my jaundiced eye

bring on the burka

The other day MJE was strolling through the park when she happened upon a woman of a certain age dressed in short shorts and a tank top. That’s not the noteworthy part, it’s that this woman was a walking talking tower of cellulite. And I mean stem to stern. I am always envious of people who have such a positive self-image that they will bare parts of their bodies regardless of their condition, seemingly unaware or indifferent to how revolting their appearance is to other people.

I myself can barely look at my ankles without a shudder. Forget thighs, stomach, upper arms or decolletage. It has been years since I donned a pair of shorts or a skirt and a bating suit is so far beyond the realm of possibility that it might as well be a suit of chain mail. Then I thought, what about a burka! I know it’s a symbol of Islamic misogyny but talk about no hassle. First you can wear the same one everyday and who’s the wiser, no one even knows what’s under there. Imagine the freedom! Good bye exfoliating, shaving, waxing or plucking. No more costly cuts and color or blow outs, hell you don’t even have to wash your hair if you don’t feel like it. Sayonara, free weights, exercise class, or a healthy diet, although I do wonder how those women eat, maybe they carry around a camel back loaded with ensure. Kiss off all those expensive creams and potions and no more botox, laser treatments or facial peels. All of that falls away under that shroud of polyester. Who knew that something so repressive could be so liberating! I know what you’re thinking, under a burka a woman is reduced to a non-entity. But if that’s what it takes to never have to shave my legs again I am down with it. In fact I am going to http://www.islamhateswomen.com right now and order a couple.

RIP

MJE was perusing the obits the other day and was surprised at just how many people kick the bucket every day. FYI, it’s a lot. Curiously, out of all of the deceased only one person “died” (but it was peacefully.) All of the others’ expirations were euphemized in the blandest terms. “Passed away” and “passed on,” despite being the least imaginative were the most popular expressions of choice. “Entered into eternal rest/peace/heaven” was a distant second followed by, in no particular order, “ascended to heaven/heaven’s gate”, “was called home”, “was called from above and brought home”, and “went home with his lord and savior.” The boldest choice was Eddie “Bit” Martin who “transitioned from the physical life to the spiritual realm” which seems a good deal of verbiage just to say Bit bit it.

The nicknames and memorable life factoids of the departed are a fun feature of the obits, “Maw Maw Francis” (a graduate of Katie’s Beauty College), Edward “Charlie” “Wookam” Joseph (whose worldly achievements were limited to a vast number of offspring), Joseph “Turkey” Starring (his favorite activity was working on the CHS barbeque), and Donald “Bulldog” Fernandez (a proud member of the Local 406 Union and the Invincible Masonic Lodge No 360).

One of the creepier sections is birthday wishes from family and friends to their dearly departed. It seems to me that once you’re dead you shouldn’t have to be troubled with birthdays, anniversaries, or any other guilt inducing holidays. You don’t have to worry about back taxes, overdraft protection, colonoscopies, unused frequent flier miles, the check motor light on your dashboard, that pledge to PBS that you never paid, or your grandchildren’s orthodontia bills. You’ve earned your eternal rest, so a note to those left behind: Do not disturb.

the visitation

The OB&C and I have just survived the double trauma of his hernia repair and the visitation of my sister, Shalleaux and her husband Duhl. She is a professional flake who also goes by the name “Aziza,” Tibetan for Narcissistic Dope. Duhl is a lapsed lawyer who has the charisma of the Rain Man but less personality. Shalleaux has traveled the globe for thirty years conducting “workshops.” No one in the family knows what she teaches in these workshops because no one cares enough to ask. But apparently there is an endless supply of gullibles willing to pay for her sage advice on life. Duhl, a Boston Brahmin long ago ditched his expensive ivy education to build sub-standard houses in New Hampshire.

Her annual visits always start with a call on hermit brother Joey. Several years ago he somewhat oddly declared that he should be referred to as Joseph I. I suppose at the tender age of forty he decided that he wasn’t getting enough respect and a name upgrade might change that. Who wouldn’t respect a middle aged guy who blew off his education, hasn’t worked a day in his life and has spent most of his adulthood in an isolated house drawing doodles and taking care of his cat.

