How We Spent Our Summer Vacation

By M.J. Frost (mjfrostbitten@gmail.com)

You may have noticed that several weeks passed between our Trump 4th of July article and this week’s entries. No, thankfully, we hadn’t been dragged away by a rabid pack of “patriotic” vigilantes. “Guy” and I both needed some time away from our keyboards, so we planned and enjoyed a little vacation.

It wasn’t exactly rest and relaxation, though.  I think you’ll agree it was time well spent.  We…

  • Visited the set of MSNBC’s “Morning Joe” to find out why Mika Brzezinski still hasn’t paid us for the plastic surgery we performed on her last Christmas.
  • Met with representatives of the Russian government who had promised us damaging intel on The Onion.
  • Attempted to pick up our order of Mesopotamian Cuneiform bathroom tiles from Hobby Lobby.
  • Suffered excessive weight gain as a result of the staggering number of beers consumed while playing “Trump Twitter” drinking game.
  • Attempted to lose the weight with a strict diet of “nothing burgers”
  • Distributed fidget spinners to U.S. Senators for use at their healthcare bill meetings.
  • Lost sleep from drinking too much covfefe
  • Made shadow puppets behind Sean Spicer during White House media briefings.
  • Pranked various Chick-Fil-A restaurants by attempting to order a specialty “Big Cock” sandwich.
  • Ordered several containers of televangelist Jim Bakker’s “Survival Food.” Told him the thousands of Syrian refugees waiting outside his studio are grateful.
  • Stole Ann Coulter’s seat.
  • Tweeted out key lines from the Sermon on the Mount. Waited for Trump fans to call us snowflake socialists.
  • Abandoned our plan to repeal and replace the Trump Administration, declaring we will instead just sit back and “let it fail.”

Whew, that was exhausting! Glad we’re back.

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Commentary: The Uncomplicated Politics of Hate

I’m finding it very hard to be funny lately.  Now I know that some, maybe many, of you will say that I struggle to be funny on any given day, but this is about more than my questionable skills as a satirist.  It’s about coming to that dreaded place where I can’t find a reason to laugh about anything.  That place is a dark place.

Last week, a lone nut gunman opened fire on a congressional baseball practice, seriously wounding one Republican congressman and injuring five other people before he was gunned down by Capitol Police.  This mass shooting, like all the other, depressingly frequent, incidents in recent memory, is a horrifying and hateful act.  But this one comes with the extra baggage of political divisiveness far beyond the usual pro-gun/anti-gun rhetoric.  This appears to have been an assault intentionally targeting Republicans and the unbalanced loon who did it identifies with my side of the great political divide.

The amplified echoes of Paul Ryan and Nancy Pelosi’s joint call for softening of partisanship were still ringing in the air when Republican pundits began blaming the political left for the actions of one, clearly unhinged, individual.  While Representative Scalise lay in critical condition at an area hospital, the echo chamber picked up the signal and, within a few short hours, social media and cable news were spelling out a new narrative.  The terrible events of the morning were now an indictment of liberalism and our supposed penchant to foment hatred and disrespect for our sacred political institutions.  This was all pretty rich coming, as it did, from the party that celebrated birtherism and “2nd Amendment solutions,” but sadly, I fear, effective nonetheless.  With no time for reflection, tragic events were weaponized for political advantage.  This is both shameful and completely unsurprising.  I think it is time to really ask why?

Just a few short weeks ago, a GOP congressional candidate physically assaulted a reporter for having the unmitigated gall to be a reporter.  The candidate was cited by law enforcement for misdemeanor assault and then promptly went on to easily win the election.  There was much outrage on the left, mild censure from the right and, disgracefully, a troubling undercurrent of glee.  Bubbling not that far below the surface was a sense that this reporter got no less than what he deserved, as if a body slam was just desserts for asking a policy question of a man seeking national office.  And I ask again, why?

Or, to put it another way, do we really hate each other as much as it seems? Is that, at long last, the result of the decades of vitriol, delivered, for tremendous profit, around the clock and in every form of media?  Have we, once and for all, passed beyond the realm of honest differences, and into the murky twilight of mutual abhorrence?  Have we, in short, gone from disagreeing with to despising each other?

