Holiday movie-itis

Hah! 

 Like a minor..er..major..er..Guiness-breaking case of bronchial asthma is going to ruin my Christmas Day tradition!

Over my dead body!

(Shh..I shouldn't say that!)

I'd be kicked out of any legitimate theater with all this coughing and wheezing and infecting  all the happy moviegoers, so if I can't go to the cinema/Chinese restaurant like every other MOT in this county, then the cinema/Chinese food is coming to me.

Last night we treated ourselves to  an unexpected surprise.

Tyler Perry's "Six Triple Eight" was a terrific movie.  I expected it would be schmaltzy and over-acted, but it was a real  crowd-pleaser  and it's  based on a true story.

In between cough medicine doses, we finally finished "Shrinking" on AppleTV--totally worth the wait. 

 I hope this fabulous series is remembered when the Emmy nominations come out.

  Especially for acting nods for  Jason Segal and Jessica Williams.

But the best surprise of all came from Amazon today as we watched the best movie of the award season. 

 Yup..it's even better than "A Real Pain"..which, until today,  was impossible to top on my list of the year's best.

If you like anything by Quentin Tarantino and/or Martin Scorsese, you are absolutely going to LOVE the brilliant and dark comedy, "Anora."

It's like director/writer Sean Baker popped a couple of gummies, watched a few hours of Tarantino  and "Pretty Woman" and maybe some classic episodes  of "The Sopranos", and then he  opened his lap top and let his fingers do the walking while his brilliant brain cells  did the talking.

The movie is dark and sick and twisted so it's not for everyone, but if you like twists and turns and shocks and sheer entertainment, this is the movie for you, even with its unpleasant stereotypes.

The acting is off the charts.  As much as I was rooting for Cynthia Erivo to take home the Oscar for her unforgettable performance in "Wicked", my allegiances have shifted to Mikey Madison and her tour-de-force performance in the title role. 

 I can't see the golden statuette winding up in anyone else's well-manicured hands.

She is magnificent..and she is vulgar, and each word that comes out of her very foul mouth would make that mother f*cker Samuel L. Jackson blush like a ))*^&(#..

I'm saving "A Complete Unknown" for when I'm fully recovered and up for a trip to my local theater, but for now, it was a great way to spend this Christmas afternoon, cuddled under a fluffy blanket with a dirty little whore.

And Jim's enroute for some healing wonton soup, which he'll bring back shortly.

I'm still mad as )%**^&&# as the passenger who gave this bronchial infection to me on the cruise..or at all seven thousand of them..,  but this was an especially good December 25th tradition  for movie aficionados like us.

Enjoy the rest of your Christmas.. and Happy Hanukkah to all!

Twenty dollars for a wheelchair

When you have bronchitis and weakened lungs and severe sciatica in your back, you should be ninety eight years old and in a nursing home, not a weary traveler in her sixties who just wants to get home, who’d settle for a hot air balloon if it would get her back to Kansas.

They don’t call it a terminal for no reason.. walking to the gate felt like scaling Mount Everest in my weakened state.

We walked aimlessly and endlessly until we finally got to TSA screening, where  I couldn’t stop thinking that the top of the pole on one of the gates had a chip in it, and the chip was a silhouette of none other than Donald Trump himself. 

It was entertaining to eavesdrop on all the small talkers who recapped their drunkations 

,while accusing me, with their red eyes, of having  consumption.

After endless steps and wolfing down a tasteless meat patty that was purchased at Nathan’s, my only nourishment of the day which I had to eat with my fingers, we finally got to the gate where I could catch my breath and hopefully, a catnap.

I was about to doze off when Jim jostled me and orders me up at once: United Airlines texted him that we were being forced to change gates! That we’d have to take that mile long hike again!  Go through TSA again. ( WTF?? Did someone think I purchased an AR15 at the freaking GIFT shop??)

There were signs everywhere warning us not to take our guns in our carry on luggage, assuming we had weapons in the first place, which is a fair assumption in Florida.

There were signs that warned  us of  of fine  of $13,910 if we harassed or argued with any agent.

That was such a random number and such a subjective concept .. what constitutes harassment??

But I was wheezing and gasping and struggling, and nobody would  help. We were under pressure to make it to the new gate in time while keeping me alive.

Do you remember that scene in “ Terms of Endearment “ when Shirley MacLaine was screaming to the nurses, “ give my daughter that shot!”???

Jim  went all  Aurora  Greenway on all those heartless airport workers who refused to help us, even those who saw me struggle. A cart whizzed by, but instead of stopping to pick us up, it almost hit my heroic husband with such force that if he didn’t lunge into the arms of a sympathetic stranger, he would have been in traction.

“I’ll give you twenty dollars to borrow a chair”

He begs.

“that’s not my station but if you want to wait an hour or so we can fill out these forms and contact United..”

“Your driver almost hit me and my wife is sick!”  my hero screamed to the guy when we finally reached the boarding gate.

“There is no need to be abusive sir,” says this asshole to my wonderful Jim, and before we were hit with that $13,910 fine, I soften the blow by saying he looked and sounded just like Paul McCartney , which he  absolutely did, and he replies, “yeah.. I’m his brother.”

I think it actually WAS the Beatle, researching a possible movie role, because I could totally believe that Sir Paul  is a total tool like that.

We had a smooth flight until landing, where the pilot seemed to prefer circling to actually getting us on the ground in  Newark.

We finally landed at the furthest gate from baggage claim, but this time, I put my embarrassment aside and allowed my lungs to just chill as we were wheeled to baggage claim and  were allowed to put the nightmare behind us.

I promise everyone, I’ll be fine. I’ve had bronchial infections like this before and I’ll start a course of antibiotics as soon as I contact my doctor first thing tomorrow.

I promise.

Because if I don’t get my Jewish Christmas ( a movie and Chinese food) I am going to track down that miserable person who made me this sick in the first place.

I’ll probably have to look no further than my own bathroom mirror.

How many gators do I have to wrestle

Luke threw up in the bed!

The washing machine lashed out from being overstuffed!

Tested negative for Covid, but Typhoid Karen is nonetheless compelled to recap the last  day of a trip that would be the trip of a lifetime for a healthier, luckier, traveler.

So I’ll recap between coughing spasms:

The good, the bad, and the ugly.

I never told you about Thursday night’s show, which was an absolute  dazzling display of suicidal stuntmen, skateboarders, and synchronized swimmers. I didn’t even realize these performers were doing these heart stopping acts over a swimming pool until I saw them being shot upwards  through a water fountain. With lights, movie scores, music, and wet trapeze artists.

Strangers behind us struck up a conversation that started with something like “I hate shows.. I’m more of a drinking guy” and ended with Jim asking if we accidentally signed up for a Trump rally.   

The guy boasts that he’s an exterminator from Denver whose highlight of the trip had been drinking quietly at the private island, saying the very quotable  “ do you know how many bugs I gotta kill to get a cabana?”

There’s your bumper sticker, people. 

Jim and I haven’t stopped repeating  this phrase every time we’re under  any kind of duress.

Getting off the ship was relatively stress free, save for all the excuses I had to come up with for the angry folks who stared at me so judgmentally with every cough.

“damn these allergies!” I’d say, or “oops.. that Tic Tac went down the wrong pipe, that sucker!”

Because it was an exercise in futility to try to book an earlier flight, we decided to take the excursion to the Everglades since we already paid for it.

If you ever read a novel by Carl Hiaasen, then you pretty much have taken this tour.

The first part was a  ride in a swamp in a boat that nobody could actually get in or out of. A woman in front of me with fake eyelashes and a turban kept threatening to toss her kid into the gator filled swamp if the kid didn’t stop biting her.

The kid did not stop gnawing on her well manicured fingernails but her threat was idle because there were no gators to be seen. Only an osprey and some mangroves.  We saw floating lotuses and lily pads.

The guide, Mike, talked about all the vegetation and wildlife we were missing before bringing up how much gratuities were appreciated. 

He was going to spend the money on much needed grammar lessons or dental work, surely.

“Snakes don’t care about nothin’ but food and staying warm” he says. 

That describes everyone  we had just cruised with.

We were very wet, bummed, and cold but mostly disappointed that we didn’t see any swamp critters, until Mike wildly pointed out a sighting of a big brown snake, which turned out to be a big brown floating log, no different from what a rude person left in the bowl before I went into the restroom.

The second part of the Everglades excursion was a little more entertaining as we met Mutley  the Alligator and his trainer/ stand up comedian. 

Mutley and his friends are what’s known in Florida as nuisance alligators, the kind that take up residence at golf courses and swimming pools.

If someone forcefully removed me from a pool and threw me in a tank to entertain little kids, I’d be selling that person some swamp land in Florida.

The trainer put his chin in Mutley’s mouth while the sadists in the audience encouraged him.

 It was more entertaining than I’m describing.. next time I go I’ll hopefully retain all the stuff I learned about alligators when decongestants aren’t clouding my thoughts.

Time to give your eyes and my addled brain a break before I describe the fiasco at the  Miami International Airport.

It’s a doozy.

Why not??

