I have already confessed to being at a loss for words to adequately describe the abomination that is Donald Trump. But recently, one thing I keep thinking after watching the news is how utterly without redeeming features he is. My default analogy is that at least Hitler loved dogs. And music. And had some actual talent as a painter.

I was thinking of this yesterday while walking my dog (shout out to Hitler!) and started to mentally review the dictators I’m most familiar with, to compare them to Trump. Qaddafi came to mind first, and he had the redeeming feature of great style. He’s one up on Trump right there!

So let’s review historic dictators to see if any are as worthless as Donald Trump.

Stalin excelled in seminary school and earned a scholarship to Tiflis Theological Seminary in 1894. Good job, Stalin! Your dad didn’t have to pay to get you accepted!

Castro went to law school and was passionate about social justice.

Saddam Hussein also went to law school on his own merits and “did much to modernize Iraq’s infrastructure, industry and health-care system, and raised social services, education and farming subsidies to levels unparalleled in other Arab countries in the region.” Well done, Saddam!

Kim Jong-un was educated in Switzerland and after his father’s death, implemented some economic and agricultural reforms. Not bad, Kim Jong-un!

Mussolini was a journalist who studied Kant, Hegel and Nietzsche. (Trump = Covfefe)

Mobutu Sese Seko, with his trademark leopard-skin cap and carved wooden staff, was a a true style icon, and I’m still looking for a facsimile of that hat.

Pol Pot played the violin and was fluent in French.

Augusto Pinochet taught classes in military geography and geopolitics and was the editor of a magazine, Cien Águilas (‘One Hundred Eagles’).

François Duvalier aka Papa Doc was a physician, and was active in a United States–sponsored campaign to control the spread of contagious tropical diseases, helping the poor to fight typhus, yaws, and malaria. He was also a master of Haitian Vodou! Who among us doesn’t love Haitian Vodou?

I could go on, but you see my point here. That bastard Donald Trump is the most patently worthless human being in the history of the world.  Why did god make him? I heard a guy on TV noting Trump’s “incandescent stupidity and malevolence.” Incandescent gave me a little thrill. If only I could be as elegant in expressing my contempt!

All I can do is take comfort in his notable hair-loss and commensurate panic as I try not to think of him winning the next presidential election. If that comes to pass, there won’t be enough cyanide capsules in the world to put us out of our misery.

I decided to write about those awful Instagram ladies with silver hair, who expect a medal for going gray. They all have tons of followers who idolize them and eat up every positive, self-congratulating post about Loving Life, or practicing yoga. To me, these women seem interchangeable; they all have a silver mane that they constantly refer to, and they are all very thin if not emaciated.

So I googled “gray-haired women” to look for some images to copy. None of them excited me until I saw one who called herself a “Pro-aging Ambassador.” I never heard of this title and have no idea if there’s a million or if she’s the only one. And I don’t know what duties the ambassadorship entails. Does she travel the world giving speeches about the Wonders of Aging?  Does she chair committees?

I would like to adopt my own title: Anti-aging Ambassador. I will go around complaining about getting old (which I already do constantly, in an unofficial capacity.) I will persuade those silver foxes to wipe the smiles off their wrinkly faces.

Instead of “embracing the gray”, I will extol the glory of dyed hair. I will heartily mock the actresses who have suddenly embraced their gray. Jane Fonda, Andi McDowell, even Jennifer Aniston, apparently. They all look better with their hair dyed. Maybe they’re just too lazy to keep up the color, but let’s not act as though they cured cancer. Plus, you need to spend plenty of time to keep that silver looking soft and shiny instead of dull and coarse.

My sister has a friend who went gray a million years ago, before she was forty, and we always wondered what her problem was. Why did she just let her turn grey and straggly? Was she making a Statement? Was she saying, “I’ll show you, society, I don’t have to adhere to your beauty standards”? Her hair is still gray and we’ve decided she’s being passive-aggressive.

Being old truly sucks. There is nothing good about it. Nothing. All those platitudes that begin with, “The good thing about getting old is” are lies. “…you stop  caring about what people think of you!” “You are so much wiser!” “You know what really matters in life!”

Please. I am nearly seventy and still totally crushed if someone doesn’t like me. I don’t know anything about anything, and keep making the same mistakes. I’ve obviously learned that life is fraught with catastrophes, but I already assumed this as a teenager from reading Thomas Hardy novels. I have acquired no wisdom to pass on except “wear more shorts while you’re young!” I have opinions and policies but not wisdom. And I’m just as confused and mystified as I’ve always been. I have no idea what matters. I’d like to keep my eyesight and be able to wipe my own butt but otherwise I don’t know what ‘s important at this point when the key milestones of life have already passed.

