Category Archives: Personal

Apocalinks + Sangria!

Climate change may be turning plants into “junk food”–more sugars, fewer proteins and micronutrients, wheat and rice bulked up like Hans and Franz.

giphy

Over the weekend at a party that was genuinely lovely despite impending Trumpocalypse, I tangled myself in a drunken assertion that Stockhom Syndrome doesn’t exist. In the context of terrifying, lying political leaders who govern regular schmoes trying to get by. I was flailing at this argument with two people who had more expertise than I on the topic, including a dear friend with a doctorate in clinical psychology. Sangria for the win. Continue reading

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Your GOPPer Mom

I’m heading west this weekend for another heroic 36 hours not talking about politics. Lefty thinkpieces about your racist uncle, your DT-voting parents, your post-C-ville family ties don’t help much when you have one non-abusive, basically accepting parent who’s getting older, whom you very much want to get along with, and who maintains a Don’t Ask Don’t Tell stance on her 2016 pick-a-card-any-card blue state throwaway GOP vote.  

Adam Kotsko’s sensitive discussion of political dissent within families actually helps. What if the smug liberal elite that so many parents/grandparents have heard mocked for decades in conservative media are their kids and grandkids? How must they feel?  

Continue reading

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Updates on the End

While I was on vacation, my Mazel Together post on wedding registries (!?!?! I know!!!) went live. Then, lest I feel too cozy in such lighthearted reflections on bourgious comforts, I read a terrifying and plausible reported tweet chain about how literal my “Trumpocalypse” language is w.r.t climate change and the high likelihood that my grandchildren will live on a planet that is too hot for organized human society. So I’m postponing reading this on same and instead reading this on post-apocalyptic religious terror. And dwelling on the possibility that my grandchildren will be living in isolated, iron-age multifamily settlements far, far north. Or underground. Cuz, realistically, Earth hollows are more likely than Mars.

So, you know, happy summer.

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AHCAWUUUUUUT?! Part 3

The Senate version of the AHCA has some stupid-ass name I refuse to engage. I will, however, engage with any so-and-so who dares come at me with any argument about anything good about this bill. No one likes it. Except the people that pay GOPpers to destroy our civil society.  Continue reading

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If it Looks and Smells Like Food Blogging…

I recently blogged domestically about baking failure. Your reward for clicking over there is a recipe for 100% whole wheat challah.

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Apparently Anger is Not a Strategy

Regular readers may have already read Rebecca Traister’s profile of 2017 HRC. If not, now you know how you’ll spend Memorial Day weekend: mourning the memory of democracy last summer.

Here’s my favorite passage, in which Hillary Rodham Clinton, who doesn’t have time for therapy except for a few sessions with Bill in the 90s, echoes what my therapist recently told me about my own feminist anger:

There are plenty of people who yearned for Clinton to get mad; during the campaign, an imagined litany of Clinton’s fury entitled “Let Me Remind You Fuckers Who I Am” went viral. “Oh, I am [pissed],” she says. But as a woman in public life, “you can’t be angry for yourself. You just can’t. You can be indignant, you can be annoyed, you can be frustrated, but you can’t be angry … I don’t think anger’s a strategy.”

You mean it’s not a strategy for you, I clarify. “For me, yeah.” She pauses. “But I don’t think it’s a good strategy for most people.”

But this was an election that was, in many ways, about anger. And Trump and Sanders capitalized on that.

“Yes.” Clinton nods. “And I beat both of them.”

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