Taking a selfie can be dangerous. A 2018 study of news reports showed that between October 2011 to November 2017, there were 259 selfie deaths in 137 incidents reported globally, with the highest occurrences in India followed by Russia, United States, and Pakistan.

Five passengers aboard a sightseeing helicopter (with doors off) drowned after a passenger allegedly tried to take a 'shoe selfie', leading to the passenger's safety tether getting caught in the emergency fuel shutoff lever. A shoe selfie is when the person's shoes can be seen while looking out of the open doorway of a helicopter.

An Indian couple fell to their deaths from Taft Point at Yosemite National Park.

In Italy, A 22-year-old YouTuber from Denmark died after falling 200 meters from Forcella di Pana while he was recording for his channel.

A California woman slipped and fell to her death while taking selfies at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore on Michigan's Upper Peninsula, according to National Park Service officials.

Multiple tourists in Yellowstone National Park have been gored by bison when they’ve gotten too close for a photo.
​
And that, my followers, is why I don’t do selfies. (That and because I’m ugly.) Of course, there's all the people arrested after taking selfies inside the capital on January 6.

I have Writer’s Block (or is it Writers’ Block). At least, I think I do. I’m not sure what Writer’s Block is. On the surface, it implies that an author (writer?) is trying to think of something to write or to extend a partially written story and is drawing a blank. I can buy into that. It’s an honorable excuse for just being lazy. The truth is I can think of lots of things to write about, even on my current work in progress (WIP). I just don’t sit down and do it.

When I tell people I have “Writer’s Block” they nod their collective heads knowingly without a clue what that means or entails. Writers are unique in having a readymade excuse for not doing something that fits their job description. No one says they have “Housework Block’ or ‘Taxis Driver Block’, or even “CEO Block”. Those that do are just called “lazy”, unproductive, or even unsuccessful.  Yet writers get away with the mere mention of “Writer’s Block”.

Maybe we need to redefine the term “Writer’s Block.” Perhaps if you’re trying to write a novel but you can think only of short stories, you have “Novel Block”. Are visa versa, you could have “Short Story Block”. If you lack any creative ideas for a story, you may have “Creativity Block”. The truth is, I think I’m just plain lazy.

Maybe there are different levels or degrees of Writer’s Block, like murder charges or burns:

Writers’ Block --First Degree; This the worst level of Writer’s Block. You can’t seem to get the creative juices flowing again (assuming they ever did). You stare at a blank screen (no one uses paper anymore) and you have nothing. You haven’t had a creative thought or a good idea in over a year. You haven’t used your computer in so long you’ve forgotten your PIN and password. You’ve forgotten the working title of your latest manuscript. You can’t remember the name of your protagonist. You’ve gained 25 pounds. You forgot where you put your wireless printer.

Writers’ Block --Second Degree; You have a plot, and you have some characters, but you still have no story. You don’t know what comes next. You write words out of order, and you don’t know the correct order. You haven’t had a creative thought or a good idea in over a month. You’re so bored that you even called your mother. You can’t even write a short story of under 5000 words. You’ve gained ten pounds. You forgot to buy paper for your printer.

Writers’ Block --Third Degree. You’re just stuck. You can’t remember how to spell a word, or you can’t even think of the word you need. You haven’t had a creative thought or a good idea in over a week. You’ve checked all your e-mails—twice. You’ve read everything on your newsfeeds-- twice. You’ve even talked to your significant other—for an hour. You can’t even write short short stories of less than 100 words. You started a new diet—three times.

Writers’ Block --Forth Degree. You had an idea, but then lost it by the time you got to your computer. You haven’t had another creative thought or a good idea all day. You can’t think of a word you need to finish a sentence. You ran out of coffee. Your printer has started to gather dust. You ate all the leftovers.
​
Perhaps this is a better way to classify the types of “Writer’Block”.  Using these definitions, I must have Third Degree Writer’s Block. Good luck to you others with Writer’s Block. I wish you well.

​
I read with interest an article about a book, Power Cues: The Subtle Science of Leading Groups, Persuading Others, and Maximizing Your Personal Impact, by Nick Morgan. He talked about all the fake listening that people do while they act as if they are listening to you. He listed seven:
1. Their eye contact is too fixed, and their heads are too still.
2. They smile too brightly and for too long.
3. They tap their fingers.
4. They fidget.
5. Their body is turned away from you.
6 Their feet are pointed towards the door.
7. They don't mirror your body language.

