Spoiler alert: I griped about this very same topic a couple of years ago, but apparently no one was listening!  I’m still hearing the same robotic-like comments from well-meaning people, comments to which I feel coerced to politely respond.  And it’s the “politely respond” part that I find particularly irksome.  Call me cranky, or something worse, but it’s getting more difficult to stop myself from blurting “Don’t tell me what kind of a day to have!!!!”

By the way, Happy New Year!  This is the last time I shall say “Happy New Year “in 2025.  It’s the middle of January.  It’s enough already!  There should be a National “Say By” date after which it’s no longer appropriate to utter those three words.  Much like a “use by” or “sell by” date on a product.

I am no longer foolish enough to make New Year’s resolutions, but I thought if I could get some petty annoyances off my chest straight away, I will be able to face the rest of the year with a smile on my face.  Maybe.

So let me begin with one of my favorites, “Have a great day,” and its derivatives “Have a good day,” and “Have a good evening.”

If a stranger tells me to “have a great day,” how am I supposed to respond? Do I simply say “You, too?”  But that’s ridiculous.  I know perfectly well that the guy who parked my car is not going to have a great day.  It’s Florida; he’s sweating.  He’s running around in the heat parking and fetching cars for impatient people and cursing under his breath when they give him a stingy tip.

Instructing one to have a “great day” puts an onus on the recipient.  Now one must ponder about what extraordinary thing to do to make this day grander than the days before when there was no mandate.  It’s less of a burden to have a “good day,” I suppose.

Similarly, I’m leaving a restaurant at 10:00 PM and the hostess at the door smiles sweetly and says, “Have a good evening.”  Do I look twenty years old and about to go dancing? I’ve had my “good evening” in your restaurant and it’s already past my bedtime.  Do I bother to tell her it’s no longer evening, and a simple “Good Night” would be more appropriate? I really want to, but behind my smile I am gritting my teeth.

I find restaurants to be the source of another teeth-gritting experience.  I’m sure this has happened to you.  (If not, tell me where you dine because I want to go there.)  A wait person comes to take your order.  You tell her (or him, but it’s mostly a “her”) what you want, and she responds with an enthusiastic “Great!!.  You can almost see exclamation points coming from her mouth.  Was the menu a quiz and I made the correct selection? Is she complementing me on a good score? And can you tell me why ordering a Caesar salad and a plate of pasta is a wonderous thing? I find the response of “Great” in this context highly grating.

Then, there’s “Hi, how are you?” frequently uttered when you walk into a shop.  You’ve had me at “Hi.”  And do you really care how I am? And do I really care to tell you?  “Well, if you must know, my husband and I had a terrible row last night and I didn’t sleep a wink.  Then I spilled tomato juice all over the dog and had to bathe him three times before his white coat was no longer red.  Then I slipped on the kitchen floor because it was wet from bathing the dog three times.  And later I found out my best friend has an incurable disease…”  But the truth is not what is expected.  So, you smile, and lie, and simply say “fine.”

And how do you feel about political clichés? Whatever he (or she, but most often, a “he”) is ranting on about, the wind-up to the tirade is most often “….because that’s what the American people want!”  Hey, how do you know what the American people want? Did you waste my taxpayer dollars on a sweeping survey of every American? Funny, because I’m an American person and I don’t remember being asked.  Argh!

And in closing, I’d like to award honorable mention to “follow your dream,” and its cousin, “Do what you love,” both of which, to my mind, have about as much substance as a fortunate cookie.

​So, let’s raise a glass to a cliché-free 2025.  And until we meet again, promise me you’ll at least try to have a great day!

Have you missed me in your in-box?  Even if you didn’t notice or were relieved to have one less email to delete, I’d like to explain that the unplanned sabbatical over the last few months was due to family matters that required my full attention.  I’m happy to report that all is well and, for better or worse, I’m back at the keyboard.

Whether or not you are pleased by this news, I could not let the year come to an end without presenting my traditional top ten quiz of the stupidest new drug names of 2024.
And 2024, with all its ups and downs, produced a bumper crop of entirely unpronounceable labels for new pharmaceuticals.  Choosing merely ten out of the 60 novel drugs approved by the FDA in the past 12 months was like trying to eat only one potato chip.  I promise you; I am not making these up!

