Hawk-eyed HB correspondent Earl Troglin spotted the hilarious video below a day ago. And it got me thinking about politics, of all things. Maybe that shrill den from the Democratic debate is still ringing in my ears.
Regardless, I couldn’t help but think that the creatures in the video make an odd symbol for the Republican Party. Have Republicans ever been this funny, let alone enjoyed life so much? All humans, for that matter?
But back to the symbols. I know WHY the GOP is represented by an elephant. A Harper’s cartoonist, Thomas Nast, penned the image as a mockery of them, not a plaudit for them, during the 1860s. Same for Democrats, who were represented by the donkey.
The mystery is why both parties would agree to adopt the symbols. Perhaps Nast was simply too popular with the public to even attempt re-branding. Nast also drew the iconic images of Santa and Uncle Sam.
Though the word was born in Europe in the mid 16th century, modern urban myth held that the word “nasty” came from the name Nast, so popular was he. He would become known as the nation’s first political cartoonist. But why would his primary targets not only accept the labels, but embrace them? How times have changed. Ish. Now we have one of Nast’s creations running the show.
I get Democrats’ grudgingly accepting donkey status. We are asses, of myriad suffixes: Jack_, Dumb_, Arrogant_, you name it.
But elephant? The cult of Trump can’t remember that slavery ended in 1865, or that women got the right to vote in 1920. And have you ever seen footage of Trump laughing? Why are there no right-leaning versions of SNL, late shows, or Bill Maher on the air? Perhaps it’s tough to be funny when you’re not allowed to criticize The Great Leader. Or god.
But enough with the windbagging. You’re here for elephants!
With 2020 barely on the calendar and impeachment barely heated up, it’s already clear 2020 will not be the year of seeing clearly. Despite that unpleasant reality, we want to begin the decade with a few Factslaps to at least get us off on a true start:
Google intends to scan all known existing 129 million unique books by the end of 2020.
Finland is the world’s happiest country, according to the 2019 World Happiness Report.
Abraham Lincoln believed black people should not have the right to vote, serve on juries, or intermarry with whites.
Mars has the largest dust storms in the Solar System. They can last for months and can cover the entire planet.
51% of Americans fear snakes, most than any other thing in the world.
New Zealand’s native Maori make up only 15% of the population, but over 50% of the imprisoned population.
Mouse sperm is larger than elephant sperm.
In the U.S., meat is treated with carbon monoxide to make it look fresh.
Cows moo in accents specific to their region, just like humans.
Thinking in a foreign language leads to better decisions.
Research shows that if you’re afraid of spiders, you’re more likely to find one in your bedroom.
Tell me where the spirit flees When life has made the choice To bring the body to its knees And let the soul rejoice.
Answer.
Here these are the olden days Here these are the golden days Here these are the days to remember.
For yesterday’s gone And tomorrow’s a song Today is the only glowing ember.
O’ Brother mine! dearest Samuel,
T W E N T Y! Can you fucking believe it? Dude, we may be approaching a record: I looked up double transplants, trying to find the longest living double-organ team, but the records are sketchy. Mayo Clinic is still searching; no word back. I found a case online, in a Dutch medical journal, that said one kidney-pancreas transplant team made it 16 years.
Scrubs.
I still can’t wrap my head around it: We’ve been wed two decades! Guess what movie came out 20 years ago? O’ Brother, Where Art Thou?. So did Memento (one of my favorites), Cast Away, Almost Famous and High Fidelity. The hottest shows in television were The Sopranos, Curb Your Enthusiasm and Frasier. Music sucked (Britney Spears’ Ooops…I Did It Again was all the rage), but we were too busy recuperating to listen to that shit anyway.
Speaking of recuperating, before I begin this unabashedly schmaltzy love letter, an apology.
I’m sorry I nearly annulled this marriage two days in. It’s just my body wasn’t used to being so close to someone, and I guess I tried to wriggle loose; the band with which Dr. Sutherland bonded us briefly schism-ed at the suture. But with some quick counseling, we were back together. And haven’t had a real fight in 20 years. Cite me another couple with such cohesion.
And I can tell you this, without hesitation or qualification: In 20 years, I have never betrayed you. Not once.
That medicinal fidelity wasn’t always the case. Ask Mom. I sucked at taking meds when I was diabetic. I’d miss injections, eat like crap, soar over or crawl beneath my assigned sugar levels. Of course, my failures led to us meeting; sorry, I can’t help but see the past through glasses hued rose since we met. It’s one of the things I love about you.
