Memo to the Party of Lincoln.

On this day, one hundred sixty-one years ago, Abraham Lincoln wrote a letter to his friend, Joshua Speed.  Though he and Mr. Speed disagreed on politics, they remained friends throughout their lives.  In an eerily relevant passage of the letter, Lincoln comments on the nativist party of the 1850s, the "Know-Nothings".  Pardon this future president's spelling—his sentiment is worth consideration.

I am not a Know-Nothing. That is certain. How could I be? How can any one who abhors the oppression of negroes, be in favor or degrading classes of white people? Our progress in degeneracy appears to me to be pretty rapid. As a nation, we began by declaring that "all men are created equal." We now practically read it "all men are created equal, except negroes" When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read "all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and Catholics." When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty -- to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocracy.

A peek into our relationship.

Will just made me guess the 10 most populous counties in the US.  I pretty much got them all except for Maricopa County in Arizona, which I don't feel too ashamed about missing.  As Lucille Bluth says, I'd rather be dead in California than alive in Arizona.  (Will would like me to disclose that he gave me the names of the two New York counties on the list.)  (Kings and Queens Counties.)  (Who knew that the five boroughs were separate counties?  Not me.)

Skunk's alive.

On this, one day after their 37^th anniversary, I would like to dedicate this post to my parents, the unbeatable Jim and Jane. 

A recent (mis)adventure of theirs continues to warm my heart and I want to share it with the world.

A pesky groundhog has been living under our poolhouse for quite a while now, so my parents decided it was time to evict him.  Rather than have an exterminator do the job, they purchased and set up a trap from Home Depot and planned to release the groundhog into the Great Swamp once he was caught.  The following morning, however, they awoke to troublesome news: the groundhog was still cozy under the poolhouse and they had caught a skunk instead.

None of the exterminators in the area provide service on Sundays, so Jim and Jane had to improvise (or else have a baked skunk on their hands).  After consulting the internet and some more nature-minded friends, they decided to cover the cage to shield Skunky from the hot sun and to keep him from spraying.

Apparently, skunks will not spray if they can’t see you, and they are soothed by the slow, floating approach of a large, blue Snuggie.  Armed with this information (and of course, a blue Snuggie), James bravely risked his usual scent of Old Spice and baby powder for the task of covering the cage.  And Jane, with her ever-steady hand, videotaped the whole thing for posterity.

(How calmly he walks away at the end!  I would have bolted.)

The skunk got picked up on Monday.  After all that, my parents decided to let the groundhog remain in his residence under the pool house.  When asked for comment on this story, Jane said, “I don’t think we’ll try again for the groundhog.  We feel like amateurs.  Should pay the pros.”

I, for one, am glad they didn’t.  Not only did this episode provide my sisters and me with great entertainment (“Oscar-worthy footage”, said one), it is yet another example of how my parents continue to confront life’s challenges as a united team, armed with tenacity and good humor.  Happy anniversary—here’s to many more years of catching skunks and taking names.

Mr. Speaker.

Good evening, Mr. Paul….Mr. Ryan…Mr. Paul Ryan.  I admit, I always have to think twice when I’m reading an article about you—is this author referring to the Speaker by his first name? his last name? which one is which?  I suppose with the last name Ryan, you were doomed to be someone with two first names.  Sadly, this is not your only burden.

When you reluctantly took over as Speaker of the House, literally zero people envied you.  The House is a shit show.  You knew this.  I knew this.  But I was glad that you were the one for the job.  You are a decent man and you bring an important perspective to the budget debate.  I thought you could keep down the more deplorable aspects of the Republican party.  Maybe you could kick the crazy.

And yet, here we are.  You, as standard-bearer for your party, feel obligated to endorse its candidate, despite the strong possibility that he is the orange Antichrist. 

Shame on you.

