Put Some Gay In Your Day, Dallas!

Help Us, Rhonda

The coming of a new year has usually brought the prospect of positive renewal.  But I must confess, I’m not feeling it this time around.

Looking for inspiration or at least trying not to be redundant, I went back to New Year’s columns of the past to see if I could strip-mine something meaningful.  A couple of them made me want to slap myself in the face.

When 2020 was just around the corner, I was especially optimistic about the new Roaring ‘20s we were about to start.  We lit the sparkers, but they fizzled out faster than you can say “global pandemic.”  Oh, well, one really tough year doesn’t define an era, does it?  

Ever the eternal optimist (which happens to be the name of the nail polish I’ve been wearing for years), I vowed to head into 2021 with all the doors and windows open to let out 2020 while standing on one foot like a flamingo.  Little good that did, since the seditious conspiracy was already in overdrive and the armed insurrection was just days away.

Last year, I just skipped the whole thing to concentrate on forty years of Karl and I being together—the last ten married, and the prior thirty just shacked up, as they say back home.  

Still, I’ve never thought of myself as a Debbie Downer, but then I’m not Pollyanna either.  So let’s skip those two and try to land near someone in the middle of the spectrum as we contemplate the coming of 2023.  Rhonda Realist, if you will.

Rhonda might tell us that there are some things that might possibly happen early next year.  The Dallas Cowboys might make it to the Super Bowl, which would make a lot of folks in my part of the country very happy.  Plus it would be fun to have a Super Bowl party again after nearly thirty years.

A couple of old faces might be new faces at the Oscars this year.  There’s a strong possibility Jamie Lee Curtis will be nominated for Best Supporting Actress for Everything Everywhere All at Once.  I sure hope so, as she is about the coolest person I can think of that I’ll probably never get to meet.  

Then there’s Brendan Fraser, who seems sure to be nominated for Best Actor for The Whale.  He’s come a long way from George of the Jungle, when he was about the hottest male movie star on the planet.  

When Rhonda moves her gaze from the football field and Hollywood over to Washington, D. C., she might see a three-ring circus coming to town.  In the first ring, there’s Kevin McCarthy praying feverishly that he will be the next speaker of the House.  If he doesn’t get it, his pain will be immediate and palpable.  If he does, his pain will be chronic and debilitating.  Either way, I won’t be shedding tears, although I’m pretty sure he will be, assuming invertebrates have tear ducts.

The new Republican majority has promised the second ring will provide a setting for the much-vaunted Hunter Biden hearings.  To be honest, I’ve yet to hear anyone express a scintilla of concern about this prospect, which is remarkable as some Democrats of my acquaintance are the most anxious, “nervous Nellie” types around.  Fortunately, eyeballs don’t make a noise when they roll or else the collective cacophony of millions of them rolling all at once would drown out the hearings.

In that third ring, Rhonda finds Dr. Anthony Fauci and the CDC grilled on how the Covid pandemic was handled.  I, for one, think this is a completely appropriate subject for Congressional hearings.  Well over a million Americans are dead, and there should be an extensive review of how and why that happened.  So bring that one on, and let the chips fall where they may.

Even without Trump being indicted in any of the multiple jurisdictions in which he is being criminally investigated, we’ve got a full dance card of interesting things to anticipate.  Some rather trivial, some rather pointless, some rather necessary.

Rhonda is going to enjoy the Oscars and maybe the Super Bowl (if her team is in it).  She’ll watch the shenanigans in Washington with bemusement but not surrender to the dark interpretations the media (and Debbie) will undoubtedly place on them.  She’s Rhonda Realist, so there will be no resolutions about losing weight, saving money, being nicer, cussing less, or working harder for world peace.  She’s just taking care of Rhonda.  

After these last few years, I think we could all afford to do the same.  So help us, Rhonda.  Help, help us, Rhonda.