Family emergency

It’s time to cancel Breast Cancer Awareness month already.

I don’t need to be told by another corporation that my health is just a marketable asset and not a right. I also don’t need to see NFL players wearing colorful uniforms when domestic abuse is swept under the rug. I don’t want to see men congratulating themselves for “sticking up for women” by wearing pink. Bumper stickers have sexualized cancer by turning it into a tangible loss (“save the titties”), rather than a devastating holistic ordeal.

Thank god there are no 5Ks this year I can silently seethe at. But if you feel the need to donate to virtual fundraisers that will inevitably happen, I beg you to do research and find out where your money actually goes. If the charity’s name is synonymous with smiling faces wearing fuchsia hats, I guarantee you, none of that money is going to help a single mom’s lost income or an retiree’s prescription pills. It’s going to buy more hats.

Or even better, find a local women’s health organization that is in need of funds or assistance. If you reply to this post with a name of a group or charity that is doing good things for women’s health, I can create a comprehensive list. Planned Parenthood is a good place to start, but they can’t carry the whole burden, and can’t reach every corner of the community. I know it is shocking to many, but women’s health doesn’t begin and end with boobs.

Two decades of what started as a good idea and earnest appeal, has turned into a monster. Women’s health has been reduced to a meme. Don’t let our elected officials get away with “heartwarming” stories and no action. Being a woman will go back to being a preexisting condition if we stay on the current path.

Wear pink if you want. Of course celebrate the amazing bravery of family and friends who have fought cancer. You don’t need to designate that to a month. And if you do, well by all means the one that celebrates pumpkin beer and witches seems…appropriate? But don’t expect applause from me if you aren’t willing to vote with those values on November 3. Our mothers and sisters are watching; our future daughters and grandchildren are waiting.

And for goodness sake, fill out your damn Census.

Guest blogger post Kelly Kane Regan, a writer in Albany, NY.

“The day has come”

Crying, teething, crawling, falling.

Laughing, running, yelling, climbing.

Hiccupping, chatting, swimming, and flying.

Shadows falling, baseballs flying, tassels dangling.

Bouncing balls, sailing kites, baking cookies, frosting cupcakes.

Teacher presents, best friend breakups, passing grades, late night projects.

Trips to Stewarts, backyard fires, music playing.

Laughter bubbling, small feet stumbling, doors slamming, snow boots dropping.

Dog barking, paint scraping, friends calling, papers crushing, ponytails flying.

And the Page turns….

Cell phones beeping, lines texting, instagram and facebook posting.

Broken hearts,  dumb professors, tuition bills and cars stalling

Apartments flooding, Jobs sucking, allergies appearing and life questions answered.

Mist filled eyes,  new good byes,  dorm rooms closing., apartment doors opening, airports calling, and aisles filling two by twos.

They were mine, now they are not.

I drove the miles, I walked the floors,  The hours  listened to hearts beating,  breaths taken. Worries non stop. They are grown, they are on their own. They need me less, they need me more. I am glad I am here. I am glad for all that was given to me. Even if for only the smallest of these, their moments .

Thank you, God,  for all those years and for all these kids. My heart is filled,  my life is too, with all the memories and with all this love. Farewell to you, my youngest, as you follow the others out that door onto a path, the one that is yours and yours alone. My love will always surround you.

June 2017

KKR.

 

 

 

Diets are like dreams. Everyone likes talking about their own, but no one REALLY wants to hear about yours. But I’m going to keep typing, because it is a distraction from not eating cheese. According to all of Pinterest, the Whole30 (no space, I’ve learned, between the whole and 30, which is also how your withdrawal appears–like a run on sentence with no end) isn’t a “diet” or a “fad.” It’s a “way of life.” Which is such a modern day solution:

“Oh, don’t like your relationships or your family or your job or your current living environment? If you just EAT DIFFERENTLY, you will solve everything.”

You know what our great-grandparents ate differently? Sometimes instead of baking the fish and broiling the potatoes, they would bake the potatoes and broil the fish.

Obviously, we are not going to eat and drink the same way our ancestors did. That’s just ridiculous. Food consumption has changed dramatically. For example, we now know that honey is dangerous to babies, milk needs to be boiled to not implode your intestines, and flash freezing vegetables is actually good for you. However, we also ingest a fuck-ton more sand, saw dust, yoga mats, and plastic than our grandparents. The filler they put in food now isn’t just corn starch anymore. We eat bamboo. Like panda bears. No wonder we all feel drunk and lazy as fuck all the time. And not just because we are Americans. Because we are literally weighed down with stuff only folks with pica would get excited over. The typical American diet is the Pica Diet. And the only reason no one has capitalized on that is because “eating shit” is hard to market. Even with all the weird SubReddits out there.

If you don’t know about Whole30, it’s a combination of Atkins, gluten-free, dairy-free diets, and morbidly low self esteem. Most normal people can’t afford the time or money to follow through on the Whole30 diet, so they will come up with their own bastardized version of it (which will immediately be admonished and shamed across multiple platforms).