Friday night

What do you call the penultimate that comes before the penultimate?

 Because that will describe this blog entry.. it’ll either be the second to last entry, or there will be fifteen more.

Depending on how many  more nuts we meet.

I am trying to keep the hypochondria at bay, I really am, because I don’t want to ruin Jim’s fun on this last night, but I’m telling you, when I breathe I sound like I’m blowing up an air mattress, or I’m an angry cat caught in a dryer’s lint trap. 

And the lengths I’m going through to avoid reality and quarantine!  

Every time someone stares a little too long at me, I give my  spiel: “I can’t believe my allergies are this bad when nobody is smoking!” 

I’m encouraging Jim to practice his George Jefferson strut as we hum the theme from his tv show every time someone gives me the evil eye, just so he can introduce himself as “George “ and add, “ and this here is my wife, Wheezy.”

A black sense of humor is the key to survival in this brutal world.

After the beach day that I’ve been waiting three years for, we played a pub game that required you to name the celebrity from photos before they were stars. The emcee gave no clues at all.. one was just supposed to recognize a skinny, brace-faced Adele because… well, just because. 

We got some obvious ones, like Barack Obama and Whoopi, but then she threw some real challenges into the mix, like a baby Keira Knightly and a school aged Natalie Portman. 

Then there was that famous New England Patriot player named Tom BradEY.. and a sex symbol named Canning Tatum.  

These are not typos.

We actually won keychains  for this game.. for having the lowest score in the entire pub.

Packing was quite the challenge. It’s much easier to pack before a trip, when you have anticipation and luggage space, but then you buy liquor you’re never going to drink and you no longer care that you’re mixing dirty clothes with clean: that your granny pantries wind up in your husband’s carry on  luggage because you just want to pack and get home and schedule a lung transplant as soon as possible.

Seriously, this is why I hoard the contents of my luggage. This is why I have 15 tubes of sunscreen and countless razor blades. I forget what was packed from the last trip, and I don’t have the time or energy required to reorganize efficiently.

We had a wonderful dinner scheduled at exclusive steakhouse, but I was coughing too much to enjoy it.

Our over  solicitous server kept insisting that I sample everything.

I couldn’t eat that much even with a normal appetite, or even with an appetite as as abnormally large as mine,  but he seemed to take rejection very personally.

 I didn’t have the heart to I didn’t like the mushroom soup because it would break his. I did not want that lobster bisque  he substituted, but I also didn’t want to see a fight break out.

He was touchy feely and he had a habit of answering everything  you ordered with the phrase, “why not??!!@ or “Salud!”

As though Jim needed a second opinion or even permission when ordering the Caesar salad!! Why not??

He was so over zealous that I allowed him to shake my hand whenever he pleased. 

Serves him right if I’m indeed contagious.

I did eat a little, but this bronchial enigma is a more effective appetite suppressant than Ozempic.

About to take in  a water show and a comic and then we’re going to try to sleep in this indescribably comfortable bed for the last time.

Thanks for traveling with me this week. I know I have a lot of baggage.

Today paradise.. tomorrow swampland..

Nothing cures that awful wheeze like  the gentle kiss of the ocean breeze..

Well, maybe antibiotics, but I don’t have them here at Coco Cay, the private beach n the Bahamas  owned by Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines.

This is nirvana. This is paradise.

It’s the calmest, bluest , warmest water I’ve ever dunked myself in, totally protected by a cove that allows some  inviting waves to sneak in, while keeping unwanted critters out .

There are plenty of comfortable turquoise and tangerine lounge chairs that don’t require the skills of a contortionist to get in and out of. ( ditto for the ocean itself. There’s no quicksand at the water’s edge)

I’m getting some looks every time I cough, which I’m handling by saying quite loudly, “why are my allergies so bad if nobody is smoking here?”

 Beach goers can handle the word “allergy” better than they can these explosive lungs of mine.

If the government shutdown doesn’t strand us  in Florida, I’ll seek medical attention as soon as we get back to New Jersey.

The sun does wonders for body, soul, and sinuses. 

There’s a pool here too, and it’s not going to be filled with slurring drunks or incontinent unsupervised children like the ones on the ship, at least I don’t think so.

But  for now.. I’m not planning to move a muscle for at least six hours.

.. and… I moved! 

To sample the complimentary lunch.. one of the best burgers I’ve ever had. Glad the appetite was stimulated and the cough was suppressed. Let’s hope that continues as we venture toward the pool.

I almost wrote that I played pool on a floating pool table in the pool, but it was actually ping pong, which was still cool, but I looked like a spastic idiot with that paddle.

An uncool fool in  a nice cool pool.

I could stay here forever.. just staring at the water would be the one and only thing I would do for the remainder of my days on this planet, but it’s soon time to board and plan our bon voyage activities. 

Actually, we do have one more excursion scheduled before our airport drop off tomorrow.. an Everglades tour.

I think I’ll like it. We were sold immediately by the description.

It went something like: “ can I sell you some swampland in Florida?”

This sucks!

Thursday

If you’re on this ship and walked near us and heard Jim say, “ are you sure I can’t give you something to suck on?”  You can remove your filthy mind from the gutter at once because there’s an explanation.

He was talking about a cough drop.

Because as luck would have it, and thankfully not for just the  two days before we leave, I fell victim to the Petri dish known as ocean cruising with seven thousand strangers, most of them sickly.

I am mad and want to punch the lights out of the person who is responsible for making me sound like I swallowed a referee’s whistle, but if I make a sound, I’ll be quarantined, and that’s worse than being mad.

The bright side is that I will lose weight on this cruise, where I expected to gain the  “ Baked Alaska “ eight like everyone else.

I have no appetite and no desire to go anything but sleep. I fell asleep during a very loud and very bright show, but Jim said I wouldn’t have been able to follow the plot anyway.

So I’m pissed.. about this wheezing and what’s been happening in the news that I’ve been ignoring because.. I AM ON VACATION!!

I hope Elon gets whatever this is. Let him cough up some lung for all I care.

I’m not willing to ruin Jim’s fun, so we did go to a  challenging movie game where we had to identify clips and quotes, and came pretty close to winning a keychain we don’t want or need.

And there’s no way I’m missing this ship’s private island beach day tomorrow. The sun is a natural decongestant, or  so I’ve convinced myself, and I’ve been waiting three years for the perfect beach day and dammit.. I’m getting my day in the sun , even if it comes with a side of typhoid.

Time for me and my little swan pillow to get more rest..

I love these towel artists. they are so creative. 

So are the food artists on this ship. 

Last night, we had a very late reservation for a hibachi dinner.. the only time we could get.. but did we really have to see the chef show off his skills at turning a whole cooking surface of hot fried egg into a slithering anaconda?

He meant well.

I’ll get some rest and be my sweet old self just in time to write tomorrow’s penultimate blog.

But I wouldn’t bet the farm if I were you that I’m going to be sweet.

Omar and other friendly creatures

Welcome to the Virgin Islands!

Don’t even try to make a stupid joke.

This isn’t a Star Trek convention. 

Jim is obsessed with how the elevators work. 

You press a pad outside of the elevator with your floor  request, and an arrow will indicate what elevator you need. There are no buttons inside. No smart little kids pushing  it eighteen times just for laughs and to annoy grownups.

Speaking of little kids, we get into the elevator and there’s a man with his two small ones saying “I can’t wait to get off of this goddamn ship!”

One wonders what could have possibly happened to him that made him want to channel Rose DeWitt Bukater.

Today’s excursion was to  Coral World  Ocean  Park in  St. Thomas.

We rode in an open air tram, which at first seems like it could be fun, but my left leg was dangling out the whole time. In heavy traffic, where drivers drive on the left side as they navigate hills and aggression.

It really didn’t bother me. 

I  have sciatica.

Losing  a limb would be no biggie.

The aquarium was small, but amazing . 

At first, it was  all about the sharks. The shark expert assured us that humans are never their prey.

They are only interested in blubbery creatures that smell like fish .

Just stop!  

That’s  a very old reference! 

Just stop!! 

Leave the self-deprecation to me.

After the  sharks, we watched dolphins being fed .  

I watched  the backs of little children’s heads. 

Dolphins are their whole word, not necessarily mine.

After  that,  we visited some really exciting turtles. 

It’s easy to make a turtle happy. 

Some lettuce, some tomato, cucumber, and they’re good to go. Turtles aren’t allowed to drink sea water. They get all their liquid requirements from the food they eat. I’d be in trouble if that were a requirement of my diet. 

You don’t get much water from salsa and chips.

Water temperature actually determines whether the turtle will be male or female . That’s what Jim heard anyway. 

Something about the warmth of their eggs? 

Mother nature should not be determining gender!

( let’s make the Republicans crazy.)

Our last visitor was the best . 

First of all,  the room was  delightfully air-conditioned and there was plenty of seating .

We sat in a dark room when the two females on the staff roped off a section of it . After their introduction, in waddles Omar, the most entertaining sea creature I’ve ever been up close and personal with. 

Omar, the sea lion, will clap his hands on demand and smile on demand and even bark, or more specifically, roar, like  a lion on demand. 

