Taking a Back Seat

I realize our daughter is a year away from driving a vehicle herself, traveling the same roads, finding new routes, switching lanes, paying tolls, exploring the world with the windows down,... and I'm already in the rearview mirror taking pictures while she just sits quietly in the front seat contemplating the road ahead.

The Little Thingies

Sitting on the Q train, stuck outside the DeKalb Ave. stop, the woman to my left with two children is screaming at the canned voice that announces "train traffic ahead," the Dice Clay clone to my right just unleashed a litany of expletives and then apologized to the schoolgirl sitting across from us, and in the fog of my massive headache I worry about the inconsequential things... like the fact that I woke up this morning to a world on the brink and Velveeta-the-Hut is still the president of the United States. It's just the little things that ruin my days.

President Comey

Things are so corrupt in the Trump administration and the links to Russia are so dangerously evident, that for all intents and purposes the various United States intelligence departments are running the country. For those who are worried about the Orange Jabba Slushee, his war-waging impulses, and his clear desire to push little red buttons, cease your fretting: he and his team of men, men, and more men are a gilded collection of castrati. I couldn't imagine writing this two months ago, but I think, for the time being, we're safe. Whatever you think of Comey, he's our president now.

More Than a Ride

When it comes to the teacup ride, I know my limitations. Last time I was on one, which was the last time I will ever be on one, I was waving wildly for the carny to let me off after one rotation. It was the greatest amusement park experience of our then eight-year-old's life. For aging me, round and round is so much worse than up and down.

A Flight of Fancy, of Sorts

No need to tell me how ridiculous I am. My family and I are well aware of my issues and obsessions -- comic books, especially from the 70s; action figures from my youth; magazine and newspaper cartoon gag art. But here’s another of my loves: simple, actual balsa wood model planes. Over the past 15 to 20 years, whenever shopping in a country store or town supermarket, I always look for these flimsy, "Made in U.S.A." throwbacks to my youth; and when I find ‘em, I buy ‘em out of the worry that there will be a time when they are no longer available. Here’s the display box that contains my collection. It doesn’t occupy a lot of space, but it brings me joy on a spring day like today when the idea of opening one up, putting it together, launching it in the park, and losing it in a tree is exactly what I should be doing instead of grading papers (and writing this post).

Lessons I Learned This Week

Two lessons I learned this week thanks to a couple of good friends: 

1. No matter how liberal my ideals, no matter the strength of my pluralistic convictions, there is a very dogmatic collective on the far, far left that will never accept me and my beliefs because I too am reduced to my appearance. To them, I might as well be a Trump supporter. Sad.

2. When you go so far left and fervently embrace the madness of limited, controlled (and controlling) rhetoric and politically correct positions, you are no longer liberal. No, you are conservative! Very, very conservative!

Prediction for This Week:

Mark my words: We're going to wake up one morning this week to another series of batshit crazy Trump tweets to be followed by an afternoon White House statement that his Twitter account was hacked. The morning after, a new series of Trump tweets will be accusing Obama of hacking his Android phone. 

Path to Enlightenment

Let the toxic blowholes speak! I’ve endured some of the stupidest lectures and they ALL helped to shape my ideology, my opinions. I now see how my daughter processes the idiots, bigots, and narrow-minded twits (men, mostly!); and as she processes, her eyes penetrate and her words level the clowns with verities. Listen. Twist. Turn. Grumble. Learn. Respond. Substantiate. Flatten. Let this be the path to clarity; but first, let the assholes speak.

When Zack de la Rocha Is the Oldest Person in the Room

Last night at the Run the Jewels show with a couple of good friends, I was in conflict of age. We were the oldest dudes in Terminal 5, standing at our balcony perch, and digging everything that was taking place on stage. But the good vibes took hold and I wanted so badly to be in the throng of bouncing kids on the dance floor below. Bob, always game, and I made our way through the crowd and immediately lost each other. I skirted to the side of the stage and joined an army of kids losing their minds (like I once lost mine). And there I was, middle-aged-man-groovin'. As it started to get thicker with pressed bodies, a security guy, right by the stage entrance, cleared space for me in front of him. We fist bumped. There I was, in a safe place, dancin' like a dork, and the oldest guy around... until Zack de la Rocha took the stage. And then I wasn't the oldest guy around (even though I looked and felt like it).

