According to the DailyKos, today Ted Cruz reached a new low in trying to get the GOP nomination.
Perhaps it is only fair, since Donald Trump recently brought up the fact that news* articles have stated that Ted’s seriously crazy dad, Rafael Cruz, was involved in the Kennedy assassination.
So Ted hit back, as Daily Kos says:
Candidate Ted Cruz, making his final appeal to Indiana voters (before his campaign officially goes down in flames), said of Donald Trump:
“… he’s proud to be a serial philanderer. He talks about his battles with venereal disease as his personal Vietnam.”
To his credit, Ted Cruz’s facts are more reliable than Trumps, as Trump did make the comment in a 1997 Ted Stern interview. But still.
I keep thinking there will be a point in the quest for the GOP nomination where I won’t be left speechless by the crassness by the politicians involved.
“A haircut will make you feel better, Lease,” my niece, Jen, said as we wandered the mall. We were together in Florida to organize and attend my dad’s funeral. It was December, 2000.
For reasons I still don’t fully understand, my brother Bob, who was Dad’s primary caretaker at the end, was insistent.
“Dad wanted to have Bobby Darin’s Mac The Knife played at his funeral,” Bob insisted. So in the days before YouTube, Jen and I were on a mission, looking for a CD of the song. It was no easy feat, let me tell you, finding that recording.* Record stores were fading, and the stock held by the few remaining didn’t include too many hits from 1958. Jen and I were getting tired and frustrated.
But Jen was right, I looked awful.
My hair is my best feature and always has been. It’s strawberry blonde, thick and curly. It does what it wants to do, which is good, because I don’t like to fuss with it. And I always let whoever cuts my hair do what they want with it. It always looks better than when I tell the expert what to do.
Into the salon Jen and I went.
Mellie, the hairdresser I ended up with, was young — 19, she said. Her hair was black and pink, and she wore thick makeup and brass hoop earrings the size of hula hoops.
I looked at Jen skeptically.
“It’ll be fine,” she reassured me. Of course, she wasn’t getting her hair cut.
I told Mellie to trim my hair, that I was going to a funeral and needed to be presentable.
“How about …” Mellie started talking about different looks. But really, I didn’t care.
“Whatever.”
When she finished, she twirled my chair around like a playground carousel.
“There you go! You look … sassy!“
She’d given me the ugliest hairstyle I’ve ever seen — Jennifer Aniston haircut from friends. Cut short in the back, with long sides. It’s not a nice look on a human.
John and Jacob hadn’t been able to get to my Dad’s funeral — there were no flights available. John was gentle when he saw my new do, though. After all, I was grieving. A month later when I had all my hair cut off to get rid of the stupid style, John said “I was really surprised to see you with that style. You looked like Cooper [our English springer spaniel.] Long curly bits around your ears and nothing in back.”
Yesterday I had my long hair cut to chin length. When he was done, my longtime hairdresser Ric, who has never given me a bad cut, spun my chair around and proclaimed:
“Elyse, you look sassy!”
Shit.
*****
* We were, happily able to find a recording of Mack The Knife:
I’ve been explaining to Duncan for weeks, that starting today, April 27, 2016, he is a grownup dog. That means no more stealing shoes (always mine), no more stealing socks (usually Jacobs and always dirty), and no more poop eating.
Because today is Duncan’s 2nd Birthday.
Oh GROW UPPPPPPPP, Duncan!
Duncan in Jacob’s Man Cave
So far today, he stole my boot, lunged for a pile of horse poop — Mom was too fast for you today! — and stole a clean sock from the basket as I took a load of laundry out of the dryer. Dogs are gross.
You may have noticed that I’ve been unusually quiet about politics lately.
Ever since Donald Trump stopped being funny, well, my heart hasn’t been in it.
I will tell you that I miss candidate Barack Obama. He inspired me, beginning before he was a candidate — when he made his 2004 speech to the 2004 Democratic Convention, I turned to John and said “Can we have him?” In 2006, John and I spent our 20th wedding anniversary listening to the future president speak. And in 2008 and 2012, we both worked for Obama’s election and re-election.
Hillary? Bernie? Eh.
In February I wrote that I’d decided to vote for Hillary:
Philosophically, I’m really in Bernie’s camp. I’d love government-sponsored healthcare. I’d love to make college free. I would love to erase income inequality.
But I’m a pragmatist.
Even if Bernie could get elected (and I don’t agree with pundits that claim he can’t), well, I spent 10 years watching the sausage mill that is our government. And I simply don’t think Bernie can do it.
Hillary Clinton has my vote because I think she will be a good president. Because she’s smart and capable. Because she knows the system inside, outside and upside and downside.
I didn’t know at the time that I would ever be quoting myself.
But this morning, courtesy of the Daily Kos, I found someone much funnier than I agreed with me.
You probably remember Hodgman from the Daily Show — the straight man. Monday, in advance of the New York Primary, he came out for Hillary for precisely the reasons I decided to support her. He is much funnier, though.
I think her ambition is, and has long been, to be the President of the United States, like everyone else in the race, and also to make policy.
I think it’s reasonable to say based on her career that she likes making policy.
Moreover, I think she wants to make the best policy possible in an antagonistic-by-design political process that she has known and wrestled with for decades, and keep that policy in place.
Moreover, I think she wants to make policy that I largely agree with.
And I think she can do it.
Moreover, I think she can beat Trump.
At least I hope so. New Zealand is so far away.
Besides. She has the aliens on her side. Photo spotted at Daily Kos. But my feet were on the ground. Or actually on the coffee table, if you must know.
Perhaps I am just an unusually smart person. Or especially practical. Or maybe, just maybe, I haven’t hit my head so many times that I routinely need to do stupid things.
But for most of my life, I have tried my best to not put things near my head that would make my mother panic. (I was an incredibly thoughtful child.)
I never, for example, played football. I never did bobsledding that would have me plunge head-first down an icy mountain. I will admit to skiing headfirst into a stonewall in France, but I can assure you that was unintentional.
So when I read that some genius had developed the perfect “concealed weapon” well, I had to scratch my head. And thank my lucky stars that my head was still on my shoulders while I was at it.
You see, this genius developed this gun:
Google Image
Because what could possibly go wrong with putting a cell phone/gun against your head? Perhaps that way you can answer when God calls and suggests you run for public office.
FiftyFourandAHalf 