ALYFTREK

1. A hike across the Alyf Mountains
2. The first letter of the new Hebrew alphabet
3. Alyft’s car after an accident
4. A, or maybe C

HYMPAVZI

1. A song of praise dedicated to Saint Pavzi
2. Pavzi’s friend introducing him to Tarzan
3. IZVAPMYH spelled backwards
4. All of the above

YORVIPATH

1. The road to Yorvi
2. A vipath that belongs to you
3. Someone with a lisp offering a VIP pass
4. None of the above

LAZCLUZE

1. A clumsy Laz
2. A sequel to the TV show Blue’s Clues
3. An exclusive new A-list club in Los Angeles
4. Some of the above

LEQSELVI

1. What you get when you take a photo of your lower limb
2. A body of water in Selvi
3. A misspelling of Mr. Lequselvi’s surname
4. Are we there yet?

XOLREMDI

1. An innovative musical scale
2. A cure for Xol
3. A game of Tic Tac Toe gone awry
4. Let’s try B

UNLOXCYT

1. The super had a key and he was able to open the door
2. An ersatz smoked salmon product
3. A mnemonic for a new United Nations agency
4. I’m getting a headache!

ZIIHERA

1. Uh oh! My “I” key got stuck again!
2. Zeus’ wife identifying as nonbinary
3. A timespan characterized by Ziih
4. Where’s the Advil?

RAPIBLYK

1. The fast train to Blyk
2. A dyslexic abbreviation of one of the five NYC boroughs
3. A new hip-hop star who calls himself Iblyk
4. C?

REZDIFFRA

1. A unique type of Rez
2. Securing a table at the hot new restaurant Diffra
3. Land belonging to a heretofore unknown Native American tribe
4. Thank God it’s over!

And honorable mention goes to Exblifep, Zelsuvmi, Tevimbra, and Nemluvio, all of which are causing my spellcheck a nervous breakdown.

And in case you have any interest left at all, here are the uses for the drugs: Alyftrek: cystic fibrosis; Hympavzi: hemophilia; Yorvipath: hypoparathyroidism; Lazcluze: lung cancer; Leqselvi: alopecia; Xolremdi: WHIM syndrome;  Unloxcyt: carcinoma; Ziihera: biliary tract cancer; Rapiblyk: tachycardia; Rezdiffra: liver

​From my family to yours, I wish you a happy and healthy New Year.  Hopefully, I will continue to invade your inbox once a month in 2025.  I thank you for your continued indulgence.  I couldn’t possibly have this much fun without you!
​

I’m not sure if I really believe in reincarnation, but I do find the notion very seductive.  One can take a measure of comfort in the belief that, although one’s physical body may be dead, the soul can still thrive.  Just think about it.  I, or at least my soul, can start a new life in a different physical body or form.  Which leads me to ponder about my present life, and whether my existence as Susan just may have been the result of transmigration, and in a former life I was,  let’s say, a platypus.  But a discussion about past lives is a topic for another day.

If you’re wondering what triggered consideration of reincarnation at this time, I’m about to tell you.  (Even if you’re not wondering, I’m about to tell you.)  You can blame it on the time of year.  It’s almost fall, all right, but for me, it’s also check-up season.  It’s the time when all my annual medical visits come due, and with each passing year, it seems the calendar of appointments grows longer, and I am running from one doctor’s office to the next.  My body is no longer a singular entity, but is dissected into its separate components, each one falling under the purview of a different medical specialist.

So, what does this have to do with reincarnation, you may well ask? (Even if you don’t ask, I’m about to tell you.)  Assuming I have some personal input as to where my soul lands in the next life, I’ve decided that I want to return as a car.  And although I’m still trying to decide about make and model, foreign or domestic, sexy or practical, I’m certain that I want to spend my next go-around on earth as an automobile.

Does my choice surprise you? (Even if it doesn’t, I’m about to explain.) It’s simple, really.  At least to me.

Commencing Labor Day I will have visited an ophthalmologist, cardiologist, gastroenterologist (that was the worst) periodontist, radiologist, and gynecologist.  Waiting in the wings are the dermatologist, podiatrist, internist, and at least one more, whose specialty escapes me now. (Perhaps it’s a memory doctor?)  It’s exhausting!

