Post Inauguration Blues

Woke up this morning with the Blues.  The Women’s March was outstanding, twice the size of  Littlefinger’s  Inauguration festivities and much more festive. But that was three days ago.

I need a better name for the Unmentionable One.

The man  next to me in the Metro Elevator was talking on his cellphone in Russian. “Horror show, horror show”, he kept saying.  Horror Show  means “good” in Russian.  I flunked Russian in high school but still remember a few words.   Do Russian hackers control the Internet, or is it only a matter of time?

The Dumpster?  Not quite.

Out on the Virtual Verandah  this morning Memphis Earlene and Latte Woman drink White Russians,  and speak in broken English with fake Russian accents . Boris and Natasha English.

Make America Great Again.  Get rid of Moose and Squirrel.   Report to Fearless Leader.

“In a cage fight,  bet on the Russian,” says Latte Woman. “Agent Orange is a shameless liar and a natural born bully  but Fearless Leader has steel teeth and KGB training.”

Agent Orange?  Perfect.

“Can’t bet against America. Wouldn’t be right,” says Memphis Earlene.

“America’s a Fascist Dictatorship .  All bets are off, ” I say.

” At least we have a Fascist  Dictator who doesn’t read books,” says Latte Woman, who can always find a bright side.

Osip Mandelstam, 1891 – 1938

Our lives no longer feel ground under them.
At ten paces you can’t hear our words.

But whenever there’s a snatch of talk
it turns to the Kremlin mountaineer,

the ten thick worms his fingers,

his words like measures of weight,

the huge laughing cockroaches on his top lip,
the glitter of his boot-rims.

Ringed with a scum of chicken-necked bosses
he toys with the tributes of half-men.

One whistles, another meows, a third snivels.
He pokes out his finger and he alone goes boom.

He forges decrees in a line like horseshoes,
One for the groin, one the forehead, temple, eye.

He rolls the executions on his tongue like berries.
He wishes he could hug them like big friends from home.

 

 

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Posted in Banality of Evil, Blues, Feminism, Humor, Literature, mental health, Politics | 4 Comments

Post-Election Blues

pre suicide blonde

Memphis Earlene’s beverage of choice these days is White Russians, which seems so wrong.

Blues Beverages are whiskey and wine.

“Blues women do not drink alcoholic beverages that taste like dessert. It’s a Code violation,” I tell her.

“Blues women make their own rules,” says Memphis Earlene.

A few minutes of silence ensue.

I’m the one who needs a code to live by in these troubled times,  which I expect to last till the end of my life and beyond. Hence the no bourbon before five rule.

In the meantime I drink flat Coke Zero and brood.

Latte Woman drinks coffee 24/7.

“For a chronically depressed person time can move awfully slowly. Caffein picks up the pace,”, she explained once. “Caffein takes the energy of chronic anxiety and turns it into enough tension to support a high wire act, which is what life is when you think about it.”

It can also make you chatty and speedy.

Rapid flow of half-baked ideas may ensue.

Today Latte Woman is exceptionally wired.

“Remember when America really was Great? There was a 1957 Chevy Be-Air in every driveway. Most beautiful car in the world.  Cars had faces then.  Guys could repair their own cars . You didn’t need a degree in computers. Remember Car Talk? ”

The majority of white women voted Republican.

“I still don’t get it,” I say.

“Stockholm Syndrome,” says Latte Woman

“ Hillary could’ve got the white woman vote if only she’d had breast cancer,” says Memphis Earlene.

As if Hillary Clinton hadn’t taken enough punishment?

“That’s cold.  Even for you,” I say.

“Nothing makes a woman relatable like breast cancer,” says Latte Woman. “It’s one of those bonding experiences, like combat or pregnancy. ”

Critical judgment took a vacation the summer I had breast cancer. Hallmark greeting card messages made me cry. Elevator music soothed my spirits, as did the color pink and Martha Stewart Lifestyle Magazine.

For once I was Every Woman.  Not my old weird self, in other words.

Hillary Clinton is no more Every Woman than Michelle Obama. Both are top of the competitive heap, with their Ivy League degrees and Mega Earning power.

I admire them both but can’t relate to them.  I was a C student and bad at sports.   Anyone I can relate to has no business running for President and should pursue a more honorable calling, like Stand-up Comedy.  I wanted to be Aunty Mame and work for Mad Magazine when I grew up.Still do.

odalisque pepto bismalFive o’clock! The clink of ice cubes.

