Politics will have to wait a week or so. I'm currently editing. I
decided to, what the heck, pretty up my first manuscript and publish it
as the second April Tompkins novel. If it sells as well as RADIO CRAZY, I'm going to be flush with a sprinkling of pennies!
But that's what we do -- and by "we", I mean quixotic strivers.
Maybe
I need to advertise - tweets aren't working well. But I have no budget.
I edited RADIO CRAZY, designed the cover, converted it to the proper
format, uploaded it to Amazon -- all at a cost of $0.00.
The CBS network apologized today for slating six new series for its fall lineup that features lead characters comprised of white men!
How the hell dare they?!?
Here's a tip, CBS: Grow a pair and stop apologizing for committing an act of commerce.
As I commented on the Washington Post story, networks care about ratings. I know, I know, corporations aren't supposed to be "people, too", as Mitt Romney once infamously uttered. But, like most of us, except for those thirty-year-old "kids" whose sole support is derived from Mommy and Daddy's monthly personal check, networks like to make money! Crazy, I know.
Let's take a look, shall we? I see we have Michael Weatherly -- DiNozzo from NCIS. Last time I paid attention to such things, I learned that NCIS is the number one network television show. Thus, it's pure insanity to give Weatherly his own show after he bowed out from resting beneath Mark Harmon's shadow.
And Matt LeBlanc? Damn, was he ever in a show that could be considered a hit? I think there may have been some nineties sitcom whose name escapes me.
Kevin James -- some people think he's "funny". I think he also had a hit show on CBS at one time.
Joel McHale was once part of NBC's community. He also did Talk Soup on E. You might recognize his face.
Some dude is reprising MacGiver. People younger than me, when they're trying to fix something that's gone awry like to reference scenes from that show, so apparently MacGiver is part of the zeitgeist, as the hip dudes like to say.
I don't know who the other guy is. Don't care.
"We can do better", a little pansy-mouthed CBS exec proclaimed.
Really?
If you really can do better, why aren't you?
Is it because, while the LGBLT community is tops on the social justice radar, they don't exactly draw in viewers? Is it because feminist warriors don't endear themselves to TV watchers who just want to kick back after a hard day at work and not be hassled by an endless parade of whiny identity politics?
Here's a shocker: CBS had a hit show forty years ago called "Cagney and Lacey", featuring two female protagonists. I liked the show; enjoyed it. One of the women -- I'll guess "Lacey" -- was married and I think even had a kid. The other lead, Cagney, was single, but not, as far as I know, part of the LGBLT community, because she did date guys. But the two of them were very capable police officers, solving crimes and all the things that police officers do, even though they were clearly females. The show was popular because the lead characters were human beings, not a check-the-box demographic. See, that's what "real" people are; do. Hillary, you're about a half a century behind the times.
I personally would like to watch a white male lead in a TV series -- if I watched network TV --- which I don't, because the writing is sub-par and I can't abide commercials.
Stop apologizing for giving us what we want. We know you like money, just like we all do.
How about you tell the social justice warriors to just go to hell?
A review would be very much appreciated, whether you like it or don't like it (I would be too embarrassed to read my reviews anyway.) But I think you'll like it.
We now return you to our regularly-scheduled bizzaro world of presidential politics....
P.S. If you miss the promotion and would still like to receive a free copy, I'll make sure you get one.
Remember when political conventions used to be fun? Perhaps you don't, but I do, because I always viewed them as great entertainment. Maybe it's because I'm a history buff, or maybe I'm lame and need to get a life, but when I was younger, I'd watch the conventions from gavel to gavel. I would still do so now, only to a lesser extent, but I reside with someone who dearly loves his clicker. Therefore, right when something on the screen causes me to glance up from whatever tome I happen to be reading, poof! the picture disappears, replaced by a documentary about the atom or a black hole, with wide-eyed scientists waxing poetic (as poetic as scientists can wax) about facts that have been hashed and rehashed since the days of Galileo. These guys and gals must love astronomy as much as I love conventions!
Therefore, I only grabbed snapshots from this year's conventions. The rest was filled in for me by the lovely cable "news" networks and various talk radio dudes.
The reason conventions used to be fun was that unexpected things happened. One never knew if a fistfight would break out on the floor or even on stage (see: 1968). And maybe everything was settled in advance, but I naively didn't know that, and thus I stayed glued to my TV screen to find out if "my guy" managed to wrest the crown from the young upstart.
Now it's a show; sometimes a good show, sometimes a clumsily produced one. No longer is there any suspense.
So, my takeaways, in random order:
Even the Democrat delegates don't heart Hillary. It's like someone commanding me to pretend I really like liver. Sure, I can fake that -- as long as you don't plop a plate of the steaming, slimy, grey glop in front of me. Cuz if you do that, I promise you, I will barf. That sort of sums up the delegates' reaction to HRC.
Sean Smith's mother gave a heartbreaking presentation at the RNC; talked about how Her Royal Clintoness left her son to die in Benghazi. Too bad The Trumpster chose that moment to call in to Bill O'Reilly's show. He missed it, but maybe he caught it later on YouTube. It was a classless move; another example of DT's fake "caring".
Bill Clinton really likes balloons. I'm not going to spell out what I'm thinking, because my dad suffered from the same disease and it's not funny -- if that's what's going on with Bill. If that's not what's going on with Bill, then I guess he just really likes balloons.
Ted Cruz is an ass. This is not news to me -- I've always considered him an ass -- but perhaps until the reaction to his speech at the RNC, he didn't know what an ass he is.
Hollywood "celebrities" are so darn cute! I'm not exactly sure what Sarah Silverman has ever done to distinguish herself or to justify her fame, but she has even fewer fans now, after she called Bernie supporters ridiculous. And didn't you just love the rendition of "What The World Needs Now", by, again, "celebrities", who I couldn't pick out from a lineup? Jackie DeShannon is turning over in her...hang on...let me check Google...whew!...okay, retirement home."What The World Needs Now Is Love Sweet Love" was as fakey in the sixties as it was two days ago on the stage of the DNC convention. In case no one has noticed, nobody loves anybody anymore. In fact, the world probably needs love, but that's not what it's got. Far from it.
Donald Trump is not Donald Trump with a teleprompter.
HRC is HRC with or without a teleprompter. AND STOP YELLING! TODAY'S MICROPHONES CAN PICK UP EVEN THE TINIEST SOUNDS, GRANDMA! HRC knows as much about microphones as she does about anti-malware software. And her personal check to the Nigerian prince is in the mail!
I used to fall into slumber after watching the Republican convention inspired, determined, hopeful. I think that last happened for me in 1980. Now it's a TV reality show, and frankly, The Apprentice was more entertaining. I remember watching The Apprentice, and I thought, that Donald Trump, he's a really smart guy. That was wrong. He's not smart; he's a moron, but he's the only moron we've got.
When poor (now) afflicted Bill Clinton stood up on the stage of his convention with poor climate-afflicted Al Gore and their wives, with Fleetwood Mac singing, "Don't Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow)" behind them, I remember almost buying into it. Little did I know then that Bill's harpy wife would one day scheme to lead my country down the road to ruin.
Jaded? Sure. I've lived too long, seen too much.
