I read the NYT. I listen to NPR. I watch CBS mornings. So I knew when the price of a dozen eggs rose to $6. But since I use a maximum of one egg a month, I found the price increase only mildly interesting and not at all troubling. (What I did find fascinating was that Wegman's, who was charging the bargain price of $5.50 a dozen, limited customers to five dozen at a time. I wondered who buys 5 dozen eggs at a time? What does their cholesterol look like? Are they taking a statin?)Because I do not have my head in the sand, I am of course aware of the affordability crisis. The gas station around the corner from my apartment is charging over $6 for a gallon. That is alot. But I live in Manhattan. I don't have a car. I'm unaffected by what's happening in the Gulf of Hormuz. Of course, I'm not unfeeling. I once lived in California where feet are never used for walking, there is no public transportation and without a car you can neither go to a pharmacy, a supermarket or your gym to run on the treadmill. Sure, prices have gone up. My chocolate peanut butter cups were 99 cents last year. Now they're $1.49. But I buy them at Trader Joe's, along with $30 of produce, chicken and marinated greek chick peas. When I tap my credit credit card,I'm not paying real money for any of it. I'm tapping . Yes, I get a credit card bill, but I never write a check to pay the bill. I tell my bank to send the money from my account. The money has gone into my account without my ever holding it in my hand and the money has left my account without my ever having laid a finger on on it. So why would a price increase of 50% on the chocolate peanut butter cups register? Saturday, however,for the first time, I was gut punched by the affordability crisis. Every Saturday until this past Saturday, after ballet class, I would go the McDonald's on Eighth Avenue and 56th Street and get a "senior coffee" for $1.29. What, you ask, is a "senior coffee?" Well, if you're of a certain age--I don't know the exact age, but I'm apparently clearly of it-- coffee is discounted for you. I love McDonald's coffee and was, until a few years ago, ordering it for the non-elderly price by going up to the counter, saying"small coffee, one cream" and paying $2.39. Two years ago, McDonald's put in electronic kiosks. Instead of ordering at the counter, I had to order at the electric kiosk. It looked pretty easy and I tried to use it, but I couldn't figure out how to complete the order and pay. I fumbled at the kiosk for 15 minutes. (It was reminiscent of when I tried to buy a train ticket from a machine in Italy.) A young employee who was enjoying watching me sweat for the entire time, finally stopped laughing and suggested I go to the counter and order a "senior coffee." When I asked what it was, she said, coffee, but cheaper for old people. I would have been offended, but I was actually both relieved at not having to order at the kiosk and delighted to get a bargain. Since that time, I had been opening my change purse and taking out a crisp dollar and 29 cents. I "tap" my credit card for everything else and it was inexplicably pleasurable to hand over the $1.29 in cash to Judith, the manager, who, despite being 16 years old, was a consummate professional. She knew my regular order-senior coffee, one cream- and filled it without my having to speak it. This past Saturday, however, June 23, 2026, as I handed my $1.29 to Judith, she said "$1.62." I asked, rhetorically, whether the price had gone up. She nodded sheepishly. I rifled in my change purse for the additionl 33 cents, depleting my change. I handed it over. 62 cents change is too much to carry around. It weighs down my Sportsac. In the future, I will still enjoy my senior coffee, but not as much. It will still be a bargain, but I'll be paying for it by "tapping" and the inexplicable pleasure of paying for it in cash will be gone. It took McDonald's (senior) coffee to wake me up. The affordability crisis is real. When senior coffee is $1.62, prices are TOO DAMN HIGH.

The Secret to Immortality

My favorite part of the New York Times is the obituary section. I love the big unpaid obituaries of people I've never heard of who created remarkable inventions that made my life worth living...ATMs, streaming channels, post it notes, to name just a few. l adore the unpaid obits of people who performed unfathomable acts of courage...spying on Russia during the cold war, saving Jews in occupied countries during WW2, opening a Chick Fil A in Chelsea. I enjoy the paid obits where every one is remarkable, beloved by her husband, wife, children, grandchildren, friends, founded a charity for a disease, funded a charity for a disease, worked tirelessly for a charity for a disease and fought a valiant effort against their own disease(usually the same as that founded or funded.) Although I do not love funerals, I do love eulogies and have heard many. Everyone eulogized was amazing-- funny, serious, strong, kind, selfless, driven, workaholic, family oriented, practical, visionary, successful, self-made. The obituaries have educated me about fabulous dead people I didn't know. The eulogies enlightened me about amazing people I thought I knew. But, on this New Year's Day, I want to share the insight I've gleaned from the world of the deceased: NO MEDIOCRE PERSON EVER DIED. Consequently, this year do not aspire to greatness. The pressure is off. Your resolution should be to to be ordinary, ie mediocre. That way, you will be live forever. That is my resolution. Frankly, for me it doesn't require a change in lifestyle. It may be harder for some of you. But I would love to have you share immortality with me, so try. Happy New Year.