But when I’m a car, and it’s time for my routine checkups, will I have to make numerous appointments and drive around from waiting room to waiting room? No!  It can all be accomplished in a single visit to one location.

While I’ll continue to have as many moving parts as I currently do, possibly more, I will not be required to make separate appointments with a transmission expert, or a tire rotation specialist.  I will not need someone with a degree in oil changes, brake examination, or piston inspection, not to mention a lube maven.

And, the visit won’t require my insurance cards, photo id, or checking off the boxes on an endless number of forms inquiring about my medical history.  And the mechanic is not interested in the number of pills I take, or if there’s any possibility that I might be pregnant.

And best of all, I will no longer be required to wear those ridiculous paper gowns that open in the front, (or is it the back?), that barely cover your anatomy no matter where you tie the strings.

When I’m a new car, the maintenance visits will be simple. But as I get older, and some of my parts need replacing, there won’t be the hassle about finding the right specialist.  The same friendly mechanic will have me up and running in no time.

All things considered; I think I’ve made a rational choice for my next life. And I feel supported by the fact that, if one examines the word “reincarnation” they will surely find the clue that helped guide me in this direction.

And when my mileage adds up, and it’s my time for a trade-in, I won’t be sad.  Instead, I will focus on the possibilities for my next life.  Perhaps I can be something without a body altogether and be completely maintenance free.  So, if I do have a choice, next time around I should like to be Alexa.
​

It occurred to me the other day, as I gratefully entered an air-conditioned space, that I hate summer.   Maybe it’s global warming, or my finicky old age, or a drastic alteration in my personal wardrobe, but what used to be the joys of the season are now just a string of nearly intolerable annoyances.

I’m not a big fan of nostalgia either, but I do recall the summers of my youth with a certain longing.  Back then, summers meant freedom, sleeveless shirts, tank tops, short shorts, loving the beach, getting a tan, no homework, and long days to spend outdoors with friends.   Funny, how we never seemed to mind the heat or the humidity, even though few of us lived with air conditioning.

But the summer of 2024, which has been unusually hot, by the way, has made it very clear that I no longer wish to combat the effects of extreme heat and humidity, despite the promises of the world’s most annoying ob/gyn, Dr. Shannon Klingman, and her full-body deodorant.  Besides experiencing a constant sense of personal mildew, I now find hot weather conducive to serial napping.  As a result, the pattern of my day closely resembles that of a vampire.  Except for walking the dog, I prefer to go outdoors only after the sun goes down, and retreat to my air-conditioned “coffin” shortly after sunrise.

I’ve also concluded that my skin no longer wants a tan.  At this point of my life I concede that the sun is not my friend, and in fact, presents a clear and present danger.  At the very least, the appearance of more wrinkles and dark spots.  If one spends time outdoors in the good old summertime, constant applications of sunscreen are prudent.   And there’s nothing like a combination of SPF 55 and sweat to appreciate the sensation of being smothered.  And I don’t recall putting that experience on my bucket list!

Regarding hot weather clothing, I do believe there is an expiration date for women to wear tank tops.  And actually, look good in them.   I’m not proposing a specific cut-off age, but to quote the late, great Nora Ephron, it’s around the time when one’s cleavage starts to resemble a peach pit.  And so it goes with the strappy little sun dresses, the short-shorts, the tube tops, and anything with sleeves that do not reach the elbows. Each year it becomes more difficult to leave one’s abode and be cool (in both meanings of the word) when you no longer care to bare arms.  To say nothing of knees.  Bathing suits are a topic for a whole other essay!

And, oh, the bugs of summer!  I have no issue with insects who remain in their natural habitat.  But when they enter my domain, they become fair game.  I understand that when temperatures reach the nineties even bugs will seek air-conditioning.  So, summer means stocking up on an arsenal of retaliatory sprays to eliminate flying, crawling, and biting critters who have dared to cross my threshold.  But the insects that perplex me most are those tiny little winged creatures who are attracted to my Kindle when I try to read in bed at night.  Never visible during the day when they would be fair game for my bug spray, these myopic little bugs land on the screen as if they want to read along with me, but apparently need to be right on top of the printed word.  At first, I thought they were punctuation marks, but I questioned why someone would put an exclamation point in the middle of a sentence.  I wave them off, but they return.  Apparently, we have the same taste in literature.

