The Presidential Candidates As Co-Workers

It was a typical Monday, my boss expecting yet another half-assed project to be completed by the time she arrived at the office. Dwelling in the cubicle world, comfortable in the same chair I'd parked my butt in for fifteen years, I still needed some uninterrupted time to stare at my computer screen and figure out how to add extra lines to an Excel spreadsheet that some unnamed company drone had created; how to bullshit my way through the latest morass without letting on that I had absolutely no worldly clue what I was doing or why anyone'd even hired me in the first place.

The last thing I needed at this particular moment was a co-worker resting his arm on the overhang of my pseudo-office door because he was bored and wanted someone to brighten up his day.

But, alas, there was Ted.

"You KNOW," said Ted, "the SANDWICHES in the VENDING machine are WHOLLY unacceptable."

I'd grown used to Ted's hyperbole after all these years,, but his emphasis on EVERY other WORD still jangled my nerves.

"Hey, Ted, how're you doin'?" I ask, ruffling through the pages of copy I'd spit out of the printer; squinting to decipher actual numbers out of the teeny-tiny typeface.

"I have a TEN POINT plan to FIX the SANDWICHES in the vending machine," Ted punctured the stale Monday, air-condition-deprived oxygen with his jabbed finger. 

"I don't really ever buy any --" I start to say.

"You can read about it on my personal WEBSITE. Some people have tried to DISTORT what I've said about vending machine SANDWICHES, but if you go to my WEBSITE, I lay it out very SUCCINCTLY. I am, and have ALWAYS been, opposed to pre-form SANDWICHES."

"Good for you, Ted!" I say, trying to muster enough fake enthusiasm to make him go away. I decide if I just stop responding to him, he'll grow bored and go bother Tanya on the other side of the wall. It works. Absent an enraptured audience, Ted toddles off, still mumbling and SHOUTING random words, down the narrow corridor.

"You know..."

Great.

Donald is here.

"Is it seven o'clock already, Donald?" I smile, hoping my expression looks friendly and not panic-stricken.

"I've been thinking about the sandwiches in the vending machine," Donald says, waving his hand like he's swatting away a gypsy moth . "They look foreign to me. I think we have to nuke 'em."

"You mean, 'nuke them', like in the microwave?" I ask.

"No, I mean BAN them. They're a danger to us. I have the polls to prove it. They're not only low-energy, but they're missing the stamina."

"Stamina? In a sandwich?" I hate myself for asking, as the hands on the clock sweep precipitously toward the witching hour, when my boss will flip on her office light and expect me to perch in her doorway with the latest statistics on something I don't even know what the hell I'm supposed to be analyzing.

Luckily, or unluckily, Jeb (!) appears.

"Donald, you've been fooling people with your pronouncements on sandwich-making for far too long," Jeb says, flicking Donald's elbow off my cubicle perch. "I've been spreading mustard on the sandwiches of the people of Florida for years. An amateur like you doesn't know how to spread the mustard right. People want their mustard smeared by a professional."

"I don't think it takes a mastermind to smear --", I start to say, but the two of them ignore me and begin jostling each other, and I peer around my high wall, hoping somebody will show up for work soon, because I'm just a girl and I am NOT getting in between two old guys who want to beat each other up over French's.

"Guys...guys!"

Oh good, John's here.

"Is this any way to settle an argument?" John pleads. "Think about the people around you. They don't want to hear some silly squabble about vending machine sandwiches! I asked my daughters and they were appalled! My oldest said to me, 'Dad, this is what I don't like about sandwiches. There's no consensus. Why can't we just do bologna? That's what the people want! This is just silly!'"

"I hate to break in," I summon the nerve to blurt, "but I really need to get this report --"

 "Did someone say 'sandwiches'?" a timid voice breaks the impasse. "I've been studying sandwiches with my advisers, and they agree that Obamacare has sullied personal choice...a ham on rye here, a pastrami and muenster there. I say we need to establish SSA's, "Sandwich Savings Accounts", so everyday Americans can CHOOSE which vending machine confection they think is best for their family."

"Shut up, Ben!" Donald yells. "You're at fourteen! Nobody cares anymore what you say. My sandwiches are HUUU-GE!".

"You know," a soft voice wafts in from across the aisle, "When I started out as a secretary, there was no such thing as sandwiches in vending machines. There were candy bars. There was gum."

"There was a point?" Donald asks, waving Carly off.

"I just wanted to get it on the record," Carly says. "And, by the way, I am not afraid of Vladimir Putin."

"Good for you." Donald rolls his eyes, and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to shrug my shoulders in a sign of solidarity to Donald or stand up and pat Carly on the shoulder. I frankly just wish they'd all go away before I miss my deadline and get a stern talking-to.

"Sandwiches. In vending machines?"

Oh yay, Paranoia Rand has shown up. I can't wait to hear his latest conspiracy theory about how the government has planted listening devices inside lettuce leafs.

"How much do we want our elected officials to spike our mayonnaise?" Rand prattles, for the thirteen-thousandth time.

Fine.

I've frankly had it.

