Saturday, September 30, 2023

Cheato Fatigue

 

Cheato Jesus is in a lot of big legal trouble.  However, true to his evil-parallel-universe dynamic, this only seems to enhance his appeal in the eyes of his devil-worshipping cult.  

But I wonder...how big actually IS the cult, at this point?

I have disengaged myself from almost all social media, but I realize the cacophonous die-hard MAGAt crowd is still out there.  But that is the point.  They ARE loud, obnoxious, and dedicated to the task of making themselves heard and seen.  But are their numbers actually there anymore?  AND are the folks on the other side of the political divide willing to sit back and be controlled by these loons forever?

Are the legions of remaining MAGAts large enough to carry him back to the White House in a fair and unobstructed election (if such a thing is possible in the US at this point)?  In 2016, it was not simply the 40% of true-believer MAGAts that swept 45 to victory.  It was a combination of that, plus independent voters who saw him as a possible refreshing change from "career politicians," plus Russian interference, plus a candidate advanced by the "other side" who was all too easy to beat to a pulp, plus a last-minute gaffe by an FBI director that all but sealed the fate of that opposing candidate.  And let us not forget the press.  Primarily and overwhelmingly the press.  Without whom  the Perfect Orange Storm might very well never have come into being. 

To my mind, the single most insurmountable advantage enjoyed by Cheato in 2016 was the American press's extreme obsession with all things Wankmaggot. Cheato Jesus played them like Itzhak Perlman on a Stradivarius.  He kept up a non-stop stream of vile, outrageous stunts and sound-bytes that the US press could not resist, thereby gaining for his campaign billions of dollars of free media coverage.  Of all the entities responsible for turning the Wangmaggot into the evil juggernaut he became in 2016, the press was far and away at the top of the list. 

That dynamic alone might well be what tips the scales--or not--for Cheato Jesus in 2024.

Does the press understand and own its culpability in putting 45 in the White House to begin with?  Will they make a concerted effort NOT to make the same mistake this time around?  Or will the idea of viewers' eyeballs and profit numbers win out over the stability of our democracy--AGAIN?  

The jury's out on that one. But I'm beginning to get a bit worried...especially since I came across this article in The Atlantic a couple of days ago: 

Trump Floats The Idea Of Executing Joint Chiefs Chairman Milley.

In which an earnest journalist warns that Americans are "distracted and dumb" when it comes to 45's continuing antics.  The writer suggests that we have become desensitized and fatigued by the horrific things Cheato says and stands for, which makes his capacity to incite violence even more potentially explosive than it could be.  The press should be watchful, on Trump all the time, and report every dangerous word that comes out of his mouth or social media account.

Really? To what end? What will it benefit for the press to follow 45 around like obedient puppy dogs again, this time around?  We KNOW the magnitude of the damage this can do, that it DID in 2016.  What demonstrable GOOD can come of it?  Will we change the minds/votes of die-hard MAGAts? Dream on. Will we hold 45 accountable for his lies? He was in the White House for years before for the press could even sidle up to using the word "lie" when reporting on the outrageous crap that issued forth from the 45th president's mouth and thumbs.  Will we somehow steer the hapless, sycophantic GOP away from their "dear leader" and back in the direction of a responsible, viable political party?  Seriously...they have boarded that train, and will ride it till it crashes.  Will it stop any outbursts of political violence spurred on by 45's continuing violent rhetoric?  I have just 2 words in response to that: January 6.

And let me add that the press's constant and repeated declarations that Cheato is not only the front-running GOP candidate, but stands a good chance of returning to the White House in 2025 is NOT filling me with hope that they learned one damned thing from 2016.

It may actually be a GOOD thing that Americans are suffering from Cheato Fatigue.  We know he hasn't gone away.  We know he's dangerous.  We wish to god he would just...disappear. (Maybe he could meet up with some Russian official and get a poison handshake or a radioactive Big Mac. From my monitor to god's ears...)  

But we also know that the best place--the only place, it appears--we can have any power over him is at the ballot box.  We proved that in 2020.  The fix was in for Trump to win, fabricate or steal 70 million votes in 2020. He was confident that number would put him easily over the top and secure him an additional 4 years to bleed America dry and possibly destroy it altogether. But he bargained without the 81 million + souls shocked into action by his horrendous dumpster fire of an administration, and determined to send him back to hell where he belonged. 

We buried him four years ago. We'll by god do it again.  Because we have to. And this time, we’ll see that he STAYS buried.

Just, for the love of god, keep him out of our faces until the actual time comes for us to grab the shovels.         

 

Friday, September 29, 2023

20 Twenty 20 Twenty 20 Twenty 20

This post is to commemorate the twentieth anniversary of the esteemed, dearly loved,cherished and sadly neglected  "Coming to Terms..."  

I am posting snippets from each one of my anniversary entries, all the way back to the beginning.

Two things surprised me:

1.) That I only completely spaced the anniversary once, in twenty years. Not too shoddy. 

and...

2.) That I have actually done this before (in 2015.)


2023-- 



2022--



2021--

For the NTH year in a row, I've completely spaced my blogoversary.  

On September 25, 2003, I sat at the keyboard and clacked out my very first post to the "new" AOL hometown construct-- "journal land."

 Infant, yea, almost embryonic social media.

2020--

It's all I can do just to get up in the morning and keep myself busy and distracted for 16 hours, so I can go back to bed and slip into blessed separation from all the crap that's going on in the world.

And I distracted myself SO much, I missed my own Blog-a-versary.

2019-- 

It has been such a weird, mostly silent year...  And a busy month.

So I almost forgot to note the anniversary of this, my own little space on the interweb.

16 years.

