One way to intro this piece is to mention the funeral home next door to my building. Continue reading
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Author Archives: Missy Comley Beattie
Please, Jill Biden, please
I noticed disturbing signs. Then I’d look for positive signs to dispute those disturbing ones. Continue reading
My abortion
Her face is like an image in a photograph, as clear today as it was years ago when I first saw her. The little girl, named Amber, was among my best friend J’s social work, foster care caseload. And I wanted to adopt her. Continue reading
Putting values into action
Earlier in May, two North Carolina Republicans intro’d state legislation that would place obstacles in the path of renewable energy development. Senate Bill 843, sponsored by Senators William Cook and Andrew Brock, leaves anyone with even semi-decent cognitive functioning asking WTF(?). Despite the unquestionable obviousness of the why of that What, you still can shake your head no, no, no in amazement, outrage, disbelief. Continue reading
Derangement Syndrome
I have it. I have a bad case of it. Not yet bad enough that I’m medicating with an anti-anxiety or antidepressant, however I’m acquainted with people who require drug therapy to treat their Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS). Continue reading
Shut the f*ck up, Missy
A couple of hours after reading the Trump administration’s devastating climate report, I was assaulted by Tangerine Nightmare’s ignorance, his tweet: “Brutal and Extended Cold Blast could shatter ALL RECORDS—Whatever happened to Global Warming?” Continue reading
Words get in the way
If compassion were contagious, they’d mandate a vaccine to prevent transmission. Continue reading
American Horror Story
We sit around the coffee table and as much as we’d like, there is no avoiding the topic: Trump. Sometimes, it’s his tweets. Then there was his attempt to explain Helsinki, snowballing as it did into Helsinkigate with foam-at-the-mouth rage by corporate media actors who screamed treason that Trump was Mr. Congeniality when he met face-to-face with that existential menace, Putin. Even some who consider themselves liberal/progressives appear to prefer war with Russia than rapprochement. And when we mash on that befuddlement, it’s with a near-certainty that Putin must have the goods on Trump, something more threatening than information about a golden shower or liaisons with prostitutes. Would be reassuring if we could conceive of something positive about Trump, but so far, no. He’s just too untrustworthy and, well, unstable. Continue reading
Ten years
Ten years ago, my sister Laura and I were in Greenwich Village at a restaurant near Washington Square Park. We stood all afternoon, hopped up at New York City’s Gay Pride Parade. Continue reading
Very little or no hope
A few weeks ago, I wrote an article, one I didn’t submit. I’d given it to my son to read. His response was: “You need to see a psychiatrist.” Continue reading
Remembering Barbara Bush
Barbara Bush, mother of war criminal George W. Bush, died on April 17, 2018. Geraldine Comley, my mother, died April 17, 2011. Bush was called the matriarch of a Republican political dynasty. For years, my mother was chairwoman of the local Republican Party in Nicholasville, Kentucky, however she eventually rejected the Party, leaving it when George Bush was elected president. She’d watched the news, his campaign, and pronounced him stupid. Continue reading
The Age Of Absurdities and Atrocities
I’ve started pieces, several, abandoning each, feeling whiplashed. Continue reading
Message to new activists
A picture is worth a thousand tears. “Not my child. Please, not my child.” Continue reading
The violently familiar
We drove through Dotard country before anyone called him a dotard. Saw signs in yards: “PROUD DEPLORABLE.” Now, weeks after the Christmas decorations, the life-sized crèches and the flashing red and green lights dancing around windows, have been dismantled and entrusted to the basement or attic ‘til next year, those homages to Trump still stand, like monuments to a Confederate hero. Continue reading
Election 2020 foresight
The Golden Globes: Hollywood’s most prominent women, costumed in black to support the #MeToo movement, were misty eyed, wonderstruck when Oprah Winfrey delivered her first campaign speech, inspiring liberals throughout the USA! USA! USA! to an orgasmic shattering-of-the-glass-ceiling altitude. Some among the crowd appeared transfixed, transcending the secular. Their faces rapt, as if they were witness to the birth of a saviorette. This time, one beloved enough to defeat Donald Trump. Fast forward to when there would be no need for a post-inauguration multitude of pussy-hat wearers from towns and cities throughout the country, walking, driving, busing, flying, raging to Washington, D.C., to protest the defeat of a neoliberal, regime-change warmongering, homogametic narcissist by a pussy grabbing, white nationalist, soon-to-be warmonger, heterogametic narcissist. Continue reading
Challenging the plutarchy
“I hope they see my humanity.” They. Don’t. See. It. Don’t because in order to see humanity, one must be empathetic, feel the suffering of others, bear witness to it. I look at Ady Barkan and I see my sons. Not only do I see my sons, I think, “Ady Barkan could be my son.” Continue reading
It’s capitalism
To say we’re approaching the brink is a yawner. Especially when Nobel Prize recipients are warning that we’re poised at a tantrum. They’ve called on Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un to “tone down the rhetoric” to prevent nuclear disaster, that we’re a “tantrum away” from catastrophe. Isn’t it enough we have an epic urgency—that Mother Earth is marinating in pollutants, one of which is pesticides that are neurotoxic and carcinogenic? Big Pharma to the rescue though with an answer that’s unrelated to prevention: drugs, drugs whose side effects often are as bad or worse than the diseases they’re designed to treat. We’re at a death-rattle moment in human history. See this link for the world’s worst air quality locations. Continue reading
Big dick diplomacy
Years ago, when I watched Hotel Rwanda, I was intrigued by Sophie Okonedo, her unique beauty. She can appear plain, almost strange looking, yet when that huge smile dances across her face, she dazzles. She is radiantly gorgeous. Continue reading
Paging Dr. Vogel
My mother used to say, “She needs to have her head examined.” Or, “He needs to have his head examined.” I thought of her, of this, when I read that Stephen Paddock’s brain is in route for examination at Stanford University where Dr. Hannes Vogel will analyze the tissue for any number of neurological disorders that might shed light on motive for the mass shooting in Las Vegas. Continue reading
Bitch, get out!!
