This was my outfit when Top Cat and I walked to Whole Foods on Wednesday:

There was a line of about 20 people to get in, everyone keeping at least 10 feet from each other. When one shopper came out, the doorman allowed a shopper on line to go in. We got on line at 2:25 and Top Cat got in the store at 3:00. I didn’t go in because Top Cat likesshopping and I don’t, and we were only picking up a few essential  items, and I didn’t want to clutter the store with my useless presence. Top Cat was running low on coffee and I wanted vanilla cream cookies. I know, I know. We are trivial people. Top Cat was out of the store at 3:18. He said the store enforced social distancing on the inside, too.

The truth is, we were OK waiting in line for half an hour because WE HAD NOTHING ELSE TO DO. And yet, the days go quickly, and they merge into one another, but the time goes so slowly. Life is very different from what it used to be.

For instance, I’m still raving about The Untamed, a 50-episode Chinese historical drama that I am addicted to, but guys! I watched the whole thing and it was awesome and now I’m watching it again because now that I know how everything turns out, the first six or seven confusing episodes make a whole lot more sense and . . .

The Light Bearing Lord, Lan Zahn, with his killer zither.

. . . Guys! GUYS!  They have magical powers and clans at war and monsters and they kill people by playing musical instruments!!

This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen on TV and it seems just so very right for these weird times.

The Light Bearing Lord, Lan Zahn, also kills people with his sword.

This stuff is the television equivalent of LSD and I will always remember my COVID lockdown as the time I tripped on Chinese acid, which I call Lan Zahn in the Sky With Diamonds, for, like, 140 hours. Hey, I’ve done worse things with my finite and precious time on Earth.

The Light Bearing Lord, Lan Zahn, really likes rabbits. He has a lot of white rabbits. They hop all over his domain, the Cloud Reserve. Even if you buy into all the other aspects of this world, the rabbits are still weird.

And the two main characters are gay.

That’s The Light Bearing Lord with The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. Guess which one’s wearing black.

I’ve promised myself that I will read a book after this is all over, like a vitamin pill for my brain, and I WILL BE SMART ONCE MORE but not now. I’m on lockdown, dammit. I have excuses that I don’t want to squander by doing something productive.

8th Ave, looking downtown. That’s Madison Square Garden on the left.

When Top Cat went into work on Tuesday, two NYC cops dropped by and drilled him on why he was open for business. TC explained that his company prints product info for prescription drugs, and he showed the cops the work that was in-house. The cops were nice and they didn’t write him a fine, but they said the company needs to get paperwork from the state to show that they have an Essential Business permit. Go figure.

So Top Cat has been home these days, on the phone almost constantly. As you can imagine, it’s not easy to get paperwork from the state even on a good day and these are notgood days. I used to think TC was exaggerating the importance of his being at work in person, but I’ve read some blogs by people who can’t get their usual prescription medicine and how they are suffering, so now I’m grudgingly accepting that Top Cat might have to keep going into Manhattan once in a while. The drugs can’t be distributed without the Product Info, (gummint rules) even though it’s that piece of paper that no-one reads. So, Yay for Top Cat.

The Amtrak gates at Penn Station in midtown Manhattan. I’ve NEVER seen the place like this.

Top Cat and I are coping with non-stop togetherness quite well, not to brag. We are very good at ignoring each other for hours and hours. We get it from our cats:

It’s as if we are living the caption to my favorite Gary Larsen Far Side cartoon.

Same Planet. Different Worlds.

At the end of each day, we do assemble for a civilizing ritual at end of the day, which I call Cocktail Hour and Top Cat calls Really? Are You Drinking on a Week Night? Again?

Last Friday was a rare occasion when, after Cocktail Hour, we found a movie we both agreed was watchable, and we saw Pitch Perfect. Together. At the same time.

