Jul 25, 2013

Anthony Weiner and Huma Abedin...again.

Oh, the sweet taste of quiet regurgitation

And so here we are again.  

Another politician with yet, another juvenile, diabolical transgression, with yet, another humiliated wife looking on at yet, another news conference addressing indiscretions.  I may elaborate more about Weiner himself later, but for now allow me to repost from 2008, as the topic is relevant yet again.


March 16, 2008


As of late, I have seen and heard many individuals, particularly women, ramble on about how angry they are with Silda Spitzer and her so called pathetic, codependent choice to support her husband during the controversy surrounding Mr. Spitzer’s recent, imprudent behavior; or what I have come to call—Seriously Spitzer, Could You Be a Bigger Narcissistic Moron?

To some degree I can understand this critical assessment of Mrs. Spitzer, as I must admit to my own knee jerk reaction upon first seeing her standing catatonic beside Spitzer at the podium. In fact, for a moment I was livid, yet slightly disoriented as to why I would be so quick to judge another's situation, as it’s not normally within my nature to automatically do so, especially under such an extreme and depraved circumstance. So I was puzzled, if not slightly sickened as to my disparaging response.

Seriously, what kind of bug did I have up my ass that day? Although at the time, I must admit that I was riding out some nasty cold medication.

I mean, justifiably our anger and criticism should be directed toward Spitzer himself, but instead we posture aggressively toward Mrs. Spitzer. It is truly astounding how quickly we have taken our eyes off the ball or in this case—off the bald. After all, Eliot Spitzer is the hypocritical, adulterous, self-centered narcissist who brought shame upon his family, not Silda. He is the aggressor, while Mrs. Spitzer and her three daughters are the victims, right?

So, why is it so easy for us to blame the victim?
As usual, it’s the media.

Upon reflection and in an effort to think outside the media driven box, I came to realize that I wasn’t at all upset with Mrs. Spitzer’s decision, but in fact with the media’s decision to methodically use and thereby assign a most subliminal term—“Standing By Her Man”—as the end all description for Mrs. Spitzer’s response; presentation of said subliminal term is of course complete with gripping graphic and melodramatic music required to further evoke drone like submission from the masses.

24-hour media loves the literal, injudicious picture. They would prefer not to truly think or deliberate, as both waste time, so the quicker to judge, think and/or deliberate (in fact manipulate), the quicker to air; the quicker to air, the higher the ratings; the higher the ratings, the more money they make. It’s a lava lamp of misleading, agenda driven information; hypnotic and painstakingly repetitive as it creates legions of disciples who are addicted and willing to depend upon 24-hour news as their definitive source for deliberative thought.

This tag: “Standing By Her Man," is an irresponsible assumption; a manipulative suggestion, with a rudimentary connotation that is entirely strategic, primitive and discriminatory in nature, while it leaves little room for interpretive discussion and/or deliberation. I mean as a viewer why bother with deliberation? There she is, demure and dutiful in her unassuming blue suit; complete with silk scarf accoutrement. She looks like an accommodating flight attendant: Can I get you a beverage Mr. Spitzer?  Would you like a pillow Mr. Spitzer? Hot hand towel Mr. Spitzer? The entire scenario is so 1950’s I could gag.

So I ask. Is she really Silda “Standing By Her Man?”

I’m not blind. I mean I see her standing there, demure and seemingly devoted as ever, but is she indeed supporting him?

Hello? I’m talking to you 24-hour news. Did you bother to investigate the situation before smacking this simplistic, suggestive tag upon her response and presence? Surely you have the journalistic capacity to sniff out a reliable source that might offer some insight as to Mrs. Spitzer’s genuine motivation for showing up to this humiliating press conference. After all, you hunt down sources to feed your incessant Britney stories; half a million reporters are strategically posted outside of Heath Ledger's loft waiting to get a shot of the velour covered mound (formerly known as Heath) as it/he is wheeled off into the coroner's vehicle. So what gives? Why this sudden, lackadaisical approach?

