I should be doing my yoga right now, but I’m too busy crying. I figure that demonstrates more than a modicum of restraint, because what I’d like to be doing is vomiting while I stamp my feet. Donald Trump won. Hate won. Fear won. Selfishness won. Greed won. Racism won. Misogyny won. Homophobia won. Xenophobia won. Zealousness won. The motherfucking KKK won. The DNC won, in its refusal to acknowledge that no matter how qualified, no matter how many good reasons there were to support her, Hillary Clinton was not the candidate to run in a climate of fear and hatred.
You know who lost? Me and my loved ones. No matter what platitudes are mouthed, this was and is personal. November is Epilepsy Awareness month. I usually post one blog post about it, and post several facts and awareness tidbits throughout the month on my personal Facebook feed. I’ll stop now. It doesn’t matter anymore. Awareness doesn’t mean shit when the country just voted for my daughter to lose her healthcare in two and a half years, when she turns 18. We can’t afford her meds out of pocket, let alone hospitalizations, testing, doctor visits. I have friends who voted for this. Were they unable to separate the facts of insurance premiums rising because of the greed of the insurance companies from the ACA? Prayers are lovely, and many believe they are powerful, but they don’t replace rescue meds when your kid is turning blue in front of you. I don’t know, but don’t anyone dare tell me, my daughter, my Latino family, this wasn’t personal.
Maybe you’re lucky enough not to have to think about the ACA because no one in your family has preexisting conditions. That’s wonderful for you, I’m not so lucky. Maybe you/your loved ones weren’t worried about the ACA because you/your loved ones have Medicaid. How nice for you, I can only hope Medicaid and Medicare aren’t targeted right after the ACA, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.
Don’t tell me you have respect for women, believe in equal rights, when we’ve just supported a man who values women only for their secondary sex characteristics; when we just green lighted sexual assault.
Don’t tell me you care about education, when we supported a man who loves the poorly educated.
Don’t cry about your child being bullied, when we just voted into office the poster boy for bullies.
Don’t tell me you care about the differently abled, when we just elected a man who sees nothing wrong with mocking those who are different, and of course, the aforementioned gleeful plans to repeal the ACA.
Don’t tell me how this was a pushback against the elite, when Donald Trump personifies the elite.
Don’t tell me about hope for tomorrow, when we just chose the ignorance of the past.
Most of all, don’t talk about them. It was the death grip of us vs them mentality that brought us here. And no, I don’t mean only those who are afraid of people of color, or women, or the LGBTQ community. I include those who refused to see this as a real possibility and consequence, those who dug into “us” with unrelenting toothless trailer trash jokes. America is a big country; when we talk about different lifestyles and acceptance that cannot just be code for left leaning ideals, it is real.
I saw a comment earlier, bemoaning this result, listing all the reasons it makes no sense and is frightening that Trump has been elected. Included in that list? Melania Trump’s nudity. Yeah, this is why we have all lost, and lost before the votes were tallied. Nudity? Not important.
This is us. Greedy, fearful, easily distracted by a thin patina of gold and flashing lights.
There are many things I am not. One of them is crafty. Some people have the magic touch, some of us don’t. Really, I wanted to learn how to knit, but was defeated multiple times by the instruction, “cast on.” I tried, not happening. Despite this, once in a while I enjoy crocheting crooked scarves and uneven afghans. Maybe I just enjoy the look on Husband and Fringelings’ faces when I gift them, and they’re trying to decide if I’m pulling their leg or just blind.
You know what else I’m not? A journalist. That’s right, you heard it here first; blogging is not journalism, and shouldn’t be confused with it. The other day I did a bit of shameless self-promotion, sent a link to this blog to a friend; mostly because I was too lazy to retype all the blathering I’ve already done re my thoughts on this election. I gave him a heads up, this is not a political blog per-se, but I do a fair amount of blogging about politics. I’ve been thinking about that. Why have I written so many posts about this election? I’m not kidding when I describe myself on the “About” page; I’m an expert on nothing. Not a journalist, not a political pundit, not someone who’s paid for her words.
So why have I continued to rant? I think mostly it comes down to the same core feeling that has many supporting Trump. Ewww. For all my love of navel gazing, plumbing the depths of humanity, and the grotesque, that could be the most squirm-inducing sentence I’ve ever written. Still, it’s frustration; it’s feeling powerless. And that feeling of powerlessness (is that really a word? auto-correct isn’t saying no, but it sounds/looks wrong) comes out in different ways. For me, it comes out in long, spluttering blog posts, horrified as I see the ugliness that has always lived in America’s laws and psyche magnify among our citizens, reflected in the face of Donald Trump. But I guess for some–too many–others, it comes out in the ways of the stereotypical playground bully, push those perceived as weaker down on the ground and mash them into the asphalt. Because that’s what you’re doing, when you campaign to take away the dreams of immigrants, the rights of citizens, send women back to the kitchen–unless, of course, those women are young and “hot,” in which case they can be displayed and groped.
Not to be too hippie dippy, but when you count yourself among the powerless–because of fortune or circumstance–it really is the non-material things that become most important. Like character. That’s what has left my jaw grazing my chipped toenails for a year now. I try to be a decent person, I try not to be judgmental. I’m not always successful, I don’t hesitate to admit this.
What is the character of someone who supports Donald Trump? I don’t mean in terms of religion, too many ways to interpret a verse, too many wars fought over who has the right God; and no, I don’t care how many times he’s been married, let alone what his wife did/didn’t wear during her modeling days. For whatever policies he hasn’t laid out, he’s been very clear about what he stands for. He and his supporters stand for mocking and rejecting those who are differently abled, even now in these last hours. He and his supporters believe sexual assault is acceptable. They believe it’s ok to have someone proven thin-skinned and inexperienced hold the nuclear codes. He and his supporters stand side by side with white supremacists, who would love nothing more than to see the US become a fascist state. Am I wrong for rejecting this as a valid political opinion, saying those who support this man are unworthy of respect? I know some who support him are doing so while saying they’re only doing so because they’re worried about who might be chosen for the Supreme Court vacancy. They’re worried about life, those potential fetuses. I’m not so different, I’m worried about lives too–the young girls and women who carry those lives, and the many diverse lives that will be dismissed and discounted under a Trump Presidency. Is this evidence of me as a judgmental bitch? Maybe, but that’s where I stand, and this is all I’ve got; my voice, my words.
