Welcome to 2023

Au revoir, 2022! 

 You were good, you were bad,  you were memorable, you were forgettable, you were stressful and you were  stress-free and you were  everything in between.

The last day of 2022 did not disappoint..it was a day of laughing with those hilarious "Derry Girls" and it was great company and nostalgic conversation: it was delicious Indian cuisine where the wait staff pampered us like royalty. 

 And it was the last movie we'd see in a theater in 2022.  

"I Want to Dance With Somebody" was surprisingly good. Very insightful and highly entertaining--I think we both liked it more than "Elvis."

(We debated which artist had the bigger impact: the more tragic final chapter)

Like the year itself, the last day had it's flaws too, as it started off with an incredibly intense and thorough dental cleaning.  My smile may be dazzling, but spicy Indian food wreaked a little havoc.

There's gotta be a little rain on every parade in order  to appreciate that parade, right?

May 2023 offer all of us endless joy and laughter and success and camaraderie, even if it's mixed with a little  spicy lamb curry hitting your overly  sensitive, tender  gums.

That is life..and the coming year will capture all of its nuances.

(Because sadly, I made no resolution to give up these annoying Facebook posts that make CVS receipts look short and concise)

Welcome, 2023! 

 Do right by us!

A whale of a good movie

'Tis the season!

For figuring out what to do during the waning days of our staycation, except we wind up doing what we always do:

(Hint:  It's not returning holiday-themed  tea towels to Target and even if it were, I wouldn't bore you with details about that.  For people who don't read my posts on a regular basis, that's a story I always tell, illustrating why I hate small talk, because people WILL talk about what they did during the  day, even if it's just a mundane errand)

No, we have been spending the last few days doing what we always do in late December:  Streaming every movie that's getting Oscar buzz or watching them in an actual theater, and then complaining about how boring and pretentious everything is.

We KNOW it's going to be one arty snooze fest after another, but we see them anyway as major FOMO kicks in.  We don't even like to miss out on something nominated for Best Documentary Short, so we see all the awful stuff and compare notes when the houselights blissfully come on and the torture is over..

We've seen three in three days.

Critics have described "Babylon" as "La La Land" on acid, and that's about as accurate a description as any.  It's a hot mess, and the party scenes in particular are cringe worthy.  It's hard to even follow the action with all that dark and dismal lighting, but seriously, would brighter lights make  watching someone get covered in elephant poop any more enjoyable?

It's gross and bloated, but then there are those scenes--those wonderful scenes that would fill Tarantino with envy, that make the movie memorable. 

 Margot Robbie's Oscar worthy performance as Nellie La Roy is particularly good when she has to do take after take after take as a college student named Joanne in an early talking motion picture. 

Only the humor is dark in that bit..not the stage..and it's hilariously sick.

Don't rush out to see it, but don't NOT see it either.  It's a history lesson for anyone who is interested in the early days of Hollywood, and you wouldn't be reading a movie blog if you weren't interested in that.

I'm not going in chronological order here but in preference:

Next up comes "Tar"(and don't ask me to look for the proper way to punctuate the title..not on this keyboard, anyway) and I'm glad we saw it in the comfort of our own living room, where we could control the pause button on the remote, which we had to do... a lot.

Not just for potty breaks this time..we needed to consult the movie's Wiki page like a high school kid needs Cliff notes.

We didn't even grasp all the location changes, or even understand them in a proper  context, but once we could actually follow what we were supposed to follow, we both liked this movie.

Cate Blanchett gives one of the most riveting performances either of us have ever seen.  I was convinced she was playing a non-fictional character, or at least that the film itself was a documentary. This performance will shake you to your very core.

I knew nothing about conducting or the madness of music before seeing this.  Jim reads music, but I only played an instrument in elementary school, and only  for about five weeks.  My friend and I would practice our violins in her living room, and her cats would scale her  drapery in sheer terror as soon as we took our bows out of their cases.

I never even knew anything about classical music except from excerpts I'd hear in cartoons or commercials selling spaghetti sauce, but this is a movie for music aficionados..with easy access to a Wiki page.

Okay..this is going to get a LOT of negative feedback, but "The Fabelmans" is now my second favorite movie of the year.

We have a new heavyweight champion.

"The Whale" is a masterpiece.

Yes, it's a little stagey, but that did not bother me, because I would have paid good money to see a live theatrical production of this.

The cast is small and each player is superb and pivotal.

 Sadie Sink is absolutely terrifying as the hateful teenage daughter of the protagonist,  and Hong Chau is equally endearing as his nurse with ties that are beyond professional.

Every character is fleshed out, and in Charlie's case, very fleshed out.

(I'm allowed to make a joke like this)

And I'll make another by addressing the elephant in the room:

I'm an overweight person who did NOT find the movie fattist or offensive, and if it were that, I'd know. 

 And I'd speak up.

Fat activists are urging that everyone boycott the movie, but I'm advising you not to.  The title isn't even offensive..pay close attention to the dialogue--it's a "Moby Dick" reference and nothing more

I call out body-shamers whenever the opportunity arises--doctors who look at a dress size before you even present with acute symptoms: assholes like the one from my camp alumnae who photographed an obese woman she saw on public transportation just to ridicule her on Facebook, judgmental bitches who see what they perceive as ugly when a size fourteen shows off her beautiful form in a bikini.

Jim is not overweight but hates fat bias, and he didn't see any of it in this movie.  He thought it was more about homophobia, and what can happen in the most extreme forms of it.

Brendan Fraser brings a protagonist who should be at death's door totally back to life with humor, dignity, grace, and wit.  He is imprisoned by his heft, but there is little self-loathing in Charlie, who will do anything he can to save his unworthy daughter's soul.

The bingeing scenes are hard to watch, but I know a LOT of unapologetically  fat people, and I've never seen a single one of them gorge on buckets of KFC.

  Charlie's issues are not just skin-deep, and Darren Aronofsky does a magnificent job making us understand and love the character.

It's not going to get a Best Picture nomination, but I'd love to see the cast get the recognition they deserve..especially Brendan Frasier is this tour de force performance.

If his character suddenly became a real person, he could hoist up his 600 pound girth from the theater seat  and give Brendan Frasier the seven minute standing ovation like all the lucky film fans did at a premier showing in Venice last  fall.

There's more to see, and major contenders won't even be released here until January or even later, but I can't imagine that any movie will move we as much as this one did.

Cheers for Charlie..he can use all the support we can give him!

Christmas with Cujo

Jim and Evan(and some friends and family members, I reckon) will vouch for this:

I'm a pretty good cook when I set my mind to it.

  I'm great with comfort foods..chicken pot pie from scratch, matzoh ball soup, glazed brisket..yep, we've hosted many memorable dinners here where the "my compliments to the chef!" praises get heaped on as thickly as my savory homemade gravy.

But full disclosure: 

 I ONLY make dinners.

(Or the occasional lunch if there's leftover chicken..I shred carrots and onion and the chicken, then  I add a dollop of  horseradish and mayo to for the tastiest chicken salad you've ever had)

I ONLY do breakfast one day a year:

  Christmas morning.  

(Because every diner is closed, and I don't eat breakfast anyway)

So here I am, trying to avoid a house fire as I pour pancake batter into a pan that's too hot, while Jim is microwaving bacon and Evan is trying to unscrew the cap from the maple syrup.

We sit, in our cozy pajamas, to this breakfast, when I suddenly  let out a blood-curdling scream:

"There's a f*cking coyote in the back yard!  And it's peeing on the sliding glass door..and the gas grill"

"Karen, calm down!" said Jim and Evan in unison, trying to keep the semi-burnt pancakes warm in a house that's still not  quite warm enough.

"It's a f*cking coyote and it's going to kill Luke!  There's no tags..no collar.."

"No motive!" they say.

Nobody wanted to leave the breakfast table or put on clothes to go outside to try to solve this mystery, so they ate, I screamed, and Luke barked his little poodle head off at a canine five times his size..

"Coyotes don't look normal like that" Evan tried to reason, as he video-taped Luke's (and my)  over the top reaction.

See, the problem is, we don't really know the neighbors very well, even 'though Tami moved out nearly two and a half years ago.  They are  very pleasant  and attractive people who always wave and nod with infectious smiles,  but we don't know them intimately, nor do we have any contact info other than Facebook.

"I'm not going to try to contact Nicole if that's a coyote," I say, rather frantically. "Not on a holiday..why scare her too?"

Finally, Jim puts down the fork, bundled up, and went outside to investigate  as Evan took videos and I did nothing constructive, as usual.

Turns out the dog DID come from next door.  I have no idea how it scaled the fence. or burrowed under it...it's a Christmas Miracle!!

We were laughing and I finally calmed down enough to finish my cold pancake.

The family next door were glad to get their Husky back. They couldn't have been nicer about it..no apologies were necessary. 

And I swear to you this is true: 

 The dog's name???

... is Cujo.

We'll be spending the holiday like all the other MOTS--an afternoon movie("Babylon") and a Japanese dinner followed by games with friends.

