D-to-the-feated

CVS has been texting me like a desperate ex for days: "Come get your prescription, Emil Gros. Come on!"

So I schlepped over there today and you'll be shocked to know that the prescription was not to be found. Seems it had been filled at another location. Swell. I love you, CVS, said no one ever.

***

I went to the market to get yet more food for carnivorous, apparently-always-starving children. I drove around the garage for 8 minutes, could not find a parking spot, and so attempted to leave before I was late to pick the boys up from camp. 

"That'll be $3."

"Um, no. I didn't even park."

"But you were here for more than 7 minutes."

"Because I was looking for a spot and I didn't find one and now I have to leave so I'm not late."

"$3"

"NO!"

"Ok."

***

A side table arrives, and I unpack it carefully. Atop the glass shelf is etched "TEMPERED GLASS." This idiotic label cannot be removed, and so when you place the shelf atop the table, you are reminded that your glass is TEMPERED each and every time you look at it. I packed it back up, called Customer Service, and UPS is picking this item up tomorrow.

I have no further words on this subject.

***

Apparently, the children drank Arse Juice at camp today and came home to act like hooligans. They spent half the afternoon naked, whooping and yelling about their Rebellion. 

I found clothes hanging from my closet light, 97 stuffed animals thrown over the stair balcony, Legos everywhere, and this. 

Who would dare do that to my boyfriend? 

Seriously, people, I was not amused this evening. I took away iPads and dessert, and later, Jack yelled that I was "SO unfair, and just because I've been a jerk does not mean that I shouldn't get to listen to my book on tape."

"Well, young man, indeed it means exactly that."

But he wore my shit down, y'all. Just grated at me until I was nothing more than a thin rind sitting behind a snowy pile of shredded Parmesan. And I had no more fucks left to give. And so I lost this one and hardly care. #sotired #Dfeated

***

And then there's this gem from the Republican National Confucktion in Cleveland. Mother of...

REALLY? No other colors available for elevator naming?

TP mates and the Nut

Y'all, seriously. Nice on Bastille Day? What is happening in this world? My heart is again aching for all the loss and pain; the photos of abandoned strollers are almost too much to bear.

And Mike Pence on Trump's ticket? Are we watching a failed reality show as it attempts to try again? 

That said, Trump's announcement has led to some much-needed end-of-a-tough-week hilarity! Take, if you will, the various interpretations of the extremely ill-conceived Trump-Pence campaign logo. 

I immediately think Toilet Paper, while most others were reminded of one of several forms of sex; two if you don't flip the logo, three if you do!

The funniest and best medley of musings can be seen and read here. I'm STILL chuckling over "vigorous pencetration." LOLOLOLOL!!!!!!

Then there's this guy. What can I say? I'm smitten. 

And finally, news of the next season of Sherlock. Not until 2017 -can you hear my sigh?- but at least it's coming back! #benedictallthetime

What is happening? #blacklivesmatter

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am sick to my stomach right now. My head is spinning with fury and sadness. Over and over I hear the brave composure, the fear, the pain, and then, the crushing grief in Diamond Reynolds' voice during her brave filming* of her boyfriend's (Philando Castile) murder by a policeman in Minnesota. Castile was a well-liked school cafeteria worker with no criminal record other than a previous fine for not having car insurance.

Castile and Reynolds, driving home with Reynolds' young daughter in the backseat, were pulled over for a broken tail light. The cop demanded to see Castile's license and registration at which point Castile informed the officer that he did have a properly licensed firearm with him and that he was reaching for his wallet only. The cop shot Castile in the arm, screaming at him not to move. Three more bullets in quick succession, and Castile begins to bleed out in the car, in front of his girlfriend and her child. He dies slumped over the console and into the back seat.

Reynolds continues to film, the agitated cop screaming in the background, as back-up police arrive. She is unbelievably polite as the cop yells at her to keep her hands where he can see them. She is restrained, composed, calm in a way no one should have to be in the face of such danger and cruelty.

She is ordered out of the car, hands up. She is ordered to kneel and be handcuffed. She is not allowed to hold her daughter, the cops don't answer her when she asks about her child.

This happens less than 48 hours after Alton Sterling is shot and killed by policemen in Louisiana. Like Castile, Sterling was not holding a gun although it seems he had one in his pocket. He was selling CDs in a parking lot when the cops arrived. They tackle and, according to some, taser him, screaming “I swear to God if you fucking move!” He does not reach for his gun. He is quickly shot six times at point-blank range. He bleeds out and dies in the parking lot.

Eric Garner, Freddie Gray, Laquan Donald, Michael Brown, Walter Scott, Tamir Rice...The list grows, black men and women and children slain by cops who rarely receive more punishment than paid administrative leave. PAID! The cops who shot Castile and Sterling do NOT deserve payment; they deserve to be fired and imprisoned and held accountable for taking lives.

Meanwhile, mass shootings continue, Congress refuses to discuss gun violence, control or reform, the NRA sits back and laughs, rolling in piles of money, willfully blind to and unconcerned about the blood on their hands. Donald Trump fans the flames of bigotry and intolerance and division, and people cheer. They cheer!

I don't have any way of understanding this. Hatred isn't going to make anyone do better in life. It's not going to increase paychecks or bring peace. It's not going to make anyone safer.

Our country is falling apart, riven by those racing backward in time to an age of overt racism and classism and horror. Where is a collective sense of self? Why are so many excluded from that? Where is our empathy? Our revulsion? Our willingness to do the right thing regardless of political party? The right and moral thing isn't political; it's justice. It's being our best selves.

Guns are everywhere. The police, tasked with serving and protecting, are killing and abusing all too often. All too often, black Americans are treated like dirt. They fear for their children, their lives, and their futures in a way I simply don't believe whites can understand. This is grossly unjust. This is not something to perpetuate. This is not an America that makes me proud. It is an America that frightens and disgusts me. We should be better than this.

*The videos, especially Reynolds', are extremely difficult to watch, but I urge you to if you can. Hear her pain. Hear the pain of a people oppressed and hated and mistreated. This has got to stop. #blacklivesmatter

Thanks to Adam Ortiz for sharing the gorgeous St. Vincent Millay stanza above.