Friday, February 24, 2017

Wind, Whirling

I've had such a week.

You know that last Friday, I said goodbye to Darling Dog. I'm so glad that he's on the other side without pain, but, you know, I'm still here and I miss him.

Well, on Tuesday night, one of my dearest friends passed away. I was pretty much a loser in high school, particularly after moving to Plano, Texas. But I was fortunate to be part of a very small, very tight group of friends. And among these were Bestest Friend, who has remained my Bestest Friend for lo these many years, and the beautiful Noelle. We were sort of like the Three Musketeers, at least in my memory of those days.

There are legitimate benefits to remembering the '80s imperfectly.

Noelle was smart, funny, sassy, warm, happy, and honest. She was an only child (and adopted, at that), and she is actually the reason I didn't stress out when it became obvious that my Precocious Daughter would never have siblings. I figured if Noelle could grow up an only child without being lonely, resentful, or selfish, then I could raise my child to be the same way. And thanks to her, I was right.

I will miss her so much, you guys.

The same day I learned of my beautiful friend's passing, I learned about another death. Because the universe does love to pile on.

Last year, a co-worker lost his young son. Most of us were told that it was a "vehicle accident."

Yesterday I learned additional details of this child's death. And I wish to God that I hadn't.

I understand that when a person is in possession of deeply disturbing information, it is human nature to want to share that information, to (perhaps) diffuse its horror by parceling it out to others.

But Jeebus, being told the heartbreaking - and graphic - details of a child's death is not what I needed this week.

And then today, I got a promotion and a (small) raise. Which should make me happy as hell. But I'm slightly numbed by the actual important human-related things I've handled this week, so...yeah.

Tomorrow is payday. Maybe I'll be audited or something.

Here's my takeaway from this week, Drunkards.

If you love someone - anyone - tell them. Hug them, smile at them. Be the person you want them to remember on their deathbed.

Be thankful for what you have. No matter how small. You're alive, you can struggle against tomorrow's problems. That is SO GOOD. Hug someone who is important to you. Please.

Finally, here's a picture of a lily. Because I love lilies.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Tune In, You Guys

The President of the United States wants to defund public television.

Yes, the Public Broadcasting Service, or PBS.

Non-American readers: If you want to understand the impact of this proposed defunding, please learn about PBS here. Actually, it's a good read for Americans, too, who might otherwise take the existence and ubiquity of public television for granted.

In a nutshell, if you live in the USA and have enjoyed any of these, it's because of PBS:

Mister Rogers
Julia Child
The Electric Company
Bob Vila
Monty Python
Fawlty Towers
Carl Sagan
Are You Being Served?
The PBS Newshour fka the McNeil/Lehrer Report
Sneak Previews with Siskel and Ebert
Austin City Limits (!!!)
Doctor Who
Clifford the Big Red Dog
Dragon Tales
Downton Abbey

But screw all that, because our current President wants to save approximately 0.05% of the total budget by slashing funding to PBS.

And we could totally appropriate that money for a gold-plated buttplug engraved with his initials, yo.


I'm so disheartened that this move is not motivated by a need to save money, but clearly by a need to destroy institutions that might with impunity question the right of our current Commander in Chief to do whatever the hell he wants at the expense of small, ineffective  players like, oh, the American People.

It's almost as if Trump promised - and is now fulfilling that promise - to be the President of the money-grubbing assholes who don't care about anything but their own wealth fuck yeah.

Because why else kill the network of Masterpiece Fucking Theater?

Yeah, I thought so.

My eyes are on 2018, Drunkards, when we can at least begin to take back America from the would-be fascist Scrooges of this country.


Kill Masterpiece fucking Theater, my ass.

God Bless America.