An exasperated sigh

Serious news media are mostly covering the incident at the White House Correspondents Dinner as a real assassination attempt. Some people aren’t so sure, though. The whole thing seems a little bit off. There are a few things that don’t add up. 

Like what, you ask? OK, let’s look at the guest list. Why on earth were the VP, Secretary of State, Secretary of Defense, Secretary of Homeland Security, Attorney General, FBI Director, House Speaker, and Treasury Secretary all in the same room at the same time during a war? That doesn’t seem right. And then the immediate messaging on the ballroom, which seemed very well coordinated. Every MAGA loudmouth on Beyonce’s internet posted a similar message - boiled down to “See? Now do you understand why we need the ballroom?” within minutes of one another. Very odd. Very coincidental. 

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Not to mention that there’s absolutely no reasoning that supports the security rationale for the ballroom to begin with. If they build the ballroom, will the President ONLY attend functions that are held there? No more million-dollar-a-plate fundraising dinners, no more WWE, no more rallies? Is he going to give up golf? Is he going to stop having dinner in the Mar a Lago dining room? Is Trump Tower off-limits until 2029?

*****

If I hear the word “rhetoric” one more time, I’m going to heave a big exasperated sigh, and maybe roll my eyes. Nothing more than that, I promise. Because if I say that if I hear that word one more time I’ll scream or I’ll throw a plate or something, then someone might accuse me of fomenting violence. (Oh, and ballroom too - that word has also long since worn out its welcome.) 

Maybe there are lots of baby brain people out here who just don’t understand the difference between emphatic expression of strongly held opinion - in other words, speech, which is (for now) still protected by the First Amendment to the Constitution. Or maybe - just maybe - the people screaming about “violent rhetoric” endangering their beloved Donald Jiminy Trump understand that difference perfectly and they’re using Saturday’s events as yet another opportunity to flood the zone with bad-faith bullshit. 

I think it might be the latter. 

*****

But in case it’s the former, let me help the baby brain people: Donald Trump is a bad bad bad President - the worst ever - and he’s also just objectively a terrible person. That’s just a statement. It’s not a call to violence. By the way, of all people, Donald Jimmyjohn Trump knows what violent rhetoric really is. He’s an expert.  

Again, for the sake of clarity: I don’t want anyone to do anything bad to Donald Trump, other than to hold him legally accountable for being a bad bad bad President. I don’t want anyone to physically attack or hurt him or anyone else. Just need to make that clear, so I don’t end up on Kash Patel’s list of things to do. Oh, and more thing: Grow up, baby brains. There are so many snowflakes out here that I need my ski boots. 

Work time, sick time, down time

It’s Thursday morning, and I’m home sick. I might have COVID, or I might have strep. I’m going to go to the neighborhood urgent care in a few minutes. I hope I test positive for strep because then they’ll give me antibiotics. I really feel quite terrible. 

Yesterday was a very busy day. I didn’t even have time to write. But a person I’ve worked with for four years told me that she’d always thought that I was in my mid-40s and was shocked to learn that I’m actually 60. And then a very distinguished speaker at a symposium that I was supporting was carrying the very same purse that I was carrying that day. I was winning on every front. As they say on the internet, you can’t tell me nothing. 

OK, it’s 11 AM, and I’m still hanging around the house. Time to get a move on. My throat is absolutely killing me. 

*****

Well, it was nothing, so why did I feel so terrible? Tests for COVID and strep and flu all came back negative, even though I had a fever and the doctor said that my throat was very inflamed. I was a little disappointed, honestly. I know that a Z-Pack would have cured me. Plus, it's always nice to have official validation.  

It's Friday and I'm at work now. I don't normally blog when I'm at work but whatever virus I have seems to have infected my stupid computer. It won't sync my Google Drive files and my browser tabs keep closing on their own, and now it is taking a hot minute to restart. Just remember, little computer: an antibiotic won’t do a thing for a virus. Drink lots of fluids. Get some rest. 

