Annual Tune’s Up

It’s that time again.  I’m gonna make you listen to this song:

Yeah, you guessed it.  It’s my birthday.  I am, not surprisingly since I have been blogging under the stupid blog name FiftyFourAndAHalf for 5 and a half years, well, I’m older today.

Old.  Probably older than you; probably shorter than you, too.  Life just ain’t fair.  I’m older and shorter than people I can’t even see…

Today is my 60th birthday.  I’m not a big fan of my birthday, for reasons you can find here:  Still, it’s a day.  A decade.  Something to celebrate with my husband and son and good food and cake.  Gotta have cake.

And it’s something that is way better than the alternative.  Yup.  Way better.

To the handful who have been along with me since I was, actually 54-1/2, thanks for all the times we’ve laughed and cried together.  To my  new blogging buddies, welcome again.  Thank you for stopping by; I hope you stick around.

Blogging has been a wonderfully fun way to spend time over these last 5-1/2 years, and counting, cause I’m not planning to stop.  I see no reason to stop.

Because people my age are getting gross. So what else can we do?  :/

Love you guys!

 

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Trump has skin thinner than his wife and an ego bigger than my ass.

If you haven’t read this, you should. It’s what we’re all thinking and feeling.

Elitists UNITE!

Margaret and Helen

helen-mug1 HELEN:

Margaret, somebody called me an elitist because I think Trump and his supporters are morons.   I wasn’t’ quite sure what being an elitist means these days and I am pretty sure most people using that as an insult probably don’t either so I looked it up. After all, I’m just a little ole’ gal born in Georgia and I am not sure I qualify to be an elitist.

Now the Oxford Dictionary says an elitist is someone who supports the view that a society or system should be led by an elite.  Well that just begged the question: What is an elite?  I got confused at first because evidently an Elite is a size of letter in typewriting, with 12 characters to an inch. Of course, for this particular scenario it also means a select group that is superior in terms of their ability or qualities to…

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Don’s Johns

Sometimes a metaphor actually plops into your lap.  Or your hands.  Or into someplace you hope you don’t drop your cell phone.

That happened to me today, when I read an article in the Huffington Post about one of the, ahem, priorities, of the folks setting up Friday’s Inauguration of Donald J. Trump.  And really, it is a metaphor for what is to come.

You see, whenever there is a big event here in the DC area, there’s a lot of shit going on.  Literally.  Lots of people = lots of pee and poop!  So port-a-potties line the Mall, surround the Monuments; and ring the Capitol itself.  And in the DC area, one company has the scoop on poop.

dons-johns

Photo Caption  Don’s John’s.com

But, according to the Huffington Post,

Someone’s Covering The ‘Don’s Johns’ Logo On Port-a-Potties For Trump’s Inauguration

When I saw that headline, my first thought was, “Of course they are.  They’re covering up all kinds of shit.”  But this time they’re not covering up the shit, but the name.

dons-johns-2

Photo Credit:  Michael Showalter for the NY Post

Of course folks are covering up Don’s shit.  But it’s up to us to pull off the tape and show the world Don’s Johns.  That will be our job for the duration of Trump’s presidency — whether that is for 2 weeks or 4 years.  To pull off the tape on Don’s Johns.  To expose every breach of law, each unethical behavior, all threats to the rule of law.

THAT is how we will survive Trump.  Because you can’t paper over the truth for long.

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Keeping Our Heads for Four Years

If you were a news junkie during the George W. Bush era, you’re already experiencing deja vu.  That sinking feeling already makes your eyes roll automatically when Putin’s President appears.  It settled into the back of your neck from the whiplash as you shake your head and shout “no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” over the latest outrage or tweet.  And it’s there in the pit of your stomach, when you try not to vomit whenever you see the color orange.

Yup, it’s started.  The Deluge.  The Flood.  The Trump shit storm.

trump-and-putin

During the Bush years, I would just be ready to pounce on one issue, when another hit the fan and took the wind out of my sails. Resistance is hard if there is just so much to resist.

How, I worried in the days since November 8, will I survive Trump.  I feared a heart attack.  A stroke.  Getting so scared I’d shit in my pants.   Of course I worry about the last one sometimes during a scary movie.

Anyway, I’ve come up with a strategy for a hybrid Resister/Surviving Human.  I’m going to become a political centaur!

centaur-female

Google Image.  No shit will be given by this filly.

 

I’m going to take my mother’s marital and parental advice and apply it to my activism.  She said:

Choose Your Battles!

Me, I’m going to try to focus on issues I know about and/or that are closest to my heart.  The ones I write about here on FiftyFourAndAHalf.

But that won’t be all I do.  I will look for and follow the lead of others who are knowledgeable about other issues, and I will try to help to the extent I can.  It’s not hard, really, to make calls to Congress and the White House.  Really, it just takes a minute.  You or I can even just cut and paste and hit “send.”

But I will try my very best to keep my blood pressure — and my outrage to livable levels.

George W. Bush kept us all off balance because there were so many things to be outraged about, that we couldn’t keep it up.  Different bad presidents need different tactics.

And Trump will make the Dubya years look like a walk in the park.  And that park is in Baghdad.

 

 

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This is NOT the behavior of a rational adult.

