t feels pretty rough out there. The drug bust in front of my building today…nice young woman looked like a school teacher, probably trying to feed her family or earn enough money for her grandmothers heart valve replacement…handcuffed, thrown in the back of the police car, pink sweater and all, and I wondered why the Wall Street crooks weren’t in the back of the police car instead and then I drove to the store and stopped by a full service station because my back doors wouldn’t shut, and the proprietor said they were just frozen, no worries, and I said, I love full service, just like the old days, and he said, well, don’t get used to it. They’re raising the damn minimum wage and I won’t be able to afford help anymore. Then I called my dentist to make an appointment for a root canal and he put his secretary on the phone to tell me that ObamaCare doesn’t cover root canals, (read the fine print) which run $2,400, and I said, What? What is a person to do, and she said, we can pull the tooth out and I said, well, okay, do people do that? and she said, yes they do, but of course that changes the bite in your mouth and your teeth shift around and can cause problems later and I thought about most everybody in this country, in the near future, walking around with missing teeth or no teeth, struggling to live with some dignity on a minimal wage or no wage, taking risks they never considered before.. in a country where poor is a sin.
Oil paint is expensive. A tube of gold is about 80 bucks. So people see a painting on my wall and they say, gee, love that…….. then, silence. A silence I am supposed to interrupt with -You Can Have It.–and why not? Somebody loves something, give it to them! And I do, but then I regret it because each painting that works out for me is a fluke…. a mystery… a random rarity. But having, say, 300 bucks in exchange- to buy more paint or better yet a nice dinner out, might assuage my regret at generosity. But probably not. Nature abhors a vacuum we’ve been told, so when you give anything away it reappears in another form, most often improved. So, go give something away today….
The Secret To A Beautiful Body at Any Age
People often ask me how I am able to maintain a perfect physique at the age of 61. Apparently it doesn’t matter if men are fat and disgusting as long as they have money, so I address this essay to the superior sex.
Like any attractive woman in a competitive market I am loathe to share my secrets. I may not be looking for true love myself, but I certainly don’t want anyone else to find it. More happy aging couples in the world merely add to my isolation and make it difficult to use age as an excuse for failure in the dating game. You’ve seen them with their stiff dentured smiles, and that wild look in their eyes. They can’t believe their good luck.
They make me sad. I don’t have anyone to share my aging perfect body with. What a waste! You see, I have a slight personality disorder which interferes with my ability to lie to men. Men want a great body to grope, yes, but more than that, they want lies. They want you to LIE to them, blatantly, about how wonderful they are. They want you to tell them their conclave chests, their half erections, their double chins are your ideal.
If you can’t lie with a straight face, girls, there is no reason to continue reading because it doesn’t matter how perfect your body is. You’ll be sharing a pizza with your Irish Setter every Saturday night. If you CAN lie with a straight face, the rest is easy. Follow the simple plan below and you’ll have a perfect body for the rest of your life and you’ll be a great looking corpse.
NEVER diet. EVER. NEVER deny yourself anything that you yearn to stuff into your mouth. You must look at a piece of chocolate cake and a salad as simply two different foods that are meant to go into your mouth and make you feel better. Don’t choose wisely, choose organically! Let your body choose! You’ll find that once the pressure is off, and your body believes that it will not be denied anything it craves, something magic will happen…. you will naturally reach for the salad instead of the cake. You may eat four cakes before you want the salad, but believe me, you’ll want that salad… lots of salad… greens. Fresh, crisp, cold greens. Someone will put a piece of cake in front of you, and you may take a bite, but it will not hold the same power over you because you can take it or leave it!
Simply stand up straight. In order to hold your lazy body up and away from the gravitation pull, you body will be working – sculpting itself without too much exertion. This is called posture. You don’t want to work out, well, just walk casually but with good posture- If you don’t want to walk, just drive, but drive with good posture. Sit at a table and drink wine with good posture. Lay down on the couch with good posture. Be aware of the gravitational pull– it is your enemy and it is aging you minute by minute.
Move through life as though you are wading through mud, but STAND UP STRAIGHT! Don’t slouch or SLOG through the mud. The imaginary mud gives your muscles something to resist and overcome. Yes, stand up straight, walk through imaginary mud, and you’ve created your own take it with you everywhere weight training class. 24-7… your body is moving through the world with the sense of purpose that comes from confronting a foreign substance.
Install a huge floor length mirror and mood lighting. A juxtaposition of reality and fantasy. Don’t hide from yourself or kid yourself with distorted mirrors or a lack of mirrors. Look at yourself head on, but under the lovely pinkish glow of a designer light bulb. Even if you are what you consider fat, the fat will look luscious and beautiful, and you will love your body as it is, which will take the pressure off changing it. This is a critical component in the success of this plan. Face to face with yourself. Mirrors in every room. Stand up straight, smile, glance in the mirror on the way to the refrigerator and, well, I think I’ll have a salad…..
Use your body. This sounds simple, but most people use their head and appendages only. Let’s say you are reaching for a box of chocolates from a high kitchen cabinet. I guarantee you will reach with your arm and get up on your tip toes instead of reaching with the entire left or right side of your body. Your body is left out. It just stands thing, an inert object weighted down by itself, feeling unappreciated. Reach up for the chocolates with your whole body! You will actually grow taller. You’ll reach the chocolates and feel so energized by using your body that one chocolate will be more than enough… then you’ll crave a huge salad.
If you tend to eat when you aren’t hungry, so-called emotional eating- it’s okay, but really FEEL the bad mood or depression while stuffing your face. Indulge in it. Sneer and snarl and spit as you eat. Eat with your hands, rub food in your hair… feel lousy, really lousy. Get it over with… take a shower, and go watch TV, read a book or sleep. Do NOt exercise, NEVER exercise, as punishment.
