NO. This is NOT NORMAL.

Everyone is going kamikaze apeshit over the Sean Spicer appearance on the Emmys last night.

Seriously? The things that have been going on in this country and around the world, and you’re outraged at a joke? Would it have been “funnier” had Melissa McCarthy delivered it? Less “outrageous”? Less galling for you to digest?

Spicer is just another diversion. While we’re freaking out about his audacity to make a joke about crowd size, there are really shady things going on. But like that dog in the movie UP, someone just yelled “SQUIRREL” and there we go again, down another rabbit hole. Or squirrel. Except that I dont think squirrels live in holes. Okay, holes in trees, but not in the grou….wait. Sorry. I strayed off-subject.

(See what I did there?)

Like it or not, the guy did his job. Have you ever worked somewhere and had to play by the company’s rules because you NEEDED your job and were required to at least look like a team player until you could figure out a way to GTFO? I know that I have. I believe that I have shared those experiences right here from time to time. I know a lot of people who have. Please, spare me your platitudes about self-respect and honesty. The guy was working in politics, which, as far as I know, ranks up there with lawyers and used car salesmen (and televangelism) as being the most disingenuous, cutthroat, facetious profession in the world. He did his job; at times, very badly. But he did his job as well as anyone who has taken one despite knowing, in the pit of their stomach, that it was a bad idea, could do. He was rewarded for it by being ousted for another guy who lasted a week. For a guy who made the phrase “sucking my own cock” a part of the dinner conversation and the water cooler talk and the mainstream news media. That was HIS lesson to learn, not ours.

Perhaps it should have been our lesson.

The point is, we are normalizing this crap with every passing day. When school shootings were happening with increasing frequency, I worried out loud that we would stop being as horrified with every occurrence . I worried in the same way about terrorism. How many of us have watched the news, read it, felt pangs of sadness and been momentarily aghast at the atrocities man commits against man – and then simply gone about our day?

*Raises hand*

I’m not proud to admit it. It speaks more to my growing insulation against an outrageous and despicable world than I care to face. That I can read about someone walking into a school and shooting the place up, or driving down a crowded city street and mowing people down, and then go make myself a sandwich? In a less caustic and embittered world, who does that? Who does that?

I do. You do. We do.

We have to stop insulating ourselves. I know, it’s probably a form of self-preservation. We don our armor because we need to get through the day and thinking about the fact that this world is at a level of batshit fucking crazy that we’ve never experienced before is simply too hard to digest. The problem is, by waiving it aside; by shrugging our shoulders; by exclaiming “I can’t believe this shit!” and then walking blithely away, we are digesting it. Maybe we feel like we’re wrongfully incarcerated inmates and the food in front of us is shitty, but it’s all we got – but it’s also not. Because we are not inmates.

Neither, in the end, was Sean Spicer. The truth of his tale is yet to be told, but I think that we’re being fed little appetizers in the form of his recent appearances, and the whole meal is yet to come. We can argue that he lacked principles and that any self-respecting person would have never taken the job of Press Secretary for such a corrupt President in the first place, but the fact is, others have in the past. And others will in the future. Again: his lesson.

We have to shed the insulation and feel all the feels, so to speak. The only way to change a situation is to first change how we react to it, and then to act. How do we do that?

I don’t fucking know.

Look, I’m as frustrated and clueless as you are. I’m agitated, stressed, and I suspect that my new crop of stomach ulcers can be blamed equally on the fact that I am angry every single day at the state of the union. I’m as guilty of normalizing crazy and inviting it into my living room for an evening of charades as anyone else. I don’t have answers that I can articulate. What I have is action. My words, in print and voice, are action. My participation in civilized activism is action. My vote is action. My rejection of “normalizing” this shitshow is action. It’s the best that I have right now. I think that, if we all could come together as a collective and simply agree that none of this is normal, we might begin to dissolve the contrails overhead that have made things so overcast. Once we are out in the light, then maybe we’ll be able to see the path in front of us. All I know is that sitting complacent in our seats and muttering a mantra of “Mueller will make it better” isn’t going to work. While we are looking at the shiny objects in front of us, the dark magic is happening.