You probably know that the movie is about a college acapella group. One of the girls is a painfully awkward and shy Asian (played by Korean American actress Hana Mae Lee) who whispers to a guy at a frat party: “I set fires to feel joy.”

The guy looks at her and says, “That’s adorable.”

And then the camera cuts away to college kids whooping it up.

I wish I could write dialogue like this. Seriously. I could never come up with such a line.

And that’s the latest from Seclusion Manor here on the North Shore of Long Island.

And, oh yeah: Fuck Trump and his Republican shitwads.






About the religious who are going to crowd into church this Sunday (it appears to be some kind of holiday on April 12): I was reading Twitter the other day and I read about a conservative TV person who tweeted that it’s proof of how much left-wing perversion is out there that Republicans have to clean up when, during a pandemic, it’s OK to get and abortion but not OK to go to church.

She got this response, explaining it to her: Well, one is a time-sensitive medical procedure, and the other is a book club.

It took me a minute to get it, but it’s brilliant. It’s changed the way I think of churches.

Thank you, Tiwtter.





















Extra points if you can name this Star Trek OG episode.













Have a great weekend, Everyone. See you again on Wednesday. I’ve been cutting up old books again and I’ll have something to show you.


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I went to the grocery store and it wasn’t an emergency. We had food. But we didn’t have the right food. I needed mochi.

So I put on my face mask and I went to H Mart and I got 24 mochi. I also got ramen, a foodstuff that I’ve heard a lot about but have never eaten. And I got a jar of Kimchi. I am determined to learn to like Kimchi.

H Mart, for those of you who don’t live in a diverse neighborhood, is a national chain of Korean grocery stores. The one in Koreatown Plaza in Los Angeles is AWESOME. The one in Williston, Long Island, is OK.

While I waiting in line behind a plastic barricade at the check out, I had a revelation. I figured out why it’s called H Mart.

It’s called H Mart because K Mart (for Korean Market) was taken.

In Korean, Korea is called Han-gook. So, voila: H Mart.

Believe me, after two weeks of self-quarantine, this is deep thinking on my part.

I hope you all are finding ways to laugh at least once a day, and doing something that makes you feel creative, and reading something that gives you a whole new inner life, and watching something that is beautiful and inspiring.

And, oh yeah: Fuck Trump.






























And because we need to remember a better time when we were proud of our First Family:


And because we need something to make us go Awwwwwwww……

And finally:


See you on Friday!



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Taffy and Bibs and Cindy showing us how professional nappers do it.

Since I’ve been house-bound for 11 days straight as of today, I have discovered napping. It is glorious to go back to bed in the middle of the day and have the kinds of dreams that you only get when you day-sleep.

So far, I’ve been married to a Korean cop; I’ve had baby dolphins swim in my sunken living room which was filled with water; I’ve been flying (not in a plane) over treetops in Africa (again); and I’ve been making puns in French (which I would never do in waking life — I loathe puns).Of course, that means also that I’m up until midnight, but since everything else about my daily schedule has been up-ended, why not try out a new sleep pattern as well?

I’ve been pretty good about staying in the house for the past 11 days but today I will have to venture out of the neighborhood to re-stock on my comfort food of choice, the only way I will get through the April lockdown that our governor has advised for New York:

I love this stuff. It’s a little ball of vanilla ice cream wrapped in rice dough and it’s just the right amount of sweetness and the right amount of ice cream (which is not one of my favorite foods) as I want to eat in one sitting. There’s nothing else I crave, nothing else I want to stress-eat. So I’m putting on the face mask and heading out to the Korean grocery store this afternoon.

This week Top Cat and I did something normal. We drove to the edge of the north shore of Long Island and watched the sun set over Long Island Sound and took a bottle of champagne to toast Spring:

A reminder that some things last longer then fear, sickness, bad times, and sadness. We will get through this.

