Fake Real News

If "real" news is "fake" news and "fake" news is "real" news, then "real" news is "fake" news which makes it "real" news. Believe it!

Jungle Tales

So, I'm re-reading JUNGLE TALES of TARZAN annual # 1, by Roy Thomas (one of my absolute favs) and John Buscema (another of my absolute favs), and I'm delighting in the many panels (some pages have as many as eight!). Then in the page 4 ads I see this: "John Buscema wants new students! New York class in -- Comic Book Art --" and I think I would've pretty much done anything to have had that opportunity. But then I continue on with the comic -- not a legendary issue, but solid through and through -- and I realize, I AM IN THAT CLASS!

Yes! Oh Dear God, Yes!

When we lived in California, we fought against him with everything at our disposal... and lost. But, the answer to the unasked question is, "Yes!" Yes, faster that 186,000 miles per second, I would switch Donald J. Trump for a President Arnold Alois Schwarzenegger and spend the next 1370 days posting pics of my family, projects, dog, and adventures. I'll be attending a prayer service at the National Cathedral next week and now you all know what I'll be praying for.

Post Louder

Listen, I know you've had enough of the many, many political declarations, diatribes, and rants (certainly mine included) on Facebook, Twitter, Whatever; and I read your "I need a break" posts. I share your exasperations, tensions, and head scratching dandruff... I mean, head scratching attempts to understand; but this is the mode of our discourse, these electronic networks, and maybe, just maybe, a truth will penetrate, any truth, and you'll be inclined to write, call, scream, protest, and strike even more than you have. Maybe, just maybe, we share these electronic thoughts because they matter; and maybe, just maybe, you'll respond. That goes for me too because my many Facebook friends, on all sides, have challenged, provoked, and, yes, enlightened... So, I beg you to not stop. If anything, post louder! LOUDER!

Letter to Senator Dean Heller

Dear Senator Dean Heller:

I just this moment received news that two of your Republican colleagues, Senators Susan Collins and Lisa Murkowski, confirmed that they would not vote for Betsy DeVos for Education Secretary.

You’ve got to be wondering why I, a liberal from New York City, am writing to you, a Republican from Nevada. Well, the reason is quite simple: You are, at this point, the only remaining politician who can stop the absolute insanity of a DeVos confirmation.

I’m a public educator and you, Senator, are a graduate of a public high school… And look at you! A senator! I’ve researched your Senate voting history and it is, indeed, quite conservative, in definition, but certainly not baseless. I ask you to consider your positions on public education, as opposed as they could possibly be to mine, and consider that your arguments will never sway my beliefs (and experiences); but also consider that should DeVos represent our country in regards to public education, it is she who would be championing baseless ideals without the experience, credibility, and certification of a sound education secretary.

And, in support of your beliefs, it should be noted that school vouchers aren’t necessarily a “conservative” approach; rather, they're a costly Band-Aid for a few. School vouchers more often than not use public funds at a cost that is footed by taxpayers. I won’t even go into the great social and legal cases against vouchers – time is of the essence; but shouldn’t you, in the very least, consider the cost?

Senator Heller, you are one of the few remaining Republicans to not state her/his position on DeVos's nomination; and I urge you, for the sake of public schools across the country, to take a stand against ignorance and to continue to find solutions to our many concerns. You are almost always willing to work with your colleagues across the aisle. Let this be one of those moments.

Please, find a different route and a different driver to meet this issue. Do not let Betsy DeVos steer this great school bus of ours.

Sincerely,

Brian Philip Katz

https://www.heller.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/contact-form

Dumps for Trump and Hand Sanitizer

There was a hole in the pink “Dumps for Trump” doggie doo bag. The messy outcome required some significant hand scrubbing. I’m not sure if I should be reading into this or not.

Our Pride

This is what I'm seeing/hearing: My daughter's furrowing brow and repeated questioning when new executive orders are issued, "Really?" Maria shaking her head, even in moments not relevant to our concerns, and mumbling, "Strange times," repeatedly. Me mum, part intrepid, part cowed, looking up at me during these protests and saying, also repeatedly, "I love my city," as if she just discovered she loved it more than she already did. My mother-in-law, when being interviewed by a European journalist during this evening's "Rally Against Hate" in TSP, looking directly into the journalist's searching eyes and saying, for who knows how many people in the world to hear, "Trump can go fuck himself!" 