But let’s not forget the OB&C’s hernia! Last week he had a colonoscopy, which you would have thought was a heart lung transplant. A hernia was like manna from heaven, akin to a case of ebola. Having Shalleaux and Duhl in residence was an added burden which you might have thought they would forgo, considering, but the lure of free room and board was too tempting. However Shalleaux assured me that they would be “quiet as mice.” I don’t want mice either.

Yesterday was St. Paddy’s day and I cooked corned beef and cabbage. Shalleaux bounced into the kitchen and asked what I was cooking. When I told her, she was totally bewildered, “Like corned beef hash?” No, corned beef brisket, which I held aloft. From the look on her face you would have thought I was braising a side of hippo.

Upon returning from their day foisting themselves on other relatives Shalleaux inquired as to how my irish stew was coming along.

doin’ the harvey hustle

Once again MJE has to tip her hat to the local rag for providing an engaging topic. The front page piece drew attention to the arrest of a number of members of an extremely violent gang called the “Harvey Hustlers,” (I hope their first victim was whoever came up with that name, sounds like a line dancing club) a dangerous group of bad asses that have terrorized parts of the city for years. The charges ranged from intent to distribute this or that illegal substance, to racketeering, attempted murder, actual murder, carjacking, rape, assault, etc. Of particular note was hustler Davante Gumms who was charged with five counts of attempted second-degree murder. FIVE! For god’s sake get this guy a learning specialist and a bottle of Ritalin to help him stay on task.

Several of the hustlers were charged with cruelty to juveniles. Holy crap, didn’t know that was against the law. MJE sure dodged a bullet on that one.

benevolent sinning

I was just reading an article in the local rag about the observance of lent. The piece reported that Pope Francis, in his annual Lenten message to the faithful, said that just giving up something you like is not enough. You need to do something that benefits others. Well, as my loyal readers know, MJE is all about helping others, so I am celebrating the spirit of lent with extra zeal his year.

I totally get what Frank is talking about. For example, if I gave up drinking, would that benefit my local liquor store? They would lose substantial sales, perhaps have to cut employees’ hours or even let them go entirely. They might go smack out of business. Imagine the ripple effect that could have. Neighborhood sots would take to the streets, careening around half bombed trying to find someplace to get their trembling hands on more hooch, thus endangering the lives of every man, woman, child and dog in this zip code. Not beneficial.

Or chocolate, MJE even extends her concern to the Belgians, and I am probably the only person on the planet who gives a rat’s ass about them. Coffee? The struggling Columbians are in a world of hurt already, that seems like piling on. Soft drinks? Yes! but I have to think about all the old pensioners who own shares in Coca Cola Corp. or Pepsico, and rely on their paltry dividend checks to buy lottery tickets. Depriving a bunch of feeble geriatrics of the delusion that they might win the powerball doesn’t sound like a helping hand to me.

So, what’s a penitent to do? MJE’s advice is to embrace your sinfulness during this special time. In fact double down on it and save the world! A rising tide lifts all boats.

an embarrassment of riches

Just when I thought I’d won the political powerball with my invitation to participate in a tea party survey, yet another amazing thing happened. I received a personal missive from Juan Manuel Contreras, Ph.D., Senior Data Scientist, Democratic National Committee!

Of course I have received numerous emails from President Obama, and the missus, Joltin Joe Biden, Debbie “do something with that hair” Wasserman Schultz, the DNC headquarters and the DNC war room (hope Merkin Muffley and Buck Turgidson* are in there) but this is the first one from the senior data scientist. I thought I’d made some bonehead life choices but this doofus spent decades in school so he can spend the rest of his miserable existence staring at spreadsheets and computer screens all the livelong day. Get a life J Man.

But I digress. Juan certainly knows his data because he had me at “Hi, Martha-” I don’t want my readers to miss one word from Juan’s note so I’ll just paste some of it below in its original bold and underlined blue type and exclamation points:

Hi, Martha —

I’m in charge of tracking our online support — seeing which petitions supporters like you are signing, what issues you care most about, that sort of thing.

‘Anyway when I came across your supporter record the other day, I noticed that it’s really good! You’re in the top six percent of Democrats who are active online supporters, and we can’t thank you enough for that, Martha. Without your activism, President Obama and other Democrats would have a tough time doing what they do.

