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Archive for January, 2019

In January 2016 Donald Trump declared that he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue and not lose a vote. In a string of disqualifying choices, I thought this one would end his run. We all know how that turned out.

I wondered, am I crazy?

I went to the doctor for my annual physical shortly after the 2016 election. She said, “Hello” and immediately followed with, “You have 3 minutes to dump about Trump. Go.” Clearly my appointment wasn’t her first Trump-election-fallout rodeo and my habit of processing shock with verbal vomit was well, normal.

My insomnia was also normal and considering the scope of reported Trump related health issues – heart palpitations, anxiety and high blood pressure to name a few, I got off easy with insomnia.

This was early days.

In the past two plus years of tailspin and topsy-turvy-twisty-turney mess, Trump has reportedly lied an average of 15 times a day. Surly that easy deceit suggests insanity but which of us is nuts? He’s the President and I’m home alone slinging curses at my TV.

My friends also lose sleep and get red-faced in the face of our faltering democracy and moral decay.

When I tell them I curse at the news, they assure me they do too. When I share my constant, unrelenting anger they’re right there with me. Lack of sleep? Check! Feeling of helplessness? Check, check! Protesting, volunteering, staying informed, screaming into the social media void and donating – thus doing the same thing over and over with the same result? YUP!

Is everybody just plain bonkers?

Healthcare is a mess so we can’t rely on the professionals. It’s time to self-diagnose and alert others. We need a universal and simple way to flag insanity. I propose something like a hand signal or an exaggerated wink. One movement to signal when you’re sure you’re on the edge and a different signal for when you see someone even edgier. Something subtle but with enough flair to alert folks in the area.

There’s just one problem. If feeling crazy is at epidemic levels, there’d be so much signaling that whole communities would fall into a never-ending, winking and waving flash mob.

Maybe best to focus on people who are absolutely, positively NOT crazy and take our cues from them? Right now, my beacons of hope are Cardi B (@iamcardib) and Snoop Dogg (@Snoopdogg).

From her condemnation of the shady politics that shut our government down, to her many other astute observations on politics and culture and her ability to own her haters, Cardi B knows what’s up and she’s not afraid to say it.

Snoop also had choice words about the government shutdown. But best of all, he’s confident in who he is and in his choices. When Snoop Dogg got a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, he said, “I want to thank me for trying to do more right than wrong. I want to thank me for just being me at all times. Snoop Dogg, you a bad motherfucker.”

So I’m taking their lead. Less questioning my sanity in these times and more doing more right than wrong.

And maybe more cursing.  It would feel good to let a heartfelt “Motherf**er” go right in front of Trump Tower on 5th Avenue.

I’m sure that’s not crazy at all.  Wink, wink:)

 

 

 

 

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Wisdom From Alaska – Where No Worrying Took Place

I suppose worry works for people like Tim Burton. He can turn even the fluffiest of holidays into an animated worry festival.

And whomever is responsible for network dramas, they’re making a mint off worry. In a trailer for a new TV show, a man was riding up an escalator to meet his waiting girlfriend. He had love in his eyes and flowers in his hands. He was surely going to propose! As she came into view, expectant and glowing, the floor dropped from under him and he fell from sight – swoosh – into the crushing bowels of the still moving stair he was riding.

Margagogo’s Seattle Bureau Chief cackled and snorted, “That happens … NEVER.”

I on the other hand, a frequent rider of NYC’s subway, feel sure there’s a chance – maybe a .00005% probability world-wide but that potential must leap to at least 20% at the Lexington Avenue & 53rd Street station here in Manhattan. The subway surgeons are there regularly, pealing back the metal skin of the long escalator riders rely on to ferry them deep underground and out again. Thanks to this show tease, I now imagine being the unlucky one in a game of Stair Roulette. If it happens, as my last act, I hope my disembodied hand rides the rest of the way up, propped upright in the metal teeth with my middle finger unfurled, to meet a waiting and expectant Governor Cuomo at the top.

Clearly, I’m a good candidate for the stairs but I like the boost. I don’t just ride, I climb and since I’m on an escalator, I do double-time without the speed related sweat.

Technology: Can’t live without it, take your life in your hands when you use it.

There’s some tech I vow to live without. Absolutely no fitness tracker for me. If I’m laying in bed awake worrying about robots taking over my job someday, I know I’m awake. I also know I should be sleeping. I don’t need a fitness tracker to tell me. 

I know when I walk a lot because, well, I’m there. My feet and muscles feel it and they know, without digital documentation, when distance has been covered. I don’t need a “buzzzz” or a “ding” to tell me to get off the couch. Doing nothing requires a choice just like anything else. Of course it matters if I climb no flights versus a zillion flights each day. But by my count, the fitness tracker always gets it wrong. And, I don’t want the last bit of recorded history of my life to be my free-fall through a stair. 

I’m not a showrunner so I’m ending this dark digression to get back to my starting point: Worry is a waste of imagination. I’d much rather imagine a great view and a margarita as big as my head. (Considering the whole purpose of this blog (see the origin story) that is a given.) 

Marg Over The Zambezi – Highly Recommended

Here’s to a worry-free 2019!

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