Just Tell Me


Tell you about it?

 I really can’t do that. I can “speak of ” it, “announce” it, or “state what happened”. But tell you?  I really can’t do that.

Why you ask me??

Well the answer starts back in about 2016 when people had gotten into the habit of reacting to news of any significance only after reading about it in the news and information digester,  or simply “ digester”, of their choice.

And of course, by 2016, there were lots to choose from.  All putting things in “context”, or in “perspective”; all curating and reassembling facts, and all telling you what “the take away” is and just plan differing on how to “tell” a story. So by 2020 when everything went down, people were getting their news digested by so many sources in so many ways, no one was getting anything near what resembled the same story- about anything. Even when a story was captured on a cell phone or by a drone! Even when they saw it with their own eyes!  People still waited for their news digester to tell them what they saw.

And that- all that telling-is what really led to The Telling Riots that broke out on September 3, 2022. That’s why a news event that should have been considered a monumentally exciting scientific discovery, broke society as we knew it and why I really can’t tell you anything anymore. For instance. I shouldn’t be telling you about this.  But I am. Because it’s important and you really do have to know.

It started over something so simple.

A family of four, living in Schaumburg IL was playing with a litter of eight-week old puppies born to the family’s golden retriever, Trixie. The father of Trixie’s litter was Roscoe, a beagle, and the only male dog within a few blocks who had somehow made it to 6 with his privates intact.

The male head of the household who owned Trixie was thrilled to have something of interest to put on social media, (it later became known that he had been treated in 2020 for social media attention addiction) so he posted hours of video of their six puppies via a puppy –cam on every conceivable social media outlet.  Puppies had been done before, had been done for years, but something about these puppies was so unique the feed went viral almost immediately. Not just viral, the puppy –cam “broke the internet” as they used to say.

 Why you ask me again?

Well, I’ll tell you why. Yes, I’ll TELL you. I have to tell you so you’ll understand.

 They talked!  The puppies talked! Clear middle American, mid-western English!  And so did Trixie!  But with a slight southern accent.  (She was born and raised in Alabama.)

Of course, there was much excitement. Actually, there was hysteria. No one had ever heard a dog talk before!  People had wondered about and hoped for such a thing for hundreds of years- as long as dogs and people have lived together.  And now, finally, it was part of the world’s reality. What could this possibly mean for our society?

The digesters immediately went to work telling people the answer.

 All of them, from your local Patch to the NY Times “weighed in”. (Another phrase banned from our language because it signals a “telling”. And besides everyone was sick of it.) Of course all the digesters’ tellings were different and many were in conflict.

 For example, when some digesters stated that testing should be done on Trixie and her litter hoping to prove it was all a hoax, the digesters who spoke to groups who wanted to ban animal testing became enraged. So the “testers” in order to prove that their tests were harmless, offered to do their testing live on camera.  This worked the digesters who spoke for the media outlets into a frenzy as to who would get broadcast and advertising rights.  When college students heard of the impending
broadcast their digesters demanded a 20-second delay, with trigger warnings because it was rumored that some of the puppies were prone to vile politically incorrect statements when under stress.  This got the educators’ digesters in an uproar because if these pups were this unmanageable perhaps one or two must have ADHD or were on the spectrum and forget testing. Early intervention was called for instead.

The agricultural interests’ digesters wanted no testing, broadcasting, or intervention of any kind because if we started treating dogs that talked just like humans, what would
happen if a few plants started talking a blue streak? How would they stay in business, not to say what would we all eat since most people had given up meat; afraid that other talking animals might show up on their dinner table.

The nudists’ digesters said don’t worry about plants, they knew for a fact the only ones that talk are hemp and cotton, and by the way, they’re saying such nasty, evil stuff they certainly deserve to be eradicated. (The point had been made about leather and if people couldn’t wear cotton or hemp what was left?  Wool?  In these temperatures?)

Koko the gorilla who had been signing for years and had maintained a small but loyal following signed that all plants do talk, they just talk very quietly and slowly and only Lowland gorillas can hear them.   Most digesters dismissed this statement as the meanderings of a jealous has-been whose thunder had been stolen.

Then when the Chinese digesters, who had suspected that dogs could talk for centuries but considered them a delicacy anyway, read about Koko they offered to take him back to China where he’d be shown the kind of respect a  signing low-land gorilla deserves.

This angered the North Korean digesters who wanted a signing gorilla of their own and were afraid that without one they would be viewed as a second-class power.

Of course, the PETA’s digesters basically told everyone in so many words I told you so. And now you’re all banished to hell.

It was a real mess of tellings. But for the first time, all these various “tellings” were pissing people off.

