Living in the Dark in La La Land

It is becoming increasingly evident to myself and all the other poor unfortunate hostages in Los Angeles that gross mismanagement by our pathetic politicians is over the moon. Spoiler alert: If you think La La Land is the greatest, you need read no further. I’m not mincing insults here. And I have spoken with residents across the entire spectrum of political beliefs and guess what? Everyone agrees that no matter your politics, California is ridiculous. If you live in other states, I say Congrats and I don’t blame you if you are clucking your tongue and wondering why we’re still here.

What once used to be the rare occurrence of an electrical outage has now become a regular event. A few weeks ago, the electricity went off for two and a half days. I bring this up because as I write this rant I am once again without lights or power.

When something rarely happens it can be understood and forgiven. Being from Detroit, I fully understand that the weather, especially in the winter, can create some dark and powerless days. Often in the U.S. spring rains bring raging floods and brutal hurricanes take a great toll. And yes of course, being without the Internet and some lights for awhile is in no way any great hardship. There are many tragic events we all witness in this country every day, and not watching television most certainly doesn’t qualify. Yet when these events occur, not because of nature or unforeseen circumstances, but because of political incompetence, it’s inexcusable and frustrating. Why should Beverly Hills be without power? Were too many laser treatments happening at the same time?

Here in LA, the inconvenience of living without lights or electricity is clearly another signal the city is being tragically mismanaged and totally lacking in capable leadership. I’m not blaming in any way the men and women who work hard in the field at all hours fixing what’s broken. They can’t be blamed.

I also believe a year ago when water was nowhere to be found during fire season, it should have been a clue things weren’t being handled properly. Sheer incompetence resulted in the tragic loss of so many homes and lives in this area. Instead of a wake-up call it became a blame game of gigantic proportions. The victims are still waiting to get their lives back as empty lots dot the landscape. Despite the rhetoric construction here is a Herculean effort beyond belief.

Our dysfunctional politicians spent all their time finding excuses and others to blame. While they should have been invested in ensuring such events are handled and prevented, they spent their time covering their own rear ends.

There is one thing you can say about California politicians, they are great at deflecting their pathetic inability to govern with any intelligence or accountability.

So here I am, once again sitting in the dark and pondering why anyone would want to live in this ridiculous excuse for a state.

Where once the weather and beauty of the landscape was a good enough reason to dwell here, it is no longer. Traffic, inept politicians, crime, filthy air quality, the unbelievable cost of living and higher and higher taxes are reason enough to leave. And now LA is proposing a higher sales tax to pay for more fire capability. I guess the billions they waste and misplace each year on frivolity is more important than providing civil services. Did I mention the politicians?

It’s no wonder the moving business is the best place to invest in this state.

So many say the weather makes it worth the grief, I must disagree.

Having lived through a major earthquake, I’ll take an ice storm anytime over a crumbling building.

Yes, I admit it’s nice to awaken to sunshine instead of freezing and darkness, but at what price?

I suppose human beings adapt to their environment. Still there comes a time one must wonder if sunny days make up for the idiocy of living in a place run by people that go out of their way to make citizen’s lives harder.

If those in other states actually knew of the outrageously insane laws being passed here constantly, it would provide hysterical fodder for any dinner party.

“Can you believe the people in California allow this to go on? They must be mad.”

I concur as one of the mad ones who feel powerless to stop such madness.

Despite the insanity of the politicians, people continue to vote for the same efficiency-challenged leaders that make their lives unbearable.

When LA DA Gascon initiated cashless bail and raised the financial threshold on jail time for robbery, there was a recall to remove him.

He won and remained in office until it became so unlivable and dangerous they eventually voted him out. But sadly, not by that big a margin.

The answer is simple, either the majority of voters are devout masochists, or are totally oblivious to what is going on around them. I’m probably being too kind here.

Either way it portends badly for the voters that would like to see someone in office that actually has brains and ability. Someone who actually cares about the electorate and not merely their own political agenda. (Dream on, Norma). Still the die-hard LA lovers would tolerate anything and anyone to live here.

So by now you’re wondering why I’m still here. After all, I’m free and light years past twenty-one, why am I bitching instead of packing? Sadly, it’s quite impossible to leave one’s family and friends and start over when you reach a certain age. Certain shmertan age, okay the golden years. I said it. And I’ve figured out the only reason for that name is all the gold it takes to keep yourself healthy. But that’s another blog. If you live in other states, I say Congrats and I don’t blame you if you are clucking your tongue and wondering why we’re still here. But as I said, not so easy.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem likely that in the near future brains and common sense will return to California, but one lives on hope.

Where once people came west to make a new and better life, now sadly they must leave to achieve that goal. Many successful people still live here, but they pay a high price. As someone recently commented about LA, “they don’t make it easy, that’s for sure.”

I’m no Pollyanna who walks around in a dream state. I know life is difficult everywhere. But much harder and unnecessary when politicians are grossly incompetent.

One can only pray the people in this state finally realize that voting for the same horror show of leaders guarantees the same pathetic results.

Maybe looking at a few more pictures of the barren ruins of Pacific Palisades and Alta Dena will jolt them into reason. Alas, I wouldn’t take that bet.

God is in the Oil of Olay

God is in the Oil of Olay

Shock and awe is a phrase often used to describe a moment when we can’t quite register what we are seeing. It’s usually reserved for those occasions that might render one speechless, like seeing an explosion in a building a few feet away or a smash and grab when you’re trying on clothes at Nordstrom.

So I’m not quite certain that what I’m about to describe would be considered shock and awe by some, but to me it was one of those moments and I have to say it was more shock than awe.

I recently attended an event where I ran into many of my friends. I was legitimately surprised at how many who I’d not seen since before the pandemic I actually didn’t even recognize.