"Rand, why don't you pack a lunch bag with a Lean Cuisine, like I do, and if it makes you feel safer, run it under one of those TSA detectors before you haul it into the office?"

Freakin' nutbag.

I catch a glimpse of my boss. She just tromped through the aisle on the way to her office. I can tell she's not happy with the gang of eleven clustered around my cube, and sure enough, I'll get the blame. As if I have any sway over these hangers-on, these power-obsessed lunatics. What exactly, you guys, do you think all this bravado and Velveeta chest-thumping is going to get you? You're still going to be a peon, just like me, and unfortunately, it's my ass on the line, because you all have nothing much to do, but I really need to keep my job, what with my 401-K tanking and the Black Lives Matter people tromping around outside my house, just waiting to catch me in a sarcastic eye-roll, and then pasting me up on YouTube, which for sure will cost me my job in the current World Of Diversity.

A sudden breeze curls the hem of my blouse. Chris is here and he's loaded for bear. He acts like he doesn't even notice all these lunatics hanging on my cubicle wall, except I see the slight shake of his head as he tromps past on his way to his own cube to fire up his PC. Chris, I will tell you, doesn't possess a ton of patience. I sort of like that. Cut to the chase. In the business world, when one is hanging on for dear life, one appreciates a co-worker who narrows it down to the question at hand. On the flipside, I never disturb Chris unless it's vital, because he'll just as soon slice my head off than tolerate a bunch of small-talk. The thing is, if anybody knows anything about sandwiches, it's Chris. He's no doubt sampled them all. Not that I actually care about sandwiches, but all these goofballs have suddenly made me hungry.

Oh, good. Hill has finally shown up. My gaggle of shouters wander off, down the row toward her cubicle to heckle her. None of them like her, I've noticed. In fact, they all seem to delight in ragging on her. I wish my boss would take a cue from them and leave me the hell alone.

Finally. I have some peace. My head is throbbing and the clock is ticking. My boss wants numbers and I'm tempted to simply create some and splash them across the spreadsheet, hoping a completed file will mask my utter befuddlement and dazzle her with my stick-to-tive-ness.

I take a deep breath and a swig of coffee, lean back in my chair and revel in completing yet one more meaningless task, assured that my Friday paycheck will still be forthcoming. I await the coming lunch break, when I can settle my bones and exhale. I packed a Lean Cuisine this morning, and an apple -- my regularly scheduled fake lunch; but suddenly a grinning Marco alights on my cubicle wall, clutching a fast-food bag.

"I stopped at Subway and picked up a ham and cheese with pickles and jalapenos. Thought you might like something new and fresh. Those vending machine sandwiches will kill you," he says.

I smile, despite myself. It's been an exhausting morning. The hangers-on have depleted what little energy I'd willed myself to muster when I'd flashed my card against the electric eye at six a.m.

Someone who gives a damn about me? I don't know if he's running for anything -- maybe for Claims Representative -- but regardless, Marco has my vote.

2016: My Year of Caring

Liberals are always telling me how I need to care more.

I confess, I haven't always been the nurturing earth mother my progressive friends wished me to be. I was distracted by stupid stuff like trying to hold onto my job, endeavoring to find a way to pay my monthly bills without descending into bankruptcy hell, dealing with cardiac issues and remembering to remind my husband to plug in his holter monitor at night. I've been a lout.

In 2016, I'm going to turn over a new leaf.

I've seen the error of my ways, oh yes. It's my own fault for glossing over he pain that engulfs my fellow humans. I've already started by saying five Our Fathers and, to be fair to the feminists, exactly five Hail Mary's. I even threw in a few Glory Be's, because as a lapsed Catholic, the Glory Be's, regardless of their place at the end of the rosary, matter, too.

And, guilt-glutted Catholic that I am, I am sorry for the following sins and all the sins of my past life:

Pooh-poohing the Black Lives Matter movement.

I used to think that everybody's life mattered. I was so wrong. Only black lives matter! That lesson was brought home to me when the BLM folks shuttered off a major thoroughfare in downtown Minneapolis because they were pissed, dammit! So there was an ambulance trying to weave its way through the throng, endeavoring to save a stricken man's life. So what! In the larger scheme of things, who the hell was this guy anyway? Probably some retired rogue cop who'd spent his career hassling innocent poor folk. Or, I guess, he could have been a lowly working man who'd sweated inside a hothouse factory for fifty-odd years, trying to squeeze a couple of dollars out of his weekly paycheck so he could send his son to college, but whatever! You know the white dudes are always keeping the black man down.

Not being sensitive to the LGBLT (I may have the acronym wrong - again, sorry!) community.

Guys who are just "not feeling right" sometimes undergo gender reassignment surgery. Take Bruce Jenner. He's sixty-five; he's fathered a passel of kids. He's been a staple of the reality TV lexicon for a decade. But all these shows were never about him. They didn't focus on the man/woman he was. God-dammit, Bruce deserves his thirteen episodes in the sun! A "regular" person doesn't understand the lure of TV cameras following one's every twitch. A regular person can't afford the heroin that is TV notoriety. I have been inexcusably ignorant and obtuse.

Not understanding that college students are besieged.

