Nothing to see here, move along...

Yes, yes, JD Vance is weird and omg DRAG QUEENS EVERYWHERE!!!

Meanwhile, I hope someone over at the Harris campaign (not to mention over at the Justice Department) is paying attention to this?  

  

Does This Mean I Have to Turn In My Gay Card?

Srsly tho, who wore it better? 

I suppose I need to weigh in here. Sigh. 

Look, say what you want, believe what you want, but I'll never be convinced that they didn't know exactly what they were doing with this. Yes, yes, I know I know it's about Dionysius and his pagans, but really? It happened in PARIS, for god's sake. Of course they knew how it would be perceived by billions of christians already suffering from a persecution complex stretching back thousands of years.

Safeguarding our traditions

The fact is, I'm wasn't impressed by this stunt. 

First of all, like probably every other human being on the planet, I was like, Drag queens at the Olympics? Okaaaaaaay, but why exactly? 

I get that we're all about acceptance and breaking down barriers and We Are Everywhere, etc, but even I'm still working through the cognitive dissonance, and I'm gay.

Second, I'm all for pushing back against anti-trans hate, but did this actually move that needle? (And don't even get me started on the distinction between "drag" and actual "trans." They're very different things, but that's for another blog post.)

Tell me the truth, is this Rudy Giuliani...?

Listen, I'm not averse to offending the occasional christian bigot. But what was accomplished by pissing off billions of them?

I've been a soldier in these trenches for a long time. There are more effective ways to fight back, and better arenas to do it in, is all I'm sayin.

Thanks, I'll turn in my Gay Card now.

Cool Beads

 When I'm not writing a book that no one will read in the future, or posting to a blog no one reads now, or hoarding food and weapons for the upcoming apocalypse, I create whimsical items of beauty upon which humanity can adorn itself. 

I need better models.

 If you've been following this blog for awhile -- and who has? -- you know I'm heavily and absurdly invested in beads. It started during the pandemic lock down, but now there's a billion fucking beads in my house, collected from all over the world. 

There's an Etsy shop somewhere too (I don't like to post it here, so leave a comment if there's anything you're interested in.) The Etsy shop will never generate enough revenue to actually live on -- Kay Jewelers is safe from me -- and it's hardly a source of "passive income" like, say, a 401K or a pension (and how "passive" are those, really, when you consider the decades you scrimped and saved for them?) Passive? These beads don't string themselves. But it's a habit that does, more or less, sustain itself. 

As I said, my bead habit started during the lockdown a few years ago. I consider it a pathology -- sort of like my version of "long covid." 

Anyway, here are some recent pics. 

First up are these extremely rare excavated roman glass beads that were made about 2,000 years ago. They have a lustrous patina and some natural iridescence due to age. Gorgeous. The romans used silver and gold foils in their beads, and you can still see it in some of these. Just an incredible bit of history in this necklace. 

A less impressive lineage below, but these white coral, green & purple fluorite, and lamp work glass beads are still pretty: 

Etched black agate and glass: 

And finally, these antique Venetian glass trade beads, with ancient black glass and natural red coral. 

GOP: The Party Of Death

It was almost three years ago that my parents died of Covid. They weren't young -- they were in their 80s -- but they were in fairly robust health when they went to a church potluck, contracted the virus, and died a week later. 

It didn't need to happen that way. But my christian fundamentalist parents had been radicalized over the years by Fox News, and they believed Sean Hannity, and Florida Governor Ron Desantis, and President Donald Trump when they all falsely claimed the virus was a hoax, and that the vaccine was dangerous.

 The GOP is the party of death. Their entire policy agenda is fueled by paranoia and fake white grievance. From sensible gun control, to women's reproductive health, to public policies that keep us all safer, it all comes down to the same thing with them: What policies will kill the most amount of people in the shortest amount of time -- and in the meantime, what will make people the most miserable? Slashing medicaid? Gutting Social Security? Defunding all of the agencies tasked with public safety?  Done, done and done. 

And they aren't finished with the blood letting. Anyone who doubts their agenda need only look so far as Project 2025 to see a detailed roadmap for how they're going to keep trying to kill you. 

 

If Trump Loses: The GOP Issues Dire Threats

They aren't going to accept defeat. This will be true even if by some miracle the big, dumb, lumbering beast that is the American public bestirs itself at the last minute and turns out in a decisive landslide for Joe Biden.