It’s a five mile drive to “our” spot, and we passed lots of shuttered businesses and closed-down shopping centers and one totally empty parking lot after another. Of course there was no one in sight on the beach, or all along the shoreline, and not a single plane flew over head (and this is in the flight path of both Kennedy airport and La Guardia airport).  I said to Top Cat, “This must be what The Rapture feels like.” Because I definitely know that I’m going to be left behind, and now I’ve seen what exactly that’s going to look like. I’m OK with it.

When I watch the news I see such awful things happening to New York City — a field hospital set up in Central Park, bodies put in refrigerator trucks because of over-filled morgues, a 1,000-bed US Navy hospital ship anchored off the west side that only has 20 patients on it because it refuses to take anyone who has not tested negative for COVID and there aren’t bought tests so very few people are getting tested, etc. But from what I’ve experienced in my neighborhood, life is pretty calm and we are not panicking.

We know 5 people how ave tested positive for COVID, and they all live and work in New Jersey: an 82-year old man, two men in their 60s, a guy in his 50s, and a young guy in his mid-30s. The guy in his mid-30s is the fittest of them all, and he’s then in the hospital on a respirator, so you never know how this disease is going to hit.

In case you stop by some day and don’t see me here, I should warn you that WordPress has been hinkey this week. I couldn’t get access to this blog for two days and then suddenly this morning I got in, so here’s hoping that there’s no breakdown in the network but this might disappear again.

Until then, let’s get busy with the regularly scheduled Fuck Trump* portion of this blog.

*I’m so tired of this guy. So I’m adding a lot of other stuff that made me laugh this week. I hope it helps you all get through a Friday morning.


























Have a great weekend, everyone. And stop by on Wednesday — there is too much going on to restrict our visits to once a week. See you!


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Remember last May when Top Cat and I went to the Orkney Islands (seen in blue off the north coast of Scotland) and how, for some reason, we got off on the wrong foot from Day One and could never get in sync for the 10 days we were traveling, which resulted in us bitching at each other for the entire time we were on the road? Oh, sure, it was hilarious when I wrote about it later, but living through it was terrible. It’s a form of torture, when you are forced to spend every waking minute with the person whose face makes you want to hit them with a chair.

I’d say that now, with so many of us in quarantine and house-bound 24/7 with our spouses, that you all have the potential to experience first-hand your very own hellish Orkney Island Scenario.

But I’ve been there and back, literally [round trip to/from Orkney without getting charged with manslaughter], so allow me to enlighten you on how to get through this hellish COVID Togetherness.

Tip #1: When your spouse insists on watching MSNBC on the TV while listening to a college radio station at the same time, be sure to say in a loud, clear voice: JESUS CHRIST TURN THAT SHIT OFF NOBODY THINKS THE WHITE STRIPES ARE COOL ANY MORE. The more clearly you communicate how crappy you think your spouse’s TV and musical tastes are, the better your chances that your spouse will just shut everything down and go sulk upstairs, leaving you alone in your well-deserved peace and quiet.

Tip #2: If your house was built before “open plan” became a thing, it doesn’t matter how many square feet you have, you and your spouse will be bumping into each other many times a day in the poorly designed “flow” of the place. Usually it’s the long, narrow hallway from the living room to the kitchen, which cannot accommodate two people at the same time yet it’s always where you both seem to end up about twice every fucking half-hour. When that happens, it’s good to remind your spouse FOR FUCK’S SAKE SOCIAL FUCKING DISTANCING, SOCIAL FUCKING DISTANCING! Make sure you say this loud enough so the neighbors can hear, so they will know how seriously you are taking your responsibility to keep our society safe and healthy.

Tip #3: In a confined space, you’ll be looking at your spouse a lot, which means that you’ll be seeing a lot that you wish you hadn’t seen. Be sure to criticize their slobby personal grooming (YO DUDE WHAT IS THAT SHIT ON YOUR FACE, TOOTHPASTE OR DROOL?) their disgusting snacking ( YOU DIP THAT APPLE INTO THE  MAYONNAISE JAR ONE MORE TIME  AND WE’RE GOING FULL-OUT FIGHT CLUB)   and their shitty new pandemic pastimes (STOP PLAYING TIC TAC TOE WITH THE CAT YOU KNOW THE CAT ALWAYS WINS) because they obviously can’t help themselves.