Note the Fucking Differences!

As the suited assholes lined up to touch Trump on his way out the chamber door, many Republican men praised his speech as “Reaganesque” and the “best speech in 30 years.” To put their zero-term memories into nth perspective, I watched Dutch’s first Joint Sessions speech to Congress on February 18, 1981 before I went to bed. He was very specific: “I am proposing a comprehensive four-point program. Now, let me outline in detail some of the principal parts of this program. You'll each be provided with a completely detailed copy of the entire program.” He even endeavored to fix what he saw as broken with actual plans: “And I'm asking that you join me in reducing direct Federal spending by $41.4 billion in fiscal year 1982, and this goes along with another $7.7 billion in user fees and off-budget savings for a total of $49.1 billion. And this will still allow an increase of $40.8 billion over 1981 spending.” His entire speech is riddled with statistics, ideas, strategies, figures, and approaches. He conveyed the “frustrations” of many Americans, sought to ease them, and offered actual, concrete ways to solve the issues (as he saw them). Sure, the outcome of this speech coincided with Reagan's social agenda (which was a disaster on almost every level…), but he had propositions -- whether they were actually effective or, unfortunately, destructive -- and detailed implementations. From his discussion on the Trade Adjustment Assistance program to his very conservative commentary on the Department of Energy, cuts, cuts, decreased taxes, economic recovery plans, cuts, and more cuts were his means to resolutions and solutions. [Shudder.] Again and again, he offered ways to tackle everything he proposed. In fact, his speech is staggeringly adept (considering his political bent), noble, earnest, and maybe even honest. Maybe actually, really honest, in comparison! Trump is no Reagan. His was not a “Reaganesque” address. Populist ideas rained on the Joint Session last night, but nary a way to implement any of them. Stop comparing Trump to Reagan! The Gipper was, at times, terribly flawed, but [and I really, truly believe what I’m about to write] he was a legit leader, knowledgeable (at least, at first), serious (with a stand up's repertoire of one-liners), charismatically hypnotic (how did I not get swayed?), and the “Real Deal" (whether you liked him or not). Note the fucking differences!

Baldwin and Me

I was just about to take the left turn onto the FDR at Houston St. when a car with Maryland plates completely cut me off with zero regard for the stop sign and the zipper effect. Not in the mood to flick a bird and curse like a sailor (or like Maria!), I just smirked and offered a cranky "thumbs up" as Maryland zoomed past. I then took my turn, entered the torrent of the FDR, and changed the radio channel from 1st Wave to BackSpin when Maryland started to zag, slow, and seemingly stall as I passed, cautiously, on the left. Maryland then aggressively pulled behind me and tailed for a bit before it was able to pull up along side. I rolled down the window and started to scream, “What the fuck?” when I noticed the car was full of teenagers, excluding the driver (who looked about 20-something), and they were all beaming and pointing and waving like Beatles fans. Maryland’s driver, full of joy, happier than happy, screamed out his opened window, “Alec Baldwin!” and then, pause, “Oh, we thought you were Alec Baldwin,” seemingly disappointed. I apologized, offered a winking "thumbs up," and took the Brooklyn Bridge exit. Every now and again these encounters happen… But I was left with a lasting insecurity: I’m 12 years younger than Baldwin is! What the hell?

The Protest of Mere Being

The $54 billion increase in our defense budget and the virtual elimination of support for other countries (especially those in need) IS, believe it or not, the most glaring warning of the impending end of American democracy. Our work moving forward with a ruling administration that no longer acknowledges the brilliance of democracy’s possibilities should also include the absolute reimagining of us, of ALL of us. Sure, there will be more to say and write, more protests to attend, more posts to share, and more chants to scream… but right now, under the weight of these terrible acts and possibilities, making WHAT you are the ART of WHO you are becomes the best protest. If you never realized it before, it is certainly clearer today: Everything we are and everything we do is political. Your mind and body are the resistance.