I rested yesterday, too. I worked for half an hour, and I did the bare housework minimum but I spent most of the day on the couch and in the backyard, just sitting and reading and sleeping and watching British murder mysteries on TV. I feel 50 percent better today, but my throat still hurts. I'm not at all convinced about the negative strep result. I should demand a recount. That strep test was rigged. 

*****

The computer did finally restart and the rest seemed to have helped it because it stopped behaving badly and allowed me to finish my workday. It’s Saturday now. I’m on my way out to a nice little neighborhood anti-concentration camp rally. Do I want to be spending my early old age fighting fascism in the gosh darn streets? No, I do not, but I also didn’t spend a good part of my childhood reading about concentration camps and gulags for nothing. I’ve been pretty much preparing for this moment for my whole life. I trained for this. 

*****

That was fun. Less than 90 minutes holding my little sign and waving to the people who honked and waving even harder at the three people who flipped us off. They’re so cute, with their little middle fingers. Then I ran errands and went home. That’s Saturday in the Year of Our Lord 2026 - post office, protest, Safeway, and back home. 

*****

Well, that was something, wasn’t it? The entire line of succession shows up at the annual dinner of the White House Correspondents Association, an organization held in universal disdain by the Trump administration, and a shirtless gunman gets past security and fires shots before he’s taken down by the Secret Service but not before one of them takes a bullet from his own colleague. And then minutes later, dozens of MAGA personalities tweet in unison about the desperate need for a billion-dollar ballroom. And then they catch the guy and the Acting Attorney General announces that the suspect was “targeting administration officials” because of course he was, he said so right in the inscriptions on the bullet casings. And I’m guessing that it’s case closed, and we won’t hear another thing about this guy or his failed “assassination attempt.” Well at least we know that gilded ballrooms are the solution to gun violence. I’m sure they’re planning to build one in every school in America. 

*****

After a few days of summer preview weather, the temperatures dropped and the sky clouded over, and we had a weekend of chilly gloom suitable for hibernation. I didn’t hibernate for the whole weekend, but I did take a few hours on Sunday afternoon to just hang around in comfortable clothes, just being a person at home. It was nice. It’s Monday morning now, bright and get-up-and-go sunny. And once again, I am blogging during my work day, because once again, my computer is taking a little downtime. It’s in the middle of a very long update that I started as soon as the pop-up appeared, rather than waiting until it forced me to. So while my computer finishes its little self-care routine, I’ll finish this little patchwork quilt of random observations and notes. The computer updates are 92 percent complete now. Time to get to work. 

Be right back

It’s a rainy Sunday morning, 20 degrees cooler than yesterday. I’m going to Mass in a few minutes, and I should get up and get dressed. And I will. But right now I’m writing, with TV news in the background. I think I wrote something yesterday about the Strait of Hormuz being open again, but I was behind the times because it’s closed again. Apparently, the Strait of Hormuz is like one of those twee little boutiques on 96th Street in Stone Harbor. It’s open when it’s open. If you plan a little shopping trip to the Strait of Hormuz, maybe you’ll be lucky and the doors will be open. Or maybe you’ll show up to find the “Sorry you missed us, be back soon!” sign, even though it’s 3:30 PM on a Tuesday. The Strait of Hormuz doesn’t care. It knows that you need it more than it needs you. It’ll be back at 3:30 - 4 at the latest. Just relax. 

*****

Someone on social media called our distinguished FBI Director “J. Edgar Boozer,” and now I’m questioning every joke I’ve ever made because I will never top this. 

I haven’t read the Atlantic story and probably won’t because I can’t afford any more subscriptions. But they don’t strike me as a careless publication, so I’m sure their story about Kash Patel was very well-sourced and meticulously reported. And we all saw how he behaves around alcohol on camera for the whole world to see, so we can just imagine his behavior when he’s out of the public eye. But we won’t have to imagine because the Atlantic is not going to settle that lawsuit, so everything will come out in discovery. Something tells me that Kash is going to drop the matter rather than sit for a deposition. He’s a fool, but he’s not stupid. 

Well, he is kind of stupid, but he’s not stupid enough not to know that discovery for his $250 million lawsuit will open cans of worms that he very badly wants to keep closed. 