In fact, since you’re such a strong supporter, I have a guess that you might be interested in becoming a monthly sustainer — especially because for a limited time, we’ll send you a free sticker when you do. If I’m right, and you are interested, you can get started right here (it only takes a second).’

So, let me know! If you’re interested in taking the next step of support, and getting a free sticker, do it here. But no matter what, thanks so much for everything you’ve done, and will continue to do:’

I mean who can resist that pitch! Juan hits just the right tone, informal and folksy and totally nails the “we’re in this together” vibe. And I’m in the TOP six percent of Dems who are active online supporters. That means that 94% gave less than $25 which, if I were Juan, would be a deeply troubling bit o’ data. And boy does Juan know me, a free sticker, hell I’d rob a convenience store for one of those.

Sadly Juan started to go off the rails when he “guessed” that I might like to become a “sustaining member.” The only things I sustain are my hair coloring appointments, my Amazon Prime membership and my supply of gin. I just don’t have the time to sustain the Democratic party too. Even if it only takes a second! Juan, love ya, but I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, the only thing that takes just a second is your last breath.

I really hate to be the one who makes it even tougher for el presidente and the other Democrats to do what they do. But if Juan could provide me with a detailed report of exactly what that is I might be inclined to be more supportive. And it was nice to be thanked for everything I’ve done but Don Juan started sounding like a creepy scientologist when he added “and will continue to do.” Back off buddy, MJE doesn’t like being rushed into any sort of meaningful relationship, not without dinner and a movie first.

* see Dr. Strangelove

welcome to my tea party

Disclaimer: Dear readers, some of the opinions expressed below may not square with your political views, but MJE has never been one to hide her lefty light under a bushel so you probably already know that. Read no further if you think it might cause a rift in either our personal or virtual relationship.

I just got one of the most unexpected telephone calls of my life! One I never thought possible. No, I didn’t win the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes, and no MJE’s 45 year old daughter didn’t finally get a job. (but thanks for bringing up that painful situation), and no our son hasn’t repaid the $10,000 we lent him for a down payment on his house. No…. wait for it….it was from the TEA PARTY!!!!!!!!

I couldn’t believe my eyes when “tea party “popped up on the caller ID. Usually I ignore political phone calls or tell them I’m dead but this was one I just had to take.

A very nice man asked if I might like to be part of a survey for the Tea Party. You bet your pitiful excuse for a job I would!

Let the games begin.

Q: What do you think about Mr. Obama’s inability to get anything done?

A: Kinda tough to get much done when it’s 301 against 1. The fact that the country has been in a legislation- free zone since 2009 sits squarely in the laps of the self-aggrandizing numbskulls in congress who put their political futures before what is good for the country. As far as I can tell all they do is sit around with their thumbs up their asses, pointing their fingers across the aisle and clacking their jaws whenever a TV camera comes into view. Oh and wasting time and taxpayer money trying to kick out a gazillion illegal immigrants (they better start learning how to mow their own lawns and throw up sheetrock.)

Q: Why hasn’t Mr. Obama done anything in the last six years to improve the economy?

A: Oh, you mean like bringing the US back from the edge of the financial abyss that arrived on his inaugural day doorstep like a bag of dog doo in a burning paper bag? Or reducing the unemployment rate by about half, or overseeing an impressive increase in GDP and industrial production, a rebound of the housing market and a stock market that is up hundreds of points…oh and BTW ending our misguided war in Iraq which cost billions of dollars and thousands of US lives and god knows how many Iraqis’? Would you like me to continue? And make sure you get this all down. Not a problem, “it was being recorded”, and probably forwarded directly to the NSA.

Q: What do you think of Sarah Palin? (That question alone made me rethink my not believing in god.)

A: Sarah Palin is an uneducated, intellectually lazy, narcissistic imbecile whose greatest achievement was getting a man like John McCain to abandon his principles and tarnish both his reputation and a lifetime of service to his country by putting her on the republican ticket as his running mate. That and giving me a reason to watch Saturday Night Live for the first time since 1983.

Q: What do you think of Ted Cruz as a possible presidential candidate?

A: Ted Cruz is a dangerous ideological crank who behaves like a petulant child when he doesn’t get his way. Unwillingness to compromise is his signature move, increasingly alienating his fellow legislators and hindering any congressional action but beloved by the hard right. His “my way or the highway” mentality is antithetical to the democratic values of this country and the US Senate. He is also a dead ringer for Joe McCarthy which is reason enough not to want to be in the same room with him.

