I wanted to post a photo of a grey head, mine particularly, but the site is rejecting photo posts, says they’re not the right something, so I contacted my site administrator and he told me in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t have time for my site anymore, being that I had rejected him as a potential life partner. It’s either partner or payment, right folks? That’s why I would be so happy as a rich woman. I Ideas and career demand a cash cow behind the curtain. For example, Lady Gaga- a random choice, just curious, how did she do it? Googled that she attended one of the most prestigious private high schools in New York City. I rest my case. You connect the dots. Sure you can sleep on a street corner and eat out of a garbage can, or worse, waitress and go to auditions, but I tell you…you’ve got to have dough to go, go, go. It all happens with money, if you have some talent behind it, or even if you don’t. Just like the myth of the self-made man, the self-made successful artist, one step further from the truth. Virginia Woolf tried to say this as politely as she could, “A Room of One’s Own” —- Cash. Rent. Protection. Oh, another one I googled, the woman on Seinfeld. Dreyfus somebody. Okay, she’s cute and talented, but come on. YOU google her. You figure it out for yourself while I figure out how to get a shitload of cash together to propel myself past these subtalents and into the sphere of greatness where I belong. But now I see that greatness, as in commercial success, means compromise and endless cash poured into a questionable return. It’s got to be bottomless. But I’m off topic. Yes, my Grey Enlightment consists of the recognition that money trumps talent, hard work, luck. Money CREATES talent, hard work, luck. location, location, location. But not necessarily. With money I would create my own satillite network, either radio or TV- and blast my blasphemy from here to San Antonio. I wouldn’t need a 3,200 dollar New York Apartment. I remember them. Let’s go over to Suzy’s and see how her cabaret show is going. It seems Suzy lives in a penthouse on fifth Avenue with her 98 year old husband. I don’t meet him. where IS he? SHE, Suzy, has a desk designed in Marie Antoinette style in a room the size of Yankee Stadium. Susy is rehearsing her cabaret show. The finest musicians in New York are at her table attempting to find the right key for her off key voice, who gives a shit, she’s paying them. They are drooling over her boa. Musicians are whores, I love them. Give them some money, they will carry your sorry ass in your saggy tent dress anywhere. You WILL believe that you are a genius. Suzy has no talent. Suzy has a penthouse. Do I want to BE Suzy. Well, maybe. It seems talent and no money leads a person to despair. I am in despair. Despair leads to radical choices. A desperate attempt to catapult past the money angle and try for a publicity stunt on a budget. There it is. Live from Bridport, Vermont. But back to the Grey Enlightenment. Lots of gray hair in Vermont. Dying hair is not acceptable behavior in these parts. Organic naturalistic aging is all the rage. And I must admit that the women look fine in these parts. Beautiful, actually, even in their sensible shoes. I watch us all, the gray brigade- inching towards a complete late life enlightenment, an explosion of self discovery, an acknowledgement that we are not going to take any more shit- POW, the 60’s in reverse. I project that we’ll have love-ins and Ashrams, drugs collected from the Hemlock Society, readying ourselves for the final escape from the mundane funny money Merry go Round- our faces in your face- wrinkled and soured- our bodies, limping and aching, inspired by the pain, – last gaspers – not going down easy- but grey, and finally free to be completely ourselves. What a force! The baby boomers fake everybody out. Slow learners, spoiled goods, snap to attention with one last narcissitic chest beating, bra burning, sex lubed, anti-government, SDS death rattle. Going down in flames. The fires are about to ignite…. cheers!