TIP #4: When your spouse looks at your phone over your shoulder and comments that Gee, you seem to have a lot of pictures of young K-Pop stars in tight jeans on your Twitter feed, now is the time to remind them that the last time they could fit into tight jeans was before these K-Pop stars were born, which can be very motivating. But just for good measure, you can also use your best “Screaming at a BTS concert” voice when you add: AND BACK THE FUCK UP, I HATE IT WHEN YOU BREATHE ON ME.

I hope these tips will be as helpful to you as they were to Top Cat and I when we went through our Orkney ordeal. We also drank a lot on that trip. Separately. He’d go to a pub and I’d settle in with a bottle of wine in the hotel room and we wouldn’t have to look at each other until the next morning. That helps too.

And speaking of Orkney…

…many of you have been wondering where in the world is The Stromness Rock?

(The rock that I found in the village of Stromness, Orkney, hidden in the  parking lot of a seafood shop that is part of a game the villagers were playing, where people find painted rocks, upload a photo on Facebook, and hide it for someone else to find. I contacted the person in charge and was given permission to take The Rock home to America with me, and the Dear Readers of this blog have been showing our Scottish Stone the sights (so far) of Massachusetts, New Jersey, Michigan, Wisconsin, Washington state, Oregon, and California.)

So, Where is The Rock? Here’s a hint:

Can you see our Scottish friend waving from the base of the flag pole?

The Rock arrived in the great Lone Star State just in time to be quarantined with Dear Reader Rachel and her husband Don. But The Rock is happy to get some of that great Texas sunshine and hang with the indigenous flora:

More species of cacti are found in Texas than in any other state. In fact, the Prickly Pear cactus is the state plant of Texas. Now, just because I wrote a book about gardens doesn’t mean that I know a damn thing about plants, so let’s just call the one (above) Stabby Sticks, and the one (below) Jazz Hands:

The Rock has never seen a cactus before, being from a northern latitude that makes “home” feel more like Anchorage, Alaska than Central Texas. If you have never seen a cactus in your life, your first impression of them is that they are extra-terrestrial, and it’s a good thing that The Rock is a huge sic-fi nerd and felt right at home with these creatures. Here’s The Rock relaxing, below, with the famous Texas Upside Down Splat cactus:

This is not a cactus:

This is Dudley, and he’s confused.

The Rock has a very strong Scottish accent, and Cò am balach math? sounds more like a hedgehog gurgling with Dr. Pepper than Who’s a good boy? in Scots. Relax, Dudley. Everyone knows who’s a good boy. (It’s you, Dudley. It’s always you. You’re the only dog in the house.)

Some people say that Texas ladies are the epitome of southern beauty. . .

LeeAnn and What’s Her Name from the Real Housewives of Dallas

. . . and some people say that they look as if they’ve barely managed to survive an explosion in a make up factory, but the point is that Texas ladies are glamorous. The Rock was clearly out-classed when it came to hanging out with the locals:

Texans are some of the friendliest folks you’ll ever find here win these United States, and they tried to make The Rock feel accepted as one of them. . .

. . . but the truth is that The Rock has logged about 7,000 miles on this road trip so far and is beginning to look a bit worn out:


The Rock got a facelift!

I’m insanely jealous. The Rock got a facelift before I got mine and it’s a sad day when a Scottish stone gets an update while I’m still stuck with the same face I’ve been dragging around since George McGovern ran for president. The Rock is SO PLEASED with the result of its makeover that it shines, as if it were lit from within, below, in this field of Texas Blue Bonnets:

Have a great weekend, Dear Ones. I’ll be googling the COVID timeline, looking for information for when it’s OK to have elective surgery again, but you all, please ignore me and go binge watch Crash Landing Into You on Netflix. It’s very funny, as funny as North Korea gets.