 He slapped  the butt of one of his trainers  with his enviable fins and he rolled over for a welcoming belly rub. 

He was so lovable. L

Sea lions are basically puppies.

Charlotte, his trainer,said that he is rather lightweight at 350 pounds . 

Once he hits the Windjammer buffet here, that number will change. 

This was a really outstanding excursion and I am very glad we booked it . 

We’re setting sail now towards the Bahamas. I’ve never been to Coco Cay, the private island owned by Royal Caribbean,but I’m looking forward to it.

I know the whole purpose of booking the trip was to celebrate our anniversary and to give me my beach fix , but now all I think about is  how kidnap a sea lion and bring him home in my luggage.

Pigs, chickens and a cat.. oh my..

Afternoon

Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to start day four of your vacation thinking you swallowed a horse pill, only to find your Naprosyn pain  tablet at the bottom of your only water bottle.

We refilled it rather than paying for an expensive  new one,but we have  both been sipping on bitter water all day .

Saint Martin ( aka Saint Maarten ) is a beautiful island divided into two governments ,one French one Dutch . 

We only stayed on the Dutch side, which is about 16 miles. The French side of the island is bigger and quieter and rich folks live there.

Our guide ,Nikki, told us that Shaquille O’Neal lives in a mansion  in the French side part time, and that Donald Trump sold his home after hurricane Irma hit .

That’s hard to believe about a climate denier who doesn’t believe hurricanes are real .

Nikki pointed out what look like a lake, but it was actually a salt mine . There used to be thirteen of them, now there’s only nine. It’s was a big industry before everyone went crazy and got prescriptions for high blood pressure.

  She pointed out some impressive statues of salt miners during our 30 minute shuttle ride to the beach..

It seemed  like a death ride since there’re only roundabouts, and the only traffic light in town is broken . 

Nikki told us about Skull Island, where King Kong was filmed, and she she pointed out one of the best medical schools in all of the Caribbean .

You know what she didn’t point out ? 

Surrounded by several tourist shops on a congested strip?

Punctuation counts .

This store was called “Come Shop.”

Without a comma or an exclamation point, it didn’t seem like an invitation. 

It didn’t seem like a place to purchase souvenirs. 

It seems like it was Saint Martin’s version of a sperm bank.

Today, the ocean was OK . The waters were warm, but it was very salty and there was a lot of seaweed.. The view was nothing special… way too many yachts, but if you turned your head, you would see the greenery of the picturesque hills. 

To get out of the ocean, you needed strength and dexterity .

It’s like somebody stacked two or three crates that were made of collapsible sand  and then ordered you out of the ocean.

Nikki made a stop on the ride back , which we thought was just going to be a scenic overlook.

But people got off the bus they were  immediately bombarded by very angry pigs, chickens, and one stray cat . 

Pigs are bullies, but that didn’t stop some of you from electing one .

OK, I’ll stop ..

Pigs live up to their name, but they were very amusing .

And very hungry.

As much fun as the ship is , it was nice to finally dock  and  schedule an excursion.

I am dictating this blog into my phone, using the microphone feature, while enjoying Reggae music by the pool.

Blogging was quick!

But let’s see what my unshakable Philly accent did to this feature.

I hope whatever I dictated is comprehensible to the half a dozen  of you who are still interested in my travelogues.

Iconic elements

Evening

 Even what seem like insurmountable problems become just petty inconveniences when you’re experiencing something as iconic as this ship.

Yep.. even when Evan calls to say he “thought “ he saw a rodent scurrying in the kitchen, taking refuge under the dishwasher, you don’t give a rat’s ass about anything other than how much fun you’re having.

I remember as a teen, an elusive rodent took up residence in our house. 

He’d be seen for a second and then he’d be MIA for what seemed like  months.

Until that time I picked up a dust ball from the linoleum tiles on my bedroom floor and I didn’t have my glasses on.

Dust balls don’t cling to bedspreads when they’re flung from the petrified hands of a myopic teenager.

I recovered, but not as fast as I hoped to.

The ship is divided into eight different neighborhoods, and ours is located in Central Park. There are shops and trees and park benches and even a dog that loves to pose for photos. Her name is Rover, which is unusual for a girl, but it’s better than Karen. Rover would be happy to pose for a photo op in Central Park, even with a bona fide mugger.

Almost seven thousand people on this ship and the maitre D tonight greets us by name before we checked in. He recognized us from lunch, when Jim wore his Graceland shirt and I wore that  “Karen Calm Down” T-shirt we wear at Woodloch reunions.

But it’s not like he’s a savant with facial recognition skills.

His name happens to be Elvis.

His wife’s  is name happens to be Karen.

We just saw a spectacular show in the ice skating rink called Starburst: Elemental Beauty.

I thought Jim booked some nerdy science lecture about the periodic table but it wasn’t that at all.

Imagine if  Cirque de Soleil had a baby with Bill  Nye the Science Guy and that baby wore skates and was graceful as a swan.

Beautiful costumes and lithe skaters lighting up the rink like a Christmas tree. 

They chose appropriate music, like Sia’s “Titanium” when they covered that particular element.

The creativity and professionalism that went into making this show is like nothing I’ve seen before, and it’s only Day Three.

This trip has exceeded my very high expectations.

Who would have ever thought that science class could be so wildly entertaining?

$4K Dog and the dental flosser

Monday morning 

I’m going to need a week to accurately describe last night’s activities, so hopefully a second blog entry will suffice.

I’m writing this from our cabin as Jim is soaking up the rays from our balcony. 

He’d normally take a photo, but he knows how consumed with jealousy I’d be if his photo of an endless ocean got over a hundred like clicks, and my blog would be ignored by all but a half a dozen of you who get paid to read and comment.

Which absolutely would happen… everyone would like.. even love.. his shot of nothing but the ocean.

We’re going to the pool after the movie quote trivia game. I’m sure we’ll do better than we did at the general trivia game we went to earlier, when asked what the first message sent in Morse Code said, and I yell out, “ would you be interested in talking about an extra warranty for your car insurance?”

I’m no comic, but you know who is?? 

The three guys who are paid to have us rolling on the floor, which most passengers are  already doing from a combination of tequilas and unsteady waters.

We didn’t even have reservations for the comedy club.

After Oz we saw a terrific pianist who covered Jim’s favorite singer, Sir Elton, and even though it was probably like six hours past our normal bedtime, we gambled for a seat in the stand by line and are we ever grateful we did!!

One comic asked the diverse audience from all over the globe how to ask for a hand job in other languages, and that was possibly the cleanest part of his act.

He talked about the four thousand dollar vet bill he got when his one hundred dollar dog needed ACL surgery. “ I could have bought forty dogs!” And then went on to say dog ownership is worth it if you’re single and lonely in your bed, naked, with a jar of peanut butter nearby.

Don’t ask.

And don’t ask about the dating app he frequents because it’s called “Gray Pubes”

One woman  calls out that she’d never spend that much money on a dog, she’d shoot it in her backyard first, and yes, yes, we thought you’d never ask.. Kristi  Noem is on the cruise.

Oh!!

He then confesses he was under employed during Covid and so unhip that he missed the origins of the “Karen” meme.

Everyone who has been burdened with this moniker since 2020 has consulted Google and we are all prepared to give the same answer, even though I was the only Karen in a roomful of Kristis in this nightclub.

“ it actually started with Kate Goesslin”  I explain.” Nobody liked that Prima  Donna . But Google can’t explain why they chose the name Karen, not Kate for the meme.”

“you’re making this shit up,” he accuses.

“ no I’m not, “ I respond. “ it’s how the meme started “

“ I don’t believe you,” he says, much to the delight of my fellow insomniacs in the club. “I think you’re just a ‘fucking bitch’ who likes to start trouble.”

“Oh.. I’m certainly that sir.. but THAT meme came out a decade earlier “

I love the sound of laughter.

And crashing waves.

And  “ A Charlie Brown Christmas” song playing every time you pass a shop or bar.

So how does this vacation SOUND to you so far??

The movie quote game was a bit of a bust for people like us who avoid Blockbusters,thus we don’t know our “Top Gun” quotes like we’d know quotes that came from a documentary about Chernobyl.

“I never get a say about anything!” Jim says to me.

He was not wrong.

He insisted on returning to the Adults Only pool.. a good place to catch up on our reading.. of fellow passengers backs.

“They need a pool for a sixty-plus crowd”

“They’d call it  a cesspool,” I replied, because I couldn’t think of something more clever.

The deck was so hot and there was as not a seat to be found. I couldn’t even bother reapplying sunscreen.. I needed to get wet.

I don’t know why I didn’t notice this yesterday, but the Adults Only  Pool is basically a wet bar.

From photos, it looks like an infinity pool but up close, it’s liquid prison, designed to fit maybe ten tattooed people. There are no seats but there’s two or three cocktail tables in each pool. There are also four life guards.. WTF could possibly need saving in a wet space the size of a prison cell?

Jim read my face, scooped up two towels, and promised to comeback after reserving prime real estate in a better neighborhood, which he did.