Life truly sucks. Especially if you are one of those kids whose dad has mortgaged the family home to send you to an A-list university. You have to contend with all those trigger warnings and micro-aggressions, when you're just trying to (one day) graduate with your liberal arts degree and secure a job with the local franchise of Office Plus.  Guys are raping all over the place, and some dude is calling himself a "master", which, in itself, is devastatingly offensive. And scary! Not that you're Black or Native American or anything, but the connotation in itself is enough to drive you to take a couple weeks off and slither on down to Cabo and drench your sorrows in a couple of highballs of sluice lime and tequila. But spare us, please, the sombreros, unless you want a taste of what my puny-assed fist could potentially ball up into and give you the what-for.

The earth is dying, for God's (if I believed in a god) sake!

This is serious, people! If we don't stop this climate change now -- I mean right now, the island of Monuriki will be engulfed! What will happen to the poor inhabitants of Monuriki? What? Nobody lives there? Still. Never mind that. The polar bears...well, you know...they will....

Like college students, women are under attack!

It's high time to understand that women rule! Where once females were considered the "mothers" of the world (a hideous, provincial notion), women are, in fact, just like men! We might not have actual penises, per se, but for all intents and purposes, we are a glom of testosterone; and if you don't believe us, we'll wave our soon-to-be aborted ultrasounds smack in your face, you neanderthal nineteenth century slave masters!

Just ask our champion-in-chief, Hillary (with a thick arrow pointing straight at the spot where, theoretically, a human heart might rest).


I know I've left out some. 2016 will hence be a learning experience for me. I expect nothing but.  Thus commences my year of caring.

A year of sensitivity.

A year of viewing the world through new, albeit squiggly eyes. 

Meanwhile, don't worry about me. I'll keep suffering stress-induced chest pains, endeavoring to satisfy a boss who I didn't even know was my boss; but as it turns out, he exerts some influence over my paycheck and whether I actually receive one. Praying to be able to retire before an MI kicks me to the curb.

Because, after all, it's all about you.

And I'm sorry.

Let's Get This Straight

I watch Special Report every night -- every single night. I love Charles Krauthammer; I love Steve Hayes; I cringe when Juan starts babbling. I especially enjoy Jonah Goldberg. But none of these guys knows my life. 

I'm about as an established Republican as one can be; yet I get it. I get the fascination with someone like Donald Trump. I get how people can fall in love with him. These guys on the panel don't. They're gentrified. They're living everything life can offer. They forget what it's like to be a peon; a loser; a striver who never grabs the gold. They don't relate to somebody eyeing their checking account balance every week, knowing the piper will soon need to be paid; pushing it out of her mind, trying to fall asleep at night with a heavy weight bearing down on her chest. Praying that God will get her out of this mess.

 

I'm sixty and time and opportunity have abandoned me. I'm somehow supposed to care about college kids who have the means to actually attend college, yet bitch about life's unfairness; about BLM marchers who apparently don't have to get up at 4:15 every morning to get ready for work. About the ozone layer, when my fear is icy roads and smashing into the back end of an SUV in the dark.

The real world is a pain in the ass. In case Bret's panelists need reminding. I'm damn sick of being expected to care about everybody except me and my family. My world view is teeny-tiny. I don't have the luxury of contemplating the universe that exists somewhere far outside my living room window. I wish I did. Life, then, would be so much simpler; nuanced. 

I've been clear that my candidate is Marco Rubio, but I'm not a dolt. I know that Marco is probably the only person running on the GOP side who has an earwhig's worth of chance of defeating that lying, opportunistic semblance of a person named HRC, but his timing is all wrong. 

 

Welcome to my world of bad timing.

 

So Trump says a bunch of outrageous things. So he's not a deep thinker.

 

So what?

 

What do any of us have to lose at this point? At least Trump isn't afraid to air the grievances of people who simply want to chalk up one measly win before they die. 

 

Everyday existence is a column of batter and abuse. 

 

Welcome to the real world.

 

 

 

 

All Hail The Queen

Somebody Has To Say It

(The "Mao Tse Tung")

It hardly ever gets mentioned. Perhaps male broadcasters are afraid of offending women, but let me tell you something about women -- we're hyper-critical. Judgmental. There's a reason for that that men don't understand. We're constantly, pathologically, comparing ourselves to other women. And it doesn't matter if we're "old enough to know better". That insecurity never goes away. 

"I may be fat, but look at her!" 

"I know better than to wear horizontal stripes, for God's sake!" 

"A tent dress doesn't actually make you look thinner, dear."

The really cute girls, the ones who are in tune with the latest fashions -- the thin, young ones -- well, they're just snooty bitches, and we have decided we don't like them. 

I've sometimes fantasized about having enough money to buy a really nice wardrobe. I'm self-conscious about re-wearing the same five outfits to work every week. Are people talking? Snickering at me? (Yes, probably.) But thanks to Hillary, I've learned that all the foreign-donated money in the world can't buy class. Even, let's say, if one is so busy re-running for president that they don't have time to shop, couldn't a super-rich woman hire a personal shopper? Apparently not. 

And have you noticed that Hillary (like me, except rich) re-wears the same outfits, over and over? 

