Saturday, February 1, 2020
Yesterday, I took Sophie to The Nice Dentist and then to The Nice Neurologist. On the way across the city from The Nice Dentist's office to The Nice Neurologist's office, I listened to The Public Radio and learned about The Trumplican vote to not call witnesses and while I sort of expected it, given Dear Leader and The Sycophants Who Follow Him, I felt sort of hopeless and depressed for a few minutes. This isn't accurate chronologically, but despair isn't either. I was looking out the window at the backs of cars and then into the rearview mirror at Sophie's pretty face and the radio kept talking and then there was a Muslim American who was talking about the vote and getting out the vote and how we can't stop hoping because, he reminded us, Frederick Douglass thought it was a country worth fighting for. Martin Luther King, too. And Malcolm X. So, the list goes on.
To despair is a luxury, in particular for a white person. For me, it's sort of dumb. Dumb.
When I walked down the coffin hall from The Nice Neurologist's office to the elevator and then out into the Pasadena Sunshine, I felt not a little despair. I felt like a dragon my tail The Past and my goddamn inability to Just Let It Go. No matter how many times I read about PTSD it doesn't stick. Back on the road I heard that Michael Bloomberg who is running to overthrow Dear Leader is spending several million dollars on an ad that will run during the Super Bowl on Sunday. Actually, I think The Newscaster said that a one minute ad during the Super Bowl costs $10,000,000 (Ten Million). I think The Ad features a fat, grotesque Dear Leader chasing after a golf ball or something and will be played in front of the several billion people who will also be entertained by Buffalo Wings, Mostly Black Men bashing their brains to oblivion and The Singer Known Fondly As JLo dancing her insured million dollar ass around during The Halftime Show.
What's there to despair about? What's dumb? (speechless)