This got me to thinking about other subtle ways you can tell people are not listening to you. Here are ten more:
1. They fall asleep. This is a dead giveaway. Especially if they snore.
2. They don’t notice when you stop talking.
3. You ask them a question and they just nod their heads.
4. They tell you in English that they don’t speak English.
5. They wave a crucifix and a strand of garlic at you and attempt to drive a stake into your heart.
6. They let their dog pee on your shoes.
7. They put coins into your coffee cup and walk away.
8. They hold up a lapel pin and ask you to speak into it.
9. They steal your watch and wallet.
10. They fake a heart attack, so they don’t have to listen to you.
​
If you notice any of these signs, bet your bottom dollar, your audience isn’t listening. 

Currently, many politicians are throwing their hats into the ring to run for POTUS in 2022, Yet, every day there’s a new revelation about one politician or another about something in their past. I believe the problem is that there isn’t an application for candidates to complete before they’re allowed to run for office. Applications are required for jobs, college, driver licenses, etc. Why isn’t there an application requirement for candidates? The entire situation cries out for one.
 
As a community service I offer up a draft application that could be adopted for candidates wishing to run for office.
 
Of course, there’s the normal heading. Then come the following questions:
 
1.Please indicate the party you wish to represent. (Select all that apply)
      ___Democratic Party              ___Republican Party              ___Independent Party
      ___Socialist Party                   ___Communist Party              ___Green Party
      ___Constitution Party             ___Libertarian Party               ___Nazi Party
      ___Federalist Party                 ___Bachelor Party                  ___Other(s) _________
 
2.Have you ever been convicted of a crime? ___Yes   ___No  ___Not Yet   ___Pending
     a.What crime(s) ________________
 
3.Have you ever been accused of sexual harassment?
___Once          ___Twice        ___Three or more       ___Not yet
 
4.Are you a racist? ___Yes        ___No              ___Not Yet  
     a.Which race(s) do you hate? _____________
 
5.Have you ever smoked marijuana?  ___Yes              ___No              ___Not Yet
     a.Did you inhale?  ___Yes      ___No               ___ Maybe       ___Not Sure  
 
6.Have you ever used illegal drugs? ___Yes    ___No  ___Not Yet ___Not sure ___Maybe
 
7.Have you ever taken selfies: (check all that apply)
___ Nude ___ Partially nude ___Just my genitalia ___Wearing a racist costume
___ Having sex ___Drinking ___All of the above ___None of the above
 
8.Did you ever sext? ___Yes     ___No  ___Not Yet ___Not sure ___Maybe
 
9.How would you declare your sexual orientation? (check all that apply)
___Male  ___Female ___Transgender ___ Gay  ___ Not sure ___Other(s)

10.Are you ethical? ___Yes ___No ___Sometimes  ___Depends ___Never ___Always
 
11.How would you describe your political orientation? (Check all that apply)
___ Right                  ___ Left               ___Center             ___ Left of Center
___ Right of Center  ___ Center of Center ___Top of Center ___Bottom Feeder
___Left out               ____ Right on

12. How would you describe your financial position? (Check all that Apply) ___ Top 1%          ___Bottom 1%         ___Upper Class       ___Low Class
      ___Middle Class   ___ No Class           ___Upper Middle Class
      ___Lower Middle Class          ___ Lower Upper Class          ___Upper Low Class
​
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Sensitivity Training for Governor Andrew Cuomo? Maybe.
 
It has been reported that Governor Cuomo underwent Sensitivity Training at one point during his tenor. I’ve been able to obtain a copy of the curriculum from an unreliable and questionable source. The program was called Bogus and Unauthentic Legalized Larceny and Spurious Hypocritical Intense Therapy (BULL SH*T) and was used is used through the country to help politicians keep their reputations and office. This intense therapy was intended to last for one week. Below is a copy of the curriculum. Enjoy!
 
Sunday Optional Mixer
Join us in a mixer for all attendees Sunday night at 7 PM until? Meet the instructors and fellow politicians who have fallen from grace. Open bar and free #marijuana tasting (not yet available in all states).
 
