The Twitterverse kept me up to date on the world's reaction to the charming boring moron and the angry boring moron representing the former social media personality who lives in Florida in front of what the boring one called a diverse group of Senators.
Castor, the charming one, supposedly changed his presentation on the fly because the prosecution's opening was so powerful. What did they think was coming their way?
Schoen, the angry one, is a religious Jew. He observes the Sabbath.
This is only important because, while standing at the podium in the well of the Senate, he seemed to be holding his comb-over in place with one hand as he tipped his head waaaay back to drink from his water bottle with the other.
It was an odd moment. The guy barely stops to breathe. He's hard to follow. Everything is said in the same harsh tone. And then he's hanging onto his brains as he exposes his neck and, silently, sips.
And then it dawned on me that he was grabbing his yarmulke.... except he wasn't wearing one. Did he decide not to wear one today? That seemed odd, too. A quick Google search reveals that it is possible to use your hand to cover your head when eating or drinking with a proper head covering, according to modern Rabbinic teachings.
The more I watched, the thirstier he became, the more often that hand came up. His head stopped tipping all the way back, but the hand kept rising and covering his head.
This is the answer to the only outstanding question of the day.
It's been four full years since he started talking about American carnage.
That's all it took to bring our democracy perilously close to its knees. Members of Congress did not vote to certify the election of the next President of the United States. One of those votes they wanted to discount was mine.
I take umbrage with this.
I've always been willing to do some of the heavy lifting required to maintain our democratic norms. I've protested and voted and written and recruited and advocated and made my presence and my opinions known. Nobody elected by someone in Nebraska has the right to say that my vote does not matter. I've done the work (and even if I hadn't); I get to speak
Of course, by saying that I am assuming that we are dealing with the same set of facts. Living here in the real world, I often forget that there are a disturbingly large number of individuals who barely believe that the earth is round.
And, they get to vote. Some of them get to vote in Congress.
And then there are the Jamie Raskins of the world, who are unwilling to lose our republic and who are willing to put personal grief aside to work toward that end. That's where I'm focusing my energy today, on the content of his character to stiffen my spine and strengthen my resolve to keep the pressure on, to hold those responsible accountable for their actions, to do what I can to insure than this will not happen again.
That's a fitting way to spend the last day of the worst presidency in our history.
I feel marginally safer right now, although the country still feels like it's going to hell in a handbasket. Order was restored, the people's business is receiving attention, and it looks as if the information that was provided to those who were responsible for the safety of Congress was accurate and timely.
Why there was such a lapse between insurrection and control remains an open issue. So many balls were dropped. So many calls were not taken. So many helping hands were refused. It will take a while to sort it all out, but I have confidence that the work will get done.
Why? Because now that the shooting has stopped what's left is the fear, and fear is a great motivator.
Staffs are threatening mass resignations if something is not done - and that something includes voting to impeach the instigator in chief.
There are 10 Republican members of the House of Representatives who voted with all the Democrats. Only 10. Of the rest, many say they are afraid for their lives and the lives of their families if they vote to impeach.
Remember that oath, the one about protecting and defending the Constitution? Did they think that meant only when it wasn't scary to do so?
The political machinations are ongoing. Joe Biden will be sworn in before another week passes. There is a massive military buildup prior to the inauguration, an inauguration that very few will attend, given COVID and security and the fact that it's January in Washington DC and likely to be really cold, and the world moves on.
I just didn't want you to have to worry too much about me right now. It feels as if our institutions have held, for now, and that's information I wanted you to have.
There's nothing I can say that you don't expect me to say. I need to vent and this is my forum so I'll apologize in advance if this is old news or the same-old-same-old. It's weighing on my chest and my brain and my heart. I have to get it out
There are conspirators amongst our elected officials, giving tours to terrorists.
Two impeachments in one term, both foreign and domestic, just like the enemies he was sworn to protect us from..... and don't get me started on the virus, which has slipped from our consciousness as the numbers rise and vaccine distribution remains a mystery to all but a privileged few... and they don't seem to want to share.
I could go on, but why? I feel better having typed just that much.
I'd really like to post about the unexpected bounty of late season tomatoes off a plant that's three years old, some popped warm from the sun into my mouth, the rest nestled comfortably in the pocket of the softest sweater I've ever owned.