And finally, there are the allergens.  As a child, I never suffered from hay fever or any similar type of upper respiratory irritation.  But at some time during middle-age, I became unable to leave home without a box of tissues and some Flonase.  As a kid, I had no knowledge of grass pollen, fungus spores, or mold, all of which thrive during the summer.  Now, they are three more reasons to remain indoors.

Did you know that there is actually a condition called Aestophobia?  It is fear of hot weather.  I discovered this when I went on-line seeking a support group for like-minded people who hated summer. I’m happy to say that my personal seasonal affective disorder is not sufficiently severe that I must seek psychological counseling, but also that I’m not alone in wishing we could skip from spring to fall.

So, while I sit in my air-conditioned woman cave, and long for September, I’m also grateful that I’ve been alive for all the summers that have come and gone.  And I look forward to kvetching my way through many more summers that have yet to be.
​

​

t’s summer 2024 and this genetically predisposed city kid is once again happily roaming Manhattan’s upper west side, walking Sam the dog, and gawking. As a confessed non-reader of fashion magazines or the New York Times Styles section, there is still no place like a big city to discover the current trends in female apparel. The sidewalks are a veritable runway, with scores of young women reflecting what’s hip this season.

This energetic  neighborhood is home to gaggles of young Xs, Ys, and Zs, but with an adequate number of those us  who look like their chaperones to assure me that I still belong on this planet. I’m stumped, however, by how all these 20-somethings can afford the rent. Perhaps that is a clue to their outfits. I will explain.

Two years ago, in my first urban outfitter report, I noted that the fashion statement of the day was the bellybutton. The hot look was crop tops accompanied by bottoms that rested just below the navel. Whether the bottoms were short skirts or baggy cargo pants, exposed navels were in (or out).
In 2023 it was all about the breast. Bras, bikini tops and backless blouses were all the rage. Wear a blouse or a jacket, but don’t button it. And make sure the blouse was sheer.

And now, in 2024, as I stroll the city streets, I have drawn these conclusions. The gym business must be flourishing. Peloton sales are through the roof. And exercise videos are on back order. Work-out wear is the order of the day.

Gym clothes are no longer reserved for the gym. If you want to look hot (no pun intended) this summer, simply step out of the dressing room at Lulu Lemon and onto the sidewalk. Oh, and don’t forget to remove the tags.

Tight-fitting bottoms, exercise bras, mostly black, and bare midriffs are this summer’s urban chic. The bottoms can be long or short, but they must be clingy. And once again, as in the two years prior, this look is not limited to the thinnest among us. Fuller-figured women would also have us believe they are either coming from or going to Zumba class.

So, am I to take away from all of this Spandex that these young women have found religion in their dedication to physical fitness, or is this look merely feigning a righteous life?

I’m reminded of a time when we owned a house near a beach. And that beach suddenly became a very popular surfing destination. The entire town became filled with cars with surf boards attached to the roofs. All the cool people it seemed rode around with surf boards. I started to feel like an outsider. Being somewhat fearful of the ocean waters I never considered learning to surf. But should that stop me from driving around town with a board atop my SUV?

Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not judging the wardrobe choices, merely observing. And poking a little fun. I’m sure if I wrote a note to my younger self I would tell her to go for the look. Gym wear as street wear that is, not surfboards on cars.

But I think I understand how the rent is paid. When your wardrobe needs are limited to tights and workout bras there’s likely room in the budget for groceries as well. At least until winter arrives!
​

For a time, I was really worried.  My observation of some agitated Congress persons was leading me to believe that a new strain of virus had again escaped from some laboratory, or from a free range chicken who had inadvertently flown inside the Capitol.

I concluded that contact with this virus affected the part of the brain that regulates decision-making regarding the commission of high crimes and misdemeanors, resulting in a frenzy of random cries for impeachment.

Anyone was a target: Cabinet members, the President, even the President’s son who held no public office at all.  Subsequently, the Cabinet member who was actually impeached was acquitted and the efforts against the President were dropped.  I’m not sure what the antidote was, but impeachment fever seems to have subsided.  At least for now.  But I wouldn’t advise Hunter Biden to become complacent!

I’m aware that impeachment is a charge of misconduct typically made against a holder of a public office.  But while this fever was raging, I began thinking how satisfying it would be if we could in fact impeach those persons we may encounter on a daily basis whose conduct may be negatively impacting our quality of life.   As with impeachment of a government official, if found guilty of being really annoying, they wouldn’t be jailed, but banished!