Late adulthood is a time of deep reflection and introspection. If you are proud of the life that you have led, then you should feel a sense of peace. If, however, you are haunted by regrets and failures, you will likely experience despair and resentment.

According to Erikson, either ego-integrity or ego-despair characterizes the end of life for older adults. The virtue of this stage is wisdom.

Well, yes but no. Maybe it’s just my ego-despair talking, but the old people I know are all worried about diabetes and Alzheimer’s and health insurance. We can’t remember words and don’t like to crouch down to tie our shoes. Personally, I salt everything and eat lots of processed food but most of the old people I know are serious about their diet. We want either Botox or fillers and wish we could lose that roll of flab. When we watch TV and see someone for the first time in years, we scream “OH GOD, WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM/HER??” Maybe that last part is just me, but I doubt it.

For as long as you can ward off old age,  you should enjoy the use of your body and brain before they become a burden to you or someone else. Prepare for loneliness and a lack of purpose. Make sure you have all the cable channels and a good TV.

And for fucksake, commit to the upkeep of your hair and don’t believe it when your partner or children say you look great with gray hair. They’re just threatened by your lingering attractiveness, such as it is. I may be senile but my hair is glorious! I pay a fortune to color and tame it but it’s worth every penny. To paraphrase Yeats,

only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair.

You can let yourself go, I mean embrace your gray, if you must, but bury me blonde. Or cremate me blonde. Whatever.

I am reviving my dormant What a Fucking Cunt!  feature for a cunt who richly deserves this honor and really leaves me no choice but to revile him… Elon “I’m a cunt” Musk.

It would be nice to be able to go about my business without my ire being aroused by every little thing, and I’m trying. But how can one ignore the concerted effort by Elon Musk to make everyone hate him? One cannot, even if one rarely uses Twitter and doesn’t give a shit about Tesla.

I am torn between wondering what is wrong with him and wishing he would get some comeuppance for his stupid behavior. There is a three part documentary on BBC that apparently delves into his childhood and family life to try to explain the person he is now. One reviewer called him a big baby who is stuck in the mindset of a vindictive 12 year old. He was bullied relentlessly in school, which might account for his need to bully his employees and everyone who doesn’t genuflect to his Genius.

But just as Trump probably has good reason to be a hateful narcissistic piece of shit, Elon doesn’t get a free pass.

I first heard the name Elon Musk from my kid, many years ago, who said he was a brilliant inventor. I didn’t hear anything else until he started impregnating people, although clearly he was world famous for other things. I sort of admired him when he hosted SNL and announced that he is autistic; what a boon to the community to be associated with a successful CEO instead of Rainman! I thought in my innocence.

But now I worry that people will think Elon is an asshole because of his autism, whereas there is no connection. Kanye himself is now trying to assert his self-diagnosed autism as a reason for his “outspokenness” as though being a Neo-Nazi is a feather in his cap.

Let’s be clear: people with autism can be assholes just like people without autism. Narcissistic assholes and bullies must be judged on the basis of their behavior unless they are in the midst of a psychotic breakdown.

If you’re not up to date on Elon’s shenanigans, he has just kicked a bunch of reporters off of Twitter, accusing them of doxing him and endangering his safety. Then, Linette Lopez, a journalist who tweeted about the time Elon was sued for doxing and harassing one of his critics, was summarily suspended too. So instead of being a worldwide space for public discussion, Twitter is now a toy where a troubled billionaire can air his grievances and punish detractors, while tweeting shit like “Wow, Twitter is on fire today!”emoji emoji. YES, bitch, because you’re beefing with everybody, that’s why.

So in short, Elon has turned out to be a whiny fascist whose ego can never be satisfied, who seems to revel in being hated.

Why do people think it’s an accomplishment to be hated?? Kanye’s stans are thrilled by his current status as provocateur-in-chief of pop culture, but here’s what I think. Unless he’s willing to shit onstage like GG Allin, he’s nothing special. Same with Elon Musk.

You think you’re a badass, Elon? Shit onstage or get off the pot!

We were watching a true crime drama about a gullible family who let a pedophile into their midst like inviting a fox to a hen-house, and my husband was exasperated. “Oh please, no one is that stupid,” he complained. I started to defend the family, saying that ultra-religious people in a small town might actually be that naive. Privately, I wondered if he was right; maybe the story was exaggerated for dramatic effect.

