Uncategorized

Insurance Guise

A search 

is on

for 

the one

with a gun

who

in silence

killed

the insurance

head

of United

HealthCare.

A hit job

like the mob

might execute,

on a blue suited

CEO

feels so

unnerving.

But no more

so

than the swerving

headlines

from the front lines

in South Korea

and France,

where 

we look 

askance

at the dance

of power

grabbing

leaders

and the bottom

feeders

who enable.

Is Democracy

stable

or able

to withstand

such demand

as we see

globally?

There is

an odd

sense 

of masculinity

equated 

with brutality

that we see

clearly,

yet feels

unexpectedly

new.

Frustrated

and castrated,

the unsophisticated,

heavy handed,

strong man

brand

is in demand

(with support

of some

women)

and commanding

center stage.

It’s all the rage.

Literally.

This man’s

world

has unfurled

since the war

on terror,

now 

in the west,

where

the test

of autocracy

(and of course

hypocrisy)

in the guise

of democracy

is proving

all that was

projected.

Be wise

to the 

insurance

guise—

the faux

protector,

deflector,

projector,

denying

necessary

procedures.

The teachers

of history

are a mystery:

the anonymous

populous

who never

gave up

on the insistency

of true democracy.

Bananas Foster

It’s Bananas!

By now 

you’ve heard

the absurd

story

of the crypto

bro

with too much

dough,

in all 

his glory,

created 

a story

about 

quite

an appetite

for art.

Entrepreneur 

Justin Sun

paid

6.2 million

for 

“Comedian”

at auction.

The conceptual

artwork

is an exceptional

quirk

in a world

that is 

rather quirky.

The banana

affixed

with duct tape

may be hard

to appreciate,

but it appreciated

exponentially.

Art is weird,

I’m sure 

you’d agree,

in the sense

that it makes

no sense

in dollars

and cents.

We’ve had 

a Campbell

Soup Can

and a urinal

called

“Fountain”,

provoking

opinion

and questioning

definition

of what is

art?

Art fosters

conversations,

not just

transactions,

about institutions,

obligations,

subjugations,

conventions,

and other 

inventions

of the mind

that get

left behind

or issues

not considered

otherwise.

In the case

of “Comedian”

the fruit

of the labor

of the artist

and vendor

(who sold

the banana

at his bodega)

will not receive

payment

from 

this sale.

But the statement

beyond the

“Comedian”

piece tale

was the ease

with which

the entrepreneur-

banana -connoisseur

ate it.

*image: nytimes.com/2024/11/20/arts/design/cattelan-banana-sothebys-auction.

No Complaints

I know 

it’s Thanksgiving

and being

together

indulging

bulging

handle bars

with few

holds

barred

is today’s

primary

activity,

but indulge

me an

addition

to the tradition

of gratitude:

an attitude

of no kvetching

for a day

this last

Thursday

in November.

Being thankful

for gelatinous

cranberry 

sauce

(I mean,

it’s genius),

is great, 

and hate

has no

place

at the table.

But are

we able

to let

go

of the

stuff

we know

is awful,

perhaps

unlawful,

dangerous,

or oppressing

us

just for today?

And the bloat,

the aches-

for goodness

sakes-

who wants

to hear

this stuff?

Enough.

We all

have 

discomfort

of varying

sorts,

and frankly,

I can’t 

stand

my own

endless

reports.

Conceding

needing

healing

or feeling

better;

improvement

and movement

required,

or those

admired

for not

folding

to pressure

or censure

undeserved,

is reserved

for seeing

and acknowledging

without 

complaining,

retaining

the positive

frame

from which

the name

Thanksgiving

can be a

living,

breathing,

being

without

the seething.

It’s rather

freeing.

Happy 

T-day

with no

complaints,

(at least

until

tomorrow)!

Wicked Gladiator and A Real Pain

Not quite 

“Barbenheimer”,

“Wickadiator”

might

be the invigorator

that Hollywood

needs,

as the movie house

bleeds

since the pandemic.

