Kevin Brennan Writes About What It's Like
I think we can all agree that 2017 was one screwed-up year. I thought 2016 was bad, but everything that 2016 portended seemed to come true in 2017.
January through March were pretty much taken up with protests against the Trump administration. I did some of that myself, though I couldn’t locate a pink pussy hat in time for the march. Now I’m not so sure I could pull off a pink pussy hat because of my color season. I’m more of an autumn, and pink doesn’t really go.
Britain triggered the whole Brexit process that first quarter, and North Korea kicked off a year of nuclear weapons testing that by Christmas would have us all messing our pants every time we saw the “breaking news” banner on CNN. And this year we came to understand that all news is “breaking news” now, so we tend to disregard it in a “boy who cried wolf” fashion.
The whole “fake news” thing got so bad there’s now “fake ‘fake news’.”
In the spring we bombed Syria for using chemical weapons in its civil war, though maybe they didn’t. Who’s to say? We also dropped “the mother of all bombs” on Afghanistan. Didn’t seem to help any.
Summer was busy, with the U.S. dropping out of the Paris Agreement on climate change, a bunch of terrorist attacks happening almost everywhere, ISIS falling apart more or less, ethnic cleansing occurring in Myanmar, a total eclipse of the sun mesmerizing the nation, and multiple hurricanes devastating multiple places, especially Puerto Rico. Puerto Rico may not have full power again till May ’18. That looks to be a rare high point in ’18, I’m guessing.
And in the Fall we had numerous mass shootings, including the sniper-style attack in Las Vegas. Since then, it has seemed like every day has numerous “breaking news” stories that are never life-affirming, except that Roy Moore got defeated in Alabama. I guess that’s something. The heinous GOP tax bill passed, so there goes a trillion and a half dollars to secret bank accounts in the Caymans and Cyprus. Bye bye Medicaid. It’s been real.
My one hope for 2018 is that the pace of the disasters slows down a little bit. I’d like a break of more than two weeks between mass shootings and devastating fires. I’d like to smell the roses now and then. And here in California, I’d like to enjoy the fact that marijuana is legal after January 1 so I can endure the shit show with a mellow sense of “it is what it is.”