I've got a little list

At the end of every year, I practice the custom of burning El Año Viejo. This is a thing in some parts of Latin America, and I find it very therapeutic. 

Here’s the deal: You make up an effigy with old clothes and in one form or another (some folks stuff with fireworks, others just straw or paper). Then you add symbols of all your angers, disappointments, frustrations, hurts and harmful associations of the year. You can do this by attaching objects (the handkerchief you used when you drank too much at the office picnic and puked; the ticket to the concert where you saw your ex with a blonde ten years younger and 20 pounds lighter than you; the physics test you tanked on), or you can just write the negatives on slips of paper.

The dummy represents El Año Viejo—the old year, with all its baggage you would be carrying forward into the new one.

Come midnight on 31st December, you light it up and burn that sucker to ashes, taking all the bad things out of your life, at least the ones from the old year. And so you're left with the good and the positive to take you into the New Year.

Entire families or groups collaborate on the event, and it’s quite the celebration.

Now me—people get nervous when they see me stuffing clothes with flammable substances or firecrackers, so what I do is write a list of every craptastic thing from El Año Viejo. Then I torch it, abjuring all the bad stuff to stay in the past.

I’m a big believer in the power of symbol and ritual. Reducing El Año Viejo to ashes always makes me feel better—lighter, ready to face the New Year.

Here’s the thing: as old and as cynical as I am, I had not realized how full this country is with truly ghastly excuses for human beings, released and invigorated by four years of largely unfettered Republican rule. From the psychopathic narcissistic nihilist in the White House; through the reptilian Senate Majority Leader; to lickspittles like Graham, Gaetz, DeSantis and Paxton; to kleptocrats like Perdue, Loeffler and Tillis; to the ignorance-engorged slavering millions who defy not only medical science but also common decency because “mah rahts”—they have brought about the deaths of more than 320,000 and the destitution of hundreds of thousands more, the cracking of our healthcare system and the obscene profiteering of the corporate class in a country that for decades was a beacon of democracy and generosity to the world.

This year, I honestly have been gobsmacked by the extent of douchebaggery that pervades our society. White douchebaggery, if I’m honest. And I am also sickened by it.

So my El Año Viejo  list is longer than usual The last thing I do before calling a wrap on 2020 tomorrow will be to set the whole fucking twelve months ablaze, finish a glass of champagne and take a shower.

I hope it works.

Special offer

I was amused to find this in my mailbox on Saturday:

Seriously—I don’t know when it left Verizon, but it showed up at my doorstep a month later.

But then, this arrived yesterday:

I’m really not upset that the USPS displayed a remarkable lack of interest in timely delivery. Having Verizon Fios for a year in Arlington made me appreciate Comcast’s idea of customer service /s, so I will never use them for any telecoms service except with a gun to my head. (They were also awful as a cell provider, although not as bad as AT&T.) And given my druthers, I’d prefer that my prescriptions be delivered on time over junk mail.

But it was still funny.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: Even in the nightmare

Just for ducks, I checked my last Gratitude Monday of 2019. Because that was so, so many decades ago. Turns out that last year I was mostly grateful for landing my job in cyber security. Yeah, that was good. But 12 months later, it seems so…quaint.

This 2020 really was annus horribilis, wasn’t it? If you’re not a billionaire, I mean. Because if you were a billionaire, this was the year you became a multi-billionaire; capitalism, man. But for the rest of us, this has been bewildering, impoverishing, frustrating, terrifying, infuriating and—for more than 320,000 of us in this country alone—murderous.

Still, I have plenty of things to drop in the gratitude box.

That job, for one. I am a soldier in the war against cyber criminals and cyber terrorists. Unless you’ve been living in a cave without Internet, you know what’s been going on this year. There’s a lot you don’t know about that’s even worse. I am thoroughly, profoundly grateful that my company is fighting on every front, and that I am a part of that fight.

This year I got to go to the security conference as a full-fledged attendee, which got me into amazing talks and fascinating conversations. I’d been to RSA several times as a free attendee, but that gets you nothing except aching joints and some tee shirts. This time I felt like I was welcomed, except by that one guy at a competitor’s booth, who took one look at my employer’s name on my badge and refused to tell me anything about their software. (He did the same to one of my colleagues later.) I don’t think I ever have to go again, but it was a great experience.