I took that thought into the kitchen, trying to hold on to the warmth in my soul, when I turned around and saw this:
And so the sun sets on a dinner prepared by Big Cuter, leaving me in peace until Rachel and Anderson started reminding me of the reality of the day......... sigh..... just a few more days........
Until then, I wish you as much peace as is reasonable to expect.
In the early 2000's Big Cuter walked down the Capitol steps, fuming. He phoned home from those steps, bemoaning the fact that his interview in the office of Republican Representative Darryl Issa had devolved into a How could you have worked for this radical leftist last summer (San Francisco Supervisor Mark Leno) rather than an exploration of what he could offer this man's constituents.
He went in for a job interview and found himself skewered on the spit of partisan politics. It was surprising, odd, out of the ordinary, not at all what he (or his parents or the mutual friend who arranged the meeting) thought would happen.
"He didn't listen, Mom. He just kept shoving more and more paper in front of me, trying to prove his point."
We didn't recognize it then, but in retrospect it seems like a very early and very clear sign of the American divide. I'm right, you're wrong, and there's nothing we can gain by sharing a space.
It's frightening.
I have a dear friend on the other side of the political spectrum. We disagree about everything except kindness and respect. As she often says, "I'm a Republican. I'm not crazy."
I yearn for the days when that statement was not met with skepticism, when it was acceptable for people of good will and kind hearts to be members of the GOP. I wonder when those days were. They obviously weren't there when my kid wanted to do constituent service for all the voters, not just the ones whose views aligned with Issa's.
This is America. Maybe it's always been 74 million Americans looking for a cult leader to show them the way to the Promised Land. It certainly was this American at the dawn of the century in an office in the Capitol. My son was there.
I started out scared, went through fury, and now I'm just sad. Anybody else out there feeling that way, too?
It's hard to tell from the talking heads or the letters to the editor or the articles online and in the paper (yes, the hard copy, newsprint all over my fingers, actual newspaper. I'll do anything I can to support local journalism.).
I see "leaders" inciting violence and no armed, shielded, baton wielding law enforcement officers holding them in place. I see one Capitol policeman luring a mob of white guys up the stairs and away from the open door to the Senate floor and I cry.... for his bravery, for his quick thinking, and for the sheer awfulness of these thugs roaming the people's halls.
For they are our halls. They embody everything that's wonderful about this country, everything that my parents drilled into my head with almost yearly visits to DC, to our Senator's office (so Daddooooo could thank Mr. D'Amato for the skating rink and fishing pier and swimming pool he funded and named for himself). The doors were open - to the building, to the hallways, to the Senator's office itself.
It didn't seem foolish or unsafe or unusual to me. Not then, not now. Our open democracy made me happy, made me feel as important as the people behind the desks, made it obvious that we were all in this together.
We.
We, the people.
Does America have a We now? It used to be that We could at least agree on some facts.
Mr. Trump (I agree with Michael McFaul that the orange menace has lost the right to the title) has done that in. Lawmakers who don't live or vote in my state took the stage to demand that my vote be uncounted, thrown out, discarded, based on lies and misrepresentation of the facts.
The Arizona legislature's contribution to this situation, Mark Finchem, represents the District just north of us. The proximity makes my skin crawl. Our State Rep, Dr. Randy Friese, was called to service after a right wing wingnut opened fire on our US Representative. He saw guns and violence and incivility as issues to be addressed through governing.
He did not opt to raise an impromptu army and storm the Capitol
Driving home from the bagel store (one of the two establishments I allow myself to enter these days) I decided to avoid NPR and more angst. I switched to KXCI, our community station, and smiled... the first one in a long while. I turned the volume way up and sang along, loudly, lustily, with feeling, lots and lots of feeling, to this
Jan 10, 2021 (the weekend after the Capitol was breached)
It's important that you know how it feels to be alive right now, in the midst of an insurrection, the first battle of which was fought in our Capitol - inside the actual building - on January 6, 2021. Right now, domestic terrorists are mobilizing for another battle on January 17th, and another on Inauguration Day, January 20th.