I wonder how it feels to look up at Ted Cruz, basking on his moral high ground.  Another unenviable position for you.  Aren’t you supposed to be the good guy?  It must be infuriating to know that slimeball will always be able to hold these moments over your head.  I can already hear him running for the 2020 primary—“Remember when Paul Ryan was willing to sacrifice his integrity on the altar of party?  Remember my ‘vote your conscience’ speech?  It’s up there with Lincoln’s second inaugural.  We are the party of Lincoln, after all.  Praise Reagan.”

Don’t you think it’s time to stand up for yourself, if not for your country?  Donald Trump does not deserve your loyalty.  He is not your man.  He is not going to advance your agenda.  When has he ever done someone else’s bidding?  (Besides Vladimir Putin’s, of course—who can blame him for having a man-crush on that soulless KGB bod?)

It’s (past) time to grow a pair and withdraw your endorsement.  I think you’ll sleep better.  Don’t wait to see how low he will go.   

We miss your smile.

Email leak.

You may have noticed some buzz in the news about emails getting leaked all over the place.  We’ve got Hillary’s emails out there thanks to the FBI, we’ve got DNC emails out there thanks to the Russians and Julian Assange.  It’s all very exciting.  I decided I wanted in on the fun and have elected to leak a few of my own emails. 

Some of you may have heard the recent This American Life story of a guy who accidentally receives other people’s emails, on account of his very generic name and email address.  While I like to think I don’t have a completely generic name, I too periodically receive emails that were meant for someone else.  Usually that someone is a Claire O'Connor from Ireland, but there was a string of eHarmony Australia emails for a while too.  I do hope all the Irish emails are meant for the same Claire O'Connor every time.  She could be my alter-ego.  

I received one of these emails this morning, which inspired me to share.  My favorite is probably the very detailed offer for a SillyBilly face painting job, with a darling note from a romantic Daniel O’Mara coming in a close second.  Please enjoy.  (Also forgive the terrible formatting.  Blogger stinks sometimes.)

Today's email.

This is a hen party!  Women only!

Dreamy Dan.

All time favorite.

Jonathan: a good, honest lad.

Helloooooo Steane!

A time for tolerance.

Greetings, blob-o-sphere!

I have generally both agreed with and enjoyed previous posts from Claire Blobbing, but in good conscience, I cannot let last week’s post lie. 

My name is Will Randall, and I think Pokémon Go is a blast. 

Our blobbing overlord does not share my enthusiasm for Jynx and her friends.

In elementary school, I played the Pokémon card game, Pokémon Snap and dabbled in other videogame iterations of the series, but no installment in the Pokémon pantheon has enthralled me like Pokémon Go. It’s a drug for the curious and wandering mind. You have no idea when and where you will uncover something exciting. That unknown keeps you coming back for more.  

My current posse

Whether Pokémon Go is the most successful plank in Michelle Obama’s “Let's Move!” campaign, an effort to cash in on 90s nostalgia by Niantic and Co., or something in between, I cannot wrap my head around a worthy cause for outrage or alarm. Because of this game, people are exploring and enjoying their surroundings. They’re socializing with strangers - celebrating the appearance of a wild Charmander or lamenting a server error cancelling an exciting catch. They’re having fun, and they’re hurting no one. 

Pokémon Go inspired satire

Sometimes, I think we worry too much about “what’s the point” in life. So much of the joy in living life is in just living it! I know I don’t need an end goal to have fun. I’m reminded of the fantasy game in the book Ender’s Game. There was no way to win. There was no “point”. It was a vehicle for exploration and curiosity - a means to blow off steam. Ultimately, the fantasy game was a game in which the player created their own victory conditions. Sure, knowing the end goal of game can be fun, but sometimes there is just as much fun in the unknown and discovering for yourself what a world might hold. 

Not sure what Niantic is trying to say about Detroit with all these Drowzees...

I firmly believe it is not our place to tell others how to have fun (in socially responsible ways). We are all entitled to our own pursuits of happiness, and we should learn to celebrate, or at least respect, what makes each other happy. There is a lot of scary shit going down in the world - be it the attacks in Orlando, Nice, Dallas or Baton Rouge, the failed coup in Turkey, or Rudy Giuliani's speech on Monday at the Republican National Convention. As a nation and as human beings, we are better than these reprehensible expressions of fear, disgust, and hate. These are base emotions that threaten to tear good people and nations apart. 

