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Month: January 2017

Pussy-hat Planet

Say, did you know millions of people worldwide marched for women’s rights and against Trumpism last Saturday? (Samantha Bee had a nice summation.) I was among them. My husband was among them. My parents were among them. My mother — who isn’t quite as addicted to online media as her Gen-X daughter — wasn’t sure why the icon of the march was a simple, oddly-shaped hat, with corners that look like cat ears, typically in pink. “Hey, Julie,” she said. “What’s up with that hat?” (Note: my mom doesn’t actually talk like this) “It’s a pussy hat,” I told her. “The cat…

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Why am I angry today, Wednesday, January 18, 2017?

Why am I angry today? Let’s see. Last night I had insomnia again, a recurring problem since November 8, 2016, that date which will live in infamy. Then, when I did finally manage to fall asleep, I had a dream ported in from the nearby alternate universe where Hillary Clinton is about to be sworn in as the next president. So when I woke up to the dismal DT reality I was already in a pretty foul mood. I made coffee and checked in on the state of the world, as usual. I probably shouldn’t do that first thing, but…

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Goodbye Lewiston Idaho

Greetings from the Wrangler Bar & Grill, Lewiston, Idaho. See the image up there on top of this blog entry? That’s their logo, as depicted on the mirror behind the bar. The bar itself is nice, a classic wooden style from, probably, the early 20th century, somewhat retrofitted for its place in a bar in a strip mall that was probably built in the 1990s. We’re in the non-smoking bar, having passed through a noxious, nostalgic cloud of cigarette smoke in the smoking bar. I remember this, what it used to smell like to enter a bar, what it felt…

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Arguing with 9/11 truthers

“How much is BIG BROTHER paying you to spout his lies?” This was the text of a direct Facebook message from a friend-of-friend 9/11 truther who apparently got sick of arguing with me in public and thought he could bait me into duking it out privately, with an insult so bizarre that I’m not sure whether I’m more annoyed or amused. (Lie. I’m more annoyed, obviously, which is why I’m writing this, in order to tip the balance toward being amused.) How much is big brother paying me? What kind of question even is that? What answer are you looking for,…

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