Breaking forth in cheers

There’s a meme that was making the rounds of Twitter:

“A Black man and a Jew walk into a bar in Georgia. The bartender asks, 'What can I get you, Senators?'”

So today I’m leaving aside all the coup crap and giving the space to honor the victory of Jon Ossoff and the Reverend Raphael Warnock, the two Democratic Senators from a state that’s about as Deep South as you can get. Their election is a testament to the changing demographics of our nation and to the amazing efforts of the even more amazing Stacey Abrams.

The song is, of course, “Marching through Georgia”. It was written in 1865 and commemorates the sweep through the state by the army commanded by William Tecumseh Sherman. (I thought about Cump Wednesday when “Elizabeth from Knoxville” was interviewed crying into a towel because she’d been maced by Capitol Police after she’d just stepped inside the building. “I was storming the Capitol,” she shrieked. “It’s a revolution!” She clearly had not expected war to be all hell.*)

(Okay, I lied when I said I was laying aside the coup.)

Here’s the Old Crow Medicine Show singing it. Crank up the volume for any right wing nut jobs in your vicinity. They’ll really appreciate it.

*Update: "Elizabeth from Knoxville" is apparently Elizabeth Koch, who lives in Maryland. And that towel may contain an onion, which she was rubbing into her eyes. Regardless, Elizabeth has some 'splaining to do.

 

Nightmare on Pennsylvania Avenue

Folks, I just do not know what to tell you.

I lived through the police riot outside the Democratic National Convention in 1968, the Days of Rage in ’69, the Vietnam War protests, and I still never thought I’d see what I did yesterday. While nearly 150 Representatives and Senators were in the process of an unconstitutional attempt to overturn the election, the sitting President of the United States stood in front of a mob of white nationalist thugs and urged them to march on the Capitol. And they did—because, hey, what would they have to worry about? They’re White!

So instead of a pile of bodies below the steps (which is what we’d have if they’d been Black), a few hundred terrorists got past the apparently unarmed Capitol Police, invaded the Capitol, swanned through the halls, crowed in the Senate chamber and took selfies in the offices of Senators and Representatives. (Some CP also posed for selfies with the thugs. I am not making that up.)

I am utterly disgusted. And appalled. And ashamed. And so fucking furious I could spit teeth. Cadet Bonespurs, Moscow Mitch, McCarthy, Hawley, Cruz, Rubio, Nunes—hell, every damned Republican who went along to get along for the past four years: this douchebaggery is on you. The assault on the national legislature is the logical outcome of four years of letting Bonespurs get away with high crimes and misdemeanors in exchange for some federal judges. You got your wish: democracy has been breached; how’d you like huddling in some secure basement room while the mob howled outside?

It’s also on whoever’s running federal policing in the District (the rally was on National Park Service property, and then the mob moved to the Capitol), who were armed to the teeth in June to tear gas and beat down BLM protestors, but who mostly looked dressed for a parade yesterday. And who did nothing more than pepper spray the terrorists.

Well, you know: White.

(At one point, there was a report that the cops were trying to “de-escalate” the situation. Yeah, because: White.)

Capitol Police haven’t had any problem literally hauling away healthcare protestors in wheelchairs, or arresting veterans protesting the war in Iraq. But white nationalists? “Tryna de-escalate, dude.”

What the hell happened to all the billions in post-9/11 Capitol security?

Nah—that was a rhetorical question.

Well, like I said at the beginning, I just do not know what to tell you.

 

 

 

Smart cookie

Last week, one of my colleagues (not a close one, which is good, because he’s one of those people who feels the need to contribute authoritatively on any subject) posted to a Teams channel that his daughter is doing a Girl Scout virtual cookie booth. It annoyed me, because selling Girl Scout cookies is meant to encourage skills in a girl that don’t happen when your parents basically do all the sales work for you.

I mean, standing at a table outside a grocery store, looking shoppers meaningfully in the eye is a thing. I get it that this year that's not Fauci-approved, but still.