And while everyone else is celebrating with unparalleled joy, I will spend the entire movie, and the entire day, thinking..

"If  a Siberian Husky could  jump over a six foot chain link fence,  or burrow under it, what's to prevent a real coyote from doing so?"

Merry Christmas!

Tell the banshees to call Jane

It wouldn't be the holidays if we Amsters weren't stricken with Oscar fever, so we're braving the frozen tundra (unless we're not) to see what all the buzz is about.

I don't know if the draft coming in from our window prevented us from feeling "The Banshees of Inisherin" but  this movie left us out in the cold. 

 Can't exactly give it a thumbs up.

(That's a minor spoiler)

Oh..speaking of spoilers, THAT I want to see.  

Jim Parson's rom.com with the same name. 

 That and "A Man Called Otto" which hasn't opened.

We're not exactly giving thumbs up to "Everything, Everywhere, All at Once" either.  We saw it months ago.  I think I gave up on it after seeing human fingers made out of hot dogs.

Thumbs..fingers...isn't there a holiday movie with a body part I actually care about?

Yes.

Yes there is.

Nothing made me prouder to possess a uterus than the under-rated "Call Jane."

The tone of it is a little "Lifetime movie" but the film itself is riveting.  "She Said" had strong feminist themes but this movie was even better.  

I was twelve in the year it took place--1968--I can't believe what women..even girls a few years older than I was at the time--were subjected to.

Next up:  "The Glass Onion"(the sequel to "Knives Out") tonight  and "Babylon" on Christmas Day.

I think I'll need to get my head examined after those two--will any place be open?

This Member of the Tribe loves Christmas so much and I don't even  string a single light or open a single gift under a non-existent tree.

I just love the Movie, the Japanese dinner with other MOTS,  the laughter and the games.

And of course, seeing all the beautiful decorations along the way.

We've scheduled the Whitney Houston movie for later on the week..and "The Whale" although I'm concerned about the message in the latter.

But I will see it..the Oscar is Brendan Fraser's to lose.

Enjoy your movies, your music, your magic today...stay warm while doing so.

And save me the aisle seat.

It was 2020 something..

"It was December 1980-something and..."

Nah..not going there. 

Not paying homage to the tagline of  rapidly declining "The Goldbergs" with all it's unfunny stereotypes.

If I wanted to read about unfunny stereotypes, I'd read my blog.

Let's try again.

The era is correct 'though, back in those  harsh winters of the 70's and 80's, the  Club Med franchise  had the most inviting advertising come-on in existence:

"A Club Med Vacation..the antidote..for civilization."

There is a paradox here, because yes, of course, we GM's (also known as "Genteel Members”or guests..the staff is known as G.O.'s..or "Genteel Organizers") know those feeling of being away from civilization..sometimes, we know it too well.

Like in the early days of Club Med, when the rooms had no doors and the guests had no morals, where it was all about bar beads and exploring new sexual positions with the nameless chef who just prepared your pasta primavera earlier that night.

(So claimed my friends who were regulars, convincing me that I'd love the “summer camp" vibe here, but I don't know what kind of summer camp they went to. Mine didn't involve Vodka and the Kama Sutra. )

Not that I know of, anyway.

That was the early days of Club Med, the early days of this particular trip defined an escape from civilization  quite differently.

It meant airport delays, and showering with a stream of water the width of a strand of dental floss.  It meant wobbly tables and darkened pathways covered with toxic spray and small amphibians as you attempted to find your accomodation.  It meant non-working TVs and noisy A/C and treacherous waves and seaweed. It meant tumbling champagne towers and torrential downpours and spotty Wi-fi.  I certainly felt detached from "civilization" by eating pureed Gerber food or frozen brussel sprouts that  multiple  generations of flies seemed to love.

But you know what?

That was then..this is now.

I'm ending on  a high note, as I should.  As every vacationer should.

Even all the bad stuff tuned into blogging comedic gold.

But the good stuff was a-plenty, especially when nobody was relying on us to babysit a chapeau for hours, so we could spend hours in the gorgeous waves. 

We’d enjoy beautiful sunsets that Jim captured with his camera and posted on Facebook, knowing each generic photo would get 86 "like" clicks, opposed to the few charity ones the blog earns. 🙂

It was  about Jim hooking up with me before lunch, as I sunned under a double-sized lounge chair with a canopy and a sci-fi book(usually not my genre but this one is good so far) grinning from ear to ear, relaying all the details of his spectacular snorkeling trip.

It's about hokey night entertainment that relies heavily on Jerry Lewis-inspired slapstick, a language understood by  and enjoyed by  the 160 or so guests who flew here from Paris and about a dozen or so imbeciles who were on our Miami flight.

It's about the professionally decorated  Christmas trees set in a tropical paradise, something I've never seen before.

It's about hilarious moments, when I meet up with Jim at our less-wobbly table, carrying my ninetieth slice of white chocolate bread, and saying, "I just felt a huge shove on my back, and when I turned around, this adorable Island kid(I think his auntie works here as a hostess) who was about seven or eight, grinned at me and said, "I just needed to push something."

It's about the reconnect and the rejuvenation, and that gratitude that I went for my first full leg waxing before the trip so I didn't have to worry about shaving.

It's about meeting the pious and the heathens and the fabulous company who are ten years your senior but look and act twenty years younger than you.

It's  about laughter..camaraderie...crazy signs around the pool.  

I don't mean that as in "omens" for those who've never been..

"Crazy Signs" are dances done daily, by coordinated people with bodies one can't stop staring at.  The male and female dancers are living, breathing, works of art.

It's about snarling at the French smokers and high-fiving those who hate it as much as you do.

It's  about realizing how fortunate you are to have married up.

It's about bonding with disgruntled airline passengers on the first day, who regale you with their facinating backgrounds and their aging "Taboo" boxed game that's dated and missing major parts, but then you realize, "I am too...I am dated and missing parts" and you play anyway, and you laugh 'til you can't breathe.

(We were a group of eight yesterday, men vs. women, and one of the most important jobs of the game is watching the sands pour through the hourglass--more like a sixty-or-so-second glass, and sadistically yelling "time!" when the sands run out.)

How funny was this when someone had to describe the word on their card without using any of the five "taboo" words and said in a panic, as only miliseconds remained, "The insurrectionists of January 6th will all eventually be doing.."

"Time!" Jim yells out, even 'though it wasn't his team's turn to answer but he was watching the  sands fade away in the plastic timer.

It was perfect..er.."timing"..to deliver the perfect punchline.

Jim is talking in all the sights from our second floor balcony, sipping his coffee peacefully.

I am packing up some last minute stuff, thinking of a good way to end this last vacation blog that  best describes a trip that had more ups and downs than an escalator.

How about a simple, "thanks for bearing with the length of these posts and for keeping me motivated to keep on writing."

Au revoir, mon amis!

Oh.

One more thing.

In case you were smoking too much WEED(s) and you don’t care ABOUT LAST NIGHT and you are obviously living in the stone age like Wilma Flintstone,  if you're still missing the BIG clues, the answer is:

Elizabeth Perkins.

Pam's niece is Betsy Perkins, the wonderful actress who made me hate her as Rebecca Pearson's cruel mother in "This is US"..which makes me love her even more as the beautiful, gifted actress she is.

Big things at club Med

It was the best of  Club Med experiences, it was the worst of  Club Med experiences, it was...

Freaking fantastic! 

 I had the best day yet, capped off with a hot  water and great pressure and yes, none of us..neither myself nor any fool  still reading this blog, has to hear another word about those malfunctioning nozzles, even 'though it's all the guests can talk about..showers are working!  

We LOVE showers!

(Except the ones that come from dark  clouds with a vengeance.  An empty cocktail glass sat on the table beside our lounge chairs, it was filled to the brim within seconds with rainwater.)

But I'm not going to discuss weather.  Not on a day like this, where Jim snorkeled in the morning and we frolicked in the surf for most of the afternoon.

I'm going to talk about my fantastic conversation that took up a good chunk of the morning.

I'm going to discuss Pam, who is, without a doubt, the most fabulous septagenarian I have ever encountered. 

We met as disgruntled airline passengers a mere five days ago, we are now kindred spirits.

She's the kind of person who attracts crowds like Jim's fishy lunch today attracted flies, meaning.. she attracts thousands!

(Lord Jim was Lord of the Flies today..his fish might as well have been a Giant Goat Turd, that's how much the flies were interested in  it.  He couldn't even take a single bite..he just had to let it die a dignified death in the trash)

Anyway, that's an ugly metaphor, to compare Pam to a fly infestation, but I just wanted to tell you about Jim's lunch.

Pam makes we wish I had been raised in San Francisco my whole life.

I want to be cool like her.  Wear adorable sun hats like her. I want to  share global adventures as a cyclist, just like Pam.  I want her keen photographer's eye, where she can tell a person's life story within minutes of meeting them. I want her vocabulary and her wit.

I want to love coastal art communities like she does. I want to have hippie friends who are not too hippy, like yours truly.

You know how much I hate the dreaded forced small talk, right?