Maybe my husband has it right after all. Better to lull oneself with a retread of quark dissection than to put one's faith in any of the canned promises of any candidate.
If only Donald J. Trump had a cool theme song. I think that's the missing piece.
So Roger Ailes "stepped down" yesterday. You and I both know that's a nice way of saying he "got the boot". I'm not sad -- after all, the guy is 76 years old. I'm no ageist -- look at me! I don't, however, understand why an old rich guy wants to stay on the job. I'm quite a few miles away from seventy-six and I want to retire tomorrow! And I don't even have any money!
But I digress. I will say, however, in the future, try not to hire a litigious "talent" who screams sexual harassment anytime she doesn't get her way. Maybe I'm biased, but I've read enough about this woman to know that this isn't the first time she's thrown down that particular flag. On the plus side, I no longer have to endure her vacuous news chatter.
I would like to take this time, now that you have a younger (ha!) CEO in charge, to let you know the things I like and dislike about your network. I wouldn't normally care, but yours is the only one we've got.
I'm a person who streams Fox News during my workday, and when I come home, I flip my TV to your channel instinctively. Therefore, I'm no novice viewer. I will, though, flip you off when I'm bored or irritated.
Here are some things that irritate me:
Fox & Friends -- can't watch it. If I want tips for grilling the perfect burger, I can tune in to the Today Show. I watch a news channel for "news". Which leads me to:
Give me news! You claim to be a news channel, but what you really mean is you are a talking heads channel. Know how hard it is for me to simply get the facts of an event? Analysis is great and all, but first let me understand what just happened.
You foisted Donald Trump on us and didn't even give us a choice. Sure, I know the other channels had him on endlessly, too, but c'mon -- admit you were pushing him from the very beginning. I was a Marco Rubio supporter and the way your opinion hosts denigrated him really irked me. The "Little Marco" comments that your people reveled in were, at the very least, disrespectful of a man who possesses substance, as opposed to your fanboy (and girl) favorite who has yet to give me one concrete idea for how he can ever possibly hope to govern. And the fact that some of your people are personal friends and/or minions of this moron nominee insulted my intelligence. I get it -- really. I know why O'Reilly, Hannity, Van Susteren, and Bolling promoted him so vehemently, at the expense of other more qualified candidates. Don't assume your viewers are idiots.
Outnumbered. Maybe this concept began Ailes' downfall; I don't know. Or maybe he actually thought he was being "hip", creating a show with four cackling hens and one rotating dude for all of them to talk over. Tell me why I should listen to what these random Fox women have to say. What are their credentials? I'm old enough to have experienced the whole women's lib thing, but do you actually think this is a concept that conservative women celebrate? Give us some damn more credit than that. I'll gladly listen to what an intelligent man or woman has to say, but throwing together a gaggle of news readers, politicians' kids, former staff members of failed campaigns, really means nothing to me.
Endless book promotions. Does the Fox host exist who hasn't written a book? If it's Charles Krauthammer, sure, I'll be thrilled to read it. If it's Eric Bolling? Can the man actually string together a sentence? His performance on The Five leaves me with doubts.
Sean Hannity. Luckily, I work an early shift, so I don't stay up late enough to watch his debacle. But I've unfortunately heard him on the radio, and I will hazard a guess that you execs at Fox like him because he's a "nice guy" in real life. Maybe he is. I know lots of nice guys, and if that's the bar we're reaching for, how about you choose one who has a modicum of intelligence? And isn't a Donald Trump lackey?
Eric Bolling and Juan Williams. I used to listen to Juan during my public radio phase. He never interrupted his guests. I guess that's a new trait he's acquired since taking over for Bob Beckel. Too bad you guys let Bob go. He was like an eccentric uncle whose gross habits repelled us, but was still lovable and endearing in his own inimitable way. Bolling? You guys know he was relegated to the "slow" reading group in elementary school, right? But I guess he has "the look" for TV, and we viewers are such numbskulls, the right look is all we care about, really.
Laura Ingraham. I'll grant you, her speech at the Republican convention was spot-on, but her incomprehensible disdain for people like Marco Rubio drips like venom from her lips. Why not just replace her with Ann Coulter? Their sarcasm is interchangeable.
Your utility players. How cheap are you? You rotate "commentators" through practically every show! Spend some bucks and hire fresh voices! You know, we're not in love with these people. I've got nothing against Karl Rove, but how about featuring someone who's a couple or three decades younger? I don't want to think my party is dying, but you are giving off that decaying whiff.
Of course, you guys do some good things, too. Your good things are:
Bret Baier.
Bret Baier's panel. I like Charles a bunch! I also like Jonah Goldberg, but you rarely have him on. Maybe his intelligence and wit intimidate you. Steve Hayes is a treasure. I also like Tucker Carlson, because he has a mind that actually functions. You need to have Brit Hume on more, though. I understand he's chosen to "semi-retire", but we viewers are hungering for more smart guys like him.
Martha McCallum.
Bill O'Reilly. Okay, I know he is a close personal friend of Trump, but you gotta like the guy. He's intelligent; sure, a blowhard and an acquired taste, but he absolutely commands the airwaves. He often exasperates me, but he's like a comfortable pair of shoes -- a bit ragged, but reliable.
Megyn Kelly. If I want to know the true scoop on a story, I watch Megyn's show. Her program actually breaks news, as opposed to feeding me mindless blah blah Trump blah Trump Trump. Megyn won't be around long -- she's going to move on and sell her soul to one of the liberal nets, and I'll never watch her because I don't watch those rags. But I appreciate that she's still on our side, for now.
Greg Gutfeld. He often seems bored, but that may just be his pose. He's clearly the most intelligent of the Five bunch.
I'm done yearning for a conservative start-up to challenge you guys. No one has stepped forward yet, so I'm guessing no one will. So, I'm rather stuck with you.
And you'd be okay with me if you'd simply get rid of the dead weight. As a "news" channel, how about giving us some news? I used to watch Neil Cavuto, but since he's been home recuperating, I've switched over to Jake Tapper, and I like him. He reminds me of what news is supposed to be. And he won't admit it, but he's a closet conservative.
I'll stick with you -- some of you -- for now. I don't know if I'll ever get over the Trump thing, but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Warning, however: Don't take us for granted. And you, of all conglomerates, shouldn't insult our intelligence.
Underestimating us is what drove us to Fox News to begin with.
I'm not going to write very much about this; only what I'm feeling tonight.
I took a quick peek at my local newspaper's website today and every headline on its front page said, "Shot". Shot, shot, shot. Two babies shot in north Minneapolis. Twelve police officers shot, five killed, in Dallas. A driver pulled over by police in St. Paul shot and killed. There's more, but I won't go on.
The one thing I can say about the year 2016 is that people no longer matter. See, they aren't really people; they're "symbols". They're good for "the cause", whatever the cause might be. The fiance of the man who lay dying after being shot by a police officer didn't rush to wrap her arms around the man she loved, didn't sob over him, comfort him. Instead, she took out her cell phone and narrated the story in order to stream it live on Facebook. Maybe I misread her emotions, misinterpreted her intent; but it sure looked to me like she was more interested in sticking it to "the man" than she was suffering in grief. But, you know, it's all for the cause.
