in Louisiana would you find political bumper stickers that read “Vote for the crook. It’s important.” I suspect that edwin’s craven cronies recognized divine intervention when they saw it and surely a local nazi and aspiring politician was a gift from the gods. But how would a reviled figure like david duke manage to raise the substantial funds necessary to wage what appeared to be a “legitimate” campaign. The answer just might be from the one source that really, really wanted him on the ballot. The Silver Fox handily won the election.

The parallels to the current republican frontrunners are striking. How could mr cruz, the most detested member of congress (and beyond) possibly win the nomination? The man who just weeks ago was described as so loathed by his colleagues that he could be murdered on the senate floor in full view of the members and the murderer would be acquitted for lack of an eye witness. Perhaps the self-righteous evangelical called upon the gods for a similar divine intervention. “Please god, send me an opponent even more repellent than I am, if such a specimen walks this earth. “

And so sayeth the lord, I deliver unto you donald trump. Verily, of all my creations, he alone has the ability to make you seem tolerable and that my son is one hellova miracle.

spire!

Some time ago MJE wrote about the Fitbit, which I then thought was the plus non ultra in full frontal digital narcissism. In that same post I predicted the probable invention of a gadget that would document and regulate a number of bodily functions. It did not occur to MJE that there might be a market for a device that measures not your colonic progress but the dryer lint of your brain. MJE grossly underestimated several things: the astronomical levels of self absorption, the dim intellectual wattage of the populace and the speed with which some huckster could exploit both. Folks the future is now.

Meet “Spire!” The Wall Street Journal (a publication I rarely read because it doesn’t reinforce my world view) reported on a new device called, “Spire!.” which advertises itself as “your personal mindfulness coach.” It promises to reduce your stress by 50% via “smart notifications and gentle reminders.” Personally, MJE finds that mindless activities are the best stress reducers around, but that’s just me.

“Spire!” clips onto your bra or jock strap and monitors your breathing which is, according to the“Spire!”-land marketing department, a better indicator of your cerebral wellbeing than a brain scan. It is “backed by seven years of research.” So what, the OB&C has been “researching” a magnetic bead technology for 11 years and it still doesn’t work worth a crap.

“Spire coaches you to a more calm, balanced state of mind. It tracks and improves your state of mind by allowing you to discover when you’re stressed, where it happens, and what you were doing.” Yeah, well booze and xanax do that too and I can guarantee you that I don’t need any gentle reminders for those.

The online accolades from “Simone,” “Michael” and “Hilary” are so effusive that you want to cyber stalk them and make their lives really miserable. Then we’ll see just how effective “Spire!” really is.

heil hair trumpler

Having been entranced of late with WWII, MJE is struck by the frightening similarity between the furer’s and the donald’s rhetoric regarding the “others” who are to blame for whatever fix we are in. At least the donald wants to fence them out instead of fencing them in. And for the millions of undocumented residents who are already in the country and working hard, paying taxes and contributing to medicare and social security (which by the way they will never receive) don’t let the door hit you on the way out. But before you go, can you recommend a legal that can hang drywall and frame up my new pool house?

Other than achieving some cheap political points I don’t understand his xenophobic opposition to letting muslims into our country. I mean when you get down to the real nitty gritty, what’s the difference, other than religious preference, between muslims who believe that everything in the quaran is the true word of god (and are branded “radical”) and christians who believe everything in the bible and willfully suspend belief in reality (and are practically granted sainthood)? And fuggetabout the non-believers, oh ye of little faith, there is no room for you in america’s manger.

The fact that hair trumpler enjoys tremendous support from the evangelical community is a real conundrum, how can they possibly approve of a thrice-married huckster and self-aggrandizing schoolyard bully who crudely insults everyone who disagrees with him? What about his disregard for good ole Christian values like turning the other cheek, or treating others as you would like to be treated? Or his cringe-worthy pandering and subsequent bombing of the one test of his knowledge of the bible at liberty university? “So 2 corinthians walk into a bar…” Talk about having blind faith.

But if an extremely small delusional sub-section of the voting populace ends up calling the shots on the future of our country then we are all headed for a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad hair day.

Sorry for the lengthy hiatus, MJE was in New Orleans for Mardi Gras and it takes everything I have just to survive. Of course, it’s all self-inflicted but debilitating none the less. As I always say, if something is worth doing it’s worth overdoing. And that goes double during Mardi Gras.

Bandoleira-Saturnalia came down from gotham city with her new boyfriend, Stefanolpolis who was tremendously excited about visiting the south for the first time. As much as she tried to convince him that New Orleans is not the south, despite it’s geography, he was probably expecting Big Daddy to great him at the front door of Tara in a white linen suit and panama hat, mint julep in hand. Instead he got the OB&C in clothes he’d worn for a week, wearing a cammo baseball cap and holding a coors light and a bag of pork rinds.

