Harvey who?

I find myself in a familiar scenario—I fly tomorrow for the Dirty Jerz, my suitcase stubbornly remains unpacked, and I decide that now, 11:00pm, is a good time to sit down and blob.  At least I’ve packed the two critical items—my everything bagel and cream cheese making kit and my terry-cloth bathrobe. Whatever else I need I can probably steal from my sisters.  This has worked in the past.

But now I feel compelled to share some big, cheesy love for the first city that stole my heart—HOUSTON, you big, ugly, beautiful, delicious sprawl of a city.  Just writing the word “cheesy” made me hungry for the queso only you can provide.  Look what you’ve done to me.  I have you to thank for some of my best friendships and best memories.  I miss you, I love you, I’m proud of you.  The images from the hurricane boggle my mind and break my heart, so I went back through my own images of Houston to cheer myself up.  I hope they’ll do the same for you.

First, literal cheer.

Second, comfort food.

Third, weather you used to think was a disaster.

And fourth, the kind of downpours we prefer.

Please be mindful of your safety.

And know we've got your back.
(Friends, please consider donating to YES Prep Family Flood Relief fund. I used to coach at YES Prep--they are wonderful people.)

PS. Current presidents need not apply...

...Houston has enough dopey big heads!

Turn around, bright eyes.

I am the first to admit: from time to time, I poke fun at our president on this blog.  One, it’s just too easy, and two, he is always such a good sport about it.  In the spirit of generosity, I would like to cut the man some slack for something the internet is blowing WAY out of proportion:

 

Donald stares directly into eclipse.

I know.  You’re surprised.  Claire, you say, of course we believe in your magnanimity, but why won’t you join the fun and heap scorn onto our blithering idiot of a president?  Well, it’s definitely not because I did the exact same thing.  Because I didn’t do exactly the same thing.  I was inside…looking up…at the sun…during the eclipse…without the glasses.  FOR A SPLIT SECOND.  JUST DON’T THINK ABOUT HOW FAST LIGHT TRAVELS.  OR ABOUT HOW DELICATE AND WONDERFUL OUR EYES ARE.  BECAUSE THAT’S DEFINITELY NOT WHAT I DID FOR THE REST OF THE DAY.  I have not been fretting about premature blindness in my left eye.  I am not one of those people who googled “How fast will I know if I damaged my eyes by looking at the eclipse”.  (I googled, “likelihood of cancer from UV radiation directly into eye”.)  I didn’t immediately make an eye doctor appointment.  (Because I already have one next Monday.  A lucky stroke of advance planning.  Should I tell her what I did?  Or see if she can figure it out?)

So listen…we’re all human.  We make mistakes.  We fly too close to the sun.  I'm with you here, Donnie.  I will ask St. Lucy, patron saint of the blind, to intercede for us.  (Might help with more than the literal blindness!  Who knows!)

(Fun story—I always remember St. Lucy is the patron saint of blind people because we had these little books of saint biographies in my second grade classroom and I WILL NEVER FORGET ST. LUCY’S PAGE BECAUSE SHE IS HOLDING A DISH WITH HER TWO EYEBALLS IN IT BECAUSE THEY GOT PLUCKED OUT WHEN SHE WAS BEING TORTURED FOR BEING A CHRISTIAN.  SECOND GRADE.) 

Cheers, y'all!

Robert E. Lee is Deplorable: A Treatise on Charlottesville

One reason I’ve been bad about keeping up with the blob is that I’m exhausted and speechless at our constant deliveries of fresh bullshit from Trumpworld.  This is not sustainable.  This shit is piling up and reeking.  America’s existential question seems less “will we drown in shit?” and more “how quickly will we drown in shit?”

I’ve been thinking a lot about Robert E. Lee.  We have a Robert E. Lee problem.  We don’t think of Robert E. Lee as the guy who led the fight to keep black people enslaved.  We remember him with a sort of apologetic romance—the guy who was personally opposed* to slavery, but could not take up arms against his beloved Virginia, who would rather oppose the Union than sacrifice his sacred Southern honor.  We felt sorry that he died without his American citizenship restored, so our Congress posthumously awarded it to him in 1975.  Bless his heart.

What is that all about?  I don’t feel sorry for this guy.  He used that classic “but it’s the Southern way of life” line to excuse some pretty awful shit.  I’m glad they turned his family’s ancestral home into the premier cemetery for the war’s dead.

At the outbreak of the Civil War, Robert E. Lee was faced with a serious moral decision—fight for your country against slavery and your home or fight for slavery and your home against your country.  The item that defines the morality of that decision is slavery, but the item that steered General Lee was his home.  A sentimental choice?  Yes.  A morally correct choice?  No.  He picked the wrong side.  I see no honor, Southern or otherwise, in his choice.