Our regularly scheduled Fuck Trump post is in a separate post  this week, immediately following this looooong public service announcement. I wanted to give you a chance to get up and go make a cup of tea before you dive into Part Two.



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Well, let’s start with the press conference held on March 22, when NBC reporter Peter Alexander posed this question:

Peter Alexander responds:

Jon Zal pointed out something important about this exchange:

P.S. Jon Zal is a writer and former U.S. Army Military Police K-9 Handler. Originally from Boston, he now resides in the Philadelphia area. He blogs at

And that’s all you need to know about Der Drumpf is leading us to winning so much over this flu-like “nothing” that we’re all going to be so tired of winning when this is over.



























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In late February, I went to Florida on a packed plane that included several babies, including one who screamed the whole time and I wanted to punch the mother for bringing an infant with ear problems ON A PLANE.

Four days later I came back from Florida on a plane that was 3/4 full and the only baby was waaaaay in the back.

The next week, I went to Los Angeles on a plane that was half empty and had NO BABIES and I gave the guy sitting next to me a hand sanitizer wipe and we became such good friends (who didn’t talk to one another the whole 6 hours YAY) that he offered me the Ghiradelli chocolate that came with our lunch. Five days later, I came home from Los Angeles with Top Cat on a plane that was 3/4 empty, had no babies or old people on it, and everyone was keeping themselves to themselves and maintaining their distance even during the scrum to de-plane.

I’ll say one thing about this plague. It’s given me some outstandingly pleasant travel experiences.

Last week I had every intention to blog about my LA trip and show you what I had for lunch in Koreatown:

When the waitress set the table I had to google “Why did I get scissors with my spicy noodles in a Korean restaurant?”

I also had a story about an epic instance of mansplaining during an Uber ride, and how it poured rain for four of the five days I was there prompting me to spend an entire day in our rental apartment doing nothing but watching 4th-century BC costume drama porn a Chinese historical drama on my iPad not talking to anyone and no one talking to me IT WAS HEAVEN, and etc.

But now that things have got bad, it seems poor taste to make light of the hardships that our hard-working fellow citizens and our nation are going through. . .

. . . so let’s dive right in:
























My gym is closed so I’m improvising daily workouts here at home but lordy, I miss my gym buddies who are always there to recommend ways to fine-tune my weight-lifting program and to tell me that I have such pretty hair. My Korean lessons have shifted from our weekly get-togethers on 32nd Street to on-line streaming and I miss the jokes that are only funny when you’re in a classroom with 10 other people who get it when someone mutters, “Oh, right, the Joseon dynasty.” I can’t play with my BFF because she has lung cancer and has to avoid people even more than she usually does so, when it comes to day-drinking and thinking up ways to not act my age, I’m on my own now.

French Quarter Fest has been cancelled, so there goes the annual trip to New Orleans that Top Cat and I take every April.

I’m pretty sure that BTS is going to have to cancel their American tour (April 25 – June 6), for which I have tickets for both nights when they are at Giants Stadium May 23 and 24. Getting those tickets through Ticketmaster via a special platform open only to pre-registered ARMY (BTS fans) (to avoid scalpers) was an ordeal that one of my fellow ARMYs likened to “The Hunger Games”. In 1974 I once stood on line for five hours to get tickets to see Elton John at the Philadelphia Spectrum; getting BTS tickets was far worse. I’m really upset about this.

The upside is that, so far, the neighborhood has been very village-y, like the time Super Storm Sandy came to town and knocked out power for six days. People are actually out on the back streets, taking walks, TOGETHER. Even through social distancing, people say Hi when you pass, because we know that we are all in this together. I was in the parking lot of our local Total Wine store, loading the car with eight bottles of vodka and a case of pino grigio, I made eye contact with the woman doing the same in the SUV parked next to me and she smiled and said, “Well, at least we got the important stuff done!”

