Grilled cheese watches the Dem convention

Hi Grilled Cheeser’s!

I’m pleased to have the opportunity of sharing notes I made when watching the Democratic Convention last night, scribbled on the front page of yesterday’s NYTimes as I ate a dinner of steak, broccoli, and a baked potato awakened by sliced green onions, butter, and sour cream.

Billie Eilish—Now we know whatever happened to Alice Cooper.

Elizabeth Warren—Mr. Rogers who has an Aunt Bee.

Hillary Clinton—Aunt Bee who ran for school board, but lost.

Barak Obama—the Cool Uncle who lets you drink beer when you’re only 16 on a hot summer day while floating on an inflatable raft in his swimming pool. When you ask him for money he says, “get a job”, the best advice you’ll ever receive.

Kamala Harris—Wonder Woman with the down-home appeal of Loretta Lynn.

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Sitting in front of the TV after the show was over I write, I’m so tired of having Mitch McConnell as President, McConnell’s been my President for almost 20 years now. It’s time for a change. Nancy Pelosi has been Vice-President for far too long as well. It seems to me these two characters have been in power forever, never mind the two-term Executive service provision, calling the shots, shaping policy, becoming older and older and older in front of my eyes. Time to get off the stage and let the Newest Left and the Farther Right take over.

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Farmers for Global Warming (FFGW) and Ordinary People Against Mark Zuckerberg (OPAMZ) had very compelling :15 second tv spots after the Convention. Given the unique circumstances of the political moment, it was difficult to determine which political party—the Republicans of the Democrats—had paid for which tv spot. Fortunately I was able to turn to CNN, MSNCB, PBS, FOX NEWS and the 3-to-4 pundits each network provided for trenchant insight relating to my confusions: I would not be able to think clearly without them.

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On the Dem Convention menu tonight, Thursday, August 20—The Big Guns, calibrated, all in favor of abolishing the NRA. I’m making Chicken Paprika, a favorite of my poet friends, and serving it with pasta and ratatouille funneled through an assault rifle.