Reconnecting You with Reality

I’ve felt stressed and a tad snarky all week. I’ve had a hard time staying focused. Even worse, my nervous teeth-clenching habit has returned. Well, it never technically went away but it seems more pronounced of late.  I’ve caught myself gritting my teeth when I explain to the 8-year-old that it is necessary to wash your armpits – even if you’re not planning to let people sniff them – or when I read the news. In fact, I nearly broke a molar over this mess. Oopsie, 420,000 gallons of oil in the Mississippi… and we’re quickly moving on to more important news: Obama is the David Hasselhoff of politics.

Gah. What is wrong with you people? Do you see why I must drink? Do you?

Oh, and I’m out of beer.

Anyway… what we were talking about? Yeah, my depression. It’s not clinical, at least my physician doesn’t think so. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t think I’m depressed at all. He says I suffer from more of a general all-purpose type of crazy, which he calls cynical smartassedness disorder.  According to the Doc, this disorder doesn’t require meds and will not prevent me from owning a gun or entering any foreign country. It does, however, increase the likelihood I will spend my twilight years living in a relative’s attic and throwing plastic fruit and discarded wigs (two things all respectable southerners have in their attics) at the neighbor children while I yell rude things.

Other than that my prognosis is good…. if only I could shake this severe “dammit, I can’t take another thing!” feeling which has plagued me all week.

Perhaps my funk is partially due to the fact that America is determined to turn Obama into a sex symbol. No, that’s not it. That’s not even surprising. America is so in love with all-things-celebrity, you could slap Fyvush Finkel in a High School Musical movie and someone would eventually think he was hot enough to buy a poster of him shirtless.

Maybe I’m all torn-up because California has passed a restaurant trans-fat ban. Didn’t I tell ya’ll this would happen? And this certainly is troubling but nope, that’s not the cause of my mood.

Could it be that I’m fretting over how the moral turpitude of the Zoey 101 girl might influence my daughter… because Jamie Lynn has claimed to love motherhood and her baby (gasp, horror)… as opposed to what? Not loving it? No that doesn’t bother me. (And to the parents who are honestly upset about this: I’m sure there will be plenty of tabloid photos of Jamie Lynn in her soccer mom fat pants to balance this out. Show those to your kid. This along with her failed career should be enough to counter whatever positive things she’s said about motherhood.

So, what’s left? Could be that the TN GOP hurt my feelings when they tried to exclude the media from their Statesmen’s Dinner? Well, Bill Hobbs does make me want to cry sometimes… pray… take a shower and gargle holy water – but can’t say I care about this one way or the other. If anything, I understand.

When you’re inviting Karl Rove to party with you, you can’t hand out tickets and press passes all wily-nilly or let people bring recording devices. Look what happens when guests come armed with cameras. (h/t Donkey’s Mouth) Also, what if someone like Robert Greenwald decides to attend as “media.”   There could be uncomfortable questions, which might create a scene. Filmakers love scenes. Republicans don’t. I get it.   (And did you notice the Newsweek article, to which I just linked, said Rove generally charges a reported $40,000 per talk? C’mon, I’ve never in my life met a man who had anything that valuable to say – and I’ve heard Karl Rove speak. Unless he’s also a faith healer and I don’t know about it, I can’t see him being worth 40k.)

Look, since I’m about to have a few shots of tequila, wait for the double vision to kick in and re-balance the checkbook in hopes that it’ll look better that way –  let me put this TN GOP thing in perspective for you while I’m still sober:

The Statesmen’s Dinner is not fun. It has never been fun. At no time in the past, did any fun occur at this event. Hell, most of the time it’s not even mildly interesting. And most of you didn’t care about the event until Robin Smith and Bill Hobbs distorted reality.  They uninvited people from a Dinner that no one wanted to be invited to anyway – and have only attended in the past because they were paid to do so, which now they want to attend because they were told they can’t. Of course, the Democrats fanned the flames and accused Hobbs of fibbing, offering up this video. (Pay close attention to the local Republican on the left. Take notes. There may be a pop quiz later.) Likewise, the media wasted no time doing what they do: gathering comments from other Republicans, who pretended to think the Smobbs duo was naughty for shutting out the media. A few jokes later, Smobbs said everyone misunderstood. The media can come. They have to buy tickets and leave their recording devices at home- and he’s just so sorry you were all too stupid to understand the first time, which is basically the same as what he said the second time – but different.

So now, the semi-invitation with an emphasis on privacy makes it seem more likely that something newsworthy will happen. Consequently, members of the press will go. These reporters will spend the night fighting the temptation to hang spoons on their noses while they watch the grown-ups play soap opera politics and pretend to be so popular that 10 people not associated with media or politics might know their names.  The next day, we’ll have a few quotes or a cell phone video, which we can use to make something out of nothing and keep the drama going.

But in the end, the Republicans will have more money than they did before, we’ll all be in the same mess we’re in now… and the guys at the feed store will still be convinced Bill Hobbs is that fella who bought the Qwik Stop… or maybe the guy who draws them Tiger cartoons… and Robin Smith… well, ain’t she that big girl down at the bank?


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