This is it, the final hour. Tomorrow is election day, and I already miss Barack Obama.
Like any good New Yorker, I’m no stranger to angst and internal conflict. But damn, this fall–barely begun–and I already feel like I’ve never been so conflicted outside of my navel gazing sessions. Obviously, I’m talking about this election cycle. I’m sick of this, everywhere you look it’s been all-Trump all-the-time for a year already. Again, New Yorker here, I was sick of Trump and his unique brand of gild and tarnish long before he officially threw his hat in the ring. Mrs Fringe, while always intended to cover relevant political discussions, wasn’t meant to be a political blog. But how can we not discuss this? And therein lies the problem. How will I sit across the dinner table from friends who support/supported Trump without a) puking and b) having my head explode?
Let’s start with an olive tray.
As any regular readers know, I’ve always prided myself on choosing not to live in an echo chamber, having friends with a variety of beliefs, lifestyles, and values. It’s a good thing, keeps me thinking, keeps me making informed decisions, not just spouting rhetoric. Now, though, now I’m questioning this. I’d like to interject one thought here, I have some friends on the left who are painting Trump supporters with the proverbial broad brush, “evangelical right wingers.” For the most part, in terms of people I actually know, that isn’t who I’m seeing supporting him. I’m not religious, but have friends who are devout, and they will not support Trump because they see him as the antithesis of religious values. I see him and the Trump/Pence ticket as the antithesis of any value system that prizes humanity, let alone ethics.
Amuse-bouche of fried tofu with truffle oil
Putting aside bombastic slogans about making America great again, let’s take a look at Trump and Pence, what each of them stands for, things they’ve said and done. Donald Trump continually makes misogynistic statements about women. When these types of statements are made over and over again, he didn’t misspeak, these are his beliefs. He thought he should be lauded for not attacking Hillary Clinton because of her husband’s extramarital shenanigans. During the debate. I guess I’m slow, because I just don’t see how this has anything to do with the qualifications of Hillary Clinton to be President of the United States, or her policy positions. Yesterday, we got to hear about this little gem. Oh yes, let’s expand rape culture by voting into the office of President a man who believes mauling women is his right. Because money, and dangly bits. He believes Planned Parenthood, an organization that he admits helps millions of women, should be defunded. The only logical conclusion I can make here is that he doesn’t want women to be helped. Or healthy. Of course, let’s not forget his quote that women who have abortions should be punished. Pence, of course, isn’t just talking, he has a track record, strongly pro-life, his record includes restricting women’s rights in Indiana, he is strongly pro-life, has also voted against stem cell research, and voted against 4 weeks of paid family leave for federal employees.
Carrot and ginger soup garnished with slivers of pickled pig snout
One social area where Trump isn’t completely awful is gay rights. But don’t breathe that sigh of relief just yet, first take a long hard look at Mike Pence. The man who voted “no” on enforcing anti-gay hate crimes. My personal favorite *gag* is his history of advocating for tax dollars to fund conversion therapy. Yanno, that debunked, bullshit pseudoscience that claims gay people can be “reformed.”
Frisee salad, wilted with grapefruit sections and broccoli rabe–because this dinner can’t be too bitter.
Trump is a proponent of racial profiling. Despite actual evidence, he thinks stop and frisk is fabulous; again, something he wants to expand. What’s that, he’s not racist? I’m being too politically correct? Claimed a judge would be biased because of the judge’s Mexican heritage, has been sued more than once for not renting to black people, failed to reject the support of the Klu Klux Klan. He’s still blahblahblah about that hypothetical wall between us and the Mexican border (worked so well for Berlin), he wants to ban Muslim immigrants, and from his plexiglass, gold-plated bubble, “Syrian refugees are a Trojan horse,” because helping desperate, starving people trying to live and be free to practice their religion and work is not the American way. Owait. Yup, must be me, he isn’t racist at all.
Roasted boar with red beans, oranges and bok choy
Trump thinks not paying federal taxes makes him smart. Hmm. In some respects, as a businessman, I suppose it certainly does make him savvy. But the position of President isn’t equivalent to CEO, it’s about representing the interests of the people of our so-called democracy, not further lining his pockets. Please, someone explain to me how anyone can believe Trump supports veterans and the military when he believes not paying the taxes that fund veterans and the military is something to brag about. When he continually disparages the sacrifices made by veterans and their families? He says “no one respects us,” in reference to other countries. I can certainly see the US losing respect by the day, the longer Trump has supporters.
Buccatini with parmesan and rainbow peppercorns
What’s that, dear? Oh, jobs, yes, Trump will bring back all the jobs. And that, after all, is a real concern for real Americans, not theoretical loss of civil rights, we’re worried about our paychecks. And he’s a businessman. Oh yes, his successful businesses with multiple bankruptcy filings, that is an excellent model for the United States. His long history of reneging on contracts, not paying contractors the agreed upon fees. What? You think I will address (again) his lies about bringing manufacturing jobs back to America when his own companies continue to exploit tax loopholes by manufacturing their products outside of the US? Mike Pence believes those pesky regulatory burdens are economy killers? No worries, we’re having a civilized dinner, imaginary dishes to go with all these imaginary jobs.
