God is an App.

The Life Coach asked me “What are you really good at?” Because success lies in our greatest strength. The answer is not sales, interior design, carpentry, auditioning for a musical. I am good at worrying. You might consider that we are all very good at that skill, just like we are all pretty good at breathing and sleeping. But I want to be of service to the world. It’s a market economy. Will you pay me a trifle to worry for you?
No. It’s like paying me a trifle to take a shit for you. Worry is personal. Worries are an integral part of your consciousness. To be human, to know certain truths, like we’re fucked, is to worry. To be intelligent is to worry about serious issues- Global Warming. To be stupid is to worry about minuscule issues-My husband is cheating on me. If would be wonderful if another person could worry for you, but that is the role of religious fanaticism. Give it up to God, any God, who cares which God- make one up- and hand your burden to that non-enity who is birthed from worry. No worry: No God. God is an app. — God is a download- God is a technique to control your concerns. Grab his balls with all your might- just as you would grab at the last apple on the Tree of Life. Survival of the Most Holy. Look to your left and right? Who’s got the best tables at the best restaurants? Image (1) img_4536.JPG for post 152

A Chocolate Pharmacy?

On the plane, – sat next to a man who was just hired away from Hallmark cards in Kansas City by Hershey’s. He is a product placement specialist and product development consultant. His job is to convince CVS that Hershey’s chocolate should be strategically placed near the pharmaceutical counter because it makes people feel good, like drugs. They had pitched this idea to CVS years ago but it was shot down. ( granted, this was pre: health benefits of 70 percent cocoa dark chocolate) Anyway, that’s why Hershey’s brought this guy in. A Hershey’s satellite office has been installed in the Woonsocket CVS complex specifically for this purpose. — Chocolate Bars Near Pharmacy Aisles, not just in the candy section!!!!! He said that CVS is all about pharmacy, whereas Walgreens is corner convenience. Hershey’s has no problem with powerful product placement in Walgreens- but CVS MUST be convinced that the pharmaceutical business strategy is not feasible in the long run.
We talked for 2 and 1/2 hours straight. I had only one drink. I offered him some million dollar ideas- about repackaging, going with the 70 percent cocoa benefits- I tell you people!!! I missed my calling, okay!!! I mean, my mind was WILD with solutions!!! I can’t begin to tell the whole story here…the information I pulled out of the guy about how they accumulate data – and how the CVS stores are designed to brain wash you… yuck… okay, anyway– this mornings headline, CVS won’t carry cigarettes. This indicates that CVS is taking the Care and Wellness thing to a NEW level of HEALTH awareness and AWAY from toilet paper, lipstick, dog food, and yes, maybe chocolate. What is to become of my new friend??!!

A Great Body, Period.

everyone should have an indoor pool!

Indoor pool fun!

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.

The Mind of Facebook

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!

Smoke Gets In My Eyes

The cigarette smoke made its way across the living room and hallway. It somehow managed to float underneath my tightly shut bedroom door. It hit me like mustard gas. My sinus’s started to flow, my head ached, my face ached. Simply a bit of cigarette smoke? Do people still smoke? I went out to ask my friend what was going on. The health conscious pal was sitting at her desk, lit cigarette in an ashtray at her elbow. “Is that a cigarette?” I asked. “Well, yes, I don’t really smoke it, I just keep it here in the tray when I get anxious. I mean, I kind of smoke it but I don’t really inhale it.” Her room was a chemical fog. “Oh” I answered. “Well, I wonder if you could open a window.” “I would, but the windows were painted shut years ago, never been opened since, can’t be opened, no.” “Are you insane?” I asked, politely. “Are you fucking crazy?” I tried to be pleasant. It was her house. “I’ll stop.” she said. “I really can stop. I”m not addicted to the nicotine, just the habit of lighting the cigarette and putting it to my lips.” She sat behind the computer screen in the dark, her face pale as the smoke drifting around the room. This woman, so healthy and bubbly and active during the day, now sunk down low in a chair, in the dark, the glowing raw computer light throbbing across her white skin, the smoke wafting across the screen, like streaks of a gray crayon making twirlies up into her face..a saturation of fumes on furniture and curtains, her clothes, and my clothes, the dogs fur, the rugs, and in such a pretty room with such a pretty woman, dull air burning with benzene, acetone, and various other chemicals.