Later, we watched part 2 of The Vow, a documentary series about a cult whose leader made women get branded. The members of the cult were people with money, relatively sophisticated people with jobs in Hollywood or tech or marketing. I couldn’t believe how stupid they were to buy into this guy’s shit, when he is so clearly a manipulative little conman.

The next day, I read something about Trump supporters and then it hit me: People are SO FUCKING STUPID! I mean, the level and scope of stupidity all around us is just staggering.

Were people always this stupid? Did they just hide it better? Are we so desperate for a guru or daddy or deity to guide us that we’ll surrender all logic and critical thinking?

I’m at the point where if someone doesn’t despise Donald Trump, I don’t want to waste time on them. They’re too stupid. Recently, two acquaintances have explained to me that they don’t really hate Trump because “They’re all the same.” They elaborated by stating that all politicians are corrupt, blah blah blah. So they’re telling me that a cold is like Ebola? Where is the sense of proportion or discernment?

It’s not a Tribal thing; it’s not that I only like people with my politics or opinions. It’s just the stupidity. Make it stop!

I have started following the Kanye West debacle, because as in most debacles, it’s hard to look away. Actually, in this case I am constantly refreshing my google to see if I missed anything. I know you’re thinking, Ha ha, look how stupid YOU are! But I will only admit to an immature fascination with spectacle. And crazy people.

I am pleased to say that now even Anna Wintour is done with him. Today, he said that denouncing him only proves his point about Jews controlling everything, an old antisemitic canard he has evidently stumbled upon in his mania.

I am so fascinated by Kanye’s meltdown that I’ve started following an account on Instagram that covers everything he says or does. I’ve seen all the video clips that were edited out of his recent interviews, and he is one angry dude operating on some kind of messianic delusion, burning all his bridges as fast as he can.

The real stupidity here lies in the comments from his fans. The more antisemitic and aggrieved he is, the fiercer is their support. He speaks the truth! He’s the only one brave enough to call it out! Watch out, the Jews gonna kill him! Every millionth comment, someone will express  dismay. I praised one of these people for trying to explain antisemitism, and I received this reaction: “You’re an OLD cat lady who will die alone!” (LOL, I hate cats.)  She turned out to be a white lady who keeps showing her pregnant belly and her flock of Aryan looking kids. At least she’s open minded enough to stick up for a deranged Rap icon.

Drowning in stupidity, I have turned to Middlemarch, which I read as an 18 year old stoner. It was great then but even better now, because I’m more appreciative of the narrator’s stinging wit. Thank god I can still read, when I’m not watching crime TV or scrolling on my phone. Mostly, I am trying to navigate through the daily ennui of being an old cat lady who will die alone, so writing this has been cathartic.

How are you surviving the stupidity? Confessions or helpful hints? Let’s hear from you!

Boris

It has been a long and dismal few months. Our wonderful dog, Boris, passed away with cancer at 14 years old. Our whole world went dark. I realized that yet again I have lost a treasured part of my identity: Boris’s mom.

With the new silence in our house, we began to contemplate getting another dog. No dog could replace Boris, the sweetest most soulful Australian Shepherd. But I’ve had four dogs in my adult life and loved each one for their unique qualities. So we started looking.

We hoped for another Aussie. For one thing, they are just beautiful, and because we are shallow, we enjoyed the compliments each time we went out with Boris. We also loved the intelligence and loyalty of herding dogs.

We searched adoption pages and found Pepper, a 4 year old Aussie who was described as adventurous, smart, loving, great on walks and in the car. We drove for 90 minutes to meet her at the home of a rescue lady who had 20 dogs inside her sprawling ranch house. Sorry for writing “sprawling ranch house” but I’m in a hurry to get through this story.

Pepper jumped on us and seemed pretty wild but we were assured that she was just excited. We paid $600 for Pepper and signed a contract.

Driving home, Pepper barked and struggled to get into the front seat all the way home.

Once home, Pepper bounced off the walls. She was happy to jump on the couch for affectionate petting, but impossible to control. The next day, she was even wilder. She was supposed to know some commands but wouldn’t acknowledge any. She was an ordeal to walk. She started giving me hard, unblinking looks. She jumped over me on the couch, nearly knocking me over. She attacked her dog-bed, dragging  it around the house and growling.

