Wednesday, September 26, 2018

Wednesday Night September in the Humid Rain Update Plus a Few Thoughts on How My Life Turned Out Versus Brett Kavanaugh's and His Ilk

The abandoned Wyckoff Villa on Carleton Island, Cape Vincent, N.Y. It is also known as the Carleton Island Villa.

The abandoned mansion pictures in this entry are taken from a subset of those in this MSN photo-montage. When I ran out of those, I went to dogs and then waterfalls. They are not captioned, so click on / download them for more information. (The others are topically related to the entry.)


This entry is just a mixed personal and weather update that was intended to be a prelude to what I hoped to post later tonight, specifically, a second entry on the topic I wrote about yesterday give new developments. However, writing the entry led me to a very different place, and I'm not even going to try to post anything else tonight.


*******

I'm home tonight in my wee, dimly lamp-lit efficiency with the window a/c turned up high and the television tuned to the MeTV-aired weeknight lineup of old shows.

For reference, they include WKRP in Cincinnati, two episodes of Hogan's Heroes, Carol Burnett & Friends, and Perry Mason.

MeTV has cycled through the entire Perry Mason series since I began watching it, but that doesn't mean I've seen every episode since there are nights I miss and the show is also aired during the day. I think I've seen about half the 271 original episodes.

I was at the gym earlier. I spent an hour on the treadmill (timed just about perfectly for tonight's episode of Hardball on MSNBC). I then tried to do some weightlifting but unlike Monday night, I was just too beat and didn't really feel up to it. So I ended the workout with a short swim.


The recovery from my dislocated shoulder is probably on the order of two-thirds to three-quarters. The one thing I still cannot do is bench press (or rather, I don't want to risk it). The physical therapy at Pivot is going well, or at least the two times I've gone so far. I have ten more to go (twice a week). The big issue -- which I don't want to get into here -- is what will be the total medical bill and do I proceed with legal action or not (it will just come down to that). 


I've been going to the Pivot in the L'Enfant Plaza. It is in the building in which I work but at the retail level. However, I'm soon to move to the one at U and 12th St since my physical therapist, Micah, is moving there and it is near where I live.


The night is damp, warm, and very humid. There were heavy showers and thunderstorms earlier but the actual KDCA total was just 0.19 inches.

This adds to the hefty yearly surplus but KDCA still hasn't crossed the 50-inch mark. In fact, it is justl under the 49-inch mark. As for KBWI, it picked up 0.47" -- which brings its yearly total to a bit under 53-1/2 inches.

I'll post more detailed numbers in an entry in the coming days. I'm doubtful that KDCA will surpass its 2003 total of 60.83 inches, nor in the case, the 1889 pre-airport D.C. record of 61.33 inches.

The little ASOS station there always manages to miss those sorts of big records. What is easily hits are new overnight record warm minimum temperatures.


The real weather story, as far as I'm concerned, is less the wet and frequently overcast September weather but instead the relentless humidity that has characterized this summer (and is part and parcel of the ongoing global warming).


The dew point tonight at 10 p.m. is 70F at KDCA. (The air temp is 74F.) What's noteworthy is that the dew point has not been below 70F in the KDCA hourly observations since 11 a.m. yesterday.

What's more, there really isn't any sign of genuine fall weather -- cool, crisp, and dry -- with vibrant autumnal arboreal colors.


As I alluded to above, my plan was to post that second topical entry on the Kavanaugh SCOTUS nomination shit-show. Mostly, it was just excerpts of excellent columns by Jay Willis (GQ), Charles Pierce (Esquire), and Jonathan Chait (Daily Intelligencer) mixed with some commentary and interspersed with topically-unrelated but pretty images (often that I get from those MSN "top whatever" photo-montages that come up on my Edge browser "feed" all the time).


However, as I'm noting here after the fact, this entry ended up spinning out much longer and more in depth -- going into places I didn't intend. That being the case …

I would like to say, this, though …

Brett Kavanaugh's teenage years as a rich, white, super-entitled prick attending Georgetown Preparatory School, an elite Jesuit-run boys high school in Rockville and then Yale -- with the alcohol-fueled parties -- is causing the predictable Post inside-the-Beltway navel-gazing about teenage life in the 1980s among the offspring of what today we call the "1 percent" and really the "10 percent."


As others have noted, that Georgetown Prep Catholic school world is basically a factory designed to mass produce elite rightwing Republican assholes (that is, it is not your mid-20th Century Catholic parochial school in an urban working class neighborhood). The Federalist Society then grooms a subset of them into lawyers in the 40-year open conspiracy to hijack the federal judiciary.


My point in this, though, is to note how utterly different -- totally alien -- is that world to my own life both in high school and everything since that time. Coming from a chaotic childhood and adolescent centered on a now-lost New Jersey family world, it eventually led to Maryland, my teenage years to include my ridiculous high school period in Glen Burnie, Maryland (Sept. 1985 - June 1988) was nothing like a Brett Kavanaugh 1982 calendar.

