You’ve heard it before: “Getting old ain’t for sissies.” I don’t know who said it first, but he or she sure nailed it. I’ve written at some length about the aches and pains, physical changes, and emotional adjustments we have to deal with as the years slide by. Those of us who are fortunate enough to retain most of our mental faculties still want to do the things we used to do. But we can’t, and so we are told that even though we can no longer climb a mountain, we should be grateful that we can walk at all; and although a bowl of chili would set our digestive system on fire, there’s always a nice serving of oatmeal to warm our tummies.

Crap!!!

I don’t just want to walk around the block . . . again, and again, and again. And oatmeal isn’t chili. I want to keep traveling, and dancing, and eating exotic foods in exotic places with exotic people. And there are so many places I still want to see, and probably never will, before I give up the ghost. Places like . . .

Antarctica, before the ice floes shrink and the penguins become extinct. I want to see those adorable little critters in their headwaiter suits, sashaying around like Charlie Chaplin’s “Little Tramp.”

The North Pole. I want to see Santa Claus. If he’s not there, never mind.

The Swiss Alps. I want to learn to yodel, and make cheese, and sing like Julie Andrews. But realistically, I want to see the beauty of the mountains, the clear lakes, the picturesque towns, and the inside of a Swiss bank vault. (Just kidding on that last one.)

Australia: the Outback, the Sydney Opera House, kangaroos, a pangolin. I want to go walkabout, and sing “Waltzing Matilda” while sitting by a campfire and waiting for my billy to boil. And I want so badly to hold a baby koala. They are simply too cute for words.

*. *. *

I also want to get a look at some of man’s greatest creations:

Stonehenge. Right at the top of my list is this magical, mystical, manmade monument to . . . what? There are lots of theories, but will we ever know for sure? I want to be there at sunrise on the summer solstice. Surely, then I would learn the meaning of life, or something equally wonderful. Maybe.

The Pyramids. How on earth did they do it with no heavy lifting equipment? And why? What’s inside?

The Wailing Wall at Jerusalem. Not the safest place to vacation just now, but some day. I want to write my prayer on a little piece of paper, roll it up and insert it into a niche in the wall. I just want to stand where my ancient ancestors stood.

The Great Wall of China, and the Terra Cotta Army at Xi’an. China may be politically touchy right now, but there’s no denying the awesome scope of its history and the skills and talents of its people. Did you know that the Great Wall can be seen from space? Or that the Terra Cotta Army is still only partially excavated? I saw a few of those incredible carved soldiers at a National Geographic exhibition in Washington a number of years ago, and now I want to see the whole vast expanse of them, and to walk at least a small part of that Great Wall.

Machu Picchu. Again, how did they do it? And at that altitude! I have a friend who climbed it, and she said she nearly expired from the effort and the thinness of the air. She also said it was worth it. In the 1940s, an entertainer named Jimmy Durante sang a nonsense song called “Inkadinkado.” I wonder whether he was singing about the same Incas. I doubt it; but the real ones sure did do something great.

*. *. *

I’d also like to see a few things happen while I’m still here to appreciate them:

Peace in the Middle East. I’m sure I don’t have to explain this one. That conflict has continued for centuries, and I doubt I’ll live long enough to see it resolved. But I can dream, can’t I?

Donald Trump apologizing . . . to anyone! (All right — you can all stop laughing now.)

Congress approving the annual budget without threatening to shut down the government . . . year, after year, after freakin’ year! (You’re laughing again, aren’t you?)

And last, but definitely not least . . .

The Terrible Trio: Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, and Kim Jong Un. If you’ve been reading my blog, you already know my views. I want these three to disappear from the political scene; all peace-loving people do. Perhaps we could entice the three of them onto one of their rocket ships — preferably one that actually works — and send them to establish the first colony on Mars. Elon Musk can help them with that. And without the Triple Threat around to cause trouble here on Earth, maybe we could then concentrate on clearing up our other problems and once again make this a beautiful, happy world to live in.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/27/23

Well, that all depends. Are you ingesting a reasonable amount of heart-healthy olive oil? Or are you an executive in the Russian oil and gas industry? In the latter case, you might want to think about updating your will, sending the wife and kiddies out of the country, and barricading yourself in the safe room, because the life expectancy of the top brass at companies like Rosneft, Lukoil and Gazprom is dropping exponentially, almost day by day.

Two days ago, Lukoil, Russia’s second-largest oil company, announced the sudden death of its chairman, Vladimir Ivanovich Nekrasov, at the age of 66. In its public statement, the company said: “According to the preliminary conclusion of doctors, death occurred as a result of acute heart failure.” A request by CNN for further comment from the company was declined.

You’re probably thinking there’s nothing strange about a person dying of heart failure at any age, right? True enough. But consider: 1) that Nekrasov’s immediate predecessor at Lukoil, Ravil Maganov, died just over a year ago after falling out of a hospital window in Moscow, according to Russian state media; and 2) that “Lukoil . . . made headlines in March 2022 when it became one of only a few Russian companies to take a public stand on Moscow’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. In a statement to shareholders, customers and staff, Lukoil’s board of directors called ‘for the soonest termination of the armed conflict’ in Ukraine.” [Mark Thompson, CNN, Oct. 24, 2023.]

Consider also the death this week of Olga Nazarenko — not an oil company official or employee, but an outspoken Russian anti-war protester, who also allegedly took a “fall from a height.”

In September of 2022, it was reported that “At least eight prominent Russian businessmen have reportedly died by suicide or in as yet unexplained accidents since late January, with six of them associated with Russia’s two largest energy companies. Four of those six were linked to the Russian state-owned energy giant Gazprom or one of its subsidiaries, while the other two were associated with Lukoil, Russia’s largest privately owned oil and gas company.” The article went on to say that “Earlier this year [2022], the company took the unusual public stance of speaking out against Russia’s war in Ukraine, calling for sympathy for the victims, and for the end of the conflict.” [Ivana Kottasova, CNN, Sept. 2, 2022.]