This morning I made an early morning run to the grocery store to stock up on junk food — on my previous visits I had been too focused on getting a supply of ground turkey, canned beans, rice, and tabasco sauce — and I tipped the cashier $10 and thanked her for being there.


During this time of sheltering in place, I have hours of Chinese and Korean TV to watch, I have a foreign language to learn, I have sooooo many emails to return, and sooooo much Twitter to catch up on every day. All I have to do to be an adult these days is stay home and not talk to anyone, ever. I think I can be really good at this.If not for the fact that this pandemic will be economically catastrophic to so many people and institutions, and profoundly alter our society in ways we can’t even anticipate yet, this could be the happiest time of my life.


Or, if you have a dog:


And if being cooped up with your family starts to fray your nerves, here’s some advise:



Have a great weekend, everyone. I’ll be back next week for sure, now that certain functions of my computer are operating again and I can’t stand the guilt when I don’t show up for our regularly-scheduled chats.

And, oh yeah, Fuck Trump.








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Dear Readers: Last week’s blog post is still up (immediately following this important announcement), but first I have to tell you that this week’s Fuck Trump-A-Thon will be postponed until Saturday, March 14.

I’m doing something fun on Friday the 13th and wanted to let you know that I won’t have sobered up until Saturday morning.

See you!



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After last week’s rant against capri pants I feel that, as a renowned fashion blogger, I owe you fine Readers some sincere advise about good taste.

This is a Must Have for those of you who want to show the world your  style-consciousness:

You can get this on Amazon for $16.99. It comes in 10 colors (I got mine in black, because I always go classic) and can be worn by any human being who has a heart and a few brain cells. (P.S. That’s not me in the photo. I’ll post a pic of me when I find the charger to my camera.)

I wouldn’t wear this T-shirt to Costco or when I volunteer to read stories to children at the library, but it might come in handy on Election Day (a mere 269 days away).

Another thing I forgot to tell you about Florida was that the plane home from Southwest International Airport to JFK was deliciously roomy due to the fact that 1/3 of the seats were empty. Four days later, when Top Cat flew to San Fransisco, he told me that his flight was half full. I think the COVID-19 virus panic is starting to show its upside. I have to take a trip later this month and I’m hoping to have the plane all to myself.





For the past five weeks I’ve been schlepping into Manhattan every Saturday afternoon to hang out in Koreatown and I feel great. There is no panic on 32nd Street.

I’m going to Koreantown to take my Korean language beginner class with emphasis on learning to read the written form of it and the book we are using is called Korean Made Easy which is annoying because, as is true of every thing that promises to make losing weight, finding enlightenment, or earning $100,00 in your spare time EASY, it is a lie.

Very few things in life are really, truly EASY and learning a foreign language isn’t one of them. I don’t need to be sold on a new adventure with the pitch that it will be EASY and it’s embarrassing that we live in a culture that makes those kinds of promises. I don’t mind it if something will be hard, I’m willing to make sacrifices and dig in and do the work, except for dentistry. I really wish there was an easy way to keep your teeth looking good in your 60s but it seems that can’t be done without a LOT of work.

I’ve been spending some quality time with my dentist lately and even though all I have to do is sit still for 40 minutes at a time, it’s the hardest thing I’ve done in the past decade or so because for some reason, my dentist insists that I remain conscious during our sessions so, good-bye dreams of a propofol snooze and waking up with beautiful teeth.

Thank you, modern dentistry and Mr and Mrs Kim of Deagu, South Korea, for this.

In the end it will be worth it, but meantime I can’t decide if modern dentistry is a miracle that saves us from an old age of hideous toothlessness, or if it’s just medieval barbarity with 21st century tools.  I’m doing it the hard way, one tortuous thousand bucks at a time, and the sad thing is that I’m usually in so much discomfort when we finish that I can’t even tolerate a glass of wine as my just reward. Warm water mixed with honey is my drink of choice lately. No wonder I’ve been in a bad mood since Ground Hog Day.