“Wicked”

and “Gladiator II”

are the new

block busters

at a theater

near you.

One a prequel;

the other,

a sequel.

The former, 

a musical;

the latter,

well…

a gladiator

spectacle.

Remarkable

to me,

as I tend 

to see 

connections,

it’s the perfect

cultural 

and political

projections

these titles

unwittingly

mention.

I mean…

really…

Wicked

and Gladiator II

are true

descriptions

of the nature

and prescriptions

of the next

administration.

And a smaller

movie

I saw 

recently,

has a title

that says

it all

completely:

“A Real Pain”.

The Wicked

Gladiator,

who “governs”

as dictator,

is a real pain

and an ass

on top 

of it all.

I’m thankful

for a brief

reprieve

from grief,

as I will 

share cranberry 

sauce

across

the table,

and steer

clear

of the political.

I’m grateful

I’ll be celebrating

Thanksgiving

with family

and friends

whose connection

depends

not on

policy position,

or opposition,

but on disposition

and love.

Despite a real

pain

so many 

sustain,

we remain

capable

of being

better.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Ed. McMahon

No,

not that one

next to Carson;

but the one

tapped to run

The Department

of Education.

Her association

with the WWE,

heading

the entertainment

promotion

company

was her claim

to fame,

and her name

long

linked

with the guy’s

whose instinct

has always been

akin

to wrestling.

A lover 

of spectacle

of the not respectable,

Trump’s

BFF

is selected

to ref

the referendum

on education.

The McMahon

pick

for Secretary

of Education

has nary

a hint

of a stint

as an 

educator,

but has been

an administrator

of sorts.

She led

the Small

Business 

Administration

during 

Trump’s first 

administration,

stepping down

in 2019.

She chose

her lane

behind the scene,

helping maintain

his re-election

campaign 

and then 

became

chair 

of the super PAC,

America First

Action.

More recently,

prepping 

for another

Trump

presidency,

she chaired

the America First

Policy Institute

which sought

to contribute,

like the Heritage 

Foundation’s

Project 2025 

preparation,

outlined

policies

for federal 

agencies

shifting

priorities,

including

the teaching

of history.

It’s no 

mystery

why 

I 

(who taught

history)

am wrestling

with 

how best

to deal

with this

real threat

while maintaining 

sanity,

as eliminating

and vanity

are the principals

of the strategy.

So the World

Wrestling

Entertainment

chief

shares the belief

with Betsy DeVoss

that the boss

of the department

of ed.

should be led

by someone

who 

has few,

if any,

ties

to education,

and seeks

to dismantle

it’s administration,

stating

that educating

belongs 

as an issue

for the states.

We’ll see 

how that goes.

But Trump 

knows

and shows

that

he loves

the undereducated.

The Pearly Gaetz

Clutching pearls,

swirls of shock

over the king

of schlock’s

sick picks

to stick

it to

who

ever

he can,

there’s 

consensus

that he’s 

doing what

he said

when he

ran.

Now we’ve got

Gaetz ,

who ingratiates,

insinuates,

conflates,

debates….

the perfect

sycophant

intransigent

who kept 

Kevin McCarthy

at bay

and had 

his day

and night

in the limelight.

Apparently,

it’s loyalty

that qualifies

one

to be

Attorney

General,

no matter

how incredible

or un-credible

the selection.

An ethics

investigation

for sex trafficking

and obstruction

of justice

is just

so last

administration.

Deposing

The Speaker

showed that

the weaker

are the ones

who run

from

Trump. 

What looks

like cowardice

to me

will now 

lead Justice

as  chief

Attorney,

although

he barely

practiced 

law.

With his

shiny

teeth and hair

and not

a care

for decency,

his lust

for power

or just

luster

as the guy

who will

try

anything,

giving him

the bling

in the Trump

ring,

the gates

are open.

Along with

Tulsi

directing

national intelligence,

the oxi-

morons

pile up.

We’re a part

of the global

warming trend

toward “strong

men”;

a reminder

that artificial

intelligence

demands

astronomical

energy.