*****

In other current events, my spring anxiety and depression are back with a vengeance. I’m coping by eating chocolate and spending money. I’m great. Everything is great. Everything is fine. 

*****

I have two finished posts - one about wristwatches and another about a book - that I could just publish today. But there’s a lot going on - too much to keep up with, really - and I feel like I need to write about what it’s like to be alive as an American in the middle of the year 2026. But I’ll publish the other ones soon. Analog wristwatches and early 20th century English literature are not exactly the most current topics right now, but maybe sometimes it's better to look backward. 

Testing

Today at work, we had a test of the “Giant Voice” base-wide alert system. My office is in an odd little out-of-the-way spot, on the third floor with an open walkway outside. We call it the Crow’s Nest. It used to be that we couldn’t hear the Giant Voice up there in the Crow’s Nest. We could hear the alarm, but not the actual announcement, unless we went out onto the walkway and strained our ears. Well let me tell you that the Giant Voice works just fine now.. I’ll hear that Giant Voice in my sleep. Holy cannoli

*****

Oh and speaking of holy. The President, such as he is, is doing the most to force people to choose: Christianity or MAGA. Jesus or Trump. It’s getting interesting. Meanwhile, he appears to have confused Pope Leo with the Mayor of New York, because Popes don’t have much influence on law enforcement and crime policy. The Pope might be “weak on crime,” but he’s probably not weak on blasphemy. Side note: I work in a medical school, surrounded by doctors, and not one of them has ever appeared at work in a long white robe with a scarlet stole. 

*****

There’s always a bright side though, and that is that the memes coming out of the Dr. Donald Jesus debacle are top-tier. Hilarious people all over the internet are finding ever more creative ways to roast the “I thought it was me as a doctor” claim and each roast is better than the last. 

And the Pope Leo crashout continues. Yesterday, the brilliant JD Vance extended his winning streak by telling a nearly-empty arena that the Pope needs to watch his step when he’s commenting on theology. Nice work, Thomas Aquinas. Good way to sell your new Catholic conversion memoir. You’re a genius. 

My favorite thing is how news media thinks they're covering a Leo-Trump "feud." Pope Leo is not feuding with anyone, especially not the likes of Donald J. Trump. His Holiness is out here saying stuff like “war is bad, love one another, pray for peace” like pretty much every Pope since the last Pope Leo. Trump then comes back with a clever rejoinder something like “Shut up, bro, you suck and you wouldn’t last a second in the UFC octagon.” This morning, as a little social media joke, I posted an offer of $50 to the first reporter to ask Karoline Leavitt if the President is suffering from PDS (Pope Derangement Syndrome). By the end of the day, eight commenters had offered to match the $50. And that offer remains valid. We will pay up. 

***** 

It’s Thursday morning now and I'm sitting in the doctor's office waiting for the scheduler to come in. I have been putting off my colonoscopy appointment. Considering my very long history of medical avoidance, it’s hilarious that I work at a medical school. Do as I say, not as I do. 

Anyway, I’m going through with it now. I actually had a colonoscopy in 2019 so I know it's not a big deal. The day before is dreadful but the procedure itself occurs during a deep sleep brought on by really good drugs. And then you wake up and go home and eat your first solid food in 24 hours. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. Everything is fine. 

*****

Actually, things might be temporarily fine. Israel and Lebanon reached a cease fire agreement and the Strait of Hormuz is open again. We went to war to accomplish the same conditions that existed before this war started, at the cost of many lives and many millions of dollars, but if this cease fire gives innocent people a reprieve, then it's all to the good. 

*****

It's Friday now. I feel like it wasn't a particularly productive week, but I accomplished quite a bit. I'm just always distracted. I've always been scatterbrained and easily distracted but I'm hanging on by a thread now. 2026, man, you know? Thank God for Pomodoro timers and lists and sublists and Google reminders. Maybe I need my own Giant Voice just to keep me in line. Good luck, Giant Voice. If a Giant Voice can prevent me from going off on tangents every five gosh darn minutes then it would be money well spent. 