When someone thinks you'll actually give a crap about their day, spent returning tea towels to Target, when that's ALL they did..returned towels to Target!!??

A conversation with Pam might START with  something like this:

"It's not easy growing up in a motel.  There you are, a twelve year old trying to do homework and a stranger walks into your living room, demanding to know where their ice bucket is."

Or:

PAM: I should tell you the story of when I was a kid, and _____ blew up a building and got caught!

ME:  Why did ____blow up a building?

PAM: He had to do something with all that dynamite

She'll tell you about how and why a menstruating girl should never sit on wet cement; or how I "don't even want to know" what happened at boarding school.

She told me she reads my blog to her crowd aloud, because she loves to TELL a story, and that can only be done orally  She punches up every punchline.

Hell, I'D actually PAY to hear her read my own  blog.

( that I wrote.)

She speaks her mind, whether it's about politics or world adventures or all the crazy characters she knows in her blogging community.

I so hope she makes a connection between me and her friend Helen, who sounds so amazing that I want her to adopt me.

Helen..if you're reading this..adopt me.  I've had all of my shots and I'm partially housebroken too.

In between all my gutteral laughter, I was telling Pam about some of our European adventures, and how we met Charles Bronson's daughter on a canal trip  in Amsterdam.

She was impressed, and said that she is related to someone famous as well..a terrific actress who happens to be her brother's daughter, her very talented niece.

I'm going to make you guess who it is by first telling you this story:

Her Brother(the father of the actress) was walking around NYC and ran into a Colleague he hadn't seen in years. The Colleague took over the entire conversation on their walk, not letting The Brother get a word in edgewise.

The Colleague kept bragging about the accomplishments of all of his children.  They're just about to part ways when The Brother points to a very BIG billboard, right in Times Square, and simply says:  "She's mine" before walking away.

If you can't guess the identity of the actress from that clue, then you must be smoking a lot of weed(s).

We really need to talk about last night.

OMG..how dense are you? 

 Are you living in the Stone Age??

(Don't ruin everyone else's fun..PM me with your guess)

Pam once worked as a clerk and waited on a very famous actor but she failed to recognize him, even 'though he starred in a very infamous movie about an infamous  motel around the same time her parents ran a motel.

I don't THINK Pam is going to wind up wrapping a corpse in a shower curtain, but we still have a day and a half left.

You never know.

Pam's husband and friends are as wonderful as she is. Once the flies left, we had a nice lunch and we talked politics and pop culture and just laughed and schmoozed..you know..like you should when you're at  a Club Med.

I just heard a series of "Oh My Gods" coming from Jim..he is in the shower, experiencing the normalcy of a normal shower.

So yeah..we'll be back.

Why wouldn't we be?

This place is paradise.

Maybe we'll come back next fall, around Indian Summer.

Oh, come on!  

You MUST know the famous niece by now!

(I'm as subtle as a sledge hammer)

Club Med Vibing

For the past few days we've only heard, not seen, the goat.

We wondered how it managed to get to the dining area and bar and pool  areas undetected, but today, Jim finally saw the goat.

The goat was a Gen-Zer with blonde hair, with a laugh that sounded like one of those machine guns from El Salvador,  if the weapon had a kid with an actual goat.

The sound is everywhere we go now.  We just shrug, gaze into each others eyes after three seconds or so, and simply say, "The Laugher."

The morning started as all our mornings do--chaotically. 

Jim flew the handle right off the toilet room door,  It made a loud clang as it hit the floor, and Jim was afraid we'd  be accidentally locked out of the John/Lizzy.

So with no functioning toilet or shower, that sink, the last bathroom fixture,  looked like it was going to be in for a rough couple of days.

But you'll never guess what???!!!

I don't want to get into hot water with the maintenance staff..but..guess who just got into almost hot water?  With an almost steady stream?

(Hint:  It wasn't Jim.  He went second.  He's in there now and he's complaining)

UPDATE:  His shower was almost passable, too!!

OK..back to the recap.

A French lady who was about twenty pounds heavier than me and at least sixty years older approached us as we sat on the deck, admiring the calmer, seaweed-free waves.

I asked, in my high school French, is she spoke English but she just ignored us and gave us the evil eye. Jim's been learning French on line, and he made the connection..her chapeau.  Her chapeau.  She wanted us to babysit her  straw hat, but she didn't give us a single indication about how long she'd be out there.

She went to the water's edge where she was  sucked under immediately, looking like she was in the tumble-dry cycle.  As soon as she was able to get her bearings and her footing, she looked over toward us, to make sure her chapeau was still in excellent hands.

A good fifteen minutes went by.  She caught her breath, smiled briefly, made a gesture we couldn't interpret, pointed back to her hat, and went back to her kamikaze/suicide mission in the Atlantic ocean.

"We are not babysitting that hat all day, " Jim said.

"Are you sure?  We have nothing better to do, " I reply.

I was having none of this. 

 I needed my ocean fix. 

 Yes, it was turbulent along the edge, but so am I. 

 It was turquoise and beautiful and seaweed free and it was making love to me.

It was introducing itself to me, and I answered her back:

"Hi. My name is Karen and I'd like to speak with the manatee."

(I'm allowed one juvenile attempt at humor per blog)

So into the sea we went.  For frolicking and fun and laughs. For the beauty of it.  The bliss.  The smells and the sights.

We planned to stay all day, but it was almost lunchtime.  I had a hamburger made of cardboard but the good news about that is that the flies weren't particularly interested in it either.

Jim was able to relax, because I was finally relaxing enough to stop bashing our beloved  Club Med. I loved the ocean, and the fact that they fixed the lights on the pathway, and that the show last night was a wonderfully entertaining lip synch one, in a real live theater.

You know the saying.

"A happy wife is..not named Karen"

But Jim can vouch for this..I was finding more silver linings as each hour passed.

We find a perfect spot at the beach and start to set up our gear.

  (We packed for a week) 

 Our neighbors spoke English and welcomed us to take the adjoining lounges.

They looked nice but before I unloaded absolutely everything, I had to ask:

"Excuse me..thanks for letting us stay here, but you folks aren't cigarette smokers, are you?"

The woman looks at me and says, "sometimes."

I go into sheer panic mode when the woman and her husband start to laugh, saying they were just yanking my chain, that they detest smoke as much as we dod.

"Oh"..I giggle.."Thank God 'cause I didn't want to have to move and I don't mean to sound like a petty complainer, because if I did complain, you'd guess that my name is.."

"Karen, " said the lady. "The same as mine. This is Rick and we are from Buffalo."

Buffalo Karen was pleasant company.  She has braved the water every day, even with the seaweed and undertow.  Her husband is a snorkeler who tolerated the scaredy cat he was paired with who wanted to get back onto the moored boat almost immediately, even 'though that made it rocky and half the people had already thrown up en route.

(They probably had the cardboard burger)

The Buffalo folks teach skiing at a major resort near their home.  They are fit and trim and informed, and they told us the Chief de Village told them that the resort-wide shower problem was being worked on.

Rick suggested that if you shower early, you should have plenty of pressure and hot water, meaning if we started getting ready at 3:00 PM, we'd be all set for that Early Bird special of pureed sweet potatoes.

Karen asked me about my note taking so I gave her a link to the blog. 

 I'll let you know how that went as soon as I hear something.

I almost dislocated Jim's arm but he got us both into the sea beyond where waves were breaking, the part  that was calm.  We meet a dentist and his pharmacist wife from Montreal, originally Egypt. They wanted to frolic but I need everyone's life story before I board that plane home, so they talked with us.

The wife reiterated what I was told at the Club Med in the Dominican Republic last year.  If we want to be in the bluest waters of the world, we must go to the Red Sea.

She grew up there, she's the expert, but I still think it's funny that the world's bluest waters are found in the Red Sea, and I want to repeat the same crack I made last time when someone was hard-selling me to visit the Red Sea and Egypt:

"This sounds like a pyramid scheme."

I am just repeating my typical pattern:  The first few days of a vacation are filled with gripes that readers take seriously. 

By mid-vacation, I have my groove on and I begin to appreciate just how lucky I am, how blessed we are to still enjoy each other's company and to frolic in the sea like a couple of kids.

I'm so happy right now that I'm not gonna bat an eye if we run into The Laugher again.

Or if the French lady comes at us, demanding to know how much the ransom is for her chapeau.

Nope.

Nothing can ruin my vibe.

A taboo subject

Hello Muddah

Hello Faddah

I just sipped a..pina colada!

T'was a little..sip of heaven

(Could've been sipped by a kid who's  only seven)

I know just what..you are thinking

How is THIS fun? How's that DRINKING??!!

Gotta trust me..it's my choosin'

I am nuts enough without that extra boozin'

Hello Mothers..hello Mamas!

This is not your.."Mom's Bahamas!"

Bitched to Jim now.."WHY do we need..

all these rough waves? All this godforsaken seaweed??!!"

He's so patient..like no other

'though I'm acting..like his(er..MY!!..MY!!) mother!

Should be happy! Should be grateful!

Yes, I know I come across a little hateful

Chorus:

Can't..go..home..it's way too early..