We need to get to work. I am not okay with leaving this dumpster fire for my grandkids to put out. That Sean Spicer lacks any modicum of self-respect is not my fight. I’m more concerned about the fact that so many others think it should be. And so should you.

Don’t get distracted.

Advertisements

Reality IS a thing.

Let’s try a new thing. I’m not one who enjoys change, but at this stage of my life, I’m making an uneasy peace with it.

Let me give you an accounting of a life lesson that has been taught to me. Call it fucknuggets of wisdom or the sounding of the douchetrumpets – whatever.

When I was a kid, I was bullied a lot. I was, short, dumpy, uncertain, clumsy, and had an oddly-shaped head (a friend of mine back then – kids have no tact or guile – said her dad referred to me as “moon-face” and I didn’t know what it meant, but instinctively knew he wasn’t being nice; he was a big, loud, angry fuck knuckle of a botard and he died in late middle age and I was glad) and poor, so I was easy prey.

There were these “rich kids” who lived in the neighborhood. In retrospect, they might not have been rich but their father had a good job, they had a big, nice house, and everything anyone could ask for. Their mom was a stay-at-home who was always in everyone’s business and who came from a huge, Italian family in the neighborhood, which was code for “We belong and you don’t” in this particular ward. They sent their kids to Catholic school and wrinkled their noses at anyone who A) wasn’t Italian, and B) didn’t have the same or better social status. These kids were spoiled, entitled, and mean. There can be no other word. They flaunted their clothes, their posessions, and acted as if they were royalty. Other kids treated them as such, so how were they ever going to know that they weren’t, right? They were both older than me; the boy was 2 years older and the girl, 6. He was a nasty little prick who once cornered me and threatened to punch me in the stomach just because I was walking past his house. He teased and taunted me. In later years, we actually got along but mostly because he was hired, through our contractor, to replace the kitchen cupboards in a remodel my first husband and I did of our house. I let it slide, because I was young, and still not the loudmouthed truth-telling bitch that I am now. Were this scenario to happen now, I’d have had my verbose way with him.

The girl? She was a cunt. Seriously. I don’t use that word unless I mean it. A bit on the chunky side, loud, snobby, and stupid. FUCK! Was she ever. I knew it, even then, but she was so mean to me that it took my breath away. When she deigned to pay attention to me, it was to ridicule and insult. I avoided her whenever possible, but she was so present, so in-your-face, and I was so much younger…..it was difficult to escape her. The memory of her is one of those shudder-inducing recollections that everyone has. Since she was so much older, I was able to avoid altercations with her in my teenaged tears. That was a fortunate thing for me, because that decade was fraught with so much turmoil and sadness and assorted fuckery that adding her to the mix might have tipped the suicide scales much farther than they leaned.

Apparently, life was not a bed of roses for this family. The dad had an affair. The parents got a divorce. The kids were taken out of private school and sent to public. The mother, a gay divorcee in her 40s, started dating a guy and then got *GASP!* pregnant and “had” to get married. How the mighty fell in the 80s. This was a big, fat, dramatic scandal! I lost track of the older girl over the years, not really giving even one fuck about what happened to her. She was a cunt, remember?

Fast-forward to last year. I encountered her mother, who has been through a series of life-humbling events. We spoke, and she informed me that her daughter had died the year before. She’d had some sort of cancer and it killed her quite suddenly. I offered my condolences, because really? Telling her that her daughter was a loud cunt who had made my childhood even more hellish than it already was seemed unnecessarily cruel at that moment. Her treatment of me no longer mattered. I felt sorry for this grieving mom. I’m a mom too, and I wouldn’t ever wish that kind of pain on another parent.

A little more fast-forwarding, to the other day. Facebook has the ability to bring people together and put them in your peripheral vision even accidentally. I stumbled across a family member of these childhood nightmare kids and curiosity took over and I had a bit of a creep. We all fall victim to this temptation; don’t lie to me and say you never have!