Who indeed will save us from a mentally unfit President?

Empty Nest, Full Life

I am unable to tear my eyes away from Donald Trump’s Twitter vomiting.

Its like seeing a terrible natural disaster;  you are horrified. You are filled with disbelief.

And yet.

You cannot look away.

I log on in the morning, and I cringe. I see the kind of vindictive, petty, immature ego stroking bullshit that the President-elect sends out to the world.

To be honest, if I had a 14 year old who spent his time tweeting nasty lies about other people just to make himself feel good, I’d take away his devices and get him into therapy.

Things like this:

I mean…I am a student of American history. I understand the vital importance of a…

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Smitten-ish

As I’ve told you, comedy always comes in threes.  And today?  Today was a veritable shamrock of humor.  And you know what?  Just when I had had a long lapse in providing all of you with the information that brings you here, it was all poop-related humor.

You’re welcome.  It’s my new years’ gift for you.

It started just as soon as I got up and, ummmm, and checked the news headlines.  I learned that the Japanese are wiping up.  Literally.  They are supplying antiseptic wipes for your phone in public bathrooms.  Now, I personally wipe my phone quite frequently, so I actually thought this was a great idea, right out of the, ummm, gate.

But then I saw that they provide video instructions.  On how to use toilets, different butt wiping techniques, and step-by-step guides for how to wipe your phone.

I know you didn’t click on that.  But you should have.  At first, I admit that I only watched part of it, because I consider myself a toilet expert.  Nobody does the elephant or the horse style better than (or as often as) me.  However, the full international experience is worth your 2:11.

You know what?  The day got better.

Because I also learned about special-use mittens.  They are wet-wipes in the shape of mittens to keep your hands clean while wiping.  They’re called “Shittens.”  Really!  Here’s the product description:

If there’s one great universal truth that we can all agree on, it’s this: No one wants poop on their hands.

And yet, we laugh carelessly in the face of danger every time we take an old fashioned wet wipe to our heinies, flying completely blind in the critical poop-to-hand spatial relation.

How many times have you taken one of those substandard wet wipes to the posterior of a child, risking major contamination from that flailing poop cloth? And how many times has your dog’s “number two” been a little closer to a number one “and a half”, requiring a deadly grab & pull maneuver with whatever’s laying around? Enough is enough!

With new Shittens, you can fully protect your hands while tending to the dirty deed.

If you’re 12, or are generally short on bathroom humor, just go to the Shittens’ Amazon Q&A page/Customer reviews.  You won’t be disappointed.

Lastly, I read an article that might just give me nightmares:

A woman called Animal Control last week after she found a snake in a toilet in an Arlington County apartment. To repeat: She. Found. A. Snake. In. A. Toilet.

snake-in-toilet

Photo Credit:  Arlington County Animal Shelter.

At a minimum, it will make me use the buddy system whenever I skip to my loo.

The snake is a juvenile Yellow Anaconda.  Researcher that I am, I looked up Yellow Anaconda snakes.  Here’s what I learned:

They belong to the family of snakes, Boidae, which contains pythons, boas and the green anaconda, the world’s largest snake. Even though yellow anacondas are much smaller their cousin the green anaconda (Eunectes murinus), they can reach a length of up to 4.6 meters, but the average adult size is around 3 meters.  [Shit, I had to underline that.]

Thanks for the info, Snake Facts!

All I can say is that if I found a large snake (or even a small snake, now that I think about it) in my toilet, I wouldn’t call the animal shelter.  I’d call Amazon for a shitload of Shittens.  

shittens

Because it would be “cleanup on aisle 3,” for sure.

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Everybody Needs An Editor

One day, shortly after starting my first job that involved a lot of writing, I realized that I worked for a magician.

Seriously!  My boss, another John, could look at a good piece of writing and make it amazing.  All he used was a pencil.

I can recall standing next to him as he looked over my memo that first time.  He changed a “this” to a “that,” reorganized a couple of words in another sentence and handed it back to me.

Naturally, I figured that since he was the boss he had to do something to contribute; after all, his name was going on it.  But when I looked at the simple changes he made, I was astonished.  Those simple changes made a huge difference.

“Everybody needs an editor,” John said, smiling.

That was close to 40 years ago, and since then I have used that line constantly.  I’ve said that to everybody I’ve ever worked with.  To writer friends.  To blogging buddies.  Because it’s true.  No matter how good a writer you or I am, different eyes notice large and small ways to make something good, better.

If you’re writing a novel, drafting a memoir, compiling blog posts into a future best-seller, you need an editor.  Someone who can help polish, perhaps shorten or reorder.  Someone who can tell you if your work makes sense, or if there are areas that need clarification/reworking.  Someone who can change some “this-es” to “that-s,” reorganize a bit, cut, and shine up that manuscript you’ve been working on.

editing-1

I have someone to recommend.

Karen Kingsley is an old friend of mine who has been a professional writer/editor for her entire career.  For the last 15 years, she has been a freelancer.  Her website is Kingsley Ink.

She’s written and/or edited just about anything you can come up with:  books (fiction and non-), websites, web content, essays, marketing materials, advertising, blogs, speeches, resumes, cover letters, Facebook posts, tweets, press releases.

Karen can help you shine.

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