I can’t help but think we all need more of the joy and fun that Pokémon Go brings in our lives. Every little bit of goodness in the world matters. The greatness or reprehensibility of a civilization is built on the mundane foundation of all our lives. So make good choices, learn to love your neighbor, and the next time a stranger fistbumps or yelps when they catch a Pokémon, smile and share in their small moment of happiness - it’s only a game. 

Keep chasing the dream.

Speechwriter application.

Thank you.  Thank you so much.  Please.  Thank you.  Thank you.

I am thrilled to be here.  As I look out at all your bright, white faces, I am excited at all we can accomplish together, with my husband, Donald J. Trump, as our king.

Some people wonder—what is the best thing about being the beautiful wife of Donald J. Trump?  Or perhaps, why did I debase myself and marry the man some consider the vilest American alive?  Two words: bank account.  Oh, and his giant dick, which I am contractually obligated to mention on a monthly basis.

I don’t understand why people think my Donald hates immigrants.  I mean, hello?  They don’t make bodies like mine in America.  Donald fully supports the importation—sorry, I mean immigration of beautiful women.  Rich American douche bags need people to marry too, you know!

When I am your queen, I will work for a cause very near to my heart—the cause of all the beautiful women and children.  And I do mean just the beautiful ones.

But for now I want to address all American women, even the ugly ones.  I have heard that some of you think Donald hates women.  It’s just not true.  Donald loves women.  Look at me—I’m a woman, and he loves me.  So you shouldn’t worry. 

Please, vote for my husband.  He is the greatest husband, the best. 

Thank you so much for all the love you've shown for Donald and me.  You’ll hear from me again in a few years—I’ll have a tell-all with Anderson Cooper after my contract expires when I turn 50 and Donald has upgraded to the next hot, young piece of ass.  We can’t expect him to keep an old hag by his side!

Anyways, God bless Donald J. Trump, and God bless America.

Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist: A Treatise on the Current Racial Tensions in America

FAKEOUT. I did consider writing such a treatise, but I cannot bear to be the bazillionth person to contribute preachy thoughts on race to the black hole that is the Internet.  I just loved the title too much to let it go.  Instead, allow me to be the bazillionth curmudgeon to examine the resurgent popularity of Pokemon.[1]

Perhaps you have heard of the latest fad, “Pokemon Go”.  If somehow you blessedly missed this, go outside and watch for the swarms of millennials[2] staring down at their phones.  More than the usual number are out-of-doors and they are all playing Pokemon Go.  The game has consumed the entire population of San Francisco[3].  As far as I understand, the goal is to catch virtual Pokemon—catch them all. After that…the end game is unclear. 

Back in our youth, Maureen, Patricia, and I enjoyed Pokemon.  We had the cards and played the various Gameboy[4] games, but our true love was Pokemon Snap on Nintendo 64.  Nothing tickled us quite like luring dozens of hungry, adorable Charmanders with apples.  And convincing Pikachu to surf?  We would melt with delight.

Such joyful creatures.

Precious.

So why doesn’t Pokemon Go resonate with me?  After all, it’s basically the “real-life” version of Pokemon Snap.  As a millennial, I ought to gobble up anything that feeds into my nostalgia for the nineties.[5]  And yet, it will not do.  My distaste for humans becoming solitary, screen-staring robots trumps[6] whatever I could like about the game.  Sure, it’s great that people are getting out and about, but they might as well be inside for all the looking around they’re doing.  They look up when the game tells them to look up.  If “augmented” reality is the future, I may consider becoming a hermit. 

I listened to an interview with David Schwimmer on a podcast today.  He thinks one of the reasons kids are watching Friends is that it’s a window to a time they’ve never known.  They have never seen six people sit in a coffee shop and talk.  Call me an old-fashioned grumpma, but I miss those days.  It’s funny to me that Pokemon Go is trying to evoke the nineties, but actually makes them feel much farther away.[7]

---

[1] This is still a treatise so there will be footnotes.