Those two gang bangers shooting at one another? Damn if those little kids got in the way. They should have known better. But at least Loretta Lynch can pull the headline out of her briefcase and bemoan the gun culture in America. Oh wait -- can't bring up this incident -- it didn't involve the police shooting innocent folk who were just minding their own business. On second thought, we just won't mention this unfortunate tale.
The (fortunately now) dead sniper in Dallas? Well, come on! Everybody knows the police are gunning for African Americans. It's about time the tables were turned. Remember, "hands up, don't shoot"? That scenario almost actually happened. At least it could have happened...somewhere...sometime. Lots of things could happen -- you don't know.
And if all these lives don't matter -- the dead policemen, the dead babies, the dead driver who reached in his glove box for his registration after the police officer warned him not to reach for anything -- well, their lives did serve a purpose. They proved somebody's point. And that's what's really important. Not that they lived, got married, had families; were innocents held in their mothers' arms, innocents with a glimmer of a future if only their mothers hadn't had the misfortune of living in north Minneapolis. Their lives and deaths make good placards for the marchers. Because we're all about our grievances. Grievance is our new religion.
I'm sick. Sick of the blood. Sick of the talking heads on cable news who pontificate about the "deeper meaning" of it all. Sick of throwaway lives.
It may be a generational thing. I was too young in the sixties to "protest" anything. I'm too old now to worry about not being cool. I guess it's not cool anymore to love your country. You are supposed to point out its wrongs; its faults; its failings. The current resident of the White House is quick to proclaim that the US is no better than any other country, and how dare anyone say it is? What hubris! (from one who knows hubris). Perhaps he thinks he's overseeing the local ladies' garden club. He does have a phone, and a pen to write out those calligraphied luncheon invitations, after all.
Too bad. Too bad for him. For someone who has reaped the rewards of this country more than almost anyone, too bad he is too arrogant to acknowledge the opportunities he could only find here.
Me? Life hasn't been a breeze. I'm from the working class -- we don't get the breaks, the kudos for a job well done. We just do our jobs. We packed our kids' lunch boxes every morning with peanut butter sandwiches and packed one for ourselves, before we shuttled the boys out the front door to their public elementary school, before we shuttled ourselves off in our four-year-old used Taurus to a job we tolerated because the kids needed new jeans, after all, and all those personal checks for RIF books and after-school basketball league and we needed to make the next payment on the saxophone that would last through one year of fifth grade band and then be abandoned in a corner next to smelly tube socks and two-day-old nachos that required a chisel to dislodge them from their final resting place on a plate purloined from the kitchen cupboard.
Some summers our vacation was a two-night stay at a state campground. Even if it was only fifty miles from home, it felt like a vacation and we had fun. We pulled board games out of the camper's storage locker and played and laughed and threw gentle insults at one another, disparaging each other's deficient Sorry skills. We blazed hot dogs on a little Weber camp grill. We stuck marshmallows on found sticks and generally burnt the little buggers to a crisp and decided to let them fall into the fire, rather than risk permanent taste bud annihilation.
And we were happy.
The Fourth of July parade always makes my heart swell. To experience Independence Day properly, I believe one must live in or find a small town. People there don't care if they look goofy in their star-spangled tee shirts. The sweat rolls down their necks as they fire up sparklers for even the littlest kids.They grasp their young'ns around the waist and point them toward the floppy-footed clown marching down the street, tossing out candy. They kid one another about eighties hairstyles as the high school marching band, their alma mater, steps past, but they only get to hear the rat-a-tat of the drums -- the trumpets don't pick up their parts until the whole squad is a block down the street, right by Neuen's Western Store.
And they stand up and salute or put their hand over their heart or just rise silently and give a little nod when the veterans march by carrying the American flag.
Maybe we don't have the conscious thought at that moment, but we know how lucky we are. And we know that many men -- uncles we never even got to meet, our first cousin who barely had one summer month after graduation before he got drafted and sent for basic training, our big brother; braved hell for something they might not have even understood, but they did it to give us the chance to have picnics and act like goofs on the Fourth of July and rib each other by the campfire.
So, yes, I'm patriotic. I love my country. The US isn't just about the people we elect or the ones we didn't vote for but are forced to endure.
The US is US. It's my dad and my mom, who endured the depression and lived and thrived and built a business from the sale of eighty acres of farmland. It's me with my transistor radio under my pillow, a staticky "Incense and Peppermints" saturating my dreams. It's my kids ripping paper off a box from under the Christmas tree to find Optimus Prime (just what they wanted!) It's my son smiling, a little shaky; standing at the altar, watching his bride-to-be escorted by her dad, glide up the aisle.
The US is a promise. Sometimes the promise is a pipe dream, sometimes it's a dream come true. What we have, regardless, is a possibility.
I don't normally pay much attention to overseas news. Call me a nationalist -- fine. Sure, I worry about ISIS on the move, wary that they're going to do harm to us; knowing they already have. I didn't give more than a passing thought to Brexit. I frankly didn't understand the whole commotion until it was explained to me. (That's one of the grievances I have with so-called "news" -- they have a lot of talking heads, but they blather on and on without giving us THE FACTS. One more reason I've mainly switched over to CNN.)
I get it now. And I see the wave a'comin'. People in Britain are sick to death of the "poor them, lucky you" mantra. For far too long, we've allowed The Left to dominate the conversation. Well, here's the deal --- and I'm talking to elected Republicans as well as to the cynical, vote-mongering mercenaries on the other side -- There is no LUCKY ME. I'm not lucky. I'm not "privileged". Stop telling me that I am. I live this life; I think I would know. The gated community dwellers no longer relate to people like me, if they ever did.
Here's a thought -- pay my utility bills! Juggle my checkbook and advise me on which bills I should pay on time and which ones I can let slide. The clinic put me on a payment plan because, gasp! we ran up too many medical bills! Thanks, Obamacare! You rock!
Tell me again how everyone but me is "downtrodden". Tell me after I write out my $2,000.00 check to pay my state taxes, separate from all the money that was deducted from my bi-weekly paycheck, which apparently fell far short of your goal to pay for your social programs. But, you know, I'm privileged -- and I should feel privileged to support other people while my existence is swirling furiously down the drain.
Tell me how we're going to survive in our "golden years", since I've now drained my 401K dry and my husband has been out of work for six years.
Yea, we're tired of all that privilege. And Brexit showed that a bunch of other people are sick of it, too. This could be our opportunity to flex what weak little influence we have left.
But no.
We've got Trumples The Clown representing us. I'm still not sure what his goal is, and I'm suspicious that even he doesn't know. He could have played up the whole Brexit thing today for maximum impact, but as I understand it, he chose instead to wax poetic about his Scottish golf course (I don't listen to the guy, but that's what I've heard.) Maybe his candidacy is one gigantic business promotion?
I still have nagging doubts about whether I will vote for the guy come November. If he'd just straighten up, I could envision myself checking the box for him, just to deprive That Woman from one more vote. But he's gotta show me he's a winner. And that he means it. If this is all a big joke, I'll write in George Strait or somebody, 'cause you know, I'm all for having fun, too.