The cunt of my past had a Facebook page. You know, the thing about Facebook is that it’s like schizophrenia, or herpes: it never goes away. She died, but her profile lives on. People still post things on her page, too. Her friends, family, kids, husband. Post after post, I read about how good she was, kind, loving, funny. Everyone seemed to miss her terribly. I thought to myself, maybe she changed. Maybe life taught her a lesson or three, and she became less of a cunt and more of a humble, caring person. Just as I became less of a victim and a doormat and more of a blunt, honest, kick-you-in-the-crotch warrior….maybe she became redeemable. Maybe she acquired some wisdom. I was actually feeling a little bad about my radical, extreme labeling of her.

Then I saw a post from early November of 2016. One of her family members had posted to let her know (because in the Afterlife the dead still get their news from Facebook. Duh!) that Donald Trump had won the election and was going to be President. Apparently, she loved him. She thought he was the greatest person ever. She admired his goodness. She had felt that he was going to save this country from the terrible path it was on. The family member wanted to let her know that her “hard work up there in Heaven” had succeeded! Her savior had won.

What a stupid cunt.

My life lesson, kids, is that people don’t fundamentally change who they really are. Just as I was a warrior deep down inside, this girl was the same vapid twit even at the end of her life. Anyone who condones, admires, and espouses the characteristics of the morally-bankrupt turd who currently sits in the Oval Office – and thinks his values are what this country needs – derserves to retain my early, first impression of her; even in death. First impressions can be misleading, but not if they keep on giving the same results over and over. Trust the gut. It never lies.

Class dismissed!

Let me be me for a moment. In all seriousness

Something has been weighing heavily on my mind.

I am 50 years old. There have been 10 Presidents in my lifetime. My recollection of 2 of them is vague, at best, because I was either an infant or very small. I remember President Ford’s term, albeit shorter than others.

This is the thing: I have always felt safe under the President’s watch. It has been almost an afterthought, an expectation, something taken for granted. You elect a candidate because he (And someday, inevitably, blessedly SHE) is capable, intelligent, knowledgeable, and up to the task. Even if your choice doesn’t win, the candidates put forth are expected to be of this high caliber. They answer a higher call to power not simply because they want to be the leader, but because they believe in this nation’s people and its ability to do good. Some have enjoyed the status a little more than others, but for the most part, becoming President of the United States requires selflessness. It requires tenacity. It requires a very thick skin. Those who answer this call take very seriously the commitment to the nation that they are making, and indeed, to the world.

I do not feel safe within the “protective arms” or leadership of the current President. I go to bed worried, and I wake up worried. I look at the news, and at Twitter, usually before I take my first sip of coffee. I go about my days constantly checking in with social media and news outlets because, let’s be honest here: this guy could launch a missile by first announcing it on Twitter. He could declare war on another country, or on a specific group of people, via a tweet. And, in fact, he has. The are no limits to his unhinged megalomania. He is a threat in and of itself.

I am not going to cite the things he has done during his six months in office that are bad, or negligent. Those who are still with him will simply say “Fake news!” like he has conditioned them to react. I know fake news, and I know the truth when I read it, or hear it. There are real enemies of the truth out there, printing falsehoods just to misguide people; a certain segment of the population doesn’t read past the headlines. A certain segment falls for every story published by TheOnion. A certain segment of the population thinks Alex Jones is a legitimate journalist and freedom fighter and they don’t see him for the grifting, wacko opportunist that he clearly is. A certain segment of the population thinks that Tomi Lahren is a cute l’il scrappy bunny and would you just bless her heart for all those smart, sassy things her little firecracker of a mouth says? Fox News is the anointed truthteller of this Presidency, and not Reuters, The Associated Press, or reliable, trusted guardians of “Just the facts” journalism like a Dan Rather, a Bob Schieffer, or a Diane Sawyer. Fuck those guys, right? If President Trump says they’re lying, they must be. He got elected, after all. He’s qualified.

