Mid-Terms Misery

November 6, 2018

Mid-Terms Misery

mid-terms misery

Mark Rubin

I begin this missive at 7:54 p.m., MST. ‘twas a wave, I wanted. I wanted to win one of the two big lottery drawings, too. No such luck, on any front.

The Night

I expect a change of control in the House of Representatives. Maybe the Native Americans will pull Senator Heidi Heitkamp (D – N.D.) through, maybe Congressman Beto O’Rourke (D – Tex.) will vanquish Senator Ted Cruz (R – Tex.), and maybe Jupiter will align Mars, peace will guide the planets, and love will steer the stars. Not … and, thus, President Trump can give us more judges and Cabinet members who serve us not at all.

The world got complicated a while back. Scientists explained why it felt warmer, by demonstrating why it was warmer. Foreign trade advanced our national interests, while it left many of us behind. And automation, which was the real reason many got left behind, became a behemoth while the very people who got left behind reveled in the wonders of their iPhones.

In response to upset over the complications, the powers that be enjoy the fact that we can’t have a real debate. ExxonMobil and the Koch Brothers found scientists who turned climate science into a debating society. Wrong they are … but can any regular person debate the issue? Does our discourse allow for that? Uh, no! Foreign trade or automation? Want to take on either issue? I thought not.

What does President Donald Trump offer? Fear. Nothing more. Nothing more, at all!

The man made this election all about him. He sold fear, and lots of our fellow Americans bought his claptrap. Troops at the border, to protect against a bedraggled bunch of refugees—but there might be Middle Easterners—a thousand miles from our border. And this sh*t sells?

Fifty minutes later, the New York Times—yes, I follow the New York Times, because its people know what they’re talking about—says 12 seats have flipped. I’m still comfortable about the House.

As for the Senate, the Times shows 50 seats for the Rs. You’ve got stupid on stick with Marsha Blackburn,* and it looks like Ted Cruz will return.

We had a chance to show the world 2016 was a fluke. A few votes, in the wrong places, coupled with an antiquated means for selecting a leader, and we got Donald Trump. Two years later? We say to the world: We are who we are. He’s our dude; get over it.

What I Would Do

If I was President Donald Trump, on November 7, 2018, I’d hire a crew to disassemble and crate the State of Liberty, locate a ship, and send it back to France. Think of the development possibilities on Liberty Island and, duh, it doesn’t represent America circa 2018. No. Really. It doesn’t represent us. You can’t claim magnanimity and, at the same time, claim rocks are rifles. Take infants away from their mamas. Blame color for any and all of our problems.

Good News

Any good news on 11/6/2018? Yes. Scott Walker—no, I’m not going to bother with a link—will not be in charge in Wisconsin. (WI is my second state, from long ago.) Kris Kobach will be sent a-packin’ in Kansas … yes, Kansas. Senators Tim Kaine (D – Va.), and Joe Manchin (D – W. Va.) won easily. Then there’s Congressman-elect Max Rose (D-N.Y.) who effing got elected as the Representative of New York’s 11th Congressional district, comprised of Staten Island. Max, you rock!!! And, as my Sweetie Pie noted wryly more than an hour ago, “our thief” Senator Robert Menendez (D – N.J.) was reelected.

Then there’s local. I think former Congresswoman Ann Kirkpatrick will be my new representative. Good on that, for I know more than I wish I did about her opponent and her family. Ms. Kirkpatrick will look after our interests. Nothing more looks promising, but local results seem limited.

Crying For My Country

I cry for my country. Especially, I cry for my daughter, who I will see in 48 hours. She, her generation, and the generations to come, deserve better than the load of crap this man, this Trump guy, sells.

*My daughter is a Blackburn by heritage. In my prior life Ms. J and I called Congresswoman Marsha Blackburn “Cousin Marsha.” I can only hope, now, that she’s not really kin.

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