But he soldiered through, slurped down raw ersters at the oyster bar at Manales with Uptown T shucking and jiving throughout. Ate poboys for virtually every meal and in true mardi gras spirit drank too much and missed hearing Galactic at Tip’s. They dragged themselves to at least ten parades, enjoyed seeing the men “parading” in motorized naugahyde recliners, the camel toe stepper gals (think very tight spandex) and of course the six ten stompers, middle aged men in short basketball shorts, satin jackets, tennis headbands, tube sox and silver shoes. All that and they have dance moves beyonce would envy.

But now MJE is back in the “real” world and already officially completely and totally fed up with the “race to the white house”, which seems much more like the race to the out house. How to characterize the candidates? Trump is the blow hard self-important father in law who keeps telling you what a loser you are. Hillary is the cranky aunt who always has to have the last word. Bernie is your crazy uncle who emerges from his hoarder’s nest once a year at thanksgiving ranting about how materialistic you are and how you need to think about other people for once, you self-absorbed narcissist. Rubio is your ass kissing brother in law who makes everyone else look bad. Cruz is your scary cousin who makes your skin crawl and you try never to be alone with. Kasich is the even tempered kindly uncle you wish was your father. Jeb is the really, super nice brother who just ain’t got it and peaked as a VP in the local bank. And Ben Carson, the family’s idiot savant that absolutely no one can figure out.

So, take your pick. The repubs were hell bound to cut back funds for education. So now we are all stuck with no crazy uneducated, uninformed voter left behind.

well done

Okay, so after eleven months, the medical industrial complex has finally wrung MJE dry and kicked me to the curb…my right hooter has been mammogrammed, programmed, pajamagrammed, MRI’d, FYI’d, DIY’d, x-rayed, blue rayed, inspected, bisected, dissected, irrigated, oxygenated and irradiated. Every doc, nurse, orderly, lab tech and passerby in several states has felt it, held it, fracked it, hacked it and packed it. I’ve been cooked to medium-well and am sporting a Boehner tan headlamp with a permanent smirk. Oh, that and a head of holocaust hair.

So, what did MJE learn from this experience? First off and a tad bit late for me, that the kind of cancer with which I was diagnosed is a form that many in the forefront of oncology now believe may be best left alone and monitored closely. No rush to surgery. Treated more like a polyp in your bottom than a bombshell in your bosom. Also that a surgeon never met a piece of meat he didn’t want to carve up and will never admit when he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know. I also realized that many doctors are as resistant to change as the most stagnant civil servants and that a patient needs to do her homework, sharply question a treatment plan, or lack thereof, and to over ride it without feeling guilty about changing docs or getting another opinion. My health and yours are more important than some doc’s inflated ego. I also think that being a tattle-tale is a good thing for the general betterment of the afflicted. I’m not talking about going to the medical board, but if a specialist has been referred by your primary doc and you have valid complaints, you should let the referring doc know before he sends another hapless victim over.

I also discovered that nurses and technicians can literally be your best friends and are entirely under-appreciated in the medical universe. I found that getting their take on what’s really going on is invaluable. They are in the trenches all day every day while most docs pop in when required, having read the notes (or as is sometimes the case not even that) give you a cursory once over and waft out the door without so much as a by your leave. That said, MJE was treated by a couple of exemplary docs who were more than willing to put away their stop watches and take whatever time was necessary, so all is not lost, yet.

Finally MJE was extremely gratified to find that it is actually possible to get your money’s worth out of the godless health insurance companies if you: meet your horrendous deductible, then get some really crappy diagnosis, have months of complications, endless (often unnecessary) tests and a tediously lengthy treatment plan. MJE totally ate BC/BS’s lunch in 2015! Admittedly it was an extremely long and unappetizing meal , but in the end the dessert was delicious. And for once it was on the house.

the magic kingdom of medicare

Upon MJE’s first feeble step over the age 65 threshold I was presented with the compulsory red white and blue key card to the gates of the magic medicare kingdom. Whoa nelly, thanks but no thanks to the federal government’s largesse, I’ll take that in dodgy tax deductions if it’s all the same to you. Mind you I am not some right wing republican fiscal hawk…I am a card carrying liberal who truly believes in the social safety net for those in need. But what about the rest of us? Don’t we have rights too?

It boggles MJE’s mind that even those of us who (in our dotage) are foolishly willing and fully able to pay for our own health insurance are forcibly mandated to be wards of the federal government. I frankly feel that my constitutional right to grossly overpay Blue Cross/ Blue Shield in return for unbelievably crappy health insurance coverage has been trammeled. I demand justice!