Q: Well how about Rand Paul?

A: Rand Paul is an antigovernment nut job who doesn’t want to have the US government intruding in people’s lives, unless you are an unborn fetus. And despite being a physician who knows full well the benefits of vaccinations he shamelessly pandered to the anti-vaccination fringe, citing some anecdotal bull crap about normal children being turned into cretins as a result of vaccines. For that he should have his medical license revoked. And he looks like Spongebob Squarepants.

Q: What do you think is the best solution to the deficit?

A: Well that’s a no-brainer, cut government spending, specifically the salaries, benefits and staff of the 535 members of congress. With their abysmal performance record, they would be booted out of any private sector position, after which they better not count on unemployment benefits.

At the conclusion of the survey the caller chirped “It sounds like you’d be a great addition to our tea party team!”

Even MJE couldn’t make this stuff up. God bless America.

MJE mardi gras

There is one exception to MJE’s ‘hate the holidays’ rule and that is Mardi Gras, well not the actual day but its spirit of irreverence and disdain for the mind numbing conventions of everyday life

As in the past, our three ring Mardi Gras circus, Apricot, Seymour and of course Decibelle, arrived on Thursday night before MG and we rocked the parade routes nonstop until Sunday dinner time. Their parents, our son (SOB) and his long suffering wife (LSW) were both sick, SOB with a ticklish cough (“persistent and extremely debilitating, possibly life-threatening”) and LSW down for the count with a full blown cold. (“Thanks for coming!” bring the measles next time) Of course she got barely a mention as the drama of the ticklish cough was duking it out with Decibelle’s fortissimo for everyone’s attention.

The OB&C and I had already assembled the parade essentials: boatloads of iced beer, wine, bloody marys and margaritas, go cups, and unhealthy snacks and sweets. Prioritizing whose needs are foremost is key to success at Mardi Gras (and life) and obviously MJE’s are #1. But being mindful of the under-aged amongst us who require non-ethyl alcohol-related hydration I did squeeze in one bottle of water for the young folk to share. And of course we had Big Bertha, our rickety relic of a wooden parade ladder with child seat atop. If we showed up in California with that death trap we’d have child protective services on us faster than you can click a pic with your cell phone and tweet #childendangerment.

Transporting all of this stuff involves black op worthy maneuvers: pre-dawn reconnoitering of the the parade route, locating and commandeering a suitable site, unloading gear, securing it with yards of heavy chain and returning to base camp hoping that any of it will still be there when you return. Generally Mardi Gras manners prevail, at least in the 1 percenter viewing venues we favor. Ladders and assorted paraphernalia are left unattended for hours and remain largely unmolested (although one year the OB&C had his crappy little conference freebie cooler lifted from in front of the port-o-let while he was briefly indisposed, and he has never forgotten it). People give beads and other junk they’ve caught to little kids nearby (gee thanks, our bead midden at home is only eight feet high and we’re hoping it gets huge enough to land a spot on the mardi gras episode of “Hoarders”). Locals know it is bad form to show up when the parade starts and stand in front of people who have been wasting hours waiting there and that if two people catch the same pair of beads you call on your better angel and let go first. However, politely maneuvering through the impenetrable maze of plus sized people, chairs, ladders, ice chests, bead bags, wagons etc. that line the parade route makes patrolling the back alleys of Falluja look like a cake walk.

Best of all, Mardi Gras gives everyone full license to pretend for a time to be who they are not. The OB&C and I believe in taking full advantage of that opportunity and consider masking to be a sacred part of Mardi Gras tradition. The SOB et al (Apricot was the exception, keep an eye on that dark horse) on the other hand, apparently have no desire to be anything but what they are and dressed up like a yuppie family from Atlanta.

anyone seen my funny bone?

MJE has been back in New Orleans for about a week and has been feeling a bit out of sorts, unable to concentrate on the inherent idiocy of life. That’s ironic because people in New Orleans appreciate and practice idiocy more than anywhere else on earth. Look no further than Jazz Fest and Mardi Gras. Jazz Fest, touted (or “trouted” in the local vernacular) as the best music festival this side of Uranus is absolutely beloved by locals. In reality it is akin to the Bataan Death march. You tramp miles from where your car’s parked to the fairgrounds in the broiling heat loaded down with lawn chairs, ice chests, umbrellas, picnic blankets and bulging tote bags only to find that 100,000 people got there before you did and there’s no room left.