[2] My computer apparently is too old to recognize the correct spelling of “millennial”.

[3] Neither children nor old people inhabit this city.

[4] Join me next week for a discussion on how the sexist name “Gameboy” destroyed my game playing confidence as a woman.

[5] Make America great again, am I right?

[6] This word is ruined for me forever.

[7]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNoouLa7uxA

Pompeii.

(Let's be honest--we all know that I will never finish writing a comprehensive review of our trip to Italy.  Instead, I will do some individual posts about some highlights.)

I remember learning about Pompeii and Mount Vesuvius for the first time in fourth grade.  The details of the event horrified and captivated me—I can still picture the photos of the crouched plaster bodies in our textbook.  Pompeii has occupied my imagination from time to time over the last 17 years, so when faced with the prospect of actually visiting the place, I worried I would be disappointed.  Would this be the Italian Alamo? 

NOOOPE way cooler than the Alamo.

My fears were unfounded—Pompeii exceeded all my expectations.  I had imagined a small, excavated site with barriers keeping visitors from the ruins.  Instead, Pompeii is HUGE (yuge?) and tourists are free to walk around, touch the walls, and go in the buildings.  I had also imagined that the famous plaster casts of the unfortunate souls would be littered all about the site….they are not.

Here's one...peekaboo?

We had a great tour guide who showed us a lot of things I would have missed had I just been exploring on my own.  He pointed out these long grooves at the thresholds of all the little houses—tracks for sliding doors!!  This just totally blew my mind and I still can’t quite put my finger on why.  Maybe it’s that 2000+ years later, I am still drawing sliding doors on floor plans.  The Romans were ahead of the game on indoor/outdoor living.

ARE YOU NOT AMAZED

I loved seeing the many clever details in Roman architecture.  In the bathhouse, the barrel-vaulted ceilings have grooves so the condensation from all the steam would just run down to the walls rather than drip on the bathers.  The angles of the windows in the ceiling allowed the bathers to keep track of the sun and get home in time for dinner. 

Grooves and windows

Will inspects the tub.

I shouldn't have been surprised that the Romans were good at building roads.  All the roads are just as they were back then.  The little marble specks between the bigger slabs were reflectors. I also enjoyed the elevated crosswalk stones--gotta keep those Roman sandals out of whatever muck might be flowing in the street.

Safety first.

Crosswalk.

As we walked around the very spots where ancient Romans shopped, socialized, worshipped, and lived, I became increasingly bowled over by the fact that 2000 years separate us from them.  Sure we’ve had a few technological advances since their time, but in terms of essentials…how much have we truly progressed?  Will reminds me that most people don't do slavery anymore.  So that's a good step.  

We still get drinks at the bar.

Headlines.

Today, Nigel Farage, one of the leading geniuses of “Brexit”, snidely remarked “it’s almost as if [Hillay Clinton] feels she has this sort of divine right” to the presidency.  Seems like odd commentary coming from someone whose country has a monarchy.

In other news, Donald Trump praised the old American pastime of waterboarding.  “I like it a lot,” he said.  Where can we sign him up?

Finally, rest in peace, Pat Summitt.  Even though we always cheered for UConn women's basketball, I still knew you were a badass.

A history lesson.

My love for history began when I was a kid.  I remember one Christmas I got a book containing stories, letters, and images of real people during World War II.  I was spellbound.  Here were ordinary people doing extraordinary things in extraordinary times.  The victory gardeners, the Navajo code talkers, the concentration camp inmates, the D-Day soldiers.  Perversely, I was actually jealous of these people—they got to live history.  All I could do was read about it.  In the naïve, grammar-school mind of an upper-middle class white girl, history was over.  The world, or at least my world, was stable and prosperous.  Nothing exciting or dangerous would ever happen again.  The struggles of earlier generations had born the fruit that was my blissful childhood in the ‘90s.