I want to thank all of you — Christine, Tracy, Megan, Angel, Margaret, Steve, Carol, Mae, Karen, Marilyn, Megan, Casey, Jeanie, Kirra, and Maryanne in SC — for your kind words about Lickety. It’s been a month and I still get those jarring reality checks when I remember that Lickety won’t be showing up for breakfast any more.  Or  this:



in memory of a Really Good Cat, this week’s installment of our regularly scheduled Resist-A-Thon is dedicated to Lickety.





















Have a great weekend, everyone. Have yourselves a wine cooler for me.



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There is nothing worse than going to Florida in February and spending a few days sitting outside on a balcony with a glass of wine and a good book in a warm sea breeze while watching a spectacular sun set on the Gulf of Mexico, and then coming back home to the north shore of Long Island and it’s still February, and you’re on the north shore, of Long Island, where it’s 29 degrees and everything in your backyard is dead, including Likety. I’m not in a good mood toady.

Weather in Florida is like a work of art, if you like works of art that are gorgeous, monumental, dramatic, and awe-inspiring. I LOVE the weather in Florida in February. There’s only one problem about the lovely weather in Florida. It’s in Florida.

Two words why I detest Florida: Capri Pants.

Just because they’re named after a beautiful Mediterranean island where billionaires like to park their yachts DOES NOT MEAN that you look like a billion bucks wearing them. Capri pants were invented by a Prussian dressmaker in 1948, to be worn by a new kind of human being that was created in the post-war years — teenagers. These days, no teenager would be caught dead in  Capri pants.

That’s because these days, capri pants are worn by every white-haired, fat-assed retiree in Florida, the kind who flock to Perkin’s Pancake House for the 4:30PM early bird dinners on Free Pie Mondays.

I get it. I get that Capri pants are supposed to be “fun”. They cover more than shorts, so you don’t have to expose your sad wrinkled knees, and they are shorter than regular pants, like cut-offs for the elderly. Woo hoo! Capri pants mean that you’re a free bird, a party animal, a pie-eater ready to rave ’til the six o’clock news comes on!

Some people don’t mind getting old, and giving up, and wearing Capri pants. But I’m not one of those people.

No, I want to avoid people who give Getting Old a bad name so I will not move to Florida full-time, but I do like a dose of it during February.

The only good thing about my comeback to the north shore of Long Island yesterday was the  movie that I watched on the two-hour flight back to New York. I can’t say enough good things about JoJo Rabbit.DO NOT WATCH to official trailer for the movie on YouTube — it gives away the plot twists.

Jo Jo is a ten-year-old Nazi and his best friend is Adolf Hitler, and it’s a comedy. I know it sounds deadly, but that’s all you need to know about this film going in. That’s about all I knew, but I was trapped on a plane so I gave it a chance. and I AM SO GLAD I DID!!

The movie was written and directed by a 44-year old native of New Zealand, Taika Waititi, whose birth name is Taika David Cohen.  His mother is Jewish and his father is Maori, and  Waititi calls himself a “Polynesian Jew”, in case you’re wondering why a Kiwi is telling a holocaust story.

Waititi also play Hitler in the movie, for which he won an Oscar this year for Best Adapted Screenplay.

I think Jo Jo Rabbit should have won Best Picture. It was one of the nine nominees this year, but Parasite won, and as hot as I am for anything Korean these days, I wasn’t crazy about Parasite and now I’m totally infatuated with Jo Jo Rabbit. I want to take Top Cat to see it just so I can see it again.

Go see it, even if you have to fly Delta from RSW to JFK to do it.

You will thank me.

And now for our regularly scheduled programming.

Fuck Trump.