Why?

Here are some of the old standby's. 

(Can't decide between a coat and a "tunic"? Let someone with taste be your guide.)

(What's with all the extra saggy material? What are you hiding? A question that applies to several Clinton circumstances.)

(This necklace. I noticed she likes it so much, she ordered one in every jewel tone available. I particularly like the emerald green one.)

(The "Captain Kangaroo")

One must ask, why? Or -- what? I'm sorry, but this is the worst-dressed rich woman in the history of these United States. That alone should disqualify her from being president. What does that say about her judgment?

This obsession with being viewed as a man is rather psychotic. You know, we know she's actually a female. It comes across as politically calculated and bizarre. She's saying (to me) that a woman isn't good enough to be president unless she presents herself as a man. Contrast it with this:

(Oh, my God! A woman!?!)

Hillary has lots of, well, not friends, but "supporters", who have taste. Hollywood women thrive on their taste. She also has lots of lackeys, by the looks of her email communications. Her lackeys all tell her she looks "fab". The Hollywood types, who'd eviscerate a conservative woman for a fashion faux pas, are silent. Too bad for her, I guess. You can take the woman out of the Ozarks, but you can't take the Ozark out of the woman.

And while we're discussing hard bad choices,  a word about her campaign logo:  It looks like a sign for a hospital emergency room entrance.

Is this really the image Her Royal Clintoness wants to convey?

It seems this woman has no one in her orbit who will say no. No, you look like a ragged hobo wearing that outfit. No, this logo your....kid? bro-in-law? attorney? designed doesn't communicate anything except that if we elect you, we're all going to heave our guts out.

I am loathe to give the "other side" advice. But sometimes things are so awful, one can't bite their tongue any longer. I would actually donate a buck just to not have to see footage of this duck on my TV ever again.

And lord help us if we end up having to endure her, and her gender-bending outfits, for four excruciating years.

 

The "Dumb" Working Class

Donald Trump is not my candidate. I actually liked him on The Apprentice. He seemed serious, sensible, and savvy (the three "S's). Then he decided to run for president and opened his yap. It's not so much his bluster that offends me; it's that I've never been able to discern his "plan", if he has one, which I suspect he doesn't. But trust him, his plan will be huge, and it'll Make America Great Again. I don't have a lot of faith in candidates who bathe themselves in opaqueness. I'm not a Democrat.

But if Donald Trump turns out to be our nominee, I will vote for him. I'm not going to whine and throw a tantrum -- "I'll just stay home then!" Like some conservatives did with Mitt Romney, and in the midst of their sulk, handed the election to The Big O.

Even though I'm not a Trump-ite (I sort of like Trump-et -- I think I will coin that. C'mon, don't steal that from me and make tons of money or I will hunt you down and bitch-slap you, because I am poor and I could really use the bucks! Note to self: Copyright "Trump-et"); even though he's not my guy, (and I fully understand there is a woman running for president on the GOP side. "My guy" is just an idiom. Don't get all micro-aggressive on me!), I defend anybody's right to support him, even if they're just dumb working class people. People I know and like support Trump.

I was reading a letter to the editor in the Wall Street Journal the other day (yes, I actually know how to read) and the guy's remarks dripped with condescension regarding the "dumb" working class people who support Trump. We educated people, I'll have you, don't ascribe to the notion that Donald Trump would encapsulate an ideal candidate for high office. It's simply the dregs of society, the non-educated masses, who continue to prop up this dreadful campaign. Shouldn't there be a financial qualifier for actually being allowed to vote? In the name of Dow Jones, our Creator? Now, Jeeves, go fetch me a dry martini!

Here's the thing: I've had an assortment of jobs in my life. I've been a receptionist, I've been a motel maid, I've been a catalog store clerk, a hospital ward secretary, a medical claims examiner, a manager overseeing one hundred and fifty employees, an educator.  The secret is this: There are assholes in every profession. Some may be highly educated assholes, but nevertheless. "Asshole" is universal.

Don't even begin to tell me how much smarter you are than me. When I was promoted to manager in 1991 against my wishes, because the new project I was assigned to oversee looked to be a total morass and was beneath my abilities; when all the other supervisory staff clucked their tongues in pity at my awful luck, then when I garnered a corner office, tramped past with their noses in the air, envy seeping through their pores; even then I was no smarter than I was when I was punching buttons on a switchboard and sorting mail into little baskets. Nor when I was swishing my hand through a dirty toilet bowl.  In fact, I might have been dumber, because my brain was swelling with spreadsheets and performance reviews and strategic planning.

In 1974, when I was married, if I wanted a home that belonged to me, guess what choice was available. A mobile home! You know -- trailer trash. Funny, I didn't think of myself as "trash"; I just thought I was "poor". I didn't go to college because I had no aspirations to become anything in particular, except a mother. I graduated from high school in 1973. Then, every girl's goal was to get married and start a family. Crazy; quaint in its obsequiousness. Unfortunately, even though I became a mom, those pesky bills still had to be paid, so I settled into an array of part-time jobs. I took what there was. And, strangely, I was proud of every one of them. I wouldn't give any of them back. Every single one of those jobs shaped me in one way or another.