Why, you may wonder, would the insurgents announce their plans in advance? It seems kind of silly. If the people in charge know you are coming, won't they be prepared to rebuff you, to repel you, to arrest and imprison you for violating the laws of the land? But these terrorists knew that the main man in charge was on their side. They could see no security presence, the way BLM marchers saw it when a photo op seemed the correct response to a nation in pain.
They were unprepared. They were absent. I couldn't understand it.
I kept saying, "Where are the police?" (Okay, I was screaming..... until Grampa told me to tone it down..... he agreed, but I was hurting his ears.)
It was impossible (for me, at least) to conjure up any scenario that did not include an immediate police presence once those sworn to serve and protect noticed that thousands of lunatics were racing up the Capitol steps. It was hard to watch those in charge of safety and security allowing this to go on without mounting a response.
The National Guards of neighboring states could have been called up by the sitting president, but he and his family were having fun watching the show on television.
No, that is not what he should have been doing.
Nor should he have called them patriots.
Nor should he have said that we love you.
The hole this created in my heart is expanding, days later. The American Presidency is a sacred space and this man is defiling it. His supporters are trying to make this about free speech (the social media platforms that pandered to his excesses finally permanently banned him) and unity and reconciliation, but I'm not interested in that.
I and those who agree with me have been in pain for four years. We never staged a coup.
These are not patriots. They and he are fomenting and participating in a civil war. The flag of the secessionist states was carried up the stairway and flew in the United States' Capitol. The more video we watched the more terrified I became. These and their ilk showed up on the steps of the Michigan state capital, with no consequences. They plotted to kidnap and kill a governor. They left bombs in their wake on Wednesday.
I feel no desire or need or compulsion or sense of duty pushing me to accepting these folk back into the fold. They must be identified and punished, not, as they were, escorted peacefully out the door. Behaviors have consequences; your parents taught you that when you were very small. If there are no consequences for these actions then what will stop them from happening again and again and again.
If you drew on the wallpaper and no one cared, how many unadorned spaces would there be in your house right now? If your parents said no more cookies but watched you put them in your mouth, how long would it take for your siblings to join your fun?
Allowing this to stand without repercussions can only harm our democracy.
The Capitol Steps..... the phrase itself has majesty and dignity. A reporter holds a microphone and says "I'm standing on the steps of our nation's capital" and I get a little frisson of connection to our Republic. It's the home of democracy in action. It's unruly and amusing and ponderous but it's often profound. Barbara Jordan speaking at Richard Nixon's impeachment is an example of that.
There are those who say that impeachment or invoking the 25th Amendment are not necessary; the man leaves the building in a few days.
There are those of us who remember Hugo Chavez, who was removed then ran again and won and then created a dictatorship. There are those of us who believe that you don't hand a 4 year old the nuclear codes. There are those of us who think that inciting insurrection must have been somewhere in the framers' minds when they wrote about removing an unfit person from the highest office in the land, and who are absolutely horrified that any elected official could disagree.
And I am so sad, so despondent, so disheartened when I hear members of the Congress finding room to wiggle away from doing their duty.
Yet they do, despite the fact that they swore an oath to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. I took that oath, solemnly and seriously, twenty some years ago, on the local level, in a job that served less than 15,000 souls. The fact that men and women who have risen to the highest ranks of our governance can be so cavalier with the truth, with their responsibilities, with their obligations to you and your children and your grandchildren.... well, that just makes me want to....
yell
cry
tremble with fear.
And then I remember that this is a democracy. My voice can and should be heard. So I will call my representatives. I'll write a letter to the editor of the local paper. I'll call out those who equate terrorism with protest. I will not be silent. I will not let them win.... not without knowing how I stand.
Actions like these will make me marginally less anxious. I'm still very worried. The political ramifications are just beginning to be played out. Tomorrow is Monday. I don't know how I'll feel then.
I am unprepared for the full onslaught of Trump-is-the-President angst I thought I'd put behind me. I was used to breathing freely, confident that change was possible. With control of the Senate, real progress was on the horizon.
I was a happy girl.
*****
I can't believe it took anyone this long to realize that he's not going to get any better, that as the time comes for that-which-is-untenable-for-his-brain-to-comprehend, he will explode or implode and the rest of us will pay the price for a long long time.