And so, like the Lord High Executioner in the Mikado, I decided to create “a little list.”  Below, in no specific order, I present my personal roster of “society’s offenders.”

CAT WOMAN:  She has taken 25 cans of Little Friskies from the shelf in my local super market and manages to get in front of me on the “12-items-or-less” checkout line.  When confronted regarding the fact that 25 is twice the specified amount on the illuminated sign, she replies “Oh, but they’re all one item.”  I stand behind her, muttering under my breath as the cashier scans 25 cans one can at a time.  If found guilty, Cat Woman will be banned from every express checkout line in America, and sentenced to stand behind the fullest grocery cart with her single pint of ice cream.

CHRISTINA HALL:  “Christina who?” I hear you query.  Christina Hall is none other than the pretty blonde Gen Z woman who is the spokesperson for Jacuzzi Bath Remodel.  While there is no shortage of horrible commercials on TV, hers is a standout.  Her sing-song voice and up-talk make me want to dive under the nearest pillow.  I can’t believe this ad is successful.  Tell me, would you invest in a bathroom make-over based on the upward inflection of a Valley girl?  If impeached and found guilty, little Christina would be forced to take elocution lessons or be banned from public speaking forever.

ERRANT CELL PHONE OWNER:  Despite multiple reminders preceded by an emphatic “Please” as in “I Implore You,” to turn off your cell phone before the performance begins, there is that person in the theater who is neglectful.  Whether it’s sheer carelessness or a “You can’t make me” attitude, the cell phone is bound to ring at the saddest, funniest, or most tense part of the performance.  Heads are no longer turned towards the stage, but rotating left and right, scanning the audience for the scofflaw.  If the person is discovered, and found to be a one-time offender, the impeachment tribunal can be lenient.  But if the evidence shows that he or she is a serial offender, then not only will he\she be banned from Telecharge for a period of no less than 5 years, but also forced to sit in a non-binary restroom and hand out paper towels.  Tipping to be decided.

SLOW LIFE IN THE FAST LANE:  Let me go on record by saying that I don’t (usually) speed.  If the posted speed limit on a highway is 65, you can catch me doing 70.  And if possible, I avoid driving in the left lane.  Those that challenge the radar gun, or a driver with a pregnant wife in the back seat about to give birth, are free to speed past me.  But apparently, I’m not a good example.  There are times when driving in the left lane is unavoidable.  It’s those times when I will invariably find myself behind some driver whose top speed is hovering around 48.  He or she is happily motoring along and are oblivious to the fact that they are a highway hazard, forcing other motorists to pass them on the right, while flipping the bird.  The impeachment charge is inciting road rage, and if found guilty, these heedless motorists will be banned from all interstates, and diverted to local roads with speed bumps.

I know this list is short, but I’m sure it will increase as more of my petty grievances reveal themselves.  And I really do feel better now.   I had no idea that impeachment could be so therapeutic!

Exactly seven years ago, following an incident involving my husband and the whereabouts of fresh garbage bags in our kitchen, it occurred to me that if I should elope with a handsome construction guy, or suddenly disappear for any reason, my sweetie might be ill-equipped to deal with the ordinary requirements of daily living.

So, I wrote an essay entitled “If I Should Die Before You…”.  The essay included a list of helpful tips regarding need-to know items that keep life moving like a well-oiled machine.    Practical stuff like how to load the dishwasher, or, the location of the dog food lest the dog starve to death, or where to find a fresh tube of toothpaste or a new bar of soap.

I’m happy to say we have made some progress.  The other day I noticed a brand-new bar of soap in the shower that I did not place there!

At the time of writing the original essay, I explained that the list I had created was a work in progress and by no means exhaustive.  It was intended to be added to as more gaps in practical knowledge became apparent. I believe that time has arrived. So,

If I Should Die Before You,

Let Me Show You…

• how to change the ink cartridges in your printer
• how to operate the burners on the electric stove top
• how to recover “lost” items that have magically disappeared inside your car
• that the same light switch that turns on the light also turns it off
• that cabinet doors can be shut as well as opened
• where the garbage goes once the bag is full (assuming you remember where we keep the bags)
• how to sort and toss the recyclables
• how to load the dishwasher
• how to turn on the dishwasher
• where to place the detergent in the dishwasher
• that we, in fact, own a dishwasher

To be perfectly honest, we haven’t yet conquered all the items on the original list. For example, we’re still working on how to sew a button back onto a shirt, and how to order stuff on Amazon.
And some things have proved entirely too difficult, like replacing the drawstring in a pair of sweatpants after you pulled too hard and yanked it out.  If this should happen after I’m gone, I’m afraid a new pair of sweats will be necessary.