So, I resent the moneyed-class highballs whining that I'm too stupid to be allowed to vote. You know, Ronald Reagan didn't pander to working class people in order to get his name punched on a card. Reagan would be completely comfortable sitting at a mobile home kitchen table, sharing a beer with a guy who'd just torn off his stained deli clerk apron. Reagan wouldn't even notice, much less sneer at, the fake wood paneling that covered the walls. Ronald Reagan wasn't an asshole.

If the working class has elevated Donald Trump as their champion, I'm good. Good to go.  How dumb are they, really? They know how to spot terrorism at least; unlike someone who shall remain nameless, who is supposedly the smartest man in the history of the world.

I'm not abandoning "my guy", but I almost want to become a Trump-et © just to piss off the supercilious blowhards who forget we are the ones who fuel the world.

We're here. Can't silence us. Or kill us.

Alternate Reality

Neither of us could make sense of it.

My husband and I lay in bed and watched the Fox News coverage of whatever the hell it was happening in San Bernardino, California. The reports were sketchy. Somebody said somebody got mad at a Christmas party and left, only to return with AK-47's...and a partner. Dressed in black -- tactical gear.

I've worked with some deranged individuals. I've fretted, worried the other shoe would drop and that I would be the number one target, but this seemed so...thought out. That's not how popped-off employees operate. No, it's all a heightened emotions -- "you son-of-a-bitch, now you'll pay" -- sort of response. It's not, okay, I'll go home, don my bullet-proof vest, gather up my pipe bombs, ring up Jake on the phone and tell him it's "go-time".

My husband said, well, it's a government office; it's probably some militia types. Unfortunately. And we'll get the blame. (We, regardless of the circumstances, always get the blame.)

I kept thinking, what if it's terrorism? But the guy knew these people. Don't terrorists enjoy random killings? Anywhere a large group is gathered? More bang for their buck?

It wasn't until good old Bill O'Reilly had a guest on who blurted out a name, unapproved and unvetted, that I thought, this could be real. What the FBI had warned about, what the Prez flatly denied could happen, because, you know, terrorism isn't "real", and stop demonizing people because of their...blah blah blah...climate change.

I texted my friend at work (because one must always be mindful that someone is tasked with reading company emails) that I hoped we didn't have any "happy" Muslims working there. Because, by all accounts, this guy was happy and pliant. No worries here! Just a go along to get along kinda guy!

Here's the reality:

• Do I go anyplace where terrorists could get more bang for their buck? Well, I live in Minnesota, which, thanks to its liberal mindset, has allowed...nay, welcomed...a nest of Somalian refugees to settle, many of whom are on the terrorist watch-list. Thus, the Mall of America would be a great, ripe target. Luckily I hate shopping malls.

• Could someone break into my workplace and start shooting the place up? Luckily, thanks to Obamacare (yes, I work in...gasp, health insurance!), we've installed locks on all doors leading to our work space. Unfortunately, the only person in the line of fire is the poor receptionist. 

• Where else mightn't I be safe? Hard to say. It's best if I just stay home, because one of those "happy" people might view a gathering of three-to-four people as a juicy target.

This is what real, normal people worry about. Not whether somebody, maybe our next-door neighbor, has a conceal-carry license. In fact, we hope they do!

Our president is a wash-out. I thought, today, whether someone elected president might ever say, "You know, I just can't handle this job. I think I'll resign." But no, nobody ever says that because they are too prideful, and they wouldn't want to look like a jackass. But honestly, Mister President, you don't have that much time left. Maybe you should just go home.

I'm not a Trump-ite, or even, really a George W. Bush-ite, but I'll take anybody who can ease my fears and keep me safe.

Barring that, I would take somebody who actually cares.

An Administration Made Up Entirely of 2016 Candidates

Sometimes, during the boring parts of Fox's Special Report, my mind wanders to silly hypothetical scenarios. Today's isn't entirely unjustified. My premise is, I like a lot of the Republican candidates, just not necessarily for president. So, what if the eventual winner was forced to choose fellow candidates to fill his cabinet posts? (First of all, I pity the fool, but that's beside the point.) And yes, I had to look up a lot of these departments, because I don't have Ted Cruz's steel-trap mind.

A caution: This lineup is subject to change. Once the president-elect sits down to confer with me, I'm sure he and I will sort if all out.

PRESIDENT:  Marco Rubio

VICE PRESIDENT: Carly Fiorina (Can't wait for her to debate Vice Presidential candidate Bernie "Curb Your Enthusiasm" Sanders.)

SECRETARY OF STATE: Jeb Bush (see explanation below.)


SECRETARY OF DEFENSE:  Lindsey Graham (This is a no-brainer.)


ATTORNEY GENERAL:  Chris Christie (further expounding below).

INTERIOR SECRETARY:  Mike Hukabee (He's a gentle man. I think he would like trees.)


AGRICULTURE SECRETARY:  I'm going to go with Rick Perry, even though he's dropped out. Texas grows things, especially jobs - ha ha - but seriously, they have cotton and pecans and winter wheat and basically-you-name-it.

