The Gay Roommate

Senior year my college roommate was a chap by the name of Warren. He was gay. I knew it before we got an apartment together, I’d known Warren since we were in the dorm freshman year. He came out pretty early on which was a brave thing to do, especially in those days. Interesting thing was that some of us (ashamed to say this included me) used to make jokes about Warren’s sexuality before he came out. We weren’t certain that he was a homosexual but there were signs like his fastidiousness and a slight lisp and his never going on dates or talking about girls. But once he came out there were no more jokes. It would have been crude to make “gay jokes” about an actual gay man that we knew and liked. That’s true too, everyone liked Warren. He was the nicest person you’d ever meet, never had a bad word to say about anyone.

Warren was among the guys I drank with and when he’d had a few he’d sometimes discuss the difficulties of being gay, especially because he came from a small town in the Salinas Valley. He’d managed to find a classmate in high school who was also gay and they discreetly “saw one another.” Still he could hardly be himself least of all with his family which was pretty conservative. He did come out to an older cousin who lived in San Francisco and that cousin invited him to the city a few weekends where Warren was able to meet other gay teens. But now that he was in college, my friend was going to be totally open and even planned — as difficult as it would be — to come out to his family in the Summer after freshman year.

Over the next few years Warren and I saw one another from time to time, we traveled in the same circles and were often at parties together. He always appreciated me for the fact that, in his words, I “really listened and really cared.” Plus we both had similarly bizarre senses of humor and shared the same tastes in literature and film. It was late in our junior year that we were talking on campus and discovered we were both looking for someone to share an apartment with. I didn’t hesitate to accept Warren’s offer to look for a place together. Of course one acquaintance snickered and flat out asked me if I was gay too. Never mind that I’d had several girlfriends by this time. I shook it off.

Warren was a great roommate. I know this is supposed to be a stereotype but Warren was very neat and never minded cleaning up. Our apartment was immaculate. And, of course, Warren was still a really nice person. We were both pretty busy with our studies and both dating. Warren had broken up with a boyfriend over the Summer and was “playing the field.” I started regularly seeing a girl named Cherrise who was a freshman. Seniors didn’t usually date freshmen in college but I was smitten. Also white males didn’t usually date black females, but again, I was smitten.

It was a good year. Warren and I got along well, I was having a passionate love affair and had been accepted to grad school at Boston University. Warren seemed happy, he had a rich social and love life and had also been accepted to grad school, in his case at Colombia. We’d be a few hours a way from each other and be able to visit now and again and see each other’s cities. 

It was late in the school year when everything fell apart. It was a Thursday night, we’d both been at home studying for over several hours. It was 10:00 when I announced that I was done hitting the books for the night and was going to celebrate with a drink. Warren said that he too was caught up with school and would join me. I mixed a couple of martinis. We started talking and decided that a second drink was in order. Soon we had a third and presumably more, I can’t recall. Somehow we ended up in Warren’s bed where, much to my surprise, we were having sex. It was my first time with a man. I remember enjoying myself somewhat but it was nowhere near as exciting nor fulfilling as making love to a woman. For his part it seemed Warren quite enjoyed our coupling. 

The next morning was awkward. I slipped out of Warren’s bed, feeling guilty but more than that as if I done the wrong thing. If I had to have had a homosexual experience I wished it had been with a stranger rather than my roommate. I showered and dressed and when I went to the kitchen to make coffee and have cereal there was Warren, naked. 

“I had a nice time with you last night,” he said. I turned beet red.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, I won’t tell a soul,” he giggled.

“Look Warren, it was nice, really, but it’s also not my thing. I guess it was something I needed to get out of my system. I hope that doesn’t sound bad, or insensitive.”

“No, I understand.” But Warren’s voice had dropped, his head was lowered and quickly he returned to his room. While I was eating he re-emerged. 

“It’s so fucking hard for me,” he said. “I’m sick of screwing other queers. I want to make it with straight men. I want a straight man. I guess I thought I could convert you. I know it’s stupid and I’m sorry for saying it. I know I’ve had great relationships with other queer men and will again. But there’s something empty for me about it all. I guess I’m just fucked up and need a therapist.”

I told Warren that I agreed, he should find someone to talk to. If nothing else he needed to talk about his family which had not responded well to his coming out. Warren’s father was no longer speaking to him.