I waited in the pool and a woman wearing nothing but dental floss “swims” up to me, cocktail in hand.

“Are you happy?” She asks.

“Who wants to know?” I answer, to which she responds, “I’m from Seattle .. how about you?” 

Because I had nothing else to do, and there was no guarantee I’d ever see Jim again, I answer honestly. 

As soon as she heard me say, “ New Jersey “ she swam away, thanking me for answering her question about whether I was happy or not.

She “swam” to another woman dressed in  dental floss and then they started making out.

I wonder if these things happen to normal folks.

OZ-some!

Monday

In real life, we spend about ninety two percent of our marriage with me yelling at Jim for falling asleep during “Jeopardy!” 

And then asking for subtitles so we can understand what the other person has just mumbled/said.

While we still  need a language interpreter, we’re keeping the hours of a Kennedy on Coke.

We scheduled a month’s worth of activities into one night last night, fighting sleep as though we were fighting the injustice of having a Marjorie Taylor Greene in office.

Paying dearly now but it was worth it.

After a fabulous Italian dinner, we were absolutely blown away by the performance of “The Wizard of Oz “ and I promise to stop the contrived humor by my next or my tenth paragraph.

There were flying monkeys!!

But then the considerate parents took them back to their rooms.

Okay.. I’ll stop.

The spectacular musical stayed true to the original movie, and it actually made me overlook some of my continuity issues with “Wicked.”

This show had “The Jitterbug” song that was filmed but cut from the 1939 movie. It had changing sets that defied gravity, and it had a sassy street wise ghetto  Glinda in a mini glittery cocktail dress.

There was a guy who constantly shadowed Toto, which made me wonder why a third actor was in the scene with Dorothy and Mr. Marvel until Jim explained to me that the actor was a professional puppeteer that manipulated movements.

Oh.. and speaking of movements, we can’t even look at Toto or the dozens of dog sculptures around the ship without thinking about our poor house sitter/dog watcher. Jim even has a dream about the “absolutely filthy “ butt of our poor Luke.

He had to explain the concept of puppeteering to me,  and I had to explain all the double entendres to him, like, “I keep picking it up and putting it back in again “ and the Tin Man’s orgasmic reactions to being oiled up.

Not all of my cynicism has sexual roots. I have legit questions too, like didn’t the Wicked Witch ever take a shower or get caught in a sudden down pour?

Again.. the only thing that would have made this show more authentic is if it included the abuse Judy Garland suffered at the misogynistic hands of the filmmakers who insisted she subside on chicken broth, coffee, and one hundred cigarettes a day. 

I’m going to give your eyes a much needed break and report more later.

Everyone knows it’s Windy..

Sunday:

As much as I hate small talk in real life, I actually seek it out on vacation.

You’re in an adults only pool, and you see tattooed adults sipping tropical drinks, their crosses beaming around their necks from the sun, and you think, “ they’re obviously not MOTS but let’s see what their story is “and all of a sudden you’re “ vacation interested” that Tiffany and Henry have a daughter that wants to to be a sports manager and  that he’s a chef and she loves her Baltimore Ravens, and you give them a friendly wave goodbye because you got everything you needed to get from them.

Before we went to the pool on this drizzly, sprinkly, cloudy but still awesome day, we played trivia at the bar. 

The question was, “what George Orville novel was the most powerfully written book about abuse of power in a dystopian world?” and Jim smirks, “I had no idea “The Art of the Deal” had  Orwell as a ghost writer.”

The hot tub was fun, if you consider having lap dancers on your vulnerable body fun, which I evidently do.

We tried three pools today.. four more to go. The adults only pool was nice, but the family one?? Not so much. It was mobbed, and the pulsating Latin  salsa beat gave us headaches. 

And that doesn’t even factor in all that wind and how it impeded your vision when you sought a seat.

You are as old AF if you ASSOCIATE this, that instantly popped into my head:

“Who’s walking ‘round the planks of this pool deck?/who’s going blind from seeking their chair?/ you’re hot as hell and long to be cool, heck.. /everyone knows it’s WINDY../who’s hats are flying off of their heads now?/who’s hair looks like ..it’s gonna sprout wings?/who needs her dose of stress killing meds now?/ everyone knows it’s WINDY

After a disappointing lunch that tasted  like bad Chinese takeout, we opted for a pool on another deck called the Cloud Nine pool and it’s my favorite so far ..soothing music, ample seating in comfy day beds with abundant sunshine, and a pool with a view of nothing but an ocean of ocean.

True, you got tossed and tumbled like you’re in the clothes dryer,but you come out of the pool  feeling refreshed and clean, like a pair of granny panties.

We’re off to see a Michael Jackson  name that tune game  and then we’re off to see The Wizard after the Italian dinner we’ve reserved.

I’ll let you know how it works out..

Dueling night life

Saturday night

This “Icon  of the Seas” really rocks.

As in those Tilt-a-Whirls you went  on as a kid rocked.

Where you’d turn green as Shrek before throwing  up your caramel apple.

But also, it rocks figuratively, as in …when  was the last time I did not bitch and moan on the first day of vacation blogging?

This place is too great to criticize because it absolutely ROCKS!

Oh sure, there were some snags. 

There was the Bostonian who wasn’t, who called me Caroline, whom I’m not.

There was the charging station that died only on my side of the bed, and even though Jim’s cord stretched, I have too many nightmares about accidental middle of the night  strangulation already.

The safe didn’t work initially and the luggage didn’t come.

( ok.. so maybe I AM complaining like I always do on day one. Bear with me)

“Hector stole our luggage!” I cried, when said luggage was missing  in action all that time.

“He wasn’t wearing a name tag..why are you calling him that?”

“ Because this is Florida!” I insist, the land of Mickey Ears and MAGA hats, of banned books and porters named Hector who forget to wear name tags!”

“ He didn’t kidnap our luggage, Karen.  He’s not interested in your granny panties.”

I was in the mood to argue some more, but our bags showed up and I unpacked at

such a warped speed that I have no  idea where anything is. 

So I might as well be living off the useless contents of my carry on.

We boarded the ship  on time  and went to an area  known as  Central Park, complete with trees and the sounds of chirping birds, where when  you were drizzled  upon from an open atrium, you hoped that only rain came tumbling down on your unprotected head.

Well.. there WAS one exception, where we hoped it HAD been bird droppings that landed  on the head of a passenger wearing a “ Long Live Trump”T-shirt. 

Night life is so much fun and totally endless on this iconic ship.

Jim went to the kickoff party solo as I sit in this stateroom, recapping our first  day of vacation, wondering why anyone feels the need to deny a New Hampshire residence.

We had played a Motown music game that we deserved to lose by failing to recognize Donna Summer, which was followed by a talented but kinda pervy juggler who kept instructing a mom from Kansas on how to squeeze and flatten his balls. 

Okay, so maybe the auditorium didn’t hold as many kids as it will next week, during  Christmas break, but these double entendres went over there wee little heads like flying juggled sugar plums. 

Dinner was outstanding and the service was that which  only a Kardashian might demand.

The best part of the night were the “Dueling Pianists “ who were as gifted as anyone we’ve ever seen at The Front Porch in  Ogunquit Maine.

 I think I’ve mentioned before that  I have a record breaking passion for piano bars.

In fact, the guy pianist has played at that very popular piano bar  in Maine quite often, and has set a Guinness record for playing more tunes than any  ivory tickler from around the world. 

Hah! And I bet you all thought Arnold Palmer was the world’s biggest pianist!

The entire room was filled with joy and tone deaf singers, but the atmosphere was amazing and the fever contagious.

I couldn’t help but compare them to the father/ daughter ( aka husband/wife) team we saw last April on a river cruise.

These people probably never left  their native Idaho, which is why they were  visibly shocked when “someone” (possibly  named Caroline ) prequested songs  from “ Hairspray “

I’m betting these dueling pianists  here on this ship not only know songs from that Tony winning show, they’ve  probably encouraged obese mamas to  shake their booty and sing along.

Welcome to the City!

I’ll be back with more tomorrow .

There’s something so satisfying about satisfaction.

.

Sweet Caroline..

Welp.. I knew I’d be meeting a cast of characters.. I just had no idea it would be while we were still at the hotel.

We get to the lobby in time to hail an Uber.. we could have ordered a fleet of them since we were two hours early.

A staff member with a clip board tells us he can get us  to the pier in lightning time as long as we lined up early, which we did, and once again.. we were lied to.

An elderly couple sitting in the lobby with us had a Carnival Cruise to catch and they had just about had it, convincing us to share a cab with them and cut our losses.

They were from Boston and he sounded exactly  like my uncle Neal who I just saw on thanksgiving, and every time he spoke I could think of nobody but my uncle as the owner of that voice. 

His name was Richie and hers was an Indian name like Havava,  but it’s not important that  I remember how to pronounce it because she couldn’t remember mine.

“ so Carolyn “ she begins.. “where did you say you were from?”

“Still New Jersey “ I reply, and then  she let out a shriek that could wake the dead because she mistakenly thought her carry on bag had been left behind.