I know this is not a happy topic, but there is a great deal of comfort in knowing that after I’m dead or starting a new life with my handsome construction guy, that my darling will be able to find and replace the toilet paper.  And perhaps remember to feed the dog!

Dear Readers:  Twelve years ago, when I started this blog to comment, and yes, complain about the irony and humor of everyday life, my goal was to consistently post new essays twice a month.  I have, with some exceptions, met this goal.  My readership has grown considerably over the years, and thanks to your positive comments, I’ve been encouraged to keep going.

But now, twelve birthdays later, I’ve decided not to quit, but to cut back.  Starting in April, I’m going on a once-a-month diet, instead of twice, posting a new essay on or about the middle of the month.  (This essay doesn’t count as the April essay because it was originally scheduled to be posted yesterday.  So, there will be one more this month, on some random date.) I plan to use the extra time to attempt a writing project longer than 750 words.  Please stick with me and wish me luck!

​With love and appreciation,
Susan

Would cheugy by any other name be as drip?
Now that I’ve completely confused my Spell Check as well as anyone reading this, let me remind you that it’s once again time for my ESL quiz.  That is, English as a Second Language as spoken by our high school and college-age grandkids.

Spring break is upon us and with it comes the children of our children seeking warmer climes and perhaps a beach.  They bring with them not only their dirty laundry but a vocabulary of the latest slang words that have you wondering if your hearing aids are working properly.

Well, fear not.  Communication is still possible.  Below I present to you ten of 2024’s latest introductions into the English language.  It may take a while before the Oxford English Dictionary catches up, but in the meantime, you won’t have to stare at the eighteen-year-old across the breakfast table and plead “I’m baby. ELI 5.”

So, live and learn, folks!

Cheugy

1. A new candy bar that’s guaranteed to remove your fillings.
2. When repeated, some weird train sounds.
3. Someone reminding Gy to eat more slowly.
4. A, definitely A.

Cozzielius

1. A long-lost brother of Marcus Aurelius
2. Something that’s super-comfy!
3. A cover made exclusively for an Elius teapot.
4. B, maybe C.

ELI 5

1. A five-piece musical group all with the same first name.
2. The ELI that falls between 4 and 6.
3. A cockney version of someone who failed to tell the truth 5 times.
4. All of the above.

Delulu

1. The forgotten lyric to the Cole Porter song It’s De Lovely.
2. Two British bathrooms as described by someone from Brooklyn.
3. Cousin of the woman who trimmed Samson’s hair.
4. None of the above.

Side Eye

1. An image from a Picasso painting.
2. A nickname for someone with exceptional peripheral vision.
3. A cut of meat similar to a rib eye.
4. Some of the above.

Moots

1. The bodies of water surrounding a castle.
2. Stoom looking in a mirror.
3. A pair of boots that can also double as mittens.
4. Are we there yet?

OOMF

1. A sound made by a dyslexic cow.
2. A more concise alternative to oomph.
3. A noise that follows a punch in the gut.
4. I’m getting a headache.

Rizz

1. Nickname for a former Yankee short stop.
2. What you do when you get out of bed each morning.
3. A short name for a mutant berry.
4. Where’s the Advil?

Touch Grass

1. What you do when you roll a joint.
2. What happens when you trip on someone’s lawn.
3. A sign that is the direct opposite of “Keep Off the Lawn!”
4. Help!

Fax. No printer

1. An order for office equipment.
2. Sending a communication while issuing a command to a dog named Printer.
3. A punch line to an insider joke. (Similar to No soap. Radio.)
4. I don’t really care.

So, how did you do?  Here’s how to interpret your score:

7 – 10, Excellent. You’re gassing.  4 – 6, Pretty good – you are almost mother. 0 – 3, communication is your Roman Empire!