Then Warren began to sob. And sob. And sob. I was not used to comforting anyone who was crying, let alone another man but I did my best. I held Warren and patted his back and tried to soothe him. After a few minutes he stopped, got up wordlessly and returned to his room, he stopped at the door, turned and thanked me.

In the days that followed Warren was clearly depressed. I blamed myself and eventually told Warren so.

“Nonsense, this has nothing to do with what happened between us and even if it did, something was going to be the catalyst.”

“Promise me you’re not going to do anything drastic.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, I’m no drama queen and I love life too much. I’ll be fine. Maybe I just need a steady beau.”

“Or you could start seeing a counselor, or shrink.”

“Romantically?” He giggled.

“Glad your sense of humor is in tact.”

Warren ended up doing both. He’d had an on-and-off relationship with a junior, named Tony from near his hometown who lost his “virginity” to Warren in the Fall. He also started seeing a psychiatrist. “Dear old Dad has cut me off emotionally but he still sends a big fat check every month, so I can afford it.”

The rest of the school year went smoothly. I gradually extricated myself from my relationship with Cherise as I’d be moving out of town in June anyway. Warren and Tony became, in my roomie’s words, “hot and heavy.” Analysis worked for Warren whose depression symptoms eased. 

I occasionally thought of the night I spent in Warren’s bed and felt embarrassed, but I didn’t really regret it.

In the Summer I moved to Boston and Warren to New York. We stayed in touch and visited each other’s cities in the Fall. After a few months, Warren had a steady fella. Cherise transferred to Northeastern in the middle of the school year so we re-kindled our romance. 

Letters stopped coming from Warren in the late Spring. I tried calling him but never got an answer. In the Summer I was doing research in New York so visited his apartment. He’d moved out and not left a forwarding address. A neighbor told me Warren’s father had died suddenly and that he’d temporarily moved back home to be with his mother and sister.

I was pretty busy after that. Then spent a year in Europe. When I came back Cherise and I married, I got a job and then our first child was born. I only occasionally thought of Warren but never got around to trying to locate him.

It was ten years after I last saw him that he sent me a letter. I’d had a few articles appear in national magazines and Warren had seen one and somehow from there got my address.

He was living in San Francisco, in the third year of what he called his “most intense and meaningful relationship yet.” Warren was now a lawyer and active in the then burgeoning Gay rights movement. We corresponded for a few years and finally saw one when I visited the Bay Area on business. It had been fourteen years since our last meeting. We had a grand time catching up and the next day he introduced me to his partner, who I very much liked.

We stayed in touch and Warren visited me once in New York. A few months after that visit I got a letter from Warren in which he revealed that he had been diagnosed with AIDS which was then ravaging the gay community. I was going to be in the Bay Area in a few months and promised Warren I’d visit him.

I don’t know if you’d say the timing of my visit was exactly fortuitous. As it happened I arrived a day before Warren’s memorial service. 

I wept unashamedly when I got the news. I attended the service and wept again. Warren had been one of the best friends I’d ever had. Now when I think about the night we spent together I’m proud. Damn proud.

Many Thanks! The Entertainers I'm Thankful for this Thanksgiving and Always

On this Thanksgiving day I am thankful for the following entertainers, past and present, all of whom have made my life infinitely cheerier: Groucho Marx, Dick Cavett, Woody Allen, Jean Harlow, Paul McCartney, Freddie Mercury, Janis Joplin, George Carlin, Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart, Joan Blondell, Amy Winehouse, George Michael, Lenny Bruce, Jonathan Winters, Tom Smothers, Jimi Hendrix, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Al Green, Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Linda Ronstadt, Tina Fey, Tracy Morgan, Steve Martin, Martin Short, David Letterman, Seth Meyers, Kristen Wiig, Gilda Radner, John Belushi, Robin Williams, Alec Baldwin, William Powell, Myrna Loy, Marilyn Monroe, Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro, Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock, Hannah Einbinder, Diane Keaton, Barbara Stanwyck, Jim Jeffries, John Lennon, Pete Townshend, Eric Idle, John Cleese, Michael Palin, Graham Chapman, Terry Jones, Marcello Mastroianni, Steve McQueen, Margot Robbie, Carole Lombard, Katharine Hepburn, Leonardo DiCaprio, John Mulaney, Neil Young, John Oliver, Jon Stewart, Phil Silvers, Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, Max von Sydow, William Holden, Richard Pryor, Bill Hicks, Burt Lancaster, Faye Dunaway, Ingrid Bergman, Monica Vitti, Bill Murray, Lea Seydoux, Marlene Dietrich, Ringo Starr, Jason Alexander, George Wallace, Cybill Shepard, Ricky Gervais, Jack Benny, Bill Hader, Liv Ullman, Bryan Cranston, Bette Davis, Bon Odenkirk, Andy Samberg, Maya Rudolph, Rodney Dangerfield, Smokey Robinson, Debbie Harry, David Bowie, Bill Evans, Lester Young, Frank Sinatra, Jean Gabin, Jim Morrison, Johnny Cash, Josephine Baker, Jackson Browne, Grace Slick, Fred Armisen, Barry Gibb, Maurice Gibb, Robin Gibb, Don Knotts, Fred Astaire, Sidney Bechet, Catherine O’Hara, Eugene Levy, Daniel Levy, John Candy, Dan Aykroyd, Jane Curtin, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Jerry Seinfeld and Paul Schaefer.