“Shhhh!” Admonished Richie/Uncle  Neal. “ Carlos is telling me his life story and I don’t want to miss anything!”

Carlos was our driver. After ten minutes, we’d forget everything he said .

After ten minutes, we’d never lay eyes on  him again.

“So Caroline,” she says from the back. “ I know Carolyn isn’t right so it’s Caroline, right?”

Ten minute cab rides don’t require corrections.

“Caroline!” She screams a little too enthusiastically. She patted my back and told me she loved me before continuing, “ Caroline.. my husband has traveled all over the world and has met so many famous people! Guess who?”

I reply.. “ can you narrow it down?”

“Guess, Caroline! Guess!”

They were both getting excited with all the ships they counted in the port and she fretted that she didn’t have her winter coat from Boston because of the  warm Miami drizzle.

“Um.. Miss  Piggy? Queen Elizabeth? Robert F Kennedy’s  earworm?”

“ Henry Kissinger!! Joan Baez!”

“Funny… I  was… just about.. to guess them??”

“And guess what my husband got me for Christmas?? Guess!!”

“This trip?”

“No !” My Louis Vuitton bag but I can’t show you because it’s not Christmas yet. He bought it in Paris! Guess how much he paid for it??”

I was all guessed out by this time

Oh.. sweet Caroline!

I hope I didn’t accidentally  take  off with her carry on.

Then we put our bags on the conveyer belt and a random guest asks me if I have high blood pressure.

“Yes.. since the election”“ I respond. 

I had no idea why he asked.. he was a guest, not an employee.

Did he just stalk the content of my carry on as it was going through the X-ray machine?

“Well. You probably already saw this, but I did  indeed pack BP meds”

“Oh.. no thanks”he says as though I offered him some. “I brought my own “

There are enough people on board to populate the state of  Rhode Island.  Hopefully I’ll avoid them all.

Oh.. before I forget. As we got out of the shared cab, I hear this: “ Caroline.. I have something to confess. We are not from Massachusetts. We are from New Hampshire!”

We haven’t even set sail yet.

Lord have mercy.

Droning in Miami

Friday the 13th

Very demure.. very mindful..

… very KAREN to start off a vacation blog with a pop culture reference.

It could be worse.. 

I could have talked about eating cats and dogs in a Haitian restaurant tonight but that would be a lie and if I liked liars, I would have voted for one.

I am in a beautiful hotel in Miami, sated on Portuguese food, waiting to board the world’s largest ship tomorrow to belatedly celebrate our thirty fifth anniversary.

And I’m glad to be away from New Jersey, a state of highway exits and Tony Soprano imitators and nonstop droning about …drones.

Jim is droning too, on a constant loop that either starts with, “ in thirteen hours from now, we’ll be..” or “ what’s with this weather!!??”

We are the inspiration for those commercials that tell you how they can’t stop you from turning into your parents.

This ship better serve dinner by four o’clock.

Nothing too blog worthy has happened yet, except my suitcase was three pounds overweight, and Jim sat on the cold airport floor trying to use his engineering mind to figure out how to redistribute a hundred unnecessary shampoo bottles into his overstuffed suitcase. 

A line formed behind him of people patiently waiting to get their bags weighed. They were so friendly and patient as they waited for us to repack shoes I’m never going to wear.

So patient..

We’re going to set sail tomorrow on Royal Caribbean’s newest ship, The  Icon of the Seas. 

I keep calling it “ Ion of the Seas”.. ion as in  “ charged  particle “ but I have no idea why I’m doing  that.

Its size is terrifying. 

I’m up for the challenge.

I will try to be more interesting next time. 

I’m actually putting myself to sleep.

A sweet apolitical Thanksgiving

One of the first things they teach you when you're learning how to write is to "show", not "tell"..so..without using Instagram  pictures, let me try to "show" you what the holiday has been like so far.

First of all, I never knew there is such an animal as something called "Blackout Wednesday" until Alexa described it in a "Jeopardy!" question..hours after we experienced the concept ourselves, seeing horrendous traffic on the road, culminating  in a fender bender that had Jim screaming the F word at the top of his lungs(for the second time that day--the first was when he spilled pills all over the kitchen floor) which left us  shaken but not stirred.

Subarus are well made but still no match for a distracted driver who apparently thinks Subaru bumpers are punching bags. 

 We're fine..his BMW is not..but..there's a lot more to tell you..I mean.show you..about so let's move on as I advise everyone not to drive on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving unless it's an emergency.

Thanksgiving dinner was great as usual. 

 I used to think chaos in the kitchen in November  was just a goofy formulaic plot contrivance  that lazy sitcom writers come up with(a turkey on Joey's head, Debra Barone's frustration with her in-laws) but nope..it can get real, as my cousins dealt with a torn roasting bag, but they handled it like pros, and the oven floor was clean, and no person or appliance smoked,  and the turkey was moist and delicious, and I can't believe I just typed the words "moist" and "oven floor" in the same sentence.

I love my cousins..they're wonderful cooks and wonderful hosts and their suburban Philadelphia home is always cozy and inviting.

Conversation was neutral and  still flowed like wine, covering topics that varied from Escape Rooms to "Wicked." A little bit weather, a little bit about errands and a few ice breakers too, as I went around the table to see if I could remember  where and how each couple met.

  (I'm betting EVERYONE reading this talked about "Wicked" at their dinner table last night ..let me know if that's so)  

Alicia's sweet potato casserole is a bowl of heaven--oops..I'm "telling" instead of "showing."  It has rolled oats and tanginess and a crispy topping and it could pass for pie filling to your discerning average foodie. 

 I like to  saute crispy shredded brussels sprouts in butter with a dash of black pepper and a little sugar to carmelize, my yearly contribution to this feast, but we also had scrumptious stuffing and whipped potatoes and pineapple souffle and warm  rolls and..oops, I'm "telling" again, aren't I? 

Everyone else is posting pics of their beautiful spreads and I'm telling you about savory stuffing that is so good that it makes you grateful to be alive.

The desserts were worth every consumed calorie..Alicia's Mom, Anne,  made three homemade pies(and because some of you are reading this ONLY to get the specific food  details--apple, pecan, and pumpkin) and Alicia made delicious  brownies.  Evan's fiancee  Michelle got a warm reception from everyone while meeting the cousins for the first time--they loved her personality and her chocolate chips cookies--probably equally. 

 My white chocolate almond bark is as addicitive as crack and it's one of the reasons nobody can fit into their pants today.  (melt white chocolate chips in the microwave, stir in salted almonds and hand crushed ultra thin salted pretzels, spread on a cookie sheet and chill in the fridge for ten minutes before breaking it into pieces) 

I think I just described what everyone experienced last night, and if you added all the hilarity and camaraderie of a game like "Apples to Apples" then we're all on the exact same page.

Thanks again to our wonderful hosts, and to the  BMW driver who didn't do as much damage as he could have, and to the makers of stretch pants, and to turkey farmers, and to the dating app that sent me my awesome future daughter in law and her great wit and intelligence and chocolate chip cookies...

Yep, 2024..you've done a few crappy things to me, (and to America)  but mostly.. you've been good.  

And I'm thankful and grateful to everyone who made my night--and my year--something memorable and special.

Now go clean those soaking pans and heat up some leftovers for lunch  while everything  still tastes good.

Wicked Karen

This is what it is in a nutshell:

There has never been a bigger fan of "The Wizard of Oz" than me.

I know every line, every camera movement, every dirty double entendre in the script  and I've known about them  since the first time it appeared on TV in the 60's.  

My friends and I would reenact every scene from memory, since it was only shown once a year and there was no way to record it.

I wrote an OZ satire at summer camp and a schmaltzy, stupid version with campy, Catskill-style humor called "The Wizzellah" when I was in my twenties, where  the plot revolved around obtaining the perfect matzo ball recipe instead of the witches' broomstick.  I created  every offensive stereotype you can imagine but I  still had hours of fun  recording table reads with various casts of drunken friends  throughout a decade or two.

I even begged my exhausted Mom to have another child, when I was a bratty ten year old,  because I wanted a sister that I'd name  Dorothy.

I wanted her pigtails and gingham dresses, but I settled for coloring books, and growing up to be an adult who'd write parodies to Wizard of  Oz songs instead.

Having said all that, I was beyond excited to hear that some brilliant superfans and producers  were combining my two greatest loves in life besides salsa and chips:  Producers were making a MUSICAL with an OZ theme.

I learned every lyric to "Popular" and "Defying Gravity" because I could never get a ticket to the sold out Broadway show and in 2017..I finally got to see it..in all its spectacular glory--on the Lonson stage.

And I was..well..mad. 

 Irrationally, inexplicably mad.

"They messed with perfection!" I told Jim in my faux British accent that I picked up during our two day stay in the U.K..

He loved the show, especially seeing it in London, and he couldn't understand my objection.

"I just want Glinda to be Glinda and the Wicked Witch to be something my brothers called me when they were mad at me,!" I screamed.  "I didn't want..nor did I need.. nor does any fan need..a backstory!"

"But those sets??  And those flying monkeys?" Jim was practically begging me to be reasonable.