*****
Susan Collins was right - he learned the same lesson from his impeachment that he learned every time Daddy bailed him out, or he sued his foes into submission. There are no consequences when you are Donald J Trump.
*****
Cabinet members are resigning and leaving us with this mess.
Invoke the 25th Amendment and then walk away, if you think that meaningless gesture will do anything to polish your reputation.
*****
I woke TBG up with my whimpering last night. He patted and rubbed and reassured. "It's okay. It's okay..."
....... even though we both knew that it wasn't anywhere close to okay.
*****
10 years ago tonight I took myself to IHOP for 10 o'clock pancakes. I paid for dinner for a young couple and her abuela because they were just wonderful to watch, as I sat alone with my book, smiling at the good fortune that was my life.
12 hours later, I was bleeding on the sidewalk, holding the hand of a blameless little girl whose love of politics and people and me got her killed.
*****
Tomorrow is not promised, denizens. Tell those you love all the things you want them to know. Don't put it off; who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Georgia has two Democratic Senators, one of whom sets a new bar for nice, Jewish boys. Queen T had a good thing happen at work. Virtual Garden Club with the 5th grade was a rousing success. TBG and I settled down to watch the Joint Session of Congress do the people's business.
And then all hell broke loose.
Nothing I wrote yesterday seems relevant. My memories, my clean closets, by generalized angst are small change compared to what streamed across my television screen all day.
My plaintive "Where are the police?" was met with my son's "C'mon, Mom, these are white people."
I've been scared all day. My house has never been cleaner..... it was the only thing I could think to do with myself as I watched and listened and fretted and ranted.
I felt less anxious when the Senate and the House announced that they would convene tonight. I relaxed even further when the Leaders said they would stay all night and finish the people's business.
I felt a bit of surprise when Kelly Loeffler withdrew her objection to Georgia's electors; I smiled when her colleagues applauded. Cory Booker's passion raised goose bumps. Big Cuter's Twitter feed tells him that some Cabinet members are discussing the 25th Amendment.
I don't know how I feel.
It's a lot like when I got shot. One moment I was laughing about accessories. The next there was blood dripping down the front of my favorite jeans. It's a lot to absorb all at once.
My junior Senator was sworn in yesterday. Standing by his side was his wife, my former Representative. It was a happy moment, a deeply personal moment, a step in the right direction at a time when the whole thing seems to be going off the rails.
Plus there was my senior Senator's purple wig, worn in solidarity with those women who are staying home, away from salons, and are reluctant to show their un-dyed selves in public. She's been wearing various colored wigs on the Senate floor since Pandemica began.
Two Democratic Senators from Arizona. One's a friend and one is delightfully weird. Both have the best interests of our state at heart.. They may be a bit too conservative for my wish list, but I'm not letting perfect get in the way of what I have right here and now.
That's being an adult. That's democracy. It's not exactly what I want it to be, but it's what we've got and what we have to work with. I'll still be writing letters and calling and filling out the forms at senate.gov, but I know that there will be a receptive ear at the other end.
Unlike the current incumbent, who seems hell bent on destroying our democracy. That's not a surprise. The most democratic of functions, the election, broke his brain. He is the living, breathing description of Cognitive Dissonance. He absolutely cannot accept that he lost, and that everyone knows that he lost. That's our reality; we are inured to it.
But the enablers in the Republican party are another matter entirely. They are not all emotionally crippled. Some of them must still believe in facts. On the local level, Secretaries of State and county election officials understand that this attack is on more than our democracy; it is on our fellow citizens. Have the Republican members of Congress forgotten that it is those citizens who elected them?
Greta Hutchinson ran the local elections for as long as I or anyone else could remember. G'ma and she were fast friends; G'ma always a poll worker, keeping her ear to the ground. Nothing went on that Greta didn't know about. No one dared make a false move; Greta was fierce. And everyone knew her.
That was true on mid-century Long Island and it's true in 21st century Tucson. F. Ann Rodriguez and Katie Hobbs are visible presences, reassuring and informing and confirming and not being swayed by outlandish claims. In Chicago, we knew the precinct captain as a presence all year long; when it came time to vote and his minions rang the bell to ask if I needed help getting to the polling place, it seemed like neighbor helping neighbor.
