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Lots of daxsplaining there lib.
Quote from: Emo EMAW on November 21, 2016, 04:52:39 PMLots of daxsplaining there lib. Dax is a complicated person man
Some teachers are taking a more radical approach.In San Francisco, Mission High School peer resources teacher Fakrah Shah’s lesson calls Mr. Trump “racist and sexist” and urges students to fight oppression. Ms. Shah has used the plan in her class and a copy of it was posted on a union web site for other teachers to draw from.Howard Epstein, vice chairman of communications for the San Francisco Republican Party, called the lesson plan “ridiculous,” even for a liberal city like San Francisco. He said that teachers who use it “should be fired immediately.”The San Francisco Unified School District has been neutral on the matter, saying the lesson plan is optional. A spokesman for the 6,200-member union said the lesson plan has been positively received by many teachers and some parents.
In Mountain View, Calif., an election lesson didn’t end well. A teacher was put on leave after allegedly drawing similarities between Mr. Trump and Adolf Hitler. The leave lasted part of a day and ended after about 35,000 people signed an online petition demanding his return. School officials said the leave wasn’t over the lesson but a parent and student complaint.
That urge to cling to my family while keeping our foundation strong didn’t mesh well with continuing to date the man I’d been seeing. He also has a daughter. He, too, had been feeling a lot of the same emotions I was experiencing: hopelessness; fear; uncertainty about the future; panic over having to talk to my 9-year-old about anything that might come up at school, or what to do in the instance of sexual assault. But I couldn’t reach out to him anymore. He was too new, too unfamiliar.My focus had to be on my community of friends that are my family. I need to fiercely love the people close to me instead of learning to love someone new. To reach out to others could weaken the bonds that hold my family together.“I can’t,” I told him. “I just can’t.”I’ve lost the desire to attempt the courtship phase. The future is uncertain. I am not the optimistic person I was on the morning of Nov. 8, wearing a T-shirt with “Nasty Woman” written inside a red heart. It makes me want to cry thinking of that. Of seeing my oldest in the shirt I bought her in Washington, D.C., that says “Future President.”There is no room for dating in this place of grief. Dating means hope. I’ve lost that hope in seeing the words “President-elect Trump.”
I've said it before and I'll say it again, K-State fans could have beheaded the entire KU team at midcourt, and K-State fans would be celebrating it this morning. They are the ISIS of Big 12 fanbases.
Donald Trump: Liberal Birth Control. https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/soloish/wp/2016/12/05/trumps-election-stole-my-desire-to-look-for-a-partner/You really have to read the whole thing, but here's the ending...QuoteThat urge to cling to my family while keeping our foundation strong didn’t mesh well with continuing to date the man I’d been seeing. He also has a daughter. He, too, had been feeling a lot of the same emotions I was experiencing: hopelessness; fear; uncertainty about the future; panic over having to talk to my 9-year-old about anything that might come up at school, or what to do in the instance of sexual assault. But I couldn’t reach out to him anymore. He was too new, too unfamiliar.My focus had to be on my community of friends that are my family. I need to fiercely love the people close to me instead of learning to love someone new. To reach out to others could weaken the bonds that hold my family together.“I can’t,” I told him. “I just can’t.”I’ve lost the desire to attempt the courtship phase. The future is uncertain. I am not the optimistic person I was on the morning of Nov. 8, wearing a T-shirt with “Nasty Woman” written inside a red heart. It makes me want to cry thinking of that. Of seeing my oldest in the shirt I bought her in Washington, D.C., that says “Future President.”There is no room for dating in this place of grief. Dating means hope. I’ve lost that hope in seeing the words “President-elect Trump.”
Thankfully no one has been irrationally freaking out for the last 8 years
The city was always an asylum. On television on Election Night, the world they used was bubble. But what a bubble.New Yorkers woke up on November 8 in what seems now like a fairy-tale fog, convinced, as ever, that the future belonged to us. By midnight, the world looked very different, the country very far away (and the future, too). Eighty percent of us had voted against the man who won, and 80 percent, it seemed, were already hatching plans to leave — for Canada or Berlin or anywhere else we imagined we could live safely among the like-minded. That was when the text messages began coming in from old friends in Wisconsin and Texas and North Carolina and Missouri. They were watching the same returns we were, in the same apocalyptic panic, and all making desperate plans to come to New York. For them, the city was still the same fairy tale.And for us, those 80 percent in denial and despair, the city itself was a consolation. The human traffic on the streets that next morning was funereal, but it did proceed, commuters stuffed shoulder-to-shoulder on subway cars, crying. More amazing, here: They were looking each other in the eye as they bawled. There were hugs among strangers, and many more bleary-eyed nods, on streets that seemed dusted with ash. It was a bubble, of course, but after the election, the city unbubbled us too — popped us out of our blister packs of despair. An endless campaign that had unfolded mostly in the privacy of our screens was mourned outside, communally, socially. Street life was a comforting orgy, and the smallest things turned into talismans — the MetroCard, the fruit stand. It was easy to imagine the world ending when the world was a relentless cascade of panicked tweets. It became a lot harder, actually, once you stepped out your front door.
How have I completely overlooked Keith Olbermann?! (Oh right, everyone's forgotten about Keith Olbermann.)http://www.realclearpolitics.com/video/2016/12/12/keith_olbermann_we_are_the_victims_of_a_russian_coup_traitorous_republicans_are_indifferent.html
I found out Donald Trump had won the Electoral College while midstream in providing a urine sample for the emergency psychiatric staff of a New York City public hospital. The unlockable bathroom door in this unescapable wing was ajar, and I could hear the victorious Mike Pence’s sinister Sunday-school baritone taunting me with the truth from the hallway television.For the preceding witching hours of election night, I had lain in a fetal position amidst a cast of anonymous men nursing their own crises, my hands clasped tightly over my ears. It wasn’t that I minded the howls of the guy nearby who was shackled to his cot and monitored by an unimpressed brood of policemen. Instead, I wanted to spare myself any word of the far greater insanity unfolding beyond the hospital walls.Drained of tears, too tired to sleep, I stared at the fluorescent ceiling lights —which, indifferent to our suffering, remained on throughout the night — and endured the passing time by willing my thoughts to vanish into the dull glow. For a second, I imagined someone would burst in and proclaim, “It’s all right, Hillary won!” and I would bound out of bed, awoken from this nightmare.This was all just a dream, right?A while before, during the final hour of November 8, I had committed myself to institutional psychiatric care. A generation or two ago they would have said I was suffering a nervous breakdown: catatonic, plagued by involuntary jerking motions (my head furiously shaking “No! ”), speech patterns disjointed, weeping uncontrollably.