COMMERCE SECRETARY:  Donald Trump

LABOR SECRETARY:  Rick Santorum (I'm a little iffy on this because of his minimum wage stance, but he does like the working class man, and so few politicians actually do.)


HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES SECRETARY:  Doctor Ben Carson

HOUSING AND URBAN DEVELOPMENT SECRETARY:  Scott Walker; yes, another dropout. He could do a lot of things, but there isn't a post called SWATTING AWAY PESKY SIGN HOLDERS.

TRANSPORTATION SECRETARY:  George Pataki, because I have to give him a job, and this will keep him busy peering at charts and maps).

ENERGY SECRETARY:  John Kasich (He's a little wonky and a tad high-strung. Probably a good combination for getting the energy industry re-booming.)

EDUCATION SECRETARY: Rand Paul, because he seems smart; just wrong-headed on most stuff.

VETERANS AFFAIRS SECRETARY:  Bobby Jindahl, another drop-out, but a whip-smart guy. Jindahl could handle any post, but I had to slot him in somewhere.

HOMELAND SECURITY SECRETARY:  Ted Cruz

As you can see, I thought this through for well over six minutes. Unfortunately, some of these guys don't fit neatly into slots. And the cabinet meetings will be a free-for-all, once Donald engages his mouth and starts telling people they're fired, willy-nilly. President Rubio will have his hands full keeping all these people in line.

My husband tells me Ted Cruz would make a good attorney general, but my money is on Chris Christie, because he'll stare people straight in the face and tell them they're imbeciles, whereas Ted Cruz will just snooze them to death with his "lectures".

I'm thinking Jeb Bush would be a far superior Secretary of State than John Kerry (or, gasp! HRC!) because he'd lull all the heads of state into compliance with his meandering, stuttering pronouncements.

Ben Carson can expose Obamacare for the fraud that it is, and, in his quiet way, cajole even dunderheads that a better way lies just over the horizon.

Obviously, this is all hypothetical. Except for President Marco Rubio.  If I had a dollar to spare, I'd surely send it to his campaign. I'm not an ageist. I fully understand that the second generation, or Generation X, is prepared to rule the world. Heck, my sons are X'ers, and they're pretty smart. Baby boomers, give up the ghost! It's time to peel your gnarly fingers off the tether and let someone younger, with far more brain cells, take care of things.

Just think of Marco as your son. Life trundles on. We've ruled a long time and look at the mess we've made of things. It's high time to pass the torch.

The "Coalition"

I keep hearing about this 65 (or 62 or 63 -- the number keeps changing) anti-ISIS coalition (or "ISIL", as the administration insists on calling it. I think Mr. O just likes saying, "ISIL". It sounds like "icicle". It sounds cool; just like him.)

I told my husband, "I don't think I could even name 65 countries." Granted, I like history. Geography, not so much.

Finding a consistent list online is impossible (trust me). First of all, every site has a different number. The one below is the most comprehensive I could find, and a quick glance would tell even my dog that this is not 60-some countries. And isn't listing the European Union and the Arab League giving certain countries two credits? Source

And Turkey? Come on.

So, I don't know. Tahiti? Iceland? Your guess is as good as mine.

I don't know about you, but those Finnish bombers are pretty scary.

The US is barely lifting its pinkie to "fight", so one can hardly ridicule the other members (except for the Finns. Just because.)

Just stop lying. I get so tired of the administration assuming the majority of us are as ignorant as its core demographic.