Of course, I was so wrong.   I had thought of history as stories with neat beginnings, middles, and ends.  It was a convenient way to take it all in.  But history does not happen that way.  We can’t know how historians will classify the present moment.  Is this moment—the departure of the UK from the EU, the rise of Donald Trump—the beginning of a new, fearful era in the experiment of liberal democracies?  Is it a strange, momentary aberration in the trend toward global economic cooperation?  Or is it (pause for melodrama) the end of the world as we know it??? 

When I read history now, I consciously try to erase my bias of hindsight.  I had realized I was taking events in history for granted. Of course the Allies won World War II.  Of course the D-Day invasion worked.  Of course Neville Chamberlain should have known never to shake Hitler’s hand.   But when I suspend my knowledge of how the story ends, the plot becomes more treacherous.  Certain characters, like Chamberlain, engender more sympathy.  His country had not long before emerged from the worst war it had ever known.  He did not know something more terrible could be on the horizon.  Other characters, like Eisenhower and his D-Day soldiers, earn even more admiration and awe.  The D-Day invasion had absolutely no guarantee of success.  Eliminating the advantage of hindsight allows us to understand that the moments we study in history are defined by their uncertainty. 

More now than at any other time in my life, I am hyper-aware of the uncertainty of the future.  For the first time, I look to the future with great unease.  The only other moment rivaling this is 9/11 and its immediate aftermath, but the difference between now and then is my faith in the stability of government.  I don’t know if we can overcome the dysfunction in Washington.  I am afraid of a Trump presidency.  I don’t know if our system and national wellbeing can weather his ignorance and narcissism.  That scares me more than terrorism.

I finally feel like I’m living history, but I wish I could tell fourth-grade Claire that it’s not as cool as we thought.

An announcement.

Friends, I have purchased the domain “claireblob.com”, and Google tells me that is now a legitimate way to get to this website.  I can also set up email addresses ending in @claireblob.com, which is very exciting.  Let me know if you would like one.  I am reserving claire@claireblob.com for myself, but anything else is available.

I am working on a review of our trip to Italy, but jet lag is preventing further progress.  I promise I will post it this weekend.  (I feel like I’m asking a professor for an extension.  Which I never did because it felt too shameful.  Almost as shameful as the time I had to beg my creative writing professor not to fail me because I completely forgot about the final project.)

**UPDATE: It seems claireblob.com will take you to an error page.  I am upset because Google took my $12 and now I have nothing to show for it.  Plus I have made a fool of myself by advertising a broken link on my blog.  Very embarrassing.  I will get in touch with Google/Will shortly to resolve the issue.

Under the Tuscan sun.

Please enjoy my current view.

Jealous? You should be. Will is reading nearby and my family is off exploring the town. I could happily spend the rest of my days here--reading, drawing, lounging, and sipping wine. It's been a good place to recover from our busy days exploring Rome and the Amalfi coast. We have walked a ton (~86,000 steps since June 8 by my phone's estimate), but have eaten enough pasta and gelato to offset any health benefits.  It's just all too delicious. 

It hasn't been all wine and roses though. We have had a few mishaps related to non-ADA compliant construction. The current count includes at least 4 major head bumps (3 by low clearance over stair and 1 by cabinet improperly protruding into walkway) and 1 major wine spill by improper grade change (AKA a small surprise step). We were able to clean the wine from the floor but the large splatter on the plaster wall has been very stubborn...goodbye Airbnb security deposit.

I have more to write about our trip, but I think I'll do it upon our return to the real world. For now I want to enjoy it while it can. Ciao!

And so the trip begins.

(Warning: I am in jet lag fog.)

Gutentag from the Frankfurt Airport, which is a doozy of a place. Will and I are on a 6 hour layover here, so we decided to take the train into the city center and walk around. Sounds like a simple exercise, but our search for the exit/tourist info booth/train tickets was a comical ordeal. I blame jet lag and bad signage. After ONE AND A HALF HOURS and several misguided escalator rides, we finally escaped the airport.

