Seven Ways to Survive

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The Chair (that’s me) is on a deadline with the finish line in sight. But here’s the thing –

HOLD ON.

We all simply have to

HOLD ON!!!

The emails, the sex scandals, the WEINER OF IT ALL!!

Seriously, how do you deal with it?

Well, here’s what I do.

1 – Eat pizza – There is just something soothing about all that forbidden cheese. (NOTE: No, not cheeZE – we’re getting enough of that in the news). Dripping in deliciousness. Though I’m partial to extra crispy crust.   But there’s only how well you can do with that at home. For truly near burnt dough, you’ve got to have your own pizza oven, turn it up to 600 degrees and resist the temptation to stick your head in. Chair advice: Turn off your device of choice and leave the house.

Welp, that's one way to do it

Welp, that’s one way to do it

2- Exercise – Yeah, I know. But if anything can get you out of the house to do it, this can. It’s going to be depressing, that first day back at the gym. But you’ll feel so good when you’re done. I promise. And you’ll look that much better at the HRC victory party.

3- Sex – I’m not going there. Though I just did. But given this election cycle it feels appropriate, doesn’t it? And besides, I could have gone further. A lot further. But unlike the rest of the middle-aged to old white men surrounding HRC, I’m not a sleaze, a predator and have nothing unsavory on video of tape. I promise. Yes, I know you’ve heard that before. But this time it’s true. ‘Nuff said.

4- Rant on social media – Many people have asked me how I can stand following all of this. (Note: Yeah, That). But many more have thanked me for speaking out, keeping them entertained and generally providing commentary on what has over the months become an impossibly ridiculous real time Black comedy. Right, Black. As in “my African Americans, where are my African Americans????”

It's the little things

It’s the little things

One former student asked me on Twitter, how can you stand it? My answer: It keeps me sane. I’ve now got her tweeting about It. Well, not me – I won’t take full responsibility. But if I can provide some small inspiration in the name of sanity, Hey, I’m there. #DealMeIn.

5- Listen to your favorite female diva – In the car. And sing along. LOUDLY. In a very, very FIERCE voice. For me, this worked with the re-mastered re-release of Bette Midler’s debut album, The Divine Miss M.  Do you know that I actually did a commanding solo of both Delta Dawn and Leon Russell’s Superstar in the VW Bug Convertible going up and down Mulholland Drive? Now, how gay is that??? (Note: In a good way). Full disclaimer: The top wasn’t down. There are limits. Even for the Chair. Though not many.

BRB, getting fitted for my fins #boogiewoogiebugleboy

BRB, getting fitted for my fins #boogiewoogiebugleboy

6- Plan an election day party – You’re probably thinking, oh please, I just want this to be over. That’s party enough!! But I beg to differ. You didn’t come this far to just let it all go, did you? It’s like what I tell my writing students. You mean you’re going to hand in your final script to me without printing out a title page with the phrase of your choice, followed with BY (Fill in your name). You did not come all this way to not take some credit for all of your hard work – even if what all of your hard work amounted to is just listening. Because listening, and enduring, and listening some more, and living through this sh-t show, deserves some sort of celebration. Or are you just the kind of person who denies yourself that particular type of joy? No, I don’t think so. Not on my watch.

7- Choose your drinking game of choice. This needn’t include alcohol. In fact, it can also be your eating game of choice. Or your – anything consumable game of choice (Note: We take no responsibility for your choices and it goes without saying – nothing dangerous and no driving. You’ve seen those commercials. BUZZ driving is DRUNK driving).

I'M WITH HER

I’M WITH HER

Still, when the day comes that this insanity is over – or, at least this chapter of the insanity, make a game of it. Life is too serious and the fate of the world is too precarious to not indulge. Just a little. So once Rachel, or Brian Williams, or Blitzer, or Meghan Kelly or Chris Wallace or George Stephanopoulos or whoever the hell you’ll hear it from, announces that the U.S. has its first female president in more than two centuries – take a VERY LONG SWIG – of something. And celebrate the fact that you are alive at this time. And managed to live through it. MORE LATER.

MUCH, MUCH MORE.

PS – No, the WORST will NOT happen. Say it with me. Again. Then Again. Now – One more time. Now Rinse. And repeat your Seven Steps above.