The Republicans (with a big giant "R") don't give a good God-damn about people like me. They care about maintaining their lifestyles. The "D's" (as in douch....never mind) care about VOTES...voting blocks...gotta get those voting blocks! It's a game.
It's not like me to be uninterested in the presidential election. Politics is my drug of choice after caffeine. It's a letdown to be bored by something I've always counted on. But this year's election has turned from euphoric to maddening to ehh. I don't find Trump to be provocative or even interesting; but rather, moronic and Gomer Pile-ish. I don't wait breathlessly to hear his latest utterance. It used to at least be a masochistic challenge to ponder what his next controversy might be, but the sheen has worn off that rubbed stone. It's no longer a surprise -- I expect him to say something stupid and therefore that thrill is gone.
There've been candidates in the past that I had to warm up to, but I eventually, ultimately, came on board. John McCain was no great shakes. I like him better, now that he's not running for president. Romney? I at least thought he was smart -- a bit too polished -- but I came around. This dude? It's not like I'm going to suddenly hop the Hillary train, but I can't picture myself punching my ballot for a guy who needs remedial training. I'm a corporate trainer -- I've been down that nowhere path before. At least the people I've had to coach weren't insane (mostly).
So, I'm bored. I've essentially abandoned Fox News (sorry Bret -- I still like you.) I've begun to turn on CNN after work. I despise their leftward tilt, but I appreciate the absence of yelling.
I like to have some noise in the background (just not loud noise) when I'm decompressing after being yelled at at work all day. I like Jake Tapper and Anderson Cooper. I don't like BILL O'REILLY (sorry, yelling). It's gotten so I don't even care what they say; just that they're saying it quietly.
I don't know what my state of mind will be, come November. I'm thinking, the way things are headed, there might only be one name on the ballot, because DT will spontaneously combust. Again, don't actually care if he does. The one thing I could always count on has turned into a ridiculous spectacle.
I'll admit, our household was in a rut. We turned to the same shows day after day -- The Five, then Special Report. Sometimes I would have Greta talking in the background while I read. O'Reilly? It depended on my tolerance for bombasticism on a given day. I work an early shift, so I rarely have the chance to watch Megyn. And that dumbbell who follows her? Nah. I'd hear him sometimes on my drive home from work, if the other talk radio channel had gone to commercial. I think he has a sheet of talking points that he has carried in his wallet since 2009, and he's still repeating them seven years later; only now with an extra-added dash of Trump-love.
Fox News has gone insane.
It's hard to be a conservative...at least a rational one. What are our TV news options? Yep, only one, and that one has betrayed us. It's like the Bizzaro Jerry episode of Seinfeld, in which life as we know it has been turned on its head. Maybe the whole world has gone insane and there are only a few of us left who realize it. Or maybe we are the insane ones.
Unlike Peggy Noonan, who flouts her "regular-folk" friends -- you know, the cab drivers and bodega clerks she crosses paths with, I do actually know one or so people who are Trump fans. They're normally lucid thinkers, people I admire and feel a kinship with. I admit, now I'm looking at them askance. Sort of like that thing you spot on the sidewalk in the dark when you're walking your dog, and you aren't quite sure. Is it a tree branch or a claw-tooth alien mutant that wants you to think it's a tree branch? I admit, it's caused me to semi-question my taste in friends.
I want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them. "Don't you see what a brain-dead dolt he is?" I want to scream, to snap them out of it.
"Well, he's anti-establishment," they'd say.
Okay, so was Charles Manson, if we want to get nitpicky about it. Why don't you run him for president?
I don't want to ascribe any ulterior motives to the folks on Fox, but either they're in the tank for Trump because they want favors/jobs/reflected fame/a handout, or they truly are dolts.
You know who they are. Some I suspected all along weren't rocket scientists; some have enough money (e.g., Bill O'Reilly from "co-writing" books and Greta from her Scientology e-metering or whatever the hell those people do), so I haven't quite figured out their motives. Some perhaps are simply band-wagoneers. Regardless, they have a duty to the people who tune in and who buy William DeVane's gold and HurryCanes™, and who thus pay their salaries, to not be sycophants.
Therefore, we've deleted The Five from our DVR queue. We watch Bret Baier a couple of nights a week. O'Reilly is gone. We'd rather turn to an episode of "Air Disasters" than watch Greta's show.
So, what has Trump done for me? He's freed up a few hours of my time. I like to read. I have a bunch of books downloaded to my Kindle; more than enough to last me for the next four or so years of the Clinton II administration.
I do think the fallout, though, will be interesting. I may even have to re-tune in to Fox just to watch. But saying, "I told you so" is going to cut like bile in my throat.
I have nothing more to say. It's done. Accept the things I cannot change, I say.
This song serves to lull me into a barely conscious state, which is where I need to be.
(And thanks, my home state of North Dakota -- you traitor -- for putting The Donald over the top. Like I'm ever going to live that down.)
I had fully intended to write Marco Rubio's name on my ballot, but then Marco went and gave his blessing to DT, so now I don't know what to do. Stay home? That would feel like cheating. Sit back and enjoy the show? Well, "enjoy" doesn't exactly describe my reaction when I see our nominee on television.
I guess I hope he wins. The alternative is dreadful. I just don't know if I can contribute to that win. I wasn't this torn, not even in 1992. I think I voted for GHW Bush, but I honestly can't remember. I have a sinking feeling that I didn't. I may have inadvertently set us down the path of Clintons. I want to consider myself pure -- I do know that I voted for Gerald Ford in 1976 (a losing battle I knew, even at the time) and I most definitely voted for Ronald Reagan both times. I'm certain I voted for Bush, Senior the first time. Bush, Junior got my vote twice. Hell, I voted for both McCain and Romney. But that one time...
So, in essence, it's all my fault. If Hillary wins, it's because of my maverick toe-dip into the murky swamp of Clintonism.
Maybe I should vote for Trump, if only to cleanse myself of sin.
A recent CBS exit poll revealed the top concerns of 2016 voters. They are:
1: Jobs
2: The Economy
3: Government Spending
4: Income Inequality (Democrats)
5: Terrorism
6,789: Gender-Neutral Restrooms
President Obama has 250 days left in office. His goal is to come up with something new every day. Thus, this.
I can't help but think that the president is messing with us. When did gender-neutral bathrooms become a thing?
I didn't expect to be writing about bathroom habits, but here I am. I didn't start this.
I'm no philosopher; no great thinker. What I am, though, is practical. So let's talk about bathrooms. There's an old adage that men are messier than women. False! At my workplace, one of the most common topics of discourse among my cohorts is the sad, foul state of the women's restroom. And the general consensus is that (some) women are pigs. I'm not going to repeat our complaints here, but use your imagination.
On the other hand, I've had occasion to visit a men's restroom. Okay, long story short...I was helping a co-worker get made up for his surprise appearance as President Clinton. (I used to actually work in a fun office.) The room was pristine! I half expected an attendant to be standing at the door handing out hot towels. I gazed around the tiled space in awe. Does anybody use this room?
So, you gals who now think it's going to be a fun romp to patronize the ladies room, well, welcome to my life.