The pols in Washington are terrified of touching the “third rail” of politics aka medicare and social security. MJE for one, insists that someone up there grow a pair and speak up for the disenfranchised high income bracketeers. We need someone to courageously speak out, “Fellow lawmakers, this isn’t a red issue or a blue issue, this matter goes to the very heart of our fundamental values. Old rich Americans, of all political stripes are being denied their inalienable right to choose to be over charged and underserved by the private health insurance industrial complex. Our well-heeled patriots deserve better! They have dutifully contributed to medicare for decades only to have their right to refuse it repudiated! This is a travesty!”

But not one politician, left, right or center is willing to stand up to The Man and say:

“NOT EVERY OLD GEEZER WANTS YOUR STINKING HEALTH INSURANCE SUBSIDIES! THIS ISN’T GODDAM SWEDEN! THE AMERICAN PEOPLE WILL LET YOU KNOW WHEN AND IF THEY NEED IT! MEANTIME, BLOW THE DOUGH ON ANOTHER STUPID WAR OR SOMETHING AND LEAVE OUR GERIATRICS ALONE!”

But all is not lost. At least MJE still has the incomprehensible medicare supplement and prescription benefit programs. I can continue to pay a few overpriced premiums and have most of my claims for legitimate medical expenses denied. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing.

welcome to old age

Okay, so MJE just reached a milestone on Jan 6, Twelfth Night, arriving at the official pearly gates of old age. Sixty five long ones. Leave it to me ole muddah to give birth on a date that would ensure that I would have to endure the full measure of the season (admittedly back then xmas didn’t start in March). Is it not enough that I have to slog through a (literally) godforsaken xmas, then pump myself or prop myself up for NYE, then being a glutton for punishment throw a NYD party? At that point most people can, in the immortal words of Al “Carnival Time ” Johnson ” throw my baby out the window and let the joint burn down.” But nooooo, MJE has to suffer through another six days of dread.

MJE deserves an Oscar for best performance in a tragicomedy for her feigned enjoyment of the occasion. The OB&C is nothing if not consistent. Every year it’s some random cheap card (often commemorating a completely different occasion, like “get well soon” or “congrats on the new baby”) hastily snatched up along with a $6.99 bouquet of half dead flowers at the Food Lion or Kroger on his way home from a massage. This year, because it was a big one, he did pick up a couple of gifts at the hardware store while he was buying spare parts for his boat trailer.

For this landmark I was thinking surely the OB&C might arrange some sort of massive celebration. Something like the surprise trip to NYC I set up for his 65^th, or the birthday dinner at a great New Orleans restaurant for 30 people on his 50^th when I secretly arranged for the children to fly in from afar (back when MJE and the OB&C were still communicating with Albatross outside of the bank wire transfer system) as a surprise and then rented the bar across the street for the after party. I was certain he had to have something up his sleeve. He’d let slip what I misinterpreted to be a few clues one night when he’d had a snootful and I was confident enough to wear a tiara over my platinum black rooted wig in anticipation. However, I soon realized that an extravaganza was definitely not in the offing. Instead we drove 30 minutes and to some “upscale” dive, surrounded by loudmouths and toddlers, seated at a teeny tipsy table for two in a dimly lit back room next to the fire exit.

I ditched the tiara and quickly downed something called the corpse reviver and two glasses of wine as a chaser. I’m totally sure the rest of the evening was everything I had hoped for.

thanks loads

Well the holly, jolly frantic materialism of xmas is over until next month when it will slowly start to creep back in. I gave the OB&C a pasta maker and a “no oil fryer” both of which are still in boxes under my desk. Well, more accurately I gave them to myself and he was a pass through so I could feel self satisfied about my thoughtfulness and generosity. The OB&C doesn’t suffer such pangs of self doubt and so isn’t hypocritical enough to go to the transparently selfish trouble of getting me gifts. We’ve been married long enough for him to know that if I want something I will have long since beaten him to the punch before he ever picks up on any hints I might drop. And really, that whole charade is such a waste of time. My motto is: Decide what you want, get it, don’t ever use it, re-gift it and move on.

Apropos the business of the giving and the getting I was reading an article in that commie rag, the New York Times this Sunday about how the mere thought of being appreciative has become the latest means of spiritual masturbation. In the alternative universe of the truly narcissistic, simply thinking of being thankful, whether you express it or not is plenty good enough. Apparently, keeping a journal of your thoughts of appreciation is also a tonic for the self-absorbed soul. The heavy lifting of actually outwardly expressing your appreciation for something is totally unnecessary, just pondering it is sufficient. Making the effort to grunt out an actual thank you every once in a while or god forbid writing a thank you note simply demonstrates how incredibly insecure you are. Loser.

Well in the spirit of self-congratulation on her mindful appreciation MJE says, thanks for nothing.