This tag: “Standing By Her Man," has become tiresome as politician after politician is compelled to believe that they are beyond the moral/legal law and further, entitled to break it: Senator Larry Craig, Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick, Governor James McGreevey and Senator David Vitter just to name a recent few. And guess what? All of their respective wives could be seen “Standing By Her Man,” albeit looking as if they had just thrown up in their mouths a little bit.

But should we be surprised with this rush to tag behavior?

No. As usual, 24-hour news has failed society. It has failed to consider that Mrs. Spitzer’s presence may be indicative of anything other than spousal dedication; that “Standing By Her Man” may not at all be about devotion, but strategy. For all we know she has already hired an assassin to settle all this cheating nonsense—although Silda, I wouldn’t recommend the extermination route, as I’m sure that your husk of a husband is friends and/or plays poker with the majority of NYC hit men, I’m just sayin’.

Yet this 24-hour assessment of what is indeed assumed accurate should be expected, as deliberate manipulation or at least partial omission is a symptom of the sexist, agenda-driven, one-dimensional society that we live in, wherein the news presents what it is we are allowed to see, dictates what it is we are allowed to think and therefore learn about our roles in society. They are corrupt and far from impartial, as they are in bed with cooperate entities, and therefore, riddled with sexism, ageism and racism. As a convenient source for news, 24-hour news takes advantage of their viewers by providing subliminal anti-group-of-the-moment rhetoric, which we (or most of) society will perceive as the valid truth. We don’t even realize that we’re being discriminated against and molded into thoughtless drones; drones who are taught to recognize that a woman should indeed “Stand By Her Man,” no matter the indiscretion because that's what we do. Put on your best 2-piece tweed, accessorize and smile lady because that’s what you do. Rub your feet, Mr. Spitzer? Would you like another blanket, Mr. Spitzer?

So, as I listen to women criticize Mrs. Spitzer’s choice, I think to myself, huh, nice job 24-hour news, you’ve managed to blame the victim and thereby turn women against women, wherein they cannot come together and give Mrs. Spitzer the benefit of doubt, support, or even consider that she may have her own agenda as to why she’s “Standing By Her Man.” It’s a divisive, strategic tactic indeed, meant to keep the masses from thinking, bonding, forming, gathering and revolting against the cooperation and it works like a gem. 

To see the true off her rocker jenji rant click here

Look, I'm sure she has her reasons for standing alongside him at these press conferences, be it religion, her children, whatever. Perhaps she is a passive product of a patriarchal society, I don’t know.  I’m not nearly as psychic as Sylvia Browne suggests each one of us might be. My point is that we truly can't predict what it is that Mrs. Spitzer may be feeling and going through during this particular crisis anymore than we might be able to predict her favorite flavor ice cream. However, we might consider that there may be more than one explanation for her behavior, as even Neapolitan has three flavors.

So, let's deliberate for a moment.

Here’s a question: Has anyone stopped to consider that Mrs. Spitzer is merely protecting her children who have been emotionally abandoned and traumatized by their father's disgraceful indiscretions? That as a matter of protection she may in fact be determined to keep their world as consistent as possible by postponing the feminist solution—to publicly scorn and vilify their father—as it would only serve to further exacerbate these abandonment issues for her children; is that possible? Could this be a Mama Lion at work?

This is just a theory, but it is entirely plausible that Mrs. Spitzer might be gathering all of her energy to provide a stable constant; a parent that her vulnerable children can actually depend upon and trust.

So what’s the solution, jenji? You must have some sort of alternative title/tag up your sleeve that 24-hour news can implement in an effort to describe her response, one which might somehow remain neutral, while still presenting the situation?

Oh, it’s not a tag at all. The solution is that he/she who has deceived, wandered and/or strayed should be holding these conferences solamente, sans the spousal distraction so that we may then concentrate all of our energy upon the true jackass of the moment.

True Jackass of the Moment

True Jackass of the Moment In Training

Then I should think the tags would be quite easy to create--literal even. The problem for the 24-hour graphics department is that these tags would constantly change, as do the deceitful aggressors. What a kick in the pants for graphics.