Posted in Banality of Evil, Blues, Existentialism, Feminism, Hillary Clinton, Humor, Politics, Politics 2016, women | 2 Comments

Cassandra on Prozac Blues

Memphis Earlene’s  drinking  White Russians this afternoon on the Virtual Veranda while I sip Coke Zero.   THree hours and 25 minutes before I can switch to Wild Turkey, but who’s count…

Source: Cassandra on Prozac Blues

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Cassandra on Prozac Blues

Memphis Earlene’s  drinking  White Russians this afternoon on the Virtual Veranda while I sip Coke Zero.   THree hours and 25 minutes before I can switch to Wild Turkey, but who’s counting?

I’ve invited Latte Woman to join us on the Virtual Verandah because we are a-wash in mendacity, overwhelmed in fact.

 

 

 

“I think I’ll be able to get through the next few years ,” I say, “But it will take a heap of drugs and alcohol.”

“Go easy. You don’t want to lose the edge,” says Latte Woman, whose drug of choice is caffein.  She’s drinking a  Grande Triple Mocha from Starbucks, while keeping an eye out for language abuse. ‘

Alt-right’ is the latest example.

“Alt-Right” is one more for Latte Woman’s Banality of Evil file.

“Sounds almost harmless.  LIke maybe it might be a kinder, gentler, hipster  Right instead of  Neo-Nazis without the uniforms.”

Latte Woman is ready to rise to the challenge of  Dumpster Nation., even if I’m not.

“Nothing new under the sun,” says Memphis Earlene.

“It’s all new for me,” I tell her. “Fear and the expectation of living under a state of siege for the rest of my life.  Or maybe Stage 3 cancer….”

Shortness of breath.  A feeling of something squeezing the life out of me.  No escape.  First they came for the Muslims, or was it the immigrants?  I’ve studied too much history and have no faith in human nature. That veneer of civilization is awfully thin.

“Hush now,” says Memphis Earlene,  like she would to a child who’s afraid of the dark.”Boogie man ain’t gonna get you tonight.”

 

 

 

Posted in Banality of Evil, mental health, Politics 2016 | 1 Comment

Civil Rights in the Bathroom Blues

I dreamed I was trapped in a Women’s Bathroom at a rest stop on I-95 with Caitlyn Jenner.  We’re washing up at adjoining sinks, our faces reflected in the mirror. Bright and chatty, reveling …

Source: Civil Rights in the Bathroom Blues

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Civil Rights in the Bathroom Blues

I dreamed I was trapped in a Women’s Bathroom at a rest stop on I-95 with Caitlyn Jenner.  We’re washing up at adjoining sinks, our faces reflected in the mirror.

Bright and chatty, reveling in her still new identity, she wants to make girl talk.

“Those eyes of yours would pop with some mascara,”she tells me, not that I asked.

latte woman white cat

“Mascara smears up my glasses, ” I tell her.

“Girl, you need to get contacts. This very minute-”

” I have a perfectly reasonable phobia about touching my eyeballs,” I start to say but she’s inexorable.

“Girl, when was the last time you used moisturizer? Moisturizer. That’s the stuff you put on your face before the foundation. You’ve heard of foundation? “

With a regime of skincare that could take a mere hour or two a day, she says, I could turn back the clock.

Turning back the clock is exactly what scares me.

Back to the days when no one had civil rights except white guys who could afford lawyers? No thank you.Pig with lipstick  2

Every human being , not just heterosexual white guys with cash, is entitled to be treated with dignity in public places. If this means Caitlyn Jenner gets to use the same bathroom as I do, so be it.

As long as I don’t have to talk to her.

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Donald Trump Blues

We’re in Mexico for the rest of the week, trying on the Ex-Pat lifestyle just in case Donald Trump wins the election.

Memphis Earlene feels right at home,  especially after dark, having discovered the Vampirito, a fearsome mix of tequila and mystery juice.

Margaritas, she tells me, are strictly for gringos. So is Montezuma’s revenge.

odalisque pepto bismal

Shouldn’t have had the cilantro.  Ditto the chopped cucumber.  Should have kept my mouth closed when I washed my face.  Ditto in the shower.

Feel like I’m fixing to die.  Find myself wondering, in a compassionate way, how Trump  covers his Male Pattern Baldness. Comb over or toupee?

“I don’t want to live in a place where you can’t drink the tap water,” I tell Memphis Earlene.

“That leaves out Flint Michigan, gringo.”

Also St. Joseph, Louisiana, anyplace near a Duke energy coal ash pond in North Carolina, Southwest Baltimore charter school drinking fountains.  All those lead pipes.  All that crumbling infrastructure

Paying for water you can use for brushing your teeth as the New Normal?

Why not be ahead of the curve?   In Mexico they  sell real Coca-Cola, the kind made with real sugar, not corn syrup. It’s sold in glass bottles.

 

 

 

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