Attention all NYC Transit Employees: As you are no doubt aware, our primary goal is to keep our loyal customers happy. The scientific polls of our customer satisfaction team tell us that, with few exceptions, our female customers (and those who identify as female) are happiest when no one is rubbing their genitals against them and male customers(and those who identify as male) are happiest when they can manspread and and put their feet on the seats. (Unfortunately, our pollsters were unable to solicit the views of our non-binary customers as they could not visually identify them.) In order to keep our customers happy, we need to reduce ridership. (While it is true that the coffers of the MTA are currently depleted, we our optimistic that exorbitant congestion pricing fees will soon refill them.) Our plan is to reduce ridership by making the subway a paradise for customers who relish the unexpected and a hell for those who simply want to get to their destination promptly. To that end, we enlist your support: Train Schedulers Maximize the number of trains that are rerouted. Express trains should run local and local trains should run express randomly. Trains should skip stations entirely. Train Announcers We are continuing our DEI program of employing announcers with speech impediments and inpenetrable accents. You have have been doing a great job. Continue making announcements that no one(not even you) understands, such as: “The E train is running on the F line. The 2 train is running on the 6 line until 14th Street when it will run on the N line.” When a local train is going to switch to the express line, do NOT announce the change until the doors have closed. For example, if a C local is changing to express at 59th Street, wait until the doors close at 59th Street to announce that the next stop will be 125th Street. Graphic Designers(aka sign makers and posters.) All service interruptions, rerouting, cancellations, skipped stations, maintenance work should be posted together so that the poster is impossible to read. When an entire subway line is temporarily closed, at each station affected, the sign should say “this station is closed.” It should not inform the customers that all the stations on the line are closed. For the train map within each subway car, maximize confusion by posting a sign for a different train. Ideally, the 5 train, should show the 2 train stations The F should show the C train stations. Accessibility Managers To the extent possible, delay repairs to escalators and elevators. Do not divulge the unavailability of elevators until the station at which they’re unavailable. If there is an available elevator from the platform to the mezzanine, but none to the street, do not divulge this until the person in the wheel chair is already stranded at the mezzanine level. You, our NYC Transit employees, have always been the finest in the world at customer satisfaction. Keep up the good work.