Mr. Maganov was included among those eight persons. At the time, Lukoil said that he had “passed away following a severe illness,” with no mention being made of a fall.

In May of 2022, Aleksandr Subbotin, another top Lukoil manager, was found dead near Moscow after reportedly visiting a shaman’s home. Authorities responding to a call found an unconscious man “suffering from a heart failure” in a basement room used for “Jamaican voodoo rituals” (as reported by TASS, the official Russian news agency).

On January 30, 2022, Leonid Shulman, head of transport at Gazprom Invest, was found dead in his cottage in the village of Leninsky near St. Petersburg, according to RIA Novosti (also a Russian state media outlet); a suicide note was reportedly found at the scene, and the death was being investigated as a suicide.

Less than a month later, on February 25th, another Gazprom executive, Aleksandr Tyulakov, was found dead in his garage. This one was also reported as a suicide.

On April 18th of that same year, a report was made of the murder-suicide of Gazprombank former vice-president Vladislav Avayev, his wife and daughter, found dead in their Moscow apartment.

The very next day, April 19th, Sergey Protosenya, a former executive at Novatek — a gas producer partially owned by Gazprom — was found dead in the garden of his home at a Mediterranean resort near Barcelona, Spain. Found inside the home were the bodies of his wife and daughter, “showing signs of having suffered violence.” The case was investigated by the Catalan police, who concluded that the deaths were a double murder and suicide.

Also outside of Russia, a Ukrainian-born Russian oil and gas billionaire, Mikhail Watford, had been found dead in his home in Surrey, England, on February 28, 2022. Surrey police found nothing suspicious about his death.

Back in Russia, Vasily Melnikov, the owner of a medical supply company, was found dead alongside his wife and two young children in Nizhny Novgorod in late March. All had been stabbed to death. The investigative committee did not return CNN’s request for comment, but said at the time of the incident that there “were no signs of unauthorized entry into the apartment,” and that “knives were found and seized . . . [Investigators] are considering several versions of what happened, including the murder of the children and wife by the head of the family, followed by self-inflicted death.” [Ivana Kottasova, CNN, Sept. 2, 2022.] The report did not mention the number of stab wounds Mr. Melnikov had allegedly inflicted upon himself.

*. *. *

The litany of cases continues into 2023, with such people as Kristina Baikova, vice-president of a Russian bank who — whoops! — fell to her death from a window in her 11th floor apartment in Moscow on June 23rd. This was the same day Yevgeny Prigozhin and his Wagner Group began their ill-fated march on Moscow. Any connection? Who knows?

Artyom Bartenev, a judge appointed by Putin, was found dead after — oh, no! — falling 12 stories from his apartment window in Kazan on June 8th.

On May 20th, Pyotr Kucherenko — a senior Russian official who had previously made the mistake of publicly criticizing the Russian occupation of Ukraine — fell ill on a flight from Cuba to Russia. The plane made an emergency landing in the Russian town of Mineralnye Vody, where “doctors tried to save him” — and obviously failed, as Mr. Kucherenko did not survive. No cause of his illness was given.

*. *. *

I have a list of more than 30 such incidents, just in the past year, but I think you’ve gotten the point by now. What stands out is the number of these unexplained incidents being written off as accidents (falling from windows has become a favorite), suicides, or heart attacks (the old Soviet standby).

And let’s not forget the recent high-profile cases of Alexei Navalny (poisoned, successfully treated in Germany, then arrested back in Moscow for “violation of parole” and still serving a lengthy sentence for alleged “corruption”); and Yevgeny Prigozhin, head of the mercenary Wagner Group, who voiced complaints about the Russian military’s handling of the war in Ukraine and attempted to march on the Kremlin in protest, and then — like so many others — also died in a fall from a high place . . . but this time, more dramatically, in an airplane.

Either Russia has a remarkably high number of very careless or very depressed people occupying high positions in government and industry; or someone — someone who doesn’t care who knows it — is killing off those who dare to misspeak.

And the point of all of these gruesome statistics? Merely to emphasize the limitless extent to which Vladimir Putin will go in protecting himself and defending his administration. Simply stated: In today’s Russia, it is illegal — and obviously dangerous — to criticize Putin, to speak in defense of Ukraine, or even to call Russia’s “special military operation” what it really is: a WAR. Russia has once more become a totalitarian state, with a narcissistic autocrat at its helm, reinforcing ties with other autocratic leaders around the world.

*. *. *

There are those in influential positions in our very own U.S. government and industries today who have fallen under Putin’s sway and who believe his blatantly bullshit propaganda. And that is most terrifying of all.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/26/23

Oops! JetBlue’s face is a little red this week.

“A shift in weight and balance during deplaning” was the stated cause of a JetBlue passenger jet tilting back on its tail, and then seesawing forward again, at JFK International on Sunday, October 22nd. Luckily, no one was injured; but I have to wonder what the passengers who were standing in the aisles, reaching for their carry-ons or waiting their turn to exit, thought when they found themselves sliding back toward the tail and forward again. Probably not amused. The incident does serve to remind me, however, that I’m not the only one who occasionally finds myself off-balance due to a weight-shift. It can happen to an airplane, too.