Don’t fret over accessories. Don’t fall for the scam that new shoes or the latest style tent dress will set you free. Fashion is a hoax. It is a greasy rag merchant’s pitch to reach his bottom line. If you are a slave to fashion, as they say, you send a direct message to your body: You are not enough. It sends the message to everybody else as well. You’ve heard it before: Put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig. I’m not saying you’re a pig, I’m just saying, nobody is kidding anybody in Haute Couture or a shawl.
I realize this treatise is a bit severe, but so are Weight Watcher weigh-ins and Extra- large panty-hose. Don’t kill the messenger. Don’t envy the messenger. You’ve got your orders, now march.
In this media frenzied, money grubbing, kiss ass world, the ultimate chic is to remain unknown…..and courageous enough to cultivate the condition. It is a sacred place where the freedom to be authentic can still be exercised. Under the radar. Nobody’s watching too closely, so you can really blast off. I would love to open an Unknown art gallery, an Unknown theater, an Unknown Jazz Club. You must be unknown to participate. If you have a list of accolades you don’t get through the velvet ropes. I guarantee you’d see some phenomenal talents evolve. Everybody was famous for 15 minutes, then everybody was famous for 15 years, and now everybody is famous all the time. The only thing left is being not famous and it’s so much easier.
The pompous asshole vibration. Where does it come from? It is visual, auditory, olfactory? Can it be avoided before the abomination on your senses sends you reeling towards a monastery? After all, it only takes a few seconds for a pompous asshole to invade your psyche- and the scar is permanent- your own fault of course, for making a bad call- but there you are, dirtied, collaterally damaged- by an environ exuding the toxic vapors of baseless self importance.
I suppose driving on the wrong side of the road or selling girl scout cookies laced with goat shit are worse sins than pomp and the circumstance of its origin, but pomposity leaves in its wake an undetectable alteration in the DNA of its victim.
You enter the fray. A person looks familiar. You smile and ask, “You look familiar!” They seem off-put, offended. “No, you must recognize me from the newspapers.” Then you notice the ascot. Too late. You’re in the building now, swirling in a sea of name tags stuck to the lapels of Clark Kents vying for a phone booth. The room is a tomb, a crypt the size of two football fields, an echo-chamber of anxious merry-making- as the third-tier citified elbow their egos towards comparable ladder rungers.
Another smile at a woman jabbing at a piece of pork, cellphone to her ear. “Pretty noisy in here” I say. Her pencil-lined lip curls. “Well, there’s the door.” – Good advice, but the room is swinging now, the band plays on, the fat woman sings, all is well in Gotham City! I walk up to another couple, “You guys look so sophisticated, really, you look great.” – The woman holds up a glob of something. “Do you like my purse? It’s an owl.”
I spot a singular artist in the sea of suits. She buys me a drink. A lovely Lois Lane, she can still finesse the trenches, but she now sees the by-line: the swirling hype of a legitimate cause, the building of a dream, the slithering rise of the mediocre.
I had a baby in my lap yesterday. I was sitting in the beauty parlor and the mom/stylist put the baby in my lap and the baby was sweet, and of course, a genius, like they all are, and movie-star gorgeous, of course, like they ALL are, and I thought about the baby, and how it could be my grandchild, and what it would feel like to have a grandchild, and then a sick thought came into my head: Irrelevant. The baby felt irrelevant. An outdated idea, a museum curiosity, an object d’art from the past-no longer critical to the survival of the species as the world reels and weeps from over-population. Was I so much of a monster as to rethink my desire to continue my genetic blueprint in a grandchild? To refrain from encouraging my beloved daughter to partake in the joys of motherhood? After all, I just love being a mom, loved it from the beginning, can’t imagine the alternative. The world was a rough place 31 years ago, when I made the decision to bring forth a member of the Y Generation. Is it worse now? Aren’t a few good years on the planet, before the shit hits the fan, better than no years? I believe so, and yet the baby in my lap- the precious, sacred life and hope of tomorrow, did not seem like the answer to anything.
It has occurred to us all that our lives are finite. If that is so, why do we continue to bullshit ourselves and others? Year after year, day after day, a continuous bullshit routine aimed at humping another rung up the ladder? What are your thoughts on this phenomena? Is it the limbic system encouraging our frontal lobes to mount a campaign designed to placate and buzz-saw our superiors into throwing more bread in our direction? Will the bread satiate our hunger for attention? Look at me! The price we pay for a nod. Our souls. But souls don’t pay the bills. Souls don’t comfort the ego. Souls drain us with self reflection and morality. Is the price too high? Of course not. We are temporary, and in that vein, every man for himself is the call of duty. Take your comforts whilst you can. But know why the buzz in your chest is humming loud, screaming for Xanax, sex, the gym, a movie, the quick passing of the day, head in a book, foot on the pedal, moving forward towards zip.
What? Why? Hear me out! This is what I think about it. This is what happened to me. This is what I’m doing. What I did, where I’m going. This is what I thought. This is what I think you should think about what I did. See, this is me! This is where I was and this is where I am going! What did you do? Do you think I should do what you did, what you’re doing, what you plan on doing? But, look at me! Wow. This is what I watch, this is what I listen to, this is what I love! This is my why, I don’t know why. Why do you think it’s my why, this what? What is your why? Why? Now, this is a wow and that is a wow! Hear me out! This is what I saw. This is where I went. This is what I did. These are the they’s that were there when I went. They saw what I did. I am what they love! I am what they watch! They are where I’m going!