Here’s what I expect

I expect to be in a stay at home mindset until next summer.

I expect winter to be tough but I expect it to be doable.

I expect to easily be informed along the way.

I expect you to be informed as well.

I expect you to wear a mask.

I expect you to keep your distance.

I expect you to wash your hands.

I expect you to understand.

I expect things to get bad but then also good.

I expect us to do the right thing for our health systems.

I expect science to come to the rescue.

I expect you to listen to science.

I expect that all of this comes to an end.

I expect to go to my favorite restaurant again.

I expect to go to my favorite theater again.

I expect to go to a crowded noisy bar again.

I expect to go to a show again.

I expect to go to a stadium again.

I expect to go to a festival again.

I expect to fly somewhere exotic again.

I expect to move alongside a crowded downtown sidewalk again.

I expect a hopeful future.

I expect myself to put in he work.

I expect you to do the same.

I ain’t no senator’s son

Some folks are born made to wave the flag
Ooh, they're red, white and blue
And when the band plays Hail to the Chief
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord

It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no senator's son, son
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no

Some folks are born silver spoon in hand
Lord, don't they help themselves, no
But when the taxman come' to the door
Lord, the house lookin' like a rummage sale, yeah

It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no millionaire's son, no no
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no

Yeah, some folks inherit star spangled eyes
Ooh, they send you down to war, Lord
And when you ask 'em, "How much should we give?"
Ooh, they only answer "More, more, more!"

It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no military son, son, Lord
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, one
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no no no
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate son, no no no

Show Up

Years from now, when the kids of today are running the show, hopefully in much better circumstances, when they look back on what we all did in this moment, what will they see?

Did we deliver? Did we show up? Or did we shrink and add yet another gut wrenching setback in the course of our great “democratic” experiment?

What did you do?

What did I do?

Hopefully it was something.

Was it enough?

Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Vote!

Senate Graveyard

There is gridlock in Washington. Nothing gets done. Nothing moves forward. Democracy is dying a slow, calculated death and it is time to squarely lay blame on the institution at fault:

The United States Senate.

Specifically, the US Senate under the control of Mitch McConnell and today’s Republican party.

This is a party without shame. Without decency. They act in bad faith and they are to blame for the lack of action we see today in our nation’s capital.

Because of them, action on gun violence does not happen.

Because of them, action on climate change does not happen.

Because of them, action on health care does not happen.

Because of them, we have voting rights under assault.

Because of them, we have reproductive rights under assault.

Because of them, we have Brett Kavanaugh and Amy Coney Barrett.

And on and on. And we have had enough.

And yes, because of them, there is no relief coming to the millions of Americans suffering in this very preventable pandemic.

The time is here, the time is now. It’s time for the people to take back the United States Senate and put the power of democracy back in the hands of who it belongs to; OURS.

Who leads us out of this?

I’m mumbling, fumbling, stumbling to find an answer. Who will lead America out of this upheaval? It seems to fall on those who actually know the score.

Those who know what’s happening here and now; on the streets, in hospital rooms, in prison cells. Those at home, juggling with growing anxiety. Those working, worrying about what the next month brings. Those raising families, active shooter drills in the back of their minds, fearful of the oncoming planetary emergency. Those fearful of walking down the street, because it’s far too common to be murdered by police.

Who knows the score? Certainly not comfortable old white people. The ones who discount climate change, gun control, prison reform, or universal health care as unattainable for America because America is “exceptional.” The comfortable old white people are the biggest obstacle. They are the ones we are waiting for, to leave. They have parked their fat asses on the excesses of a ruthless capitalist system and they tell the rest of the population tough luck, no hopeful tomorrows for you.

We need more than their smug, pompous assessments as they tisk-tisk a lack of civility and property damage, because they don’t know the score. We need more than their lectures on bootstraps and hard work, because they don’t know the score. We need more than their droning on about how all politicians lie and both sides are to blame, because they don’t know the score.

No, we need much more. Those who will lead us out are much more.

They are anti-racism, anti-police brutality, anti-death penalty,  anti-gun violence, anti-militarism, anti-materialism anti-pollution, anti-white supremacy, anti-voter suppression, anti-discrimination, anti-segregation, anti-capitalism, anti-Donald Trump and his fascist enablers all.

Who leads us out of this?

Maybe you, if you know the score.

Nothing changes unless everything changes.

This is my 40

As in, this year. The year of me turning 40, I approached the milestone with a steady, measured approach. Such is the passage of time, if you’re lucky.

And maybe, just maybe, this age milestone would be when I finally stop caring about what people think. Which has always been a personality trait of mine. But there are signs of it waining. Just because it can be exhausting and I’m busy dedicating energy to things that actually matter.

Anyway. 40. Here I am. Rock me like a hurricane.

I remember when my dad turned 40. I could see his nervousness. Over the hill, they say. The best part of life is over, they say. Glory days gone, they say. But as I’m caring less about what people think, I’m not paying much mind to such things. I’m older for sure. But how I handle my own aging is up to me. Nobody else.

Is 40 the new 30? I don’t know. What I do know is that 40 is old. When I was in high school, it was so far away. People who were 40 seemed so distant, so out of my understanding.

Have you ever seen Gattaca? At one point, two brothers at odds are racing to the other side of a lake. The water is turbulent. It’s stormy weather. The more genetically superior brother says he’s calling it, he’s turning back. If they don’t turn around now they won’t make it back to shore because the high waves are sucking all their energy. Forget the race. But the genetically inferior brother (Ethan Hawke) refuses. How he’s gotten to this point, overcoming great odds and racing his brother who on paper should clearly win the race, is that he never saves anything for the trip back. His aim is alway the here and now, the future return be damned. And he swims on while his brother turns back.

At least, that’s how I remember it. But I don’t remember how the race was resolved, if at all. One trudged ahead, the other played it safe and returned. But what were the results?

It probably doesn’t matter.

Yes, I’m 40. Which in the grand scheme of things, probably doesn’t matter.

Takeaway 9/11

What if we could? What if we could scratch it from our history? Just remove it. The catastrophic event so tragic for a nation, typically the purveyor of large scale tragedies since our very beginning. So much of our existence in these 2000s have been defined by our collective shock, trauma, and fear by September 11, 2001. If we could simply cut it out, like you would a tumor, how would we be different? How would we look today without the weight of that epic day, that generation defining tragedy, no longer the heavy burden around our necks as we try to trudge forward?