2018-

-As I've been ticking away at this post, it dawned on me that my "blog-a-versary" was 2 days ago.  

Fifteen years.  

Fifteen years I've carried on this love/hate relationship with the internet, its gifts and its poisons.

I really don't know how to comment on that, just now. 

2017--I posted a screen shot of my first blog entry in 2003.


  

2016-- 

...And speaking of still being able to write things that make sense...

I've been doing this for thirteen years, now.  

Not exactly going strong anymore, but still going.

2015--

(I posted exactly as I'm doing now...didn't realize I'd done it before.)  AND--
2015--
Twelve years.  I hardly know what to write.  But I'll think of something.

2014--

Eleven is the number of years I have maintained this blog.

As of September 25, 2014, Coming to Terms is eleven years old.

Wow.

2013--Missed the date entirely  (??!?!)

2012--


2011-- 

Since September 25, 2003.

From famine through feast and back again.

2010--


Seven years is a pretty long time to do anything.

2009--
 Coming To Terms is coming up on its sixth birthday. Six years. Wow.

I love this little blog. I do. It means so much more to me than anyone could ever imagine. Even sans the readers and the community out of which it sprang (or into which it sprang…)

2008--


People and things that have endured at least five years of me:

My family (at least, most of them…)
My husband (31 years and counting…)
Eighteen pets… 
One or two friends…  Three homes…  Two jobs… 

…and “Coming to Terms…”

2007--

Happy Birthday,

“Coming to Terms...”

2006--

I just realized that I have passed the three-year mark on "Coming to Terms." And what a long strange trip it’s been…

Could it possibly be only three years that I have been chained to this love/hate relationship with the world of the blog?

Surely it is longer that three years…decades, perhaps…that I have known and cherished my "friends of the ether" out in journal land.

Mary. Christina. Cynthia. Robin. Robbie. Gigi. Jackie.  Meredith.  Oh my god...and I forgot Kat!   You've been with me from almost the beginning!  Augh!!!  My brain is indeed fried.   

2005--

Seven hundred thirty-one days ago (that’s two years, including a leap-day), "Coming to Terms…" sprang forth from my keyboard to the AOL ether-waves. Well, maybe "sprang" isn’t exactly the word. More like clotted, chugged, and coughed. In those early days, posting entries presented challenges—both electronic and verbal—that are now the stuff of distant memory. For the first few weeks, the words sputtered like rusty water from a long-disused faucet. It took hours to compose a satisfactory work, hit the "save" button, and then run smack into that "2500-word-limit" brick wall. Or hit the "save" button and have the words disappear into cyber-limbo, never to be seen again…

2004-- So, anyway, one year ago today, I opened the Pandora’s Box of AOL journals. LOL! I shouldn’t really call it that…nothing bad has come out. Except maybe the guilty feeling that I’m spending too much time here that could be better spent on something else; like housework, WORK work, exercising, reading Shakespeare…all the self-improvement crap you never do anyway. The wonderful things about having this journal far outweigh the bad. As I’ve said several times, the community aspect of journal land took me completely by surprise.

2003--

 So, this is my first "blog."  I wonder how this will affect my writing, knowing that someone might actually read it?  I've been writing journals since I was in high school.  Always with the secret hope that someone might read them, and get to know or care about my thoughts, confusions, and yearnings.

In closing,

let me paraphrase an observation I have made at least twice in the past:

Twenty years is a long time to do anything.

   



Wednesday, September 27, 2023

Boobie


 Yesterday, I went searching for some information in an old blog post. One of the posts that popped up in my search was a lament on how much I missed my dog.  The dog in question was Lucy the Wonder Dog, who left us in 2014 after brightening our lives for a little over 13 years.  I STILL miss her.

But this does not lessen our attachment to her successor, who joined our journey in 2017. 

Josie is 6 1/2 years old, now, but it seems she hasn’t stopped growing and changing…I hesitate to call it “maturing,” because she’s anything but mature.  She’s the polar opposite of Lucy.  Where Lucy was reserved, quiet, obedient and eager to please, Josie is…well, none of those things.  

It can be said that they each shared our home under completely opposite circumstances, and maybe that has caused the night and day differences between them.  Lucy was with us during a time of our lives when we were working a jillion hours and were not home enough to really support having a dog.  But she made do with half a dozen cats to keep her company, and with us lavishing attention on her when we were available.  

Josie, on the other hand, spent 2 1/2 years of COVID lockdown with us. Thirty months where we basically went nowhere and were home ALL THE TIME.  I guess we have to admit, this has “spoiled” her to the max.  

Josie was never a “normal” dog. It took at least a year for her to decide she liked us well enough to actually integrate into the family.  She’s never been food motivated, so she was very difficult to train.  Treats didn’t appeal to her, and the “Mom voice”  seemed to slip right over her head. There were times when I thought we had made a colossal mistake taking on a puppy at that time…I even briefly considered “re-homing” her.  But, no. We stuck it out.

And now we have this funny, bossy companion who announces any and all delivery vehicles that so much as drive by the property.  She fancies herself the Cat Police—any time a feline steps out of line, she is right in their face to give them what for.  

Plus, she has become hilariously vocal.  As the above video will attest.

When Josie first joined the family, the husband took to calling her “Jobu”—after some obscure  voo-doo god that was featured in the movie “Major League.”  “We’ll call her ‘Boobie’ for short!” he declared, to which I answered, “No. We will not have a dog named “Boobie.”

But, of course, that’s exactly what he calls her. And she answers to it. Luckily, she also answers to her actual name, so I have not had to stoop to calling her “Boobie.” 

But the fact is, she IS a boobie.  As depicted in the video above.

And she brightens our lives every day.