Drumpf

This was the campus of the University of Virginia in Charlottesville on August 17, during a vigil for Heather Heyer, who was killed by an American Nazi on Aug. 12:

Photo credit: Jason Lappa for The New York Times

The ugliness that happened at Charlottesville because of torch-wielding “Unite the Right” assholes. . .

. . .  should not have come as any surprise, and der Drumpf is not solely responsible for giving American Nazis the confidence to march in the light of day. White supremacy is what the Republican party has been dog-whistling for decades. der Drumpf is only saying out loud what the party has been nudge-nudging/wink-winking since Richard Nixon’s Southern Strategy. So, No, the GOP is not off the hook just because a few Republican politicians scold der Drumpf for his disgusting sympathy for the “fine people” of the alt-right.

What I think we should do, instead of tearing down the statues, is to paint over them, in big words: You Lost.  And for all those wonderful “Christians” who support the Drumpf agenda, we should add: Because God Was On Our Side. Get Over It, For Fuck’s Sake.

And if anyone wants to debate with you that the Civil War was about the glorious cause of state’s rights, remind them that the No. 1 state right that was fought over was the right to own slaves. And if anyone gives you that bullshit about the Stars and Bars being “just a battle flag”. . . ask them why they are proud of being on the losing side? Because they are such losers??

Oh, the hell with it. We should just let them secede. Florida’s going to go underwater away, and would anyone with a fully-functioning brain miss South Carolina?

BTW, those guys in the photo above are giving a Nazi Salute. Klansmen make the same salute, only with the left hand. So now you know.

Here’s a news item about confronting American Nazis that made me laugh. Yvette Felarca, a teacher in Berkley California, is facing assault charges in regards to her participation in a counter-demonstration against the alt-right in 2016, which led to a street brawl when the two forces faced each other. She was filmed hitting a brown-shirt. She wants all charges dropped. Her defense? It’s so pure, so plain: It shouldn’t be a crime to punch a Nazi.

LOVE IT. Also, Yvette Felacra is a teeny tiny Asian-American, so I bet her fists land like little pitty-pats on a big bad White Supremacist (who are all babies).

I know that I have lost Dear Readers of this blog since I started bad mouthing the imbecile in the White House. But here’s the thing: if you don’t speak up against this monstrosity, then your silence condones every perversion of language, truth, justice, and humanity that this der Drumpf piece of shit spews. It’s time to chose sides, people.

In Other News: I read two books last week, both of which I can recommend. This was my favorite:

 

(But skip the chapter about his favorite pornographer. All porn makes me ill.)

This is a collection of personal essays on the people and things that inspire John Waters. I have never seen a John Waters film. so I am not his built-in readership. But he’s such an odd fellow. . .Who wouldn’t want to read about how he got to be John Waters?

John Waters knows how to keep a story skipping across the pages and I read the whole thing in almost one sitting. YUM. But what I adore most about him is that he has a solid world view, one that is waaaaaay different than mine, but he’s so smart that he can articulate his values and esthetics with such vigor and humor that he makes me wish that I wasn’t so fussy about living a regular, normal life. For instance, I would never wear clothes that cost a ton of money just so I can look bad, but he does (by the famous-for-shredding-seams haute couturier Comme des Garcons) yet he succeeds in making me understand why someone like him (or, more accurately, him) does.  After reading those two millennial authors I discussed last week, whose work was froth, it was like gorging on pure protein to read words that had a long life (John Waters is 70 years old) to back them up, as if each word had a weight to it, a real heft, have stood the test of time and all, that made the story right juicy. And it was like champagne to read about someone his age (John Waters is 70!!) who is still challenging himself and the world to be more creative, less attracted to surface shine. Ah, so that’s how you age gracefully!

This book came out in 2007 but I just around to reading it now:

Joshua Ferris wrote about office work, and the culture there that assumes shape amongst co-workers. And not once did he resort to the usual shorthand — likening it to high school —  about the various roles each cubicle-person plays for the others. And there is a plot, in case that’s what you read fiction for. But mostly I liked the observations about meetings, looking busy, and waiting for the weekend. I did laugh out loud at one point, but then, I think the word “scumbag” is funny.

I’ve been thinking about the various offices I’ve worked in since my first office job in 1973. At one, in the 1980s for heaven’s sake, I was told that the old guy who went around kissing girls on the mouth was just a quirky “something that Ozzie did.” And when I recoiled at his approach to me, and told him No, thanks, some of the ladies criticized me for hurting his feelings.

For those readers in the Long Island area, the office was the inventory admin one at Fortunoff’s (on Fifth Ave) and I was not sad when they went out of business ten years later.

God, I’ve had a lot of crappy jobs.

And so we come to the end of this week’s post. I was laid low by the plague this past week, or something that certainly felt as deadly as The Black Death, so I am out of steam now and I didn’t get to the things that I had planned to write about . . . next week, then.

As bad as these days are, there is still some loveliness in the world. Here is a picture of a recent traffic jam in my little village :

And here’s a picture of some of those antsy Long Island drivers caught in that traffic jam:

Have a great weekend, every one. May all your driver’s seats be full of fluffy, unconditional love.

 

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