Read my tome..I'm kinda surly

can't I  just look at  this place and say

It beats the Jersey winter every day??

Can't leave yet..('cause I don't wanna!)

need to get..some marijuana

I know just how bitchy I must sound

(No wonder no one wants.. to hang around)

Wait a minute..it's now sunny!

Guess that makes it..worth the money??

getting better..by the hour

Now if somehow they'd just fix that effin' shower!

Soon it's lunchtime! Smell the grillin'

and the flies look..like they're chillin'

must admit it's..getting better..

Muddah, Faddah..kindly disregard this letter..

(alternative verse: Waves looked calmer..folks were sailin'

but the pool still..needs a railing

those grilled lamb chops..I discovered..

taste so weird from all the meat the flies have  covered)

OK..so I admit..things are improving a little. 

We spent the morning on a deck, just gazing at the beautiful colors of the sea, watching brave bathers get tackled by the waves.

We spent the afternoon with Pam and her hilarious crowd.  I haven't played a game of "Taboo" since my twenties, but trust me when I tell you hilarity ensued.

We played men vs. women, and Jim actually earned his team negative points in one round.

This game is much harder than you remember because of all the descriptive words you can't say.

Jim struggled to get his teammates to say "snowman"..(a player guessed "Maelstorm") and Pam's witty husband Bruce drew the first card, and tried to get his teammates to say "stiff" by talking about "when males get an erection"

These are the youngest senior citizens I ever had the pleasure to know, and the laughs were endless.

Ann is so much fun..she's from England, originally, and they use so many different words than we do.  (I was NEVER going to get "jock" from her description:  It's what we Brits call the Scottish"--I guessed "asshole")

Her husband Brian, a Kiwi, sat this one out but we'll have him gaming by the week's end. Ann and Brian are both experienced sea captains, and they know how to read a horizon, and from their expert opinion, it seems like we might..just might..have calmer waves by the end of the week. 

I'm going to hold them to that.

The third couple are Frank and Peggy, from the DC area, and they are loads of fun as well.  They found love the second time around and their story is an inspirational one.

I don't know how many times Jim answered my questions with, "what am I..a meteorologist?" or "what am I..an oceano

grapher?"  but it was probably at least a half a dozen times.

He may not be an expert on weather or tidal waves, but you know what he is?

A really wonderful husband.

He had to describe his "Taboo" word, "love", and he did it by saying "I____Karen" and yeah, I know, that could have been answered with  words like tolerate" or "survived"

It 's really is getting better except for that thing they call a shower.

Oh well, cleanliness doesn't HAVE to be next to godliness..does it??

A rough white night

Tonight we walked back  to our room on the dimly lit pathway (sorry if I killed any of your family members, you hidden lizards) with Monica, the woman we met at the airport who is traveling from Sioux Falls South Dakota with her sister Sharon. 

Monica has never been to a Club Med before but Sharon has. 

 I don't think either of them were  exactly into my ice-breaking "games" while waiting for our delayed charter, but they were good sports nonetheless.

Monica told us Sharon has been comparing this resort in the Bahamas to the one in Cancun, and when we asked what that meant, she just sighed and said," I wish we were in Cancun."

Me too, Monica..me too. 

The sisters are experiencing worse problems than we are. The maintenance man cannot fix their shower(because they are unfixable) but their  front door was broken for two days.

And today, they woke up to a "passed out drunk" near their patio who was wearing bright red clown shoes.

Monica called security.

(No, I'm not making this stuff up..who could??)

Anyone who reads my vacation journals and blogs knows this is part of my schtick.  To complain non-stop, to be the anti-traveling traveler.

I try to channel other malcontents like Jim Gaffigan and David Sedaris..writers I idolize for their cynicism and snark.

But tonight, my friend Bruce, (a loyal blog reader) called my bluff and wondered if I'm seriously joking, or jokingly serious.  

He said I make Club Med Columbus Isle in  San Salvador sound like it's held together by Band-Aids and chewing gum, and there's a possibility that he's..spot on.

Look..it's only Monday.

OMG!!

It's ONLY Monday!!???

What if things actually go downhill from here???!!

The staff worked very hard to get the pool deck ready for White Night.  There were dazzling lights strung everywhere, even an archway covered with flowers and sparklers as you made your way to your poolside table.  It looked beautiful, but we were told(in French, no less) that we might have to move inside because of the wind and the wet ground.

So we're gathered, all of the three hundred or so of us  barely washed guests, waiting to see where we'd be seated for the dinner we were all starving for..if we were to be seated at all.  

This isn't Club Med..it's "Survivor."

Full disclosure:  We are still mad fanatics of the Club Med experience, and we really believe it's your best bet for a beach vacation that's filled with sunshine and camaraderie.

But this, perhaps, isn't the best place to get that vibe.

It USED to be..it's our third time here and it was once considered a four or five trident(aka star) resort.  It was closed for years, even pre-dating the Covid outbreak, and they only reopened in late October, but they clearly weren't ready.

As I stated earlier, they can't really do much about the rugged surf or seaweed, but they knew about the water pressure and should have disclosed the problem as soon as we signed up.  It seems to be every guest's favorite topic, and they always add, "wow..I thought it was just me!"

After a long delay, we were seated poolside and treated to some wonderful  live singing. 

I was starting to get that good ole Club Med feeling again, until I ventured inside to see the overcrowded buffet and a dozen people grabbing serving spoons with no masks on.  That's OK..I'm prepared to come home with Covid. 

 It's those OTHER issues that are totally consuming me, totally  preying upon my out of control "Karenoia."

It was too dark to actually see what I was eating in that tiny table set up precariously by the pool, but my sense of taste and smell were acute, and I know the taste of frozen solid brussels sprouts, one of many items served cold or partially  frozen from the buffet.

Who wouldn't have noticed that in advance?

The General Manager(aka "Chief de Village) introduced the kitchen staff responsible for this grand buffet, and they were strutting to the podium, sashaying to the music while encouraging guests to wave their white linen napkins up in the air to cheer them on for a job well done.

I waved mine in a gesture that clearly stated " I surrender."

The staff was being led onstage and Jim swore the sous chef was introduced as " E Coli."

Oh, and the chief was trying to turn lemons into lemonade, so he sets up this enormous display of champagne glasses into an impressive tower. 

 As soon as the last glass was placed on top(with the champagne ready to be poured) a gust of wind suddenly topples the tower, nearly hitting the talented singer and shattering glass everywhere..on the POOL deck..where people are going to be walking without SHOES on tomorrow.

They tended to the problem right away, but who can see every tiny shard in the  pitch dark?

And the pool is our only option, unless those waves slow down and the seaweed  magically disappears.

There was a nice display of fireworks at the end of the evening, but even that wasn't enough to take away the bad taste of frozen sprouts from my mouth.

(For the love of God, Karen, stop being a Karen!)

There is a silver lining here..Jim and I are laughing hysterically at all of these atrocities, making fun of ourselves and our luck.

We'll be back to Club Med, and when I win the largest jackpot in lottery history, I'm taking all my Facebook friends with me.

Only maybe one  of the Club Med locations  with  limited flies and with working shower heads.

Club Med-a-mucil

It's all because my late Aunt Ruby(like the gemstone) convinced her sister, my late  mother Laurel(like the flora) not to give me the name my parents  had already selected, Elisa.

"They'll call her Lizzy!" my Aunt cried, and.. to play Devil's Advocate her..what's wrong with that?

Unless you went to the same  all-boys camp my brothers did, where that's the name that was given to the "john."

At least, that's what they told me. 

 For all I know, "Lizzy" was the only female in the camp, an exchange student from England who assisted  the main cook with  all the little wieners.

Because Elisa, or even Lizzy, would be allowed to complain to the manager without a guffaw.

We Karens are out of luck and patience.

Some of this is not Club Med's fault. 

They are not responsible for the tsunami waves, or enough seaweed to choke a seahorse.

They're not responsible for what happens when you request to sit in a  no fly zone and spend the entire lunch swatting away insects: that's all about Mother Nature being a Mother F*cker.

But man..would it kill them to fix a few tiles in the bathroom?  Fix the wobbly table that Jim and I and the flies had to endure this afternoon?

Yesterday I said I didn't want details on the "exploding toilet" situation that seemingly caused this resort wide water shortage, , but now I do.

 My poodle has stronger streams, even after he's been out three times in any given hour.

What a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation:

I paid for a very expensive hair straightening treatment before I left, and Margie, my stylist, said it's OK if some strands are exposed to chlorinated water or even the salt in the  sea, as long as they're thoroughly rinsed later on.

You will not see any photos of me in with this "frozen conditioner" look.  Think Cameron Diaz in " There's Something About Mary." (yeah, I mean THAT scene)

Too bad we Karens are not allowed to make waves anymore, because sometimes, we just gotta.

Also, Club Med should bring back  their flying trapeze shows and cabaret reviews and all the other activities to tickle the fancies of we non-alcoholics, (they still have many  evening activities that emphasize booze) but they're apparently trying to save water, and yes, I know, that makes no sense at all.