Here's WV Governor Jim Justice promising to unleash the flying monkeys if Trump loses:

"The bottom line for why we’re here, the bottom line to every single thing going on in this great country today, is one thing," Justice said. “We become totally unhinged if Donald Trump is not elected in November.”

Like they aren't totally unhinged already. 

Trump, his thugs, the corrupt SCOTUS, the greedy media cartels, the billionaires -- in short, the bad guys -- aren't going to accept defeat. They've already started the drumbeat.  

  

"Low-Information" Voters are Going to Kill Us All

Look, I'm still "in it to win it" with Biden. First, because I think he's done a great job in his first four years as President. Inflation is low, jobs are up, economy is booming, all good. Second, because if Trump wins, America is over. 

"America" as we understood it just a few weeks ago is already unrecognizable under this corrupt and compromised SCOTUS. A  second Trump term will not be the clown show that the first one was. His handlers have learned how to use their big, dumb, orange

tool more effectively this time around.

The thing is, not everyone is me. Oh sure, there are the Trump-drunk koolaid drinkers, the cultists, the roughly 30% of the country who will gladly march off the cliff with him, as long as they never have to see another brown person or bake another gay wedding cake.

But I'm not talking about them either.

Democracy or Fascism? Tough call...

What worries me is your average low-information voter who sees two old white men on their TV every night, one of whom is very bombastic and loud and entertaining, and another who needs a nap and seems to be sundowning. 

They don't have a clue what's coming for them. 

If You've Lost George Clooney...

 As I’ve mentioned a time or three, I’ve been running through the streets screaming with my hair on fire  pondering the direction this fine country of ours is headed. I am shrieking in panic. I have a few concerns.

There’s a point at which you have to admit that the hit job has been fatal. I’m starting to think it’s over for Biden. 

I’m sad about it. I’m angry. I’m anxious. All of that. But I think we’ve crossed a point where he can’t come back. 

 Never mind the histrionics of the so-called “liberal media.” Put aside the drip, drip, drip of some no-name, back-bench Dems nervously climbing into their life jackets. 

First was that clever "mic accident" orchestrated by George Stephanopolis. 

Then came Nancy Pelosi’s tepid and tight-lipped “We’ll support whatever he decides to do” approach, as opposed to the full-throated support for her man that Biden had no doubt hoped for.  

But George Clooney? That's it. It’s over. I’m not even sure Taylor Swift can save us now. 

I’m sorry, Joe. It isn’t fair, and I don't like it. You’ve been an amazingly effective president, and it truly sucks that this is happening. I wanted you to have four more years.  I wanted you to have four more years. 

I want Biden to turn this around, truly I do. But my gut says it's too late. We can parse out later who's to blame and what coulda/shoulda/woulda happened, but if he can't stop the hemorrhaging and fast, it's over. 

 It needs to be as quick and painless, as surgical, and as healable as possible. Can we trust our distringuished Dem leadership to do that?

  

   

Just to clarify...

Look, I'm not saying he shouldn't step aside. It's above my pay grade, TBH. And yes, I know that's the squishy, cowardly POV.  I'm just saying I find it a little unsettling that everyone is going into a full blown fucking meltdown just because an old man botched his opening number at a circus event. 

This election isn't just about these two old men. It's about the difference between steady, reliable competence, and the gibbering grievance-driven threat of fascism (and I choose that word precisely) right here in good ol' God Bless America. 

You would think our media and pundit class could explain it that way. 

Do old white guys ever shut up?

Does anyone know why 'James Carville is being such an asshole lately?  I get that some aging white men need to find ways to stay relevant after peaking thirty years ago (ahem), but I'm not sure parachuting in from whatever ski resort you're holed up in to gripe at the networks that "everyone knows what's going on here" necessarily achieves that objective, and it does real harm to a party that will need to fully unite around whomever the candidate ends up being. 

(That's a long sentence, Dumbblog. Take a breath.)   

Anyway, I'm apparently not the political junkie I used to be, because while I "knew" Carville was still out there -- if only in the sense that I hadn't seen news of his demise -- I'm still always kinda surprised when he pops up in my feed. Kinda like Michael Moore that way.  

 I swear, with friend like these... 

   

Cool new bling.

New bling: AAA quality opals, sunstone, mother of pearl and calico jasper. Really nice color refraction in the both the chips and the rondels, the iPhone really doesn't capture it. And yes, as always, I need to hire better models. 

They'll be listed in the shop, possibly later today. 

Am I evolving into something... beautiful?