Film director section: Ingmar Bergman, Woody Allen, Aki Kaurismäki, John Ford, Andrei Tarkovsky, Federico Fellini, Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock, Michelangelo Antonioni, GW Pabst, Charlie Chaplin, Preston Sturges, Robert Altman, Hal Ashby, Roberto Rossellini, Martin Scorsese, Stanley Kubrick, Francis Ford Coppola, Wes Anderson, Kelly Reichardt, Lynne Ramsey, Spike Lee, Joseph von Sternberg, Billy Wilder, Joel Coen, Louis Malle, Francois Truffaut, Akira Kurosawa, Wong Kar-wai, Roman Polanski, John Huston, Quentin Tarantino, Jim Jarmusch, Sidney Lumet, Luis Buñuel and Sofia Coppola.

Good Prevails Over Evil, California Rallies to Win 127th Big Game, 24-21

Photo by author

In an instant classic the University of California Golden Bear football team rose from the dead yesterday to defeat their hated rivals, the Stanfurd Cardinal before a sell out crowd at Berkeley's Memorial Stadium that -- of course -- included yours truly.

The Bears seemed dead in the water after fumbling the kick off after their foes went ahead, 21-7. But the defense held and the Furdies muffed a field goal try. There was still life in the Sturdy Golden Ones. Cal kicked a field goal to reduce the margin to 21-10. The defense held again and then drove for a touchdown to cut the margin to 21-16 (a two-point try failed). The comeback effort looked for naught when the Lobsterbacks moved toward midfield but the Bear defense stiffened up and forced a punt. That punt was downed on the two-yard line meaning Cal had to go 98 yards for a winning score. They did. Quarterback Fernando Mendoza etched his name into Big Game lore throwing his third touchdown pass of the game, this one for 22 yards to wideout Jonathan Brady (who'd also scored on the preceding drive) with two minutes and forty seconds remaining in the game. This time the Bears converted the two-point try.

The Furdies got the ball back but in four plays managed to go minus four yards. The Bears then ran out the clock. Fans stormed the field and the Stanfurd Axe stayed in Berkeley for the fourth year in a row. Bliss.

My friends and I experienced numerous emotions throughout the course of the game. There was depression and resignation for much of it but relief, shock and jubilation at the end. High fives and hugs were freely exchanged and I did my happy dance. We joined the huge crowd on the field and continued the celebration.

I feel absolutely marvelous today. Giddy as a child on Christmas morning. What a great gift sports can be. The Bears have caused me a lot of heartache over the last six decades, including over the past few months. But it's all forgotten in times like this. Spirits soar because of the accomplishments of 18-23 year olds on an athletic field. I will never apologize for finding great joy from sports results (though I'll feel silly for ever letting sports results ruin my day). The truth is that sports has a far greater capacity to make me very happy than it does to make me sad. The sorrow of defeat can be brushed off when there is so much else to enjoy in life. But the elation of victory is a wonderful supplement to an already rich and fulfilling life.

The Cal football program has been woeful for most of my life but I am eternally grateful for it because it occasionally provides days like yesterday that make it all worth while. What fun!

And oh by the way....Go Bears!!!

A Real Pain, A Real Good Movie

There are moments of discomfort in the new film A Real Pain from Jesse Eisenberg (he wrote, directed and co-stars). Awkward moments. Uncomfortable moments. Those why-couldn’t-he-just-keep-his-mouth-shut moments. And they are very much a part of the film’s charm and it’s successful dives into deeper meaning.

