Still Numb...and Not Amused

Another day, another mass murder in Texas, this one near Dallas where, on Saturday, a guy wrapped in enough ammo to take out a small town took out 8 shoppers at an outlet mall with an AR-15. And, as icing on that particular death-cake, Sunday morning, a guy rammed his car into a group of migrant workers, killing 8 of those folks sitting on a curb in Brownsville...also in Texas. 

But wait! There's more! Monday morning, a guy on a Dallas DART train opened fire, killing 1, injuring 2. Ooops, not quite a mass murder...but close enough for government work. Seems to me, a more efficient population reduction method would be to just give everyone in the state a firearm while telling them to control the shootings. 

Last week, when I said I was numb, I meant it. Right now, I'm in the ironic-unfunny-joke phase of revulsion. That's how my family deals with disgust; we make horridly inappropriate jokes because there's nothing else you can do with bull-oney like this. Thoughts and prayers are bull-hockey useless, just more performative activism, words that, like those stupid frames around your profile picture, are supposed to demonstrate your support/empathy. My kids will tell you I had my empathy chip removed long ago and subsequently have no patience for that level of verbal vomit coming outta the mouths of asshats like Governors Abbott or DeSantis. Those words meant to appease and deflect the electorate from the real issues: a push to a Taliban level ultra-right wing theocracy that controls women, minorities, other faiths, and children. 

But what scares me is the lack of willingness to act on behalf of We, the People that elected the Clown Congress in the first place. This gun stuff is the tip of an ultra-right wing iceberg that will not disappear with more AR-15s on the market or all abortions banned. Or books banned. Or birth control deemed illegal.

If you haven't seen this video by Joy Ann Reid, maybe you should stop what you're doing to watch it.

Radical? Sure. Scary? You bet your sweet ass, it's scary. Possibly spot on? Probably. 

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At this juncture, I'm changing directions just a bit. 

My blog; my rules. 

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The summer of 1981 was a really busy one for me. I was very pregnant with the Senior Son. I was artistic director of a theatre, and at the same time, consulting on a show at the Guthrie, Eli: A Mystery Play of the Sufferings of Israel by Nobel Literature Laureate Nelly Sachs (z"l), directed by the wonderful Garland Wright (z"l) and staged managed by the ever fantastic Diz; I was having the time of my life until extreme pain ripped through me. I was sure I was in labor, but no such luck. I had a kidney stone. The good folks at Metropolitan Hospital threw me into a giant room on the labor and delivery floor, big enough to hold staff meetings with the folks of the Big G. Hosting everyone in my room to work on show stuff was a hoot and I was flying high without drugs cuz they couldn't give me any. I was in the big time.

I was also in pain. During the wee hours of July 29th, 1981, unable to sleep despite being ensconced on a floating bed thingee, I watched Chuck and Di get married. Oh, like everyone else, I bought into the fairy tale of the royal wedding even if I thought her dress was overblown and awful. But it was all sooooooo romantic. 

Turned out it wasn't all that romantic when the groom never stops screwing his married mistress. However young and innocent and possibly crazy Diana was before the wedding, her unfaithful, sack o'poo husband contributed bucketsful to her misery. Intentionally, I suspect. We all knew the story, then we all watched the funeral. We watched her sons paraded behind her coffin. And when I wept, it was for her kids because, after all, I was the mother of two sons. 

Sure, I watched the attempted rehabilitation of the woman Diana called the Rottweiler and I was glad when they announced she would be "princess consort" and not queen. But her philandering husband, as he lied to his wife, lied to the public. I know lots of people are on "Team Camilla," and I hope her blow jobs are worth what this guy did to his sons. No, I haven't read THE SPARE, but I imagine as vitriolic as the book is said to be, I'm certain we're not seeing the reality of the boys' relationship with their stepmother. I mean, how do you ever forget this woman was screwing your father before, during, and after his marriage to their mother? That they both stood outside the bathroom door while their mother wept. And now, she has replaced their mother everywhere but where they cherish Diana most: in their hearts.

Of course, I watched the coronation. I thought about Grandma Sarah. She would not have been amused by Queen Camilla. In fact, I imagine she would have been rather vocal on the subject of a fornicating king and his mistress...kinda like how she was on the subject of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. She wasn't amused by that either. 

Two images struck me as I watched the pomp: first, when William, now Prince of Wales, spoke the fealty oath to his father, followed by Charles' face as his son kissed him. It was the hard look on the prince's face that spoke volumes whether he knew it or not. The lip readers said Charles murmured "Thank you," as his son kissed him. You gotta wonder that he was thanking him for... showing up? Putting on a show for the public? Or not calling him a philandering whoremaster to his face? Take a pick. Any pick. 

I want to hope what William said to his father was, "It should've been Mum." 

And so, the head of the Church of England, an open and unrepentant adulterer is married to another open and unrepentant adulterer, who, by the way, invited her ex-husband to the coronation. Talk about a ménage à trois! It's not that I actually care about this stuff, but the optics count and the optics are terrible. Don't these people get it? But they're all kinda old and with any luck, William won't have to wait until he's 74. 

At the same time, there's a little boy watching his grandfather being crowned King of England. Like any other 9-year old, he had his moments. One of them I somehow managed to capture from the telly. Does he realize his dad is next? Is he thinking, wow, one day that'll be me? Or does he need a bathroom and/or some biscuits? Funny thing is, he's the spitting image of Diana's brother Charles at that age: total Spencer. What goes around...

Honestly, I wish all five grandkids the strength and grit to ultimately find each other. They will need those cousinly ties as the years go on. Together, they occupy a unique place in world history; they can change the world and they probably don't even realize yet. 

Shakespeare would have a field day with this... a real pity he's not around to write it. 

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

Lag ba'Omer started at sundown on tonight (Monday.)

Go get a haircut. 

You have until sundown on Tuesday.