Why am I going on about this?  This is not an argument about the statues.  Take them down, get over it, assholes.  Chances are, your beloved statue got put up by white people trying to assert their dominance over bIack people during Jim Crow or the civil rights era.  Is that the heritage you want to celebrate?  Congrats.  I’m talking about the morality of our choices.  Many of us chose to vote for a man who now (unsurprisingly to others of us) cannot whole-heartedly disavow white supremacists and anti-Semites.  A man who declared there were “fine people” in the group that marched into town wielding torches and chanting “Jews will not replace us.”  Friends and family who voted for this man, can you condone this?  What are the limits of our excuses for vile behavior? for race-baiting and dog-whistling?  Will we not stand up while he perverts our democratic values?  while he spits on the sacrifices made by our grandparents to defeat Nazis and fascism?

I ask you to think about what defines the morality of your choice to condone or disavow the words of this man.  I’ll give you some hints: it’s not your party affiliation, it’s not the “alt-left”, it’s not your pride, it’s not how much you hate Hillary Clinton.  None of that will justify (or has ever justified) your choice to support him.  The defining element of Donald Trump is the hatred he spews and promotes. If you support him and condone his words, you are complicit in his hatemongering. 

-

One of my biggest regrets about Hillary Clinton’s campaign is that she did not double down on her “deplorables” comment, referring to that contingent of Trump voters.  She wasn’t wrong and it wasn’t a mistake.  I wish she had said to the squeamish Trump voter, “I dare you to tell me those people who would resurrect the KKK and who would dare to carry a swastika are not deplorable.  Do you want to be in their camp?”  You didn’t believe it then, but it’s still true—you’re in their camp.  And they are making the rules.  How long do you want to stick around?

I promise next post will not be so doom and gloom.  Maybe we will explore possible reasons my dentist and I always end up talking about prison. (?? it's so weird.)

All's quiet on the western front.

Reporting live (for the time being) from the West Coast, apparently within striking distance of North Korean missiles.  Isn’t this fun?  Ben and Jerry’s 2 pints for $6, yes please.  If I’m gonna get burnt to a crisp or have my taste buds radiated off, I’m having Half-Baked TONIGHT.  BALLS TO THE WALL, Y’ALL.  THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE ELECT A MAN WHO ONLY UNDERSTANDS REALITY TV AND LOVES TO SAY “YOU’RE FIRED”.  REINCE PRIEBUS?  YOU’RE FIRED.  NUCLEAR MISSILES?  YOU’RE FIRED.  ISN’T THIS GREAT.  I’ll eat my communist ice cream and await my destiny.  At THE VERY LEAST we can be thankful we don’t have a lady president with email troubles.  Having a competent woman in power would obviously be MUCH WORSE than nuclear holocaust.  BenghaziemailsradicalIslamicterrorism, am I right?

Because this is a normal thing to do, I considered my last will and testament while walking home today.  Fortunately for all of us, I have Marie-Kondo-ed most of my shit in the last few months (thank you for your service), so nobody will have to dig through this stuff and feel bad about throwing it away:

It was important work.

But here go the crucial items:

If Minnie survives the nuclear blast, I entrust her to Trish.  Hugging Minnie for the last 26 years has contoured her perfectly to my body.  Trish and I have the same body.  Therefore, Trish gets Minnie and her wonderful hugs.  You’re welcome.  Treat her well.

My pearl earrings will go to Molly and my diamond earrings to Rose.

Give all my money to Kelsey Gleason.  Girl, have a killer wedding.  Or, elope and use my money for a down payment.

Will, you may keep my TV, wine, and coffee table.

In the event that my death is murder by an illegal immigrant, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT ALLOW MY DEATH TO BECOME AN OBSCENE TOOL OF THE REPUBLICAN PARTY. I’m pretty sure having my name repeated over and over by Paul Ryan and Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity will not allow me a good rest in peace.  I do not want any Claire’s Law unless it has something to do with forcing all grocery stores to function additionally as full service liquor stores EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN DAY. 

If I die in a freak accident or of some crazy disease, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT TURN MY FACEBOOK PAGE INTO A BIZARRO MEMORIAL WHERE YOU ALL WRITE NOTES TO ME.  GUESS WHAT.  I’LL BE DEAD.  I WON’T BE ABLE TO READ.  IF I HAVE SOME MAGICAL CONSCIOUSNESS IN THE AFTERLIFE, I WON’T HAVE TO LOG INTO FACEBOOK TO SEE HOW YOU’RE FEELING.  Instead, please direct your lovely thoughts and memories in notes to my parents.

As for the rest of my stuff, have at it, y’all.  Go crazy for that Ikea.  First dibs to sisters, cousins, and friends.  Now, I have some ice cream to attend to.  Please remember me as a lover of truth, humor, and peanut butter cups.   If I am granted more time on this fragile planet, I will be more attentive to this blog.  Godspeed.