Angst Abounds

Things have been weird in the few days since the Blasey-Ford/Kavanaugh hearings of last Thursday, and not 'good weird'. I can't recall a time when television pundits scoured Urban Dictionary to suss out the arcana of toxic teenage bro culture. Listening to music radio, DJs are remarking about what a tough week it's been. Several of the women I work with approached me to tell me about how they have been having a rough week. There is a psychic/emotional pall over the country, and it's not just my perception- calls to crisis hotlines have doubled since Thursday. Decades of PTSD are being brought into the open, wounds that have never been healed are made manifest.

This week doesn't promise to be any better- there is a creeping feeling of inevitability about the ascension of a probable serial sex offender and a definite ugly drunk with memory issues (PDF) and perjurer to a lifetime appointment to the Supreme Court.

This is a week when men need to shut up and listen to the accounts of the women (and men, let's not forget) who have been victims of sexual abuse and harassment. I don't describe myself as a feminist, precisely because I believe that that status must be conferred, not claimed, and too many a 'joke woke bloke' tries to don the mantle while remaining a cad. This is a week when trying to be kind is the most important task facing decent men:





We owe it to women, we owe it to society, we owe it to ourselves.

A Flake I Can Get Behind

This week, we discovered that the fate of the nation lies in the hand of a flake, which discomfits me. Jeff Flake isn't the sort of flake I would place my trust in. There is, however, another flake in the news- a prolific ditty writer who has written over eighty-eight songs about municipalities in New Jersey. One of the songs aroused my curiosity, being titled Possibly the Best Song About Union City:





Who's going to break the news to Debbie Harry?





Poking around Mr Farley's YouTube page, I hit paydirt:





He GETS us, it's like he lives here! I especially liked his bit, one I joke about myself, about Yonkers being NYCs 'sixth borough'. He even works in Yonkers' nickname as 'The City of Hills', but tactfully leaves out the punchline: 'Where nothing is on the level'.

In these dark days, you take the flaky heroes you can get.

Comfort Food for an Uncomfortable Day

Like many Americans, I spent much of the day listening to a radio broadcast of today's hearings regarding Brett Kavanaugh. It was an uncomfortable day, so I decided to make some comfort food. Thankfully, due to the current meat glut, I was able to buy some osso bucco at about a thirty percent discount. At the risk of sounding like a stereotype, it was an offer I couldn't refuse. I put on the radio broadcast of the Senate Judiciary Committee and began browning the veal shanks in a Dutch oven. As I was waiting for the Maillard reaction to take place, I was listening to Dr Blasey Ford describe the role of the hippocampus in remembering traumatic events. Science works in everyday life, people.

After browning the veal shanks, I removed them from the Dutchie and started cooking the soffritto, to which I added two anchovy fillets (called 'Italian MSG' by Chef John), a couple of dried hot red peppers, and a generous dollop of tomato paste. I let these ingredients cook together until slightly caramelized, then put the shanks back in the pot, added a splash of white wine, a bay leaf transfixed with a single clove, a minced clove of garlic, and water to cover everything. Not having any thyme on hand, I crushed a couple of ajwain seeds in a pestle and added them to the pot, then turned the flame down to a simmer.

Speaking of simmering, I was simmering throughout the coverage of the hearings- I fumed at the cowardice which had the all-male Republican cabal on the committee hiring a woman to handle the questioning of Dr Blasey Ford. Throughout the proceedings, I had one ear on the radio while I followed Even Hurst's liveblog. I subjected myself to Kavanaugh stating that, while he likes beer, he has never been blackout drunk, and any of the 'ralphing' mentioned in his yearbook was due to a weak stomach. My personal view is that, when you are accused of being a bad drunk, and your high school yearbook entry is chock full of references to boozing, admit to at least the typical base level of inebriation which is almost a rite of passage for American teenagers. Even if you wish to claim not to be a falling-down drunk, the idea that he was a responsible social drinking is silly.