Still, I should think that these tags would read something like this:

-Governor Spitzer Will Now Talk Out of His Ass and Admit Felonious Activites

-Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick Admits to Boning his Ex Chief-of-Staff

-Governor James McGreevey Admits Homosexuality and Buys Property on Fire Island

-Senator Larry Craig Admits Incontinence, But Insists That His Bladder Is Not, Nor Has It Ever Been Gay

-Senator David Vitter Admits DC Madam Is On His Christmas Wish List

-Anthony Weiner Continues To Live Up To His Name

Do you see what I’m saying? Now that’s simplistic and literal! The graphics department can thank me later.

I'm just sayin', take a moment to truly deliberate, to think outside of the media driven box and resist the mesmerizing, hypnotic, 24-hour lava lamp of complacency; consider as many sides of the issue as possible before you harangue and blame the victim. Make an effort to wade through the thick, 24-hour bisque of the day and whether vituperative or supportive in the end at least you’ve taken the time to interact before you react.

A bit of advice for Eliot Spitzer: although Mrs. Spitzer has been victimized she still has the capacity to react as anything other than a victim, for most mothers would agree—betray me and we may be able to work this out, betray my children and you’ll find yourself wishing you had never been born.


May 26, 2012


I'm so very sorry to inform my readers that Harold, my unconditional friend, my perpetual, longtime companion and champion of all things metrosexual cat passed away just over two weeks ago.  He became unexpectedly gravely ill and the decision--so as to end his suffering--was quickly made to put him down. Given his condition at the time, I'm confident that it was the right decision.  I was with him and held his paw, stroked his head, spoke to him and comforted him throughout the entire procedure.  

He was the best companion anyone could ever ask for for well over 15 years.  He was independent, codependent (or was that me?), whimsical, incredibly wise and in fact he had his own alter ego online known as Shabba who actually performed on live casts, and as you all know, he was also a columnist on this blog for Between The Whiskers.  Incidentally, he was also as much my caretaker, as I was his.  And he loved to spoon and run that purring motor of his.  He was also a nephew to his Uncle Chet and Aunt Maggi Rose the daschund, a grandson to my Mother, and a friend to many of my family and friends.  All of those folks have been incredibly kind to me--calls, sympathy cards and more calls--and many have expressed that they miss him already as well.  I thank you all for that and you know who you are.  Your kindness and sensitivity has meant the world to me and it brings me comfort to know that he was loved and appreciated by so many. 


I'd had him since he was a scrappy, scrawny, flea-infested stray kitten, with ears as big as his heart.  

As some of you may already know, he was also a fantastic companion to his brother, Lil Man.  Survival of the fittest didn't apply when it came to these two.  They loved hanging out with one another, perusing the neighborhood from the windowsill.  And so now the two are back together once again.  Or so I hope.  I had Harold cremated and for now his remains sit upon my nightstand, however soon they will join Lil Man's remains on the shelf in the living room.

I've had many, many pets in my lifetime and I have to say that out of all of them, Harold was the one that I could have easily thrown myself upon the proverbial coffin for had there been an opportunity to do so.  I'm afraid I'm short on words--organized thoughts, or proper punctuation for that matter, as words just aren't coming so easily for me--as I'm filled with grief and yet, empty, as I feel like a part of me is missing.  He was a part of me.  But most of all, he was my friend and I shall never forget all of the joy, amusement, companionship and love that he gave me and the many others who knew him and his unique personality.

This is the last photo that I took of my handsome man just a few weeks prior.  Harold, you certainly grew into those ears.  You most certainly did.  

Harold 1997-2012

And so, Goodbye, friend.  May you rest in peace.

-Harold's Mama

Dec 19, 2011

Freedom (revisited)

I never post the same entry twice, but I am making an exception for a friend of mine who I hope will keep the following in mind whilst navigating about temperamental relatives throughout the holidays.

You know who you are.
Please, be wise with your precious energy.
You matter more than any tedious, dysfunctional drama.


There is a moat.
It surrounds me.
They cannot cross.
All runnels leading have been dammed.
I am safe.

It is a boundary. It is mine.
They shall not pass.
The bridge shall only draw upon my judgment, upon my command.