Yes, Kavanaugh kept his physical calendars from May - Aug 1982; above is the duly-marked-up June 1982 one upon his senior graduation.

*******

In short, I never did any of that kind of shit whatsoever.

I was, instead, just a hyperactive, deeply neurotic, obsessive-compulsive mess fixated on getting all A's but being, ultimately, psychologically stunted. And then the post-high school period was a fucking nightmare through a variety of unhappy situations and places to include that disgusting St. Mary's College of Maryland


A self-inflicted disaster at that fucked up place -- so goddamn stupid and involving what, in retrospect, was some white trash piece of shit -- led me in Sept 1992 to the University of Maryland, College Park and a rocky path through multiple, stupid graduate programs and start-and-stop jobs that led, eventually, to my current life as a middle-aged man.


This is clearly why literally every night I dream of being back at UMCP or some hybrid of UMCP and other places in some panicked and anxious mental state -- typically involving the ONLY program that worked out reasonably well there for me: the public policy one.


Until 40 and getting my current job, NOTHING worked out professionally. Now, as I am within two months of turning 49, I'm sort of holding in a decent place but that will almost certainly in the coming years -- and I don't have a particularly strong desire to tackle the job market with some bullshit can-do attitude (competing against 25-year olds) in that way that cockroaches like Wall-P insist you have while they rake in easy money as tools of the corporate and oligarchical overclass.

My personal life has, upon reflection, been mostly a fucking disaster -- but unlike Kavanaugh, I had to pay for my mistakes, including and sober versus drunk Jekyll and Hyde transformation.

Beyond that, though, virtually all the friendships through my 20s and 30s and into my 40s turned out to be unhealthy garbage (and not just those of always horrible, hateful gay men).

At least those have all ended and the few friends that remain are, in fact, worth having.


My actual family is simply my mom in Maryland and my dad in Florida and no one else (i.e., I'm an only child with no first cousins). What's more, I'll always be "single," meaning I will be totally alone in old age (assuming I make it to be an "oldster" in whatever fucking mess of a state the United States is by then) and will most likely die alone (to be found at some point).


A middle-aged gay man's life (i.e., once youth is gone) really makes no sense and has no purpose. It's different for a man who is married (and possibly divorced and remarried) with children (and lives under the rule of his wife) in that the American middleclass socio-cultural system is geared toward and around that. (Yes, I'm ignoring structural economic changes and the resulting opioid-addled downwardly mobile masses and instead just sticking to the Washington area world that I know.)


Unlike Brett Kavanaugh, I didn't have any sort of glide path set for me. Rather, the path I followed ended up a costly one filled with much pain, both self-inflicted and by-fate failure, unrealized "dreams" (or whatever I should call them), and a complete and total collapse in any faith in a loving, parental-like God that micromanages my life -- or at least pays some goddamn attention once in a while.

Being in my 20s prime in and around D.C. in the 1990s and into the 2000s -- when I should have been excelling -- was one, long, failed crapshoot.

Whatever it is now in the late 2010s, I don't even know. And I don't know or even really care where it is going.

As a Gen X'er in my situation, there is no past and no future. Just a strange present that leads to no where.

Well, at this point, I've really spun way, way beyond what I had intended for this entry. That being the case, I think I should just wrap it up. I will end with this, though:


If Kavanaugh's ugly past comes back to destroy his Supreme Court dreams and even his professional life, that's totally fine with me. What's more, I also say that regardless of how (predictably) horrible will be the next Federalist Society bot that Mitch "The Bitch" McConnell muscles into that slot.

Brett Michael Kavanaugh's life as a 1980s-era rich, white, young male whose elitist upper class suburban Maryland entitlement facilitated the alcohol-fueled sexual violence that apparently accompanied it as a belligerent drunkard …

… Followed by the searing hypocrisy of Kavanaugh's subsequent incarnation as a vicious rightwing prosecutor and puritanical sex police during his Ken Starr Bill Clinton Inquisition period that included some creepy anti-gay bigotry …

… Continuing into the 1990s with his Mr. Rogers wholesome image existing cheek-by-jowl with the occasional drunken belligerent episode …

… Into his federal judgeship and other political machinations within the Bush White House to the present with his lovely wife and two lovely daughters in a Chevy Chase dream world …

… And now, thanks to a powerful, counter-majoritarian rightwing political and media ecosystem combined with the historical tragi-farce of the Trump presidency...

… on the cusp of a lifetime, wholly unaccountable Supreme Court sinecure while remaking the entire structure of federal law into some hybrid 1950s socially neo-confederate and 1890s Gilded Age economic dystopia.

All of this being the case, it makes what is happening to him so well deserved. Fuck him.

To anyone else reading this, goodnight. And good morning.

--Regulus

1 comment:

Skin Deep said...

You are right, try to do as little as you can so you can recover faster. I always recommend people to resort to physical therapy, because It's so beneficial to our physical and mental health, but mostly because it helps patients on their recovery. It's sad that people don't know how impactful undergoing physical therapy is. A website that has helped me become more aware of physical therapy and its importance is Preferred Rehab , you should check it out!