Aside from one really bad cough, which lasted about four weeks (and the attendant torn intercostal rib muscle, which took two more months to heal), I’ve been healthy throughout the year. I did get injections in my knees—after a whole palaver with my employer’s crappy insurance plan—in March and April, but even though my orthopod’s office is in a hospital, I did not pick up any bugs in my visits there. Many, many thanks for that.

I have had the immensely good fortune to experience no food insecurity. You’d think that would not be remarkable in a first-world nation, but it needs to be said, because tens of millions of my fellow citizens are burdened by it. I am also fortunate enough to be able to contribute money to food banks and charities that help kids personally in small but life-changing ways, thanks to my job.

Speaking of which, I work with the most amazing team I’ve ever known. Especially after my last employer, this is a point of daily gratitude for me. A couple of weeks ago, one of my colleagues had me laughing so hard in a Teams chat that I literally could not see the screen because my eyes were leaking. It was like being at a Gallagher show. He also has my back when I’m pushing my comfort zone, for which I am always thankful.

During our year-end wrap-up, we each had to say what our strengths are, and others on the team could add to that. I would rather swallow ground glass than talk about myself, but after I hawked up a couple of things (“Words; I have many words.”), another colleague said, “[Bas Bleu] brings joy to the team.” I think that is the most amazing gift I have received in a very long time.

Last week I spied a bottle of Moët Brut Impérial, which I bought at Costco when I was living in Arlington. So it’s four years old. I asked myself, “Self—what are you saving this for?” So I put it in the fridge and opened it on the 23^rd. Lordy, but I’d forgot how wonderful it is. I finished it up last night, and I’m sinfully thankful for having had it.

I didn’t get to go to Sorrento this year. That was a blow, because I’ve spent many years not traveling because of lack of funds, and this year I had funds and unlimited PTO, and Sorrento was going to be my stake in the ground. Instead, I’ve focused on making some much-needed improvements to my house (yay, not blowing out the kitchen circuits when I have the microwave and toaster running simultaneously!). I’ve also fed about ten pounds of seed to the birds in the past month. That makes me so happy.

Speaking of birds—I saw bluebirds for the first time ever this year. What a thrill!

Last month, 81+ million voters gave Cadet Bonespurs the boot. It’s terrifying that 74 million people voted for him, and I’m dismayed that we didn’t take back the Senate. But still—the racist, narcissistic gasbag is going to be vacating the White House in less than a month, and that in itself is worth a few Novenas.

I’m not saying a word about his coup, but I’m grateful that so far it has been unsuccessful.

Throughout the more-or-less lockdown, friends left surprises at my front door, and I was able to do the same. Video chats were another lifeline, and I even had (socially-distanced, outdoor) brunch twice with a friend. 

During my single one-week staycation, I had some wonderful takeout dinners; wonderful. Many were from places I tried for the first time. What absolute luxury!

The rock lifted over systemic racism in America, and many very disgusting creepies slithered out. It is an appalling revelation, but the first step to finding solutions is taking a good, hard look at the problem. We’ll be working on this for a long time.

Last Tuesday, I finally got a driver’s license from the Commonwealth of Virginia. My third trip to the DMV since my California license expired at the end of August. I’m grateful I was wearing a mask for the entire time I was there (except for having the photo taken), because that papered over the expression on my face while dealing with the people at the Sterling office. No matter—I am street legal.

We have multiple vaccines against COVID-19, despite all efforts by the Kleptocrat’s administration to do the least possible amount of work while taking the maximum amount of credit, and by big pharma to reap obscene profits from the pandemic. I think I’m in Tier 3 of target vaccinations, which I am perfectly fine with—unlike corporate execs and Repug congressmorons, I have no intention of jumping the queue. Nursing home patients and staff, teachers, healthcare workers (including janitorial staff), first responders, essential workers—they all belong ahead of me in line. I’m grateful for the vaccine, and I’m grateful for the work of everyone who has spent the last ten months working to mitigate this global disaster. (That would be no one with an (R) after their name.)

I am so thankful for my weekly yoga lesson with a terrific teacher. I swear, without that to look forward to and to focus on, either I or some other people might not have made it through the year.

And, finally, I’m grateful that on Friday, we’ll be looking at 2020 in our rearview mirrors.

 

 

 

For ever and ever

I do love Messiah, both listening to it and singing it. Nothing gets your heart thumping by being in the middle of “Hallelujah”. Over the years, I’ve posted flash mob “Hallelujahs”, high school “Hallelujahs” and zither “Hallelujahs”.

