Election Days of Yore: 

A Retrospective of the Last 20 Years

Presidential only -- I'm not counting the mid-term elections.

 2004 -- This was the year I learned a valuable lesson -- don't listen to the echo chamber. Take any predictions with a grain of salt huge fucking barrel of salt. Huge.

I was living in my studio apartment in St. Paul and working at the temple. I was pretty psyched as Election Day approached, because I thought G-Dubs would be defeated. All my friends and coworkers seemed sure of it. They were all like, "Yeah, Kerry's got this. Let's face it, everyone is sick of this Bush/Cheney bullshit." I knew exactly one person who was voting for Dubya (a single-issue voter whose issue was Israel), and even she thought that Kerry probably had it in the bag. That's what the mood was like in Minnesota; nobody really thought Bush would get in again. 

Election Day came, and it was clear early on that Bush was ahead. I was flabbergasted. "But....but....what about the war no one wanted? The phantom WMDs? Bush is an idiot! Cheney is evil! I thought we were all on the same page? Hello?" 

I went home that day and didn't bother to turn on the news. Instead I smoked some herb and watched a DVD I'd checked out from the library, Novocaine, a black comedy starring Steve Martin as a dentist and Helena Bonham Carter basically reprising her character from Fight Club. It was a distraction. When the movie was over, I switched on PBS to see that Bush was fucking winning the election. I was beyond bummed, so I decided to watch Novocaine again. (I didn't have cable, so PBS was pretty much the only station that came in on the antennae. Needless to say, I rented a lot of DVDs back then.)

2008 -- A much better year all around. When Election Day arrived, I stopped off to vote after work, then came home. I was invited to my friend Katy's election party, so I texted and said I'd be there a little later, I just wanted to lie down first. You know how it goes, I didn't think I'd fall asleep, but I did. Two hours later I woke up, like, shit! It was dark and my windows were open, and I could hear what sounded like cheering and celebrations outside in the distance. I threw on a sweatshirt and sprinted the few blocks to Katy's. As her house came into sight, I ran up looking all wild-eyed and disheveled. There were some partygoers hanging out on her porch and I just yelled, "HEY! Did Obama win?" They responded with raised cups and "woo-hoos," and I was like, "YES!" 

The party was awesome, by the way. Katy's parties always kicked ass. After a while we all walked over to 26th and Lyndale to join a massive crowd of people who were celebrating outside Treehouse Records, holding Obama signs, cheering at cars who honked in support, and basically just looking at one another and going, "Holy shit, it's happening!" 

It's one of my favorite Minneapolis memories.  

2012 -- This election was pretty boring compared to the others. I mean, I remember the jokes and soundbites: Mitt Romney's dumb "binders of women" comment in the Presidential debate and Biden openly laughing at Paul Ryan throughout the VP debate. But other than that, it was all rather even keel. I miss uneventful elections like this one. Give us more of those, please, where we're not all out of our minds with terror. 

One notable fact--it was John's first time voting in a Presidential election (he became a citizen in 2009). So that was something. After we got home from the polls, I changed into my swimsuit and hit the pool, since we were living in Baton Rouge and it was like 85 degrees outside. 

2016 -- Oh, fuck that. Fuuuuuuck that. I'm not going there.

2020 -- I thought Trump was going to win and I refused to look at my phone or watch TV or listen to any news at all. I popped some Xanax, made a cup of Tension Tamer tea, and took to my bed, where I binged episodes of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood on YouTube for the entire day. I highly recommend this method for dealing with stress. It does help. (Xanax is optional, but Tension Tamer tea is essential.) 

And Trump LOST the election, just like he deserved. We still didn't get rid of him, but at least the fucker was out of the White House.

2024 -- Oh shit, I don't know. I'm tempted to do what I did last time: unplug my brain and spend the day in the Neighborhood of Make Believe. I did get invited to some watch parties, so I may hit those. 

Why this song? 

'Cause I dig it, baby.

By now, everyone knows about the mass shooting at the outlet mall in Allen, Texas....although by the time I post this, it may well be forgotten and the national news cycle will have moved on to the next tragedy. But since I'm a resident of Collin County (the shooting happened two miles from our house), I thought I'd take this chance to provide a little backstory on some of the local politicians involved in this shitshow. 