*. *. *

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson is in talks with the Musee Grevin in Paris — a wax museum that sounds much like Madame Tussaud’s in London — to have his likeness “improved.” It seems some people have complained on social media (where else?) that his doppelgänger’s skin has been “whitewashed.” Mr. Johnson is multi-ethnic, and apparently his statue is “suffering from a melanin deficiency.” Those are not my words — I swear, that’s what the CNN article said. Frankly, I find the whole thing refreshing; certainly far better than the bad old days when a few Black people actually tried to make themselves look Whiter. Seriously . . . shouldn’t we all just be as proud of ourselves as The Rock is?

*. *. *

Have you ever seen a pangolin? They’re just too cute for words . . . in a Jurassic Park sort of way. Also called scaly anteaters, they’re found in Asia and Africa, and are an endangered species. And their body parts are being bought by 72 licensed Chinese drug manufacturers, backed by major global banks, for use in at least nine different medications. Now, wait a minute, you guys! They’re endangered! Just stop that . . . right now! Apparently, some of the same companies are also decimating the populations of leopards, similarly endangered. If I start an “Adopt-a-Pangolin” movement, will you join me? For one thing, you’ll never have another ant in your kitchen. And I guarantee you’ll have the most popular pet in your neighborhood.

*. *. *

Martha Stewart, according to a CNN headline, “does dress her age, thank you very much.” At 82, she’s apparently in great shape, and doesn’t plan to give in to her advancing years. She says she still dresses the same way she did when she was 17. Let’s see, now . . . that would have been 1958. So, which one do you think she most resembles (below)?

And by the way, that ‘57 Chevy looks like a Bel Air. Anybody else remember those?

*. *. *

No, this is not Kim Kardashian! But it is her underwear. Or, rather, underwear being designed and sold by her company, Skims, now aiming at the male market. Apparently, “Men’s sizes will also encompass Skims’ body positivity focus and stretch from extra small to 5X.” Knowing how the Kardashian women love to appear in public wearing nothing but their mostly see-through undies, I wonder whether the men are now being encouraged to do the same. Uhh . . . no comment.

*. *. *

No, this isn’t Kim K. either. But, though she and her siblings are everywhere in the news lately, I couldn’t find a single picture of any of them that was fit to reprint, so I went with the enigmatic (and decently clothed) Mona Lisa. Just sayin’ . . .

*. *. *

I haven’t even reached the Entertainment section, yet here she is — the lovely and ubiquitous Taylor Swift, at yet another Kansas City Chiefs game, cheering on the equally omnipresent Travis Kelce. And people are still speculating as to whether they’re a couple? Really? The business-savvy Ms. Swift certainly knows the value of publicity; and it’s a pleasure to note that she’s keeping it wholesome — unlike a few others of whom we see far too much!

*. *. *

In the Science department, the moon has now been found to be 40 million years older than originally estimated, based on further testing of materials brought back by the Apollo 17 mission in 1972. Remind me never to have myself carbon-dated!

*. *. *

Finally made it to the Entertainment column, and found it oddly lacking in shockers this time. But . . .

First it was Will and Jada; now the ever-beautiful and multi-talented Meryl Streep and her husband of 45 years, Don Gummer, reveal that they too have been separated for the past six years. Sorry to hear that. But what is this — a thing in Hollywood? Pretending to be happily married years beyond your marriage’s expiration date? I can’t imagine why. I mean, it must be quite a strain, always smiling and looking adoringly at each other that way. It’s their own business, of course, but I don’t think I could carry it off.

*. *. *

Well, let’s see what else we can dig up. Jennifer Garner and Reese Witherspoon are “true friends.” Oh, good; I was worried about that. There’s speculation about a “Crossroads” sequel for Britney Spears. Eh. And more of the usual drek from Will and Jada. Yawn.

I guess that will have to do for this episode, folks, but I’m sure the gossip mill will pick up soon. See you when it does.

TTFN,
Brendochka
10/25/24

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If only time travel were possible . . .

Think about it. Isn’t there at least one time in your life you’d like to revisit? Not to change things, but to relive it because it was so wonderfully memorable the first time and you mourn the fact that it will never happen again.

For me, it would be the summer of 1993, when I lived and worked in Moscow — the one in Russia, not Idaho. (Yes, there is a Moscow, Idaho.) What I have already written about that summer, in the early days of this blog, was largely from a political standpoint. So today I’d like to bring back the memories of some of my favorite places and the best times — the ones that show up in my happy dreams, not my nightmares. The ones I would love to be able to repeat. So, off we go on a little guided tour.

The first thing most visitors are desperate to see when they arrive in Moscow for the first time is, of course, the famous (and notorious) Kremlin — and with good reason. It is nothing short of spectacular. The word “kremlin” means “citadel,” and thus the reason for the supposedly impenetrable walls and towers on all four sides. Inside those walls is a small city, with office buildings; residences for the elite (or so I’ve heard); churches; a theatre (I attended the ballet there once, and they charged me ten times the regular price because I was a foreigner); and the Kremlin Armory, which is a museum containing the most incredible treasures from Russia’s glorious past. It’s the first place I always took my American friends when they visited so I could play the knowledgable tour guide. To me, it perfectly reflects the personality of the Russian government: awesome in its presentation of itself, yet somewhat overblown. But the architecture is glorious and the history fascinating.

*. *. *

Yup, that’s where I lived for three months. Moscow’s many Soviet-style buildings were obviously designed on the theory that bigger is better. This one, on the outskirts of the city, was (and I assume still is) “owned” by the Ministry of Defense, and is home to many of Russia’s higher-ranking military officers. We (the U.S. humanitarian aid organization with which I was working) rented a large apartment — three big bedrooms, two bathrooms, living/dining room and kitchen — from an officer who had been transferred to Tajikistan, poor man. It served as both our office and my home, with others crashing from time to time when they arrived from the States. As you can see, the ground floor front was occupied by shops, a bank, and a small post office. The residential entrances were in the rear. Unlike our American buildings, there was no single entrance with a big lobby or long corridors on each floor. Instead, there were multiple entrances, each with a small lobby, empty but for a lady seated at a rickety desk, keeping track of the comings and goings of the tenants; and only four apartments on each floor. There was one elevator, which never broke down while I was there; a trash chute that didn’t smell great but never backed up; and a cleaning crew that must have been there because it was always clean, but whom I never saw. Our dezhurnaya (the lady at the lobby desk) was obviously suspicious of the Americans coming and going from our place; but I used to bring her treats from the American market, and she and I eventually reached a sort of detente. She even smiled at me a couple of times — most notably, when I left at the end of the summer.