Now, I take our meds as religiously as pastors take confession. Probably, certainly, more. Ask Mom. I haven’t missed an unhospitalized pill or eye drop in 20 years. That’s 7,300 days of meds, administered 14,600 times, totaling more than 150,000 pills. And that’s a conservative estimate. All that, and not one rejection episode yet.
It may still come. But if you had told me in January 2000 that I’d get 20 years of perfect blood sugars, 20 years of no self-injections, 20 years of not having diabetes nibble off fingers, toes, perhaps feet, I would have not only said ‘Hell yeah!’ I would not have believed the offer.
I know your perspective is vastly different. I am sorry and so torn about that, Sam. The decision your mom Valerie made — despite reservations from your father — remains the bravest act of human love I’ve ever witnessed. To weigh that Decision, have that Talk, all while bracing for the Goodbye. She is as cool under pressure as any nerve-steeled Apollo pilot, and I carry her boy as I would a newborn, swaddled and close to my heart, hoping some of that Flegel bravery will wear off on me. In me.
I told Spencer that we were approaching 20 years. He said he would have guessed it had been longer. I would have guessed it had been shorter. Like, 19 years and six months shorter. Time does flatten a man.
But not you. Over the years, you have grown mythical in my eyes. Once you were a 21-year-old kid from Fargo, 14 years my junior. Now you have risen to deity-level. I now see a truly noble soul, angel pure, who loved dogs, waved “Hi” for family pictures (who else is that sincere in happiness?), and overcame educational hurdles to become an engineer at Red River Valley and Western Railroad. You are Paul Bunyan. And i get to soldier forward arm-in-arm with you? Who should be so blessed to be your wing man!
Here’s what I love about you, O’ Brother mine:
You make me feel strong. Whenever I see stories of what passes for bravery nowadays, particularly in our halls of law, I think of you. And I’ll say to ourself, ‘That’s great. Ever laid on a gurney, split open from the belly button downward, for eight straight hours — on a gamble?” You are my definition of strength, and I draw from you for it constantly.
You make me feel wise. Knowing how precariously you and I cling together has altered my definition of…well, everything. Time. Life. Death. Illness. Health. Deadlines. Pressures. You have taught me when to let go (though I often fail). To be content when I’m a bug in amber. To, in truth, see the time-strangling beauty of those moments. You are my definition of wisdom, and I need your counsel daily.
You make me feel loved. In every step of this journey, I have never felt alone. You probably figured out early that I tend to get introverted; I still have danced publicly only once in my life (not everyone is as brave as you). But fleeting is the moment when I feel isolated. You are my definition of love, and I look to you every time I need a heart or shoulder.
You know what’s creepy? A doctor predicted all this, five years before I was born: that I would meet a soul named Sam; that he would open my eyes to the beauty of life’s fleeting ways; that I would take him profoundly into myself.
The doctor? Theodore Seuss Geisel. Fucking Dr. Seuss!
Surely, you know the story of Green Eggs and Ham. Or at least the refrain: “I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.”
But read a’ might closer, and you’d swear there was a serendipitous through-line here about us. The story goes like this: Sam-I-Am pesters his friend, Guy-Am-I (!) to eat a dish of green eggs and ham. Guy refuses, even as Sam persistently follows him, asking to eat them in eight locations (house, box, car, tree, train, dark, rain, boat) and with three animals (mouse, fox, goat). Guy still refuses, saying, “I wouldn’t not like them here (Current location) or there (Previous location)! I would not like them anywhere!” Finally, Guy vainly accepts Sam’s offer and samples the green eggs and ham, happily announcing he would eat them anywhere and with anyone and ends the story, saying, “I do so like green eggs and ham. Thank you. Thank you, Sam-I-Am.”
Damn straight, Dr. Ted. Sam, I am.
Those tools in the jewelry business say that a 20-year-anniversary is to be recognized with platinum (a diamond is their recommended gift of 10 years!). I can’t afford their bullshit menu, but I did want to give you the only thing I really own: my word, located just beneath my left rib cage.
It says this: I am with you, to the end. I have your back, and you have mine.
Even that pledge is a pittance, I know, a lowball offer for what you have given me without asking for a thing in return.
So take my arm this time. I have taken yours so often. Rest here for a moment. Rejoice here. Because I have an idea…
You know, a marathon is 26.219 miles. Whaddaya say? We’ve only got 6.219 miles left. Up for more? Why stop now?
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