It Can Go Fuck Itself Forever

 2020 will feel our pain:

I'm updating Dante's Inferno to incorporate another level of Hell, henceforth known as "Inanitasia" -- a bastardized version of the Latin for "void." This new corner of Eternal Damnation resembles an abandoned New York City apartment reeking of disinfectant, littered with the inedible scraps of moldering home-baked bread, and blasted endlessly with the cacophony of emergency sirens and the tortured screams of unseen denizens losing their minds.

"Inanitasia" has only one resident: 2020.

Autocorrected

 When I write "fuck," autocorrect changes it to "duck"; and when I write "shit," autocorrect changes it to "shot." But sometimes, for no contextual reason, when I write "luck," it changes it to "fuck"; and occasionally when I write "shut," it changes it to "shit." 

When it comes to autocorrect, I have zero fuck. It pisses the shot out of me. Ah, but who gives a duck, right? I should just shit this feature off.

On the Verge

I've spent my life of 50 years insulated by democracy. From the ivory tower of our republic, I viewed those in other parts of the world desperately struggling to defend their rights, to legitimize their votes, and to oust dictators and corrupt regimes with a privileged inability to truly relate despite a heart-wrenching respect for their plights. Now, here we are! Sure, 2020's United States of America ain't Marcos' kleptocracy circa 1972... but it's getting ugly -- really, really ugly. It's getting so ugly that many of us are screaming the term "Civil War!" with the sickening anticipation of being violently consumed by our disparate political beliefs.

How the world shifts.

Borat Redux

 Just finished the new Borat film and it is absolutely cringe-inducing.

Three quick takeaways:

1. The two elderly, Jewish women who embrace the absurdly bigoted Borat in the synagogue are representative of all that is remarkably kind and enduringly loving in what is left of our humanity. [They're positively Christ-like in their forgiving nature.]

2. The shit many Americans will believe is, obviously, baseless, downright idiotic, and a threat to democratic ideals. [I'm not sure we can survive our stupidity.]

3. Rudy "the Demonic Elmer Fudd" Giuliani is representative of all that is determinately evil in the world.

Watch it... then take a long, hot shower to wash Sacha Baron Cohen's message off. His revelations are painfully sticky and not easily scrubbed away.

This film is even more relevant than the first one.

Evergreening

Pines, spruces, and firs (like my outdoor potted ones, pictured) bud a year in advance of actually growing new twigs. These little knobs that sprinkle the tips of the trees are as sure a sign as any that there will be another year and another year and another year. 

So, as I putter around the rooftop garden on this bright Sunday morning, I pine [pun intended] for social, political, and environmental progress. Will a year make a difference? Two? Three? 

I'm cautiously, nervously "evergreening."

How to Fly Away from the Cuckoo Games

I've been reading every goddamn plan I can find about restarting schools in the fall and they're all a mad mix of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and The Hunger Games -- The Cuckoo Games!
Instead, there's a better way to navigate the pandemic while keeping our children safe, engaged, and educated. It's not the ideal approach (considering our many parallel and tangential concerns), but there's a way to do this while also creating a parity across the many divides:
A new Chromebook (or other cheap but effective computer) for all 56 million students in America would cost about $11,144,000,000 (retail). According to the FCC, a National Broadband Plan could cost as little as $20,000,000,000. To put these numbers in a type of head spinning perspective, Jeff Bezos' net worth is $166,300,000,000 and the U.S. defense budget is $721,531,000,000 (for 2020) -- a nationwide network would be pittance in comparison. Think about the manufacturing jobs this country-wide endeavor would generate. Think about all the newly trained builders and technicians and... Think about the many opportunities universal WiFi would create for our children!
Nothing will replace the actual classroom; however, it's time for the Ol' U. S. of A. to meet the virtual needs of Gen Z. I'm not suggesting that this will be easy; but I am suggesting that there are ways forward.
Forward!

--

Dear Trump-Supporting Christians:

How much more proof do you need? This "Son of Perdition" IS the Antichrist: Note the way you've been bent to believe his lies; the acceptance of his extreme narcissism over his absent humanism; the manner in which he has you convinced not to protect yourselves and/or your loved ones and/or your neighbors; the falseness of his religiosity which you justify because he's seemingly serving your political ideology; and the many traitorous acts that you'll defend before you even process this post.

Stop. Breathe. Re-read the New Testament, specifically 2 Thessalonians: "... with all power and signs and lying wonders, and with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish; because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved" (2:9-10‬). And for good measure, check in with Revelation: "(He) shall go out to deceive the nations which are in the four quarters of the earth, Gog and Magog, to gather them together to battle: the number of whom is as the sand of the sea" (20:7-8).

Being Christian and being conservative aren't excuses to support Soviet Agent Orange. You're being minion-ized by his gilded manner and gaudy message. Scratch the spray-tan surface and all is (and has been) revealed. The inevitable vitriol you'll be sending my way for pointing out this truth is proof of your being deceived.

