Wednesday, May 24, 2017

The dawn of a golden age of atheism

Ah, America's modern-day Kennedys: dynamic thinkers and style icons brimming with youthful idealism and the courtly-but-joyful appearance of domestic marital bliss. Melania keeps the world fashion dialogue in a perpetual state of abuzzment with her signature freshness and coy irony; she wears Armani to a soup kitchen and then the Old Navy Dowager CollectionTM to the Vatican. I think I could totally date her stylist. Ivanka gets points for versatility; her outfit goes effortlessly from afternoon beatings at her Amish sweatshop to a hamster funeral to the Vatican to her nut job (oops -- NIGHT job) as a chimney sweep, and then that corpse sneeze of a veil doubles smartly as a hairnet for her morning shift at the cafeteria in one of Jared's tenements. Donald -- impish, spirited Donald -- would show up to his own funeral (wouldn't THAT be fun?) looking this rakish and disheveled in a tie as crooked as his integrity, a (Saudi? the picture is too small to see for sure) flag pin, workingman's hands bruised from tireless hours perfecting his stroke (and not, as those poorly shot videos seem to imply, from being playfully swatted away by his third (and counting!) wife's bediamonded hands), and a grin as out of place as a shipment of pro-American-jobs hats made in China. We are truly in a golden age that spans the continents from the hotel rooms of Russia to the gilded towers of New York, and this royal family brings a level personal, human connection to everyone rich or poor or especially poorer like no one has ever seen.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

So come on in



Among other characters, I play a bartender named Gregor in the Revival Theatre Company's Victor/Victoria. This my little gay wicker bar covered with most of my barwear, which I pretend to fill and serve and retrieve and wash and re-serve to pretty much half of the cast before the opening number is over. Don't tell my parents, but I'm pretty sure I do more dishes in one song in the show than I do in a whole month at home.

There is nothing sacred about you

You say stuff just to say stuff, don't you? You make meaningless, grandiloquent statements that you hope sound presidential and that you also hope nobody notices belie the lies and impulsivities of your actions. You are an inconsequential accident of evolution and education who by the nonsensical vicissitudes of sociopolitics have risen to a level of prominence and power that is thankfully tempered by your gross ineptitude at life. You are an embarrassment and a horror to all that is decent and educated and true in the collected populations of the planet you'd willingly destroy for your own gain if you could only summon the coherency to figure out how. And you blithely insist on proving it day after day, lie after lie, tweet after tweet.

Keeping up the scent of appearances

Happiness is discovering that the person before you in the gym shower left a bottle of body wash there and you borrow some and instead of the usual Uninterrupted Stream scent of your own soap you get to spend the day smelling like Hyacinth Bouquet. Or something.

The sun's out. The skies look to be clear. It might as well not be winter anymore.


Monday, May 22, 2017

Survey says ...

A Hughe compliment



So tonight after my nephew's concert, one of the cool kids -- who ended up being the son of one of my high-school friends -- ran up to me and called me Wolverine. Which is better than running up to me to call me a hearse, I guess. I used to get called Wolverine a lot, and though I still don't see it, I will never turn down a date with Hugh Jackman. I mean a comparison to him. I will never turn down A COMPARISON TO Hugh Jackman. (Call me!)

Oh, Alma Mater Washington ...

For over 50 years -- which, according to some sources, is longer than I've been alive -- the choirs of the Washington High School vocal department have assembled for a combined final concert each May that celebrates the year in music, highlights the best of the school-year repertoire and sends the departing seniors out into the world with one triumphant final evening of singing. Literally. At the end of the concert, the alumni join the existing choirs for the time-honored "Warrior Chant" and then the concert closes with the gorgeous "Alma Mater" where -- after the lyric "our classmates will be gone" -- the seniors depart from the choir on the third verse, walk down the aisle AND LITERALLY LEAVE US. It was cool and exciting when I was a senior. But tonight my nephew will be doing it and it's not funny anymore.

It. Will. Be. Heart-wrenching.