I started on a Thursday, why not? Because time is arbitrary and pointless and ends up screwing us all in the end (just like this diet). And I was off to a terrific start. Firstly, all I did was fast because I ran out of eggs and nothing else is allowed on this diet that wasn’t rendered from the ground whole or product of an animal. It’s fine though. I don’t eat much at work. Since I’m so busy now, I barely remember to go to the bathroom, or look outside, or remember to water the fake plants.

Day 2 was better: less fasting, but more confusion. I understand getting behind less additives and preservatives, but literally everything I touch has preservatives: allergy medicine, eye drops, hand sanitizer. Am I not allowed to have Advil on this diet? Because you can’t expect me to not drink wine and also have to interact with co-workers. It’s one or the other when you remove pain killers from the equation.

On Day 3, I was debating just throwing my hands up and buying baby food. That shouldn’t have sugar in it right? Ahhh crap, 9G of sugar? No wonder there’s so many chunky, happy babies rolling around and giggling at sugar-induced hallucinations.

By Day 7, I figured out what these people (I’m gonna call them Holy Wholers now) on the online boards were trying to narrow down. NATURAL sugar is fine, as long as it come directly from the source. And apparently, sucking on sugar cane is not “the source” so gonna be canceling some imports from Brazil in a couple minutes. Unfortunately, natural is one of those words being thrown around by the food marketing industry for the past 2 decades. Like “organic,” “artisan,” “gluten-free,” and “bulletproof.” Also, whoever started this diet had a serious vendetta against dairy. I don’t know if a cow murdered their entire family and stole the family jewels, but I haven’t seen someone take this strong a stance against cow milk since some tree-nut lobbyist found out you could get white juice from an almond.

As far as diets go, this is by far the most gimmicky I’ve seen in awhile. Which means the followers are also the most annoying. It’s the Scientology of diets. Sure, everyone is welcome, but you have to pay a lot of money, make sure you follow all our rules, and get your friends and family are involved too or else you can get publicly shamed. All the celebrities are doing it too. Stars! They’re just like us: Sucked into marketing schemes until you alienate everyone around you!

People who get behind fads like to defend it to the death, like Cross-fitters, or CBS sitcom viewers, or 15th-century Catholics. I’m sure it stems from a need for control, or some other psycho-babble, but these Holy Wholers are the MEANEST people I’ve seen in a long time. And I’ve read internet comment sections. These people condemn you back to day one if you accidentally inhale the aroma from your local bakery. They have hang ups and week-long arguments about fermentation. They can’t decide if bee pollen shots should be under “rich people problems” or “poor people problems.”

Maybe I could forgive their knee-jerk (mmmm, beef jerky…) reactions if they would just admit that everyone on these online boards are just “hangry” (hunger-induced anger if you haven’t seen a Snickers commercial in 5 years) all the time. I don’t get hangry , but I imagine if people are susceptible to this, they may have made some serious enemies in a month.

Food isn’t the root of all problems, but it certainly isn’t a cause either. My problem with this diet is that they tout it out as a lifestyle, but don’t actually follow through on the “life” part. Food shouldn’t be the scapegoat here (mmm, goat cheese…), because our bodies come in contact with toxicity every day that has nothing to do with food. People work in areas that are breeding grounds for viruses and stress. There are toxic relationships, toxic vices, toxic thinking. We put things ON our bodies that are labeled as carcinogens (read: Avon), and we walk around our neighborhoods without paying attention to noise and light pollution.

I don’t want to be a hippie or “off-the-grid” because, forgive me, human connection is more important than self-righteousness. This also is a very discriminatory lifestyle, as well. You have to have a disposable income (and no children, unless they are also on Whole30) to buy these items. And access to a Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. Usually with a reliable car. And you may read the labels, but you have to read the company’s history too. A simple check on Wikipedia or Google reveals that a lot of these “local” or “independent” products are actually owned by multi-billion dollar corporations cashing in on a fad. Before Whole30, I’m willing to bet that 75% of the drinks you consumed were products of Coke, Pepsi, or Coors.

I completed the “challenge” without much issue (at least my hindsight is telling me there were no issues; I blocked a lot of days). However, I felt like I cheated because it was done during the winter when no one was inviting me to go out, patios weren’t open, and sleeping 10 hours was easier than avoiding the cold grip of reality. Also, by giving up several vices at once, I may have accidentally picked up another addiction. I drank more tea than the daily Irish or Chinese grandmother recommendation. Just constantly brewin’ and stewin’. Like a thug witch.

