MTV Awards Pop Culture Quiz

Posted on September 13, 2021 by Sister Wolf

I’m sorry but I can’t do my annual exegesis. I kept missing key performances/debacles, but I saw enough to inspire this quiz. Ready?

1. What is the difference between Machine Gun Kelly and Travis Barker?

2. Why is Doja Cat?

3. Olivia Rodrigo is trying to
a. be Taylor Swift
b. be Alanis Morissette
c. annoy the fuck out of me

4. Madonna has
a. morphed into Mae West
b. morphed into Bette Davis
c. lost her mind
d. a thing with her butt

5. Lil Naz X is payback for
a. WAP
b. homophobia
c. our collective sins

6. Travis Scott forgot to thank
a. God
b. his Mama
c. Kylie Jenner
d. Travis Barker
e. Who is Travis Scott? Is he the same as ASAP Rocky?

7. Justin Bieber won artist of the year because
a. you tell me
b. what????
c. Covid

8. Kid Laroi and Jack Harlow are
a. a couple of dudes
b. a couple
c. bank robbers

9. Camila Cabello even irritates my otherwise nonjudgmental husband because of her
a. mediocrity
b. air of importance
c. chunky legs

10. The show’s most noteworthy butt belonged to
a. Chloe
b. That twerking woman with a blond wig whose name I still can’t find out
c. duh, Madge

I watch this show every year because I
a. want to see what the kids are up to
b. feel I owe it to you
c. enjoy being horrified
d. don’t know right from wrong
e. respect tradition
f. feel less-than
e. have no common sense
f. need stuff to sneer at
g. am mentally ill

Okay, let me know how you do. But first, please enjoy Bieber’s acceptance speech! Just trust me on this.

Posted in Celebrities, irritants, News | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Pro-Choice and No Choice

Posted on September 5, 2021 by Sister Wolf

News of the crazy new restrictions to abortion rights in Texas has triggered memories of the abortion I had at seventeen. I’d been living in London for a little over a year and I was deep into a relationship with a 21 year old student. I don’t remember what I was doing for birth control, but it obviously didn’t work.

I remember bring surprised, but pleased. I think I thought it was romantic to be a teenage mother, and it awakened my urge to nurture. As an unloved kid, I harbored the fantasy of a loving mother-child bond. At first the boyfriend adjusted to the idea of fatherhood and said he was up for it. But then he changed his mind. I had to have an abortion, or we were through.

I called my mom in California, and asked her if I could move back in with her and have the baby. She whined, “Can’t you get him to marry you?” She wasn’t up for it either. So the boyfriend  arranged an abortion with his family doctor, and I went to have the procedure in a daze, courtesy of the National Health system. You know the phrase “railroaded into” something? I was railroaded into the abortion.

I awoke from the anesthesia in a recovery room, next to a few other girls in hospital beds. The boyfriend came to visit me later in the day, and sat on my bed. But he couldn’t stop ogling the girl next to me, who wore some kind of sexy baby doll pajamas. I struggled miserably to get his attention. He informed me that a guy we knew had overdosed and died.

Fifty years later, I recall my hurt feelings as if it were yesterday. Why do our painful moments have to cling like this, to be etched so deeply that they can come to life in a flash? Why don’t our happy moments flood our brains like the bad ones? When my Mexican-American mother-in-law was 103 years old, she still recalled the little girl who called her a “beaner” in elementary school, and told me the story again and again.

I am staunchly pro-choice like any normal person, but it occurs to me that at 17, I didn’t have a choice. No one offered me one. I didn’t have the money to take care of myself, and my boyfriend threatened to leave me. I think I should have had a choice, even though I was not equipped for motherhood. It still bothers me.

Many years later, I was unhappily married and having an affair with an amiable stoner who was good at sex and had a lot of free time. I was horrified to find my self pregnant, evidently still a moron about birth control. Having the stoner’s baby was unthinkable. I had a young child at home. And my husband would find out about the affair.