*. *. *

Very briefly, the history of the village of Izmailovo dates back to the year 1389. From the time of Ivan the Terrible (16th Century), it was an estate of boyars (old aristocracy) in the Romanov family. It is now the site of a gigantic park area, with rides and other attractions that were not there in 1993. But there was a huge weekend outdoor market for vendors selling everything from the Matryoshki (nesting dolls) that you see above, to handmade Oriental rugs brought in from the Central Asian republics, to hand-sewn linens, to china and crystal, to jewelry, to tacky souvenirs. I decorated our apartment with several of the smaller rugs, and brought home to the States a beautiful embroidered linen tablecloth with napkins, and a number of the nesting dolls. Mostly it was just fun wandering among the kiosks and chatting with the vendors, who at that time were curious to meet an American woman who spoke a little Russian and had the chutzpah to live in Moscow.

*. *. *

A lovely, historic street in central Moscow, the Old Arbat (yes, there is a New Arbat) is beautifully preserved, a place where modern architecture is not allowed. The shops may have changed since 1993, but the buildings haven’t. In fact, that pink-and-white building on the left side of the street, with the rounded corner, is where I saw my very first CCTV camera, on my first visit in 1988. Of course, I smiled and waved at it, then wondered if I’d be spending time in a Russian prison for some stupid infraction of an unknown law. But that didn’t happen; I was probably written off as just another obnoxious American tourist.

*. *. *

The Moscow Metro escalators are not only terrifyingly long and steep; they’re incredibly fast. You literally have to jump on and off to keep from being bumped from behind. Some were originally built as temporary bomb shelters during Soviet times, with their own water system and power generators. But a direct bomb hit could have caused the entire structure to collapse, so who were they kidding? It was a wonderfully efficient Metro system, though, and I rode it quite a bit; the nearest station was only about a kilometer from my apartment building.

*. *. *

One of the great thrills of my life was being able to acquire tickets to the opera at the Bolshoi — again, at “foreigner” prices. My friend and I arrived a little late (our driver was stopped by the traffic police for speeding on the way there), and we had to sit through the first act all the way at the top, in the “cheap seats,” to which we were directed, one floor at a time, via the stairway! But that’s where the less affluent locals were seated, many of them with their children; and watching their faces was a delight. Can you imagine American children being dragged to an opera? We were able to take our reserved seats in the orchestra section after the first intermission, but I rather missed the little kids. During the second intermission, we mingled with the other audience members and sipped champagne in the lobby. It all felt a little dreamlike, and still does.

*. *. *

Known by its address, 38 Petrovka Street, Militia Headquarters is one of Moscow’s scariest locations — right up there with the Lubyanka and Lefortovo Prisons. Muscovites used to say (and probably still do) that too many people have been seen going inside and never coming out again. I was there, a couple of times, and — as you can tell — I survived. In fact, I even had lunch there. Those stories are quite funny, actually, and you will find the details in Chapters 17 and 21 of this blog (“An Unholy Triumvirate,” 4/6/23, and “The Bones In the Basement,” 5/4/23). They’re two of my favorite memories of that summer, mostly because I don’t know another person (other than the three who accompanied me on those occasions) who can say they’ve “been there, done that.” Anyway, I just thought I’d share the photo, and maybe pique your interest in reading a bit more.

*. *. *

I made two trips to Kyiv that summer on Foundation business, and I’m so glad now that I was able to see it at its best. I traveled by overnight train, and each trip was an adventure (also detailed in an earlier blog post). But two other experiences stand out — one happy, one not so much. The first was meeting a wonderful new friend, who eventually moved with her husband, two children and mother to the Washington area. The other was a visit to a hospital for child victims of the Chernobyl nuclear accident just seven years earlier — an unimaginable tragedy that left its mark, both physically and mentally, on an entire generation . . . and beyond. It has also left its mark on my soul.

*. *. *

And finally . . .

First of all, it’s not a square at all; it is a rectangle, and a very long one at that. After all, it had to accommodate all of those Stalinesque military parades, didn’t it? Straight ahead, at the far end, is St. Basil’s Cathedral, ordered built by Ivan the Terrible in the 16th Century. Legend has it that the architect was then blinded so that he would never be able to create another structure of equal or greater beauty. To the right is one side of the Kremlin Wall, and to the left, the famous GUM “department store,” which is actually a huge, multi-level, indoor shopping mall — very upscale now, I understand. Not so when I was last there.

For some reason, at the end of each trip to Moscow (August 1988, February ‘92, February ‘93, summer ‘93, and February ‘94), I made it a tradition to visit Red Square one last time before leaving town, to say farewell to Moscow and to promise that I would return — my own version of Rome’s Trevi Fountain. For reasons too complex to explain here, I wasn’t able to pay that superstitious farewell visit in 1994.

I never saw Moscow again.

*. *. *

I hope you’ve enjoyed visiting some of the choice bits of “my” Moscow, as I remember it still, some 30 years later. If I’ve inspired you to travel there . . . don’t! I was there during the Gorbachev and Yeltsin years of post-Soviet glasnost and perestroika. These are the Putin years, and my Moscow — my Russia — no longer exists. And that breaks my heart. Maybe circumstances will change for the better in the future; we can only hope! In the meantime, I have my lovely memories.