Aged gouda with smoked pepitas and macadamias
Both Trump and Pence dislike the Affordable Care Act (ObamaCare), and would love the opportunity to repeal it. It certainly is far from perfect, I can agree, but it’s a whole lot better than what we had before, with millions more people uninsured and people who wanted health insurance unable to get any because of preexisting conditions. Mike Pence has voted No on giving mental health full equity with physical health, voted No on expanding the Children’s Health Insurance Program, voted Yes on denying non-emergency treatment for lack of Medicare Co-Pay. Oh yes, this is exactly who we need. Yesterday I read about this incident. Certainly, it wasn’t Trump or Pence who sent this epileptogenic video to this journalist with epilepsy–but I didn’t hear them immediately denouncing it, either. Epilepsy, a potentially fatal disorder that has its own place at the dinner table in my home. Talk about triggers– I read that article and flashed on every time I’ve watched my daughter turn gray and stop breathing. Life and health are overrated, aren’t they? Unless of course you’re male, white and wealthy enough that you can pay out of pocket for any and all health expenses. If you’re fortunate enough not to have extensive experience with health care costs, let me tell you, someone has to be extraordinarily wealthy to pay out of pocket, working class/middle class won’t cut it.
Apple pie in lard crust with salep dondurma and espresso
Sorry, I don’t have the patience for a twenty-three course meal, and if I tried to hit all of the important positions this post would be 14,000 words long. The offerings in my imaginary meal are bizarre, you didn’t imagine it. They reflect the bizarre twists and justifications I’m seeing in defense of Trump and in defense of Trump supporters. Over the last few days, I’ve heard a lot of talk from friends who lean left (the way I do) as they try to preserve friendships by tempering statements about “deplorables” by saying they don’t believe all Trump supporters are deplorable, they’re regular people who are nice, just afraid or misguided. I understand that. I don’t have that many friends, the majority of those friendships I have are treasured, steeped in mutual history, shared experiences and laughter. But when someone supports Trump, and I think of my dinner table, I lose my appetite. Who sits at my dinner table? My family, my in-laws, my friends. A diverse group that includes people of many ethnic backgrounds, skin colors, socio-economic status, varying faiths and lack thereof, different sexual orientations, differently abled. When you support Trump, you are making a public statement that you don’t believe women are human beings, equal in any way to men, let alone entitled to feel physically safe. When you support Trump, you are saying you don’t believe in gay rights. When you support Trump, you are saying you don’t believe people of color are deserving of the same respect and opportunities, the same safety, as white people. When you support Trump, you are saying you don’t believe my daughter or my husband deserve to have health insurance. You are saying it’s a-okay for my loved ones to leave my dinner table and be stopped and frisked, threatened, harassed, for daring to have lives.
This isn’t like any other election year, the Trump/Pence ticket isn’t like any other Republican offering. You don’t get to say, “well, I like his tax plan,” and ignore the complete lack of humanity, lack of integrity, ignore his intention to repeal the rights of everyone who doesn’t think and act like Trump, repeal freedom of the press under the guise of calling out “mainstream media bias.” If you are supporting Trump/Pence, you are allying yourself with the ticket supported by the KKK. Think about that, the motherfucking Klu Klux Klan. We are the company we keep.
Everyone loves a secret, no need for truth or facts. The secret to weight loss, the secret to finding love, the secret to making money, the secret to success, the secret to being happy. If it’s big and juicy enough, it reaches conspiracy status–and there’s nothing Americans love more than a good conspiracy.
When Art Child was a toddler, she had a doll she loved above all 9,563 others. It sang, “¡Yo tengo un secreto y tu no sabes!” in a teasing voice, no mistaking the inflections whether you speak Spanish or not. I’ve got a secret and you don’t know it. Oh yeah, she loved that doll, almost as much as the other patrons in the local Dominican cafe loved seeing her with it, until the 138th time she pressed the button. The worst part? I bought the damned thing. What was I thinking? Not just the annoyance factor, but the message. Thankfully Sadly, the doll was lost at some point, just another casualty on the pyre of toys designed to torture parents.
Donald Trump is that doll minus the pigtails, and there are way too many Americans gleefully pushing his belly to hear him taunt. As I and many others have said, that’s the problem–not that he is who he is, and spouts the disgraceful, empty nonsense he does, but that he has god only knows how many supporters who are getting a thrill from watching the rest of us cringe. Actually I suspect a good number of his supporters are certain he’ll be having lunch with Elvis before taking the debate stage this evening. Because secrets! Conspiracy! And Donald’s going to tell us the truth, because nothing says honesty and integrity like someone who blatantly, repeatedly lies to paint the picture he wants to see.
I want to be fair, so let me share that it isn’t only on the far right that we’ve got gleeful conspiracy theorists singing about the moon landing being faked, the Holocaust was a lie, and of course, Obama is a secret Muslim who showed a fake birth certificate. Oh no, we’ve got our share on the left side of the political spectrum also, those who are certain Tupac and Jim Morrison will be sitting a few tables down from Trump and Elvis, cling to the belief vaccines cause autism, and share theories with those on the right about 9/11 coverups and the aliens in Area 51. Aaah, such a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach–pride in my fellow citizens, oh wait, no, it’s nausea.
Secrets and conspiracies–bet you can’t eat just one! And let’s go ahead and dip them in some delusion sauce while we’re at it. Those residing on the far right believe the lying, blustering, unqualified candidate who is Trump will save them. Yes, save them; cure their ills, make them rich, give them jobs, put all those pesky brown people in their proper place and show those dumb libs what the Constitution really means. Those residing on the far left are saying wonderful! Let him win, it doesn’t matter, Clinton is an equally poor choice, and besides, if he wins there will be a revolution on the streets and in three days’ time we’ll have taken the nation and all its riches back, distributing them to all those poor, unfortunate, ignorant souls who need us to save them.
Why am I writing now, at 5am on the day of the first Presidential debate, when I know my fingers will be itching to rant again by 10PM tonight? Because this has been such a horrific, unprecedented election cycle I don’t think the debates matter. Clinton will be fabulous, this is exactly where she can and does shine. Ok, maybe not like Obama, but still. She’s informed, she’s experienced, she knows how to keep her cool and speak well. Trump will be Trump, he’ll have no real plans to offer, he’ll bellow and attack while continuing to lie and going on the offense if anyone dares to call him on his lies. And his supporters won’t care. Regardless of what he does or doesn’t say, they’ll be crowing and trumpeting his “truth”, declaring him the clear winner.