And here's another thing about women: we scare easily. I imagine that men, when they hear a strange noise at five a.m. while walking their dog through the pitch-black neighborhood mentally tie on their scientist hat and reason out the cause of the eerie creaking sound. Women? We stop, listen for the clip of footsteps somewhere behind us, just far enough behind so we won't see them; we turn around, pull up on the leash as if our tiny French ragamuffin will somehow morph into a pit bull and give her life savagely defending ours. Our eyes strain the darkness for the nearest safe haven. The bus stop? No, that's just where he wants us to go! There we'll be trapped inside a plexiglass fingerprint-smudged sarcophagus! Can we make a run for our front door? No, Sweetie Pie has to stop to sniff a blade of grass! Eventually we tell ourselves to be reasonable. We force our breath to slow. Then we notice the lump of crackled leaves butting against one another, stirred by the early morning breeze, on the corner. Nevertheless, we're still on guard! The leaves could be a subterfuge.
When I take my morning walk during my Federally-mandated work break, which may or may not happen because laws are, after all, malleable, when I reach the walking trail, if I sense someone behind me, I'm not going down that trail. I will stop, pretend to do something like tie my shoe, wait for the guy to pass by - waaay by, so I can keep my eye on him, and then, if he looks semi-okay, I'll continue down the path...behind him. Women are cautious, and frankly, we need to be. Maybe a bit paranoid at times, but it's better to be safe...
What I'm getting at is, if I exit the bathroom stall and encounter a transgender male primping at the sink (and trust me, we know) it'll scare me. Sorry. But it will. I'm not going to scream (that only actually happens in horror flicks), but my fight-or-flight instinct will tense my muscles and probably cause me to (nonchalantly) hug the wall on my way toward the exit door. It's nothing personal and nothing that can be controlled.
And then I will march down to HR. See, I think I still have rights, too. And I've heard that if one uses the phrase, "I don't feel safe", that trumps your right to go potty in my space.
Trust me, fellas/gals, you really will prefer the men's room. Really. I've seen it; I know. And then life can be pretty dandy for both of us. And you, unlike me, won't have horror tales of unspeakable bathroom atrocities to email your coworkers about.
I used to think presidents were smarter than me. That's kind of what you want in a president -- to not be a dunce. Pretty much every man who's run for president up 'til now has seemed intelligent (well, maybe not Dukakis), and win or lose, they could still beat me in a civics quiz (although I'm no slouch; just sayin'.).
My husband said that Donald Trump is the loud guy in the bar, after you've had about six or seven beers, who suddenly makes total sense. You're mesmerized by the guy, 'til you wake up the next morning with your head clanging, and you hope to God you didn't embarrass yourself the night before swooning over the "nuclear scientist" who turned out to be a skid row bum.
Now we're all supposed to "get behind" our presumptive nominee. Why? And who said so? If it was Sean Hannity who said that, well, I knew Hannity was a buffoon long before Trump tossed his hair hat into the ring.
I'm keeping score -- fair warning -- of those conservatives who've flushed their principles down the toilet. Conservatives like free markets? Okie doke. I'm no longer, thence, buying what you've got for sale -- your books, your sponsors' wares, your click-bait websites. Enjoy the fruits of your celebrity pandering!
And speaking of Fox (oh, was I?), in our home, the cord is unraveling. We've begun cutting the fat. It's a delicate process. Shoot, we gotta hold on to Bob Massi The Property Man (ha, just kidding! How cheap-ass is Fox to run that snoozefest on the weekends, just so they can pinch a few more nickels?) But seriously, we've given up on The Five (thanks, Eric Bolling!); The Factor was always hit or miss, but now that O'Reilly has announced that nothing like this has ever happened in his lifetime!, bye bye Bill. So, we're down to Bret Baier. It's rather freeing. (Oh, and Fox, we're not in the market for gold or My Pillows. I hope William Devane understands. The pillows we might have considered, but with the, you know, betrayal of your conservative viewers and all...) Fox took us for granted. We were marooned; a teeny island of sanity in a world turned haywire, and Fox docked its boat on the shoal. Now we've discovered we'd rather munch on palm fronds than devour what Fox is ladling.
My home and hearth now is National Review, The Weekly Standard, and Twitter. The first two say things in a way that is smart like a presidential candidate should be smart. Twitter is where I can bathe in the warm light of those like me who are not insane.
As a postscript to those who insist that a no-vote for Trump is a vote for Hillary, it's time to stagger home. One thing the Obama administration hasn't decreed quite yet is who one can vote for, or whether one votes at all. The orange-haired dude in the bar probably told you otherwise, but, trust me, I can vote for whoever I damn well please. Know that extra spot on the ballot where one can write in somebody's name? Oh, that's right -- I guess you've never voted before -- but it's there. I can write in the name of a true conservative and otherwise vote down-ballot for likewise true conservatives.
So, here we are. When Trump announced his candidacy for president almost a year ago, I viewed it with mild interest, like one of those touristy places -- you know, the cabin with the tilted floor and the tour guide saying, "Isn't this amazing? Isn't it awesome?" And me, standing there rolling my eyes, checking my watch. "Yea. That's great," I mutter.
I thought DT was a buffoon, an egotistical, incoherent airhead.
I remember watching The Five that day and seeing Eric Bolling convulse in hysteria, while Dana Perino came close to swatting Bolling on his carefully-coiffed noggin.
PROGRESS UPDATE: Bolling is still suffering from the vapours.
Now here it is, eleven months later. and guess who's winning. Yep, the egotistical, incoherent buffoon. I can sort of understand it, if I squeeze my eyes closed real hard. I get that people are pissed off. Shoot, I'm pissed off. Don't forget what brought us to this moment: a guy who, for the past eight years, has told us the USA sucks. "We're better than that", he mouths every time something happens that is outside our control, or is simply a figment of his imagination. Today we're harassing Muslims. Yesterday we shot up a convenience store. I'm sick of being reprimanded for stuff I haven't done, or would never in my darkest nightmare even consider doing. Awful things happen, but those awful things aren't my doing. And, by the way, and I'm speaking to everybody who dribbles words in front of a TV camera, white privilege may be your sin, but I'm still waiting to witness some of that privilege in my own meager life.
So, yes, things are bad. Lousy. I've lived through some foul times, but these are among the stenchiest. Maybe, though, I'm old enough to understand that one doesn't trade a Ford Pinto for an AMC Pacer. Because they're both bound to blow up on you. I would love to be idealistic, like the Bernie boosters and the Donald delusives. Except I've stumbled through the real world long enough to know that promises are barren. One can say anything. I can say I'm going to bestow wings on my tiny Bichon Frise, toss her out my second story window and watch her fly. But boasts like that are dangerous, not only to my psyche but to my poor little Josie (who, believe me, I would never toss out a window). You can say you're going to do anything. Unfortunately, that doesn't make me believe you. In fact, your saying it makes me doubt you even more, especially since you've done absolutely nothing tangible to back it up.
In 2008 Barack Obama was the shaman. He was whatever anyone wanted him to be. I thought conservatives were too smart for all that. But here they are, conjuring a god out of a leprechaun.
I can't discard forty years of principle for a fraud. I would hate myself in the morning. I also can't break the chain of forty years of voting for president, because continuity has to mean something. Therefore, my little mind is turning over the idea of writing someone in. I've heard of people doing that in the past, but I thought they were just kooks. I guess now I'm the kook.