Trump vs. the Rosenbergs

Our daughter spent part of today (a magnificent vacation day, for crying out loud!) researching and writing about the Jewish-American couple, Julius and Ethel Rosenberg and, subsequently, teaching me all about them. They were charged, tried, convicted, and executed for “conspiracy to commit espionage against the United States." They may very much have been guilty of sharing information with the Soviets regarding the United States' nuclear program; but, after quite a bit of reading, Aleda's conclusion is that "America may have killed two innocent people just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

[Well, you know where this is going:] Trump and his Clan of Cronies have been building ties with Putin's Russia in some of the most insidious, secretive, and sinister ways and they get to rule our country with a backroom coterie of oligarchs and sympathetic media outlets (while banning other news agencies that call their connections and policies into question). When Trump and his Army of Pseudo-Autocrats are revealed for the traitors that they are, I hope, beyond hope, that the might of American Righteousness (normally a foe to many old, nondenominational liberals like myself) does the "right" thing. If the Rosenberg's supposedly got what they "deserved," what will this president and his administration deserve? My imagination is on overload.

Still, has more character than its clone...

Just found this old, shriveled, hard clementine at the bottom of the fruit bowl. It's in the compost now where it belongs.

Bronzer-in-Chief

You'd figure that if anyone could understand the importance of identity, of one's perception of oneself, it would be our owl-eyed Bronzer-in-Chief who tragically abuses tanning spray and dons a snake wig to look like the leather-skinned Gorgon that he feels like on the inside... and that's perfectly fine.

An Act of Jealousy

The Mildewed Orange just "rescinded federal rules that allowed transgender students to use the bathrooms corresponding with their gender identity" (NY Times). This salvo is an act of a diminished male, both in size and manner, who must lash out at that which proclaims a strong sense of self and purpose. Cocknose Clementine is just jealous; and when he's overthrown, the people will return to love and understanding. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud" (1 Corinthians 13:4). This is temporary.

No Sweet Potato Casserole, Ever

It's gotten to the point where I push the carrots to the side of the salad plate, decline the free orange juice with my breakfast special, and pick out the cantaloupe in the fruit cup.

Resist to Persist to Exist

Like most of you, I spend my mornings combing through the "real" news looking for a story, a tidbit even, that sheds some light. Not easy. The Pacific Standard magazine, however, offered something that reminded me to straighten my spine, to buck up: Thanks to the legalization of same-sex marriages, teen suicide rates are down... significantly.

The initial statistics are startling: A 2015 survey (in JAMA Pediatrics) discovered that 29% of LGBT students tried to end their lives (compared to 6% of hetero students) "within the past 12 months." Thanks to the 2015 Supreme Court decision (a decision that is now in grave jeopardy), that rate fell by 14%. Overall, 134,000 teen lives may have been saved because 134,000 adolescents didn't attempt suicide. The link between the destigmatization of one's sexuality through legal marriage for all and saving lives is so obvious, so sweeping, so necessary, that the threats of changing policies and revoking human rights are proving, daily, to be not just a matter of life and death, but a matter of MANY lives and MANY deaths.

This is another example of why we must resist to persist.

Orange Warning System

To help my family get through these days, I’ve instituted an OWS, or Orange Warning System. For example, wake up, read the news, daughter comes into the kitchen and asks, “Dad, what kind of day is it going to be?”

“Sweet potato, sweetie. Sweet potato,” and she’ll know exactly what that means and how to prepare for the day.

Walls, Malls, and Brawls

I've been patient with those who have been expressing their disappointment by saying, "America deserves this!"; but on the eve of Orange Julius Jr's budget and the gutting of just about everything I hold dear in favor of walls, malls, and brawls, I would like to scream, "Shut the hell up!" 74% of eligible voters didn't vote for the Orange Outhouse, over 3 million more voted for his democratic rival -- a net difference of -2.1% which is the third worst victory margin in U.S. history (only followed by Hayes at -3.0% and Adams at 10.4%) -- and over 7 million people voted for third party candidates. AND, as of this morning, President Marmalade's approval rating is at 41% -- among the absolute lowest ratings in history. America DOESN'T deserve this impending doom and those who express resignation will regret their shoulder-shrugging when we try to climb out of the cultural ruins of his Orangemageddon.