Monday SessionJoin us in a mixer for all attendees Sunday night at 7 PM until? Meet the instructors and fellow politicians who have fallen from grace. Open bar and free #marijuana tasting (not yet available in all states).
Tuesdays Session
Political Ethics—A Thing of the Past? With special guest instructor ex-President Donald #Trump and Ex-Republican nominee for Senate in Alabama, Roy Moore.
 
Wednesday Sessions
Cheating on your wife 101. Learn how to hide the truth from your current wife. With special guest instructor ex-President Donald Trump. Learn how to hide illegitimate children from expert Arnold #Schwarzenegger, ex-Governor of California.
 
Thursday Session
How to Lie to Congress and Grand Juries. Panel discussion with Trump's ex-lawyer Michael Cohen and Trump’s former campaign chairman Paul Manafort.
 
Friday Sessions
Yes, You Can Be Re-instated. Instructor--# Rudolph W. Giuliani.
Afternoon Session--How to Publicly Apologize and Look Sincere. Enjoy a panel discussion with panelists Roseanne Barr, Kevin Spacey and #Bill Clinton.
 
Closing Ceremony: Graduation ceremony for those who have not dropped out of the program, not under a gag order or indicted.
 

I’m one of those writers who likes to interact with his characters. I believe if you create strong characters, they will help write the story, solve their own problems and overcome their obstacles. It might look this short story below. In this story, Dr. Andrew, the director of a large hospital emergency room, is the protagonist. His love interest is Margaret, a nurse and the Director of Nursing. The antagonist is, of course, the Covid-19 virus. I’ve inserted myself into the story to talk with the main characters.

Love During a Pandemic

“Don’t get excited, Margaret. This is Monte Anderson, the author of this novel.”

“What? You’re Monte Anderson?” she asked. “I thought you’d be…”

“Younger,” Dr. Andrew interjected.

Margaret laughed. “I was going to say taller but younger with do.”

“Okay, okay. Knock it off. I’m glad to see that during this pandemic, you two still have your sense of humor.”

“What bring you to the ER?” Dr. Andrew asked.

Margaret turned to face him. “Two of your nurses tested positive this morning. I sent them home to self-quarantine. I thought I would fill in.”

“Thanks,” Dr. Andrew said as he touched Margaret’s arm. “We can use your help.”

Margaret turned back to face me. “And while you’re here, where are the sex scenes? Your working title is ‘Love During a Pandemic,’ but I don’t see any sex scenes.”

“I’m trying to build the sexual tension between you and Doctor Andrew. On page 89 you two take a break to go on a date.”
 
Margaret stepped closer to me. “I read that part. There’s no sex.”
 
I shrugged my shoulders. “The sex is implied.”
 
Margaret folded her arms. “That’s bullshit. Sex is implied when you used the word ‘Love’ in the title. Oh, wait... There’s no sex because you can’t write about sex.”
 
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “I can write sex scenes.”
 
Margaret stepped even closer and poked me in the chest with her finger. “Then prove it. Andrew and I can help.”

“Do you think it’s appropriate for the two of you to stop and have sex in the middle of a global pandemic?”
 
“Yes,” they both shouted.
 
“That what the story line is all about, ‘Love’.
 
“I’ll consider it. I’m rewriting several parts. I can in throw in a few sex scenes.”
 
“Then do it for God’s sake,” Margaret said. “You’re the author. Hurry up and quit wasting my time.”

“I was also thinking that the protagonist needs a challenge or obstacle to overcome,” I said.

“What the hell?” Margaret and Dr. Andrew both yelled.

“We’re in a pandemic, “Dr. Andrew reminded me. “The ER if maxed out. We have no beds left in ICU, and the patients keep coming. That’s enough of a challenge. I can’t handle any more. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to this challenge.”

“Good point,” I said.
​
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I’m one of those writers who like to interact with his characters. I believe if you create strong characters, they will help write the story, solve their own problems and overcome their obstacles. It might look this short story below. In this story, Dr. Andrew, the director of a large hospital emergency room, is the protagonist. His love interest is Margaret, a nurse and the Director of Nursing. The antagonist is, of course, the Covid-19 virus.