This year I’m closing out the season with a different version entirely. In the past 12 months, we’ve suffered through multiple horrors—global pandemic, an expanding spate of police engaging in casual homicides of Black citizens and the downward-spiral of Cadet Bonespurs as he did nothing to ameliorate and in fact did everything he could to violate the Constitution and societal norms in the pursuit of power and profit.

It has, in short, been a fucking shitshow of a year, so crank up the volume and listen to Handel’s Messiah: A Soulful Celebration’s take on “Hallelujah”. I bought this album when it came out nearly 30 years ago, and it never fails to raise my spirits. I hope it does the same for you.

Merry Christmas; God bless us, every one.

 

Redeeming grace

“Silent Night” seems appropriate for today’s Advent piece. It is, after all, the über Christmas carol. And this year, I think we’ll have the Temptations singing it.

Call my true love to my dance

As Christmas carols go, “Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day” is barely in its teens. It first appeared in a collection published in 1833. You shouldn’t even give it the keys to the family car.

What I like about this one is the metaphor of the Messiah’s life as a dance. (You may be more familiar with the modern “Lord of the Dance”—and I do not mean that crypto-Celtic Michael Flatley crap; I’m talking about the one set to the Shaker hymn, “Simple Gifts”.) There’s a version by John Rutter; ix-nay on that. This one, from that old reliable King’s College, Cambridge, Choir, is by John Gardner.

A song broke forth

Our Advent piece for today comes from Fisk University, a Historically Black institution in Tennessee, founded in 1865 to provide education for former slaves and their descendants. “Behold that Star” was written by Thomas W. Talley (1870-1952), chemistry professor, ethnographer and director of the university’s Mozart Society.

We don’t know when it was composed, but when Marian Anderson sang it, it was an arrangement published in 1912.

Last year I wrote about “Rise Up, Shepherd, and Follow”, and how spirituals were “safe” ways for slaves to communicate with one another, having been denied literacy. I still have issues with using religion to keep the masses in line—which applies to all masses in the face of the oligarchs, but especially to race-based control. Still, I love the imagery of the star of Bethlehem, and I’m willing to put aside my class warfare for the season.

I have a recording of Jessye Norman singing this, but this year I’m giving you the Morehouse-Spelman Choirs.

 

Gratitude Monday: bargain of the year

On Friday, my team met to do a retrospective of our recent product launch. I’ve been nagging at our manager for months to do this, because so many things made this launch more painful that strictly necessary.

We started with a think-outside-the-pattern exercise—what’s your spirit animal. Which is a little weird, not coming from a Californian. But then our manager asked for a recap of highs and lows over the past year, both personal and professional.

My worst moment was watching a week in Sorrento slip away because of the pandemic. But costs were higher in the team. One colleague’s father-in-law died from COVID19, another one’s stepmother also died, and he couldn’t go to Salt Lake City to help his father. And a third found out that his friend and mentor from agency days has committed suicide.

We all have paid a high toll throughout this year. But for me, if the worst thing that’s happened is a lost vacation, I am blessed. I know that; I just wanted to acknowledge it publicly.

 

 

Seven druids dance

Today is the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere. Starting tomorrow, the darkness retreats and light advances. For centuries, humans have helped this process along by lighting bonfires, making noise and drinking.

All seems perfectly reasonable to me.

One of the major bands of my youth was Jethro Tull. JT went through about every stylistic metamorphosis possible, from blues-rock to jazz-rock to folk-rock to progressive-rock to hard-rock. Today’s Advent selection is from the folky phase, “Ring Out, Solstice Bells”.

Although band frontman Ian Anderson wrote it in 1976, the lyrics definitely capture the centuries of celebration at the turning of the year, and it has a Renaissance exuberance to it.

The gate of heaven

Today is the last Sunday before Christmas. This is the time to focus on the stories of Mary and Joseph; it’s frequently called Annunciation Sunday. (Although, technically, if Jesus was born on the night of 24-25 December, the Annunciation would have been some time in March. I’m not going to get into the meteorological mare’s nest about whether or not the Nativity was actually in December.)

Toward that end, my selection for today is “Angelus ad virginem”, a medieval carol brought to England from France in the Thirteenth Century. Some versions of the song are reputed to have 27 stanzas. This one, performed by the King’s College, Cambridge, choir, does not.

You knew I had to have the King’s College choir, didn’t you?