My wife and I called it yesterday when she changed her Twitter handle to remove a reference to Massachusetts: Elizabeth Warren is, if not Officially Running for President, at least forming an exploratory committee for same, which … is pretty much the same damn thing, really. And it turns out that apparently Julián Castro has formed one too, which I didn’t know about.
Now, to be clear, I will literally vote for something scraped off my shoe if it gets the Democratic nomination for President in 2020. Hell, I’ll vote for Bernie Sanders if he gets the nomination, although I might prefer the shoe-scrapings. There’s no particular reason to take this list terribly seriously, other than that I’m sitting in my office waiting for a plumber to show up on New Year’s Eve because every pipe in my Goddamned house decided to overflow at once this morning and I am the only one in the house and bored. Everyone else fled the sewage in the tub for some reason.
I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT YOU BUT RIGHT NOW I’M IN IF YOU RUN BUT I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO BECOME LESS EXCITED IF NECESSARY:
I KNOW EVEN LESS ABOUT YOU THAN CATEGORY #1 SO LET’S SAY PROVISIONAL SUPPORT FOR NOW, PENDING FURTHER INFORMATION, AND I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO BECOME MUCH MORE EXCITED:
I THINK YOU’RE COOL BUT MAYBE WAIT FOR 2028:
YOU ARE OVER 60 AND/OR A WHITE DUDE AND I WOULD PREFER TO VOTE FOR SOMEONE YOUNGER AND/OR LESS WHITE DUDEY BUT OTHERWISE SURE:
WE DID THIS ALREADY; NO, THANK YOU:
OH FUCKING HELL NO/ I HAVE ALREADY DECIDED I DON’T LIKE YOU:
IF THERE’S ANY FUCKING SANITY LEFT IN THE WORLD, THE ACTUAL NEXT DEMOCRATIC PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES WILL BE:
I’m doing the thing where I’m trying to make something I said on Twitter a bit less ephemeral by putting it here: I want a change in the rules. If white people are going to keep calling the police on black people for fucking existing in public, well, you go on ahead with your white self and keep doing that. But once the cops have investigated, when it turns out the black person was walking his dog, or taking his damn kids to the park, or buying groceries, or having a barbecue, or whatever goddamned normal-ass thing that black people are allowed to do unless white people are nearby, once the cops have investigated and determined that, yeah, that check for $1000 from this dude’s employer is really his check, and maybe y’all shoulda figured out that your average check cashing fraudster isn’t likely to volunteer two forms of ID and his fingerprint and just cashed the damn thing?
Once the cops figure that out, that accused black person gets five minutes in which he or she cannot be arrested or prosecuted for anything they do, up to and including stealing and detonating a nuclear weapon, if there happens to be one close enough. And the white people don’t get to run away. They gotta stay there while the five-minute rampage happens and if that five-minute rampage involves a white ass getting beat then maybe you shoulda thought of that before you called the cops, you dumb racist cracker motherfucker.
A story of what may actually be the last time I tried to cash a check: I am a high school student, and I have helped out an old lady down the street from me by mowing her lawn for her. A very old lady, who has rewarded me by writing me a check for, supposedly, $25. The only problem is that $25 check is so illegible that I’m the person she handed it to and I can’t decipher my own name, nor can I really honestly figure out how the scrawl in the little box says $25.00, and there is no way any human could possibly look at the part that counts, where you write out the amount in prose, and see “twenty-five dollars and 00/100.” She’s very old and palsied and this check looks like a toddler scribbled on it. There are no recognizable words. I need y’all to realize that I’m not exaggerating here.
I briefly think about not taking the check anywhere at all and just not worrying about it, and then take it to her bank, because there’s no way in hell my bank is touching the thing. And the teller not only agrees to cash it, but she asks me what the amount is supposed to be, and then prepares to withdraw that amount, based on nothing more than my say-so.
Now, okay, this was 24 years ago at minimum, and shit’s supposed to be more secure now. But there wasn’t even the vaguest suggestion of suspicion on her part. Because: white boy.