So we called the rescue lady and said we couldn’t deal with Pepper. On the drive back, Pepper kept jumping on my thighs in her effort to get into the front seat. and we were rear ended by an SUV. The rescue lady could barely restrain Pepper when she took the leash. We felt giddy with relief when we drove off to Starbucks, the bruises blooming on my thighs.

Next, we got Zoey, who was extremely loving but would not stop grabbing our legs and fiercely humping us. Zoey could bark for hours, literally, without a break. She started chewing up the dog-bed. The humping got more aggressive. Luckily, this rescue girl wanted us to spend a couple of days with Zoey to see if we were a good fit. A nice wealthy family came to meet Zoey at our house, and drove off with her, hoping for the best. May god be with them.

We continued our search and contacted the owners of two dogs they needed to “rehome”: Roxy, who was described as lovable and gentle but not good with dominant dogs. And Kora, a 4 year old mini Aussie who was described as sweet and happy to lie around all day.

On a Saturday, we met Roxy in a park with her owners. They were a young couple who had raised Roxie and were now expecting a second child. They didn’t have the time to “give her the attention” she needed. They told us how she barked at animals on TV, including the Charmin cartoon bear! How adorable, we thought.

Tired of this yet? Me too! Roxy was great in the car. Back home, she humped us even more aggressively that Zoey. She jumped on us and vigorously humped our legs. She jumped on the couch and thrust her butt in my face. She became hysterical when a dog barked on TV, and clawed at the screen.

Nevertheless, we kept our appointment to meet Kora, the mini, which was love at first sight. I couldn’t believe she was real! I rubbed her tummy and marveled at her cuteness. She sat in my lap like a baby on the drive home. I was and still am ready to marry her.

Kora, my betrothed

But then. I walked with Kora into the kitchen to give her a dog treat. Roxy barrelled into the room, snatched away the treat and attacked Kora. The panicked squealing and angry growling was terrifying. I managed to separate them with my foot and checked to see if Kora was hurt.  She seemed okay but wouldn’t eat for the next day and a half.

Now our TV screen was ruined and we had to sleep with Kora in our bed to protect her. I texted Roxy’s owners after 2 days of this and said that “aggressive” wasn’t the same as “gentle.” The girl wrote, “Nonetheless, we have said our goodbye’s and are not taking her back.”

Now we are up to date. The two dogs are okay together but have to be fed in separate rooms and Kora can’t have any treats or toys. We are still sleeping with Kora and afraid to leave them alone together, so we can’t go out.

Roxy and Kora

We have contacted a million adoption places but no one will foster a dog who needs to be an only dog. Who can blame them? A lady who was excited to meet Roxy changed her mind when I informed her about Roxy’s “resource guarding.” I sought to rehome Roxy on a neighborhood Facebook page, where everyone scolded and lectured me for not “doing my research on Aussies” etc etc. Their grammar was terrible.

No one wants this fucking dog and neither do I. I have come to hate this poor innocent dog whose owner fucked her up by not socializing her early on. I can’t help it. I just hate her.

Walking Kora in the neighborhood yesterday, I stopped and chatted with a new neighbor. She weighs around 250 pounds, displayed in a tiny sundress despite her advanced age. She told me about her popularity with men, “because I’m sexy.”

Because I’m Sexy will haunt me forever. Who says stuff like that?? Because I’m a monster, I’m planning to take Roxy to an animal shelter, still wearing the original owner’s  dog-tags. Let them pick her up or explain that they’ve already said their goodbyes.

A Pat Benatar song came on the car radio the other day and I was instantly reminded of a blog post I wrote years ago about antinatalism.

Antinatalism is the belief that it’s morally wrong to have children. Why is it wrong? Because “life is harm” and because the unborn is unable to give consent.

On the face of it, this argument is just nuts. I mean, it’s unconscious knowledge that this is nuts. By unconscious knowledge, I mean instinctual knowledge. We may also find it self-evident that a person who believes that “life is harm” is a deeply unhappy person.

But in trying to refresh my memory on the lunacy of antinatalism, I came across an essay that tries to refute the idea that antinatalism is a philosophy borne of depression. Yeah, well, some depressed people may see things more realistically than an incurable optimist, but it’s inherent in the illness to see the world in distorted ways that only therapy or meds can modify. (The most well-known proponent of antinatalism is a guy who insists on strict privacy about his private life so that we can’t extrapolate anything from his history or psychological make-up. Hint: He is miserable.)

Anyway, Pat Benatar caused me to go back and read the post from 2008, and just as I recall, the comments are hilarious. Comment threads like these have kept me writing here for a million years, and while they don’t occur very often, they are pure joy. I hope you will go read that post and then laugh your heads off at the comments.