So I went to have an abortion from a doctor who asked me when I showed up, “What’s the matter with you? You look depressed.” Afterwards, I had to get home before my husband returned from work. To my furious contempt, he never noticed that I lied on the couch all evening, barely able to contain my “discomfort” as they say in the medical trade. What a fucking dope. He was the same guy who railroaded me when I was seventeen.

That second time, I was very depressed but not in any doubt about the decision I’d made. I wouldn’t want to imagine a world where I would be forced to have that stoner’s baby. It’s just unthinkable.

Girls and women should have real choices  about whether or not to get pregnant and whether or not to go forward with a pregnancy. It should be their decision alone to make. Ideally, no one would be as stupid or lax about birth control as I was, but things happen. Fetuses aren’t babies and seeds aren’t trees. If the pro-life people would adopt all the world’s unwanted children, disabled or starving or orphaned, then we might take them seriously.

As it is, we all know that the unborn are way more important to them than the born.

Girls, my best advice is to find a means of birth control you can live with, keep some Plan B handy, and stay away from guys who won’t have your back in your worst moments. Wait, also remember to vote sane people into office, or you end up with Gregg Abbot, Kristy “I’m Batshit Crazy” Noem, and Ron DeSantis, who in a better world would all have been aborted before or after the sixth week.

If you have a story you want to share, step right up. xo

 

 

 

 

Posted in Horrible Stuff, News | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments

It’s a Wild World.

Posted on August 27, 2021 by Sister Wolf

A zoo in Antwerp has asked a woman to stop visiting the chimpanzee she claims to be in love with, in the hope of forcing the chimp to engage with his own species.

Alice Timmermans has been seeing, I mean visiting, the chimp for four years, standing outside his enclosure and exchanging air kisses with him. She says they are in a relationship, and who are we to argue with her? Zoo authorities say the relationship is turning the chimp into an outcast among his peers, who are starting to avoid him.

Alice has taken to social media to protest the zoo’s ban, insisting that the chimp loves her and characterizing their relationship as an affair. The 39 year old chimp has lived at the zoo for thirty years, after his owner surrendered him for “behavior issues.”

Listen, chimpanzees only have a lifespan of around 40 years. WHY CAN’T THEY LET HIM BE HAPPY??

Let him have a private enclosure where he and Alice can continue dating. They may be ready to take the relationship to the next level; it’s been four years, after all. Why this speciesism, Antwerp Zoo? Should we start a Move On petition for Alice and Chita the chimp?? Or a GoFundMe to pay for her to file a lawsuit? The heart wants what it fucking wants, don’t forget, as if we could.

Meanwhile, in Loango National Park, chimpanzees in the wild have started attacking gorillas, behavior that anthropologists have never seen before. Until now, interaction between the two species has been peaceful, even playful on occasion. But these chimps formed coalitions and attacked the gorillas, killing the infants who were separated from their mothers. Fuckers! What is their goddamn problem? Are they mad because they want affairs with attractive humans? Are they sick of being discussed in the media? Can’t we all get along??

Maybe we can.

A lion sanctuary in Harrismith, South Africa, is placing visitors inside Plexiglas cages stationed at the center of the lions’ lair, granting animal enthusiasts a palm-to-paw encounter with their menagerie of 77 rescued big cats.


Tourists are locked inside a “professional photography cage” for 45 minutes, paying around $150 for the chance to snap close-range pictures of the lions as they claw at the enclosure’s acrylic walls. The [cage] is regularly checked by an engineer to ensure it can safely carry the weight (up to 570 pounds) should a lion jump on top of it. And the round breathing holes in the plexiglass cage are “totally safe.”


Hahaha! Totally safe, famous last words.

Isn’t it too binary to have “people” and “animals”? Some people are barely human, and some animals are good people: witness my dog, Boris. Maybe we should reconsider who to fear and who to love.

Or maybe those lions should get together and crush that plastic cage, eat the tourists, and start dating chimps, but not the ones in Loango National Park. Those fuckers are way out of order.

Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, love, News | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Adderall and Subtracterall

Posted on August 23, 2021 by Sister Wolf

ew!