This shooter’s horrendous actions, while clearly the product of an extremely disturbed mind, were fueled by hatred.  That’s clear.  The assault on the reporter and the resultant response was motivated by hatred as well.  The response to neither of these things has been what it should be in a rational society.  That is the problem I fear far more than the actions of a few rogue elements.  This, now reflexive, urge to go directly to a place of hate may be the greatest danger to our civil society that I have ever known.

The politics of hate are the default setting in Washington and the tinder for the raging dumpster fire that is cable news and social media.  It isn’t hard to see why, when you think about it.  When your livelihood is based on getting the most attention, you are not going to do that by being mild mannered and thoughtful.  And how good are your re-election chances if you preach conciliation and your opponent preaches fire and brimstone to be rained down on the other side of the aisle?  Getting re-elected is, after all, the only thing that matters.  Isn’t it?

Reasoned discourse isn’t good television.  Bomb throwing is, even the rhetorical kind.  You simply can’t have a satisfying drama without the presence of an implacably evil enemy, usually one that must be destroyed at all costs.  In the good old days, such big screen villains were usually hostile foreign powers.  As our screens have gotten smaller, and our attention spans shorter, we have created villains who are no less evil, but much closer to home.  Perhaps right next door.

It’s the worst part of human nature.  We need someone to blame.  It is much simpler to direct our anger at the various uncomfortable circumstances in our lives, towards some person or class of people rather than try to tackle the invisible market forces that are dragging so many of us down.

And so we learn, with much coaxing from our various sources of media, to hate one another.  I guess it is only natural.  Hate can be very satisfying.  It is certainly not complicated and the world is an increasingly complicated place.  To hate is to dehumanize the hated and thus remove all possibility of empathy for their problems. Hate make it alright not to care what happens to them.  But hate is easy, and the problems that face all of us are not.

The dark comfort of hatred is tempting, but it is ultimately futile and dangerous.  In some, extreme, circumstances, hate leads to terrible events but, mostly, it is simply unhelpful.   It may make us feel better, especially when our side of the great hatred divide is transcendent, but ultimately hatred is nothing more than a barrier to progress.  It is why, I believe, our political system no longer functions, essentially, at all.  We have demonized our opponents to such a degree that we have lost all perspective.  You , after all, do not wish to negotiate with those you hate.  You must defeat them utterly.  But in this mad desire to win at all cost, we have forgotten the principal truth behind the idea of good governance.  For change to be real and lasting, everybody has to win a little bit.  Nobody gets exactly what they want, but everybody gets something they can live with.  That’s real progress.  Otherwise it is simply a series of short term victories or losses, doomed to be reversed by the next election cycle or the next. Or it is complete gridlock.  Neither is good for the nation.

I don’t pretend that any of us, except, perhaps, Buddhists and members of the clergy, are above this tendency toward hatred.  In recent months, I have had reason to think about this deeply and to realize how much I am guilty of it.  I truly find the policies pursued by our current breed of Republican politicians to be so truly hateful that it is difficult not to hate those who voted to see those policies enacted.  But, the fact is, I know a lot of those people and they are not, by and large, hateful.  They are, in fact, people who want many of the same things that I do.  I have never, for instance, met a single person who actually felt that anyone should not have access to the healthcare that they need.  I have never met anyone who feels that a single person should ever starve to death in the street.  What they don’t see, however, is a way to tackle those problems in a manner that doesn’t make life harder for them than it already is.  That is certainly something I can understand.  I just wish there were a healthier way to approach these issues than this poisonous system allows.

So I am going to make an effort to hate less.  I won’t stop speaking my mind and I certainly won’t stop satirizing the powerful, at least as soon as I can find something funny again. But I will try not to lose perspective.  I hope others can find it in themselves to do the same.

As for the failings of our political system, that is a question that many people, far smarter than me, can find no solution for.  I would suggest however that, as Americans all, we need to stop rewarding hate.  Seems like a pretty good basic political philosophy.  It’s far easier said than done of course.  The incentives are not in our favor and the only real tools we have are our votes and our attention.  Maybe I’ll click on a few less links that stir up my partisan animosity.  Maybe I’ll click just a little less in general and spend some of that attention time on interacting with other people.  It’s a lot harder to hate someone, once you get to know them a little as a person.