The Ohio governor dithered around for far too long before deciding that yes, he in fact would like to run for president! And now he wants to whine that nobody is taking him seriously. Well, Johnny, that ship has pretty much sailed! Too bad you were delinquently slow on the trigger. You're thinking you're going to be a spoiler? Why? If we want a spoiler, we can come up with tens of names we'd pick to spoil before we'd ever get to yours! I have no doubt that you've done a good job in your home state, but frankly, you're kind of Hillary-lite -- no offense. And you're creepily happy. Do we really want a happy guy as president? A guy who thinks every heavy black cloud is just waiting for the sun to poke through? ISIS loves guys like you -- in fact, they'd like nothing more than to train their gun sites at your happy, goofy noggin.
Somebody somewhere, somebody way more clever than me, described you as a "groovy youth minister". Perfect.
To whit, I have developed your essential songlist. Please enjoy it while you're beating the stumps in Pennsylvania or...some other state in the vicinity of Pennsylvania, and crossing your fingers and perhaps your eyes in the delusional fantasy that the GOP delegates are going to pick you, after all, to carry the torch of the man you cite endlessly, Ronald Reagan. No doubt hoping that a little bit of The Gipper's DNA perhaps touched your sleeve once, and you are therefore be-gold knighted.
Okay, granted, Kasich has so far garnered the best songs (give or take). But that's no excuse. No excuse for him staying in the race. I'll admit, Ted Cruz's songs are going to be a struggle for me, but man is not defined only by 1960's classics and seventies schlock.
And he's too damned happy. What does he have to be happy about? Buck up, man! And throw your delegates (such as they are) to Cruz! Lord knows, he needs every delegate tick he can get to beat...well, you know who.
And I'm not throwing in The Turtles, because Kasich's incessant happiness is making me queasy.
Be grateful, though, John, that I at least gave you some Summer of Love cred.
I've heard Our Savior is slipping a bit. Lyin' Don has stepped in it a few too many times of late. Not that he hadn't stepped in it before, but heretofore some people thought he was, beneath the piggishness and bombast, intelligent. That mirror has begun to crack. They say politics is like the entertainment field; all personality. The difference is that politicians are expected to answer questions somewhat more difficult than "who are you wearing?". Who knows what those nasty, pen-wielding reporters are going to ask? (And they "could have a bomb inside that pen", you know.) Today they may ask about foreign affairs, tomorrow abortion. Who has time for all that deep thought? Drudge's latest poll has just been published! If one stops to consider DT's pronouncements, they boil down to, "Build The Wall! Deals! Make America Great Again! I'm Rich! It'll Be Huge!" People who support him, I guess, read more into these slogans than are actually there. We've seen it before: Obama Derangement Syndrome. Folks made Obama into whatever they wanted him to be. That's okay, but blind trust leads to results like...well, Obama.
What baffles me is, people I used to regard as "smart" have hitched their wagons to The Don. Oh, there are some dumb ones, too, but I give the dumb ones more of a pass. They're gullible, they like fame, they enjoy coattail riding; pick whichever trait applies. This morning as I switched on Fox News for a brief moment, I caught Eric Bolling pointing his finger at the camera and proclaiming, "RNC, I'm watching you!" It gave me shivers...of derision. Eric, it seems, is convinced there is some conspiracy among the RNC poo-bahs to "change the rules" and deny his idol the nomination that is so rightfully his. This conspiracy nut is almost as deluded as someone waltzing around asserting that Barack Obama was born in Kenya. I would like Fox to develop a talk show featuring Eric, Laura Ingraham, Ann Coulter, Newt Gingrich, and Sean Hannity. Call it "The Five Idiots". They could sit around a table and discuss how "neat" Donald Trump is. I'll be sure not to DVR it.
And now, as the winds of lucidity start to billow and wreath the primary voters, DT's invincibility is becoming...vincible. Was it his comment about the hundred-pound reporter with a pen bomb? Was it his, "yes...no...well, they edited the tape" abortion response? Maybe his "my wife is hotter than your wife" tweet? Perhaps his overall cluelessness?
I once purchased a book by Laura Ingraham. A couple of years ago, I laid down money for one of Ann Coulter's screeds. I once said, out loud, "Gingrich is really smart". No more.
I watch The Five because I think Greg Gutfeld is intelligent and funny -- a ripe combination. Dana Perino knows her stuff; she studies. Shoot, even Juan Williams has grown on me. Kimberly Guilfoyle has one spiked heel dug into the world of politics, the other planted in the bee's nest of celebrity. I once found Eric Bolling to be a genial buffoon. Now he's just a buffoon. Hannity? He's always been a cliche slinger, so no thanks.
Whether I buy another book by any of the aforementioned people or watch their broadcasts is a tiny teardrop in a bucket to them, but buckets eventually fill.
There's been a lot of hand wringing over a so-called brokered GOP convention in July. It seems that none of the remaining candidates will have the necessary 1,237 delegates required to secure the nomination. That's because the three "leftover" contenders are either stiffs or nuts. Funny how that whole thing worked out, isn't it? When we started the process we had so many talented people running, plus, of course, the usual delusional folks who someone, possibly God, told that they would one day occupy the Oval Office. Then, one by one, essentially all of them went crazy. Even the really good ones. Of course, who wouldn't go crazy with a fat orange-ish red mosquito buzzing in their face?
So now we're faced with the prospect of a...gasp! contested convention. I say, go for it! Go for brokered! Why not inject a little fun and excitement into a process that has been, for approximately twenty-five years, nothing more than a drunken table dance for the states' "delegates"?
You know we're going to lose the election, right? Shoot, I may not even vote, which will kill my record, but I might be, well, too tired when I get off work. It all depends on how my day goes. And the weather could turn cold. I can't plan these things.
I say, therefore, let's have some fun! Every delegate who's sober...or drunk...doesn't matter...would be allowed to scribble a name on a piece of paper and deposit it into one of those straw boaters they're so fond of donning. The legible scribbles would be tallied and ka-boom! We've got our nominee! Think of the suspense! Even I would stay up past eight o'clock to learn the outcome of that contest. Who will it be?
"Oh, sorry, Matilda. The Gipper is no longer with us. Yes, you're right; even dead, he'd still be better than..."
"Really, Gus? Your neighbor's gerbil, Fluffy? You do know, I assume, that we already have a fat gerbil runn..."
"A Kit-Kat bar? I really don't think he...she...would be able to fulfill the..."
Queue up the microwave popcorn! This would be even more fascinating than my local weather radar channel with the computer-generated woman who talks with a Norwegian accent ("Clow-OO-dy")
You know me (okay, maybe you don't, but you can catch the "beauty" of me here). My niche is writing about music, because I've been around long enough to know most of it. I've been rather lax in the "writing about music" arena lately, mostly because my thoughts have been elsewhere. Although today, my husband mentioned he might like to record a cover song, and he was thinking of "California Dreamin'". I said, well, you'd have to do the background vocals, too. You know, "All the leaves are brown -- leaves are brown". I don't know why that struck me as funny. The original recording is beautiful, but I guess when thinking about recreating it, it seems kind of lame. And then I thought about Michelle Phillips and how I'm pretty sure they shut off her mic anytime the group did a live performance, because she was essentially the eye candy; much like Mrs. Trump. (See how I brought this whole meander full circle?)