Then came the fun part: the reintroduction of foods, or as the Holy Wholers un-cleverly call it, “reintro.” Not because I was excited to drink milk again, but because the articles written about “reintro” are AH-mazingly hilarious. Especially people’s trepidation about trying alcohol again, as if the world was asking them to indulge in black-tar heroin for the first time. Unless you had a 3-a-day absinthe habit before, I don’t think that Shiraz at dinner is going to make you forget everything you just learned. People were also scared about eating cheese again. As much as I appreciate holistic approaches to curing modern diseases, laying off the Kraft singles for a month is not going to make you LESS lactose intolerant. Just intolerant of biology education in general.

I’m not going out on a completely cynical note. Even though this diet makes me loathe the sugar lobby more. Somehow they made Americans believe “fat” was the virus in the obesity epidemic and “sugar” was just a silly environmental factor. Sugar is in EVERYthing. Why do we need sugar in bread? After Whole30, I felt like I was eating a cupcake instead of toast (mark my words: cupcake toast is next hipster bakery trend). This country needs a taste bud detox and go back to hardtack and gruel for a while. Oh wait, I’m trademarking that one right now: Taste Bud Detox. This diet was expensive as hell, I need some way to make the money back.

If you want to do this diet because you need to figure out what in your life is giving you discomfort and pain, I will Whole30-Heartedly support you (guys, I’m wrecking this pun-life). And after you give up food and alcohol for a month, and realize it doesn’t magically reset your metabolism or eliminate blood pressure meds or give you back the hugs you didn’t get as a child, I will be here. With this nugget (mmm…chicken nuggets…) I learned: Life is more than fitting in your genes.

 

A guest blog post by Meg Regan, a resident of Los Angeles.

Dear Mr. President,

I find politics fascinating. I’m surprised I wasn’t a poli-sci major because I feed on the news like some people eat up gossip columns. A communications degree was a good second best though, as it allowed me to spot bias by the time I got to the byline.

I assume it is because politics is just one giant study of human behavior at its best and worst. I would have been a social psychologist if I knew at 18 what I know now.

But yesterday I woke up and I didn’t want to read any news sites. I didn’t want to check twitter or read the AP, Reuters, BBC, Politico or any of the like. I wanted to hide under the covers and go back to sleep for four years.

Barack and Michelle’s America was an exciting and optimistic Republic, constantly progressing towards new and inclusive ideals. Despite inheriting the worst economic downturn in recent history, President Obama left office with the lowest unemployment rate since the Recession. Under his leadership, our armed services discovered and destroyed our greatest enemy, a human who was responsible for the deaths of thousands of Americans. By his steadfast belief that no American should be bankrupted by a pre-existing condition, 20 million uninsured and under-insured men, women and children now have healthcare coverage. President Obama paved the way for my friends and family to marry the loves of their lives and for women to have the coverage and support they have so intensely fought for, stretching back a century and more.

His administration was for the inclusion and appreciation of people, ideas, controversies, and debate. That was Obama. The cool uncle that you wanted to invite over for dinner and support his charities and smoke weed with. You felt like you were heard. Your voice was important to him and your character was valued.

And then you were elected and I, as well as many Americans, were scared. You used bigotry and loaded language to try and dismantle all of the hard work that came before you. You’ve slowly but discernibly started  to chip away at the fundamentals this country was built upon.

But I don’t buy it.

You’re smart in ways that people don’t expect. You know what to say to encourage hate, to incite violence and to revolutionize demographics, all with a single tweet.

So as the populous that you seek to govern, as the citizenry that you purport to represent, I’m asking you to show us your next trick, to reveal the man behind the curtain. Because the biggest reveal of all would be to surprise this country and kill us with kindness. To act and to govern in ways that revolutionize and incite change.  To support the working class. To empower working families. To deny the wealthiest among us their chance to use America as a checking account. The people that hold this country on their backs everyday, and go home with very little to show for it, wish this. The men and women of this country that strive for a better life wish this.

Prove me wrong Mr. Trump. Prove me and all your fellow Americans wrong. Help us get out from under the covers.

Hopefully,

Meg Regan

A monologue in an alternate universe, where Betsy DeVos’s logic is forced upon another aspect of society.

[AKA: A conversation between Betsy DeVos and anyone who asked her what the fuck she is doing here.]

BETSY: I am not a nurse, doctor, or medical personnel. I have never worked inside a hospital, doctor’s office, or pharmacy lab. I took maybe (mayyyybe) 3 biology classes in my life. I’ve read 8 books on epidemiology. I read The Fault In Our Stars. So sad. I fully and completely support everyone’s right to go to the best hospital if they are sick. If you can’t afford it, someone else will figure out how to pay for it. Not the federal government, though. Your county should figure it out, even if they are too poor. The public clinics are bad, and people need to go other places. I don’t think it is worth it to fix the clinics. They are failing beyond saving. I’ve never been inside a clinic, but I’ve heard they have old medicine. Just BUY new medicine. How hard is that?

