brainsplotch

I haven't written anything in here for a long time. So what's new? Muddling by day-to-day under the Trump regime, bracing myself with every bat shit crazy executive order he makes and every certifiably nutty word that comes out of his mouth. All while no other elected official has the guts to stand up to him. Sorry, I'm not gonna provide you with any deep and nuanced political commentary, just expressing my frustration with the state of the United States. Of course, none of this insanity happening now surprises me.  So when I'm not depressed about authoritarianism, how have I been spending my time this month? I have been reading The Name of This Band is R.E.M . : a Biography (by Peter Ames Carlin). I am enjoying it a lot, and am about halfway through. It's much, much less of a slog than the last book I read. R.E.M. was good when it came to self-mythologizing, or maybe just messing with interviewers. I wouldn't call them  liars-- that is much too strong ...

I should get at least one post in for February. I haven't felt like writing lately. The one time I had the urge (Monday the 17th), the inspiation disappeared quicker than a drop of water in the Sahara. I was set to write about the Saturday Night Live 50th anniversary show, but that flame blew out quickly. Maybe I'll tackle it again at some point. So, what else is new? The U.S. is still a shit show and Trump and his gangsters are ruling as authoritarians with no regard to checks and balances. All the creaks, gaps, and inadequacies of our Constitution have been exposed and exploited. Meanwhile, the Republicans in Congress are essentially too afraid to stand up to Trump. So we're fucked. Listen, I know that is a very reductive assessment of our current state of affairs in the United States...or is it? I can't remember if I mentioned reading Beyond Belief: a Chronicle of Murder and its Detection by Emlyn Williams. It's allegedly the book that Morrissey used as inspira...

I write this shortly after learning that Pete Hegseth: racist, alcoholic, domestic abuser, and philanderer who isn't qualified to be your local dog catcher, was confirmed as Secretary of Defense. We live in hell. I was silly enough to believe that, on January 20, 2021, Donald Trump's political career was over. After the horrors of January 6 and selling out his supporters, I thought for sure we were done with him. Surely, the failures of his presidency would be clear and the Republican Party would cut the cancer out and move on. How little did I know. Instead, he is back. His vengeance is at an extreme level. All of his executive orders designed to inflict as much pain as possible. He has made it clear that anyone who did not vote for him is the enemy, and nobody is safe. I curse everybody who voted for him, and save even more anger towards anyone who willingly sat out this election and didn't bother to vote. I have a hearty "fuck you" for all of you. So where do w...

I gotta tell you, this three day weekend is kinda sucking so far. The Lions fall on their faces last night and get blown out by Washington, 45-31. Super Bowl hopes dashed before they could really get started. Then, I wake up early and do Wordle and don't get it correct for the first time in three years. And, worst of all, tomorrow we begin day one (of Part 2) in a Christo-fascist oligarchy. The ignorant, short-term memory-addled America electorate gave the presidency back to the failed reality TV host. I will do all in my power not to watch any of the inauguration. The remainder of the weekend, I would do myself and my mental health well by staying off social media, reading books, and catching up on movies and favorite streaming shows. Anything to numb the pain.

The Detroit Lions lost tonight, and their season is over. No Super Bowl this year. Now that the dream has died, I can finally refer to the big game by its real name and not a euphemism. As any longtime Lions fan can attest, it's always best to expect disappointment at some point and not elevate ones hopes to high. It only ends in pain. I suppose the silver lining is maybe I'll get more reading done.

Though it's always a relief to reclaim our living room after removing all the decorations from the Christmas tree and hauling it out of the house, I never fail to feel melancholy after dropping it in the pile of dead trees at the township office. Seeing this mass dumping ground of once gloriously lit and bejeweled trees signals the passing of the holiday season with a blunt finality. It also makes me ponder this strange ritual of the Christmas tree. Before I launch into this unintentionally Scrooge-like essay, allow me to make it clear that I do like having a Christmas tree, and much of what I write here is tongue-in-cheek. That said, Think about it: we have massive tree farms that grow coniferous trees for the sole purpose of selling them for Christmas. We holiday consumers buy these trees for, say, $50 to $100 (and possibly more) for maybe a month of use. These trees are chopped down and plunked in glorified buckets of water in our homes. The primitive life support buckets stave ...