Groups’ splintered, families split up. Friends no longer spoke. Fights broke out in the street. Redditt had sub-sub-sub groups. Each and every one of the digesters had such different takeaways about the pups in such self-righteous, all-knowing terms that anyone who read one digester couldn’t break bread with anyone who read another.

And just when the tension in the world was almost unbearable the unthinkable happened. Trixie and her puppies were kidnapped from their back yard without a trace.

They were never seen again.

How could this be? 

One last time the people turned to their news digesters for answers.   But this time it was different. The people weren’t interested in assigning blame to their favorite digesters’ bogeyman. As a matter of fact, the people realized it was the digesters who were at fault for this kidnapping.  If they hadn’t pit group against group and driven some group or someone to do this loathsome thing, Trixie and her wonderful brood would still be with us instead of lost to us all, forever.

Did it make sense? Maybe not.  But people were angry-mad as hell. So it was no surprise when one thing became increasingly clear to almost every living being. The digesters had to go. 

But who to lead the charge? Who to trust to reestablish the establishment?

Well as you know after a few tumultuous months, a great leader did emerge who led the great uprising that started September 3, 2022. He and his pack of supporters took on the digesters.

They started by storming 30 Rock, and the Ed Sullivan Theater just to make a statement. Then they made sure all the local cable companies’ offices were burned to the ground. Any big box store that sold TVs, computers, or internet devices was ransacked multiple times making business impossible. Once this pack of rebels was voted into office anything with the label 'smart' was banned.  Nothing was streamed. This time the internet literally was broken. Eventually, after years of upheaval and unrest, social media came to mean leaving your calling card near someone’s mailbox.



So why am I risking all and telling you this?  Because it is your legacy and it is your turn to take over.  Now on your sixth birthday, just like your  great, great, many times great grandfathers before you, and your first known grandfather many years ago on September 3, 2022, it is your turn to lead us and keep us safe from tellings and digesters.  It’s your turn Roscoe the 15th."


“Woof!!”
"Roscoe please!  Use your words."

Mirror, Mirror


June 13th

I just have to get this down on paper. I believe the first time I noticed it I was walking past the post office.
I’m certain it was the post office because I’d just sucked my stomach in, in anticipation of their front window, that acts like a mirror on sunny days, (After all these years I wasn’t about to let what amounted to a full-length mirror sneak up on me.) when low and behold instead of seeing me with a sucked in stomach, I saw the reflection of everything around me; with myself nowhere to be found. Anywhere.
The next time I noticed it I was getting out of the shower a day or so later.

I was feeling a bit daring after 3 weeks of ridiculously healthy food and no white wine (Boo-hoo!) and decided to take a purposeful inventory of the old girl who carries me around. Well, all I could see was the vague outline of….. someone.  I had to assume it was me.  So I did a little jig just to be sure.  It was me all right.  I never could dance.
Now, I thought, that is strange. Strange, but not too disturbing. It had to be an illusion.  Some phenomenon that would pop up on one of those brain stimulation sites we women past a certain age subscribe to like Food for Thought, or Brain Droppings. I put it out of my mind.
Until about a week later.  I was putting on my make using my 5x lighted magnifying mirror, having switched from my 10x magnifying mirror as a present to myself on my 60th birthday, and I quite clearly saw that I had no mouth!  Well of course I really did have a mouth.  I knew because I immediately stuck my hand in it and pulled on my tongue and clicked my teeth.  My mouth, my lips, my tongue, were defiantly there.  But my reflection defiantly was not.
It was clearly time for the round of specialists. I wanted to get started right away so I could quickly move onto the shrinks I knew I would end up with.  Believe me, it didn’t take long.  One visit to an ophthalmologist, one to a neurologist, and whoops!  Off I was sent.
I went to three, just to be sure, and of course, they all asked me if I felt invisible.  What else is a psychiatrist going to ask an almost past middle-aged white bread woman who no longer has a career and still has no grandchildren (Let’s not get started on that!) who has lost, OK maybe misplaced, her reflection?
“Ah, I see you say you “lost” your reflection.”  They all said in one form or another.  “Do you feel invisible?” They asked in one form or another. “Our society is tough on older women, not like in some other countries where maturity is valued.” They all explained.
And you know what I said?  I said, “Baloney!” Actually, I said something a little stronger, but I hate to put vulgarity in print.  “I don’t feel invisible!  I feel like I have no reflection! And I know that isn’t normal. And aren’t we all supposed to fit under some bell curve of normalcy?” 
They all in turn, once again, said about the same thing:  “I’d like to schedule a series of appointments, but first I’d like to examine your insurance, and/or credit card.”