Cancer gets treated in all hospitals. Except those where there shouldn’t be cancer. Because they are secret hospitals who don’t believe cancer exits. But guess what, I HATE cancer. It’s terrible. And you all hate it too, right? It shouldn’t be applied to people who can’t even understand cancer. So we should definitely just fire-bomb cancer and start over. No, I don’t have a plan if cancer comes back. Other people will figure out what that is.

Okay, I need to be in charge of the CDC. Right low. Yesterday. I am so rich, I don’t even need this job. That’s why I will be good at this job. Because people who are best at their jobs and the most diligent, are definitely the ones who don’t need the job. And my family owns a lot of the health products I will be in charge of soon.  Right now.

What’s Zika and Ebola? Is that the new “trendy” names? Are those other countries’ grizzly bears? It’s fine. I won’t need a job after this. I’m too rich to need a job, remember?

Oh those are diseases? Ew. I believe that people should get a Willy Wonka Golden Ticket to go to the other side of town to the “good hospital.” And just get away from me. I’m spending a lot of money on dry cleaning since you “people” with “germs” keep talking and touching me and putting me in room with “contaminated” congressmen.

Easy. Done. I can totally fix this system. I’m definitely ready to be your secretary of education.

Emergency sirens pass by my home every day. This is no surprise. I live in an apartment on a busy thoroughfare that is only a few blocks from a big hospital. I also get to see helicopters descend on the hospital rooftop. Ongoing emergencies and false alarms are a part of living in a big city, even if they don’t directly affect one every day. But that sound is still a soundtrack of my life, and I don’t mind. It’s comforting, in a way. Infrastructure and society are intact. “Your Tax Dollars At Work,” as the sign confirms.

The sound that grates me; the sound that settles in my stomach like sour milk; the sound that makes me perk up like a gazelle at a watering hole–is when I can hear the siren stop. If I can hear the siren stop, I know the emergency is nearby. It has encroached on my space and something is amiss. It may be nothing. Or it may be everything. Until I can put together the pieces, the bits of radio chatter and amount of police presence, and if there is that acrid smell of vinyl siding burning or not, my adrenaline won’t return to normal levels.

America was the apartment on the busy road for a bit too long. We would hear the sirens but would not become alarmed unless it directly affected us. And then November 9, 2016 came, and suddenly an entire nation has to care. An entire nation was transported to a freshman political science class and is desperately skimming the textbook for something relevant or thoughtful to say before the professor calls on you. Except there’s no professor. No one is taking attendance or has a lesson plan. It’s a cacophony of voices emanating from the left, the right, the center, the ceiling, the floor, the subbasement, even the creepy janitor’s closet. It’s layered and disjointed and not even the cocktail party effect can help you.

I truly believe that just like the printing press, the telephone, and the subway, Social Media will be the great equalizer. For one, it’s free. People love free shit. I’ve seen people stand in lines for hours or even days for free shit. Never, ever underestimate the power of someone getting something for nothing. Second, social media allows you to think you know the world. And I’m saying “think” because there’s no way our brains can comprehend where everyone is coming from. But it least one can admit it broadens our perspective.

Or does it? This election cycle introduced words like “echo chamber” and “elite bubble” into our lexicon. They are derided and paraded as if people my age (the elder millennials) had never seen if before. When Facebook started, it was the ultimate elite bubble. You were only allowed on it if you had a .edu email address. That means that only kids 17-24ish who were enrolled in college could be on it. And if a professor somehow sneaked in there, the response was more like “Ew, look at this old dude trying to be cool.” We used it to ask for homework assignments, or see what the relationship status was of a new classmate, or once in awhile share 6-7 photos from last night that took 45 minutes to upload. It was boring by today’s standards, but it was addictive and it was ours.

Then it was open and the internet landscape didn’t just change, it was atomic bombed. And we grew up with it. We thought we were molding what Twitter and Facebook and Instagram would become, but as soon as advertisers and shareholders walked into the room, our control walked out. Money may now be 1s and 0s, but it is just as powerful as when it was 50s and 100s. I’m not saying anything shocking or revealing. We didn’t get something for nothing. We got sold out to the highest bidder while we were standing in line for our free t-shirt.

So do we even have control over our own thoughts anymore? Of course we fucking do. You are not a bit part in a dystopian young adult series. Here’s what you don’t have control of: OTHER people. You didn’t realize how many OTHER people were out there until November 9, 2016. You probably didn’t even think they existed, because their thinking and logic sounded too outlandish to be true. I was disgusted to find out that so many people on the internet actually leave their house every day and interact with other humans. And animals. An American middle age male Nazi was a fairy tale made up to make the internet more colorful, right? I made that pun on purpose and I will own it.

But HOW? How were there so many OTHER people you didn’t know about? Because for all mythical purposes, Trump is a siren. And not just the loud, spinning, obnoxious kind. I mean, he is the very definition of the metaphorical siren.