Consumer Cellular's Secret Plan

You may have wondered why Consumer Cellular, a cell service provider that purports to offer the exact same service as the major providers at half the price, markets exclusively to seniors, in particular medicare recipients and AARP members. Wouldn't both young and old want avoid to turning over their entire paycheck to Verizon? Isn't it obvious Consumer Cellular(hereinafter CC) would increase its profits if it advertised on The Bachelor as well as Jeopardy. Well,in the last 36 hours, I learned that profits are not CC's goal. Euthanasia of the over 50 population is the goal. Not by the usual means depicted in murder mysteries-smothering the bitter old lady with a pillow, injecting insulin into a soon to be released from the hospital delightful grandpa. CC's methods are more subtle and almost undetectable. They drive the seniors to apoplexy, causing strokes, heart attacks and finally death . They tried to do it with me, but because of heroic efforts of two renegade emloyees, I was saved from the jaws of death . Here's how CC's scheme unfolded. Some of my friends raved about CC. They said they reduced their cell bill from $60 to $25. I called CC and was instructed to trade in my old phone to Apple and get my new one(I was splurging for an Iphone 14). They explained they would send me a sim card, but I wouldn't be able to use it, because the IPhone 14 has an "e-sim card." They would walk me through the set up. The rep took all by vitals including my email. I turned in my IPhone 7 to Apple, got a credit for it, Apple wiped it clean and I bought the IPhone 14 which cost roughly the same as a studio apartment. I called CC on my landline for the set up. The 1st rep...and there were many after her...said" I'll send the QR code to your phone." I explained I was calling from my landline and had no working cell phone, since I had turned my old phone in to Apple. She said "Ok, I'll send it to your email." I don't know why I asked what email she had for me. Perhaps I have a sixth sense, although if I had a sixth sense it would have told me not to use CC. Anyway, she had a hotmail address for me and was incredulous when I told her I've NEVER had a hotmail address and would NEVER have told anyone I had a hotmail address. "That's unfortunate; I'm so sorry, but the system won't let me change your email address. " Then I became, what is a pretty name, but currently a pejorative term, a Karen. I asked to speak to her supervisor. Her supervisor, Kevin, repeated the CC mantra, "the system won't let me." I asked to speak to his supervisor. He put me on a brief hold of 1/2 hour, came back and said, "We have to research it and it has to go through a review ." " I screamed THERE'S NOTHING TO REVIEW OR RESEARCH. YOUR EMPLOYEE WROTE DOWN AN INCORRECT EMAIL ADDRESS FOR ME. He came back with "We have to review where we made errors, so that we can do better. I screamed NOT MY PROBLEM. "The review will take 2 to 3 days." I told him that was unacceptable and to call me back in 1/2 hour. When he didn't, I called CC back and explained I was supposed to get a callback and the rep I spoke to put me on hold for 15 minutes. When she got back on the line, she told me Kevin probably didn't call me back in 1/2 hour because he was in a different time zone, 3 hours earlier than NY. I said, 1/2 hour is the same in any time zone and hung up, realizing that it would be more productive to bang my head against the wall. At this point, I was wishing that the imbecile who had given me a hotmail address, had included my blood pressure among my vitals. My blood pressure had been 120/70. It was now at least 190/130 and my heirs could use the documented increase in the wrongful death suit that would surely ensue. I called back, again asked for a supervisor and this time got Cody, who said she would get someone to do a "work around" so my email could be changed. She promised to call me back in two hours to tell me what was happening and, in fact did. But either she was exhausted by changing my email or knew that changing the email wasn't going to be the end of the story, but she had to get off the phone and told me now that my email was changed, anyone could set up my phone.Believe it or not, there were many more exchanges with reps and supervisors, most of whom, put me on hold for a minimum of 20 minutes after which the line disconnected. Two came back after my holds and said they were so sorry,thanked me for my patience, but that a QR code could not be sent to email. "The system wouldn't allow it." I was attempting to switch to CC because I hate Verizon (and wanted to save money,) but Verizon was starting to look wonderful. At 9 that night, I decided to make a last ditch effort with CC. By now, my head was throbbing, my hear was pounding and I had developed tics in both my shoulder and left eye. I called, told supervisor John my tale of woe and said, if the system won't let you send the QR code to my email so I get CC service(which from my experience so far I can see is stellar,) please release my phone from CC's clutches so that I can go back to Verizon, since CC, although purporting to be a cell service provider is unable to provide me with service. He responded,"Gee, the system won't let me send the transfer pin no. and account no. to email. So no, I can't get you out of our system and back to Verizon. Let me put you on a brief hold." I was on the brief hold for 40 minutes and was disconnected. I called back CC and they were closed for the day. At this point, it was only the thought of leaving my cat an orphan that prevented me from jumping off the terrace. Although I lived a good part of my life without a cell phone, I could not imagine life without wordle and spelling bee on the phone. My head hurt, my heart raced and my blood pressure exceeded the numbers on the dial of the sphygmomanometer. CC almost had me where it wanted me...dead, but not quite. The next morning (mornings, even on the bleakest days are filled with hope)I called CC and got Jessica. She promised to work on my problem with her supervisor,Cameron, and call me back. She did. Either Jessica and her supervisor Cameron were absent the training days that CC taught the mantra and indoctrinated the employees in the company's ultimate goal-the annihilation of seniors. Or they were present and conspired to thwart the company's secret plan. They sent the QR code to my email. I now have cell service. I will be eternally grateful for their actions, but I feel terrible that because of their selfless actions on my behalf, they will undoubtedly be fired, if they haven't been already. And, I never though I'd say this, stick with Verizon. It gives great service.(Everything is relative.)

A Modern Day Dilemma

I know all the reasons I'm supposed to hate Jeff Bezos. He's vilified by my friends for being a billionaire, underpaying his workers, giving nothing to charity, putting local stores out of business, polluting the environment with his cartons and paying less in taxes than they do. As a matter of principle-the principle being that one shouldn't support such an evil man - my friends won't become prime members. (Not worried about my having sold my soul to the devil,they will, however, stream TV from my Amazon Prime account and order emergent essentials like a plastic strainer for kefir curds or a waterproof dog blanket for a semi-incontinent cat.) But, unlike my ethical friends, I don't hate Jeff. I LOVE him. He is the genie I always wanted. Raised on 1950s TV, I thought all genies lived in a lamp. But Jeff, my genie, lives inside my computer. I think of an item that I really, really want...desperately and immediately. A callus remover, for example. I push a button and like magic, it appears in my lobby the next day. My feet go from repulsive to beautiful in 24 hours, all because of Jeff. I know people will say he's a mercenary pig and he fulfills my every wish, not because he's a benevolent genie, but because he's making money off of materialistic jerks like me. But I beg to differ. When I urgently needed a nutribullet, received it and realized there was no way in hell that I would ever use it since it's for making shakes and I don't like shakes, Jeff said,"I'll refund your money, but keep the overpriced shaker anyway. It may come in handy." Would a mercenary pig be so magnanimous? Let me now talk about the origins of the Covid 19 pandemic. I know this seems like an abrupt switch in gears, but bear with me. As of now, scientists are not sure where or how it started. Maybe in a wet market in Wuhan in a pangolin or raccoon dog. Or maybe not. Possibly in a bat. Or possibly not. But I have watched enough detective shows(many on Amazon, in fact) to know that when you want to find the culprit, you follow the money. And as far as I know, pangolins, bats and raccoon dogs are not getting rich from the pandemic. It's possible they have Swiss bank accounts, but unlikely. Who is getting rich from the pandemic? Need you ask? My genie, Jeff. Due to the pandemic, local stores closed. You could not go to your usual purveyor of plastic kefir curd strainers or waterproof dog blankets because their stores were shuttered. Your sole recourse was to buy them on Amazon. True, the evidence against Mr. Bezos is merely circumstantial , but pretty damning. So, as you may have noted, given my love of Jeff as my wish fulfiller on the one hand and my strong suspicion of Jeff as the mad scientist who started the pandemic on the other hand, I am torn. When he was just a selfish billionaire, I could rationalize paying $130 a year for instant gratification and a great streaming channel. But if he started the pandemic ,and I keep paying Amazon because I am selfish and acquisitive, I will really have crossed over to the dark side. Aw, F**K it. I'm staying on the dark side.