TTFN,
Brendochka
10/24/23

Never mind that food just tastes so good. That’s not my point. I’m thinking way back to the Creation, when — according to Genesis — the first people were plunked down in the Garden of Eden where they found that accursed apple tree. And their instincts — and their growling stomachs — told them that those apples were probably edible, and tasted good, and would stave off the hunger pangs. And they — or at least, Adam — gave in to temptation and that’s when all the trouble began. He made his first independent decision, and it was a bad one.

Okay, so that’s not exactly how it goes. And I’m not really talking about temptation anyway; it’s hunger that got me started. I wanted a snack tonight, but I knew I didn’t need the extra calories, and I began wondering why all creatures on earth were created with the systems we are blessed (or cursed) with. Since I’m more familiar with humans than, say, amphibians or creepy-crawly things, let’s use us as an example.

We have a digestive system, a circulatory system, a skeletal system, a nervous system, a respiratory system, an excretory system, a reproductive system, and on and on . . . including something called an “integumentary” system, which I had never heard of either but which apparently includes the skin and sweat glands and other stuff. But my question is: Why? Was it all really necessary? Couldn’t we have been designed to simply function, without all the organs and arteries and bones and such? Then we wouldn’t need food for fuel, and it follows that we wouldn’t need an excretory system, either.

And look at all the things that wouldn’t go wrong. Starting at the bottom . . . no food, then no poop, and thus no colon, no intestines, no anus. And that little dangling appendix thing — whose idea was that, anyway? Totally useless, except for the surgeon who gets to paid remove it.

Uphill to the kidneys and bladder: no drinks, then no pee; no need. All that digestive stuff . . . obviously, also not required. As for a “bile duct” — yuck.

Finding a replacement for the reproductive system might be a bit of a problem, but maybe we could just regenerate like amoebas, through something called binary fission. If you don’t remember your 10th-grade biology discussion of those little asexual creatures, you should look it up; it’s very cool. And it doesn’t require two people of opposite genders, so think of all the emotional agony we’d be avoiding. But we’d also be losing . . .

Well, maybe we could just keep the romance.

On the next level are the parts that breathe for us: lungs, bronchial tube, trachea. Just think — no common colds, no upper respiratory infections, no Covid. And then the heart: since it’s only metaphorically the center of love, who needs it? It only causes heart attacks, and there’d be no blood for it to pump anyway (see below). Then there’s more breathing and swallowing parts. We’ve already explained those away. There would be no lungs, so we won’t need nasal passages. No food? That esophagus thing is gone, along with the dual plagues of reflux and hiatal hernias. Nice.

There are also the veins, arteries and blood vessels of the circulatory system. If we didn’t have those, they couldn’t get blocked and no one would “bleed out” because, again, there’d be no blood. Remember . . . no heart to pump it anyway.

And tucked in with all those organs and pipes (no, not pipe organs!) is the skeletal system. As someone with major back problems, I’d love to be able to do away with that, or at least replace it with something that doesn’t fracture, compress, or degenerate. And we wouldn’t shrink as we got older. Also those knee things — they’re just a pain . . . literally. And without those itty-bitty nerves, there would be no pain anywhere. So the bully next door could attack your knees (if you had knees) with a baseball bat, and you’d never feel a thing, except the satisfaction of hitting him back. But no . . . you wouldn’t have that, either, because he wouldn’t feel it. Well, moving on . . .

And finally, there’s the brain — the biggest troublemaker of all. Because that’s where we humans think up all of the ways to make ourselves, and each other, miserable. No brain, no fear. No brain, no pain. No brain, no hatred. No hatred, no wars. No wars . . . See what I mean? Not just the most useless organ; it’s also the most dangerous.

Now, covering all of this junk is the body’s biggest organ: the skin. Yes, our skin is an organ. I know . . . I didn’t believe it either. Anyway, it is, and it’s one we might want to keep, if only for aesthetic purposes. But maybe we could find a way to avoid things like sunburn, warts, moles, and those curses of old age: liver spots and wrinkles.

Just think: get rid of all of those other parts, and we’d finally have knocked out every form of cancer, neuromuscular diseases, diabetes, dementia, and so on. How nice would that be? And we’d all just be created with an expiration date stamped on the heel of one foot where we wouldn’t have to see it all the time; and when that date arrived, we’d simply be sent to that great recycling center in the sky. Painlessly.

*. *. *

So it’s back to my original point: why do we need to eat? Wouldn’t it be better to be unfeeling, unthinking, robotic creatures who could never know pain, or hatred, or hunger, or fear? But, come to think of it, also no flashes of inspiration, or creativity, or love, or anticipation, or joy . . .

Oh, nuts! Why do I do that? Why do I always find a way to destroy my own inspirations? So it’s back to the drawing board . . . and a big, gooey, chocolate brownie to sustain me through the rewrite.

TTFN,
Brendochka
10/23/23

Hallelujah! There is one piece of upbeat political news this week, and it comes to us direct from Poland — the beautiful land of Solidarity, Chopin, and kielbasa. The Polish people held an election, and the good guys won.

Poland’s so-called “Law and Justice” party — popularly referred to by its Polish acronym, PiS — has ruled the country’s parliament with a clear majority for the past eight years, headed by Jaroslaw Kaczynski — an illiberal, leftist, Russia-friendly hopeful for the seat of Prime Minister. Kaczynski has promised (among other things) that, if he were to be elected, all aid to Ukraine would immediately cease.

