THE HORRORS OF COMMUNAL LAUNDRY ROOMS

That picture could have been used for an Alfred Hitchcock movie poster as far as I'm concerned. A horror movie. Because every single time I have to interact with the so-called human race, whether it's communal laundry rooms or 'beauty parlors,' I start feeling like I'm in the shower with Janet Leigh, heart pounding, ready to scream bloody murder.

I know my extreme distaste for laundromats is shared by many people, especially these skeevy days. I have one friend in Manhattan who brings a can of Lysol before he allows his clothing to even touch the inside of a cart, machine or dryer.

I line my own carts with plastic, never knowing if someone's brat in the building decided to 'ride' inside them with dirty shoes. UCK.

Growing up in the Bronx, 1950s, we all had our own washing machines, but no dryers. Outdoor clotheslines in the warm months, and indoor clotheslines for those winter days when your wet clothing froze into baccala if you hung them outside. And people also used the lines up on the roof (when we could still go up there.)

My mother was a genius at having as many lines as she could possibly fit...two from the kitchen window, and one from the bedroom extending all the way over to a sturdy post my father put on the fire escape. And then there was the back courtyard line, but she didn't like using that one, too dirty.

So I am still resentful about having to share a laundry room with people, most of whom talk too much about nothing and are more annoying than gnats on a hot sticky summer night.

As for 'beauty parlors'...my very first trip was to a neighborhood place called Chez Joey on East 187th Street, just steps away from Arthur Avenue. It was 1961, I was graduating Junior High School 45 and attending the prom, and a ridiculous hair style known as the 'artichoke' ruled the day. Because I was intensely shy and had zero self-confidence, I just allowed Joey to cut, style and spray my hair until it was harder than a soldier's helmet, in agony the entire time. I HATED it but bit the bullet, wore it to the prom, but could not WAIT to wash that crap out of my hair and do it the way I liked it.

Getting back to laundry circa 1950s, we also invented the very first version of the internet, and it was far more fun than the current one!

See what I mean??

THE MYSTERIOUS 11:11

Several years ago, I began to notice something happening that, at first, I attributed to mere coincidence. Then, after it happened far too many times to ignore, I researched the subject and found that an amazing phenomenon was taking place around the world.

Many many people in countries all over the globe began to report seeing 11:11 (or some variation thereof, ie, 1:11, 2:22, 4:11, etc.) when they happened to glance at a clock. They, too, refused to accept "coincidence" for this mysterious but intriguing anomaly.

My research, of course, brought up a host of spiritual reasons for it, including the fact that only 'certain' people were allowed to see it ~ why I do not know. But the very fact that I was chosen by the universe as one of its favored children renewed my hope and faith that, at long last, I had finally found the right path, after searching for it my entire life.

Some information suggested that seeing 11:11 meant angels were touching your shoulder to say that a blessing was coming your way, and that a prayer and wish for something be made every time one saw the mysterious numbers. And so I did, thanking the invisible angels with love each time.

For the past month, I've been struggling with a life dilemma...to leave the city in which I was born and raised (but always loathed) and begin life anew in another place, with a brand-new family. Not an easy choice to make in one's older years, but I have grown extremely weary of both hectic city life and the increasing loneliness of living alone.

Frank Sinatra once recorded an album of songs written by Rod McKuen. One of the songs, 'Some Traveling Music' included the following reflection...

"How can you say something new about being alone? Tell somebody you're a loner? Right away they think you're lonely. It's not the same thing, you know. It's not wanting to put all your marbles in one pocket. And it's caring enough not to care too much. Mostly, I guess, it's letting yourself come first for a while..."

Well, I've done that ~ let myself come first ~ for a very long while now, and I think it's time to move on.

As I was agonizing over making the final decision this morning, I walked into my bedroom, my mind preoccupied with a thousand thoughts. I just happened to glance at the clock and froze. 11:11.  

The angels have given me their blessing, and I look forward to sharing a real home, not an egg crate apartment, with a real family of friends who love and care about each other and have accepted me as not only their friend and roommate, but house mother as well!

One final picture. (I'm heading west.)

"ABOUT MY 40 ACRES AND MY MULE..."

Oscar Brown, Jr. had it right when he wrote and recorded that song live (1964's "Mr. Oscar Brown Jr. Goes To Washington.")

