Super Dark Times

I had a bad April, folks, and I’m glad it’s about over.

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The last day of March I was really feeling my oats and had a wonderful, productive day. It was one of those days that make me glad I’m still around. But in my experience, no good day goes unpunished.

Easter fell on the first and therefore was also April Fool’s Day. It was also the day my grandmother began to actively die. My mom called me up in a panic and said we needed to get her to the emergency room from the assisted living home she had recently moved into. For some reason the home couldn’t authorize it and there was some confusion. For someone with acute emotions, I can usually rise to emergency situations by shutting down somewhat and saying to myself, “Well. I guess this is happening. Ride it out like everything else.”

I got her to call an ambulance (I wasn’t going to transport both of them) and drove us to the hospital, as her car was totaled the week before in an accident she was lucky to survive. When my grandmother arrived, they let her lay around without being seen even though the place was deserted because no one gives a shit about really old, sick people in America. She was in horrific pain from an infected spleen (a complication of leukemia) and they took their damn time in making her comfortable. It was clear to me that she didn’t have long at all. My mother and I decided to not proceed with any drastic life-saving measures.

The next day I worked as they moved her into hospice care. After work, I logged onto Facebook (they’ve had a bad month too) and saw that my penpal and writing partner had died in the middle of my wonderful Saturday from an apparent heart attack. I’d been in a tif at him over a recent piece he’d sent me to critique. Long story short, he was going to publish something beneath him that didn’t paint him in a good light. He cared only about the truth and didn’t consider how it would affect his public image. I tried to be gentle, but he took it hard. So did I. His last post on Facebook was uncharacteristically gloomy and hopeless, but I never got around to reaching out to him because I was being petty, as it now seems. His heart gave out, but I’m certain his mental state was a factor.

Sometimes the Universe taps you on the shoulder and whispers in your ear, “You’re still an asshole.”

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Later that evening, my mother texted me to say that my grandmother had passed away.

I guess I’ll point out here that April is also Autism Awareness Month and both my penpal and my grandmother were on the spectrum. I want to write something profound about the similarities and differences of their deaths, but death is just messed up and sad no matter what your brain is like. My grandmother had been depressed, lonely, and far more ill than we had suspected. She was terrified of being alone, but too socially anxious to go to a facility where she would have to meet new people. It was hell for her and it had gotten to the point where I was too emotionally overwhelmed by the anxiety she projected onto me to look after her anymore.

My penpal was going through a divorce and striking out on his own again. We met at the Inaugural Southeast Adult Autism Symposium last year. We hit it off instantly and I was attracted to him. Although he was older than me by about twenty years, we were intellectually simpatico and his energy felt good. We started corresponding (he’s in Atlanta) and I really wished he was with me on my phantasmagoric New York trip. He used to live there. He was working again, as was I, and I was looking forward to hanging out at a conference later in April as we’d planned. He swore to me the last time I saw him that the next time we met we’d both have jobs. I was doubtful, but damn if he wasn’t right.

I skipped out on the conference.

I suppose the difference between them is that one lived long enough to suffer and one suffered enough to die. God save us from dying too young or dying too old. From dying too swiftly or dying too slowly.

I had a bad meltdown the next evening after it all sunk in. I got into some old brown liquor I found in the back of my freezer. I hate brown liquor (it was for a recipe really), but I was beyond caring. I went into a walking, raging black out. I’m sure I left some messages on my penpal’s voicemail that are pretty epic. Somehow I ended up locking myself out of my house buck naked, but somehow still (presumably) holding my cellphone, because I woke up in my parent’s spare bedroom sans the bed. (They don’t have a key to my place, so I ended up there). I was in some random clothes that didn’t fit, lying on a pile of broken picture frames and dust bunnies. I had to pick some staples out of my arm.

I was the sickest from a hangover I’ve ever been for the next two days. I didn’t make it to my grandmother’s funeral. I had a few abrasions and the power on my block went out for some reason, but I’ve had much worse meltdowns, just not in a while. Only in the last week have I felt a bit better.

It’s been a slog.

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Other shit happened this month, but I will only mention one more thing because it’s the least boring and most believable. A semi-famous Scottish author I hooked up with in my youth wrote a memoir about his time living in America and I’m in it. It’s not flattering (or accurate), but he was a #MeToo creep and I was going through the most messed up stage of my life. I guess the lesson is don’t have “empty sex” with a globe-trotting douchebag and then poke around on his author page years later.

Happy May, people.

 

 

Speaking Ill of the Dead

Chris Cornell sexed up my teens and Roger Ailes killed my grandfather.

Yesterday we lost two famous dudes, Chris “Spoonman” Cornell and Roger “Kiss Me or I’ll Ruin You” Ailes. Two more different folks I cannot imagine. One committed suicide, but if you are familiar with his music, it’s under the category of Tragic But Not Shocking – like Hunter S. Thompson or Michael Jackson. The other is soon to be bunkies in Hell with Bill Cosby and Fred Phelps.  I hope.

I am so sorry that yet another person of worth felt the almighty tug of the abyss and got sucked in. It seems like the good ones torture themselves to death too soon and the shitty ones keel over after a long and enriched existence. I was in high school in the early 90s, so Cornell’s constipated, but sexy, voice serenaded my own self-flagellating teen years. He embodied the angsty music of the grunge era and always got confused with Alice in Chains.