So just sit right back and you're hear a tale, the tale of what I like to call: 

THE SLUT, THE ISIS BRIDE, AND THE SLAPHEADED "CHRISTIAN"

In early 2022, we were bombarded by TV ads extolling the virtues of Van Taylor, a Republican congressman running for reelection in our district, and trashing his (Republican) opponent, Keith Self. Around the same time, we began receiving dozens of mailers per week urging us to vote for Taylor in the upcoming runoff election that March, mailers that also made sure to point out that Keith Self was a mean old poo-poo doodyhead. They were coming so fast and furious that it started to get comical, and I had fun marking up the flyers and decorating the house with some of the more outlandish ones. 

I ended up tossing them out eventually, but I did manage to scrounge up one that didn't make it into the recycling bin. Sadly, it's not one of Van Taylor's funnier campaign mailers, but you get the idea:

"Keith Self writes his emails in Comic Sans! Keith Self tips ten percent at restaurants! 

Keith Self was the second shooter on the grassy knoll!"

"Excuse me officer, do these trousers make my butt look big?"

"Alone, bad. Friend, good. 

Friend, GOOD!"

Normal politics stuff, really, but wait! Ready for a hackneyed, totally predictable plot twist? Here it is! Van Taylor's greatest nemesis was not Keith Self, who ***spoiler alert*** went on to handily beat Taylor and win his seat in the election. No, Van Taylor's real enemy was---duh, duh, DUN!---his own penis! Yes, the calls were coming from INSIDE HIS PANTS!!! Tale as old as time....for Van Taylor was just your typical garden variety slut. 

But his side piece wasn't one of the usual suspects, like a campaign aide or a secretary. Taylor went for something more exotic, 'cause he's a man who lives on the edge. He had to go and hook up with Tania Joya, reformed religious extremist and the ex-wife of a white guy from Texas who converted to Islam and became "the highest-ranking American in ISIS." (Now that's a bloke you want to bring home to mom!) 

So yeah, not only did Van Taylor step in it, he tracked it all over the house and then stepped in it again. 

Naturally, The Daily Mail was all over this shit. Taylor's paramour (and "former ISIS bride") had this to say about her fling with the disgraced congressman:

"He didn't take me on a single date in eight months. He was like, no, I'm too famous, everywhere I go I get harassed." (Well smell you, Harry Styles!) Joya also talked about Taylor's sexual appetites: "For me it was making love, but for him it was just sex....four, five times a night, he was all over me." ('Scuse me while I fetch ye olde barf bucket.) 

"I'm not much of a man by the light of day, 

but by night I'm one hell of a love-ahhh."

But Joya wasn't the one who ran to the media to spill the beans about her affair with Taylor. Instead, she sought out a homeschooling Republican "supermom" named Suzanne Harp, who "arranged" the interview between Joya and The Daily Mail. Would it surprise you to know that Harp ALSO happened to be vying for Van Taylor's congressional seat? In fact, she was touted by her campaign as "the conservative, pro-Trump, America First candidate." 

Ugh, you can almost smell the MAGAtry wafting through the screen.

Although she was erroneously named in The Daily Mail as "Suzanne Hart," Harp at least got to insert herself into the drama and score some more brownie points with Dear Leader Trump, which I'm sure thrilled her to no end. 

Seriously, there are NO sympathetic players in this entire farce. Zero, zip, zilch, none. Which brings me to last Saturday's mass shooting. 

I'm not even going to name that dead fuckface shooter, since posthumous notoriety was one of his goals. I will say that it's been amusing to watch Fox News and other conservative outlets tie themselves in knots trying to argue that there's no way the killer could've been a right-wing nut and of course the shooting had to be gang-related, simply because the dude was Hispanic. Well, bullshit. White supremacy reaches far and wide, and today's neo-Nazis are all too happy to accept acolytes who don't fit the stereotypical "master race" ideal, as long as they're willing to help further the cause. I know it, Fox News knows it, even the idiot QAnons know it. 

When news broke about the mass shooting Saturday, John and I turned on the TV to check out the reports on the latest violent rampage in the only economically advanced nation in the world where this sort of thing happens regularly.  

