Bombs and Bomshells

Somebody asked me yesterday what I would wish for if I had three wishes. Outside of the obvious (health, happiness, and prosperity for my children), I couldn't really think of anything that didn't make me sound shallow and just a tad self-involved. When you have spent the better part of the week hosting your very own pity party while you wait for antibiotics to work their magic on some mysterious infection, you find yourself not giving much of a shit about the greater good or making the world a better place. You aim low, and you go even lower.

It seems a lifetime ago that I dubbed this, 2018, the year of "chai" -- not the tea, but the Hebrew number "18," the symbol of life. I was filled with optimism, determined to seek out and derive full enjoyment of all the good things life had tossed my way. Nothing like a few minor setbacks in a row to suck the Pollyanna right out of you. To the extent that there was any Pollyanna in you in the first place.

Back in bed for the umpteenth time this week -- exhausted after finally washing my hair -- I cannot decide whether the bright spring sun streaming through my blinds is making me feel joyful or just bitchier. That's a lie; there's no contest. What good is sunshine if you can't be out enjoying it. It's just making me squint.

In keeping with my mood, I was thinking this morning about how ridiculous it is that we got rid of Al Franken. As if on cue, the Dems' sacrificial lamb emerged today, to call out the hypocrisy of Jeff Sessions -- the poster child for selective amnesia -- for firing the person investigating him for lack of candor. Yay! Such an intelligent perspective! But so what? Jeff Sessions' job is extra secure now, and our entire country remains at the mercy of an incompetent and corrupt buffoon and his shrinking but shameless band of sycophants.

So Al Franken, comedian, went down for a silly and somewhat lecherous but not at all secret picture. Now, our best hopes -- if there is any hope at all -- for bringing down our president, who has done nothing but compromise our security and pretty much undermine the very foundation of our democracy, are a porn star, a Playboy bunny, and an aspiring apprentice. I mean no disrespect to any of those women -- although I wanted to ask the bunny what possible reason she could have had for having sex with such a vile creature if it wasn't money. It's just fascinating to me that it's the bombshells -- not the nuclear bombs -- that get our collective attention.

If I am, indeed, as shallow as I think I am sometimes, I apparently have plenty of company.