Saturday, Oct 14th, I opened snail mail to read this typed letter that arrived in a typed envelope with a Purple Heart stamp. Continue reading
When we’re done
My dear friend E. emailed that she was carjacked at gunpoint and would phone when she was less shaken. A few days later, we talked. Continue reading
This man
This man is a husband, the father of two children, Latino, and a US citizen. For 18 years he taught high school, most recently in a rural area of a southern state—where he also resides among farmers, many of whom reject the notion of a generous earth that nourishes all people. Instead they stand their ground, soil fertile with roots that grow deep into the past. They wave Confederate flags, display the oppressive symbol on their vehicle’s bumper, long for a time when black men and women slaved in the fields. They believe Donald Trump will make America great again for many reasons. They want that wall built, migrants deported. They support Blue Lives Matter, the right to carry a gun, any gun, including assault rifles, would subjugate not only people of color but also anyone who is outside their definition of acceptable. Continue reading
He’s got the whole world in his hands
I don’t know about you but I’m pretty fucking calm right now. Maybe even slightly giddy. You see, I was raised in the Baptist Church. Sunday school. Bible school in summer. I memorized so much scripture I was rewarded. Honored to carry the American flag from point A to point B in the auditorium. March, march, marching in obedience. Church. Sermons that scared the Hell right out of me. I attended more than a few tent revivals in Kentucky. Got dunked when I was 12 or so, I think, because my sister made that faithful decision to turn her life over to Christ and I wanted in on the act. As Dr. Phil would ask, “How’s that working for you?” Until this moment not so great. But I digress. Continue reading
Moralizing vultures: Swooping to pick at anguish
Charlie Gard died July 28, 2017, a week before his first birthday. Continue reading
Glioblastoma as metaphor
For those of us who see the dead, the children’s bodies washed ashore, charred skin, how are we supposed to feel? What are we to think? Continue reading
The mother of all fireworks
The vehicles are in the driveway, parked in front of a two-car garage. Both the SUV and the hybrid sedan boast statements of identity, an OBAMA BIDEN bumper sticker and a HILLARY FOR PRESIDENT bumper sticker. Continue reading
Meet the Parkers
Six terrorist attacks in Manhattan in one month changed everything. Continue reading
History’s actors
Somebody’s contradicting the contradiction of someone else. WTF’s going on here? The more I know, the less I know or the more I think I know the more I realize I’m powerless to understand. Continue reading
F the USA
I fold the dinner napkins and place them on the dining table. This life, my life, is just as it was yesterday and the day before. Continue reading
Night is day and day is night
As I approached the grocery’s checkout lane, a magazine cover’s words greeted, “51 REASONS FOR HOPE.” Hmm, hope. The pessimism I feel, not only about the present but also the future, shaped my reaction, “I can think of at least 52 reasons for despair.” Continue reading
Wading through peanut butter
In the interest of research, I watched Matt Lauer’s interview with war criminal George W. Bush online. When the former tool of Empire told Lauer, another tool of Empire, that a free press is indispensable to democracy, I recalled journalist Helen Thomas who was moved from her front-row seat at White House press conferences to the back because the Bush administration didn’t like her confrontational questions. Digging around, I found that Thomas called out the Obama administration’s press handling: “ . . . we have had some control but not this control. I mean I’m amazed, I’m amazed at you people who call for openness and transparency . . .” She continued by adding that not even Nixon tried to control the press as much as Obama did. Continue reading
‘There is no hope, but I may be wrong’
Posted on April 20, 2020 by Missy Comley Beattie
We compose our opinion pieces, writing anywhere from 400 to 1000 words. Most of us use “we must” and “we should” and “we need” and conclude with a paragraph that offers hope. Continue reading →