a conversation

Reasonable Person: Another mass murder.
MAGA Person: Thoughts and prayers.
RP: There’s so much hate in the world.
MP: Amen. Lotsa hate.
RP: So much division, so much hostility.
MP: Buttloads of hostility.
RP: The nation hasn’t been this divided since the Civil War.
MP: Can’t argue with that.
RP: Something needs to be done.
MP: Absofuckinglutely.
RP: This has to stop.
MP: Got to.
RP: Something has to change.
MP: Yep.
RP: We don’t have to live like this.
MP: No, we don’t.
RP: You know what this country needs?
MP: I surely do. Trump.
RP: …?
MP: …!
RP: Trump?
MP: Yep. And more guns.
RP: But…
MP: And Jesus. In schools.
RP: I have to disagree.
MP: STOP SHOVING YOUR BELIEFS DOWN MY THROAT!
RP: …?
MP: This is why I carry a gun. To protect myself. DON’T MAKE ME SHOOT YOU!
RP: But…
MP: pew pew pew.
RP: [bleeds all over]
MP: I felt threatened.
MP: Stop bleeding on me.
MP: …
MP: Maybe I should run for the local school board.

paint over the second amendment

You know what? Fuck the Second Amendment. Oh, it was a perfectly fine amendment when it was written, but c’mon, it was written in 1789 (it was ratified a couple years later, in 1791). That was a long time ago. Things have changed. That’s the nature of things, isn’t it. They just change.

Look, the US Constitution has been amended 27 times. Why? Because things change. Because stuff that made sense at one point in time doesn’t necessarily make sense at another. Because even smart, reasonable, concerned people sometimes make a mistake or do something stupid. I mean, back in 1917 it must have seemed reasonable to amend the Constitution to prohibit the manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors. But a decade and a half later, the American people thought “Lawdy, we fucked that up” and they had to repeal the entire 18th Amendment.

We can do that again, only with the Second Amendment. We could just repeal it. Or rewrite it so it’s not so fucking stupid. The 18th Amendment probably saved a bunch of lives by making it a lot more difficult to get drunk. But we’ve been able to find a somewhat reasonable balance between saving lives and being able to have a decent merlot with our supper.

We can do the same thing with guns. We really can. We can shitcan the 2nd Amendment. Hell, Thomas Jefferson (who knew a lot about writing Constitutions) kinda thought we could scrap the whole entire Constitution every couple of decades and cobble together a new and more timely one. You know, a Constitution that met modern needs. Seriously, Jefferson said, “The earth belongs always to the living generation.” Ain’t no reason for us to be locked into something written by folks 230 plus years ago.

Here’s what Jefferson wrote to James Madison in September of 1789:

[I]t may be proved that no society can make a perpetual constitution, or even a perpetual law. The earth belongs always to the living generation. They may manage it then, & what proceeds from it, as they please, during their usufruct. They are masters too of their own persons, & consequently may govern them as they please. But persons & property make the sum of the objects of government. The constitution and the laws of their predecessors extinguished then in their natural course, with those who gave them being. This could preserve that being till it ceased to be itself, & no longer. Every constitution then, & every law, naturally expires at the end of 19 years. If it be enforced longer, it is an act of force, & not of right.

And yes, usufruct is an actual word. It refers to the temporary legal right to use and enjoy the fruits or profits of something belonging to another. It’s from the Latin usus (meaning ‘use’) and fructus (meaning ‘fruit’). Let’s say your daddy dies and leaves you everything, including the house you grew up in, BUT because your daddy is a complete asshole, he stipulates the woman he divorced your momma for can continue to live in the house as long as she wants. It’s legally your house now, but your asshole dad’s girlfriend still gets to enjoy it. If she wants to paint the walls red, she damned well can, even if you think it’s a bad idea. Usufruct.

What Jefferson is saying is that the next generation can enjoy the Constitution their parents left for them but they’re not locked into it forever. When your asshole dad’s girlfriend dies (yeah, this is a metaphor), you get control of the house and you can repaint the walls.

What Jefferson was saying is this: we can paint over the 2nd Amendment. We can and we should. Because the walls have been red way too long.

EDITORIAL NOTE: Five people were killed and at least 18 were wounded/injured last night during a drag show at Club Q in Colorado Springs. Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance, the annual event honoring the memory of transgender people killed by acts of anti-transgender violence.

We shouldn’t have to live like this.

i don’t know what i’ll do tomorrow

The cat is dead.

I can hardly believe I wrote those words. But they’re true and there it is. My morning companion, my afternoon nap buddy, my evening pest, is dead. I know there are people who object to that term and I understand, but it’s necessary for me. The only way I can accept her absence is to acknowledge the fact that she’s dead. Nothing else would prevent her from being here with me. No rainbow bridge could stop her.

I’ve written about the cat before (here and here). I’ve always referred to her as “the cat.” She had an actual name, Abby, though I’m not sure I’ve ever used it. I really don’t know why. I always told folks I didn’t use her name because it seemed presumptuous for a human to attach a human name to an independent non-human being. I’d tell folks I didn’t use her name because I respected her autonomy. There’s probably some truth in that. I’m not sure how much.

I’d say she was an odd cat, but that’s true of every cat I’ve known. She was a small, stubborn, commanding creature. She liked things a certain way; she liked predictable ritual behavior. Every morning we’d check the perimeter, which basically amounted to the two of us standing at the back door and looking out at the yard; some mornings she’d stand or sit on my foot as I stood there. It was just a few moments, but we did it every morning. 

We did something similar every evening. I’d got in the habit of retiring to the basement at some point between eight-thirty and nine PM, where I’d write or watch television. She adapted to that and every single evening she’d come striding into the living room around that time, and she’d make it clear I needed to pet and feed her, and get my ass downstairs. She’d sit and stare at me if I didn’t follow the ritual. If I resisted, she’d move a bit closer and keep staring. The cat ran a tight ship. 