Allies providing air support and military equipment

U.S.: The prime mover. Has launched air strikes against ISIS in Iraq and Syria since the end of August.
Canada: Has sent about 60 members of the Canadian Armed Forces to Iraq. Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) also provided airlift support to Albania, delivering 230 tonnes of military supplies to Iraq. Also sent $15-million for security.
Iraq: Authorized France to use its air space and welcomed coalition support in battling ISIS.
Jordan: Destroyed several ISIS targets through air strikes in Syria. Also worked to cut off funding to extremist and terrorist organizations.
Bahrain: Carried out air strikes against ISIS in Syria.
Saudi Arabia: Participated in air strikes in Syria. Has frequently condemned ISIS and given $100-million to the UN Counter-Terrorism Center and $500-million in humanitarian aid.
United Arab Emirates: Took part in air strikes on Syria. With other Persian Gulf nations has condemned ISIS and offered support to the coalition.
France: Bombed a warehouse occupied by ISIS in Iraq. French Air Force has also carried out reconnaissance flights over Iraq and vowed to take part in future air strikes “if needed.” Sent 59 tonnes of humanitarian cargo to Erbil, further deliveries due soon.
Germany: Sent 40 paratroopers to Iraq to provide weapons training to Kurdish fighters. Also sending 16,000 assault rifles, hundreds of anti-tank weapons and armoured vehicles — enough to arm 4,000 peshmerga soldiers. Some Kurdish fighters are also being trained in South Germany. Sending 36 tonnes of humanitarian aid.
United Kingdom: Supplied arms to the Kurds and a Royal Air Force squadron has contributed to surveillance operations. Gave $1.6 million of weapons and ammunition. Friday, Prime Minister David Cameron got the go-ahead to take part air strikes in the future. Earmarked $38-million in aid.
Australia: Sending up to eight Royal Australian Air Force F/A-18 combat aircraft, an E-7A Wedgetail airborne early warning and control aircraft, and a KC-30A multi-role tanker and transport aircraft. Australian Special Forces are advising Iraqi forces. Provided $5-million in humanitarian aid to Iraq.
Belgium: Sending six F-16 fighter planes, with eight pilots and 120 support staff.
Denmark: Sending seven F-16 fighter jets (four operational planes, three reserve) along with 250 pilots and support staff.
Italy: Sent $2.5-million of weaponry, including machine guns, rocket-propelled grenades and nine million rounds of ammunition, and humanitarian aid. Offered to help refuelling planes.
Czech Republic: Provided fighter jets and 500 tons of ammunition to the Iraqi army, delivered by RCAF. Also contributed $1.5-million in humanitarian aid.
Albania: Provided weapons and ammunition to Kurdish forces. Has promised up to 22 million rifle rounds, 32,000 artillery shells for Kurdish forces.
Netherlands: Sending six F-16 fighter jets, plus two reserve jets, 250 pilots and support staff, likely to be based in Jordan. Will send about 130 military trainers to Iraq to support Iraqi and Kurdish fighters. Provided 1,000 helmets and 1,000 bulletproof vests for Kurdish forces, $10-million in humanitarian aid.
Estonia: Provided one million machine gun cartridges and a Hercules transport aircraft, plus $90,000 to support displaced Iraqis.
Hungary: Provided seven million cartridges, “thousands” of mines and armour-piercing shells. Sent $90,000 for Christians in Erbil.
Turkey: President Tayyip Erdogan said he will “give the necessary support to the operation. The support could be military or logistics.” More than $1.9-million of humanitarian aid sent to Turkmen in Northern Iraq. Funded construction of a camp for 20,000 Iraqi Turkmen.
Lebanon: Will not send troops or weapons, but will “receive military help to fight the organization through the Army,” says its foreign minister.

Allies providing humanitarian aid
• Sweden: $13-million.
• Kuwait: $9.5-million.
• Switzerland: $9-million.
• Japan: $6-million.
• Austria: $1.3-million.
• New Zealand: $1-million.
• South Korea: $1-million.
• Ireland: $1.4-million.
• Spain: $640,000.
• Slovakia: $25,000.
• Norway: Contributed to UNESCO aid drop, including 40,000 blankets, 10,000 kitchen sets and 18,000 plastic tarpaulins.
• Luxembourg: Contributed to aid deliveries from the United Nations.
• Qatar: Passed a new law to stop charities diverting money toward ISIS. Sent six aircraft carrying 300 tonnes of humanitarian aid.

Allies who have expressed support

Bulgaria: Foreign minister has said the conflict “poses a direct threat to Bulgaria,” but has not offered any military or aid distance so far.
Egypt: Released a statement strongly denouncing the execution of American journalist James Foley, with a spokesman calling for the “international community to rally efforts to fight terrorism.”
Finland: Minister for foreign fffairs said his country will “concentrate on delivering humanitarian aid to people in desperate need”
Georgia: Defence minister said officials “fully support what the United States is doing to eradicate these barbarians.”
Greece: Government condemned ISIS’s actions, adding, “We express our solidarity with the Iraqi government.”
Israel: Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said, “These groups must be fought, they must be rolled back, and they must ultimately be defeated. That’s why Israel fully supports President Obama’s call for united action against ISIS.”
Kosovo: Will help the United States to destroy ISIS and is part of the “emerging global alliance to fight a great evil.”
Oman: The Sultan of Oman has said “no one can afford to neglect a situation as serious as this” and his government will work “as fast as possible” to end ISIS threat.
Poland: Intends to support the fight polically, as well as through NATO membership.
Croatia: Committed to “helping provide Kurdish forces urgently needed arms and equipment.”
Romania: Ministry of Foreign Affairs said it will “contribute to the international community efforts to combat international terrorism and the ISIS phenomenon.”
Singapore: Ministry of Foreign Affairs has cited a “critical need for the international community to work closely together to counter this threat.”
Taiwan: Ministry of Foreign Affairs is monitoring “the threat to global security” and will “cooperate closely with the international community to provide humanitarian aid to the victims” of ISIS attacks.

Coalition supporters
The following nations have an unspecified commitment but the U.S. State Department said they are part of the coalition: Andorra, Bosnia, Lithuania, Macedonia, Malta, Mexico, Moldova, Morocco, Portugal, Serbia, Slovenia, Tunisia and Ukraine.

Non-nation supporters

Two other bodies that have backed the coalition but are not nation states:
Arab League: Released several statements urging members to confront ISIS “militarily and politically.” Foreign ministers from all member states have agreed to take “all necessary measures” to confront ISIS.
European Union: The EU Civil Protection Mechanism has been activated to support “rapid deployment of in-kind assistance and expertise to Iraq.” Ten member states are providing essential relief through a “humanitarian air bridge.” The European Commission has increased the level of aid to $22-million in 2014.

Introduction

I like to write.