His wails, screams, and banshee calls lured in so many people who were despondent. Actually, despondent is too weak of a word. People were downright desperate. People believed that their own core values were being taken away from them, and they felt they lost control. Here’s the fun fact though: they would have felt this way no matter who was president for the past 8 years. Or 16. Or 20. There’s a part of America that always feels like time forgot them. And I truly believe that they aren’t being over-dramatic or uniformed. They see a country going full steam ahead and someone forgot to ask them if they wanted a ride.

However, Trump is luring them to their doom and they may not even realize it. They are “respecting” his choices and “giving him a chance.” And they are missing the fact that they are about to be shattered to bits on craggy rock.

So who are the rest of us, if the others are out there. Are we Odysseus strapped to the mast? Are we his crew who stuffed their ears and refused to be tempted. Are we other sirens? Trying to yell the loudest to get people to our island?

It doesn’t matter. You could be all three. Or none. Retreat to your own island and care about other things. However, for those who are invested; who are worried about their own future, the siren is going to be there, luring you in with one form of rhetoric or another. This is a country where we are free to do that, as politicians and Glenn Beck have proved time and time again. Anyone is allowed to wail and scream as loud as they want, because this is America. What we all need to be worried about–what is going to make my stomach drop–is when we can hear the siren stop.

I’m never sad I lost. Loss is a part of life. And what’s worse, looking jealous or crazy? I’m despondent because people who chose this man are standing by silently while he puts scary powerful people in positions that hurt my friends and family. tRump doesn’t have a record. He doesn’t have a rap sheet. He doesn’t have something tangible for me to point to and say “He did this in the past, what makes you think we can stop him in the future?!” He has his public self.

I guarantee he didn’t vote on the regular or ever had jury duty. He wasn’t loyal to America, he was loyal to himself. And maybe once in a while, loyal to his board. A board full of old rich white men who had power because someone allowed it to happen. Just like today.

I tried. I tried for months to understand why someone my age and gender would vote for this orange billboard. And the only consistent answer I ever got was “he is different.” This is gargantuan irony, because tRump and his team are the MOST against people who are different. He likes 9s and above. America at best is a 6 right now. A rural 6. He doesn’t love us. He doesn’t love this country. He isn’t thankful he was born here, he’s indebted. A loan no one ever asked him to repay.

The man is 70. If a 70 year old walked into my office and asked for a job, we are legally not allowed to refuse him or her an interview. Is that what we did here? Did the ACLU culture he rallied against actually let him in the front door?

So what do we do now? I didn’t have a blog when W. was elected. Well I did, but I wasn’t paying for web hosting. I had a platform no one paid mind to. Just like today. I’m just another millennial think piece. Another operator in the switchboard. Another person who had to look up what a “switchboard” looked like. I’m beyond mad. I’m not even disgusted. I’m that feeling you get when there’s a mass shooting and little babies die and no one does anything about it. Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m America. This America. Let’s all go throw up together!

Can you imagine being nostalgic? I mean, of course you can. That’s what nostalgia is: the remembering of memories. And I will never discount that, because it is totally dope to have that sometimes. I mean, you see a kid with a Lite-Brite, and you’re like, “Yeah, you go ahead kid, with your reusable picture guides!” Or Dunkaroos. Sugar upon sugar. No need, but who cares, shit was awesome.

But then you remember, nostalgia is selfish. Almost un-apologetically selfish. Everyone forgets how terrible this country was up until this very moment. I don’t care what time you are talking about in history. There is no better time than right now to be a woman, disabled, gay, transgender, black, Muslim, Latino, Japanese, Irish, Jewish, a little person, albino, autistic, or just different. You like nostalgia for two reasons – you were a child at the time of the memory, or you are a bigot who hates that they elected a “lady dogcatcher” last November.

And I’ll admit, there are plenty of turdbombs being thrown at all the adjectives I just typed. But now, there are plenty of guards up, and constantly going up everyday. Most didn’t have that before. There were allies, maybe abolitionists. Male suffragettes and feminists before that was even a term. A sympathizer for internment or a Nellie Bly to reveal the horrible atrocities in mental institutions.

However, the rest of the scared or ignorant world trumped them. They had info from maybe one or three sources. One of whom might have been a diabolical cat. Yet, we are so lucky today, because we have literally millions of sources. People on the ground, people behind the camera, people manning drones, people digging into case files and government documents and trash bins until the midnight hour and beyond.

I once saw a tweet that read (as I paraphrase), “If you ever feel bad, remember that in all the time in history, you were alive at the same time as Beyoncé. That’s amazing.”

I will never, ever denounce Beyoncé, but you could replace her name with uncountable amount of others: Jon Stewart. Cory Booker. Lady Gaga. Anderson Cooper. Lin Manuel-Miranda. Prince. Obama. Biden. Michelle. Michael Jackson. Ted Cruz (because I’m pretty sure he’s a 900 year old alien from the planet NoChinNoSoul). The person who invented YouTube. The people who created Viagra. The people who decoded the human genome. Olivia Benson (yes, I know she isn’t real, but she could be). The whistleblower who can’t get a job anymore. The doctor who works 89 hours a week in a country where citizens aren’t welcome in America.