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Chair in Progress

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They say a picture is worth a thousand words (and likely a thousand blogs). The above picture perfectly captures the feelings of The Chair this week, as he navigates through his own deadlines while keeping up with our current political/pop-culture landscape — a mix of controlled chaos, improvisation, and determination to get it together. That being said, The Chair is taking a well-deserved break to refocus and will be back next week to dissect the spooky, scary world we live in today (this year the “Great Pumpkin” has new meaning).

In the meantime, here are some 1,000 words/blogs worthy photos of the week — though some might say they render them speechless.

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To Post or Not To Post

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I can’t even…

This is millennial talk for phrases and feelings like:

  • If you talk about that one more time I’ll kill you or kill myself.
  • I can’t stand IT anymore. IT can refer to anything large or small you can’t deal with on a given day. For instance: Please stop talking about that cake! (Vintage Lily Tomlin – look it up – or better yet, click here)

And finally:

  • I WILL NOT deal with you, this situation or this subject one more time. And if YOU, or IT or the WORLD as it is right now persists in this way for one more second…

ill_kill_you_office

Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? In reality, what exactly are you, or I, or the collective WE going to do??? About reality???

I listened to a piece on NPR this week where a female journalist talked about the mass anxiety Americans are feeling about the upcoming presidential elections and how large a part social media is playing in exacerbating the symptoms.

Because it’s NPR and somewhat solution-oriented via an alternating avalanche of often times fascinating and sometimes overly dry information, much was discussed about what the average overwrought, overanxious and over stimulated citizen could do to counteract all the…tension.

Among the suggestions were:

1. Escape all wireless communication for at least an hour each day. For instance, said journalist related that at least four or five times a week she walked an hour on the beach alone with her dog and without her iPhone.

you know.. before I go for that walk.

you know.. before I go for that walk.

2. Before posting news stories or opinions or both about Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton or on any other political or social issue of the day on social media, stop yourself and ask –Is this absolutely necessary? Do I really need to say this? Perhaps I don’t want to go so far out of my way to fuel or start an argument.

RESIST!!!

RESIST!!!

3.  Consider the ways you can avoid listening to or engaging in political or social issue discourse with those whose views differ substantially from your own. For instance, it was offered that if you click on the right on your Facebook feed there is an option to unfollow someone. This means you will not see anything at all that your friend posts but that he or she (your friend) will never know you’ve chosen to ignore them. Thus the stress of an argument can be avoided and you’ve beaten the far more nuclear option of defriending unfriending – social media’s version of telling a person that yes, you and/or your views are just that odious and/or inconsequential to me that I just can’t with you anymore.

Get on this Zuckerberg. #hurry

Get on this Zuckerberg. #hurry

Much as I love and adore and respect journalists – both male and female – not to mention NPR – here’s the problem with their theories and suggestions.

The correct response to where the country and we as Americans are right now is not – I CAN’T ANYMORE.

The correct response to where we Americans and OUR country is now is – I MUST AS MUCH AS I CAN AND I WILL RIGHT NOW.

The time is.... well, you know!

The time is…. well, you know!

Is this ALL too upsetting and eating into your day? Wow. Imagine what it felt like in 1774, 5 and 6 if you lived in one of the original 13 colonies and were about to declare war on an empire as large as all of Europe in comparison to the land you owned at the time? Not to mention no electricity, running water or Beyonce. Or even the possibility of her. Yes, you know what I mean.

Anyone who reads notesfromachair or even vaguely knows me is very aware I’m a liberal Democrat and Hillary Clinton supporter. I make no effort to hide it and, in fact, am proudly vocal about it. But what you might not know is that I listen to Donald Trump and read what he says very carefully. I also listen to what his supporters and surrogates say on air and in print pretty consistently. Yes, sometimes I want to throw the TV over or burn the newspaper but I figure it’s my obligation to listen and read if I’m going to speak about these subjects. Even if I decide not to speak, it’s my responsibility as a voter.

Ok now he's just baiting me!

Ok now he’s just baiting me!

So here’s a snippet of what Donald Trump bellowed just a few days ago before a crowd in Ohio of thousands of supporters screaming lock her up, fists raised in the air. 

THIS IS A MOMENT OF RECKONING FOR OUR SOCIETY..AND OURSELVES. AND I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN FIX IT.

Here’s a Trump supporter and his friend in Virginia this past week, firearms exposed at their hips, standing outside for 12 HOURS into the campaign headquarters of Jane Dittmar, the female Democratic candidate for Congress who supports Hillary Clinton, as they stared menacingly into the window inside.

