Saturday, March 25, 2017

What Kind of Mother#)A$(*#?#?!!ckery is This?

To borrow from the inimitable Amy Winehouse.

It's 60 days and counting and I am still in a state of simmering apoplexy.  What kind of nation have we become that this ignorant, lying philistine with his concubine faux-wife represents our collective American selves?  What does that make us?

What kind of Democrats have we become that white liberals believe reading J. D. Vance's Hillbilly Elegy is revelatory?  (Or for that matter that the existence of a Barack Obama was chimerical.)  I and the rest of my siblings grew up among these north-of-the-Mason-Dixon-Line crackers and have listened aplenty to them, and as far as I'm concerned they are my fellow Americans worthy of civility and entitled to their dignity, but I sure don't owe them any apologies.  Now solid research shows that working class white folks are dying of despair and I'm supposed to have enough magnimony left in me to care?

It's always been abundantly clear to me that the USA cuts way too much slack (an informal way of saying "privilege," which has now become too weaponized a word) to white people.  Period.  That only when a phenomena significantly harms white people is it recognized as mass suffering as opposed to moral defect or criminality. (1980's crack epidemic vs. 2010's opioid epidemic, anyone?)  But frankly, judging from some of Congress' rationale for gutting the ACA I'm not sure the "significant harm to white people" bar is holding either.

And yes, when I'm not as inflamed as I am in the Age of Trump, I am well aware that class and other variables determine collective and individual fates.  But, I am tired and the harm in communities of color (and yes, it's another fashionably weaponized word, but sometimes you need shorthand) continues as a crisis and I am nowhere near the mediation stage.

Sunday, February 26, 2017

24 years, 1 Month, 26 Days, 8 Hours and 49 Minutes...

... but, who's counting?  In April I will have been married for 20 years.  (Pause while friends pick themselves up from the floor.)

My husband and I have known each other almost 25 years.

We play a game, probably not uncommon for people who can see the other side of the mountain, i.e., I Know Who Your Next Spouse Will Be.  His guess for me?  Mr. Nobody.  Mine for him -- well without giving too much away I finally figured out his ideal wife after having known the man for a long long time.  And, Dear Reader, she is not like me.

Marriage is many things, not the least of which is that it is a cosmic joke that many of us, no matter how many times we're told the punchline, just don't get.  And yet, every time the joke's set up, we listen expectantly, hoping this time, this time we'll be as delighted as everyone else.

We Are All Joe Wilson Now

President Trump will addresses Congress on Tuesday night.  Who among us will stand up and yell, YOU LIE?

Friday, January 20, 2017

Gone Quilting ...

A few random thoughts:

Wayne Barrett died yesterday,

Please, a certain strand of liberals, take off the hairshirts.  You don't owe those crackers an apology.

My head will explode if I hear or read one more superficial pundit talk about "the working class" as if it is only white guys who drive F-350s.

Read the history of the conservative movement's long march to power after Goldwater got crushed in 1964; and the Tea Party's ascendance to power.  If you are on your way to a state or national capital to protest in the streets, don't leave town without dropping by a politician's office.

My white husband never believes it's about race; it's always about race in these United States of America.

I can't go on.  We go on.