The synergy

within

the incoming

administration

is like everything

shocking

but not surprising.

With the stench

of Musk

reeking,

wreaking

pain

with insane

people

who are

his personal

best,

the country

now waits

at 

the pearly

Gaetz’

department

of justice

for the 

ridiculous,

now serious.

Lost in the Woulds

Would that the first

First

Gentleman-

Elect

reflect

the scope

of change

and hope

and range

we thought

we ought

to be celebrating

after electing

the first 

Black-Asian-

American

woman

POTUS…..

we would

still

be terrified

about 

a result

denied

and would

be bracing

for 

more

terror.

Would

this moment

become

some

abberation

or recalibration

or decimation?

Would we

continue

as who

we thought

we ought

to be

or would

we flee?

Would

chicken eggs

be worth

more than 

human

eggs

without

Citizens

United

and the Supreme

Court determined

to abort

women’s 

reproductive

healthcare

everywhere?

Now that 

we are getting

a sequel,

we would

have 

insured

a different

prequel.

America

the beautiful

is full

of ugly

Americans

full

of greed

who concede

racism

and misogyny

and who 

need 

to be freed

of their pain.

What seems

insane

and inane

to half

of us

doesn’t

matter

to the rest.

Who would

have thought

we’d fail

the test

of what

we were

taught

to matter?

I am sadder

that we 

are so 

desperately

lost,

than angry,

though

admittedly

somewhat

scared.

I guess

my anxiety

prepared

me

a bit

for what

would

have never

been

imagined

until

recently.

The fantasy

of individuality

and “Don’t

Tread on Me”

will always

be

selective.

It’s the stupid

economy,

I hate to say,

that seems

to sway

the most.

We’ve lost

our way

when 

we would

rather

say anything

and do

anything,

no matter

how harmful,

because 

we are

so broken.

Everyone

is broken.

This would

not be

a revelation

had this

election

gone differently.

But apparently,

breaking

bad

with a mad

man

(and lots of

angry

men

and the women

who support

them)

is where 

we are

no matter

how far

gone

we have

lost

ourselves

in the

woulds.

Swing State

My state of mind,

I find,

swings between

despair 

and hope,

repair 

and NOPE—

I will never

submit

to THAT

which I know

to be

evil

and cynical

and also

cyclical

in the story

of people.

My apology

to history,

the people

who endured

before me,

as I blindly

thought

I was taught

that we are

always advancing.

And yet,

pendula 

swing;

never still,

as people

will

always

want 

change

and security.

In my immaturity,

I believed

I was conceived

in a world

so naive,

and that each 

generation

has more 

sophistication.

Survival

of the fittest

survives

the silliest

interpretation,

as though

those

who perished

in concentration

camps

or gulags

or at the hands

of thugs

anywhere

at anytime

were somehow

not clever

enough

or sufficiently

strong.

I was wrong.

How many

martyrs

have been made

of great

men

and the unknown

women

whose notions

caused commotions

and retreat

from promotions

of freedoms

barely perceptible,

held unacceptable,

untenable,

and therefore,

killed?

My current

state

of anxiety

swings

wildly

from hour

to hour,

fearing our

future,

and lamenting

our past.

History

has given

us everything,

and we are

swinging

at curve balls

and striking 

out.

This one

feels like

we might

swing

and miss.

and kiss

the whole

game 

goodbye. 

But as I

have stated

before,

I can’t ignore

the strategy

of hate

and fear,

for some,

a career,

so easy

to fall 

prey.

Election Day

feels so 

consequential;

even existential,

but life

will not 

suddenly

stop.

We may

enter

a new 

swing state

that may

bring

a slate

of new

legislation.

But like

millions

before

us,

who wouldn’t

ignore 

us,

they too

maintained

ideas

of progression

from which

each digression

when the pendulum

swings back,

feels like history

is pale

by comparison.

Yet the rhymes

or echoes

swinging

back

and forth

bring forth

for me

all of history;

not just

the infamous,

but the anonymous

people

who stood

for goodness

sakes

even when

the stakes

were life

and death.