Trapped behind inoperable windows, I knew that I had suddenly become a zero tolerance cigarette Nazi, and I looked at this fine woman and saw a suicidal, stinking, poison belching addict. With her advancing age, medical propensities and family history she was a good candidate for premature corpse-dom. And then I watched myself take a Valium, pour a glass of wine, and pop an Ambien. It was late. I felt no sleep coming on… not even an open-eyed stare of worry about how I’d feel if she smoked at her desk every day, all day. The dirt dust smell was in my bed sheets and my clothes, my socks, the towels in the bathroom. I had been away from smoke for so long, enough people had quit that you hardly ran into that wall of stink anymore- even in parking lots… then, to suddenly get a full load of it coming through the walls, seeking me out, a dose at every turn…. a frenzy of sneezes…. the tender tingling nasal passages, a metallic nausea creeping up the throat.  Dull head, dull brain, burning eyes, from what… a little bit of second hand smoke??? A Virginia Slims Menthol Filter Extra Long?

Is there anything in my life so harmful and yet so addictive that I would willingly exude a continual, poisonous stink and then, when confronted, shrudge and make an excuse? There must be, I just can’t think of anything at the moment, except a fart because there is something about air. Booze doesn’t drift. Pills don’t float toward the ceiling or invade the body of a passer-by. The porous nature of the poison smoke, the dance of the smoke, the way it seems to know its way around, conscious, intelligent. Free to move about the cabin…invisible, smoke enters.

The New Bohemia

I was living in a dump in 1992 which seemed romantic because it was a short subway ride from Manhattan- the idea of a dumpy area being withinn 100 miles of Manhattan is beyond comprehension to us now, just as outrageous as thinking that living anywhere in Rhode Island, dumpy or worse yet not dumpy, could lead one close to a Promised Land. Well, the wheel keeps on turning. It is 2011 and my previously dumpy home base is now a Disney Land Soho – a Bohemians-R-US theme park of grooviness, not a crack whore or curbside sofa in sight. Where are the crack whores and the sofas? The Elmwood section of Providence, what I have now labeled The New Bohemia, just as they did with my dumpy neighborhood in Brooklyn- 1993- when New York Magazine labeled it, The New Bohemia. Well, there went the neighborhood. They took the train over from the Lower East Side and we all had to relocate as the rents skyrocketed. Old familiar story. Gentrification. I had to move on, move out, but forgot to move up and so have ended up in what is considered the worst section of Providence, RI- Elmwood, or Slumwood, as I call it, a real trash-strewn downer with an exceptional ethnicity. If only somebody, anybody within a mile had more than 5 dollars, whatever our race, creed or color. No luck. Thanks Wall Street. Unlike 1992- the crack whores and aging whitey artists and latino drug dealers and asian noodle pushers all understand that it is not our fault after all that we’re broke, and we are all in this together, hence, there are less break-ins, less crime, than twenty years ago. Sure, we’re all still suspicious of each other, but the new divide is rich and poor not brown black white yellow. Plus, we all know that none of us have anything to steal. I am feeling Deja-Vu, living in Elmwood, — the trash, the potholes, the broken windows, the ramshackle historically signifigant houses, the chain link fences, the blight…the ugliness….where have I seen this before? Brooklyn. Williamsburg. 1993 – just before the TIpping Point- the New Bohemian label- the dumb-dumbs moved in, thirsting for hip-dumb, the scene, – the turning point- the scene starts before the rents rise- then boom it’s over and on to some other boom. Rhode Island, the last place and yet first place for a renaissance. They call Providence the Creative Capital, and I must say we are saturated with artists- with the thugs in control but being herded up by the FEDS. It’s a city larger and yet smaller than its parts. An enigma. I keep coming back to it. Confused. Now wait a minute. It’s ocean close, near New york and Boston, what is the PROBLEM? I won’t get into that now. Gentrification is germinating, but ever so slowly in Elmwood. Despite the bygone gorgeousness of the oversized Victorian houses, many of which have been invaded by lawyers and real estate agents and yuppies looking to double their money- block to block, it’s still a shit-hole. No matter how many lovely homes you have, with crack houses and no place to walk to except an overgrown cemetary, it’s pure dump. So, what’s next. Certainly, artists move into dumps. Here they come. But slowly. with hesitation. They need coaxing, the monied artists. The ones who can Tip that Point. And that is what a New Bohemia is all about. The CUSP before the fall into a pool of potential for payback. It’s sickening, I know, dealing with the vapid cheerleader consciousness of the pioneers, scared shitless, but buying in anyway- hoping for the miracle. And the miracle, I now predict, is coming and would it be anything less, RHODE ISLAND??– Providence? The worst SIDE of Providence. We proceed on tip-toe. We step over the garbage. We smile at the muggers,…Have a Nice Day. – and the soirees are about to begin, sabotaged by anxiety. We would have had much more fun in Williamsburg had we known it was going to turn out swell. I predict a swell outcome here in Elmwood. I am going to try my darn-dest to enjoy it this time around.