A Brief Word about Misogyny

It was lightly speculated if maybe I didn’t think too highly of women. I would just like to say a few words on the subject.

My two recent blog posts focused on the fact that women do not seem too fussy about voting in favor of their interests. This is certainly not peculiar to women. Americans in general vote against their interests all the time. If they did not, Bernie or Elizabeth Warren would be in the White House—for a start.

“Bernie is a socialist!!!,” some will passionately caution their listeners. No, he is not. Bernie likes to call himself a socialist. I can call myself a forklift mechanic; but that doesn’t necessarily make me one. Bernie is a 1940s Democrat and nothing else.

However, let’s say he is a hair-on-fire, foaming-at-the-mouth socialist. So what? What do you care? Would universal healthcare, universal basic income, and the eradication of poverty be so bad? And this could all be accomplished within the capitalist framework.

Americans love their capitalism. They have no idea what it is, but they certainly love it. Just a quick fun fact: making a thing then selling that thing for a profit has nothing to do with capitalism.

So, women. Yes, they vote poorly—like everyone else. But I am advocating for women taking over the country. I do not expect men to support women. (Why would I expect them to do that??) But I do expect women to support women.

As I mentioned, why they do not is another matter. It’s a deeply sexist society. Women have a list of things to think about that I do not. Women might find it easier to just vote like their husbands and fathers. Maybe they have been beaten down—sometimes literally—into thinking like this. I don’t know what the reason is. I’m sure it’s bad. But they could take over the country.

Let’s say 74.3 million women said, “We want Vicky here to be president.” The rest of the country might ask, “Who the hell is Vicky?”

74.3 million women: “Well, Vicky here is a 53-year-old Latina, works a register at Meijer, has two kids, her husband left her, and she’s drowning in medical debt.”

“What does she know about foreign policy, economics, or governance?”

74.3 million women: “As much as the sexual predator who insults people with disabilities currently occupying the White House.”

“ … “ [dead silence]

And you know what? Vicky would also have my vote. So, at the very least, the people voting for Vicky would be: 74.3 million women + Greg.

Ladies, please take over the country. When you enter the polling booth, you’re by yourself. Just lie to your husband. I am exhausted living in a broken country. And I am begging American women to fix it. They could, y’know.

Brent Crude

 

Women II

 

Women

 

America Great?

 

Lecture

If you're in the neighborhood, I'll be giving this talk in the autumn. Sure, I'm not done with the book, but I have a lot to say.

I can say stuff!

My Friend Leah—update 10

[Read time: 3:15]

Well, I am now among the initiated. Leah was over visiting; we were talking about books and such as we do, and her hip did something weird. Painful. She almost went down, but thankfully did not. She was then standing, staring off into space.

I said, “Are you okay?” No response. I figured she might switch. She did, but I had no idea how right I was. I tried to guide her to the bed to lie down and give her hip a rest. Down she went like a sack of potatoes.

She was non-verbal, at times screaming. I had never seen this before. I thought I knew all her states, but this was new. I called her therapist, Doug (not real name), and he informed me that she was having a flashback.

Doug stayed on FaceTime with us for about a half hour. Leah eventually relaxed, her breathing slowed, and nodded off for a while. Upon waking, I asked if she wanted to speak with Doug, and she nodded. So, another FaceTime call, whereupon Leah came back to the front. We were soon joking and laughing.

Witnessing the flashback was quite unpleasant. She was reliving past abuse and trauma right in front of me. I will not divulge the details of what she said over and over again. Suffice to say, it was the stuff of horror. The stuff you cannot picture a grown man doing to a young girl.

It wasn’t Leah screaming. It was a very young alter whose “job” it is to store such memories. The terrified child was screaming.

When you abuse a child, you end up traumatizing them as an adult as well. I know it’s pointless to mention this; anyone who is going to engage in this kind of sadism is not going to be influenced by logic or sympathy. But writing it makes me feel better.

Later, she was perplexed that it took so long for me to witness a flashback. I conjectured that she fought it for as long as she could—this is a source of severe embarrassment for her; plus she’s terrified of me pulling back—and then her brain must have decided, “Ah, Greg’s okay. Let’s party.” And, boy, did it. Terrifying.

This does not however indicate a change in trend. The flashbacks have always been part of the package. Since her last hospitalization, I would say she has been trending upward. I said as much in a meeting with her psychiatrist.

I have become part of Leah’s care team. And it is a responsibility that I am quite proud of. I am on emergency contact lists, people very close to her text me with med questions—like when she takes what—and I’m in most of the paperwork by now. I regularly sit in on meetings with her professional team. There are precious few of us, but we are dedicated to her well being and her safety. I hate the thought of maybe never having met her. It’s a scary thought.

I love her. And it’s a love that has depth. I have loved “girlfriends” before, but all that seems shallow and thin by comparison.

I love how Leah talks to animals like they’re people. She’ll be in a pet store and talk to the birds and fish and lizards like they’re humans. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s genuine. She’s not trying to be cute. When she asks a lizard, “Are you grumpy today?,” it’s like she expects an answer.

She recently fell in love with a small gray parrot named Jesse. She marveled at how sociable and playful he was. Jesse was $800. I’m not going to lie: I did think about it. Days later I called Petco, wondering if they would come down in price. Alas, Jesse had been sold. I hope Jesse is enjoying his new home.

So, when you go to Poke Bros.—which is short for brothers; it’s not Poke Bros, bro—they give you a small candy treat with your bowl. It’s a small spherical, green hard candy. They’re Chinese and supposedly pomegranate flavored.

I gave one to Leah, and she loved it. So I called Poke Bros. and said, “You know those candies you give out? I’d like a hundred of them.” They decided on a price and soon I had three bags of the things. I then ordered a nice glass crock, and now Leah has a charming gift to pick up. She did bring me a nice house plant in a large ceramic bowl, so it seemed only fair.

Who asks a lizard if he’s grumpy??