And then it turned out the check was NSF, and I told her just to throw it away, because … nah. The whole thing was skeevy and even in high school $25 wasn’t enough money that I was gonna go to too much trouble to get it. It’s possible my dad ended up covering it; I don’t remember, but I didn’t end up ever cashing the check.
I have been doing make-up standardized tests all week, and by all week I mean basically every minute of my day other than lunch or advisory. On the one hand, this has been kind of wonderful, because it pins me in my room and people can’t pull me out of my office to make me do stuff, and it exempts me from things like hallway duty, which can be obnoxious. On the other hand, I have literally spent 24 solid hours out of the last three days in a damn near silent room with somewhere between eight and thirteen sixth graders all taking a test as I “monitor” them, and I am so bored I might die.
I mean, given my job’s definition of “exciting,” don’t take me whining about this too seriously, because there is a big difference between boring and stressful and given the choice I will leap joyfully into boring’s arms every time. But …. man. I gotta do this again tomorrow? Really? I’m playing music or summat during the test, because I can’t take the quiet any longer. It’s fuckin’ unnatural.
I’m fortunate in that I don’t actually have a crazy racist uncle to avoid sitting next to at Thanksgiving. I have four uncles– or, at least, I have four blood uncles, not counting various men my aunts are married to, and of the four I have perhaps one and a half relationships with them. None of them to my knowledge are racist. “Crazy” is kind of ableist and well okay one of my uncles could very well be schizophrenic but I’m still not about to use that word to describe him.
The point is, whatever issues I might have with Thanksgiving, I don’t particularly have any family members I need to avoid, because it’s pretty much the same eight to twelve people at every Thanksgiving dinner and none of them are going to cause trouble. I snapped at my mother-in-law once during a family meal a couple of years ago but I don’t think it was Thanksgiving, and also she’s not alive any longer so it’s unlikely to repeat itself. Nah, any trouble I have with this holiday is found squarely within 1) my intense dislike of false piety (You Will Be Thankful For Stuff On This Specific Day kinda gets on my nerves) and 2) my general desire to, like, never do stuff. I love my family, y’all, but three people live in this house and any time that number goes up by much more than 100% I’m gonna get twitchy no matter how much I like them.
At any rate, wherever you are, I hope you didn’t have to fight with anyone today, and I hope if you did, at least the food was worth it. I’m gonna spend the rest of the night watching She-Ra on Netflix and playing Red Dead Redemption 2.
(Next year, I’m making macaroni and cheese, by the way.)
Got the House back. Things will continue getting worse, but the curve might bend a little bit now. And there were some bits and bobs of really, really good news last night.
I actually took a leftover Clonazepam before bed last night because I was so keyed up, and today has been busy as hell, so this is gonna be a short note just because I’ve got shit to do tonight. Watch this, then— I wish I could embed it, but I can’t find a way– and then afterward find somebody who thinks Democrats “don’t have a message” and punch them in their stupid face.
I had a stunningly easy day at work today, to the point where I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and it never really did. No drama, no nonsense, I had time to get shit done, which blows my mind– that never happens– and now I have tomorrow off.
My wife has to work and my son has school. So I’m at home, by myself, on Election Day, trying my good Goddamnedest to keep myself distracted. If there was some sort of drug I could take that could guarantee I could just wake up Wednesday morning and have the carnage already dealt with, I’d already have taken it.
I mean, I could make predictions, but I was literally the wrongest I’ve ever been about anything two years ago, so I’ve got no room left for optimism right now. I also think I’m probably not capable of being surprised, but the world has a way of proving me wrong about that too. I considered finding something, anything to volunteer for tomorrow, but to a certain extent I question my own ability to keep my shit together in scenarios where people are talking politics around me, and if I go volunteer for something it’s gonna be kinda difficult to avoid politics. Better for my mental health to spend the entire day stuck in 1899 robbing caravans and hunting bears. I gotta stay the hell off Twitter until at least 7 or 8:00; I will fail utterly in this goal.
More tomorrow, I suppose, if the world doesn’t end.