And I hope you will be moved to comment here, so we can laugh some more.

If you can read this, you’re a better man than me, because when I google this site I get a blank page, a warning, or some Japanese text.

I had malware removed but still. I have spent countless hours on the phone with real and robotic tech support. One guy yesterday told me his life story including his height and weight. You’ll be glad to know he bought a high-end Nikon camera for a fraction of its worth! Yay, him!

I have received lists of problems with this website, few of which make any sense to me as a civilian and not a coder.

I NEED A GOD DAMN CODER!

If you are a web developer or know a good one, please hook me up, to put me out of my misery. I can’t take any more frustration. Helplessness is bad for the human organs and nervous system. My cortisone is at a deadly level.

Hell is not other people, it is WordPress.

Oh good, I just uploaded this picture of me in the emergency room last month, admiring my socks, only to see that all my images have disappeared!

Wait, they’re back. Whew.

Please either help me or kill me, your choice.

I have already complained about my trouble retrieving words, and about my senility, which is currently resulting in the escalating loss of jewelry and household objects. But here’s something new: Along with the loss of my vocabulary, is an increased sensitivity to word usage.

If this sounds contradictory, think again. The loss of my words makes existing words all the more potent. Or maybe it’s just an autistic sensory thing, like reacting to the seams in your socks. I’m trying to read a long essay about friendship in the Atlantic, but each misjudgement in the prose is killing me.

I can say misjudgement not out of pedantry ( is that the correct word??) but simply because my ear knows right from wrong. I can’t help it. It’s not an achievement, it’s just innate, like a sense of smell. It’s sprachgefühl.

I asked my husband, a musician, what it feels like to hear someone play the wrong note, but it turns out there are several kinds of wrong in music. Plus, he doesn’t “feel” things as acutely as I do, according to him. But he agreed that a singer who can’t follow a tune is exasperating.

I might not be able to know a wrong note from a hole in the ground, but I do know this: The following sentence is ruined by one single word.

Most of us have [Problem Friends] though we may wish we could tweeze them from our lives.

Right? The word tweeze right there is so awful. It makes you wince. Clearly the author chose that word deliberately but did she want us to wince? Why not just use expunge or expel? Even “jettison” would be better, although I hate that word and would be glad to forget it. Or if she’s trying to be funny, how about “defenestrate”?  Defenestrate is always funny, even when applied to actual defenestration!

So the essay has become a challenge, since I’m keenly interested in the subject of friendship, but the lapses in judgement are like potholes interrupting my flow. Was potholes good for you? Are you glad I said it was a challenge rather than calling it “problematic?” I could have said, “like nails on a chalkboard” but then I’d feel bad about myself.

You see how troublesome this shit is. Before I forget, I wanted to share a list of words I couldn’t retrieve in the last few weeks. My plan was to keep a comprehensive list and then try to compose haiku with them. But I keep forgetting to write them down, because senility. Here’s my list:

mariachi
linens
Napoleon Dynamite
rapport
attention
shingles
surface
hindrance
concierge
kangaroos
concierge
tsunami.

I wrote concierge twice because I keep forgetting it. I keep wanting to say “Courvoisier” even though I didn’t know what it was before googling it.

Getting back to the Atlantic essay, try this sentence:

But the lacuna in the literature is also a little odd.

God, what the fuck?? Lacuna, for fucksake? Why not just gap? I mean, I see that it’s an alliteration, but when an alliteration interrupts the idea being conveyed because it’s so stupid and uncalled for, why use it? When I used to read books and screenplays for a living, I remember having to read something by Danielle Steele. Her writing is so bad that I started screaming “editor!’ every few minutes. I guess that’s what makes a best seller.

Anyway, I plan to finish reading the essay and see if I can retrieve enough words to write my own essay on friendship, or rather the break-up of friendships, and how painful or liberating it can be. I am getting to be an expert on this. In the time of Covid, I’m finding I have no tolerance of craziness in my relations, despite being desperate for companionship. I use to quip that “I want to be the craziest person in a relationship” and this holds true more than ever. Or, if you prefer, “now more than ever.”

Can anyone think of another female vocalist who complained so much about being dumped?

If you happened to see her perform on Saturday Night Live over the weekend, you are probably wondering how you can get those ten minutes back. A tedious new version of some song that her fans loved back in the day when it was only 5 minutes long, it was the stupidest thing ever. My husband and I both laughed and groaned throughout, wondering why there was a video of a couple mooning around in the background. Didn’t she think she could hold our attention with her big chunky white veneers and hair-flipping?