I always bounce blog content off of a barely interested  Jim before I type, wondering if anything will earn some sympathy or some pity laughs.  I say, "If I were a stand-up comic, I'd share ideas with you" to which he replied, "I'm glad you're not."

(I think we both have health concerns  for me over the "stand-up" part of stand-up comedy)

We went to the aqua gym class today, where absolutely everyone--be he or she a life long friend or someone who just met the other person seconds ago--were talking about the awful shower pressure.

"It stops..and then it goes..and then it stops."

"It's a trickle.  A cold to lukewarm trickle."

"If I had known there was that little water in the shower, there would have been no way in hell I would have let my husband do that new thing where he..."

The class was taught by the most beautiful body I ever saw.  He was obviously made of something malleable, like clay. Like clay that  bends it like Beckham.

Jim and I have the collective maturity of two three year olds, and we absolutely HATE when people make fun of other's appearances. 

 I mean..he can talk..a LITTLE..because he still gets mistaken for Michael McDonald of the Doobie Brothers, but I should not talk with this stiff un-rinsed hair of mine.

But we saw a guy who had what must have been a three inch spurt of  wild hair popping out of the top of his bathing trunks. 

Not the entire back. 

 Just these random tufts that made you want to scour a crusty pan.  

And this poor other octagenarian, bless his little heart, tried to walk up three tiny steps leading out of the pool and I swear, he did some kind of backwards belly flop.  He was so startled..

There are senior citizens here! 

 Lots of them! 

 We need railings in the pool! 

And waxing stations for the poor little guy with the unsightly tufts!

 We need defibs and access to Viagra, not dangerous shallow ends  without rails and showers without adequate pressure..

The staff was working very hard--some guys had as many as a dozen chaise lounges strapped to their backs, to set up for elegant outdoor dining tonight by clearing all the poolside seating. We saw them setting up tables with elegant glassware and fine linens. 

 Jim is worried that we're going to fall into the pool. 

 At least we'll be thoroughly rinsed.

Tonight's theme sounds racist but isn't. 

 It's "White Night," and there's no way I'm wearing all white because A) It's after Labor Day B) I'm in my sixties and can  get a tad urinary  incontinent with every laugh or sneeze..I don't need visible evidence, thank you very much and C) I'd look like the marshmallow  from "Ghostbusters."

It'll be nice, this "White Night"  but when I hear that word, I can only think of "Mike White Lotus."

I am still obsessed.

So is the entire internet, apparently.

If I had to wait until we got home to watch that finale, I might have lost my mind.

I know..I know..how would one possibly tell if I had?

Arrivederci.. white lotus

Stone. Cold. Masterpiece.

Is how my brilliant friend Eric Blume described this  (and last year's)season  finale(s) of "The White Lotus" and I don't think he'll mind that I stole the  descriptive words right out of his mouth.

I'm on vacation. 

 I shouldn't be worrying about TV I'm missing. 

 I should be worrying about breathing in toxic fumes from the bug spray they use at night, or Traveler's Constipation, or blisters, or beach bags getting soaked in sudden downpours, or language barriers..you know, the stuff that makes vacations VACATIONS.

But we could not wait until we returned  to see the finale, one  that offered more shocks  and screams than the 2016 election did.

We needed real-time  viewing(thank you, HBO Max!) so we could be in the same boat..er..yacht??..as all the other fanatics.

We even cancelled the much needed maintenance visit (and evening activity) so we could shock our systems.  I lied to reception, telling them to reschedule the maintenance visit because we were "tired" even 'though I knew that meant morning showers with no water.  The average hay fever sufferer produces more liquid in a single sneeze than our shower's nozzle does, but I digress.

I've been following all the speculation on social media since the first episode aired, and nobody..I mean literally nobody..predicted the victim accurately.

Jim even had me (temporarily) convinced that Daphne was a sociopath who "faked horror" at seeing the corpse(Ethan's??) that she was responsible for making into a corpse.

And there was so much speculation about Tanya's return to Season Three but that was to throw us suspicious paranoids off track. Had we known Jennifer Coolidge was not signed to be in Season Three for a fact, then we would have accurately guessed what was in store for Tanya.

And let's face it..would YOU have ever returned to a "White Lotus" if YOU were Tanya, even 'though you've been a fan of the resort/franchise  for years? 

 (Says me as I type this from Club Med, where there's no water pressure or tiles without cracks in the bathroom.  Where there are no bidets  or room service on the terrace. Where arrival day dinner was basically what a baby eats when they're first allowed to have solid foods)

It was bad enough what Tanya experienced second hand in Hawaii, but in Sicily, her experience was a tad more.. hands on.

She could still be Tanya..hilariously questioning the man she had just shot about his knowledge of an extra marital affair, or casually explaining to her assistant why real nephews don't sodomize their uncles outside of "Game of Thrones."

She wasn't murdered..as we were led to believe would happen.  She died on her own terms ,but without her cell phone.  She had to at least TRY to land in the dinghy with those heels on--the dingy!--but she would have died out there anyway, isolated and starving and unable to take the boat to shore.

I was so reminded of "Titanic" of all things.  Nobody wanted the hero to die, but sometimes the heroes and heroines do exactly that.  Look at all the myth-busters out there, saying that Jack could have saved himself AND Rose by sharing the floating door, even 'though it might have collapsed under their collective weights, killing them both.

Tanya did right by her fans..she "never let go" until she did. 

The villain will still get his millions, of course. 

 (Wow..Is Greg  actually inspired by Billy Zane's Cal Hockley?) 

Will Greg  put a bullet through his head when  and if the stock market crashes again?

Jennifer Coolidge will get the Emmy again, that's a given.

I'm wondering now who will be the return guests to "The White Lotus" in Season Three?

Honeymooning Albie and Portia?

It doesn't really matter..I'll be tuning in.

For the gorgeous cinematography, the subtle nuance of every frame, the vile cast of characters, the haunting music.

Thank you, Mike White, for keeping me on the edge of our king-sized bed, watching all the big action on a tiny screen.

I might not have a working shower today, but it's totally worth it.

(Other guests may disagree if they're  around  me)

The sea blob blog

The hair clips were found.

The waterproof timer that wraps around my finger is lost for good, so I treaded water  for either six minutes today or  four hours. 

 It's anyone's guess.

They  ( the timer, anyway) are victims of the carry on, the cavern where small items go to die. They might have survived if they were put in my normal luggage with all its compartments, but that luggage does not get opened until hour one of vacation.  It's like the most important gift on Christmas morning..it stays untouched until the Big Day.

I found my hair clips and I found that weather forecasters in the Bahamas are big fat liars, because it poured today.  And my blogging notes bled all over the page, so you're either going to read about today's events or the most salacious chapter of "Ulysses."

 I can't decipher  a single word.

Amsters do not move, not for torrential down pours or treacherous waves. 

 We pay for a  beach vacation and we get a  beach vacation.

And we were the only idiots who thought this way. 

 The beach was deserted but the karaoke bar was filled with those same day drinkers who still think we're in El Salvador and are still looking for machine guns.

Jim was the only snorkeler on his trip who did not speak French, but because he's been taking some on-line lessons, he relayed to me that the instructor told him peeing in the ocean is a perfectly acceptable practice--something I've been trying to tell him the whole thirty-three years we've been married.  

They paired him with the sexy  French Simona, and of course I'm not jealous.

 Does he play "Celebrity Death Alert!" with Simona? 

 No? 

 I didn't think so.

 He took about a dozen photos with his new underwater camera of something he called sea blobs, and I told him that I'd bet a hair clip that sea blobs are exactly what they'll be serving for dinner tonight.

Actually, his Geek powers were challenged and he triumphed, figuring out how to load up spectacular videos onto the computer. 

 Videos of sea blobs.

While Jim was watching sea blobs(the nickname I'm giving Simona's bikini top) I befriended Natalie from Quebec in the pool, who apologized for her(perfectly good!) English.

I'm thinking she probably spells Natalie with an "h" in the middle and she told me she's a world traveler.  She travels alone, and she's been on cruises all over the world and she's been to every Club Med in the American Zone.

She's been to this one since late November, and she prepared me to expect the following for the duration of the trip:

1) The food will not improve, neither in variety or taste. Her English may not be perfect, but I heard enough of it when she said "just plain noodles" with "just plain tomato sauce!" Most Club Med chefs offer six to eight varieties of pastas and sauces, the kind that twist and twirl and practically do the MAC-a-rena. (See what I did there?)

Aside here:  My new friend Pam told me there WAS a hidden part to that dining maze after all, a place with a grill that grilled MEAT.

We found it for lunch, and we had steak and sauage and grilled onions and peppers, although the griller looked at me as if I were missing one hair clip too many when I wouldn't get specific about what color pepper I wanted, I wanted all four of them.  They're just PEPPERS, for God sakes..I wasn't asking to sample four different kinds of dessert from the Cheesecake Factory. 

 (Not that I WOULDN'T do that..)

Okay, back to Nat(h)alie's list:

1) The food will not improve.  She heard about some cargo being delayed in Nassau.  They're apparently laden with pesto.