These are real people doing real jobs and doing them well. That's anathema to the Trumps. I get that. But what about the rest of those calling themselves Republicans?
There is no excuse for allowing this insanity to continue. Someone has to speak out, and speak loudly and clearly while doing so.
On some level, I suppose it's not his fault. On some level, this is a tragic opera playing out in 3 acts - running, Presidenting, the aftermath.
He can't help himself. His father ruined him and his mother didn't intervene. Read Mary Trump's analysis of his psychology if you want to see it play out. He watched his older brother crumble under the strain. He would survive.
If there is a positive piece of his character it is that will to survive.
But underneath, he has no substance. Winning is the only thing. There's no love, unless it's salacious (cf how he can't keep his hands off Ivanka). There is no empathy, because there is no one who matters except himself. There is no honesty, because reality cannot compete with the horror of loss.
And so, the current incumbent is making plans to break America.
It's because his brain is breaking, unable to conceive of losing, of disappointing his father, of not living up to his gold-plated self image. There is no way that he can rationalize losing so publicly, so overwhelmingly, so decisively.
After all, he himself declared that 306 electoral votes was a landslide.
And so he's promoting fraud and conspiracy and magic voting machines that commune with the dead. Huge numbers of his supporters believe him. He's tapping with a heavy hammer against the very foundation of our democracy - the people rule.
Fortunately, the courts have stood up against this onslaught. The deciders have used words like laughable and without merit and come on, now! Those of us on the outside looking in can laugh, along with Neil Katyal. The schadenfreude is titillating; I feel it up and down my spine.
But the reality is that much of America believes that the election was rigged, was unfair, that Joe Biden will be sworn in but he won't really be President. Trump wants to be sure that Biden doesn't get credit for the vaccine - It was ME! - even though Pfizer wanted nothing to do with him, or Operation Warp Speed.
And now Trump is talking about launching his 2024 campaign on Inauguration Day.
I'm letting that sentence sit there, because it sits in the middle of my heart, in just that way. On a day when the country is supposed to bind the wounds opened by the election, the orange menace will drive a stake into the soul of the nation.
Competing inaugurations? Will the networks cover the Trump event? Will it make it into the newspapers? Will it be broadcast or streamed?
I had hoped for a Trump free future, one where America, having been tested and survived, could move on and build back better. Instead, the bad man (FlapJilll's term) seems determined to worm his way back into my consciousness, even if his antics are now the third or fourth story on the national news.
I was scared when armed militia were allowed to invade the Michigan State House. I'm terrified now that Trump's future plans are spilling out onto America's lap.
November 22nd..... November 23rd.... November 24th and 25th and the rest of what would have been Thanksgiving but instead was filled with mourning.
President and Mrs. Kennedy deplaned in the morning and were covered in blood by the afternoon. Little kids were happy that school was cancelled; the rest of the world was stunned. It was dreary and cold and nobody's parents wanted to drive anywhere fun.
The black and white images on the television felt oddly appropriate; bright colors would have interefered with the sadness.
And there was so much sadness.
I knew little of The Bay of Pigs or our initial forays into Vietnam. I knew that the President was elegant and handsome and smart because he went to Harvard. I knew he was brave because I read PT-109 and I believed every single word of it. I knew he saved us from nuclear destruction by Russia, via Cuba. I knew he loved America and would work to keep me safe.
This is the book; I remember the cover.
I knew Jackie (because she was always Jackie) from her televised White House tour and her pill box hats. I knew about John-John and Caroline and Hyannisport and all those other Kennedy's.
That I was going to lose all that took the weekend to sink in. I remember being in the driveway, hoping a neighbor would show up and play something.... anything.... to make the sadness go away. Inside, the tv showed the caisson rolling down Pennsylvania Avenue. Outside, it was grey and cold and sad.
I've been reacting to the temper tantrum being thrown by the current occupant of the White House the way I reacted to my own children's' temper tantrums. But ignoring it is not all there is to do. A friend culled all the ways that you can help Turn The Senate Blue, and I feel the need to pass it along here.
I have sent my $3 where I thought it would do the most good. TBG did the same. I don't answer the GOTV calls myself, so I won't make them. But postcards and letters are fun to do, and I've done lots.