But why can't I meld my two interests into one big fat ball of red-like hair? I think I can!
So, in my first installment of Music of the Candidates, I'd like to focus on Donald Trump. There are many many huge songs that well befit the GOP front runner, and it was difficult to narrow my choices, but these I like:
And lest we forget:
There, in a nutshell, a music video nutshell, is the essence of Mr. Trump-ett.
TRUMP SUPPORTER: "At this point in 1980, Ronald Reagan was trailing Carter by thirty points."
ME: "Yes, but Ronald Reagan wasn't a pig."
I've had to stop reading the comment sections of various online political sites. I always looked forward to reading the comments, because it told me what people were thinking. I could gauge the mood of the country, shall we say. But now, for every thoughtful opinion, some yahoo has to chime in with a personal attack on someone's wife or some imbecilic double entendre regarding the size of a candidate's hands or other body part.
Gauge the mood of the country? Well, it appears the country is in the mood to hate and it no longer cares who knows it. Trump didn't create the Trumpets; he simply gave them permission to let it all hang out. Trump is "one of their own"; "my kind of guy".
Here are some things that I imagine most people, like me, are concerned about: making a decent living for their family, not being thrown out with the trash at age 65 because they are suddenly homeless due to draining their 401K's just to make it day to day; not getting blown up on the rare occasions when they have enough pocket change to visit the mall. Stuff like that.
Here is what Donald Trump is concerned about:
"Look at my hands. They're fine...My hands are normal hands. During a debate, he was losing, and he said, "Oh, he has small hands and therefore, you know what that means...and what happened is I was on line shaking hands with supporters, and one of (sic) supporters got up and he said, 'Mr. Trump, you have strong hands. You have good-sized hands'...My hands are normal. Slightly large, actually. In fact, I buy a slightly smaller than large glove, okay." Source
So glad we cleared that up! Mind if I use those lines, Donald, when my boss presents me with my yearly three per cent "merit" raise, and I need to ask for more money? That'll wow 'em.
Ronald Reagan campaign speech, September 1, 1980:
Through this “Golden
Door,” under the gaze of that “Mother of Exiles,” have come millions of men and
women, who first stepped foot on American soil right there, on Ellis Island, so close to the Statue of Liberty.
These families came here
to work.They came to build. Others came
to America in different ways, from other lands, under different, often
harrowing conditions, but this place symbolizes what they all managed to build,
no matter where they came from or how they came or how much they suffered.
They helped to build
that magnificent city across the river.They spread across the land building other cities and towns and
incredibly productive farms.
They came to make America work.They didn’t ask what this country could do for them but what they could
do to make this refuge the greatest home of freedom in history.
They brought with them
courage, ambition and the values of family, neighborhood, work, peace and
freedom. They came from different lands but they shared the same values, the
same dream.
Today a President of the
United
States
would have us believe that dream is over or at least in need of change.
Jimmy Carter’s
Administration tells us that the descendants of those who sacrificed to start
again in this land of freedom may have to abandon the dream that drew their
ancestors to a new life in a new land.
The Carter record is a
litany of despair, of broken promises, of sacred trusts abandoned and
forgotten.
Eight
million out of work.Inflation running at 18
percent in the first quarter of 1980.Black unemployment at about 14 percent, higher than any single year
since the government began keeping separate statistics.Four straight major deficits run up by Carter
and his friends in Congress.The highest interest rates since the Civil War--reaching at times
close to 20 percent--lately down to more than 11 percent but now going up
again--productivity falling for six straight quarters among the most productive
people in history.
Let it show on the
record that when the American people cried out for economic help, Jimmy Carter
took refuge behind a dictionary.Well if
it’s a definition he wants, I’ll give him one.A recession is when your neighbor loses his job.A depression is when you lose yours.Recovery is when Jimmy Carter loses his.
I have talked with
unemployed workers all across this country.I have heard their views on what Jimmy Carter has done to them and their
families.
They aren’t interested
in semantic quibbles.They are out of
work and they know who put them out of work. And they know the difference
between a recession and a depression.
Let Mr. Carter go to
their homes, look their children in the eye and argue with them that in is
“only” a recession that put dad or mom out of work.
Let him go to the
unemployment lines and lecture those workers who have been betrayed on what is
the proper definition for their widespread economic misery.
Human tragedy, human
misery, the crushing of the human spirit.They do not need defining--they need action.
And it is action, in the
form of jobs, lower taxes, and an expanded economy that -- as President -- I
intend to provide.
Every time I see him. It's hard for me to turn down money because that's
what I've done in my whole life, I grab and grab and grab. You know I
get greedy I want money, money. I'll tell you what we're going to do,
right? We get greedy right? Now we're going to get greedy for the United
States we're going to grab and grab and grab. We're going to bring in
so much money and so much everything. We're going to make America great
again, folks, I'm telling you folks we're going to make America great
again.
So this was very exciting tonight. But I'll tell you it looks like we
won by a lot evangelicals. … It's been amazing, the relationship. So we
won the evangelicals. We won with young. We won with old. We won with
highly educated. We won with poorly educated. I love the poorly
educated.
Source Sorry, what was that about Reagan and Trump again? I mean, c'mon! Twins separated by birth! It's almost like:
And while we're rooting around in the mud -- and you know me -- I'm no Cruz fan; but as far as I can tell, the Cruz campaign had no part in the Facebook posting of Trump's wife's photo -- you know, the one she gladly posed for, naked, in GQ, when it was financially and I guess, professionally, advantageous to do so. I am perplexed as to why, now, Trump and the Trumpets are mad about it. And why Trump would threaten to "spill the beans" about Mrs. Cruz's depression. Ever been depressed? It's pretty life-shattering. Oh, I suppose not as life-shattering as having a nude photo appear years later when your husband has, on a lark, decided to run for president, but it's not as if some pervert was snapping pictures through the bedroom window. You posed for it!
And don't even get me started on the lackey apologists. The political squawkers have lost sight of not only their principles, but their skinny thread of morality. On Bret's expanded panel last night, when this topic naturally arose, I listened to George Will and I listened to A.B. Stoddard and I listened to Charles Krauthammer; and I said to my husband, just wait 'til they get to Laura Ingraham.
She did not disappoint.
"Immigration!" she yelped. "Trade!"
Disgusting. There was a moment not so long ago when I almost felt sympathy for DT (not the DT's, but I guess one could be driven to that). It was when the Chicago squirrels decided they'd make a name for themselves by protesting...something...they weren't sure what...and trying to provoke on-camera mayhem. I felt bad for approximately a day. But then I got a load of DT's supporters itching to punch someone and a couple of them actually giving in to their bitter impulses. Winning! Their moms must be so proud! Yea, hate. Hate is what I'm seeing, from my "establishment" vantage point. I wonder how these people function in their everyday lives. Sure, every day when I go to work, there are at least two or three people I'd love to punch, but decorum (and financial necessity) dictates that I act like a civilized human. And I don't exactly want to live in a world of hate. I'd actually like to feel some joy.