2) If you choose a beautiful seaside table for lunch, (which we did) the hostess will not be joking when she asks, "do you want flies with that?"  

Because you're going to get to know a lot of flies.  

They are attracted to multi-colored grilled peppers.

3) You CAN opt for the specialty restaurant and share "small plates" with your significant other, but it's located on the far side of the resort, about a twenty minute walk.  

(The AIRPORT is only a fifteen minute walk)

4) Shampoo  and conditioner will remain in your hair for your entire stay. It cannot be rinsed, nor can the sand that clings to your body after you've been knocked over by a rogue wave.

 Nat(h)alie explained that the water pressure is awful, and that's an understatement. I've seen more pressure come out of the tube that leads to the sink you spit in at the dentist's.

Nat(h) alie said she heard there was a reason for the low pressure.."exploding toilets".

I have no idea what that could possibly mean and I don't want to know.  

All I know is that I can only think of "The Gift of the Magi" here.

The Miami hotel gave you something the texture and size of a macadamia nut to lather up with, but the shower pressure was decent.

Here..they give you real soap(well..I gave us real soap..the kind that stayed packaged and untouched in the non-carry on luggage) but no water pressure in either the sink or the actual shower.

I can't imagine there will be a single clean body to be found by departure day.

Back to Nat(h) alie's list:

5) There's no water pressure, no real variety in the nightly menu,  no calm ocean waves, no  fish to see other than sea blobs on the snorkeling  excursion, no abundant sunshine, no real nightlife, and no  people that speak your language.

Her final bullet point:

6)  You will have the BEST vacation ever!!

And she was serious!!

So..I guess???

I guess the lesson here is to scroll through this list until you get to item #6???

At least we haven't found any dead bodies floating in the water.  

I'm saving THAT high for tonight as we attempt to watch the season finale of "The White Lotus."

I wonder if they'll find any sea blobs on the corpses.

The Odyssey to Columbus’s Isle

Bonjour from San Salvador, the island in the Bahamas where Christopher Columbus made his first foot prints in the western hemisphere, where day drinkers are already desecrating the sacred land by asking where all the drug lords are , assuming we're in El Salvador.  

(When we were first here in 1994, our neighbor in the brightly colored room next door almost wound up in El Salvador--true story!)

And I'm giggling like the emotionally stunted  eleven year old I am, realizing that we are in a place called Cockburn, and c'mon..don't lie and say you're not thinking of lazy nudists too!

We usually celebrate our anniversary in November..because that's when it actually IS..but Jim gets all the attention because his birthday is six days later, and I get so jealous, like I do when the photos of his flounder sandwiches get more Facebook likes than my ridiculous blog. So we've compromised..celebrating a month after his birthday and a month before mine.

True confession:  I basically booked in December to give my DVR a break. Everything is a rerun, except "The White Lotus", which..this place is basically like.

There's still a language barrier, 'though not as pronounced as when we were here in 2014.  Who could forget the lovely receptionist who would not let me order a cake for "Jim" Amster, because her computer showed that only a "James" Amster was staying here?  I tried to tell her the difference between a passport and a cake to no avail--his cake came out reading "Happy Birthday Jam"

I am so grateful that my better half treasures these getaways and these snarky blogs as much as I do.

"Come and listen to a story about a man named Jim..successful engineer who don't care that I ain't slim...and while I'm a-bloggin'..he is searching for some food(more on that later) and happy that he's wed to someone bubbly and crude.  (Me that is..extrovert..potty mouth)

We spent One Night in Miami, but unlike the film with the same name, we had no deep conversations with Jim Brown and Muhammed Ali and Malcolm X and Sam Cooke.

We basically had glorified seats at the gate(more on that later )and flew in a day early to avoid a long layover. (Much more on that later)

We spent over $100.00 to stay in a kinda sleazy airport hotel, where we were greeted by a fat dancing Santa..(and wondering why he hadn't slimmed down from all that shimmying) and an air conditioner that made noises like it was deliberately breaking the sound barrier. We ate undercooked pizza that we waited ninety minutes for and watched an old rerun of "Friends"..realizing why Courteney Cox never got an Emmy nod for playing Monica(more on THAT later) even 'though we liked her in "Cougartown."

We tolerated mushy pillows and damp carpeting in the hall.  We showered with soap that was the texture and size of a macadamia nut.

I did the Wordle at 4:00 AM, unable to sleep, knowing we'd have an 8:30 AM shuttle that would get us to the airport in plenty of time for our 11:00 AM flight.

And I did all of this..bathed in something that wouldn't have cleaned a Barbie doll(and yes, I had several full bars in my suitcase--but that suitcase was going to remain untouched until I was settled into my vacation location) because I was not going to overpack a carry on for an hour or two layover.

Which turned into a five hour layover.  

I was so convinced this would be such a seamless jaunt that I paid no attention when I packed my carry on, meaning I wore a lavender sleeveless shirt that looked like it was splattered with purple blood droplets, olive green lycra capris that I thought were charcoal grey(HA!) and would look OK on any body type(Double HA!) and a pink Yankees cap that flattened my bangs because I misplaced my hairclips, and thought of nothing but where they could be for the next eight hours. 

I'm all about comfort--not making fashion statements even 'though my wardrobe stated that I was a raving lunatic that everyone on the chartered flight would avoid the entire week we're here.

But they didn't ignore me..they couldn't ignore me..because we were all stuck in that terminal for what seemed like a week. Even that sexy pat down from the TSA agent wasn't brightening my mood.  (Maybe 'cause she took a whiff of my Skechers that should have been tossed ages ago, the ones where the insoles are so old that they come out fighting like filthy pink tongues)

Because we were all stuck in the same situation, we all kind of bonded..small talk of course, but the interesting kind.  We met Bruce and Pam from San Francisco, and he's probably in his early 80's but looks like he's in his 60's, where we(aka "I") am in my sixties and look like I'm in my 80's.  Turns out Pam is a writer and a blogger and Bruce went to the same High School as Jim, and he also felt Club Med's famous "45" shirts have been damaged for life, but we avoided talking politics.  They were traveling with two other fun couples, and I don't know whether this was the doing the Wordle at 4:00 AM fatigue or eating nothing but a half of a bagel while being stranded  at the gate..hungry, tired, dirty--I decided our weary group needed to play some ice-breaking games.

It's clear nobody wanted to, exactly, but they saw the wrath in my Karen eyes.  There's no way they could have known I just watched an episode of "Friends" the night before, but I got all Monica Geller on them, forcing them to play "Heads Up" on Jim's phone which now has the Covid germs of everyone in the Miami International Airport on it.

It was fun..there were laughs..LOTS of them..and we got here after a fifty minute jaunt and a five minute shuttle ride..only to discover there was no food.

So we did what every irrational starving person would do..we walked through the darkened paths that were recently sprayed for bugs, breathed in toxic air, and went for a night swim. 

And bought a hair clip.

We are ravished by the time we got to the buffet--culinary magic that Club Med is known for..and..and..

Well..where was the effin' food??  

We thought we were in an app store(that these were just appetizers..that the REAL choices would be in a non-existent part of the dining area)

Jim, of course, made the best of it and had some healthy alternatives that were designed for vegans and seafood or fish lovers.

There wasn't a meat or potato dish in site to nourish my gluttonous soul, so besides that half bagel, I ate the only thing that looked even a little appealing:  creamed spinach and whipped sweet potatoes, so I basically turned into the Gerber baby tonight who was finally green lighted to eat pureed baby food from a jar.

It'll get better as the week progresses..I know that. We've got a gorgeous room with an ocean view and an exciting day planned for tomorrow,

But yeah, I have to now digest the kind of  dinner most people have three weeks after major surgery.

And guess what idiot ordered "BUBBLEGUM" flavored gelato??

There is no reasoning with me.

Don't even try

“Seeking” a sane Georgia senator

I'm uneasy about today's Senate runoff in Georgia. Some people pace when they're nervous, bite their nails, stress eat, drink..I do most of that in addition to attempting to pen  parodies to calm me down, so here goes:

Tune to:  "Georgy Girl"

Hey, each..Georgia peach..

reaching out to say, "vote WISE today"

So much is at stake..

so MAKE the right choice

I know you will.

(You gotta!)

That ex-run-ning back..

clearly is a hack.. that Trump supports

forced gals to abort..!!

My God!  What SORT of a guy is he??

Chorus:

His exes won't be silenced..domestic violence is real

He lied!  And then he tried to conceal!

atrocities...!

He's got..fame and wealth

but his mental health's been gone for years

preys upon those right-wing fears..

so then he can earn their trust

(the guy's concussed

or so it appears)

Part 2:

Never...WAS a cop..

but that did not stop

false resumes

this deluded guy

was NOT an FB-I agent!

(ugh!)

He's lying!!

China doesn't steal

"all of our good air"

This jerk's unreal

WHAT is his appeal?

Dear NRC: Explain it to me!!

Chorus:

How can you give him credit?

He talks of werewolves! Vampires!

Oh yeah, it's true he said it..

inspires!

A lot of those..