Trump has spent his entire adult life selling hollow secrets, he became the Republican candidate by selling conspiracies. He’s good in front of a camera, he appeals not to our ever-changing American Dream, but to our American Fantasy of winning lottery tickets. He’s the American Id. In another time in America’s past, he’d have been under a tent selling snake oil. Let’s stop buying, shall we? Think about it, this is a man who’s telling you he’s going to give jobs back to the American people, he’s a successful businessman who knows how to do this, after all. So successful he’s declared bankruptcy three times, and he has indeed provided thousands of jobs–in other countries. When called on it, he said this stuff isn’t manufactured in the US anymore. Not true, some of it is, and more of it could be, if businesses like Trump’s weren’t putting profit above people.
We are a nation confused by its own adolescence, screaming that we don’t need childish toys and distractions while we paradoxically hold tight to them, trying to prove how very grown up we are by doing so.
This singing doll isn’t just a nuisance that gets on your nerves, it’s already leaking battery acid, in the form of millions of supporters for the rhetoric of fear, hatred, and greed. Leaking now, it’s too late to just dump it in a pile of abandoned toys. That acid is staining our political process, corroding the very freedoms Trump claims he’s going to provide.
How will we do this? I’m not sure. We’re certainly beyond pretending Trump is an isolated wing-nut. And it isn’t just within the boundaries of our country that we need to worry about. Which, of course, his supporters are loving–because there’s some confusion about the difference between respect and fear, authority and authoritarianism. For most of those supporters at the Trump rallies, he has validated, legitimized, and fed their fears and hatred so they haven’t cleaned up this acid leak, but instead spread it. I don’t know how to get rid of it, but I know for sure the first step has to be Trump losing in November. How about we put fear on hold, and begin with self-respect? If not it won’t matter which secret you were hoping to hear or what conspiracies you find intriguing, we will all lose.
Time for Mrs Fringe to have the first beach day of the season to herself. I feel pretty lucky to have kiddos that recognize my particular brand of lunacy requires both beach time and occasional time by myself. So the other day–the day before the girl’s last day of school– I checked the weather (iffy, which made it perfect to not bring Art Child), packed my bottle of frozen water, bleach-stained oversized towel, my trusty black and white composition notebook (just in case I should be inspired to write, hah!) and got on the train.
At first it seemed like the iffy weather prediction was completely wrong. A bit of wind, but blue skies and sun all the way. A bit more wind. Eh, the sand scraping across my skin is free exfoliation. I can be freckled and have a youthful glow! Before two hours had passed, I found myself wondering how long I could lie there with sand blowing straight up my nose before I suffocated. I gave up. Took my towel and headed back toward the train. While I stood on the boardwalk shaking out my towel, I thought of the many times I had gone to the beach in my angsty teen years, shivering in out-of-season winds while sitting on the rocks writing horribly overwrought poetry. For some reason I also remembered going with my mother to the “big girl’s” shop on Coney Island Avenue, to buy housedresses for a relative in California, while my father sat in the car outside, grumbling about muumuus. Shh, it’s a secret, don’t tell anyone. For my mother, the secret was that this glamorous, beautiful cousin was a “big girl.” For me, the secret was she wore house dresses in her home that seemed like a mansion compared to our semi-detached brick two family house. For the love of God, she had gotten three thousand miles away from there, didn’t she know there was a reason they didn’t sell those polyester monstrosities in Southern California?
It’s a funny thing. When I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to “escape” South Brooklyn. Seriously, it was like living the script of Saturday Night Fever, those bridges and tunnels represented everything. I’m a cynical gal and always was, but I can and do certainly look back and realize my rose-colored glasses were firmly in place, like most other young people. If I lived in the city (people who live in the outer boroughs refer to Manhattan as “the city,” regardless of the fact that it’s all five boroughs that make up NYC), life would be different. I would be free, not trapped, living the life I always wanted. You know, in a cold dark garret, chain smoking clove cigarettes while scribbling the great American novel. Manhattan/Paris, Nineteenth Century/Twenty-First Century–it’s all the same thing, right? I’d be living the dream. Regardless, I certainly wouldn’t spend twenty years dodging PTA meetings and worrying about doctor’s appointments. Whatever happened, I would never find myself back in Brooklyn. Most of all, I would never, ever wear a housedress.
So what do I do now with every opportunity on beautiful (or iffy) summer days? Hop on the train and go over the bridge back to the Brooklyn, of course. Just the beach, but. No matter how many times I’ve gone back, no matter that it’s been a firm part of my summer routine for eons, I have to laugh at myself. The first couple of times I went back, I wondered if I would run into anyone I knew. Never have. Who knows, maybe I’ve been towel to towel with someone who graduated from high school with me and neither of us recognized the other. I quickly stopped thinking about it. The realities of living in a city so densely populated is that I have people who live on the same floor of my building that I don’t see for months, sometimes years, at a time.
This winter I reconnected with an old high school friend, through Facebook. She left Brooklyn before I did, and it turns out she too, is back in NY, living in a different borough. We briefly talked about meeting up, but it hasn’t happened. What would I say, without judiciously chosen and edited photos to represent my life? Badge of honor, I’ve never worn a housedress! Still, I found myself on Brighton Beach Avenue before I got on the train, looking at my favorite (cheapest) variety store running a going-out-of-business sale, and wondered if I had $5 on me.
I assume this is a bad hand, no aces or picture cards, no pairs.
I’m burnt out from the online political arguments. Tried distraction yesterday, went to the zoo (yes I did enjoy watching the gorillas, thankyouverymuch). That was nice, but not quite enough. Back to disgusted by 9pm last night. So this morning I was thinking, we need a game. A nice, game, old-fashioned yet modern. Naturally, LARPing came to mind. So much talk about the good old days, why not go back to them? Yes, everyone currently ranting, please join in. At first I thought everyone should play, but then, as I thought more about the premise, I decided that if I want to keep to the spirit being touted as proper American values–yanno, my rights and conveniences are of more value than those of my neighbors or society–I don’t have to give up my Housewives or torture myself into a corset.