Real winners these two. #godhelpus #god?

Real winners these two. #godhelpus #god?

And now look at the T-shirt worn by a family man at a Trump rally – on his feet in Pennsylvania cheering his choice for president right beside his wife and three kids.

@#)#$*%&@!!!

@#)#$*%&@!!!

These are three reasons among many I can’t stand in support of the current non-engagement meme. And no, these are not outliers. This is business as usual at his festivities. I’ve been listening. And watching. All along.

Though I agree with Trump and his followers on absolutely nothing perhaps the one area we are vaguely at least on the same planet is the idea that we, as a nation, have gotten a bit…well, soft. Because since when is an argument a bad thing when you’re fighting for your collective soul? How is it that intellectual engagement and criticism and facts have become the enemy? When did it become more than acceptable to degrade and insult people based on their sex, appearance, skin color or orientation without being called out for it? And in what reality did it become too “politically correct” to consistently and categorically challenge people on their rudeness and inhumanity? From either side?   Family, friends or even non-followers.

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OK well I didn’t say I always do it in the most effective way

What country are we in, anyway? I don’t get it. When did we become so complacent in the eye of an Orange sh-t show. It’s exactly when the dung hits the fan that you need to step up and fight. Not wait until you’ve drowned in a cesspool of your own isolation and indifference. Just what IS more pressing for the future of the WORLD than the election of the next US president in the next 28 days? Your shopping list? Your dentist appointment? The 30,000 mile checkup on your car? Your kid’s Halloween costume? Sorry, sit this one out and every day could be Halloween. And you might be locked up for not celebrating it in exactly the way the Great Orange Pumpkin dictates. Daily. Do you really want to be required to have a six foot gold gilt Jack-O-Lantern in your window or suspended from the flagpole on the Capitol steps reading Drumpf? And no, I’m only HALF-kidding.

Of course, those are just my views. Feel free to disagree. Or unfriend/unfollow me. I’d rather be aware of what I’m up against than be killed with indifference or a faux phony kindness. Or just be killed. For speaking out. You think it can’t happen. Lie back, do nothing and just wait until they’re wearing T-shirts about you, armed to the teeth and staring into your collective windows. Yes, I’m using the collective you. But only just barely.

Lock Him Up

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There were times during Sunday night’s second presidential debate that I feared for Hillary Clinton’s physical safety. No, really. There was Donald Trump skulking behind her – all 237 pounds of him shifting towards her, then to her left and her right, like a caged tiger. In between sips of wine I calmed myself down by repeating to myself over and over – ‘the Secret Service is there, the Secret Service is there.’

This. Yes. This.

This.  This. This. This.

James Carville, the veteran political consultant and admitted long time Clinton friend and ally, described Trump this way right before in the pre-game show:

He’s a tired, overweight old man who is losing.

Again with the weight. Okay, I don’t like to poundage shame anyone. But after Trump’s grab them by the (fill in with cat metaphor) remark in the infamous Billy Bush tape, rife with its groping and Tic-Tac kissing – heck, I’m gonna give myself a mulligan on a weight reference to a fat….head.

Hat's off to the chair #tooeasy

Hat’s off to the chair #tooeasy

The carnival barker, reality show atmosphere was apparent from the beginning. Trump gamed the press for the umpteenth time 90 minutes before it all began by calling the media pool TV cameras into his lair for what was billed as an opportunity to watch debate prep. Instead what we got was a panel of four unfortunate women, Trump supporters all – who claimed abuse at the hands of the Clintons as they briefly told their stories at a long table sitting on either side of Heir Girthness. Three of them noted sexual assault at the hands of Bill and one of them accused lawyer Hillary 30 plus years ago of defending and winning a case for an accused child abuser who….Okay, stop. They’ve all been disproven or not proven or are not true.

One can never – and certainly not for the next 30 plus days – underestimate the circus-like, side show of entertainment reality TV cat fight (Note: Forgive my choice of animal…again) of anything involving Trump or his brand. Pundits and commentators mused post debate that he is using Breitbart-like tactics that his supporters revel in and will be happily burning down the traditional Republican Party along with all previously civil (Note: As if!) political discourse in the next month.

GOP headquarters

GOP headquarters

Of course, this is untrue.