We had so much going for us as conservatives -- so much promise. We had a sure winner -- I won't belabor the point; it's far too late now, but we did. We had one. Sadly, much like me, I guess, he was too "establishment". Too competent. We don't want competence, dammit! Competence is for losers! And liars. Lyin' liars! We want somebody who's as coarse as our most debased instincts. Yea! Damn straight! That'll teach 'em!
I've voted in presidential elections for forty years. Yes, forty. I held my nose and voted for Gerald Ford in 1976, which really dampened my enthusiasm for finally reaching that magic age -- when I was legally able to cast a ballot. Still, I felt good about performing my civic duty and having the gumption to get out there and wait in line, even though I was eight and seven eighth's months pregnant.
There's no telling why I fell in love with the political process. Let's just blame TV. When I was barely a teenager, I watched the party conventions on my tiny black and white, and it was my sport; my Academy Awards. I remember seeing Everett Dirksen -- remember him? I was fascinated by his voice. It was low and it resonated in one's chest, like thunder clouds grumbling in the sundown sky. I didn't even know what party he belonged to; I watched both parties' conventions and didn't care, because at thirteen, I wasn't (yet) partisan. I just loved the spectacle.
As I grew older, I came to understand that conventions had a predictable flow. A bunch of party people came on stage and slathered the nominee with syrupy, patriotic praise; delegates in their straw bowlers hoisting tall signs in the air with the name of their state excitedly announced that "North Dakota casts it's thirty-one votes for the NEXT PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, Richard M. Nixon!!!" Hoo-RAH!! And Oregon was giddy, knowing their votes were going to put the nominee over the top! Cue the fluttering noisemakers and confetti!
Of course, as time went on, we became so much more demure in our celebratory demonstrations. Because we were mature; serious. This was no time for frolicking. And frankly, some of the duds we've had in the Republican party didn't spur us to party like it was nineteen seventy-nine. Ford? Not a real rollickin' dude. Bob Dole? I loved the guy, but he was more ironic; not exactly in it to win it, but he showed up and gave it his all. Reagan? Well, that was a once in a lifetime phenomenon. That was a reason to party.
Not that the Democrats fared any better. In fact, I had to search my brain for some of their most lose-a-licious losers. Well, there was Michael Dukakis. Who, exactly, thought he'd make a winning contender? How about John Kerry? Remember how his grotesquely rich wife asserted that everyone called her "Mama", on camera, with all her paid minions kneeling at her feet? It was like one of those cringingly unfunny Saturday Night Live sketches.
By 2012 we had the spectacle of (traitor) Chris Christie extolling his own virtues, while ostensibly placing Mitt Romney's name into consideration. The best part of that whole convention was Clint Eastwood and The Chair. Surreal, but I, unlike many, loved it.
And now? Now I don't know what's going on. My forty years of surety have evaporated in a POOF! Now we're going to have some guy with a weirdly flip of flaxen hair standing up there, extolling the results of Matt Drudge's latest online poll; voicing his distaste for blonde Fox commentators who aren't named Greta; talking about "lyin' liars"; while we stand perspiring in the auditorium and glance at one another nervously, unsure where the applause line is supposed to come in. Nodding to our compadre from Terre Haute, Indiana; reassuring her that we haven't actually just elected the next president of the United States, Hillary Con Man Clinton.
So, you tell me...what exactly is going on here? Because I am flummoxed. The world as I knew it has flipped on its head, and I don't much like it.
As of tonight, it looks like Ted Cruz is pulling something off, which I don't get, but hey! He's winning. I guess if he's smart (which everyone tries to tell me he is) and if he is actually able to wrestle the nomination away from Dunderhead, he would choose Marco Rubio as his running mate. Then I could get on board.
I said before that I would never support Ted Cruz. Okay, I will. But he can't win. Because he comes across as a stiff. I mean, look at him. He's the tattle tale in junior high, hiding behind the lockers, waiting for you to diss the biology teacher so he can run back to the classroom and convince Mr. Johnson to etch a red demerit next to your name. In his senior yearbook, Ted Cruz was not voted "most popular".
But at least he's a conservative. A conservative who nobody likes, but okay. If he was president, I suppose plenty of people on Capitol Hill would suddenly "like" him.
I'm giving Ted the benefit of the doubt.
Just don't hate me if I choose to watch him with the sound off.
1: something established: as a: a settled arrangement; especially: a code of laws b:
2: an established order of society: as aoften capitalized: a group of social, economic, and political leaders who form a ruling class (as of a nation) boften capitalized: a controlling group <the literary establishment>
3a: the act of establishingb: the state of being established
I'm sick of being called "the establishment".
Let me give you a primer of my life right now: I have no money. My husband was forced to take early retirement from his job four and a half years ago, and we are living on my salary plus the remnants of my retirement plan, which was supposed to cushion us in our old age. We have eight more months to go before he can start receiving his (age 62, meaning "reduced") Social Security benefits. We pray that our car won't die before then. When one of my children has a birthday, I have to mentally calculate how much I am able to spend on a gift card to tuck inside their Hallmark greeting. I am not "in love" with my job, but I know I need to cling to it for another four years, and my mental faculties are struggling to keep up with those forty-year-olds I work with; not to mention the twenty-year-olds.
So, it stings when someone calls me "the establishment".
I am not a political leader. Nor am I (obviously) an economic leader or one of the "ruling class". I'm just a conservative. Yep, one of those die-hards. I stood in line at the elementary school when I was eight point seven-eighths months pregnant with my first child, so I could mark my ballot for Gerald Ford. Gerald Ford! I wasn't exactly enamored with the guy, but even then I understood that a crappy old Ford was better than a duplicitous peanut farmer. So don't look down on me when you have no bona fides -- when you never even voted in a presidential election before; before some smarmy used car salesman got your juices flowing and you have decided, for once, to hoist yourself off the couch and saunter down to your local polling place (after you looked it up online because you'd, duh, never been there before).
Stop insulting me.
Jonah Goldberg, on Special Report the other night, commented that there is plenty of blame to go around for the rise of Trump -- too much blame to delineate. But I'll do it:
Media.
My distaste for Fox has risen like bitter vile in my throat. I get that Fox News is our only option, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I would love to watch a program created solely for people who "think". That would be refreshing! Instead, I am subjected to the following folks who, despite their penthouse lifestyles, are simply dumb-asses who bathe in the glow of He Of Gilded Wealth and who will sell their conservative souls for a chance to be smited by his golden scepter:
Sean Hannity
Greta Van Susteren
Eric Bolling
Unnamed Fill-In Females With Short Skirts and Anesthetized Brains
But they're not the only ones. Here are some people I used to respect:
Rush Limabaugh
Laura Ingraham
Ann Coulter
Breitbart News
What happened? You sold out your principles for what? Because you're pissed? Like I'm not?
The percentage of Republicans who view electability as their most important criteria is seventeen per cent. Seventeen! Look, dumb-asses: if your guy doesn't win, you can bitch and moan all you want and it doesn't amount to a steaming pile of BS. Maybe you can feel all sanctimonious in voting for some guy who has not one clue how the world works, but hey! He did host The Apprentice! And what we see on network TV has gotta be real! And you can bow before the Criminal In Chief, Hillary Clinton.