And Mardi Gras, despite its reputation as “the greatest free show on earth” is in fact a grueling endurance contest. By the time Fat Tuesday rolls around most locals, including the OB&C and I, are stupefied to the point of watching it on TV like a bunch of shut ins. After a couple of weeks of non stop gras, the Sunday before Mardi Gras day is our personal Waterloo. As an example, late one such Sunday afternoon a couple of years ago, I, having perhaps overindulged in parade-related imbibables, headed home like a cow to the barn. Bedtime for bonzo. I awoke refreshed and ready for yet another day of riotous fun, showered, got dressed and swanned into the living room where assorted family members were knocking back cocktails. I looked at the clock, which read 7:00 and exclaimed that even for me it was a bit early, to which they responded in unison “It’s 7:00pm.” Sunday.

I hate to think I’ve lost my zest for life. Without that I’m just some middle aged (if I live 128 years) self-absorbed sot. I guess that’s not so bad compared with being say an inmate at Gitmo who hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in Haifa of ever getting out of there. Or being married to Chris Christie. But last night whilst listening to the local news I was heartened by a couple of pieces. In one segment on the crime rate in New Orleans the perky newscaster, as a visual aid to the viewers, brought up her “Murder Map!” with a wide smile and a sweeping Vanna White arm movement. This was to help us better understand that some parts of town might be high on the dangerous to downright deadly scale. Areas similar to what our esteemed governor Bobby “Bobblehead” Jindal referred to as “no go zones” for non-muslims in certain parts of Birmingham England, a place to which he has never traveled.

The next bit was an even better mood lifter. A bombastic local pol, referring to his constituents’ outrage over too many turds on the sidewalk or something, told the reporter that “their hair was up in arms.”

A mixed metaphor of that caliber is an elixir for the soul. I think I’m on the mend.

OB&C and the egg

The other day the OB&C awoke with an overwhelming urge to start his day with a bit of Conecuh sausage, a slice of toast and a perfectly fried egg. He announced this as I was catching up on the latest beheading in the faint hope that I might get up and actually cook it for him. Realizing that this was highly unlikely he shuffled over to the refrigerator in search of some sausage and an egg. I personally subscribe to the old adage not to keep all of your eggs in one basket. Therefore, I keep the uncooked poultry ova in a country-cute basket (which would be the envy of every woman who has a mountain house and loves gingham and bear motifs) and I give any hard boiled eggs free range (better late than never) and scatter them haphazardly around the fridge. Seems like a pretty straightforward arrangement, but the OB&C’s steel trap of a mind operates on an entirely different plane. Perhaps you remember a prior post regarding his tendency to “overthink.” In willful ignorance of my system of ovapartheid he opened the fridge door and peered intently at the contents, mulling over his strategy. He then eased into a crouch and cautiously clawed his way into its deepest recesses, threading his arm through a maze of outdated jams, jars of pickled okra, sardine cans, molding olives, pigs knuckles, a small packet of mouse feces (don’t ask), odd bits of cheese and several containers of earthworms, bypassing the basket of eggs that was smack in his face. Finally he pried out one lone egg and like the archaeologist who has succeeded in his ultimate quest to unearth the fabled tomb of King Salami Salami Boloney, triumphantly held it aloft as if it were some priceless artifact.

After all that exertion he decided he’d better calm down and read a few of the endless adolescent emails middle aged men send to one another. After perusing a few of these soporifics he was finally up to cooking a bit of sausage and popping a piece of bread into the toaster. Now, the piece de resistance, an egg fried to perfection! He gently picked up his egg that had required such an herculean effort to procure and with a flourish cracked it on the edge of the skillet. I had been monitoring his laborious pursuit of the egg closely, anticipating this moment when, like Wiley Coyote falling off the cliff, the OB&C would come down to earth with a thud. He turned the egg over in his hand and examined it carefully. Slowly he turned to me with a look of amazement mixed with despair and declared “This egg is hardboiled!”

“Yes it is.”