Mamaw’s Big Fat Fraudulent World Tour

firefly bear!

What’s wrong with this picture? The answer may shock you! Or possibly not!

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: in November my wife Anne and I made our annual excursion to the Indiana Christmas Gift & Hobby Show, a beloved special event for her grandmother as it’s one of the few times she gets to venture more than two miles from home. Last month we shared a selection of our photos with MCC readers from here in Indianapolis, along with a light summary of who we saw, what we did, and other truthful statements about the occasion. It’s just this thing we like to do.

As we pushed Mamaw’s wheelchair around the East Pavilion, perused the wares, and sped past every pesky DirecTV huckster, meanwhile on Facebook I had fun sharing real-time photos with our family and friends who enjoy seeing our little outings, some of whom know Mamaw well and love to see her enjoying herself. This time for a couple of reasons I threw in a value-added twist to our live-at-the-scene reports:

LIES.

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Trump: Trump trump Trump? (Trump…Trump?)

Trump Trump!

Trump trump trump Trump Trump trump trump, trump trump trump trump trump trump trump Trump trump trump.

Trump. Trump, trump.

Trump trump trump trump trump trump trump trump trump trump trump trump Trump Trump trump trump trump trump trump trump-trump trump trump trump. Trump Trump trump trump trump trump trump (trump) trump trump trump trump Trump trump trump Trump Trump trump Trump. Trump trump trump trump trump trump trump trump trump trump.

Trump trump trump trump…trump, Trump. Trump.

It Takes More Than Seven Minutes to Save America

I Voted! I Count!

Another year, another free sticker. Too bad I haven’t owned a Trapper Keeper for sticker displays since junior high.

Once again it’s Election Day here in America, the taut finale to one of the worst seasons our political showrunners have written for us to date. When I began typing this shortly after a new episode of Chopped Junior ended, Twitter was having itself a series of roiling meltdowns as everyone insisted on paying too much attention to the early returns even though some states won’t be finished tabulating or even voting for the next several hours. That’s setting aside any pending conflict resolutions or triple-overtime recounts for those neck-and-neck battleground states where the Big Two are finding their supposedly easy leads in the Presidential race thwarted by votes siphoned away by third-party candidates and repelled away by their own morally compromised candidates and constituents.

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Greetings and Regrets from the Indiana Primary Scene

Indiana Primary!

The pathway to my precinct’s voting HQ, marked along the way by glimmers of hope and dread.

Today I performed my civic duty as an Indiana voter and participated in our May 3rd primaries despite the options. My wife and I have differing political philosophies, but we were unanimous in our non-enthusiasm for any of the four remaining contenders going into our less-than-super Tuesday. Once upon a time, my wife could walk into any election headquarters, throw the straight-ticket lever, and be out the door before they could finish peeling her “I VOTED!” sticker off its backing paper. Not so much anymore.

Indiana’s voting laws are flexible enough that it doesn’t matter which party you normally identify with — for primaries you simply tell them which party’s ballot you want to use, then you’re off and running. No proof of allegiance, no mandatory party registration, no pop quiz, nothing. Despite that flexibility, Anne and I each deliberated much longer than usual in choosing between the Reality Star, the Clinton dynasty, the Televangelist, and Old Man Cloud-Yeller. And this is just the primaries. We have a lot of thinking to do between now and actual Election Day in November.

But of all the messages I’ve been sifting through on social media tonight in between The Flash live-tweets, one will stick with me longer than any other.

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Happy Belated National Brotherhood Week!

Brotherhood Week Quiz!

1959 PSA commissioned by DC Comics editor Jack Schiff. Artist not credited.

Last month a dead holiday went and passed us by for thirtieth time in a row, and we all missed it. Shame on us. SHAME.

But are we worthy enough to celebrate it? Take the vintage quiz and check your own tolerance levels. Well, not you cabbage lovers. You people are monsters.

Right this way for more about National Brotherhood Week!

Mourning Around the Christmas Tree

Christmas Tree 2015!

Plan A for me tonight was to write about either of the two new movies I’ve seen in theaters over the past week. I have a few Plan B’s stored up in case of mental short-circuit. Tonight, I just…can’t. Nothing I want to enjoy sharing is working.

Ever since I got home, I’ve found it impossible to concentrate on writing because I first had to spend a while catching up with online anguish over the San Bernardino shootings. And, bringing up the rear in all news roundups, the smaller shooting in Savannah, dwarfed and nearly invisible next to San Bernardino, like that time The Love Letter opened the same weekend as The Phantom Menace. That’s a horrible, boorish comparison, to say the least. But that’s where we seem to be headed, into a future in which so many are growing up to become disgruntled, corrupted, fundamentally broken, spiritually deformed gunslingers that the career track has become overcrowded and they’re now vying for public attention like some lethal breed of fame-starved pop idols. Soon they’ll have to start hiring black-market publicists to coordinate their outbursts with each other so none of them overlap and each shooter can have a chance to dominate the news cycle for a minimum number of hours before the next shooter steps up to the range.

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What You Can Do for Emanuel AME

If you haven’t already heard about the tragic murders of nine people Wednesday night at the 150-year-old Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleson, SC, pick an American news service (well, nearly any American news service that isn’t using this as tactless, opportunistic, political scapegoating leverage against their imagined arch-nemeses that have zero to do with any of this) and go read up on what we know so far.