Late night comics who..

can't wait for his next speech..sadly, true!

Clearly..Herschel's's nuts!

Show guts!

and vote Raphael today!

The  USA

is counting on you!

A menu of entertainment

Good morning, fellow foodies and pop culture fanatics, let's talk, but not with our mouths full because we are all well-mannered.

Actually, I'm not going to describe or photograph MEALS because nothing will top Thursday's banquet, and YOU'VE all already  had and photographed everything I'VE consumed, so now you can start the countdown with me..only 361 days 'til t-day!

Let's devour what we've consumed thus far on the big screen instead .

We'll start with appetizers and open the menu to describe..

"The Menu."

I have absolutely no idea how I feel about it. I went to see it because of the Oscar buzz, knowing well in advance it was going to be gory and bloody, but as a fan of "Sweeney Todd"..that would not have prevented me from digging in.

I loved that the theme centered around courses, but guests were plated up with things that looked like sea conches decorated with  with neon-hued squeezes from a toothpaste tube, so that didn't do it for me.

 Props  to the prop master for creating these visual masterpieces.

Minor spoiler alert:  If you see this movie before dining out, unless you are vegan, you will absolutely positively be ordering a cheeseburger.

 It will be nearly impossible not to...even if it's an impossible burger.

I liked watching the malevolent Ralph Fiennes as the demented chef unfolding before our very eyes, but again..not quite sure if I liked this black comedy or not.

Next up:  Main course.  

You can go to Steven Spielberg's Wikipedia page and  become fully sated, but I recommend that you see the autobiographical "The Fabelmans" anyway.

I loved it..even more than Jim did. We had just recently seen "Armageddon Time" with a similar theme that explored anti-semitism in a coming of age tale told from the perspective of a gifted youth, but this was the better movie and will mostly likely win Spielberg his third statuette. 

Be on the lookout  for an Oscar nomination for Judd Hirsch, his first since 1980 when he played Timothy Hutton's shrink in "Ordinary People."

I wasn't looking at my phone, but it seems to me he was on screen for about as long as Judi Dench was in "Shakespeare in Love"--meaning briefly--but she still got the gold and so will he in a knockout performance as young Sammy's great uncle Boris.

Brush up on your Yiddish before you go if possible. Don't mind my mishegos--you'll get the gist of it either way, like you just did after reading this sentence.

As a fan of Jewish culture and movies and nerdy kids, this was one of the best films of the year.

Dessert will be   on a smaller screen, but we know it'll be wickedly delicious and worth every calorie as we watch the latest thing the vile guests of "The White Lotus" serve up.

 It's fabulous--as entertaining as the first season--and even if you binge all of it in a single sitting, you're not going to want to throw up.

Unless you do

She said

What a day to be a feminist, said she, said me, as we type this without a bra, without makeup, and without a misogynistic husband who, if he notices these things, doesn't say a word about them.

The day started off on a very high note,  as we finished the six part series on Netflix called "The Girls at the Back" which is absolutely marvelous.

There's a big feminist element, naturally, and lots of female bonding, and a  beautiful seaside settings in Cardiz, Spain.  

Think "Sex and the City" but with less emphasis on vanity necklaces and more poop talk. 

And just like that, everyone will be comparing these shows, and as much as I'm a fan of the aforementioned franchise,  the European version knocked my socks off.

It's "SATC" with a bucket list and a who-dunnit, or more specifically, a "who is it?"

This is not a spoiler alert, as the opening scenes show all five women shaving their heads in solidarity, to honor the friend among them who has recently been diagnosed with cancer, but the c-word is forbidden to be discussed during their getaway, so we have no idea who is about to have the life-changing chemotherapy that will potentially have an effect on all of them. 

 (Note:  Jim and I both guessed incorrectly)

It's poignant and funny and so, so smart.. Everything is dubbed in English, but there're also subtitles.

I just love that the women talk so openly about real stuff.  There's not a small talker among them.  Nobody talks about returning tea towels to Target, or chauffeuring a great aunt to the dermatologist, or  having a shortage of folding chairs at their last gathering.  (Yeah..I hear all of this inane  crap, all of the time)

There women are vulgar and raw and so damn likable..even when they're kind of pathetic.

It's a wonderful show in a breath-taking setting.  I want to be invited on their next trip, if only I were as cool as them.

I'm on a feminist high already, and then we went to see "She Said" and I felt like I was literally going to shatter a glass ceiling.

This is a terrific movie--think "All the Presidents Men" or "Spotlight"..it's THAT good, and even 'though all the gross and sordid details about Harvey Weinstein's life are still fresh in my memory, it was sheer joy to see these bad-assed reporters take him down.

I felt so proud to be female: to be a feminist: to have a degree in Journalism, 'though I'm hardly an investigative reporter who gives criminals who head companies their due..

I interview people and ask  questions like, "come on..I'm trying to write a song for your Mom's eightieth birthday..surely you can give me a little more than "she likes her family??" and they add something like, "well..she REALLY likes her family..and she puts fresh pineapples on her ham" and I think, "yep..I'll work with that" and  then I write several original lyrics to a song from "Oklahoma!" and call it a day.

But I wish I could do the kind of work that the journalists played by Zoe Kazan and Carey Mulligan did in this movie.

Let's hear it for my fellow women. 

I'm about to burn one of those bras I never wear...or  I'll vow to not shave my legs for a month.

Nah..I won't.

I just had a very very satisfying day with my screen choices.

I enjoy being a girl..a not too girly-girly girl.

You can tell everyone.. this is your birthday..

Happy birthday to Jim Amster, the biggest Elton fan I know, who gets a birthday song today. 

... You can tell everybody this is your song..because it is.

Verse

You're a little bit funny..when you want to be...

silly with most folks but you're..clever 'round me..

so quick and observant..smarter than a whip..

you grab the remote and..you dial flip

You're feeling your age now..a young sixty-eight

you could be on stage now.if you..could  stay up late:)

you'd handle that mic like..a real techie pro!

I know I would pay for.."The Jim Amster Show"

Chorus:

and you could tell everybody..

this is your year..

with friends and with family...

still strong with career..

I hope you don't mind..I hope you don't mind..

that I tease you death...

I'll keep all our secrets..like when you.."call Beth"

Verse:

When you're in a quandary..you seek my advice

you'll help with the laundry, and Jim..that's kinda nice

I didn't have much money but..thank God..you did!

You made a great life for..us..(and our kid!)

I can't understand you..your midwestern speak..

calls out for subtitles but your..words are unique..

you're such a great father to our..son and our dog..

It's never a bother when you..edit my blog!

Chorus:

And you can tell everybody..this is your song..

It didn't cost a dime but..is that so wrong?

I hope you don't mind..I hope you don't mind..

that I spilled everything..

in this little ditty.(.that no one can sing??!!)

Verse:

The news makes you crazy...Trump makes you beserk

sometimes you get lazy if ..some.. house things don't work

some times you're depressing..when you close your ears..

That's 'cause I'm  obsessing... for what seems like years..

Sometimes you're too honest..you're borderline blunt..

but nobody's better in a..scavenger hunt

With shoes in the hallway..the sink overflows..

you honk like a goose when..you blow your nose..

Chorus:

But I will tell everybody..these are your flaws..

and they aren't a big deal Jim..and..that is because..

I hope you don't mind..I hope you don't mind..

that I put this on line..

today is your birthday..and I'm glad you're mine..🙂

I hope you don't mind..I hope you don't mind..

when I say "glad we're wed!"

Can't wait for December..when we're in  Club Med!

Happy birthday!

'

Election serenade

I woke up, inspired to write this parody of "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" (aka "Camp Grenada")

Verse:

Let's go Georgia..please, Nevada

do the right thing..'cause you gotta!

for our country! For our nation!

(There are worse things than a GLOBAL-WIDE inflation!)

If there're runoffs..act the smarty

vote for freedom..not for party

see the margin's..awfully slimmin'

vote the right way!  Save democracy! Save women!

Keystone voters..chose the better man

ditched the quack doc..and chose Fetterman

Peach State voters?? Skip commercials..

if they make you think there's decency in Herschel's..

Sunshine Staters!!??? Fools of Texas!!???

You have dissed us..You perplex us..

You chose poorly..with each fellow

You chose Abbott and that other clown, Costello

Chorus:

Yes..okay..it's Ron DeSantis

hope he "gets lost".(.like Atlantis)

Yes..I'm MEAN..but..for goodness sakes..

our democracy is now at stake!

Chorus:

Thanks, each Daddy, Mommy

who.. staved off.. a red tsunami

I'm a lifelong Democrat--

there is simply nothing wrong with that

Final verse:

If you read this..thanks for voting

this is not the..time for gloating

must stay vigil..must be guarded

it's our future..and our kids are getting started..

Lost the House but..not the Senate(???)

Thanks for voting..Michael Bennett!

Seems like hope has..finally risen..

(It will rise a whole lot more when Trump's in prison)

KLA,11/9/22

The latest political trend.. bra-less voting

Jim said if I didn't feel like driving myself to the polling place(which I didn't) that I could go with him, but we needed to leave immediately.