I stopped writing here because I felt I had nothing to say that I haven’t already said. I still feel that but now I’m worried that “use it or lose it” might apply to my ability to put words together in a pleasing way. I just read some advice to writers from Ray Bradbury, and most of it involves activating your language skills on a daily basis. I’m not going to argue with Ray Bradbury; he taught me (and most of us) to love reading.

My brain is barely firing, due to boredom, advanced age, or all my meds. I now take a pinch of Adderall with my two antidepressants, not to mention the Ativan for sleep. And the weed of course. I believe this pharmaceutical medley has impaired my thinking but a dull brain is better than one that is squirming like a toad.

I can spend days without one real conversation, because talking to one’s spouse doesn’t count as conversation. It’s more like a series of utilitarian questions and requests, interspersed with sighs and eyerolling.

So let’s talk about TV, because that is my life, second in importance only to my hair.

We started to watch that new Nicole Kidman thing, even though I knew I’d have trouble with her face. The face did not disappoint, and she added a dopey Russian accent. All the elements looked stupid, but I was game to watch until the Dead Son theme reared it’s triggering head. If you watch a lot of cable TV, you will have noticed how often a Dead Son elemement pops up, presumably to supply a dose of grief-porn to the numb viewer.

I am tapped out on this, and can’t take any more unless there’s a compelling reason, which won’t be found in TV dramas. So I refused to watch it. After The White Lotus, it seemed especially pointless, right? I know you loved The White Lotus as much as I did. I hope the hotel manager wins an Emmy! Mike White is such a nut case, in the best possible way. If you haven’t seen “Chuck and Buck,” go find it. You’ll be traumatized, but that’s Art.

Chuck and Buck brings me to a movie called “Humpday” that I watched despite all odds because the NYT suggested it. It’s about a pair of old college friends who decide to have sex for an amateur porn film. Since they are both straight men, hilarity ensues, ahem. More like extreme discomfort, but again, it is Art. I loved it.

I’ve also watched a bunch of violent foreign crime dramas, and there is no body part I have not seen chopped off. There are always hookers and glowering, swarthy bad guys who are hard to tell apart. I have to keep asking my husband, “Which one is this guy?” A perfect example of marital conversation!

Oh wait, I almost forget to recommend “Dave” and “Flatbush Misdemeanors!” They are so delightful, both of them, sharing the virtues of fresh characters, dialogue, and the sense that anything might happen. Go find them and you will thank me.

Finally, I just started watching The Sweet Life Los Angeles. This is going to be my go-to TV when the chopped up body parts and cries of “Putain!” wear me out. It’s a wonderful reality show where everyone is feeling some kinda way, and they refer to each other’s attire as “fits.” It is fucking heaven.

Okay, this is 574 words and I’m hoping Ray Bradbury is satisfied. I really desperately want to communicate, but my tools are either rusty or long gone. Try to bear with me. And let’s hear what TV you’re watching, and what meds you’re on.

 

Posted in Art, Disorders, grief, News, Words | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments

Self Care

Posted on July 23, 2021 by Sister Wolf

In advance of International Self Care Day on July 24, I’d like to share my own self care routine, which you can modify to your own needs, according to your free time etc etc. Check with your doctor before starting any new exercise!

I get out of bed after a few hours of nightmares, tossing and turning, and general sweaty discomfort. I stumble to the kitchen to turn on the coffee, and take a cup to the couch, where my phone is. I take my Adderall.

I turn on MSNBC for the liberal-leaning news, and settle in for the next 4 or five hours. At some point, I remember to take my Cymbalta and Welbutrin. While I hear about the latest deranged shenanigans of the Republican party, alarming Covid statistics, geopolitical conflicts and climate catastrophes, I scroll through my Instagram feed, clicking Like and typing “beautiful!” or clapping hand emojis.

In between liking and clapping, I check my email, deleting billions of shopping site updates and pleas from Eric Holder and Kamala Harris. I dutifully look at the 450 new items at Net-a-Porter, careful not to miss a single offering.

Periodically, I get up to pee and inspect my hair situation. Is it nice and smooth or a frizzy rat’s nest? I squirt saline in my nose in a doomed attempt to clear my sinuses and breathe.