I no longer have an obligation to engage within the inherent presentiments of dysfunction, derision and delusion.

They ring the bell, but the bridge does not lower.
I control the counterweight.

Impatient, they ring for the ferry.
Blinking. The boat of Charon does not appear.

Universal: them and us.

And so, upon these banks they are inclined to leave us handmade baskets brimming with fresh fruit—messages—: persuasion. Anemic at first, and so we are inclined to pick through them at our leisure.

Hours. Days. Slumber.

They ring two, three times more and beckon for attention.


They ring repeatedly and begin to leave patronizing messages, ripe with urgency and concern, as their arrogance will not allow them to consider that our silence has a greater meaning: not now: no.


They give up quickly.
Time intervenes.

Everyday. Progression. The New Normal.

They Reform, restructure and begin to ring again.

The hypervigilant moat begins to leak; rust begins to form around our recollection. A formidable fog of nostalgic memory rolls in: a photograph-- Tribe surrounded and smiling.

An olive branch is extended and we contemplate acceptance.
Subtle. Pavlovian.


Weakness. We assess the caller's identity and wager: perhaps I have overreacted. Perhaps I am part of the problem. Perhaps I am able—this time.

No?  But...

And so we gamble.


We abandon our hypervigilant, detail-oriented condition for real-time interaction. There is no need for conditional division; for boundary, for there is no harm: we are of the same tribe.


And so I would argue with the fine doctor.

* * * 

They are Traitors.

Traitors who are literally teeming with derision, negativity, disconnected outrage and delusions of grandeur.

Traitors who commiserate and conspire.

Exponentiation. Virulence.

How have you been?
This is not a question: it is a code for contempt.

They emerge from their histrionic dens not to listen: no.

Vapid inquires, for they are vampires whose self-centered mission remains: to suck and to spew: to suck our spirit and to spew their sanctimonious rhetoric.

Blathering on and on.
Sucking. Exsanguination.

What have we done? They are vampires and we have knowingly invited them in.




Recollection returns.

A fleeting specter where time has stood still.

The formidable fog of nostalgic memory lifts: a photograph—tribe surrounded and smiling. It is propaganda. I see it. We see it.



We did not respond, the bridge is still intact and our feet remain dry.


Not now.

Live.  Life.  Living.

Baskets. Piled, they begin to fray; the fruit begins to seep and rot but still, they sow the seeds.

Sunshine. Friends. Contentment.

A heaping, putrid landfill forms along the bank, the soil tinged with their pestilence.

It is a plague. They are a plague.

Persistence. Insistence.
More messages.

They ornament their disdain and hunger for this emotional ambush with concern for our well-being. It is circuitous. It is a lie. It is a trap.

It becomes about the why are you, the where are you and the what's going on? 

It becomes about their graciousness and our silence.

It builds.
It becomes about our immaturity and our capricious temperament.

Our silence simmers within them.
It becomes about our self-absorption, our audacity and our impassivity; our inability for functional communication within the company of pure righteousness.

We are a predicament: their predicament.

The silence begins to boil.
It becomes about our disrespect, our disobedience, our ungratefulness, and three baskets later, our more than obvious defiance.

Yes, it is a Defiance. It is a Precedent.
It is our Recollection that they are vampires and we must not knowingly invite them in.


* * * I would argue that when one makes a concerted effort to negotiate with one’s detail-oriented condition, one risks the unrestricted access of one’s own foolish, Pollyanna judgment and the consequential invasion to be dawned upon by the traitors in our tribe.

Illustration: Gustave DorĂ© Charon from The Divine Comedy

Feb 3, 2011


Dr. Mehmet Oz

Fear mongering instigator. Helpful messages can be lost when you're under pressure to create and (over)produce a riveting one-hour show every day of the week. His expertise is better utilized on a guest basis.

I'm Just Sayin.


*I guess I called that one. See: arsenic in apple juice 2011

Jan 3, 2011


Suppose I was a big fan of alcohol-which I'm not-but say we suppose so. I would most certainly be inclined to transform Sarah Palin's Alaska into a drinking game.

