Happy Birthday to Me
I turn 54 today. Happy birthday to me.
My week has been bookended by a horrible case of stomach flu on Monday and the inauguration of Donald J. Trump as the 45th president of the United States today. The stomach flu went away after 24 hours.
Patricia got it first, in the middle of the night Sunday, so Monday morning I walked over to Bartell's and bought the usual necessities: Ginger ale, saltines, Excedrin. By the time I got back, I was feeling it, the nausea, then I lost it, then lost it again—both ways—for much of the next 12 hours. You know you're having a bad day when you don't know which end to face toward the toilet. I was a wreck, dehydrated, when about six o'clock, Patricia—who was feeling much better, thank you—crushed some ice for me. My mother used to do that when I got sick as a child. (Which was often; I was a sickly kid.) We had one of those hand-crank ice crushers in the cabinet: faded yellow on bottom and white on top. Anyway I asked for the crushed ice, Patrticia delivered, and the first cube sliver that melted in mouth tasted better than almost anything I'd eaten or drunk in my life. Amazing what deprivation will do for you. I thought, “Why isn't this enough? Why do we need to color it and sugar it and fizz it and liquor it up?” I know. Not exactly profound.
As bad as that was—and it was bad—today is worse. I don't have Barack Obama's optimism. I know the bad guys won. Not just Trump, but particularly Mitch McConnell, Paul Ryan, all the greedy little fuckers in service of the greedier big fuckers. I know the bad guys usually win. Everybody knows, as L. Cohen sang. I know most of us can't be bothered, then we look for scapegoats as to why things are so bad; and there are the little fuckers again to point out the marginalized to blame. It's amazing the levels of bullshit people buy into. I've said it before: America is a guy eating filet mignon telling a guy eating a baloney sandwich to resent the guy eating his crumbs. And he does. He blames the guy eating the crumbs. And he elects the guy eating the filet mignon.
This is what we've got now: A thrice-married, bullying narcissist with ties to our greatest historical enemy, who during the campaign besmirched our military, our POWs, our allies, and a Gold Star family; who has gone through six bankruptcies but is seen as a business success; who kept threatening his opponent with jail and encouraged violence at his rallies and who had been caught on camera saying he liked to grab women by the pussy; this know-nothing vainglorious supercreep was elected our president by 63 million people. That's how many enemies I have in this country now. Anyone who voted for this turd is dead to me. Seriously, I can't even remember all the bad shit Trump did. Mocking a handicapped reporter—I can't believe I didn't allude to that one. The money that went to the Florida AG who dropped charges against Trump University. Trump University itself. Trump fillets. The USFL. “If Ivanka weren't my daughter I'd be dating her.” Ugly shit from an ugly man.
The lefties, too. Jesus. The people who couldn't get behind Hillary—the Susan Sarandons of the world. Last Saturday, I went to a meeting for a rally today being organized by Kshamna Sawant, a socialist on Seattle's City Council, and the first speaker was an assistant from her office, some woman with a small voice who read her speech to us like an 11th grader reading a book report. In that speech, which was supposed to ignite us and ready us for anti-Trump rallies, she took potshots at both Hillary and Pres. Obama, and lauded Bernie. Hello? Common enemy? I left after five minutes.
Crazy what you could've had. Crazy what you could've had.
See you on the other side.