I don't cry much. As in ever. I don't cry ever. But I am right now. And the concert hasn't even started.

This is gonna be rough.

Tired! Eva? Tired?


Sunday, May 21, 2017

Orb backward is bro 

Everything's just wonderful!

Didja do anything productive with the students, Melania? Share knowledge? Celebrate cultures? Offer tips on contouring or gold-digging? Or was it just all about you having a wonderful time?

Ya know, your man-boy husband does the same thing in his tweets: He always reports that he has "good meetings" with people as though that were newsworthy or valuable information to share with the public. He never reports topics discussed, commonalities found, diplomacies achieved ... just the relentless goodness of every meeting he has. It's like neither of you has critical thinking skills, the ability to interpret experiences or shape narratives, a useful education, or even shame over the fact that of all the things that happen in your glamorous, influential, tireless-public-servant lives, all you can ever seem to come up with when you decide Hey! I should put this on Twitter! is that your meetings were good ... or to your great fortune today, wonderful.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were both pointless, uneducated, narcissistic, tone-deaf hypocrites who suck the blood of taxpayers and sleep on beds of dead children. But we all know that's not true. As you told us in your tweet today, all you do with children is have a wonderful time with them. And that's just wonderful!

Man-boy is like Hallmark

He has a cherished old tweet for every occasion.

"Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates will reportedly pledge $100 million toward a fund for women entrepreneurs that was built by Ivanka Trump."
--The Hill, May 21, 2017


Remember when President Obama was VILIFIED for:

• Arugula
• Flag pin
• Tan suit
• Mustard
• Chewing gum
• Private schools
• Healthy eating initiatives
• Michelle's bare arms
• Being black
• Oops! Did I just say being black?
• Overcoming a proudly obstructionist Congress to provide affordable healthcare for millions of Americans
• Being black

Saturday, May 20, 2017

And by "meaningful" you mean "meaningless"


Your dad literally tried to ban an entire religion from our country. To refresh your selective, delusional, self-serving memory, he demanded "a total and complete shutdown of Muslims entering the United States." Which is the exact OPPOSITE of "promotion of religious tolerance globally."

Either your entire family is stupid or you all desperately hope that what's left of your moral and intellectual swamp of a base is.

Don't come back from your trip, Ivanka. Any of you. You're not good enough to call yourselves Americans.

Friday, May 19, 2017

Every Kollusion Begins With Kushner

#KickYouAllInTheNutsJob

You know how sometimes you park somewhere and you get trapped in your car listening to a song you love?

I'm trapped in my car right now listening to NPR list this week's day-by-day, sometimes hour-by-hour lies, machinations and appalling scandals that spilled out of the man-boy administration and its expanding, fetid orbit. It's exhausting. And infuriating. And I feel like I need to know what our country is up against so I can't stop listening.

You know what I like to do? Hate you.

"My big foreign trip"? "That's what I like to do"? You're a president, not a foreign-exchange student to Mexican finger-painting school.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

My most fervent wishes:

1. You crash and burn HARD and FAST in the searing fire of your million delusionally arrogant lies before you do any lasting or permanent damage to our country.

2. You continue to humiliate yourself and your party to the cataclysmic end of your crash-and-burn through the willful ignorance, laughable ineptitude and unhinged, desperate ranting you insist on calculatedly broadcasting for all searchable eternity on social media and self-satisfiedly trumpeting every time you try to fake your way through a coherent sentence in front of the legitimate media you whine so pathetically about but even you know you'd die without.

3. You clumsily try -- and fail before you even start so nobody gets hurt -- to grab one last pussy on your way down so your trifecta of political, social and sexual humiliation is complete.
4. You somehow achieve a level of self-aware sentience that lets you finally realize that the entire world is laughing at you.
5. Once you fully comprehend the consequences of your catastrophic failings as a human being, you finally get the councelling you so desperately need. And that your insurance covers it.

Victor/Victoria's IN DA HOUSE!


Sigh.

I miss the days when the media knew how to turn a president into a legitimate national embarrassment and a scandal knew how to be a SCANDAL.