What shall we call our game? Women in the Kitchen? Back of the Bus? We Don’t Need No Stinking Badges? Maybe we should just keep it simple, call it America. Though that might be exclusionary. How about, History–Revisionist Edition?
The 1930s. In thinking about what time period to choose, I wanted to be fair and really support those who are mourning lost values. I considered 50 years ago, but that leaves us at the beginning of the peace and love era, dirty hippies are certainly not pictured on the memes I see going around, and really, why distribute windowpanes to distance ourselves from this glorious trip down memory lane? 100 years ago? Hmm, that feels a bit too distant, electricity wasn’t common in American households until the ’30s, and it wasn’t until the 1920s that Congress passed the Emergency Quota Act and the Immigration Act of 1924. Yanno, immigration restrictions in the good old days, working hard to prevent Asian immigrants, as well as Italian, Jewish, and Slav immigrants from setting foot on our red white and blue shores. Besides, in the early 1930s, more people were emigrating from America than immigrating into it. (Is that the current desire and dream?) Great Depression and all that.
While I and my fellow filthy liberal hippies keep score, those who believe in traditional values like backsliding, giving away rights, hating your neighbors, yourselves, and equal opportunities will get to live the dream. If you are from a family of longtime, multi-generational wealth that didn’t go under with the stock market crash of 1929, I’m sorry, you are ineligible to play. Unfortunately for you, your place in our culture was, is, and always will be secure. Anyway, this is gonna be awesome. Tremendous, even.
Concerned that you won’t have enough people and ethnic groups to hate? Pfft, we won’t leave you without, plenty of ethnic groups and minorities to blame for…everything. Sure, the Land of the Free wasn’t quite as mixed then, but believe it or not, there were brown people. And for those who aren’t sure there were enough people of color to hate, we’ve got you covered, with the “wrong” white people until those numbers come up. Concerned about having to live without your AR 15s and AK 47s? I know, so sad, so SCARY. In exchange for giving up your inalienable right to be a one man army, we’ve got other, more traditional good old days guns and rifles. And beatings! Sure, not as splashy as a semi-automatic, but is there anything quite as satisfying as old-fashioned bones-of-the-powerless-and-disenfranchised cracking under your fists? Who says the right to vote for women need take away your swagger? Gratifying and manly, you don’t need any Latinos or Eye-talians to teach you about machismo.
In the very early 1930s, 25% of potentially wage-earning Americans were unemployed. Please draw a card to determine if you have a job or not. If your card is lower than a 5, you have no job. Luckily for you, there’re also no disgusting, Socialist (ooh, so scary) Welfare, Food Stamps, Social Security, Medicaid, or Unemployment benefits in place. I’m so glad you get to hold true to your values. Don’t worry, your family and neighbors will take care of you, if you draw an ace. They’ll throw you a rotting cabbage and a bit of chicken skin.
If you are employed, it is of course because you’re a harder worker than the guy in the next town over whose factory folded when the owner took a swan dive off the church tower after the Stock Market crashed. You deserve employment, you’re a real American. None of those commie unions to deal with, either. You’re secure in your right to work in unsafe conditions, your children working right alongside you without the unnecessary complications of health insurance, days off, overtime pay, or your right arm. No worries, the Black Lung will keep you feeling warm.
And it’s all ok. Better than ok. You’ve got all the time in the world, without the modern distractions of cable tv, video games, internet access, cell phones, or reliable refrigeration. You’ve got radio, that’s all you sinners who insist on entertainment need! If you’re in the Great Plains, you have an excess of time, what with the lack of farmable farmland in the Dust Bowl. If you’re a woman, that is excellent news, plenty of hours in the day for washing, drying, and ironing clothes, cleaning the house, gardening, cooking (all from scratch, no frozen dinners, take-out, or convenience foods, and taking care of the children–yup, plenty of children! (sorry, no birth control or D&Cs allowed during your month of gaming, that would be cheating. Unwanted pregnancy? Bad timing? No such thing, you’re a woman.) As a woman, you’re even allowed to vote, what more do you want?
Are you a recent immigrant? You might be a bit confused, wondering where we’ve hidden those streets of gold. And the jobs, where are those opportunities? Good thing you came here and learned English overnight, assimilating immediately and working without pause. I know this is true because your modern selves talk about this all. the. time. (“My Grandpa came to America and spoke English!” “I’m proud to say I can’t speak a word of any other language!”) Unless, of course, you were a minority, in which case, you were the first to lose your job, if you had landed one in the first place. You won’t be lonely, you’ve got plenty of company what with all the other non-immigrant minorities (including Native Americans, who invited them, anyway? They should never have made it through Ellis Island.) who lost their jobs. And recreation! I hear lynchings enjoyed great popularity in the early thirties. Good thing we all remember those good old days with such fondness and clarity that we can play this game.
A bit of clarity, if you’re thinking that you’re white, and therefore a welcome immigrant, you might need to look a bit harder. Jews? Suspect, and not welcome. Italian? Suspect, and not welcome–all kinds of propaganda being distributed due to the rise of Mussolini. Irish? Also suspect, no-Irish-need-apply. Enjoy your tenements! I mean really, so many of these Italian and Irish immigrants were Catholic. Papists! Frequent and familiar targets of the KKK in those days. It isn’t like we’d see a Catholic President in a mere 30 years.
No worries about Mexicans coming and stealing your job, either. A pox on those who say over a million Mexican immigrants came between 1900-1930 because of a demand for low-wage, unskilled workers when we didn’t have enough citizens to fill those jobs. No worries indeed, we rounded ’em up, beat ’em, and deported ’em back over the border. Damn it, now I’m confusing myself, am I talking about then or now?