My ride on the struggle bus began back in San Francisco, when I put my pants on backwards this morning (yesterday morning?) and wore them to work that way. The ride continued when I boarded the plane at SFO and realized I left my office softball sweatshirt on the back of the chair at our gate. Goodbye, sweatshirt. Hopefully our arrival in Italy in a few hours will cleanse me of my bad luck.

Frankfurt doesn't have too much going on, but it was nice to get outside. (I was going to write "get some fresh air" but that would not do justice to the uniquely European BO that pervades the atmosphere.)

I will leave you with something that Will and I particularly enjoyed on our train ride back to the airport:

Item 1: More cheese.

Count up to vacation.

First of all, I would like to sincerely apologize for the 11-day gap between my two most recent blobs.  Several of my constituents have communicated their disapproval and I feel deep shame for doing wrong by you all.  I hear you, the rest of the world hears you.  To atone, I made the considerable effort to turn off The Great British Bakeoff and write this post on time.

Secondly, I forgot to announce that I did indeed pass my last architecture exam and school is out for the summah!  No more studying for me until I decide to schedule the California state exam (hopefully by the end of the year).  WOO HOO.

Number three—I know my sister like I know my own mind, you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind.

Fourth and final point.  This time next week, Will and I will have convened with my family in Italy.  Buongiorno principessas!  To continue my atonement (see paragraph one), I pledge to blob for the next two weeks FROM ITALY.  (That is, if I do not succumb to deep vein thrombosis on the flight over.  Yes, I am worried about this.  Yes, I am a hypochondriac.  I’m already experiencing phantom DVT pain.)  Feel free to send along book/movie/sleep aid suggestions for the flight.  Till next time from Italia—ciao bellas!

An All-American camping trip.

Happy Memorial Day to all and welcome to my latest late blob.  Today, Will and I returned from a lovely camping trip with friends in Clear Lake State Park.  Ranger Darren, after asking us to please respect the quiet hours, told us that Clear Lake may be the oldest lake in the country.  I was happy to hear it was a natural lake, and not one created by the Army Corp of Engineers, whom I have lost most respect for.  (For more information, read Cadillac Desert by Marc Reisner and then call me and we’ll talk about it.) 

We took a brief hiatus from nature to watch the Warriors/Thunder game at a sports bar in nearby Kelseyville.  Guy with an impressive mullet and plumber’s crack at the table next to us was very excitable.  I was tempted to remind him that unfortunately the players cannot hear his coachly wisdom (“STEPH, what are you DOING, MAN?”  “GET IT TOGETHER, DUBS." <fist bang on table> etc) but figured it would be better not to mess with him.  Thankfully, the game turned around for the Warriors in the very exciting last minute or so, so everyone was a happy camper (heh heh).  I was also excited to be in Kelseyville, in honor of my dear friend, Kelsey.  I took lots of pictures of signs for her.  I wish the town were named after her, rather than after Andrew Kelsey, whom, Wikipedia informs me, enslaved Native Americans in the region until they revolted and killed him, which then of course prompted a retaliatory massacre of about 200 Native American men, women, and children.  Can’t wait for President Trump to bring back the good old days. 

We had a really nice time camping, but I’m happy to be back in a real bed tonight.  Only six more work days until family vacation in ITALIA.  Cannot wait.

News alert.

This just in, folks.  Donald Trump's list of 11 potential Supreme Court picks had hardly finished dominating the cable news cycle when he released another 11 potential candidates just minutes ago.  "I can't believe everyone fell for that first list...Sad!" Trump tweeted.  The second set of 11 seems to more fully encompass Trump's vision for America. Mr. Trump was gracious enough to provide us with a bit of insight for each of his new picks.  Let's take a look.

"Mr. Keller is very, very rich.  I approve this message!"

"Larry could even keep Hillary out of jail.  Not that he would!"

"I love ladies with DUIs!"

"Probably on her period! LOL!"

"Ron has been just great at my rallies.  He would be a great justice!  The best!"

"Jeb!  Give this guy a call!"

"This guy will make America great again!"

"He's very good."

"Simon was the best judge.  Tells it like it is!"

"Here's another woman for all you haters and losers!"

"I love the minorities! The minorities love me!"