The Pyrrhic victory of 2020
The fumble of 2024
Sorry for the hiatus…in the exhaust of this content engine machine, the more I consume, the less inclined I feel to write in the mass exodus of last week, but my absent creativity tempers the very fibers of my subconscious. Each passing day I don’t write is marked in red sharpie as the country shifts toward a new red frontier of conservativism; like an English teacher grading an essay sporadically underlining misused words in pen, scribbling “WC” in the margins on a floating axis as the pages begin to bleed; before the corrections, the visions we birthed in between the double-spaced lines during the late hours and early mornings of overthinking when we burned the midnight oil and stared at our words until our watering eyes blurred our sight as the sun rose for so long we felt nostalgic for when the page was blank: that was the real victory. The moments of our triumph is in the work…rarely the outcome…(abortion won overall on the ballot).
This girl is not a fan of the president the polity chose. I’m partisan to common sense, and sometimes different “interpretations” of human decency really make me think this is the Truman Show.
What are we to do with a pompous president-elect who is a racist, homophobic, transphobic, Islamaphobic Populist who skips imPrisonment for Parole on Pennsylvania Avenue, Promises to Pardon the Proud boys, uses the word Pussy any chance he gets but to describe the girl Pop band, Plans to defund Planned Parenthood, moves the Pen behind Project 2025, failed millions of Americans during the Pandemic, Pulled the U.S. out of the Paris Agreement, and unilaterally usurps the definition of Presidential Power as we know it by shaking the tight rope of democracy to new Parabolas, Parlaying depravity so many times that now Republican Orthodoxy’s got a new facelift and, that’s right, it’s been rebranded as Pious Patriotism. Maybe if we time-travel to stop the heartbreak from happening and choose Hilary Clinton in 2016 per the popular vote victory as they did for Bush-Gore in 2000…we could all carry on…but alas, electoral college rules etc. and some other details.
This isn’t fact-checked, just saturated in my Notes app and soaked in vinegar.
We’ll get through it; to echo Jon Stewart last week, it will not be the end of civilization entirely as we know it (at least I don’t think). The man on the subway will still yell “Hey baby” just as you flip the page of Ann Powers’ new book on Joni Mitchell’s life: Traveling. Just my luck, too, the only day the 4 is inching down Lex slower than the old man with the cane in the grocery store moving towards me down the aisle to ask what the expiration date is on his jar of Smucker’s Strawberry Jam: “August 2027,” I smile (but don’t think it expires ever babes x). Forever chemicals will outlive Trump, there’s a small win! And hey, Trump may have won the election, but Sephora just had the biggest sale of the year this week! Now that’s what I call girl-math-inspired capitalism.
Some other small wins to focus on instead:
Jumping in a yellow cab and telling the driver the cross streets instead of the exact address (pre-Waze). Extra points if channel 4 is on the small tv in the back: “this ride is..”
The spread of fall leaves under benches in NYC parks, encroaching on its sedentary readers like a crunchy blanket.
Knowing how to spell refrigerator.
Successfully using $8 for a full meal.
Bubbles.
Paloma Bakery.
The fact that Halloween in New York means seeing Pikachu Citibiking down Park Avenue and seeing live Goldfish in plastic bags full of water in the subway.
The fact that Halloween also means the butcher in Greenpoint on Graham hands out Lays chips, the dentist gives out new toothbrushes and the laundromat gives out candy.
Tasting the bitterness of smarties before turning sweet.
The live outdoor (metaphorical) art show opening every fall we bear witness to once the seasons change and the evolution of autumnal colors in the skyline and on the streets takes center stage.
A smoothie at Brooklyn Standard.
Wired Headphones.
The neighborhood toddler birthday parties in McGolrick Park.
Hinge premium; folks if you’re paying for it, you must be doing exceptionally well, financially, def not romantically tho.
The day after a party: Grateful Dead playing in one room, a new collection of Halloween costumes for next year in another; cleaning the floors sparkling clean to remove the new dark sticky matter coating which we wanted to do anyways (that is mop)/
The ninety-year-old man after election day who wore a t-shirt that said “Never Never Never Give Up.”
This poem:
The smell of sauteing onions in a Dutch Oven with olive oil.
Heartbreaks that make us whole.
Pillsbury Pre-made Xmas Cookies.
Living with G, E, and M in a home <3
The fact that you read this far!
Liking stories on Instagram.
English teachers.
See yall next time <3
*I will be posting weekly on Sundays starting this week.*
Positivity and a plethora of pleasing repetition dispelling my epic pumpkin pie pessimism for a picosecond. Thank you!
Big big fumble