Notes about Being Wrong

and the Industrial Cosmetic Complex

To try and make sense of what’s happening now is way above my pay grade. I can only attempt to step back- reculer, reculer un peu- and thank my lucky stars that the dogs are napping beside me, while the spouse is upstairs preparing for his day.

WQXR is on in the kitchen, and guess what? The guy whose dulcet tones hold forth between the music is actually named Jeff Spurgeon and not Jeff Sturgis. How do I know this? Because I’m writing this little missive and looked up his name.

All this time, I had his name completely wrong. Like a lot of things, I got it wrong.

I’m in that group of people who do get it completely wrong some of the time. Whether any of the madness swirling outside my tranquil home proves to be wrong or not remains to be seen. Every part of my being says that it is, (ie wrong). But sometimes, it is me (or is it I) who is wrong.

So, ignoring the political landscape, and in the spirit of to-do’s for 2025, below is my list. I will

become a better writer

become a better cook

become way tidier

become breathtakingly solvent

become largely adverb free

and be generally more compassionate and graceful all the way around.

Many of you reading this have already accomplished the above. You might be asking yourselves, ‘What’s so hard about that?’

Well, Reader, one thing is my unfailing ability to hurt/offend someone’s sensibilities at any family gathering and the other is my continued pesky discomfort with the Oxford comma. I have resigned myself to the former, but have yet to make my peace with the latter.

And a huge part of what’s become so challenging as of late, is that the world seems to have shifted on its axis in such a way, that things we once understood as non-negotiable no longer seem to matter. So, those of us who are in this predicament of getting stuff wrong need to decide what does matter. Hence, my list above.

A few days ago, I had the pleasure of typing The End for my work in progress, which then catapulted me into that weird vaacum of what I call The Wait. For me, this occurs when some people I don’t know from Adam read the manuscript and weigh in on whether they actually like it or not.

So what I do, while twiddling my thumbs, waiting, is to fool with said manuscript, trying to make it better, finding horrible typos and the like. It also involves my incredible, dare I say, phenomenal efforts at procrastination. One of my favorites is the much loved, but often despised:

INDUSTRIAL COSMETIC COMPLEX

You know, those huge, epic quests for failproof, affordable cosmetic procedures. Many of the people I admire hold these procedures in contempt. Many of the people I admire have also had extensive work done.

At the start of the pandemic, when I’d finished my debut novel, I asked several different surgeons if they wouldn’t remove a detail of mine which I’ve always found to be IRKSOME. These are my cheek pads ie, the ones on my face. This is because, from the beginning of time, I’ve always had an abundance of buccal fat.

Since the instagram face craze, the elimination of buccal fat has really come into its own. However, it turns out, that because of my age, buccal fat removal is not really an option.

Instead, every surgeon said, “No, what you need is a face lift. Let me give you a proposal.” Ahhh, that timeless preoccupation and self doubt which comes with the desperate need to be- reader, you know the rest.

So much of it is nonsense, and merely a pathetic bunch of delay tactics, designed to keep one in the loop of the industrial cosmetic complex…

So what does this have to do with today’s events in Washington?

It has something to do with getting through it. Things happen which feel desperately wrong all the time. From the inhumane treatment of those who’ve come here to seek refuge, to the outrageously tacky calling public servants idiotic names, to the grossly unqualified candidates to lead various departments of the cabinet.

They’re things which are happening that can’t be changed by any one of us. But these are also things which can be rejected, by each and every one of us.

In October 2023, I became an atheist. However, faced with the next four years I’m now looking for solace. The Corners is Nadia Bolz-Weber’s substack and her prayer for January 20th, 2025 fits that bill.

It’s a good day to pet a dog

Also, Suleika Jaouad’s sublime piece called Moondancing after Midnight from her substack Isolation Journals describes a moment that all of us with dogs treasure when it snows. I know that last night, I did.

Ms. Jaouad with one of her companions

If perchance, you’re looking for something clunkier, foolish and just emblematic of a person who sometimes gets it wrong, I offer you my Medium essay, I was a Failed Phone Sex Worker.

I do believe we are all connected and that we are also each other’s keepers. I lamented today’s events with an fb group and one comment, from someone I don’t know, was really comforting. This is the comment below.