Shortly thereafter, I found this on my doorstep:

Evidently “virtual booths” are what’s happening, but at least Wren got out of her room and put the pitch on people’s doorknobs.

Unless her dad did that for her.

Well, regardless, I ordered a box of Samoas.

 

 

Modern geometry

My employer had kind of a rough year in 2020. I mean—outside of the billionaire boys’ club, everyone did. But cyber security was just a 366-day dumpster fire and no alteration in the final digit on the date is going to change that.

So to mark this, the company (which I have to say is the cheapest tech org ever when it comes to swag) is offering all employees a tee-shirt gift. We had until yesterday to put in our size requirements using the below chart as guidance.

I don’t know where this thing originated, but this is the first time in my life that I have ever seen chest/bust measurements not expressed as circumference. I mean, what does “one-sided measurements” of a three-dimensional entity even mean?

I guess I’ll find out when the shirt arrives. I hope I can get into it.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: [tap, tap] Is this thing on?

Well, Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. Looks like 2020 needs to be shot with a tranquillizer gun and then just humanely put down. Because Republicans—who have sworn an oath to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, both foreign and domestic—have decided that the oath doesn’t actually prevent them from some light couping, if it gets them a head start on the 2024 presidential election, and they’re planning on spending Wednesday posturing and bloviating about how the votes of 74 million Americans somehow matter more than the votes of 81 million Americans.

That’s in addition to the Chaos Monkey (who spent an hour Saturday trying to whine Georgia’s secretary of state to magic up votes that would give the state to him) egging on the Incels- and Neck-Beards-R-Us crowd to swarm into the District They Call Columbia in their color-coordinated little outfits on Wednesday to engage in some heavy violence and criming so he can invoke the Insurrection Act, declare martial law and generally satisfy his ever-growing need for fuckery.

And they all are completely bollixing my first Gratitude Monday of the year.

Also, a few days ago a squirrel climbed up my screen door and looked me in the face as it peed right down the screen. I am just not in the mood.

However, it is Gratitude Monday and it is a new year. So at the moment, I am deeply grateful that at noon on 20 January, no matter what sedition kabuki the Repugs engage in or how much tear gas and tasers the pumped-up maskless crowd ingest—at noon on 20 January, Cadet Bonespurs ceases to be President of the United States. Whether he’s replaced by Joe Biden or Nancy Pelosi, it’s still all good.

 

 

Feels like years since it's been here

I think Android got confused yesterday. Or maybe super hopeful. Because this is what it was telling me was the temperature at 1600:

Well—we all are looking for the best from not-2020, aren’t we? Perhaps those madcap folks at Google were hitting the sauce early.

So on this first day and first Friday of the year, let’s have a song about turning things around.

 

 

Auld lang syne

Wherever you are and whatever your situation (since I know for a fact that no billionaires read this blog*), I’m hoping you’ll join me in giving 2020 a punt over the horizon. Whether you drink alcohol or not; eat some special food or not (and I hope you have food); commune with a higher power or not; celebrate alone or safely socially distanced—I think we can all agree that this has been one lousy year the world over.

As you know, later tonight I shall symbolically torch it and wash its taste out of my mouth with champagne. Whatever gets you through the transition, I’m with you.

It’s clear we aren’t done with Republican fuckery; at time of writing, Moscow Mitch is standing firm against COVID relief for the masses; the junior Senator from Missouri is ensuring a Congressional circus on 6 January; Cadet Bonespurs’ administration is refusing to share critical intelligence on adversaries with Biden’s team; vaccine distribution is a complete and utter clusterfuck (quelle surprise) and—in short—it’s business as usual.

The evil men do lives long after their political gig; there’s absolutely no good at all to be interrèd with their old, White male bones.

But tomorrow the fight continues. So take a cup o’ kindness, dropkick 2020 right out the door and suit up for 2021. Here's something to help the transition.

*The closest I get is Facebook’s scan of my posts; the scan that will label this content as “sensitive”.

 

 

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.