So this is a thing going around Facebook. It's titled "36 ODD Things About me!" I dunno if they intend "Operational Defiant Disorder (ODD)" or do they merely mean "odd." Beneath the title, it instructs, "Learn 36 things about your friends, and let them learn 36 things about you! Copy and paste and change the answers on your post" with a smiley guy at the end. It doesn't say that YOU put a smiley guy at the end when you post it, I mean that this instruction itself has a smiley guy, at the end.😃
No Facebook for me, as of late, so what was the first thing I saw when I logged in today? Cynthia's post about her pet pig. Nini is a real life pig in the city! But she still forages. Will you look at the satisfied smile on that pig? Thought you'd all love this pig the way that I do. That'll do, Nini. That'll do.
I came back to tag "New York." Cynthia von Buhler is a gifted artist, writer and illustrator, and she produces and performs on various stages with bands and immersive theatre shows. If you have the means, by all means, do see/hear/experience something Cynthia.
He's playing along to his favorite movie: Sixteen Candles.
I love him so much. I can't believe I gave my panties to a geek.
I wish I were besties with Molly Ringwald just so I could text her and say "look what you did."
This is only "leftover" chicken pot pie because I use the chicken soup from earlier in the week.
This is a fast prep, and 45 minutes to bake. When you make a chicken soup, use ingredients that you think you'll like in a pot pie later. For example, I love to put a big bunch of spinach in my chicken soup, but if I'm planning on converting the leftover soup into a pot pie, then I won't add the spinach to the whole pot. I don't like spinach in a pot pie. So when you put the pot of leftover chicken soup in the fridge, know that you'll be converting that beauty into pot pie in a few days. It's kind of like you're cooking two meals at once.
Tomorrow, November 8th, I've got sinus surgery to correct what's apparently been the root cause of my recurring troubles throughout my adult life, including sinus headache and ear infections. Put simply, I'm all jacked up in there.
I'll be under, so that means that I won't be on hand all day for the election coverage. This is probably a gift to me, from the universe.
Some thoughts on the eve of what will surely be an insane Tuesday.
First of all, I know I'm not the only one flat-out astonished that it's come to this. That Donald Trump ever became the actual real life Republican candidate. Do people understand the whole Trump...thing? I guess not. I guess just being on TV means...something...to...certain people?
Look. I grew up in Connecticut, the part that's pretty close to New York. There, you talk about going into "the city" and doing some shopping. It's the Connecticut that roots for the Yankees (not the Sox), and we'd go to baseball games. Get some Italian ice in Little Italy, my parents saw a ton of Broadway shows and sometimes took us to Saturday matinees. I saw West Side Story with Rita Moreno as Anita. We listened to Howard Stern every morning before school. We subscribed to The Daily News. The Sunday edition was tinted pink for some reason. A lady named Liz Smith wrote a gossip column in the Daily News and "The Donald" and Ivana were always in her column for some glitzy reason or another. This dude was around a lot, for us, and you know something? He was always a joke. There was never a time when Donald Trump represented anything smart, charming or admirable. He was this tacky society idiot that showed up on Howard Stern and tried to be funny. We cracked up, but if memory serves, Howard was just egging him on so we could all laugh at him.
New York in the 1980s: Howard Stern was a king. Donald Trump was a fool.
Here's the thing -- that part of Connecticut is a kind of woodsy enclave what they call a "bedroom community," meaning close enough to the city so people could drive or take the train. My working class family happened to be friendly with a number of rather affluent people. Very wealthy. Sprawling homes and land. They had homes in New York. They traveled the world, spoke several languages, played tennis and kept horses and that kind of thing. Lovely people who were nice to us, who seemed just comfortable and I guess what you might, today, call "woke." I have stories. But let me tell ya, I cannot recall knowing a single affluent person in my life that ever looked, sounded or acted like that crass, crude, blowhard Donald Trump.
Money doesn't buy grace. Dollars do not equal class. Plenty of people have money and gravitas. You can become obscenely rich without becoming obscene, but not that guy. And now he's running for President? How the f...?
Now, having a lot of money doesn't disqual anyone from the job of POTUS. In fact, because the system is so warped, you can't even compete unless you're worth millions. That's broken. We need to fix that campaign finance mess, it's toxic. So you need money to run for POTUS right now. But, generally speaking, along with those deep coffers, you also need to sort of have a resume. It's a big job even for the candidate with the biggest, most impressive track record.