Okay, deep breath now, because this gets . . . well . . . complicated. Don’t worry if you don’t completely get it; I’m not even sure I do, but this is what I’ve read:

The election — which saw a record 74.4 percent turnout of voters — did not return Law and Justice to Parliament as the majority party, though it did receive the largest number of votes. In fact, neither of the two largest parties — Law and Justice nor Donald Tusk’s more liberal (and pro-Ukraine) Civic Coalition — has a clear majority in Parliament. However, Civic Coalition is joining with two smaller parties to then constitute a majority and gain control of the Parliament. They have also boosted their control of the upper chamber Senate, winning 66 seats to Law and Justice’s 34.

It is now up to President Andrzej Duda to nominate the candidate to be the next Prime Minister. Under the Polish Constitution, he has 30 days from the election within which to call a new Parliamentary session. He then must nominate a candidate for Prime Minister within 14 days of that time; and that nominee has an additional 14 days to win a vote of confidence in Parliament.

Stay with me . . . it’s not much farther now.

Traditionally, the President chooses the leader of the largest party to try to form a government; but in this case, since there is no chance of that being his Law and Justice party, he could delay the appointment of a Prime Minister and thus also the formation of a stable government. If that happens, the next Prime Minister is to be chosen by the Parliament.

If President Duda nevertheless sticks with Law and Justice (his favored party), it may be well into December before Civic Coalition has its chance to form a government. (This is beginning to sound like the election of a new Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives . . . though for vastly different reasons.) There is apparently a way to speed up the process, by means of Tusk’s opposition party striking a coalition deal with the signatures of at least 231 Members of Parliament, thus confirming his party’s lock on forming a government.

Confused? I did warn you! But there’s more. The future for Poland is equally unclear, even assuming a victory for the Civic Coalition and the appointment of Mr. Tusk as Prime Minister. Because the Civic Coalition party will still have a difficult time passing legislation; it will not have the three-fifths of votes in Parliament required to override any vetoes by President Duda, and his term does not end until 2025. So their first job will be to purge Parliament of as many corrupt Law and Justice appointees as possible, replacing them with competent, unaligned individuals to give them the three-fifths they need. That won’t be easy.

Civic Coalition also promises to clean up Poland’s state media, which has become Law and Justice’s propaganda arm; to expose the rot in many of Poland’s non-governmental enterprises; and immediately to prosecute anyone and everyone guilty of “breaking the constitution and rule of law.” The level of corruption throughout Polish society during the Duda-Kaczynski years is almost incomprehensible, and will take time to be rooted out. But this election could prove to be the first step in the right direction; and every journey begins with that first brave step forward.

*. *. *

But there is far more riding on that first step than the future of Poland alone. There have been leftist movements in other East European countries, such as Hungary, Slovakia, and possibly even the Czech Republic . . . not to mention the openly Putin-controlled Belarus. Russia’s westward march must be stopped. It has already generated all-out war in Ukraine, whose people are fighting valiantly to defeat Putin’s advances. The world needs Poland, and its neighbors, to stand up and resist before they, too, become Putin’s victims.

So to Donald Tusk and the members of his Civic Coalition party, and to those honest members of the Parliament of Poland: Powodzenia. The best of luck!

*. *. *

Now, about that kielbasa I mentioned in the beginning, without which no proper Polish celebration would be complete . . . eat hearty! Your work has just begun.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/22/23

“Who is John Galt?”

That was the first line of an 1,168-page novel titled Atlas Shrugged, written in 1957 by Russian-born author Ayn Rand. It was her second, and by far the better, novel based on her doctrine of Objectivism — a philosophy far too complex to try to explain here, even if I completely understood it myself. And as I read through the weighty volume back then, I found myself caught up in her belief system, certain that she had found the answer to all of the world’s problems. I was a teenager, and I knew it all.

Then I came to the end of the book, closed the cover, and said, “Wow!” That was the world I wanted to live in. But days and weeks went by during which I thought about it from time to time, and one day — to my total surprise and disappointment — I came to the conclusion that it was absolute bullshit. Ms. Rand had invented a world of just two types of people: pathetic weaklings whose lack of intelligence, foresight and morality (as she defined it) would inevitably bring about the collapse of the world as we know it; and — at the distant opposite end of the spectrum — individuals of such superior intellect and ability that they would be capable of rebuilding, in their perfect image, both the physical infrastructure and the political and economic bases of a brave new world. It’s not clear to me where all the millions of reasonably intelligent, competent, hard-working people in the mid-spectrum would come from to do the actual work of rebuilding and operating this new society, as they seemed not to exist at all in Ms. Rand’s world; but I’m sure the answer is in there somewhere, if only I had the desire to reread the whole book.

And incidentally, the doctrine of her superheroes is centered around their allegedly indisputable belief that selfishness and greed are good; helping others is counterproductive and therefore bad; and that it is only in obeisance to the almighty dollar that anything worthwhile can ever be accomplished. I wonder if it might be Ms. Rand’s reaction to having lived the first 21 years of her life in Russia and the Soviet Union (1905-26) before moving to the United States and embarking on an all-encompassing love affair with capitalism, then carrying it to the nth degree and beyond. At least, that’s my very simplistic takeaway from it; you really have to read it to get the full impact. (But don’t watch the movie; it’s dreadful.)

Anyway, in Ms. Rand’s fantasy world, “Atlas” — the metaphor for any and all of her superior beings — simply withdrew from the world and allowed it to collapse under the weight of the lesser mortals. Atlas had shrugged. And then the small complement of supermen began rebuilding it from scratch, and everyone supposedly would live happily ever after. John Galt, by their way, was their leader: the perfect human being.

It was, clearly, fiction. But fascinating fiction.