The voting thing is a little more complicated.  Our choices are not always that great.  In fact, they are usually not great.  I’m going to vote against hate in any way that I can.  Maybe, if we collectively find ways to take the hot air out of the system, good candidates will have a chance.  Maybe that is unrealistic, but I’ve had enough of reality for this week.

 

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My Triumphant Return (25 Years Too Late.)

They say you can’t go home again.  While this may be a surprise to anyone who has ever spent some time living out of mom’s basement (and who hasn’t?), it is generally considered a truism.  Like many truisms, it is also obviously untrue on its face.  Of course you can go home, unless the place has been swallowed by a sinkhole or had a mall built over it.  I mean, the place is probably still there right? You just might not be welcome anymore.  That can lead to some nasty business involving guard dogs and restraining orders, generally ruining your memorial day weekend.  But I digress.

The point of the saying is, I guess, that places may not change, but people do.  Still, I wonder if even that is true?  I had the opportunity to put this to the test the other night, when I gave a theatrical performance at my old Alma Mater, Ithaca College.  Just about a month shy of 25 years after my graduation, I found myself performing on the same stage where I, as a youth, had seen so many musicians, comedians and performers ply their trade a quarter century ago.  While I like to think I acquitted myself nicely and put on a show that was, arguably, funnier than that of some comedians I witnessed in that space, it was, indeed, a strange homecoming.

When last I had been in that room I was a young man, a boy really, full of wild dreams and bursting with ambition. Now I was a man (or at least a manchild) creeping up on 50, looking out at a world that once was and pondering the thousands of days and tens of thousands of decisions, that turned that boy into me.

I did not feel the way I expected to.  I had thought, frankly, that this would be just another show.  Another night in a role I had played 50 times or more. The easiest thing in the world.  Instead, it was a night full of ghosts.  Shadows of friendships neglected or forgotten.  Phantoms of campus romances long since fizzled.  A sudden longing for a Rogan’s pizza (I recommend getting pepperoni and black olive.  Tastes great and nobody ever tries to steal a slice because of the black olives) or a trip to the commons.

But chief among these specters, these remnants of the past, was that of me.  A dirt poor kid, who never had anything to rely on except brains and raw talent, suddenly let loose into a larger world.  A kid who was gonna make movies the whole world would want to see.  A skinny, gangly, youth who knew, even when times were dark, that his inspiration would never fail him.  That there would always be another character, another line of dialogue, another fresh perspective on the world.  A young man who could crank out a thirty page script in a five hour, Mountain Dew fueled, frenzy of typing and find that it needed little or no editing.  The same kid who is now struggling to grind out these few paragraphs.

I was unstoppable then, and yet, somehow, I was stopped. I don’t really know why that is.  The unfailing inspiration failed, I guess. I never did any of those things I thought would come so easy.  I didn’t reinvent the world of cinema and I have yet to see my name up on shining marquees.  I almost certainly will not retire to riches untold and universal acclaim.  My legacy will be somewhat different. But, looking back, I have done some work that I am proud of and I hope to do more.

They say you can’t go home again but I don’t believe that is true.  For that young man, who shares my headspace, Ithaca College was as much of a home as any place he had ever known.  What I found out upon my “triumphant” return was that it still felt like home.  I have a new home now, full of those that I love, and that is as it should be, or else my life would truly have been a failure.  But there is a power in a place where you first came to know yourself, and that power persists through the long years.  The other night, when I stepped out of the van onto that campus, I felt the same thing I felt when I was 18 years old and first looked out from the hilltop over that unmatched view of Cayuga lake.  A sense of wonder and possibility and of serenity as well.  And, for a while, he was with me again, that confident and unstoppable youth I have spent so much of my adult life trying to find.  For I know that he is still in me, somewhere, and still has much to offer.  This trip down memory lane, though melancholy, served to remind me how close he truly is.

So, I say you can go home, and you should as often as possible.  Unless there is a restraining order.  Then you might want to skip it.