This is not just a road picture or a buddy picture or a mismatched pair picture, it is all of those and more. It is a movie that is so much more than we expect.

I’ve never been a fan of Eisenberg — until now. If he can make films like this he’ll have won a place in my cinematic heart. I have been a fan of Kieran Caulkin since his brilliant work on Succession and I’m a bigger fan today. His performance betrays the considerable depth of his talent.

Caulkin and Eisenberg play cousins from New York who join a tour group in Poland to see Jewish heritage sites. They are paying homage to their recently deceased grandmother who was a Holocaust survivor. Eisenberg’s David has a stable life with a steady job, wife and precocious child and he's OCD. Caulkin’s Benjy boasts none of the above, but he does enjoy getting stoned and shooting from the hip. You can tell cuz is waiting for Benjy to get his act together, Despite their difference the pair has been close practically since birth (they were born only days apart). So they have a history and as in all relationships, even especially close ones, it’s not all peaches and cream. This comes out in the course of the film as does Benjy’s especially close relationship with grandma and the fact that he hasn’t fully processed her passing. Indeed a lot of issues emerge through the course of the movie some of which involve their traveling companions and tour guide.

It’s an interesting mix of characters including Jennifer Grey as a woman recovering from being abandoned by a cheating husband. An older married couple lack depth, being barely more than cardboard cutouts but this is the lone complaint I can find about an otherwise excellent film. There is also a survivor of the Rwandan genocide who's converted to Judaism and a British tour guide who's an endless font of information, so much so that it annoys the unfiltered Benjy.

A picture like this benefits from occasional lightness and there is plenty of  humor to go along with pathos and piquant moments. One can’t help but like the cousins and root for them and as a bonus their story provides insight into pain -- both the kind we grow up with and that is in our DNA from past horrors. It is miraculous when we can uncover pain and move on a stronger person.

A final note: there’s a scene in which the group visits a a former concentration camp where the Nazis perpetrated some of their horrors. It is mostly silent, as was the theater when I watched it. Not even the sound of popcorn being chewed. Kudos to Eisenberg the director for setting just the right tone for the viewer.

Clyde "Needs" a Drink, A Short Story of Early Recovery

Clyde wanted a drink. It had been a brutal day at the office capped off by a hellish commute. Apparently there’d been an accident on the bridge. Clyde hated sitting in traffic and he hated coming home late because of it. He was stewing. A tall glass of whiskey would do the trick. Take the edge off. Allow Clyde to relax, sink into his La-Z-Boy, zone out on the TV while waiting for Eva to finish dinner. A whiskey would do the trick, all right.

But no. There was no more whiskey or any other kind of booze in Clyde’s life. Not anymore. After twenty-five years of easing the pain through alcohol, Clyde was off the stuff for good. Too often that one drink had led to six, seven, eight, nine drinks. Too often Clyde had gotten blotto, blacked out, sometimes terrorizing Eva and the kids. She’d been on the verge of leaving him and taking the kids with her when he finally wised up and went to AA. He’d been sober for two months. He’d traded one problem for another. He was no longer a stinking drunkard but he no longer had a coping mechanism. Booze had gotten him into a lot of messes, but it had also gotten him through a lot of stress and anxiety.

Not getting high was difficult, managing life without booze seemed impossible. For the millionth time Clyde bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t stop at one or two drinks. Oh sure sometimes he had, but too often that second segued right into a bender. Trying to cut back never worked.

Tonight would be a good night to hit an AA meeting but Clyde just didn’t have the energy to get back in the car and drive for twenty minutes and sit for an hour then drive back home. That would be nearly two hours from what was left of his evening, and thanks to the commute from hell he had less evening than usual. No, he’d just sit here and stew. Maybe turn the damn TV on and see if that could distract him from the overwhelming desire to bolt out of the house to the nearest bar and have a good stiff one.

Eva emerged from the kitchen and sat down for what was obviously supposed to be a pleasant husband and wife chat. Such conversations were easier for Clyde back when he had a buzz going.

“Dinner’ll be ready in ten minutes, hon. So other than a lousy commute, how was your day?”

“Busy, stressful, nothing much to talk about, frankly.”

“You thought about about going to a meeting tonight?”