Anyway, if you didn’t see it, the new song is about her break-up with Jake Gyllenhaal, when she was 21 and he was 30. Apparently, the 9 year age difference is one of his felonies, like keeping her scarf. 21 and 30 sounds pretty normal to me. Do couples have to be within a couple of years in age these days? Is anything else exploitation or a power imbalance? Poor Jake really takes a beating, because he dared to get tired of her. But victimhood is her brand. First it was Jon Mayer, boo hoo, then a million other bad, mean boyfriends.

I admit that I don’t know why she’s a star. She seems like such an awful person, obsessed with making money and shifting genres to suit the times. I also admit to a visceral dislike of her physical self. She looks like a rodent and her hunchback or scoliosis is disturbing.

I further admit that she’s been annoying me for years and years. Here’s something I don’t even remember writing!

But it’s so nuts to read a fawning appreciating of her in the New York Times, which I thought was a refuge for normal adults.

“All Too Well” parallels the emotional work that many women have been privately undertaking in the wake of the #MeToo movement: Looking back on past encounters or relationships that left them with a seemingly outsize feeling of unease; wondering what exactly constitutes exploitation or emotional abuse; wishing they could go back and extend some compassion or wisdom to their vulnerable younger selves.

Haha, whatever. If this break-up song is a masterpiece, what is Back to Black?? To paraphrase Etta James, I’d rather go blind than see Taylor Swift perform again.

I wish I had something incisive to say about her as an “artist” or phenomenon, but I’ve always been at a loss, urging millennial friends to explain her appeal. But they always hate her too, because none of my friends are idiots, I guess.

What if all her mean boyfriends got together and wrote a song about dating her?? Why can’t we have that? All the guys would get cancelled for their toxic masculinity, sure, but why can’t they sacrifice themselves for the greater good?

If you can explain Taylor’s success, please, I would love to know! Mean while, enjoy Amy and Etta, who know how to take a romantic punch.

*Scarf exegesis here.

In a few hours, I will be watching the Meghan and Harry interview along with the rest of the world. Not the whole world, though, because there are those who think they’re above such trivial things. “Oh, I have zero interest in that,” they will note condescendingly.

Think of all the people over the last few years who insisted, “I just don’t watch politics,” like that’s an achievement.

People who are too serious minded to watch the Oprah interview, and don’t care about Kim and Kanye’s divorce, and make a point of not knowing who Twitter is mad at, should be kind enough to tell us what they are interested in.

If they’re deliberately skipping the Meghan and Harry thing, what will they be doing that is more valuable? That’s what I want to know. Will they be reading Kierkegaard or pondering the Philosophy of Despair?  Are they learning a new language or considering the nature of time and space?

I want to hear what Meghan and Harry have to say about their exile from the Royal family. I hope it’s shocking, or at least revealing. I’m interested because I’m a human being (barely!) and I’m fascinated by the behavior of my species. Because I have a working brain, I’m curious about the consequences of this marriage, and on a lesser level, about any marriage that anyone wants to tell me about.

I guess the aversion, or feigned aversion, to celebrity culture stems from the notion that gossip is a female past-time and therefore trivial and ridiculous. Who knows. I’d just like to hear what subjects and activities are “better” than these human dramas. When anyone tells you loftily that they have no interest in something, demand that they explain their ACTUAL interests.

Over the last year, I have spent hours reading essays on things I never cared about, and I’ve explored worlds that have nothing to do with me. I’ve tried to learn more about my areas of interest, like psychology, writing, and denim. My brain is packed with useless knowledge and some knowledge that might help me navigate my way through the torments of life. None of my knowledge will help me converse at a cocktail party but maybe it’s a form of hoarding. And nothing I know is more worthy than the things you know. If you know about golf or wine, good for you. I personally won’t be interested, but I won’t act like I’m superior.

So, Meghan and Harry, I can’t wait. I hope Oprah will interview Kim Kardashian, Cardi B, AOC, Desus and Mero, Mary Trump, Rachel Maddow, my neighbor who survived a brain tumor and a daughter in law who hates her. I plan to watch more Murder Shows, awards shows, and hopefully more autistic dating. I dare you to explain why your lack of appreciation for any of this makes you superior in any way.

I wouldn’t dream of judging anyone by their TV choices, unless it’s The Voice or that awful Ellen game show that is beyond the realm of any primate.