It was as if some horrible time demon had waved his wand over everyone’s face and aged them a hundred years overnight. Oh that Satan can be tricky.

The friends I did recognize seemed so much older and their faces were sporting more lines than Costco the day before a holiday.

I was completely taken off guard since when I look in the mirror I see someone aging gracefully, and bearing an acute resemblance to the person I was twenty-five years ago. Am I being sprinkled with fairy dust at night I wondered? Everyone looked so old and yet I didn’t feel that I had aged that much.

I suddenly felt so bad for everyone and wondered if there were group rates on plastic surgery in Beverly Hills.

I mean if everyone my age looks so old, I must look that way too. So why is it when I look in that dreaded looking glass I don’t see old?

Although, and here’s the really scary part, I see my mother. I think that means something here, but I refuse to acknowledge what.

Are my eyes much worse than I know? Could it be that my brain is off and isn’t perceiving the world as it should be?

Everyone else is ancient and I don’t see myself that way. Should I grab my toothbrush and a cat and start picking out my mummy case?

Something weird is going on here and I’m determined to know what it is.

I check out a woman I know who had a total face lift years ago and her face is filled with lines; and I’m not talking about the lines in a soliloquy by the Bard. Must be the light. Is there some special light in this room that creates wrinkling on human flesh?

No way I think when I see another friend who has single handedly kept the Botox industry in business. Her eyes were sporting more wrinkles than an un-ironed 1000 thread count cotton sheet.

The men looked seriously older with tires around their waists and numerous lines around their eyes. Then there’s that thinning hair that seemed to be in a race to get to the back of their heads.

What the hell, I thought. Who are these old people and what have they done with my friends?

It was obvious looking around who had found the good plastic surgeons and availed themselves of their services, but did I look so old to everyone or was I Cleopatra in a state of denial?

I suppose it is true that you don’t see yourself as old until you look at your friends. Then suddenly reality kicks you in the butt like a goat you just stepped on and woke up from its nap. OUCH!

Ageing is painful and difficult to deal with without having it shoved down your throat…and speaking of my neck which sorry, I don’t even think I have the strength to do.

It seems no matter how much plastic surgery one endures, and I’m also talking about the pain of receiving the surgeon’s bill, Vicodin protects you from the other effects, the years are not kind to your face. No matter what, Father Time, that son of a bitch always gets the last laugh.

I know women who’ve had their neck done only to make their eyes look more wrinkled and hooded.

Then there are my jowls that make me want to go around saying… “So Buffalo Bob, who is on the show today?”

“Well, Howdy, we have a plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills with us. He’s going to fix those puppet lines on your face and give Princess Summer Fall Winter Spring a boob lift.”

I won’t even try on clothes in a store anymore. I can’t face the damn dressing room mirror. Those lights make me look like a chicken that was in the oven too damn long.

I search Google for testimonials by women who once looked a hundred and used a cream and woke up looking fifty. I can’t find a single one.

And yet there are ads all over with Oprah hyping gummy bears that allow you to lose fifty pounds in a week. So why can’t they invent a miracle gummy bear that removes wrinkles in a week?

We could kill two birds with one stone there; my craving for sugar and looking ancient.

Cleopatra killed herself with an asp to avoid being humiliated by Octavian. But did she really? Maybe she looked in the mirror and saw a wrinkle. Cleo figured  despite all those jewels around her neck the hanging would soon commence. Let’s face it the girl was a serious narcissist.  So instead of ageing she called the asp over and went to sleep. That’s one alternative to looking like an old crone. If you’ll notice there are no statues of Cleo as an old broad. Smart play, Girl.

I am certain that my friends don’t see themselves as old when they look in the mirror any more than I do. Oh sure we notice little things like those three additional chins and how our lipstick bleeds onto our nose. How can we not when we have to lift our neck to wash our chest?

But all in all, there is a certain sense of denial that comes with the years.

We actually see ourselves in two dimensions at the same time, where the young us and the old us combine, which puts us somewhere in the middle.

It’s a gift God gave women to make up for the whole Harvey Weinstein thing he knew would exist.

So there is really no way to see ourselves as we truly look because our brain inserts the youthful us into our eyes whenever we look into a mirror.

Sure, the Devil sneaks in sometimes and provides the magnifying mirror or overhead lights to cause some pain, but our brain always protects us from the harsh reality of youth’s loss.

Every woman would like to look as she did when she was thirty. Even if she was sporting her old nose and tiny boobs.

So because we can’t go back in time Benjamin Button style, we have to tell ourselves it’s okay. Thus we simply apply the make-up and creams with lots of hope and constant prayer. Isn’t it amazing how religious a woman can become when putting on her face?

My Howdy Doody Dumplings

I package of egg roll wrappers

canned salmon

1 can cream of mushroom soup

1 8 oz cream cheese softened

1 cup of baby peas

¼ cup of crushed ritz crackers

¼ cup red pepper chopped finely

½ teaspoon of lemon juice

salt and pepper to taste

1 egg

water

Mix half the can of soup with softened cream cheese

break up salmon into small pieces and add I cup to the soup mixture

Add salt and pepper to taste and mix well into everything is incorporated.

Mix the egg with some water

Place a large tablespoon of the mixture onto the egg roll wrapper and brush the edges with egg mix and fold it in half and seal it well.

Brush the top with egg wash and place on a sheet pan with parchment paper that has been sprayed with oil.

You can either boil the dumplings or fry them in butter. I’ve never tried them in the air fryer, but I imagine they might work in there.

Use the leftover soup with a half cup of half and half and some salt and pepper as a sauce and serve with rice or mashed potatoes.