We go from tangible to intangible, because we can. Even the most intangible “person” is out there in THIS country. We are lucky to be alive at the same time they are, even if just for a brief moment. There is a high school sophomore out there who just took their final exams today (and def smoking weed right now) that will be our national hero in 6-8 years, whether it be in sports, politics, arts, or maybe even some altruistic deed they didn’t expect to be documented. It’s basically statistically guaranteed. You have better odds at living in the same neighborhood as an Olympic athlete than winning the lottery.

We got this, America. We got this bullshit, because if America is good at anything, it is shoveling, swallowing, and slinging bullshit. It’s almost in our DNA, because we don’t even know what our DNA is made up of anymore. So they made it up. Well, I’m tired of them making things up. They are making up the rules along the way. I’m tired of living in a world that “House Rules” don’t just mean drinking games, but the House of Representatives.

So what can we do? We are just a group of free, alive, literate, healthy, beautiful people. What are we going to do? We can just publish anything, or protest anything, or marry anyone, or identify as any gender, or pray to any god(s), or speak any language. What should we expect? White noise? Crickets? A form letter? A thought and prayer?

Be a loud citizen. I mean, super annoyingly loud. Like your senator wishes he can mute you on Facebook or block you on Twitter for trying to sell them Ginsu knives. Be THAT level of annoying. Call your representative because it actually works. Vote. EFFIN VOTE! And I know that sounds cliche, but if you’re ever like “ughhh. it’s like 4 blocks away” remind yourself that at some point, every single one of your ancestors would have been blocked or banned from voting at one point in history. Every. Single. One.

Stay alive. Stay proud. Stay Connected. Stay Amazing. I want to add “Love” but I know that means so many things to so many people, so I’ll leave that to Tumblr. But lastly, and most of all, Stay Present. I know it can be immensely painful sometimes, but it is the only way you can appreciate that you are alive at the same time as FUCKING Beyoncé!

It was 1983. A time when America was changing and people demanded answers and closure. Who am I kidding, that’s all the time, every year since the beginning of the United States. But this year involved….POP CULTURE!!

Drink: Christmas beer (obv, it’s after Thanksgiving)

Oh buddy, those scrolling words said we got gangsters up in this universe. Obviously not very territorial gangsters since the cast has been to like a dozen planets and no one’s offered to shake them down yet for protection. Except of course Lando. But he’s a good fella now!

I thoroughly enjoy that we get to see Darth Vader’s shuttle again. Although when he emerges he sounds like a slave driver, which is awkward since I’m starting to suspect these storm troopers and engineers don’t get paid anyways. And calm down, DV. They are rebuilding “Death Star: The Sequel” as fast as possible. Do you know how hard it is to get a crane in space? Or good drywall?

We next come upon the entrance to Qarth, I mean, some place in the desert. Oh it is Tatooine, that god forsaken place that holds the smoldering corpses of Luke’s family. IF that even was his real family.

C-P3O and R2-D2 are sent to find out where Carbo-Han is being held. And of course, R2 just rolls in like he knows the place. Until he runs into Bebop and Rocksteady from TMNT. Don’t molest R2, Silly Puddy Face Man! And you should get that goiter checked out. The lack of iodine in this desert might be messing with your thyroid.

The new droid prisoners are brought into Jabba the Hutt’s lair, where the music reminds me of what the inside of a toy store in the 80s sounded like. Unless…that was the point. Clever, marketers. Clever, Lucas. And in order to make sure it is extra weird, after Jabba views Luke’s Vine plea to release Carb0-Han, he sends off the droids to be tortured. The public relations of this place are a nightmare.

Next, a mysterious bounty hunter shows up with Chewbacca (whose hair is looking a hot mess) and wants a reward. Obviously this is a ploy, because we next see Lando’s eyes watching carefully. Chewy is sold, the bounty hunter gets paid, and the next scene is what Studio 54 probably looked like after hours. With less prosthetics.

Leia (who was the bounty hunter all ALONG!), releases Han from his carbonite prison. I wonder what someone smells like after being reanimated from carbonite. And even though Leia’s got that new hairstyle going strong, Han is temporarily BLIND and can’t even see it. Such a shame. But it was so strong, Jabba wants to buy her, of course. Probably because he’s been trying to turn off Han’s carbonite prison for weeks and couldn’t figure out which ALT-CTRL-DEL combo he needed.

Luke walks in (not rocking the cape nearly as well as dad), and immediately uses the force on Rocksteady and Bebop to get past the obviously very flawed security system. He sees that Leia is chained and his friends are in prison and obviously Jabba’s obsession with ridiculously fashioned bikinis has recently made him CEO of Victoria’s Secret and therefore the most powerful hedonist in the land. Luke is in a tough pickle. Luckily, he doesn’t have much time to think as he is thrown into a fighting ring which what I suspect is NOT with a bunch of puppies.