*. *. *

Or was it completely unreal? If I didn’t know better, I might be inclined to believe that that’s more or less what’s happening to our world today (but minus the hero/antihero characterizations). Think about global warming, causing wildfires, receding waters, droughts, floods, frequent natural disasters, the extinction of multiple species. Crumbling infrastructures: buckling roads, collapsing buildings, failing bridges and dams. The worst possible selection of people, concerned only with their personal agendas, being elected to the highest offices; economies sinking; people attacking one another out of sheer frustration and fear. And we’re too busy to deal effectively with any of that — too busy fighting wars in Ukraine and Israel, and trying to avoid wars between other adversaries.

It feels like a world on the edge of Armageddon . . . and it may well be. But where is our Atlas to save us from ourselves? We have to do something, before he shrugs. But who will take the lead? Well, let’s see. Both Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping have so graciously offered their services as negotiators in Russia/Ukraine and Gaza/Israel, presenting themselves as the best-qualified individuals to bring peace to parts of the world that have never known real peace. That sounds wonderful . . . if by “peace” you mean a surrender to worldwide totalitarianism. I seem to recall that that’s already been tried. Ask the North Koreans, the Cubans, the Chinese how that’s working out for them.

I cannot solve the planet’s problems; I can only ask the same questions that most of the world’s people are asking. My first question, though, would be . . .

Where is John Galt?

Brendochka
10/21/23

Forget about CNN’s “Style” section. For newsworthy items not related to Israel, Ukraine, Russia, China, Afghanistan, or Lower Slobbovia, the place to go is directly to their “Entertainment” section. I had no idea how much was happening in the world when I wasn’t looking. Silly me, worrying about whether the planet was about to explode while Taylor Swift and Jada Pinkett-Smith were just crying out for my attention. In only one day, here’s what I found (headlines only; there isn’t enough time in the day to read them all):

Obviously, we start with the lovely Ms. Taylor Swift, who seems to be everywhere these days. According to CNN, she “has given theaters a sugar rush.” How sweet is that?

On a sad note: Suzanne Somers, whom we slightly older folks remember from the hit TV comedy “Three’s Company,” passed away this week, just a day before her 77th birthday. She fought the good fight.

Will and Jada Pinkett-Smith. She says they’re in “a beautiful place.” Separated, contemplating divorce, but in a beautiful place? Hmm …

Pete Davidson wants to find a date for his mother. What?

Stop the presses! Chris Evans is “enjoying life” as a newlywed. Well, duh!

Taylor Swift (part 2) has just spent a whirlwind week with Travis Kelce, capped off with Saturday Night Live cameo appearances. Good for them. (I recall whirlwind weeks when I was younger; but I can’t say I was ever invited to appear on SNL. Where did I go wrong?)

Michael Caine (he’ll always be Alfie to me) is finally retiring from acting. He’s 90, for goodness sake; he deserves to retire. But he says he’ll stay busy with other pursuits. Go for it, Michael!

Britney Spears has written a memoir. Considering the parts of her life that have already been made public, I think I’ll pass.

Taylor Swift (part 3) is “back on the bleachers” for Travis at the Kansas City Chiefs game. A loyal fan is she. Woo-hoo!

“Lenny Kravitz flaunts his maleness in almost uncomfortably sexy new music video.” Right up there with Britney’s book. Pass.

Taylor Swift (part 4) says that Beyonce showing up for her movie premier was a “fairytale.” I’ll just bet.

On the sad side again, Bruce Willis is no longer “totally verbal.” Time does not always treat us fairly.

Taylor Swift (part 5): I told you she was everywhere! This time, she was attending her Eras Tour concert movie premier in Los Angeles. Where does she find the time?

Chris Rock allegedly asked Jada Pinkett-Smith (yes, it’s her again) out on a date after she revealed that she and Will had been separated since 2016. Didn’t say whether she accepted. That’s quite a performance the Smiths have been putting on for seven years; they’re better actors than I realized.

Guess Who (part 6): Taylor’s (I feel we know her well enough by now to be on a first-name basis) Eras Tour film was shown at The Grove, an “upscale shopping mall” in L.A. For the premier, the entire mall was closed to shoppers. I wonder who compensated the merchants for their losses.

The return of “Monk.” A reunion movie will be coming soon to Peacock. It’s one of my favorite TV series, and I love Tony Shalhoub. The movie is titled “Mr. Monk’s Last Case” — I just hope it doesn’t have a sad ending. I couldn’t bear that. Now, could someone please tell me where I find Peacock?

Poor Arnold Schwarzenegger has finally had to admit he is a “mere mortal when it comes to aging.” You’re 76, Arnie. Did you expect to stay toned forever? There is that little thing called gravity, you know. Sorry.

And finally . . .

Taylor Swift (parts 7, 8 and 9): She and Beyonce “understand the power of concert films” (whatever that means); Travis Kelce’s mother says all the Taylor Swift attention “feels like an alternative universe” (whatever that means); and there are five theories why Taylor may be dating Travis (I don’t even want to know what that means).

*. *. *

Well, wasn’t that fun! And it was all from one CNN Entertainment column — and only the choicest items at that. I wonder how one becomes famous enough to get their name into those columns. I mean, I’ve done a lot of interesting things that people ought to know about. Like the time I sat in the bleachers, freezing my buns off, watching a football game I cared nothing about, just to keep my sister company. Or the time I enjoyed life as a newlywed. Or the day I looked in the mirror and admitted I was getting old. But nobody cared . . . not then, not now.

*. *. *

I hope this little excursion made your day a little brighter — it certainly made me smile. I think it was the Lenny Kravitz maleness thing that did it for me.

See you next time,
Brendochka
10/20/23

I am a born middle-of-the-roader. Not behind the wheel, but politically. I tend to see both sides of an argument, which is probably why I did so poorly in debate class. But I wonder if it might not qualify me as an arbitrator in some of today’s world crises: Russia vs. Ukraine, or Israel vs. Gaza, Iran, Iraq, Syria . . . Seriously, though, there are two sides to nearly all human conflicts. Even the Israel-Hamas war.