More excellent news, you won’t be confronted by your child coming out to you. That closet is padlocked and sealed in concrete. You yourself are a part of the LGBTQ community? Don’t be silly, surely no one who belongs to a community that has been traditionally pilloried, still openly ridiculed, viciously attacked, and subject to hate crimes by many would be playing this game–allying themselves with political parties that want nothing more than to restrict their rights–that would mean they place their bank accounts and guns above their personal rights, to say nothing of the safety and security of their community. Just think, it’s the 1930s, no AIDS. Don’t despair, though, plenty of gonorrhea and syphilis to go around, regardless of your sex or sexual orientation.
Speaking of health and health care, remember, these are the good old days. If you or a loved one get sick or have an accident, you don’t have to think about where your insurance card is, how much the treatment will cost, or if you’re able to cover the copays. Chances are excellent that what you’ve got can’t be treated. And your friendly local doctor will make a house call. If you can pay him.
So, you live life as if it’s the good old days for one month. No cheating–those of us who believe in reason, justice, equality and science will be watching. If you make it through your month without dying from illness or a tragic accident, good on you, you win a bootstrap! If you make it through without starving yourself or family members, losing your home or throwing yourself off of a cliff before Roosevelt can push through one of his commie New Deal roads and bridges, you get a bonus bootstrap. I hear once you collect enough, you can use them to pull yourself up.
Despite the fact that it’s only June, I’m already exhausted by this presidential cycle and all the nonsense that has accompanied it. Yet here I am yapping about it. Why? Because I’m confused, and sometimes writing things down helps sort it out–and maybe, hopefully, we’ll get a rich conversation going in the comments that will allow for clarity.
I’ll admit, my imagination is limited. I can’t fathom what it is that enables someone to want to be President. I’ve gone extended periods with very limited sleep while still needing to make decisions, large and small, that impacted five people. It isn’t fun. To choose to do this while making huge, impactful-for-generations-to-come for 318 million people? (Many more, really, because US decisions and policies are felt worldwide.) To believe you are the best person to be in this position? Nope, unfathomable to me. But hey, I’m someone who can spend two hours staring at the screen attempting to decide if I’ve chosen the most effective verb.
I keep saying, “How have we gotten here?” “How is it that in 2016, the GOP candidate is an openly hateful, selfish, liar?” How is it that the Democratic candidate is likely the most contentious woman in America?”
In regards to the Democratic party, I’m conflicted. I’m sorry Bernie lost, truly sorry if not surprised. I don’t care for Hillary Clinton. I want to be clear, this isn’t because of the history of bogus witch hunts targeting her, not because of what went on/goes on in her marriage, and definitely not because of her $12,000 blazer. Really people, what gives with that nonsense? First and foremost, I’ve never heard outrage or seen articles about the cost of any male candidate’s suit. Call me an old and out of touch feminist, to me that’s yet another symbol of not-so-subtle sexism. I know, I know, she wore it while talking about inequality. It is gross, represents much of what’s got people angry and frustrated in this country. But let’s be honest. If you were able to swallow her throwing a $3 million dollar wedding for her daughter while this country was in a serious recession, people losing jobs and homes daily, well then, let’s not pretend moral outrage about her jacket. I’ll be straight, you could tell me you found proof that she was in the backseat of Ted Kennedy’s car at Chappaquiddick and I’d still support her right now. Why? Because the alternative is Donald Trump.
Talk about witch hunts. Can you imagine if he was to become our President? Goodbye, First Amendment. That’s right, he’s been pretty clear. For all his lies, there are kernels of truth as to what he supports and believes, and what he believes is that he should be not just President, but Dictator, wanting to stomp on the rights of the press, freedom of religion, free speech, and the right to (peaceably) assemble. I’m pretty sure I’ll be burned at the stake along with the real journalists, because no slight or grievance is too small for him to let go. Well, maybe not burned, that leaves a horrible stench in fabric, and could drive his property values down. Hanged. Go ahead and say goodbye to the Statue of Liberty, because our liberties have been eroding–fuck, we’ve given them away in the name of “freedom”– and Trump is not interested in accepting any poor, tired, huddled masses. White, energetic, wealthy and attractive, maybe. Say goodbye to women’s rights. Women will go back to their place, at their men’s sides, lips stitched closed and legs spread wide. Only if they’re young and attractive, of course.
Many are tired of the status quo, and Hillary represents just that. I get it, I really, truly do, and that’s why I was hoping Bernie would win the nomination. But he didn’t. It’s over. He can continue to speak, I hope he will continue to work in the Senate, but he didn’t win the nomination. That he got as many votes as he did, that he got as far as he did, gives me hope for the future, but it doesn’t fill me with confidence for the present. There are too many variables, and we have too long a history of bedding down with fear, hatred, greed, and wishful thinking.
Sure, we like to talk about valuing reason, justice, intelligence, ingenuity and creativity, equality. But not really. When it comes down to it, too many of us value comfort and mediocrity above all else. Again, I’m not pretending I don’t like comfort, and God knows I’m mediocre, but I’m not trying to lead the country. We are currently enjoying the most reasonable and intelligent President we’ve ever had, Barrack Obama. In current polls, his approval rating is shockingly high at 51%. So why all the moaning about how horrible life is under him? Is it because he’s (shhhh) black? Or because he’s reasonable and intelligent? Or both? Ingenuity and creativity, these can’t possibly be valued. If they were, our education system wouldn’t be continuing to cut arts and flexibility in what and how our children are taught, valuing fill-in-the-bubble tests, grading teachers on how neat and attractive their bulletin boards are, over real teaching, thought and comprehension. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, one of the things that has stayed with me most is the pride with which I heard so many say George W Bush was a C student. Pride. For Cs. From the man who led America for 8 years. Equality? Talk about equality to people of color, trapped in the classroom to prison pipeline.