"I don't care!"..I don't care about Elphaba! If they have to mess with the Wicked Witch of the West's character, then make her into a disgruntled housewife named Cora who can't sell enough Maxwell House Coffee"

Which brings us to tonight, where we saw the film version, where I could hear the lyrics more clearly  than I could when they were sung on  the London stage, where I tried to predict which clip they'll show when the film and Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo get their Oscar  nominations and...

I still felt the same way, even after loving the movie. 

 Even after recommending it.

This was very science-fictiony, very "Star Wars" meets "Harry Potter" and all I wanted was to hear a girl on a farm singing "Over the Rainbow"..and wondering why her parents abandoned her.

 Why her dog grabbed a hot dog from a strange man in a trailer park.

I would have loved this movie had it been stand alone..it's awesome.

But I just don't want a prequel...It ruined my dream.

And more important, it ruined Dorothy's dream.

Elphaba isn't supposed to be someone's college roommate..she's nasty old Miss Gulch who rides a bike and keeps kidnapped cairn terriers in baskets! 

She's supposed to be some over zealous vindictive nutjob who'd vote for Matt Gaetz if she lived in the real world. 

..I don't want to know that she, Elphaba,  fought for animal rights!

I just wanted her to be..a witch.

And I always thought, for the record, that Glinda was the real witch anyway. 

 A vindictive sociopath who could have sent Dorothy home immediately and avoided giving her aunt, thinking she was kidnapped by a trailer park hot dog vendor,  a near heart attack just by telling her to rub her shoes together to get back to Kansas..

The original movie was just about crazy  women fighting over shoes..something Carrie Bradshaw did in every other episode of "Sex and the City."

Hey..I dream about all kinds of scary shit nightly...but that doesn't mean I want a BACKSTORY on all the characters of my nightmares.

Why, just the other night, I dreamt that Donald Trump had been reelcted to the White House...

OK, I'll be nice.  

If you're an Oz purist, you'll feel like me and say, hey..why did they have to mess with perfection and  why did they  DOCTOR Oz??

(Nah..you wouldn't say that..you're not an idiot like me)

If you just want a super entertaining , magical night at the movies, then go see "Wicked." 

If you only had a brain, you wouldn't overthink about the plot.

If you only had a heart, you'd see this is a beautiful movie, even to someone who's never read the book by L. Frank Baum.

If you only had courage, you would have voted for Kamala Harris and you..

OK..I'll stop.

Go see "Wicked."

It's going to be quite popular at the Box Office.

Jim was wrong

The 2023 Academy Awards weren’t particularly exciting for me. 

I hated the quirky movie that was destined to sweep and it did.

(“Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.”) 

I was resigned that my least favorite nominee for Best Picture was going to win, so I saved all my finger crossing for the Best Actor award, handed out near the end of the broadcast.

All five of the gentlemen nominated were first timers: all deserving of the gold.

Every single predictor of the Oscars said the award was Austin  Butler’s to lose. 

He was astonishing as “Elvis “ but I had my heart set on someone else. 

For Brendan Fraser  in his unforgettable performance  as “The Whale.”

All experts said Butler was one hundred percent going to win, except my husband, who is never wrong when it comes to his gut feelings.

As the show progressed, none of my favorites were getting any love from the Academy, but Jim  kept assuring me.   

“Don’t believe anything you’ve read about Austin  Butler.. Brendan is going to win “

I was so nervous all night.. I can’t explain why I had so much invested in something as frivolous as an award show.. but Jim never wavered with his prediction.

Even after hearing the line, “and the Oscar goes to..” while movie fans all over the globe shouted to their screens, “Austin Butler!”   , my husband correctly guessed that the next name viewers would hear would be Brendan Fraser’s.

He was right, of course, and as we left the parking lot of the wonderful Thai restaurant where we had just celebrated our anniversary dinner, I ask him, “ are you BRENDAN sure that Kamala’s got this?” 

And he assured me he was. 

It was more than his instincts here. 

It was late breaking polls and Allan Lichtman and witnessing  Trump’s rapid mental decline over the last few weeks, and watching her incredible wisdom and leadership before our very eyes.

Jim was wrong.

The predictions were wrong.

The world was very very wronged.

There are no consequences when the Academy of Motion  Pictures gets it wrong or if voting doesn’t go the way you wanted it to.

Today, the consequences are global, terrifying, and inevitable. 

The tears have not stopped flowing.

They are not happy tears like they were two and a half years ago, shed during an upset at an awards show.

These are the tears of the terrified.

You knew it was a snake..

OK, I promised I was going to stop after Election Day, I promised.

 It's like promising you're going to have just one more sour cream and onion potato chip and then you have twenty.

This will be my last political post.

(I think)

I'm stealing this old chestnut and putting my own spin on it.

In 2016, I witnessed a young girl grab a snake that was standing in front of her on the ground.  She picked it up, petted it, fed it some warm milk and a freshly killed  rodent, wrapped it in a cozy blanket, and then it bit her.  As I drove her to the hospital, where she desperately needed a life saving  antidote, I asked her what the snake said before she received the potentially fatal bite.   "He said, " she  replied, "you knew I was a snake when you first picked me up."

Flash forward to 2024: 

I see the same girl and the same snake and the same thing happened again. 

There was only one thing to say to her.

  "Find your own way to the hospital," I say. "You made the conscious decision to pick up that effin' snake."

Lucky 35

"We are not going back!" scream all my Facebook friends who have already voted or are about to, clever folks saying things like, "I love the smell of victory in the morning!"

"We are NOT going back to "The Handmaids Tale" say all my feminist friends who have already posted photos of themselves in the scarlet robes and white lampshades on their heads, even those who never read the book or watched the Emmy-winning series.

"We are not going back  to 1939!" say my bold friends after the MSG debacle, who must  know the Hitler comparison is a controversial one. 

"We ARE going back!" I scream, and before you unfriend me or egg my car, let me add, "to this date.. in 1989."

It was thirty five years ago today that I woke up filled with love and optimism. Jim was in the bedroom next door, in the house of a member of our wedding party, who had loud, drunken guests who stayed downstairs 'til after midnight, not that I would have slept a wink anyway.

My BFF Rochelle, my beautiful Matron of Honor who'd change into her gorgeous deep maroon  gown in a few hours, dropped me off at Temple Beth Ami, where I'd be getting ready to make the second most important decision of my life. 

 (The first was made at the voting booth a few days ago)

My mother was already there, crying, knowing that my brother Steven would be walking me down the aisle that my college friend Jim had decorated so beautifully, knowing that it was something my Dad should have been doing.

(Walking me down the aisle..not decorating it, God no!  Every pew would have been decorated with memorabilia from the Philadelphia Flyers)

Jim and I were huddled off into a side room, to sign the certificate that recognized our union under Jewish law. I heard the hush outside..the hush of the gathering crowd, and the sounds of Jeanette DiMeo's magnificent voice, as she sang "One Hand, One Heart"(from West Side Story) and "The Last Time I Felt Like This" (From "Same Time, Next Year) and her stunningly beautiful original piece, "Sparks."

Her voice dimmed, the crowd quieted, and  my friend Jim was ready to cue the music and the choreography  as the processional began on that aisle he had just decorated so beautifully. The rabbi began his walk, followed by Jim's brother Bill, the Best Man, followed by a teary Jim and his parents. I was behind the partition but witnessed everything..all my bridesmaids and Jim's groomsmen.  My brother Bruce walked my  sobbing mom, with my nephew Scott between them, the ring bearer who clutched the pillow so tightly to his chest that one didn't even know it was a  pillow. The music swelled and Rochelle walked solo as my Matron of Honor, the bestest best friend in the world, who has been even "bestier" these last few weeks.  The congregation broke into laughter then, as my flower girl Stephanie began to walk. She wasn't even two yet(and now she's the mother of four!) and even 'though she was well-rehearsed, she got a little addled and wound up in front of the bima, tightly clutching a single flower..but with grit and determination.

The laughter turned into tears as Steven escorted me next, to the most beautiful song of all from that gorgeous music selected  by my friend Jim , the magnficent score from "Out of Africa,"

The song was called, "You Are Karen"...and I was. I was Karen, who would be moments away from being Karen Levson-Amster.

Lots happened after Jim broke the glass and the crowd shouted "mazel tov!" at the reception,  but that's a blog for another time.

Even 'though I woke up today to a sinkful or his breakfast dishes, and a sweet bag of candy and a card signed, " Crab Sandwich"--an inside joke-- my heart is full and my optimism is high.

We will officially l celebrate a month from now, on a cruise, and we'll celebrate every day until Michelle and Evan get married, and they can capture their  memories like I did here.

Thanks for all the good wishes and indulging me as I travel back in time.

But let's hope America gives us the best anniversary gift ever, a mere twelve hours from now.

Thanks for making my world, Jim Amster!

Halloween freak out

The only thing the trick-or-treaters left were

the Starbursts, which is essentially strawberry sealing wax.