I am pro-Israel, and always have been. I’m also Jewish, so that’s pretty much a no-brainer. But I am first of all a human being, and I am pro-innocent people from everywhere. And that includes the Palestinian civilians who happen to be living in Gaza. They did not invade Israel; Hamas did. The civilians did not kill 1,400 innocent Israelis; Hamas did. The Palestinian civilians did not start this thing. Hamas did!

Does Israel have a right to respond, and to defend itself against further attacks? Damned right, they do! Every country does. And no one does it more quickly or more effectively than Israel. Do they have a right to be angry? furious? livid? pissed off? You bet they do. But . . .

But whatever happened to the idea of a proportional response? Israel is rightfully angry/furious/livid/pissed off because 1,400 of its civilian citizens were brutally slain, and scores of others taken hostage — not in a true military action, but by a horde of barbarians in the most savage way imaginable. But does that warrant more than a week of ceaseless bombing and shelling of thousands more innocent civilians on the other side of the fence? Or the creation of a humanitarian crisis for millions more innocents? In my humble opinion, it does not. It is not reasonable. It is not proportional. It is not acceptable. It is, in the most literal sense, overkill.

The State of Israel, and the Jewish people as a whole, have always stood for peace, honor, decency. We believe in a just God. There is no decency or honor or justice in what Hamas has done; but neither can I believe that a response of the magnitude we are seeing from the State of Israel today is decent or honorable or just. It’s just unchecked anger. That anger should be directed at the guilty party — Hamas — not the general population of Gaza. It is Hamas alone that should be Israel’s target.

I still stand firmly behind Israel; but I cannot stand behind the extent of Mr. Netanyahu’s response. My voice will never reach his ears, but hopefully someone else’s will . . . and soon.

Just sayin’ . . .

Shalom,
Brendochka
10/19/23

I should have thought of it before. In a desperate attempt to find some interesting news items that weren’t dismal, I decided to check CNN’s “Style” news section, and found that people do occasionally do things besides kill each other. And some of those things — in my opinion, at least — are rather impractical, to put it mildly. For example, bidding enormous amounts of money for the strangest things.

The first item that caught my eye was C-3PO’s head. Yes, that C-3PO: the wise and witty, shrewd and shiny ‘droid we all loved from the original Star Wars movie. In fact, we loved him so much, the current owner is counting on earning a cool $1.2 million . . . just for his head. His hands and feet are to be auctioned separately. I don’t know why he was dismembered, or what has happened to the rest of his body; but for display purposes, I guess the head will be easier to place on the mantel than the whole person . . . uh, ‘droid would have been. I’m not sure I’d pay that much for anyone’s head, even if I had the money. But, whatever makes you happy . . . Personally, I wonder what good C-3PO is without his little buddy R2-D2. Right?

In the Star Wars bargain basement section, we also have a long-lost model of the X-wing fighter used in the original 1977 movie, with a starting price of “only” $400,000. The model belonged to a Hollywood miniature-maker, and was only discovered after his death when his family were sifting through his collection. It’s pretty cool if you’re into models of flying things . . . and have $400,000 lying around in a dresser drawer. Beam me up, Scotty. (Oops, sorry — that was Star Trek.)

NOTE: Since writing this, the X-wing fighter has been auctioned off, at a slightly higher price than the originally anticipated $400,000. The winning bid was an incredible $3,100,000! Holy crap! I wonder what the insurance premium will be . . .

*. *. *

And as we leave the future and head way, wa-a-a-y back to the past, we have “an unusually well-preserved dinosaur skeleton, a Camptosaurus known as Barry,” who will “go under the hammer” in Paris next month. I assume that’s just an auction term and they don’t mean it literally. Barry dates from the late Jurassic period (some 150 million years ago), and was first discovered in Wyoming in the 1990s. He was named after Barry James, the paleontologist who restored him to his present, apparently beautiful, condition. For this fine fellow, you will need up to $1.28 million — and a good-sized spare room, as he is 6.9 feet tall and 16.4 feet long. But what a conversation starter when your next dinner party begins to lag! Just keep the dog away if he enjoys gnawing on a good bone.

*. *. *

In the same Style section, but on an entirely different subject, there were some fashion items that were rather eye-catching.

At the recent Venice Film Festival, an actress named Emma Corrin (never heard of her, but I don’t see a lot of movies these days) arrived “stylishly pantless.” Apparently, it’s a trend. Never heard of that, either, and honestly wish I hadn’t. But judge for yourselves . . . I don’t know about you, but I always thought it was called “underwear” because it went under something, like clothes. I guess I’m a little old-fashioned . . . Or just old.

And here’s one final item that belongs in both the fashion and price categories: probably the only ugly thing I ever saw Princess Diana wear. It’s been dubbed the “black sheep” sweater, for obvious reasons, and is going to be auctioned by Sotheby’s with an expected haul of $50,000 to $80,000. For a sweater that’s too expensive to wear, but would . . . what? Be framed and hung on a wall? I thought Princess Di was a pretty nifty lady, but that’s a lot of $$, even for something of hers. Well, maybe it’s just that I’ve never been ridiculously wealthy. I did pay $500 for a jacket once, years ago, and never got over the guilt. Anyway, here’s a look at what you can get for only 100 to 160 times the price of that jacket.

Well, I’ve done it — written an entire piece without a single bit of bad news — except, perhaps, for the ultimate price of that X-wing miniature. And the pantless thing. I’m sorry, but that’s really bad.

Until next time . . .

Brendochka
10/18/23