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Look At My Jews Over Here!
Leonard Cohen has a new record coming out, and at 82, he reveals in a new interview that he is “ready to die.” Meanwhile, Bob Dylan has won the Nobel Prize for literature.
You may not care for either artist but that just means you have no taste or you’re a millennial or something.
I realize today how much both of them mean to me, how much I was influenced and inspired by them, that they are key figures in the soundtrack of my life.
Bod Dylan’s performance of Hallelujah, from 1988, isn’t the best cover of the song, but it’s stirring nonetheless, and it’s cool to hear.
What a great couple of old Jews!
L’chaim, motherfuckers!
(c) Leonard Cohen by Graeme Mitchell
Psycho
While the news tonight is all about Trump‘s history as a sexual predator, I have trouble remembering that just yesterday I was trying to view him with compassion.
I was trying to view him through a different lens: He is a badly damaged person who was once a child.
All children are born innocent, and also helpless.
Then, someone fucks them up.
Of course, there is genetics, babies aren’t blank slates. But even for many serious mental disorders, it’s useful to point to the adage “Nature loads the gun; environment pulls the trigger.”
What happened in the Trump home? What happened to little Donald specifically to create such pathology?
Well, so much for compassion. I’m sick of this and so are you. That debate on Sunday was violating to all who watched. We don’t need to rehash it.
For those of us who grew up with a psycho in the house, Donald Trump on the rampage is too alarming to deal with. Maybe that’s why some people can shrug him off while others feel personally assaulted.
Which beings me back to the news this evening.
While the accusations come pouring in, Trump’s loony “surrogates” are screaming that the victims are all liars, and female journalists are fighting back tears. It reminds every woman of every man who didn’t take no for an answer.
I wish we could cancel the third debate! How much more can we stand? And who will pay for the therapy?
Melania Grabs a Pussy-Bow Blouse: She Vill Heet You Ten Times Harder!
I was alerted by my friend Shannon that Melania Trump‘s debate-wear tonight was Gucci’s $1,100 “Pussy-Bow Shirt.”
It took me a minute to grasp the significance of Melania’s choice, annoyed as I was that this bitch would try to spoil Gucci for me.
However, now I’m impressed.
Her Stupid-Foreigner act is just a cover for her diabolical brilliance.
Look at her expression, above.
Look at how proudly her implants jut out, putting the men around her on notice that she will not be shamed into wearing a less clingy fabric.
She is Woman, hear her roar.
She is Pussy personified, and she will be the pussy of choice for her husband, no matter whose he might grab or hope to grab.
Melania did not make it this far from a village in Slovenia to the penthouse of Trump Tower without being a tough competitor. As she warned Donald before the debate,
“I am nice person, Donald Trump, but nobody poots the baby in corner. You heet me, I heet you ten times harder.”
Gold digger, nude model, mail-order bride, escort, sure, whatever. But let’s not underestimate Melania!
Just keep your eyes on her implants. They are signalling something, and it could get messy.
Style Trumps Trump!
Things may be bad but for once there’s a silver lining and here he is.
This is Mac, who agreed to let me pose with him so I could tell people he’s my boyfriend. He didn’t act all flattered, he was more like Okay, do your thing but hurry up.
When you see a man in an alligator suit with rings on every finger, you know that life is a giant gumball machine with those plastic toy capsules where you want the little bouncy ball but you keep getting a sticky hand or a smiley-face eraser or if luck is really against you, out comes Donald Trump.
But one in a while, you get a dazzling prize.
Behold my new boyfriend and style icon, Mac, who said he found his suit at the National Council Jewish Women’s Thriftshop on Venice and Grandview.
Poor Little Bear
I have been too sad lately. Too sad to stay awake and too sad to live. It comes and goes. When it doesn’t go, I get worried and even more despondent.
It’s something to do with my genes and my early childhood and my recurring depressions which make my brain more susceptible to triggers and don’t forget my PTSD.
I miss my children and wonder what the point is. I feel exhausted and worthless. I imagine the horror of whoever would find my dead body and decide, “Never mind. I can go on.”
