And Another Thing

I raise a glass to all those who cannot raise a glass to themselves. For whatever simple or spiteful reasons. Whether they have no full or half full glasses nearby, or whether they were born without hands to begin with and cannot balance their glasses on the stumps to which they are resigned to. I raise a glass to those with heavy hearts and white bellies, furrowed brows, bloodshot eyes, and hairy chins. I raise a glass to the ones who are carrying an old story with them, and can’t seem to snip the cord.

I raise a glass, give this toast and then some more toasting where that came from, and I take a great swig from the glass. I put it straight down the hatch so that there is about half of the amber liquor swirling around in the glass. It is my second drink of the evening, and I can feel the warmth and the mellowness seeping from the back of my eyes to the top of my forehead, and it spreads both ways to the tips of my ears and the tips of my toes.

And another thing. I can hear the voices of the talking heads coming from the television nearby. And another thing. I always seem to pick up on this phrase of Dr. Steven specifically. He hosts a talk show, and as he is conversing with the guests he is always a cluster of different ideas and thoughts. He doesn’t seem to be gifted in the art of tying up all these thoughts together to form a coherent narrative, so his main way of bridging all these ideas is by saying the phrase “and another thing”. The producers and most of the guests have caught onto this, and have occasionally teased him about it, but he just shrugs it off and continues onto his next point.

I find that on the days I have the news on, it’s become more of a background noise and I’ve learned to tune out. Most of what is being said. The news is just too outrageous and intense these days that I eventually just become numb to it. I think most people became numb to it, after a few years under the new regime. But that phrase “and another thing” always jumps me back to reality for however long. It is a kind of grounding exercise. And he says it in such a distinct way too, with his eyebrows raised, his nostrils flaring, and his mouth open like he says it as if he had a Russian accent, even though he is very clearly American. And he holds his finger up decisively as if he cannot possibly lose his train of thought. It is like a spell that takes over him for a brief second and then passes.

I hold my glass high and say a toast for Dr. Stevens. I raise the glass to the man who cannot raise a glass himself on the air because that would be unprofessional.

And another thing, I say downing my glass. And another thing. And another thing. And another thing. Too many damn things these days.

I hate to admit it to myself. I hear more of the news and people’s interpretations of the news from the television screen. It used to just be a white static noise comprised of “and another things” but now I can make up more of what is being said. And I don’t like it, not one bit. All the vitriol, all the nonsense, all the division.

I get up from the couch for the bottle in order to pour and send more toasts.

And another thing, I say to no one and nothing in particular. Pangs of despair in my heart. And another thing. And another.