(Yeah..like that's going to stop me from devouring them anyway)

The branch  hanging ghost with the guttural laugh and the spooky arm movements  used to scare Luke into behaving like a good poodle: like he  just had an exorcism,  now.. he has no reaction at all. Literally, zombies could invade our property and he'd go right back to his nap. 

 This is the reality of owning an aging dog, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that he still wants to chase rabbits and bark at strangers and hump your comforters.

My morning routine, the only reason I get up in the morning, will no longer be available come February.

 I do not WANT to do my cryptograms and mind-sharpening puzzles on a digital  screen, I want the scent of the newspaper and the blobs caused by leaky streamlined pens as I do the LA TIMES crossword the old fashioned way--with cockiness and frustration.

Weeks ago, I uncovered a very valuable 8mm film after it had gone missing for four decades, and it's the only film the tech company in Arizona hasn't converted to be easily viewed on line..  Yes, it may eventually be recovered and yes, it was lost anyway, what does it matter if it disintegrated in the lab and won't ever  be found again?   I still got to see tons of videos of a younger, slimmer, cuter me...and evidence of what a horrible photographer was when I tried to take a film of my senior class trip in 1973.  

Nope..that didn't conquer the blues.

 The only thing that still rings true from the past is that I'm still a shitty photographer.

The solicitations were on a constant loop...I  already donated!!  I change predictions more than I change my underwear!  I'm euphoric one day and terrified the next.  Leave me alone, callers!!  You know better than to telephone  me, and you must know where I stand by now.  I'm either going to be exhaling on Wednesday morning, or I'll be  setting up for a shiva in my house of mourning.  Stop flooding my landline and my email!

I was just about to scream at the top of my lungs, "Calgon..Take Me Away!" when I discovered that if I brush my bangs off of my forehead in a different direction than I usually do, and clip the hair while it's still damp, I can kill that cowlick!

But if the best thing that happened to me in the last twenty-four hours was finding out how to  temporarily tame a cowlick, then Calgon..my bags are still packed.

I'm ready to go.

One.. two.. three..

So this just happened...

We were both so riled up because of the Elon news and the other crap, like Trump calling the despicable rally at MSG a "love fest" that I decided I had to do something other than write a smarmy parody that nobody has liked yet.

I make a delicious dinner..Shepherd's Pie and a veggie casserole.  We clean the kitchen, store the leftovers, and were about to kick back with some "Jeopardy!" and "Wheel" when Evan texted and told us he voted early.

"We're not waiting any longer," Jim says, gathering his car keys.

"But my phone isn't juiced and I'm not wearing a bra or socks and..okay, screw it..let's do early voting.  I'm not taking a chance of getting a flat tire or the flu on Tuesday..can you tell I'm not wearing a bra?"

"I don't care..we're driving a town over and ten minutes out of the way, but we're doing it and we're doing it now.  Besides, how crowded could the Hazlet Library be on a Tuesday night, a week before the election?"

We got the answer to that question immediately..the place was MOBBED and the line snaked around the block. I wasn't even sure if we'd get in before the eight o'clock closing.

I get in line and everyone looked psyched and determined.  A well-dressed Hispanic woman in mustard colored pants stood before me.  She was waving her sample ballot, which I realized I had left in the car, but she told me I probably didn't need it.

We did the dreaded small talk for a while--how pretty the leaves were around the library, the crisp autumn weather, and how voters were so determined to cast their ballots early that non-hanidicapped drivers were sneaking into handicapped  parking spaces.  Men were talking about the doomed Yankees, a pretty blonde   stood behind us and mostly stayed on her phone, but it was obvious that she was eavesdropping.

I say to the Hispanic woman, "I can't believe this turnout!" and she replies, "well..this is the most important election of our lifetime.!"

I giggle, and I say, "well..I'm obviously a lot older than you, but I understand why you say that."

She goes on to say that she is a Hispanic woman with a lot of integrity, and that she's been following the news intently and doing mounds and mounds of research daily.

I tell her that we shouldn't be talking like this, that it might be considered "electioneering" and the blond on the phone just kind of smirked.

The other woman agreed with me and said, "I usually don't discuss politics with strangers but I can see that you are very smart and very well educated."

I thank her for the compliment and try to change the subject to something lighter, but I say, "well..I can tell by the way that you're smiling and the twinkle in your eyes that you are as researched as I am..so good to hear!"

She said, "ok..let's go wild and break some ruies because it's obvious we are on the same page..on the count of three, I'll say that I am one hundred percent voting for.."

I nod and she continues, "and we'll answer together. Ready?  One. Two. Three.  I'm one hundred percent voting for.."

I yell out , "Harris!"

She yells out:  "Trump!!"

WTF?????

We both  looked like we were going to fall over and she said to me, "OMG..really?? You looked so ..smart!"

"I am not wearing a bra," I answer, very respectfully, "but I'm just as floored by your answer as you are by mine."

"But the RESEARCH!" she says.

Jim waves to me..he finally found a parking space.

I say to her, "is it OK if my husband joins us in line?" but I did not add, "so he can knock some sense into you?"

I didn't elaborate and neither did she.  I only start arguments with strangers on line if it's on a screen, not in a pathway in front of a  public library.

She was actually very polite on her way out as she took her "I voted!" sticker, saying it was nice to meet me.

I was planning to keep this story a surprise for Jim until I put it on the blog, but when we got in the car, he asked me if I could judge the crowd by appearances, as he felt that at least sixty percent of the people in line looked like Harris supporters."  He then adds:  "Look at the nice lady you were talking to, the Hispanic one.."

I shook my head and said, "you don't want to know."

He actually hesitated to share this story.  I thought it had an element of black comedy, irony,  and shock..he just felt..depressed.

But we've taped Kamala's speech and we're about to watch it now.

Let’s prevent theft in America

As a lover of all photos and videos of friends' vacations in Puerto Rico, and a lover of "West Side Story", I felt compelled to write a parody of Sunday's disaster at MSG

Sung to the tune of:  "America" from "West Side Story"

INTRO:

Tony Hinchcliffe!

You ugly racist..

your sense of "humor's" the basest..

you, with your ego thats bloating!

THAT is the "garbage" that is.. floating!

and we won't be voting..

for your friend, The Cheeto..

Brother of "Benito"..??

you stoked the flames in Manhattan..

Smoke on your pipe and put THAT in!!

CHORUS:  

Ugh!! "Shame on you!" screams America..

"Gotta vote BLUE!" screams America!

"Hinchcliffe:  Screw you!" screams America..

"Trump and Vance too!" screams America!!

VERSE:

Your humor's just like the Felon's..

Really?? You "carve watermelons"??!!

We get that dig..you're pathetic!

Sexist and anti-semitic!

CHORUS:

Bullshit like this!! Who can tolerate?

Can't convince me you're not fueled.. by hate..

Don't tell the world that it's "just routine"

We in the world know just what you mean..

VERSE:

"You are a DICK!" says the migrants!

Twisted and sick!..(Who LOVES tyrants??!!)

Who wants to instigate violence??

Who wants all newspapers silenced??

CHORUS:

Stereotypes hurt America

You're an asswipe in America!

Take all your swipes at America..

They know your type in America!

VERSE:

Trump envies studs.. ARNOLD PALMER????

Trump probably loved Jeffey Dahmer!

Or maybe that Unibomber??

(Let's all be smart..let's vote "Kam-a-ler!")

FINAL CHORUS:

Don't be bereft in America!

Let's prevent theft of America!

Just one week left in America!

Or we are effed in America!!

It’s a yes!

 “The Play”

The Setting: 1697 Broadway, New York, New York.  The home of the Ed Sullivan Theater, and popular television shows such as the “Pyramid” franchise and “Late Show With David Letterman”
The Time:  It doesn’t matter..this is fiction

FADE IN

ACT I, SCENE I

AS WE BREAK FOR COMERCIAL, I AM THE NERVOUS CONTESTANT IN THE WINNERS’ CIRCLE AS MY ‘PYRAMID” DREAM HAS COME TRUE. I’VE MADE IT THIS FAR, BUT I CAN’T HELP BUT WONDER HOW I’LL DO IN THIS NEXT ROUND, WHERE IT COUNTS.  DICK CLARK IS GIVING ME A BACK RUB TO HELP ME RELAX. I WISH IT WAS A SEDATIVE. THE STAGE IS BUSY WITH THE CREW AND THEIR CAMERAS AND BOOMS AND  MICS; THE ADVERTISERS ARE PEDDLING FLOOR CLEANER AND CHICKEN COATING DURING THE COMMERCIAL BREAK. THE STAGE MANAGER COUNTS DOWN.  FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO ONE…AND WE’RE BACK LIVE ON 

                    DICK CLARK (SPEAKING TO GENERIC CELEBRITY)

Remember, don’t use your hands or give any illegal clue.  If you do, you’ll hear THIS sound: (OFF STAGE: TWO  HARSH RAPID BEATS) Are you ready??  You have 30 seconds..and..GO!!!

I am a good player. Skilled, quick, relaxed. My partner, RANDOM CELEBRITY, is on fire. We have twelve seconds, which is quite a bit of time, when we reach the top of the Pyramid.  I am fed these clues:

 Fairy dust. Stars in the sky. Red carpet evening gowns. Freshly fallen snow. Christmas lights.