This is what I'm seeing/hearing: Really strange times in this city I love that seems to be telling Trump to go fuck himself repeatedly.

Headshot

The last time I was hit in the head this hard was post-Christmas, 1993. Maria and I were coming home from a late showing of “Philadelphia,”… but we were in surprisingly chipper moods despite the film. I was wearing one of those long, floppy Peruvian hats with pompoms (I didn’t know better) that bounced on my shoulders as we all but skipped down Second Ave. We were across from St. Mark’s Church when an angry dude, walking with his bro (and probably returning from “Sister Act II: Back in the Habit”), dismissively yelled, “Nice fucking hat, asshole,” as he passed.

“Whatever!” I said with my 80s affectations still intact… and then a blanket of red.

His fist to my temple.

If one could be cold-cocked and remain standing, that’s what happened. When the blanket was lifted – felt like minutes, but only a couple of seconds – I “awoke” to Maria lunging herself at the angry dude while a passerby tried to hold her back. She was unleashing a litany of expletives, Maria-style. I, punch-drunk, moved on my assailant and we circled each other like posturing Catholic schoolboys. His friend was trying to make peace by screaming, “His mother just died! His mother just died!”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything,” Maria yelled. “My father died and I don’t go hitting people in the street!”

“Well, your boyfriend said, “Your mother!”

“Whatever” was heard as “Your mother” and that was enough to attack me. So, for whatever "whatever" means, all that is known in unknown, that’s the moral of the story.

For some reason, my inability to process the rapidity of how everything is unfolding these days is like being punched in the temple again and again, six days and running – I wake up from the red, puff my chest out, engage,… but this time it’s not a gross misunderstanding and I’m swinging my fists and I’m swinging my fists and I’m swinging my fists. Repeat. Another shot to the temple.

The headache is unbearable.

My Skylarking

I don’t believe in god… but lately, several times a day, I’m calling upon her/him when my phone pings with another news notification:

“Draft White House order calls…” Dear god!

“A Trump official tells NPR that work by EPA scientists…” Dear god!

“President Trump is taking action…” Dear god!

“Trump to sign Executive orders…” Dear god!

Dear god!

Dear god!

Dear god!

And that was just today. God isn’t responding, so I’m going to train myself to start muttering, “Dear Buddha”; and if that doesn’t work, “Dear Krishna,” "Dear Athena," "Dear Margaret,"... I'll pray until someone/thing answers. Then I'll be a believer.

"Something there is that doesn't love a wall"

The citizens OF our country are more threatening to our lives than those FROM other countries. Statistics prove this point. The walls and bans scare me not just because they might limit others' access to "better" conditions, but because we're being locked up with each other. As Robert Frost wrote:

"Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down!"

For our children's lives, I fear what we're "walling in."

The Olive Oath

Our daughter loves olives -- pitted black or green olives right out of the can. When she was a toddler, I prepared her first burrito and as an enticing addition I placed a mound of olives on her plate. I went to the kitchen to assemble Maria's burrito and when I returned, Aleda had an olive on each of her fingers -- shiny E.T. pearls that she sucked from her fingertips like an epicure licking her fingers... delicacy by scrumptious delicacy. Subsequently, every single homemade burrito, maybe over a 100 since, has been supplemented with ten olives -- always ten olives. Through preschool, through grade school, never a word about it, always expected, always delivered, always on her finger tips, always sucked down in the same fashion. She stopped a few years ago -- I remember the evening and I remember wanting to say something -- but I never stopped placing ten olives on her plate. This evening, she looked at her plate and said, "Can't break tradition tonight. Not tonight," and I didn't. Tonight she ate a burrito and ten olives. Next time, the same; and the same after that. Some changes are worth resisting. [Despite her hands being too big and despite the idea that her father would be sharing this anecdote, she allowed one pic for old time's sake.]