It's simple: flip to TLC and every time she utters the word "Alaska," go ahead and take a shot. You'll be half in the bag by the first commercial break.


*I intentionally selected a flattering photo of the former Governor despite my absolute disgust for her as a human being. It would have been entirely too easy and predictable to post a photo of her holding a rifle or crossing her eyes. This selected photo is my feeble attempt to take the high road, however I suppose this impulsive postscript subsequently negates all efforts preceding.

Jul 2, 2010


I think someone attacked Kenny Rogers with a Botox gun among other things. I suspect his former face is bound into a ponytail behind his head. I'm just sayin.


Jun 11, 2010



The mumbling codependent is at it again. Wally fell from his nest, while his parents made their frustration readily apparent by screaming at one another all evening. Dusk was quickly approaching, stray cats looming.

And so first I made this:

And then I went about weighing it down (rocks beneath the grass) and perching it within the crook of a tree in the backyard.

The parents weren't particularly jazzed about my involvement despite my use of gloves and anesthetic (for me, not Wally). At least Wally is safe from predators and the damp ground. It'll be interesting to see if the integrity of the nest will hold up overnight, as well as whether or not his parents have figured out what has transpired because frankly, Wally's ready to eat and I'm out of worms.

I'm just sayin'.


Jun 9, 2010

I Say Tomato

I'm frequently approached by loquacious individuals--specifically, gentlemen-- in the grocery store, as well as senior citizens, however the latter is a tale for another time. I'm not entirely sure why men--particularly middle-aged men--find the need to speak to me. Actually I have my suspicions--a gut instinct-- and they range from the very benign and friendly to the dangerously sociopathic; today the gentlemen registered somewhere in the middle.

The Particulars:

I needed two vine ripe tomatoes and so I began to do what I always do: fondle the produce. Produce needs to be handled so as to ascertain its quality and shelf life. And so I aggressively handled the tomatoes. I tried to do so generically, as I was already aware of his eyes upon me and I could feel--I could tell--that he was being more than an impartial spectator to my handling. Suddenly I was a general practitioner there to conduct a physical; I could feel it: I could hear him thinking it. He was ogling me as I went about my business and he made me extremely uncomfortable; it's a female instinct that just cannot be explained unless you've experienced it; and some women don't even have this instinct to rely upon. Some argue that to be ogled should be flattering, however it's not flattering, it's disgusting. There's a definitive difference between admiring and ogling and you know it when you feel it.

Now I'm a chatty individual and I have no problem with making eye contact and idle chit-chat in a grocery store; in fact, it can be rather pleasant to embrace the camaraderie a grocery store may have to offer. And so it would be a rarity for me to act a snob, however my gut instinct has always served me well and so when it goes into Defcon 5 I tend to listen to it and thus appear arrogant and snobbish. It's self-preservation.

And then he said it:

-What does one look for in a tomato?

Ugh. Really? Where's your wife (there's always a wife or significant other looming about, electively ignorant) and why are you just standing guard next to the tomatoes like a creep in the bushes? And what's with the salmon colored golf pants? Seriously, isn't there an online porn account that needs tending?

Now my answer is firmness- I look for firmness in a tomato, but there was no way in Hell I was going to respond with that little nugget of information given the guy was already visually and now audibly breaching my personal boundaries. And so I answered: color, I look for color.


What I wanted to say was: piss off, freak. But I didn't. Instead, I collected my fruit, which had barely been inspected properly and quickly made my way over to the bananas. Yes, the bananas.

Thankfully he didn't follow me, as I managed to shoot him just enough stink-eye so as to say: piss off, freak.


May 27, 2010

Lost In Translation

(electrostatic feedback)

Welcome- can I take your order?

--Yes, I'd like a small fry and a cheeseburger with no mustard (pause for attendant processing) double cheese, double pickles, please.

Extra mustard?

--No, no. No mustard, double cheese, double pickles, please.

Oh, okay.

jenji consults the drive-thru LCD so as to confirm the order wherein she sees the following:

-1 small fry
-1 cheeseburger
-NO mustard
-NO cheese
-EXTRA pickles

Will that complete your order?

--No, no...I'd like no mustard and double the cheese and double the pickles.