I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow. 

Like most cats, she napped a lot. In the summer she liked to nap in the hostas; she’d bury herself amongst the leaves and act as if she was invisible. In the colder months she liked to nap in a patch of sunlight. Or on my lap. I say she ‘liked’ it, but the truth was she was insistent. She wanted me to sit a certain way, with one leg tucked under the other. If I sat wrong, she’d fuss and fidget until I sat properly. She made me her nap monkey; she decided when and how the napping was to be done, and I just tipped my hat and went along.

She’ll never nap on my lap again. 

She wasn’t a talkative cat; she communicated mostly by staring at you. Sometimes, if you failed to notice her staring, she’d rear up and gently tap your arm. “Hey, pay attention to me.” I never thought of myself as the sort of person who talked to animals, but I surely became one. I talked to the cat often. I never talked ‘baby talk’ to her. Not once. We had adult conversations. She had a peculiar purr–it was more of a stuttering rhythmic grunt than a traditional purr. And she was stingy with it; she didn’t purr much. But when she did–when she was really contented and happy–it was the most wonderful sound.

I’ll never hear that sound again.

I’ll never hear that sound again. She’ll never nap on my lap again. She’ll never send me downstairs to work again. We’ll never check the perimeter again. I miss her so much.

I’m not prepared to miss her. I was prepared for her to die; we knew it was coming and having too much experience with death, I was ready for it. But I wasn’t ready…I’m still not ready…for how much I miss her.

I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow.

election day

I have no idea what’s going to happen today. Neither do you.

Maybe it’ll be a quiet day. Maybe voters will line up, take their turn in the voting booth, greet each other like good citizens, then patiently wait to see the results of the election. Maybe everybody will accept those results. Maybe. But probably not.

Maybe we’ll get to see the blue wave we’ve heard so much about. Maybe Democratic voters will turn out in such massive numbers that despite the monstrous gerrymandered voting districts, Democrats will retain control of both houses of Congress. Maybe some of the worst GOP assholes will be handed their hats and told to go home. Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe Republicans are right. Maybe voters are so afraid of imaginary enemies–of Antifa and BLM, of caravans of infected drug-toting immigrant rapists from South and Central America, of gay teachers brainwashing white hetero Christian students into becoming trans furries who drink soy lattes while using the litterbox–that they’ll vote for authoritarian leaders who’ll protect them from…something. Maybe. I hope not, but maybe.

Maybe there’ll be violence at polling sites. Long lines, political hatred, the easy availability of firearms, the loosening of restrictions limiting who can own and carry a gun and where they can legally carry them–all those things contribute to the probability of mayhem. And if schools and churches and supermarkets are vulnerable to mass shooting incidents (I fucking hate the term ‘incidents’ to describe these), will anybody be surprised to hear about one at a polling site? Maybe blood will be shed today. Maybe. Again, I hope not. But only an idiot would dismiss the possibility.

I don’t know what’s going to happen today. I don’t know what’s going to happen today partly because I don’t quite recognize the nation we’ve become.

I don’t know what’s going to happen today, but I know this: I voted. I voted for the nation I hope still exists. I voted for the nation I want us to become.

Maybe it’ll happen. Maybe not.

If you haven’t voted yet, go vote now. Vote for your lives.

the intersection of rigged, crooked, and evil

I want to be optimistic about the mid-term elections. And I kinda sorta am, because I know there are more Democrats than Republicans.

But I also know that having a majority of voters isn’t enough anymore. I know Republicans have wildly gerrymandered Congressional districts to give themselves an advantage, I know Republicans have pretty much decided in advance NOT to accept any result other than a victory, I know Republicans are doing everything they can get away with (and they can get away with a LOT) to make it more difficult for Democratic voters to vote, and I know the news media is generally unwilling to report that a LOT of Republican candidates are flat out lying. I know that Republicans maintain a media advantage. I know there’s a massive double standard for reporting on Democrats and Republicans.

Here’s an example: yesterday Comrade Trump (on his Twitter-facsimile) wrote this:

Our Country is Rigged, Crooked, and Evil.

And not a single major news source reported it. Imagine if a Democrat had said that. Imagine if Nancy Pelosi or Joe Biden or Barack Obama had said “Our country is evil.” Every Republican would be screaming in outrage, every news agency would make it a major story, every evening news broadcast would cover it and it would be endlessly repeated in every GOP political advert in every state. Any Democrat who said that would be vilified, and rightly so. But Trump can say it and all it elicits is a shrug. Because that’s what we expect from MAGA assholes.

(Tangent: to create an image to illustrate this, I typed Trump’s line into the ‘detailed description’ box of DALL-E2 to see what it would generate. What it generated was this: “It looks like this request may not follow our content policy.” Even artificial intelligence is offended by the line. I had to modify Trump’s words to make the description more palatable to the AI, which then generated the following image.)

“Our cities are rigged, crooked, and in ruins.”

I don’t believe our country is generally rigged, crooked, and evil. I DO believe many of the systems of the US are rigged against the poor and minorities. I also believe capitalism is inherently crooked. I’m not sure I believe in the concept of evil, though I’ve seen enough awful, horrible things that I can’t deny the possibility that it exists.

But if there is an intersection of rigged, crooked, and evil, it’s manifested in MAGA and the MAGA vision of America.

I want to be optimistic. I want to be convinced that enough Americans believe in democracy to vote to save it. I want to be confident that representative democracy is strong enough to stand up to MAGA. I really, really, really want to be optimistic.

But I’m just not. I’m not optimistic, but I’m hopeful. And I’m afraid of being hopeful.