*****

Signs of the times

On Friday night, I watched Artemis 2 re-enter the Earth’s atmosphere and splash down safely in the Pacific Ocean. I was holding my breath a little, just like everyone else who watched Challenger explode. But despite that tiny “no joy” moment of fear, the splashdown was perfect and all four Artemis astronauts emerged happy and well. That was a good Friday night. 

Then on Saturday, Chicago’s own Pope Leo threw down the gauntlet at Trump and Vance and Netanyahu and Putin, galvanizing at least two generations of lapsed Catholics. Meanwhile, all of Budapest was out in the streets celebrating Orban’s likely downfall in advance. 

In other news, JD Vance failed to end the war in Iran, so we’re not out of the woods by any means. I meant, Trump is still President. But between JD’s campaign trip for Orban (which I still have not wrapped my head around because what the FUCK) and his unsuccessful Iran war negotiations, that’s two big JD losses in quick succession, and that’s good news all on its own. 

All of this is to say that something is shifting. Things are changing. It’s Sunday morning now, and I’m going to Mass for the second consecutive week. 

Risen

Dawn Staley, college basketball coach: “He is risen.” 

Donald J. Trump, President of the United States: “Open up the fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or get ready to live in Hell.”

Happy Easter, amirite? 

*****

We are just home from Easter Mass. I’m trying to get back in the habit of attending Mass every week, rather than whenever I feel like it because I seldom feel like it. I’m still mad at the American Church because I hold it largely responsible for the cancer that is MAGA, but I don’t want to disappoint Pope Leo. I know he keeps track. 

Easter has never been my favorite holiday, coinciding as it does with crippling Spring anxiety. But there’s the silver lining - Spring isn’t bothering me a bit this year. The Year of Our Lord 2026 has been one long panic attack, and Spring can’t hurt me. Do your worst, Spring. 

No, don’t. That was just a joke. As you were, Spring. Carry on. 

*****

On Friday night, my fellow Philadelphia public school graduates and I were ready to ride at dawn for Coach Dawn Staley. As they say on the internet, we do not play about Coach Staley. 

I had hoped that South Carolina would win yesterday, but Coach Staley and her team will be back. And as always, her post-game interview was pure grace and generosity. Win or lose, Dawn Staley is what Philadelphians call “a class act.” 

I was surprisingly invested in college basketball this weekend. My son and I spent part of Sunday afternoon glued to the DIII men’s final between the University of Mary Washington and Emory University. UMW is a Marymount sports rival, including basketball and swimming (the Saints beat the Eagles this year, for the first time ever), and we were all in for them. The last few minutes of that game were heart attack-exciting, and Mary Wash came away with the heroic buzzer-beater win. I love DIII sports. 

*****

And the rest of Easter was lovely, too. Dinner was very good, and everyone ate and enjoyed themselves. As much as I hate everyday cooking, I do love hosting holidays. I love watching my people enjoy the food and festivities that I make possible. 

*****

It’s Monday morning now, a day off for me. I had a dream in which I looked up at the sky above my house, and it was suddenly filled with hundreds of military aircraft. An Air Force jet, flying very low to the ground, ascended suddenly just as I thought it would crash on my neighbor’s lawn. That’s when I woke up. 

*****

The rest of Monday proceeded without incident. A family lunch out that included both sons and my nephew was the highlight of an altogether pretty good day. I read my book, I went outside and touched grass, I went shopping, I followed Artemis II, and we ate Easter leftovers for dinner. 

And now it’s Tuesday and the weekend is really over and the President is threatening to level an entire country. He makes empty threats all the time, so maybe he’ll back down under some fake pretext. God, I hope he’ll back down, or that someone will stop him. But he’s bloodthirsty enough to do it, and no one seems able or willing to stop him from doing whatever he wants. 

*****

Well, that was a day. Thank God that we didn’t blow up a whole country, I guess. Dodged bullets aside, though, the United States (the entire world, really) is in the clutches of an absolute raving madman, an evil and unstable non-genius who is going to keep threatening mayhem until he gets bored with idle threats and decides to just kill us all and let God sort us out. JD Vance is on yet another taxpayer-funded European vacation so he will not be leading a 25th Amendment charge today; and I don’t think one single member of Trump’s Krusty Kabinet Krew would support that effort even if Vance had the courage to initiate it. We’re trapped in a semi driven by an orangutan. The orangutan didn’t drive us off a cliff yesterday, but we’re still locked in the truck, and that fucking orangutan still has the keys. If only we had other government institutions or structures - something like branches - that could oversee the White House. If only there were some sort of system of checks and balances. 