Oh, okay.

jenji refers to the LCD one more time:

-small fry
-NO mustard

Would you like to guess what I found once I returned home and unwrapped my burger?

Why Marvin, why? The plane would have crashed is all I'm sayin.


May 5, 2010

Double Standard

Scenario #1:

And so imagine that you see a rather portly man or woman standing in line at the gas station waiting to pay for gas or various other items. For the purposes of this example let's say this individual is 5' 4" and weighs about 350 pounds; let's say this person is very clearly obese. There are a few other folks in line, as well as the gas station attendant. Now, how many people do you think would find it socially acceptable and/or appropriate to say out loud to this person--a complete stranger-- the following:

"You need to cut back on the nachos and lose a few pounds, Fatty."

I have yet to hear anyone utter anything even remotely similar to an overweight individual in this fashion; okay, maybe a few times in junior high school I can recall some bullies picking on heavier kids, but not since then have I ever heard it again. I'm not talking about a friend who may comment upon an individual's weight to you sotto voce, I'm talking about a direct confrontation, one stranger to another. I've never seen it happen. And yet, I find that complete strangers seem to feel no sense of social structure when they comment upon my weight to my face. In fact, I find that it happens at least once a week.

For example, imagine a woman (ie: me) is 5' 4" and weighs approximately 100 pounds and she is standing in line at the local gas station waiting to pay for her gas and particulars (ie: my gas and particulars) when this man begins to eyeball her up and down (ie: eyeball me up and down) and then scoffs at her (ie: me):

"you need to eat something, Skinny."


A woman (ie: me) walks into a hair salon and another woman--a complete stranger--says to her (ie: me):

"Ugh, why are you so thin? Are you anorexic or something? I wish I could be so thin."
My response: "systemic illness, Asshole."

I've also found that heavier women find it socially acceptable to call me a "skinny Bitch," a passive-aggressive jab wrapped in a generous heap of "I'm just kidding" also known as the indisputable self-loathing. Whatever.

Scenario #2:

Imagine you are at work and the boss' daughter comes in to visit. You haven't seen her in quite a few years and she's really tan, as in at-the-tanning-bed-twice-a-week tan, so the first thing you say to her is:

"You need to stop sitting in the sun, you look like a saddle bag!"

Again, I've never heard it happen and I've seen a lot of saddle bags in my day.

And yet, the boss' daughter (ie: me) wanders into the building to visit and stumbles upon an employee she hasn't seen in a couple of years and he seems to think it's socially acceptable to say:

"Good God, you need to get some sun. Take a vacation, you look like a ghost!"

My response: "Um, first of all, I'm fair-skinned, I've always been that way and the reason I'm so fair is because of my British heritage and overall genetics, not to mention (again) systemic illness and the need to avoid ultraviolet exacerbations, but nice to see you too, Asshole!" Okay, that was my inner response, my real response was: "*uh-huh" as I was taken off-guard by this individual's seamless ability to open with such an fantastic one-liner (see: offensive observation).

*also known as, "oh right, this is why I never visit...I'm outta here, Asshole."

I won't even go into the individuals who refer to me as pale and/or peaked. I've been hearing that since I was a little kid. Okay, maybe one example.

I'm 9 years old and the woman at the ice cream shop greets me:
"Oh darlin, you're so peaked and thin!"

My response: "I don't know what that word means, do you have any double chocolate today?"

I guess my point is that people are insensitive assholes who seem to have no problem with indiscriminately spewing whatever flutters into the vast abyss they call a mind... oh wait, that's my point, it does seem to be discriminating and I find it utterly annoying, as I tend to run into one of these comments, as I mentioned, at least once a week. After a while one can begin to become self-conscious about what is completely natural and might I add significantly out of one's control.

It's bad enough I have to drink mass quantities of Boost to keep myself within triple digits, do you have to point it out as if it's deliberate and I've done something wrong? You can all see the picture of that woman in the right column, does she look like she's asking for an insult? I realize she's adorable, but that's not our topic today, so do your best to answer the question.

I'm just sayin, zip it and mind your own business... Assholes.