Reality Bites

If someone woke you up at 4 in the morning from a dead sleep and asked you how old you were, what would you say? I would say "35." I'm not 35, but there is a disconnect between how old I feel mentally and how old I actually am. I'm stunned when I buy an airline ticket and develop arthritis in my index finger scrolling back 400 years to my year of birth. I'm astonished that people born in 1990 are more than two years old. And how is the Vietnam War history and not current events? I'm on zoom 12 times a day. With the appropriate filter applied , I could pass for 35. Well maybe not 35, but definitely no more than 45. And in the 20 watt lighting my deranged designer installed in my bathroom, I look no older than my law school graduation picture. Apparently, there's a large gulf between how old I look and how old I think I look. At McDonald's,when I order coffee, the 14 year old cashiers type in "senior " without my asking for it. I save 9 cents, which is nice, but I'd rather they viewed me as "junior." On the LIRR, the conductors never ID me when I ask for a senior ticket. Of course I want the senior discount (since it's hefty,)but I want them to be incredulous that I qualify. Yesterday, an old lady gave me a seat on the bus. I wished her dead and took the seat. My friends should provide a reality check. I've known them 40 years, so unless I met them even before I was in utero, I must be more than 35. But they all look the way they did when I met them...give or take a few pounds. It's not my myopia or cataracts. Other people their age look old and decrepit. Not my friends.They look youthful and radiant. But, and this is a big but: they have children who are over 35 and some of their children have children. They cannot wake up in the middle of the night and say they're 35.Their children provide undeniable proof that they are entitled to senior coffee, senior fare and a seat on the bus. I have no such proof. So if you wake me in the middle of the night and ask me my age, I will say "35" and then kill you for having woken me up. A 35 year old needs her beauty sleep.

Screw the Obits

Don't deny it. You always read the obits.The big journalistic obits , not the small paid obits.(You possibly read the small ones too. Maybe you play the game I invented. You try to guess the age of the deceased from the photo. Sometimes there's a photo of a young pretty woman who looks to be about 20. Before you get weepy, you look at the hairstyle. If it looks like it was from a 1940s war movie, you know, without reading the obit, that the dead woman was around 100, and you save your tears. It's a bit harder to gauge the age with men, although a straight part of the hair--even on a 20 year old -tells you he's either your peer or your grandfather.).But, I digress. You read the big obits methodically. First, you look at the age. If they are your age or younger , you say "so young" and then wonder if they died in a freak accident or of a disease you might potentially come down with. Up to age 90, they are still "so young," but you're fairly certain an Alpine avalanche was not the cause of death. Next, you get to the meat of the obit: what they did to merit this gigantic obit. Here is when you're overwhelmed with emotion. Awe. Worship....and admit it, overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. This one saved 2000 Jews by getting them Guatemalan visas. Clearly , a saint. And you- you've done nothing for the Central American refugees at the border. That one won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry. Obviously, a genius. You got 100% on the chemistry Regents. Why haven't you won a Nobel or even washed a beaker? She wrote the seminal treatise on climate change. Patently, a forward thinker. You can't figure out recyling rules. He created Hustler Magazine. You, well, you have certain expertise...You could have done that. I know you will not abandon the obits, even though they make you feel as if you've wasted your life. So, I hope the following list of what I accomplished during the pandemic will give you some perspective. -I did not become fluent in either Swahili or Mandarin -I did not win a grammy for the best country song -I did not create a Trump meme -I did not learn how to code(or even what that means) -I did not discover a new element(and I know only eight of the old ones) -I did not write a book or even a blog -I did not learn how to cook -I still can't knit -I did not collaborate with Shonda Rhimes on a TV series -I did not help the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation For what I hope are two reasons, you probably won't find my obit in the New York Times any time soon. -