 Is it okay that I rarely leave my house these days? It’s not that I’m agoraphobic, I’m not afraid to go out. There’s just not much “out there” that I feel a need to engage with. 

I have no need to engage with other people more than I currently do. I’m not looking for friends. 

I don’t seem to get bored. I honestly don’t know what boredom is, it never happens to me. I manage to keep myself quite entertained. 

What do I need with the outside world? Been there and done that. Honestly, I wouldn’t even have to go to the grocery store if I didn’t want to. Everything — literally everything can be delivered here. 

I suppose I could get an illicit boyfriend; it would at least get me out of the house once in awhile. But jeezus, who needs that hassle? It’s not like I haven’t had offers; so far, I've declined. Other fish, as they say, but it turns out I’m not fishing. 

Because here’s the simple truth: Despite all we’ve been through, despite our issues and our problems, after 40 years together, Drew is the only other human being I can seem to tolerate for more than a few minutes. If that isn't love...? 

 

No, I don’t think there’s anywhere else I need to be, or anyone else I need to see. I do wonder though, if I lived alone, would I still be this insular? Yes, probably worse. It’s possible I would never speak to anyone again. 

This is all totally normal, right? And srsly, who cares. Out there, right now, the world is burning down and most poor suckers don’t have a clue.  

* * *

I heard that old Joni Mitchell song the other day:

“But now old friends are acting strange

They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed

Well something’s lost, but something’s gained

In living every day…” 

To say that I’ve been “changed” by events these last three years is both an understatement, and a misnomer. You don’t lose the last of your family, go into rehab, nearly end a 40-year relationship and wrap up a decades-long career without leaving a few craters. 

They say I've changed. 

That shit will change you, whether you like it or not.

But in my case I’m not sure that’s it’s change so much as simple candor. I’ve spent too much of this life pretending to be Mr. Nice Guy. I was the one who said “please” and “thank you,” the one who did your favors, the one who laughed at your jokes. 

Everyone liked that Dumbblog, he was a swell guy! 

Except that I wasn’t that guy. I projected nice, nice, nice, I made everyone around me feel okay, I was always so acutely aware of everyone else and their endless fucking feeeeeeelings. 

But, of course, I was a complete fraud. Inside, I was seething. Feeling used, abused, unappreciated. Poor, poor pitiful me. 

I don’t feel that way anymore. I ended all of that when I dropped out of polite society, picked up my marbles and went home. 

Here’s some brutal truth: I stopped feeling sorry for myself when I started telling everyone else to go fuck themselves.  

* * *

The thing about this stage of life is that I’m never sure if I’m actually evolving, or if I’ve just dropped all my disguises. What seems like change to others, may in fact be something else: Honesty. 

Maybe telling the truth is the change. 

Fine, I’m not a monster, I wish harm to none, I detest cruelty and wish everyone would calm down and stop killing each other. I’m still presentable for a nice brunch.  

But I’ve never been a "nice guy," despite what I let others believe. Sorry I lied about that, but I thought I had to in order to survive. I’m sorry to break it to you this late in the game: I’m not actually that nice guy you thought you liked. 

Trust me on this. 

I'm evolving into something beautiful.

It still bugs me.

I know, I know, I have to let it go. But you'll please indulge my need to again revisit how awful my last job was. Yes, yes, I've been gone for nine full months -- I could have gestated a baby in that time -- but I still need to get a few things off my chest. 

I was staring off into space this morning (as one does in retirement), pondering what I was doing exactly one year ago. And it wasn't pretty. 

I had just spent the previous two years plugging away at (no lie) the absolute shittiest job I'd ever landed -- and after multiple careers spanning more than 40 years, that's saying something. The previous January, I had given them a 60 day notice (sixty days, who even does that!?) because I knew it would take awhile to recruit and train someone new, and at that point I still cared enough about my program to want it to succeed. 

Sixty days came and went as I hired and trained my replacement. They asked me to stay on a bit longer, because it was time for state monitoring, wherein they conduct a full audit of your documentation for the previous year. It was stressful, because I had been the only person assigned to the program for the previous year. It had previously been a 5-person team covering 5 counties -- but for a host of reasons (Covid, a tight operating budget, etc) throughout most of my tenure I covered the 5 counties myself, showing up in churches, senior centers, nursing homes doing education and outreach, while also recruiting, onboarding and managing about 30 volunteers, and of course, documenting every little detail for the monitors.  

