I learned that from googling and there it is: a printed out copy of my google search results about waves, the blue wave, and the red wave, and then the biggest waves ever caught on camera and then the biggest waves ever surfed, and then surfing compilation videos, all edited to heavy metal music with garish comic sans title cards……………
I can’t imagine JB, our big billion-dollar baby, surfing. I have a hard time imagining him swimming, but I can imagine him starting the wave — shirt off, big belly painted blue, heaving himself out of his gilded box-seats and throwing both of his hands enthusiastically into the air, fists opening and making it rain 171 million dollars on a stadium full of dubious and semi-reluctant voters.
Now that JB is Governor, I thought I would roast him, complain about all the corruption, describe or illustrate my lack of enthusiasm with the choice I had to make, between two rich men with corruption scandals that I don’t necessarily trust or like…I had a roast written on wrinkled notebook paper, horrendous handwriting, scrawled on the 22 Clark Bus in a furious hurry. I had a hard time writing or telling those jokes the day after the dust had settled, brushing off the dirt and seeing the voting numbers, the millions that still chose hate and fear over something, anything, else. Those red Texas districts like an inflammation, and I think, I grew up in a town like that. The fraction of blue to red still unbalanced, the divides deeper, the future still being scribbled and scrawled by a President who has never finished a book.
And it just made me so sad all over again.
I shake the box and three moths flutter out. I don’t remember putting them in there, but maybe they represent hope?
Yeah. Let’s hope it’s hope.
They’ve chewed holes in the polls from Georgia and wrecked havoc on my handsome photo of the Texas democrat, but they’re alive and fighting and happy to be free, happy but also furious now and flapping and flying like everything depends on it because for them it always has and always will.
They’re flying in confused circles trying to get their bearings.
They pause for breath…if moths breathe? And then they flutter off into the darkness searching for some light.
Maybe they’re onto something.