I turned them all down. Because the scary thing was I was beginning to like not having a reflection.  I found it freeing to never be caught up in how I looked. I found it so freeing in fact, I felt able to say things to people that needed to be said for a long time.  Things I wouldn’t ordinarily say.  I felt very much myself. Myself at 6, 10, or 12, before the world and I attempted to civilize me.  I dressed solely to be decent and avoid arrest. Now without a mirror to seek approval from, I felt unfettered.  Not only was I free to be myself, but I was, as the kids say, `diggin’ this whole no reflection thing- tremendously.

That’s about when I noticed I couldn’t see other people’s facial expressions.  People’s faces began to blank out as soon as I spoke to them; like they’d just woken up from a pleasant nap. No matter what I said from boo to I love you, to watch out for that spider, to you’ve just won the Nobel Prize for being
you, no one’s face moved a muscle.  Sometimes the rest of them moved. (Quite a bit, like out of the room.)  But that wasn’t my problem. So I didn’t worry about it.  I just continued to say what I wanted, when I wanted to.
At this point, I could have gone back to the doctors but I figured by bother? 
 I was diggin’ this development too.  I was now saying anything I wanted, to who I wanted, and never had to put up with any nasty expressions in return. I spoke back to snarky store clerks, I swore blue streaks using words I never thought I’d say, I rambled on knowing I had to be boring people but because I couldn’t tell for sure I didn’t let that bother me so what the hell. I bid what I wanted at bridge and had fun imaging the expression on my partner’s face.  I told my daughter at a family gathering, in front of everyone, to stop being a fool and have a baby now while she was still young enough to get her figure back and I was still young enough to babysit.  I was my own Salim Rushdie speaking truth to power, (Or at least to my relatives and neighbors and that bitch who sits in front at spinning who always says at the end of class “let’s go another 10!”) and I was never happier. 

Now I can’t tell anything from people's voices. I hear no inflections whatsoever. But as I told you after the two other developments, all in all, I don’t give a rat’s ass.  I’m me and I’m running wild through the world and I am digging it!!

June 25th


I’m sitting in my bedroom behind a locked door.  My family and a few other people are just outside, talking to me in what I hope is reasonable language.  They’ve been out there for a few hours and though I can’t speak for their tone, things seem to be heating up. (I suppose in hindsight it might have been a mistake to bring the baby thing up to my daughter in front of her sister in law who has two precious toddlers and has always been naturally thin because it seems like my daughter is leading the charge.) They are insisting that I see someone.  That “I’m not myself.”   That “Things can’t go on as they are.”  (Who says?) They all love me and miss me and blah, blah, blah, and they are sure I can get better with the right doctors and medicine. Who said I need to get better?  They just want me in a straitjacket.  Of one sort or another.
July 6th
I have a significant update. First I should mention I had to spend a couple of days in a hospital for the very, very, nervous, as I like to call those places. (All I had to do to get out was act reasonably normal
until my insurance ran out. Didn’t take long! My insurance stinks!) When I got out I continued to act normal, at least in front of my family, just to get the heat off, and guess what? Since about 4 days ago I really am back to normal. I can read expressions and hear tones of voices and see myself in the mirror and of course, I’m responding “appropriately” just like before.  Everyone around me is thrilled. 
Oh well.

July 12th

I have yet another significant update!  This time a marvelous one! I’ve just realized after all these years wandering around on the earth…get this…!  I’m gorgeous and everyone loves everything I say!! First the gorgeous part: I look in the mirror, any mirror, even those dreadful window reflections that sneak up on you and the backs of  teaspoons, and I don’t look a day over 25! And what a body! I may take a trip to Hollywood to see if I can get a gig on one of those Indie films! (Is that where young beautiful people go these days to do that?  Or is it Portland? ) And since everyone
loves everything  I say, preening and laughing and giggling at my slightest remark, (I can say no wrong, believe me, I’ve tried!) I should be able to get  “kickstartered”-I believe that's the word-  and get a lot of money with no work just like all those other beautiful well-liked people do these days when they want money and haven’t really done anything. Then when I get a lot of money…well who knows? With looks, popularity, and money I can do anything or say anything I want!  I’ll be free again!  Heck, I’m free now! Maybe to hell with the money! I’m beautiful and well-liked so anything goes! I can be or do anything I want and people still want to please me!  For instance, just now a bunch of people are gathering outside my bedroom door trying to get me to come out.  They want to talk to me for my own good they say, (probably have some business deal they want me to get involved with or at least … "attach my name to", isn’t that what they say in Hollywood and Portland?)  Or maybe they just want me to come out so they can gander at my countenance for a while. Has to be something like that.  Remember KISS?  Keep it simple stupid!    Don't overthink it!  So I'm heading out there now.  I'll try to write more later, from Hollywood or Portland.  Or maybe both!