Category Archives: Shit happens

I Can Change The World!

It will come as no surprise that I would personally love to save the world.  But like most folks, well, I just couldn’t figure out how.

 

When the Women’s March happened, my hopes dwindled.  How could I save the world and still be within reach of the bathroom?  Ditto all the other spontaneous and planned demonstrations that have taken place since January 21.

But then I learned that Yes. I. Can!  Really!  I can save the world from climate change single-handedly.  Really!  Me!

You can’t though.  Sorry.

You see, I just read this article that says that the city of Portland, Oregon has come up with a terrific way to produce electricity through poop.  And pee.

I can do that.  In fact, I often can’t NOT do that.

It’s true!  They installed toilet turbines to generate power with every flush.

I volunteer to power the East Coast.  Except for the White House and Mara Laga.  Because I don’t give a shit about Trump.

 

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Two Mints in One

Remember those Certs’ Ads from the 60s?  {Shut up if you don’t, please.  I’m not talking to you, you whippersnapper.]

Well this morning I had a “two in one” moment, and I nearly drove off the road because the story I heard on the radio hit my two* hot buttons.

Did you hear this one?

Louie Gohmert, (Braintrust-TX (of course) announced that he wasn’t going to do any in-person Town Hall meetings with his constituents because, and I quote:

The House Sergeant at Arms advised us after former Congresswoman Gabby Giffords was shot at a public appearance, that civilian attendees at Congressional public events stand the most chance of being harmed or killed — just as happened there.

Now to clarify in case you’ve been self treating your PESD heavily and are starting to look like Steve Bannon, this really pisses me off.

Because Louie, Louie has an A rating from the NRA, and just two weeks ago on February 2, Louie, Louie voted to allow mentally ill folks to get guns, and he believes that MORE guns will prevent mass shootings.

Talk about the personification of the politician who thinks it’s OK for US to get shot wherever we go, but makes sure that his place of employment is a veritable Fort Knox of security.

Later today, Gabby Giffords, who has been working since her shooting for sensible gun laws, called Louie, Louie out on his hypocrisy:

“I was shot on a Saturday morning. By Monday morning, my offices were open to the public,” Giffords said. “Ron Barber ― at my side that Saturday, who was shot multiple times, then elected to Congress in my stead ― held town halls. It’s what the people deserve in a representative.”

“To the politicians who have abandoned their civic obligations, I say this: Have some courage,” Giffords said. “Face your constituents. Hold town halls.”

Gohmert, put on some kevlar and get your ass in front of the public.

My own member of congress, Barbara Comstock, you too.  Telephonic Town Halls don’t cut the mustard.  I want you to look into my eyes before you rip away my healthcare/medicare/civil rights.

Oh, and in 2018, can we please get rid of these GOP members of Congress who are too stupid to even know how stupid they are?

* OK, so I have more than two** hot buttons.

** OK, so I have more than two hundred hot buttons.

*** Did I forget a footnote?

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Gigantic Turds

Earlier today, after spending hours trying to digest/swallow Putin’s President’s nominee for the Supreme Court, I tried not to vomit.  That continued as I tried not to go ballistic over the fact that the Senate Finance Committee cheated by changing the rules for reporting nominations out of committee and sent PRICE — nominee who wants to gut Obamacare, Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security —  out for an up or down vote on the senate floor.  You see, in the real world — pre-Trump — the Senate had rules.  They followed those rules.  And things worked out OK.

Now?  Not so much.  Things don’t seem to be going quite so well.

So naturally, I thought of poop.  And my friend Nikki/Jordan provided the backup for my concerns.  Sloths.

sloths

So I’m figuring that the Trump Administration is a collection of sloths, all holding in their shit for a week at a time.  And that explains how miserable they are.  Constipation doesn’t make for happy government nominees.

This explains everything.

You’re welcome.

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How Be a Friend

It’s International Holocaust Remembrance Day. And so, of course, Putin’s President, with the irony born of someone without a soul or a keen eye for history, chose today of all days to ban Muslims from entering the U.S.

Naturally, that means anybody who “looks” Muslim will become even more of a target than they have been since Trump took us all down the gold escalator into hell.  It is now open season on “others” here in our nation of immigrants.

So what can we do about it?

I will admit that the safety pin movement left me feeling decidedly unhelpful.  It’s a nice thought, but it never made me feel like I was actually standing up for anyone.  Or like I was doing something to help people being targeted.

But a while back I saw this article that offered some practical suggestions that have some meat on the bones.  Really!  Click on the link.  Cause I’m not going to tell you everything it says.

Anyway, I like to think that I would be the kind of person who would stand up in any situation to protect those in need.  But frankly,  I’m overweight, slow moving, and cowardly.  They don’t make superheroes who look or act like me.  So the odds are NOT in my favor.  Besides, when something happens around me, I never have a clue what’s happening.  I generally stand there, looking around, confused.  Immobile.  Saying “WTF” with my mouth hanging open.  Quick witted I may be with words, but actions?  Not so much.

But the Vox article showed me a way to help when someone is being verbally assaulted, in situations where I am most likely to see it happen.  It’s brilliant.  And relatively safe.  Win-win.

Here’s an example.  Say you’re in Target, passing by the children’s section, when you hear a man harassing a woman in a hijab.  He’s big and burly, and you want to help. You also don’t want him to target you.  Still, you can’t just walk away, turn a blind eye.  You’re a good person!  You wouldn’t be able to look yourself in the mirror if you didn’t help.  But how?

Why, act like an idiot, of course.  Me, I’m a natural!  At acting the idiot, that is.  Not being one.  That’s the role of the racist.

You interrupt the jerk.  Wander in between him and his victim as if you’re looking for something, and can’t quite find it.  Request his help.  Be totally oblivious.  Give the poor target the opportunity to get away.  Think Roseann Rosanna Dana.

roseann-roseanna-dana

Gilda Radner as Roseann Rosanna Dana.

Or, in an equally ditzy way, pretend to be the friend/shopping buddy of the woman being mistreated, and in an oblivious way whisk that woman out of the children’s department and into the table linens.

“Sylvia!” said in the most nasal tone imaginable, “THERE you are.  You were supposed to meet me in the shoe department … you come with me right now before they’re out of the size 7s…”

Read the article.  Learn steps you can take to help folks who may really need your help.  Because it’s a Brave New World out there.  And it helps to be prepared.

Today of all days, it’s important to recall these words, from the U.S. Holocaust Museum:

The Holocaust did not begin with killing; it began with words. The Museum calls on all American citizens, our religious and civic leaders, and the leadership of all branches of the government to confront racist thinking and divisive hateful speech.

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Oops. ;/

OK, so I’m quoting Rick Perry here.  I don’t often do that.

But I need to set the record straight.  I made a mistake.  I screwed up.  I led you astray.

Of course you read my last post.  That’s a given.

You did read it, didn’t you?

Well, in that post that you read but forgot, I suggested that during Putin’s President’s inauguration, that you deny Trump TV ratings by tuning your TV to another channel.

Ummmmm.  Well, perhaps I might have done some more checking.  Because I learned that I am wrong. It’s not true.  It’s an urban legend.  It doesn’t pass the snopes test:

http://www.snopes.com/change-channel-on-inauguration/

So apparently we don’t have to worry about where our TVs are tuned during Putin’s President’s moment in the sun.  Errr rain...  That means, of course, that tomorrow we can all Tune Out.

egg-on-my-face

Let’s make stuff stick!  Google image

Thanks to Jana of Stop Me If I Told You This who let me know that I had a Rick Perry moment.  As much as I dislike being wrong, I really appreciate being set straight!

 

 

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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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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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