Stationary Unicycle

I can't be the only person who wants to say something like,"Fuck you, trump, you impostor, you impotent anus lipped shit sucker!" But I'll refrain because that would be rude. Oops! Did I actually write those words out loud? Thank heavens we live in America, a democracy where we have freedom of speech. Thank goodness we don't live in a country where being critical of the government might get you arrested or shot or "disappeared". But wait! this is a New and Improved America! This is trump's great again america! Anything could happen! I mean, if actual American citizens can be questioned about their religion and political beliefs while trying to get through an American airport, anything can happen. For the record, I'm an atheist but I'm seriously looking to convert to Islam if they have something like a reformed sect, because, like my Jewish grandfather used to say, sometimes, bacon happens. You know? And furthermore, I'm so far left poli...

Thanks to Misha, a talented costume designer and seamstress whom I met a few years back (like 22 years or so) when we were babies…at Penobscot theater. She was the sweetest kindest most generous funniest smartest most kickass person then and she still is now. Also talented. And married to a talented wonderful good fellow, too. Thanks for the blog material. These are great questions!  What to you eat for dinner when no one else is home ? pop corn, also eaten for breakfast What is the one piece of clothing you still hang on to even though you know you should have tossed it long ago? I still wear this old blue plaid shirt from kmart that belonged to brad but I stole it and it’s missing all the buttons (I was so mad one day many years ago, I did a Hulk move, and ripped all the buttons off that sucker because it was that or break a wall with my fist and that seemed like too much work) anyway, the blue shirt has paint splatters on it and sometimes I keep it closed with s...

“So, what’s so awesome about being a girl?” My daughter can’t think of a thing. And frankly, I’m coming up empty, too. My dear son is just lying on the floor listening to his sis and me talking, he pretends not to hear but I know he hears us. He is very quiet, intent, he’s got those listening ears ON. First, my daughter says something about how it sucks to have a period. I have to concur. But because I’m a mom and my daughter is my daughter, I must also try to spin the whole period thing into something grand and beautiful. Moms have to say that shit. It’s in the Mom Rules, so I add that bit about the awe and how amazeballs it is to be able to have babies.  “But women can bring new life into the world!” And my daughter says, “So you’re saying that women are special because they can have babies? What about women who don’t want to have babies? Are they worthless? If you define what’s good about being a woman in terms of reproduction, then women who choose not to...

Happy Wednesday, good readers. I was feeling so super good there for a while. But all things pass, the good and the bad. The bad seem to linger though, while the good stuff evaporates like Isopropyl alcohol on your skin, leaves you feeling a little chilled tensely anticipating the needle prick that inevitably comes next. Yeah, so there's that. I guess I'm reluctant to unload completely here. I'm depressed. This is my default setting. But I don't want to make other people feel bad. I want to offer other people a hand, some comfort. I don't want to suck all the life out of the room even though I'm feeling completely shit. It's sort of like finding a dress a certain shade of green that would make me look like something out of The Walking Dead, but knowing it would fit someone else and be just the right color to complement their hair or their eyes. Hope is like that for me today. It's going to look great on you. You can do anything....

Yesterday I was talking to a person who doesn't know me very well. We were talking about the upcoming election.  The name Donald Trump came up, as you can imagine it would. I mean, how could it not? And we briefly talked about the Trumpster's obvious pathology. I mean, really, how can some people not see the dude is a classic narcissist? It's so clear.  But maybe not everyone had a narcissist for a father, those lucky assholes.   Narcissists are charismatic.  People are drawn to the persona.  Narcissists spend an inordinate amount of time cultivating this image of themselves as special, bigger than life, smarter, more capable.  Some people are drawn to the narcissist because on some level, they think the narcissist's magic will rub off on them.  It won't, but I can understand the desire to associate with the gregarious bold bombast and bask in the glow of their accepting gaze.  But, the narcissist always turn...

Wednesday was supposed to be blog day, but I’m a slacker by nature and I let my self-imposed deadline pass, as usual. Or have I? Because I’m just writing some bullshit down right now, so maybe this is the blog post. Maybe things are unfolding as they should. Or whatever the fuck. I’m sitting here in a pool of my own sweat, which frankly is better than sitting in a pool of someone else’s sweat, so that’s good. I’m stuck in a place where my chest feels like it’s going to explode, sort of like that scene in Alien , you know the one. Maybe my heart is an alien. I’ve been working on a series of self-indulgent poems and I think I have a title, My Heart and Other Winged Insects …I like the title, at least for now. Who knows. Yeah, no. I hate it now. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter …etc etc, my heart crap, it’s been done better by better and it’s been done to death. But how else do we explain that horrible amazing feeling? That feeling that life is just too too much, ...

I was thinking about our daily rituals, the things that keep us grounded, the things we do every day without thinking, the things we do in our own way to our own standard for our own pleasure. I was awakened early this morning by an ill family member who eventually settled down to rest so I was left awake again at stupid o'clock. I shuffled down stairs and the cats followed me. I took a detour into the "powder room" to "powder my nose" and one of the languid sisters pulled open the door with her perfect little clawed paw, because, what's privacy to a cat? Right? so she came in and she and I had a little chat, and then I washed my hands, just so you know I'm all about the hygiene, and I fed the cats, and filled their bowl with water, and then I set about to make the coffee which as I've gotten older has taken on a level of complexity that seems self indulgent. A thought dawned on me out of the blue,  that making coffee had turned into a ritual, ...