Stay safe this weekend. Wear your mask. Stay home. Write some postcards.
*******
Georgia is hosting elections both in its regularly scheduled Senate race and in a special election for its other Senate seat due to a resignation last year. Democrat Jon Ossoff will face off against Republican Sen. David Perdue. (Perdue needs to go and keep going) In the Special election, Democrat Raphael Warnock will face off against Republican Sen. Kelly Loeffler. DONATIONS Congressional Black Caucus PAC
There are a number of other on-the-ground organizations working to get out the vote (as they did during the general election). If you’re able to donate, some key groups who could use financial support are: Asian-Americans Advancing Justice-Atlanta, which is mobilizing voters and protecting voting rights virtually.
The New Georgia Project registers and mobilizes young voters from diverse backgrounds.
SisterSong, an Atlanta-based women of color reproductive justice collective, is organizing women of color, trans women, and other marginalized women for these races. PHONEBANKING If you want to phone bank these are Daily Kos links Hosted by Jon Ossoff for Senate and Hosted by Warnock for Georgia
I'm having trouble with words. I have been scouring my brain for synonyms - joy is being grossly over used.
So I'm sharing pictures today because my brain is on a steady repeat of Happy Happy Joy Joy.
I'd forgotten what it felt like to smile without the nagging thought of the orange menace in the back of my mind. Now, I can watch the hummingbird baby and grown up play tag between the crepe myrtles.... and there's nothing nudging me. Nothing at all.
Firstl, look at this one of Kamala Harris and Ruby Bridges. We are all the product of those who came before.
And there's this one, which stopped me in my no-longer-doom-scrolling-so-what-should-I-call-it for several minutes. That's a lot of white men.
And then, there's this, what I saw as I drove home with bagels and the brand new good news plastered on my face. The road to the future looks brighter, has fewer obstacles, is clearer and more focused than it has in a very very very long time.
FlapJilly announced with great glee that she was staying up until 8 o'clock. Her parents have shielded her from much information about the bad orange man, but she's in first grade now and she needs to be informed, so, bedtime be damned.
*****
When Kamala told little girls Just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it cannot be the tears streaming down my face got wetter (which I did not think was possible) as I imagined the impact those words might be having on my own little girl, 6 states away.
Her mom caught her clapping at that moment.
We were together, though only our spirits were aware of it at the time.
*****
Today, her face nearly exploded through the Facetime video.
Dressed to the nines for Josh's Zoom birthday party, her eyes as wide as they've ever been, she could not contain her joy, delight, surprise, gob-smacked-ness.
Can you believe it?!? She was talking right to kids!!!!!!!
*****
And, obviously, the kids were listening.
Is it any wonder that our new Vice President's favorite appellation is Mamala?
*****
The 4 year old niece of someone we hold dear (whose own 2 little girls, well trained by social justice warrior parents, were dancing and leaping for joy) drew this picture the morning before the results were declared.
Amidst the general and the local and the in-between, there are the Propositions. In Pima County, we had two of them.
One was a technical change to the language which funds our community college system. It cost nothing. It needed to be updated to meet 21st century needs. It passed handily.
The other was Prop. 207. It passed, too.
The implications showed up in my Neighborhood Facebook Women's Group. Alongside the posts seeking the best New York style pizza or a master cake decorator was this:
Anyone have a good recommendation for someone who knows how to cultivate marijuana plants? I will of course be waiting till all legal proceedings are finalized, but I'd definitely like to be first in line for a consultation. Interested in planting in my backyard whatever I am legally allowed.
As of this writing, there are 29 comments, referring her to garden groups with the sub-threads she's seeking, offering personal experiences, sharing photos.
As Mary McCarthy wrote, who'd a thunk it?
A woman of color will sit one heartbeat away from the most powerful office in the world and my upper middle class, white, suburban moms and retirees community is having a great time talking about weed.
TBG has been relentlessly upbeat all day, and that has helped. My superstitious (or maybe not super but more medium-stitious) self feels that I ought to maintain my vigilant attitude, because if I stop worrying who knows what will happen?????
But it's bedtime and I really need to sleep tonight.