Trump has nothing invested in institutions – political or otherwise. It is only about personal insults to him and/or his brand. See, it just so happens that they are BOTH (he and his brand, that is) running for president and that political traditions and the people who support them (or are them) are getting in his way. So yeah, he’ll burn them and all of us down – way down – if it feels to him like any of the above have or could effectively block his path.  At several points in the actual debate he even growled, whined and barked at nearby moderators Martha Raddatz and Anderson Cooper in between HRC skulks for giving Hillary more time than him, spitting out the words – ‘lovely, 3 on 1.’

Of course, like pretty much everything else he spoke or speaks about he was wrong. In actuality, Trump got to talk almost a minute and a half MORE than Hillary in the 93 minutes of total debate air- time.

I am the Earth Mother, and you are all flops. #MARTHA

I am the Earth Mother, and you are all flops. #MARTHA

There is no point in re-living the entirety of what was at best an uncomfortable and somewhat slimy evening in Trumpland. HRC tried to make the best of it, taking the high rode and attempting to answer the moderator’s questions and Trump accusations when she could and when the responses and moments would be most beneficial to her. After all, this was a debate. But the Trump spew fest is such an avalanche of id that it was amazing she could stay focused as long as she did, especially with the four accusing women planted as political props in the Trump family front row in order to throw her.

(Note: I, for one, am sick of the Trump children getting a pass for being so wonderful. The big game hunters, the alt right re-tweeters of racist misinformation, the overly qualified real estate shill for Daddy’s shady deals. Look it up – type in Ivanka shady real estate Mexico; or Eric, Don Jr. racist retweets and see what The Google spits out (or up). As for Tiffany, let’s leave her out of this and give her the benefit of the doubt (for now) as being merely a side player).

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Trump family slogan?

But back to the 93 minutes that in theory is supposed to help those undecided decide who to cast their vote for as the next U.S. president. Most notable was when Trump sniffed into the microphone with the authority of a rabid alley cat and bellowed at Hillary that when he is president he is going to appoint a special prosecutor to investigate her situation and many crimes. When she refuted his accusations by saying none of them are true and that it’s a good thing he was not in charge of the U.S. justice system, he didn’t lose a beat before bellowing back – ‘yeah cause you’d be in jail!’ This once again not only proved Trump has no understanding of government, justice or the role of a special prosecutor but that he is uniquely qualified to preside over a third world country or obscure Latin America banana republic. One thing you can say about Hillary – she’s spent her life in government and knows about special prosecutor overreach. So, um, no sweat there. – Advantage Clinton.

This image was incredibly easy to find. Surprised?

This image was incredibly easy to find. Surprised?

Yes, there was a lot more but suffice it to say the needle wasn’t moved much in either direction – just a lot of sniping and damage control and a collective national sense that we all can’t wait for this to be over. If Nate Silver’s Five-Thirty Eight blog is any predictor – and it is – we could be looking at anything from a substantial Clinton victory to a significant Clinton landslide. Barring anything major – and I suppose we shouldn’t but let’s just pretend – the United States will be swearing in its first female president come early next year and the political Apocalypse of a late-in-life Capt Kurtz-like Brando figure taking over Now will likely not come to pass.

We feel you Kate!

November 9th?

What has also not been lost to many observers, pundits and average Joe political social media gadflys (Note: Yes, I do stand accused) is the irony that when a woman finally gets to run as the first major political party nominee, her chief opponent on the other side is the most sexist, arrogant, Alpha-male wannabe of white patriarchal clueless entitlement who has ever ran for the top position in government in our country’s history. Though it doesn’t feel ironic to me. It feels just right. A sort of karmic justice to a dying breed of generational buffoonery. Long live the new queen. From this queen.

The Elephant in the Room

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Because it’s just too good to pass up, The Chair will be waiting to weigh in on all things #Pussygate (Yeah, we said it) until after Sunday’s debate. Come back on Monday morning to see how truly “entertained” he was.

Can’t wait? Follow along with The Chair on twitter @notesfromachair #TownHall #GetemAndy

My Night with Miss Universe

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I spent the night with Miss Universe, Alicia Machado, twenty years ago. Relax, nothing happened. I’m gay and she’s straight. And truth be known, it was just the evening, other people were around. Still, that means I know her better than 99.9% of you out there.

It was at a very small party to watch the Golden Globes at a friend’s house in Los Angeles. She came with her then good friend, the actress Maria Conchita Alonso. There were no more than 10 people.

