“Still, Mr. Trump, who does not read books, is able to end his evenings with plenty of television.” —The New York Times, January 25, 2017
The President of the United States does not read books. This should terrify you.
Books are how we first explore our world. Even the children of jet-setters and globetrotters probably read Clifford the Big Red Dog or Spot the Dog. Whether you were an overachiever in childhood who enjoyed heavy tomes or a kid who liked Goosebumps, every time you picked up a book—or someone read a book to you—you were broadening your horizons. You got to know talking dogs and turtles and become better acquainted with magic, yes. But you also traveled to distant lands and learned about jobs you didn’t yet know existed. You learned how to make friends and what kind of fun you could have out in the world. You learned to be careful and you learned not to hate people based on their appearance. Continue reading Dear POTUS: Read a book.
*People (n, plural): Wealthy, white, heterosexual, cisgender men who will most likely be appointed to positions of power in the U.S. government at some point during the Trump administration
If you consider yourself a liberal in any capacity, you’ve most likely spent the last year and a half watching in horror as America descended into a state of madness. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. What happened to our country these last eighteen months is that, spurred on by a narcissistic bigot without a compassionate bone in his body, a (frighteningly large) swath of the American public stood up to let the rest of us “liberal elites” know that they felt forgotten, left behind, overlooked, discriminated against.
There is truth to this statement. But there is also…let’s say an “alternative truth.” Are farmers in rural areas struggling? Are blue-collar workers largely overlooked? Are these people—the majority of whom are white—also endowed with white privilege so blind they are literally blinded to the struggles of fellow citizens who are not also white? The answer is yes to all of these questions.
Continue reading The People’s* President
I feel the need to explain myself, mostly because I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I feel like I should be doing more.
But I am not marching this weekend. I’m not proud to not be going. It is not an anti- or counter-protest. Beginning tonight, I was actually supposed to be in Atlantic City, as far as humanly possible (mentally, at least) from the world, clocking out for a few days to refuse to take part in celebrating the unqualified bigot who now “leads” us and represents America on the world stage. Continue reading I am not marching this weekend.
We’ll return to our regularly scheduled books and comics talk shortly. I just had a couple more words to share.
It has been one week. Last Tuesday, I was up until almost four in the morning in a tear-streaked, horror-induced stupor, endlessly refreshing three different news sites in the rapidly fading hope that everything would change like the pundits were saying and we’d all be snatched back from the edge of damnation. As time wore on and that outcome became more and more unlikely, I was angry, and then I was sad. Eventually, luckily, I went numb.
Continue reading What’s the difference between a conservative and a liberal?
Unedited, rough, and angry. But I had to say something. Welcome back to my blog.
Two days ago, I was in San Antonio, Texas, wrapping up a long weekend with three of my very best friends, two of whom I hadn’t seen since New Year’s of last year. We discussed the election, of course—the insanity that has plagued America for the last year and a half and what we were hoping would happen on Tuesday, November 8. We are four young women ready to see a woman in the White House, ready to close out bigotry and hate. In my Democratic bubble, with only small forays into what I always thought of as the “dark side” of Twitter or Tumblr, I was sure Clinton would win. The closest I thought I would come to a Trump presidency was the uptick in pro-Trump commercials I witnessed whenever I walked past a TV in Texas. Continue reading This man will never be my fucking president.