*****

And now we’re threatening the Pope? How does that even work? Do they plan to assassinate him and install a pretender in a new seat in Washington, where Vance and Hegseth can keep an eye on him? Or are they planning to send an armored division into the Vatican to do battle against the Swiss Guard? I would not put either option past these raving lunatics. And now I hear that not only is Pope Leo not coming for the America 250 celebration (leaving us with nothing but WWE and another half-assed Trumpy parade), he’s apparently planning to avoid the United States altogether until Trump and his henchpeople are no longer in power. The threat must be real because Pope Leo of the South Side of Chicago does not strike me as a person who is easily intimidated. Meanwhile, now that Coach Staley received a proper apology, we’ll need to ride for Pope Leo instead. Don’t come for this Pope unless you want to fight every working class Catholic in the United States. We will throw hands even if we’re holding rosaries. 

*****

Such a week it’s been. It’s Friday now and who knows what the insane clown posse has in store for us this weekend. I will not speculate. Coach Staley is (as always) right - He is risen. What’s the worst that could happen? 

Do NOT answer that. 

On the barricades

I came out for my fifth protest on Saturday; not just my fifth protest of Trump 2.0, but my fifth protest ever in my sixty years of life. I’ve always admired people who take it to the streets, but I never felt moved to do so myself until January of 2025. 

I didn’t go to the big march in Washington DC. I went instead to my local neighborhood protest. We gathered in front of a shopping center on Georgia Avenue, old people and middle-aged people and parents with young kids carrying homemade signs. A few people wore No Kings t-shirts and hats, and there were one or two costumes, but most of us looked like we were just stopping off to protest for an hour or two in between Saturday errands, which is actually exactly what I was doing. I showed up at 12:30 and I was out at 2. 

It was rather cold out there on the proverbial barricades, with high temps in the 40s and a pretty brisk wind. A lady in her 70s had brought a huge bag of red handmade Norwegian hats, and was handing them out to anyone who wanted one. I didn’t take one. I’m not a hat person. But I loved the idea and I appreciated the gesture. 

Another lady, who was unfortunately standing next to me, kept up a running commentary, interrupting herself every few seconds to yell at passing drivers to honk their horns, making helpful horn-honking gestures so that they could understand her even if they couldn’t hear her. Most of them did honk their horns (and would have, even without the encouragement). About 80 percent of the drivers who passed us honked and waved. About 15 percent studiously ignored us, staring straight ahead and not looking at us for a second, even when they were stopped at the light. 

That leaves the actively hostile five percent, jeering and waving their stupid little middle fingers as they passed. Some dumbass yelled something about Trump Derangement Syndrome, which certainly exists but it’s not what that guy thinks it is. Another guy drove by twice, yelling “Domestic terrorists! You’re all domestic terrorists! This is terrorism! This is an insurrection!” He was holding up his phone as he was driving, trying no doubt to get pictures and video to turn in to the FBI. After the second pass, the police stopped him, and he went on his way. I was glad to see him go. He seemed a little unhinged and I would not have been surprised if he’d brandished a gun at us. Psycho. 

*****

Did we make a difference? I don’t know. I think that 8 million people nationwide are thought to have been out on Saturday. Based on US population estimates of around 340 million, that puts us well over 2 percent of the population, but well short of the 3.5 percent that historians say is the tipping point for mass movements. So we’re getting there.  

It made a difference for me, at least, to be doing something other than doomscrolling and raging at the injustice of it all. It was nice to connect with other people. It was nice to see how many of those other people felt the same way I do. It was nice to go home afterward and warm up a bit before going out to a late lunch/early dinner with my husband. I know that public protests aren’t always easy and pleasant, but that one certainly was . I just hope that I’ll have the courage to continue even when it gets dangerous.