“God, Eva you can’t manage my sobriety I have to make those decisions myself, it’s up to me to stay sober.”

“Just asking.”

“Yeah, sure, I’m sorry. I’m just too tired tonight, I’ll go to that sunrise meeting in the morning and then hit one tomorrow night.”

“Would you rather not talk?”

“Eva….I just, I’m afraid this whole sobriety deal is making me a little cranky. I’m so used to having a drink after work to calm down. It’s hard, is all.”

“I love you Clyde.”

Clyde looked over at his wife. She was beautiful. Petite, tanned, wearing a short dress, looking more like thirty than the forty-five she actually was. Eva was smiling sweetly at him. Clyde realized how lucky he was.

“I love you too, Eva. Thanks for being so patient with me.”

“Your worth it.” She got up and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll call you to dinner in a few minutes. Would you let the kids know we’re about to eat?”

Daughter Sela and son Declan were in their respective rooms. Clyde loved his children. Sela was fifteen and Declan thirteen and both had survived their Dad’s drinking bouts and still loved him. Clyde knew that the only way to stay sober was to do it for yourself, but Eva and the children were inspirations. They didn’t deserve a drunk in the house.

Clyde let the kids know to get ready for dinner and was headed for the kitchen himself when the phone rang. A phone call is not what he needed right now.

It was his damn boss, Ed Levit. Ed was a tough son of a bitch. Everyone at work respected the hell out of him, but not a soul liked him. How could you like a fella with such a tough exterior? 

Ed had never called Clyde at home before. Clyde was sure it was bad news.

“Sorry to call you at home, Clyde, but it’s something of an emergency. I had to let Ben Evans go today, I’m pretty darn sure he was skimming and I may look into criminal prosecution, but that’s not for you tell anyone. Anyhow, I need you to fill in for him at the meeting tomorrow, can you do that?”

“Sure I can.” Clyde was shocked to hear about Ben Evans but was pleased he’d be pinch hitting for him.

“So look the other part of this is that I’d like you to take Ben’s position. Before you say anything one way or the other you need to know that it’d mean more work and more responsibilities but another $100 a week in your paycheck plus a bigger year-end bonus. You can think about it overnight if you need to.”

Clyde did not need to think about it overnight or even for another second. “Sure, hell yes, a promotion. Don’t need to think about that.”

“Great, we’ll talk about it over lunch tomorrow. So the meeting’s at 9:00. See me about half an hour before and I’ll prep you.”

“You can count on me.”

“I know I can. Thanks, Clyde. Have a good night.”

“You too, boss. Good night.”

After hanging up Clyde literally jumped for joy.

The family talked about it over dinner. Everyone was delighted about the extra income but Eva was worried about the extra hours.

“Hell, it won’t be that much. Maybe a late day a couple of times a week, an hour, two at the most. A very occasional weekend I might have to go in. I can handle it. Just to make you feel better I’ll call my sponsor after dinner and like I said earlier I’ll hit two meetings tomorrow.”

Clyde did just that. He was going to take his sobriety one day at a time. Maybe he’d be okay.

For Some Reason I Take This Opportunity to Seize the Day and Write About Words and Expressions

Have you ever taken an opportunity? People do it all the time. They say, “I’d like to take this opportunity to…” In addition to being taken opportunity is capable of knocking. “When opportunity knocks…” An opportunity is also something you shouldn’t miss. “Don’t miss this opportunity to…” Some opportunities are seldom seen. “This is a rare opportunity to…..” You can also seize an opportunity which seems overly aggressive to me especially as you can simply take one. Why seize when you can take? Of course some opportunities are “once in a lifetime.” 

In addition to opportunities, you can also seize a day. You know, as in carpe diem. But has anyone ever told you that they seized a day? “How was your day, Ralph?” “Great, I totally seized it.” Wonder what it’s like to seize a day? What does it entail? I don’t understand the mechanics of it. I’m not even sure of the purpose of seizing a day. 

Seize and siege are very similar words. Switch the two vowels and choose between a g and a z. They’re not totally unrelated words either. When an invading army tries to seize a city they often face a siege. In other words an attempt to seize led to a siege. But not to a sneeze which is a totally unrelated word (it rhymes, though) but has no letter I in it. And why won’t my computer let me type a lower case I all by itself? Maybe there’s a way to do but my laptop keeps making it upper case which is fine if you’re writing about yourself as in: “I can’t seem to type a lower case I by itself and I find this aggravating.” 