Everyone expected the audit to be a disaster, but it turned out I had done a passable job on the documentation. 

By that time, my relationship with [one of our grant funders] had become untenable. I could spend vast amounts of pixels harping on what a disaster it was, but I have neither the time nor the stamina. You'll just have to trust me on this: I tried absolutely everything to deliver for those people, to reach them, to be one of the team! And I have never, not once, not ever, worked with a team of people more bereft of basic life skills.   

Perhaps this explains why things went awry when I, my immediate supervisor, and the executive director of our agency were called before the Grant Managers Tribunal (not its real name!) to "clear the air about some things." It seemed they didn't much like my attitude, and even hinted darkly that that they thought I was inflating our reported numbers. 

At which point, after two years of steady abuse from them, I kindly invited them to go fuck themselves. I stopped all work connected to them from that moment on. I don't think I ever responded to another email from them, since by then I had already hired my replacement to do that.  

Contrast this with what followed the next month in another meeting, with a completely different set of grant funders from the [the other grand funders.] The relationship with this team was much better and more productive. Under their grant, we helped screen older people for eligibility for food stamps and Medicaid. That program had been shuttered by covid and also by new rules with the Department of Children and Families that crippled our program. Nevertheless, we'd been able to reopen for business and had begun that work again. And we were assured that the grant for this work would continue. 

I dutifully wrote up the proposal to renew the secondary grant, compiled our documentation from the previous year, and sent it up the chain of command.  

On my last day of employment, I sent a reminder to all of the stakeholders: So long maddafackas, and DON'T FORGET TO SEND IN THE OTHER GRANT RENEWAL!!! 

Two months after I had left the organization, I got the word: the secondary grant had not been renewed. No one had bothered to send in the paperwork. The result was they lost a quarter million dollars in grant funding for this year. A couple of my former staffers had to be let go. My former supervisor was fired. None of us have spoken since. 

*    *    *

I'm a big boy. This wasn't my first time at the rodeo, I had taken on difficult situations before. Back in the day, before I'd gone back and finished the degree, before I had any real "career" experience, before I had any real track record of delivering the goods as promised -- well, I had made a career of the thankless. I took on the ugly projects, the gnarly SNAFUs, I worked for the impossible bosses no one else liked, and I made them like me. 

But this gig? This one ended me. To be honest, I really thought I could turn it around. I had always been "a fixer," and I was confident I could fix things there. Sadly, I had underestimated how determined DOEA and our own inept senior executives were to drive the program further into the ground.Yes, yes, I know how that sounds: "Was it not possible that the problem wasn't them, Dumbblog? Is it not more likely that the problem was you?"

Listen, I've made my share of mistakes, plenty of 'em, but I've always been willing to take my lumps.  I'll just point out that prior to this experience I'd had nothing but glowing reviews from my colleagues, and also that for those two years, I delivered the goods for them. Our client contacts remained consistently high, our corp of volunteers remained stable and active, we sailed through a very detailed audit, and I had the other program's funding secured for another cycle -- until they lost it. 

I beat myself up constantly at that place, agonized over every bad thing. Everything that went wrong was (in my mind) entirely my fault. I went home every day from that place with acute anxiety. I literally lost fucking sleep over it. There are a lot of reasons for how and why that environment triggered tf out of me, and that was in addition to my parents dying, my relationship ending, and my trying to stay sober. 

But here's the thing: I delivered. The fact is that despite everything, I not only performed the entire operation myself two years, I actually did surprisingly well. The numbers don't lie. When I finally left, eight long months after my notice of resignation, the program was humming along nicely. 

The fact that I didn't kiss their asses enough is entirely beside the point.  

*    *    *

Living well is the best revenge, or so the old adage goes. And I do live well. I have my groups, my hobbies, this seemingly endless book I'm writing. I'm in the (early, still very early!) twilight of my life, I'm in good health, and not entirely broke. I'm content with my past career(s) and their outcomes. I'm doing quite well, thanks for asking.

But it still bugs me. I'm not used to my gigs ending badly. The whole experience there, almost from the first day, was truly surreal in its awfulness. And it bothers me that my former crew lost their jobs. It bothers me that old ladies, my former clients, still call me needing help these long months later (pro tip: never give your personal phone number to elderly, home-bound clients -- they will never stop calling you.) 

I've let it go. Really, I have. But jeezus, I did everything I could to save that program. It didn't need to be this way, and it still bugs me. 

Anyway, shut up all of you. Let's never speak of it again.