Love During a Pandemic

Dr. Andrew walked around his overcrowded emergency room filled with sick patients dying from the recent pandemic. He wore a protective suit with a face shield over his facemask. He reviewed the white board used by the nurses to track the patients. Several had been crossed off in red. There was no legend for the color code, but everyone understood red meant they had died. Dr. Andrew hit the wall with his gloved fist. The white board nearly fell down. Everyone within hearing distance stopped and looked at Dr. Andrew. Then with a nod of their heads, they understood his frustration and returned to their work, hoping to save someone.

“Pardon me,” I said.

Dr. Andrew turned toward me. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Monte Anderson,” I answered. “I’m writing this story. I just want to discuss a couple things with you?”

“You’re Monte Anderson, the author?” Dr. Andrew asked in disbelief. “I thought you were younger. I definitely thought you were taller.”

“No,” I replied with a chuckle. “It’s really me. In the flesh, you might say. Can we stop the action for a minute to discuss a few details?”

“What the hell? You want me to stop in the middle of a global pandemic when every second could mean life or death?”

“I understand your concerns, Doctor, but you must realize this is all fiction. It’s just a story that I’m writing. This is just a rough draft. I’m going over it now to find tune it.”

Dr. Andrew shook his head and threw up his arms. “What the hell. It’s your story. Go ahead. What do you want to discuss?”

I glanced at my notes. “Well, for one thing, and this is minor; I didn’t give you an accent. I think I should.”

Andrew shook his head again. “Why do I need an accent. I’m from America and your audience is also. I don’t need and accent.”

“I looked at my notes again to see what I had written. “Well, that’s true, but later—around page 12—it is revealed that you were born and raised in Texas. People from Texas have accents and talk a certain way.”

Dr. Andrew placed his hands on his hips. “What’s wrong with the way I talk?”

“First of all, you talk just like me and I’m not from Texas.”

“Do you think it matters?” Dr. Andrew asked.

“I do,” I answered.

“And how do Texians talk, pray tell?”

“They use words like ‘y’all’, ‘fixin’ and “corn-fed’. They might use expressions like ‘Bless your heart’, ‘might could’ or, ‘dad gum it.’”
 
Dr. Andrew shook his head in disbelief. “And you think a doctor from Texas who went to medical school at New York University and did his residence at Harvard Medical School would still have a strong Texas accent?”
 
“Good Point,” I said. “I may have to rewrite that part. Also, I think I may have to add some distinct features to your character.”
 
“Like what?”
 
“I’m not sure. Something that says ‘Texan’. Maybe you could wear a cowboy hat.”
 
Dr. Andrew smiled. At least I think he smile under his face mask. He pointed to his head upon which he was wearing a cap which covered his hair.
 
“Or maybe cowboy boots?” I suggested.
 
Dr. Andrew pointed at the booties that covered his street shoes.
 
“Okay, okay. I have to think about that,” I said. “But maybe we can do something about your non-descript face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“I’m thinking maybe you should have a mustache.”

Dr. Andrew laughed and pointed at his facemask. “No one can see it with this mask on.”

A voice behind me said, “No mustache.” I turned to see the beautiful Nurse Margaret walking up. “And who is this person in the ER without a facemask?”
​
[To be continued on my next blog. Stay tuned. If you don’t want to miss any of my blog posts, follow me.]

I know I’ve posted this short story several times, but I love it. I hope you do too.
 
How to become a Bestselling Dead Author 

Joe Regan was a writer. His suicide note was not his best piece of work. It simply read, “Fair well cruel world.” Joe took all the sleeping pills and sat down in his recliner. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking into the face of his agent, Bernie Blackwell.    

Bernie smiled and brushed back Joe’s hair. “Hey.”   
 
“Hey. Oh, my head hurts.” Joe looked around. “Where am I?”  

“You are in St. Thomas Hospital. I found you and called 911. The doctors pumped your stomach. You’ve been in a coma for five days, man.”    

“Oh. I don’t know if I should thank you or not. I just wanted to die.”    

“I know, man. I found your note. Why did you do it?”  
  
Joe smiled. “You’re my agent. I think you know why. My novel has been rejected by 45 publishers and I haven’t earned a dime in three years.”    