I learned the word aggravating from Jackie Gleason (you kids will have to look him up). He was doing a stand up bit on his weekly variety show about things that are aggravating. I don’t recall how old I was other than I wasn’t old enough to fully understand the word aggravating. For some reason there was no adult around to consult. Did I look up aggravating in the dictionary? Didn’t need to. Figured it out from context clues. That’s how we learn most words. Take it from me, I teach the English language for a living to people from other countries.

Imagine that we call our jobs what we do “for a living.” That seems pretty damn serious. You work to live. I mean I suppose that in some cases you do. You don’t work, you don’t have any money and you starve or die of exposure. I always found: “what do you do for a living?” A strange question. Weirder yet is when people abbreviate it by asking, “what do you do?” Well, sir, I do one helluva lot of things. Doesn’t everybody? We define people by their jobs. He’s a carpenter, she’s a fashion designer, he’s an accountant, she’s a pharmacist. Is that all we are? You can also say someone’s a Democrat or a Conservative or a Catholic or a drug addict or a Giants fan or jerk or a bitch or user or a sagittarius or Gen Xer or a stamp collector (philatelist). One word can define a person for a lot of people. In truth one word can convey a lot — like racist — but it’s mostly, even in the case of racists, one part of who a person is. (I was taught not to end sentences with an auxiliary verbs, but screw it, it’s like you’re not supposed to end a sentence a preposition with.)

I mention being Gen X in the preceding paragraph (you can look it up). You’ve also got your Gen Zs and your millennials not to mention your baby boomers. I hate this crap. It’s another way of classifying people, usually stereotyping them. “Oh you’re a Gen Z so you probably….” Or, “He’s Gay so he probably….” Or “She’s African American so she probably…” Or worse, “he’s a typical….” Why strip away people’s individuality, put them in a box, assume a person feels one way or another because of when they were born or what color they are or who they sleep with? Is Bob over there a Gen Xer, an Aquarius, non-binary, a college student. Or is Bob simply a person who I haven’t gotten to know and I refuse to make any assumptions about? Bob maybe isn’t a typical anything, maybe he’s just good ole Bob. 

A few paragraphs up I said that something happened “for some reason.” We use that one a lot. In truth every fucking thing happens “for some reason.” I had written that “for some reason” there was no adult around. Why did I do that? Obviously it’s used to convey the fact that the writer or speaker has no frickin’ idea why something was the case. I don’t recall why I was alone watching The Jackie Gleason Show when it was a family show. I guess using “for some reason” isn’t the worst sin in the world but it still seems weird — for some reason.

Okay for some reason I’m going to take this opportunity to conclude this blog post. I guess that’s just typical of a Baby Boomer, socialist, Pieces, Arsenal supporter, Berkeley native.

RIP American Democracy July 4, 1776 to January 20, 2025

I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear how Biden should have done this or that the Harris campaign screwed up or any nonsense other than this is what the American people want and frankly deserve. This is a country full of xenophobic, racist, misogynistic idiots. People looked in the shop window saw a steaming pile of shit and said, "I'll have that." They selected a lying, narcissistic, whining criminal who's on the verge of dementia. They picked someone wholly unfit for any elected office. They picked someone who admires dictators, doesn't believe climate change is real, demonizes immigrants. They picked a boor who lacks an ounce of empathy, who demeans the political process, who has no respect for freedom of speech or freedom of the press. Hell, he doesn't understand let alone respect the constitution of the United States.

I also don't ever want to hear some idiot politician say of the U.S.: this is the greatest country in the world. If they do utter that meaningless platitude just point them to this election. Just point out Trumpy and remind them that the American people gave him the presidency twice, despite his criminality despite his abuses, despite his insults, despite his stupidity, despite his recklessness. Despite the fact that he has said (and this is one of many, many examples) without the slightest bit of evidence that wind turbines cause cancer, kill thousands of birds and effect the mental health of whales. That's the guy. That's the once and future president of the United States. He'll say ANYTHING and people will swallow it whole, then say, more please.

How do you offer hope at a time like this? The magnitude of what the American people have done is incalculable. It beggars belief and there's no telling what it portends. We can say what it reflects: this is nation of the idiots, by the idiots and for the idiots and it may soon perish from this Earth.