Scathingly sarcastic, speaking for a "man on his street" and his ancestors, he tallied up the labor, years and interest on that most egregious of broken promises, and figured to hell with the land and the mule, he'd take the money. 

To wit:

"...now ain't no tellin' how much work was done by my ancestors under slavery's rule. But sure as hell, the total's got to come to at least 40 acres and a mule! Now I'm not saying this to see folks sweat, because I'm not bitter, neither am I cruel...but ain't nobody paid for slavery yet...about my acres and my mule ... 'course, interest's gotta go on, just like rent ~ I may be crazy but I ain't no fool...one hundred years of debt at 10% per year, per 40 acres and per mule! WHOOOWEE, look at that! No wonder y'all call Great Grandma a jewel! Just pay me that and call the whole thing square. Lordy, 40 acres and a mule!"

Just IMAGINE how different things could have been had that simple promise been kept. Instead, President Lincoln was assassinated, all his plans thrown out the window, freed slaves just cast aside to fend for themselves in a hostile environment, and nobody had the integrity (or courage) to carry out what would have been an excellent plan for the freed slaves: each family would receive 40 acres and a mule to give them a fair start. 

Since most were deliberately kept illiterate by their former owners, the only real work they knew, and could excel at, was working the land and farming. A small colony of freed slaves was, indeed, formed and thriving on the outer banks of the Carolinas until the bastards of American government allowed the former owners (and confederate rebels/traitors) to "reclaim their land" and chase them out at gunpoint. 

That single act of betrayal ~ a broken promise ~ to a people who were trapped in their native land and brought here shackled in filthy ships, to be treated like nothing more than livestock, is a stain on American history that will never go away.

Now, let us play make-believe and pretend that President Andrew Johnson (Lincoln's successor, and the most hated man in Washington DC, for good reason) did keep the broken promise, allowing these people to make their own way, with a little help from a government that wronged them so horrifically? Do you see what I see? Wow, beautiful farms, lovingly tended by decent, hard-working families and not very much 'black crime' at all...because they got a fair deal and were able to make it own their own.

How the hell can anyone know this history and not see the WHOLE picture??

And speaking of farming, America is now reaping what was sown well over a century ago. How different it could have been if a simple promise was kept, and basic human decency prevailed.

PRICE GOUGING: IT'S THE AMERICAN WAY!

I recently bought store-brand peroxide at my local pharmacy. The bottle has not only been downsized to half its former size, but the price has been upsized. What used to cost 99 cents is now $2.79. And, cynical me, I immediately knew why.

It seems regular old hydrogen peroxide has been discovered as the new wiz kid for household cleaning ~ household tips galore, and now Lysol is utilizing it in its products, so of course, the price shoots up astronomically. That is price gouging, pure and simple. And greed. And, pardon my salty tongue, bullshit too.

Great for the stockholders, but yet another nail in the coffin of 'regular' Americans, most of whom are already struggling to get by. Way to go, capitali$m! Screw the people, just grab whatever you can to fatten your already-fat coffers. I guess we weren't far off when we called you "capitalist pigs" back in the Sixties, were we?

When I saw 'Wall Street' and heard Michael Douglas give his "greed is good" speech, I literally hated his guts (that's how good an actor he is) until he redeemed himself with 'Falling Down.' (Now who can't identify with that movie, especially these disgustingly avaricious days?)

And greed is part and parcel of the nefarious "new" America, the seeds for it planted by Ronald Reagan who conned-forced us into thinking that his "trickle-down" theory would work, that giving corporations free reign would allow their employees to share in the profits. Really? All it did was make corporations even more greedy than they were before, giving them permission to run amok, rewarding their own with billion-dollar CEO deals, and who cares about the employees?

I have no clue as to why so many Americans 'revere' Ronald Reagan; he was a horrible president who, along with Miss Wide-Eyes Nancy, ushered in the selfish 'Me Decade' and virtually destroyed the middle class. But that's how stupid Americans can be ~ they're so easily charmed by snakes, they can't see the forest for the trees. And please don't give me that bullshit about the Berlin Wall...the people  would have torn it down, whether he said something or not. Reagan should have stuck with his B-grade movies, and never been elected to anything more than Mayor of Dogpatch, USA.