So when I read about a designer who turned teddy bears into art, I was inspired to try this myself. It would be better than “add Abilify.” It would be like occupational therapy.
It would give my hands something to do late at night when I decide to start picking the little scabs on my legs that I get from picking the little scabs on my legs. This leg thing has now gone on intermittently for several years. (See here.) It is comforting in the moment but disappointing afterward.
I got a used teddy bear and bought some embroidery thread. I can’t remember how to embroider but that’s okay.
I’ve been working on my poor little bear, who is not only willing to undergo my pain for me, he is glad to be of service. I can tell when I look in his eyes. He is offering Himself up like Jesus Christ, suffering on my behalf with endless compassion.
I am mostly maiming him with unneeded surgery. I’m throwing in some decorative touches like sequins but mostly I’m fixing his wounds, that is to say my wounds. There is a lot of work to do.
My heart is so broken but the poor little bear understands. He might never be art but who among us really is, right? He feels my love, even as I torture him.
Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to work.
Mike Pence: What A Fucking Cunt!™
Mike Pence makes me want to be a Black Panther.
He is everything I hate about white Christian middle America. Smug, intolerant, superior, small-minded, sanctimonious and full of shit.
God, what a cunt.
He looks and acts like a 50’s era dad who always knows best. Or he could also be a TV Evangelist, so ready is he to lie his ass off with almost palpable relish and a straight face.
His effusive praise of Donald Trump is particularly offensive. Are we supposed to believe he thinks Trump is a great guy and a genius? Watching people like Mike Pence and Kellyanne Conway sell their souls so cheaply is just fucking repugnant.
Let Mike Pence adopt every orphan and crack baby in the whole world! Then he can talk about reproductive rights and his Lord’s love for the unborn.
My favorite quote from the debate Tuesday night is his defense of Trump’s position on Mexican immigrants: “He said some are good!”
Replace Mexican immigrants with Jews or blacks in that equation if you can’t see how absurdly racist it is.
The only thing worse than that fucker Pence is his grotesque, sociopath running mate.
We need to get this over with before we all have ulcerative colitis.
Fuck It, Let’s Get Back to Angelina
We have waited patiently for news on the Brad and Angie front, and while there’s no dirt beyond the fake “insiders are saying” stories, here’s something wonderful:
Angelina is in early negotiations to star in the Afghanistan war drama “Shoot Like a Girl,” according to Variety. It’s based on the true story of Maj. Mary Jennings Hegar, who served multiple tours in Afghanistan as a helicopter pilot.
The Purple Heart recipient [ Major Hegar] saved hundreds of men and women on and off the battlefield in the Middle East and later helped eliminate the military’s ground combat exclusion policy, which kept female officers from serving in combat roles.
Hahaha! What is not to love about Angelina Jolie playing a war hero?
How grand that the break-up of her marriage and the emotional needs of her six children did not deter her from engaging in film negotiations.
Remember when she wanted to play Cleopatra? It didn’t work out, because she was nuts, as we learned from the Sony email hack.
Last year, Angie’s company optioned a book about Catherine the Great and her love affair with Potemkin. I guess that one flamed out too.
But there are so many other strong female characters she could play, and should play!
Let’s cross off Mother Theresa, because someone else must have the rights to that. Here’s my list:
Eleanor Roosevelt
Mary Magdalene
Joan of Arc
Nefertiti
Rosa Parks
Josephine Baker
Annie Oakley
Helen Keller
But you know what, why should she be limited to great women? How genderist of me! She could certainly play a male character, that’s why it’s called acting, right?
I’d like to see her play Attila the Hun and Bill Cosby, for example.
Who would you like Angie to play next? *Show your work.
Should A Fat Pig Be Fat-Shaming?
One thing we learned from the debate on Monday night is that Donald Trump has a thing about fat.
I know his feud with Rosie O’Donnell involved taunts about her weight, but I didn’t realize that fat-shaming is a familiar behavior of Donald’s, verging on an obsession.