Given what I’ve seen so far, the scene in Rancor’s cave would be much more realistic if the Hutts were throwing down money on this cock fight. It’s also kind of funny that Luke knew to look for the emergency exits, as if he was off for the past few weeks learning how to be an ace flight attendant. His skills allow him to defeat the monster, but obviously this isn’t enough for Beanbag Chair Man (at least I think its’s a male; Jabba might just be blob, which could be a gender identity nowadays).

Han is still blind and didn’t get to see Luke use his “Emergency Exit skills,” but what makes things worse is this laughing maniac puppet that is growing out of Jabba. And also the sentencing of all of them to “swallowed to death” by a nearby sand monster.

As they are speeding through the desert to get the group to their untimely doom, we see that R2 has now been enslaved as a cocktail waitress on this “Booze Cruise to Death.” But it sure was lucky that he was there, because after Luke breaks free, R2 hands him (spits out?) a brand new light saber! Congrats Luke, your power is back.

Wait, how did R2-D2 “make” this inside of himself? Or did he steal it from the Hutts? Either way, glad it is back, just in time to knock Boba Fett (who is a suspiciously loyal bounty hunter) into the sand monster’s giant worm hole. Bye, Boba Fett…Sorry we won’t get your back story until a book/TV series/concept Broadway musical album comes out. And also we should just know that EVERYTHING in this universe has a self destruct mode? So many unwarranted explosions. At least Jabba was choked to death. But let’s be honest, with his lifestyle, he would have had a heart attack at the next execution anyways.

Wilhelm scream: all the time (in fact I’m starting to wonder if people in this universe Wilhelm scream whenever they are having sex or win the lottery or give birth. Just whenever the moment arises.)

Now that we can leave this hellish planet (hopefully for the last time because sand is ew, gross), Luke just has to do “one more thing.” And that is “Going back to Dagolah” (I really hope one of you nerds have already made this into a rap parody). But he ditched the robes, because he probably didn’t want to show off TOO much of his flight attendant skills to Yoda.

We return to the half-built Death Star to see the actual Emperor (not Hologram Emperor, or as I would like to call him “Holler”). It’s never good when the red knights arrive. But at least we know the Emperor is a real thing and not a figment of DV’s imagination. Or worse, a powerful angel that he was doing his bidding for. Like Lucifer. Or Moroni.

Back on Dagolah, we see Luke and Yoda, who is probably disappointed Luke got a fake hand instead of using the force to grow a new one. They are discussing what Luke needs to do next, which seems slightly redundant.

Yoda: You need to confront your father.

Luke: Yeah, my dad is Darth Vader and I already went after him.

Yoda: You need to confront Darth Vader.

Luke: I know! I already did and lost a hand. 

Yoda: There’s more Skywalkers out there. You have to find them.

Luke: So I have to go back to my crazy dad who STILL wants to kill me, and find my long lost family? This is hard, Yoda. Stop dying, I need more than talking ghosts in my life. 

Unfortunately Yoda does die. And of course disintegrates. But luckily Obi-ghost is back…to SET UP THE PREQUELS! These films are the very essence of “synergy.”

It didn’t take him long, but I’m glad Luke figured out that Princess “Braids For Days” Leia was his sister before he tried to make a “family” with her. I think we all know from experience that inbred royal families are responsible for a large amount of societies’ downfalls (both real and fictional).

And then, the action begins and just doesn’t stop. Like you don’t even have time to breathe or refill your beer (or juice box if you are underage or a teetotaler) because you will miss something.

First we find out the half-finished Death Star 2 is being protected by a shield being emitted by nearby planet (moon? asteroid? sphere?) Endor. The Death Star-ians have a base on Endor, because if this movie wasn’t subtly about Manifest Destiny, then I would be disappointed. And yet their security is still lacking. They let the ship through with an old password! I don’t even think AOL did that in 1994.

Down on Endor, we engage on a race through the woods. And once again, storm troopers are ill equipped for any warzone. You stand out so much with those white armored uniforms. In fact, the only area you probably WOULDN’T stand out is if you were on a storm trooper armored uniform making factory. And even then you would miss your target by a mile.

Now obviously our heroes aren’t going to avoid drama. There’s still tons of minutes left in this movie and even more of Leia’s hairstyles to see.

And of course, true to her trope, Leia stays getting kidnapped by weird men. Although, these fat teddy bears seem a bit more kind, but also wary of strangers. Like Care Bears who were lost in the Vietnam jungle for awhile and still think there’s a war going on. Hopefully, they will just make Leia wear a one piece swimsuit.

Back on Death Star In Progress, Darth Vader is showing off his sweet evil room. And wouldn’t you know it, the Emperor just TOOK his chair. Yo, that’s DV’s chair, old man. He needs it to look into the abyss or the universe and hope his son shows up again to make him proud. “Cat’s in the Cradle” is probably just played on repeat in this room.