I get into the car and tell him that my hair was still wet and I wasn't wearing a bra.

He quipped:  "You're not wearing a bra?  Then you can't vote"

I respond:  "You don't know how accurate that is in some countries, where what a woman wears or does not wear determines if she can vote or not."

We arrive at the fire station and he gives his name, and I thought one of the poll workers was yanking his chain when he asked, "Jim Amster??  Not THE Jim Amster, are you?"

Turns out it was a friend from graduate school..they both went to Stanford.

He then said, "small world..come get your ticket to enter the booth.  Your wife cannot vote without a bra"

(OK..he didn't.  I'm just trying to make dumb jokes to mask my fear of a red tidal wave)

The 33rd at 618

Fabulous, fabulous,  Freehold, New Jersey!

The town of holiday decorations lighting up the picturesque Main Street.

The town of Springsteen sightings.

The town where I labored for what seems like weeks in a pristine hospital room before having a c-section in the summer of 1995.

It's a funny(and slightly gross!) detail as I tell this aside, when my OB/GYN was examining me earlier in the summer, saying, "I wouldn't be surprised if we wind up giving you a C-section..you're pretty tight" to me looking him straight in the eye and asking, "oh yeah..then why wasn't I more popular in college?"

OK Karen..stop being such a Karen and get back on track here.

We started the day off with a pleasant matinee, "Armageddon Time" which I liked a little more than Jim did. It was like last year's Oscar-nominated "Belfast" as it took place  in the same  era and  it was narrated by a middle school aged boy, but the former was the better film.

We spent the next few hours at home, acknowledging all the wonderful and sincere anniversary wishes, before heading out to  restaurant "618" in Freehold, which should give this town as much pride as  knowing it's the birthplace of the Boss.

True, when we were asked earlier in the week if we were celebrating anything special, we did tell them it was our anniversary, but wow!!

  Did they ever pull out all the stops!!

I regret not saying it was my coronation..that I was being named the new Queen of England.

We can't thank the Steven Levson family enough for the gift card, but the minute we entered the palace, we were indeed treated like royalty.

We were escorted to a private room with other VIPS celebrating other occasions, where we  were seated at a table beautifully decorated with linen napkins shaped like  roses.

But that's not all!

We were given ginzu knives, that sliced and diced and julienned and..

nah..we weren't.  Just wanted to see who is still following this.

But that's not all!

We were given a beautiful hand written card, and champagne in fluted glasses trimmed with strawberries, and service that was worthy of something you'd fine on an upscale cruise ship.

We shared a crab cake appetizer, followed by something that sounded like something we wouldn't order when out fabulous server April first described it, but the kale salad(yes, I said kale salad!) was delectable.  I think she said they soften the kale with a curling iron or something, but it was tasty and perfectly seasoned

Jim's fish was tender and fresh, my filet mignon made me want to speak french for the rest of the evening.

And the dessert was the perfect ending to this deliciously sweet celebration:  Homemade ice cream sandwiches with a nutella dipping sauce.

We usually celebrate our anniversary on some tropical island, but this acknowledgement  was equally lovely, and we didn't even need to apply bug spray as we ventured outside.

Tonight, it's more screen time, with a weird little movie by a Yankovich named Al.

I'm a lucky gal indeed...

“And you can tell everybody..”

"And you can tell everybody..this is your post"

The very gentile house band at Rosewood Caterers covered your favorite, Sir Elton John, a lot better than they covered "Hava Nagilla"..but what a day it was, thirty three years ago today..

We danced, we laughed, we cried, we wrote our own vows where you randomly slipped in a "St. Elsewhere" reference, but we knew the journey was just beginning, followed by the honeymoon the next day at Pat's Steaks(after dropping your parents off at the airport) and then heading to Sandals in Jamaica, where the staffer in charge of boats made me believe I'd be a widowed bride as he looked at you on the horizon, shaking his head and uttering, "Mon..he's no sailor!"

Or Part Two of that honeymoon, Disneyworld, where we were awoken at dawn to say the tire from our rental car had been stolen.

What a Mickey Mouse operation.

Ah..those memories!

Of our ring bearer Scott, now a father himself, eyeing that three tiered wedding cake with a cartoon bubble that read, "it's going to be a one-tiered cake before the night is over."

How about when local TV star, Dorie Lenz, interviewed our guests like the pro she was! ?? I hadn't worked  for Channel 17 in years, but I was so excited that she came to our wedding!

I was so proud to wear that off-the rack, $79.00 dollar dress from JC Penneys, so proud that cutting costs on the gown justified inviting 10 more people--co-workers I'd never see again--but that's not the point.

Yeah, maybe that gown looked a little like a shiny Halloween costume, but it was ME, and in the expensive borrow veil, I made a presentable bride, even with the lipstick stain left by Jeanette on that ridiculously puffy sleeve.  

(I could only give you a "song".and Jeanette did wonders with my custom lyrics..but she did stain that dress when I thanked her!)

The lipstick stain is hidden along with my runny mascara, as you heard me say in the video, "Daddy's with us, Steven!" but so grateful anyway that my big brother could proudly walk me down the aisle.  

Oh..the memories!  Your Mom complaining that the chicken was tough, and telling the videographer that she "said everything she was going to say."

You looking so handsome in your tux..with a perm that you never got again. (thank goodness)

It's chilling to go through the wedding album now, seeing that so many guests are no longer with us,,tables and tables of guests who were there to celebrate our special day.

Enough taxing my memory bank...for now.

I'm just glad we're celebrating our 33rd, and that I've shared this adventure with you, through thick and thin(well..never THIN on my end) that we survived the loss of parents and pets and even our minds sometimes.

I'm blessed to have found the lid to my pot.

Well..more like the lid you have to cram onto the empty plastic soup or chinese takeout container, jammed in with all the other orphaned tupperware, but hey, it's OUR drawer--a mess we created together.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Philly forty fanaticism

I remember working for Channel 17, WPHL TV,  as a part-time writer in the promotions department in the late 1970's. 

The excitement in the air was palpable when Phillies fans learned that our hometown had just acquired the now infamous Pete Rose as their super-star player.

My  brother Steven accompanied me to a Welcome to Philly party and he was the only one who thought ahead and brought a camera...and had tons of requests for photo ops.

("He" being my brother..Pete Rose didn't request a photo with me..but he SHOULD have)

That was an exciting time to be a Phillies fan.

It was also forty-four years ago...I can only imagine what it's like to be in that stadium right now! 

I'd love to be there!

Of course, I'd be complaining about the long walk in the rain to the car, or my unsuccessful attempt to find a bathroom, or I'd be burping up that ill-advised hot dog, but I'd be eating up the camaraderie as well..  

I'd be so excited that I'd try to scale a greased pole..or..I'd watch someone else try.

I now appreciate all the complimentary tickets I was given back then, and how popular it made my Dad when I gifted them to him and his work colleagues.

Let's pray for a miracle..that my son's team, the NY Yankees, can conquer a mountain and win three games in a row.

Yes, I know it's not going to happen..but I love the idea of two well-rested teams facing each other on the field--hopefully a dry one--after a short Amtrak ride.

If the Yankees lose, I gotta believe that the Phils can bring it home.

(Mainly so I can tell you about the look the Phanatic gave me when I dumped a full glass of champagne into the bushes outside of the studio.  I was embarrassed being a teetotaler back then, but I didn't notice that the Phanatic was watching me. He blew a streamer at me, but he never betrayed my embarrassing secret)

I'm actually excited about sports!

Mad honey with a side of mole

All the loud-- the very loud and very positive buzz you've heard about Jodi Picoult's "Mad Honey" is well deserved, even if you're not a beekeeper, which I kind of wish I was.

This was co-written by Jodi and in my opinion, it's one of her best.

Smart readers love a good who dunnit, and even 'though I'm only occasionally smart and I don't read as much as I'd like to, I figured out the who in the who dunnit  pretty early on... and still couldn't put the kindle down. 

(I'm grateful I wasn't reading a paper copy--my ego is fragile enough to want to  make me want leap ahead to the end just to confirm my hunch, which I'm so glad I didn't do)

Now, if I only possessed the powers of deduction to figure out who "The Mole" is, a revamped Netflix offering that is much more exciting and much more high-tech than the Anderson Cooper version we all loved in the early 2000's was.

I'm sure there are brainiacs who have watched the five available episodes(three more come out on Friday and the last two some time after that) while taking copious notes on their laptops, while I make dumb remarks like, "she has a mole on her neck..is that a clue?"

Netflix subscribers should check it out..it's exciting, suspenseful, brainy, and funny, and you'll be holding your breath watching as  the screen turns green(a contestant is safe if their phones light up in that color) or red..which means he or she is out of the game, because even if their hunch about The Mole's identity was spot-on, they neglected to take notes on how many pancakes they consumed at that morning's breakfast, or how many siblings they have at home, cheering them on.

If you're into suspicious moles, then you should get it screened  as soon as possible, and nope..not gonna apologize for that lame attempt at humor.

I wouldn't be me without it.