Don’t we all love to receive invitations? Whether we want to attend doesn’t even matter. Formal invitations, e-vites (should that be capitalized?), the last minute “Want to get some Mexican tonight?” phone call. The only ones I don’t like are those birthday invitations with the unexpected glitter or confetti that explodes all over when the envelope is opened.
Cable news has been issuing invitations of a something less than social nature with rather irritating regularity lately. These are the handing out of metaphorical gasoline cans, usually in the form of reciting a litany of what’s wrong with America and encouraging viewers to douse themselves in said gasoline. The invitation to metaphorical autocremation is completed when the kitchen matches are distributed, usually with words like “This is what Americans should REALLY be worried about.” No thanks.
So I have a litany of my own, namely, things I’m not going to be worried about, at least not for the time being. For example, I don’t care how many appearances Adam Schiff, Eric Swalwell and Ilhan Omar make in front of a camera, I’m not going to the pity party. There are over 200 Democrats who can competently serve on those committees that they have been bumped from, and it irritates me more than I can express that I’m beginning to sound like Kevin McCarthy here.
Having already been to the circus show the Republicans seem to run anytime there’s a Democrat in the White House, I’m declining the invitation to attend the Let’s Worry About the Debt Ceiling party. Could this whole thing run off the cliff? Sure, but doesn’t anyone who has handled a household budget know that things are getting close to rock bottom when you’ve maxed out the credit cards so you apply for—and get—another MasterCard so the cash advance can be applied to pay the interest on the cards you already have?
But once that new card is issued, go ahead and start planning another party. Just don’t expect me to come to the gathering where the entertainment is watching each other wring our hands about things we don’t have the power or influence to change.
Slashing Social Security and Medicare benefits, imposing a national sales tax and the latest mass shooting that has elements warranting national attention are issues used to invite us to get out our prayer beads – even though they fall into the categories of not going to happen, not ever going to happen, and not going to stop anytime soon.
Thankfully, the ubiquitous George Santos AKA Kitara Ravache is still providing comic relief. Presumably, he’s 34 years old. It seems he may have lied, cheated and possibly stolen his way into Congress, which—let’s face it—wouldn’t make him unique. That he did so after allegedly doing drag in Brazil just over a dozen years ago does make him unique, proving indeed that anything is possible in America.
Of course, the Oscar invitations/nominations were announced this week, and Best Picture has something for everyone. Personally, any film with “avatar” or “top gun” in the title gets a hard pass from me. Not that I’m completely averse to science fiction or action movies. But James Cameron’s “I’m the king of the world” Oscar acceptance speech from 1998 is the most boorish on record, and Tom Cruise is, well, Tom Cruise.
Karl and I watched The Banshees of Inisherin the other night, which I had previously thought of as that Irish movie. I got the sense that it was about poor people in a picturesque setting, which it is. But there’s two hours of Colin Farrell, which is a good thing. The movie isn’t everyone’s pint of Guinness, but it left me with an affection for the word “fecking,” which isn’t really a new word at all, just a popular old word with a lovely Irish lilt.
But of all the various types of invitations that have been issued in the last few days, the guest list we are most interested in seeing is for that little shindig Fani Willis is planning down in Georgia. The Fulton County district attorney indicated in court this week that her decision on who’s going to be invited/indicted is “imminent.” Dare our minds run over this territory? Could it be that we’re about to see something like a Netflix reboot called Trump is the New Black?
In any event, I’m sorting out the remaining invitations for must-see movies before the Oscars. I need one about rich people doing rich people stuff. There is one, I’m told. But how can such a movie be called Triangle of Sadness? Satire, maybe. Black comedy, for sure.
Ok, I’m in, but do we have to dress for the screening?