For all 

the difference

tomorrow

will make,

for the sake

of those

I will never

meet,

I will treat

this state

of swinging

from or 

toward

something

familiar

or untoward

as an imperative

for a  more

creative

and inclusive

way to live.

MSG

In The Garden,

The Paradise

lost,

the cost

of democracy

too great,

hate

was cherished

as the climate

perished; 

slashing

and burning

while feeding

the yearning

for owning

the Libs.

And the actual

owners

of the factual

papers

in DC

and LA

chose not

to say

whom they

endorse-

another coarse

event

in this course

of events:

a course

on what

prevents

democracies

from thriving.

The striving,

conniving,

and disdain

reign

freely,

while the wealthy-

greedy

are the most

needy

in their

reality.

The love

of fear,

hate,

and retribution

was considered

contribution

in The Garden

event.

I’m spent,

yet must

invent

ways 

to circumvent

the craze

over the next

several

days,

and the after-

math,

despite

the math,

of election night.

It’s the fright

in sight,

or that

I can 

envision,

that the division

so heinous

and obvious

that the rest

of us

feel helpless

after 

having voted,

is like 

living

inside

a loaded

gun.

But that’s

what’s 

fun

if you’re

one

of the MAGA

dramarama.

The MSG
was hopefully

too hyper

tensive

and unhealthy

for a majority

of Americans.

The shenanigans

are still

serious,

as those

delirious

pursue

the view

that a new

America

is overdue,

which looks

white

and pregnant.

None of it

is funny

or sunny

in that 

Garden

of evil

that they

say is 

good.

But we 

should not

let their love

of fear

be ours too.

The MSG
additive,

so addictive,

is the loathing

and fear

and simple

smear

that requires

merely

hate.

I will not

satiate

myself

with bottom

shelf

MSG

only

to feel

hungry

for more.

The legacy

you leave

is not

your blame,

but your

love

and care;

and that

you dared

to not 

despair,

but insist

we repair

with love

above

all else. 

Who’s Your Daddy?

EEEWWWWWW!!!

It never occurred

to me 

that JD

could be

out-creeped

by any peep,

but alas,

the ginormous ass

Tucker,

that Mother

F-(rhymes with Tucker),

actually 

compared a family

dynamic

(that in the Menendez

home

became tragic)

to our national

politic.

“There has to be

a point at which

Dad comes home.”

“…you know what

he says? You’ve

been a bad little 

girl

and you’re getting

a vigorous spanking

right now.” 

He continued 

his tale

of the ultimate

male

behavior as

somehow

the savior

of the American

family

by punishing

THE BAD
GIRL,

who would be

the rest of the

country.

There’s much

to unpack

in this brand

spanking

new view

of the old

guard.

For many,

any 

insult

from the 

cult 

of MAGA

is the result

of a drama

between

masculine

and feminine,

in a particular

play

performed

a certain

way,

except 

if born

otherwise,

or seen

as a 

disguise

from

some ideal

gender

form.

The threats

seem to

be most

offensive

when a male

adopts

culturally

female

props

and dispositions,

with little

care

for the reverse,

other than

regarding 

as perverse,

in their

perverted

ethos.

So little girls

and child bearing 

age 

young women,

and women

post-menopause

are somehow

the cause

of the hell-scape

where

the only 

escape

is violent

punishment

or imprisonment?

Other than

the immigrant,

of course,

the (liberated) female

is the source

of problems.

No need

to make

room

for Daddy’s

protection

or direction.

This election

could be

an inflection

in our democracy.

Remember 

Puff Daddy

who became

P. Diddy,

then

DIddy,

now back to

Sean Combs,

now

awaiting trial

for sexual

assault?

Me too.

So few

women 

have proven

to actually

be

as problematic

compared to

the autocratic,

fascistic

tendency

in the patriarchy

that gives

the finger

to Lady Liberty.

I am not

worried

that Daddy’s 

coming home.

I think 

the chickens

will.