This is what people refer to when they say they are fed up with identity politics. 

The reason why Trump’s son is a prick is not that he’s male and it’s not that he’s white. He’s simply an entitled brat who thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity. And hey, we don’t have to guess whether his way of being has to do with his gender. Trump also has a daughter who is just as insufferable. 

I’m tired of hearing the expression “white men.” Enough with this crap already. Let’s not create false solidarities that bite us in the ass.

Adherents of communism / socialism and fanatical defenders of capitalism have a lot in common. One especially funny shared trait is that both rebut any criticisms of their favorite system by declaring that REAL, PURE communism / socialism or capitalism don’t exist and never did exist. Everything that we know about these systems should be disregarded because their purity has been perverted throughout history and geography. 

This allows the poor fools to avoid engaging with critics intellectually and instead drawl condescendingly and self-importantly, “Whatever you know as communism / socialism / capitalism is not what Marx / Ayn Rand had in mind.” 

The Illinois Chronicle reports:

Rauner declares war on moderate Republicans; GOP lawmakers stripped of positions, threatened.

Good. Let them devour each other now. 

Fussy eating patterns are part of the “quirkiness sells” attempts at personal branding. Arriving at the workplace with paleo diet boxes, smoothie cleanses, and protein shake / chia seed potions is an attempt to stand out. Please notice that the quirkiness that is in demand these days always points to exceptional sensitivity and often to some sort of woundedness. 

A bunch of professors started an endless email thread as to whether it’s better to send their kids to a middling college where they’d be the best students or to a great college where they will be “at the bottom.”

What they are really trying to say, of course, is “I don’t like my kids, I don’t like my kids, I don’t like my kids.” The only thing that isn’t clear is why they engage in this form of exhibitionism on a work email server and not in their psychotherapist’s office. 

Klara and I are experiencing a language barrier. She loves it when I use flash cards and pictures to teach her new words. There was one word, though, that she wasn’t managing to learn, “horse.” This was strange because she’s usually great with the words that start with “h.” 

Whenever I showed her a picture of a horse, she’d say “neigh neigh.” 

“No, it’s a horse,” I’d correct her but she kept repeating her neigh neigh. 

It took me a while to discover that in English the sound a horse makes is “neigh neigh.” 

If Facebook gives people news items based on their profile, my FB page must be that of a total ditz. All the news I even get are of the “Becky Gower and her husband used 3 types of contraception, but she couldn’t stop getting pregnant so he got a vasectomy” variety. I have no idea who these people are and why I should give a toss about their vasectomies. 

It’s bizarre that woth half of a feed made out of Ukrainian support groups I never get any news items about Ukraine offered by FB.

Today we celebrated Klara’s 17-month birthday at a really chic restaurant. 

In Bringing up Bebe,  the author admires the idealized French parents whose children can sit through a 5-course meal at an expensive restaurant at the age of 18 months, letting their parents have an adult conversation. Tonight I was all, “Bite it, Druckerman. Our kid is only 17 months, and we are so ahead of you.”

Klara ate my Manhattan seafood chowder and the grilled vegetables with wild rice pilaf from my plate like a serious restaurant goer.

Of course, most of the credit for tonight goes to Klara’s 7-year-old cousin Klubnikis who entertained her throughout the meal.

A group of religious people is outraged that their church isn’t offering a gluten-free version of the Eucharist. These are folks who are supposed to believe that Christ died for them. Yet they are not ready to set aside their consumerism for God even for 20 seconds.

“Our Klara is a traitor to the family philosophy,” I tell N.

“Oh God,” he says, “does she like Pushkin?”

“No, it’s not quite as bad. She loves the swimming pool.”

We are hoping that the preference for the pool over the sea is a temporary stage.