Save yourselves before it's too late!

Reject him!

My sincerest best,
Brian

‭

Finally Found

113 days ago, our world stopped. What was happening around us was devastating; however, I held it together. Only 27 days ago the world stopped again, but at first I didn't know it. Days later as the bravest among us took to the streets, a seismic event rattled our nation, our world. It was, it IS, outstandingly awesome (in the truest sense). Still, I held it together. 10 hours ago my daughter remotely graduated from high school and, somehow, I held it together. It's 3:07 am, NYC. Awake, as usual, I just finished watching Dave Chapelle's new short Netflix special on YouTube; and after his concise, meaningful performance, there's a video montage of all the world-movers hammering the foundations. At 27:18, right at the end of the video, there's an excerpt of a young woman earnestly, forcefully, desperately conveying some elemental truths to a blue line of hulking officers. I have no idea what she said and yet I know exactly what she IS saying. About 10 minutes ago I finally wept. Somehow, in all the images raining on these COVID days, I missed her. But holy shit, she just found me! Whoever this small dam-breaker is, she's mightier than mighty... and I am so thankful to and for her.

A Ray of Text and Color

A box arrived from Forbidden Planet today. 

It has been over three months since Aleda and I read a new comic and, because of this imposed gap, we've been combing through our boxes (and boxes) of back issues. Treasures abound and we have more than enough books to last several lifetimes of compulsive perusing. But new comics bring renewed hope.

Still, several things are now absolutely clear to me:

1. Yes, I'm a month away from turning 50 and I still read comic books (all kinds) with the fervor of a 13-year-old.
2. My 18-year-old daughter has yet to "outgrow" the obsession proving that she's definitely a lifer. 
3. Something seemingly trivial -- a stapled collection of illustrations and words -- can bring a sense of normalcy to these outstandingly tumultuous times.
4. And when my last day arrives, I will likely have one of these four-color collections of glorious imagination in my cold hands.

'Nuff said.

The Importance of Screaming and Staying Safe

While people are sacrificing themselves for the sake of social justice, the Morbid Orange Mass hunkers in his bunker tweeting, "FAKE NEWS!" The bull shit blasting out of his puckered punch hole and tiny, pudgy digits is the disgusting display of a dirtbag desperately trying to undermine democracy. Just now he tweeted, "NOVEMBER 3rd," and just now this face plant of a president reminded us why we need to be so present and so vocal. I see the peaceful protesters as the outright heroes of our era; I only pray that they stay as safe as possible so that they can vote on "NOVEMBER 3rd" -- the value of their voices will also be in the ballots.

These Are the Positive Things I Have to Say About Trump:

Observations from a COVID Walkabout

Friday, 5/15/20, 12:30 pm. A few observations on NYC street etiquette after a nice walk around the East Village and Stuyvesant Town with my mother:

* Gen Zers are mostly out of sight, but the few I could identify as being in their teens were MASKED.
* Millennial males are mostly UNMASKED.
* Gen X men are staking out their territory by talking and laughing loudly with their socially non-distancing friends, coughing up loogies, and spitting on the sidewalk. But some, at least, are MASKED (when not excreting their phlegm)!
* Boomer males are clustered and man-spreading on park benches like cavalier cocks, wholly UNMASKED.
* Most women are MASKED; some are even gloved.
* Many women are walking alone or when with other people, six feet apart.
* ALL joggers are UNMASKED.
* ALL bikers are MASKED.
* Children 8 and under are, on the whole, UNMASKED. (Didn't see one with a mask on.)
* Had to stop my mother from scolding several parents for not protecting their children. I said, "It's not your responsibility to correct these dumbasses." She shot back, "Yes, it is!" [Nuff said.]
* Smokers wear their masks on their chins even when not smoking.
* The streets are littered with rubber gloves that look as gnarly as used condoms.
* The homeless have staked out significantly larger spots on corners and in front of closed shops (and ALL are UNMASKED).
* The various delivery people are outstandingly professional: MASKED, gloved, kind, and thankful when thanked.
* The birds are the loudest East Village denizens -- even louder than Gen X men. It sounds like the tropics during mating season.