I have a few disparate interests, and I don't think it's fair to subject my subscribers to subjects or views that either don't interest them or collide with their beliefs. For example, I have a blog about writing my novel, which, trust me, even literary agents don't care about (based upon the multitudes of rejections I've received). Nevertheless, I keep plugging away -- like a fool. That blog is currently marked "private", because I like to vent, but I don't like to embarrass myself.

My main blog is Rich Farmers, which features a topic I actually know something about -- music. Rich Farmers began as an attempt to publicize our band, but I soon found that, like literary agents, nobody cares. It eventually morphed into my views about music, which can be harsh or sentimental -- pick the day. It also heavily features YouTube videos, which makes it tricky to load. I thought about that and about the burden I was hefting onto people who might like to read what I have to say, but alas, I can't just "imagine" music. Well, I can; thus, my songwriting attempts. But if I want to discuss music that most people have heard of, or may not have heard of but might like, I must include videos. I once wrote that I am an encyclopedia of music. It's true.

THIS BLOG, however, is different, and you may either enjoy it or be enraged by it. I am a conservative. Politics is my entertainment, in that the websites I instinctively click on each morning include National Review, Breitbart (a little over the top, but it still reports stories that no one else mentions), Politico (because I like to know how the other side thinks), The Washington Post and The New York Times (likewise). I would click on the Weekly Standard, but it doesn't like me unless I fork over some dollars. I have The Hill bookmarked, but it's a bit too "straight news". I like a little ragged wind with my political stories. I don't often surf over to Fox News, because its website is too video-heavy (much like Rich Farmers) and it takes freakin' forever to load the page. By that time I've lost interest and have moved on. A tip to you conservative websites out there -- don't irritate your readers who have slow connections. I am always on the lookout for good new conservative sites, so feel free to send me your favorites.

How did I become a conservative, when I was raised by two rabid (especially my dad) Democrats? I wish I had a profound answer, but it all seemed to fall into place naturally. I first realized I was a Republican when I was in the eighth grade and my US History teacher assigned us to create election posters (the year was 1968 -- sure, that dates me -- but I'm not about to start lying, even about my age). I'd seen the TV ads, I'd certainly watched the political conventions. I am a convention junkie; I love them. Hubert Humphrey was Vice President. Funny story -- he (or at least his "staff") stayed at my parents' motel when he was in town for an appearance. Imagine the excitement! Well, not my excitement, but my parents were even more excited than when Merle Haggard checked in. Believe me, Merle Haggard made a MUCH bigger impression on me than HHH did. My dad wanted me to get the Vice President's autograph. Well, the whole time "he" was there (I still have my doubts) I never even laid eyes on him! But I dutifully wrote a nice note in my lovely handwriting and left it on the desk in the room, asking if we could pretty please get Mr. Humphrey's autograph. I might have even said we were "big fans". After "he" (and by "he" I mean his secret service staff) checked out, I found three little monogrammed cards on the desk with his signature (pretty sure they were pre-signed, but I'd need to drag out my old scrapbook to verify, and I'm really too lazy to do that). I wonder if my dad kept his card. Probably.

HHH was running against Richard Nixon for the 1968 presidential election. 1968 was really a crappy time, as I'm sure you know if you've read any history (if they still teach it). I wasn't on board with the hippies and general rabble-rousers. At my age I couldn't quite figure out what all the fuss was about (much like now). Nixon, to me, just seemed more sensible; less pandering. And thus smarter. My dad had some small advertising boards to which one could stick letters and spell out anything they wanted. I pilfered one and spelled out, "Vote like the whole world depends on it -- Nixon/Agnew". Yea, I stole the slogan. I was lazy yet satisfied. So satisfied that I tacked the poster up on the door which my dad would pass through several times a day from the garage to our kitchen. I hovered in the background the first time he encountered it. He didn't bother to turn around. I just heard him mutter, "Well, that's different." My dad could get very worked up about Republicans, but he always went easy on me. I know he was disheartened, though.

Throughout the ensuing years, my dad and I had a lot of "discussions" about politics, which were usually comprised of him yelling at the TV and me offering a muted opposing view from the corner of the living room. He even yelled at Reagan! Who doesn't like Ronald Reagan? Well, my dad, for one.

I wasn't legal to vote until I turned 21. I was exactly nine months pregnant when I voted for president for the very first time. My son was born two days later. I stood in line at the elementary school and cast my vote for Gerald Ford. Still a prescient decision. Of course he lost. That was the beginning of my experience with Republicans being referred to as losers. By contrast, the eighties were glorious, not just for me but for the entire country. Argue that if you want, but the truth is the truth.

Now I am sixty (yes). I've had to witness a lot of political crap over the years, but no more so than recently. I'm not happy with the way things are going. Also I have a lot of questions. I may pose some of them here, on this blog. I'm happy to talk to anyone who disagrees with me, if they're civil. Unlike the well-traveled sites, I am not bound to keep commenting turned on. I'm too old for bullshit, plus I'm a nice person and jerks offend my sensibilities. Fair warning.

So, join me, please. I have a burning question right now that I'm heading over to another window to research. Stay tuned.