Once you’re up to speed and properly disturbed, have some ideas for what else you can do in response, including but not limited to:

* Pray. Followed by more praying. And then still more prayer. For the families of the victims. For their community. For your community. For those whose duty will be the trial and prosecution of the perpetrator. For the perpetrator as a malignant lost soul. For all of us as a country and as a lifeform.

* If you’re racist, maybe try not being racist for a while and see how it feels. Not-racism carries some fabulous perks, such as that invigorating feeling that, in this way if nothing else, you’re not a warped relic from an era that’s bygone for reasons.

* As a reading exercise, consider the words of an actual relic of another era: an 1861 speech by Alexander Stephens, Vice-President of the Confederate States of America. Skip the first several verbose paragraphs until you see the word “negro” start popping up a lot. See how many sentences you manage to take in before you can’t go on. Now consider, 154 years later, we have 21st-century American-born citizens who buy into lines of thought anywhere within the same area code as what Stephens held to be true. See which hits you first: deep sorrow, righteous outrage, or the worst migraine you’ll ever feel.

* Skip the comedy generalizations of all Southerners. I’ve seen a few folks quick to jump on that too-easy bandwagon. Until just now, all this year’s worst nationwide headlines about race-related death came from Yankee states. My wife and I will be traveling in the southern U.S. soon and I fully expect to meet countless examples of American citizens not prone to acts of evil like this.

* Instead of boosting the public profile of the racist murderer of nine by railing about him by name, read tributes about the nine victims, about the faith that moved them, and about the good works they performed here during their time in this broken world. You can check out the Washington Post‘s version, which includes interviews with bereaved family and friends telling the rest of us about those dear folks the rest of us never had the chance to know personally, or there’s the Buzzfeed version, which has fewer exclusive interviews but supplements that with some social-media screen-grabs that are a little less tacky than their normal fare.

* Donate. Major news services are reporting that Charleston Mayor Joseph P. Riley, Jr., is in the process of spearheading a relief fund for affected parties. As of this writing the official fundraiser site isn’t live yet, but I’m linking to it anyway in case that changes soon. If it doesn’t, if you’d rather not wait for it, or if you’d prefer a more direct approach, Emanuel AME’s home page has a PayPal button. The money goes directly to them, no government intermediaries. Point, click, donate, help, do something.

The Fate of Indianapolis is Partly in My Hands

My Vote, My Voice!

“Take as many as you want,” said the nice clerk at the polls five minutes before closing time. I tried to keep it subtle.

Dunno about your locale, but here in Indiana today we had our annual opportunity to participate in the Election Day primaries that determine which political candidates will be allowed by their respective parties to run for office for real in November. It happens on the same Tuesday every year, so it’s not exactly a trade secret, but the voter turnout is always paltry. Voting for positions such as city-council seats or school board members or tax referendums isn’t as glamorous or intoxicating as voting for mayor, governor, President, or American Idol, but it’s a privilege someone has to exercise so the system will keep running according to The Way Things Are and we don’t have to appoint new leaders by choosing from random LinkedIn profiles.

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Indiana Senate Bill 101.5 to Replace Governor Mike Pence with Grumpy Cat

Grumpy Cat!

If you’ve been following Indiana’s tumult in national headlines, which I covered to a limited extent in last night’s entry and satirized obliquely last week, then you’re aware that the signing of Indiana’s remix of the Religious Freedom Restoration Act has incentivized the American jester majority to demote every resident in the once-kind-of-okay state of Indiana to the status of infamous generalized punchline stereotype for the next six months. So that’s been pretty inhibitive to my mental state, especially when internet quote-unquote “friends” join in the pummeling. Because, y’know, it’s my personal fault that a Congressman became governor by carrying 49% of the vote in an election with something like 52% voter turnout, and I have no idea how many eligible Hoosiers aren’t registered to vote and would drive the per-capita percentage still downward. Doesn’t matter to the world, though: if one-fourth of us make a wish, so wish we all.

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Indianapolis v. Indiana

Indianapolis Welcomes You!

…even if the rest of the state doesn’t.

For those just joining us: on March 26, 2015, Indiana Governor Mike Pence signed a variant of the federal Religious Freedom Restoration Act intended for application at the state level, but the entire affair was conducted under, um, unique circumstances that have resulted in 90% of my Twitter feed turning into serious headlines and snarky generalizations alike that collectively amount to “INDIANA R STUPID HUUUUUUUUR!”

Pence fumbled his first attempt at damage control Sunday morning on live national TV, and even earned himself the attention of The Onion, which is never a sign of victory for your side. He and/or his speechwriters penned a second try that’s online now and scheduled for publication in Tuesday’s Wall Street Journal.

Early prediction, based on the excerpts I’ve seen: it won’t help.

Indianapolis Mayor Greg Ballard and the Indianapolis City-County Council aren’t sitting still for this. As numerous local and national corporations of impressive size and power express their outrage and economic threats, tonight the Republican Ballard and the mostly Democrat Council gathered before a standing-room-only crowd and voted to semi-cordially ask Pence and the Indiana General Assembly to, in so many words, KNOCK IT OFF. Several Republican members were on board with this.

In a Council of 28 members the resolution required more than fourteen votes to pass. Even before the vote, it had sixteen co-sponsors.

So we’re effectively looking at a schism between the state and capital city governments.

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