That's when Keith Self popped up on CNN to offer his two cents. John and I were like, hey, it's that guy! Up to that point, we'd never heard him speak; we'd only known him as a big, bald, static character from Van Taylor's endless campaign ads. Then he opened his gob, and we suddenly loathed him as much as VT did. 

Keith Self started in with the usual, "What a terrible tragedy, thoughts and prayers, yadda, yadda, yadda," bullshit. And then this happened:

PAULA REID: "You know congressman, that is a common refrain after mass shootings, but many people argue that prayers are not cutting it. Prayers are not preventing the next mass shooting. What is your response to that criticism?" 

KS: "Well, those are people that don't believe in an almighty God who has, who is absolutely in control of our lives. I'm a Christian, I believe that He is."

Translation: "Let's not kid ourselves. We all know that, as a Texas Republican lawmaker, my ass is bought and paid for by my true Lord and Savior, the NRA. As a matter of fact, I'd drop to my knees and suck off Wayne LaPierre in the town square at high noon if need be, just to keep that sweet gun money rolling in. But since I'm on national TV, I'll take this chance to throw my Evangelical base a bone and proclaim that the only logical solution to gun violence is MORE JESUS. Now, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. Hallelujah!"

So that was the story of a man named Taylor, who fucked a former religious fanatic and flushed his political career down the crapper, thus paving the way for an even worse type of fanatic to swoop in and take over.

And they all lived miserably ever after!  

THE END

(....or is it?)

HULU'S CANDY VS. THE OTHER ONE

Fine, I'll admit it: once in a while I'll give in and watch a sensationalistic "ripped from the headlines" miniseries on streaming. Last summer I caught the Hulu miniseries Candy, based on the true story of the Texas church lady who got bored with her marriage, had an affair with another church lady's husband, and.......things didn't end well. 

As shows like that go, it was entertaining, and the acting was surprisingly good. I especially appreciated how they nailed the look and feel of middle America in 1980, when even healthy 30-year-old adults looked like they were pushing 55 because the hairstyles, clothes, and eyewear of the time made everyone appear all middle-aged and dowdy.  

Jessica Biel in Candy

Now there's another miniseries about the Betty Gore murder, HBO's Love & Death. Even before I tried to watch it, I knew it would be inferior to Candy. First of all, what a generic title. I know, I know, it's an allusion to the famous article that inspired the book (see above), but still. Second of all (if I may continue whining), it's the same title as one of my favorite Woody Allen movies. Of course, I'm sure the show's target audience isn't aware of Allen's 1975 parody of Russian war novels, but I am, dammit. I even own it on DVD.

Watch this one instead.
 

Then there's the poster: a wet Elizabeth Olsen gazing beatifically at the camera. I'm sorry, I can't get behind Elizabeth Olsen, and it's not just because her nose job bugs me. 

Hypocritical of me, I realize.

Lastly, this promotional still looks like it's from one of John Waters' lesser satires, a la Serial Mom. 

I tried to watch the premier over the weekend. I wanted to like it, I really did. But the opening scene featured the key characters sitting around, vomiting exposition at each other, and I hate that. Long story short, I only made it 20 minutes before I gave up completely.

Maybe I'll try again with it at some point. But probably not.

And now for an embarrassing confession: John and I drove by Betty Gore's old house to rubberneck. 

The address is public (unfortunately for the current owners) but the house is fairly difficult to find, so there's that. We passed by a couple in another car who seemed to be circling the block for the exact same reason we were. Really embarrassing. 

I took a half-assed photo. 

So, that happened.

    TALES FROM SUBURBIA
PT. 1: GOBBLED

I appreciate these little traditions that seem to be a thing around our subdivision. Last week, for instance, I got gobbled. 

No you pre-verts, not that kind of gobbled. I'm talking about this:

Apparently "gobbling" is the Thanksgiving practice of leaving a treat bag on a neighbor's doorstep with a sign and note asking them to anonymously pay it forward and do the same to another neighbor. It was a fun little surprise, and our treats included some Nestle miniatures, a few caramels, some biscotti, and a small pack of Twizzlers. I'd enclose a photo but everything was consumed pretty quickly; John and I hadn't yet detoxed from all the leftover Halloween candy we'd been scarfing up and were badly in need of a sugar fix.