If Trump wins, I’m blaming everyone. (because for the moment, I’m still relatively free and can): the people who confuse unfiltered verbiage with integrity, the GOP that allowed Tea Partiers to take over their party, and the Democratic Party, who endorsed and backed a woman so hated that in our racist country a black man was chosen over her the last time she ran. I believed and still believe Obama was the better choice, and I’m proud and thrilled that was recognized by enough for him to become President. He can’t run again. I didn’t agree with all of his decisions and concessions, hated a few, in fact, but wow. Have we ever had a leader with such grace? I doubt we’ll see an equivalent leader; be they male, female, white or person of color, in our lifetime. Think for a second about all he’s put up with and worked through–don’t throw his hard work away. And yes, I’ll admit it, this old and out of touch feminist is pretty fucking happy to see that if it isn’t Bernie, the Democratic nominee is a woman. Here. In misogynistic America, a land filled with people still working to stuff women back in the kitchen, value the comfort and future of rapists over rape victims, and whittling away at our right to choose what to do with our bodies.
We do have a long and proud history here in the US. But we cannot take pride–we can never move forward–without acknowledging the shameful history woven in with our rights, and our history of sliding backwards before moving forward. The decisions based on fear, an inflated sense of our place in the world, that old surety that might makes right. It can’t happen here is a lie. That we naturally evolve in a positive way, progress with reason is a lie. Witch hunts, real mass witch hunts have occurred repeatedly, Salem and its twenty people killed was child’s play: Japanese Internment Camps during WWII, McCarthyism, Stop and Frisk, Muslims after 9/11. If we aren’t careful now, we could be looking at the broadest witch hunts this country has ever seen, because Trump hates and is afraid of everyone who doesn’t look like, pee like, move like, and parrot him.
I’m confused as to how anyone outside a handful of his cronies could support Donald Trump. Not wanting more of the same should not be blurred with it-couldn’t-be-worse. So yeah, I’m confused as to how anyone could say Hillary Clinton would be equally bad for our country and our rights.
Here lies reason and knowledge. Let’s not bury them again, ok?
Hello all. Yes, yes, it’s been a while. You know when more time than usual passes in between speaking to a friend, you keep thinking you should call, but the more time passes the harder it becomes to make that call? Yeah. First I was in a bit of a funk; there’s nothing to say, no one cares what I have to say, blah, blah, blah. Then, in the past few weeks, there’s been so much going on I couldn’t decide where and how to jump in. Nothing has happened to me/mine personally, it’s been wonderful having Man Child home, he has a good job, Nerd Child is in the last stretch of high school–drove north and saw his final production the other day–that young man is an excellent director! Art Child is well, Husband is well, Incredibly Stupid Dog continues to forget which end is supposed to be on the pee pad when she lets loose…all good in Fringeland. But the world around me? Prince died, which I took more personally than I have any right to. North Carolina has decided genital checks are in order because thinkofthechildren. The Bernie movement has faltered (to say the least), and Donald Trump has won the GOP nomination.
After two weeks of pretending that last tidbit couldn’t be real, I have to accept it. I have to get on the train. Not the train car supporting him, of course. I feel like it’s rush hour and the car open in front of me is suspiciously empty. If you’ve ever been a subway rider, you know what I mean. If you haven’t, let me give you a tip. When a crowded train pulls in, if the car you’re about to get on is miraculously empty with several open seats, there’s a reason–and that reason usually involves a stench so foul even the most weary and unsteady travelers would prefer to be squashed nose to armpit in the next car.
Yesterday I was having a conversation about this nightmare with a friend of mine, and I referenced playground politics. For me, this sums it up. Because it doesn’t feel like a train. I’m an adept rider; pains, nerve damage and all, I can keep my balance, squeeze into the most narrow space between two man-spreaders if it means a seat, and throw myself through the closing doors without getting my purse caught. This is more like a throwback to childhood, a concrete lunchtime playground where girls have cooties and with a choice between splintered seesaws, dodgeball, and a cement water fountain that dribbles rust. So here we are, this cycle of American politics where might makes right and he who spreads the most outlandish, the most vicious rumors wins. Where is the lunch aid? Where are the teachers? Where are the grown-ups?
As I’ve said previously, I like Bernie. I never thought he was a perfect candidate, and I had questions, but I thought he was the best choice. For a moment, I thought he had a real shot. That moment is over. I don’t love Hillary. I have a lot of questions and reservations about her that I don’t want to have. (I’m a feminist ferchistssake, a woman for President? Yes, please.) But I’m not hesitating to support her, especially when I look at the alternative. The alternative isn’t Bernie Sanders, it’s Donald Trump. A man whose positions take us from an unsupervised playground to Lord of the Flies.
While I wasn’t blogging, I did more reading than I’d done in a while. I even decided to read Infinite Jest, it’d been on my to-read list forever, and it seemed like the perfect time. I got about 600 pages in, and spent a good 500 of those pages feeling certain that I’m an idiot, because I didn’t get it. Not that I wasn’t able to follow the storyline, I was. Not that I didn’t notice and appreciate some lovely sharp prose, I did. But I really, really don’t understand the how/why this novel became the lauded, prized bestseller that it did. So I gave up, once again determined to accept that I’m just not that smart, and clearly incapable of understanding the publishing industry. If a friend had written it and given me the manuscript to beta read, I’d have suggested cutting about 500 of the 1200 pages. But the timing of my attempt to read this was perfect for today’s political climate, because today is when we are living the backstory of Infinite Jest. If Donald Trump becomes President of the United States, we will slide right into Subsidized Time, and tomorrow will become the Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment. I may not be smart enough to slog through all 1200 pages, but I’m smart enough to know I don’t want to live inside them.
You’re frustrated? Me too. You’re broke? Me too. You’re tired of the status quo? Me too. But my eyes are open. And what I see is hideous. A circle has gathered around the combover playground bully. The circle is growing, gathering legitimacy and support, and it’s feeding on greed, racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and wishful thinking. I know some people speak of idyllic childhoods and pine for their lost youth. Me? I was glad to leave the playground behind, and I don’t want to return. The lunch aid isn’t coming. We have to turn away from the childish blowhards telling us might makes right, get on the train before it derails completely, and be the grown-ups. We may or may not be in the gifted program, but we’re smart enough to recognize the stench of fresh shit.