Less Than One Day

I lied to my students. I told them that I embrace Obama's optimism about them and the future. I lied. I'm a liar. I wish I weren't, but I'm not hopeful that I'm not going to lie again about them and the future. 

16 hours.

Fewer Than Two Days

About 41 hours to go and I’m more nervous than a bunny rabbit hopped (duh) up on amphetamines and being stalked by a hive of H. R. Giger Aliens.

Three Days

Today, our daughter’s class started studying Elie Wiesel’s NIGHT.

“Oh boy,” was all I could say as I prepared dinner.

“I don’t know why we have to read this now of all times,” she yelled. I knew exactly what she meant.

The first 52 pages are due tomorrow and she read through her meal. After wolfing down a plateful (she's usually a very slow eater), she looked up, swollen-faced, and said, “I’m scared.”

Not religious and the child of two parents who were raised as Catholics (me much, much moreso than Maria), our daughter carries the weight of her two last names: “Rosenblum” and “Katz.”

She’s having a moment. Now I am.

Three more days.

I Have a Recurring Dream

I have a dream, a recurring dream, where I'm a red-shirted lieutenant and I get beamed down to a desolate planet only to be confronted by a platoon (?) of old school Klingons. I try to broker a peace between their Empire and the Federation, but each time they respond by throwing different things at me: tinfoil rocks, clumps of sand, their metallic sashes, disruptors and communicators... Last night they threw pink balloons at me. I was showered in pink balloons! I think we're close to a détente.

Four Days

"Not my president" is in the spirit of fair play.

Many conservative Facebookers are getting textually hostile with the Not My Presidenters. In response, NMPers use the Right's eight years of pissing all over Obama to validate their declaration towards Trump. Can a truce be brokered? 

The Left will stop NMPing all over the place with their antagonistic hashtagging when the Right admits that their party tried to maliciously delegitimize Obama with blatant falsities throughout his presidency. But since nothing is going to change (dare I write, things will get much worse), people like me will be NMPing all over Trump until 2020 (and beyond?). 

So, "fair play." 

Four days.

Five Days

Without a viable replacement, those who benefit from the Affordable Care Act are about to lose their coverage. Subsequently, many will lose their health support and some their lives. Women and nonwhite voters benefit significantly from Obamacare and they are more likely to vote for Democrats. Is this a culling of the Democratic herd? Doesn't this remind you of other political events that targeted the vulnerable? Is this really going to happen... again?

Five days.

"Uncle!"

Since we're past "enough is enough," are we now in an "enough is enough is enough" state? or are we past that too? To quote the brilliant Barbara Streisand (yup, I just wrote that) and immortal Donna Summer (go ahead, deny her):

"Tell him to just get out, say it clearly, spell it out:
Enough is enough is enough
I can't go on, I can't go on no more no
Enough is enough is enough
I want him out, I want him out that door now"

Sarcasm Is a Weapon

Wait. Stop. Before you stoop to his level with more mocking posts, please consider that our next president has a few debilitating mental health issues: narcissistic personality disorder (NPD), pathological lying, pseudologia fantastica, oppositional defiance disorder (ODD), and paraphilia (including pedophilia, incest fantasies, and urophilia). If we're as open-hearted and open-minded as we think we are, he deserves our compassion and understanding too. #bebetter

#sarcasmisaweapon... use it!

Letter to Putin

Dear President Vladimir Putin,
I hope this message finds you well and that you're staying warm. Just read that it was -11 degrees in Moscow today. Sheesh.
Down to business. I have an offer: I will trade my entire comic book collection, which is pretty extensive, for the "kompromat" you have of Donald John Trump. I'm especially interested in the video tapes.
Not appealing enough? I'll even throw in my Darth Vader case of original Star Wars action figures -- all 50 of them. Is it a deal? If you want, I can forward a list of the over 21,000 comics (21,388 to be exact) I have in my collection. Many are mint; most are near mint.
Love to Alina. (Is that okay to write? Are you two public yet?). And stay warm!
Yours,

Brian Philip Francis Katz