Here’s what I remember:

— We teased her that we were disappointed she didn’t bring her crown. She laughed and endured various crown and scepter jokes throughout the evening by people who assumed they were the first to tell them to her.   Sometimes she even laughed. Now that’s what I call a good sport, not a nightmare.

and gurl, that is SOME serious headgear

and gurl, that is SOME serious headgear

— Food was served and she wasn’t an eating machine, as Mr. Trump has told you. In fact, there was plenty left for everyone and even leftovers. Though there usually is when we Jews and gays attend and host dinner parties. We like to overdo. Not to perpetuate any more stereotypes here. (Note: I can say this because I’m gay AND Jewish).

Our queen knows

Our queen knows

— She wasn’t fat or even overweight, not that it matters.   In fact, what I very distinctly recall thinking was how refreshing it was that she didn’t seem anorexic or look like a lollipop. Midway through her reign, she looked radiant and healthy. Little did I know that she did (or would have) an eating disorder some years later caused by the unseemly pressures put on her to look like something other than her gorgeous self.   And yes, she was gorgeous. Stunning, in fact. And not merely in a worshipful, gay guy way. (Yeah, I know that’s what some of you are thinking). Still, I wish there was a straight guy there who could confirm this. But it’s true.

— She was very sweet and very young. We tend to forget when we see beautiful young women in person and off the TV or movie screen that they are not sophisticated, larger than life glamour gals but no more than versions of your younger sister or tomboy best friend from high school or college. She seemed so genuine and trusting, I thought. Though her English wasn’t great it was enough to get by and understand. Yet I worried about what it must be like for her to navigate the many letches of this business. My now husband told me he thought she could probably take care of herself. Little did we both know back then that she could, but that it would take time and she would pay a price for it.

We'll see who has the last laugh #getemgirl

We’ll see who has the last laugh #getemgirl

I can’t imagine what it must have been like to come from the middle of Venezuela, with English as your second language, and as a teenager (she won the Miss Universe contest at the age of nineteen) have to deal with the likes of the 50 year-old version of Donald Trump. Past being prologue, that must have been the real nightmare.

I have not seen Alicia in 20 years except on television, like you. She appears more mature and worldly but the essence of the gal I’ve recently remembered appears the same – polite, lovely, respectful and intelligent. The fact that she would not repeat the racial slurs she said she heard Mr. Trump utter all those decades ago in a recent interview is exactly in keeping with what I remember – a person who didn’t unnecessarily want to hurt others if she didn’t have to.

... and we'll leave that to the New Yorker #snicker

… plus what could she say that would be better than this? #snicker

On the other hand, I’m not (at all) surprised Mr. Trump has tried to smear her for coming forward nor am I shocked that the only sex tape that anyone can find as it relates to the issue of Donald vs. Alicia is a soft core Playboy video where Mr. Trump pours champagne from a bottle over a bunny logo. Classy, right? Not that I’d fault her or anyone performing consensual sex on camera. It’s the leering adult male gaze at young women more than half your age surrounding you and some New York limousines as you pour booze over an image of an animal made to look like a young woman that is the sleazy part that gets me.

Did you really think I would post a pic of Drumpf in a Playboy video? #JonHamm4Ever #myeyesarenotbleeding

Did you really think I would post a pic of Drumpf in a Playboy video? #JonHamm4Ever #myeyesarenotbleeding

In the Oscar-winning movie Little Miss Sunshine seven year old Olive, an aspiring pageant contestant and charismatic innocent, is shamed by her father early on for eating ice cream. Later, Olive asks Miss America if she eats ice cream and she very definitively says yes.   When Olive takes this as confirmation that her appearance is actually pageant-level okay, it worries the male members of her family, particularly at the end of the film when Olive is about to perform in front of the judges and audience because each is afraid their beloved Olive with be laughed off the stage in humiliation. At that point Olive’s Mom finally steps up and very wisely admonishes them to, let Olive be Olive. She might get hurt but at the end of the day the truth will win out if you’re being honest about who you are.

Let Olive be Olive

Let Olive be Olive

Alicia Machado has always known this and tried to live this way, from what I’ve seen up close and recently onscreen. That’s more than I cay say for Donald Trump, someone I’ve seen a lot of recently onscreen but admittedly have never spent an up-close evening with – and hopefully will never have to.