Critical thinking. In my opinion, it’s the single most important thing (after learning to read) for people to learn. It’s what allows us to make informed decisions, objectively analyze information, sift opinion from fact and learn to incorporate the nuances of life. Develop empathy, compassion because we understand (at least the facts of) all sides, whether we agree with them or not. Not just so we can make sensible charts and see patterns, but critical thinking also feeds imagination, promoting innovation, new discoveries, and progress. The higher the level of educational institution, the more critical the thinking should become. And it’s something we’re seeing less and less of. There isn’t a whole lot of room and time left for teaching critical thinking skills when public schools are forced to spend the majority of their days teaching to (high stakes, homogeneous) tests and teachers are evaluated based on how their students perform on said tests, and how well they design a bulletin board. That leaves college, right?
On one side, we’ve got Bernie Sanders, who wants to eliminate tuition, and offer free education at public universities. I like Bernie, and I agree with much of what he has to say. I would absolutely support free tuition at public universities. It isn’t unprecedented in the US, California public universities were free to California residents until the 1920s, with a nominal fee for another fifty years. In New York the CUNY (City University of New York) schools were free (I think some, but not all) until the 1970s. If I were king, I’d make it free for in-state residents, still charge for room and board for other than low-income students, and place GPA restrictions on the free tuition, both to get it in the first place, and then to keep it once a student is in. (And no more bullshit with these “weighted” high school GPAs, stop penalizing economically disadvantaged kids from poor communities who don’t have the opportunity to take 23 meaningless AP classes.) I think these types of restrictions and minimum requirements would have to be in place to avoid degrees from public universities becoming meaningless.
And on the other side, we’ve got this. Excuse me a minute while I puke, will ya? In a nutshell, concealed carry laws will now allow students to carry handguns on campus at public Texas universities. Because of this, professors are being told to avoid sensitive subjects, drop certain topics from their curriculum, and limit student access to them. Putting aside the underlying facts regarding guns, gun violence, and gun safety (because we don’t want to get involved in too many high fallutin’ facts here, it’s just a blog, after all), there is no way to look at this and not see how very wrong it is. College. What’s the point of it, anyway? A liberal arts education was intended to provide students with (drumroll) critical thinking. Different ways of viewing the world, figure out how to solve complex problems, communicate effectively, provide you with the ability to think for yourself. I suppose liberal arts is definitely out with this now, huh? Well how about an applied degree in science, mathematics, law? Nope, sorry, because any and all of those fields of study may include sensitive topics and be offensive to personal beliefs, they can’t be studied.
To be fair–and possibly even demonstrate critical thinking skills–despite my left leanings I also think the extreme on the other side is a bunch of bullshit. Excessive trigger warnings and attempts to “protect” students from subjects they might find uncomfortable or offensive effectively muffle debate, discussion, and analysis. This warm and fluffy blanket of avoidance isn’t doing us any favors.
I believe in education. Power, reasoning, and opportunities grow from academic discourse, exposure to new ideas, and studying history. That said, I don’t believe everyone should or needs to go to college. Some people aren’t academically gifted. Some people aren’t good at sitting in a classroom. *that’s me* It doesn’t make sense to me when I see help wanted ads for receptionists that want college degrees. Way to penalize people who don’t go to college. Skills learned outside the classroom are important too, and many jobs and careers that make our society keep chugging along have nothing to do with a BA, BS, MS, etc. I do believe everyone who’s capable of doing the work and wants to go to college should have the opportunity to do so without trading a degree for homelessness, life on the pole, or forfeiting any chance of ever using that degree to get ahead in their chosen field because they’re so in debt from it.
Regardless of the path chosen, and regardless of whether you lean left or right, aren’t we all saying we’re frustrated because we want better, we want more? Downward mobility isn’t just about economic status. One by one we’re burying the tools we need along with our heads in the interest of…what? Ignorance, narrow-mindedness, and divisiveness.
I don’t care whether your classroom of choice is a traditional one, online, or in the corner bar at happy hour. What matters is that we insist on continuing to learn, listen to all the sides and all the facts, and grow.
We need knowledge. Progress. Problem solving. Opportunity.
Final installment of Mrs Fringe Takes a Vacation–I promise!
Much as I’d like to be, I’m not that gal. You know the one; who appreciates everything she has, cleans the toilet thinking how lucky she is to be living somewhere with indoor plumbing, and is grateful to have (reasonably) working limbs and the luxury to grocery shop when the refrigerator is empty. The one who takes a vacation and thinks, wow! I so appreciate a life where I was able to do that, what a wonderful time I had, and now I’m happy to be home.
I want to know when I can go back. Art Child and I agreed we would start a jar of coins dedicated to our next vacation. I thought about the jar of coins I already keep, the one that’s supposed to go towards Christmas presents, but usually ends up spent on a bill, or groceries, or some other necessity.
I’m the one who picks up the free real estate magazines whenever she goes anywhere, and imagines how it would be to live there. The one who spends the entire thirteen hour drive home trying to figure out how many dogs she’d have to walk to buy a little beach house. (Yah, I know, I haven’t been able to dog walk because I got all broken.) And ok, not so little, because I’m not alone. Maybe not on the beach, because insurance. And hurricanes. So, walking distance to the beach. Still in the million dollar range? Ok, reasonable driving distance. So maybe then I’d need to have a pool, because it’s hot hot hot there, and I wouldn’t want the girl to spend all her time off the beach locked in air conditioning. Who’s that knocking at my door–Reality?
Fuck you, Reality, I’m not ready to end my fling with Fantasy. Talk to me next week.
Oh, the beach houses, which one would I choose?
Lovely, but too fancy.
This could work.
How about this little one?
We have a winner.
Every day should begin like this.
The picture of a promise.
View from the apartment we stayed in.
Yes, please.
My toes are tingling.
This was one of my favorite parts of the vacation. A washer and dryer IN the apartment! Mundane but true.
I could spend hours looking at the patterns left in the wet sand by the waves.
I may print this one.
Yes.
The dark clouds felt just right for my last morning on the beach.
mrsfringe 