Want the real intended usage?  Cheugy: something that was once fashionable; Cozzielius: pressure and challenge related to the cost of living; ELI 5: I don’t understand-Explain Like I’m 5; Delulu: delusional, unrealistic; Side Eye: someone regarding you with suspicion; Moots: from mutual-folks who interact with each other on social media; OOMF: short for One of My Followers; Rizz: short for charisma; Touch Grass: disconnect from the digital world and go outside; Fax. No printer: Undeniable truth of something.

​Other:  Gassing: hype someone up; mother: how to describe someone you admire; Roman Empire: your personal downfall.

​

No, this is not an exposé about Sherlock Holmes overdosing on vitamins.  But it is a commentary about vitamins and other nutritional supplements guaranteed to improve your mental acuity, your energy level, your ability to stay awake past 7:30 PM and your overall quality of life or your money back, as seen on TV!

As one who watches entirely too much television and isn’t inclined to channel surf when a commercial interrupts my favorite Law and Order rerun, I tend to notice the advertisements.  And perhaps it’s because I’ve just added another candle to my cake that I’ve become acutely aware of the growing number of attractive-sounding nutritional titles that will restore just about everything my last bunch of birthdays left wanting.

And who doesn’t want a miracle? A miracle dangled before our eyes and ears by an $80 billion dollar a year industry.

So, with nothing to lose except money I could have spent on a spa weekend, I have decided to invest in one or more of these encapsulated fountains of youth.  The dilemma is, how to select which will be most beneficial for a body that is older than I am?

After much deliberation, here is my personal short list of OTC choices:

AG 1:  One scoop of the green stuff dissolved in the liquid of my choice promises that I will feel more energized and focused first thing in the morning, a serious temptation for one that does not come alive until after the second mugful of strong black coffee.

Prevagen:  One capsule in the morning will improve brain health, memory, concentration, and overall ability to think more clearly.  Perhaps the latter will aid me in figuring out what to do with all the new-found morning energy.

Super Beets/Super Grapes:  Normal blood pressure, improved blood flow, heart-healthy energy are but a few of the benefits of just two-a-day of these purple gummies.  And, if you add its first cousin, Super Grapes you will boost the production of your nitrous oxide.  And I ask you, can anyone really have too much nitrous oxide? Whatever that is.

Qunol Tumeric:  Just 3 capsules daily will improve your joint health, cardiovascular health, and immune system.  Tumeric is also a spice that is common in Asian cooking.  What I fear they are not telling you is that you will smell like the inside of a NYC taxicab.  Requires further investigation.

Qunol Magnesium:  Add 2 capsules of magnesium to your daily regiment and you’ll be amazed at the improvement in your nerve, bone, and muscle health.  I remember magnesium from high school chemistry.  I’m not sure how I feel about swallowing something with an atomic number!  (Caveat:  please note that magnesium is also the primary ingredient in some popular laxatives!)

Osteo Biflex:  If your goal is joint health, you might consider adding one tablet of Osteo Biflex.  And if you really want to go for it, try two tablets of the Triple Strength version.

Balance of Nature:  Imagine my shock at being told by a voice-over that I wasn’t getting enough fruits and vegetables in my daily diet!  But this deficiency could be easily remedied by purchasing two bottles of powdered produce packed into capsules.  Taking only three capsules from the bottle marked fruits, and three more from the bottle marked vegetables will alleviate my guilt and compensate for my lousy dietary habits.  And for a mere $89.95 my energy can be restored to pre-menopausal levels.

So, which of the above is best for me?  If I decide to improve my brain, will I be sacrificing my joints?  To increase my energy level do I have to forego heart health and blood pressure?

What if I took all of them?  Swallow 18 pills a day washed down with a tall glass of green stuff.  Will I really reap all the benefits described above, or will the only outcome be a very expensive pee? Will I sound like a baby’s rattle when I walk? And what will I do with all this excess energy? It sounds exhausting.

​Perhaps I need more time to figure this out.  In the interim, I wonder:  What would Sherlock do?


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 Every February there is someone I like to honor, an important woman whose birthday should not be overlooked.  So, without apology, I repost this tribute.

Raise your hand if you know that today is the birthday of Susan B. Anthony.  As I thought.  Only one hand raised, and its mine.  Or maybe there was one other hand raised somewhere in the back row.  What a responsibility it has been all these years to be the only person in the room harboring this important piece of knowledge.