In Trump’s value system, being fat is the worst crime a woman can commit. Slobs! Ugly pigs!
He has double-downed today on the fat Miss Universe story. Not only was she a fat pig, she was “the worst [Miss Universe] we ever had. She gained a massive amount of weight, and it was a real problem.” She was “an eating machine!”
Here’s what fat pig Alicia Machado looked like at age 20, when he invited a film crew to watch her working out in a gym.
Machado’s story about being traumatized by Trump’s insults brings to mind a common trigger of anorexia and bulimia: fat-shaming by the father, often in the form of a single, brutal comment.
A former Trump employee recalls that he used to keep an unflattering “fat photo” of her in his desk. He would pull it out whenever she did something “wrong.”
I can’t even can’t even on this misogynist shit. Clearly, Trump has a deep fear and loathing of women, whose womanly bodies offend him. You can never get thin enough for men like this.
Let’s move on to his imaginary “400 pound” hacker, cited in his argument against Russia being responsible for breaking into the DMC’s files.
Who is this 400 pounder? Is Trump haunted by visions of fat people laying around in basements or running for Miss Universe? Does he see fat people hiding under every bed, like communists?
I’m wondering if he sees that fat guy in the mirror.
I think Donald Trump is a fat pig, and not because I hate men. I see an obese guy in an ill-fitting suit with a stupid wrestler-style pompadour. He looks like a pig because of his bloated face and little slit eyes. He embodies what we mean when we think a person acts like a pig. No manners, no dignity, no civility, no self-respect.
Now I’m wondering if he likes to keep Chris Christie around just to look thinner by comparison.
I hope every woman who has ever felt fat because some man disparaged her body will make sure to vote Donald Trump off the island and off our planet.
He hates us because mommy didn’t protect him from daddy or because he can’t admit he’s gay or you know, a projection of self-disgust. Whatever.
He’d be a fat pig at any weight.
Shot In The Face
Today we were waiting in line at our neighborhood Pollo Loco and the line wasn’t moving. I saw that the guy giving his order at the cash register was gesticulating impatiently.
Something was up. The guy was raising his voice but we couldn’t make out his words. I turned to my husband and said, “I hope we don’t get shot here, but I can actually think of worse places.”
I was thinking of CVS, where I happened to be during a very mild earthquake. I remember how glad I was not to spend my last moments in a CVS, crushed by products.
The guy at the front finally paid the cashier. We heard him explain that his jaw waas wired shut and he wanted to have his chicken shredded.
He moved aside to the salsa bar, where an older guy said something. The young guy, who was very tall and thin, said “I was shot in the face.”
Trying to compute this information, I heard the older say “blah blah blah small caliber?”
Men! If they’re not getting shot in the face, they want to talk about guns!
I could hear the older guy making suggestions, like getting “Ensure” for the protein and drinking soup. He seemed genuinely concerned. Now I had to walk past them and at that moment, the young guy pulled out his phone to show a picture of his x-ray – a skull with something passing right through the mouth.
I blurted out, “I’m so sorry!” and the guy turned to me. Now I could see how young he was, probably around 20. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
He blushed and smiled. I saw a flash of smashed up teeth and metal. The older guy said, “Me too.”
We found a table and I felt shaken by the encounter. Witnessing simple human kindness is always so moving to me. It is nearly unbearable, in fact. I thought of how painful life is for so many people, all the suffering in the world and how hard it is to let yourself care or to stop from caring too much. I wished I could give the face-guy a blender. I wished people could stop killing Syrian children. I wished the loved ones I have lost would come back.
Suddenly there was a commotion at the counter. The face-guy was angry and wanted a refund. I guess they hadn’t shredded his chicken. He stormed out empty handed.
I went to get some salsa and saw the Korean manager yelling at the Mexican cashier. He was gong on about the refund, ranting about how it would throw everything off. He could not have cared less about a guy getting shot in the face.
I’m not sure what my point is here. But I’ll say this: If a guy gets shot in the face, he deserves some goddamn shredded chicken.