Bernie chuckled. “It’s 47 publishers now. I didn’t get a chance to tell you about the last two. However, while you were in a coma, I’ve been busy. I posted your suicide note on a few key social media websites and wrote what a tragedy it was since your novel’s so great.”    

“My suicide note? I didn’t say much in my note.”   
 
Bernie smiled. “Yeah, well, I sort of rewrote it. I also went ahead and published the e-book version of your novel. It’s going viral. We sold over 10,000 copies in four days. We now have offers from three publishers. I think if you had died, your novel would make the best sellers’ list.”   

“Lucky me! I have to nearly kill myself for my novel to sell.”    

“Joe, what do you expect? You wrote a romance novel about gay pygmies living in San Francisco-not a great genre. Anyway, since you really don’t want to live, would you consider killing yourself? It would mean a lot to me. I could help.”   
 
“What! My novel is finally published, and you want me to kill myself? Are you crazy?”   
 
Bernie shrugged his shoulders. “No big deal. Come on, get up. I brought a wheelchair. I’m taking you out of here.” He handed Joe a glass of water and some pills. “Here, take these.”    

Joe took the pills with the water. With Bernie’s help, he got into the wheelchair. Bernie wheeled Joe out of ICU and headed for the elevators. Bernie pushed the up-call button for the elevator.    
“Where are you taking me?”    

“Don’t worry about it. I’m taking you to the tenth floor. The second elevator is out of service. I should be able to open the doors there.”    

“Bernie, I don’t feel so good. What were those pills?”    

” Sleeping pills.”

“I took four. Am I supposed to take that many?”    

“No, man. You’re supposed to take only one every 12 hours.”    

“Won’t that kill me?”   
 
“No. It’ll make you comatose. In your condition, you won’t notice that the elevator’s not there. The fall from the tenth floor will kill you.”    

“But Bernie, I don’t want to die any more. I want to live.”    

“Listen, man. I’m telling you. If you die, we’ll make the best sellers’ list. We’ll be able to negotiate a big contract. We’ll attract more talented writers.”  
  
“We? I’ll be dead.”    

The elevator arrived, and Bernie pushed the wheelchair inside and pushed the tenth-floor button.    
“Well, yeah,” said Bernie. “Quit thinking about yourself for once. Did you even consider me? This is my big break. When I post your next suicide note, I’ll sell a million copies of your novel. Plus, I’m sure I can get a six-figure advance for your next novel.”   
 
“My next novel? I never wrote a second novel.”

“It will be found among your things after your death.”    

“Bernie don’t do this. I don’t want to die.”    

“Quit being selfish! Close your eyes now and rest. It’ll all be over in a few minutes. You are going to be a bestselling author. Congratulations.
​
THE END

Yes, Dear--A Short Short Story
​
Some time ago while I was still working (I have been retired for 9 years), my wife asked me if I was having an affair with my secretary. I’m always quick with a flip answer, so without thinking I said, “I should be so lucky.” Now I was married long enough to know by the look on her face that my answer was not the correct one. I knew that I had maybe two seconds to come up with a better answer. I said, “I meant, in my dreams.” Once again, I could tell by her face that I gave the wrong answer. I knew if I ever wanted sex again, I had better come up with something fast, so I said, “I meant, I wish.”

You married men know, as I do, that sometimes there is no right answer. It's hard to know what answer a woman is looking for. Wives and significant others would be well advised to tell us men what the correct answer is and not make us guess. We never guess correctly. For example, in the illustration I just gave, my wife could have saved me many sexless nights if instead of asking me she had told me, “You are not sleeping with your secretary.” Then I would have said something profound like, “Yes, dear,” and that would be the end of it. Women should always tell men the correct answer.

Another example is the perennial question, “Does this dress make me look fat?” If you tell the truth, you are in trouble. If you lie, women can sense the fear, and they know you are lying. It’s a lose-lose situation. Wouldn’t it better if women would just say, “You don’t think this dress makes me look fat.” Then we would answer with the intellectually stimulating, “Yes, dear.” Then there is the challenging question, “Do you still love me?” This is not a yes dear situation. Your answer must use the word love, or you are in serious trouble.
​
Wouldn’t it be better if women made it a statement rather than a question?