my jaundiced eye

don’t worry be happy

Ironic, given MJE’s last post that I should receive a crappy medical notice just this past week. But as my loyal readers know MJE is nothing if not an optimist, glass half full, etc. That was a joke, I am a bottle ¾ empty kinda gal for sure.

But in the spirit of looking on the bright side, my first step was to make a beeline (on the sunny side of the street !) to Galatoire’s for a long boozy lunch. For those poor souls who are unfamiliar with Galatoire’s, it’s a 100+ year old restaurant that, aside from switching from gaslight to electric bulbs hasn’t changed much since it opened. You specify your waiter when you arrive signaling your status as a regular. If you don’t have one you get a newbie and sit in Siberia. Our waiter is Imre the Hungarian. He’s been there forty years and took over after Michel (my mother’s waiter) retired. Imre is wonderfully old school, hand kissing and all, plus he’s an enabler par excellence. Any ethyl alcohol request is met with an immediate heavily accented “Good idea, thank you.” The OB&C and I were joined by SOB who was in town for a wedding. Knocking on forty and having lived in Atlanta for too many years, SOB, after having gone to Galatoire’s all his life, took a look around and realized that Galatoire’s is a Technicolor dining experience in a sea of black and white restaurants. It’s not that the food is the best in the world, nor the décor, although I do love the tile floors, ceiling fans, flocked wallpaper and mirrors lining the walls (better to watch people across the room), it’s the whole ball of wax. The portly waiters in their often too tight black jackets, white shirts and tiny bow ties, the unhurried pace, the weeding out of riffraff clientele by a now quaint dress code requiring that men wear jackets and an atmosphere of civilized, convivial, well-mannered debauchery. Lunches stretch for hours. Last time we went, the OB&C and I were the last people left, just us and the waiters having their dinners before the evening rush. Some people never leave, they just stay on for dinner.

So, after a couple of rounds of bloody marys and bottles of wine, oysters Rockefeller, crabmeat maison, gumbo, soft shell crab, trout meuniere and Brabant potatoes we sauntered over to the “Slavery in New Orleans” exhibit at the Historic New Orleans Collection. Somewhat (but not completely, thank god) sobering subject matter but was relieved not to see my maiden family name among the owners. The OB&C’s family hails from the dreary heartland of the country so he was safe. While my forebears were all sitting on the porches of our plantations drinking mint juleps and having our mammies tighten our corsets or our house servants step and fetch it, they were slogging away inventing the steam engine or electric light bulb or something. Well, good for them. New Orleans made its own not insignificant contributions to the betterment of society with the creation of the sazerac and the gin fizz, both of which are equally enjoyable under a lamp shade, candlelight or in total darkness. No electricity required.

death defying decisions

MJE is by nature pretty controlling, not to an unpleasant degree mind you but I just like to be in the driver’s seat as often as possible. So, sticking with the automotive analogy, when my car starts petering out I want to make sure that the mechanic doesn’t do something stupid, unnecessary and expensive when it just isn’t going to make the car last any longer. To wit, I’ve been perusing materials pertaining to end of life (human not automotive) decisions.

Well it turns out it’s a bit more complicated than I thought. Fortunately, there is a 26 page guide and questionnaire put out by the Death, Near Death and Certain Death Society that those of us who are not immortal should consider completing and sharing with our doctors and health care proxies. Given the subject matter the title is catchy and upbeat, “The Tool Kit for a Better Death!” It’s divided into nine sections, or “tools” for you to keep in your “death toolbox. “ For example Tool #2 is “Are Some Conditions Worse than Death?” Hell yes, the OB&C’s family reunion I have to host in May. There are a lot of “What If” questions like “If you are in severe or untreatable pain on a scale of 1 to 5 do you “Definitely Want Treatment or “Definitely Do Not Want Treatment.” Really? Who the hell is going to say I definitely do not want treatment except maybe members of Masochistics Anonymous. Or “How Do You Weigh Yours Odds of Survival” well last time I checked no one is getting out of here alive so I’d say 0% on that one. Tool #5 is “After Death Decisions to Think About Now”, isn’t that an oxymoron, how can I think about them now when I am alive when they are decisions to be made after death? Tool #6 includes a helpful section entitled “Five Times to Re-examine Your Death Wishes…” It’s the five D’s: Decade, Death, Divorce, Diagnosis and Decline. Seems like one of those might be a day late and a dollar short so I recommend sticking to just four of the D’s.

FYI, there’s a quiz at the end so pay attention!

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.