In the afternoon, I get dressed and wander around the house, wondering what to do and why I’m even alive. I might go grocery shopping or to the mall, where the endorphins of commerce lift my spirits enough for me to charge something at Nordstrom that I will return in the next few days.

Back home, I continue with the news and scroll Instagram some more. I consult the mirror a few more times to evaluate my hair and wonder if there’s a way to get a neck-lift without getting a neck lift.

I walk the dog for 20 minutes or just let my husband do it.

After dark, I smoke some weed and wait for him to make dinner. My husband, not the dog. We watch TV while we eat, starting with our favorite shows and ending with some poorly written and laughably performed garbage about missing girls and homophobic Spaniards.

Finally, I shuffle off to bed, take a teeny bit of Ativan, and read a novel, preferably something dark and devastating, until my eyes start to close.

There you have it. It’s challenging, sure, but you can do it. I forgot to note all the cups of coffee, the scrupulous avoidance of water, and the chips and salsa. They are actually essential to my wellness program.

What are you doing for self care?? I really want to know, but I will deduct points for the words yoga mat.

 

Posted in Disorders | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

The Post-Pandemic You

Posted on April 11, 2021 by Sister Wolf

Of all the articles predicting what post-pandemic life will be like, the most questionable are the ones that suggest shucking off your cocoon and emerging like a butterfly. “Try out a new you!” exclaimed an essay in the NYT. What a great idea, right? The me I’ve spent my life being is like a costume I can trade for a better one! By better, the essay strongly implied more extroverted. More fun. More outgoing. More optimized!

The Times essay provoked 400 comments, most from introverts who took issue with the notion that their personalities are flawed and need retooling. Some proposed that extroverts learn to shut the hell up, instead.

One of the suggested routes to a New You is to just fake the You you want to be. Pretty soon, the faked qualities will stick! Or, if you’re the methodical type, you can simply make a list of new behaviors that run counter to the Old You. If you’re unsociable, make a point of starting conversations with strangers. Interestingly, there were no strategies for busybodies who need to mind their own business or for controlling types to back off and relax.

Instead of fretting about the weight I’ve gained, I’m thinking about a New Me who is chubby, or let’s go wildly politically incorrect and just say fat. The Fat Me will have a throaty smoker’s laugh which I will employ with gusto. The Fat Me will have to be a lot more fun, and less whiny. I’m assuming people have less patience with a whiny fat person than a whiny thin one, but what do I know? A friend once accused me, in the midst of a raging diatribe about my awfulness, of having no fat friends. I was upset and mortified until I realized she was mistaken.

If I manage to lose the extra pounds, I can try out a Tolerant New Me. I will go around agreeing with people’s idiotic statements and I’ll stop shouting at the people on TV. I’ll stop making fun of mispronounced words like when Ivanka says “impor-dant.” I’ll stop arguing about word usage, like the expression “bored of” when it should be “bored with” or “bored by”. If I can’t stop arguing about this entirely, then I’ll stop taking the argument so seriously that I have to send ten emails proving I’m right.

What about a New Me who can drink beer from a bottle and talk about sports? I have secretly always wanted to be this Me. While I’m at it, I’ll stop carrying a handbag. I’ll use a functional, nondescript backpack or just use my pockets. Girls who can survive without a handbag have always been my idols. So free of vanity and insecurities! They’re not dependent on lipstick or eye-drops or Polarized sunglasses: they are free spirits who will go camping at a moment’s notice.

A Capable Me, a Fun-Loving Me, a Me who lets her hair go gray, a Me who doesn’t want to kill so many people, a Me who would just get up off her ass and do yoga or Tai Chi or pursue volunteer work or stop talking about death….they all sound delightful.

But, big surprise, people are how they are.  To quote an expert in child development, “You may be a certain way for the rest of your life, but the big issue is how you manage it—or not.”

Have you considered how the last year might have changed you in some fundamental way? Have you realigned your priorities or just lowered your standards in choosing the evening’s Netflix menu? Let’s hear about it! Just don’t go on about sweatpants, because the Old Me can’t bear one more word about fucking pandemic sweatpants.