This is absolutely true. Trump said this Feb 21, 2020 at a rally in Colorado Springs, CO. And the crowd cheered.


























Have a great weekend, Dear Ones. Don’t do what I do:


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This is my favorite picture of me with the things that make me happy here on the north shore of Long Island: our backyard in Summer, a glass of wine, a newly-found Blue Jay feather, and Lickety.

Dear Ones, you knew you’d have to read these words sooner or later:

Lickety died, here at home, on Sunday, Feb. 9. He’s buried in a spot just behind the chairs in this photo.

On Saturday morning, Feb. 8, Lickety had a seizure under the dining room table.  We wrapped our sweet boy in a blankie and went straight to the vet’s office. It was 9:30am. We were ready to say good-bye, but Lickety wasn’t having it. While the vet examined him, Lickety roused himself and seemed more alert than he’d been in days. He paced the floor, stalking the examination room as if looking for an escape.

So the vet tested Lickety with a bowl of special high-calorie food, which Lickety gobbled down and asked for more. This made the vet think that Lickety was pretty perky and had more time left, and he advised us to take our boy home. He assured us that Lickety was not in pain, but warned us that “It’s going to be roller coaster, but he might have another month left.”

We bought a month’s supply of special food and took him home.

Lickety never ate another morsel of the stuff. On Saturday night he had another seizure, and was knocked out for about an hour. The vet explained that old, sick cats take a while to recover from these neural events but we shouldn’t panic, that eventually Lickety would come back to “normal”. So we put a blanket over him and waited, and he did come back, to almost “normal”.

However, he looked weak on Sunday morning, even though he joined the other cats for breakfast, as usual (although he didn’t eat), and he sat on my lap, as usual, while top Cat and I read the Sunday paper.

After lunch, while Lickety was walking out of the living room, he fell down and couldn’t get up. It didn’t look like another seizure; it looked like Lickety was simply running out of energy. I sat with him until he got the strength to pick himself up, and he wobbled into the den.

That’s when Lickety settled in under the coffee table there, and went to sleep.

In the late afternoon, he woke up all of a sudden and had a rather big seizure, and this time he didn’t come back to anything near “normal”. He seemed to be in a daze, his breathing was fast and shallow, his eyes staring at something that was not in the room. I laid him down on a fluffy blanket that he liked and put him back under the coffee table. I was lying down on the floor next to him, stroking his head, talking to him, telling him that we loved him, and that it was OK to go.

After a few hours, he jerked awake, raised his head a little, drew himself in as if he were curling up to go to sleep, and exhaled. His body went limp in my hands, and he was dead. It was 7:32 PM.

I don’t recommend this kind of home death for every cat. Death is hard, and slow. But with Lickety, I didn’t rush him to the emergency vet when we knew he was dying on Sunday because he had convinced me that he did not want to spend his last moments of life in a hospital, having made such a show of being a strong kitty at the vet’s office and hoodwinking us into taking him home.

I believe that this is the death that Lickety wanted. I’ve had a lot of cats, and I’ve seen cats die in many ways, from heart attacks in the living room to dropping dead under my kitchen table to the preferred last visit to the vet, to stuff you don’t want to know about. And you all, I know,  have a sense about what your beloved animal companions need and want at the end of their lives. So, I’m trusting my instinct on this.

Death is such a huge thing that even when a small, frail kitty dies, it rips a huge hole in reality. We had a dead cat in our den, and the whole house seemed off its axis. Top Cat and I were numb, too numb to cry, so we covered our dear boy with a linen napkin and made martinis. And then we made some more martinis.

We buried him the next morning.

This is one of the reasons that I love Twitter. This (above) came up in the tl at just the right time.

So, as you know, life goes on. And on. And on.

When I die, I want people to be absolutely miserable for about 24 hours, and then I want them to remember me and laugh. Really big laughs.



And, oh yeah: Fuck Trump.

Have a great weekend, everyone.





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