Thursday, January 26, 2017

FEELINGS R 4 PUSSIEZ

Do you have one of these figures that acts like sort of like your own personal guru? Lucky man that I am, I’ve got two or three. My fancy calculator is flashing and vibrating and sending me thoughts from one of these gurus, straight from the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina. The one-three-two (been a long time since math class) punch of her words, the sunshine, and the brain drugs released by espresso is making me feel, well, sunnier than I have since returning home from cloudy (but sweaty) D.C.

Now my mind is drifting and I’m listening to conversations around me. There is a very aggravated woman next to me with IMPECCABLE hair. (I am in downtown Newtown, Pennsylvania, one of the region’s TOP sources of Expensive Grandmas™.) I hope that she has a guru, too, and hears from her guru soon. You can’t buy spiritual clarity, but it’s almost as important as great hair.

Wait, what am I talking about? There’s a spiritual clarity store in Newtown, too! I buy my incense there.

Expensive Grandma™ is now hanging out with her daughter. When speaking about their excitement for our new president, they got very loud, as if they are trying to speak directly to my “I Stand With Planned Parenthood” button, hoping it will yell back. Now that they’re talking about someone’s pending divorce, it’s all whisper quiet. The complaints seem to center around the husband being too much of a self-centered asshole (...). Do your thing; I’ll try to climb back into my head and stop eavesdropping.

She then yelled in my general direction about “TRUMP HATERS” and was crying within about two minutes. Politics seems to be, for some people, like a TV show they can tune into to distract themselves from their lives. It works. Clearly, though, many good people vote for people who seek to harm people they wouldn’t seek to harm in their day-to-day lives. Some do it for the chance of having a little bit less to pay in taxes, no further questions asked. Some do it because they grew up with a cold, authoritative man in the house and they’re just used to it. Hell, I’ve got the musicians who scored the soundtrack of my youth on my shirt as I sit here at age thirty-three; the comforts of youth often remain comfortable.

Also, some vote for assholes because they too are assholes.

You can get a quarter of the population, more or less, to go along with the worst ideas you could possibly think of. After this many years of participating in democracy, I’m unfazed by that. I find the apathetic infinitely more fascinating.

I’ve got a Libertarian friend (hi, Tony) whose principles, I suspect, are as firm as the grip of a hungry dog’s jaw is on a steak that has suddenly fallen from the sky. (Dog metaphors are reserved for people I LIKE, to be clear.) Kudos to Tony for representing what he believes in. We don’t have to vote together to talk music and beer.

Same with my southern grandpa. We don’t have to have the same opinion of Elizabeth Warren to cruise around the beach roads with the windows down, looking for the best bar to drop into.

What is more puzzling is the people who WOULD agree with the principles that led me to march on Washington last weekend, but somehow take issue with the part where I got off the couch and actually did it. That seems to be the safest path - stating that somehow everyone and everything that touches on politics is equally toxic, and that avoiding having a fixed opinion on ANYTHING will mean everyone will respect you equally.

I get that. For me, life is too short to not speak your mind when someone threatens your fellow citizens. Among other sub-Howard-Stern-level things he’s said, the person in our top leadership role said he touches vaginas whenever he feels like it. Recently. Not acceptable for a twelve-year-old’s fantasy of being an elderly man; even less acceptable for an actual elderly man (of power).

To say nothing of “punishing” women who have abortions.

I understand that “I Got Mine, Jack” thing. Really. It’s tempting. But it’s hard to justify not caring about the world outside your front door once you’re a couple decades into caring. Most of the people out there, wherever you go, are pretty cool. Much like the show Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, I’m in too far to stop now. Check back with me after I get mine, Jack.

You do you. As for me, I went to Don’s house the same weekend he moved in and reminded him he’s only got 30-odd percent of the citizens on his side. Staying home would have been a statement, too - especially to the girls and women in my life.

Please, think he’s a fantastic man if you want to. If you are a nice person, I will listen to your case for him or anything else. Sell me on Nickelback, kid.

On the other hand, if you feel like seventy years is long enough for someone to show you who they really are, try to imagine how satisfying it was to have made him livid by simply walking down the street.

Sure, he’s gonna take my health insurance (don’t forget that the active artists and musicians you know are often independent contractors). (Also don’t forget those pre-existing conditions I wrote about 300 blog posts ago.) But he’d be doing that to me even if I was sitting here wearing one of his shitty Chinese ties.

You continue to do you. I don't wish ill will upon the non-voters who chose to not stop the golden arsonist. Similarly, I don’t wish ill will upon Don Drumpf, [former] fellow New York City Neil Young concert attendee. I think that he should go to his special tower and be the BEST Expensive Grandpa™ EVER! Dispensing gifts wrapped in golden, non-recyclable wrapping paper with golden, non-recyclable bows to all the kids in his life. All in his special tower! Seriously! It was working so well before. We literally used to be in the same rooms, listening to songs of love and peace.

I think that, like all great artists, Don Drumpf lives inside his own head. An artist of infinite depth, complexity, and mystery!

Artists, though, maybe shouldn’t have their finger on the big, red Goodbye Everything button. We are too sensitive, too mercurial. Maybe he won’t press it. Either way, I’d better cut my records - and cut ‘em fast.

I’m gonna keep singing songs of love and peace. And a little jabbing humor here and there where appropriate. I wrote about cancer in prose and songs because it was part of my experience. I will keep writing about the things I experience during the time I am alive. From the same heart. Same mind. Same conscience. To remain true to my morals in times of increased deceit and immorality will mean turning off some older, closed minds, but perhaps I will gain two or three young, opened minds for each old one I lose. Decent trade. Those spiritually old people (not to be confused with physically old) weren't coming to my gigs, anyway!

So, we will poke some fun at Don because, hell, he's no snowflake! He's a big strong man. With the best brain. The best words. He can take it. You can tell he's secure by the way he puts his name on big buildings.

But we will aim for respect among each other because we have common goals.

I like to know the conservative viewpoint because I come from a nearly all-conservative family. I will never stop trying to understand. But know that those of us who represent inclusiveness are sincere and are also not going anywhere.

I mean, unless I suddenly come into a bunch of cash. Then I'm getting a big black Hummer with a custom license plate that says "FEELINGS R 4 PUSSIEZ" and retiring to Florida to run over small animals all day.

'Cause, then, you see, I'll have mine, Jack!