The attached instructions said I was supposed to "gobble" someone within two days. I promptly forgot. Then yesterday--two days before Thanksgiving--I remembered. I searched through the cupboards but all I came up with was a half empty bag of Community coffee, some loose tea bags, a couple sweet potatoes and a pack of Harvest Snaps. And I was NOT about to part with my Harvest Snaps. Fuck that noise. 

So then I hit the supermarket. Ever been to the supermarket during Thanksgiving week? It's a clusterfuck. I grabbed a bag of Airheads and went looking for something besides candy to include in my gobble bag, like a little festive button with "Happy Thanksgiving," on it and maybe a seasonal pencil topper to throw in there. You know, just trying to be original. But being Thanksgiving week and all, I soon found myself just needing to get the hell out of there. 

In the end, these were my offerings:

Yeah, that's orange cookie icing and a wax moustache. It was the best I could do.

I packed up the gobble bag and chose one of the smaller ranch houses a few streets over from us, one that didn't show any signs of kids living there. I thought maybe a single person or some elderly retiree might get appreciate being gobbled.

I feel like I've now fulfilled my suburban neighborly obligations for the fall season, anyway.    

 

  

 

ADVENTURES IN SCAM BAITING PART V:

THE VERY MODEL OF A MODERN MAJOR GENERAL

You know, 98% of the wannabe scammers I encounter make me long for mr.lorenzodaniel (the Rowsdower guy). At least that one was kinda sharp and had a few brain cells to rub together. Sigh. Don't know what ya got til it's gone. I think Bon Jovi said that. (Oops, my bad. It was this dude.) Ah well, I suppose that happens when you don't pick and choose your scammers. I believe in letting them come to me, because it's more fun that way. And because I'm just an old-fashioned girl. 

This is what I got to work with, the latest scammer who contacted me about a month ago. And since he checked all the predictable boxes, he pretended to be:

1. In the military. 
2. Stationed overseas. 
3. 'Murican, of course.

He's the very model of a modern major general! Funny, I wouldn't have figured this guy for a Gilbert & Sullivan fan. Incidentally, I thought I was quoting a song from H.M.S. Pinafore, which I actually saw live in Indianapolis about 25 years ago (it was good!) but turns out the Modern Major General song is from Pirates of Penzance, which I haven't seen--although fun fact!--I have actually been to Penzance, which should count for something but whatever. Both are Gilbert & Sullivan, both are comic operas, both have to do with seafaring type stuff. So my confusion is understandable I think, and should be forgiven.

Yemen. Yeah, right. I know shit's been going down in Yemen for a while but I also know that real military dudes aren't allowed to chat casually about where they're stationed and what they're doing there. In fact, a lot of times their loved ones don't even have the details. I was talking to my youngest cousin when I was in Tulsa back in May. She's married to a marine who was at the time deployed "somewhere" near the Persian Gulf (he's back now, thankfully). She didn't know exactly where he was and wasn't allowed to know. So yeah, I already knew this dude is full of shit, and now I get an idea of the degree to which he is full of shit. More on fecal matter in a minute.

Carry on.

Heh. Well, you know how I like to throw a little reality in there. John and I actually were having issues with a giant bush in the front garden that was all overgrown and blocking a window. So we hired a lawn crew, and they'd just shown up that minute to take care of it. Our giant bush. Heheheheheh.

Below: I'd just seen Airplane! on streaming a few nights earlier. I love that movie. 

via GIPHY

You would never ever EVER hear a line like that played for laughs in a movie nowadays. That makes it even funnier.

Below: I quoted more Gilbert & Sullivan at him and he didn't catch on, so I guess he's not actually a fan of the theater. Oh well, nobody's perfect.

Below: he said DUTY! I always love it when Howard Stern cracks up over that word. Immature, but funny. I remember one time he played a clip of Diane Sawyer pontificating on her "duties as a journalist," and Stern deadpanned, "Oh my God I don't believe it. She's talking about her doodies?" (Yeah I like Howard Stern. He makes me laugh. Sorry not sorry, as the kids say.)

Above: one of the hazards of screenshots. I think I must've deleted one of them, but it wasn't anything exciting. He was saying something about how he liked "cabege stew" (HURRRRLLLLLL!) and asking if I'd make it one day for him (!) and I asked him if he'd been to Texas and he said no.