This is the primary problem that I have with Trump supporters. What exactly are they supporting? He doesn't know anything about anything. "He's a business man" is the top thing I hear these people say, and that is dumbest thing ever.
First of all, what does that even mean? When I hear the "businessman" crowd cheering, I want to ask for a specific list of actual skills. Secondly, even if Trump were in possession ofan outstanding business mind—he isn't, in fact it's well known that he's a straight-up crook—that quality does not meet the minimum requirements of the damn job. That's like saying your garbage man would make an excellent baker because he gets up early in the morning. There is no correlation.
Next problem I have with Trump supporters is more personal. You see, Hillary Clinton wasn't my favorite a year ago. I've got essays here in my blog that say as much. But over the past six months or so, I've done deeper digging, into her record, but truthfully, digging mostly into my own reasons for disliking her. I came up with dick. Nothing, zero. Just a vague feeling.
So basically I was being ridiculous. I was an idiot.
Newsflash: You Don't Have To Feel Warm Fuzzies About Your Representatives
Without going too deep into a whole litany of findings, I'll just say that through a combination of research and contemplation, I'm all in for Hillary now. I'm with her. The fact is that she has been working her entire life since law school towards this day, and her record is stunning. Outstanding. More qualified a candidate, I don't think we have ever had, and I mean that sincerely. It isn't up for debate. Put her CV side by side with any other candidate. It's a fact -- she's the right person for right now. She might be the best POTUS we've ever had, flaws and all.
Finally, I want to make a point about the difference between conservatives and liberals. Being liberal means tolerance, acceptance, empathy for others that aren't the exact same as you, thoughtful attention to preserving the planet's natural resources and limiting and repairing the impact of our our human footprint, charity to shore up those less fortunate, and a peaceful world. This litany of hopes and dreams for the people of our country is what gets you the moniker "libtard." A brutal insult, and for what? For trying to be a decent person? I don't understand how it's bad to want everyone to be safe, educated, have enough food to eat, a home, clean water, clean air...how does decency and equal rights and sharing become the evil thing, while people are applauding and supporting corrupt billionaires and politicians out for personal financial gain with no regard for anyone or anything?
So I'm a libtard bitch, hi, how are you? Is it just me, or can I invite to go fuck themselves anyone who can't understand what's really going on here?
I think that the reason these deplorable haters have been so far able to keep waving their signs and spewing just terrible, awful things is because "libtards" keep right on supporting their right to write those signs and say those things. We say hey, we may not agree with what you're saying, but we defend your right to say it. We say this even as they're calling us nasty libtard bitches. "Hang the bitch" and all the horrifying chants, and we're over here saying well, that's free speech.
You know what? It's hate speech, actually. That's different. And I, for one, am done tolerating hate. I retract my support of those people who get to spew hate. No you don't. I'm pretty angry right now. Really, really angry. To ameliorate my anger, besides my vote, which I have already cast proudly with hundreds of other people who stood in line for 90 minutes, I have ONE other thing. My only other thing. I have a way with words and I have a tongue with which to say them, and both are super fucking sharp right now.
So, in sum, hi, I'm a nasty libtard bitch who is all in for Hillary, and I'm all done tolerating the haters. Just so you know. That's where we're at, here. Because my bucket came up dry the last time I reached down for tolerance for the Trump supporters, the 3rd party people, and the "anyone but Hillary" and "never Hillary" peanut gallery.
So if you say "Benghazi" to me one more goddamn time, here is what I'll be thinking of you: you're a friggin' moron.
Oh and if I die tomorrow, someone please log in here and put up a picture of a kitten so the last thing I write isn't so nasty libtard bitchy.
Good luck to you tomorrow. Good luck to me. Good luck to all of us,
The Low Budget Superhero
PS: I keep coming up with ideas for an essay about "Movie Plots As Seen By Trump Supporters." A noble black-clad ex-Jedi tries valiantly to crush any planet that won't surrender to his ambitious Sith master, while a snotty rebel army, led by a crazy bitch who's maybe like a 6 or 7, thwarts his efforts aided by a lazy, whiny teenager and a crooked pilot. Maybe I'll throw it up on Facebook as a challenge. I've got some devastatingly clever friends. They're libtards, too. Beautiful, awesome libtards.
I approached his cab from behind, so I didn't get a good look at him. Given the unseasonably warm day, the driver's side window was down, so a friendly "hallooo, are you free, sir?" was enough to get a wave from a meaty hand attached to a hamhock of a forearm. I climbed into the back seat with my haul from Trader Joe's.