Ted Cruz, the asshole, and euphemism

 

Dear you,

The rush of everything, the personal, the political, the local, the global, has kept me silent for weeks.  But today, I feel the need to jot something down, to clarify these rushes of everything in my head.

The personal:  My sweet cat is declining.  Those little bumps on her body and the big one on her head are signs of something bad; surgery would not have helped.  She is barely eating, a few bites a day at best, and sleeping a lot.  Her playful self is history, but she likes to be combed and petted and sung to.  That I can do.  She likes my version of Duran Duran’s “Rio”.  I use her name instead of Rio: “Her name is Vivo and she dances on the sand, just like that river twisting through the dusty land.”  Anyway, I am not rushing to “put her down” because she seems not to be in pain and hasn’t withdrawn totally.  I am running a cat hospice.  This is a learning experience since my life motto has always been “ADE”, avoid domestic entanglements.  They will mess with your head and hurt.  My head is messed with and I do hurt.  Sometimes I wake up crying.  But I think I am learning from this.  A lesson not chosen, but here it is.  My little lion-queen is leaving.  No. I am done with euphemisms.  Just say it; my gorgeous girl is dying.

The political:  Florida politics just keep getting more jaw-droppingly dumb as #DeathSantis continues his fight against us Woke folks.  The “Don’t Say Gay” thing has drawn national attention and even put Disney on the spot.  That corporation is mildly resisting his lunacy and that pisses Ron off.  On the book banning front, another one of the Gov’s beloved culture wars, my local library is dealing with a complaint from a MAGA mom who wants The Little Library (a child’s book by Margaret McNamara) pulled from the shelf. The story features a non-binary character named Librarian Beck.  And this is scary why, MAGA mom?  Whatever your fears, you do not have the power to pull a book from a public library shelf.  At least now you don’t.  #DeathSantis and his crew are working on that too.  These morality police are everywhere, creating laws to accommodate their narrow minds, their self-serving conservatism.  No.  I am not letting them off the hook with the “conservative” euphemism, let’s just call them Pond Scum.

The local:  Last week, there was a police crime scene trailer parked in my condo complex lot. The trailer was functioning as an alcohol breathalyzer test site and symbol of authority, meant to deter bad behavior.  Its presence did take a little heat off the locals, who, like me, are forced to act like temporary cops.  However, it didn’t stop some of the worst we’ve ever seen: property invasion, burglary, and vandalism of the food trucks at Seaside.  The Seaside neighborhood issued an 8 PM curfew for all unaccompanied minors last year and did so again this year. But it did not deter the hillbilly children of Tennessee, the state that took over that particular week.  They care about curfews as much as Putin cares about sanctions.  Despite the “nice rules”, they invaded Seaside.  As Walton County officials warned us back in February, a curfew is “not something that will work”.  Well, it didn’t.  It simply put a target on neighborhoods like mine that don’t have curfews. “Let’s go to Seagrove; there’s a cop trailer there, but they’re just busting underage drinkers.  And ignore that lady in the leopard print pajamas (that would be me); she doesn’t have a gun anyway.  Let’s go!  We can fuck that place up till sunrise!”  Spring breakers going a little wild, right?  Just teens being teeny. No, no. Call them what they are:  The Aberrational Progeny of Pond Scum who turn my neighborhood into a crime scene.

The global:  Still, I have Ukraine on my brain.   Feeling muted, unable to do anything other than send money to the IRC (International Rescue Committee, donate please, @Rescue.Org), I just watch and listen, hoping for good news.  Minutes ago, I see this alert on the TV screen: “Russia seizes Mariupol aid convoy.”  Putin is committing war crimes.  He may use chemical weapons. And we are still chatting about fine lines and fear of acceleration.  It is day 28 of this . . . conflict? No, this is war.  Don’t euphemize this slaughter.  It is war.

Enough.  I need a break, something bright, no euphemism or distraction, but something true and lovely or at least side-splittingly funny.  Exhale.  Look up at the TV.  There he is! The comedy gift that keeps on giving. Ted Cruz is screeching at Judge Brown Jackson again, just like yesterday.  But yesterday was even funnier.  Referring to a book called Antiracist Baby, something on a reading list for a school where Jackson serves on the board, Cruz posed this question: “Do you agree with this book, that is being taught with kids, that babies are racist?”

And just like that, I laugh. 

At a Supreme Court nomination hearing, a sitting senator puts up a chart about a kid’s book and asks the nominee if they think babies are racist.  What in the hell is up with Ted?  There never has been a euphemism for Ted; he’s always just been an Asshole. Ted the Asshole.  Asshole Ted.

And so, another day of learning winds down.  I learned I can reject euphemisms, see things as they are, deal with the reality of death, war, pond scum people, and still laugh.  All that, thanks to Ted.  Ted the Asshole.  Asshole Ted.

Love,

Joyce