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | 12 Comments

Narcissists and Psychopaths

Posted on March 10, 2021 by Sister Wolf

Against my better judgment, I joined an online support group for people estranged from their adult children. Sure enough, the expression “misery loves company” proved to be wholly inaccurate. It was like being submerged in a vat of hurt and anger. There was no upside, at least not for me.

Without exception, the members were female, which itself is depressing. Don’t dads care about being banished ? Do they prefer to suffer privately? Or is it largely mothers who are the target of estrangement? The mothers seemed to want guidelines on how to proceed on their Journey, ahem, and seemed willing to act on the advice of total strangers. Most were in agony: How could this happen! they wondered. Some were so bitter that they proudly renounced the children who had renounced them first.

Some seemed pretty nuts, evidenced by long sagas of petty squabbles and resentments. And yet even they didn’t fit the description of narcissism, the premiere accusation of estranged adult children. The narcissist mother is usually the villain of the piece. It’s probably more satisfying than just saying I can’t stand my mom. Here’s my private joke for a anyone enmeshed in this situation:

Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because she’s a narcissist.

I subscribe to a newsletter from a well-known expert on family estrangement, and one of the latest was titled “Is My Child a Psychopath?”. I laughed out loud, and who wouldn’t? What an extreme and somehow apt counter to the assumption that your mom is a narcissist.

If being labeled a narcissist isn’t bad enough, there’s now a new kind of narcissist you can be, if you exhibit the exact opposite behavior of narcissists! I thought someone made this up, but no, there’s now a diagnosis called Covert Narcissism, where instead of being shameless and insensitive, you are hypersensitive and filled with shame. To me, this is like finding a new kind of depression that is defined by being happy.

Fuck this, right?

Likewise, calling people psychopaths because they won’t act how you want them to is a pointless proposition. I believe I know only one psychopath and their behavior is pretty psychopathic by any standard. I think we should save this label for only the most deserving.

The worst thing about the support group was the sappy self-care platitudes and the icky affirmation memes or whatever they’re called:

These things make me more despondent, but they seem integral to the Self Help Industrial Complex™. People seem to love them. They remind me how averse I am to positivity.

You know that expression “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result”? It strikes me as more of an AA aphorism than something Einstein would say. Most of us are doing the same thing over and over and expect a different result. Only Sisyphus knows and accepts that repeating his efforts is useless. The definition of sanity is cultural and keeps changing, but I hope at least some of us can escape being labeled narcissists and psychopaths.

Let’s use gentler language when throwing around diagnoses. Yesterday, I kindly explained to someone who was arguing with me, “You perceive disagreement as an attack, because of your fragile personality structure.” Try saying that during a dispute.  It’s the kind of thing I love, but also the kind of thing that got me kicked out of the support group. Oh well.

 

( btw C.W., if you are reading this, I love you so much, you can’t imagine.)

 

Posted in Disorders, grief, Words | 7 Comments

OF COURSE I’ll be Watching!

Posted on March 7, 2021 by Sister Wolf

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.

Posted in Celebrities, News, Rants | 7 Comments

The New Nuts

Posted on February 26, 2021 by Sister Wolf

I already knew that people are nuts, but spending some time in Facebook groups this week has revealed a whole new level of nuts. Maybe it’s The New Nuts. Group members are like piranha, waiting for a newbie to make a comment so they can perform a feeding frenzy.

A few years ago, my sister told me about joining an Opera group on Facebook. According to her, she made an innocent comment, and everyone pounced on her. She was shaken by the experience, because she has an extensive knowledge of opera. I didn’t understand why this happened until now.

Why do FB groups propagate this crazy behavior? Are the people who join groups already crazy? Or does being a group member generate deranged tribal behavior?

I wondered if groups centered on the arts attract irritable snobs. But a friend told me her Laundry Tips group was nuts too. This is kind of exciting, actually, and tempts me to join a million groups, to observe how petty and hostile they are.