Obviously Leia’s disappearance is enough to send the humans and droids into a tizzy. As they go off looking for her, R2-D2 really proves his ineffectiveness. Droid, you could literally find a needle in a haystack and you can’t tell that Leia has new fur friends and that Chewy is about to get them into a trap? Well at least your buzzsaw got them out. Wait, you had a buzzsaw the WHOLE TIME! That could have been useful in so many other situations. Your opportunistic side is showing, little R2-Dude.

They escape getting trapped in a well-engineered net and get captured by the Ewoks who bring them to their tree houses. Those homes definitely inspired at least 4% of fans to replicate them. Until they realized they didn’t live near redwoods or on a movie set.

The Ewoks are a very tribal group and therefore (as all tribes in fake universes tend to do) start to worship the golden man (C-P3O) and sacrifice the humans (Luke and Han). But I still have so many questions. Like where did these short fuzzy animals find a form fitting dress for Leia? And a comb? What were their plans for Chewy? He looks like them. Do they even know storm troopers are roaming around underneath their feet? Do they care? Have they eaten OTHER humans before this, or is today an inaugural day of Human-Eating for this tribe?

Luckily Luke uses the force and is able to convince the Fuzzy Wuzzies that they really ARE gods and therefore they should reveal all they know about the secret power station and what they can do to defeat the Empire.

Luke reveals to Leia that they aren’t just siblings, but twins. So it won’t be the first time they were in a tight spot together before. When Luke tells her he has to bounce to go fight DV again, Leia gives him a face that basically says, “Brother, he took your light saber last time. And your hand. What if he takes your face next so he looks like you? What if he tries to take MY face? Or my beautiful hairstyles?” Luke obviously doesn’t hear all this and takes off to surrender. Han Solo appears behind Leia, because he is either jealous or just tired of humans. Don’t be jealous, Han. Leia feels more gross than sad right now.

On the Death Star, where I feel like at least two Scientology ceremonies are performed a week, Darth Vader introduces his son to his mentor and shows him the view from his chair.

Back on Endor, we will call this forest fight the Battle of nEw-Ok (it’s all owned by Disney, it’s fine). Although with the failed armor protocol that the storm trooper have neglected to update, it makes sense that clubbing, rocks, arrows, and spears would take down an entire regiment with laser guns. The catapults were the most adorable, though

On the outside of the moon, Lando and the other rebels are just fighting to stay alive. And we find out the “construction” was just a front. Just like half of the construction in Atlantic City. Or Dubai.

Luke seems to be annoyed with these two caped men he is going to have to deal with. And the Emperor’s laugh when he’s watching Darth Vader and Luke fighting is a tad…pervy, right? As if he couldn’t find this kind of entertainment On-Demand, so he had to set up a real one. Like Cirque du Soleil for even weirder people.

Meanwhile, in the children’s museum of old computers, Luke is hiding out from his dad and I hope secretly thinking (“I don’t want your life!”). Unfortunately for both of them, Vader CAN hear his thoughts. Oh shit, Obi-ghost didn’t tell Luke to not think about his sister. Ah well, a hand for a hand.

The Emperor takes a break from being a voyeur and tells Luke to kill off his father. And Luke is all of the sudden like, “Is this what Oedipus did? No, no…he fell in love with his mother. I was only in love with my sister.”

In a bit of parallel editing we see the rebel forces finally defeating the storm troopers and therefore making the shield ineffective (although if the Death Star was impenetrable to begin with, what was the point of wasting even more energy?). At the same time a SUPER angry Emperor tortures Luke with a never ending taser, until Vader is like, “If anyone is going to kill my son, it is going to be me.

Then that’s it. Vader kills the Emperor. All he had to do was throw the empire down a garbage hole?! We did that to Luke, and Billy Dee was waiting for him on the other side!

As Darth Vader lays dying, Luke drags him out in the open to have a chat with him.

Darth Vader may be dead but there’s still much to be done. Like blow up the Death Star (Lando’s job), get Luke off the Death Star (I knew one of those shuttles would return!), and reunite the entire team on Endor.

All of this happens and the Ewoks are so happy, they decide to throw their own Village Party/Orgy. In the midst of exploding evil space stations, Leia lets Han in on the family secret. Han is super happy at first, then gets a bit grossed out and looks like he needs a drink.

We cut to Luke who is preparing the typical Viking funeral for Darth Vader. Although I wouldn’t stand too close to that pyre…who knows what toxic stuff that mask was made of.

And just like any good wake, we end with a drunken party in the tree house with three ghosts and the perfect opportunity for another Christmas card picture, which I assume will be sent by Vine.

 

Two side notes….

Chewy’s hugs are still the best in the series. I hope there is a hugging machine full of Chewys out there. And if there isn’t yet, I hope they invent one after the next movie.

I’m really glad the Roomba droids showed up again in this movie! And just as useless as ever!