The only "ism" that seems to be working almost flawlessly in today's world is (OMG, she's going to say the S-word) socialism. America has lost its way and can no longer be viewed as the "Land of Opportunity"...unless, of course, you're a corporation.

As for corporations upsizing their prices? UP YOURS, WITH CAT CLAWS.

NIK WALLENDA...ARE YOU INSANE??

Uh...I don't really think I need that sign when it comes to 'crossing' over anything connected to the Grand Canyon! I get vertigo just crossing a street (that's a big jump from the curb down) so the mere thought of what Nik Wallenda is, at this very moment, attempting to do has me at a complete and total loss for words.

First of all, we have laws in this country mandating the wearing of seat belts when driving, helmets when riding a bicycle, the installation of safety baby seats in cars, ad infinitum...but it's okay to cross the Grand Canyon on a wire, with no safety net or other safety precautions at all? Sounds nuts to me.

I don't know...is there a certain gene that causes people like the Wallendas, Evel Knievel, and all the maniacs who think breaking bones, risking their lives, walking around active volcanoes or climbing Mount Everest is some kind of grand achievement? Is it for the thrill alone? What's so thrilling about possibly falling into a churning vat of volcanic lava or freezing your ass off so high up, you can't breathe without oxygen? I don't get it.

Even if Mr. Wallenda signed off as to any responsibility should he, heaven forbid, not make it all the way across, WHY would anyone in their right mind even want to do something like this? Of course, the very first reason is fame and fortune. And, in Mr. Wallenda's case, this kind of daredevil behavior has been his family's claim to fame that goes back (I've read) to the 1700s, so I guess he's just keeping family tradition alive.

Unless he winds up at the bottom of the Grand Canyon: SPLAT! 

In which case, he might land even further down, at the bottom of Alice's Rabbit Hole, which is exactly what this latest stunt feels like.

"But we're ALL mad here..."

Sure seems that way.

"SHE'S LEAVING HOME...BYE, BYE..."

"...she's leaving home after living alone for so many years..." ~ Lennon/McCartney 

I told you this was going to be a recurring subject, didn't I?

Yup. Looks like this NYC bird is finally going to give this city the bird, fly the coop, leave the nest, live in (gasp!) a smaller town with fewer people. So far, typical response: "How could you EVER leave New York City??" when the question should be "why the hell did it take me so long??"

Well, that's because I used to think most of my 'family' was here, which they are, but aren't...if you know what I mean. After my mother died in 2004, I hung around, not really knowing where to go, what to do...so I stayed until things crystallized and I knew exactly where I stood, and with what and whom I was dealing. Talk about rude awakenings.

Take family off the list of reasons to stay here.

Then I lost my car in 2006, leaving me stuck in a lovely apartment with a terrace, but in a crowded, congested area and not much else...unless you want to walk beneath a NOISY elevated train in a shopping area dense with people, buses, traffic...not my cup of tea. And if you feel like taking a leisurely stroll around here, you have to be a mountain goat because the hills are STEEP and the blocks LONG. You might also consider carrying a baseball bat, or something to protect yourself from all the crazies currently walking among us.

Location, location, location. Next one off the list of reasons to stay.

Add to that my agoraphobic tendencies (being out there without an immediate way to escape the madness ~ lock the doors, roll up the windows, turn on the radio and get home ASAP ~ is terrifying to a person with high anxiety issues.)

"Change of address, change of luck" ~ my late Aunt Yolanda always told me

Excellent reason to add to the list.

So I essentially became a prisoner of my own choice, and now it's getting old. I no longer take any pleasure in anything to do with New York City. Someone said, "You can always go back to visit" and I answered "When I leave this place in the rear-view mirror, it is FOREVER. Why on earth would I want to return to visit a dirty, noisy, congested, rude-ass, nasty, rip-off expensive city like New York?? I'd rather visit a tree in northwestern Canada than ever come back here again."

I've been a loner my entire life, and only recently began feeling truly lonely. I think it's going to be nice to have roommates again; even nicer is being adopted into a real family, be they 'blood relatives' or not. Last but far from least, for the first time in my life, I will live in a private home, not a frigging egg crate-apartment.

"Fate chooses our relatives, we choose our friends."

~ Jacques Delille

And we all know that "We get by with a little help from our friends..." don't we?