Arizona is making me smile. In Georgia, John Ossof is picking away at Senator Perdue, one tenth of a percent at a time.
That's what I'll take with me when I lay my head on the pillow tonight.
I hope today was easier for you than it was for me.
I have What to Expect on Election Night podcasting on my phone, which is sitting on my desk next to Lenore the Lenovo. I'm trying to distract myself by writing this post, but my brain is on a one lane, no u-turn road.
My dreams have been incredibly vivid and confusing and sticking with me through the morning.
I'm trying to convince my stomach to accept food. The hard boiled egg with horseradish aioli is talking back to me. I don't think it's the egg. I think it's the election.
I listened to the 538 podcast culling the results of the final, before the election, polls. They started out by saying that Biden has a 90% chance of winning, Dems have a 76% chance of taking the Senate, and there's a 94% chance that Dems will retain control of the House. That was one sentence. They spent the next 29 minutes making me nervous about those stats.
What to Expect just told me that very few concerns have been raised by callers to their HelpLine; most calls are about where and how to vote. They're extolling the virtues of their Voter Protection program. They feel confident.
Talking heads are calling Trump's outrageous statements a sign of desperation, noise, nonsense...... but Bill Barr is still at DOJ.
I can't decide if watching people talk about it is better than living in my head with it.
I'm very grateful to my family group text for an hour or so spent considering the difficulties of teachingin/on/at to non-English speakers. Brother's diagram was helpful
but not dispositive.
Opinions - on the ice cream not the election! - are welcomed below.
Anything. Anything at all to distract me.
These are going to be the longest hours of my life.
I watched the first one, where, as one focus group member said, our President acted like a deranged crackhead.
I flipped my eyes over to TBG watching Joe answer questions on the big screen while I watched Savannah Guthrie scold our President on my phone as I made dinner. Every giggle from me led to an explanation for my sweetie on the couch. All the best moments were replayed later for his amusement, but it was fun to share.
And so tonight we have a debate with a mute button and a strong, female moderator. Our President is in full melt down mode as he's holding superspreader events all over the country. Joe Biden sent his best surrogate to a parking lot in Philadelphia while he holed up for debate prep.
Our President doesn't need to prepare. His aides, looking for post-debacle employment, are heard cautioning him to be measured and stick to the script. That, of course, would take some preparation, if not a character transplant. It's unnecessary. He knows where he's going - China and Hunter, with a dash of 33,000 emails on the side.
The Biden campaign has effectively recast Joe's surviving son as a lost soul, wandering in the wilderness, always held in the loving hand of his doting and devoted father. His daughter, Naomi's, Twitter thread amplified the story, and it's a good one.
This is how it starts:
Though the whole world knows his name, no one knows who he is.
Here's a thread on my dad, Hunter Biden - free of charge to the taxpayers and free of the corrosive influence of power-at-all-costs politics. The truth of a man filled with love, integrity, and human struggles
It's a fine read. It puts our President to shame.... or it would if that word existed for him.
Perhaps, while our President is babbling on, Joe could accept a phone call from one of his grandkids, the calls he never lets go to voice mail.
Do you think that our President knows the names of his grandkids, let alone has them in his phone?
Not the one around the corner, the one where we've voted in the past, where I've met my friends serving as poll watchers, where I signed my name just below TBG's and walked to the booth with my ballot in hand. I'd smile as I deposited the paper into the slot, nodding thanks to the worker who handed me my I VOTED IN PIMA COUNTY sticker.
Nope, not that one at all.
Instead, we put on our shoes and drove 5 miles north, turned right onto Naranja..... and TBG came to a quick and unexpected stop. There was a line. A car line, moving slowly, steadily down the hill then turning into the driveway and going up the hill, through the parking lot, and around to the front door.
There were smiles. There were thumbs up. There were masks and thank yous and a paper reminder of how and where to track my ballot. TBG pulled into a space so that I could return my library books (any deposit box in the system is fine) and then we were done.
The line was as long when we left as it was when we arrived.
And now I've done it all. I've written postcards. I've written letters. I've written an op-ed. I've donated. I've attended. I've stickered my car and signed my house. I won't phone bank (I don't answer those calls myself so I can't inflict them on anyone else).