I learned this shit the hard way by commenting in a group called “Victorian Images”. I rarely look at it but I did yesterday. There was a sepia photo of a stiff little child standing on a chair, as her mother knelt at her side. Stupidly, I commented that it looked like a postmortem photo. It seemed obvious, in fact, that it was a postmortem photo.

Before I knew it, everyone commented on my ignorance, some angry, some mocking. It was incredible. It was death by a thousand cuts. One person exclaimed that I wouldn’t be “satisfied unless there was a Dead Victorian Baby”. I suggested that they were acting nuts, and conceded that I might have been wrong.

So I posted the image on my own page, and got a unanimous vote that the baby was dead. So I went back to the group and said the baby was totally fucking dead, quoting Monty Python, etc etc.

Now, everyone knows that neighborhood groups are contentious, except for their hatred of the homeless, but I just had no idea about other groups. Why don’t these nutcases take their fury to Twitter, where the action is? Are they pussies, only brave enough to vent in a private FB group?

While I have a deep disregard for trolls, I’ve decided to become one on Facebook. Everyone hates me anyway so why not? At least I can have some fun. I read a thing about losing weight in my Sisters AARP newsletter for Black women. It asked me to list ten things that made me feel good, besides eating. TEN, are they kidding? I could only think of 4. You try it.

Well, now I can add trolling to my list, for a total of five things. Yay, me.

Posted in Disorders, Rants, revenge, Words | Tagged , , | 14 Comments

Life Isn’t Fair.

Posted on February 15, 2021 by Sister Wolf

If you’ve ever been a child or a parent, you’re well acquainted with the aggrieved outcry, “But that’s not fair!” I was already a seasoned mother the first time I heard another mother smugly reply to her kid, “Well, life isn’t fair!” It was upsetting. Why does anyone think that’s a good lesson to teach??

I mean, duh, life isn’t fair, as we found out for the billionth time on Saturday. It’s so fucking unfair that they won’t find that cunt guilty as charged. It’s unfair that he gets to get away with so much corruption and inhumanity when everyone else has to suffer.

So much unfairness, but why shouldn’t we let children strive to practice and expect fairness? Just because we can’t have it doesn’t mean it’s not an honorable value. Fairness is a universal concept and ideal. It’s hardwired into us. “Studies have shown” that even chimps understand fairness. There’s some experiment with bananas that illustrates this but I’m too stoned to remember the details.

Children just have an innate understanding of fairness, and it isn’t our job to turn them into cynics.

I may just be pathologically immature in still being shocked when things aren’t fair. I can’t seem to accept the unfairness of it all. I still whine, “So unfair!” at least once a day. I always say it when our Netflix won’t load, because it’s NOT FAIR.

If you expect everything to be unfair, though, you’ll start to think it doesn’t matter. You’ll be like a Republican senator! And no one wants that.

Here’s an example: My mother-in-law is 104 and not happy. She can’t see or walk or do anything but on she goes. It’s so not fair!

Likewise, I am unable to be with either of my sons, and surely that’s unfair. The universe is indifferent to fairness. But people have certain primal instincts that operate without logic.

I want things to be fair against all odds, and I want you to want that too. If you have kids and haven’t yet assured them that life isn’t fair, I hope you won’t.

Going back to my mother-in-law (because I’m that stoned) I can’t understand why people react to her age with, How wonderful! or Bless her heart! There is nothing wonderful about such advanced old age, despite that French Nun who insists on living to 117. It’s led to my husband and I affirming a wish to die before everything craps out. My husband once said he’d be ready at around 75, but of course he’s extended it a few years.

Have you Boomers come to a decision about old age? Have you settled upon a reasonable expiration date? I just read a quote by Nabokov, about a disliked writer who had lived to an advanced and “entirely unnecessary” old age, and I laughed out loud. 117 and even 104 fit into that category. Bless everyone’s heart.

For me, ten more years might be enough. I’d like to die with my hair and teeth, let alone a functioning bladder. I think that would be more than fair.

You?

(c) Diane Arbus

Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, News, Words | Tagged , , | 7 Comments