There were cringeworthy moments- particularly Kavanaugh's assertion that his daughter suggested that the family pray for Blasey Ford. That's a lot of wisdom from a ten year-old, but there was a lack of wisdom among the old white guys in the room. Lindsey Graham was especially fatuous today... for the record, no allegations of sexual misconduct were made against Justices Sotomayor and Kagan.

As the hearings simmered on, my pot simmered on, and I started another pot boiling to cook some polenta, the perfect bed for osso bucco. With two pots simmering, and the hearings drawing to an end, it was time to whip up a quick gremolata. By the time the hearings ended, I was thoroughly discomforted, so a dish of comfort food was a welcome respite- soon followed up with a decontamination shower.

The one takeaway I have from the hearings is that Dr Ford's testimony rang true- we do remember details of traumatic or shocking events. I can tell you where I was on 9/11/2001 and what I did throughout the day... the 'Remember 9/11' crying eagle meme crowd should be the first to admit that trauma is memorable.

In Need of a Midweek Palate Cleanser

I spent much of today trying to catch up with the news, which is a total shitshow. Yesterday, after I finished my eight-hour certification training, I went to bar trivia, which meant that I was away from internet access for more than eight hours. The news being awful, I figured I'd post what Tengrain calls a 'palate cleanser'.

I've been a fan of UK indie band Wolf Alice upon first hearing them. They remind me of the best hard-rocking, woman-fronted 'alternative' bands of the late 1980s and early 1990s. Well, this band won this year's Mercury Prize for best album in their island homeland. Their performance at the awards ceremony started off with a shaky vocal performance by Ellie Rowsell, but she rallied and pulled off a wonderful rendition of the pretty Don't Delete the Kisses:





In the midst of this morass of misogyny, shitty politics, and environmental catastrophe, it's nice to know that there is beauty, and grit, to be found in this flawed world.

Out of the Loop

I will be heading out soon for an eight hour class necessary for my professional licensing. It will feel weird to be isolated from the news for so long, especially with the Kavanaugh controversy and Trump’s bizarre performance at the UN. With world affairs being so volatile, eight hours can spell a period of massive change. I’m not a deep sleeper- I’m not out of the loop for eight hours even when I’m in the Land of Nod.

I sure hope nobody in power breaks much while I’m in class.

Trigger Warning Week

Listening to the news today, I noticed that every broadcast on NPR and some on CBS had content warnings due to sexual content surrounding the Kavanaugh nomination. I kept thinking, “This is not normal. This is way beyond the Clarence Thomas shitshow.” This entire week needs a trigger warning.

I’m going to take a moment to address trigger warnings- a certain breed of asshole, typically male, uses the term as an insult. My take on it is that trigger warnings are for SURVIVORS, they are meant to protect people who have lived through traumatic incidents. I’d be willing to bet that the typical conserva-bro using the term in disparaging fashion would not be able to handle such trauma.

It’s been a rough week, and it’s only Monday. I know that some commentators at blogs I visit are having bad time with the misogyny on parade in the media. The news reports are carrying trigger warnings, it might not be a bad time to take a breather. We’re going to need all of our strength in the coming weeks.

I'd Say that the Sexual Misconduct Is a Feature, Not a Bug

Last year, when the story of a fatal fraternity pledge incident dominated the local news, I posted about the code of bromertà- the omertà-like behavior of men who engage in violent, usually misogynistic behavior. A teenager who covers up sexual misconduct or the injury, even death, by misadventure of a peer will grow up to be a man who will cover up corporate, political, or sexual malfeasance.

That brings me to the Kavanaugh nomination- here's a guy with a growing litany of allegations of sexual misconduct. Add to that his sketchy financial history, and a picture of an easily compromised individual emerges. This is a guy who is vulnerable to blackmail at best, a serial criminal at worst.

The very idea that this creep, who makes Robert Bork look like a moderate jurist, would gain a lifetime position on the Supreme Court is utterly repugnant. Given the Republican Party's recent string of candidates with histories of sexual misconduct, it's utterly predictable.