I belt out the answer, knowing I’m going to hit the jackpot.

“THINGS THAT SPARKLE!” I shout, as I’m hugged by RANDOM CELEBRITY and Dick Clark, knowing I’ve just won big bucks.

FADE TO BLACK

BACK TO REALITY:

Thanks for playing along….but you know what sparkles  even more brightly than anything I listed in the fantasy? 

 Wanna venture a guess??

It’s the butterfly-shaped diamond on the ring finger of my future daughter-in-law’s hand!

Evan asked. 

She said yes!!

I always wanted a daughter and now I’m getting one.

That’s not exactly true, the part about “always wanting a daughter.”

In 1994, when the  home pregnancy test came back positive, I actually wrote “is this Evan?” on it with a Sharpie.  I was relieved when future  tests confirmed I was having a boy. Relieved isn’t quite the right word—the tech never heard a reaction like mine.  Most expectant moms ONLY react that way when they discover they’re having a girl.

But those moms are girly, and they dream of clipping ribbons onto bouncy curls with their daughters named Jennifer or Ashley, the sweet little cherubs in designer onesies that are showered in trinkets and hopes that she’ll grow up to be their Mini Me.

I didn’t want that because I didn’t have that. I had tumult and endless arguments and drama, although I miss my mother every day, and I’m grateful that she gave me things like a love of Broadway and other  little things like, you know, morals and integrity.

I didn’t think a daughter would survive a hormonal, crazy mom like me, but now that I’m gaining a daughter, I couldn’t be more delighted.

I’m so glad Evan persevered. 

He never gave up on the apps, even when they led him to nut jobs who’d say things like, “I don’t want to see you again because the blue shirt you’re wearing doesn’t match the blue in  your eyes” or “you didn’t sound sincere with your condolences when my goldfish died.”

Flash forward to February, 2023, that first date at Coldstone Creamery.

They met on Hinge and their texts were promising.

 She  was funny, social, smart, and..sparkly. 

She wore beautiful earrings and ordered the mint chocolate chip.

(which she still does, to both)

Evan played it coy for a few weeks before admitting to us that he had “met someone.” 

He didn’t want to jinx anything by sharing details prematurely, but he knows about my lifelong interest in names, especially girls’ names, so he gave us this hint:  “She has the same name as a First Lady.”

I guess:  Laura?  Hillary??  Jill? Betty?? Oh..I hope it’s not Betty!!..Melanie??(a normal Melania, if there is such a thing as a normal Melania)

He’s shaking his head and laughing at our guesses. 

 When I was finally green lighted to share this, I made my brother guess the same way we had to.  

“Geraldine?” he wondered, as in the feminine version of President Ford. 

Geraldine???!!

That’s a more old fashioned name than Betty! 

 What’s the next guess..Lady Bird??

When Evan gave us the hint that she was a beloved First Lady of recent years, it clicked as we shouted in unison, “ Oh…Michelle!”

Michelle.  

His belle.

We loved her immediately.

We met her a few months later for dinner at our favorite Chinese restaurant, followed by Game Night at our house. She was witty and pop culture savvy (especially music) and she  talked lovingly about her students. (She’s a school speech pathologist)

 She shared interesting details about  her nationality and culture. Evan’s already picked up a few Russian words.

She had an infectious giggle and beautiful eyes that focused lovingly on our son.  She was a great sport too..a perfect team player who’d laugh at our goofiness and how ill-prepared we were for Game Night, with our dried out Magic Markers that we  needed to draw with, or the dead batteries in games that required them.

My son is SO LUCKY, although knowing Michelle as I now  do, she’d call herself the lucky one.

Welcome to our nutty, dysfunctional family.

 And thanks for making me realize that maybe I wanted a daughter all along after all..as long as that daughter was YOU.

May your future be as sparkly as the ring that adorns your hand. 

Something tells me it will be.

Oklahoma 2024

This was written after the September debate but a lot of you told me you weren’t familiar with the song, “Surrey With the Fringe on Top” from “Oklahoma!” Thanks to the brilliant vocal and musical talents of the U.K.’s beautiful and gifted  Rachel, and the tech genius of my husband, you can sing along to this Rodgers and Hammerstein sendup. Click on the link below… and enjoy! Comments welcome!

https://youtu.be/oRkl5w-NKdg

I know he’s a jerk. But..

Sorry , no. 

I’m not stopping until after the election. 

You can unfriend me, hate me, mimic me, challenge me, ignore and resent me, but no. 

I’m sorry/not sorry and I’m not stopping.

Think of these daily protests like canvassing, and then factor in my age and size and tendencies for an asthmatic episode and you’ll understand why this is as close to real canvassing as someone like me is going to get.

In the seventies and eighties, my mother was a regular patient of a mean, nasty, positively hideous obstetrician/ gynecologist in Philadelphia named Dr. 

K.

He was gruff and he was an asshole who’d miss  and even dismiss many women’s health issues, including early cancer signs.

An obese friend of a friend went to him and while she was  on the cold exam table, her feet in stirrups,  with her vulnerability and naked lower body half exposed, Dr.K would grab handfuls of belly flab and forbid her to return to his office unless they were gone.  He called her disgusting.

Many patients left his office insulted or crying.

I never went to Dr. K but I told my mom that a lot of my friends were going to the same neighborhood where he had his office to see a new female gynecologist.

“Oh no,” my mom said, shaking her head. “I know he’s a jerk sometimes, but I trust him. I don’t know how comfortable I’d be with a female doctor performing routine tests, because I never went to one.”

Yeah, it’s like THAT.

And  this is  a one hundred percent true story.

Almost guilty.. but nah..

On this Day of Atonement, I will ask forgiveness from people who had a harsher fast than mine, who had 

a day of deep commitment rather than what I experienced, which was reflection in a quieter, nontraditional way.

Even during the holiest days, I manage to sneak in some fun moments, starting yesterday and coming to 

a conclusion tonight, after the sun set.

We saw a matinee of Jason Reitman’s new film, “Saturday Night” which I liked a lot more than Jim did. 

Jim found it muddled, confusing, and chaotic, way too frenetic, which it was, but he still appreciated 

how many of the younger actors captured the essence of the Not Ready For Prime Time Player they 

were portraying. (A special shout out to the actor who played Chevy Chase to perfection)

I used to think I’d one day want to write jokes for SNL, until I discovered that A) I’m not really that funny 

and I could not survive in an environment of cigarette haze and drugs and sleepless nights and 

aggression and misogyny.

But we both got excited when we recognized actor Josh Brener (“Big Head from “Silicon Valley”) as his 

character’s name was revealed late in the scene toward the end of the movie. . He portrayed SNL writer 

Alan Zweibel, and I was filled with incredible pride when I realized that Alan recognized my comedic 

efforts as a former customer of Salutations, the Singing Telegram Company I owned since the 90’s. He 

used the word “wow” after I read him my custom written lyrics..and it was one of the best “wows” of 

my dubious “career.”

See the movie, but only if you’re the type of fan who pays attention to the names of writers and 

directors and if you’re familiar with the show’s controversial history. It is astounding to realize the first 

show aired on October 11th, 1975—forty-nine years to the day of seeing the movie. I remember seeing 

the show with my Dad..and loving its edginess; laughing how we couldn’t tell a real paid advertisement 

from one of their commercial send ups.

When the sun went down tonight, we hopped into the car to head out to Long Branch, New Jersey, to 

our favorite little theater that stages original plays, NJ Repertory Theater.

This show has a very limited run but it was absolutely fabulous, a two character story called “Pen Pals” 

starring Nancy McKeon(“Jo” from “The Facts of Life”) and local British actress Gail Winar. If you ever saw 

a Broadway or even Off-Broadway production of “Love Letters” and liked it, you’re going to LOVE this.

The story takes place over several decades as New Jersey resident Bernadette(“Bernie”, played by Nancy 

McKeon) is assigned her Pen Pal from across the pond, Margaret, (“Mags”, played by Gail Winar) as 

they exchange correspondence and love, laughter, and heart break. 

We gasped, we smiled, we had tears in our eyes at the curtain call, which we’re convinced the actresses 

notice since we were seated only a few feet away from them.

And once again, we struck up a conversation with the people sharing our row, who actually knew the 

playwright, and shared that it is a mostly true story based on the author’s mother and her English pal.

It was terrific theater, a night of genuine entertainment topped by the sweet surprise of running into 

our former Travel Agent, Christine, with her husband. If you’ve enjoyed any of my travel blogs, rest 

assured that those trips were booked by a person who really knew her stuff. We miss her..and wonder 

how many trip catastrophes could have been prevented had she not taken her well deserved 

retirement and booked us to a resort free of inadequate shower heads and fly-covered outdoor grills..

I almost feel guilty for having such an enjoyable weekend, considering the holiness of the day and the 

terrifying possibility of what the upcoming election could mean, but..nah. 

Almost only counts in horse shoes.

I’m going to enjoy life whenever and wherever I can.