Hypnogogic COVID-Scape

My COVID-dream last night: Maria and I were in a quaint seaside village (felt like Spring Lake, NJ) shopping for food. She seemed particularly intent on buying a certain type of lettuce and kept saying, "We can't shop here," until she found exactly what she was looking for. I started to process the environment and noticed that no one -- the clerks, patrons, pedestrians... -- was wearing a mask. "We have to get the hell out of here," I said to Maria who was starting to get angry (at the maskless? at her inability to find her lettuce?). We began to run as the town filled with seemingly well-heeled people -- all of the same stripe with their shining faces, white outfits, pearly teeth, pasted smiles... and NO MASKS! They poured into the street and we couldn't escape the throng. Maria started throwing fruit (?!) and cursing, "You self-centered fuckers!" as I tried to drag her through the crowd. Finally, an idea came to me and I screamed, "Fire! Fire!" and behold, a blazing inferno swelled behind us. They pressed forward into the flames and Maria kept yelling, "Assholes! Morons!" (and other un-postable profanities). We made it to our car (which was a green version of our long gone '71 Dodge Dart Swinger) but it wouldn't start and the more I panicked, the more difficult it became to even turn the key in the ignition. I awoke. Heart pounding. Sun shining. Took a moment. Looked at my phone. Read the news: America is hellbent on running into the flames. I think I'm still asleep.

Quick Note to New York City Parents

A nurse just died from this plague; Dr. Lorna M. Breen took her life after being devastated by what she saw in the ER; delivery people are sacrificing themselves to bring us food; and you're making playdates for your children (including teenagers!)? How is it that you're missing the pleas of these heroic people to STAY THE FUCK HOME!? I'm sorry that you're being driven crazy by your children; but that's partly your fault -- you raised them. Gather your courage like all these frontliners and tell your children to deal with it! We're hopefully close to some sense of what's next.  

Fretting and Sore-Throating

New creative writers often develop fanciful stories that are reduced to dreams in the end... like in a Nathanial Hawthorne piece. In other words, their protagonists finally "Wake up!" and their plots are boiled down to tricks of fantasy. I often try to break them of this convention... but now I'm begging for it. When I wake tomorrow morning, please, please, please let this be some whacked anxiety dream fashioned by one of my Intro. to Creative Writing students!

The Great Denier

President Harry S. Truman had a large sign on his Oval Office desk that announced to the world, “The Buck Stops Here.”

67 years later, 45’s chalky, puckered mouth declared the opposite: “I don’t take responsibility at all.” His incompetency is now proving deadly. Sure, the Coronavirus isn’t his fault, but how poorly America mismanaged a response to this crisis is. This panic is a result of his grossly misguided policies and vile personality: Cuts to the CDC; lagging distribution of testing; no senior administration official devoted to world health and the elimination of a White House office devoted to pandemics; denial of COVID-19’s severity; the incessant, ego-driven lying to save his orange face; and the constant blaming of others. Instead, as we navigate this insanity, we are inundated by the repetition of 45’s motto, “Not My Fault!”

Fuck him!

Despite the Vulgarian-in-Chief, we got this. Right?

Truman also said, “It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit.” Hear, hear!

Fan Mail and an Explanation for My Absence

Dear Brian,

Where have you been? Your posts are few and far between and hardly any of them relate to the up coming election. I miss you.

                                                                                                                           
                                                                                                                           Yours,

                                                                                                                           Brian

Well, Brian, I’ve been protecting myself from the inevitable 2020 Trump re-election. Sorry for not having a more poignant, insightful excuse for my absence from my own blog, but that’s the simple truth. With my daughter’s leap to college only six months away, the possibility of a Corona-plague, and a handful of familial dilemmas that require my sincerest attentions, I’ve decided to shut my big, fat, fucking mouth and focus on other matters that matter to my loved ones and me. As I’ve discovered, there’s nothing I can write here (or anywhere) that will change anything for anyone. Trump is guaranteed a repeat and I refuse to endure the years-long depression (compounded by the hypochondriacal aches, palpitations, twitches, and panic-attacks) that will follow.

It’s no secret, Brian, that I’m a Bernie-bubala. He’s the very first person I ever voted for (when, at 18-years-old, I registered to vote in Bennington, VT) and, simply put, he mostly represents everything I believe in, policy-wise. I am not, however, a Bernie-or-Bust Bro. If the eventual Donkey-nominee ends up being Warren, Biden, Buttitieg, or (shutter) Bloomberg, my vote is theirs. But with the current state of Idiocracy that governs the self-perpetuating anger of white men (and many white women) from Staten Island, NY to Orange County, CA, I can’t imagine a fortuitous outcome. On Tuesday, November 3^rd, by midnight, His Marmalade Highness will be spraying another can of his fetid tan on America. And when our Velveeta Leader finally dies of a massive coronary explosion while still in office, we will experience a run of Trumplings that will shift our already tenuous democracy into a full-blown gilded royal oligarchy with president Don-Don Jr. followed by the first woman as president, Ivanka Trump, then a short reign for the one-dimensional Doofus-in-Chief, Eric and, finally, when the United States of America is rebranded, Trumptopia, King Barron Trump the First. It’s inevitable. Enough. Stop.

Seriously, silliness aside (or not), I’ve been silent because I can’t manage the pain. The last election nearly did me in. If I publicly pour out my passions again I anticipate a mental and physical collapse greater than the last… and that I can’t endure. I’m just not strong enough.

So, Brian, my silence.

Burn after reading.

Sincerely,

Brian