Except that he isn’t, and they’re not liars. But he is. Every day, he lies. Granted, he doesn’t call it lying; he calls it “hyperbole”. He is, as my grandma would say, a “big bullshitter”. His defenders cry out, “Let Trump be Trump!” but this is not an episode of The West Wing and we are not insisting “Let Bartlet be Bartlet” because Jed Bartlet was a FICTIONAL CHARACTER and even then, Donald Trump is no Jed Bartlet.

This constant tendency he has of bending the truth would not have been tolerated by any person during any other presidency and it should not be now. He does not get a pass because of who he is; an “outsider” new to the game. President Obama did not get a single pass because he was black; even now, he is criticized and in fact demonized, his very legacy under attack. He was not perfect; none of them are. He did, however, lead the country and strove to make us feel safe. He did, and does, possess more honesty and humility in his pinky toe than Donald Trump does in his entire family.

Donald Trump is a con artist and a scammer. He is thin-skinned, petulant, and a bully. His approval rating amongst his own supporters is falling like Thor’s hammer on an enemy. His party has zero faith in his abilities and is actively trying to limit his capability to inflict even more harm on his own people and, in fact, the rest of the world. That Congress must take these steps to safeguard us and our interests worldwide is both shocking and sobering.

But he still has the launch codes.

I miss the carefree days of President George W. Bush.

My existential crisis (or why I think humans = Twatwaffles.)

Tonight, we watched The Birth of a Nation. It’s a 2016 film about a slave uprising in 1831 Virginia, and based on a true story.  I had tears in my eyes throughout the whole thing and had to stop and ask the husband how it is that one human can look at another human and think them less, somehow. Obviously, slavery was a big stain on the fabric of what makes this nation, but it was, and is, in many others as well. It set in motion thoughts that have swirled around in my head for months now.

We’re seeing a big push – especially in the US – toward the normalization of meanness. You can’t call it anything else. I don’t think there is a sufficient word to encompass what I’m trying to articulate. Malice? That’s close, but not exactly on the money. Some forms of “mean” sit perched atop ignorant foundations going back generations, and you can’t accuse someone of malice if they have no idea of how to behave any other way. Maybe calling it a contagious malignancy is better, because it certainly can be deadly, and it definitely is spreading. For instance, today, I read some comments in an announcement on a local online news site. It was about a political group, which I am a member of, and those who were “on the other side of the aisle” were hatefully maligning the group and, it would be understood, its members.  A friend (going back decades, no less) shared the announcement on their social media account and proceeded to declare that the members of the group were hateful, evil, should be shot, and at the very least, be thrown out of the country. Our crime? Not worshipping at the current president’s feet.

In other words, my friend thinks that of me. Is it time to end that friendship? Most would answer with a resounding “YES.” But, in doing so, would I be contributing to the ignorance overtaking this nation by not at least trying to hear?

I don’t understand it. What is it about humans that make them so horrifically, hideously cruel to those who don’t look/act/sound/think the way they expect them to? This is inclusive of ANYTHING within a culture that excludes others because they’re different. Individually or as a group; it’s all the same.  Racism. Bullying. Misogyny. Ignorance. Intolerance. It’s all one, big, hateful, ugly mess, isn’t it?

We have always been this way. Regardless of laws, religion, societal mores, and the evolution of humans as a species, we haven’t been able to to snuff it out. That one element or quality in our personalities that we all have the capacity for displaying; some much, much more than others. It’s almost as if it’s in our DNA. Maybe it is, actually, and in another 100 years, if we haven’t managed to blow ourselves up or eradicate the species from the planet, some remarkable scientist will find some strand in our fabric and figure out how to engineer it out.

Because humans are mean.

And that’s all I’ve got on that subject right now. I’m going to go cuddle Roowp-1498622411789

and eat something that will likely go straight to my ass, thereby making it easier to see in order to shoot, but alternately making it harder to plant it into a seat in a plane when I am deported to wherever it is (please let it be Hawaii or Sweden, because the Swedes are quite lovely) that Trump dissenters are being sent.

That was a long sentence, wasn’t it? That was pretty mean of me, actually.