I now wonder why the music of the 90s was so angsty. Smashing Pumpkins, Rage Against the Machine, NIN, Radiohead et al. are far more appropriate for the 21st century. Hell, Ok Computer and Kid A are the perfect accompaniment for most of last year and the current, uh, situation. I knew they sounded ahead of their time. But things back then were comparatively sane.

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But still ridiculous.

A big contributor to the fix we find ourselves in was the other guy. A right-wing Hut. Along with a rogues gallery of psychopaths like Roger Stone, Rupert Murdoch, and Bill “Phone Spanker” O’Reilly.

I have a special place in my gall bladder for Fox News. I was forced to watch Crossfire with my grandpa when I was a kid. He tried to raise me up angry Republican, but it didn’t take. His attitude towards the Anita Hill testimony was enough to convince me I didn’t want to be like him. Also I listened to Rush Limbaugh and Michael Savage.

I learned in church that Christians who “get it” are identified by their love. And that wasn’t the tone or philosophy that came across on Fox. They had a real Scroogian contempt for the poor and seemed to have it in for women and minorities. It’s an ugly way to think and live.

In fact, Fox News was a major contributor to my grandfather’s death. He got increasingly sucked into watching Fox all the time. Their format did exactly as it intended and a documentary called The Brainwashing of My Dad explains it better than I can. Towards the very end of his life he was doing strange things like taking actual “screen shots,” with a film camera, of Fox News crawls on the TV. We found them after he passed.

He became irritable and argumentative and fearful and depressed. The attitudes on Fox stoked his already racist outlook. I mean, the guy was a blue collar WWII vet born in the rural South in 1923. There were going to be certain biases.

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Exhibit A

Such was his fear of a black planet that he refused life-saving medical help when he saw that Obama would likely win the 2008 election.

One of the last things he said on his deathbed was, “I guess we have new president.” All my grandmother could do was nod. He died a few days after the election.

Thanks, Obama.

There is this cultural rule that I’ve never understood whereby it’s considered bad taste to badmouth people who are dead. Someone on TV made an ugly comment about Ailes and my mother gasped a bit and said, “That’s a low blow to Ailes.” That’s right, she defended the honor of the man who brainwashed her dad and made his last years anxious and angry.

From a logical standpoint, the very best time to talk shit about someone is when it can’t possibly get back to them or hurt their feelings. And why does keeling over in his mansion at age 77 magically transform a terrible man into a holy relic?

It’s just nonsense. (Even though I kind of did that in a post about Nancy Reagan.)

So fair thee well Chris Cornell, you are probably crooning on a cloud with Prince. R.I.P.

Roger, even though you are only the second worst person with your name, suck it.

As the GOP dies, so does the first woman President: Nancy Reagan

via Nancy Reagan, First Lady Behind ‘Just Say No’ Campaign, Dead At 94.

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Let the shaming begin!

I know other progressives are looking to report Nancy’s legacy as one deeply marred by her simplistic 80s anti-drug campaign. And they absolutely should bring attention to the moral admonitions and legislative efforts that began the Drug War in earnest. Nancy and Ron have the blood and shattered lives of millions on their heads for criminalizing all illicit drug use and enacting global zero-tolerance for the drug trade. The harm stretches from the Gray Wastes described by Ta-nehesi Coates to the current Berlin Wall-like situation on our southwestern border. The estimated casualties of the drug war are hard to calculate, but the effects been largely negative. Those progressives are correct.

 

Yet Nancy Reagan is never given enough credit for how well she ran the country through her husband, who was frequently laid low with cancers, gunshot wounds, and encroaching Alzheimer’s. “Nancy-pants” was by far his best ally and source of strength. Though her anti-drug efforts and general opinion of drug users was dead wrong, she thought it was vital to get young people off of drugs. Her intentions were good. She and Ron believed they were doing the right thing. Even though Nancy probably had a crystal ball in addition to her astrologers, she was unable to see the ramifications down the road.

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Children with epilepsy will need marijuana?!

However,

“After [the Iran-Contra scandal], his approval ratings were abysmal,” the historian said. “There was talk of impeachment. She was perhaps his most forceful adviser in counseling him to meet with [Soviet leader Mikhail] Gorbachev and come to some sort of deal that led to the [Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces] Treaty to cool tensions. It encouraged Reagan to go away from hard-line, hawkish policies and make peace and agree to reduce the nuclear arsenal. She played a big role in ending the Cold War.”

-Kathy Olmsted, a professor at the University of California at Davis
Quoted in The Washington Times

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It’s something that definitely got us all on the same page.

Because of Mrs. Reagan’s political involvement, a woman’s compassionate influence joined with the massive anti-armament movement to end the possibility of a nuclear apocalypse. It was a trade off I can still live with. National drug policy would have gone in the direction it did even if Nancy had a more effective strategy to end the negative consequences of drug abuse. She did effectively avert a possible nightmare future full of Kurt Vonnegut’s “fates worse than death.”

Nancy Reagan’s influence over the Most Celebrated leader of the free world may be why we are still around to work on our drug problem.