Onward....

Above: yeah, blah blah blah whatever. Although not gonna lie, Kenny Rogers really is THE MAN.

via GIPHY

And 1970s Kenny is DA BOMB!

Above: He's familiar with countries in Africa. Big fuckin' surprise there. (But not familiar with the Toto song. Philistine!) 

Above: more blah blah blah, homoerotic banter that he doesn't catch, blah blah blah. This guy is so boring.

Above: Isn't it weird how everyone seems to know "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)"? Well, not this guy obviously, but everyone else, no matter when or where they were born. It's like seeped into the public consciousness. 

Below: He hung in there with me for quite a while (and over the span of a few days, if I remember correctly) before asking for my info so we could do Hangout. They all want to do Hangout. It's so tiresome.

Also, "I am number 6" is from the awesome whacked out 1960's British show The Prisoner. If you haven't ever seen it, be sure to remedy that ASAP. Back in 2017 when we were in the UK for my sister-in-law's wedding, John took me to Portmeirion, this amazing little Welsh village where The Prisoner was filmed. No one lives there, and it's perfectly preserved and looks exactly like it does on the TV show. Seriously, like something out of Alice in Wonderland with a human sized chessboard and everything. And it is just an astoundingly beautiful area of the country. I love Wales. 

ALSO also, 853-5937 happens to be the name of a Squeeze song I hadn't thought about for decades, and I forgot how much I love it. And the lyrics mention my name, (Angela, FYI) which is a bonus! It's from their later period and the album it came from was pretty Crowded House-y, which is always a good thing.   

And that's where I ended it, with my little non sequitur re: horticulture club. The guy was taking too long to respond and I was on a gardening forum reading about horsemint. I decided to copy and paste someone's reply to someone else's question about weed control. I figured inserting it at the end there made about as much sense as the rest of my conversation with georgemorgan260, so why not. Plus I was thoroughly bored with him by then.

So I blocked him and reported his account for spam. 

Smell ya later, lamesauce!

   

UPDATES AND MORE

I'm back! Actually, I never went anywhere. Well, except Texas. Yep, John and I moved to Texas and bought a house in the Dallas suburbs.

For those playing along at home, since starting this blog in 2003 I've lived:

• 2003 - 2012 St. Paul/Minneapolis
• 2012 - 2013 Baton Rouge, LA
• 2013 - 2016 Reno, NV
• 2016 - 2016 (four months) Salt Lake City/Bountiful, UT*
• 2016 - 2019 Reno, NV again
• 2019 - McKinney, TX

* We moved to Utah when John got a job in SLC, but the company went bust (as video game companies tend to do) and John's old company in Reno lured him back. In retrospect, I'm glad we moved back to Reno, because it's beautiful there and we had good times and met some great people. 

So now we're in McKinney. I'm glad to live in Texas, which is a sentence I never thought I'd write, but even more happy with our new house.

A HOUSE, Y'ALL ! WITH A YARD AND EVERYTHING!

No, that's not a giant Texas bug on John's shoulder. I blacked out our house number because I'm not posting our address on the internets for all and sundry. Besides, if you know me, 

you already have my address (or you will shortly). 

I love my backyard.

Anyhoo, jeez Louise, do I have more to post! And I will get around to it. By the way, in case you were wondering, I have no desire to ever abandon this blog. It might get updated sporadically, but it will still be updated. My blog is my last online refuge. And over the years I've seen so many blogs disappear, blogs that I LOVED--my friend Marcus's blog for one, as well N is for Neville (long gone), and the blog of an online friend (who was also the editor of my favorite zine in the '90s) a blog that had been around forever that she recently took down (much to my chagrin) because she writes serious articles for the internet now, and she deemed some of her older blog posts to be "problematic" as the kids say, and didn't want them dug up by any nosy parkers. I understand her reasoning, but damn, that blog made me laugh til I was physically sick and I miss it dearly. So for the smattering of people out who follow my blog--but mostly for myself--I'm never ending this one, dammit. Old school blogs like mine are an endangered species, and I feel a great need to keep it going despite the odds. SO THERE.

STILL HERE, BITCHES!