And how is it that I became the keeper of this factoid? The answer to this, and probably most of my other quirks, dates back, of course, to my childhood.  And to savings banks.  That’s right, savings banks.  In the days when savings banks looked like ancient marble mausoleums.  And had higher interest rates.  Additionally, if you walked into a bank in the 40s or 50s and opened a new account, you just might leave with a toaster or an electric wall clock.

Well, I must have grown up in the wrong neighborhood, because all our bank gave away was a paper calendar.   Pathetic as this giveaway was, my mother brought the calendar home and hung it on a wall in our kitchen.  And although the calendar could not brown your bread or tell the time, that’s not to say it wasn’t useful.  Each day was represented by a little square where you could inscribe an appointment, or some other reminder.  And the little square would also tell you if a particular day had a particular significance, like the Chinese New Year, or Mexican Flag Day, or when there would be a full moon.

My favorite page on the calendar was the month of February.  Little narcissist that I was, it was my favorite because it’s the month in which I was born.  The second week of February was just chock full of important days.  February 12 – Lincoln’s birthday; February 13 – my birthday.  Well, that wasn’t exactly printed on the calendar, but hand printed on it by me.  February 14 – St. Valentine’s Day.  And last but not least, February 15 – Susan B. Anthony’s birthday.  That lineup made me so proud.  I must be so special to be surrounded by all those important people! I confess at the time I had no knowledge of Susan B. Anthony, but I figured she must be an important person to have her own square.  As well as sharing my name.

And, oh yes, the following week, on February 22, there was a square marking the birth of George Washington.  (On today’s calendar, Lincoln and Washington are no longer entitled to their own birthdays, but have been efficiently combined into President’s Day, which typically falls on no one’s date of birth, but ensures a three-day weekend.)

As I got older, I did learn who Susan B. Anthony was, but sadly misunderstood what she represented.  To my 9-year-old ear, she fought for women’s “sufferage,” which made absolutely no sense to me at all.  You can surely understand why.  Also, that she was a suffer jet, which in today’s world, sounds like she played quarterback on a losing football team.  But as children we mishear lots of things, like Elephants Gerald, the jazz singer, Round John Virgin who’s mentioned in the song “Silent Night,” and Youth in Asia, who, horribly, were being murdered.

But I’m happy to say that by the time I was old enough to vote, it had all sorted itself out.  I developed a full appreciation of Susan B. Anthony’s place in history and her personal importance to me as a woman living in 2024, beyond the fact that we share a name.

She was born February 15, 1820 into a large Quaker family who were social activists, and active in the anti-slavery movement.  She became a teacher, and fought for equal pay for women, who were paid less than their male counterparts.  Sound familiar?  She recognized early on that if women were to have any power at all, they needed the right to vote.

In 1852 she joined with Elizabeth Cady Stanton in the Women’s Rights Movement, and dedicated the rest of her life to women’s suffrage. (See, I got it right this time.) Women who supported the cause were called suffragettes.  (Professional football didn’t even start until 1892.)  She never married, and traveled the country campaigning for abolition of slavery, and women’s rights.  Frederick Douglas became a good friend.

In November 1872 the Notorious SBA voted illegally in the US Presidential election, and was arrested.  She was found guilty by the judge and ordered to pay a fine of $100.  She refused to pay, and walked away.  The trial increased her profile, and her ability to raise funds, enabling her to spread her message of supporting equal rights for women.

She died in New York in 1906.  Fourteen years later, in 1920, women’s right to vote was guaranteed by the Nineteenth Amendment.

End of history lesson.  Hopefully, I’ve contributed to spreading the word about the importance of Susan B. Anthony.  And going forward, I will no longer be the only person in the room who knows that her birthday is February 15th.

Sitting on my desk right now is a contemporary appointment book.  Like the bank calendar in my mother’s kitchen, each day is represented by a little square.  Still listed on the February page are Mexican Flag Day, Chinese New Year, and St. Valentine’s Day.  Lincoln’s and Washington’s birthdays have been replaced by Presidents’ Day.  And Susan B. Anthony is notably absent.  So would you be so kind as to pencil it in?  And while you’re at it, although it’s over, mark down mine as well.
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