“It looks like a scene from the Shining. Waiting for Jack Nicholson to pop out. Here’s Johnny!”
“Truly the spookiest thing I’ve ever seen. Creepy.”
“The ice queen has her way in Narnia.”
“In Slovenia, the holidays just aren’t complete until Melania nails a dead badger to the mantle piece.”
Those are all actual head lines.
I tend to really, really dislike elitism. High society. Snobbery. The self-righteous, the high and mighty. Elitists. The badger comment above was a bit of satire and I was still thinking, hubby, run and go fetch the potato gun, we got some city folks here speaking bad about badgers…..
For the uninitiated, a potato gun is a toy cap gun that pulls pellets out of a potato so you can ping one another with bits of moist vegetable matter. Then there are the mortars, the canons that fire actual potatoes, generally rocket launching them in some unsafe manner involving combustibles. Should anyone ask, I know nothing on account of short-term memory loss and fifth amendment issues.
We here in Podunk like our badger slow cooked with a can of mushroom soup, garlic, tarragon, and a side of homemade cranberries. I also have absolutely no idea if frozen cranberries can be fired from a marshmallow shooter, why do you ask?
All in good fun here, but I’m just a wee bit peeved, techy, hackles sparking not unlike a feral cat someone has gone and petted backwards. Don’t ever try to pet cats against the grain, especially if they’re feral. We tend to get all catty.
So the White House Christmas decorations, the ones in the People’s House, I thought they were lovely, beautiful, just a breath of fresh air in a sometimes dark world. I too have “dead sticks,” from a “haunted forest” wrapped in “foolish fairy lights.” Of course, mine are not quite as grand, but they are cheerful and they do speak to the reason for the season and the hope that is in us.
Many people have demanded to know how I can support President Trump and be so passionately against sexual abuse at the same time. It’s a fair question, one I haven’t really addressed in blogging, and the only honest explanation I can really give is, tribalism. Those are my people. I have a lot more in common with a millionaire surrounded by tacky gold-plated Louis XIV furniture, than I do with those sitting on high and accusing Melania of nailing a dead badger to the mantle piece.
“My people” means more likely to empathize, more likely to share my needs and concerns, more likely to understand my issues. “My people” is something that transcends wealth, race, class. It’s an ethereal concept, not unlike trying to nail jello to the wall, but it’s real enough. I just don’t fit into a fake world of Matt Lauers and academia and Hollywood gossips and people who pretend to be something they are not, all while looking down on everyone else.
I’ll do my best to address sexual abuse concerns in a later post today.