Thoughts on the 45th

Editorial note: I posted this here on my much neglected blog just in case someone wanted to share this on down the line.

It’s 9:11. It’s the current time, but it’s also an emergency. The collective “we” are now officially at the start of a four year journey, destination unknown. The driver is childish, misogynistic, homophobic, classless and tactless, non-disclosing, disconnected, lying heap of a man in a badly tailored suit.

Do I have strong opinions about this? You bet I do. Am I going to shut up? You bet I’m not.

Since Trump won, I’ve heard so many things from his advocates and defenders. Things like, “you lost, suck it up” and “you can’t just act out because your side lost”. I won’t even give screen time to the hatred laced comments referring to what the “other side” feels they had to deal with for the last eight years and anything heaped onto the “losing side” is justified. I do mean anything. Personally and reported in various media outlets I’ve seen attitudes change. I’ve seen people shifting to feeling like it’s okay now to be rude, hateful, and mean because their guy is in charge so their view is justified. It’s not. It’s not okay. None of this is okay.

Over the last few months I’ve been taking a stance that’s easily recognizable as thinly veiled avoidance, but I just can’t keep going on this way. This month I shifted my public persona into an almost unrecognizable one. It’s one of ultra kindness.

Please and thank you.
Excuse me.
How can I help you?
Let me get that for you.
What can I do to make your day better?

Why?

Because I can post (and will continue to post) information, but most Trumpets will not read the missives. They will not educate themselves. They will not approach these views from any side other than the one they’re current standing on. If they do, it’s either deemed media propaganda (no matter if it’s multiple sources of varying sways) or quickly refuted by half truths and half baked facts. But, if in person, I’m as sweet as honey, especially to those various hued, low to middle income, non-traditional sexually oriented groups about to get punched in their respective tits and beanbags, then great. Someone has showed them kindness and their spark of hope remains afire. And, if the person happens to be from the other side, well I’ll just be the “sweetest misguided socialist-minded liberal” they ever did meet.

Bless my heart.

But, seriously people. Stop being assholes to each other. Care about your fellow humans. We’re all in this together.

While you’re at it educate yourselves. Don’t pick one topic upon which to hinge your entire stance while ignoring or discounting the rest.

Educate yourself about how the government works. 
About the policies. 
About gerrymandering. 
About the REDMAP project. 
Get informed and then make decisions. 

It’s an ongoing process, so never stop learning.

The day you do, you’re a puppet.

Henry Rollins

Mr. Rollins,

Credit: Timothy Norris

Credit: Timothy Norris, taken from http://tinyurl.com/lf3y5jz

In my more rebellious youth I graffitied my brown paper bag book covers with the iconic, bold black bars of the Black Flag logo. I listened to the Rollins Band at volumes loud enough to cause both temporary hearing and memory loss. The music, driving and primal, spoke to young me on a level older me has trouble reconciling with now. I remember those days with the fondness of misunderstood youth and the rage to escape the gilded cage and set loose upon the world. Continue reading

Driving Home

Mile 10:

There’s a hot girl on a motorcycle. She throws a wave to every biker she passes. Few, if any, toss it back. She’s hunched low, stretched out over the tank, her shirt blowing up revealing a pale pink bra when she accelerates. I’m envious instantly.

Mile 12:

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Quote

Kismet

Oh, the things we find ourselves saying when a kindred spirit we meet
As hours run late the phone battery dispatches warnings quickly dismissed
Letters combining
into words
into sentences
into stories
Talking, sharing, caring, connecting without agenda
Discovering safety in the bond of a fellow wave rider
Familiar with the push and pull, ebb and flow, high and low
heady
intoxicating
wonderful non-aloneness
The wifi signal stays strong keeping the link, but the eyelids grow heavy
Pauses grow longer as the next day’s commitments creep in
Another time
Send

Saturday Night

Another throwback post, this time from a random Saturday 7 years ago. I was so artsy in my lack of capitalization. Oh silly 29 yr old self.

deciding that i’d had enough of the stuffiness of my apartment and had sufficiently lost untold hours in front of the television in an HGTV® trance, i packed my satchel full of books, grabbed my car keys, said farewell to the cats and hit the road.

what? yes, I’m looking at you and typing with an accusatory tone…

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Random Act of Awesome

Seeking to escape the soccer fervor that has taken over my workplace’s break room I went out for lunch today. Besides, I had my own victories to celebrate. I made it to the end of another week without un-aliving anyone and I discovered a frequent buyer card with only the slot marked “FREE” remaining.

I’m so glad I did because that’s where I witnessed a Random Act of Awesome! (Why did she capitalize that? – Don’t worry you’ll find out.)

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PB & J

It’s 8:30 at night and I haven’t eaten anything in hours. I’m starving. I hate having to eat. Where’s my Jetsons future with flying cars and one button push automated food delivery systems built into every home? Better still, where are the little fucking full meal pills I can toss back and force down with a few gulps of whatever liquid is handy?

It’s two days before pay day and my options are limited. The kale has wilted, the tomatoes have shriveled, the frozen meals are reserved, it’s too hot for soup, and the almond milk must be preserved for precious morning coffee. Light from the open frigerator door makes my eyes water. The eerie after storm glow is filtering in through the blinds casting the rest of my usually cheery kitchen in a yellow-hued and dust mote filtered wash. The effort required to flip the light switch on is too great.

Too much idle time has passed. The volume of the waves are ramping up, the thundering of each heart beat like a physical manifestation.
This day, crash.
Beat.
This week, crash.
Beat.
These months, crash.
Beat.

Suddenly conscious of the wafts of cool air, I’m snapped back.
Fuck, I’m starving.

I spy it on the counter as I turn from slamming the refrigerator door shut. A loaf of bread lies half hidden under a week’s worth of mail never opened, but dutifully brought in from the box. Where there’s bread, there’s hope. Other ingredients assembled I am crestfallen when I spy the tag. Mockingly it reads, “sell by JUN 07”. A fleeting, suspicious sniff reveals only a slightly sour smell. A quick inspection several slices deep shows no obvious signs of mold and at this I let slip a sigh of relief.

The understated peanut butter and jelly sandwich is – has been – will always be – a balm when I am soul sick and weary.

Aside

Learning to Drive & Figuring it Out

Originally posted in another place at another time… It’s relevant enough to bring around here for a repeat.

This has turned out to be quite the introspective weekend for me. Among other things written in other places, I found myself thinking about the lessons we’re taught by our parents. If they set out to teach us these lessons specifically or if they just happen by a stroke of fate and we only realize it years later.

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